#it's harder to summon and control but it can be done

[finelinefae]

match one [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's struggling with harry's coaching before the first tournament and harry's feelings control him more than he controls them

word count: 10.2k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals, strict parents, fluff, harry being a boy and not being able control himself around y/n

this is part 2 of the game, read part 1 here

. . .

“Again,” 

Y/N gritted her teeth and bounced the tennis ball on the ground before throwing it into the air with a straight arm and hitting it with the racket, watching as it pierced through the air to the opposite end of the court. 

She heard a sigh come from the bench on the side of the court, “Again,” 

She inhaled sharply through her nose to try and contain her temper as she repeated the same serve. 

“Again,”

Y/N spun around on the heel of her New Balance trainers, her pleated, white skort twirling as she did. She crossed her arms and glared at the boy lying on his back in his school uniform which was now crinkled and unkempt after the school day. “You’re not even watching,” She replied for the first time after having done the same serve more than ten times already. 

“I don’t need to, I know you’re not doing it correctly,” He replied, monotonously. 

She clenched her jaw, “Well as my coach, aren’t you supposed to show me how I’m meant to do it correctly?”

“I can show you but it won’t change anything,” He said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs and sits up, “You already know how to do a flat serve, I’ve seen you do it. You’re just not hitting it hard enough. I can hear it in the way the ball lands on the other end of the court.” 

“You could have just told me to hit it harder,” She retorts. 

“Am I meant to play the game for you as well?” He quips which makes her blood boil. 

This was their third training session, and Y/N had reached her limit. With her first proper tournament just three weeks away, she had hoped that seeking help from the best tennis player at Crestwood would elevate her gameplay. 

However, Y/N was getting frustrated with each session being a monotonous repetition of drills she had already learnt herself. It grated on her nerves and she felt as though she was back to square one. 

She was beginning to regret having enlisted Harry for his mentoring in the first place. Whenever they’d try to talk mutually to each other, it would just end up in an argument of some kind where they’d end up needing ten minutes to cool off.

Y/N had already qualified for the Academy Slam before she even asked Harry to coach her. There had originally been sixteen academies from the surrounding counties competing in the games and now there were only half and Y/N was one of them. She’d passed the qualifiers all by herself and maybe she could pass the games that way too.

“Again,” He said that one word Y/N was beginning to hate. 

Who knew what she was capable of if she had to hear that word one more time. 

Feeling a surge of anger, Y/N tossed the ball into the air and hit it with all the strength she could possibly summon. She watched as the ball made a fast and straight trajectory towards her target area which just so happened to be right beside Harry’s place on the bench. 

He jumped up, a look of surprise on his face. "What the fuck?" he exclaimed, eyes following the ball as it hit the fence.

Y/N's smirk wavered as he approached her, her surprise matching his when he spoke again. "Let's move on, shall we?"

By the end of the session, every inch of Y/N's body throbbed with exhaustion. She drained an entire water bottle in one go, her fitted polo shirt clinging to her damp skin. She had thought she'd engaged every muscle in her body, but the way her calves screamed at her with every step told a different story.

“Same time tomorrow?” Harry asked, standing above her and blocking the sunlight. 

“I want to start training properly,” Y/N stated.

“We are training properly,” He argued. 

“You realize you haven’t shown me a single tactic since you started coaching me right?”

“And?” 

“How am I meant to win the first tournament if all I know how to do is basic drills?” 

“Do you know how many times my coach made me practice flat serves before we could move on?” He asks but she doesn’t answer, “A month. I went home with blisters on my hands because I was doing them non-stop six hours a day.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise, “You think tennis is just about being tactical then you’re not playing it properly. The only way you’ll ever be a good tennis player is if you master the techniques.” He explains, “I’ve seen you play Y/N. For someone who has never had professional coaching, you are one of the best players I’ve seen but you lack confidence in your technique. That flat serve you just aimed at me? One of the best flat serves I’ve seen in a while. If you can do that in every game, you’ll have no problem winning but if you want tactics? I can draw you a diagram and it’ll save two hours of my day no problem.” 

Y/N tries not to show her surprise at his words. Instead, she takes them all in, “Shouldn’t we at least be analysing my opponent?”

She was playing against Vanya Maddison in her next game. She was tall which was a major advantage in the game but her spatial awareness wasn’t exactly on par. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N had no idea whether to take it as a compliment or not. She’d never heard Harry say anything good about her so was taken off guard by his words. “So are we still on for tomorrow because I have to meet Mitch in thirty minutes and if the answer is no at least I can actually plan on getting wasted tonight.” 

Y/N took a moment to think. She had never expected him to say something positive about her, especially about her anger. It was a side of herself she often struggled to control, but hearing Harry acknowledge it as a strength left her feeling conflicted.

As much as she considered training on her own which would give her some peace and quiet, she wanted to see where her training with Harry would go. If he was right, maybe she’d actually have more of a chance of winning than she did on her own. 

She stood up and put her gym bag over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow,” She walked past him, wanting to avoid the satisfied grin on his face. 

“Y/N!” Harry called, she could hear him jogging towards her before she stepped out of the courts, “I wanted to give this to you.”

He placed in her hands a cassette tape with white masking tape on it with the words ‘Y/N’s theme songs’ scribbled onto it in black ink. “What is this?” She asked, looking up at him.

“When I was in Australia, I used music to help me get in the zone before a match. My coach told me to use a cassette tape because phones were too distracting,” He explained. 

“You made this for me?” She frowned.

“What? You’ve never been given a gift before?” He chuckles. 

Y/N looks down at the plastic in her hands. It’s not that she’d never been given a gift by anyone before- she and Sarah always exchanged gifts over Christmas and for each other’s birthdays- but it was rare for her to ever receive anything from anyone else. Her parents would often give her practical things at Christmas or transfer money into her bank account on birthdays. 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed at her lack of reply but she cleared her throat, “I don’t have a cassette player,” She said but Harry quickly removed his backpack and pulled out a walkman. 

“You can borrow mine,” He handed it over to her, “I won’t be needing it anytime soon since I’m not playing,” She noticed the downcast look in his eyes as he mentioned the fact he wasn’t currently able to play with his injury. 

“Um, t-thanks?” She said, unsure of how to respond to his sudden kindness. It felt unusual. 

“I picked a few songs that reminded me of you,” He smirks, “Don’t worry, they’re not all about a girl with an attitude problem.” With that he turned back around and walked towards the other exit to head to the car park. 

She felt ease on her chest as the usual teasing remarks returned, “Asshole,” She called out to him to which he just put his middle finger up in reply. 

. . . 

After taking a long shower in the girl’s shower rooms in her dorm block, Y/N headed back to her dorm after changing into a white shirt and sweatpants. She could feel the strain in her arms and legs as she flopped down onto her bed. 

Luckily Sarah wasn’t back from spending time with Mitch, so she took in the peace and quiet which came rare to her these days as all her mind had been on recently was the Academy Slam. 

Her mind wandered off to Harry and his words from earlier. Y/N knew she was a good tennis player but it was the first time she had heard someone else tell her that. She wasn’t expecting it, especially not from her tennis rival of the past ten years. 

Her eyes glanced at the cassette tape and the walkman she had placed on her desk before she headed off to the shower. Sitting up, she grabbed it and stared down at it for a moment before putting the cassette into the player and putting the headphones on. 

She laid back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling of her room. Her fingers hit the play button and the first song began to flood her ears. The first few beats of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’ began to play and she immediately rolled her eyes. Then afterwards, ‘Fergalicious’ by Fergie. 

She wondered how many songs Harry had managed to put on the cassette and how many were female anthems of empowerment. 

The next song seemed to catch her attention even further when Gorillaz ‘She’s my collar’ began to play. The beat now permanently injected into her bloodstream along with the rest of the album from the number of times she had listened to it. 

She wondered if Harry had known he had included a song by one of her favourite bands and whether he knew the meaning behind the song too. Maybe it had been a coincidence which was a thought Y/N had decided to settle on as she listened to the rest of the song. 

‘Nothing to be justified yet

She the first I'm running with

She the one that get my collar

She the one I'm running with (she's my collar)’

. . . 

The next day at school, Y/N sat in the library during her study period to study for her biology exam at the end of the week. Even though she was set on the scholarship, she still needed something to fall back on if she lost out in the next few games so she made sure she was still getting the best grades she could. It had also been ingrained in her to be the best in every class and she didn’t think that trait of hers would ever leave her. 

“Y/N!” Sarah called, her voice echoing within the silence of the library.

Ignoring the irritated glances she received, she paced towards Y/N and sat in the empty seat beside her. Y/N smiled at her friend’s excitement. They were foils to each other and that’s what made them get on so well. Whilst Y/N had a black cat personality, Sarah was sunshine in a person which was probably why she was so perfect for Mitch who was equally as bright. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something and you’re probably going to hate me but Harry’s already said yes and-”

“Sarah,” Y/N placed her hands on her shoulders, “Breathe.”

Sarah did exactly that before continuing, “Would you do a feature with Harry for the school newspaper?” 

Y/N frowned, “What?”

“The school newspaper? You know the club I’ve been part of for the past two years? They want to do a feature on your training for the sports section and I told them I would ask you.” Sarah explained. 

“Oh I don’t know about that-”

“Pleeeassseee,” Sarah gripped her arm that was resting on the desk and batted her eyelashes.

“You know I’d do anything for you Sarah but I don’t know if I have the time and my focus is on my next game,” Y/N replied. 

“Harry’s already said yes to it,” Sarah interjected.

“You asked him before me?” 

“Well actually,” Sarah hesitated, “Luke, the boy who’s writing the article, asked him this morning,”

“Why didn’t he ask me?” 

Sarah gave her a pointed look, “You’re not exactly the most approachable,” Y/N’s frown deepened at her words, “So will you do it?” 

Y/N sighed, considering it before giving Sarah an answer. The last thing she wanted was for someone to be asking unnecessary questions in time that could be used to train for the first round of the competition but Sarah was her best friend and she knew how much the school newspaper meant to her and her university applications too. 

“Alright,” She relented, “I’ll do it.”

Sarah squealed, receiving another round of vicious glares from other students in the library. Her arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, “Thank you,” She pulled away, “They’ll come by tomorrow afternoon during practice, is that okay?” Y/N nodded a response.

. . . 

It was raining outside. 

Y/N’s eyes stared out the window as she bounced a tennis ball on the hard floor of the gymnasium and wondered if the weather foreshadowed the next hour. 

“Will you sit down?” Harry muttered, “You’re giving me a headache,” 

“He’s late,” Y/N says, “We could have been practising,”

“Do you ever just do anything else?” Y/N shot him a glare at his sarcasm, “I get this is important to you but don’t you just want to, I don’t know, have fun?”

Y/N walked over to her seat right next to his and straightened herself for the interview the school newspaper had organised for them. Sarah had told both her and Harry to dress smartly for the occasion which, according to Harry meant a designer sweatshirt and trousers whilst Y/N had gone for a dress and pumps. It wasn’t overly smart for either of them but enough to make it seem like they had made an effort. 

“The fact that you’re even suggesting that tells me you have no idea how important this is to me,” Y/N responds, monotonously. 

She hears a scoff from beside her, “What?” 

He turns to face her, his face rather too close, she notices three moles on his right cheek that she hadn’t ever seen before, “I think I know better than anyone how important this is to you but I also know from experience how important being in high school is with people your own age.” She forgets sometimes that even though he was whisked away to fulfil his place in the Australian Open, that his time of being a kid was cut short, “I don’t go out of my way to coach just anybody,”

“What do you mean?” She frowns but before Harry could reply, the doors to the gym open and in scrambles a sixth year with a messenger bag and a tripod with a camera dangling from his neck. 

“It means,” he leans forward, murmuring, “if you had half the belief in yourself as I have in you then you wouldn’t need me at all.” 

“Sorry I’m late,” Luke’s voice echoes as he steps towards them and places all three legs of the tripod on the ground and scrambles to screw his camera to it. 

“What’s with the camera?” Y/N asked. 

“O-oh, we’re recording the interview so I can write everything up later and we’re going to need your pictures together afterwards,” Luke explained. 

“You want us to take a photo together?” Y/N frowned.

“Did Sarah not tell you?” Luke replied. 

“Calm down, love. It’s just a photo,” Harry murmured and she tried not to react to the nickname he had used for her. 

Once everything was set up, Luke sat across from them with his laptop on his thighs, questions already typed out, “So, you two have known each other for a while now?” Luke asked as he sat across from them. 

As Y/N was about to tell him how they didn’t exactly know each other on a personal level but knew each other through tennis, Harry spoke up, “Since we were both in third year. I was eight and Y/N was seven but we’ve been in the same class since we were infants.” 

Luke nodded, “That must help a lot in your partnership,” 

Harry chuckled lowly, “Something like that,”

Luke types a few things down in his computer before turning his attention to Y/N, “Um, Y/N what made you turn to Harry for his coaching other than the fact he won the Australian Open?”

Y/N frowned, what more reason did she need to give? “Well, the fact he won is a big reason as to why I approached him,”

“But isn’t he injured?” Harry stiffened beside her. The way he asked made it sound like he was defective, unusable.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, “Yes but I’ve seen Harry play games with a dislocated shoulder. He’d just pop it right back in and start playing again. His current injury doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s one of the best tennis players I’ve seen at Crestwood.” Y/N ignored the looks from the two boys. She knew she’d have to compliment Harry at some point during this interview, especially if they needed to show a united front for the games.

“And do think the same about Y/N?” Luke asked Harry who now seemed irritated by him.

“I think,” Y/N was prepared for a backhanded compliment but what she got was something entirely different, “Y/N has all the potential in the world to go for what she dreams of and I hope to watch her do it all even if that means I’m watching from the sidelines.” This time it was Y/N’s turn to glance at Harry, taken aback by his words. 

Luke spoke again, “You know some people are calling you the underdog in this tournament?” Y/N froze, it was the first time she had heard of it, “all the other women competing have had professional coaching and the school invests heavily in their tennis players.”

Y/N cleared her throat, “I didn’t know that but I have every intention of proving them wrong,” Harry bumped his knee with hers but she ignored it. 

“And What do your parents think about you doing this before leaving exams?” Luke asked. 

Y/N ignored the sting she felt at the thought of telling her parents what she was doing and the looks of disappointment she envisioned, which had been gnawing at the back of her head since she qualified. She answered confidently, "They're happy for me and excited to see me in the final."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as Luke leaned in, his expression curious. "You think you'll get to the final?"

Harry scoffed, “Are you insinuating she won’t?” 

Luke backpedalled slightly, sensing he’d struck a nerve. "I didn't mean to suggest that at all. It's just that some people doubt the capabilities of those who haven't had professional coaching."

"Hey Luke, do me a favour and invite those people to the first game in three weeks' time. Let them witness firsthand what it's like watching a player as skilled as Y/N, without any professional coaching," Harry's frustration was palpable, catching Y/N off guard with his assertiveness. Typically, she would be the first to break in such situations but it seemed Harry already had.

Luke’s face warmed as he realised he overstepped, “R-right, let’s move on.” He scanned through his list of questions to find something more light-hearted to break up the mood, whilst Y/N straightened her shoulders, thankful they’d gotten to the final round of questions. “What do you both like to do outside of training?” 

“Together?” Y/N cringed, trying to picture spending time with Harry in a normal setting. 

“Not necessarily,” Luke shrugged. 

“My best friend is dating her best friend so we’ve been spending a lot more time together recently. Normally, I play guitar or recite poetry whenever I’m not coaching Y/N to volley properly,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the lies that left his mouth.  

“I study,” Y/N stated. 

“That’s it?” Luke’s eyebrows creased.

Her cheeks turned slightly pink, “I’m top of the class in all of my classes, that doesn’t just happen without hard work.”

She could feel Harry’s eyes on her and for the first time, she turned her head to catch his eyes. She noticed the frown on his lips and something in his eye that looked a lot more like concern or sympathy than the desire to tease her about her lack of social life. 

“Well, I think that will be enough,” Luke stood up and grabbed his camera, “Do you mind if we take a few photos now?”

Y/N and Harry stood from their seats, side by side and looked into the lens of the camera. Y/N’s cheeks hurt from forcing a smile as Harry did the same, “You’re standing too close to me,” Y/N spoke through her teeth as the camera flashed.

"Look who's talking with their giant foot squashing my shoe," Harry retorts, a playful glint in his eyes. Y/N inhales sharply, her gaze dropping to her foot to see what he's referring to. But before she can react, Harry smoothly slides his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side with practised ease. Their eyes meet, and just as the camera flashes, capturing the moment, Y/N side steps out of his grip with an annoyed huff.

“Okay, that will be all,” Luke smiled. 

As Luke packed his things away, Y/N and Harry stood awkwardly side by side without saying a word. Y/N glanced out the window and saw the sky had cleared up and the sun was setting. She needed to get back to her dorm to study for her French exam tomorrow as well as binge-watch tennis matches on YouTube which she’d been doing a lot recently. 

“Did you really mean that?” Harry asked, catching her attention, “All you do is study outside of school?”

Y/N looked at him, “I hang out with Sarah some days but yeah, I mostly study. I don’t really have a lot of choice and I’m not naturally smart.” Harry’s head tilted to the side like he was secretly questioning her in his head, “What? Aren’t you meant to crack a joke about me being stupid or something?”

Harry's eyes softened, his voice gentle. "I could never think you're stupid, love," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips with a tenderness that caught Y/N off guard. She found herself speechless, unable to figure out what had gotten into him recently. 

He pulled out his car keys from his back pocket and motioned his head towards the gymnasium exit, “C’mon,” He urged, “I wanna try something out and before you ask, it’s nothing to do with tennis or studying.”

Y/N’s feet stayed glued to the ground as he walked away and expected her to follow. She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms, wanting to refuse his invitation so she could get back to her dorm. But curiosity got the better of her and she followed a few paces behind him as he led her to the empty car park. 

Harry pressed the button on the car keys and the lights flashed on a black Audi hiding in the corner, “What are we doing?” She asked. 

“Have you ever driven a car before?” He wondered, looking at her with a hint of mischief. 

“Never,” She replied and was bewildered to see him open the door to the passenger seat instead of the driver’s seat. 

“Looks like it’s your lucky day, love,” He smirked.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “N-no! Harry, I'm not driving your stupidly expensive car.”

“C’mon,” Harry chuckled, “Don’t be chicken.”

She scoffed, “I’m not being chicken, I’m being sensible. If I crash that car, I don’t even think my parents will have enough money to fix it.”

“My parent’s will,” He grinned, cockily, “Get in,” 

“No, I’m not driving that car.” She insisted. 

Five minutes later, Y/N sat in the driver’s seat of Harry’s Audi with her fingers over her eyes as he instructed her on how to start. “Are you crazy?” She whimpers as he switches the engine on. 

“Stop worrying, I’ve got my hand on the break.” She looks down to see his hand already wrapped around the hand break, “Just stay calm and do what I told you to do. Clutch down, first gear and then ease your foot gently off the clutch.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me tennis, not driving laps around the school parking lot,” Y/N argued.

“Think of this as a team bonding exercise,” He shrugged, “Okay now foot down on the clutch,”

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” She strangled out, placing her shaky hands on the wheel.

“Relax,” Harry chuckled, “You’re being dramatic.”

“It won’t be so dramatic when we end up in a tree,” Y/N retorted as she carefully felt the pedals and pressed down slowly on the clutch. Feeling the car rise, Y/N gasped and removed her foot. 

“Calm down, it’s just because you put your foot on the clutch,” Harry was trying his best not to laugh at her, “Okay, now do it again.”

Y/N squeezed her hands on the wheel and repeated her actions, moving the gear stick “Okay, now carefully raise the clutch,” Harry instructed and as she did, he lowered the handbrake and the car slowly began to move forward. 

“Holy shit,” Y/N wailed, “We’re moving,”

This time, Harry did laugh unable to stop himself after seeing her reaction, “Make sure you turn the wheel or we really will end up in a tree,” 

Y/N did as she was told and turned the wheel slowly, “Okay, I’ll move into second,”

“Harry no!” She gasped but put the clutch down so he could move gears. 

“Atta girl,” He beamed.

Y/N’s worried expression soon turned into shock and then excitement as she moved slowly around the car park, “I’m driving Harry!” Y/N grinned and Harry swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“You are,” He praised, “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

After switching between first and second gear and Y/N complaining that her feet were aching from how tense she was using the pedals, Harry offered to swap places and show her what it was really like to go out on an evening drive. 

“Harry!” Y/N choked on a laugh as he went all the way up to sixth gear down the empty streets in the middle of nowhere, “Slow down,” She squealed. 

Harry glanced at her, grinning when he saw how wide the smile was on her face. He pressed his finger on the button to wind down all the windows, “Oh shit I love this song,” He turned the volume up on the stereo as Beyonce’s ‘Love on Top’ started playing, blaring loudly through the speakers of his car. 

“Baby it’s you! You’re the one I love! You’re the one I need!” Harry screamed the lyrics of the song and Y/N’s laughter sounded through the entire car as her hair blew behind her. “Sing it, baby!” He cheered, neither of them realising what he had called her. 

“I’m not gonna sing it,” She shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut as the engine revved. 

“It’s the only way I’m gonna slow down,” He teased as the build-up to the chorus played. 

Y/N giggled as Harry began to sing solo to the chorus again, giving her a look that had her rolling her eyes before she screamed out the lyrics alongside him, “When I need you, make everything stop! Finally, you put my love on top!”

Their laughter merged together as the song played out. Harry slowed down the closer they got back to town and cast a sideways glance at Y/N who was brushing her wind-swept hair with her fingers. “You okay?” He asked, seeing the glow on her face. 

“Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m okay. I just don’t get to do stuff like this… ever really.”

He nodded in understanding. Harry had met Y/N’s parents a few times before. His parents were frequent visitors to their country club so he knew what they were like but he had no idea of the extent of the pressures they had put on Y/N to do well. It reminded him of his own parents and the last thing he wanted to do was allow someone to feel the same way he did whenever his parents were too hard on him. 

“Wanna pull in somewhere to get something to eat?” Harry asked. It was getting late and they both had school tomorrow but he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let her go- not when she was having so much fun. 

“Okay,” Y/N nodded. 

He pulled into a dessert shop that was still open. Y/N followed him inside and to a booth in the corner. Harry ordered both of them bowls of soft-serve ice cream and Y/N even asked if she could have a strawberry milkshake to go with it. “I shouldn’t really be eating,” She told him.

“Hmm I heard drinking strawberry milkshakes improves your footwork. They served them all the time in Australia,” Y/N shot him a look that told him she knew he was bullshitting her but it made him smile. 

“Are you nervous about the game coming up?” They’d been training non-stop every evening and Y/N was quickly improving everything she had already learnt on her own. After considering Harry’s words a few days ago, she knew Harry was right. He had been good for her technique and she felt even more sure of herself than she did at the beginning. 

“No,” She said coolly, “I don’t have time to be nervous.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

The waitress came over and placed their desserts in front of them, along with a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. “Mitch says he’s going to throw a party at my place if you make it through to the semi-finals.”

“A party at your place?” Y/N quirked a brow.

Harry sighs, “He came up with the idea of throwing a party and then just kind of decided it would be at mine.” He explained. 

Y/N nodded and took a sip of her milkshake. It had been so long since she had had something so sugary and sweet. She hummed before realizing she was being watched by the boy opposite her, “Just so you know, even though you bought these desserts and taught me how to drive, doesn’t mean I like you.”

Harry laughed, his eyes crinkling and dimples carving into his cheeks. Y/N’s heart stuttered but she pushed the feeling down, “Okay, tomorrow you can go back to hating me again and we’ll pretend today didn’t happen.”

“And you can do the same,” She says. 

Harry gives her a look, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t put a label on, “I don’t hate you Y/N.” 

She frowns, “You’ve always hated me,” 

“No,” He shook his head, “Never.”

“But you’re always making fun of me,” And she always did the same. 

“Because it’s the only way I get to speak to you.” He admits. 

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, unable to believe what she was hearing. She had always assumed Harry had hated her since their rivalry had gone on for so long. She didn’t know what to say, confused by the sudden revelation.

“Ew,” It came out before she even had time to think, “Don’t be nice to me, it’s making me uncomfortable.” 

Harry seemed to deflate but quickly placed a smile on his face, “You make me uncomfortable and you’re singing, by the way, is awful.” 

Y/N scoffed, "At least I don't sound like a dying goat." Despite the return of their familiar banter, her heart seemed to continue to flutter under Harry's earnest gaze, stirring a mix of emotions within her that she’d never felt before. 

She didn’t know what was going on with her but the last thing she needed to think about was her emotions when her biggest goal to date was right before her. 

. . .

Three weeks had gone by far too quickly for Y/N’s liking.

“Again,” Harry drawled.

Y/N gritted her teeth and repeated the backswing technique Harry had shown her but the angle was all wrong and the ball ended up going completely off court.

“Fuck,” Y/N spat, throwing her tennis racket on the floor and squatting, balling her hands into fists on her head.

Harry sighed, walking over. “You’re nervous about tomorrow,” He stated like he didn’t need her to confirm despite the fact she had constantly told everyone she wasn’t nervous about anything. 

“I just need to win,” She mumbled.

“Get up,” Harry ordered. 

Y/N did as she was told and stood up. He grabbed the racket from the floor that she’d thrown across the court like a toddler throwing their toys out a pushchair and flipped the racket between both of his hands. He handed it back to her and grabbed his own.

“I want you to mirror my actions,” He says and stands a few steps away from her. 

He steps forward, tossing the tennis ball into the air before swinging his racket with both hands, expertly landing it in the left corner of the opposing court. Y/N tracks his every move, mimicking his actions as if she were his shadow.

Y/N’s ball lands slightly off target and Harry bites his lip to stop himself from smiling at the scowl on her face. He walks towards her and comes up behind her. Y/N’s breathing hitches when she feels his fingertips press gently on her arm. 

“You need to straighten this arm more,” He advises, his fingertips sliding down her arm and leaving a trail of goosebumps as he straightens her arm out. “Calm down,” he murmurs, his mouth near her ear, “I can feel your heart beating.”

Y/N seems to lose every ounce of oxygen when he places his hand flat against her back where he can feel her heart beating, “Breathe,” He says, “You will win tomorrow, I will make sure of it.” 

The warmth that flooded Y/N’s body quickly left as Harry took a step back, “Try it again,” He nodded towards her racket.

Y/N sighed, tensing her muscles again after Harry had practically managed to turn them into liquid. She tried to ignore the flutter in all of the pulse points in her body that were screaming to make contact with that new presence and swung her racket, landing the ball exactly where she wanted. 

“There y’ go,” He murmurs, almost as if he was saying it to himself. “I think we should call that it for today,”

“What?” Y/N frowned, “The game is tomorrow, I need to practice.”

“Y/N, we’ve been practising for half the day already. You’re going to wear yourself out if you carry on,” Harry tells her.

“Fine,” She huffed but Harry gave her a knowing look.

“Come to my place,” He offers.

“Why would I do that?” She goes to grab her sweatshirt on the bench and pulls it over her head. It was getting colder now that the sun was going down. 

“Because I know you’re just going to come back here once I leave and trust me, you don’t want to do that.” She opened her mouth to refuse but he continued, “We can watch Wimbledon on TV and order pizza.”

She wondered how he knew that Wimbledon was one of her favourite movies and pizza was her favourite food. “Is it the DVD exclusive?” Y/N asked.

Harry’s lips tilted upwards, “Of course,” Y/N nodded, following him to his car so he could drive them to his apartment. 

Y/N remembered the last time she was in Harry's car three weeks ago. It was the first time Y/N truly enjoyed being in his company and the first time she had allowed herself to have fun and relax. 

The day after,  they resumed their usual arguing as if the previous night hadn't occurred. However, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by a surge of unfamiliar emotions swirling within her.

Despite the bickering, she kept noticing things about Harry—like the way he smiled and talked. It made her feel weird like there was something more between them that she hadn't noticed before.

The air was silent between them as the radio played lowly in the background. Harry turned into a block of apartments that looked far too expensive for a student to afford all by themself. “This is where you live?” Y/N asked, her eyes widening as he pulled into a spot. 

“For now,” He says. 

Y/N trailed behind Harry as they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made their way to his apartment. When he swung open the door, flooding the space with light, Y/N couldn't help but notice the spaciousness of the apartment, as well as its emptiness.

“I haven’t had time to unpack,” Harry said, walking to the kitchen after kicking his shoes off, “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’ll just take a glass of water,” Y/N’s eyes darted to all of the boxes that covered the floor. 

She walked to the kitchen area and leaned against the counter, “Are those your trophies?” She asked, seeing the metal cups in an open box.

Harry smiled, “Yeah, I’ve kept all of mine even the ones that didn’t count.” 

“They all count,” Y/N grins, walking over and pulling one out, “The battle of the sexes trophy.” 

Harry smirked, walking round to stand beside her, “I still remember the look on your face when they handed me that trophy. If looks could kill, love, I don’t think I would be here.” 

“It was a big deal to me okay?” Y/N replies, “I seemed to blame you for all my losses when I was a kid.” 

Harry’s expression softens and his head turns to look at her, “Will you blame me if you don’t win tomorrow?” 

Y/N’s smile falters, “No, I’d blame myself. I think if I lost this, I don’t know who I would be anymore. Tennis is my life.”

Harry’s eyes glint underneath the soft lighting of the kitchen, “God,” He whispers, “You drive me crazy y’ know that?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Do you think you could love anything more?” He asks, ignoring her question. 

“I can’t think of anything, if I did I’d have to love it an awful lot.”

“Okay,” He nods like he’s accepting a challenge. 

Y/N narrows her eyes, “What are you thinking?” 

“Nothing,” He shrugs, “But I want you to know-”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, the door swings open and the shrill sound of his mother’s voice fills the air. Y/N stands straight and she notices Harry tense up, taking a step in front of her, he pushes her behind him.

“Harry,” His mother sighs, “How are you darling?” 

“Mum,” He replies, curtly, “What are you doing here?”

“Your father’s running late home so I thought I would come by to see how you were,” She says and then looks behind him.

Y/N doesn’t need Harry to introduce her as she steps forward and holds out a hand, “Hi Mrs Styles, it’s nice to see you again.” 

"Y/N?" Anne gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. "You've grown so much, you're beautiful." She reached out, taking both of Y/N's hands in hers and giving her an appraising look.

Y/N's cheeks flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Styles," she stammered, feeling a mixture of nerves and warmth.

Anne smiled warmly. "Oh, call me Anne," she insisted before turning her attention to Harry. "I didn't know you two were such good friends."

Y/N and Harry exchanged a quick glance, both unsure of how to respond.

"I'm her coach," they both blurted out simultaneously, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Anne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she exclaimed, her gaze flitting between them. "You're coaching?"

Harry nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he confirmed quietly.

"But Harry, your injury," Anne interjected, concern evident in her voice as she glanced down at his leg. "You're not meant to be—"

"I'm fine, Mum," Harry interrupted sharply, his tone making no room for argument.

"Harry, you know you can’t be playing-"

"I said I'm fine," Harry's voice rose, his frustration evident as he cut her off, causing Y/N to jump at the sudden outburst.

Anne's concern softened into a resigned sigh, her eyes reflecting a mixture of worry and understanding. "Alright, Harry," she relented, her tone gentler now. "Just promise me you're taking care of yourself."

Harry's features softened, a hint of remorse flickering in his eyes. "I promise, Mum," he said, his voice softer now, more subdued.

Anne nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good. That's all I ask."

As the atmosphere relaxed, Anne turned her attention back to Y/N, her smile warm and welcoming. "Well, it's lovely to see you again, Y/N," she said kindly. “Tell your parents we’ll be stopping by in the spring.”

Y/N returned the smile, her earlier nervousness dissipating in the warmth of Anne's acceptance. "It was nice to see you too, " she replied sincerely.

Harry glanced at Y/N, a softness in his gaze that made her heart skip a beat. After seeing his mother out following her very brief visit, Y/N finally mustered the courage to ask, "What was she talking about?"

Harry's expression turned grave, his features shadowed by a sense of burden. "It was nothing," he replied.

"Why can't you play?" Y/N pushed, her concern evident in her voice.

"Y/N, I'm telling you to leave it alone," Harry warned, his tone firm.

But Y/N couldn't let it go. "If it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" she insisted, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Because it's none of your business, that's why," Harry snapped, his words cutting like a knife. 

"Nothing I do or say has anything to do with you, so go back to hating me because it's a hell of a lot easier than what I have to deal with."

Y/N's heart sank at his harsh words. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms, her resolve hardening. "You know, now I remember why we never got along in the first place," she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. With a sharp turn on her heel, she made her way to the front door. "You're such an asshole, Harry."

"Y/N," Harry called out, his voice tinged with regret as she stormed out of his apartment towards the elevator. "Y/N, come on, don't be like that."

"Go suck a dick," she shot back, stepping into the elevator before Harry could stop her.

As the doors closed, Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Let me drive you back, at least," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the sound of the closing doors.

"Fine," Y/N huffed, her tone clipped with annoyance.

The car ride back to her dorm was tense and silent. When Harry pulled into the front of her dormitory, Y/N moved to open the door finding the silence far too uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, Harry's voice broke the silence. "I can't play tennis anymore," he confessed, his words heavy.

Y/N's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean you can't play anymore? That's ridiculous," she exclaimed, her disbelief evident in her voice.

Harry's hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I mean I can't ever play tennis again," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her voice trembling with shock.

"I tore my ACL during practice for the French Open. I—" Harry's voice trailed off, unable to continue, “It was so bad Y/N and I was in so much fucking pain and no one would listen to me. I went through multiple surgeries and rehab but the doctors sat me down and said I couldn’t play unless I wanted to fuck up my leg for the rest of my life.” 

“Harry…” Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears. 

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of Harry's words sank in. She glanced over at him, seeing the pain etched in his features, and felt a surge of empathy wash over her. It was a devastating blow for someone who had dedicated their life to the sport they loved.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Y/N whispered, her voice filled with genuine sadness for the boy beside her.

Harry managed a small nod, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “That’s why I had to come back here. My father can barely look at me and my mother won’t leave me alone. At least here I can be around people my own age but when I’m at home, it’s fucking suffocating Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine losing the one thing she loved above anything else in the world and have to re-construct everything she had ever known to find something else to love just as much. 

“I don’t expect you to say anything but I’d appreciate it if you showed me a little mercy,” He spoke. 

“Why would you offer to coach me then? Would that not make things worse?” She asked.

He looks at her, really looks at her, like there was something on the tip of his tongue he wanted to say but couldn’t, “I figured it would alleviate the pain.” 

“But I saw you play, I watched you and you beat me,” She exclaimed.

“Yeah and it hurt like a bitch afterwards,” He shook his head.

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wondered why Harry had been unwilling to play against her during the training sessions and now she knew why. She felt awful, her heart was hurting for him. 

“I don’t want you to feel pity for me and I don’t want this to change anything between us. I’m tired of being treated like a broken toy and I think it would kill me inside if you looked at me differently.” 

Y/N stayed quiet, facing forward and collecting her thoughts before saying, “Thank you for telling me,” She murmured, “And it doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole,”

Harry laughed and then his pinky brushed the side of her hand, “You will be everything tomorrow.” He whispered.

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the soft edge of his words, “You think so?”

His eyes softened, “I believe in you, more than anyone in the entire world.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and looking out the window. The tension had settled and now a newfound respect lingered between them. 

She would win tomorrow, for herself and for him. 

. . . 

It had been a while since Harry had been to a tennis tournament. The last time he was on a court for an official match was well over six months ago, it was a challenger match he participated in during his training for the French Open before his life took a vast turn. 

He sat in the stands with everyone else from Crestwood who had come to watch the first game. Although Crestwood Academy invested more in the football team than any other sport, the turnout had been pretty good and nearly every seat was occupied by a student or teacher. 

On the opposite side was Eaststone Academy who seemed to have invested heavily in their merchandise for Y/N’s opponent. Everyone was either wearing a t-shirt with Vanya’s name on it or carrying a sign with supportive catchphrases written in bold marker. 

Harry craned his neck in hopes of seeing Y/N preparing herself somewhere outside of the court but couldn’t find her anywhere. He’d sent her a quick message this morning and asked her if she needed anything but she insisted she wanted to be alone. 

“Fuck, it’s good we got in the queue early,” Mitch came by with an anxious Sarah, holding two cokes in his hand. They were both wearing navy shirts and sweatbands around their heads, Sarah was holding a sign that had Y/N’s name on it. 

“She’s gonna hate you for that,” Harry tried not to smile.

“Oh I already know,” Sarah said, “She watched me make it last night and then almost ripped in half when I asked her if I should bedazzle it.”

Harry’s expression changed into one of concern, “How was she?”

“She’s nervous but she insisted she was okay,” Sarah rolled her eyes, “You know how she is.”

He did, which was why he was willing to accept the fact she wanted to be by herself even though he was desperate to drive over there with strawberry milkshakes just so he could see that smile he had been dreaming about for the past three weeks. 

Suddenly, Eaststone Academy stood from their seats and cheered as Vanya Maddison came onto the court. “I’ve never seen such long legs,” Sarah gasped, saying what both Harry and Mitch were thinking. 

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as the people around him stood on their feet. He glanced down to the court and his eyes fell on Y/N as she walked onto the court with a dip between her brows and her tennis bag over her shoulder. 

She was wearing a white, pleated skort and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Her hair was slicked back as tightly as possible into a braid and her white runners were tied up on her feet. He noticed she was wearing earbuds in her ears and then found the walkman he had given her clipped to her skort. He smiled at that, wondering which of the many songs he had put together she was listening to. 

“There she is,” Sarah pointed and then waved to get her attention. 

Y/N held a hand over her face to block the sun and looked up at the crowd. When she caught sight of Sarah, she offered a friendly wave before her eyes landed on Harry. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then walked to her seat on the other side of the umpire. 

“C’mon,” Harry murmured, feeling his palms sweating at the sight of her. 

“She’s got this in the bag, H.” Mitch puts a hand on his shoulder. 

Through the speakers, the umpire calls out the start of the match and everyone falls silent as both players walk to opposing sides of the court. Y/N bounces on her feet and swings her racket backwards and forwards as though warming herself up before the match starts.

When the first serve came, Y/N's reflexes kicked in. She returned the ball swiftly, keeping the rally going with her quick movements, remembering what Harry had taught her. Each exchange became more intense, but Y/N stayed determined, chasing down every ball.

When Vanya hit the ball for the other corner, Y/N ran towards it and returned the ball swiftly, earning the first point with a well-placed shot. The crowd erupted into cheers as Y/N gained an early lead.

“That’s my girl!” Harry clapped his heart in his throat. 

But Vanya wasn't about to let up. With determination in her eyes, she fought back, winning the next two points with powerful serves and precise shots. The score was now in Vanya's favor, and the pressure was on for Y/N.

“Fuck!” Y/N released a growl and hit her racket against the floor before storming off to her seat. Harry was tempted to walk down and help her but he needed to let her see what she was capable of on her own. 

Her anger was radiating from her, “I’d hate to get on her bad side,” Mitch said. 

Harry couldn’t seem to reply as he leant forward with both his elbows on his knees. “C’mon, c’mon, you can do it.” He mutters, thinking of the first bit of advice he had given her. 

“Do you know what your biggest strength is in this game?” Harry asked.

“My speed?” Y/N frowned. 

“Your anger,” He replies, “Off the court, it’s a little annoying but on the court, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Use it.” 

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and stood on her feet. She walked back to her line on the court and bounced the ball up and down on the ground before throwing it up in the air and hitting it with a flat serve, exactly the way Harry had taught her. Her anger radiated from her as she slammed the ball with her racket and hit it with such force it went flying to the other end of the court but not before bouncing inside the square right by Vanya’s foot. 

Harry stood to his feet and pumped his fist into the air, “Holy shit!” Mitch exclaimed as Sarah cheered beside him. 

They were now at match point and Y/N had to win this next round if she wanted to win the entire game.

The tension thickened in the air as people sat on the edge of their seats to see who would come out on top. This time, it was Vanya’s turn to serve as she launched the ball into the air and hit it with her racket to Y/N’s side of the court.

As Y/N unleashed powerful serves and precise shots, Harry found himself captivated by her every move. With each grunt of exertion, each flex of her muscles, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Despite the shifting heads of the spectators around him as they followed the ball back and forth, his gaze remained fixed solely on her.

Every aspect of Y/N's play had him in a trance—the way her muscles rippled as she sprinted across the court, the intensity in her expression as she anticipated Vanya’s next move, the graceful sway of her hair with each swing of her racket.

But as Harry watched, something stirred within him. A warmth spread through his veins, igniting a fire deep within him. Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his shorts, a physical reaction to the raw power and determination radiating from Y/N on the court.

"Oh, fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, his heart racing as he glanced down and saw the undeniable bulge in his shorts. Panic surged through him, his mind reeling with embarrassment.

"What's wrong?" Mitch's voice cut through his thoughts, and Harry quickly lowered his drink to conceal his arousal.

“N-Nothing,” Harry forces a smile, “I need to use the bathroom.” He doesn’t wait for Mitch to respond as she pushes past everyone to get away from the crowd.

He walks quickly over to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was thirteen years old after experiencing girls for the first time again. Was it wrong to rub himself off in the middle of a tennis match when all he was looking at was the girl who played his favourite sport better than anyone he had ever seen, dominating the game with her anger and intensity like she was a complete animal?

He couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind and his cock seemed to ache the more he thought about how beautiful she was on the court, completely in her element, anger and passion emitting from her. Every grunt and groan she made as she hit the ball with so much fervor had his head spiralling. 

He looked down and tried to will it away, he needed to get back out there to see her win the game. He thought of every disturbing thing he could possibly think of and even took out his phone to google the quickest way to get rid of an erection.

The excited yells of the crowd told him someone had won and he prayed he would return and see Y/N with the medal around her neck. 

After about ten minutes of taking deep breaths, he finally felt composed enough to leave his car. With a flustered face, he made his way back toward the court, silently praying for some kind of cosmic intervention to erase the embarrassing moment from his memory.

As he turned the corner, he spotted Mitch and Sarah engaged in conversation with Y/N, who was proudly wearing the gold medal around her neck. She had won - he knew she would. 

Y/N's eyes lit up as she noticed him, a wide smile spreading across her face as she proudly displayed her medal. Unable to resist, he grinned back in response.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and delicate strands of hair framed her face. At that moment, she radiated beauty, and he couldn't deny the sudden surge of emotions that had slowly been weaving themselves into the fabric of his feelings ever since he had returned to Crestwood. 

If the past fifteen minutes were anything to go by, Harry knew this was more than just a game of tennis. 

He was in trouble.

. . .

People cheered as Y/N entered Harry’s apartment with Sarah at her side, holding beer cans in the air and patting her on the shoulder as she sifted through the crowds of people. S&M by Rhianna played over the speakers as the apartment that was previously empty was now filled up with student’s from Crestwood. 

“There she is,” Mitch’s voice yelled over the music, “Crestwood’s very own Serena Williams,”

“I wouldn’t go that far Mitch,” She chuckled, unable to stop herself from smiling so hard after the excitement of her first win. 

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as she went in search of the one person she wanted to see whilst everyone fell into conversation around her. 

That’s when she saw him, leaning against the wall with a red solo cup in his hand. His hair was a tangled mess, and his body was adorned in a loose, white shirt, its u-neck revealing the inked pair of swallows beneath his collarbones and gold chain around his neck. On his legs, he wore a loose pair of black trousers.

Y/N held back a smile as she made her way over to him until she realised who he was talking to. 

Her face fell as she saw the angelic blonde, tanned and glowing like she’d just come back from a holiday somewhere south of the equator. 

Harry’s face lit up as Y/N approached until he realised what was going on.

“Hey,” He smiled, trying to distract her. 

“Where were you?” Y/N snapped her gaze towards him. 

“What do y’ mean? M right here,” He spoke, “You were incredible out there.”

“Who’s this?” Y/N ignored him, folding her arms and looking at the girl he was speaking to. Y/N knew exactly who she was but felt the need to act as though she had never seen her before. 

Harry hesitated for a moment before introducing her. “Y/N, this is Astrid.”

Astrid flashed a dazzling smile at Y/N, her demeanour friendly yet confident. “Congratulations on the win today, Y/N. I’m looking forward to our match in the semifinals.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. “What?” he stammered, clearly taken aback.

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, surprised. “Y/N and I will be facing off in the semifinals.”

Y/N grit her teeth and forced a smile, the two girls eyeing each other up and down as Harry’s eyes darted anxiously between them.

Now that Y/N was into the semi-finals her next opponent was Astrid Anderson, one of the best junior, female tennis players in the county. 

Who just so happened to be Harry’s ex-girlfriend.

[paintedkinzy-88]

Have a big ol’ info dump about Spirits and Ghosts in the Flicker AU! To get my thoughts organized mostly. It’s super long because these two classes are the foundations of pretty much everything else ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Think of this like looking into a bit of Donnie’s research, cuz this would basically be most of what he learned from Drax or at the mystic library.

There are also a handful of other paranormal entities in this world… so if you want the full list, I’ll try getting that done as quickly as I can.

Spirits:

The spirit is the most common form of afterlife! They are souls that are fully satisfied with their life and don’t have any desire to stick around — they are ready to move on.

They are bound together by strong familial bonds, with or without blood relation. These bonds empower each other and create a space in the afterlife for souls to safely go to, but it also means they can still keep track of living family as well. If their bond is strong enough, like the Hamatos, they can also be summoned and visible in the living world!

On a few occasions, a spirit may come down to the mortal world on their own terms, though it takes a lot of energy. They usually have the backing of the other ancestors in the family.

Families with strong mystic connections are even more powerful, building with each generation as more ancestors are available to provide the living members that strength. (Despite the amount of mysticism in the world, this is fairly rare.) This also means the spirits can provide individual support by attaching themselves to a living person, similar to Karai’s bond with April.

Spirits in the living world are fully visible and, to a point, tangible as well. They can choose to hide themselves, or to only allow select people to perceive them, but it is fully in their control. Their appearance relies entirely on their sense of identity, manifesting into what they see as their truest self.

They can also fully see other entities, even if those entities cannot be seen by mortals.

Ghosts:

While not totally common, if you are not a spirit after death, it’s most likely you would be a ghost instead. These are souls that are not satisfied with their life in some way, whether that be unfinished business, or just a reluctance to leave the mortal world. Some ghosts know exactly why they are still around, whereas others may never know.

Ghosts are fairly weak. They do not have their full soul, as most of it is still trying to move on. Because of this, not only are they left with an empty, unfinished feeling, but they are not at all visible to the naked eye. Only the ones with a connection to death can see them, such as mediums or other dead beings. Some yokai will have the ability to sense their presence, such as skeletons… but otherwise not know who or what it is.

Certain crystals or spells can also provide mortals the ability to see/hear the dead, though they are very hard to come by.

They also do not have much control over the physical world. Touching objects can take a lot of energy and practice, as trying too much can drain them to exhaustion. However, though a bit trickier to get a hold of, messing with electricity is far less tiring, meaning lights, appliances, computers, and anything of the sort are all much easier for a skilled ghost to interact with!

Similarly, ghosts can easily manipulate small flames. They are the easiest thing to interact with, though only to an extent. Blowing out candles was always a yokai’s first reliable sign of paranormal activity.

Other signs are as follows: cold spots, moving objects, flickering lights, air movement, knocking, or, eventually, staticky screens, appliances beeping/malfunctioning, music, and even messages/emails/notifications.

Due to their lack of soul, a visual form is also harder to control. Where spirits are seen as their truest self, a ghost can only appear as how they were in the moment of death. For many, that may not be much of an issue, having died unexpectedly in their sleep or from an inner sickness. For others, such as Leo, it is a far more gruesome look.

A ghost can move on to become a spirit, if their needs/wants have been satisfied. Most do. Some never will. Others will transition into a different class, such as phantoms, specters, banshees, or poltergeists.

IT IS IMPORTANT TO NOTE: not every sign of paranormal activity is ACTUALLY a paranormal being. Some yokai have the ability to turn invisible. Some yokai are cruel and mischievous. You cannot always rely on physical means of confirmation, such as ghost hunting technology or Ouija boards. Mediums or spirits are the most recommended source, but spells and crystals can also do should you need visible proof.

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 12: Lessons in nature

First chapter | Previous

Sorry for not posting last week. I'm out on vacation at the moment. Enjoy the chapter!

“Alright,” Virgil stated as he summoned a few twigs, stones and dried out flowers to lay between them.

“From a seed or some pollen we can grow the plants they belong to. If you want to get fancy you can combine pollen from different plants and with some focus you’ll create a hybrid that would be impossible to grow naturally. You saw Patton apply this quick growing in combat already,” Virgil surmised as he picked up a twig.

“Now, what I want you to do, is see how you can command this twig. It works best if you start with things you are familiar with. Now. Impress me,” Virgil instructed. Sitting back expectantly.

Roman held the twig in his hands and studied it for a long moment. Hoping for a spark of inspiration… Oh.

He smiled and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath and letting his magic flow like with the flower… He could feel the wood shift under his fingers…

“Well done. Not bad for a first time. Usually it takes a few tries to make something recognizable,” Virgil said, feeling impressed and even a little proud.

Roman opened his eyes and smiled as he found himself holding a flute. He brought it to his lips and played a little melody.

“It even sounds right,” Virgil noted. “Good, now try with this,” he instructed as he handed him a flower. “Try to push yourself a little more this time. Use a little imagination,” he probed.

Roman considered that for a moment. Thought of what Virgil said. Commanding the forces of nature. He looked at the flower, then his flute... and got an idea. He picked up a second flower and made them both healthy again before willing them to change shape to his will like he did with the twig.

"Cute," Virgil allowed as roman put the two now humanoid looking flowers down. They had roots for legs, leaves for arms and their buds were their faces though they also wore cute flower petal dresses. It wasn’t very detailed, but recognizable enough.

Roman knew Virgil wasn’t too impressed. The flowers had been more malleable than the twig and these dolls weren't that much more complex.

But Roman wasn't done. He picked up his flute and played a tune. Making the dolls come to life and dance with one another. That did get Virgil's approval.

"Great work. Using Music as a commanding medium, an excellent choice," he praised.

"You are a fast learner," he added.

"Well. I'm not an apprentice anymore," Roman countered.

"No. But it seems a lot of this goes against your previous training. And it's never easy to unlearn a way of thinking," Virgil pointed out.

Roman shrugged. "Not that hard when you have spent time in the memory of a high mage..." he mused.

Virgil nodded. "That's actually a good point," he allowed. Then he gestured to the stones.

"Last one before I take Star out of the house for some fresh air. Stone is harder to command but it will be more sturdy. Let’s see what you come up with," Virgil stated.

Roman glanced to Patton. Recalling Virgil's instructions on how to control the light. Patton had struggled. But Patton was not Roman. Patton was cautious with his magic, scared to accidentally hurt someone. Roman was bold. Patton was insecure about being scary, Roman was confident in his knowledge and control over his inner fire. On top of all that: Roman knew in his heart of hearts that Virgil had no doubt that he could do this and he was not going to argue against the judgement of a well experienced teacher.

He picked up a stone and poured himself into it. Changing it inside and out. Gifting it a piece of his own will. He opened his palm and he felt the stone move. He opened his eyes to see the little guy get up on his feet and look at its creator... wow.

“A little golem. That is interesting. I’ve never seen one so small. Try and make it do something,” Virgil suggested feeling fascinating and endeared by the small, stone creature.

Roman thought on that for a moment. Do something… "Um. Go get me that book please," he instructed. Pointing to a book on the third shelf.

Might as well see how it would fare. Virgil’s surprised reaction gave him the feeling that he might have aimed a bit higher than he’d expected, but he was not going to lose faith that the little guy could do it. He was imbued with Roman’s will after all, not to mention it was a literal creature of Earth. He would figure it out.

The stone puppet made a salute and jumped of his hand before Roman had fully lowered him to the ground. And on he marched. Much to Virgil’s amusement and admiration. He must have done it right then.

"Okay. Now, as for the upcoming fight," Virgil started, pulling Roman’s full attention back to their conversation.

"Using these kind of spells in a combat situation will require quick thinking and a lot of improvisation. Understanding the materials you'll be working with ahead of time will be a big advantage. Having a few tricks in mind is also going to be useful. But it is going to be hectic. So don't work anything out too detailed. Have basic ideas ready that can be adapted depending on what situation you find yourself in," Virgil stated. He summoned a piece of parchment and a quill.

"Based on where we are going, research these plants and minerals. Working with their existing properties rather than forcing them to fit your goal will work a lot better." Virgil instructed handing him the finished list.

"Oh... hello little guy."

Patton's voice pulled them out of the lecture.

Little stone dude had reached Patton and had gotten his attention.

"You want up?" Patton asked as he picked him up and followed signed instructions towards the book it needed. Patton pulled it from the bookshelf for him and then brought it over to Roman. "Um... here?" He said holding out the book and the little stone dude.

"Thank you Patton," Roman smiled as he accepted both. "Have a nap, you earned it," Roman said as he tucked the stone dude in his infinity bag along with his flute.

He looked at the book he'd gotten. "Lake based vegetation and minerals huh? A good start," he smirked, looking at Virgil challengingly. There was no way he'd just gotten that lucky.

Virgil simply smiled and got up. "Star, walk!" He called. In an instant star went from his napping spot in the corner to Virgil's side.

"Good boy." He praised before turning to them. "I'll be back soon. Then we'll sleep, eat, and leave. Until then study up. Pack anything you need another look at on the road," he instructed. They nodded. And he left.

"Desk," Logan stated firmly. Roman got off the ground and joined his friends at the desk. They all laid their books down and started reading.

When they studied together they noticed that, under the right conditions they could study and also hold a conversation about something else. Which was handy now, when they had only a little time alone and a lot had come at them in the past few days.

"This house is so much fun! And so polite!!!" Patton gushed.

"Which does speak to its owner's character," Logan allowed.

Roman wrote down some basic information on a plant and some ideas what it could be used for before putting in his two cents. "I think it is safe to say you trust Virgil now. Great wizard mage Logan of the forgotten path?" Roman pointed out. "I never thought you'd be the first to cave and use a forbidden spell," he added.

"Two words. Moon Flower. Do not think I didn't see you use it on the farmlands," Logan pointed out. "Okay, but that's an ingredient, not a spell." Roman argued as he picked up the map Logan had laid on the table and unfolded it to study the area where the lake was supposed to be, making some educated guesses on the sort of stones the cult would have access to to build their temple. "And the circumstances were entirely different. I used it to save a village. You did it to kiss up to the teacher," Roman insisted when he was satisfied with his list.

He knew a lot about many minerals by heart. Plants that grew at the bottom of a lake, not so much.

"Hypocrite says what." Logan huffed.

"Excuse me?!" Roman gasped offended.

"You are excused. And don't think I haven't noticed you two flirting in silence it’s-"

"So cuuute! Are you two dating!!!?"

Roman felt suddenly very concerned about his penmanship and looked closer at his notes.

"No. No he doesn’t want to split his attention too much between saving his friend and dating me... though the signals are a little mixed," Roman admitted.

"You probably should talk to him about that then," Logan pointed out.

"So you no longer object to me dating Virgil?" Roman concluded.

"I was apprehensive at first," Logan nodded. "Not just because of possible feelings between the arch mage and the night flame. But because on the night flame’s end those might have been negative and I was not sure which side we'd end up on. But after seeing his last memory of him, and considering you didn't seem to have caught onto any preexisting negative feelings, I feel fairly confident we will side with Virgil should we be forced to take a side at some point," Logan stated. That made them all go quiet. None of them had really voiced the possibility that Gustav might turn out to be evil yet. But now it was out in the open and they couldn't take it back.

“Yeah. I think we can trust Virgil to have a good eye on the situation,” Patton agreed.

“Yes, me too,” Roman added, though he didn’t think either of them doubted where he stood on the matter. It just felt good to have it all said out loud.

Then they heard a door open and a bark. Virgil and Star were back.

Next thing Roman knew he was tackled to the ground and showered in doggy greetings.

“Star! Hi!” he gasped. A whistle sounded through the room and Stardust rushed back to his master’s side.

“Stardust is quite fond of Roman,” Logan observed.

“Well, we have a connection so he knows I must be fond of him. And… well, I just told him that Roman set me free, so he’s very fond of him for his own reasons now too,” Virgil chuckled.

“Told… Through animal speak or does he understand us?” Logan wondered.

“A bit of both,” Virgil shrugged. “Now, enough chit chat. There are two guest rooms so Roman, you’ll be coming with me. See you guys in an hour,” he announced.

Roman shot up from the floor. He couldn’t mean…?

“Roman!” Virgil called, already halfway through one of the side doors.

Flustered but not wanting to be left behind with his friends, who’d have their thoughts on the matter, he rushed behind him, following him through the dressing room into… A void? No he could feel the floor. But it was all black. Except for Virgil and Star somehow. Star floating around the room in their blorb form.

Roman turned to Virgil at a total loss for words. And Virgil looked at him like he had no idea what could possibly be wrong with this scenario.

This man was going to be the death of him.

“What’s the matter?” Virgil asked. “You seem flustered all of a sudden,” he observed.

“Well… Don’t you think that was a little forward?” Roman asked a bit nervous. “You said we should take things slow. But then you… You sit me on your lap, and you give me a flower and now you want us to share your bed…” Roman surmised.

“But… You enjoyed being close while we rode the horse…” Virgil pointed out.

Okay… He couldn’t deny that.

“And we slept next to each other before,” Virgil added.

“Not in the same bed!” Roman protested.

“And we won’t be sleeping. We’ll be meditating,” Virgil corrected. “We won’t be any closer than we were the other nights. And if you are worried about propriety,” Virgil stepped closer to him and ran a finger down his sternum. “Maybe you should stop touching me like that?” he suggested.

Roman’s face went hot… He forgot… When Virgil was in his guide form… He’d forgotten…

Virgil’s steel gaze gave way for mirth and he chuckled. “Teasing, it’s not quite as intimate as when I’m human, but still. Perhaps I’ve been more casual about physical closeness due to those things,” he allowed.

“Even so. It’ll be easier to share a dream if we lay next to one another and are truly comfortable,” he insisted. And then he snapped his fingers and there was now a large round bed in the middle of the void, covered in silky black sheets that seemed to have actual stars sewn into them. And when Roman looked back to the darkness it was like looking at the most dazzling night sky.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Come on,” Virgil chuckled as he laid down on his back on the bed, arms folded behind his head.

After a moment of nervous hesitation Roman mimicked his position.

“In sharing a dream, we could get to know one another better. Or I could teach you some things that might help you become a high mage if that is something that interests you.

Once you’ve become a great mage, if you decide to ascend, it isn’t that difficult. Most mages just need some time to truly accept the power, if they ever feel ready for it,” Virgil explained. The power… The knowledge his guide had offered him when he first meditated… So it wasn’t a shortcoming of his that had made him step back. It was normal not to accept it right away…

“Did it take you long?” Roman wondered.

“Me and my friends had made a pact… But it took me a year to really feel ready, though my guide was pretty insistent I just make the jump after a month or two,” he admitted.

Well, that was alright then…

“I could also teach you other things, in our shared dream. Anything you feel comfortable with. So. What do you say?” he offered.

Roman blushed. “Well… Um… I feel like I should learn as much as I can that can help in the mission,” he said dutifully. Though he really, really wanted to learn more about Virgil as a person…

Virgil hummed in understanding. “Start the meditation ritual, but remember what it felt like to be carried off into my memories. Open your mind to me as I do to you…” he instructed.

Roman closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Letting his magic flow with the in and outflow or air in his lungs.

[isleofdarkness]

The power of Greek gods is fluid, it's an esoteric power. They all have their roles, their domains, and fixed parts of their magics, but most of their power changes. Whatever they need to fulfil their role in the moment, they will have.

In this series, you'll see Hades using telepathy (usually tactile because it's easier for him under the barrier,) empathy and pathokinesis, tactile and distance psychometry, certain types of plant, rock, liquid, fire, metal, and riches manipulation, soul summoning abilities, communing with souls both in and out of his realm, absolute soul manipulation (including soul creation and soul rending) afterlife transport, minor conjuring (he can do far more major stuff in his domain,) binding magic, death manipulation, life manipulation, dark divinity, umbrakinesis, control over weather, decay magic, and this is only a few. All of these powers are things that come in handy with his role and with maintaining the balance between all realms, so he has them. He can only use them within the bounds of what's reasonable (he can't manipulate creatures of the water or sky as easily as he can manipulate creatures of the earth and Underworld,) but he can justify a lot. One of the perks of being the god of paperwork.

All of these powers are restricted under the barrier, but they can't be taken away from him without destroying him, the most that can be done is making it harder for him to use his powers. That's why most of the power he uses on the Isle is tactile (he's not exactly expelling magic if he's transferring it from his fingertips to whatever he's manipulating) or attractive (he naturally attracts riches, gems and metal pop out of the ground on which he walks, kind of like he's a magical magnet. He's not putting magic out, he's drawing things in, like how Riah and Ginny's magics work, so the barrier can't prevent him from doing it.) This serves to make Hades one of the most intimidating people on the Isle. They've seen what he can do. And if he's as powerful as he is under the barrier, gods only know how powerful he'll be when he gets free. So pissing him off isn't something many people are willing to do

[stromuprisahat]

If Zoya is so stupid and useless, why was she chosen as one of the Darkling's main people?

Where?

Because in books, she was strong, yet ordinary Squaller. Perhaps promising, but hardly highly ranking, no matter what she likes to believe.

“You look amazing, Zoya! How are you?” gushed Marie. “We missed you so much!” squealed Nadia. “I missed you, too,” Zoya said. “It’s so good to be back at the Little Palace. You can’t imagine how busy the Darkling’s kept me. But I’m being rude. I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

What stings, is that everyone knows it. It shows, when Zoya attacks Alina. If she were SOMEONE by herself, wouldn't at least one person note that?

to Ivan “... Please tell me you were there when he [the Darkling] told Zoya she’d be leaving Os Alta.” “I was.” “And?” I urge as we head down the hill to the birch grove. I’m a greedy thing, but how can I be expected to resist this gossip? Ivan shrugs, scowling. “He just made it clear that she’s replaceable and Starkov isn’t.”

The Tailor

Marie rolled her eyes. “She can’t bear the idea of anyone being the Darkling’s favorite.” I laughed and then winced at the stab of pain in my side. “I’m hardly his favorite.” “Of course you are. Zoya’s powerful, but she’s just another Squaller. You’re the Sun Summoner.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

She's rash, and to lead or bear considerable amount of responsibility, she'd need to unlearn that, start thinking about others and most importantly about impact of her (in)action. It might be why she was stationed near the Fold. I've theorised about it a few months back- it's the ideal position for her. She's (partly) answerable for the skiff and people on it, but danger comes in predictable form of volcra. It's the perfect place to learn what she's lacking.

She's barely out of school, she lacks experience- why would the Darkling give her important position, when he has hundreds of people to choose from? What's "main" about the person, who's driving a skiff?

Now where did the notion she's the Darkling's super special girl come from?

“Zoya Nazyalensky, who was one of the Darkling’s most favored soldiers.”

Yuri Vedenen; King of Scars- Chapter 9

That's an information coming from religious fanatic, several years after the Darkling's death AND merry application of current regime's propaganda.

Have you ever noticed how there's not a single mention of Ivan post-his death? We don't even know his surname. Aside from him, there's not one (1) named Grisha from his side.

It's easy to be remembered as the favourite, when you erase existence of anyone else.

Even in her memories, she's among the promising ones, yet not favoured, not hand-picked.

“... I was the youngest of the group and so proud to be chosen to go. I was half in love with him already. I lived for the rare moments he appeared at the school.” She shook her head. “I was the best, and I wanted him to see that … The older Grisha were all in contention for the amplifier. It was up to them to track the tigers and see who would earn the right to the kill. ...”

King of Scars- Chapter 27

The interest is one-sided, Zoya draws the Darkling's attention by stealing three amplifiers from other Grisha, her recklessness and short-sightedness, not her capability.

The closest we get to some sort of recognition, is in Aleksander's chapter in RoW, when he points out her deficiencies and admits some of it made her work hard.

And if Zoya ever learned to harness the power she’d been given? She was still vulnerable, still malleable. Her anger made her easy to control. When this war was done and the casualties counted, she might once more be in need of a shepherd. She had been one of his best students and soldiers, her envy and her rage driving her to train and fight harder than any of her peers. And then she’d turned on him.

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 26

I have one (rather big) objection- Zoya has never been a good soldier. She failed twice on rather important occasions- the amplifier and Alina incidents-, proving her self-control is lacking. That rage he's for some reason praising here, makes her dangerous to those peers she's trying to outdo.

But hey- he barely crawled back from the dead, his mental skills won't be at their best- why would he plan to manipulate Zoya without a single mention of Juris? The Saint isn't gonna disappear any time soon (if ever), and he's hardly Aleksander's fan.

[copiass]

What's In A Name?

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,218

Warnings: nsfw, light dom/sub, oral sex, glove kink, dirty talk, office sex

"It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip-up that had sparked something sick and wicked right in the pit of your stomach."

AKA: Whilst harbouring a secret crush you use your boss’ last name without him knowing. (I know nothing about tax returns or identity fraud, deal with it.)

Can also be read on ao3

Other fics here

It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip up that had sparked something sick and wicked in the pit of your stomach. An urge to fulfil some long-dormant, base need that had somehow started to form in the deepest part of your gut. An urge that had, admittedly, spiralled out of control weeks ago. An urge that currently had you pacing towards Copia’s office, pretty sure you were about to get fired.

You’d been Papa’s Personal Assistant for about six months, and up to now it had been going just swimmingly. The promotion had been a surprise, the latest Sister handing in her notice red-faced and vexed after being summoned to Copia’s office for yet another lecture. She had managed to last 2 months, admittedly his longest up to that point. But his PA’s always ended up the same, pacing and ranting endlessly in Imperators' office, notice in hand, begging to be moved elsewhere to spare his ‘incessant micromanaging’. You had been fairly new to the clergy, eager to make a good impression with a secret soft-spot for the newest Papa. With, unsurprisingly, few takers for the role all it had taken was a short interview with some of the higher members of the clergy and you were in, your own desk, a stripe of Papa’s blue added to your uniform and even an extra half-day off in the week (though, admittedly, you rarely saw it). 

It hadn’t taken you long to realise that Copia was not, in-fact, an insufferable asshole, a particularly cruel employer, or a dictatorial micro-manager. He just appreciated when things were done a certain way. And - oh - you’d made the effort to learn, how he liked his papers filed and tabs colour-coded, how he preferred his stationary ordered at his desk, the exact temperature he liked his afternoon tea. It became easy, placing things on his desk before even he realised he needed them, slipping his old books back to the library without him asking, making sure his reading glasses were sat right where he would reach for them while he absent-mindedly flicked through paperwork. It just worked. The more time you spent with him the more you understood what he wanted, what he needed, just intuitively. Yes, Copia ran a tight ship, with little to no room for slip ups, but you soon realised it’s because it had to be that way. His keen attention to detail sometimes seeming like the only thing keeping the whole ship afloat and fully functional. 

Not that he had made it easy for you. It was like he had already resigned you to failure that first morning you showed up in his office, eyes flicking over you briefly before he looked back down his nose through his glasses, examining spreadsheets with a displeased hum. It had only pushed you, the more unmoved he appeared at your presence the harder you worked to get it right. The more paperwork he pushed through your desk without comment, the quicker you filed it. The more he complained about his tea not being right the longer you kept it brewing. The louder he scoffed under his breath at his ink running dry, the sooner you were there to refill his pen. Not with Ministry issued ink, no, but Copia’s favourite ink. The one imported from Italy in a gilded case, kept in the top right-hand drawer, behind his ‘secret’ chocolate stash. And it was worth it - so - worth it when he would give you that look. Like you had pleased him, that he understood what you had done, that he appreciated it, deeply.  

And it felt perversely intimate. Knowing someone so well when you barely knew them at all. You quickly learned Copia was not a morning person and did not like to chit-chat before at least 9.30am. His favourite lunch was on Fridays when the kitchens brought up a small charcuterie board paired with an expensive red to finish off the work week. He preferred the black olives to the green ones, even though you insisted they were the same just to wind him up and watch the smirk pull at his painted lips. You learned how he bit away at those same lips when he was expecting a phone call from Saltarian, and how he rubbed at his temples when he had been working too long, the both of you sprawled across the desks working into the early hours of the morning. 

Copia learned too. He learned that when you were stressed you’d chew on the end of his, frustratingly, expensive pens as you worked, brow furrowed as you read over his work. He learned that if he voiced his distaste for green olives for long enough you would eventually slink over to the other side of his desk and steal them off of his plate, neglecting to use cutlery, giving him the chance to watch your oil slicked fingers slip them gently into your mouth. He learned that you were eager, so eager, for every challenge he presented to you. Eager to prove him wrong, eager to impress him. He also learned that you liked to poke at him, test the waters, push his buttons just to tease. 

“Ai! This stress will be giving me even more greys, Sister.” He’d complain, whining and smoothing at the silver hair at his temples, checking his reflection in the gilded mirror in his office. 

“Oh, I do hope so, Papa.” You’d sigh back with a wink, savouring the way he would look over to you, eyes burning in the candlelight of his office, eyebrows raised in a mock warning.

And there it was. The fine line that you both danced around in the confines of his office. You initially made a point of not seeing him outside of work, intentionally ignoring the pointed silence that had started to emerge everytime Copia announced he was retiring to his rooms for the evening, avoiding his offices on your days off, only seeing him at Masses with the rest of the clergy. But soon enough it just became easier to spend your lunch breaks together, whispering clergy gossip over a now shared pot of tea. And then it was just easier to eat dinner together over paperwork, the kitchens bringing two dishes instead of the one. And then it was just easier to have a quick shared nap on the couch in his office when trying to meet a particularly challenging deadline, the weight of your head pressed nicely into the warm meat of his thighs as his gloved hand rubbed at your temple lightly. 

It was inevitable really. To be so close to a Papa, to be so close to him and have him seep into every crack, every crevice of your subconscious. It was funny, to see behind the facade, to witness him as just a man at his desk every day, swearing under his breath at his “horseshit” brothers who couldn’t balance out a spreadsheet to save their lives, and yet also see that he was objectively not just a man. The confidence with which he carried himself, the way he unashamedly let his gaze linger, his reluctance to ever speak indirectly or without purpose. And if you had to finish off most evenings alone with your fingers between your thighs and his name falling from between your lips, that was your prerogative. Copia didn’t have to know. You were driven, determined even, to not let it distract you. To prove to him you could work well, help him achieve his vision without getting preoccupied with something else. 

So, naturally, when the postman responsible for delivering your mail made a mistake, just a tiny, minor mistake, it should have been an easy fix, a laughable offence. When the postman dropped off the usual letters and packages with a warm smile, and a casual ‘Mrs Emeritus, I take it?’ you should have laughed politely and corrected him as you took the mail. You should have clarified your position, maybe even offered up your own name instead. You should have taken the mail to Copia and offhandedly mentioned the exchange so you could both laugh at just how ridiculous that concept was. 

Yet, before you could even think, before logic even had the chance to enter the equation you found yourself nodding, smiling as you took the mail with a surprisingly confident;

‘Yeah - that’s me.’ 

Any sense of professionalism, common sense or even decency were outweighed by the sudden, sick satisfaction at the implication not just of being his assistant, but his wife. Copia fucked around, you knew that, gathered as much from the gossip around the ministry. Not that you’d dared to ever ask him personally, though due to embarrassment or jealousy you weren’t really sure. You knew he had a reputation, that was just part of being Papa, it came with the job. When the urge took him he had any number of Siblings to choose from to satisfy him for the night. But being his wife. That was different. 

You’d shut the door, letting your back hit the dark wood as you grinned to yourself, cheeks still flushing at an implication you’d never considered before. You let the fantasy wash over you, picturing what it could be like, how he would hold you, how he would adore you, how he would fuck you. For a moment you weren’t just his assistant, who tidied his desk and sorted his mail and served his tea, but his partner. His equal. Your head had felt dizzy with it, the words of the delivery man still buzzing in your ears, pulse racing, cheeks flushed. You’d thrown the letters down on Copia’s desk a little more hurriedly than usual, rushing back to your own desk pointedly avoiding his gaze. If he noticed anything he did not comment, choosing instead to sort through the post with just a soft glance your way. 

That’s when it started. This problem. This perverse little game you’d been playing only with yourself. You’d tried to forget it, laugh it off as a joke and nothing more, just a mistake that caught you off guard. But that seed had burrowed down, deep into your gut where even you couldn’t remove it. Then it spread, reaching even into your dreams, filling them with images of dishevelled greying hair and slick leather gloves. It had appealed to some base nature deep within you, eager and possessive. Yes, the first time had been a mistake - but offhandedly signing a receipt with that same name certainly had not been. Neither had the second receipt. Nor had the third. Or that new email signature to an outside agency. Or the rooms booked under your name on the last tour. 

Who would know? You’d reasoned to yourself, knowing that the only person checking the paperwork was, by default, you. Copia was none the wiser, more important things to think about than receipts for minor purchases or email signatures. You’d never use that name inside the ministry, it was a dangerous game after all - playing with the Emeritus name. You’d seen what had happened to those who played games the Ministry didn’t approve of and you did not intend to join that list. It wasn’t even about the name, not really - just him. The fantasy that you were someone that was important to him, someone he was attracted to. Theoretically, it was foolproof. It was harmless, no one would ever find out anyway. It just gave you a thrill - the risk of being caught weighed up against the kick of using his name. 

Theoretically. 

It wasn’t until Copia pulled you aside one evening as you were aimlessly fiddling with his diary for the next day that your heart dropped into what felt like your ass. 

“We may need to be breaking into Terzo’s coffee supply the next few days, eh Sister? Hehe.” He’d chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair. 

You flicked your eyes over to him, taking in the way the leather waistcoat lifted as he stretched, pulling up his black undershirt with it, revealing the dark, greying hairs on his lower stomach. Satanas - you’re sure he did it intentionally half the time, just enjoying making you look. Realising you had absolutely no idea what he just said you shook your head.

“What?” 

He smiled at that, flicking his eyes away as he tried to repress it . 

“Tax Returns, Sister. We have a lot of paperwork to get through together.” 

“I thought we got … someone else to do that?” 

You blanched, your stomach flipping as you thought about the stack of paperwork in your locked top draw, signed with a name that is most definitely not your government name. 

“Ai - I am not paying someone to do what we are perfectly capable of doing ourselves.”

 Papa moved to stand behind you, hands coming down to squeeze at your shoulders reassuringly. You absolutely do not think of the size, or weight, of them as they cover most of your frame. 

“And we will do an excellent job as always, Sorella. Nighty night!” 

“Goodnight, Papa.” 

You had sighed in reply, your eyes following him as he moved down the hallway to his private quarters, knowing he’d used your favourite nickname to try and soothe you.

Shit. 

That is how you’ve found yourself pacing to your shared office, praying to any deity that will hear you that Copia does not, for probably the first time in his life, need to see every single detail and scrap of paper that has ever passed through the Ministry. After spending the night tossing and turning and triple checking the receipts just to make sure they definitely didn’t look like he had signed them, you had formulated a game plan. Realistically a few minor receipts would be fine going under the radar. You had made sure to never sign for something important, something there would need to be a paper trail for. You also knew that Papa, being the way that he is, had kept all of his most important paperwork with him, collated in colour coded folders next to his desk, obviously. There is no reason that he would suspect something is amiss, there is no reason for him to suspect you have a hidden stash of, probably illegal, receipts and invoices currently stashed in your bag ready to burn. And there is absolutely no reason for Copia to already be in his office before you get there. 

It seems that no deities have decided to take pity on you. 

You know he’s in a shit mood the second you open the door to the office. The first indicator is that he’s already drinking coffee - which he hates doing. The second is that he’s got an already well-used ashtray on his desk and a cigarette in his mouth, meaning he’s cracked open his also ‘secret’ emergency ‘stress-relief’ smokes. Those usually only make an appearance when he’s got those big annual budget meetings with the upper clergy. Shit. 

Doing your best to look objectively not guilty you sweep over to your desk, flipping your laptop open to check your emails. He’s on the phone, you notice, that stupid ancient phone holder balancing between his shoulder and his ear, cigarette balanced between his full lips. Whoever’s talking is clearly pissing him off, his brow is furrowed and he’s tapping his fingers against the desk. He also hasn’t acknowledged your presence yet which is unlike him, unnervingly unlike him. Unsure of what to do or say you just continue mindlessly tapping keys and clicking on already opened emails, doing anything to look busy and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself. 

“Pah!-” 

Copia spits out, slamming the phone down on the holder in response to whoever was on the other end of the line. You startle and look over to him as he finishes his cigarette with a deep drag. Now that you’re looking at him you can see the extent of his stress. Even under the paint you can see the heaviness under his eyes, the way the waxy pigment has started to crease with the tension in his brow, the way it’s started to rub away a little where he must have been rubbing at his jaw. His hair is just the right side of dishevelled where he’s been running his hands through it, the greys threatening to fall into his face as he talks. His scarf has been pulled loose, hanging somewhere near his chest rather than up near his ruffled collar. His desk is a wreck, different piles of papers stacked and stapled, different mugs strewn in between, an unlidded highlighter cast aside near the phone. He’s been at this all morning. He takes a breath, emptying his lungs of smoke and rolling his neck. 

“Sit.”  

You startle, jumping in your seat. He is not asking. 

“Regretting not getting someone else to do it yet?” 

You joke, trying to save it, though your delivery and flat half chuckle don’t quite manage to sell it. Copia doesn’t bite. 

“That was my brother on the phone.” 

Papa starts, you try not to think about how rough his voice is after taking a drag, much deeper than it usually is. You don’t have to guess which brother, that would explain his sour mood.

“You see, Sister, I am missing paperwork. Some receipts, some invoices - you know-” He motions with his hand as he talks, eyes scanning the papers at his desk, not looking at you just yet.

“So, I call my idiota brother, these things are usually his fault, si?” 

And shit, he’s definitely stalling, he’s getting at something here and you’re hoping, praying it isn’t what you think it is. You force your bouncing knee to still itself, willing your face to be straight and empty of anything that he can pick up on. 

“And yet he says, it is not him. So I do the checking, and he is right-” He scoffs, “for once.” 

You nod, patiently, obediently. Waiting for him to make his point. He turns to look at you, really look at you, the white of his eye somehow more intense than it usually is, stark against the deep paint on his eyes.

“I do not miss paperwork. Sister.”

And there it is. He’s giving you an out. Copia doesn’t give second chances, and this is going to be his only offer at a first. You don’t speak, a million excuses coming to mind at once, each one as equally pathetic as the last. You know how you must look sitting there in front of him. Lying was never one of your strong suits, especially under pressure, especially when it’s to him. Yet it’s like you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of how to get your mouth to move and formulate words. 

“Do understand, Sister, that we do not take this sort of thing lightly. If you were hoping to be fiddling or moving extra money in some way-” 

“Woahwoah-”

You interject without thinking, room spinning a little as your brain catches up to what he’s actually accusing you of. 

“Of course, I would have hoped that you would have told me if-” 

“It’s not that!” 

You hiss at him, suddenly a little offended that he thinks so lowly of you and your intentions. The room is still tilting as you try to save yourself from whatever the fuck is happening. You suddenly realise you’ve just handed yourself a shovel and started digging, Copia’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and fucking hell why does he look so good when he’s mad. 

“Then what is it.” He asks, patience clearly wearing thin, the coffee and nicotine only working to rile him up more. 

You decide if any deities are still listening they should most certainly just open the ground, swallow you whole and just have done already. At this point you honestly don’t know if it would be less embarrassing to just admit to some sort of fraud and risk being excommunicated permanently on grounds of financial criminality. Lucifer - your habit has started sticking to you and your throat feels like it’s closing up, panic setting in. You’re just about to throw the towel in, admit to being some sort of crook when you decide to look at Copia again. 

And it’s devastating. Under the paint, under the mask, under the guise of cold professionalism is worry. Genuine unease sitting in the all too familiar lines of his face. Your chest pulls as you look at him, his eyes threatening to become wet and glassy. You realise that he’s not pissed, but hurt at the idea of you admitting to this, at the notion that his assistant has been dishonest with him. It’s right about then you decide then you would rather suffer any amount of personal embarrassment over hurting him. Without speaking you reach into your bag and pull out the stack of papers you’d been hoping to get rid of. He looks away, immediately wounded at the implication. 

“Just read them.” You breathe out as you throw them onto the desk, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“Sister, You cannot expect me to believe-” 

Copia starts, then pauses once his eyes have scanned over the first few scraps of paper. He stops. He looks up at you. His eyes flick down again, then over the next piece of paper, and then the next. For the first time in six months you think you may have just rendered him speechless. You swear he must be able to hear your heart beating in your chest as you wait for his reply, only just realising that you’ve handed him a metaphorical loaded gun. Satanas, you really must have been stupid, handing over signed proof of your … feelings for him. Copia still hasn’t reacted, not really, choosing to sit further back in the chair and flick through the papers like some sort of sick flipbook.

“Ah.” 

He finally sighs out, dropping them onto the desk, one hand coming to comb through his hair.  

Unable to move your mouth you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Papa doesn’t speak either, reaching for his pack of smokes before lighting one and taking a long, drawn out drag. If you’re being honest his reaction to your confession isn’t exactly inspiring. You hurt a little at that, realising perhaps you had misread the ease between the two of you. Realising that there might have been a reason he’d never propositioned you on those long, late nights alone.

“Which one is it?” 

He finally asks, his voice again deepened by the smoke, his tone one you can’t quite place, sitting somewhere between annoyance and disappointment. 

“What?” 

Granted it comes out a little ruder than you were aiming for, but you’ve been thrown so many curveballs in the last five minutes you’re honestly just grateful to still be sitting upright on the chair. 

“Do not test my patience, Sister. You do not have to hide it now. So - which one is it?” 

Fucking hell Papa could be petulant when he tried. He takes another drag, moving his eyes away from you again, like he can’t bear to look at you. You immediately decide you hate that more than anything else. 

“Copia, I can assure you, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.” 

You’re not sure if it’s because you used his name or the language, or his clear lack of sleep, but either way he bristles at that, eyes fiery turning to look right into yours. Shit, he really is something to look at when he is like this, the logical part of his brain lagging behind his emotion for once. He’s surprisingly menacing, the pupil in his white eye unable to dilate with the other, unbalancing his features. This is the Copia that secured his own place in the lineage. 

“Do not play stupid with me Sister, I will not tolerate it - not from you. This is the Emeritus name, is it not, Sister?” 

“It is, Papa.” 

“And here it sits with your own name, does it not, Sister?” 

“Yes, Papa.” 

“Then, I can only be assuming, Sister, that you have found yourself a considerably comfortable spot in one of my brothers’ harems.”

Your brain completely taps out. You go to open your mouth, in an attempt to say anything. 

“Ah-ah!” 

Copia stops you, taking a moment to calm himself, finishing the cigarette and shoving it into the ashtray. You’ve not seen him like this before, so unpredictable, so wiry. You’d almost have considered it exciting had he not just accused you of fucking one of his brothers. 

“That is … fine, Sister. I just feel I would like to know which brother that is all? It is selfish I know, I just … need to know.” 

Taking a second to process what he just said you lean back in your chair, counting on the ornate backing to catch your fall. You close your mouth, noting you don’t actually know how long it’s been open. It baffles you, faced with the realisation that the man that you have seen write speeches; balance spreadsheets, translate texts, compose music, and recite spells and incantations with ease, is a fucking idiot. Copia notices your lack of a response and shakes his head. 

“Ai - forgive an old man, Sorella. I pry too deeply. I just did not expect that you had-” 

“There is no one else.” You interrupt quietly, for his sake. “Just you.” 

It’s like you can see his brain working, cogs turning behind his eyes as it’s his turn to play catch up. He looks down to examine the papers again, jaw working in that way it always does when he’s thinking. He’s rubbing his fingers together, the room so quiet now you can hear the leather working against itself. Suddenly, you feel even further out of your depth, gooseflesh rising as he finally brings his gaze back up to you. It’s been a long six months, you’d dealt with worried Copia, pissed Copia, unbearably, sickeningly sweet Copia - but never this Copia. The one that’s looking at you like you’re a rabbit in his headlights. Like he can smell you already. 

“Up. Come. Now” 

He snaps his fingers suddenly moving his chair back a little as he taps the top of his desk. Copia does not ask twice. Surprised that your legs are even able to move, you stand slowly, hoping you’ll make it to the desk without embarrassing yourself even further. His eyes don’t leave you as you walk around to his side of the desk,so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. He opens his legs for you to stand between them, making a point of shifting his hips up as he does so. It’s at that minute you decide you absolutely cannot look at anything else but the knot in his loose tie, for the sake of your own self-preservation. 

“Do you know how we got this name, Sorella?” 

Hells his voice is so deep now you’re close it’s almost like a purr, the thrill of it settling right between your thighs. There’s a softness to it but it’s far from kind, far from being anything but mocking. He starts to adjust the sleeves to his black poet shirt and you mentally curse him, it’s like he knows down to the minute how many sleepless nights you’ve spent thinking about those godforsaken sleeves. 

“Now, now Sister. You are usually so talkative, no?” He teases, though again it’s not entirely kind.  

“It was a gift, Papa. From Him” and fuck it’s embarrassing how breathless you are already, thighs clenching just at being this near to him like this. 

He moves quicker than you can react. Before you can process it, he kicks one of your legs from under you, knocking it so you stand wider, legs open in between his own. 

“Errato.”

And just like that he’s standing in front of you, much taller than you remembered, much broader than he seems from where you sit at your desk across the room. You can’t help but shrink back, lean further back into the wood only to be devastated when he follows there too, eyes examining your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. He breathes you in and you can’t help but follow, eyes closing as you take in the smell of him, all incense and smoke and something that must just be him. 

And oh, perhaps those deities had been listening after all. His hands come to cradle your head, holding it as he fiddles with something at the back of neck. With a gentle pull your veil falls away somewhere onto the cluttered desk, exposing you to him. Papa’s eyes flick up to examine you fully now you’re without your veil, like he’s got to squeeze one more look at you in before he’s moving again. His hands wander to find your own, pinning them down the desk under his as he carries on his, frankly lewd, inspection of you. You can’t help but gasp out, surprised that the gloves are warm, and that he’s strong, and that he’s actually touching you. He lowers himself until his face is right next to yours and you can’t bear to look, it's too much, being this close to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking the chance to breathe you in again, nuzzling as close to your neck as he can get without actually touching you. 

“Gifts are given freely, Sorella. Without reason, without obligation.” 

He lets his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

“Try again. How did we get this name?” 

Fuck, it was one thing hearing whispers in the hallways about his talent, all hushed giggles and filthy conspiracy. It’s an entirely different thing to see it in practice, to be the object of his attention when it’s so all-consuming. Your thighs are already wet, you can feel it as they rub against each other. You can feel where the front of his waistcoat is pressed up against your chest as he crowds you into the desk, sure now that he can feel where your nipples are hard against him. His hands snake their way up your arms, before one comes to settle in the back of your hair. Your eyes open as he pulls on it, seeming to relish in the gasp you let out. 

“Say it.” 

He speaks again, nodding mockingly, eyes flicking over your face lingering on your lips as you part them to speak. 

“You earned it, Papa.” 

“Brava Ragazza, Sister. Well done.” 

And Oh - he’s giving you that look, the one that got you into this fucking mess in the first place. Like he’s proud of you, like he sees you. He disappears from view as his lips press against your hairline. 

“You’re always so smart, hm?” 

And you really can’t tell if he’s being genuine or mocking you but you couldn’t care less as his warm, wet lips traced across your forehead, the fingers of his other hand coming to cup your chin and keep you still. It’s barely a kiss, just the press of his lips against your skin but it is singularly the least chaste thing you have ever experienced.

“It is a Sacred name, Sister.” His lips are trailing down the sides of your face as he speaks, lips catching against your skin as he talks. 

“Given to my bloodline by Satan himself.”

Copia finds that spot that sits just behind your ear and chuckles as you shudder against him. You’d put good money on the probability of him mentally logging that away for later. 

“I have worked for this name, I have bled for this name-” 

He pulls away and you’re almost embarrassed that you whine and try to follow, so caught up in the heady way he’s been touching you, you think it might actually kill you if he stops. 

Cruelly, he pulls away completely then, leaving you giddy and off-balance as you look up at him helplessly. 

“I would kill for this name.” 

Papa finishes, his gloved thumb coming to pull at the full flesh of your bottom lip. His face hardens and you understand that he isn’t lying. It’s not a warning, not really, more a confession. Not that you would have ever doubted it anyway. Abruptly, he chooses to sit down again, legs spread open on the seat as he lays his arms down on the rests. You fight back a mewl at the loss of him, thighs twisted together to try and keep some semblance of self-control. His hands come together under his nose as he thinks, calculating his next move, thoughtfully, carefully. 

“This - is where you have overstepped, Sister. You are using a name you have not earned. We must all earn our place, earn our name, dolce.” 

Ah. It all clicks into place then. Here he is again, giving you another out. Giving you a chance. Here it was, that instant knowing, what was wanted, what was needed - just intuitively. You started to lower yourself down, neatly folding up the habit at your thighs as you did, knowing Copia was nothing if not a sucker for reverence. The greying hair at his temples fell forward a little as he bent his head, gaze following you down to his floor. You made sure to grab at his thighs for leverage as you did so, half for your own satisfaction and half acting on intuition. It paid off you realised, as he chokes out a moan and pushes his hips upwards. You log that away for later. 

“Let me earn it, Papa.” 

It’s merely a whisper, bowing your head as you speak, another show of reverence for him. You let your head rest in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh, a sick imitation of the last time your head was resting there. His hands come to stroke at your hair, just as he had done before, and you take the chance to capture his hands in your own. Eager to please him, to elucidate. You start to kiss his palms, mouthing along his fingers with delicate presses of your lips, the action itself chaste and devout.

“Let me never stop earning it”

Oh, he likes that. The rumble in his chest gives him away, the way his fingers follow your lips revealing him. You run with it, eager as always to impress him. Flicking your eyes up towards him, looking through your lashes you wrap your lips around a single finger, welcoming it along the length of your tongue to rest near the back of your mouth before sucking it gently. It’s odd, the sensation of leather in your mouth, but it’s warm, rough and him, and you can’t help but moan through it. If the stress of tax returns hadn’t already ruined him enough you’re more than making up for it now, his chest is heaving, pulling at the fabric of his waistcoat as his eyes lock onto where your mouth is around him. His hips have pushed out and thighs opened around you, letting you shift closer to him. He nods his head, showing his consent, his approval of your actions. 

“Fammi vedere, Sorella.” He nods, voice even deeper than when it was laced with smoke. 

Your Italian is patchy at best, Copia likes to remind you of that daily, but you find yourself positively unable to care, the gist of what he’s saying suddenly very clear. You gently place his hands back up onto the rests for him, kissing the knuckles on each hand as you do so. Savouring the feel of him you move your own hands to his thighs again, digging in to feel the strong muscle underneath. So much wasted time spent staring, as he moved around his office gesticulating or bounced his legs around on stage in those obscenely tight trousers. 

You carry on massaging him, each time your hands getting closer and closer to the now, completely strained fastenings of his jeans. Completely beyond sense now you move on impulse, muscle memory, letting your legs slip open, pressing yourself against the cold tile floor as your face falls forward to lick at his seam. He’s hard, and hot, and it’s twisted that it’s taken you this long to be in this position. It’s degenerate really, finding some relief working yourself against the cool floor, the heat of him on your tongue. You can see his hands move to grip the arms out of the corner of your eye, a smirk pulling at your lips. 

You find the end of the ties with your tongue and manoeuvre it between your teeth, pulling it back as you flick your eyes up to his face again. Copia chuckles at your trick, looking at you like that again as you undo the strings to work him free. You burn with the need to impress him again, and bring your hands to pull him from his jeans. The first thing you notice is that he’s not wearing underwear, the warm pink of his flesh very apparent once you’ve worked the fastening open. The second is that Copia is fucking hung, thick and throbbing in your hand as his cock springs back against the greying hairs on his stomach. 

You’re pretty sure your eyes must bug out of your head at the sight of him, mouth watering in anticipation. You’d certainly heard things about Copia and his endowments, but well, Siblings were prone to exaggeration, especially when it came to the Papas. In this case they frankly hadn’t done enough. In the back of your mind you question how he’s still conscious with the lack of blood that now can’t currently be flowing to his head. You laugh lightly in spite of yourself, at your stupid internal monologue, at the situation, giddy with the size and smell of him. 

“Mi fai aspettare?” Copia asks, his voice thick and rough as it comes out. 

“My deepest apologies, Papa.” 

You immediately lick from the base, right above where his balls are still covered, to the tip - uncut and almost purple. His reaction is instant, making a noise like the air has been punched out of him, fingers gripping the arms even tighter. It’s maddening, having him throb beneath your tongue, and you carry on, just single licks against him, marvelling at the size of him as you go. Unable to help yourself, you take the tip of him into your mouth, positioning your head to take him down. 

Copia loses what little control he has, snapping his hands away from the rests and bringing them to wind in your hair, directing you down onto his cock. You moan in thanks, grateful for his guidance once again. He’s not being rough, you’re guessing he could do far worse, but he is being thorough, making sure your lips hit the bottom of him before pulling you back up. You find a rhythm in it, following his lead, not having to think about anything but keeping your lips sealed around him and your throat open. There it is again, that balance of what you both wanted, what you both needed, the unspoken instinct you seemed to share. 

Your scalp burns with it but it’s just so good, the way he’s started to fuck his hips up to meet you, using your mouth like you’d wanted him to for six fucking months. He manages to slip out a few times in his thoroughness, the wet of him slicking up your face and lips, and you wonder what you must look like. Your eyes are watering, your mouth flushed and wet and open for him, hair still tangled up between his gloved fingers. Not that he’s faring much better, head thrown back as he fucks your mouth, broken Italian and Latin and nonsense spilling from his mouth, undershirt shoved up around his waist, exposing his stomach. Copia notices you looking and his gaze hardens, teeth gritted as you take him particularly roughly.

“Puttana.” He grunts, and you have no problem translating that one. 

But there’s no malice in it, no spite, just that tone you recognise from when he’s impressed with you, his own warped reverence in return for yours. It only pushes you further, even more eager to please. As you take him down the next time you stay there, even as his own hand tries to pull you back up. You warm him with your mouth, keeping him as deep as you can while your lips meet the bottom of him and your nose is pressed up against the greying hairs at his base. You feel him push up against you, his legs lifting off the seat, getting as deep as he can while he cradles your head. He keeps you there for as long as you’re able, fucking your throat gently, before bringing you back up with a groan when you start to push at his thighs. He doesn’t let you sink back down, not immediately, just keeps your hair firm in his hand as he holds your head up - so he can look at you. Savour how your mouth is pink and slick and swollen with use. 

You whine at him, pathetically, asking him to let you go, mouth still open for him. He guides you down again, only this time he’s shoving his fastenings out of the way, guiding you down to suck at his balls. That rips a noise out of him, loud and unashamed as he presses your face harder into him, grinding against your tongue. You are nothing if not eager to please, laving your tongue over his balls, his thighs, even venturing further down toward his ass. Copia makes a frenzied noise at that, involuntarily lifting up in the seat to grant you better access to him. And it’s obscene, the way he tries to grind against your tongue, fucking himself on your face. He grabs your head again, only this time to stop you. 

“N-no-no …non posso. I won’t- I won’t last, Sister.” 

He breathes out between gasps, body sagging as he relaxes into the chair. Smirking, you raise an eyebrow, noting that one for later. Copia catches you smiling, managing to look over at just the right time, like he always does. The look in his eyes makes it apparent you’re going to regret that. 

“You have earned nothing yet, dolce. Up.” 

He’s demanding, shucking down his trousers a little more so he can widen his legs. You stand, hands pulling at your skirts, eager to pull your habit over your head before he stops you. 

“If you could keep it on, Sister, the habit, I mean. I- I quite like you in it.” 

You must beam at him, you can feel it, the warmth in your face and the swell of your smile, so big it almost hurts your cheeks. It’s the fact it’s your uniform, the uniform that identifies you as his, that special blue stripe singling you out as his own. He’s watched you everyday in this habit, liked you everyday in this habit. Nodding, you start to stand, hiking it up as you go but slow enough to tease. Papa’s eyes flick down to your legs, his normal pupil blown so wide it’s almost black as his licks at his lips, splotches of pink peeking through the paint. He’s fucking his hand as he watches, balls bouncing a little, glove tightening as he nears his tip. You flush as you think about how many times he’s touched you with those gloves, you wonder briefly how often he washes them. 

Suddenly, now you’re standing, underwear kicked down and flicked off your ankles, you feel a little shy. It’s odd, considering moments before you’d had his cock in the back of your throat, but somehow sitting into his lap without his request, without his permission would be just the wrong side of intimate. You’ve napped in his lap, just once, but sitting in it, taking him like this almost feels like too much. He notices, like he always does, his eyes and mind too fast for his own good. He softens a little.

“Please, Sorella.” 

And it’s deep, and demanding and yet his voice breaks a little along the way, and it’s just too Copia for your own good. Now unable to stop yourself you lurch forward, bracing your legs on either side of his own, relishing in the strong muscle of his thighs underneath you, holding you up. One of his arms comes around the back of your waist, balancing you out as he lines himself up against you. It was intoxicating being so close to him, where he was warm and soft and smelled of smoke and whatever expensive shampoo he used. Your arms find the rest on the chair and the back of his neck, fingers toying with the few strands of hair that curl into his nape. It’s nice being close to him like this, seeing the fine lines in his face, the mix of greens in his eye, the slight shadow on his face where he’s neglected to shave. It’s almost too much, the smell of him, the feel of him, the idea of him and you doing this. It’s then that he breeches you, just the first part of him and your stomach drops at the realisation that everything up to this point had been nothing. 

“You think you have earned this yet, Sister?”

Copia is talking, you’re sure of it, somewhere outside of the bubble of just feeling him. Somewhere where he sounds drowned out and far away. Satanas, he won’t stop pushing into you, splitting you like he was made to do it, each ridge and vein dragging you open with a slick sound, the heat oh him almost unbearable. 

“Think you can take my cock?” 

And fucking hell he’s a talker. As if it couldn’t get any more ruinous he was going to talk you through it as he ravaged what was left of you. All you can do is mewl back, legs open and hips pushed forward to take him. 

“Others have tried, Sister.” 

He slides home, his hips coming to sit neat against your ass as he bottoms out. If you thought that had been devastating enough, it was nothing compared to the drag of him as he pulled out again, lighting up your insides as he moved, nerve endings singing with it as he warms you up. He lets out his own sigh then, rumbling deep in his chest and oh - you realise you’d spend your life trying to earn him, if it meant hearing him do that everytime you sank down onto his cock. Copia seems to remember himself then, sucking air through his teeth before he starts talking again.

“Yes - they try their best. Wailing with their legs open for me.” 

It’s simply deviant how that makes you throb, the image of him fucking some Sibling in his quarters after spending the day cooped up in his office with you. He starts to build a rhythm, balls starting to slap up against you as he fucks up into you, his feet planted on the floor for leverage. You brave a look at him and whine when you see how he looks, his eyes fixed on where he’s fucking you, his mouth hanging open, slack as he watches. His hair is fucked, paint starting to bleed just a little with the exertion of it, sweat threatening to leak through. 

“Yes - I fucked them. I made them come-”

It’s like it’s intentional at this point, that he says that as he finds that spot inside you, the one that has your mewl turning into something far more embarrassing, something more guttural, more animalistic in nature. He chuckles, and it’s sinister as he re-adjusts himself to fuck up against that spot again. You suddenly don’t doubt him, or the matter of fact way he says it. You’re fairly confident that you’re not far off already, your cunt clenching around him as he speaks. He comes to grab at your ass, hands squeezing into the meat of it as he bounces you on his cock. 

“I send them back with their legs shaking and their holes full, Sister.” 

He growls right into your ear, back to his monologue, like it’s a threat, like it’s a promise. You start to clench around him, hips working without even thinking about it, letting his strong hands pull you down onto cock. Half for leverage and half for comfort, your hand at his nape starts to twist into his hair, savouring the feel of it between your fingers. 

“And did they presume to have some ownership of me? Did they feel so brazen as to take my name - the name I fucking earned?” 

You can barely even think straight with how he’s fucking you. But you realise, somewhere in the haze, that you’d been so caught up in the idea of being his, the daydream of being so owned by him, that you’d neglected to realise your own claim over him. Taking his name, making it and himself your own by definition. 

“But you - you have the nerve, to sit every day in my fucking office, to flash me that sweet fucking smile, acting so eager, so useful, so innocent, like you aren’t making a perversion of my own name, hm?” 

And he is still hitting that spot, sparks flying to every nerve ending you have every time he hits it, his hips snapping up faster as he riles himself up. 

“You see fit to play and tease, like you don’t rush back to your room at night to play with this tight pussy at the idea of me using you like this.”

He knew, of course he knew he always fucking does, two steps ahead of everyone else. 

“It is my turn to take now, Sister.” 

Before you can help yourself you’re seizing up, muscles locking around him with nowhere to go as you bounce on him, the noise of it becoming downright indecent. The wet suck of you as you take him filling your ears. Copia senses that you’re straining, just missing that extra something you needed to tip over the edge. Your eyes actually start to tear up you’re so desperate to come around his cock, to let him take what he wants. He moves his hand to grab at your face, cheeks pushed together in his firm grip as he looks at you. It’s humiliating, his eyes flicking to your mouth once more as his face twists into a smile that’s almost threatening. He brings his other hand up to his own face, spitting and sucking on his own fingers, moaning at the feeling of it. Fuck his lips looked sinful stretched around his own fingers, swiping at the paint as the coated them. 

Papa nods at you, almost mockingly, letting you know he’s going to help you, he’s going to make it all okay. His fingers leave his mouth and he swipes them directly over your swollen clit, making you cry out and work his cock deeper into you. 

“And I will take it.” 

And his voice is fucked, broken and gravelly like he’d been awake for 3 days straight. You couldn’t have stopped it if you had tried, the way he was fucking you right where you needed it, the rough, wet leather against your clit, the idea of him taking rather than you giving it freely. You shut your eyes as you worked through it, wave after wave as you clench around him, throat raw as you groaned into the hand that was still holding your face. Fuck, you would work to earn it, work for it every day if he could make you come like this. It’s far too slick between you now, the way you’ve leaked onto him, coating the both of you in it. Copia is glowing with satisfaction, lips pulled into a smirk as he just watches.

“Acqua santa, hm?” 

He snickers, more to himself than to you. You can’t help but whimper at his pun, grinding down on him as if to coat him further, like it’s a gift for him. He grunts at the feel of it, head thrown back for a second as he revels in the feel of you, the tight, wet grip of you around him. He moves the hand that’s been holding your face to rest at your waist, his other still lazily rubbing at your cunt, helping you ride it out. He brings his now sticky fingers to his mouth, sucking them onto his tongue with a groan. You should be embarrassed, the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s taking you, but it feels right. Like you’re earning something. 

Copia is clearly giving you time to rest, reclining back in the seat, letting you balance your hands on his chest as you grind out the last of your orgasm for him. Rest isn’t exactly something you had in your plans for the foreseeable future, content to pay back the favour tenfold. He’s quiet now, a little out of breath with his effort, looking up at you as he savours the way your face looks, flushed and bright. You sit yourself up, ready to start bouncing for him again and he kicks his knees up, ready to angle himself to start fucking you again. 

“No no, Papa.” 

You smirk, choosing instead to push him further into the chair with your hands, stilling his movements as you start to fuck him. Speaking seems to be beyond him at this point, he just nods as you ride him, letting you fuck him into the seat of his pretentious office chair. You mentally curse yourself for not choosing to go to the gym more often, the burning in your legs threatening to become a problem. Just looking at Copia underneath you immediately throws that idea under the bus, his head thrown back as you work him. His mouth open with broken gasps leaving his lips with each bounce, eyes heavy-lidded now. The chair starts to scrape across the tiles with the force of it, the low squeak mixing with your own moans. 

It sends a dangerous thrill through you, knowing this was Papa, head of the fucking Ministry, signature powerhouse on the stage, knowing he could snap his fingers and have done with you whenever he felt like it. This is who they all wanted, the fans, the followers, the clergy, the Siblings. But it’s also Copia, your Copia, your boss who lets you steal his green olives and nice wine, and likes you in your uniform, and your chest just swells. Moving your hands to cover his own you move them to cup your neglected tits as you ride him, guiding him to your covered nipples. The kick his cock gives inside you is some indication that he likes that, though his frequent ‘subtle’ glances when you neglect to wear a bra to work had already proven that theory. 

“I mean it, Papa.” 

You move your own hands to cup his face, brushing his hair from where it’s falling into your eyes. The capacity to form words is still out of his reach he just watches, eyes flicking between your face, your nipples pinched between his fingers, and where you’re fucking him. 

“Let me never stop earning it”

You repeat your promise from before, almost hiccuping at the end of it as you manage to angle his cock at that one spot again, savouring the sticky, slick drag of your skin against his. 

“I would spend my life earning it, earning you.” 

Copia is objectively a wreck. All he can do is sit and take you on him, tweaking and twisting your nipples, tilting his own hips to make sure you can work his cock how he’s already learned you like. It’s laughably unrealistic really, his good he feels, like something out of one of those shitty vintage VHS pornos Copia keeps in his ‘locked’ drawer. You feel him throb inside you as he lets out a strained groan and you’re convinced that the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to make him feel good, however he would let you. You didn’t know it could be like this, just an endless feedback loop of pleasure, giving and taking and fucking like you can hear what he’s thinking, and he can hear you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Copia grunting, choking out a mindless, “You’re s’fuckin’ tight, fuck” as he tilts his hips up for you.

Sitting up tp to lean back, you open your legs to him, so he can see where he’s fucking you. You know how it must look, your cunt wet and swollen, taking his cock so deep you’re sure you can feel it in your throat. He grunts in approval, bringing his gloves to smack lightly at your clit as you bounce, biting at his lips when you stutter around him, shocked at the feel of it. Keen to stay even, to impress him with your efficiency, your efficacy, you bring your fingers to your mouth, spitting onto them as you keep your eyes locked on his. Copia knows what you’re going to do before you even move to do it, already whining so loud it’s almost pathetic. You can’t help but smile sweetly as you reach your slicked up fingers behind you, massaging and squeezing his balls as he buries himself into your cunt. 

“Sister, I need- Can I-”

You’re almost surprised he has the wherewithal to ask, his thrusts turned shallow and stuttered as he tries to keep himself from filling you too soon. It’s all you can do to gasp out a raspy ‘please’ before he’s grabbing your hips once more. It’s a done deal after that, a few broken, sloppy thrusts into you before he’s spilling himself inside, pulling you down onto him with a string of broken curses, using you to come. You’re not far behind, the throbbing of his cock, the feeling of him filling you up kicking off your own orgasm, softer and sweeter than the first. Copia fucks you through it, his capacity for thoroughness making sure you’ve milked him completely, making sure you’ve used him more than well enough. 

It takes you a second to come back to yourself, lost somewhere in that bubble of pleasure and Copia, not knowing where slick, sweat and spend started or began. Bordering on something tantric, something spiritual, you slowly move together as you each catch your breath, his hands coming to soothe at your thighs, strong fingers working the muscles there. It’s quiet, that familiar, comfortable silence you so often shared filling the office. He pulls himself out from you with a wince, tucking himself back into his pants, and lazily tugging the ties shut.

Copia pushes your legs open, gently admiring the way he leaks out of you. He takes his hand and moves to swipe at his come as it drips, his eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like devotion. Licking his lips, he pushes it back into you with his fingers, his pupil dilating as he watches for your reaction, ever the eager learner. You smirk before reaching down to save your underwear. You go to stand, unsure of where this really leaves you, unsure of what to say - of how to say it.

“There was never anything to earn, tesoro.” 

Copia speaks before you have the chance to overthink, his clever eyes watching your mind tick over. He is giving you that look again, the one he seemingly saves up just for you. 

“Whatever you want - it has been yours for a while.” 

It’s simple, it’s direct, it’s all encompassing, it’s Copia. You feel like maybe you should kiss him but flush with the idea of it, cheeks heating up as he watches the thought pass through your mind. He smiles despite himself, averting his eyes for just a second. Although his paint is still mostly intact you’re sure he blushes underneath it, you can tell, intuitively.

Plenty of time for that later, you reason, remembering there was a desk full of receipts to file and sort before Saltarian decides to come chew Copia’s ear off about his tax returns. 

“Though Sister-” Papa starts as he neatens himself up, slicking his hair back into place, “maybe, for now, we will hide those, hm?” 

He nods towards the stack of crinkled papers. You understand what he’s doing, putting his own ass on the line to cover you. Risking his reputation for complete competence just for you. 

“Yes, Papa.” You nod earnestly in thanks, wanting him to understand that you appreciate the gravity of what he’s doing for you. 

“And maybe for now, though mine certainly suits you, use your own name, hm? At least let me take you to dinner first.”

[fiera-writes]

Alright, so. I finally rewatched Megamind after meaning to for like two weeks or so, basically ever since the sequel movie came out. And for several reasons, nooot a fan of how the sequel was handled honestly. So, I thought with the original movie fresh in my mind, I could try to brainstorm a couple things I might have done with a sequel.

To start with, the Doom Syndicate. The original movie makes no reference to Megamind knowing any other villains, let alone ever working with them in the past. So, if they were to be included I feel it should be more in a "Oh I've heard of them, they're from that one town a couple states over" way. Acquaintances at best.

But then again, the original movie also seems to imply that if there are any other superheroes or villains, they're pretty dang rare. This isn't The Incredibles where some people are just born with super powers. I mean, no one from out of town came to try and stop Megamind after he "killed" Metro Man. With Titan/Tighten it all happened within a day so less time for outsiders to react, but Megamind had control of the city for a good while there.

So, if we want to keep the Doom Syndicate... it would need to be handled differently. Also get rid of that brain "Mentor" character. I don't really have any ideas for how, except...

Perhaps they're originally fictional in-universe, from a Saturday morning cartoon or a video game or something. One way or another, they're made real and now Megamind has to stop them and probably make them fictional again. Could also be achieved with a different set of villains.

Another way to do a new villain could be Dimensional travel. Say there's some sort of a Bizarro universe, where Metro Man was evil and Megamind was good to start with. Or both were evil and teamed up to do evil. In any case, Alternate Universe Evil Metro Man gets transported to the main universe, causes mayhem. Might even force the Metro Man we know out of retirement temporarily, or not. If he does show up in public, would probably make an excuse of how he's also from some other universe specifically summoned to help out, thus explaining why he's gone again afterwards. Dude just wants to make music.

To add, the dimensional traveling villain doesn't even need to be a version of Metro Man, they could also be anyone else. Some other alien, a dude who fell into acid and got powers from it, idk man.

Hear me out, an Evil Spider-Man of sorts. That is, someone who starts out as a normal human being, perhaps an outcast, and by some twist of fate receives powers, which they proceed to use for evil. Might be re-treading Hal's deal a little but idk what I'm doing anymore.

Evil Bruce Wayne? A rich guy with weird gadgets and the skill to use them, for evil. Would probably be harder to pull off since Megamind's whole deal is how smart he is.

A Mad Scientist type. Megamind is an Evil Scientist, but not a "mad" one, he just builds a death ray powered by the sun because he's that smart. Put him against someone whose ideas make no sense to him but somehow still work.

Misguided hero? Not really a villain but would be an antagonist for the story, someone who's convinced that Megamind's redemption is all an act maybe? Would probably need powers of some sort to be an actual threat.

Alright then, let's move onto something else for a change: MegaRox. My shipper heart needs them either clearly together or clearly working on that. But the original movie does seem to imply they're already together by the time the new museum has opened. I mean, the way she jumped into his arms and then kissed him? Sure it was on the cheek but that wasn't a platonic thing. It's about the context!

No further notes on that, so I present to you... Prequel!

Takes place before Metro Man fakes his death so he can retire, and therefore Megamind is still Evil.

MegaRox wouldn't be an established relationship but did y'all see them at the start of the original? That was practically flirting anyway and that dynamic should be present.

Maybe it could even be early into his villain career? Show how he really got started as a Super Villain, the first kidnappings of Rocanne Ritchi, gaining notoriety, and how Roxanne learned that she's honestly in more danger of getting hit by stray debris from Metro Man's dramatic entrances than from anything Megamind aims at her.

I doubt I'll ever develop any of these ideas into a coherent story but if anyone wants to yoink a thought, go wild. I'm also down for discussing any of these.

[biscuitblinkeu]

Exceptions to The Rules [7]

Chaennie x Fem!reader

Yeah…she can’t really control herself.

Word Count: 2555

………………………………………………………………

“You’re required to train for the dances, and learn advanced manners…” Minai tried to say but Chaeyoung cut him off.

“I don’t need to learn it again if I remember it.” The angel said, walking forward.

“Manners? Training? I’m not some princess.” Chaeyoung speaks her thoughts. She’s probably gone through the manner training at least six times. She’s been going to the Golden Banquet since she was seven and she’s tired of it.

“Well…that’s half true.” Minai says, not adding the other half of his sentence that would be, “You are the daughter of a Dove, which Mr. Rose is too. So you're basically a princess.” He wants to say, but doesn’t.

He knows Chaeyoung would rather die than hear the word “Rose” in her family name. She hates it— despises it. That man’s name mustn’t be spoken around her.

Clearing his throat, she sprints, trying to catch up to the girl further ahead, making her way to her room.

“I know you’ve done the classes multiple times, but you have to at least attend- and if you don’t you’ll have to stay in your room.” Minai said as she opened the door for her. “You have to stay in your room because your mother said so, she can’t have you running off to visit the human.” He added.

“Okay.” Chaeyoung responds lazily, plopping onto her bed. She closes her eyes and lets out a dramatic sigh, then rolls onto her back. She’s thinking.

She doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to see the rest of the arrogant angel families there, and she rather not run into someone she doesn’t want to see.

“Can I just stay in my room?” Chaeyoung decides. At her request Minai scrunches up his nose, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line— likely to conceal her complaints.

“Okay. I’ll be right outside though, I was told not to leave your side.” He says bothered, most likely annoyed with her uncooperation. Chaeyoung knows she makes his job harder. A second later Minai walls outside and shuts the door.

Now that he’s gone, she has time to think. Chaeyoung wonders if she should just summon you, make you teleport to her room. She could keep a better eye on you— but it’s not like Jennie isn’t capable of watching you either. It’s Lisa and Jisoo. Those two flirts— they are unpredictable. She doesn’t want them touching you.

At that thought, Chaeyoung is considering being you here. There’s no rule saying she couldn’t bring you to her, the only rule is she can’t visit you personally.

Will she get in trouble for it? Yes. Is her mother going to scold her? Yes. Is it worth it? Yes.

Hee mind is a back and forth about what she should do to keep herself entertained. Today will be the only day she can miss the practices.

Minutes later she heard voices outside, Minai’s and one other.

“Come in.” She calls, thinking it’s Seulgi or Nayeon. She hopes it is. They can cure her boredom.

But as the door opens, she’s not greeted by one or two of her lovely friends, she’s met with a man. He has a white suit with gold trim, an angel wing pin on the breast pocket. He has lilac hair and brown eyes, freckles on the bridge of his nose, just like her. Their appearances would be alike if he didn’t have a white stripe of hair in the front.

He strolls inside and stops when he’s in front of Chaeyoung, his hand going to her cheek. Her expression falls for just a second, before she slaps a realistic, but fake smile back on. She feels uncomfortable— sickened to her core. She wants to slap his hand off, jerk her face away. But she won’t.

She can’t.

“My, you’ve gotten more beautiful. Just like your mom, yes?” He mused, his voice serene and expensive. He smiles at her expectantly, waiting.

Chaeyoung smiles painfully at the newcomer, forcing it to look presentable— the corners of her mouth lifting like she’s happy to see him, which it’s quite the opposite.

“Hello, Father.” Chaeyoung says, flashing her perfect smile, though it looks like a grimace more than anything.

Chaeyoung doesn’t like the way the word “father” rolls off her tongue, it’s not right to her. It gives her an uncomfortable feeling, something she can’t describe. All she knows is that he doesn’t deserve to be called “father”.

“I’ve missed you so much, you know? You have barely come home since you started guarding that human.” Mr. Rose says, his tone unreadable. His eyes have turned dark and cold at the mention of the human.

Did he actually miss her? Or was it something else? She knows he’s here for other reasons.

Chaeyoung knows her father doesn’t enjoy the fact his daughter had been taken away from him, he also doesn’t like that she doesn’t visit. He doesn’t enjoy that she chose to spend time with a human.

Chaeyoung could care less.

Seconds go by, and Rose stares and stares at Chaeyoung, expecting something. And she knows what— just like always, he wants to coddle her. Sucking up her pride and discomfort, Chaeyoung leans into his touch, nuzzling her head in his hand, allowing him to pat her hair. He hums softly, looking at her with, dare she say, warm eyes.

He’s fake, just like plastic roses.

“Why are you here so early?” Chaeyoung asks, annoyed by the fact he was here. Hee father wasn’t even supposed to arrive till the banquet day. He rarely comes to this part of the palace, let alone stays at home. Most of his time is spent at the council.

“I heard news of you attending this month’s banquet. Of course I had to come and visit, along with other reasons.” He said as he ran a hand through her hair.

He’s going to ask about (Y/n) isn’t he?

“Now, why would you change to a guardian role? You and that grim reaper of yours are always doing something.” He questions with a scowl. It’s amusing to her how easily his personality switched up.

Of course.

“You could've got a higher status— a status like your mother.” He says exasperated, “And that demon should’ve stayed in her precious role—”

“Don’t go there. Jennie isn’t—”

“So why?”

Chaeyoung lets out a sigh, pushing his hand off her cheek. A frown painted on her beautiful features.

At the action her father’s eye twitches, and his mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“Because I wanted to have my own human— I wanted the responsibility of taking care of something that’s mine.” She answered.

Nothing is hers. Everything is handed down by her mother— or she has to prove herself. Which she did. She achieved the role of an Archangel— she achieved making her own division and guarding a human.

Chaeyoung thinks being a guardian is more interesting than sitting in a council room all day, having meetings with grumpy old people.

When she answered her father scowled some more, his once handsome face now ugly. He couldn’t bear the thought of his daughter choosing a job unfit for her title.

“Humans are fascinating. Not to mention when we help them, we get a lot of things in return.” Chaeyoung adds, thinking about the kiss. Everything is worth it— you’re worth it.

“And those things are more important?” Her father says bitterly, running a hand through his hair. Chaeyoung nods, too tired to give him a response for his ignorance.

He didn’t get the answer he wanted.

“I see.” Mr. Rose says after a few minutes. He adjusts his tie and regains his composure. “We will see how that goes in the long run. Make sure you attend the banquet.” He bowed and then left the room.

Chaeyoung doesn’t like the way he said that.

Once he’s down the hallway she tells Minai to shut the door. She then lays back on her bed, staring at the grapevine painted ceiling.

Chaeyoung is exhausted after that encounter, bored as well. She wants the presence of her human as being away makes her feel empty. The contract connects your souls, so if she’s far away for too long it’ll start to hurt her.

The angel sighs, turning over and burying her head in the fluffy pillows. She’ll have to think of a way to get you here.

…

“What do you think about Chaeyoung’s human?” Jennie asks Jisoo and Lisa as they were playing on your game console.

“I have a name,” you spoke up as you finished the beef stew they made you. You happened to hear their talk from the kitchen because of how loud they were.

You realized these otherworldly beings have a habit of talking out loud about you when you’re in the same area as them. They need to fix that.

“I’ll be quieter, sorry (Y/n/n)!” Jennie yells from the living room. You sigh, rubbing your eyes. They’ll never learn.

“As I was saying…”

“What do you think about her?” Jennie asks again, watching Jisoo kill Lisa on call of duty.

Lisa groans, pausing the game. You could hear her mumble, “You cheated while I wasn’t looking.”

“She’s cute,” Lisa said, earning a smack from Jisoo. She glared at her, basically telling her to watch her mouth.

“I think so too.” Jennie piped happily. The cat-eyed girl continued, “She’s got a nice personality, and really pretty eyes. And hair. And lips and— guys look!” All of a sudden Jennie summoned her reaper scythe, the blade pointing right in the middle of Lisa’s eyes, too close for comfort. They noticed a cute teddy bear dangle wrapped around the handle area just below the blade.

“(Y/n) bought me this! Isn’t it cute?” Jennie smiled widely, unaware she almost made the two angels shit themselves.

Lisa gulped, giving Jennie a watery smile and pushing the blade away from her, “It is.” Jisoo agreed as well. When it turned back into a necklace, the two let out a breath of relief.

“I think Chaeyoung has a special liking for this human. She treats her differently.” Jisoo spoke up. Chaeyoung treats you well, better than any other humans she’s protected part-time, but it could be different because now she’s a Guardian Angel full time.

“I know right? It’s rather interesting.” Lisa responded, and before Jennie could comment they were interrupted by a loud noise.

The trio shot up, completely shaken when they heard you scream. It lasted so short. All of them exchanged looks, and shrugged, not bothering to check.

The lingering presence in the house was safe, meaning you weren’t taken by demons.

Chaeyoung obviously took you.

You found yourself screaming as you were pulled through a white portal. Someone had grasped your shirt, pulling you backwards as you were in the middle of putting a spoonful of food in your mouth.

The portal was blinding. By the time you were through, you landed on something soft— someone’s lap. You felt arms wrap slither around your waist.

“Traumatized?” Chaeyoung spoke, pulling you onto her chest. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you realized it was her.

“You scared me!” You hissed, trying to steady your breathing. You heard the angel mutter an apology, but you knew it wasn’t sincere from the laughs coming from her.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna see you till three days, aren’t you busy?” You asked, relaxing. Your heart beat didn’t though.

“That’s true. You’re really not supposed to be here.” She mutters, squeezing you closer. You felt like a large teddy bear to her, just something she can hold and cuddle.

“Okay… so why am I here?” You said, trying to get out of her grip, wiggling furiously. You noticed the angel was trying to keep you in her arms, but the position was a bit too close for you.

You managed to get to the edge of the bed, until she pulled you back.

It was hot being that close, and to add on the room was already warm.

“Stop being so stubborn, human.” You just nodded, too exhausted from your failed attempts of getting free. Chaeyoung smiled.

She wanted to tell you to beware of her father, but it’s not the greatest time. It can wait. There’s something better she can do.

“Did you know you are going to have to give me a bit of yourself if you don’t make any wishes? I’m unable to wait any longer than I did…” Chaeyoung whispers.

You know yourself you don’t make a lot of wishes, partially because you're a human that doesn’t need a lot of things, and the fact you’re stuck with a list angel.

“Are you serious?” You lean away, only for her to tighten her grip. Chaeyoung nods, playing with your fingers.

“I won’t ask for anything but a kiss, or… do anything more. I still have a limit to what I can do to you if you don't make a wish.”

“Okay, just one. One, Chaeyoung.” You say, turning around to face her. She laughs at your response, mumbling gratitude. You don’t believe her.

So you’ll take control.

You close your eyes and lean forward, pressing your lips against hers. The angel kisses back instantly. After some time you pull away. It’s too short for the angel though. Chaeyoung pouts, and before you know it she’s pulling you back in by the collar. You let out a surprised moan.

Chaeyoung nips at your bottom lip, slipping her tongue in. You let out a whimper as she sucks lightly on your tongue. You should’ve known better that this was “one kiss” to the angel.

The angel threads her fingers through your hair, thinking she might as well savor this moment because she won’t see you after today for a little while.

Too caught up in the kiss, you fail to notice Chaeyoung pushed you down, sitting on your hips. She held you hands above your head with one hand as she kissed down your jaw, sucking lightly on your neck. She made sure to leave at least one visible mark, so everyone knows you’re her’s.

“My human…”

You're a mess in a matter of seconds. Chaeyoung keeps switching between kissing you and placing open mouthed kisses on your neck. You can’t help but moan and whine helpless when she grinds her hips against yours— creating friction below.

“Chaeyoung you have a meeting with your mother and…” Minai trailed off.

What an interesting sight.

Clearing his throat, he walked up to Chaeyoung, who still didn’t notice him and pulled her off you.

“Control yourself.” He murmured, glaring at her. “You’re in the palace.”

Chayoung scowled, “Don’t you know how to knock?”

Minai scoffs, “I’ve been knocking for the past two minutes and you haven’t answered.” He responds smartly, into which Chaeyoung flushes.

“You know, if I didn’t stop you… how far would you have gone?” He wonders, glancing at the flushed human with worry.

“Far.” The angel admits, lips tugging into a slight smirk, “I want all of her.”

Minai sighs at her response, a smirk on his face too. “Alright, but take it slow.” He finds it interesting how much Chaeyoung likes this human.

So much she’ll even sneak her in.

Would you like to continue? o(｀ω´ )o

[sunlightmurdock]

Ceasefire | 0.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley Bradshaw is in San Diego, summoned to Top Gun for the first time. Commander “Hyde” Simpson is his flight instructor, and she doesn’t have time for schoolboy crushes.

Warning: ex-husband!beausimpson, divorce, age gap (rooster is somewhere between 26-28, reader is 38), power imbalance between instructor and student aviator, swearing, angst, oral (barely)(m receiving)

…

“Come in.”

You’re sitting at your desk, taking a rather self indulgent extra twenty minutes for lunch on a Friday afternoon. It’s been a rough morning. Bob Floyd’s in the infirmary and you’ve got to figure out the paperwork for it. Today’s injury of choice is an almost concussion, something that could have been a near miss - but still knocked the young pilot on his ass and resulted in you having to empty Lieutenant Trace’s water bottle into his face.

That boy’s clumsier than a deer on ice and he’s providing you with plenty of admin work to busy yourself with. You don’t mind. You’ve handed the pilots off to Hondo for the afternoon, he’s got them out working on the jets in ninety degree heat.

Bradley’s pissed that you ditched him to go and sit pretty in your office. He cranks a wrench around a bolt. With each twist, he thinks of your face pressed into your sheets and you murmuring out his name. He checks his watch. The small hand’s stubbornness is really ruining his day. He closes his eyes and stretches out his neck. Just a couple more hours.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you catch the time on your phone. Only seven minutes have passed since you last checked. Four more hours until Bradley’s stupid, loud car is pulling onto your street.

You tap the edge of your pen impatiently onto the accident form. Bradley has six more weeks here. Six more Friday nights.

Sure, you might have the power to pull a few strings and keep him close. There are plenty of admirals that owe you favours. Your lip quirks slightly at the thought of making Beau be the one to sign off on an order to keep your new fling right where you like him. As much as the idea of pissing Beau off tickles you in theory, you would never put the idea into practice. Beau doesn’t deserve that.

And truthfully, you would never hinder Bradley’s career like that.

It just means that you have to figure out some kind of way to get this little crush that you seem to have on him under control in the next six weeks. You’re certain it can’t be that hard. You’re certain you’ve done much harder things than letting go of pretty brown eyes and strong arms. Hell, you looked your husband of fifteen years in the eye and told him it was over without much heartache.

You’re certain that the person knocking at your door is going to be Bradley.

The handle twists and your lip quirks as you pretend to be busy with your work. You’re hit with a tinge of embarrassment, feeling the way that your heart picks up at the promise of flushed skin and -

Your eyes widen slightly as they lift and land on Beau.

You straighten yourself upright and cross one knee over the other.

“Beau. Hi.”

Beau takes in the surprise in your tone. Those heavy brows of his scrunch slightly in suspicion. His expression is thunderous. You swallow. He knows. There’s no way that he could know. No one knows. Bradley could have told him. Why the fuck would Bradley tell him?

“Were you expecting someone else?” Beau asks.

His question interrupts your silent panic. You know what game he’s playing. He always thinks that he knows you so well. That he can get you to spill any secret you’ve got by acting like he already knows what it is. You shake your head. You hate the way Beau has the ability to make you feel young again. Not in a good way.

You were still figuring things out when you met Beau. Younger than Bradley is now. Almost twenty-three. Beau was twenty-nine. He was tall and handsome, and a hell of a pilot. And he knew things. Not just in the sense of him being intelligent, although he was - he just knew certain things to be certain. You were uncertain about so much back then. You liked the security.

More recently, you’ve come to find that certainty to be grating. He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know more than you. You’ve got your own certainties and you have long outgrown his.

“No,” You speak calmly, “Just wasn’t expecting you, is all.”

Beau pushes one hand into the pocket of his khakis.

“I just wanted to speak to you about tonight.” He decides. The strength of a man’s poker face falters when you’re the only one that has touched them in fifteen years. You can see right through him. You know that you aren’t going to like what’s coming, and that he’s going to enjoy delivering it.

“Oh?” You tilt your head slightly.

Beau doesn’t enjoy being spiteful. But, the woman he loves is leaving him. Eight minutes ago he received a call from his college roommate. They spoke for a while. Wesley has heard the news. He’ll be in town over the weekend. They should get together to talk about it. Beau is standing in front of you now with an entirely new perspective.

He has considered being pliant, taking the kids on the days you agreed to, giving you the CD’s - who cares? - Whatever you want. Wes pointed out that Beau was using the term separation and questioned if you were using the same term.

Beau needs to test exactly how unravelled his marriage has become.

“Wes and Joe are back in town. I’ll be going to meet them tonight at eight.” Beau tells you. His tone is harsh and he isn’t asking for permission. You take it that he received the first draft of the divorce settlement and isn’t happy with what you’re asking for. You know that he wants you to start a fight and you aren’t playing.

“It’s your night with the kids tonight,” You remind him, leaning back in your office chair. You choose to play coy. “Are you going to get a sitter?”

Beau squints softly towards you. You notice that he’s restless. It’s air conditioned in here so he can’t pretend that the heat is getting to him. Your heart races as you wait for him to just break and accuse you.

“It’s my third Friday with the kids in a row, so I was thi-”

You interrupt to remind him, “That’s our arrangement. Fridays are your days.”

Beau shakes his head. His jaw ticks. He hates being interrupted.

“That doesn’t work for me,” He shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll pick them up tomorrow morning instead.”

“You don’t just get to-“

“Don’t I?” Beau interrupts. He turns back towards you and takes a bold step forwards, then rests his palms forwards on your desk. Your eyes widen slightly at the sheer audacity of his behaviour. He’s never dared to act like this towards you.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem, Beau?” You glare at him, sitting upright and leaning closer to him. He’s not going to intimidate you into backing down.

Beau gives a soft shake of his head as he leans closer to you.

You stare him down.

“I was just thinking.” Beau speaks gently. There’s a familiarity to the softness of his voice, the way that he smells, the way that he looks at you — that just doesn’t bring you comfort any more. “You’ve been calling all the shots about our separation.”

“Divorce.” You correct him. He shrugs like this is an agree-to-disagree situation. His question is answered at once. Beau doesn’t like to be wrong.

Beau shakes his head softly, “Right.”

You wait patiently for him to apologise.

“See, if you were still my wife - I’d have to put up with this crap,” Beau decides. He taps his knuckle once on the wood, then stands upright and smooths out his uniform. “Kids are all yours until tomorrow.”

He turns and leaves, knowing that you won’t follow him into the hall to continue your argument. Your eye twitches slightly as he slams the door behind himself. You knew that the legal side of things was going to piss him off. You reach for your phone, ready to call your lawyer and demand a higher settlement. You’re interrupted by laughter outside.

Your head turns towards the window.

“I’m telling you, man,” Coyote whistles, shaking his head as he recounts the events of the night before. His friends trail at his sides. The swell of the afternoon heat is just about passing. Hondo finally let the word dismissed slip his lips a couple of minutes ago. “I seriously think I’m in love.”

Bradley scoffs. Javy’s talking about some girl he met in a bar last week. They’ve gone out after work a couple of nights this week. Javy falls in love with just about everyone, so Bradley’s no more inclined to believe that this girl’s the one more so than any of the others that he has heard about.

He stops listening too much after that. He glances down at his watch, finding the small hand much closer to where he would like it to be. Hangman and Coyote roar with laughter at something that Bradley missed the punch line of. He glances up in time to see the blinds to your office close.

“You coming to meet Coyote’s future wife tonight, Bradshaw?” Jake asks.

Bradley tears his eyes away from the window and shakes his head. His lip quirks slightly.

“Can’t. Busy.”

Jake and Coyote stop walking as Bradley continues ahead.

“It can’t be Halo.” Jake realises. Coyote frowns and turns his head.

“She never comes out either. They’re both always missing.” He reasons.

Jake watches Bradley disappear inside and shakes his head softly.

“If it was Halo, we’d know about it by now,” Jake explains. He turns his head towards Coyote, “Think about it. Why hasn’t she spent a single night at our place.”

Bradley sucks in a sharp breath as a hand curls into his t-shirt and tugs him into a hard left. His chest hits yours and his eyes blow wide open.

Your fingers curl around the handle to a supply closet and Bradley lets you tug him forwards into it. You know that the door to this supply closet sits in the blank spot of the security cameras.

“Hyde… wha- you said-“

“Shut up.”

Bradley complies wordlessly as your mouth presses into his neck. His hand reaches out behind him, fumbling for a lock. There isn’t one. Well, there is. But it would require a key that he presumes only a janitor might possess. He hesitates. This seems like a bad idea. But it’s you. You wouldn’t jeopardise your own career, so Bradley trusts that his is safe too.

He checks down at his watch, illuminated solely by the thin strip of light spilling in from under the door. It’s too dark to see the hands but Bradley knows what the time is.

“I thought I was coming over later.” Bradley breathes out, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as you suck soft, warm kisses into his throat.

Your hands tug at the arms of his flightsuit, untying them from around his waist.

“Change of plans.” You murmur. He doesn’t dare argue. He doesn’t get a chance to as you sink to your knees in front of him. His hand slides knowingly into your hair as you tug at the zipper of his flightsuit, letting it fall to pool around his ankles.

You stroke him over his boxers with a gentle touch as you press your mouth to his thigh with a firmer approach. Bradley’s adam’s apple bobs in his throat as your teeth graze the inside of his leg, only to be replaced with a soft kiss seconds later.

“S-Shit.” He whispers into the dark.

His head leans back against the shelving unit behind him as you tug his boxers down his leg.

This is insane. You realise that as he’s got his fingers curled so tight around the edge of the shelving unit that it almost shivers with him. You’re sucking off one of your students in a supply closet. All to prove a point. Just to prove a point to yourself.

Beau thinks that you’re his. He thinks that by being mean, by showing you how hard that he can make things, he’ll drive you back into his arms. He’s always so fucking certain. He’s wrong.

You push your fingertips under the black t-shirt he always wears under his flightsuit and press your palm flat against his stomach. It’s almost shameful to admit that the way you can feel those muscles that he works so hard for trembling under your fingertips as nose brushes the hair at his pelvis makes you want to fuck him right here in this closet.

But that isn’t part of the plan.

Bradley grunts, choking back a moan that leaves behind a soft whimper as he spills into your mouth. His back his the wall behind him. His eyes are shut. He’s panting. He blinks. He can barely see your face in the dark but he looks down anyway. His heart thunders in his chest as he finally understands what Coyote has been talking about.

That rush. The knowledge that you’re in love with someone without even knowing them. The back of Bradley’s head swings into the filing cabinet behind him as he lets out a heavy breath. You push yourself up from your knees. Bradley tugs his boxers and flightsuit back up, he blinks as he wriggles back into them.

“So, I’ll see you later?” Bradley breathes.

“No. No.” You press a finger into his chest. Bradley nods. “I have my kids tonight. I’ll text you.”

Bradley catches your wrist. His lips quirk slightly as he releases you and smooths down your hair slightly.

“Hey, Hyde - I was thinking,” His hands slide from your hair to hold your face in his hands. You stiffen at the motion. “Maybe we could… do something together next week. Like - dinner?”

Your lips part.

You push away from him.

“Oh my god.” You shake your head quickly. Your Friday just got worse. “Bradley, I am not your girlfriend. You know that, right?”

He grins as he zips his flightsuit up to his chest, “Keep on doing that and I’d be happy to make you my wife.”

“Christ.” Your hand shakes as you twist the door handle and let yourself out. Bradley opens his mouth and moves to follow, then freezes as the door slams behind you.

Bradley slips out right after you do. You’re still standing there. Feeling sick.

“Hey, it was a joke.” He frowns. You can tell that you’ve hurt his feelings by slamming the door in his face. He hurt yours by making that stupid joke.

You round on him. Bradley straightens up. It’s times like these that he’s reminded why you’re the superior officer.

“Commander.” Heavy boots along the hall. Bradley straightens even further instinctively.

Your jaw clenches. You turn your head away from Bradley and towards your husband.

Beau walks over and takes your wrist in that stupid oafish hand of his. Bradley’s eyes fall down to watch over the exchange. The way that Beau’s fingers press into your skin.

It’s one thing to know that the two of you were married, but it’s another for Bradley to watch him touch you.

Beau turns your hand and presses a stuffed animal into your grasp. It’s a soft white bunny rabbit. Bradley looks it over. It’s in both your hand and his hand simultaneously for just a second. It’s a reminder of everything you’ve shared with him.

“Taylor left this at my place. She’s going to want it tonight.” There’s a coldness in the way that Beau speaks to you. Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he lifts his gaze to look at the Admiral.

You’re too busy seething. Of course he had to come and rub your nose in the fact that he still believes he’s winning. You’re soothed slightly by the fact he has no idea he’s standing less than a foot away from the man you just blew.

Bradley’s gaze flickers between you and your husband. Beau’s clearly furious. You’re better at hiding it, but Bradley knows that you are too.

His heart sinks to rest in his stomach.

Bradley’s silent for the rest of the exchange. You don’t grace him by looking him in the eye until your husband is gone. You’re confused to find him looking saddened by what he just saw.

“Did you do that to get back at him?” Bradley asks softly.

Maybe it’s the puppy-dog eyes, but his words make you feel like you’ve just burst his happy little bubble. You frown.

Bradley’s brows furrow. You know that guilt feels like pulling seven g’s. You don’t know what to say to him. He puts his hands up in defence as he takes a step back.

“Look, if this isn’t over between the two of you—“

“It’s over.” You answer firmly.

Bradley lifts his head. He squares his shoulders and meets your gaze. You know that you’ve hurt him.

“So let me take you on a date.”

You sigh and lift your hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose, “Dammit, Bradley…”

“If it’s over between you and him then why not?”

You screw your eyes shut and wish that he would just disappear. That he and Beau would just stop fucking up your afternoon. It’s like they worked together on it.

“Use your brain, Lieutenant.” You answer bitingly. Rooster frowns. You turn away from him. “My place. Tomorrow — after noon.”

Bradley squints as he watches you walk away from him. He doesn’t like the way that sounded. Like an order.

He presses his tongue to his cheek and heads for the locker rooms. Usually he’s pretty zen after a blow job — that goes to show how upset he is right now.

“Bradshaw.” Jake smiles as Rooster rounds the corner. “Where’d you go?”

“My plans got cancelled,” Bradley shrugs as he pulls open his locker. “Mind if I come out with you guys tonight?”

…

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[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge Receives Affection (Part 52)

A gasp catches in your throat as you grab at the seat to control your fall, but strong hands around your hips guide your descent well. Tumbling into a surprisingly bony lap, you look back and find Sans grinning lasciviously at you. "hey gorgeous~" he purrs, pressing his teeth up against your cheek.

"Sans," you say, trying and failing to stop the smile from blooming on your lips. Around you, the cabin dims until it is nearly pitch black. People shift and mutter, but otherwise everyone goes quiet and beds down to sleep. You're certain that some others are awake, and so keep your voice down. "What are you doing?"

Sans gently shifts you until you are sitting sideways on his lap which...gets softer the longer you sit on them? Well, in any event he shifts you until your back is resting against his arm as he wraps it around your waist, until you are facing both him and Papyrus.

Reaching down with the hand not pinned up against Sans' chest, you touch his thigh gently and marvel at how flesh-like it feels. He has done something to them, you theorise, because his lap was a lot harder not a few moments ago.

"ecto-body, baby," he purrs against your cheek, licking it gently with his glowing tongue. "can't have yer seat be all hard and bony."

Ecto-body?

"SANS, UNHAND THEM AND LET THEM GO BACK TO THEIR SEAT," Papyrus hisses at Sans, though notably, he doesn't protest when your legs press up against the outside of his thigh. And instead of pushing you away, the younger skeleton brother actually takes your legs and drapes it across his lap which also get a little fuller the longer you look at them, a little softer. He has apparently summoned his 'ecto-body' as well.

You still don't know what an ecto-body is.

Papyrus' crimson eye lights look at you. Meeting your gaze with his own. Holding it for a few heartbeats before he looks away, a soft blush on his cheekbones.

"doesn't seem like yer too keen on them movin' anywhere, boss," Sans teases his brother, still nuzzling your cheek with his teeth in a skeleton kiss.

You sigh softly but don't move, shaking your head at the way Papyrus scowls at Sans without heat. "I'm quite comfortable where I am," you offer, shifting until you've found a comfortable angle to sit at, with your shoulder resting against Sans' chest.

Although now that you're not moving, the bruises on your back and thighs throb and ache, and your hands have petrified in the moments you weren't moving. You sigh through your nose and grit your teeth through the discomfort of uncurling your fingers from your palms. It takes a moment, but you manage to tuck your index finger under the hem of your glove, intending to take it off.

Sans stops you with a hand on your wrist, murmuring against your ear, "lemme do it." Without waiting for your response, he carefully avoids the mechanism that would trigger your hidden blade and pulls your blood-soaked glove off to reveal your scarred hand. The same is repeated to your other glove.

Though the cabin is dark, though the only lights near you are Sans and Papyrus's eyes, you still tense the moment the dry, cool air brushes over your skin. In contrast to the blood soaked fabric, there is none on your skin, leaving it clean, if a little clammy from dried sweat.

As always, Sans can read you too well, though it helps that he's pressed up against you, feeling your every reaction. "got a spare?" Sans dips his head so he can press his teeth to your shoulder. "know ya don't like yer hands bare."

You can barely feel the press of his teeth through the thick fabric of your turtleneck, blouse and coat. Part of you wishes you could. Though...what is stopping you? And you could retrieve your spare pair of gloves at the same time.

So you fish out a spare pair of gloves from an inner pocket with stiff fingers, ones that Papyrus takes from you before Sans can. The older brother sneers at the younger, but Papyrus only turns his nose up and growls, "DON'T HOG."

"Don't fight, please. People want to rest," you say in amusement, shifting around to shrug your coat off. From habit alone, you fold it slowly and toss it onto your empty seat to keep it from wrinkling. Now clad only in your blouse and turtleneck, the closely tailored sleeve of your turtleneck reveals the outline of your gauntlets, the holsters for your hidden blades. It takes only a moment to flick the safeties on both of them; you wouldn't want to accidently trigger them.

Sans seems to forget his gripe with Papyrus taking your gloves as he immediately preoccupies himself with touching your blouse and gun belt, his red eye lights going fuzzy. "want this off, sweets?" He taps at your gun belt.

"If you would be so kind."

"'course."

His deft phalanxes expertly undo the catch to your belt, releasing it with a soft snikt sound. The two guns tucked into it weigh it down, clanging against the armrest with a sound that makes people grumble. "whoops." Sans grin tightens and a little sweat bubbles from his temple.

You smile softly and shake your head, taking it from him and setting it on the other seat with less noise. Now freed from the weight of your ammo belt and the heavy cloth of your coat, you can sink into Sans's oddly comfortable body with a sigh.

Papyrus, now seeing that you're unoccupied, holds his hand out. A silent ask for your own hands. It takes a moment for you to comply, a moment of hesitation born from habit, from not particularly enjoying touching other people without it. But comply you do, slowly but surely.

You tense almost imperceptibly, touching the bones of his palm first with the tips of your fingers. His bones, his hand, it's...not quite like touching human bones. Less porous, and certainly not as dry; not quite sucking all the moisture from your skin. But it is smooth, with a slightly dusty texture, almost like porcelain that's been left alone for a tad too long. Warm, too. Which you almost didn't expect.

While you examine his hand with your bare fingers, Papyrus waits patiently. His crimson eye lights glued onto your face. Beside you, under you, Sans does the same, with his own bare phalanges touching your clothed hip.

The gaps between the more delicate bones of Papyrus' palms glows a gentle red in the darkness, outlining his bones and showing you exactly where he is. You're almost certain that you've seen him and Sans without the lights before; perhaps it is something that they can control. It would be rather difficult to sneak around in the dark when one glows so obviously.

But you're not sneaking around now, and no one is bothering any of you. In this little pocket of privacy, Papyrus is allowing you to indulge in your curiosity, and so you do.

There is a slight little fizz as your fingers trace over the glowing gaps between his bones, like getting too close to a field of harmless static. Papyrus shudders at the touch.

"Is that uncomfortable?" you ask quietly, looking up at him to examine the expression on his scowling face.

It takes a heartbeat for Papyrus to answer, but eventually he does with a slight blush on his face. "IT'S FINE." Ah, perhaps it's uncomfortable in a less...innocent way.

"bones are sensitive, sweets," Sans murmurs into your neck from where he has stuffed his face, inhaling deeply and purring like a cat. "but ya already knew that~"

You did. Sans' neck, Papyrus' hands. You're interested to know where else they would be sensitive. But not now, and certainly not in public.

So you smile and slide one hand fully into Papyrus's, marveling at the sheer difference in size. Your hand is entirely engulfed in his as he curls his phalanges over yours, the warmth of his bones seeping into your skin. It's soothing, especially since the overworked muscles have decided that enough is enough.

The tall skeleton monster sits up in his seat, turning to face you and looming over your hand. Ever so gently, he places your hand on his decidedly not bony thigh and guides the clean gloves over your palms with gentle precision. Intriguingly, the gloves are warm! As if they had been placed on a heater. It is a tad too hot at first, but once your skin gets used to the temperature, it feels like heaven.

Unbidden, a sigh of relief slips from your lips.

Papyrus doesn't even try to restrain the triumphant smirk on his own. "YOU ARE WELCOME."

Sans, still nuzzling at your neck, sticks his tongue out at his brother. "suck up."

"USELESS BAG OF BONES."

"yeah but whose lap are they sitting on--"

Reaching out with both hands, you press your fingers against both the brothers' fangs. The bare one against Papyrus's, the gloved one against Sans. "Do I need to repeat myself?" Despite the smile on your face, your words are stern.

"no, sweetheart."

"NO, MA'AM."

Both sound reluctantly contrite, a fact that makes you smile. But they don't argue, and you take the opportunity to pull your hands away. Only, you don't get very far.

Sans curls his phalanges around your hand to keep it close to his teeth. He says nothing, but those leering eye lights stay fixed on your face as he nuzzles it gently. His breath is warm and feathers over the sliver of skin between glove and gauntlet, tickling you gently as Sans presses skeleton kiss after skeleton kiss to your palm and then the inside of your wrist.

Papyrus, not one to be outdone, slides another warmed glove onto your bare hand, conscious not to be too rough as he does so. But he, too, raises your hand to press his teeth to your knuckles in a chivalrous kiss. A soft blush casts a red glow on your white gloves, but it only serves to soften Papyrus' harshly angular features. Unlike his brother, Papyrus only nuzzles you once before he lets your hand go, sitting back in his seat and spreading his legs so he can press his thigh against your knees.

Your heart flips wetly in your chest at the tenderness these two menacing monsters are showing you. It suddenly casts your mind back to what Sans had said earlier. A closed triad with him and his brother. Perhaps...it wouldn't be so bad after all. And Papyrus seems more than happy to touch you, to give you affection. Perhaps to receive some in return.

Yes, you think as you lean into Sans, letting him nuzzle and kiss your hand to his soul's content, you could get used to this.

As you close your eyes and start to doze in the safety of Sans' embrace and Papyrus' presence next to you, you make a mental note to ask them about their ecto-bodies when you have privacy. Because if it was what you felt when you helped Sans out in that alley...well, you have an idea.

[ladymariayuri]

your m+ posting always makes me wanna try it but it still scares me so hard as someone who rarely does dungeons and has never done m+ before (even tho i’ve raided a lot and am fine w that). do you have any tips on how to get started w m+ or anything for people new to it?

OMG YAAAAY okay i can actually give you tips that helped me because i didnt do a single m+ dungeon until late bfa, and i didnt do anything above a 10 until shadowlands season 2 which was also the first season i started doing like "high" keys if you want to call it that. but i always really wanted to try it all of legion and most of bfa i was just so scaredpilled and terrifiedmaxxing. ok anyway AUTISM BLAST READMORE OF DOOM

#1 thing i would recommend is doing a youtube binge of a bunch of guides for the current season's dungeons thats aimed at newer players or people unfamilliar with the m+ environment and then going in on a regular mythic or a +2 until you personally feel comfortable and think you have a grasp of whats going on. you can watch as many guides as you want but nothing's going to teach you like throwing yourself in there and doing it for yourself. idk if youve done dawn of the infinites before it was turned into m+ (or at all) but it had a few more mechanics and quirks for some bosses and they were a LOT harder at the time (morchie, chrono lord deios, and manifested timeways come to mind). my first time doing it my friends literally summoned me after the first boss because their tank dropped group and needed one and i had to learn everything on the fly with them explaining it over voice and while it was horrifying it was a good learning experience. for this season specifically, this video is a decent "cheat sheet" for all of the bosses and their mechanics that you can just skip through for a general idea of things, and this playlist consists of videos for each dungeon that are super in depth and basically explain what's going on from dungeon entrance to dungeon end. trash packs, dangerous abilities, what each role should be focusing on, bosses and their mechanics, etc

you said you already raid so i don't have to preach the whole "know your class" thing but m+ is an entirely different beast from raid requiring a different mindset and your personal responsibility pretty much skyrockets across the board. tank is pretty chill in raid but in m+ it's much harder because you have no cotank and you're the one calling the shots and setting the pace and you're sort of expected to know exactly what you're doing and how you're going to do it and if it deviates at all from what they expect you better be able to prove it wasn't a bad idea. i dont heal in raids so i dont really know how it is but i can't imagine that going from 5~ cohealers to none makes you feel any better and being able to compensate for everybody else's mistakes that aren't a literal 100-0 oneshot is pretty much required and very much not for the weakhearted. as dps you go from one in a million to expected to do your job because a dps in m+ who doesnt do their job (ccing, not getting hit, using defensives) is a lot more noticeable and problematic than a dps in raid who doesn't do their job because a bad dps in raid is just mildly irritating but a bad dps in m+ can make or break the run

across the board for all roles i think the #1 mindset change to adopt is a much heavier focus on mob control and having the proper utility to survive both mobs and bosses. this usually boils down to taking every cc talent you can spare the points for and sometimes sacrificing damage to take a talent point in being able to dispel diseases, or purge etc. you can usually get away with not taking the right utility talents in raid unless it's something like stampeding roar or darkness because you probably have somebody else who can do it for you. you can't really get away with that in m+ because you're running into situations where you have to interrupt or stun or purge or slow or knockback or run away or heal yourself or press your immunity button from the moment you put the key in until the last boss dies and you often have to exhaust every button available to you as soon as it's ready. sometimes its not enough, sometimes everybody's all out of buttons, and you just have to survive until things die. if you watch m+ streamers at all then you already know things are just constantly happening all the time and it never stops but most streamers play in coordinated groups with voice chat which reduces the difficulty of these dungeons by like 50% imho. if you're pugging then you have to play the game like everybody else in your group is a fucking idiot (which is just going to be true most of the time) and plan around the possibility that you have to do the job of 5 people

if you want to know what other people are running or what the best setup for your class is in m+, i recommend cross referencing between the m+ sections of both icyveins and wowhead, your class's discord, and subcreation.net and seeing what seems to be a common denominator between all or most of them. emphasis on cross referencing because most of these have their flaws. class discords are objectively super helpful and up to date but are usually full of freaks detached from reality who are physically incapable of doing anything except circlejerking. subcreation is a data website that just shows what most people are rocking irt talents/gear, and while i personally use it religiously many people advise against data websites because they don't give the big picture on why people are running x and/or y. i dont see a problem with that, it's just best used in tandem with other resources. i don't have any negative things to say about wowhead or icyveins, they're just authored by different types of hosts (wowhead guides are often maintained by one person who's really good at what they do naturally, icyveins guides are the product of class discords and thus are sort of a group effort). i personally like to refer to wowhead more because there's a lot more little comments and notes by authors explaining the rationale behind why x is good and y is bad or maybe if you're this type of player you'd prefer this instead of that. again, you might know all of this as a raider, but idk the extent of your raiding experience and it doesn't hurt to bring it up just incase. here's the subcreation page for havoc dh, which is my main, to give you an idea of what that website provides. i think an underrated benefit of subcreation stems from it "hiding" all of the talent points that are taken 99% of the time, so anything that remains is usually a flex point for a reason you have to figure out through the other resources listed. to use havoc dh as an example, the flex points in the class tree are usually just different choices made with utility (aoe fear, longer throw glaive or throw glaive that slows enemies, longer spectral sight etc), but in the spec tree there's only one flex point, and there's 3 different options that all fill the same niche (your burst aoe button) but are WILDLY different in how they play. i know why theyre picked and when, but if i didnt, id probably look at icyveins and wowhead. and to use havoc dh as an example again, glaive tempest is rarely mentioned on those websites compared to fel barrage and essence break, and if i wasn't very familiar with the class i'd be a bit confused. so that's where i'd go into the class discord and literally ctrl-f "glaive tempest" lol. i think this is honestly more relevant in m+ than in raid because raid is going to be focused on single target builds 99.9% of the time, but you need a mixed damage profile in m+ and that just naturally leads to more diverse builds that do different types of damage. the same thing can apply to healing and tanking though. m+ healing has a higher emphasis on "on-demand" spot healing, 1-5 target group healing but no more than 5, and damage is going to be more relevant here than in raid. m+ tanking will start to prioritize generating as much threat as you can in a very short amount of time to multiple targets, anything that will help specifically make you tankier vs multiple targets for an extended period of time, and crowd control, which is usually not something you see in raid.

do it scared. if youre scared to do it bad you still have to do it scared. there's no way to stop being scared than to do it scared. tell people you're still learning mechanics in a +2 and they will either not care in the slightest or be more than happy to explain things

a quick "shit, thats my bad" is like an irl soothe. will instantly diffuse any potential conflict unless somebody's just a cunt. then they're not worth your time. make a macro to say "oops mb" if you have to. it shows that you're not a dick and you are cognizant of your own abillity to fuck up and are therefore aware of what the correct thing to do was

in turn, dont be the cunt unless somebody is a cunt to you first. flaming people is worth it approximately 1% of the time. you probably aren't inclined to do this while you're still scared but wanting to punch your monitor because some dipshit just failed the easiest mechanic in the world is eternal in both raiding and m+ once you know what you're doing. there will come a point where somebody dying at a bad time to stupid shit is going to ruin the key. (thankfully you don't reach that point until the mid 20s, but people will act like that's true much sooner than that). they probably know they fucked up and you likely don't have to say anything more than "gg". there is also a point where it is expected of everybody to be able to do things with a moderate amount of intelligence. if somebody dies to a very easy to avoid ground aoe multiple times that most everybody in your group forgot could even one shot because it's that easy to avoid, yes, a little bit of "wtf are you doing you idiot" could be warranted. if you're the one dying to stupid shit, pull out the "mb dunno whats up with me right now" and clear your head. if somebody else is the one dying to stupid shit, accept you can't do anything about it besides be mildly irritated.

build good habits for mechanics early. unfortunately in a +2 and honestly for most keys until the high teens / low 20s depending on your gear, shit is just going to tickle and you're not really going to notice it. other people also just aren't going to do mechanics most of the time unless it is an actual intentional pass/fail that will most likely kill you or wipe you on every key level. i think the best way to circumvent this is to treat every swirlie like it will kill you, like every frontal will kill you (unless it's a designated tank frontal and you're the tank, and even then, treat it like it will kill you and mitigate it), like every unkicked cast could kill you, so on and so forth. obviously this is much easier said than done.

sort of related to the previous point, i also believe that you don't really learn to respect a mob or a boss until it turns around and slaps you for 2x your health bar. it's like a fun hidden reputation bar. you start a +2 tyrannical black rook hold with the risen arcanist being at 0/10000 "what does this guy even do" and one day in your first +25 bolstered fortified black rook hold the risen arcanist will arcane blitz you for 7 million damage when you have 800k hp and suddenly you're 10000/10000 "im going to have nightmares about this mob for the rest of my life" and you will have learned a valuable lesson. then, and only then, do you understand on a fundamental and atomic level why the risen arcanist must be treated with the respect that it demands, and what cooldowns you have to reserve for it in the next run. this is just a part of putting in the reps and doing it scared and just jumping right in. you will learn over time what mobs you HAVE to respect and which ones are allowed to get a few casts off or live a bit longer in favor of the more threatening ones. you will also learn which boss abilities are just a rough slap across the face and which ones are Literally 9/11 which will just instantly fucking kill you with no hope of ever surviving without pressing your biggest defensive, which sometimes means you just have to rawdog the slaps across the face so that you dont get instantly fucking killed by Literally 9/11. guides will always tell you this sort of thing and what to watch out for but just like how you dont really learn mechanics from reading about it, you dont learn that a +25 tyrannical iridikron's stonecracker barrage is just going to fucking kill you if you dont do something about it and it probably will kill you even if you DO do something about it and that's just the reality we live in and your next step is to find out if you cuold have done anything more to prevent it.

ok thats enough typing from me. if you ever have specific questions you can always send an ask again. i wish u luck i lov dis game mode i hope u enjoyed my autism wall of text <3

[vinnsimp]

Obey Me demon!Solomon au chapter 1 part 1

Paring: Demon!Solomon x GN!MC

Warnings: Cussing/cursing, not proofread, Solomon, probably OOC, an AU so not super canon, and MC dying :D

Note: This is just kind of testing my writing n stuff and i'm just kinda goin with the flow with this so i may not continue this but i might i dunno my motivation is a literal rollercoaster (that down almost the whole ride). And i am really so sorry if some of this doesn't make sense. I confuse people a lot (on accident) so uh yeah. Sorry😅

Y/N is past!you and MC is present!you

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

A long time ago...

"Y/N!? Y-Y/N..!?" After yelling your name like 262019 times he finally sees you and.. He sees you, Y/N, his sweet s/o, barely standing above 3 bodies. Dead bodies. While you were on the verge of passing out. You had so many cuts and bruises.. "Solomon.." You barely managed to get you before... bang. You both looked down and saw.. You were shot? You finally pass out- or maybe died??? Either way- Solomon came rushing to catch you. He saw the guy that shot you and.. Well he simply used fire magic to burn the absolute SHIT outta him.

After Solomon brought you back to your house, he laid you on the couch. He tried so many different healing spells but... Nothing worked. Unfortunately you were "special" or sum and magic didn't work on you... Well unless it's like a really powerful uh- let's say demon who could maybe uh- oh i dunno, control time who is also a butler. Maybe i dunno just a guess, it's not like that'll ever happen eheh...

Well anyways. Solomon was trying to stop the bleeding when he realized.. He sighs. "I'm gonna have to call Barbatos..." Oh hey it's a really powerful demon who can control time and is a butler. Who would've guessed? Anyways. You didn't really like Barbatos cuz he gave you the creeps but it's the only option unless you wanna die.

So once Solomon made sure you were.. Somewhat stable, he called Barbatos. Well technically he summoned Barbatos against his will but eh whatever. He has a good reason.

Barbatos was obviously annoyed. "What do you need, Solomon. I was in the middle of cooking dinner." Right after he said that he sees you.. His face changes to a look of.. Somewhat concern? Yes he didn't really like you but he knows Solomon loved you and you both were happy together so he didn't mind... Wait- he doesn't like Solomon either???

"Can you.. Help them? Please Barbatos. My magic won't do anything." Solomon pleas. It's rare to see him be so.. Vulnerable and emotional. It's kinda weird ngl.. He's on the verge of tears. Barbatos sighs.

"Why do you think my magic's gonna do anything?"

"I.. I don't know. I just... Well you're powerful. You can change the past and future so i just thought... Can you help them... Please?" Solomon couldn't keep his thoughts together so his sentences were also kind of... Not super together either.

"..." Barbatos sighs and takes a look at you. Solomon notices his eyes go a little wide.

"What is it..?" He asks. Are you dead? Was he too late? Should he have done more? Should he have trained better? Work harder? should he have-

"If you want to help them, you'll have to become a demon." What. "Y/N was shot with a very rare and powerful bullet. No one really knows what the bullet does but.. They'll have to be reincarnated. Unfortunately because it's so rare i don't have the slightest idea what it does. Tho i do know, usually the reincarnation doesn't work but... If you become a demon, if you give Y/N your mortality, they'll have a second chance. It'll just cost you you're humanity." Barbatos explains and he elevates your head and make sure you're not bleeding and there's bandages on all of your scars.

Solomon doesn't know how to react. So many thoughts are racing through his mind. He can't think straight. He already couldn't but still-

"You can think about it but you only have-"

"I'll do it." Solomon interrupts. Even if there are so many cons.. He'll do it. If it means to keep you safe, he'll do it. He'll do anything and everything for you.

"..Are you sure? You'll never be able to be a human again and you may never see Y/N again." Barbatos says. He doesn't really understand why Solomon agreed without even thinking about it, but then he remembered who Solomon was.

"I'm sure. We met in this life. We'll meet in the next. And the next. And the next. And the next. Even if i never die. We'll always meet." Solomon answered. He wasn't fully confident in that but he also knew he'll find you. No matter what.

"...Okay. We can start the ritual now. They'll still have the birthmark on their hand so it'll be.. A little easier to find them." Barbatos says. He knows Diavolo will be a bit mad because they did this without telling him, but that can wait later. "I'll go set it up now." He says before leaving. He knows Solomon will want some alone time with you. Conscious or unconscious, he'll talk to you and tell you everything is alright and he'll be by your side until the very end.

Once it was finished being set up, Barbatos took Solomon and Y/N to the room. He asked Solomon if he's sure and Solomon agreed, no hesitation, no seconds thoughts. Barbatos started the ritual and Solomon fell unconscious. Barbatos put Solomon in his bed and took Y/N to who knows where.

Once Solomon awoke he saw Barbatos and Diavolo siting at the table in the kitchen and talking.

"Ah Solomon! Good morning. How are you feeling?" Diavolo asks. He somehow looks cheery after hearing a human he was fond of died and another human, who was a very powerful sorcerer, is now a demon because his butler did a ritual to make him one without notifying him.

"..Dizzy. And everything feels.. Weird. Almost like it's not real." Solomon answers while looking around a bit. They're still in your house so they're definitely still in the Human World.

"Interesting.." Barbatos says before he takes a sip of his tea. "Well i made some tea so you're welcome to have some."

"Thanks.." Solomon pours himself some tea and sits down. The three talked for a while and agreed Solomon should move to The Devildom.

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

Well that seemed like a good stopping point and i did get a bit tired n stuff at the end so it's kinda rushed (sorry😅) but eh. Good enough lmao. And this was just what happened in the past so you can understand it better. This is gonna be through both POVs so yeah in the story so yeah. And you may get to see what happened here through Y/N's eyes. Maybe i dunno yet.

Anyways thanks for reading :D

[pomellon]

Dusk’s Saurian Dragons: Elemental Magic

Okay this took me way too long but here some more dragon lore for my dragon aus! Same as the other posts this is lore I basically use for ALL my dragon aus and ocs :D

Some stuff is tweaked a little bit between some aus and fandoms to fit canons, (magic is for example sometimes replaced with essence, sometimes dragon blood is the color of the magic and sometimes not, etc.) but this is the base info for elemental magic to easier direct people to for when I start posting about dragon aus.

Elemental Magic

Saurian dragons get their magic abilities shortly after they settle into their classes, usually when they're in their late teens or early twenties. When this happens the dragon’s eyes, as well as their flesh and blood, will slowly shift from their baby grey to their adult colour, which corresponds with their elemental magic.

There’s fourteen types of magic in the saurian world. The four most common ones are fire, earth, air, and water. Followed by the four uncommon ones of ice, lightning, light, and shadow. Then the rare ones of carnage, nature, arcane, and astral.

There’s also the two mystic elements, void and mind. These differ a bit from au to au, but void will often be a banish element that’s rare or no longer exists, while mind has gone extinct.

Gods and Claims

Each type of magic is represented by a god, ancient beings who came to life at the dawn of time and shaped worlds to home their many creations. They are particularly fond of dragons as they were created in their image, and it’s through the gods that dragons get their magic abilities.

The ancient ones watch over the dragons closely and if they find one who has similar values and world views as themselves they will claim that specific dragon as one of their “children”. It’s the claim that allows the dragon to use the same magic as their godly parent, and it’s because of this that dragons with the same element tend to have similar personality types.

A claim generally lasts for the dragon’s whole lifetime, but similar to classes a claim might change or fade should the dragon’s personality drastically alter. If a god notices one of their children changing their views and values they might hand them off to another god they think may be a better fit, or simply withdraw their claim. Getting a change in magic might slightly, or sometimes drastically, change the dragon's appearance as well.

Subclaims also exist, and can happen if a god decides to temporarily give an already claimed dragon the ability to use their magic as well. Sometimes this is done as a godly favour or if the god senses the dragon will be surrounded or tied to their element for a long period of time, therefore giving them their blessing. Subclaims can also be triggered by magic items, in which case the sub claim will last as long as the dragon uses or wears the item. Magic coming from magic items tends to be unpredictable and harder to control than natural magic.

If a dragon has a subclaim they will usually keep the magic colour of their original claim, but sometimes the colours of both magics might mix, or the colour of the sub claim might show in one of the dragon’s eyes.

Completely losing a claim is very rare and tends to only happen if a dragon has fallen into a deep despair, unable to feel anything but emptiness and sorrow, therefore becoming unnoticeable by the gods. Losing their magic can be very distressing, painful, and even fatal, since magic is meant to flow through their entire bodies. While some dragons may survive having no claim they will be very weak and frail.

Magic can be used in a couple of different ways, from controlling the elementals that naturally exist in the world, to summoning the elements by breath attacks, constructs, or even creating elemental creatures or familiars. Elements that are summoned are created by pure magic and will eventually fade, so a fire started by breath magic usually won’t spread very far and will die out fast. However if a dragon was to control naturally created fire it would behave and last just as long as fire normally would.

These are the elemental gods, as well as the basic personality traits and magic used by their children:

(Please note that a dragon’s personality traits don’t always have to fit in with the element they possess. Sometimes the gods will claim a dragon that’s different to its other children, either because they sense they will have a connection to their element or simply because. If you want to create your own character within this lore,  or assign an element to fandom characters for aus, please do not feel forced to have them fit to a specific personality type. Similarly the magic colours shown are just a range of examples and does not have to be colour picked.)

Fire Spirit of Flames (she/they) Fire magic is linked to passion, loyalty and courage. Fire elementals tend to be flashy, whether it is through fashion, a loud way of speaking, or charming charisma. They have a way to grab others’ attention, like moths to a flame. They will at times be hot headed but quickly calm down where there’s nothing to fuel the fire.

Fire magic allows the wielder to raise temperatures and control heated elements like fire, metals, and lava. The wielder can heat the space around them or center it on a spot to set fire to or melt objects.

Fire magic will have the colour of bright oranges or red-oranges.

Earth Guard of Gems (she/they) Earth magic is linked to stability, practicality and consistency. Earth elements are gentle creatures of methodology and routine. They tend to be stubborn and set in their ways but because of this they often carry trades and knowledge from generations past. Some say that their past down knowledge might be as old as the earth itself.

Earth magic allows the wielder to shape and control different elements of earth, like rocks, gems, or metal. With a lot of practice and patience they can learn to summon earthquakes or reshape entire terrains.

Earth magic will have the colour of warm pinks, browns and or red-browns.

Air Messenger of Gales (he/they) Air magic is linked to freedom, adventure, and curiosity. Air elementals are always on the move, on a continuous path of exploring and finding enjoyment in the world. They’re free like the wind itself and won’t be tied down or take on commitments that will force them to stay in one place for any long periods of time.

Air magic allows the wielder to control wind and air. They mostly use this to control their flight and ability to travel, but can also deal devastating damage with powerful gusts and wind blasts. Some are even skilled enough to travel to places where others would find it hard to breathe.

Air magic will have the colour of cool pastel purples and blues.

Water Keeper of Tides (he/they) Water magic is linked to sensitivity, compassion, and empathy. Water elementals are open and friendly, often wearing their hearts on their sleeves. They easily read and relate to others’ emotions, like they read and prepare for the waves at sea, but at times they might struggle to fully understand their own feelings that hide in their depths.

Water magic allows the wielder to control liquids and humidity, making it possible for the user to be able to breathe and move quickly through bodies of water. While they can drag out liquid from the surrounding humidity they prefer to carry water with them when travelling. With a lot of practice a group of water elementals can even summon natural rain.

Water magic will have the colour of blues, dark blues, and blue-greens.

Ice Vagabond of Frosts (he/they) Ice magic is linked to solitude, visionary, and performance. Ice elementals often prefer solitude and can appear antisocial or detached. Because of this they will often pull on an act to fit in and tend to be quite good performers. They can be very resourceful with what little they have in the bare tundra and they’re good at planning ahead for harsher times.

Ice magic is similar to fire in the way that it allows the wielder to control temperatures, in this case lowering it. The wielder can freeze the area around them, grow ice spikes, and control objects that are frozen.

Ice magic will have the colour of pale blues, and grey-blues.

Lightning Ruler of Storms (she/they) Lightning magic is linked to energy, efficiency, and impulsivity. Lightning elementals are full of electric energy and tend to bounce from one project to the next, quick at completing and improving their tasks and skills. They don’t always think things through however, and many of them prefer trial and error over careful and detailed planning.

Lightning magic allows the wielder to summon lightning and control the flow of electricity. This magic, just like the ones wielding it, tend to be very unpredictable and impulsive. Energy blasts and waves of electricity are the most efficient direct attacks, but it takes a lot of practice and finest control. The magic can also be used to help build and control electronics and machinery.

Lightning magic will have the colour of bright blues and teals.

Light Knight of Suns (he/they) Light magic is linked to justice, truth, and hope. Light elementals are diplomatic and often prefer to settle disputes with words but are not afraid to take action in the face of injustice. They like to share their skills and knowledge and are enlightened within many topics, but at times see things in black and white and have a hard time accepting anything in between.

Light magic allows the wielder to summon and control light. This can be as simple as to create spheres of light to brighten an area but can also be used to create powerful light beam shards. With a lot of knowledge some wielder might even be able to travel through light in a kind of teleportation.

Light magic will have the colour of pale and bright yellows, and orange-yellows.

Shadow Rogue of Veils (she/they) Shadow magic is linked to trickery, deception, and secrets. Shadow elementals love the unknown, they like to figure things out and gather knowledge, very similar to light elementals except they like to keep their information for themselves in the dark. For a good price they might give up a secret, but they’re just as likely to return it with trickery.

Shadow magic allows the wielder to summon and control shadows and darkness. This can be used to create complete pitch darkness to blind enemies, or to make shadows tangible and dangerous. With a lot of skill some wielder might even be able to travel through shadows in a kind of teleportation.

Shadow magic will have the colour of cool, bright, and dark purples.

Carnage Maid of Bones (she/they) Carnage magic is heavily linked to destruction, death, and decay. Pure carnage elementals are rare and most of them are only subclaimed. They’re driven by a personal purpose or objective which often leads to violence and death, but they’re not necessarily aggressive by nature. All things must come to an end eventually and they’re simply here to ensure the circle of life and death continues.

Carnage magic allows the wielder to control blood and decay. Wounds caused by carnage elementals and magic fester and refuse to heal and wielders can shape and control spilled blood. The magic also gives them the ability to survive and slowly heal from wounds that would have killed other elementals. With a lot of skill carnage magic seems to be able to reverse and heal wounds instead of causing them.

Carnage magic will have the colour of bright and dark reds.

Nature Healer of Meadows (he/they) Nature magic is linked to creation, life, and growth. Nature elementals are gentle but blunt. They’re very aware of the laws of nature itself and while they hold the ability to heal and grow they usually aren’t bothered by death since that’s simply part of life. They tend to be nurturing and will often care for their own kind, plants, or animals, and help them grow to find their place in the world.

Nature magic allows the wielder to control plant life and encourage growth. They can heal wounds and illnesses, as well as control plant life to make them grow and move according to their wishes. Their magic can also summon momentary mutations and growth spurts for creatures, giving them a strong power boost. However with excessive use nature magic can go too far, encouraging decay past the growth.

Nature magic will have the colour of cool greens.

Arcane Sage of Mystics (he/they) Arcane magic is linked to knowledge, science, and intuition. Arcane elementals are all about knowledge and facts. They’re the types to pick things apart and put them together again to figure out how they work. They’re intelligent and driven to understand the world and magic itself, but will at times ignore morals and judgements to get what they want.

Arcane magic allows the wielder to control magic itself. The magic takes a lot of practice and skill to handle, and can be self destructive, but if successfully used it can redirect, control, and absorb summoned magic by other dragons and creatures. On a large scale arcane elementals can unleash devastating powers by magic blasts and constructs. On a smaller scale they can also change or stop the flow of other creatures' magic, influencing their ability to move and function. With a lot of practice and observation arcane elementals can even mimic the magic of other elementals.

Arcane magic will have the colour of warm, bright, and dark purples.

Astral Judge of Stars (she/they) Astral magic is linked to space, patience, and impartiality. Astral elementals are the master of patience, they take things as they come and go with the flow. They tend to be agreeable but at the same time aloof. While they might act friendly they very rarely get attached to anything, but because of that they’re able to remain unbiased and judge things fairly.

Astral magic allows the wielder to control space and gravity. They can make creatures or objects heavier or lighter, as well as shrink or enlarge them. They’re able to alter the space around them to move things around by using their magic. Astral elementals are also able to see things other elementals can’t, like visions of the past and future, or even other realities. In very rare cases some astral wielders even have the ability to control time.

Astral magic will have the colour of warm and bright greens.

Mind Wielder of Minds (they/them) Mind magic is linked to sentience, thoughts, and emotions. Mind elementals are intelligent, and could easily be mind readers even without their powers. They can predict someone’s next moves or quickly figure out their motives or wants by sensing their emotions. This tends to make them likeable, but also confusing for others as they will often act in ways their companions will enjoy, meaning they act very differently around different companions. They have several different masks for different occasions but they very rarely show their true face.

Mind magic allows the wielder to control minds. It can be simple things like little tricks or illusions, slightly changing someone’s mind or feelings about something. But it can also be complete control of the mind and having others spell bound under their magic, erasing memories and emotions, creating visions so real they hurt. In some very rare cases mind elementals can even grant sentience and intelligence to other creatures or even objects.

Mind magic will have the colour of pure white but can be any colour as part of its ability to create illusions. 

Void Stalker of Voids (they/it) Void magic is linked to discourse, chaos, and the unknown. Void elementals are nothing and everything all at once. Unlike the other elementals, voids are almost always controlled by their godly parent and are little more than puppets on strings for the Stalker to do with as they please. While oftentimes emotionless they will randomly have bursts of a chaotic mix of emotions that often makes them violent and unpredictable.

Void magic is nothing and everything. The magic itself often appears as black sludge or webs but can take the appearance and ability of any magic, most commonly of the magic that has recently been absorbed or devoured by the void elemental. Void elementals are however more likely to use physical attacks over magical ones, only using the black sludge on and around them to trap prey and victims.

Void magic will have the colour of pure black but can be any colour as part of its chaotic nature and ability to absorb other magic.

MAGIC IN THE SAURIAN WORLD

Magic in itself can be quite volatile and unpredictable and it exists everywhere within this world. Fauna and flora will usually have the same elemental magic as dragons even though they aren’t always able to display or use it. Instead the magic flows within their bodies, which is an incredibly important food source for the dragons.

To live a healthy life and to be able to use their magic abilities dragons need to consume magic. Preferably of the same kind as their claim, but at times closely related magic sources will do too, for example water and ice. In a pinch a completely different magic will do as well, for example light and shadow, but it will slowly poison the dragon if it’s a diet followed for a long period of time.

If a dragon goes without magic for a long period or time, or their food source doesn't contain much magic, they will slowly lose their magic abilities. Oftentimes their eye, flesh, and blood colour will grow pale, and gain back a slightly grey hue similar to their baby colour. This is a condition mostly referred to as Dull Eyes and will also happen to dragons who have lost their magic claim.

Most areas in this world will have a mix of elemental magic fauna and flora, while others are heavily influenced by one specific magic type, these are often referred to as Domains. Dragons can live in any area of the world, but similar to their diet some dragons of certain elements might grow weak in some domains. A light dragon might grow sickly spending too much time in a shadow domain, while a water dragon might not be able to use much of their magic in a fire one. On the other hand, a dragon with the same magic as the domain they're in can continuously draw magic from their surroundings, making them strong and powerful. Dragons of a similar element might even find their claim shift to that of the domains, sometimes temporarily and other times permanently.

There have been flights who have attempted to settle down in domains, but these areas tend to move, shift, and sometimes completely vanish, so it’s never been done successfully.

[camptara]

Camp Tara powerlists: #6 - Brigid

🌸 Brigid 🌸

___Passive Abilities___

- Can communicate with Sheep, Cattle, Goats and Pigs.

- Can speak with plants

- Immune to flame

- Able to sense running water

- Possess extreme talents in wordsmithing, and in poetry.

___Active Abilities___

- Possess the ability to manipulate metals

- Possess the ability to enchant weapons, strengthening them or imbuing them with special abilities

- Possess Pyrokinesis; While most children of Brigid can only control fire. Rarley, a child is born with the ability to create it as well.

- Ability to manipulate plant growth, and control them completley; rarely a child of brigid will be born with the power to rot away plantlife, and control fungus.

- Charmspeak; Works only through poetry. If successful, its a lot harder to snap out of than regular charmspeak as it takes the mind a bit to realise what even happened.

- Tellumkinesis; The ability to Telekinetically manipulate weapons, and farming equipment; Training can be done to evolve this ability to allow the children of Brigid to summon said objects

- Call of the wild; An ability that allows the demigod to summon a herd of nearby animals

- Possess potent healing abilities, able to soothe pain and create powerful salves and concoctions with the potential to close and heal wounds

- Enhanced strength; to the extent of being able to pick up and throw cattle. [ Note: I do not reccomend throwing cattle. ]

[uboat53]

I've been pretty vocal about how Netanyahu and his extremist allies aren't just fighting a war against Hamas or Gaza or even Palestinians, they're waging a war against other Israelis, doing untold damage in the process. This last week gives us a pretty solid example of that.

In case you hadn't heard, accusations arose in the last few weeks of Israeli soldiers torturing Palestinian detainees at what can really only be described as concentration camps. I know that particular word has some history in Israel that's, shall we say, still raw, but that's effectively what they are.

Anyways, these accusations include using stress positions and restraints on prisoners to the point of causing limb damage that resulted in those limbs being amputated as well as accusations of forced sodomy. Needless to say, this isn't the kind of thing that's acceptable in a liberal democracy that's under the rule of law. The response of Netanyahu's governing coalition, however, was less than ideal. Specifically, take a look at the following exchange (Likud is the name of Netanyahu's party, MK is short of Member of the Knesset, the Knesset is the Israeli Parliament):

MK Ahmad Tibi (TA'AL Party): [Is it legitimate] to insert a stick into a person's rectum? MK Hanoch Milwidsky (Likud Party): Yes! If he is a Nukhba [Hamas militant], everything is legitimate to do! Everything!

Source

This was just the tip of the iceberg, however, as far-right Israelis, including the Otzma Yehudit Party, which is a member of Netanyau's governing coalition, summoned settlers and other far-right protesters to the Sde Teiman camp where the abuse was alleged to have taken place to protest against the arrest of the accused soldiers. Among those who came were Amihai Eliyahu, a former Member of the Knesset and current Minister for Jerusalem Affairs and Heritage, Almog Cohen, a current Member of the Knesset, both of the Otzma Yehudit Party, and Zvi Sukkot, a Member of the Knesset for the Religious Zionist Party which is also a part of Netanyahu's governing coalition.

As extremist protests tend to do, this one got out of hand and protesters breached the camp, taking control of a good deal of it. Of the elected officials listed above, Sukkot is known to have entered the camp as part of this breach. At this point, none of them are known to have been arrested for their activity, though opposition parties have condemned them.

Source

In other words, the governing coalition of Israel is now justifying torture, arbitrary confinement, and even murder without due process of law or restriction under the laws of war, putting Israel in the company of the worst dictatorships and human rights abusers in the world. It's getting harder and harder for anyone to credibly argue that Israel shares the values of liberal democracy and is governed by the rule of law when its own government increasingly violates both.

And this is the damage to Israel that will persist long after this current conflict with Hamas is over. If the nation is fortunate, a more ethical and lawful government will come to power and restore some of the damage done, but Netanyahu has stained the reputation of his country in ways that will take a generation or more to wash off.

This is why I say that he's waging a war against Israel and why Israel will not be able to recover or move forward until he and his extremist allies are removed from power.

[sepublic]

As I ponder how the Monster Realm's arc goes, I'm also reconsidering the climax(es).

The original and current(?) idea is that the Monster Fighters and co. defeat each warlock individually within Narellus' mansion; I want to see each Warlock shine on their own, be pushed to the very end and unveil a final, most powerful spell that's unlocked by plunging their Magestone into their spine. Very painful, but I think it's cool.

The Council of Warlocks is defeated, their plans seemingly disrupted with the ritual requiring thousands, if not millions of followers to pour their magic in at the same time. But they do escape, and somehow, through some loophole, they find another method of reviving Magic, set up earlier in the story by both protagonists and antagonists.

Then we get a big fight, against all seven warlocks at once; Because I want to see this, I want to see a cool fight where we see the entire group work together in synergy, and be at their strongest. And that makes it all the more satisfying when they are defeated, even as a group. But the warlocks nevertheless accomplish the alternate ritual; Magic is resurrected, and through the warlocks' control attacks their enemies. But the Monster Fighters help bring back Magic's soul for a moment to undo the ritual, reverting Magic's body into the Magestones.

Of course, before the whole series of final showdowns with the warlocks, there'd be Khemh's betrayal; This would lead to the Monster Fighters having to rely on the Council of Warlocks to help them, which leads to the warlocks seizing Khemh's entire kingdom, and through this victory legitimizing themselves to a bunch of other communities, which results in them pledging loyalty, and thus providing the numbers needed to attempt the ritual. Hence the assault on Narellus' mansion, where it first takes place.

But I've reconsidered re-ordering stuff; What if the warlocks get the numbers they need without defeating Khemh, who hasn't come up with his plan yet. The Monster Fighters assault the living mansion with their allies, they defeat each individual warlock. And with that, the plan is butchered; Perhaps the warlocks are taken prisoner within Khemh's personal dungeons, and he lays claim to all seven Magestones. Or they're defeated and the Magestones are claimed by the Monster Fighters.

The story is seemingly over, the warlocks have been defeated and they can't accomplish their big endgame without the Magestones, problem solved! The Monster Fighters meet up with Khemh in his capital. And then he reveals his plan to bring the sun to the Monster Realm so he can take over; A goal even more devastating than Majikus', which would unfortunately force the Monster Fighters to ally with the guys they just defeated and have been fighting this whole time. Maybe it was always Khemh's plan, even.

And he has the Magestones, having accepted them for safekeeping from the Monster Fighters earlier, or doing it right now. With no other option, the Monster Fighters summon the warlocks, who with their regathered armies lay siege to Khemh's palace. They take back the Magestones, and with them defeat Khemh together as a combined team. This leads to the warlocks having a surplus of followers due to everyone else being intimidated by their comeback. And they try the ritual, all over again, and succeed this time; You already know what happens next.

I think this could work better, because it does break up the monotony of a bunch of warlock showdowns, one after another, and could make Khemh's betrayal hit harder, and make more sense; He still needs the Monster Fighters so he's not just gonna reveal things despite suspecting they'll object. Granted, that might happen because of the Monster Fighters snooping around and finding out anyway, forcing Khemh to come clean in the hopes of convincing them.

But as I've said, it makes it seem as if the adventure IS over, that it's all done... Only for the classic video game twist of, Your guide and mentor has been using you the whole time for THEIR evil plan!!! And it makes the Monster Fighters feel even worse because they thought they'd just beaten the warlocks and saved the day. But by defeating Khemh they just have to give the warlocks what they need, so it just feels as if all their progress has been undone.

For the record, it doesn't have to be; Their work in preventing the warlocks from massacring certain groups and whatnot could still pay off. There could still be another kind of progress. And the Monster Fighters could get stronger from all of the battles, making them more capable of defeating the warlocks in the final hour when it all comes down to this battle.

Plus they can’t be blamed, Khemh necessitated the warlocks’ victory by choosing to be greedy instead of just sticking with his own kingdom as he originally intended; The warlocks are the primary villains but Khemh is the greater evil. He changed his mind, it didn’t have to be this way, he undid all that progress and made it seem meaningless.

It was his arrogance that forced the Monster Fighters to defeat him too. But Khemh might just try and convince them not to summon the warlocks because it'll undo their progress, it'll undo the work of their predecessors; And even after the warlocks are summoned, in his desperation he might try and get them to go back and forth again after everything.

It lends to the uncertainty and regret of the situation; The Monster Fighters JUST defeated the warlocks, only to help them defeat Khemh?! Maybe they should’ve teamed up with the warlocks from the start, and then committed themselves fully. At the very least, starting as warlock allies to take out Khemh, and then stopping the warlocks definitively, would’ve been far less of a waste of time, far less of a back and forth. It’d make the Monster Fighters seem less indecisive and/or treacherous about their allegiances.

Narellus is pushing the narrative that the Monster Fighters are now our friends, and hell Majikus herself might actually adopt this idea wholly, delusional and self-convinced enough to see the Monster Fighters' brief alliance as the proof they need to believe the warlocks are people they should support, if they really care about the Monster Realm! Surely it's safe to assume, because anyone with common sense would've figured it out by now from all this; And that fuels Ruby's lowest point, meant to precede her victorious high.

Plus, Khemh being taken out by the full Council of Warlocks together could better set up the antagonists as a threat when they're a team; They were defeated as separated individuals, cut off from one another. But now they'll make sure to stick together, and have shown exactly what they can do.

And the last time our heroes beat the warlocks, they also had help from Khemh. Khemh didn't want to drag himself into a war, not until he knew he had to; Before that, he relied on proxies like the Monster Fighters whom he couldn't be definitively blamed and targeted for. He waited for a decisive moment like at the mansion to begin and end his war with the warlocks, when their armies had been softened already by the Monster Fighters.

This minimized Khemh's own casualties, while also dedicating as many soldiers as possible into one battle to ensure its victory (because if they'd already been at war, they'd have been spread out defending Khemh's kingdom from all directions by the warlocks' other forces). But now the heroes don't have Khemh's help anymore, so what hope do our Monster Fighters have? Which makes the power-up from Magic in the end really even the odds, and makes the defeat of a fully-united council feel more earned and meaningful.

I could also insert a moment when Majikus is defeated the first time, a "We're all going to burn!!!" breakdown. And of course the protagonists and viewer dismiss this because she's a fascist who thinks the world will fall apart without fascism. But then she's vindicated on some level when because the warlocks were defeated, it allowed Khemh to take the Magestones and attempt to literally burn everything with the sun.

So when she takes back control thanks to our own protagonists, it just proves to her that she's right, she IS the hero they need to protect them from those who would hurt the Monster Realm!!! And the heroes genuinely consider it, for a moment, in their disillusioned state; Before they remember, oh right, the lesser evil is still evil.

Maybe instead of having the supporters they need before Khemh's betrayal, and trying that twice, doesn't happen; Instead the warlocks find a loophole through some powerful artifact, idk. They realize they don't need X number of followers now, allowing them to proceed with the plan a lot sooner. This hastens the protagonists' successful assault, which leads to the loophole being destroyed, thus rendering Plan B forever out of reach.

But then Khemh shows his true colors, the warlocks are needed, and their big comeback is what finally gets them the followers they need; So again, the protagonists genuinely thought they had nothing more to fear after the first win, because it's not as if the warlocks are gonna get any more followers after this, it's not as if they already have that number and just need to get the Magestones back. Their loss at Narellus' mansion delegitimized them, right?

But the original Plan A wins out in the end, after all; No thanks to the heroes. It's a classic fake-out victory trope (toootally not inspired by Ninjago's first season hahaaaa), with an extra twist between the fake and real final battles; That twist is the reason the actual final battle occurs, despite Khemh being opposed to the warlocks the whole time. It's less of an exhausting back and forth between fighting individual warlocks and then Magic and finally the united council.

And defeating the warlocks the first time isn't exactly pointless (in the sense that it only exists to create a false lull of security), because it does lead directly into a major story event regarding another hidden antagonist, which leads into him being defeated, allows for another attempt by the primary villains, etc.

In fact, you know what? There doesn't even have to be an initial loophole ritual for the protagonists to stop; It could just be that they chose to take down the warlocks in a big assault because it was a good opportunity to do so, and they had allies.