#nobody talks about this majestic shot

[idiopath-fic-smile]

more Singin' in the Rain ot3, now on the honeymoon boat

part one

part two

The ship was a grand one. Cosmo, whose nautical knowledge began and ended with that Douglas Fairbanks picture about pirates, could tell that much. There was a majestic dining room and a wide, clean promenade and state-of-the-art engines that would get them to Europe in just a few days. The dining room even featured a four-piece band, who were a little stiff but not half bad.

His room, his island of privacy away from Don and Kathy and their combined magnetic pull, was bigger than he expected, well-appointed. It went a little overboard embracing an Egyptian theme, although the decorators had tastefully stopped short of including an actual mummy in a giant stone sarcophagus. He was grateful for that. The piano, as promised, sat in the place of where a desk might normally be, keys gleaming invitingly.

There was just one problem.

“How,” said Cosmo, dropping onto the bed, “did you manage to accidentally book us two adjoining rooms?”

“I’m sorry,” said Don, crossing his arms. “There must’ve been a mix-up at the offices.”

“Maybe the travel agent heard wrong on the telephone,” said Kathy. She rubbed Don’s back consolingly. Don shot her a grateful look. It was all very sweet, probably.

“How?” said Cosmo again. “Nothing sounds like ‘adjoining.’ It doesn’t even have a rhyme.”

“Are you certain?” said Kathy.

Cosmo nodded; he’d already run through the alphabet, twice. “The closest I can get to is ‘disappointing.’” Don was leaning into Kathy’s back rub like a cat, but his face was full of uncatlike guilt. “Don,” said Cosmo, “look, pal, I appreciate the free ticket, but please tell me you’ll fix this.”

“I already talked to the cruise director and there aren’t other rooms,” said Don. “We’re out in the ocean, what do you want me to do, alert the coast guard?”

“Alert the coast guard,” said Cosmo, “flag down a passing mermaid, strike a bargain with Poseidon himself!” 

“Who?” said Don.

“The Greek god of the sea,” said Kathy, like that was the important part.

“I don’t speak any Greek,” Don replied, “do you?”

“I will swim to shore,” Cosmo said, to nobody in particular.

“We can swap over to a different ship when we get to port if we need to,” said Don, shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. He must’ve felt worse about his screw-up than he let on. “In the meantime, the door locks from both sides, so—”

“I’m not—worried that you’ll barge in at all hours pestering me for a cup of sugar,” Cosmo broke in.

Don blinked. Kathy went very still beside him.

Out loud, it sounded more suggestive than he’d meant. Why had he picked sugar, the sauciest ingredient of the baking world?

“Or flour,” he amended.

“Then what’s the trouble?”

“I.” Cosmo sighed. “Why am I the only person in this room who seems to know what a honeymoon is for?”

“Why,” said Don, wide-eyed, “what’s it for?”

“D’you think, if I jumped in the sea and started paddling now—” said Cosmo.

“Don’t worry,” said Kathy. “Don and I can be very quiet.”

And the trouble was, this was worse. The prospect of hearing them from the other side of a single thin door was one thing, and honestly it was plenty bad—Cosmo had played a role during several key moments of their courtship but at least he could say he didn’t know what they sounded like in the throes of passion—but for reasons that Cosmo did not feel like examining, the thought of them stifling themselves in the act, the thought of them naked in bed together, touching each other, biting down on a giggle or a moan, and whispering, ‘Shh, don’t wake Cosmo,’ made him feel like his whole stomach was a sore tooth.

“Don’t put yourselves out on my account,” he told them. Belatedly, he realized that was maybe the worst thing he could’ve said. He blushed, and then he stood, face still flaming—Damn his Irish complexion—nodded to them both, and fled to the promenade.

.

The ocean stretched in all directions as far as Cosmo could see. It was dizzying, and also strangely calming. He stared out at the waves and reminded himself, hardly for the first time, that it wasn’t Don’s fault how Cosmo felt about him. It wasn’t Don’s fault, and it wasn’t Kathy’s fault that she was maybe the most charming woman he’d ever met. You could certainly blame Don for booking the rooms, for not double-checking over the telephone, but there was no malice to it. They were both, at the end of the day, wonderful people who had decided to open this trip up to him for whatever reason, and besides, his bed was piled with any number of pillows he could jam over his head if they did make noise at night.

He stood there holding onto the railing for a long time. Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him. 

“Feeling better?” said Don quietly, almost lost under the roar of the water. Without really trying to, Cosmo turned to look at him. Under his coat, Don was wearing a nicer suit than before, and the color had returned to his face. He looked—well, he looked like a handsome movie star married to a gorgeous starlet. Don took a few steps and rested his hands next to Cosmo’s on the rail.

“It’s the salt air, I think,” said Cosmo, nodding. “Feels like I could do anything. Why, I might write another musical, wear my trousers baggy, become a pirate.”

“Your trousers are fine as is,” said Don.

Cosmo shrugged. “A little change can be good.”

“Sure, unless it isn’t.” Don sighed. It was an awfully sad sigh to be having about the fit of a guy’s pants, Cosmo thought, but then Don turned to him and added, “You know, we really have missed you.”

“Don,” said Cosmo patiently. “I was at your house this Thursday. I stayed for three hours. I drank all your gin.”

Don didn’t make a crack about the gin, which was probably a bad sign. “And before that?” 

Before that, it had been a while. Cosmo winced inwardly. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “you’ve been busy, Kathy’s been busy—”

“We invited you over, four different times,” Don interjected. “If I’ve done something, if we’ve done something, I wish you would just tell us.”

In front of them, the sea rolled and rolled. Cosmo thought about deflection, about twisting the moment into a joke, a sword duel where cold steel met only an outstretched rubber chicken: squeak.

He let out a long breath. “Why the Hell did you bring me along on your honeymoon?”

“We brought you along because we wanted you along,” said Don. “Whenever you’re not there, we wish you were. It doesn’t need to be any harder than that.”

“So it isn’t…” Cosmo started.

“What?” “You and Kathy aren’t having problems? Hoping for a buffer, or a distraction?” It was a very new theory on Cosmo’s part, and once the words had left his mouth, he realized how badly they fit the facts at hand.

Don smiled a private little smile. “Me and Kathy are doing just marvelously.”

“That’s splendid,” said Cosmo, because he had to say something, apparently. Marvelous didn’t bode well for Cosmo’s sanity at night, but it beat his friends being sad. “Lovely.” He let his cadences drift into a so-so British accent. “Capital show, old sport. Tip-top. Simpy spiffing.” Not his best work. 

Don lay a hand on Cosmo’s coat sleeve, at the elbow. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?” he said. “It’s meant to be a formal affair but you’ve still got time to change.”

Whenever you’re not here, we wish you were. Obviously, Don didn’t mean “whenever” in the strictest sense—Cosmo got the feeling he was not present in Don’s mind, say, when Don was in bed with his beautiful wife—but the thought now made him feel warmer than the gin had. It would be enough. It had to be.

“Sure,” said Cosmo, “why not,” and Don thumped him encouragingly on the back.

“Cosmo,” said Don as they headed back into the body of the boat, “piracy, really?” Cosmo grinned. “Don’t blame me, blame that salt air. Makes a man feel like anything’s possible.”

.

Kathy and Don looked enchanting at dinner, and Cosmo cleaned up alright too, if he didn’t say so himself.

The food was good—salmon with hollandaise sauce and French beans, braised duckling with apple sauce, some fancy beef thing, salad Dumas and ice cream for dessert—and the band had relaxed a smidge and was playing something from this century, which was nice.

Over dessert, Kathy told them about how, one night several months before meeting Don, she’d been at a speakeasy during what turned out to be a police raid.

“What were you doing in a speakeasy?” Cosmo asked before he could stop to think about it.

“Why, drinking milk and reading Austen, of course,” she replied, a picture of guilelessness. Don snickered, and she grinned.

“I walked full-speed into that one,” said Cosmo.

“Buddy, you ran,” said Don.

“I was drinking,” Kathy acknowledged, nodding, “but really that’s where the best dancing is. The best music, too.”

Cosmo, who lately only drank at parties or at home because it was easier and safer, nodded thoughtfully.

“Hot jazz?”

“The hottest, at least in Los Angeles. Once we’re back, we should all go!”

“I could always stand to take in more culture,” said Cosmo.

“Oh no,” said Don, “don’t let her pull you into her sordid past. Did you forget the end of the story is ‘and then the police came?’”

“That’s more the middle,” said Kathy. “Well, middle-end.”

“So how’d you escape the reaching arm of the law?” Cosmo asked.

Kathy swallowed her ice cream. “I saw the police were all rushing in through the front door, and I dashed to the back and through the performers’ dressing room. I’d done makeup for some of my school plays, so I fought my way up to the mirror, grabbed a grease pencil—a few lines here, a few lines there—borrowed an old coat of the back of a chair, ran maybe half a block, and pretended to be an old lady.”

“Really,” said Cosmo.

“It’s mostly in the walk and the posture,” she said. “And it helps that a few of the street lights were out.”

“And the cops were fooled?”

“One of them asked me if I’d seen any young people running that way,” said Kathy.

Cosmo clapped his hands together with glee. “Don, you married a criminal mastermind! Never make her angry.”

Don wrapped an arm around her shoulders and flashed her a besotted look. “I don’t intend to.”

Kathy nestled into the half-embrace. “Tell me more about—was it Coyoteville? With the ventriloquist.”

“Dead Man’s Fang,” said Cosmo. “And your wish is my command, but I don’t know what else there is to say. We came, we saw, we lost our sleeping arrangements to a puppet.”

“He tucked it in that night, remember?” said Don suddenly.

“He did!” said Cosmo, delighted.

Sometimes when Don started in on the official line about how they’d studied at the conservatory and the rest of that baloney, Cosmo worried that some part of Don believed it, that it was Cosmo’s job alone to remember how long they’d traveled that strange, bumpy, often farcical road together towards some measure of success and respectability in Hollywood. But Cosmo had completely forgotten that particular detail. He had burned it from his mind.

“After he fell asleep, one of you might have moved the dummy and claimed that bed,” Kathy pointed out.

“He left it with the head turned facing us, eyes open,” said Don. “Neither of us were touching that thing.”

“So instead, Cosmo had to put up with Don all night,” said Kathy solemnly.

“So instead, I had to put up with Don all night.”

He could still recall the potent mix of resignation, terror, and guilty excitement he’d felt, huddling up on that mattress together. Their act at the time had involved being in close quarters a lot—at one point, the choreography had Cosmo leap onto Don’s back and then immediately continue playing the fiddle—so it wasn’t like touching Don was a novelty, back then. But doing it offstage, out of costume, away from any onlookers except for Esther Quill the ventriloquist dummy, it had felt like an entirely different proposition. 

Don had been a real champ about it, though. When Cosmo had started shaking with withheld hilarity that this was his life, the punchline of all punchlines and nobody to share it with, not just Don’s best friend but his literal bedwarmer, Don had clearly assumed it was a simple case of the shivers, and so he’d bundled Cosmo close, tucked Cosmo’s head under his chin, and wrapped his arms around him, muttering warm in his ear about how if Cosmo dropped dead, Don was out a dance partner “and that whole routine wouldn’t work as a solo number, it’d go over like a brick.”

“Just imagine what barnyard animal they’d have you opening for then,” Cosmo had whispered back, because Oatmeal, Nebraska had already happened to them. “A pig who juggles. A cow acrobat. A chicken magician. Just a little sleight of wing, folks, nothing up my feathers.”

And Don had laughed, and held Cosmo tighter, and the ventriloquist had shushed them, which had made them both crack up again. It had been a long night, and not one Cosmo would forget in a hurry.

“Who runs hot as a Holland furnace, let me tell you,” he added now, in case his tone had shifted a few shades too close to dreamy.

“Oh, I know,” said Kathy, smiling.

Don raised an accusing finger at him. “Well, you were shaking like a leaf! You’re lucky I was there, especially when we didn’t have so much as a sheet of our own!”

“Wait, why didn’t you have any blankets?” asked Kathy.

“The blankets,” said Don airily, “were for the puppet.”

.

And so dinner had been a joy, and after that, Don and Kathy invited him back to their room for a drink or two, because they’d had the common sense to bring alcohol, which was of course not offered by the cruise. The three of them sat on Don and Kathy’s bed (much bigger than Cosmo’s—not that he was jealous, he didn’t need the space, but the sheer expanse of mattress really did rival a small country, and Cosmo was determined not to picture in any detail how the two newlyweds might make use of that) and passed a flask around and had some more laughs and when Cosmo next got a glimpse of his watch, it was three in the morning.

“I should go,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Kathy. She’d shucked off her heels at some point and now her stocking feet were in Cosmo’s lap. Don sat on her other side, head on her shoulder. He’d loosened his tie early on, and his suitcoat was draped over one of the bedposts. While they were drinking, it had all felt very natural. Looking at them now, Cosmo had the sense he was intruding on something private, something intimate.

Granted, they weren’t exactly trying to kick him out, but Kathy was drunk, or tired, or else she was both drunk and tired, and it was up to Cosmo not to outstay his welcome. They had a whole two weeks together, after all, and their rooms were barely a wall apart.

“My regrets, Cinderella,” said Cosmo, “but I can feel myself turning back into a pumpkin.” 

He made as if to stand, but her feet were in the way. Very gently, he picked up her ankles, lifted them off his legs, stood, turned her like they were doing some sort of a dance move, and deposited her feet in Don’s lap instead.

“There,” he said to no one. 

A long pause followed. Don and Kathy blinked up at him. He sorely regretted moving her. It had seemed like the most elegant solution. Probably he should’ve found one that didn’t involve taking hold of her legs, skin warm through the thin layer of nylon–

Kathy’s brow furrowed. “What makes you the carriage?” she said at last.

“What?” said Cosmo, who really did need to make an exit. 

“Cinderella,” said Don, apparently reading her mind, which was swell for them.

“Better that than the mouse footman,” Cosmo told her. “Or the lizard coachman. Or the horse.” Or—who else? There were a lot of characters in Cinderella, he realized.

“There’s a prince in that story, Cosmo,” said Kathy. “A human prince.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, patiently, “and you’re married to him, your highness,” He sketched a little bow but Don and Kathy weren’t looking at him. They were having one of those silent couple conversations, with mostly their eyes and eyebrows. A career in movies before the advent of sound had probably given Don a real advantage in that department, Cosmo thought, although Kathy seemed to be holding her own.

“It’s a made-up fairytale,” Kathy said at last. “Why, it can go any way you want it to.”

“The lady’s got a point,” said Don.

Cosmo blinked. He knew how it sounded, knew that to the untrained ear, it certainly—there were overtones, or undertones, or just plain tones that vibrated with suggestion. Cosmo had grown up in Vaudeville and now he lived in Hollywood; these things happened every now and then. These things did not happen to Cosmo. He was good for a dance or a laugh, and nine times out of ten, that was enough for him, but he wasn’t exactly fending off amorous advances—not like Don, and probably not like Kathy, either.

Also, Don liked women. Don only liked women, as far as Cosmo knew, and they had lived out of each other’s pockets for years.

The fact that a late-night ménage à trois rendezvous was increasingly the only explanation that held water in his head—it said more about Cosmo’s fragile mental state than it did about Don and Kathy’s true motives, he decided.

Don and Kathy who were still sitting on the bed, waiting for some sort of response.

“I wouldn’t, uh,” Cosmo started, and then realized with a stab of panic that for once, he didn’t have a joke in the wings, waiting to go. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

“You said earlier today you might become a pirate,” Don offered. Kathy cuddled up close against his side, watching with bright, intent eyes. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Enter pirate, stage left.”

“I said I was thinking about it,” said Cosmo, trying not to sound affected and missing by a mile. “A fella can think about all kinds of things he wouldn’t do.”

Case in point: Cosmo was not about to climb back into bed with them, no matter how cozy that bed was, no matter how warm and inviting and beautiful the two of them looked together.

His hands were starting to shake, he realized, and if Don saw that, and past experience was any judge, Cosmo might spend the night being cuddled for warmth again. What was Cosmo’s life? He didn’t go in for horoscopes, but maybe he should’ve, maybe that was the key to understanding the whole puzzle: Cosmo Brown, born under the one constellation that resembled clown shoes. He swallowed back a hysterical laugh and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Why not?” said Kathy quietly.

Because he didn’t want to ruin his oldest friendship and his most promising new one, all in a single go. Because he hated rejection, and the thought of two no’s that close together made his head spin unpleasantly. Because then there would be no more innocent touches and smiles and nightcaps in Don and Kathy’s room. 

That wasn’t what she’d asked, though. Mentally, he shook himself.

“If everyone who thought about being a pirate became one, the whole US of A would fall apart,” Cosmo informed them. “Nobody would work, or pay taxes, or go to see films. Not to mention the national parrot shortage—just try to get ahold of birdseed anymore! There’d be a run on eyepatches and tri-corner hats, and the price of a simple pirate earring would shoot through the roof, in fact—”

“It’d cost a buccaneer,” Don filled in. He sounded almost sad, which was a mystery because that bit was evergreen.

“That’s right,” said Cosmo. He rocked back onto his heels, at a loss for a moment. He’d really been counting on that joke to clear the air.

“Cosmo,” said Kathy. “Do you want to go, or do you want to want to go?”

Cosmo struggled to make sense of that. He struggled to parse it in a way that worked outside his own feverish imagination. His entire mind came up short. That was where it got you, going on the road with only an eighth grade education, he thought. His was a cautionary tale. 

Maybe ninth grade was where they taught you how not to twist a moment in your head to the point where it really did seem like maybe Cosmo could’ve kissed either of them, could’ve kissed both of them, and it would’ve been fine, or even more than fine. Maybe it was that, and Dickens, and Geography; Cosmo still could not locate Siam on a map. Or Paris. Come to think of it, ménage à trois and rendezvous were the only French he knew besides bonjour. This time, he did laugh. It was that or scream.

“I am both too drunk, and not drunk enough for this talk,” he said, turning for the door that led directly back to his room.

“If you’d rather stay—” said Don.

“Of course I’d rather stay, Don,” Cosmo snapped, sharper than he’d meant to. “But leave me enough dignity to fill half a shotglass, at least.” Don and Kathy said nothing. When he got to the door, he sighed. “Sorry, that was—I’m sorry. See you at breakfast.” “Goodnight,” said Kathy.

Alone in his room, Cosmo closed the door and ran his hands through his hair. Pirates in Cinderella, he thought. Offers to stay, with his room not 30 paces away, at three hours past midnight. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning.

[letshavedeernnertogether]

We'll meet again

the plot is: (Y/n) started a new life, but every day she feels more and more lonely.

tw: a short episode with being attacked by a thief, Alastor is little bit out of character and he also lives through some trouble times, possibly grammar mistakes (english is not my mother-tongue.) I guess that's all. Well, maybe a little bit angst but there will be a happy ending (if I may call it like this)

I'm sorry it took so long, I had another busy week at university. I guess fics will appear once every in seven to ten days

The part three, by your side

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

(Y/n) had been living in New Orleans for three years already. She liked this city very much. It captivated her with its charm and picturesque streets.

She had a job that didn't bring her much earnings, but brought her a lot of joy. She made the podcasts about literature. (Y/n) usually told about classics but she loved the most to tell about the older books, that were not popular in modern world. She liked to popularize the unknown, yet interesting books, because their influence was as strong as the influence of more popular stories.

From the money that was her dowry she bought a house. It located outskirts and stood alone near a forest, so (Y/n) felt herself like she was at home, but nobody demanded anything of her now. She also liked this house being near the forest, because it was very important to her to be close to nature. She did her strolls under the majestic branchy trees almost everyday and couldn't hide a smile when she understood how many deer lived in this area.

People said that this house once belonged to a famous radio host who was also a serial killer, whose crimes were discovered only after his death. He buried a body in the forest and a hunter mistook him for a deer and shot him.

(Y/n) softly smiled when she first heard this story. It was just a hearsay, a very old story, but (Y/n) liked the thought that she lived in the house of her devil.

When (Y/n) moved in her new house, the neighbours knew about it only after a week. Her nearest neighbours, a married couple with already grown-up children, who lived in fifteen minutes walk, came to her to congratulate with the new home. (Y/n) gave them a welcome, not too warm, and never let anyone in again.

She got a reputation of an unsociable and reserved lady very quickly. Nobody knew where she was from. Her speech was strange. She had a strange accent and knew many languages, but she didn't speak any of them as it was her native. She seemed out of this world. She usually appeared on the streets early in the morning or in the late evening. She wore long dresses, a long pearl beads like in 20's and a black veil, covering the upper part of her face.

She didn't have much aquaintences, didn't have friends. Sometimes she went to the city to the meetings to discuss some business, connected with her podcast. Rarely (Y/n) invited somebody in her place. It was only women. But she never let them to cross the threshold. (Y/n) and her guests sat in the garden in the backyard and chated about something.

(Y/n) liked her life in New Orleans. She didn't feel alone, didn't feel any pressure of her family. She felt absolutely free and safe.

The one thing that didn't leave her mind was he.

She missed him every day.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Once in the late evening she was on her way home from the studio. She recorded an excellent podcast! She was sure, it wouldn't be popular, but it wasn't the main thing. She did her job because she liked it. All she had to do is to read, to write scenarios, to talk about her favorite topics and then she just had to apply the necessary effects and cut out what didn’t sound very good. That day she talked about a German novel from neinteenth century.

"Salutations, my dear hearers! Today I will tell you about the miraculous story of Peter Schlemihl. The man without his shadow... Hahaha! Oh, my! whenever I read this story I can't stop laughing! I'm very sorry for Peter and for his solitude, of course, but don't you think that he could benefit from his position? I mean, he had no shadow, so what?! People should be afraid of him, but instead of it, he was afraid of them! I find it quiet pathetic..."

"Moreover he had the devil's help by his side. But he failed to benefit from the deal. He chose money, another stupid decision of him. I would choose something more potent, what I could you use both on earth and in hell."

"Well, I shouldn't to tell you everything at once, when you probably haven't even read this book. So, let me to discuss the author's life with you, it was no less entertaining."

She enjoyed that day. She was walking along the road on the grass and thought about devils, shadows, contracts...

(Y/n) thought about Alastor. About his voice, which she hadn't heard for three years already; she thought about his smile, words, touches, protection.

His protection.

"What on earth does "choose wisely" means?" (Y/n) muttered, "Won't I stop trusting anyone the moment they attack me? Well, let's imagine. I did trust somebody, and allow them to be too close to me, but the moment they, for example, raise a knife over me, they wouldn't be the ones I trust anymore, would they? But why then does this point exist at all?"

(Y/n) didn't know that the answer was on her way.

She heard steps behind her and turned back. She saw a silhouette. It was in several meters behind her, quickly steping forward. (Y/n) saw that this person had a gored skirt and a leather coat.

"Only a woman," (Y/n) thought and breathed a sight of relief.

She turned around and continued her way, trying to remember what she was thinking about.

She walked without thoughts for some time. The night air was chill, and she breathed it with pleasure.

Suddenly the steps behind her became louder, and, before (Y/n) could thought anything, she felt that something squeezed her neck. Something thin cut into her skin. She began to suffocate. (Y/n) tried to remove that thing from her neck, but it was too tight. She heard the woman's voice behind her, "Hush, everything will be alright, I won't hurt you." (Y/n) felt that she was losing consciousness. Her eyes rolled up and legs gave way.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

As she opened her eyes, she felt a strong headache. With a weak moan she sat. She felt dizzy, but cool and wet morning air made her feel better. It was dawning. The sky was grey. A light fog surrounded her. The crows croaked in the woods. It was still dark but just in several minutes the sun would rise. How long had she been lying on the road? She touched her neck and saw little blood stains on her fingertips.

That woman... What did she do?

(Y/n) checked her bag and understood that that woman robbed her.

So what did that mean? It meant that (Y/n) relaxed when she saw, that she was stalked by a woman. (Y/n) never thought that any woman could rob the other one. She sighed deeply, stood up and slowly headed for her home. Her knees were shaking.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

She looked in the mirror. Pale face, dirty hair, a red line on her neck. It looked like (Y/n) was beheaded and then put her head on the place again.

She took a bath, treated the wound, changed her clothes. She was depressed and didn't want to think about anything.

In silence she moved to the desk where she worked. The best way no to think about anything is working. So now she was going to edit her last podcast.

When she heard her own voice, deriding the shadowless man, she couldn't help watch at her shadow. It was deeply black as usual, so black that it could be seen even in the darkness of the night. Just like on the road last night. Did that woman noticed the anomaly? (Y/n) didn't know, but even if so, the woman didn't run away in fear, she made her to lose consciousness and robbed her. The woman didn't care about who or what was (Y/n), the woman only wanted to get what she desired.

So maybe she wasn't the only one like that? Other people, desired something and saw no obstacles, they also did not care about essence of her and her shadow.

That meant that if (Y/n) wanted to be never harmed, she couldn't trust anyone.

She looked at her shadow again. At his shadow. She craved for seeing him again. It was so long.

She stood up, brought a candlestick from the living-room and matches from the kitchen and headed for a corridor at the far end of the house.

This corridor was the longest in the house and it was dead-ended. If the killer from the past had kept his victims in this house, and if they had tried to escape, they would probably have been caught in this hallway.

When (Y/n) moved to the house, she did some minor renovations: changed the wallpaper, updated the furniture that was too old and falling apart. She left the paintings, photos even and hunting trophies. A lot of antlers were hanging on the walls in this long and broad corridor.

She stopped in front of the dead-ended wall. It was also the darkest place in the house, as it had no windows. The only source of light were the candles in the sconce. She placed the candlestick on the floor and sat between it and the wall back to the candles, so a big black shadow fell on the yellow wallpaper.

She was waiting. Just give him time and he'll come.

Slowly the shadow grew bigger. Antlers grew on its head big as the branches of a tree. Its shoulders became sharper and its neck lengthened. An old radio, which she thought was no longer working, suddenly turned on. A soft white noise filled the hallway. She didn't move when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"I apologize, my dear, but I cannot be by your side right now," He said very quietly, she barely heard him because of the crackling. She didn't say anything.

"I have some business... that I must complete." He said it, drowning in the white noise more. She knew it meant that he was exasperated.

"Are you in hell now?" (Y/n) asked without taking eyes from the macabre shadow.

"I am, dear." His voice became softer. "We met in wrong time, mon cher..." Quiet calmy crackle. "I wish we could meet more often."

"I was attacked." (Y/n) said as soon as he finished his sentence. Not because she didn't want to listen to him. The point was her eyes we're filling with tears as she heard his tender whispering. She didn't want to cry if he couldn't wipe of her tears away.

The corridor filled with a nervous crackling. It took long enough for him to answer.

"And how could it happened? Don't you trust anyone?"

"It was a woman," She answered, as it could explain anything.

"Ah, now I see."

Somnolent noise filled the air again. She noticed how strange he was this time. He usually knew what to say and never kept silence for too long.

"Tell me, how are you, dear?"

"I'm fine."

She couldn't take this suffocating atmosphere anymore. Suddenly she wanted to scream his name, to cry, to crash the radio, where he was hiding. She felt hate and despair, love and hope.

The shadow moved, as if the candles' flame was disturbed by somebody's inaccurate movement. The white noise almost disappeared, and she felt somebody's presence behind.

She was still sitting on the floor and saw two shadows on the yellow wall. Her usual, yet too black, shadow and his one, with deer ears, little cute antlers and a cane in the hand. His shadow leaned over her and she felt his breath on her cheek and then her neck.

"It won't work that way," he whispered, looking at the red line, crossing her neck. "Are you sure, you don't want to rewrite the contract?" She heard a smile in his words.

"I assure you that it will not happen again. No one can even come close to me."

"I see," (Y/n) could feel like his words touching her skin. She was glad, she was sitting on the floor, otherwise she could fall because her knees were too weak.

Their shadows blended in one.

His wet lips gently touched her wound. She felt his sharp fangs on her skin. (Y/n) didn't want to move away, she wanted to press herself to his mouth. Alastor raised his head higher, leaving a trace of hot breath on her cold skin, and left a kiss on the crown of her head.

She saw Alator's shadow bent in the waist and his head touching hers, when he left the gentle quick kiss.

He straightened up.

"Remember your words, dear. I don't want to see any wounds on you, unless I gave them," He chuckled. "Until we meet again, dear."

The sound of his footsteps faded away until another radio crackle was heard. It spilled over into an old song, repeating his last words.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Since that day (Y/n) became more isolated. She stopped to invite anybody even in her garden. Her reputation of an uncommunicative woman became stronger. She only read books, recorded podcasts and made her forest strolls, which became more frequent.

(Y/n) didn't feel lonely.

Since last meeting of her and Alastor, the shadow became more independent. When (Y/n) was alone, the shadow could change its form, it smiled and grimaced. Sometimes it could even take a physical form. Then (Y/n) could even touch it.

Slowly the shadow turned into something more than a dark figure underfoot. It became her friend.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Several years had passed. (Y/n) had fame and yet she still was the biggest mystery for her listeners and residents. But she had tired of her loneliness. She didn't want to accept that she could feel lack of intimacy. All this years she ignored that feeling, but every day it became stronger. It was eating her alive. The shadow was friend, indeed, it protected her and saved in time of need, from both men and women. People dissapered and nobody could find any trace of them. It brought (Y/n) joy at first, but with time she tired of suspicious glances and the strangers under her windows. They were so annoying...

His shadow could even touch her, it could embrace her, they even danced sometimes, but she still felt like something was missing.

It was like you watch at a home landscape and understands that something has changed, but you can't understand what. Until you notice that an old tall tree didn't touched the sky with its green leaves anymore.

She couldn't deny that she missed Alastor. Not just felt longing for him, she felt like she had missed him, as if she had lost him. This feeling grew stronger with everyday.

"I need him more then ever," (Y/n) thought. Being without him felt like a torture. The feeling of losing him scared her. Couldn't he die in the hell? She didn't want to even think about it. The pain grew stronger, when she realised that it was his home town, it was his house, it was his shadow. He was everywhere, and yet never beside her. Just a torture.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

"I WANT YOU TO FUCKING COME!" She screamed at the top oh her voice; so load that her throat hurt. She suffocated with sobbing. She felt so furious. (Y/n) had cast the spell for three times already, but he hadn't come.

She needed him, she wanted him; why was he ignoring her call?

She hated him that moment and hated herself. He promised to come whenever she wanted him, but he had been ignoring her for all these years.

"ALASTOR!"

Suddenly a flash of bright green light filled the room. Shadow tentacles were moving in the the fog. In this explosion (Y/n) saw his figure. Alastor was down on all fours, as if he was suffocating from pain. When the green fog disappeared (Y/n) noticed that his eyes were coloured in black. He glanced at her from under his forehead, and his eyes changed into their usual crimson colour. His red hair stood on end, his teeth were sharper than usual, the tails of his frock coat were tore. All his appearance told (Y/n) that something had happened with him. She had never seen him... so weak.

He looked away and stood up. The macabre lights and shadows disappeared. He looked normally now. Alastor stood opposite (Y/n) with his shoulders wide and with a self-satisfied smile.

"Verily, my dear, your command is much stronger then powers of overlords of hell."

She stood silently. He had come. Tears of rage ran down her face.

"Why, my dear!" Alastor exclaimed in surprise, "What has happened?" He made a step forward her and leaned over, "Why are you crying?"

She looked at him with her eyes burning with anger, "Why? Why?! You're asking me why?!"

Alastor didn't expect such fit of anger. He drew himself up and let her to continue. As she screamed, she gesticulated wildly, pulled her hair and looked at him like mad.

She didn't care who she was yelling at. She was devilishly angry and wanted to let all her anger out. He didn't stop her, letting her to vent all the emotions, even if he found it extremely senseless.

"I've been crying for you for..! for four years! I tried to summon you for numerous times! And you never showed up! Tell me, is the hell so far, that you can't even hear my screams, my cries, my prayers to you?!"

Her fury almost frightened him, and he thought what a powerful overlord could she be. Even a human she was frightful. She knew black magic, she didn't care for people's lives, she loved only herself and her power. But her words made him to feel pain I'm his chest. She was so deeply hurt. He was the cause of the pain, and for the first time in his life, he didn't like it.

She stopped screaming. She breathed more heavily and looked at him with teaful eyes. Pain in his chest became stronger.

Alastor said, pressing his hand to the chest, "I am ever so sorry, my dear. I apologize. There are some forces... That I can't resist."

(Y/n) was silence for several minutes. He couldn't understand what was on her mind. And then she said the thing Alastor didn't expect to hear, "I forgive you."

These words hit him. She said it so seriously, with clear eyes. He always tried to act like a gentleman, as his mother though him, but when he apologized, he always felt superior to others. He looked up on others with a wide smile. He found it funny, how he could to say "magic words" and then people or demons actually could take their armour off. But was he like that towards her? She was hurt by him indeed and yet she forgave him. Alastor understood that he needed her to forgive him, and that he apologized with all his heart. He felt sorry that they hadn't seen for so long. He missed (Y/n). And he was also glad that she summoned him in the moment, when he was in a quiet unpleasant situation. So, he was assuredly sincere.

But still he was amazed.

She looked at him, already calmed down. Alastor stared at her in wonder.

"We all have some... Difficult things to do sometimes, don't we?"

"Yes, indeed, dear."

(Y/n) looked at grandfather clock and asked Alastor, "And I suppose we don't have so much time, do we?"

He looked at the time too. If he weren't in the state he was now, they would have a lot more time.

"I'm afraid you're right, dear."

"How long?" She still looked at the clock.

"Until the dawn, I believe," He said quietly, coming closer to her.

"Only six hours," Murmured (Y/n) and turned to Alastor so quickly, he stopped in wonder, "Then you will do everything I ask."

"And I ask you now," She continued, because Alastor was silent, "to stay with me for this night, and you won't disappear or go away."

"If you wish, my dear."

(Y/n) took a candlestick from a commode.

"Follow me," She said.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Alastor followed her through the dark corridors lightend only by the candles in her hand. The walls were lined with woods, the furniture was old-fashioned, some floorboards creaked underfoot. He couldn't take his eyes off every object that arose in the dim candlelight, when they passed by. Alastor knew, if (Y/n) weren't here with her light he still would have found the way to the bedroom where they headed for. Everything was very familiar. His heart was aching.

"My dear, tell me, is this house- "

"Your house?" She interrupted him, not turning back, "Yes, it is."

Alastor heard smile in her words.

"Honestly, I didn't know it was yours when I bought it. Well, I was told that a serial killer lived here, but I thought it was just a commercial. But I understood that it was true, when I realised how hard it was to get it. After all, I had enough money to buy anything I wanted to."

"So they remember me?"

"Of course they do!"

Alastor was pleasantly surprised. He was an unknown serial killer and a famous radio host when he was alive. He liked his double life, but he liked more when people were afraid of him. And he was a little sorry, that no one knew about his crimes, when he was alive. And when (Y/n) told him the legends about him, how children frightened each other with stories of his deeds, Alastor was glad.

They came up to the bedroom door. (Y/n) stopped and asked Alastor to wait outside the door until she changed her clothes. As she disappeared behind the door, her shadow slipped under the door, mergering with his one. He tipped his head, looking at it.

In the bedroom (Y/n) changed her dress to a cotton nightgown in nineteenth century style. She turned on the lamps on the night tables and saw her shadow. It was her own shadow. Pale, dim, so abnormal. (Y/n) thought how defective looked her shadow without deep black colour of him.

She hastened to the door and let Alastor in. As he entered, the shadow backed to her. She breathed a sight of relief, but she thought about her addiction to the power and him.

She slowly came up to a big bed and lay under the blanket. The demon stood still in front of the bed. It wasn't his mother's bed, that once stood hear in this room. Some thoughts from his past filled his mind.

"Com here," He heard (Y/n)'s voice. She sat in the bed, surrounded by dark-red and white pillows. Her hair was plaited, naking her neck; she looked innocent in the nightdress, fit loosely on her body.

"Pardon?"

"I said," She said with a smile, beating each word with her palm on the mattress, "Come. Here."

He slowly came up, and sat down next to her. She glanced at him with a blink of fun in her eyes.

"Tell me," She said with a sly smile, "Do you have hooves?"

Alastor looked at her frowning but still with a smile.

"Just wondering," She smiled softly, "I just can't let you in my bed unless you take off your shoes."

She looked extremely cunning but he still saw traces of sadness in her eyes. He definitely didn't like what she invented to do, yet he took his shoes off and even his coat and lay beside her.

(Y/n) looked down on him and lay.

They looked at each other in silence in dim lightened room. She didn't realise how much she missed his crimson eyes, his wide sly smile, his funny sharpe ended nose and his deer ears. Several minutes ago she was so mad, she could kill him. Now she thought that to spend time together was much worth than any fights. (Y/n) moved closer to him and lay her head on his chest. Alastor turned on the side, so she clung closer to him. One of his hand laid under her head, other one embraced her waist. Alastor knew, her height was above average, but in his arms she still was very small.

"Do you demons ever sleep?" She wispered.

"Yes, dear, we do," He answered with a quite chuckle, "But not me, I'm afraid. Insomnia."

(Y/n) felt heat of his body. She clung even closer to get warm. Alastor's touches and breath were very hot; his breath tickled her skin; his right hand patted her head, and his left one squeezed her waist. She felt his claws gently touching her scalp and it gave shiver down her spine. The atmosphere of dark bedroom, his soft touches and quite radio crackling, his warm made her eyes close.

"I'm afraid to fall asleep." She mumbled and opened her eyes. Alastor saw her eyelashes were trembling.

"Why, my dear?"

"I want to feel you presence," She spoke very quietly, "but if I fell asleep, I wouldn't feel you anymore. And I want to spend every twinkle we have together."

(Y/n) felt his breath above her head and how he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. Then he pulled slightly back to look at her, and he saw tears in her eyes. He didn't like tears, especially when it was so much of them. With his long forefinger Alastor gently wiped her tears away.

"My dear," His voice was very low, "What is use of crying? I'm here. Wasn't that you wish?"

"It was, right, I just... Uh. Well, I missed you much and now..." She hid her head in Alastor's chest. She remembered last four years. And three years before it. The memory of her pale shadow flashed in her mind and (Y/n) shrank. It seemed like she wanted to bury herself in his rib cage. "To be honest I don't like my life. It feels like a threshold of life. Your power and protection freshed me, but I still feel like I don't belong to this world."

Alastor silently listened to her. Her breath became more intermittent, and he understood that she was crying again.

"I hate myself for being addicted to you, and yet I'm still like this. I'm so weak, so pathetic. I'm not even sure if you want my soul... It's the darkest and the coldest place in the whole Universe. It is more greedy and merciless than the Black Hole. But there is the only star in it. Just one warm star. And it burns for you. For you only, whatever you like it or not."

Alastor was impressed with her such poetic speech, but for the woman who had spent her entire life communicating only with books, this was normal, he thought.

"The only star in her soul that burns only for him," He thought. Such a lost girl. Such a lost soul. But he felt a strange longing for her. He didn't understand it and didn't like it. But he couldn't help it. Just as she couldn't stop her tears, he couldn't stop himself to touch her, to press his lips against her head, to call her "dear" putting a special meaning into the word.

She looked into his eyes and then looked down at his lips. They were the same colour as his skin — grey. She was looking there for too long, and Alastor raised an eyebrow, smiling expectantly. She leaned to him, but Alastor shown his teeth in a smile and moved a little bit back. (Y/n) smiled to him and left a kiss on his forehead. Alastor felt his cheeks pinked up.

"I'm sorry," She wispered and buried herself in his chest again. She didn't cry anymore, just lay in his arms movelsee as if she was already dead.

He was thinking. It could really be the last night they spend together. He didn't know when he would be free again. He tried to do everything that was possible, but it was still not enough to get back his freedom, to find the backdoor of that deal. But while he was here, in this house and in this room, with (Y/n) by his side, he could not to think about it.

Alastor made a decision. He made (Y/n) lie on her back and leaned over her. She opened her eyes in wonder, as he put one on his hand on her shoulder so she couldn't move. (Y/n) tried to bend her knees but touched his foot, no, his hoof. It gave her a very strange feeling, making her blushed. Alastor made the lamps to light even dimmer, and (Y/n) could see now, that his eyes radiated the red light. She opened her month to say something, but he leaned lower and kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss. His mouth was hot and wet, and she slowly closed her eyes. The metallic taste filled her mouth and she felt the touch of his tongue. She quietly moaned, and he pressed closer. His hands were searching her body; the lamps lighted up brightly and then go out again; she embraced him tight; sometimes she gently touched his ears and softly laughed, when they twitched, and he looked at her with assumed displeasure.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

After several days the newspapers told about a woman died in the forest near her house, in the house where a famous serial killer had once lived, and in the forest where the killer had died. It was after two weeks since (Y/n) and Alastor had met for the fourth time. After that night she woke up alone. She was the happiest and the saddest person in the same time. She went to the woods and didn't appear again. Some of her colleagues became worried and decided to visit her, dispite the fact tha she didn't receive anyone. The house was silent, and they checked the garden that was also empty. And then they went to the forest. They were looking for her for several hours and found her under a tree, a big and wide pine. A young deer bent over her body. It disappeared into the depths of the forest, seeing people. Her body had already begun the process of rotting. It was hard to name the cause of her death. There were only theories. People called the house where she had lived cursed. They told eerie stories about the deer in the woods. What a strange animal, they told, one man was mistook for a one and got shot, and other woman was guarded by the same animal. Residents noticed that with the death of the woman, people stopped disappearing without a trace. But none of the bodies were ever found. So New Orleans residents decided, that the famous podcast host was the murderer, and that she had a unique way of disposal of the bodies. People made up legends about a foreign woman who killed her enemies, guarded by the spirit of a last-century killer and who was friends with his shadow...

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

A new overlord appeared in the hell. A woman in a long black dress, with green wide eyes and big antlers. Nobody knew her name, and she was called The Wood Witch. The Radio Demon was especially close to her. Soon they took control over the hell. They were the most dangerous and enigmatic overlords. They never seperated from each other. Those demons who still believed in love considered them the most lovely couple. They captured the hell and nobody dared to stand in their way.

the end

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

invitation for a deernner: @noraunor

[sachikokuroichi]

Sharing is caring, isn't it? - A Dante/Vergil, Dante/Nero, Dante/Vergil/Nero- FF

Chapter 1: Declaration of War and the first Date

Dante’s day started like any other if he was honest with himself. Lady had kicked him out of bed way too early because she had some annoying mission for him. He wanted to refuse, like always, but Lady was some scary woman and he really didn't want to get castrated by her someday. Maybe his dick would come in handy sometime in the future.

Dante sighed as he was sitting in his car and on the way to this little nameless town.

Hopefully this is going to be some easy mission.

It didn't took him too long to get there, but something was off. Dante parked the car and wandered the streets, looking for citizens. Who would give them a mission if nobody lived here? Dante groaned. Of course this shitty mission had to be complicated, not even once had one of Ladys missions been easy. He should've known better.

Hours later the demon hunter was covered in blood, most of it not even his this time, and he considered his mission as done. The demon horde slaughtered, as well as the whole population of this unfortunate city, he made his way back to his car. Lucky for him that he had parked it in some safe distance.

"Finally home." Dante sighed, actually exhausted and in need of a long shower. Too bad that there were two guys waiting for him. And currently trying to chop each other’s heads off while doing so.

"He's mine, you fucking prick!"

Nero growling at someone was the first thing Dante heard when he opened the door.

"What should he want with some brat like you?" A cold voice echoed through the air, made Dante shiver, even though he couldn't believe to actually hear this voice.

He opened the door completely and entered the shop.

"Nero ... Vergil... what are you two doing here?" He asked confused, while looking at them, weapons drawn and ready to kill each other.

Nero was aiming Blue Rose at his head and Vergil had summoned a bunch of his spiritual swords that circled around Neros head.

"I just came here to visit you. To ask you something. But this asshat here had to insult me the moment I came in. Who is he, Dante?", the young part-demon answered his question.

Vergil just growled, not happy about the insult, and answered as well:

"I waited some time for you in here. Came to reclaim what's mine."

Dante groaned. "I don't have your sword, Vergil. You can leave. Nero, stop aiming at him with your gun. You're not gonna hit him anyway."

His brother appeared right in front of him after he had ended.

"I'm not talking about Yamato, brother.", he told him in a cold, but almost seductive voice, which made Dante shiver slightly, "I'm talking about you."

Nero grabbed him just seconds later, kinda catching him off guard by using his Devil Bringer and growled at him.

"Hands off, you perverted old man! What the fuck do you mean with "brother"?! Also he's mine!"

Dante was just utterly confused. What the fuck was happening right now? What were they talking about?!

He felt the shift in Vergil’s arcane energy more than he was able to see it. The various summoned swords that attempted to stab Nero got shot by the devil hunter.

"Okay, seriously. Stop it, both of you!", he growled at them.

"You,", he looked at the kid, "Let go of Vergil."

Then he looked at said half demon.

"And you stop throwing around your summoned swords."

Both of them followed his orders, even if just reluctantly.

"Great, now place your fucking asses on the couch and tell me what the fuck you want from me."

Nero put his weapons away, pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over his demonic arm and did as he'd been told.

Vergil on the other hand wasn't obedient like that, not at all. He walked over to Dantes desk and sat down on it, looking as majestic as possible while doing it, even crossing his legs.

Dante looked at Nero, sighed and let himself fall onto the couch right beside him, just slightly touching him. This caused Vergil to growl deeply.

"Kiddo, what happened here while I was gone?"

"That asshole over there happened.", he snapped at him, not answering the question at all.

"Okay, Vergil. What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you were...".

Dante’s voice turned into a sad whisper.

"Dead? Still corrupted? A slave in hell?", said not-so-dead guy answered in a sarcastic tone, "No, I have to disappoint. I'm pretty much alive. And I'm here to reclaim what's mine. But this... child... is all barks about you being his, no bite though."

He had listened, heard the words... just the meaning was still not clear to him.

Reclaim? Being his?

His twin knew that Dante didn't get the memo, so he decided to take it even a step further.

"Today's Valentine’s Day, you idiot. Both of us wanted to ask you to go on a date with us.", Vergil told him, voice cold and indifferent as always. While the other one’s head literally exploded at this statement, he looked like he just had said something about the weather or some other trivial stuff.

"A... date?", Dante whispered, voice just barely hearable.

"Yeah, now decide. Tell the kid he should get lost."

He just shook his head. There was no way in hell he could choose between both of them. Right now. Without having time to think it over. Hell, this was his brother. Who he always thought was dead. Turns out he was wrong about that. And then there was also Nero. His... brother’s son. His nephew. And they wanted to go on a date with him?! Because of some stupid unofficial holiday like Valentine’s Day?

"Okay, I got it. Both of you. You try to make fun of me.", Dante concluded and looked at them, "You want to get some payback, am I right?"

Vergil groaned, while Nero just sighed.

"Once an idiot, always an idiot, I guess.", the older twin stated matter of factly.

Then he looked at his son. Dante contemplated if Vergil actually knew about that fact. The way he acted he was almost 100% sure that he didn't. Also wasn't he aware of the fact that Nero was in possession of his beloved sword.

"What do you think of some sort of competition? Even if I already know who's gonna win it."

Nero smirked. "Good that you already admit defeat before even attempting to try.", he taunted, "But please. Let me hear about that "competition"."

Vergil just let out a slight huff of amusement at that and continued to explain his idea.

"We both take him out. On the date we planned. One of us now and the other one afterwards. Sometime in the late evening."

Nero nodded and thought about that for a moment.

"Sounds like a pretty nice idea. Seems like you got the brains while Dante got the good looks."

"We look exactly the same, you immature brat.", the older twin muttered in annoyance, before turning to Dante.

"As I couldn't care less who goes first, I gonna let you decide."

Said half-demon was at loss, looking dumbfounded from one to the other. What the fuck did just happen? Did they just...?

And now I should decide?!

-> read the rest on AO3 - link in the header 😊

[tossawary]

I need to know more about “SVSSS - Baby Brother Liu Qingge” bc I love tiny and very deadly baby LQG

I have a 3k-ish Shang Qinghua POV that was supposed to be the introduction to this fic concept! So... ah... baby Liu Qingge does not appear in this, but you can see the setup for how an 8yo-ish Liu Qingge was supposed to be introduced. My hope is that this will someday become a "Shang Qinghua and Shen Jiu go on a mission with Baby Brother Liu Qingge" one shot.

-cut-

Shang Qinghua didn't really have the words to describe what it was like having Proud Immortal Demon Way's characters finally come into his second life.

He didn't have the words to describe a lot of his transmigration experience, honestly! His words had described a lot of this world already, haha, hadn't they? Sometimes a person just had to put up with it and keep going.

And then excuse himself later to go scream into a pillow! Many times!

At first, life was just him in a body that didn't fit and strange memories that slipped between his fingers like sand. His memories of a past life had settled eventually, the System finally came fully online, and his relationship with his second family was fully fucked forever. That was fine, though! That was fine! With some unsolicited prodding from his System, he left to go seek his fortune soon enough and he never had to talk to his character's birth parents or siblings again.

But Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had never said much of anything about Shang Qinghua’s family or home village, besides saying that the man had dreamed of more than his mediocre origins, so everything had been unfamiliar and original and real. Getting to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, which he had described in great detail, was a real headfuck. There were no words for the experience of recognizing things that he’d written in another life.

He saw the glistening rainbow bridge and the intimidating sect entrance and the majestic meeting hall on Qiong Ding, and he nearly screamed. He definitely squawked. His vision got really fuzzy for a minute there and he had to sit down on the ground before he fell over. What the fuck?! What the fuck?! He’d made a world! The System had really made a world out of his web-novel! He was really stuck in Proud Immortal Demon Way!

There were upsides and downsides to joining Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. Downsides included: the hard training, the harder workload, the dangerous missions, the disrespect towards An Ding Peak, and being surrounded by arrogant and foolish teenagers looking to look down on someone. It was really something else to look some of them in the eye and think, "Bro, I don’t know your name, but you kind of owe your existence to me. Could you stop being such a fucking asshole about leaving your chores for me to do?! Respect your father!"

Upsides included: actually becoming a cultivator (pretty cool, even though the work of cultivation sucked more often than not), better living accommodations and food, and actually getting to see some of the cooler places, plants, monsters, and magic that were a part of his world. Sure, carting a monster corpse brought in by Bai Zhan Peak to Xi Jiao Peak for butchering was smelly and heavy and altogether miserable, but seeing an impossible animal was still kind of incredible. If this unwilling Shang Qinghua could stop being pushed around and stepped on long enough to appreciate the upsides, he’d really appreciate it!

It was interesting and infuriating to log the differences between what he’d imagined, what he’d written, and what the System had created. What sort of author described every single object in every single room? Who had time for that? Who wanted to read that? The System had filled in all the living details of An Ding Peak - the Leisure Houses, the training grounds, the storehouses, the warehouses, the kitchens, the lesson halls, the leisure gardens, the farming fields, the livestock fields, the stables, the cart lot, the water supply, the sewage systems, and so on - so that people could actually live here. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky as an author had done many things worthy of complaint and criticism, but wasting his readers’ time with sewage systems was not one of them!

The System had also filled in all the little details and decorations - the paintings on the walls of sect history, the detailing on the rooftops supposedly offering protections from dream demons, the chipped and faded paint of old storehouses that disciples would be tasked with replacing, the statues in the fields to scare off scavengers, the carvings on the doors meant to reduce resentful energy, the childish etchings of bored students the surface of the lesson hall desks, the old bench where the An Ding Peak Lord liked to sit and eat flatcakes - so that it really seemed like people had built this place and maintained it and added to it for generations.

Shang Qinghua had his quibbles here and there. Sometimes the System had made choices that he objected to! He would have done it differently if it had asked him, the author, to contribute. He really felt as though the System should have asked him to clarify the plot holes and the gaps in detail, instead of choosing precedence randomly or building off random implications taken way too literally.

Sometimes he found out that the System had built things out of throwaway lines that Shang Qinghua himself had completely forgotten about. It turned out that Ku Xing Peak made a lot of purification tools and containment vessels because Airplane had offhandedly mentioned that this was their specialty, and now Shang Qinghua had to cart around delicate ceramics to be sold to city merchants or other cultivation sects. He never would have dared to write that if he’d known that it would one day in another life be his job to do things like take inventory and chase down signatures for successful deliveries.

Places, items, and creatures were one thing, but logging the differences between the people he met and the characters he’d created was something else. At first it was okay, because he was surrounded by nameless An Ding Peak nobodies - his fellow disciples, their teachers, the hardworking managers and merchants, even the peak lord - none of them had ever mattered in Proud Immortal Demon Way. If Airplane had been the one to name any of them, he didn’t recognize the names or remember them.

Then he met Yue Qingyuan.

Wow, it was a worse headfuck than first arriving at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, when Shang Qinghua finally realized that this was the young version of one of his actual characters. It took him a minute. As a lowly outer disciple, Shang Qinghua hadn’t received “Qinghua” as a name yet (his name was Houhua, not that anyone ever used it) and the future Yue Qingyuan was still called Yue Qi.

Shang Qinghua was fourteen at the time. Yue Qingyuan must have been around the same age, so he didn’t strike the tall and handsome figure of the sect leader Airplane had described. The boy was broad, but actually a little short. He had freckles. He had acne.

But he also had a warm smile that seemed to go all the way to his eyes when he offered to give Shang Qinghua directions to the right office on Qiong Ding. He had a steady hand when he helped Shang Qinghua up, after the An Ding disciple had suddenly tripped over nothing upon being introduced. Yue Qingyuan - Yue Qi - walked him to the right office and did his best to make small talk, friendly and kind even though Shang Qinghua was having difficulty stringing more than a few words together in his shock.

Even then, it was obvious that the boy was developing the calm surety and the social charm that would make him a greatly admired sect leader someday! It was all Shang Qinghua could do not to blurt out: “Holy shit, you’re REAL?!” Which would be closely followed by: “Hey, is Shen Qingqiu really real too?!” And then maybe closely followed by: “FUCK!!!”

As the years went by, Shang Qinghua met more of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s characters, and it was weird every time. None of them were exactly like he was expecting. He kept expecting… well… he kept expecting them to look like the fanart, like flawless character models, more or less. Instead, he kept getting… people.

Wei Qingwei, head disciple of the sword-focused Wan Jian Peak, was also shorter than he was expecting, kind of stout, with a wide face and a wider smile. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had apparently had the man crack a few jokes upon his rare appearances in the web-novel, usually during tense situations, as he was reminded by the System upon thinking to himself: “Why is this guy LIKE THIS?!” So, because of just a few lines, the real Wei Qingwei had a relentless sense of humor and loved telling jokes.

Upon their first meeting, when Shang Qinghua was fifteen and had been sent over to help renovate some Wan Jian dormitories, fifteen-year-old Wei Qingwei had pretended to fumble a sword and, using a packet of dye and a sleight of hand, made it look like he’d accidentally cut off his own hand at the wrist. Of course Shang Qinghua had screamed and panicked! Anyone would panic! But Wei Qingwei had laughed at him and said, “Got you! Shang-Shidi, the sword wasn’t even unsheathed!” Asshole!

Qi Qingqi, the head disciple of Xian Shu Peak, was much taller than he was expecting. Apparently Airplane had once described a group of some of the peak lords by saying something like: “Each one of them was like a giant to young Luo Binghe.” That group had included Qi Qingqi. The System apparently had taken that to mean that Qi Qingqi was of a height with the likes of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua discovered this adaptational choice when he was almost sixteen, when this giraffe-like girl came to An Ding Peak to complain about an order someone along the pipeline had dropped completely, and he accidentally found himself (still waiting on a really good growth spurt) eye-level with Qi Qingqi’s chest.

Airplane had apparently once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that Qian Cao Peak Lord Mu Qingfang appeared a little older than his colleagues, by which he’d probably meant that the man was just tired or something, but this head disciple Mu Qingfang appeared to have ten years on all the other head disciples. Which was good! Shang Qinghua approved of their future head healer not being a teenager and having more training!

On the bad side of things, Airplane had also once said in Proud Immortal Demon Way that the Zui Xian Peak Lord Zhang Qingyan liked his drink too much. This was the peak specializing in alcohol, so it had seemed to make sense! It was supposed to be funny, if anything! Well, at sixteen, Shang Qinghua found out that the System had focused too much on the “too much” part of that statement and now the head disciple of Zui Xian Peak was pretty clearly a budding alcoholic. (Sometimes a cultivator’s constitution and ability to “cure” themselves just… made a person drink more. A lot more.) Which was… not good.

At seventeen, Shang Qinghua met Mobei-Jun.

He didn’t know where to get started with Mobei-Jun.

Somehow he’d… forgotten that Mobei-Jun had been originally based on Airplane’s idea of “the perfect man” and not the super pretty, muscular but slim-waisted protagonist type? The real Mobei-Jun was… tall… and big… and thick. Mobei-Jun’s intimidating features were… more striking than pretty. The first time Shang Qinghua had come back to his Leisure House and found this spoiled brat of an ice demon napping shirtless on his bed, and gotten an eyeful of all that heavy muscle and chest hair, he’d nearly knocked himself out on the doorframe trying to turn away before he had a heart attack.

Mobei-Jun really was going to be the death of him, holy shit.

Especially because this ice demon really was a spoiled brat! Airplane had described this character as being arrogant and apathetic, so now Shang Qinghua had to deal with a Mobei-Jun who took long baths and then carelessly dripped water all over the floor and all over fresh sheets! Who ate all of Shang Qinghua’s cooking and ungratefully only demanded more food, sprawled over furniture not really fit for someone of his size, and then watched Shang Qinghua like a fat tiger! Ahhh, this demon really was lucky he was handsome!

Mobei-Jun was also kind of violent, and mean, which was… well, it sucked.

Back to the sect that Shang Qinghua was now actively betraying, however, as far as he could see, there was still one future peak lord missing.

It wasn’t Shen Qingqiu, who Shang Qinghua had thought would be the last one to show up. Shen Qingqiu had shown up and had been advancing through the ranks of Qing Jing Peak before Shang Qinghua had even met Mobei-Jun, which meant that Yue Qingyuan had finally stopped looking like someone had torn out his soul. (Shang Qinghua had been forced to grit his teeth every time that someone mentioned how privileged that Yue Qingyuan was to have been granted that year of secluded cultivation in the Lingxi Caves at such a young age.)

No, of all the peak lords, it was Liu Qingge who Shang Qinghua had yet to meet.

After meeting Mobei-Jun and becoming an inner disciple, the System had given Shang Qinghua three years to make it to head disciple, probably because the deadline for a new generation of peak lords to ascend was fast approaching. He was working hard to achieve that! Not only did he have to sabotage the current favorite, but he had to make sure all his own training, missions, work, and research were as close to flawless as he could get it! All while keeping an intruding ice demon happy! He wasn’t totally sure that he was going to make it at this rate, even though he’d been here for years.

So it was a little concerning that Liu Qingge hadn't shown up yet. There was so much left to do. A world-state that had yet to be established. Liu Qingge had work to do here!

Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu still had to develop a hatred for each other as disciples that would extend to everyone believing that Shen Qingqiu had murdered Liu Qingge as peak lords, after all. Granted, all Liu Qingge really had to do was beat everyone else on Bai Zhan Peak up to obtain the position, and it wasn’t exactly hard to get Shen Qingqiu to develop a lifelong grudge, but the guy was still cutting it pretty close.

It was possible that Liu Qingge was already on Bai Zhan Peak and making good progress, but that he was just so solitary and focused on searching out the next big battle that Shang Qinghua had just never had the opportunity to meet him. Shang Qinghua did his best to avoid Bai Zhan Peak most of the time, honestly! He was curious about where Liu Qingge was, about what the man looked like, but he didn’t let himself sweat at not seeing the future war god, when he already had so many things to sweat about. The System had taken care of bringing in everyone else, so Shang Qinghua was sure that Liu Qingge would follow sooner or later.

Shang Qinghua’s first sign that something was wrong was that, on the day that Liu Qingge finally announced his existence by beating up everyone on Bai Zhan Peak, everyone was saying things like, “I can’t believe some kid managed to topple all of Bai Zhan like that!”

He… may or may not have ignored this sign.

To be fair to this poor writer-turned-disciple, though, he’d been up all night finishing some paperwork catastrophe the An Ding Peak Lord had thrown at him to fix, as some kind of “test” of his logistics skills. Upon hearing the latest gossip, Shang Qinghua thought, “Oh, finally?” And then his overtired brain collapsed from the effort of thinking two words together in a sentence, and all he could manage from there was to feel the intense need to go to bed at a maximum, static-y volume. No words. No more thinky thoughts. Just the need for speedy sleep.

He stumbled through the rest of his day and then passed out for 18 hours straight. In hindsight, this would have been the time when the gossip was at its hottest. He missed all of it.

When he woke up, everyone was still dealing with the aftermath of what had happened on Bai Zhan Peak, but the conversation had shifted more towards replacing Qian Cao Peak’s depleted supplies and the repairs to Bai Zhan’s training grounds. Liu Qingge was the name on everyone’s lips, still, but everyone knew the basic information now. Now, everyone was just exclaiming over and over again how unbelievably young (and pretty) he was to have bested every other disciple on the sect battle-focused peak. This didn't seem too strange.

The System probably would have based the War God's appearance on his sister, Liu Mingyan, a strong contender for the most beautiful woman in all of Proud Immortal Demon Way. Liu Qingge apparently being a very pretty boy fell neatly into line with all the other character design surprises that Shang Qinghua had gotten smacked with so far.

If Airplane had known that he'd be transmigrating into his novel, maybe there would have been even more handsome men! And everyone would have lived happily ever after and nothing bad would have happened ever, probably, but also there might be more sexy guys too.

-

TBC

[shealolz]

HIGH ENOUGH - DABI/TODOROKI TOUYA

warnings & notes: branding skin, mild blood, swearing, guns, creampie

summary: dabi & y/n have seggs. it's that simple. or is it?

genre: smut/nsfw

Dabi/Todoroki Touya x Female League of Villains Member

word count: 2,483

----

your hand rested on Tomura's arm, the man's flaky skin shuddering beneath your feather-light touch.

it would've been an innocent gesture to everyone but you, Tomura, or him.

a light blush covered his cheeks as you stood behind him, maybe a little too close.

of course, nobody would see your hips rocking against his ass and the breathy hitched gasps from his mouth.

they were all too concerned with their own villain agendas.

and also maybe the fact that Dabi was literally smoking from his staples.

so maybe you were grinding on your boss who you were friends with benefits all the while being fucking his second in command.

nothing wrong with that, right?

"y/n-" Tomura hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"pleasuring you boss. why? do you wish for me to stop?" you whispered into his ear, chuckling lightly.

"during our biggest meet-up? yes, I do." Tomura said more steadily only for a whimper to leave his lips.

"aw. it seemed like you liked it." you pouted, detaching from his back to stand next to him. "guess I'm not good enough, huh?"

"what?" he asked like the idea was atrocious. "no, no- you're fine, your wonderful y/n but just not right now."

something swelled in your gut, a certain heat.

so you had a minor praise kink, nothing to be ashamed about.

you smirked and turned to face him. "then I hope you don't mind if maybe this weekend we could meet up."

a manicured grip wrapped around his wrist, your manicured grip.

"Yeah I don't mind just don't be earlier than ten." he sighed.

"good, now if you don't mind I have downfalls to plot." you breathe out, going to your given workspace as you tie the apron around your waist.

you head for your table, your nails tapping against the wood as you map out certain alleyways.

sure the heat in your gut that made your pussy pulse wouldn't leave, that was the whole reason you were trying to get into Tomura's pants, but you could deal.

you had worse anyway.

once some dude edged you on till you were about to orgasm then left you to fucking make eggs.

to put it simply after fingering yourself till you cummed you broke the relationship.

if it could be called one. the two of you really just fucked each other till you were tired.

nothing special.

two hands slammed down next to you and a body pressed against you.

the smell of ash infiltrated your nose.

"what the fuck did you think you were doing with Tomura? I thought you were mine." Dabi growled into your ear.

you smiled a bit and wiped your chalk-covered hands on your jeans. "I dont know what you're talking about." you feign innocence.

his hand grabs your jaw to turn to face him, metal biting into your skin.

"I'm not blind like the others. don't think I didn't see you grinding on his pathetic ass." he snarls.

you shrug. "What can I say? people who melt in my palms intrigue me."

"oh? I don't think I do that, princess." Dabi huffs, letting go of your jaw.

you look down at the chalky mess in front of you and let out a silent breath.

the staring and eye contact had gotten to you and your panties were growing wetter by the second.

"if anything your melting in my palms," Dabi mutters, grabbing your forearm and pulling you away.

"Where are we going now?" you prompt.

"you'll see," he replies shortly.

letting him sit you in his car your hands run over the leather.

sure the League wasn't driving around in Spinner's beat-up van now that the Paranormal Liberation Front was around but the car still never ceased to amaze you.

he climbed into the front seat and adjusted the gear stick and pulled out from the building's parking lot.

there was a gun tucked into his pants.

to avoid showing your curiosity you looked out the window.

"I can see your legs trembling." he sang lightly as he made a sharp turn.

"can you? why don't you fix that then?" you shot back.

"hm? did you want me to bend you over that table and shove my dick into you?" he chuckled, the wind rustling his hair.

"it'd be embarrassing but quicker." you hum.

"calm your tits dollface we'll be there soon."

he drove into a parking garage, one known for being empty.

Dabi didn't stop till he got to the roof of the garage then he parked the car.

unbuckling his seat belt he reclined his chair back a bit.

you shimmied out of your jeans, already preparing for what was about to come.

"I think you know what to do?" he acknowledged.

"yes, I do." you agreed, climbing over the mechanics of the car to sit in the area between the wheel and Dabi's sit.

removing the gun Dabi waved it in your face, making sure you knew it was there.

he wouldn't be merciless if he didn't like it.

from your view, he seemed majestic.

the black cloudy skin in the backdrop, rumbling with thunder, the blue lighting of the car, his spiked belt, and wind tousled hair.

so similar to a god.

one of death.

your life was in his hands.

slowly your hands undid the belt, moving it to the side where you previously sat.

you unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down to his feet to reveal plain black boxers.

Dabi's boner wasn't full-blown but it was still there.

it seemed he got pleasure from looking down on you.

you can let him have this one, you can be his plaything today.

fingers looping into the boxers you pulled them down along with his pants.

his cock seemed to jump out at you and you stared at it.

"it's big." you blinked.

"you're acting like you haven't seen it before." Dabi drawled.

your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into surprisingly soft skin.

beads of blood rose and slipped under your fingernails.

your lips wrapped around the tip, your tongue slipping under and dragging against it.

Dabi rested his head back, his tense posture loosening greatly.

"fuck, I forgot how good you are." he groaned.

the two of you hadn't done anything major in a while, just a couple of heated make-outs nothing more.

with the war rising after all there wasn't a lot of time to do that kind of shit.

tongue wrapping around his dick one hand wrapped around the area connecting to his hips and pumped slowly.

another groan as Dabi's hand found its way in your hair.

"c'mon princess, you can do better. I know you can." he purred, lidded turquoise eyes gazing down at you.

you squinted at him but nodded and sucked on his dick harder.

you were into it after all.

teeth nipped at the slit slightly before pouty pink lips pressed a kiss to it.

you swallowed as you pulled back, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth and Dabi's dick.

letting yourself breathe a bit, you went back in.

his dick slammed against the back of your throat and you didn't mind.

the way his deep moans bubbled from his chest and his grip tightened in your hair were worth it.

choking slightly you sucked, bobbing your head back and forth.

his nails scratch against your scalp, tugging harshly.

without a warning Dabi orgasms, the creamy liquid flowing down your throat and into your stomach.

his semen is at the corner of your lips along with a shit ton of saliva when you pull back.

"asshole could've told me you were finishing." you glare up at him.

he smirks. "that would've ruined the fun of it."

rolling your eyes you push his seat back to recline fully.

"so you wanna be the dominant one now?" he prompts, placing his hands on your hips as your straddle him.

"not really, I just want your dick." you deadpan.

he chuckles and rubs at your hipbones. "Whatever you say, princess."

his dick was already out and hard, his jacket wasn't on in the first place so he was just in his oversized white button-up.

you only had your panties and your bra left so you were almost closed to a state of undressing.

looking up at him you then glanced at your pussy so he would get the hint.

"damn thought I could watch you masturbate, gotta do all the work myself huh?" he huffed.

his finger sneaked under your underwear till they were tugged down.

Dabi frowned. "this won't do."

his finger lights aflame and you blink at the new idea.

your underwear burn to ash and the blue flame goes back. "better."

swiftly you grip his hand.

he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

you lean forward so you two were eye to eye.

"turn on your quirk," you order, your hot breath ghosting over his cheeks.

"Oh?" he questions but his finger flames again.

you bring it closer to your inner thigh and you see his breath hitch as he sits up a bit.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

you nod steadily.

he lets out a breath and lays back down, the flame never flickering as you slowly let go.

his other hand grabbed at your thigh, squishing the soft skin between his hands as he starts to brand your other thigh.

your nails dig into the leather of the seats as you bite down on your lip, the metallic taste of blood soon entering your mouth.

a moan leaves your mouth though as your lips stain red.

though it was painful the joy you felt as you were marked as Dabi's made your heart swell.

why did you like the feeling so god damn much?

the flame disappears and you glance at your thigh.

'𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐘𝐀'

"T-Touya?" you stutter out as you pant heavily.

"my name, the birth one," he replies.

you smile at him and press a kiss to his lips which he reciprocates.

"well it's a beautiful one," you whisper against his lips.

you could hear the amused chuckle.

his hand sneaks onto your thigh and rubs at the burn lightly, gaining a whine.

slowly his hand creeps for your vagina and he massages the skin.

soft moans leave your voice box. "a-ah!"

his smirk widened as he adjusts you so his fingers are facing your vagina.

you lower yourself onto him as his fingers pushed through your folds and into you.

the steel of his staples is cold compared to the muscle inside you as Dabi shifts around.

a gasp leaves your lips as your hands gripped onto the leather seats tighter.

then your phone rang.

turquoise eyes looked at you curiously. "Answer it."

you swallow and pat around for your phone, finding it in the passenger's seat.

" 'COCK FACE' IS CALLING "

you press the answer button and place it against your ear.

"eh? y/n? you there?"

Hawks.

"y-yup," you say hesitantly.

"so, you wanna meet later tonight? maybe a couple of rounds?" Hawks suggests and you can hear the pure arrogance through the phone.

he was fucking high.

"why'd you only ever c-call me when your high?" you scoff, pausing briefly when Dabi thrusts his fingers into you rather roughly.

"high?" Hawks echoes only to be cut off when you hung up.

you threw the phone back into the passenger seat and attached your lips to Dabi's scarred neck.

"Who was that?" he groans out, his hips bucking up.

"Hawks," you reply as you bite into his shoulder.

he lets out a moan and turns his head to you.

"so you're just fucking everyone you meet?"

"only the attractive ones."

he snorts but wraps his arm around your waist to tug you closer as his fingers thrust into you harder.

Dabi's fingers move around in a scissoring motion, hitting both sides of you.

your teeth puncture his skin and his grip on you tightens as he pushes his fingers in deeper.

"p-please just f-fuck me!" you cry out.

"you think your ready, dollface?" he hums.

you nod vigorously, turning to face him with desperate eyes.

"if you insist."

he takes his hand out of you and his arm slides from your waist as he picks up his dick.

the boner was fucking big.

how the hell was that supposed to fit in you?

he flips your positions, you now on the bottom as your boobs bounce in their bra by the force.

Dabi lines his dick with your entrance before shoving it in you.

you grip onto his sides with shaky hands as he lets you adjust to his size.

while he waits his hands slide under your shirt and bra and begin to squeeze at your boobs.

"ngh." you mewl. "m-move."

"Your wish is my command." he teased but started to pull out before thrusting back in.

you gasped and your hips bucked forward only to be stopped by his other hand.

"patience love," he mumbles.

he rubbed at your nipple, squeezing your breast, and pressing down onto the skin.

eventually, he just lifted the whole shirt off you and began to suck at the skin all the while thrusting into you.

moans and gasps fell from your lips.

"ah!" "ngh." "h-huh!"

tears pricked at your eyes from the pleasure, it was too much.

your legs were trembling again, signaling a nearby orgasm as Dabi thrust in even harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin sounding through the car.

soon enough your orgasm squirted all over him and he finished into you.

as he pulled out he smiled when looking at your whole.

"d-did you have to cum inside?" you whine.

"what? the cum running out of you looks pretty." he shrugged as he pulled the seat back up.

your legs hit the floor and you sat there, watching the world spin for a second.

then you climbed back into the passenger's seat and began to put on your clothes.

when your shirt was halfway on something cold pressed against your temple.

the gun from earlier.

"did you not like it?" you ask, buttoning your blouse.

you weren't exactly afraid. if you were to die Shigaraki would probably get mad at Dabi and that'd be funny to watch from hell.

"Nah, I enjoyed it, just liked to watch you squirm." he puts the gun back into the glovebox.

he was already dressed, his pants and boxers were put back on and his belt was draped lazily over his hips.

the moon was out indicating you'd been gone for a while.

you licked at your lips as Dabi began to go down the ramps back onto the main street.

"tonight was surely interesting," you say dryly.

"When have things ever been uninteresting with me around?" he joked.

things with Dabi were nice.

even if it was just meaningless and bored sex.

[joheunsaram]

Peach Jam (ksj) - Teaser

Part of Blue Crush (collab)

Summary- Kim Seokjin’s life was perfect. He had a great job teaching kids to surf, he had great friends who were coming back to town for the summer and he was planning the best party this city would ever see. That is until he ran into his highschool crush and things started going his awry.

word count- 803 (probably around 10k for the fic)

pairing- surfer!Seokjin x Reader

rating- PG for the teaser (R for the fic)

genre- smut, fluff, e2l

warnings- none for the teaser

a.n- I’ve been writing this for a couple of days so I thought I’d tease you all a little hehe. I shall be dropping this in a week or so (but its me so will we be surprised if its late 🥴)

enjoy a peak into surfer!Seokjin

-

Kim Seokjin didn’t do lonely. To be put concisely, he was too good looking to be lonely. His life was perfect, even if he often spent his time alone in his bedroom playing video games with fourteen year olds who berated him for his age. It was only because he was so much more skilled than them, obviously. 

To Kim Seokjin, being alone was fun. He enjoyed his own company. Well, wouldn’t you if you were as content as him? 

That is not to say his life was easy. Oh no. It had its ups and downs as lives tend to do. Although he was blessed with a devastatingly symmetrical face, a biting wit, and the funniest puns on this side of the country - he had checked the national pun competition, nobody even came close - he still felt as if he was missing something. 

See, Seokjin wasn’t like most people. He didn’t believe in doing what you didn’t want to. Life was too short to waste it on something you weren’t enjoying so he tended to follow his gut. Which is why much to his parent’s dismay, after graduating top of his class at one of the world’s most renowned universities and getting an above entry level position at the country’s largest conglomerate, he had decided to quit a mere year later, and spend six months in Thailand.

No, he didn’t run around Bangkok exploring the malls and the temples like a tourist. He relocated to Ko Pha Ngan, an island renowned for its monthly moon parties. Seokjin couldn’t really remember much of the six months other than waking up at the crack of dawn for his surfing certifications and drinking all night, usually accompanied by a pretty woman, or two. To say he had the time of his life was an understatement. What more could a single man in his mid-twenties ever want?

Oh, yeah. Money. Seokjin may or may not have spent the last of his savings on that trip. Which brings us to now and here, to a quiet beach town, on the western coast, notoriously hard to point out on a map. Boasting a large coastal line and moderate summer tourists, Honeycomb Cove was an eclectic town of suburbs with mismatched family homes and beaches of cheap vacation homes. It was a place where nothing ever happened, which also happened to be where Seokjin grew up.

His alarm rang, loud and shrill, the autotuned voice of T-Pain jolting him awake. Seokjin groaned before his face broke into a smile. He let it play, the rapper’s distorted voice talking about taking on the day in an interview - a meme he had found in the internet’s crevices last year filling him with motivation. 

The sun was barely up, the world still sleeping and Seokjin was happy. He liked that it was just him and his thoughts as he jumped out of bed, only to drop to the floor to start his morning routine of fifty push-ups. Most people would think it was excessive, but it worked much better than a shot of espresso. Once he was done, he changed into his wetsuit, and grabbing a poptart from the kitchen, he was off to the beach.

The air always smelled extra fresh in the morning, the night’s fog giving way to the day’s bright rays. The ocean was calm, waves cresting and crashing into white foam, creating clouds on the surface. It was breathtaking, the water a perfect mirror of the sky.

He stretched a little before grabbing the board strapped at the back of his Jeep and running towards the sea. The cold water felt like a calling sometimes, pulling him in, numbing his fingers as he paddled further towards the horizon, a blunt line that separated equally majestic views. Seokjin usually wasn’t coordinated. Sure, he wasn’t a clutz as some of his friends, but he was often the butt of jokes when it came to following a rhythm. But here - it felt as if he was finally alive, never needing to think as he let his body sway with the waves, never fighting, always cooperating wherever the ocean took him. 

Standing up under the curl, the world faded away. The roars of cars passing by on the roads, the yells of people as they started their businesses for the day, the seagulls fighting over litter, everything halted. Seokjin breathed in the salt, his lungs expanding as he opened his arms, eyes closed and lips curled in a smile.

Until the wave crested, tossing him underwater. Even then, he swam to the surface, giggling as he shook his dark hair from over his eyes. Not even a complete wipeout could dampen his spirits. Summer was finally here, which only meant one thing. 

All his friends were finally returning to Honeycomb.

[lostbbygorl]

IN ANOTHER LIFE, FOR SURE: EREMIKA

Genre: FLUFF, MODERN AU, SLIGHT CANONVERSE AU, REINCARNATION AU

~~~~~~

Once again, Mikasa lay curled up in a ball like a kitten on top of Eren’s grave. Armin and Jean watched the sight of the young girl refusing to leave the side of her lover, even in death, a month after his passing, with melancholy in their eyes.

Mikasa told herself and everyone else that she was fine. She was strong, and nothing could change the past (Well, Eren could…). She knew she was lying, and so did everyone else, but what’s a girl to do if the man she’s loved since childhood were to never awaken again, and that too for the safety of humanity? She sobbed and she sobbed, and then she covered up all traces that she sobbed. It was a regular cycle. It was tiring. Nobody knew when it would end, but everyone mustered up all the sensitivity they had in them, and didn’t pressure her to make it end.

But enough is enough, and we all hit our breaking point. Mikasa Ackerman hit hers on a peaceful morning in a bed of bright purple flowers as a majestic bird flew over her. Connie had realized that Mikasa was sleeping longer than usual, and when he stooped down to shake her gently so that she’d rise, the horrified boy noticed that she was completely still, and devoid of any pulse, breath, or heartbeat.

And so, the last Ackerman woman was buried beside her lover, and teary eyes surrounded their eternal slumbers as friends and family said goodbye to them one last time.

The second time Mikasa opened her eyes, she was in a room with pastel walls and toys littered on the floor. Hey grey orbs were met by two overjoyed faces. One of a blond man, and the other of a raven haired woman. They fed her milk, played with her, and gave her unconditional love. And so, Mikasa grew into a beautiful, sensible young woman for the second time. Her life was a dream! Two amazing parents, a group of loyal friends, and unmatched beauty to top it all of, along with good grades of course.

But there was something she absolutely couldn’t explain! Mikasa would sometimes wake up in a cold sweat after a horrible nightmare, and sometimes a queer dream. These dreams didn’t occur every night, but they weren’t terribly infrequent either. Mikasa saw gigantic, hideous man eating beasts, and young ones around her age whooshing threw the air with blades to decapitate the beasts. She often saw herself behead the creatures, and she saw her best friend, Armin beside her too, along with her other friends. The less scary ones were just as confusing. She saw visions of herself on horseback riding through a dense forest, she saw visions of herself sparring with teens in military style uniforms. But the most confusing dreams, and the most common ones, consisted of a tall boy with dark hair and turquoise eyes.

She saw herself run beside him and fight beside him. She caught his name twice. What was it again? Oh, yeah, Eren Yeager. Mikasa had no idea why she saw this boy so often, and why a part of her mourned for him and yearned for him too. Oftentimes when she had nothing else to do, she’d wonder who he was, and if he did exist, was he doing well? A familiar sense of fondness washed over her everytime she thought of him.

It was finally time for her to go to college. The first day of college fell on the first snowfall, and it was cold outside. Mikasa shot Armin and Sasha a quick text to see if they were waiting outside the college campus for her as planned the week before, and then proceeded to leave her apartment, the keychains of her black Jansport backpack dangling as she walked.

The college halls bustled with chatter as new students and welcoming teachers conversed with each other and scurried around to find their classes. Armin was going off about his linguistics major and his excitement for his first class. Mikasa listened with a small smile on her face, till a particular new student nearly made her heart stop…

Standing in front of her was the boy she had been seeing in her sleep for the past 19 years. He was a tall, well built boy with his shoulder length hair tied in a halfway man bun, gleaming turquoise eyes, and a boyish smile that the girls definitely went wild over! He was currently talking to a shorter, lean female professor who Armin mentioned was Ms. Hange Zoe, the biomedicals head. “I feel like that subject will be the most interesting, what about you Mika? Mika? Hello! Earth to Mikasa!”, Armin said, taking her attention back to him. “Huh? Sorry. I zoned out”, she murmured.

“You were staring at that dude”

“Wasn’t”

“Was”

“Wasn’t”

“Hey, guys. Are yall new here too?”, the third voice joined in. It was Eren Yeager! Or at least, his doppleganger.

“Uh yeah. Hey, I’m Armin, and this is my best friend Mikasa”, Armin introduced.

“Nice to meet you both. I’m Eren”, the boy returned. The blood in Mikasa’s ears rushed and her hands quivered at Eren’s words.

“So, what are your subjects?”, Eren asked.

“I’m doing linguistics”, Armin chirped.

“Um, I’m doing psychology, Eren”, Mikasa stammered as she looked into his all too familiar eyes.

“Oh wow. Me and you are both doing psychology then. I shall see you in class”, he grinned.

“I wanna hang with you too though, Armin”, he added in a friendly manner. Armin and Eren made more small talk as Mikasa’s brain whirred 1000 miles per second. How? What the? One thing was for sure though, she’d get to the bottom of this boy no matter what!

“Um, can I have your numbers?”, Eren asked.

“Yeah sure. Armin, give him my number. I gotta rush to the toilet real quick”

“Sure, Mika”.

Mikasa ran to the nearest ladies washroom and locked herself in a free cubicle. There, she hyperventilated and attempted to calm down.

Her dreams would for sure be getting more intense tonight.

The fluttering of her heart and the tiny rays of sadness that she linked with this familiarly unfamiliar boy sure had gotten more intense….

[kiirokero]

Nepenthe (KTH)

Nepenthe: A drug used to induce forgetfulness of pain or sorrow; something capable of causing oblivion of grief or suffering.

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!

Masterlist

Pairing: Baker!Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint, romance...? Reader has troubles with their emotions and TaeTae tries to help them, ft. a blonde smug Jimin,

Note: Time to sleep. Catch up on writing :)

Summary: Mama always said that sweets give you cavities. But she didn’t warn you about the boy who makes them. Or, having an insatiable sweet tooth has left you spending much of your time in Taehyung’s bakery. But nobody prepared you for the feelings your cold heart caught.

Word Count: 2.4k

      Contrary to popular belief, you did have feelings. You felt happy, sad, angry. You were human. But people tended to forget that. Whether it was because you were academically intelligent or you were just an easy target, you were used to... Well, getting used. 

     You were often the cash cow. The dead horse everyone thought was entertaining to beat. The goose with the golden egg and no farmer would leave you alone before you popped out the next solid gold money maker. And when you gave in and gave them what they wanted, you were the one left behind, high and dry. 

     Years of being treated like this in college left you emotionally unavailable. You opted to protect yourself from the hurt you felt by not allowing yourself to feel at all. You had built up your walls so thick that you barely allowed yourself to even feel happy half of the time. Many people tried to break down the brick hell you’d banished yourself to, but gave up when the stone didn’t relent. But it's not like you care, right?

      You didn’t care that you had nobody to voice your worries to late at night when the self doubting thoughts plagued your mind. You didn’t care that people avoided you because of your frigid nature that left the happy little people in Bangtan Village uncomfortable. So what if you didn’t have anyone to catch you when you fell? You didn’t need anybody. 

You just needed your comfort foods. 

     Yes, maybe it was an unhealthy habit to drown your self hating thoughts in the taste of sugar and cinnamon. Maybe anyone looking into the state of your mental health would cringe at the way you personally dealt with it. Who cares? This was your life and you would live it however the hell you wanted to. You were tired of others dictating you. 

     So you often found yourself at “Kim’s Confections” sitting in the corner, looking out with window while you ate your danish and sipped your tea. Every single day, whether the sun was up or down, you sat in the same seat, at the same bakery. You changed up the pastry, of course, you could only eat danishes for 3 days straight at most. But the routine of visiting the small shop was one thing that never changed. 

     As leaves fells and winter came, you visited the bakery. As rain fell and flower bloomed, you visited the bakery. You like the atmosphere the bakery gave off. The aroma of sugar and bread that wafted through the air made your body feel like jello as you could easily fall asleep to the smell. The small wooden tables that were scattered around made the shop feel more personal. The food that never failed to melt in your mouth calmed any tension that seeped into your bones. 

But one thing about the bakery that didn’t calm you down was the owner himself. 

Kim Taehyung.

      Nothing was wrong with Taehyung, per se. He was an attractive guy who always had a friendly, boxy smile on his face. He had beautiful brunette hair and majestic auburn eyes. His skin was always shining, 24/7, always looking like he walked off the cover of a magazine. Even if you gave off a cold, icy aura that screamed “Don’t talk to me,” he never once failed to give you a smile and a warm welcome. 

     No, you were never purposely mean to Taehyung. You never snapped at him or showed any sort of distaste towards him, because you didn’t have any. He just confused you. Normal people would stop trying to be nice to you by now. Most people would take your less-than enthusiastic responses as rudeness or dislike. Not Taehyung though. 

      You often asked yourself what was up with him. I mean, who would look at you and think, “Yeah, I’ll give the snow queen a shot,” Nobody. Except Kim Taehyung, apparently. Without fail Taehyung tried to initiate conversations between the two of you that would last more than a few one words answers (Mostly from your side,) He would ask how your day was or what you did over the weekend. To which you would respond with “Good” or “Nothing,”

      It’s not that you didn’t want to talk to the guy. He just made you feel... Weird. His smile made your heart quicken. His laugh made your cheeks heat up. Whenever he had his eyes on you, your hands would turn clammy. It just made you feel... uncomfortable. You were used to feeling 2 things, “Bleh,” and “What am I doing with my life,” not some odd feeling of quickened hearts and clammy hands. 

      But alas, no matter how much you wished to banish the invasive feeling all together, your sweet tooth needed to be satiated. So here you were, standing in front of “Kim’s Confections,” Walking in and chiming the small little bell that hung above the door. The familiar sight of wooden chairs and the glass display case full of confections filled your eyes. But there at the counter was the man himself. 

      “Hello Y/n! Welcome back!” Taehyung said with a smile on his face, enthusiasm laced in his voice. “Hello,” You said, sounding dead compared to his lively way of speech. “What will it be today, sweetcheeks?” Taehyung smirked, resting his head on his hand as he leaned over the counter. “Don’t call me that,” You said, not liking the heat that made its way onto your face the moment he called you “Sweetcheeks,” 

      Taehyung chuckled, saying nothing, just gesturing to the glass case of goodies. Taking a look, you noticed your favorite was in stock today. Red velvet cupcakes. “That one, please,” You said, pointing at the mouth-watering pastry. “Coming right up, sweecheeks,” Taehyung smiled. You decided to ignore the endearing nickname, instead trying your best to cool down the heat on the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks. 

      Taehyung grabbed the cupcake and put it on a plate for you, sliding it towards you as you handed him the money you’d already fished out of your wallet. “Thanks,” You mumbled, grabbing the plate off of the counter. “Anything for you,” Taehyung smirked. You didn’t say anything else to him as you went to your corner to eat your cupcake. 

Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.

      You’ve read The Iliad a thousand times before. You know how the adventure ends and what the climax of the story will be. You knew what happened to the characters, and you were well versed in the outdated way of speech. But that didn’t mean you appreciated the interruption of a certain blonde haired male. “What Jimin?” You groaned, putting down your well-worn book, glaring at the man in front of you. “Ah you wound me, Y/n. I just wanted to see you is all,” Jimin shrugged. 

      “See me? Dumb move,” You countered back, face unchanging. Jimin just chuckled, shaking his head with a smile. “You know, I was talking to Taehyung and he said you barely speak a word to him. That’s surprising since your with him every day,” Jimin smirked, swiping off some stray frosting that laid on your plate and putting it in his mouth. “I have nothing to say,” You said, turning to look outside the window. 

      Jimin scoffed, “I find that hard to believe. Tae can make anyone talk, do you not like him?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “I didn’t say that,” Was your immediate answer, debunking Jimin’s dumb theory. “Well, you kinda did,” Jimin teased. “He makes me feel weird,” You admitted, unable to face the man in front of you. 

“He makes you feel weird?” Jimin asked, confused. 

“He makes my palms clammy and face hot. He’a like a witch or something,” You sighed. 

      You didn’t know Jimin, no. Jimin was one of Taehyung’s friends who tried even harder than him to get on your “Good side,” When in reality, there was no good side. You were just in a perpetual state of saying “Cool,” and throwing up peace signs at everything life threw at you. So no, you weren’t Jimin’s friend. 

So the unimpressed, disdained face you gave him when he burst out laughing at your words wasn’t entirely unwarranted. 

      “Oh my goodness, you’re funny,” Jimin chuckled out. “What did I say?” You asked. “You have a crush on Tae!” Jimin whisper shouted. Your eyes widened, and you flicked his forehead. “What are we? Twelve? A crush? That’s preschool shit,” You seethed, not allowing yourself to believe what Jimin was saying. “Woah, calm down Y/n. Crushes are normal,” Jimin explained, right before Taehyung came up to grab your empty plate for you. 

      “Did you enjoy the cupcake?” Taehyung said in his deep baritone voice that made goosebumps rise on your skin. You nodded your head yes, avoiding looking right into his eyes. “I’m glad,” Taehyung whispered to you, giving you a smile as he walked back to the kitchen with your plate. You watched him go the whole way. 

      “Scratch that, your head over heels,” Jimin spoke up, and you whipped your head around to glare at him. “Shut it,” You spoke through gritted teeth, gathering your book and purse, standing up to leave. “I don’t have a crush. That’s childish,” You countered, but Jimin just gave you a knowing look, a smirk plastered on his face. 

     You never missed a day to visit the bakery. But maybe you should’ve today. It was pouring outside. Thunder rumbled through the air and lighting flashed through the sky. You were without an umbrella or anything to protect you from the rainy onslaught that was happening outside the shop. 

      Sighing, you flipped through the pages of The Iliad. You had just finished the story another time, and the epic was still too fresh in your mind to begin reading again. So you sat in your corner, listening to the pounding of rain that rammed against the shop windows. 

“It’s pouring out there, huh?” 

      Taehyung’s soft, deep voice cut through the rain ambiance that filled the tiny shop. You nodded, tearing your eyes away from him and suppressing the thoughts of his muscular figure from your mind. “Do you have someone coming to pick you up? I don’t want you walking out in that,” He asked, coming to sit in the seat in front of you. 

      “I don’t,” You answered, avoiding his gaze. “Really? No boyfriend coming to sweep you off of your feet?” He chuckled. You shrugged, picking at the edges of your book. “I’m not girlfriend material,” You sighed, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “Not girlfriend material?” Taehyung asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “I just have too much baggage, I guess,” You shrugged. 

     Taehyung chuckled, “Everyone has baggage, Y/n,” Was his answer, looking right into your eyes with his deep auburn ones. “I guess,” You mumbled. The two of you sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just listening to the sound of the rain outside as the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence without the other knowing it. 

      “I think you’re girlfriend material,” Taehyung spoke up suddenly, startling you out of the thoughts that swirled around your mind. “Ha ha,” You sarcastically laughed, but Taehyung doubled down. “I’m serious, Y/n,” He said, leaning forward on the table. “No I’m not,” You argued, shaking your head at what you believed was a ridiculous claim. 

     “Why do you think that?” Taehyung asked, but you didn’t respond, feeling the walls you meticulously built start to crumble. That scared you. You’ve always been focused on others trying to force your walls down, but you never thought about what it would be like for someone to urge you to bring them down yourself. To want to willing talk about the thoughts that plagued your mind. To let someone cozy up with you inside your walls. It was scary how you wanted to talk to Taehyung. 

      You didn’t know what it was about Taehyung that made you want to let him in and turn your hell into a sanctuary. Maybe it was because he was always so nice. Or maybe it was because he made the best comfort food you’d every have. Whatever it was about him, he was starting to get through to you, and it scared you more than you’d like to admit. So you shut down. 

      Taehyung kept asking you why you thought that or what made you think that you were any less than amazing, but you just kept shaking your not wanting to open your mouth in fear that you’d spill out all of your emotions like a hangover full of regrets and puke. 

     You heard Taehyung sigh as he got up from the chair. You felt your heart squeeze at the thought of him finally giving up on you. You knew it was a bit selfish to expect him to stick around after you gave him no reason to, but it still hurt. You were so out of tune with your emotions that you had a hard time identifying what was what. 

Was this disappointment? It’s been a long time old friend. 

Was Jimin right? Am I in love? Is this what love feels like?

      A hand placed a plate with a cinnamon roll on it in front of you. The aroma of cinnamon filled your nose, and you cracked a small smile at it. Taehyung sat back down in the seat in front of you, giving you a warm smile. “You don’t have to push yourself to answer,” Taehyung spoke up, “I don’t know exactly how you feel, but my friend, Yoongi, is like you.” He smiled as you took a bite of the cinnamon roll. “He says that talking to others about feelings is a monumental task, so don’t feel obligated to answer my question. You have your walls for a reason, Y/n. It’s up to you if you want to let me in. But I will say, I’m waiting at the door with cookies.”

      At his words, you gave him a sincere smile. The first sincere smile he’d ever seen from you and you could tell by his huge, boxy one that it made him happy. “Thank you, Taehyung,” You said. “Anything for you, sweetcheeks,” Okay, so maybe your heart was a bit cold. Maybe the thick walls you built around yourself prevented you from properly processing your feelings. Maybe Jimin was right and the clammy hands and giddy feeling you got from being around Taehyung was love. 

But right now, the two of you didn’t care. 

Because you were in the middle of your first genuine conversation. 

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Guardian Angel ~ Lucifer x Reader

"I told you to close your eyes." 

The phrase that haunted Lucifer’s every day, every night and every dream since back then, during the Celestial War.

He can remember everything vividly, as if it happened just yesterday - The nightmare that happened to him, the one that he relives every time his mind isn’t focused on work, those bloody flashes before his very eyes.

He closed his eyes ready to die ... He knew he screwed up when he declared a rebellion and his siblings and beloved followed him, fighting to escape the Godly shackles that bound them together, depriving them of free thought, free will, free movement.

It had to be done - After all, who knows what He would have done to poor, little Lilith...Maybe, if it wasn’t for that, they could have stalled the riot, prepared better, gotten stronger, strategised finer...

Were the consequences worth it? 

He’d ask himself that every day he had to see Diavolo’s feign innocence and smug face.

His brothers were around him, around and well. Lilith was turned into a human and lived a happy life with the human she loved...

But his beloved S/O was killed in The Falling, and he had a fight with Belphegor recently just bad enough to have to confine him in the attic, afraid of Diavolo’s punishment.

“Lucifer, close your eyes.” he heard a gorgeous, feminine voice that always managed to sooth all his worries and fears.

He didn't feel any pain...He wandered what went wrong, how come he's alive even though he’s the mastermind behind the rebellion, and his eyes saw the Seraphim Arrows being shot his way...But when he opened his eyes, he was struck with a worse kind pain. 

It was unimaginable. 

It was heartbreaking. 

It was devastating.

Lucifer gasped for air while the tears forcing their way, he saw the love of his eyes in front of him, smiling while shielding him from the enemy with three arrows impaling her torso, barely able to keep herself afloat.

Somehow, however, she managed to look him in the eyes...With that gentle smile of hers...That only made it much worse.

“Keep on living, Lucifer. For me, for Lilith, and for your brothers. Promise me you won't shed any tears for me, my love, and instead, live a happy life, together, and remember me. Keep on smiling, for your smile had saved me a thousand times before...And should you do so, I promise you, with every smile on your face, I will smile as well.” she confessed, prompting her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep herself conscious to have her last goodbye.

Lucifer could feel her blood splattered on him, but seeing her immaculate white dress, now resembling a bed of red azaleas, he was sure the world was going to end. His face was wet from weeping, shock having taken over his senses completely, and for those few moments left together, that were so fast, yet felt like an eternity stopped, he saw S/O’s tears slowly falling down, resembling delicate zircons in the blinding light of the Sun.

“Why....?!” was the only thing the raven haired Seraph could utter, not able to grasp reality from the scene playing in front of him, still praying hard that it was nothing more than a night terror.

“Because, my darling...Dying is better than seeing you dying. They need you, honey. You are their leader, so lead them towards a better life. You deserve it. I promise you, you are my life after death. Now, Lucifer, promise me this...Close your eyes, and remember all those beautiful moments we spent together. I will be there for you, in the next time...I will be missing you so much, my dear...So please, don’t forget me. I will be with you in your heart, protecting you.” her words were soft, painful, and it was clear she was barely able to hang on to her last drops of life.

But the last spark of life was abolished from her eyes as soon as more Arrows were cruelly shot through her, some ripping her majestic Serpah wings, much more beautiful than his, he always believed.

“I love you.” was the last words Lucifer heard as all the remaining strength left her body and she free-fell from graces like a ragged doll tossed away by a spoiled child.

When he finally snapped to his senses, he realised that the rebellion wasn’t going too well, as his orange-haired younger brother went to save his twin, and Lilith fell victim to the Angels’ arrows, falling as well...

This is not what he wanted.

He wanted everyone to live, to be safe and smile again, without having to endure HIS arrogance and power hunger any longer.

He wanted to be able to hold S/O in his arms tightly every night and kiss her, to show her how much he lover her. He wanted to be allowed to feel her, to tell her everything his heart felt, what his mind was forcing him not to disclose, despite being so desperate to...

And yet, in the end, here they were...

Fallens, in Devildom, on the horribly dry and disgusting soil, the broken form of the love of his life in his arms, laying there lifeless, while his sister, barely alive, was hanging to any second of her burning life spawn.

And that’s how he wakes up every time, whenever he has the misfortune to have restless sleeps, which unfortunately for him happens more often than not.

The same voice, the same lines, the same images flashing through his mind for the whole day, without pause.

He was the only one who truly knew what happened to Lilith, and he was the only one whose heart broke, without any chance of healing, as his lover died in his arms, because she was reckless enough to save him.

Why did she have to be so egoistic?

Dying is better than you dying, she said...But what about him?! What about his feelings?! Did she think it wasn’t the same for him, as well? That he’d rather die than have her perish, with such agony...

But what did she care...

She saw herself a martyr, doing reckless things without thinking...

She has always been an idiot.

Lucifer wanted, with all his heart, to hate S/O for leaving him alone for so many millennia, stealing away his heart with her, never to be returned...How thoughtless of her!

...But no matter how much the Fallen wanted to blame her, to hate her, to strangle her for the torture she so selfishly brought upon him...

He couldn’t.

She will forever be the only one he will ever love, until the day the world collapses, the armageddon befalls, the skies crumble and Hell freezes over and the Earth explodes.

His unusual demeanour was easily noticed by everyone around him, as he was more silent than usual, almost as if he was mourning, brooding, and much more focused on his work, not wanting to interact with anyone. Whenever he was like that, he would barely eat, sleep or take care of his health - Not that demons need too much pampering - But regardless, he never talked to anyone about the reason before this behaviour of his.

Diavolo was the only one who knew, since he was there when it happened, and Mammon, as he was told a few cryptic words.  Of course, the rest of his brothers knew the reason, but could never hope to get even close to understanding what was going on through Lucifer’s frozen heart.

That is...Until one day, when he was desperately trying to settle for the second human exchange student for Diavolo’s program, and through the files, there was this girl...

This girl that made him freeze.

Same hair colour and hair style, same eye colour with the same gentle glint, same soft smile of her pink, plump lips, same skin shade...And her picture made it look as if she held some kind of divine aura behind her...Or maybe he was imagining it? Was he so exhausted that he was starting to imagine things? Was he thinking too much of her recently?

He had no idea for how long he stared at the piece of paper before his very eyes until Diavolo got in his study, picked the paper from his hands, and with a low chuckle, told him to pick her for the exchange program...Which seemed to piss him off, but nonetheless, he couldn’t go against the word of the one he pledged his loyalty to, so he merely nodded.

...And it got worse, when she was brought forth in Devildom, and she looked just like her...Almost as if she was a copy. Lucifer couldn’t help himself, he could only stare at her from afar, not believing his eyes.

What was worse, however, was that as soon as he began his speech to her, she stepped right in front of him, looking up, right into his eyes, and with a confused, yet soft look, she said “Have we met before?”

Those words...Those very words made him feel his breath hitch in his throat, and his brothers knew very well was was going on, so for the first time in centuries, they tried to save him from this stiff situation...Only for her to ask them, sans Satan, the same question.

“Have we met before? Some of you seem so familiar to me, but I can’t tell why.” she said, only for the brothers to freeze just as bad as the elder brother.

Something was definitely off, but nobody knew how to solve this issue, so it was up to Diavolo to wake everyone from their trance and tell S/O about the reason for being so mysteriously brought here...Also, assigning Lucifer as her guardian...Which almost made him unleash and strangle him. He could already imagine himself ripping the Demon Prince limb from limb, putting him on fire, throwing him in acid, and other inventive torture methods that quickly came into his mind.

She was so sweet, so nice, so mindful, so respectful, so attentive with him...How can a mere lamb behave with such kindness towards the ferocious, starving wolf?

He was going insane.

For the duration of the year he had to look out for her, to make sure she was okay, that his brothers were behaving okay with her, and that she won’t be a target for the lesser demons.

But it was torture for him now, having to constantly stare upon a person who resembled his long dead lover, having to be constantly reminded of his failure to take care of herself, having to see her pained smile addressed to him, her broken form, her ravished wings, her dull eyes, her dissolved light...

Diavolo was truly a demon.

And she was too much for him.

Every move she made, it was with an unbelievable grace, as if she was a princess, and wherever she stepped, flowers would grow. Her smile was dazzling, almost blinding. Her kindness was so warm, so powerful, creeping into the cracks of his frozen heart. Her hair was so smooth, as if it was some higher cloud from the Celestial Realm...And her voice...Her singing...Angelic...Just like hers...Like the Seraphim started singing their hymns and playing the harp.

Whenever she’d sing, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d laugh, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d dance, he’d leave the room. Whenever she’d play with one of his brothers, he’d leave the room.

No matter what she did, he would disappear like the mist, which made the poor girl so upset, thinking she did something to make him hate her.

But the worst came once again during the TSL quiz when Levi went to attack her from him blind rage, and without realising, she created a shield of light around her, which made everyone speechless...As she resembled an angel...THAT angel...

And poor Lucifer could only stare at her, with his heart scrunched up and stomped on, and he left the room faster then anyone could realise, and Mammon on his trail, wanting to help his dear older brother, knowing very well how he was struggling to keep himself composed and whole.

“Lucifer, talk to me. Y’know you can. I know why you’re behaving like this...She ain’t her, man. Even though she looks just like her...She ain’t her. She can’t be her. She died long ago, just like Lilith...They’re gone, no matter how much we want them back.” Mammon’s voice was long and soft, squeezing his brother’s shoulder to calm him down. “Did you see that magic of hers? That is angel magic, without a doubt...But she isn’t one...And do you remember what was the first thing she said when she saw us? Have we met before? This cannot be a coincidence...It just can’t be...” Lucifer muttered, holding his head in his hands, almost tugging at his hair from desperation. “Uhm...I don’t really know how to help ya, but...Maybe if ya ask Simeon to talk to Michael or somethin’...Maybe he knows somethin’? Maybe she reincarnated or somethin’? Ya never know with these things, right?” the silver haired man spoke, making Lucifer sneer for a split second, thinking about cooperating with the very beings who killed S/O...And yet...His words held truth. “...Thanks, Mammon. I will see what he says.” Lucifer nodded, already taking out his phone and texting Simeon about this problem.

But things weren’t so easily solved in the Devildom, as Lucifer’s brother were always up for mischief, and now, they, for some unknown reason, decided to play Hide and Seek in the House of Lamentation, and the eldest was the seeker...

Until, at the very beginning, wanted to cheat while counting, he turned around, only to see the girl casually sitting on the couch, eyeing him with a giggle.

“Lucifer, what are you doing~? I told you to close your eyes!” she teased him, only for him to grit his teeth, punching the wall in front of him, before leaving to his room. “I’m not bothering with childish games of yours.” he scoffed, shooting her a look of disgust, not having the heart to look at her crestfallen expression.

Weeks continued to flow one by one at a rapid pace and Lucifer’s worries grew even more when he realised that, once she willingly stepped inside his room, he could barely control his urges.

“Lucifer...Do you hate me? I don’t know what I’ve done to make you upset at me...But I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to hate me, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” she spoke in such an innocent and genuinely concerned voice, that it made Lucifer kabedon her, her back glued to his door. “It’s nothing personal, but if you’re so curious to know, you are an exact copy of my dead lover from the Celestial Realm. Everything you do, is just like her. You look exactly like her. I don’t hate you, quite the contrary. If I could, I would smother you with affection, I would suffocate you with kisses, I would break every bone in your body with embraces, I would ravish every inch of your body with touches, and many more, that only a demon would know. So, for your own good, little lamb...Stay as far away as possible from me. Your year here is almost done...Don’t try to get yourself killed freely.” his voice was low, almost sounding like a growling threat, but instead, she cupped his face, shocking him. “I don’t understand what is going on...But since I was little, I kept getting weird dreams. Everything is fragmented, nothing is really coherent...But I can see a man with dark hair and dark eyes...And his voice is like velvet. I can see myself holding his head in my lap in a beautiful glade, under a Wisteria tree, and I can see myself dying to save him. That’s why...I was confused when I first saw you...You look just like the man from my dreams...Lucifer...? Are you...Crying...?” her eyes widened, her bottom lip quivered, seeing a single, shiny tear escape his ruby like eyes. “Get out. Now.” he pushed himself on the door, turning his back to her, waiting to hear her leave so he could unleash his pent up emotions that he has been hiding for so long.

This can’t be happening...How is that possible? How can she be having the same dreams as him? It’s not...It can’t...It just can’t be...

Why, S/O, why would you send to him someone who is your exact copy?

Is it to spite him? To anger him? To mess up with him? To taunt him? To mock him? To tease him? To torture him? To kill him with such agony, to mimic the way she died? 

Doesn’t she already know his heart will only ever belong to her, and her alone?

No cheap imitation will ever be able to take her place.

From then on, no matter how much she tried to talk to him, he’d go out of his way to avoid her, knowing very well that any glance her way would only send more painful shocks to his heart, and he’s definitely not a masochist.

He’s suffered enough as it is.

So stop it.

Please, stop it.

Just get the hell out of here already and let him be a grumpy demon in peace.

You’ve done enough.

...

A weird occurrence happened, and a beam of light came from the halls, followed by a pitched, almost banshee-like screech, and as he rushed to check it out, he saw S/O’s limp form in Archangel Michael’s arms. In a burst of rage, Lucifer transformed into his demon form, blasting the angel away and cradling the human’s small form into his arms, his wings wrapping protectively over her.

“What the hell did you do to her? Do you think you’re entitled to kill all the people I care about?!” Lucifer’s dark, booming voice echoed throughout the House of Lamentation, that was met with a mere chuckle. “Luci, my dear old friend, you should know that I wish you no ill-will, despite all the hate that you have for us. You called to ask me about her, and I got intrigued, so with your Prince’s approval, I came over to see what was the deal with this little lamb here.” Michael spoke calmly, making his old friend lay down his guard. “And what did you find out and why did she scream like that?” he mumbled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I gave her back all the memories she had jumbled and lost. She is the S/O you used to know, without a doubt.” the Archangel spoke in a gentle voice, realising that the demon was close to exploding. “Don’t make fun of me, Michael, or I will rip you apart limb from limb. S/O died in my arms. You, filthy angels, did it. So stop lying to me, it’s a sin.” he sneered at him, only to receive a smile. “She didn’t die. From her memories, I saw that she was impaled by the arrows before she fell from graces. Her heart was pure and just...And, although this would be impossible by our rules, S/O became your Guardian Angel. You know very well that as long as a subject is alive, a Guardian Angel cannot be killed...And they certainly cannot be killed by items in the Celestial Realm. This is your S/O, I guarantee it. Look at her...She’s starting to glow again. Take care of her, Lucifer.” he got up, ready to leave, only to be stopped by the demon with one last question. “Where was she all this time...?” he asked, his voice now much softer and emotional. “At first, she was laid in a bed of flowers...But then, she was found by humans and put in a ward, waiting for her to wake up. When she did, she got rehabilitated, taught and integrated into the human world...And from there, you already know.” the answer was shocking...Guardian Angel...Laid on a bed of flowers...How fitting for a Seraph. “...Thank you, Michael.” stomping on his vanity, the Avatar of Pride uttered those words to the Archangel, before taking the girl in his arms and bringing her to his room, placing her on the comfy bed, holding her hand and waiting for her to wake up.

Seconds were passing like centuries, and Lucifer’s heart kept beating fast for the first time since the War, expecting her to open her gorgeous eyes, to hear her angelic voice, to feel her gentle touch...

He needed her so badly, he could almost feel his sanity slipping away rapidly, thinking that maybe she won’t wake up, for whatever reason.

He was desperate, he felt like he was drowning, that he was suffocating, that he was getting strangled by an invisible form, and for the second time in his life, he felt absolutely powerless in front of the hated fate.

“I told you to close your eyes...” a weak voice was heard, making the raven haired man feel a lightning going through his veins. “Never say those words to me again, S/O. I don’t know what I would do.” he said, yet the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “I’m sorry...I’ve been selfish, haven’t I? You must truly hate me for leaving you alone for so long...Actually, I don’t know how long it’s been...How long has it been?” she asked, holding his hand. “Every second spent without you lasts longer than an eternity. Never leave me again, please.” Lucifer muttered, kissing her hand gingerly. “Aww, Lucifer...You’re as sweet as you’ve always been. You haven’t changed, even though you’re a demon now. You are still as beautiful.” she spoke, getting in a sitting position. “And you will remain an Angel until the day I am no more, my love. To think that you will become my Guardian Angel...Maybe fate wasn’t so cruel with us, for in the end, we are together now, again, as we should have been all this time.” he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft kiss, barely able to hold himself back, afraid that, maybe, he is still dreaming, and she will vanish from his arms when he next opens his eyes. “Lucifer...I can feel the storm of emotions in your heart. I’m sorry I caused you so much distress...But I am real, my darling. I am alive, and I will be every time you blink. I promise. So don’t hold back. Do what your heart tells you to. Let your feelings flow. It will be okay.” she spoke, kissing him with more and more passion with each kiss, leaving him breathless. “Those are bold words, little angel. Don’t you know that demons cannot hold back when such a delicious temptation crosses their path? We’re not up there anymore...And I have a millennia worth of emotions. Be careful when you say such words, for I will take advantage of them.” Lucifer’s angelic face was tainted with a demonic, smug smirk, which made the girl grin in amusement. “I see, so that’s how things roll down here, hm? Well, great thing that He isn’t staring at us anymore, ready to punish us for any little thing. We can finally be together...Like those human couples...Right?” she asked, gazing down bashfully. “Anything we want to do, we can. There are no rules, nor regulations. This is the Empire of Sin...As Asmodeus would say...Go big or go home. Better to get in Hell for committing all sins, then for just one.”  the demon cupped her face, kissing her, with more fire each time, more love, more passion, more desperation. “We deserve it. After all this time...We truly deserve this.” she answered, feeling herself floating, the physical sensation of pleasure, love and heat foreign to her. “...You better not be closing your eyes, my darling. I want to see your gorgeous eyes, and every reaction you have to offer.”

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Paper Rings - Part 3

Pairing: Carrie Wilson x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: perceived homophobia (nobody is actually homophobic)

PR Masterlist Masterlist

___

The young royals spent the rest of the afternoon sharing one of the many benches scattered throughout the palace’s extensive gardens. Carrie would’ve preferred the cozy armchairs of the library, and Nick had even suggested it at one point, but she wasn’t willing to subject their scheming to the potentially prying ears of the palace staff.

While they sat Carrie told her newfound friend all about Y/N while Nick looked on with a soft smile, seeming genuinely happy for her. In all of her imagined ways that her coming out to the man would go, none of them ended like this. She assumed he’d be upset, after all, he’d just spent the last week attempting to impress and woo her when all along he had no chance at all, and yet there he was not only happy for her, he was actively trying to set her up with someone else. She supposed she should’ve seen this coming once she had gotten to know him better.

With Nick caught up on her background with Y/N, they began to fully plot out their plan. It wasn’t anything complicated, but it would take an immense amount of bravery from Carrie, something she wasn’t sure she could muster up but Nick assured her that she already had it. However, the plan couldn’t be set in motion until Nick’s parents arrived for the official announcement of their betrothal.

___

Carrie woke up full of anxieties the day Nick’s parents were set to arrive. It had been a few days since they’d created the plan, and even though Nick had spent every possible moment reassuring and bolstering her, she was still worried. Worried was probably an understatement really, but she wasn’t quite sure what the proper word would be for the way that her heart thumped wildly in her chest and her skin felt like it was quivering separately from the rest of her body. Still, she pulled herself out of bed and allowed her maids to get her ready for the big day, dressing her in one of her finest gowns (they had wanted to make her a brand new one for the occasion but Carrie had insisted that there would be grander occasions worth making new dresses for and that what she already had would serve her just fine).

Once they had finished with her dress, makeup, and hair, Carrie once more shooed the maids from her room before going into her usual routine of choosing her own jewelry. She set to work choosing many of the pieces she had purchased with Y/N before sliding her signet ring onto her pinky.

She shook her arms out as she crossed to her chamber doors, hoping to shake out her anxieties before taking a deep breath to steel herself for the day ahead and what she was about to do. Just like any other morning, as she stepped through her doors she became Princess Caroline, leaving anxious Carrie behind her.

The walk to the palace entryway seemed much longer than usual, though she was grateful for the extra moments to herself to rehearse her words over and over.

She arrived in the entry hall only moments before Nick’s parents were expected to arrive, someone calling that they had passed through the castle’s gates. She hurried to her place beside her father, Nick on her other side.

When the couple finally stepped through the doors it dawned on Carrie why Nick had insisted they wait until his parents arrived. Nick’s parents were gay.

She had known, of course, that Nick had two dads. She’d learned it ages ago in one of her classes and of course, Nick had mentioned it in their many conversations since he’d arrived at the palace, but it hadn’t occurred to her that their presence was a strategic move. Her father would have a much harder time scorning her for her sexuality in front of them.

“Kings Ryan and Chad Danforth-Evans of the Kingdom of Alburquerque.” Their names were announced and Carrie couldn’t help but beam at them.

Nick was the first to greet them, neither the kings nor the prince wasting much time before hugging each other.

“Ryan, Chad, it’s good to see you,” her father’s voice boomed throughout the hall as he stepped forward to shake each man’s hand once they’d pulled away from their son.

“It’s good to see you as well, Trevor. It’s been too long,” King Chad replied and Carrie’s father agreed.

“And Caroline,” King Ryan spoke, turning towards her with a strange look on his face. “My goodness, I haven’t seen you since you were just a child.”

Carrie smiled awkwardly, having no recollection of the event.

“It’s good to see you,” she greeted kindly instead.

“What’s on the itinerary for today?” King Ryan spoke, addressing Trevor, “Do we have time to catch up before the big announcement?”

Nick cleared his throat.

“About that,” he began as everyone’s eyes turned to focus on him. “I’m sorry to bring you both all the way out here for nothing but we have to call off the engagement.”

Carrie felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room at his words.

“Nicolas, what are you doing?” King Ryan hissed before his husband placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

“We’re simply not compatible,” Nick explained before turning to Carrie.

It was her turn now. She took a deep breath, grabbing Nick’s hand from where it hung beside her, needing the physical support from her friend.

“Dad,” she addressed her father, intending this declaration for him more than anyone else in the room. “I’m gay.”

It turned out that Carrie didn’t need the strategic advantage of having the Danforth-Evans’ there because before she knew what was happening she was being wrapped into a hug from her father.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said sincerely and Carrie was vaguely aware of the tears welling up in her eyes.

“I wish you would’ve told me sooner…” he added as he pulled away, still holding her by her shoulders. “But it’s no matter, we’ll find you a nice princess and-“

“About that,” Carrie interrupted with a sheepish look.

Her father’s mouth snapped shut as he peered at her curiously. She could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to determine what she was going to say next.

“There’s um… Well, there’s already someone.”

Trevor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and Carrie sighed before launching into another explanation.

___

It was late afternoon when you heard the knock on your door. You didn’t pay it much mind, knowing your mother was in the house as well and would answer it. Instead, you resumed your seaming in the back room. Though you were forced to abandon it moments later when your mom called for you.

“Y/N! Come here!”

You were puzzled, to say the least, nobody ever called on you at home. However, your confusion wasn’t eased when you reached the door to find members of the palace guard.

“Miss Y/N Y/L/N?” One asked when you reached the doorway and you nodded, too afraid to attempt to speak.

“You have been formally invited to join the king and princess for dinner this evening.”

Your eyes blew wide, mind racing to come up with a plausible reason for you to be summoned to the castle for a meal with Carrie and her father.

“There is a carriage waiting out front when you are ready to depart.”

You nodded mutely once more before you stepped away from the door. You were vaguely aware of your mom asking you questions though you heard none of them as you hastily made your way to your room. You quickly changed into your nicest dress and did your best attempt at tidying up your hair. You didn’t have to stop to put on jewelry as you were already wearing the necklace Carrie had gifted you on her last visit.

Your mom was still waiting for you when you made your way back to the front door. You did your best to reassure her that everything was okay and that you didn’t know anything about what was going on before she hurried you out the door claiming that you didn’t want to keep his majesty and her highness waiting.

Before you knew it you were being swept up into a grand carriage and carried away to an even grander palace. When the castle came into view you felt as though the air had been knocked out of you; it was a truly majestic sight.

You arrived just in time for dinner apparently, as you barely had any time to take in the incredible detailing of the palace’s entryway before you were guided into an equally detailed room with a large wooden dining table.

“Miss Y/N Y/L/N.” Your name was announced to the room, startling you before you regained your composure and swept yourself into a curtsy.

With a low scrape of wood against the stone floors, you watched as the king and Carrie stood from the table upon your entrance, waiting until you had taken the seat across from Carrie’s before they sat back down. You furrowed your brows at this, certain that that was atypical behavior for dining with royals.

“Your majesty, your highness,” you addressed each of them, “Thank you for your gracious invitation, I hope I haven’t kept you long.”

“Not at all, Miss Y/L/N. Though the formalities are unnecessary, you may call me Trevor. Carrie has told me a lot about you,” the king replied and you failed to keep the shock from your face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more of a warning,” Carrie apologized from across the table, “I wanted to be the one to give you the invitation but, well, you know how keen they are about letting me leave the grounds around here.”

You did your best to hold back an unladylike snort at that. If she hadn’t learned how to sneak out, Carrie probably never would have left the palace except on official business.

“And yet you seem to have managed an extensive amount of time out in the village,” the king— Trevor— retorted and Carrie pouted at being caught out.

“I had to take matters into my own hands since you never would’ve let me go,” Carrie threw back and you felt as though you were intruding.

“Let’s not revisit this argument right now,” Trevor said kindly, though sounding a bit tired, before he changed the subject. “Tell me about yourself Y/N.”

You did just that over the course of your meal. You talked about your family and life in your village. You talked about meeting Carrie and some of your time spent together, about how she taught you astronomy since it wasn’t covered in your own studies. You must have been fidgeting with your necklace quite a bit throughout the conversation as it seemed to have caught the king’s attention.

“That’s a lovely necklace, Y/N, where did you get it?”

“Thank you,” you flushed slightly as you thought about the circumstances under which you had gotten the necklace. “It was made by a local jeweler, however, it was given to me by Carrie.”

Trevor nodded thoughtfully at your response, a knowing look in his eyes that you didn’t understand. Meanwhile, Carrie launched into a glowing recommendation of the jeweler even pointing out all the pieces he had made that she was currently wearing.

When the final plates were cleared from the table Trevor addressed you once more.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you were brought here,” he began, “It wasn’t solely to get to know a friend of Carrie’s.”

Just then Carrie cleared her throat.

“I think I should probably handle this part,” she spoke and Trevor chuckled lightly.

“That you should,” he agreed.

Carrie took a deep breath, looking more nervous than you thought you’d ever seen her. Out of instinct, you reached a hand across the table, covering one of her own in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. Carrie stared down at your hand for a moment before looking back up, smiling softly at you.

“You are undoubtedly my closest friend, and I will always be grateful for that friendship,” Carrie began, still smiling shyly at you, and you felt your heart start to thump anxiously in your chest. “However, for quite some time now my feelings for you have far exceeded that of friendship.”

You blinked a few times, feeling suddenly as if you were in a dream. Surely this wasn’t reality and the woman you’d had feelings for quite some time wasn’t confessing that she reciprocated said feelings.

“If you feel the same way, and it’s not too much to ask, I was hoping you’d be my girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, as a princess, there’s a whole official courting process ending in an engagement though I’m sure it’ll be slightly different since I’m technically courting you but- wait did you say yes?”

“Yes, Carrie,” you laughed giddily and in one swift movement Carrie had rushed around the table and swept you into her arms.

You melted into the embrace, beyond thrilled to be holding— and held by— your best friend in the way you’d always hoped but never thought you’d be able to as you rested your forehead against her own.

“I know this is really early in our relationship but I'm pretty sure I’m in love with you,” you spoke softly and she grinned.

“Me too,” she whispered back before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

An Ode To Miyazaki:

Hi everyone! So for my final paper for film, we had to pick our own director of our choosing and talk about them extensively between the attributes that make them special. Our course focused on the narrative and technical styles of directors. For my final project, I have chosen my biggest hero in the world of animation and somebody that drastically changed my life as a young child, Hayao Miyazaki. Learning about him for this project gave me so much insight into not just his films but who he is as a person. I hope that my paper is as interesting for you to read as it was for me to do research for!

1. Hayao Miyazaki, often referred to as the Japanese Walt Disney is the front runner of his animation studio Studio Ghibli. I picked him because I already have sufficient knowledge and love of his films. One of the first memories that my parents love to remind me of is my first time watching Totoro and laughing at the introduction characters. Miyazaki himself stands out for a number of reasons. Over the years, Miyazaki has made a humongous name out of himself, one of his most famous movies Spirited Away became the most popular film to ever be released in Japan and also won the academy award for the best-animated film that year. His most “popular” films (I say popular in air quotes because it is nearly impossible for people to agree on a favorite) remain the aforementioned Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, Howl’s Moving Castle, and Princess Mononoke. Beginning his career as a simple animator for Toei animation, he worked as an in-between artist. It was here that he met his future collaborator at Ghibli, Isao Takahata. His first big directorial debut in film before founding Ghibli was a team effort without Takahata was Lupin The Third, The Castle Of Cagliostro. His first successful movie was one that was based upon his own manga Nausicaa of the Valley Of The Wind. The first official Miyazaki movie that was made with Ghibli was one of my personal all-time favorites that had ever been created, Castle In The Sky. For many children, especially ones with parents who are lovers of a film like mine, Miyazaki was one of the first animators that I was introduced to. His films have become classics for every fan of animation, being referenced in culture, specifically back when Disney owned Studio in Toy Story 3, Bonnie has a Totoro.

2. So, this brings up the question, how does one recognize a film by Miyazaki? You can always expect for him to be critically acclaimed, for there to be some element of magic and whimsy in the way that he animates, for there to be something to do with flight (whether it be dealing with airplanes like in Porco Rosso, the idea of flight in Howl’s Moving Castle, or a floating castle up in the sky in Castle In The Sky.), his heroines are always strong-minded and live by their own rules never bowing down to anybody, his love stories are dynamic and fulfilled, a sweeping score by Joe Hizashi, and they have a meaning about nature somewhere, mostly about why it needs to be protected.

Let’s start by breaking him down narratively. The thing that is always in every Miyazaki film no matter which one you decide upon watching, is that his female characters are always strong-willed no matter what. In many ways, I think that he writes women better than Disney does. He has gone on record saying “Many of my movies have strong female leads—brave, self-sufficient girls that don't think twice about fighting for what they believe with all their heart. They'll need a friend, or a supporter, but never a savior. Any woman is just as capable of being a hero as any man.” Sometimes, this will cause them to come across as reckless, or stupid, but in my opinion, I have always looked up to his female characters and the way that they are portrayed. My personal favorite female character that he has ever brought to life through the screen is Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle. She is strong-minded, not willing to put up with any of Howl’s dramatics, kind, an incredible adult figure for Markal, endlessly sympathetic to her friend’s plights (namely Howl and Calcifer), and somebody that I can always look up to. I spent most of my childhood looking up to characters like Kiki in Kiki’s Delivery Service, Chihiro in Spirited Away, or one of my personal favorite underrated girls, Fio in Porco Rosso. All of these female characters are independent and never let themselves be taken advantage of by anybody.

Another trait that can always be found narratively in his films is that Miyazaki is an airplane/ air travel fanatic. He absolutely loves airplanes, even to the point where his latest film, The Wind Rises was based upon the life of one of the first airplane manufacturers in WWII. Almost all of his films will involve something about flying in the air. Even with the ones that he didn’t direct and he just simply wrote. His obsession with flight is something that stemmed from his childhood and he never saw them as a thing to be used for war “airplanes are not tools for war. They are not for making money. Airplanes are beautiful dreams. Engineers turn dreams into reality.” My personal favorite of all of his flight animation is used in Howl’s Moving Castle when Howl and Sophie “fly” over the heads of all the people below them.

Narratively also one of the biggest things that set apart his films from any others is his focus on nature. The idea of protecting the beauty of nature is something that he has always stood by. A lot of the time, America tries to prove that it can make films about nature as well to usually varying results. I think that nobody can sell an environmental message quite like my biggest hero for Japanese animation. One of the main movies that focus on his will to protect nature above all else is Princess Mononoke. He always manages to animate nature in such a beautiful and majestic way no matter where the film is set.

I also think that a narrative trait of his that often gets overlooked is how beautiful the romance in his films can be. He never has a romance between two characters that feels stale or boring. I love the fact that you can pick any number of his films and the chance of there being a romance that you’ll get sucked into is a very large one. Everybody has their personal favorites, I love Howl and Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle but my best friend loves Sousuke and Ponyo from Ponyo. He has on record saying that “I’ve become skeptical of the unwritten rule that just because a boy and girl appear in the same feature, a romance must ensue. Rather, I want to portray a slightly different relationship, one where the two mutually inspire each other to live - if I’m able to, then perhaps I’ll be closer to portraying a true expression of love.” Writing romance between two characters can be a very tricky thing which is why it’s always amazing when he can continually pull it off despite everything and how many films that he has made over the years. The beauty of having both a strong and independent male and the female character is that they can both lean on one another for love and support. Probably the biggest supporter of this is Whisper Of The Heart, a film that he wrote instead of directing. The romance is what makes up the entire film. It’s a beautiful love story about how two young teenagers fall in love with each other. The romance is something that continually keeps me coming back for more every time.

Technical style Miyazaki can always be assured to deliver breathtakingly stunning animation. There is a reason why so many people leave his films starving because the food that he draws always looks so good. For me though, it’s the backgrounds that stand out above all else. It’s nearly impossible to have one favorite shot in one of his films but I as a matter of fact do have one. The most breathtaking animation in any Miyazaki film is the scene where Howl takes Sophie to see his secret garden. Everything about this scene never fails to make my breath catch. It’s such a profoundly beautiful moment and how it is animated is something that I haven’t forgotten since my first initial viewing of the film when I was seven.

Another iconic technical trait is that Disney did a fantastic job dubbing the films from their original Japanese language into English. Back when Ghibli films first started to become popular, they needed a way for an American audience to see them. So Pixar’s CFO at the time, John Lassater made a deal with Ghibli that they would dub all the films from their original language for a brand new audience. Growing up, this was how I watched all of Miyazaki’s films. I fell in love with the way that they sounded in English. To this very day, I have yet to see one of his films in any other language. I don’t think that anybody could have dubbed them better. Ever since Ghibli and Disney went their separate ways and they went to GKids the dubs haven’t been the same.

Finally, the last technical trait is that a Miyazaki film will always have a score done by his longtime collaborator Joe Hizashi. The score is such a big part of what makes Miyazaki’s films his own. They are what get you sucked in through their whimsical and magical tones; they always fit the vibes that he’s going through at that moment. There is also the element of sound. Every Miyazaki film has a distinct sound effect that will set it apart from the one before it.

3. The first film that I want to look at is my personal favorite of all his films that he has made so far if you were to force me to pick just one Howl’s Moving Castle. Released in 2004, it was the 9th film that the director came out with. It has an 8.2 out of 10 on IMDB and an 87% on Rotten Tomatoes. The storyline for the movie follows a young woman named Sophie. She gets a curse set upon her by the Witch of the Waste and when she leaves home she finds the infamous Howl’s Moving Castle. This is the second Ghibli movie voiced by a Batman live action actor. Christian Bale voiced Howl Pendragon after Michael Keaton played the titular Porco Rosso.

Narratively this is definitely a Miyazaki film. From how strong of a female character Sophie is I spent most of my childhood looking up to her as a character. Strong female characters are everywhere in his films and in my opinion, Sophie is one of the strongest. Another strong factor is that flight plays a major part in this film. One of Howl’s main powers is that he has the ability to fly around. This leads to my favorite scene of flight in any Miyazaki film when Howl takes Sophie’s hand and they “fly” over the tops of the city down below them. All of his early films up until the last few were set in someplace other than Japan. This one is set in Europe, and he takes a lot of time while in the cities to show off all the different types of buildings while Sophie tours around the city.

Technically speaking this is also a Miyazaki film and holds all the titular traits of being so. The animation is utterly for lack of a better word, magical and spellbinding. It takes my breath away every time that I rewatch it. The food looks incredible, one scene that most of Miyazaki’s fans always think of when this movie is brought up is Calcifer making the food for Howl, Sophie, and Markal to eat. The dub for this film is also one of Disney’s best dubs for Miyazaki films. It even brings actors to the table that I usually would not like to see in other films like Christian Bale. I haven’t loved him in any other films than this one. Billy Crystal is a stand-out as well as my favorite fire demon Calcifer. The score is done by Joe Hizashi as well. My favorite part of the score is the main theme which has Howl and Sophie floating above the people below. The sound effect that follows throughout this film is the steady creaking of the castle itself.

Princess Mononoke was the first time that Miyazaki ever “retired”. Most of the time, whenever he tries to retire, he always comes back. A lot of his colleague's joke that it’s because he physically can’t stop working. He animated most of this movie by himself. Before Spirited Away it was Japan’s most famous film to date. The story about a young man who is just trying to erase the curse that was set upon him by an angry boar and it leads him to a place called Iron Town is something that never fails to amaze me. While in Iron Town, Ashitaka meets a young woman named San who was taken in by wolves and he finds himself caught between a war involving humans and the gods of the forest.

Narratively this is definitely a Miyazaki film. It has a strong female lead, focusing most of its screen time on how important it is to protect and preserve nature as a whole. The idea of protecting nature is such a moving part of the film, as we see what it does when man takes over the forest. We see how distraught it makes the Gods of this world and how they wish that the humans would just go away. However, you also see it from the point of view of the villain of the film Lady Eboshi, who also regularly helps lepers and people who would often never get work outside of her offering them a home and a family. I have regularly gotten into a debate with my mom over which side is “right” and which side “wrong” over the course of the last few years of me being a massive fan of this movie. She takes the side of the forest while I see Ashitaka’s side that everybody should just get along and interact in peace and harmony. Miyazaki never shoves the idea of nature down your throat. That is not what this film is. It’s instead about the beauty of what we have and learning to appreciate it.

On a technical level, this film is fantastic as well. It blows my mind that Miyazaki-san animated most of it all by himself. The backgrounds are sweeping and utterly gorgeous showing off the time period of the film. The fight sequences which make up the bulk of the film’s running time are engaging, thrilling, and fabulously animated. Mononoke’s score was done by Joe Hizashi as well. Its score is beautiful and I always find myself getting sucked into it, especially for the more dynamic scenes with Ashitaka and San. The sound effect for this film uses nature as a backdrop for brutality. Ashitaka’s arrows don’t just come out of his bow, they screech through the air.

Finally, my last film that we will be focusing on, Kiki’s Delivery Service was made in 1989 a year after his cult phenomena My Neighbor Totoro and was his fifth animated feature. Kiki is a young girl that is hoping to become a young witch in training. However, to do so she has to train a year away from home. She and her cat Jiji find a town by the sea where she learns her true strength and what she can really do to help others. Hayao Miyazaki didn't want to bore the audience during the film's end credits by using just the names. He set it up to be like a mini-sequel so that the audience would leave the theatre feeling happy.

Narratively this has all the traits that one should be familiar with and associate with a Miyazaki film. It has a strong-minded female character at the source of it that young girls can look up to and admire. As a kid, Kiki was my favorite female character of his because I loved her strength and her dedication to what she was good at. She knew that she was still young and had a lot to learn but even though she gets depressed she doesn’t let that stop her in the long run and will still save her love interest Tombo. The romance in this film is by far one of the sweetest. I love the interactions between the characters and the way that they both inspire one another to be better than they are. The idea of flight is basically the focal point of everything. Kiki finds that her best trait is that she flies incredibly well and decides to create her own flying delivery service.

Technically this also has a lot of traits that Miyazaki made a name for himself in doing. The animation is spectacular, especially for Kiki’s flying. I could watch her fly around all day and that was the idea that he was going for while making the film. The sweeping score by Joe Hizashi, especially in my favorite song A Town With An Ocean View, is something that I’ll often listen to outside of the film itself. The sound effects for the film are meant to be calming. From the first sound that you hear of the wind rolling through the reeds while Kiki lies against the grass to the waves when she finally finds a home.

4. Miyazaki as a director has inspired me since I was way too young to even remember. When I was a kid I would pretend to run around my apartment building's front yard imagining that I lived in a big house in front of a camper tree like the one in Totoro. His movies are perfect for children that “suffer” from having an overactive imagination. His movies are everything that is bright and beautiful in the world. The animation never fails to take my breath away, the characters and stories are unforgettable, the soundtracks sweep me away and tell stories themselves. His movies are something that even my parents, who are not anime fans, can watch over and over again. I think that speaks for itself. Miyazaki makes films that are art, not just animated films.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

The Whore || John Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)

Summary:  n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT

Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT 

I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟ 

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed.  As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable. 

Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes.  Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.

So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.

“Hey, man!”  Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.

Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.

Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love. 

“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.

“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.

Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong.  And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.

John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.

“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.

Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets  “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!”  That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-” 

A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.

“U-until I stopped fighting them”  Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch”   Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?”  Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.

“When she was imploring you to stop?”  Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.

“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.

“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her”  Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders”   As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress​​

[supernatural-freek]

Knife To My Throat

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Synopsis: Hello! I have a very angsty request!!! Winchesters x sister!reader. The reader is the boy's half sibling and always seems to be forgotten. She goes through memories of them forgetting about her for early years to present. [Never picked up from school, left behind on a hunt, having to clean up after them,stuck with research,chores,ect.] It makes her snap when she was put in a life threatening situation[kidnapped for a couple of months] and they didn't even notice she was not in the bunker.

NOTE: This is a lot sadder than I thought it would be, I’m so sorry. I’m also sorry if this wasn’t quite what you were looking for but once I started I couldn’t stop and- I mess around with the ages too, so don't worry about the canon ages.

There is a trigger warning for this one. It’s not the happiest of one shots.

REQUESTED

MASTERLIST

.

Your life passes in snapshots.

.

You’re 12, the product of something between your mom and a man whose two sons stare at you with blatant resentment. You’ve slandered something, soiled someone’s image or reputation. They’ve come to your school, you see, and they know who you are. They don’t take you with them when they leave, and you’re not sad to see them go.

When you tell your mom that the Winchester boys can’t possibly be your brothers, she laughs sadly until she starts crying and holds you tightly throughout the night.

.

She dies when you’re 14, two years after Sam and Dean had taken one look at you and decided that didn’t want you. Someone contacts John, and you hear the Impala before you see it. It’s a majestic beast, big and proud and growling. You desperately want to touch it.

John does’t let you stay for the funeral. He’s not being cruel, he’s just gotta get back to something. You sit in the back with Sam while Dean sits in the front with John.

“I don’t really hate you,” Sam whispers, sneaking you a lolly. You take it shyly. Sam smiles. “I’m Sam.”

“I know,” you say, and his smile grows instead of wavering, and you know that things won’t be too bad if Sam’s around.

.

Sam leaves when you’re 16, a teenage girl who’s prone to flinching at sudden movements but can stand next to a firing gun and have a spine of steel. Sam storms out the front door in a flurry of anger and deadly hate. John shouts something about not coming back, and Sam shouts back that he doesn’t care, and then the door slams.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

Dean comes to your bed that night, wordlessly asking for comfort. You roll over and let him lie next to you before you’re cuddling in to his side and crying as silently as you can. Dean’s body shakes, but the darkness hides if he’s got tears too. You fall asleep like that, and when you wake up, Dean’s already moving around the room and there’s no way to tell if last night had been real.

When you, Dean and John pile into the Impala, you think that it’s awful lonely in the backseat.

You miss your brother.

.

You’re almost 18 when you and John have your first real fight. You’ve argued before, fuck knows John can’t be around another living thing without arguing with it, but this time there’s a slap from you and a threat from him and Dean has to step in the middle.

He picks John over you. 

You can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but it’s expected. You stare at them, so alike in their feelings and their actions and their pain, and you scoff and shake your head and say, “I hate this family.”

“You aren’t hunting, Y/N, and that’s final!”

“And why not?” You shout back, and Dean groans because here you both go again. It’s the same argument you’ve just finished, but the anger is still rippling under your skin so you don’t walk away. “Am I just some glorified nurse? Here to clean up the messes?”

“You weren’t supposed to be my responsibility,” John seethes. He’s said it before. It doesn’t really hurt much anymore. “I’ve already lost Sam because of this life. I won’t lose you too.”

You give up fighting. It’s too tiring. You can’t be bothered.

.

When you’re 19, Dean comes back half-dead and without John.

You keep calm and stitch him back together again, going through too much alcohol and too many strips of cloth. You run out of dental floss for stitches, but you make fucking do, because if Dean dies on your watch, you may as well die too.

He’s not coherent the whole time he’s with you, mumbling about ghouls and blood and John, but you can’t spare a second to worry about John now, not if you want Dean to live. You manhandle him, pretending that he’s just drunk and not concussed and bleeding out. 

“Fuck you,” you hiss at him as you cover him with the sheets on the bed, sitting by his side as he sinks into a troubled sleep. “You problematic fuck.”

John doesn’t come back until three days later. He’s not horribly injured, but the claw mark on his chest has smeared blood all over his front and he looks like death incarnate. He sees Dean, still unconscious on the bed, and grunts, settling into the seat at the table and closing his eyes.

“Fucking ghoul,” he sighs, and then you’re attacking him with whatever medical supplies you have left.

Dean wakes up the next day, takes the keys, and drives you and John far away from that little town. You never tell him that you left your story book on the bedside table. 

It had been the last thing you’d had of your mothers.

.

You’re 22 when Sam truly settles back into hunting. 

You know he misses Jess, know that he’s got too much weight on his shoulders, know that he wants to find Dad just so he can go back to pretending he doesn’t miss his old life. But he settles into it after a while, sitting in the front seat with Dean. 

It’s still lonely in the back.

.

You’re 23 when John dies. 

Dean and Sam are without injuries. You have a broken arm that doesn’t get properly treated before you’re leaving the hospital in the dust, the taste of ash still on your tongues.

.

Everything goes to shit when you’re 24. There’s something about Sam, him being a Chosen One, and Dean says that John had wanted him to kill your brother, and it’s all so confusing. You know about the visions, and you trust the visions, but then Sam and the other kids like him are mutating into something else and you’re afraid.

You know it’s the Demon, good old Yellow-Eyes, but you don’t matter to him. You don’t matter to anybody. Bobby sees you sometimes, but that’s because Bobby is an old soul in an old body and knows what it is to be in the background.

Ellen sees you too, but only because you remind her of Jo. “Don’t let them boys walk all over you,” Ellen tells you one day, when you’re sitting at the counter at the Roadhouse after the boys had taken off on one of their adventures without remembering you. “Honey, you aren’t a doormat.”

“I’m not much of anything,” you tell her and then you finish your beer and motion for another.

.

You’re 25 when Sam dies and Dean sells his soul and leaves you with two brothers who are forever tainted with the cold tang of death.

Dean shoots the Demon.

You’re 25 when you look at schooling options for adults.

.

The Hellhounds come for Dean sometime after you turn 26, and you have nightmares about Sam’s cries and Dean’s blood until you have to start taking extreme measures, like pills and alcohol and concussions.

You and Sam crash at Bobby’s house once, and you sleep easier than you have since your brother went to Hell. 

When you wake up, Sam is gone and he doesn’t come back. Bobby looks at you with pitiful eyes, but you keep your head down and make yourself a list of permanent chores to do just so you have a purpose and won’t have to kill yourself.

.

Dean comes back while you’re still 26. You’ve given up on schooling, which is good, because Dean wants to look for Sam, and you have to scramble to get in the back seat of the Impala before he takes off with a squeal of the tires.

Bobby sits in the front. It’s not any less lonely in the back. You seem to care less now, and you wonder if it’s because the nightmares have sucked out your soul and no you’re just hollow and beaten and sad, and you don’t care anymore that your brothers don’t really care about you.

.

Sam causes the Apocalypse. You’re turning 28 the next day.

.

You meet Cas when you’re 28, but you aren’t important so he doesn’t see you. The angels don’t see you, your brothers don’t see you, and Bobby loses sight of you somewhere along the way. You slip through the cracks.

You go on a hunt on your own and it goes fine. 

You’re disappointed that you don’t die.

.

You’re 29 when Sam jumps in the Pit with Lucifer and Michael. Cas isn’t God, and you aren’t important enough for anybody to take as leverage. Zachariah had taken Adam and Sam, but he hadn’t taken you and that should tell you to quit while you’re ahead, but you’ve already decided you’re a lot cause with school and there’s nowhere else for you to go. 

Dean goes to Lisa and Ben. Cas disappears. You float around and you pretend you have purpose. You think your name becomes a legend amongst the hunters. Something about you being a ghost, here one moment and gone the next. 

You’re too cold to cry, really.

.

You’re 30 when you attempt to kill yourself and fail.

.

Nobody comes to get you until you’re 32. Sam loses and gains his soul in that time. There’s someone named Samuel. There’s Alpha monsters and Death and walls in minds that shatter far too easily, and then Cas is the new God, but he’s sick.

You run into the boys on a hunt. Dean says your name with the reverence of someone who has seen God and laughed. He talks to you, and it’s nice, and then he tells you about Leviathans and Cas and your heart breaks and you crawl into the back seat of the Impala and stare out the window.

Hunters still talk about the Ghost.

Dean doesn’t know that it’s you.

.

You’re 33 when Dean and Cas go to Purgatory, and you’re 34 when Dean comes back.

You’re 33 when Cas comes back, too.

.

You’re 35 when Metatron casts the angels out of Heaven and Sam fails the Trials. It’s a mess, but there’s Kevin and the Bunker, and the angels falling look like dying stars and it’s oddly beautiful.

Kevin likes you. It’s strange because Kevin doesn’t really like anybody else. You think that its nice to be seen, but then there’s Crowley and demons and your brothers are important again and you quietly make enough food that nobody stares and clean up afterwards. 

Your room stays bare. Nobody comments. You don’t think Sam or Dean could point out which room you claimed as your own anyway.

.

You’re 37 when Dean gets the Mark of Cain. It’s scary and it makes him into something harsher and more unstable. You try and keep quiet around him, because he seems almost hyper-aware of you now and he keeps eyeing you.

You make food and you do beer runs because that’s the role that they accept, and that’s the role you know. Charlie braids your hair once. It feels like something a sibling would do.

.

The Darkness brings Mary back when you’re 38. 

Mary looks at you once, understands who you are and what you represent, and then she turns to her boys and smiles. You are 39 years old in a world that doesn’t want you, and you’re invisible to everybody in the damn room.

You can’t harbour any anger for Mary though.

You’re just so unbearably tired.

.

You’re on the cusp of turning 39 when someone steals you off the road when you’re waiting for the boys to come out from questioning a witness. You don’t know who they are, but you know they want information on your brothers, they want someone to experiment with.

They want a hunter.

They want the Ghost.

Torture becomes old soon enough, so they play mind games. It takes them a while to adapt to your apathy though, but once they understand that forcing you to imagine your brothers being nice hurts more than making you think they hated you, things get going.

You don’t talk. But you hurt.

You hurt, you hurt, you hurt.

.

You’re 39 when you make your escape, killing everybody there and returning to the Bunker covered in blood and wounds and you are afraid.

“What the fuck,” Dean says in a tight voice as you stumble down the stairs. Cas is already charging towards you, a glowing hand held out. You flinch away. but he’s persistent, and your wounds close slowly. “Y/N?”

Sam stares at you with wide eyes. You stare back without saying anything. Cas gently brushes his hand over your shoulder. You croak miserably and he pulls away.

“Where were you?” Dean asks.

(You’re 39 when you realise that nobody had noticed you were gone.)

You turn away, intent on going back to your plain little room, but someone holds your arm and you can’t take the touch. “Stop,” you beg and whoever is holding you lets you go. 

“What-” Sam gets cut off by the guttural wail that rips from your throat.

“I was gone for months!” You seethe, voice cracking and rasping. You are 39 and you are breaking, breaking, breaking. “You didn’t come for me, you’ve never come for me.”

The Ghost, the Ghost, the Ghost.

“I am nothing and I am nobody, but I should have been somebody  and you took that from me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

Cas reaches for you again. “Let me ease your troubles,” he says and fingers touch your forehead and nothing happens. “You are in too much pain.” he murmurs. “I am sorry.”

“So am I,” you whisper, and then you turn away from your brothers and you go to your plain little room.

.

You are 39 and half-Winchester when you press a gun to your temple and pull the fucking trigger.

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground. 

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

“Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

    THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

    BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

    CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,” Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

[darthlorddiamond]

Kylo Ren Fluff Alphabet (Part 1)

This is the first part of this alphabet, you can find here the second part.

Kylo Ren One Shots MASTERLIST. 

Black Diamond´s Story MASTERLIST.

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

You´re together all the time. Kylo made sure that all your activities and work schedules match his, so that he can always be aware of what you´re doing and with whom you´re doing it, it is a non-sexual way of exercising domination over yourself and you love it that way.

However, when you´re alone, your activities can be quite varied and not necessarily sexual, you both like to spend time cooking together, reading while lying on the couch (in fact, your favorite book es Tristan and Isolde), taking a shower, meditating together, you lead quite a life diverse behind the door of your quarters.

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

You admire everything about him. Leaving aside his tantrums, Kylo´s a person who has shown complete dedication to what he does and you admire and respect that a lot. You´ll never question any of his orders or decisions.

As for Kylo, ​​what he admires most about you is your patience. No matter how bad-tempered he´s or how upset and angry he could be, you´ll always have the time to listen to him or accompany him silently, he knows that he can find in you someone who will always be supporting him.

Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

When Kylo enters one of his tantrums, normally you´ll only be standing at some point distant to the entire path of destruction that he´ll leave, without saying a single word, you´ll only wait for him to finish taking out all his anger and then approach him and ask him if there´s anything you can do to help him.

On the occasions that you´re frustrated or in a very bad mood, he´ll be the one to do something without you asking, either by confronting the person who put you like this or seeing how to solve what went wrong.

Sometimes you both conflict because of the fight you have to stay on the dark side, you know that developing a feeling for someone else has always been seen as a sign of weakness since always, however, when one of you enters this mess, the other will be at your side to remind you that the relationship between you, rather than weakness, is a bond that strengthens you.

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Together, Kylo cannot think of a future without you by his side.

Although he´s a zero affective person in public, he knows perfectly well that he needs you by his side and that the empire he´s forming would be nothing if you weren´t with him.

As for you, the only future you want is the one where Kylo is alive. This man sometimes loses his mind when he goes into battle and can make you have a nervous breakdown.

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Dominant.

In fact, in this list Commands Me, you can find all the headcanons of the non-sexual ways in which Kylo dominates your relationship.

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

It isn´t that you argue a lot, but when you do, well, the Finalizer or whoever is nearby are the ones who end up losing.

When you fight, there are often very heated discussions about some of Kylo's jealousy attacks or about you complaining to him about how reckless he´s and how he puts his life at risk. Anger may last for a few days, but Kylo´ll always be the one to find you to reconcile things (and almost always, as a rule, that apology ends in a rather rough sex session).

Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Both are always grateful to each other.

You´ll always be grateful to him for all the trouble he takes to keep an eye on you, from preparing a hot bath to supervising the design of all your suits. For his part, Kylo´ll never find a way to thank you for the simple fact of allowing him to be by your side.

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Both are extremely honest with each other.

At first you didn´t know very well how to communicate, come on, you´re both Siths, with a super hard life behind, very bad at showing signs of affection, so the degree of honesty was super direct and you got to hurt yourselves a little. Over time you both learned, at least from each other, that being honest without feeling a little empathetic to each other was just cruelty, and you developed special ways to keep your communication healthy and smooth.

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

For Kylo you were the stone that came to change his life completely. At first, feeling some emotion for him was just an obstacle and a mistake, however, when you came into his life you showed him that feeling something for the right person made him even more powerful, the same thing happened with you.

It isn´t that you´re a romantic couple, you´ll never show any kind of affection in public, Kylo or you will hardly say in words what you feel for each other. Your relationship is quite serious but extremely intimate and that degree of intimacy has made you both discover more about yourselves.

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Kylo is extremely jealous, regarding everything, if someone talks to you for something other than work or they get too close to you, but what makes him lose his head in a single second is if someone dares to touch you. You belong to him and only him, nobody can touch you, and if this happens, they´ll surely end up without a hand or flying around the room.

As for you, it´s difficult for you to get to have an attack of jealousy, but it happens some times, especially when you´re at a gala and someone from the Directors Board tries to present a girl as a prospect to marry him. Keep in mind that your relationship is almost secret, and with the First Order growing to become an empire, there are plenty of people looking for noblewomen to marry Kylo to secure his succession.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Your first kiss was literal for Kylo to shut up. It was after a training session that ended in a rather heated discussion about how you weren't following his instructions, so you chose to kiss him as long as he was quiet, and much to your surprise, he returned the caress of your lips quite voraciously.

When you kiss, you can go from the most intimate caress to becoming a fight to see who has more control over the other.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Strangely, one of the two says how you feel about the other. You almost always express your emotions and feelings through sex. However, the first person who said "I love you" was you and it was in a super awkward and quite angry situation.

On one occasion Kylo arrived quite badly wounded and spent several days in Med Bay asleep, when he woke up he found you at the foot of the bed, extremely angry and shouting him: "What the fuck were you thinking!? You could have died! And what the hell is supposed I would do without you!? I love you too much to lose you! You're a fucking idiot!"

Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

You had never, in your lives, thought about spending the rest of your lives with another person until you met.

It isn´t that you´re thinking of marrying him, but Kylo, he wants to marry you, that way it will be quite clear that you belong to him.

The proposal was made by him, in a very simple way, it was an occasion that insisted that you accompany him to review a nearby planet and with a ring made to order with a Kylo design, with a small part of the kyber crystal of his saber.

As for your wedding, well, it isn´t just any wedding, it is the wedding of the Supreme Leader and next emperor of the Galaxy, so all the members of the Directors Board and followers of the First Order organized the most majestic reception, where ambassadors of the planets attended under their rule, the nobles of those planets, the families that supported the ancient empire and were now on the side of the First Order and all its high command.

[theevangelion]

The Gardener: One-Shot Sneak Peek

Prompt Fill: I'd love some sweet domestic discipline. Someone being upset and uncertain, and Someone Else being calm, and rooted, and helpful in the best way.

*OR*

Heaven/Hell Supercorp AU.

In the garden, she baptises the flowers with an old tin watering can and cares little for the plight of wet spiders. Kara’s fingertips dance across white petals, appraising, encouraging them to puff their shoulders and stand prouder.

Lena dries plates by the kitchen window, faucet glugging, listening to Kara sing in a language so high and abstract it can’t be heard by the human ear. The flowers understand though, Lena is certain of it, on days like this when Kara quietly sings, the garden always seems a bit more vibrant like the poppies feel they have something to prove to Mother.

“There’s my little green thumb,” Lena smirks over her shoulder where boots are being kicked off, hands wiped down, a polite whirlwind making a mess by the back door. “You must have the weight of mountains on your shoulders, my love, I can’t remember the last time you gave them such a telling off.” Lena nods to the sunflowers with downturned, craning heads. “It would seem you’ve broken their hearts,” she observes.

“Foul thing you are,” Kara pushes her cheeks with amusement, her voice full of warmth and fondness as she gratefully takes a cup of coffee from Lena’s hands. “I’ve always known how to handle fragile things, Lena. I’ll teach you some time if you ask nicely—”

“I won’t, but thank you, I have no need for the capacity to tend fragile things… my hands were built differently.” Lena sighs, resting against the kitchen counter with the dish rag flung over her shoulder. “Your garden is certainly coming along though. It’s…” Kara just shakes her head and knows what word will spring to mind. “Heavenly,” Lena settles on the same old joke anyway.

“And what do you remember of Heaven?” Kara furrows her brow and kisses her despite the confusion, pecking along her jaw idly until her tongue finds an earlobe for her teeth to nip on. “Tell me?” Kara whispers, teasing.

Lena thinks about it, but Kara has fingers dug in the waistband of her burgundy trousers, pulling them, unbuttoning them, and that makes it difficult to think altogether.

“I know that Heaven is a graveyard not worth bleeding for,” Lena shrugs and doesn’t care anymore. “Because you are here, you are warm, and I need for nothing else.”

Kara pats her rosy cheek, grinning and pleased. “If God had made you when he was in a better mood then you would have been a poet.” She wiggles her blonde eyebrows.

That does it.

“Then I thank the stars he was feeling grumpy that day,” Lena tosses the giggler over her shoulder and makes a bee-line for the bedroom.

When the great uprising first happened in Heaven, the rebellion was quelled with rebel-angels sheared of their wings and kicked from the Kingdom down to the lightless pit.

Earth became the battleground for a war that spanned eight-thousand years of blood and darkness. The humans had forgotten, temporary forgetful creatures, and the war-stories were now just myths and fables. But they remembered every moment of it, some nights they remembered so well that neither of them could find sleep — only the gripping, shaking hands of the other as they whispered of the lost millenias when blood rained down thick enough to supplant the seas.

Those days must stay in the past.

Heaven and Hell had been in a period of indefinite ceasefire for ten-times longer than the war had lasted. Earth was no longer a combat zone, no longer even no man’s land for the two warring sides. For Kara and Lena, Earth was a lovenest, or perhaps a garden where long-lasting things could be grown.

Their relationship was looked upon with disapproval from everywhere of course, quietly whispered about, abided but not approved on either side. They were the original sin of this earthly world, two soldiers on opposite sides of a war that nobody wanted but fervently fought on principle alone. There was fighting no more, but principles always remained.

They still held great power among their own ranks even now, enough that blind eyes were always turned, from up above, from down below. If only because matters worth dying for could be solved at their kitchen table. If only because their bedroom was big enough to make peace treaties between the realms.

“Are you sure you’re not bored of this world?” Kara whispers against her wife’s collarbone as they settle on the blankets. “Do you not miss having six black eyes and blades for wings?” Her eyes light up at the memory of how majestic they once were in their angelic forms, fingers slipping and tracing Lena’s hips as the burgundy suit jacket is tugged off.

“If they heard us talking about matters like that—” Lena laughs, scruffing the troublemaker by the back of her neck to deepen and prolong the kisses. “The ceasefire would end, the Earth would burn Hellfire once more, and I,” Lena pulls away just enough to stare deep into her lover’s cornflower eyes. “Would question how much you really do know about handling fragile things. Peace is perhaps the most fragile thing of all, Kara.”

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