#placid angels

[sysig]

It’ll all go fine if you’d just don’t worry about it, probably (Patreon)

[darlinglucifer]

i need a hazbin hotel dlc in placid plastic duck simulator like right, lucifer deserves to have a duck version of him in a video game !! and the rest of the cast would look so good it’s crazy

@paustark radioapple duckies for inspo of course i need them!!!

[arosebyothernames]

I happen to live somewhere with fast moving low altitude clouds, and watching the placid sky leviathans drifting by is so soothing.

Occasionally they come low enough that us wee mortals can touch, and that's beautiful. I love them.

[yzzart]

WHEN I WAS LED TO YOU... ── KENJI SATO

── summary: Kenji could get used to his routine, but, only with you by his side.

── word count: 982!

── warnings: F!reader, nothing intense, mention of Emi and Mina, Kenji being a little needy.

“Come on…” — A voice, entering the melody with softness and familiarity, passed through the player’s ears. — “…i know you’re awake.” — The statement was accompanied by a laugh.

Kenji could easily — in fact, completely — conclude that that voice belonged to an angel; even though he doesn't admit to being so religious, openly. — By having his eyes closed, in satisfied tiredness and drowsiness, he was more likely to believe in his conclusion.

Even in unpleasant, unstable situations and, insanely, worries about his life — like worrying about his stats in games, trying not to destroy the city while fighting some monster, and teaching Emi something practical and not blunt — and not wanting to hear or see nothing in front of him, Kenji had his refuge; a place to feel safe and at peace, at home.

“Ken…” — You voice pleaded, with more sweetness and, trying, to mix a little seriousness. In addition to moving between the thin, silky sheets of your body, wanting to get even closer to the boy.

In fact, he could melt into the bed, right there, just to hear your voice crying out to him like that.

Releasing a brief sigh, and pulling a breathing line, inhaling your scent, which was stuck to the pillow, Kenji tried to communicate with a mumble; which even he himself had no chance of understanding. — Perhaps, his consciousness still remained trapped in his sleep.

Because you found his action funny, your laugh, a little more hoarse, enveloped Ken's ears again; automatically forming a placid smile on his lips. — Moving his head, the young boy, with his eyes sensitive to the light, comes across your image resting on the pillow and covered, just enough, with the white sheet.

Sato was mentally grateful for the privilege of waking up every day with this vision.

"Good morning, my love." — You said, without holding back your wide smile; something that captivated and welcomed Ken's chest. — Your orbs moved, without haste or greed, across the boy's face, memorizing, for countless times, every little dot that existed in the region.

"Morning..." — He replied, followed by a yawn and another grumble; a sudden and unexpected movement was caused in the bed, obviously, it was the player's body snuggling against your. — Like he wants to fit in with you. — "What time is it please…?"

“Hm…” — Your eyes crossed the clock next to the bed. — “Soon, it will be 9:30.” — With his head buried in your neck, Sato let out a whimper, causing a tickle.

“It’s not possible…” — He complained, almost whimpering; as a sign of caress, your hand entered your lover's soft black hair, causing affection and tenderness.

The oldest settled down, and, briefly, relieving a growl, memorizing a purr; feeling on your skin, a satisfied smile adored by the attention. — A true paradise for young Sato and he had no problem admitting it.

“I think someone forgot about the interview they promised for today, right?” — He definitely forgets; by the way his head moved from where it was, and how wide his eyes were, Ken had nowhere to run. — “Yeah, you forgot.” — You raised one of your eyebrows.

“Wasn’t it due tomorrow?” — He questioned, still not believing and with some messy black locks standing out on her forehead. — “I’m sure i had it scheduled for tomorrow.” — He rushed into words. — “Actually, i’m not so sure.”

End of the season, therefore, decisive games for the team and more efforts towards a high level of dedication; it also meant several interviews and moments of questioning about the games, his teammates and his personal life. — Sato understood that it was important, of course, it was part of being a baseball star, however, when trying to balance his life as an Ultraman, a player and, recently, the father of a giant baby lizard, it wasn't such a simple thing.

He wasn't alone, not to mention Mina, and, thankfully, he had you by his side. — Trying, as much as possible, and persisting in helping him; even when, thinking about your care and certain risks, he warned you that he didn't need it. — Evidently, the guidelines were not followed, for a pleasant reason. — And now, seeing you taking care of Emi, as if she were your child, lit up Sato's eyes.

“It really is today, Ken.” — You confirmed it and, unsurprisingly, another wave of mumbles and incomprehensible words and rolled eyes. — “At least, it will be the last one before they enter the rest period.” — Your hand moved along Sato's long, strong, bare arm, reinforcing his attention.

“At least there is a bright side.” — He murmured, shaking his head, prolonging his thoughts, at the same time, reusing the contact of your hand against his skin. — “I need to take a break.” — He said, turning towards you. — “Urgently.” — Like a somewhat defenseless creature, he returned to his comfort, now, with his head under your chin.

"I know, honey." — Your fingers stroked Kenji's hair, for the second time, while his arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you, with the need to keep you close to him. — “And you will soon.” — Subtly, and delicately, your voice soothed him. — “Don’t worry about Emi, i’ll take care of her for today.” — Kenji thanked, once again and mentally. — “And maybe we’ll make a list of what we can do during these days off and she’ll go along with us.”

Your boyfriend's familiar, radiant laugh spread throughout the room, resounding in your chest. — For a short time, Kenji had understood his relationship with Emi and achieved a paternal image; visibly, it wasn't just him. — The small, and immense, baby witnessed you as a second mother.

“Yes, yes, of course.” — He pulled away, coming face to face with you, looking into your eyes, in pure ecstasy and passion. — “You’re the best, dear.” — Bringing his lips to your forehead, Kenji gave you a long, careful kiss.

[moonstruckme]

Doting

summary: you feel needy for wanting support after a hard day. Your boyfriends set you straight

poly!marauders x reader ♡ 1.4k words

You sit on the couch, surrounded by all the love you could ever want, and do your best not to sulk. 

In the kitchen, Remus hums as he makes dinner, and Sirius and James are playing cards on the coffee table in front of you while you pretend to read. 

“I’m out,” James declares proudly, laying the last of his cards on the table as Sirius throws his down with a huff. 

“I’m done playing with a cheater,” Sirius says with faux malice, turning around to look at you sweetly from where he sits at your feet. “Y/N, gorgeous, want to join me for a game?”

You paste a smile on your face. “Thanks Siri, but I’m busy.” You hold up your book as evidence, and he pouts but turns back around, reshuffling the cards.  

You notice James studying your features, and you do your best to look content, normal. After years of being around the other two boys and their silent misery, James has gotten very skilled at detecting a dismal mood, and you don’t want to ruin everyone’s night. In truth, you’d had an awful day. A customer had yelled at you at work, and then you’d been stupid enough to cry while driving, almost getting in an accident due to your distraction. You’d arrived home shaken and upset, and had barely had time to pull yourself together before Sirius had come in the door  a few minutes later, Remus and James following not long after. You don’t enjoy being so delicate that having any amount of anger directed at you reduces you to a sniveling mess, and you’d resisted the urge to lock yourself away in your room in the hopes that acting like everything was normal would eventually make you feel normal. 

So far, it isn’t working as well as you’d hoped. 

If anything, it feels odd to be the dark cloud of such a joyous space; with Sirius and James laughing and bickering in front of you, Remus humming just around the corner, and the delicious smell of whatever he’s making beginning to waft toward you from the kitchen, you feel unappreciative and embarrassed for being unhappy. Beyond that, you know you have the sweetest boyfriends in the world, and they’d drop everything if they knew you were upset. Frankly, you don’t deserve their kindness when you're wallowing in self-pity over something so silly. You’d only be dragging them into your sorrow with you, and there’s no sense in all of you being down there together. You can handle it on your own. 

But James’ too-perceptive gaze seems to find some fault in your placid facade, and though you will him desperately not to, he asks, “You alright, angel?”

You give him a different smile this time; it’s smaller, a bit more honest, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah,” you say, in your most placating tone. “I’m good, thanks Jamie.” 

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” 

James’ eyes are slightly troubled, but he nods, directing his attention back to the cards. It’s too late, though, because now Sirius is turning back towards you, something in James’ tone or yours tipping him off. He sets down the deck, pulling himself up onto the couch to sit beside you, his eyes level with yours. 

“What’s going on?” he asks in that rare no-nonsense way that lets you know he’s serious. 

You hate when they tag-team you like this. James may be good at picking up on your moods, but he also knows when you want to be left alone. Sirius, on the other hand, prefers to root out any bad feelings and beat them into submission. 

“Nothing,” you say, no longer under any impression that either boy believes you. Still, you take Sirius’ hand, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s okay.” 

Sirius is undeterred, searching your face like it’ll come clean when you won’t. You can’t take the intensity of his stare and drop your gaze, but he only stoops to follow it. You’re trapped. 

“Hey,” he says softly, his thumb stroking your hand cajolingly. “What’s your deal, huh? Talk to us, baby.”  

It's the pet name that gets you, and the first tear leaks from your eye just as Remus comes in with dinner. 

He stops short at the new, sullen atmosphere of the living room, but rushes over once he sees your face. 

“What’s going on?” He sets the plates aside, seating himself on your other side.

“We don’t know,” James says, moving to sit on the coffee table, his knees brushing your legs where they’re curled up under you. “She hasn’t said.” 

“She’s right here,” you joke, but no one smiles. 

Remus takes the hand not currently claimed by Sirius. “What’s wrong, love?”

You press your lips together to keep them from wobbling, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to reverse the course the evening is taking. 

“Honey.” His tone is admonishing, but still unbearably sweet, and you crumple, more tears falling as a gasping sob escapes you. Remus pulls you into him as though he can make you a shelter out of his own body, and you go willingly. “Was it a bad day? Is that it?”

You can only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. After a beat, Sirius asks, “Are we going to have to beat someone up?”

You laugh, and it’s awful and pitchy, but it loosens some of the pressure in your chest. James’ hand finds your shoulder, squeezing encouragingly before starting to rub slow, soothing circles into your upper back. 

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. 

“What the hell for?” Sirius asks, and you open your eyes in time to see Remus give him a harsh look. Sirius ignores him, reaching for you. His thumb is gentle as he wipes under your lashes. “You know you can tell us these things, don’t you?”

“I just—” You take a shuddering breath. “It was so embarrassing, and I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s night.” 

“Sweetheart,” James coos. “We don’t care. We’d so much rather know you’re upset and be able to help than have you suffer in silence all night. Besides, don’t you think you deserve the same treatment you give us?”

Shame washes over you, and you tuck yourself further into Remus’ side. “You guys never ask as much of me as I do of you.”  

James’ eyebrows jump nearly to his hairline and Sirius makes an incredulous sound, but it’s Remus who speaks. “Dove, are you serious? What about when I had a migraine last month, and you stayed home with me all day?” He maneuvers you in his arms until you’re facing him, looking you in the eye. “Or the last time James had a bad day, and you went on a run with him so he’d have company, even though you hate running? Or just last weekend, when Sirius got too wasted—” You can feel the glare Sirius is shooting him from behind you, but Remus continues—”and you stayed up with him all night holding his hair, and then in the morning you brought him gatorade and cleaned his sick out of the carpet?”

“Don’t act like you’re so needy,” Sirius says, and you turn towards his voice to find his stare just as piercing as you left it, “and we’re all perfectly self-sufficient. You’re not the only one who needs help sometimes, so if you have a bad day, we wanna hear about it.” He’s looking at you like your silliness astounds him, and James grasps your shoulder with a small smile, giving you a little shake as if to reprimand you. 

You look helplessly towards the plates Remus had brought in only a few minutes before, discarded on the edge of the coffee table. 

“Dinner’s gonna get cold,” you say mournfully. 

Remus shrugs. “I’ll microwave it. And if you wanna talk, we will, and if you don’t, you can pick us a movie to watch, yeah?”

You look at the three of them, gratitude and love both so huge and warm in your chest you can’t tell which is which. “Okay.”

“Good.” Sirius tugs you out of Remus’ arms and into his own, planting a kiss on the side of your head. “Merlin, you’re tough to get things out of. Think you could go a bit easier on yourself in the future?”

“Yeah,” James pipes up. “Be nicer to our girl, she’s had a rough day.” 

You hide your face in Sirius’ chest, flushing, but at least this time, your smile is real.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 33

Part 1 Part 32

It’s only after he’s circled the house that he notices the blood trail. Droplets so black that when Eddie’s foot squelches into a particularly large puddle, he feels like he could fall straight out of the world.

The blood splatters continue, curving around the pool and into the forest, leading him inexorably toward Steve. His fallen angel.

 Behind him, Wayne and Hopper are following the blood, flashlight beams bouncing from drop to drop like bloodhounds. Eddie doesn’t need to. He lets himself be pulled, ever forward, toward salvation.

Vines pool on the forest floor, making careful steps necessary in the dim, red light.

Wayne lets his flashlight stray ahead, giving Eddie a little light in the darkness. It’s the first thing that halos Steve’s face, illuminating the grisly sight.

Eddie screams from his gut, throat wrenching with the force as he drops to his knees. Vines enshrine him, pinning him to the base of a tree by ribs and hips.

One has slithered up over his body and crawled into his throat in a macabre reversal of a breathing tube. Eddie wrenches it free, feels the pulpy flesh of Steve’s esophagus resist, doesn’t stop. He can’t. Steve needs that out of his throat. So, Eddie pulls. And pulls. And pulls.

It screams and writhes on the way out, trying to crawl back to someplace warm. It’s impossibly long and makes a wailing sound when Eddie finally wrenches it free, tossing it behind him.

“Oh, Jesus,” Hopper says, just before he starts shooting.

Eddie doesn’t look, can’t look away from Steve’s placid, unmoving face. “He’s not breathing!” he shouts, over the sound of gunfire, running useless hands up his cheeks and into his hair, like he can soak the warmth of life back into Steve through his skin.

Eddie is shoved unceremoniously to the side. Steve’s skin slips through his fingers as he falls, hard to the dirt. He bursts up snarling, an uncaged, wild thing, ready to bite and tear and rend. But It’s Uncle Wayne. Uncle Wayne who has crossed his fingers together and is repetitively pounding on Steve’s chest hard enough that it cracks. “Uncle Wayne?” he asks, small. Quiet. Like a little boy holding up a skinned knee and waiting for his Uncle to fix it. Uncle Wayne doesn’t turn his way.

Hopper falls to his knees, wrenching his helmet off and letting the toxic air in. He bends over Steve, pinches his nose, and breaths forcefully into his mouth. His heart is beating, and his lungs are contracting, and Eddie is fucking useless.

He crawls back over to Steve’s prone form – Steve’s corpse – to take his cold hand. “Come on, Steve,” he says, staring hard at closed eyes. “Stay with me, Stevie, okay?” Hopper breathes out into his mouth. Wayne snaps another rib. Steve stays dead.

Suddenly, Eddie is furious. His nails dig into Steve’s palm hard, crescent moon indents on the back of his hand. This fucking stupid jock saved his stupid fucking life and now he thinks he can fucking die? Eddie wants to hurt him. “You don’t get to do this, you stupid piece of shit,” he says, guttural. Barely language at all. “You should have fucking died day one if you were just going to do this.” Wayne’s hands beat, Hopper’s lungs breathe, neither of them pay him any mind. “Get back here right now or I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

Like the dramatic bastard he is, Steve choses that moment to be alive. He coughs, choking up black sludge until Wayne and Hopper roll him on his side, face toward Eddie. Viscous black fluid pours out of him as he coughs it out of his lungs like Hell’s first drowning victim.

“Stevie?” Eddie says, full-on sobbing as he crawls ever-closer, pressing his forehead to Steve’s own. His eyes are open slits and he doesn’t speak, but he quirks his lips up at the sides when he meets Eddie’s eyes, fingers feebly clutching at the lapel of Eddie’s rancid vest. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Wayne pulls his head back, just enough so Hopper can settle a mask over the bottom of Steve’s face, feeding him clean oxygen for the first time in a week. Steve slumps into the dirt, Wayne’s hands supporting his back.

“We need to move,” Hopper says.

Steve’s relaxed into the dirt, asleep or passed out, but alive. Eddie stares at his angelic face for a second, or a minute, or an hour more, before slumping Steve backward, settling Steve into Uncle Wayne’s trusted arms so he can stand.

“I’ll carry him,” Eddie says, stumbling to his feet and holding out his arms.

“Kid,” Hopper says, clasping his hand with a familiarity they’ve never had. “You’re shaking.”

Eddie takes his left hand, tries to manually stop the shaking of his right. But he’s just holding his own hand, shaking. And shaking. And shaking.

“I can carry him,” Eddie says.

“I know,” Hopper says. “You don’t have to.”

Eddie looks down at Steve, a deadweight atop Wayne. Steve who played bait and brat with the Demogorgon not once, but twice to save Eddie’s unworthy life. He looks at his sallow cheeks and limp hair and doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

Reconciled to not carrying his guardian angel out of Hell, Eddie leads the procession out of the woods for the last time.

Part 34

[luxxid]

INNOCUOUS ALTRUISM

1.6k words

ayato, al haitham, diluc, kaeya, heizou, childe, xiao, scaramouche

soft moments with them that ceases time.

"i'm so thankful for you.." a mundane voice whispers, a voice that belonged to the calm and collected yashiro commander, kamisato ayato. his cobalt eyes lingering over your unconscious figure, dozing off to sleep. a tired smile spread over his lips, consideration and love brimmed till his eyes. the only sounds that were heard in the room were the puffs of breath from both of the figures present in the room. his frigid hands reach for yours, placing his larger ones over your smaller ones. he quietly murmurs words of fidelity and reverence, his gentle touch diffusing his adulation for you. the shared taciturnity between the two of you is almost tangible, a peaceful and intimate moment between the two of you. his form moved closer to your resting one, pressing a kiss on the side of your cheek, a kiss after another— and a gentle smile scribbled over his face. his azure hair tickled down his forehead. his soft breaths caressed your face, his eyes gazing into yours— a shared moment of understanding and love. you made him feel like he was complete— who knew true love could be this blissful?

"you pass out so easily.." al haitham mumbled, his voice contained a hint of annoyance. he placed the book on the table with a soft thud, ensuring no noise was produced from his actions—except for the soft snores which came from the figure drowsing on his shoulder. a bengin smile brushed over his features as he softly sighed. "i could never stay mad at you, could i? his expression softened as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in to brush a gentle kiss against your forehead. even in his exasperation, it was safe to say that his moments of tenderness were never far away. "you know i love you too much," he whispered, his expression conveying with warmth. he pressed a sympathetic kiss to your temple with a placid smile. of course he would only show this type of facade whilst you were asleep or if people weren't present. the cold and abrasive al haitham disappeared at the current moment. right now, all that mattered to him was you and you only.

his calloused hands slid against your velvety skin, soft snores emitted from the unconscious form beside diluc. "you make me feel so special my dear.." his hoarse voice spoke out into the background, fading as time passed. "thank you for being mine.." another verse repeated as he smiled tranquilly. he cradled you in his embrace, entranced by the blissful moment of being with you. he whispered in adulation, "you are the best thing that has ever happened to me." his words were spoken with sincere admiration, his tone gentle and kind. his eyes sparkled with a newfound passion, and his face was filled with a kind of love that could only be described as unconditional. he moulded a simple kiss, making sure you didn't stir. he caressed your face, his touch gentle and calming, and as he pulled away he muttered, “you have been my light in the darkest of times.” his voice was full of emotion, and his embrace still lingered. he gave you a look of endearment through your concealed eyes, one that could only come from a place of true love.

he nestled into the sofa, a soft blanket draped over both of your bodies. kaeya's bleak hands combed through your silky locks, humming at your unconscious state, resting peacefully, a liberal smile scrawled over his ephebic face. he gently brushed your hair away from your face, cradling your head in his hands as he watched you contentedly, his eyes shining with love. "what did i, a fool, do to deserve you, an angel?" he muttered to himself humbly, his eyes sealed, his mind wandering off to the back off his head. his thoughts rummaged about his past and the evil it held. he sighed to himself, a sense of awe and wonder washing over him as he conjecurated about how light shone through the dark tunnels of his life. he pondered why such an ethereal being would provide him with such affection and care. he kissed your head, inhaling the sweet scent you always carried around with you. oh archons, why were you so addicting? his love for you was addicted to you. he was obsessional, obsessed, consumed, captivated— and it was by you. the angel who changed who changed his life.

his fingers laced with yours as he took your chin in his fingers, staring at you with those auburn eyes you so adored. heizou's maroon cottony locks falling against his forehead, his intense gaze sent a wave of emotion through you, and you felt the love coursing through your veins. "your the person of my dreams..." he mumbled teasingly, a sly smirk brought up to his face as he gripped your chin tighter, bringing you closer to his puerile face. "h-heizou what are you doin-" a finger taped over your lips as he soft muttered a 'shhh'. crimson flooded all over your cheeks as he softly chuckled at your flustered state. a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned closer to you. you could feel his breath tickle your skin, his lips close to yours. "let me show you just how grateful i am, for you." he breathed before his sultry lips casted upon yours sensually, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the flush of your cheeks deepen. his eyes sparkled with mischief and his hands snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him. his lips teased yours, and you felt your heart beating faster. heizou smiled against your lips, enjoying your flustered state.

childe gently wraps his arms around you as a welcoming gesture, your thighs secured on his. you felt your body flush as he held you closer with his built arms, your hands gripping his shoulders as he lugs you towards his chest. his nose dug deep into your neck, tickling you with every stifle of his breath. "hm? what is it darling?" he asks, a simple smile painted over his youthful face, enjoying every spill of the second he get with you. you brush a finger over his pallid face, a response given to him by your actions. "nothing, i just wanted to spend time with you." you continue, a tiny smiper spread over your face, stroking his rufous hair messily. "i love you," you whisper, your heart beating rapidly against your chest. his golden eyes widening in answer to your statement, a pure love filled smile formed on his face as he held you tighter to his larger form, a kiss pressed to your temple as he glared into your gems of eyes, his eyes softened as held your face in his palms, "i love you more than you could ever imagine" he recited, tunes of love flowing like a breeze from his mouth. childe curved his lips upwards, he moved his face closer to yours until his lips were inches away from yours, his breath ghosting over your face, "i love you more than all the stars in the sky" he said in a low voice, his own heart beating against his chest. his love for you was just like the stars in the sky— uncountable.

xiao's eyes wandered off to your sleeping figure, solace filled and peaceful, unlike him. adepti don't sleep— according to him at least. there he sat, on a chair silently gazing at your form.e the night was quiter than usual. you looked so placid even while you were asleep, something he adored about you, his glaring continued as he took in every detail of your sleeping figure. he wanted to memorize your face, the way your lips were slightly parted, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. he knew those moments would be fleeting, and he wanted to savor them while they lasted. the small rays of the son shone past the fluffy clouds of liyue, reminding him another day had risen and it was time to get on his way, with a gentle thud, he got up, leaning towards your ephebic visage and pressing a soft kiss with his frigid lips. a golden smile spread over his face as his coblat hair covered parts of his eyelids. maybe someday— he thought—time would cease for a moment, so that he could stay in that place forever. but for now, he accepted that he would have to carry on and enjoy the memories he was making. with a sigh, he took one last look and started his journey.

scaramouche stared at you— agitated expressions danced across his face. how dare a mortal even slightly brush up against his shoulder, yet even sleep on it?! certainly not you. your soft locks spread against his shoulders as your face showed no sign of consciousness other than the puffs of breath coming out of your mouth and the soft snores that was emitted from you. his pallid arms held you secure, making sure you wouldn't fall, not even slightly move. scandalized yet simultaneously entranced, scaramouche found himself unable to move as he stared at you, his gaze never wavering. he could barely believe that one so small and delicate would dare to trust him with something so precious. and there you slept— on his shoulder, your head tucked under his chin and your tiny hands curled up against his chest. he could feel the warmth of your body against his cold own and smell the soft scent of your hair. he couldn't push you off— no that would be wrong. a gentle smile scribbled on his face as he let out a tired sigh, alright— just for now. that's how much he loves you <3

[inhonoredglory]

A Wartime Footing: An Explanation for Aziraphale's Elevator Smile

(Based on an ask from @sabotage-on-mercury in response to my meta on why Aziraphale had to go to Heaven)

The creepy smile was one part of the ending I couldn't quite put my finger on either, until someone pointed out on a Twitter response to my meta:

The reason why its scary is bc azi is becoming properly angry at the system and is 101% determined to set things right (Source)

In season 1, Aziraphale was determined not to kill anyone to stop the Apocalypse. He wouldn't even tell Crowley where the Antichrist was, because Crowley's only solution was to kill him.

And because Crowley consistently didn't have any ideas ("not one single better idea??"), Aziraphale took it on himself to pursue the only option left––to ask God to intervene and stop both Heaven and Hell from destroying Earth. Therefore, Aziraphale had to keep the integrity of his angel status by distancing himself from Crowley, while the world was still in danger.

Despite this dedication avoid bloodshed, when God didn't have an answer, Aziraphale went against one of his core beliefs to help save the world. He was willing to murder a child.

For Aziraphale, that takes guts. And (seeing how he reacted at the end of the Job minisode), I wonder that if he had killed Adam Young, Aziraphale would have checked himself into Hell.

Going to Heaven for Aziraphale is ultimately a conscious choice, one that he is clearly afraid of. We see him constantly steeling himself again the Metatron in the end, covering his fear and hurt from losing Crowley with a placid smile and a flippant attitude. He's wearing so many masks, to Crowley, to himself, to the Metatron...

All season we've seen him playing roles (detective, magician, doctor, landlord). But the final role is warrior. Going up that elevator, we first see Aziraphale's eyes searching, worried, panicking, but unable to show it because he's not in a safe space. He swallows, blinks, he's breathing hard (you can see his entire shoulders rise and fall).

But as he goes up, his expression steels. He's quite literally putting on a mask (to himself): a vengeful, hardened expression of pure anger and rage (to drown out the fear and uncertainty he so clearly still has).

Michael Sheen conveying contained anger in both Good Omens and Masters of Sex.

Cuz this isn't just him scrambling to kill a kid, this is him walking calmly and knowingly into sacrificing everything he loves most (Crowley, the bookshop, his entire life on earth) to create a world that will always be safe for him and Crowley and humanity for the rest of time. Where he would have to go up against the most powerful angels, the Metatron, and God Themself to change things. He can't be the kind, sweet angel he was on Earth. That won't cut it in Heaven if he wants to make a difference in any real way.

He wanted to do it with Crowley, with the love and support and strength of his demon. But without him, Aziraphale has to channel something else to keep his resolve afloat.

Something he had when he was a warrior, fighting on the front lines of a battle between Heaven and Hell, when he very likely led a platoon into divine fields of bloodshed before the earth was born. When he was an avenging angel.

I haven’t done this since the Great War.

It was a time and an identity he had chosen to leave behind, because it wasn't the kind of angel he was anymore ("I'm not fighting in any war!"). In this context, you can read Aziraphale's passionate unwillingness to take a life (his pacifism) directly into his past experience as a warrior. It is often the veterans of terrible wars who are the most earnest advocates for peace. (And especially in Britain and Europe, where the violence of the world wars is still such a powerful and painful national memory.)

As he goes up the elevator, he's breathing so hard we can hear it mirrored in the soundtrack, and he is so hyperfocused on steeling himself that he doesn't even care that the Metatron is watching him. He doesn't rest until he's psyched himself into that warrior mindset necessary to carry out this mission entirely by himself, to be both the moral advocate and the uncompromising leader of angels who had intimidated him his entire life. To demand respect and to talk to the very face of God and tell Them they are Wrong.

(Please read this Neil-approved meta for further thoughts on God and Aziraphale.)

That creepy smile is clearly not there because Aziraphale is happy to fall into a toxic parent's false love. There's no comfort or wistful nostalgia in that face. There's no "it'll be so much nicer" in that smile. It's not a happy smile. It's an I'm-gonna-fuck-shit-up smile.

Because it's a warrior's smile before they go into battle, before they put on that armor and, for a while, become something they're not in the name of some greater good. He's fucking furious and it's downright frightening.

Because I have no doubt that the angel Aziraphale we get in Season 3 is the angel Aziraphale who can say this:

He's not quite there yet in the TV show. But this bravery, this anger, this flaming rage is how it starts.

Or as he's described in the book when Aziraphale mysteriously does away with the local mafia:

Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.

[antimatterz]

his pet name for you

dan heng, jing yuan, blade, gepard, welt x gn!reader

just a little something inbetween my larger projects ! i only included pet names that are gender neutral, but i'm sorry if any of them still makes you feel uncomfy/left out

content under the cut | masterlist

dan heng — ❝ angel ❞

this guy might seem placid and often indifferent but believe me, he has a soft spot for you and that's why i thought this soft pet name suits him so well.

the first time he called you angel it caught you both by surprise because dan heng blurted it out but it kind of just stuck after that? there's a softness in his voice every time he uses this pet name for you. so cute cute!

jing yuan — ❝ darling ❞

darling can be serious as much as it can be playful and light-hearted. also i think it's such a classy yet sweet pet name and with his high status as general i just think it matches him very well.

he isn't afraid of calling you that in public, but there is a difference in his tone compared to when he calls you that in private. both give you butterflies, though, as you can tell how much he means it.

blade — ❝ babe ❞

this is such a seggz pet name in my eyes and the same goes for this man so he would totally call you that. just imagine it rolling off his tongue as he eyes you and you only.

the first time he called you babe, it had you blushing furiously and he liked seeing you blush bc of him. he often says it in such a tone that it still makes you blush though. some things never change.

gepard landau — ❝ love ❞

it's simple but really sweet, especially when he calls you that with his ocean eyes filled with love and admiration. i think it's the purest thing ever and he genuinely means it, no matter how many times he calls you that.

he was super hesitant to use it the first time, probably stuttered a little. sometimes his own sincerity while calling you love causes him to blush. the fact that he gets to call you love makes him the happiest ever.

welt yang — ❝ (my) beloved ❞

i see welt as a collected man who loves you dearly, but is also calm in expressing his love for you. (my) beloved has this vibe that just fits him. it's mature but sweet!

he calls you so pretty often and he doesn't care that others sometimes tease him about it (neither do you, your heart melts every time you hear it).

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon : Their Dream Life With You

✧˚ Ghost, Gaz, König, Horangi

ೄྀ࿐ just a lot of fluff

We all live brief, ephemeral lives. In a world where pursuing dreams is seen as foolish and hopeless; they had found themselves wishing for a merak fantasy with you. That lovely feeling that arose from the most delicate of touches, the feeling that let all fear fall away.

Ghost

He was ecstatic at this chance of a new chapter in his life, the renewed hope of this new fate

While he had control of his life, he wanted to have a facile life

Maybe a cabin set somewhere in the comfort of the southwest

Mornings waking up next to you with the golden sun seeping through the windows casting an aura

Nights falling asleep with you in his embrace, smelling like bonfire

He waited for that day to come when he could be in constant placidness

To fade away with you

“Till the end of this world; I love you”

Gaz

It was still a hazy dream for him; he was a young dreamer

But whatever you wanted, he wanted too

He romanticized the sweet side of life

He had visions of different lives branching out before him; waking up at early dusk to admire your angelic smile, going on adventures with you, he even entertained the possibility of kids with you

How he wished it was all attainable in one lifetime

He envisioned dreamy summer afternoons filled with doting, the clear sound of laughter, and dedicating one’s being to creating a warmhearted atmosphere for a family

The enormity of possibilities where he could experience the most fervid fate with you

With love; that uplifting sensation, he felt like he could go on dreaming forever

König

With you, the sky could be grey, blue, or yellow. There was no specific hue of color in his life. He was content when it rained and he got to cuddle with you, he felt loved when the warmth of the sun glowed on his skin reminding him of your embrace, and he enjoyed the watching the sun set and rise with you, that golden hour of the day

He just wanted a future with you where he could let emotions flow like clear water through his eyes or smile

You both deserved a soft epilogue in life

A quiet ambiance but when desired, to have luxury in reach; in other words, he wanted the bed of roses lifestyle

Cool and brisk evenings where you both come to terms with that love can be scary sometimes

You live to consume and be consumed by one another, to enter the intimacy of the soul

Today, tomorrow, always until the end

Horangi

He was one in need of constant excitement in life

He was helplessly in love, and it will fuel his passion

With him, you can be certain you’ll experience ardent love and ethereal ordeals

The thrill-like feeling that is scary yet exciting, you never know in what direction your heart will throw you in

It’s easy to want to wholly embrace the safety of order, but he sought those places where he could feel an overwhelming sense of breathtaking beauty

You were like two chaotic energies, crashing into one another’s world to coexist briefly together for a short amount of time under the same sky

His veins pulsed, full of life

He craved that enthralling pace that left one breathless but was spellbinding

Indulges in the finer things in life; with him, you’ll spend your days living lavishly

[nunalastor]

The idea of Alastor specifically going after people abusing their power when he was alive is so delicious. On one hand, it's weirdly fitting based on a ton of little things we know about him. His name means Avenger. He's protective of women. He hates being looked down upon and generally seems to treat the souls he has under him better than, say, the Vees.

On the other, he himself is in a position of power in Hell, has abused that power in some cases. Did decades in Hell under the constant pressure to survive and thrive push him to that point? Does he just not see that he's becoming the very thing he swore to destroy?

Imagining a Guy who had...suspicions, descending to Hell to find Alastor because he knows that despite his less than savory methods, the man had a heart, he was sweet in his own way, he didn't deserve to be locked up with fire and brimstone as his company for all of eternity. He's heard that Alastor is now involved in rehabilitating sinners and is overjoyed. After almost a century, his kind friend hasn't changed a bit.

Except he has, as Guy finds out once he approaches the hotel and sees Al for the first time since the 1930s. The shadows and stench of blood seem to cling to him. His mouth, which in life seemed to naturally fall into a small grin, is now stretched into a grimacing, vicious smile. He obviously has not been sleeping, he looks...tired.

Most of all, it's the eyes. He greets Guy like they'd never been separated, but the detectivr can't miss how his gaze flits about, anywhere but on him. He looks like a deer in the headlights.

For a few days of just watching Alastor, Guy is scared that his friend has bee buried under decades of being the Radio Demon. But then he sees things. Alastor letting Niffty climb on him. Entertaining Charlie's requests, even goading her on sometimes to engage in some mild tomfoolery. Gazing at the hotel's residents together from a distance with an unreadable, placid smile.

Guy finally makes a decision. He won't give up on bringing Alastor to Heaven. But first -he needs to bring Alastor back to himself, to get him out of the many, many walls he's built around himself. And surely a friend who knew better than anyone else of his dirty deeds in life could help with that.

Thus the hotel welcomes its third angelic staff member.

👀

[atlasscrumpit]

Yandere Miguel

Miguel loves her so much. He keeps leaving her at his house. The reason he does this is because he treats her as if she were made of glass. One day Miguel comes up with an idea how he can get her out of the house without worrying about her getting hurt or something. He decides to inject her with his serum.

The reader has a phobia of needles and is also paranoid.

Porcelain Doll

(gonna make it platonic yandere)

You sat on the floor in front of the TV, Miguel behind you running a brush through your soft hair.

(it's giving Rapunzel)

"Can we go to the park tomorrow?" You asked as Miguel froze for a moment.

"No... No, we can't, angel." He replied as you sighed.

"But, why not?" You muttered sadly as he continued to brush your hair.

"You're all I have left, angel... I can't put you in any danger, I just need to keep you safe. Do you understand?" He asked, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

"Yes, Papa... I understand." You replied in a sad voice.

Miguel hated doing this, but after his wife and your mother died in a car accident he became obsessed with keeping you nice and close and safe.

Miguel had known since the moment you were born that you were too precious for this world.

"Go brush your teeth, sweetheart." He said as you stumbled off to do as he said.

He wanted to let you out into the world, but it was just too dangerous.

He bit his lip as he had a wild thought, he could take you outside with him he would just need to keep you...placid.

He tucked you into bed and kissed your forehead.

"I'll think about going out into the garden with you, okay?" He said as you looked at him with excitement.

"Love you, Papa." You said making him chuckle softly and kiss your forehead again.

"I love you too, Angel."

--

Miguel woke you up to have some breakfast before he told you to get ready to go outside.

You were beyond happy and ran downstairs when you were dressed.

Miguel knelt down to your level and smiled.

"Now... There's something I have to do, darling. It's just to make sure you stay safe, and I need you to trust Papa, okay?" He said as you looked at him in confusion before slowly nodding.

He slowly rolled your sleeve up.

"I need you to stay nice and still, okay?" He said as you looked at him in fear.

He pulled out a needle and you instantly tried to run away, he pinned you against his body with one arm and kept your arm still before quickly injecting it.

"No! Let me go!" You screamed as you began to sob.

Miguel held you tightly as you cried.

"Shh, baby. It's over, it's over. I'm sorry, sweetheart." He whispered as you slowly collapsed against him.

Not completely unconscious but not able to walk on your own.

Miguel slowly picked you up in his arms as you rested your head on his shoulder and cried softly.

"I'm so sorry, darling... I know you don't understand, I just have to do this to keep you safe." He said, kissing your forehead before he ventured out into the bright sun.

He looked at you to see you were smiling a little as the sun hit your face.

"See? It's still nice, isn't it?" He said with a smile as you nodded a little and he began to walk out into the yard.

"One day you'll understand why I had to do this, angel."

[prettyboykatsuki]

the devil who adores you | k. bakugou

✮ tags ; angel!bakugou x devil!reader, forbidden love, religious imagery, angst (?), mentions of creation, reader is implied to be older than bakugou by a lot but it's ambiguous, angel creation is not like human, birth, gn!reader (only physical attribute is them having horns)

✮ wc ; 1.1k

✮ a/n ; this is something i might expand into a fic one day ngl. a few clarifying things about the au.

god can't interfere in purgatory realm like he can in the human realm. devils can't enter heaven and angels can't enter hell.

they have an "age-gap" but there's not really a concept of like age. angels and devils have existences like light and dark that accumulate over time before they take on a physical form and start working.

godliness is a inheritance thing. yagi has been in the seat for all of katsukis existence but reader has been there since nana was in the seat

✮ synopsis ; katsuki wants to convince you to join him. he wants to love you in the light

“Ah, Mr. Angel. Did God finally send you down to me to be saved?” 

Katsuki glares at your form through the leaves. The two of you are currently in purgatory. In name and myth it’s a place between Hell and Heaven for lost souls. On paperwork and functionally, it’s a place where Devils and Angels can interact without interference. They can interact in the human world too, in reality. 

But they’re more restricted in how they speak and act. It’s easier here, quieter and more peaceful. You spend a lot of time in the area. A forest clearing with a little babbling brook. Purgatory has all sorts of sights, a copy of the human world so not to freak out the souls travelling through. 

It’s unusual for Devils, really - to choose a place so in line with God’s cretation to rest. Katsuki clicks his teeth as he walks through the thickets. The robes of fabric that hang over his waist brush the leaves as he finds you where your sit. 

“As if a damned Devil like you could ever be saved.” He grumbles. You laugh pleasantly, wearing the same get-up as always. Wearing fine red silks in a plain color, and those plain black shoes. A lot of the Devils he knows wear more flashy outfits, but you always look unusually plain. You hum at him, leaning back to rest on your palms. 

“You’re pretty harsh for an angel. You’ve been like that since your creation but,” You turn your head to glance at him “Never stops being surprising.” 

Katsuki never knows what to say at times like this. You’ve been alive alot longer than he has, and worked in this place a lot longer than him too. His only memories of you have been as a devil. Countless times, you’ve found each other to the same place through history. 

But you never stop with anymore than  a passing glance. Devils have certain qualities to them. Frivolous and arrogant, and unusually sadistic. Maybe it’s your age or that weird placid attitude you’ve always had. But hearing you tell him he’s not very angel-like feels ironic. 

“You’re one to talk, you old bag.” 

You laugh at that, not bothering to get angry. Instead you get this passive look on your face that Katsuki can’t read. You turn yourself to face him, hands reaching out for his wings. Your fingers are delicate, even with your nails pointed so razor sharp. They don’t cut Katsuki at all. 

“Mm, that’s true. But,” You glance at his face, then smile. Katsuki can’t help but look. Devils have specific beauties to them. The kind of entity that draws mankind to them. You’re no different, but it’s not something you do on purpose “I can understand why you were made to be one anyway.” 

“Haah. You’re the first person I’ve ever heard say that.” 

It’s true. Katsuki got a lot of shit for being an angel with his ‘bad personality’ to the point even God couldn’t give him answers. Yagi was newer in his seat, but he’d always seem confident in his pick. Despite being created together with another being, Katsuki had always felt secondary. 

His counterpart, Deku was everything an angel was meant to be. It’s surprising to hear you say it, and he wants to ask why but is too embarrassed. It doesn’t take anything for you to continue. 

“Angels have particular qualities but there’s only one thing they all have in common. A sense of responsibility towards mankind. Despite your looks and foul mouth, you harbor those very feelings.” 

Being read like that makes him blush. You laugh a bit at that.  

“I can see your heart. It’s pure as light, which is why God favors you and your counterpart. You are well loved.” 

Katsuki blushes again, harder this time. He can’t figure you out at all. You’ve worked in the realm longer than almost anyone, but he still has no idea what you’re thinking or why you are the way you are. Time and time again, you’ve done things that don’t feel quite right about being a Devil. He can’t understand it, or the way you look after others. 

“What about you?” He asks, before he has a chance to stop himself. All furious and flushed, arms folded in his lap and halo bright with feeling. His wings twitch “What makes you a Devil anyway? You’re nothing like those damned punks.” 

“Oho? You think I should become an Angel after all?” 

“That’s not—don’t twist my words, you horned miscreant!” He says, angrily grabbing your collar. You laugh again, hard this time before Katsuki shoves you away. 

You fold yourself over your knees smiling mischeviously. 

“What makes you think I’m not devilish?” 

Katsuki frowns, but you seem to be sincerely waiting for an answer. He turns his head to face the other way, eyes catching the forest beyond. There’s light pouring through, spilling into the stream. He sighs. 

“Dunno. You speak pretty highly o’humans or whatever. And you’re not some arrogant prick even while you’re doing your job. Picky about your clientele too. It’s all weird. If I threw a halo and wings on you, you’d just be another angel.” 

You grin at his evaluation. 

“Really. You think that highly of me?” 

“Who said that!” 

And you’re laughing again and Katsuki feels something in his ribs ache. It’s a real laugh, soft as feathers and rounded. Almost childish. 

“I can never become an angel and I won’t ever try. I’d rather become a human if I must change.” 

‘“But..why? Some Devils can redeem themselves and—” 

“Katsuki,” You interject, expression remaining warm “Wanting to make me an Angel so we can be together in the end. It’s the exact difference between you and me.” 

His mouth clamps shut. You don’t seem angry despite how see through he was being about the entire ordeal. He’s hurt before anything. 

“...So you don’t actually care about being with me? Was it all another frivolous fucking expirment for you? Do you—” 

He’s crying then. Soft tears down his cheek, when your hands go to cup them. You wipe them off for him. He grabs your wrist to pull you away but has no strength to do so. You lean into him closely, his face cradled gently in your palms. What Devil could ever be so loving? Could mean it so much?

“See, my love? That’s just the thing. You want me to become good. I would tear this whole world apart if you’d let me. I’d wreak havoc on mankind to hold you in my arms. You wish for worldly order and I wish for you.” 

“Damned Devil,” He cries. Curses. You kiss gently.

“Yours for eternity.”

[sephirthoughts]

Smut dispenser?!! Well well, don't mind if I do!

One Sephiroth x (dealer's choice) please!

I dont care who he's with or not with I JUST NEED SEPHIROTH

DING DING DING YOU GET: Sephiroth x Cloud, semi-public, non-penetrative, with some psychoanalysis to spice up the porn. This one's actually smut, not a dicktease like the last one this stupid gacha machine spit out. The machine also made up the title don't blame me for it.

should go without saying but: MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Do as the Greeks Romans Do

Some of them called him a cyborg. A boy robot. A toy soldier. All of them looked at him with expressions from the ‘pity’ or ‘disdain’ or even ‘disgust’ flash cards, that the PR team made him study. But he was small, then.

When he hit his late teens and had a mercurial growth spurt, most people’s expressions changed to the ones on the ‘nervous’, ‘anxious’ and ‘afraid’ cards. 

He was told by the PR team that they were just shy, because he was such a famous hero, and that was intimidating, to normal people. They said he should try smiling more. That would make civilians and colleagues feel more comfortable around him.

So, every day, he practiced carefully, in the mirror, until he had successfully trained himself to always wear the placid, non-threatening smile, from the expression cards.

He smiled while he was training. He smiled while he was slaughtering enemies. He smiled while he was talking to anyone, and when he was alone. When he was eating or bathing, or having samples of his blood and tissue and semen collected, for the Science and Research Division—always the same smile. 

Strangely enough, it actually worked. People began greeting him with friendly-card faces. They were less jumpy and nervous when he was in a room. Children no longer cried or ran away, when they saw him. During that time, his reputation as a war hero was also soaring, sky-high, which Shinra loved. 

Sephiroth hated it. He hated the false image they showed the public, that made him out to be some kind of super-patriot, acting for the good of all mankind. 

He wasn’t a guardian angel, he was just a naturally gifted person. He hated unnecessary cruelty, but otherwise, he liked fighting and killing, because he was good at those things. That was all he knew how to do.

His life wasn’t very enjoyable to him, in that period, but there were things he liked. He liked when people had happy-card faces. He liked when Genesis gave dramatic recitations of Loveless. He liked when Angeal and Zack talked energetically with one another, so he could listen and learn from their tones of voice and expressions. He was teaching himself how to be a person, and he learned from all of them. 

From Genesis, he learned that he liked beauty and poetry, but disliked jealousy and competitive hostility. From Angeal, he learned that he liked honor and loyalty. From Zack, he learned that he liked enthusiasm and perseverance. From Cloud, he learned that he liked boys. 

Or, one boy, at least. As ridiculous as it may sound, at that age, he’d still been an absolute novice, in that arena. A human weapon had no reason to learn about the complex and volatile dynamics of sexual relationships, and thus he was never taught. He knew of the concepts, theoretically—his education was thorough and rigorous—but that was all. 

What’s more, he had never felt anything akin to romantic attraction, and had certainly never associated sexuality with a person he found interesting. His experience of anything sexual was limited to the purely mechanical stimulation of his penis until ejaculation, in a sterile medical environment, with the goal of collecting samples of his semen, during his regular physical examinations. They took samples of blood, hair, tissue, and urine, as well. It was no different than that.

When Shinra’s tower of lies crashed down around him, and everything he’d been taught to believe about himself fell to wreck and ruin, he began to systematically examine and reject many of the principles that had been indoctrinated into him, since birth. 

Among these, was the idea that he did not have emotions. He did have them. He had always had them. But he had been forcibly suppressing them for so long, he no longer had the capacity to identify them, let alone cope with them. Particularly not complicated and unfamiliar ones, pertaining to an individual person. 

To put it briefly, Sephiroth wouldn’t know romantic attraction if it walked up and bit him on the lip. So, when he encountered a young man, who triggered a dizzying cascade of emotional and physical responses in himself, he was deeply confused, to say the least. 

Under the circumstances, it was perfectly understandable that he would misidentify his desire to penetrate Cloud sexually, as a desire to penetrate him with a sword, and would act accordingly. 

But, when it came to it, he was never able to strike a fatal blow. He simply couldn’t kill him. Then he wouldn’t. Then it became his line in the sand. No matter what happened, Cloud Strife had to live. How this jibed with his plan to end the world…that was uncertain. 

He had some vague idea that he’d expose the evil and hypocrisy of humanity to Cloud, and that Cloud, having the wool pulled from over his eyes, would join him. That he’d be understood and accepted, by someone whose understanding and acceptance were worthwhile, to him. 

What happened, instead, was that they wound up having a series of semi-hostile sexual interchanges, in semi-public locations. 

This had not been Sephiroth’s intention. When he caught Cloud in that first alleyway, he’d used his body to pin the small young man against a wall, from behind, purely as a restraining technique. 

What he did not expect, was that Cloud would gasp and writhe about in a such an alluring way. What he expected even less, was that feeling that small, warm body enveloped in his, would elicit such an immediate and potent sexual response from him.

Cloud’s helpless, warm-blooded-prey-animal reaction to his predatory incursion, made him so hard, his cock ached and strained uncomfortably against his leather trousers. 

When his suddenly erect member pressed against Cloud’s backside, Sephiroth found his rational mind overwhelmed by a torrent of aggression and possessiveness, like he had never experienced, before. 

He wanted this boy. Wanted to make him his own. Wanted to strip him to the skin and touch and taste his entire body. To push him down and penetrate him. To release his seed inside him. And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

He knew theoretically the way men had sex with men, but he had never had sex with anyone, and was fairly certain he would seriously injure boy, if he tried it now. 

That would be unacceptable. Cloud must remain alive and unharmed, no matter what. However, Cloud must also become his unequivocal possession, and submit his body and soul to him in every way. It was a conundrum.

Then he recalled some information Genesis had related to him, once, about the way in which the noblemen of some ancient society possessed their young, male lovers—by penetrating them between the thighs. Thus was the sex act accomplished, without injuring the receptive partner, nor compromising his chastity. 

He became hyper-focused on this idea, and was almost unaware what he was doing, till he’d already pulled the boy’s trousers and underwear down around his knees. Cloud struggled and thrashed, to absolutely no effect, until Sephiroth’s hot, heavy shaft slotted into the cleft of his ass. Then he went stiff and still, as if he’d petrified that way.

Sephiroth’s head spun, like a drunk, giddy and euphoric, with the tantalizing pleasure of rubbing his bare cock on Cloud’s velvety, naked skin. He reached around, from curiosity, and found the boy also rigidly erect, with a bit of slippery fluid leaking from the slit in the head of his small, pretty cock.

[EDITORIAL ADDENDUM: Mr. Strife has asked that it be here noted that his penis is actually well above average in size, and that Sephiroth’s perception was distorted, because he had only his own ‘freakishly huge’ member, as well as those of the ‘slightly less freakish but still fucking ridiculous’ Angeal and Zack, for comparison.] 

“Mm? What’s this?” Sephiroth hummed, giving it a squeeze.

“S—stop touching it!” Cloud sputtered, blushing so hard his ears and neck turned pink. “Let me go, you fucking psycho!”

“Now, now. There’s no reason for name-calling,” Sephiroth murmured in his ear, tracing the tips of his gloved fingers up and down the shaft, as he rocked his hips, grinding his formidable weapon against Cloud's ass. “You must like being touched, for you to be this way already.”

“What are you…what are you going to do to me?” Cloud asked breathlessly.

Though he was panting like a rabbit in a snare, it was only about half fear. Sephiroth could feel the electrified tension in his small body, practically vibrating against his own, but he didn’t pull away.

“Nothing that will hurt,” he said softly. 

Cloud gave a jolt, as Sephiroth’s cock, long and hard and thick, was thrust abruptly between his thighs, and the big, blunt head knocked into his balls. The sound that escaped his lips was obscene—halfway between a moan and a pleading whimper. 

It went straight to Sephiroth’s cock. He pulled back and thrust again, eliciting another deliciously lewd cry from Cloud’s mouth, and then it was on. 

Cloud squeezed his thighs together, and Sephiroth kept rutting between them, till they were both panting and overheated, intoxicated on the unspeakable pleasure of intimate, physical contact with one another, after all the violence and antagonism between them. 

Truth be told, Sephiroth was woefully unprepared for the world of difference between a spontaneous and mutually enthusiastic sexual interchange, and that sterile, manual stimulation he had known prior to this, which had been no different to him than urinating.

That had been perfunctory and joyless—just another duty that was expected of him. This was hot and messy and confused; poignant and visceral, almost to the point of being unbearable. It was…human. Maybe the only genuinely human experience he’d ever had.

When Sephiroth came, his mind blanked out, to white space. He lost his preternatural composure and gave a choked groan, sinking his teeth into Cloud’s warm, softly scented neck, and shuddering as his cock pulsed, releasing in long, aching bursts, between the boy’s accommodating thighs. 

He was still reeling, from his intense climax, when he noticed Cloud was stroking his own cock, in a frantic, ungraceful way, that was immensely charming to his terminally graceful partner. 

Even more charming, was the hand that had reached back and was clinging to his leather coat, pulling him closer, rather than pushing him away, for the first time in their acquaintance.

Luminous blue-green eyes, with dilated pupil slits, watched curiously, over Cloud’s shoulder, as the boy wrung himself rapidly to climax. Cloud arched his slender back against Sephiroth’s chest, leaning heavily on him, eyes squeezed shut, biting his rosy bottom lip, while he ejaculated, quick spurts of milky-white fluid, all over the wall in front of him.  

Then…neither of them moved, to break contact. They just remained that way, for several long minutes, in silence; Sephiroth holding Cloud tightly in his arms, no sound but the background hum of the city, and one another’s breathing.

The area where their bodies were pressed together began to feel humid and sticky, even through Cloud’s shirt. Keeping one hand securely on Cloud’s narrow waist, to prevent the half-conscious boy toppling over entirely, Sephiroth refastened his own trousers. Cloud stirred, in response to the movement.

“What…what the fuck just happened?” he said dazedly. 

Sephiroth chuckled. “Worry not, little puppet. You’re a still a virgin. For now.”

“How’d you know—I mean, who the hell said I was a virgin?” Cloud demanded, pulling away and turning around to look up at him.

But Sephiroth, overcome with a sudden, unreasoning terror of being perceived, in this vulnerable state, had already vanished, leaving the boy alone in the alley, blinking about confusedly, as he pulled up his trousers. 

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  John is dead. Your whole world crumbles. Arthur and you are facing your first real argument, and everything grows out of control -- featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Words: 5.8k

TW: Extreme angst - read at your own risk, graphic depiction of violence, domestic violence, mention of drug use, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, major character death, self-harm, guilt trip, co-dependent relationship.

Notes:

✞ Read the notes at the end.

Previous || Masterlist || NEXT

The creaking which resounded in the whole morgue when the door opened sent shivers down Tommy’s spine. The infamous Peaky Blinders’ boss was standing next to the mortuary table, staring at the ashen face of his little brother, frozen in a peaceful expression. Although Tommy tried his best to remain neutral, the way his enchanting turquoise eyes gleamed belied his profound sorrow. A sorrow so distressing that he was not even able to express it – instead, his negative thoughts piled up inside of his already decaying heart. First Grace, then John… Tommy let out a long exhale from his nostrils while going on with his morbid contemplation. How many more deaths would he have to endure before his hunger for power was sated? “Fuck, I’m sorry John.” He whispered, softly pressing his large hand on his brother’s muscular shoulder. The sensation of John was cold and hard, even above the fabric of his blood-stained shirt, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” His hand then reached for the funeral shroud and pulled it over his brother’s chest, which had been riddled with bullets. He did not want John to look weak, even in death. He wished for people to recall his joy and strength, not his troubled last moments. “I’m sorry.” He reiterated, offering a last apologetic look at his little brother before turning around at the sound of someone’s heels beating the cold tiled floor. Tommy’s forehead creased as he furrowed his brows: he had not been expecting anyone now that Arthur and Esme had left.

“Tommy.”

The hypnotizing and melodious voice that called him led him to briefly open his eyes wide in surprise — especially when he recognized its owner. And when he did, his face immediately hardened. It was only seconds later that he saw you walking towards him with hastened steps, rivers of tears still streaming down your angelic face. He didn’t know what surprised him the most though, to see you here in this morgue, to hear you calling him “Tommy” and not “Thomas” for the very first time, or maybe the unexpected way you threw yourself into his arms. In fact, it was certainly a bit of the three at once. As soon as your body collapsed with his, the gangster’s muscles tensed, and his placid expression shifted into a stunned one: your affection had taken him aback.

“Oh my God, Tommy…”  You were crying your eyes out, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He could even feel the warm wetness of your tears on his skin, the little salty drops running down his chest and dying under his shirt. Esme had told him everything. Tommy blinked a few times to chase away the surprise and, gradually, his body relaxed as he felt your frail being snuggling against him, the freezing sensation of your dainty frame meeting the warm temperature of his skin even separated by the clothes you were wearing. He gave you a quick glance from above your head to check if what was happening was true and, finally, he sighed. As his arms wrapped around you softly, you felt like you were falling apart and, ironically, the only thing that held you together at this very moment was Thomas Shelby. The man you hated since day one.

“I’m here.”  His quiet and deep voice simply stated, soon followed by his arms tightening around you and his fingers gently diving into your waist, not willing to let you go anymore. To hell with your mutual hatred, you thought, Tommy had just lost a brother and you wanted to be here for him too. Surely, all the ice of his heart couldn’t shield him from grieving a loved one.

What started as an awkward hug soon turned into a powerful embrace when Tommy indulged in your love. All the resent, all your past arguments, all the fear… The more you were pressing together, the more they were turned into dust, “I’m fuckin’ here.” One of his hands ran up your body only to rest on the back of your head, inviting you to nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck even more – which was what you did, desperately looking for comfort.

“I can’t… I can’t let him go. I don’t want to.” Your voice was merely a desperate whimper, for the uncontrollable sobbing and the ball of sorrow in your throat wouldn’t allow you to align more words. Another hiccup — The excruciating sadness almost suffocated you when you realized that John’s dry blood was still stuck under your nails.

“He’s gone, Heaven.” His words, stone cold, made you shake like a leaf, to the extent that Tommy was now certain you would shatter if he were not holding you. He started rubbing your back with his powerful free hand, the other clenching its fingers on the back of your head, “Listen to me.” He started, holding you firmly against his strong body: he was not going to let you all apart.

“They fucking shot him! Ces enculés lui ont tiré dessus!” You repeated in French, and of course he understood. He tried to hush your worries down but it didn’t work. Deaf to his attempt to comfort you, you gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated and painful cry. John was dead and your whole world felt like it was collapsing. Your little fists hit Tommy’s strong chest in a weak blow, anger taking over sadness as seconds passed. You were angry at him, at you, at Changretta, at the whole damn world. In truth, your mind didn’t know how to cope with grief anymore, and rather let you experience various emotions to test which one hurt the less. In response, the gangster restrained your movements by hugging you tighter and then, he brought his lips near your ear to keep you focused on him and only him.

“Hey, listen to me now.” He said with a firmer tone, catching your attention. You glanced at him and froze, realizing how dangerously close his face was, “I want you to calm down. You’re a fucking Shelby.” Despite his harsh words, Tommy’s tender caresses made amends for his toughness and managed to dry your tears up. His palms, then, wandered on your back and shoulders, stimulating every nerve of your quivering body to anchor you to reality, “There. Better.” He finally praised you, warming up your body with the sole power of his touch and rubs. Feeling calmer, you sniffed a little bit and tried to focus on the musky yet delicate fragrances of his cologne rather than on John’s corpse that was lying a bit further from you.

“Better.” You softly replied, surprisingly lulled by little King Shelby’s presence. A real miracle. Once comforted, you decided it was time for you to move your body from him and break the embrace though. After all, Tommy and you had never got along. Plus, you were pretty sure he wanted this to end as quickly as possible now that he had done his in-law duty. But, somehow, a little part of you still hope for this moment to improve your relationship from now. Maybe things wasn’t that hopeless? You were about to move but the gangster didn’t let you leave him. Quite the contrary, he pulled you closer until your breasts flattened against his chest and your cheek rested on his collarbone. Surprised, your lips parted but no sound came out.

“Stay.” Even though he did not mean it, his tone sounded like an order more than a request. Truth was, he couldn’t control it – the way his heart had quickened at the physical contact he was sharing with you unsettled him. As much as the thought that you came to him for comfort, not to your husband. Under the crushing weight of something he couldn’t name, Tommy delicately rubbed his perfectly shaven cheek against yours and buried his nose in your long white hair to get himself drunk with your spring-like perfume, “I’ll keep you out of sorrow, if you ask me,” He whispered, shutting his eyes tight and deepening his embrace again, until it became slightly painful. His thoughts swirled in his restless mind, and between plans for the Vendetta and the grief of John’s death, there was you. You and your intoxicating perfume. With his breath quickening and his lower lip trembling, Tommy allowed himself to sink into your softness, “And you’ll keep me out of it.” His husky voice was merely a murmur only you could hear. A soft whisper even the Grim Reaper, who was leaning over John and contemplating about where he was going to send him, did not catch.

“What do you mean?” You bated your doe lashes, confused at this sudden passionate demonstration of affection. But Tommy didn’t reply. In fact, he did not even hear a word you said for his mind was trying to cope with the overwhelming feelings and sensations that were drowning him. He felt like a sailor thrown into a raging see, desperately trying to keep his head above the water, and the only hope for him to survive was to cling onto you as hard as he could. The truth was it felt so good to have you in his arms, blessed with your holy and calming aura, that he had momentarily forgot what pain was like. For a split second, colors came back in his black and white life – something he hadn’t experience since Grace’s death. Letting out a relieved sigh, Tommy gently pulled his face away from you only for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes to dive into your celeste iris.

“It’s going to be alright, Tommy. It’s not your fault.” You stuttered, trying to comfort him too despite being slightly confused by his intense stare. Nevertheless, you could not help but commiserate with him, grief being one of the most universal human feelings to share. United in pain, you offered him a faint smile. The fearful gangster replied with utter silence – struck by the fact that he loved how his nickname sounded in your mouth. Only his brows frowned slightly as he watched you for the very first time: your big fair eyes, your long lashes, your plumped lips, the way your snow-white hair reflected the dull lights of the morgue… Last time he recalled having stared at you like this was during your first meeting, when his hand was wrapped around your throat. Worried by the unfamiliar ways he was looking at you, your little cold fingers grazed one of his hollow cheeks as softly as a feather’s caress to bring him back to his senses. A surge of electricity ran through his soul at the skin-to-skin contact. You touched him and, all of sudden, Tommy understood Arthur. He understood what he meant when he told him you were an angel. And after the epiphany came a moment of madness.

“No, it won’t.” He admitted with a sad tone you never suspected he was capable of. At his words, he finally gave in and broke the distance between your lips. Life flashed before your eyes, your brain momentarily ceasing to function at the soft press of his mouth. Tommy’s hand had wrapped itself around the back of your neck, keeping you from moving your face with one thick and strong palm. His kiss, eager but indescribably sensual, made your heart miss a small beat. It took you two solid seconds to realize what was happening, and one extra to push him away from you as he started to make it slow and deep with the wet stroke of his tongue. Forced to take a few steps back, his chest vibrated with a low groan of disappointment.

“No, Tommy.” You stuttered in a whisper, astounded by his bold and senseless move. Your fingertips grazed your swollen lips, still tingling with the sensation of his lips against yours, all the while your otherworldly pale eyes gawked at him wide open.

Tommy’s lashes fluttered, then he slightly shook his head to chase away the sweet torpor that had overtaken him for a short while. Regaining his composure, he clenched his jaws and tried to cope with your rejection. Admittedly, it had been a bit too much for him to handle. Why did he do that? What did happen in his goddamn mind? And how the hell could a woman say no to him? Unfortunately, Tommy couldn’t find any answer to these questions. All he found was frustration and anger, fueled by his unsufferable heartache of John’s death.

“No.” Tommy’s face closed up, going placid again while the blue of his iris turned two shades darker, “No” he repeated, trying his best to keep his emotions how he always did: hidden behind coolness, “So why did you come here and throw yourself in my arms?”

His question had taken you aback, for you didn’t expect him to wonder about such a trivial thing. Somehow, you wondered if he ever knew what the definition of platonic love was, or if all his interactions with women, except the ones from his family, always led him to their bed. “I just wanted someone to talk to...” Your eyes fled his, and you folded your arms to hug yourself, feeling suddenly freezing, “And I thought you’d maybe need someone too? I mean… I wanted to comfort you too. Just not—like this.” In truth, you were left agape by the whole misunderstanding. And by Tommy’s unfathomable mind.

Not minding that he was in a morgue, the King of Small Heath took of a cigarette from his pocket and rubbed it nervously on his lower lip before lighting it. Thoughts were now racing in his mind, along with your words. He could have dismissed the topic with a simple wave from his hand, but he couldn’t come to terms with how good you had made him felt for a few fleeting but intense minutes. Tommy’s chest rose and fell with rapid breath, for both shame and anger had crept into his bones. Why? He thought. Why did his brother had been allowed to meet you before he could? Why did Arthur, broken and fragile Arthur, had been allowed to have a loving woman by his side and not him? After all, he was the one who needed it the most. No, he was the one who deserved it the most. But now Grace was dead, all women he shared his bed with tended to leave an unpleasant after taste of ashes in his mouth, and the one he thought who could heal him didn’t want him. What kind of freaking curse was that? But in his inner turmoil and feeling of unfairness, Tommy forgot to take into account the real problem: you could do nothing for his heart. No one could.

“Alright then, you wanna talk? We gonna talk, ey. I wanna know something, Heaven. Why didn’t you save him ey?” A cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, leaving you wondering if it was due to the cigarette or to his rage.

“Sorry?” You asked, feeling your shoulders tense.

He threw his cigarette further away before squinting his eyes as he talked to you “You resurrected a damn bird. Polly talked y’know. She told me you had the great power of healing, something that’s fucking rare. So why?”

“Why?! Why what?! What the hell are you implying?” You were starting to lose your patience, already fed up with his mean games. Moreover, your emotions was already all messed up with all the earliest events.

“Why the fuck didn’t you save John?! Why the fuck didn’t you bring him back to life?” His voice rose, resounding in the morgue so loudly that John probably heard it from where he was.

You blinked, astonished. “Because it doesn’t work like that, you fucking idiot!” You replied to his screams with louder ones, now troubling the dead’s final rest.

“Of course, it doesn’t. Isn’t it a bit ironic? I mean… For everyone, you’re a saint. For Arthur you’re a fucking angel, ey, even a divine being. But now that you have the occasion to use your wicked powers for something useful you can’t even do it!” His prose had turned into poison, seeping through your veins and contaminating soul.

“Thomas, stop it.” You begged, trying to remain calm. Surely, you didn’t want to argue right after John’s death. Especially not when he was there… You took a quick glance at his motionless body and your heart sank. Was it your fault?

“I told you what it is. You’ve bewitched all of them. You’ve bewitched me,” His eyes darkened, “All your so-called gifts come from the Devil... So come on! Bring John back to life, you fucking witch!”  He was now pointing John with his index finger, “Bring him back now!”

“HIS HEART HAD STOPPED BEATING!” You howled, self-control breaking down.

“It doesn’t matter, you had let him die!”

“I didn’t!” You shook your head, rage taking over you, “It’s the blood. My witchcraft doesn’t come from the Devil, it comes from the fucking blood. From the human body. That’s what I manipulate. I could have done something if his heart had been still beating the slightest, or if it had just stopped. But it wasn’t the fucking case!” Tears of wrath left a moist trail on your skin as you wiped them away quickly with the palm of your hand, “He was dead for too long when I found him!” A short silence fell in the morgue after your attempt to justify yourself – Tommy didn’t buy it.

“It’s your fault.” He concluded in a quiet and low tone, desperately trying to both find someone to blame for his brother’s death, and wanting to make you pay for rejecting him.

“W-What?” His words had stabbed you right in the heart.

“It’s your fault if John is now lying in a fucking morgue, dead and cold. You have let him die.”

“I didn’t!” Your voice broke.

“You fucking did! Look at him now, look at his fucking corpse riddled with bullet! Look at the fuck you did, ey!” Tommy had stepped aside and pulled the shroud from John’s body. Doing so, he gave you full sight on his bloody chest, whose round bullet wounds were already darkening. Such a macabre spectacle momentarily broke the last bit of sanity you had left.

John, Oh John, your soul lamented.

“ENOUGH!” You yelled. The way your usually sweet voice screeched was so powerful, so inhumane that all the lights of the morgue flickered, rendering the place even more ominous than it already was. On top of the dancing lights, whose glow had been undermined by your own darkness, the atmosphere around Tommy thickened. The gangster swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly overtaken by an unpleasant and eerie feeling of unease. In other circumstances, your brother-in-law’s change in behavior would have appeased you. Especially when considering that shutting up was not in Tommy’s habits. Nevertheless, far too hurtful words and years of restrained spite got the best of you: from the moment you met to this one, Tommy had been nothing but a bane. Anger rippled through you, hardening your maimed heart and blurring every notion of decorum you’d usually try to respect for Arthur’s sake, “You wanna make me your villain?” You had stopped screaming. Quite the contrary, your tone had turned from a bawling banshee to the quiet and sinister sigh of Death. With that last question posed, you extended one of your arms, palm facing Tommy, and spread your fingers, “I’ll give you a reason to fear me!”

At first, Tommy raised a brow wondering what the goal behind your move was. Then, the fact you dared to scream at him and insult him – certainly combined with your rejection – made rage coiled in his stomach. He opened his mouth, about to reply to your arrogance when words choked in his throat. Hit by a sudden and obliterating pain in the chest,  Tommy pressed his hand were his heart was and looked up in terror as a thin trickle of blood started to run down one of his nostrils, dying his thin lips with a crimson color, “What—What are you doing to me?!” He stuttered, barely hearing his voice because of the sound of his own heart beating faster and faster echoed in his skull far too loudly. However, you didn’t answer him, far too consumed by the flames of your rage, licking though your delicate bones and dainty frame. With your hand still facing him, you started to close your fingers very slowly. Tommy coughed for each inch your fingers moved, his lungs were crushed harder in his tight chest. He wanted to scream – scream to let out the pain, scream to stop you, but the only noise he could make was muffled squeals, similar to an agonizing prey.

“Here is what I can do, Tommy! This is the pain I am capable to cause with my delicate and fragile little being! See? If I can heal, I can also make one sick and destroy them.”

“S—St—Stop...” He tried to beg, bloody mouth gaping, desperate for air. But this time he was not only met by your silence, but by the worsening of his pain to the extent that his legs were about to collapse. No, you didn’t want to stop. In fact, you wanted him to pay for everything. You wanted him to kneel.

“Beg.” Your voice echoed in the morgue and your eyes were staring coldly at Tommy Shelby who, crushed by the extreme pain you were exerting on his body, had no other choice than to rest one of his knees on the ground, right in front of you. The metallic taste of blood that kept running down his throat, thick and hot, enhanced his suffocating and labored attempt to breath. At this point Tommy had one certitude; you were going to kill him. Whether by a heart attack or by smashing his lungs to a pulp, it did not matter. What mattered was that, for the very first time since you met, he was at your mercy. Far too well he understood that all you had to do was to close your fist, and then he would end up lying down on the table next to John’s.

The shovels, the dirt in his mouth, everything came back to his mind as he fought to breath.

“Heaven!”

“Listen closely to what I’m about to say,” You spoke calmly, “I think I’ve had enough of your hypocritic ways and your unjustified battle against me, whose only goal is to tear me down. I am not going to kill you, Thomas Shelby. But if I spare you, it’s only because, first I don’t want to murder you in front of John, and then, because Arthur loves you. I don’t fucking know how he still does after every mean thing you’ve said and done to him, but the facts remain that he does.” You paused, finally reopening your hand, and lowering your arm. It didn’t take more for Tommy’s lungs to finally be able to stock air again and for his heart to return to a normal pace. The gangster immediately inhaled, still under the shock of what had just happened. Hands on the cold tiled floor, eyes wide open, he was shaking like a leaf in a raging storm, “So for Arthur’s sake and John’s memory, I want you to wear your most beautiful smile next time you’ll see me. Just like you told me the first time we met ey?”

By the time you’ve stopped stabbing him with your murderous and poisoned words, Tommy had managed to stand up on his quivering legs. Yet, he was still catching his breath and pressing one hand on his chest to alleviate the soreness of his lungs. He licked his lips to clean the blood off them, the taste of his own crimson essence reminding him of what he was: not a God. Much less the Devil. Just one simple mortal man. At this very moment, Tommy Shelby had lost his splendor. Still shaken and utterly terrified by your wicked abilities, little King Shelby looked at you, his face contorted in pure horror and disgust. “You…”  His enchanting turquoise eyes, whose color made women’s head spin, were now glazed with an almost primal fear, “You’re a fucking monster.”

“At least we have something in common.” You retorted, before turning your heels and leaving the morgue. John’s spirit wasn’t there anyway.

Following your quarrel with your brother-in-law, all you wanted was to go back home and hide from this cruel world in Arthur’s arms; the only place in which you could find a bit of inner peace. Moreover, you knew he would certainly need you after his visit at the morgue.  Your holy tears had flown from your eyes all the way home, only chased away by your delicate hands. The only thing that kept you from collapsing in the midst of the streets, weeping on the ground like a fallen angel, was the thought of finding your husband. It has always been you against the rest of the world anyway. So, what was your disappointment when hours flew and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. 

A little sigh escaped from your lips as you poured the rest of the red wine bottle you had opened earlier in your glass. Once your glass was refilled with alcohol, you simply dragged your exhausted body to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, looking blankly at the dancing flames in the hearth. Before panic settled in, you thought that Arthur needed time for himself after being informed of his little brother’s death — which was perfectly fine and understandable. He had every right to stay with his family, grieving the loss of his own blood. But the more time passed, the more his absence was weighing on you. Feeling your sorrow, Kaiser woke up from his nap, stretched his muscular body, and came closer to rest his large head on your thighs. The dog’s cropped ears were flattened, and his large hazel eyes were looking at you with sincere worry.

“That’s okay big boy, that’s okay.” You gently stroke his head, but despite loving your caresses the Cane Corso let out a sad whining sound, “I know…” You simply replied, knowing that Kaiser missed Arthur too, on top of hating the sight of you being that mournful. Suddenly, the mutt’s ears raised again, and he turned his head towards the door, sensing someone was coming. Trusting his shape senses, your eyes looked up at the entrance too. When your instincts weren’t working, you knew you could always count on Kaiser and tonight was no exception: only seconds later the door opened, revealing Arthur’s lanky silhouette. You got up from the sofa, putting your glass of red wine on the coffee table, and watched him carefully. 

“Cheri?”

“Hm.” The only reply you got was a grunt, followed by his staggering frame walking past you without stopping for a hug nor a kiss. In fact, you wondered if he even saw you. The strong scents of alcohol and tobacco floated in the air at his passage, leaving no doubt on his intoxicated state. You sighed, watching him walking towards the furniture and pouring himself another whiskey. Not the first of the evening for sure.

“Arthur, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” You said quietly, with care and sincere worry. Losing John had broken him, obviously, so you knew you had to be delicate with him. A lecture was definitely not what he needed at this aching moment, which was why you used suggestions rather than orders.  Nevertheless, your husband remained deaf to your gentle advice and gulped down the alcohol in one mouthful, right before pouring himself another glass. You shook your head and walked to him, for you could not let Arthur drink his pain until he passed out – because that was what he was trying to do. Somehow, he only acknowledged your existence when he felt your hand gently touching his arm, right above the thin texture of his shirt, “I’m going to run you a bath and we’ll go to bed, alright?” You finally said, knowing that no words would ease the tormenting grief he was experiencing. Why? Because you did too. John Shelby was your best friend. No. He was more than that, he was like another part of you. But as you weren’t blood-related, you’d rather leave your own pain on the back burner and take care of your husband, who hadn’t lost a friend but a baby brother. A loss whose ache you knew far too well. Taking this into account, you didn’t want to ask him if he was okay nor if he wanted to talk because you knew that no he wasn’t and no he didn’t want to.

“Yeah.” Arthur drank the second glass of whiskey and put it on the furniture a bit bluntly, his reflexes numbed by alcohol, “Yeah…” He sniffed, tears flooding his vision for the umpteenth time today – he had lost count. He didn’t think he had some left but here he was, crying again, unlike Tommy who could hold it well. “Heaven…” He moaned in pain, his suffering coming from the deepest part of his soul. You opened your lips to reassure him but you stopped: there was something unusual in his voice, “I need ye to save me …” He begged, turning around to face you even if his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“I’m here.” One of your hands reached his waist with an indescribable tenderness, “Look at me Arthur.” The other slipped under his chin and gently forced him to look at you — which he ultimately did. Yet, the moment your eyes dived into his iris your heart stopped beating for a micro-while. His pupils were so dilated that the blue of his eyes was barely visible, reduced to small rings around two soul-sucking black holes. From then, you were quick to react: you slipped your hand in the pocket of his trouser and, when you did, your fingertips were met with the cold surface of a little vial. “No…” You whispered, pulling the object from his pocket and observing it with genuine disgust and disappointment. In truth, you could recognize it from miles away for those blue and small vials usually contained cocaine, “What the fuck, Arthur!” you exclaimed, stepping back from him and showing him the small bottle you were holding between your index finger and your thumb.

“What?” He straight off hissed, eyes half closed and his body slightly reeling left to right due to his state of inebriation.

“Did you take it?!” The answer was obvious, but you still wanted to hear it from him. You wanted him to admit it and assume the consequences of his relapse.

“Yes I did eh!” He finally exclaimed after one long second of staring at your eyes, searching for any kind of excuses he could find. But the disappointment in your frozen iris kept him from lying – He definitely could not do this to you, even drunk and high. You closed your eyelids a brief moment, for his words felt like a stab in the chest despite you already knew the undeniable truth.

“No Arthur that’s not going to be possible. You made a promise,” You tried to remain calm but red wine, your fight with Tommy, and the mess in your emotions had destroyed your diplomacy, “You’ve promised me! That’s… Thats not going to help you cope with John’s death!” One of your bare feet was nervously tapping the wooden floor.

“AND HOW AM I GOING TO COPE WITH IT EH? FOOKIN’ HOW?” He burst in anger, your words fueling the raging fire that was burning inside of him. Carried away by his emotional turmoil and the drug, Arthur swept the furniture with one violent movement of his arms, knocking the bottle and the glass over. The cacophony of broken glass made you jump a little as they crashed on the floor, exploding in dozens of shards.

You looked at him, shocked to the core, for he had never really yelled at you before. Each time his voice would rise in your presence it was always because of external factors, never because of you. In truth, Arthur had never got mad at you. The more he could do in your presence was being grumpy. However, tonight you were the source of his sudden anger, and such a revelation hurt like hell. For a fraction of a second, your angry expression flickered into an aching one. Still, you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat and answered him with a cool, almost placid tone.

“Don’t yell at me. Understand?” You warned him, jaw clenched and every muscle of your tiny body tense,  “I don’t want you to take drug except on very, very rare occasions and I must be here– It was part of the deal.” You punctuated you sentence by throwing the vial into the fire, which burnt brighter for a short while. Arthur scoffed, his lips stretching in a sarcastic and irked grin.

“Isn’t it a fookin’ rare occasion? My brother’s dead. That’s a once-in-a-lifetime event that needs to be celebrated properly eh.” His bitter smirk disappeared as he winced with pain, bringing his trembling hands in his hair to pull it. “I need to numb the pain. To numb everything. Oh God, John is dead. Dead. He’s fookin’ dead!”  Each time he repeated the last word, Arthur hit his head with his fists. The dancing flames reflected in his teary eyes, and lit his face with an orange hue. It was getting hard to tell if such an effect came from the fire in the hearth, or if he was burning from inside.

“Stop it Arthur!” You grabbed his wrists with your little hands, trying your best to keep him from hurting himself, “I know alright? I know you’re suffering and I’m deeply sorry for it. I swear I’d love to take your pain away, but I can’t. I can’t,” You forced him to look at you by squeezing his wrists, “Thing is, I don’t want to watch you destroying yourself with cocaine or God knows what other kind of drugs! That’s out of fucking question!” Despite your attempt to remain calm, your emotions got the best of you. The betrayal of him breaking his promise was more painful than a bullet shot through your chest. Maybe more painful than losing John itself. Tears began to stream down your face as you let go of Arthur and observed his enraged and dilated pupils.

“What the hell do ye know, eh.” Arthur stumbled, closing the distance between you a second time and leaning over until his face and yours were only a few inches away. His whiskey breath fanned over your skin. “What the hell do ye knew about pain, little angel? You have no idea what I’m going through. If ye did you’d be the first to snort snow ey.”  

“Listen,” You sniffed, swallowing back a sob. Okay, maybe yelling at him wasn’t the best way to react so, in a desperate attempt of not aggravating the situation, you forced yourself to regain your calm  “I’ve lost my family, I know what it—”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY!” He cut you, yelling so loud your ears buzzed, “THEY’VE BEEN SIX FEET UNDER FOR A FOOKIN’ WHILE! WE’RE TALKING ABOUT JOHN! MY LITTLE BROTHER!” Arthur’s eyes darkened and then, he bared his teeth like a wounded wolf trying his best to scare someone away, “They’ve riddled him with bullets, those mops. Those bastards! We’re in a fookin’ war and here you are scolding me like a kid because I took drugs! That’s fookin’ ridicu—”

The sound of flesh snapping echoed in the living room when your hand slapped him, followed by a heavy silence only the fire’s cracks broke. Arthur backed up at the blow, eyes wide open. Slowly, his shaking fingers brushed his reddened cheek, right where his skin was tingling. At this well-deserved reality check, the tall gangster blinked several times and finally noticed the heart-wrenching pain in your glistening eyes. You, who had tried to hold back your tears and be strong for Arthur, could not keep your sadness for yourself anymore. They flowed from your holy eyes, salty waterfall of sorrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. It was not really the fact you had hit him that petrified his whole soul, but rather the realization that he had hurt you, his beloved angel. The woman of his life.

Your face contorted with a caustic combination of pain, sorrow and anger. In truth, you didn’t want to hit him. You really didn’t. But he had been barking at you like a rabid dog, almost spitting at your face as he screamed. And then, he had the stupid idea of talking about your family while knowing what had happened to them. All brutally murdered in a matter of hours. Guided with rage, your blood had boiled, and your hand slapped him even before you truly realized it. “Don’t talk about my family like this anymore.” You hissed through gritted teeth, your cold voice seeping through him and turning his blood into liquid nitrogen.

“Heaven…” Arthur said, feeling himself breaking down at your hateful gaze. He quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, thinking carefully about the next words that were about to come from his mouth but you didn’t let him the time to speak. You had heard enough.

“Shut up. Seriously Arthur, just… Shut up.” Your eyes, who always looked at him with indescribable love and tenderness, were now filled with Hell’s fury and it tore his soul. All of sudden, he felt very small despite towering you with his height.

“You think I’m not suffering from John’s death? You have no idea how much he meant to me. Of course, he wasn’t my brother! Of course, his blood doesn’t run through my veins. But still, he mattered like no one else did, except you.” Each sentence had a bitter taste. Then, you turned away from him and walked to the smashed bottle to take one huge shard between your fragile fingers, “You wanna know how it makes me feel when you’re high? We’ll that’s easy.” Now you were determined to make him understand, no matter what it took. First thing, you showed him the pale flesh of your forearm, “I’m not Linda, right? I didn’t put a leash around your neck because I trusted you. Now, I want you to look at me carefully. When you take drug, it’s as if I was doing this to myself.” Turning your words into deeds, you suddenly slashed your skin with the glass fragment in one quick motion. The sharp surface cut your skin just like butter, and crimson blood quickly filled the gash, overflowing from it and dripping down your arm to your elbow under Arthur’s astounded eyes.

“No, angel!” Suddenly sobering up at the sight of blood on your porcelain skin, he almost pounced on you and took the shard from your hand to threw it away, “The fook ye did eh?! Bloody hell…” Arthur tried to take your arm to examine the depth of your wound but you pushed him away with a stern “Don’t touch me”.

Don’t touch me. Surely, you didn’t mean it right?

You didn’t – Arthur’s heart ached.

“Now just imagine that all you can do is watch me cutting myself until, one day, I bleed to death. How fucking bad it would make you feel? How powerless?!”

“Gosh Heaven, you’re hurt. Oh God!” Arthur started to panic, tears filling his eyes and shoulder jolting with dawning sobs. His whole being ached at the sight of you wounded. It was stronger than him: he couldn’t bear the idea of your being hurt, even less when it was because of him — whether he was the direct cause or not. “I’m sorry love. Fuck, I’m so sorry…” He begged, trying to approach you again but each step he made caused you to step back. Arthur’s hand slowly squeezed his own arm, for he could almost feel the pain of your cut on his own unwounded flesh. Everything began to spin around him as he realized how stupid he had been, “Please, love…”

“Keep your apologies for yourself, Arthur. Let’s make things clear:  I’d rather burn at the stake than watch you slowly killing yourself with this shit.” You retorted, turning your heels and heading to the door not minding the fact you were not wearing shoes and that your arm was abundantly bleeding. It didn’t matter, you needed so fresh air and, more than anything, you needed to be away from Arthur for a little while. Meeting his eyes had become far too painful for you to bear anymore. You had almost reached the door when the gangster’s long and calloused fingers grabbed your hands to hold you back.

“No! Don’t leave me! Please, please I fookin’ beg ye but don’t… Just don’t leave me, Heaven.” He kept repeating over and over again, the gravel in his voice rising from one octave under the weight of despair and utter fear. The way his menacing traits had turned into the facial expression of a panicking child was truly heart wrenching – Arthur could not live without you, and it wasn’t a euphemism. Yet, you snatched your hand from his and, as you did, his very soul crumbled. As painful as it was to see him like this, you just couldn’t let this pass – he had to understand how serious you were about the whole drug issue, and how deep he had maimed your heart. You took one last look at him, shaking your head in disapproval, and stormed out of the house, letting the darkness of Watery Lane swallowing you whole.

At first, he had wanted to pin you against the wall and force you to stay. His desperate mind, seeking for any way to keep you by his side, had even thought about threatening to kill himself with his gun right in front of you if you left, but he had been frozen by the disappointed look on your face. Petrified by your gaze, as a poor unfortunate traveler meeting Medusa’s deadly eyes. Following your departure, Arthur had screamed until his throat hurt and his voice broke. The drowning misery he was experiencing, far worst than suffocating in French tunnels, had led him to destroy everything he could in the living room. Maddened by the thought of losing you, the flip in his brain switched and nothing made sense anymore. You had left him alone here, and he felt his mental health getting worse and worse as minutes passed, until he was completely out of his mind. He had done all he could to alleviate his guilt and sadness: from throwing in the fire all the cocaine he kept to hiting a furniture until his knuckles’ skin cracked open. God, he even threw his lanky frame at the wall several times in a frenzied attempt to knock himself up and get a break from the pain of your absence, but nothing worked. He was now sitting on the rug, rocking himself back and forth in front of the dying fire. If you didn’t want him anymore, all was left for him was to blow his damn brains out with his gun for if you’d rather burn than witness his fall, he'd rather die than existing one sole second without your heavenly presence by his side. He could afford to lose Linda, John, hell even Tommy, but he couldn’t do it without you.

Arthur looked at his wedding ring, jaw clenched and heart in bits.

He had fucked up. And he had fucked up really bad.

As he always did.

✞ Readers are left to interpret/choose what the characters feel for the reader. By no means it wants to make Reader/Heaven a Mary Sue everyone loves. Nevertheless, fanfiction should remain fun for readers so that's why I leave most of the things open to interpretation.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

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