#so he spared the demon and told him to know his limits & not to throw his life away like he just did. dont be a repeat. dont let that be

[nerosdayinanime]

[genshin-scenarios]

pacts and their marks: demon au

Summary: Where you've accidentally summoned a demon (you’re an exorcist) and now you’re in a pact with them! They’re now your assistant of sorts, some more willing than others…

Characters: Venti, Xiao, Lyney, Wanderer

Content warnings: minor injury and blood (Xiao), mentions of fire and smoke with allusions to death (Lyney), mentions of death and human experimentation (Wanderer)

Generally speaking, Venti likes to float rather than walk if he can help it; he’s gotten the habit of flitting around your form often, hanging off your shoulders and clinging on to you absentmindedly. You might be more annoyed about it if it wasn’t for his voice as he greets you, light and deceptively soothing.

Venti’s music hypnotizes the heart. Whether it be singing or another instrument, he has the ability to convince any being, living or dead, to do as he wishes—so long as his melody isn’t overpowered by their strength of mind.

Honestly, sometimes you wonder if he’s testing the safety-precautions of your pact. You’re invulnerable to his powers thanks to it, but with the way he endears himself towards you, you wonder if his true motive was to steal your affections in another way.

He’s one of the rare demons that blend in with people well. You found him as a spirit living inside an antique lyre; while Venti says he was sleeping there for a lack of anything to do, you have a feeling that there’s another story behind his attachment to the item. He often uses it in battle—its strings glowing with an old magic that matches the shade of his eyes and braids.

You sometimes forget how deadly it is to lose one’s mind in the heat of a fight, when Venti’s lying next to you on the bed as he scrolls on your spare phone. Noticing your attention he peers up, twirling his hair—currently unbraided—between his fingers.

For how much he teases you about praising him, Venti’s never mentioned anything about playing his music to get rid of your nightmares. One time, when you were especially sick, you recall him singing a song in a language you didn’t recognise.

It was hauntingly beautiful, and so was the way he brushed his hand through your hair, too gentle compared to the demons you had to hunt down.

Xiao’s most unique feature had to be his wings; the same dark shade as his hair, dipped in streaks of teal.

During a quiet night, he’d told you they used to be white as snow and gilded with gold. But an angel that kills to protect is destined to fall from the clouds, shrouded by the ghosts of those they have slain.

You know there are others like him, but he says they’ve succumbed to corrosion. He is the only one left, and is one of the only demons you’ve met that hunt down their own species. In an effort to save him from his own corrosion, you’d made a pact with Xiao to link your life forces. 

Despite how he’d told you to leave him, his spirit still reached for yours—towards any form of light and warmth it could meet. Xiao still finds the marks of the pact distasteful, however, always glancing at the dark patterns now etched into your skin. You tell him it’s more reassuring than not, now that you can summon him with a call of his name.

If there’s one word to describe his powers, it’s destructive in every form of the word. Xiao leaves the battlefield entirely demolished after a fight. Sometimes he struggles to control his strength, but it’s been getting easier to do so with your presence to balance his. 

He prefers to throw himself in as the weapon. Which is why when you’re the one that gets injured this time around, all Xiao can do is panic. He holds you in his arms, frozen as he realizes he cannot help.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a serious wound. But after that, Xiao has been a lot more protective of you; almost hyper-aware.

“W—What are you doing, Xiao?” You flinch as he bites into your palm, drawing a small line of blood. 

Xiao hums. “Did you know that even using your blood, I can only heal you a limited amount with our pact?” Another bite, this time with his fangs, frustrated. “Keep that in mind the next time you plan on getting hurt.” You’re lucky the hospital could treat you this time around.

All Lyney knows is that he was reborn in a fire. At the back of his mind, he’s searching for his siblings—though he’s not sure where they are.

Like smoke filling a room, Lyney’s able to create illusions that trick all the senses. At your first meeting, he’d tried this on you; only for one of your protective amulets to diffuse his powers, revealing a larger demon he’d been working with that’d been ready to devour you. 

Suffice to say, Lyney was quick to switch sides once he noticed that you were winning. That, and the demon he was working with turned out to have lied about having a lead for him. After noticing your potential as a partner, he’d been quick to scout for your help.

He often uses his illusions to fool enemies into fighting one-another, redirecting their attention away—but after the pact, Lyney seems to lose his larger-than-life traits and falls into a casual routine with you. It makes you wonder if he’d been human before this, though sometimes he’s more cat-like than not.

If nothing else, he does like to put on a show when you’re faced with a battle. He makes your job easy, considering that your bond allows you to see past his illusions and maneuver around enemies, finding the perfect blind spots. Despite the oddity of your partnership, you start to enjoy the pattern of working with Lyney, from your smooth conversations to his smarts. 

One thing that does throw him off however, is when a demon you were trying to exorcize attempts to form a pact with you. Not that you can’t have multiple pacts at once, but it’s the first time you’ve seen Lyney openly aggressive towards an enemy, striking it with a sharp bolt of flame that diffuses it long enough for you to dispose of it.

With the threat gone, Lyney was quick to check on you, looking for any traces the other demon might’ve left behind. He calms down once he finds nothing, eyes widening when he realizes your faces are only inches apart.

“I…” He looks like he’s about to apologize, but decides against it. “Please don’t make a pact with anyone else. I don’t want to feel like that ever again.”

When you first met, Wanderer had tried to turn you into a puppet.

It was his power, after all—to attach strings onto any form and take control of them. These strings could be cut off, but it would only take so long for him to attach them again.

Most people don’t survive their encounters with him, but you’d managed to trap him into a pact right before things went dire. Now you could restrain his actions to a certain extent, though Wanderer would always push against your control, keeping you on your guard.

Many coworkers have told you to simply be rid of him—but just as you’d tricked Wanderer into a pact with you, he’s since linked your heart with his soul. That is to say, if he was exorcized, you’d be going down with him.

It’s a small relief to learn that Wanderer could also puppeteer other demons, thus you put him to work on the field by your side, turning into an unwilling duo. He has a habit of not doing anything unless you make it a ‘command’, leaning closer with a challenge in his eyes even as an enemy charged at the both of you. 

Then, with a snap of his fingers, they’d stop mid-air. As large as the pact's patterns are on your skin, you had to admit that Wanderer’s power was a deadly one.

You’ve always wondered why he had no reactions to injuries; no matter how serious, you’ve never seen Wanderer express pain. Much, much later into your partnership, you learn that he’s become numb to physical sensations a long time ago. And that him turning into a demon was a gift of reprieve more than not, as he’d destroyed and escaped from an experimental facility shortly after.

During a fight where you'd been affected by a tranquilising venom, Wanderer had been the one to save you; your eyes met briefly as you felt his strings take a hold of your form.

“Don't make me look bad now.” He'd said. “Just relax.” 

With not much of a choice, you allowed him to guide your movements. Somehow, it does feel different compared to your first encounter with his powers. With a push and pull between the strings, you could almost say it felt like a dance.

Were Wanderer's movements always this graceful?

Preorders for my wanderer fanbook and genshin letters are open! If you liked this, consider checking out the purple link on my pinned post!

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

The School Trip - Ch 2 - Afternoon.

Summary: So you got the kids to their destination. Good luck being in close quarters with the hot English teacher.

2.5k

Warnings: 18+, swearing, fluff, flirting, annoying teenagers.

Chapter 1

"OOo, miss and sir are sharing a room." Jayda giggles with her friends as they walk past you towards their room down the hall.

"None of you guys wanted to share with me," you shrug, "even though I'm way cool and I've got like, so much rizz. Right Mr Todd." 

"So it's their fault you've gotta share with a boy." Jason laughs, clicking the door open to your twin room.

"Exactly."

"You guys are gross." The girls yell before they start whispering to each other, running off down the hall. 

"Kids right?" You look away, pushing past Jason and sitting yourself on the bed. Truth be told, the last thing you wanted to do was share a room with the girls. They need their privacy and you do not want to be kept up all night with their antics. You had tried to get you each your own room, but the hotel was small and the school wasn't going to pay for anything nicer than this. It's blind luck that they even had a twin room left, with the kids taking all the family sized ones.

"You didn't exactly tell them no." Jason says throwing your bags on the counter. The room fills with a wired silence as he stares down at you, "why don't we have our own rooms?" He asks, with a smile on his face. His eyes tracing the delicate lines of your legs. He blinks a few times, hoping that you didn't notice.

"You worried I'm gunna give you cooties?"

"I mean, have you got cooties? Because I don't think there's a cure for it."

"Maybe? So what if I do? Its only because there are so many kids, and they are booked out," you change the subject, unsure about where this conversation and the way he's looking at you, "had to divide the kids up and they only had one room left. But you can always go and share with the teens, I'm sure that'd be a hoot. You could learn witchcraft or talk about theoretical physics. Or ya know, the bus is empty."

"Or I can stay here and watch you read?" That does sound appealing. He was watching you on the bus and you had the cutest expression while trying to contain your excitement. It's curious, what makes them so thrilling for you? He wouldn't mind finding out.

"I mean yeah, or you could go for a walk."

"Have you got another book?"

"Excuse me?"

"A spare, something I could read?"

"You- what? Don't you have your own things to read?"

"I know you've got more than one of those slutty.books on your bag. There's no way it's that heavy with clothes."

"Why do you wanna read them? Aren't lit teachers supposed to be snobby and all about the classics."

"Could be a classic one day, everything good started out being controversial."

You shuffle from your bed, slipping down and flipping your suitcase open, "we'll  I've only got 3, which do you want?" You pick up the books throwing them on the bed.

"This looks interesting," he says, snatching the one with the large demon on the cover, "what's it about?" He flicks through the pages, his eyes glaring over the words. "Late Night Deal?"

"Yeah, especially." 

"Cool."

"Might go grab some sun though, wanna go outside and read?" You throw a dust cover at him. "Whack that over it first."

"I'm sure it's going to be believable that I'm reading," he turns the cover over, "Halliday's fundamental physics."

"Better than them thinking you're reading Late Night Deal. That cover really doesn't leave a lot to the imagination."

With a roll of his eyes, Jason slaps the cover over the book, slipping his phone into his pocket and heading out into the sunshine. 

You watch him go, surprised at how easy this is. You had thought the weekend would be weird, that sharing a room with the hot English teacher would be torture. He's always been kind in your limited interactions  but with a face like that, you had convinced yourself he'd be full of himself, the classic English teacher snob. But he seems so nice and genuinely takes interest in your less than perfect book taste. The way he smiled at you when you talked on the bus about the trip, like he just wanted to hear you speak. Fuck, why isn't a dick? That's what you were hoping, that he'd be awful and the stupid crush you have on him would die at the surface level.

You take another book, your sunglasses and head down to meet him at the small park just outside of the hotel.

Xx

"Ah, I'm going to need some help here." He calls from the other side of the park, your seat on the hotel patio resting just under the cover of the awning while he opted for the full sun seats.

You drop your book, rushing to his side as he tries to grab the sea of papers that's littering the lawn. "Dude's, what is going on?"  

"My book exploded and my notes!" Keira calls as she and the other girls try to grab the papers flying around in the wind. 

You and Jason rush to help, gathering up all the notes, laughing as you run through the small grassed area. "That ones getting away," you shout as one fly's up near a tree and you both rush towards it. 

"Here I've got i-" Jason's cut off as you rush into him, "woah there," he grips your shoulders. You look so cute with sweat on your brow annd your hair fucked by the wind, "I think it's stuck in the tree."

"Get up there and get it then." You suggest taking a step back, trying to keep your eyes from his and the weird tingly feeling it gives you.

"Can't reach," he looks up into the tree with his hand shading his eyes from the sun, "maybe if I lift you up?"

"That- ah.. wouldn't be appropriate. "

"Certainly be less creepy than me lifting one of the kids up."

"Fine," you shrug, defeated, "just don't drop me."

"I wouldn't." He assures you, his hands gripping at your waist as he effortlessly picks you up.

"Bit higher," you stretch your arm out, the paper so close, "nearly there," you lean your foot into his stomach trying to elongate yourself so you can get it, "got it." 

You grab the paper and suddenly you're falling, wondering how you even got so high and then the sun's gone and something heavy lands on your stomach.

"Sorry," Jason smiles apologetically, "you got me in the diaphragm. Did you get the paper?"

"Yeah, right here," you cough, the air caught in your lungs from where you fell and not from the way he's looking at you, "we should get up."

"Yeah before-"

"Ooooo!" All the teenagers sing song together before bursting into laughter.

"Too late," you laugh along, pushing him the the chest before displaying the saved piece of paper above your head.

Trying to gather yourself up, you rush over to Keira and away from Mr Todd. Handing them to her with a stern warning to keep a hand on her things.

"Not much time for relaxing now," Jason says, picking up your book from the ground and relaxing back on the bench a few meters from the students. The scent of your perfume still lingering on his button down, he pulls it from his chest, trying to shake the smell from it. He fails miserably as the scent spreads and he tries to hide his face in a book.

"We've still got half an hour before we gotta feed the hoard," you lay down on the opposite bench, your book shielding the sun from your eyes. You hear the girls laughing, pages being turned and you start to finally relax. 

Xx

"Yo! Young people! Can we all sit down please?" You try to call over the loud laughter that's echoing through the dining hall of the hotel.

The teenagers ignore you, too engrossed in their excited chatter as they try to find somewhere to sit. With a huff you, sit down in your seat, content to wait them out until they quiet down.

"Who wants to come to the state library tomorrow instead of star labs?" They all turn, staring at Jason in shock, "be a great place to learn to be quiet." All the shocked eyes turn to a glare as they each take a seat and lower their chatting. 

"Thanks." You say as Jason takes his seat next to you, "they can get a bit too loud sometimes. Like they're worried they Wong be heard over each other and-"

"And it gets louder and louder." He finished for you, "Yeah I know, you should've heard my class after we watched 10 things I hate about you. Swear they'd been possessed by demons or something."

"Oh I love that movie. Is that why they came into my lab and tried to put their fingers in the bunsen burners?"

'Yeah, most likely. They were quite taken with the main characters."

"Me too, I had such a crush on him when I was a teen."

"Oh really? You got a thing for bad boys?"

"Not at all," you shake your head, "but a good boy who looks bad? That's every teenage girl's dream."

"Did you grow out if it?" He leans in, his fingers slipping up the exposed patch of skin on your arm. He catches your eye and when your eyes dart down to his hand on your thigh, then to the teenagers around you he pulls back, clearing his throat, "It's a great way to get them interested in Shakespeare. I've got she's the man ready to go next, I can't wait for them to see it. They're going to lose their minds.

"What's your favourite kind of cheese?" You laugh, your shoulder brushing against his as you rock back on your chair.

"Why miss, are you hitting on me?" He says as he turns to you blocking the kids from you and with how big he is it almost feels like you're alone at the table.

"I-" You reel your blood start to heat up "- it's from the movie, right?" He stares into your eyes.and you feel other parts of you warming up as well "- it's a joke."

"Shame." He leans back into you, his arm resting on the back of your chair, "my favourite cheese is brie. Soft cheeses are melt in your mouth good." He glances down, his eyes following the line of your tongue as you lick your lips, "but you know what."

"What?" 

"It's hard to find a good cheese," he sits back slightly, putting some air between you, "they always expire or are too crisp or I can't see them in my fridge. Somehow I always miss seeing the cheese right in front of me."

'Hmm," you cough, trying to regain your composure in front of 30 kids and the man that's starting as you like you're a snack, "deep thoughts on cheese then, cool. Cool. Cool."

The waitstaff start to bring out everyone's meals as you settle yourself and you let out a tiny thank fuck. Readjusting your seat to put a bit more distance between you, unfortunately your leg brushes against Jason's and you feel the sting lighting zap zing up your leg. Shit. 

The noise of the kids fills up the room again and you find yourself grateful for all their questions about tomorrow needing something go distract you from the handsome teacher beside you. From the way he keeps trying to subtly look at you and the way your only noticing this because you're doing the same.

The rest of dinner goes by smoothly, he's still very close. His arm occasionally brushing against yours and your knees touching the whole night. But with Mason in front of you, telling you how excited he is for tomorrow you find some peace in his distraction.

Xx

"Cute pjs," you remark, pulling back the covers on your bed and setting eyes on the.man walking out of your shared bathroom, "you look like a giant teddy."

"Yeah," he pulls on the brown button up that's trying its best not to pop open, "was kind of last minute. I didn't think it would be appropriate for me to sleep in my sweats, with someone else in the room."

"I really don't care. I'm so tried, we're whatever you want."

"Maybe I want to look like a teddy bear," he moves towards his bed, his body squishing to fit through the tight space, "maybe someone will want to cuddle me." 

"Wh-ye-" you cough out, jumping into bed in an attempt to hide your face, "goodnight."

"Good night," he whispers back, slipping into his own bed. He sees you facing away pulling a pillow from under his head he turns to his side, wrapping his arms around it. He hopes he dreams about cuddling you, about being your big teddy bear. If he can't have it in real life, a dream would be sufficient.

Chapter 3

Tags

@ilikw @bubbles-incorrect-yb @megumisbabymama @nutmeg030 @gone-batty-fics @lovelyrissa @igotanidea @parkjammys @princessbl0ss0m @prettyacademia00

[lesbiansanemi]

Please, please, PLEASE throw us a bone and give us a little insight on what you plan to do with the whole Kyojuro/Akaza debacle in your demon slayer Au 😢

Hehe, I assume you mean in the role swap AU? But yeah, sure thing! Anything to ramble about Kyo and Akaza lmao

So, everyone has already seen their first meeting with Akaza digging up the Kamados' graves in an attempt to find out how/why they were murdered, and he got caught by Kyojuro, who was not low key at all about the fact that he knows something about Tanjiro and Nezuko, thus confirming they were both very much alive, when Akaza had been told they were both dead by Muzan (well, and Douma)

I do have to admit that Kyojuro and Akaza won't actually get another interaction until the Mugen train though.

However, as Kyojuro has already made very clear, he is going to be vehemently searching for Akaza so he can convince him to become a demon and turn on the Corps, because, well, he likes him! Tamayo has also given her blessing for this, which means Akaza is officially off limits to any Kizuki, they're not allowed to harm him in any way

On Akaza's side of things, his encounter with Kyojuro only made him more suspicious. Not only because of the vague claims of knowing what happened to the Kamados, but Tanjiro's body was missing from the grave, and the Kamados were beheaded. It obviously wasn't a demon who killed them despite what he was told. And given the fact that Kie always suspected the Corps hid something about Nezuko's "death" it doesn't take Akaza long to become suspicious of the Corps, and to start investigating the Kamado family's murders in earnest.

It eventually lands him in some deep shit with the Corps when he goes poking around some things they didn't want him to know about (namely, some stuff with a certain younger Shinazugawa bro). Akaza has always been kept on a tight leash by the Corps despite being a Hashira, and this ends with Muzan dictating every single thing he does and monitoring everything he does. But he doesn't want to waste other Hashira's time to babysit Akaza, so he eventually gets sent on the Mugen train mission with Gyutaro, Rui, and Susumaru, all of whom are tsuguko to various Hashira, so despite Akaza being ranked above them, they're expected to report back on every single thing he does and are trusted to do so considering some of their... unique circumstances

This would all be fine, but Makomo has been eating humans left and right on the Mugen train, and Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Inosuke were sent to learn hunting techniques from her.

This leads to Akaza having a confrontation with the Kamados, learning both his former students are not only alive, but are demons themselves, and are working intimately with the Kizuki. His world shatters.

And when he almost kills Makomo... she panics and calls for backup.

Considering his favorite Hashira who he's been looking for so diligently has resurfaced, Kyojuro shows up. He and Akaza get their extremely homoerotic fight scene, that mostly consists of Kyojuro begging him to become a demon, while Akaza demands to know what the Kizuki did to the Kamado sibs to make them turn out this way. The fight eventually ends with Kyojuro very obviously sparing Akaza's life, and leaving him be, though with a heavy warning that if he doesn't consider the offer to turn against the Corps, Akaza's life will be forfeit to the Kizuki soon enough.

And to make things even worse for Akaza... Gyutaro, Ume, Rui, and Susumaru all witnessed a Kizuki spare his life. They witnessed Akaza fail as a Hashira, as he should have killed Kyojuro, or died trying himself. Both of them walking away from that fight shouldn't have been an option, and when they report that to the Corps, the very last bit of Akaza's luck with Muzan runs out. He's as good as a dead man.

Kyojuro knows this. After all, he was a slayer himself. He knows how the Corps operates, how their punishments function. He knows Akaza won't keep his life much longer if he stays with the Corps, so then resolves to bring him to the Infinity Palace, whether Akaza is willing or not. He'll convince him to like it eventually!

The immediate aftermath of the Mugen train is where the current installment of the AU wraps up, and it will be followed by what I have lovingly titled "the renkaza interlude" in my outline document haha. It's basically focused on Akaza and Kyojuro's developing relationship after these incredibly intense two first meetings, as well as Akaza's relationship with the Kamado sibs, and Genya. On top of this, Akaza is forced to reckon with the fact that Koyuki and Keizo's deaths weren't what he once thought, leaving Kyojuro and Shinobu to help him investigate their murders, all while whispering sweet nothings about betraying the Corps that are getting harder and harder to ignore

I'm very excited for that installment, but I do have to get through shadow of sunlight first, as well as write up Akaza's backstory for how he even ended up a Hashira haha

But I do hope that was enough of a bone for you!

[highsviolets]

waterfall inquiry: javier peña x reader

pairing: javier peña x young analyst!reader

summary: words should not make you feel so much.

warnings: age gap. kissing. and - the worst of all - f e e l i n g s. (soft ones)

a/n: [edited 10 June ‘21] this was supposed to be three parts...and now there’s more. I regret nothing :) 

[next] [series masterlist] [main masterlist] * gif: @anakin-skywalker​

“Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name”

 “as kingfishers catch fire” | gerard manley hopkins

Neither of you should be here. Strictly speaking, at least.

The Embassy maintains regulations about these sorts of things, you’ve heard in jagged claims that coat the walls in a sickly iridescent sheen. Not the pretty kind that makes glitter sparkle. No, it’s the perverse shine — pyrite and oil spills on tepid water and those cheap kaleidoscopes they sell at county fairs.

Everything, it seems, is whispered here. Here at the Embassy, anyway; Colombia itself is a messy, irreverent place. A dreamlike people, an altered state where God acts as the intermediary between man and demons, not angels.

Perhaps that is why the Embassy is always quiet. The shrill clang of a phone ringing makes everyone start, fearful of keeping demons at bay. Even the PR reps speak in hushed tones, the words soft and soothing like cotton balls dipped in baby oil gliding across skin — crafting press releases each word slotted for a specific purpose, hand-picked with evolutionary precision.

It harasses you, stinging pricks drawing blood from beneath the surface of your bronze skin. Words should move freely, you believe. Like the way the Mississippi runs in during the spring melt: coarse, unimpeded, roiling in caught light, caressing the riverbanks as it soaks up all the world gives it — thrusting forward after a winter fraught in immobility, reveling in flinty purpose.

There’s a difference between words of fabrication and phrases of culled authenticity — the ones that stream from bleeding hearts, bound tightly by shoves and glares and hands that can’t keep still. Hands that grasp for something tangible. Anfractuous reminders of why they must be so careful, why they must keep the truth of themselves limited to brief instances of throwing back light or heat.

There is one man, you know, who thinks like you do — and he laughs at the fact that your jobs depend upon other people being careless with their words. Bandying about locations, codenames, numerals, what to buy at the grocery store. You can almost hear him, that marmalade voice spreading over you, eyes gleaming in smoke and fervor: yeah, carelessness gives us both a job. But it hurts, too.

Tonight, though. When you both are here when you really shouldn’t, you really fucking shouldn’t, not when you’ve been dreaming about him for…for how long? How long have you been in this country that makes a mockery of verisimilitude? Long enough, apparently, for everything else to blur when you look at him, for you to have memorized the way his shirts pull tight over his back when he’s leaned over his desk.

Eyes climb up the length of his torso, the slope of it heightened by the way he’s bracing his weight on his hands. His palms are spread wide and god as much as you think you want to stop the way your mouth runs dry at the sight his large palm, you can’t.

A sigh leaks out. The man in question spares a glance your way, matching the twist of his neck to the cigarette he brings to his lips. “You alright?” he mumbles around the thing, and you grip the desk’s edge a little harder at the sound, at the sight, of him in his element. His exhale — a finely tuned purse of the lips, discreetly directed away from your work — should feel the same as your sigh, but it doesn’t. It washes over you instead, and you rock in the way his existence ebbs and flows in and out of your person. Easy. Like breathing. Like all you have to do is breathe, and he’ll be there.

There are stories about him. When you had been sent down to Columbia as a junior analyst after the death of Escobar, you had quickly dived into the mythos the man. How could you not, when he was everywhere, the scent and swagger of him drawing eyes from every corner of the barricaded building?

The others — the replacements, someone had once termed the batch of new personnel flooding the country to fight Cali — had told you the stories; where they had heard them, you weren’t sure. Huddled over tepid drinks in the bar after work, blazers shrugged off and shirtsleeves rolled up, you had let them regale you of how he fought for years to bring down Escobar, only to be in Miami when his partner did the deed. How he fucks his informants; although, one of them admitted with a sigh, he hadn’t been known to do that in a while. How he was ruthless in the pursuit of justice. A fucking legend, man, someone had crowed about the older man, tongue loose with overpriced alcohol.

And through it all, there was you, eyeing the man himself across the bar. The embrace of his hands against the whiskey glass, the way he barely shuddered at the consuming burn of the stuff when he tossed it back in a behavioral gesture. He seems sad, is what you had thought. Whatever opposite of sad existed in this opulent measure of time by which you both abided — that’s what you wanted to do for him. To make him not-sad. He is aged, perhaps, but not old, rather like someone who could be young if they could shed the pallid skin of responsibility.

But you can’t play God in this country of fallen beings. Being consumes you instead, devolving into an obsession, hanging onto the ledge of yourself — gripping humanity and slicing rocks and graphite that stains your skin even as it slides away, too smooth to be held in hands that ache, swollen, from typing up reports detailing the tumbled-gravel sins of humanity.

He likes you. You think he might, anyway. He consults you before any of the others, and once or twice he’s dragged some Columbian officer into your tiny workspace, asking you to confirm the intelligence on whatever operation he’s desperate to get approved so he can do something. He asks with words that curl up and over themselves like whitecaps, one hand resting on his hip as he nods along to your recitation.

But it’s really his eyes you watch in these moments, aching in fluttering hope whenever they rest on yours. Javier Peña’s eyes when he visits you in your workspace are pleading thermoses of life under sterile fluorescent lights. He likes to send you a half-smile and a nod when you’re finished, tossing them over his shoulder as he escorts the man back to the Ambassador’s office. You are both too good at your job not to love it in some sick & twisted way, and he knows.

Other times he simply drops by. Leaning against your cubicle, he fiddles with a cigarette and chats with you as you work, asking questions that he knows he’s the only one examining.

Talk to me about the families of la cartel de Cali, he mutters, the hoarse sound deep and aching in your gut. About their mothers, daughters, sons, cousins, in-laws. Is anyone sick? Do they want to go on vacation? What’s the drama of the week, no, don’t laugh, — he smiles, here, barely, the delicate minutiae of the expression an external revelation of his magnetism — there always is in families. They’re human just like us. And that’s when he sighs, and looks across the hall, where in his office there’s a diagram of the Cali bosses splayed over the wall. Yeah...they’re like us.

Javier makes a slowly forms a habit of it, of stopping by your cubical and wrapping you in currents of charisma and truth. He does you a solid, too, bringing you to the attention of your superiors when he mentions your diligence. And you repay him in kind, taking care to slip into his office with new intelligence before the brass gets word. You tell yourself it’s simple mentorship. Mere patronage. He’s paying it forward, helping the young analyst get ahead in their career. These meetings are nothing to him, and they ought to be equally as empty to yourself. It’s just exchanges of information. Conversation between colleagues.

Of course, that doesn’t explain why you look forward to his fingers touching yours when you lend him a pen, or, when he makes some half-whispered joke in Spanish, it makes you shiver. Or the pride that blossoms in your chest, embracing you all soft and balmy, when he considers your words. He handles them like he does his favorite cigarettes, rolling them between his fingers, palming their weight, letting the texture seep into his skin before he lights them on fire.

You drop your pen a lot; he brings a finger to his mouth in thought. You don’t see the way he smiles when you do that, grinning at the muttered curse and roll of your eyes. And he decides that he likes the way you laugh about it; poking fun at your own mistakes, the skin that matches his own gleaming in the warm sun.

He can never do that. Perhaps he should? But he doesn’t make mistakes like that, toss-away interruptions of intended action. The mistakes he makes get people killed. All the more reason to keep checking with you, he reasons, to double-insure the intelligence. Can’t have another mess. And he likes to hear your laugh. Nothing wrong with that, he says. Nothing wrong with something that makes his heart stir and entices the eyes hidden behind yellow aviators to trace the length of your neck a little longer than strictly necessary when you throw your head back in unmarked joy.

And tonight, in his office? Tonight he seems melancholic again, like the first time you saw him across the bar. He keeps shifting his weight, one hand on his hip, and then on the table, and then shrugging off both his jacket and his tie and tossing them unceremoniously onto the couch, limbs extending listlessly. It’s as close to careless as he gets.

Or maybe it’s just the exhaustion fusing into you both. You feel slow and hazy, torn between staring at him and bleary eyes glaring at the map beneath his fingers. if you just look at it longer, you think, you can will it all to fall into place. and maybe if you did he would kiss you, and maybe he would kiss you the way he has always wanted to live.

Maybe if you traced your tongue along his exposed collarbone, penning of licks of hope in the space where his words seem to get caught, where his perpetually open collar leaves him defenseless to an onslaught of physical impressions…maybe then, he’d exhale in blessed adoration, taken outside of himself for just one moment.

He’s asking you a question. You alright? He does that a lot, you realize. Checks in with you. When you answer, he laughs — those delightful eyes seeping warmth into your weary bones as they crinkle in a smile — and he reminds you to call him Javier. He — Javier — has rebuked you at least three times tonight alone, but you’ve yet to oblige his request. If you do, if you let your tongue caress his sacred name and rest in its life-sodden weight, you fear…

you do not know what you fear. you do not know how saying his name will shift the tides in your life. but you know that you will remain forever anchored to him, tethered to his lunar opacity.

“What’s this?” you ask instead, shifting to rest against the desk. You’re beside him now, hip adjacent to his as you look up at him. Latent smoke hovers overhead, and locks of his hair have come undone after the long hours of work and now rest over his forehead small waves. It looks like it aches, being so out of place, and yet so distinctly him. Caught. Destined to arch over his tanned skin, all the while lingering in a place where it should not. Not here, anyway. Not tonight, in his office, far after everyone else has gone home.

“What’s what?” Javier rejoins, distracted, still bent over the desk, still bracing his weight on those fingers.

Rustling papers catch his attention, and he twists to meet your gaze. “This.” You point to the unfamiliar word, stamped out in standard font. “My Spanish is decent, but I’ve never seen this word before.”

The wrinkles behind the shield of his fallen hair press together as he cranes his neck, adjusting his stance to read the word on the paper you thrust in his direction. It clears rapidly though — the visage sailing and unfurling itself when he absorbs the story hidden in-between letters on a page.

He repeats the word back to you, leaning into the sound the way he leans into you, inching closer in his explanation. You stare at his lips, completely captivated — his tongue catching between his teeth — the purse of his lips — the rearrangement of his jaw as it conforms to the aerodynamics of structured syllables.

“Strictly speaking,” he says, eyes roving your face, deep and dark, “it means elf, or spirit. Something ethereal. It’s used in stories a lot.” The words are smooth, smokey, whiskey-like as you let them drip down your skin, the insides of your thighs. “Entiendes?”

Your body temperature rises. You can feel it — the way your mouth’s run dry and the paper’s slippery in your grip. Did his voice drop lower when he used the familiar form of the verb, not the formal? You think it did. Oh god, he’s so close, he could just extend a hand across your body and it could rest on your hip. You had never really noticed his height either, always in heels. Tonight, though, the heels are in the corner with his jacket and tie and you realize that he’s inches above you, yet somehow still within reach.

“What’s” — you swallow thickly, desperate to remain professional despite your wide eyes, the tongue tracing your lower lip — “what’s the non-strict definition of the word?”

He gives you one of his trademark smirks. “It can also mean,” he says, “enchanting. Charming. For someone or something to be magical.”

Nodding slowly, you drop your eyes down to the paper again, desperate to avoid his gaze. It follows you, watching your eyes hide even as you adjust to be ever-closer, a bare foot extending outward and brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Say it,” you hear him urge, your head bolting up, incredulous. And you try, you really do, but it’s so new and unfamiliar and you’re so goddamn nervous with him looking at you, that you fuck it up. Words are but the vessels by which emotions themselves are expressed, so maybe the act of speaking should not make you feel all by itself. But it does — oh, god, it does, and you feel like you’ve shrunk in the process, dwarfed by this man with rolled up shirt sleeves wrapped around muscular forearms, who grins impishly around his cigarette.

“Not quite.” He stubs out the thing, and to your surprise, brings hand to your jaw, cupping your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger. “Say it again.”

“No, I can’t; I..“ you protest, and for what? because you don’t want him near you? no, that’s not it, but you’re being branded by his touch all the same.

“Say it again,” he commands again, more gently this time, his words accompanied by an encouraging nod.

You comply readily, sounding out the syllables. His strong fingers manipulate your movements, guiding you in pronouncing the difficult phrase. It’s forceful and noble, a tender yet compelling influence that teaches you how to wrap yourself in the meaning of the word as much the word itself. You’re tingling; is it from the thrill of achieving or from his sturdy hand against your bare skin?

He doesn’t back away when you’re finished speaking, but holds your stare. Dimly, you register the steady crescendo in your breathing. He’s not immune to your proximity either: his Adam’s apple bobs as he pushes down the deficit of hope flooding oppressive maxim of his presence. Times stretches as you remain caught in his hold, coursing through you, carrying you downstream in brash, coarse recklessness. Are the emotions you swim in those eyes yours, or his, or some measure of both?

The pads of his fingers migrate, drifting to rest along your cheek and tumble into his touch like a moth to flame, or fish to water, or whatever trite phrase people use to make sense of such profound belonging.

Javier is mesmerized with the way his fingertips trace your cheekbones, the shell of your ear, along your jaw, returning to outline your lips.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice scrapes along your bliss, and you force your eyes open to see that he’s moved even closer, closer-than-close, so tight against you that you’re nearly leaning back over the desk.

“Do you want me to?” His eyes are dark and still now, but for the way they’re trained on yours as you whisper fate into existence.

“No — fuck — I shouldn’t, I —“ his jaw shifts again, this time in agitation, but it is you who does the deed, cutting him off, reaching out to tug on his collar. The action pulls him forward, pressing himself against you, caging you between the desk and the broadness of his firm chest.  And you do know it’s firm now, at last slipping your hands underneath that truant fabric and gliding along his smooth skin. His hands find your waist, gripping your hips as he meets your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

He — Javier, now — kisses you a single-minded intent, letting his lips slide over yours lazily, over and over, memorizing the imprint of you against his mouth. One hand drifts upward again, cupping your cheek as he tilts your head slightly, letting his tongue delve into your mouth and trace your teeth. It makes you gasp, and you retaliate with a gentle nip to his lower lip, silently begging for more. Javier moans into your mouth, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

Tightening his grip on your waist, Javier lifts you, placing you firmly on the desk, feet dangling a few inches from the floor. You know what he wants before he even has to ask and you give it him readily, wrapping your legs around his waist. Javier’s weight conforms to your own, molding against your body as you press into him, back arching in your submersion to his touch.

He is so eager; his kisses drench you in a deluge of incubated affection interspersed with need. Grasping at his shoulder, you pull him even closer, your other hand anxiously fiddling with his buttons as you sigh, reveling in the storm of his attention. Slowly, painstakingly, driven by a clamoring need for oxygen, he drags himself away from you, parting slowly, ever-loth to break the kiss.

You can’t help the shy smile that dances around your lips when you look up at him, standing above you. His chest is heaving, out of breath, hair somehow even more mussed than it was before. You suppose you can touch it now, so you do, two fingers brushing aside the fringe on his forehead.

Time, and space, and whatever else this stuff is made of have prevented from this alternate reality. until now. it has broken through the dam and caught you up in its awakening, broad and unrepentant.

Javier captures your hand as it lowers, pressing a kiss to the side of your palm. He’s so tender it makes you ache, and you wonder if this is why he stopped fucking his CIs. He requires something more intangible than what they could give him. “Javier,” you whisper.

He hums a question, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles as he watches you consider him, emotion lapping at the shores of unkempt eyes.

“You asked me to use your name. Earlier, I mean.” Should you feel embarrassed? Kissing a man several years your senior? Maybe you should. But you don’t. There’s a cordial warmth spreading through you, bolstered by his gentle touch, the outward connection of him and you that’s been built through months of inanimate remembrances.

“I know.” Javier nods and leans in again, his breath rippling across your skin. “Can you say it one more time, princesa? They say you need to do something three times” — a kiss to your cheek — “to make sure you really —“ a kiss to your forehead — “understand” — a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The words fall out of your mouth, splashes of unrestrained affection dappling each letter. “Duende, Javier,” you murmur against his lips. “Duende.”

javi tags: @frannyzooey @yespolkadotkitty @rentskenobi @goldenkenobi ​ @goldafterglow @teaofpeach ​ @justrunamok ​ @huliabitch @cri-me-a-river @littlevodika @catsnkooks @themarvelousbear @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @ladytrashbird @princessxkenobi @roxypeanut @dracos-jedi-marvel @a-seeker-of-imagination​ // taglist link in bio!

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 23~

Chapter 22

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*

*

-------Part 1-------

Akihito: “I want to apologize to you. You can hate me all you want. One more curse on me now won’t make much difference.”

(What are you going to me....?)

A gently outstretched hand touches my hair as gently as if he was guilty....and then quickly moves away.

Akihito-sama stood up and his smile was already gone.

Akihito: "-----Yasuchika. Give her the treatment as planned."

Yasuchika: "....As you wish."

.....................

Yoritomo: "Kagetoki, have you received any new information?"

Kagetoki: "Just now."

During the march of the main body of the Shogunate, Kagetoki, who was talking to a messenger soldier, lined up next to Yoritomo's horse.

Kagetoki: "It is not good news. The advance party, which has reached its destination, has begun to fight the Rebels ahead of us."

After a moment's silence, Yoritomo processes the information without expressing any emotion.

Yoritomo: "Is Yoshino safe?"

Kagetoki: "Tamamo intervened, but she was taken away by the enemy demon and Yasuchika-dono. He and Kurama, who was also at the scene of the battle, will join us."

Yoritomo: "-----Kurama. I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing."

Kagetoki: "At least, the Imperial Court seems to have planned to kill Kurama on the spot. By making Tamamo the forerunner, we were able to throw a wrench in their calculations. Let us widen the gap little by little, and completely destroy the intentions of the Court."

Yoritomo: "I get it. Kagetoki, you're in your element. When we get to the battlefield, you'll be in charge of finding out what's going on and controlling the troops."

Kagetoki: "Understood. What about Yoritomo-sama?"

Yoritomo: "It's obvious. I take every trick."

..............

At the same time----The Rebels were also hurrying their horses towards the battlefield.

Benkei: "You don't look good, Yoshitsune-sama."

Yoshitsune: "....Benkei."

Benkei, who had come running up, was the first to sense that something was wrong with Yoshitsune.

Benkei: "Are you worried about Kurama?"

Yoshitsune: "I can't hide anything from you."

Giving up on hiding, Yoshitsune shrugs his shoulder.

Yoshitsune: "The one incident in which the envoy with Yoshino and the advance party was attacked by the Shogunate was a trap set by the Imperial Court. I know Kurama's life is safe because our deal is not broken....I can't help but have a bad feeling about all of this."

Benkei cajoles, at Yoshitsune's muttering.

Benkei: "We will always help Kurama no matter what. He's one of us."

Yoshitsune: ".....Yeah, thank you Benkei."

Benkei: "Kurama is lucky to be thought of so highly by Yoshitsune-sama."

Yoshitsune smiles faintly at Benkei's sorrowful words.

Yoshitsune: "I'm sure I'm the one who's getting lucky. Kurama taught me how to fight when I was just a child. He gave me strength. That also led me to a path where I met you guys."

Benkei: "....Yoshitsune-sama."

On the back of his horse, Yoshitsune looked quietly into the distance.

Yoshitsune: "I owe Kurama too much. I'm always trying to figure out how to pay it back."

....................

(...Nnn....it hurts...what..is happening to me now?)

I struggled to keep my head above water.

(Yasuchika-san...did some kind of....magic spell...on me after that....)

Ibuki: "You'd better take it easy, Yoshino."

--------Part 2-------

Ibuki: "You'd better take it easy, Yoshino. Your body is not normal right now.”

Ibuki was looking down at me as I lay in the tent.

Yoshino: “Yasuchika..san..and  Akihito..san...”

Ibuki: “Yasuchika is no longer useful for the time being because of the large amount of spell applied on you and Akihito is busy planning and preparing his own traps. If you need someone to talk to, you’ll be glad to know that I’m available.”

When I looked down at the body, I saw a mysterious purple thread of light wrapped around it.

It bites and creaks when I move.

Yoshino: “What did they do to me?”

Ibuki: “Curious? You’re going to be our puppet?”

Ibuki wipes the sweat from my forehead with a hand towel.

Ibuki: “Yasuchika’s spells seem to be slowly getting used to your body, I think. Soon your powers will be out of control.”

(Out of control!?)

Ibuki: “You can’t normally handle a demonic power past human capacity. Do you know about that?”

Wanting a bit of information, I answered his question.

Yoshino: “....If I draw out too much magic power, my own body will be destroyed.”

(That’s why I can’t use foxfire or Kotodama. All I can do is ‘take away another demon’s powers.’)

I repeated the same words Tamamo taught me, in my head.

Then, an unpleasant premonition ran cold on my spine.

Ibuki: “Yasuchika’s power breaks the circuits of your power and at the same time stops your body from disintegrating. In return, you’ll surrender control of your body to us.”

Yoshino: “So that’s your puppet....?”

Ibuki: “Doesn’t that sound fun...? You’ll also be able to try out different fox powers lavishly.”

(....No, it isn’t.)

Yoshino: “You’ll also make me attack my allies, won’t you?”

Ibuki: “Not just your allies, but the Rebels too. The Imperial Court wants the Shogunate and the Rebels to fall together. You are a pawn in the process.”

(...... I can’t allow that to happen.)

But the fact is that all I can do is lay here and I can’t even lift a finger.

I could feel the purple light slowly seeping into my body, like despair.

(I know intuitively. When this light is extinguished, the process is complete and my demonic powers will be out of control.)

(Is there any way to escape?)

Ibuki: “Want some help?”

Yoshino: “Eh?”

Ibuki: “If you make a deal with me, I’ll release you from this pain.”

A sweet whisper strikes my ear as if my thoughts were read.

Yoshino: “What’s its......the deal?”

Ibuki: “We’ll lure Yoritomo and Yoshitsune out first and kill them. Even though you’re yet to be our puppet, your abilities are more accurate and powerful when they are in your agreement. If you crush the heads of both armies, the limbs will stop. The rest of the army will be spared.”

(Kill Yoritomo and Yoshitsune to save many others....?)

Ibuki: “What do you say? It’s easy to kill two people than to kill two whole armies, right? The others will surely understand. You will be the hero who saves the worst.”

I purse my lips and think of all the possibilities.

And----

Yoshino: “I’m not in the deal.”

Ibuki: “......Ohh. Can I ask why?”

--------Part 3--------

Yoshino: “I’m not in the deal.”

Ibuki: “......Ohh. Can I ask why?”

Yoshino: “Kurama told me once that you have a habit of taking pleasure in corrupting people.”

(From what I could see,...Ibuki took pleasure in hurting Kurama.)

Yoshino: “You Ibuki...you can’t be trusted.”

Ibuki’s eyes narrowed bewitchingly as he tests me.

Ibuki: “Are you really going to believe the Rebels and Kurama? Who is a demon like me? I suppose he’s a bit like me when it comes to natural inclinations. He has also been toying with you.”

(I can’t deny that. But still.)

Yoshino: “....Kurama never lies. Not to others and not to himself. Kurama, who was eager to challenge Tamamo, left you. I think it proves that Ibuki has done something very wrong to Kurama.”

When I have finally finished, I exhaled long enough to relieve the physical pain.

Yoshino: “Even if Yoritomo and Yoshitsune die, this war will not stop. Ibuki knew that and tried to deceive me, right?”

Ibuki: “-----I’m listening. Go on.”

Ibuki’s eyes turned to me for the first time, as if he was seriously intrigued.

Yoshino: “Because the two of them have such a great influence....If they die, the army will run wild with sorrow and anger, and this war will burn until everyone is ashes.”

(In the Shogunate and even in the Rebels....I’ve seen with my own eyes how many people adore the two of them.)

Ibuki: “So that’s it. Apparently, you’re not as ordinary as you look. Ordinary people lose their cool in the face of confusion and despair if they are induced by sweet talk.”

Yoshino: “What...are you up to...now?”

I glared at Ibuki.

Ibuki: “You must be in a lot of pain, but you’re strong. I like you. I can’t wait to see your face when you cry.”

(....He looks so serious.)

His eyes remind me of Kurama, though they don’t look much alike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. Remember Kurama’s face.

2. Remember Kurama’s voice.

3. Remember Kurama’s strength.(+4/+4)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(------Kurama.)

When I call your name in my heart, I feel strangely courageous.

(-----Kurama does not give in to anyone.)

(As long as the longing I had that day lives on in my heart, my heart will not die either.)

Ibuki: “What happened? Why are you suddenly so quiet?”

Yoshino: “I....will never despair in your presence.”

Ibuki: “What?”

(I’m really trying hard to hold on to my frustration.)

I feel like I’m going crazy like my body is being transformed even as I’m doing this.

(At least I want to have my heart as my own.)

Yoshino: “I will prove to you the strength of humans that I believe in.”

(The man I love, my enemy-----to live a life without shame for Kurama.)

I looked at Ibuki as if to challenge him while feeling the pain running through my body.

Ibuki: “.................. Interesting. Then let’s play that game.”

A mysterious heat lights up behind Ibuki’s eyes.

The usual sarcastic smile had disappeared.

Ibuki: “Show me what you’re really made of.”

--------Part 4-------

Ibuki: “Show me what you’re really made of.”

(Is this your true face...Ibuki?)

I couldn’t help but notice the serious expression on the demon’s face who loves to play with humans.

......................................

Ibuki: “Do you know what you’re gonna do here?”

Sometime later I was carried out of the tent and onto the battlefield.

Yoshino: “Let...go...”

Ibuki: “You should enjoy your limited freedom while you can. Be grateful that I’m helping you.”

It’s frustrating, but my body can’t stand up on its own anymore.

(....If I had been on the battlefield, I would have been irretrievably injured....)

Ibuki: “Oh look, aren’t they Shogunate soldiers. Let’s kill them first.”

Yoshino: “.....!”

Shogunate soldier 1: “Yoshino-san!?”

The other side recognized me and rushes towards me.

Yoshino: “No! DON’T COME CLOSER!!

Ibuki puts his palm on my back as I scream.

(I feel...hot....)

I could see an intricate pattern glowing on my chest.

Ibuki: “Attack!”

(I won’t....)

Shogunate soldier 1: “Yoshino-san, what are you...?”

Yoshino: “RUN AWAY! NOW!!”

With a sensation of weakness in the whole body, a blue flame appeared in the air.

It lights up everyone’s face with spitefulness.

(Foxfire-----)

Shogunate soldier: “What the hell!?”

Yoshino: “DON’T COME...CLOSER...”

Shaking my head, I could see the silvery hair swaying from the corner of my eye.

(I hate this. I hate this. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I hate this!)

The bones scream when I remind myself to dam up the overflowing spell.

The trajectory of the exploding foxfire just barely deflected and gouged the ground beneath the soldiers’ feet.

Ibuki: “....Did you deflect it on your own?”

(It worked this time...)

(But even I can make foxfire. That’s crazy----)

(If I hit any one of them, they’ll die.)

I realized the horrors of Yasuchika-san’s spell.

Through the still rising cloud of dust, we could see the soldiers running away.

(....! Some are limping. Even though they escaped a direct hit.)

When I got that far into the situation, I reached the limit of being uptight and fell to my knees.

Ibuki pulled me up and holds my body.

Ibuki: “Are you using your willpower to overthrow the spell?”

Yoshino: “Ibuki said...the accuracy and power of the spell...will be greater if the intentions are the same. So...I’ll keep resisting...”

Ibuki: “Yasuchika’s spell is solid. No matter how hard you fight, one day you will be defeated. If you resist, the spell will put you in place and your body will collapse.”

(I’m scared...when I think I’d die...)

Yoshino: “.....But it’s better than giving up.”

Ibuki: “......You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

Ibuki frowns as if he was been caught off guard.

Ibuki: “Who are you? Where in this body do you get this energy?”

Yoshino: “I’m just a human. So I’ll always do the best I can.”

My hair, wet with cold sweat, sticks to my cheeks, which is depressing.

Ibuki: “-----We’re moving.”

The frustration of being held like a real doll, unable to move, was overwhelming.

Ibuki puts me on a horse and we rode through the battlefield......

.....................

Ibuki: “I think you’ve reached your limit.”

Yoshino: “Haa......ah......”

(What...was I doing...?)

(Fight...no, attack everyone..)

(How long...has..passed..?)

We met both the Shogunate and the Rebel soldiers on the way, and each time I attacked them with foxfire just barely managing to deflect it.

It’s strange that I was able to keep conscious.

Yoshino: “I haven’t killed....anyone...yet, right?”

Ibuki: “You don’t even know what you’re doing anymore, do you?”

I clenched my teeth and glared at Ibuki.

Yoshino: “Answer me!”

Ibuki: “....you didn’t.”

(Thank god...)

(I can still be me.)

Ibuki: “You’re a strange woman.”

Yoshino: “I’ve heard that before....from someone....else....”

Ibuki: “Huh?”

I muttered, floating in the heat.

(Oh, I see.)

Yoshino: “....Kurama.”

Ibuki: “.......do you like him that much?”

--------Part 5--------

Ibuki: “Do you like him that much?”

Yoshino: “I don’t like him...”

Ibuki: “Don’t lie.”

(Because words like that don’t do it justice.)

Yoshino: “I love him.”

Ibuki: “....................”

I heard Ibuki gasp faintly.

Ibuki: “You’re so----”

(Ibuki?)

As if hesitating, Ibuki’s hand reached out to touch my cheek and then-----

Yoshino: “Nn....ah....”

Ibuki: “----Time’s up.”

A burning heat spread from my chest.

Ibuki: “The spell is complete. And look, the main body of the Shogunate is also approaching.”

As I look out, I see a large group of people on horseback down the cliff.

(Stop! Stop! Please---)

Ibuki: “Our game is over. Get comfortable, Yoshino.”

His voice sounded even gentler.

(.....I can’t control it anymore.)

Yoshino: “Don’t come...”

The foxfire scorches the sky and falls down the cliff.

(Is that all I can do?)

(Don’t give up yet. I don’t want to end my life in disgrace.)

These thoughts were like a flashback to my time in the Rebel mansion.

Yes, that was when I was almost killed by soldiers who had a grudge against the Shogunate-----

I was about to give up everything when I was met with the cold fury of Kurama.

------FLASHBACK------

Yoshino: “Help! Kurama—-”

Kurama: “That’s right. Beg me from the bottom if your heart.”

-----FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(Help me!)

Before I could think, I inhaled and shouted in a dry voice.

Yoshino: “Help, Kurama!”

A moment later----a gust of wind forces the foxfires away.

Ibuki: “....! No way.”

(This wind----)

Even the remnants of the foxfire that exploded in mid-air were blown sky-high.

Black feathers fluttered with the wind that rose from the bottom of the cliff.

Kurama: “-----You wished well, Yoshino.”

Yoshino: “Ah....”

(Is it for real....?)

I struggled to see through my blurred vision, hoping that the fever and pain cause me to have an illusion.

Ibuki: “....Are you out of your mind? You’re injured.”

Kurama: “Don’t touch her.”

As he lands on the cliff, Kurama made his way, while opening his fan.

Kurama: “If you touch her, I’ll kill you. Even if you don’t touch her, I’ll kill you.”

The wind turned into a deadly blade and attacked Ibuki all at once.

Ibuki: “It’s too good to come at this moment. This is reality, Kurama!”

Ibuki’s greatsword tears through the wind blade. One of the blades barely cuts through Ibuki’s cheek.

Ibuki: “Alas, the curtain has fallen. Yoshino, you take care of Kurama.”

Ibuki pushed my back as I fall forward.

Yoshino: “Nn....”

Kurama: “Yoshino!”

(I can’t...control my powers...)

Golden balls of light rise over the vastest area ever seen.

It became a huge vortex, forcibly sucking the power out of Kurama.

(No...stop!!)

Ibuki: “It’s a reaction to all you’ve endured. I’m afraid you’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

Kurama: “Where are you going?”

Ibuki: “Just know, that I won’t be there to see you die.”

Ibuki slipped through the smokescreen of dust.

As if to support this, a foxfire blazes up in front of Kurama on its own.

The blue foxfire spreads out on the ground, quickly burning through the grass and closing in on Kurama’s feet.

Kurama: “Yoshino.”

Yoshino: “Ku..ra..ma...’

With his wind blades, Kurama pushes the foxfire away.

But in the meantime, a golden vortex swept relentlessly around Kurama, stealing his power.

(Ah)

Kurama closes the distance, forcing his way through the vortex that clings to his body.

He grabbed me tightly by the wrist and my cheek brushed against his solid chest.

Kurama: “I know what you’re going through. Be patient.”

Yoshino: “.....nn...mnn....”

(Eh?)

I felt a popping pain in my body and my spell was suddenly broken.

Yoshino: “What are you...?”

Kurama: “From the restraint of Yasuchika, I temporarily bound your soul with my magical power. It won’t last long, and it won’t alleviate the pain or fever, but it should stop the outburst for now.”

Yoshino: “Really...?”

Kurama: “Yeah.”

The languidness that had taken over my whole body was still there, but I moved my fingertips fearfully and a little freedom returned.

(Ah, thank god....then for once, I don’t have to hurt Kurama.)

My body was also burning from inside out because I sucked out Kurama’s power.

Kurama’s low voice was the only thing I could hear clearly through the rain and the ringing in my ears.

Kurama: “Is it painful?’

It’s a question without any embellishment, which is why I couldn’t disguise my true feelings at the moment.

Yoshino: “It is..”

(I can’t help it anymore...)

(It’s hot...I can’t think anymore...)

Kurama: “I see.”

(Why does Kurama have a painful expression?)

Kurama’s hand was placed gently on my throat and his sharp nails brushed against my skin.

Kurama: “Tell me what you want.”

Chapter 24

[inkwell1013]

Paint the Streets With Rainbows - Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley, Aziraphale & OC, Crowley & OC

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Oneshot

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Homophobia, disownment

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale accidentally end up at a pride parade after a rather nice dinner date, and meet a cheerful boy named Jordan. A week later, something terrible happens, and they step in to help out their new acquaintance.

- - - - - 

Crowley and Aziraphale had chanced upon the parade quite by accident, taking a wrong turn on the way back to Aziraphale’s bookshop after spending the morning at a nearby café. Aziraphale would have assumed it was a mere coincidence, but his more fanciful belief in fate and the divine plan belayed this assumption. The way Aziraphale saw it, nothing happened without reason. Them arriving there when they did was fate, nothing more and nothing less.

There were rainbows everywhere. That was the first thing Aziraphale noticed. There were so many rainbows: hung from trees, worn on t-shirts, draped over shoulders like capes, waved from flagpoles, and even fashioned from balloons. He noticed that there were other flags too mixed in with all the rainbows, like flowers growing in a garden, all bright and beautiful and unique.

He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he assumed it was good as everyone seemed delightfully happy. And there were so many people, more than he could possibly count. He had never seen such an impossibly huge crowd before.

Glancing toward Crowley, he saw a content smile playing across his partner’s lips. “What is this?” asked Aziraphale, gesturing towards the raucous procession.

“It’s a pride parade. Have you never seen one before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Crowley chuckled. “Wow. You don’t get out much, do you?”

Aziraphale huffed - secretly a little grumpy – mostly because he knew it was true. His significant aversion to socializing meant that he spent most of his time alone when he wasn’t with Crowley. Some might call that lifestyle sad, but Aziraphale preferred his quiet life to the alternative.

“Basically,” continued Crowley. “A pride parade is a celebration of the many differences of humanity – from sexual orientation to gender – as well as a way to protest inequality.”

“Well, that’s rather nifty, isn’t it?” said Aziraphale, adjusting his bowtie.

Crowley stifled a laugh. “I suppose it is.”

“Rather a lot of rainbows, don’t you think?” quirked Aziraphale. “I always liked rainbows. They’re a symbol of hope, and it never hurts to have a little hope these days.”

“I agree.”

It was at that moment that a boy pattered up to them. He was young – perhaps sixteen by Aziraphale’s best estimate, though he had never been good at guessing ages – and was tall for his age. He reminded Aziraphale rather a lot of a golden retriever, with his long, floppy blond hair and cheerful smile, which he leveled at them both, joy painted clearly on his features.

“Are you too here for the parade?” he beamed, cocking his head.

Crowley smiled back at him. “We are. Why do you ask?”

“That’s so cool!” exclaimed the boy. “I saw you and your boyfriend—”

“Husband,” interjected Crowley.

“Sorry, husband. And I just got super excited. You guys seem so happy together, and its nice, you know? Knowing its possible. That there’s a future for me, I guess. You know, you see all the sad stuff in the news, and it gets to you. It feels like there’s no hope left, but there’s always hope. I’m probably rambling. I’m sorry for bothering you two.” The boy turned to leave, but Crowley stopped him.

“Wait. Are you here with your parents?” he asked. “We could help you find them.”

“My Dad doesn’t know I’m here,” mumbled the boy. “He isn’t exactly cool with all this stuff, and I’m too scared to tell him. And my Mum… Well, she’s in heaven now.”

Crowley frowned rather instinctually, and the kid immediately backtracked. “It’s fine though. He’s not so bad. It could be worse.”

In a spur of the moment decision, Aziraphale pulled a newly miracled business card that hadn’t existed seconds ago from his jacket pocket and pushed it into the boy’s hands.

“What your name?” asked Aziraphale.

The boy gave him a quizzical look. “Jordan. Jordan Stewart.”

“It’s been nice to meet you Jordan,” beamed Aziraphale. “If you ever need help, call the number on this card.”

“Okay.”

“Good lad,” said Crowley. “Now go have fun. You’re at a pride parade after all.”

Jordan smiled, tucking the business card into his jacket pocket before sprinting away, throwing his arms around a boy with dark, curly hair. The boy stumbled back, only just catching his balance before he tumbled over.

“Ash! You made it,” exclaimed Jordan.

Ash laughed. “You thought I was going to miss your first pride? I’m not that bad of a friend,” he smirked. “Seriously though, how did you get away? I thought your dad was giving you trouble.”

Jordan shrugged. “I told him I was hanging out with some friends at the park.”

“And he bought that?”

“Yeah. I’m surprised too, to be honest. If he asks, tell him we were hanging out at the park with the others.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it.”

Crowley and Aziraphale watched the boy leave with his friend, firmly believing that would be their last encounter. They were both equally surprised when they received a phone call from Jordan just one week later.

Aziraphale was doing a little late-night reading before bed, and Crowley had wrapped himself around his husband, rather like he was trying to constrict him. Neither of them expected the phone to ring.

Crowley had whined and grumbled but Aziraphale insisted on fetching the phone just in case it was something important – a call from a supplier or customer, perhaps.

Aziraphale answered the call and Crowley buried his face in his pillow, still grumpy that Aziraphale had pushed him off. He immediately shot up when he heard Jordan’s voice on the other end.

“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” mumbled the boy. His voice was cracking and coarse, and Crowley knew that he had been crying. “I’m really sorry to bother you so late. I just didn’t know who else to call.”

“Is everything okay?” asked Aziraphale. “You sound upset.”

“My father found out about everything, and he kicked me out. He said that he’d rather have no son than… than me. I can’t believe this happened,” choked out Jordan. “I never did anything wrong.”

Aziraphale cast a helpless look at Crowley who hastily took the phone from him. “Jordan, can you tell me where you are?” asked Crowley.

“The McDonald’s on Main Street. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“That’s okay,” said Crowley, scrambling out of bed and throwing on the first pair of trousers he could find, an effort that was made difficult by the fact that he only had one free hand to do it. “Stay right there. We’ll pick you up.”

“Thank you.”

Crowley’s trusty Bentley got them there quickly, and Aziraphale suspected that Crowley used some of his demonic influence to turn all the traffic lights on the way there green. He wasn’t complaining though. Anything that got them there faster was worth it, regardless of the possible consequences.

Jordan slipped silently into the car, eyes still puffy and red from crying. There was a short silence, before Jordan spoke. “Why doesn’t he love me?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”

“This wasn’t your fault kid,” said Crowley. “It was never your fault. Some people are just trapped in the past. I understand how you feel. I do. Being disowned by the people who are meant to love you is shitty. It was shitty when it happened to me, and it’s still shitty now. There will always be shitty people in the world, but they’re becoming less common these days.”

“I agree,” said Aziraphale. “Barring the excessive swearing. Let’s try and limit the swear words in front of the young one, shall we dear?”

There was just the barest hint of a smile showing on Jordan’s face, and Aziraphale smiled a little to himself in turn.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” asked Aziraphale.

Jordan shuffled in his seat. “Not really. Ash always said I could stay with him if something happened, but his parents are super strict, so I dunno if they’d be too pleased about that. I wouldn’t want to make things hard for him.”

“You can crash with us if you’d like,” said Crowley. “We have a spare room, don’t we Angel?” Crowley cast Aziraphale an expectant look, almost asking – begging – for permission.

Aziraphale hastily conjured an extra room in his bookshop, complete with fresh sheets and a newly vacuumed carpet, before nodding in agreement. They did now.

“Are you sure I won’t be an imposition?” asked Jordan.

“We’re certain,” said Aziraphale.

“Thank you, it means a lot.”

“It’s really no bother at all.”

They arrived at Aziraphale’s bookshop a little while later and Crowley and Aziraphale lead Jordan to the spare room. The moment he walked into the room, Jordan crumpled, tears streaming down his face.

“Are you alright?” asked Aziraphale. “Do you not like it?”

“No. Its perfect,” whispered Jordan, blinking through tears as he looked around his surroundings. The room was small but neat, with a single bed on one corner, adorned with bright blue sheets. There was a wardrobe in the other corner and a small bedside table as well.

But the thing that Jordan couldn’t stop staring at was the rainbow flag hung up on the wall.

He was safe here. For the first time in years, he knew he was safe.

[valkyriesryde]

Vigilante

Part Two to Shut Up

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Mutant Fem!Reader

Summary: Rumours of a vigilante that stands of neither side of good or bad spread. The devil punishes whomever she pleases and she’s made quite a name for herself. But who is she really?

2.5kish general warning for fear mongering and swearing i guess? but its really not that bad imo

A/N: Yeaaa Idk guys, this might just be a two parter, I kind of like the open ending but if you’d like to see more of have any ideas of where you might want this to go then let me know! Otherwise I’m pretty happy with how this turned out!

Three months. Solid grades. Improvement all around. Graduated from the academy. And yet…

A desk job. Stuck at the fucking desk while everyone else is out there.

“You’re not equipped for field work…”

“You’re more useful behind the scenes…”

Fuck em all.

It took two weeks behind that desk for you to hand in your resignation. You told them you’d rather work security, that this isn’t what you thought it was going to be. Which, I mean, it wasn’t a complete lie. You thought working for SHIELD, working for the Avengers, was going to be action, saving the world, missions that you’d work your butt off for. But all you got was pushing papers and organising intel for field agents with no promise of becoming one yourself and none of them even showed any sort of gratitude for the work you did do.

She’ll never get anything better than this

You’d heard your boss think to himself when you handed in your resignation.

You smirked and shook your head as you thought about the interaction a year and a half on. He was right, you’d never get anything better than SHIELD, so why not make it for yourself.

Why not make your own path. Why not stop sitting around and trying to find something that fits what you’re after and instead go out and get it yourself.

One has a lot of free time when they have no job and are able to live off of their savings and contract work. In that free time one has the perfect opportunity to practice and perfect their skills and in some cases, like yours, powers. It’s amazing what you’re able to do when you put in the hard work. It’s amazing what sort of reputation you can build for yourself when you put yourself out there.

A reputation to be reckoned with, and nobody even knew who you were.

Many referred to you as a ghost.

You haunted the hallways of the abandoned fortresses. You whispered in the ears of those you hunted and told them their worst fears. You made them run and cower as you walked silently in the shadows after them. Without even lifting a finger you had even the likes of Hydra handing themselves in. You were a feared vigilante.

But the world didn’t like vigilantes. In fact, they were quite against them. SHIELD especially made an effort to either recruit or put a stop to any vigilantes they could find. They’d tried for months to get their hands on you, but you were always one step ahead of them. They thought you were like Scarlet Witch at first, seeking revenge on Hydra and those who had done you wrong until they found no pattern or relation between the victims driven mad by your torment. Then they thought you just had similar powers to her but that didn’t explain your method of actions, you didn’t have the same manipulating powers as her, you spoke into the minds of your victims, you read their thoughts and you picked out what they feared most and whispered it in their ear without getting near them, without even being seen.

When those who faced you were questioned they were already driven mad, screaming for help, yelling about the ghost.

“It’s the voice of the devil,” one had muttered warily to Captain America when asked what you sounded like. “Lucifer is here and she’s punishing us all!”

“Isn’t Lucifer typically male?” The agent sitting across from the man asked. Steve Rogers leaned against the wall watching the man twitch and his eyes dart around him.

“You’re wrong, it’s her it has to be. She promised I’d pay for my sins, she knew all my fears - she knew everything! I didn’t even see her but her voice, you can’t mistake it…” he kept muttering and Steve stood straight, his interest piquing, “Lucifer walks the earth.”

Lucifer

That’s what they called you now. The devil. It went round and round the rumour mill between all agencies, good and bad. ‘The devil walked the earth’ they said, ‘she takes no prisoners’ they said. And when the lights went dark in the warehouse, the agents knew exactly what was coming and the extremists buying their weapons had no idea.

“Not now,” one of the agents whimpered, you recognised his voice from your past, back in training and the corners of your mouth twitched up.

Hello Connor, you whispered in his ear from the rafters, throwing stars in your hand. What do we have here?

“No no GET OUT!” He yelled and held his head in his hands, the lights flickered as he fell to the ground crying out for you to spare him.

“Whats happening?!” One of the extremists said, his gun ready to fire at will but he wasn’t quick enough before a throwing star pierced his hand and the weapon dropped to the floor.

What would your little sister think of your actions, you asked him.

She has to have a limit of range? You heard suddenly. They must be within ten metres for you to unwillingly hear their thoughts. Another familiar voice, Falcon.

Are you here to steal my prey birdy? You asked him and heard his footing slip slightling in the rafters to your left in surprise.

Who’s to say you’re not the prey I’m here for? He said back and you could hear the smirk in his voice. Not so quickly you thought to yourself.

We’re on the same team you and I.

“Steve, she’s here.”

Your movement stopped as you neared the edge of the ceiling and looked down, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had the extremists in handcuffs while the other two agents stood nearby with their weapons still held ready in their hands. If this was staged they would have the place surrounded, or at least all exits taken care of. For a second you thought about sneaking into Bucky’s head but that man had had enough people in his head, you felt for him, he didn’t deserve another. Then you thought maybe Steve’s to convince him you were one of the same. But what are the off chances he recognised your voice? Sam had never heard you talk, even if he had overheard you it’s unlikely he would put two and two together.

“Lucifer are you here?” Steve called out.

You were stuck. You were face to face with the personification of the institute that dismissed you. These were the leaders of the organisation that had told you you weren’t good enough. This was the man that pushed you to be better completely out of spite. 

“You’re my creator,” you whispered under your breath and an idea came to mind.

Quickly and quietly you moved further away from Sam, he dropped to the floor beside Steve a second later and you kept eyes on the group as they stood back to back in the middle of the warehouse.

I’m Lucifer am I? You whispered into their minds and all five men were on instant alert. I’m the devil you say? I guess that’s somewhat fitting isn’t it. The punisher of sinners. There’s just so many sinners that walk this plane aren’t there. You know all about that don’t you war heroes. Bucky and Steve peered to each other nervously.

You’ve seen enough sinners to last several lifetimes. You continued moving around them above their heads until you stood facing Bucky. You’ve been them. You whispered in his ear and Bucky understood how your voice had driven people insane before.

“Ignore her Bucky,” Sam said through gritted teeth, his wings stretched.

You’re all guilty for something, aren’t you Falcon. You were in his head now, watching his friend fall to his death as you relayed the image and he screwed his eyes shut to try and push it away. We all have our demons. It was Steve’s turn, his mind was strong but there were so many images to choose from.

Bucky falling from the train, he adjusted his stance.

Being beaten in a back alley, his breathing shallowed.

His mother on her deathbed. “Ignore it Steve.” Bucky told him.

Some make us stronger, you stood directly above them, it was as if you were standing right behind him, the way your voice crept up the back of his neck. But they still hurt.

Steve’s eyes screwed shut now as you showed him dark blue eyes with smudged black soot around them staring at him as if he were a stranger. Red lipstick that quivered and sobbed. Ginger hair and a sharp jaw smeared in blood falling to the ground. Over and over, the eyes, the distinguishing features of all those he held so dear at their worst where he couldn’t protect them. You went through them all, you found them so easily he kept them with him always in his mind until you stopped suddenly and Steve gasped as he stepped back at the last image he saw.

A blue mat. Black sneakers, with tights to match circling it. Shaking hands, a bell rang then nothing. Familiarity ran through you as you stood straight above them.

“STEVE?!”

It’s you. He said trying to find you as he spun around but you stayed as still as humanly possible.

“Steve what the hell did she do to you!?” Bucky smacked his chest.

“Take these guys and get out of here.” Steve told him with no further explanation as he stepped between the rows and piles of crates.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Bucky bit back.

“That’s an order, I know who it is and we won’t get her unless you all leave right now.”

I know it’s you.

You needed to leave. You needed to get out, he can’t find you. Exits, there wasn’t an easy exit and if they were leaving now that makes you leaving even harder.

The four men followed Steve’s direction, though begrudgingly, and took the two prisoners with them. You heard the car drive off, watched the lights through the window disappear and then it was just the two of you.

“I wondered what you had gotten up to after you left SHIELD you know?” Steve called out, he continued weaving through the crates around the warehouse and you followed him along the beaming. “I even tried looking you up to see, but I couldn’t find you. I suppose I should have been suspicious of that, it was like you just disappeared but I didn’t think much of it. I thought maybe you’d just moved away, it’s not uncommon.”

Why was he talking to you like this? Why did he care?

“I was really rooting for you, when I saw you didn’t become a field agent I was a little disappointed, I thought you would have and if not in that round of selection at least the next one. But you did have some things you needed to work on I guess,” he chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess you worked on your powers though, they must have needed the extra attention. Well done, you’ve come a long way from just hearing people’s thoughts.”

He disappeared behind a crate for a second before he came back into view on the other side. You wondered if he had a plan of any sort but you knew his reputation, he could easily come up with one on the spot if he needed to.

“What about your combat skills? Did you work on them?”

He was baiting you, urging you to come out from your hiding and prove to him how far you’d come because you’d done it once before.

I don’t owe you that.

You almost shouted it at him but that would give away your position and you weren’t about to give the super soldier the upper hand.

“You don’t owe me anything. I owe you.”

Your steps stopped as he did and he looked at the ground ahead of him and sighed.

“I owe you an apology. I pushed you too hard, myself and the others, we didn’t give you the attention you needed or deserved. I wanted so badly to see you after the exams, I wanted to ask you to have coffee with me, I wanted to help you, to learn more about you. I didn’t think you’d welcome me, so I didn’t go looking for you until a month after you’d already left. That’s how I found out. Connor laughed when I asked him where you were, he said you’d quit, that you couldn’t handle it. I knew that wasn’t the case, you wouldn’t just quit.”

You don’t know me like you think I do.

“I do.” Steve looked up at the beams but you were two steps behind him, there was no way he could see you. “Because I was you.”

Then you know why I won’t be joining you any time soon Captain America.

The window slammed shut behind you and Steve made a move as he scaled the crates into the beaming to find nothing but dust and spider webs and an unlocked window.

Stay true to yourself.

You heard his voice as you jumped from the edge of the roof to the next building and made a run for it. Tears brimmed your eyes but you couldn’t let that slow you down as you kept running from the warehouse, from Steve.

There’s a difference between a vigilante and a hero.

A hero is someone who is admired, they have a list of achievements and people look up to them, want to be them. They work with law enforcement, they strive for greatness.

A vigilante is self-appointed. They refuse to work with law enforcement, they are feared, and hunted. They are not welcome on the streets by those that try to control it. But often they are called for by the people because those who have sworn to protect them have failed the populace.

You didn’t categorise yourself as either. You were neither admired nor wanted by either groups you worked for and against. The people didn’t know about you, the establishment hunted you.

Thanks to the Avengers, to SHIELD and to Captain America, you were something different. You were the devil in the shadows.

Permanent Taglist [30/50]: @witch-of-letters @buckysmischief @marvelsangels @momobaby227@weirdlyokaywithit @disgustangg @bucky-blogs @geeksareunique @stuckonjbbarnes @victorianvampirebf@mushyjellybeans @lovesmesomehiddles @this-kitten-is-smitten @itsunclebucky @kitkatd7 @lokisironthrone@supraveng @thinkoutsidethebex @binkysteebnpewter @starbxcks @agent-barnes40@theannoyingnightmarecollector @starkerhowlter @fckdeusername @laneygthememequeen @thefridgeismybestie@wonderlandfandomkingdom @aikeia @laneygthememequeen @adriannajackson​

And those that asked for Part 2′s or who i think might be interested: @avengersbabe13​ @farfromjustordinary​ @gothglamonenightstand​ @sourpatchspinster​ @idk123906​ @dottirose​

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Soulless

Warnings: mild angst, soullessness, deals, implied sex, mentions of sex, fluffy ending, long fic.

Word Count: 2733

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Set: Season 7-ish

Summary: Dean isn’t great when it comes to telling people how he feels. So, he can’t even tell the Reader he loves her. He tries to forget, by dating other girls. Bringing home one girl, the Reader isn’t too happy.

Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

DTRH Masterlist

a/n: I’m kind of going through something rough at the moment, after messaging a friend how he’s doing, and that we should get together, message or talk some time. And I haven’t heard a thing. Ever since he’s been in a relationship he’s been distant. And that leaves me with, no friends really. So this fic spawned from that.

~

Y/N entered Bobby’s house after she came back from a simple salt and burn case.

Her heart always skipped a beat when she saw Dean. Ever since she tagged with them after a hunt in Nebraska, she’s grown close to the older Winchester. An unbreakable friendship grew into something more, or so it seemed like for her. But this time, Dean had another lady by his side. A pretty blond girl.

The he held her close to his side, protective, sweet. She could read that he cared for her, this ditzy blond. The guys laughed, must have been in the middle of a conversation when she walked in and seen Dean kiss this girl on the cheek.

Y/N can feel her heart pounding hard in her chest, wanting to break out and explode for the whole room to see.

Just stay strong, don’t cry. Just your luck he doesn’t like you the way you like him. She thought.

Her luck with guys was never great. She always wanted something with her guy friends that she’d develop feelings for. But, they always turned her down, leaving her alone in the dust.

She clears her throat. Sam, Dean, Bobby and blondie all turned to see her.

“Ah, there she is.” Bobby says. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“Smooth as always, got another one for me.” She says. Her throat holding back any sobs that were threatening to surface.

This is harder than it looks. She thought.

“Actually, things are pretty quiet for now, but you said you were wanting to work on that mustang in the garage.” He said, he could see her hurting. He knew she hated Fords, give her a reason to smash it to bits.

“That’s right, I’ll be in the garage.” She says. Turning to head out, duffle still in hand.

She didn’t realize she was fast walking, her heart rate was stammering, and pounding hard in her chest harder than it did in the house. She needed to smash something, break something.

Behind the garage was an old ’65 Mustang Fast Back, barley recognizable, she’d use it as a punching bag so to speak. Her sledgehammer still sitting next to the wall, she picks it up hastily and begins whaling on the car.

-

It was dark out when her body gave out from slamming the hammer on the car all day long.

She sat on the ground facing the car, knees up to her chest.

“Face it, you won’t ever have the courage to tell guys how you feel.” She tells herself. She always talked to herself, it always helped with formalizing her thoughts. But when one of her greatest demons surfaces, it too uses her voice to get to her.

“She’s prettier than you, hell probably better at everything than you. Dean won’t leave her anytime soon.” She says. Tears beginning to surface.

“You’re 27, he’s 32, going to turn 33 soon. He must not like you because of your age. You’re probably nothing more than a sister to him.” She continues.

There was a pain in her chest, she hated feeling it when she hurt like this.

“First there was Ben in high school, then Dan in college, can’t forget David for messing with you either. So many guys just love playing with you, it’s pathetic to see how desperate you are for a guy.” She begins to sob, crying her words out. If anyone were near, they’d hear her.

And she didn’t forget that after she’d confess her feelings to said guys, they’d just leave her. Not be friends with her anymore. Thinking she was weird or makes them feel uncomfortable knowing such a deep secret of hers. Leaving her alone in the world.

“God, I wish I couldn’t feel anything. This is so annoying, and painful, I wish it would just stop.” She cried.

-

She woke up outside, tears dried up on her cheeks and crusted her eyelashes. She must have cried herself to sleep. She got up and headed back inside.

Dean was already up and making breakfast, Bobby and Sam must be in bed still.

He heard the screen door slam shut. Turning to find Y/N walking in with puffy swollen eyes.

“Mornin’,” he says, taking a second, more concerned glance. “You okay?” he asked.

She rubbed her eyes, to hide the evidence of yesterday. “Yes, I’m fine.” She snapped.

“Okay, miss grouchy, breakfast is almost ready.” He says.

“Not hungry.” She says. Walking upstairs.

She passed Dean’s room, seeing the door open a crack she caught sight of her, naked in bed. She could only imagine they did it, sex. He must really be in love with this girl. She just shook her head as she continued to her room next door to his.

Maybe it was time to move on. A sign, to just move on with your life. Do things your own way.

She stood in her room, staring blankly at her mess she left her before her salt and burn case. Only to hear a knock at her door bring her to reality. Dean opened it, despite her not answering. Seeing her standing there.

“Okay, spill it.” he says, entering. Leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. “No one’s not hungry first thing in the morning, and two, I did catch you with red swollen eyes when you walked in, you’re not okay.” He says.

“Dean, I don’t want to talk about it.” she says.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I don’t want to. I just want to be left alone while I do deal with it. okay.” She says.

“You don’t have to by yourself.” Dean says.

“I know, but I want to.” She says. “Now can you please leave me alone.” She adds.

“Just, holler if you need anything.” He says. Slowly unfolding his arms as he left, closing her door behind her.

She can hear talking in the hallway.

“Hey babe, everything okay?” his girlfriend asked.

“I don’t know what’s up with her, she and I used to talk about everything. Now, she won’t talk to me about what’s got her so upset.” Dean confides in her.

“Maybe it’s a girl thing, let me talk to her.” she says.

“You can try.” He says.

And like that, she heard a soft knock at her door. And opens.

“Hi, I’m Bonnie.” She says.

“Can you please leave me alone?” she groaned. “I just want peace and quiet.” She says.

“Is that all?” Bonnie asked. “Dean seemed pretty out of it when you two talked.” She says.

Y/N remained silent, nothing to say to her.

Bonnie sighs. “There’s no need to be a bitch and give me the silent treatment.” Bonnie says, upset.

“Leave.” Y/N says.

“Fine, suit yourself.” Bonnie says. “It’s all you’ll ever be, is alone.” She says closing the door.

She can hear mumblings of talking but it’s too far from her room.

She’s right, you’ll always be alone. She thought.

She couldn’t take this pain anymore. She quickly dressed in clean clothes, grabbing her purse she heads out. Storming through the kitchen. Leaving the gang puzzled by her behavior.

Speeding out of the lot she calls up one number of someone who might help her with her situation.

-

She walked into the empty bar finding Crowley sipping a martini.

“Ah, ferret, glad you could make it.” he says.

“Enough small talk, you know a way to make this pain go away. The pain I’ve told you about.” She asks.

“Yes I do,” he says. “But just know, you’re mine once it’s all said and done.” He adds.

“Fine, it’s not like I’ve got a choice or another way to make this hurt go away.” She says.

“Now, seal it, with a kiss darlin’.” He says.

She cringes as she forces her lips on his.

-

She had been texting them, letting them know she was okay and just hunting.

Dean being Dean saying he don’t like it she’s hunting alone.

She didn’t feel annoyed, or least bit concerned of him finding her.

She didn’t feel the pain of him being with someone else.

She even didn’t feel the need to eat or sleep.

She loved this.

In the time she would use to sleep, she would read, work out, knit, do whatever it was she wanted to do in that spare time.

Always moving is what kept her out of Dean’s reach, she caught word around from demons that Dean and Sam were out looking for her. She didn’t feel the need to be scared. She just wanted to hunt, explore, and grow. Apparently, at least to her, being soulless has its perks.

-

Dean and Sam couldn’t take it. After they lost Bobby, and Dean dumped Bonnie to go looking out for Y/N, they summoned Crowley.

“Squirrel, Moose, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked coyly.

“Y/N.” Sam says firmly.

“Where is she?” Dean barked.

“Oh, the ferret, she’s working.” He says.

The boys throw their hands up.

“For me.” Crowley adds.

“She what?” Dean asks.

“She works for you; she would never work for you.” Sam barked.

“Oh, well after a night of pain and hurt she couldn’t take it anymore, so. We made a deal.” He says.

“Pain and hurt? What are you on about Crowley?” Dean asked glaring him down.

“You really are oblivious to her and her feelings aren’t you squirrel?” Crowley asked.

“She can be a very affectionate person, but what’s that got to do with anything?” Dean asked.

“Maybe, that was her way of telling you something squirrel.” Crowley says. “She told me she loves you, more than just friends. And after you brought home that girl, it hurt her.” he adds.

“She told me she didn’t want to feel anything anymore, I knew a way, and we came to a deal. Her soul is in hell but, it’s off limits to torture. It’s in it’s own personal cage, alone. So no different than to her life up here.” He says.

Dean looked at Crowley, shocked but then pissed. “I’m gonna kill you.” He growls.

“Good luck with that.” He says. Then vanishes.

“We gotta find her.” Sam says.

“But how, she’s constantly moving. She won’t slow down.” Dean says.

“We hunt, maybe if we can corner her on a case, we can talk this out.” Sam says.

“Fine.” Dean says. Already growing impatient.

-

And that’s what happened. A vamp case popped up on both radars. And the three hunters flanked the vamps, killing them easily.

Dean got to see her for the first time in months.

They managed to get Cas to help out with getting her to stay put.

“Okay, you found me.” She says. No emotion on her face was a smack to Deans.

“Y/N, I know you have no soul, so I’m just going to get this out there.” Dean says.

Cas had practical hold on Y/N’s shoulders, keeping her still. Her arms folded across her chest.

“I’m sorry for hurting you the way I did. If I’d known you had feelings for me, I wouldn’t have gone out and brought home that bitch. All to make you jealous.” He admits.

She nods, not feeling anger.

“It actually makes sense, the way I saw you that day. You cried all night, I heard you just smashing the hell out of that car all night long. I was coming out to ask you if you were alright and I heard you crying.” He said. “I heard, well not a lot but enough to know I hurt you. I didn’t realize what had happened to you before you met us.” He adds.

But Y/N had no emotion written on her face.

“Now I know Y/N, she’d be in tears knowing that Dean understands her. But, we’ve gotten people out of deals with Crowley before. We’ll get you out of yours, get your soul back and get you back to feeling better again.” Sam says.

“But I like this. I don’t feel pain, I love it.” she argues.

“But do you want to feel what love feels like?” Dean asked. “Because I’ll shower you in love until the day I die.” He says.

They stood there in silence as she thought about it.

Cuddles, kisses, the compliments, sex and it’s after care. Deep down she did want to feel the love in all that. The warm and fuzzies people claim they feel when their partner tells them they love them, cuddles them, makes love to them, cares for them after sex. She does want to feel it.

“You feel the same way too?” she asked.

“I fell for you the second you saved me from that shape shifter that looked like you. It was trying to get in my head, and yours. And you didn’t let it. You comforted me all night. I fell for you; I just didn’t have the courage to tell you.” He said. His face unreadable, but she knew he was in pain. A pain she wanted to make go away.

“Okay, let’s get me out of Crowley’s deal, get my soul back. And then we’ll see how your Y/N reacts if she remembers all this. Because I’m sure she’ll be upset at first, but she’ll let you in to fix her up.” she says. She, even soulless, didn’t like seeing Dean in any kind of pain.

“How can you be so sure? I just broke her in a way I don’t think can be fixed.” Dean says. Tears of his own threatening to surface.

“Because, you may have broken her. But you’re the only one who can fix her.” she says.

-

“Not a very good hiding spot Crowley.” Dean says, holding a lighter over Crowley’s remains.

“Bullocks!” Crowley cursed. Then sighed with frustration. “What do you want squirrel?” he asked.

“Y/N’s soul back.” He said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Y/N appeared before Crowley, coming from behind Dean. “Now Demon Boy.” She says, arms folding firmly across her chest.

“Fine. Your soul’s back, no repercussions.” He says. “Now, if you don’t mind, have to retrieve the ferrets soul.” He adds. Glaring at the demon trap.

Sam breaks it and Crowley vanishes. And returns moments later.

“Now you might want to lay down for this one, it will be rather painful.” He says.

-

‘I’ve fallen for you when you saved me from that shape shifter that looked like you.’

‘I’m so sorry sweetheart.’

‘Please, open your eyes. I need to know you’re okay.’

Dean’s voice can be heard in her coma like state. She even remembered when she was soulless what he said to her.

Just to make her jealous. She knew Dean wasn’t good with his words when it came to feelings and emotions. Because even in her comatose state she remembered the times she nearly died on a hunt, how pissed Dean would be at her.

It was because he cared. Maybe too much. So he’d push them away, thinking it would hurt less if something were to happen to them then the pain of their death wouldn’t be so bad. But he was wrong. It only hurt just as much.

She must be coming to, when she felt a warm pair of lips touch her temple. Delivering a cute peck of a kiss.

Her eyes fluttered a bit before opening. Seeing a very worried and tired Dean at her bedside.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asked, his hand cupping her cheek.

She smiles. Nodding with a hum.

He sighs with relief.

“I fell for you, the moment you saved me from that pack of werewolves in Nebraska.” She says.

“Well, you did need help.” He says, smiling a bit at the memory.

“Yeah, ‘cause everyday I’m, strugglin’” she began to sing a parody of ‘every day I’m shuffling’, changing shufflin’ to strugglin’.

Making Dean laugh, he scoops her up in his arms holding her close. She wraps her arms around his neck.

“I love you so much Y/N, and I’m not ever going to stop.” He says.

“Well then, let the shower of love begin handsome.” She say.

He smiles, ear to ear, happy she remembers the talk he had with her when she was soulless.

Their lips meet in a loving kiss as she cups his cheek, while he held her in his arms. Like the ending to a romcom chick flic.

~

Feedback is fuel, let me know what ya’ll think. :)

Tag list (Free for all at this point, just let me know if you do or don’t want to be tagged.):

@pandazombie69​

@luci-in-trenchcoats​ - somewhat inspired by your Roommates series

@supernatural-jackles​

@becs-bunker​

@winchesters-favorite-girl​

@mlovesstories​

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 08/22/2020

[vesperlionheart]

For haha’s - Darklina

There is blood throughout the halls of the Keramzin orphanage, it stains the stones and clings to the walls and dries on the hands of Alina Starkov. She tastes something bitter deep in her throat but swallows it down as she moves through the orphanage, searching for more of the bodies left inside. She steps over the bloated form of a dirty man in hides, slashed open and killed the old fashioned way. She passes more of his companions but doesn’t care for any of them until she finds her children. 

She buries her babies with reverence and then burns the rest in a pit without a second thought.

 When Mal doesn’t come back she drinks. 

When the new month comes she prays. 

When the season ends without sight or sound of him, she leaves. 

Nikolai Lantsov watched nervously as another dark ritual finished filling out the color in an old monster’s features. Aleksander Morozova was just as handsome and devilishly fit in features as he had been on the day he died, if not better since he was actually, not dead. It was unnerving to watch what felt like for the thousandth time, a dark miracle perverting nature-but weren't Girsha like that to begin with? Who else lived for 500 years and looked like a university chap?

“You’re very pretty,” Nikolai admitted, not ashamed of the truth. 

The darkling was adjusting his gloves, tugging them down over his hands until his knuckles stood out, but he paused to glance up through his lashes and spare the boy king a withering, unimpressed look. “I know.” 

“Don’t let me stroke your ego, I’m properly sloshed so I’m sure it's only the intoxication that’s talking.” 

Nikolai gestured to the glass in his hand before knocking it back for the last dregs of amber colored courage. He hated every damned step to this never ending ritual on account of how annoying and bothersome it was, not how terrifying each peak into the land of death was. But worse than all of that was the demon inside of him that refused to stay down. Nearly a year later and it was getting worse. 

“You’ll need your wits about you for what comes next.”

“You’ve been so helpful,” Nikolai scoffed, “with letting me know the summation of all this planning, you know. It would have been terrible if you only told me one damned step at a time and kept me hanging in blind suspicion for months.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, puppy prince.” 

Nikolai glared with a smile. “Good thing I only speak the truth then.”

“You must now summon someone for me.” 

“Of course I must. Who is it this time?” A painter to capture your likeness in oils? A seamstress to dress you in silks? A palace chef who could-

“Alina Starkov.” 

The name caused a physical pain in Nikolai’s chest as every longing and snuffed out desire snapped back into place, like an overextended rubber band that had been stretched too far. It hurt to hear that name, but he didn’t mind this sort of pain.

“The sun summoner died. She’s not someone I can so easily summon for your royal darkness, even if I did raise your ass from the grave.” He was impressed with himself for how calm he came across. “You’ll have to adapt.” 

The darkling, beautiful and cold, did not respond at first, or give any indication that he had heard and understood the king’s words, but he twisted the leather of his gloves around his wrist, almost like a nervous habit. Eventually, he opened his mouth to speak. “I did not ask for the sun summoner, I asked for Alina Starkov, and nothing less will be sufficient in helping me subjugate the monster within you, little hound.” 

“Sturmhond.”

“I did not stutter,” The Darkling scoffed. “As I do not miss the hint of desperation in your voice, the way it shakes your eyes when you watch my revival though it may sicken you. Your hands are dirty with more than one type of darkness but they must be blackened further if you wish to have control over your own fragment of hell.” 

“I don’t want to control it, I want to kill it and no matter how desperately I want that I can’t bring back the dead for you-ckee!” 

Nikolai’s words were choked out as a leather glove wrapped around his throat and pulled him up off the ground.He grabbed at the wrist and kicked until he was shoved against the wall and left to sag back onto his feet. 

“Do not make the mistake of lying to me,” the darkling hissed. “I know she isn’t dead, I went first into the long night and she did not follow. She lives and she resides in your country, so summon her to your palace, summon her for me.”

Back on his feet again Nikolai rubbed at his neck, suspecting it to bruise for how roughly it had been gripped. “You also know that her powers left her, don’t you? Even if I could, you’d be asking for a farm girl.” 

“I won’t explain myself to you, there is no reason to. I care not for her power or her fame or her status as a saint, I simply request Alina Starkov. Do what you can to find the farm girl with no powers. I know it is within your abilities.” 

Nikolai turned away and reached to pour himself another drink, but found barely enough for a half glass in the decanter. It wasn’t enough for him so it was clearly not enough to share.

“I wasn’t trying to deceive you when I told you she’s dead. To the best of my knowledge that’s the truth. She retired to obscurity with the tracker and together they set up an orphanage. We maintained some limited contact over the years but when my letters went unanswered I sent someone to seek her out.”

The Darkling’s silence was as good as a question so Nikolai continued.

“The orphanage was bloody and empty.” Nikolai sipped his drink and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t bleeding in his chest as he relieved the pain from that day. “Locals explained a band of extremists passed through, upset at their adoption of suspected grisha children. There were graves and a pit discovered on site but nothing else. Sightings of the tracker, Mal, led my spies to conclude she...she was one of the graves.”

“But it was not confirmed,” the Darkling clarified. “You did not dig up her bones to see for yourself if one of the mounds was hers. You only assumed and you assumed wrong. She did not die.”

Nikolai dared to hope and it hurt like thorns in his heart. “How could you say something like that so confidently? Up until a month ago you didn’t have flesh. What do you know?”

“Nothing so humble connects her and I. If she were to be gone from this world I would know it, yet I feel her still. Alina Starkov lives and I need her.”

 The darkling looked down at his hand, at the center of his palm and it was almost as if there was something there he was transfixed by. The harsh edges of his expression softened and emotion made his slate gray eyes a little lighter. The darkling swallowed and the harsh lines to his features returned in time for him to fix the blond with a withering stare.

 “She lives. Find her.”

No one had ever accused Alina Starkov of being a gabler, but playing cards with the Three Babas might have been the riskiest thing she did on an impulse. It would have been less dangerous to play cards with a devil, because at least with a devil you know what you're wagering. 

There was something disconcerting about waking up one morning only to realize there was no vision left for you; no epic battle plans, to cunning exploits, nothing planned out to accommodate the travesty destiny had raised you to rally against. She didn’t even have a villain to set herself up against. The world wasn’t perfect, but the fold was no longer an issue and Alina found herself without purpose. Her children were gone, her would-be husband lost to his whims, and the powers that gave her such grand meaning were only a memory.

And that all mde her wander. 

A little older, a little broader, a little wiser, she traveled on foot or by cart when the neighbors of her country were kind enough to spare her the room. She ended up somewhere in the backwoods, somewhere rural enough to have a single village center like it was some big deal and enough work for a girl with rough hands to apply herself to. 

The town felt safe enough and that made her wonder, so when she asked the neighbors they told her about the three babas who watched over the town and kept it a little separate from the rest of the world with its problems and its wars. 

That question must have been invitation enough because Alina found herself invited to a game of four way trick on the edge of town under the leaning roof of a wood cutter’s cottage.  Three older woman,each dressed in varying colors and patterns, head covering shawls, and wooden shoes, were there when Alina arrived like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Take a seat.”

“Sit a while.”

“Play a spell.” 

Sitting down opposite the three felt like being back in front of Baghra, standing in the shadow of a mountain more ancient than memory itself. Yet with Baghra there was never this exact sense of wrongness. Reality never felt off in this way with the Darkling’s mother. 

“You were expecting me?” Alina asked, touching the felt edged cards in front of her without reaching for them. Their texture was so worn and soft she assumed they had been played for decades. When was the last time she played cards? Did she know the rules to this game?

“Saw you coming is more like it,” the baba to Alina’s right croaked. Her head shawl was bright red with swirls of autumn blooms in shades of gold and yellow. Compared to the fabric her skin was withered and pale. 

“Take your hand,” the baba directly across from Alina instructed, sounding crankier than her counterparts. Her eyes were unseeing, sagged over with wrinkled flesh and her babushka was a vivid green with emerald threads stirling through the lighter fabric to illustrate buds and grass fields in full health. The headscarf stayed pinned in place with the help of a white crane pin.

“I’m not sure I know how to play,” Alina admitted before looking at her cards. Her hands were on the table but she was still licking her lips nervously, wishing for something stronger to throw back down her throat. Her head was fuzzy with too much clarity. 

“You will,” the last grandmother calmly corrected, looking up through her silver lashes from underneath a headscarf of brilliant blue, brighter than the sky and deeper than the oceans. Her smile was deceptively sweet, too thin, and too light. She sounded impossibly young for her physical appearance. “Pick up and play with us.” 

“What’s the game called?” Alina asked, picking up her cards. 

They were just as soft on the underside where the painted pictures stared back at her. It looked more like a tapo deck, a truth telling card series where wise women and elders would tell stories out of the pictures and even predict fates. Plenty of people used such a deck for idle games, but the stories were always the things that seemed to hold the most magic.

“Trick,” the grandmother in red said.

“Trap,” the grandmother in green corrected.

“Take,” the grandmother in blue giggled. 

Alina looked over her cards again. “I’m not willing to wager anything on my first game before even learning the rules.”

“Your time is value enough, my dear one,” the baba in blue cooed. “Let us teach you and show you the way.”

“I’ll admit to being a little lost,” Alina said, watching as the first two babas put down cards on the table then drew from the deck. 

The first card had a trio of children running through a field and the scrawling script said it was called: Innocence. The second card was of a woman hanging a curtain over her window, looking back over her shoulder to a bed where a lover waited. The script above said it was called: deception. When inverted it looked like the woman was pulling the curtain down the other name for it was: revelation.

“Being lost is the first step to being found.” The third grandmother hummed before laying down a card with the picture of a son standing in front of his father and grandfather, each holding a sword from a different era. It read: inheritance. 

Alina looked down at her cards and when she inhaled a sensation settled into the back of her throat, like the taste of a thick milk tea with burnt cloves, she swallowed it down before she could realize what it was. Her fingers stilled atop a card before she played it: Turmoil. 

Only with the card down atop the table did she recognize the taste on her tongue: Merzost. It was enough to lift the haze of suggestion she had been operating under and it was like waking up from a dream that didn’t make sense. But Alina didn’t panic. When she looked up again she could tell the grandmother in green knew what had happened. 

“You’re all witches, aren’t you?” 

“What a crude thing to say,” the blue one teased. 

“Was I wrong?” she dared.

“I like her,” the one in red admitted, looking at the one in green. “I told you I would. It only took one round.”

The grandmother in red huffed then called out, “Trick,” before gathering up all the cards played in that round and putting them on Alina’s side; her winnings. 

The next few cards were played in silence. Silence, Infatuation, Betrayal. Alina put down the last card, aware of what this round signified. Her card was of a hunter carrying home a far elk. The title was: Bounty. 

“Trap,” the one in green cheered as another layer of enchantment lifted. It felt so different from her small science, but also not. Alina was in more control of her senses and her thoughts, but that only lead to near panicking. 

“Why do you have me here and what could you want with me when I’m an empty vessel in your eyes?” She asked the old women as each drew a new card from the deck. 

“Then let’s skip a little ahead and show you,” the one in green said before laying down the first card for play. The one in blue gathered the previous set and put them next to Alina’s wrist. 

The cards were dealt: Conflict, Victory, Peace.

Alina swallowed down her disgust and played the last card, the only card she could: Slaughter.

“Take,” the one in red called out, flicking her wrist so the cards were turned over and fell into a neat pile in front of Alina. Atop them all was the picture of a butcher with his gutted lamb. He held  cleaver but Alina saw a hand sickle and felt it between her fingers.

“Why,” she whispered, tasting Merzost again as something heavier settled amongst them. 

“Because,” the first baba said while playing her last card. It was a child crying in between the trees. The title said: Lost.

“But also,” the grandmother in red played her last card: Anointed. 

“And yet,” the last grandmother played her card of a boy looking back over his shoulder at a back littered with scars and wounds: Scarred. Between them the old woman seemed to speak without words. 

Alina glanced down at her last card and sneered at the picture, not believing in it: Tyrant. The painting was of a beautiful woman with long black hair and eyes as green as raw Malachite. Atop her head was a crown of green stones and at her feet were the people, bowed so low they were curled figures in the corners of the card’s picture. 

“I’m not.”

“Not as you are, no,” the one in blue gently corrected before touching the card to push it back towards Alina. “But we’d like to see this now.”

“You’ve had your stab at peace, little lamb,” the one in red chuckled. 

“As you have with the small sciences,” the woman in red said, now no longer a crone but a beautiful woman with a face full of fire. Alina dropped her face to the table, averting her gaze as heat roared across her back. 

“An age of saints has passed, now let us deal with angels,”  the woman in green cooed, her long black hair spilling over the table. She stood but Alina didn’t see it, her eyes were squeezed tight. Her left fist went cold and she felt snow and ice on it. 

“What a fun game,” the beauty in blue cooed, picking up the snow kissed corners of her cape. 

When the world was quiet again Alina dared lift her gaze. 

The table was empty and her hands were bleeding. Into each palm a mark had been cut and colored with black magic. Her veins were thick with dark colors as she swayed in her seat. 

The story isn’t done, let's have our fun. Lets see a new book, a different chapter in this wondrous dream. 

Alina came down with a fever and survived on the good graces of the villagers who turned oddly devoted to the saint with no powers. That didn’t seem to matter to them one bit and she was all the more confused because of it. No one she spoke to had any more information about the three grandmothers, only that Alina was favored and welcomed in all their homes. 

A month later she still had no more answers but plenty of questions when a rider came to visit. He questioned the first villager with a portate, seemingly expecting nothing until Alina walked out of the miller’s hut. 

The rider dropped the portrait and Alina saw her face, colored and youthful with the same delicate features from years ago. 

“I’ll need a horse,” Alina said to whoever was nearest. “It seems this story isn’t done with me yet.”  

[sur-un-fil]

My entry for the third Nayialovecat competition for chidren's day : Karma is still a bitch!

- There are a lot of people... I didn't think the idea of Fifteen would be so successful, whispers the massive Lost One standing at the back of the room to the little one next to him, arms crossed.

- It's true that, bitter as he is, it's surprising! replies the other a little too loudly, her look fixed on the small crowd of Lost ones sitting or standing in groups chatting, a can of soup in their hands.

- Jane... Be comprehensive. He spends his days with Sammy. ALL of his days.

- I don't like what he's become, Jane grumbles, looking away.

G nods, almost in spite of himself. He doesn't like to recognize sadness in others.

- I know. Maybe this Club will make him smile again? he says in a slightly too cheerful voice.

- G. When he told me about it, he was so tense with rage that if I had kicked him, he would have shattered into little black, hateful splinters.

- But we can hope...

- This is an Anti-Bendy Club, G. How do you expect it to appease him?

G prefers to divert - slightly - the conversation.

- Hm. Besides, I'm surprised he hasn't made an Anti-Sammy Club.

Jane shrugs her shoulders.

- He's smart enough to know that even if we can get rid of Sammy, Bendy will exterminate every last one of us.

- Uh, yes, but isn't that also the case if we get rid of Bendy? If his Lord and lover is ever killed... There'll be bits of the culprit all over the Studio. Bits that Sammy will then pick up, paste back into the ink, reform the guy and start again.

G can't help but shudder as he imagines the scene.

- Again and again and again. And again.

- I don't know. I don't think Fifteen is in any shape to think any further, Jane replies.

- 'Poor thing. He should have let Bendy eat him.

- He says so every day. That's why I can't understand why you encouraged him to set up this Club! This is stupid! We should be taking his mind off his anger, not letting him wallow in it!

- I just want to support Fifteen. If we have to spend an hour every three-quarters of a cycles to meet for imagining  unworkable plans to kill a super-fast demon surely immortal with an overdeveloped sense of smell... I'll do it. And then I tell myself that if he realises that it's unfeasible, he'll stop fantasising and accept his fate a little better...

- Or we can try to hit Sammy on the head until he forgets about Fifteen. That sounds just as plausible to me.

G rubs his forehead as he closes his eyes, feeling a slightly guilty annoyance rising.

- Jane... Are you his friend or not?

- Why am I here and not over a cup of ink, eh? 

But she promises herself she'll stop by afterwards. She'll need it.

- So stop being unpleasant. We will have to do this first meeting without Fifteen, he has not finished his "service" with Sammy. This is good. It's a great opportunity to get things moving in the right direction

Jane sighs heavily.

- ... You're very, very optimistic.

Her tone suggests that this is far from a compliment.

- It has to be. If you give up hope, you give up living! G replies cheerfully, ignoring the sarcasm.

- Spare me your positive slogans. It makes me want to throw up.

- I know you don't mean it.

Jane rolls her eyes without answering. G wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her to the middle of the room. She suspects that he will call out to the other Lost Ones to start the meeting. She can't help but resist a little, digging her heels into the floor to slow G down. Her friend simply tightens his embrace without losing his big friendly smile.

She will not escape. .............................................................................................................................

- AND THIS IS THE ONLY SOLUTION YOU HAVE FOUND? TOYS? I SHOULD NEVER HAVE LET YOU RUN THIS MEETING! 

- Calm down, Fifteen. There's no point in shouting like that, G told him in a soft voice.

- YOU'RE A FUCKING CARE BEAR AND NOW, YOU'VE CONTAMINATED THE OTHERS!

-  People won't come back, sighs G.

He decided not to take the insult. In any case, for him, being a Care Bear was not a fault. He liked to be a gentle person, caring for others and always optimistic. Why on earth would anyone want him to be bitter and sullen?

But Fifteen doesn't even blink and opens his mouth to bellow again.

- I'M SURE IT WAS YOUR IDEA! 

Jane, a little way off, just listens with one ear while sipping her ink, sitting comfortably in one of the only chairs still standing. She knew that this was not at all what Fifteen meant by "finding a way to have a peaceful life". But left to his own devices, G had done as he pleased. She hadn't even tried to intervene. What was the point? The others had seemed as willing as G. to find a gentle way to avoid being eaten. The idea of killing Bendy (which was much more definitive, admittedly ) hadn't occurred to them. Fifteen would have been mad if he had heard them...

- Well... It's a joint proposal. We all voted, you know? We had to find out exactly what would suit them. They're so different, we couldn't do the same thing... mumbles G, a little embarrassed.

- I KNEW IT! I...

- FIFTEEN!  Jane finally shouts, as a headache begins to pound her temples. QUIET!

Fifteen turns to her, looking as if he wants to shout at her too. A glare dissuades him. He grunts, but turns back to his more conciliatory friend, tacitly accepting his defeat.

Satisfied, Jane takes a sip. At least he'll stop bawling. If she is far from having G's patience, she understands Fifteen. If she were in his place, the Club's crazy proposal would have pissed her off.

- I don't understand how you got to... To this!

- You know I prefer non-violent solutions, but...

- SO IT IS YOU!

- ... you would have been surprised to find out that almost everyone did. Nobody thought of anything aggressive. Finally, we decided together that attempting to soften him would be a better idea. When you think about it, Bendy's not that bad...

- He EATS people!

That's one for Fifteen, thinks Jane, hiding her smile in her glass.

- But he has no choice! And he's doing it very quickly now, with a lot of understanding...

- For God's sake, G! Do you hear yourself?

G suddenly frowns. Which is a bad sign. Slowly, he straightens up to his full height, stepping between the candle's halo and his friend, casting his massive shadow over Fifteen's slightly worried face.

Jane tucks her head into her shoulders. G is an extremely positive and gentle Lost One who can take a lot. In fact, he is so gentle that it is easy to forget that, like everyone else, he has limits. Limits that must not be exceeded...

- Now you will calm down and listen to me carefully. I know perfectly well how pedantic, exalted and annoying Sammy can be. I know that having to spend most of your time doing things you don't like must seem like hell, especially in a place that already looks a lot like Purgatory. But let me remind you of two really important things, my friend.

G's calm tone is extremely firm. Fifteen therefore cautiously keeps his mouth shut. Satisfied by what he takes to be attentive listening, G continues.

- The first is that, painful as it is, Sammy has changed a lot since he... Um. Been seeing Bendy. And even more so now that he has the triplets. If you bothered to talk to him, I'm sure he'd understand and accept your resignation.

Fifteen must be showing his dismay in his eyes because Jane hears G's tone turn to annoyance.

- Or lie, you fool! You could just tell him you'd rather preach to the Lost Ones below. No one will denounce you, and John Dot spends most of his time with them and the little ones...

G's voice then becomes dangerously low.

- And the second... I don't want you to forget that under any circumstances, I could never plan, cause or allow another person's death, do you hear me? NEVER!

With that last word, G's tone is so intense that Fifteen shrivels up in front of him.

- Even Joey's? he asks anyway in a tiny voice.

G shakes his head as he straightens up. If he'd been wearing a suit like he did when he was human, he'd probably have smoothed his shirt or absentmindedly tightened his tie.

- It's not the same. In his case, it would almost be like doing a good deed. But don't change the subject!

Fifteen flinches.

- You will accept the Club's decision WITHOUT grumbling and you will take an ACTIVE part in it. We will need your sewing skills. That way you'll be able to see that even the worst situations can be solved with a positive attitude.

- But...

G stands up without paying attention to this feeble attempt at protest. It's no use trying to be right anyway when G takes that tone. Jane tilts her head back to finish her ink, convinced that G is going to take Fifteen with him, willingly or not. - You'll see, it'll be quick. All we need is three of Bendy's cuddy toy and three tape recorders.

She vaguely hears Fifteen grumbling as she greedily licks the last of her ink. Lowering her arm, she finds G standing in front of her.

- Oh no, she says, backing up in her chair, clutching her empty glass to her chest.

- Oh yes, replies the Lost One in a quiet tone, holding out a hand as big as a pot lid towards her.

A second later, G, glowing, walks out of the room. He carries a dishevelled Jane over his shoulder, who spits out every swear word in her vocabulary, gesticulating in vain. Fifteen follows, shuffling along, arms crossed and face sullen.

- Everything is going to work out for the best, you'll see! says G in an energetic tone, both to convince the other two and himself. .............................................................................................................................

-MUUUUUMYYY! DAAAADYYYY!!!

There is a sound of wet running in the hallway and almost immediately the door swings open.

Sammy stands up on one elbow and gropes for his mask, while Bendy doesn't even move. The light splashes on his dark face and he blinks, disturbed. He manages to make out Bendy Jr's small face raised towards him. He smiles at once and puts down his mask to reach out and caress his cheek. Curiously, his son seems to be holding something, but Sammy is still too sleepy to pay attention.

-Shh, kids. What's going on? Is everything okay? he asks in a low voice. 

Henry Jr. puts the candle on the floor and the light stops dancing, allowing him to see better. Sammy wonders vaguely what time it is, as his triplets trample their blanket bed to join him. It's early, of course. But it's always too early when your little ones wake you up screaming.

Sam is the first to arrive and snuggle up to his father. Henry Jr. sits on his lap smiling broadly and Ben, after kissing him on the cheek, nestles against Bendy's back a little ways away. They all have a cardboard box in their hands.

- What is it? asks Sammy, his eyebrows already furrowed.

- We found them outside the door! exclaims Henry Jr. in a high-pitched voice, wiggling around, clearly full of energy and overexcited. We heard a noise this morning and went to see. There was no one left, it was all dark and empty, but there were these things. It's got our names on it, Dad!

- Gift! exclaims Sam in delight as he shoves his box under his father's nose.

Sammy gently pushes his son's little hand away so he can examine what he's so vigorously handing him. It's a simple cardboard box, one of those that held paper, cut to form a cube that closes. And on one of the sides it says "For Sammy Jr, from the  B.F.C". The box is light, but when you shake it a bit, it makes a soft, squishy sound. It seems completely innocent, but Sammy is wary. Their little family doesn't have only friends. His throat tightens because he hates to hurt their feelings, he tilts his shoulders a little - as if that will help him when his babies cry - and begins in what he hopes is an authoritative tone:

- I don't know what it is about, kids. Maybe it's not safe to...

- There's nothing dangerous in it.

As always, Bendy's deep voice sends a soft warmth through his empty chest. The demon continues without turning around, only reaching back with one arm to briefly caress Ben's head.

- I would have smell it. They can open it.

-YEAAH! the little ones scream.

The carton almost disappears as the children eagerly tear it apart. There are still pieces falling down when Sam gets up shouting:

- Cuddly toy! Cuddly toy mummy!

- What? says the aforementioned mother. Machinically, he lifts Ben up so as he not to crush him when he turns around. He settles him against his stomach to be able to see the presents. The little one hugged the cuddly toy enthusiastically. Sam is also happy, but Henry Jr. looks a little disappointed.

- I would have preferred a little pirate ship, he mumbles as he looks at hiscuddly toy . He finally drops it to sulk in his father's arms. But when the cuddly toy hits the ground, a voice exclaims with a constrained air:

- We love you!

Sammy tilts his head to one side.

- The voice sounds familiar.

The fact that the cuddly toy can talk is instantly appealing, and to all three this time. Henry Jr hurries to pick up his, while Sam stares at it, delighted, and Ben frantically searches for the switch in his cuddly toy Bendy .

The real Bendy is the only one who doesn't seem thrilled by the presents.

- I don't know how I'm supposed to take it, he says thoughtfully, looking at the little replicas of the character that he was supposed to embody.

- I don't think it's an insult or a bad joke, my lord. They weren't going to send us an ugly B.I.T.C.H. cuddly toy, or the canine abomination that lives near the music department. Those are the only ones suitable for children of a Go...

Bendy glares at him and Sammy doesn't finish his sentence. He shrugs contritely, as if to say, "Sorry. It's the usual. ".

- They like them a lot. That's all that matters, he says with a smile.

- If you say so. We'll still have to find out where they come from...

- Yes, but I'm sure that... Wait a minute. Ah! I knew I knew that voice! exclaims Sammy, making his lover flinch.

He grabs Sam's cuddly toy, which starts to whine. After pulling his son into his arms and whispering a " Wait, Daddy's watching something " to soothe him, Sammy pulls the little Bendy close to his face and starts the recording again, listening carefully.

- It's the voice of Fifteen!

Bendy frowns.

- Who?

- The second Lost One to join our chur... Discussion group. The one who always seems to have something bitter in his mouth.

- Ah, yes, that one... answers the demon without having any idea who it is. Sammy gives the cuddly toy back to his son and then looks at his children with tender eyes.

- These gifts are obviously from him. It's so nice of him!

- Humf, say Bendy, happy to see his children so pleased, but can't bring himself to call anyone "nice".

Let's not exaggerate.

Sammy seems so delighted by his disciple's devotion that he almost claps his hands.

- I think to reward him, I'm going to give him more responsibility. It will be a lot more work for him, of course, but I'm sure he'll be very happy. What could these gifts be, apart from an unquestionable mark of faith?

And Sammy turns away to play with his children.  As he looks down, Bendy notices a small piece of paper folded in half. When he opens it, he finds it written: "Gift from The Bendy Friends Club , a new Lost association. Our motto: We're so nice, so don't eat us! Hope you enjoyed it, sincerely, B.F.C". 

- They're getting clever, aren't they... he whispers to himself while his eternal smile widened further.

...

The end.

[of-fire-and-light]

Headcanon: origins (for... all the muses, I guess!)

[Oooh okay anon, thank you! This got long so it's under a cut...

OKAY SO. My muses are from original G1, so the canon for their origin is that Galvatron, Cyclonus and Scourge, and the Armada and Sweeps were created by Unicron from Megatron and the dead or dying remains of various other Decepticons - including but possibly not limited to Skywarp, Thundercracker, and either the Insecticons themselves or a handful of spare Insecticlones. The Dis, canonically unnamed at the time, was pulled from somewhere in Unicron's pockets and given to Galvatron as his flagship. Anything beyond that is open to speculation.

So, for my guys whether in fic or RP, this is just how I personally fill in the details. First of all, Unicron deciding to make himself a Herald and a strikeforce was an impulse decision when he found some of Primus's creations conveniently floating in his path; my theory is that Unicron didn't actually know much about making people, having never considered spawning creations of his own before. So he had to reverse engineer Primus's handiwork to figure out how, and he lied to, or certainly tactically misled, Megatron in order to get hold of his body, his power, and his blueprints intact. He would've told him anything, and meant none of it; he just wanted to persuade Megatron to concede access to all that information, rather than risking him self-destructing or similar if Unicron had tried to forcibly take it.

That much achieved, Unicron then harvested data, blueprints, and materials from all the 'Cons he'd gotten his claws on, used the inspiration and information from the gathered files to design his new strikeforce, and then the salvaged raw materials plus whatever else he had on hand to actually build them. Thus, fandom discourse notwithstanding, my headcanon is that Cyclonus, Scourge, and their corresponding drones cannot meaningfully be said to be "made from" anyone in particular. Sure, you could take them apart down to their molecular structure and identify which atoms were once part of whom, but there'd be no obvious pattern or purpose in the results. You might be able to trace bits of Cyclonus's flight coding back to Skywarp if you compared them line by line, but his cruelty and talent for psychological manipulation could equally well have been ripped out of Bombshell. Unicron just broke the dead Seekers and Insecticons apart like old Lego kits, and built his own custom designs without thinking twice about what he was taking from whom.

But those other 'Cons were dead anyway by then, nothing but useful scrap. Megatron was alive and talking and his mind, if not his body, was still fully functional. So in order to extract maximum value out of this one incredibly powerful and strong-minded individual, Unicron put all of Megatron's memories and files into a set of backup databanks, and installed those in parallel with the new directives, databases, and personality coding he created for Galvatron. Galvatron would thereby receive what amounted to a cognitive jump-start: immediate unfiltered access to all Megatron's experience, judgement, cunning and drive, and, of course, pathological hatred of Autobots.

But he couldn't continue to be Megatron, because that would require him keeping Megatron’s spark. And Unicron couldn't very well leave a shard of Primus lodged in his Herald's chest to conflict with his own power and directives... and so his final betrayal was to rip out Megatron's spark and throw it away. Galvatron, Cyclonus and Scourge all then received new sparks: tiny offcuts of Unicron's own, just as Cybertronian sparks are little pieces of Primus, aligning their core instincts and emotional paradigms with Unicron’s and cementing his control over them on the deepest possible level.

And then he gave them the Dis, designing and building it on the spot using assorted ship blueprints he'd found in the 'Cons' memories and the reserves of raw materials in his own holding tanks and internal furnaces, and sent them all out to go and do their thing for him. Cyclonus and Scourge were pretty much blank slates at this point, just accepting the reality they'd awoken into and largely controlled by Unicron's slave-coding; but Galvatron initially had a bit of trouble separating himself from Megatron, because while he could intuitively feel the difference, he also remembered "being" Megatron and there were a lot of those memories. Of course, he immediately started archiving new memories under the identity of "Galvatron" - and the trauma of having Unicron's control ripped out of his mind at the end of the Movie, followed by his time in a hot tub plasma pit on Thrull, was a sufficiently defining set of life experiences that by the time he was found again by Cyclonus and Scourge, he was certain that he was Galvatron, and had a sense of self completely disconnected from Megatron's residual identity. (He still has Megatron's memories if he needs to refer to them, but he doesn't do so except in desperation because he really hates feeling even briefly like someone he knows he isn't. Besides which, he has some pretty major ideological and emotional differences from Megatron, and the cognitive dissonance is uncomfortable.)

Random consequences of all of this include:

- The Unicronians kinda have... opposing spark polarity to Cybertronians. In mundane contexts it doesn't affect anything much, but, eg, if Galvatron entered a consecrated temple of Primus he'd feel like a demon trying to stand on holy ground - he might be able to do it, but it really wouldn't be comfortable for him. Regular Cybertronians instinctively feel creeped out and uneasy around the Unicronians even though they usually can't articulate why, and anyone with significant spiritual affinity or training would outright recognise them as Unicron-spawn pretty much on sight.

- They're simultaneously violently allergic to the Matrix because it was created as a weapon against the very power their sparks are made from, and magnetically drawn to it because Unicron programmed them to hunt it down and it radiates "this thing is delicious, try to eat it" to their instincts on a literally spiritual level. In most of my 'verses, Galvatron has managed to precariously but effectively resolve this conflict of interest by nibbling on Rodimus Prime whenever he gets the chance. Rodimus sees no downside to this.

- The sparks of Megatron, Skywarp, Thundercracker etc have all returned safely to the Allspark by now. If anyone were to attempt to summon or contact their spirits, it would be possible to do so, and there would be literally no collateral effect on the Unicronians other than them probably freaking out about ghosts if they heard about it.]

[beelspillowpet]

Security (A SFW Jinx + Beel & Lucifer)

The idea I had the previous night. Jinx and Beelzebub had been talking about having a physical marking for their pact. Something like a permanent tattoo to show that they were together. Jinx had a bit of an episode, and as a result, they go to Lucifer to calm her down.

This is SELF! INDULGENT! TRASH! I feel like I need to say that every time now lol. It’s about Jinx, so of course there is not “MC” talk. The personalities might be a bit warped, but that’s because this takes place in MY PERSONAL CANON of how the story went down. MC is not a sack of potatoes blindly rushing into danger. MC is a troubled young woman named Jinx.

Warnings? A hint of sadness | If you squint, a bit of eating disorder | DDLG elements- although nothing explicit.

“I’m sorry! I told you it might-?!”

Jinx crawled off the edge of the bed and rushed to grab her robe. Out of courtesy for everyone else and a sense of decency, she threw on something before she could rush out of the door and to the bathroom.When Beelzebub managed to get into clothes of his own, he followed after her.

When he found her, she was doubled over the toilet, emptying the contents of tonight’s dinner in chunks. What a shame. He’d just got her to stop throwing up her dinner not too long ago. “Pum’kin?” Beelzebub frowns. He reaches out to touch her, but she backs away from him instantly, squeezing herself down and against the corner of the bathroom.

“Don’t! J-just don’t, please!”

He pulls away, his stomach churning. He’s heard her sound like this before, but it’s been ages. He still didn’t know exactly what he did wrong. He was only doing what she asked.

For safe measures, he presses himself back against the wall opposite of her. “Okay… I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d scare you like that. I was just trying to mark you like you asked. You do still want me to mark you, right?” It was an innocent question. They’d been talking about leaving a physical mark on her skin ever since they made their pact together. Jinx thought she was ready, she’d been ready for a while, hadn’t she?

“I do! I did! I did say that, didn’t I? But I didn’t think you’d put it there, Bee!” Jinx shouted. “I thought you’d put it on my chest, or my arm or something!”

“What’s wrong with putting it on your belly?”

Another innocent question. The answer should have been simple. I’m just uncomfortable with it being there, was all she needed to say. Her mouth opened, then shut. Then opened again as if she was convincing herself to actually explain why. What came out instead was a quiet plea.

“I need to see papa. Can you take me to him?”

Beelzebub walked her down the long corridor. He got her into a quick shower and then a pair of pajamas back in her bedroom first. He held her hand, and she held onto her spare blanket and rabbit plushie. Beelzebub knocked once, then twice on the door when Lucifer didn’t answer. Shortly after, he heard tired groans and the sound of the man rolling out of bed and to the door.

When he opened it, he looked as tired and frustrated as he usually did. He must have pushed back his hair to present himself somewhat normally before even letting anyone get the chance to see his bedhead. Just like him to do so.

“Beel and Jinx.” He says slowly, fighting the urge to yawn. “I suppose it’s better than Mammon. What are you two doing up this late?” He peers over Beelzebub’s form so he can properly see Jinx’s face. The moment he can, he’s wide awake. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her lips were curled downward into a deep frown. “What’s going on?” he asks more softly.

“Well- we were…” Beelzebub immediately trails off. He didn’t want to give away her privacy so easily, so he thought for a moment while Lucifer coaxed Jinx into his arms for a hug. “I scared her. I didn’t do it on purpose, but she ended up throwing up in the bathroom. She wanted to come see you.”

Lucifer looked over Beelzebub’s face with a scowl. He pulled Jinx back for a second to wipe her tears away. “There, there. It’s okay Little One. Come on, I’ll put you to bed. You must be exhausted.” He turned around and walked Jinx into his bedroom, taking her over to the corner of his bed. He looked back at Beelzebub and grimaced. He was to wait there so he could get full disclosure on what exactly happened.

Jinx wrapped the blankets around herself before sitting down on the bed, hugging her rabbit doll close. “P-papa, I’m sorry for waking you up.” She apologized promptly. “I know you got a busy day t-tomorrow and I shouldn’t be freaking out over it. It’s dumb, I’m being dumb.”

“It’s alright.” Lucifer sighs. “You’re scared and hurt, Little One. I’m going to take care of it, okay? Now, I need you to be brave for me. I’m going to have a quick chat with Beel about what happened, and then we can talk too. But I need you to sit here and breathe like I taught you; can you do that?”

Jinx shook her head, feeling tears forming again. “I don’t wanna be alone again, papa. Please?”

“Little One,” Lucifer starts again, giving her another hug. “I would tear anyone apart in a slow and agonizing fashion if they ever hurt you. No one, not even Father, could stop me from making sure you’re safe. I protect my own.” Jinx buried her face into his clothed chest and sniffled.

Lucifer chewed his tongue, pushing further. “When I pulled you and your brother away from those demons trying to hurt you I told you how much I loved you both and wanted to make sure you survived. Do you think what I told you two in that moment was a lie?”

It took Jinx a second to process. Then she shook her head.

“Give me just a minute, Little One.” He let go of her and stepped out of his bedroom with swiftness. The timer in his head is already ticking. He allows Beelzebub to fill him in vaguely about what happened before crossing his arms and looking away.

“That’s a bit…” Lucifer sighs. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. When she gets like this, I’m the only one who can calm her down. I suspect she’ll want to spend the night in here.”

Beelzebub frowns. “She won’t want to leave…? I didn’t get an answer out of her before about why she reacted like that. I was only doing what she wanted…”

Lucifer yawned again, almost at his limit. “I know you were, Beel. Sometimes humans go through terrible things that leave them a bit… scarred. She is no exception. Just go on to bed, things will be handled on my end from here.” He waved Beelzebub off and reentered his bedroom.

“I’m back, Little One.” Lucifer announced. Jinx hopped off the bed and dove back into his arms, holding him tight. “I told you, I would be back. Thank you for being so brave for me. Now, I need to ask you a few questions, okay?”

Jinx looked up at him, pouting.

“Don’t fret, I won’t pry about it. I just need to know what to do moving forward. I got Beel’s side of things, but what about you? Do you want to talk about it?” Jinx shook her head, burying her face back into his chest. “Okay. What about tomorrow? I can tell things are going to be bad if we don’t clear the air. Or I can take you to visit Dr. Wayne?”

“Dr. Wayne?” Jinx asks, looking back up at him. “I haven’t seen him since before Christmas… I need to give him my notebook! I did some writing in it, we can go over that stuff!”

Lucifer smiles, pushing her hair out of her face. “Okay, Little One. We can take you to see Dr. Wayne after we make a phone call in the morning, alright? Now… Do you want to go back to your room? Are you feeling good enough to stay in your room now?”

Jinx frowned again, letting go of Lucifer. She sat down on the bed again and hugged her stuffed rabbit. “Can I stay here?” she asked softly. “I know it’s silly. I’m too old to act like this, but I-”

“You’re not too old for any of this. You are my precious Little One. You need my protection and my security, and I am happy to provide it. You could be 21, or 51 years old, and I would never turn you away. Problems like yours just don’t go away, whatever they may be. Know that whenever things get too tough, you have me to fall back on.”

Jinx tilted her head downwards and smiled a little. “You always know what to say, papa.” She threw her legs on to the bed and pulled the sheets over her. She took her extra blanket and placed it on top for the extra warmth, as it was usually colder in his room. Lucifer walked over and kissed the top of her forehead. He tickled her in, making sure the blankets fit over the majority of her body before taking his place on the other side of the bed.

“G’night, papa.” Jinx whispered. “N’ thank you.”

Lucifer yawned one last time, shutting his eyes. “Good night, princess.”

[irtza]

MEADOW BOYS

PART ONE

The fights stopped for a while, and eventually, so did the manager's attempts at getting them to talk. Mark point blank refused to look at Donghyuck, which was easy in a team of ten. He always had someone else to be with, and so did the younger. Mark found himself latching onto Johnny and Taeyong the most, drowning himself in projects and practice and work.

It was a useful distraction, because he wouldn't have the time or the energy to spare and glance in the direction of his meadow boy. The chit of paper with Donghyuck's name weighed down his wallet heavily, tucked away in a corner along with a family photo he kept of his parents and his brother, and a receipt of the first guitar he had bought with his own money. He convinced himself to not get rid of the chit, because it was a memory with all of Dream, not just him.

And then came the announcement for the Dream comeback. With that came the heavy tension and worry from 127's side. Mark overheard several conversations Taeyong ended up having with the managers or Doyoung, where he reassured them that Mark and Haechan were responsible, that they would never ruin a comeback with their tussles and arguments because they both cared too much about their careers for that, and the 127 dynamic was still going great despite the obvious disconnect.

But then he remembered all the times he felt like he'd been stabbed in the heart when Donghyuck said something too mean or looked away just to be healed when he would throw an arm around his shoulder and walk out the doors of the company building and he wondered if Donghyuck even knew what he was doing to Mark.

It was times like that when Mark wondered if he'd made the right choice, every time he paused outside Jaehyun and Donghyuck's room on his way back from the kitchen to hear either yells of victory with overwatch in the background or low voices talking about something, or just steady breathing.

Mark hated to admit it, but he missed Donghyuck. He really fucking missed his meadow boy, with daisies in his hair and scintilla in his eyes and sunshine bouncing off every sharp plane of his face. He missed his smaller frame that would forcefully wrap itself around Mark, the chapped lips he would try to avoid pressing against his skin because he was scared he'd want to feel more.

Maybe not.

And so came the Dream practices, where Mark had his own room, small and cramped but still his own. The walls were thin and he could hear Jeno and Donghyuck laugh at jokes or just talk about things in muffled low voices.

He would feel alone so he'd curl up under the blanket or go find himself a snack in the kitchen, where he'd find Jisung rummaging through the cabinet at some ungodly hour and then they'd watch a Korean dubbed version of Captain America and fall asleep on the couch. They'd wake up the next morning with stiff limbs and sore necks but hks heart would feel considerably lighter until he would catch sight of Donghyuck clinging onto Chenle who would screech and shove him away, but because he couldn't be in a bad mood he would go hang around Jaemin who would greet him with a low good morning and the bowl of cereal he was filling for himself.

They would go to practice or to events with their masks up and bucket hats drawn low and sometimes Mark would stare at the retreating figure of Donghyuck, who usually walked between Jeno and Renjun, and sometimes he would see fan taken pictures of him doing the same and curse himself, and stay up till three am wondering if Donghyuck saw those pictures too and hated him or scoffed at him for looking so longingly when he was the one who refused to talk it out.

He would sometimes pass Donghyuck in the corridor in the living room or on the dining room late at night and would ignore the rising wave of concern when he noticed the purple blooming eye bags under his eyes but refrained from asking. The tension would be too thick in the air and if Donghyuck ever opened his mouth to say something, Mark would run out of the room because he was terrified of looking at him in the eye and wondering what he would see.

Other times he would accidentally look to the side during practice and make eye contact with Donghyuck in the mirror, but he wouldn't see anything except hollow eyes that stared back at him, before they would shift away. Donghyuck was scared of Mark, he realised with a twist in gut. Donghyuck stopped trying to talk to him, became as still as a statue when he moved too close and his expression would become a tabula rasa.

And Mark would be downright cruel to ignore the fact that Donghyuck was about as okay as he was - which wasn't good. There was no denying the boy was losing sleep and losing weight and losing energy, but he would look fine everywhere else, glowing with happiness.

He would tell Renjun this, and Renjun would blink at him and sigh, before cussing him out thoroughly. "Oblivious fuck." He'd say, before ushering Mark out of the room with false promises that slid off his tongue with such ease that he would talk to Donghyuck and help him, but Cleary Donghyuck didn't want to be helped because he'd hear yells of "Mind your own business, Huang!" And it wouldn't be the friendly kind.

Mark couldn't figure out for the life of him what was wrong with Donghyuck or why he was acting like this, and even if the little demons in his head told him it was his fault and if he just manned up and apologised to Donghyuck it would be all okay, the other voices would tell him it can't be him because the boy would certainly hate him by now, heck, he would hate himself by now.

And Mark cursed himself for ever being proud of being able to tell the limits of anything when he couldn't even tell Donghyuck's. He cursed himself for being a tad bit too slow at catching the boy when his eyes rolled back into his head and his legs had given out in the middle of a choreography.

He cursed himself for everything under the goddamn sun because if he hadn't been such a senstivid jerk, such a whiny idiot, such a starstruck boy who even decided to audition, none of this would have ever happened and they wouldn't be standing in an empty hospital corridor, where he paced up and down the length, apparently white faced.

Jeno told him calmly to sit down, and when that didn't work, Jisung told him that he was scaring him and that snapped Mark out of it because the younger knew how to manipulate the soft spot the older had for him. "I'm sorry." Mark whispered, but he didn't know who he was saying it to or what he was saying it for, merely collapsing onto the bench with his face buried in his palms in an attempt to muffle the ragged breathing that came before a storm of tears.

He heard the creaking of the seat beside him, and suddenly he was enveloped in a warm hug and gentle whispers of, "We don't blame you, hyung."

Mark broke that night. He finally broke, caving into the pressure of his mistakes and pain and cried into his arms, cried into whatever shoulder was offered to him, cried until his eyes were dry and throat was raw, and then cried some more because he knew no amount of tears would ever be able to bring back Donghyuck to him, and he just wanted to be able to apologise.

"It's okay, hyung." He would hear Chenle say softly, and it would fade out to Renjun gently pressing a bottle of water and forcing him to take a few a sips which would then turn into Jaemin wiping his tears and offering his shoulder for him to sleep on, which he denied out of pure guilt because he was supposed to take care of them and be there for them, and he was being a shitty leader.

"You were suffering too, hyung." Jisung told him lightly, forcing Mark to rest his head on his shoulder, holding his hand. For his sake, he insisted, and Mark was weak so he allowed it. "You both were egoistic idiots who clearly cared about each other and not enough about yourselves. I'm sure if this hadn't happened, you would have collapsed instead. Have you seen yourself?"

No, he hasn't, but he had overheard the stylists worrying about how a few costumes were a bit looser on him than expected and fussing about how they were sure they had the right measurements and that Mark couldn't have lost weight in such a short amount of time - he thought it had been a good thing.

"Just talk to him when he wakes up, okay?" Jaemin told him soothingly. "It's been long overdue." And maybe it had, because Mark finally told the demons in his head to shut the fuck up and clear it out with his best friend.

"It's just exhaustion." The doctor told them and their worried manager, who looked equally exhausted. "The boy hasn't eaten or slept properly for a while, by the looks of it. It's possible he was under too much stress. A week of complete rest at the minimum should do him some good." The doctor peered at Mark and the others over his clipboard with narrowed eyes, before saying firmly, "I understand you have a comeback ahead of you, and I wish you the best of luck, but I'd rather not see you boys here again. While this may be your job, your health is far more important, and you boys don't look too far off from collapsing either."

To be very honest, Jisung looked like he was going to burst into tears at that comment, and Mark could only just hug him, because to have someone care in an industry that wished for you to mold your body to their expectations was rare and it was heart-warming to the point they felt their heart was burning in flames.

"When he will he be awake?" Mark croaked out, looking up at the doctor who gave him a weary smile. "Soon, I'm assuming. We'll let you know when he's awake."

And just like that, within a few hours, a nurse came hurrying down the corridor maybe at about two am, looking tired. "Mark Lee." She called out, and Mark jerked out of the light sleep he'd managed to fall into, standing up dazedly, blinking. "The patient specifically called for you." The nurse said, covering her mouth with a yawn. Renjun stirred beside him, being a light sleeper himself, and gave Mark an encouraging nod. "Don't fuck it up," He called out, and Mark winced at the echo, but nodded anyways as he followed the nurse towards the room. She stayed out, keeping the door partially ajar, and Mark turned to look at the boy on the bed, sitting up with his gaze on him.

He walked over quietly, the only sound being the clacking of his shoes against the tiled floor. He drew up a chair and sat down silently, eyes focused on the blanket that Donghyuck was bunching up in his hands.

"You should take care of yourself." Mark said quietly, immediately wincing at his own words. Donghyuck let out a dry chuckle, raw and bitter. "That's the first thing you've said to me after months, and it's a scolding."

The first thing that came to the top of tongue was a defensive retort - how it applied to all of them, how it was more important than ever because they had a comeback and how this would hold the team back.

When Mark looked up, finally looking Donghyuck in the eyes after months, (had his eyes always been the color of coffee?) he saw from the fractured, defeated look that it was what Donghyuck was expecting from him. An attempt at reconciliation that would end in defeat, just another part of the cycle Mark tried to end but unknowingly started a new one of ignoring and then pain.

He didn't want that. Don't fuck it up.

He clenched his fists, swallowing, before lowering his gaze. "I'm sorry." He choked out, the words coming out muffled at first over the lump in his throat, but the the dam broke and a tear rolled down.

"I'm so fucking sorry," He sobbed, the heels of his palms coming to cover his eyes but Donghyuck caught his wrists and pulled them away from his face. Mark was vulnerable in front of him, red and puffy in the face, and for the first time in ages, Mark managed to actually look at him, seeing the tear tracks and the eyes bags and the chewed up lips and everything else visible and not. He reached over, and pulled him in for a hug. "Hyung loves you, Hyuck - ah." Mark sobbed as he held on tightly, as if the thin figure of bones and skin would disappear like sand through his fingertips if he wasn't careful, and when Donghyuck let out a muffled cry, his heart broke.

He didn't know how long he had spent there, holding the tired boy for ages until his arms ached and even then he pushed through because it was the least he owed Donghyuck.

He held him tight and promised he'd never let him go because even after everything, Mark wanted to see his smile and hear his laugh and press his lips to his own, even if he could never do the latter. Mark still loved Lee Donghyuck, and would give up every organ his body and every idea, thought, anything of value in his soul for the boy, whether it be for something trivial or something huge, because he realised that without Donghyuck, he was sad, hurt and angry.

He loved Lee Donghyuck, and it had taken them a while to fall back into a new dynamic, where they would talk and love and tease but cherish, and that was what mattered. And Mark was grateful it worked out in the end, because here he was with his best friend on the midnight of his twenty second birthday, being asked about one of his favorite memories of all time.

"Of course I remember that." He huffed out, and Donghyuck laughed lightly into the juncture where his neck met his shoulder, making goosebumps rise on the bare skin. Suddenly, Mark wished he hadn't worn a tank top to bed.

"You never told me who your meadow boy was." The younger said quietly, fiddling with a loose thread on the front of Mark's shirt, and Mark was sure the other heard his breath hitch. "Wasn't that the point, though?" He asked after a pregnant pause. "It's supposed to remain a secret."

Donghyuck snorted. "You know me, hyung." He batted his eyes innocently at the older. "I always want to know everything. Plus, I already know Jaemin's and Chenle's." "They still remember it?" Mark asked, impressed. Donghyuck looked up, an eyebrow quirked up as he looked baffled. "Of course they do," He said incredulously. "We still use the nickname all the time. I'm pretty sure we follow around our meadow boy all the time, too."

Mark shrugged as much as he could in the compromising position, arms still tightly wrapped around Donghyuck. After his reinstatement to Dream, although he had visited them, he'd never lived with them like he had before. It wasn't a huge surprise he was out of the loop.

"Jaemin's meadow boy is Jisung." Donghyuck giggled. "It's so obvious, if you think of it. No wonder he got attached so far." Mark hummed out a response, fingers tracing out patterns on the other's back absentmindedly. "And Chenle's is Jeno."

"Who was yours?" Mark looked down at the younger, who snuggled closer, every ridge and valley lining up, and he didn't feel so cold without the blanket anymore. "Renjun." Donghyuck whispered. "Mhm." Mark hummed, eyes fixed on the wall behind the younger.

"Yours?" Donghyuck asked again, and Mark stiffened, before relaxing. "You." He breathed out. He felt Donghyuck tense in his arms, before he was shifted lightly, the younger squirming out of his grasp and pushing him flat on his back, making Mark let out a noise of surprise. Donghyuck swung himself over, knees planted on either side of Mark’s hips. “Donghyuck-” He breathed out, but the younger was faster. “Can you give your meadow boy one wish, then?” He asked softly, fingers intertwining with Mark’s. The older felt his breathing speed up, swallowing lightly as he nodded.

Donghyuck smiled, leaning down slowly. "Can I have a kiss?" He asked softly, hot breath ghosting over Mark's lips, and he exhaled softly. "Yeah." Mark got out, fire racing up his limbs, heartbeat picking up, hands coming to grasp the younger by his waist as he leaned down.

Donghyuck pressed their mouths together tentatively, almost like a gentle breeze that was gone too fast, before Mark tugged him down again, a hand now cupping his face.

The younger tasted faintly of the hot cocoa Johnny had made as dessert after finding some random recipe on Google and the minty tang of toothpaste. Mark really didn't mind it at all, fingers carding through his hair as Donghyuck balanced himself by placing his arms on either side of Mark's head.

When Donghyuck pulled away, breathless his pupils were full blown, dilated save for the outer ring of coffee, a rosy tinge to cheeks barely visible to Mark, and red ears.

"Happy birthday, Lee Mark." He whispered softly. "I love you." And if Mark even notices that his heart skips several beats, he gives no sign of recognition, merely staring at Donghyuck dumbfounded and tongue tied, a hand still in his hair and the other on his waist, and he wondered how he still had a hold on the boy's heart.

Don't fuck it up.

He let out a breath, surging up and capturing the other's lips again in a deeper kiss, all tongue and teeth and everything else, trying to say everything he couldn't for years in one simple gesture. When he pulled away, he was breathless too, resting his forehead against the Donghyuck's, eyes briefly fluttering shut before opening again, as he stared in coffee ringed eyes, claiming his lips again with the ghost of a whisper.

"I love you too, my meadow boy."

[dine-on-darling]

I have more protective vore ideas, more along the lines of just the MC being stubborn and the others have to do a homf to get them to listen. maybe they are sick or were stupid and forgot a jacket when going on a walk and got cold, or maybe they were already hurt from something or someone and need to rest but they refuse to. sorry this got so long I feel most comfortable rambling here.

Yes, I love this

Sorry this took me a bit to get to, but I wanted to think of something good for each of the brothers because this inspired me!

I used Darling as the the prey, and each of these contains safe, soft, g/t vore with an unwilling prey

Also, no need to ever apologize for rambling! I am the queen of rambling and I love it when other people ramble to me!

Lucifer

“Ow! Stop that!”

Lucifer withdrew his hands from Darling’s ankle, who hissed in pain.

“It looks as though it’s not broken, good. Honestly, I had no idea a human could be this clumsy.”

“I am not clumsy! That rock sprang up out of nowhere!” Darling put a hand against her ankle, immediately wincing and drawing it back at the stab of pain that caused.

She started to pick herself up off the ground, but Lucifer placed a hand on her shoulder to push her back down.

“What do you think you’re doing? Your ankle may not be broken, but I still wouldn’t suggest putting any weight on it.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, the House of Lamentation isn’t far away, I can make it back.” She tried to shake his hand off her shoulder, but his grip was too solid for her to budge. “Lucifer, come on, I said I’m fine.”

The demon raised an eyebrow in a questioning look, but he withdrew his hand after a brief staring contest. “Fine, prove it.”

He watched with admittedly a little amusement as Darling got to her feet, being careful of her ankle. She gave him a smug look that he probably would have hit any one else for, and turned around to take a step. He saw her tense up and heard the winced curse she bit back on with each limping step. He sighed, sometimes that girl had pride to rival even his.

He followed a step behind her for a minute, watching to see if she’d throw in the towel and admit she needs help.

She kept walking, if anything his presence behind her fueling her pettiness and making her continue to move despite each stab of pain a step caused.

Lucifer shook his head, understanding this.

From behind, he placed his hands on her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Are all humans as stubborn as you are? No matter, if you won’t admit you need help on your own, then I will simply take matters into my own hands.”

He brought up one hand to tilt Darling’s head back a bit, pressing his lips to her forehead and whispering a spell.

“Wait, what are you- ah, damn it, Lucifer!”

Darling found herself sitting atop Lucifer’s palm, arm crossed and glaring up at the now giant demon, who only found the expression cute.

“Ugh, fine, whatever, you’re going to carry me back to the house like this then, huh? Stupid demon magic.” She huffed.

Lucifer tilted his head, smirking. “Mmm, not quite like this. Someone stubborn as you are would probably try and wriggle out of my grasp, and it wouldn’t be very good if you fell from so high up, now would it? I think it’d be best to put you somewhere safer.”

All of Darling’s protests were muffled as soon as her body was placed in Lucifer’s mouth. Normally he’d take the opportunity to play around a bit, but that would risk aggravating her ankle even further, which she’d already done plenty of. So, he swallowed, and as soon as Darling landed in his stomach, the walls pressed in around her, keeping her in place.

“There, that should stop you from harming yourself any further.”

Mammon

It’s not like Darling had meant to fall in the river.

In fact, it really wasn’t her fault at all, Mammon was the one who’d gotten carried away while they were joking around and pushed her a little too hard.

Luckily the water wasn’t very deep or fast, but it certainly was cold.

So now she was sitting on the river side, dripping and looking like a wet cat.

Mammon hovered at her side, hands up but unsure what to do to help. He cringed when she sneezed.

The fuck up brother strikes again, it seems.

Darling wrung water out of her hair while Mammon sheepishly rubbed that back of his neck.

“You- You can’t go blamin’ me for this! You pushed me first, anyway!” Mammon insisted, fighting the embarrassed flush trying to creep up to his cheeks.

Darling pushed herself up, shaking out her sleeves. She was annoyed, sure, but she bit down on it. She couldn’t bring herself to get mad at him, especially not when she knew his brothers would give him enough shit for this when they found out. “I know it was an accident; come on, we should head back to the house so I can get a change of clothes.” She started walking back the way they’d come.

Mammon hurried after her. “Hold up! You’re going to walk all the way back like that?”

“What other choice do I have? Strip?” Darling shivered as the water on her skin started to dry in the chill air. “Pretty sure that’d only make it colder. It’s fine, really.” 

Mammon bit his lip, trailing by her side and watching her suppress shivers with her arms crossed. He wracked his brain, trying to think of something he could do, and an idea came to him.

He quickly jumped ahead a step, placing himself squarely in her path.

Darling only looked up at him questioningly, the cold making her temper grow shorter, she wasn’t really in the mood for whatever was giving his eye that particular spark that let her know he had a Mammon idea. “What are you doing? Can we please get back to the house already.” Another shiver moved through her.

Mammon shook his head. “Not with you soaked like that! If you get sick, then I’m going to be the blamed, you know.”

“Then do you have any other suggestions?”

“Yup! The great Mammon is gracious enough to give you a ride back home!”

“A ride? What-”

The familiar spell was whispered into her, and Darling was shrunken and missing the brief wave of warmth the protection spell brought.

“Mammon.” She groaned, smacking at the hand that tried to pick her up. “Are you serious right now?”

“It’s the perfect way to warm you up! Now quite your, ugh, quite your whining.” He sat back with a huff the more she pushed his hands away. “What’s your problem? I thought you liked getting eaten?”

“It’s embarrassing like this though!” 

“Embarrassing? Heh, you know you shouldn’t have any shame when it comes to your first guy. Now, get in already.” Faster than Darling’s human reflexes could counter, he snatched her up into his grasp, bringing her to his mouth before she could fight him anymore. 

She wanted to protest more, but the words fizzled out into a sigh the moment she felt Mammon’s warmth wrap around her. She settled for blushing and grumbling indignantly as he took her into his stomach.

“There, that should warm you up quick, human.”

Leviathan

(I’m actually not sure if it rains in the Devildom, but for the sake of this one lets say that it does at least every once in a while)

Levi almost walked right by her, as engrossed in the music playing through his headphones as he walked out of the school building. 

He’d been forced to stay late today and all he wanted right then was to get home to the sanctuary of his room. Almost every other student had left the building already, and good for them because the Devildom sky had chosen now to bring rain to them. At least it so happened that Levi had a spare umbrella shoved into his locker. The last time it’d rained, he’d been out of the house after picking up a limited edition manga and the water had almost ruined it! He shuddered at the memory, he’d wanted to be prepared for something like that ever since.

He popped open the umbrella, and that’s when he saw Darling out of the corner of his eye. 

She stood at the edge of the dry shield the school building provided, starring up into the rain with an annoyed expression on her face. 

“What are you still doing here?” Levi asked.

Her head snapped over to look at him, equally surprised. “Oh, Levi! Ah, I’d wanted to get some more studying in at the library. Mammon was complaining about being bored, so I told him he could go home before me. Kind of regretting that now, though.” She frowned out at the storm again.

Levi’s imagination was suddenly overcome with scenes from anime and manga of two characters sharing and umbrella, and blushed. This was perfect! Ah, but wait, he also started thinking about all the ways sharing an umbrella could backfire, like all the scenarios from another anime he’d seen. Plus, would she really want to share an umbrella with a yucky otaku like him?

“Welp,” Darling spoke, shaking him from his thoughts. “no telling when this rain is going to stop, so better get started on the way back.” She stretched, and Levi only watched as she waved to him. “See you back at the house!” And then she took off running. 

Levi blinked, and blinked, and only realized what she was doing as her form got harder to see through the rain. Was she seriously running through a storm?!”

“H-Hey!” He started after her at a slower pace. “Idiot! What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“It’s fine! It’s only a little rain!” She looked back over her shoulder to shout to him. Maybe that statement would have been true, if she’d kept looking where she was going. Her foot landed in a particularly slippery puddle and skidded out from under her. She fell to the ground with a yelp, landing hard on her knee.

“Shit.” Levi muttered, jogging over to her. It was harder to pick up in the rain, but he could smell a faint bit of blood coming from her knee. Ah, this was his fault.

He crouched next to her, using his umbrella to keep the rain off while he glanced at her knee. Her pants weren’t ripped and looked like they protected her somewhat, but not enough to keep her totally unharmed. “Idiot, that’s what you get for running in the rain like that.”

Darling waved her hand to brush off his concern. “It’s only a scrape.” She pushed herself up and brushed of her pants. “I can disinfect it later, for now let’s keep going.”

Levi grabbed her arm to stop her from moving. 

“Levi, your umbrella can’t cover both of us, and I’m not going to ask you to give it to me.” he probably wouldn’t unless commanded to, anyway.

He scowled at the ground; the lord of Shadow and Henry wouldn’t let something like a too small umbrella get in the way of helping each other, so why couldn’t he come up with something when it was his Henry in question.

But then he realized, he did have an idea.

He recited the spells quickly, smiling when Darling became small enough to fit in his hand.

“Huh, Levi, put me down. I told you, I’m fine-”

He stuffed her into his mouth, delighting in the feeling of her slipping into his throat.

“Heh, how’s that for sharing an umbrella, normie?”

Satan 

He came across her in the school’s library.

Darling sat slumped in her chair, seeming to only be propped up by the hand her face leaned against.

Spread out in front of her were a number of books, all opened to varying pages. Her eyes were half lidded, clearly struggling to stay awake.

“Darling?” He approached her, watching her startle at his voice.

“Satan? Hey, how’s it going?” She put her hand in front of her mouth to stifle a yawn.

He glanced at the open pages, all on the same subject. “I’m fine, you however, and forgive me if this sounds rude, are looking a bit rough.”

She chuckled dryly, running a hand through her hair. “Awe, what a charmer~ Have you been taking lessons from Asmo?”

“When was the last time you slept?”

She thought for a moment. “Um, I took a nap yester- no, wait, I think that was the day before yesterday.”

“No wonder.” He leaned down to get a better look into her tired eyes, at the dark smudges sitting under them. “I admire your dedication to getting a good grade on this test, but it’s important for you to rest as well. No amount of studying will get you a good grade if you fall asleep on top of it.”

“I know that, it’s fine, I can sleep later.” She pulled one of the books closer to her, squinting her eyes at the words as if that would make them easier to understand. “I need to learn this material, for some reason I haven’t been able to wrap my head around it.”

Satan sighed, already seeing that no amount of talk would convince the stubborn Darling to see reason on this. Might as well skip over that and get right to the only way he knew of to make her rest.

He placed a hand on Darling’s cheek to turn her head towards him, softly speaking the necessary spells against her forehead. “Hey, what are you doing? I told you I need to stu- Oh don’t you dare!”

But she was already sitting on a chair suddenly much larger than she was, with Satan’s hand closing around her to pick her up.

“Satan, cut it out, I need-”

“To sleep.” He finished for her. “You’re going to run yourself ragged at this rate.” 

He ignored her complaints and squirming, placing her feet first into his mouth. He still allowed himself to savor her flavor for a moment, but was gentle. His tongue curling around her like he was already trying to soothe her to sleep. He swallowed her, feeling her slump into his stomach, too tired to fight against it’s warm embrace.

“If you’re so worried about your grade, then shall I read some of the material to you as you fall asleep like a bedtime story?”

Asmodeus

Darling hated alcohol.

She’d hardly ever touched the stuff before, and the little she’d tried had burned her tongue and tasted awful.

So why oh why had she agreed to go to a bar with Asmo?

He’d insisted they’s have sooo much fun together, that he’d even take her to a smaller, less known place so he wouldn’t be completely swamped with his admirers, and that they had all kinds of different alcohols only available in the Devildom that she’d like the taste of.

So, he’d gotten her something sweet, and she had to admit the taste wasn’t bad.

But both of them had underestimated how easily demonic booze would effect a human, especially one who already had such a low tolerance.

Asmo supposed this one was probably mostly on him, but in his defense he’d never gone drinking with a human before in the Devildom.

Darling still had over half her drink in the cup, but already she was swaying side to side in her seat, a happy smile on her flushed face and drunkenly moving to the music playing loudly all around them. She was rather cute like this~

But, Asmo’s sharp eyes flitted across the room, he wasn’t the only demon to take notice of her current state. Several demons all through out the bar were eyeing her hungrily. Humans make for easy targets normally, but an intoxicated would be simple child’s play.

“Oh, darling Darling~ I’m getting tired of this boring little place, how about we head back home and have some fun there?”

Darling giggled, she turned her head to look at him but her eyes were unfocused. He wouldn’t be surprised if she were seeing three of him right then, lucky her. “Why would we go now? We only got here a” she hiccuped “a little bit ago~” She lost her balance, tipping forward and leaning against Asmo for support. Ah, how nice this would be if she weren’t drunk~

“I know, dear, but I promise we’ll have so much more fun later, at home and away from here.” He looked around the room again, even more demons cast glances from the corners of their eyes, some bolder ones not even bothering to hide their stares, the only thing keeping them at bay was the knowledge of his power. His grip on Darling’s arm tightened ever so slightly, but the normally so perceptive girl was too drunk to notice any of this.

“Well you can head out and I can join you later!” She pried herself off of him, staggering on her feet. “I’m going to go dance!”

Asmo’s eyes widened, grabbing her wrist lightning fast and pulling her towards him again as she tried to stumble away. The crowd was relatively small, but if he lost sight of her then anyone could grab her and run off.

“Asmooo!” She whined, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. This was turning out to be more troublesome than he’d expected; he knew he had to get her out of there as soon as possible before someone put their liquid courage to work. He could simply carry her out, he was certainly strong enough, but that would no doubt cause more of a scene, and for once Asmo wasn’t looking more attention.

But, there was a way to be more discrete with her and send a message to the demons already watching them.

He lifted her face in his hands and recited the spells.

The now tiny Darling blinked at her giant surroundings from the palm of his hand. He wanted to coo at how adorable she looked, but that’d have to wait.

He quickly but gently placed her on his tongue, though it took a minute with her squirming around so cutely, and tilted his head back with his eyes closed and swallowed.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked each hungry demon in the eye with a smile of hidden venom, his elbows resting on the counter behind him, challenging. They all shriveled under his stare.

He rested a hand on his stomach and stood.

“Come now, Darling, let’s go home and make sure you drink some water~ Though, I hope Lucifer has already gone to bed, I doubt it’d go over well if he found out I brought you here.”

Beelzebub

He’d been hesitant to leave her by herself, even for a minute, but she’d insisted that she’d be fine and had convinced him with the promise that she wouldn’t leave her spot until he got back.

He felt her fear through their pack and rushed back, but she wasn’t standing where she’d promised to, and Darling wouldn’t break a promise without good reason.

He searched the area frantically, but it was the smell of blood that led him to her.

She was bent over in an alley way, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath from running. Her head snapped up when she heard someone approached, but she relaxed when she saw it was him.

“Beel, sorry about breaking my promise. A couple of demons walked up to me, I tried to get them to leave me alone, but one of them grabbed my arm and his nails dug into me when I ripped it off. I called for you with the pact, but they were still being aggressive and I had no choice but to try and loose them. Took a minute, but I managed it.”

Beel was only half listening to her, his eyes had traveled to her arm and his focus remained on the claw marks he saw there, the trail of red dripping along her skin.

He closed the distance between them easily, picking up her arm as gingerly as he could, but she still hissed in pain.

She paused at the deeply sad look in his eyes. “Hey, big guy, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, okay?”

He wasn’t convinced, still examining the wound. Slowly, he bent down to press a kiss to it, his tongue flicking out to lick up some of the blood. 

“Beel?”

“Let’s get you back home so we can patch this up.” He says.

“Yeah, okay.” She tries to straighten up and take a step, but she she stumbles forward, Beel’s hands keeping her from falling.

“Phew, guess that run really took it out of me, and oh yeah the blood loss too.”

“Here, let me carry-”

Darling put a hand to Beel’s chest. “No no no, I’m fine, I can manage.”

He reluctantly let her push herself out of his grasp, watching as she swayed lightly in place, her breaths slightly heavy too.

“I think you should let me help you back.” He said.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, really.” She stood up as tall as she could, shoulders squared, she looked into his eyes carefully masking any and all pain in her own.

“Even if you say you can walk, what about the blood? It’s part of what helped me find you, so there’s no doubt other demons will be attracted to it too.” He pointed out.

“Well, they wouldn’t try anything with you right by me, right?”

Beel wasn’t looking to take any chances. A weakened, bloody human would make any demon’s mouth water. Plus, what if she wore herself out trying to walk back and passed out? She was too stubborn and easily embarrassed to let him carry her in his arms all the way to the house, and he already wanted to growl thinking about all the looks she’d get if he did that anyway. There was only one option he saw as the best, and he only hoped she’d accept his apology later.

He held her in place with a hand on either arm and bent down low enough to press his lips to her forehead. She knew right away what he was planning and tried to twist away, but the spell already took effect.

Beel held the tiny Darling in one palm. “Sorry about this.” Without fuss, e placed her in his mouth and swallowed; she landed in his stomach a mere second later.

Normally he much preferred swallowing her at full height, but he was worried about hurting her arm like that, plus a large stomach wasn’t exactly very discrete. He pressed his hand up against the spot her could feel her moving about, annoyed that he would swallow her without permission.

“I really am sorry, but I need to make sure you’re safe. Please, sit still so you won’t hurt your arm anymore, I will let you out as soon as we get home.”

Belphegor

Belphie yawned, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye to rub at the sleepiness. Ah, he’d fallen asleep at the school. 

Darling had to stay a small while extra that day, and he’d been the only one of the brothers available to watch over her while she did. Looking around, though, he saw no sign of her. Great, where could she have wandered off to?

Sluggishly, he got to his feet and started to look around the building. A minute later, he heard it: the distinct sound of Darling telling someone to piss off.

He looked around the corner into a hallway and saw Darling backed up to the wall by two low level demons. Even though they both towered over her with fanged grins, she still scowled and glared right back at them, her stance poised like she’d actually try and fight them.

At first, Belphie only blinked at this, processing the sight, and then anger sparked in him.

“Hey!” He barked, advancing on the trio. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The lower demons paled as he drew near, running before he could get too close, and he almost followed after them, but instead turned his attention to Darling. “And what did you think you were doing, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Darling asked in surprise. Why was he upset with her now? She wasn’t the one doing anything wrong!

He poked a finger at her “Do you really think you can take on two demons? You can’t even fight off one. You should have used our pact as soon as they started giving you trouble.”

Darling only folded her arms with an angry frown. “I had it under control.”

He scoffed “Sure, so it was your plan to become some demon’s after school snack?”

“I did a perfectly fine job of protecting myself before I came her, I will have you know.”

“That was before you were surrounded by demons everyday, Darling. You’re feisty, and I know you can pack a punch, but that’s not enough against someone who’s supernaturally stronger than you.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He’s grown to like Darling, sure, but humans could still be so troublesome. “You need to call one of us if someone’s bothering you and we’re not already there.”

“If I call one of you to my defense every time I’m in trouble, then what will they think of me? I’d look like simply another weak human in their eyes waiting to be left unattended so they can pounce. I may not be able to earn much respect around here as a human, but I can still try my damnedest to keep them from thinking they can walk all over me.”

The two held each other’s gazes for a minute in a silent battle. Secretly, Belpie wouldn’t admit that he respected her desire to stand up fro herself, but that clashed with his knowledge that that could very easily get her seriously hurt around here. He closed his eyes with a sigh. “What a pain.”

Darling made a “Hmph” in the back of her throat, spinning on her heel to march up the hallway. “Whatever, I finished what I needed to today, so i’m going back home.”

“By yourself?”

“Yup.” She popped the p at the end of the word.

Belphie watched her walk, his mind racing. He thought of those two demons, and of all the other demons she’d pass by that would look at her the same way they did, and something roiled in his chest.

His steps were much longer than Darlings, and he caught up to her quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder to catch her attention. As soon as she spun around to ask what he was doing, he leaned forward and recited the spell.

He picked her up by the back of her shirt, saying nothing in response to her kicking and cursing, and stuffed her into his mouth, swallowing a second later. She continued to scream at him from inside his stomach.

“I’m glad you’re so keen to bare your fangs, and I hope you never loose that, but you should learn to rely on us a little more. Here, you are a human in a demons world, remember.”

[nerevarswritingstuff]

Alla Prima Pt. 1 - Lucifer/Reader

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee! 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t honored to be gifted with the opportunity to paint a mural for the King of Hell himself. You were honored, beyond words in fact. You never expected him nor his family to have noticed you or your paintings. You knew there were plenty more out there that far surpassed your skills, but hey the pay is… well, “nice” would be understating it too much.

The pay was great. It’d let you buy a new studio, new supplies, new everything. You were allowed to stay within the mansion (which was also another understatement, this place was huge) in one of the guest wings, and given all the privacy and time required to finish. It was practically a dream come true, considering how previous clients would give you unrealistic deadlines for big pieces.

However, there was one problem. You wished it was just not having the right amount of paint for it or not enough time, but no. It was the worst possible scenario any painter or artist could ever have happen to them.

Lucifer gave you fuck all to go off of for what he wanted.

In your less than five minute conversation of him greeting you in the antechamber, all he said that he wanted was a mural of an apple tree in the ballroom. Then he had his servants show you where you were to paint it and where your guest room would be.

The vagueness of what he wanted for this commission made you want to break your brushes over your knee and give him a piece of your mind. “An apple tree mural” could be so many things! Did he want a landscape? In a specific style? Is it just one tree or an orchard? Is it in Hell or the living world? Night? Day? The list is endless. There was so little to go off of you had no idea where to fucking start.

Sure, you like a bit of artistic freedom, but not this much freedom. What if your client hated it and demanded a refund? Too many variables can lead to complications and you hate complications. Of course, you’ve always handled these types of clients easily enough, as some of their blood makes a wonderful mixture for paints.

But you couldn’t exactly deal with Lucifer the same way if he hated your painting. If anything he might just kill you. He could probably just kill you with his thumb. He most likely did do just that to some poor idiot once before. All you could do was bite your tongue and deal with it.

Oh, and that ballroom he wanted you to paint in? Huge. The wall itself was about sixty feet wide and thirty feet up before reaching the ceiling. This was probably the biggest ballroom he had, which only adds more sourness to your mood. The only extra thing Lucifer said he wanted was for the mural to be on the wall opposite of the entrance so guests would see it the minute they’d walk in.

You feel like you could choke someone right now. You’d love to choke Lucifer for being so unhelpful with what he wanted. Why are the demons who ask you to paint something big always so vague? But you knew better than to backsass Lucifer of all people. Again, he could most likely sneeze and you’d become nothing more than a smear on the wall.

You just had to think on the more positive side. You weren’t given a time limit and most importantly you’d have all the privacy needed. You hated people watching you paint. You hated people interrupting you while you paint. People who do usually get a paintbrush jammed into their eye. You’re glad you kept your composure when Lucifer told you you’d have any and all privacy needed for this painting, because you know otherwise you would’ve screamed with joy and relief.

So now here you were, everything set up for you to get ready for painting, sitting back in a chair, staring at this huge ass wall and rapidly tapping your pencil against your sketchbook.

You’ve tried several various sketches, exploring what you could do for a possible mural, only to growl in frustration and try again. And again. And a-fucking-gain. The cycle went for several hours. The entire time no one bothered you. No servants knocked on the door, no other guests or even the royal family. You kind of wish someone did interrupt you so you had someone to take your frustrations out on, but no one came.

Dropping your sketchbook and rubbing at your face, you lean back and groan. Unbeknownst to you, while you sat there, seething, thinking, staring at the wall and wondering just what the fuck you should paint, the door to the ballroom opened. The heels clicking behind you did make you whirl around, lips pulled back into a snarl.

“I thought it was made clear I wasn’t to be—” You choke on your own words, your threat dying in your throat as you stare at your client.

He wasn’t even looking at you, instead glancing down at the floor where you dropped your sketchbook, then looking up at the wall. Then his eyes dart to you, a single, dark brow raised. His lips curled up into a mischievous smile, asking, “Wasn’t to be what, hmm?” He twirls his cane in one hand, the other neatly folded behind his back. When you don’t say anything, he taps the end of his cane under your chin to close your mouth. “I’m waiting.”

You hesitantly say, “Disturbed…” It definitely didn’t sound as threatening as you wanted it to be.

Either way, Lucifer seemed to have found it absolutely hilarious, as he throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, my darling little fool!” He pats you on the head with the end of his cane. “You really think I’d leave you alone for the whole, oh—” he idly waves his free hand as he speaks, still tapping his fucking cane against your head “—however long it’s going to take you to finish this mural? Little Cripps, I know better than to allow a stranger to be all alone and unsupervised in this manor.” Another twirl of his cane and he’s walking past you, looking at the array of paints you’ve organized, then at the blank wall.

“I came here to see how things were going with the mural, but seeing as you haven’t even started…” He turns to you, raising a brow once more. 

You rubbed your head, watching him all the while and frowning. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t your fault you had so little to go off of and didn’t know where to start. He should’ve specified exactly what he wanted. But instead you say through gritted teeth, “With big murals, I don’t immediately start painting. I plan them out. Today I’ll most likely be thinking and planning.”

It honestly might take you more than a day, considering how unhelpful Lucifer was wording his request.

Lucifer hums, strolling back over to you to pick up your sketchbook and starts flipping through it. You sputter, “Hey!” Before you could even think, you swiped it out of his hand, baring your teeth. “Don’t fucking touch my sketchbook!” You tuck it under your arm and jab a finger in his direction. “If you want to see the concepts I have, you fucking ask first. Do not touch my shit.”

Anger subsiding and realizing what you did and who you said all of that towards, you quickly back off, mind going a mile a minute as to how you can apologize. But before you could even spout out some pathetic apology, Lucifer started chuckling. “You really are as quick-tempered as I’ve heard.” He starts circling around you now, looking you up and down.

In your short time talking to him, he barely spared a glance at you, but now?

Now he was taking in every last detail, interest shining in his eyes—

Hold on a second.

“What?” You watch him circle around you, turning with him. “What are you on about?”

Lucifer stops right in front of you, smacking you on the head with his cane again. Something you were getting really tired of. “You don’t think I don’t know about some of my more interesting darling subjects? I’ve heard plenty about you, Little Cripps.” He takes a step back, taking his hat off briefly to brush of nonexistent dust. “Your paintings, your techniques, and of course, your temper. The latter I found the most amusing.”

You frown. King of Hell or no, you don’t really appreciate being fucked with like this. “You hired me just because I was amusing?”

“Oh, darling of course not!” Lucifer waves his hand. “I hired you because I’ve seen your pieces and found them quite extravagant. I don’t allow just any demon into my home to paint a mural, after all.” His eyes shined with impish glee. “Your amusing temper and attitude was just a bonus.”

You blink once. Twice. Thrice. Slowly it all starts to come to you. Why he was so vague, so unhelpful, and being such a dick right now. “Are you telling me… you gave me practically nothing to work off of and are acting this way… to get a reaction out of me?”

“Yes.” You weren’t expecting such a blunt reply from him, but you really should’ve. “I wanted to see for myself. You have a surprising amount of control, however.”

You clap your hands together, close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Your Majesty… were you anyone else… I would’ve stabbed you in the eyes by this point with my paint brushes…”

“It’s never too late to try,” Lucifer jeers.

“While most sinners have a final deathwish, I don’t.” You pinch the bridge of your nose and groan. “So are you actually going to be helpful and tell me what the fuck you want me to paint?”

“Little Cripps…” He goes to tap you on the head with his cane again but you grab it.

You lock eyes with him. “I will break this over my knee.”

His smile only grows. “You’ll only end up breaking your knee. But as I was saying…” He effortlessly pulls his cane free and twirls it, constantly almost hitting you in the face. “I did tell you what I wanted.”

You have to take another deep breath, constantly reminding yourself that even if Lucifer is amused by your outbursts, you’re positive he too has a limit to how much back talking he’s willing to take. “Your Majesty… ‘an apple tree mural’ is the vaguest request I’ve ever had in my long long years of being a painter. I need more to go off of.”

Lucifer hums, tossing his cane into the air and catching it in his other hand. “No.” Then he starts walking towards the door, the heels of his boots clicking on the door, not even turning to watch your mouth drop. “You’re a talented little thing. You’ll figure it out! I do hope you start painting soon. Enjoy the artistic freedom I’m granting you, as I don’t do this often!”

“You realize there’s such a thing as too much artistic freedom?” You retort just as he’s halfway out the door.

He tilts his head, thoughtful, humming. “True. But that makes it all the more fun and interesting, doesn’t it?” He smiles at you again, his entire face radiating with a quiet challenge. “I look forward to seeing your progress tomorrow, Little Cripps.”

And the door clicked shut.