#still can’t decide whether detachable wing yes or detachable wing no…

[rivkae-winters]

My friend bought this little guy and is letting me borrow him to make a Genesis plushie pattern off of him!

I’ve seen chains of people posting this very tiny and adorable Seph plushie with food and thought I’d share him enjoying some non-Banora White Apple juice.

Hopefully I’ll find the time to make a Banora White juice can after I finish Genesis… Maybe plushie Gen can share it with plushie Seph.

[saiyanlpkwife2013]

Midnight Siren

Chapter Five: Secrets

Romantic relationship: Hitoshi Shinso x y/n (female/AFAB)

Chapter warnings: Cursing

MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT BELOW THE "KEEP READING" BREAK.

Waking up at the ass crack of dawn is not one of your favorite things to do.

Aizawa wanted to start early in order to make the most of the individualized training sessions you would have at the training camp, which you were grateful for; however, 5:30am rolls around and you start wondering if this is gonna be worth it. You start to realize why the man always looks so tired all of the time.

You quickly get dressed in a tank top and athletic leggings and head towards the dining hall, remembering that breakfast would likely consist of just toast that you would make yourself this morning. Upon entering, you see Aizawa already there with a cup of coffee.

“Morning.” He says sleepily. “I trust you completed your assignment last night and slept well.” It was a statement more so than a question. To be honest, you were surprised that he was chatty at all this morning.

“Yes sir, I did. I’m looking forward to learning new ways to use my quirk to its full potential and I have some ideas that I am excited to experiment with.” 

“Very good. Once Shinso joins us, we can get started.”

You two enjoy a comfortable silence while you butter your toast and Aizawa lazily sips at his warm beverage. A cursory glance at the man, no one would expect someone so dedicated to his students. His overall aura came off as detached but to someone paying attention, quite the opposite is true.

In the short amount of time that you had been under his wing, you already started to see him as a father figure. Of course, this wasn’t hard considering the man you called father was, well, everything you DIDN’T need. Maybe that’s why you so appreciated the man in front of you. He offered you accountability but also understanding, whether he realized it or not. Even if you becoming a hero somehow fizzled out, there’s no way you would ever regret transferring since it meant that you had him as someone to look up to.

Suddenly, the door to the dining hall opens and in walks the indigo haired man. Geez, he looks almost worse than he did yesterday. I’m guessing he didn’t sleep very well. 

Aizawa noticed this too, though didn’t necessarily say anything about this out loud. You heard him think to himself, I guess the insomnia is still a problem. Hmmm… We will have to have this addressed at some point, otherwise it could affect his fighting ability… His mind wandered off, considering possible solutions while simultaneously remembering that coffee was going to be the only thing that would help him get through the day. His mind quickly became a soft background noise to you.

“Good morning, Shinso. I hope you slept well.” You say brightly, though already knowing the answer to your sentiment was the exact opposite.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. You notice a soft blush run across his face and the tips of his ears at the sound of your voice. You hear Shit.

“Everything alright?” You ask when your initial greeting was met with silence. Plus the internal “shit” had you a bit concerned.

“Yeah, sorry, couldn’t sleep.” 

Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “I trust that this won’t interfere with your training today.”

“No sir, it won’t. I’ll manage fine. It’s not like this is a new problem for me.” Except for the fact that I can’t look at her right now without having a DIFFERENT problem.

Confused, you tilt your head slightly but decide to drop it. After all, you didn’t want to raise any suspicion regarding your “secret” quirk so you offer something else instead.

“I know it’s none of my business, so please, if I’m out of line, I do apologize. I was just wondering if perhaps I could help with your sleeping issue.”

Aizawa looks at you with an inquisitive expression while Shinso seems more embarrassed than anything. 

Holy fuck. Is she suggesting what I think she is?

“My...uh...quirk can change the emotional atmosphere. If you are having issues falling asleep, I could try to help by introducing a sleepy atmosphere for you. Just a suggestion though. It may not even work.” You know damn well that it will but not wanting to cause him any more distress than he already seems to be experiencing, you shrug off your own proposition.

Is that really her quirk? Why would that be a secret? Wait, am I supposed to even know this?...Shit, her fucking clothes are—

You cut him off before he can finish his thought. “Anyway! You don’t have to accept. I just can sympathize with not being able to sleep very well and—“

“That might be something to consider, Shinso. We can revisit this later. Right now, we have training to do.” Aizawa ends the discussion and gets up from his seat at the table, making his way to exit the dining hall.

You look over to Shinso and you see him intensely inspecting a spot on the ground, refusing to look your way.

“Well, I suppose we better get going.”

“Yeah.” And he quickly walks off without meeting your gaze.

This is going to be a long two weeks.

~*~

You had gone ahead of the two men in an effort to try to have a few more moments of mental silence. You understood where you would be training today thanks to a few quick thoughts running through Aizawa’s mind and you took it upon yourself to let the two of them walk together.

***

Shinso walks beside Aizawa looking at the ground with hands in his pockets, quietly mulling over the most recent interaction he had with you in the dining hall. 

“Everything alright?” Aizawa asks without looking in his direction.

“Yeah, well, um. Actually, I’m just more confused than anything.”

“Go on.”

“Well, sir, I didn’t think I was supposed to know what her quirk is and I’m confused as to why it was so casually referenced back in the dining hall.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And…” He waited for his mentor to elaborate further.

“And nothing. It’s not my place.”

Shinso then shifts his focus ahead of him, seeing you walk in the far distance towards your mutual destination, eyebrows furrowed. The HELL does that mean?

“Look, I understand your confusion; however, I must leave the explanation up to Y/N. Just remember: Things aren’t always as they seem. Sometimes half truths or misdirections are necessary. I am hopeful that she might open up to you during these next two weeks. You two have a lot in common which is a large part as to why Principal Nezu and I thought this training course was a good idea. I do feel the need to warn you though: Should she divulge any of her information to you, especially regarding the nature of her quirk, you will be expected to honor the knowledge with the utmost discretion. I trust that you understand I do not do things without reason. With that said, it should be painfully obvious that if you should go against my advice, it could directly affect how you do in the hero course. Understand?” 

Shinso’s eyes widen slightly at the gravity of what is being said to him.

“Y-yes sir.” What the HELL is this shit?

“Very good. With that out of the way, let’s get today started.”

~*~

You have already reached the outdoor space that the three of you had been headed. It was a somewhat rocky terrain, with cliffs and boulders scattered throughout the area. You take a moment to familiarize yourself with your surroundings, bringing to mind the various evasive training moves you learned as it feels as though you might need to reference that knowledge sooner rather than later…

Walking up to join you in the middle of the training area, Shinso makes eye contact with you for the first time this morning. You offer a slight reassuring smile as it is obvious that he is embarrassed about something as it relates to you. His heart rate increased ever so slightly causing the atmosphere to feel a little more tense than it did previously.

You resist the urge to use Vibe since you had not received permission to do so from your teacher. Besides, he may not have even noticed the sudden change in the emotional air. 

That was just something you were hypersensitive to.

Aizawa walks forward between the two of you until you both are faced with his back. Without turning around, Aizawa keeps his hands in his pockets and begins the explanation of today’s training.

“Today, I have decided to assess where your physical weaknesses lie. Even though you both have quirks that are more suited for stealth opts rather than all out hand-to-hand combat, it would be best to make sure that you are prepared to attack and defend yourselves when that time arrives. Today’s instructions are simple: Shinso,” His eyes flick up to meet his mentor’s piercing gaze as he turns around, “you are to attempt to capture Y/N with the binding cloth.” Shinso’s eyes widen, taking in the instructions he has just been given. Up until now, he had just been attempting to master the scarf on its own, trying to force it to bend to his will. Now he is expected to actually CAPTURE someone?

Great. A chance to make a fool of myself. Just what I have been waiting for.

You chuckle internally at his self-deprecating sarcasm then suddenly

Wait, that means he’s expected to capture—

“Y/N,” Aizawa cuts through your thoughts, intent on finishing his instructions. “Your objective is to not get caught. Understood?”

You nod hesitantly, praying to gods your muscle memory from your evasive training won’t fail you now.

“Very well. To keep you motivated, there is a consequence to every failed capture attempt and failed evasion.” You and Shinso briefly steal a glance at each other, dreading what your teacher has in mind for punishment.

“Each time one of you fails to succeed in your objective, you will need to run two times around the training facility. So, if Y/N fails to avoid capture 3 times, she will need to run 6 laps around the facility. Understood?”

You both nod. I guess it could be worse.

“Think of it as cardio which will assist in endurance training as well. Now, one more thing: You will not be allowed to use your quirks during this exercise. I know it seems counterintuitive, however, building up your physical strength and agility is important. In the event that you are unable to use your quirk to aid in the task at hand, you will still need to be able to offer assistance in the fight against villains.”

Makes sense but it’s not like I can turn off mind reading. I’ll just have to do my best to ignore them...

You look again over to Shinso. His hands absentmindedly twisting around the binding cloth, thoughts leaking out of his mind regarding strategy. You switch your gaze over to Aizawa, wanting to ask out loud—

“Y/N, I understand that there...is a part of your abilities that you cannot shut off.” You gulp. “Just do your best to keep the fight fair.”

Wait, what? Goddamn, this is frustrating. 

You wince a little but not enough for either of them to notice. You didn’t want to be the cause of frustration in your fellow classmate. In fact, you were really hoping that the two of you could become closer. Something about Shinso seemed so...genuine. You really didn’t want to screw up any chance of you two becoming friends. You wish you could just explain.

But that would just mess everything up before anything could develop.

No, I have to stick to my guns. He’ll just have to be frustrated. There’s nothing I can do about it.

“Alright,” Aizawa states over his shoulder as he turns to walk towards the edge of the rocky clearing. “Begin.”

[superhusbands4ever]

So I have this headcanon that after Cody adopts this little mutated CT cadet with something to prove to be his official Little Brother™️ and Alpha-17 is just like “yeah okay so this is happening”, all the other CC class clones in Cody’s batch also end up adopting Rex to be the official Little Brother™️. And even though they aren’t quite as open about it, Fox, Bly, Wolffe, and Ponds are just as protective of Rex as Cody is but they’re better at hiding it. Fox in particular is a little gruff and a little rough with emotions so he doesn’t always know how to show he cares but he calls Rex “blondie” and smirks when the kid sasses Cody and Wolffe and stands in the background and glares at anyone, even the long necks, who tries to mess with his vod’ika just for being who he is. And it’s okay because Rex will smile that megawatt grin at him and Fox knows that he’s doing right by his brother.

And then after they all get their assignments, Fox has to deal with the anxiety and stress that comes with watching all his brothers go off to fight in the war while he’s stationed on Coruscant running the Guard and protecting the Chancellor. And of course it doesn’t help that he’s working directly under a Sith Lord, he sees the darker mechanizations that go on in the background, hears the words that are said behind closed doors, the plans that are made under the table, but what is there that he can do about it when he’s just a clone? Who would believe one lowly clone versus the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic.

Not to mention, Palpatine doesn’t need the chip in Fox’s brain to control him, not at first. The Jedi would never use the Force to get the clones to do their bidding, but Palpatine has no problem subtly controlling his commander, gaslighting him, making him question whether what he saw or heard was real or not, makes him forget long swaths of time where if Fox thinks too hard about it it just gives him a headache and makes his hands shake and his skin break out in a cold sweat. We saw the way Fox flinched back from Anakin in To Catch a Jedi not just once, but twice, and Fox doesn’t work enough with the Jedi to know that Anakin might be angry but he wouldn’t hurt Fox, especially when he’s seen how close Anakin is to the Chancellor. His only true experience with the Force is the Dark Side, even if he doesn’t recognize it as such.

Fast forward to an abandoned warehouse on Coruscant. He doesn’t really remember much about how he got here or what he’s doing. All he knows is that his men are stony and quiet around him and Rex, his little blondie, is on the ground clutching Fives, the fugitive, Rex’s vod’ika, sobbing into his chest where the blaster bolt wound is still burning and Fox is holding the smoking blaster.

He tries to talk to Rex, to figure out what the hell had happened, what the hell did Fox do, why wasn’t his blaster set to stun, why wasn’t his blaster set to stun—

Commander Fox, execute ARC-5555. Make sure he is not taken alive.

But his men are pulling him back, telling him they need to report back to the Chancellor, and Fox watches as General Skywalker leads Rex back to their speeder, gently pries Rex’s hands from Fives body as the Guard take the body away to be disposed of.

When he tells the Chancellor that Fives is dead the man looks grim but his eyes are bright with poorly concealed glee as he nods yes, it is good that such a dangerous traitor has been taken down and is no longer a threat to your brothers or the Republic and Fox’s head throbs and he feels like he’s going to throw up but he nods and leaves the office feeling like he’s missing something, something vital.

He tries to comm Rex but Rex doesn’t answer, even when Fox knows the 501st is back on Coruscant. He tries to talk to Bly or Wolffe or Ponds about it but they weren’t there, they don’t see it, they didn’t see the look in Rex’s eyes as he held his dying brother or the frown on his face when he looked at Fox as Skywalker led him away. He just needs time to process, they tell him, you know how much the twins meant to him and now they’re both gone. But it’s more than that, Fox needs to understand, needs Rex to understand that he would never do this to him on purpose, he would never hurt his little brother like that, would never betray the closest family and the only people he truly trusts in such a way and he doesn’t know why he did it.

Finally Fox gets an incredibly rare day off rotation when the 501st and the 212th are both planet side in the GAR barracks and he decides it’s time to pay his brothers a visit, it’s time to take action and take matters into his own hands. Except when he gets to the GAR and he finds Rex in the mess... Rex looks at him and suddenly looks so exhausted, so drained, so physically pained that it takes Fox’s breath away and he turns and leaves before Rex can open his mouth and say the words that Fox knows are coming but is too much of a coward to let himself hear.

And that’s how Cody finds Fox, dressed in civvies and curled up in a ball on the ground of his room. His body is shaking and his hands are clutching at his long curly hair and he’s hyperventilating near on the verge of tears. He’s so tired, he’s so done, he doesn’t know what to do, there’s nothing he can do—

I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t keep doing this. I killed Fives. I killed Fives and Rex h-hates me, Rex’ika hates me, I can’t—

And Cody can’t do anything but hold onto him and try to assure him that Rex does not hate him, he’s just hurt and sad and he needs time to process it but he doesn’t hate Fox, could never hate his ori’vod.

But Fox just shakes his head because he knows, he knows something isn’t right and he hurt one of the people he swore on his life he would do anything to protect and he doesn’t know what to do anymore, nothing is right anymore, everything is wrong, it’s all wrong wrong wrong—

And months later, when Rex is flying off that Sith damned moon in his and Ahsoka’s Y-wing, he thinks about Fox, his ori’vod who served under Chancellor Pal— Emperor Palpatine, Lord Sideous — the dispassionate way he told the Guard to shoot down Ahsoka on Coruscant, the blankness in his voice when he told Fives to put the blasters down next to Jesse’s detached voice when he told the 332nd to open fire, the way Fox’s hands shook and the aborted step toward him when Rex walked away with the General, the ignored coms, seeing Fox that day in the mess when he ran before Rex could say anything, and his head throbs and his heart aches when he realizes all these little things, these tiny signs of deceit, of betrayal, had been right there in front of him the whole time, but he’d been too blinded by his feelings to see it.

[inb4belphienaps]

crying over spilt milk

warnings: none word count: 2285

“Truth be told, I’ve been having these dreams. Dreams almost of another life, a past life perhaps. One that I’d lived and seen and breathed through at some distant point in time.”

I read over my words, holding the letter in my hands.

“They are, by far, the most intricate and detailed dreams I’ve ever had. Usually, I don’t remember them. But these…these feel too real, too specific, too thought out to be anything except something akin to memories of a bygone era.”

I recall a few of them with some difficulty. That was always how dreams worked, like trying to grab mist with your bare hands and having nothing tangible left as evidence.

“Shall I confess?

They have now become a source of entertainment for me, having increasingly rooted themselves in my mind, to the extent that I find myself looking forward to (for lack of better phrasing) the ‘next installment’.

It’s bizarre, I’ll admit. How eager I am to get to sleep as soon as the clock shifts from afternoon to evening, when the hour hand turns to six and I wonder if I’ll see him again…”

.

.

.

as you slowly float back up to the surface, the first sound that hits you is the singing of birds. their bright and cheerful chirps filter in with a hint of irony. though they're pleasant, quietened by the curtains hanging over the windows, it means that it's still rather early.

there's a chill in the air and you turn over under your duvet, tucking your feet in further towards your knees, eager to keep the warmth on your skin. and yet, you open your eyes, not needing to blink any sleep from them. oddly enough, you're more awake than you'd thought. whatever dream you'd been having is far from your mind as you bask in the scattered sunlight dancing on your walls.

such serenity ignites a type of mild excitement in you. and with that in mind, you will yourself to get out of bed.

you draw back the curtains and glance outside, looking out at the landscape, where the sun is shyly peeking over the hill. dawn is only just breaking and as you open a window, a gust of wind greets you, sending a rush of floral scents your way.

you can place notes of rose and lavender, and maybe honeysuckle too. the scenery is beautiful, and you lean against the ledge to admire it. clear skies and waves of green, dotted here and there with reds and pinks and yellows. there's a calmness to the color and vibrancy. something you hadn't stopped to feel in a long time.

it stays in the background. while you pour yourself some tea and sit down for breakfast, and when you turn on the radio to the crooning of some ballad you can't quite place. and even as you set about doing the laundry, humming every now and then to a tune only you seem to know.

the basket you use is one you've weaved yourself (in an attempt to be impassioned by a new hobby). it's small and sturdy and it does the job. you wonder whether it'll last you, hoping that if it breaks, it'll at least do you the favor of waiting until it's empty.

though it doesn't take long, you're startled to see the sun in the sky as you step onto the gravel path, basket in hand. it seems to stare down at you and wink as clouds roll overhead, creating capering shadows on the field as you start hanging the wet quilts one by one.

a couple of bees follow you around as you go about your business. and when you stand still to breathe in the smell of freshly washed linen and admire the warm glow cast on those sheets by the light, a butterfly flutters past.

it brings with it the distant ring of a bicycle bell. you look to the east where a man in uniform comes riding up the hill and the smile on your face could bring shame to the flowers lying near your feet.

"good morning", he says, slowing and stopping a foot or two away from you. he tilts his cap and you note the way in which his fringe barely covers his right eye.

"good morning", you reply. "it must be exhausting having to make that trip every day."

he laughs. it's sweet.

"i don't really mind."

in his hand he carries a metal basket and neatly arranged inside are six glass bottles full of milk.

"how many would you like today?", he asks, and you have the urge to tell him you'll take everything he has to offer. but of course, you don't say this aloud.

"just the one, please."

as he picks up one of the bottles to give to you, you swallow your spit and gesture towards your house. the shadows continue to dance above it, making it seem fluid despite its usual rigidity.

"can i get you something to drink? a coffee, perhaps?"

he appears taken aback, eyes widening a fraction before he smiles, and you feel your heart leap into your throat.

"i'd like that very much. a coffee sounds great."

you momentarily freeze, having expected him to refuse your offer. and then you're taking the bottle of milk and your basket back inside as he follows after you. you turn back to him as he enters and the sheets you'd hung flail slightly behind him, almost like a set of wings.

"cream and sugar?"

"um, no. but could i trouble you for some ice?"

an iced americano, you think. placing your basket on the floor and leaving your bottle on the kitchen counter, you busy yourself with preparing his beverage.

"my name is belphegor, by the way. i think you should at least know who it is that's been delivering you your milk."

you pause, having taken a mug out of the cupboard, and meet his gaze. his tone sounds a little indignant. were you simply being sensitive?

"it's a pleasure to officially meet you, belphegor."

the both of you exchange a shared laugh (the sudden bit of formality is embarrassing). he's the first to look away, breaking the eye contact that has goosebumps erupt on your skin. hm, perhaps you were overthinking things. only, the problem is that you're not sure you have any ice in the fridge.

"were you listening to music?"

"yes- oh", you say, confused at the static that greets you. "the program must've finished."

he glances at the radio and then at you. in your bid to locate the instant coffee you have, you don't notice.

through a strange coincidence, you find it sitting pretty on the top-most shelf of the pantry. you frown, wondering if you'd placed it there by mistake.

belphegor is about to open his mouth to speak again when he sees you reach upwards, fingers brushing across the jar mere centimeters out of your grasp. you're on your toes, leaning forward, barely balancing as you try your hardest to take it.

the man remains silent, watching you with a detached type of curiosity.

darn shelves, you think, as you stretch as far as you're physically able. still, the glass slips from between your fingers and you resort to stepping on a sack of flour. right as you grab it, the corner of the sack slides out from underneath your foot and you gasp, knowing all too well how this was going to end.

but there's a hand on your shoulder and a solid chest against your back, and a pleasant voice in your ear that suggests otherwise.

"so much trouble for a coffee."

his breath tickles the nape of your neck and you twist around to thank him, unprepared for the amused expression painting his face. from here, you can see every freckle, every eyelash, and every stray hair left untamed by his cap.

"you okay?", he asks, too close and quiet. too intimate that you forget yourself for a second.

"i'm...i'm fine."

those furrowed brows of his make you think twice and you place a hand to his chest, marveling in its warmth. you can feel his heart beat. it's steady, unfazed by whatever silly accident had happened just now.

"thanks", you mutter, swiftly removing yourself from his arms (firm and inviting). "i'll uhh...i'll make your iced americano, shall i?"

he doesn't say anything as you take a spoon and measure out the ground powder. and the silence lingers as you bring a pot of water to the boil. your thoughts, however, are that much louder, that much more pronounced. you were never one to invite strangers into your home. why was he such an exception?

"you can stop staring."

belphegor chuckles and you hate the fact that you can't ignore it. his laughter, it twinkles, and it has you looking at him all over again.

"i was keeping an eye out for you. in case you decide to make a habit of falling while i'm here."

you scoff, opening the fridge door to remove the ice tray. six cubes blink up at you and you ease three out, popping them into his mug in rapid succession. it's a tad violent and some of the coffee sloshes out onto the counter.

"thank you for your concern. but it's really not necessary."

he walks towards you, and you remain fixed on his bowtie, hoping to avoid being trapped by his alluring purple irises.

"if you say so."

and he takes a sip. and you find a cloth to wipe the spilt coffee with.

"it tastes good", he says. "maybe i should ask you to make me one every morning."

"tough luck", you reply, glancing at him as you clean. "i'm afraid this is the last of my hospitality."

besides, you didn't have it in you to continue acting an utter fool around him. something about his self-assuredness serves as the antithesis to your nervous energy, fueling it further to the point that you're doubtful about whether he'll return tomorrow.

"is that any way to talk to your knight in shining armor?"

oh. nevermind. that question makes you want to slap the handsome smirk off his face.

you give one last swipe of the counter, as if to stand your ground, and straighten up. yet it only leads to disaster.

the lonesome bottle of milk that you'd put atop it, comes crashing down onto the tiles, spraying its contents along every surface and scattering glass shards in its wake. the knot in your stomach tightens and you refuse to acknowledge the man who hasn't budged an inch.

he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"what am i going to do with you?"

as you stoop down to gather the glass, he mirrors you.

"i can-"

"it'll be faster with the two of us."

apparently, it's your turn to watch him. you slow your movements as you focus on his hands, how meticulously they pick up each broken shard and how conflicted you feel about him doing as such. in your daze, the edge of a particularly sharp fragment digs into your thumb and you flinch.

"fuck-"

he reacts before you do, tossing the glass he's holding into the bin and taking your hand in his to help you remove the fragment.

"this might sting", he mutters. that was the last thing on your mind. did this man have no sense of personal space?

the fragment is tossed out with the rest of what used to be the bottle and you're about to reluctantly thank him for a second time until he's bringing your thumb up to his mouth.

"wh- what are you doing?"

he suckles gently on the cut, putting a stop to the bleeding, and you're rendered speechless. when he speaks, all you can think about is his lips.

"can't you be more careful?"

"not with you here, no", you say, finally admitting to the reality that was beginning to suffocate you. you can't pay attention to anything other than him.

"figured it out, have you?"

"figured what out...?", you ask, leaning in as his voice drops to a whisper.

"you have a crush on me."

you stare, perplexed, and you tear your eyes away from his mouth to look at him. there's a secret lingering in his facade. of words unspoken and confessions kept hidden. what does he know?

"prove it", you mumble, perfectly aware of how ridiculous a demand that was.

except he obliges, closing the gap between the both of you and meeting your lips with his own. they're soft and as you snake your hands around his neck, his cap comes loose, falling to join the mess on the floor.

neither of you care to address it and he pulls you back up, hugging you to his front and wrapping his arms around you. it's intoxicating. bitterness lingers on his tongue and there's the faint taste of cigarettes. but you're kissing him like someone starved. or perhaps someone parched.

sparks fly beneath your eyelids and rouge caresses your cheeks. (or was it the ghost of his palm against them?)

there's a need, an intensity to the way he grips you and the way clenches his jaw when you tug at his hair. you match him blow for blow, digging your nails into his shoulder and moaning softly into the kiss.

when you part and rest your forehead against his, you're not the only one who's out of breath.

"belphie", you whisper and the look on his face is a mystery in itself – surprise and longing, haphazardly hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"thank god i brought another five bottles with me, huh?"

[demonologistfucker]

WIP Angel MC! x Obey Me pt 2

Part Two - The Museum date with Satan. This is just a ruff of what I got so far. I am enjoying this but i Haven’t had a lot of focus for writing. So I just wanna share what I got so far.

Step into the shoes of an intellectual. I know they are uncomfortable, but these are cushioned with a bias outside human prejudice. They have their own prejudices of course, it’s just not As silly as a humans…. Either way, it’s a different way of looking at history. There is no need to keep colonial powers looking refined and noble.

This museum is not full of anything Real. They are all magical replicas of artifacts long burned, brutalized and forgotten. While it could be enlightening to a great deal of humanity. The plaques mainly speak of the demons who worked along with those doing the burning. It left a rather sick feeling in the angel’s stomach. While showing off the great wonder that was ruined. People still boasted about causing the burning. 

Satan did a better job explaining the history. He was detached. Thinking about the matter as a history, and could talk about it easily. Yet when he turned to MC. They had tears in their eyes. Thinking of what it felt like to just be a people, and slaughtered for living. The Angel felt the reality. Both marveling at the people who could create such art and monuments, and the utter despair at how this art came to the Angel’s eyes. So Eventually the Angel started to tune out the world around them, and focused more on their guide. A stranger who was still linked arms with MC. 

“I have a question,” MC looks up into Satan’s eyes. 

“I might have an answer,” The corner of Satan’s mouth pulled into a sharp smile.

“Do you view angels and demons as enemies?” MC watches Satan’s face closely. His eyebrows shot up for only a second. A brief flash of surprise, and then quickly to thought. His gaze drifting upwards as he rolled the matter over in his mind. 

“I think about this a lot, actually,” Satan rubs his chin. “I’m unsure. We are certainly told that we are opposites, but if we looked at the data, I think we’d find something else.” Satan chews on the thought, “There is a whole research of study on whether good even exists, yet there is a realm that claims to obtain All Good. Or define what it is. Which is just ridiculous, and as you can see.” Satan puts a hand on his chest. “Demons are not raging beasts. Sin has its place in reality. Too much of it would be disastrous, true, but not enough would also be a problem.” Satan kept his gaze away from the Angel. Not truly wanting to see them get upset about his stance. 

“Can you give me an example?” MC tilts their head. “No one’s talked about sin like that before.”

“Well… Let’s use wrath. Wrath being deemed a sin which is reasonable at first. Being angry and destructive is not helpful. However, wrath has been brought out to protect children, or to fight for justice. Wrath without thought is bad, but it is not bad in itself.” Satan glances at MC to see their expression. Then stays when he sees that MC is thinking it over. 

“What matters is how it’s used.” MC says softly. To which Satan nods. “There are plenty of supposedly holy people who are really cruel to keep their virtues.” Now both MC and Satan are sharing a smile. “Some of those people really are the worst. They manage to live up to His standards and yet are still-” MC grits their teeth. 

“Bastards? Fuckers?” Satan tries to keep a helpful face, but can’t help the corner of his mouth twitch up. 

“Yes!” MC shakes their head to let out some frustration. “Then they summon me to bring them to the bathhouse.” 

“You have to bring humans to bathhouses?”

“Where ever they want to go. It is their ‘paradise’ after all, and since I’m not a high ranking angel, so I’m basically supposed to care take for whatever human souls are around me.” 

“That sounds… Infuriating.” Satan says politely. He’s overjoyed to see the Angel seething with annoyance, but then something drowns it out. Their face falls and goes back to a placid expression. 

“It’s the duty of an angel.” MC’s voice is dryer than before. 

“Hmm…” Satan realizes he shouldn’t be staring at the Angel and looks back to whatever exhibit they had landed in front of. “Do you like your duties?”

“Do you like yours?” The Angel looks blankly ahead.

“Ours are very different. I simply Am the avatar. I can spend my days reading and be finishing my duty.”

“Really?” MC looks up in surprises. 

“Well, sorta of,” Satan chuckles. “I have RAD duties I can’t get out of, But that’s my choice in the end. I respect Diavolo enough to agree to his leadership, and RAD is his domain, so I do it for him.” Satan shrugs. “They don’t take up too much time for an immortal anyways.”

“That’s… so different from Heaven. I get maybe five hours to myself a day?” MC can’t even give an accurate number. Keeping track just makes it worse. “It’s all preselected work, too. We have no choice it what domains we’re put under.”

“No choice at all?”

“Supposedly it’s from the Divine plan,” MC rolls their eyes. “But I’m unsure of it.”

“No plan is ever perfect, let alone one made from one mind alone.” Even as Satan says this, he is prepared for a fight. His few conversations with angel’s before him had always ended in one. Angels devoted their existences to this divine plan. Critiquing it was a critique of everything they stood for. Instead, MC just nods. Their eyes overwhelmed in sadness. So Satan takes a deep breath and refocuses on the world around them. 

“It is amazing what humans are able to turn rocks into,” Satan looks at the old stone statue with amazement. 

“I’ve tried to do it before, and I can never manage.” MC tapped their chin as they reminisced. “They can make rock smooth, as if they were just pinching clay.”

“I can’t even work clay well.” Satan chuckles. Then there is silence as MC’s mind wanders down a bunny trail.

“Earlier they said that I would be attending school, is that true?” Satan nods. “Weird,” MC begins to laugh. 

“Why do you laugh? I will also be attending.” Satan says this even though he finds the whole school situation fairly fun himself. Still remembers the dinner when Lucifer broke the news that joining RAD also meant having to go through university again. They had completed their courses millennia ago. Satan was honestly a little excited. Brushing up his skills wouldn’t be the worst time. Though, all the other students sounded rather stressful.

“It will be curious. I didn’t expect to be introduced to Hell this way. It’s just… Okay, you’ll understand if I tell you how I imagine this, Exchange, would go in the Celestial realm.” Satan nods and leans back. Ready to listen. “Greeted with trumpets, obviously.” Satan rolls his eyes. “Then a personal conversation with It.” This makes Satan chuckle. “Then guided around the Celestial realm to all its numerous wonders. Shown the polished paradise where you can indulge in Nearly anything.” MC lifts a finger up with a crooked grin. “Though, you Can’t be a sinner, so you must be nice to Everyone you meet. No matter how annoying. If an Issue arises, you have to bring it up at court, and have it processed. It’s worse for angels, but guests wouldn’t see that. It would take months to see the court bit anyway. It would all be Sickly sweet.”

“And here you met a busy prince, told you had to go to school, and left to get eaten.” Satan keeps his head forward, but glances to see the angel’s reaction. 

“I’m enjoying it a lot.” MC smiles. 

“Not worried about your safety?” 

“Not Much,” MC Shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll be totally helpless,” Then MC looks to Satan’s face. Which seems to loudly be saying ‘okay, tell yourself that sweetheart’. “Do you think I should worry?”

“I think it was wise that you asked for a guide,” 

“Me to,” MC smiled, “I like your company.” MC pulls the hand they have clasped with Satan’s closer. For a moment, holding Satan against them. Letting their wing brush against his back. Then MC eases back. Failing to hide a blush that ran across their face. “ Just don’t imagine me helpless.”

“I could never.” Satan smiles softly. “I am the Avatar of wrath after all, and as I can tell.” He looks down at his open hand. Pretending to hold a board. “You have indulged in my sin at least six times.” A humorously low number for Satan. The average human indulged in it at least 50 times by their first birthday. That’s for a remarkably well tempered child, too. 

“That high?” MC winces, but then straightens their spines. Remember Why that had indulged, and feeling proud of that choice. 

“That is very low, and I think it would be good for your health to indulge in it a little more.”

    “Is this how you became friends with Alexander?”

“It’s how I became much more than friends, Dear.” Satan puts a hand on his chest. Looking utterly too proud of himself. MC grimace only deepened as they felt their face heat up. They are saved by an alert on Satan’s D.D.D. “I am afraid I have dinner soon. Your human roommate will be at purgatory hall for dinner, though. I can walk you back if you like?” Satan looks rather annoyed at his phone, but his face relaxes as he looks at MC. 

“That would be nice,” MC smiles and can feel the heat once again rise in their face and chest. “What on your D.D.D made you so upset?”

“Oh, you could see that?” Satan looks rather apologetic. 

“Clear as day, man,” MC has to try and not laugh. 

 “The message came from Lucifer,” Again he says the name with such disgust. MC wants to giggle. “He was reminded I must come to dinner and meet the new human.”

    “The face you just made,” MC has to put a hand over their mouth. Thankfully, they were almost out of the museum. But on the way on they got a couple glares from the Serious Observers. “What about this new human is so upsetting?”

    “Oh it’s not them,” Satan grimaces, but then straightens his spine. 

    “Then what is it?” 

“The process of picking was idiotic. It took four years for them to finally decided on what three humans to pick. The last one was completely random, it turns out.” Satan takes a deep breath. “I left the project after the first human was picked.”

“Who are they?”

“Solomon.” Satan says with a grimace. Left is a gentle way of putting what Satan did when Solomon was picked. The table was thrown through the wall and Satan marched out through the hole. 

“Who?”

“You don’t know? Oh, right… Angel wouldn’t hear about him, I guess.” Satan chews on his lip for a second. “He is an ancient king who managed to get pacts with 72 demons, and accidentally became immortal.” Satan’s has a great number of suspicions about Solomon. There are barely any humans who have One pact with a demon. Yet this human managed to get 72, and immortality. While also maintaining a beloved relationship with a great number of people. To Satan, this reeked of evil in hiding. “He’s also a super powerful wizard and has gone through the university magic program so many times he rewrote a portion of it.”

“So that’s who they picked to show off the magical prowess, huh?”

“It doesn’t even work,” Satan groans. Satan had sat through hours of meetings debating which humans to brings, and how their presence would affect the experience for Other humans in the trip. They fisted wanted a human who had some understanding of the magical to be a grounding force for the other two. Satan had many suggestions of Other magicians who could do a job. Magicians who did have 72 pacts with demons. One of whom being his younger Sibling. “We should have picked a human who could actually use the program. He was a powerful magician before coming to our school. He used it to have fun and meet people.“ 

“So he’s open to fun?” MC bounces slightly as they walk. 

“He can be… but he’s often looking out for himself first.” Since Satan so clearly distrusts Solomon. MC chooses to ignore this, and instead is excited to meet this weird wizard.

“Ah, prioritizing ones own needs. The gift of the ego… that we all have.” MC smirks. Feeling that MC was poking fun at Satan. He bristled and turned a lovely read. 

“It’s not just ego,” Satan huffs. “How could he make so many pacts without being devious?” 

“I don’t know,” MC shrugs. “Have you asked him?”

“No,” Satan looks aghast. “He’s a cunning being, I can’t just ask him.”

“I’ve heard cunning humans can be the most fun,” MC is now starting to walk back to campus with a little more speed. 

“Who would say that?” Satan looks bewildered at the little angel. 

“Simeon,” MC says, unbothered by Satan’s judgement. 

“He enjoys Lucifer’s company, I would not blindly trust Simeon’s taste.” Satan’s lip curls upward when he mentions Lucifer. MC thought on the matter. Simeon had given Lucifer a hug. When it was rather clear that Lucifer was Not a hugger. 

“Do you know if Simeon and Lucifer know each other? I’ve never heard Simeon talk about him, but it’s also frowned upon to talk about him in general.”

“I wouldn’t know, but Lucifer did spend the most time in heaven out of all of us,”

“Ah, who’s Us?”

“Oh my brothers,” Satan sighs, “They might know if Simeon and Lucifer have a history, but I won’t be asking for you.” 

“That’s fair,” MC nods. 

“Do they not talk about the revolution in the celestial realm?”

“Only brief mention. He doesn’t like it being brought up so… most just avoid the topic. I really don’t know much about it.”

“Hmm,” Satan frowns. He didn’t want to strike Lucifer’s ego, but what he did is important history. “I might have some history books you could borrow if you’d like.” It was strange being confronted with the Angel’s reality. Satan couldn’t imagine a life without living in the shadow of that revolution. His exists was born from its grief and agony, and this Angel knew of it only in passing. Did that mean they didn’t know his history at all? 

“Oh, that would be nice, but” The Angel blushes and closes their eyes.” I’m not the best of readers. My eyes get distracted?”

“I have heard of conditions similar to that,” Satan nods, “Well the topic is a heavy one, but if you wanted I could explain our side of the history some time.” They were now walking down the path to Purgatory hall. Satan felt is stomach dip at the thought of leaving. Next would be a dinner of more polite conversation. With the chance, he’d be living with two new assholes now. “If you wanted I could put my contact in your D.D.D. That way we can schedule, and If you need a guide again-” His words faltered as the blush becomes too hot. 

“I would like that very much.” MC Smiles and hands over their D.D.D.

“Oh-” Satan just finished it with a smile, and then takes the D.D.D. With thin fingers he types it all in. “I do have a schedule, so I can’t be your guide always but,” Satan looks into the Angel’s eyes, and feels his heart get stuck in his throat. “Don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I definitely won’t,” MC says, even though their heart was starting to race. MC stumbled as they hit the first steps up into Purgatory hall. “Thank you for taking me around.” MC’s wings flutter slightly, trying to dispel anxiety. “It was really nice getting to know you.”

“It was truly a pleasure,” Satan smiles, and then bows low to the Angel. As he rises, he keeps his eyes steady with MC’s gaze. There is a heartbeat where they are both caught staring at each other. Satan should be going home now, and the Angel should be heading inside. Instead, they both linger. Feeling their hearts surging in their chests, and wondering what they can possibly do about it. “I hope you enjoy your dinner,” Satan regrets the words instantly, but his feet are already moving to walk away. 

“You to!” The Angel blurts, feeling horribly awkward, but also thrilled. The nerves of wanting to make a good impression. As they watched the elegant blond walk away. MC could still feel excitement brewing within them. 

The feeling lingered as MC walked into the main doors of Purgatory Hall. Already they could feel that something was different within the building. A new presence shifted the home's energy. The air now had the smell of a laboratory. MC wandered down the hall till they reached the kitchen. Which is where they found Simeon, Luke, and a stranger gathered around the Oven. The Stranger was tall with bright white hair. The light in his eyes was unmistakably human, but something was off. 

“Are you certain it’s supposed to look like that?” Simeon squinted at the Oven. 

“I have never done this before,” The Strange says easily, but both Simeon and Luke look utterly terrified. 

“What’s going on?” MC asks as they walk behind Luke to get a view of what’s going on. “Why is it...cracked?”

“I believe that’s a part of the baking process,” The stranger smiles warmly and then extend a hand to MC. “My name’s Solomon, I am the human exchange student who will be living with you three.”

“I’m MC,” They take Solomon’s hand. His hand is surprisingly dense and cold. Heavier than the Angel had expected. “I thought there were three humans?”

“Indeed, but the other humans get to live with the brothers.” Solomon sighs. “I still don’t understand why they get to be close to the princes of Hell and not me.” Solomon actually did have a guess why, but he wanted to pout about it.

“Do you want to hear Lucifer and Mammon fighting with each other all the time?” Simeon chuckles.

“That’s a fair point,” Solomon nods. “Not to seem like I’m complaining about being with you three,” MC hadn’t even considered that Solomon might not be happy to be staying with three angels. Now though they had to think about it. A man with 72 pacts with demons might not have the most favorable opinion of angels. MC couldn’t exactly blame him for this, but hoped it wouldn’t get in their way. 

“I think our company is much better than those demons,” Luke tilts up his chin given everyone a good look of his nostrils. 

“Not better,” Simeon tuts, “we our own kind of fun, and will still have plenty of time with the brothers if we choose.” 

“You like them?” Solomon eyes Simeon. 

“Yes,” Simeon smiles genuinely. “I am really happy to see them again.” Solomon nods, and then smiles himself. 

“Me too,”

[mamahersh]

The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions) Chapter 7

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, mild torture)

Chapter rating: T

Nice long conclusion chapter to make up for the short one yesterday! From BDubs view, plus nHo hurt/comfort (emphasis on comfort)!

As in all the previous chapter posts, if you’ve enjoyed the ride I took direct inspiration from this oneshot on AO3! Please give them some love and appreciation.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

It had taken days before Xisuma figured out what EX had done to the server that had caused the respawns to break in the way that it had, and how to fix it. However, figure it out and fix the problem he did, and with respawn mechanics back to normal, everyone who had died and respawned during the glitch was able to reset their health completely. And properly set their respawn points as well, since part of the glitch seemed to be that people’s respawns were being set as they were dying. But the biggest adjustment in the days after EX had caused havoc was trying to help Etho recover.

While Etho seemed relatively ok once he was able to talk again (his tongue and all his other lingering injuries were fully healed with the fixing of the respawn, though figuring out a way to get him to respawn was both more difficult and less difficult than BDubs had expected); BDubs was hearing from Iskall that all was still not right with the world. Normally, Hermits would let current season basemates/regional allies/faction mates do the heavy lifting of any emotional or mental stress that a particular Hermit experienced on the daily unless the Hermit asked for help from specific Hermits. But in this case, BDubs felt he should invite Etho to an nHo reunion/get-together. Even if Etho didn’t necessarily need the reunion, BDubs knew the rest of the nHo did. 

They had all been in various states of hysterics by the time they had gotten Etho out of the restraints and the death loop he had been locked in. BDubs had been the first person to breach the room, with Iskall and Beef right behind him. Beef had blocked up the water to stop the cycle as Iskall and a recently arrived Cleo began breaking restraints while BDubs clutched Etho’s freed hand (thinking back, he probably shouldn’t have. Etho’s hands had looked hardly better than the rest of his mangled flesh. He also wasn’t sure how they managed to get his wrists detached from the cuffs, as his arms and wrists were still solidly clipping into the restraints). Hypno had fiddled with the camera and looked over the speakers, before he managed to get everything deactivated and convinced the remaining Hermits to gather at Cleo and Joe’s base. By the time the Hermits were assembled at Joe and Cleo’s base, and Etho had been safely transported from the floating box, Doc was a hissing mess, Beef was greener than normal as his stress seemed to activate the alien transition, and BDubs had resorted to constantly checking his clock (a nervous habit he had picked up from 3rd Life, but the less he thought about that hell server the better). Etho had been quickly whisked away by Iskall to their shared base, but was just as quickly relocated to the Spawn Egg; as neither had wings, and Etho wasn’t nearly healthy enough to try and scale his own base in the sky. Plus, being at the Spawn Egg had the added benefit of easy access by the rest of the server so that other Hermits could stop by and check in on Etho’s progress while they all waited for Xisuma to fix the respawn mechanics. BDubs stopped by once while Etho was recovering. It was a little out of his way when trying to visit the Yes Wings Club, but figured he might as well since he hadn’t seen Etho since they had saved him 2 days before. 

Etho looked about what he had expected to be honest. Since they were worried about whether a normal respawn would register his tongue being gone as normal if they healed it properly with potions, the other Hermits had determined to wait on healing him till after he had properly respawned. That left him bedridden till the server was fixed though, which no one was happy with. BDubs was told later that supposedly Etho had understood during the few times he was lucid enough to listen to someone during that time. While he had been there though, Etho had been solidly asleep, Iskall asleep himself by Etho’s bedside. BDubs had taken a moment anyway to sit on Etho’s other side and just quietly talk to him about what he had been up to in the day or two since they had saved him. Iskall had come to briefly to see who had been talking, before settling back into his chair to rest.

BDubs had left pretty quickly, if he were being honest. Seeing Etho as vulnerable as he was left BDubs feeling a bit ill. After that, it had only been a day or two more of anxiously waiting for Xisuma to fix the server before they had been able to get the other Hermits respawned properly. (There had been several deaths during the time the respawns had been on the fritz, including a couple during the search from fall damage.) But when it came to Etho, they had tried to explain what needed to happen during one of the next times he was awake, but he had been becoming more unresponsive the longer he had been bedbound. So with heavy hearts, it had been decided that Etho needed to respawn as soon as they could decide a way to do so. After much debate between Iskall and Xisuma, it was decided that a quick anvil to the head would suffice.

It was told to BDubs later that Etho had respawned a few paces from the bed he had been sleeping in at Spawn looking incredibly confused and lost. It took close to a half hour to explain what had happened to him before him and Iskall went back to their shared base. And if Iskall was to be believed, it sounded like Etho hadn’t slept since the first night back. Which was almost a week ago. Not that many of the other Hermits were doing better. From the sounds of the grapevine, Mumbo still blamed himself for what had happened to Etho, and despite apologizing and promising Etho a cut of all his profits that season to make up for his decision (which he had been told Etho had forgiven Mumbo for and told Mumbo to keep the profits as he was just respecting Etho’s choice) he insisted on trying to find ways to make it up to an increasingly exasperated Etho. (Which BDubs noted was somewhat out of character, since Etho almost never missed a chance to keep someone in his debt and exploit them for his own projects). Other than Mumbo, Doc had been reported also to not have been sleeping as much, but instead he worked on his most recent engineering marvel. Beef had been throwing himself almost entirely into setting up his own shop outside the Derpcoin market to sell his own brand of non-evil cat food. BDubs knew that Beef was taking the whole: “Derpcoin is actually evil not even a meme” thing incredibly hard, since his whole thing this season had been going over to the dark-side as an alien (which BDubs still didn’t understand how that had started in the first place). BDubs himself was doing just fine thank you very much! Sure, he’d been struggling with sleeping at night himself (every time he closed his eyes he could see Etho strapped to that chair and drowning again), and yeah, he’d been trying to work on the shopping district by the mountain instead of the Horse Course (he had heard from Iskall that Etho had been working on something outside the base, and BDubs had a sneaking suspicion he knew at least one of the projects Etho’d been working on). But he definitely wasn’t nearly as bad as the other members of the old nHo. Definitely. He couldn’t lie to himself, they were all having a bad time. 

So, as BDubs was wont to do, he took things into his own hands and sent invitations to all the nHo members to come by his base for a get together. The date was set, and he visited every member in person leading up to the event to make sure they were coming, no excuses! (He knew it was particularly urgent as when he went to check on Etho, he finally found him sleeping in one of BDubs’ builds next to the horse course, and when he got Etho awake, he cracked exactly 0 height jokes until he tried to get Etho to come by later and it was a height joke every minute. The height jokes were BDubs’ way of figuring out how nicely Etho wanted to play. The less the better.)

But now the day had finally arrived, and BDubs welcomed each one of his friends into his base with open arms and a smile. First to arrive was Beef, seeing as he was closest. Then Doc. Then as BDubs was debating messaging Iskall to find Etho for him, the man himself showed up on BDubs’ doorstep. Everything went off without a hitch in the beginning. They all were able to reconnect and chat about bases and projects they were working on; Doc with his redstone magic he was getting from his friends on another server, Beef and his efforts to create a new kind of cat food, Etho and his many projects ranging from an inventory sorter to the horse course, and BDubs with his latest shop attempts in the Big Eye Crew shopping district. (It was good to see Etho making fun of BDubs’ attempts at making a redstone shop. Etho hadn’t heard of it yet, and it was a delight to see him light up while joking about what BDubs could possibly make with redstone that even someone like Grian couldn’t do themselves.)

It all comes crashing down when Etho asks Beef more about the cat food. Specifically what was wrong with the old cat food. 

Now Beef hadn’t expressly said that he had been working with EX for having a cat food stand at the Evil Emporium; but he had implied that his previous cat food flavor would be going on the back burner. What they all had assumed was that Etho at least generally knew most of the gossip on the server. But what BDubs should have guessed was that Etho had been very absent this season, and unless the current events were directly affecting his plans, he had never been one for being up to date on server events. So BDubs should have guessed that Etho asking about cat food would only end in a bittersweet ending.

“So Beefers, you said something about your cat food getting a new recipe… What happened with the old recipe? Not up to snuff?”

“I will have you know that all my cat food is premium and delicious, and I will not have you slandering it in this way,” replied an overdramatic Beef. 

The nHo chuckled at his antics before Etho came back with, “Well if it wasn’t the quality then what was it? Now you have me intrigued.”

Beef shrugged. “I just wanted a cat food to really call my own is all.”

Etho gave him a look. “Wouldn’t the other cat food be yours too?”

“Well…” Beef looked deeply conflicted. BDubs decided to say it for him. “He was working for the Evil Emporium since he started to change into… I guess it’s an alien?”

Etho stilled at the name, and the rest of the group held their breaths. “Ah,” he replied, suddenly tight as a bowstring.

“Which is why I’m making a new brand of cat food, one which I’ll be selling from a shop near my base for diamonds,” soothed Beef, trying his best to keep Etho away from bad memories.

“I can see why you changed brands then,” replied Etho through a forced calm. He was not subtle in the least however. Bdubs wondered if the hurt in Etho's eyes was from the idea that his closest friend had supported the monster that had hurt him, or the idea that his friend would completely change his plans for the season due to one off script incident? Bdubs had a feeling it was definitely the former.

(BDubs had asked Xisuma after all was said and done if he remembered anything leading up to them being in front of the screen at his base. X had said the last thing he had remembered before that was meeting up with EvilX to discuss business strategies before blacking out after their customary greetings. He explained it had happened before, but he had somehow never thought much of the memory gaps. However, he agreed with the rest of the Hermits that had talked with him about it that it was a problem that would need to be investigated because it sounded like mind control. And a player that could control the server admin was a force too powerful to allow free. Or at the very least, a player that needed to have some very hard limits as to what they could do placed upon them.)

“You know, Etho, have you been ok?” asked Doc hesitantly. BDubs hoped that Doc knew what he was doing, because Bdubs was definitely lost.

Etho looked a bit like a cornered animal at the moment as he looked between the 3 of them like they had betrayed him. “Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?”

Doc gave him a look that BDubs thought was completely justified. “Etho, you went through an incredibly traumatic experience only a week or so ago. It is completely fine if you aren't doing ok.”

Etho sighed. “And what would you even do if I wasn't ok?”

Doc gave a hissy whine and moved from where he had been situated to sit close beside Etho. “Well, we'd figure out what we can do to make it a little closer to being ok.” He looked down at his lap. “I know I've been struggling with sleep recently, so I understand at least if you aren't sleeping either.” Etho looked vaguely stricken.

“You were part of the group that was watching, weren't you?” BDubs watched as Etho began to close off. Doc just nodded miserably. “And the two of you?”

BDubs felt gutted, knowing that Etho either didn't remember him breaking in to save him and holding his hand; or was purposefully ignoring the memory. “I stopped you from drowning more by blocking up the source block...” muttered Beef, looking pretty hurt himself.

“I found your enclosure and got the search party together to come finish breaking you out; and was there next to Beef when he was saving you,” finished Bdubs, a bit more of the hurt shining through because he couldn't hold a poker face even if his life depended on it. But also, Etho needed to see that he wasn't alone, in a lot of ways.

Etho looked appropriately chastised, if also incredibly grateful. “Thank you, all of you.” He leaned lightly into Doc's shoulder; the most affection he would normally show to anyone. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you 3, so thank you. Thank you so much.” They all politely ignored the sniffling coming from behind the mask, though Beef situated himself on Etho’s other side, and BDubs decided to try and strategically place himself on the floor in front of Beef so that if Etho wanted to lean a leg against him, he could. BDubs was so tempted to drape himself over Etho’s legs, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Etho probably wouldn’t handle being immobile in a sitting position well for the foreseeable future. However he was vindicated when his hair was playfully ruffled by an Etho hand as the 4 of them devolved into just sitting with each other. 

BDubs should have guessed that Etho wouldn’t stay down long however, as Etho (after inconspicuously wiping the corners of his eyes dry) said, “so, who wants to help me prank the Boatem Crew?” BDubs could feel the devious smile creeping across his face.

“Now you’re speaking my language Canada boy!” Etho wheezed a quiet laugh above him. 

“You sure you want to be slinging that kind of slander at me short stuff?”

“SHORT STUFF?!?!” BDubs got up in a huff. “I’LL SHOW YOU SHORT STUFF, YOU DAMN BEAN POLE!” Beef, Etho, and Doc all burst into chuckles, leaning into the couch as they tried to get themselves under control. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, DO YOU? Ooooooh, you are all playing a dangerous game!”

Etho and Doc proceeded to laugh harder, leaning against each other. “What are you going to do BDubs, bite our ankles?” asked Beef before breaking down laughing again. 

“I’LL BITE YOUR ANKLES JUST WATCH ME!” and with that, BDubs was all over Beef, trying to get a solid shoulder punch in, but being thwarted at every turn. A stray punch at Doc, and suddenly everyone but Etho was rolling around the floor trying to playfully murder each other. Etho wheezed in laughter at their antics, and expertly avoided getting added into their mischief by eventually hopping up a ladder to the next floor and watching from the opening.

Eventually they managed to settle down, and by the time they had gathered themselves enough, it was night time. BDubs, with a lighter heart than when he had let in all his friends earlier in the day, said goodbye to them with promises that if Etho really was serious about pranking the Boatem Crew, the nHo would be right by his side. They left one by one, first Doc (who complained that he was already behind schedule on his build), then Beef (who playfully recommended Etho come help him run his shop if he wasn’t too busy helping Iskall dye prismarine), and lastly Etho. But before Etho departed, he said, “you know, I already thanked you, but I feel I should do it again.” He met BDubs’ gaze. “Thank you so much for finding me. I don’t know how that would have ended if you hadn’t caught sight of that place”. 

BDubs was humbled by Etho’s gratitude, though he still replied with, “You’re my friend Etho, of course I would give it my all to find you. I’m just happy we were able to do so before it was too late. And if you ever need to get away from it all, it’s pretty nice out here once you get past all the big eyes.”

Etho wheezed a chuckle in response, a hidden smile brightening up the corners of his eyes. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind. You take care of yourself now, you hear? I don’t want to be hearing of too many shenanigans from you, ok?”

BDubs laughed in response, and nodded. “Can do! And you do the same, ok?” He let the humor drain a bit, a more serious tone shining through. “If things get bad, please let someone know. Doc knows what happened, and he would be able to tell you who else was there that you could talk to if you needed it.”

Etho nodded. “Yeah, yeah. If it gets bad I always have Iskall and you guys.” Etho glanced at a clock in his inventory. “Looks like I should be off. If I start now, I should be able to get back before sunrise.” Etho waved goodbye as he turned to go.

“Stay safe! I’ll see you around then,” called out BDubs as he watched Etho quickly jog to the nearest source of water. Then, once acquired, he flew with the flick of his trident, starting his way back to the nether portal so as to make it back to his base safely.

BDubs went to bed that night content knowing that if Etho ever needed the help, he knew who he could reach out to.

-fin-

[wolfinlambsclothing]

Angels Fall [Simeon x reader]

Notes: It was written with a fem!reader, because I don’t know how to write neutral or male. When they call your name, it’s MC.

Some small spoilers about Lilith.

Warnings: a little angst; Simeon falls; this chapter is sfw, but next won’t.

Summary: Months after torturing yourself, you decided that you should tell Simeon that you're in love with him, thinking it woud come to nothing. Simeon knew it was a forbidden path, he always did. And now your actions will have consequences for you both.

Also posted on AO3.

CHAPTER 1: FALL

When angels fall with broken wings I can't give up, I can't give in When all is lost and daylight ends I'll carry you and we will live forever, for ever

If someone asked you, you would say with the greatest certain in the world that Simeon was flirting. After all, most of the Devildom demons and some guys you’ve met in the Human Realm used to be so helpful and kind when they wanted something in return. But he was an angel, and angels were helpful and kind by nature — or that’s what you kept repeating in your head, in a way to convince yourself that you couldn't get carried away.

And that went on for weeks.

From the start, Simeon was nice and amiable, not just with you. He was patient with everything and everyone, always helping those in need, without caring if they were a demon, a human or an angel. He was always there. However, despite knowing you were wrong, as the days went by you couldn’t stop your heart from beating faster every time he did something for you. Whether to help with a lesson, watch a movie, chat or go out to try a new treat at your favorite candy store, Simeon always invited you or accepted your invitations. You always thought it was his angel nature and tried your best to bury your feelings for him, but you didn't know the half of it.

Simeon knew it was a forbidden path, he always did. But how could he not feel attracted by you? He tried to convince himself so many times that everything he did was in the name of his angelic and benevolent nature, but it had reached a level that no one else could believe in such a lie. He tried to hide, keep it to himself and, maybe, get forgiveness for falling in love with a human, but it was more and more difficult to achieve this. Your smiles brightened his days, your smell soothed him, your voice captivated him and your touches were increasingly dear, whether it was a simple brush of your fingers on his arm or a hug to thank him for something.

And then, months after torturing yourself, you decided that you should say something. You knew it would come to nothing, but your feelings were suffocating you and you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore — after all it was starting to be obvious that something was happening; even the brothers were suspicious of how many times you went to Purgatory Hall. Forcing the best smile you could, already expecting for the worst, you went to your destination, where you knew you would find the angel.

“MC, it’s nice to see you.” He smiled wide when he opened the door and saw you.

“Hi, Simeon. I… wanted to talk to you…”

The angel gave you room so you could enter the house, then closed the door. You were weird, he could sense it, but he couldn’t tell what was it. Your aura was heavy and… sad. For a moment, he was sad too, but pulled himself together so he could help you with whatever you needed. Guiding you to his room, he invited you to come in and make yourself comfortable, as always. You went straight to an armchair in the corner and sat, the angel following you and sitting on the bed, in front of you.

“What do you need?”, he asked with a kind smile.

“I have a problem. I’m liking… someone. But I know we can’t be together.”

“Oh!” The angel felt a tightness in his chest, but he needed to ignore it in order to help you. “And… is it one of the brothers?”

“No…” You looked away, blushing. Simeon noticed that you didn't want to say who was it, so he chose not to insist. “But I know it has no future, that it can’t happen. I’m a human and he… well, he isn’t.”

“I see…” He put his hand on his chin, thoughtfully. His mind has already crossed out Solomon from the list of possible suitors.

“I know that there are a lot of obstacles for that, that it doesn't have the slightest chance of happening, but even so I can't dislike him. And I know he probably doesn’t feel the same way and that I’m deluding myself, but… I don’t know what to do anymore. I tried to forget, to ignore and to get over it, but nothing works. It feels that I like him more every day.”

“And have you tried talking to him?”

“Not yet. At least not directly...”

“So that’s the start. You’re a lovely person, little lamb, your feelings will probably be reciprocated.”

“I… was thinking about talking to him, but now… My courage seems to be fading away.”

“Don’t worry and don’t think too much. Just say what you’re feeling in your heart, be honest with yourself and I know you’re gonna be okay, no matter what happens. You can always come to talk to me later. I’ll be here to support you.”

“But what if… it’s you?” The end of the sentence came out so low that the angel almost failed to hear, and yet he doubted that he had heard correctly.

“What if it’s…” His eyes went wide, while he was feeling his heart flutter inside him.

“You.” This time your voice coming out a little louder. Taking a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. “What if the someone I like is you? I know it’s forbidden, I know it’s impossible, I know it's unrequited, but I… I can’t help but like you.”

Your eyes started to water and you stared at the floor, trying to stop yourself from crying. You noticed the angel getting up and walking towards you, probably ready to ask you to forget all this and make you realize how impossible it was. You felt so pathetic, suffering for a love that has always been doomed to fail.

However, what came next was not rejection, nor a sermon on how you were deluded, much less a detachment. Simeon bent down in front of you, putting one hand on each arm of the chair and kissed you. Well, it was more like a light brush of lips, but enough to make you dizzy.

“S-Simeon…”

“Now you know too. It’s not unrequited.”

“But… I thought… You don’t… How…”

“I don’t know what can happen, honestly.” The angel stroked your cheek, looking at you tenderly. “It’s the first time that an angel falls in love for a human… Well, there was Lilith, but she did more than just fall in love.”

“You mean… Simeon, can you be condemned to non-existence?”

“I don’t think such a severe punishment will be applied.” He laughed softly, partly because of the line of thought you were following and partly because he was happy to know that you liked him, and that you cared so much about him.

“But then…” Your words were cut off by his thumb resting on your lips then caressing it, in a request for silence.

“I don’t care what will be my punishment. Knowing that what I feel for you is mutual makes me so happy that I don't even know if I can think of the consequences of it now.”

“You… like me!” Now it was your eyes that went wide with his statement.

“Yes, MC. I’m a little surprised you didn’t know, sometimes I thought I was being pretty obvious, with everything I was doing for you.”

“Ah, well… I thought it was a common thing for you to be so helpful to everyone, because… You know, you’re an angel.”

“No, it was only for you. Only for my little lamb.”

Simeon stood up and held out his hand in your direction, which you took eagerly. Now standing on your feet, you felt how your body was shaking with the whole situation, but in a very good way. The angel put one hand on your neck and the other on your waist, pulling you close. Approaching slowly and watching you intently, he again joined your lips, now for longer. This time, Simeon ran his tongue over your lips asking to deepen the kiss and you allowed. You heard a rustle and, moving away to look, you realized that he was in his angelic form, with his imposing wings around you in a protective way. With a wide smile from ear to ear, you kissed him with love again, and again, and again.

With each kiss, you felt like you needed more. With each touch of him, which slid from your waist to your back and then back to your waist, you wanted more. With each sigh of yours, he felt it was not enough. And with each step he took back, you were closer to the bed, until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he fell sitting, with you still glued to him. You settled on the angel's lap, with one leg on either side of his hips, still kissing him fervently. Your hands, which rested on his shoulders, slid to his nape, gently moving down his back to the base of his wings, where you caressed and started to move your hand through the feathers — making him sigh. His hands, seeming to have a life of their own, soon found their way from your waist to your thighs, leaving a hot trail where they passed.

“Simeon…”, you called him. He actually didn't know if it was a request or a call. And what kind of request it would be, if that was the case. He just hummed and kissed you passionately again. It took a lot of your willpower to move away and call him again, your worries starting to hammer in your head again. “Simeon, I… We need to talk first.”

“I’m sorry.” He ran his hands through his hair and sighed loudly, closing his eyes. “I was excited and got carried away… Please, forgive me.”

“No! I mean, that’s not it. I’m still worried about what might happen, because it’ll be partly my fault and…”

“MC, it doesn’t matter what happens, it won’t be your fault. It’ll never be. Don’t worry about what may or may not happen.”

“Okay. But… maybe we should do something else? You know, before we…” Your face was red and you cleared your throat, trying to make the angel understand. “You know… Make it worse.”

“As you wish.” He smiled and gave you one last peck on the cheek, helping you to get off of him.

You two decided to do the usual: watch something, while eating some snacks. Neither of you noticed when a feather from the angel's wing came loose and fell to the floor, going under his bed.

<center>xxx</center>

Four days have passed. Nobody knew that you were in some kind of relationship yet, because it was too recent and neither the brothers or Luke would have a nice reaction. You both were still meeting each other as often as possible, like always, but now there was something more. Your meetings were full of kisses and cuddles in his bed.

It was a common afternoon in the Devildom and you two were coming back from RAD to Purgatory Hall along with Solomon and Luke. Everything was normal, until you step inside the house and the younger angel lets out a high-pitched, desperate cry. Turning around, you were ready to be in a fighting position — not that you knew much about it or that it could be useful — and help your friend. However, when your eyes met the little blond, you realized that he was looking at you with such horror. More specifically, for something close to your feet. Following his line of sight, you lowered your head, feeling your whole world spin when you saw what Luke had seen. There, on the floor, between you and Simeon, was a feather — or what appeared to be one, since it looked burnt.

Lifting your head quickly, your eyes found the angel staring down, biting his lip in nervousness.

“Did it fall off your wings?” Solomon broke the silence.

“Probably.”

“S-Simeon! But-”

“What have you done?” Luke interrupted you. His expression was a mix of horror and disappointment, which made you feel bad for the older angel.

“Nothing! I mean… not that much.” Simeon looked at you, like he was waiting for your consent to tell what you two have been up to lately. “We… We have been dating.”

“WHAT?”, the other two shouted.

“N-not in the way you’re thinking!” You hurried to shake your hands nervously.

“We are together, but we did nothing”, he stated. “It was some time ago that I noticed I felt something different about MC and then I realized I was in love with her. A few days ago I discovered that she felt the same way and we’ve been together ever since.”

“Simeon, it’s forbidden!”

“Does that mean you’re falling?”, Solomon asked. “Just because you fell in love with someone?”

“Yes. Well, it’s not just it. Relationships between angels and any other being is forbidden. Plus, I let myself be carried away by my feelings. I accepted and surrendered to it, without fear of the consequences, out of pure selfishness. Not only I didn’t regret this, I insisted on this relationship for the past few days.”

“Simeon, you can’t! This… It’s…” The little angel now looked more afraid than angry. His blue eyes shift the focus between you and the angel next to you, as if hoping that you could say something to help.

“Luke, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! Simeon, you have to regret it, ask for forgiveness. You…”

“You can’t fall!”, you completed when the angel seemed unable to formulate the rest of the sentence. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t… Now you’re like this…” Your tears could no longer be contained. You felt yourself being embraced by the angel and his hands caressing your hair, while his wings enveloped you in an attempt to calm you down.

“I told you not to blame yourself, MC.” Turning his head towards the other angel, Simeon continued: “Forgive me, Luke, but I can't do what you're asking. I’m aware of what's going on, but I won’t regret it. I will never regret falling in love with MC and having the best days I can remember.”

A few seconds of silence followed and you continued with your head buried in the angel's chest, until you heard footsteps leaving, probably from Luke going to his own room. Simeon took a long breath and looked back at you, holding your chin up so he could look you in the eye. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any sound came out, he was interrupted by Solomon:

“Your feathers are falling and turning black.”

In a snap, you looked to the side, seeing one of the wings in the exact state that the sorcerer had described. The feathers were turning as black as those on Lucifer's wings; some places appeared to be featherless, but a small tip indicated that they were being reborn in the new color. Startled, you looked down, seeing that the falling white feathers looked burnt, as if they had caught on fire between the fall of the wing and the landing.

“S-Simeon! Your wings...”

“I suggest you go to your room to talk.”

Nodding to the sorcerer, Simeon held your hand and guided you to his own bedroom, locking the door when both of you were inside. You two sat on the bed, facing each other.

Your eyes watched intently all the details that were changing in the now ex-angel. Maybe it was because he admitted so vehemently that he would never regret it, but he was falling a lot faster than you thought it would be. His wings were already completely black, horns protruded almost completely from his head and a mark became more and more evident on his shoulder, very similar to the ones that the brothers had on their bodies. 

Simeon was feeling every little change. The mark on his shoulder felt like it was being burned with a hot iron, but he didn't care.

You cupped his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. A part of you still blamed yourself, after all, if you hadn't said anything, none of this would be happening. However, another part — much bigger, by the way — was happy. You couldn't forget the expression of joy and love that had filled Simeon's face when he said that those were the best days he remembered. Plus, he seemed calm with what was happening, and his eyes still looked at you with such affection that you thought you could melt right there.

“I hope you’re not regretting us”, he said and you grimaced. You were ready to answer him, but he smiled and continued to speak before you could say a thing: “I’m kidding. I know you’re not.”

“Good.”

“You should know that I don’t either.” He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, placing a kiss. “I meant every word. I don’t regret being with you and I never will.”

“Me neither.” You smiled the best you could and got closer. Placing a light kiss on your lover's lips, you whispered: “I think I don’t just like you, but I love you.”

“I’m sure of it”, he whispered back, also smiling.

Placing one hand on your nape and the other on your waist, Simeon pulled you to another kiss, this time with much more intensity and passion.

After all, he had nothing more to lose. And he wanted to make the most of your company.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

FINAL NOTES:

The cover images were taken from inside the game.

The song is Angels Fall, by Breaking Benjamin. I love this song so much! I love this band, actually. Next chapter will probably have one of their songs too.

MC wasn’t even thinking about what could happen to her. After all, she has pacts with demons and now she’s with an angel. This MC will definitely go to the Devildom after she dies, HASIUEHASUIEHAS.

This chapter was sfw, but next won’t. Yes, MC and Simeon will “finish their business”. We have a saying here where I live that says: if you’re in hell, hug the devil (it was translated quite literally, but I think you could understand). In MC’s case, she’ll literally hug the devil ;) HIASHEIAUSEIASUHEAS.

See ya around!

[chapter-61]

small things

CARRY ON COUNTDOWN DAY 15: Floral

AO3, POST-CARRY ON

It starts with a yellow tulip.

When Simon wakes up on the couch for the fifth day in a row, he doesn’t feel like getting up. What’s the point? He doesn’t have anything planned (as usual) and Baz has classes. Penny is gone for two weeks to visit Agatha, so he’s on his own.

He supposes he could visit his therapist, but he’s been ignoring their appointments for a while and it’d be awkward.

After a moment of consideration, he decides staying on the couch is the better option. He reaches for the remote on the coffee table but stops when he notices the flower. Simon doesn’t know much about flowers but he recognizes the tulip. It’s yellow and wrapped in plastic.

He frowns at it and sits up. Unless he started sleepwalking last night, he’s sure he didn’t put the flower there. Which only leaves Baz. But Baz had left yesterday evening after dinner, when Simon didn’t feel up to conversation, or anything else. He had felt bad, but the feeling was overshadowed by his discomfort of being in someone else’s company, so he didn’t say anything as Baz kissed him goodbye on the cheek.

Simon is certain Baz didn’t bring the flower with him, though, because he surely would’ve noticed. And Baz isn’t a flower person, right? He’s never said as much, anyway.

Maybe someone broke in, but why would they leave a flower? It doesn’t seem like anything was stolen either, so it’s very unlikely.

Which brings him back to Baz. He could’ve come back at night while Simon was sleeping to put the flower there, but he can’t figure out why.

“I suppose.” His voice is still a bit croaky from sleep and disuse.  

Wrestling with his wings, he manages to stand up. Dizziness overcomes him and he almost falls back down, but he keeps upright. Mostly. He keeps his eyes on the flower.

When he’s steadier after a few seconds, he finally picks it up and lifts it to his nose. It smells nice. His mouth corners curl up and the smile on his face surprises him. It feels foreign, but he’s still holding the flower, so the smile stays.

Simon puts the flower down delicately and finds he has the energy to walk to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. Along the way, he picks up his mobile phone to send Baz a text.

To: Baz (9:14) thanks for the flower

He replies almost instantly.

From: Baz (9:15) You’re welcome. It’s a tulip.

To: Baz (9:15) i know

From: Baz (9:21) Alright.

After breakfast, Simon puts the tulip in an empty water bottle, and mostly forgets about it.

Until a few days later, when he finds another flower in the living room. The last few nights he always made it to his bed, an achievement he’s weirdly proud of.

This time, he doesn’t recognize the flower sort. He picks it up and examines it closely. It’s really pretty. The flower is mostly bright purple (magenta, he can hear Penny’s voice in his head), with multiple layers of petals. The magenta petals have yellow ends and circle the middle part of the flower (the stigma?), which is the same bright yellow.

A quick google search doesn’t seem to bring it up, so he opens his texts instead.

To: Baz (9:20) what type is this?

From: Baz (9:23) It’s a zinnia, part of the Heliantheae tribe. It’s related to the sunflower.

To: Baz (9:23) it’s very pretty

From: Baz (9:24) Try to keep it in a place with a lot of sunlight.

To: Baz (9:24) ok, thanks

He finds another empty water bottle on the counter, fills it with a bit of water and puts the flower in. It’s really nice and bright. He puts it on a window sill in the living room, where the sunlight hits it perfectly. It lights up the room, and Simon feels slightly warmer inside.

A week later, Simon wakes up later than usual. Baz stayed the evening, and they watched a movie together. He doesn’t really remember what movie it was, he was mostly watching Baz. His feet were in Baz’ lap and Baz had been gently massaging them. Simon couldn’t keep his attention on the movie after that.

When he exits his room and passes the window sill, he smiles at the flowers. He had his suspicions before, but now he’s sure Baz put a spell on them, because they still look as fresh as the day he found them. They still smell amazing as well, and the apartment hasn’t smelled this nice in a long time.

He’s so busy looking at the flowers while he passes, he almost misses the new flower on the coffee table. Simon can feel his smile grow when he walks towards it.

He picks it up and is pleased that he recognizes it.

To: Baz (10:45) a daffodil?

From: Baz (10:47) I’m impressed. Yes, it’s a daffodil. A jonquil, to be more exact. Narcissus jonquilla.

To: Baz (10:47) :D

He puts away his mobile phone and adds the flower to his collection. Then, he has an idea.

To: Penny (10:53) hey do u still have that flower book somewhere??

From: Penny (11:07) Good morning to you, too. You’re lucky we just arrived in New York or you’d be waking me up at 3am. Why do you need it?

To: Penny (11:07) i’ll tell u when u get back

From: Penny (11:08) Fine, it should be on a shelf in my room. Don’t break it, please.

He scoffs and goes to Penny’s room. Between the magic books and cooking books, there’s the one he’s looking for. The Language Of Flowers, by Chlorissa Anthis.

Simon tries to contain his curiosity as he takes the book with him to the couch. He opens the heavy book to the index, and looks for the first flower.

Tulips

There are many interpretations for tulips, depending on their color. Generally, tulips represent love. A red tulip stands for strong, true love, while purple symbolizes royalty. White tulips represent worthiness or forgiveness, and pink tulips can stand for elegance or gratitude. The most complex meaning has to belong to the yellow tulip. They used to represent hopelessness or unrequited love, but are now more commonly used as an expression for cheerfulness and sunshine. More than that, they’re used to compliment someone’s sunshine-like smile or beautiful eyes.

Oh. Well. That brings a sappy smile to his face.

To: Baz (11:17) you think my eyes are beautiful?

From: Baz (11:18) I have no idea what you’re talking about.

To: Baz (11:18) suuuuure

He looks over at the purple flower now. A zinnia, was it?

To: Baz (11:19) what color is the zinnia?

From: Baz (11:21) Are you turning blind? Do you need me to pick up a pair of glasses?

To: Baz (11:21) ha ha. indulge me

From: Baz (11:25) It’s mostly magenta, but mixed with yellow towards the ends.

Simon quickly turns to the index again and looks for the zinnia.

Zinnia

The zinnia is a tough flower and stands for endurance in many forms. It varies from standing by a loved one through a difficult time to a joyous endurance of daily remembrance. If the zinnia is red, it symbolizes the steadfastness of the heart and family, like a beating heart. A white zinnia stands for goodness, and magenta for lasting affection, even through harder circumstances. Lastly, a zinnia can have mixed colors, which means the gifter misses their absent friend/lover and wants them to know they’re still thinking about them.

That’s very different from the yellow tulip. He starts to doubt whether Baz actually meant something with the type of flower, or if he just picked the prettiest. But then he can’t help thinking of the night before, when Baz felt so far away while he was sitting right next to him on the couch. Simon’s always missing Baz, even when he’s nearby. Maybe the same goes for Baz. He’s never thought of it like that. And he supposes the distance between them could be seen as an absence of the other person.

If the book is to be believed, Baz wants to let Simon know that there’s still lasting affection from his side. Which he knows, of course, because why else would Baz still visit almost every day? On the other hand, he had started to doubt Baz’ feelings for him lately, with the giant hole between them nowadays. That’s Simon’s fault, though. He’s the one that’s been acting weird and distant and he wouldn’t fault Baz for wanting to put an end to it. Which brings him back to the significance of the mixed colours.

He takes a deep breath and looks for the daffodil family now.

Jonquil

A jonquil is a very romantic flower, but it can also be a symbol of sorrow. Legend says that this flower originates from the Greek myth of Persephone. In its purest form, the jonquil stands for desire and sympathy. Desire to have love and affection returned. A single jonquil commonly means ‘love me, please’. In the absence of reciprocated feelings, it is clear that the flower can represent sorrow as well.

These flowers are getting more and more depressing, Simon thinks. Does Baz not know how much Simon loves him?

He looks back on his behaviour towards Baz over the last few months, and is suddenly appalled. They’ve barely had long conversations, most of them happening over the phones, and Baz had always been the one to initiate it. Baz had also always been the one to initiate touches, and he took Simon on trips around the city without Simon asking.

Has he really been that detached from the love of his life?

As is often the case when he doesn’t know the answer to a question, he texts Penny.

To: Penny (11:35) am i a bad boyfriend? be honest

From: Penny (11:38) I wouldn’t say you’re a bad boyfriend to Baz, but you haven’t really been in a happy headspace in a while. I think Baz misses you, though, and you miss him. What is this all about? I’m coming home in 2 days, you two better be okay!

Instead of responding to Penny, he sends a text to Baz.

To: Baz (11:39) hey are u coming over tonight?

From: Baz (11:40) I was planning on it. Do you not want me to come?

To: Baz (11:40) nonono please come. i’ll make the food, you don’t have to bring anything

From: Baz (11:41) Are you sure, Simon? I don’t mind cooking.

To: Baz (11:41) very sure, it’ll work out dw

From: Baz (11:42) Alright. Now I’m curious. See you tonight.

Hope blooms in his chest. At least he hasn’t totally messed everything up with Baz yet. He checks the time and puts Penny’s book back. He should have plenty of time to make something edible.

A few minutes later, he’s out of the apartment and on his way to the grocery store.

On the way back home, he stops by a flower shop.

The doorbell rings a bit after 6, and Simon rolls his eyes. He saunters over to the door and opens it to a waiting Baz. Simon is stricken by how good he looks, and it’s not just the smile on his face.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“Hi,” Baz replies, with that beautiful smile still present.

Simon shakes himself and opens the door wider to let Baz in. “I know you have a key.”

“I do. I wanted you to open the door, though. Get some exercise in.”

Simon snorts as he walks back to the kitchen, suddenly feeling awkward. Is he supposed to greet Baz with a kiss? He wants to, and they’ve been together for over a year, so it should be okay. But he’s not sure how to do it. It’s been a while since he initiated contact between them.

Baz seems to know what’s on his mind, because when he turns back around, his boyfriend is right in front of him. Damn vampire.

“It looks so much cleaner here. Lighter. And something smells delicious.”

Before Simon can answer, Baz closes the distance between them and gives him a soft kiss. “Good evening, love.”

Simon can’t help the blush spreading over his face. “Hi.”

Baz chuckles and goes to lean against the kitchen counter. “You look better, too.”

“I feel better,” he replies honestly.

They smile at each other. Then, Simon says, “Thanks for the flowers.”

Now it’s Baz turn to flush. “Did you find out their meanings?”

“Wait here,” Simon says instead of answering, and he walks over to his room with a slight jump in his step.

He comes back with a single red rose. Baz looks at it with wide eyes.

“You know the meaning of this one?” Simon asks him.

“Of course I do,” Baz replies quietly.

Simon hands over the rose and pulls Baz to him, with his arms around Baz’ neck. “I love you,” he whispers, before he kisses him with all the power he has.

A single red rose signifies pure, fulfilled love. It’s an expression to convey the purest and deepest affection. I love you.

[musicallisto]

🌘 Out of the Woods (Nik x F!MC)

not to be a choices stan on main but oh my god… the ending of nightbound… I cannot cope I can’t believe I got so attached to a bunch of pixels and some lines of dialogue. nik stans have been eating gourmet every single chapter for the last past months and I can’t believe it’s over. anyways, here’s a little piece inspired by the final scene with our favorite crew of Nighthunters (I WOULD DIE FOR THEM). seriously I love their dynamic and MC being a nighthunter with Nik for the rest of eternity? STAN, as the cool kids say

honestly I don’t even care if this gets like 4 notes I wrote this as a coping mechanism

also hhhh I haven’t written for months take it easy ok I never thought I would write again for PLAYCHOICES

word count: 2.8k words

summary: In which the endearingly ragtag duo and couple of Nighthunters Nik Ryder and Louise Jackson are on the tail of a murderous creature gone rampant in rural Louisiana, and have finally cornered the beast in the middle of the bayou.

warnings: fighting, blood

THE UNDERGROWTH SHIVERS. Buzzing with distant noises and the rustling of the wind in the leaves, the entire forest holds its breath. The very first rays of morning sunshine forcibly make their way amidst the large, lush entanglements of vines and mud-riddled trunks, and graze the ever-humid soil of the bayou.

Nik hasn’t moved in three minutes. Only his eyes dart around the dense clearing with the sharpness of a thousand blades, scrutinizing in silence the spot he and Louise have stopped at, following the evidence and eyewitnesses that have guided them in their hunt. Not a single passerby would notice the oh-so-slight curvature of the grass where he’s leaning, even if they stopped for a second and observed. He may not associate often with cops, whether they are of the supernatural kind or not, but the Paranormal and Magical NOPD asked for the very best of the best to deal with the unexplainable murder spree in the outskirts of town, and he’ll be damned if Louise and him ain’t the best at what they do.

Especially when the bounty goes ten-thousand up everytime a new mutilated corpse is found on a remote farm.

“You see it yet?”

Louise crawls to a better spot on his right. Chin deep in the dirt, she keeps her eyes fixated on the thick vines that frame the clearing. She always gets particularly fierce when they’re close to catching a monster. Is it her Fae senses that give her a premonition of what’s to come, or whatever magic fusing in her blood, he doesn’t know, but he sure as hell trusts her more than anyone. They’re close. It’s close.

“Nah. Still hiding. Not for much longer anymore, I hope… maybe we’ll have to drive it out.”

“How can a thing so huge be hiding in here? Its wings sure should have got stuck in the trees or something by now.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’d know a lot about logic regarding magical creatures,” he huffs, allowing the ghost of a smile to graze his lips.

He can’t detach his gaze from the scenery in front of him—he knows better than to leave a potential threat unattended—but if he could look at Louise, he knows he would see the characteristic playful smile that she can’t refrain whenever she remembers the events and revelations of the year before. They definitely went through a hell of a lot together.

Both their ears perk up at the same time. Their training has allowed them to recognize the sounds in the forest, in the murmur of the wind, in the singing of the waters. Most importantly, to distinguish whether they are of supernatural source or not. They exchange the subtlest of interrogations as they look at each other from each side of dark, large bush. Louise’s eyes are steel. Decided. Certain.

“It’s here…,” she mouths at him, before pointing at a direction he cannot quite see from his crouched stance.

Craning his neck, he pushes apart some of the vines, and there he sees it. Impossible to mistake with any other creature, the blood-red monster breathes heavily, ruffling the leaves in its wake. Hundreds of pounds of powerful muscle, sharp claws, lion fur and scorpion tail, the manticore seems to await something, maybe the misfortunes of a prey venturing outside of its den, although apparently unaware of the presence of the two Nighthunters.

“Ugly bastard,” Nik breathes out, taking in the colossal dimensions of the creature. Suddenly his crossbow and banishing spells seem a little derisory in the face of such an abomination, but he remembers he’s fought worse, and he has arguably the most powerful woman in the country alongside him.

“We do what we said, right?” she whispers.

“Right.”

She grasps her dagger, murmuring an incantation against the tip of the blade. From the corner of his eye, Nik can make out the start of a glimmer emanating from the weapon itself, a gleam she stifles immediately in her pocket.

“Don’t die,” she whispers before disappearing in the somber underbrush.

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and murmurs a distracted “You too” as he follows both her and the manticore’s movements in the vegetation. They both know better than to tell the other to be careful, and God forbid they promised they wouldn’t take any stupid risk. Taking stupid risks is a Nighthunter guarantee that has never been more true than with Nik Ryder and Louise Jackson.

Louise cowers through the branches, her loyal Nighthunter gear dirtied up to the neckline in the murk of the swamp, eyes fixated on the manticore that she’s circling from its ride. It shivers in the bushes, its enormous, vaguely human-like head scouting the forest for any sign of flesh. Her enchanted dagger quivers in her right hand as she holds her breath, swearing that the monster can hear the faintest of her heartbeat… she’s so focused on her impossibly discreet breathing that she forgets, for a single second, to watch where she steps, and the snap of a twig explodes under her foot like a cannonball inside her chest.

She’s completely frozen. Pupils not moving an inch. Lips half-parted. Whole weight of her body on her single right leg, spread out in an uncomfortable manner, threatening to give out. The manticore has suddenly perked its ears up, and is looking at the direction the sound came in. She’s not sure if it can see her from where she is standing unbalanced—she can’t think of anything other than the turbulent pouding in her heart—, but it’s as if these repulsive, yellow eyes, two rotten stones of sulfur, are piercing right through her soul, and—

“Hey, you abomination!”

She doesn’t think about it for a second. As soon as the manticore’s head snaps and searches for the source of the voice, finding it in the tall silhouette rising from the ferns, she gets on her feet and takes off running to get to her planned position; but she swears she’ll kill Nik for revealing himself and offsetting their plan, before she thanks him sincerely for stepping in and saving her, before she kills him again for yet again taking stupid risks.

Nik is standing still in front of the roaring manticore, his feet planted on the loose soil, crossbow leveled at the beast. His quick breathing follows the same rhythm as the palpitations of light emanating from the bolt readied on his crossbow. Louise can only watch him for a single second before she jumps back into her rapid progression through the branches; but the swift whistling resounding in her ears tells her that Nik has shot, and the crackling groan of the beast is enough to know that he didn’t miss.

But Nik can only congratulate himself on his true aim for a second, because with a disconcerting speed, the manticore, seemingly not bothered by the Holy Light crossbow bolt stuck in its upper leg, lies flat on the ground with a roar and brandishes its tail. The Nighthunter jumps to the side, but he’s too slow; a piercing pain traverses his right arm, tearing through the fabric of his jacket. His hand instinctively comes to the wound; a single thick, dark purple thorn is planted right in his arm, dripping black venom down his skin.

“Goddammit,” he spits, noticing in a split second that the creature has one scale less on its scorpion tail.

Impossibly thick cotton is slowly filling the entirety of his right arm, numbing it so much that he’s unable to lift his crossbow anymore. Dark droplets wet the forest ground. When he lifts up his head, the manticore is almost all over him; he barely dodges its three rows of teeth and shoots one more bolt with his weakened left arm. With a sharp whizz, the arrow tears through the flesh of the manticore and lodges itself into its neck; but in a second, growling like a thunderstorm, the monster has jumped onto the hunter and pinned him to the ground, deep in the mud. Nik expertly avoids every single gnash at his head, his own throat now covered in the sticky blood pooling from the manticore’s open neck, and he’s kicking and hissing and screaming and it’s like the whole forest is closing in on him and in the fetid breath of the horrendous monster and he’s struggling and tiring out and the beast manages to scrape the side of his cheek with its rotten teeth and—

“Hey! Get away from him!”

Yes, indeed, if Louise were to step in to give him a hand, now would be a pretty nice time.

Suddenly, the manticore gargles, muggy, crimson blood brimming over its lopsided mouth. Its sulfur eyes struggle for a few moments, grasping at the last remnants of life it can find, until it convulses one last time and it’s nothing more than a blood-red corpse with a single, shining blade protruding right between its two eyes, cutting across its skull.

Nik pushes the corpse off his body, breathlessly dusting off the dark blood and mud from his clothes, when Louise’s frame appears in front of him. She extends one hand towards him, offering to help him up; the other grasps the crimson throwing knife she used to kill the beast.

“Sorry I took so long. The Life Drain spell is always tricky to apply to blades. Are you okay?” she asks, concern evident on her features.

“… Yeah,” he laboriously pants, taking Louise’s hand to hoist himself up. “You… you’re getting really good at throwing knives.”

“Thank you. I’ve been training.”

“Yeah, I could see that…”

He groans as he stands up with difficulty, dusting the lapels of his jacket off with what little vitality is left in his injured arm. Breathless eyes and disheveled brown hair regain a semblance of footing in the concerned, and slightly reprimanding, posture of Louise’s silver gaze.

“Why did you call out to it? We had a plan!” she half-heartedly admonishes, fixing her own muddy clothes.

“You’d rather it killed ya?” Nik growls feebly, his head going dizzy as his consciousness weakens with each pouding of his heart, sending venom pulsing through his veins. “Couldn’t let it happen…”

“I’d rather it didn’t kill you,” she mumbles under her breath, before her features soften at the sight of the dark substance dripping from the protuberance planted in his skin. “Nik, you’re badly hurt! Wait,” she fumbles in her satchel as the Nighthunter rambles about “havin’ survived a lot worse’, “I have something to neutralize the poison. Lady Thalissa’s been teaching me this curating spell, and…”

She trails off for a few seconds, self-doubt crawling through her limbs, thick black vines of second-guessing wrapping themselves around the core of her heart. She’s never used the spell for magical poisons, only in the case of snake bites and venenous plants; and it would kill her if ever one of her rookie mistakes put Nik in even more danger.

“Well I can’t really show up to Red Cross with a damn manticore thorn in the arm,” spits Nik, his face contorting in a mask of unveiled pain. “I trust you, Louise. All this city would be six feet underground without y…”

The sentence dies in his throat, constricted by his intense anguish. Louise nods, resolute, muttering a dozen of nervous ‘yeah, yeah, alright’s to herself as she takes out an emerald-green, rectangular piece of flexible fabric, ethereal to the touch, that she rolls up around Nik’s trembling right arm, just above the bloodied prickle, with all the care in the world. He shudders, eyes tightly shut and teeth bared in a frozen expression of agony.

“Hurts like holy hell,” she thinks she hears him mumble through gritted teeth.

Slowly, deep breath after deep breath, slowly, her eyes closed, slowly, her chest open, slowly, her hands pressed on the remedy, slowly, Louise directs all of her thoughts to the black liquid, rapidly coursing through Nik’s body, mixing in his arteries with his blood, getting closer by the second to his heart. Slowly, just like Lady Thalissa taught her, slowly, just like she’s seen the Fae healers do in Lamrian, slowly, she draws every single drop of the manticore venom from his organs, commanding them to follow the very same path backwards, forcing them to retreat to the open wound in Nik’s forearm. Indeed the poison opposes more resistance than the venoms of spiders or wasps she trained on; Nik writhes under her hands, whimping quietly when the black fire scrapes his veins, his heart pouding faster, breathing galloping more and more, but she shushes him calmly, and as his lungs slow down the dark poison is hurtled out of his body much faster.

“I know, babe, I know. Don’t move.”

Maybe it’s the incredible tenderness in her voice, maybe it’s the pet name that’s unvoluntarily escaped from her lips for the first time, maybe it’s the placebo effect induced by the still-inactive Fae cataplasm around his arm, but Nik’s jaw unclenches ever so slightly.

When she’s absolutely certain that she has cleansed every last droplet of lethal mixture, she opens her eyes. Nik is drawing profound, shaky breaths, his mouth a little parted, lips crimson from being bitten, and Louise feels his powerful chest rise a bit higher, fall a bit deeper with every passing second. On his face lingers still the somber hold of the beast, but little by little his jawline softens, his chocolate eyes light up, his forehead smoothes out.

“Are you okay?”

Louise delicately removes the Fae bandage from Nik’s arm; its underside is completely soaked in a sticky purple substance, but as soon as it meets the air, the toxic puddle resorbs on its own until there’s not a trace left on the cloth.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m good. I’m better.”

Nik tries to extend and flex his arm, but flinches when the thorn, still buried in his skin, slides just a millimeter down his arm.

“That was… amazing, Louise,” he murmurs, observing his clean arm for a few seconds, then meeting Louise’s warm gaze with his immensely admirative eyes. “Thank you. I’m… really proud of you. And that was the most gentle I’ve ever seen you. Didn’t know you could be that tender,” he finishes with his characteristic sly smile, still holding his arm.

As soon as she feels herself start to blush, she turns her gaze away from his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.

“I’m no med, so I can’t take out the thorn by myself, and I’d also advise you didn’t. You’ll still have to see a magical doctor. But when it comes to the venom… I took it all out. You’re good to go.”

“And here I thought you’d have to suck it out. Bummer,” he mock complains with a wide smile, before returning to his serious demeanor. “But really, Louise… thank you. I don’t know what I woulda done without you. Honest.”

And maybe it’s the adrenaline wearing off, the endless nights of hunting down the monster through fields and forests and assembling clues and testimonies, or just the sudden realization that they both almost died had it not been for the other, but they’re both overcome by a sudden, unfathomable fatigue that can only found solace in each other’s arms; and so they fall into each other, Louise’s head resting on Nik’s chest and Nik’s chin buried in her hair, Louise’s hands nuzzled over Nik’s heart and Nik’s sane arm draped over Louise’s waist.

“You did good, partner,” Louise whispers.

“So did you, Rook,” Nik sighs back.

And they stay here for God knows how long, breathing slow and deep, hearts beating in unison, two wild flowers intertwined in a long, cold night where only blossom light and hope when they stand together.

When the sun dares to pierce its way between the two lovers, hunters of the night and dark, Nik takes a step back.

“Well, we ain’t out of the woods yet. Literal and figurative,” he announces, his confidence regained like everytime he abandons himself in the comfort of his partner. “We still gotta take this body to the NOPD. Scoop the pot. Then preferably burn the hell out of this thing.”

“Because you know better than to leave corpses unattended, right?” Louise laughs to herself as she bends down to pick up the creature.

“Okay, Rook, that was one time. And there were five of us and none thought that a zombie we threw off two stories would come back the day after.”

“Maybe, but Katherine and you were so-called professionals, darlin’,” Louise continues to laugh as she hoists the manticore up, helped by an eyebrow-raising Nik.

“Are pet names a thing you do now? That’s twice now,” he smiles coyly, treading his way through the woods to the pair’s beaten hunting van.

“You wish, Ryder.”

[acryofpain]

Whump Rewrites: Part 1

I’ve decided to take some of my favourite whump scenes from my favourite books and rewrite them to make them more, well, whumpy.

Excerpt from Chapter 3 of John Dies at the End by David Wong.

•••

“No, officer, I had work this morning. As you know. I went straight home last night.”

I knew I should be talking about the fake Jamaican. Only my knee-jerk impulse to never volunteer anything to cops was holding me back. That was stupid. Robert Marley should be sitting here, not me. He was the one handing out the black voodoo oil that seemed to have put a crack in the universe. That’s got to be a felony, right?

I thought about that shit, moving out of the syringe like a worm. Then I thought about that substance being inside John, and shivered.

“You feelin’ okay?”

I heard myself say, “Uh-huh.”

As I spoke, a strange, jittery energy rose up inside me, radiating from the chest out.

The syringe.

In my pocket.

Biting my leg.

The spot of blood.

Moving. Inside John. Inside me.

All of a sudden everything was too bright, like somebody turned up the saturation on all the colours in the room. Everything came into focus, a high-def signal. I spotted a moth on the opposite wall and noticed that it had a small tear in one of its wings. I heard a guy talking on his cellphone, and realized he was on the sidewalk outside of the building.

What the fuck?

I looked the detective in the eye and was startled to find I could see his next question coming before he even spoke it, word for word.

Have you heard the name...

“Have you heard the name Nathan Curry? Guy your age, parents own a body shop here in town?”

My heart was hammering. I muttered, “No.”

How about Shelby Winder?

“How about Shelby Winder? Heavy girl, senior at Eastern High? Ring a bell?”

“No. Sorry.”

Clarity lit up my mind like a sunrise. Everything was obvious now, all the walls of the maze turned to glass. I immediately knew two things: this list of people had all been at the party last night, and they were all now dead or heading there.

Now how do I know that? How do I know any of this? Magic?

You know damn well why. That black shit John took made blood contact with you. Now you’re getting high, partner.

The cop read off more names. Jennifer Lopez (not the actress, just a local girl), Arkeym Gibbs, Justin White, Fred something, and a couple others. The last one on the list was Jim Sullivan.

So Amy was right to worry.

I told him I didn’t recognize any of the names except Jennifer’s.

“You’re not outta school three years. You went to high school with most these people, but you only knew the one girl?”

“I kind of kept to myself.”

“And then you got shipped off to the other school –“

“Look, I’m not saying anything else until you tell me whether Jennifer’s alive or not. It isn’t confidential information and I deserve to know.”

Don’t bother. He doesn’t know.

“We don’t know. You see, that’s the problem; at least nine people were at the One Ball at closing time, twelve hours ago. Four of them are missing, one – your friend John – is here. The rest are dead.”

I turned and looked at myself in the one-way mirror. The image was distorted, the second cop – who’d been completely silent the entire time – out of range at the back of the room. What was left was just me and Morgan, the clean-cut protector of the people, standing tall over the slumped, unshaven kid in a battered video store t-shirt that looked suspiciously like it’d been wadded up on a car floorboard for two days. Good guy and bad guy. Trash man and trash.

The detective fired off a few more questions and the white cop across the room stepped forward, putting his hands on his hips, waiting for an answer. Morgan left his gaze on me, calmly waiting for the silence to be filled in. Old interrogation trick.

I turned my eyes away, suddenly sweating heavily. There was that tableau in the mirror again, just me and Morgan. I opened my mouth to explain – again – how my night had gone but the door opened and my words trailed off. Another cop ducked in and whispered something in the detective’s ear, and his eyebrows shot up before the two of them hurriedly left the room.

There was a commotion outside, hurried shouts and feet shuffling on tile. After a few minutes, Morgan stormed back into the room, looking disheveled.

No, no, no, no no no. Don’t say it.

“Your friend is dead.”

I was out of my chair before I knew it, halfway to the door.

“Wha– how?!”

The cop stopped me cold with a stiff arm to the chest. “Calm down. He went into convulsions or something and his pulse stopped but we got ambulances that’re gonna be here in about thirty seconds.”

I knocked his hand away from my chest and the silent cop dropped his arms to approach us, looking a little less shocked than what I would’ve expected. He probably wouldn’t have to fill out the paperwork.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Morgan said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes and you’re gonna start telling me the truth. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this and if you obstruct me you will live the rest of your days wishing you had not.”

He stepped back, made sure I wasn’t going to rush the door, then turned out of the room. I stood there, lost, listening to the confusion of shouts and controlled panic outside. There were sirens out front. Ambulance.

My cell chirped and I jumped, heart thrown into a frenzy. I glanced toward the other officer, now standing placidly in the middle of the room, and gestured toward my pocket as if to ask if he minded. He said nothing and I dug my phone out of my pocket to answer it.

“Yeah.”

“Dave? This is John.”

“What? Are you –”

Alive?

“– in an ambulance or something?”

“Yes and no. Are you still at the police station?”

“Yeah. We were both –”

“Have I died yet?”

I couldn’t answer for a long second. What in the hell was going on here?

“Uh... yeah, according to the cops.” I glanced at the one nearby, who showed no interest in my conversation.

“Then there’s no time to explain all this. Get out of there.”

“What? John, no, I’ll be a fugitive,” I hushed my voice, turning away. “They know where I –”

“Dave. Get up, walk to the door, leave the room. Leave the building. See that big white cop standing there with you? Don’t look at him in the mirror.”

“Huh?” I glanced back at said cop. Something seemed off, all of a sudden.

“Just go. Now.”

I tilted my head a few degrees to the right –

don’t look at the mirror don’t look at the mirror

– and to the reflective surface of the mirror directly opposite of the cop.

It was just you and Morgan in there, Dave. Even after the other guy stepped forward.

In the mirror it was just me. Standing there, phone held to my ear. Alone. I spun around, eyes wide.

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s n– he’s not real. Dave.”

“He’s coming towards me!”

“Go! You’re gonna start seeing things like this from time to time. It’s important that you don’t freak out.”

The not-a-guy-I-guess was one step away from me now. His moustache twitched, as if he was starting to grin underneath it.

“So he, uh, can’t hurt me?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he can.”

A hand shot out and clenched around my face and I gasped. The fingers dig into my cheeks, squeezing, rigid as iron bars. I thought my teeth would crack into pieces and my eyes watered as pain began to throb in my jaw. He pushed me back and slammed me against the wall and I clawed at his arm but it was like trying to tear the limbs off a bronze statue. I smacked him across the nose with my phone, then worked my leg up and, with all my strength, shoved a knee into his gut just below the ribs. A jolt of sharp pain shot up my thigh following a small cracking noise, like I’d just tried to knee over a pile of cinder blocks, but I felt him give, jolted back by the force of the blow.

The cop reeled back and fell to a knee on the floor. I should’ve been free of him but the hand was still clamped down on my face –

Ah, look at that. His arm came off.

The man had a six inch bloody hole on one shoulder now and the detached arm, all on its own, whipped around my throat and coiled up like a python. No hint of bone in there now, the arm making two loops around my neck. I thrashed and desperately tried to pry it off, but the thing was all muscle, tense and wiry, slowly squeezing off my windpipe. Spots flashed before my eyes, lack of oxygen shorting out the wiring in my brain. I blinked and then the ground was closer than before. I was on my knees, the pain that was radiating through the injured one beginning to dull. The arm tightened even further and the room was starting to go dark and I was on all fours and I decided that the best idea was to just lay down right there and go to sleep.

Movement flickered in the corner of my eye. The rest of the cop’s body was up and walking calmly towards me. Shit. I clumsily crawled over to the door and felt fingers snatching at my shirt but I flung myself forward, my face smacking off the doorframe. Reaching up, I clawed around for the handle, barely sucking in air, my head feeling like it would burst at any second.

The handle turned and I shoved the door open, spilling out of the room in a mess of heavy limbs, and –

– and it was over. The thick bundle of armsnake had suddenly vanished from my neck and I gasped, wheezed, anything to fill my aching lungs back up. Black patches continued to float across my vision and my head was pounding worse than any hangover but I scrambled to my feet anyway and stumbled right out the front door, my body remembering John’s instructions even if I currently did not. No one tried to stop me. I hit the sidewalk but kept going, away from the building, away from lingering cops, until finally my knee gave out and I decided to plop down in a nook where two buildings conjoined.

My cellphone rang.

Shakily, I raised it, surprised that I still had it clutched in my hand. Cracks filled the entire screen but it still seemed to be working, so I put it to my ear.

What I meant to say was “Hello?” but all that really came out was a pained wheeze.

“Dave? It’s me.” It was John. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m... um...” My voice was scratchy and it hurt to speak. I kept going anyway. “Sitting. ‘Bout a block from the, uh... police station. Where’re you? Heaven?”

“If you figure that out, let me know. Right now, just don’t freak out. Are you freaking out?”

“I dunno,” I said, then coughed.

“Listen. You gotta get over to Robert’s place. There aren’t any cops over there now, but there will be. We have sort of a narrow window here. Go to Shire Village on Lathrop Avenue. It’s a trailer park south of town past that one candy place – you should be able to get there in twenty minutes.”

I ran the directions through my still-muggy brain, narrowing my eyes to tamp down the headache raging in my temples. It was a lot easier to breathe now and I inhaled slowly before exhaling at the same pace.

“Dave?”

“Um, yeah, yeah. Okay.”

“Okay. Hurry up.”

With a beep, the phone went dead.

[shardclan]

The coronation of the new queen was underway. Flower petals waited in their baskets, the wine was chilled, and the Courtyard of Five Lights was filled with more noise than the clan had generated in weeks. It was a happy, but apprehensive chatter, and though the smiles were sincere, they were nervous.

Before she could face the clan as its new monarch, Rebis had to receive the blessing of Lightweaver.  

"You come to me with a heavy countenance," said the honeyed voice in the light.

Rebis looked wearily up into the radiance filling the Beacon.

Her temporal sickness coupled with the vague but unceasing numbness where the white celestine pulled the arcane magic from her body had left her feeling detached detached and adrift.  But Nayvadius had made her restless. His presence at her side had brought her rapidly approaching coronation into solid and terrifying focus, and suddenly nothing was right.

"I shouldn't be here," she whimpered.

"And yet you are," the Weaver said patiently.

The words made something burn in Rebis' chest. Heat rose, blossoming across her collar and prickling  her skin under the elaborate silks that Pistis had clothed her in.

"I can't shed my glamour," she blurted. "I'm being poisoned by Arcane element due to my own stupid actions; the white celestine I wear to stay stable means I cannot approach the Arcanites in this clan, including the ones I am attached to. Lavi is leaving to fix whatever I broke at the circle, my protector is cursed by magics I don’t even fully understand. And the only godsdamned thing that brings me any joy is knowing I can still do advanced magic but I am terrified of the very real possibility that I wont have time to fully realize my desire to be an Archmage between running a kingdom and trying not to fuck up everything Telos has done the way I've fucked up the Circle and my and Lavi's bodies!"

Silence reigned in the open hall of the Beacon, save for the sounds of Rebis' quick and shallow breathing. Her hands had curled into tight fists at some point during her tirade, and she pressed them into her suddenly stinging eyes.

She was not angry, but ashamed. "It shouldn't be me. Lavi should be here. He was always better at this than me."

The light had gone still. Flat and without warmth. "Perhaps you are right, given you could not control that outburst even in my presence. But then, you are still young. Who would you confess to if not your deity."

"You are most gracious," Rebis sniffled. "I apologize for...for being so unsightly even though I'm here for your blessing."

"I am indeed," the Weaver mused imperiously, lifting Rebis into the light with scarcely a flick of her claw. "Which is why I will tell you this, Heiress Rebis: My praise was not an invitation for you to challenge me with your self pity, and I have little sympathy for you."

"I-I.. I did not mean to offend you, your Luminance."

"Silence."

Rebis remained stone still in the deity's grip, partly stunned and partly terrified as the light diffused from its blinding source in the center of the hall, closing in on her as if to examine her more closely.

"Everything that you feel is so unfair is or was completely under your control, and yet you seem to have a penchant for making choices and then complaining that the outcome is unfair without accepting your agency in the matter."

"You can choose to lay down the crown at any time. You can choose to make time for your magical pursuits regardless of whether you lead or follow. You can even choose to lay down the arrogance of your belief that you should be more important than the charges of the guardians you claim to love. Or, as you are wont to do, you can thrown yourself into situations that cause you distress in your astonishingly self-absorbed quest to win the acknowledgement of the very few people who haven't coddled you since the day you were born."

The light grew hot, and the celestine crown grew hot with it. Though Rebis eyes watered, she didn't move to soothe the tingling of her skin.  

"You are inheriting a finished kingdom and happy people. Nothing to build. Nothing to mend. No cloud of death and loss hanging over you. No mourning to bear on your back. You took the crown so righteously and now you cry that it is heavier than you thought when it weighs not half of what it did when Telos first donned it. You are not half of what Telos was when she first came to me."

The light diffused again, pale and washed out. Rebis' feet touched the smooth, reflective marble, but for several seconds she remained frozen. When she finally found breath again, her words were a somber whisper.

"I am not worthy."

"How can you be? You do not know what it is to sacrifice or to do thankless work. You are used to being cared for, not caring for others."

"Then you will not bless me."

There was a slight pause, and Lightweaver's glow slowly seeped out to grace the stone once more. "I would not have given you a Truth if I believed you were beneath it. Perhaps I gifted it to you before you were fully mature... But there is no sin in your personality that cannot be corrected with effort."

The light gathered into a warmly glowing orb, and sank down, alighting on the top of Rebis head.

"You are not the first heir to doubt their aptitude on the precipice of power, and you will not be the last. My lands have their share of clans headed by utter buffoons while you are perfectly intelligent; and though it is for the wrong reasons, your wish to see Aphaster continue to flourish is genuine."

"Then you--?!"

"I give you my blessing," Lightweaver said in a firm tone that suggested Rebis not get carried away and interrupt Her again. "But know that if you accept it, I will have a sacrifice from you, that you may begin to understand the things you must work on in yourself."

Rebis immediately thought of Tau. Sweat slicked her palms. She wasn't prepared to sacrifice her wings, but if she said so, she knew it would only invite the deity's ire. Tau had defied her, while Rebis had merely...disappointed her. She wasn't sure where she had been trying to go with that thought, but it only managed to sour her stomach.

"It is your choice," Lightweaver reminded, somewhat impatiently.

"...What must I sacrifice?"

"I take that as your acceptance."

"Yes," Rebis murmured. She drew herself up, trying to put on a brave face. "Yes, please do. I accept your blessing. And the crown of Aphaster. What must I sacrifice to prove I am--or... that I will become worthy?"

The light went soft and warmly golden, and began to vanish as the Lightweaver imparted her words.

"When the young Imperator returns to the Isles to fix the ails of the Circle, you will send every dragon you are attached to with him. None may return here for greater than a day, and you may not see them at all. Thus will they be cut from your life."

Rebis was left alone. At first she did not understand. It seemed such a small ask. So simple. Sure they may not like it, their friends wouldn't like it. They had livelihoods that would need to be shifted, and the Isles were a whole new world for those that had never been to understand. But the more she stood alone with what it meant, the more her heart began to hammer in her chest.

She didn't believe a single one would hate her, but it was worse to her than being hated that they might resent her. And though she knew Lightweaver's words had been true from the moment they were spoken, it stung fresh to be faced with the proof.

But that had been her choice. She could take it back, perhaps. Deciding the price was too much to pay was also a choice she could make.

Instead, she left the Beacon and faced Telos. Her heart still wavered, and her voice followed suit, but at the very least she spoke the words in full knowledge that she was in control of her fate.

"I don't know what I'll say...but I recieved Her Luminance's blessing. I'm ready."

Telos glanced at the Beacon. Rebis was probably the only dragon she knew who had gone into the Lightweaver's presence twice and actually come out seeming better than before. But it was not her place to ask after personal matters between Rebis and her deity.

"Well then," she said warmly. "Let's go introduce you to your clan, Queen Rebis of Aphaster."

[ashlynncoy-blog]

Misfire: Critical Condition Part VI

(Yes, Really)

Here is part SIX. Part SIX is your friend. She won’t hurt you. Get this sweet salve onto your soul before the onslaught of hellish(ly delicious if you’re into that sort of thing) angst ahead.

Remember that you can get caught up by searching the Misfire Verse tag at the end of the installment!

Leia didn’t remember ever in her life crying as hard as she had the night she and Isolder had called things off.

It had been a good decision, she was sure of it. But that didn’t make it easy to say goodbye to the person who’d been her all-but-constant companion for the past half year. She’d been fond of Isolder, always would be most likely, but she had been neither suited to marry him nor to rule his planets. Parting ways with him was the right thing to do.

She’d never second-guessed her decision to walk away from the relationship. But she hadn’t been at all prepared for how lonely she’d be once Isolder had departed.

She’d spent nearly every day for the previous six months in his company. Now he was gone, and with him her cadre of Hapan bodyguards and ladies-in-waiting. Leia had never in her life been so alone.

Her father was still on Coruscant and made a point to see her for dinner as often as possible, but his work as Chancellor of the New Republic kept him busy at all hours. Her one-time boss and mentor, Mon Mothma, had been curt in the one conversation they’d had about Leia returning to work in the Ministry of State; her father had shared the Chief of State’s disappointment in the dissolution of the possible Hapan Alliance. It seemed that breaking things off with Isolder could mean she was no longer welcome in Mon Mothma’s government.

And her friends were busy. Most of them were only on planet for a brief time between deployments, and they had families and sweethearts of their own to fill their limited time with. She’d been told again in no uncertain terms that she shouldn’t come back to visit Han—even though that was one of the few places she might also run into any of her other friends. And she didn’t dare call on Chewie. If he blamed her for Han’s condition even one tenth as much as she sometimes blamed herself, he’d be liable to rip her to shreds.

She figured she’d just need to bide her time until a Hapan treaty could be worked out. That should get her back into Mon Mothma’s good graces. Isolder had once again promised such a thing when he’d met her aboard the Rebel Dream to sort through his initial offering of gifts. He’d insisted she keep some as personal trinkets: a few gems from Gallinore, the Arallutes—while others: the fleet of ships and the Gun of Command among them, should be returned to Hapes. They’d had a nice time that afternoon. Leia was sure they had parted as friends. And she trusted him to follow through with a treaty proposal.

A treaty with the Hapans would be forthcoming, and with it, she hoped, a return of a bit of her political capital. In the meantime, her father had offered her a position on his staff. She hadn’t decided on whether or not to take it. On the one hand, as qualified as she was, she was afraid of being seen as the beneficiary of nepotism. But on the other hand, she was bored clear out of her skull.

So when Luke sent word ahead of his impending return to Coruscant, she couldn’t possibly have been more excited. Being around her brother had always been a balm for her soul, and her soul could use all the help it could get at the moment.

The hug he gave her at the door to her apartment was exactly what she needed.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said as she led him inside.

“It’s good to see you too,” he agreed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” he said. “When I heard about Han I wanted to come straight away, but something—The Force—told me to stay where I was—that what I was learning could help. So I stayed until my teachers said I was ready to come.”

“What were you learning?” Leia asked.

“Oh, Leia,” he exhaled, “I should take you back with me. In the late stages of the Zsinj campaign one of our detachments came upon a clan of Force using women. They’re on a planet called Dathomir, and the Empire nearly wiped them out. But they didn’t. We got there just in time. I was there when Zsinj’s ship, The Iron Fist, was finally destroyed. The women—they call themselves Force Witches—they helped. And in return for my work in helping them free their planet from the Empire, they agreed to teach me. I’m not a Force Healer yet, Leia,” he said, “but I could be, and I think I might be able to help Han.”

Leia felt a tear fall to her cheek. She hadn’t seen her brother in months, and all she wanted to do was collapse on her sofa and tell him all the wonderful and terrible things that had gone on since their last meeting. But if he really had a way to help Han, that had to take priority.

She’d kept up her promise of not going back to the hospital, and in return, Wedge, Hobbie, and Tycho had made a point of giving her daily updates on Han’s condition. Most days there was little to report, but he’d coded—nearly died—more than once since her return to Coruscant. And there had yet to be a day when they reported anything that could be construed as good news. If anything, he was slowly deteriorating. If Luke thought The Force could help, there was no time to lose.

“I want you to come with me,” he told her. “I know you’re not sure about your abilities in The Force, Leia. I want you to see this. I want you to see there is a way to use The Force that isn’t flying an X-wing or swinging a lightsaber.”

“No,” she answered, “I can’t come with you.”

“Leia, why not? I mean it,”

“Because he doesn’t want me there,” she snapped. Leia shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

“How do you…?”

“Because he said so,” she replied. “A while ago, when he was awake for a minute, Wedge told him I might be coming and he said not to let me even come to his funeral. He doesn’t want me there.”

“But I want you there,” Luke countered, “I need you. I need your strength to do this thing for him.”

“I can’t, Luke. I just can’t. And anyway, didn’t you once say that anger and fear and sadness can lead to the dark side? Because all I have right now are anger and fear and sadness. I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please, Leia,” Luke implored. “Just ride to the hospital with me. If it doesn’t feel right once we’re there, you can go. But I need you beside me. Please.”

Leia shook her head, but gestured for Luke to lead the way to where his speeder was parked. If he felt that strongly about it she knew he was unlikely to acquiesce anytime soon, and considering Han’s condition, every second counted. Better to get him on his way and finish this argument later.

They didn’t speak again until they had reached the corridor where Wedge had first told Leia she wasn’t welcome to visit. None of the guys seemed to be present at the moment, and she was beginning to feel tempted to do as Luke asked. She wanted to help Han, and she had to admit she was a little bit intrigued as to what Force Healing might look like. But she also didn’t want to dishonor Han’s wishes not to have her around.

Luke took both her hands in his as he approached the door to Han’s treatment suite.

“Please,” he said again, “I could really use your help in there.”

“Luke, no. He doesn’t want me here, he….”

“He’s hardly in there, Leia,” her brother interrupted. “I don’t know what comes after this life,” he added, “but Han’s looking it right in the eye. He’s not going to know you’re here.”

“You can feel that?” Leia asked, trying her best to fight the tears that were welling up in her eyes.

“I sense it. You could learn to sense that, too—if you’d just let me teach you.”

“And you really think I could help?” she asked. She blotted her eyes with her sleeves.

“I do.”

“You’re sure,” she asked, “that he’ll never know I was here?”

“Yes,” he said, “I’m sure.”

“What about through The Force?” she asked then. “If I help you, is there a way he could feel me through The Force?”

Luke shrugged.

“I don’t think he would,” he said. “I can make sure of it if that’s what you want.”

“It’s not about what I want, Luke. It’s about what he wants. I broke his heart. If he wants to never see or hear from me again, that’s the least I can offer him as apology. But if you’re sure he’ll never know, and you’re sure I can help, I’ll go in.”

[hayjeon]

i screamed at the wwrd jimin version;.;;; can u do one more pls

UH HECK YA U JUST CONVINCED ME 

continued from this, vampire!jimin; this drabble is chronologically before the first drabble! 

Your father’s assistant sits across from you, staring you down with a gaze that you cannot comprehend. Your blink elsewhere, feeling jittery at the way he’s actually suddenly acknowledging your presence, after years of ignoring you whilst under your father’s wing. 

Jimin had stumbled in, on a rainy day, looking incredibly pale and frail and shivering so hard he couldn’t even say his name. Your father, the town’s best doctor, had immediately taken the boy inside and settled him in warm blankets and near the dimming fire until the boy was sound asleep, probably from exhaustion. 

And when he’d woken up the next morning, your mother placing a nice breakfast in front of him at the family table, the boy had scarfed down the meal, almost scalding his own tongue at the hot soup in his haste to get it down his throat. 

You, your father, and your mother had all watched in shock as the frail boy showed incredible haste and hunger. Your father, clearing his throat, gently urges the boy to drink some water. “Where are you from, boy?” He asks, when the boy had finished most of his meal and stopped scarfing it down. “Or your name?” Your father tries again. But the boy doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t look up at anyone, just staring at the empty bowl, and just lets the silence hang there for enough time to make you uncomfortable. Your mother clears her throat, cheerily offering him some more soup, to which he nods so hard his hair whips over his forehead. 

He didn’t even look at you for the entirety of the meal. But when your mother smoothed back a piece of hair on his face gently and softly, he froze, the spoon halfway between his mouth and the bowl.

“Jimin,” he whispered. 

And that’s one, out of the very few words, that Jimin spoke of. Your father, judging from his grimy appearance and frail frame, concluded that the boy was a homeless orphan, and after a few days of caring for the boy and nursing him back to health, he suggested to your mother that he take Jimin under his wing. 

With the nation in the state that it was in, in the brink of war, the family couldn’t afford to go through the process of an adoption, but your mother took one look at the skinny boy doing his best to clean the floorboards in silent gratitude for the hot meals she served him, she smiled at your father and agreed to house the boy without having to go through the expensive and long process of legalizing it. 

And you...well, you didn’t really have a say. Your parents were already doing enough. The reason why your father worked from within the house was because of your illness. Your heart was too small, your father said, too small for your body, and was unable to pump enough blood to the entirety of your body. Which was why you fainted often and easily, can’t do much exercise, and usually feel a lot of pain when the excessive blood load of your heart caused it to strain. It was painful, and was the reason why your mother had to stay home too, to become your personal teacher as you attended school from the comforts of your room. 

So Jimin becomes...something like a brother to you. He helps your mother take care of the household chores, cleaning every surface diligently before she even asks, and often helping her carry heavy things. In your father’s clinic, he becomes the runner and messenger, the nurse, the cleaner, and sometimes even helping your father with vaccinations. He was oddly good at finding veins. 

But with you...he’s somewhat more of a distant acquaintance. There are times when he delivers a hot cup of tea from your mother, or carries you from your bedroom to your father’s clinic when you aren’t feeling well. But...in the past 3 years of knowing him, you hadn’t really had the opportunity to have a conversation with him that lasted for more than 5 minutes. Alone. 

So when one night, a couple days after you turn 18, you almost pass out when you see Jimin drinking from one of the saved blood bags that your father stores in his clinic.

“Wha--mppgdf!” You muffle, eyes widening at the proximity of Jimin’s face to yours. In the years, he’d lost a lot of his baby fat and had grown taller and leaner and more angular. His hand pressed against your mouth is freezing cold, and the mouth that’s inches from yours drips with the redness of the blood bag, now forgotten on the counter. 

“Shut up,” he growls, and your eyes widen at the rude language and the tone of his voice. “Or else I’ll have to strangle you and pretend like it’s because of your disease.” 

You stop struggling, eyes widening and tears brimming at the fear that curls within your chest at his words. 

He lets you go when he’s sure you won’t do anything, and calmly walks over to the blood bag. “Wha--...” you pant, gripping a corner of the table to stabilize yourself. “What are you?” 

He raises a brow at you. “You don’t know?”

You hesitate. Your mother had a thick book of fairytales and myths that she used to read to you at night. But there was no way....

He senses your hesitation and smirks. You’d never seen him like this before. 

“I’m a vampire.” He states easily, sipping at the blood bag. “And I came here so that I can exploit your father’s blood storage. I make him forget, you see,” he explains, sauntering over towards your frozen figure. “I make him forget about all the times he took a sample. And I’m gonna do the same to you.” 

No wonder he’s speaking for so long. 

You take a deep breath, and open your eyes to see him just watching you, unabashed nor in a rush to do anything. And now you see it, the way his skin is still too pale and cold, even when he is supposedly in good condition. The way he’s never gotten hurt and was somehow stronger than your mother when he was still much skinnier and smaller than her when the both of you were younger. The way he never forgot anything, impressing your father with memorization skills that even rivaled his own. And the way he never went outside. 

But you’d spent the entire night thinking about whether it was worth it to keep your life, whether the quality of living was worth it when you depended entirely on the presence of your father to administer painful shots and medications to you when you felt faint, and for your mother to help dress and bathe you, to make you meals that never put any more strain on your digestive system than you needed. 

You wanted to run, to fall in love, to ride a horse and go outside to feel the ocean breeze. You wanted things that made your heart speed up and taste foods that you can smell from your open bedroom window. You desired to go shopping in the market for your own clothes and to maybe even begin to help your father in his clinic. Something he claims is too strenuous for you. 

It was why you were here in the clinic in the first place, trying to sneak out. You’d decided that if nothing stopped you, then you would find a way to sneak out and then just die happily on the streets, after finding out what it feels to run freely through the grass, or to even sink your feet into sand. 

So you say the first thing on your mind. 

“Please bite me.” 

1 year later 

“Endorphins, dear.” Your father explains to you at the workbench. “A hormone called Dopamine is released, and it will help this patient, who is allergic to his painkilling medicine, feel better.” 

You nod, “Yes father.” and continue listening, but you see Jimin in the corner of your eye, showing pictures to the patient, turn and give you a smirk. You cough and continue to nod at your father. He continues, “Since your condition is getting better, you won’t have to worry about these hormones exciting you too much. It’s possibly helping you cope with any extra pain, I assume.” 

Later Jimin cracks your bedroom door open, and joins you in the warm bed, immediately attaching to your exposed neck and piercing the skin in a tiny incision. Your blood slowly spills onto his tongue, a slow but steady stream that he suckles on as you sleepily sigh into the pleasure. 

Every bite that he takes, every second that he spends attached to your skin...it floods your body with the same endorphins and hormones and whatnot your father was telling you about. It masks the pain. In addition, with the extra blood escaping your body, your heart is under much less strain, and the volume of blood much more suitable for the size of your heart. Thus, one bite or session from Jimin leads to about five days to a week without feeling the horrible symptoms of your disorder. 

“What do you think,” you murmur, “will happen if you stop drinking from me?” 

He detaches, closing the wound with a smack. Your thighs clench at the feeling. “I won’t,” he says, lips curling into a smile. “I’m here forever.” 

He leans down again, attaching to a fresh spot and resuming there, sending another flood of emotions and sensations through your body that leave you lightheaded and delerious in the pleasure. But Jimin is careful not to take too much, a hand pressed gently to the jugular spot right beneath your jaw, and the other holding your hand, making sure it doesn’t get too cold. 

It’s moments like these...when you can imagine that maybe, if you weren’t so sick and if Jimin weren’t so...well....vampire, this would be a sweet relationship, or a sweet moment shared by lovers. 

Jimin shifts a bit and you can feel the hardness of his member pressed against your thigh. It wasn’t un-normal, you’d figured out through countless research and trips to the library after you started getting better. The relationship between a vampire and the person he or she was feeding from was an intimate action, one that requires physical contact, obviously. But also, it requires an emotional and psychological release and trust that deepens the natural bond. So the sensations running through your body are explainable. 

But...one thing that was hard to explain was...why was your heart beating so fast? Why...why did it flutter every time the boy leaned in to kiss your lips as a thank you before he slunk back to his own room? Why did every smirk and smile and motion he sent your way make you want to plunge into the ocean and swim until your heart gave out? He made you feel things...not just the rush of endorphins that masked your pain, but things, heart-fluttering, hot-cheeks, and stammering voice kind of thing. 

You weren’t sure if you ever, ever wanted it to stop. Ever. 

[themarginalthinker]

Undertow

this is so late omg djlfsflnflF;m;a here, have some soulmates avien wingfic Jearmin indulgence. Read the first chapter here. Thank you!!!!

It had been clear skies and smooth winds for Jean, up until now. Totally fine and free. 

He was following his star, the call, the music in his heart and embedded in his soul since his birth finally singing out. The lands below him had been simply more of the gentle rolls of hills and streams and and endless seas of treetops swaying on the breeze. It had been warm rainstorms with playful eddies of air to keep Jean on his proverbial toes. Crystal nights with the Hub in his sights and the correct star clusters at each wingtip to guide him onward - just like his flock had taught him. 

The change had come like a slap to the face - worse - being knocked, as Jean was sure he was, somehow, impossibly - off course. 

The storm hadn't appeared so...deadly from where it had lain broiling on the very distant horizon. Jean, still on his perch in the warm evening and watching the sunset fire streaming from behind those onyx clouds contemplated this development with blase mind. He munched idly on a ration of waybread, wondering how much longer he'd be traveling. Where the Calling would take him, and most of all, who he'd find at the end of all this. Why he was the one the Hub plucked up from his comfortable nest and decided to fling him across the wide world while the other merely had to deal with the weeks of anxiousness, feeling their other half draw ever nearer. 

Jean sighed as he felt his hunger, as small as even that vital urge had become in the face of the Call these last few days, wane as these thoughts took root.  Reiner had been near-inconsolable those last few days before Bert's arrival. He'd been fifteen, Jean a year his junior. Waiting in the topmost branches of his hometree, eyes always on the horizon day and night. Even if they knew what it was, how special Reiner was for being one of the few to experience this, his family worried. Not all who were chosen to journey succeeded. The result of a bond never properly made - severed before it was even begun and the toll that took on the one left alive...

Brow furrowing in obstinate determination, Jean tucked away the rest of the uneaten meal. He'd made it this far, with little if any problems. This may just be a quest he'd have little to report upon, a story too dull for flock-talk or festival stories to gussy up for fledglings, and he's...alright with that, he thinks. Sure, it was more exciting and captivating to hear tell of folk fighting off wvyrms - great flying scaled beasts, scourges of the air - or braving extreme elements to find their beloved, but Jean's come to realize just how close people telling those tales must have come to the edge of failing. Of leaving behind their destined, devastated mate forever without having even met them. 

Jeans stood on the thin bow, looking out over the land defiantly, looking at the miasma lurking on the horizon and finally blotting out the last of the sunlight from the land. Staring at the world, and offering a simple challenge; 

Try and stop me.

~~~

The sky was chaos incarnate. 

Jean could barely right himself - at least, find a position in the air that might have been right-side up - before a fist of wind and rain and ice slapped him in another direction, stealing the breath from his pumping lungs. His wings felt useless, like an insect drowning pitifully in a puddle. Worse. 

He didn't know where he was. He'd....he lost it. Somehow, impossibly, he'd lost his Call. 

The storm had caught him with his guard dropped. Lingering always just far enough away Jean could keep a decent eye on what stars it was blotting out from the sky and how fast. It seemed in the blink of an eye though, like a predator just waiting for something to creep by - Jean being the unlucky candidate in this case - it had reveled itself a wild thing, uncaring, violent in how Jean was pulled right into it by hot, humid updrafts nothing escaped from.  He'd been stupid....oh so stupid, and this was his punishment. 

Trying to keep his wings close to his body so as the delicate feathers wouldn't be pulled from their shafts, and perhaps try dipping to a lower altitude to escape the heart of the storm, did little. The wind just found ways to curl under his wings and lift him back up into the mess, whether he liked it or not. Rain whipped at him, needle-like and blowing all directions. Jean was soaking and wind-burned, and there was an odd lightness to how he was tossed about. Although there was obviously more pressing matters to consider, he dreaded to think about how he may have lost one of his packs. Hopefully not his knife. If he made it out of this madness in one piece, he might still need it.

A sudden chilling gust grabbed up the avien once more, throwing his ragdoll body in another direction, his neck aching with the force. And again, it was all gone in an instant. Jean blinked both sets of eyelids at the conundrum  when he was falling. 

Sodden wings and clothing, limp in exhaustion, the air currents that had ensnared him only seconds earlier abandoning their prey like he'd never been there in the first place. Taking with them, of course, the one thing keeping him in the air at all. His head spun, or maybe that was just the world around him, a smear of bleak stormy grey and flashes of scudding white. Panic, panicpanicpanic Jean mind was consumed with his immobile body, unresponsive, unable to even save himself. He couldn't find - where - the song, the Call...

Jean's feathers were useless, and as if the gale had decided it wasn't truly done with him, a blast of freezing air whipped around him as he left the deadspace. It barely caught his wings - not enough to slow his downwards spiral but enough for him to realize that pain was still a constant. 

The icy currents were little better then the squall that had spat him out. Suddenly his clothes weren't just wet, they were stiffening under the sudden change in temperature - his wingtips forming ice, creeping over the tiny barbs and fusing them together.  

Jean couldn't think properly, couldn't even right himself anymore or concentrate above the growing din of absolute terror and pain in his head and heart. The ground shifted meters below him under the dark of the storm overhead, fluid and surreal. Jean thought he was surely going mad. It had been known to happen, old fliers who'd gotten sucked into the same mess Jean had just barely survived only for the power of the storm to drive them loopy. Even now, as the avien saw his death coming towards him, the flat hills swam in swirling waves - 

Jean realized his mistake as the first breaker, white-capped and towing flows of ice with it glowing out of the darkness, narrowly skimming his primaries. He didn't have a moment to think of his new misfortune as he slid into darkness, lead waters seeing fit to send him into a new thrashing. Salty water flooded his mouth as Jean tried - for some reason, it was all useless now, he'd...lost - to find the surface. 

Wings and feathers were hardly buoyant, however. Jean couldn't even feel his fingers or toes anymore, and his arms and legs burned from being on action for so long, the arctic waters serving only to sap what little energy he had left. Everything was so dark. Dark and cold, and songless; the waves all around him his only music now, beating the avien senseless in an uncaring tempo as he surfaced only to be struck down again...

He was giving up. He could feel it, starting in his dead wings and creeping like the numbness of the bottomless water down to his useless body. Jean felt his eyes sting, and in the endless mire of pain and fear, maybe he thought, he was crying.

Though, that could just be the salt and grit of the sea. It hurt either way.  He'd never get to see their face. He'd never...never get to know their name, or who they were, or where they came from. He'd never get to hear the sound of their voice; marvel over the color of their eyes in the sunlight, or how their feathers shone under the moon. 

He'd be leaving them, all alone. 

That, perhaps, aside from the deathly water and his failing lungs and motionless limbs, dragged him down the most. He is...resigned. Jean can feeling it all leaving - no light in the darkness greets him as his eyes shut, and only ringing  fills his head. Just the turbulence of the violent waves, the slowing pounding of his heart. 

The lull of the surf is everywhere...a rhythm that Jean can't escape, can't help but listen to. Perhaps his fleeting consciousness is trying to sooth him in the end, and it works. If he wants to trick himself even more, believe his own painful fantasy, it's sort of like a song, in a way. 

The voice of death singing him to his watery grave... Jean doesn't know what he feels first. He had been fading, chest heavy and mind almost gone. Just a mess of sensations and pain and cold, dark lonesomeness - and the sudden, blaring, all-consuming song so loud, cacophonous almost in it's clarity, 

but there's - there's arms, and...movement? And, yes, air, cold, so cold and new and slapping his face and clothes and blowing away streams of water pouring out of the mess of feathers that were but a mockery of his wings on the briny sea winds. The hands - they had to be, though how he knew Jean couldn't tell you at the moment as detached as his body was from his mind - clawing at him, clutching, holding so tightly. Too much for the deathly pull of the waves, even. Jean thinks, chest aching, it felt like there was nothing that would keep him from those arms. They'd die for him, they'd kill for him...

He was rising...then dipping  and rising again, the water wasn't there anymore? Jean couldn't open his eyes even if he had the strength, didn't dare...what if he saw his own corpse bobbing along down below like a broken twig? This had to be death, at last - 

"-elp me! C'mon, I can't carry yo-"

...Death had an awfully young voice. 

Something licked at the bottoms of Jean's feet, the waters from bellow roaring up again in their agitated waves under the still-raging storm above, the tongues of the ocean desperate for their stolen meal back but whatever force held Jean kept him from succumbing to their depths again. Something so tight around his chest and so warm against his back and in his ears and heart...

"-lease! Don't! You have to stay awa-"

It is no wonder the singing of the great Hub had stopped, Jean thinks slowly as the world begins to return to the blackness of the frozen ocean.  It's voice had belonged to his savior all along.

~~~

Jean supposes it's indicative how close he was to slipping down death's throat, never mind being caught in it's jaws, when he rises back to consciousness after failing to realize he'd dropped from it in the first place. 

There was no song, but his spirit was calm.

Warm...and pain. Fuck, it's as if his whole body was waiting for him to wake up to assault him with all the worst sensations it could possibly hope to feel. His wings ached worse then the first time his flight feathers were growing in as a child, and from the sudden bloom of stinging as he dared to try and twitch them, he knew he'd likely lost and broken more then a couple important quills. He didn't go more then a few breaths without weakly fighting the urge to cough against the stickiness his chest, which he gave into more the a couple of times. His head was splitting, his body felt weak and the tips of his fingers and toes were throbbing...

But he was...alive. 

Alive and...warm, and burrowed in something incredibly heavy and soft and furry that tickled at his nose where it was pulled up under - enough to make him sneeze, suddenly. 

And someone definitely not him give a small squeak of startlement. 

"Ah! You're awake!"

Jean's eyelids grappled with their own weight as a surge of excitement and energy he knew he shouldn't possess at hearing a voice. The same voice the unknown arms from the sea sang as they carried him off. When he did manage to open his eyes, at first it was all blurred, a smear of colors like a child's painting across his vision.

Then it was...blue. 

Bluer then a clear sky in the late autumn evening, bluer then the highest, oldest mountain ice. 

Bluer then the ocean.

How young... Jean first wondered as he found himself lost in those bottomless eyes - well, that and he could feel the world around him spinning a little, so his staring probably wasn't total enamorment...and yet. He still couldn't draw himself away. He looked barely older then a boy, the honeygold hair hanging in mildly frazzled clumps framing his face and thin shoulders idly shifting long, soaring seabird wings behind him from where Jean was laid. And it seemed Jean was not the only one to be found taking too long of a first look. 

Those eyes had been looking at him like a dry riverbed takes on water, quick and darting around and filled with an endless greed of want. Blinking, it seemed to break the spell, and magically, the stranger speaks again. How damn young, Jean idly muses again, though it is soon lost under the utter shine of hearing the bell of a voice. 

"I...I was so frightened that you were gone...well. Not gone, but like - like, more sick then I could help. I'm not usually so good at these things, see. Healing people, and not from almost drowning, either. If you'd gotten anymore water in your chest, I don't think I'd have been able to....um... And you were like a deadweight all the way here, and I... I think you did stop breathing at some point..." 

Jean watches with waning strength as the boy rambles, seeing a clawed, scaly hand much like his own reach up and start anxiously combing through his hair. Suddenly the boy must realize Jean's not able to pay much attention to much more then the comforting sound of his voice rather then what's actually being said, and with another admonishment against himself and some muttering, turns swiftly from the bedridden avien. 

Jean can feel himself beginning to drift. It's like a balm to his core, just hearing the other whisper and fumble about wherever they are. The furs he's been veritably cocooned in feel like a physical weight pushing him back down with as much ease as the crushing depths of the ocean had rage. He lets his other senses tell him about what's going on - so long as he can hear that voice...

Woodsmoke, though it's different then he's ever smelled before. Something he can't put a name to within it, reminding him of the scent of the storm and the sea. Herbs, strong and spicy and mellow. The pop and hiss of droplets of something on coals from a banked fire and more muttering and fluttering. A small chill blew through Jean's hair, the tiny draft whistling a little windy moan as it passed. Jean wondered what aery they might be roosted in...A very gentle clinking pricked Jean's attention for a moment, enough to force his eyes open one more time as the shushing of feathers not his own drew near again, along with a salty, fishy smell. 

"It's just broth. I can help you sit up if you need, but you need to eat something before you go back to sleep." 

The sick avien wasn't sure if he totally conveyed his acceptance around his sluggish movements and through the thick furs, but the boy must have seen a 'yes' in all the tiny jerk of his head, and soon the world was tilting again, and after a long, nauseating moment of vertigo his kind shouldn't have to know, Jean was resting against a wall behind him with the soup pressed to his lips by gentle hands. 

Trying to use his own required coordination Jean didn't possess at current, so Jean let himself be nursed like a downed nestling. The broth was thin but oily, bits of minced fish and bitter greens slipped past and filled him more then he figured such a small bowl would have. In the middle sometime, the stranger switched it out for another of cool, cold water, and Jean was forced to heed his warnings for Jean to take it slow when he almost choked at the laugh in that voice. 

When he was finished, Jean leaned heavily against the wall, and gave the boy before him a long look with eyes burning for more rest. 

It was killing him. He needed sleep, and time, and to trust this person - his person, which he had finally found after nearly stumbling into Darkness for.

But he had to know, also. 

"Wh-" the first sound Jean had made aside from his wayward sneeze what felt like forever ago eeked out painfully, and coated with the gunk still in his chest, but with a dreadful cough which shook his poor body, he managed a full sentence. 

"Whass....what's your nayme.. 'Mm...Jean.." 

If he were in much better shape of mind he might have winced at the slurring, but another, rather frazzled part of him reminded him he did almost very nearly drown, and he was lucky to have breath to speak at all. 

The stranger just gazed down at him for a few puzzling seconds, looking for all the world like he'd never heard another person's name before, or had no idea what a name was...then he smiled. Smiled like sunlight on snow...

"Jean...that's a nice name. I think I've dreamed about that before..." he said, airily, as if he suddenly lost the conviction of his own words. Though, even in his state and feeling like he couldn't actually rest until the boy, his beloved, his Hub in the heavens told him his name there was something about hearing his own fall off those pale lips.

Reaching back up with some of that now-nearly-familiar anxiousness coming back, the threaded his dark talons through his long hair and ducked his head.  "I'm Armin. And...I suppose you're the call that's sung to me every night now, huh?" 

The sky was silent and empty, for all Jean's starsongs were here. 

[chassecroise]

the space between us (chapter 15)

chapter title: these wings were made to fly    words: 4.2k story summary: What’s a ladybug to do when her kitten becomes a cat? chapter summary: In which there are some unexpected conversations with unexpected people.

previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

a/n: Surprise! :^)

Honest to god, I have a plan for this story, but lord knows where my motivation and inspiration are hiding. That said, I'm hoping to get this one wrapped up soon! There are chapters I've had planned since last summer that I haven't gotten to...so hopefully this summer you'll finally get to experience them. :'D

AO3 | FF

Ladybug slowly removes her hands from her ears once it appears that Chloe is finally done screaming. For a moment, she wonders if perhaps this wasn't the best idea, but it's too late now. It's clear that Chloe is 100% on board for whatever they're going to ask her to do, even though she has no idea what they want.

Chloe is practically leaping in ecstasy as she rushes to get her laptop and phone, at the ready and prepared to help Ladybug and Chat Noir in any way that they need. It's been far too long since she's had a chance to prove her value to her favorite superhero.

This request is also particularly important as it has only been a week since she accidentally caused another akuma (really, it wasn't her fault the ridiculous hairdresser her father hired for her was incompetent at her job and that she actually thought a perm would be a good look for the likes of Mademoiselle Bourgeois), she is eager to prove that she can indeed help the heroes of Paris. In a way that they will be sure to appreciate.

“I am so excited you finally decided to come to me for help! I’ll be the best hero ever. I can get a proper suit made, we can get special bluetooth communicators— it’s going to be oh so perfect! Speaking of which, don't think I didn't notice all of the changes you made to your suit, Ladybug. I love it. I've always wondered why you didn't have wings. It only makes sense. You're a Ladybug, for crying out loud." She gestures at Chat Noir. "After all, a ladybug without wings would be like a cat without ears.”

She continues to dance around the room for several minutes, gathering items from her cosplay closet and from her makeup boxes until she realizes that neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir are saying anything. She whirls around.

“Wait, I didn’t even ask you. What do you need my help with? Is it for a mission? Do you need money? Power? Influence? An invitation to the most exclusive parties in Paris? I have access to everything you could ever want or need."

She knows she's babbling, but something about the intense way the two of them are staring at her is starting to make her a little nervous. Though she would never admit it. Chloe Bourgeois does not get intimidated by anyone, even her favorite superheroes.

Well, superhero. Chat Noir isn't that great. A true hero would actually help a damsel in distress and rescue her from doing ghastly physics homework. Like darling Adrien would. Even though he's been ignoring her calls more often lately, the rude boy.

"What? What is it? Is there something wrong? Do I need Daddy to help too?"

Ladybug bites her lips and slowly exhales. This, for some reason, makes Chloe even more nervous than before.

“Well, Chloe— it has to do with Adrien,” she says, her voice low and careful. “And what the press thinks is going on between us.”

Chloe feels her heart sinking into her stomach. It’s a curious feeling. Though she is still excited that they want her help, this is not what she expected.

“Oh. I see,” she says, taking care to sound calm and detached, above any emotional connections. Haughty.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do about it? Adrien hasn’t spoken to me at all about this. Does he know you’re here?”

Ladybug and Chat Noir exchange secretive glances that clearly mean something — Chloe has no idea what — and Ladybug slowly nods.

“Yes. He does.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms. “Okay...and?”

Chat Noir steps forward. “He agreed it would be a good idea to ask you for advice. He said you would know how to help us — I mean, Ladybug and him — deal with the press and deflect their attention.”

Chloe turns back to Ladybug. “Look, if I’m going to help you, I need to know what the deal is. Are you really dating each other? Or did the tabloids just see the pictures from the photoshoot and start building rumors out of thin air? As I’m sure you know, he and I are very close. But I haven’t asked him anything about you, out of respect for his privacy.”

This isn’t entirely true. Chloe has mostly refrained from asking Adrien about what his status with Ladybug is out of a very strange feeling of jealousy that has consumed her ever since she saw the first tabloid headline about them together. She’s not sure who she’s more jealous of— Ladybug, Adrien, both of them, perhaps—  it’s all very confusing, and both Sabrina and the internet have been of absolutely no use at all.

Ladybug pauses. “It’s a little hard to explain.”

“What’s so hard about it?” presses Chloe, raising an eyebrow. “Either you’re together, or you’re not.”

“Yes, we’re together...but it’s not...how do I put it—”

Chloe is starting to get annoyed, though she still wants to be respectful. “But what? What is it?”

“We’re—we’re in an open relationship!” Ladybug blurts out. “Yes! That’s it. An open relationship. No strings attached.”

“An...open relationship?” repeats Chloe.  “What exactly do you mean?”

“Um, essentially...we’re not exclusive?”

“Oh. I see. That is...very interesting.”

All the pieces start coming together as she considers this very unexpected piece of information. If they’re not exclusive, that means there is a third person or possibly even a fourth person in the equation.

Chloe runs through everyone in her social circle. Perhaps it’s a stranger. Perhaps it’s not.

And then it occurs to her that the answer might be standing right in front of her.

She turns an appraising eye to Chat Noir. Who she has also noticed has suddenly gotten much taller than before. Personally, she’s not a fan. He practically looks like a giant now. Have his hands gotten even bigger? It’s ridiculous. He’s supposed to be a cat, not a mountain lion.

But then again, perhaps Ladybug is interested in that sort of thing.

She inclines her head towards him.

“Is he ….part of your... arrangement ?”

Ladybug’s eyes grow wide. “Chat Noir? I, um—well, I would rather not discuss details...”

“Then I can’t help you,” answers Chloe, crossing her arms. “Either you tell me all your dirty laundry or I can't help you avoid the nosy press at all. I can't develop a strategy without ”

“I knew this would be a bad idea,” Ladybug mutters under her breath, turning away.

“It’s a delicate matter, Mademoiselle Bourgeois,” cuts in Chat Noir, stepping forward and looking back and forth between the two girls. “But if My Lady doesn’t want to share details, I do ask that you respect her wishes.”

Chloe scowls.  It’s clear that playing hardball won’t help her get any details that will help her figure out what’s going on. She bites her lip as she wonders what strategy she can possibly use next to get some sort of information. Ladybug and Chat Noir are naive to think they’re being subtle about the fact that there’s something going on between the two of them as well, but the subtle tension between them is hardly something Chloe can leverage as proof.

A not so quiet part of her mind urges her to indicate her own interest in Ladybug, but she pushes it away. Now is not the time to proposition her hero, as much as she’s secretly fantasized about it. No, she needs to wait for the right moment...ideally when Chat Noir isn’t standing in between them.

She gulps as she realizes Ladybug is staring at her with narrowed eyes. Merde , she’s been quiet too long.

“Chloe, if you’re thinking about how to blackmail us—if I have any reason to believe you’re going to make trouble for us—”

“I would never!” she gasps, raising her arms and stepping back. “Adrien is one of my oldest friends. I would never betray his trust like that.”

Ladybug nods, though her expression is still uncertain. “Okay. I will choose to trust you. For now.”

“Well, you’re the one who burst in here,” Chloe replies, a little more testily than intended. “I should be the one wondering whether to trust you.”

Ladybug opens her mouth, presumably to deliver a pointed retort, but to Chloe’s surprise, she just as quickly shuts it and steps back, turning around to face the window.

Chloe can see her reflection in the glass panels. She looks somber.

“Look. Adrien has a special connection with me, but there's someone else in his life too, someone who can't be seen in public with him thanks to his association with me. The last thing he wants is for her to be hounded by the press or for her privacy to be invaded.”

Chloe nods. “I understand.”

“Actually, what we really want is for the press to stop pressing him about his personal life at any given moment, but I realize that’s never going to happen.”

Ladybug turns back around to face Chloe.

“I wanted us to handle this on our own. But it would be unwise not to talk to someone who's handled press like this before. And you're the first person I thought of. So tell me, Chloe. What would you do in a situation like this? What...does your father do?”

Chloe thinks about the endless parade of women that have come through her father’s mansion ever since her parents separated. Women that the press has never heard of, because whenever there was a chance of being found out, her father would do two things: a) create a public distraction; and b) disappear from the public eye on a short holiday in a place where the French tabloids couldn’t find him, long enough for them to find some celebrity story more interesting than his. It is a strategy that has worked for the past thirteen years, and is likely to work as long as the tabloids continue to have a short memory.

So this is the advice that she imparts.

Ladybug stares dubiously at Chloe.

“You think we should create a ‘public distraction’? Akumas are public distractions. Holiday parades are public distractions. What you’re suggesting sounds a lot like a public relations stunt. And not a good one.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong about that,” Chloe drawls in her insufferably smug way. “I’m just saying that if you want the press to fixate on something else, you have to give them something to fixate on .”

“And you think that Chat Noir posing for a sexy photoshoot is the right kind of bait?!”

“Come on, Ladybug. Look at your partner. Who wouldn’t want to stare at him? He’s delicious to look at now.”

Ladybug curls her lip in disgust. “Ugh, don’t describe him like that. You make him sound like a piece of meat to be devoured by hungry gold diggers looking for fifteen minutes of fame.”

Chloe scowls. “That’s the point! You want people to be fixated on him. Everyone’s been paying so much attention to you ever since your little photoshoot in the mountains that they haven’t even noticed how Chat Noir has been changing physically along with you.”

“Why does that even matter?! Of course we’re changing. We were never going to stay children forever.”

“Listen. You want to know about distractions? This is the best distraction you’ve got, standing right in front of you, and willing to do whatever he needs to do to make you happy, judging from how he looks at you. He’s become a handsome young bachelor overnight. Or are you afraid to share the spotlight?”

Ladybug shakes her head. “I’m not afraid of anything. What I’m afraid of is taking your suggestions at face value and then regretting the consequences. We’re not doing this.”

Chloe shrugs. “Unless you have any better ideas, Adrien and his secret civilian companion won’t be able to step out together in public without getting noticed. But maybe that’s secretly what you want, anyway. To keep him to yourself. You’re more selfish than I thought, Ladybug.”

“Excuse me, Mademoiselle Bourgeois, for thinking your idea is ridiculous. I didn’t realize the only suggestion you could give us would be this. How can I, in good conscience, ask my own partner to willingly subject himself to the same kind of objectification I’m experiencing myself? I refuse to be a hypocrite like that.”

“Actually, it’s not the same thing at all. And, I might add, the final choice is with Chat Noir, not you. You might be the leader of your duo, but he can make his own choices.”

“I’m sure he agrees with me. Come on, mon chaton , let’s go. This was a bad idea.”

Without another word, Ladybug slips out of the window and disappears into the night.

To Chloe’s surprise, Chat Noir doesn’t immediately follow Ladybug, choosing instead to linger for a few moments before he finally leaves without saying a word.

For some reason, Chloe feels like there's something he wants to ask her, but can’t.

She doesn't quite know what to make of the feeling, and decides ultimately to ignore it.

Close to midnight, Chloe is about to fall asleep, when a dark shadow reappears outside her room.

Common sense tells her to scream, but instinct tells her that it’s someone she knows.

When she parts the curtains, she learns that her instinct was right: it’s Chat Noir, who has presumably returned to talk about whatever it was he couldn’t talk about in front of Ladybug.

She lets him in with a yawn.

“So, you’re back,” she says. “Did you change your mind about helping me with physics homework after all? It’s a little later for that.”

He snorts. “Ever the opportunist.”

“Are you really surprised?”

“Not at all,” he says, laughing in an oddly familiar way, and Chloe gets the strange feeling that she’s had a conversation like this with him before.

“But no. That’s not why I’m here.”

“I know there was something you wanted to say before you left a few hours ago. What was it?”

“You’re more observant that I realized.”

“Of course I am,” she retorts. “I’m a politician’s daughter. It’s my responsibility to be the most observant girl in the room.”

Chat Noir raises an eyebrow and his lips curl up into a grin that is just a little too smug for Chloe’s liking.

“Is that right? Interesting.”

“If there’s a joke, I’d like to be in on it,” she responds, curt once again. “Otherwise, get to the point. You’re cutting into my precious beauty sleep.”

Chat Noir nods and leans against the window.

“Ok. I have to be honest with you. It was Ladybug’s idea to come here. She genuinely wanted your help—”

“Obviously!”

“Please, let me finish.”

Chloe flushes with embarrassment. She doesn’t usually care about coming across as rude, but for some reason, this feels a little different.

“I’m sorry. Go on.”

“Even though she didn’t understand why you were suggesting what you did, I do. And I’m ready to go through with it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The sexy photoshoot. I’m ready to do it.”

“Did you come here just to tell me that?” asks Chloe, confused.

Char Noir’s voice is steady. “No. I came here to explain why.”

And then, in a flash of green, Chat Noir is gone. In his place stands someone Chloe thought she knew well, but it’s clear that she doesn’t know at all.

“Adrichou? You’re Chat Noir?!”

Though he often feels the desire to do so, Adrien Agreste has rarely acted on impulse or instinct. Thanks to his overprotective parents, he has always followed the rules.

It’s only after becoming Chat Noir that he’s learned the benefits of taking calculated risks, and while he still doesn’t take too many when he doesn’t have the shield of his all-concealing disguise, he’s learned to listen to that inner instinct that tells him to do things his father would consider ill-advised and unreasonable.

And although he’s sure that even Ladybug would think what he’s doing is crazy, when he looks into Chloe’s eyes as she advises them on how to avoid the tabloids and what to do to keep them from finding out about their private lives, he can’t help but feel like in the process, she’s sharing details about her own life that he has always been vaguely aware of, but which he has never spoken to her about.

Because they’re not the kind of friends she likes to pretend they are, and they haven’t been, for a very long time. The Chloe Bourgeois he knew as a child is not the selfish, self-absorbed girl standing in front of him now. And yet something about the tiny sliver of honesty he can feel in her words is what compels him to share the truth about his identity with her, to help her understand why Ladybug has come to her for help, why they believe that she has the answers that nobody else will have.

Anyone else would tell him he's being irrational; and in truth, it's not like Chloe has done anything to merit his trust over the past few years. And yet instinct is telling him that this is the right thing to do.

He knows he can't reveal himself while Ladybug is still there, so he waits until she's gone. But even then, at first, he fights the instinct. It's not the right time; it's not the right moment.

He comes back at midnight, and before he can second guess himself, he de-transforms.

Ready to face the consequences, not matter what they may be.

If he's honest with himself, Adrien doesn't know what to expect from Chloe. But it's obvious that this is the last thing she was expecting herself, as she stands in front of him, jaw practically on the floor.

“You’re dating Ladybug,” she whispers. A question, not a statement. "And someone else at the same time. I don't understand."

He can only share his truth; not his lady’s. So even as he shares the deepest secret of his life, he lies.

“I would say ‘friends with benefits’ is a better way to describe the relationship between Ladybug and me," he replies. The lie falls off his tongue like silk.

Chloe shakes her head. "Of everyone I know, you're the last person I would ever have expected to have a friends with benefits relationship with anyone. I always thought you were a romantic. I guess I was wrong."

"Neither of us know each other as well as we used to, Chloe," says Adrien. "We haven't been honest with each other for a very long time."

She cuts her eyes away. "Can you blame me? I don't have much of an incentive to be honest with anyone in my life. I don't know who I can trust."

"It's not just that. It's hard to be friends with someone who acts unkind to almost everyone."

"Really? Did you come here to lecture me? Because I don't need to listen to you. I know what I'm doing, and why. Judge me all you want, but at the end of the day, both you and Ladybug came here to ask me for advice. And if you're going to criticize me after all of that, it makes you a hypocrite, not me."

Adrien shakes his head. "No, Chloe. That's not why I came here tonight. The reason I came here tonight is to talk to you about the other person in my life, because you know who she is."

"I don't understand."

"The other person in my life is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and without your help, we can’t go anywhere together without the press questioning our every move. Since they think Ladybug and I are dating, if they see me on a date with Marinette, there will be a lot of uncomfortable questions that neither she nor I will be able to answer.”

"Why the hell would I want to help Marinette Dupain-Cheng?! " screeches Chloe. "Does she know about your secret identity too?!"

"No, she doesn't know," Adrien immediately cuts in smoothly. "Ladybug is aware of her, however, and he wants us to be able to be together in public."

“And Marinette doesn’t mind competing against a literal superheroine for your heart?”

“You’d be surprised. She has an open mind.”

Chloe narrows her eyes and considers him again. "I thought I knew you, Adrien Agreste, but it's clear that you're hiding a lot more than anyone knows. And god knows Marinette has far more patience than I would.”

"Listen," he replies. "When you were giving us that advice earlier? I know you were talking about everything that's happened with your father over the years. I know the press hasn't caught on at all, but it's obvious that you're speaking from experience when you talk about distracting the press so they don't know who you're spending time with. And I also know you haven't seen your mother in years."

"You don't know anything," Chloe hisses, eyes flashing angrily. "And don't bring my mother into this. I haven't brought yours into this discussion at all."

"I'm sorry. But the point is, I want to make sure you understand that I understand that finding privacy is incredibly difficult when you're a public figure. I've been living that struggle for years. And you know that. You know what it's like to have to pretend to be one way at school and another way at home, to put on a facade of happiness and being put together, and to keep the people who are important to you close to your chest and away from public view."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, that's how Marinette is for me. She's...she's precious to me. I don't want her to get hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt. Not my lady, not Marinette, not my family...and I needed you to understand why this matters to me on multiple levels. And if it takes a racy photoshoot as Chat Noir to get the heat off Ladybug and attention off me as Adrien Agreste, then I'm willing to do it."

Chloe presses her lips together and frowns.

"It was different when I thought Chat Noir was someone else. Now that I know that he's you, I don't think it's the best idea, Adrichou. What if someone else finds out? What will your father say if he finds out?"

"Don't worry about that. If he hasn't found out who I am in the past three years, he's not about to discover my secret identity anytime soon. But I have to do this for Marinette and My Lady."

Chloe rolls her eyes. "You can't just pose for a sexy photoshoot to protect your girlfriend from the press. You have to have some sort of reason."

"Come on, I'm a superhero in a skintight black catsuit. I haven't leveraged this at all. I'm sure the public is just waiting to see my wild side, now that I'm a handsome young bachelor, as you put it," replies Adrien with a smirk.

"You know, I've seen video of when I was akumatized as Antibug, and I'm pretty sure I called you lame. I still stand by that statement."

Adrien grins. "Maybe. But I still think you should get me a shoot in the raciest magazine in Paris."

"Excuse me? Do I look like an agent to you? Schedule your own photoshoot!"

"Shame. I was under the impression you were connected to everyone in Paris. But I guess I can ask someone else to book me for a shoot. Maybe Nino can help me. I'm sure he'd love to help one of the coolest superheroes in Paris."

"Nino Lahiffe is a hipster and wouldn't be able to identify a single magazine that actually mattered if he tried."

"I suppose I could ask Alya to feature me on the Ladyblog as well. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Absolutely not. If you want to do this effectively, you can't go through a blog , you have to go through a legitimate publication."

"Wow, Chloe, you know so much."

"Of course I do. This is my bread and butter. How else am I supposed to help my father navigate the nasty world of the press?"

"So you'll help me?"

"Ugh. Fine. Yes."

[cracklets]

Of Flesh and Grace and Something In Between

Title: Of Flesh and Grace and Something In Between Chapter: One Author: Mistina of the Cranky Ol’ Fangirls Beta: MY MOM!!! (Seriously, Mistina’s mother proof read this chapter.) Series: Person of Interest and Supernatural Pairing(s):  Shaw/Root (Team Shoot), Dean/Castiel (Destiel) Rating: 14a Spoilers:  “Person of Interest” through to 4x11 and "Supernatural” through to 8x23 Length:  2,181 words Summary: Shaw can't believe this is her new life. Afterlife? Unlife? Second life? Ugh. Whatever. She has more important things to figure out. Like how the Hell she became the nexus between a bloody civil war up in Heaven and the battle between two God-like A.I. machines down here on Earth?! Author's Note: After watching "Person of Interest” 4x11, I was in denial and I immediately put together a crossover fix it to pacify myself. Later the show revealed that I had nothing to be worried about. Well, not when it comes to Shaw. ^^;; This is that fix it. I hope you enjoy my canon denial. <3

Bang! The world went black. She felt heavy. Sinking down, down, down. The abyss reached for her. Pulling her down, down, down.

Claws lashed out from the darkness below, eager to have her in their razor blade clutches. Each graze they managed to land sent a jolt of pain, climaxing sharp and lightning quick, throughout her entire being. Her descent quickly became a violent free fall. The claws grasping for her rapidly grew in number and tore into her with increasing accuracy. Gash after bruise after break after scrape… The blows became so frequent that they soon blurred into a single perpetual torment. When the claws finally managed to latch onto her, they jerked her down hard into their bloody embrace. Temperature then made itself known. Within the confinement of the abyss was a heat that ignited her pain into a searing agony. There in the dark, shackled and convulsing, she knew the time had come to atone for the oceans of blood shed by her hands. Suddenly, a burst of light banished the claws and the heat and the pain. Sameen Shaw’s eyes snapped open. There was no desperate intake of breath. Her muscles didn’t jerk, or even so much as flinch, into action. There was no atrophy to indicate that she had been shot and then lying prone in a hospital bed or on a cold slab wearing a toe tag. She merely opened her eyes and found herself to be whole, taking a deep deliberate breath and gently flexing her hands in an attempt to verify her current state. Even disoriented, Shaw realized that those were an awful lot of red flags. She quickly took in her surroundings: attired in a flattering black pant suit, hair pulled back in its usual manner, seated in an office of some sort... She then surveyed the room, trying to gather enough intel to determine her current circumstances: stainless steel, neutral colours and glass… She’d had thought she was in a clinic or a lab if it weren’t for her clothes, the cubicles, the carpeted floors and the nearby water cooler. The office decor told her that her host was most likely cold, detached and efficient. She could relate to such traits which meant she knew all too well that having such a host was not a good thing. Speaking of hosts, she was facing a large desk occupied by a stranger. "Hello Sameen," said the man behind the desk, his voice deep and gravelly. She said nothing, shooting the man a suspicious look. Her eyes visually inspected the stranger while her hands took stock of available resources. Searching her pockets, her hands came out empty while her eyes yielded some information, but nothing helpful. The man seemed completely out of place here. The office was sleek but the man seemed… ragged. He had unkempt dark hair and a five o’clock shadow along his jaw with a wrinkled trench coat over a rumpled business suit. The look was topped off with a blue tie hanging crooked around his neck. His look said ‘unpolished average joe ’ but her instincts screamed that the look was just a ruse. “I apologize in advance for my terrible bedside manner. I’m not known for my social skills," said the man, stiff but cordial. “What are you known for?” she asked automatically. To seek and acquire information while giving up little to none in return was a reflex deeply conditioned into her psyche. A reflex which seemed to have paid off in this instance, for she spied a brief flash of sadness in the man’s squinted eyes before they were quickly schooled back into neutrality. “Depends on who you ask,” he replied mysteriously, “but you will know me as the one who raised you from perdition.” “So I did die,” she stated impassively. “Yes, you did.” The man deadpanned, just as impassively. Wearing a lazy smirk, Shaw leaned back in her chair, swaying slightly as it had wheels, and theatrically gave the room a once over. “Not exactly what I expected.” “If you were expecting fire and brimstone, that is where you were headed.” Shaw chuckled wryly at that. “So why am I here, wherever ‘here’ is?” She gestured lazily to indicate the office they were in. “This is Heaven and you’re here because I have a proposition for you.” “Heaven, huh?” she mumbled, eyeing the room dubiously. “What you see is your soul’s interpretation of this foreign and more complex plane of existence,” Castiel explained as though this was matter of fact, which it most certainly wasn’t for Shaw. “Through blinders I’ve put in place so that your soul can exist here without harm.” Shaw raised a brow at the afterthought, but let is pass for the moment. “And you are?” “My name is Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.” Her eyes widened slightly, the only hint that her calm demeanor was disturbed. “Reeaaallly?” she drawled. “Yes.” “So what does an angel of the Lord want with a recently deceased sociopathic assassin?” Castiel suddenly broke eye contact, a small frown on his lips, which troubled Shaw as he had not shown any obvious signs of emotion up until this point. “I’m offering you a place amongst our ranks.” “Excuse me?” she sputtered incredulously. Whatever answer she was anticipating, it was definitely not that. “We’ve been fighting a war for the last few years,” he explained calmly, though there was an undertone of sadness. To Shaw it seemed as though he had anticipated her disbelief which indicated he wasn’t completely socially incompetent, or—at least—not as much as he thought. “The death toll is devastating. Our Father had created us as immortals and so we were never given the ability to procreate. Hence every fallen brother and sister is a permanent deduction to our population.” “So, what?” asked Shaw, unable to slot herself into this scenario. "You’re going to hang a halo from a wire tied around my head and glue some wings to my back?” The angel chuckled. “That’s something a friend of mine would say…” A small, fond smile tugged at his lips as he briefly reminisced. “...I wish to imbue your soul with a fraction of my grace. With practice and training, it could blend with your soul and make you something… in between.” “‘Something in between’? The lack of a proper name really inspires confidence,” huffed Shaw sarcastically. “I must admit, this has never been done before…” “Oh, now  I’m relieved.” the angel narrowed his eyes angrily at Shaw’s sarcasm but they didn’t deter her. “So I have to choose between being a lab rat in Heaven or burning in Hell?” “No. No. I would never—” said Castiel adamantly before taking a deep calming breath. “I don’t want to force your hand. I have selected you for many reasons but the most important one is that I firmly believe you do not truly deserve to go to Hell. No matter what you decide, you have a place here.” Shaw raised a suspicious brow. "But I only have your word to go on." "True, but I can't think of any way to prove my sincerity without being accused of using"—he did, honest to God, air quotes—"'angel mojo'. Can you?" Shaw gently bit her lip to stifle a chuckle creeping up her throat so she could focus on the matter at hand. “No. Not with angels having the mojo to manipulate my will while I'm none the wiser.” “We are capable of such methods, but I have no desire to use them. I’m an advocate for humanity’s free will.” As he finished this statement his jaw clenched imperceptibly and his eyes squinted. Whether in anger or sadness, she couldn’t tell, but either way there was a story there. “Yeah… Not sure how I feel about that.” She trusted humanity about as much as she trusted the ‘angel’ before her. She leaned back in her chair, running her tongue across her teeth behind sealed lips. “Alright,” she said eventually, “why the Hell not?” She smirked wickedly, amused by her own choice of words. “I don’t understand,” said Castiel, head tilting slightly in confusion. “The way I see it, if I’m still alive and this is some kind of elaborate ploy then everything you’ve suggested is impossible. So anything you do plan to do with me I can more than handle. In short, if I’m alive then there’s no issue here.” she shrugged nonchalantly as she finished her first point, her face turning deadly serious when she moved on to her second. “If I am, in fact, dead, then I am at your mercy. At the mercy of you and whoever and whatever else exists after death. Life after death is completely unknown to me, like it is to all humans. I’m lost in the dark with no tools or information. So if I’m to survive, you are currently my best source of information, my best chance.” “Your logic is impressive,” said Castiel thoughtfully, eyes squinted as if he were studying the soul before him and calculating his next move, “but I must urge you to give my offer more consideration. Whether or not you believe that the offer is genuine, what I’m offering will be quite… permanent. And for the deceased, permanent  is potentially a very, very long time.” “Your concern is touching…” teased Shaw. “I don’t understand. You’re a sociopa—” “I am, but I was being sarcastic.” Shaw rolled her eyes, amused. “Look, don’t you worry about my decisions. I don’t have enough intel to work with, so consenting is my best option. However… On the off chance that all this is legit and you stick to your word, I will only consent if you meet one condition.” “A reasonable request, if it’s something I can provide.” He leaned forward slightly, supporting himself with his forearms and interlacing his hands on the desk. “What is your condition?” Shaw clenched her jaw, thrown off by her own impulsive request. Finding out that she had died was straightforward. Learning that this guy in a trench coat was an angel was surprising but easy enough to accept. Being told that this office was Heaven, well, that wasn’t much of a stretch after this 'desk jockey' angel. But this… lingering attachment. That unsettled her. “I want to be able to help my friends when they need it.” Unspoken, though surprisingly understood by the socially awkward angel, was ‘I want to see them again’. “If I were to deny you, I would be a hypocrite.” Finding the new information intriguing, Shaw quirked a brow which had Castiel smiling in a cryptic manner. "I’m sure you’ll find out all about that soon enough." “I’m sure I will,” said Shaw with an amused smirk. “I accept your condition, Sameen Shaw.” Castiel stood suddenly, his face deadly serious. “Do you consent to my proposal?” Shaw raised her right hand and held her left one over the heart, parodying a sworn testimony. “I do.” The angel frowned slightly at her levity, but accepted her response as sincere. He reached down to open a desk drawer and retrieved a simple glass bottle that contained something that was anything but simple: a small spec of golden light surrounded by a faint but alluring aura that seamlessly flowed from colour to colour. “Wow.” breathed Shaw, thinking that, if her current situation wasn’t real, she owed someone a huge ‘thank you’ for whatever seriously awesome drugs she was on. “I have broken off a piece of my grace and placed it in this container,” explained Castiel, though unnecessarily. “When I say that this is a part of me, I mean it in the most literal sense. My thoughts, my feelings, my memories... All of me is in this shard as much as it is a part of the rest of my grace.” “Wow, sounds pretty intimate.” whistled Shaw, looking up through her eyelashes playfully. “Can I add another condition? Because it’s starting to sound like you need to buy me a drink first.” “Are you done?” asked Castiel bluntly. “Sure, sure.” Shaw motioned for the angel to continue, which he did with a sigh. “Theoretically, when I fuse this shard with your soul, you'll have access to all that I have learned and experienced. I will do my best to limit its influence so my grace doesn't consume you.” at Shaw’s slight frown, he shrugged helplessly. “As I said, this process is unprecedented and is, as you might have guessed, dangerous and very likely will be extremely painful.” Her frown turned into one of grim resolve. “I can take it.” With one last sad look, Castiel opened the container and the shard gravitated up and out to circle idly around his hand. As it crossed his palm he ensnared it in his fist and, in a blink, the angel was right next to Shaw with his arm elbow deep into her chest. Grace met Soul. Burning, searing, tearing, breaking. Mind suddenly bereft of thought. Bleeding, crying, waning, fading The world went white. END of CHAPTER ONE