#when his soul mate gets thrown at him in the form of an ORB

[luxaofhesperides]

Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly. 

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color. 

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless. 

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating. 

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate. 

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever. 

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy. 

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents. 

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it. 

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence. 

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door. 

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out. 

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once. 

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words. 

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left. 

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze. 

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.  

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo. 

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.” 

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles. 

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen. 

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders. 

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that. 

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet. 

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day. 

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security. 

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction. 

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage. 

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office. 

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time. 

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives. 

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed. 

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises. 

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye. 

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest. 

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die. 

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it. 

He won’t let anyone take it from him. 

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary. 

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat. 

Bruce reaches a hand out. 

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him. 

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away. 

The orb in his hand moves. 

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark. 

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it. 

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap. 

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid. 

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot. 

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face. 

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke. 

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises. 

If anyone can, it’s Batman. 

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends. 

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

[asmallwritter]

The Best Nights Are Filled With Stars. (1/?)

King! Bucky x reader

Words; 1000ish.

Every year a party is thrown in the King's Palace, in which all the unmated people who're aged between 18 and 30 years should attend. Everybody thinks that the king throw this party to help them find their mates. Little did they know that it's for his own sake.

One - Two - Three - Four

The mate finding party or as people call it 'The MFP'. It's a party in which the king throw at his palace to help the unmated loners find their mates. I myself have always wanted to attend it but not to find my mate. It's all about the things my sister always gab about, the music, the dances, the food and that one more thing she talks about the most. The Alpha King.

I've never seen him myself but I always hear people talk about him. Shoulder length brown hair, greyish-blue eyes, plumb lips, deep and dominant voice, tall with wide shoulders and muscular form. Everything about him screams 'ALPHA KING'

I sigh as I sip on my drink. The party is within a week and there's a lot of things that need to be done. I take another sip just when my sister entered the kitchen. She looked at me and smirked. "Good morning, you" she poked my head and head to the fridge.

"I can tell that you're thinking. I can see the gears running in your head" I laughed as I shake my head. Ever since I became 18 she'd always tease me and annoy me more than ever. Wiggling her eyebrows every now and then, making kissing faces and imagining how my mate would look like.

"Ok! You've to get your dress from the dressmaker. Oh! And I'm the one who's going to do your hair and makeup, none of your friends...damn you're growing up"I groan and rest my head on the kitchen table. " calm down it's not like I'm getting married."

She scowled and rest her hands on her hips. "No, you're not getting married, yet! But hopefully, you're going to meet you mate and darling mate or not first impressions are important. They'll remember it their whole life" oh yeah, first impressions.

I chuckled to myself as I remember her 'first impression' with her mate, Sam. She was wearing a 4'5" inches high heels and she was walking with wiggling legs the whole night and just when she locked eyes with Sam she tripped and fell down. Thankfully Sam was fast enough to swipe her off her feet and hold her safely in his arms. After that, she spent the next two months with him without visiting me once. Having a possessive beta as a mate and all.

"But I'm not stupid enough to wear something I can't walk in and trip over myself"

"Agh! Please, Sam is teasing me enough for the both of you" I laugh as I place my cup in the sink, telling her that I'll be meeting with my friends.

I met up with Natasha and Wanda at a coffee shop. They were talking about how they want their dresses to look like. I, myself was excited but not as much as these two. Even though Natasha had met her mate already she still attends the party due to having her mate working in the palace.

They are talking about colours. Red, yellow, grey, pink, purple, etc. I rolled my eyes telling them that they should hurry up and buy the dresses. I already have my dress made. A blue dress with a Square topline that hugs my body to the waist and then flows down to the floor with pearls decorating the waistline and a diagonal line on the breast.

"Now let's go to the shops, I shall buy the prettiest lilac dress there" she jumped on her feet, ready to march towards the shops.

"OK. But first things first. I'll visit the dressmaker to fit and get my dress and then I'll meet you at the shops"

They nodded and then we went our separate ways. I walk down the street looking at the shops beside me, not noticing the person who's coming my way. I bumped into their chest. I took a few steps back to prevent myself from falling.

"I'm sorry! Forgive me, I wasn't looking where I was going" I looked up, my eyes roam over the kingdom's official uniform, muscular body and up to their blue eyes. "oh, no! My Lady, I'm the one who's supposed to apologize. I was in a rush I didn't notice you"

I smiled as I step aside telling him that his apology is accepted.

"If I wasn't in a rush I would have apologized properly, My Lady. But duty is calling" I smiled again and bowed my head slightly as I watch him go on his way and I continue mine.

After getting the dress and meeting with the girls at the shops I went back home, Sam and my sister are sitting at the dining table, food is neatly placed on the table. "smells delicious, sis! "

I skip to my room to hang my dress and put down the new heels I've bought. I went downstairs and sat down with them. We had dinner in silent except for the few words me and Sam exchanged about how to handle annoying people. Although they both didn't talk, the way they look at each other didn't go unnoticed.

After cleaning the table and washing the dishes I made my way up to my room. I light up candles and placed them on the fence of the balcony and I watched the sky. It's going to be a full moon within a few days.

I sigh as my eyes roam around the forest in front of me, noticing a figure walking smoothly between the trees. I focused on the person. Broad shoulders and a form of a man. I leaned on the fence as I look at him closely. Suddenly his eyes locked with mine. Yellow shining orbs staring right at my soul.

[akmwritings]

Vampire!Jimin: Immortality

This popped into my head at 4:00 am enjoy. It’s bittersweet so brace yourselves. — Admin Quartz

Genre: Supernatural au, Vampire au, Angst

Warnings: Mentions of blood.

••••••

“He hasn’t left his house for awhile.”

You stopped, feeling the soapsuds on your hands fizz and the plate in your palm, as you were washing dishes when one of your friends decided to call.

It was late, late evening, you got off work late, the traffic was horrible, you had a late meal, so here you were, just ready for bed but nope, they had to call.

“You sure, Tae?” you asked and continued to scrub the plate that you just ate off of for dinner.

Another voice came through the speaker. “Namjoon said he hasn’t seen him for a week,” Jungkook spoke, tone worried. “If he doesn’t hunt soon he’ll die.”

Sighing, you rinsed off the last of your dishes, then wiped your hands on the hand towel. “We all know Jimin’s opinion on hunting anyway.” You leaned with your back against the counter, arms crossed.

“Could you check on him, please?” Taehyung asked. “He’s hardly spoken to us.”

“Have you gone to visit him yet?” you inquired.

“We both did, at different times though,” Jungkook informed you. “His response was quick and just dismissed us coldly.”

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair, wondering what could be up with the bloodsucker. “Well if he’s giving everyone attitude I’m sure my presence isn’t welcome either.”

There was a pause on the other line. “But you’re his ma — ”

“Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean he’ll listen to me,” you stated, rolling your eyes. “If I piss him off enough I’ll probably be physcially thrown out the door.”

“Yeah he’s scary when angry,” both maknaes agreed with defeated grumbles, but proceeded to ask, “just pop your head in and make sure he isn’t dying.”

You thought for a moment. “How long until he becomes extremely ill?”

“It could be a few days, it depends.”

Grabbing the white sweatshirt you had lazily thrown on the dining room table and pulling the thick fabric over your head, you rushed towards your bedroom. “I’ll keep you guys updated,” you promised while shoving your feet into a pair of dark brown boots.

“Thanks.”

Striding towards the front door you grabbed your keys, a jacket to protect you from the cool winter weather, and your purse before heading towards the car.

•••

By the time you parked right in front of Jimin’s apartment, it was an hour before midnight. The city had shut down, only the lamps standing along the streets lit the roads for you to drive down, and when you stepped out of the car, the chirping of crickets hit your ears.

You stood there for a moment, inhaling the winter air and letting the chirps relax your tense composure before quietly approaching the front porch using the spare key he gave you to enter the house which lay on the outskirts of town.

The house was a decent size, more of a mini duplex, with three floors, including the basement. All lights were off and the curtains were drawn. Not for long, you thought, determined, and unlocked the door.

Poking your head out from around the door, you cautiously, slowly, let yourself in. Quietly closing the door behind you, you gently wiped your shoes on the doormat, carefully set them aside, and shrugged your coat off, hooking it on the coat hanger. The act was so natural, it almost scared you how at home you would make yourself in his house. Even in the pitch darkness of his room you knew where everything was by heart.

Flicking on the light, you were surprised to find that everything was as usual, in neatly order.

Hm, funny, the maknaes made it sound like he was in critical condition, bit he wouldn’t have the energy to clean, even at a human pace if he was close to death. You chortled, shaking your head before letting your socked feet semi glide against the wooden floor, wandering towards the staircase that lead upstairs.

You called his name. No response. So you jogged upstairs, only to find that his bedroom was empty, yet clean like the first floor, even the bookshelf, which held books from the late 1800s, had been dusted and neatly kept.

Not home? But his car is here…perhaps downstairs.

What made the house unique was the basement, as it had been turned into a dance practice room.

Jimin had a love for dancing since he could remember, and all throughout life he had mastered all kinds of dance from ballet to hip-hop.

Sure enough, as you approached the basement door, you noted a sliver of light glowing from the door and across the floor. Another fact that didn’t surprise you was how, if he was dancing, you couldn’t hear the music. His heightened hearing was so sharp he barely turned up the sound.

Warily descending the stairs, you wondered what kind of mood he’d be in and if you were welcome at all, thus taking your time.

At the bottom you were welcomed with Jimin’s elegant figure almost soundlessly gliding across the smooth floor, wearing dark pants and a loose button down. He looked to be practicing a modern style dance, and by his graceful actions, you could truly understand why many people say, “Dancing is art.”

By now, you could hear the music, it was quiet, but for Jimin you knew it was loud enough.

It wasn’t until you caught the fierce look in his eye that belied his flowing limbs did you realize, something really was wrong.

He looked angry, annoyed, his dark brown orbs piercing any soul that dared look directly at his handsome face. But as you two shared a glance in the mirror, you noticed pain flickering in his stormy gaze.

Instead of immediately interrupting his focus, you sat down, back against the wall, legs crossed, patiently waiting for his dance to end. A brief memory flickered through your mind, remembering last year how you were in this same position, watching him dance. Except unlike today, that night Jimin was in a great mood. He had grabbed your hand, willing for you to dance with him and although you were no pro dancer, he lead you through an old ballroom routine that dated back to the early 1900s.

But tonight he needed time alone, his moves getting more flamboyant, bare feet almost seeming to glide across the floor until he ended with a dramatic twirl, then stopped, and although he needn’t any air, you could see his chest rising up and down rapidly as if he were panting.

His head turned and once again your eyes met.

You didn’t shy away, instead you calmly stared back at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, sounding sad, voice hoarse, and cleared his throat before disappearing in a heartbeat, leaving behind a light breeze.

You sighed. Well, at least he looks healthy, you noted with relief and rose from the floor. Upon deciding you should let him be for a little longer, you wandered back upstairs and into the kitchen, rummaging around for any food Jimin would keep in his cupboards, and found some ramen you yourself had stored for future visits such as these.

Fifteen minutes later you held the bowl of ramen and ascended the stairs again, knowing where he would be to escape the world. The balcony connected to his room.

There he was, perfectly balanced on the edge and looking out over the quiet neighborhood, tall and poised, shoulders relaxed.

“What’s bothering you?” you voiced softly.

Jimin suddenly stood mere inches from you, but you didn’t flinch or blink, holding his gaze, hoping he would open up to you and not keep everything hidden away like he was known to do. Because it hurt you when he kept everything bottled inside, it hurt you knowing there was little you could do to help him until he shared his pain.

He searched your gaze for a moment before bringing a hand up to touch your face, and despite the cool touch of his skin you pressed against his palm. “Why are you sad?” he whispered, eyebrows furrowing in a worried scowl and his thumb caressed your cheek.

You stepped away, setting the bowl of ramen aside then pulled Jimin into your embrace. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, holding you against him tightly and breathing in your scent.

“Please,” you mumbled, begging him. “Don’t close yourself off from me.”

He momentarily tensed, then seemed to give up, and relaxed, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

It didn’t take long for you to feel warm liquid running down the back of your shoulder and staining your white sweatshirt red. Jimin began to tremble in your arms, and you heard a sob of sorts before it was muffled against your skin. The sound of his quiet sobs broke your heart and you tightened your grip on him, hoping to somehow physically squeeze all your love into that embrace.

The vampire hiding his hurt emotions was usual, but only once did you witness him cry. It was two years ago when Jimin was forced to turn Jungkook into one of them. Although there was no other choice, Jimin had been quite reluctant to change him, hell he was still wary about hunting any life form to live.

Raised during the Joseon era, Jimin’s mother had made sure her son understood how the world worked, why he should be kind, honest, just, and never take life for granted. Now, even as a “monster” which mankind so vulgarly labeled it, his mother’s morals could not be shaken. You breifly recalled Jimin confessing how his morals, but now monsterous nature always clashed, and how much of a conflict it sometimes could be.

More hot, red tears rolling down your skin broke you from your thoughts. His sobbing had stopped, but the tears had not. Moving a hand up to bury your fingers in his ebony locks, you massaged the back of his head, a way to remind him that he shouldn’t carry so much stress alone.

Few minutes later, the tears stopped running, and you two just stood there, relaxing against one another.

A harsh winter breeze made you shiver, and you slowly pulled back. “Let’s go inside.”

He wordlessly nodded, heading back in to wash his face as you took the now cold ramen in to set them on his desk.

When you turned around, Jimin was sitting on the edge of his bed, head down, shoulders slouched, eyes closed. You hummed sorrowfully, and went to stand before him only to be pulled closer so he could rest his forehead against your stomach, defeated. By habit, you massaged the back of his head with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder.

He reached up, grasping your wrist gently. “I didn’t ask to be like this,” you heard him whisper. “I never wanted this.”

In order to hear him better, you kneeled down, touching your forehead to his.

“I hate hunting, I hate taking others’ lives to live myself,” he proceeded, tone raising. “How selfish is that, huh? I’m sure it takes the number one spot for most selfish act in the world.”

He was hurting, hurting so much, and you couldn’t do anything as of now but listen. So that’s what you did.

“I wanted a family, dreamt of having children, growing old with a partner, and passing away peacefully, knowing I had lives a good life.”

“But look,” Jimin choked, and cleared his throat trying to keep his voice level. “I’m stuck at this age, damned to live out an immortal life with what feels like half a consciousness, half a soul and the only way to end it all is getting beheaded or burnt.”

His voice was hoarse and clouded, and you pressed in closer between his legs, kissing his forehead, hoping to sooth the pain eating him away.

“Life takes unexpected turns, it tosses us around, pulls us apart and puts us back together again,” you whispered, pulling away slightly and tugging on his shirt to make sure he was paying attention. “It’s got a funny way of showing us what’s truly important in life.”

Jimin swallowed. “Why is life so cruel?”

You chuckled, it was a good question. “It’s the way life is set up. It’s set up to teach us lessons. You think if God didn’t care about us he’d be willing so hard for us to learn?”

“Right now I’m convinced there is no God.”

“Then how does magic exist? How does energy exist?”

You heard Jimin chuckle at your wittiness and smiled, glad you could at least make him laugh a little. “God or not, we should understand that living an easy life is an uneventful life,” you continued whispering to him. “The most beautiful people amongst us in this world are the ones who have felt the most pain in their lives. Why? Because they’re living an eventful life.”

“But isn’t eventful’ supposed to be a good thing?”

“Who said ‘eventful’ is easy?”

Jimin stayed quiet at your response, so you continued. “You’ve been through a lot of pain, and still carry it around, and will eventually come across it again in the future,” you explained carefully, hoping he’ll understand your next words. “But you’re immortal.”

“So? Am I doomed to live painfully until my death?”

You chuckled at his words. “No Jimin. It means you get a head start from everyone else who has to live a thousand more lifetimes to learn what you’ll learn in this one, incredibly, long lifetime. You don’t even have to relearn everything, you just keep moving forward. So out of the two of us, who should be the bitter one?”

This time Jimin really did laugh, and it sounded so nice to your ears you couldn’t help but grin as he pulled you against his front, nose brushing yours. “Why are you so wise?”

“Because I’ve been through a lot too.”

Jimin pressed his mouth against yours, hungrily pulling at your lips and weaving his hands through your hair. “I love you,” he whispered, before diving back in to taste you again. “So much, so so much.”

You couldn’t respond, your brain having already melted at his ministrations; his hands pulling you closer and his lips capturing yours and trailing down your jaw.

“Have you hunted recently?” you finally managed to gasp out, trying to clear your head.

“No.”

That was all the encouragment you needed as you broke away from his tight hold only to press your wrist against his mouth, grunting in obvious pain as his sharp teeth slashed through your skin.

You felt blood roll down your arm but ignored it the best you could as Jimin desperately slurped against your wrist. “Not too much,” you warned him as you began to feel slightly dizzy.

A few seconds later you felt his tongue slide along the bite, closing it off quickly, although it would leave a scar for a few months. Lucky for you it was winter so long sleeves wouldn’t look suspicious in public.

Taking this moment to look Jimin over, you recognized the many sharp teeth all vampires held. Instead of two extended fangs like how the books and movies portrayed, each individual tooth extended into sharp weapons, both too and bottom rows of teeth, including an extra top layer of fangs that fell over and inbetween each top tooth. So no, it wasn’t a pretty sight at all. It was more gruesome than sexy.

Vampires also cried blood, as that was the only fluid their bodies held, and you recognized the tears of blood Jimin had shed a second time that night, staining down his cheeks and button down shirt — crap! You looked over your own white sweatshirt and groaned in annoyance. “Great,” you deadpanned. “This is never coming out.”

You looked back at Jimin who was now grinning widely, fanged teeth and all. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It looks cool though.”

Chortling in amusement, you nodded. “It’s definitely not terrible, just random.”

By the end, you and Jimin were both curled up under his bedsheets, your words reassuring you both that yes, life liked playing games, but the more eventful life was, the more it was worth living.

••••••

Well I hope you all enjoyed reading and gained some knowledge while reading this scenario. — Admin Quartz

[anthonianrhapsody-blog]

Diomedes

by Yollie Resol

Crimson Claw Pack

        His bulging muscles are prominent under the black shirt he wears. The strength of this man is unmistakable as he snaps the poor wolf in half with his bare hands. Piles of dead bodies in human and werewolf form flooded his surroundings. Moonlight is the only source of light to determine who is still alive in the war of every occults. He walks with pride and determination as he passes the combat laid in front of him. Every creature present is in their wolf form to achieve more strength to defend themselves from their opponents, but the ‘wicked’ alpha himself, as they call him, does not need to shift to kill a whole pack with his own hands. He reaches the most enormous rock in the middle of the woods and climb on it. He scans his eyes in the scene in front of him and felt the satisfaction running in his veins. A hoarse laugh is released from him as he sees an omega begging at his feet to spare his life. In a blink of an eye, the omega’s head is thrown across the land.

Purity Pack

        Her scream embraces the night’s cold air as she awakens from her horrid dream. Drip of sweat runs down her face as the thin clothing she wore clutches her body like her second skin. The smoke from under her bed makes it harder for her to breathe as she saw the familiar shadow disappearing from her ceiling. Paranoid eyes scan the surrounding as her trembling hands grips the blanket tightly against her chest. She despises the sound of demonic chuckle that echoes the room. She can feel its eyes staring straight at her soul. It is inhuman. Nothing can describe what exactly the black eyed creature was. It is massive and flows around her room like her own shadow. It can be mistaken for a shadow if it was not for its face that can only be seen when it was hit by light and the glowing symbols in its chest that she have no idea what meant.

        “Why don’t you leave me alone?” She asked the shadow with a throaty voice. The evil shadow slowly smiles at her before it opened its mouth, “Now, where’s the fun in that sweet Imogen?” It dissolves again in the thin air and in one intake of breath, it is suddenly behind her.

        “You know, I never get tired of chasing you,” It said while playing with the ends of her brown hair.

        “What do you want from me? I never did anything wrong!” She jumps from her bed and confront the creature. It vanished once again but she knew it is with her, it’s always with her.

        “You did nothing wrong, but the moon did. You are not to blame but I can’t just let myself be doomed again.”

        “W-what do you mean? What does this have to do with the moon?” She cries out.

        “You know very well what I meant. Don’t pretend to be an imbecile.”

        Imogen took a step back as the shadow appears in the reflection of the window, “Are…are you talking about my mate?” Her heart starts to beat faster.

        The shadow smiles at her, “Feels good doesn’t it? To finally discover what is the reason of your existence?”

        “M-my mate is still alive?” Imogen’s voice sounds desperate as she finds answers.

         “I really hope he is not but that is something I cannot tell you. Goodbye Imogen, I’ll meet you in your dreams again.” Then the shadow abandons her room.

 Bennett’s Residence, Warlock House

          The Alpha King’s fist slams the wooden table and it nearly broke in half if it was not for the spell casted on it. Elina Bennett, the highest warlock in the whole community just told the alpha king the news that got him at his edge. “What do you mean that I’m going to die? How dare you!” He barks the words to her. She glares at him as she stride until they are face to face. “You do know that you should never belittle a warlock, right my king?” Elina’s eyes are turning in the shade of red which means that she is beyond pissed by his address to her.

          The king shakes and bows his head to Elina, “Pardon me, I was not thinking straight, but please explain to me what you just said because I don’t understand anything at all.” At this moment, the king does not look like a king, he looks vulnerable and defeated. The sorcerer’s eyes turned back to its normal golden color and felt pity for the king, “For the past weeks, I have been getting dreams that the moon wants to talk to me and I never really got the courage until earlier when I woke up with tears in my eyes.”

         She walk to her glass table and opens the drawer at the bottom, she rummages inside until she took a piece of burnt paper that looks very old. “A war will arise. But this war is not like any other war, it’s going to change a piece of history in our world.” The alpha king took the piece of paper and saw eight symbols embedded in the middle of the paper.

                                                   ᛞ ᛁ ᛟ ᛗ ᛖ ᛞ ᛖ ᛊ

        “What do those symbols have to do with the war?” He looks at Elina with tiredness in his voice. “While I’m communicating with the moon, I saw different scenarios, everything is chaos, fire envelopes everywhere, and everything seems like a blur, the only thing clear in the whole scene is certain symbols that are igniting in the middle of the bloodshed. It approaches me and before it nears me, my session with the moon was cut short.”

         “Is this the symbols?” His voice became rigid as he returns his gaze to the warlock, the alpha king she knew returning back to the surface. “Yes, I have no idea what those symbols mean or where it came from, if it’s from a creature or a script written as a curse but I believe that we don’t have enough time.” Elina looks at the moon and gaze at it with wonder, “It’s also the symbols present when I saw your death.” The king’s breath hitched as he heard the words. He grips the paper in his grasp with rage in his system. The hum of the wind and his ragged breathing is only thing that can be heard in the silent ambience of the night.

Main Hall, Crimson Claw Pack

         The silence is deafening as everyone is calming themselves for the living nightmare. Gabriel, the Beta of the pack, is casually leaning against the wall in the front corner of the room, not showing the little tremble in his heart. Officials are trying to busy themselves with the paper works in their hands, pretending to read them but give up as it did not help stop the shaking of their hands. All eyes are anticipating his arrival as they hesitantly glance at the door every once in a while.

         Tick-tock-tick-tock

         Ears perks up as rough footsteps are heard and everyone straightens themselves to look presentable for their Alpha. His brows are furrowed as he enters the room and a gulp from the group of men can be heard. He stalks his throne in the middle of the long table and took a seat with a faint snicker, “Some faces in this room really have the guts eh?” He shakes his head and sighs in content, the gruffness in his voice caused shivers to the men.

         One of the officials took the courage to speak up, “W-what do you mean by that a-alpha?” It was Raphael, a senior official who was once the Alpha’s mentor in his young age.

         “Words spread like fire, all of you know that,” he started, piece of tobacco from one of the men dancing between his long fingers, “Our attack to the Purity Pack has been our plan since two months ago, we take caution to every detail in the plan making and I make sure that all of you are present in every discussion, I guess that shows that I had a little trust to all men present here right?” Every word he says, the men look at each other. “Then do tell me, how the hell did the Purity Pack know that we will attack them huh?” He looks at his beta and motioned for him to come. After whispering to him, Gabriel nodded his head then walks out of the room without any other words.

          The departure of the Beta increases the fear of the men, knowing they’ll be left alone with their Alpha. “Mr. Louis? Is the room boiling for you to sweat like a pig?” the Alpha said, and every head present snaps their attention to the most timid man in the room, placed in the farthest seat from the alpha.

          The poor man looked like he was about to cry and the Alpha grins like he is enjoying his discomfort. “N-no A-alpha,” Mr. Louis stutters as he avoids looking at him. The Alpha rolls his eyes, “I know you are very aware of the policies in our pack Mr. Louis, considering you are a member of the officials,” with every word, his voice got deeper and darker which got the rest of the men at the edge of their seats, “I am certain you also know that I loathe treason hmm?” the eyes of the Alpha can be seen as black pair of orbs but quickly vanished like it never happened.

          The door opens and Gabriel enters the room with a revolver swinging in his hands and every man in the room grips their chairs tightly like their lives depended on it. Mr. Louis stands from his feet and crawls his way to the Alpha while begging for forgiveness, “A-alpha! Forgive me! I didn’t have a choice!” he cries out. The Alpha grows enrage, “Then your faithfulness is not here.” Then he looks at the beta and leaves the room.

          As he closes the door behind him, he heard a gunshot and the screams of horror from inside as blood splutters at the window pane of the room.

Purity Pack        

          The chatter of the crowd lessens as their Alpha, Chris, stands in stage and raises both his hands to silence them. He clears his throat and takes a step to the microphone, “I assume you are all aware by now about the news.” Alpha Chris looks around the mass of people and he can see the fear in their eyes. All mothers are holding their children close to them; the trained army is already positioned on every border of the pack, ready for any threats, while his officials are standing a few steps behind him, trusting their Alpha for his decisions.

          “The Crimson Claw Pack has been targeting our pack for a while now, and we do know that when they attack, it’s going to be bloody.” Alpha Chris bows his head and places both his arms behind him, “I believe that we don’t stand a chance.” He looks crushed, like a lost child without his mother.

          Murmurs surfaced once again and few violent words were thrown to him, “Are you not going to do anything?!”

          “What kind of Alpha are you?!”

           A little girl tugs the hem of her mother’s blouse and asks, “Mommy, are we going to die?” The mother could only cry and hold her daughter to her chest, already knowing their fate.

           One of the officials walks to the Alpha and places his hand in his shoulder, “What are you saying Alpha Chris?” The soft voice of the man made the Alpha’s guilt feel like a heat wave as he sweats like crazy accompanied with ragged breathing.

          “Whatever we do, we know what will be the outcome.”

          “We can make a plan! We should be making solutions right now!” The man begs his Alpha.

          “Nothing will work for that wicked alpha.” As soon as he finishes his sentence, a deafening siren blares out and they all knew what it meant. They are facing their death in their own land. The Crimson Claw Pack has arrived.

 Death Valley

          The sun is about to set, the faint ray of light is their only guide as they cross the valley to the land of Purity Pack. The Crimson Claw Pack started their journey for their attack to Purity Pack and everyone is anticipating the faces of the poor wolves when they face them. The loud conversation of the men is the only noise that lifts up the mood of the night.

          “Heard that pretty wolves belong to the Purity eh?” A man said out loud.

          “Innocent little creatures, easy to play with,” laughs another man, it was the pack’s Gamma, Adrian.

          “Can we take one home?” A young man asked. It was the boy who holds the lamp as the sun finally faded.

          “Leave no one.” It was from their Alpha, they did not know that all this time, he was listening to their conversations.

          “We were just kidding Alpha.”

          “Does it look like this is the time for jokes?” He asked in a mocking tone, silencing the men.“Everyone be cautious, we finally entered the Purity Pack.” He stops and faced his army, there are at least twenty of them, and the other seventy are already inside the pack. “As I always said, leave no one. Leave no living soul.” He emphasizes every word. The army nods their head and all of them started to move forward.

 The Clearing, Purity Pack

Chaos.

           The moment the Crimson Claw wolves arrived, shredded clothes were thrown in the air as all armies’ shifted to their wolf form. They let their wolves take charge in the war. Even women who are unmated also shifted in order to protect themselves from the attackers. Children are taken to the pack house with the pregnant women, terror in their faces evident as they listen to the battle in the clearing.

           The wicked Alpha stands in the stage and watch the whole scene laid out in front of him. He saw his beta already tearing the hearts out of Alpha Chris, he witnessed how his men easily throws the opponent to the opposite direction and he also noticed the lost girl hiding behind a tremendous tree in the far end of the clearing.

           Before he realizes what he was doing, his feet are already taking him where the girl is hiding. The girl also finds herself standing from her crouched position and before she knew it, her feet are taking her to the man approaching her.

           They both close their eyes as they recognize the scent of each other, both in the trance of nirvana as they met halfway. They opened their eyes the same time and pupils dilated as they take in other’s form. Sparks ignite as their gaze met and the Alpha’s wolf is insanely begging to be freed. The noise seems to cease and their heavy breathing is the only thing they hear. Everything clicked as recognition flashed in their faces.

Mate

           The Alpha finally woke up from the trance as he heard a blood-shrilling scream from the clearing. He looks at the girl in front of him and can see fascination dancing in her eyes, it made his wolf howls in joy but he restrains himself.

           “Mate…” Her voice sends shivers down his spine and he tightly closes his eyes like he is in pain. He opens his eyes and the girl felt a sting in her heart as she saw the coldness in his gaze, the longing look he had earlier was finally gone.

           “What is your name?” His questions but it came out like a demand.

           She flinched at his tone, “I-Imogen.” What a beautiful name, he thought.

           “I am very aware that you are my mate…” He started to slowly walk away from her. Imogen’s feet are rooted at the ground as she anticipates his next words.

           “But...I don’t want a mate.” By the time he finished his sentence, he was already at the entrance of the clearing.

           Imogen felt like her world stopped as she heard the words. Her eyes starts to water as she take a cautious step towards him, “A-are you rejecting me?” Her voice cracks.

           The Alpha’s eyes widen a little as he did not expect those words from her, “My, that is a bizarre idea. If I rejected you, my wolf will weaken and he will eventually die that could result also to my death and we don’t want that to happen. I don’t want a mate but that doesn’t mean that I don’t need one.”

           Imogen felt her anger rising up, “That’s the most selfish thing I’ve heard in my life.” As she finishes the sentence, a single tear fell from her eye.

          The Alpha looked away and started to stride back to the clearing, “Follow me or you could stay there and wait for my men to snap you in half.” Imogen had no other choice but to follow her mate as she knew that he will be her only savior to her nightmares. Imogen stopped momentarily as her eyes certainly did not miss the hint of glow coming from her mate’s chest.

 Alpha King’s Office, The Palace

          “My King, I had another vision.” The Alpha King placed his paper works down as he looks at Elina in front of him. He sighs and motioned her to take a seat. She declines, “I will not stay long, but you need to hear my out.” Elina’s trembling hands made the Alpha King to abruptly stand up and take the warlock to his couch. They both sat down.

          “Is your vision so important that you travelled far to meet me in my palace?”

          “This is about symbols that I told you months ago.” She started.

          “What about it?”

          “You heard about Isabella Salvatore right?” At the mention of the name, the Alpha King’s head snaps to Elina.

           “What does Isa have to do with the symbols?” His voice cracks as he said her name.

           “You had an affair with Isabella 29 years ago, and you knew you had a pup. You impregnate her but you left her because you suddenly found your mate from Wisdom Pack.”

           He gulps, “I did not know she conceived a pup after our affair, I only discovered about it years after she died…If I only knew we had a child, I would have left my mate. Isabella was my true love.”

          “Too late for that don’t you think? Everyone thinks so highly of Isabella because of her elegance and pretty face.  She was the last she-wolf alive that time.” She smiles. “A rare beauty…the reason why you noticed her in the first place.” The Alpha King washed his hands in his face as he remembers his Isa. Elina continued, “She was from Sacred Pack and you know their protocols and way of life there. They have certain cults for their own ‘Almighty’, anyone who doesn’t follow their set of laws will have to face a brutal consequences. Isabella tried to hide her pregnancy for three months until a warlock arrived at their pack for patrolling, she saw the pup inside Isabella. The warlock envies Isabella’s beauty so she used the chance to turn everyone against Isabella.”

          “Who is the warlock?”

          “My mother,” Elina looks down with shame on her expressions. “She announced Isabella’s pregnancy and when they discovered that she was pregnant without a mate, they treated her like a living sin. They torture her to ‘clean’ her soul, they tried to kill your child by torturing her. When they did not succeed, they summoned her to their ‘Almighty’ to pay for their sins, she begged everyone to spare her life for her child but they did not listen. Eventually, a demon was summoned from their ritual and it went through Isabella, killing her instantly. They left her body in the middle of the woods, believing that their Almighty cleaned her soul. They did not know that they left someone behind, her child.”

          The Alpha King looks at her with panic in his face, “What do you mean? Is my child still alive?”

         “The demon used the child as its host in able to interact with other occults in our present world. It was 29 years ago, I did not see any man in my vision, I’m sorry but I am not certain if the child is still alive or not.”

         “What about the symbols?”

         “This time, I saw the glowing symbols again but it was accompanied by a wolf, a she-wolf rather, the last one in our generation. I managed to discover who it was. She is Imogen Lockwood, from the Purity Pack.”

         “What do the symbols have to do with the story of Isabella?”

         “The glowing symbols are embedded in the chest of the demon.” The Alpha King stands up and pace around the room.

         “That demon is going to kill me right? Like what you saw on your session with the moon?” He stares out the window and stares at the moon with wonder.

         “Yes. But we are not certain; there are scenarios where the moon’s message does not meet the future.” Elina gets up and stands beside the Alpha King, also staring at the moon with curiosity.

         “What do the symbols mean?”

         “It was a name.”

         “What is the name?

         “Diomedes.”

To be continued...

[wordsablaze]

Angel With A Shotgun

They stand together, they stand as one: Dan and Phil. The too-human demon and the too-human angel, a spawn of evil and a spawn of good: A demon soldier and an angel fighter… An angel with a shotgun. A Phan songfic based on the song by The Cab. Enjoy!

I strongly recommend listening to ‘Angel With A Shotgun’ by The Cab while you read this!

Phil smiles sadly.

He takes a deep, deep breath.

Considering what he’s about to do, he doesn’t have many of those left.

He lets his wings spread wide, stretching them as far as they can go and watching the pure white feathers unfold into their magnificent, impressive wingspan.

But only for a moment.

He forces them to fold back into the smallest they’re able to become, tucking them behind his back and making sure they aren’t visible as he wraps a blanket over his shoulders, a plain grey blanket that won’t cause suspicion as he leaves.

He has to hide his wings for tonight.

He practically jumps as someone comes up behind him and taps his shoulder.

It’s PJ.

“Hey, Phil, you alright?” the other angel asks kindly. But then again, their species don’t usually have many options other than ‘kind’.

“Yeah, don’t worry!” Phil grins back, trying to seem as reassuring as he can.

PJ looks almost doubtful as he licks his lips nervously, “Phil…”

“Peej, honestly, it’s all good!” Phil repeats, nodding convincingly.

It’s a good thing he wasn’t like all the other angels and he could lie when he needed to, even if it did cause him some sort of pain. But at least he wasn’t trapped in the truth like everybody else.

PJ looks unconvinced but nods back, “Phil, mate, I trust you. Just… be careful, yeah?”

“Of course,” Phil replies instantly, knowing it’s a lie and feeling the guilt grow inside of him.

“Catch you later, eh?” PJ asks, with a wink.

“Sure, see you then,” Phil answers.

He had no worries about dealing in falsehoods because he doesn’t care what heaven thinks; he has something more important to worry about.

Or rather: someone.

PJ salutes and flies off as Phil once again justifies his actions to himself, flying to the outskirts of heaven and rubbing dust all over his face, allowing the dirt to stain the otherwise unstainable white attire.

It takes him a good five minutes to even put his hand in his pocket and a further five to take out the broken glass shard. Another ten minutes later, he’s still staring at it, unsure if he wants to fake having just found it or not; he knows lying can be countered with the severest of punishments, which is often being sent to hell, just because it shows an alarming amount of humanity.

By all accords, no angel should even be able to touch the glass without painfully burning.

But he was different.

Not an anomalous different, but a regular different.

Many angels weren’t absolutely pure, small pieces of common humanity still inside them. But most of them tried their very best to hide it, suppressing their human traits until they were deemed pure.

Phil frowns at the thought, knowing that he has too much humanity in him to hide it.

Of course, he’d been doing the exact same thing a few months back.

Before he met the demon boy.

The demon boy who has too many angelic qualities for his own good, the soft goodness inside him parallel to the fiery opposite nestled inside Phil’s soul.

The demon boy who showed him what friendship truly means.

The demon boy who taught him to enjoy living, not just surviving.

The demon boy who helped him to find love.

Phil sighs quietly as he slides down the wall, his wings protesting at the way he lets them scrape against the rough bricks, ruffling and damaging the beautiful feathers.

He knows he loves the demon boy, but that isn’t all.

He’s in love with him.

For the first time in his life, Phil Lester is truly in love.

He’s loved and been loved many a time before but there’d always been something missing, something empty, something he now realises is the demon boy.

That’s all it takes to trigger himself into action and then he’s shattering the glass shard as harshly as he can, throwing away each tiny segment so the angels on surveillance can be alerted quicker and he can leave this place sooner.

He shuts his eyes, slipping in his coloured contacts, making sure his face is sufficiently smeared with dirt, and pushing his fringe back up over his head into a quiff so he’s unrecognisable.

Within a minute, a familiar face is glaring at him coldly, a guilt gun pointed straight in his face.

He almost laughs.

A guilt gun is nothing to him now.

Before, it would have been petrifying but now, after having gone to hell on so many separate occasions, it seems frivolous and petty. After all, what’s a weapon that sends you into an endless loop of guiltily conscious compared to the fiery punishment, of having to helplessly watch as your loves ones get hurt, that hell dishes out?

Nonetheless, he pretends to cower, dropping the small remaining piece of glass that remains in his hand and watching the angel guard watch it fall.

The glare of his past brother and instructor is soon joined by three brutal combat soldiers he’d helped rescue once upon a time. He resists his urge to ask about their families and bites his tongue, staying as still as possible.

“Who are you?” the cold tone that used to be a kind older sibling voice booms above him.

He schools his expression into one of fearful defiance, “S- s- screw y- you!”

“You little devil!” Martyn roars and flicks two fingers, sending the two soldiers forward.

He feels their harsh grip on his arms, all of his energy focused on not moving his wings, praying he doesn’t get discovered and simply thrown into a cell; he needs to join the war.

He needs to find the demon boy.

He needs to be with him.

Phil stays limp as they drag him to heaven’s gates, his face twisting into a grimace as the tug of heaven’s centre tries to prevent him from leaving. He curls his fingers into fists, his nails digging into his palm to form small crescent – shaped cuts as he tried to remain unmoving.

Soon enough, they’re banishing him.

They’re chanting the protection wards and making sure he can’t enter ever again.

Not that he wants to.

But there’s something about being thrown out by his own blood that seems cruel, too cruel.

He shakes his head as discreetly as he can, reminding himself that all of this will be worth it.

Giving up his faith in heaven is an easy deal for a lifetime of love with the demon boy.

And anyway, he knows that he’ll seem like he was the perfect angel when all that remains of him is memories. People will forget his bad quirks and remember the better traits, turning him into something he wasn’t. In the end, he won’t harm anyone by leaving.

After all, grief is a bittersweet luxury angels aren’t permitted to experience.

“Go rot in hell, half – breed scum!” one of them growls, shutting him out and slamming the metal gate loud enough for it to ring in his ears.

The pain is instant and without warning.

Phil howls.

He drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

His arms curl around his middle and the tears cascade from his eyes, past his defined cheekbones and down the edge of his nose, dripping down his chin and smashing into the unforgiving ground beneath him.

It’s awful.

He groans as his wings start to throb, a fire of pain starting in his shoulder blades and forcing its burning embers through his blood, in his bones and across his skin.

The flames of agony immolate his heart, his lungs, and his mind.

He can’t breathe.

His insides are burning so badly he can’t think to suck in the oxygen he needs, his hands trembling as he doubled over in pain, his head hitting the pavement as he clamps his eyes shut in attempt to stop the sobs wracking his gaunt frame.

But it doesn’t work.

Black smudges flicker inside his vision even with his eyes firmly closed so he groans, his breathing rate quickening dangerously.

Then his wings burn.

He screams.

His raw, guttural scream of pure anguish reverberates in the air around him.

He screams when the feathers are set ablaze and the bones inside his wings start to crumble, turning to ashes as he whimpers.

He cries out sharply, arching his back and pointlessly twisting on the ground as he tries to rid himself of the pain.

It doesn’t work.

He writhes and squirms until he goes blank.

Empty.

He gasps, gulping in the numb, painless air as lies on his back, his eyes still squeezed shut.

He freezes

He’s lying on his back.

On his back.

Which means…

His wings are gone.

He doesn’t have wings anymore.

Phil wails.

He knew it was one of the consequences but he’s hadn’t prepared for it and he hadn’t expected it to be so brutal, so ruthlessly miserable.

His head in his hands, he stays on the ground outside his old home for much longer than he should, before finally wincing his way into an upright position. As he stands, he wobbles unsteadily, not used to being without his wings to maintain an equilibrium.

Stumbling, he gently pulls out the coloured contact lenses he’s wearing to reveal his stunning blue eyes, not that there’s anyone around to notice them. Nobody can see the green and yellow swirling in his eyes and nobody can see the pain laces in his usually cheerful orbs.

He carries on walking despite the woeful agony that spreads though his veins like smoke.

Spikes of pain shoot up his legs every time he walks and he knows there’ll be bleeding gashes on his shoulder blades in place of his wings.

He doesn’t care.

Phil can’t help the small, smug smile that intermittently flickers on his face as realises he’s done it.

He’s actually done it: He’s lied to heaven and left his home. Well, he’s left what he thought was his home.

He knows now that his home is not a building, but a person.

His home is one person, the demon boy who stole the stars for him. The same boy who felt as if he was worthless and the same boy who’s constant scowl transforms into an unstoppable smile every time they meet one another.

He knows that the demon boy is the only home he ever needs in his life.

So he walks on until he gets to the outcast territory, his pace slowing more and more as he gets closer.

He knows they know he’s here and he knows they’ll be watching him suspiciously so he just carries on walking as best as he can.

He groans as his eyesight becomes blurry and the colours around him smudge into a senseless mess.

Still, he walks on.

He doesn’t notice as he slows down to an almost halt; he doesn’t notice as he wobbles dangerously and sways side to side; and he definitely doesn’t notice his gaunt knees buckling and his trembling body hitting the sandy yellow ground as his eyes roll backwards and he falls into unconsciousness with a whimper.

But the outlanders notice.

Those who were too human to be angels or demons; the ones who settled as human.

He doesn’t feel them gently lift him up, almost dropping him as a half-sob escapes his lips; he doesn’t feel them carefully lay him down so they can check him for injuries; and he doesn’t know that they find the wings’ wounds that give away his previous position as an angel.

The outlanders don’t mind.

He’s one of them now.

They take him back to their huts and let him rest, giving him herbal medicines to bring down his fever and ease the pain.

When he wakes, he does so with a sob, curling up as pain trickles into his mind.

He gasps, automatically trying to envelop himself in his wings but only wrapping his arms around his knees as he remembers he’s lost them.

“Who are you?” one of the outlanders asks quietly.

He takes a breath and uses the back of his hand to brush away the tears on his face.

“Phil,” he replies softly, coughing.

“You were an angel?” they ask but somehow, it seems more like a statement than an inquiry.

“Not quite,” Phil tells him, “I’m too human.”

The outlanders who’d walked in all look skeptical so he takes a deep breath.

“I was one of the many impure angels and I was okay with that, until I realised I have something worth being human for,” he explains.

The girl, who’d previously looked doubtful, smiles at him, “Something? Or someone?”

“The latter,” Phil confirms.

“And you’re okay to fighting with us?”

“Of course,” Phil says, a fire in his eyes that the outlanders all gasp at, before pausing, “But I need to say one thing.”

“What?”

“I might be fighting with you but I can’t fight for you,” Phil states calmly, the fire still blazing in his eyes nonetheless.

“As long as you know what you’re fighting for…” the girl smiles.

“Oh, I do.”

Phil shakily stands and they grin, nodding at him as if it’s a common occurrence here.

He supposes that it may well be.

They lead him to the weapons room, where all the soldiers come to re-stock their supply or grab a new weapon if theirs gets destroyed.

Glancing over his choice, he takes a shotgun and slings it over his shoulder, a smile playing at his lips.

He follows the group heading into the battlefield, staying a few steps behind so he can watch out for a certain demon boy.

Avoiding any actual killing, he wounds angels and demons alike, watching them fall and burn.

All the while searching.

Searching for a mop of curly brown hair and the warm, chocolate eyes he’s missed looking into every night.

Someone throws what he recognises to be a grenade and is about to run for cover when he spots the one he’s been looking for: the demon boy.

Instead of fleeing, he runs towards the roaring flames, shouting a name as he goes.

“Dan!”

The demon boy freezes, shoots a few angels as they try to attack him, then returns to his state of shock, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.

Phil doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the other boy, pulling him as close as possible.

Dan sighs.

He returns Phil’s hug just as tightly, wanting to eliminate the space between them until they’re one unit again, the same soul in two bodies.

And, amidst the soot, flames and bullets, they feel their hearts connect.

The soldiers around them forgotten, they are all that matter in the world.

They are the start and the end, two bright hearts belonging to the same infinity.

“Phil…” Dan breathes softly as they pull apart, their fingers still intertwined.

“You’ve put on your war paint…” Phil grins cheekily as he strokes the ashes on Dan’s cheeks.

“Now is not the time for a Fall Out Boy reference!” Dan rolls his eyes but emits a soft chuckle anyway.

“Dan, I love you,” Phil whispers.

“I love you too, Phil.” Dan smiles.

Just like that, the war doesn’t matter.

Days later, when they’ve recovered and the battles have come to a standstill, they’ll have time to talk. They’ll have time for Dan to protest against Phil losing his wings for him; they’ll have time for Phil to argue that he was and always will be worth it. They’ll have time…

But for now, they stand in the middle of a war.

They stand together.

And they stand as one.

Dan and Phil.

The too-human demon and the too-human angel.

A spawn of evil and a spawn of good.

A demon soldier and an angel fighter…

An angel with a shotgun.

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