#you are an angel and a blessing a treasure to this world | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshigray · 1 month

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hmmmm, chosuki both "marking their territory" after one of reader's friends gets a little too touchy?

Love your work <3333333

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: when i tell you i was grinning once i saw this in my inbox, lol, finally chosuki yessss!! ty for loving my stuff ☆

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso + Yuki x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - threesome - oral (m! + f! receiving) - fingering (f! receiving) - anal (f! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - cowgirl 69 + missionary positions - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - biting/marking - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, honey, sweetie, sweet pea) - mild possessive behavior.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

“Damn, Y/n, you’re so lucky to have such eye-catchers fawning over you!”

“Pfffthaha, oh, stop it! You’re drunk; stop swinging around!”

There’s one thing in this world that both Yuki and Choso don’t play about — you.

You are the sweetest and most prized treasure they cherish with their very hands. Being in a poly relationship tends to be a hard thing to manage for Yuki and Choso. The two lovers were never in luck to find the right person who didn’t match their vibe or wanted to change the dynamic they were going for. But with every dark tunnel, there’s a light on the other side. And thanks to the blonde and dark brunette’s stars, you were their saving grace.

God, they adored you very much — the best partner they could ever have. The way you’d wake up to them and give them a kiss with a soft ‘good morning,’ how you make lunch for Choso before he goes on his way to work, or texting sweet messages to Yuki to check how she’s doing or telling her about this new place that opened around the area for all three of you to explore. Blind by your smile and caring charm, Yuki and Choso live in eternal bliss and happiness, knowing you have blessed them with your presence to return home to.

Their love for you is mutual and genuine, authentic in that they wish to spend their days — no, their entire lives! — being with you. They see you as their muse, as theirs. So, it’s predictable that they’d be secretly jealous when they’d have to share their piece of heaven with others.

Especially now when all three of you had been dragged by some of your old college buddies for a night out at the pub. Figuring this would be a perfect opportunity to introduce your friends to your lovers, Yuki and Choso were invited over to enjoy the merits of this occasion. What the two partners hadn’t expected was how close you all were — albeit a little too close for their liking.

You all sat at one big round booth table, Yuki and Choso being separated from you as your friends wanted to have you by them for just the night. Again, it made the two lovers feel uneasy. Even when a girl friend grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers enthusiastically, the blonde can’t fight the twitch of her ruby eyes. The friend goes on to say, “Nah, are you kidding? I think those two are the ones who are lucky to have Y/n! They’re such an angel; anyone would feel like they’ve won a million dollars if they got with someone like them.”

Then, a guy who was visibly buzzed joined the praise fest. “You’re so right! I’d do backflips every day if I scored someone so gracious and sweet as Y/n,” the drunk man brings a hand on your shoulder and nestles his cheek to your shoulder. Choso attempts to keep a neutral expression, but caramel eyes carry a tiny hostile aura. “I’d make sure to love on them every single day, kiss their feet when they walk, wash their hair when they ask—“

“Okay, lover boy,” you stop him before your drunken friend digs his foolish grave even further, and it’s hard to hide your giggles. “I think that’s enough Crowne and tequila for one night.”

You and your friends laugh and continue to strike up a conversation to catch up on material. However, you’re so engrossed in the others’ talk that you can’t sense the tension that’s brewing from the other side where your lovers sit. The two survey the scene with silent eyes, with Choso hitting his leg to stop the bounce of his knee and Yuki tapping her fingernails on the table surface.

All they could do was watch you, their treasured partner, share your attention with those who cherish you. Although, internally, they wanted you all to themselves. Yes, it was selfish; however, you can’t blame your lovers for being a little protective of you. Specifically when it seems your friends don’t appear to respect your boundaries when in their company.

So for that, it’s no surprise they instantly pull you into the bedroom once you three return home. Hungry kisses are exchanged between three pairs of lips, lustful hands stripping you of your clothes and throwing you onto the bed, where they meet in seconds to feast upon you.

“Hahhh, fuck…Hmmm, yeah, lick right there, honey.”

“Mmmm…Mmahh!! Choso, your tongue—Ohh! Feels so good…”

The brunette man is lying down on his back with you straddling above him, his face and mouth buried into our folds, licking around your labia and sucking your essence that seeps out from the pleasurable motions. His hands knead the flesh of your inner thighs as you hum along to the touch. Simultaneously, you use your tongue and mouth to give pleasure to Yuki’s slit, the blonde releasing shaky moans as she rides on Choso’s length with her ass.

The tall woman peers down to watch you orally please her. She strokes your head with a pleasant hand and sends praises. “There you go, cutie,” she bites her lip. “Lick it real good.”

Her commands egg you on to keep going, using the motion of her hips to your advantage to predict how far in you can keep lapping her chasm. Your hands crawl to her waist to massage, using the leverage to keep your lips on her at all times. And to your effort, she is sighing happily at the gratification you give her. It has her rock her hips ever harder, taking in Choso’s long shaft with hunger.

The man below you grunts at the motion, stuffing his face more into your cunt to suck harshly. And you can’t help but jolt, muffled squeals vibrating to Yuki’s core — and she relishes the feeling.

“Look at you, baby,” Choso slowly licks your chasm, sending shivers up to your shoulders. “You’re all wet and ready for us, huh? So good for us,” He kisses your clit and places lazy licks, and you fight to lose your balance.

“Hmmm, yeah, so good for us…Although—mmahh,” Yuki throws her head back at Choso’s dick scraping her insides at the right places. “Can’t say you were good when we were…Hohhh..at the pub.” You bat your eyes towards her in confusion, yet your tongue and lips remain busy. “Letting those people touch you in front of us; what were you thinking?”

You remove your mouth from Yuki to explain, her slick connected to your bottom lip. But before you could utter a word, your body jerked to the sharp instance of pain on your inner thigh. Choso had bit you, licking the place his teeth sank in before throwing in another nibble. You shriek, turning to plead to the man to be easy; however, the woman grabs your head and brings it back to where it’s supposed to be. “Don’t forget about me, sweet pea,” she chuckles at your feverish laps on her wet folds. “Give me my attention…”

She moans to your work, satisfying her with the flick of your tongue on her delicate clit. She rocks her hips even faster, prompting Choso to groan and buck his pelvis to her puckered hole, and his mouth remains glued to your chasm. He then sneaks a finger to toy around your asshole, and a sharp gasp erupts from your figure when he inserts the digit inside.

“—Khhaaa, oooohmy fuckin’—Gaaahh!” Flicks to your clitoris tag along with the push of his finger inside your ass, playing with the texture by scraping the walls. And when his tongue goes inside your vagina, you clamp onto him with vigor. Fuck, I’m so close…! “Yukiiii, pleaseee, can I cumm?”

“Aww, why should I let you,” her sweet tone distracted you from the sneaking bit of the man’s teeth on your thigh once more. “Do you deserve to cum? After letting other people touch you like you forgot you had your lovers present?”

“Hahhhnn, I’m sorry; I—shit… didn’t mean to upset you both…Ooof!” Choso switches his finger with his thumb, pushing it to and fro inside your tight entrance. Your eyes screw shut, “Please forgive me, you two are the only ones I love…”

“You swear on that, honey?” A glint shines in her magenta orbs.

You nod hurriedly before placing kisses on Yuki’s thighs and trailing them back to her vagina, “Yessss, I love you both so much, no one knows how to love me as you do…” Your hips sway involuntarily — not a problem for Choso, who sticks to you no matter what. “Mmmm, only you two know my mind and body, and I wouldn’t want it any other way…”

Blonde brows eyebrows screw together; fuck, you knew what to say to make Yuki fall for you all over again. Her cunt clenching on nothing but the love your words carry. Jesus, you were too much. Without a word, she gently withdraws your body from her body so she can lift her body off of Choso. She then flips you over; now you’re the one lying on your back, with the tall woman stationed behind to snake her hands to your breasts.

Choso’s pigtails have long been drawn down for his hair to fall to his nape, and strands of his walnut-colored hair stick to his forehead. Maneuvering to his knees, he examines your anticipated expression, shaky wails coming out your puffy lips as Yuki places soft kisses on your neck. She also places bites wherever her mouth can reach, her hands busy cupping your mounds, groping the mounds, and tweezing your nipples. With how hard she was sucking your skin, you’re sure there’d be hickeys when you wake up in the morning. The man strokes his dick at the sight before him, inching closer to be between your legs.

“Choso…” The way you said his name made him feel warm; the mark across his nose exuded streaks of his blood that threatened to fall. His ears and shoulders get pinker, and your breath hitches when he slaps the tip onto your saliva-coated slit.

“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He says it low to your ear, and you chew on your lip when he licks your lobe. His mouth travels down, leaving harsh sucks on your neck and clavicle along with Yuki. Two mouths on your body have you whimpering like a fool, so sensitive to their touch that you could wither away. “Hmm? Who loves you most, sweetie?” He comes down to your chest that’s occupied by Yuki’s worshipping hands, popping a nipple into his mouth to suck with care.

“Hahhh, you, Choso, my darling…” you sigh into the sense of his mouth licking diligently around your bud. Your face turns in Yuki’s direction, smiling at the golden-haired woman before claiming her lips. “And Yuki, my love…”

The two of you kiss slowly yet maintain the same passion you have for each other, noses brushing against each other and tongues swirling before smacking lips together. The brunette lifts his head from your chest, straightening his posture to insert his cockhead inside your vagina. You mewl into Yuki at the insertion, and it doesn’t stop as the woman slithers a hand to your clit to swipe. You break the kiss in a huff, making the blonde snicker.

“Mmmph…Jesus Christ,” Choso trembles at the warm snug of your cunt as it accepts his length, pushing in for every inch of him to be swallowed in. When his base meets your southern lips, you hiss at how full you feel from his size. “You know how much we love you, right, baby?”

You nod to him, Yuki placing another hickey-worth kiss on your shoulder. “Your love makes me full, honey…Ohooo…!”

“And don’t forget that…” Choso snaps his hips, drilling his long dick into you and making precise hits to the walls of your chasm. You squeak beneath him, the tip of his cock poking your sweet spots with ease, and you’re gripping the sheets to keep you steady along with Yuki’s hold on you.

The blonde woman flickers her ruby eyes to Choso and beams, “You know you’re hot as hell when you’re all possessive, right?”

“Shut up,” he shushes her with a kiss, humming to her lips that reciprocate his feelings as lovers. The only noise that fills the room is your whines and wails from the hands fondling your body and the shaft plunging so far inside you that you can’t contain the ecstatic screams originating from your inner being. Good God, this felt so fucking good; being wanted and loved by these two is a sensation incomparable to anything. You want to drown in it, be immersed within it, have your senses be robbed of their very being until you fall deep into sleep in their embrace. This feels so worth it, so satisfying…

…Until you look at yourself in the mirror and find so many fucking hickeys all over your body, all the way from your neck to the grave of your thighs. This was not a sight to see after waking up, especially on the morning your friends from last night invited you over for brunch.

Needless to say, you pulled your lovers aside and gave them an earful. The two nodded to your words, saying “Sorry…” throughout your rant as you tried to find an adequate outfit to conceal their markings, feeling a little bad that they got carried away with you last night.

All is good, in any case. Because now they know that you are theirs both in mind and body.

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

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fragileheartbeats · 5 months

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໒꒱ ⌒ ｡ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐄 ★ · ⟆ ﹏！

⠀ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ﹙🪽﹚ 夢のような放心状態 ୨ৎ . . .

ㅤ ♡ᰍㅤ۪ㅤartist : ﹫kyokawa_22 on Twitterㅤ۫ㅤ𔓘ㅤ꒱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝐽 𝐽 𝐾 𝑀 𝑒 𝑛 𝑥 𝐹 𝑒 𝑚 𝑅 𝑒 𝑎 𝑑 𝑒 𝑟 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ♡ㅤ𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶ㅤ۫ㅤ𝅄ㅤೀ

— 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶, 𝘔𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘪, 𝘠𝘶𝘫𝘪, 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰, 𝘚𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶, 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪, 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘰, 𝘠𝘶𝘵𝘢, 𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦 <3

˚꒰🌼꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 | 五条悟 ─ 𓇼 . ♡𝆬

The sun sets low on the horizon, As he looks at his lover with love, His heart beating with a passionate rhythm, As he watches the gentle curves of her face.

With each passing moment, his love grows, Filling him with a warmth he cannot deny, He longs to hold her close, never letting go, For she is the missing piece to his puzzle.

Her eyes, like pools of deep e/c, Captivate him and hold his gaze, He cannot look away, for fear of losing, The one thing that brings him happiness.

The soft breeze carries her laughter, And it soothes his weary soul, For in her presence, he feels whole, And all his troubles are forgotten.

He remembers the first time they met, And how her smile lit up his world, He knew from that moment on, That she was the one he had been searching for.

The way her hair falls around her face, Glistening in the fading light, It takes his breath away, And he counts his blessings for having her in his life.

He reaches out to touch her, But she is just an illusion in his mind, For she is gone, never to return, And his heart breaks all over again.

Tears fall silently down his cheeks, As he watches her fade into the night, He knows he can never truly have her, But still, he holds on to their memories tight.

For even though she is not physically there, She will always hold a special place in his heart, And the love that he feels for her, Will never truly die, even when they are apart.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 | 伏黒恵 ─ 𔒌 . ♡𝆬

He stands there in awe, watching her every move, Mesmerized by her beauty, so graceful and smooth. His lover, his confidant, his greatest treasure, His heart beats faster, his love knows no measure. Her eyes, like stars, shining so bright, Her smile, like sunshine, chasing away the night. He can't help but smile, feeling so blessed, To have her in his life, his love always confessed. She looks at him with those eyes, full of love, And he can't believe it's real, like a gift from above. His heart swells with emotions, too great to contain, He knows in that moment, nothing can ever cause him pain. He takes her hand, and pulls her close, Feeling her warmth, he's loves overdose. Her touch, her scent, fills his soul, He knows in her arms, he's finally whole. He whispers sweet words, words of love, And she listens, like an angel from above. Her voice, like music, soothes his soul, Making him feel complete, making him feel whole. He kisses her lips, so soft and sweet, Their love so pure, their love so deep. He never wants to let her go, For she's the one who makes his heart glow. As they dance under the stars, in each other's embrace, He knows in her arms, is his favorite place. His love for her, limitless and true, For she's his everything, his lover, his muse. And as the night comes to an end, He looks at her with love, his best friend. He knows in his heart, this love will never fade, For she's his everything, his lover, his soulmate.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 | 虎杖悠仁 ─ 𓐐𓎩 . ♡𝆬

He sat there, gazing at her with pure adoration, His heart overflowing with love, no hesitation. Watching her every move, his eyes never stray, For her beauty captivates him in every single way. From the way her hair falls, to the curve of her smile, He could watch her for hours, never tiring, not even for a while. Her eyes, a sea of emotion, shining bright, Reflecting the depth of their love, with each and every light. As she moves gracefully, like a ballerina in a dream, He's lost in the moment, nothing else in his mind seems. Her laughter, like music, a symphony in his ears, Bringing him joy and happiness, beyond his wildest fears. With every breath she takes, his heart beats a little faster, Her presence, a blessing, filling his life with laughter. Her touch, like magic, igniting a fire within, A love so pure, it feels almost like a sin. He can't imagine a life without her by his side, For she's his everything, his heart, his soul, his pride. As she looks at him with those eyes, so filled with trust, He knows in that moment, their love is more than just. He reaches for her hand, intertwining their fingers, Feeling a sense of completeness, as his heart lingers. Their love, a bond that surpasses all boundaries, A love that will withstand any life's uncertainties. In this world full of chaos, she's his sense of calm, She's his light in the dark, his healing balm. Every day, he thanks the stars above, For blessing him with a love so pure, and a lover to love.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 | 宿儺 ─ 𓇢𓆸 . ♡𝆬

The room is dim and cold, But his gaze burns like fire. Staring at her with love untold, His heart filled with desire. Though his nature is cruel, Her beauty softens his heart. And in her eyes, he sees a jewel, A priceless piece of art. He knows his faults, But she sees past them all. In her arms, he halts, As she breaks down his wall. He never thought he'd feel, Anything but rage and hate. But with her, it's all so real, A love that he can't negate. His touch is rough and harsh, But his heart beats for her. Though his words often pierce and lash, Her love remains pure. He was once a cold-hearted man, But she thawed his icy soul. With her, he feels alive again, No longer in control. He knows he doesn't deserve her, But she stands by his side. In her love, he finds shelter, A place where he can hide. He may be cruel to others, But with her, he is kind. In her arms, he discovers, A love he never thought he'd find. And so he stands, looking at her, With love in his cruel eyes. For she is the only one, his lover, Who sees through his disguise.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 | 七海建人 ─ ☘︎ . ♡𝆬

With eyes as deep as oceans, He gazes upon his love, Heart bursting with pure emotion, And the stars shine from above. Her beauty is unmatched, In his eyes she's perfection, Every moment spent with her, Is like a sweet addiction. Her laughter, like music, Fills his soul with pure delight, Casting away any darkness, With its warm and gentle light. He can't help but smile, As she looks back at him, For in her loving gaze, He sees his entire world within. Her touch is like magic, Sending shivers down his spine, He never wants to let go, For she is his greatest find. He longs to hold her close, And feel her heartbeat against his, Whispering words of love, In each and every kiss. They've been through it all, The highs and the lows, But together they've conquered, All their fears and woes. He knows he's found his soulmate, In this woman he holds dear, And he thanks the heavens, For bringing her near. With love that knows no limits, He'll stand by her side, Through every storm and struggle, Their love will forever abide. So as he looks upon her, With all the love in his heart, He knows that she's his forever, And they'll never be apart.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 | 夏油傑 ─ 𓆉 . ♡𝆬

As the rain poured down on the deserted streets, A man stood alone, with a heart full of deceit. His eyes locked on his lover, standing near, But the love he felt, came with a sneer. For this man was cruel, and heartless too, No one knew the darkness, that he kept in lieu. But as he stared at his lover, so pure and true, His heart ached with a love, he couldn't undo. He longed to hold her, to kiss her sweet lips, But his anger and hatred, were his only grips. He wanted to tell her, how much he cared, But his twisted nature, left his love ensnared. A tear fell from his eye, as he watched her smile, For she was the only one, who could break his vile. He wanted to tell her, how sorry he was, But his pride and ego, were his biggest cause. The way she looked at him, with eyes full of adoration, Made him wonder, if he was worthy of her affection. For she showed him a love, he never knew, A love that was pure, and so true. But he, was scared to show, The love he felt, the softness that glowed. So he stood there, with a heart full of love, But his actions and words, were far from enough. He knew he didn't deserve, the love she gave, But he couldn't let her go, he was her willing slave. His cruelty and anger, were his only shield, But deep down inside, his love was unconcealed. As the rain continued to pour, the man couldn't move, For he was overwhelmed, by the love he couldn't prove. So he just stood there, with a heart full of pain, Hoping one day, his love would not be in vain.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 | 伏黒甚爾 ─ 𓆤 . ♡𝆬

He stood across the room, His heart heavy with despair, In his arms, he held his lover, With pain, written all over her. He looked at her with love, A love that was once vibrant, But now shattered and broken, Like a mirror never to be mended. He remembered the days, When she was his ray of light, Her smile could light up his world, But now, she had lost her spark. He longed for the days, When they were happy and whole, But now, they were just fragments, Of a beautiful love they used to know. He wanted to hold her, to mend her, To make her whole again, But he knew deep down, That their love was beyond repair. He couldn't help but feel guilty, For not being able to save her, He had promised to always protect her, But he had failed to keep his word. Tears streamed down his face, As he gazed at her broken form, He knew he had to let her go, For her own good, he had to be strong. He kissed her forehead gently, Whispering words of love and goodbye, For though their love was broken, His love for her would never die. He took one last look at her, His heart heavy and shattered, But he knew he had to move on, For their love story had now ended. He walked away with a heavy heart, Leaving behind the woman he loved, But he knew in his heart, That she would always be his one true love.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 | 脹相 ─ 𖤣𖥧 . ♡𝆬

His love for her runs deep, A feeling he cannot keep. As he gazes into her eyes, The world around him dies. In this moment, all he sees, Is the beauty and grace of she. A masterpiece in every way, His heart in her hands, she'll sway. His love for her, pure and true, Infinite, like the ocean blue. With every breath, he feels, A love that forever reels. Her touch, a blissful fire, His heart, a captive wire. Her smile, a beacon of light, Guiding him through the darkest night. He could search the whole world over, But would never find another, A lover with a heart so kind, A soul that forever intertwined. In her arms, he finds solace, His heart in her love, he'll place. For her, he would cross any sea, Just to prove his love's honesty. With every glance, he's reminded, Of the love they have unbounded. In this moment, he knows, She's his forever, wherever they go. So he looks at her with love, A love that fits like a glove. And in her eyes, he sees, A love that's meant to be.

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐔 | 乙骨憂太 ─ ✉ . ♡𝆬

In the stillness of the night, As the stars danced in the sky, He gazed upon his lover, With love shining in his eyes.

She lay peacefully beside him, Her hair spread out like a fan, He couldn't help but marvel, At the perfection of this woman.

His heart swelled with love, For this angel in his arms, She was his everything, His light, his shelter from harm.

He traced her delicate features, Her smooth skin against his hand, And in that moment, He knew he was the luckiest man.

For she was more than just a lover, She was his best friend, Together they had overcome, Life's trials, they had no end.

With her, he was whole, She completed his soul, And in her, he found, A love that made him whole.

He pressed a gentle kiss, On her forehead so soft, And whispered words of love, In a voice so sweet and loft.

She stirred in her sleep, And held him tight, In that moment, he knew, She was his forever, his light.

For love is not just words, But actions, feelings too, And as he looked at her, He knew his love was true.

So he held her close, And watched her slumber, For in her peaceful state, He found his heart's number.

And as the night gave way, To the dawn's first light, He whispered one last time, 'I love you, my beautiful sight.'

ㅤㅤ ꣸ ﹒𝆋 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 | 狗巻棘 ─ ♬ . ♡𝆬

His heart beats fast, he cannot hide, The love he feels for his sweet love. With every glance, his heart takes flight, For she is his everything, his shining light. Her eyes, like stars, sparkle and shine, Such beauty, he can't believe she's his. The way she smiles, it melts his core, He knows he couldn't ask for more. As he gazes at her, lost in thought, He can't help but feel so deeply caught. In the web of love, she's spun around him, His heart so full, it feels like it could burst at the brim. His fingers trace her soft, delicate face, And he thanks his lucky stars for her embrace. For in her love, he's found his home, No longer lost, no longer alone. With every breath, he takes her in, For she is his salvation, his everlasting sin. He is consumed by her, body and soul, Her love has made him whole. He could stare at her for eternity, His love for her, a never-ending symphony. Nothing could ever measure up, To the love he feels, overflowing like a cup. With every beat of his heart, he knows it's true, He's found his forever in her, his love anew. So he continues to gaze, lost in her eyes, For she's his one true love, his forever paradise.

MASTERLIST

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

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tarotwithavi · 6 months

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Messages from the universe

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

Masterlist

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Pile 1

Get ready for the amazing times that are about to roll in! Clear out any mental roadblocks both in the whimsical realm and the regular human world because there's an abundance coming your way, and guess what? There's plenty for everyone. It's like a big party, and you're invited! Believe it or not, magic is real, but it won't show up unless you're a believer. Magic is everywhere, especially in nature. you're a part of nature, so that makes you magical too. Embrace it! Your dreams are like precious gems. Keep them snug in your heart until you're ready to let them loose. Some might try to rain on your parade, and we don't want that. I'm like your cosmic genie, ready to grant your every wish just give me the word! Oh, and by the way, I drop hints in your dreams, so keep an ear out for my cosmic whispers. we're talking abundance and prosperity knocking on your door. Plus, get ready to meet your divine masculine! I won't spill the deets because, hey, surprises are the best.

Pile 2

Take a moment to reflect on where you are right now – living the life you once only dreamed of. Embrace the solitude as a chance to be in perfect harmony with everything around you. The greatest treasures often reveal themselves in the quiet moments. Your dreams are not far-fetched; they're grounded in reality. It's time to translate those aspirations into actions. If there's something on your mind, seize the moment and dive into it. Don't overthink; just do it. Sometimes, what you've been neglecting is about to unfold, and it's a hidden blessing. Revealing what's been concealed can bring a sense of liberation. Remember, you're a pure soul. Trust in the innate purity of your heart. Dive deep within, and you'll discover the answers to your lingering questions. Have you ever been told you possess wisdom beyond your years? Now is the perfect moment to tap into that inner wisdom to navigate through the challenges that come your way. Trust yourself—you've got this.

Pile 3

Alright, as you step into this fresh chapter of your life, it's crucial to find that sweet spot between your emotional and logical sides. Let those emotions flow, but also let reason guide you. Now, about those anger issues – time to put them on a leash. This new phase calls for a more composed and collected version of yourself. Picture this as a rebirth – leaving the old you in the rearview mirror. It's a shedding of the unnecessary, starting with those folks who aren't adding value to your journey anymore. Cut ties where needed. And those old habits? Yeah, give them the boot. They've overstayed their welcome. Excitingly enough, your spark is making a comeback. Life is about to get a splash of passion, and you'll feel alive like never before. Things that were lost in the shuffle are about to resurface. It's like a treasure hunt, and sometimes, people come into our lives like treasure hunters, helping us rediscover things we didn't even know were missing. Embrace this upcoming rediscovery – it's about to get interesting!

#tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #free readings #free tarot #tarot #pick a pile #tarotblr #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card tarot #tarotwithavi #tarot witch #tarot blog #tarotcommunity #full moon #tarot messages #tarot magic #tarot readings

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stariikis · 4 months

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𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐲.𝐣𝐰

synopsis ; as a trainee under Jungwon's company, rumours have already started to fly about the two of you in a committed relationship. However, the speculations they create are neither wrong nor right, and when it all seems like too much, Jungwon's your only respite.

pairing ; idol!jungwon x trainee!reader genre ; fluff, situationship, oneshot wc ; 1015

inspired by ; call it what you want - taylor swift

Yang y/n. You can hear the low whispers trailing behind your back everywhere you go. Every step you take, every move you make. Hands stuffed deep in the pockets of your baggy jeans, a stuffy mask covering half your face. Jungwon’s one and only.

You would never have minded being caught up in this type of situation with Jungwon, if it didn’t come at the expense of your deeply treasured privacy. If it didn’t mean you would spend your day treading over fragile eggshells, just so the rumours don’t fly again. So that Jungwon wouldn’t have to defend your name to the public every time a camera turns his way.

As a child, you loved the flash of a camera on you, you loved the attention. Adorned in Disney princess dresses and waving around a fairy wand with a flourish, you were the perfect model for your parents’ DIY agency. However, now, as one of HYBE’s most valued and talented trainees, you can’t help but start to despise your excessive exposure to public view.

Not to mention, when you’re caught up in a dating scandal with Belift:Lab’s Yang Jungwon, which isn’t even entirely a lie.

The sleek black cap has to be pulled further down your face in order for you to feel even a twinge of peace. Speeding up your footsteps towards the company building, you wonder how life would be if you had just accepted Jungwon straight away, like you had multiple times before in your brain’s most romantic fantasies.

What if you had accepted him? What if you had rejected him? What if you hadn’t allowed this confusion to slip into something so complicated that even the two of you can’t tell the truth from a lie.

Every day, without fail, you show Jungwon all the newest online articles, and in return he screenshots speculatory posts about the two of you and sends them to you. In a matter of a few years, your innocent camera roll went from cute selcas of yourself, to Twitter posts, ship edits, and paparazzi pictures you wish were edited.

“She must be waiting here for Jungwon!”

Hundreds of passers-by crowd around you, but their words and their faces are all a hazy blur to you. Standing still in front of the revolving pair of entrance doors, the only face you want to see is Jungwon’s.

And as if on cue, like an angel’s blessing has been bestowed upon you, there’s a tight grip on your arm in the middle of the fog. Jungwon’s faint baby scent fills your senses, a big, warm, bear hug in of itself. He lifts the cap off your head, a look of such affection and pain swamping the depths of his hazel eyes.

When did you start shaking?

Head tilted to the side, he bends down to whisper in your ear, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to block out the loud chorus of gasps.

“You’re shaking.”

“Great job, genius. Didn’t notice,” you snap back almost instantly, careful to keep the sharp words a hint under your breath. The public etiquette classes you’ve recently started attending are doing a world of wonders for you.

”Ah,” Jungwon hums cheerfully, his arm coming to sling around your shoulder. “You’re grumpy. Sounds like you need a scoop of ice cream.”

“So suddenly?” You roll your eyes disdainfully, but quicken the pace as he starts walking down the sidewalk. The sea of fans, half screaming at the chance to see Jungwon, half shoving their phones in your faces, part like they’ve been called to do so. You should probably get used to the celebrity life, but every time this happens, a red flush of embarrassment never fails to drown out the paleness of your face.

Jungwon shoots you an encouraging, charming smile, hiding his uneasiness very well. “I was kind of kidding, but let’s get out of here, because I have something for you.”

Curiosity strikes you. “Something for me?” Your mind runs wild with the varying possibilities of cute gifts Jungwon would come up with. Because Yang Jungwon is totally the type to buy “Just because” flowers; definitely someone who’d dedicate a crocheted stuffed animal to his beloved.

Then again, you’re not his beloved, and you’re not his friend. You’re mostly stuck in between the two. While you have your reasons, sometimes you question your decisions that led up to this kind of rocky relationship.

A rocky relationship that Jungwon still somehow manages to make right.

You round a corner, and he pulls you close in the secluded alleyway. With the tantalising aroma of freshly baked buns wafting in the air, you wonder if Jungwon’s taking you out on a ‘date’ that might not really be a ‘date’ but you’d still like to consider it a ‘date’.

But he doesn’t budge from the spot you two stand awkwardly in. You look up at him, bemused, and he just pulls something out of his pocket. Your favourite shade of turquoise, complemented with black and white and beaded up into a bracelet. In the centre, marks Jungwon’s initials. YJW, in his very own handwriting, engraved into the circular polished beads.

“This is for you.” Jungwon murmurs, fitting it around your wrist without even bothering to wait for a response. He must know you already treasure this bracelet like it’s your lifeline. However, this is so weird. Are you supposed to walk around with the initials of a guy that doesn’t even belong to you displayed for everyone to see?

By the look in his eyes, Jungwon seems to think that’s completely normal. And so, you calm your racing heart. If it’s normal to Jungwon, it’s normal in your books as well.

Lightening the atmosphere, you look deep into his eyes and joke, “Shouldn’t I be wearing my own initials around?”

“Well, at least one matches up. Y. Yang. It’s like we’re married.”

And he leaves you blinking rapidly in utter confusion, laughing and slipping back onto the sidewalk. You can only stare at your wrist, vowing never to take it off. Ever.

thank you for reading ~

i'll take this time to promote my chaptered nishimura riki fic, you in the rain. if you're a fan of wifty or taylor, be sure to check it out! hehe

more of my works >>

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storiesoflilies · 3 months

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Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N - What is it with these Zenin boys, huh? They’re just too beautiful hehe. All the big players are finally making their appearances, enjoy!! Ko-Fi.

Next part - interlude (ii)

-•-

Chapter 6

The twins had fussed over her far too long, and it was starting to make Y/N jittery.

“Nanako, you’ve styled her hair too flashy!” Mimiko exclaimed, giving her sister a pointed look.

Nanako dismissed her with a wave of her hand, engrossed in meticulously placing sparkling diamond clips in her hair. “Y/N is practically our queen,” she retorted. “We need to dress her properly!”

“Girls, let’s not fight,” Y/N interjected softly but firmly. “You’ve dressed me perfectly. Thank you.”

On the other hand, it was a blessing that the twins took charge of dressing her, as Y/N doubted her ability to chose something suitable herself. Nothing she could have come up with would have been appropriate for such an occasion – a gathering among the Kings of Hell; convened to strategize and pool resources for the war against Heaven. So far, it seems she would have been underdressed if left to her own devices, as the twins – Nanako – adorned her with even more of Geto’s diamonds. Y/N understood the necessity of this opulence, as did the twins. She and Geto were two pillars of strength, preserving and upholding their dignity with their own hands, against others who would surely seek to bury them in filth and squalor.

Of course, the prospect of seeing Toji again would only have added to her indecisiveness.

Several weeks had passed since her and Miguel’s bloody execution of justice against the traitors, and Y/N had hoped Toji would have paid her another secret visit to her balcony, wanting more than just fleeting whispers of him through their bond. Yet, he had remained almost silent, and her patience had dwindled like a fire burning its last embers. What was the point of a soulmate who never bothered to see her? While the rational part of her understood his need for distance, to protect their bond and keep her safe, another part of her just didn’t care. If anybody dared to come for either of them, then let them cast their own dice in the gamble of death.

The twins nodded and stepped back, allowing Y/N the space to stand and walk over to admire herself in the long mirror. They had chosen an elegant black silk kimono, its fabric elegantly draping over her body. Diamonds decorated her wrists, hair, and neck like stars in the midnight sky of Heaven. She felt luxurious, unable to resist indulging in a moment of vanity, as she savored her almost holy reflection.

“This is perfect,” she complimented, and they both beamed. “Would you girls mind seeing us off?”

They nodded eagerly and trailed behind her as she made her way from the bedroom to the throne room. Gone were the days when Y/N would get lost like a child in her brother’s palace; every corridor, doorway, and secret passageways was committed to memory, each one as familiar as treasured gold. She especially loved the courtyard she had designed with Geto, her own personal sanctuary, where she could find solace and tranquility whenever she wanted to.

It was eerily beautiful; trees with ebony bark and velvety-black blossoms lined the perimeter of the stone pathway, their gnarled branches adorned with swinging lanterns. Nearly trimmed bushes with blood-red blossoms were dotted throughout the courtyard, particularly around the gazebo standing at its center. There were ponds of stagnant opaque water, where koi fish lazily swam, yet these were no ordinary fish – they were Curses, created by Geto himself to dwell there for purely aesthetic purposes.

Her brother was already waiting for her, seated on his throne with legs crossed over. It struck Y/N just how perfectly he belonged here, to be a King of Hell and ruthlessly pursue his ideal world.

And now, she was a part of that ideal too.

Suguru raised an eyebrow at her, amusement twinkling in his warm eyes as he judged her appearance. “Took you long enough,” he teased. “Should I expect a wedding by the end of the day?”

Y/N barked a laugh and snorted, “Surely not. He hasn’t seen me for so long.”

Geto’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, his gaze flitting over to the twins. “Thank you, girls. You may leave us now.”

They nodded, and Y/N smiled softly at them as they left. Her brother’s eyes remained fixed on her with an unreadable expression, but Y/N knew Suguru was analyzing her, contemplating every scenario and outcomes of the impending meeting. She shifted on her feet, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable warnings he was about to impart to her like age old wisdom.

“I trust I don’t need to tell you to keep your emotions in check with Fushiguro around,” Geto said lowly, almost threateningly, as if he was the one she really needed to be wary of.

She almost rolled her eyes at that and muttered, “I won’t even look at him.”

“Good,” Geto said, voice raising an octave. “We have no allies to fall back on, not even him. No matter what the others say or do, you do not react to anything. Because of who we are, the others will look for any excuse to pounce on us. So stay quiet, and try to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”

He sighed. “Although, I’m sure Naoya will have something to say, given the way you look.”

Y/N stuck her chin up, and declared defiantly. “I’m not changing.”

Geto’s gaze softened considerably, and within a second, he stood beside her, looping their arms together. “And why should you, sweet sister? We’re both beautiful, and there’s no shame in that.”

A portal sprung to life in front of them, revealing a dimly lit, oppressive corridor beyond. Without waiting another moment, her brother strode through it, and Y/N almost stumbled as he pulled her with him.

Choso’s palace served as the standard meeting place between all the Kings – a neutral ground, as the half-Curse chose no sides in the wars within Hell. It was nowhere near as grand as Geto’s, exuding an air of shabbiness with walls once vibrant now dulled with time and neglect. There was a distinct lack of refinement or class; the sparse decoration left the place stark and devoid of life. It certainly wasn’t what Y/N had expected for a gathering of the Kings of Hell, simply because it lacked the grandeur she would have associated with such an important meeting. She would have thought that the Kings of Hell would demand only the finest and most grand of places to gather. However, she supposed it served its purpose well enough.

Y/N couldn’t deny her growing curiosity about Choso. Geto had told her that the lowly King was born while his mother was still an Angel, and Y/N wondered how she hadn’t been immediately turned into a Curse following her sin. She guessed that Choso’s conception wasn’t in accordance with the Holy Principles, and the resilience his mother must have possessed to avoid turning against God, given her circumstances, astounded Y/N more than anything. She hoped that perhaps she might have the chance to speak with him, although Geto had warned her the half-Curse was elusive and prone to melancholic moods.

Geto led her down the corridor, their footsteps softly thudding against the faded carpet. He stepped forward to open the twin doors of a chamber lit by orange-flamed torches; a pit of vipers they had willingly walked straight into.

In the center stood a large round stone table in the center of the room, where three Curses were already seated. One, a handsome blonde, had his head leaning casually on his hand, smirking at them as if he was privy to all their secrets. To his right sat Jogo himself, his unmistakable volcano head towering over them like a domineering crown. Almost directly across them sat a dark-haired Curse with his hair scraped into two messy high-ponytails, a curious black line across the bridge of his nose extending to both sides of his face – Choso Kamo himself.

“Ah, the Fallen is finally here,” sneered the blonde Curse. “I thought you seraphim were supposed to be punctual.”

“I see you’re early, Zenin,” Geto retorted smoothly, taking a seat beside Choso, and motioned for Y/N to sit beside him.

She couldn’t help but notice the segregation already taking shape. Jogo and Naoya were seated together, scrutinizing Geto with a mixture of disdain and haughtiness. Choso sat with a hauntingly empty look, his purple orbs fixated on the table as if lost in thought. Y/N ignored the unease settling in her stomach as he met her gaze, exhaustion evident deep within his eyes, and focused on maintaining her composure as she took her seat.

Naoya grinned at her, and purred with words dipped in honey and sugar, “And who might you be?”

“My sister,” Geto stated firmly, his tone protective.

Naoya’s interest seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had appeared, and his lip curled slightly in disgust, while steam started to hiss out of Jogo’s head.

“Oh, another Fallen at this table,” the Zenin sighed, observing her with a bored expression. “How… quaint.”

Y/N didn’t know whether to feel relieved or offended, but remained passive, as Geto remained unaffected by his comment. Choso also remained quiet beside them; he must be so used to their insults and remarks over the centuries.

“Where is the rest of your retinue, Jogo?” Geto asked, swiftly changing the subject, and redirecting their attention from Y/N to him instead.

“On their way. You needn’t worry, little King,” the mountain hissed, his voice as sharp and painful like a spitting fire, his charcoal-black teeth flashing as he smiled darkly.

Her brother’s lips fell into a thin line, refraining from biting back at the insult. As if on cue, a portal appeared, and from it stepped a tiny figure with snow-like hair, which instantly reminded Y/N of Gojo until she saw the red strip of hair running through the back of their head. An uncomfortable chill settled in the room as the Curse raised their head to observe them, moving into the corner of the chamber and blending into the shadows as if it were their natural home.

This had to be Uraume – the only direct connection anybody had to the King of Hell and all Curses. Was it wrong to be so twistedly fascinated by them? Y/N struggled to tear her gaze away, captivated by the mystery and legend that they were attached to. None of the other Kings seemed outwardly perturbed by their presence, as if being watched over by Uraume was the most normal thing in the world, and perhaps it was.

And then, the doors swung open with enough force to command attention. A giant Curse strode into the room, with long thick branches in place where its eyes should have been, and a blooming red rose growing from its left shoulder – decidedly feminine, and grotesquely beautiful. It reminded Y/N of how beautiful the gardens in Heaven were.

And emerging from the shadow of the colossal Curse was Mahito, his face lit up with a delightful expression.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Dread crashed over her like an avalanche.

How?

Geto stiffened beside her, his hands flexing beneath the table.

Mahito locked eyes with her, his grin stretching wider and eyes gleaming madly. Jogo smirked at them both, clearly relishing in their discomfort and the fact he had the upper hand over them. He stared Geto down, daring him to buckle and show weakness.

He knows… they all know.

Her heart raced so fast she feared it might burst from her chest. Desperation clawed at her like a trapped animal, and Y/N’s fought the urge to reach over the table and slice them all into shreds before they had the chance to hurt her or Suguru.

The two Curses took their seats next to Jogo, who cleared his throat before speaking. “Some interesting information has recently been shared with me, Zenin.”

Naoya stopped inspecting his nails, and raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Oh?”

“This little Fallen King has been hiding a secret from all of us. Mahito here has been imprisoned for having knowledge of it,” Jogo said, tapping his fingers against each other, tilting his head towards the silver haired Curse.

Mahito sighed wistfully, feigning a look of pain on his face. “Yes, it was a horrible situation to be in,” he said, his tone dripping with insincerity.

“I don’t care what happened to you,” snapped Naoya, narrowing his eyes at Mahito. “Spit it out.”

“Y/N here…,” Mahito whispered, ignoring Naoya as his eyes sparkled with the thrill of holding everyone’s attention. “Is Fushiguro’s mate.”

It was silent, and then Naoya started to howl with laughter. Y/N shrank into herself, despising her helplessness in this situation. Geto remained silent beside her, likely questioning how Mahito had managed to escape and just how many of the secrets within his kingdom’s secrets were now public knowledge to their enemies. Meanwhile, Uraume stood like a statue in the shadows, unmoved by the events unfolding before them.

Toji… where are you?

“I said you were special,” Mahito murmured to her, his eyes dulled and sad as his mood shifted like the wind. “Why didn’t you save me like I saved you?”

“And so you betrayed us?” Y/N whispered, barely audible amidst the booming of voices, but he heard her words falling from her lips like it was his salvation.

“Not you,” he answered, just as quiet, and it almost felt like they were the only two people in the room. “But your brother just isn’t like us.”

Naoya stopped laughing, wiping away an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. “Now, Geto, how could you keep such a secret from us? Are we not all allies here?” he asked with mock innocence.

Absolutely not.

“Fushiguro and I decided it was best to keep it between ourselves,” Geto stated lowly, his voice dangerously thin. “My sister had just Fallen, and was still vulnerable.”

“Hmm, she still seems ripe for the taking to me,” Naoya smirked, his interest in her renewed as he gazed at her with hunger. “My cousin obviously hasn’t claimed her if she isn’t with him.”

“Why would Fushiguro taint himself with the likes of her?” Jogo sneered, venom lacing his words, reducing her to nothing.

“They are mates; they are one and the same. But, she is just as pure as me,” Mahito whispered, as if he had a say in the matter, his eyes still locked on Y/N as he defended her in his own way. Naoya looked at him sharply, a strange glint in his piercing eyes.

“So you say,” Jogo said dismissively, as if the notion of soulmates was something foul and he didn’t believe in. “My question to you, Geto, is how do I know you won’t exploit Fushiguro’s power to invade my kingdom?”

“You needn’t worry about that, Jogo, as long as you refrain from stealing from me again,” Geto replied, eyes flashing. “I have no need for his strength.”

“Tch, it’s not my fault if my soldiers happen across an opportunity. You should have better control over your own people,” he hissed, flames spurring from his head.

Y/N tuned out as the both of them went back and forth in a heated exchange, choosing to avoid Mahito and Naoya’s heavy stares by staring at her lap instead. She was disgusted with how much fear had gripped her, but with their secret out, she was no longer safe. Her and Geto needed to get out of here and fortify their defenses, and time seemed to be stretching out agonizingly slow.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Naoya started, sickly sweet sugar words returning, and she reluctantly looked up at him. “What does Toji feel like?”

She wouldn’t answer; she refused. Any form of a reply would be a betrayal to herself and to Toji.

His smile faltered, replaced by a dangerous glint of annoyance. “Did Geto not teach you that you cannot refuse to answer a King?”

“He taught me I always have a choice,” she finally spoke, against her better judgment, her voice as cold as ice.

Naoya hummed thoughtfully, but she knew he was really toying with her. “It seems my old cousin shares the same sentiment. If I was him, I would have taken you with me by force.”

“It’s a good thing you can never be me then, cousin.”

Toji.

He stood beside her as if he had been there the whole time. How had she not felt his approach? Was it his unnatural speed? It didn’t matter, she could feel his emotions clearly now – pure white-hot rage emanating from him like the rays of the sun burning against the Earth. And yet, his demeanor remained level-headed, calm, and almost bored. Naoya pulled back in surprise, and the rest of the room fell silent as they all registered his presence.

“Good, we can begin now,” Geto said, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere as Toji took his seat beside Y/N.

Her arm closest to him tingled with anticipation at their proximity, and Y/N craved his skin to brush against hers just a little. She could feel his warmth radiating from him in a delicious caress, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos of writhing snakes, and his nearness stirred a potent cocktail of restraint and desire within her. She couldn’t look at him – she mustn’t look at him.

A chair scraped beside him, and Y/N glanced over him to look at a female Curse who had taken a seat beside Toji. She had ice-blue hair braided in two intricate twists, with one long braid cascading over her face like a veil. Y/N didn’t need to see her face to know she was beautiful. The way she sat with her legs elegantly crossed, her skin-tight black dress accentuating her slim build, and the rhythmic drumming of her long red nails against the table all added to her allure. Yet, her beauty was unsettling, for it seemed to mask something as equally dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

Who is she? How come she’s with Toji?

Y/N’s mind began to race, an unfamiliar sting of jealousy prickling at her senses, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

“You think we’re finished with this conversation?” snapped Jogo, glaring daggers at her brother. “Fushiguro, tell me that I don’t need to worry about you turning on us for these Fallen.”

He said it so disgustingly, as if the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Y/N clenched her jaw.

“You don’t,” Toji agreed simply, his green eyes narrowed.

Both Naoya and Jogo looked at him with just a hint of surprise, as if they were expecting a completely different response. Y/N would be lying to herself if she didn’t think the same – Toji’s unexpected stance felt like abandonment, leaving her and Geto to completely fend for themselves in this precarious situation.

Naoya cleared his throat, resuming his air of arrogance. “Of course not. Now, let us discuss how we exterminate these seraphim once and for all,” he declared with bone-chilling casualness.

-•-

Y/N trailed her fingers back and forth through the water, watching the black and white fish swimming curiously towards the ripples she created. Even as she sat in front of the pond, she couldnt shake the sensation of Toji’s rage pulsating through their bond. He was in Geto’s throne room, presumably letting out his grievances, and she felt a pang of sympathy for her brother, knowing he was Toji’s prime target.

“King Fushiguro expects you to be ready for him,” the ethereal woman had announced without a care in the world, as she strolled through Geto’s court like they were all beneath her.

Y/N bristled at her presence, feeling a surge of tension ripple through Miguel and the others as they seemed to instantly become defensive. Geto sat atop his throne, his anger simmering quietly and deadly; like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He had been unnervingly quiet on their way back from the meeting, and she knew he was ready to blow and unleash his fury at the slightest inconvenience.

“Careful, Mei-Mei,” Geto hissed. “Even crows need to show respect, especially when showing up unannounced.”

Mei-Mei, that was her name, Toji’s second-in-command. Was she considered his queen the way Y/N was Suguru’s? Y/N didn’t bother to ask anyone, instead opting to ignore and walk straight past her on the way outside towards the courtyard. Y/N didn’t want to be in her presence, or anybody else’s – not even Toji’s for that matter. Being in quiet solitude was safe; nobody could hurt her if she ensured she alone. Besides, her soulmate had made it clear that her and Geto were alone in the coming war against their enemies.

Did he really think just a little bit less of Geto and her – because they were Fallen?

Y/N felt so very stupid and naive, realizing how cocky she had been just that morning, about not caring if the others discovered their bond. Reality proved starkly different to fantasies, but it was always be a shock to discover that notion. She’d been too caught up in her newfound power as Geto’s second and her ability to command and rule – a mistake she wouldn’t be repeating again.

A crow cawed loudly from a tree in front of her, and Y/N almost jumped out of her skin. She didn’t know why, maybe it was Geto’s comment echoing in her mind, but she was certain that the crow had everything to do with Mei-Mei, and she resented its presence. Y/N struggled to articulate why she already harbored such a strong dislike towards Mei-Mei, and she didn’t really care to explain it either. The bird continued to watch her closely with its beady eyes, and she glowered darkly in response. It had shattered her sense of solitary safety.

Footsteps tapped against the stone pathway behind her, prompting Y/N to instinctively grab the hilt of her katanas and leap to her feet.

Toji stood there, his usual attire abandoned for a dark blue haori instead. His expression was inscrutable as he regarded her, not saying a word. The crow flitted about in the tree, and his sharp gaze locked onto it. A faint twitch played at the corner of his lip.

“Nosy bitch,” Toji muttered, and within a flash, he flung a small, deadly knife at the bird. It made no sound as it landed lifelessly on the ground.

Y/N said nothing, unfazed by the bird’s death, and ignored Toji as she resumed her previous sitting position, gazing at the koi. She heard him sigh, and a shiver trickled down her spine like water running down a tree. His robes rustled as moved and crouched beside her, his warmth palpable as their shoulders almost touched.

How could he be so dangerous and so intoxicating at the same time?

“Your brother make these?” Toji grumbled, his words still tinged with anger like flint sparking against steel, nodding his head towards the koi.

She nodded wordlessly, and Toji grunted in response. They fell into an uneasy silence, and Y/N felt the urge to break it, even if she didn’t really know what to say to him. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t risk angering him further? And yet, she deserved an answer to the question nagging at the forefront of her mind; would he would ever see them as equals? After all, it was his fault that she had become a Fallen – a fake Curse in the eyes of many.

She just didn’t think his eyes were among those.

“Are you… alright?” Toji asked suddenly, uncertainty lacing his words, and Y/N frowned in response. Her resolve slightly softened when she glanced at the genuine look of concern on his face.

“Not really,” she whispered, her head hanging low.

Toji shifted, as he settled into a reclined position, leaning his weight against his hand. Their fingertips hovered near each other, almost touching, a tantalizing and forbidden electric charge crackling between them.

Y/N swallowed nervously.

“They’re going to come for you, you know?” he said, his voice deep and solemn. “You’re the only thing that could unify me and Geto, so they’ll do anything to stop that.”

A flash of annoyance coursed through her, and she sighed exasperatedly, “I know that.”

Toji exhaled heavily, head thrown back to look at the dark sky as he huffed, “I can’t stop a war that’s inevitable.”

Frustration… at himself?

“I never asked you to,” Y/N murmured, adding perhaps somewhat childishly. “You made it very clear that you wouldn’t stoop so low and help the likes of us.”

“I’m not putting my people at risk for someone else’s war. I’ve said that from the very beginning – me and your brother are not united. I’ve only agreed to leave his kingdom alone, but it has nothing to do with you both being Fallen.”

Someone else.

So she was just someone else then, even if she was the root of all the ensuing violence and death.

Y/N suddenly felt quite foolish.

“I see,” was all she could manage to say, as her face flushed with the heat of embarrassment.

He grunted, “I don’t give a shit about all that you know?”

“You seemed to before,” Y/N snapped, her anger surprising even herself.

Toji rolled his eyes, and droned, “Have you ever heard of lying, little angel?”

“Don’t call me that.”

She felt such crippling shame for being a massive burden on her brother, and for being the cause of the war creeping menacingly closer towards them. Why had he even come if he was just going to be an ass?

A flash of hurt…

A small part of her felt guilty, but it paled in comparison to what she was already feeling, and to how he had added to her turmoil. They sat beside each other in uncomfortable silence, but Toji’s hand remained stubbornly where it was beside hers. Y/N felt only slightly more at ease, finding solace in his silence, until she was abruptly reminded of the crow lying beneath the tree. A gnawing question clawed its way out of her throat, disrupting the fragile peace between them.

“What do the crows have to do with Mei-Mei?” she blurted out, torn between wanting to know nothing about the sly Curse and her insatiable curiosity.

Toji’s brow furrowed as he replied slowly, “She controls them; they’re her eyes and ears.”

“Her spies, then.”

“Hers, mine, same thing. Why do you ask?”

“I just… want to know who she is to you.”

“She’s my second in command, just like you are to Geto. Her crows go anywhere I tell her to send them, and in return, I pay her in gold, diamonds, whatever else she wants.”

“Whatever she wants?”

“Intelligence is everything. I keep her in my pocket so she’s not in anyone else’s. What are you trying to imply?”

Y/N knew Toji was fully aware of what she was really asking, yet she still asked anyways. “Is she anything more?”

Toji gave her a sharp and pointed look as he growled, “Are you sure you want to know if I’ve fucked her or not?”

Y/N blushed furiously at his brash language, feeling so exposed by how easily he was able to pick her apart and read her like a book.

Toji smirked, but it was cruel and cold, and snorted dismissively, “I didn’t think so. Don’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to. My past is no-one’s business, and don’t think for a second I owe it to you.”

Oh.

She moved her hand away from him as his words stung her deeply as if he’d actually bitten her. Y/N realized Toji’s anger never truly dissipated; it lingered beneath the surface, always ready to strike and unleash itself like a viper in the shadows. He was a stormy sea, untamable and unpredictable, and she realized he had absolutely no desire to be anything other than exactly that.

This is who I nearly died for.

Nanami died for me to have him.

Gojo died because of him.

“What’s the point of this, then?” Y/N said softly, almost to herself, her voice barely above a whisper as the waves of loneliness and shame washed over and completely drowned her. “I think you should go.”

Toji’s expression turned inscrutable, and his eyes dulled from their usual intensity. Wordlessly, he rose from her side, the loss of his heat causing prickling goosebumps to appear on her arm. Without so much as any sort of a goodbye, he disappeared straight into a portal, leaving Y/N alone once more.

He never even looked at her.

Her solitary haven didn’t feel so safe anymore.

-•-

Geto came to visit her later that night.

He had immediately noticed her glossy and tired eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I should have checked on you first.”

“It’s ok Suguru,” Y/N assured, as convincingly as she could manage. “There are things that need to be done.”

“May I come in?” he asked politely, offering her a small, yet tight, smile. Y/N moved over to to the side to let him in.

Geto took a seat in the padded chair in front of the crackling blue fire, and sighed deeply. “He came to see you then?”

She took a seat in the chair beside him, and nodded. “Yes, not for very long though.”

“I assume it wasn’t a very pleasant conversation.”

Y/N shook her head, and Geto seemed genuinely saddened by this. “I’m sorry to hear that, I thought perhaps I’d bore the brunt of his anger before he met with you.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. What did he discuss with you?”

“Well, that I should have been more careful with ensuring Mahito could never escape, and he was right.”

“We all underestimated him.”

“So it seems, and we’re paying a heavy price for that now. I should also mention that he demanded I convince you to stay with him.”

“What, really?”

“Oh? He didn’t ask you himself?”

“He… well, no.”

“How interesting, so what happened then?”

“I asked questions I shouldn’t have, let’s just leave it at that.”

Suguru leaned forward in his seat, his eyes comforting and warm, urging her to continue. “Tell me anyways, sweet sister.”

“It’s not worth it Suguru, none of it is anymore,” Y/N huffed, tears prickling her eyes, embarrassed at repeating the incident out loud. “But, I… I did ask him if he and Mei-Mei ever…”

“Oh, Y/N. Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know, Suguru. I just… I don’t know what I was looking for exactly.”

“I don’t know either. But I do know that Fushiguro is definitely not still a virgin after eight-hundred years of living in Hell.”

Y/N’s face burned, and she looked away from Geto, who softly chuckled. “I’m not that naive, brother,” she snapped.

“Good. I’d be worried if you were,” he said, still chuckling.

As her brothers laughter faded away, the atmosphere turned serious, and Y/N tensed as Geto asked gravely. “Do you need me to stay here while you sleep?”

“What? No, Suguru.”

“I’d understand. I’m not going to be sleeping much for the foreseeable future.”

“Neither am I, so there’s no need for you to hover.”

“As you wish.”

Geto stood up from his chair and leaned over to softly kiss her hair. “I’m sorry for not protecting you better,” he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

“There’s no need, because I wouldn’t have gone with him even if he’d asked me to,” Y/N said firmly, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Geto appeared visibly gladdened at this and bade her goodnight as he gently closed her door. Y/N wasted no time in moving to quickly to lock it and then ensuring the balcony doors were also secured. She checked to see if her katanas were within reach beside the bed, placing a hand over her hip to make sure the hidden dagger buried beneath her robe was still there. The paranoia threatened to consume her alive, like maggots buried deep within her bones, burrowing out from within to devour her flesh, and she felt powerless to stop it.

But now wasn’t the time for weakness; she had to steel herself for battle, as she had done a thousand times before. Despite the comforting inner mantra that she repeated to herself, reminding her of past fights and the resilience she knew she had within her, Y/N couldn’t shake the jarring thought that she had at least gone to bed knowing that she was safe. Nothing could have harmed her in Heaven, under God’s protection, and Y/N was so acutely aware of how vulnerable one was when they were dreaming.

God…

Would it be… wrong?

And yet, there couldn’t be anything that felt more right. Despite the paradoxical nature of it, Y/N knelt at the foot of her bed and clasped her hands together.

And prayed to God.

-•-

taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max @transparent-nature

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nepentheisms · 8 months

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You ever find yourself down and out, going through a real dark night of the soul? Well if your name's Vash, then fortunately for you, you've got a Meryl Stryfe on your side.

She came in clutch, and I'm proud of her. Nightow even conveys the moment Meryl's words of resolve reach Vash as a burst of light in the dark. After Vash kills Legato, we see his soul teetering on the brink. He feels truly lost, boxed inside an all-black space, wondering what reason he has to go on living, "What's there left to see?"

And as if in answer to prayer, sparks of light begin to appear around him. As our eyes follow the flow of panels down to the lower left, we're then hit with the impact of the space around Vash brightening dramatically as he hears Meryl's words. Her faith calls him out of the void, and he gets the answer to his question: Here are the people fighting to realize your dream. Here's the woman who declares that she's among those who will share your burden because it doesn't matter if you broke the vow that defined you for so long - you're still worth believing in. And here, right in front of you is a fragment of your sisters' memories - the key to finally bridging the gap between them and humanity. There's so much left to see.

I love how in every version of Trigun, it's the sheer persistence of Meryl's faith that pulls Vash out of his lowest points (I know Stampede hasn't reached this climax in Vash's emotional journey yet, but I think what we've seen with Meryl helping him break Knives' control is a foretaste of bigger things to come). That tenacity and refusal to give up are so central to her character. Once her convictions are set, she's incredibly steadfast in them, and it's this steadfastness that makes the Mary Magdalene comparisons even more fitting.

In Thomas Aquinas' reflection on Mary Magdalene, he calls her devotion "constant," and says "it deserves praise" as a quality that "made her fit to see the angels." Aquinas remarks that while the other disciples left when Jesus was buried, Mary Magdalene stayed because of her "stronger and more burning affection." Thus, she is privileged among the saints as the chosen witness and messenger:

"Notice the three privileges given to Mary Magdalene. First, she had the privilege of being a prophet because she was worthy enough to see the angels, for a prophet is an intermediary between angels and the people. Secondly, she had the dignity or rank of an angel insofar as she looked upon Christ, on whom the angels desire to look. Thirdly, she had the office of an apostle; indeed, she was an apostle to the apostles insofar as it was her task to announce our Lord's resurrection to the disciples."

So how fitting is it that Meryl ends the story as a news reporter and thereby having even more power to tell Vash's story? She has witnessed the most hidden aspects of him (a fact that makes a great point of comparison to the characterization of Mary Magdalene in the extracanonical Gnostic Gospels), and there's so much she could say to help the rest of the world learn to understand him. She now has the resources to share his message on a much greater scale, and in those last few pages we see that the people Vash met in his travels, people like Lina and her grandmother and Badwick's family, are among those watching the broadcast. Meryl gets the word out to others who came to know him directly: He is risen.

"Mary answered and said, What is hidden from you I will proclaim to you. And she began to speak to them these words: I, she said, I saw the Lord in a vision and I said to Him, Lord I saw you today in a vision. He answered and said to me, Blessed are you that you did not waver at the sight of Me. For where the mind is there is the treasure." -Gospel of Mary (extracanonical)

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigunbookclub #meryl stryfe #christianity mention #religion mention #Guns&God meta

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cartermagazine · 2 months

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Today In History

Diana Ross, actress, legendary solo singer, and lead singer for the Supremes, was born in Detroit, MI, on this date March 26, 1944.

Defines an icon, a national treasure with a magnificent legacy that has changed the course of music history and popular culture-Diana Ross would help to create a national cultural movement and become the premiere artist at the renown Motown Records. Her extraordinary journey from the leader of The Supremes to her solo career has inspired and empowered countless musicians, artists, celebrities, and young dreamers.

Her voice, described as “honey” and “angelic,” has over 100 million streams, downloads and sales around the world.

In what has been described as one of the greatest live concert performances, Diana Ross drew a crowd of over 800,000 people to New York’s Central Park on July 21 & 22, 1983. Soon after the show began on July 21, pouring rain and heavy wind threatened to put an end to the show, but she pushed on for much of the set, urging the drenched crowd to remain calm and stay with her. Eventually the storm put an end to the performance, but not before she promised her fans that she would return the next day. True to her word, she performed the entire concert again on July 22nd for the people of New York City.

Ms. Ross also shined on the big screen, with films like “Lady Sings The Blues,” “Mahogany,” and “The Wiz.” Her artistry reached near and far, inspiring audiences across America and around the globe.

“As you hear my voice, you hear my heart. ‘Let Love Lead the Way.’ I am so happy to have music as a part of my life. For the many moments of traveling and singing songs to you and loving you, I am so, so grateful. Thank You for all the blessings in my life that you have given me. I have always felt your beautiful love. Thank you to my children and all my family. Thank you to all those that have made this incredible journey possible.”

CARTER™️ Magazine

#diana ross #carter magazine #carter #historyandhiphop365 #wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #history #cartermagazine #today in history #staywoke #blackhistory #blackhistorymonth

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ifearzombies · 1 year

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The Little ‘I Love Yous’ Part 2

Simeon:

- He gives you little blessings without thinking. Your tea is the perfect temperature. You find the perfect chair to sit in when your feet are tired. Little things to make you smile and you wonder why you’re so blessed; only to remember you are loved by an angel. - He wrote a little short story about your adventures in the Devildom. It’s a children’s book series about a little sheep living with seven black rams and how the sheep helped the seven angry rams be better brothers. There’s little side adventures of the sheep meeting with some doves. You have the signed first edition from ‘Christopher Peugeot’. Levi is still trying to figure out how you got it. - He noticed when you visit PH you have a favorite seat. He’s made a little pillow with your name on it and put it there showing it’s reserved for you.

Solomon:

- He hears about magic spells you’ve seen in games or movies and finds a way to make that a spell you can actually learn. Or tries to. He’s only succeeded on one spell, but the little token he gave you that lets you cast ‘featherfall’ lets you give into a few of your more risky intrusive thoughts. Or it lets you escape the brothers’ arguing if you’re not on the first floor and a window is nearby. - He explained that humans require sunlight to Diavolo so that every other weekend you two can go to the human world and enjoy the sunshine and visit your family up there. - You’re the first to see a new spell or potion or rune he makes. Normally it’d be several of the demons he’s pacted with- but since you’re learning magic too he makes a point to show you the spectacle once it’s perfected.

Barbatos:

- He’s requested a day off of work with Diavolo to spend the day with you. It’s a rare occurrence, and you can’t help but be touched he’d leave Diavolo’s side to be with yours for even a minute let alone a day. - Your favorite meals are on the menu when you and the brothers visit for dinner. And there’s an extra little heart shaped chocolate on your plate that Barbatos will tell everyone he doesn’t know how it got there as he winks at you. - Sometimes you find random notes in your things at RAD. They’re all in the most exquisite calligraphy you’ve ever seen and it’s detailing something nice about you today. Your outfit, the way you did your hair, a kind act he saw. You know who puts these in your things and you treasure each one.

Diavolo-

- He tries every hobby you try with you so that you’re not alone. Plus it teaches him about the human world and how to have the Devildom be more welcoming for when his dream hopefully comes true. - He asks you a lot about the human world and what you like and dislike about it. it. He assures you it’s for his passion project, but when you mention things you like about the human world they somehow end up part of the Devildom (though you are not about to object now that the Devildom has started selling Kinder Eggs) - Kabedons you when only Barbatos is there. And when you blush he playfully asks if he did it right this time. You tell him no just so he’ll do it again later and he knows you’re lying.

----------------------------------------------------------

MC:

- You help Simeon use his computer any time he needs to use it and is too scared he’ll break it. Lots of things are harder to find without use of the internet and he needs to be able to do research for writing and you’re always willing to help. He does credit you with a pen name, but you tell him he doesn’t have to.

- You try Solomon’s cooking. The RARE occasions Luke and Simeon can’t stop him from using the kitchen he always tries to make something for you and you always try it. Even when you’re honest and tell him it’s bad after, he still tries to make things for you and you try it because he smiles wide just because you were willing to try it.

- You occasionally spend a day helping Barbatos with his duties. The first time you decided to do it you went in not knowing how much the butler does but now you wonder how he ever manages to make it one day without falling asleep before noon. The days you offer to help him are his favorite days and you can tell by the smile on his face when you show up in a butler/maid uniform to help.

- Being the heir to the throne is not easy. And for as busy as Lucifer and Barbatos are, you realize Diavolo works the hardest. You ask for a day or two here or there to spend the night with him- not even just for sex. No. You hold him and run a hand through his hair and tell him that it’s OK to rest. You give him a massage and let him rest. There’s been times he’s cried that you never speak of. Times he tells you he worries that his dream will fall apart if Michael and the other angels don’t support this. That you and Solomon and Simeon and Luke will be taken from him if he fails. You tell him it’ll be OK. That you’ll find a way back to him and the others if that happens. You won’t let anyone take him and the others away from you because you love him and the others.

#obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me shall we date #Obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #Sorry but Luke is a child I'm not including him lol. Also I don't know Raphael or Mephistopholees or Thirteen yet. So I can't include them.

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radiaurapple · 21 days

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Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 3

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Lucifer makes a choice he is likely to regret.

The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs. But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor's worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter's dream. Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor's soul from the brink of destruction. In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.

[AO3 LINK]

Hi! here's the latest chapter of my radioapple fic!! things are gettin crazy!! Im very excited about this chapter so I attempted a drawing to accompany it as well ❤️ As always next chapter will be posted in 1 week. 📻🍎

Chapter preview below!

Charlie is still a little girl on the night of the first extermination. When the screaming starts, Lucifer is in her room, curled around her tiny body, his wings a cocoon around them –– he sings softly in her ear, even as she cries and bangs her tiny fists against his chest.

“Daddy,” she sobs. “Help them –– please!”

I can’t, he doesn’t say. She hasn’t learned, yet, that there are no correct moves in this game –– that he is a pawn locked in Heaven’s trap, always three steps behind.

It is Lilith who oversees the exterminations. In those years, she often returns with a scrape or two from an angelic weapon. These are a joy to heal –– her soul is made of Lucifer’s most treasured memories. It feels less like a curse, then, to crawl into her arms –– to press his forehead to hers and dive back into Eden.

When he touches her, it is easy to forget that Eden was an age ago.

When Charlie is thirteen, the Exorcists arrive six hours early; the denizens of Hell are unprepared, still out drinking to their own impending doom. It is a massacre.

When the rift opens, he is at Lu Lu World with Charlie. He brought her there to cheer her up before the extermination. The Exorcists swarm the park in seconds — Lucifer pulls Charlie against his chest to whisk her away, but not before she catches sight of a ticket-taker with an angelic arrow in his heart.

She struggles in Lucifer’s grip, her hand outstretched, as if there were anything she could do — and then they both dissolve in a red shimmer of light.

They materialize in the parlor.

Charlie snarls — her horns sprout from her forehead. “Let me go!” she yells.

Lucifer releases her instantly. She stumbles forward; Lucifer reaches out a hand to steady her, but she rounds on him and bats it away.

“I can’t believe you!” She says. “I know you heal Mom when she comes back from the exterminations. If I had that power, I’d be out there right now, trying to save as many lives as I could. They’re our people, dad!”

Lucifer frowns, removes his hat, and runs a hand through his hair. “Come on, Charlie. You know I can’t do that.”

Charlie squares her shoulders in defiance. “Why not?”

Lucifer sighs. He crosses into the dining room and sits at the table. He’s tempted to tell her the entire truth –– but of the host of indignities that come with his sentence, the worst has always been explaining each punishment to his daughter. Her naïve confusion when she learned he once lived in Heaven still haunts his nightmares.

He drops his head in his hands.

Charlie’s soft footsteps –– she pulls out the chair next to his and sits down.

Lucifer sighs and settles for a partial truth. “You and I are very alike,” he says. “It is sometimes more natural for us to … care.”

Charlie’s hand lands on Lucifer’s back. He looks up at her.

“One day you’ll understand that caring is part of our punishment here,” Lucifer says. “The more you care for these sinners, the more it hurts.”

[AO3 LINK]

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor #lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #appleradio #duckiedeer #fanfic #mine #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #lucid dreams of new orleans

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sadlvrgrrl · 7 months

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𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑.)

a daemon targaryen love story

Every night, when the moon is full and bright, he dreams of the one he calls his light.

disclaimer: daemon is extremely ooc

𝘸𝘤: 723

・❥・

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince of Westeros was far from pure. He was ruthless, stubborn, arrogant, and most of all, powerful. His blood was equivalent to a dragon, forged from the fiery pits of the seven hells. He was the deliverer of chaos and destruction, and no one was able to tame his savage inferno.

All until one; her.

She was the epitome of ethereal, a beauty so delicate, so pure in a way that she was too perfect for this world— too perfect for him. She was an angel forged of the purest light with hair as bright as the moon, skin as white as snow, and her eyes—

her eyes held magic.

Full of light, full of innocence, full of stars.

Starry eyes that had him hypnotized.

Starry eyes that made him stumble, but it was her smile that made him fall.

Starry eyes that had him vow to do anything in his power to keep their light kindle endlessly.

She was a blessing from the gods. A wish upon a shooting star. If he could, he would tear the whole world apart just to rebuild it brick by brick to a standard he deemed worthy of her existence. Worthy of her light— worthy of his light; Celethiel.

・❥・

Daemon follows the elen wisps through a sprawling forest, letting them guide his way with their light to their keeper. The tall trees towered over him, reaching into the heavens. Their branches weave together a dense canopy, shrouding the forest in shadow and only letting strings of moonlight spill through the gaps, filling the forest with a soft light.

As Daemon enters the clearing, his violet eyes instantly fall upon Celethiel sitting on a stone bench under a white willow tree. She was clad purely in white, and her hair was long and bright; like a moonlight river cascading down her back, casting a glow around her like a magical veil. The sight of her beauty was utterly spellbinding and mesmerizing, and Daemon was enchanted.

“Why do you linger in the shadows, my prince?” Said the enchantress. Her voice was silvery and melodious, like the sound of a fine harp.

“I only linger in the shadows not to hide from you, but to admire the beauty you emit, ñuha ōños.” said Daemon. “For you are a treasure of all treasures worth worshiping.”

A musical chuckle was the response; short and breathy. It filled Daemon with excitement, making him wanting more; more of her sweet melody of a harmonious mixture of grace and elegance.

While his eyes were fixed on her; hers was on the moon, gazing at it with a distant look of tranquility and longing. Daemon envied its fortune, for it had become the object of affections of the one he loved the most. Desiring nothing more than to be in the moon’s place so he can feel the touch of her eyes upon his own face. He walks up to Celethiel, and slowly kneels on the ground in front of her. Gently, he takes her hands in his. His warmth instantly melts the chillness of the night as their fingers interlace together.

“My love?” He said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

“The moon...it's light shines brighter than ever before,” She said. “Mother must be happy.”

“I believe it is you that shines brighter, my love.” He said, his voice filled with tenderness and love. But her eyes have yet to stray away from the moon.

Daemon sighed, feeling defeated by the hold the moon had over his light. He slowly brings her hands up to his cheeks, wanting to feel the softness of her touch. Then his lips met with her smooth and delicate skin, and it felt as if he was kissing the finest silks in all of Arda.

“Celethiel…please…please look at me,” he spoke timidly. “kostilus.”

Daemon Targaryen, a man known for his arrogance, had willingly turned his pride into sand. A man known for his steel strength is now bent by his passion. Upon his knees, he begs his beloved for her love. His whole world is consumed by the one he desires most; his light.

Then suddenly, as time seemingly to stand still, her gaze has finally met his. And for the first time that night, he saw the stars that graced the night sky.

(𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒅.)

a/n: a little story info, celethiel is a valar; daughter of manwë and varda. instead of varda being associated with the stars, she represents the moon. i really hope you guys enjoyed this, and I'm so sorry it's short. i just haven't been getting enough inspiration and motivation to develop a fixed plot. maybe one day i'll come back to add on to this story.

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writingsofwesteros · 20 days

Note

Dancing in Victory-

"Daddy?" She called him softly, as Aegon sat in his study reading from a stack of reports, a cup of wine on his desk.

"Princess," Aegon softened, despite the tension, her father always showed her love, she was his baby, after all. She came over, and kissed his cheek, and Aegon gestured for her to come closer, and she sat on his lap. "Mother and I are picking out the fabrics for my wedding gown...won't you come?" She asked, and watched his face settled into a grim expression. "You know kingly duties give me little respite, little one, I-" "Are you angry at me?" She cut him off nervously. "Angry? Not at you, sweetling, never you- you know Daddy can never get mad at you." Aegon reassured her, kissing her temple. "You're my little shining light in this world, my perfect girl." She sighed, and leaned into his embrace. For all Aegon's vices, he treasured her more than anything. "Are you...are you still angry at Uncle Aemond?"

Aegon sighed. "Little one-" "Daddy, please," She pleaded. "How long will you both continue to be like this? On my wedding day, will you hand me over to him, and not even look at him, Daddy?" She saw him rub his temples and sigh. "I gave my blessing," Aegon began, "Because you said that you wanted this. You wanted to marry him." "I do, Daddy." "But your Uncle still betrayed me. He still went behind my back, he took risks, risks with your reputation, your future-" Aegon brushed her hair from her face. "And he knows that you are my angel, keeper of my heart." She remained silent. "Your Uncle is a dutiful brother. A skilled warrior, a fierce dragonrider- gods know he was the one many thought was more well suited for the crown than I," Aegon said. "But he has his shortcomings, as I do. Neither of us are the great men you think us to be." "Daddy-" "I was dragged from a gambling den, the day you were born. Your grandmother brought me in to see your mother- she looked like she'd walked through the seven hells, but- she was smiling. You were in her arms- a pink, tiny little thing. I was afraid to hold you, you looked so delicate, but your grandmother insisted." Aegon cupped her cheek, showing a rare vulnerability to her. "When I held you, you opened your eyes and looked at me. Always a curious thing, even now. I thought to myself, surely, I had no hand in making something this...beautiful. Perfect. You looked at me, and I'd never felt more inclined to be worth something before. You, my baby girl- you are the one good thing that has come of me." Aegon sighed, kissing her forehead.

She knew, that her father would forgive Aemond, in his own time.

LOVE THAT SO MUCH !!!!!!!!!! Aegon being a girl dad thank you!!

#dancing in victory

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eldritch-spouse · 10 months

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I imagine Mother will just order angels to hold us by force so she could breed us, if we keep cockblocking her

Just think of four angels hold us by the arms and legs, like a rabid cat at the vet during an examination

TW: Noncon.

And the worst part is, at that point, your copulation has become a sort of public spectacle.

Sure, no one's there to make fun of you, quite the contrary, you're being congratulated and hailed as a living treasure -Which might just be worse than mockery- But Mother understood your concerns. She was willing to extend sacrifices for the sake of gaining your favor. She would promise to make the occasion of your joining a private one, hidden from the eye of her beloved followers and servants. She would do things the human way, if it meant having your cooperation and love.

But she supposes maybe you don't deserve want that after all, do you?

Four guardians hold your limbs, petting them, cooing, all collectively shushing your concerns, lacing their fingers with yours. Jonesy holds your head in his lap, murmuring how blessed you are in spite of your attitude, whispering sweet nothings, willing you to let yourself become Mother's, let yourself rise to a sacred role under her watchful eye, all the while an archangel with a skilled tongue works between your legs, their mouth the sweetest torture as your clit is rolled and sucked and they stop to kiss around your lips everytime you start getting close.

All of these angels are taking immense pleasure from this. You've learned that they're more akin to a hive than merely individuals. They'll do anything to please Miara, to pleasure her- And, by extension, you. Getting to prepare you for the first meeting of passions is a job many, many angels in Miara's island squabbled over. These lucky few are over the moon to be chosen. Wherein you might be sobbing and furious, they're trembling in arousal and anticipation. Some of them moaning, chirping in helpless pleasure as they watch you surrender to hormones, though never once touch themselves.

They can't. They haven't been allowed to. All that matters now is getting you sufficiently receptive to welcome Mother.

And, when Miara does join you, they can hardly keep themselves quiet, cheering for you with all the joy the world could hold while the guardians part your legs and Jonesy shifts to frame your glistening pussylips, spread them for his shrunken siadar's use.

Mother offers you a goddess' kiss when her fat cock stretches its way inside you, touching everything, leaving imprints on your body that you know will remain there forever, as evidence of this ritual. The celestials present peck and pet you, chittering sweetly as soon as she bottoms out.

Between Miara's gentle moans, the hands threading through your hair, the cooing, the fingers on your tits, hips, ankles -You don't even know who's pinching your poor clitoris anymore- It's hard to ignore what's happening, to distance yourself from these people, this fate that's been dealt upon you, from the active warping of your mind as empty words and soothing sensations erase your sanity.

What mere mortal mind could ever survive a god's lust?

You don't know what made you cum, or for how long you stretched out of your own skin, arched like a bow. All you know is that the archangel's slurping the area where Mother's shaft plows into you with a vengeance and you're going to start speaking in tongues if they don't stop. Adoring eyes look down upon you from all sides, your vision spins into different shapes and colors the more you're bounced by the higher's ardor.

Surprisingly, it's not the sensation of Miara's seed bloating your small body that causes you to freeze in primal terror.

It's feeling the last few remnants of resistance drown in her depraved love as your face softens, screaming inwardly when a content smile settles on your lips and your eyes glaze-

Forever lost to the world at large.

#Mother Miara #can you tell I like cult-y stuff?#i'm so subtle *cough*

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johannestevans · 5 months

Text

Powder and Feathers

Hey, do you like fucked up fallen angels?

Do you like even more fucked up fallen angels than the first fallen angel, who are transmasc manipulative French bastards who love to do both murder and assassination? In the mood for a dark romance, perhaps, where said angel fixates on just some guy and decides to bring him home and obsess over him forever? Do you like cats, also?

Do you like on and off toxic and supportive sibling relationships? Do you love complicated and completely hypocritical relationships with the Catholic Church? Do you love revolutionaries that tell lies?

Do you love cuckoldry and self esteem issues? Do you love when rape victims can't separate the sense of being seen as desirable from their sense of self? Do you love t r a u m a ?

Did you by any chance read Victor Hugo's Les Misérables and internalise way too much of it?

If the answer to any or all of the above is yes, I think you might really like my serial, Powder and Feathers, which is about all that shit and more, and you can read it online for free!

Rated E, M/M. WIP. It seems to Aimé Deverell that there is very little point to life, except for what pleasures can be enjoyed before the grave. Life is short - thank God - but at least there's enough in the world to dull the senses in the meantime. That philosophy shatters like glass when he meets Jean-Pierre, an angel.

Read on Ao3 (free) / / Read on WorldAnvil (free) / / Read on Medium (paid)

First chapter here:

When the Great Fall happens, it happens all at once.

It does not feel like falling: instead, it is as if the very world comes up to meet it at speed, launched with impossible speed, and when its feet (feet! feet!) are struck from beneath by the awful ground, it screams. For the first time in its existence (for before now, it has never lived) the angel feels pain.

Many new experiences happen in one rush, in one singular moment: it fills lungs, which it never had before, and feels the cold air rush down a new throat to inflate them, feels it sting; it feels the desperate soak of the rain on its skin, trickling down its body and flattening the feathers of its wings; it screams, and it is chilled to find that the noise that comes forth is just that, just noise.

Corporeality cloaks its body in a new skin, made of flesh and bone and hair and blood, and it screams, and screams, and screams.

The rain comes down from the heavens in heavy, steel-grey sheets, buffeting its fresh skin, and it comes down so heavily and so hard that every drop stings. The new flesh is delicate, and the bruises ache as they bloom to the surface, staining the pale expanse: it is gasping, its two arms (two arms!) clutched about its naked chest (a chest, filled to the brim with treasures, two lungs, a heart, a heart!), and its two wings (blessed normality!) curve inward to shield it, even as it drops to its knees in the grass and the mud.

It is alone on the hillside, and it aches, for it has never been alone before: it has only ever been one amidst legions, one amidst an ordered unit, and here, in the grass, upon the earth, the loneliness takes its heart (a heart, though, really! what next? what next?) and cleaves it in two, pours salt into its veins, and its sobs are guttural and heaving, wrenched from its throat.

Time passes.

It has never experienced time before, time as a thing that moves, time as a river that washes over its shivering skin, and it has never experienced such cold as this, cold that eats beneath its flesh, burrows into its bones, the only bare semblance of warmth coming in the tears that eke out from beneath its eyelids, so hot on its cheeks it thinks it will burn, it will burn—

It does not burn.

Exhaustion overtakes it, and it falls still in the mud, the filth clinging sticky to its skin, forming as sludge in its feathers.

When the rain stops, and the sun rises, it does not stir.

***

JEAN-PIERRE

“Jean,” said a low voice, and Jean-Pierre stirred slightly, raising his head. His mouth was dry, and waking brought him once again to the sickening ebb and flow of the water beneath the damned vessel they were on. His sleep had been fitful, rolling over and over without any space to do so, and he’d barely been asleep for what seemed like a few heavy, black moments before he was being poked at. “Jean, wake up.”

“I’m awake,” Jean-Pierre mumbled, sitting forward, and he felt Asmodeus’ hand cup his cheek as he tugged him forward, out of the awkward bunk Jean-Pierre had been crammed into. “Why did you wake me up?” He sounded tired and plaintive, he knew, but Asmodeus was not deterred: he met Jean-Pierre’s gaze and smiled. “I haven’t slept in—”

“We’re here,” Asmodeus said softly, and Jean-Pierre stumbled in his haste to get out of the bunk.

His clothes were rumpled and he was still in his shoes, falling over himself on unsteady feet, and as the ship rocked beneath their feet on the back of a small swell, he felt himself gag, and hid his mouth against the crook of his elbow.

“I have your case,” Asmodeus said. “Colm is already on deck.”

“He would be,” Jean-Pierre muttered, and Asmodeus clucked his tongue in disapproval, but still he smiled: he always smiled, did Jean-Pierre’s brother. Jean-Pierre thought at times that it was the coldest smile on Earth.

The journey from their cabin – a small recess upon the damnable ship where Jean-Pierre had spent the entirety of their journey from New York, staring into space and vomiting in turns – up to the ship’s upper deck was excruciating, and Jean-Pierre walked with a heavy haze of nausea wrapped around him like a cowl. His stomach was empty of anything but bile: therefore, it was only bile that he tipped down the side of the ship when he reached the deck’s side and vomited.

“Jean-Pierre,” said Asmodeus, but Colm was already behind him, and Jean-Pierre grunted as Colm put his arms around Jean-Pierre’s waist and tipped him over his shoulder, carrying him to the gangplank that led from the ship.

Perhaps he should have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t, not really: he fisted his hands in the fabric of Colm’s shirt and pressed his face against the hard flesh of his brother’s shoulder as Colm moved quickly with him. The nausea lingered even once they were settled on the safe, sturdy ground of the dock, and as they waited for Asmodeus to join them – Colm had swiftly bypassed a great queue of people, smiling and waving them down as he passed. They had been charmed by him. Traditionally, people were very charmed by Colm.

“Here,” Colm said softly, and pressed a bottle into Jean-Pierre’s hand, the plastic cool against his fingers and moist with condensation. Jean-Pierre drank from it heavily, half-collapsed as he was on top of Asmodeus’ antique chest, his knees up in line with his chin, and leaning into Colm’s side.

Colm was warm, heavy, solid, and Jean-Pierre leaned his sweated brow against the hard line of his waist without shame for the people that turned to glance at them as they passed on the dock. Asmodeus’ trunk was a huge thing, easily big enough for all three of them to sit on if they wanted to, but for now Jean-Pierre settled on it himself with Colm stood beside him, holding his own case – a leather case, vintage as Asmodeus’ own, though by decades instead of centuries.

They both seemed quite apart from Jean-Pierre’s own luggage, which was a cheap white plastic affair, and looked quite silly held in one of Asmodeus’ massive hands.

Asmodeus was tall, strapping, handsome: possessed of squared shoulders and a narrow waist, dark skin and finely-chiselled features, he rather resembled a model at the worst of times, but now, descending the gangplank from the ship in the Dublin sunshine, wearing a tight grey suit and a pink shirt open at the neck, he looked ever more so.

Jean-Pierre’s polypropylene suitcase could only detract so much.

“Feel better?” Colm asked softly.

“Mm,” Jean-Pierre hummed. “Just— hungry.”

“You’ve barely eaten in two weeks,” Colm murmured. “I’m not surprised you’re hungry. We’ll get something to eat before we go find the house.”

Jean-Pierre nodded his head, pressing his face into his hands, his elbows against his knees, and stayed like that as Asmodeus stepped toward them. No matter that he was on solid ground, he still felt very much like it was moving underneath him, and he wondered if the nausea would ever cease.

“Better?” asked Asmodeus, and he reached out to touch Jean-Pierre’s hair, touching it where it had come loose from its sweat-soaked bun. Jean-Pierre grunted a sound that was neither an affirmative or a negative, but took the elastic Asmodeus offered him, and reached up to tie it back. “You’re alright, Jean-Pierre. We’re here. No more sailing. Let’s go eat something.”

“I’ve no appetite,” Jean-Pierre mumbled.

“Here,” said Colm.

“Wait, no, don’t, you don’t have to—” Jean-Pierre exhaled a breath without meaning to as Colm brushed his knuckles against his cheek, and he felt the nausea, the unsteadiness, the desperate sickness, drain entirely from his body. With the next breath he took in, though still tired, he felt reenergised.

Colm looked quite pale.

“You needn’t have done that,” said Jean-Pierre. “I am no child, unable to withstand the weight of my own feeling.”

“You need to eat,” said Colm, green about his gills as he coughed against the back of his hand, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back the visible urge to vomit. “Let’s go.”

“There’s a taxi waiting for us,” said Asmodeus, smiling his cold smile, and Jean-Pierre couldn’t help but feel a desperate affection for both of his brothers as he stood to his feet, putting one arm on Colm’s shoulder and squeezing even while Asmodeus gestured toward him. “Take your luggage, will you? It doesn’t suit me.”

“I know,” Jean-Pierre murmured, smiling slightly despite himself, and he took the case Asmodeus pushed into his hands.

***

“What is it?”

“I found him out by the wheat field—”

“What is it?”

“He looked so… I couldn’t leave him, Maman, I couldn’t—"

The voices were heard through new ears, and the owner of them stayed very, very still, digesting the sound, the physicality, of all it now was. It could feel it: each sound exiting a throat, moving forth with a breath to fill its sails, and the sound expanding outward, stopping where it reached the dirt ground and the thickly padded hay, but bouncing where it hit the hard wood of the building wall. Sound: this was sound.

Sound, before now, had been but a theory, a concept: sound, now, was real.

Before now, a voice was a Voice, and such things as words came imparted heavy in the very mind, understanding instantaneous. Communication happened to other beings: angels Knew, for that was their purpose.

Now, it Knew nothing, and knew even less, and it heard the soft whimper that came from between its dry lips, hissing over its dry tongue. The sound was pathetic, lowly, and it tasted its shame, felt it ring within its body.

It lifts its head, feels the pain that suffuses its very form, and it exhales, staring forward.

“My God,” whispered the human before it, and it watched distantly as the human moved its hands, two fingers tracing a line from its forehead down to its chest, and then from shoulder to shoulder. What it meant, the angel could not possibly know, and it stared down at its own hand, which was caked with mud. The skin was red-raw beneath its blanket of muck, and the hand, as he regarded it, shivered.

“Come,” said the voice of the other one, which was lower, and it felt the touch against its cheek, and it cried out, keened. The touch was so warm, and more than that, it was the touch of life, a soul under that warm skin, a soul— “Oh, hey, hey,” the voice said, and it said it in the angel’s ear, for the angel was wrapped tight around its body, sobbing against the speaker’s chest.

“Jules—”

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Jules said, and the angel desperately curled its wings around them, pressed its face closer to the breast of the one called Jules, but it was not the same: it was used to being in amongst the natural graces of a thousand angels, a hundred thousand, and this was but one human soul, just one. “He barely weighs anything,” he said, and when the angel felt the pang of sympathy, the new emotion all but knocked it down, its knees buckling. “Oh, hey,” Jules said, and his hands alighted firm on the angel’s waist, gripping it to keep it upright, draped as it was about his neck. “Alright, here…”

The angel didn’t let go as the human Jules gently pushed it backward, bringing it down to sit upon the hay again, and it heaved in gasps of air, feeling the instinct although the practice was new, and it looked, for the first time, at his face.

Jules was a human: a man, perhaps approaching thirty years of age. His cheeks were dusky and tanned with hard work in the sun, and his hair was long and messily cut, drawn back from his face, tied at his neck and put back behind his ears. His nose had been broken before, the angel thought: it had seen humans with crooked noses, like this one, but never from down here, beneath the firmament, only from Heaven.

It had never been to Earth before.

It reached up, touching Jules’ cheek with its palm, feeling the heat, feeling the regular flow of his blood in his veins, and it shuddered in an uncertain breath. Jules had deep brown eyes, and it could see in their depths concern, concern and sympathy, and curiosity… The emotions flooded over it like a wave, and it closed its own eyes, gripping tightly at Jules’ shoulder. Their bodies were flush together, and the angel could not stand to pull away, but it heard the noise of the other human, and it looked at her.

She was older, it thought. It saw in her face the same dusky skin, the same shape in the mouth, and it felt the similarity in her blood, and his blood. This was Jules’ mother…

It remembered the first of them, Eve, remembered her heavy with child, and holding the first of them against her breast…

It looked to Jules, and Jules smiled at it. It was a small smile, and it watched his lips curve up to form it.

It hesitated. It felt the face wrapped around it, felt it, and it forced its mouth to move, feeling the strange pull of unfamiliar muscles (muscles! muscles! it had never needed muscles before!), at its cheeks, at its lips…

Jules’ smile deepened, and his gaze came from the angel’s face to its wings, which are… They had feathers, now, and the wings sprouted from between its shoulder blades, expanding outward. It had never had feathers, or shoulders, before, never, it never… The feathers were a golden-brown, and Jules reached up, his fingers brushing against the soft down, and the angel gasped at the strange touch, the strange sensation.

“It could be dangerous,” the mother said. It could feel the anxiety radiating from her, and it leaned closer to the other, feeling his quiet confidence, his warmth. This emotion, this too was new: pleasure.

“I don’t think he is,” Jules said softly, fingers still brushing through the feathers, and the angel’s eyes fluttered closed, its face falling against the human’s breast once more, its nose pressed as tight as it could be against the rough wool of its vestments, its fingers gripping tightly at the fabric. “He’s just frightened, and scared. What happened?”

It didn’t respond, not until Jules’ fingers came away from its wing, and instead touched against its chin, pushing it up to look at him. It stared into Jules’ eyes, into his beseeching expression.

“Can you talk?” he asked quietly, not unkindly.

It had never talked before. It knew only the Word, knew instructions, had put forward messages, but it had never wrapped lips and teeth and a tongue about its speech, and made it audible. But the human Jules had asked it, and were it silent, that would be a lie, would it not? It could talk, it thought: it had a tongue, and lips, and a larynx, and a voice…

“Yes,” it said. The sound was soft and mellifluous, though slightly hoarse, and it made Jules smile again, wider this time. It liked that smile. It liked! Liked! “Fell,” it said. “Was…”

It trailed off.

To Fall was the great punishment: to Fall was to err, and be found judged.

“Did nothing,” it said, overtaken in its own perplexity.

Twin confusion radiated from Jules and the mother alike, and it closed its eyes, the emotion uncomfortable where it touched its consciousness.

“What are you?” Jules asked. His hand, once more, trailed through its feathers, pressing into the down this time, and it clung to him tightly, not daring to let go. His voice was full of wonder: so too was his heart, and the wonderment made it think of blessed creation. It kept its eyes closed, clutching all the harder at this human, at this man, at this soul. It felt such sorrow it could scarcely stand it, and it felt as if it weighed it down.

“Fallen,” it said again, its voice dull even to its own ears. “Fallen.”

"Oh," Jules said, as if he understood, although he could not, he mustn't: his hand curled in the angel's hair (hair? hair!), clutched at it, and drew it closer. He felt the angel's sorrow, it thought, and took such pity on it, such pity. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and the angel didn’t hear as he went on, talking to the woman, the mother, perhaps talking to the angel itself. It heard nothing but the slow beat of the heart beneath its ear, and without really meaning to, the tears a hot and sudden streak on its cheeks, it began to weep.

***

JEAN-PIERRE

“… a roast and a pint of milk,” said the waitress, who was named Rosetta, although she was wearing Sandra’s name badge ever since Sandra had gone to work in the med supply factory to keep guys from looking her up on Facebook, and set the plate and pint glass in front of Colm, who gave her a winning smile. She smiled back, even though she didn’t usually smile at men, didn’t really want to encourage them – she didn’t know why she felt like he was safe, why he was alright, but for some reason, she felt that he was.

Jean-Pierre reached up and rubbed carefully at the edge of his temple, trying to work away the threatening headache building there. Two weeks in a cruise ship’s cabin had left him isolated from people, who all felt their feelings so very loudly, so openly, and all at once, in a half-full restaurant in the early afternoon, it was overwhelming, now.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” Rosetta asked Jean-Pierre. “We do have other vegan options, if it’s that.”

Jean-Pierre looked at the rosiness in her cheeks, the set of her mouth, her wide eyes. He had evidently been looking at her for too long, because he felt the wave of uncertainty come from her, and then he heard Asmodeus say, as if through a wall of water, “He’s okay. Thank you, Miss.”

Rosetta nodded, walking back toward the till, and Jean-Pierre stared down at the fruit platter spread out in front of him on the table: melon, pineapple, strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, oranges, even a few pieces of starfruit.

“Do you think if I ask, they’ll have dragon fruit?” Jean-Pierre asked.

“We walked past twenty-two restaurants before we saw one with a fruit platter,” Asmodeus said mildly, taking a sip of his tea. “So I doubt it.”

Jean-Pierre picked up a piece of starfruit, putting it in his mouth and chewing, feeling the acid sweetness burst on his tongue, and although they both did their best to hide their relief, he could see some of the tension go out of Asmodeus’ shoulders, and see Colm’s clenched jaw relax.

“Vegan options,” Jean-Pierre said mildly.

“Dublin’s very cosmopolitan these days,” Colm murmured, giving him an easy smile, and Jean-Pierre smiled back before he focused himself on his food. The nausea had passed quickly, once Colm had taken it for himself, and he ate with gusto, albeit a gusto Jean-Pierre tried his best to tune out, as he did the slightly overpowering smell of the gravy.

Asmodeus had just ordered a salad, like he usually did when given the option, and Jean-Pierre watched him pick through for the cherry tomatoes, spearing them with his fork and dousing them in the vinaigrette before he ate them, one after the other, before he’d eat the rest.

Colm, on the other hand, ate from his plate in a clockwise motion, taking a morsel from each section as he went around it: a piece of beef, then some carrots, then broccoli, then potato, then Yorkshire pudding, then back to the beef… One could set a clock by the way Colm ate from his plate.

He felt the emotion swell in his chest, a deep and warm affection for the two men beside him. Colm said, in an idle tone, “We love you too, Jean.”

Jean-Pierre smiled, but his nose wrinkled as Colm picked up his pint glass and began swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of thick, white milk.

“I don’t know how you can do that,” Jean-Pierre muttered.

“We don’t all have your delicate constitution,” said Colm cheerfully.

Asmodeus reached out, plucking a grape from the side of Jean-Pierre’s platter.

“Hey!”

“It’s a sharing platter, Jean-Pierre,” rumbled Asmodeus, but as payment, he offered Jean-Pierre his fork, speared with the last of the cherry tomatoes, and Jean-Pierre laughed as he took it.

***

The angel shivered as Jules gently dragged the cloth over its skin, scrubbing at the flesh before he rinsed the cloth once more. The water was brown with muck by the time his work was complete, and he was swift about dragging the towel over its skin to dry it.

“Good that you didn’t get your feathers dirty,” he said quietly. The mother – Marguerite – had gone back inside, and they were alone inside a small hay barn. It could hear the sound of animals, now that it listened for them, and felt their signatures behind the wooden partition: two cows, each lain down to sleep for the night. “Are you in pain?”

“Do not know,” it said, because it was true.

Jules gave it a long, long look, and then he gently set the towel aside, reaching out and touching its feathers once more, absently, like he could scarcely stop himself. Immediately, it was forward again, in the human’s lap, its face buried in his neck, and it heard him sigh softly.

“Can you put these away?” he asked.

“Don’t understand,” it said.

“These,” Jules said, and his fingers carded through soft plumage on each side, making the angel sigh, its wings fluttering with quiet satisfaction. “Can you hide them?” It thought about this for some time. Hiding. Nothing hid, once upon a time: the animals of the world lived in harmony, and Eve and Adam hid nothing, for they had no shame.

So much had changed, since then, and yet for the angel, then and now were so recently just a matter of perspective, the direction in which one pointed one’s gaze.

Hide them.

It felt its wings, drawing them inward, folding against its back, and then, a little more. It was difficult to describe the sensation, precisely, but it felt them fold in tighter, inward, and then there was nothing, just a blank expanse of rain-bruised skin. Jules’ hands slid over the bare flesh, feeling the blades of its shoulders, the back of its neck, and it clutched all the tighter at him.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

“No,” it said. “We don’t have names.”

“There are names,” Jules said slowly, cautiously. “Michael, Raphael, Gabriel…”

It was still. How to explain? Could it explain?

“Not…” It stopped. It had never been an individual before, and it felt as if it had been cleaved away from its natural place, strangely empty when it drew away from the human’s breast, and it did not want to draw away. “Not me,” it said. The very word felt like a blasphemy, but what more did blasphemy matter anymore?

It could not Fall a second time.

“You need one,” Jules said.

“Why?”

“Because everyone has a name.”

“Not… me.”

“You need to,” the human said, and he reached up, gently drawing his fingers through the angel’s hair. It leaned into the touch, its eyes fluttering closed once more, and it felt the thumb that gently played against its scalp, the warmth of hard-worked, calloused fingers, a scarred palm.

“Where… is this?” it asked.

“Outside Chartres,” the human said. “France. Did you fall from Heaven?”

It said nothing, but its fingers gripped, without its permission, tighter at the human’s blouse.

“What… year?” it asked. It knew how time worked, it thought. Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, and days… into the rest. It knew them. But—

“1732,” Jules said. Once, it Knew. The dates coincided with events, and there were so many different calendars, so many different philosophies of time, but it used to know what events coincided with what dates, and yet its mind was but a blank expanse, so empty, cut off as it is from the body of knowledge of the Host. It Knew…

But it didn’t, anymore.

“You choose it,” it said.

“I can’t choose it,” Jules said, sounding almost scandalised, and it felt the shift in its face as its brow furrows of its own accord.

“Why not?”

“Because— Because it’s your name.” That stung. The your, in the singular, the dreadful singular, the individual: it was just one, now, instead of legion. How could this be natural, be normal, to be but one body, one mind, one… soul? A soul! What a dreadful thing to be cursed with!

“You name one another all the time,” it said tightly, wishing it could crawl into its own skin and be hidden there. “Heard about it. You give one another names, and assignations, and diminutives, even.”

Jules stared down at it, apparently struck dumb by this retort. “But—”

“You say I need a name, but now you will not choose one. Make your decision one way or the other.” There is a moment’s pause, and then Jules let out a low, rich sound, breathless and quiet. It leaned back slightly to look at his face, at the smile dragging at his lips, at his teeth. It liked that sound: laughter, it was laughter. “You laugh at… me,” it said, feeling its lips twist into a frown.

“You’re stubborn as an ass,” Jules replied.

“Oh.”

“Jean,” he decided. “Or… No, Pierre. Or— I can’t choose. There are too many names, all of them too common!”

“Jean-Pierre,” it said.

“That’s too common.”

“You said needed a name.”

Jules sighed, and again, it felt that trickle of warm indulgence, of fondness, the emotion that played soft over its skin. It ached, it thought: it could feel the shift of bruises beneath the flesh, the blood seeping beneath the tender skin…

“As an ass,” he said again. “Alright, Jean-Pierre: that’s that. How old are you?”

It considered this question. “Debatable,” it said.

“How can it be debatable?”

“Humans debate,” it said.

Jules sighed, still smiling. “Yes, but they don’t debate age: age is a matter of facts, one way or the other. You are the age that you are.”

“Oh.”

“So, how old are you?”

“Unknown.”

Again, the laughter.

“How old do I… appear?” it asked.

“Late twenties,” Jules said, after a moment’s thought.

“Very well,” Jean-Pierre replied. “Then I am late twenties.”

“No,” Jules said. “You need to pick a year, and a date you were born.”

“Why?” it asked defeatedly, astonished by the petulance in its own voice. It had never felt like this before: quietly defiant and… annoyed. It was annoyed, irritated. There was a heaviness at its eyes, and even as it mused on the thought, it felt its mouth open unbidden, feels strange, thick air pass from its throat through its mouth. Immediately, it frowned in perplexity.

“That was a yawn,” Jules said.

“Am tired?”

“Yes, I expect so.”

“Oh.”

“Come,” Jules said, and Jean-Pierre disobeyed. Was this what disobedience felt like? It felt good. Perhaps it did deserve to Fall.

It lingered in the hay as Jules rose to his feet, and Jules frowned down at it, his eyebrows furrowing. It looked up at him, unmoving, its mouth set in a thin, loose line. “Fine,” Jules said, and then he bent, and lifted.

Jean-Pierre let out a noise of surprise as arms came beneath its legs and its back, lifting it with ease from the hay bale and taking it outside, into the stinging cold of the early morning air, still dark, still with moisture thick in it. The black night was beginning to give way to red on the horizon. It did not struggle, however, as Jules brought it under the low stoop and into another building that adjoined the first, a house – a cottage.

“Jules,” said Marguerite. “Wh— Oh.” She stared at Jean-Pierre for a long moment, her mouth fallen open, and it felt confusion, fear, uncertainty, and then a curious calm. It was as if it was all smoothed away in her mind, and it stared at her for a long moment, not entirely comprehending as she crossed her arms over her chest, and nodded toward the wooden slats to the edge of the room, where a dog, wiry and brown and thick with fur, tapped its tail against the sheepskin beneath it.

Jules carried the angel to the bed, putting it down there, and he reached for a blanket, throwing it over its body.

“No—” it protested as the human draws away, feeling the dreadful cold, the dreadful loneliness, of the cleaved-in-two feeling set into place again.

“Lie down,” Jules said, and he patted the wooden board beside the angel’s breast. The dog wriggled forward, curling against its side. It was not the same as Jules, but still, life burst beneath its skin, and Jean-Pierre came closer, wrapping one arm about the animal and pressing its nose against the back of its furry neck. It didn’t smell like Jules did, like sweat and hay and wheat. It smelled different: this was how dogs smelled. “This is Anicroche,” Jules said. “She’ll keep you warm.”

It held the dog, felt her tail wag against its calf beneath the blanket, felt her warmth, and it pressed its head against her fur, feeling its softness against his skin.

“Where are you going?” it asked miserably.

“To work,” Jules replied. “There is labour that needs completing.”

“For how long?”

“Would you know how long how long was, if I told you?”

It paused a moment. The hand touched its hair once more, and it sighed, not opening its eyes. “No,” it muttered.

“Soon,” Jules said, and stood to his feet. It felt him draw further away, heard him talk in hushed tones with Marguerite, felt the separation as the two souls exited the cottage, and went outside. The dog remained.

The dog’s heart beat faster than Jules’ had, and her mind was a flurry of short bursts of emotion: new thing, curious, love, warm, friend, food?, food want, new thing, warm, warm—

It sighed, and it felt the dog’s mind begin to slow as she wriggled close against its chest, seeking its warmth. The angel allowed it, and it felt the dog’s drowsiness, felt her mind drift and slow…

This was sleep.

***

JEAN-PIERRE

Jean-Pierre heard the click of the door as Colm stepped out from the café, and heard his growl of irritation. “Christ, Jean, how old are you?”

“As old as you are,” Jean-Pierre mumbled against Asmodeus’ neck. “To the day.”

“You’re seriously going to carry him the whole way?” Colm demanded.

“It doesn’t bother me,” said Asmodeus, his tone easy, smooth, and mild: Jean-Pierre’s legs were wrapped around his middle and his arms around his neck, and one of Asmodeus’ hand kept a steadying grip under Jean-Pierre’s thigh, keeping him in place as they walked along. “The house is scarce twenty minutes’ walk from here.”

“You spoil him,” snapped Colm.

“I spoil both of you,” was Asmodeus’ reply, and Jean-Pierre heard Colm’s sound of frustration, but did not feel the wave of it, because Asmodeus drowned it out.

Asmodeus was not like humans or other angels, nor like anyone else besides: he was a pit of lacking feeling, a great, black spot on what might be called the radar of Colm and Jean-Pierre’s empathies, and in this blackness, now, Jean-Pierre felt comfort beyond measure, for it drowned out the cacophony of the rest of the world.

Pressed against this nothingness, being as it was a void that Jean-Pierre called brother, and loved beyond measure, he slept.

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