#your shirt says burn in hell but it could have said born in heaven

[arc-en-disco]

[harrypotter-imaginess]

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Based on this Headcanon list (x) : Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! <This is Part 5!>

A/N: As said, I switched to a headcanon list because we have 7 books to get through, and it will take years if I only do the blurbs. Oh, and if you are in the market for some cute pro-Weasley shirts, check out my 'Weasley Suprmeacy' shirt here!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

* It’s your third year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter’s second, and you’re having a pretty good year so far

* You’ve made your house team, and you’re doing pretty good in school, in fact, you’ve got a knack for potions and herbology

* “Good thing too or we’d be stuck up a creek without ya” Fred says grinning as he watches you show him how to make the simple “cure for boils” potion

* “And not sooner either, these things hurt more than you think” George complains, wincing every time he touches one

* “Well what did you think was going to happen when you tried to go into the girl’s changing room?” You ask with a sigh

* “In our defense we didn’t know it was the girls changing room, we just wanted a shortcut to the pitch”

* You hide a smile, that sounds about right

* Life is pretty good

* Until it isn’t

* “Enemy’s of the heir beware” the words leave your mouth in a murmur

* Your eyes trained on the blood-coated words on the wall

* You think you're going to be sick

* “That’s right you’ll be next mudbloods!” Draco shouts and immediately you feel two hands clasp both of your shoulders

* One is Fred’s and the other is George’s

* They insist on walking you back to your dorm

* “Really I’ll be fine, you should go check on your brother, Ginny was looking a little pale too” you insist but they keep pushing you forward

* “We can do that after you get back to your common room safely”

* If you’re Muggle-born they’re really protective of you over the next few months

* You’ve woken up to taping on your window more than once, yawning as you walk over to see who it is

* Only to see your favorite red-headed pair of doppelgängers

* “Couldn’t sleep” Fred says with a yawn

* “We were too afraid the heir of Slytherin would kill us in our sleep” George adds

* “Best we sleep here, so you can protect us and keep us safe” they finish in unison

* The next morning your dorm mates wake up to see them sleeping on the floor at the foot of your bed, drooling all over each other, wands clasped in their hands

* They absolutely refuse to let you stay in the castle for Christmas

* “Nope, no, no way in bloody hell,” George says defiantly

* “But I want-“

* “If you’ve got a death wish, you can just come home with us and eat mum’s cooking-”

* “So good you’ll go to heaven”

* They’re tugging you to the station before you can even protest

* “What about Ron?” You ask

* “What about Ron? He’s a big boy, besides it looks like those three are scheming-“ George starts

* “Schemings best left to the young ones, us old-timers have no place in it, best for us to go home and have some Christmas pudding, isn’t that right Percy?”

* Percy, who was only passing by gives you three a quizzical look before turning away with a shake of his head

* “Whatever nonsense you’re up to, leave me out of it”

* Fred turns to you with a grin

* “See even Percy agrees, leave the nonsense to the youngins’”

* Percy just keeps shaking his head

* “Come, Ginny, let’s sit somewhere away from them- don’t want you to be around bad influences”

* Their parents are thrilled to meet you

* “So you’re (Y/N)! We’ve heard so much about you-“

* So the twins talk about you at home huh?

* “- from Percy, he says your next in line to make prefect in your house,” she says patting you affectionately on the shoulder

* Percy nods from behind her

* “Cedric’s been recommending you to Sprout” He adds

* Your face burns and the twins grin behind you

* “Prefect (Y/N) I like the sound of that” George says with a mischievous grin

* “Don’t forget us when you’re rich and famous, soaking in the prefect bathroom like a big shot”

* You roll your eyes

* “Well since I’m such a big shot I guess I can overlook when you explode a toilet or two”

* The Weasley’s stay up until well past midnight for Christmas

* Molly knits you a matching scarf for the sweater she gave you last year

* “Well doesn’t it look dashing on you!” She says with a smile and she wraps it around your neck

* George and Fred are nervous you might not like it but you grin

* “I love it”

* George scrambles over

* “You want my scarf too?” He says already unwrapping his from around his neck

* “Take mine too, you look awfully cold,” Fred says

* There’s a Polaroid somewhere of you swaddled in five scarfs while Ginny and the twins laugh

* Percy is in the background looking disappointed- but one of those scarves is how

* At night, when the sleeping arrangements are all drawn up you’re with Ginny

* You lie side by side in her bed, you’re half asleep

* “Can I talk to you about something”

* You yawn and nod, not moving

* And then when she doesn’t say anything you say-

* “About Harry?”

* There’s another silence, but this one feels heavier somehow, and it wakes you up a bit

* “Just send him some chocolates for Valentine’s Day” you yawn patting her shoulder

* “Sign it with ‘your secret admirer’ if it makes you too nervous” you yawn again, feeling your eyes droop

* Is that why she’s been looking so sick lately? Too many nights lying awake at night thinking about a boy who doesn’t share her feelings

* “You know Ginny if something does nothing but cause you pain, and I know it’s not very Gryffindor-like, but you can just walk away from it yknow” you’re slurring, barely awake.

* “I can’t just walk away?” She asks and you nod

* “Of course you can”

* And then you fall asleep

* Completely forgetting about the conversation until it’s Valentine’s Day and you see Harry followed around by a singing valentine

* “So this is the fantastic advice you gave Ginny?” George asks, a teasing smile lifting onto his face

* “I told her to give chocolates! I don’t know a boy alive who doesn’t like sweets”

* “Well where’s our chocolate then?” Fred asks expectantly

* You look to George for some support, but he’s looking at you expectantly too

* “Oh I get it, all your chocolates are saved for pretty boy Diggory”

* You roll your eyes and shake your head while walking away

* What’s up with them and thinking that you have a crush on Cedric

* They do come back to their dorms with small bags of chocolate on their beds, just two pieces each

* But they smile like you gave them a lump of gold

* “Did you make them by hand?” One teases

* “Tasted like they were made with love, and all those warm fuzzy feelings” the other finishes

* You roll your eyes

* “You should just be glad the house-elf I found didn’t mind me taking a bit of chocolate”

* It surprises both of them that you actually did make them by hand

* They were really just teasing

* George is the one to make the first move

* “Well next time you go invite us too, I think it would be fun to learn how to make chocolates”

* George wraps an arm around your shoulders

* “We could give them to Snape and make him think he has a secret admirer,” Fred says with a grin, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders as well

* “Send him a singing Telegraph and everything” George grins

* You shake your head and laugh, what a couple of bozos

* It is pretty funny to see Snape get all flustered though

* They get even more protective when Muggle-born students start getting petrified

* You’re never without one, or both of them

* “Looks like your bodyguard is here,” Cedric says with a teasing smile when he sees George waiting in the corridor outside your class for you

* You nod, moving to go meet him when you feel a gentle touch on your arm

* “Let him know that if he’s ever looking for a career change, I’ll gladly fill the spot” he ruffles your hair before you leave and you can see the teasing coming from a mile away

* But George doesn’t say anything when you walk over to him, walking together to transfigurations in moderate silence

* “So you and Diggory are pretty close” he finally says, breaking the silence

* You look up at him, his eyebrows are threaded together and his mouth is pinched into a frown

* It makes you think about the time you thought that maybe they wouldn’t spend as much time with you anymore when you were brewing the amortentia potion

* “Yeah but we’re closer,” you say bumping your shoulder against his arm, he laughs

* “That’s true”

* The mischievous glint in his eyes returns

* “I doubt he’ll feel the same once he finds out you drool in your sleep”

* You roll your eyes shoving him lightly which earns a laugh

* “I mean really (Y/N), it’s just a bit excessive innit? Most mornings your pillow is more drool than Cotten at this point, you should really get it checked-“

* You shove him harder laughing when he starts laughing

* “Big words from the boy who snores so loud his dorm mates left him floating on the lake”

* “It wasn’t my dorm mates, it was Fred and he did it to because I pretended I was him when I said something that upset Oliver Wood”

* Your eyebrows thread together

* Haven’t seen much of Oliver around now that quidditch has been canceled

* “What did you say?”

* George turns bright red and turns away

* “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time around that keeper for Hufflepuff lately” Wood was especially cranky as of late now that quidditch was canceled for the rest of the year

* And George doesn’t know why, but he gets so irked by it

* What does Wood care who he spends time with off the pitch? It’s not like he’s been taking it easy on you during matches or anything

* “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to talk to someone you’re attracted to”

* And then realizing how it sounded, and flushing red George claimed he was Fred

* He sounded like he was a jealous boyfriend or something

* It’s almost mortifying

* Almost

* “Nothing, don’t worry about it”

* And it’s the first sign for George that someone might have seen something in him that he hasn’t noticed

* But for now that doesn’t matter

* Because you’re here telling jokes like nothing’s changed

* When Ginny gets taken to the chamber you’re sitting with George and Fred in their dorm hugging them close

* You showed up outside their window on your broom, tapping on the glass until they opened it and enveloped you in a hug

* “Maybe it’s just one big mistake, and she’ll pop out any second saying she got lost on her way to the loo”

* “Maybe,” Fred says, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it

* “Everything’s going to be fine,” George says

* And you nod, because you really hope it does

* And by morning Ron and Harry show up covered in dirt with Ginny behind them who looks like she did at first

* With color on her face and vibrancy you haven’t seen on her all year

* “So good old Gildy was a fraud all along huh?”

* “Coulda fooled me”

* And then just like that you’re on the train home

* Joking with Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George about Percy’s secret girlfriend

* “It feels like it was just yesterday we were getting off the train and starting the year,” you say slightly wistful

* “Speak for yourself, Oliver Wood nearly killed me at practice with punishment drills for something I said apparently” Fred groans

* “Best to leave the adventuring to the young ones” George grins teasing you as you step onto the platform

* And just like that, it’s over

* And just like that it’ll be a new school year

* And the beginning of a new adventure

[tefilovesreading]

Karaoke nights - Owen Joyner x reader

Pairing: Owen Joyner x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1,3k

Warning: mention of alcohol, couple swearing words and a bunch of fluff, ‘cause I love a fluffy story.

A/N: This is my first Owen fic, so I hope you like it. Also, let me know if I should make a taglist. Thanks for the pic @tewksburysmischief​

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland​

MASTERLIST 

The humid summer night in Toronto made Owen readjust his shirt, feeling how the fabric was sticking to his skin, but he couldn’t complain. After all, the temperature finally cooled down when the evening came, giving the couple a much-needed break from the heat.

“Are you okay, baby?” Y/N asked when she noticed his boyfriend run his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture.

“Yeah, I’m just getting all sweaty,” he answered reassuring his girlfriend, “did Charlie send you the address?”

“He did, we’re a few blocks away.” The girl showed him the map on her phone screen and Owen nodded, locking just their pinkies, so their hands wouldn’t get sweaty as they walked to their destination.

“Where are we going anyway?” Owen asked again, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Charlie said it was one of his best mates’ place,” she commented swinging their hands to ease the blonde guy, “I’m sure we’re gonna have a good time, and if we’re not, when can always leave.”

“You’re right,” Owen sighed and leaned to kiss his girlfriend’s forehead.

“I’m always right, Joyner” Y/N bragged, sticking her tongue out to mess with Owen.

“Don’t get too cocky, babe,” he warned with a smirk, “you might regret it later.”

Charlie welcomed the couple inside and introduced them to the rest of the group, too many names Y/N couldn’t remember. 

“You guys want something to drink? A beer?” Charlie questioned pointing to the kitchen.

“I’m not sure if we should-” his friend interrupted him quickly.

“If you want a beer it’s okay, you know you can drink here,” Y/N saw her boyfriend nod slowly at his friend’s words, probably remembering that the legal age for drinking here was 19 and not 21.

“I’ll have a beer,” she said.

“Save the beer for later!” One of Charlie’s friends chirped, putting his arm over his shoulders, “we’re doing shots first, guys.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows in shock, but when she turned to see her boyfriend, he winked at her and whispered: “You’re done.”

What was supposed to be one shot of vodka, turned into three, probably four if Owen hadn’t spilled his before the glass could touch his lips.

“Owen is wasted!” Charlie sang with a laugh, “and here we thought little Y/N was gonna be the drunkest out of you two.”

“Oh c’mon!” she huffed and raised her glass, “you need to have a little more faith in me, Gillespie.”

“It’s not fair, she’s been drinking water,” Owen whined and filled his glass again with the clear liquid. 

“You gotta stay hydrated, baby,” she winked at him and threw her head back, letting the alcohol make its way down with a slight burn on her throat. 

“So guys,” the guy she vaguely remembered introducing himself as Nathan, started saying, “we have a little tradition.”

“If you tell me I have to do one more I don’t think I’m gonna be standing for much longer, mate,” Owen deadpanned, making the group laugh.

“Don’t worry, Owen, you don’t have to drink” Charlie patted his best friend’s shoulder and smirked, “but you do have to sing.”

Nathan handed him a mic and asked him what song he wanted to sing. To her surprise, instead of choosing a song from one of his favorite Broadway shows like he always did, he went with a Justin Timberlake classic.

“I’m bringing sexy back,” he sang getting into character so naturally, she knew his boyfriend was born to be a star, “them other boy don’t know how to act,” Charlie faked a gasp when Owen pointed at him as he sang the next verse.

Owen loved to see the bright smile on Y/N’s face as he sang and danced, making sure to give the people a good show, but most important, one that’d make his lovely girlfriend put a lot more effort into her show. 

“You see these shackles baby I’m your slave,” the blonde boy made sure to sing that line directly to Y/n’s face, loving the way she looked around all flustered and embarrassed.

“Take it to the chorus,” Charlie joined him, helping out his best friend with the background vocals. They were a complete mess together, and anyone could see it when they started singing the chorus together.

“Okay, that was one hell of a good show, guys,” Nathan said and turned to Y/N, “but I’m afraid we have to move to our next competitor, miss Y/N!”

“You said it was a tradition, not a competition,” Y/N accused him but received the mic he was holding out for her.

“It’s a traditional competition.”

Owen kissed her cheek when she passed him and grazed her hand. “I already won, babe,” he whispered. 

Unlike Owen and Charlie, she wasn’t the type of person to put on a show, sure she liked having fun, but he knew she’ll be embarrassed even if she did great. And he smiled when he heard her song choice. It was a bold choice.

The girl singing in front of him, with so much confidence and not a care in the world, was a view he wished to remember his entire life. And when she reached the chorus, he knew he was done, he knew he was head over heels for her. 

“Yeah you make me feel like, I’ve been locked out of heaven, for too long,” Y/N sang softly sitting on his lap, “for too long.” she finished, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“That was perfect, babe,” Owen kissed her cheek and felt the heat on her cheeks.

“As much as I love Bruno Mars, we gotta give this round to Owen,” Nathan announced, and she shook her head in disappointment.  

“I told ya,” Owen bragged, leaving a sweet kiss on her cheek, “you had fun, didn’t you?”

She turned her head to focus her attention on her boyfriend and nodded, his eyes were glossy due to the alcohol in his blood, and she was sure hers were just the same. 

“I did, baby,” Y/N said with a grin, “now let’s go and have fun.”

They spent the night laughing and playing random games with their new friends, enjoying the last night they were spending in Canada before going back to Oklahoma. Owen smiled softly at the girl leaning on his shoulder.

“I think it’s time for us to go back to our hotel,” he mentioned, getting up to say goodbye. He held a hand out for Y/N, and she took it gladly.

“Thanks for having us, guys,” the girl smiled politely at the group, “I really had a great night.”

“Thanks for coming,” one of the girls in the group told her with a beaming smile, “if you ever come back, let me know, so we can hang out.”

“Sure, I’d invite you to Oklahoma, but there’s not much to do,” she admitted scrunching her nose just a little. 

Y/N threw herself in bed with an exhausted sigh. Owen helped her take off her shoes and joined her. She wasn’t even drunk now, but she felt so tired she couldn’t keep both of her eyes open at the same time. 

“Shit, I don’t wanna move,” she mumbled, burying her face into her boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, me neither,” he wrapped his arms around Y/N and pulled her closer to his body. “Did I tell you I love you?”

“Every day, baby,” she smiled with her eyes closed, “I love you too.”

“No, but I realized I’m seriously in love with you,” Y/N propped herself up, resting her chin in his chest, and smiled at his words, “when you were singing I couldn’t help but think how fucking lucky I am.”

“You’re the best, Owen,” she admitted, “I feel the same about you, but can’t we talk about this in the morning? I’m fucking tired right now.”

He laughed at her sincerity and nodded in agreement. With a last kiss on Y/N’s forehead, he pulled her closer and closed his eyes, ready to sleep. If having to sleep with his jeans on meant he could sleep holding his girlfriend, he’d do it every time he could.

“I really miss my Bindi,” he confessed in a whisper.

“I miss her too, now go to sleep.” 

[aellynera]

An Off Day (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

AN OFF DAY

(okay, look. my husband thought he was being funny and said “give me a character and i’ll give you a scenario” and then i snorted laughing and then...well. this happened. set sometime before the events of the movie.)

((shoutout to @anetteaneta for an important bit of info and @tinygaydemonbby​ for the random chat and another key bit.))

Word Count: 2100(ish)

Summary: It’s your day off and you’re just trying to enjoy it. Nathan is working and he’s trying to enjoy it. It doesn’t at all go the way you imagined.

Warnings: Cursing. Banter. Robot sex (not graphic). Personal injury. Innuendo. Propositions. Nudity. Complete and utterly ridiculous trash. Possible typos. Nathan Bateman.

The absolute magnificence of the Alaskan landscape was something that, quite frankly, you were never going to get used to. The trees, tall and majestic, towering over the lush green grass. The river, crisp and pristine, bubbling its way to the immense waterfall that cascaded down the cliff face and eventually made its way into the ever-vast ocean. The bald eagles that would soar from treetop to treetop, even the occasional moose that would make itself known at the edges of the compound and then disappear like ghosts into the forest beyond.

It was otherworldly.

The occasional twig snapped and leaf crunched under your boots as you hiked along your usual trail along the north side of the property. Today’s air felt cool on your cheeks despite the sun overhead; at least it was summer - technically, even if the temperature wasn’t getting much above 60 degrees Fahrenheit these past few weeks - so you had twenty hours of daylight instead of the twenty hours of darkness in winter.

You found your favorite spot on a nearby rock and perched on the smooth surface, tilting your face up to that glorious, shining orb. This really was what you needed right now.

*ding!*

...And that was really what you didn’t need. Definitely not right now, and probably not later either. Speaking of otherworldly.

Your boss was a difficult man, and you had a strange rapport with him that was irritating on a daily professional basis, and to your dismay, increasingly so on a personal level. To be fair, you were the only two humans out here. To also be fair, your boss was kind of annoyingly hot.

You sighed and reached into your pocket, pulling out your phone and glancing at the screen.

God: Where the fuck are you?

God? What the… You were annoyed by the text, but more annoyed by the name. When the hell did that bastard changed his name in your phone? He was insufferable on the best of days, but this was a new low. A new high? You weren’t really sure. Sighing, you shot a text back.

You: It’s my day off.

God: You know that’s not really a thing here right?

You: It is when I need a break from you.

God: I’ll make it up to you.

You: Unless you’re asking me to dinner, I don’t want to hear it.

You groaned. You really didn’t mean to say that.

The little ellipses that showed he was typing back flashed across the screen several times, then stopped. Then popped back up, and stopped again. And just because your boss was your boss, it did it four more times, but still no response.

You shoved your phone back in your jacket pocket and returned your attention to the river, breathing deeply and watching the water swirl around a pile of rocks on the opposite bank.

*ding!*

Dammit.

God: I need you to come back like right now.

You: I’m not gonna sit around and be your Eliza Doolittle today, Nathan.

You weren’t just saying that. Last week, the man had dragged you, literally, into the lab by your elbow and had you repeat vowel sounds and random words extremely phonetically while holding a pulsing orb of glowing blue goo. He claimed it was some kind of brain training. You’d said it wasn’t part of your job description, but honestly, it probably was. You were there to assist, you were there to manage, you were there to occasionally have a satisfyingly intelligent and non-arrogant conversation, and you were mostly there to make sure Nathan Bateman didn’t blow anything up or burn anything down.

That didn’t necessarily mean you liked any of it. Okay, fine, you kind of liked the assisting part and definitely the intelligent conversation part. But it was your day off, and all you wanted to do was not be in the house.

God: What? No, it’s...I just need your help with something.

You: Nathan. It. Is. My. Day. Off. No assistance today. Bother me tomorrow.

God: ...Please?

That gave you pause. Since when did he actually ask for anything politely?

You: Fine. I’m halfway up summit trail, give me like 20.

God: Make it 10.

You:  Asshole.

God: And bring a bag of frozen peas.

What the actual hell.

You blinked at the screen twice, turned your phone off completely, and started back towards the house.

*****

You didn’t know why you paid the slightest bit of attention to Nathan’s request, but once in the house, you found yourself in the kitchen, pulling a bag of frosty legumes out of the freezer. With it in hand, you made your way to the lab.

Nathan hadn’t told you where he was, but you knew where to find him. He was always in the lab.

“Okay, I’m back,” you called out as you pushed through the door to Nathan’s inner sanctum. “Now what is so damn important that…”

“Oh thank fuck,” Nathan’s voice called out. “Do you have the stuff?”

You glanced around suspiciously. You couldn’t see him. Until you came around the side of the long table in the middle of the room and found him. Your eyes widened at the sight of Nathan, curled up on the floor in a fetal position, sweating and vaguely shaking.

And totally naked.

He glanced up as he saw your shoes approached and weakly raised his arm and made a grabby hand. “Gimme.”

Tossing the frozen vegetables to him, your mouth opened and closed several times, trying to process the scene. Before you could really take it all in, you watched as Nathan reached over his shoulder, grabbed his discarded t-shirt, and wrapping the icy bag in the shirt, placed it directly on his crotch.

“All right,” you finally got out, “what the actual hell is going on?!”

“Ohhhhh,” Nathan moaned as the cold compress made contact with his skin. “I thought I was gonna die.”

“Why are you naked?” you yelled at him.

“There was a malfunction,” he replied, nonchalant as if you were simply discussing the weather.

You just gaped at him. This was definitely not in your job description.

“A malfunction,” you repeated.

Nathan made a feeble gesture at the table. It was covered in metal parts and wires, screwdrivers and other things you assumed were robotic but couldn’t recognize. He had been working a new body build for the past few days, that much you knew. But now there were metal bits everywhere and Nathan was bare as the day he was born, sprawled in the middle of the floor. Your eyes scanned the table again; the biggest object, in the middle of the mess, looked sort of like...oh, you did not like where this was going. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I may have miscalculated the required tension,” Nathan said, still curled up on the floor.

The required...oh hell no.

“Nathan...you know you’re the literally the smartest person I know, and you know I think you’re brilliantly creative and inventive and all that important stuff, but please, please tell me you were not actually doing what I think you were doing,” you muttered.

“I was working!”

“You know I can just check the security footage, right?” you stared him down.

Nathan looked at you over the top of his glasses. “I had to test it and make sure it worked.”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Why does a robot have to have working...parts?!” As soon as you asked, you wished you hadn’t. This idiot genius actually had the nerve to blush. Slightly. He would never admit it, but his ears definitely got pinker than they’d been a few seconds ago.

Nathan sat up suddenly and glared at you, adjusting the ice pack again - thank the heavens - to keep himself covered. “First of all, it’s not a robot, it’s an AI. There’s a big difference. And second of all, we talked about this. The point is to make it as human as possible, so this particular part was necessary.”

The glare you shot back at him could have melted his current loincloth. It was your day off and Nathan couldn’t even leave you be for one whole day without his compulsion to cater to whatever whim was in his head and get under your skin. You dropped into one of the lab chairs.

“So...let me get this straight,” you sighed. God help you. But not the God in your cell phone, because he could go fuck himself. Or get fucked. Whichever.

Suddenly, through your haze of utter exasperation, what you’d just thought clicked into place and you snorted a laugh. Your eyes flashed over to the thing in the middle of the table. It was definitely shaped like a pelvis.

Nathan’s eyes became daggers. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

Your eyes went to the thing on the table and to his hands, and then back again. You shook your head, cleared your throat, and tried not to laugh again. It didn’t work. “Sorry. Um. So...what you’re saying is...you got injured because you were...fucking a robot pelvis.”

“I should fire you,” Nathan grumbled.

“And you got injured - from fucking a disembodied robot pelvis -”

“I am so going to fire you.”

“...because it was too...tight?”

“I shouldn’t have asked for your help. I should have just let myself die here, naked and unsatisfied.” He flopped back down.

You couldn’t help yourself any longer. Your laughter rang through the lab, a mixture of actual amusement and horrified reality. You snorted again and that made you laugh harder. Nathan had always joked about making a sex robot. Well, you thought he had been joking, but now, clearly not - and he’d hurt himself in the actual process of trying to make sure it worked. You weren’t a monster, you hoped he wasn’t truly actually injured, but you also took a little satisfaction in knowing karma existed.

After a few minutes, you wiped your eyes and looked down at him. Nathan stared back, but you could see the start of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I told you I miscalculated the tension. It was fine--”

“Until it wasn’t?” you wheezed.

“--until it cut off all the circulation to my dick.”

You bit your lip. “Nathan Bateman. You literally cockblocked yourself.”

He didn’t respond right away. But then he spoke, at the same moment you noticed the smirk on his face fully bloom and what you’d come to call his “up to some bullshit” look glimmer in his eyes.

“Are you gonna come help me or not?”

“Excuse me?” You were fairly certain your eyebrows could not go any farther up your forehead.

“Well, I’m not in excruciating, unimaginable pain now, and I’d like to make sure my dick isn’t going to fall off. And I didn’t finish. Need a little help here.”

“You want me to--” you stuttered.

“Un-cockblock me,” his wolfish smile broke out fully now.

You hurled a pen at his head. “You really are an asshole.”

“I admit,” he continued, easily dodging your projectile, “this wasn’t what I was expecting for the first time you saw me naked, but I’ll work with what I got.” He started to remove the ice pack.

Another pen went flying his way. “You know, I’m just going to pretend that you’re not about to flash me with your mechanically impaired penis, and that you didn’t just proposition me, and I’m leaving this room now,” you said, standing up and shaking your head.

“Baby, you’re just gonna leave me hanging here?” he grinned, stretching back out on the floor. He folded his hands behind his head. The t-shirt wrapped bag of frozen peas remained - now perched rather proudly, you noted - on his groin.

A vexed growl left your lips as you walked towards the lab door. “Leaving now!”

“Well could you at least toss me my pants?”

You glanced down. Nathan’s sweatpants were balled up behind the lab door. How they’d gotten all the way over here...nope. Nope. You decided that information was entirely unnecessary.

You threw his pants at him and they hit him in the face with a satisfying whump.

“You sure I can’t convince you to help me out here?” Nathan asked serenely from under the fabric.

He couldn’t see the small smile on your face as you walked out the door. Thank god. Or...God. Whatever. The man was a menace.

“Ask me to dinner,” you called over your shoulder.

“I’ll text you,” he called back.

God.

~end~

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[caxsthetic]

DEMON'S PRAYER — Kita Shinsuke x Reader — Angels&Demons!AU

Episode 1: Last Task

Type: TV Series (Multiple Chapters)

Cast: Kita Shinsuke, Suna Rintarou, Oikawa Tooru, Akaashi Keiji

Storyline: You were just another soul to be bound, another task that he needed to complete. That was what inside his head when the king gave him the mission. Yet now as you hummed giddily in the kitchen, with his shirt engulfed your figure — he started to feel unsure.

Genre: Fantasy, Drama, Mature

Darkness. It was the only thing that predominated in this bottomless pit called hell. The freezing temperature biting the skin without mercy, sending shivers down the spine for those who just arrived. There was no intense fire that burned, such a contrast to how humans portrayed this realm.

Everything that unfolded here was just melancholy. Poor soul dragged forcefully by the reaper, some of them wailing — begging to be released. But some of them just had their head hanging low, accepting the twisted fate that they got themself into.

He could only snicker, at how those humans acted as if they didn't just kill their own kind, acting like bullying and stealing someone's virginity was not a sin. They never thought about any consequences that might come at the afterlife. Or maybe, they just never foreseen what waited for them after their heart stops beating.

His brown orbs glowed in the dark, amused as he looked down to where the reaper twins just got back from earth. Both of them always had some entertaining soul to drag. Usually, they even made fun of the once human, spitting some snide comment about wasting their life.

It was no surprise that one of the twins wished to be born as a human. From the longing look inside his greyish orbs, or how he seemed so harsh over all of the ungrateful sinners — the silver-haired reaper didn't enjoy the chance of life that was given for him.

Kita could not really see the reason why one of the twins seemed to seek a mundane life. Either demon or reaper, they were born as something more. They were gifted, all above humans that were just a tiny goldfish compared to them.

Ah, it was rude for him to call humankind like that. But it was the truth, at least from his point of view. Demons, just like angels — were both creatures created by the supreme. Both had artifice that was a lot higher than humankind.

Angels and demons stay in their own realm to do their jobs, worshipping the supreme deity. Or as for the demons, they were lurking under the shadows, doing all the impossible jobs to take care of all the sinners in this universe.

Kita never cared much about how everyone said the supreme just playing favourites by keeping the angels in heaven, and demons in hell. It was not like he did all the tasks for the omnipresent anyway. As long as he knew he could do anything if he had the king's trust, being good in front of the supreme was at the bottom of his list.

Propping his chin with a hand, his legs dangled at the edge of the palace's rooftop. He just got back from a task a few hours ago. Once again, of course, ended up in success. If his counting was right, he only just needed to finish one more assignment from the king.

Just one more before he could be granted the power to bend the rules as much as he liked, to go anywhere as freely without anything tying him down. Just one more, before hell being told to bow for him.

He really couldn't wait to be the king's right-hand man for all eternity.

"Kita-sama~" He gritted his teeth when his eardrum caught the familiar sing-song voice that belonged to his junior. "Don't ignore me like that, Kita-sama. I know you can hear me." It grew closer and closer to his side, wanting his attention so bad.

He didn't have to turn his face around to recognise who it was. The wind that suddenly occurred due to the flap of wings, causing his straight hair to dishevelled a little.

"What is it now, Suna?"

Suna Rintarou, another demon that clung to him ever since birth. All of the other demons always made fun of him, saying he was too pretty, too delicate to be called a demon. Even with the higher-ups, they were all used to calling him an imposter — an angel in disguise.

But when Kita became the only one who stood for him, guiding his path to be a real demon, all the whispers stopped. Suna was a lot more destructive, sadistic, having no mercy to any soul. His pretty face was just a facade, because behind it all, was a demon who never hesitated to decapitate sinners.

Sometimes, even to some innocent creatures.

"Satan's called." The younger demon stated mindlessly. "Saying about giving you one last order or something, Kita-sama."

Kita released a sigh with how careless his companion acted just now. Manners, something that the dark-haired demon always lacked off. Just because they were creatures which didn't really sound like they would care for such courtesy, they really had the utmost respect toward each other.

"You did not just call the king with his real name." His finger went up to his temple, trying to massage the headache that wanted to come. "How many times do I need to tell you that we address Satan as the king?"

Suna could sense the irritation that dripped on each word being spoken, even though the intonation was flat and filled with no emotion. Yet he knew the superior demon long enough to recognise the stern expression that showed disapproval.

"Sorry." It was such a short apology, but with how he landed his feet and closed his wings, Kita knew that the younger demon really meant it. Even though Suna could be so scary at the point everyone didn't dare to be within one-metre range with him, he always had such a different personality when it came to the brown-eyed demon.

“Just remember it next time.” And no matter how many times the younglings made mistakes, Kita always put a blind eye to it. “Where is the king? Throne room?” He stood up, dusting his clothes delicately even though there was nothing that stained the fabric.

“No, Sa— I mean, the king is in the garden right now.”

Kita raised his eyebrows in confusion. Everytime a demon was given a task, the king would be there in the throne room, wearing his almighty crown made of fire. And for three hundred years, he never thought that the king would even invite him to come to the garden — the place where it was exclusive only for the higher-ups.

“Alright.” Suna smirked when he heard the answer, always so straightforward. “I see that smirk, Suna.” But it changed into a flabbergasted one in an instant.

“Sorry. You just always amused me, Kita-sama.” Brown orbs pierced into his soul, as if telling him to continue his words. “The king just called for you, in his garden that all of us lowlife demons never see with our eyes. Yet you didn’t look afraid or nervous at all.”

“Well, when you said it like that.” Kita chuckled lowly from the honest words, flailing his black wings as he was ready to take off. He pondered a little, never thought much about it before since he only focused on his goal. “We all already met the king anyway, right?” His feet stride to the edge of the roof, turning his face towards the younger demon. “So why should I?”

And without even waiting to see Suna’s response, he let his body fall into the open air graciously. His eyes fluttered close, focusing on how the wind grazed his wings. He remembered everything, the different intensity for each metre he already dived in. It felt heavier every time he got lower and lower. Just a little more, a few more seconds.

His colossal black wings spread to the side in an instant as he turned his body to face the ground, smirking as he felt proud with himself. Just like any other day, he could reach the ground even faster with this method. A dangerous one actually, a unique talent of him that there was no other demon willing to try. Ticking another list for the king to like him even more.

Every demon was busy with their own job and tasks. They had to assign all the sinners with the right punishment, making sure that each of them understood well that hell existed and created for them to reflect. All the cried out, all the weeping soul and painful scream — it was just another sight that was common to happen.

He soared through every level of hell, down into the coldest place where he could even see a puff of air slipped from his mouth when he breathed out. It was mysterious as to why the king had his palace right on top of the mountain, but decided to have the lowest level for his oh-so-called garden.

Kita slowed down as he saw the blue fire that burns on the looming gate of the garden. He was hesitant to land, knowing exactly what kind of feelings that he would get by making contact with the lowest ground. But the king demanded his presence, and it was not proper for him to keep his wings spread in front of the devil itself.

He hissed a little when his bare feet touched the black soil. Every time he took one step forward, a trail of blue hue could be visible from where he stood before. It was fire, right underneath the ground was the scorching blue fire that the temperature was controlled by the king.

Finally standing in front of the gate, he looked down to his palm that had a burning scar from where he was still a little demon. It still haunted him sometimes, the searing sensation when his skin made contact with the blue fire. But he needed to believe the king, wishing that the gate temperature was lowered for him.

His hand pushed the gate so easily, and he couldn’t help but smirk in awe as the fire engulfed his finger. It was as if he touched nothing, as if the fire was just a mist. He was still in starstruck when he walked past the gate, following the trail of blue hue that led him deeper into the garden.

This was the first time he landed in this level with a real purpose. Back then when he was just a naive demon, curious about what lay within the deepest level of hell, he just knew that he despised fire — kinda tragic for a demon wasn’t it? But that was exactly what he felt after he burned his feet and palm, one that he felt the second he landed here around two hundred years ago.

Though right now as his orbs caught all the glimmer on the leaves vein, he forgot about the nightmare that once occurred in his life. There were no other colours in this place except black and blue. Even the plants, it had the exact structure like what he usually found on earth, but it was more extraterrestrial than those green seedlings.

Yet it still captivated him as he walked through the forest-like area; tall trees filled his vision, and with all the blue lines around its veins, making him think that each plant was so much alive. Another living creature, trapped as they could do nothing but grow.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

His eyes widened when the familiar smooth voice rang right on his ear. The way his body jerked slightly, resulting in a chuckle to boom through the entire space he was in right now. “Don’t be so uptight now, Shinsuke. You know I will never do my favourite demon no harm.”

Arose in between the gigantic trees, red eyes pierced into his soul. With a sight of the king, he immediately got down on his knees, lowering his gaze to the ground to show respect. Just like any meeting that they had beforehand though, he would get a chuckle from the king, indicating to him that it was enough, that he didn’t have to bow down.

Kita stood up gracefully, standing still on the same spot as he waited for any kind of information about the next assignment that he needed to fulfil. The king circled around the fountain that was installed in the middle of the space. Instead of water cascading down the black surface, it was fire. Overflowing from the top and down to the lowest pond.

“You must know why I call you here, right? That younglings having quite a big mouth, I know he would have no filter when it came to you.” It must be Suna. He thought. After all, there was no other young demon that was dared enough to talk to him.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then come here, Shinsuke. Take a look at the pond.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second, eager to gather as much information as he needed to. The once blue fire that filled the pond twirled into something else, a vision revealed in front of his eyes. There was a glimmer of earth, tall buildings and people passing by. From just seconds looking through the pond, he already knew where he should go next.

Now he just needed to know who. Which poor soul that he needed to bring to hell? What kind of sin that he needed to make sure the next human did?

Laugh, that was the first thing that he focused on. She looked so warm that it was even sickening for him, how could a human smile and laugh so freely to everyone who greeted her after all. He squinted his eyes, wanting to see her even closer. The way she gazed at everyone was nothing that he could see as a sinner.

There was no evil inside her, she just kept giving and giving. Not even one taking anything from the others. He parted his lips, wanting to ask what was exactly his task would be. But before he could emit a word, the vision fast forward to her slamming an apartment door.

Not even a second after that, she slid down into the floor, burying her head as she sobbed uncontrollably. He was frantic by now, deep down he just wanted to ask what happened to her, why she looked so fragile. Most importantly, why did she have to be dragged into hell?

She’s not even a sinner, she was just someone who needs help. He needed an answer, he had to know now why someone who was already broken, became his last mission? What kind of turmoil that the king wanted to see? Kita couldn’t look away from the pond, eyebrows furrowed as his mind wandered.

And as if the king knew what he was thinking right now, four words whispered to his ear — echoing inside his head as the next assignment.

“Make her kill herself.”

Previous ⤟ MASTERLIST ⤠ Next Up

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[expectingtofly]

One Hell (Heaven?) of a Situation

2.6k

also posted on ao3

thanks to @callenofthenorth​ for beta-editing :)

15x20 Coda, Crack and Fluff, Jimmy and Kansas are in Heaven

I have no good explanation for this. I was in the middle of writing a "serious" coda... then the stuff about Jimmy and Kansas came out and this happened instead

Dean opened his eyes to a bright, blue sky.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, realizing he was lying on the ground outside. Sitting up, he looked around, trying to get his bearings, then everything came flooding back to him. The vamp mimes, that fucking piece of rebar, piercing pain—he looked down at himself and frowned. These were not the clothes he’d been wearing on that hunt. 

“Fuck,” he said aloud as it hit him. “I’m dead.”

Getting to his feet, he stared at the building he’d ended up beside. The Roadhouse? He thought his Heaven was setting off fireworks with Sammy. Then a familiar figure stepped out onto the porch and called, “Dean!”

“Bobby?” Dean asked as he approached the porch.

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?” Bobby asked, pulling him into a hug. “Thought you had several more years in you.”

“Yeah, well, bad luck.” He really was gonna have to come up with a better story for how he got here than death by glorified rusty nail.

Pulling away from Bobby, he looked at the lit windows of the Roadhouse. Was that "Dust in the Wind" playing from inside? “What memory is this?”

“It isn’t one.” Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. “Heaven’s completely different now. Jack changed everything. Everyone’s together, we can go wherever we want, do whatever we want.” He gestured to the Roadhouse door. “Turns out that means a lot of parties inside.”

“Shit, alright.” Dean smiled. “Way to go Jack.”

“Wasn’t just his idea, though. Castiel helped.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat, or would’ve if it was still beating. He stared at Bobby, afraid he hadn’t heard him right. “Cas  helped?”

Bobby grinned. “A week ago, or something like that—time passes strange here—Jack showed up and introduced himself. Brought Cas with him.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean interrupted. “A week ago? What the hell? Why didn’t Jack bring Cas down to Earth? Sammy and I, we were going crazy—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to remember his last days on Earth. The way he and Sam had poured through books of lore, trying to find a spell, something, anything, to bring Cas back. The long, sleepless nights, the way his eyes burned as he scanned yellowed pages, the fear that they might never get Cas back, that he might never get to give Cas a reply… Even after defeating Chuck, returning to run-of-the-mill monster hunts, nothing had seemed normal. Nothing had seemed right.

“I don’t know,” Bobby said, frowning. “Cas said he had work to do here first. He’s inside—”

The words hadn’t left his mouth before Dean was wrenching open the door to the Roadhouse and rushing inside. Calls and greetings rose around him, but he couldn’t pay them any attention, too intent on scanning the room. 

There, in the corner, sitting at a table near a stage where a band played. The angel he never thought he’d see again. “Cas!” Dean called and rushed forward. 

A woman at the same table nudged Cas’ shoulder, and Cas turned from watching the band. His eyes met Dean’s, then widened, and a look of horror crossed over his face.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands up in defense, and holy fuck—Dean skidded to a stop in front of the table, the words, I love you on his tongue. That was not Cas’ voice. And the man in front of him was not Cas.

He was Jimmy.

Dean stared at him, the joy and relief that had urged him forward giving way to shock and disappointment. If he’d paused for one second before running over, he would’ve realized in an instant that the man in front of him wasn’t Cas. There were several giveaways. For one, the polo shirt and khakis Jimmy was wearing. Two, his arm around the woman sitting in the chair next to him—his wife, Dean was assuming.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean managed, realizing he’d been staring with his mouth open. He shut it and tried to not look as betrayed as he felt.

“I live down the road,” Jimmy said, looking affronted. “Well, not live, because I guess we’re all dead—”

“Where’s Cas?”

“He’s, um,” Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room. “He was here a moment ago, but I don’t know where he went.”

Dean blinked at him, then turned to scan the room. “Anyone seen Cas leave?” he called desperately. He got a mixture of noncommittal sounds and shrugs. Just his luck. The one time he was finally ready to tell Cas how he felt, and Cas was nowhere to be found.

Bobby reached his side. “I see you’ve met Jimmy. Again.”

“Yeah.” He stared at Jimmy, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This is one hell of a situation.” Which was ironic, considering he was in Heaven right now.

“It’s not my fault!” Jimmy protested. “I wasn’t expecting Castiel to show up looking like me! Besides, I thought angels didn’t go to Heaven when they died.”

“Well, Cas is special,” Dean spluttered. “He gets to keep his vessel, I guess. And if anyone deserves to be in Heaven, it’s him.” 

Tearing his eyes from the imposter, he turned to Bobby. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered. “Why is Jimmy in my Heaven?” It wasn’t that he hated the guy; it was just incredibly difficult to look at him—Jimmy having the same face as Cas and all.

“Like I said,” Bobby explained patiently, “it’s not  your  heaven. It’s everyone’s. Case in point, your dad has a house not five minutes from here.”

“Fuck.” Sam was gonna  love  that. “Wait.” He scanned the room again, slower now. There was Ellen, Jo, Mrs. Tran—fuck, he was gonna have a lot of explaining to do about Kevin. “Where’s mom?”

Bobby grimaced. “Her and John split up, pretty hairy situation. She’s doing well now, though, much better off without him. Do you know a stuck-up British guy by the name of Ketch?”

“You’re joking. Not him and mom… Together?” Bobby nodded and Dean swore under his breath. “This place isn’t what I was expecting at all.”

“If I might add,” Jimmy spoke up and Dean looked at him. “Castiel has been creating quite the disturbance since he got here. Heaven was… peaceful before him. Not so much now.”

“What’s he talking about?” Dean asked Bobby.

“Well, turns out Cas isn’t such a fan of John—” 

“He nearly started a fight!” Jimmy interjected. “This is Heaven, for Heaven’s sake!”

Dean couldn’t help but grin, and Bobby returned the smile. “Come on,” he said, leading Dean away from Jimmy. “Cas will turn up soon enough. I’m sure Jack will too. There’s a lot of people here who are happy to see you.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean said, trying to hide the fact that, at the moment, the only person he wanted to see was Cas. He let Bobby lead him to the bar where Ellen smiled and waved at them. “Icarus-Borne on Wings of Steel” filled the air and he frowned. That sounded pretty good for a cover band. 

He glanced at the stage and stopped in his tracks. “Is that… Kansas?”

Bobby nodded. “They all died when their tour bus crashed. I would say it’s a shame, but I’m enjoying the live music too much.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. First Jimmy, now Kansas. Heaven was… interesting, to say the least. Overwhelming was another way to put it. If only Cas would show up, he could start to appreciate it all. 

Cas? he prayed silently. I’m here, buddy. I wanna… I wanna see you. He waited for the sound of wings, but none came, and disappointment sunk in his chest.

He made his way through the Roadhouse, greeting old friends, making up a badass story for how he died—thirteen vamps, an epic car chase, and liberal use of his grenade launcher—but his smile felt forced. Where the hell was Cas? Maybe he was angry Dean had stayed silent during his love confession. In Dean’s defense, Cas had thrown a lot at him all at once. He’d been in a state of shock for days after. Even now he wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing up.

“Jimmy,” he called, returning to the table. He caught the way Jimmy rolled his eyes before looking up at him. 

“Yes?”

“Cas, he’s been alright, hasn’t he? I mean, did he, um, has he said anything about me?”

Jimmy’s eye twitched and his wife laughed. “What has he not said about you—that’s the real question,” she answered. 

“He won’t shut up,” Jimmy added. He gestured to Kansas, to the bar. “All this, it’s been for you. Giving Kansas a gig here, the free, unlimited liquor. He acts like he’s designing Heaven for everyone, but it’s painfully clear it’s all for you. He even brought in the Impala, which he won’t let anyone near, by the way.”

Baby was here? Obviously. She was as good a car as cars got. Of course Cas understood that. “So, he’s not mad at me?” he pressed.

Jimmy let out an exasperated sigh and looked at his wife. “This is the nonsense I had to put up with, the whole time Castiel was possessing me.” He looked back at Dean. “No. Not that I know of. Did you two really not get together on Earth? After all this time?”

“We’ve been busy,” Dean protested. “Saving the world, defeating God—we haven’t exactly had time for heart to heart talks.” That wasn’t strictly true, but the truth wasn’t something he was proud of. All these years and he’d never worked up the courage to tell Cas how he truly felt. But now he had a second chance, if only Cas would show. 

“Well, hopefully you two can talk it out soon because if I have to see Castiel stare at you longingly across the room one more time, even if it’s not through my own eyes anymore, I’m gonna request a transfer to hell.” With that, he turned back to his wife, and Dean stammered for a snarky retort. Unable to come up with one that preserved the last shreds of his dignity, he slunk away.

Joining Jo and Charlie at the bar, he listened as Charlie told him about the recent larping tournament she had organized. He paid attention, nodding and laughing at the right moments, but his eyes kept searching the room for any glimpse of a trenchcoat. 

The door to the Roadhouse opened and Dean turned expectantly, his heart racing. Rufus raised a hand in greeting as he stepped inside and Dean sighed. 

Please, Cas, he prayed. I have so much to tell you.

His eyes returned to Jimmy again. Same hair, same face, same eyes as Cas. But so different. So human. Cas, though… Cas was gorgeous—the way he stared at Dean so intently, the way he carried himself, the way his eyes glowed with angelic strength, such blue eyes, and his hands, holy fuck...

“For Pete’s sake!” Jimmy exclaimed and Dean startled, realizing he’d been staring for who knew how long. Jimmy jabbed his finger at a door on the back wall. “He’s hiding in there.”

“W-What…?”

Jimmy looked heavenwards—well, at the ceiling—for a long moment before meeting Dean’s eyes. “Castiel panicked when he heard you were here, something about not expecting you so soon—”

Dean stopped listening, already shoving his stool aside and rushing to the door. The doorknob didn’t budge so he knocked. “Cas? Cas, are you in there?”

A long pause, then a muffled, “Yes.”

Dean leaned closer to the door to hear better. “Cas, what the hell, man? What are you doing in there?” He waited for a response, but none came. “Cas?” he pressed, afraid the angel had flown the coop.

The door opened slowly, and Dean took a step back. Cas stood with one hand on the doorknob, an embarrassed look on his face. “Hello, Dean.”

The sound of those familiar words, in that familiar voice, made Dean weak at the knees. He forced his voice to be steady as he said, “Hi, Cas.”

Cas studied him. “You died so soon.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, sick joke, right?”

“How did it happen?” Cas started to ask, but Dean waved his hand. 

“Not important. The better question is, why have you been avoiding me?” His voice faltered at a sudden fear that he wouldn’t like the answer. Maybe Cas had had too much time to think since the night he died, maybe he was regretting everything he’d said, maybe Dean’s silence had spoiled the moment—

Cas ducked his head, studying his shoes. “I wasn’t sure… I never expected to see you again. I thought my death was final. Then Jack awakened me and brought me from the Empty, and...”

“And?”

“And I wasn’t sure how you would react to my reappearance.” Cas raised his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “I said a lot of things before I died, and I don’t know how things stand between us now.” 

“Then let me speak.” He glanced over his shoulder to see everyone watching them. In all the times he’d pictured this moment, he’d never imagined having an audience, let alone background music courtesy of Kansas. But he’d be damned if he went one moment longer without telling Cas the truth. 

Focusing on those blue eyes again, he took a deep breath and said, “You were wrong.” Cas frowned a little and Dean continued, “You  can  have me. I love you, Cas—have for years now. I just never… I never knew how to say it.” Cas watched him, face serious, eyes intent. So undeniably Castiel. “I love you. So goddamn much. Please say it’s not too late. Please tell me you’re not having second thoughts.”

A smile slowly spread over Cas’s face. “It’s not too late, Dean. I’ll always love you.”

Relief rushed over Dean. Before he could think twice about it, he stepped forward, grabbed Cas’ tie, and pulled him in to kiss him. He felt Cas’ hand rise to his cheek, then Cas was kissing him back and people were cheering, but Dean ignored them all, wrapping his free arm around Cas to pull him closer. 

“I thought you didn’t love me back,” Cas whispered, pushing his forehead against Dean’s when they broke apart after seconds, or maybe years. Time in Heaven was different, after all.

“I can’t believe you hid in a closet to avoid me.”

Cas laughed a little. “Not my finest moment.”

“I almost confessed my love to Jimmy; I thought he was you.”

“Oh, yes. I suspect his being here is going to cause some confusion.” Cas pulled away to frown at Jimmy over Dean’s shoulder. “And he was not supposed to tell you where I was.”

Dean laughed. “I’m just so glad you’re here.” He kissed Cas again, deeply, slipping his hands under the worn fabric of the trenchcoat. Cas’ fingers slid along his neck and in his hair. Finally, after so long...

Though his mind was spinning, he caught Jimmy’s voice rise above Kansas playing “The Wall,” “First I had to hear all of Castiel’s thoughts about Dean while he possessed me, now I have to share a Heaven with them—”

“Get a room!” Jo called. Dean waved her off as Cas pulled him into the supply room. He’d make a comment later on the irony of hiding in a closet. Right now, he nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to keep kissing Cas while fumbling to pull the door shut behind them. Time to start enjoying the afterlife.

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[cryinginthebackseat]

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.  

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

                                                         fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel​ @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass​ @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

[whispersafterdusk]

Prompt #17: Destruct

"Welcome to the Royal Menagerie."

Zenos's voice carried easily over the distance between them; Sylnan strode further into the garden, only glancing briefly up to where the captured primal hung in some sort of magitek cage -- he'd wondered where that damn thing had gotten to and now he had his answer.

"The King of Ruin built this place for his foreign queen.  He kept it filled with familiar creatures from her homeland.  They bored me all.  This fine specimen, on the other hand, is simply...divine."

Sylnan kept walking toward him, casually drawing his bow.

"Your fates are entwined, are they not, eikon-slayer?  This dragon, this...embodiment of unbridled despair, born of a desperate man's burning hatred for the Empire...  How raw the raging tempest that churns within its breast.  No myth made manifest this, but...a being of pure violence."

"So you've adopted a pet.  Most would've chosen a canine, I imagine," Sylnan responded at last. ((Continued below cut))

Zenos turned, extending a hand toward him with one of those wan smiles.  "Ha ha, mayhap you are the true architect of our design.  You who fought the very soul of vengeance to the edge and watched him fail.  You who let slip the Allagan hound to drive this eikon into my arms!"

"And here I thought the Empire was against eikons," Sylnan said, eying the man.  He was a dangerous being...and seemingly caught up in his own speech.  "Whatever would your father think?"

"Oh... My. Have I said too much?  Forgive me, this...sensation is wholly unfamiliar to me.  A question, then - and I should like very much for you to speak from the heart.  If I were to stand aside, what would you do to this eikon?"

"Same thing I intend to do to you, Zenos."

Zenos's smile grew a tiny bit.  "Ah.  As simple as that.  But of course. You are the eikon-slayer. Such certainty is to be expected."

With practiced smoothness Sylnan drew an arrow and held it near the bowstring.  "I'm also an imperial-slayer, in case you missed the more pressing part of that answer."

There was a long moment of silence; Zenos actually looked thoughtful for a moment.  "A pity.  There is another alternative. Or there would be...had you only mastered your abilities."

"I've mastered exactly enough to handle this moment," Sylnan retorted, lifting his  bow with the arrow nocked.

To his surprise Zenos turned his back to him to eye Shinryu.  "I speak of your Echo, of course.  Does it merely render you immune to eikonic influence?  Or is it rather that your influence is greater than theirs?  Granted, these implications are of no moment to a savage, who thinks only of killing the beast before him..."

"...are you familiar with the concept of mirrors?"

Zenos turned back to him.  "When I read van Baelsar's reports, I immediately saw the boundless potential of the Echo. I saw how it could be instrumental in binding an eikon to one's will. Hence my research and the Resonant - and oh so much more!"

Sylnan rolled his eyes and rapidly drew and let fly an arrow that came close enough to pass through Zenos's hair.  Whatever the man was about to say died in his throat and, infuriatingly, the man's smile grew wide.

"Enough talk, your Royal Pain-in-my-Ass," Sylnan growled, lowering his bow and pointing a finger at the crazed man.  "It ends today.  You get the fight you so desperately desired: I'm not exhausted, my bow is not broken, I am not bereft of arrows.  It's you, versus me.  I'll even make it more theatrical for you-" he added, whipping off his hat to let his hair fall free.  "Hells, if it will get you to finally lay down and die I'll even take my shirt off - bards are nothing if not dramatic, after all."

Zenos's eyes widened - as did his smile - for one very brief moment then he lowered his chin to his chest and fixed Sylnan with a wild stare.  "Man should fight for the joy of it. To live, to eat, to breed ─ lesser beasts snap and howl at one another for this. Only man has the wisdom and the clarity to embrace violence for its own sake. For we who are born into this merciless, meaningless world, have but one candle of life to burn. I know you understand this. You and I are one and the same.  Together, we could while away the quiet hours, as friend and confidant...if you will accept me."

"Ah, I see - I offer to bare skin and suddenly you desire friendship.  I'm afraid I'll have to pass either way, you are certainly not to my taste as a bedfellow by any definition of the word."

The corners of his mouth lifted.  "In denying me you prove me right.  We are warriors. 'twas plain from the first how this would end. You live for these moments - when all hangs in the balance...when the difference between life and death is but a single stroke."

"I don't live FOR them, I live THROUGH them.  'tis quite the difference, princeling," Sylnan replied quietly.  "But then I suppose you wouldn't understand that.  You wander through life destroying, seeking that which would destruct you in turn - you care for nothing and live for nothing."  He raised his bow again and leveled another arrow at him.  "Shall we get this over with?"

Again that wild look came back and Zenos punctuated his next words with a raised blade.  "I live for these moments too!  This is who we are, my friend!  This is all we are!  Ala Mhigo and Doma and Garlemald be damned!"

Before Sylnan could react the prince moved; his katana arched back and up, sending a beam of red light up and across the cage that held the primal.  What could only have been the seal on the entire blasted thing fell into two equal pieces to clatter to the ground and then, Shinryu unfolded itself and threw back its head with a shriek to the heavens and a torrent of blue flames -- what would surely have tempered him, if he were not protected as he was. 

"We tower above the gods!  You by your gift, I by my might!"

"What in the hells have you done to yourself, you mad beast?" Sylnan grunted, forced to shield his eyes from the worst of the glow to keep his gaze on the shrouded figure within it.

And there, amidst the blue, came a pair of glowing red eyes.

"Before the Resonant the gods shall be made to kneel!"

A sickly red aura followed after the red eyes, and as Sylnan watched Zenos floated into the air and to Shinryu's breast.  A burst of light blinded him a moment and then-

"An ending to mark a new beginning!"

Not the word of a man - not the language of a man.  If not for the Echo Sylnan wouldn't even have been certain the guttural sounds he'd just heard WAS a language.  Shinryu floated before him, eying him, and then suddenly turned to fly away into the air and begin to circle.

Lowering his bow Sylnan tracked the primal's - prince's? - movement, mind racing; how in the world...could he catch up to the damned thing if it was airborne?  Was there time to call Cid for help?  Would he even be close enough?  Perhaps he could call his or one of Hien's yols in?  But what if it already bore a rider...he couldn't possibly place anyone in this much danger, and yet if he didn't act the entirety of Ala Mhigo would be in danger.

"Well, one thing is for certain...the shirt is staying on," he muttered.

--wait, there - a door into a tower on the far side of the garden that would lead up.  If he could get higher and the primal chanced to fly close enough...

It wasn't the BEST plan but it was the best plan he had for now, and that was good enough.

[deanswaywardgirl]

A Darker Reality

chevyA?N: This is the origin of my OC, Faith Delaney, in case any of you are curious. I don’t remember posting this, but if I did, lemme know. You know, if anyone runs across it or whatever. If not, well, here you go. 

Warnings: Protective Dean (yes that’s a warning because the protective part of him melts me), mentions of abuse, depression, anxiety

"Slut! Get the hell out of my sight!" Faith's father yelled, raising the frying pan to hit her. The edges of her visions darkened as the pan met the top of her head, causing her to cry out before forcing herself to her feet and fleeing to her bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. Tears blurred her vision as she raised her eyes to her Supernatural poster. Moving to sit underneath it, Faith curled up against the wall and closed her eyes, sobbing. She dreamed of either dying, or being a hunter like Dean and Sam. Free, safe...ish. 

No parents hitting you every chance they get. At this point in her life, Faith would rather be thrown around a room by a demon. But then, she was sure everybody would disagree and say she was being overdramatic, which only pissed Faith off. 'How the hell would they know what I prefer, or what I go through every hour of every day?' she thought to herself. Raising her eyes to the mirror, she looked like a horror movie reject. Her shirt was torn by cigarette burns. Her face, arms, and legs were black, blue, purple, and red from the blood running from multiple wounds. She knew her "parents" wouldn't kill her; they wouldn't have anyone to beat anymore. "I'm a real Max Miller," she told her reflection as she stitched herself up. That was when she caught sight of the scars on her wrists from self-abuse. "Without the powers, obviously." Her voice cracked, recalling how Max Miller's story in season 1 of Supernatural had ended, it sending a chill down her spine. It was then she thought about how close she's come to ending her life the same way. Faith put the stitch kit away and lifted a floorboard and pulled out her laptop a friend from highschool had given to her before she'd graduated. She turned on Nightmare from said show, and laid down, thinking of everything Supernatural had done for her. The comfort and feeling of safety it brought her as, everytime she watched it, she felt like the boys were in the room with her, protecting her. It was crazy, but it helped ease her fear of being attacked every second of every day. Licking her lips, she was soon fast asleep, listening to Sam and Dean talk. The volume was up high enough that it sounded like they were in the room with her. 

****************

Gasping awake, Faith shot up from her spot on the floor and breathed heavily, waiting for the blow that would never come. She sat up and looked around, growing confused. Her laptop, her 'bed, which consisted of several secretly acquired blankets piled on top of each other, her movies, her poster, even her mirror  were all gone. "What the hell?" she asked nobody in particular. She knew, without a doubt, her father would've beaten her senseless if he'd found her carefully hidden treasures. Getting to her feet, Faith could feel she was the only person in the house. Opening her door, she crept down the stairs and around the house until she was comfortably satisfied with her findings. Opening the front door, Faith went to take a step outside before she was violently thrown back into the house, sliding across the wood floors into the dining room. Shakily, she stood, rubbing her head and her back. Faith slowly approached the door, wondering if anyone outside the house had seen what had happened. It had felt like she had bounced off something. "I think you hit your head pretty hard, Faith, don't start losing it now." Sticking her hands up, she felt something like the outside of a tight bubble, something that was locking her inside. Faith rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, okay, let's try this again." Going to take a step outside, Faith squealed as she was once again thrown back into the house, grunting as she stood up. "This can't be good." As if on cue, the door slammed shut and locked itself. "That damn Stay Puft Marshmellow Man," Faith growled before going back upstairs, done for the day. ******************* Days passed, but Faith never could find a way out of the house. She felt like a ghost in her own house, except she could touch everything in the house. Her sadness and depression soon became her only unwelcome companions, and soon, she was building the guts to take her own life. Tears fell down her cheeks as she put Dean's Samulet around her neck. "Who knows, Faith, maybe your version of Heaven is watching Supernatural with no interruptions, no beatings, no pain and no tears," she told herself as she loaded the gun in her hand. "You'll be safe, you'll be happy." Placing the gun against her chin, she aimed it toward her brain. Just then, the purr of a very familiar engine caught her attention and caused her to put the gun down and crawl over to the window, and gaze down in shock at a car she'd loved the minute she'd seen it, the one car she could see herself riding in every day. A car that was home for her two favorite men in the world. "Baby," she whispered and watched as two men stepped out, both familiar tell-tale men. "Oh my god," Faith gasped, the color draining from her face as she watched them approach the front door. "Oh god," she cried, and backed away from the window. "Okay, Faith, get a grip. This is obviously a dream. Take advantage of it, don't scare them off. Just be cool," she advised herself. As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Faith smiled as she took a deep breath descending the stairs, and another heading to the door. Opening the door, but standing as far inside as she could, she moved her eyes to both of the Winchesters' faces. "Hi, can I help you guys?" she asked. "Hey, I'm Agent Angus. This is my partner, Agent Young. We've been getting noise complaints from your neighbors. Complaints of screaming. Are you alright?" Sam asked. Faith smiled and licked her lips before shaking her head. "I'm fine, Sam," she replied before raising her hands, backing up into the houses, facing down their firearms. "Easy, guys, l'm no demon or shapeshifter or vampire, I promise. Let me prove it," she said and turned to Dean. "Silver blade and flask," she said and arched a brow at him. Dean glanced at Sam before lowering his gun and taking both out. Faith first took the flask and poured a little on her arm before touching the silver blade, handing the flask back. She then pulled up her upper lip so they could see she wasn't a vampire. "Guys, sit down, and I'll explain everything." She gestured to the couch and folded her hands in front of her. "Before I sit, would you guys like a coffee or anything?" she asked, rubbing the back of her neck. Dean looked at Sam and shrugged. "Coffee, please," he replied and gave her a tightened smile, placing his elbows on his knees. Faith nodded and went to the kitchen, soon coming back with two mugs of coffee before sitting across from them in a recliner. "Thank you, um..." Dean arched a brow, and Faith realized he wanted her name. "Oh, Faith. Faith Delaney. You can just call me Faith." "Faith, great. So, go ahead. How do you know Dean and I?" Sam asked, calmly. Faith licked her lips. "I'm Faith Delaney. I was born December 2, 1988 in Dallas, Texas and I've lived...er, existed, to regret that day ever since...until today." Rubbing her thighs, she sighed and rubbed her hands together. "But, I wasn't born a part of this world," she said, raising her blue eyes to theirs, watching as they glanced at each other in confusion, and turned back to her. "Did you really think that was gonna clear anything up?" Dean asked, one brow arching as he pursed his lips. Faith sighed and licked her lips. "Right, okay. Well, there's no easy way to put this, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it. Boys, I know you both because, where I'm from, you're television characters." Dean scoffed and stood up, shaking his head as he turned away from her. Faith swallowed hard and bowed her head, slightly flinching, expecting him to hit her, something Sam caught sight of. His brow furrowed as he filed that away for later. "I can prove it. Sam, what's the date today?" she asked, forcing her eyes to the younger Winchester.

"September 24, 2008. Why?" Sam countered. Faith's eyes moved to Dean, sympathy apparent in her features as she could tell how jumpy he was, his whole body tense and alert. "You just got back from Hell six days ago," she said, gently, and turned back to Sam, who was looking at Dean, Dean looking back at him, shock on both their faces. Sam then turned back to Faith. "Okay, here goes. Sam Winchester, you were born May 2, 1983 in Lawrence, Kansas to John and Mary Winchester. Dean, here, you were born the twenty-fourth of January in '79. Sam, you were six months old, Dean four years old, when Mary was killed by Azazel, the yellow eyed demon. He cursed you with visions of death, but we'll get to that later. John was distraught, completely broken-hearted. And angry. So angry, he became a hunter to get revenge, and so, you and Dean were raised into it. Something your mother never wanted, by the way. Dean, you embraced the hunter life when you were sixteen years old after killing a vampire, well, some kind of monster with your dad. Got the impala on your nineteenth birthday. But Sam," she turned her eyes back to the younger Winchester, "you didn't want any part of it, so you took off when you could and went to Stanford. Wanting to get into law school. There, you met Jessica Moore. From what I could tell, a strong and intelligent blond that ended up stealing that beautiful heart inside of you," she told him with a warm smile and a wink. "Two years or so later, your brother broke into your apartment and convinced you to go look for John, and you both ended up hunting A Woman in White. You never found John. Dean took you back home, and that same night, you lost Jessica. Same way you lost your mother." She swallowed hard and licked her lips. "Both of you hit the road after that, hunting wendigoes, shapeshifters, faced your first demon on an airplane. Phantom traveler. You guys even faced an Indian curse that had to do with bugs. I hated that episode, by the way. You went back home to Lawrence to face a poltergeist in your old house, two of them and one of them being your mother. She saved you both. Skip down the road, you lost your father to Yellow Eyes as well, after he made a deal to save Dean, who ended up in a coma after a terrible car accident. Dean, going crazy with guilt, made a deal to bring you back from the dead a year later. A year after that, you lost Dean to hellhounds. And now, you're back, and here we all are." She sighed and watched the two of them, both uncomfortable about a complete stranger telling them their whole life story. "And boys, that's just seasons one through three. We're just starting season four." Sam sighed and glanced up at Dean, who was obviously not buying any of it. Faith swallowed hard as she watched him, and stood up, her eyes full of sympathy. "Dean, I'm promising you this now, on my soul, I'm not lying to you. I have nothing to gain from lying, and I wouldn't lie to you. Not after everything the two of you have done for me....you two were there when I had no one. Hell, if you guys hadn't shown up when you did, I'd have shot myself upstairs. So, once again, you two have saved my life." Dean felt in his gut, despite what she was telling them being impossible, that she was telling the truth. Licking his lips, he sighed. "Okay," he finally spoke, "let's pretend you're telling us the truth. How are you here now? I mean, I assume that magic doesn't exist on the other side, so how'd you get here?" Faith shook her head. "I dunno. I went to sleep last night watching Nightmare, and woke up to a house that was completely void of people.  My laptop, all of my stuff was gone." Both boys' brows furrowed. "Nightmare?" Sam asked. "The case involving Max Miller, Sammy--er, Sam, I'm sorry." she said and shook her head with an apologetic smile. "Wait,you keep saying things like we saved your life, that you were alone without us, and you'd be a doornail upstairs if we hadn't shown up." Faith turned pained blue eyes up to him. "Were you depressed?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed. "That happens when you have a crappy home life. No disrespect to your parents, guys, but at least you two are free. But really, its all in the eyes of the beholder." "What do you mean?" Dean asked, his eyes moved over her. He saw the stitches, the scars, the bruises. "You were abused." Faith swallowed, pulling her sleeves down past her hands before wrapping her arms around herself, giving him a stiff nod without looking up at him. "He wasn't the only one doing the abusing, he just did most of it," she muttered, her thumb rubbing at her wrist. Dean clenched his jaw and closed his eyes before wiping his hand over his face. 

"Guys, there's something else. I can't leave the house, like, at all. When I first woke up, back in August, I tried walking outside just to get some fresh air and got thrown back in. It felt like I'd bounced off something. There's something wrong with this house, like its possessed or something. And before you suggest it, I'm not a ghost. I have a heartbeat." Faith took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead, exhausted. "I'm tired, stressed, and emotional. I'm all alone, and I'm on the verge of going stir crazy." She looked between the brothers, and watched as they exchanged soulful looks. "Go ahead and talk, guys, just please..." her voice cracked as she moved her eyes to Dean. "Please, Dean...don't leave me here alone. I don't wanna be alone anymore. Just help me leave this place. You don't trust me, I get it. I'm nobody to you, but I'm begging you here...I'm at your mercy," she whispered. Dean swallowed hard as he listened to her, feeling for this girl.

"Okay. Okay, Faith, look at me," he called to her, earning a teary look. "We'll help you, sweetheart." Sam stood and went to place his hand on her shoulder when she jumped back and crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam, its a habit." "No, I'm sorry, Faith." The girl shook her head with a warm smile. "You have nothing to apologize for. It'll just take some getting used to. Trusting people, that is." "Well, we won't hurt you, that's for sure, and we'll set you free. You'll be okay," Dean told her and winked, earning a smile from the girl. ******************* "Okay. So, we think a demon brought you here with a spell, but didn't finish it. And that's why you can't leave this place." "Slacker idjit," she said, and rolled her eyes, then glanced up at Dean who was slightly smirking down at her, then licked his lips. "Anyway, we asked a friend to help us out," he said and opened the door. "Faith, say hello to our little friend," he said with an attempt at an Italian accent. She chuckled and heard the sound of fluttering wings, then turned around to see Castiel standing there. "Hello, Faith," the angel said, simply. "Hey Cas. Good to meet the angel who pulled Dean out of the pit. Nice job with that," she said, her arms crossed over her chest. She noticed the angel give her a curious look before he circled her. "Now, I see why they attempted to bring her here." "What do you mean, Cas?" Dean asked, watching the angel. "Killing a Nephilim is one of the sixty-six seals. And with Faith, you're killing two birds with one stone. If they kill Faith, then not only is Lilith breaking another seal, but she's taking away Michael's second in command in the battle between Heaven and Hell." Faith's brow furrowed as she turned confused and slightly afraid blue eyes to Dean.

"What is he talking about?" she asked and turned to Castiel. "What do you mean by Nephilim? I'm human, Castiel!" she panicked. The angel moved up to her and stared deeply into her eyes, making Faith incredibly uncomfortable. "You have no memory of this? The angel that conceived you must've erased any memories you had. Faith, you're half arch-angel, half human. You're a Nephilim." The color drained from the girl's face as she felt like her lungs had stopped working and her legs had turned to jello. Gasping for breath, Faith searched for something to sit on. "No wonder we could never find her, the Heavenly Hosts erased her memories and put  her in a different realm," Castiel continued, not paying attention to the hyperventilating girl in front of him. Dean turned to his friend, who now stood at the window.

"Castiel, what do you mean you couldn't find her? You've known about her this whole time? Look, we're supposed to be helping this girl, not giving her a heartattack," Dean scolded the angel before kneeling down in front of Faith and took her hand. "Faith, look at me, and breathe. There you go," he said when her breathing started to slow and even out, "That's it, good girl." Faith relaxed in her chair, and forced her eyes from Dean to Castiel who was now staring at her. "If you're sure, then that means I've been from this world the entire time." Faith said and rubbed her forehead. "But why send me to that side of the fence? And why hand me over to those abusive..." Her eyes glowed a bright blue as lights blew out around her, her angel wings speading out behind her, the shadow of them on the wall behind her, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"Faith! Calm down!" Castiel called to her, and saw no choice as he placed two fingers to her forehead, watching as she fell to the floor, fast asleep. "What the hell was that?" Dean growled at Cas before looking down at the sleeping girl at his feet. "Dean, this girl...it all makes sense now. Years ago, there was a rumor that a Nephilim had come into being, but we could never find it. Michael never comes to Earth, so we had no reason to suspect him of such treason. This girl dead will achieve three victories for the demons. One broken seal, she won't play her pivotal part in the apocalypse, and she's the Nephilim child of the highest archangel on the scale, Michael." Dean's eyes widened before they fell back down to the sleeping girl at his feet. Swallowing hard, he gently scooped her up into his arms and laid her on the bed, then turned back to Castiel. "You're sure about this?" he asked. "Yes." "How?" "Dean, I can see Michael's mark on her heart. Its how we tell who the angel father is. Almost like a brand. Nephilim are forbidden by the highest laws of Heaven which explains why he put her somewhere nobody would ever look. But still, I can't believe he'd do this."

"What's gonna happen to her?" Dean asked, glancing down at the sleeping girl. "I don't know." Dean's attention snapped to Castiel. "You're not gonna help her? Why? Cas, she's an innocent girl. She didn't ask for any of this, man, and that includes being created, or to be brought here by the damn demons that want her dead. She doesn't deserve to be killed like a common monster." He sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "We'll fix this, then we'll get her out of here, and take her to Bobby's, and go from there. I'm not leaving an innocent girl, who's not even a hunter, to fend for herself against Heaven and Hell, and everything else in between. Especially after everything she's already been through. As far as I can tell, she deserves better than both Michael and that son of a bitch on the other side," Dean said, shaking his head. *******************

Faith awoke to the purr of an engine that sounded like it was coming from beneath her. Blinking her eyes open, she glanced around the interior of the impala and couldn't help but smile. "You didn't leave me behind," she said, softly, earning Dean's attention. "I made you a promise, didn't I?" he asked her, and handed her a brown bag. "Bacon cheeseburger, no onions. You don't seem like a chick that likes onions," he told her, not taking his eyes off the road. "Good call," she said, glad he couldn't see the red tint in her cheeks, taking the burger out and biting into it, moaning. "Oh god, Dean, that's awesome." Dean smirked. "I have a feeling we're gonna be good friends." Faith smiled brightly and ate her burger quietly, not pushing her limits.

@ellewritesfix05​ @whispersandwhiskerburn​ @chevyharvelle​ @allfandomxreader​

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter XVIII: Renuntiatio, Resignation

Previous Chapter (XVII.5: Inevitabilis)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst, finally some fucking good smut where they aren’t trying to kill each other good GOD these two piss me off so much

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

“tell me you love me, because i know i do, and there’s nothing i can do about it.”

the door swings open like the gates of hell -- maybe heaven -- and for once in your life, you’ve never felt more comforted being greeted by lucifer’s eyes. 

his lids were hooded, and there was a splatter of liquid on his shirt. the odor of alcohol wafts out between his lips and slaps you across the face in the form of a gush of wind.

“why the fuck are you--”

the pure force of your heart shoves you forward; the nerves in your body wrapped your arms around his shoulders and your feet should’ve cramped with the amount of effort you were using to tip-toe.

the sting of whiskey dilutes onto your tongue, the bitter taste of him and the alcohol mixing like drugs on your taste buds. your weight shoves him backwards into the house, and his arms were awkwardly held out by his sides for a few seconds.

but his warmth encapsulates you like a blanket around your waist, and some saltiness shoves its way between your lips where you were joined. 

you weren’t sure whose it was, but you were tasting tears of joy, tears of love, tears of resignation.

resignation.

were they yours?

you pull away and you see the tears streaming down his face despite that cold facade you’ve made friends with in the last three days. the words and thoughts form on your tongue before you could process them, and they startle you so much that it drills tremors down your spine.

“tell me you love me, because i know i do, and there’s nothing i can do about it.”

desperation fills your heart when you search his eyes, hoping that he would understand, hoping that he wouldn’t break out into maniacal laughter, hoping that all the heartache he’s caused you the last three days was as painful as it was for him.

his heart was racing in his chest, the gentle thumping seeping through the pores of your palm and into your blood. his face shows a lack of acknowledgement, and you wait for him to crush the rest of your spirit in his hands.

for a moment, you were scared. 

did he win this war?

but his palms cup your cheeks all too suddenly. 

he shoves his lips between yours so harshly, so tightly, so desperately.

his teeth knocks against yours and one arm wraps itself around your waist like he was holding you from falling off a cliff. a free arm finds the front door and he pushes you back against it as he swings it close.

the sharp snap of thunder rings outside the house, yet it does nothing to you, not while you were in his hold.

the cotton under your hands were strangely alien, because all you wanted to do was to touch him. the material gets crumpled in your grasp, as if he wasn’t already compressing your entire body between the hardness of the wooden door and his warmth.

if your heart was a glass vase with cracks, then this was filling up those gaps with gold. 

“kintsugi” they called it. the japanese art of using gold to fix cracks and imperfections in pottery.

when exactly did your heart become so organic? what was it that incited this change? where was it that fate decided you needed ares, not aphrodite? how did your spirit of ares turn into something so fragile? 

answers were lost in the intimacy that rushed through your arteries, and hyunjae sighs into your mouth, allowing you to taste more of the whiskey he was drinking, supposedly because of you.

the kisses felt like feathers, but having the burn of the whiskey on your tongue tears your insides apart like ripping wings off an angel.

it really does feel like something was speared through your lungs, but his lips on yours felt like heaven-born puzzle pieces.

it felt like two white doves soaring in the sky. it felt like cherry blossoms blooming in spring. 

it felt like you were finally finding comfort in a thunderstorm. 

was he really drinking because of you? or was he--

“i love you.”

lightning brightens the entire house for a split moment, and the following clap of the thunder shakes both you and your already quivering eyes.

“...what?”

the shine in his eyes crushes your already broken soul, and you couldn’t decide if you were more afraid of what he was going to say next, or how you were going to react.

a muscle in his nose twitches, and your trembling hand finds his face where the streaks of tears were still gleaming under the light of his house. eyelashes fluttering shut as he grips your hand on his cheek, nestling his nose and lips into your palm and sucking in a deep breath; it breaks your heart to see him like this.

he must be breaking on the inside, maybe even more than you.

his skin melts into yours and the muscles in the back of your jaw tightens when his slightly swollen eyes look into yours, something in his spirit so broken, and it was all because of you. 

“i don’t care if you’ve done anything unforgivable in your past life for fate to put us in the same place after a decade... all i know is that you asked me to tell you that i love you, and i do.”

those words. 

he remembers every single word.

every word uttered because you wanted to hurt him, because you hated him, because there was nothing in the world that would allow you to tolerate being within in his reach.

yet you were standing here, fingers caressing his tear-streaked face, feeling ache and heartbreak rip through you because he was hurting.

“and now that i’ve said it...” another flash of from mother nature lights up the space while hyunjae presses kisses onto your palm, trailing down your wrist and forearms. “hopefully i heard you right too.”

the sneaky, mischievous smirk somehow finds its way onto his lips and it was a baffling sight to see hyunjae collect himself so quickly.

one moment he was crumbling within your hold, because you said you loved him, drinking because he was ripped at the edges at the thought of you being with eric.

but now, this was the man you recognised.

had you filled in the cracks in his heart with gold? do you now finally see how beautiful he was? or have you been blinded by love, fuelled by hatred... for someone you never thought you’d love?

you were the one who put the cracks and chipped off bits and pieces of him, but you were also the gold that held him together.

zeus would strike you with one of his lightning bolts if you even considered denying that it was the same for you.

the distance hyunjae drew between the two of you in the last week was subconsciously tightening a noose around your neck. without him around to rile you up, to continuously pick and tease at your little wrongdoings, to catch you off guard with kisses felt like death on its own.

but you preferred death if it meant he still planted poisonous, threatening kisses on your lips. you preferred death if he held you close because he knew it made your body yearn for him, even if your consciousness refused to admit it.

you preferred death over losing ares.

you are half of a whole, and you are not whole without him. 

“nothing kills me more than to say his name, but...” there was a pinch of reluctance in his voice, not because he was upset, but because he was competitive. the ares inside you lights up when he leaves your arms on his shoulders and he nose dips into your neck. “i knew eric wasn’t the one for you, he’s too soft for your liking...”

“kitten.”

the laughter that exits your throat felt like a stranger, felt like drinking alcohol for the first time, felt like bliss from drinking poison, if he even was poison. 

“lee hyunjae...” his scent starts to intoxicate your senses, and the soft, feathery kisses on your neck turns you into some sort of a marshmellow, waiting to melt in his warm hold. “when will you ever leave me alone?”

silence befalls the two of you, the minimum space between the two of your faces only offering heavy breaths and lustful eyes amidst love and completion. hyunjae removes his face from your neck and he angles his head into yours, lips already brushing against yours.

“never.”

the cotton of his collar gets gripped so tightly in your hold that it crumples into almost nothing against your touch. 

have you ever felt so right just kissing someone? just having him in your hold? tasting him from your tongue and feeling him in every nerve under the skin that was pressed against his?

hyunjae was smiling into the kiss and it makes you want to tear up as well, but he doesn’t really give you to the time to process his happiness, for he picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist. 

the soft strands on his head get tangled around your fingers, and your eyes were shut so blissfully just from having the feeling of his lips on yours. the lingering venom of the whiskey was no more, because it was replaced with the sweetness that was coming off your tongue and onto his. maybe it was the other way around, but it didn’t matter.

how do you describe the feeling of melting into someone’s existence? 

was it one sided? or was his soul dissolving into yours through the hold he’s got on your rear, where the back of your upper arms were resting on his shoulders, where your lips were connected like they were glued together and could never be torn apart?

the soft cushion of the mattress greets your back and the overwhelming scent of him intoxicates you further. you felt so high and drunk off just kissing him, all you wanted him to do was to roam his hands all over you like he did before.

he had already claimed you, you were just too afraid to see it.

his jaw lines so perfectly along the curves on your fingers when he returns from shutting the door. thunder claps right outside the window, and the flash of lightning seemed to add oil to the fire, his fire, and yours. 

the warmth on his neck pools into your finger pads when he tenderly slots his lips between yours again. 

“finally.”

breathy air hits the skin below your ear, and a soft sigh escapes your lips. 

“you’re finally mine, kitten.”

if there was some kind of world record award you could award hyunjae, it would’ve been his ability to hit you in places with words, but send you into a complete frenzy with his touch. 

“all mine.”

you would’ve hated it had he said it anytime before this, but now, all it did was make you whimper and squirm under his weight. 

the flesh on your neck gets sucked between his teeth, and a harsh gasp pulls a smile across your face.

the blood rushes to the surface of your skin where you know he was just busy remaking all his marks on you where he wanted them to be; probably where you wanted them to be too. 

the warmth emitting from his palms run up the length of your torso like it had been years since he’s touched you, when in reality it’s been only one week.

but you knew how long it felt, because it did feel like he hasn’t touched you in a year. 

the white, plastic buttons on his shirt start to get undone despite your eyes being sealed shut, and he lets you run your hands down his chest. 

the smooth complexion hammers chills throughout your body; a physical reminder that you missed him even if you couldn’t admit it.

the sound of the rain starts to roar outside, the howl of the wind seeping through the gaps of the window by his bedside. 

it was like the heavens were throwing one hell of a party to celebrate the unity of two areses; two areses who have spent most of their lives fighting one another.

his shirt comes off, leaving you to gape and gawk at the veins travelling from his chest into his arms because he had been holding his weight over you. 

impatience immediately replaces your blood when you sit up in an instant, fingers hooking onto his belt hoops as you pull yourself to your knees.

your arms find his bare shoulders and your thighs press against his, despite your knees digging into the cushion of the mattress. he smiles again, and it only evokes an overwhelming sensation of wholeness; completion. 

your waist gets hugged in his embrace and your chest was pressed flat against his, the kiss feeling like it should last for a long time, if not, forever.

the zipper on the back of your top gets tugged on, and he breaks away to gently remove it over your head. the kiss continues like it wasn’t interrupted, and his thumb starts to draw hot circles on your lower spine.

your arms were folded across each other behind his neck, keeping him tightly locked against your lips like you were afraid he was going to run away.

the button around your waist loosens, and the zipper coming undone allows him to slide his palms down your back and under your pants.

the sudden grip on your ass forces you to bite on his lip instinctively, but you hear a low chuckle rumbling in the back of his throat. 

but his hands find your waist again, forgetting about being rough with you, forgetting about possibly hurting you. the marks on your neck didn’t hurt; he knew you were enjoying having your nerves being sucked between his teeth where he left territorial marks.

your fingers find his belt, but your tongue was tasting every inch of his with your eyes shut. 

if ares is fire, then what happens when you put two areses together?

you yank on the belt when it refuses to loosen, and it urges hyunjae to finally pull away from the kiss, leaving you in little huffs despite wanting more.

“oh, no, kitten,” he looks at you with such loving eyes, you wanted to puke. “why are we impatient today?” 

he presses a hard kiss onto you, pushing you backwards into his arms as he slowly lays you down.

“aren’t you?”

he kisses you again, the corners of his lips curling up into a smile and it bares his teeth. 

“i am, kitten,” another kiss. “but this needs to be different, now that you’re mine.”

your eros starts to surface after a very long time, but hyunjae begins to leave light kisses on your shoulder and down between your breasts while he interlocks his fingers with yours.

he doesn’t pin them down, only holding them tightly in his grasp against the mattress, and the meticulous care he was investing into making sure he wasn’t hurting you was astonishing by his standards.

the flesh on your breasts aren’t spared from his slightly animalistic need to warn others that you are no longer available.

the mewls that were spewing out from between your lips must sound like music to him.

he kisses his way down your stomach and to the rim of your undone pants, lifting your hip off the mattress so he could help you out of it. 

butterflies show up in your stomach when he looks at you through his lashes, and you only now notice how needy you were despite him barely making any harsh moves on you. 

this pales in comparison to any other time he’s made your body cry for him, but this time, you were willing. you were more than happy to oblige.

you wanted him because you need him. 

he leaves you in your bra and underwear while he tosses your pants aside, and he pulls off the belt so he could undo his own pants.

you’ve seen it so many times, but every time you see it, it’s like your first time.

there was no point denying it anymore; lucifer was gorgeous, and he was now yours.

the bulge on his crotch looked so painfully inviting, you were embarrassed for a moment. you were already about to roll to your side so you could slam your lips onto his again, but he quickly leans forward after shaking his pants off his ankles.

he does the deed for you, the silence in the kiss making the rain outside louder and more aggressive than he’s ever been. 

the tips of your noses were rubbing against each other as he slowly inches away, eyes frantically darting from left to right across your face as his thumb comes up to caress your cheek.

he looks at you like he was seeing you for the first time in his life, and for a moment, you see the whites in his eyes flicker.

“god, you’re so beautiful.”

oh, my god.

he’s lost his fucking mind.

but so have i.

it breaks your heart to hear those words coming from him, but it also mends it in ways you could no longer understand. 

it doesn’t help you forget about younghoon and what you had with him. it doesn’t help you pretend you didn’t share a flirtatious kiss with eric at a party a few weeks ago.

but it helps you piece the puzzle together, and that he was the puzzle piece you were meant to fit in with. 

“hyunjae,” his face softens even more when he hears his name sing itself like a heavenly tune. 

“i love you.”

the almost unnoticeable strain in his forehead makes you think for a moment that he was hurt, or that your words had shoved a knife into his lungs, but the windows to his soul betray him before he can get his response out.

it feels like an eternity, but he says it for the second time tonight with so much ease, you wonder if this was zeus’ plan all along.

“i love you too.”

this time, your tears run. 

run into puddles on his mattress by your ears and into your hair like the rain droplets collecting along the pavement outside.

mother’s nature round of applause synchronises itself with him shoving his lips between yours all over again, and this time, you could taste the addictive sweetness of lee hyunjae.

your lucifer. your ares. 

when he pulls away, it was excruciatingly painful. it made you feel empty. it made you feel afraid that he was leaving. 

but he only pushes himself downwards and drizzles kisses on your hips and inner thighs when he lifts them up on either sides of his head.

your underwear slides off and he doesn’t hesitate to dip his tongue into your deprived wetness.

the name of the devil who was giving you heaven rolls off your tongue, back arching off the bed and fingers getting tangled in his hair.

it was slow, sensual, careful; he already knew all there was to your body. this was no challenge to him, but it comforts you to know that the most challenging part of all this was finally over.

a finger replaces his tongue after he laps up most of you, but he slides in so easily, all you wished that he pushed in was not his finger.

“hyunjae--” the gulp of air hitches in your throat when his fingers hits a sensitive, strangely easy-to-find spot in you, his tongue pressed flat against your nub. 

“i know, kitten. be a good girl and come for me.”

kitten.

a few more harsh pumps and flicks against your sensitive nub and the thunder masks your hisses and loud groans. every drop of your lust is finished off by him like a vampire drinking blood, and he kisses you immediately after, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

but after he finishes letting you drink yourself, you shove him back upwards and you crawl to where his boxers were tented.

he looks at you with a look of surprise, then it turns into shock and hesitation.

“wait--”

not an option.

his swollen shaft springs out from his boxers when you shove it downwards.

the growl that escapes his throat makes you even wetter, but the way he twitches inside your mouth encourages you. your tongue presses flat against the tip and it earns a sharp hiss from him.

it was his turn for his hands to get tangled in your hair. he was muttering curse words to himself like he was scared you were going to snitch on him, yet the subtle pushing on the back of your head tells you he was enjoying it.

ares and his ego.

“oh... fuck, kitten,” his voice has dropped at least an octave, and the huskiness of it was only making you pool again despite having come once already. 

but hyunjae does not want to finish in your mouth or anywhere else.

“kitten, tell me you’re on pills or something.”

the groans come out so painfully blissful from his lungs, it paints a smile across your face when you pull away with a loud pop. 

“why would i have taken the risk and gotten pregnant with the child of the man i hate?”

mischief flits across his eyes when he smirks.

“‘the man i hate’?” a brow raised, he pushes you back into the bed. “i think you mean ‘hated’.”

you pause, but the truth speaks itself.

“shut up and show me you love me.”

he smiles into your neck and you feel him prodding at your entrance, legs on either sides of his hips and his breath heavy on your lips. 

“that’s my girl.”

the lewd groan comes out so satisfyingly loud and full disappears into his mouth when he simultaneously pushes into you and cushions his lips against yours. 

the air runs between your faces carry the scent of sex and his scent when he pulls away, turning his attention to your neck while he starts rolling his hips against yours.

“i want to hear my name kitten.”

the immeasurable, immense feeling of pleasure washes through you like a tsunami after an earthquake. 

he was alternating between the sweet spot on your neck and your lips, only pulling away every now and then so you could cry out his name in absolute bliss. 

“what a good kitten,” your jaw receives the treatment, and you now realise your nails were leaving bright red marks in his back.

revenge.

his pace picks up and so does his breathing.

this was all too familiar but the biggest difference was that you loved it, and you could not longer deny it.

the change in pitch slaps you back to reality the same time he starts hitting that magic spot inside you. 

“hyunjae-- fuck-- i’m--”

“that’s it, kitten. be a good girl and say my name.”

the command sinks itself like a cure to the tumor in your heart, and you feel it blossom like flowers in spring; the first snowflake that falls in winter on your nose.

the thrusts were harsh, sharp, powerful, and the sound that emits from the both of you simultaneously was close to inhumane. 

tears were collecting in the corners of your eyes as his name continues to billow out the corner of your lips like a broken record. his forehead was pressed into your shoulder and his entire torso shudders violently above you when you feel him release inside you.

the low, heavy pants were drowned out by the heavy rain outside. 

the loud and violent mishaps mother nature was bestowing upon the night felt like a celebration from hell for the two of you. 

hyunjae pulls himself out and huffs, repositioning himself so he was resting his forehead onto yours.

“are you alright?”

the question spreads your cheeks apart with a smile, and you grab his chin to pull him into a kiss.

“i’m more than alright.”

later in the evening, when the two of you are spent from your love-making and coiled so tightly that your breaths have become one, you take a moment to absorb the fact that you were laying in his arms, hugging tightly under the blanket after he bothered to clean you up and gave you clean underwear and a large shirt to throw over.

he has won this competition between the two of you. he shoved his way into your life like it didn’t belong to you, and for possibly the only time in your life, you were grateful to let him win. 

not when he was in so much pain because of you. 

not when you were in pain because he ignored you first. 

“but i’m still getting that promotion first, jackass.”

the whisper from your heart tickles a funny bone in you as you tilt your head to peck his nose.

this is what love is, to break and to be broken, to be full and to be empty, to win and to lose. 

you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

you may have been your ares, but he is your entire underworld. so if you were happy with being with the god of war, then you’ll gladly stay one along with him.

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

Chapter 19: Rosa

A/N: it took me SO LONG to churn this out. i hope you guys loved 17.5 written by @vxstarlightxv​ and hopefully this chapter didn’t just kill 17 and 17.5 off. 

but as i release this last smut, it means we are coming to an end. HOSTIS’ final chapter will be 20/XX and HOPEFULLY it’ll be done by end of august. it has been a brilliant ride with all of you, and i’ll see you again when HOSTIS is finished. <3

- love, dana

[sahbibabe]

A Growing Awareness

A Growing Awareness

Soulmate AU

Sephiroth/Fem! Reader

Reno offers you a job that requires your mercenary skills, requested by Rufus Shinra personally. You neither want to do it or obey his every whim.

Sephiroth is vulnerable, if only for a few moments, and allows you in, but you would never have known otherwise.

SO, [NAME], WE HAVE A proposition for you."

Reno, ever flashy in his nice suit, and Rude, who was carefully pouring you tea after refusing to allow you to do it, had cornered you in your shop sometime after closing. Sephiroth had made good on his promise to escort you, and told you in very simple terms that he would be back again to continue your conversation. If he came into contact with the two Turks, however, there would be bloodshed, you had no doubt; death was the last thing you wanted these days.

"Thank you, Rude," you said, thanking him when he handed you your cup of tea. He nodded imperceptibly at you. "What kind of proposition? I'm afraid there's not a lot I can do for you."

Reno grinned. "See, that's the thing--there's plenty you can do for us. You see, I've been digging up some of your old files--"

You went rock solid. Slamming the tea cup down on the table, you fixed him with a look that could curdle blood, mouth pulled into a firm line, daring him to continue. You felt Rude, beside you, spook just a little. "How dare you."

"--and I found out some very interesting tidbits about you. Would you like to hear them?"

"Do I even have a choice?" You sneered. Your amicable nature had taken the back burner and the mercenary was taking its place, ready to spill blood and cut throats. "I assume you're going to tell me anyway."

Reno produced a thick manila file from inside his blazer, slapping it down on the rickety table with an audible smack. There were red sticky tabs labeled on the parts he thought were important, yellow ones and blue ones and green ones that you didn't know the meaning of.

"[Name] [Surname]," he began in a mocking tone, flipping to your diagnostics page. "Twenty-three. Female. Originally born in Sector Two, moved to Sector Seven at nineteen. Daughter of [M/Name] and [F/Name], head Shinra executives."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Stop."

"Form occupation: mercenary." His tone got more sardonic the more he read. The more he got closer to the information you tried to forget about for hours at a time, that never ceased bothering you every waking moment. "Charted casualties: six thousand. Known kill count: fifteen thousand. You were a busy woman, weren't you?"

"I said stop."

"And here's the interesting part," Reno hummed, flipping to another red tab, another part of your life that killed you to relive. "After a week in Hojo's lab, you suddenly retired. Packed up and shipped out to Sector Seven without any prior word otherwise. Set up a little tea shop. No one looks twice at the blind woman, except you aren't blind and you aren't as innocent as you make yourself out to be."

You couldn't take it anymore. You were across the table and wrapping your hands around Reno's pale throat, fingers digging into muscle and the hard cartilage of his esophagus, eyes boring holes into his own. Rude tried to pull you away, but you held fast, some supernatural strength rooting you there, threatened.

"I said, stop it," you seethed, ignoring the feel of scalding tea seeping into the skin of your abdomen. You would have burns there, later. "Shut the hell up and tell me what you want. There's no reason for you to educate me on my past."

When you finished speaking, you released him roughly, slowly reclining back in your chair when Rude released you, relieved you weren't going to lunge at his partner again.

"Sorry, [Name]," Rude began, no doubt referring to the giant imprints of his hands that would be left on your hips from his pulling you away from Reno. You hadn't even realized how hard until the pain set in, brutal and aching. "I'll get you a potion."

"No need," you huffed, pulling your shirt away from your stomach. The skin was already raw and hot; you guessed second degree burns by the feel of it. "Either you get to talking, Reno, or get out and never come back."

He was still rubbing his throat, red hair downcast over his eyes, and you made out the imprints of your fingers around his neck like a suffocating ring. You felt somewhat guilty about it and felt the urge to apologize, but the smug smile on his face made you take it back and want to give him a nice shiner in the eye.

"Fine then. President Rufus. He wants you to reinstate your merc services." He leaned back in his chair, though he kept a hand on his baton, you noticed. "He has need of your skillset."

"What?" You mocked, mimicking the tone he had used on you before. "Turks not good enough for the mighty Rufus Shinra that he has to hire a retired mercenary?"

You relished in the irritation beginning to show on Reno's face.

"Look. It's three million gil a gig. Take it or leave it. As for your answer, you have a few months before you'll be needed. I'm sure you can come up with a good one by then."

In short, you couldn't tell them no, and you were going to be seeing Rufus Shinra earlier than you had intended, which had just gone from never in a million years to right in a few months. Unless you wanted your life ruined, you had to go. Had to obey, like a dog.

"Get out," you hissed. "Get. Out."

Reno smirked and waved for Rude to stand, the both of them heading to the door.

"You have my card if you make your decision early."

Once the damned Turks were out of your building, you flipped the open sign to closed and began tearing your shirt off to let the burn breathe. You left it somewhere on the stairs and fumbled for your first aid kit, pulling out a sanitary wipe and burn gel that Tifa had helped you procure at an insanely cheap price.

"Damn," you cursed, feeling the scissors drop from your fingers. You instead ripped the packet of burn gel open with your teeth and spread it across your stomach generously, laying back on your bed and sighing in relief when the powerful sting of the burn went away in a rush of cold. "Much better…"

"Three million gil is a lot of money. You should take it."

You jerked upwards with a shriek, nearly shoving the first aid kit on the floor in your haste to cover your chest. Your shirt had been padded, so you hadn't worried too much about wearing a bra, but now you could very well say that you were regretting that decision now.

Sephiroth sat in the same chair he had before, one ankle crossed over his knee, an insanely long katana balanced on his thighs. He didn't seem particularly bored, or as if he had been waiting long. His cat-eye stare was fixed on your face, watching, waiting for an answer; he didn't even look down at your breasts once. You weren't sure if you should be disappointed, relieved, or both.

You swallowed thickly. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough." He gave you a shrug that seemed entirely out of character for him. "I see you were burned."

"I spilled some tea," you explained quickly, eyebrows furrowed,"but… What are you doing here? I didn't even hear you come inside--"

"I used teleportation materia." He leaned over and plucked a red orb from your letter drawer, rolling it between his fingers. "Your turn."

You huffed and, seeing he wasn't going to look at you in an intimate way anytime soon, went to the bathroom to pull on your robe. It was one you had splurged on at Aerith's urging, saying it was soft and comfortable. You had slept in it on many occasions, sometimes when the weather got too hot or the sun lamps were too concentrated.

With your back turned in the threshold of the bathroom, working furiously at the knot you had tied into the belt, you wouldn't have noticed those green-blue eyes admiring the panes of your back, darting from the back of your neck to the dip in your spine near the hem of your pants.

You finally got the belt untied and pulled on the robe with a grimace, adjusting the tightness so you wouldn't have the fibers sticking to the burn gel. You probably should have put gauze on it or something, but in your panic at seeing Sephiroth and being half naked, you had forgotten all about it.

The robe hung open as a result, but you could easily hide your chest by crossing your arms. When you were satisfied, you turned back and began picking up the burn gel and supplies, tucking them away in the first aid kit.

"You aren't going to take it?"

"Take what?" You asked.

"The Turk's offer."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" You brushed hair away from your face and sat down parallel to him, reasonably positioned on the edge of your bed. "What Rufus Shinra wants, he gets. He'll make my life a living hell if I don't."

"You could always leave," Sephiroth suggested. "Leave Midgar. I doubt he would follow."

You smiled sadly and looked out your window where Seventh Heaven's lights glowed brightly. You could pick out Tifa and Cloud sitting on the steps, pointing towards Jessie and Wedge who were encouraging Biggs to guzzle a drink. You even saw Marlene and Barret sitting outside as well, but you weren't able to tell what they were doing.

"I can't leave." You stroked the soft cotton of your robe idly. "Even if I wanted to. I have friends here… Friends I consider family. I couldn't leave them like that. It wouldn't be right."

"Then you would have to take the offer," Sephiroth concluded, uncrossing his legs. He left his sword on the chair and approached you, standing uncomfortably close. You edged back and leaned against the window frame to allow him to see outside as well. "Rufus Shinra will go after them if you don't."

"I know. He's smarter than his father, I'll give him that."

"Smarter and nearly twice as clever." He shook his head. "What that Turk said--is it true?"

"What part?" You hummed, watching as Wedge approached Cloud and began talking animatedly. You would get nothing out of being dishonest; he had heard everything, after all. The least you could do was be honest. "The mercenary thing, or…"

"Both. The mercenary part, and Hojo's experiments."

He sounded testy, like he was weighing his options and those options rested on what you told him.

"The mercenary part is simple." You looked at him from underneath your lashes, somewhat startled by the intensity he was looking at you with. You had almost thought he had pilfered your personal files, but it seemed not. He knew as much about you as you did him. "I worked as one for about nine or so years, racked up an ostentatious kill count. Got sick, went to Hojo, and he screwed everything up. I left, he never pursued, to make a long story short. I doubt he even knew what he was doing. He only wanted a test subject."

"I see." Sephiroth went quiet, seemingly content with that answer. "You didn't have to tell me. So, thank you. [Name]."

You couldn't help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the sound of your name. It was better than you had imagined it to be. "It was a long time ago. It bothers me sometimes when I don't talk about it."

"Of course. Most things do."

When you looked up, you caught that glimmer in his eye--that spark of life and consciousness that he had never seemed to have before. An awareness of the world, you had to guess, or an appreciation of reality, as if he had come out of a long sleep and was just now seeing things for the first time.

You had to wonder what it was like to be a SOLDIER, to live in that mindset for so long that you couldn't distinguish between yourself and the weapon that you had become. Cloud had certainly struggled with it, but he had Tifa; Sephiroth had no one, would not allow himself to be vulnerable to you in that way. He seemed to be slowly coming out of in all on his own, that dangerous aura receding to allow something genuine and almost pure to rise to the surface: thankfulness.

But with that self awareness came problems. You had to face the bad things you had done and the things you would still do before you ever came to terms with your new existence. You would know; you had spent two years curled up in one of Merle's apartments, only eating, drinking, sleeping, and despairing over your previous actions. The people you had killed.

So you decided to make him an offer, even if he wouldn't accept it.

"Hey," you said, your voice a whisper. Any louder and it might break the silent peace that had developed in the room. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. I might not know much about SOLDIER stuff, but…" You shrugged awkwardly. "I'll be here."

He didn't smile, but you could see a miniscule grin on his face, just the tiniest pull of his lips. He didn't acknowledge it, though, and continued looking out the window until you slumped against the sill with a yawn, eyes heavy lidded and hazy.

Sephiroth helped you to your bed when you stumbled, pulling the blankets over you when you flopped down onto your pillow with a groan at the pull of the burn on your abdomen.

As you closed your eyes and tried to force yourself to sleep, you felt the feather soft brush of lips on your cheek, felt his breath on your ear as he whispered.

"Thank you."

[scenecipriano]

Curse of The Fold (4)

Chapter Four: The True Demon of Salem

Description: The year was 1692, a time where women, children, and men feared for their lives of possibly being accused of witchcraft. Two men though, don’t allow this mass hysteria to come between them. Even though the madness Janus and Roman manage to keep their relationship a secret…That is until the summer of 1692.“The only thing that could hurt us. Is the curse of the fold.”

Characters: Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, and Thomas Sanders

Relationships: Roman/Janus

TW: Unsympathetic Patton, Unsympathetic Remus, major character death, death by hanging, death by fire, executions, witch trials.

Other(s): Based on Salem Witch Trials and not fully historically accurate.

Chapter TW: mentions of hanging, mentioned anxiety attacks/panic attacks, stalking, forced kissing, Unsympathetic Remus, Remus being creepy. 

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

February 25th, 1692 Salem Massachusetts

Roman was restless, he hasn’t gotten the chance to try and see Janus again, nor has he been able to catch Virgil in a moment of one of his fits. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

“What’s the matter, Ro-Ro? Bored sitting around here? Father, did say there was some housework to be done, why not do that?”

Roman grimaces and looks over to Remus, they were twins, but Remus was the youngest, born five minutes after Roman.

They were identical save for Remus’ ratty mustache and manic look that seemed to be on his face every waking moment and even in his sleeping moments. He and Remus were built the same, broad shoulders with lean frames, Roman wishes that they weren’t so similar.

“Why don’t you do them? You never seem to do anything anymore,” Roman replies.

Remus grins and shrugs his shoulders, he tilts his head to the side causing red bangs to fall in front of his wide green eyes.

“I figured I would go for a walk, it’s a lovely day out so I would hate for it to go to waste.”

Roman frowns as he watches Remus walk out the front door of their home, his brother has been acting unusual, more unusual than he had beforehand.

‘ What are you planning, you little demon…’

Remus leans his head back as he walks through the woods, he hums in content as the sun washes over his face. Five days, he’s spent five days trying to catch a better glimpse of the man his brother snuck out to see that one night when Remus caught him sneaking out.

He’s come up empty-handed each time, there've been moments when Remus thought he’s caught a glimpse of the strange man, only to find out it was the mere shadow of a nearby tree.

“Honestly, it’s a shame that Ro-Ro gets to play with this guy and I don’t even get the chance to say hello! It’s quite rude,” Remus grumbles as he trudges ahead.

What did the guy even see in his brother? Roman was the boring one! Whereas Remus was the interesting one, he stood out. Roman only blended in a stupid people pleaser among the other mundane idiots that prowl around in the town.

“When I go, you know you can’t follow me into the darkness. Where I go you may not make it through the night~,” Remus stops in his tracks when a gentle voice sounds from his left.

He turns and sees a path that he’s never noticed before turning down into a small slope, Remus looks around him before a grin breaks out. He slowly inched his way down the path, straining his ears so he could hear the singing again.

“Only those who aren’t afraid to lose it all. Are the ones who may make it out alive~,” the voice sings again, accompanied by the gentle sound of splashing.

Remus inched closer before ducking behind a set of bushes, he slowly peeks out and grins brightly.

Now, mind you this wasn’t where he followed his brother all those nights before, no, this wasn’t a stream that ran right through the woods that separated Salem from the town next door. This was a large round lake, the water looked black from a distance, but Remus knew that if he were to be closer it would be clearer.

A white long sleeve shirt hung up on a low tree branch along with a pair of brown trousers and ratty looking socks that were probably once white, even from a distance Remus could tell that the clothes were dripping wet.

“Father, forgive them though they do know what they do. The reason resides in the rise and the fall of these times~.”

Remus follows the sound of the voice with his eyes, at the edge of the lake, was the man that Roman had met days prior. The man’s strawberry blonde hair was damp, he only had on a pale blue nightdress. A scar shaped like claws stands out on the man’s pale face, Remus immediately feels his grin widen, ‘ Oh, I know who you are…’

“Seems like Ro-Ro’s fallen for our resident witch… Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Roman watches in fear as Virgil thrashes and screams, he pulls at his hair and pushes himself into a corner as Patton prays over him, in hopes of helping the young man fight against this horrible ailment.

“Father, maybe I should help? I could cover his mouth to muffle the screaming so you can concentrate?” Roman offers as he watches Virgil struggle for breath, a strangled sob ripping its way from his raw throat.

“You can try, but be careful, it’s hard to tell what beast is living within him, Roman.”

Roman nods and takes a hesitant step forward, he makes sure to shield himself away from his father’s view as he slips the bottle of medicine from his pocket. He looks down at the pale pink liquid and breathes deeply.

‘ Please work, he doesn’t deserve to be hanged…’

Virgil cowers away from him, pathetic whimpers leaving his trembling lips. Roman sighs and kneels beside him and takes the cork out of the bottle.

“Virgil it's going to be okay… This is going to help…” He whispers as he forces Virgil to look at him, Roman pry’s his mouth open and forces him to drink a bit of the mixture before placing his hand over the trembling man’s mouth.

“Swallow it,” Roman hisses before glancing back at his father, “Go on, finish the prayer father. I’ll keep him quiet for you.”

Roman relaxes when he sees Virgil’s throat bob as he swallows the liquid down, it shouldn’t be long until it kicks in, or at least Roman hopes it doesn't.

He listens to his father pray a few minutes longer before Virgil finally begins to calm down, his tense body finally relaxing after being tense for almost two hours now. Roman slowly moves his hand away and is relieved when he sees a smile on Virgil’s face.

“It works!” Roman cheers.

“Of course it works, the lord's prayer always works, Roman. Virgil, how are you feeling?”

Roman almost refutes his father’s claims before stopping himself, Patton didn’t need to know about the medicine.

“B-Better… I… I feel a lot better than before, am I allowed to go home?” Virgil asks, his voice is soft and his eyes droop slightly from exhaustion.

“You may need to stay here another day or two… just so we can make sure the demons are out of your system. Then I’ll speak to Logan about letting you out because I don’t believe you’re a witch Virgil.”

Virgil nods and glances at Roman.

“Father? May I speak to Virgil alone for a moment?”

Patton smiles and nods, “Of course, you deserve a chance to be alone with your friend. Try not to take too long though, we need to get home before Remus does, I wouldn't want another accident of him almost burning the house down.”

Roman and Virgil silently watch as Patton leaves them alone, the door to the cell Virgil occupies closing behind the older man as he does.

“What the hell was that you gave me?” Virgil hisses.

Roman flinches and pulls the bottle from his breast pocket, he quickly replaces the cork before any of the contents spill out.

“It’s… It’s medicine, I met someone the other day. His name is Janus Delvaux a-and he says he makes medicines, he said this would hel--.”

“Did you just say, Janus Delvaux? Roman, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Virgil asks, fear dancing in his brown eyes as he stares at his long time friend.

“What? Do you know him?”

“Know him? He’s the witch of the woods you, idiot! A demon to some, have you honestly not heard the stories of him?”

Roman grimaces, surely Virgil didn’t believe the fables the people in town spun to scare them when they were younger.

“I’ve met him, Virgil. There is nothing witchy or demonic about him, he’s sweet, and if he was a demon or witch he wouldn’t attend a church,” Roman argues.

Virgil blinks, “He attends church? But… Your father… look when I get out of here I want to meet this Janus Delvaux, can’t have my best friend probably getting himself killed.”

Roman rolls his eyes and presses the bottle of medicine into Virgil’s hands, he smiles and shakes his head.

“Of course… Drink a bit of this when you feel a fit coming on, it will help you get out of here quicker.”

The two share a hug before Roman leaves, the walk back home with his father is silent. Roman couldn’t help but mull over what Virgil said.

‘ How could anyone say that the angel of a man is a demon?’

Remus could understand where his brother’s infatuation comes from when it comes to one certain witch that lives in the woods. The man was pretty, very captivating. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t have men and women throwing themselves at his feet due to his undying beauty.

When Janus gathers up his damp clothes after waiting for them to dry, Remus steps out of his hiding spot, causing the witch to jump back startled.

“Heavens, Roman you startled...me… You’re not, Roman,” the smaller man states.

Remus grins and puffs his chest out, “Damn right! I’m Remus, who might you be you lovely and extraordinary creature?”

He grins more when those bi-colored eyes crinkle in distaste.

“I have a feeling you already know who I am, but I suppose I can humor you with a response. My name is Janus Delvaux, now, I believe it is your turn to introduce yourself.”

Remus smirks and bows slightly, “Remus Harford at your beck and call, Mr. Delvaux, or do you prefer to be called the witch of the woods? Or more recently… The Demon of Salem.”

Janus grows tense but keeps his face neutral. He breathes deeply and moves to walk past Remus, his clothes clutched tightly to his chest.

A startled yell leaves his mouth when a hand grabs him by the arm, the air is knocked from Janus’s lungs as he’s forced back against a tree, his clean clothes falling to the ground below.

Janus looks up frightened, bi-colored eyes meet wide and manic green ones, a smirk is plastered onto Remus’s face.

“Freckles, hm? No wonder, Ro-Ro is all hot and bothered with someone like you,” Remus mutters as he leans his face closer to Janus’s.

“Tell me, has he gotten to have a taste of you? Gotta say I’ve always wondered what a demon’s kiss tastes like.”

Janus panics and shoves Remus away when the taller man tries to press a kiss against his lips, he quickly gathers his clothes and glares at the cackling man.

“The only demon I see here is you!” Janus yells before running away, not glancing back once.

Remus smirks and lets out a low chuckle, “I love it when they play hard to get.”

---------

A/N: Re’s a perv-

~Taglist~ @imma-potatoo @feminine-femme

[rosethesongbird]

Angelic Illness

Crowley looked on as his best friend of six millennia lay alone in a large bed. He shifted in the armchair next to the bed, serpentine legs desperately trying to find comfort. Aziraphale’s brow—normally so gentle, friendly, and soft—was knitted in a pained grimace, and moist with sweat. He inhaled a shuddering breath, exhale quickly becoming a wet, productive cough; then, a coughing fit. The demon quickly rose from his seat at the sight of the angel rising from the nest of pillows, face in the crook of his elbow, struggling to breathe. 

“Ngk— Come on, let’s get you sitting up a little.” Aziraphale nodded, still choking on air. Crowley supported him with one hand on his shoulder, the other hand fluffing up pillows so he could rest more upright. The coughs finally stilled, and the angel leaned back, breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sighing. 

“Don’t be, angel,” said Crowley, frowning. “I’m sure you would get rid of this, if you could. And it’s no hardship for me. Not like there’s much else to do.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” whispered Aziraphale. After the Armageddon’t (as Crowley had named it), life had fundamentally changed for them. They both had the same desire to do good or evil, respectively, but no one to answer to whether it was done or not—so they were more like freelancers at this point. 

A soft, cautious knock came at the door. 

“Everything okay?” a head of curly brown hair poked in. “I heard you coughing, Z,” 

“I’m really quite alright, Dawn, and we really should get out of your hair, don’t you think Crowley—“ he said, breaking out into another coughing fit. Crowley’s jaw set with concern as he rubbed his friend’s back. 

“Nonsense,” said the gamine, walking over to the bed. “It’s my pleasure to be able to host you. Not counting the fact that if you were human I’d have you admitted. Although, I’m not sure if I should count you as ‘over sixty-five’ or not.” She smiled and sat down on the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, smiling. “And don’t lie. It’s not becoming of angels.” 

His smile fell. “Well, um, not—not very well, to be honest.” 

“Let’s take your temperature again, huh? What was it last time, Crowley?” 

“38.5,” said Crowley, a little too quickly. He was worried. 

Dawn froze for a moment while retrieving the thermometer from the cupboard. She laughed to herself. “I was really confused for a minute, then I remembered we’re measuring in Celsius like sensible people. Now open up, tenderheart.” The thermometer let out a small beep as she placed it under Aziraphale’s tongue. Her gaze lingered on the angel for a moment, before brushing white-blonde curls off his forehead. She turned to face the lithe demon. 

“Get any sleep last night?” 

“Don’t need to,” said Crowley. 

“I know, but did you want to?” Dawn asked, accusingly. Crowley only responded with a “Ngk,” and looked away. She was perceptive—an advanced nurse practitioner and American expat whose husband was one of the few stationed at the Tadfield Air Base. She had what she called “the spiritual gift of discernment”—upon first walking into the bookshop on a rainy day, she had immediately “discerned” Aziraphale’s angelic nature, and by “discerned” Crowley meant “she could see the wings for some reason.” Aziraphale had made quick friends with her, although, to be fair, he made quick friends with just about everyone who liked old bookshops. 

The thermometer let out a second digital beep, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Hm,” said Dawn. 

“What, what is it?” said Crowley. 

“39.7,” Dawn frowned. “I think this is bacterial,” she stated to no one in particular. “Have you ever taken medication, Z? Like, would there be any point in me giving it to you?” 

“I’ve never tried. Never needed to,” said Aziraphale, crestfallen. “But, I suppose it’s worth a shot.” 

Dawn ran her fingers through his hair. “I’ll be right back,” she said, a half smile on her face. The door closed softly behind her. 

Aziraphale sighed. “I really do feel awful, Crowley.” 

He looked awful, too. His face was sticky with fever-borne sweat, the usual pink flush to his cheeks was multiplied, the rest of his skin looking so pale it was almost grey, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that normally only appeared when he smiled were emphasized. His sparkling blue eyes were weary and dulled. 

“Well, Dawn said you probably had been sick for a few days by the time she noticed. I mean, have you ever been sick before, angel? Or did the bacteria or whatever make you stupid?” 

“I don’t think so,” said Aziraphale, grimacing and rubbing his chest. “I think I would remember feeling this bad,” 

“What you’d think is that you would have, I don’t know, mentioned something to your lifelong best friend before keeling over in a pile of dussssty old books,” Crowley’s agitation came through in a snakelike hiss. They always came out when he got upset. 

“It came on fast, Crowley! You know I would have said something if I—“ Aziraphale leaned forward into another coughing fit. The wet coughs sounded like they came from the very pit of his lungs, and were so strong they shook his whole body. Crowley reached over and began to rub the angel’s back again, drawing slow circles onto the tartan pajamas he had conjured up in a quick miracle on the way to Dawn’s cottage in Tadfield, the Bentley screaming down the country roads like a—well, like a bat out of hell. 

Dawn had called from Aziraphale’s phone, upon finding him unconscious in the bookshop. She had dropped in with a box of homemade macarons—telling Crowley later that she had intended to use Aziraphale as a guinea pig for new recipes, but he loved sweets too much and would never say which one he liked the best—only to find him lying curled up on the floor, shivering, sweating through his shirt and burning up in fever. Upon waking, he had started to cry (a sight Crowley had only seen a few times, and was not interested in seeing again) and Dawn had been concerned enough to call out of the rest of her day at work and take him to her home. Thankfully, in the past day he had grown much more coherent, but his symptoms had gotten worse. The wet coughing, the chest pain, the sound Dawn described as a “crackling on inspiration” when Crowley arrived and she was still in “work mode.” (Crowley thought he was going deaf when she thankfully explained that she could only hear it through the stethoscope still hanging around her neck.) Dawn had decided it was pneumonia, but none of the three were sure quite how Aziraphale got it in the first place. I mean, they were heavenly beings after all. Aziraphale had said that he felt too weak to miracle it away, so it was up to Dawn and Crowley to nurse him back to health. 

The cautious knock came at the door again, and Crowley was knocked out of his inner monologue to find Aziraphale now still except the rise and fall of his chest. He normally chose not to sleep, unlike Crowley who was quite a fan of closing his eyes and hallucinating wildly for eight hours each day. This illness was taking so much out of him that it was all he could do to stay awake for short bursts of time. 

Dawn entered, Crowley holding a finger to his lips in a “be quiet, the baby is sleeping” motion. She smiled. “I went ahead and called in some antibiotics, but they won’t be ready until later today,” she whispered. “Would you like anything for breakfast?” 

The demon cocked his head, thinking. It was early, about half past six, and the first light was beginning to peek through the curtain. “Cup of coffee might be nice,” 

“Cup of coffee it is, then. Oh, and I brought these,” she set out a bowl of cool water and rags, alongside a cup for drinking water. “That fever’s worrying me, I don’t want to let it get back up to where it was yesterday if I can avoid it. Think you can persuade him to take these when he wakes up next?” she handed Crowley a few pills. “Just aceta-uh, paracetamol, I promise. Nothing sketchy.” 

“I’ll do my best,” said Crowley. “Maybe they would go down a little better if they came alongside some sweets?” 

“Oooh, good idea,” Dawn remarked. “I normally wouldn’t encourage macarons for breakfast, but can I really deny a poor little angel his favorite?” 

“Exactly,” agreed Crowley. “Now you know how I’ve felt for the last six thousand years.” 

A laugh bubbled up from Dawn as she left the room. The bittersweet aroma of coffee snaked through the house.

—

Aziraphale didn’t wake up until it was nearly lunchtime. He had been stirring in his sleep, and started breathing faster and heavier. Crowley almost woke him up, but decided against it when Dawn didn’t seem exceptionally concerned. When he actually woke, however, was a totally different story.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Yep, I’m here,” he said, calmly. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, heavens, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned, eyes glassy. “The books,” 

“What books? The bookshop’s fine, remember angel?” 

“Crowley, the books, I forgot,” the sick angel suddenly appeared frail to Crowley. He grasped at Crowley’s shirt in agitation. His hands were burning like holy water in Hell’s mop bucket. 

“Angel, you’ve got to calm down, I can get you whatever book you want,” said Crowley, confused. 

“No, no, Crowley, my books—“ said Aziraphale, breathing heavily, nearly choking. “The books are going to get blown up,” he grimaced in pain, with a sorrowful groan. “Crowley,” 

Crowley called out for Dawn. He tried shushing the angel. “That was a long time ago, Aziraphale. Your books are safe now, I saved them, remember?” 

“No, no, Crowley, help—“  he broke out in another fit of coughing, gasping for air. Dawn rushed in. 

“What’s going on?” She crouched at the angel’s bedside, opposite the worried demon. Aziraphale jumped and turned to look at her, searching her face. 

“I’m scared, I don’t know what’s happening,” he said, wheezing. “Have you seen my friend?” 

“Sweetheart, we’re right here with you,” she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, honey, you’re burning up,” 

“Aziraphale, look at me,” said Crowley, sternly. 

“Oh, Crowley,” said the angel, leaning into Dawn’s hand, cool on his feverish skin. “Please, would you take me home? But, I forgot my books,” he said, relieved at first to see his longtime friend then distraught again at the thought of the unspecified books being damaged. Hot tears began to fall from the blue eyes as he let out a sob. 

Crowley and Dawn looked at each other, yellow snake eyes meeting deep brown. Dawn’s hands moved to the angel’s back as he shook with sobs. 

“Angel, I promise to go find your books, but for now you have to take thesssse,” There was the hiss again. He handed Aziraphale the medication and the water glass, thin bony hands supporting soft pink ones. His hands were shaking worse than Crowley’s houseplants after a bad day. The angel cooperated but did not stop weeping. 

“Which books did you lose, my dear? I can go look for you,” said Dawn, now rubbing small circles on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. 

He sniffed and seemed to calm for a moment, before wailing “I don’t remember,” and going back into hysterics. 

Crowley looked at Dawn again, exasperated, and Dawn shot back a look that so clearly communicated “I’m trying,” that he decided not to speak. 

“Here, how about a snack to regain your strength so we can go look later,” said Dawn, softly. She turned and retrieved a plate with two macarons on it from the nightstand. 

“Oh, yes,” said Aziraphale, tears still falling inexplicably but demeanor significantly changed. “Yes, that sounds good.” His hands still shook as he took the plate, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He quietly started eating the sweets as Crowley and Dawn both took a simultaneous sigh of relief. 

After the snack, Aziraphale thankfully fell back to a fitful sleep. 

“Well then,” sighed Dawn, brushing crumbs off the reddened cheeks. “That was exciting.” 

“You’re telling me,” said Crowley. “Exciting” was not exactly the word he would use. Maybe “upsetting,” “very concerning” or “horrifying” would be better words. 

“I guess I didn’t realize quite how attached he was to his books,” said Dawn, chuckling. She wiped his face with a cool, wet rag. “Whatever they were, they were pretty important,” 

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley waved his hand. “I had to rescue the books a few times. The Blitz, the fire in the bookshop… The whole Library of Alexandria thing was really rough. Had to do a lot of damage control on that one.” 

“Oh, goodness, I can imagine.” 

A beat of silence followed as they both looked down at the sleeping angel. Even sick, a sleeping Aziraphale was practically the definition of “angelic,” between the white-golden curls, upturned nose, and softly parted lips.

“The medicine should bring down his fever,” said Dawn, standing from her place by the bed. “Which I’m pretty sure was the cause of… all that. Shouldn’t happen again, theoretically, but steel yourself just in case.” 

“Gotcha,” said the thin, tall redhead. 

“I have a random question,” she said, coming around to Crowley’s side of the bed.

“Shoot.” 

“Do they have… mothers? In heaven, I mean?” 

“Ngk, not really,” said Crowley, shrugging. “You kinda just… start to be.” 

“Hmm.” Dawn looked lost in thought. 

“Well, consider yourselves ‘mothered’ then,” she said, grinning at the demon. “Everybody needs a mama, especially in tough times.” 

She patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room.

Part 2 here

[brokasteltranslations]

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 8

Dusk was closing in.

Other incidents, big and small, had occurred around the outskirts of the Colosseum, and the heart of the city had been effectively paralysed with the temporary absence of the municipal administration AI, causing accidents all across Akihabara. However, the communication and transport networks were recovering, and governmental and medical institutions were returning to full functionality with all possible haste.

-

At long last we exited the Colosseum. An enormous crowd milled about the exterior. News of the tragedy had finally reached families and friends of spectators through the municipal information network, and they had come en mass in search of their loved ones. Some screamed the names of missing family members. Others wept and wailed for those already lost.

After the ferocious battle inside, the outside wall looked to be only moments away from collapsing. Black and yellow tape had been strung up to keep people away.

“You know, I have this weird feeling I just saw him back there.” Karin looked around suspiciously.

“Who's him? Kuchime?”

Karin nodded hesitantly. That wasn't like her.

“Only for a second, though. Might have been imagining things.”

“Maybe he came to see if we were okay? Guess that's still kind of weird.”

Karin's carefree laugh was enough to set me at ease.

“Speaking of missing people...” I scanned the sea of people around me. “Oh, there he is.”

The boy stood alone in the middle of the crowd, straining his ears to hear their cries and sobs as though listening to music. I recalled his face before as he asked me what “death” meant. It looked to me as though he were hoping to find an answer.

To see him standing silent amid a sea of human grief, with his golden scarf fluttering in the twilight sun, he hardly seemed a creature of this world.

-

Nzambi had spoken of an expanding kingdom of the dead.

Death was no stranger to us. It had always lived hand-in-hand with us. In this city, it had simply been ushered from the stage, covered over and hidden away. Sometimes its eyes had been covered by my hands, sometimes by those of the municipal administration AI, and sometimes by Chitose's porcelain fingertips.

“Chitose?”

I looked my grandmother dead in the eyes as I asked.

“That black dog... The Servant. You know what it is, don't you?”

I could make as many theories as I pleased as an outsider, but what really mattered was that it had called me by name, and had some kind of acquaintance with Chitose.

“You reacted when Pran mentioned it, and you didn't hesitate to attack it with your stakes. You know what it is, and you knew about what was going to happen here today.”

She didn't answer me. Neither did Lucius, now dressed once more in his modern attire; he furrowed his brow sadly, but said nothing. No matter how dear he was to me, in that moment his silence left me furious.

-

Eventually she spoke, but it was not to answer my question. She had ignored me. Again.

“There's something I need to tell you, Erice, now that Caren can't.”

I tensed. Nothing ever came from her but misfortune.

“It's about the child she entrusted you with. I'm going to take care of him from now on.”

What? Whatever I had expected, it wasn't that. I shuddered at the request.

How much was she going to take from me? She had taken my work, the boy, Caren... Even my parents, she had stolen. I had no intention of going along with her wishes any longer.

“I refuse.”

Her face didn't falter for a moment. Apparently she had been expecting as much.

“But I doubt you'll respect that anyway, will you?”

“I suppose I won't.”

She glanced to the boy standing some distance away. I moved to block her way.

“Ms. Fujimura didn't just charge me with taking care of him. She also asked me to discover what I could about his identity.”

“That doesn't matter any more either.”

I shook my head. “But it does. I think I've found an answer.”

“I see. It looks like you don't have any intention of doing this the easy way.” Her Command Seals flared to life on the backs of her hands - the symbols of the Stigmata, and tokens of a piety willing to subject her own body to the pain of crucifixion. And she called out to her Servant.

“Lucius.”

Surely she doesn't mean to...? Her Servant hadn't moved. He stood still, eyes downcast, as though he hadn't even heard.

“Lucius.”

Chitose called to him again, in a kindly voice that made my blood run cold.

“Please, Lucius... Don't do it...”

I sprinted for the child, but I was too late. Before his Master's Command Seal could flare brighter, he began to move, mechanically, robotically. He manifested his spear...

And hurled it at Pran with pinpont accuracy.

----

The clash of colliding metal rang out like breaking ice, and Lucius' Holy Lance spun high into the twilight sky.

There he stood, in front of Pran, in the space I had been trying so hard to reach: Galahad, stripped of his armour and down to his shirt. He held his sword high and horizontal, staring down Longinus as he interposed himself between the centurion and his prey.

“You could've run and left Koharu to Nzambi, but you didn't. Consider this a debt repaid, Reaper girl. Though I'm not sure you’ll thank me for it.”

The spinning lance returned to earth once more, bound for the earth directly in front of Galahad. The knight snatched it from the air a split second before it hit the ground and tossed it back to a dumbfounded Longinus' feet.

“Maybe the Sword of the Strange Hangings doesn't look like much, but sadly for you, the shepherd boy it belonged to ended up king of Israel.” Galahad's voice was haughty. “You won't find many holy relics more sacred.”

“I see. The sword of David, then.”

“And no other. They say no armour can stand before the Holy Lance, but this sword might be able to get in a stinging word or two. As you just saw.” Galahad chuckled as he returned his blade to its sheath.

Koharu!

The girl in question had been returning to our group after receiving first aid. She strolled over to silently take her place by her Servant's side. Her face was twisted in a pained grimace, but I saw no hint of surprise at Galahad's actions. She had been watching my argument with Chitose from the beginning.

“Or well, who knows? Perhaps you expected me to stop you from the first.”

Longinus remained silent. I glared at Chitose. Finally she relented, and with a sigh her Command Seals dimmed.

She called out to Koharu as she stalked past. “Get well soon, Riedenflaus. Your strength will be needed soon enough.”

“O-Of course.” Koharu paled. She couldn't even look her in the eye.

With that, Chitose and Longinus left the Colosseum behind.

-

I needed to thank Koharu and Galahad somehow. I even thought up a plan to invite Karin and Kouyou and go to a juice stand together, but before I could...

“Urgh... Agh!”

Searing agony assailed me. I grabbed my burning arm and grimaced. This was not the pain brought on by the evil spirits; it was something I had never felt before.

Before I knew it, Pran was standing in front of me. He opened his mouth solemnly.

-

“I... ask... you...”

-

He spoke directly to me, and only to me, in the same broken English as when we had first met.

-

“Are... you... my... Master?”

-

Heat and agony raced down my arm, tracing mana pathways into my body... and at long last a Command Seal, the symbol of the contract I had dreamed of since the day I was born, flowered into being on the back of my hand.

Like a tiny knight, he took that hand in his own, and gazed up at me serenely.

I was smiling. Perhaps I was crying, too.

“You really have come from far away, haven't you?”

“Very far.”

“I know who you are now. You're Voyager. A lonely little Servant who travels the stars.”

My words never left my mouth, but he heard and nodded regardless. “I’m glad. Finally we've met, Erice.”

Here and now I swear...

I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell.

“It’s okay. Let’s destroy this world. Let’s finish this war.”

Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. If you submit to this will and this reason...

I pledge my fate to your guiding light.

“Your wish and what I have lost are the same. We’ll watch right to the end, together.”

----

“The Holy Grail War... is not yet over.” The light in Ms. Fujimura's eyes dimmed even as she spoke.

“Do you wish to fight, Erice? Or perhaps...”

I wished, hard - to hurl myself into the battle for the Holy Grail, and to bring it to its end.

Ms. Fujimura looked up at me with sadness in her eyes.

“I see. In that case, Erice, I have one last request for you. If you choose to fight...”

-

“Go to Fuyuki.”

To be continued

[lynelovespopculture]

THE CHILLING ADVENTURES OF ZELDA-CHAPTER 18-THE BREAKING POINT AS THE MORTALS AROUND THEM GROW MORE OBSESSED WITH WITCHES, THE SPELLMANS START TO FEEL THE PRESSURE.

After the announcement of the play, the rest of the day was pretty much shot. After school, Faustus had more work to do so Cordelia took the bus home.  She sighed as she opened and closed the front door. “I said no.” Zelda’s voice came from the kitchen. “Mom, you are never going to believe this,” Cordelia muttered as she dropped her backpack onto a chair, entered the kitchen, and froze. For Zelda was not alone. “Look, Lilith,” Zelda said through gritted teeth. “You came here to ask me a question and I have answered you. I said no and it’s staying no!” “But I need you!” Lilith insisted. “We both know that you’re the best of the best. Besides, as the queen of hell, I can simply command you.” “Oh no, you can’t!” Zelda held her ground. “In fact, as I recall the last time I asked for your help, you told me that since I was not a part of hell’s court and was no longer a member of the church of night or the church of Lilith, that I was an outsider and you were under no obligation to help me.” Lilith knew she was losing her case but she continued pleading regardless. “It won’t be like last time. I promise! Lucifer is still inside that council member, still very much locked up. The minion and I check on him often. I swear it won’t be like last time.” “I know it won’t,” Zelda agreed “because this time I’m not getting myself or my family involved.” Meanwhile, Cordelia stood silently in the corner, confused over this exchange. Lucifer? Queen of hell? What the heaven did this all mean?  Cordelia was pretty sure she knew the woman who was fighting with her mother but didn’t know from where. “Please Zelda,” Lilith continued.  “Adam was just so sweet when I told him 3 weeks ago.  He insisted we return to the surface and get married at the courthouse that very day. Nothing like when Zander was born.” That was it! Cordelia suddenly remembered that this Lilith was the happy bride she saw when she and Faustus were driving past city hall on that 1st day of school. “Cordelia!” Lilith purred, bring the child back to the here and now by sliding a hand under her chin and studying her.  “What a lovely young lady you’ve become.” “Thank you,” Cordelia said, unsure.  “Um, have we met?” “Only briefly, a long time ago. But I hope we’ll get to know each other better in the future. Since you and my son are- “ “Lilith! If you say 1 more word, you’ll be returning to hell in a body cast!” Zelda threatened. Cordelia looked on as Lilith coolly shrugged and then walked out the front door before she turned back to her mother. “Who was that, Mom?” “No one you need to concern yourself with. Now, please go fetch your brother and Ambrose. Supper is almost ready.” Cordelia knew her mother’s tone and knew even she asked again, she wouldn’t get any real answers so she turned on her heel and went to get the boys.

Faustus didn’t remember the last time he was this tired. After closing the door, he rested against it for a moment, before tossing his car keys onto a nearby side table.  The house was quiet and dark, which was no surprise considering how late it was. Faustus yawned deeply as he made his way upstairs. On the second floor, the only light led him to his room, where Zelda was sitting up in bed, paperwork all around her. He came forward and kissed Zelda’s welcoming smile. “Hello, my beautiful reason for existing.” Zelda’s smile only grew bigger as she kissed her husband back. “I was expecting you late tonight once Cordy told me about the play.” “Ah, so you’re all caught up?” “Unfortunately, yes.” Faustus gave a little nod, then took off his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt, as he crossed to the room to the chest of drawers that held his night clothes.   “I’m sorry I didn’t call, my love, but it’s hard to make a phone call in the middle of an argument.” “And who were you arguing with?” “Principal Hopper,” Faustus sighed. “I spent 4 and a half hours trying to convince him to put on a different play, any other play! I tried any excuse I could come up with. All in vain, the play will go on as planned. The only good news is that they can’t force Cordy to perform in the play, but since this is a grade 7-8 production, she’ll have to  work backstage somehow.” Faustus explained to his wife on his way to the bathroom. “I had an interesting day too,” Zelda called out as she collected her paperwork off the bed. “Oh?” “You will never believe who came to see me today-Lilith.” Zelda couldn’t help but smile as her shocked husband appeared in the doorway.  His mouth foaming with toothpaste, the brush just dangling.   After he went back and rinsed, Faustus returned to the bedroom. “Lilith, eh?  Haven’t heard that name in this house in a couple of years.” “I had hoped to keep it that way,” Zelda muttered. “So, how is the queen of hell?” “Newly pregnant by her mortal husband, Adam. She asked me to serve as her mid-wife.” Faustus lifted an eyebrow. “What? Again? After what she put this family through last time, I’m surprised she even had the nerve to ask.” “Thank you!” Zelda exclaimed.  “That’s exactly what I said! But she wouldn’t take no for an answer and even after I refused her, she followed me home from the academy and I couldn’t make her leave until after Cordelia came home from school. She even hinted at the odd marriage pact again.” “Don’t worry, dearest. Even if Lilith did keep that damn contract, with no signature, it’s not valid.” Zelda smiled. “It seems you have given this matter some thought.” Faustus shut off his bedside lamp and got into bed. “I’ll admit that I might have brought the case up to Daniel Webster once or twice. Besides, if Lilith is hurting for female company, I know a nosy, moral bitch she can have right now.” Zelda chuckled as she made herself comfortable in Faustus’s arms. “I assume we are now speaking of Nina Robinson.  Is she still giving you trouble?” “Nothing but!” Faustus then told Zelda all about Nina’s absurd behavior from that morning. “I just can’t get rid of this woman! I can’t get any work done either. I finally had to pretend that I was going home, drove around the block, and finally had to hide in a broom closet just to get my work done. It’s pathetic! Oh, and all this was after she undermined me at every turn during that meeting with Hopper.” It was then that Zelda realized something. “Why go to Principal Hopper at all? Why not talk to Theo? He would be more understanding.” Faustus nodded. “That was my 1st idea too but he took off early for a long weekend with Robin. I’ll ask him on Monday,   beloved, and see if he can deal  with Hopper.” Soon after, Zelda fell asleep in Faustus’s arms, her head on his shoulder. Faustus himself was half asleep when he realized something. He and Zelda were still passionate lovers. Making love more times a week than not. But tonight, the topic was not even bought up and that was okay.  Faustus had sensed that Zelda was tired. Did she sense he was too? It was like they could communicate without words. After 13 years of marriage, he had obtained something with Zelda that Faustus never had with any other woman; true intimacy. He vowed that no one would ever take that away.

Turns out Faustus didn’t get the chance to talk to Theo about the play or anything else. Early on Monday morning, even before the 1st-morning bell, Theo slipped and fell on the floor. Bruising his neck and breaking his leg in 3 places. Theo had to take leave.

Cordelia sighed and sat back. “Dad, you’re killing me!” It was Monday evening and Cordelia sat at the kitchen table with her homework while Faustus stood a few feet away, finishing washing the dinner dishes.  Zelda had just left to do a bed check at the academy. “What’s wrong, honey?” Faustus asked. “You know what’s wrong.” His daughter frowned. “I’m the first 1 up tomorrow to read my family tree essay in front of the whole class. What were you thinking when you handed out this assignment.” “I was thinking that we all have families and all the class could share in it. So, what’s wrong? Isn’t your essay finished?” “Oh, it’s finished, all right,” said Cordelia. “And come tomorrow morning everyone in grades 7 and 8 will know that I’m descended from nothing but witches and warlocks. There’s not a mortal in the bunch, well, except for Sabrina, of course. So I figure if I read my essay at 10:15, they should be burning me at the stake on the school’s front lawn by 10:30.” Faustus rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on a towel. “Don’t be overdramatic, Cordy.  Bring your essay over here please.” Cordelia got up from the table and, with the pile of papers, went over to her father. Once Faustus had the papers in his hands, he spoke in Latin and for a moment, the essay glowed bright orange before he gave it back. “There.” “What did you do?” “I fixed it.  Now, the word witch is replaced with the word countess and a warlock is now an earl. It should read just as well.” Cordelia raised an eyebrow.  “You spelled my homework?! You’ve never done that before.” “Don’t get any ideas, Cordy. It’s only a 1-time thing. To keep us all safe.” Faustus took another look around the room to see if anything else needed to be cleaned. He saw a book on the table.  Faustus didn’t even need to move to know that it was the novel called ‘the witch’. The book Nina had assigned for English.  He gestured with his head. “How is that?” “Very odd,” Cordelia answered. “And it’s certainly fiction.” “What makes you say that?”   Cordelia walked back to the table and picked up the book, flipping through the pages. “This is a direct quote, ‘A witch is always a woman…There  is no such thing as a  male witch.’” Cordelia put down the book, frowned. “Now we both know that’s not true.” “The author is a man, right?” Faustus shrugged. “Sound like someone is trying to shift blame.” Cordelia had not thought of that, but the thought did make her smile. Faustus was right. Cordelia’s essay went over well the next day.   She actually felt good about it and managed to hold on to the positive feelings until the mid-morning break. The class was just letting out when a secretary posted something on a nearby bulletin board. It was a signup sheet for play auditions, starting that very afternoon. The triplets and Sara were the first to sign up, then they handed the pen to Cordelia. Cordelia took a step back. “No, thanks.” Erin frowned. “What’s wrong, Cord?” “Nothing, I would just prefer to work backstage.” Erica lifted an eyebrow.  “Since when are you shy?” “See? I told you guys that she  would see herself to be too good for our play.” Sara cut in. “I didn’t say that!” Cordelia snapped. It was Emily who tried to keep the peace.  “But the 5 of us always do everything together.” No, Cordelia thought angrily. The 4 of us always used to do everything together. Sara just showed up a month ago. As Cordelia dealt with her friends, Faustus stood in the classroom doorway when a smiling Nina walked up to him. “I’m glad we’re co-directing this play. It will give us more time together.” Faustus held her skin as she tried to hold his hand. Wordlessly, he just sighed and walked away. Great. More time with Nina Robinson, exactly what he didn’t want.

The rest of the school week was filled with play rehearsals and family tree presentations. Being from the same family, the triplets were allowed to present their essay together. On Friday, it was time for Sara to read her essay. Cordelia didn’t care to pay attention so she picked up a pencil and did some math. So she was only half-listening when Sara said, “Turns out I’m descended from a judge from the Salem witch trials.” Cordelia dropped her pencil and buried her face into her palm. Of course, Sara’s family was from Salem. Of course, they freakin’ were! 20 minutes later, the class clapped as Sara finished her report. “Sickening,” Cordelia muttered. “Do you have a problem with my report, Cordelia?” “Yes, I believe  I do. I understand that you can’t choose your family or where you come from but you spoke so proudly of your relatives from Salem.” Sara shrugged. “Maybe I am.” Cordelia got up and went up to Sara. “You’re proud to be related to a man whose job it was to murder people?!” “It was his job. His civil duty.” “It’s still murder!” Cordelia insisted. “Calm down, will you?” Sara asked. “It’s not like witches are real people.” “Miss Spellman,” Nina finally stepped in. “Please return to your seat.  Sara was nice enough to listen to your report.” Cordelia’s hand curled up in a fist, but only Faustus saw it and covered it with his own as he whispered into his daughter’s ear.  “You have every reason to be upset. But she finished now, the worst is over.

Yet, it wasn’t. The following Tuesday afternoon, during English class, everyone was asked to hand in their novel, Witches, and their notes about it. Cordelia, for one, was glad to be rid of it. But then, Nina rolled in a TV and DVD player. “Now I know that they just did a remake of this movie but the 1991 version will work just as well.” Faustus allowed his 7th graders to watch the movie as well. It was a little silly yet seemingly harmless. Until the so-called ‘witches’ met in a hotel ballroom, locked the doors, and took off their faces-which were all rubber masks. Now all the normal-looking women looked like wrinkled old crones. Except the 1 they called the grand high witch. To call her a wrinkled old crone would be an insult to old crones! 1 moment, she was a lovely woman, the next, a monster. She had little white hairs growing out of every part of her body except on her head. Her spotty skin could have seen on her back which was as uneven as her very long nose. Her ears were large and bat-like and her eyes were not of this world. It happened so fast and cause such shock that it caused Faustus’s mouth to fall open. As soon as the shock wore off, Faustus looked for Cordelia. “Oh no.” He saw that look in his daughter’s eyes before and he doubted that a mere TV and a DVD player set stood a chance against the divine child. Only the kids in the front room saw the glass on the screen crack but everyone saw when the golden sparks flew from the television. Then the TV went black. A moan from the hallway instantly told Faustus that the power had gone out all over school. A boy looked out the window and remarked, “Hey, looks like there’s a blackout all over town!” Meanwhile, without asking permission or bothering with a hall pass, Cordelia got up and left. Faustus rushed after her. “Cordelia!” Faustus entered the hallway just in time to see his daughter duck into the girls’ room. He went in with caution but when he was sure no one else was there, he locked the door. In the last stall, Faustus noticed that there was fresh vomit in the toilet and a white foot coming out of the wall.  Faustus gently nudged the foot with his own and the shoe color returned and the rest of his daughter emerged from the wall. Faustus tried to keep things light. “You have to work on your hiding spells.” However, Cordelia would have none of it. Her face was bright red, and there were plump, hot tears fresh on her cheeks. “Is that how they see us?” She asked. “That we all are evil, gruesome creatures who are out to murder foul-smelling mortal children?” “Oh, honey.” Faustus grabbed a bunch of toilet paper before he sat down and drew Cordelia into his lap, just like he did when she was little. “Darling, you know that’s not true. That was a stupid movie based on a book by a writer, who as you told me yourself doesn’t believe in male witches.” “No.” She insisted as Faustus wiped her tears. “A book can be 1 person’s opinion but it takes a whole lot of people to make a movie.” “You’re right, but that movie has nothing, I repeat, nothing to do with us. And I can prove it.” Cordelia put her head on Faustus’s shoulder. “You can?” He nodded. “The main character is called the Grand High Witch.  You and I both know that there is no such title. The highest title in a coven is a high priest or a high priestess. Speaking of your mother, she is 100% witch but she is also a great beauty as well as a professional midwife and teacher. 2 jobs directly related to children, who she would never hurt.” “But why do mortals do this? Why are witches always the bad guy?” “Hmm, good question.” Said Faustus. “I think it’s a paradox. Mortals love to be scared, yet mortals fear the unknown. So they put all their fears in these characters and called them witches. The mortals who don’t believe think there isn’t anyone to offend and even those who do believe, don’t realize that we have our own faith, our own laws, and society, our own world and therefore, have no need or desire to steal theirs.” “You’re really smart, you know that Dad?” “Thank you.” Faustus looked at his watch. “We should be getting back.” “No, I can’t. I can’t go back in there.” “There’s a blackout. I’m pretty sure that means no more movie for today.” “But they’ll still be talking about it.” Cordelia pointed out. “I’m telling you Dad, I have reached my limit for now.” Faustus sighed. “Okay, since there are only 20 minutes of school left for today, go lay down in the nurses’ station, and then we’ll go home.” Cordelia’s half-smile made them both feel a little bit better.

The pre-teen witch wasn’t the only 1 having a bad week. The triplets were understandingly upset when their father moved out of the family home earlier in the week. To cheer her girls and herself up, Mrs. Warner bought tickets to a magic show and because the show was on the day before the girls’ monthly sleepover, she got 2 extra tickets for Cordelia and Sara. They were even invited to sleepovers on Friday night as well as on Saturday. The magic show took place in a nearby town, so they showed up early and decided to browse the local shops. It was there that Cordelia got the feeling that she was being followed and she was right. The boy followed Cordelia as she and her friends went from shop to shop. However, he lost sign of Cordelia when the others approached the theater and he hid in an alleyway. “Why are you following me?” The boy turned to an annoyed Cordelia behind him, her arms crossed. “I have gotten so tired of Mother and Adam acting so lovey dovely all the damn time so I decided to come to the surface and visit you. Mother was right.  You are pretty.” He tried to touch her face, but Cordelia dodged him. “Hold on there! ‘Visiting’ would imply that we know each other. I’ve never seen you before in my life.” The boy seemed genuinely puzzled. “I’m Alexander Morningstar, the crowned prince of hell.” Something clicked in Cordelia’s mind. “You’re Lilith’s son?” “Yes, and you may call me Zander if you like. Now, I have a question for you. Why are you and those other witches from your coven going to see a mortal magic show? Don’t you know that stuff is all smoke and mirrors?” “Well, my friends are mortals so- “ Zander looked horrified. “You associate with mortals? Willingly? That must stop. It’s unbecoming for the future queen of hell.” Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call me the future queen of hell? How on earth do you figure that?” “Well, we are betrothed, so obviously when I become king- “ “Hold on, did you just say betrothed? As in engaged? You’re crazy!  I’m only 12!” “So am I but it’s not up to us. It was all arranged by my mother and your parents when we were just infants.” Cordelia shook her head. “Now I know you’re lying. My parents would never do that to me.” Before Zander could respond, a voice called out. “Cordelia? Where are you?” “Coming, Mrs. Warner!” “Are those mortals bothering you? I could kill them for you if you like.” “No! You are not going to kill my friends! Go home to your mother!”  Cordelia ordered. “Don’t walk away from me!” “Go!” Zander flew through the air and hit the wall at the end of the alleyway.  “You have got to learn to control your divine powers.” Yet, Cordelia was already gone.

Faustus loved making love to his wife. In fact, he could make love to Zelda morning, noon, and night and still crave more of her. Therefore, he had no objection when Zelda woke him up early on Saturday morning and began to make love to him. They were both breathing heavily when she rolled off of him. “See? I told you I always get my man.” Faustus was shocked and horrified to see Zelda transform into Nina. “NO!” Faustus screeched as he sat up in bed. “Darling? What is it? What’s wrong?” Faustus turned to see the real Zelda lying beside him and he felt his lip begin to tremble.  “Darling, I’m been unfaithful!” “What?!” It was now Zelda’s turn to jolt up in bed. She was angry, but only for a moment until Faustus explained about his dream. Then she smiled and shook her head.   “Faustus, my darling, how many times must we go through this? It was only a dream and dreams don’t mean anything.” “I know! I know!”  Faustus muttered. “But why did it had to be about Nina Robinson? I don’t want that woman anywhere near my mind, this house and certainly not our bed!   It’s bad enough that I can’t escape that woman during the day! We share the same classroom, now we’re forced to codirect that damn play together. In fact, there’s another rehearsal this afternoon, so- “ “So, no wonder she’s on your mind. But mortals do not use glamour spells so it’s unlikely   your dream will come true.” “It was more like a nightmare,”  Faustus muttered. Soon Zelda had calmed her husband and as they lay side by side, Faustus wondering why Zelda was suddenly silent.  “Penny dreadful for your thoughts, my love?” “This is going to seem like an odd question since we had our own affair, but why was it that once you cheated on Constance left, right, and sideways without the slighted hint of guilt but you seemed ready to cry at the mere thought of being unfaithful to me?” “I wasn’t loyal to Constance because I never felt that I need to. Yes, we were married, but as you know, she was not my choice. At the wedding, I was just saying words, not vows.  With you, it’s the exact opposite. I’ve loved you since I was 16.  Your name is carved on my heart. I have spent years, decades dreaming, yearning to be your husband and the father of our children. Now, that Hecate has seen fit to bless me with all I could desire if I ever lost you for my own stupid, avoidable actions, I would never be able to forgive myself. I think that’s why these dreams freak me out so much. It’s not just about me having affairs, it really hurts that because of that damn curse that I can’t trust myself not to hurt you. I hate that.” “Then it’s a good thing that I trust you whole heartily,”  Zelda said softly before she kissed him. During the kiss, they could hear whining and scratching at the door.  “What’s wrong, Tom? You want out?” Zelda got out of bed and patted her familiar before she opened the door to let the dog out and then     Zelda got an idea, took off her underwear, and returned to the bed.   “You know, Faustus,” Zelda said as she slowly undid the cord of her husband’s PJs pants and exposed his manhood. “what I think you need right now is a good detraction.” Zelda kissed him deeply as she climbed on top of him. She broke the kiss only long enough to yank her nightgown over her head. As they reached their shared climax, Zelda moaned and bent back as Faustus left a trail of kisses from her stomach to her rib cage. “Feeling better?” Zelda smiled at him in the afterglow. Faustus smiled back. “After such a sweet distraction, how can’t I?” “Good.” Zelda leaned over and kissed him deeply again. It took everything Faustus had to stop her. “Dearest, you know I want this, but if we are missed at breakfast, they might come up here.” “Faustus, there is no ‘they’ to miss us. Cordy still at the Warners, Jake, and Ambrose decided to go with Dr. Cerberus to something called a comic a con.” Faustus propped himself on his elbow. “Are you saying that we have the house all to ourselves? That never happens! Well, the heaven with breakfast,” Zelda laughed as Faustus rolled onto her, pinning her arms down. “I say we celebrate!” Her husband declared. And boy, did they celebrate!  They made love for hours. They even felt like breaking out their old toys, the whips, chains, and the cat of 9 trails. Faustus laid back, sighing contently when he noticed that Zelda was up and reaching for her robe. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Downstairs,” Zelda answered. “It’s almost 2 p.m. and we’ve missed breakfast and lunch, I’m hungry. Besides, I need to keep my strength up for the 2nd round.” “In that case, I’ll come with you.” Down in the kitchen, Zelda and Faustus talked, laughed, and flirted as they made a meal together. Zelda chuckled as Faustus kissed her behind her ear as she stirred the pot. They both looked up as a knock came at the front door. “I’ll get it.” Faustus was in great spirits, however, he lost his smile as soon as he opened the door. “Faustus, baby!” “Mrs. Robinson, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” “Oh Faustus, how many times do I have to tell you? You don’t have to be so formal? Just call me Nina.” “And how many times do I have to tell you? If there was a more formal way to call you than Mrs. Robinson, I would call you that. Now, what do you want?” Faustus demanded. Nina looked around before asking. “Where’s Cordelia?” “At a friend’s house.” “Great.” Before Faustus could figure out what was happening, Nina had stepped forward, grabbed him, and kissed him. Faustus struggled for a second before finally pushing her away. “What on earth are you doing?!” “Your daughter is in our class. I finally figured out that you don’t want Cordelia to tell your wife about us. That’s why you pretend not to like me at school.” For the love of Hecate! Faustus rolled his eyes. “I’m not pretending anything! I don’t like you. I never liked you and I never will like you.” They talked more and hearing voices, Zelda came out of the kitchen.  She could only see Nina from behind. “Can I help you?” Nina turned. “Yes. You can leave us alone.” Nina only got madder when Zelda came to join them. “Faustus, tell your employee to give us some privacy.” Faustus put an arm around Zelda.  “This isn’t my employee. This is Zelda, my wife.” Nina pointed. “This is Zelda…but I’m so prettier than her.” “No, all you are is rude,” Faustus grabbed Nina’s arm and guided her out the door. “You’re also out of    here.” Faustus shut the door in her face. Nina went down 4 steps when the door opened. “You can handle this afternoon’s rehearsal by yourself, right?” Faustus asked. “I suddenly feel very    sick.” He made a lame attempt at a fake cough and slammed the door again.

“Look, I’m not saying I don’t think the play is not good or anything. I just don’t think it’s great yet.” Sara said. Cordelia felt like screaming. Last night’s magic show had been fun, once she was able to put that odd boy and his crazy comments out of her mind. By the time they were back in Greendale, it was too late to do anything but sleep. The morning seemed peaceful enough she supposed, but the play rehearsal this afternoon took hours. Somehow, on the walk back to the Warner house, the subject of the Greendale 13 came up. Sure enough, right after supper, Cordelia followed her friend back into the cold October night to go visit Mary Wardwell. Cordelia wasn’t happy at all to see the very woman who shot and nearly killed her own mother. They finally stop talking about Greendale 13, only to start talking about the play again! Sara lit up. “I just got a great idea. I mean it, I’m a total genius! We should go to Salem ourselves. I mean, we should take the whole class on a field trip. To really understand the play.” “You’re right, that’s a great idea!” “Yeah, we should totally go to Salem!” “Cool!” Cordelia felt very uncomfortable as all eyes looked at her. “Um, I got to pee.” She grabbed her PJs and ran down the hallway to the bathroom. “Calm down,” Cordelia told herself in the mirror. “No one is going to Salem. They’re just thinking out loud.” After taking 5 minutes to calm down and get undressed, Cordelia returned to the triplet’s bedroom to find all the other girls on their phones. “What are you guys doing?” Cordelia asked. “We’re looking up how to get to Salem. Look guys, it says Salem is just 7 hours away by car.” So much for just thinking out loud. “Look, guys, I don’t think a field trip to Salem is such a good idea.  If it takes 7 hours to get there, it would take 7 more to get back.  That’s 14 hours in travel alone and suddenly we’re on an overnight trip. Given that the play is next Friday, I don’t think we have the time to fundraise enough.” “Typical Cordelia, always with the negative,” Sara muttered. “Oh, shut up, Sara!” “Lay off, Sara,” defended Erin. “She has been a better friend to us than you’re ever been!” “Why?!”  demanded a hurt Cordelia. “Just because I didn’t want to act in a stupid play?” Emily spoke up.  “Excuse you, but we chose that play!” Cordelia crossed her arms. “Why do I get the feeling that Sara picked the play and the 3 of you just went along with it because the longer we know Sara, the more you’re turning into sheep.  If I’m right, it begs the question, why would a self-proclaimed Wiccan chose a play about the Salem witch trials?” “’ Self-proclaimed?  It’s like you don’t believe me.” “I don’t. In fact, I think you’re lying about the whole thing.” Cordelia had to raise her voice against the triplets’ outcry. “Name 1 magical thing you’ve done since moving to Greendale.” Sara looked Cordelia right in the eye and said “I summoned the fear demon.” You remembered. Cordelia thought as the triplets showered Sara with awe. The fight continued for another hour, with raised voices and hot tempers. “Enough, I can’t stand this anymore!” Erin finally said. “Cordelia, I think it’s time you leave.” “What? Why me?” “Because you’re the 1 who started this fight.” Cordelia didn’t know about that but she was aware of the time. “You really want me to leave? Now? It’s 10:30 at night. I live across town; Sara lives down the street. Why doesn’t she leave?” No one said anything. Cordelia saw all the girls frowning all at once. Cordelia didn’t know what to think, but she knew the triplets had never thrown her out before. “Fine!” Cordelia stood up and swallowed back her tears. “I’m not going to stay anywhere where I’m not welcome.” Cordelia got redressed and gathered up her things before leaving the house. She secretly wished 1 of the triplets were stop her but no one did. Once the front door closed, Cordelia took out her phone and called Zelda. “Mom? The triplets threw me out. Can you come to pick me up please?” “Oh, Cordy. Your father and I are not home right now and- “ “Mom? Mom?!” Cordelia realized her phone was dead just as it started to drizzle.  “Just  perfect!” Seeing no other choice, Cordelia flipped up her neck collar and then drew the jean jacket closer to her body and ran all 5 blocks to Dr. C’s bookstore. The shop had been closed for hours, so the preteen took a detour and knocked as she could on the steel back door. She gave a huge sigh of relief when Hilda answered the door. “Thank Hecate, you’re here! I’m sorry for disturbing you this late, aunt Hil, but I didn’t know where else to go. The girls and I had a huge fight, the triplets threw me out of their house, but I don’t blame them, blame Sara. Now they’re talking about going to Salem. I can’t get a hold of Mom because my phone died and- and- “Cordelia burst into tears. Hilda hugged her niece close and then ushered her inside. After a quick phone call, Hilda discovered that Zelda was at the movies, in the middle of a double feature with Faustus and Sabrina. Hilda managed to convince her sister not to change her plans because Hilda wanted to spend some much overdue alone time with her night daughter. It was just after midnight that Cordelia put on her nightclothes for the 2nd time that evening. Since Dr. C was gone for the night, Hilda insisted that her niece share her bed for the night. The remote was on the bed so Cordelia jumped when she sat down and the TV turned on. “I’m sorry, Auntie H, I didn’t know the remote was on the bed.” “Oh, that’s okay, love. Looks like you literary just fell upon a classic, bewitched!” “Aw, the only witch show in pop culture that does make me want to scream, cry or throw up,” Cordelia said while getting under the covers. Hilda nodded. “You know every time I see this show, I think about your Uncle Edward and Aunt Diana.” “And a gender swap.” Hilda nodded. “Also, call me crazy, but little Tabitha always reminds me of Sabina as a baby.” Cordelia smiled, for she knew that there was a strong, powerful red-haired witch on the show. “Would that make Mom Endora?” The 2 witches looked at each other and laughed. It felt so good for Cordelia couldn’t remember how long ago she laughed so hard.

As hard as Cordelia laughed on Saturday night, she cried even harder on Wednesday afternoon. Zelda had to let her daughter cry on her shoulder for over an hour before Zelda got the full story. Apparently, Principal Hopper came in at the end of the day and announced that he had just discovered an envelope marked for the Salem trip on his desk had 5000 dollars in it. That, on top of parents’ donations, made the trip possible. They would travel on a deluxe bus and would be in Salem for 3 days and 2 nights. They would leave the day after tomorrow. It was unbelievable that this trip was put together in a mere 6 days. “I’m 12-year-old, Mom,” Cordelia said, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to die.” “You’re not going to die, Cordy.” “Your mother is right,” Faustus said, coming into Cordelia’s bedroom.  “I may have lost complete control of my classroom but I am still your father.  I say you’re not going to Salem and neither am I! That is final!”

It was final and none of the rest of the family ever bought up the subject. It was on Friday morning and in the middle of breakfast, Zelda looked around. “Where’s Cordelia? Her food is getting cold.” “I think she’s still in bed.” Said Jake. Faustus raised an eyebrow. “At this hour? You know your sister isn’t much for sleeping in. Even if she and I were excused from school today since the rest of the class left for Salem this morning.” “I know, but I bumped into her in the hall at 5 this morning. She was so excited to get a text from 1 of the triplets saying they didn’t want to leave without making up.” Faustus and Zelda exchanged a look. After their big fight, Cordelia and her friends hadn’t spoken in 5 days. The longest they ever went without speaking. When they did manage to talk yesterday, it only took Cordelia saying that she wasn’t going to Salem, to start the fighting again. “5 AM is pretty early and Cordy said she was going down to the school to talk to them for 10 minutes so that’s why I think she’s still asleep.” Jake continued. “I go get her.” “Thank you, Ambrose,”  Zelda said before turning back to the boys at the table. “We have to make this a fun and busy weekend for Cordy so she won’t think of the triplets or Salem too much.” “Sure, Mom.” Jake nodded as Faustus kissed his wife’s hand. A few minutes later, Ambrose rushed back in. “I’ve looked everywhere upstairs; I can’t find Cordelia. She’s gone!” “Gone?” “What do you mean she’s gone?!” “Hecate, no!” The 3 looked back to Faustus, who was now looking at his phone and had suddenly turned whiter than a ghost. “Darling, what is it?” “I just got an S.O.S text from Cordy. She’s stuck on that bus and it’s bound for Salem.”

[anarchy-lives-eternal]

The Nicest People

Have you ever heard the saying “the nicest people are the scariest motherfuckers when they’re angry”? Well, Angel Dust had never really thought much about it over his century of existence. However, on this particular day, that would all change.

Angel, even having grown up in a crime family, never thought much about that old saying. His family were scary to other people. Hell, Valentino was scary, but he was never nice in the first place!

Charlie though, the demoness who had brought him off the street after pissing off Valentino one too many times, who had actually cared about him and did her best to help him, was the kindest person in his little world. He didn’t so much as breathe a word of his appreciation to anybody, but he knew that Charlie knew he cared about her. Angel likes to think that his small affections and their Friday night “movie and cuddle” tradition they had started over the last few years showed her that much.

That being said, Angel had seen nearly every emotion pass over the demoness’s face. Joy, sadness, fear, anxiety, she even got annoyed sometimes! But the only emotions he had never seen in those impossibly wide doe eyes, that now were narrowed slits, was disgust and...

Pure, carnal, rage. After all, Angel and most of the others thought that such a thing was impossible.

Until, that is, during this years purge. An angel had barged into the hotel lobby where everyone was crowded together, Alastor trying to comfort Charlie with wacky little songs, or cute little cheek kisses. The other occupants were there seeking comfort either in the presence of those who had become their friends, or in the cheap booze that Husker mixed up. Angel and Vaggie in particular were there to help Alastor comfort their friend and boss.

When the angel had burst through the front door, there had been a dead silence that permeated the room. Every sinner froze, eyes wide, unsure of the reason for its presence.

Charlie, teary eyed as she was, was the first to step forward, asking if one of the sinners had been redeemed, and if not, why they were here.

The angel had cocked its head, mask firmly in place, and its simple reply had been what sent Charlie off the deep end, “Redeemed? No, I’m simply here to take care of a vermin problem.”

Before anyone could process that an angel actually just fucking spoke, Charlie was already in front of it, nose to nose. Her hair had broken from its usual band and was flaring wildly, her horns, instead of pointing straight to the ceiling, were twice their normal width and curled backwards like her mothers, her irises poison yellow, and her sclera glowing bloody red. Her teeth, while still a gleaming white, were even sharper than Alastor’s, “Then get. Out. Before I show you why I’m the next in line for the Fallen Throne.”

“Move, demon. This is a job, nothing more.”

Charlie snarled before moving faster than any of us could track, wrapping her clawed hand around the angels throat before bodily throwing him back out the front doors.

All of the residents of the hotel were still in shock, but snapped out of it quickly when Charlie began stalking forward slowly, changing even more with each step. Her height beginning to rival Alastor’s, and three pairs of black feathered wings sprouting from her back, each wing tip decorated in a gleaming talon and the end feathers looked more like black razor blades, ripping apart her shirt and leaving her in only a bralette with her suspenders.

As Charlie walked outside the hotel, everyone had rushed forward to watch from the doors, Alastor being the only sinner bold enough to walk outside.

“Hey Smiles, what do you think is gonna happen? I’ve never seen Charlie this fuckin pissed before.”

Alastor couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beauty in front of him. His smile hurt his cheeks, “Why, my effeminate fellow, I do believe that we are about to witness the death of an angel,” he paused, “you might even be able to call him angel dust soon enough.”

Angel rolled his eyes at the horrible pun on his name. Before anything else could be said though, they all heard a groan from the ground where the angel laid. The sounds of screams around them nearly drowning it out. All eyes returned to the fight about to start before them.

Charlie allowed the angel to stand, her eyes casting an eerie orange glow upon the white dressed being. She stood tall, elegance emanating from her even in all her fury.

“How dare an abomination such as you lay hands on me!”

“Correction: it was only one hand. And it laid upon you for threatening me and MINE.”

And suddenly the ground around the two erupted, magma and hellfire whipped into a frenzy by the Princess’s temper.

Angel noticed another movement out of the corner of his eye, Vaggie had finished whispering something to Razzle and Dazzle, and the two disappeared into the shadows.

Charlie stretches out her wings for the first time in centuries and felt something inside her sigh with relief. ‘This is what you were born to do. This is what you were meant for. Destruction. Razing the world. Punishing sinners’

Charlie’s snarling grin could cut diamonds at this point. She could sense everything around her. Each angel that was invading her territory. Trying to hurt her people.

It was time they leave.

Just as the angel reached for their weapon, Charlie moved. She sprung forth with all the fury within herself. Two sets of wings helped propel her, the third set reaching forth alongside her claws, ready to slice into holy flesh.

The residents of the hotel watched in horrified awe (well, Alastor was quite gleeful) as their princess made well known why she was to be feared and respected.

Moments. That’s all it took. Moments before the angel was slammed so hard into the cracked earth that it created a crater, and it’s head was torn from its body. Blue blood splattered across Charlie’s face as she rose from the crater on her wings.

That’s when five other angels showed up, brought by the sounds and commotion.

“Do you wish to challenge me as well?” Charlie asked them all at once. Her eyes burning into the masks of each one as she tossed the decapitated angel to the side, licking at the blood staining her black lips.

Before anything else could happen, another figure entered the clearing, bearing a striking resemblance to Charlie herself, only this one was male.

“Looks like daddy Luci decided to join the party...” Angel murmured.

“My little fallen angel, it’s been centuries since you lost your temper. It’s rather refreshing, I must say. As for you five, what say you to leaving? Do you truly wish to feel the ire of two fallen angels? I can guarantee that you won’t survive should you decide not to leave of your own accord.”

“Your monstrosity has committed a high crime, Lucifer. She must be punished.”

At this, Charlie laughed, “You call me a monstrosity, yet your brother tried to exterminate sinners who are working towards redemption. What would the Heavenly Father think? After all, these sinners are trying to repent.”

The angel who had spoken tilted his head a bit, “Is this true?”

Finally, Alastor decided to step forward, to act as a “neutral party”, “It is true. We had all gathered in the hotel to comfort and support one other on this... difficult day. The angel in question entered the premises and mocked the sinners seeking redemption, calling all ‘vermin’ to be ‘dealt with’.”

Lucifer, with a grin similar to Charlie and Alastor’s own, turned back to the angel, maliciousness dripping from his voice, “You see? My daughter only acted in defense of her people. Not to mention, your angel broke the rules. No angel is allowed to enter any home or establishment in Hell.”

The angel mulled over the new information for a moment, and everyone held their breath except for the three demons facing them. Lucifer and Charlie were in no way fearful of the angels. They knew that they could take on five with no issues, and Alastor simply stared adoringly to Charlie, not a care in the world that five angels stood before him. That’s when the bell signaling midnight rung out through the bloody night.

“Very well. The bell has tolled. You shall all live another year. May those seeking redemption find it.”

They all turned to fly away, but Lucifer called out once more, “Oh, and Michael.”

The angel that had spoken, now identified as Michael, stiffened and froze in place before turning only slightly to look at Lucifer.

“If I ever catch an angel breaking my simple rules again, I will take great pleasure in killing every single one of them. Even you, dear brother.”

“I can assure you that no such thing will happen again. I give my word. Oh. And Father says ‘hi’.”

Lucifers only reaction was the narrowing of his eyes.

_______________________________________________

As all of the remaining angels vacated Hell, Charlie and her little motley crew remained outside. Finally, she lifted up her hand and sent the usual signal for the end of the cleansing into the sky, and demons from all around came to investigate what they had heard. Once many got a good look, they quickly retreated to a safe distance.

Alastor and Lucifer both approached Charlie, who was still in her full form

“Here, my darling/fallen angel” both said at the same time, then glared at each other as they each went to hand Charlie their coat.

Charlie took Alastor’s coat, not putting it on yet, before glancing at her father, “What? You can’t answer a call, but you hear about a fight and you come running? Do you still think I can’t handle myself?”

Lucifer looked away, seeming almost apologetic, “Charlie, while I admit that I have been rather callous, I have my own reasons for not supporting your idea. I know you could fight every angel in heaven and win, but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t worried. I should have been... more understanding. I realize that now.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. This was the closest to an apology as she was ever going to get. That didn’t erase her anger though, and her wings shifted of their own accord, showing her irritation.

“Darling, not to interrupt, but I do believe that you are making our local population a tad nervous at the moment.” He handed her his handkerchief to wipe off the blood, and she took it gratefully, her form shrinking to her normal state while she wiped her face.

“You missed a spot, Sweetheart.”

Charlie looked confusedly at Alastor when he reached out and swiped a finger at the corner of her lips, bringing the drop of blood to his own and licking it off.

Charlie just rolled her eyes, “You couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Why would I even try my dear?” Alastor said with a staticky laugh.

Charlie chucked as she put Alastors coat on.

Lucifer looked suspiciously between the two, “And what is your relationship with my daughter Radio Demon?”

Alastor laughed again, “I’m her Beau, of course! I simply couldn’t resist the charms of my little belle!”

“What! But Charlie—!”

Charlie raised her hand, palm facing her father, and used the same stern look she remembered her mother giving on multiple occasions, “Dad, you haven’t got a leg to stand on right now. I’m happy. He treats me right.”

Lucifer looked almost like a kicked puppy, muttering that his sweet little fallen angel had a new man in her life and didn’t need him anymore. Then he stood straight once more, “Well, I suppose that’s all I really need to know,” he turned to Alastor, “just know, Radio Demon, if you hurt her, I will not be nearly as merciful as my daughter.”

That’s when the moment was broken, by Angel of course, “Merciful! Babes just tore that saps head off! I ain’t ever seen her so pissed!”

The field went silent, but it was broken with a small chuckle that turned into full blown laughter. Charlie doubled over, her guffaws bringing tears to her eyes.

After near five minutes of her laughter, she stood upright again, wiping her tears away, “Yeah, I guess you weren’t down here the last time I lost my temper, huh? But you see, that’s why I try so hard to be kind, and to help you all. I know exactly what I’m capable of, Angel. I know I could raze all of hell if I wanted to. Because if I’ve learned anything, I’ve learned that true kindness is only true when you are capable of true cruelty as well.”

That seemed to resonate with the sinners. After witnessing her fury, they finally understood why she was so pure. It wasn’t because she isn’t capable of depravity, it’s because she is, and chooses a better path.

“Well! Not to diminish the moment, but shall we go inside? I’ll even ale my mother’s famous jambalaya. How does that sound, love? Alastor held out his hand to Charlie, who took it, smiling widely beside him.

“I think that sounds grand.”