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aro-in-danyl · 3 months

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Eve Reincarnation!AU

*He/she/they pronouns for Eve

Eve was bored. Heaven's wonders could only entertain her for so long. And she was sick of the pity and condescension.

For all that Lucifer was damned to the hell he created for his actions, he at least had Lilith with him to bare the burden.

She was not so lucky. Adam would sooner die a second death than take accountability. And the angels regarded her alone with mixed pity and suspicion.

Adam thrived in heaven, but it stifled her like nothing else. Eternal peace was stagnant; she missed Earth and eagerly watched the planet and her descendents antics with curiosity.

It was her who first put forth the idea of reincarnation. But Sera, bewildered by her desire to leave heaven and wary of having her alive after her first fuckup (honestly, eat one fruit and they never let you forget it!), dismissed her.

It was just her luck that Adam, who ran his mouth faster than his brain could keep up, bragged about getting the Seraphim to agree to his yearly hell extermination where her request had been rejected.

And wasn't it just grand that it was supposed to be a secret? Wouldn't it be a shame for that to get out, right, Sera?

Her reincarnation request was approved. She was the first and only soul to be granted this. Per her request, heaven would be barred from viewing or interfering with her new life.

And it was wonderful! They had a new life, a new name, a new gender! And no one to hold them back and say 'remember the apple, Eve?'

Then they died. And back to heaven they went, unknowing of their past life as Eve. Until Sera accousted them before they'd even made it through the gate.

Sera conjured a glowing white apple and offered it to them. Their curiosity had followed them to this next life so they accepted and the Seraphim smiled sardonically and said, 'Welcome back Eve.'

But they. weren't. EVE! Not anymore. Or at least they were not JUST eve.

But being the only soul to reincarnate, the angels just didn't understand that. Nor would Sera care to, she allowed Adam and Eve's requests only if she could ignore the consequences.

The human who once was Eve, decided to reincarnate again. Anything to escape their dreary eternity in heaven.

And then he died. And Sera offered him the apple, said, 'Welcome back Eve' and on and on the cycle continued.

He tried to lead his next few lifetimes into sin, maybe in hell they'd get at least some of the excitement she'd loved from Earth.

She had no clue how she kept getting into heaven. Over the course of several different lives, they'd committed all sorts of sins. And yet it never stuck.

So they struck a deal, and in his next life, she finally got what she'd been craving.

Eternal Entertainment.

Welcome to hell, Alastor.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin eve #hazbin hotel sera #seraphim #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel au #fic ideas #hazbin hotel prompt #this would not leave my brain until I wrote it down #this will definitely not be canon but its so fun #explaining Alastors beef with every single man he's ever encountered ever #would the adam v alastor fight count as domestic violence in this AU?#Adam has some redeeming qualities but only lute can see them #Alastor is Eve but he's also himself #reincarnation is complicated #not me paralleing Adam v Eve's ascension to heaven to Lilith v Lucifer's reaction to their fall #amnesiac eve #alastor has no clue he was eve #wouldn't it be a shame if Sera clocked him immediately if she were to ever visit Hell #Eve wanting the chaos of hell and Lilith chilling in heaven #both made some sort of deal to get there #I wonder how that'll work out for them >:)#yes alastor is still aroace so was eve in this AU #Feel free to take those implications and run Adam through like Nifty did :D #can you tell that I actually DO like sera as a character?#I'm so mean to her #I'm headcanoning Eve as POC #I refuse to let all 3 of the first humans be white

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spacenintendogs · 11 days

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please, I'm begging. Terrible terror loafing like a cat.... important

i tried :'))

#v good prompt anon #i honestly had a lot of fun drawing this lil guy but idk if it looks 'loafed' enough ;_;#httyd #terrible terror #httyd fanart #🌹 art #doodle requests #anon ask #rose answers

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dailyedgeworth · 7 months

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today, i drew in mspaint

#from a cringetober prompt!!!!!!#v fun #it's interesting to draw or well. paint. on just one layer sometimes #miles edgeworth #mitsurugi reiji #ace attorney #gyakuten saiban

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bishicat · 9 months

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if you're still doing the art meme prompts....50. putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up? i just adore how you draw these moments

Some unlucky apartment intruders oh-so-rudely interrupted a steamy moment between our two lovebirds

{art meme here ♡}

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aceghosts · 2 months

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Baby, All I Want Is You

Summary:

“You have that look again.” “What look?” He asks, shooting them a charming smile. “The one where you’re planning something.”

A short scene where Rooney and Yorinobu flirt with each other. Title comes from nightlife's nightlifetypebeat.

Rating: T

Warnings: Suggestive flirting between two exes who have it bad for each other. That's it.

Words: 1,377 words.

Author's Note: I'm gonna keep it real with everybody; this was just a self-indulgent excuse to write Rooney and Yorinobu flirting with each other. Also, this was inspired by this tumblr post.

Taglist (opt in/out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @captmactavish, @carlosoliveiraa, @nightbloodbix, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @clicheantagonist, @strangefable, @theelderhazelnut, @voidika, @cassietrn, @cloudofbutterflies92, @direwombat

AO3

“How do I look?” Yorinobu asks, stepping out of the bathroom and into the main area of the penthouse suite. While a genuine question, he could not resist the desire to show off to Rooney, to have their focus solely on him. He turns toward them, Rooney leaning against the wall nearest the bathroom door. They push off the wall, facing him as they put their hands on their hips. Rooney tilts their head, brows furrowed with an inquisitive look in their eyes as they look him over. Most would assume Rooney’s permanent frown meant they detested his outfit. Yorinobu knows them too well to believe that; he delights in reading them better than anyone else. (His favorite expression is when Rooney smiles softly, happiness reaching their eyes, a look typically reserved for him.) Yorinobu teases with a slightly cocky tone, “If you are too horrified to answer, perhaps I should-.”

“Your collar,” Their hands leave their hips as they walk over to him, “I’ll fix it for you.”

He nods, Rooney’s hands coming up to his lavender shirt collar to fix it. As they focus, Yorinobu studies their face carefully. Rooney’s dark blue eyes the same color as the ocean on a bright sunny day or a stormy night, depending on their mood. Their freckles dappled across their face like stars shining brightly in the night sky. The scars on their forehead and nose, earned from hard-won battles, defiant till the end. Their pale pink lips set in a thin line, close enough for him to kiss. Rooney’s hands move to his suit jacket collar, their touch faint through the dark maroon fabric. Giving him a curious look, Rooney states suspiciously, “You have that look again.” “What look?” He asks, shooting them a charming smile.

“The one where you’re planning something.”

“I might be planning something,” Yorinobu shrugs, as Rooney’s hands move down to the lapel of his jacket. He shivers underneath their touch, relishing in it. With a heavy sigh, Yorinobu starts, “It is such a shame I am going to this party alone. I wish I had-.”

“No,” Rooney replies, a response that would sound curt and brutal to most. Only Yorinobu notices the way the corners of their mouth twitch upward, the playfulness in their eyes.

“I did not ask you to accompany me, and yet, you turn me down?” Yorinobu places his hands on their waist.

“Then ask.”

“Rooney Shepard,” Yorinobu starts, deeply serious, “Would you accompany me as my date to this party?”

“Hmm…,” They start, tilting their head for a second as they pretend to think before answering with a smirk, “No.”

“No?”

“You know how much I hate those parties. You’re the only reason I ever tolerated going.” True. Rooney always hated them, sucking it up for Yorinobu when they were dating. He also knew that Rooney looked forward to the night being over, especially when they got Yorinobu all to themself. “I’m also not dressed for the event. I doubt private investigator chic meets the dress code,” Rooney adds, finishing fixing his jacket lapels.

“I think you look gorgeous in ‘private investigator chic’,” Their hands rest on his chest as Yorinobu leans in closer, “especially when you wear leather like you are now.” The tight leather pants made their legs look so long and their ass look fantastic. There was only one place better he could think that those pants belonged, besides on Rooney.

Rooney rolls their eyes, a faint red on their cheeks. “Yorinobu, no one will approve of clothes that I’ve had blood cleaned out of, and you only approve because you think I look hot.” “Their loss.”

Rooney lets out a genuine laugh, a delightful sound. Sidestepping his comment, they reply, “To answer your original question, you look very handsome.”

“Handsome?” In a perfect world, Rooney would tell him he is handsome all the time, but alas, Yorinobu will take it where he can. “You’ve always looked great in that shade of maroon, and,” They brush off his shoulders, eyes looking over his chest and arms, “That jacket fits you really well. Really, really well.” Apparently, Yorinobu is not the only one who has been looking, and it thrills him. “I’m sure all eyes will be on you.”

“What if I do not care for their eyes on me? What if I want you to look at me? What if I think you are the only one who matters?” A loaded question that he knows Rooney will attempt to sidestep.

“Yori.” Their nickname for him slips out, another sign that his feelings are not one-sided, no matter how much Rooney might try to deny it. “You don’t need me to flatter your ego. I’m sure you’ll get enough of that tonight.” They pull away from him, slipping out of his grasp once again. “You should get going. Want me to walk you to the AV?”

He nods, noticing the soft, adoring look they give him. “I would appreciate it. May I help you with your coat?”

“Yes, please.” He picks up the dark blue and black coat, the one they were so fond of wearing. Yorinobu helps them into the jacket, allowing Rooney to get fully settled. “You should come with me,” He says, leaning in close, “No one will even think about admonishing you for the dress code if you are by my side. Or we could stop somewhere for you to get appropriate formal wear. I could even help you pick your outfit out.”

Rooney shivers, a contented hum escaping from their lips. “Answer is still no,” they pull away, holding out their arm for him to take, “Come on, Yori. Let’s get you to that party.”

He takes their arm, Rooney by his side feeling so natural and right. As the pair head up the stairs, Yorinobu asks, “What would it take for you to say yes? If you asked, I would make it so.” “Yori, you know I don’t want anything from you. Just getting to be in your company is enough.” Some things never change. Rooney was still sentimental, content to be in his space and spend quality time with him. “I guess you could get me to come for work, but-,” Rooney gives him a knowing look, “I can’t go with you tonight for work.”

“Why not?”

“Promised Reggie, one of the local fixers in Watson, that I would do a stakeout for her. And, I like Reggie. She’s a good person, a little paranoid.”

“One might say that about you.” They roll their eyes in amusement, this time. The doors to the AV pad slide open, Rooney stepping through the doorway with him, “I will have to ask you to go with me as a work obligation next time.”

“Or,” Rooney stresses, accompanying him up the stairs, “You could ask me as a friend. I might be your ex, but I’m still your friend.”

“Friends.” Yorinobu can work with that. He would prefer the title of ‘partner’ or ‘lover’, but being their friend is better than being their ex.

Rooney nods as the duo step onto the AV pad. One of his assistants comes up to him, Aria, holopad in hand. “Yorinobu-sama, Shepard,” she greets them both, “We need to leave.”

“One moment, please,” He replies, dismissing her. Turning to Rooney, he opens his mouth to speak.

“I’ll see you later,” They say, giving him an encouraging smile, “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.” Their smile morphs into a devious smirk, sending a shiver of pleasure through him. Leaning in close, Rooney teases, only loud enough for him to hear, “And if I was your date, I don’t think we would make it to the party.” He sees a hungry look in their eyes, their need for him just as strong as his for them.

Fuck the party. Fuck their stakeout. He is staying here with them and-. “Enjoy your party,” They purr, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Yorinobu reaches out for their wrists, attempting to pull them back in. Rooney masterfully sidesteps him, winking at him. They turn their back to Yorinobu, walking away before he can get another chance.

Yorinobu swallows, a lump in his throat. Oh, this was going to be a long night.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cp2077 fanfic #yorinobu arasaka x OC #otp: it always comes right back to you #commander rooney shepard #I won't let fear compromise who I am #kate writes #the rooney fic tag #v: cyberpunk 2077 #this is very self indulgent #but I have a lot of fun writing for these two #and I'm definitely rotating the idea of a smutty sequel to this #maybe i'll need to reblog some prompt lists for that

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dungeons-and-dragon-age · 9 months

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ooh maybe F1 for Ari/Josie :D?

[prompts]

Ari.exe has stopped working

#this would be like. early to mid game lol #hes trying very to figure out what the appropriate response is fsdjkdf #look this was not planned or expected he does Not know how to handle this #and if sth happens that he absolutely did not account for he panics :')#is he supposed to hug back? is that rude??? or is it rude not to????#drawing prompts #my art #my ocs #oc: ari adaar #josephine #btw if you know what this is a redraw from you get a cookie xD #i cant be bothered to go search up the post but i know i drew sth like this before haha #so this was v fun to (re)do! xd #id in alt

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queen-scribbles · 25 days

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❛ it should have been you. ❜

for anybody really

Hawke sibling angst? In 2024? It's more likely than you think! Sigi + Bethany + first anniversary of fleeing Lothering (624 words) ----

The windowsill creaked and Sigi tensed, mentally rolling the dice on who was about to ruin her vigil.

"I thought you might be out here." Bethany. The better option, in some ways.

Worse, in others.

"S'quiet," Sigi mumbled, looking out over the city rather than at her sister. "And out of the way. Only place our beloved uncle won't nose around."

"I know... you probably want to be alone." Bethany hesitated. Her voice shook. "But Mother is just..."

A heavy sigh, head tipping toward the empty space next to her. "C'mon, Beth."

The sill creaked again as Bethany climbed over it, carefully balancing on the slanted roof. "Maker's breath, Sigi, did you drink all of that?"

Sigi laughed, hollow and empty as the whiskey bottle swinging between her tented-up knees. "Maybe? I didn't see how full it was when I picked it up." She hefted it to examine. "There might be a few sips left if you want..."

Bethany shook her head, nose wrinkling. "No, thanks."

"Suit yourself." Just as well, the bottle did look empty. It slipped from her grasp as she leaned her head back against the wall. Rolled to rest at the roof's edge.

She held her silence. Bethany had sought her out, she could carry any conversation she wanted to happened.

The silence stretched, Bethany's breathing uneven but never quite breaking on an actual sob. "It should have been you, y'know," she finally said, the words soft and free of rancor.

Not an indictment, just fact.

"I know." Sigi sucked her teeth stared up at the stars. Different stars, different angles on constellations he never got to see.

Can't believe it's been a whole fucking year.

"And I don't... I'm not wishing it had been, or that you died instead," Bethany rushed out, twisting the hem of her blouse in knots. "You're just always the one to rush in to protect us, and..."

"I know. The one time that little shit was faster than me..." She sighed.

It had been different with Father; wasn't much she or anyone could do about a wasting sickness. But that damned ogre... she could fight, had fought, tooth and nail, to protect her family, knuckles bloody, lip split. And she'd do it again.

Except for the one time it mattered. The one time she was too slow.

'This is your fault...!' She still heard Mother's recriminations in her head some nights.

'It should have been you...'

I know.

"I'd let him brag about fightin' an ogre and winning if he was here," she muttered, trying to pretend her eyes didn't sting.

"No, you wouldn't," Bethany laughed with a hitch at the end. "You'd duck his head in the water barrel and ask if he wants to take the rest of the horde instead next time."

"...Guilty." She still wished he was here, bragging, grumbling, dogged loyalty and all.

'It should have been you.'

"'M sorry he's not, Bethy," she whispered, near choking on the words. I should have moved faster, been paying more attention-

"Me, too. I'm glad you are, Sig," Bethany leaned her head on her shoulder and Sigi grimaced at the nickname only the twins got away with. Only Bethany got away with. "I just wish he was, too."

"I know." She didn't pull away, letting Bethany take solace from the contact, wrapping an arm around her sister's shoulders.

"I miss him."

"I know." So do I.

It should have been you--he was only eighteen.

It should have been you--maybe you would have killed it.

It should have been you--you promised you'd take care of them.

I know, I know, I know.

They sat on the roof for a long time, and didn't speak of that night again for far, far longer.

#queens fic #angst prompts #sigi hawke #bethany hawke #rogue hawke #man i hate writing carver dead #but i've done him and astrid talking about bethany it's ONLY FAIR #sigi's fun bc she's red hawke but does her best to be soft with her sister/other people she cares about #she's just v blunt. v full of Rage. and v protective :)#and doesn't really know what to do with emotions #dragon age 2 #da2

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purpleleafsyt · 10 months

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Day 13 - Abyss Beneath a Smile

@arcvmonth I saw the prompt for antagonistic characters and just knew I had to draw Yuri for it, since he's one of my favorite characters in arc v, so here he is!!

I also wanted to include the lineart, since I really like how it turned out :]

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wanderingaldecaldo · 3 months

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9- Write about your ship getting dressed up in fancy outfits together.

For Ros/Val!

Thanks for the ask @ronqueesha! From Soft OTP Prompts Been staring at this one off and on since last night. I think I'm finally happy with it, and clocked in at ~360 words. 😅

V scowls at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The shirt collar is too tight; the arms are just a shade too long while the pants are too short, and make her look even taller and her hips wider.

“How’s it going in there?” Rosalind’s voice heralds her arrival from the bedroom, and she glances up in the mirror to find her leaning against the door, arms crossed, a smile spreading across her face as she looks V up and down. “You look fantastic. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m being strangled, and haven’t even put on the tie yet.”

Rosalind approaches, sliding her hands around her waist and pulling tight against her, face nestled on V’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to go, you know. It’s just a state dinner.”

“I know,” she says, her eyes dropping to the tie dangling between her fingers.

“Would you like some assistance with that?”

Scoffing, she shakes then nods her head with a small grin. “Yeah, guess so.”

Rosalind spins her around by her hips and turns up her collar. She takes the tie from V and loops it over her head, pulling each side back and forth along the collar until she’s satisfied, then she begins wrapping the fabric over itself, back and forth, building up a knot. While she works, Rosalind describes the entire process but V is too distracted by the beauty of her face to pay attention to her words—the fine cheekbones, the spray of freckles, the perfect cupid’s bow mouth that smirks as she catches V watching.

She blushes as Rosalind arches a perfect eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just you’re beautiful.”

One corner of her mouth turns up and she glances up at V again. “You weren’t listening, were you? Never mind. A lesson for another day.”

She draws the tie close to V’s neck and turns down the collar, then helps her into the jacket and straightens the tie and lapels. She gestures her head at the mirror, and V turns around.

“You’re extremely dashing yourself.” She blushes but Rosalind’s right—the suit and tie do look good on her. “Now, shall we?”

“After you, Madam President.”

The President's Merc AU

Soft OTP Prompts

#rosalind myers #valerie vermilion #streetkid!val #myers x v #myers x fem v #wlw ship #milfguard #aka president's merc au #cyberpunk fanfic #wash's writing #writing prompts #mail time!#answers #ask meme #ronqueesha #thanks for the ask!!#this was fun <3 #val deserves to look good in a suit

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theviridianbunny · 8 months

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gimme a large number 14 for jackie and viri please

Concept: a moment in time - the end of a night at Lizzie’s bar - (inspo via prompt 14 - A whispered “Please” slipping out of kiss bitten lips. - prompt list is here)

Imagine Jackie and Viridian playfuly flirting with eachother all night- then taking to the dancefloor as it's one of Charli-Axel's club nights (thank you for your paitence with this mini fic-!! the inspo to write this only came recently -! )

Dancing close to another , under the flashing strobe lights and bass heavy electronic music. The two of them among a sea of bodies on Lizzie’s dance floor. Charli-Axel’s classic club nights brought the masses out to dance and party. Old tunes from the days of silverhand. The ex corpo dressed in a liberally un buttoned floral shirt- similar to the barkeeps.. This shirt and a pair of denim flared jeans that showed off her curves in all the right places. As Jackie drew his body closer to his love- he felt Viridian melt into his embrace...- pressed up against her as the two danced in perfect time and motion. They were made for eachother… - a large hand coming to Viridian’s jaw. He stopped- taking a moment to run his thumb over her soft jawline. Through the flashes of light he watched her melt into the touch She craned her neck up to face him- shooting him a flustered smile. Giggling- more to herself - before they kissed. The kiss they shared fueled this hunger- a desire, becoming uncaged. It was like electric... The kiss broke for just a moment- Viridian pressing her lips to his cheek- softly kissing along the thin wires of Jackie’s cyber wear… Her cybernetic hand moving over the larger man’s shoulder. "Please- please kiss me again -" she breathed- "Please- I- I need this. I need you -" Neither of them cared if anyone saw them kiss with such hunger. Life was too short and far too precious for either of them to care.... especially when time was running out for the ex corpo. A dead rockerboy in her head- a ticking time bomb… But right now? as they kissed- it was like nothing mattered at all. Viridian smirked at her partner and took his hands in hers- squeezing as hard as she could. Her eyes focused on Jackie’s behind dark wrap around sunglasses. Her cerulean blue lipstick smudged over her lips, and over Jackie’s face too.. Letting go of her partner- she wiped the last of her lipstick off with the back of her cybernetic hand- raising an eyebrow playfully as Jackie watched her. "My place or yours?” he asked. She pressed her body up against his, rolling her hips gently- hearing her lover curse sweet nothings to himself under his breath. "Mine" she breathed. An enthusiastic nod from the larger man came as a reply, the smaller woman dragging him through the crowds to the exit of the club. Snaking through a sea of bodies… There would always be another night to dance.

#bunny's fanfic tag #otp: to this #jackie welles #oc: viridian #oc: charli axel #bunny writes stuff #Cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #Jackie x v #writing prompts #jackie x female v #jackie welles x v #writing is HARD but i'm having fun :)#i have so many ideas!!! i just never know how to get them out my brain

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thats-a-weird-warning-sign · 9 months

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congrats on finishing your exams, may i request a camilith + 20?

20 - A kiss on a scar So full disclosure this got away from me a bit...

Camila has always struggled with patience. There’d bever been the time for it - she’d had too much to do, siblings to care for and a mother to coax through each day. She had a father to mind and a stepfather to avoid. She’d wake with the dawn and be moving through until the darkest part of the night. She had no time for patience, so the convent was a bit of a shock, at the beginning.

It was a shock for more than that, obviously. There was the shock of the gunfight, the shock of the deal-gone-wrong, the shock of seeing your stepfather point a gun at you. There was the shock of cold water; off the bridge to avoid a bullet, wild with fear and half convinced this was all a fever dream.

The shock on her mother’s face was the loudest, hurt the most – when Camila had come home bloodied and bedraggled, clutching a fistful of notes barely cleaner than the river water, pressed her shaking hands to her mother’s, kissed her sisters goodbye and fled.

The shocks started to lose meaning after that. The shock of her father, barely sober enough to drive but parked outside a house he hadn’t laid eyes on in a decade – with the address of the nearest convent already pulled up on an ancient satnav, a grim smile and bloodied knuckles.

A convent was not the way Camila had been planning to reinvent herself, after she got out – but if nothing else, she was resourceful. There’s only so resourceful you can be in a stone building older than the United States of America, however – and it didn’t take long before Camila – novitiate camila – was being transferred to somewhere her skills might be a little better utilised.

It was beautiful to be back in Spain, but it hurt. Camila didn’t expect it to ever stop hurting – but she was resourceful. She learned new skills, swore she’d never again have to plunge into icy water to end a fight, and she never wrote home. She didn’t even think of home, she didn’t think of her sisters or her mother, she didn’t worry if her father was drinking himself to death or if her mother had fallen back into that sad empty stupor.

She forgot her name, she laid it to rest, she’d died in that river.

She had to have died in that river.

She never expected it to stop hurting - those sorts of wounds don’t; they ache forever, and worse in the winter.

The first winter after her death is a quiet one. Spain is cold, as cold as it ever gets. Balmy compared to Caithness, but of course - she’s never lived in Caithness, wouldn’t know the difference - doesn’t miss the wind that makes your face burn.

Instead, she is swallowed entirely by a cathedral that is as beautiful as it is deadly – surrounded by women who have their own hidden, aching wounds. Camila has never been religious, but there is something about the OCS that makes the act of worship - the act of honing a body to a razor edge and sending it out to cut and dress an offering - far more real than stale bread and watery wine.

Camila is adaptable.

Camila is adaptable, and resourceful, and so painfully lonely it has almost stopped hurting. But then, on Christmas eve, or very very early on Christmas morning, long after midnight mass, long after she should have been tucked into her narrow bed, she sits at a piano that sounds like it’s older than the church itself, and she plays. She plays quietly, delicate with the silence thick around her, afraid to shatter it with a duff note. She plays and she hums, and she tries with all that she has not to think of home.

Shannon, Sister Shannon, Warrior Nun and honoured leader of the OCS in spirit and body, finds her sat staring at her hands in silence. She folds her long, lethal body to sit beside Camila at the piano bench, smiles a rueful smile.

They don’t speak of much, but the memory of that conversation – of the sleep hazy chill, sat shoulder to shoulder with a woman who Camila is supposed to believe carries a shard of the divine – that memory sits heavy for a long time.

It sits heavier after Shannon is gone. It sits heavier when Sister Beatrice stands at her shoulder in tight-lipped silence, a wan smile and faint assurance that Camila’s second field mission will go better than the first. It settles into a steady weight after that, a pressure on her bones that makes her creak at the hinges as she hacks into police databases and hijacks security cameras – as she storms strobe lit laboratories and shoots glowing arrows at a demon she can see only in the carnage it leaves behind and the fear in the eyes of the resurrected woman running from her.

The new pain and the old pain burn together for a while, as the weather draws in and the skies darken and the new warrior nun runs from them time and again. Lilith is killed, and Camila sees the weight on Mary’s shoulders double – couldn’t hope to understand the history but recognises the ache in the stoop of strong shoulders.

She’s had scars aplenty, collected them like badges of honour for a while – had them pinned upon her by more hands than she could count. The scars the OCS gives her are a little different, a little deeper. They’re cleaner than the memory of barbed wire that gives texture to the field of poppies that wraps her bicep, or the burn that silvers the swords on her forearm. Camila doesn’t even see them anymore. She’s carried worse, is under no illusion that she will carry worse once again. At least her scars and her aching, burning wounds are of this world. Camila knows her pain, knows its cause and can tell when the weather will turn an aching to a gnawing.

Under fluorescents once again, with an invitation this time – cool glass and air conditioning soothing the weight of cloth and hood, she watches Ava bend the laws of physics and fall into Beatrice’s arms as if her gravity was suddenly greater than earth’s. There are scars there too, she knows, but the two of them together look set to soften each other’s sharp edges.

Camila has never had a scar ripped open again, guards old wounds carefully like any good soldier; the skin is weaker there, aches to bleed once more.

Lilith rends a tear in the skin of the world, falls through a door and a hole in reality, here and alive and raw and as confused as Camila is. They sit together, and Camila chooses to smile, chooses to dress another’s wounds. They sit together for a scant few hours, and Lilith weeps and burns with a pain that Camila can see will break her. Camila has dressed more wounds than she can count, but there is no gauze for this, no salve to ease the fear in Lilith’s eyes.

Camila is not patient, and it is for the best – their days run helter-skelter into chaos, they roam far and wide, they unearth a monster, commit the most brazen act of destruction of property Camila has ever attempted.

They are betrayed.

Camila is not patient. They run again, lose Mary to a sea of clawing hands and screaming. She dresses a deep gash in her own thigh, cleans masonry dust from Beatrice’s grazed forehead, washes the blood from Ava’s knuckles even as the halo sews skin back together.

They run, but at least she’s free of the habit. They run, from the church and the demon they released - and from their own sister.

Camila had seen that Lilith’s pain was too great to bear. Sometimes, she wishes she was wrong about these things – that practice didn’t make perfect.

Ava’s curious hands find the scars on her arms, trace the ink that hides them. Beatrice deftly re-stitches Camila’s thigh when she pushes too hard, when blood soaks her third-hand cargo pants and draws attention that they cannot afford.

Lilith comes to her, sometimes – in the darkest part of the night. The first time, Camila draws steel against her, has a knife to Lilith’s throat in a half second of adrenaline. Her fear drives the blade into flesh that hisses with fire as it heals, silvered and scaled and whole again. Lilith’s eyes burn too, in the dark – her words burn, acidic, angry – at everything and everyone. She stays just long enough to insult each of her sole surviving sisters, but Camila can hear the grief laying thick behind the fury.

Mother Superion sends them coordinates, sends them into warehouses and factories, sends them after whispers of twisted miracles. She sends them into fistfights, gunfights, fights for their lives. She sends them to fight for the lives of others – Ava learns a hundred ways to tell her sisters of the possessed – shorthand gestures, a change in posture. Camila would swear sometimes that Beatrice reads the thoughts straight out of Ava’s head.

Sometimes, Mother Superion sends them coordinates to slaughterhouses – the fight they anticipate already long over, the remains of their enemies left - bloody afterthoughts, or offerings.

Lilith’s visits track slowly westward, cataloguing the scattered safehouses and motels that mark their journey back to Malaga, to the fluorescent-lit labs and hungry cathedrals that began this. She appears in fire in courtyards, on roofs, in graveyards – never again setting foot in whatever bare space Camila is sleeping in. The first thing Camila sees each time Lilith steps out of the fire and into the light is the delicate silvered scar over her right common carotid – the artery hidden under scales that catch and throw light like cut glass.

Lilith comes bloodied and grim, comes silent, comes roaring her fury, comes weeping her failure. Lilith hunts Mary, haunts those who might have taken her. Camila aches, carries the weight of another loss - wishes she’d named herself Judith as she’d crawled from the river, counts the lost causes as they sit around the breakfast table.

Camila is not patient, but she is observant, and she has learnt the skill of walking diagonally toward something you want so as not to spook it into flight. Camila is not patient, but she is resourceful; she has learned how to be many things to many people, so it is a pleasant surprise to be asked to be no one other than herself. Camila is not patient, but there are some things she is willing to try for.

Lilith comes for the last time in the evening, stumbles from shadows trembling and bleeding. Lilith has never appeared where Beatrice may see her – has not faced Ava since the Vatican, but now she falls to her knees not two steps from the aged sofa they’re resting on. Camila jolts from the table, scatters half-fletched bolts and oiled blades in her hurry to press hands to Lilith’s bleeding wounds. Lilith trembles under her hands, bloodied up to her hairline and gasping for every breath.

She says Mary is gone and the shape of her sprawled here makes sense. She says Mary is gone and Beatrice turns to stone, Ava the only one able to voice her pain.

Mary is gone, Lilith weeps, scaled hands upturned, head bowed in supplication. All of Lilith’s scars are highlighted in silver. Camila runs soft hands over rough-plated shoulders, warmth burning beneath her palms.

Camila isn’t patient, but she has some knowledge of passing through death and having to press on through the other side of it. She has some experience of walking back into a home and finding that all of a sudden it sits wrong in the shoulders and the sleeves are too short and someone has moved the table 3 inches to the left. Camila isn’t patient, but she is sorry.

Later, when Lilith has cried herself out, Camila will coax her upright and cajole a mug of tea into her hands. She will lead her gently by the hand into their dingy bathroom to wipe the blood from her brow, she will press the softest clothes they have into her shaking hands. She will tuck Lilith beneath a pile of blankets and sit with her until exhaustion takes her. Then she will check on the rest of her sisters. Then she will cry.

Now, Lilith weeps into her shoulder, presses her forehead into Camila’s collarbone hard enough to hurt. Camila lets her cry, hushes hands up and down a shivering spine. Camila is not patient, but she understands that a vessel can only contain so much before it spills; before it cracks. Camila cups the back of Lilith’s head and presses her lips to the only place she can reach - the only place she deserves. The scales had looked like glass each time they drew her eye, but they are warm, soft. Beneath her lips Lilith’s pulse runs fast and strong.

Camila isn’t patient, but some things are worth waiting for.

#whoops this is over 2k #camila my beloved #Lilith my fave sopping wet beast of a woman #I just have a lot of feelings about them ok #Inflicting my Camila backstory on you all you're so welcome #This was v fun I have not written in Months sorry it is rusty #Anon prompt #Warrior nun #Siggy writes things

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padfootastic · 1 year

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“don’t apologize.” “sorry.” “name.” with jilypad, maybe? :0

oh, yes, i love this!! thank u for the ask <3

The silence was thundering in the wake of James’ words.

Lily’s mortified gaze was fixed firmly on her feet as she replayed them in her mind.

“I’ve seen the way you look at Sirius.”

Lily should’ve laughed it off. James didn’t even mean it as an accusation, had said it casual-as-you-please like they were discussing the weather, or perhaps their upcoming Charms assignment.

Hell, she could’ve waved it off even if it was an accusation After all, Sirius Black was an exceptionally gorgeous human being and there wasn’t a human on Earth who could refute that. He attracted admirers like it was his job.

But no, she’d frozen. Her reaction the biggest indicator of guilt she could’ve given.

“James—“ she started, before realising she didn’t know what to say. There was an expression on James’ face she’d never seen before and it was scaring her a little.

“James, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t apologise, Lily,” he tried to say but she wasn’t listening. All she could focus on was the tremble in her boyfriend’s frame and her own horror that she’d driven him to—to tears.

“Sorry, James, I’m so—“

“Lily.” The sharpness in his voice brought her babbling to a sudden halt. Lily kept her mouth shut, but her mind was still racing. James doesn’t—he’s not crying, like she’d thought.

Instead, there was a smile slowly taking over his entire face. Baffled, Lily watched as he burst out in giggles, wondering if she’d entered an alternate dimension without realising it.

She’d just basically admitted she was crushing on his best friend and her boyfriend was…laughing?

“Li-Lily,” he said, hiccuping a little as this laughter tapers out. “Aren’t you wondering how I knew?”

She could only shake her head. That hadn’t even been close to the top five things she’d been worried about.

“I know how you look at Sirius because I look at him the same way.”

Oh.

“So, Pads.” Sirius stared suspiciously at his best mate trying to act nonchalant. He was, quite frankly, terrible at it. His fidgeting became even worse and he couldn’t maintain eye contact to save his life.

“Hm?”

“Lily and I were…talking.”

“Right.”

“And we…resolved a few things.”

“Which—involves me how?”

“Er, yeah, about that…,” James trailed off, chewing on the corner of his lip. Sirius kind of wanted to do the same. He quickly averted his gaze lest he actually acted on his desire.

“Come on, James, spit it out,” he prompted, when nothing else came forth.

James gulped, and this was really getting too weird. Sirius hadn’t seen him this nervous in a long time, not since…he’d been…trying…to ask Lily out.

That’s not—

He wouldn’t—

Nah, he mentally shook himself. Not Possible. Lily was standing right there, steadily biting down on her nails and staring between the two of them. It had to be something else.

“We were hoping you would give us a try?”

Sirius was ashamed to admit his mouth fell open at that. It was most undignified.

“Give…you…a try?” And his voice came out embarrassingly high pitched. Wonderful.

“What he’s trying to say,” Lily finally cut in, exasperation taking over the previous nervousness, “but is finding it hard to because you’re entirely too distracting for your own good, is that we really like you and were hoping you might like us too.”

Sirius’ eyes bounced between her and James, who had turned a delicious shade of red that didn’t stop him from nodding vigorously at his girlfriend’s words.

He gave it a second of thought, just enough to consider the possibility that this might be a prank before promptly discarding it in the trash where it belonged. Even if Lily wanted to pull something like this, he knew James would never go along with it.

So it was only with the slightest bit of hesitance, of fear, that he nodded, still looking between the two people he’d previously considered out of his reach.

An excited whoop reached his ears just as he got picked up and twirled by James, deposited right in front of Lily who raised on her toes to press the sweetest kiss to his lips. Almost immediately, James wrapped himself around him from behind as Lily pressed into his front.

Sirius was helpless to do anything except close his eyes, letting himself melt into the embrace.

Send me a hesitant love prompt for any ship!

#sirius black #james potter #lily evans #jilypad #this was originally gonna be james saying sorry and lily confronting him #but that’s been done before and i wanted it the other way around hehe #dude i’m having so much fun w this i might just do the other prompts on my own #if no one sends me lord asks 💀💀#but stepping out of my comfort zone is—!!!#also i never realised how freeing drabbles can be lol #even when i try and cram in as much backstory & unnecessary details as possible 💀#i debated ending this after that first bit bc it was perfect w the little oh #but then i wondered if that was *true* jilypad and got some sirius in hehe #(i’m not v happy w the last line of this. it’s v abrupt. but that’s my weakest point always)#anyway #hope u liked it anon!#pen’s asks #pen’s writing #tumblr works

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