#he’s resin from the ashes to this world a new

[lameow-l]

HES WINKING OMGGGGGGGGGG

#genshin impact #enjou my beloved #how do you wink when your entire being is literally fire and your face is a solid mask?? #and hold a flower without an actual mouth #he would say the same we can stuff so many cabbages in our inventory #he’s resin from the ashes to this world a new

[kyngsnake]

Snippet *Sunday

Or, well. Technically snippet Monday now. Tagged by @bleumanouche, thank you Bleu!

No pressure tags: @druidgroves @hotwifeluigi @bigfan-fanfic

Grabbed this snippet from a scene in which Wes and Avery are 19 & 18 and in the aftermath of a falling out with each other. Both of them cope with their emotions poorly at this age. Avery does it more violently. Wes is the patron saint of repression. I have a lot of fun writing scenes while these two are younger because it really shows how much they've grown by the time they're 30.

And as always Wes belongs to @hotwifeluigi

And so Avery gets himself a shot. And another, and another, and another. 

The more Avery drinks the louder he gets, the louder he gets the more other bar patrons want to drink with him. It’s all jovial celebration but it’s a thinly veiled vicious cycle, smiles and laughter encourage poisoning the well. A cheap excuse to justify the means of self-medication, still, to everyone but Avery he’s having a lovely night. And who could blame them? It’s New Years, ain’t no threat in having a good time.

The momentum carries up to a finite point; Avery exists in a state of perpetually teetering over a ledge. All it takes is one nudge and he’ll tumble, push finds its shove when a man built like a bull decides faggot is a good way to describe the way Avery talks. 

One black eye, a busted lip and two sets of bloodied knuckles later, Avery finds himself on the curb outside. His saving grace was the firm belief that fighting dirty is fair game if an opponent really deserves it, dropping slurs in a bar meets that qualifier. They both got kicked out of the bar when it really came down to it, but Avery’s content with knowing that motherfucker took a boot heel to the balls. 

Avery spits to his side, saliva marbled with blood colors a small spot in the dirt. He grunts, sighs from behind his teeth and lifts a cigarette to his lips. The orange glow briefly fills the dark night air, Avery perks up when he hears the door open behind him. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’ pullin’ a stunt like that?” Even while drunker than a cow on a diet of fermented corn he’d recognize Wes’s voice. Oh, so now he can tolerate being near Avery. 

“Dude had it comin’,” Avery says with all the nonchalance in the world.

Wes stands over him with his hands on his hips. Avery tilts his head up and back to stare at him, he can’t help but smirk a little when he gets a good look at that pursed-lip, low-browed expression. He carries a similar cadence to a horse with his ears all pinned back. Careful, he might kick.

“How d’you figure he had it comin’? I watched the whole damn thing from the other side’a the bar, far as I know he mighta just looked atcha wrong and you took a swing,” Wes uses one hand to make frustrated, vague gestures as he talks, “Which, if I’m bein’ quite honest, Mr. Moreno, I wouldn’t put such a thing past you.”

Avery takes another slow inhale off his cigarette. Flicks the ashes into the dirt, mixing with his spit like gold flakes in resin. “Call me a faggot, get your teeth busted out. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh,” Wes breathes as his expression cools to something a grade calmer. He stands there statuesque for a short spell, evidently unsure just what to say. He clears his throat and adds, “I guess it’s for the best then that you uh, you stood up for yourself.”

Standing over Avery while he’s sat there on the curb, Avery decides he should invite Wes to do anything other than loom. “Want a smoke?” He says as he pulls one from the pack he has in his coat pocket.

“No, that’s a’right,” Wes declines and Avery isn’t sure if the feeling cropping up in his chest immolates or if it’s so cold that it burns, somewhere in the back of his head he’d hoped Wes would sit with him out here. “I had somebody waitin’ for me back inside. Just wanted to see what’d happened with you.”

 Avery finds that he has nothing to say, silence lingers between them until Wes opens his mouth again.

“You plan on comin’ back in anytime?” Wes asks.

“Nope,” Avery responds simply, cigarette held up to his mouth.

“A’right. You make it back to the room safe then, okay?” Wes’s voice sounds so strained that Avery could almost mistake his tone for guilt. He makes it a few feet closer to the door before he pauses— again— hesitating seems to be a skill he’s gotten good at. “Want me to walk back with you?”

“Nope,” he lies through his teeth. 

#ive been going through editing and came across this scene again yesterday #ah... 19 year olds and their poor emotional regulation skills... #avery #wesley

[bitletsanddrabbles]

So, What Am I Up To?

Since I keep talking about my latest series of rabbit holes, I figured I might as well fill everyone in because, well, it’s fun! And I am a fan of these things, so it can totally go on my fan blog, even if it’s not writing fan stuff. So there!

This past Christmas, my parents gave me the gift of a promised dinner at the brand new, not-then-yet-opened magic themed pub The Splintered Wand. Located in Ballard, Washington (a.k.a. Little Norway, a district of Seattle but don’t remind them of that), they have good food, fun decor, and, perhaps most importantly, are home to Balch & Balch Wands.

I did not know about the wand shop when I received my Christmas gift. I did not learn about it until months later when my parents and I fetched up on the same block as the Historical Building that houses it, having just missed the Norwegian Constitution Day parade. (We didn’t know about that either, or we’d have probably tried to be earlier.) Once I found out about it, though, one thing was immediately clear:

I needed a new wand.

Now, in order to really understand that statement, you have to understand that I already have three wands from Alivan’s wands and one mini from a book release party I went to once. If I actually liked the resin movie reproductions, I’m sure I’d have at least one of those. I am a costume hound and a collector of Shiny Trinkets and if you had asked me if I actually needed another wand that morning, I’d have said ‘naw, I’m good, really’, because Restraint.

As soon as I walked up to the second level of The Splintered Wand and listened to the gents behind the counter doing their spiel, Restraint went right out the window. You see, getting a wand from Balch & Balch wands isn’t just a purchase, it’s an interactive event worthy of any big name theme park you care to mention. In fact, it’s even more so because, by necessity, every wand sale involves the customer interacting one on one with at least one - possibly both - of the clerks.

End result? $60 later ($50 wand, plus $10 which was honestly probably low, but I was impulse buying), I have this beauty:

Mahogany omphalos with an ashray skin alabastron*. Hands down the most Cancerian wand you could begin to imagine.

Oh, and before I forget to mention it - bring someone else with you when you do this. I’m not going to tell you why, but it is rather important.

Of course, if you’re a wood worker and a snob, you’re probably going “Ugh, I could make that for less. I mean, it looks like it’s not even finished.” I know this because a) I’ve met So Many craft snobs and b) my cousin, the non-snobbish woodworker, informed me that if I ever needed something similar, he had the tools and know how.

So here’s why you should plunk down the money, even if you do happen to be a woodworking snob:

When I say this is an event, I do mean it’s an event. You don’t simply point at the wand and say ‘I like that one’. After explaining the magic system they’ve created to you (for free, because this isn’t community college), the friendly clerk picks a wand for you based on your Date of Return (birthday). If you want the exact details on omphalos woods and alabastron materials, see the above link. If there are one or two wands that they like, and there is time, you may even be asked to choose between them.

The next step is choosing the alabastron. I’m not going to tell you how this is done, since it works better if things are a bit spontaneous, but suffice to say it’s not quite random. It’s also not simply imagination. Inside that handle is a little vial containing a bit of stuff and capped off with the Very Scientifically Named Knobby-Bit-At-The-End. What is the stuff in real world, non-magic terms? Search me. I know one of the feathers is actually ostrich plume, but the ash ray skin? Wet looking stuff kept in water. They write the specifics of your wand down on a card so you can remember them and look them up on the above linked website and then.

AND THEN!

THEY ENCOURAGE YOU TO CUSTOMIZE IT!

Yup, the reason there’s no sealers on that wood is because you are encouraged to make it 100% your own. The only catch is that you must customize it with materials that are at least organic, preferably organic and cellular. So commercial paints, Elmer’s glue, and polyurethane varnishes are out. Beyond that? Carve it! Burn it! Wrap bits of non-alloy metal (silver/copper) around it! Make a leather wrap for the handle! Oil it up with natural stains!

GO HOG WILD!

Needless to say, little dye/stain fiend that I am, my brain went immediately to what stains I could use. The next thing it came up with is setting a polished stone in the Very Scientifically Named Knobby-Bit-At-The-End, because that is waaaaaay beyond my skill set and requires learning to make glue from scratch** and my brain has no sense of proportion.

But, one rabbit hole at a time, I am slowly starting to make progress. So far we have:

Stage one: Very simple. I just put a couple layers of soy sauce on the omphalos to punch up the natural mahogany colour and added a ring on the handle to incorporate the colour a bit better.

Stage two: Added a ring of copper/vinegar/hydrogen peroxide stain. This was being finicky, so after searching with absolutely no luck for info on how to make your own gel stains, I tried heating it and adding a bit of unflavored gelatin to it. Worked beautifully! I decided to try it with the soy sauce to even out the other ring a bit, which didn’t work as well, either because chemistry or simply because I wasn’t being very scientific with measuring my proportions, I was just kinda shaking in some Knoxx. *shrug* Of course, it wasn’t quite dry when I took this picture, so it’s shinier here than it is in reality.

Currently waiting for my raw linseed oil to bleach (for stain making), my powdered butterfly pea flower to get here (for stain/paint experimentation***), and for the walnuts to start producing so I can get walnut hulls (yes, I can buy them, but I have a Free Source).

*please forgive the typo in the photograph

**this is actually stupidly easy, as it turns out, but I’m still debating which type of glue would be best

***not planning on using actual paints on my wand, but my little once-removeds, ages 9 and 10, are going there as a birthday present from my parents, and I know they’re going to want paint, so I’m looking into that. The Science Princess in particular will probably like the idea of making her own...much to her mother’s despair!

#diy woodcraft #diy stain #the splintered wand #balch & balch wands #balch & balch #wand customization #nature crafts #super fun experience #good food too #magic pub

[lucybianchi]

i just watched the first episode of the live action Avatar out of curiosity and it's straight up making me want to write an essay/video essay on the problem with all these new streaming series, specifically live action adaptations

like the One Piece live action was actually really good and i thought that maybe netflix had learned something but as expected, i was wrong

There's so much off about the live action Avatar and i've only watched one episode

The pacing feels weird and really rushed

It feels like the actors were given no direction for example Gyatso's actor did a good job but i felt like the delivery of him telling Aang that he's the Avatar fell flat, almost like the actor wasn't told the weight of that moment and that line Generally i got the impression that a lot of the actors (especially the older actors) didn't fully understand their character motivations and the world like so many things that felt like they should be bigger moments were just throw away lines that were delivered in the least dramatic way possible

The frame is so empty...like all the time...

The costumes feel too new and clean and look more like cosplay than costumes like why does so much stuff actually look like plastic, you can use resin but at least try to make it look good why does Katara's necklace look like cheap plastic and why do the horn tooth buttons on Sokka and Katara's cloths look like they bought them from a Michaels????

EVERYONE looks too clean the moment that Sokka was covered in ash and his hair was all messed up after fighting Zuko felt the most grounded tbh he looked like a guy he had legit just gotten in a fight but like one scene later he looked freshly showered

The writing feels like it's missing some beats like we go from "oh wow look at this weird kid who just woke up and is being silly goofy" to "GranGran spews out some exposition and comes to the conclusion that Aang is the avatar with absolutely no drama or real emotion"

Also for the love of god please let moments breath!!!!! this is a criticism of the writing, direction/cinematography, and editing let us sit in a moment for a bit, let things sink in, let us see the world, let us watch the characters, people don't have to be talking 24/7 why were so many lines cut so close together?? like i get wanting the dialouge to have some more snappy/fast comedic moments, but sometimes it felt too fast or un called for (i can't remember the exact line but there was a moment when Aang said something and Sokka quickly made a snarky comment and it felt super awkward because it was cut too close together and Sokka's line was mixed a little too loud so it sounded like he was just speaking randomly rather than reacting and being sassy in the background like the line was clearly meant to be) but seriously the editing is making me want to strangle the editor I get it, some of these actors are young and inexperienced (Sokka's actor is clearly a more experienced actor that both Aang and Katara's but that's okay!!) but some of the editing choices/ timing of edits felt...ammeter... like it gave me student film vibes 😬

Anyways...this has been a very informal rant/ stream of consciousness that no one asked for I'm going to keep watching tho, partly because i know there are different editors and cinematographers on different episodes and probably different writers I'm hoping it will settle itself and get more comfortable I just need the writing, editing and acting to shape up a bit I have a lot of patience for Live action adaptations tho i kinda disagree with them but i watched the live action Jojo's Bizarre Adventure film and didn't hate it - i thought it was kind of charming - (i also have patience for low-budget j-dramas sooooo me low-key hating this says a lot)

#like ya'll One Piece LA was so good how did they fuck this so bad #if anyone cares i legit have a degree in film lol #*sighs* i just wanted this LA not to completely suck i love atla so much #don't mind me just screaming into the void #Sophia talks too much #atla #atla live action

[regnard13]

"This is the first time he felt it, a spring starting to stretch dangerously in his chest, spreading dizziness through his whole body when he stepped out of a half-destroyed apartment building. Adam, letting the last survivor run to the nearest ambulance, coughed hoarsely. Thick charcoal-black smoke was rising from the depth of the ruins for nearly thirty minutes, filling his lungs, sticking to his flesh like resin. Jensen's rebreather was hopelessly damaged, unable to handle so much smoke and ash in the air at once.

They failed. No matter how diligently and thoroughly they prepared for this operation, they still failed. People who lived here (about dozen of people died or were injured during this terror attack), people who were watching them closely, they relied on Jensen's team, on him in the first place; he screwed up everything, nothing could be undone now.

They won again, the Illuminati won.

“This is not your fault, Jensen.” Jim told him later, on their way back to the motel that Interpol booked for them. His icy-blue eyes were sad, sympathetic. He patted Adam on the shoulder, hoping that it’ll be enough to comfort his agent in these gloomy times.

It wasn’t. Nothing helped, actually. Jensen’s mind kept circling around the recent events, driving him crazy. There was nothing more they could do, Miller assured, but Adam didn’t trust him. As he didn’t trust anyone in this godforsaken world.

What if they reached these apartments a little earlier? What if he ran to the third floor, where the bomb was hidden, from the start? Would it turn out differently? Could he actually save all these poor souls?

It felt like his life was just a sick game, and he was only a puppet in someone else’s hands. They gave him a sense of free will and control over the situation, false hope that his actions actually meant something. But it was a lie, of course. The one who actually ran Interpol cared about people no more than a predator cares about its prey.

The second time Adam felt the spring stretching further, filling his head with white noise, squishing it, like someone tried to crush his skull with a great force, was when they finally reached the hotel. He was given a seperate room (none wanted to share a room with an Aug, it seems), it worsened the situation tenfold. Usually Jensen prefered to be left alone, especially when he was on the edge of a mental break, but now he needed someone to talk to. About anything and nothing, to distract himself from these tormenting self-destructive thoughts. The pain in his ribs (he probably broke a few, again) and abdomen was killing him, even the painkillers weren’t helping this time. The Sentinel augment betrayed him too; the system was too occupied with cleaning Adam’s blood from toxins he inhaled with the smoke, it healed him very slowly.

Washing away the blood from his face and hands, setting aside a few soaking-wet bandages, soaked with dark blood, Jensen lifted his gaze and met his wide eyes in the mirror.

That’s when the spring finally burst with almost audible noise.

It was difficult to breathe, and Adam’s heart pounded wildly, creeping on him with a new wave of sickening terror and fright. Jensen was aware of what was going on with him; it wasn’t his first panic attack. This time it caught him off guard and he was defenceless, when his Sentinel worked on lower effectiveness levels and there was no one to distract him.

He just needs to breathe. And wait. Even if this feeling lasts forever, he just needs to calm down.

Adam kept staring into his dilated pupils, being hypnotised, while the pictures of long-gone events flashed before his eyes with terrible speed. The terror attack, the fight with Marchenko, the freezing fear from being dosed with Orchid, the bombing at the station, Panchaea… The freezing waters of the Atlantic, being half-dead half-alive. The surgical table, laying lifeless.

Jensen’s shuffered breaths were interrupted with a short sob. Then with another one. Cold, stinging tears were dripping down his cheeks while a cold-blooded thought visited Adam’s mind.

I can’t do this any more. This will never end. I will never win.

The next sob was louder, and Jensen finally realised the pitfall trap that he got himself into. He clutched the rim of a sink with furious force.

They won’t get him. He won’t let them break him. As long as he breathes, he will fight for freedom and justice, no matter how ‘empty’ he will be in the end.

The shades retracted with a quiet swish and Adam pushed himself from the sink. His breaths, still erratic, were already becoming deeper and slower.

Soon the next day will come, and a new fight will begin.

He will be ready."

Every each of us has bad days, even Adam. This supposed to be augmentation study, but ended up as a little angst comic.

A little story and a closer look at each frame are attached.

#deus ex #deus ex human revolution #deus ex mankind divided #adam jensen #yes I like angst #no you cannot do a thing with it #my fanfic writing #I didn't color it 'cause I'm lazy #anatomy left the chat

[highgaarden]

quick, sick rampage

rating: t pairing: harry/hermione tags: professor harry potter, head girl hermione granger, nothing untoward happens (i'm sorry about it too), a bit of light angst to brighten our days, unbeta'd we die like cedric read on ao3

—

Her new Defense professor is a war hero.

Strong-jawed, slumped shoulders. He looks like he’s constantly just come in from the rain on a lightning-struck night, with his dark trenchcoat, mended many times at the hems, and the slightest tremor of cold in his fingers. His office smells of cherry tobacco, resinous and inviting and dark and sweet, ash scattered uncaringly on the floor around his desk. He catalogues their practicals with sharp eyes, like a snake waiting to strike. He never speaks more than is necessary.

And he looks tired.

Perhaps the only animated thing about him is the shock of black hair that spills over his forehead in unruly curls, too wild for a comb or even a gentle touch. Not that she is thinking about touches, gentle or otherwise.

He is, quite possibly, the youngest Defense professor they’ve ever had.

This has nothing to do with anything.

Believe her.

—

Her new Defense professor is everyone’s favourite.

Everyone flocks to him after every class, his seat during mealtimes – never fixed, one day it’s by Professor Dumbledore speaking in revered, hushed tones, another it’s between Professor Hagrid and Professor Sprout, caught in conversational topics that sound, frankly, bizarre and dangerous – always has visitors, his office hours constantly booked.

Hermione is hard-pressed to ever find an empty slot when she’s filling up the request sheet, and she’s Head Girl. Ludicrous. Surely her final year project should take more precedence than some first year’s essay on how to bottle fame or something trivial like that.

“Potter isn’t like that,” Ron shrugs in between bites of egg and sausage. His lips are shiny with oil, dark, decadent, always stretched around a spoon or a smile. “He actually cares, a strange concept when you compare him to Snape, I know.”

Hermione flicks her eyes to the Professors’ table. Professor Potter is slumped, as usual, over his coffee. Black, charmed to remain piping hot. Toast, minimal butter. An egg and a sausage and something that passes off as a respectable portion of fibre. He looks like he is badly in need of a cheroot, his preferred cancer stick.

The first time she’d seen him smoke in one of the private rooms of the library, she’d been shocked. Appalled. Unnaturally curious.

Why would you smoke? She wants to ask. You spent all those years as the boy who tried to live.

He’d glanced at her, put it out hurriedly, and apologised – that was perhaps more shocking than the actual smoking. On school premises! – and swept out of there faster than she could pick her jaw up from the ground.

“Professor—” she’d called out, but it’s lost to the wind blowing in from the open window.

—

Her new Defense professor had gifted them a world free of war, but that didn’t mean remnants of it weren’t everywhere, sombre and still, scorched brick that she suspected were left untampered on the Ministry exterior to serve as a reminder to all.

“Right,” Professor Potter announces. “Er, single file, I suppose? And remember to not wander off from your groups if you feel like poking your nose about where it shouldn’t be poking.”

He glances pointedly at Ron, who snorts but looks secretly pleased at the attention. Hermione is annoyed. She does not want to be a delinquent by proxy. But she cannot quite suppress the shiver that passes through her shoulders when she feels Professor Potter’s eyes on her.

It’s all that green. Like sunlight filtered through a bottle. The inviting dark of the Forbidden Forest, eerie even in daylight. Iron cauldron bottoms worn from years of resisting fire. The full force of his gaze can be quite disorienting despite his kind, tired eyes; she wonders if that is why he never quite looks at any of them in the eye.

“Get ready for an insightful day of educational fun,” Professor Potter mutters, more to himself than to them, as he eyes the tall, imposing doors of the Ministry of Magic. From anyone else it would have pulled a few groans, but the winter-hush air is subdued. Everyone knows the events that happened here.

“Exciting chap, isn’t he?” Ron whispers in her ear. Another shiver. It’s a very cold day.

Professor Potter raises his knuckles, thinks better of it, and reaches for the door handles.

The door parts to his touch.

—

Her new Defense professor has a corner table at the Leaky Cauldron, shadowed from the light of any windows by strategically-placed shelves. They weren’t there last year.

He drinks Newtgin, straight, one olive. He smokes the way he cannot in Hogwarts.

Hermione stumbles in with an armful of books from Grimble’s Grimoires, hastily orders a Butterbeer, and slips into her chair between Ron and Seamus. Dean is talking about football (he is always talking about football), and Ron and Seamus are pretending to care, because they’d seen Professor Potter trade trivia with Dean about West Ham United last week.

Parvati has a magazine open in front of her, but she and Lavender are openly-ogling Professor Potter. Ginny looks annoyed by this: she’d been rallying for their good professor to join their weekly Quidditch practices, but Parvati and Lav’s giggling seems an effective repellant to that.

Hermione, for some reason, is incensed as well. If she’s going to be forced to relinquish studying hours to watch Ron hit a few quaffles around with the tail-end of his broom, she might as well have some productive debate.

Not that she imagines what it would be like to debate Professor Potter. To ask him about the scars on his neck, the dark magic he’s seen, the dark magic that lived inside him for half his life. She does not have conversations with him in her head. She doesn’t.

And even if she does, it’s purely academic.

She has a healthy, curious, academic appetite for his achievements.

Believe her.

By Merlin, believe her.

—

Her new Defense professor is in the same room she is.

The alcohol-fueled chatter of Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party do not touch them here, it is dark enough to hide her tear-streaked cheeks, but not dark enough to mask the green of his coat. Because of course he is wearing that drab coat of his, still, when everyone is in their finest festive robes.

Hermione herself is in a dress that Ginny had helped choose and Parvati had helped order; her hair, magicked smooth and lustrous for once, is falling out of its elegant bun. She is beautiful, she knows that, beauty is subjective, it has taken her years to get here, shut the fuck up.

Her mind should be her deadliest weapon but in a room full of mistletoe and faerie-light she had wanted so, so, so much to be beautiful. Feel beautiful. Something. Whatever.

And Ron had looked right through her and snogged Lavender.

She is not fucking crying over Ron Weasley.

She’s crying about unfair standards of beauty she will never reach.

She’s crying about years of unintentional neglect and barbs that hit too close to home by virtue of Ron being a stupid boy.

She’s crying about the patriarchy, that too, yes, fucking believe her.

If she tells Professor Potter this, maybe he’ll believe her.

He’s looking at her like he’ll believe her.

Watching the swish of her robe sleeves as she swipes furiously at her cheeks. She pushes her hair behind her ears - she’d never been good at controlling her magic when she’s caught by her emotions, and tonight’s rather devastating events had caused her hair to spring free of its smoothing charms. She feels the tendrils of her hair tickle her jaw. Professor Potter tracks that, too.

“Sorry,” she sniffles, oddly comforted by the turn of events.

“No problem,” Professor Potter replies. There’s a cheroot between his thumb and forefinger, newly lit. This had been the ideal room to not-cry into, near enough to the party but far away enough to not have any interruptors to her whatever soliloquys she might have bursting from her chest.

Professor Potter seems to have had the same thought.

This, too, comforted her.

Oddly enough.

She stands there in the doorway. Her shadow falls over the tips of his dusty boots.

She makes no move to leave.

Neither does he.

His cheroot is still smoking between his fingers.

Put it between your lips, inhale, exhale, look away, she wills furiously. Desperately. This is her classroom too. She’s lost so much tonight, she will not lose this. Smoke your damn cheroot and look away like you always do.

Professor Potter puts it out. He does not look away.

She takes this as an invitation to close the door behind her.

He makes space for her on the table he’s perched on, and after a few seconds of making herself comfortable, they stare out the window together, pretending they see things moving in the black night.

—

Her new Defense professor does not cover her hand with his.

Not even when she starts sniffling.

Not even when her shoulders start wracking with sobs.

He sits by her, not asking any questions, because she suspects he knows a thing or two about not being able to have all the answers to this frightening, damning world they live in.

She thinks he knows what it’s like to be so sad and not know what to do with it.

He sits by her, letting her cry, smelling like cherry tobacco. Sweet and dark and tempting and utterly forbidden to her, something her parents have warned her about, but she can’t remember for the life of her.

It would be nice, she thinks, to put something between your lips and swallow some sin. Forget about the world for a while. Grow old together by this stupid window, but Professor Potter does not touch her, and she does not wonder.

And he does not leave her there, either.

He walks her to the Head dorms and leaves with a sweep of his coat.

She is not disappointed in his excellent show of professionalism and morals. She is not disappointed by him.

Daring war hero, the stories said. Brave, brilliant, bold boy. Myopic, magnificent man.

He would never, she would never.

Believe her.

By Merlin and all the Muggle Gods just fucking believe her.

#harry x hermione #harmione #harmione fanfiction #hannah writes things #drunk writing: the series #otp: said love was painted gold #inspired that stupid fucking tiktok (linked in ao3 fic) that i can't stop fucking watching every few days #it's a mental illness by now

[litanyforlove]

When the Bough Burns

Dedicated to everyone who is currently impacted by wildfires. One of my closest friends is a man who calls himself Tree. He taught me that some pines have SEROTINOUS CONES. Serotinous cones are covered in a resin that must be melted for the one to open and release seeds- that means that these pines only populate when there's forest fires. These are the sorts of things that remind me that the Earth is a better poet than any of us. When the world is burning, as she is burning now, I like to imagine I am one of these cones: The journey of every cone must begin with a drop. So I'd say to the pine that dropped me: I promise it wasn't about you. I just needed to be on my own in the world. No tree can grow in another's shadow! The last thing I want is for you to feel alone- It's just that I've never seen... anything. I have never seen the chosen people gather all the bread in Jerusalem, I have never never smelled it burning for passover. I have never heard their prayers for new beginnings over the crackling. I have never seen the Vedic Fire Ceremony. I have not knelt with the Hindu priest at a juncture of life, I have made no sacrifice to the light of gods flaming in the hearth at a birth, a wedding, or a funeral. I have not seen the ever burning urn of a Zorastrom temple- Though I have tasted clean water and I can understand how both symbolize purity. I have not seen the pagans light their midsummer bonfires, have not known that even the burning of things can be seen in the eyes of many as an act of creation! But I know that fire is the fear of all my kind, and I can imagine it now as a dream and not as a nightmare, Even as the Bough is Burning. Right now, trees which have stood since our grandmother's gradmothers were already old are blackening to cinder- their ancient branches dropping ash like perverse rain. Right now, silent groves where needles and moss have lain like Gaia's blankets are running like magma, suddenly a cradle from hell Right now fields and fields of grass where creatures of all sizes have grazed, lived, and died are sweeping with flames, long unspoiled stalks breaking to smoke like half remembered night terrors. Right now the precious shade of ages, once held aloft by the strong arms of timeless trees is toppling like the pillars of a temple to a long forgotten god but I remember! I remember the land is vibrant. I remember the land is fertile still! I know that we need not be phoenixes to rise again! We will grow! And I imagine... I imagine that serotinous cone, and I know that it sees the fires of our times and says: Open me! Open me... gently. When the flames are finally out.

#poetry #spoken word #slam poetry #original poetry #poets on tumblr #wildfire #climate change #doyle california #tamarack fire #markleeville california #forest fire #fire #flames #burning #growth

[encouragingcomfort]

Today's Verse

When anyone is in Christ, it is a whole new world. The old things are gone; suddenly, everything is new! - 2 Corinthians 5:17 ERV

Devotion

When a wildfire roars through a high-mountain forest, it consumes everything in its path. Trees that have stood guard for hundreds of years are reduced to scrawny, burnt-out corpses. The grass is just smoldering ash, the wind still pulling the putrid smoke away from the scene. It is an awful sight, especially devastating and heartbreaking for those who love nature. Sadly, the old things are gone.

But wait! For buried beneath that smoking debris—there is life! Even though the forest above may be dead, on the ground—the thick, armored cones of the great pines have protected their next-generations of seeds for years. The fire's scorching heat melts the cone's tough resin that once sealed it shut. The scales on the cones burst wide open and release thousands of winged seeds into the wind, which will germinate quickly once they land anew in the warm, nutrient-filled ash. By God's design dozens of varieties of wildflowers, shrubs, and other undergrowth will also spring up afresh after a fire. Their seeds have also been cracked open by the intense heat and will now be able to absorb water and flourish. Suddenly, everything is new! It is a whole new world!

When Jesus' followers watched him die on the cross, they were also devastated and heartbroken. Their beautiful Teacher was gone. Not burnt by fire, but worse, subjected to a degrading and horrible death by the unleashed forces of hell. Jesus could have stopped the devastation at any point, yet He silently surrendered His innocent, perfect life to redeem our guilty and sin-wrecked souls. Now Jesus' body lay bloody and broken as Joseph lovingly wrapped him, placed him in the tomb, and sealed it with a heavy stone. The old was gone.

But wait! Two days later Mary Magdalene and the other woman named Mary went to look at the tomb. Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and rolled the stone away. The angel said to the women, "Don't be afraid. I know you are looking for Jesus, the one who was killed on the cross. But he is not here. He has risen from death, as he said he would. Come and see the place where his body was" (Matthew 28:5-6). Suddenly, it was a whole new world!

When you first invited Jesus into your life, everything in your world became new as well. Do you remember what it felt like? Take a minute and thank God for it. Then pray for all the beautiful new lives He will restore today.

By Peter Batzing, Bible League International staff, Illinois USA

[profoundchaoscomputer]

As time goes on

Summary:

“I will say this: I’m happy to be here with Jack. With you. And I love you. I love you both.”

This is a short fic Kate(@rathxritter) and me, Trev(@profoundchaoscomputer) wrote for the Destiel Partner Project (@destiel-partner-project). Thank you so much for this opportunity!

Kate, you were an awesome partner, all of our ideas complimented each other so well that that adding stuff and editing from you or me was always a delight, thank you so much!--Trev

Fic under the cut, alternatively you can also read it here https://archiveofourown.org/works/30576530

As time goes on

Late November. Knotty and naked branches tower themselves against the sky, dark outlines in the afternoon sun. The ground is covered in leaves and the grass is barely visible like winks of a long gone summer, spotted amidst the sea of warmer colors - yellow, orange, red and rich browns seem to make the universe that time of the year. It's a breathtaking and ordinary scenery, autumn always is. Everyday beauty is often taken for granted, but for Cas it will always be a new miracle. The sidewalk, on the other hand, is mostly clear, yet there are some areas of it where the leaves remain untouched, rotting away as they are being walked on, cracking under people's shoes as their heels click on the pavement.

Sometimes Cas thinks he is like those yellow checkered rooting away leaves.

...Once had he basked on the glory of a foolish leaf, proud stagnant, evergreen, timeless, aimless, clutching blindly to the tree, rain, wind, snow, only knowing of heaven above, but never about the dirt of the ground...to be still is to be alive?

Only after he fell, he understood, to fall is to become alive, it hurts, unthetered, weightful death sentence, to decide to root away.

And it took too much time to realize, but isn't all life beautiful because it's so ephemeral? so the past is treasured, today is a miracle, and tomorrow is a gift: to become a golden leaf and covered in spots, proof of every breath, copper, orange, red. The leaves fall and Cas falls, wrinkles and lines, aching muscles and tender joints, alone at times, but now trying something, with Dean, Jack, a family found along the way. Dancing along the wind, against tempest and arid times, getting muddy and dirtied, alive, along warm gusts and gentle times, and becoming crumpled leafs, laughing and crying at the mercy of time.

So times moves and flows away and now is a worthy day to note, It's a sunny day, as warm as the later autumn afternoon allows, and the, otherwise clear blue sky, is studded with some solitary clouds - dirty white that verges on grey, they look as if someone painted them on a canvas using the finest watercolours and the most exquisite brushwork. 

It's a sunny day and the air smells of rotten apples, oozing resin, and frost. It's the smell of death and destruction, of glimmering hope. A welcoming smell, the smell of life, so lulling and comforting, that fills people's nostrils as they go on with their day. The smell of home, an active reminder that life is to be treasured.

"How does the story end?" asks Jack as he hands Cas a paper bag, the bookshop's logo printed on it with bright red letters.  

"How do you want it to end?" Cas asks, smiling.

He knows the stories that Dean tells Jack, the ones he half reads and ends up making as he goes, stuffing in his own share for who knows what reasons. The thing is they both laugh and the red hooded girl surely doesn't have a shapeshifter, last time he checked. Overheard some of them while passing through the small living room in order to get outside and speak on the phone with Sam. 

It's their thing and he tries not to cross lines and wriggle in - Dean tells stories and does all the voices, Jack laughs, Dean laughs: a complete picture that doesn't quite need him there, an intimate bubble of two as he has his own with Dean and another one with Jack too and its Dean's "job" to put Jack to sleep. So he doesn't ask, Dean doesn't speak about it. It's healthy for Jack to grow different relationships with them on their own.

 Still, he does know about them and listens more often than he would care to admit, from behind the door, feeling like a stranger in his own house.

 About the ordinary tales of overcoming evil and suddenly there are Vampires and Djins and it's always about not giving up no matter how scared and angry one may feel. It's about children being allowed to be children even in a world of danger and Dean's voice oozing vulnerability as well as hurt. 

There were times he had considered taking his hand only to step away before he could be seen, Dean has allowed himself to be this vulnerable in front of Jack as his own kin. He couldn't mess up this trust and growth with selfishness.

Jack looks down distractedly and kicks some leaves, causing them to rustle, crack and scatter. Soon enough found a clump of leaves and decided it was good enough to swim on them. It's the contrast that makes Cas think and stop a bit, Jack so joyful on a blanket of cracked corpses, life playing with death, handfuls of leaves on Jack's hands, a handful of ashes, ashes to ashes, a pool of dead yet life stills blooms so beautifully and hopeful, death and creation, hand by hand, as time goes by. 

"I don't know," says Jack as he picks up an acorn from the mess he just made and studies it attentively before stuffing it into the pocket of his Jacket. Lately, they've been the hiding place of all sorts of hidden treasures - acorns, buttons, funny looking rocks, and empty shells - later taken out and displayed on the shelves in his bedroom, right next to his Paddington books and carved animal statuettes.

He laughs, "Dean always puts a lot of death in them."

"Does he?" asks Cas.

"Sometimes they are all alone. I don't mind, they make me want to live!" he says, his chirpy laughter echoing through the air, soon followed by thunderous stomping: Wellington boots, yellow with a bee pattern printed on them, splashing water from a puddle on the grass.

Castiel sighs and carefully sits down on the battered bench in the small park. Its wood is ruined and the paint is peeling off and soft moss is thriving in those places where the material never quite manages to completely dry off. A wet bench, but still appreciates it with a crack of back bones.

"Well," he says, holding back a grimace of pain. "I think you and Dean may both be right when you say that it's about feeling alive."

Jack nods solemnly in agreement. "And what about the children? They climb trees and drink lemonade, but what happens after that."

"They do everything their own way and they are good at that."

"Dean can do it better." Jack puffs loudly.

"Then you should ask him as soon as he comes back." Cas smiles.

"I think I will. Can I give you something?" asks Jack.

"Yes, of course."

"I'll get it soon," he says and walks away, running around through the leaves, freely, squealing in delight.

A knot forms at the back of Cas's throat as he watches his son play in the autumn scenery. Life and death keeping each other company, effortlessly interconnected in an endless cycle. So loud the sound of his youth, Jack waranders off, bubbling with raw energy, entropic in a contagious way that Cas can't help but melt a bit on this warm brightness and he laughs too. Bittersweet, yeah, that's life for you. Something hopeful, the sound of a child's laughter and his fatherly love, brightening everything  - precious and blossoming, always, amidst death and horror preventing the future from turning into ashes and mingling as equal with the past.

"This is for you," says Jack, out of breath, proud, stretching out his arm and handing Castiel a yellow leaf with green edges. "You can press it and frame it like they showed me in school."

"Thank you, Jack. This is... lovely. This is lovely, I like it." He smiles softly, fondness washing over him.

He looks at the gift, studying it as he turns it around, and wonders how much Jack knows about his own state. Does he know he chose to be a rooting away leaf too?

Cas fell, a long time ago, changing so completely, that his former self is nothing but a distant memory. Now Cas can look at the situation with more clarity of judgement, as he clearly lacked for more time than he could care to admit: in falling, he became alive and while it hurt and had at some point felt like a death sentence, life was, is, and will be beautiful with its alternating ups and downs.

 But again, being alive is always too much, so stuffed with messy feelings, whirling fiery tempest, it becomes crowded, on edge, flammable as well as vulnerable, scalding in a slow simmering way, such that he would call worse than falling.

 Meeting for the first time fear in a not immediate war or easily numbing adrenaline to survive, and thus being laid bare to see himself in the mirror and being bombarded with all the truths he didn't want to hear, scared of being alone, despite having Jack, Dean, and everyone else too; afraid of this too good looking second chance usually so monomaniacally forbidden and his guilt biting so hard he feels like choking on every breath, whispering his worst thoughts, over and over like broken record, all his faults, all his "greater good" soaking his hands in blood, what is to deserve when one has betrayed, what is a right when one has killed and done the unspeakable, what is to have freedom when each breath tastes of regret, what is peace when silence draws despair. On top of it now powerless, his own human body with the aching joints and cold bones… being at the mercy of time rather than being above it.

Because time now moves and flies away, slipping through his finger. Ticked away by clocks. Irrevocable hours leaden circles travelling through the air and ultimately dissolving. 

Blinding shrieks of fear and self consciousness slowly started to become a hum and then days turn into weeks and weeks into months, one season following the other and the world changing, subtly at first, adjusting to the rising and dropping temperature and the inclement weather. Too hot and then too cold, and the months of adjustment in between for a couple of weeks with perfect temperatures and no sudden changes. Soon, it will be winter once more: the first frost has already started to beautify the windows, leaving white and translucent intricate patterns on glass, and the weather is changing - rain and strong winds as announced by the weather forecast daily after the six o’clock news.

Some of it, he'll never get back. Those sorry months and years he'd relive by reentering the moment and changing it radically from within by doing everything right are long out of question and he wouldn't risk fate and destiny to make a miracle again to break from Chuck's narrative. This time, he'd do everything right by being less prideful and avoid arguments to grow bigger and bigger until the smallest of things, enlarged in disproportion, left nothing but annoyance and anger in their wake - arguments breaking like thunder, rumbling, filling the air and making it unbearable to stand there and wonder, even for just a moment, whether love may not remain buried one day, out of reach.

The first year had been the most difficult: they had discovered at their own expense that love declarations and dreams of a speckless wonderful future were hardly enough and never actually helped in making things easier. Nothing would ever be enough. One simple truth then, which they had learned the hard way: happy endings did not exist, only endings, and even those were neutral and subject to change. No happy ever afters that tied up all ends at the last page, no sweetly dull every day epilogue. Life simply kept going, as ugly as it was before, as beautiful as it was before. They kept being the same people they were before, with all their faults and virtues, all their nightmares and dreams. Defeating the "biggest bad of the book" did not erase all of their inner troubles, maybe one or two, yes, but how many more were inside of each of them?

Dean's fear of abandonment and Cas' own desperate need to be useful had proven to be the most explosive and dangerous mix. And thing is, they couldn't forgive each other, not a particular one big reason, just too many piled up and carried over the years and while they could forget and move on, deep in their heart they couldt forgive, not really, and the topics they so desperately tried to ignore stood in their way, holding them back.

So twelve months of Castiel repeatedly leaving, he needed to hunt, to be useful, got himself head first into the line of fire so to see that his hands, while bloody, still saved lifes; sound of gunshot to shush his mind out of the accusing mirror, a warrior will always be a warrior and he had been a commander of garrisons, and so he went out and jumped from hunt to hunt with all kinds of hunter strangers until exhaustion could give him a good night sleep, weeks upon weeks  and Dean's accusations following him out of the door, you'll always abandon me.

So twelve months of Dean drinking, as Cas's remarks no doubt rung in his ears, you're slowly becoming like your father. Dean didn't know what to do with his life, depression weighing him down so hard there were only some days he could get himself out of bed, tearing at the seams without a fight to pull himself together and so he drank, Cas's words ringing into his head like poison along the bitter aftertaste of a finished bottle.

 Neither of them should have said those things although he couldn't find the strength to do anything but hold his refusal to stand on Jack's side against Dean. Dean should have asked him to stay, he should have made it clear that there was no need to be useful in order to stick around. A vicious cycle, separating them more and more, and not quite a trial - had it been one, there wouldn't have been one person who wasn’t guilty.

The second year had no room for openings, just anger as they moved like in a quagmire, the snappiness of the first year replaced with inertia. Dean threw himself into work, dirt on his jeans. Cas went to the bunker with Jack and a duffle bag stuffed with their belongings. The bunker had become some sort of hunter's sanctuary and he enjoyed the work. They did talk, but simply not enough, and refused to show themselves vulnerable - no mutual consolation, no touching, and the frail assumption that they were still on each other’s side crumbling in front of them and leaving them dismayed.

After two and a half years, on a ghastly hot summer evening, Dean leapt for the first time, really, showing nothing but fearfulness and saying, as he looked at Castiel stripping in front of him, were you going to tell me that you almost died or… It had been an accusation, the tone used made it clear, the half healing wound still patched on Cas's side inbeetwen them and their heavy silence, but there had been something else too - genuine worry and affection. They had shared a bullet of a look. Then they had kissed, desperately, hungrily, and had sex - consuming their relationship: They understood it and enjoyed it, but were still out of their depths when it came to the rest: awkwardness settling as soon as they were back in their clothes. He and Jack had left the following morning and the rest of the year had been spent abroad working on helping the international community of hunters to create a network bound to help supernatural creatures rather than killing them.

It had been the year of endless night and unsparing insomnia, wondering how to rebuild a relationship when you were also mourning one? Different versions of themselves are forever lost in time, the angel and the soldier boy, the runaway and the righteous man, the falling and the protagonist. He had spent so much time looking for something, a warning sign that they had somehow ended that loop of misery, to face the present and stop grieving the past, sorrow and unhappiness that he hadn’t actively recognized the beginning of it all, only widening the gap further. Polished surfaces and volcanoes inside - a mess of feelings, a mess of thoughts, and no way to escape them and make sense of it all. They had been prisoners of their own fears and their history had stood between them. They had spent the end of the year, retreating: each question met either by silence or elusive answers that ultimately meant nothing. It had been fake and lacked depth, the peace they tried to build when both lacked courage: they had built up a facade and spent their time together pretending that they could start from scratch. They couldn’t. He was still angry at Dean, Dean waa still angry for a multitude of reasons Cas didn't even want to know, and still for what happened with Jack, Cas didn’t dare breathe a word. And every word that wasn't about the truth, it was another shovel to bury the thing that was between them.

At the end of the third year, they had come back and they had stayed at the bunker for two whole weeks rather than a couple of days.

He had spent some ten months trying to find the right words to tell Dean that he was considering hunting less and less - wounds healed too slowly and he wasn't getting any younger. He had tentatively enquired about Dean only to find out that Dean was doing better - therapy and AA meetings and the Impala had been sold to some teenage girls. They had met, Castiel had asked about Dean’s new lodgings, Dean told him. Dinner. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. On and on like starting from scratch. Things settled, slowly, by falling into place and one night Dean asked him to sleep in his room rather than on the sofa and they talked, opened their hearts, raw and exposed, the darkness making it less awkward and easier: like talking to the idea of a person, depersonalization at its best, a space that had welcomed them and liked them as much as they liked it. Hours passed and in the morning things were different - calmer, easier. They had no more tears left to cry and no more apologies to make.

It seems almost impossible now, four years on, to remember life as it was in all its tiniest details - the bigger picture there, but lacking the intrigue and the excitement there might have been on different occasions. It’s no longer bloody and vengeful, an endless and vicious cycle where violence only led to more violence, spiralling out of control and slipping away, out of fingers, no way out. The feeling of it is familiar yet new, something that he had a long time ago, perhaps briefly, a fading memory that never existed, to begin with, secluded to the realm of dreams and conditionals. Something missing, always and unconsciously so, the feeling of longing always blooming in his chest: for something. Pointing his finger and putting a name to it is easier now as things slowly begin to come into shape.

Castiel closes his eyes, tilting his head back, chin held up high. The sun is warm on his skin, shining in through the naked branches, but his cheeks are reddened by the cold. Wrapped in his winter coat already, all buttoned up and one hand stuffed in his pockets. The sunbeams look golden and create dancing shadows on the ground, and he just stays there, still and motionless, and at peace, as he listens to Jack play in front of him.

Somewhere, through open windows, a song plays faintly though he may just be imagining it, lyrics echoing in his mind for days on end. Come and take my whole life, you are everything I want. You are everything… Mulling over them and wondering, impossible to stop, rolling and rapid. It’s peacefulness as if he spent an entire afternoon crying while sitting on a chair, though he can’t really claim to be an expert on the subject. It’s contentment and residual happiness that sometimes mixes with annoyance and anger, arguments breaking out like thunder, rumbling. Yet, still, love and happiness at simply existing, being alive, being human. The fullest and most satisfying existence, feeling things, and waking up in the morning with the sun shining in through the window, filtering through the curtains and painting the room gold as dust dances in the air in a mesmerizing pattern. Next to Dean too, a couple of moments in amicable silence before the day begins - lying there, mouth filled with the metallic taste of sleep, lazily and whispering, good morning. Time for healing.

When he opens his eyes again, the air is luminous, like St. James’ Street on a summer morning right after a decent drizzle. The light reflects on every surface and makes the air appear bright and filled with light, the edges of reality seem softened and the appearance is almost dreamlike. From down the street, Dean walking towards them holding the bags with the shopping.

“Look at who’s coming,” he says, catching Jack’s attention.

“Dean!” squeals Jack, delighted, as he runs towards him.

“Cas. No need to get up, just make us some space, will you?” Dean replies as he puts the shopping bags down, leaning them against the bench's legs. Then, before taking Jack into his arms, holding him close, he kisses Castiel’s cheek and adds, “Jack, buddy, I’ve missed you too. I’ve got something for the two of you.”

“What’s that?”

“Wait,” He stretches his arm out. “Here you go. First tangerine of the year, not too expensive. Hell, thought we deserve some after everything we went through.”

“I want a segment!” Yells Jack. Jack grabs for the piece of fruit in Dean’s hand, looking at it with fascination and entertainment at the uneven sphere of the citrus, before handing it over to Cas.

“Thank you.”

As soon as Cas starts peeling the citrus fruit, the smell fills the air. He always liked the smell of it - upbeat and cheerful, penetrating and warm. Reminiscing of cedarwood and lavender, clove too. Christmas-y. One of the happiest and most irrelevant things, easily going unnoticed, every gesture is done dismissively, instinctively and without paying too much attention. Fingertips digging into the exocarp, passing through the albedo, and removing the peel altogether - one piece at a time. Dean’s eyes are on him, he feels it, sees it with a sideways glance, studying his every move, as Jack wriggles and gurgles, impatiently waiting for his segment.

“What?” asks Cas without turning around.

“Nothing,” Dean replies as he accepts a segment just as Jack stuffs his into his mouth. “Jack, you’re making a mess of yourself. - a pause, again to Cas - I mean, this… all of it. - Dean looks at the autumn scenery, gestures widely, to the leaves and the threes, Jack, the clear sky, Cas, dazed but in a good way - I don’t know. I like it. Hell, I love it.”

“Selcouth.”

“What?”

“The word you’re looking for, I think. Rare and extraordinary.”

He’d add ‘unexpected’ to the list too, but that one to himself. It’s one thing to say that one wouldn’t be happy anywhere else with anyone else, another thing to make it work. Admittedly it took some time, irrelevant weeks after twelve years of tentatively tip-toeing around the other - this far and no further, deferring and agreeing, evading and never thinking about it, not really, not after the first couple of years. They seem to have the grasp on the ongoing juggling of the time at their disposal and days are uneventful, repetitive: he works, Dean goes to therapy and cares about the house, they play with Jack.

Twice a week Dean attends AA meetings and evenings are spent trying to make Jack sleep without having to read ten different bedtime stories and doing all the voices. And time passes, seasons change. A whole year, he sometimes reminds himself. Unbelievable. Selcouth.

And Cas examines amused these little white threads of tangerine he tears from his own segment, frail as the heart, wonder and fear, with care, like life, weaving silly braids for the sake of it, fingers clumsy, vines lacing fingers, each feels like a promise, for you, for me, feeble yet together so strong, sometimes they break, frustrated, yet not giving up, sometimes we manage a fine work, proud of a miracle yet so natural, a string of hope, a string to life, life is a tangerine and we are leaves along the wind.

Maybe he should marry Dean - Cas distractedly thinks, to which he can't help but feel the corner of his lips pulling.

“What?”

“You’re in a good mood,” says Dean. 

“Could say the same thing about you.”

“Oh, look at you,” says Dean looking away, retrieving a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his Jacket and wiping Jack’s face clean.

“I need you to be honest with me, Cas.”

“I am honest with you, Dean.”

“I don’t wanna lose you. I don’t want you to die out there.”

“I’m not going to die out there, not violently.” Castiel nods and smiles fondly, affection and tenderness washing over him in waves. It's a warm silence, a promise, the sun is out and about today. Dean looks at him like the only thing in this world and leans in for a kiss, making him feel as if he swallowed a box of fireworks instead, and this time the kiss has a citric aftertaste. Shooting stars on a summer night, dropping like a thousand suns, speckled fireworks, sunny galaxy to cup in his hands, warm and ticklish, rumble laughter and stubble, soft and rough, sweet and bitter, bliss and life, so alive, for a moment Cas is again grateful of falling: so beautiful, so much like Dean.

“I will say this: I’m happy to be here with Jack. With you. And I love you. I love you both.”

#Destiel Partner Project #DPP #Destiel #Deancas

[thedeadanonpoetssociety]

let me say this first: i think about death a lot.

Death is a man with commitment issues. we’ve been flirting for a decade, but he doesn’t want more than a single night, a quick go that leaves me sleeping for days and forgetful. (seventeen was a bad year, what can i say?)

let me say this: i have Opinions.

.

one of my plans for post-death involves: glitter confetti, a detonator in my chest, and being launched into a canyon.

another involves my body becoming a diamond D20 to roll on white tables.

or scatter my ash in each of the oceans,

or in the room where my life was first ruined by a boy with blue eyes and no soul.

bury me in blue (fuck, i hate that song) or perhaps in black or gray- -full Edwardian garb. or a tuxedo -or just roll me to rest in whatever i die in, be it a hospital gown or faded black jeans and a shirt (with the name of a band i stopped listening to in 2013)

you could stick my corpse on a raft. drench me in gasoline, stick dragonsblood resin and mugwort on top, and set me alight (stars and overexposition? alright)

extract iron from my blood, glucose from the rest of me. i want to be turned into a sword and lollipops. give the candy to the child of a teacher and give the sword to the man who used to be the boy i watched Doctor Who with and laughed and loved-

mummify me in salt and sulfur and magnesium. i want to be saturated with perfume, incense, everything. rub wax on my skin.

encase me in resin or concrete and stick me inside the museum i plan to walk to on Wednesday morning, and make me the star exhibit, and charge everyone who lives not in the city thirty dollars to see me

cover me in paint, and airdrop my body into a desert. open air and the vultures and nothing else although truth be told i’d far prefer to be eaten by crows

turn me into treats for crows in some wildlife reserve somewhere, actually. or just chop me up and leave me in a forest.

.

-i want a boy with the ocean in his head and the Catskills in his hometown to sing me Vaughan Williams. -or a girl with stars in her eyes to play me our stormsong -or the brother of my heart to read Shakespeare -or the person i’m beginning to love to strum a guitar

give my lungs to a worshipper of Apollon. my liver, Dionysus. my eyes, Aphrodite. my tongue to Hera. give my heart to the Morrigan.

(smoke weed over my body. pour out clove-infused vodka and ruin your legs and sleep with each other and light cigarettes and dance and destroy everything good about yourselves and the world the way i did, the way i do, let yourselves burn) no.

sing, sing, SING until your throat smarts and your mind weakens and your chest aches and your lungs are empty of it, sing for that is all i have done and all i knew how to do, all i will do from now until then. sing until there is no music left in your minds.

do not be glad. do not celebrate my life. i want to be mourned. i want proof i was loved. mourn for me, or i’ll fucking haunt you. mourn for me as i have mourned so much, as so much has been taken from me. let me take this one last thing.

.

let me say this one last thing: i did not expect to live this long.

i have adopted a cat. he is my child, beloved by me above all. that is at least fifteen more years i must live, and i believe that now i might gladly do so. when he leaves me, i will adopt another, and love them as well.

i am now loved. depending on the day, i may or may not believe this. but they are in my life, the old friend who sang with me in the basement of the interfaith chapel. the girl with stars in her eyes and a piano at her fingers, sister of my heart. brother of my heart, friend of my soul, with puns and words and boundless curiosity. someone with dice in his hands and a smile on his face. i am liked, and i am wanted around. this is new.

i am writing a bit every day. i submit poems under the name of a figure from myth; i sing into GarageBand and let myself feel.

on Tuesday i told my therapist of something terrible, and she said i need not forgive. i am beginning to let myself heal. some medications change by the month, but the ones that do not are working, and i am learning to sleep. this is new. i am diagnosis after diagnosis, and no longer a friendless freak. i have words that fit now. i have explanations for things, and reasons to let them be changed or to remain.

let me say this one last thing: i am beginning to want to live.

.

Orpheus lives. and Orpheus wants to.

____________________________

 . The Dead Anon Poets Society .    

#this one really has my heart #i feel this so really much #i'm so happy for you darling #the dead anon poets society #fav daps poems #poetry #orpheus #submission

[helshades]

Please help me find a scent! When I enter a room, I want people to acknowledge my existence. I want to demand their attention, but they can't approach me. No! I want people to automatically realize that they can't play me. No time for nonsense. Serious business only. I'm in charge. I want to be intimidating and mysterious. Which perfume should I get?

So... something potent, sensual, with monstrous projection, unsweetened, but thorny, a little cold perhaps..?. In one word: tantalising.

As a matter of fact, we could go in a lot of directions, depending on your own version of ‘intimidating’ and ‘mysterious’ alone. Or your co-workers’ take on the subject, since some people are likely to feel intimidated in the presence of a powerful green floral, or any spice whatsoever now I come to think of it. As for the approachability factor, the ultra-chic grandiloquence of Rouge Hermès has been known to traumatise its fair share of opponents. Yet, I don’t suppose you’re after something quite so, er, ‘sultry dowager’. Ahem.

Never have I met a perfume so evocative as Grimoire, or so strange. One of Anatole Lebreton’s very best, it resembles nothing you could smell anywhere else, unless you could transport yourself under the robes of a young monk daydreaming over his illuminated manuscript as the window open on the herb garden carries tranquil yet troubling scents into the dusty library. It might be too contemplative for your purposes, but it is a perfume to behold, arresting, beauteous, imaginative, at once familiar and aloof.

Now, if the frankincense and dust have you parched for a wetter perfume, I cannot resist the temptation of slipping a floral in my list, though not others might think of spontaneously: Un matin d’orage, by Annick Goutal, and here you would have a difficult choice to make between the eau de toilette and the eau de parfum versions, as they happen to be quite different, the latter featuring a pretty dirty tuberose on a woody bed of myrrh and guaic, whereas the former is a little spicier with ginger and greener, in my opinion the real ‘stormy morning’ (to be perfectly honest, I wear one in the morning, and the other come afternoon) of the two. Beautiful, energising, but a little cold.

Practically on the opposite, why not something by house Frapin? One of the most respected cognac maker, in 2007 they launched a successful line of wonderful perfumes, generally thought to be leaning on the masculine side (I suppose women are meant only to sip their minute glass of sherry daintily, whereas men can haz the better spirits...) but in truth quite unisex, usually heavy with alcohol and elegantly exotic, like a casket of precious wood so often used to carry bottles that even empty the rich smell of winy fruit and spices linger. Frapin perfumes are usually well-blended and fairly close to the skin, so I’d recommend the probable loudest and my favourite: Caravelle Épicée, ‘spicy caravel’, a classy spicy-boozy juice, peppery, delicately woody with a whiff of tobacco, and a subtle slide of sexy patchouli.

I almost recommended Speakeasy as well but I find it a little close to the skin, all things considered, even though it must be sniffed once. It was made by one of my nose darlings, Marc-Antoine Corticchiato, who runs his own independent house, Parfum d’Empire, of which I dislike exactly zero creation. His very first, back in 2003, was one of the ballsiest ambers ever made, and could drink any Frapin under the table with its intoxicating head of vodka and champagne, like a very tipsy White Russian still too well-educated to lose control of his senses entirely, but he’s almost there, and he’s rambling; and his leather boots are waxed in birch tar, and his perfume is something herbal and masculine with juniper and spices... The result is a smoking Russian tea with a hefty dose of alcohol: the much-beloved Ambre Russe. Also particularly worthy of note in the house for me, with added ‘mystery’, are Wazamba, all incense, balms, resins & woods, and it is to Serge Lutens’ Fille en aiguilles what green leather desk covers are to red ones (ctrl+F, then search for ‘sage-green’.), as well as the bashful and daring Aziyadé, the forbidden Turkish delight of a girl. A lot more luxurious, and not an easy wear for everyone, and it evolves along the day marvellously (very different notes come up depending on who’s wearing it, too, which is never a bad thing), depending also on the weather. Honestly, on me it smells so much like spicey, liqorous orange that I’m incapable not to wear it on Christmas, but on most other people it does smell less like a fruity pomander.

Now, since I cited one of my favourite ambers, I must mention another, which is one of the most splendid ever created: Lubin’s Akkad, which could have been the ultimate ‘perfume of an empire’, as nose Delphine Thierry sought to make the mystical fragrance that emperor Sargon, who ruled Mesopotamia twenty-five centuries ago, might have wished to offer his goddess Ishtar, who presided over love and war... The offering is a startling beauty, sombre and luminous at once, a combination of precious incenses—elemi, olibanum, styrax—with hypnotic herbs (labdanum, clary sage), hot spices (vanilla, cardamom), on a bed of amber embers. Must always be compared with its incestuous cousin Idole, based on ebony wood and a hint of leather. Darker somewhat, more dangerous, and just as heady.

Dangerous also... This one has its share of haters: Serge Noire, by Serge Lutens. It has many notes in common with Idole, including its ebony heart, but instead of rich alcohol and macerated fruits, there are strong, dark peppers and a bag of cloves that knocks you down on first sniff. I adore it, because I can’t have enough of filthy musky notes and clove, like cumin, can be (and is often) worked into a civet-like smell of sweat and sex. (The title is a pun on Lutens’ first name—the nose behind his perfumes being English mad genius Christopher Sheldrake—but serge is French for ‘twill’, a nod to Lutens’ youth designing hair, make-up and jewellery for the high fashion world.) Serge Noire is a contrasted and demanding perfume, burning hot and cold, a dark fur with hints of ash and earth, some have spoken of ink, but it ends on a more suave vanilla-scented leather. You have to be patient for this layer to appear, though.

On the civet-spice spectrum, one of my favourites: Rose Poivrée, which now-retired Hermès in-house perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena designed for The Different Company, is exactly what it says on the tin, a dark red rose with loads, but loads of pepper, black, pink, coriander, and a frisson of vetiver to better underline the insanely exciting duality of this hot-and-cold perfume. I wear it in autumn for some reason, and it keeps changing, alternating between the rose and the sweat-like cumin. It has a magnificent lookalike, with less dirty notes and added gin and leather, in Penhaligon’s Much Ado About the Duke, with the downside of the ridiculous price of their ‘Portraits’ collection, and I hardly ever see it on EBay, unfortunately, but one never knows.

Intimidating, mysterious, commandeering, quite a little bit dangerous, and of course horridly expensive, I frantically advise you to discover the entire line of D.S. & Durga perfumes. Based in New York, perfumer David Seth ‘D.S.’ Moltz and architect Kavi Ahuja ‘Durga’ Moltz are married, crazy, and brilliant; both are obsessed with the way odours allow us to armchair-travel everywhere, and their olfactory universe ventures into pre-industrial America, ‘turning things [they] love into scented stories of cowboys, open terrain, Russian novel characters and folk songs’. This is how you get one Burning Barbershop, inspired by a fire that ravaged a Westlake barbershop in 1891, hence a fragrance like old-timey tonics, lavender, mint, lime, vanilla... as well as smokey notes. (My personal favourite is Bowmakers, a homage to the violin and bow makers of the Bay Colony in 1800s New England, which is only woods—rosewood, mahogany, pine, maple—, resin, varnish, nut and leather.)  In the ‘Hylnds’ collection, Pale Grey Mountain, Small Black Lake is an unbelievable chypre with herbal, mineral and aquatic notes reminiscent of an entire Scottish landscape. Even more apothecarial is Mississippi Medicine, with its camphorous head and its resinous, vegetal body of cypress and cedar mixed with coriander, juniper, olibanum, and birch tar—so powerfully, so troublingly organic, intimidating, mystical, that if it heals, it must also be a poison.

Here, impossible not to mention James Heeley’s Esprit du Tigre, the sensuous transposition of a famous Asian liniment commercially known as ‘tiger balm’, but it is surprisingly tasteful and decidedly discreet in the end. So, by Heeley, I’d rather recommend two great classics, his wondrous incenses Cardinal and Phoenicia, the first a sensually blasphemous blend of myrrh and olibanum on white linen, a peppery rose with labdanum, earthy and aerial with patchouli and vetiver; whereas Phoenicia is an imaginary voyage on the Mediterranean Sea, inspired by the merchants who brought so many precious woods, spices and fruits to the west in the Antiquity: dates and grapes, incense and labdanum, oud, sandalwood and birch, and vetiver. It has a lot in common with Aziyadé in fact, except the latter is a spice market while this one is a merchant ship with a heavy cargo of precious woods. (Have both, is essentially what I’m saying.)

So, is it showing that I’m completely obsessed with incenses? I shall refrain from adding to the list Olibanum and Oxiana by Profumum Roma, then, but I’ll have some trouble not mentioning my darling Arso and its resinous beauty with a side of grilled hazelnut... Well, if I really must stop, perhaps instead something like the intensely aromatic Victrix (oakmoss, bay leaf, vetiver, peppers and musk) or the fizzy mint & patchouli of Thundra. Profumum Roma bottles are expensive, yes, but this is because the perfumes are highly concentrated, at 43% (a higher dosage than anybody else I know), which means that they last forever with the smallest spray. Do come back to me for advice in the spring when I’m the mood for greener recommendations because Acqua di Sale, ‘salt water’, a startling seaweed, myrtle and cedar blend, might interest you.

In the meantime, because it is horribly late and I have to post this before I start waxing poetry over sticky florientals and how they too can be intimidating and stuff, but above all, before I begin waxing poetry over most of Pierre Guillaume’s catalogue (his creativity is somewhat epileptic and that catalogue seemingly endless) I’ll leave you with a note on a strange, strange flower, which is Daniela Andrier’s Une amourette Roland Mouret for zany house État Libre d’Orange, where the usually well-behaved classic orange blossom gets loose and lascivious, thanks to a temptress of a perfumer who knows how to play the indolic—that is, the fleshy—notes of the white flower, before lying her down on a bed of crazy neo-patchouli, synthetic molecule Akigalawood®, which possesses the peppery, oud-like notes of the undergrowth. Snow White and the wolf in a bottle.

#answers #nonnies #aromaphilia #you never said how office-friendly that scent should be #remind me to tell you of timbuktu later

[satire-please]

My Teeth Are Like Swords - Part 4

Summary: Tim’s in a sticky situation because of...Ra’s. Therefore sacrifices have to be made.  Personal ones.

Part 3, Part 2, Part 1

Ao3 Link

There are few things out in the world that can startle a drake.

Ra’s al Ghul is one of them.

In fact, Tim would like to put the Demon Head near the top of that list. Especially when the villain morphs into the edge of his peripherals at another charity event the Waynes are required to attend. Guess who’s the lucky token Wayne this time?

Yep. Apparently being a dragon doesn’t increase your luck when pulling straws.

Tim manages to repress a flinch when he spots the flash of gold and green. The surprise makes his heart pound in the most unpleasant of ways. Ninjas do that after all.

“Please excuse me, gentlemen, we’ll have to continue our conversation later,” Tim smiles with charm towards a throng of investors.

He takes his drink in hand and carefully makes his way to the wall...where Ra’s watches the crowd. No, that’s not right. Where Ra’s watches him, and Tim can feel that gaze rove over his form like dirty fingers as his stride become a more purposeful march.  At this museum, Tim vaguely and spitefully compares the man to the mess of artwork around him. Flowing, unironic, stupid cape arranged over a well-tailored suit, Surrealism matches the feelings the criminal provokes, a gnawing infestation under his skin. Tim’s wine glass moves to hover in front of his chest, over his core instinctively.

The man is dangerous.

He’s the type that scratches and digs to find what you hold dearest and wait for the right moment where destroying it would hurt the most. The kind with patience, the kind with knowledge, the kind that Tim knows would just love to hunt down a mythical creature of his own. Ra’s could make a poacher very...very happy and wealthy.

Tim can take him.

“Good evening...Timothy.”

“What are you doing here.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand. Tim’s face might be stuck in a pleasant countenance for their surroundings, but his voice is more frigid than the Arctic.

Ra’s gestures grandly with a hand around them, “Why to admire the innovative talents that Gotham has to offer.” A crooked smirk begins to cut across his face. Sharper than any blade. “The possibilities are astounding.”

“Huh, somehow I doubt you’re here to support our talented artists for the Wounded Warrior Project.” Tim’s lip curls into a sneer, “Instead of protecting veterans, you tend to sacrifice them instead. Isn’t that way your recruitment rate is so high?”

Ra’s uncoils from his relaxed pose against the wall. “How rude, Detective. My fallen are honored, especially when they give their all to my purpose. In fact, the esteem, the respect, the glory they earn is never retracted. Tell me, is the notion the same with the Bat’s broken little boys?”

It’s a jab against Jason. Maybe even against him. Tim’s smile fractures in the corner of his lips, a fang scraping the inside of his cheek and he sets down his glass harder on passing tray than he needs to. A deep breath, two. It would be a paparazzi dream come true to capture the money shot of Timothy Drake-Wayne socking an unknown foreigner in the face. But he’s no fairy godmother. “Why don’t we take this fascinating discussion elsewhere? Somewhere more private if you want to know what else can break.” Like your face. Or his arm, Tim’s not really picky. “That way you can be out with it. You’re not here just to trade quips to piss me off. You want something.”

“You would be correct in your deductions. I require something in this cesspit, a diamond in the rough so to speak. For me to claim success, I must have your assistance.” Ra’s tilts his head in agreement. “Yet for more precise details, lead on.”

“Great, let’s go. I can’t wait to tell you no.”

Tim storms off, Ra’s following leisurely behind them as they part through the crowd. His hackles raised as he’s forced to give the assassin his back. The two make their way past the less inhabited exhibits, then into the hall towards the back offices where new art pieces are received and cataloged.

“Oh, Timothy, I am sure you know why few have dared to refuse me. Yet before our business, I must inform you, Nyssa sends her fondest regards.” Tim jerks at the whisper brushing his ear.

He twists on his heel to snarl at the looming man. Obnoxiously tall man.

“Tell her mine are not as much and next time she wants to try for free ‘seed,’ she should take the guy out for dinner first.”

Ra’s simply waves a hand for them to continue forward, “Perhaps uncouth, unconventional, and yet–”

“She chained me to a wall.”

“–Yet what a vision you must have been. Helpless, bare and dazed from the blow…truly a sight wasted when it could have been shared.” Ra’s expression turns way too salacious and Tim’s knuckles itch with possibility. “Still no matter how forward perhaps, she regrets how short your time in her clutches was. It is unbearably unfortunate your knight in shining black armor appeared so early.”

“Well, Black Bat is always to kick a rapist’s ass anytime, anywhere.” And if the criminal tries anything like that again it won’t be just Cass, it’ll be a full-size dragon ready to fry the Ghul into ash. Really, it’s just self-defense, maybe Bruce will understand.

“Some battles are worth any wound for the prize.”

Tim manages not to gag. Barely. Instead, he decides not to give Ra’s the pleasure of a response. He goes to open a door only to find it unlocked. His fingers bite into the doorknob, how many rooms did Ra’s men make available for this...meeting? How long did Ra’s plan this?

The pause gives Ra’s a chance to prompt, “A penny for your thoughts, Detective?”

“Only the one I wish I crushed you with.”

“Our first meeting was truly memorable. It is not every century, a giant piece of currency attempts to take my life.”

“Regrettably, you have this terrible habit of dodging.”

“What a wretched inconvenience I am to you,” Ra’s purrs. Though in the Detective’s favor, the experience was quite the introduction. The memory still strong of being absolutely stunned, as this pale wraith of a child maneuvered an enormous slab of copper to split him from the Bat.

“I know, right?”

“Then it is only fair for me to return the favor.” He herds the Detective into the small office. The shelves are full of covered paintings and bookkeeping litters the lone desk in the center. The smell of dust and resin permeates the air.

“You didn’t answer my question, why are you here, Ra’s?” He watches the way Ra’s prowls around examining their surroundings and Tim carefully puts the heavy desk between them. He’s not afraid. Not even nervous. Honest. But there’s no harm or shame in placing obstacles in a monster’s path.

Ra’s hums and rests his hands in the small of his back, he arches an eyebrow at the Detective. “To declare that perhaps I was too quick to judge the city of Gotham.”

“What? No,” Tim draws out sarcastically, “You think?”

“After all, why allow this filthy cesspit my presence long enough to evaluate it in full?”

“I’m surprised more people don’t punch you in the mouth whenever you open it.”

“Power, my dear,” he says absentmindedly, “However, now I see the error of my ways. I was too quick to strike, though I still long to destroy this hell, wipe it off the face of the planet like the divine fires of Gomorrah.”

“Is this the way you ask always for help? Because you suck at it.” Tim folds his arms across his chest.

A dark chuckle, “Oh, Timothy, I never ask for assistance. I demand it. Yet allow me to get to the point. Before Gotham meets its predestined fate, it may possess something of value after all.”

Tim arches a brow at him, this close from rolling his eyes.

“It is a thing...most precious. Something that must be recovered by the League at any cost, by any means possible.”

“I’m not a mind reader, Ra’s. Spit it out and get out of my face.”

“A creature. Behold these are the marks of a creature with certain properties I find...desirable.”

Yeah sure, I freaking bet.

Ra’s tosses a sheaf of papers. No. Photos. In pretty black and white, they hit the top of the desk and fan out before Tim’s eyes.

Ice.

‘Ice,’ the wraith of his mother whispers, Tim feels the memory of her nails digging into shoulders. The way she’d spin him to face the mirror and press her cheek to his. ‘Be as ice. Let the blue of your eyes harden for why should they know any intention of yours?’

Her old lessons crack like an egg over his brain, drip down his veins and out of his mouth, “Am I supposed to ooh and ahh over grappling hook marks?”

Ra’s picks up on photo to thumb the edges.“Ah. It is true they do appear similar, do they not? Yet not, Detective, such grooves are not made with any tool,” he says.  

Tim’s heart starts to pound.

“Nor can these distinctive charred marks be any coincidence.”

“To what? This is Gotham. Home of unusual and burnt up buildings everywhere. I’m still not following, spit it out.” Before he does. Tim’s mouth floods with nitroglycerin, it’s thicker than saliva and coats the back of his throat. A viscous layer ready at a moment’s notice, all it needs is a spark. All it needs is a reason to burn. He swallows it down roughly. He needs to prevent any evidence, not create it, remember?

“Forgive me, you know how much I love to build up the suspense.” Ra’s crooked smile widens and he pulls something heavy from his jacket pocket, “Allow me to lay out my conclusion.”

Between his fingers is a scale.

“Somewhere in Gotham is a dragon.”

The only thing that keeps Tim breathing is that the scale isn’t black...it’s white.

“A what? You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Tim keeps the thread of arrogant disbelief strong in his voice. Mother would be proud. “Aren’t you too ridiculously old for fairy tales?”

“It is not a simple tale for the bed weary child,” Ra’s loses his patience. His obsessive greed bleeding through as he forces the scale into Tim’s hands. “This piece of evidence is authentic as the pit itself.”

“It just feels like a spray-painted piece of the batplane.” Tim carelessly taps it on the side of the desk. “Like a mix of plastic and alloy.”

“Be careful with that!”  

Tim hits it harder against the surface. Just to hear the man growl. The keratin in the scale is weak. Seems like the dame he fought once upon a time wasn’t just stupid but malnourished as well. Scales are like nails, they show health and the brittle nature of it gives the detective more than enough to work with. In fact, if he jumped on it at a certain angle, he might be able to snap it in two.

Ra’s rips it from his fingers. Spoilsport. “That is quite enough,” he hisses through his teeth and tucks the scale protectively back into his stupid, melodramatic cape.

“So whoop-dee-doo, the Demon’s Head believes in Dungeons and Dragons. Is there a point to this lame show and tell?”

“Because I require the services of a Detective.”

“Oh goodie, I think this is my favorite part in our conversation so far. How about a Hell No?”

Ra’s hands slam against the desk caging Tim in. Tim doesn’t flinch, perhaps berating himself for not noticing Ra’s getting into range yet he stares dead straight into those jade eyes.

‘Be stone.’ Janet’s voice reminds, ‘Give them nothing to predict, nothing before you strike.’

“You forget your debt to me, Timothy,” Ra’s says venomously.

Tim tilts his head to the side eerily. There’s a coil of unease winding inside him. The word debt is a serious concept to a dragon and the instincts around it are hard to shake. “What debt? I owe you nothing. Though if you mean that lovely kick through a window, I could totally repay you for that. This art museum has a lovely roof, let’s go.”

Ra’s presses in, Tim reaches behind himself to grab his own wrist. His nails are becoming too long for his liking. A flash of desire, of digging, of gouging, of letting the intestines fall as they may. Ra’s isn’t wearing any armour...probably. “I gave you resources when you had none. When all thought your grief had turned you mad, only I believed your hypothesis that the Bat remained alive. Only I gave you that validation.”

“Fuck you, I didn’t ask for your help. I would have been fine.” His nails draw his dark blood under the sleeve of his suit.

“Your future was to be a bloody corpse on a cheap hotel bed if not for me.” Ra’s grip on the desk behind him creaks.

Tim could headbutt Ra’s, doesn’t know why he’s continuing to hear him out.

“Which wouldn’t have happened in the first place if it wasn’t for your war on the Council of Spiders. The one you gave no warning or intel for. Technically it’s you that owes me a spleen, I wasn’t the Widower’s original target after all. I was a bonus kill.”

“Come to the pit then if you are so keen for the organ’s return.” Ra’s hovers above him with malice, with interest at the notion.

“And go crazy like you? No thanks.”  

“Regardless I provided aid for your quest, now it is time for you to take your aid in mine. Furthermore what better than a Drake finding a drake?”

“Drake-Wayne, remember.”

“And what would the other dear Waynes think of our past association.” Ra’s finally leans away from him, his hands trailing on the wood before gesturing behind them. Ah, so that’s Ra’s real angle, blackmail. Go figure. “The Bat may think that our interactions were justified for your noble cause, yet somehow I think otherwise. I admit I am beyond curious for his reaction to those lovely months we spent together.”  

Tim could rattle off a thousand reasons why that rationale was a pile of shit. That, okay. Fine. Bruce would glower, brood, and never trust Tim again, but, hey, after the Boomerbang incident maybe that ship has sailed to the Bahamas and back. Plus, if B can’t weigh the definite pros to the whole knocking out the Council of Spiders and taking Ra’s down a peg as a decent notch on his vigilante belt, well...Tim is a big boy anyway.

A big dragon.

Pieces of your hoard don’t have to trust you anyway. They just need to stay alive and safe.

Safe. Wait, oh.

“You’re such a bastard, Ra’s.” Tim grits out, but he’s going to take this deal. Not for Ra’s ‘debt’ and how the term makes his inner wyrm burn. Not for Bruce’s sensibilities. But for the most important thing, his mother drilled into his head over and over again.

The safety of control.

His face is cold, but his belly is hot. “Where do we start?” This is a mess to clean, his show to run, and his plan is solid.

Ra’s smiles.

So does Tim. He can’t wait to see the assassin’s’ aspirations go up in flames after all.

***

He manages to keep the Bats uninvolved for a record of forty-eight hours. It’s an accomplishment Tim should take note of really.

For example, he managed to scramble Barbara’s cameras subtly, though he’ll a semi truck of gourmet coffee to get back in her good graces when she finds out, just so Ra’s can show off various pieces of evidence his men have found around the city without surveillance. Tim had dutifully nodded during lengthy monologues only to innocently suggest that wouldn’t it be better to catalog all their data in one place? It’s so easy to convince Ra’s to have the marked roof tiles and stones removed, so easy to retrieve them later. Mother would scold him for how clumsy he had been. The least he can do is exterminate the crumbs that a wolf took advantage of.

Meanwhile, he throws out other morsels to divert and distract, “Looks like your ‘dragon’” Tim mockingly uses finger quotes. “Hasn’t been here for long. Maybe two months at most.”

“Oh? How can you deduce that?” Ra’s crouches down to trail his fingers over the grooves where Tim had stupidly filed his claws weeks ago. Stupid hygiene.

“The lack of erosion. Gotham has had a rainy year. Notice the iron embedded here and here next to the mark?” He points at the orange strain spreading over the bricks, “If made last year, the rust would bleed into the scratches yet note the chunk lacks any of that.”

Ra’s purrs, “Clever, Detective. So our drake must be new to the city. What a godforsaken place for it choose for its migration.”

“Not if it has the ability of camouflage.” Tim shrugs. The wind ripping through his cape as he eyes the security camera trying to turn their way and glitching. He has another three minutes before Babs catches on.

“In bright hues of white? I think not,” Ra’s scoffs.

“You said that dragons have powers beyond your ken. Is it really out of the realm of conception? If moths can do it, why can’t fire-breathing imaginary creatures?”  Two minutes.

“What an excellent point. It would give a reason for it to stay as well. My resources tell me that old cities provide the best nooks and rubble for one to hide their trove. Plus, the larger the city, the more ease the drake has to blend in.”

“Blend in?” Tim parrots. Shit.

“Why, of course. Not only does a dragon have strength and intelligence, but over eons, their best defense is to hide in plain sight.” Ra’s straightens to stand and looks to the night skyline. Tim thinks about the scales that not even makeup can hide behind his ear. The black iridescent ones that dot his collar bones that Dick once poked at and cooed before smothering him without another blanket. 

Heat regulation is still a bitch.

“Gotham.” Ra’s draws out the name. “Full of blind spots, full of soft brick and lead to dig through, full of abnormalities that over time each turns into a just another mundane occurrence to the public. Yes. I can now see the appeal that could persuade a drake.”

He sounds so much like his mother that Tim’s posture becomes still and rigid. His fist clenches on his knee. She always did mention that this was the perfect breeding ground for similar reasons. Even when he was young, she’d encourage him to stalk the city instead of stay in the mansion, her hoard, just in case. Even to the point of taking him into an alley since he was five, turn her face into one wall and slowly count to twenty. His record in evading her? Three hours.

If Tim wanted to disappear, really disappear into Gotham’s underbelly? He could.

He knows how to hide.  

“It seems we have been discovered, my Detective.” Ra’s smiles at him from the side. “What a pity. Our progress to this point has been phenomenal.”

But there’s always a time and place to hide and when the clock hits forty-eight hours and fourteen minutes, Tim doesn’t bother to make any move against the flash of a cape in his peripheral. “Not your detective, Ra’s. Have your men collect the rest of the samples and we’ll  reconvene once I analyze the possibilities of your fairytale whereabouts.”

“Very well. Oh, and do tell your mentor that I find myself sorely disappointed at his waning skills of concealment. A true agent of the night would never be drawn from the shadows so easily.”

Tim mutters, “He’s doing on purpose. If he didn’t want you to see him, you wouldn’t see him.” It’s more of Bruce waving a goddamn flag of ‘I know you’re in my city, get out of my city.’

“Besides every hunter knows how to distract dangerous prey,” a new voice says disdainfully.

They turn to the slight figure who managed to sneak only a foot or two away from them. One steel-toed green boot (a present from Jason) tapping the roof impatiently. Crossed arms over the Robin uniform, Damian Wayne has mastered the art of glaring with a domino on. “Grandfather, must your ninjas multiply like ants?”

Ra’s huffs through his nose, “Many hands make light work, Grandson. Farewell, Timothy. I await your every enlightenment.” And like a true magician, he throws his gaudy cape over a shoulder and disappears into the night.

Tim’s shoulders release, but he notes that Damian’s do not. Oh. He’s mad at him. Though to be fair, that is Damian’s default emotion to anything.  

Damian begins his hissing tirade, “I should submit you to Arkham myself. Such displays of insanity, must you attempt suicide in the most ridiculous of complex fashions? Why else would you positively associate with my grandfather?”

“One, I know what I’m doing. Two, there is nothing positive about it.” He gets up and away from the building edge before Damian gets the magical idea to shove him off it. Again.

Damian gets closer, one finger stabbing in his direction, “Why does video evidence say otherwise? You are clearly working in tandem with his aims. To think that father would even believe that you are being coerced is beyond my ken. Do you wish to die, Drake?”

The name is emphasized more than normal, and Tim gets his implication immediately.

“I have this under control, but thanks for worrying, brat.”

“Worrying? Why would I be worrying? You must be insane, yes, this is further evidence that padded walls would suit you.”

“Padded walls are flammable,” Tim reminds him.

With his thumb, he makes a small gesture and Damian’s breath hitches minutely. Even Tim can smell the Demon Head’s men. He can hear them. Their rabbit-like heartbeats underneath the awning are enough in his limited range. “But you’re right in a way, I am going along with Ra’s for a bit. For as long as it suits both our purposes. Though why he would willingly work with someone who double-crossed him before definitely needs the lesson of, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Tim then hums in the back of his throat. “Actually, he’s probably already expecting that. It sounds like just the game he loves to play.”

“But is it one that you are assured to win?” Damian grabs his wrist to tug him along. Grayson wants him home immediately. The moment Oracle sent a live feed of Tim’s current companion to all the Bats, Robin wondered if he would have to take measures to aid his mentor through a panic attack. It was not pleasant. Grayson is very...concerned over the welfare of his brothers.

Tim snorts, “Please, who do you think you’re talking to?”

“A fool.” Ouch, Babybat doesn’t need a katana to cut him in half. The grip on his arm tightens, even as they descend into the alleyway where the Batmobile waits. It sits with the top already open, eager to trap Tim so specific overprotective brooding vigilantes can sit on him.

Lame.

Somehow telling the Bats of his true nature has multiplied every unnecessary precaution by a factor of eleven.

Damian shoves Tim into the vehicle. B moves in the driver seat to stare at him. A lot, not bothering to twist back to look out the windshield, just pushing the button for autopilot in a very pointed manner.

Damian presses the com in his mask subtly. So anyone on the line can hear his interrogation. “Now tell us. What shall you do in the matter concerning my grandfather? This is beyond a simple threat against your very person.”

Tim thinks of the scattered white scales he scraped off the dame. How they must litter the sand on that beach like sparkling stones. He thinks of the trail he could plant, not that he can just point the League of Assassins in her direction, not even when the offensive white plastic bag of a dragon deserves it. No, he needs to create the perfect dead end to Ra’s little expedition. But how could he–

The light bulb comes on and blood fills his mouth as his fangs drop. Can he really?

“Oh, you know what? I’m going to give him exactly what he wants, Damian.” Tim decides grimly, “I’m going to find him a dragon.”

***

Tim is going to throw up.

The stalactites drip around him, the sound that was once soothing but now every drop that hits the wet floor makes him want to retch. He shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here.

Not in this particular network of caves.

“Are you sure the creature will be found here? The opening is far too small to accommodate their size,” Ra’s demands. The band of his men are few, only the chosen may aid him in this task to witness what the Detective has wrought. They have traveled approximately twenty minutes, yet with every second his appetite grows at the possibility, at the results of Timothy’s work. The boy is clever. However, the tunnel narrows here and there, scraping their chests as the rock practically hugs their forms.  

“Stop doubting me. You said dragons are shapeshifters right? So why couldn’t they transform back and forth to crawl in here and hide? I’m only going off of the intel you gave me, Ra’s. The beach where you found the scale is not far from here. Plus look at these.” His boots make a hard crunch in the dim light of a torch.

Ra’s is a traditional, dramatic egoist, of course. A freaking torch.

“Prey,” the assassin breathes out. His eyes glittering in greed. It makes Tim want to shift forms, to roar at this filth entering this place with such hunger. Under their feet, stretching for a good thirty feet is a cemetery of bones. Most of the skeletons clearly intact with white and yellow rib cages on display.

“There must be at least a hundred of them,” Ra’s declares.

There are not. There are only forty-three. Tim does not correct Ra’s though.

The antechamber begins to widen until it has about a fifty-yard radius. The light flickers, yet the shadow of Ra’s’ hand gives an obvious signal, “Spread out. Search. This area appears most...promising.”

Tim wanders among the wet stone in a pretense of looking around as Ra’s men discrete this place with their presence. He avoids the west side of the chamber. His gloves running their hands on a wet large skull or two. Kills he had been proud of once upon a time. Those kills he had been sure would entice his–

“My lord! We have found something!”

–his mother to eat.

“No.” A voice roughly snarls. “No!”

On the ground, a few white scales lie in patches next to a giant boulder that stretches alongside the back cave wall. The details of long limbs and a tail are obvious and simple.

Tim’s fingers come up to squeeze the backs of his elbows, hugging himself for a moment. His inner core fluctuating, his heartbeat loud but he manages to repress the urge of curling up by her.

“This cannot be!”

What would mother think of him? To use her corpse as a diversion like this? To give Ra’s an empty platitude of what he wants? Would she be proud?

Yes.

Ra’s fury and despair gets loud, “I have only just found you! Why? How could I be too late?”

Janet always scolded Tim for his soft sentimentality. A tool is a tool. A resource is a resource. It is truer to their nature to use any means to fulfill their objective.

“The dead are dead, my pet,” Mother reminded him whenever she took him hunting, the claws of her painted nails sweeping delicately under his eyes when she found him sniffling over the wild kill of a deer. “They do not feel your tears. Our long memories exist to never forget what was. Now eat, the meat will soon grow cold and you make a mockery of the life by wasting it.”

No, Tim never got the ‘stop playing with your food! You should be grateful, some people in China are starving’ approach to picky eating. And Mother always kept him fed one way or another.

Tim comes up behind Ra’s, “So this is your dragon. Huh, is it supposed to look like that?”

Ra’s twists to snarl at him. “No, it is not. Not unless it is–”

“Dead?”

Tim admits Ra’s is rocking the look of utter anguish right now. If he wasn’t steeling himself, keeping his voice and expression blank he’d be howling with bitter victory.

“What happened to it?”

Ra’s reaches out to pet rough features of a jaw morosely. “The legends say that once the lifespan of such a beast ends, they naturally calcify into stone.”

Tim very much wants a copy of those legends. Too many things they’ve gotten right. “I thought they lived forever?”

“No,” Ra’s says, schooling his grief into something more palatable. “They do not, yet they can live on for several centuries.”

“Like you,” Tim points out. “With the help of the pit that is. Why do you want a dragon anyway?”

Carefully he steps around the man, trying to angle his cape a certain way.

“Why does any man seek power and beauty? Such things are what drive and keep the human race alive. With a dragon, I would be absolutely unstoppable.”

“You are already pretty unstoppable, how about you give the rest of mankind a fighting chance? You got power, check. You got the ultimate green regimen against aging that every older woman would gladly beat you to death for, check. Maybe you should just stick with trying to rule the world bit instead of chasing magical creatures.”

A chuckle. How interesting that the Detective can sway his despondent mood so easily. Oh, how he longs… “Even I need a pet project, Timothy. Besides do you not think the years would pass more gracefully with such a companion, such a specimen by my side?”

“Somehow I think the specimen would be more inclined to end your years rather than spend them with you.” In fact, Tim is sure of it.

“Ah, but what is life without the thrill of surprise? Whatever bond we forge will never be without fire.”

Tim snorts. Well, that’s an understatement. Still, he lifts a glove to trace the stone closed lid of an eye. Just like he did so many years ago, he’s positioned himself well. Maybe they won’t find his–

“What do we have here?” Ra’s pushes past him with an air of curiosity.

Gosh, how many times will Tim bite his lips raw tonight?

“Lift that up.” Ra’s motions his men to hurry. True the beast would be far more preferable breathing, but he can still catalog the proof of their existence. Plus even this is a find. The body is wedged tightly between the stone paws but any resistance is solved with a strong pull. “Come, Detective, you must see this.”

Reluctantly Tim stands near the new find.

How long did it take for him to swallow his grief? Just to pull off stealing his dad’s corpse? To crack open the heavy mahogany coffin and wrap the rotting remains carefully in a sheet. The fabric soiling quickly with the putrid oozing bits. It wouldn’t do to have flesh remaining, not on the body of a mate, but the cave bugs and open-air took care of that. In fact, Tim only had to wait a  month to adorn the skeleton befitting of his worth as a dragon’s husband.

With the sockets clear, Tim worked in two egg-like sapphires the same shade of his eyes. A border of pearls and pink stones for a nose. He weaved fine chains of gold as a delicate filigree in and out of ribs. Each piece back then gave a sense of calm. Tim always knew this task would fall to him one day, never so soon, but, hey, that’s death for you. Final. Inevitable. He's most likely bound to do it for his brothers, for Bruce as well.

There’s a final piece attached to the hips in braided silver; the first “discovery” Janet and Jack Drake found on an archaeological dig together. A saber sword almost appearing of Assyrian origin. Mother may have recounted the story a few times to send Tim to sleep. How adorable, her mate looked waving around one of her fangs excitedly like that. How easy it was to convince him to display the treasure in their private home, right above their bed. How quaint to watch the man fondly as he stoked the sword before bed when her dear had no idea what it really was.

It had been one of Tim’s favorite bedtime stories. Where sleep took him fast at the warm purr in Mother’s voice.

“This is a meager compensation, but it will have to do.” The Demon Head yanks the sword from Tim’s father’s bones. It cracks both the radius and ulna of the arm and Tim sees red. “It would be a shame for a treasure such as this to waste away here. A fang. A real fang, my dear Detective.”

“Are you done playing graverobber? It won’t be long before Batman catches your trail.” Tim manages to bite out. His eyes narrowing under the cowl. His eyesight too clearly taking in the breaks in the stone and bone, the footsteps that mock this place, the way the ninja crawl over his mother like black maggots.

He needs them gone. Now.

Ra’s eyebrows raise, “Our trail, Timothy. Yet why waste this moment of limited triumph? Allow me at least to bask in the sight of the creature.”

“Bask later.” There is a second of tension. Where all ninja in the cave go still, ready for the command to attack. Their bodies tighten. Tim casually turns on his heel and walks towards the cave opening. Then with a roll of the Demon Head’s shoulders, a minuscule tilt of the head orders the ninja to concede to the vigilante’s wishes. Besides, Ra’s sweeps his gaze over the beast and plans. They require more men, more tools to recover this...treasure. So he follows after Timothy, to the edge of the cave and back into the dark, one hand almost hovering over the small of his slim back. His fingers twitch when the boy says, “Is this the first time you’ve seen one?”

“No, it is my third.” Tim’s face pinches at that. “The first happened in my earliest centuries, capturing the sight of one in flight. The second during a war campaign, in human form.”

Ra’s eyes slide over Tim’s body. “Did you know they look exactly like us, Detective? Almost identical in every conceivable way. If not for a few errant scales here and there hidden under their clothing.”

Tim’s own tender scales itch under the suit. “How could you tell?” Tim asks.

Ra’s smirks, “Drakes reveal themselves in times of high emotion. They are easy to rile. Then it is quite simple to observe their flashing eyes and other tells.”

Janet Drake could be milliseconds from ripping off his head with not a hair out of place, Tim can be, will be the same.

The skyline reflects over the water as they emerge from the narrow opening in the rock. Each building’s light almost looks like a star in the smoky haze. Under their feet, except for the lapping waves, the beach is quiet as not one of the party makes a sound.

The silence breaks. “Are you finished? Did you get what you needed?” Tim fiddles with something in the pouch over his chest.

“Never. Not until a drake’s heart beats in my own chest. Yet my eyes have seen another fine specimen, my suspicions have been confirmed...and my trophy is adequate.” Ra’s caresses the dragon fang sword now adorned at his hip. “I am done with Gotham for a season.”

“Good.” And Tim lifts his hand showing the detonator.

Ra’s eyes go wide, his mouth opens to shout.

Tim presses it.

His eyes remain glaciers while his back feels the rush of heat and smoke from the explosion behind. It bellows around him as the earth shifts violently, shudders and settles. Ra’s ninja bend over to protect themselves from the blast as Ra’s himself coughs over and over into his fist.

Tim doesn’t bother. He doesn’t turn around either.

It’ll hurt too much if he does.

‘The dead are dead, my pet.’

“Detective.” Ra’s face is contorted in a grimace of rage.  

“What’s wrong, Ra’s? You said it, not me. You were done. Now I believe I’ve repaid any debt to you in full, a mystery for a mystery and gosh don’t you think that’s enough sightseeing of Gotham for you?”

“I could have sent teams to investigate those remains further. With the discovery of such a preserved creature and you–”

“Graves are for the living. The dead don’t care,” Tim says with a chilling smile, “Maybe I grew tired of watching you break and fondle old bones.”

“You destroyed the cave! The incredible wonder. How is that preferable to my actions?”

The crumbling rock should be enough to cover up the nearly-silent sounds of boots, of Gotham’s shadows taking their final positions twelve seconds after the explosion as planned.

Through the haze, Red Robin smiles white in the night, “It’s preferable because I get to piss you off. Now get out of my city, I promise you the only drake here is me.”

“And I promise you, Detective. The destruction of your city will be just as quick and ruthless as that cave.” Ra’s storms towards him, but the shadows take shape, and the yellow insignia comes through the dusk, the glint of the red helmet, and maybe a little blue and black mixed in, all the colors of the night flaring out over Red Robin’s shoulder, a heavy hand, gloved and gauntleted, ready for the fight, gives a brief squeeze of encouragement.

“You heard my son, Ra’s. it’s time to leave our city.”

But Nightwing gives a laugh, twirling one escrima stick through his fingers, “Nah. I think you should stay a while. This would make good fighting terrain. How many ninjas do you think made it out of that blast again?”

There’s a snort through synths and Red Hood nudges Robin, who’s standing next to him, “Gotta say, I don’t think it’s gonna be enough to keep the five of us interested for long, you feel me here, Baby Bird?”

“Tt, we were promised a sensational final brawl, Drake, and here you have failed to deliver.”  

“I’m not Santa Claus, Robin. How was I supposed to know Ra’s men would be so lame?”

“I had expectations that your plan would yield better results.”

Tim’s lips twitch. “Pfft. Next time, you can plan the bad guy takedown, and I’ll go get roof tacos with B, N, and Hood. Deal?”

“I think for now,” B interrupts the witty banter, moving with a swish of his cape to stand by Red Robin’s side, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder, “we’re going to say it one. Last. Time. Get the hell out of our city.”

And the depth of B’s voice is the thing that makes him the most feared man in the city. It’s enough to make Ra’s al Ghul pause and narrow his eyes over at Red Robin.

“Touche, Detective. As always, you never fail to disappoint during one of our little...games.” And even if he doesn’t move any closer, doesn’t even tighten his hold over the fang, Tim feels a shiver run down his spine. “Enjoy your victories for now, Timothy, but one day you may see this very fang again, and your blood will sate it.”

And even if it’s just way overdone, Ra’s gives barely a twitch of his fingers and the shadowy assassins leap away, running as they’re bid, and Ra’s himself turns sharply on his heels, clutching the fang by his side.

The Bats all take a collective breath.

As one, four heads swing to the vigilante in the middle, arms crossed and toes tapping.

“Okay, so not my best plan maybe, but it’s been one hell of a night. Can we just call it and go home?” Red Robin looks again at the rubbled remains of his family’s burial site, the space in his chest hollow even with the victory.

“I’m pretty much on board with that plan,” and because B knows about pain like this, sharp and biting when it comes to things that can never be regained. He pointedly grips one of Red’s shoulders, turns him gently away from the remains. “Besides, we have a meeting tomorrow and I need you to make me look like a rich idiot, remember?”

The returning laugh is tinged with sadness and B gives him another pat before leading the way back to the Batplane waiting for them all.

“We’re riding with Timmy!” Nightwing calls, already wrapping himself around one of Red’s arms. Hood lays a hand on Red’s other, giving a gentle squeeze.

Robin chuffs at them and leaps into the cockpit with Batman, waving them away to the plan Red came in to meet Ra’s.

Hood takes over, warming the plane up to fly while Nightwing hangs in the back with Red, pulling off the cowl so Tim couldn’t hide.

“Tell me really, are you okay, Baby Bird?” Dick gently tugs his brother into his body, taking in how he sags into the hold.

“I’m...fine.” Tim grips the arm half around his neck, careful of his claws under the gauntlets. “I just, you know, destroyed the grave of my parents. Let the most disgusting man walk away with my mother’s fang. I just–”

“Ensured your safety by leading Ra’s around by the nose.” Bruce finishes through the comm link in the planes. “The Demon Head will never suspect your nature now. When he returns it’ll be for your head, not your heart...we can work with that.”

“Yeah, death is just so much easier to work with than being hunted, captured like a pretty pet and trained as one,” Tim mutters.

“Plus Bats never stay dead!” Jason yells back in an ugly fashion.

“Seconded,” is Dami deadpanning in the back.

“I’ll worry about it when the day comes. Until then, I’m going to be very glad my secret is safe.” But Tim sits heavily, head dangling between his shoulders, so fucking tired. A hand reaching back pats his calf while Jay stays at the controls, and Dick flops beside him, already wrapping a long arm around his ribs.

“You’re safe,” Dick says low in his ear, low enough that the plane’s microphones can’t pick it up. “That’s what matters. You’re safe with us, and when that day comes, we’ll be here, Tim. We. Will. Be. Here.”

After the reassuring squeeze to his calf and the vigilante crushing his spine, hearing the low purr of B and Robin’s engine through the comm link, knowing Alfred is at home waiting with coffee and food and bandages, all of it makes him feel that much better.

“Our love is a terrible thing,” his mother’s voice whispers from memory. “But take comfort in this, you are mine. Now, until my last breath and forever.”

Tim...can work with that.

#my writing #dragon tim #my teeth are like swords #tim drake #batfic #fic rec #writing is hard #longest chapter yet #because of Ra's #batfamily #had help with the ending from Iphoenixrising #since you know she's awesome

[foolishmeowing]

Hearsay had it God let in the light. For a moment we thought that meant freedom. We weren’t wrong, but we weren’t right, and that was the old trick – Be the first to say, and the first to finish is Nothing. They lost us there, when they made words for what wasn’t and thought what they opened to the new would be the language of their own gods. The king looked in his reflection and said if he was not first, then God could only be a mirror.

This king was in the early days, and not yet in that aeon when history would have the Dogstar burn the islands in vengeance for Asterion, and the Arcadian master’s device would have been shown. His name was the land, for he called by the Gate and the Key that beast which came to the shore with nothing of light in its flesh, nothing of skin or heart; The Sea rages before Heaven peels its guilt from the Earth, and law makes a thin caul for the Ocean-bull. But this he did not place on the altar. His kingdom saw another, and when the sacrifice was made, ichor firstborn from the night did not stain him and the soil together, though the people could not see.

Thus came Pasiphae, for the queen knew Eros from the Sea’s dead names, and in her Titan blood took the love of what cannot be. Small worlds are born from this, and Pasiphae’s daughter had few words for God’s. The halls of her mind, ankle-deep in libations stolen and lost, took no limit entwining the halls of the palace, and as her age turned the kingdom slid from human hands.

*******

It was known in Athens that the Sea had flooded the Minoan islands from within. Some youths among the gentry came to the idea that this was a worthy pilgrimage, and mingling with song-stitchers, they traveled in hope of blessings at the bent altars of that place where the stars were set free of a common path. The king’s guardianship rent, they entered by the thousand doors set in stone, wood, earth, and leaf.

They say there is a monster implicit in every darkness, for in hunger you are consumed even by yourself.

*******

There was Theseus, son of the Athenian king Aegeus, who had returned disgraced without sword or sandal and little blood as he fled the games of Cercyon in Eleusis. It was said he had lost such vitality as to have the flesh of a fish, and if he would not smear his body with clay and resin his heart and his bile could have burned in the light of the Sun. Spurned by his people but ever-full with the choler of heroes, he found need to reclaim his pride. He sought favor with the exiled Minos, who, glad to be free of the stench of Medea’s poultice, blessed him on that disastrous journey to slay the crooked spawn of his bull, and sent him with the protection of some of the most aggrieved of the king’s own escort. There was little help to be found among the Athenians, who for years had seen none return from the pilgrimage to the islands, and who had driven the traveling song-stitchers from the city as if they were one.

*******

Theseus did not know what had been wrought. He had seen caves before, said to have been the path to Hades, and it had been seen that any bird or rodent which came too near would die breathlessly, and that there had been workers of miasma who knew way to capture that air for their purposes. Medea had told him of Minos's shame, the cause of the child of the Ocean-Bull and how Daedalus was lost finding means to stop the entwining Labyrinth, leading the child to a gate in the darkness where her paths would be locked in an eternal spiral.

None knew by what means that daughter of star and sea was found in later years leading sacrifices in the temple of the Sun, for all the memory of the priests as if she had been raised there, or what it meant for her to take her place at the king's table as if his court had always known her. The palace sunk into itself, strange things slithered in the cracks between sight and sound, and Pasiphae was only pleased.

The native Icarus had given Theseus a great clew of silk wrought for strength and blessed by the priests of the road-stone to trace his path through the living maze. There was nothing to be done when he found after three corners a line which, backwards, he saw tracing leagues he had never walked, leagues not even spun into the thread before he entered this domain.

Deeper, his feet became wet, sometimes with water, sometimes wine, sometimes that ancient mead kept also by the cult of song-stitcher priests of the Wine-God who led the youths of Athens here.

There was an open dancing-floor built by Daedalus on the edge of the palace facing the Sea and the rising Sun. It was here Icarus found the bones of Theseus amid his ashes, a dry mark burned where the ground all around had been soaked in the juices of the vine.

*******

Following oracles from Hecate, the Athenian queen Medea returned from the far north with a man whose laughter only howled, hair like fire but breath the scent of Winter. He said he knew the plight of the Minoan people, and promised his desires would have him find Asterion, the heart of the Labyrinth, and that he would be glad for what praise would be had for such a deed.

#convoluted flexions #ariadne*

[thequalityrunaway]

Mea Anima

http://archiveofourown.org/works/13829088 - AO3 Oneshot link.

Zack’s heart beat painfully fast with fear, with exertion, but he didn’t stop for himself. Cloud was in danger! All the signs were there, in his letters, his behaviour, his decline in energy and vivid dreams. Zack mentally roared at himself again for missing them; he was a Demon Hunter, trained in the art of hunting demons, reading the signs, slaying the beasts- and yet his best friend had slipped into a demon’s sinister courtship right under his nose! - "He's mine, Hunter. Time you accepted that." - For the 2018 Strifehart Valentines Event.

Written by Thequalityrunaway and VirdisDrachen

Torch ash got in Zack’s eyes as he ran. The torch of wood and burning resin held before him to guide his way as the young Demon Hunter raced up the mountain path towards the derelict Shinra Manor. How could I have been so blind! He howled in his thoughts, fear gripping him like a deep frost down to his bones.

He jumped another log and stumbled as the weight of his sword pulled him temporarily down. More footprints, heavier marks, deeper heel prints for how much he swayed on his feet- Cloud’s pace had been struggling for some time now, his tracts indicating for at least half the climb that he wasn’t able to walk in a straight line- he must have been so weak.

At the realisation Zack cursed and forced another sprint onwards, Hold on Cloud, I’m coming!

Zack’s heart beat painfully fast with fear, with exertion, but he didn’t stop for himself. Cloud was in danger! All the signs were there, in his letters, his behaviour, his decline in energy and vivid dreams. Zack mentally roared at himself again for missing them; he was a Demon Hunter, trained in the art of hunting demons, reading the signs, slaying the beasts- and yet his best friend had slipped into a demon’s sinister courtship right under his nose!

How had Cloud been so exceptional to his studies? Zack’s training outlined the stages, the symptoms and the questions to ask, but Cloud … Zack knew Cloud … and that threw off everything.

I just thought he was lonely, that he was making a new friend, that he was randomly sick- and those dreams could have been fever dreams- damnit, damnit, damnit, Gods forgive me I didn’t see- I’ll get you back, Cloud. I’m coming, I’ll kill that demon and take you home, I promise!

Zack hit branches out of his way, taking to scale the cliffside in sheer panic as the weeks of evidence flooded through his brain- just how close was Cloud to being completely lost? How had this demon hidden himself so well? Why didn’t anyone else sense something wrong? Why did it take Zack’s unexpected return home to a frantic village to finally clue him into what Cloud had basically spelled out in his letters over weeks.

Now Cloud was missing, and it was all his fault for not seeing it sooner!

The tracks led up the mountain, and there was only one place up there that the demon could have used as a safe haven from detection: The Shinra Manor, an abandoned noble’s home from decades ago. In dire disrepair now, dangerous to enter, but Demon’s didn’t need earthly comforts. They needed souls, life forces of others to suck out of their prey like parasites-

It wasn’t good. Not matter which way Zack looked at it: Cloud had been under the demon’s influence for weeks, the cheerful blond was weak with the drain on his will, and now he was alone with the demon far from any who could help him. His soul now an easy picking.

Zack sobbed; that couldn’t happen to Cloud, it just couldn’t- he wouldn’t allow it! He was here now, he’d bring him back! Gods, please don’t let it be too late.

But as Zack fought his way through not only the wilderness, but through his desperation as well, in the lowest part of the manor Cloud was stretched out in a bed. His vision was constantly going in and out of focus in exhaustion and disorientation.

His stomach twisted in a nauseating manner and he moaned as he clutched his head.  The world around him spun and twisted, he could vaguely make out the soft glow from lit candles. How he wished he could feel their warmth more …

So cold ... I'm so alone …, Because he was the joke of the village, the sickly child everyone made fun off. The strange young man that wasn't strong enough to join the elite demon hunters, no matter how hard he tried ... So unlike Zack.

Zack, his only friend, the only one that believed in him. Cloud wished he could have Zack’s advice right now. But Zack has been away for a long time now ... Maybe he got tired of him too?

His chest ached and a tear slipped from half lidded eyes. There was only one other person that he could trust.

"P-please help ... Le- … on ... Leon, where are you?" he moaned in his torment.

In response soft shushing came from above him. "I'm here, my sweet. Just rest," a gentle hand brushed across pale skin to collect the pearly tears. The skin, the fingertips, were chilling.

Cloud could barely see, Leon …

"You're safe, I'm here. You did so well, Cloud, you came so far. I'm proud of you."

Cloud whimpered, his world stopped spinning as fast and those words drew him in. Proud of me ... I made it ... I ... where? …

Those cold hands caught his shaking and worrying wrists and eased them down by Cloud's sides, something soft wrapping around his body. The softest thing Cloud had ever felt. He let his hands brush over it, warmth returning to his limbs, Leon ... always taking  care of me …

"Le ... on ..."

"Be still." The voice sounded a little further away, floating ... "Soon you'll never have to worry about a thing ever again." In the darkness a tongue emerged to lick at the saline tears gathered on cool fingers, tasting and savouring. The voice returned, almost purring as Cloud's eyes drooped as the blond approached a deeper stage of rest: "I promise."

Back upstairs Zack was frantically searching every room. He followed the traces of the evil presence into the deepest parts of the abandoned place. The energy just got darker and heavier the further down he went, if not for his training as a hunter Zack too would have been zapped of his strength.

This demon … it’s presence alone feels so strong! Oh please Cloud, please hang in there. Be strong, my friend.

The dark energy was so near overwhelming that his hope of finding his sweet, innocent friend unharmed wavered. But that only made his desperation and anger grow until he reached the lowest part of this dreaded building.

Zack tracked the energy down to a basement and into a sinister looking room. Inside,  lying almost lifelessly atop the bed was Cloud, tucked into some blankets but his eyes were mid opened. Relief quickly turned into worry and Zack ran towards the bed.

"Cloud?!" he called desperately while cupping pale cold cheeks "Gods you're freezing!" he tapped one cheek to see if Cloud would respond.

But all the blond did was moan as his weak gaze never left the ceiling. Zack made a movement to pick up Cloud but something breathed into his neck and caused chills up his spine. He turned in alarm and ready to attack.

Zack drew his sword on an empty room. Dust swirled in the space where something had once stood, something that had been practically pressed against his back! Metal shimmered as a brave hand trembled. Zack glanced around, knowing he'd felt someone there …

Where is it? What's it waiting for?

Several more seconds of silence later and nothing moved. Zack trembled, something building like nausea in his stomach. This was more than he expected, they had to leave before it got bored of playing with them; "Come on, Cloud, we’ve got to get out of here-"

"Hehehe."

Zack's eyes barely had time to widen in the face of something perched on the bed, poised over Cloud, and right up against Zack's nose. Zack's heart stopped and he screamed!

An unnatural cold flooded his system and sent him flying backwards an instant later and crashing through layers of debris, rubble and rotten wood beams.

A pair of glowing red eyes and a shadow watched with an amused and sinister smile. "Shh, my Sweet is resting ..."

The impact had been stronger than any other Zack has ever felt, his back tingled with pain and he was left a bit out of breath. For a moment his brain only focused on regaining his breath before his eyes could slowly register the figure in front.

Zack heard Cloud moan agonizingly and that made him frown and fight against the pain. He growled and pointed his sword at the evil entity.

"Re-release him!" the young Hunter snarled as he tried to get up.

"Still alive!" the figure came closer, the deep voice indicating surprise. It ghosted off the bed in a formless presence. The dust parting ways to indicate it’s space, as it’s physical form was too shadowy to see.

The Demon hovered just before Zack, breathing down his neck. "I don't recognise you. You aren't one of the village fools turning a blind eye to my Sweet Cloud's pain."

Zack gasped as his sword flung from his hand and embedded itself in the ceiling, "No!"

"I don't allow weapons in my house." The dust cleared, rushing away to form an empty space of pure shadow before Zack's eyes, right before him ... the air chilled and brought mist to his breath, he could feel it exhaling right over the crown of his head!

"You aren't like the others. You care." The deep voice sounded less than pleased, "Are you here for him, Hunter? Or are you here for me ..." the shadow formed a hand, a human-like appendage flickering into being and a pair of glowing red eyes peering down, "Zack Fair?"

"How do you know my name?!" Zack snarled again, his body on high alert, poised to strike with his magic; silently assessing the situation and how could he act. This demon felt particularly powerful and Cloud's life was at risk. He couldn't act rashly.

"Stay down, Hunter. You might leave with your life, you've been very helpful to me," a soft chuckle in the darkness and long brown hair abruptly swished softly down at the call of gravity around a shadowy face and shoulders. Glowing red eyes narrowing in a smile. "Or, your absence has been helpful."

Zack was having a hard time reading this dark creature, he seemed much more cunning and smarter than any regular demon he has confronted by far. He wasn't sure what tactic he could use: taunt? attack? try to grab Cloud and make an escape?

The creature’s presence was overwhelming Zack's usually composed and swift senses, the energy was just so imposing that the Hunter was even feeling dizzy from it all.

"What are you talking about demon, just what manner of trickery you have used on Cloud?" Zack was trying to see if he could distract the demon into talking and get his defences down even if a little; just so he could reach Cloud and make a break for it. For the first time in his time as a Hunter, Zack was feeling like he couldn't take down this beast by himself.

Zack flinched when a deathly chilled hand ran through his hair, feathering through it in a way that had his thoughts scattering!

"I did very little, Hunter. Cloud; poor, lonely, sick, mortal ... so desperate for companionship when his only friend left him for the 'greater good' … I barely had to whisper in his mind to send him down the path to my arms. Cloud's loneliness and anguish was so sweet it drew me to him from leagues away … and he to me when I offered him his heart’s desire ..."

Sharper than normal teeth glinted in the shadows, lips and the beginnings of a face starting to form. The hand ran through Zack's locks again and tilted up his chin. "And he is so sweet to me, so honest, I would have gladly paid him more for his soul ..." eyes narrowed in a smile, "But his desires are so plain. Simple. A cheap exchange, more than a bargain. Easily fulfilled in everyday life ... it would have been so easy to have made him happy ... and you didn't. Your village didn’t."

The cold hand yanked Zack’s head back by his hair and forced him to stare up into taunting red eyes. "You and your village practically gave him to me, Zack Fair."

The demon's touch chilled Zack to the bone, every single hair standing to end. He greeted his teeth and tried to fight out of the strong grip.

"What are you talking about? You have tricked Cloud into all of this!" Zack didn't believe a word Leon was saying. It was true that Cloud always had trouble fitting in, but Zack was convinced that he had been a good friend to Cloud and make him as happy as he could … Cloud and him were very close ...

To assent to Zack's previous statement, Cloud moaned again in the background.

"Leon ..." Cloud agonized, "Leon … come … back … need you ..." Angry at the trickery Zack yanked the demon's hand out of his head, even if it ripped some strands of his hair.

"You monster. Give. Him. BACK!" Pissed, Zack hissed while casting some holy magic at his enemy, losing any form of control he had …

But he was in for an unpleasant surprise.

There was a bright flash and the sound of rushing air like that found within the fiercest of storms- and the Demon was so close Zack had the perfect target! The house above them trembled, the rubble shifted; Zack had a moment of panic hoping he hadn't unintentionally caused a cave in-

But that was nothing compared to the sight that greeted him once his eyes had recovered from the blinding light ...

"H-how?"

Cloud shifted on the bed on the other side of the long room. "Leon?" he called out again, appearing to attempt to get up, his hands sleepily fighting the blanket. "Leon?"

"I'm here, my Sweet."

Cloud sighed, placated for now, letting himself flop back, though his head moved with those half seeing eyes to seek out the voice. "Where …?"

"Just a moment, Cloud." Red eyes glowed and an almost human body leered down at Zack where he was shaking. Before Zack's eyes the final touches of the illusions of flesh crept out of the shadowy body. A whole, untouched, shadowy body. The sharp teeth looked human now too as it grinned. "I just have a little something to take care of."

Zack opened his eyes wide. He had just thrown a powerful spell and this... thing had taken it like it was nothing. Not so much as a flinch! And although he had confronted tough enemies before this being was just ... just instilling nothing but fear and panic upon the young hunter. So much, that the only movement was that of his frantically beating heart.

The demon yanked Zack up by his throat and threw him!

Zack yelled at the impact and his chest collapsed; making him cough for air.

"I can't have you interrupting. Nor can I have you running for help ..." the demon's feet materialised, bare and hardly indenting the dust layer on the floor. "But I do. Hate. rushing these things ... my Sweet deserved so much better ..."

He pressed Zack's body back with an invisible force. Then growled bitterly, his words chilling; "No other choice then. Tonight he'll be mine. Impediendum."

Zack felt a new wave of panic as he recognized that the creature just cast a spell on him. Zack’s body jerked right before it went completely stiff. He tried to shout in anger, to say something, thrash, anything! But all he could do was move his eyes.

The demon chuckled deeply and Zack begged his body to do something! Yet it was in vain, he had been paralyzed by the evil creature. He panted with the overwhelming anger he couldn't let out and he glared very darkly at the trickster.

The demon's form finally completed itself. A sculpted body of muscles, clothed only in breeches and a fancy partially open robe hanging from his shoulders, long brown hair, eyes that flicked between silvery-metallic and red. But that scar between his eyes ... something about the old mark told Zack that it wasn't a design choice, it looked too wrong on a creature striving for perfection.

Someone hurt it in the past- it's not invincible! A surge of hope flashed through him as he fought to move.

The demon gave Zack a final glance over then turned away. Clearly he did not expect the Hunter to break free anytime soon.

His attention turned to Cloud. "Are you comfortable Cloud? Does the fire's warmth reach you from there?" He perched on the bed, talking about things that weren't there …

Does Cloud think he's in the actual Manor? Zack wondered. He seethed in silent anger when the creature rested a hand against Cloud's cheek in a gentle caress. Get your hands off of him!

Zack grunted and huffed angrily as he tried to say something or move, which of course, didn't work at all. The demon smirked as he heard Zack's hopeless struggle though without deviating his attention from the blond young man.

"Leon ... please don't leave ..." Cloud implored as he reached up with a weak hand.

That only made Zack try to fight even harder against the paralyzing spell willing for it to -somehow- break. If only he had been quicker to strike the creature down, if only he hadn’t been so intimidated and let the evil being knock his sword of his hand.

Not it can be of any help now … He looked up at his sword that was still stuck on the ceiling with wistful eyes. Cloud what has this thing done to you? How did you fall for his tricks?

Leon smirked at Zack out of the corner of his eye, taking a moment to rub in his helplessness. Then the demon caught Cloud's reaching hand and kissed it, on the inner wrist and sighing against his skin, face serene yet slightly concerned; "I'm here. I won't leave, my Sweet."

He put his free hand out, reaching for something that he created out of pure shadow. A cup of silver and it filled itself with a substance like water, crystalline and luminos in the moonlight. The Demon helped to lift Cloud’s head and supported him against his chest, "Here, drink. You'll need to keep up your strength."

Cloud looked so very tired, and cold, weak with his sickness or some demonic influence. He did not protest when the demon guided the cup to his lips.

A second before the so called 'Leon' gave Cloud the cup, Zack did notice that the demonic 'man' slipped some of his blood into the drink. Zack knew what that meant and his eyes widened and more desperate pants came out, screaming in his mind hoping that by whatever miracle his friend would hear the plea.

No!! No, Cloud! Please don---- But just like that his thoughts were cut off when he saw the blond drink greedily from the cup pausing not even once. Any hope of breaking Cloud out of the spell became more hopeless as he had drank from the Demon's blood.

Leon smiled, relieved. He brushed Cloud's hair from his eyes, his hand gentle as he pushed Cloud’s bangs away from his eyes. The Demon set the cup down, dragging it from Cloud's grip as he seemed eager for more, moaning in protest to the delicious drink being taken from him.

Leon laughing good naturedly. The cup vanished the same way it appeared, "Good ... are you feeling better?"

Cloud licked his lips and nodded softly and he snuggled more into the broad chest. "Thank you. You always make me feel better ..." Cloud sounded grateful but a little dispirited.

No! He's tricking you Cloud! Oh gods damn my incompetence!! Why can't I break this hellish spell!!! Zack was about to burst from anger, his muscles straining as he kept trying to make them respond, desperate to save Cloud.

The demon smirked again, glancing Zack's way, taunting him. Then he wrapped his arms around the smaller blond and pressed his lips into his hair, "Don't wear that face, Cloud, you're free now. No one will make you feel worthless ever again, so long as you're by my side ... I meant what I said." He wasn't supporting Cloud anymore, the blond appeared stronger.

Also, as well as making Cloud stronger, the demon was still barely straining to restrain Zack. There was no effort being made in either case, it scared Zack.

The demon pulled back and brushed another strand of hair from Cloud's eyes and said in a seductive tone, "So long as you're mine I'll do everything in my power to make you feel accepted, wanted ..." his hand ran a little lower on Cloud's neck, fingertips stroking a purposeful line down his throat to his collarbone, and then those pale fingers slipped a button of Cloud’s shirt free. "Loved."

Shudders went up Cloud's spine, the touch so gentle and the voice thick and sweet as honey. It had Cloud arching his back so he could feel Leon's hand closer ... Yes, Cloud wanted to be loved, how much did he crave to give in to  all of the desires he bottled up within for fear of what people would say. Or  worse, what they would do …

Loving or desiring another man was sinful. Cloud could imagine the angry shouts of villagers echoing loudly in his head.

Cloud gasped and recoiled berating himself as he pulled back, curling into a vulnerable ball by the bed's headboard, muttering under his breath, "I can't … I shouldn't … If they know they'll hate me more ...They’ll kill me if they find out!"

On the floor, Zack couldn't hear exactly what Cloud said, but he did note the shake in the poor young man's voice and the helpless look on his face…

His desire to help Cloud just got stronger.

Leon blinked, appearing surprised at the recoil, "My sweet?"

He touched Cloud's foot, the closest thing to him, his expression inviting, "Be calm, Cloud, no one is here to hate you. I won’t hurt you. You can be yourself, if you desire it … I’ll never leave you alone."

Leon turned to Zack directly and chuckled darkly, Cloud's contemplative and shy face not reacting to the dark tone of voice. It was as if the demon were speaking just for Zack, "You have no idea how much you terrify Cloud in some dreams, Zack Fair. I haven't touched his nightmares," he added. Drawing Zack's attention to where his influence lay and Cloud's turmoil soul began.

Zack wasn't sure what the evil creature was on about. His eyes kept darting between the demon and the distraught young man. He glared as Leon so teasingly comforted the blond.

Cloud curled a little more into himself but didn't shy from Leon's touch, but what Cloud said next confused Zack even more. "... I'm sorry Leon ... I-I want to, I really do but …" he looked down shamefully

Leon looked like the saint of understanding. He inched a little closer and his hand on Cloud's foot curled up his leg and rubbed soothingly across his bent knee, slithering up his body like a snake.

"You're scared, because of him? The only one who cared?" Red eyes flashed for a moment, glaring at the paralyzed hunter out of the corner of his eye. "Zack Fair. You're afraid to lose him, you’ll afraid he’ll find out," he murmured, that hand now cupping Cloud's pale face and brushing the blond hair back from his eyes- the demon's eyes now clear grey again.

"Ye-yes" Cloud's voice had been such a weak whisper laced with fear clear as day,  looking directly into Leon's eyes with vulnerability. Zack could see it too even from his position on the floor.

Cloud you're... Afraid of me? no, this had to be part of the demon’s spell. It was a creature of trickery.

Leon brought Cloud's face a little closer, drawing him in closer to his body with a gentle finger under Cloud’s jaw. Cloud was obeying and relaxing more with every inch he was coaxed closer. "My Sweet, you don't have to fear anything here ... not with me." He leaned in and tilted his head, ready for a kiss, waiting for Cloud to close the distance.

"It's just me here. And I say; be yourself, don't deny this desire," he seductively murmured, eyes half lidded.

Zack frowned, What? What's going on? Why's this demon taken the shape of a man? His training had taught him that demons could take on any shape they desired, man or women or even animal, for any purpose.

Why would this demon seduce Cloud with such a shape? Zack thought that to seduce Cloud it would have chosen to look like a woman. But that was until he saw Cloud slowly lean in towards Leon's lips. Zack widened his eyes not believing when Cloud, after a little hesitation, finally closed the distance and pressed his lips to the creature's. But it was just a peck and left them pressed there without any movement.

What the hell is going on? You evil creature, what have you done to Cloud?!

The Demon's lips pressed back ... then curled into a lazy smile. "Is that all you want?" he asked softly, tilting his head to admire the desire, the exhilaration and the shyness on Cloud's face.

His hands linked around Cloud's waist and his muscled arms pulled him closer, a motion that Cloud allowed.

Leon nuzzled against Cloud’s cheek, giving it a kiss. "You can do whatever you want here, I won't object to your desires ... and there's no village do-gooders to almost walk in on us this time," he chuckled, sounding a little playful though mostly comforting still.

In response, though still shivering with both desire and nervousness, Cloud moved his lips shyly wrapping his arms around Leon's neck and pressing his body closer. Much to Zack's shock.

The hunter's eyes went even wider as the scene in front of him began to unfold, his logic putting two and two together as he saw how his friend gave into the image of a man.

Cloud, innocent, young Cloud was surrendering to such sinful acts. And what's worse, Leon had just implied that this was not the first time Cloud did so ...

No … No this can't be happening … Cloud ... just what have you done? Gods, I still can't move! Cloud please stop, it's not too late!

"Or is it?" the demon purred, red eyes looking at Zack and Cloud's not-so-innocent lips started a curious, indulgent trail down the Demon's neck. Soft gasps leaving Cloud's lips whenever the demon's hands flexed against his waist, showing him what felt good.

Cloud was oblivious to the fact that the demon was talking again, Zack mentally screamed- the monster was practically saying it in Cloud's ear but his dark words never reached Cloud. They were for Zack only.

The demon smirked, "You are so convinced that his behaviour is all my doing, it's flattering how much credit you give me," his slight purr at the end made Zack's blood boil- he was doing no such thing! The demon continued, his hands now in Cloud's hair and stroking the soft spikes indulgently, "What you deny so much is who Cloud really is, this is Cloud's true self- see how happy he is?" he turned Cloud's head a little to smile at him, giving Zack full view of his expressions.

Zack screamed, outright screamed in hot rage inside his mind, a growl worthy of an enraged beast.

You lie! You unholy creature!! I swear I'm gonna kill you!! Zack even though he was still paralyzed was turning completely red with rage. His anger was so much that he even got to the point of breathing heavily.

But it got worse for Zack when Cloud actually slipped a hand under the demon's robes, with shyness he approached and pressed a kiss to the demon's chest and gave it an equally as shy lick.

Zack has never felt so helpless in his life... nor has ever felt so confused and unsure what to believe. Sure, there has always been something different about Cloud... but this? The hunter had a mix of anger and sadness that were tormenting him as he couldn't let them out in his useless state.

Brunette hair caught the light as the demon's hair fell back and it flowed further down his back, "So bold of you, My Sweet," he sighed. He slipped a hand of his own to the top of Cloud's shirt where his buttons were, and with a snap of his fingers his shirt was open leaving Cloud's pale chest exposed.

The demon's magic went undetected by Cloud, only when Leon's fingers touched his collarbone did Cloud realise his state of partial undress. He gasped and blushed. Leon smiled, staring into Cloud's eyes, "Is this alright? Say what you want, My Sweet," their lips brushed together when the demon murmured the nickname- to Zack it sounded possessive, but each soft purr of the name made Cloud's cheeks light up pink, his lips would turn up at the corners.

"I-I..." Cloud bit back his lower lip as his eyes trailed Leon's mostly clothed body with a look of guilt on it. It was clear that he wanted to touch the 'man' but was too shy to do so. Leon's touch had sent pleasurable shudders up his spine but he was still unsure of what he was doing and if should continue …

"C-can I... get more kisses? ... I like how you kiss ..."

The demon smirked and leaned in to place a kiss on Cloud's exposed neck while lowering his shirt from one side to taste porcelain skin.

And Zack wailed as he watched it all still having a hard time with what he has just discovered from the friend he thought he knew so well..

The Demon nibbled on Cloud's neck, "Kisses I'll give to you freely, but I like it when you're honest. Ask of me, and I'll give you the world." It’s teeth glinted, sharper than any normal human's even in their disguise and the nips the demon gave had Cloud gasping in pain as well as pleasure.

"Ouch!"

The demon realised this and pulled back with a soft, reassuring laugh when Cloud's hand rose up to nurse one stinging spot where the inhuman fangs had been, "Forgive me, my Sweet, I got carried away," the creature lied. It licked it's lips and savoured the brief taste of Cloud's flesh.

Cloud shuddered despite the small sting and it left him blushing, “Tha-that … felt good, very good …”

Leon’s face lit up with pleasant surprise! “You liked it? My Sweet ...” Leon’s face was soft with fond adoration, he cupped Cloud's face and leaned in for a deep kiss; meeting Cloud half-way and then slowly lowering him onto the bed, keeping his body on top of him.

"Hmm," the burnet barely moved his mouth from Cloud's to speak, letting the blond pant for his breath.

Leon noticed how short of breath Cloud was and expressed concern: "You are still weak from the journey," slightly cold hands petted Cloud's hair ever so gently. Exhibiting something like worry. Thumb and fingers rubbing together to savour the texture as he combed through the blond locks, "Lay like this, My Sweet, you must conserve your energy. Say you'll let me, care for you," he kissed Cloud's throat, his hands caressing down Cloud's sides towards his belt ...

Cloud shuddered again and gasped feeling as all his hairs stood to end, his body relaxing so much it almost went limp.

“I-I’m fine, really,” he let out a small moan as he felt Leon’s lips on his neck, “Thanks to you …”

Cloud's hands went up to tangle into the long brown mane wishing with every fiber of his being to give in, in no way alarmed as the demon’s sly hands undid his belt; slowly proceeding to rub Cloud’s thighs and hips.

When the small burst of pleasure subsided Cloud looked into Leon's eyes and with one hand he mimicked Leon's hand movements.

Zack wished he could look away as the demon pushed Cloud's shirt entirely off with one hand and kissed his lips while gently pulling down Cloud's pants just enough to taunt Zack.

Stop it! Leave him alone!

But the demon chuckled, "But he's willing, Hunter. He'll be mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it." Those cool hands pulled the belt off and the pants Cloud wore slipped off with the snap of a the demon's fingers, the demon distracting him from noticing that trickery with a caress to his cheek and a whisper of: "Yes. Of course, My Sweet ... only mine."

Zack's torment was only just beginning as the demon started to have his way with the spellbound young man; As Cloud shuddered and gave in more into Leon's touch. It took a little for Cloud to react to his partial nudity, gasping and looking down at himself blushing, then back at the demon.

Zack wanted to look away, he prayed to the gods for any sort of miracle to happen, while at the same time cursing that he couldn't do anything for whatever the demon had in store next for both him and Cloud.

Zack felt heat rise over his cheeks when he heard Cloud moan, the demon kissing down his bare chest and his hands running up and down Cloud’s naked legs. Zack looked out of the corner of his eye but a painful sensation in his skull, like a strain, had him looking forwards again. He was convinced it was the demon's doing.

He never thought he'd be forced to watch ... this. Seeing Cloud naked and with another man. Bare as the day he was born, his body covered in the greying scabs of his lifelong sickness ‘stigma, pale from years indoors, and without labour to make him strong. And more ... intimate ... parts …

Zack wished he wasn't watching this. He felt like he was burning with mortification when the demon moved enough to display Cloud's everything to his frozen gaze. I don't want to see this, I don't want to- It's not my fault, Cloud, I'm sorry!

He could only imagine how mortified Cloud would feel when he broke from the Demon's spell and saw that he was there, looking at Cloud in his most vulnerable state …

The Demon licked his lips and kissed down one of Cloud's thighs, "How long have you wanted this Cloud?" he sucked a dark mark into Cloud's hipbone, the pale skin bruising easily.

Cloud shuddered more, he arched his back a little giving in more into Leon's touch, "Always," he moaned and then repeated a little louder, "I've wanted this for a long time..." Cloud paused a little as he now looked at Leon reaching to tenderly touch his face, "and I've wanted you ever since we met."

Part of Zack was still adamant that the Demon was the one speaking for Cloud using trickery, hearing the words from Cloud's lips just set off pure anger in Zack. He turned even more red as his eyes darted to the sword stuck on the ceiling, willing it and screaming for it to come down so he could chop the damn creature's head off. There was just no way that Cloud could really mean what he said.

Leon traced Cloud's face with a hand, cupping it and brushing a cool fingertip over Cloud's plump bottom lip. "Was it hard to deny yourself, to have others deny you all these years, and shut you down?" the Demon asked, as the other hand reached between Cloud's legs and the blond jumping as the demon's tan skin touched just inches away from his ass.

It glanced Zack's way, curious, "You amuse me. Cloud speaks freely and you still reject him, how long can your denial last? How much longer will you continue to hurt his lonely soul?" he turned and kissed down Cloud's stomach in Zack's full view, eyes peacefully closed. Not straining at all, not losing focus, even having the attention span to indulge while he held two mortals captive.

I am not hurting anything!! You're doing this to him foul beast!  Zack's muscles strained as he tried with all his might to break free from the spell. Every stroke Leon gave to Cloud's skin was like a punch to the stomach for Zack; a mockery of his failure to protect the friend he held so dear. But despite his grievances what Cloud said next made Zack's position waver.

"Leon ... I was so scared someone would find out. My neighbors … my friends … and even … my own family, they all said people like me were sinners and that we should burn ..." Cloud shivered as his skin turned more pale than it already was and he looked to the side, right where Zack was. And there the hunter could see all the hurt and all the fear he has failed to see.

Zack's heart sank as Cloud kept speaking.

"I've always tried so hard to be good, to be strong, to be normal but I've had to hide away ... And even when Zack's my closest friend ... I've felt so alone because no one can understand ..."

There was a tense silence charged with such heavy emotions that Zack began to question if indeed what Cloud was saying wasn't part of Leon's trick.

Zack's defences began to melt, guilt taking its place. If all of this was really true, Cloud ... no ... afraid of me? But ... this is ... I ...

The Demon nodded in Zack's direction, "Now you understand." Brown hair swished over his shoulder as he tilted his head.

Leon then turned to Cloud and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over one eye gently to soothe away tears, "Forgive me, my Sweet, I shouldn't have mentioned that in a moment as intimate as this ..." he kissed Cloud’s cheek with a sorrowful look.

Cloud lowered his head in response, it really hurt to be reminded of those awful things. But he couldn't -didn't- hold it against Leon. He could never.

"No ... it's not your fault. You've helped me and made me feel so free, accepted me for who I am," he looked at Leon again and though he was blushing and his voice sounded shy he responded with clear honesty, "I'm....very glad I meet you..."

Leon's face softened into a genuine smile, peaceful and calm, an expression of happiness. "I'm glad I found you too," their hands linked together on Cloud's stomach. The Demon kissed Cloud's hand, then crawled up Cloud's body and kissed him on his mouth, lips moving softly and mouths opening to each other with little hesitation. Gentle noises of pleasure and sighs of satisfaction sounded from the both of them.

After breaking the kiss, Leon smiled when he looked down at a breathless Cloud. Leon licked his lips and whispered into Cloud's ear, "I will drive those sad thoughts from your mind, Cloud, and I know just what will do that for you," he smirked, Cloud shivering under his seductive burr.

Before Zack or Cloud could brace themselves for what was about to happen, the Demon's mouth was suddenly very busy between Cloud's thighs, lips wrapping around Cloud's hard flesh.

The only reaction that was allowed for Zack was the widening of his eyes and even that caused him some strain. But it wasn't worse than the scene he was seeing.

Cloud gasped sharp and loud enough for Zack to hear. The blond’s moan made Zack cringe. Cloud, his best friend, the one he always wanted to protect was going to submit to this evil creature.

It felt very wrong to see how Cloud absently and subtly rolled his hips, eager to feel more of the unholy mouth around him. It went against everything he knew…

Stop! Stop it! Get your filthy mouth off of him!! How dare you!

A dark shadow leaned out of the bed, red eyes looking towards Zack while the human body continued to pleasure Cloud, despite Zack's useless struggles and mental screams. "He's mine, Hunter. Time you accepted that." The eyes seemed to smirk before the shadowy apparition melted back into the human shape. It resumed its full attention to Cloud, running a long tongue across his skin and making the blond cry out with noises sounding increasingly pleased, aroused ...

Yet Zack was stubbornly denying it all, trying to block off the moans of the demon's name coming from the blond's lips. But that denial was quickly falling as Cloud tangled his hand in the brunet hair and threw his head back in what looked like a bout of ecstasy. And the Hunter found himself not knowing what to say or what to feel.

"Mmn ... Le-leon ... Make me yours, please. I want you ... " Cloud all but moaned as he rolled his hips some more, spreading his legs further for the creature.

Leon pulled his head off of Cloud's erect flesh and smiled at the soft whines and protests Cloud gave at once. "My Sweet Cloud," a pale hand cupped Cloud's chin and the thumb brushed over Cloud's lips, "I shall spoil you dearly," the Demon promised before kissing him deeply.

Cloud's arms rose to hold Leon back, twisting into the brunet hair and holding as tight as he could. Grey patches of Geostigma scars were visible on display, but Leon's hands just glossed right over them as if they weren't there.

Whilst still kissing, the Demon's hand moved between their bodies to slip between Cloud's legs once again, though this time a long finger pressed against his taint in small warning before pressing inside of Cloud. The Demon snapped its fingers while Cloud flinched in surprise, and a small jug of oil appeared as if by magic- a magic Cloud couldn't see. After soaking his fingers they were once again prying Cloud's body open.

Cloud's breath hitched in surprise and he writhed at the unfamiliar feeling. It was a bit uncomfortable but Leon was being sweet and gentle, softly coaxing Cloud to enjoy the sensation. The young rolled back his lips to hold back a lecherous sound as he looked at Leon while blushing madly.

"U-uumm Leon wh-why are your finger-ah---," He cut himself off with a moan when Leon's fingers moved, he had no idea what Leon was up to but he was starting to enjoy it.

Leon smiled a little sadly, "I hate your society sometimes, my Sweet, because of them you don't even know how to be with your lovers." The Demon kissed Cloud's thigh, "If you don't like it, tell me to stop. But this is how men have sex with each other, and if you want to continue I must stretch you like this, for something ..." he smirked, teasing. A little laugh on his lips before he finished his sentence with a wink; "a little bigger."

Cloud's eyes widened as the red from his cheeks spread to the rest of his face and ears, then he looked down knowing what Leon was referring to.

Cloud was going to respond but all he could do was moan as those fingers resumed their movement. He wondered if having Leon inside of him would feel just as good.

"Your blush is one of my favourite things about you," Leon murmured, smiling in approval as Cloud's hips began to roll against his hand again. Cloud's own hands were fisting the sheets and his moans starting to gain frequency and volume as his desire and sensations of pleasure began to overtake his inhibitions.

Zack on the other hand wasn't smiling. Tears fell from his eyes and he pushed all his willpower into turning his eyeballs to one side so he wouldn't have to watch his friend like this.

It felt invasive and perverse- Cloud doesn't know where he is, who he's with, what he's with, or even the fact that he's not alone. Damn you Demon! How could you trick him like this? He'd never want this if he knew ... he's always been so good, so normal …

Leon snorted. But the Demon's expression soon returned to the gentle seductive voice that had Cloud melting; "Enjoying that, My Sweet?” Cloud moaned in response. Leon chuckled and kissed Cloud’s neck, “I don't think I can hold myself back, you're so lovely like this ... will you be mine? Mind, body, and soul," he smirked in Zack's direction as the Hunter inhaled in pure panic!

Nooo!!! CLOUD Please, no! Cloud doesn't deserve any of this!! Stop! Take my soul instead but just leave him alone!!! Please!!! Zack was overwhelmed with sadness, anger and so much hate that tears fell down his face.

The Demon threw his head back with a chilling laugh, it didn't even attempt to sound human. Cloud didn't react, shielded from this side of the creature in a sweet illusion, he just rolled his hips and moaned.

The Demon huffed and snickered with a face that wasn't right, the smile too wide, the eyes glowing red, the teeth too narrow, the skin too shadowy; "You fool, have you forgotten what you are? Hunter's souls void all contracts; you've already sold yourself to the gods; you can offer me nothing."

Leon removed his fingers from Cloud’s entrance, and cupped Cloud's hands in his, his face returning to handsome like a ripple over water, "Please, my Sweet, say you'll be mine; mind, body, and soul; and I will never let you feel that cold loneliness ever again," he kissed his knuckles as he climbed over Cloud, one hand positioning Cloud’s hips to hold him ready for the final act.

And Zack couldn't despair more when the much dreaded reply came from Cloud's own mouth. "Yes Leon," Cloud gasped as Leon slowly, teasingly began to spread Cloud’s legs, "I want to be yours ... forever ...", and Cloud cupped Leon's head to bring him down for a kiss.

Zack screamed in horror as he realized it was now too late to go back. Cloud has just blindly given himself over to the creature; Zack couldn't feel more like a failure in that moment: he had first failed to help his friend when he was in need, he has failed to save Cloud from the Demon, but above all else, Zack felt guilty for all that is taking place; that

Cloud will be consumed and all he would be able to do was to watch silently ...

With a disguise of sweet kisses down his throat, Leon sank his teeth into Cloud's neck as his body covered Cloud's and their hips moved together in an unmistakable way; Cloud's gasps and moans confirmed what the blankets and limbs blocked from view. The Demon's hands angling Cloud's hips to thrust slowly into Cloud's body and bind them together in a physical way as he marked Cloud with his teeth.

But the bite was deep! Skin pierced with teeth sharper than a human's, Cloud was sure to be bleeding now. The contract was now sealed. The Demon purred as he let Cloud go, the blond whimpering from the rough treatment and softly moaning at the new sensations as Leon rolled his hips against him, and moved inside. But also the strange sensation of a chill … he shivered, barely giving it any notice while Leon kept thrusting into him.

Cloud touched his neck, "Ow... why-why did you do tha---?" Cloud gasped as he felt Leon roll his hips again and he clenched the bed sheets, looking breathless at the smirking man above him.

Leon smirked and kept rolling and thrusting his hips lazily, "My Sweet, I'm the possessive type," he said not quite reassuringly, but Cloud seemed to understand it a little; he gave a short laugh.

"When you said you were ready to be mine I couldn't hold myself back," he confessed. The Demon licked his lips and tasting Cloud’s blood one last time, before biting his lower lip and making his own well up in the wound. Cloud had already consumed the Demon’s blood earlier, but it never hurt to be careful. Leon liked to do things properly. "Mine, Mea Anima," the Demon spoke, kissing Cloud over his gasping mouth and tricking him into swallowing a mouthful of blood in return.

A shudder when through the Hunter's body as, impossibly, he felt the demon's power grow.

No ... Cloud, gods no ...

But Cloud was obviously enjoying himself. Past the initial pain and uncomfortableness Cloud found himself immersed in pleasure as Leon moved into him. Any trace of guilt or feeling dirty for his actions were melted away with each thrust. Cloud at first had tried biting back his lips to restrain any sort of euphoric noise, but the Demon was slick with his moves; urging Cloud to lose his self-restraint and voice out his pleasure. The young man could hardly believe that he was finally allowing himself to be open of his feelings, of what he wanted.

And there was that peculiar but rich taste on Leon’s lips, it tasted just like that drink Leon gave him earlier … It tasted so good. Cloud wanted more, with his eyes closed he softly licked the other’s lips and with the hand he had in Leon’s he pulled him closer. He nibbled and tugged, savoring as much as he could.

“Mmn … what is that?” Cloud asked in a soft hum.  

“Hmm, what’s what?” Leon purred, while pulling away, his lip was completely healed.

Once again Cloud protested with a whimper when the delicious taste was taken away from him. Leon chuckled again, but took Cloud’s mind off of it once more with a slightly more aggressive thrust of his hips!

He kissed along Cloud's collarbone, licking with his tongue and rubbing along all Cloud's sensitive spots with pale hands … Cloud was melting under his hands, it was a beautiful sight to see. For Leon.

Cloud moaned loudly and craned his neck to grant Leon better access to his porcelain skin. It felt so good to be loved and there was nothing more he wanted to give in completely to this man. Cloud couldn't help the loud cry when Leon brushed against his prostate and his nails dig into Leon’s back and his toes curled into the sheets. A little overwhelmed he looked at Leon with wide eyes both amazed but darkened with lust.

And he responded to Leon's 'possessiveness' by biting down on the brunet's neck as well. Albeit, Cloud’s bite was a bit more soft and almost shy.

Leon's eyes widened in surprise at the bite, and the demon's hold on Cloud tightened a little. It was genuine response.

Leon's lips curled up into a fond smile, "Nice possessiveness. That’s something we seem to have in common," he chuckled gently, kissing Cloud's jaw back. “I liked that.”

Those hands rubbed across Cloud's hips before lifting him and holding him at just the right angle to thrust deeper into him. Cloud could now arch up, and arch he did, writhing under Leon's slight touches and the demon groaned and moaned too. He tossed back his head with his long hair tumbling over his shoulders and groaned loudly: "Fuck, you're so tight, Cloud, feels amazing!" he hissed in pleasure, the sound making Zack's hair stand on end with how animalistic he sounded.

Cloud cried louder in unison with the disguised demon, he held onto Leon's arms as much as he could. But their movement was making his hands slip down etching vague red trails in their wake. He was mostly gaping as he gasped for breath each time Leon thrusted deeper and harder. Had he not been so enveloped by the pleasure Cloud would have felt embarrassed by his own vehement lust. Cloud did feel very hot and blushed more when he began begging for more.

"Y-you feel-hnn...ah-- s-so good!" and he bit his lip to try and restrain a particularly loud sound at the back of his throat while forcibly shutting his eyes.

On the other hand Zack's tears had not stopped. He was mortified by the scene and was feeling so tainted and so dirty that he wondered if he has sinned somehow and this was punishment for him. But the true reason, he found, wasn't so much that his friend was with a 'man'. That would have much easier to get over and accept, but the fact that it was an unholy creature tainting his friend's soul was much more daunting that something challenging his beliefs or morals.

Leon's hand joined in pleasuring Cloud, rubbing between them and peering down into his bright blue eyes as the blond began to tense up and gasp desperately; he was going to finish soon.

Leon kept up the eye contact and watched, almost entirely unaffected, stamina impossibly high as he just panted with groans of enjoyment as Cloud moaned and screamed. He licked his lips, "Mine."

The Demon's eyes flashed red brightly the moment Cloud's hips arched upwards a final time and his body trembled in ecstasy!

The air in the room trembled subtly and the Demon’s claim upon Cloud’s soul was final.

As soon as Cloud began to wind down from his high he opened his eyes to look at Leon and just as suddenly they widened. Those eyes had gone from a charming cool color to the more sinister coloration of blood. Cloud would have blamed it all on his imagination but there was cold and empty feeling in him that rose flags in his head. He has failed to notice it before. Now unsure and alarmed Cloud gasped and pulled back, curling up against the bed's headboard and staring with confusion, fear and disbelief. The more he stared at the eyes, the more that sudden void grew in his chest. Something was off. Cloud had this persistent feeling that, out of  the blue, he was missing something. He knew what those red eyes meant but he was in denial despite the evidence.

He swallowed hard, "Le-leon? You-your eyes are----" he cut himself off as he kept looking for more confirmation that this wasn't just inside his head.

Leon tilted his head, blinked, and his eyes shifted back to silver. He drew himself up to sit properly and breathed out a long calming breath. "My Sweet, don't be afraid. I won't hurt you, and it has never been, nor will it ever be my intention to cause you harm or upset."

He pulled the silk wine coloured robe around his shoulders, it materialised out of almost thin air and shadows, dressing him to hide some of his naked form. He pulled the blanket around Cloud's shoulders in much the same way, not minding when Cloud flinched away at the materialising fabric.

Leon stroked Cloud’s shoulder comfortingly, "You saw my eyes, you know what I am ... don't you?"

Stills scared and confused Cloud nodded while looking up at him.

"You … are a,” he gulped, “demon..." Cloud mumbled unsure of what to think. From what he has always been taught he should've either try to run away or call for help. But Leon had not harmed him, ever, so he had some objections to those thoughts. Then again, no matter how good Leon treated him Cloud knew that demons were after only one thing. And the eerie empty feeling within him was foreboding, the young man rubbed his chest before looking back up at Leon. His expression was fearful and begging for an answer.

"Did y-you … I-I mean did I---?" Cloud didn’t dare to finish that question.

Leon nodded, "Yes," he touched Cloud's chest over that centre point of cold, "Your soul is still there, I've got my claim on it- that's the chill you feel. It's slowly feeding me." He put his arms around Cloud and held him gently as he processed the news.

His hand ran through the blond hair and Leon’s face became earnest, softening with the most human expression he had worn all evening. "My Sweet, I intend to leave your energy as your own as much as I can. Your desires are simple and effortless to make reality. And, you've been sweet to me, I know now that you’re very special. I ... care about you, Cloud Strife, and I always intended, from the moment I understood your tortured, lonely soul, to treat you well. To give you all you asked for, and all you deserved that would make you happy."

His lips turned up at the edges and he chuckled shortly, "In exchange for your soul, of course."

Cloud wasn't sure how to feel about the information and he eyed Leon with suspicion. Yet he didn't back away from the Demon man because there was a part of him that could see Leon's honesty. Cloud could not remember a time where he has felt this good and this free. Granted, he loved Zack as a brother and was grateful for having such a friendship but Cloud never felt completely free. He would always feel like a hypocrite and a liar, always in fear of what Zack were to do or say should he know.

"But ... What will happen to me now?" he looked up at Leon while touching his own chest.

Leon touched Cloud's chest too, resting a hand over his, "You stay you, my Sweet. There's just a few more benefits to our relationship now," he smirked a little at the blush Cloud gained. “I could make you as strong as ten men, charming as a prince, or talented like a master. Or you could request more intimacy with me, maybe with another face or body?”

As he suggested changing himself his appearance rippled, shadow covering the brunet’s entire body as he altered his appearance. Cloud gasped! The creature sat before Cloud turned into another person before his eyes. The only thing that didn’t change was the scar between the eyes.The scar was still present, the one defining feature.

The Demon now had golden blond hair, spiked and soft, blue eyes and a soft smile with freckles; it had taken Cloud’s appearance!

Leon adjusted the robe to lay a little open, exposing Cloud’s chest. “This form is rather fetching on me, don’t you agree?” the demon chuckled with Cloud’s voice, looking seductively in Cloud’s direction.

Cloud’s response here! Amazed and a little weirded out gaped and tried to form words as he reached out to touch the other’s face. Now an identical face. “You--You look like … me …” blues eyes darted about appreciating every exact detail … except for that one that crossed Leon’s face. Cloud softly traced it with a finger, “that scar … it’s obviously not part of your magic though,” there was a question implied in his tone.

The demon leaned into Cloud’s hand, sighing contently with eyes closed as Cloud explored his altered appearance. “Hmm … my scar is there on my true form. It cannot be erased. I was careless.”

Bright blue eyes opened and the demon smirked with Cloud’s face, he leaned forwards, looking interested. “Was that concern I heard in your voice?” he purred. Cloud blushed and glanced away before admitting yes.

The demon laughed, he cupped Cloud’s face and cooed: “You are so sweet, Cloud,” then Leon he pressed their lips together for a tender kiss.

Cloud gasped a little and allowed a short kiss before he had to push Leon away and look at him completely flustered. “That … was very … odd”

And oh gods … I just kissed myself … sort of, he covered his face, this is so weird … I hope he doesn’t do that again!

Leon giggled, Cloud’s voice making the laugh sound different. “Sorry, my Sweet, I got caught up in the moment,” Leon covered his mouth to control himself.

Then, once calmer, he touched Cloud on his shoulder, “Cloud, all I wanted to prove was that I could change to be anyone you want me to be. Though …” The demon changed back to its first form, a brunet with muscles and a sharp, chiseled face. He brushed the sable bangs out of his eyes, revealing that same scar, before continuing, “I chose this form because it reflects all you fancy in a lover ..." His comment was a little off topic, but still smug as if he was pleased with himself for getting every detail of himself right for Cloud.

“Ye-yeah. I like you much better this way … and also … please don’t do that again” Cloud was still feeling flustered but there was a small smile on his face as he hid into Leon’s chest and snuggled.

Leon wrapped his arms around Cloud and smiled, amused, “Alright, I won’t. Let me make it up to you?”

He took Cloud’s hand and held it out, eyes on the geostigma scar that covered his forearm between his elbow and wrist, the grey patch on his skin looked painful. Leon's eyes were hard as he examined it, looking slightly pissed off with the scab's existence. "For example, I could cure your illness and remove the scars. All you have to do is ask it of me. I'm your servant in exchange for your soul, my Sweet."

He kissed Cloud's cheek, and encouraged him, "Go on. Ask. This one will be free and on the house, think of it as a gesture to gain your trust." The one exception remained unsaid; Leon neither said nor implied that Cloud could ask for freedom from their contract, it was well known that it was impossible.

"Really?! You can heal me? Make me stronger?" To be rid of the damned sickness that has plagued him all his life just sounded too good to be true. So Cloud couldn’t help but feel excited at the idea.

Responding to Cloud's slight enthusiasm, Leon kissed Cloud's knuckles and smiled at him in that same seductive way; as if Cloud were his whole world. "Ask," he urged again.

"Alright. May I be healed … please." The way he looked at Leon seemed a bit pleading, as if he still had some doubt in him. He stretched out his marred arm shyly and took a deep breath as he waited for Leon's move.

Zack too was holding his breath as he waited to see what the demon would do, his Demon Hunter instincts telling him not to trust the deceptive creature. He would have hoped that Cloud wasn't so gullible to the 'man's' trickery

Leon smiled, and kissed Cloud’s temple gently. Then he touched the scar with fingers feather light, examining it.

"Done," he declared in a demonic voice, eyes flashing red and his fingers snapping. The scars, the scabs all flaked off of Cloud's skin and floated up and away as if they'd never existed. Cloud's cheeks lost their pale tone, his cheeks blushed a little with health and his meek hunched pose straightened out as unfamiliar energy and life rushed through his body. The demonic energy ate the sickness out of Cloud’s body, curing him by consuming the disease.

It took a mere three seconds.

Leon leaned back and blinked, his eyes returning to a silvery colour, and admired his work. His slight smile seemed to be teasing as he waited for Cloud to react, "You let me know if there's anything I've missed," he spoke too confidently to mean it; he was sure of his abilities.

Cloud remained with his arm in mid air as his eyes widened with surprise. He couldn't remember a time of him looking at that arm and not finding it covered in scars and bruises. He was so overwhelmed that he began to pant when he very slowly retrieved his arm and looked at his hands. All of the Geostigma was gone and he felt fantastic, with a sudden rush of energy he wasn't sure how to contain.

"It … Its really is gone," he breathed flexing his fingers relieved that the pain in his joints was no longer there either. He breathed out again and looked at Leon with barely contained glee.

"I feel great!" Cloud exclaimed with so much joy that his eyes began to tear up as he tested his arms, legs, stretched out every part of his body.

Zack was also in shock to see how different Cloud looked, and thus he was conflicted on what to feel or think of the situation now. On one hand he was very happy to see how delighted Cloud looked and that he was freed from the terrible illness. But the other hand Zack wished that it would have through a different alternative.

Leon gave Cloud a little push and encouraged him to get up off of the bed to stretch out and really feel it all, he idly snapped his fingers and the blankets wrapped itself around Cloud's hips, though the demon's eyes lingered on inappropriate places even with the blanket on.

"It's all gone, and it'll never return. Good choice of incentive, My Sweet. It's a relief to me too, you always looked like you were about to fall over if the breeze blew too hard, now look at you," he playfully threw a pillow at him to prove that it wouldn't knock him over.

The reflexive response from Cloud wasn't perfect but it was better than it was before and he caught the pillow when it barely brushed his face. Cloud couldn't help the giggle but was also very impressed with his newfound strength, he was so excited.

"Oh, I wish Zack could see this! I'm sure he'd be happy!"

Leon's face revealed nothing, "It is the wish of any good friend that you'd be healthy." He stood up and joined Cloud, taking the pillow and dropping it on the bed, "And, if you want, that's just the start. All I've given you so far ... imagine what I could do for you now that I don't have to hide my abilities."

He wrapped his arms around Cloud's waist and kissed his cheek, "I know I'm not what you expected, but do you accept me as I've accepted you, My Sweet?"

And Cloud couldn't deny it, even after knowing that his soul now belonged to a demon, his heart beat the same way when Leon was this close. The feelings where the same and this being still sent him over the moon with those beautiful eyes. And Leon has never harmed him, always pleasing him with whatever he wanted and has given him happiness he thought he'd never experience in his life.

In light of everything Cloud did feel indebted to Leon and actually thought that not owning his own soul wasn't such a bad thing.

Cloud slithered his arms around Leon's neck and kissed him on the lips.

"You're right ... you're not what I expected ... You're so much more. You've given me so much already ... I accept you and I rather live a short or 'damned' life time than not meeting you and live a life full of pain and torment."

The Demon actually turned red for a moment, and not even his eyes. He chuckled and kissed back, "Cloud, this is why I must treat you so well. You're so sweet, and demons like me are rarely gifted with such sweetness." Their lips moved together in a deep kiss that lasted several minutes. Cloud and Leon ended up wrapped up in each other's arms so close it was almost erotic again.

Leon paused tho and put a finger to Cloud's lips, "As much as I would love to join you in bed again, my Sweet ... sadly there's something that's gone wrong with my plans, tonight," he looked frustrated. "I intended to give you the choice of leaving your village or staying- I would have wiped the memories of your sickness from their minds, I could have ..."

His eyes turned to Zack and he was angry, "Unfortunately, someone I can't mentally influence appeared tonight and left us no choice but to abandon this place. I ..." he looked at Cloud again, "I'm sorry ... I put a lot of work into making you happy and giving you choices."

Leon snapped his fingers and nodded towards Zack, "There's nothing I can do anymore."

Cloud's expression went from confused to shocked when the illusion of the place began to dissolve like vapor into the air. He didn't mind that though, especially when his eyes fell upon the paralyzed form of his close friend on the floor.

"Zack?" Cloud gasped as he sat leaned back on his elbows then looked up at Leon with a worried frown. He quickly got up and ran towards the Hunter who looked guilty back up at him.

A million questions flew through Cloud's head as he put his hand on one of Zack's shoulders and noticed there was something wrong with him.

"What … what's going on Leon? what happened to him?" Cloud asked with worry and urgency.

"He's not hurt," Leon spoke, his voice a little sharp. "Though I decided to keep him frozen still when he tried to swing a sword at me," he looked up at the sword still stuck in the ceiling with distaste. "I don't want him hurting you either, Cloud." He looked at Cloud when he began to fuss over Zack's wellbeing and he sighed, a little jealous, "I'll let him speak and move a little. But you're not getting up, Hunter."

The pressure on Zack's body receded to his waist and he found he could move, albeit a little clumsily, up from his middle.

"Cloud!" the name came out in a burst he's been forced to hold in under the spell. It was so loud the blond jumped. "Cloud, are you alright?"

"Ye-yea. What about you?"

At this the Hunter glared at the demon above them and snarled, "I would be much better if I could at least do something to this unholy beast."

"Don't touch his armour, Cloud," Leon warned, casually ignoring Zack's level of aggression. "It's holy blessed, it might burn you since we've bonded now," he winked at Zack, reminding him how that came about. Cloud turned back to Zack and Leon's face broke into a shit-eating grin as he watched.

Zack growled, "You bastard ..."

"Zack, don't insult him." Cloud reprimanded, but in a neutral tone  which earned him Zack's confused glare.

"Bu-but Cloud, he's a Demon---"

"Yet he's someone that has taken care of me and protected me, even healed me of the stigma!" Cloud pointed out firmly, showing his arm. But Zack didn’t spare it a glance, "He took your soul Cloud, what do you think he's gonna do with it? He'll consume you!"

Leon rolled his eyes, "And what would your people have done with his soul? You would have damned him for just being himself," he countered, citing Cloud's lifelong fear of working to be good despite knowing his true nature was to love someone society wouldn't approve of.

"I wonder who's truly evil here?" he wondered a little absently.

Zack growled gritting his teeth, trying to think quickly of a response but knew that he had none. Unfortunately for him the Demon did have a point. He would personally never harm his dear friend, regardless of whatever Cloud's interests laid, but he still did not approve. It definitely didn't mean that he was on board with idea of a demon claiming Cloud's soul as an alternative to being damned by the holy men.

And Cloud was aware that Zack would never raise a hand against him, Zack was the brother he never had and despite everything he cared for him dearly. Cloud caught the Hunter’s attention with a hand to his shoulder, while avoiding the armour, "Zack … please ... I just want to feel happy for once in my life truly feel like myself and not hide under a mask I'm forced to wear"

Cloud's confession was hard to hear. Zack stared at him with something close to horror, "Cloud ... please, you can't be- you can't be serious?" he couldn't want this. There was no way. He shook his head, started talking his belief out loud in the hopes it would ring true; "He's making you say this, you can't-"

"I'm not lying," Cloud interrupted with a hurt and sad expression. He shifted and then whispered, "I ... I can't be that alone again, I just can't ..." he looked down at his hands, "I'm ... sorry." The lifetime of guilt for being different had him apologising for his choices.

Zack sobbed.

"Oh! No, Gods, Zack. Please don't cry," Cloud reached out to wipe at his tears while Zack’s arms struggled to raise and move.

"Oh Cloud it's just that I could have stopped it ... I let it all happen even back at the village! If I had paid more attention I could've helped you, help you through your hurting. Gods I'm so sorry Cloud!" Zack laminated between sobs and bitter tears that wouldn't stop falling. "All I could do was helplessly watch as he slowly took you."

Cloud's heart ached with each tear that fell down Zack's face even as he dried them when Zack's words began to click in Cloud's head. With growing embarrassment he realized that Zack implied he saw everything, including ...

"Wait. Zack what do you mean by 'watch as he took me'? Did you see that?" and Cloud  was blushing even more that the crying had caused him to.

Zack winced, "Of course I did! I've been paralysed here, I- I had no choice!"

The Demon in the room chuckled.

Leon had the most devilish look on his face, something straddling between cheeky and seductive and not in the least bit ashamed or sorry. "A consequence ... and a punishment. I don't take kindly to someone breaking into my temporary home, nor being hit with holy energy. But mostly because he was trying to take you away from me, Cloud," Leon stood up and clothes of a fine, expensive, and yet casual nature materialised across him like a shadow falling with the turn of the light.

He was dressed in black shirt and tailored pants. The way the fabric flowed showed his expensive tastes. The wine coloured robe was still on his shoulders, the clothes grew underneath his open robe and covered his body.

Leon knelt near them, though further away than the partially mobile Zack could reach, and gave Zack a look of seriousness, "There is another reason why you live, Zack Fair, beyond my possessive emotions. I ..." he glanced to one side, reached out and brushed Cloud's hair back from his eyes with a delicate touch, "I couldn't bear to have Cloud hate me if he knew I'd killed you. You were the only one who was kind to him, so I let you live. I couldn't let you leave, you'd be a danger to me. I couldn't leave you paralysed outside this room; you'd freeze to death. Uncomfortable though it might have been for you, Hunter, you're alive because I decided to leave you alone."

Cloud blushed at Leon's tenderness while Zack kept that scowl on his face directly solely to the demon. "Leon, do you really mean all of that? "

"Of course he doesn't, Cloud! He's trying to trick you!"

It was Cloud's turn to frown and it was for Zack, "Will you stop it? He spared your life! Is it really that hard for you to see me happy?!" his raised voice echoed in the room.

Zack looked ashamed like a scolded child and backed down, "Cloud … That's not what I meant. I want you to be happy, I do, I’m just trying to look out for you."

But Cloud didn't seem like he was done venting out his frustration. "Well it doesn't look like it! Or what would you rather have had me choosing between being miserable my whole life or stoned to death?"

Zack said nothing as Cloud's words were cutting deep. The blond continued, "Leon gave me a third choice, a choice to live and enjoy my life, as myself. Even if I had known that he was a Demon from the beginning I would have gone along with him because anything is better than having to live a life of constant misery and fear. It's easy for someone like you to not notice this … always so perfect and looked up on ..." Cloud's voice turned sad and low as a few more tears fell. Tears that reflected on Zack's own face.

"Cloud ... please, I never thought that. Things weren't perfect," Zack whispered, tears making it hard to see. He tried to dry them on his shoulder, not having much luck. "I never knew that you were so unhappy, Cloud, if I'd have known ... I'd never have handed you over to anyone! I swear! Cloud, you're my best friend- I couldn't lose you-”

He glared at the Demon, "I couldn't bear to lose you, but I have. To my enemy no less," Zack looked at Cloud "I wish I had found out before today, I’d have kept you safe, but because he got there first … He's a Demon, Cloud, he's lying to you- you're only going to get hurt," Zack croaked.

Leon shook his head, looking amused. "I don't lie."

"You're a Demon, you're evil, you live to steal souls and make people miserable- you trick and steal and lie. Your the reason why people are scared-"

"And what scares people more than a truth they'd rather not hear?" the Demon interrupted smoothly. The following silence was so quiet the distant mountain wind outside the house could be heard through the house to the cellar where they all sat battling wills.

Zack gritted his teeth furiously forcing more tears to fall. But then he looked at Cloud, "Cloud don't you see? Now I’m gonna be forced to hunt you too! And if I don't some other Demon Hunter will! I don't want you to---" Zack cut off his own words biting his lips with all his anger.

Cloud on the other hand, sadly looked down as he could understand Zack's position and did feel a bit guilty. But his mind was already made up, and Leon had already claimed his soul. It was too late to turn back even if he wanted to.

"Zack, I’m sorry," he lamented, "You'll always be my best friend ... But you need to do what you gotta do, I won't have you be called a traitor for my sake."

Zack chewed the inside of his cheek before looking at Cloud again, "I won't harm you. I will find a, way to free you."

Cloud already felt free but he didn't refute Zack and just smiled sadly at him. He knew all too well what it felt like to fail and he wouldn't deny Zack his own way of coping with that.

Leon wrapped an arm around Cloud's body and equally expensive clothes rippled from darkness into existence, wrapping Cloud in thick warm trousers, leather shoes, a long sleeved shirt of green that brought out his eyes and a warm traveller's cloak fell behind him, complete with fur hood.

It was clear that he was thinking about leaving.

Zack spat in his direction, the Demon looked amused, and the Hunter snapped: "Don't you dare get caught by anyone else, Demon, you're my target. Got it? I'll find a way to get Cloud back and then I'll kill you!" he swore.

Leon looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded, silently accepting the challenge. He didn't make a traveller's robe for himself, he just stood up. His eyes were glowing red slightly, ready for whatever he was about to do next.

"I'll get you back, Cloud," Zack promised again, "I'll free your soul, I'll find a way," he gritted his teeth and looked away.

Leon touched Cloud's shoulder, "Come, let's leave while we still can." His voice was soft but a little tired, perhaps keeping Zack still all this time was finally wearing him down.

Cloud softly nodded in agreement, but before he stood up and gave a tight brotherly hug, with the Hunter returning the affection. Zack's embrace was so tight, Cloud was certain that Zack had the strength he wouldn't have let go at all. It made a tear fall Cloud's face.

"Goodbye Zack. Thank you," he then let go a bit reluctantly, and removed Zack’s weakly clinging fingers from his body, then stood up. Despite everything, it was hard not to see Zack as his brother and leave him like this. But Cloud could not go back -didn't want to go back-

And for Zack it was the same, but he had to look away. He could not watch Cloud leave with that Demon. He simply let his tears fall in silent anger, repeating in his mind the oath he just made over and over.

Cloud turned to Leon, "The spell won't harm him or keep him here long, right? "

Leon shook his head, "He won't be harmed," he promised again. He reached out and pulled Cloud's hood up and then took his hand, "As soon as we leave he will be moving as normal within minutes. What he does next will be up to him."

Cloud gave one final glance at Zack then turned to Leon and nodded completely trusting the Demon's word. "Alright. I'm ready then."

Words that caused another stab to Zack's chest but he endured it and just kept swearing up and down in the privacy of his head.

With the subtle wisp of moving fabric and the creak of an old door, Zack was alone. Both demon and Cloud left, their footsteps fading fast and Zack let out his first scream of anguish, and rolled up on his side. He screamed and screamed as his pent up anger and loss found a vent.

He had no idea how long he lay there sobbing, but it finally dawned on him, an eternity of hurt later, that he had moved his legs ... the spell was fading, lifting like a morning mist.

His heart raced, willing the movement to return faster, obsessed with trying to save his friend one more time before he admitted defeat. Just one more attempt!

When he could move, when his hands and legs finally obeyed him, the first thing Zack did was pull his sword from the ceiling and race after them. He tore through the abandoned hallways to the entrance and stumbled out into the cold snowy mountain top. Bursting into the cold, heaving like a madman with insanity in his eyes!

He looked around, breath puffing in mist in the cool air, and saw nothing. No Cloud, no demon for him to slay, just their footprints and tracks as they rode away on some kind of steed. One pair of footprints morphed into an animal's, the Demon had taken on a new shape. One that would put a lot of distance between him and Cloud.

Zack cursed in despair, he'd never catch them on foot. "Cloud ... I'll save you somehow." He held up his sword and prayed: I'll find you, I'll find you and I'll make it right- I swear- Gods hear me! I swear!

#strifehart #strifehartvalentineweek2k18 #VirdisDrachen #collab with VirdisDrachen #cloud strife #Cloud x Leon #Cloud x Squall #geostigma #Demon!Leon #leon #Squall Leonhart #Final Fantasy #kingdom hearts #Final Fantasy 7 #final fantasy 8 #thequalityrunaway #My writing

[seraphinebdb]

Paths of Choice: Dark Angels Creation (Part 35) CROSSOVER with Phoenix Rising from the Ashes (Part 5)

Written by @DeathsRenegade.

https://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1srkra8

I am immune to my senses, so deep in thought am I. The waves lapping at my feet, the sound of sea birds, the scent of salt and ozone in the air…all of it simply does not exist for me. Adrian’s news was indeed an indicator that the time to move was upon us but there is a growing sense of unease within me. Finally rising from the sand, I walk back to the lanai. It is time to look to the future. Or rather, the possible futures. Adrian has his precognitive ability but it strikes at its own whim, not upon request. I, however, have other methods. There are advantages to having walked the corridors of power for the last 35,000 years and one of them is that I have learned a great deal of magick. There are all sorts of sources for magicks. The angels have their ethereal version, mortals their earth magick, and Zav and Bryn have begun to mix the two for this battle we face, but I am a law unto myself. Death has its own brand of magick, one that is intimately tied to the Fates and the Creator. It is what lets reapers walk between the worlds and bend space and time to do our jobs. In my hands, it is even more. Study with the fae in Tir Nan Og has combined with the innate power I hold and the more general magick of the reaper to allow me to walk the paths of time. It is the only way to see what choices the Fates may put before me, and it is likely even those will be shrouded in mysticism. But I feel compelled to try. Calling to Declan, I bid him to watch over my body in the physical realm while I allow my spirit to walk other planes. Though a reaper’s body is simply the physical manifestation of his or her soul, the power I hold allows me to maintain that corporeal form while I separate a bit of my own soul from the whole to seek answers from the unknown. This is not the first time I have used his talents thus, even though I know he finds it unnerving to watch, to know the shell no longer houses the spirit. “It will be fine,” I sooth. “If aught goes wrong while I am occupied, contact Sean. He does not have the power to walk where I will go for this, but he will know what to do.” Declan’s frown tells me what he thinks of this plan. I have no doubt he would prefer we go directly to Brazil and move forward. Finally, he simply folds his arms and nods, then steps back into the doorway to stand guard. Maintaining an outward calm but heaving an internal sigh… it is wearing to deal with such unyielding concern from my people… I ignore his recalcitrance and go to the chest I keep at the end of the lanai. Kneeling before it I open it. The fragrant scents of various herbs and resins waft from it as I remove a soft circular rug and smooth it out. An ancient brass brazier follows, along with sage, rosemary, vervain and myrrh. The sage is to bring me wisdom, the rosemary to ground my spirit to this realm and the vervain to protect my spirit as I roam. The last, myrrh, is a resin that when burned will cleanse my mind and my home of any lingering darkness and help me to sink into a deep meditation. In that state I will sever that part of my soul that needs to travel the trails of time. All will find their way to the brazier when the time is right. Though it would be a simple thing for me to add them to the bowl with a thought, adding them by my own hand is, as is the careful storage of them physically rather than simply materializing them at need, a nod to the ancient magicks of the fae. A sign of respect for the power, if you will, and one should always respect power if one wishes it to be an ally. Sitting back cross-legged on the rug, I place the brazier before me, with the herbs laid out beside it. With a thought white candles ring the rug, declaring my purity of purpose in this endeavor. They flare to life simultaneously at my bidding as I lay the myrrh in the bowl before me.  Extending my hand over it, I murmur “lasair”. It bursts to life, a gold and orange flame dancing above the brazier before settling to a steady burn. One by one I add the others, the fire leaping at each addition and then settling again.  When the flame has receded to stability, the gentle crackling no longer emitting sparks, I settle my hands, palms up on my knees, close my eyes, and begin to speak softly. “Cad iad na todhchaíochtaí a scríobh na Morai? Cad iad na cosáin atá leagtha síos acu dom? Cad iad na roghanna a thabharfar dom? Glaoim ar na Fates chun ligean dom a fheiceáil. Is ar mo roghanna féin amháin atá an t-iarmhéid crochta, Is trí mo ghníomhartha amháin a bheidh an domhan saor. Taispeáin dom cad a chaithfidh mé a dhéanamh. Glaoim ar na Fates chun ligean dom a fheiceáil.” “What futures have the Morai written? What paths have they laid for me? What choices shall I be given? I call the Fates to let me see. Only on my choices the balance hangs, Only by my actions will the worlds be free. Show me what I must do. I call the Fates to let me see.” The sounds and scents of the outside world recede and I feel myself rise above the physical form I maintain. I see myself seated on the floor of the lanai, a body only. Declan is watching from the doorway, his frown gone now, his face impassive, his body rigid as a stone warrior guarding a tomb entrance. And then even that fades away and my essence coalesces on a plane far removed from the mortal one. A wide, raised stone walkway serves as my platform as I survey my surroundings. Around it an ocean of blue flames roil and flicker, a storm of turmoil seething beneath my feet. Sensing that I am not alone, I whirl around, prepared to do battle even here if I must, but relax at the three lovely female forms behind me. “Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos…” my hand to my chest as I bow my head to them, “I did not expect the Morai to attend to this personally. Why am I so honored?” It is the raven-haired Lachesis whose laugh trills across the plane. ‘Why would we not come, Sin? We have grown,’ she shoots a sly smile at her sisters, ‘fond of you.’ ‘Indeed,’ Atropos adds as she pushes her wavy auburn tresses from her face, ‘you never disappoint. Throughout the eons you have always chosen the door that we would have wished for you. For which I am appreciative. I would find no happiness in cutting the thread of your life. Your existence since becoming Death’s first has provided us with much more pleasure. ’ She smiles at me knowingly. ‘Enough sisters,’ the fair Clothos gently reprimands. ‘The time for those recollections has passed. It is the future he needs to see. It is the future he /must/ see if he is to understand.’ She turns her azure-blue eyes to me and takes both my hands in hers. ‘There lies before you only one possible door, but there are two paths behind it.   Both lead to darkness, but the darkness is not always the enemy of the light. It can be the balance and it is that balance upon which the destinies of not just the worlds lie, but of the Creator himself. We came because you must see the results of your decision clearly. We cannot tell you what you must choose or which path it will lead you down. ‘ She smiles lightly, ‘Your free will is still the determiner of all our futures. ‘ There is a sadness to her smile that I cannot fathom. Gently I reach out to caress her cheek. “Clothos, will you not tell me what is on your heart?” She simply shakes her head, her enigmatic smile unchanged. ‘I can only tell you whatever you choose, we shall never again be as we were. Whether we become allies or enemies is still to be determined. But we can only go forward. “Can fond memories count for nothing, then?” I murmur. She catches my hand and removes it from her cheek. I can see the immortal in her rising as her shoulders firm and her chin tilts. It was always a trait I had admired in her, that ability to put duty to power over emotional frailties. It was one we shared.   ‘The past has been written, Sin. Memories are a wisp in the wind, ephemeral and influenced by what we wish could have been, not necessarily what was. The future is still to be dealt with, an avenue for growth and stability. We cannot let what was dictate what will be.’ I laugh softly. “And there you have the source of all the disagreements I have ever had with the Morai. The past /has/been written and because of that the memories we hold are the foundation of the future. They are solid and form the basis for the choices we make, the way we grow.” The laughter dies from my face as my need to understand what that future might be reasserts itself. “Come, show me what I need to see.” ‘You must go forward from here alone. Your future is yours to determine. We will watch over you and maintain a mental link,’ she answers and then Atropos adds solemnly, ‘Regardless of which path you take, my golden scissors /will/ be used. The only question is upon whom. I have my preferences, but the choice will be yours.’ I look each of them in turn. Their expressions are impassive now, no teasing, no easy flirtation. They are once again the immortal Fates.   “We have come to the heart of it now, have we not? Who lives and who dies.” Once again dipping my head to them, I turn and walk forward until I come to a door in the pathway. As I open it I can see the path split into two. The roiling blue flames pitch and roll around them and I have to wonder at the significance of this. The flames have meaning and their prevalence around the walkways must symbolize something that will remain constant regardless of the path I choose. ‘You must walk through the door, Sin.’ It Is Lachesis voice echoing in my head. ‘You need not walk down far down either path to see what you must.  But you must look.’ Inhaling deeply, I steel myself. Both paths are shrouded in a darkness that the tumultuous fires illuminate only partially.  I choose the right hand path first, walking down it for a few yards until I can see what lies at the end. My jaw sets at the image. I see myself on a throne carved of black marble against a backdrop of fire, the orange flames casting shadows around me.  My face is dark and brooding as thousands kneel before me, my black leathers stained and my bloody sword lying across my legs. Freya, Danu and Kali are in chains before me. An armed guard with spears crossed bars the way to my throne and disembodied souls shimmer on the steps leading up to it. And nowhere do I see the ones whom I now call family. “NO. I do not want this!” It is a shout in my mind. For before me I see all that I have ever despised. Power without compassion. Strength without mercy. Narcissism and greed. I see a despot leaving bodies in his wake. I see the Horseman of Death as he has always wished to be. “I will NOT walk this path, Clothos. I will die by my own hand first!” ‘That is not an option, Sin. The door you went through is one of inconceivable power. It has no limits. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It is a human truism that holds for the immortal as well. And it is a door you have already chosen to walk through. Nothing can stop it now, but without the influence of the ones whom you hold as family, that monstrous god is what you will become. And you /will/ lose them all if you choose this path. But it is not foregone that you will. Go back now. Walk the left hand path. It has… we’ll call it more creative options.’ My face is stony, my body rigid with tension as I backtrack my steps to the original fork in the walkway. This one, too, leads into a darkness dimly lit by the blue flames around it, but again, a few yards in I can see the scene at the end. The ebony throne is still there, but my leathers are clean and I am smiling, descending with my hands out to greet those I love. I can make out Sean’s face as he approaches me, and that of his female. I hear Bryn’s laughter somewhere and Zav is there at my left, his dark wings lifted behind him and a teasing smile on his face as he looks down at a small dark-haired female in the crowd, Declan and Celia on either side of her. And there /is/ a crowd. Smaller, mingling, people coming and going with purpose but not fear.  My future self looks up, as though I hear my name called and then I see her. It is my battle angel from the alley in Caldwell. She comes from behind the throne, clothed in leathers, her own silvery, shimmering wings visible now. She smiles at me as I turn to greet her with a kiss. She has a young male of perhaps four years holding her hand. I lift him up and settle him on my hip, kissing his cheek, then pointing to another child in the crowd. He wiggles down and runs to greet her and I laugh at Sean’s disconcerted look of concern.  There are no disembodied souls hovering, no guards with spears. My own sword, clean and shining with glints of fire shimmering along the sharp, curved edge, leans against the throne, an indicator that my future self is not done with it, but it is not bloodied. “Clothos…Lachesis…Atropos…” my mental voice cracks with emotion, “What is this you are showing me?” Again it is Lachesis voice that comes to me. ‘This is your other future Sin. You cannot escape the power, you cannot escape what you will become. You can only choose how it will be wielded. These are the results of a choice you will make. It will be one or the other. I cannot tell you what you must choose between but I can say that the first will be the result of a choice made out of ego. The second is the result of a choice made from love. You have always had a healthy ego. Do you have the ability to put love over ego?’ Before I can answer, SHE looks at me. My battle angel looks down the long walkway and meets my eyes. I swear she sees me. Not my future self, but me in this time and place. I hear her voice in my mind. ‘What will you choose? Will you choose vengeance as you once did or will you remember love and choose a different path?’ 

#TBC

#DarkAngelsCreation #PathsOfChoice #PartThirtyFive #CROSSOVER #PhoenixRisingFromTheAshes #PartFive #Renegades #RenegadesRPG #RRPG #Reapers #Vampires #Wolfen #Angels #Ghosts

[solarine]

Character Perfumes!

I have been battling severe depression and creative doldrums lately, but I AM GOING TO FORCE MYSELF TO WRITE A THING TONIGHT. It’s a little silly, but I’m going to make all my characters into BPAL-like perfumes. I did this for a few of them a long time ago, but now I have a better idea about many of them, and a better sense of what certain things smell like. I also have a LOT more characters than I did last time, not all played in-game, but all with their own stories and personalities. So, here we go!

Solarine Fairlight - Holy resins scenting the air of an ancient temple, and a golden shaft of sunlight falling upon the face of a contemplative Priestess, the rest of her shrouded in shadow. Frankincense, myrrh, and holy balsam, golden amber, sweet vanilla cream and honey musk with a touch of white peach, wisps of blackened cacao, and ebony wood.

Aeloren “Lori” Lasthanel - A mischievous, pixie-like warrior woman whose big, loud mouth is only eclipsed by the size of her heart of gold. Soft hay and vanilla-tinged sandalwood with soft white musk, a clatter of oiled steel, the gentle creaking of worn leather, a spicy little drop of cinnamon whiskey, and a foaming tankard of ale. 

Firalaine Lasthanel - A Paladin as mischievous, loudmouthed, and good-hearted as his older sister, and by far the more feminine of the Lasthanel siblings. Golden, honeyed amber over soft white musk, a clatter of oiled steel, the gentle creaking of worn leather, and a spicy carnation acting as the “umbrella” in a coconut rum cocktail. 

Vianthas Nightrunner - Cold and aloof in his ivory tower, far above Dalaran, the Mage pores over arcane tomes. The scent of dusty teak and oak bookshelves, leather bindings, and ancient, brittle paper. An ozonic, nostril-chilling anise-and-mint sparkle of arcane magic, and a cup of jasmine green tea growing cold on a nearby desk. 

Lhys Nightrunner - Housed in plush luxury at home, she nevertheless leaves it behind and eagerly gets her hands dirty as she learns to wield the nature magics that could one day repair the ruin of the Dead Scar. Plush, incensed silks, a sip of pinot noir, and deep red roses grounded by earthy patchouli, smoky vetiver, and the resinous leaves and woods of ancient oaks and pine trees. 

Zarayna Sunwhisper - Hidden away from the outside world in her mist-shrouded manor, the albino makes for a ghostly figure as she peers out the windows, lonely but yet unwilling to risk a return to the outside world. Pale, mist-shrouded moonflower and night-blooming cereus, a veil of vanilla-tinged lace and linen, smoky, singed violets, and the eerie crimson gleam of dragon’s blood resin. 

Hynyssea Blackmoon - Brought into existence by Zarayna, she has no memory of the life led by the previous mind inhabiting her body. A fragment of Zarayna’s soul combined with the base personality half-preserved by previously comatose and memory-erased neurons, but her predilection for Shadow magics seems natural to the body itself. A lush, exotic blend of red roses and black jasmine, nutmeg, cardamom-infused coffee, cocoa liqueur, pipe tobacco, black amber, and aged patchouli.  

Aurelis Duskflame - The wild Huntress sunbathed nude atop the rocks rimming a woodland pond, civilization only distant echoes on the gentle breeze that shivered the leaves of the trees above. Coffee freckles on smooth, rich caramel, teak and ebony wood, aged patchouli, soft brown leather, fuzzy brown musk, and dry bone, and the scent of an ancient forest of pine, oak, birch, and wildflowers wafting upon a warm breeze. 

Saleirin - He claimed to be a pirate, but the only thing more obnoxious than his obvious tall-tale-telling was his carrot-orange hair. They thought he was a he, anyway, but it was hard to be entirely certain if he was a handsome woman or a pretty man. He might have been genuinely charming, if he wasn’t mouthy-drunk. Bright saffron and mandarin orange, cassia, and red musk, deceptively smooth tonka, red leather, flashes of precious metals, and a charmingly obnoxious shot of bay rum. 

Kaiar Ashwind - A broken man, down on his luck, with only fragments of memories of a haunted past that had begun to etch itself into lines on his handsome, tired face. Smoky whiskey and dark beer, cold black coffee dregs, sweet tobacco, clove, grey amber, worn black leather, the memory of polished gold, and blood musk.

Halindis Riftstrider - Once a talented caster, now a talented Demon Hunter. He consumed a succubus, among other things. None of them were ugly demons, because why sacrifice form for function when you can have both? A lilac fougere over black amber, burgundy musk, and red velvet cake.

Islaen - The mysterious, gentle spiritualist and scholar never stayed in one place for too long. His sinister robes and shy mannerisms kept most outsiders from approaching him, though he didn’t mind answering their questions when they gathered enough courage to ask them. Curls of purple incense smoke, a cup of lavender green tea, and soft wisteria flowers blooming under a night sky of indigo musk. 

Andrisia Blazewind - A fiery redheaded Mage, her ongoing battle with depression and alcoholism has taken a toll on her once-promising research and development into magical crystalline technology and weaponry. Fiery clove and cinnamon, saffron, creamy vanilla, and red wine over a base of fireplace ash and charred mahogany. 

Veshai - This Draenei has long wanted to teach the Azerothian natives of the magical healing properties of their elemental waters, but often finds herself sitting in solitude at the edges of the Stormwind canals. Cool, pure water, a splash of salty sea spray, hyacinth blossoms, ambergris, and crystalline blue musk. 

Kiréa - Her engineering accomplishments--including acting as the Warp-Engineer for various Draenic ships--and razor-sharp accuracy with projectile weapons are often lost in translation, due to her thick accent and imperfect grasp of the colloquialisms and dialectical nuances of spoken Common. Gunpowder and magically-charged ozone, oil-spotted leather, blueberry musk, and a comically out of place whiff of Fizzy Faire Drink (cola). 

Yaaru - Rendered psychologically unstable by the disaster that killed most of her fellow Auchenai, this odd Draenei relies on her lover, Kiréa, to provide stability in this strange, alien world. A puff of white snow, luminous white musk, smooth coconut and vanilla, and a wide-eyed shock of blueberry-tinged mint. 

Elechia Sin’alar - Beautiful, statuesque, and stoic, this man strives to be a picture-perfect and just-hearted Champion of the Argent Crusade. Soothing myrrh and clove streaked with rich amber and copal, white-hot steel, and the righteous fury of spicy dragon’s blood and smoldering ashes. 

Lydal Omarus - Cultured and poised at first glance, he is a vicious and skilled martial artist, having learned and honed his own personal fighting style over many decades. He will rarely start a fight without good reason, preferring to act with overt violence only when retreat or diplomacy are impossible. White leather and oudh, white tobacco, smooth black musk, sugared black tea, and a fading bruise of plum with a droplet of bloody red musk. 

Avarinde Mournglory - Bloodmage-turned-librarian-turned-Bloodmage, the power that once nearly destroyed her crackles once again at her fingertips. She pours into it all the destructive fury left behind by a decade of mis-shelved and missing books, loudly-chattering students, and the irritating new invention they call ‘bubble gum’. Earl Grey tea, vanilla musk, dry cedar, benzoin, powerful lime and scorched clove, and a tiny vial of anise-dark venous blood. 

Aristolochia Fal’anare - Cute, classy, and calculating. Born into nobility, she takes the family business very seriously, and isn’t opposed to a bit of stealthy corporate espionage when the situation calls for it. Cheery, playful honeymint tea with sugar and cream, gingerbread cookies, and a whisper of form-fitting black leather. 

Laurian Fireflower - Being permanently stuck in Elven form doesn’t seem to bother this former Bronze drake, who has developed a taste for the finer things in life. Hot, dusty desert sand and red amber, a gentle breeze of saffron, long strands of cool, creamy vanilla, a glass of white wine, and rich, warm, honeyed spice cake. 

Shaurindris Ravensfeather - An ancient denizen of Val’sharah, once a Priestess of Elune and now a Druid of Cenarius. This Kaldorei is more mellow and lazily-curious than many of her Kalimdor-inhabiting kin, but shares deeply in the desire to protect the forests in which their people dwell. Carnation-pink skin, watery hyacinths, and night-blooming jasmine dot the earthy patchouli and green grasses of the fern-covered forest floor, while magnificent fir, pine, ash, elm, and oak trees tower overhead. 

#character development #perfume #bpal #inspired by #Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab #World of Warcraft #Wyrmrest Accord