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miracle-sham · 4 years

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Vent Your Spleen Until You Keen.

| {Maribat 2k20 – Day 3: Out Sick} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| Triggers/Warnings: Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Pneumonia, Concussions, Blood and Injury, Drowning, Explicit Language/some swearing. |

| Bloodied Robins aren't built to swim with clipped wings. Good thing the bats, birds, and bug are there to patch him up before it's too late. |

| Word count: 1968. |

==–==

| A/N: So as I mentioned in the authors note of the previous Ficlet, I got mugged in the dark dank alleyway by the Maribat2k20 MariTim prompt calendar and stabbed by the knife of inspiration. Except this time it was the angsty knife of inspo. So enjoy a nice but of hurt with comfort. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then send me a DM or an ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==–==

Crashing into the Miller Harbour waters after being thrown from the roof of a warehouse is not how Tim thought his evening would go. Then again, earlier, he hadn't realised this drug trade would be a trap, meaning now he just so happens to be the unlucky bat to get caught. Or in this case, dumped in the harbour. Which is great. Lovely. Abso-fucking-lutely spectacular.

The crack of the armoured suit and gear slamming into the dubiously murky waves is accentuated by the thrumming pain from where his back and neck take the brunt of the impact. Tim arches in pain as the air is knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for breath. It's not helped by the chilly water breaching his suit and stinging his open wounds. I'm going to get so sick from this, urgh. He grumbles internally. Even if he wasn't lacking a spleen, the harbour's waters are polluted enough to make probably even Superman sick.

Tim kicks upwards and is struck with the realisation of oh no, oh fuck. As the water weighs his suit down even more and he starts to sink. The cold saps his energy and makes him clumsy. Fingers slipping at the straps and zips and security measures on his suit. Grimacing, he struggles, strength waning too quickly. Sploosh-Thwip-thwip-thunk-clink, chunks of his armour detach and sink below, significantly slowing his descent but he's still sinking.

He fumbles around his belt for his rebreather and manages to get it over his mouth just as his vision loses colour and goes fuzzy around the edges. Breathing heavily, he listens to the creepy sound of the rebreather working and flurry of air bubbles surrounding it.

Shit, I'm running out of time. Tim curses in his head. He keeps kicking and the water is looking lighter, meaning he's close. So close. But not close enough.

There's a thunderous splash as Tim breaches the surface. He doesn't stop—can't stop, not if he wants to live. His swimming is the only thing keeping his blood pumping and head above water.

His vision blurts violently and the darkness at the edges of his sight flares. Not enough time, not enough. The bank is closer though, I might make it?

Tim blacks out.

One second he was swimming for his life, now he's lying face down on the cement bank, gasping for breath like a dying fish. He pushes himself up, muscles protesting and shaking from cold and pain. There's a shallow pool of watery blood surrounding him—not good but could be worse. Just need to get back to my Nest and I'll be fine.

Tim fiddles around his remaining armour and gear, tapping the self destruct buttons for the discarded gear, and grasping at the grapple hook in relief—it would be a pain getting back home without it. He limps forward and shoots the grapple, swinging himself home.

He barely makes it through deactivating his security measures and stumbles through his window. Limping over to his sofa, Tim immediately collapses and passes out—still in gear.

==–==

The next day, Marinette's halfway through patrol and already fairly banged up—with a particularly nasty headache among other things—when she spots that the window to Tim's Nest is open. She swings by to inspect and sees his handiwork on the deactivation of his security measures. She hums and glanced through the window to look inside, thinking, Probably nothing to worry abo—

Tim's lying half on the sofa, covered in blood and muck. He's pale—paler than usual—and his hair is plastered to his forehead. Breathing laboured and nasally, and shaking like a leaf. He looks sick and injured and he's not even managed to switch into civvies before passing out—not good, really not good.

Okay maybe definitely something to worry about. Marinette mentally amends, a spike of worry slamming itself into her chest. Especially since no one's talked to or heard from him since early patrol yesterday... She climbs through the open window, closing it behind her and then resecures the security measures.

With a whispered “Tikki, spots off,” she drops her transformation and wobbly bolts to Tim's side. Checking his pulse and status. Too-quick heartbeat, infected lacerations to the arms, legs, and torso, bruised or maybe broken ribs—Marinette flinches and takes a second to calm herself down so she doesn't retch—bruising to the side of the head, and a ton of minor bumps, scratches, and grazes from the looks of things. She then checks his other symptoms: rapid and shallow breathing with occasional wheezing, high temperature, sweating and shivering—clammy.

Marinette chews her lip, eyes watering. “Oh, Tim…” She shakes her head, heart-pounding, and whips out her phone, scrolling down to the contact with shaky hands. It rings twice then picks up. “Leslie?” She cuts in as soon as the call connects, shoving the phone between her ear and shoulder to free her hands. “I'm at Red Robin's place and he's hurt, really bad, I—” She breathes in before recounting all his injuries and symptoms. “He's unconscious, and I think he's either in septic shock or got pneumonia, maybe both…” As she's talking, Marinette grabs the nearest first aid kit she can find and goes about cleaning out and patching up the injuries she can with the equipment she has.

“I'll be able to treat him at the cave. How quickly can you get there?” Leslie answers in a clipped but calm tone.

“Uhh…” Marinette pauses both in speech and in movement, “We'll need someone to drive him there because I can't drive. I don't know who's close enough and can drive. I'll call B, O, or Agent A after this.” She continues to apply first aid.

“I'll be at the cave in twenty-five minutes,” Leslie responds, cutting the call off not a second later.

She grabs her phone from her precarious ear-to-shoulder position and scrolls to Agent A's number and it only takes him one ring to answer. “A.” Marinette pulls the same thing she did with Leslie's call, cutting in before the other can speak whilst putting it back between her ear and shoulder so she can continue applying minor treatment. She repeats the same thing she told Leslie. “I've also called Leslie, she's heading to the cave now, she said she'll be about twenty-five minutes.”

She doesn't quite catch all of Alfred's response because Tim wakes with a groan and coughs, his pupils are blown and his gaze is worryingly blank—glazed over. Marinette thinks she hears something about the batmobile and three minutes but she's more worried that it looks like he's concussed as well. “Concussion. He's also got a concussion.” Marinette relays on autopilot, and maybe she hears Alfred inhale sharply but she can't tell. She's not sure when or if the call ends but she's too stressed to care.

She's fumbling with the first aid and it takes every speck of focus she's got to make sure she isn't making him worse—next thing she knows Nightwing and Red Hood and jumping through the window (security deactivated and opened first, so no broken windows here).

Red Hood pulls Marinette away from Tim, and Nightwing carefully scoops his little brother up. The world blurs around her and then her vision wavers, going completely colour blind as it goes fuzzy and dark at the edges, getting worse and worse. She thinks Red Hood's talking to her, he's gripping her arm rather tightly, almost painfully but it's giving her something to anchor on to… But it's not enough, her vision spins, going completely black, and distantly she hears panicked yelling and feels the world tipping to one side—

==–==

The world slowly comes to and Marinette's feeling absolutely wretched. She's lying on a medical cot from what she can tell, but her mind's so fuzzy. She doesn't want to open her eyes. People are talking in hushed tones the distance. She thinks this isn't the first time she's woken up here since—

She has vague memories of opening her eyes and people bustling in and out of view, asking questions and doing things. She doesn't remember much.

Then she hears a voice closer to her, she can't remember whose voice it is but it's warm and rumbly but not too gruff—familiar. “Hey kid, you awake again?”

Marinette groans in protest—she would rather not be awake right now.

“Yeah, yeah, you're in pain, life sucks. I know.” The voice sounds amused.

She huffs in indignation which only causes the voice to bark with laughter.

The voice quietens down after a second. “You an' Timbo gave us quite the scare y'know. Don't think I've ever seen B that worried before, when we dragged the both of you to the Batmobile.”

Marinette hums, unsure how else to respond.

“You've got a concussion if you're wondering, you were lucky I was already holding you up when you fainted. Could've made your concussion worse if you had hit the ground instead.”

She groans again, the mention of the concussion brings the full throbbing pain in the back of her skull back to her attention. She huffs again to express her displeasure at the voice reminding her.

The voice snorts—probably at her pain like a sadist. “Timbo's fine, by the way, surgery went off without a hitch. Even woke up a few times, so if you're up and about the next time he wakes up you can help the others smother him with love and affection.”

Marinette smiles lopsidedly. “Coo'.”

==–==

Of course, the first thing she does once she's no longer bed-bound, and Tim's awake and somewhat healed, is take Jason's (it took her a while to recognise it was him who had been speaking to her) advice. In the form of her relentlessly hugging Tim like a clingy koala—much to his joy and begrudging dismay.

“Mari… please.” Tim begs, staring at the ceiling as if it would somehow save him.

If anything his words prompt her to hug him even tighter, “Nope! I will hug you for as long as I physically can.”

In exasperation, he exclaims, “Mari, no!”

“Mari, yes!” She shoots him a smug grin.

“Mari please.”

“Tim, I will keep hugging you.” Marinette threatens

“Mari, let go.” He says with no real intent behind his words.

“No letting go! Only hugs or death!” She declares with an even smugger grin.

He grins back then dramatically proclaims, “Guess I'll die then.”

“No!” She half screeches, struggling to contain her giggles.

“Oh no! I'm dying! Blargh!” He lays back down on the medical bed, pretending to die dramatically. “Marinette, as my dying words I must tell you that—that I—I—” He fake coughs and lets himself go limp.

“Tim! Nooo! Clearly, the only way to save you from dying is to give you the magical fairytale kiss of life!” As soon as she says that, not giving him any time to react, she pecks him on the lips.

“Wow, I'm alive again, what a miracle!”

==–==

Around the corner, unbeknownst to the two, Jason eyes Dick with amusement. “You taking blackmail photos there, Dickiebird?”

Dick makes an undignified squawking sound and nearly drops his phone. If not for his bat training, he definitely would have dropped it. Trying to pull off an air of nonchalance, he leans against. “Pfft! What are you talking about? Of course I'm not, I'm just collecting evidence that Timmy's okay. For uh Bruce and Alfred's sake. And the Teen Titans too, they've all been worried once they heard how bad he got.”

Jason snorts. “"For evidence he's okay", sure you are.”

Dick narrows his eyes. “If you tell anyone, I'll release all the cute photos I have of you when you were still wearing the Robin suit.”

Jason gasps. “You wouldn't dare!”

Dick grins. “Try me, Little Wing.”

Raising his hands up, Jason backs away. “Fine! You win!”

==–==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@maribat-2k20

#Miraculous Ladybug #ML x DC #DC x MLB #Maribat #Timinette #MariTim #Timari #Tim x Marinette #Marinette x Tim #Maribat2k20 #Maribat2k20 Tim x Marinette #Maribat2k20 Day 3 #Maribat2k20 Out Sick #Vent Your Spleen Until You Keen #VYSUYK #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

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After The Storm

Folks, here’s the second suggestion (thanks a mill @scottishqueer) for the wlw writing project. Inspo is fleaky lately but I want everyone who sent ideas to know that I’m working on them: I’m just a bit slow to write! But I hope you will enjoy this.

A little note about this series set in the Italian Renaissance. I chose a location very dear to me and - hopefully - a bit unusual: Ferrara, the city where my grandparents lived and my mom was born. I love that place and I’ll probably go back there in August: I still remember my grandpa taking me to the Castle (I have a picture showing little me proudly sitting on a pile of cannonballs in the internal stone garden on a sunny day), the Cathedral and the palaces around town. I incorporated them all in the story.

Ferrara was also one of the capitals of the Italian Renaissance, a Duchy ruled by the House of Este, a princely family, linked with several contemporary royal dynasties, including the British royal family. They were notorious patrons of the arts and innovators (through architeractural projects like the one called “Addizione” they were precursors of modern city planning); Duke Alfonso, who makes a cameo in the story and was the third husband of the infamous Lucrezia Borgia, was a patron of Ariosto, a famous poet to whom - ironically - my high school was dedicated. So yeah, I added a personal to this miniseries.

If you do happen to like this miniseries, please consider spreading the word!

Previous series: Ancient Greece

__________________________

The rain has finally subsided. When I wake up at the very first lights of dawn, only a faint rattling against the windows can be heard, a testament to the storm an unkind wind blew from where the sea lays and roars. I cherish the feeling, the newfound sweet peace after the howling winds of the night. My beautiful little boy is resting by my side. My poor Tommaso: my little angel has been unwell for days, I have never seen him shed all those tears since the day he was born. He cried and cried until his screams of fear and pain were barely audible and none of us knew what to do. Even Riccardo, my ever-absent, ever-busy husband, worried and urged the presence of a physician with great haste, concern written all over his face. I've never seen him like that before. Tommaso is our only son, too beautiful and young to surrender to a hideous disease and leave this world. If I allow myself to dwell into these thoughts, oh that would be enough to kill me! Seeing my boy suffering was almost unbereable: his desperate cries pierced right through my heart as I held him close, impotent yet hopeful that my presence could provide him a little comfort. Mum is here, my love, fighting and suffering with you.

It's an indescribable joy and relief to wake up this morning and see him sleeping peacefully after the agony and the storm. Tommaso is afraid of thunders and dark skies, I hated the rainstorm for being so unmerciful and throwing new fears to my troubled little prince. I wish I could have blown it away like Aeolus but I do not detain such power over the natural elements.

I gently stroke his head, a feather touch: God forbid I wake him! I almost cry but I manage to refrain myself: my sobbing could disturb his heavenly slumber and I don't want him to see me crying. I'll greet him with a smile when his eyes open up again and nuzzle his belly before covering him with kisses from head to toe. Tommaso loves it and I'm sure Riccardo won't object for once, not after what we've been through. I really thought I would lose my angel.

Thankfully, Lady Death spared him or so it seems. When he wakes he looks back to his usual self, no sign of the cruel pain torturing him. He gets all happy and excited underneath my kisses and eats with a good appetite. He simply looks a bit more abashed and tired than usual but it's understandable. I'll follow the physician's advice and ask my maid to get eggs and cook one of those soups and creams I had too when I was recovering from giving birth. That will hopefully help.

Seeing him happy again makes me forget about the events and mundane meetings I have missed over the past few days since he got ill. I love attending them but it all became suddenly so meaningless when my son lost his light and health. I must remember to save a prayer and make an offering for his miraculous recovery. And I can get the report of the latest happenings at court from my dear friends. They sent notes inquiring about Tommaso and I am glad to let them know the fortunate turn of events.

They visit me the day after. I have many friends here but Maria and Virginia are special companions to me. Maria is the oldest of the group, she has two sons already in marital age, but she has been good to me since I first walked into the castle. She comes from one of the wealthiest noble families in town: she's an institution at court and it meant so much to me that she took me under her wing when I was the new girl here, the young bride of "the most skilled diplomat that has ever served the House of Este". She has her ideas and a temper, of course, we don't agree on everything but she's been a sort of mentor to me and I will always be grateful to her for that: all I know about properly living at court, well I owe it to her. Virginia is about my age, another "pupil" of Maria. I like her: she's a bit shier and meeker than our friend and she has a little boy too so I'm sure she fully understood my anguish.

Apparently, I didn't miss anything important as I guarded Tommaso with my life. Same old rivalries between dames, the yet unconfirmed gossips about the Duke marriage plans, how displeased the jealous favourite looked even if she denied her irritation. Good old court life. I comment that there is still so much going on in our fair Ferrara: the Addizione is proceeding and rumour has it, the palace the previous Duke commissioned for court entertainments, Palazzo Schifanoia, is being renewed and expanded. It goes without saying that it is bound to be a work of unprecedented beauty. I don't remember who was saying so but I know the Duke and his passion for the arts so I find it hard to doubt.

Virginia claps her hand and notes that actually yes, I missed something. Speaking of arts and artistic projects, do I remember when rumours of an external artist joining the enterprise spread? Well, it happened! Now, that I think about it, I remember...Riccardo mentioned it one night as we came back from a music gathering. Apparently, our most brilliant architect, Biagio Rossetti, the genius in charge of bringing the Duke's vision to life and into art, requested another artist to join his brigade. If I got it right, it should be a talented colleague from Florence, Sir Davide whatever...I forgot his surname. He served the House of Medici and excelled so brightly that our fair Biagio summoned him as his right hand. Allegedly, our architect - or , God forbid!, the Duke himself - is unsatisfied with how the projects are proceeding and firmly believes that a fresh set of eyes and hands will benefit the future glory of our Duchy.

"The new architect arrived - when was it? Oh yes, the day after you informed us that poor Tommaso was ill, you definitely missed" Virginia explains.

He looks nice: a handsome man, who knows how to behave himself at court, a true gentleman. I tease my friend asking if she has already put her eyes on him. Virginia blushes a little before protesting: of course not, she would never do anything like that, not to her Carlo, she's a married woman and loyal. Maria interrupts her.

"Oh stop it: as if that would be an impediment!"

"Well, ideally it is!"

"Yes, but only ideally, as you said" Maria laughs. "My young girl, you should know that everyone at court has affairs sooner or later. We'll get you a lover too one day"

"Maria, you're incorrigible!" Virginia giggles, pretending a shyness that is no longer there, replaced by a hint of mischief.

Maria just shrugs, picking up a cherry from the bowl my maid laid on the table.

"Just experienced. So believe me when I tell you we all need the thrill of a secret affair in our lives...otherwise what is left to us? We would die of boredom!"

"I cannot vouch for Maria's theory but you said it yourself, the Florentine architect is here now and he's a handsome man..." I add, winking, to join the conversation.

"You'll vouch for my theory too, dove. Give me time and I'll get yourself a lover too" Maria exclaims.

"...Before a fair lady of the court catches his eyes and bewitches his heart" I continue, addressing Virginia as I prevent Tommaso from climbing up the table on his hunt for cherries.

My friends exchange an amused look.

"Oh but he's married, Emilia!" Virginia explains. "He didn't travel alone, his wife followed him here too. We met them both"

Ah, that's unexpected! I have already pictured a handsome bachelor joining our court but that's good to hear. As much as I enjoy the company of my friends and the other dames, I have noticed though the years that new companions are a blessing. A little novelty, even if momentary at times, could have the same effect of fresh air on a hot summer day. Otherwise, we would die of boredom, as Maria said, referring to lovers. I wouldn't go that far but a new lady in town could be good news.

"Oh, nice! A potential new friend. We should invite her to join our next sewing meeting and get to know her. As well as the hottest gossips from Florence, that is! What do you think?" I smile.

Surprisingly, the expression on my friends' faces is unreadable. Did I say something wrong? Was I too straightforward? Oh gosh, I hope they didn't take my enthusiasm as personal displeasure of our sewing meetings or their company! I better get this right.

"So, how's the new lady?" I inquiry nonchalantly as I prove myself in the funniest faces I can master to make my child laugh.

I succeed: Tommaso claps his tiny hands and laughs until he's out of breath.

"Oh, don't even get me started with her!" Maria dismisses my question but I know her long enough to know she can't wait to tell me what she thinks and maybe more.

"Nothing much, she keeps to herself. Not quite the talker" Virginia shrugs.

"Ah, she's way more tolerable when she keeps her mouth shut anyway!" Maria intervenes again and I'm sure she's not done with just that.

"My my, it seems you took quite a dislike for her" I giggle, exchanging an amused look with Virginia.

"I couldn't help myself, my dear" Maria continues, fanning herself as if to cool down her mounting anger. "Another boorish yet arrogant Florentine"

"The Florentine are always so full of themselves" I concede, cradling my son in my arms.

"Then she must be the Queen of them all" Maria barks a throaty laughter. "She looks so...so high and almighty: 'oh no, I'm afraid we don't play this game in Florence', 'I don't know what it means, we don't have this word in Florence', 'Florence here and that'. Believe me, sweetheart, we were trying to be kind to her but she's impossible! She acts like royalty but she's the wife of an...architect"

She pronounces the last words with evident displease. I can't refrain laughter: she's always been such a snob! I comment that she certainly sounds like...something.

"Oh but you'll have the disgrace to meet her soon enough!" Maria exclaims. "You know that our Duke is so fond of artists, he will certainly invite them again at the next dinners and balls"

"Speaking of the ball" Virginia intervenes to prevent her from keeping ranting. "What will you wear at the Masquerade Ball next month? I ordered a most extravagant costume yesterday, I can't wait to show you-"

We spend the rest of the afternoon discussing the upcoming events at court and the latest trends, gossiping about what we suspect the other dames will wear.

Ah, I missed my friends and our conversations...

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #original work #wlw miniseries #lgbtqa+#italian renaissance

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moody-bloosh · 4 years

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to hell, with love (Diavolo)

this thing has languished in my works in progress folder, along with my 42069 other wips. I recently got more inspo to finish it after finishing my Econ final. throwing my hat into the hades and persephone au, here’s my take on it uwu hope you all enjoy this ~! Ill try to work on some requests soon <3

Summary: As the Ruler of the Underworld, it naturally comes to your attention that one of your subjects is not like the other.

You tell yourself that the only reason you’d decided to take him was because you didn’t want to see him suffer anymore. How pitiful it was, how painful it must have been to suffer through the indignity of death over and over and over again. You’d taken it upon yourself to have mercy on the poor soul, stricken with the curse of constant death. By your grace as the one and only Ruler of the Underworld, you would grant him release.

You’d heard of him first, from the sweet boy with the purple hair who’d told you all about him. He regaled you with tales of the mafia boss, with such a conviction and adoration in his tone that you couldn’t help but be intrigued. You don’t have long to stew in your thoughts because you had only just sent Doppio off onto the next stage of the cycle when Diavolo himself had turned up.

“Where am I? What is this?” He’d demanded of you.

You could only chuckle at his jitters, so common in the newly dead, “well, you’re dead, silly.”

Circling him, you’d studied his interesting tattoos, his pink hair that was begging to be touched. He was lovely to look at. If only you were allowed to keep some of the souls that had come your way… His eyes had glimmered when you’d said it, piquing your interest.

“Am I,” he asked in a little voice, so different from his commanding tone earlier, am I really-“

And then he’d disappeared. You’d frowned, it wasn’t like getting dragged back from the jaws of death was uncommon. There were always some lucky souls out there that managed to catch a glimpse of you before Life pulled them back. You only sighed, a little pout marring your lips. Back then you didn’t know of the terrible fate that was bound to him.

Naturally, he begins to catch your eye. What with his frequent appearing and disappearing act like it was nothing. You can’t help but wonder, what kind of luck did this Diavolo have? Flights of fancies come little and far between for you who has judged over the souls of the damned, so when interesting things catch your eye, you make sure to grab them when you have the chance.

After all, it was always so frightfully boring in your domain.

When he reappears once more, you don’t want to take any more chances. Before he can disappear once again, you held onto his hand. Diavolo looked at you curiously, normally, he would be smacking you away for your insolence, for touching him so familiarly. Yet he can’t bring himself to muster anything more than resignation.

Dying over and over was so tiring.

Your cold touch leeches off his warmth. Curious, how he managed to retain heat. Everyone was always so cold. There was a gleam in your eyes as you set about studying him, absorbing his features. It had unsettled him, old wounds that would never heal, he supposed.

He just wanted it all to be over with.

“Ah, I see, I understand now,” you spoke mostly to yourself, “what a cruel fate.”

There was genuine sadness in your eyes now. It feels like there’s a lump in your throat as you consider the cruelty of the torment he has been subjected to. You want to help him, you truly do. Though you know that the only thing you can truly do for him, is to delay his return to life. Some part of you yearns to do more, wasn’t this what you were meant for after all?

How many times had you gently wiped away tears, how many times did you have to reassure poor, unfortunate souls that yes, it really was over. For him, there would be no escape. There would be no comfort you could give.

Already you can feel the tug. Even you cannot keep him in your domain forever. If you were to let him go, he would disappear again. So perhaps, perhaps you would just… never let him go.

Something twists in your heart, something you’ve never quite felt before in all your years ruling the Underworld. Your mouth goes dry as you look him dead in the eye.

Your heart patters against your chest. He is beautiful, you think. If it was him standing by your side, then you would not be so lonely. What you were doing was simply kindness, after all. Yes, kindness.

You would not let him go. That way, you can protect him from his fate. This is certainly not because you were so desperately lonely and something about the look in his eyes made you feel some sort of connection. It wasn’t that, it wasn’t that at all. You were only doing him a kindness as the Ruler of the Underworld.

So you tell him to take your hand and to never let go of it if he wants to stay here. If he wants to be free from his terrible fate, all he would have to do is stay by your side.

He doesn’t even think twice.

When you give him your signet ring to wear on his finger, you tell him that since it is inextricably linked to you. Even if he were to let go of your hand, he would be alright. You tell him that you chose to give him the ring because it is the one that is most closely linked to you, even though you know full well that having him wear your other jewels or even your clothes would work as fine.

Really, it’s not because you enjoy the sight of your ring on his finger.

Really.

It is when you collapse into his bed after a long day judging the souls of humanity that you learn what it means to truly be heard, to truly be felt. With him there are no expectations to meet, you can simply be and it would be enough. He learns something with you too, he learns brief flashes of tenderness, evidenced in the way he seems to indulge in you resting your head on his lap and in the way he listens intently as you tell him all about your day in court. On one particular afternoon, he offers you suggestions on how to better torment the damned souls, your eyes glimmer. Ah, he was so wise. You set about putting him in charge of those tasks, your heart was always a little too meek for suffering.

You so cherished your time with him. You giggle as his long pink hair tickles your nose.

He becomes your constant, the only thing that will never leave you as you rule over your lonely kingdom. Because even you never see what happens to the souls of the heinous when their punishment ends, because you never see the souls that are carted off to their next life. Even the souls promise to stay, eventually yearn for a new life, eventually they will grow tired of your lonely domain.

Even though you care for them as tenderly as you can, all you can do is bid them farewell when they choose to leave your kingdom. You know somehow, he yearns for this too. Yes, even he. Wouldn’t he like to leave this dark and gloomy place?

It hurts to think of. If he chose to leave you, what would you do? You need to brace yourself, you need to prepare yourself for the crushing loneliness that will consume you when he is gone. You know that he will leave you someday.

Everyone leaves you.

What would make him any different? It hurts, you think. This is the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Damn it,” you whisper. This was exactly why you denied your true feelings for him, even though you knew it was futile.

You were in love with him, you fell for him the moment you set your eyes on him. A kindred spirit, terribly lonely, terrified of growing close to anyone. But you bit back that fear, for love.

Yes, for love.

For love… If that was so. You find yourself thinking of the very brief glimpses of his smile you have in your memories. If it was for his sake, if it would make him happy, then, you would gladly live with the loneliness again.

Because it was for his sake. Because you loved him.

So one day, you ask him what he wants and you tell him that you will move heaven and earth if it will mean undoing his curse. An uncomfortable silence blankets the two of you. Your heart stammers insistently against your chest, waiting for his response is painful.

“For a god, you are surprisingly foolish,” Diavolo says. And before you can say anything else, his lips are pressing insistently against your own. And you melt, like putty in his hands. You lean into his kisses, you drink in all this affection.

Ah, when did it come to pass that this mere mortal held more power over you? You, the Immortal, the Undying, the Ruler of All the Underworld. And he, oh… You understood now.

He came to rule over your heart, didn’t he?

#diavolo x reader #i guess #reader is hades #and #diavolo is persephone #fluff #pining #hades and persephone au #play #side a #vento aureo #golden wind

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theangriestpea · 4 years

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In the Shadows : One

Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his back from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. ({coming soon: Ao3 link & Masterlist))

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC

Warnings: Blood, light violence, cursing

Word Count: 5k+

A/N: Huge thank you to everyone who has supported me through my recovery and an even bigger thank you to @the-gargoyle-queen for letting me use her OCs in this fic (Lily and Myra). She is the most amazing friend I’ve ever had and she is my biggest source of inspo as well as my biggest supporter. Thank you for your gorgeous moodboards (like the one up top) and for being my beta <3

Part One: On the Night of the Moon

Basil. She needed basil, as fresh as possible. Gods, why did she run out at a time like this? Her flashlight bounced across the ground as she tried to find the green plant she so desperately needed to bring down Sweet Pea’s fever. It had spiked so suddenly and she hadn’t even realized that she was out. He had managed to croak out where to find his recipe for a simple potion to bring it down. It was in his grimoire, towards the back where most of his remedies were.

She had everything but basil and all of the plants in her garden seemed to wither at once the day before. It was a sign. A terrible sign that she didn’t even want to think about decoding. But sooner or later she would have to. Something had arrived here, something rotting and horrible. Something that sucked all the magic out of their garden.

Her nervous eyes looked up at the moon, beautiful and full. Full. That was the issue. No one on the Southside went out on a full moon if they knew what was good for them. Actually, no one went out after dark anymore. Not with what has been going on. Not with the red circle and their guardsmen out with guns full of silver. She looked human at least. She had no reason to fear them, per se. But what they were after? That was something anyone would be afraid of whether they were armed or not.

Something caught her eye, bright green leaves sprouting from the forest floor. The light shook in her hands as she dropped to her knees to collect as many leaves as she could without killing it. Who knows when she’d need more. She took out a leather pouch to put them in. That’s when she heard it.

A low, feral growl sounded in the unusually quiet woods. Wolves weren’t much of a danger for witches, not normally. This wasn’t any regular wolf though. It was the creature that had plagued Riverdale with so much death and destruction the past few weeks. It was the catalyst of the rift between those that were human and those that were not.

Dry leaves crunched loudly under heavy paws. The underbrush swayed, adding to the noise that had the fair haired witch frozen in place. The flashlight in her hand moved as she managed to project the light onto the shaking bushes. She didn’t want to see what it was, not really. However morbid curiosity had her looking anyway. Something about wanting to see death’s face before she met him.

Slowly it broke from the brush. A face that probably should have been white was actually grey with smudges of mud. She’d seen plenty of werewolves before, most of them were harmless if their heads were on straight. This one however even smelled like death as frothy drool dripped from its gaping mouth. Eyes a bright sunshine yellow that seemed to glow in the dim light. It was about three and a half feet tall, which made it about a head taller than any healthy wolf.

It wasn’t at full height though. Shoulders were hunched as it crouched low to the ground so that it could spring at any moment. Their eyes were connected and she could not find even a trace of humanity in them. No, this creature was too far gone. Too far settled into madness. She realized that it probably didn’t even know what it was.

Suddenly it shifted its weight onto its back feet before lunging forward with a powerful leap. She couldn’t even scream as terror strangled her.

It happened so fast.

A black blur tackled down the pale wolf that was now in midair. A dark furry mass growled, staining the already dirty fur with red. It was a hard hit but the newcomer did not have a good grip with his teeth. The smaller wolf was thrown off in less than a minute.

Lily grabbed the pouch full of basil leaves and scrambled backwards out of the way. The two wolves fought vehemently, the dark one letting out sharp yelps of pain more than a few times. The white one was thrown back again finally as howls let out in the distance. It seemed to cock its head at the sound before snarling. Promptly, the large wolf turned and bounded away.

Lily shown her light on her savior. His once fluffy coat was slicked back in places with thick liquid that she knew was blood. He wasn’t putting weight on one foreleg. His eyes were on her, a dark gold color with specs of honey. There was sanity in them, a kind of calmness. A breath escaped her chest, one she had not realized that she had been holding.

The wolf padded towards her with a heavy limp. It looked at her curiously, head cocked as if to ask what she was doing here.

That’s right, the herbs! Lily looked at her pouch and saw she had plenty of basil in it now. She bit her lip, looking towards the werewolf before glancing back towards the cottage where she lived in the woods with Sweet Pea.

“Come with me,” she finally said softly, “I can heal you, just come with me.” She stood up and offered her hand to him as if he would take it. Suddenly she felt foolish, a blush light on her cheeks as she put her hand away. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

She turned, hoping that he’d follow her back. After taking a few steps she heard him behind her, following without any objection. He found himself wondering who she was or, more specifically, what she was. She didn’t smell totally human. In fact, she smelled like warm sunshine on an early summer morning. It was pleasant if not somewhat intoxicating. Hopefully she’d be aware that he could not change back until the moon set. This is the form she’d have to tend to for now.

The walk back was short, only about fifteen minutes. Every time she heard a leaf crunch or twig snap, Lily stopped and listened. She waited for a sign that the vargulf had come back to finish them both off. The dark wolf behind her hadn’t done much damage to it during the fight. It only left because it heard the rest of his pack coming closer. It was sick, not stupid.

Once outside the stone house she looked back at her pursuer. He blinked up at her with those same beautifully captivating eyes. She felt her breath catch in her chest again before unlocking the door and walking inside. “Sweets?” She called out into the darkness. He groaned a response from the worn couch he was laying on, half-conscious.

“I need your help.” She said as she walked in. The wolf hesitated at the entrance, looking behind him, scanning the edge of the woods for any sign of someone following them. Once he was satisfied with the silence of the trees, he hobbled inside.

The door shut behind him on its own. He noticed that the girl had flicked her wrist towards it slowly. A thought clicked on in his brain as realization hit him. She was a magic user, most likely a witch. Though he had never met a witch that smelled as wonderful as she did.

He heard the creaking of furniture and shuffling of feet. A tall man wrapped in a multitude of blankets appeared looking more pitiful than intimidating. He smelled woody, like the earth after a fresh spring rain. It was pleasant and much more witch like, the wolf mused.

The male witch spotted the wolf and halted, a scowl spreading across his face. “You brought that into the house?!” He snapped at the witch who dwarfed in front of him, “Daisy is right in the other room! Are you crazy?” He stepped between the two that had just entered protectively. He cut off the wolf’s path towards the rest of their home.

“Nathaniel, calm down.” Lily said dryly and he flinched at her using his real name. “He saved my life and he’s hurt. I need your help healing him.”

Sweet Pea huffed indignantly, “you know my magic won’t work while I’m sick.” He replied in a sour tone. “Even if I wasn’t sick, it won’t work on him in that form. Did you get the basil?”

Lily rolled her eyes and shoved him out of the way. She walked up to the werewolf who was now sitting on the wooden floor. Her hand softly pet his head between his ears, a warm smile on her face. “Go back to the couch and I’ll clean him up.”

“Him? What about me?” Sweet Pea asked in an offended tone. Shouldn’t he come first? He was her best friend and the father of her child. Certainly she should be healing him and not this stranger donned in fur.

She sighed in annoyance of his obvious jealousy, “I’ll brew your potion first then, okay?” Her voice was heavy with frustration. The warlock on nodded in response before sulking back to his place on the couch, his body lost under the layers of blankets.

Lily grabbed his moleskin grimoire. He had wanted a leather one but moleskin was all they could afford. She had been saving up for months to buy him one for his birthday. Unfortunately their daughter, Daisy, became extremely ill and needed to see a doctor in town. It was a sickness beyond anything they could handle with simple potions and magics. Every penny she had pinched was gone.

These thoughts perturbed her as she went to the bookmarked page. A frown was on her delicate face as she began to brew the easy concoction. Hopefully this would be all he needed. They couldn’t really afford another doctor visit. Not without skipping out on a bill or two.

She added the basil to the part she had already half brewed. Once she finished the rest of the steps, she poured the contents into a mug with a broken handle. Purple tinted steam rose up out of the dark liquid. A light, herbal scent wafted from it.

The mystery wolf sat in the entryway still, not daring to overstep his welcome by going somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. He watched the sad look on the witch’s face and wondered what caused such a sullen expression. He was frowning too, though you couldn’t really see it. Emotions didn’t translate too well in this form.

Once the potion had cooled enough so it wouldn’t burn going down, Lily took the mug to Sweet Pea who was almost asleep on the couch. She peeled back the layers of old quilts and crocheted yarn blankets to see his tired face. “Here, Pea.” She whispered to him as she handed over the mug.

Sweet Pea sat up enough to swallow the earthy liquid. It tasted like soil and was bitter going down, but almost instantly he felt relief. Chills stopped running up his spine as he lay back down. A small cough sputtered from his throat as he closed his eyes. “Thanks, Lils.” He mumbled groggily, the medicine taking effect.

She watched him fall into the deepest sleep he’d had in weeks. A smile lit up her face as she tucked him in lovingly. The wolf, watching them intensely, mistook this tenderness as affection. It wasn’t. Not truly. Sure they had tried the whole dating thing, tried to make things work even after Lily mistakenly became pregnant. But in the end they were better as friends than lovers. They were compatible, sure, yet not quite compatible enough to last.

So while it looked like they were a couple, it really wasn’t something so serious. Lily cared deeply for Sweet Pea and he cared deeply for her. But love? They were never in love. It was just the comfort of not being alone that they loved. After all, they had no one else in their lives. Orphans with only each other.

But of course, he did not know any of this. He didn’t understand the pang of regret he felt in his heart. Especially since he had his own fair haired woman waiting for him on the Northside. Though admittedly things were not so great between him and Betty at the moment. The more violence that the Northside rallied for, the more uneasy it made him, and the less she understood why he found himself not wanting to ever risk crossing the railroad tracks. The only reason he did these days were to see her.

Lily set the mug down on the small end table next to the couch and walked over to the werewolf. She kneeled down, still smiling that beautiful smile that had his pain fading away. “I guess you can’t change back yet. I’ll still clean you up though, okay?”

He cocked his head at her, not wanting to be too vocal and wake up the sleeping members of the household. She pet his fur between his ears again, making his mouth open and tongue lull out. It was perhaps the most non threatening image of any wolf that had ever existed. He looked like an overgrown puppy that just wanted attention.

Which was somewhat true. He did want attention, but only hers. Quickly he cursed himself for even thinking that way.

Lily got up and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. He trotted, nails clicking against the hardwood floors. The sound caused her smile to grow ever so slightly.

Once they were in the kitchen she went under the sink to grab a few towels and what appeared to be a modern first aid kit. He felt this to be a little strange for a magic user to have, though he truly didn’t know a whole lot about witchcraft and what could and couldn’t be done.

Simple cuts and burns, bug bites and bee stings, didn’t really need magic. It could be seen as a waste of energy. There was such a finite amount that using it on any little thing was truly a waste. Lily practiced magic when it was absolutely needed and she strictly only used white magic.

Sweet Pea wasn’t as reserved as her, using all kinds of magic (though mostly black) to do whatever it was he wanted to do. She tried to stop him, tried to get him to change, for black magic always comes with a price. Eventually you will owe more than you can give. This scared her deeply, not wanting to see him hurt in any way.

Lily put her hand on his head for a moment and closed her eyes, “What is your name?” She asked him then. It wasn’t out loud, rather a voice inside his head and he knew what she was doing.

“Jughead Jones.” He thought back to her. She drew her hand away, not wanting to use any more energy than she had to. Her smile faltered a fraction and he knew exactly why. It was his surname. Jones. His father was the alpha of the largest wolf pack in Riverdale. Those woods they had been in was his territory and he made sure all of Southside knew that.

“Jughead,” She repeated out loud and he found himself adoring the way she spoke his name. “Interesting,” she giggled then before wetting one of the rags. “I’m Lily Owens and that’s Sweet Pea on the couch. Just ignore him though, he’s being an overprotective grump because he’s sick.”

She started to wipe away the blood on his fur. The white rag began to turn pink with it. Jughead sat perfectly still, despite the tiny sparks of pain that flurried through him any time she hit an open wound. If Jughead had anything on the gods’ green Earth, it was control.

But if Lily had anything it was the master ability of picking up even the slightest changes of body language. It was magic that required no energy for her, so when she did touch these places on him she noticed the way his eyes seemed to change for a fraction of a moment. She found herself apologizing in a soft voice whenever this happened.

“You shouldn’t go back out tonight, in case it comes back. You won’t be able to defend yourself, I don’t think…” her voice trailed as the uncertainty in her heart made it waiver. Some of the places were inches deep from long canines sinking into soft flesh. The blood was thickest there, sticky with clots and almost black.

The healing ability of werewolves was fast but not nearly as fast as legends would have you believe. These cuts would scab and fade within a few days rather than a few minutes. It was totally possible to die from things other than silver bullets, though bullets would certainly do the job faster. Regular leaded ones. Silver bullets were actually quite inaccurate due to their weight and hitting something with on was more based on luck than marksmanship. This was something The Red Circle had yet to figure out. Some legends were created as a protective cover for the supernatural. Silver bullets was one of them.

By the time Lily was done cleaning off most of the blood, the rag she had in her hand was a dark and blotchy red. Jughead felt almost a weight lifted off of him as he could feel his fur no longer clumped together with his viscous life force. To be completely honest this was the cleanest he had felt in a very long time.

The witch didn’t need to convince him to stay. Her offer was quickly accepted. The black wolf nodded his head slowly to show that he would remain there with great appreciation of his hostess.

Lily smiled a beautifully genuine smile as she stood up, tossing the red piece of cloth into the sink haphazardly. She’d deal with it in the morning. As of now it was late, past midnight, and she was exhausted. Daisy would be up early without a doubt, though she’d probably pester her father first.

“Do you want me to get you a blanket or pillow or…something?” She asked, unsure of what a wolf would need for comfort. He chuckled inside his head at her, amused by how much she wanted him to feel good.

His answer came in the form of him limping towards the brick fireplace and laying down, curling into a tight ball of fluff. Lily understood this as a sign of him not needing anything and retreated into her own bedroom to try and get some much needed sleep. Although, to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t sure if she would even be able to knowing she had a Jones in the living room. Would FP come looking for him when he didn’t return home? Hopefully not.

+++

A purple haired demon clicked her long stiletto nails rhythmically across the oak table, obviously bored out of her mind. Waiting on assignments from her boss was even more tortuous than hell itself. She groaned after looking at the clock for the hundredth time.

The old door that led into the old house creaked and the demon’s black eyes lit up with hope. A petite blonde woman walked in, wearing a dramatically heavy robe. Dark makeup swirled around her equally dark eyes. “Have you eaten?” She asked cryptically.

Lav grit her teeth, almost compelled to tell her to go fuck herself however the small mark on her pulse point burned at the mere thought. “It’s been a few days. As you requested.” She finally replied in a strained voice. She could not disobey, not without severe consequence. Though sometimes Lavender wondered if living in hell would be less painful that walking the mortal realm under the heel of Myra’s boot.

And curse Satan for creating something as monstrous and evil as Myra’s father. The demon which taught her everything he knew. The demon that created an even bigger evil than himself. Probably, Lav thought bitterly, an evil even greater than the devil.

She was so impossibly hungry. The longer she spent on Earth with mortals the more she had to eat just to stay sane. But Myra, oh this fucking creature spawned in the depths of hell, forced her to starve herself for the past two days. It wasn’t good for someone as young as her. It wasn’t good at all.

“Excellent,” Myra said with a feverish grin that showed pointed teeth. “I have a very special conquest for you. There is a warlock in Riverdale. He’s been writing checks his body can’t cash and now my father requires his soul.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Lav drawled out in a bored tone. “You want me to fuck his brains outs.”

Myra snorted back a laugh at her crude comment. “Well, I can’t account for how much brain matter he actually has. Fuck his soul out instead.”

“But he’s a magic user. He’ll know what I am.” Lav countered, knowing that bedding a warlock could be dangerous. There were powerful spells that could seriously harm her kind. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at hiding her own darkness from others. She was easy to spot…if you knew things like her existed and walked the earth at least.

However, none of this was Myra’s problem. Myra’s problem was her father demanded this witch’s soul and her enslaved soul sucker just had to seduce him to get it. It shouldn’t be hard. Lav was good at what she did, whether she hid herself or not. Talent begets talent and her mother had been one of the best.

Lavender was in truth a hybrid. Her father had been human, her mother a demon. Though most demon women were infertile, barren, and totally incapable of breeding; her father had had just enough of a touch of magic to allow her to be conceived. It was nothing short of a miracle. The high ranking demons demanded the girl be recruited for the army of hell. An army that was to rise up and overtake the mortal realm of earth one day.

In short, the apocalypse.

And in the end, the prince of demons himself would have her under his thumb. Well, more specifically his daughter would have the hybrid under her thumb. Asmodeus bragged more often than not about how his daughter was the one to obtain a virile hybrid into the ranks of hell.

“I don’t want you to just obtain his soul, Shoshanna.” Myra added, her voice dropping to something that sounded more grave for a heavier impact. The use of her old mortal name had Lav on edge, “You are to conceive his child.”

Lavender froze, “You want me to have a baby?” She asked, completely confused as to why anyone would want this. She had been told that because she was a hybrid that she was capable of breeding and that any lesser demon would use her for this purpose, but Myra assured her that she was not a lesser demon.

It would seem that Myra, as she had many times before, twisted the truth when she tricked Lavender to serve under her. “And on top of that you want me to kill that baby’s father?”

Myra scoffed, not seeing what the issue could possibly be. “He won’t die. Magic users can live without a soul, in fact it makes them all the more powerful. He will be thanking you by the time you’re done.”

Deep down Lavender knew she didn’t want to do what was being asked of her. She had no desire to have children, at least not at this point in her immortal life. “So I have this child and then what?” Lavender asked, the inverted pentacle on her throat was burning now. It felt like a fire hot brand was being pressed against her sensitive skin just from thinking about how much she didn’t want to do this.

And if hurt this much at the thought, then what would happen if she actually went through with disobedience? It was beyond sinful.

“You give the child to me.” Myra replied as if her minion was the dumbest demon that walked the Earth. “I will raise it to follow Asmodeus’ whim just as I was raised and just as I’ve commanded you to. They will join the legions of hell and we’ll be one step closer to our goal.”

The gears inside the succubus’ brain clicked into place. “My child is going to start the apocalypse?” It was a bit of a reach, however she knew how Myra operated. She knew what the endgame was and she knew what was needed to get there. A child. A very special kind of hybrid to be exact.

Myra smiled, cruel and wicked, “as it is written. The child will bring hell on mortal Earth.” She moved closer to the young demon and cupped her face in what could almost be seen as a loving manner. “You are the key, Shoshanna, that is why I have cultivated you into the best seductress on this side of Hell. Do this for me and I will set you free.”

Freedom. The thought rang suddenly, as clear as a church bell in Lavender’s mind. Freedom which she had been dreaming of for over twenty years was now within reach. Bringing on the apocalypse couldn’t possibly be that bad of a price. After all she was already guaranteed her run of the Earth and her fill in the souls of mortal men. What did she have to lose?

The burning disappeared suddenly and all thoughts of deserting the cause vanished with it. “Deal.”

Suddenly the door broke open, a lean and very naked man stumbled in, holding a shoulder that was drenched in thick dark blood. There were a few other scrapes and obvious bite marks across his arms and upper torso, but his shoulder was definitely the worst.

Lav glanced out of the window and saw the sun was rising. The newcomer collapsed onto the stone floor, his breath ragged and rough. Myra moved at a speed that Lav had never seen before, at his side instantly and scooping him into her arms. The purple haired demon watched with growing curiosity.

“Leave us,” Myra demanded then and Lav sighed. She stood and left after giving a small wave by flicking her wrist nonchalantly. Once she was gone Myra began to brush back the man’s dark hair.

He groaned as he rested his head against her, clearly exhausted from the battle with the moon. He couldn’t remember anything that had happened since sundown. He wasn’t even sure how he had gotten here. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was safe within his demon princess’ arms.

“The Jones boy,” Myra practically growled with seething hatred. “He will pay for this.” She could smell his scent all over her lover as well as the death and decay that her rabid wolf had brought. The blood was not all his and that she knew for sure. The wolf just breathed a heavy sigh in response, not knowing who Jones was or what Myra meant by what she said.

Myra chanted a spell in a demonic language that was older than the Earth itself. At once all of the wounds on his body began to close and heal. The magic slowly worked its way throughout his body so that there was nothing left but the blood that had come from his wounds and from his attacker. His mouth was full of it. Coppery and earthy, it was actually a comforting taste.

“Kurtz,” She said softly as he began to fall asleep, his body torn from the change that caused him to run rampant across Riverdale. “Let’s get you cleaned up, my love.” Her voice was light and almost human.

Hazel eyes peered in through the window, watching with an absurd amount of intrigue. In the two decades she had been enslaved to the blonde demon, she had never seen her act…tender. She had brief lapses where she wasn’t quite as horrid but she was never sweet. Lavender thought she was incapable of such things. Myra was so distracted that she couldn’t even feel her presence there right outside the ramshackle house.

That was perhaps a good thing, as Myra would have tortured her with rage had she noticed.

Myra managed to get the man she called Kurtz up and into the bathtub. She ran him a bath of hot water, adding a few herbs into the mix to help soothe his broken body. The change was so hard on him. The madness wracked his body, causing him to shake in the milky bath water.

She grabbed a washcloth and began to scrub away the blood as he relaxed against the tile, his head falling to the side as he fell in and out of sleep. “The white witch, did I get her?” He asked suddenly in a broken voice that had her withered heart wrenching.

“No, not this time.” Myra replied in a tone that showed no disappointment in him. She was too worried to care if the witch was dead or not. He had come close, she could feel that, but the black wolf got in the way.

They had finally crossed paths, light and dark, and Myra feared that she may be too late to stop them. There was one way the final prophecy could fail, only one, and of course those two had something to do with it. At least as far as she could tell. Decoding ancient texts was not an exact science, rather a fine art.

But there was still time, her slave was now on course to become with child. Soon no one would be able to stop her from raising the depths of hell.

“Soon, my wolf.” She said with a bite to her voice now. Anger bloomed as the water began to turn pink. She stared intently at a sprig of fresh lavender that floated by, “We will get her soon.”

tag list: @the-gargoyle-queen, @southside-vixen @wayward-river @redhairdontcare732 @cigarettesafterserpents message me if you want to be added!

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theboyz-engup · 5 years

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I Think I’m In Love? - Eric’s Birthday One Shot

a/n: just a little mention that I base all of my titles / imagines off of songs I really adore or think fits each character, scene, etc that I’m tryna convey; I’ll start linking the songs at the beginning of each piece starting this 2019 year :D I hope you all enjoy and that you all had a v happy new year! With love, Admin Zea

inspo.

Y/n, 10:51 p.m: Do you want to come over tomorrow? I’m alone and kinda don’t wanna be

Eric stared at the message, not believing you even offered at all. You hated being home in general but you were sick and your parents were out of the country on business. With all the snow on the ground and the flurries in your area, you weren’t too keen on going outside and, from the looks of it, your friends weren’t too keen on coming over to visit. You messaged him everyday, talking about nothing and everything, but you’d never invite him over. It made his heart race.

Y/n, 11:06 p.m: Okay, you’re right it was a dumb question, you don’t have to come over

Y/n: 11:06 p.m: it was just like a suggestion or something idk

Eric panicked, quickly typing something in and sending it. Annoyed at himself, he muttered, “stupid read receipts.”

Me, 11:07 p.m: no it’s not dumb !! i was just washing a dish and opened it by accident

It was easier to fib than it was to admit his heart stopped.

Me, 11:07 p.m: what do you wanna do?

You sent back a little shrug emoji and he snickered. Of course you didn’t have a plan.

Y/n, 11:08 p.m: I’m providing the house, you figure out what to do

He thought about it for a moment, readjusting his position on his bed to get more comfortable as he did so. He had his blanket up to his chin but his feet were poking out, just how he liked it. To his left, a little orange tinted lamp was on and it casted deep shadows across his carpeted floor. Soon, he knew Juyeon would walk in and ask him to turn it off so he could get his ‘beauty sleep’. What he really meant though was that Eric’s light was bothering him because it was orange. They’d had many arguments about changing the lightbulb but Eric liked the dimness of it. It gave him a little bit of home, when the sunset in Los Angeles would dip into his room for a little goodnight kiss.

Mind preoccupied with his lamp for a second, he skimmed over all the possible things to do and typed out the thing he knew would make you smile.

Me, 11:10 p.m: nap, let’s nap

You responded immediately with an enthusiastic yes, typing something before the minute changed about how cute napping with someone else was. Then, the usual message at this time.

Y/n, 11:11 p.m: 11:11, make a wish !!

There was a slight pause as Eric closed his eyes and wished quietly, whispering it to himself. Then, he flicked his eyes open and responded.

Me, 11:11 p.m: made it

Y/n. 11:12 p.m: me too

After that little interruption, you two figured out a time and everything. Eric cleared his schedule, asking if he could meet up with Chanhee a little later on in the week. The boy agreed, saying he needed to pick up an extra shift anyways at work to cover a bill payment. With a bit of excitement, he settled into bed with his phone by his face. As he scrolled through the few pictures he’d taken of you recently, he wondered what you wished for. He wondered if you stood up looking at pictures of him too. He wondered if you knew that a little more time with you was all he ever wished for, every time.

“Eric, shut off that freaking lamp!” Juyeon shouted from across the hall. The boy snickered and turned over, clicking it shut.

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Cradling his Switch, which he’d gotten for his birthday just a few days ago, Eric tiptoed outside of his shared home in hopes of not waking anyone up. Juyeon was out for a run, as he usually was at this time, but the other boys were still fast asleep. Sunwoo’s arm and foot were draping off the couch, sticking out from under his thick blanket. Eric clicked his tongue at the boy wearing socks to bed, trying to balance his boots and switch and everything so he wouldn’t make noise or leave the door open for too long.

It wasn’t easy but he made it despite dropping a few of his controllers in the snow, but he decided he couldn’t have it all. Fishing the controllers out of the snow gingerly and shaking them off after putting his boots on, he huffed. Bussing to your house was really going to be a hassle. It was good that he liked a challenge though, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t count how many times he imagined you opening that door. Would you be draped in a blanket, or in sweatpants and a big shirt? Would you look ill, with a chill hanging onto your hands but a fever running over your forehead? Would there be a mug in your hand, steam drifting up and casting mist across your face? He imagined as many scenarios as he could, absentmindedly chewing on his bottom lip as he leaned his head against the bus window. Between the ice of the glass and his ear sat his thick woollen hat, one you’d pulled over his eyes once so you could run away after teasing him.

The smile you had written on your lips that day was unforgettable, just like your grin today when you tugged the door open. To confirm, you had a sweater on over your midsection and a pair of joggers that cut above your ankle. Fluffy socks stretched to cover the skin there but barely made it, and you were still shivering despite being swallowed by the clothes. Eric grinned.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he crooned, knowing how much you hated being called that. You only groaned, rubbing at your eye with your sleeve and pushing the door shut. His foot was in the way, laugh filling the space.

“Get out,” you groaned, drawing the words and whining while hardly applying any pressure. Eric only poked his head forwards, shaking it.

“Ask politely.”

You stared for a moment, sighing and deciding, “no thanks.”

Stepping out of the way, you let him come in and he took the chance. Kicking his boots off, your cat, Kitty, sidled up next to him and meowed softly. They held eye contact for a moment, Eric smiling and sticking his tongue out at Kitty.

“Hi, Kitty,” you hummed, dipping to pick her up. She buried her face in your neck, making a few more noises as if she was having a conversation. You nodded, playing along and murmuring, “I know, I don’t like him either but he’s got a Switch.”

More complaints. Eric chuckled, “she doesn’t like me, huh?”

“Does she like anyone?” You raised an eyebrow at him and then looked at Kitty pointedly. She gave a definitive answer, meowing and slumping against you. Eric found this fishy, remembering how quickly Kitty warmed up to Hyunjoon but decided to say nothing about it.

It didn’t take long for you two to settle into your usual place beside each other. Legs crossed and tea on the coffee table across from you, you played every game you could together. Eric watched as you called out to the screen whenever you died or went off course and cackled, calling you a bad player.

“I’m just sick!” you protested, elbowing him a bit, “I’ll kick your ass when I’m feeling better.”

“You seem fine to me, boney,” he hissed, rubbing at the place you touched him mockingly. Fixing him with a look, you swatted at him again but he dodged it each time. Smiles were stationed on your lips like they were always meant to be there when you were with each other.

Playing bingo tired you out though and you leaned against his shoulder. You had your hood up over your head and, when he complained about you getting him sick, you only shifted closer to him.

“The hood’s keeping the sick in here with me. You’re fine.”

“Mhmm,” Eric drew out. This time, you didn’t swat back. He found it odd, missing a number that appeared on his card. “Hey, you okay?”

You shook your head. “Can we nap now?”

He nodded, willing to do anything just to spend a little more time with you. You told him where to find blankets and pillows, leading him on a little goose chase while you pulled the bottom part of your sofa up and out to create a makeshift bed. He sifted through colours, finding a pink blanket for him and a green one for you, but he didn’t know what kind of pillows you liked best.

“Hey, y/n?” Eric called, staring at the two in his hands, “which pillow do you want? The one with the roses on it or the one with the crown? Y/n?”

You were fast asleep when he came to the living room, hood taken off your head and hands placed underneath your ears. Clicking his tongue, he lifted your head softly to give you the one with the crown design and chose the roses for himself. Lying down beside you, he tried very hard not to stare. The way your chest rose and fell created a lullaby. You looked like an angel with a head of hair and a crown to match.

Has it always been you?

His mind asked the question even though it didn’t have an answer he wanted to face at the moment. All he wanted to be face to face with you and look at the way your eyelashes fluttered or your mouth twitched into smiles that waxed and waned. You were as pretty as the moon and he wondered if that made him the sun. Was he forever fated to see you and not touch; to pass you by each morning and watch you shine at night from the comfort of his home? Would you only meet in still times like this where you crossed paths across the sky?

When he fell asleep was a mystery to him but waking up with you bundled closer to him, hands now clasped together and under your chin, he smiled. He wished the day would’ve never ended but, looking at the clock across the wall, it was getting late and he would have to be home soon. It was his turn to help with dinner.

“Y/n? Y/n, I have to go soon,” Eric hummed softly, trying his hardest not to wake you up in any obnoxious way. You weren’t exactly kind to people who pulled you from sleep.

Immediately though, you grasped at his pullover and tugged yourself closer. His mouth fell open a little, eyes widening as you buried yourself closer into him.

“Please don’t go yet,” you whispered quietly, he wondered if you even said it or he imagined it. He didn’t know what to say so he decided on gaping for words until you murmured another, definitive, “please.”

It took very little to make him say yes. Without him knowing, he had faced the answer to his question ages ago. Though, he supposed lying there for a little more wouldn’t change anything for the worse. He was already caught in a web of feelings and memories and your hair, which tucked itself neatly beneath his chin.

“Okay,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you. There was no need to see your face to know you smiled, though he imagined it over and over that night when he came home and went about the rest of his night. He thought of the way you pouted when you spilled tea on your joggers and the laugh you gave when Kitty stuck her tail in the air at him. He thought the whole day over and over again, determined to keep the memories of you locked in his mind.

“Eric, I’m going to throw that lamp out the literal window,” Juyeon groaned as he stood in the doorway, looking as threatening as ever. Eric only chuckled, clicking the setting to make it brighter.

“Do it.”

Juyeon pounced, lunging for the appliance. Eric’s laugh grew, defending his poor lamp, the two play-fighting. He thought back to his wish, one which encompassed so much. I wish to be happy. The people in his life- you, Juyeon, the boys downstairs yelling at the tv- were the best gifts he could ask for, happiness coming in sprinkles of laughs and jests and games like this. The Switch was long forgotten at your house.

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