#she knows at a glance whether the devil are possessing a living body or a corpse

[mayasaura]

So... about Kiriona and why she's Like That, and what's been happening these past six months.

She hasn't just been living her worst monkey's paw life as Ianthe's chew toy and bored prince, acting as emotional support for her new dad in his dismyriad crisis. Which would all be bad enough on its own. At least half that time she's also been actively deployed. Like, in the military, in a combat zone. Probably in a command position with very little experience and exactly zero training.

From the scattered mentions we've seen of Antioch, Kiriona was most likely deployed there to quell a rebellion. No doubt a terrible experience that would have expected her to do horrible things. Then these things—the devils—turned up.

Anyone who was infected by the devils, she had to dismember them and burn the corpses. Edenites, House, and civilians. That means regular old people who had nothing to do with the fighting, and people under her command. Either they became shambling zombies with mouths for eyes, or they were mercy-killed and burned before they could be taken.

How many people did she see die? How many people did she kill, and how many of them did she consider herself responsible for?

So if we're counting the reasons Gideon might seem a little off, we might want to take into account how she took a detour though a fucking zombie apocalypse while we weren't looking. Shit.

#the locked tomb #gideon nav #kiriona gaia #ntn spoilers #nona the ninth #and she was most definitely on the ground fighting #she knows at a glance whether the devil are possessing a living body or a corpse #their treck through the Ninth she's on edge and hypervigilant #she's seen some shit #possibly even worse shit than she saw in Canaan House

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Your quiet days in castle Dimitrescu met their end the moment Cassandra took an interest in you.

You should have known. Perhaps you did know and just didn’t want to admit it.

The woman –vampire, mutant, what even are they— is a bipolar sadist.

One night she may be walking down the halls sending you a sexy wink under her hood as she passes you by, the next she could show up out of nowhere and cut you ‘hello’ with her sickle, scoop up the blood with her thumb to taste, then disappear again. The evening after that, she may not even give a damn about you, may not spare you a single fleeting glance, like even the notion you could be worth her time is laughable.

And it is, isn’t it.

Humans are nothing to them. Your significance is below that of a pet. You may as well be livestock. It doesn’t matter, though, so long as you continue to breathe and remain intact. They’re the two essential factors to escaping. All else is secondary.

It doesn’t matter how Cassandra views you.

You don’t even like her.

What is there to even be drawn to? She’s covered in blood more often than not. The scent of iron usually drowns out her perfume. She’s capricious and cruel and the living personification of an unsheathed knife. You prefer your routes safer. Playful, creative pretty girls that are good for you and most importantly, sane.

Whatever weird tricks your brain and hormones are playing where she stars –you hate it, what is wrong with you— they’re just delusions, you reason, born from her questionable flirting and your time in captivity. It’s just a really bothersome case of Stockholm Syndrome you’re developing. And it has to stop.

Another week passes. You don’t see her.

You are on another night shift when you hear the telltale buzzing of insects down the corridor. Hervoice reaches your ear afterwards;

“Ugh, Bela, you never complain about anything. It’s so annoying.” Two pairs of heels steadily tap towards you.

“I leave it to you and Dani to cover for me, since you complain about everything.” The quieter sister drawls. You can easily picture her roll her eyes as she says it.

“You know, you really should sound more thankful I came with you in this unearthly cold.”

“I gave you the option not to—”

“Just to have you rummage through that bookshop for what was definitely the most boring twenty minutes of my life.” Cassandra continues.

From the fleeting glance you steal at them, the entirety of her attention is on Bela. You don’t think she’ll notice you as you continue polishing the corridor’s decorations. It’s just another one of these nights where you don’t exist and you’re deeply glad for it. Not just for yourself, but also the other maids.

“I thought I was going to die of frostbite.” she growls, shaking the elder sister’s arm.

“Technically, you can’t.” Bela shakes hers back.

It would be… cute, if they were any normal family. But you are quick to remind yourself of what they really are. Devils in human form. Monsters that took you from your home and trapped you here, to clean after their mess, with the threat of death looming over your head every second.

Their steps pass you by. You can almost breathe normally again, when—

Cassandra stops.

“Not even going to tell me hello?” The hurt in her voice can’t be genuine, you tell yourself as you turn around to face her. She’s closer than you thought, enough for you to be able to make out the tiny melting snowflakes caught in her long lashes.

“Um—hello.” you say, awkwardly.

“Cassandra.” Bela lets out a soft sigh.

“Bye, Bela.” The brunette pointedly speaks over her shoulder.

And to your horror… “Just keep in mind what mother said about the maids.” the eldest sister leaves you alone with her.

Each further step until the blonde disappears from view fills you with dread. Cassandra has that spark in her eye that you’ve learned to not associate with anything good. She’s completely still until she’s sure the two of you won’t be overheard or interrupted.

Then, she moves.

Her hands all too easily shove you against the wall. It’s more startling than painful, you realize, when your back doesn’t protest much at the collision.

Cassandra maintains eye contact with you as she tugs at the fingers of her gloves. You cannot fathom why it looks that sexy, the way she pulls them off, whether it is intentional or not.

“Plaything.” she says. Another new nickname for you. Not that you ever expected her to care to know your name. “I’m terribly cold.” she doesn’t seem to be lying, though the soft pout that curves her mouth is surely for effect.

It’s a test and your wellbeing depends on it.

Only, you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. Ruling your nerves under control, you decide to start slow. “Shall I light the fireplace in your room, my lady?”

“Maybe I want something more… immediate.” she replies, raising her hand to your neck.

The second her freezing skin touches your flesh, you cannot help but flinch. It feels like a slightly softer block of ice. Cassandra’s eyes creak at the corners. Of course, the sadist is enjoying your torment. Slowly, her fingers move under the collar of your black button-up shirt, which only makes it worse. The cold spreads, a peculiar tingle at your stomach with it.

“Well?” she asks. You get the memo that just sitting back and letting her have her way isn’t going to work, this time. You call upon all the willpower you possess and act.

Carefully, your hands rise to meet her own. You aren’t looking at her in the eyes –you don’t think you could— as your fingers wrap around hers and bring them in front of you, close to your body, warmed from hours of work. Instead, your gaze locks on the golden jewel decorating the chocker at her throat, before falling down, to your point of contact.

It is not the first time you see her hands without gloves on, but it only now hits you just how dainty they look. Her nails, filed round, are dyed a darker shade of crimson, stark against the white of her skin. There isn’t a single blemish or uneven spot you can feel on her palm. It is a princess’ hand you seem to be holding, not a killer’s.

But appearances can be deceiving.

The very corner of Cassandra’s lip curls up, amused or pleased or both. She then reaches forward, at the lowest clasped button of your shirt… and frees it open. You’re sure you aren’t breathing. Two more buttons are released. Her fingers, at least now considerably warmer, splay against your stomach. Something inside you quivers like a flickering candlefire.

You don’t want her touch.

But a traitorous, weak part of you has already decided that it does.

“You work out?” it is merely a whisper between you. She presses a little closer, entirely unashamed to be feeling the contours of your middle up while you’re burning with embarrassment.

“…probably the days of working in the fields.” you say, voice low because it cannot be trusted any higher. She’s doing a little thing with her thumb over your skin that you desperately want to deny turns you on.

Thanks to her you’re now freezing and burning at the same time.

Cassandra just stays like that for a few more seconds.

“Draw me a hot bath.” she eventually orders and extracts herself from you as if she’s not remotely happy with her own decision.

-

-

You don’t really know how she likes her bath and she doesn’t tell you.

All you can do as you test the water on your hand is pray. Your mind isn’t really working right after the touching at the hallway, but your survival instincts are strong still. Strong enough to remind you that Cassandra likes to be treated like royalty above all, so bubbles are your best friend in this. The more, the merrier.

The Dimitrescu daughter does not ask if the bath is ready when she comes in. You aren’t used to her being so silent, so you turn to see if something is wrong –but immediately regret it when the heavy robe clinging to her body drops down. The only glimpse you catch is of the fabric pooling at her feet like a shadow.

Your eyes stay glued on the queen-sized bathtub, even when she approaches. They turn to the side as she enters it.

You want to ask if the water is fine, but you can’t find your voice. You lose even your train of thought when she lets out a small hiss as she sinks in, replaced by a moan once she’s completely settled back, neck tilted and eyes closed in bliss. The polite thing is to let her bathe in peace, so you move to do just that.

Cassandra has other plans.

Her hand shoots out of the tub to wrap around your wrist, inescapable as an iron shackle. Those intense yellowish eyes are on you again and they seem to be glowing under the dim lights.

“No.” she says. “Massage. Now.”

Ah, great. You think. You’ve spoiled her. But if giving Cassandra massages is what is going to keep your hands attached to your body, you won’t complain. It’s just that… you can’t really focus right now. None of your thoughts are right or remotely what they should be. You need time off from her, rather than touching her.

Thankfully, the moans are kept to a minimum and there is no teasing. She is utterly relaxed, only giving the occasional command for higher or lower. It does kind of kill you when at one point she whispers “Right there.” but you are able to move past it.

You leave fresh towels beside her when you’re finally allowed to leave. Back in her bedroom, you light the fireplace in a way that you make sure will last through the day, while she’ll be asleep. The plan is to leave before she returns, but she’s already there by the time you’re finished with the preparations.

And –you’re trapped.

Because, again, she’s changing and you have to look away to preserve your sanity and probably your eyes. “No peeping, now.” she calls over her shoulder. You know better than to dare.

You keep your hands busy arranging bottles and boxes at her vanity until she’s done. Cassandra does that ‘flashing’ thing where she’s on one side of the room one moment and right behind you the next. You only then notice a little insect flying back into her form. It was spying on you.

“You didn’t even look near me, huh.” she says it like ‘congratulations, you passed’, but there’s a bitter undertone of disappointment in her voice.

She’s only feeling down that you didn’t give her an excuse to slice at your face, you think. Then again, does she really need one?

“I wouldn’t, my lady.” you assure. “If I may be excused—”

“Did I say you can go?” she turns you around, none-too-gently, her hands on your biceps tight. You’re effectively pinned against her and the vanity, but you have much bigger problems to worry about, when you take in what she’s wearing.

Cassandra is clad in a flimsy nightrobe that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric nearly see-through. You can see the edges of her lacy underwear underneath it, how nicely it sits against her perfect curves. To make matters even worse, the robe ends at about mid-thigh and your eye catches the expanse of creamy skin on display.

Your brain nearly melts.

“I don’t know what it is about you, plaything, but you’re working up my appetite.” she confesses, pressing into you, pressing you harder into the furniture. You try to think of literally anything else than how well her thigh is slotted between your legs.

If you’re supposed to look away from her lidded eyes, however, you can’t. And if you’re not supposed to feel the echo of her nails on your arm all the way down to your center, you can’t. You are definitely not supposed to be so achingly curious about her bow-shaped lips. But you just can’t.

“You’re working me up.” she breathes, so close you can feel the ghost of her lower lip on yours.

And then –her mouth is on you and you forget how to breathe. Your eyes close and just feel, instead. If this is how you die, maybe it isn’t such a bad way to go. It’s been too long since you kissed anyone, seems like ages ago now, but you gradually remember how to move once you allow your muscles to unlock.

Not looking at her makes it easier. Her lips are balmy and smooth and slide so good on your own you can’t think at all, much less of what she’s capable of. You would have guessed her to be aggressive, but Cassandra is oddly hesitant, the only thing hard about her being her grip.

You’re not sure what you’re doing or how you get so bold, but your hands trail up to her waist and pull her in. The little hitch in her breath threatens to break you. It provides the perfect opening to part her lips with your tongue. As soon as it touches hers, she moans low in her throat and slowly drags her hips against your thigh.

Oh. God.

There’s a hollow ache in your stomach. You’re shamefully wet for her. The voice of reason is mute in your head, until you’re forced to break your liplock to breathe and it only then hits you what you’ve just done.

Cassandra’s lips are insistent on your jawline, on the vulnerable spot under your ear. Her open-mouthed kisses are just hard enough, at first, but then start to border on painful. Your heart skips a beat when you feel the press of teeth, yet she rips herself off of you before she bites down.

“Ugh. I’m… so thirsty.” she says it lightly, but her voice is hoarse and something about her body language gives you the impression she’s hurting. “You should leave. Fast.”

You almost make the mistake of reaching for her. Almost.

Cassandra turns away from the temptation of your veins.

For both your sakes –mostly for yours— you hurry out of her room and never stop to look back.

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #lady dimitrescu #resident evil village #fanfiction #she's so flirty in game I love her #playful vampire sadist princess of my heart #and Bela's just plain a boss and a bae too

[jackklineisperfect]

here comes the first step

Is this really all that there is for us?

Adam sighs, resting his head against the frame of the car. His coworker spares him a glance before heading back under the car. Adam can hear the sound of a blowtorch as a part is heated to force it to form a new shape. Much like how he and Michael were heated to fit into their new life, he thinks.

We were not heated, Adam Milligan. We were abandoned.

“You’d think an angel that was several billions of years old wouldn’t be hit so hard by an identity change,” Adam murmurs under his breath as he lowers his face shield.

His words are met with stony silence as Michael contemplates. Adam knows enough after tens of centuries in the cage that Michael needs to think. Housing the archangel inside his mind is easier than he thought it would be, in the end. There is nothing left for Michael, not anymore. Jack Kline, the new God, had no use for a relic of time past. No one had any use for Adam either. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

I miss my father, Michael confesses in a voice that is just above a whisper.

Adam lifts one shoulder into a shrug and shifts, feeling uneasy. “I barely knew mine,” he says. “I think I would have liked to.”

“Did you say something, Milligan?”

Adam’s coworker slides out from under the car, a splotch of grease on his cheek. Adam shakes his head and resists the urge to wipe it away. He wonders whether that comes from Michael, or himself. Then he wonders if it matters anymore. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Michael ends and he begins.

“Not at all,” Adam says, and passes the rest of the day without hearing from Michael again.

It isn’t until they are heading back to the depressing flat they call home that Michael stirs. May I take control, Adam? he asks.

Adam chuckles. “You don’t know how to drive,” he says.

You are correct. Michael ponders this, and Adam can feel the way he shifts their wings. Why do we even need to drive, Adam? You know I can fly.

“Because, Michael, we’re trying to be human,” Adam says.

Are we?

“I am.”

Michael scoffs in the back of his mind. Adam regrets teaching him that one. I do not see the point of this endeavour. We are not human.

Adam sighs and turns into the parking lot for their apartment. It is in a run down part of the city, and the night is dark and cold. Adam lingers in the car, listening to it putter and whirr. The heat billowing from the vents feels comforting, and he sits with his hands cupped around it and his head tilted back. If he thinks very hard, he can imagine being in a warm embrace. Michael shifts their wings until they wrap around their body, holding in the warmth. It’s the closest thing to a hug that Adam feels he will ever get again.

“We could be,” Adam says. “Or we can at least try, right? We lost so much of our lives listening to other people. I want to rebuild it, Michael, without anyone else’s input but our own.”

I do not understand.

“Give it time, buddy.”

Adam turns off the car and gets out, the night air shockingly chill compared to the warmth of the car. Michael increases their body temperature to compensate, and Adam fights a smile that isn’t all his. Michael’s distaste for the cold mirrored his own, a shared hatred that derived its origins from the cage. His smile vanishes, pulled off his face by a wave of emotion from Michael that leaves him colder.

Bundling his coat tighter around him, Adam starts towards his building, looking forward to a cup of cheap coffee and some sleep on his couch. Neither of them need to sleep, not anymore, but Adam enjoys the way his mind shuts off at night. He hopes Michael’s does too. They deserve a little respite from the swirling of their thoughts.

“Give me your money!”

Something cold and hard jabs into Adam’s back, just between his shoulder blades. Michael is alert, his grace flowing through Adam like blood. Adam shakes his head and turns around, smiling at the owner of the gun trained on his chest.

The man before them is skinny, his clothes hanging off his frame. His eyes have a sunken in, hollowed out look to them that fills Adam with pity. The hand wrapped around the gun is shaking. Adam reaches out and places his hand over it and the man flinches. His finger twitches on the trigger, and Adam feels the slight pop of grace that prevents the trigger from being depressed.

“I can handle this,” he says, and the man before him frowns.

“What? Who the fuck are you talking to, man?”

There is no need for you to handle it, Michael protests. The feathers on their wings puff out. I am perfectly capable of dealing with one human.

“I don’t want you to deal with him,” Adam says, annoyance creeping into his tone. “He’s just hungry.”

The man lowers the gun before pushing it between Adam’s eyes, shaking off Adam’s hand. “Listen, you freakin’ psycho, I just want your money, all right? So hand it over, nice and slow, and no one will die tonight.”

“Look,” Adam says, holding out his hands. “I’ll give you the money, okay? But you should at least let me buy you some dinner first. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Who the fuck cares!” The man pulls the safety back, and Adam can feel Michael’s alarm. “I’m not some charity case, asshole! This is a mugging!”

“We can talk about this—” Adam starts.

The gun fires, and Michael surges forward in the same instant, taking control of their shared body. Adam is pushed to the side, where he remains, dazed by the ringing in his ears. The bullet that is meant to have gone through his head lies on the floor, crushed by grace that is bright and searing white. Adam feels their wings extend, and knows that their eyes are glowing with that same white light.

The man is on his ass on the ground, staring up at them with something like horror. Michael takes a step forward, and Adam watches as he puts his hand on the man’s forehead.

“You have tried to kill an angel of the Lord,” Michael says. “Do you know how much of a sin that is?”

The man stutters, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Adam tries to take control again and is buffeted away by Michael’s strength. Fighting against Michael is like trying to walk through a hurricane and a tornado combined. Adam wants to stop this, but Michael is too far gone. A righteous warrior filled with righteous wrath would never stop in his judgment. Adam can only hope that the soul of this doomed man will go somewhere pleasant.

It doesn’t have to be like this, he tries anyway, a small voice amid whipping and whirling winds of wrath. You can let him go, Michael.

“He tried to hurt you,” Michael says, his outrage clear.

I forgive him.

“I do not.”

A bright, painful white light emanates from within the man. He screams, his back arching as Michael’s judgment burns through him. Adam watches, helpless, as the corpse drops back to the ground, lifeless and empty. Michael straightens and, as if realising what he did, relinquishes control back to Adam.

Adam takes a deep breath, and then another, folding their wings again. There is a woman staring at him from the front of her building, her mouth hanging open. Adam feels a rush of sorrow as he starts towards her. She shrinks back and he pauses.

“What are you?” she asks, her voice shaking. She looks over at the corpse and back to Adam. “Are you God?”

Adam laughs. “No,” he says, shaking his head, a bitter smirk on his face. “I’m very, very far from God.”

“Are you the Devil?”

Michael huffs in the back of their mind, and Adam’s expression softens. “No,” he says. “I’m not the Devil either.”

“Then what the fuck are you?” the woman asks. “Because that shit was not normal.”

“I’m just a guy,” Adam says, pressing two fingers to her forehead.

She crumples to the ground, unconscious but breathing. Adam sighs again, rubbing his face. The memory he uses to replace the one of watching the man die is a pleasant one. It’s the least he can do.

He rides the elevator to his floor, steps off, and looks around. He can hear the sirens coming, and rubs his face. He liked it here, he thinks. It was run down and dilapidated, but it was home.

Where shall we go, Adam? Michael asks after Adam finishes packing his few possessions into a duffel bag.

“Anywhere,” Adam says.

Michael is silent. Then, his voice gentle, he says, You are not just a guy, Adam Milligan. You are my friend.

“I know,” Adam says. “I love you too, buddy. Now, come on. Let’s go.”

With a flap of their wings, they go.

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

The artwork that inspired this was: Protector by kingstoken. Go take a look, because it's stunning!

#supernatural #midam #supernatural fic #midam fic #spn michael #adam milligan #zel's writing #spnmonthly-reversebang

[thiswasinevitableid]

sea monster indruck nsfw? maybe including one of them masturbating while fantasizing about the other one and confessing all their dirty thoughts as they're actually having sex? scary protective monster is also always hot if you're down for that

Here you go! I wasn’t able to fit in everything, but this one was fun!

This is all the hangman's fault. 

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death. 

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them. 

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected. 

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist. 

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.” 

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark. 

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life. 

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled. 

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft. 

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him. 

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human. 

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would...would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken. 

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Down we go.” Duck sinks. 

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages--one red, one gold, and one blue-- stare back at them from a grassy hill. 

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others. 

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I'm gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

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

The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs. 

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself. 

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work. 

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case. 

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.” 

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind. 

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed. 

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove. 

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat. 

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh'' two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes. 

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

“Ngahka miskato--ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool. 

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish. 

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away.  He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment. 

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.” 

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind. 

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water. 

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet. 

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear. 

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point. 

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep. 

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm. 

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

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed. 

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply. 

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail. 

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks. 

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze. 

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster. 

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely. 

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts. 

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.” 

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head. 

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin. 

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain. 

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole. 

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

 A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock. 

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen. 

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle. 

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck #monster march #reader requests #monster boyfriend #the author says "fuck HP Lovecraft

[romantic-barnes]

strawberry & tape | part one

| part one - the beginning or the end? |

Pairings: dark!biker!bucky x reader 

Summary: Bucky Barnes has the town in his hands and a lot of blood. All you have is a cafe your mother left you after her passing. But as Bucky’s attention moves to you, do you have the strength to pay revenge for his wrongdoings? Does your push into the dark paradise end in love or blood? 

Warnings: mention of non-con, possessiveness, mention of suicide, humiliation, animal cruelty. This is dark bucky! please don’t read if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics mentioned above!  

A/N: Please don’t read if you are under 18! This series is inspired by This Is What Makes Us Girls by Lana Del Rey. Or just the whole album let’s be honest here. This is my first time uploading my dark fics so yeah, I love this, I loved writing this. 

I’m just gonna tag some of my faves, you are under no obligation to read this! @imanuglywombat​ @mariessecretfantasies​ @sinner-as-saint​ @nsfwsebbie​

There she stood, your best friend. A light Autumn breeze waving through the early spring trees, shivering the grass alive with it. Her shoulders shaking with the leaves, mumbling through her pink painted lips, whimpering and sobbing between words. 

There wasn’t a word needed to express what happened, the petite girls’ tears flowing down her pretty face, carrying all the information with them. 

She bunched up the skirt of her dress, fumbling with the seam before lifting it slowly and carefully. Her blood shot eyes watching you carefully as her lip trembles, fresh tears flowing.

Your eyes wandered down to the seam of her dress, slowly revealing the bruises on both her thighs. A hand covering your mouth, careful to not upset her, shake her, make her run. But there was little to hide, the agonising and painful pull at your heart. 

She let the skirt fall, covering her thighs. 

There was something you wanted to say, something reassuring, but the words could not slip past your lips. A simple ‘what happened’, a question reasonable.

“He- he touched me, and I said- I said n-no.” A string of sobs left her lips, closing her eyes. “He didn’t s-stop.” 

You reached out to her, laying your hand on her shoulder, a light and careful pull. She stumbled towards you, laying her head on your shoulder. A thousand thoughts, but none delicate enough to say. You knew what happened as soon as she came walking up the street. A bittersweet romance turned poisonous. A possibility you saw coming. 

The town doesn’t have a lot left for girls falling for the leather clothed men chasing them all over town. They turn their face away from them, whispering profanities. A lot of ‘told you so’, a lot of hot air from the people living in Dawn.

A lot of people think the town is possessed, cursed by witches from medieval times.

The smell of blood always wavers through the air as soon as you enter Dawn. Scientists say it’s chemicals, but none of that stays in the heads of the residents. 

The old tale says that women used their period blood to seduce men, covering their desired man’s house in symbols to pull them into an everlasting love. 

The town is built like a circle, a church in the middle, a poor attempt to rid Dawn of it’s evil. Before the church there was a town house, owned by the wealthiest man there was. Red scull, they called him, the origin story of the men in leather. 

After him, the townhouse was torn down and a church was built, but not long after not even god was safe from Red Sculls son. The offspring who would bring the gang back to life. 

They showed everyone who was in charge, blood was shed from anyone daring to refuse their power, deny them of what is theirs and so, the smell of blood never left. Always lingering in the air.

Generation after generation attracting folks who were looking for more control, but end up with blood on their hands, guilt on their faces. Only a few make it, with promises they couldn’t keep.

A town build on tales and make-believe.

You sat across the table from Lana, the girls’ hands wrapped around a mug, tears staining her pale complexion. He bottom lip trembled as she raised the mug to her lips.

“He needs to pay for this.” You said confidently.

Lana shook her head, her Bambi eyes wide with terror. “You’ll get yourself in trouble, you know what they can do, what they’re capable of. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with them.” A whimper escaped her lips.

You hung your head, defeated. There is truth to her words, but someone has to put an end to this. Another girl left on the curb, used and abused by the head of the clan. Another girls’ innocence stolen by force, without so much as a glance from the townsfolk. 

An eerie silence fell, the presence of someone evil lingered around her. 

Barnes.

A name no one who isn’t looking for trouble ever dared speak. Afraid it would somehow summon him, like a spell. A man as dangerous as his name, but just as beautiful as the devil created him. A curse not meant for the faint hearted. 

His words are the national anthem here. 

No matter if it’s a curse, spell or an enchantment, you’re not falling for it. Determined to defy the cliché of the weak woman falling for the devil’s son. A cliché in itself. A dangerous game to play, but a game, nonetheless. 

You weren’t scared of a man trying to find a moment of thrill from an innocent soul. 

-

The small cafe was empty, like every day it dawned on you day after day. Maybe that’s why your mother did what she did. A failure of a dream she had. Turn the family business into a cosy place, but the money stopped flowing slowly and steadily. 

Standing at the counter with your apron, sundress adding to the sweetness of the aura your mother created. A place for the people who didn’t know of the more popular diner in the centre of town. 

Your life threatened to become just like your mothers. No steady relationship, money slipping through your fingers, mundane days dripping with boredom. Your end was destined to end like your mothers, a sting of rope, swinging without life. 

The pastries fresh from the oven, buttered and sprinkled with powdered sugar. A recipe your mother created. You set one down in front of you, a cup of coffee in your hand. 

A break you didn’t really need, but took advantage of, nonetheless. 

The bell above the door chimed, surprise overtaking you, but a look over your shoulder killed it instantly. Lana entered the cafe, still pale as ever. Her eyes shallow since that fateful day. 

She sat across from you and you slid the plate over to her. Her small hands took the pastry, taking a bite. She loves your mom’s baking. “Can you pack up some of the strawberry ones for me?” A smile that didn’t reach her eyes stretched her lips. 

A simple nod and you were about to stand when the bell over the door chimed once more and the look on Lana haltered you. The sound of heavy boots on the tiled floor.

The air filled with fuel and leather. You didn’t dare to look, in fact, you’ve never seen them other than when they rode their bikes through the streets, passing you. 

“I think you forgot this.” One of them said, undoubtedly Barnes. A low and dangerous laugh echoed through the room, cutting through the tension.

A pair of panties hit Lana right on her chest, short breaths escaped her lips and you knew what this meant. Not much longer and the faucet would be running. 

Anger bubbled inside you at the sight of her clutching the pair of pink lace panties. No matter how much danger radiated off from the man behind you, everything you knew about him was thrown out of the window.

You gripped the cup with your hand, an electricity searching its way through your veins. With the turn of your torso, not even sitting up from the chair you aimed the brown, hot liquid in his direction. 

The cafe fell silent, all tension hit the floor as you met the eyes of the man stood in the middle of the room. Rage, that’s all you could read in his blue eyes. The two men standing behind him tightened their fists.

Time stood still, all eyes on you.

The only pair of eyes that you could focus on were the ocean blue ones staring right into yours. A death threat. Nothing but crime in his eyes and you right in his point of view. The shiver running down your spine left you cold. A single breath felt like a thousand daggers through your chest. 

He moved, slow. Without a single second to react, his hand wrapped around your throat. “You little bitch.” He spat.

His voice ringed in your ears, but the rage bubbled back up, a stern look on your face. “How could you mock her after what you’ve done?” 

You expected a lot of things. Maybe his hand tightening around your throat, or spitting on your face, but he retracted his hand. 

A low chuckle from his lips and your face dropped, unconsciously softening. He studied you. Eyes moving from yours, to your cheeks, lips and raked over your body, stopping right on your cleavage. 

“You’re going to pay for this, dollface.” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re gonna wish you stayed in the shadows.” His smirk made you feel smaller than you wished it did.

Barnes and his entourage walked through the door, but he turned once more. “See you, y/n.” 

-

It was difficult to decide whether the spotlight drawn to you by Barnes was worse than the fact that he already knew who you are. You relished in the fact that you never made direct contact with the Howling Commandos. 

But now that comfort was stolen from you and you wondered what exactly they knew about you. It makes sense to you that they know the residents of their town. 

A week passed. A week of anxiety. You tried to push away the thought of him, but each day you set foot into the cafe a flash of what happened passed before your eyes. Another memory added to the dread of this place, another one added to the one of your mother lifeless, swinging side to side.

Your fate isn’t as unusual as it may seem. No one truly gets out of Dawn, always bound to come back to take over the family business. Anyone stupid enough to move here sees the horror not long after, but it’s too late. Bound to the town and the town bound to them. 

You breathed in and out, but the sound of motorcycles couldn’t find their way out of your ears. Was is a coincident that you heard the roar of their bikes more often this past week, or just your imagination.

Along with fear, a sense of responsibility and purpose raged within you. Somewhere in you. A purpose to teach him just how cruel the devil can be. What you have can be taken away from you. 

Revenge is as sweet as strawberry jam. 

-

Fun isn’t written very big in Dawn and unfortunately the only place to get wasted is the club house on the outskirts of town. A place full of the Howling Commandos, their wife’s, claimed women and men with a death wish written on their throat. 

You let Lana in, leading her to the living room. A modest house, but a house, nonetheless. She sat next to you; her legs crossed. Two glasses were filled with red wine.

You handed Lana a glass, taking a big gulp of your own, eyes studying your friend with caution. It became harder to read her emotion, her face tainted by the horrors pushed upon her. 

“How’s peter?” You asked between sips. A question to steer away from the million questions you had in your head instead.

“Oh, yeah he’s doing ok. He’s finally learned how to make a Bouquet.” 

Peter started working at the flower shop a few weeks ago, revealing himself to be skilled in the field, a true eye for the delicate petals. A young man you wished she would’ve caught an interest in.

“But he’s been getting a little too nosy about the bikers,” her eyes watered, a sigh escaping your lungs. “he asked about him today.”

“Oh, Lana.” You pulled her side towards you, encasing her with your arms. 

A knock on the door interrupted her quiet sobs, her big brown eyes staring into yours, a glimmer of fear hidden behind the glassy tears. Your feet carried you towards the door, hands shaking slightly as you turned the doorknob.

A man you recognise only by the patch on the shoulder of his leather jacket. A stern look mixed with boredom. A glance down to his hand and you saw the small brown package. 

“For you.” A wicked smile spread on his grey bearded face.

You slowly reached your hand out to take the package away from him. The small bundle of brown paper rested in your hands. The man turned his back to you waling off to his motorcycle. 

You stared at the package, backing away from the door after closing it. A twist in your stomach and you knew this wasn’t good, not in the slightest. 

Lana walked over to you; questions written on her face. 

Your senses kicked in, only now realising that the package is warm. A warmth spreading over your hands, but a cold shiver running down your spine.

You set the package down on the counter of the small kitchen. A look over to Lana and you untied the bow with caution. The brown paper loosened itself and from it oozed a stench of blood. As the layers were pulled away from the mysterious item, the brown turned red. 

A gag from Lana and a shrill scream from you as the paper was pushed away. A heart revealed itself, bloody and fresh. 

Lana looked to you teary eyed, a hand covering her mouth. You swallowed stepping away from the heart. 

“You know what this means, right?” Lana whispered, barely audible enough to bounce off the walls. A shake from your head and Lana removed her hand from her face. “When one of- one of them sends you the heart of a deer- it uh- it’s kind of like a claim of the woman’s heart.” 

If you weren’t so disgusted by the sight of the object and the stench of blood filling up the kitchen, you would have laughed at the ridiculousness. You lifted the corners of the paper, heart pounding, hoping to find the name. 

Bucky Barnes.

There it stood in tar black ink. You didn’t know what you expected, but you hoped it would be any other name. But the gift is his’, a claim on your heart and your name. 

-

[ part two ]

[ taglist open ]

#dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky #biker!bucky #biker!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x you #biker!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x y/n #dark!bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #bucky x reader #strawberry & tape #clair writes

[geeks-universe]

Veritas Vos Liberabit III

The truth will set you free.

Previous Part

Next Part

Tag List: @the-british-koala @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman

You had been thinking on Sherlock’s deductions.

Not intentionally, mind you. Rather, you couldn’t get them out of your head.

More than that, though, you were stuck on his question. The past week and a half since you moved to London had been spent trying, and failing, to find something you were passionate about. You wanted to help people, to be someone that did good in the world.

Instead, you were stuck pacing your apartment with your curly-haired neighbor stubbornly refusing to leave your thoughts.

Three days prior, you’d invited him, along with Mrs. Hudson and John, over for dinner in the hopes that you could make friends with them. Instead, he’d interrogated you the entire time. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to dislike them. They were a bit odd, but you were a friggin angel living in London after you ran from your adoptive father, who was actually your brother, who just so happened to be the Devil.

So, on the odd meter of your life, they barely passed an LA morning. 

The shrill ring of your phone interrupted your inner monologue, bringing a frown to your face as you read the name.

Not Today, Satan.

There was a little devil emoji by the contact name you’d chosen for your father the day you discovered the long string of memes regarding that particular phrase.

You knew it wasn’t fair to ignore his call, as you had been doing since you left LA, but you still needed time to acclimate. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Truthfully, you were afraid. Your father had kept you with him in Hell until he decided he wanted to take a little vacation to Earth. It wasn’t like you’d never been apart from him, but he had never been this far away, and you’d never so blatantly ignored him.

Three texts from him lit up your phone immediately following the ignored call. Another buzzed a second later, though this one was from the contact rightly labeled Nancy Drew.

Knowing your father wasn’t always the easiest to deal with at the best of times, you opened Chloe’s text instead.

Nancy Drew: Just checking in. Lucifer is worried sick, let him know you’re okay. I know he’s overbearing at times, but he cares about you.

A smile tugged at your lips. Whether your father was ready to admit it or not, Chloe was good for him. She was so very human in all of the best ways, and was genuinely good. He’d known her for the whole of just over a year and already she was positively influencing him.

Realizing it was unavoidable, you opened your father’s texts as you walked to the door. You just had to reply, then you could get all of the fresh air you could need. Maybe, you’d ask John if he wanted to go for a walk too. You could really use the help navigating the streets.

Not Today, Satan: What’s the bloody point of having a phone if you never answer it?

Not Today, Satan: It’s been over a week. Why are you in London?

Not Today, Satan: If you don’t answer, you’ll be Maze’s next bounty. She doesn’t play nice.

An eye roll was inevitable. He really didn’t know how to speak to you like you were normal. Which, yeah, you weren’t, but still, it would be nice to have a good family dynamic at some point in your life.

Y/N: Spending some time away. I’ll be back eventually.

Your reply was quick and offered very little in the information department. It didn’t seem to satisfy Lucifer, as a series of dings signaled his many replies. You didn’t bother looking at them, pocketing your phone and exiting your new apartment.

At first, you made your way down the street, before reconsidering the idea of being alone. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to ask John.

A short bit of backtracking brought you to 221B Baker Street, only for you to be momentarily surprised at the lack of a closed door. When John mentioned his door was always open for you, you were expecting support, not an actual opened door. For a moment, you debated on whether you should enter. Curiosity eventually got the best of you, especially when hushed voices descended the familiar steps.

Something wasn’t quite right, and the feeling had your back straightening. Your wings fluttered from their position, still hidden to the eyes of others. The conversation that took place above you was tense, and you found yourself holding your breath and placing one foot cautiously in front of the other.

You were slow to climb the stairs, which seemed far larger than normal. As the scene came into view, you noticed that Sherlock looked far too confident for a very human man with a gun pointed at his head. John, on the other hand, was barely keeping a lid on his boiling anger. The gunman’s back was to you, though he was far closer to your position than either of the men occupying the room.

One misplaced step was all it took before a creak, which would otherwise be barely noticeable, but to the quiet of the room sounded more like a gunshot, resonated throughout the inhabitants. Sherlock and John didn’t move an inch, but their eyes moved to you immediately. The gunman was quick, far quicker than you were expecting, and had set his sights on you.

You blinked, shooting the two Baker residents a sheepish smile.

“I, uh, was going to ask if you could be my tour guide for a bit, John, but it seems you’ve got your hands full.”

John’s responding chuckle was tense.

“Your timing is impeccable,” Sherlock commented dryly.

Sighing to yourself, you took a step towards the gunman, only to stop briefly when he shoved the gun even closer, as if to emphasize the weapon in his hand.

“Stop moving!” He warned.

You ran your tongue along your teeth, examining the man from top to bottom. He looked collected, like he was professionally trained, though there was a hint of something manic in his eyes. His hands didn’t shake, so clearly he had killed before, and doing so again wasn’t a bother for him. A fresh pressed suit adorned his body, and by the looks of it, the sudden intrusion on John and Sherlock hadn’t been planned initially. They must’ve done something to piss him off.

“You don’t want to kill me,” you told him, flashing that sultry smile that oozed of a devilish charm you most certainly possessed.

“You don’t know that,” he countered, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

Briefly, you flicked your gaze to John, and then to Sherlock, hoping that you were relaying a message of pure confidence.

“You’re right,” you conceded, taking a tense step. “So tell me then, what is it you truly desire?”

The question bounced around in his mind, the power of the divine wrestling with the promise of free will in his expression, until eventually, divinity won out.

“I…”

He licked his lips.

“I want to be rich… to have whatever I could ever hope for.”

His eyes glazed over as you chanced a few more steps, closing in on his position.

“Greed, then,” you conversed, just barely out of reach. If you could just move forward another step, you could snatch his gun. “Of course it’s greed.”

“Money is power,” he insisted, so focused on his own musings he didn’t take notice of your new location.

“No,” you argued, just registering the brief flicker of surprise as you wrestled the gun out of his unsuspecting hands. You turned it on him, just as quickly, clicking your tongue when he tried to lunge forward. “Power is power.”

Whatever retort he’d been about to say was cut short when John swung his fist at him, knocking him out cold with a force to his temple.

“You’re not even frightened,” Sherlock observed, sparing the man on the ground barely a glance before his eyes found you again. Between the two, he found you infinitely more intriguing. “It’s not the first time you’ve had a gun pointed at you.”

John stepped away for just a moment, grumbling about phoning the police while he did so. You’d smiled pleasantly at him before turning your attention to his roommate.

“You’re not the only civilian consultant in the world, you know?”

He didn’t outwardly express anything at your statement, but you’d gotten considerably good at picking up on the smallest changes in expressions, and there was a curiosity growing in the man.

“My father helps an LAPD detective on her cases,” you explained.

Speak of the devil…

Your phone dinged again, and you didn’t even have to check to know it was your father once more. Probably using Maze to threaten you again. You wondered idly how long it would take him to realize that Maze was, and had been since you were a baby, utterly wrapped around your finger. You were her protege, in a way, and she’d been a close confidant. For all of his efforts spent on reminding you how scary she could be, Mazikeen would never hurt you.

“He’s also had people wanting to kill him since the dawn of time,” you shrugged, adding a gentle “literally” under your breath.

“What was that?” John had returned, and was gesturing vaguely to the area around your face. “With the ‘desire’ stuff?”

“An old trick,” you waved it off, not wanting to, nor knowing how to, explain it any further. John wasn’t satisfied by your answer, and he was fully intent on getting more of an explanation before Sherlock interrupted him.

“You are entirely unexpected,” he claimed, his eyes moving rapidly about your character, looking for some sort of answer only he could see.

“Yeah, well, I was here for John, actually.”

The man in question perked up, taking a step towards you. Clearly, he wasn’t going to let what just happened go so quickly, but he was also wondering what you could’ve possibly needed him for.

“You were?”

“I was hoping you could show me around,” you shrugged, rocking on your heels.

“I can-” he cleared his throat, and in the distance you heard police sirens racing towards your location. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“It’s settled then,” Sherlock smiled, clapping his hands together. There was a certain flatness to it, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’re going for a little tour.”

“Not what I was going for,” you muttered, shooting a look at the man still slumped over on the ground. 

“The police will be here in one and a half- no, two- minutes,” Sherlock informed you distractedly, slipping on his dark coat with practised ease. “They’re getting slow.”

“Back to insulting, are we?” John grumbled under his breath, keeping a close watch on the man on the floor. It was clear, despite the aggressive hit he’d placed on the recent invader, he was still worried about him waking back up and going on the attack once more.

“Might as well help them, then,” you suggested, noting the tension John sported as you leaned down towards the unconscious man. Though he didn’t make moves to stop you, he did move in closer, to intervene should a situation arise.

“Maybe you shou-”

John stopped his sentence halfway through when you hoisted the man over your shoulder as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Even Sherlock looked perplexed at your lack of struggling. To be fair, you didn’t look like you could sling a man his size with no issue. 

“I’m just bringing him to the door,” you told them, hiding a smirk at their astonishment. So maybe you had inherited the need for theatrics from Lucifer. 

“Sure you don’t need any,” John paused, his mouth open as he watched you jog down the steps without any problems.

“Help,” he finished lamely, sharing a look with Sherlock.

At first, he thought Sherlock’s confusion with you stemmed from some hidden attraction his friend couldn’t understand. Now, though, he could see the merit of it. There were definitely some oddities about you.

“This your guy?” You called back up to the two men who had still yet to move. They were frozen in a state somewhere between confusion and awe.

That pulled Sherlock out of the stupor, and subsequently drew John down the stairs too. You were just standing there, your head vaguely gesturing towards the police car coming to a sudden stop outside. Sherlock couldn’t help the little laugh that crawled up his throat at the sight of someone of your stature carrying someone of this man’s stature with such ease.

“Uh, yeah,” John answered when Sherlock was clearly not going to. “That’s Lestrade.”

The Detective Inspector was making his way towards where you stood, doing a comical double take when he noticed the man balanced precariously over your shoulder.

“Cavalry's here,” the silver-haired detective muttered, laughing to himself. “You must be the new neighbor?”

It was a question directed towards you, despite his eyes still stuck on the man you were holding.

“(Y/N),” you introduced, “Morningstar. I’m guessing this is the person you’re looking for.”

“Uh,” he coughed awkwardly, his eyes stuck on you.

There it was again, that little flicker of desire- the allure of divinity. You breathed out a sigh, walking the man to the so-dubbed ‘Lestrade’s’ car. He was quick to follow you, opening the door and slapping cuffs on the unconscious man in one fell swoop. He shut the gunman in, still looking a bit dazed from your initial meeting as he did so.

“Talk about an exciting morning,” you enthused, running your tongue along your teeth when you felt the telltale vibration of a notification.

“You’ve been ignoring your text messages,” Sherlock commented, a challenging brow raised.

“I’ve been busy,” you shot back, turning to face the Detective Inspector. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

His eyes widened, and he briefly held a hand to his chest, as if to ask if you were speaking to him.

“I’m Greg,” he smiled then caught himself. “Greg Lestrade, the Detective Inspector.”

Each word was released quicker than the last, like he couldn’t believe he had let his introduction go unsaid in the first place. Your replying smirk was genuine, a friendly answer to his words.

“Don’t you have an arrest to make?” Sherlock cut in, startling you. Was being rude a personality trait? Because he certainly had it down.

“Always a pleasure seeing you,” Greg drawled sarcastically, though the eye roll was done goodnaturedly. “It was nice meeting you, (Y/N) Morningstar.”

You nodded, giving him a friendly wave. He didn’t linger long, returning to his car quickly to arrest the man in the back without so much as a question of how he came to be like that. Clearly, he’d dealt with Sherlock for quite some time.

“The tour,” Sherlock reminded you, surprisingly pleasantly. “Shall we?”

John shrugged, an expression that told you just to go with it, as he always had. At the very least, you didn’t have anything to lose.

And-

Another text came through.

Everything to ignore, apparently.

“We shall,” you nodded, letting him lead the way.

#sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #vvl

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“triad”

Chapter 17: the waning sun

Kind of a sad chapter? I mean that's nothing new tho. But fair warning: the death is of a character that some people like a lot :( Me included.

AO3 LINK

My head still pounds as I take flight. My body wobbles, ungainly, as it’s still a little early for me to be moving around so much. Marx was right about that, at least. I squint a little against the bracing wind and bright sunlight. The sun is getting close to the western horizon. Yami and William are over there somewhere, along with the queen of the Heart Kingdom. Our enemy is over there.

No… they aren’t my enemies.

I turn my gaze back south, towards the green of the Heart Kingdom. Two words circle through my mind, again and again, endlessly pounding themselves into my brain along with the dull agony of my quickly approaching fate.

Patri… 

Elysia.

A secluded village of elves located in the strong magic region to the southwest of the Heart Kingdom, that is where Patri and the third eye traveled to after the whole reincarnation incident. I can remember now, the request to leave. I was hesitant to agree, but in the end, I convinced myself not to care so much and to move on. Unneeded anger would just make my last hours unpleasant. 

But now… that anger is needed. I close my eyes and focus on those moments before, where there was nothing I wanted more than to kill him with my own hands.

He… he killed Julius.

But it wasn’t his fault.

You can’t think about the Devil. Just him.

The memory of that dreadful moment floods back. Pain, searing through my heart as if I had been stabbed through with pure light. I remember how I screamed and writhed, and begged for it to end.

Julius… that pain… it was his.

I open my eyes. All my doubts are gone.

And Patri… you’re the one who gave him that pain.

Those same thoughts circle through my head, stoking a growing flame. A flame I need to burn away all pity and doubt that I might develop later, when the time comes. But even within this vicious spiral, my mind begins to wander.

The baby… it was a girl.

It is a girl.

I clench my fist by my side as I continue to fly. The unforgiving wind blows any evidence of tears away before they can streak down my face.

I had to do it… I had to leave her behind. If I saw that baby, everything would come crashing down around me, I know it. I can’t afford to lose any more time. The fate of the entire world depends on it.

And after all… she would be born again, into a kinder world.

With a resounding whoosh, I fall down into the dense forest, leaves and branches whipping past my body, before landing on my feet on the forest floor. The wind clears, and the bushes rustle as anyone in the area runs to find a place to hide. I close my eyes again, taking in a deep breath. The air here is saturated with mana. It’s familiar on my skin; maybe a memory of Saida’s when she possessed my body. In any case, I’m here, and it’s time to find Patri.

I walk by myself through the forest, not sure of how long my search will be.

“W-What?!”

Pretty short, it turns out. I turn at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing up as I spot a group of people hurrying towards me.

“Noelle?”

The silver haired girl leads the pack. Her eyes light up as she realizes that it is, indeed, me. Behind her runs none other than Mimosa, quickly followed by Nero, Leopold, and Charmy bringing up the rear. For a moment, I let myself smile genuinely. They are truly a sight for sore eyes. 

I stay where I am, and let Noelle throw herself into my arms. “Why are you here? And-”

“The baby-” Mimosa asks, worried. “I thought you weren’t due for a couple more months-”

I gulp nervously. “I… I gave birth prematurely. Don’t worry, the baby is fine-”

“Are you here to train us too?!” Leopold cuts in excitedly. “Gadjah and the elves have been helping us for the past few days!”

Nero nods along silently.

His excitement is refreshing; in fact, all of the kids radiate a confidence and determination that I can’t help but feel like I lack. For a brief moment, I forget the morbid reason why I’m here. These kids are the next generation, after all; one of them will be Wizard King one day. I want to answer Yes, I’m here to train you. We’ll defeat the Spade Kingdom together!

But I don’t say it.

“I’m… actually here to see Patri,” I finally respond, watching as Noelle stands back to look at me curiously. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I need to talk to him. Can one of you-”

“I’m here.”

My expression drops a little, as I turn around to look at the elf who just emerged from the woods. Patri looks the same as he always has, albeit with a black sclera in one of his eyes, dressed in comfortable robes. I exhale softly, my heart starting to pound at the sight of him. I’m not sure if it’s with apprehension or anger. “Hello… um…” I glance over at the kids. “Can we go somewhere private?”

Patri gives me a long look before answering. “Yeah, of course.” He gestures for me to follow him back into the woods. I turn and flash a quick smile at the kids before proceeding.

Neither of us talk as he leads me down the ancient forest path. The silence is only broken by the soft sounds of our shoes moving over the grass, punctuated by a snapping twig every now and then. I keep my thoughts to myself, my gaze fixed on Patri’s ponytail. Part of me just wants to get it over with as soon as we’re out of earshot of the others; to strike him down and take the key I need. 

But I don’t do such a thing. I keep walking, clenching my fists at my sides.

I want to do it properly. Maybe Patri killed Julius, but I still respect him as a warrior. He defeated me in battle, after all… I owe him the last respect of telling him why I have to do this.

“This is the first time we’ve been alone together since we fought.”

Patri finally speaks, turning his head slightly to glance back at me. He slows to a stop in a clearing, at the base of a large tree. Flowers dot the meadow, species that I’m unfamiliar with. A few butterflies and bees flit between the stems. “Do you remember?”

“... of course.” I smile a little, crossing my arms as I walk around to look into his eyes. He seems so calm… and oddly resigned. “It was a humiliating defeat.”

At those words, Patri’s mouth twitches for just a moment, and a sound that could be interpreted as a laugh leaves his lips. “I wouldn’t say that… you fought bravely. And you’ve grown so much since then. I mean… you’re the Wizard King now…”

His voice trails off as he breaches that subject. My breath catches in my throat, and I quickly look away. My inner flame flares up again.

How dare you… even think about him…

But it’s quickly quelled as a bird lets out a call, somewhere far above. The awkwardness is still thick, but not hostile.

“So… what did you need?”

For some odd reason, those words do not form a question. He already knows, doesn’t he?

Summoning a last bastion of courage, I raise my gaze back to his. “We’ll be facing the Dark Triad head on in two days… one of them has a power that I need to take for myself. But his gravity magic will cancel out my time magic, and my flame magic won’t be enough to defeat him.”

Silence.

Slowly, Patri lets out a sigh through his nose, his eyes closing for just a moment before flickering open again.

“...how will you take it? The same way you’ll take my light magic?”

I wince internally, his words confirming that he already knew his fate. “Y-yes… although, I don’t want to take your magic by force.” I reach up and rub my other arm, aches shooting through it again. “I can form a link with anyone with a soul. The link I’ll make with you is called a Triad, a union of three souls. Usually, we’d only be able to share memories and magic, but I need to actually take your magic this time.” I almost look away, but it’s like I said before: I owe him this once last respect. “You will likely die in the process, especially since it’s your first time.”

My words hang in the air between us, and part of me wonders if he really understands it.

“...I see.” Patri finally turns away from me, walking towards the trunk of the mighty tree. “This is why you kept me around, right?”

I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he was going to do next. “Well… I didn’t know I would end up needing your magic back then-”

“No.” Patri reaches out, his palm flattening against the wood. He exhales slowly, calmly…

“You kept me around… because you knew that my death would one day help the kingdom.”

Help the kingdom? I mean… you’re right…

“Either way… I was going to die. I knew it from the start. And I don’t blame you.” Patri lets his hand fall from the tree before facing me again. “Whether it was to unite your people… or to defeat an enemy… or even just to help you feel better, I’ve accepted my death.”

We stare at each other for a moment, the understanding settling in. My heart races still, something I thought would stop once I “convinced” him. But in the end, that wasn’t necessary.

Patri… even you are selfless. To the highest degree.

Thank you.

“Patri...”

He does what I want. Patri slowly falls to his knees, his hands resting in the grass. 

I… I wish this could be different.

“For your crimes against the kingdom…”

The words don’t feel as good as I thought they would. I feel like I’ve waited for this moment for years, and yet… I can’t bring myself to feel happy.

But I need to do this.

“...I sentence you to death.”

My hand reaches down, and I feel my mark start to heat up. Patri’s eyes squeeze shut, and I see the same glow start to take shape on his forehead.

Dyad Magic.

He grits his teeth. There’s already blood trickling out of his nose.

Triad Creation.

My hand lands on his head, and the earth shatters around us.

….

….

….

….

                                                                                      It’s dark in here…

There are people screaming.

                                                                           How dare you… how dare you…

I lived this memory, didn’t I?

                                              I stare up at the dark sky as my life fades away.

No… Patri. This is your memory. Maybe Saida was here too, but this is you.

                                                                        It hurts… it hurts so much…

The pain in my heart intensifies. Everything fades away, and I float farther into the abyss. All that exists is pain, stabbing through my head and heart. 

                                                         Please… make this quick…

I’m trying.

I sink deeper and deeper into his mind. The pain gets worse and worse, but for once it’s not mine. Patri’s soul shrinks and contorts in my grasp, like a dying animal that wants nothing more than to be put out of its misery.

A triad… between Patri, Julius, and myself.

The three of us stand there in the darkness. Julius is just an outline, just a memory of a soul. 

                          Do you really think… my love is that weak?

What did you mean by that? 

I wish I could have found it, wherever you hid it, Julius. But it’s too late.

                                                                                                    You’re… dying?

Patri’s voice echoes through my head, and I turn to look at him. He looks afraid, but there’s pity dwelling within those golden eyes.

… do not pity me. This is my fate. 

                                                                                                    But-

Don’t you dare look at me like that!

My hands reach out, and I stagger forward. Patri doesn’t even flinch as I grab his collar and shake him once, hard. I feel something building up inside, where there used to be nothing, a glowing ember of rage.

You… you KILLED HIM!

I shake him again, and again. Patri does not struggle. Something snaps, and I ball up my fist.

You’re pathetic… you’re a villain! 

                                                                                                    I know.

You killed him- TELL ME-

The memory rushes back. Agony, pure agony, my heart stabbed right through, and my life bleeding onto the stone while the sun bled it’s life into the sky.

I felt his pain…

Patri, tell me…

Did he cry? Did he resist? Did he leave this earth writhing and screaming in the same way that he entered it?

                                                                                                    … he....

                                                                                      I don’t want to remember.

I grit my teeth, seeing nothing but red. My fist draws back in preparation to punch.

You’re the most evil being on this earth!

                                                                                                    I know.

I hit him, hard, in the center of his face. Patri stumbles back, then falls onto the ground. 

I… I hate-

I can’t even finish the sentence, because it’s not true. 

I can’t hate Patri… maybe I convinced myself to hate him, but I can’t. Because, in the end, it wasn’t his fault. Everything ties back to the devil, to the original sin. And in the end… I would have done the same thing as him. I would have burned the entire world to the ground in my vengeance.

                                                  And I will.

Patri shatters into a million pieces, and the world dissolves around me. Light suddenly floods my mind, bright, beautiful light emanating from a new shard of a soul lodged within my own. For a brief moment, our souls were one, sharing all thoughts, all memories, all feelings.

Tears drip down my face as I stare up at the sun. It’s warmth bathes me, but I only feel cold.

For a brief moment… Patri shares something with me. Something I have long forgotten.

                                                  Self.

That broken ego, that barrier that once defined who I was, is momentarily restored.

The sun burns the stone around me. The light in my hands concentrates, intensifying into a long lance- no, a sword- 

Wait… wait… this memory…

My eyes widen as something drips onto my hand.

Blood.

Slowly, I look up, my gaze travelling up the lance of the sword. Blood drips down it, pooling for a moment on the handle, on my clenched fist, before splattering onto the ground at my feet. 

No… no…

Julius stands there, his stature slumped and pained… but he still stands. 

His eyes burn into mine, into my soul, but this time it’s like hellfire rather than holy light. With a hollow gasp, I let go of the handle and stumble back away from him. But he doesn’t fall- he continues to stand, and I cannot escape his gaze.

My heart pounds. I’m frozen in this horrifying memory. 

He opens his mouth to speak. Blood drips from the corners.

But he doesn’t fall.

Julius…

I can’t breathe.

You… you’re so strong…

I watch the sword dissolve away, leaving only a deep, bleeding gash through his chest, through the heart that I loved with every ounce of my soul.

I… I would have fallen.

And I did. Because here I am… stealing the soul that would give me the power to defeat Gravity. And once I defeat gravity…

I could never be like you, right?

You would have fought until the very end… but I gave up.

I am weak. So weak… as weak as I was the day I was born.

There is no love in his eyes. There is no pity. 

                                                  Why?

His lips move to form that single word.

My answer does its best to stay lodged in my throat, because I am afraid of what I will say.

Because…. The world is going to end. This all happened because of my weakness.

I want to look away, but I can’t. He’s the sunset at the horizon, and I can’t bring myself to close my eyes.

There is no future for me… and now there is no future for this Kingdom. Not without you.

I clench my fist, my resolve building.

I don’t care if I have to become the most evil person in the world… I will recreate this world!

But with Julius’s next words, the tower of my determination is struck down.

                                No… you are ensuring its destruction.

With each new word, more blood seeps from his body, down his chin to stain the white fur of his robe.

                         Either way… the world will end. Because of you.

The scene begins to fade away. The light disappears. All that’s left are Julius’s dead eyes, staring into mine through the darkness. The Self fades away with Patri’s life, dissolving away in my hands. Once again, I am left with a cold, empty soul, the two worst parts of me settling back in.

I… I am nothing.

                                                  You are nothing.

I am a monster.

                                                  You are a monster.

I will destroy the world.

                                You will destroy the world. And for what?

For… you.

…

Silence.

Then, the sounds of the forest finally fade back in around me. I breathe in, and something slips out of my hands and falls to the ground with a dull thud. 

The air is fresh. Mana hangs around me. I open my eyes to see the sunset finally gasping it’s last breath.

There’s a body at my feet. I don’t know if he’s still alive. But it doesn’t matter. I turn away, then drop to my knees. The grass is cold and wet, but it feels so… refreshing.

My tears soon join the dew clinging to the blades.

Julius…

I ball up my fist, uprooting a bit of the grass in my clutches.

You lied… your love doesn’t still exist on this earth.

I lower my head, until it bumps into the ground. My mark thuds with pain at the impact, but I don’t react.

You would hate me. 

My worst fear, finally realized.

My chest heaves as I continue to cry. Everything hurts, every cell in my body. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something blue flitting towards me. A moth- no

Simulcia.

For a moment, I almost give in and let them land on me. 

If Julius hates me… what’s the point? I should just die, right here. 

I almost resign myself to the decision, but in the moment before she lands, my hand jerks up. With one quick movement, I swat the bug away. My eyes widen when I realize what I’ve done, and I sit up with a jolt. 

It’s not a moth. It’s a butterfly. Just… a normal butterfly. It spins in the air for a moment, confused from the impact, but then it straightens itself out and flies away.

The sounds of bugs and the wind fills the silence around me. The trees rustle on their own, the magic breathing in and out. Slowly but surely, my breath falls into the same rhythm, and I feel myself start to calm down.

Breathe.

Someone once told me to breathe. To inhale and exhale, and think of nothing but that cycle.

Cycle.

I hold up my hand, palm up towards the sky. Almost instinctively, the new soul within me stirs, and a ball of light appears. Good- I clench my fist, and the light slides over my arm like a long glove. I tense up, then punch the air. Once. Then again. And one more time. Each time, the light glows brighter, and I can feel my control already strengthening.

It… it was that easy? I open my palm again, and the light retracts into its ball once more.

All I had to do was take control of a Triad, to reach into Patri’s soul, shatter it into a million pieces, and then take one for myself.

It was that easy.

Patri is powerful. And I know Dante will be even more powerful. But thanks to his sacrifice, I now have a better chance of finding victory.

And that’s what it will be. A victory. Maybe not for myself, but for the world.

There is no such thing as myself anymore, anyway. I am just a memory. A person who was loved, but now hated. A person who once had hope, but now it only exists in my death. A person who was once human… but now has given her humanity up.

I am nothing. I am evil. I am a monster. And I will destroy the world.

I turn to lift off the ground, leaving the body behind. I need to find a place, up high, where the air is clear and I can soak up mana for the time remaining before the invasion. I need to clear my mind and concentrate all the power I have, all for my last fight.

The entire world will hate me for what I do. One more man won’t make a difference.

It is a lie.

#fic #triad #oh boy oh fuck #oc: lisa #bc oc #black clover

[rosierocks30]

Hidden: Ch.9

Chapter 9: Love, Passion, and Desire

Somewhere in Paradis Isle, Eren had been writing a letter to his older brother, Zeke since they both decided to be separate so neither of them got caught. 

For many months, the Titan shifter couldn’t get over the rejection of Queen Historia. At first, he thought; what does she see in Captain Levi? Eren had a lot of respect for his former captain, but it confused him how these two end up being together? They have so many differences. He can guess, Historia was probably into older men. After all, didn’t she tell him that her mother was around her age when she was seeing Lord Reiss? Historia’s father was twice older than her mother yet they had Historia. 

The younger Jaeger finished his letter then tucked it into an envelope to be ready to send soon. They were preparing for the war coming soon. Eren was ready to unleash The Rumbling that Ymir Fritz showed him through the Path. 

He had been thinking about what his brother said before they split up into different directions. 

(Flashback)

“What’s your backing up plan if we can’t access The Rumbling?” Zeke sat on a tree trunk while drinking a canteen of water. 

Eren was already contemplating the question. “If we can’t do it soon then we’ll wait, until it’s the right time.” He sighed and glanced at his brother. “I had a dream last night. There were people screaming and running from some weird light destroying their city. It looked too advanced. Then it shifted to two figures running and jumping on some glass-like surface to climb up in a strange building to see a group of humans working on metals and fire wielding tools to melt the metals into shapes. A woman appeared to explain to me this was what humans were before the collapse of an ancient civilization used to exist.” 

Zeke was concerned about what Eren had dreamt. “What ancient civilization do you refer to? This dream of yours is getting bizarre. Maybe we need to get rid of that strange sphere object that you found in the ruins of Reiss’s chapel. All it does is make you crazy and I need you to be focused.” he scolded Eren. 

“No! We can’t get rid of it. This object holds the key to humanity and our freedom.” Eren glared at his brother while holding the sphere possessively. 

Zeke rubbed his temple spots from frustration of his little brother’s behavior. “Eren, that thing is causing you nothing but trouble. You kept mumbling in your sleep about finding your Eve. Who is this Eve?” He asked. 

Eren keeps thinking about what he dreamt last night. All he can think of is the woman with a strange dress. She said her name was Minerva. So what does Minerva want him to find this Eve? He had contacted Ymir through the Path, but she doesn’t know anything what his dream meant. All she said was that Minerva is ancient. The origin of humanity is not what it seems. 

“I don’t know. I just know I need to find her.” Eren said with determination. 

(End of Flashback) 

The green-eyed man stared down at the sphere. The Apple of Eden. This object had given him other dreams or should he say visions. These visions were the past that humanity had forgotten through thousands of years.

Eren puts the object back into the drawer of the night stand next to the bed. He walked out of his room that was checked in from an inn. As the titan shifter keeps walking on the streets, he accidentally bumps into a stranger. 

“Oh sorry for bumping you.” He looks up at the stranger to see they’re steel grey. 

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t see where I was going.” This stranger is a woman. Her accent is not from here nor Marleyan. The way she spoke Eldian was not obviously her first language. She does seem foreigner. Where is she from? This woman does look cute. 

Eren rubbed his brown hair shyly. Why was he blushing over some stranger he just literally met. She is very attractive, don’t get him wrong, but he still has strong feelings for Historia. Well, he wants to believe his feelings are real. Zeke told him it was his craziness from the object that made him think they were real. Eren doesn’t know anymore what’s real or not. 

“It’s fine. It was an accident. You don’t seem like you're here? Are you a foreigner?” He said. 

The woman was caught off guard. Maybe she’s some spy? The unknown woman stepped back. “Yeah...what of it? Can this foreigner enjoy her vacation.” She said in a defensive tone. 

He uses his hands to make a surrender gesture to her. “No no you can enjoy your vacation. Sorry, it’s just...your accent gave away.” He resumes observing the woman in the front of him. Her brown hair flows as the light breeze passes by between them. Her skin tone was a bit tan with yellow undertone. As his eyes lower further down, he likes what he sees. Her body toned well, probably from working out. Her clothes were unique but it looked good on her. The trouser pants were tight and the blouse was black with two thin straps on her shoulders. Is this woman trying to get men’s attention or she’s not aware her choice of clothing can get her in serious trouble. 

“Hey buddy, I know I’m hot, but my eyes are up here.” Her voice snapped his trance back to reality. Well shit, he’s embarrassed. 

“You know what your wearing can give a man the wrong message.” He warned her. 

Her brow raised up. Seriously this woman kind of reminds him of someone he used to idolize as a kid during his Scouts years. 

“And what message do I seem to give? You are a man, so what is that message I am giving to you?” Her lips form into a smirk. Eren doesn’t know how to respond to that. This woman is bold but mysterious too. 

“Well um...I-I…” Eren’s face was flushed from still struggling to respond. He took off his trench coat and put it on the woman. “Just be careful ok. You’re lucky, you bumped into me and not some creep.” 

The brown haired woman was a bit startled by his gentlemanly actions. She let him put her on his coat. “Thanks.” 

Eren nodded then walked away. Before he vanished from the woman’s view, she stopped him. “Wait! Where do you live so I can give it back to you?” She asked. 

His head turned around to glance at her. “You can drop it off at the inn in front of you. Just say you’re looking for Eren.” He thought about giving away his full name, but since he is a wanted man, it’s smart not to give away his true identity. 

“So your name is Eren? Nice to meet you. You can call me...Eve.” She said. 

This caught his attention. Eve? He took a glimpse one more time to see her already gone through the crowds. He remembered what Minerva in his dreams said. Find your Eve. He resumed walking to his destination thinking about the bold woman he just met. 

(Somewhere in the capitol) 

The sunlight hits through the balcony to warm up the skins of two figures enjoying their afternoon activity. The sound of the bed squeaking loud along the moans. 

“Oh my Lord! Nathaniel.” Gilbert moans from the ecstasy of the orgasm he received.  

“My beautiful Gilly, your moans are heaven to me.” He showered his lover with praises. 

“As long I pleased you, I am satisfied.” Gilbert blushed. 

“You always have pleased me especially the assassination of Premier Zackely that you succeed.” The templar smiled. 

“But now Dot Pixis is the new Premier. It should have been one of our men.” Gilly frowned from the result of his mission. 

“Don’t be upset. Darius Zackely was a dangerous man. He was so closed to figure out my connections with The Templars and planning to dethrone that Whore. Who would ever thought, both the queen and the captain are expecting soon.” He growled in anger from all his hard work that was about to be revealed. Luckily, silencing Zackely made it possible to continue his work. 

“Will you still try to marry her?” The thought of his lover marrying someone else still hurts him. 

“In order to be King, yes I must.” Nathaniel cups his hands on Gilbert’s cheek. “Listen Gilbert, she’s just going to be my queen for temporary until she gives me a proper heir.” 

“What about the current unborn child she is carrying?” Gilbert said. 

“With Ackerman blood running in its veins, the unborn baby will be just a personal bodyguard or will be groomed to be a templar.” Nathan was not cruel enough to end a child’s life whether they were threatening to be on the throne. 

“Soon our plan is about to be executed and this island will be ours.” Nathan smiled while kissing Gilbert’s neck softly. The both lovers continue their lovemaking which they pre-celebrated their plan will be achieved soon. 

(Military base in Marley)

Reiner was heading to visit his family before leaving for the coastline where you can see The Devil’s Island or Paradise Isle. 

He missed his mother’s cooking. Already his cousin, Gabi arrived at his mother’s home probably helping out making dinner. 

A shadow passed by him to get into a dark alley. This caught his eye as he turned to the left. Reiner couldn’t see who it was, but the figure was covered in an odd thick white sweater with a hood attached to it. The figure was a bit smaller than him. So the Armored Titan runs after this figure. If he caught this spy, Reiner would get more praised as a Warrior and they won’t keep doubting him of his loyalty to his country. 

The figure began to climb up the wooden storage boxes to get on the rooftop without an effort. 

“Hey, stop there spy!” He shouted while getting up to the rooftop. 

The figure stopped but it was several feet away from him. Reiner could see a glimpse of black long hair stick out as the breeze made the locks float along. The face was still hidden half way, but Reiner could see the person’s pink lips and creamy skin tone. 

This spy would be a female. The blond man started to run after her. The “spy” quickly paced away. When she reaches the edge of the roof, Reiner grins as he is so close to capture. 

“You can’t escape.” He said. 

The figure glanced across to estimate the other rooftop building was enough for her to make a jump. Then she ran to leap on the other roof. Her body rolls smoothly to the surface. Reiner frowned that she managed to make it. He decided to also make a leap to catch up to the woman. He will not let this spy escape. 

Once he gained enough speed to make a jump from the edge of the rooftop, he landed and rolled down with minor scratches. He gets up to resume his chase. 

As the mysterious figure reaches another “deadend”, she stops to calculate where to escape next. Shit, remember what one of the Assassin Masters said in her training. When she was about to make another leap, Reiner tackled her down which they fell off the roof to a pile of empty carton boxes in another alley. 

“I got you, spy.” Reiner glared down as he removed the hood. 

He was shocked to see those dark eyes. “Mikasa Ackerman? What are your intentions here in Marley?” 

Mikasa growls at him while kneeling him to the diaphragm hard. He lost his breathing pattern as he began to cough. Mikasa rolls to get up, but Reiner reaches quick of her ankle to make her trip. 

“Oh no, you’re not escaping.” He pinned her to make sure she does try to wiggle her way out. 

“Oh fuck you traitor! Like I would tell you why I’m here.” She gives off her infamous Ackerman glare. 

“If you answered my questions maybe I will let you go.” He said. A part of him wants to let her go since she was a former comrade of his. He held so much respect for the raven haired woman. The Eldian-Marleyan soldier had an inter battle with himself. 

“Like you would keep your promise?” She chuckled sarcastically. 

“You are an enemy. I’m just a fellow who follows the rules.” He said. 

Mikasa was thinking of a way to escape. Well, fuck she’s screw. He knows she’s here in Marley. There’s a chance Reiner will report to his superiors and will send a group of soldiers after her. Her mission is about to be ruined. 

“Aren’t you a good little soldier.” Her eyes roll at him. 

“I see you still haven’t answered any of my questions, Ackerman.” He grinned down his teeth in annoyance. 

“And I see you’re still pinning me down but we both can’t get what we want right now.” She said. 

She thought about to headbutt him then stab him with her hidden blade, but Mikasa doesn’t have the guts to seriously harm a former friend. Her memories with Reiner in Cadet years were good enough not wanting to kill him. Yes, he done stupid shit like kidnaping Eren in the past along with Bertholdt and Ymir. The newly assassin noticed that Reiner had grown well into a fine man. That was a disturbing thought. 

“You were never the type with sarcasm.” He pointed out. 

“Things had changed since you and Bertholdt had betrayed us.” Mikasa said. 

She had a crazy idea that could help her get out of his grasp. Mikasa stared into him. Before Reiner continues talking, she leans towards him to catch him off guard to press her lips on his. Of course, like she predicted, Reiner was shocked by Mikasa’s bold action. What the raven haired beauty didn’t predict is the way she is kissing him. His lips were soft but firm.

Reiner becomes lost in the way her pink soft lips move so well adjusted against his own. He deepens the kiss to win by dominating the kiss. Of course, she won’t let that happen easily. Mikasa licks his bottom lip to have them open enough to stick her tongue and explore. 

Oh fuck, he taste so good and forbidden-wait what? What is she saying?! Being lost from the tasting Reiner, the newly assassin snapped back into reality. Mikasa surprised Reiner by kneeing him with force into his gut with her knee then knocked him off of her with a high kick to the head. The titan shifter rolled a few feet away from her. The dark haired beauty Ackerman gets up to finally escape before he regains that hard kick to his head. 

While she vanished from his view, Reiner was overwhelmed with mixed emotions of what just had happened right now. Did she and him just kiss? Reiner Braun was not the ladies man as his comrades like to think. His mind was always about the missions and duties for his motherland country. Distraction was out of the question. The blonde bulky man touched his lips that’s still warm and tingling from the spontaneous kiss with Mikasa Ackerman, his supposed enemy. 

(Survey Corps Headquarter in Mitras)

William Miles was in the court yard where Scouts soldiers spar or work out. Since he had been residing here, his assassins also reside here to plan and spar each other or with other soldiers. His grandson’s squad are quick to pick up moves during their training as new recruits. With the deal he and Levi made, this gives the team the opportunity to head on into battle when war comes. Bill had finally met the queen one on one in the months early. He was pleased his granddaughter in law was the perfect image of what most assassin's want in a spouse. She encouraged Levi to train under him. Levi was too stubborn, but he will listen to his wife or Hange or his comrades. Since yesterday, both family members finally had that closure they needed. His son, Jacob wanted his girlfriend and son to live in a better place. Of course, it was too late when he died to be able to fulfill that promise to Kuchel. She died without knowing what had happened to his son. The poor girl. He had helped dig up her grave with Levi to take her remains to at least buried her along with his son. Maybe this will bring peace for the mother of his first grandchild. 

The mentor assassin had another shocking news. One his assassins residing in New Your City found out his younger son, Desmond had a child too. Seriously, what the fuck were his sons were thinking? Didn’t they ever carry a damn condom ever? Don’t get him wrong. He is happy finding out he has another grandson, but the poor boy isn’t lucky from being hostage under Abstergo, the templars main corporation to try to dominate the world. 

This made the elder man furious that these scums dared to make this baby another of their “subjects”. For fuck’s sake, it’s a god damn infant. They are taking way too far for collecting his bloodline’s data. What are they exactly looking for? Adam and Eve? He chuckled sarcastically at that thought. 

For months, he was getting updates on his infant grandson, Elijah. He put the same assassin undercover as a staff in that company to make sure nothing dangerous happened to his other grandchild. He needs time to make a risky plan to get the baby out of the templars’ grasp. Levi was in rage when he also found out about his infant cousin. He was ready to go there and wipe out anyone there. 

(Flashback) 

“Are you fucking shitty me?! I don’t know who’s the worst, the sickos in Underground City or the Templars? ‘Cause to me both are at the same level in harming little babies.” Levi ranted while his blood boiled in rage for finding out about his little cousin. This world is a cruel place even without Titans involved. 

“Levi, I am enraged as much as you are, but we need to be level headed. We’ll make a careful calculated plan to rescue the baby. He deserves to be here with us, his family. I already sent one of my assassins to keep an eye on him. I just want to tell you because he’s your baby cousin.” Miles said with a calm tone. Levi has every right to be furious, but to get into blood rage won’t end well for anyone. 

“But after the war, we’ll get him or I’ll go myself.” Levi said. 

“We’ll save him together...don’t worry, I promise.” Bill was already behind Levi as his hand placed on his grandson’s shoulder to comfort him. 

(Flashback ends)

William Miles was in front of Commander Hange’s office door then knocked softly to let her know it’s him. 

“Come in.” Her tone seemed to be distracted when a knock was heard. 

He opened the door to see Hange absorb into her own side projects. Bill closed the door then sat on the chair in front of the desk. “Did I come in at a bad time?”

“Hm? Oh no, you’re fine. I was just doing light reading before I called it a day. So what can I do for you, Bill?” Hange closed her book on Astro-Phycis Theories. Bill raised his eyebrow to notice that her book doesn’t seem light to him. 

“You are a very strange woman if you consider that light reading.” He said.

Hange laughed at his comment. She adjusts her glasses. “I hope that’s a good thing.” 

“Oh trust me. It’s definitely a good thing, Zoe.” Bill grinned and got up to go towards where she’s sitting. The commander was confused when she felt his warm lips on hers. This is a surprising turn for Zoe. Both Miles and Hange had been flirting but never had the made. Some of the Scout soldiers and assassins laid a bet on who would make the move or how long will happen? This finally made Levi confront his grandfather about Hange in the morning. 

(Flashback)

“Oi old man. When will you have the balls to make a move on Four Eyes? Because I don’t need a distracting Commander every time you two get flirty but don’t do shit. And trust me, she rarely gets distracted unless it’s a new science like Titan related or something.” Levi barged into his old room since he let his grandfather have it. 

“Well good morning you to my dear grandson.” He sat up from the bed and yawned.

“Tch. Why are you still in bed anyways? Do you know what time it is?” Levi scolded at Bill. 

The mentor glanced at his cellphone to see the time. “Damn it Levi, it’s 6 am. Why do you have to wake me up that early?” He rubbed his eyes. 

“What the hell do you mean early? Everyone had been awake since 4 am.” The raven haired soldier rolled his eyes. 

“I stood up most of the night to help Zoe on the security measures on the coastline close to Marley.” He yawned again. 

“And yet I’m surprised both of you didn’t jump on each other. You and Four Eyes are like shy teenagers that are too afraid to make a move.” Levi mumbled while running his finger on the hard surface of the furniture. His fingers gather dust which his expression becomes disguised and annoyed. “You should clean this room. It’s filthy.” 

The older man flopped on the mattress and groaned in annoyance. Seriously, this boy has OCD or something. “Levi, can we talk about this later when I’m fully awake.”

On Levi’s other hand, he holds his cup of tea as he sips. “Tch, just giving you advice, Hange is not the type to make the first move since she loves to analyze anything including then men she starts to have feelings with. So don’t take long to do or you’ll miss your chance.”

Bill was silent but absorbed what his grandson had said. He has also been distracted too whenever he secretly ogles at messy brown haired beauty. Maybe he should consider what Levi said. Bill can’t believe he’s being given advice  by his own grandson on making a move. 

(Flashback end)

Bill moans from the kiss as he can feel Zoe’s arms wrapped around his neck and pressed against each other. The mentor assassin already had the commander on her desk sitting while he slowly made her laid on the hard surface. Most of the stuff was on the floor since Hange quickly swept off to clear the desk after the first surprise kiss from Bill. 

She blushed from the way his eyes were clouded with lust. It’s been a long time since she has been with a man. The first time meeting William was filled with curiosity. As a few months had passed they flirted here and there, but neither one didn’t make a move. It could be a culture boundary or age gap issue, but Commander Zoe Hange never had attempted to make a move in her life. She may not be shy in general but when it comes to her love life, she becomes lost that not even science can’t help her. 

For an old man, he looks younger than his age. He could pass in his 50s, but then again Levi looks younger than what he is. Must be in the family. 

All her thoughts were gone when Bill kissed down her neck to the valley of her breasts. Huh? She didn’t feel his hands undo her white blouse. Her ponytail was undone too. 

Hange moaning softly from his tongue running on top of her breasts. She quickly let the  blouse slide off of her and her bra is now on display for him to see. 

Bill stopped to admire how flushed her face was and her hair was spread out on her desk. Her chest rose up and down from breathing heavily. To him, she already looks magnificently beautiful.  

“Well, this is not what I expect but I’m not complaining.” She chuckled while playfully undoing his shirt. 

“Good, I wanted you ever since we met.” He took off his shirt when she undo his buttons. William begins to grind on her. Zoe aggressively kisses his neck while pulling his hair. 

“I wanted you as well. It had been frustrating getting off from thinking of you instead feeling your touch.” Hange mumbling as Miles takes off her pants. His warm hand caressing from her ankle to her inner thigh. Her breath panting harder. Her panties start to get soak from the wetness she has been producing from his kisses and touches. 

“Ah, you have been thinking of me? Show me when you do when you think of me.” Bill leans to her ear to whisper. 

The commander slowly let her fingers travel down her body then stopped to rub the hem of her panties. She can tell how William’s eyes become darker while following the movement of her fingers going further below. Zoe smirks as her finger hooks on the hem to carefully pull down the fabric garment to teasingly reveal her dark small pubic hairs. The way Bill’s tongue licks on his lips made her moan erotically. Oh fuck, how hot he looks the way he stares at her like a starve animal.

She continues to pull down until it's off from her legs. Her finger presses on her clit to start rotating gently as a wave of pleasure spreads out on her body. Hange moaning low his name which he stops her to resume by him instead. 

“You’re beautiful, Zoe. Don’t forget that.” His lips kissed her neck again. 

“Am I?” She has mixed feelings of being called beautiful. Most of her life, she never considers herself to try to be pretty. What’s the point when she has a brain to make her standout from everyone? The first time someone looked at her as a woman and called her beautiful was her former lover. He died an honorable hero for leading the retake of Shiganshina. That was long ago. Erwin would tell her everyday so she would one day accept that she always has beauty too in her unique way.  

“Yes.” Bill glanced at her with a soft but determined look. He was still fingering her deep which arched her back of the ecstasy of pleasure. 

Her eyes get watery then growls with desire to have him pounding her. Her hands make way to his pants to undo them roughly. “Fuck me now please..”

He chuckled and let her undo his pants. “Someone is eager.” He teased her. 

“Of course, for months I have to use my imagination of your dick pounding me, unless with your old age; you’re impotent to keep up my stamina.” Her tone was playfully as she looked into his eyes. 

“Oh my genius Zoe. I may be old, but I can still fuck your brains out. You forget that I’m an assassin. My stamina will not be an issue.” He smirks wickedly. Hange couldn’t help feel the excitement of what Bill will do to her. 

“Guess you have to remind me.” The Commander of the Survey Corps grins while whispering. A loud gasp came out from her lips when she felt his manhood entering her.

“I certainly will.” He moans while adjusting himself inside her. His dark eyes stared into her honey brown eyes. 

As the rhythmic of their bodies move as one, the new lovers keep embracing the passion that ignites from the months of pining for each other. 

Meanwhile on the other side of the Commander’s door, three figures walking pass by until they heard moans. 

“Connie, do you hear that?” Jean stops to listen where that noise is coming from. 

“Yeah, probably it’s a ghost or something.” Connie shrugs. 

Then a louder noise was heard. “Oh harder! Harder, harder!” A feminine voice made erotic noise.

“That’s one horny ghost all right.” Mario, one of William’s assassins grin as he has an idea where the noise came from. Both Survey Corps soldiers finally get what their new friend was saying and blushes while all three walk away from the noise. 

A/N: Hello guys! Sorry this chapter took so long. It’s been another busy week for me and I tried to get it done before Christmas. Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas! Also, Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the last one. I hope this chapter will do for you all until the next one. See you guys later until next time with Ch.10. Love you all!

#rivahisu #levihisu #reikasa #male oc x male oc #hange x william #levi ackerman #historia reiss #reiner braun #mikasa ackerman #zoe hange #william miles #fanfic crossover #snk #aot #attack on titan #assassin's creed

[flwrpotts]

Missing you writing for Reggieronnie tbh

vik, my love, anything for u. ty for ur patience, ur a dream

it’s getting harder to be someone, but it all works out/

it doesn’t matter much to me

hiram lodge dies the first real morning of summer, a june day crisp and bloody with promise. veronica walks into her father’s study, heels sharp on marble, gearing up for another round in their endless boxing match, something satisfying about the punch and effort of it. she has a manila file tucked under her elbow, her lipstick dark and immaculate, ready for a clean victory.

“i can hardly believe you’d stoop this low, daddy,” she starts as she walks in, a whiny thread of moral righteousness seeping into her voice. she’s expecting his oily, serpentine grin and pretend obliviousness, but instead her father is slumped over at his desk, neck bent at an angle that strikes veronica as deeply wrong before she can even get to the source of why. his skin is blanched, hair hanging in his face. unmistakably dead.

her father, her own personal devil, a tumbler of rum still at his side like he’s about to wake up and take a sip.

“daddy?” veronica asks, voice stripped of all bravado, frightened and small. she resents her own weakness but cannot help it. the room is strangled of all air, panic thrumming loud in her wrist. she acts on gut impulse, on rare instinct. on that starving, hungry animal that lives in her ribs named lodge.

reggie is her rock bottom guy, despite it all. they haven’t talked besides cursory hellos and polite small talk in the halls in months, and yet, it’s his doorstep she ends up on. it’s not as if they’ve ever been really close, but there’s a weird sense of belonging to one another, exclusively. their upbringings have instilled in them this need to possess without attachment, an ownership that feels better than love. they’re the same sort of monster where it really counts.

“ronnie?” he asks her, toweling off his wet hair, t-shirt sticking to him in damp patches. he smells like cheap boy shampoo and damp air, strangely appealing, tender as a bruise. his eyes flick up her, still immaculately dressed, despite it all.

“i need to leave,” she says, all in a rush. she can’t bear to explain herself further. there’s nothing in her except for this wild impulse to get the fuck out, to leave riverdale like it’s a blade pressed to her throat, threatening to break skin. a vital artery is about to be hit, is already split open, hemorrhaging wildly.

“alright,” he says, and steps out, shutting the door behind him, firm with promise. “let’s go then.”

she wakes up with her hair in her mouth, her boarding pass and passport clutched in one hand. memory flashes vaguely within her- finding her father, going to reggie’s doorstep, slinging old fashioneds at the airport bar and closing her eyes to pick a random flight. reggie is asleep next to her, young looking with his mouth a little open. she sits up from where she’s been slumped against his shoulder, looks down at her boarding pass.

well. she’s always wanted to go to amsterdam.

the city is filled with blood and money. her and reggie get off the flight with nothing except their clothes and shiny black credit cards. it’s probably too conspicuous to pick the grandest hotel she can find, but veronica doesn’t care. they settle into the luxurious suite and veronica sprawls out on the king bed, liking the crisp feeling of fresh sheets against her face. it’s not been twenty-four hours, and yet she’s already a world away. a full-bodied sprint away from the grief threatening to capsize in her chest.

“so,” reggie says, all casual, scoping out the minibar. “you want to talk about it?”

there are sixteen missed calls from archie flashing on her phone. more from her mother. guilt sickens inside her, as real as a bad tooth.

“no,” she says, and that’s that.

in amsterdam they mostly just get high. their hotel balcony has a view of the whole city, and in the late afternoon reggie rolls joints on the terrace, which are honestly bad considering how much practice he’s had, but veronica doesn’t care enough to learn better. they pass spliffs back and forth as the sun sets, and veronica goes as relaxed as she ever can, legs slung in reggie’s lap and breath high and tight in her chest. everything ceases to exist, the world funneling down to the sound of reggie’s voice, telling her about the latest in the hockey season or his stupid-brilliant idea for a start-up.

they both have nightmares so the nights are for clubbing, staggering in and out of doorways, reggie’s face abstracting out under neon lights. they make fast friends with the sorts of boys who always have baggies full of powder in their pockets, and veronica is always off her face, smudged dark and volcanic in her tiny black dresses, chain smoking on the corner as reggie gets a cab.

they keep vampire hours, crawling into bed as the sun is beginning to rise, and veronica wakes in the late afternoons with her head pillowed on reggie’s bare stomach, soft skin under firm muscle. the days begin to loop in a way that could almost become comfortable.

they’re eating in breakfast in a tiny bakery when veronica happens to glance at the television screen behind her. lodge will reading on hold as hunt for teenage heiress continues! flashes across the screen, and panic spikes hot and sour in her stomach, nausea pulsing in her throat.

reggie watches her face carefully, like a sailor watching the waves. “change of scenery?” he asks, and in a handful of hours they’re on a flight to shanghai.

shanghai is warm and unfamiliar, full of crowded street and the pulse of city lights, the skyline strange and neon and absurdly lovely. they buy beer for four cents a bottle from the convenience store and veronica washes her hair with the thin, anonymous shampoo of hotel bathrooms and feels the edges of her personhood coming apart.

for some reason they still haven’t fucked. she doesn’t quite know why- she can see the way reggie watches her in the gray dawn as she peels off her sequined dresses and skimpy black lingerie to pull on his old, soft t-shirts with holes in the collars. she knows in an objective sort of way that he wants her, the same she feels a pulse of need low in her stomach when he places a cigarette in her mouth, or gets out of the shower with a towel slung low around his waist.

maybe it’s out of some sort of respect for archie. or maybe they’re just testing one another.

they’re drinking in the second tallest building in the world, the entire continent sprawled out beneath them as the sun goes down, and veronica is drunk and blinded with her own power, drinking her third martini too fast.

one of the absurdly powerful businessmen comes up to flirt with her, charming and pushing thirty-five, wedding band winking on his finger. veronica puts on her cattiest, big little girl smile, lets her slip dress slide further up her thigh, and watches as reggie grinds his teeth beside her.

they fuck in the men’s bathroom, much too nice for such behavior, thousands of dizzying feet above ground. her head clatters back against the mirror and reggie’s fingers are rough where they cover her mouth, trying to keep her quiet, thumb dipping against her lower lip. she pops four buttons off his white button down, and he has her silky purple dress hiked up to her waist, and veronica forgets the grief that lives salty and hot in her throat, forgets riverdale, forgets who she is at all.

in london they go out to high tea and act like proper young adults, visiting the museums and having extravagant picnics in the gardens. veronica spends absurd, frivolous amounts of time assembling the menu for such outings, fizzy champagne and sponge cake and charcuterie boards. the dreams are still bad, but in the mornings she reads in bed, blankets tucked up around her face, while reggie goes for runs around the city.

these days they are settled into something nearly resembling domesticity. she is fond of the jut of reggie’s ankle and the way he takes his coffee, his tacky watch and the bottle of hair gel left on the bathroom sink. this strange boy who holds her hair back when she vomits and cries in his sleep like a little kid, who always has something in his pocket to slip under her tongue when they’re in line for the club.

it’s reggie who notices one day that they’re being followed, a man slumped inconspicuously behind them in a coffee shop near their hotel, at the table next to them that evening in the restaurant. riverdale never really leaves you, that shadow world of gangs and serial killers and a wild, cartoonish violence, smearing blood on everyone’s hands so bright it was almost orange, ketchupy.

they leave in the dead of night, sneaking out of the elevator of the hotel, and veronica is almost enjoying herself, feeling like a spy or assassin, a heroic figure. for a glittering second she misses riverdale, that cold rush of adventure, but then reggie laces their fingers together and when she wakes up she’s buoyed back to sleep by the comforts of the jet plane around her, humming and steady, dark over the pacific.

in jerusalem they stay in the heart of the old city, and veronica feeds scraps to the street cats, cooing when she wins over their affection. they float in the dead sea and reggie swipes mud across her cheek and she tugs on his ankle as he floats to make him lose his balance. they visit the western wall and watch as the holy men write their wishes down on scraps of paper, shoving them into the crevices on the side of the wall, thousands and thousands of them.

“do you ever feel the compulsive urge to pull them out and start reading other peoples’ wishes?” reggie asks, whispering in her ear, and veronica can’t decide whether she wants to laugh or cry. she has that same tug in her gut, that same steer towards wrongness. they’re made up of the exact same stuff.

reggie hands her a post-it note to write a wish, but veronica crumples it up, lets it float in the bottom of her purse with the broken cigarettes and half empty lipglosses and six types of currency. she has no more wishes.

#mine #quarantine prompts #riverdale #reggie x veronica #veronica x reggie #veggie #riverdale fic

[thecosmicsen]

2 :^)

send a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song or  🎁  for shuffle    +   @shesin​​  ↳  wish we could go backwards to when I was your goddess  ·   NΔNO

there it is.  the dreaded yet tersely anticipated ping that notifies him that his newly turned root cause of pain,  the love of his life,  his ex-wife,  the mother of his children,  the devil he will never cease thinking about is currently  “  live  ”  on Instagram for the world to witness.  with his stomach already rolling with nauseous waves of sickening suspense,  he has no idea what to expect next of Inés’ unpredictable chaotic force he can’t remember her ever being THIS wildly nefarious unforeseeable with her antics.  but his intensifying greed to see her once again regardless of whatever twisted play she has to unravel to her audience compells him to immediately tap upon the alluring text.  Inhye started a live video. watch it before it ends  !

surely enough,  there she is in full virtual glory,  her pearly white fangs ever so teasing as it catches the bright glitz of the fine-tuned lighting that he recognises pertinent to the lights angled towards her bed in her apartment.  he is so momentarily mesmerised by the radiant luminosity of the new red lipstick shade that adorns her lips that are upturned in a devilish smirk.  it matches her new freshly painted talons that are similarly tapered like her razored canines but that’s when his attention is shifted to the blaring fact that she isn't alone for this Instagram live session.  rather,  her crimson gleaned nails rake along the curve of another man’s shoulders,  the illuminated backside is MORE than enough for him to immediately recognise the silhouette of the man who ranks number one on his hit list priorities.  almost as if she is reading his thoughts,  Inés stares directly into the cameras,  her eyes boring into his as she continues to roam her palms across the expanse of his arch rival with the incessant smirk of sheer glee. 

“  mmmm . . .   Cyril is so good with the kids,  ”  she announces with an airy titter,  her fingers now adoringly raking through his locks as she hitches her leg further up to curl around the man’s waist.  they’re laying down on her bed,  Jaewoo can clearly see that now with a grotesque FLARE of resentment blurring his vision bloodcurdling red to see his archenemy so comfortably sprawled out on her pillows.  “  and now that we got them settled for bedtime,  I think it’s time to give some special attention to daddy.  ”

usually,  the pet name is enough to send him on yet another blood drenching murderous killing spree before attempting his nth try to finally get his hands on the man he detests with pure putrid hatred that is enough to quiver his body with such unadulterated venomous fury.  but this once,  he is fixated on the detail that Cyril is face down on her bed whilst Inés’ mobile camera is pointed in their direction.  that's the position she always had him in when she was posting to her feed.

“   baby,  you’re so good to me.  turn around.  show me your face.  ”  she abruptly flits back to her typically dominant tone,  her fingers firmly grasping at the man’s chin to tilt his concealed face towards her.  now his side profile is in full view which mirrors a wicked smirk to the preening demon pressing herself up against the mould of his body  —  her red varnished nails caressing and contrasting to the black shirt hugging his figure.  she titters again,  a stray hand sliding down to cup the curve of his ass.  

huh.  

Jaewoo’s mind stops whirring for a moment,  the tremendous shock of the sight unfolding in front of him slacks his jaw open with visible scandalisation.  for a few moments,  he sits there.  dumbfounded.  confused.  dismayed.  recoiling in seething horror.

she never did that to me.  she never let anyone see my face.  why is she showing his to everyone  ?  does she think he is more handsome than me or something  ?  does she really think that  ?  why did she refuse to show me off like that too  ?  why  ?  why  ?

"  . . .  we also went to the park today.  the weather was gorgeous.  the boys really enjoyed themselves.  it was the best time.  my adorable boys.  ”  upon her heinous sultry intonation,  she possessively tightens her coiled leg around the man with her ruby lips poised with the most smug expression.  she dips her head in slightly,  her legs and arms working in unison to roll Cyril face first into full view so everyone gets the full glimpse of his clearcut features and how his cheeks are smattered with the shade of red from Inés’ excessive kiss marks.  “  Cyril is so . . .  ”

that used to be him.  honeyed voice warmly breathing in the shell of his ear.  possessive arms wrapped snug around his waist.  the scent of her shampoo filling up his nostrils.  he doesn’t remember where he begins or ends,  all he knows that he belongs to her so it doesn’t matter in the first place.  it’s irrelevant.  he’s safe.  he’s warm in her fiercely protective grip,  his nose nestled in the crook of her neck as he hugs the shape of her hips close and pressed flush against his body,  his teeth lightly grazing at the junction of her neck before landing a smacking kiss.  a low delighted hum from her tickles his nape.  “  you’re so cute,  my baby.  my baby boy.  I love you so much.  ”

"  . . .  it’s because of the telepathy we have.  he knew what exactly I wanted.  remember my story from earlier  ?  that was the cheesecake flavoured ice-cream Cyril managed to find for me.  the twins also loved it.  the best daddy ever.  ”  knowing lips curl into sinful pout.  he can hear a resonating smooch.  “  how should we spent tonight together,  hm  ?  ”

they’re curled,  perfectly framed into the fit of each other’s body with seamless ease.  they’re going back home together,  fingers tightly interlaced and arms wounded with adoring grace.  now in the marbled elevator with the neon lit of their floor glowing,  he faces away from the graciously large mirrors as Inés faces towards them.  he can’t see her face,  his face is still buried and nuzzled against the scent of her perfume wafting up from the smooth canvas of her neck but he can tell that she is smiling widely,  her teeth in full dazzling sight.  deftly,  her fingers weave through his tousled locks,  an arm growing slack around his waist.  he softly whines in protest,  eliciting another bubbling chuckle from his love.  “  stay like that.  my adorable baby.  thank you for taking me out today.  ”  she tenderly kisses a tuft of his hair with a hum as she brings her phone out of her purse.  he notices this when he tilts his towards the mirror,  a demure grin brightening up his already glowing features.  he is so in love and basking in all her warmth.  what more could he ask for  ?

her tone drops down a notch,  her naturally husky voice rasping with alluringly seductive connotations.  her teeth seem to gleam more brightly and twinkling along mischievously with the brewing schemes in her mind that he is unsure of whether her wants to remain blissfully ignorant or in full awareness of.  she nudges the tip of Cyril’s nose,  her face radiating its true demonic gorgeousness as her eyes narrow playfully,  her palm inching closer to his crotch.  “  I can think of a few ideas . . .  ” 

"  oh  !  are you taking a picture ?  ”  he inquires to her.  he’s beaming from ear to ear.  this is the first time he can spot her opening up Instagram and utilising the camera from the platform to take their first official picture together.  he is about to straighten up so he can face his awaiting reflection in the mirror but her other arm still hooked around his waist suddenly grips him in place with vicious force.  “  no.  stay like that baby.  nobody is going to see your face.  ”  she dictates with a purr but her voice with a steely edge to it.  “  be a good boy and look over my shoulder or go back to how you were.  ”  without waiting for his response,  she gently guides his face pointedly away from their reflection before snapping several photos as her fingers skim through his locks and her other arm defensively keeping him pressed up against her.   

" . . .  if we have any more babies together,  they’re going to be the cutest babies in the world.  I’m such a lucky mama.  how many kids do you guys think we should have  ?  I feel like having three more.  ”  another devious giggle filters through his dazed state and he can witness three of her perfectly polished nails glinting ominously on camera.  he can also make out another glossy pout on her gleeful face that exhales a very exaggerated sigh.  “  I miss the feeling of being pregnant so much but you will fix that for me,  won’t you daddy  ?  ”

"  baby,  why don’t you want to show my face to everyone  ?  do I look bad or something  ?  ”  he huffs against her skin,  making a show out of puffing cool air against her in slight retaliation.  “  I can change into something that will make me look better . . .  ”  once he deduces that she has taken enough pictures,  he tilts his face slightly to the side so he can continue resting his cheek against her shoulder but his beseeching rounded eyes staring up at her.  she lowers her phone,  tucking it away for now as she returns his gaze with a darkened over look.  the fingers tenderly playing with his hair now dig into his scalp with escalated pressure,  her eyes stormy as she gently tugs him by his locks so she can face him to squarely look at her in the eyes.  “  no,  it’s because you’re only mine to look at.  my gorgeous baby.  mine.  ”  to iterate her point,  she yanks him by the hair again to perfectly angle his neck so that she can bare her teeth and scrap her canines along the slope of his vulnerable point.  “  mine.  ”  she hums again,  her fangs sinking in as she hungrily sucks against the surface of his skin till he feels giddy with lightheaded pleasure as the bruising sensation sinks in.  

a faux look of contemplation crosses her features as she continues to directly address the camera before flitting her smouldering glance back to the man besides her.  " . . .  I’m in the mood for a bath right now.  what do you say,  my love ?  ”

he is hers just as much as she is only his.  nothing will ever change that,  he thinks as his eyes roll to the back of his head and his body weight falling lax upon her,  his arms holding onto her for what he believed for the rest of eternity.  he drops a trail of soft kisses against her inner palm that delicately cups his face as she sucks on his skin with devoted fervour.  “  I love you,  ”  he whispers out,  nuzzling against her ear after peppering another splay of kisses upon her skin.  “  I’m only yours.  ”  at his reaffirmation and confirmation of her words,  she cups his face with both of her palms,  her eyes softening as she gazes down at his lips as if she can capture his mouth uttering those words and replay them in her mind for the future.  “  you are only mine.  ”  she reestablishes after bringing him in for one deep long lingering kiss.  they’ve arrived at their floor yet they haven’t budged.  the elevator doors shut again.  they pay no mind to it.  

he’s here but she is there  —  on the other side of the camera.  

“  I love you too.  ”  she whispers back,  her arms fall in favour of possessively curling around his frame.

but her arms aren’t around him anymore.  he no longer feels the searing warmth of her love encompassing him till he forgets about his own sense of being.  there is no love left to be swathed in.  she showers that with relish to her new yet old acquainted companion.  her arms sit snug around Cyril now.  as if she can hear his thoughts yet again,  she leans in to press a kiss to the other male’s forehead.  Jaewoo is painfully reminded of how desolate he truly is once again,  left alone in the world as he had been in back in 1976.  the cold still air hits him with full smacking force as he continues to lifelessly watch her doting ministrations on her new man.  

“  my sweet boy.  ”  she murmurs in his ear,  tickling him once again.  he laughs with a shiver.

he hadn’t realised it till now but there are tears streaming down his face,  dampening his cheeks completely and falling off in steady drops onto his shaking palms.  Inés shakes with him too in his palm but her charmingly mirthful smile,  all toothy and stunning remains steady and vibrant. it blinds him along with the fluorescent lighting that wraps her up in a soft halo glow of her own utopia whilst it aches his eyes in his dark room to keep staring at his screen.  staring at her.  staring at her newfound happiness. 

“  Ahn Jaewoo.  ”   his name sounds like a divine incantation with her voice,  direct from her lips full of love.  she says it with flourish and rolls it about in her mouth,  smug yet territorial. 

she ignores the camera now in favour of staring deeply in Cyril’s eyes,  her eyes full of unadulterated adoration.  

“  hmmm ?  ”  he rubs up against her lower back,  the corners of his eyes uplifting as he smiles with all the bursting affection he has to offer to her.  his heart aches,  he loves her too much. 

her love doesn’t cover him anymore like it used to. 

“  you’re all mine.  ”  she swipes her tongue along his bottom lip before tilting her head yet again,  sealing his fate with another deep passionate kiss. 

her lips hungrily find Cyril’s,  her teeth sinking in his bottom lip as she tugs it about with playful giggles filling up the silence on Jaewoo’s end.

“  mine.  ”

she turns back to the camera and reaches out for it.  

“  I’m forever yours.  ”  he sings it out for her,  fully enraptured.

it switches off.  the screen is left blank. all he is left with is his own grief stricken expression staring back at him.  

forever.

#I... #nobody touch me #nobody look at me #I'm a fuckin wreck #I'm a WRECK #anyway #just... come talk to me #I... yeah #no words . #shesin #I FORGOT THE ANGST VERSE TAG #but this is angst verse #not main !! #* : ✮ ┆𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑠ℎ����𝑟𝑒 (𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠). #* : ✮ ┆ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑦 (𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠).

[voidvoyeur]

GIVE A MAN A MASK ...  

As always, a disclaimer that this is my personal lukewarm take, imbued in my portrayal. I do not regard the following analysis as an objective truth to all - but an important facet to the writing and characterisation on this blog.

The use of masks in the horror genre has consistently been a crux to unsettle its audience. By not showing a face we perceive as ‘true’ there is the instinctive notion that such a character who wears a mask has something to hide. A masked villain is intentionally separated from their cast of heroes, victims and extras, all of which are unveiled. In Michael’s case, his mask is meant to unnerve these characters before it terrifies, at first sight forcing the onlooker, Laurie, to question whether she has something to fear at all, if she is being too superstitious - especially on Halloween of all days.

 This is achieved with the mask’s design, an uncanny impression of a man’s face (originally William Shatner’s...). The facial structure alludes to an initial, unremarkable presence of a passing stranger, but the hollowed, black eyes and impossibly white pallor intrude - presenting a loss or absence of humanity. One of the most succinct explorations into this effect is by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas in Masks in Horror Cinema: Eyes Without Faces, most relevantly quoting J.P. Telotte, ‘[the mask] is neither grotesque or distorted nor natural, but more resembling the face of a dead man.’ With this analogy, it becomes clear that Michael’s face serves as a reflection of the fate of his victims, inhabiting both the fear he evokes and death he inflicts.           Doctor Loomis prophecises this in his monologue, detailing the ‘blank, pale, emotionless face’ and ‘the blackest eyes, the devil’s eyes’. What makes this a prophetic monologue is that this reading of Michael’s maskless face becomes a reality which we and Laurie have experienced, and will continue to do so with Michael’s ‘mask’. It is now an argument of whether the mask is a mask at all, but Michael’s true face. If Michael himself is aware of this encapsulation of both fear and death, then Loomis is a mouthpiece for Michael’s own self-fulfilling prophecy, embracing the belief of being ‘pure and simply evil’ - using the mask to enact his role, as Murray Leeder claims, ‘Like an actor in a Greek drama, [wearing] his villainy plainly on his face,’ but I would modify that it is not ‘on’ his face but ‘as his own face.’           In Dead by Daylight, his place as a killer among killers still may not deter from how eerie he is to see from a survivor’s perspective. Applicable is thegamingmuse’s analysis of Valtiel in Silent Hill 3, ‘He looks more human than almost all the other creatures we see, but that only makes him more upsetting. The similarities make the differences stand out all the more.’ Michael stands within the space between the familiar and unfamiliar, what we know and what we don’t know. In the film, he demands to be looked at, especially in Haddonfield where he agitates the suburban safety of the town. And when he is not in the scene at first glance, he still demands to be looked for because we know he doesn’t function within the same physical laws as a human, but we do not know the exact extent of what that power means.           When comparing his 1978 mask to the 2007 remake’s, the original mask’s ‘wholeness’ is much clearer. For the most part, Carpenter and Hill’s Michael is pristinely presented - his mask unblemished, suggesting a fully realised sense of self in both his role and belief of being a villain. In contrast, Zombie’s Michael is damaged and deteriorating. Befitting the director’s more psychological interpretation of his character ambling between the role of victim and villain - a cracked and marred mask portraying a more ‘damaged’ and unstable sense of self, a malformed identity hinged upon reuniting with his sister - and when he fails to do so that mask and identity becomes all the more ‘incomplete’ in the sequel. Whereas in 1978, Michael is (presumably) completely extricated from his family after murdering Judith, assured and arrogant in his character of stalker, perpetrator and killer. What is notable is its only point of damage would be a hole in the neck from Laurie stabbing him with a knitting needle - leaving a permanent mark in the same area of anatomy Michael exploits to overpower his victims through strangulation. Her action in the narrative showing her refusal to be disposable — consequentially having ‘living’, tangible proof.           She, along with Loomis, is one of the rare few to try and prove his mortality - only to result in him getting back up, asserting his enduring immortality. This immortality is even foretold in his face, ever watchful with an unblinking stare - bearing a likeness to ivory statues and figure sculptures throughout Western art history, depicting culturally significant fictional and historical figures. Just as sculptors like Michelangelo, Bernini and Rodin have brought such characters to solid life, Michael is immortalising himself just as these statues are commissioned to immortalise their subject, mythologising himself (which ... considering his fandom cult status). If he is likened to a marble statue then he assumes the infallibility of the same material, his silicone flesh does not decay. Simultaneously, we know he can move therefore we are prey to an ominous atmosphere, led to think when he is not immobile within our line of sight, he is still able to walk behind us without our knowing. It also raises the question of if his mask is what grants him infallibility to death...           In contrast to his impassive white mask, his smiling clown facade at the start of the movie seems to be a hyperbolic mockery of emotion. Compared to Zombie’s choice of Michael wearing his most recognisable mask when murdering Judith, Heller-Nicholas stating, ‘Here the mask has a distinctly adult look, and on Michael’s body it suggests he is a child capable of committing ‘adult’ crimes.’ Whereas in the original, the clown mask has a disarming playfulness and infantile innocence, further adding to the shock reveal that this was a child who killed his older sister. For five minutes (or a few seconds if you were unaware of his age) he fits within the uncanny child trope, defamiliarising what we expect a child to be capable of, the unmasking of a child doubles as the unmasking of a killer. More so is it unnerving to consider how much in the same way clowns exist between comedy and tragedy, evoking laughter from their audience with staged stunts going awry and choreographed misfortune, the young Michael derives joy from the tragic act of murdering his sister. It is also important to note that Judith immediately recognises her younger brother while he is masked, solidifying he will be the mask he wears. Fifteen years later, his victims are deprived of this same familiarity and knowledge.            The sinister truth of the clown costume is brought home all the more when Jamie Lloyd chooses similar garb as her trick or treat outfit in Halloween 4. Later fulfilling - or possessed by - the same prophecy of evil when killing her foster mother at the end. Throughout the movie, everything she feels is written on her face, she is unmasked and entirely honest in her terror, pain, brief happiness and sympathy until she has inherited Michael’s evil, the red pom-pom nose referencing Michael’s own crime when he was a child, while the eyemask also references his visibly void gaze now – adopting his mask’s dead-set impassivity with her own face.  Again, the child’s crime is shocking but there is no moment of unmasking, rather the opposite: an inherited mask.           Even beyond the Halloween franchise, the significance of Michael’s mask is brought back into the pop culture consciousness through the subversion of other killers in the same genre. In Scream, Wes Craven creates a direct relationship with Halloween while transgressing from it, parodying the slasher horror formula. This is even evident when comparing Michael and Ghostface’s masks; the two are similar in their pitch black eyes and white faces but where Michael’s is intended to evoke fear in the audience and narrative’s victims, embodying a disturbing synonymity between an everyman and dead man, Ghostface’s mirrors the screaming faces of the audience and characters - mocking their fear. Much like Jamie Lloyd, Ghostface credits a certain lineage to The Shape, but where Jamie unwittingly follows in her franchise father’s (or uncle’s) footsteps, Ghostface is the teenager trying to rebel against his forefather’s conventions.           Ultimately, Michael’s mask serves as a blank page or screen to project our fears, ideals and theories onto. As much as anyone, including his own psychiatrists, would want to know why he wears a mask, there will be a range of readings that can only be individual interpretation because the only certainty is the mask is designed, as a cinematic device, to be emotionally provocative of caution and fear. Nonetheless, my own interpretation is exactly that - he wears it to primarily provoke a reaction and to witness the expression of those who witness him, knowing full well he is personifying the horror his victims suffer -- and we as an audience experience.

#META / HEADCANON. #( and i didnt even get to h2018 lmao ..................... #I'VE BEEN Wanting to do this for a while and quarantine provides ample time #was just a question of attention span ! !

[cloudphillips]

Two

"Excuse me!"

  A First year Ravenclaw taking a casual stroll along the halls of the Lower West Wing suddenly shrieked in surprise when she heard thunderous footsteps and felt the blast of the raging wind that knocked her off her feet. The books she'd been holding fell scattered on the floor and she was left dazed at the sight of gold and scarlet hurricane leaving destruction in its wake.

  "Coming through!"

The male Hufflepuff student dropped the pot of Mimbulus Mimbletonia from his grasp when he accidentally collided against a rampaging brick wall in the form of a Gryffindor student. He got sprayed by the plant's stinksap and was covered head to toe with its filth. It didn't take another second for him to fall unconscious because of the foul smell. "Run for your lives!" A Slytherin girl screamed at the top of her lungs, promptly alerting the students within the vicinity to scamper away and avoid the area like the plague if they didn't want to smell like dung for a month.

  Everything was in chaos ever since that hurricane of a Gryffindor came.

  "Bitch move!"

  Said hurricane took the form of Kim Yerim and she stopped her rampage along the corridors of Hogwarts when she stumbled upon a couple, a male Gryffindor snogging his girlfriend Ravenclaw, who completely blocked the entrance to the Great Hall. The audacity!

  Yerim didn't have time to tolerate this public display of affection and sheer disrespect, so she unceremoniously shoved them out of the way then barged into the Great Hall without caring if she would bump into someone or not. Judging by the shocked expressions she was getting from the rest of the student body, Yerim guessed that she must've looked like a possessed woman but her appearance was the least of her concerns as of the moment.

  For now, she needed to share the news to her friends. The news that currently circulated in Hogwarts rumor mill. The news that pulled her knickers in a twist and left her at her wits' end.

  The young Gryffindor scanned the hall in search of her friends and it didn't take her quite long to spot them huddled together at the far end of the table. Sooyoung looked positively bored as she mindlessly played with her food and gazed at the distance, Seulgi was gobbling down some chicken and mashed potatoes like a starved Threstral and Joohyun was absorbed reading the Daily Prophet.

  A frown slowly settled on her face when she noticed that their social circle was more subdued than usual. Maybe because there was the lack of mindless chatter. Seungwan, the one who usually initiates the conversation, was noticeably absent but Yerim shrugged off her concerns. That blonde nerd was probably out there doing dumb shit like trying to get initiated into a Centaur clan or reading fairytale stories to lonely ghosts.

  Either way, she wasn't worried that her Ravenclaw friend was in danger because if she was, Joohyun would be raving like a lunatic and she'd literally burn the wizarding world to the ground in order to find the culprit that hurt Seungwan. She'd even stare Death right in the face when the situation calls for it.

  Yerim crossed the hall with a few quick strides and upon reaching their group, slammed her hands against the table. "Did you hear the news?!" The Gryffindor could barely manage to control her laughter when she successfully startled both her Slytherin friends. Joohyun, in particular, shrieked like a dying whale and it gave Yerim such satisfaction to elicit distress from the older girl. The intense glare she received from the Prefect was totally worth it.

  You see, Kim Yerim was born into this godforsaken world for one purpose and purpose only.

  That was to annoy the hell out of Bae Joohyun.

  And maybe wreck some havoc while she was at it.

  "Kim Yerim." The Prefect's features contorted into a scowl and her voice dripped with venom as she regarded the young Gryffindor with malice. Any normal person would've been scared shitless after witnessing this murderous side of Joohyun but after long years of constantly being reprimanded due to her troublemaking tendencies, the Gryffindor had somehow developed an immunity to the Slytherin's method of intimidation. Trust Yerim to disregard authoritarian figures like their existence didn't matter.

  Despite her irritation at the younger girl, the Slytherin Prefect still scooted over and allowed Yerim to sit beside her. Whatever disagreement they had before was now forgotten as they ate their lunch in peace and chatted harmoniously with each other.

  "Which one?" Seulgi muttered inbetween mouthfuls of chicken and mashed potatoes. "Hogwarts has hundreds of rumors circulating every day. It's hard to keep track." The Hufflepuff turned to Sooyoung and asked for a portion of her red velvet cake which the taller girl begrudgingly gave her.

  "If this is about that Bulbadox powder that Filch drank in his tea, I swear I had nothing to do with it." Sooyoung pointedly munched on her cake and expertly maintained a neutral expression when she regarded her friends with a level gaze. She shrugged off their suspicions and acted all innocent.

  However, Joohyun wasn't one to be easily tricked. "You pranked the Caretaker?" She transformed into her Prefect mode and narrowed her eyes at her fellow housemate.

  Okay. They were getting off topic here.

  "No. I only smuggled Devil's Snare into his office and kept him locked in there while I transfigured Mrs. Norris into a cauldron but other than that, I did nothing else." Sooyoung casually admitted to her crimes as if they were just talking about the weather. Like smuggling a dangerous plant inside the school and literally endangering everyone was just another regular day in her life.

  Yerim couldn't help but be impressed. Never once had she thought of using Devil's Snare to terrorize the Caretaker. It was brilliant and certainly life-threatening. A prank of this magnitude was a ground for expulsion but Sooyoung managed to pull it off effortlessly. The Gryffindor suddenly developed a newfound respect for the Slytherin. Leave it to Sooyoung to take things to the extreme. She was amazing! Just bravo!

  "You did what?!" The raven-haired girl screeched in frustration as her sanity slowly dwindled away. Other students shifted their attention towards their table after that sudden noise but one glare from Joohyun was enough for them to turn away and mind their own business. The Prefect was mad. In fact, she was livid. The growing urge to strangle a certain tall Slytherin was difficult to ignore. "That's dangerous! You could've cost us our House points!"

  "Could you, like, chill for just a second? That was just only a few hours ago. He'd have escaped by now--" The tall girl stared into the distance and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "--or not." Her features contorted into a grimace as she internally debated on whether or not she should check on Filch. In the end, her conscience won. "Okay fine. I'll check on him later after I finish eating."

  "You better." Joohyun grumbled before settling back to her seat, still unappeased by Sooyoung's placations, and found a new habit of frowning at her food. She already lost her appetite. If only someone would comfort her and allay her worries but alas, that someone was busy out there training her flying skills.

  "By the way, where's Seungwan? I haven't seen her today." Seulgi momentarily stopped eating to glance at Joohyun. There was a topic in Astronomy that she had difficulty understanding and the Ravenclaw seemed like the best person to ask for help.

  "Quidditch practice." Came the Slytherin's response as she tucked away the newspaper she was reading in favor of her notes. Care of Magical Creatures would be her next class and it didn't hurt to familiarize herself with the new topic they're going to discuss today.

  "Seriously. They're already training at this time?" Yerim was incredulous. The next Quidditch match wouldn't be held until like two months from now. It seemed like the Ravenclaw team was preparing in advance, which was completely unnecessary since they're already a formidable force to be reckoned with.

  Ahem! No offense Gryffindor team. Yerim felt conflicted. Her mind was telling her to support their Quidditch squad yet her heart was telling her to root for Ravenclaw. Why? Because the Gryffindor team sucked and the players would rather showboat instead putting up a good game. It's no wonder they lost every match.

  Looks like we have a traitor here officer!

  "Their team are trying to get a head start for their next match against Slytherin since they are tied for the cup." Joohyun shrugged casually and her statement elicited some unexpected reactions from her friends. They all looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

  "Really? An uptight Prefect like you was keeping tabs on the Quidditch match?" Yerim exclaimed. Her mind couldn't quite comprehend the words she just heard. She shook her head in disbelief. "The world must be ending."

  "I thought you didn't care for trivial things like Quidditch." Seulgi was appalled. In her long years of friendship with the said girl, she had never displayed any interest in the sport, which was surprising since Joohyun came from a Pureblood family and Quidditch was like, the obsession of the wizarding world. Seulgi was curious as to why her friend suddenly became involved with the sport.

  "Oh, I still don't but Seungwan is so into it and you know how intense she gets. If she had her way, she might as well marry the sport." That thought alone caused Joohyun to frown and she accidentally ripped the edges of a page from the book she was reading.

  After that display of a rather passive-aggressive act, Sooyoung glanced at Yerim and they exchanged knowing smirks. Guess who slept on the wrong side of the bed today?

  The young Gryffindor decided to add fuel to the fire and teased the irate Prefect. "That's understandable since you can't deny that Seungwan is the best Seeker Ravenclaw has ever seen in centuries. She could be playing for the Big Leagues if she weren't such a nerd." She stabbed a piece of chicken meat and munched on it loudly.

  "That doesn't mean she should just spend all her time flying that stupid broom and catching that golden bastard. She has better things to do." Joohyun crossed her arms then sulked like a baby. Loneliness has made a home inside her heart and the Slytherin Prefect wondered if she could ever recover from this emptiness she was feeling.

  Okay. She was being dramatic now.

  Sooyoung rolled her eyes and gave Joohyun a goblet filled with clear liquid. The Prefect seemed confused at the sudden offer. "What's this?"

  "Water."

  "What for?"

  "To quench your thirst."

  Suddenly, the doors burst open. The topic of their conversation and the very cause of Joohyun's thirst entered the Great Hall. Seungwan scanned the surroundings in search of her friends and automatically locked gazes with Joohyun. It's as if their eyes were drawn to each other and the Slytherin Prefect was unable to look away. She still kept staring when Seungwan made her way towards them and Yerim took it upon herself to bring her friend back to reality. "You're drooling."

  Joohyun immediately clammed her mouth shut and half-heartedly glared at Yerim, which was pretty much useless since it had no effect on the Gryffindor. She clenched her teeth and remained stiff in her seat, not daring to move a single muscle, as Seungwan settled beside her. The raven-haired girl caught a whiff of her intoxicating earthy scent and needless to say, she was addicted.

  "Hey." Seungwan was a little breathless but she still flashed Joohyun that same brilliant smile that put the sun to shame. Her silky blonde locks clung to her porcelain skin in sticky waves and she was positively disheveled. The blue and gray robes she was wearing were all creased. She looked like she just ran a marathon around the castle grounds but despite this, she still took Joohyun's breath away.

  "Hey." The Slytherin Prefect swallowed the lump in her throat and fidgeted with the hem of her clothes. Oh look! There's a ketchup stain on her robes. Maybe she'll wash her garments later and sprinkle it with some fabric softener for it to smell divine once it dries.

  It took her a while to gather the courage she needed to fix the blonde's necktie. She bit her lip when her fingers accidentally brushed against the smooth satin skin and fought hard to keep her hands from trembling. She heard Sooyoung mutter the word whipped but she ignored it in favor of tucking away the stray locks that partially obscured Seungwan's face. "Done with practice?" Joohyun's voice came out so soft and gentle. It sounded foreign to her ears.

  "Yes. I'm quite famished." Seungwan pouted adorably. Her cheeks looking all tender and squishy and Joohyun was positively sure her heart had stopped beating.

  That was it.

  Joohyun had become undone.

  Yerim coughed then pointedly nudged her arm and that broke Joohyun out of whatever trance she was trapped in. The Slytherin blinked once, twice, before shaking off her stray thoughts and grounding herself back to reality. She grabbed a plate, cut the food into smaller portions then offered them to the starving Ravenclaw. "Eat some Seungwan-ah." Joohyun was too busy fussing over Seungwan that she didn't notice the disgusted expressions the devil duo were making after witnessing that cheesy display of affection. "Do you want some seaweed soup? I could make one if you like."

  "No it's okay." The blonde shook her head and proceeded to dig in. She wolfed down the food like a ravenous beast. Joohyun thought that she must be really hungry. Meanwhile, Sooyoung wondered where the food that Seungwan ate went. All the nutrients she'd been consuming did no wonders to her height.

  "So how was practice?" Seulgi felt confused at the sudden change of the Slytherin Prefect's demeanor upon the blonde's arrival but just chalked it up to one of her friend's tendency to be a mother hen. It was no secret to their group that Joohyun was quite affectionate with Seungwan. The Hufflepuff was about to mind her own business and resume eating when she witnessed Joohyun casually wipe away the bead of sweat that cascaded down Seungwan's forehead.

  WITH. HER. BARE. HANDS.

  That disgusting shit. Who in their right minds would do that?

  The Hufflepuff was scandalized as she glanced at Sooyoung and Yerim and telepathically asked them, through her shocked stare, if they saw that cheesy moment too. Judging from their grim features, they did and they looked like they were seconds away from hanging themselves.

  The disrespect.

  "I think our captain is trying to kill me." Seungwan shuddered at the memory of her captain's rigorous training regimen specially designed for Seekers like her. "She had the team gang up on me and had them throw Bludgers my way." The Ravenclaw shrugged it off casually like being chased to death by enchanted bloodthirsty balls was a normal everyday occurrence for her. A cheeky smile graced her lips when she turned to Joohyun and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. "How's my favorite Prefect doing? I haven't seen you all day."

  The Slytherin Prefect squeaked in alarm and got flustered at their close proximity. She felt the warmth Seungwan radiated against her body and if this keeps up, Joohyun would be a few seconds away from fainting.

  "Oh that's good to know..." Seulgi trailed off when she realized that Seungwan was no longer talking to her. Still distracted away from her food, she observed why her two friends were suddenly acting all chummy towards each other.

  "I'm fine thanks." In an effort to remain calm and not get carried away by Seungwan's touch, Joohyun shifted all her attention to Yerim. Her last bit of hope to keep her anchored to reality. "Sorry. What was it that you wanted to share?"

  "Right..." The Gryffindor tried not to laugh at how her friend looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She thought that whatever news she was about to share now seemed a little irrelevant after witnessing the lovefest that was still occuring at their table. Seriously. Why did they have to do that right in front of her salad? Do they have no decency?

  "Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year."

  This important piece of information garnered quite the reactions that were far from what she was expecting. Seungwan dropped her fork. Seulgi choked on her food and some of the particles flew to the air, much to everyone's disgust. Sooyoung rubbed the Hufflepuff's back in an effort to alleviate her choking ass. Meanwhile, Joohyun remained impassive as usual. "Students from Beaubatons and Durmstrang will be arriving tomorrow."

  "No way!" Sooyoung exclaimed in disbelief.

  "Why so sudden?" Seungwan wondered why she only heard about this now. News this big would usually spread like wildfire around Hogwarts.

  "Maybe Professor Dumbledore will explain everything." Joohyun handed some water to Seulgi, who was still choking, and worriedly gazed at her.

  The Hufflepuff thankfully recovered from her coughing fit and profusely apologized to everyone for causing such inconvenience. The girls waved off her apology and Sooyoung handed her a napkin to wipe the stain on her face.

  "Isn't this exciting? We could make friends from other schools and maybe get the chance to meet the famous Quidditch Chaser Park Bogum!" Yeri could barely contain her happiness and made no attempts to do so. She was literally vibrating with excitement. "I heard he's currently studying at Durmstrang."

  "Of course you'd only care about boys." Sooyoung sighed airily and shook her head in disapproval. She cared about boys too but she was being low-key about it. "Talk about thirsty."

  "I am not thirsty!" The Gryffindor fired back at her friend's blatant jab. She couldn't let Sooyoung diss her without throwing her own comeback. "Just dehydrated."

  Yerim smirked and Sooyoung grinned mischievously in return as they gave each other a high-five. Seulgi merely frowned. "Gross."

  "Shut it Pooh bear!" The Gryffindor threw some shade at her.

  "I literally have no idea who that is." The Hufflepuff was confused as usual.

  "Oh it's this Muggle cartoon that children watch." Seungwan took the liberty to enlighten her clueless friend. She took a sip from the goblet of water Joohyun handed to her before resuming her explanation. "It's about a bear who has an obsession with honey."

  "Don't tell her anything." Yerim sneered at the blonde. Her eyes blazed with fire that threatened to burn Seungwan if she so much as continue talking. "These Purebloods don't need to know what we do in our world."

  "You speak as if being associated with us is shameful." Joohyun was amused at the Gryffindor's antics. She couldn't find it in herself to become offended since it was Yerim. That girl throws insults and sarcasm like she does it for a living.

  "Of course." The Gryffindor casually stabbed her salad with a fork and loudly chewed on it. "You guys are so fixated on this Pureblood Supremacy shit. It's time we fight back and start our own cult of Muggle World Domination."

  "What about me?" Sooyoung piped up. Being the only half-blood in the group, she was feeling kinda left out. "Which side am I on?"

  Yerim looked at her dead in the eye and stated in a deadpan tone. "None. You're the factory reject."

  "Yah!" The Slytherin objected and that ignited an all-out insult war with the two youngest throwing shade at each other. Amidst their argument, Seulgi figured that it was the appropriate time to voice out. "I still don't know what a cartoon is." But her query was only ignored. She sulked like a baby and ate her lunch half-heartedly.

  Joohyun glanced at her wristwatch and frowned upon realizing that she was running late for the Prefect's meeting. "Seul hurry up or we'll miss the gathering!"

  "Aww you're already leaving? But I just got here." In her desperate act of begging for her friends to stay, Seungwan unintentionally displayed a rare moment of cuteness. Her brown eyes turned all soft like a puppy and her lips jutted out to form a pout. She clearly had no idea of the effect she had on Joohyun because she successfully rendered the girl useless with no effort at all.

  Thankfully, Yerim swooped in to save the Prefect from further distress since it seemed like she has short-circuited. "Brilliant! I'm heading to my next class anyway so I might as well come with you." She bid them farewell and grabbed a really flustered Joohyun then a sulking Seulgi before unceremoniously hauling them out of the Great Hall.

  The students from other houses stared dumbfounded at the spectacle the three friends made but shrugged it off and continued minding their own business. Apparently, this was a normal occurrence in Hogwarts. The sight of two respectable Prefects getting dragged around like puppets by a Gryffindor troublemaker was something they were used to seeing.

  Now all that's left were Seungwan and Sooyoung.

  "Shouldn't you be in Divination right now?" The Ravenclaw furrowed her brows when she noticed that some students were already leaving the Great Hall to attend their classes. Meanwhile, the Slytherin was just sitting there and eating her lunch. She made no move of getting to her class.

  "I'm not going." Sooyoung waved off her query and nonchalantly took a sip from her pumpkin juice, acting like skipping classes wouldn't be detrimental to her future.

  "What? But that's against school rules!" Seungwan was scandalized. She was horrified at the thought of missing lessons. Learning magic was amazing! How could anyone just disregard their education like it was nothing? Her inner Ravenclaw was having a hysterical fit.

  "Oh, you don't get to pull that on me when you literally snuck out after curfew just a few nights ago." The Slytherin rolled her eyes at her friend's pathetic behavior. It's as if she was acting all blasphemous and Seungwan itched to burn her heretic ass to the ground. She paused for a moment to contemplate about something before leaning close and narrowing her eyes to observe the Ravenclaw. "You're lucky Joohyun didn't report you."

  "I didn't mean for her to find me." Seungwan bit her lip and scratched the nonexistent itch at the back of her neck. She at least had the decency to look sheepish. Sooyoung did have a point and her claims were true. After that one fateful night were she was caught roaming around the halls by the said girl, Joohyun didn't even reprimand her nor take away house points from Ravenclaw. She just gave the blonde a stern warning never to repeat it again then let her off the hook and pretended like the whole thing never happened.

  "But she did anyway and told no one about it. Joohyun can be lenient when it comes to you." Sooyoung stared at her pointedly, as if there was a secret message she was trying to convey with her eyes, and Seungwan, for the love of God, had difficulty getting the memo.

  Upon noticing her friend's confusion, the Slytherin sighed in exhaustion as she massaged her temples to alleviate the growing headache. "Merlin's beard, you're so hopeless." She was tired, so very tired, of putting up with the blonde's cluelessness. Joohyun was out there giving out obvious signs but Seungwan and her blind ass just wouldn't take the hint.

  How could someone be so smart yet so stupid at the same time?

  "Anyway--" Sooyoung decided to change the topic since it would take her friend centuries to finally catch up with her subtle implications. "--I'm not completely disregarding my studies. I just have other priorities as of the moment."

  "Like what?"

  "Learning a new spell."

  "Which is?"

  The Slytherin stared at her for a complete minute and conducted an ocular inspection to see if Seungwan was worthy of knowing the vital information that she kept secret. Leaning closer on the table and wringing her fingers in a tight knot, the tall Slytherin adopted a serious expression that was rather uncharacteristic for her personality. The Ravenclaw couldn't help but follow suit. "The Patronus Charm."

  "You want to conjure a Patronus?" Seungwan clarified for one more time to check if she was hearing things correctly and to ensure that she was not being tricked. "Why?"

  "Well, aside from wanting to know the corporeal form of my Patronus, learning a complex spell like this would certainly help me in the future." The Slytherin shrugged and took a bite from her cake. "Give me an edge in Auror training and all that jazz."

  Oh. Now that was an actually valid excuse to skip classes.

  "Look Sooyoung. I'm glad you have the motivation to further your education but trust me when I say that the Patronus charm is really difficult to cast." Seungwan recalled all those sleepless nights and failed attempts she had to undergo before she could perfect the spell. "I tried doing it since second year and it was seriously daunting--" Her ramblings were suddenly interrupted by Sooyoung.

  "Wait. Hold up." The Slytherin held up her hand. A gesture to stop the Ravenclaw from talking. "You started practicing the charm since we were second years?"

  "Yes and I have learned to perfect my technique over the years." The blonde stared at the distance. A small wistful smile had settled on her lips. "It's a shame I can't use it on a real Dementor though." Seungwan returned back to reality only to witness Sooyoung's features morph into a scowl.

  The Slytherin lunged to grab the Ravenclaw by the collar in an attempt to strangle her and unleashed all the profanities she'd been holding. "Why didn't you tell me?! You could've spared me the effort of desperately begging Professor Flitwick to teach me. My pride and honor has been tainted!"

  Seungwan tried to escape but it was futile since Sooyoung held on firmly like a Boa constrictor. Thankfully both of them were the only ones left in the Great Hall or else other students would witness the commotion they were making and prevent rumors from flying around Hogwarts about Seungwan being a wimp.

  "I'm sorry!" The Ravenclaw wailed pathetically as she struggled to breathe and gather air into her lungs. "I just accidentally stumbled upon it while reading a book in the library and figured that it would be fun to try!" She wheezed and started seeing white halos in her vision.

  This was it. This was the moment she was gonna die. Her death would be brought not by the claws of a cat, but by the constricting arms of Sooyoung.

  The Slytherin growled and smacked her on the head. "While we were learning to levitate a fucking feather and doing dumb shit like unlocking doors, you were out there practicing a supremely advanced spell just because it was fun to try!" Sooyoung grabbed the breathless girl by the shoulders and shook her relentlessly.

  "Teach me!"

  "Okay okay! I'll do it!" Seungwan could feel her neck crack from the continuous motion. Her vision blurred and she was getting dazed. Thankfully, Sooyoung stopped her assault just in time. She smoothed out the wrinkles in Seungwan's collar, tucked away stray strands of blonde hair and patted her cheek affectionately before smiling menacingly.

  "Good. Meet me in the Courtyard tomorrow." Her gaze was dark and her voice dripped with poison. The glint in her eyes seemed almost threatening and Seungwan couldn't suppress the shiver of fear that ran down her spine. The Slytherin glanced at her watch and sighed dramatically. "Oh great. Now, I have to check on Filch to make sure he wasn't eaten by that blasted plant." She talked as if this greatly inconvenienced her and Seungwan thought. Who's fault was that?

  With that, Sooyoung left the Ravenclaw and set off to save the Caretaker. Seungwan could only stare at her retreating form as she wondered.

  Just what has she gotten herself into?

  ***

  A ship emerged from the waters of the Black Lake.

  It exuded a skeletal aura with dim, misty lights shimmering through its portholes and making it seem like a ghostly wreak. The enchanted ship glided across the docks and created turbulent waves along the shores.

  Meanwhile, a gigantic, powder blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a mansion, soared through the air. It was pulled by winged horses, all white and each the size of an elephant, over the grounds at Hogwarts.

  When Seungwan saw all of this, she was rendered speechless. She never thought she'd get the chance to witness something so magnificent, having only read about ghostly ships and flying carriages on the Muggle books she kept back home. She only relied on her wild imagination before but now she actually witnessed for herself how her dreams became reality.

  "Stop gawking and let's continue."

  Her blissful moment was rudely interrupted by the tall Slytherin who threatened her into sharing her techniques in conjuring the Patronus charm. They've been up since early morning, only stopping their sessions to attend classes and Quidditch practices, and spent most of their free time training. It was a little past two o'clock in the afternoon now and they were still making no progress.

  "Hey. It's not every day one gets to see ghostly ships and flying carriages." Seungwan crossed her arms and tried to defend her case, which was completely useless since she could never win an argument with Sooyoung.

  The tall girl merely rolled her eyes and stated in a condescending manner. "Ghost ships and magical carriages are common in the wizarding world. Everybody has seen them."

  This privileged motherfucker.

  Seungwan sighed in defeat and gestured at her friend to continue practicing. Sooyoung closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Relaxing her body and letting her mind focus on the memory receiving her Hogwarts letter for the first time. The elation she felt was undescribable and she allowed this positive energy to envelope her. "Expecto Patronum."

  A silvery whisp erupted from the tip of her wand and formed a white spectral shield. Sooyoung was ecstatic at the sight her progress but she lost focus and got distracted. The magic lasted for a few seconds before it fizzled out into nothing.

  "Are you sure that you're thinking of a happy memory? The spell won't work unless your memory is a powerful one." Seungwan frowned after witnessing another one of her friend's failed attempt. She crossed her arms and tilted her head in contemplation. Their methods weren't working. Maybe they were missing something? She'd better go and check her book just in case.

  "Say that again one more time and I'll slip some Draught of Living Death into your morning tea." Sooyoung growled in annoyance because she was already exhausted from her countless failures. The tall Slytherin clenched her teeth and tightened the grip on her wand before trying to cast the spell once again. This time she injected more force into her incantation. "Expecto Patronum!"

  The same silvery wisp emerged for a few minutes before it completely disappeared.

  "Honestly!" Sooyoung groaned in exasperation and threw her hands up to the air in defiance. "Why does this have to be so difficult?!" She glared at the heavens for causing her such distress. It's like the universe was conspiring against her when all she just wanted to conjure her Patronus. Was that too much to ask?

  "Don't be too hard on yourself. I had a hard time learning this spell too." Seungwan approached her friend and laid a comforting arm on her shoulder. Fatigue has been wearing them down and affecting their spellcasting abilities. She tried to reassure the Slytherin as best she can. "Most witches and wizards don't even have Patronuses and that's okay. It's not the end of the world if you're unable to cast the charm."

  "I know that." Sooyoung's eyes prickled with tears as feelings of inadequacy started to strain her and thoughts of doubt clouded her mind. "But how can I become an effective Auror if I can't even conjure my Patronus?"

  The sight of her friend's anguish tugged at Seungwan's heartstrings and she pulled the younger girl into the comforts of her embrace. She hummed a simple lullaby and rubbed the tall girl's back in an effort to relieve her misery. The Slytherin choked back a sob and buried her face into the blonde's neck.

  "You can do this." She cooed in Sooyoung's ear and traced random patterns on her skin. "I know you can."

  Then a brilliant thought flashed into her mind and the Ravenclaw brought it upon herself to cheer Sooyoung up. She pulled away from their embrace and grinned brightly. "Wanna see something cool?" When the Slytherin nodded in affirmation, Seungwan closed her eyes and recalled the happiest memory she had.

  Five girls

  Brilliant smiles

  One from Gryffindor

  Sunny skies

  Another from Hufflepuff

  Warm hugs

  Two from Slytherin

  Innocent laughter

  And one from Ravenclaw

  Souls connected with each other for the first time

  She held out her wand and voiced out the incantation she had grown familiar with. "Expecto Patronum."

  Sooyoung gasped in awe when, out the end of Seungwan's wand, burst not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling silver animal. She screwed up her eyes, trying to see what it was, and realized that it looked like a bird. A small, beautiful and elegant bird. It silently flew around them in circles, lightly nudging its head on Sooyoung's cheek before landing gracefully on the shoulders of its owner.

  The Slytherin was greatly impressed and she forgot about the negativity she felt earlier. "So your Patronus is a bird?" She asked after a minute of admiring the spirit guardian.

  "Not a bird!" Seungwan was offended. She didn't spend all those years of suffering from sleepless nights and learning a ridiculously advanced spell just for her Patronus to be called a bird.

  "A Nightingale!"

  Sooyoung narrowed her eyes and inspected the said animal for one last time before directing her skeptical gaze on Seungwan. "Doesn't look like a Nightingale to me." Her tone dripped with mockery and her eyes brightened with mischief. She wrapped an arm around the blonde and seemed to be having a great time teasing her friend.

  The Ravenclaw was about to retaliate by stating a rather scathing remark when she heard someone call out their names.

  "Seungwan! Sooyoung!"

  Joohyun approached them with a metaphorical cloud of darkness following her wake. Her features were grim and her gaze burned intensely. She looked like someone broke her wand and was on a rampage to wreck havoc on Earth, bringing upon destruction and chaos to all those who oppose her.

  Once she reached them, her gaze travelled along the length of Sooyoung’s arm that was wrapped around Seungwan’s waist. It lingered for a few minutes before she schooled her features into an unreadable expression. All her thoughts concealed under a mask of indifference and her eyes devoid of any emotions.

  That was the moment Sooyoung knew.

  She fucked up.

  The tall Slytherin quickly realized her error and jumped meters away from Seungwan then put some good distance between them. After ensuring that she was avoiding the Ravenclaw like the plague, she turned to Joohyun and tried not to wilt under her scrutiny. "It's not what it looks like, I swear! She was just teaching me the Patronus Charm!" Sooyoung was never really the type to keep a level-head during times of crisis and right now, under the pressure of Joohyun's gaze, she finally cracked and was in a state of panic.

  "You don't have to explain." Joohyun sounded calm and composed but her eyes told a different story. It raged like a storm and burned with the fires of hell. Sooyoung was never really a believer but now she prayed to every deity in the heavens to have her life spared just this once.

  Seungwan didn't understand why her friend was suddenly acting all nervous, as if Sooyoung was caught red-handed for a crime she didn't commit, and decided to clear up any misunderstandings. "It's true Hyun. I'm helping her cast the spell." She held up her hands in a placating gesture as if she was trying to tame a wild animal. Here she was, defending herself even though she didn't do anything wrong. She honestly felt like she was being reprimanded.

  "I can see that." Joohyun glanced at the silver spirit guardian still perched on blonde's shoulder. Her face still impassive. "Nice bird."

  Seungwan groaned and shook her head in disbelief. "Merlin's beard! It's a Nightingale for crying out loud!" Sooyoung faked a cough to hide her laughter. Her eyes glinting in amusement. It's nice to know that she found delight in Seungwan's despair.

  Joohyun remained indifferent when she addressed the both of them. "We're late for Potions class." She took off without further ado and left her friends in the dust, never even turning back to wait for them.

  Sooyoung and Seungwan briefly stared at each other, silently agreeing to continue their training session later, before running off to follow their friend.

  The trip to Potions class was relatively quiet. Joohyun kept to herself the whole time and Seungwan and Sooyoung didn't dare spark a conversation with her. The Ravenclaw knew that something caused the Prefect to become irate but she had no idea what it was. It felt like she was walking on eggshells around her friend and she was honestly getting tired. Hopefully, their lesson for today wouldn't require too much thinking on her part so she could have the time to relax and take it easy.

  Seungwan should've known better than to expect things to go her way. The universe had a vendetta against her. Surely, she'd have learned her lesson by now.

  Wrong.

  Fate just loves to make a fool out of her.

  She should've known that things were going south when they were greeted by excited chatters and furious gossips from the students as they arrived at the Potions classroom.

  She should've known when she observed how Professor Slughorn was acting more chipper than the usual. The smile never left his lips when he flitted around the room to gather the materials that will be used in the class.

  She really should've known when Sooyoung voiced out. "This is going to be fun." As the tall girl noticed Joohyun stiffening like a rock and successfully imitating a statue by the time the professor announced.

  "Today, I'll be discussing Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world."

  Well shit.

  "Finally!" A boy from Gryffindor pumped his fist to the air in excitement and the rest of the class burst out in laughter. He glanced at Joohyun and smoothly winked in her direction but the Slytherin acted like it never happened. That blatant display of flirting caused Seungwan to worry for her friend. She knew that Joohyun despised unwanted attention, especially ones from arrogant boys who think they have a shot with her.

  "Hey you okay?" Seungwan moved to stand beside Joohyun and angled her body to shield her friend from the Gryffindor boy's line of sight. She gently grabbed Joohyun's arm and to her great surprise, the Prefect flinched as if she was spooked. The blonde was confused. Joohyun never shied away from her touches before.

  "Yeah I'm fine." The Slytherin faked a cough and distanced herself away from Seungwan. She focused all her attention on their professor and didn't even bother looking at the Ravenclaw.

  "I appreciate your enthusiasm for today's lesson Suho. The topic of love really never gets old." A small indulgent smile graced Professor Slughorn's features when he complimented the Gryffindor student. Suho looked quite smug with the praise he received. It was no secret to everyone that Slughorn took quite a liking to the young boy. Suho was a promising Quidditch captain and a popular dueller. Rumor has it that he was scouted to play as a Beater in a professional Quidditch team.

  Professor Slughorn's eyes twinkled when he continued with the lecture. "As I was saying, Amortentia is a rather potent concoction. Rather than create true love, this potion induces in its drinker an unhealthy obsession with its provider. Those conceived under the influence of this are doomed incapable of love. It is extremely powerful, dangerous, and must be continuously administered to maintain its effect." The smile on his face disappeared and his gaze turned stern. His voice dropping into a serious tone to emphasize his point. "Thus, we must exercise extreme caution when handling this potion."

  "This potion sounds dreadful Professor. Why is it even here?" Sooyoung raised her hand in question and Seungwan nodded in agreement. Why would they study this concoction if it was dangerous in the first place?

  Most importantly, why would Slughorn teach a bunch of hormonal teenagers, who all had the tendency to make brash decisions, to brew a complicated love potion that may or may not be used for illegal purposes?

  "So that you can study its appearance and commit it to memory. That way you can recognize and avoid Amortentia if you happen to encounter it." Standing close to a bubbling cauldron, Professor Slughorn turned down the fire until it was completely extinguished and removed the lid that sealed the brew.

  The love potion emitted a pink-colored steam that wafted into the air and envelopes the entire room. Everyone caught a whiff of its potent fragrance and Seungwan couldn't help but wonder why the scent seemed awfully familiar.

  Freshly-laundered clothes sprinkled with fabric softener

  Blooming flowers under clear sunny skies

  Deliciously cooked seaweed soup

  "The scent of Amortentia is unique because it differs for everyone. Its fragrance caters to which a person finds most attractive." Professor Slughorn scanned the room to search for volunteers and smiled in delight when his eyes landed on Joohyun. "Ah Ms. Bae, would you please come in front and share to the class what you smell from this brew."

  For a moment, Joohyun seemed like she was hesitating and Seungwan thought her friend was going to decline. To her surprise, the Prefect nodded in agreement and simply walked towards Professor Slughorn. Her movements were stiff, almost robotic, as she made her way towards the front.

  Once she was close enough to the cauldron, she swallowed the lump in her throat and studied the bubbling liquid for a while, brows furrowed as if she was debating on whether she should smell the potion or just run the fuck away from here. Fear was evident in her eyes but it was carefully concealed under a mask of calmness.

  Everyone waited with bated breath as they watched the Slytherin lean closer and closer her eyes to inhale the scent. Several seconds passed and Joohyun jolted awake looking quite disoriented. She blinked rapidly to gather her thoughts and clenched her hands into fists to keep anchoring her into reality. A brilliant shade of red dusted her cheeks and she looked visibly shaken. Their gazes accidentally met and it took all of Joohyun's self-control to look away. It's almost as if she was burned when Seungwan's gaze left tendrils of fire on her skin.

  "So Ms. Bae, what do you smell?" Professor Slughorn sealed the cauldron and stared expectantly at the Slytherin.

  Joohyun nervously bit her lip and muttered something under her breath that no one caught. Her hands wouldn't stop trembling. Seungwan had never seen her look so anxious before. The love potion must've really affected her. "I smell the pages of an old book, the musky scent of wood burning in a fireplace, the sour tang of blue oranges and--" She  straightened her posture and clenched her jaw like she was about to reveal something that could make or break the world.

  "Freshly baked pastries."

  There was something in the way Joohyun uttered the last line. She wasn't angry nor sad... just resigned. It's like she was finally accepting the fate she had long denied. The fight seeped out of her bones and now all that's left was surrender.

  Sooyoung sidled up next to the Ravenclaw and muttered under her breath. "Oh crickets! I wonder just who could she possibly be smelling." Her tone was sarcastic, almost mocking, and her eyes held judgement for Seungwan as if accusing her for a crime she didn't commit. It left the blonde very confused.

  "Thank you, Ms. Bae. Fifty points to Slytherin" Professor Slughorn applauded to show appreciation for his student and resumed in discussing the subject more extensively.

  The Prefect returned to the empty space beside the blonde and mostly kept to herself throughout the whole duration of the class, never sparking conversation with anyone, not even Seungwan. Something was clearly bothering Joohyun since she mostly spent her time deep in thought. "Penny for your thoughts?" The blonde tried to broach the topic and internally hoped that her Slytherin friend wouldn't find her meddlesome.

  Joohyun gazed at her pointedly, eyes shimmering with something Seungwan couldn't quite understand, and it lingered for a few moments before she dejectedly shook her head and smiled bitterly. "You won’t understand." Her response was short and brief, almost too formal, and the Ravenclaw was caught off-guard at this cold treatment.

  She was seeing another side of her friend for the first time. The curt, proper and unbelievably prideful side. The one ingrained since birth only if you grew in a powerful Pureblood household. The blonde wouldn’t deny it. This side of Joohyun made her feel insignificant. Like the Slytherin was in another plane of existence, too high up in the heavens, unreachable and definitely out of Seungwan’s league.

  The Prefect focused all her attention to the ongoing discussion while jotting down notes seriously and completely ignoring Seungwan as if her life depended on it. The blonde turned to ask Sooyoung. "Did I do something wrong?" She thought of all possible ways she could’ve offended Joohyun but she came up with none.

  The tall Slytherin glanced at her with pity evident in her eyes. "What do you think?" Her statement caused the Ravenclaw to frown.

  Where did she go wrong?

  ***

  "Tonight, I'm pleased to announce that Hogwarts will be hosting a legendary event. An event that fosters camaraderie, friendship and inter-school magical cooperation."

  It was Dumbledore's first greeting once the sorting ceremony was finished. The rest of the students in the Great Hall buzzed with excitement because this could possibly be the moment the Headmaster might finally shed light about the sudden appearance of ghost ships and flying carriages within Hogwarts grounds.

  Seungwan tried to pay attention, she really did, but after that incident in Potion's class and Joohyun's change in attitude, she couldn't even be bothered to care. The Slytherin started acting all proper and formal around her and she didn't know the reason why. It’s like they were back to the time where they were still acquaintances.

  She sighed helplessly before shifting her attention towards the Slytherin table where Joohyun sat and casually ate her food. She was engaged in a conversation with Sooyoung. The Prefect seemed fine. Gone were the traces of the formality she displayed earlier and even allowed herself to smile. Their gazes accidentally met and Seungwan held her breath when Joohyun simply acknowledged her existence with a curt nod.

  Okay. Maybe Seungwan was reading too much into this. She should just relax and try not to overthink.

  "The Triwizard Tournament!"

  Dumbledore announced proudly and seemed totally pleased with himself for maintaining an aura of absolute mystery and for keeping this information under the wraps. Little did he know that the whole student body practically knew of his secret due to the circulating rumors around the school. He paused for a moment to build-up suspense and basked in the excitement that enveloped the entire crowd. "Now please help me welcome, the lovely ladies from the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic with their headmistress Madame Maxime!"

  The doors of the Great Hall opened to reveal sophisticated-looking women. All wearing pale blue robes made of fine silk and exuding an aura of grace. Pink little butterflies flew when they passed and the scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air. They all looked unbelievably stunning. A girl in particular, one who had strawberry-blonde hair and enchanting brown eyes, stopped before the Ravenclaw table together with her lovely friends, blew Seungwan a sweet kiss then headed to the Hufflepuff table where the Beauxbatons students gathered.

  Good Lord. Seungwan sat reeling and dazed after that unexpected interaction. Her presence has been acknowledged by one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen and her brain was still in a state of shock. A small, almost dreamy, smile settled on her lips. She must've done something good in her past life for her to be graced with this blessing.

  Suddenly, she felt this uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Like someone was drilling holes into her head and stabbing her back. A quick scan around the hall confirmed her suspicions when she noticed Joohyun shooting daggers at her from the Slytherin table. Her features morphed into a scowl and she gripped her fork so hard that her knuckles turned white. Apparently, she witnessed that little interaction between Seungwan and the Beauxbatons girl and she didn't look quite happy about it.

  "Next, let us greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their high master, Igor Karkaroff."

  All the buzzing hushed down as everyone turned to look at the doors of the Great Hall in anticipation. The lights dimmed and floors vibrated. A loud booming roar was heard before an entourage of all-male students, wearing fur cloaks and blood red robes, made their entrance. They started twirling, tumbling, and doing other forms of acrobatic shit. A person conjured flames from the tip of his wand and it morphed into a ginormous dragon. The Hogwarts students gaped in awe and clapped in delight at the magnificent display of advance magic.

  "Holy shit that's him!" One of Seungwan's housemates gushed like a maniac. "That's Park Bogum!"

  He pointed at one student in particular. The one that stood out from the others. He was quite tall, sported dark raven hair, eyes intensely narrowed and wore a grim expression. His overall serious look greatly contrasted with his innocent features. He took long confident strides and his presence demanded attention. With chin held high, he joined his Durmstrang brothers in the Slytherin table.

  So that's him. Seungwan thought to herself. The Greatest Chaser in the world had come to grace Hogwarts with his presence.

  Dumbledore stood patiently in the podium and waited for the excitement to die down. When the chattering finally stopped, he started his speech. "Eternal glory!"

  He paused for a dramatic effect and Seungwan smirked in amusement because of course the Headmaster had a flair for theatrics. "That's what awaits the champion of the Triwizard tournament but let me remind you that this is not for the faint of heart for each competitor must face three tasks." Dumbledore glanced at everyone in the hall. His voice turned dark and foreboding. "Three extremely dangerous tasks. For that, only one is crowned as champion. To prevent premature deaths and ensure that no life is wasted, no student below the age of 17 is allowed to enter the tournament."

  The hall broke into chaos as most of the students, especially those who failed to meet the age requirement, voiced out their complaints. The people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were shocked at the ruckus the scholars from Hogwarts were making and Seungwan could only shake her head in disappointment. The students were certainly doing wonders in upholding the school's reputation. Dumbledore cast a Sonorous spell and yelled "Silence!" which did its desired effect because it rendered the Great Hall to become completely quiet.

  He stepped off the podium and with a flourish of his wand, transfigured said podium into a golden tower adorned with shimmering jewels. The other students gasped in awe. Dumbledore doing magic was such a rare sight and it still rendered everyone speechless.

  A silent incantation passed his lips and the golden tower melted until it revealed a rather rusty-looking bronze goblet. Blue fire burned at the tip of its rim and a cloud of silvery mist circled around it.

  "The Goblet of Fire."

  The Headmaster turned serious again and everyone was enraptured with his commanding presence. "Anyone who wishes to enter must only write their name on a piece of parchment and drop it to the cup before Friday midnight."

  Seungwan swallowed the lump in her throat when Dumbledore finished his announcement.

  Well, that was an interesting dinner.

#red velvet #irene #wendy #seulgi #joy #yerim #harry potter #hogwarts #magic #wenrene #the magic between us

[skvaderarts]

Soliloquy Chapter Seven: Abscond

You can check out the Masterlist Here for more links to places to read!

Chapter Seven: Abscond

Note: I just wanted to start by saying that chapter six was an absolute nightmare to write, but I had a great time doing it nonetheless. I’ve spent a few months trying to get myself to write this fic, and that resurrection scene was basically the whole reason. Trying to figure out a way to do that and make it make sense, fit into the existing confines of the series, and be coherent and enjoyable to read made for quite the crippling challenge, so I am thrilled by the reception that that chapter received! I remain humbled by your kind comments and warm words of encouragement! Thank you to every single person who commented, reblogged, gave kudos, and sent me messages about the story. I’d name you all, but in addition to everyone who has ever left me feedback on the previous chapters, almost 200 new people read the last chapter, so I can’t list you all by name. However, I can say thank you. Thank you all so much!

-~-

The overcast that had loomed overhead as they had entered the building was now more prevalent than ever. Be it a result of their current actions, some form of an ominous omen, or simply impeccably timed weather, it alluded to a coming storm of epic proportions. Huge dark clouds that would cause any right-minded pedestrian to check the current time of day spread across the sky in a vast network, chilling the air and absorbing all forms of light. The once gentle breeze was now a harsh wind, hammering against every surface it came across. It had been a glooming day from the very moment that the sun had come up that morning, but this was really kicking things into high gear.

As Magnolia collected what remained of the sparse materials she had brought with her to conduct the ritual, Nero oversaw V’s condition. The newly resurrected young man seemed to be semi-continuous, having still not opened his eyes since being brought back to the realm of the living, but able to react to physical stimuli. While it made sense to Nero on some level that he would not be fully operational out the gate (since he had never really been in the time he had known him) he still found himself unable to shake the feeling of uncertainty that had lodged itself deep into his subconscious.

He was worried about V.

Now that was something he never imagined he’d experience again...

As Dante and Vergil combed the space per Magnolia’s request to make sure there were no overt signs of demonic activity still present in the building, the youngest Descendant of Sparda went over a vague mental checklist in his mind. On the top of that list was the obvious question of where the hell V was going to go for the time being. While the Devil May Cry office was an obvious choice, there was the issue of Vergil’s undeniably recent return to contend with. Nero didn’t even need to ask if Dante knew where Vergil was staying at his office right now. They hadn’t been home long enough to see to that. For all the young white-haired man knew, his father had evolved to no longer require sleep during his time in the underworld. But V was going to be a different story. He just knew it. He had always been a different story; an exception to every rule.

“Hey, Magnolia,” Nero called to the alchemist as she packed up the last of her supplies,” Should I be worried that he looks like he’s in a coma or something?”

The woman in question shook her head as she closed the buckle clasps on her carrying case. “Being in a coma is no laughing matter, little one. Relatively speaking, it’s about as close to passing into Purgatorio as one can possibly get without actually being deceased.”

Nero chuckled to himself, nodding with an amused look on his face. “You don’t have to tell me that. I spent some time that way myself a little while back. Woke up one night to this one,” Nero said as he gestured towards V,” sitting in my window reading a book ready to offer me a job like I wasn’t already half-dead already or something. That’s how we met.”

Magnolia didn’t know what to say to that. While one part of her wanted to know what the hell had happened to him that ended with him comatose in the first place, her mind couldn’t help but find humor in the mental image of a person contracting someone to fight the envoys of the Underworld in their sickbed after seemingly breaking into their home. She decided that she would ask for more details when all parties involved were capable of speaking. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m glad to see that you're faring so well, dear. Hopefully, there will be fewer close calls in your future.”

Nero wasn’t entirely sure if she was being sarcastic or if the Alchemist was genuinely happy for his good health. She just had one of those voices, and the accent wasn’t helping in the slightest. “Thanks, I guess. Anyway, does bringing someone back from the afterlife or whatever come with a manual, because I feel like there’s something I’m missing in all of this.”

It was her turn to laugh now. She pulled the rolling case into an upright position and headed towards the front entrance, presumably heading to the van or some other form of transportation. After all, it was unlikely that she had walked here carrying all of these supplies from nearly twenty miles away up a gradual slope. Nero carefully lifted V bridal style and followed her. Somehow he weighed even less than he had originally estimated, if that was at all possible. Maybe after he had clothing on, his body weight would be more substantial. 

As cold as it was starting to get both inside and outside of the building, leaving him laying on bare concrete in -well, nothing- was probably a bad idea. As he followed her, she stopped, snickering to herself at the situation at hand, and decided to answer his question. “He should be more or less fine now. The hard part was relocating his soul to another plane of existence,” She spoke calmly, in a manner reminiscent of a professor giving a lecture,” The poor thing is going to be whether weak for a while though. Any inborn gifts he possessed prior to all this nonsense will trickle back in gradually, though in the meantime he will be effectively human. No passive regeneration, sixth sense, or anything like that for at least a week or so. I’m no doctor, but I’m going to take the initiative here and recommend bed rest. Extensively. What he just endured is taxing on the mind and body in every way conceivable, even for someone young and in good health. Don’t be surprised if he experiences dizzy spells or fainting. Proper nutrition is helpful, but this could still take a while.”

Nero nodded to himself as he took in the information she had just given him. Nothing seemed unreasonable, but it did clarify one thing for him. He needed to talk to Dante and Vergil. He chuckled to himself as he followed Magnolia, garnering a curious glance from her as they exited the building. “I fail to see the humor in this.”

In response to her statement, Nero smirked knowingly. “It’s not funny, it’s ironic,” He said. Her blank repose signaled that he needed to elaborate.” What I mean is you said he might faint and that for someone “in good health” this could be a lot to go to, right?”

She nodded, barely noticing the transition between the indoor and outdoor lighting as they exited the building and stepped out into the parking lot. “Yes. I said that. Why?”

Nero approached the van, using his foot to knock on the side door and signal Nico to open it. “Well, it’s ironic because he’s not “in good health” to start with. He’s walked with a cane the entire time I’ve known him and he’s constantly coughing or tripping over himself. Not to be an asshole or anything, but if I’m magnetically attracted to stairs, then he’s magnetically attracted to the ground ’cause that’s where he spends a lot of his free time.”

Magnolia blinked, her wide eyes filled with a sudden understanding and sympathy that she made no effort of hiding. Suddenly, what little desire she held to know how the young man before her had met his end fled her. It was unusual for someone his age to walk with a cane, especially one with a measurable amount of demon blood coursing through his veins. When he was more stable, she would need to take the time to try and consult with him. Perhaps there was something she could do to help…

As Nico opened the van door, Dante and Vergil exited the building. They arrived just in time to watch Nico’s frankly astounding facial expression at the sight of the presumably deceased demon slayer. “Well fuck,” she said as she stepped back to give the onboarding party room,” Every time you get in this van Nero, some weird shit happens; I swear. How the hell did yall- you know what? I don’t even wanna know! Let’s get outta here. Where are we headed?”

Magnolia pointed across the parking lot to the side of the building. They couldn’t see what she was pointing at, but they could only assume that it was her means of transportation. “I just wanted to see you off. I need to get back to my shop. Come see me later. And call me if you need anything,” She glanced at the oldest Son of Sparda, her eyes narrowing harshly,” Except you, Vergil. Your allowed casual visits at most.”

With that, she handed a slip of folded paper to Nero before hurrying off across the parking lot. Nico snickered briefly before looking at her passengers. She still needed a destination. Nero glanced between the twins and his friend as he laid V down on the couch. The summoner coughed weakly, teasing the possibility of opening his eyes for a moment before exhaling and settling back into his previous state, only this time more asleep than awake. Nero watched him for a moment before nodding to himself, his resolve towards the decision he had been teetering back and forth on now absolute. “... I think me and Nico should take V back to Fortuna with us.”

Dante and Vergil did a double-take, seemingly more surprised at his sudden uptake in initiative than offended by the statement. Dante seemed to consider quietly the statement, while Vergil seemed more apprehensive. 

“Why?” The eldest Son of Sparda said bluntly. He was clearly unconvinced.

Nero settled into a sitting position of the floor with his side against the couch, seemingly uninterested in heaving V’s proximity. Whether this was a conscious or subconscious decision or not remained to be seen, but he did so nonetheless. “Because there is a metric shit ton less demonic activity there than there is in Redgrave and Capulet and because I’m the only one here who isn’t going to get in an argument with my brother and literally destroy my own house. Magnolia said he needs bed rest and all that shit, and the only peaceful kinda peaceful place is my house. That, and your extra bedroom is taken, Dante,” Nero tilted his head in his father’s direction,” And I just happen to have an extra room at my place since someone decided to scare my kids back into one room!”

Vergil glanced away at the last statement, still unwilling to think about the mental damage he had probably inflicted upon those wide-eyed, chatty, orphans. “So you actually believe that three actual children can be that well behaved and we can't?”

Nero didn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. “Yea, because when I turn on the tv, they sit down and watch it. You can’t even turn a TV off without unplugging it, and your only means of communication with your own brother is stabbing each other to death. Plus, Dante’s doors get kicked in like every fucking week and he blasts loud ass music all the damn time. That’s literally the opposite or a restful environment!”

Dante shrugged incredulously. As much as he’d like to make some sort of witty comeback, Nero wasn’t exactly incorrect. Vergil closed his eyes as if he were deep in thought for a long moment as Nico tried not to laugh at this whole situation from the driver’s seat. Everyone in this family was a walking disaster and it was amazing that they had survived this long. After a minute that felt like a lifetime, Vergil sighed and leaned back against the window next to Dante who was now sitting down across from the couch and searching for a magazine to pretend to read to avoid this uncomfortable conversation. “... Do not disappoint me, Nero… I do not give my trust light.”

Dante interjected with a quick “no he really doesn’t” before continuing to reread his magazine for the millionth time. Vergil shot him a quick glare before returning his gaze to Nero. There was no humor present in his demeanor. Nero glanced between him and  V before nodding slowly in agreement. “I’m not going to.”

-~-

It had taken almost every ounce of daylight to drop Dante and Vergil off and then head back to the pier. And their timing couldn’t have been better as the ferry was stopping with the next round trip. The possibility of a thunderstorm had halted most water traffic, and all water transport between the island and the mainland was due to cease immediately upon the vessel’s return. That left just enough time to sneak one last trip in.

As the ship was docking, Nero called Kyrie to alert her of their arrival and to inform her that they would have another houseguest for a while. As expected, she didn’t protest the idea. In fact, she seemed thrilled, though that could be because Nero hadn’t elaborated on the context of the stay or who was coming over. V and Kyrie had never met one another, despite the fact that V had come to their home once before. But it had been during the middle of the night and the young summoner had been in something of a hurry at the time. There had been no time for pleasantries back then. But that was about to change. Hopefully.

As they pulled up to the onboarding ramp, Nero gave Nico the closest thing he could to a serious look. Before he could ask her not to go flying off the ramp, she disembarked, taking the ramp for perhaps the first time ever. Nero was utterly flabbergasted. “Nico, what the fuck?!”

Nico put her cigarette out in the ashtray she had placed in one of the cup holders. “What is it this time? If I drive carefully, you bitch at me. If I don’t, you bitch at me. Are ya crazy or somethin’? If you think you can do better, then you drive next time and I’ll take a nap in the back with him!”

Nero stared at her incredulously as she pulled around the corner and headed towards their shared residence. Nico absolutely never under any circumstance drove like a normal human being. He wasn’t sure if knowing that she could do that made him feel relieved or upset. She could have just driven the van like this the entire time he had known her? What the absolute fuck?

“So ya gonna keep starin’ at me like that or what?” Nico asked casually. Nero was at a loss for words and it showed.

As the van pulled onto the street that they called home, Nero stood up and walked over to V. Despite the fact that he still hadn’t woken up, he now looked more asleep than unconscious. Or at least that was what Nero thought. When he had first been brought back, he looked distressed, uncomfortable even. Now he seemed more at ease. At the very least, his breathing had been steady and he hadn’t coughed in at least an hour. He seemed stable. Nero couldn’t help but wonder if he was just a very deep sleeper and had been taking a much-needed nap this entire time. He doubted it, but still. Now that he thought about it, this was the first time he had actually seen the summoner sleep. During their time together during the Redgrave city incident, they had taken the occasional break, but V had been so preoccupied with his book that he hadn’t even sat down, always choosing to lean against the stove in the van’s kitchenette instead. Vergil had the book now, perhaps using it as a bargaining tool for later. He wasn’t much of a talker, a fact that had bothered Nero when they had first met. Who would have ever guessed that they’d be in the situation that they were in now, Nero bringing him to stay at his place? Wild shit happened sometimes.

“It’s just good to know that you can actually drive. Though I still don’t understand how you ever got a license.” Nero said as they pulled into the back alley that led to their driveway. For once, the door was open. Kyrie must have let it up after their conversation on the phone earlier. Nico climbed out of her seat and headed over to the side door, opening it and then hoping down to hold it open for Nero.

“Yea, well I wasn’t tryin’ to knock him around too much. He already walks with a cane.” Nico said as she stepped back towards the rear of the van. With the large vehicle inside of the garage, space was at a premium, and carrying someone required more room than normal. Nero fixed his jacket around V and scooped him up, nearly bashing his legs against the kitchen cabinet as he turned. The youngest Descendant of Sparda cringed to himself. That was one thing the two of them seemed to have in common to some degree. They were both clumsy as hell.

Taking a few cues from his close call a moment prior, he descended the stairs carefully and headed towards the inside door. Nico closed the door behind him and squeezed past them, heading to open the door for them. She nearly walked right into Kyrie as she did so. The young red-haired woman was carrying a stack of cardboard boxes and Nico had nearly sent her crashing to the floor as the door caught her in the side. She set the boxes down on the bench behind her and stepped back out of the way, clearly startled.

“My bad Kyrie,” Nico said as she looked her over for injuries,” I couldn’t see you!”

Kyrie smiled brightly and gestured towards the boxes. “You’re just fine, Nico. The children and I were cleaning out the extra room. There wasn’t really much in there, so I was hoping I’d be done before you arrived. These were the last three boxes. All of this was going on the empty shelves in the garage-”

Nico eagerly grabbed the stack of boxes as Nero entered behind her. “Ok, I’ll take care of it for you,” the young dark-haired woman said as she stepped out behind Nero and out into the garage. Kyrie was going to inform her that she could take care of it herself, but Nico disappeared behind the closed door before she could. The young redhead shook her head and giggled to herself as she turned to face Nero. During her time here, she had truly come to enjoy Nico’s extreme personality. She was a joy to be around.

The moment she caught sight of the white-haired young man her domestic partner was carrying, she went wide-eyed, her head crooking to the side in surprise. Who in Sparda’s name was this newcomer? Nero shifted anxiously. Maybe it was better if he just spit it out and got it over with? “Hey so… this is V, the guy I told you about when I came back after everything,” He said cautiously, unsure of how she was taking all of this,” It turns out that being dead is more complicated than everybody thinks, so he’s alive again. And… he’s kinda my brother so…”

Kyrie stared at him blankly. That was a little too much for her to take in all at once. She glanced down at their sleeping guest, leaning over him to get a better look. That made sense. They did have the same color hair, even though his looked a little whiter than Neros did to her. She was totally taken aback at the implications of what Nero had just said. He’d come back from the dead? Nero had told her Vergil had done that at one point, so the idea wasn’t completely foreign to her, but Nero had a brother? In the entire time that she had known him, she would have never guessed that he had siblings. He had always been so… alone. After all, being an orphan made it very difficult to locate your original family. It made her wonder what Nero must be thinking about all of this. As startled as she was, it had to be several times worse for him.

She smiled softly and gestured towards the guest room. It was on the opposite side of the house from the dining room. Being the only room on this floor and having its own small ensuite bathroom, it had been the natural choice for a guest room. She patted Nero gently as he passed her before turning towards the dining room. “It’s okay. I know you did the right thing, Nero. I’ll go get some extra blankets. I put a sheet and some pillows on the bed after I finished dusting, but I didn’t get a chance to do anything else.”

Nero stared at her as she walked off for a moment, relieved that she had taken that so well. She’d have probably told him off for his reaction if she’d been present at the time. Her understanding meant the world to him. “It’s okay, Kyrie. You do enough as it is.”

She waved at him over her shoulder as she rounded the corner into the next room and disappeared. He used his foot to nudge open the door and walked, taking a moment to look around. Aside from the built-in bookcase that had always been in the room near the door and the bed that jutted out into the center of the room, the entire room was spotless. The large window on the far side of the room that overlooked the small side yard where the children normally played was open, likely to let in the fresh air. Nero laid V down and sat at the foot of the bed, only now really registering how unreal this entire situation seemed to him. A moment later, Kyrie returned with a stack of about six blankets. Nero raised an eyebrow at her as she stuffed them into one of the open shelves on the bookcase and then used one to cover him up. It was a plush grey knitted blanket that she had made herself a while back. As soon as he was covered up, Nero unwrapped his jacket from around him and tucked it under his arm, returning his attention to Kyrie. She shrugged at his obvious confusion.

“I didn’t want him to be cold,” She said simply, gesturing towards the oversized stash of warm, thick blankets,”... Why was he wrapped in your coat? Is he okay?”

Nero looked over at V. He had stirred slightly, pulling the soft blanket tighter around himself. Now that Nero thought about it, Kyrie was probably correct. It had been abnormally cold for the last few hours. Having no clothes on had probably been uncomfortable, to say the least. “... I think he’s going to be alright. Supposedly he just needs to rest” Nero glanced over at the pile of blankets again, nodding to himself,” Thanks for the blankets. He doesn’t have any clothes on, so that’s probably going to be good for him. Probably should have said that before...”

Kyrie blushed bright red. “OH. I’m sorry then! I’ll go see if I can find him something!”

Before he could say anything, Kyrie hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her. He shook his head and laughed to himself. Poor kyrie. She probably felt like she had violated V’s personal space. He stood up and pulled an extra cover from the pile, tossing it over him. Better safe than sorry. As he leaned over him to fix the covers, V turned over and brushed his arm over him, exhaling audibly. Nero moved V’s arm off of his hand and continued, paying him little mind. As he sat up to assess his work, V gripped his wrist weakly. Assuming that he was simply shifting in his sleep again, he sat up and moved to step away and towards the door. But as he tried to pull away, V’s grip tightened. Nero turned his attention from the door back to the bed and nearly jumped out of his skin in fright. A familiar set of green eyes was looking back up at him.

V was awake. And he looked absolutely wrecked.

-~-

This chapter was so fun to write that I had to stop here and immediately start working on the next chapter. They will only be a day apart, so don’t worry, I won’t keep you in suspense for very long! Again, thank you so much for your overwhelming support. Hopefully, this chapter wasn’t too slow for you. But the good news is that V is actually awake now, so you know what that means. DIALOGUE! See you guys on May 22nd for chapter Eight! Wow, I can’t believe we’re already on chapter eight...

#Soliloquy #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #Post Devil may Cry 5 #Post Devil May Cry V #Dante Devil May Cry #Dante Devil May Cry 5 #Dante Devil May Cry V #Dante Sparda #Dante #Vergil Devil May Cry #Vergil Devil May Cry 5 #Vergil Devil May Cry V #Vergil #Vergil Sparda #Nero Devil May Cry #Nero Devil May Cry 5 #Nero Devil May Cry V #Nero #Nero Sparda #V Devil May Cry #V Devil May Cry V #V Devil May Cry 5 #V #Vitale #V Sparda #Vitale Sparda #Post DMC5 #Post DMCV

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Devil’s Trust pt3

Warnings: Strong language, Moblord styling warlords.

Masterlist

---

Chapter 3

He was not in the best of moods. His plans for the evening had been dashed with a single phone call that lasted for only a few minutes. Running his hand roughly through his dark auburn hair he took hold of a fist full at the back of his head and gave it a small tug in frustration. Why summon me? What game is the Devil King playing now? The private elevator gave a small lurch as it came to a stop on the top floor. He smoothed out his dishevelled hair and gave a deep sigh before plastering on an expression of ambiguous origin and entered the Devil’s lair.

The grandeur of the place annoyed him. Penthouse apartment on top of his own building and this is what he did with it? Walking along the corridor past the glass wall that revealed the private garden, a central pavilion past an elegant rock garden, shimmering water of a koi pond and beautifully manicured plants framing the path for walking. He felt himself twitch as an unwelcome thought as to its beauty entered his mind. Who would have thought such a place existed in Hell? There was a heavy-looking sliding door at the end of the corridor, propped open, and he knew without any guidance that that was his destination.

Stopping to look inside before he entered, he couldn’t help but feel the bile in the pit of his stomach churn. This place was really something else. The blend of modern furniture with items of antiquity felt seamless. The glow of the rosewood and lacquered items gave warmth to the contrasting cold metal and supple leather. He did wonder if all the rooms in this place were decorated like this or if it was just the Devil’s office. Knowing Nobunaga and his desire to surround himself with nothing but the best it was probably safe to assume that this level of dedication to all the finer things was abundant throughout.

There was a massive desk at the top of the room in front of floor to ceiling windows giving an unprecedented view over the city. A large sofa with a couple of chairs was in front of a fireplace with a large coffee table. There was even a drinks cabinet that seemed to take up quite a bit of wall space too. The rest of the items present looked as if they saw little use.

“You kept me waiting.” Nobunaga’s low commanding voice reached him from where he was sitting on a chair near the fire. Amber liquid glowed, already swirling in the crystal tumbler he had in his hand the decanter for which was placed on the table in front of him, another glass waiting patiently near it.

“And you are keeping me from my evening plans.” Shingen haughtily retorted and took a seat on the leather sofa without invitation. The sooner this is over with the sooner I can leave.

“You can submerge yourself under females another night. Tonight, I have need of you.” Nobunaga sipped his drink an infuriating smirk on his face as he cracked his mockery. Shingen tensed but managed to retain the composure he was known for. I’ll be damned if I let you break me again Nobunaga.

“As flattering as that is, I’m not interested.” Shingen shrugged and reclined back making a show of it. The leather creaked slightly under his shifting weight almost as if it were sighing at his moving mass.

“After all this time the old Tiger still has the energy to growl and yet all I see before me is a weak little kitten.” Nobunaga leaned forward and poured for himself and his guest. Shingen was making no attempt to help himself which given their history spoke volumes of the level of trust that remained between the two heads of family. In this world you learn that suspicions saved lives. To drink or eat something you hadn’t already seen the other consume was inviting trouble and it was a fundamental lesson to even the less seasoned members of their groups.

“Provoking me will only confirm my suspicions that you are nothing more than a spoiled brat who got in a foul mood because someone took away his candy. What did you summon me for Nobunaga?” Shingen accepted the drink still not partaking of it, he simply held the weighted tumbler on his thigh in his large hand. His black eyes meeting their red counterparts, steel versus flames in this undesirable alliance.

“You still have hold of your own network throughout the city correct?”

“Naturally. Such a thing that has been generations in its cultivation cannot be rendered dead overnight even by your hand. As long as I am still living the bonds of trust are tied, the network remains.” Shingen was first and foremost a trader in information. It was not something he had felt the need to hide as it was widely known among the different factions that that was his domain. In fact, it had served him well over the years. Strategies were only as good as the information held and if you wanted a war with words you sometimes had to get a little psychological with it. Much easier to gain success when the opponent is already panicked that you might know something too juicy to share.

“Good I want you to look into something for me.” Nobunaga nodded happily after accepting confirmation. That familiar entitled attitude did little to staunch the agitated Tiger.

“I am not one of your hounds. Don’t you usually use Akechi for this kind of thing?” Shingen shot out his reply and watched as it hit home. A subtle and almost completely hidden reaction happened. His hand definitely tensed I wasn’t imagining it.

“You might not be one of my “hounds” as you call them Shingen, but you are one of my possessions. It would be a waste to not use every pawn at my disposal on occasion.” Nobu’s voice held an edge to it that was part warning and part dare. The frustrating thing to this almost textbook masking of unspoken issues within the payroll was that Shingen could not deny that there was truth in the devil’s words. Had he been in his position it would be something he would be using to his advantage as well.

“You sit there and just expect me to take your barbs and bidding?” Shingen’s voice rose to meet Nobu’s. I would rather not think of how similar we can be at times.

“I expect you to do your job. Like it or not we are part of a united front and this threat we have on the horizon is coming whether you help or not. I would have thought the great Shingen Takeda would have recognised the importance of going into battle with as much knowledge as possible is preferable to entering a battle with nothing.” He hadn’t so much as moved in his chair and yet there was no denying the shift of his oppressive presence in the room.

“You’re rattled? The Devil King himself is worried.” Shingen held his ground but his gaze had become one of curiosity.

“I am not worried nor am I afraid. I have a dislike for things that are hidden from me. Things that would try to steal what is mine. Now go and find me my weak link. Find me the focus of my attack.”

---

It had taken most of the afternoon to get to the change of location and then unload the van. The neighbours had all begun their series of curtain-twitching and popping out to put items into the outside waste bins to get a look at the new arrivals almost as soon as they pulled up. Mitsuhide chuckled knowing all too well that this was the limit to a lot of people’s subterfuge in the world that was so different to his. It was more innocent and on a level with a child eavesdropping at a door.

“What are you laughing at?” [Name] looked at him curiously as she crouched down to let the cat out of its transport carrier. It gave a small grumpy sounding recognition to her as thanks for its freedom and darted off to explore its new territory.

“Nothing my dear. Nothing at all.” Mitsuhide glanced around the home that had taken on interior design inspiration from a child’s box fort. “So… what are we unpacking first?”

“The kettle. I’m gonna kill someone if I don’t get a coffee.” Casting out a flippant comment she started shuffling boxes around in an apparent search for the correctly labelled one.

“Really now? Well if you should find yourself with such a thing happening, I would hope that you remember to call me about it.” He smiled watching [Name] look over the boxes near her.

“Mobster jokes? Seriously? I was just using a common phrase Mitsu.” She huffed her words used to chastise him lost any negativity in them as she failed to suppress a beautifully happy smile from gracing her lips. Say what you like little mouse we both know you like it.

“And I was just stating facts, my dear. I think the kettle is in this one.” He slid a knife over the tape on the box and with a small popping sound, it opened revealing the chrome coloured appliance. She scooped it up and pivoted her body to go to the kitchen.

They were finally home. He had taken a lot more care and effort in selecting this place than any of his previous safe houses. It was here after all that he would be putting his greatest treasure. It had to be perfect, it had to be safe. He had researched and laid a path of paperwork thick enough to cover their trail linking it to several of his aliases in various ways to lead credibility to it all.

This was a milestone in a relationship even in the normal world. All though they had been living together already back at HQ it didn’t change how pivotal this was. As he mused over a turn of events, he had never thought possible in his life. His smirk softening into a more relaxed smile as he watched [Name] bounce around from box to box looking for cups and other things. I wonder if you know how far I would go to protect you. How far I’ve already gone and how much further I’d be willing to fall just to keep you safe.

---

To say his patience was wearing thin was little more than a joke at this point. His desk was covered in the correspondence that he had had with Esshu since the untimely demise of its former CEO. Each one a polite yet firm refusal to entertain any ideas of a merger. The names signing off on each had been different and each one was added to the growing list he was formulating to try to figure out the design of the inner workings of the beast.

A few days had passed since the Tiger had been set among the pigeons and the lack of enthusiasm to retrieve what he asked for irked him. The fact they simply didn’t just accept their position and dance to the tune specified proved he couldn’t discount Shingen as a possible assassin in this game.

Something else was annoying him as well. “Don’t you usually use Akechi for this kind of thing?” He might have known that Shingen would have spotted the elephant in the room. His once sharp tool that was so quick to cut that the opposition hadn’t even registered the damage until it was too late was now playing house. The blade blunt and discolouring with lack of use. A battle was coming, would his trusted predator still be fighting?

The other company was one thing currently outside of his control. He felt his blood boil as he looked at the rejections. They had no idea who they were messing with. He hated it but there was no changing fact. They say history has a way of repeating itself and he felt the cogs of time rewind to a certain point. If they are not with him, then they stand against him and will be treated like everyone else that had refused his dream. He will crush them, destroy them and take what he wants by force for the greater good. It’s not the first time he would have to come up with a plan for a hostile takeover. But who is he targeting? Nobunaga roughly bundled the papers together on his desk in a shambolic pile and spun in his chair to stare out of his window.

The city below stretched out as far as his eye could see. Pedestrians scurried through the streets making their commute. Traffic lights at each intersection caused the traffic to pulse down the roads of the city in a familiar and predictable way.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Mitsuhide was still performing his duties. All the bases were covered and targets met with precision. Currently, there was no reason to take action to regain his tool. Still, he was not a patient man and he knew there might still come a time when he would have to do something to “correct” the issue. I warned you once before… old friend.

---

[arcticlee]

I loved your Vergil fic!!! You could do something about a Vergil in love with a woman, but jealous that his brother dante flirts with that woman?

Thank you sm!! Now that I'm back on track with writing, here's a little something I typed out. Hope you enjoy :)

______

  From the moment he was forced to introduce her to Dante, the fury was already there- sitting deep inside his gut and gradually growing. If it wasn't for her curiosity, he would've never brought her to Devil May Cry let alone let Dante lie his eyes on her nor talk to her.

  Vergil was possessive. To the point where he didn't want anyone to make her feel any sort of discomfort, trying to keep her away from all the mess that his family was. Yet, she was stubborn. Maybe more stubborn than his brother was. So stubborn she talked him into bringing her to meet Dante.

  He still couldn't understand why she wanted to meet him, why she had any sort of interest in his family when he told her countless times that it was dangerous to get involved in his business any further than what they had going on between them already.

  But now as he stood in front of them, he slowly started regretting his decision of stooping to her requests. Most of the time he kept his ground firm and didn't let her sweet voice change his mind. This time she was smart and used his biggest weakness he had to her advantage which was intimacy. She caught him completely off guard with it, teasing him all the while she kept a casual conversation going. It made him lose his cold every single time as he became all flustered, trying to avoid her gaze and hide his reddening face.

  And just like that he finally agreed, his body reacting instantly to her soft fingertips that trailed across his jaw and neck lightly, her warm frame leaning into him, face so close to his he could feel her breath land on his cheek in a feathery touch. He was tense under her attention, fists squeezing by his sides so tight if he put any more force into it he'd end up making his palms bleed with his nails.

  He watched them talk from the side, leaning against the wall next to the entrance door with a book in his hand that was a useless distraction since all his attention was focused on the two in front of him. He clenched his jaw when his eyes for another time glanced up at her, observing her every move, every little flinch. He noticed that she was gradually leaning closer and closer towards Dante, laughing at his jokes, her small hand patting on his shoulder as she shot back at him with something that made Dante grin.

  He decided to focus on their conversation instead, gluing his eyes to the book as he listened. They continued talking about Dante's agency until she asked whether he actually lived in the building.

     "Yeah, got it all to myself," he answered in his usual cocky manner, unfolding his arms and chuckling to himself when she mentioned to him how it must've been lonely to have such a spacious agency all to himself.

     "What, wanna come on over and keep me some company any time soon?" Dante suggested teasingly, his blue eyes quickly trailing towards Vergil. "Not that your friend over there would be against it, would he now?" he dropped in the question and watched as Vergil moved his gaze from above the book, closing it with a loud snap, his jaw tensing under clenched teeth.

  He already looked angry.

     "Now what makes you think...?" he trailed off for a moment while he glued himself off the wall, walking towards them in small steps as he let his hand that was holding the book relax by his side. "I would let that happen?" he finished his question, his tone as cold as ever as his piercing blue eyes stared back at his brother once he stopped just a few feet away from him.

     "Ooooohhh, possessive much there, Vergil?" Dante raised his hands defensively and noticed as the muscle above Vergil's eyebrow twitched and so did his mouth, the corners of his lips falling down into a scowl.

     "I think you should find a new friend," Dante continued his playful conversation, completely ignoring his brother's anger, as he leaned into her slightly, giving her one of his brief but charming winks. Vergil could already see her cheeks slowly turning into a darker shade of red, her eyes glued to his brother all this time in almost an admiring gaze.

  The need to grab her by her forearm and drag her out of that building slowly started growing inside of him, pure jealousy eating away at his patience bite after another bite. He was furious, boiling deep inside his gut to the point where he was really close to snapping. Yet, he learned how to keep his demeanor neutral in situations like these- even when he was burning up inside- not letting his rage completely overtake his emotions.

  So he used it to his advantage, letting a sudden smile tug at the corner of his lips.

     "Your utter blindness and stupidity amuses me, Dante. But knowing your disastrous reputation with women and how you seem so incompetent in sparkling a long relationship with one, of course you wouldn't notice one important thing..." his voice grew quiet at the end as he watched the smugness gradually fade away from Dante's face after each word he spoke.

     "And what's that?" his brother urged on, his tone slightly more serious now compared to just a moment ago.

     "She's all mine, Dante. So you better keep your filthy hands off her and treat her with utter respect or I'll rip your guts out and throw you back to hell for all eternity," he hissed the words out right to his face, almost snarling them out of pure anger, his tone quickly turning from serious to straight up threatening. At this point he didn't care if he let his emotions slip, he didn't want anyone treating his woman like some sexual object. Even more so when it was his own brother.

  Dante was already opening his mouth to spit out something under pure defense, not letting himself stoop any lower than his brother, his whole body moving a step closer to him. Not until her hand came up to stop him from making any further decisions with a stern and annoyed "don't". Both of their angry gazes landed on her, their shoulders slightly dropping as all the tension got cut off by her sudden interruption.

     "As much as I'd like to stick around for longer, I think it would be a perfect time for us to leave now," her eyes trailed from Dante to Vergil, who didn't dare to speak a single word as his lips pursed into that same annoyed frown he liked to wear around his brother. Vergil only sent one final glare towards Dante, already feeling her hand land on his shoulder, urging him on to leave the place.

   He was glad she decided to avert the situation from spiraling disastrously into another fight and leave the building completely, but he also hated himself for letting his rage take over his emotions. Because he knew she was disappointed, even annoyed by his cold behavior. She was used to his stoic demeanor and calm nature- that was what drew her towards him. But sometimes that was a huge disadvantage in situations like these.

#vergil x reader #vergil x s/o #dmc vergil #vergil #dmc fanfic #dmc 5 #dmc #dmc5 #dmc devil may cry #devil may cry v #devil may cry 5 #arcticlee writes #dante #dmc dante

[officialtrashbin]

Collision Course (3/3)

Part 1/3 (First Meetings) Part 2/3 (Follow Through)

Rating: M+, NSFW Corvus and Proxima wind up in another situation involving a wall and a secluded space.

*

Proxima traced the rim of her glass with her forefinger, the tempo of her swirl pitched like an instrument’s tune to the calculations on her mind. The ale in her tumbler had been spiked by the bartender with Jormuan spider venom. She didn’t have to see him in the act to know he had injected the tasteless, colorless toxin into her drink—perhaps he didn’t realize that she ordered a fizzy alcohol because phosphoric acid reacted chemically to what the Shadow Guilds called “Assassin’s Kiss” and produced a faint but subtle scent of cut wood.

She met the bartender’s gaze. He was Aldain, she thought, but perhaps something else from this quadrant—thin and hairless, four eyes and four arms, cleaning two mugs with two rags and two eyes turned down to the task while the other two looked at her apprehensively. Proxima smiled politely and took a sip. She’d nursed the ale slowly over the course of the last half-standard hour. The bartender was glancing at her more frequently as the minutes passed, anticipating the moment when her head would hit the countertop. The venom should have worked by now, he thought; she didn’t have to possess Supergiant’s powers to know his mind, to see the minute tension in his previously relaxed shoulders.

Amateur. If she wasn’t waiting on her next order, she would have leapt over the counter and snapped the prick’s neck.

A familiar figure in black slid into the chair next to her. Proxima wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t be wearing his cloak if he wanted to blend in, even if he had listened to her for once and left the glaive behind; she had braved the situation without her headgear, he could at least do the same. Well, it didn’t matter now. There was already a neurotoxin in her drink.

Proxima crossed one leg over the other and gave her company a coy smile. “Hello, stranger.”

Corvus Glaive’s claws bit into the polished countertop. “It is impolite to allow you to drink alone,” he said. “May I join you?”

She became aware of the wind instruments and drums in the background, and the cold familiarity of Supergiant mentally brushing the back of her mind as she nonverbally requested information Proxima had yet to give. There was the chorus of patrons playing card games and marbles at the long tables out on the floor, the escorts in low tops in the laps of buyers and shady figures passing notes. Maw was amongst one of the clusters, extracting information slowly but surely over a game of Aquila Spit. Dwarf was in the corner pretending to lose a round of Terrappen Checkers to keep pace with the gradual movements of their plan. Supergiant was in the corner by the hallway that led to several back rooms, ensuring that anyone who thought her out-of-place quickly forgot she existed at all.

The bartender dutifully came up between Proxima and Corvus and offered his services. “A drink?” he asked.

“He’ll have what I’m having,” Proxima answered for her companion. “And please, don’t forget the venom.”

The bartender paled. Corvus gave her a knowing look but said nothing as the server hurriedly filled a glass with ale, omitting the Assassin’s Kiss, and dropped it off before the glaive-wielder. Proxima shooed the bartender away with a waft of her hand.

“Updates?” she asked into her drink.

“Our client is…behind schedule. Maw has been trying to deduce whether he’s onto our plan. Supergiant is itching to suck out some minds, and Dwarf believes there is an ex-Kree militant snorting lines in a bathroom stall.”

Proxima pulled her bangs behind her ear. “Everyone is occupied, it seems—at least, then, that leaves some time for you and me.”

Corvus went quiet. Lips pressed pliantly together, gaze set on the bubbles in his glass struggling free. He had been like this since they kissed in the dropship, suddenly cold and cautious. It was difficult to decipher what had been altered between them, and Proxima no longer knew where the line was even though she had been the one who carved it out—post-kiss, breathless, the intimacy they had shared a precursor to a bigger problem. The point had been to address the unspoken thing. Yet the aftermath was thick with friction for what had been weeks now, always one accidental spark away from igniting the whole ship.

It would be easy to say this was something she could live with: this distance, this silence. Proxima realized that it was the manifestation of what the old her would have been happy about, before the companionship that had formed between them despite her disdain for the creature that violated the laws of death, before they kissed—

Corvus Glaive had shut her out.

“Corvus,” she said boldly, “you haven’t been yourself. Is it something I’ve done wrong?”

“What you’ve done?” he echoed, a little too loudly.

Supergiant’s eyes went to them, and Proxima felt Maw prodding the emotions of her mind, wanting to know what happened. Dwarf wasn’t in her line of sight, but she could feel his worried look on her back, perhaps aware of the friction between his brother and her. For a moment that lasted an eternity, neither of them moved.

Corvus exhaled harshly through his nose and put his hand to his forehead as if nursing an ache. “No, not what you’ve done.” He tilted his glass to his lips and drank the ale down in a single round. Then it slipped out, “I regret what I did.”

Proxima’s stomach clenched up and fell low in her belly. Just like her days back home, that bitter pang of rejection, the sting of not being enough. How terrible, how truly tragic, to be so unwanted. “I see,” was all she managed to conjure up, from all the words she wanted to use and all the declarations she could have made. Instead Proxima stood and abandoned him there, even though she knew he would follow.

She went swiftly passed Supergiant, down the long corridor to the back rooms; over her shoulder she heard Corvus say to Supergiant, “Ensure not a soul comes down this way.”

Proxima took the left turn to the end of the hall. To that parallel side, a door labeled “STOCK” in Aldain language, and to her right, plexiglass windows in place of wall panels that overlooked the sprawling metropolis of Alda VI’s capitol city. In the deep dark of night, the buildings and structures ignited like fire with all their luminescent lights, and Proxima could only think of how perfect this place would look if Thanos burnt it down.

“A beautiful sight,” Corvus said from the shadow.

Proxima rolled her shoulder at him.

“I am sorry I upset you,” he continued, “though I meant it—I do regret what I did. Not kissing you, but for allowing it to happen before I understood why I wanted to do so. It was unfair of me to ask that of you, especially when you do not return the desire.”

Proxima faced him. “You don’t know what I want, Corvus Glaive.”

“You’re right,” he said, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Perhaps, neither do you.”

“We kissed. I—wanted to kiss—you.”

“You wanted to prove a point.”

They both fell silent. For a long while they stood, glaring at each other, considering the hundreds of directions this could steer and the millions of timelines it would generate. The familiar tension returned. It was converging on them. A moment before battle, before total bloodshed on the field—the thickness in the air, bodies fighting for carbon and oxygen, the thrill of sinking blade-into-flesh and flesh-into-flesh, tearing each other apart.

“I cannot understand it,” he snarled. “Here we are, again, vying to comprehend the other, and I am flailing helplessly, as if there is something I am doing wrong and cannot find where my judgment errs!”

“Corvus—”

He was already advancing on her. She maintained their distance, not allowing him the chance to overtake her nor the opportunity to assume she would flee, but her back struck the wall and his hands came up to either side of her head to trap her there, between him and the corridor that seemed much too long, claws furling and unfurling with pretense.

“I am a killer of kings,” he hissed. “I am a hunter who ushers in the slaughter of worlds! I am an immortal, blood-thirsty murderer, First of the Dreadlords, leader of the Black Order! And I am brought to my knees in your presence, Proxima Midnight! You make me want to tear the life from your body!”

He was breathing deep, stealing the air from between them. Proxima wanted to believe it was fear she felt then but instead it was—dare she say, fascination? To see him buckled like this, because of her and in spite of her. As if she were a blacksmith scrutinizing her own handiwork, and he were tempered and tortured metal.

“If you do not want a devil, then be done with me! Curse me out and send me away! Free me from this torment!” He sunk pathetically to his knees, fingers digging painfully into her sides, head bowed low in defeat. “Please, My Lady Midnight. End my suffering. Tell me what you want and I will give it to you, everything I am or nothing at all. Just tell me.”

“Corvus,” she tried. “I…”

“Tell me what you want!”

She felt her body tremble. “Stand,” she told him. “I want you to stand. Groveling is beneath you.”

Corvus weakly rose back up to his feet, all conviction departed from his body. Proxima’s hands went to his face. He snarled as she held him, but his threat didn’t meet his gaze; there was pain, his spirit retched in two by the parting of devotion.

“Corvus,” she uttered, and his dark eyes softened. And she asked him, “Why me?”

“I wish I could tell you I didn’t feel this way,” he said thinly. “I wish I could control my eyes and my desires and my thoughts, I wish I could explain that which makes me tremble in your sight. All I understand is how pathetic I’ve become, and this deep and terrible hole has rendered itself through my chest as if I’ve died for the first time all over again. I know not why it is you, but it is—you.”

Proxima’s heart was lifted in her chest. She put her head to his neck, her arms around his back and pulled him in to embrace his warmth and take in the scent of blood in the worn fibers of his cloak. He tensed under her touch.

“You truly are the devil,” she uttered, “to make me feel this way about you.”

Corvus relaxed in her arms. Slowly, he put his hands to her hips, took her closer and buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling sharply, committing her aroma to memory. “For all my life, I’ve known what to do. With you, I am lost.” His claws pressed systemically down into her skin as if testing her resolve. “My dear Midnight, you can have anything you desire, everything I am—all of it, it is yours.”

He is truly dense, she thought. “Do you remember what I told you, that day in the ship?”

“I do.”

She parted from him, her palm returning to his cheek. “Then why am I still waiting for you to take me?”

This time, when they kissed it was different. It was the moment of agonizing slowness before the collision, the half-second of timeless thought between an impact and the explosion—so when their lips met they fell into each other, vying for control, no longer needing to know but simply needing. Sharing skins and sharing tongues. The clockwork of anatomical directive.

Proxima was pushed against the wall until it hurt, hands fisted in his pitch-black cloak, and she felt his touch everywhere. On her back, her hips, palms gliding down the curve of her rear to the thick of her thighs. He was memorizing her. A quick study—noting what made her twitch, what made her moan into his mouth; her stomach coiled in the pit of her torso, and heat pooled deep between the apex of her legs.

Corvus went to her neck and breathed in deep. A hunter, a creature of instinct, he could smell her arousal as it emitted from her glands like a flower’s fragrance. “Is that what I do to you?” he mused. His grin displayed sharp, predatory teeth; the threat of how easily he could sever flesh from bone, yet Proxima’s blood sang with excitement.

“You said you’ve never done this before,” she shot back, undoing the zipper to the front of her suit and exposing vibrant blue skin.

Corvus scoffed and worked open the hinge of his belt. “I said I have never had feelings for another. Sexual desire is not synonymous with romance on my home world. It is also a sign of trust and companionship, two souls fulfilling similar needs.”

“Then you will be no less than a good lay—”

“No, Proxima Midnight, I will be the best. It is only what you deserve, and it is what I will give.”

“Finally,” she said, hand on the back of his neck, “you’ve listened to me.”

Corvus reclaimed her mouth. He unwound as they defected back to primal urgency, emitting growls of approval from the glottis in his throat as she returned the favor and allowed her hands access to the expanse of his torso, his hips, shucking up the loosened belt to dip lower and—oh, he was bigger than expected, especially for such a lithe creature. He undid more of the zipper along the front of her suit. His teeth scraped along the expanse of her neck, and he sucked and licked and nipped his way down the length of her artery, begging for that rush of mortal blood beneath.

Everything about him was rough. Jagged features, claws and teeth, a padded tongue; the texture of it was made apparent as he ran it up the valley of her breasts, and if she hadn’t been aware of its rough properties before, gods she certainly was now. Her foremost thought was of him kneeled between her legs, a subtle tilt in his eyes to watch her as he worked and that devilish tongue thrusting in and up, challenging her: come for me, my beautiful Midnight. Tell me how good I make you feel.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” she uttered breathlessly, splaying open her chest piece and allowing her breasts the luxury of the cool air.

Corvus snarled low, humming with arousal. “You’ll find the feeling is quite mutual.” He undid the clasps of his vambraces and dropped them carelessly to the floor, eyes daring to never leave hers. His hands were tipped by nails meant for flaying skin, yet they were gentle when they skated across the mesa of her abdomen, dipping low to her naval. Slipped so easily under her clothes and to the joint of her hips.

The pads of his fingers found her clit. She sucked in a deep breath, spread her legs a bit; he took his time learning, alternating between rubbing small circles in her bud and tracing her folds, seeing what she liked best and how and spreading her wetness as he went. Proxima’s head rolled against the wall. Her eyelids slit shut to amplify the sensation. Stars above, with him, it felt like too much and not enough.

Corvus pulled his hand away, and she groaned at the loss of contact. He got down on his knees again. His heated breath was against her hips, teeth nipping at the obsidian material of her suit. Even through its thick composition, the taste of her arousal was apparent. So, very apparent. Proxima heard him snarl before his hands dug desperately into her thighs.

“I need to taste you,” he hissed out, and she shivered with anticipation.

And—

Something cold went through their minds. [Our client is here], Supergiant said to them both. Proxima quickly slammed up a mental barrier that was ineffectual if the parasite wanted to really get in her head, and whatever Supergiant told Corvus made him scoff. Unfortunately, it was enough of an interruption that the friction faltered and the air in the corridor became frigid when it had been oh so warm until now.

Proxima grumbled with annoyance. There Corvus was, on his knees in worship, and she couldn’t capitalize on the opportunity with their “client” now somewhere out on the floor. “Yes, well,” Corvus said, and gathered his vambraces. “I suppose we must handle this.”

“Of course,” she muttered, unable to repress her acute disappointment, and fervently began to fix herself.

Corvus gave her a small smile, displaying teeth that somehow seemed less predatory than they had before. “This client will give us the information we need,” he said, tracing her lips with the tip of his claw, “but after that? Well, there will be no evidence to his whereabouts. There will be no proof that we stole him away to our ship, and no one will know how long he survived in pure agony as we skinned him alive. Does this appease you?”

Proxima practically purred and pulled Corvus against her. “So far, but how does this brilliant plan of yours conclude?”

“Why, we will fuck like beasts in heat. Perhaps right there, on the floor or against the wall or in the bedchambers, if you prefer. Or, if I cannot help myself—especially if I cannot help myself, all three.” He leaned in close. “This time, My Lady Midnight, and for as long as you will have me, I will follow through.”

Her heart swelled deep in her chest. And she smiled. And she kissed him.

And Proxima Midnight fell in love.

#corvus glaive #corvus x proxima #proxima midnight #proximus #hope it was worth the wait! look i even included angst