#Single Review: Dissolve The Floor

[fennasinbog]

One Who Travels Like a Lover | Steddie Big Bang Snippet :)

hey everyone! I've been writing a fic for the @steddiebang. It will begin posting on ao3 on October 1st, but I wanted to share a bit of the first chapter ahead of the release! I'm honored to be working on this project with @anarmel, an amazing artist who's creating some beautiful art to go along with the fic. I can't believe this is finally happening! peep a chapter one + art snippet under the cut... in the words of my poor beta:

Chapter One: The Frozen Cemetery

EDDIE

He wakes with a start – a heavy weight across his chest and the remnants of panic in his throat. The fear consolidates as a choked gasp, an impulse to sit up and run. The thing on his lap seems unmovable. He leans up to inspect it more closely, confused, and comes face to face with a goopy, horrifying heap of demogorgon. He holds back a surprised whine, painful where it rattles through his lungs; drops back, stills, tries not to breathe. Does what he always does in the face of danger: plays dead and hides.

Except.

Except, it isn’t what he does anymore, is it? He did cross an interdimensional gate – walked straight into hell out of his own volition – and stayed even as the bats closed in. He had fought even as it became clear the battle could not be won. Earned his laurels, if you will. Died, perhaps, in Dustin’s desperate, trembling arms. Shit.

The creature remains quiet, unmoving. Eddie holds his breath and slowly examines its body, looking for a sign of threat. There are no tensed muscles, no biting teeth or grasping claws. It’s unnaturally inert, Eddie thinks, death-like — and only then he realizes it is not breathing. An encounter with a demogorgon corpse sounds slightly more appealing than dealing with its living counterpart would be, and that is what Eddie focuses on as he wriggles his way out from underneath it. It takes a while, partially because he keeps feeling sick as he pushes gangly demogorgon limbs away and mainly because the effort pulls at the tender scar tissue that seems to cover half of his body. He frees his last foot, and lies back on the floor for a second, exhausted and shivering, before standing up.

It’s cold as balls, colder than Eddie ever remembers the Upside Down being. There is, however, Upside Down ash floating in the air, like glitter suspended in a lava lamp. He looks up to the sky, a murky mass of gray clouds, half-lit, like the sun is frozen in a permanent state of dusk. Grey meets gray in the horizon, where the clouds turn into fog and obscure the top of a barren mountain. A mountain range, more like, as it stretches around Eddie in every single direction. He is in a valley, it seems, treeless and dead, nothing but rock mountain at his back, and a downward slope ahead. A slope filled with demogorgon remains, by the looks of it. An ash particle caresses his cheek and melts. He catches one with his hand and watches it dissolve. Snow. Snow and ash. Eddie remembers some of Dustin’s tales about the Russians, how they took Harrington and Buckley, and wonders if he’s been taken too. Taken all the way to Russia? He shivers. It truly is awfully cold and dark, and he might not be alone, not when he has woken in this unknown place, surrounded by a wasteland of demo-carcasses. The sun doesn’t look like it will fully set, but night might be coming and he doesn’t want to risk spending it out in the open. He needs to move, find cover.

A quick review of his various pockets turns out a miscellaneous collection of lighters, pens, gum and store receipts. He has a flask of whiskey, but no water or real food, and only a hunting knife for protection. Worst case scenario, he thinks bitterly, he could chuck a ballpoint pen at a demobat and hope for the best. He peeks at his stomach, reluctant, as if knowing the state of it will suddenly make the wounds and scars real, and flinches at the sight of it – marred, dirty, torn up. It looks bad – bad enough that he should be dead, either from blood loss or an infection. It doesn’t hurt. He can’t believe he hasn’t died already.

Water, his brain supplies, voice sounding eerily close to his father’s. A ghost of the past, perhaps, but a ghost in the right nonetheless. He needs to find water – to clean himself, to drink. Water and shelter. He sighs, lowers the hem of his t-shirt over his mangled torso, and tightens his grip around the knife. Down into the vale of shadows it is.

–

People knew of Edward Munson Sr. They knew he moved to the outskirts of Indianapolis with nothing but a dream and a young bride. They’ve heard that he lost her years later to a cancer they could neither prevent nor afford to treat. They imagine him jaded, angry – and then use that anger to explain the felonies and imprisonment. Which, Eddie thinks, is not entirely inaccurate. His father had been angry. And jaded. He would be too, he thinks, if he had found his mom and then lost her. Edward Munson the Felon, that’s what his dad is, a cautionary tale to those thinking of making their way out of Hawkins to pursue a better life. He had wanted and he had failed, and look where that had got him. It made all the cowards feel better about their conformity – made them feel comfortable hating people who, like Eddie, still hoped to make it out of their silly little town.

Eddie ponders this as he makes his descent towards the center of the valley, zigzagging along the way so his unstable limbs won’t accidentally send him rolling down the hill. He’s thinking of his dad because, although nobody knows, he was one of those people who knew an ungodly amount of stuff about the mountain. The mountain, the wars, useless historical factoids. When things were good, Edward had sat Eddie next to him on the sofa and spoken over documentary narrators to tell him about survival in the wilderness. Eddie back then had been bored, sometimes, and he definitely hadn’t known to appreciate those rare moments of peace and companionship. He had sat through plane models lectures or rambling bivouac building rants, and ignored them. It broke his heart a little, in hindsight, realizing that his dad and him had been similar in that regard – so taken by random mundanities and so eager to share their passion for them with anyone who would listen. His dad had not been a good dad, not like Wayne is, but Eddie had also, perhaps, not been a good son.

It is his dad’s advice that guides his movements now, slow and steady, as he treks downwards and reaches a small gathering of trees. Trees often mean water, he knows, but also, with any luck, animals or insects. He hypes himself up with a muttered chant of “insects are metal, eating insects is metal” and approaches the forest, knife held up at the ready. Most trunks are burnt, which isn’t good news, and the ground is razed and covered in pebbles. There’s moisture, though – frost covering the leaves of a very-much-alive fern. He runs his fingers over it, gathers the frozen droplets and allows them to melt on the palm of his hand. The ground is wet. Eddie continues to walk through the ferns. He stops a few paces ahead, coming face to face with a small, frozen stream. The clouds continue to roll overhead. The night-dusk isn’t getting any darker. Eddie heaves a deep sigh and drops to the floor. He pulls out the flask, going over the order of operations:

A sip of whiskey for encouragement.

Ice from the stream to clean the wound.

The rest of the whiskey to disinfect it.

The flask and a fire to boil ice into drinking water.

His head pounds a little as he tries to puzzle the steps together, an underlying headache that might be both dehydration and exhaustion.

Sleep.

And then, sometime in the morning – or the night, or whenever he woke up – find food. How long has it been since he last ate? He’s not hungry, he doesn't think, but, then again, he’s nothing but a blur of fear and pain.

Clean. Drink. Sleep. Find food.

The list isn’t long but it seems daunting nonetheless. Nancy Wheeler would’ve managed something better – more detailed plans and a more masterful execution. He wheezes. Pushes his headband back. It reminds him of Wayne and the way he would, on occasion, pat his head. “Oftentimes, boy, doing your best is good enough,” he would say.

He takes a deep breath and does his best.

–

Eddie wakes to darkness, again. The embers beside him are still warm, but he’s cold, still. He checks his surroundings first, restless, but there’s no movement. His wounds, the second object of his attention, are clean, or as clean as he’s been able to get them. Some of them were already closed, some of them tender – hundreds of unattractive gouges and bites connecting like spider-webbing tendrils. His skin is blackened in some spots, burnt-toast-like, but it no longer looks like the worst parts of a butcher shop back room. The thirst is gone, he’s happy to notice, but the hunger has doubled in his sleep. There’s a half-sharpened stick by his boot, the last of his efforts before his tiredness claimed him, so Eddie makes quick work of carving it into a spike with his hunting knife. He pauses when he’s done, looking around before he stands. He tests out the weight of his newly-acquired, pointy spear by shifting it back and forth between his hands. He has a hunting knife and a hunting spear, which means he’s only missing some prey. Poetic really, when the hunted becomes the hunter.

He steps on the coals, choking them off until they stop smoking, and sets off through the ferns and rocks. He could’ve kept the fire for cooking, he thinks as he pushes forward past a particularly large plant, stick aloft, but then, perhaps, something could have found and cooked him. Not that there seems to be anything around. Not one meager creature. Zero. Zilch, not one single miserable-

Something brushes past Eddie’s legs. He yelps, tightens his grip on the stick until it turns white-knuckled, twists around in a panic and stabs at a… large rodent? The mousy animal manages to avoid his spear and takes off through the scrub. Eddie blinks as it fades into the distance, heart hammering in his throat, before his instincts kick in and he starts running after the thing. Whatever it might be, this could be it. This might be the one source of food he finds – the one animal that he can eat that won’t try to eat him back. He jumps over a tree root, swerves right after his prey, half-runs-half-slides down brash rocks and dirt trails. They abandon the forest, rush past it and further down the valley. Eddie’s feet skid on rounded pebbles but he continues on – on until he’s sweating, until his stomach feels like it might rip open anew, until he sees the mouse-capybara-squirrel start to dig into the ground ahead and he plants his feet. Throws the spear, as if fancying himself a javelin thrower. And he might as well be because he strikes true and the animal falls dead. Eddie walks up to it on trembling limbs, heaving from the exertion, and stares at the dead creature unseeing. It’s not like anything he’s seen before, not with its thick legs and large snout. It looks like a mutant rat, and wasn’t that a thing that had happened once? Dirt-eating mutant rats?

He sits in front of it, spent, and promptly realizes he’s never– He’s never had to prepare an animal for cooking before. Does he- Is he supposed to skin it? He shudders at the thought. Pushes it away. He removes the spear and grabs the cat-sized mouse. Rat. Rodent. Decides to look for flat ground and start another fire, which is a thing he can do. He walks around an impressively large mound of spiky rocks and freezes. Drops the mouse-cat in awe.

The valley ends ahead, not even 100 yards away, and at the bottom is the icy expanse of a frozen lake. It spans the sight, the opposite coast blurry in the distance, and Eddie’s dumbly reminded of Steve Harrington diving into lover’s lake. It is most definitely not Lover’s Lake, he doesn’t think, but the chance of it – of the underwater gate in its center, of the kids on the other side of it – makes his heartbeat quicken. He has to force himself to slow down and pick up the rodent, to remain vigilant as he walks closer to the shore. There are demogorgon carcasses on the beach, flaccid and motionless like stranded jellyfishes, and he toes at a couple of them to ensure they’re dead.

They are.

Comforted by his apparent loneliness, Eddie sets up the fire, trying to remind himself that he won’t be able to cook on the ice. That the lake is large, and the trek to its center seems long. That he needs to eat. He’s distracted as he walks through the motions, distracted as he prepares the rodent and sets it over the flame. The numbness is welcome, and the hope thrilling, and he wipes the blood off his hands without realizing, lost in the overwhelming nature of it all.

–

He leaves this fire burning when he’s done, aware that it might betray his position but hoping it will guide his way back from the indistinct flatness of the ice plain, if need be. He walks carefully but with purpose, occasionally slipping on the icy surface. It’s a slow process.

The wind is awful out on the open, finding every exposed inch of his skin and whipping at it relentlessly. Eddie thinks that he might never forget the chill and burn of it against his hands. That he might never feel his hands again.

Time warps as he walks – it could have been ten minutes or ten hours by the time he spies something in the distance. There’s a boulder breaking through the ice. He will climb it, he decides, use it as a vantage point. The rock is rough under his fingers as he pulls himself up. He tucks both his hands into his armpits right after reaching the top. He scans his surroundings, comes to learn that the lake continues on farther than he thought, its length broken up by a large hill in its center and smattered with tiny rock boulders here and there. Eddie tilts his head, amused by the fact that the mountain in the center looks like nothing and everything at once. It could be just rock, but also the silhouette of a sleeping woman or a huge hibernating lizard. The thought is funny, briefly, but quickly turns terrifying when the ground under his feet starts vibrating and shifts. Eddie drops to a crouch, eyes wide with fear as he tracks the movement, the way it fades into the ice, the way it creaks and cracks like a joint being popped. The ice doesn’t break, not when it runs several feet deep, like the lake might be frozen all the way through. The tremor stops, ground shifting under him again. Eddie stays still, horrified, mind fleeting through the possibilities. Perhaps he stands on a dormant volcano. Perhaps it was just a mild earthquake. He waits a couple minutes before moving and is just about to descend from the boulder when it moves again and sends him careening down. He hits the ground painfully, rolls onto his back, breathing hard and ragged. The rock keeps moving, he registers. It happens over and over again: the bone-chilling creaks of movement and the temporary bouts of stillness. It is only when he attempts to regulate his own breathing that it clicks – the boulder breathes.

He stands in a rush, still a bit dizzy, hip bone sore where it crashed against the ice. He looks around wildly, watches as the rocks in the distance, the few of them piercing the ice nearby, shiver sporadically. Holy shit. They are alive. They breath in synch, impossibly slow. Eddie is out of his mind with fear, half-sure he is making it up. He stretches a hand to touch the rough, crab shell-like, surface of the rock and feels the hum of a tired heartbeat underneath it. He removes his hand, finds it slimy from touching the living rock. Goopy. Demo-creature goopy. The world around him quietens, dampened, as he stares at his hand in confusion. Glances at the rock and at his fingers once again. He feels his pulse in his temple, hears it within his ears like an amplifier has been plugged into his brain. It cannot be.

He twists to look at the large mountain growing in the center of the lake and he doesn’t have to search hard at all before it takes the shape of what it actually is. Gangly, gigantic limbs. A head like a flame. A mountain-sized creature out of both his worst nightmares and the kids’ unlikely but obviously true retellings: the mind flayer.

#steddie big bang #steddie fic #steddie #my writing #fanfic #steddie bang #steddiebang23 #steve harrington #eddie munson #fellas is it gay to get lost in the upside down #ashdjadhhhhdjds prepare thouself for a sloooowburn #in this house we don't kill our gays but we DO put them through inordinate amounts of angst #my bad

[sereneres]

get up ³

kim minji x 6th member!reader / 1.3k

summary. — you and the others have gotten into arguments before. usually, it was about the little things, things like forgetting to do a chore or eating someone’s snacks. it’s never gotten so bad that those involved refused to talk to each other. that is, until now, it hasn’t.

warnings. — drama + angst + hurt & comfort / overworking

it’s never been this bad before.

especially not with you and minji. sure, you had your spats once in a while, but usually it was over by the end of the day. usually, one of you would apologize to the other and admit your mistake. usually, it was the others who got into fights in which the two of you had to dissolve.

it starts when the six of you began practicing for your upcoming comeback. with five – technically six, if you counted get up – songs that had choreography, it was hard to remember even one of them, much less all of them.

when you first started training as a trainee, you didn’t realize just how long it took you to memorize choreography. you thought it was normal that it took so long.

once you had joined newjeans, though, it didn’t take long for you to figure out that taking so long wasn’t normal at all. whereas your members could memorize the choreography in a day, maybe even less than that, it would take you twice that time.

and you didn’t mind it. it didn’t bother you that you struggled more than your members just to memorize a dance. if anything, it only motivated you to try harder.

this time, though, it wasn’t just three songs like in your first ep, and it definitely wasn’t just two songs like in your first single album. this time, it was five songs.

of course, you being you, you didn’t let this bother you. while the choreography was… challenging, to say the least, it just meant that you had to practice it more.

so practice you did. you practiced with your members, and once in a blue moon, you would ask your performance director if you could stay behind to practice more.

but then ‘once in a blue moon’ became sometimes, and then sometimes became most of the time, and then most of the time became every time.

some nights you would go back to the dorms early, either because you were too hungry to continue or so tired that you could barely keep your eyes open, and other nights you would come back to the dorms at midnight, maybe even an hour or so later than that.

you knew minji knew of your extra practices, and you knew she didn’t like it. she didn't like how tired you were after them, she didn't like how you would come back to the dorm late at night, and she definitely did not like how you looked ready to drop dead on the floor at any moment.

neither of you said anything, just letting the anger – anger was a strong word, but there was nothing else to call it – build between you.

in retrospect, you shouldn’t have let it build, but you were tired, and so was minji, albeit less so, so who could really fault either of you?

“yn, you’ll need to move to the side more here.” minji said to you as you all reviewed the video your performance director had taken. “if you’re too close, haerin won’t be able to move past you.”

“okay.” you murmur, moving a hand to your mouth as you yawned. “anything else?”

the older girl shook her head, and you turn to the rest of your members. “do any of you have anything else to comment, or can we go back to practice?”

no one said anything, choosing to instead either avert their eyes or just look at you worriedly.

seeing this, you frown. “what’s wrong guys?” you asked, tilting your head. “is there something bothering you?”

“unnie…” hyein said hesitantly, making eye contact with you for the first time since the six of you had entered the room. “aren’t you tired?”

“tired?” you repeat. “tired of what?”

“of practicing.” hanni’s voice was soft and tinged with worry, her finger drawing invisible bunnies and hearts and stars on the ground. “we’ve been in here since nine, yn.”

“so?” you say, picking up your phone and turning it on before showing the screen to your members. “it’s only eleven right now.”

“unnie.” haerin said, looking more serious than you have ever seen her. “it’s one o’clock. not eleven.”

“what? no, it's elev-”

“there is only one ‘1’, yn.” minji plucked your phone out of your hands, ignoring your surprised yelp as she did so, and turned it over so you could see the time for yourself.

…and, of course, she was right. there was, in fact, only one ‘1’ and not two.

“oh.” you murmur, shoulders slumping. “my bad.”

“it’s fine, yn. it’s not like you misreading a few numbers is bad or something.” hanni reassured as she patted you on the shoulder. “you’re probably just tired, that’s all.”

“hm.”

“since it’s one o’clock, let’s order some food!” danielle said, smiling, and hyein, at the mention of food, clapped excitedly. “ooh, yeah! one of my friends told me of this new restaurant nearby that’s super good, we should order some food there!”

“how about we just go there?” hanni asked excitedly. “if it's new, than maybe a lot of people won't be there.”

“i’ll call manager-unnie, then.” haerin said, phone in hand as she too stood up. “what’s the restaurant called, hyein?”

“oh, it’s called-”

“yn.” minji called, bringing your attention back to her. “let’s talk for a minute.”

“sure.” you reply cheerfully. “what about?”

“not here.” the older girl said, glancing at your members with an unusually weary look. “i don’t want to upset them.”

“okay…?”

taking your hand, minji pulled you off of your feet, out of the room, and into the hallway. behind you, both hanni and danielle exchanged worried glances but said nothing as they joined hyein and haerin.

once the door shut, you turned to minji. “what’s wrong, unnie? you’ve been acting weird recently.”

“i’ve been acting weird?” she asked incredulously. “no, you’ve been acting weird.”

“weird? how?”

“for one thing, you’ve been obsessed with practice.” minji crossed her arms, and you have never felt as intimidated as you did now. “you’ve never practiced this much before.”

“that’s because we didn’t have to memorize six songs at the same time before.” you said. “six songs, minji-unnie. we’ve only done three or two at the same time.”

“if that was the case then you should’ve asked us for help.” she frowned. “if you did, you would've memorized the dances a lot quicker than if you were just doing it alone.”

“and waste your time?” you scoffed at the thought. “as if.”

minji’s frown deepened and she crossed her arms. “you know it wouldn't be a waste of time to us if we were helping you, yn.”

“to you, it wouldn’t seem like it, but to me?” you sighed, shaking your head. “just leave it alone, minji-unnie. i don’t need your or the others’ help with practice. i’m doing well enough alone.”

you move to the door, only for minji to place a hand on it to prevent you from opening it. “minji-unnie, please move your hand from the door.”

“the girls are worried about you.” she murmured, and you freeze. “they’re not dumb, yn. they know what you’ve been doing.”

“…”

“yn?–”

“and what do you want me to do about that?” the blank expression on your face makes minji cringe internally, and while it doesn’t necessarily freak her out, it does make her feel uneasy, if only a little. “if i don’t practice, i’ll fall behind–”

“you won’t, yn.”

“–but if i do practice, you and the others get worried and tell me to stop practicing so much.” you continue, ignoring the older girl’s interruption. “so what am i supposed to do, minji-unnie?”

“that–”

the door beside you opens, revealing an abnormally apprehensive haerin. “minji-unnie, yn-unnie, manager-unnie is here to pick us up.”

“tell manager-unnie that we’ll be there in just a second.”

“okay.”

there’s a look of uncertainty on haerin’s face, and it’s clear that she wanted the two of you to stop… whatever this was to join them, but all she does is bite her tongue and close the door, leaving both you and minji alone in the hallway once more.

“you need to let this go, unnie.” you say after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “i know what i’m doing.” you turn your head to look at her, now more tired than annoyed. “don’t you trust me?”

“…” she doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. you can already tell by the way her eyes stare into yours that her answer was a resounding ‘no’.

and that hurt you more than anything she could’ve ever said to you.

previous. / get up. / next.

x. taglist — @awkwardtoafault @brocoliisscared @yerisdumbass @sserajeans @luvjanexx @captivq

#sereneres #seren.writes #kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans imagines #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #nwjns.yn #ᙏ̤̫

[hygieneforall22]

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[gothhisoka]

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 (𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

Title: Worship

Pairing: Chrollo x Femreader

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+, explicit content

Word Count: 3116 (I promise it is worth it. Oh god is it worth it)

Note: This is from my cross-published fanfic called Hunter University! It is available if you click here on Wattpad and AO3. My fanfic is x OC, but I upload x Reader versions of some chapters here on Tumblr. In short, it is a dark academia college AU with Chrollo as the main love interest.

Background: You are an artist in college and Chrollo is your fellow classmate. You just returned from a night out at a ball, drunk. Chrollo appeared at the door to your dorm room as he promised he would after you danced with one another at the ball.

Chrollo was surprised you looked so intact. He was sure you would come waddling to the door in pajamas as you did the last time he visited your room. Although it had been an hour since the ball ended, your makeup hadn't smudged a bit. Sure, it was faded, and your hair was significantly messier, but overall you looked as remarkable as you did at the start of the ball.

Your tired eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him. He was just as unimpaired as you were. Though now he was missing his suit jacket. His hair had become slightly disheveled, losing its styled waves. He still had on those signature silver rings and little cross earrings.

You attempt to soak in his sight with your intoxicated brain. He looked even more captivating in this particular state.

“Hi…” was all you could utter.

“Can I come in?”

You realized he was waiting for your permission. He didn’t need it.

You stepped aside to let him in and shut the door. Your room was the same as the last time he saw it, with your drawings hung on the walls and lights strung above the desk. Their small bulbs reflected against the night-stained window.

Upon shutting the door, the tension noticeably rose. It was dark in the small space and you were alone. Chrollo took his black dress shoes off near the door, placing them neatly side by side.

So he plans on staying. You tried to hide a smile. The hour of his visit was surely suspicious. There could be only one thing on his mind.

"So what're you doing here?" you spoke nonchalantly, acting like you didn't just fantasize about what could happen in the next few minutes.

Chrollo opened and shut his mouth, his response escaping him. He turned back to you and used his eyes to convey a craving far deeper than any words could admit.

"I said I would come to find you, didn't I?" He said lowly.

He had begun to walk around the room, absentmindedly stopping at a piece of art from time to time. You were too tired to care. The collection included nature scenes, portraits of people he didn't recognize, anatomy studies, and...

He paused, noticing a drawing on the wall behind the place where the door would otherwise be covering.

It was a full-body anatomy study of yourself. To be specific, it would fit further in the category of a glorified nude. It was on a miniature piece of parchment sketched in charcoal. It was obviously you: the woman had your (hair color) hair and distinct mouth and nose. The paper was hardly noticeable amongst the scatter of papers. You wouldn't see it unless you had a careful eye such as that of Chrollo.

You hardly noticed when he reached the particular spot on your wall. Your tiredness had waned significantly with Chrollo's entrance, but it still fogged your mind.

Additionally, you had long forgotten about your secret behind-the-door location for your drawings that were not meant to be seen by a single soul.

Chrollo attempted to hide a mysterious smile. He turned to you, “You draw wonderfully.”

“Thanks?” you reply, with more question in your tone than you hoped to show.

The heat in the room shot through the roof. You were sure if you checked the temperature it would be well above its normal chilly state. Perhaps it was the heat in your cheeks that was causing such a change.

“So…” he began.

“So,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Please, just let it happen already.

You thought you had a good idea of why he had come to your room at one o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking and questionably close dancing. You couldn't be certain, though, because that was just how he was: unpredictable and exceedingly complicated.

You didn’t think him so complicated as to not be able to admit why he was at your room, though.

You waited as he thought about what to say next. This is taking too damn long.

Luckily, you prepared an excuse. You never failed to come ready for something you could expect. And this, the direction in which your encounter is headed, is inevitable. You had been rehearsing the line in your head for the duration of their conversation like reviewing terms for a test.

This was the only way to test if your assumptions are correct.

Blame it on the champagne if I am wrong. But I really hope I'm right.

You look directly at him. Time to be daring.

You took a breath and did your best to look directly at him, "Well, I actually do need some help. You see, this dress is quite difficult to take off by myself..."

Walking towards him, you place a hand at the hem of your dress. Your delicate fingers wrap around its lacy fabric.

Chrollo looked amused. He sizes you up, looking from your hand holding the hem of your dress to your unfazed expression. Unfazed, yet your cheeks were slowly turning a shade of scarlet. Nice try, Chrollo thought.

He gestured, "Turn around."

You obeyed. You desired something far more than the unzipping of your dress, but you were not presumptuous enough to say it. The expression on Chrollo's face told you that he was hoping for the same thing. He hid many emotions well, but being turned on wasn't one of them.

Chrollo brushed your hair away from the zipper, delicately placing it over your shoulder. His fingers purposefully grazed your back as he did this, causing your breath to hitch slightly.

His hands moved to the zipper, carefully pulling it down. It went past the clasp of your bra to your lower back. There was complete silence. Both of you were still. Are we still hesitating?

Chrollo was the first to move. He pulled you close to him so that your back was touching him. His left arm wrapped across your chest possessively, holding you in a tight embrace. With his other hand, he brushed your hair back from your ear. He smelt of sweet alcohol. Clearly, he was slightly drunk as well, for the next words he said couldn't be uttered by a sober man.

His whispered breath tickled your neck, husky with the threat of sleep, "I want you so bad right now."

You tensed with a sudden surge of desire. Your impression had been right. He let his strong arm remain around you, patiently waiting for a response.

You choked out your reply, "The feelings' mutual."

Under his touch, your streak of audacity from earlier dissolved into compliance. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to submit to his words.

With complete control, Chrollo took your shoulder and turned you around. Your dress was now loose on your shoulders. He placed his hands around your hips firmly. He looked at you under his thick eyelashes and slowly leaned in. The pressure was growing to an unbearable level, but he still wouldn't go all the way.

Then his lips crashed against yours with the force of weeks of pent-up desire. This kiss didn't speak of courtesy, of patience. This was raw passion. It was furious and messy. you preferred this to sensitive steps around the intensity they both craved.

"You must still be drunk," you said playfully as you both pulled away to catch your breath. You held your hand to Chrollo's chest. His heart was beating surprisingly fast.

"If I'm drunk, then what are you?" Chrollo said with a lazy smirk.

"I'm drunk as well."

Chrollo threaded his hands through your hair, pulling the long strands through his fingers. He pulled you in close again with his hand at the back of your head.

You opened your mouth to allow for Chrollo's tongue to slip in. He lessened the intensity and slowly moved his tongue against your own tongue and lips. You couldn't help but let out soft moans that made Chrollo weak at the knees.

He pushed you against the wall to deepen your kiss. Drawings fluttered down, becoming detached with the sudden movement. Including that drawing.

Chrollo pulled away, much to your shock. You were left panting with reddened cheeks. Please don't let this end now.

He displayed a shit-eating grin. Even with his ego, in the current moment, his expression made you melt. His face was inches from yours, looking down into your (eye color) eyes.

He shifted his gaze down to the floor and said, "Nice drawing you have there."

You finally noticed what he had been so smug about. Shit. Your face flushed ten different shades of scarlet.

Chrollo leaned in as he did before and murmured in your ear, "I wish I could see the real thing."

You failed to not show your excitement. The way your eyes lit up exposed you. "I can arrange that."

At that, Chrollo leaned in again, this time moving to your neck. His lips fluttered down your throat to your collarbone. You leaned your head back and tried to control your uneven breath.

His lips reached the edge of the neckline on your dress. He raised his eyes to meet yours, asking for permission to go further.

You let out a breathy, "Yes. Please."

What you wanted to say was, Please, take me now.

It could be too soon for him. But based on how this was going, you expected it was leading to something more. Whatever that was, you wished you could know right now. The growing tension between your thighs began to ache.

Chrollo slipped his hand across your skin to the hemline of your dress, moving it completely off of your shoulder and down your arms. Your black see-through bra was now in full view. Your nipples grew hard at the sudden exposure.

At least I went with my fancy bra. You suddenly grew very shy. The last time you went even this far was years ago.

He evidently liked the lingerie for his hands immediately traveled to your breast to caress it as he continued to kiss you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck. Your heart fluttered at his words.

Chrollo then moved his lips progressively further down as he slipped your dress off of your body. Soon your underwear came into view, then your feet. He helped your step out of the dress.

"Your turn," you said, unbuttoning his shirt. All the while he continued to distractingly leave lazy kisses upon your face, one on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

After an agonizingly long time, you pulled off his shirt. Fuck.

You knew he would be defined. But him, this boy standing in front of you, resembled more of a greek statue than an actual human. It looked like his body had been sculpted by the finest stone on earth. He had a six-pack, defined pectoral muscles, and prominent collarbones. His biceps flexed as he leaned his hand against the wall, bracing himself. It was you who needed to brace yourself. Your breath hitched again at the sight of him.

You ran a hand up his firm body as you planted your lips upon his once again. This time Chrollo put his hands beneath your thighs, his fingers pressing into your soft skin. He picked you up easily.

You wrapped your legs around him as he brought you to the bed, kissing him all the while.

He dropped you down gently, releasing his grip off of your thighs. You took this time to look up at him and admire the beauty of his aroused state. He had a dangerous and wild look, with tousled hair and a constant smile playing at his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were lazily focused upon you.

You continued to make out on the bed, its white silk sheets creating an angelic halo around you. Chrollo couldn't stand looking at you like this, underneath him. It was far too much power for one man to hold.

You reached to your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You threw it to the ground. Chrollo immediately began to touch your naked tits in a way that made you want to dissolve. He moved in circles around your nipples first, watching as they grew harder under his expert touch. Then he moved his mouth to the sensitive area, playing with you and biting slightly. You audibly moaned at the gesture. Damn the neighbors.

Chrollo sensed your desire to take it further. He looked up, grey eyes filled with lust, "Y/n...let me pleasure you."

It wasn't the suggestion you were expecting, but you were satisfied nonetheless. You didn't care about anything in the world besides what he could do to you at this moment, whatever it may be.

"If you say my name like that you can do anything you want to me," you said breathily. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Chrollo smirked and moved to take off your soaking underwear. Under his pants, his dick grew visibly harder. He threw the underwear onto the floor.

Gently placing his finger at your throbbing core, he began to stroke. Upon receiving his touch your back arched involuntarily. You were beyond eager.

"Fuck... Chrollo..."

This served as encouragement for him to insert his finger deeper into you, curling it slightly. It hit your g-spot repeatedly, eliciting ungodly sounds from you.

As he was doing this, he slowly positioned himself on top of you, grabbing onto the bed frame with his spare hand. He just wanted to look at your face as you opened your mouth in delight.

He inserted one more finger which caused your arousal to heighten. God, he really knows how to do this.

Just as you felt the heat in your core escalating, he slid his finger out. You whimpered in protest.

Chrollo looked down at you with a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

Oh fuck.

You gladly would. It was more your instincts speaking than any coherent thought.

"Please... Chrollo..." you said between breaths.

You wanted to not only plead for him, you wanted to worship him.

"More."

This is what you had been missing out on all those weeks. And oh god, did you eat it up.

"FUCK please do that again," you exclaimed.

It was enough to convince him. Chrollo moved his face towards your slickened pussy.

Is he about to...

He pushed his hair back out of his face with his clean hand, his forehead tattoo revealed. For only a second, he raised his eyes to gaze into yours. You fell for him all over again at that simple glance.

Then he entered you. His tongue made you want to weep. He devoured your insides, soaking up the salty juices. You couldn't help but hold his head, pulling it closer to your body. You ran your hand through his soft black hair. There was so much heat between them that you were both perspiring.

You began to shudder." I'm going to... oh... fuck," you gasped.

You felt the sweet release of cum spread below you onto the sheets and Chrollo himself. You felt self-conscious for a moment. That is until Chrollo began to lick up your juices. He ran his tongue up your soft thighs.

"You taste so fucking good, darling."

Chrollo looked at you like he had fallen all over again as well. You grinned back at him. Your cheeks grew even redder, if possible. Your heart screamed to continue but you were too physically exhausted to move. Still, wouldn't Chrollo want his turn?

You laid there, naked and panting on the silk sheets. Chrollo flopped next to you, unaffected beside his flushed cheeks and a wide grin.

The lights were still low in the little room. Looking out the window, you saw that the sun had yet to rise. This was a positive fact because the only thing you needed to do now was to sleep. And preferably, cuddling with the boy next to you. You hoped he would stay. It was more than hope, really. Your body couldn't spend any more time away from him after that.

Damn. He was good. He was really, really fucking good.

He knew his way with words, to begin with. He said exactly what needed to be said to escalate your arousal. You wanted to worship those fingers, the way he so expertly felt around you like he had memorized a map. And his tongue was even more worthy of revere.

You flipped over to your elbows. Your breasts brushed against the bedding, noticeably making Chrollo gulp. You boldly reached to touch the front of his pants.

"You don't want a turn?" you smirked.

"This was more than enough for me."

He stared into your eyes as if he was calculating a complex math problem rather than looking at the person who just received the best head of their life.

You yawned, despite yourself. Your body ached with all the action of the night.

"Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be here."

Those were the last words you heard before your eyes drifted shut. Exhaustion stilled your naked body. Chrollo reached over you to turn off the bedside lamp.

He wasn't nearly as tired. He could've gone for a couple more rounds, perhaps take it a step further if you so desired. But he knew you needed the sleep. Most of your makeup had rubbed off, displaying the dark circles under your eyes.

He slipped off his pants and threw them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He found the soft sheets and pulled them across you and himself. The bed was small but cozy. His strong chest was flush against your back.

Your (hair color) hair smelt of a summer day, like sunlight and wildflowers. He took this opportunity to feel up the rest of your glorious body. He ran his hand lightly from your shoulder to your hips, to your thighs. All of it was angelic to him.

He moved you closer with his arm, protectively wrapping it across your front. Somehow holding you like this felt far more intimate than any sexual activity. The way the moonlight graced your skin was majestic.

How had he fallen so hard, so fast? It was unlike him to act with such recklessness.

Through it all, he still had his mind. you had no way to tell the extent of his feelings. He made sure of this. His libido could act one way, that was clear from tonight. But he was an expert at controlling his outward emotions. You would never know. If you did, it would be over for him. All the planning will be for naught.

He closed his eyes before he could fall upon any more worries. He had already pondered the issue for many sleepless nights.

He fell into a dreamless slumber with you safe in his arms. You both slept soundly until the sun peeked through the window.

#hunterxhunter fanfic #hunter x hunter #hunter university #hxh university au #hxh fanfic #hxh #hxh chrollo #chrollo #chrollo smut #hxh smut #chrollo x reader #chrollo headcanons #chrollo lucilfer #hxh x you #hxh x y/n #hxh x reader #hxh scenarios #chrollo x y/n #minors dni #not safe for minors

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse,  foul language and lots of angst.   

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds​ for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering.  There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed. 

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh;  what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain. 

He hates it. 

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit. 

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt. 

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together. 

There was no her in his plan, to begin with. 

The Devil never had a queen. 

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.  

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t have one anyway. 

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note. 

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’ 

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone. 

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand. 

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.     

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase. 

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.” 

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away. 

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’ 

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer. 

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.” 

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would. 

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse. 

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints. 

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...” 

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met. 

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair. 

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face. 

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe. 

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica. 

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right. 

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.” 

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away. 

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.    

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”  

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief. 

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue. 

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her. 

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest. 

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul. 

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.  

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress. 

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme. 

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.” 

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.  

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker. 

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers. 

“Break her, until she talks.” 

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door. 

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature. 

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet. 

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her… 

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange. 

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot. 

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,”  August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away. 

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’ 

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity. 

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.  

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain. 

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’ 

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot. 

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.   

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”   

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face. 

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve. 

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly. 

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away. 

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’ 

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk. 

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw. 

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory. 

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.  

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material. 

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “ 

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him. 

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:  

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts,  We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down,  United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will. 

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

[mckinlily]

.the force

Summary: Learning the ways of the Force is not always an easy process. Sometimes lessons can take years, even lifetimes to master.

Sometimes your master seems to go out of his way to make it worse.

Shiro felt the chaotic stirrings in the Force just before Keith stormed into their shared quarters. 

“You ASSHOLE!”

A faint warning had him snapping his hand up to catch—

A rock?

It was a decently pretty rock, with nice blue and green flecks scattered through it, but overall no more interesting than any other mid-sized pebble they might pick up on a mission.

Keith fumed at Shiro’s shoulder behind the couch, massive waves of fury and irritation flooding off him in Force. So far, all lessons on releasing emotions into the Force had only taught Keith to get better at projecting his feelings, rather than control them.

Ah, well. It was progress. 

Maybe. 

With deliberate casualness, Shiro put down the mission report he had been reviewing and turned to his padawan.

“Hello, Keith. I could have sworn that wasn’t the correct form of address on Coruscant. Or did I miss a memo?”

“Stop being an ass,” snapped Keith.

Shiro raised his eyebrows. Keith just glared back. So this was going to be one of those conversations. Shiro leaned back into the couch.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Keith. Precisely what part of my assery do you want me to stop?” 

Then, recalling he was supposed to be a master and not a fellow padawan, he quickly added, “Ah, not that you should be using that kind of language anyway.”

Keith responded with several words under his breath that made it quite clear he was not taking Shiro’s advice.

Shiro sighed. “Keith. If you have something you want to talk about, I’m here. But for that to work, you’re going to have to actually, you know, talk.”

Keith gave an explosive exhale and flung himself over the back of the couch to land in a sulky sprawl next to Shiro.

Shiro bit back the urge to correct. He still wasn’t certain how to be a Master to a padawan learner—wasn’t even sure he knew how to be a Knight— and Kolivan’s old lectures echoed in his ears. Kolivan wouldn’t have let such impropriety slide. But what his master would have done and what Shiro’s instincts said were constantly at odds, and Shiro just didn’t know which one was right.

This time, his instincts won out. Shiro slumped against the side of the couch, and nudged Keith with the toe of his boot. “What is it.”

Keith shoved Shiro’s foot off the couch and scowled. He pointed at the object in Shiro’s hand. “That’s a rock.”

Shiro double checked that he was, in fact, still holding a rock. He looked back at Keith. “Yes?”

“It’s a kriffing rock!”

This time Shiro ignored the language. “Keith, you’re not giving me much to work with here.”

Keith flung in hands in the air. “It’s from Dazibalb! You said it was special!”

“I...did?”

Keith’s face was getting flushed as he waved his hands about. “Yes!”

“Um…” Shiro examined the innocuous stone in his hand, trying to see how it could be the source of the drama with his padawan.

“I spent a year—a kriffing year!—meditating and researching on it because my master—who is supposed to be TEACHING me—made it seem all important and special. And. It’s Just. A Fucking. ROCK!”

Shiro took a single breath in. Keith was clearly worked up. Shiro was a Jedi Knight and Keith’s master to boot. He needed to react calmly, rationally, with precision and compassion. He let out his breath—

And burst out laughing.

“Shiro!”

“I—aha!—I can’t—”

“Stop it!” Keith grabbed a pillow and started walloping Shiro with it. “It isn’t funny, Shiro!”

“Argh! Keith, get off me—a whole year—”

“Stop laughing, you asshat! I spent MONTHS on this! I went to Master Slav!”

Shiro lost the battle and dissolved into peals of laughter. He could barely breathe through his wheezes while tears gathered on his face.

“I can’t—I can’t—Slav?!”

“I didn’t want to fail!”

Keith’s voice—hardly reliable at the best of times, poor preteen—cracked on that, and Shiro, even crying with laughter, recognized it for what it was. He pushed himself upright, failing (though trying) to force down his laughter.

“I’m not laughing at you.”

Keith pulled back and folded his arms. “Yes, you are,” he sulked.

Shiro choked back another bout of inopportune laughter. “I’m not. It’s just—” A snort slipped out of him, his cheeks hurt—and, nope, he was laughing again. “It’s not you. But your face—”

“Really helping your case there, Shiro,” grumbled Keith, looking away, and damnit, Shiro really needed to pull himself together.

He couldn’t stop the snickering, but he could throw his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders and pull him close. “I adore you,” he promised into Keith’s hair.

Keith still grumbled. “You said—I asked if there was something special, and you said it held the secrets to the Force!”

“I was teasing,” said Shiro, slowly remembering a seemingly meaningless conversation from ages ago. He snorted. “I didn’t expect you to take it seriously.”

“How was I supposed to know that?!” snapped Keith. “You’re my master. You’re supposed to be teaching me, and half this Force stuff doesn’t make sense! You said and—I didn’t know!”

And that, Shiro realized, was the crux of it. The Council hadn’t been happy when Shiro took Keith on as a padawan, claiming he was too emotional and too old, and Keith knew it. He worked hard in his classes, but he was up against classmates who had been studying the Force and the way of the Jedi since they were in diapers. Shiro knew Keith worried. Nevermind that he was a prodigy, insanely powerful, and picked up new Force techniques faster than anyone Shiro had ever seen. Keith felt like he was constantly behind.

“Every padawan has fallen for something like this,” Shiro reassured, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Every. One. Someone started a rumor that the Force comes from little microbes in your body, and that rumor still circulates the creche to freak out Initiates all the time. It happens for everyone.”

Keith huffed. “You didn’t have to laugh at me.” He sounded annoyed, but hurt burnished his presence about the Force. 

“I’m sorry,” said Shiro earnestly. Keith’s outrage was funny but not his hurt. “Keith, I would never intentionally make you feel or look stupid.”

Keith flung his arms out. “I don’t know anything! Everyone knows all this stuff, and I don’t know any of it! I’m supposed to be a padawan.”

“You are a padawan,” said Shiro, tugging on Keith’s padawan braid to emphasise the point. “It doesn’t matter what everyone else knows. You’re a padawan learner. The point is to learn, which you’re doing. Where everyone else is doesn’t matter.”

“Younglings know more than me,” grumbled Keith.

“What did I just say?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Stupid Jedi crap. It’s easy to say when you’re not the one people are calling a non-sensitive in class.”

Shiro snorted. Hard. 

“Not at you,” he said to Keith quickly, shaking his head and smashing down dangerous fury that threatened at the mistreatment of his padawan. He snorted again. “If your classmates can’t tell how strong you are in the Force, maybe they are the ones who are non-sensitive.”

Keith slumped, somewhat pacified but still unconvinced. 

“You know, Master Yoda didn’t even talk until he was fifty years old. His species ages so slowly most of his clan had already become Masters before he even left the Creche.”

“But he’s Yoda,” protested Keith.

“And how do you know that in ten years, someone won’t be saying the same thing about you?” challenged Shiro. “You’re already one of the best pilots in the Order, and you’re not even a senior padawan yet. You might feel like you’re struggling to catch up now, but I guarantee that before long, all of us will be fighting to keep up with you.”

Keith snorted. “Sure, Shiro.”

“You’ll see,” said Shiro, his nose in the air. “I’m right.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” And Shiro let him have that. They wouldn’t break through all of Keith’s issues in a day. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Did you really spend months researching?”

Keith slumped into the couch. “I didn’t want you to think I failed you,” he muttered to the floor.

Shiro’s heart trembled and melted. It was deeply humbling to realize how seriously Keith had taken his offhand remark. And a little terrifying. His padawan trusted him so completely, and he—he wasn’t even sure he deserved his rank of Knight. 

(How did one go about being a master? How did he be a master when he couldn’t even go to his own master for help? When he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t been Knighted merely because no one had wanted to finish his own training?)

((No one had wanted to train Keith, either, he remembered. Shiro was determined to make sure his padawan never grew up with the same doubts.))

“Did you keep your research?”

Keith looked at him with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Why?”

“I figure if you put in all the work, you might as well get something out of it,” shrugged Shiro. “I bet we could put together a good case for an independent study. Free up your time for more advanced piloting classes.”

Keith’s eyes slowly lit up. “You mean it?”

“Of course, kiddo,” said Shiro. “I didn’t mean to send you on a wild goose chase.”

Keith huffed. Shiro squeezed his shoulders.

“I promise. I’ll be more careful about my teasing. And when I set you a task, I’ll make sure you know it’s an assignment. None of this vague hint stuff.”

Keith grumbled under his breath, but relief whafted off of him in the Force. Shiro really didn’t understand how so many in the Temple described his padawan as unreadable. Keith projected everything. Loudly. If only you took the time to listen.

Shiro tugged on Keith’s padawan braid again. “We good?”

Keith flopped grumpily against Shiro’s side. “You’re the worst,” he said, though the pulse he sent through their training bond didn’t back it up.

“I really am sorry,” said Shiro.

Keith squirmed against his side. “I just feel so dumb,” he admitted in a low mumble. “Anyone else would have known it was just a rock.”

“Well…” Shiro held up the rock, running his senses over it. It had certainly started as an ordinary rock, but things that were in close contact with the Jedi rarely stayed that way for long. Shiro could feel the vague impression of Keith in it, his loyalty and passion, all wrapped up in his fierce determination. Shiro concentrated on the rock as well, focusing on what he felt for Keith, his pride and joy in his padawan, and pushing that into the Force.

When he finished, the sense wasn’t as strong as he would have liked it—Shiro wasn’t very practiced in Force Impressions—but it was there.

“Here,” he said, passing the rock back to Keith. Keith took it somewhat suspiciously, and Shiro felt him prod hestistantly at it in the Force.

“Oh. Huh.” Keith looked up at Shiro, clearly looking for a confirmation that what he was feeling was real.

“Maybe it didn’t start out special,” said Shiro. “But it certainly is now.” He took a chance and ruffled Keith’s hair. “Just like you.”

“Argh!” Keith batted his hand away. “What are you so sappy?”

“Excuse you, I am genuine, charming, and eloquent.”

Keith frowned at him. Then, taking Shiro completely by surprise, he shoved him with the Force, knocking him off the couch and sending him sprawling on the floor.

“Ooof. This is how you repay me?” groaned Shiro from the ground. 

“Yep.” Keith preened, unrepentant from his position on the couch. Shiro took a moment to appreciate how far he’d come from the bitter, scared slave he had been when they first met. Smug and triumphant was a good look on him. 

“All right.” Shiro accepted defeat. “Pass me my datapad. I need to finish that mission report.”

“Your—What? You’re going to work from the floor?”

“Yep,” said Shiro, not even bothering to sit up.

“You are so weird,” concluded Keith, but a second later Shiro’s datapad was dropping onto his face and he snatched it out of the air. 

“Thanks,” said Shiro. He started scrolling through his notes, trying to find where he left off. 

“You’re the strangest master in the Order,” said Keith.

Shiro looked up from his datapad. “Would you rather the Council reassign you a different master?” he said hesitantly, trying to hide how the possibility cut him.

But Keith quickly shook his head. “No. I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”

“Me too,” said Shiro, quietly hiding his relief. “I wouldn’t trade you for any other padawan out there. Not for the entire galaxy.”

“Good,” said Keith. 

But still, the bond between them seemed to hum just a little warmer and stronger after that. 

#starganes #shiro #keith #star wars crossover #mckinlily writes: vld fic

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Finale Review/Remix: The Final Word

The finale is here, and oh sweet fucking hell we were not ready for all that it brought us. These are the notes the series is leaving us on for the next 6 months, and the majority of them are not good feelings to dwell on for half a year. Let’s try and dissect them a little bit and hope the pain is a little less painful, okay?

Before even addressing the episode content I want to talk about the disclaimer and the episode description. Mental health is incredibly important, and if you are having issues or highly stressful or dangerous thoughts, there is no shame in seeking professional help or confiding in your loved ones so they know what you’re dealing with. The content presented within this chapter can be highly upsetting to some people, and it addresses themes of suicide and death worse than we have seen thus far. If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, Rooster Teeth provides a number you can call for helpful resources and people. The episode description also features a line lifted straight from this Volume’s intro song “sometimes it’s worth it all to risk the fall”. Wouldn’t you know it, that’s the part of the theme that plays when Team RWBY falls through the ice and into the ominous underwater clutches of Grimm arms. With Yang being the one who falls first and farthest. How symbolic. 

We start off strong and stressful, fading in on the still dissolving Monstra to see Salem is still reforming herself. She’s not done yet, but it looks like it’s getting close... Going to a different powerhouse with white hair, Winter is fighting hard against Ironwood but not really gaining any ground. He keeps blocking her attacks with his cannon, and worse still he keeps trying to explain why he’s right. He shouldn’t be blamed for any of this because he’s been sacrificing so much for the mission. Except, as she points out, he hasn’t. He’s sacrificed a lot of other people or made them sacrifice everything for him and on his orders. He hasn’t actually sacrificed anything himself, because his ego won’t allow it. He thinks he’s too important to actually give up his own life even if it means saving anyone else. Cuz that’s not what this is about. He says he’s doing what’s best for Remnant but it’s really what’s best for him and his image and his confidence, such as shutting down major commerce routes and destroying half of the Kingdom just because it was lower income neighborhoods full of commoners. But might makes right in this fight, and Ironwood is currently smacking Winter around with his might so it’s an uphill battle for justice.

Speaking of uphill battles, we go back through the portals to see the continuation of Maiden Bowl 2021 as Cinder keeps blasting Penny around before Weiss comes in on a Lancer summon to save her friend and fellow Atlesian. In a very brief shift from the action Jaune reminds Nora their top priority is evacuating the civilians, so that’s our clue that they probably won’t be jumping into the fight any time soon. Back on the Lancer, Penny tells Weiss that since Cinder wants the Maiden power she can act as bait and lure the Fall Maiden away so the others can safely get away. Weiss doesn’t like that idea, but before they can think of an alternative the summon is shot down and they land hard on the main crossroads of the paths before the gate into Vacuo. Neither of their Aura’s are broken, but they do need a moment to get back on their feet as Cinder lands between them and their escape. Penny is the first back up, and stands between her foe and her friend pleading for the madwoman’s undivided attention so the Staff doesn’t get snatched and Weiss isn’t killed in this moment of recovery. But Cinder’s eyes are bigger than her stomach and she wants every bit of power and importance before her. Before she can swoop in to destroy all she sees and claim all she wants... Cinder gets double boot kicked in the face by Blake. The interruption gives Cinder momentary pause and in that time the Faunus pleadingly kicks her silver haired teammate back into high gear. That’s a whole lot of flowery language when I could just say “After she swoops in and kicks Cinder in the face, Blake tells Weiss to get up”, but this is my last review for months and I wanna give you your money’s worth. Weiss runs off to go help elsewhere, while Blake and Penny engage with Cinder.

But we don’t have time to see how that fight goes right now, because we have to turn our attention to the sky. Even though he was the one to crash through the windshield and attack her, Qrow wants to talk Harriet down and not fight. He tries to explain and apologize for his culpability in Clover’s death, but she really doesn’t want to hear that name right now. She actually gets so mad that he’s trying to talk her down that she cuts the ropes holding down the bomb and slams her fists on the floor of the ship so it’ll tilt back and the bomb will fall out onto the city below. Qrow leaps into the path of the sliding bomb and tries to stop it, which just infuriates Harriet more cuz he just keeps interfering. But the interference doesn’t stop there, because Vine grabs the back of the airship and we see he’s being held sturdily to the roof of Robyn’s airship by Elm. We can assume Marrow is inside recovering from tanking an explosion, but Hare’s fellow Ace Ops have fully changed their tune and don’t want her to finish this mission. She screams at them for making this all the more difficult for her, but they’re doing this out of kindness. As possibly the smartest yet most obvious thing she’s said all Volume, Elm admits that YES, the Ace Ops are friends and care about each other outside of the professional sense. And as a friend, Elm doesn’t want her to risk her life for a dumb act of cruelty from a bitter man. Before Hare can fully process this news and express her regrets, the bomb slips further towards the open door and Qrow gets pushed aside with a dismayed cry. In a last act of desperation that I had a hard time understanding at first, he pulls out Clover’s lucky pin and seems to pray to it. I thought he was about to throw it in the path of the bomb so it would get wedged and damage the pin beyond repair for the sake of stopping its momentum. But no, he was just hoping for a little of Clover’s good luck to have rubbed off on the pin. And as if from beyond the grave, some luck does come to them. The bomb stops moving just as it’s teetering towards the edge, and they all breath a sigh of relief... before Watts remotely activates the countdown anyway because he’s a bastard.

Back in the in-between dimension, Ruby is still trying to subdue Neo and is being flawlessly countered at every turn. Neo practically looks bored by all this, just waiting for Ruby to get tired out so she can kill her. Ruby gets knocked down but before Neo can cut through the last of her Aura for the kill Weiss skates in on her glyphs and delivers a proverbial one-two punch of attacking with Myrtenaster and the Staff of Creation. Neo blocks the first but the second knocks her backwards into a portal. Seeing this from a distance frustrates Cinder as she continues to rather easily hold off Penny and Blake, so easily in fact that she knocks Blake off the ledge with a single blast and Penny has to fly off and save her. Weiss helps Ruby back to her feet and encourages her to keep fighting for the sake of avenging Yang/ surviving so her loss wasn’t in vain. The two of them being in close proximity is just what Cinder was hoping for though, and she creates a hot spot beneath them set to explode and send them flying. I’m really not sure what else to call it, but she does it fairly frequently so you know what I’m referring to. Looks like a glyph but it’s just fire. Weiss notices the danger first, and shoves Ruby out of the way while handing her the Staff in the same motion. By the time Ruby realizes she’s being saved, Weiss has already been knocked into the air... and falls back down on the same platform. Thank goodness for small miracles, though it does take out all of Weiss’ Aura so she won’t be able to save herself with glyphs if anything else happens. Ruby doesn’t have time to help her partner because Neo comes charging back in and reengages her attack, and now it’s harder to defend because she can only handle Crescent Rose with one hand now that she’s carrying the Staff with the other. Ruby is sent flying onto a pathway while losing the Staff to Neo, and Crescent Rose fully falls over the edge and leaves her disarmed.

From one speedster panicking in the face of danger to another, we go back to the airships and you better get a tissue ready. Qrow has discovered the autopilot is forcibly engaged and they can’t undo that, so he says their safest bet is abandoning ship and trying to get out of the blast radius. Harriet has gone full depressive breakdown and says the countdown is too far along for them to flee in time, so they’re all doomed and it’s her own damn fault. I would certainly agree, but it’s hard to try and hold that against her right now. Elm and Vine share a look before Vine leaps aboard and carefully lifts Harriet off the ship and into Elm’s arms. He looks at the bomb, then he looks at his own hands, and we realizes what he’s planning at the same time Elm does. Well, maybe she realized it when they shared that look, but it certainly sinks in now. He insists that he can and will because it’ll mean his dear friends will be safe. Harriet breaks down in tearful screams and has to be dragged inside, while Qrow shares a look with Vine and jumps out to fly away. Maybe he was trying to say “We appreciate this sacrifice, thank you for choosing the right side, Clover would be proud of you for looking out for the team like this”, who’s to say? I’d certainly like to think so because that would be a very meaningful goodbye. Vine spreads his arms and brings his palms back together in front of him in a very zen pose, presumably as he gathers and focuses his Aura. Then he sends out eight energy tendrils that spread out and become an Aura bubble around the airship, and we see it keep flying for a few more seconds while we pan back to get the view from the rest of the Ace Ops and the birds. BOOM, the bubble is stretched in several places by the force of the explosion, then it dissolves and releases heavy smoke. The bomb has gone off, the ship is gone, and Vine has died. But no one down in Mantle was affected, and the other 3 Ace Ops are okay if not heavily depressed by this new loss. He was a hero.

Speaking of heroes doing bold things, Neo came down onto the path Ruby is on and the young huntresses has been pushed back to the edge trying to get some distance from her. She tells the little psycho “I hope it was worth it”, and raises her arms as if surrendering to her fate. When Neo takes the bait and lunges at her, Ruby falls backwards over the edge and swoops back around with her semblance to shove her foe over the edge, though Neo does manage to hold onto the edge and avoid plummeting to her presumed death. Before Ruby can catch the Staff Neo threw in the air, Cinder blasts her in the back with fire and wipes out her Aura. The force of the attack also knocks her over the edge as well, where she is able to grab onto Neo’s legs. Cinder kicks the Staff into the air and catches it, then looks over the edge at the two hanging on for dear life. You’d be forgiven for assuming she’ll reach down and save Neo since she just apologized to her last episode, but instead she stretches her arm further down and takes the Lamp from her. Cinder is unmatched in her ability to hold a grudge, and Neo threatened to leave her to face Salem’s wrath over the loss of the Lamp over text two episodes back. She makes the backstabbing official by kicking Hush (Neo’s parasol in case you forgot the name they’ve never actually said in canon) over the edge and telling her now ex-partner “You never should have threatened me”. Ruby seems to be charging her silver eyes, but before she can do anything Cinder tells her she should have never been born and bashes Neo’s gripping fingers with the blunt end of the Staff. Both young women fall helplessly, but Cinder’s attention is drawn by Penny flying in carrying Blake since the two of them yell their friend’s name in dismay. Cinder sends a fireball at them but Blake gets thrown ahead while Penny takes the hit. Blake grabs Ruby out of the air and throws Gambol Shroud up to anchor into a path and let them swing to safety, but Neo is not saved and disappears into the void offscreen. The save works and it seems like they’ll be safe... but Cinder shoots a fireball that cuts the ribbon. Both Blake and Ruby fall into the the void and disappear, leaving a very upset Penny. If anyone is more anguished than her it’s Weiss, who grabs Gambol Shroud and shoots Cinder, her hands trembling and eyes welling with tears. The bullets do very little damage but it gets Cinder’s attention. 

Jaune and Nora meet up in front of the gate into Vacuo, and he instructs her to go through and get them backup for this fight. They part with determined smiles, but our hearts sink with the knowledge that the Vacuo portal is one way so Nora won’t be able to accomplish this last mission for him. Her self doubts are gonna take a real serious plummet from this. Stupid well played dramatic irony... Cinder is knocking Weiss around and mocks her for being the last one standing by implying she let the others die to save herself because she’s a selfish Schnee only looking out for herself. We know damn well that’s the farthest thing from the truth and Cinder has never cared enough to understand the bonds of Weiss’ friendships. As many have pointed out, this is a tragic departure from the promise Ruby made at the start of Volume 6 that Team RWBY wouldn’t leave Weiss side for even a second while they were in Atlas. But she’s still not alone because Penny blocks a beam of fire heading for Weiss and Jaune glides in to slam Cinder with his shield and use the gravity Dust to knock her back even more. As Penny points out, Cinder knows nothing of friends and we can clearly see Weiss still has some to stand with her. And stand they do, Weiss now dual wielding her own sword as well as Blake’s. Before Cinder can try to triumph in the face of these seemingly stacked odds, her Grimm arm starts convulsing and she screams with pain. The heroes share a confused look, but Cinder soon settles down and smirks with the realization of what this means. Salem has fully reformed, which gives Cinder new confidence that she puts to good use with a shockwave of fire to knock the good guys back a few paces. She tosses fiery glass swords at Jaune and Wiess but Penny deflects both of them and flies right at Cinder, who counters with a fiery kick to the ground. Whether Penny diverts the row of fire in front of her to spread to her sides instead or Cinder intentionally made the V shape to make dividers between the three heroes is unknown, but before anyone can react to this new obstacle Penny is stabbed in the chest by Cinder’s Grimm claws. The poor girl really has been made flesh and blood, because her wounds are bleeding while Cinder starts draining the Maiden power from her. Between the Amity fight and this encounter, I have to wonder what percentage of the powers have gone to Cinder by this point vs how much Penny still has... As her vision starts to blur and she falls onto her back, Penny sees Weiss charge in to attack Cinder and stop her from continuing to absorb Penny’s power and then Jaune come kneel over her and start healing her. He saved Weiss from a similar wound and this time he’s starting the process far more promptly, there are very good odds he could save Penny. But the problem here is time, Cinder isn’t going to let him complete the job and Weiss is sorely outmatched. She does see an alternative, but it’s heart shattering to hear from her. Jaune can kill her here and now and let her decide who will be in her final thoughts. They can’t risk Cinder stealing the Winter Maiden powers as well as having both relics, so ending Penny’s life quickly is unfortunately necessary. Penny begs him to trust her on this and let her choose how she dies since she didn’t get the opportunity to choose many things about how she lived. She obeyed her father’s wishes, followed Ironwood’s orders, went along with her friends’ plans, etc. Some of those times were good and she was glad she did what she did. But choice is the attribute of one of the relics for a reason, it’s a key part of humanity, and with her last moments she wants to express hers.

We cut back for brief moments a couple times during this very tense moment to see Winter’s fight with Ironwood juxtaposed with her sister’s losing struggle with Cinder, and the audience is meant to wonder which of the Schnee sisters Penny might be about to bestow the upper hand to in the form of Maiden power. Or she could think of Ruby and the power would go to her as proof she and the others didn’t die, or it could go to Nora because of the moments they shared discussing finding your whole self? We literally won’t know until she’s dead, and I’m not rushing to get to that point. Jaune looks at his own hesitant reflection in his sword, and for the first time it really seems to sink in that this is a sharpened steel weapon with lethal capabilities. It always seemed like the least impressive weapon in a world of giant scythes and wrist mounted shotguns, but we fear its blade more than anything in this moment. Weiss seems about to be killed, having had Gambol Shroud knocked from her hand into the abyss, when Cinder is distracted by Jaune screaming and weeping as we see both tear drops and blood drops fall to the floor by Penny’s lifeless body. The argument has been made that this was a bad move from a narrative standpoint, that he was only the one to get the kill or Penny only died so Jaune could get more angst and importance in the story, and various other points that add up to a lot of dislike for the character. I can’t even accurately articulate the argument because I give so little credit to its accuracy or plausibility. I even want to say, though there’s no way to back it up and its just me giving a little benefit of the doubt to theatrics, that he only made such a ruckus after the kill because he knew it would spare Weiss for a few moments longer. Cinder is going to see Penny dead and know the powers are not hers so she’ll go ballistic on Jaune for taking that away from her, and the heat will be off Weiss. Speaking of bad beatings, Winter gets pistol whipped and is about to lose too. But with the dripping of the blood soaked sword, the screen goes white and we see Penny hopping on the balls on her feet waiting for someone to arrive in this empty white void. They do, and she greets them with one last “SALUTATIONS!~” that made me cry even remembering. The one she has chosen to inherit her power is Winter, and when she finds out she’s here because she was the one in Penny’s last thoughts it seems to break her heart. But Penny would have it no other way, it was supposed to go to Winter anyway, she was the one who intervened and made things complicated. Winter disagrees with that though, Penny has proven far more worthy of these powers than an blindly obedient soldier like her. Penny was always more human where it counted and Winter was the machine, but Penny takes her hands and assures her she was plenty human enough by being a good friend. The powers start to go from one woman to the other and Winter tries to say that she’ll always remember Penny after she’s gone, or at least I assume that’s the heartfelt sentiment she’s going for, but our sweet redhead reminds her of her own words when Fria died. She won’t be gone, she’ll be a part of Winter now. That makes Winter feel a little better, and Penny gives her a smile as she fades away. Penny Polendina was a very cheerful girl, and she died happy in the knowledge she helped so many who will call her friend.

Winter reawakens on the floor of the Vault with Ironwood saying she’s finally reached the destiny he chose for her, as if this will suddenly make him a good person or convince her to change her allegiances back to him. She staggers to her feet and rises in a whirlwind of blue snow, Jimmy realizing all too late he might actually have miscalculated and be in danger now. I really love her defiant response to him, but I feel like it could have been a little more powerful with a small addition. Observe. “You chose nothing. This was a gift... from my best friend.” Either way, he realizes he now has an even stronger Winter Maiden as his enemy and tries to take her down with his greek fire cannon, but she creates a shield of ice that reflects the blast back at him. From the horrified expression he makes and the power we saw this weapon have against mortal man, I fully expected this to be Ironwood’s death. Hoisted by his own petard, no one to blame but himself for this fate. He could have not attacked her and he’d be fine, he could have decided to stop anywhere along this path and been spared. Defeated by someone literally made stronger with the power of friendship and trust, while he has been paranoid and severing bonds all this time. But no... he lives cuz it was a weakened blast after the redirect, or he still had his Aura to protect him, or whatever logic you want to use. Regardless, he’s down for the count right now and Winter flies away to deal with more important problems. He’s been removed from power and is only a major threat in his own mind, she doesn’t care anymore. As could have been expected, Cinder is outraged over what Jaune has done and attacks him rather than finishing off Weiss. He knocks her flying tackle back with his shield but she rebounds with a sword swipe he meets in kind. Blood stained steel meets tempered glass, and the steel loses. Jaune’s sword, a family heirloom from the Great War that he reforged after losing Pyrrha, is broken in half by Cinder’s attack and he is left at her mercy. The mad Fall Maiden demands to know who and where the power of Winter has gone to, and receives her answer in the worst way she could have hoped for: an icy blue blast to the head. Whether that was ice or specially colored fire or lightning is unknown, but it gets Cinder’s anger and attention. She was probably really hoping the strongest and smartest of Ironwood’s elite wouldn’t get the power to match her on a magical level, but she’s too determined and cocksure to stop her assault now and the two do battle in the air. Winter uses both magic and summons to deal with Cinder, but while the latter ends up dropping the Staff in the scuffle it still seems like an even match for the moment. Cinder sees Weiss and Jaune staggering towards the exit and decides to choose some easier targets for extra emotional damage. By the time Winter can realize the danger her sister is in, it’s too late and the two sword wielders are blasted by another of Cinder’s eruption blasts. Jaune skids across the path and loses his Aura, but Weiss is tossed over the side entirely and Winter isn’t fast enough. Weiss falls into the void, the last of Team RWBY dead and gone for all we know. 

I want to deeply praise Elizabeth Maxwell for her performance as Winter, both in the series as a whole and for this episode especially. She shows so many emotions so strongly and believably, and you can tell she’s putting heart and soul into it. Nowhere do I feel that more clearly than in this moment where Winter cries out for Weiss with so much despair and regret. She flies back up and collapses onto the path in tears, her reaction speaking volumes to Jaune. Cinder retrieves the Staff and Winter is ready to raise hell in revenge, but before anyone can attack Salem’s scream can be heard echoing through every portal in the place. Cinder realizes she needs to return to her mistress’s side so she can’t try and finish the job, while Jaune has to tell Winter repeatedly that they need to get to safety now so she just swears recompense later down the line. Winter flies to Vacuo while Fall goes back into the falling Atlas, and once she’s through all the portals and pathways start disappearing. Jaune tries his best to make it to the Vacuo gate in time, but he’s been cursed by the animators with a slow run cycle. Or he’s just really exhausted and weighed down by armor and weapons, who’s to say? Winter realizes she’s taken the lead too late and disappears into Vacuo just as she tries to turn around and reach out for Jaune. He dives the last couple feet to get through as the ground dissolves below his feet, but the last way out evaporates between his fingertips. Jaune Arc is the last one in the central location, and the last to fall into the void. On the other side Nora is futilely pounding on the portal trying to go back through and save her leader, while Em Ren and Oscar are putting up a valiant but outclassed fight against the Ravagers (the bat Grimm) and the small scorpion-like Sulfur Fish. Fun fact, those ones were the winning design submission from a contest last year. Before the teens and the crowd they’re protecting can get overwhelmed, a gale force wind blows the Grimm back. All eyes turn to see Winter float above the crowd as the magic door disappears behind her, including the eyes of her surviving family members. Thank goodness there was a portal available for Willow Whitley and Klein, though the look they all share makes it clear they realize Weiss did not make it. Rather than break down, Winter turns her sadness to rage and charges at the returning Grimm swarm.

We cut back to Atlas where much to my annoyance Ironwood has regained consciousness to see Cinder descending the Vault stairs with the relics in tow. But she won’t be winning the award for dramatic entrances, because Salem flies down the elevator shaft as a cloud of black smoke like a scene out of Harry Potter. She swirls around Cinder once or twice before reforming before her. And Cinder starts doing what she does best, lies out her ass to save her own skin. She claims Team RWBY used the last question for Jinn and then Neo killed Ruby while thousands were able to survive the fall of Atlas and make it to Vacuo, and that she had to make the conscious choice to let the Winter Maiden escape at the cost of all their allies so she could secure the relics for her mistress. Let me remind you what really happened. CINDER used the last question, CINDER killed Ruby and Neo out of petty revenge, CINDER killed the last Winter Maiden but couldn’t get the powers out of her or stop the stronger new one, and CINDER let thousands escape into Vacuo because she was too busy going for Penny and the relics. Oh, and Team RWBY and Neo aren’t actually dead, spoilers. So if any of those lies are revealed CINDER is going to pay a hefty price for her selfish deception. But for the moment Salem seems to believe her or at least lets it slide because she does have two relics now, and Cinder had the humility to say she was sorry. I like that Ironwood also hears the tale of Team RWBY heroically sacrificing themselves to stop the villains and actually having the nerve to give their own lives rather than the lives of others, unlike him. And, they saved so so so many more people than he did, and he was trying to arrest and foil them all this time. Perhaps now he’s a little humbled and realizes he’s not the hero of Atlas anymore. There will be no more Atlas and RWBY are the saviors of its survivors. As the two wicked women depart the Vault, Salem asks her acolyte what she made to replace what Team RWBY had created. Through another half truth Cinder reveals to us she locked Watts in the Atlas central command room and created a large fire. He roasted her savagely on an emotional level, so she literally roasted him alive with the biggest flames magic could afford. Cinder, Tyrian, and Mercury are now the only members of Salem’s inner circle. Wonder if she’ll recruit more in Vacuo to compensate? Ironwood grabs his pistol and is about to shoot at Cinder, but she turns and tells him this is checkmate and he’s too scared to pull the trigger. He knows he’d lose and even now he doesn’t want that disgrace. So instead he’ll lie here as Atlas crashes into Mantle and becomes flooded by a sudden influx of sea water. Cinder and Salem observe from the air as Atlas becomes Atlantis, while Qrow tries to get in contact with either of his nieces over comms aboard the ship with Robyn and the surviving Ace Ops... and comes up empty. Cinder’s declaration that this is Checkmate for the villains is actually the last audible dialogue, anything Qrow tried to say being silent with only music playing. It’s a depressing and somber note, and that’s where our Volume ends.

But there is more to say, of course. First of all, let me wipe away these tears and try to articulate how good the song for the end credits is.... It’s called Friend, and for the first time it is a song sung from Penny’s perspective. It sounds absolutely sweet and magical, like you’re peacefully flying through a cloudless starry sky, and she sings about how glad she was to have true friends like Team RWBY, especially one like Ruby. Even if her life was difficult sometimes, she’s very happy because it was as wonderful as a wish upon a star come true. I cannot lie, I start crying every five seconds as I try to write this. It’s probably going to be my favorite track on the soundtrack this summer. With the conclusion of the Volume I want to say how much I appreciate every bit of work every member of the RWBY cast and crew put into this season and this show. I cannot wait to see what wonderful things they do next.

Hark! There is one final scene! A mysterious tropical island with a massive tree in the center and strange hexagonal shapes in the sand, and just beyond the reach of the tide lies wedged in that sand... Crescent Rose. Team RWBY and the others are alive, but we’ll have to wait 5 months to find out where they have found themselves. My money is on a magical godly realm where we might learn more about the creation of Remnant. Until then, enjoy the last of my memes and any other shitposts!

#rwby reviews #rwby volume 8 finale #salem #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #penny polendina #winter schnee #neopolitan #cinder fall #james ironwood #arthur watts #robyn hill #qrow branwen #harriet bree #vine zeki #elm ederne #tw: character death #tw: assisted suicide #marrow amin #willow schnee #whitley schnee #klein sieben

[theflashdriver]

Guardian (A Silvaze Fanfic)

For as long as Blaze had known him, Silver had always been an overprotective person. Outside naiveté and obviousness, the hedgehog’s strong sense of justice and want to make things right were his strongest traits by a wide margin; he’d take far countless burdens upon himself of both miniscule and galactic proportions. Even with the future saved, even though he was now living peacefully in the Sol Dimension, that fire had never truly left his heart. His protective passion had merely been lying dormant, searching out something new to focus upon. Well, starting around three months ago, it’d found its new target.

Blaze the cat, the queen and guardian of the Sol emeralds, was lounging atop a floating couch formed from pure psychic energy; being paraded around the library she’d once freely walked. Silver the hedgehog, the king and co-guardian of those aforementioned emeralds, was pulling book after book from the shelves in search of a tome she’d requested, constantly glancing back to make certain that she was comfortable. Psychic aura had begun to flare in an effort to expedite the process; books were being tugged from shelves, held to his eye, and flung back when they were found to be incorrect.

He was being silly, the feline was more than capable of seeking out the book for herself but, truth be told, she was enjoying this little display. Beads of sweat were gathering upon his brow; Silver had only been searching for ten or fifteen minutes but he was clearly worried that he was taking too long. It wasn’t as though they were in a rush and the book was hardly that important, it was just another addition to their ever-growing pile of baby-related literature, but he was seeking it out with the same fervour he’d used to pursue Iblis. This was all so mundane, but Blaze couldn’t help taking joy in it.

“Are you sure we’re in the right section?” He managed to ask, raking ten books from a shelf only to just as quickly throw them back, “We’re getting close to the end.”

“It’s here somewhere,” She cooed, reclining deeper into her floating chair, “I’m certain it was around this section.”

That was all the convincing he needed; Silver doubled his efforts immediately. Books from even higher up began to tumble but refused to contact the ground, encased in psychic cyan light. He threw glances in every direction, knowing instinctually when a book was hovering at his side. To put it plainly, the hedgehog was putting far too much effort into a relatively simple task.

The royal library was quiet today, devoid of visiting scholars and legal practitioners, but it’d been that way for a while now. Certain recent events had caused activity within the palace to slow and work-based visitation to greatly diminish. Well, it wasn’t as though the childcare section was usually bustling with life (in fact, they’d found it quite dusty upon their first visit) but the more complete calm of their surroundings had made their literature reviews far easier. Nowadays they couldn’t leave the palace without someone prying into their lives. It’d been years since life was last like that.

He froze in place, eyes darting twice across a single cover, before it was snatched from the air and presented to her, “Is this the one? The cover’s just like you described it.”

The hedgehog had produced a tome medium in size, only around one hundred pages long and (if she recalled correctly) filled with pictures. Its cover art depicted an array of cartoon fruit and vegetables tumbling free from an overfull mixing-bowl. Now that she’d seen the title, she immediately recalled her frantic flip-through a month ago; Nutrition and Newborns. This was indeed the book she’d requested.

She didn’t take the book immediately; instead, she leant in and beyond his outstretched hand, allowing her lips to weave their way onto his cheek, “Thank you, Silver.”

They’d been married for years and had of course performed acts far more intimate than such a tiny kiss, but watching his blush grow in response to her tenderness had rather become one of Blaze’s pastimes. As the book left his hand, it came to cup that very cheek while his prior beaming smile transformed into a more crooked, embarrassed, grin. He was still so plainly love-struck; rather recently she’d caught him in the wee hours of the morning, rubbing his wedding band and throwing her supposedly sleeping form all manner of tender glances. They’d been married for years but that reality still seemed to surprise him. Well, given the lives they’d lived, he could hardly blame him for feeling that.

“Do you want me to find anything else, do any others come to mind?” He asked, “I could go back through this section, see if we’ve missed anything good?”

“Perhaps later, this will do for now,” She attempted to quell his eagerness, “Let’s take things one book at a time, we’ve still got a few months after all.”

He smiled at that, almost daydreaming as the last books jumped back onto their shelves, “Yeah, just a few more months…” Silver reached up, she quickly took his hand.

Rather than simply float her, it was almost as though they were walking together; he led her back through aisle upon aisle of books to their little workspace. The worn couch and low table rather stood in stark contrast to their surroundings. While the royal library was filled with exquisitely crafted dark-wooden fixtures and floored with a deep emerald carpet, their table was formed of wrought iron and pale driftwood (crafted by Marine the raccoon herself) while the couch had more than a few patches sewn into it but was, mostly, wrapped in a soft red material. Truthfully, getting furniture that better matched their surroundings would have been easy, even if Blaze hadn’t been the queen, but the pair rather loved those mismatched pieces. Those out of place furnishings reminded her, and surely him, of their childhood amongst the flames but not the chaos tied to it. This spot reminded Blaze of ramshackle homes made in prior libraries, schoolhouses and musty old churches, their sanctuaries within a dangerous world.

The feline felt herself turn in the air, her hand slipped from his as she was gently lowered onto the couch; his psychic chair dissolved from the bottom up as it made contact with a real one and left sitting on the couch’s left side. Silver didn’t join her on it though; instead he stood on the far side of the table, concern still plain in his eyes. Knowing what was coming, her mouth curled into a small smile.

“Do you want more pillows or a blanket or…” Silver scrambled for more things to offer. He was trying so hard already, she felt lazy but so very cared for, “Something to eat, a drink…?”

He wanted to help so badly; Blaze felt herself grow softer still. She wanted to give him something to do, “We could take tea and read this together?”

“I’ll make a pot of decaf and hurry back,” He promised, beginning to turn away, “Are you sure that’s all?”

Ah yes, they had to cut back on caffeine… well, only she had to, but he wasn’t willing to let her face that alone. She was well beyond vomiting every morning, but cravings still lingered. The mere consideration of her common cravings caused one to spike.

Pinning her gaze to the book and trying to act nonchalant, she posited, “Perhaps a little bit of chocolate.”

Silver halted. He reached into his back quills and, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, produced a small, unopened, chocolate bar. Without so much as blinking, he presented it to her.

When he, eventually, noticed her befuddled expression, Silver simply smiled, “It’s your most common craving and I don’t like leaving you uncomfortable so…”

She felt heat across her face as she gingerly took the bar from him. Her eyes latched onto it, she could feel her tail flailing wildly, “Thank you, Silver…”

Was she really that obvious? Has she had this hankering that often? He interrupted her train of thought to reaffirm, “I’ll be as quick as I can, just shout if there’s anything else!” Before shooting between a set of bookshelves and towards the door, surrounded by psychic light.

Blaze slowly pulled back the foil and took a bite, but the taste did nothing to dispel her embarrassment. Her royal position had meant that, in this life at least, lots of people had tried to look after her, but none of them did it quite like him. Despite how oblivious Silver was to certain things, the hedgehog could notice the slightest of shifts in her disposition and pick up on things even she didn’t truly understand. Apparently, there were differences in the ways she purred and oddities in how her tail flicked but she’d be hard pressed to describe them. She supposed her cravings were far more obvious than those physical quirks, but it still seemed so bizarre.

Having eaten two of the bar’s eight total squares, the queen folded closed the wrapper and set it aside. She took up the book and scanned through the contents page: Foreword, Introduction, Nutritional-Timelines, Common-Mistakes, Weaning, Liquid-Foods, Solid-Foods and Additional-Recipes. Flipping through, only glancing, Blaze found that the wording was simple yet detailed, intended to be easily read but simultaneously informative. The illustrations also seemed helpful, they’d seemed rather useless on a cursory glance but, in hindsight, the feline needed all the help she could get with regards to cooking.

Before she could make a true judgement on the book’s quality though, the whir of psychic energy re-entered the room. She looked up from her book just in time for him to land in the exact spot she’d last seen him, tea tray in hand and a strong pillar of steam rising from a large pot. His quills had swept back to pin against his head and the sweat on his brow was plain. The kitchen wasn’t too far away but he’d plainly rushed, utilising far more of his power than he probably should have. The tea couldn’t have had more than a moment to brew; they’d have to leave it for now.

Despite this, Silver so very casually set the tray on the table and slunk around to sit beside her, “So, does it look alright? Anything interesting inside?”

“Well, it looks to be half nutritional guide and half cookbook; just like I remembered,” She responded, flicking her way back to the start and shifting to hold the manual between them, “I think it’s intended for slightly younger parents, but that just means it’s thorough and well detailed.”

The hedgehog shifted closer still, outer leg brushed outer leg, “So we’ll get a few new recipes out of it at the very least.”

With that, the pair begun their shared reading session; they quickly worked their way through the foreword and into the meat of the book. Her initial impression was proven correct, as she took in the nutrient-timelines, the information about baby’s requirements was handled gently yet informatively. Unfortunately, however, it was at this stage that Blaze noticed a change in her companion’s demeanour. The hedgehog wasn’t truly looking at the book, rather he was looking through and past it to what lay on the other side; a goofy smile had spread across his muzzle.

Knowing what was distracting him, Blaze rolled her eyes, but her smile grew further, “Go on, get it out of your system so that we can focus properly.”

Upturning the book and placing it upon the couch’s arm, Blaze gently raised the hem of her blouse. Her belly was revealed, still far from its full size but undeniably substantially grown. The royal baby was well on its way; the pyrokinetic feline was four and a half months pregnant. The father of her unborn child dropped to the carpet and began to tickle and brush his way through her white fur, plainly enamour by the growing form residing within her. Parenthood was so strange but it plainly excited him. Well, it excited them both, but he wasn’t literally attached to the baby twenty-four hours per day. He had to make his love known in more sporadic bursts.

They weren’t wandering into this blindly; they’d spent almost a year just questioning whether it was right to do. The life of a royal was one embroiled in politics and, even with the threats to their world long gone, the duties of a guardian were a lifelong burden. Working against that notion were their similar histories; Silver could hardly remember his parents and neither of Blaze’s had lived beyond her birth, their younger years had been wrung of relaxation by terrifying responsibilities. They’d been thoroughly enticed by even the notion of normalcy tied to parenthood. Their potential to give someone the comfort that they’d lacked had finally pushed them to decide.

Other factors had been considered of course, such as whether or how their inherent abilities would be passed on and the latent additional responsibility that would come with them. Silver’s powers were still an anomaly, unknown in origin and genetic nature, while Blaze’s had been consistently passed on for generations. Historically, her family’s powers had never mixed with another so, even as the baby grew inside her; they had no idea what would happen. It’d all been an almost blind endeavour that had, thankfully, come to bear fruit.

Blaze’s eyes closed as she felt his muzzle gently press against the bump and his fingers found her sides, “Hello there, it’s just me again.”

No response came from the baby bump, of course it didn’t, but that didn’t stop the hedgehog from listening intently. From her position it was difficult to make out Silver’s expression but from the way his ears had slightly flopped forward and the steady beating of his tail, Blaze knew this was exactly what he wanted. Despite the effort he’d gone to searching out that book, Blaze found herself forgetting their task as she looked upon him.

“I hope you’re doing okay in there, we won’t get to see each other for a while yet but I can’t wait,” He’d shifted slightly, letting his forehead press against the bump instead, “Your mum is doing wonderfully and I’m trying my best to help. I want things to be perfect when we finally do meet. Things are nicer here than they’ve ever been and we’re doing so much to prepare for you.“

Purrs broke past Blaze’s lips, their rumbling filling the quiet library. Her hand slowly came to mingle among his quills, gently rearranging them with no real purpose. Perhaps she’d braid them again tonight, their evening routine had rather changed due to their upcoming arrival. Where once they’d simply snuggle their way into bed, their journey to the land of the sleeping now took a few twists and turns. They always tried to do something before bed, considering that they’d soon be so much busier, they wanted to cherish such quiet moments. Massages would be given, books would be read, they’d play chess, watch a movie or she’d simply find herself playing with his fur.

Her touch caught his attention, the psychic’s eyes flickered up to her before returning to her midriff, “The baby’s right there, I can practically feel them, but it still doesn’t seem real…” Silver mumbled, leaning backwards and into her view, “I never really thought we’d get to…”

Words left unsaid resonated with Blaze’s very soul. One hand slipped from the depths of his quills to cup his cheek, “I wake up some mornings and question it myself, it almost seems impossible.”

“A-All of it does,” He managed to respond, “Even just being here, that weight being off our shoulders, is ridiculous. W-We’re safe, we’re comfortable, we’re together, we’re married…”

She could feel his wedding band as he brushed and rubbed the bump, hers was pressed against his muzzle, “I don’t regret a single thing, not a single moment.”

His eyes shot to meet with hers, “Me neither! I don’t at all, I just…” His head slumped into her grasp, seeking out her warmth, “Its been years since we settled, and I thought I had fully settled, but this it’s a step even further. This is normal, this is how things were meant to be; so very normal.”

She watched his tears begin to well and couldn’t help but smile. After all this time, he could still be so insecure, “Parenthood seems normal yet abnormal. We know it in theory and have our assumptions but it’s an all-new challenge, a brand-new adventure. No matter how we prepare, I’m certain something will surprise us.”

“We can read all we want but…“ As tears spilled panic came with them, “If I’m going to be a good dad I need to be even tougher than this,” He’d raised the back of his right hand to rub at his eyes, he was trying to hide his expression, “I-I shouldn’t be crying, there’s nothing to cry about, this is wonderful. I’m meant to be strong…”

“You’re still so naïve,” Refusing to let her hold be broken, Blaze thumbed away his tears. He managed to resettle in her grasp, “It’s just as you said; we were so on saving the future, neither of us thought we’d make it this far. You’re allowed to feel like this,” She promised, “We went through so much to get here, that’s why you feel this way. That and, well, parenthood scares most regular people. We’ve not lived the normal life we want for them.”

“You’re going to be wonderful at this,” He relaxed back into her touch, “You’re smart and strong and warm, you’ll do great,” He paused, as if unsure whether to ask his next question, “Do you think I’ll make a good dad?”

“Silver,” She sighed, shifting to cradle his head in her hands, “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, you’re going to be a fantastic father. The baby’s not even here yet you’re trying so hard. I can hardly imagine how caring you’ll be when they finally arrive. I doubt you’ll put them down for days.”

He smiled at that but concern still cut his brow, “I’m so excited but so scared, what if we have to fight again? What if they have to fight,” He fretted, leaning deeper into her touch. They’d of course discussed this in the lead up to her pregnancy but, while they’d decided they wanted a child regardless, Blaze had anticipated that worry returning.

“What if we did have to fight again?” She asked, knowing it was best that he finished his train of thought.

“I would, of course I would, but…” He struggled for the right words, “I just really don’t want them to. I don’t want them to have to do what we’ve done,” Fighting for one’s own life was bad enough, the pressure of fighting for whole worlds was terrifying. It was a fact they both knew, first-hand, “I want them to grow up safe and happy and peaceful. I want to be able to look out for them rather than whole universes.”

“Well, then you don’t have to worry about being a good dad, I know you’ll make a great one,” She promised, “You want them to be secure and loved, that’s what’s most important,” The queen insisted, “We’ve done all we can to make sure that they can live peacefully, more than any normal parents could have, even if that wasn’t our intent at the time.”

He’d slowly gone from kneeling to standing; his right hand had shifted to cover the top of her baby bump and the left had arrived to hold her shoulder. The echoes of his tears remained, but his smile was almost blinding. Slowly but surely, he leaned in and closed his eyes. His forehead met with hers as he began to nuzzle. Without a moment’s hesitation, Blaze returned that gentle contact.

Sweet nothings were murmured, her hands found his chest fur and soon they were freely kissing. They were gentle and brief kisses, little more than back and forth pecks, but Blaze could feel his heart in every single one. Silver’s defensiveness had easily led into softness; while he’d fight ferociously to protect others, he would also handle them with care. Blaze knew that she was going to be the sterner parent, she’d be the one to insist that they get out of bed or do their chores, but she was more than fine with that. It was in her nature, not his. For as defensive as he was, for as much as he wanted things to be just, he’d always been softer than her. Of course he was worried that he’d have to feign hardness, she hoped he’d never have to again.

Wispy words broke the quiet library air. She wanted to reassure him, even if she didn’t know what the future held, “We’ve done so much together; we can do anything together.”

“If we can manage something as impossible as this,” She felt his hand trace across his midriff, “Th-Then we can do anything.”

This intimate session could have lasted hours, perhaps even the rest of the evening, but it was interrupted by something neither of them had expected. As Blaze was leaning in again, the words “You’re such a softy” tumbling from her lips, she felt what she could only describe as a small fluttering inside her abdomen. It’d taken a moment to register but by the time the sensation repeated Blaze had realised what it meant. The baby was moving inside her, she’d felt their first touch.

Silver’s eyes had opened wide, “Did you feel that?” He half whispered.

No, they had felt their first touch. This was the quickening, the first tangible sign of life.

She managed a nod in response, her purring grew louder still as she shifted her hands from him and to her sides. Silver dropped back to his knees, returning to eye level with her swollen belly. Ever so gently, he returned his second hand to her form just in time for another flutter, “I-Is that what I think it is? They’re…”

“Y-Yes, I think they’re kicking,” She managed to stutter, closing her eyes in an attempt to focus on the sensation.

This was the first real sign, their child’s first real impact on their world. It’d been clear that they were there for a handful of months now, but they’d never acted; simply grown and waited. This was entirely new; excitement coursed through Blaze’s veins just as it plainly ran through Silver’s.

“Hey there little one, I’m sorry. Am I taking up too much of mummy’s attention?” He responded to her bump, gently rubbing small circles into her fur, “She’s just too lovely, I can’t help myself.”

Her child’s kicks having alleviated thoughts of silliness or feelings of embarrassment, Blaze also began to talk to the baby, “Or is it that I’m taking up too much of daddy’s time? Keeping him from playing with you,” She felt Silver’s eyes upon her and, emboldened, pushed further, “I did marry him you know; I do want to kiss him from time to time. I hope that won’t be a problem for you...”

Another flutter drummed within the feline; the unborn child could only be voicing their outraged. A snicker breached Silver’s lips and was quickly mirrored on Blaze’s own. Soon they were fully laughing; Blaze’s hands slipped to the pillows in an attempt to steady herself as Silver finally pulled away from her belly.

When she’d finally recovered, the hedgehog managed to respond, “I think we might have a problem.”

“Picking favourites already,” The queen jokingly scolded, gently combing through her white fur, “You know, I’m the one carrying you around; he only insists on carrying me because he’s scared that you’re making it hard for me to walk. Your dad can be so overprotective. He’ll go out of his way to solve the smallest of problems, even when there are far more pressing issues,” She was almost chiding him, though she was doing so purposefully, “But I like that about him. He’ll always look out for you, just like I will.”

No further quickening was felt but, in its wake, Blaze couldn’t help identifying a tender calmness that had overcome Silver’s disposition. He managed to make his way back onto the couch beside her, almost dissolving into the floral material.

Bright yellow eyes collided with her amber set, “Did that really just happen?”

“If it’d only been me here, I don’t think I’d have believed it,” Blaze admitted, “I’d have told myself it was something else.”

He was beaming again but the combined endeavours of overly tending her, talking so deeply and observing the phenomena that was his child’s first actions had clearly exhausted him. Reaching just past the book, Blaze drew the chocolate bar and held it out to him. It took no more than a moment for him to understand, lean in and bite off the top square. As Blaze claimed a little more for herself, a blue bioluminescence engulfed the teapot and brought it to pour. The book was flipped open and gentle chatter ballooned to fill their little corner of the library as they shifted ever closer.

They were finally making their own future, no longer struggling to fix other people’s problems. Despite how unreal it all seemed, they were more peaceful than they’d ever had before.

#silvaze #fanfic #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #silverxblaze #fanfiction

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 29 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: One last temptation, and one last conclusion.

Notes: As this story draws to a close, I wanted to go ahead and thank everyone who's reviewed or even just read for their support. It makes my day, every day. 

I would like to thank a couple people in particular:  @baycitystygian, who read/commented over an early draft of the last chapter, @tanookikiss, who read/commented over several chapters, sometimes multiple times, and finally, most particularly, @planet-neun, who offered suggestions and advice (particularly on the final sex scene) on nearly all drafts from chapter six onward, and endured my various complaints and concerns over this story with an unfathomable amount of patience.I would also like to thank helena_s_renn over on Rockfic for her sticking with this story this entire time and providing amazing feedback every single chapter and step of the way.

         He was back at his parents’ old apartment, watching T.V. Same station, different airing. Hollywood Squares instead of Neil Armstrong. Paul Lynde rattling out some campy zinger. Beyond, in the next room, he could hear his mother on the phone, her tone low and worried, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying.

         Marbas was sitting next to him again on the couch, languid, nearly casual. No pretenses, no masks of Julia or Carol or any of the dozens of other girls who’d wandered in and out of his life. Paul tried to focus on the T.V. set, only daring to look at Marbas in fleeting, sideways glances, as though full acknowledgement would be too much to bear.

         “You took your time,” the demon said simply.

         (i guess it’s done now)

         “If that’s what you’d like.”

         (carol said—)

         “My powers are hardly dependent on a child’s understanding. You performed the ritual. But the end result is up to you, Stan.”

          (i’m going back to normal)

          (i’ve got to)

         “Why?” Marbas didn’t look surprised. Those yellow eyes were glinting with nothing but mild interest. “You took to the curse readily enough, once you saw what it brought you.”

         (i—)

         “I said you’d have been no different if you’d always been this way. I said you’d never have given yourself up to him. But I was wrong. You did all that was required.” His teeth glistened with spit. “You enjoyed it. You could keep enjoying it.”

         (i don’t—)

         “What’s a body to you, Stan? Something imperfect. Something to despise.” Marbas’ fingers reached over and lifted a curly lock of Paul’s hair, right at his temple. He felt the air on the remnant of his right ear, and cringed, trying to pull back. “Your insecurity makes you so malleable. What ties you to that other form? Nothing but familiarity. You’d be anyone at all as long as it gained you favor.”

         (you’re wrong)

         (i’m not like that—i’m myself, i have a self, i—)

           “You hate yourself.”

           Paul didn’t answer.

           “I could give you less to hate.” Marbas’ human hand cupped the stub of his ear without actually touching the cartilage, just the surrounding skin, pushing against the side of Paul’s face, easing his line of sight completely towards the screen. Paul inhaled sharply, unable to turn his head away from where Marbas was tilting it. His eyes were fixed to the television screen in front of him, the image fuzzing out, becoming his own. His face smiling at him. Only his teeth onscreen were straight and white. The longer he stared, the more changes he noticed. Subtle ones. Nothing that made him unrecognizable, just pushed him past sort of attractive and maybe almost into beautiful. More delicate, symmetrical facial features than he really had. A better figure, one with an actual waist and ass to go along with the tits, and a thinner frame overall. The kind of girl that Gene would want to have on his arm. The kind of girl that Gene was used to having on his arm.

             (gene said he didn’t want a playboy playmate)

             (gene said he wanted me)

           “Are you so sure about what he wants?”

          (he proved it)

           “He slept with you once.” Marbas’ voice was low and strange. “Would he have done that in your old body? Would he have ever considered it?”

           (no)

           “What makes you think he’ll consider it now?”

            (because he)

           (because he said there might be something after, that’s why)

           “He couldn’t make a guarantee.” The words seeped thick as honey, sticky against his soul. Nothing he wasn’t aware of. Nothing he could fault Gene for. “I could make it for him.”

            (we completed the ritual. y-you said so.)

           “Take a closer look, Stan. You might find something that appeals to you.”

           The girl on the T.V. tugged a hand through her curly dark hair without hesitation, pushing it away from her face, back behind a perfectly normal right ear. Better than any result he’d ever seen in those cosmetic surgery leaflets. Confident. So confident. The way everyone else was. The way everyone else must feel, all the time, with nothing to hide, nothing— and part of Paul was horrified at his own aching desire.

             (but—)

             (you can’t, there’s no way—)

           “Do you want to try it?” Marbas didn’t wait on an answer. His fingers, still curved around the remnant of Paul’s right ear, began to stroke it. Paul’s breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts, and this time was different, this time the stub of cartilage was shot through with sensation. It felt like far too much, the tingling, prickling feeling radiating outward, across his face, slipping in deeper, past his skin, all the way to his bones. The sensation traveled down his neck, spreading all the way through his chest and limbs, leaving him gasping, crying out.

             (what are you doing?!)

             (please, please stop, it hurts, it hurts!)

           Marbas let go of him, hand returning to rest on the back of the couch. Paul could move again, and he reached with shaking, disbelieving fingers to his ear. The folded-over stub was gone. It felt just like his left ear. And there was sound, clearer than he’d ever heard before in his life, more encompassing, more surrounding. Almost too intense and vivid to be believed. The whir of the fan on the floor, the buzz of the T.V., even his mother on the phone in the kitchen sounded so much more distinct— he could hear what she was saying, though her voice was strange and low—

           (are you okay)

           as tears started to sting his eyes and drip down his cheeks. Oh. Oh.

   He wanted to get up, to play every record in his collection and find out what he’d missed, what subtleties he’d lost out on. Catch all those intricate melodies and sound layerings in a way he’d never, ever been able to before. He wanted to go to all the parties he’d been too afraid to attend because he couldn’t distinguish the conversations. He wanted to play his guitar. He wanted to go onstage and fully hear that crowd for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell Gene—

           (paul?)

           His mother was still calling out from the kitchen, oddly questioning. Couldn’t have been speaking to him. She never called him anything but Stanley. He ignored her, stumbling off the couch, one hand still on his ear. A glance down at his breasts only briefly dampened his excitement.

             (what about my family? what about my career?)

           Marbas didn’t answer, but Paul knew it in his heart. They’d be forfeit, or altered so heavily they might as well be forfeit. He’d never be able to see Ericka again as her uncle. He’d never be able to reconcile with Julia. Never even be a son to his parents.

           Then there was KISS. But a price had to be paid for everything, didn’t it? He didn’t think Ace would fault him over it, once he knew why. Peter, either, not really. And— and besides, if he made the choice, he wouldn’t just be getting a normal body. He’d get a normal relationship with Gene. Nothing under wraps, no open secrets. He could really be with Gene the way he knew Gene had to want him. Comfortable. Happy.

           His parents’ old apartment spun and dissolved to nothing, Marbas disappearing with it. He was lying on his side on a bed. It wasn’t his own, but it smelled faintly of his cologne. It smelled like Gene, too— Gene, who was beside him, a little worry on his face.

           Paul tried to say his name, but couldn’t quite get the word out, throat thick and heavy. His face was still wet, he realized.

           “What’s the matter?”

           His head felt like concrete, almost impossible to shake. He managed it, just barely. His fingers tightened around his right ear, hiding it from view, tracing helplessly across the cartilage. Gene reached over, touching his wrist.

           “Does it hurt?”

           Paul shook his head one more time. 

           “You sound… you sound so good, Gene.”

           There was nothing to hide anymore. He knew it. Nothing wrong with that ear at all, and yet Paul dug his fingers into his scalp anyway, tugging a couple curls forward to cover it before wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Gene’s expression softened.

           “I’m glad.” His lips met Paul’s, brief but warm. “You look even better.”

           Paul glanced down reflexively. He was in a black, lace-encrusted teddy. He’d barely glanced at those when he’d looked through the lingerie section of the boutique. Not just because of the uncomfortable-looking clasp at the crotch, either; he knew a teddy was all wrong for the way he was built. Even as a girl, he had a certain boxiness to his figure, his breasts the only thing of consequence really breaking up his torso. Now it was different. He filled the lingerie out properly, the thin fabric clinging to every newly-pronounced curve. His waist was smaller, and the bit of stomach fat that had carried over so hatefully from his male body had evaporated entirely. 

           He ran his tongue across his teeth. They were straight, perfectly even. His hand shifted from his hair to feel around his face. He couldn’t really tell a difference there without a mirror, but that didn’t matter much. The rest of his body had given him a damn good idea. He looked like the girl on the T.V. 

           Beautiful. Whole. He’d never been either of those things before, not in his entire life. 

           “You haven’t gotten used to it yet.”

           “I—no. I-I guess not.”

           “Does it bother you?” Gene didn’t elaborate, and Paul wasn’t sure how to answer. 

           “Being like this?” Paul hesitated. He didn’t know how to put it into words at all. He didn’t feel badly about it; he couldn’t possibly. This had to be the ticket, more bafflingly generous than he’d ever be granted otherwise. He’d—he’d gotten elevated. He’d be someone else entirely now. Not just physically. He’d throw off all the insecurities and neuroticism that had plagued Stanley Eisen and Paul Stanley, because all the reasons for them had disappeared. He’d be the person Gene had to want him to be, in and out of bed. He’d be better to everyone this way, even to himself, especially to himself. He’d be happy.

           “Yeah.”

           “No. It doesn’t bother me.”

           Gene started to smile.

           “Okay.” He snapped one of the drooping straps of the teddy. “Might wanna get dressed sometime. We’re supposed to be negotiating your advance from Casablanca today.”

           An advance from Casablanca. So Gene had gotten him in somehow. Gene and all the guys, probably. A solo deal. He’d still be able to sing. He’d still have an audience, even if he never got the crowds he had with KISS. Even if none of them ever did. Paul’s stomach cartwheeled with his own selfishness.

           “You’d… you’ve done all that for me?”

           “It wasn’t that hard. We got all the songs you’d started, made some demos… Bill thought you were great.”

           “He always has.” Paul watched Gene start to skirt a hand across his thigh, and he batted it lightly away before Gene’s hand could get between his legs. “Hey, I thought you said I should get dressed sometime.”

           “Sometime has about two hours of leeway. And you’ve got to get undressed first.” Gene’s hand wandered back like an unrepentant puppy, and this time, Paul let him get a grope in. Gene cupped his ass, not even half-contained within the teddy, fondling and squeezing it lightly. “... You sure you’re okay there, Paul?”

           “Yeah. I’m fine.” He hesitated. “Gene, things are good, aren’t they?”

           “Things are good.”

           “Things with us, I mean. I mean— you’re happy, aren’t you? You don’t resent—”

           “There’s nothing to resent.”

           Gene slid his hand up from his ass, slowly stroking his way up Paul’s back through the thin fabric. Paul closed his eyes, trying to relax into the touch.

           “But the band. I know I cost everyone so much money, not… not going back, you can’t say there’s nothing to resent when I pulled that kind of stunt—”

           “I know why you did it.” Warm, steady fingers massaging his shoulders, then urging him closer in. Paul found himself closing the rest of the gap between them willingly, helplessly, pressing himself against Gene’s chest. “It’s all right, Paul.”

           The words didn’t ease his mind as much as he’d hoped. Paul opened his eyes, shifting slightly, pushing a kiss to Gene’s mouth. Gene didn’t deepen the kiss immediately, a surprise, given how he’d been fondling him earlier. His hand just coursed up past his shoulders and neck, tangling through Paul’s hair. Not just stroking it the way he had before. He was trying to smooth and push it back, fingers inching towards his right ear. Paul jerked away with a start before Gene’s fingers so much as brushed against it. 

           Sorry was on his lips, but he couldn’t manage it. His face was burning. Gene didn’t look surprised at all, only resigned.

           “You always worry so much. You don’t need to anymore.”

           Paul didn’t say anything. Gene reached for him again after a bit, arm draping over his back. It should have been soothing, but it wasn’t. He knew too much. He understood too much. Paul’s gaze drooped down to the lace edging the bottom of the teddy, down further, to the long, tanned legs that were and weren’t his, and then he finally managed to speak again.

           “I haven’t changed at all, have I?”

           “Paul, what do you mean?”

           “Just what I said. I-I thought that… I thought I’d be better.”

           “You’ll get better. This is still new for you.” 

           Paul shook his head.

           “I got it all fixed.” His heart felt like it was being tugged and twisted, warped out of recognition. “I got everything fixed up and I’m… I’m still myself.”

           “Paul—”

           “It’s no good. I’m the same. Don’t you get it?” The pressure of Gene’s arm around him seemed lighter with every word out of Paul’s mouth, though he hadn’t moved at all. “It’s no good at all.”

           “Paul, wait—”

           “I don’t want it.”

           The last faint touch of Gene’s skin against his back faded into nothing. The whole scene melted out in front of him, Gene’s bedroom replaced again by his parents’ apartment, Marbas sitting beside him on the couch. His expression hadn’t shifted.

             (i’d be no different)

             (i’d be no good)

           “Would you have to be good for him?”

             (you don’t understand, this isn’t all about him)

           All his life trying to belong. All his life, knowing there was something he was missing, that he couldn’t hope to achieve but tried to snatch at anyway. Self-confidence he’d only been able to mimic onstage, draped in leather and feathers, done up in high heels and lipstick. Brightness he’d only been able to reflect, never possess on his own.

           None of that would come from just having this body. All the old foibles and fears wouldn’t be banished. They might even be magnified. A girl had a whole other set of worries, one he’d mostly been protected from. A whole other set of expectations he couldn’t meet. He wouldn’t be any more at peace with himself; he’d be struggling to put on in a dozen new ways and still find himself lacking.

           No magic pill. No wish upon a star, no becoming a real girl for him; it would still be skin-deep at best. He couldn’t erase the parts of himself he despised. There wouldn’t be any  inherent reinvention in getting a better body and guaranteeing Gene’s interest. Guaranteeing Gene’s love. And even that was only according to Marbas himself. No guarantees anywhere, that was what Ace had said. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t run away from himself.

           (that’s okay, stan)

           The words seemed to come out of nowhere at all. Not the T.V. screen, not Marbas, not his mother on the phone. That familiar, clear voice that enunciated everything so carefully. Gene. 

           Paul actually turned around on the couch, expecting to see Gene there. He felt stupid as he stood up, bare toes digging into the thin carpet, and started to look around the room, as if anyone but the demon was there with him.

             (gene?)

           (you’re okay)

           Gene had said that seven years ago, on a cold wintery afternoon, to some shy, fat teenage boy he must have brought along out of pity. He’d said it, and Paul had never stopped craving that reassurance, never stopped wanting Gene for it, the longing warm and heavy in his heart. He’d said that when Paul had nothing at all to offer him, not talent or money or a pretty face or a body he could’ve wanted. He’d said it, already knowing the worst of Paul, already knowing all the parts of himself he’d tried to keep hidden. All the parts he’d wanted to be rid of. All that, and Gene had still found something to accept.

           (you’re okay)

           The sentence draped over him like a boxer’s medallion, empowering as a mantra. There was a fullness in his chest, in his throat, that for once, even his own neuroses couldn’t break through. Though he wasn’t enough for himself, he’d been enough for Gene all that time ago. He’d be enough for Gene now, even if they never slept together again.

            The demon finally spoke up from the couch, lifting his head to look at Paul. His amber eyes were unreadable.

           “He’d take care of you if you stayed this way,” Marbas said quietly. “He’d take care of you the rest of your life.”

           The air in the room was suddenly swelteringly thick. Like those dirt cheap hotels and motels down South, from before they could afford places with air conditioning. For a brief moment, he thought he felt Gene’s hand brush against his face.

             (he already does)

           (he already will)

  --

           Gene lay there with Paul’s head resting on his chest. Paul didn’t move at all for a long time. His breaths were so rhythmic and perfectly even that it was eerie. An enchanted sleep.

           Gene remembered the old monster movies he used to watch on T.V. as a teenager. The Wolfman, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, all that. The frame-by-frame shifts from human to creature and back again. It was probably going to be profoundly bizarre, and in a way, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch—but on the same token, he didn’t want to leave Paul alone, in case the transformation ended up hurting him.

           So still. After half an hour without any change, Gene gingerly sat up. Paul’s head lolled back; his whole body seemed boneless. Gene rustled a bit, struggling to pull some of the covers they’d been laying on over them both, deciding Paul’s dignity was more important than his own curiosity. Gene wrapped an arm back around Paul, and kept waiting.

           Almost over. Gene wasn’t sure how he’d feel. No. No, that wasn’t quite true anymore, if it ever had really been. Drawing the contours of Paul’s face had solidified what he’d already known, deep down. Paul didn’t resemble his sister nearly so much as he resembled himself. 

           Paul shifted, finally. Those fidgety movements he had always been prone to in his sleep, like those nerves of his never really got a moment to ease up. He’d nudged his knee against Gene’s thigh. He was mumbling under his breath, something Gene couldn’t decipher. His eyes opened.

           Gene’s stomach felt like it was dropping to the floor. God, Paul’d woken up without turning back at all.

           “Are you okay?” But then, staring at the blank look in Paul’s expression, the total lack of response, Gene realized he wasn’t awake, for all his eyes were watering up. “Paul?”

           He started tapping Paul on the shoulder, then squeezing his hand. No response. Paul’s eyes shut just as quickly as they’d opened—Gene wiped at them with the back of his hand—head slouching to the side, face pressed against Gene’s shoulder, the pressure burning hot and suddenly strange. For a second, Gene almost swore he could feel the shift of bones against his arm, the gradual, weird sensation of stubble scratching against his shoulder, before he fell asleep himself, into a nap as short and dreamless as any other.

  --

           He woke up to exactly what he’d expected. Paul was still lying there beside him. His breaths against Gene’s skin were natural now, not that almost metronomic regularity. Gene didn’t even have to move the sheets to know he was back to normal. He still had an arm around Paul; he could feel the difference just in the width of his shoulders. Paul had moved more in his sleep, too, facedown against Gene’s chest again, the scruff on his chin and jawline insinuating itself there, all smoothness gone. He thought he’d mind that much more than he did.

           Instead, he just reached over with his free hand, tentatively stroking his fingers through Paul’s curls. He was going to have to dye his hair again before the tour, Gene realized mundanely; the jet-black had started to fade out around the roots to his natural dark brown. He’d probably been meaning to get a touch-up right around the time he’d been cursed. Paul was like that, noticing flaws way before anyone else did.

           Paul was like that.

           He started to stir right around the time Gene’s fingers caught and tugged against a tangle a little too hard. Slowly, with a small grunt, Paul raised his head off Gene’s chest, turning to look at him, eyes half-shut and squinty. The slightly softer, more delicate female face Gene had woken up to for the last several days was gone. In its place was Paul’s face as he’d known it for eight years now. Paul as he really was.

           “Welcome back.”

         Paul opened his eyes fully. For a second he didn’t quite seem to react. Gene watched as he threw off the covers and looked down at himself, tracing a trembling hand down the right side of his face, then his flat, hairy chest, breaths hitching as his fingers coursed over one hip, to his stomach, finally to his cock, confirming it was all there. Everything restored.

         He didn’t quite expect Paul’s arms around him, tugging him in tight, inadvertently pinning him against the bed. Broader, stronger arms than what he’d gotten used to lately. No softness to his chest. Less give overall. The pressure was so different, different but familiar. The scent of him, too. He wrapped his arms around Paul in return, almost on automatic, his fingers making small, brief circles against Paul’s skin. The side of Paul’s face was buried against Gene’s neck, and he was still breathing hard as he spoke.

         “Gene, Gene, w-we did it. We did it!”

         “We did it.”

         “We—we can go on tour. I can go see Ericka, Gene, I… you don’t know how much this—I don’t know how to… how to thank you.”

         “Nothing to thank me for.”

         “There is. You’ve got no idea. You wouldn’t believe it. I can’t…” Paul shook his head rapidly, his hair brushing Gene’s lips. Guileless in his own relief. Like it still hadn’t quite occurred to him that he was straddling him naked. “I couldn’t have gotten back without you.”

         “You could’ve.” Gene smiled despite himself. “Give yourself more credit than that.”

         “But it would’ve been awful.” Paul seemed like he was struggling for the right words. “You don’t understand. You made me feel… like I was all right. You always have. Nobody’s ever…” Paul stopped, shaking his head again. “You’ve been so good to me.”

         “I really haven’t—”

         Paul kissed him. The motion was quick, almost apologetic. Two seconds at best of Paul’s mouth pressed against his, the slight scrape of his stubble against Gene’s skin as he pulled back. It didn’t feel the same, being kissed by him. It wouldn’t be the same.

         “I’m sorry.” Paul seemed to realize it, too, abruptly climbing off of him and sitting up on the bed. Gene sat up, too, back against the headboard. “I know you couldn’t promise anything.”

           “Paul.”

           “I’ll just get dressed. I’ll call the guys up in a minute.” Paul hesitated, then swung his legs off the side of the bed. He didn’t get up, just sat there, running his fingers down his own arms and chest, as if he were cold or something, or else getting his bearings. Maybe he was just trying to feel around for himself, make positive there wasn’t any residual trace of that female body left—but Gene didn’t think that was all of it. 

         “Are you really going to leave it at that?”

         Paul stiffened. His eyes darted towards him, then back towards the covers. His teeth were sunk into his lower lip. Gene had seen that mannerism so many times. The fragility and insecurity that were a part of him, regardless of his body. No faith in himself. That was all right. Gene had enough faith for the both of them.

           “Leave it at what?”

           Gene scooted over until he was sitting next to him on the bed, bare feet on the shag carpet. He reached over, resting a hand on Paul’s thigh. Paul glanced at him again, quickly, hesitantly, before finally placing his own hand on top of Gene’s. The way he’d done in the car, on the way to Central Park. His hand was broader, larger, but just as warm, and just as much his as he laced his fingers between Gene’s. It still seemed to belong there. Even more when Gene turned up his wrist, to hold Paul’s hand properly in his, squeezing it tight.

         “I missed you,” Gene said. “I really missed you.”

         Paul shook his head, made a sound like a laugh. Trying to protect himself even now. It hurt to hear it. But his hand stayed clasped in Gene’s. He wasn’t pulling back. Gene would never give him a reason to, not now.

           “C’mon, I know you liked me better…”

         “I like you better happy.”

         “But I—” Paul swallowed. His expression was open, vulnerable. He looked like he wanted so badly to believe. He looked a little afraid. “I’m not what you want anymore.”

         “That’s not true.”

           “It’s true. I know it. I-I figured all along it wouldn’t turn out. I really did.” Paul took a breath. “I don’t blame you. I mean, look at me, I’m not—”

           “I’m looking at you. I’ve been looking at you this whole time. ” Those same big brown eyes, same slightly crooked chin and full lips greeted him as all those days ago on the front porch. The same soul. Gene let go of Paul’s hand, reaching out and cupping the left side of his face, tracing his fingers down from his temple to his jaw, to the pulse of his neck, all the way down to his flat, hairy chest. Everything he’d explored before. Every touch was different now, but the same warmth and want was spreading through him. It hadn’t gone away. Hadn’t faded. “I’m looking at someone I wanna be with.”

           “Gene—it’s just not gonna be like it was, you know that.”

           “I know that.” Gene moved his hand, tracing one nipple before sliding his palm directly above it. Paul’s heartbeat was pounding beneath his hand. “It’s gonna be better.”

           “I’m a lot less cute to wake up to this way.” Paul started to try and smile, mouth wavering. His brows were furrowed. For a second, he raised his hand like he was going to push Gene’s hand away, but instead it rested on top of it again, Paul’s fingers pressing down against the back of Gene’s hand. No full, heavy breast to squeeze and toy with anymore. “I-it’s a real bad trade-off. I’ll wear out all your razors.”

           “You’ll have to do better than that to talk me out of you.”

           Paul faltered, and he looked away. Gene let his own gaze shift from Paul’s face to his bare shoulder. No dress strap to fix anymore, either. But the same handful of small moles were still there, the rose tattoo just as sharp and clear as ever against his skin.

           “I’d… you couldn’t be seen with me, not… not like in the Park—you like that, don’t you, showing some pretty girl off, I couldn’t—”

           “I love you, Paul.”

           Four words. Four words he hadn’t managed before. Not in the basement, dancing to that old record. Not when he’d first kissed him at Studio 54. Not when he’d taken him home from CBGB. Not in the rowboat, and not those few hours ago when Paul himself had finally said it. But it had been true even then. He realized that now. Paul had his heart all along. 

           Paul was staring at him, eyes wide, color spreading on his face. Gene leaned in, fingers curving around his chin, meeting Paul’s parted lips with his own, nothing brief or cautious, but full. Trying to impart all he couldn’t manage to say, all that would spill over and be meaningless if he tried to give it words.

           At first, Paul only seemed to yield to the touch. But then his mouth pressed back against Gene’s, warm and wet, as his arms found their way around Gene’s waist.

           Each kiss felt more certain and firm than the last, each movement more fluid, their bodies fitting and molding against each other just as easily and naturally as before. Gene was swept up in it, almost overcome, every touch its own affirmation as he explored the contours of Paul’s body with his hands and mouth. So much to discover, now that he had more than that single chance to be with him. Everything that was and wasn’t new at all, there for both of them. Paul seemed braver now, too, steadier than he’d ever been. Far more sure of himself now that he was himself again. That physical disconnect Gene had only ever noticed in passing was gone.

           Paul tugged Gene back down with him to the mattress, both of them on their sides. Paul didn’t straddle him. He just held him there for a long time. Long enough that the cadences of their heartbeats almost seemed to match up; long enough that Gene could fully catch the scent of him, how it had changed. Still Aramis and the remnants of hairspray, but the musky scent of his sweat and body was markedly different, stronger and maybe a little earthier, almost, but plenty intoxicating. He breathed it in eagerly, letting himself get enveloped in Paul as readily as Paul was getting enveloped in him.

           The only other sound was the dull tick of the clock on the nightstand, until even that was interrupted by the phone ringing. Gene just made a grunting noise, too comfortable to want to move. Paul, though, scooted a bit, murmuring quietly.

           “It’s probably Ace. I told him I’d call him back.”

           “Let the machine get it.”

           “Nah.” Paul unraveled himself from Gene, reaching over him to grab the phone. The cord ended up draped along Gene’s chest. “Figure I’ve got plenty of good news for him. No tour delays, no summoning up demons or paying off witches…”

           “And no putting you in a cute costume.” Gene paused, amused glint in his eyes, pushing the phone cord behind him.. “Well, not onstage, at least…”

           “Not offstage, either.” Paul tapped him on the shoulder with the back of the receiver, His cheeks were going pink as he put the phone to his ear. “Hello? Ace? Yeah, I’m all fixed up. Yeah. No—shit, Ace, I just got back, I haven’t made sure everything’s…”

           As the conversation trailed, Gene shifted, one arm around Paul’s waist.  Paul smiled, and Gene felt Paul’s ankle catching his leg, tangling them back together, secure and warm in the shape of each other.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #gene simmons x paul stanley #gene simmons #paul stanley

[thirstyforred]

Wild Hungover ‘77 OCs & Lore 12/??

… Just lie down on the sidewalk with your tongue against the concrete till the whole world dissolves like an uncoated pill. Trust me, I just printed out my doctor’s license.

idk idc im adopting made up musicians from the ost as my ocs now, @cdpr meet me in the pit if you have something to say

Yanek “IBDY”, he/him

Yanek was a neighbor of Nyd in H11 in Watson, similarly to other kids in the block, the two of them would hang out, play basketball, and sometimes mess around with electronics

after Red Riders moved to the same floor as Nyd, they started also hanging out with Varhe - he would sneak them to clubs like Samurai Club or X&X st., and they would teach him electronics and help out with learning guitar and writing lyrics

in X&X st. they befriended Rüdeboi as well, the four of them grown close and started toying with the idea of starting their own project

they gave a small wild concert at NCRadioFest ‘68, basically, they put a generator and some amplifiers on the truck and played in front of it. They got caught by security and organizators pretty fast and this 'prank’ was part of the reason why Red Riders were banned from the event. But they managed to sell almost all copies of their demo Kumples

despite that Yanek managed to befriend some of the people actually working in various radios in Night City, and eventually started working as a producer for Morro Rock Radio

because from Watson it was quite a journey to his new place of employment by the end of the year he moved to H4 in Arroyo

in 2070 after being convinced by Varhe he competes in The Silverhand’s Battle of the Bands and won getting that sweet deal for his first album

Sabotage by IBDY came out in the first week of '71 and was mostly DIY recorded in his room apartment, with some extra guest writing by Nyd, samples by Rüdeboi, and basses by Varhe

the album got great reviews and IBDY’s eventually got his own program on Morro Rock Radio: Eeby Deeby Show

in '74 he put out another album, this one called Going Up or Down? and got snatched by Radio Vexelstrom to create a new show, supposedly less memetic and more serious, but it turned into Eeby Deeby 2.0 anyway and he got kicked out

he returned to Morro Rock, where he was doing mostly production, and started his own podcast on the Net, unfortunately still called Eeby Deeby

in '77 IBDY put out two hot singles promoting his new unnamed yet album, Who’s Ready for Tomorrow and Likewise

#wild hungover '77 #cp77 #idk what ibdy is supposed to mean but I like the elevator meme and can't pronounce things so it works for me

[mollymauk-teafleak]

A Stranger in a Crown (part one)

Thanks to my amazing beta readers @spiky-lesbian and @minky-for-short who came up with the premise for this AU!

--

Please consider leaving a comment! I work super hard on this 

Juno Steel has one night to pick the person who will become his betrothed, one night to pick the person who will save their planet and he will spend the rest of his life with. None of the choices offered appeal to him, he's exhausted with the expectations of being the crown princess.

But there is a potential suitor amongst the crowd that he hasn't met yet.

--

The only time Juno liked to see his reflection was when it was gazing back at him from the surface of the champagne in his glass.

Then it would always be shifting and changing as the bubbles rose to the top and burst like stars falling to the ground, only played in reverse. Then it would be the colour of old, faded gold. Then it would be small, shrunken down to the circumference of the flute in his hand, looking far enough away to not hurt him.

With such a blurry and indistinct reflection, you could be anyone. It all became so wonderfully hard to pin down. He couldn’t see the too large nose or the scar across the non functioning eye, the scowl or the lines at the corners of everything that told him he’d waited too long. He could pretend he wasn’t looking at Juno Steel at all but someone else, someone with a different life. Even the background became an abstract, watercolour, blotches of cream and gold and silver, pricked through by points of light. Anyone and anywhere. What a dream.

And when he remembered, when reality came crashing back in...well, there was alcohol right there.

“I’ll be watching how many of those you have,” his mother’s voice came from behind him, “Tonight is not the night to disgrace yourself, Juno, too much is riding on your performance.”

Juno set the flute back down, now holding dregs, back amongst its many twins on the table by the door, set so the guests didn’t have to spend a moment at the ball without a drink in their hand. Would that he’d be granted the same courtesy.

“It’s my ball, isn’t it?” Juno muttered, in too much of a dark mood to back down, “I can have one drink.”

His performance. It was that word that had set his hackles up, made him snap back at his mother when he knew the sensible thing would be to bow his head and keep silent, especially when she had that face on.

But it was true, wasn’t it? Tonight was the most choreographed event their tiny outer world had seen in years, more effort had gone into it than a freaking cabaret. And Juno was the star, not that he’d ever auditioned. But so much more was at risk, way more than a bad review, if he put a foot wrong tonight.

“You can have one drink,” his mother narrowed her eyes, that scowl settling into her powdered face and cracking it like a poorly made cake. She’d blame him for that too before the night was out, “One drink, out here. But if I see you so much as reach for a glass when you’re out there, where everyone can see you, after the way you’ve been behaving lately…”

“I know,” Juno said sharply, feeling his cheeks colour, shame burning in his chest, burning the fight in him to black, brittle shards that didn’t have a hope in hell of standing on their own, “I won’t...it won’t be like that.”

“Then prove it,” there was a note of triumph behind her voice, “Stand where you’re supposed to and wait for our cue. Like we actually rehearsed.”

Shoulders feeling heavy, Juno returned to his mother’s side, the enormous silken skirts of his ridiculous gown whispering as he moved, sounding like a hidden audience gleefully gossiping about him. Back in their allotted places, the three of them arrayed in a triangle. Juno and Sarah in front and, just behind, Benzaiten. As soon as Juno was back in place, his brother reached forward and took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze, the only comfort he could give right now. But it was something.

Juno held his fingers tightly in return and wished he dared turn his head to see him smile, the kind of smile that made him believe everything would be okay because Benten would never be far, no matter what happened tonight.

Except now, even that was running on borrowed time. And as that thought entered his mind, his hold on Benten’s hand felt like a desperate grasp, like trying to keep his grip on a rocky shore when the sea was trying to drag him out into fatal depths.

But the tides were moving and nothing could stop them. His mother raised her hand, dripping with gemstones, and attendants began moving at her wordless command. The enormous oaken doors in front of them creaked and began to move, their bulk inching forward. The noise of the party within went from muddy and blurred to clear, the music and voices untangling themselves and becoming separate sounds, the rich golden light flowing into the hallway. It all resolved itself, like a picture on a comms, becoming an enormous ballroom spread out like a tapestry from the balcony they walked out on. The chandeliers, fitted with genuine halogen bulbs, hung like watching spacecraft, illuminating the party attendants below, elaborately dressed lily pads bobbing aimlessly on a lacquered wood pond. It was all enormous, lavish dresses in rich materials, exquisitely embroidered suits and some garments that straddled the line between the two, every single one of them encrusted with jewels like beetles with fabulous carapaces. At the opening of the doors, the musicians paused and the directionless meandering stilled, hands that were reaching for glasses of wine or the tables of delicate canapes quickly returning to sides. All eyes turned upwards and the cameras began to flash.

The herald drew herself up and, rather unnecessarily announced for all to hear, “Her Majesty, Queen Sarah, the Prince Benzaiten and the Crown Princess Juno.”

As if there was anyone in the room, anyone on their entire tiny outer world planet, who didn’t know who they were.

His mother, smiling benevolently with an expression whose falsehood could only be seen from up close, raised her hands in welcome and projected her voice through the ballroom, “I thank each and every one of you for your attendance tonight. Truly, we hope this will be a magnificent night that will change the future of our humble planet and secure a path to bigger and better things for all on Harpyia. With the long awaited selection of a spouse for my heir, your devoted Princess Juno, we will put the war behind us and move forward together. So! Welcome suitors, visitors and Harpyians. Welcome all.”

There was a polite clapping at the end of her pronouncement and more eyes on him, making his skin crawl. He tried to fix a regal smile on his face, like he’d seen his mother do, like he’d been practising in the mirror since he was eight, waiting for it to get easier.

Cameras flashed and there were appreciative murmurings as the party’s attentions fragmented again, dissolving back into little bubbles as the music started up again, flowing seamlessly back together as if there had been no break.

“Now,” Sarah turned and lowered her voice, talking only to her two children though her eyes were fixed on Juno, “You know what I expect. Smiles, light conversation and above all, get them on our side. This is a ballroom full of wolves, my little monsters, and tonight is the only chance we have to turn them into wolves on our side. So charm them, however it takes. And Juno?”

Juno lifted his eye from the floor, already knowing what was coming, “Yes, mother?”

“Pick one,” Sarah said through gritted teeth, “Or I will pick one for you. This is your last chance.”

Pick one, Juno thought miserably. Pick one set of those eyes to have to live with, to own you, to spend the rest of your days hiding from while sharing their bed. Become a china doll, sitting on their mantle. And pick correctly or Harpyia is done for. Our mines are empty, our seas and skies are poisoned, our people are dying, the much larger planets that circle us are watching hungrily, ready to fight over what scraps of meat remain on our bones.

Save the planet. And doom yourself. But for the love of god, do it right.

“Yes mother,” he murmured.

The queen’s words followed Juno on his circuit of smiles and platitudes like the train of his ridiculous gown.

This is a ballroom full of wolves. And he was the bait.

They were all here, he could find their faces in the crowd with very little effort, they stood out like pins pushed into a map. All his suitors. God, he hated that word. And by the time this ball was over, he had to pick one of those pins and follow it, to whatever depressing end.

They went on a sliding scale, these people who were courting him or being forced to court him by parents somehow even more demanding than his own. From very bad ideas all the way down to abominably bad, borderline suicidal ideas.

One of those was eyeing him from across the dancefloor and, when Juno noticed, gave him a smile of the kind a Halloween decoration might give. That was the only kind Cecil Kanagawa was capable of.

The tricky part was that Cecil actually seemed to like Juno, or at least his own twisted version of that. They’d known each other for some time, his mother and father’s kingdom was closest to their own, their planet hanging in Harpyia’s sky like another moon. They’d also eyed the queen’s throne with more hunger than most dared. It was rumour so widely accepted that it wore a fact’s clothes that it was the Kanagawas who had sent the assassin that had almost claimed the Steel twins’ lives when they came of age. Almost. Would have succeeded, too, if Juno hadn’t woken up to see the figure holding the blaster to Ben’s forehead and been stupid enough to launchhimself at them without a second’s thought to call for the guards.

Though the queen had been paralytic with rage, there had never been anything to tie that figure to their neighbours in the sky, and the assassin had become a corpse before they could give up the name of their employer, thanks to the letter opener Juno had shoved through their neck. It was all courtroom gossip, nothing their guard could do to make it solid and graspable.

But still, the hollow socket Juno had been left with after that night always ached when he looked at Cecil.

Juno quickly stepped into a circle of the rich merchants who ran the banks of their capital city, subjecting himself to the most boring and vaguely sickening conversation just to get away from those eyes and that smile, the deranged potential future husband standing across the room, dressed like a murderous peacock.

The men, whose names Juno really should have known but couldn’t extend the mental effort to track them down, acknowledged him politely and congratulated him on his upcoming betrothal but immediately dismissed him afterwards. Juno was used to that, most of the queen’s important subjects, those who sat her various councils, saw him as less of a son and more of a colourful pet who’d been perched on her shoulder since he was born. Good for generating interesting gossip and very little else. It had always been the same, ever since he’d started shadowing the queen. They still looked at him like he was a prettily dressed toddler, made to be cooed over and complimented and indulged with gifts but nothing more.

Juno would wonder how his mother ever expected him to rule them after her death and then remember, depressingly, that of course she didn’t. She expected his spouse to do that.

He’d proven he couldn’t be trusted.

Speaking of which, the bankers were all well into their cups, carelessly dripping wine worth more than most of their workers would see in their lives onto the floor as they guffawed over their own cleverness. The smell of it, acrid and heady and so goddamn tempting, made the constant, prickling thirst in the back of Juno’s throat flare up even worse. He excused himself politely and quickly, to none of their notice.

Juno went into autopilot for a while, circling through a seemingly never ending parade of half familiar faces and identical conversations of no substance, fake smiles and laughs like puffs of cotton candy, sugary with nothing inside. While his facial muscles moved, his eyes scanned the room for Benten, catching glimpses of him occasionally, as ensnared in the net as he was. He knew tonight was too important for any of their games but it was still some small comfort to know his brother was just over there, going through the exact same hell he was.

After a while of this, his mind wandering behind his mask, a voice far closer and far more aware startled Juno into something more like being awake.

“Having fun, Your Majesty?”

Juno turned to see a smiling, well lined face, a sharp suit, a simple cocktail held lightly in one hand.

“Jack,” Juno relaxed a little, turning to face him so the two of them were a little ways apart by the table of desserts, as private as two people could be at a function like this, “Not exactly.”

“I can tell, son,” Lord Takano- Jack to Juno and Ben since they were little kids- chuckled wryly.  He must have seen the panic in Juno’s eye for he quickly added, “Only because I know you. Your mother will be none the wiser, you’re the image of a perfect princess.”

Juno gave a mirthless laugh at the irony of that, hand reaching automatically for a glass of champagne before drawing back, “Yipee for me.”

Jack’s seamed face softened in sympathy, “I know, kiddo. I know this night isn’t your idea and, believe me, your mother and I did everything we could to try and find another way…”

Juno didn’t doubt that. Lord Takano was the queen’s closest advisor and had been for as long as either of the twins could remember. He’d been by her side all through the war and had been the loudest, firmest voice in setting Harpyia back on its feet in the aftermath. Juno, also stuck in those seemingly endless, seemingly depressing meetings, was always glad that Jack was there. He was sometimes the only person in the room that spoke sense, with the way he always put the people of their planet first and prioritised things that seemed actually important like schools, healthcare and housing. On the very rare occasions Juno was allowed to open his mouth in those sessions, what came out was usually an agreement with whatever Jack had said. That often earned him a warm smile from the lord himself and a look from the queen that was hard to parse.

“I know you did,” Juno grunted, not meaning you both.

Jack’s smile turned fond, the kind Juno imagined from streams and stories that parents were supposed to look at their children, “I know you’ll do what’s right, kiddo. The whole planet’s proud of you.”

Juno thought viciously that he didn’t care about the planet being proud of him. He’d have settled for just one person on it in particular. Then he felt horribly guilty and chastised himself, turning his eye to the floor.

“Hey,” Jack gave him a smile, leaning in and opening one side of his jacket, pulling out an elaborately carved silver flask, and passing it to Juno, “Our little secret, eh? Your mother doesn’t have to know.”

Juno hesitated but after his eye glanced up to Jack’s, seeing warmth and the knowingness that he’d always respected, the one that had always reassured him, he reached out and took a lightning fast swig, chasing it with another. He didn’t even know what it was but it had a foggy burn to it that made him not care. It put some distance between him and the room.

“Thanks,” Juno returned it, feeling the loss as he made his fingers uncurl, “I needed that.”

“I’m your mother’s advisor and one day, god willing, I’ll be yours,” Jack grinned, “I’m very well practised at giving you Steels what you need. What do I always say, after all? It’s a fact…”

“I can count on Jack,” Juno finished, feeling a little silly parroting their childish mantra but it made him smile, “I’d better get back out there…”

“Of course,” Jack nodded, “Sensible, Juno, as always. Best of luck, kiddo.”

Juno gave a grunt that could have been a laugh in the right light, moving away with a macaron in hand in case anyone might wonder what they’d been doing over there for so long. Jack’s words echoed in his mind like they were a part of the thrumming music filling the ballroom.

Juno didn’t need luck. If he had a scrap of that, there would be some fantastical deus ex machina that would swoop in and pluck him out of this situation, freeing him from the current that was dragging him into a future he didn’t want, snipping the strands of the spider web that was holding him. And somehow manage it without dooming his planet to being pulled apart by greedy kingdoms or more war and splintering his family into the bargain. The best of luck would give him that, what he wanted but knew he couldn’t need.

Juno swallowed the lump in his throat and plunged back into the crowds, clinging to the taste of whatever had been in that flask.

“You’re dragging your feet, little monster.”

That was the only thing the queen said to him, whispered in a hiss to his left ear as she passed him by to another gaggle of cortiers, to smile graciously and tell them how proud she was of her dear princess.

And she was right, Juno knew that. They were an hour in and he hadn’t approached one of his suitors. In fact, he’d been actively circling away from any of them that came near, feeling like a pinball in one of those old arcade games, bounced from side to side in a colourful contraption, an instant away from getting hurtled off course at any moment. The ball was likely to last into the small, grey tinged hours of the morning, when the decorations had wilted to loose petals and the hangings pooling on the floor, but every moment counted tonight. And Juno was deliberately wasting those moments.

He stifled a sigh and tried to take stock of his options. Cecil was dancing with his twin sister, the two of them looking eerily beautiful and eerily identical. Marrying Cassandra wouldn’t have been so bad, Juno supposed, she didn’t have the sadistic streak her brother did. Just the baseline narcissism, psychosis and ruthlessness that came standard amongst the Kanagawas. If not for those five minutes that made Cecil the oldest and by law the heir to everything that came with the surname. Juno knew damn well how scant minutes between births could cause a hell of a lot of trouble.

Not that their stepmother wasn’t keeping her options open. Juno couldn’t help but notice she’d been sending Cassandra in his direction at previous balls similar to this one, going so far as to somehow get them locked in a closet together the last time he’d been forced into a stiff, awkward diplomatic meeting at their palace. Juno’s panic attack had soured the seven minutes in heaven mood somewhat, at least Cassandra had been apologetic.

There were a few more in the line up,l heirs from neighbouring planets rendered as exhausted by this life as Juno himself. Most of them with blank eyes, the telltale sign of normalcy being a paper thin mask, the person behind it just waiting for the next fix of whatever they drank, injected or snorted to help them put one foot in front of the other.

Juno knew far too much about that. Looking at them, picking out faces he knew from parties the queen certainly hadn’t sanctioned that he'd had to slip out of the castle to attend, Juno felt old guilt and shame stirring in his stomach. Suddenly the hard won distance he’d put between himself and his demons didn’t feel like all that far. It felt like it could be covered in a single step, every inch he’d struggled for could be lost so easily.

So Juno kept his distance from them as well.

Which left him with one option. The only option he knew he could never take.

“We should, uh, probably go dance, huh?”

He’d finally tracked him down when he was standing by the band, swaying lightly to the music. They were finally playing a song he liked. His own damn ball and they didn’t even let him choose the music.

Juno gave him a tired, wayn smile but nothing in it said he wasn’t happy to see him.

“I think we’d better. Nice to see you, Lord Mercury.”

Mick pulled a face, shifting from one foot to the other, “C’mon, cut it out or I’m going to call you ‘your majesty’ all night.”

“Don’t you dare,” Juno grunted, taking his hand and walking with him into the middle of the floor.

Juno could remember when he, Mick and Ben had all been of a height, before they selfishly grew when he didn’t and left him behind. Now he had to crane his neck to look into his eyes.

Bartholomew Mercury had grown in a lot of ways, since the three of them and the captain of the guard’s daughters had been best friends, playing in the gardens around the palace. The sudden loss of his father in the war, propelling him into suddenly being the head of the biggest, most powerful family on Harpyia at just twelve years old, now having to manage his family’s finances, their power and having to awkwardly court his best friend at the insisting of his board members, it had changed him. He wasn’t the kid who’d told his stories about the dangerous and fantastical and heroic exploits his father was surely getting up to on the battlefield, all of them enraptured.

In a perfect world, Mick would be the answer to all of Juno’s problems. A good, rich family with Harpyia’s best interests as their motivators, plenty of creds to refill their lacking coffers, a long standing reputation for loyalty and patriotism. They wouldn’t need to sell themselves to a bigger planet, they could build themselves stronger from within. And Mick had a good heart, if Juno could be selfish for a moment and want that in his spouse. He was a goof and lived with his head in some story he’d made up himself but he could make Juno laugh and they cared about each other, still in the fierce, unbreakable way that children did.

It would have been perfect. If Mick had the good sense to fall in love with the right twin.

It had been the little things, at first. The way Ben had looked at Mick as he’d tell his stories, like the rest of the world had fallen away apart from him. It was the way Mick would make excuses to sit in at the end of Ben’s dance lessons and watch with much the same expression. It had been annoying at first, when Juno was too young to know what it all really meant, just a way his best friends were excluding him. It had been hard, realising that there was someone his twin needed more than him, but Juno had quickly made it part of his job in their late teens. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d distracted some servant or even the queen, knowing Ben and Mick were in some compromising position behind the twins’ bedroom door.

That was back when it had been fun and games, just two young nobles feeling stifled by their lives and finding some small joy in each other, spiced with rebellion. Him and Juno swapping clothes in the middle of parties to give them an excuse to cuddle up, Mick stealing up through their bedroom window on nights where Juno made damn sure to ‘accidentally’ fall asleep in one of the guest rooms.

And then the time for games had run out, the reality they’d all been ignoring coming collapsing back in on them when Juno had come of age, half an hour before Benzaiten. Such a small amount of time to make so much difference.

But Juno still did everything he could to give the two their time together. It was the least he could do, after all.

Even now he could see Mick’s eyes looking past Juno’s face, snagging on something in the background while they chatted mildly, joshing each other back and forth. When they spinned with the swell in the music, Juno saw exactly what he expected to. His brother, standing and watching them, not at all listening to the socialite he was supposed to be talking to. His expression broke Juno’s heart clean in two. Soft and sad and miles away. And accepting.

If Juno asked, he knew Ben would say yes. He’d tried to start the conversation a few times, in that fuzzy hour as they both fell asleep in the beds they insisted on keeping no more than a few meters apart. But Juno had stopped him every time, sharper than he’d meant to but he just couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear his little brother, his bright, smiling brother who’d gotten him through the worst years of his life and deserved only good things, he couldn’t hear him, out loud, give up the man he loved, had loved since they were ten, to keep Juno safe.

Because Juno didn’t want to feel the part of him that would long to let it happen.

“Mick, go dance with my brother already,” Juno let his arms fall as the song faded, speaking below the babble of the voices around them, “You’ve done your time.”

Mick bit his lip, a very unlordly habit he’d not been able to shake, “Aw Jay, you know it isn’t like that…”

“I know what it’s like,” Juno shook his head, straightening Mick’s tie where he hadn’t got the knot quite right, “It’s okay...just make it last for him, yeah?”

Mick swallowed a sigh and kissed the back of Juno’s hand, “I will.”

Juno found another partner within a minute, he was the belle of the ball as it were. But, as cruel as he felt, his eyes never stayed on their face for more than a moment because they were watching Lord Mercury and the prince share their dance. It was known throughout the court that they were boyhood friends, of course it was only natural that they should dance together, laughing and smiling as two young men at a party would.

Only Juno saw how Mick’s hand would brush Benten’s cheek as they moved between holds, over the scar there from when he’d fallen from one of the curtain walls on a dare. He saw how Benten’s long, graceful fingers played with Mick’s dreads as they swayed. He saw the myriad of subtle, tender gestures that were all that they could give each other even when they were so close, hearts beating side by side. It was beautiful and tragic all at once.

Juno watched, seeing what everyone else missed, even with one eye less than everyone else in the room.

A dance could last a lifetime, if you lied to yourself enough.

An hour shy of midnight. The ball was still in full swing, no self respecting noble dared yawn before it was technically the next day. The drinks kept being refilled, the plates of tiny desserts replenished themselves whenever you looked away, like fairies were working behind the scenes to keep the tableau as exquisitely crafted as anything from a stream or, hell, even a child’s picture book. This was a marathon of decadence, not a sprint.

Decadence Juno knew full well Harpyia couldn’t afford. Every meringue done up to look like a perfect cloud, every drop of wine rich as summer, was more gold that didn’t exist in the vaults. The queen may expect him to sleepwalk through the council meetings but Juno had long ago perfected the art of looking utterly bored while his eye missed nothing. Splendour was expensive but not nearly so much as war. The system wide conflict, the one that barely had anything to do with any soul on Harpyia, had taken great, greedy bites out of their creds, their resources, their populace. Larger planets with more corrupt governance could bear it quite easily but Harpyia was outer rim which meant small, beautiful and fragile. Not that this was spoken about, certainly not outside of the council chamber, but Juno could pick from the crowd who was really in the know by the vaguest hint of anxiety behind every sip of wine and every bite.

And in the way they looked at him, the formerly wayward princess who was going to save them all by lying down, opening his legs and keeping his mouth shut. As the night wore on, the jewellery that had been laid out beside his dress that evening, the bangles and cuffed earrings and strings of gold around his neck, started to feel like chains under those glances. The tiara, the one the eldest Steel child had been wearing for centuries, felt like a cage around his head. They could almost have been dragging on the floor as he tried to stand to the side and take a breath. Long, golden chains arching up into the ceiling and disappearing into shadows, someone unseen at the other end. His mother, the queen, the two sides of Sarah Steel that he often forgot was one person? Lord Takano, with his confidential smiles, playing at being his father from a safe distance, always with a flask on hand? The centuries of Steels who had come before him, all wearing that damned tiara, stretching back to when Harpyia was just a rock floating in space, content never to know the touch of human feet on its surface?

Or someone beyond even them?

Suddenly, all too fast, it was hard to breathe. Juno cursed silently, taking a seat on one of the long, satin pillowed benches that edged the hall. He bent his head as low as he could, under the guise of fixing a heel on his shoe, trying to breathe slowly.

Why did it have to happen like this, hitting him like a brick wall so he had no chance, like a sudden current grabbing his ankle and yanking him below the surface. It had always been like this when he would drink, feeling so loose and free one instant and his heart hammering against his ribs the next. Like he’d just stumbled wrong and fallen badly but there was no steadying himself.

Benten, where was Ben? Juno didn’t dare lift his head to look, just in case someone saw the panic on his face, the tears building in his eye. He couldn’t let them see, that would be the worst thing he could imagine, worse than if he’d drank three bottles of champagne himself and danced on the band’s stage. The off the rails princess narrative had been at least acceptable when he was younger, at least it had entertained the gossip streams for a while, but if any of them saw the very real cracks behind the dresses and the lipstick, the scars they couldn’t spin or monetize, then they would really be in trouble.

They’re all counting on you, he tried to tell himself to force himself to calm down, Ben, Mother, Jack, they’re all counting on you, all of them.

But it only made his lungs clench harder.

Juno could feel shadows creeping in around his already tilted vision, a taste like the gin in Jack’s flask but sharper, more metallic. He’d tried to sit apart but soon they’d hear, they’d hear his ragged breathing, whistling between his clenched teeth. They’d hear and they’d see and they’d know and everything would come crumbling down, everything he said he was caving in on itself like spun sugar. Pretty, sweet and utterly useless.

They’re counting on you, on you and if you mess up, if you ruin it, when you ruin it…

“Ma’am? Excuse me, are you alright?”

Juno thought he’d imagined it at first, how could there be a voice he didn’t know at this party? They were all the queen’s courtiers and servants, people he’d known all his life, suitors who had been circling since he came of age. How could there be a single voice he couldn’t place? A queen must know her subjects, he’d always been told that, he was good with faces and voices and names.

Juno looked up, remembering too late that he couldn’t let anyone see him like this, whether he knew their voice or not. But his face was so kind, too kind to look away, the way you couldn’t look away from a fire when you were cold down to your bones. He was young, Juno’s age, his eyes bright and alive in a way no noble born kid’s had ever been, his hair dark and looking impossibly soft. And he was smiling, gently curious, gently worried.

“Are you alright?” he prompted again, his voice softly accented in a way Juno couldn’t place.

“Yes,” Juno said quickly, realising how unconvincing it sounded, “Thank you, just…”

What could he say? Tired? Desperate for a drink? Ready to rip this ridiculous dress off at the skirt so his legs were free to run?

“Overwhelmed?” the man provided gently, lifting an eyebrow.

Juno swallowed hard but there was no judgement in the stranger’s gaze, “Yes...I suppose that would do.”

“We could step outside for a moment?” he offered, “Get some fresh air? It’s rather a lot in here, I do agree.”

Juno frowned, trying to make sense of this with his already exhausted mind. Didn’t he know? How was that even possible, how did anyone set foot on the palace grounds, hell on this planet, and not know who he was?

“I don’t know…”

His eye darted around the ballroom, quickly, not wanting to catch the attention of anyone else. The queen was dancing with Lord Takano, their faces warm with old friendship but Juno could tell at a glance they were in some kind of disagreement behind those smiles, a silent argument was taking place. They’d been fighting a lot lately. Benzaiten was carrying two drinks over to where Lord Mercury stood, chatting away to Sasha with his usual goofy smile, Sasha probably in the middle of exasperatedly explaining that she was supposed to be on duty tonight and couldn’t stop to chat. Cecil Kanagawa was talking to a pretty socialite whose expression was falling into poorly concealed disgust and fright at the exact same rate as he grew more animated and enthused.

He wouldn’t be missed for a minute. Just a minute, to breathe and settle himself again. Already he amassed excuses for the queen. He was preventing a bigger disaster, he was in the bathroom, he was integrating himself with this stranger, hadn’t she told him to win people to their side?

“You have some lovely gardens around this palace,” the man in question smiled, “Perhaps you’d like to show me them? If you have the time of course. I would hate to keep such a beautiful lady from his admirers.”

Juno felt his cheeks get hot at that, in a pleasant way. This man was exactly the type of person he’d try and snag at a party back in the day, tall and well dressed and a sharp smile. He’d been denied every other small pleasure tonight, every escape, why let them take this one too?

And he liked a mystery.

“I’d be happy to,” Juno stood before he could change his mind, making his stranger quickly straighten and step back, though not too far, “Just for a moment.”

He smiled, showing teeth that were more pointed than could be natural. Was he a journalist, new enough on the scene that he wasn’t included in Sasha’s dossiers yet? He certainly had the smile of someone who knew more than they should.

Juno took the offered arm, feeling very expensive silk with costly detailed embroidery. Far too nice for a gossip hungry shutterbug. He made for the large door but Juno shook his head silently and wove them a different way, one where they were less likely to be seen, slipping out from behind a curtain into a library, through the stacks to a much simpler iron door that led right out into the topiary.

“An impressive disappearance, ma’am,” the man smiled crookedly, eyes twinkling now there was moonlight to be caught in them, “Have I made off with tonight’s entertainment? The best magician in the solar system?”

He did know, Juno decided, smirking. But he was happy to play along, things would be so much easier if they were both strangers.

“Perhaps you have,” he shrugged, making his jewellery ring loud in the empty garden, “You should be flattered, I don’t often perform for private audiences.”

“Oh, my dear,” there was that smile again, sharp and almost hungry, “Just having you out here with me is flattering.”

Whoever he was, he flirted better than anyone Juno had ever met. His cheeks were getting warmer by the second.  

He did show him the gardens, they were something of a pride of the palace, it was boasted that they were the only gardens even more beautiful by night than by day. The flowers that grew here were all native to Harpyia, carrying the natural bioluminescence that seemed inherent to their flora. The glow on their bare skin shifted between blue, green, pale yellow and a starlight white as they moved between the beds that hugged the winding paths. The scent was light, not overwhelming but pervasive, it would cling to their skin for hours after. Juno told him everything he remembered about them, everything he’d read in a book or picked up by osmosis when he was running through them carelessly as a child, bothering the gardeners.

“Incredible…” his stranger breathed, the awe on his face clearly not an act.

“Wow,” Juno chuckled, “You really aren’t from here, are you?”

The smile that won him made the hair on his arms stand up, “I’m from nowhere, my dear. And this planet certainly isn’t nowhere.”

“No,” Juno agreed, eye flickering back to the facade of the palace, sharply lit by flood lights so the soft biological glow didn’t touch it, “No, it isn’t.”

He felt his stranger’s eyes on him, like he could tease out what was behind those words with a glance.

Juno quickly cleared his throat and pinned his smile back into place, “There’s a little grove just up here, it’s a nice place to sit.”

“Lead the way, my dear.”

It was a cosy, secluded area and the stranger certainly wasn’t the first pretty face Juno had brought there. It was all encased in a grand, natural archway of the climbing, ivy like plant of blue glowing leaves with five points like how a child would imagine the stars. The butterflies that made Harpyia famous would nest here more that anywhere else in the garden, wanting the shade and the peace as much as their princess seemed to. Sitting on the ivory bench at it’s centre had always made Juno feel like a decorative bird in one of those grand, old fashioned cages. Especially now, in this get up with all the gold and gems and the flowing skirts and the attachment at the back that was basically a cape for fancy people.

“Beautiful,” the stranger murmured, again unable to hide how genuine his delight was.

Juno had to admit it was nice to see Harpyia through his dark eyes, not in the least because it gave him an excuse to look at them. But it reminded him that there were beautiful things about this palace and that helped his lungs open up and his heart slow down.

“We have a folk tale,” he explained, voice soft in the dim light, “It says the butterflies are gifts from an ancient king to make our planet beautiful and our people happy.”

“I can see why,” the stranger smiled, turning to look at him.

Juno realised he wore very little jewellery, just a simple cuff and chain on one ear and a bracelet of large links on one wrist. His clothing was expensive but the ornamentation was minimal, far more than a grand ball at the palace would expect. What made him seem so sure, so confident, more of a lord than anyone else on that dancefloor, was all in his face. Not in the paint on his lips or kohl on his eyes, it was in the way he carried himself. The way he smiled. Like he knew exactly where he was and where he needed to go after this moment.

Juno was so gripped with envy that, for a moment, he could taste it.

“What do I call you?” he asked, that instant of sourness making him want to press more, “I can’t very well keep calling you the stranger from nowhere.”

“Why not?” his companion smiled, “It has a certain mysterious ring to it... but I see your point. Call me Rex Glass, my dear, and we shall get along just fine.”

“Rex, huh?” Juno arched his eyebrow at that, not believing for a moment that it was the name he was born with, “What does that mean?”

He smiled knowingly, “Not all names have histories stretching back centuries. Some names are just sounds. Signifiers.”

Juno gave a grunt of assent, turning his eye up to the canopy of flowers. The night sky could just barely be seen through them, patches in a quilt. Scatterings of tiny dots that could be raging balls of gas or long dead rocks shrouded in deadly cloaks of radiation or even other planets where other people went about their lives and made their own choices. They all had names, names they’d been given or names they’d chosen themselves. Some names would have history, but a softer, kinder, familial history that didn’t feel like a weight around their necks. A name that wasn’t a prize others competed for. A name that wouldn’t mean they had to sell themselves in a wash of pomp and luxury, calling it tradition.

“Dear? Are you sure you’re alright?”

The tear had reached his jaw before Juno even realised it was there. He struggled with feeling things around his eyes sometimes, remnants of the old damage.

“Yeah,” Juno quickly wiped it away before it could beckon friends, “Just...what was the word you used, Rex? Overwhelmed? That’s it.”

“I must admit,” he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, “I’ve never had a ballroom full of people force me to get engaged. But it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to see it would be unpleasant. And overwhelming.”

“Not pretending you don’t know me anymore, huh?” Juno smiled sadly, mourning quietly for his false anonymity.

“I don’t know you,” Rex insisted, “Knowing your name and knowing you’re a princess does not equal knowing who you are, knowing your heart.”

Juno looked over at him, confused by that at first, the way you would be if something you’d always wanted to hear had just been plucked from your mind and said aloud. You’d feel a guilty responsibility for its presence in the real world.

“What if that’s the only good thing about me?” Juno joked thinly, trying to throw up the same shields he always had, only now seeing how thin they were, “The only thing people could now and still tolerate me?”

Rex frowned a little, “I don’t think that’s true, Juno Steel. Not from what I’ve seen in only half an hour.”

“We’ve been out here for half an hour?” Juno nearly shrieked, latching onto that because it was easier than everything else, “The queen’s going to kill me, she’ll have noticed by now…how does she not have half the guard out looking for me…”

Rex had a soft expression of regret as he put a hand on Juno’s shoulder, the touch warmer than it ought to be in the cool night air, “You can go back if you’d like, Juno, but I mean it. I think the only reason you worry there’s nothing to you other than your crown is because no one’s ever really asked. But I’m here, I’m asking. I want to know.”

Juno felt like a light had come on above the surface of the water he was submerged in, finally showing him which way to kick. But could he reach it? Did he have the energy to try?

But it would be nice to pretend.

Intending it just to last a moment, Juno leaned in, inviting Rex to come the rest of the way. And he did, eagerly enough to make his heart kick. His lips were as soft as he’d thought they’d be from the moment he saw them and he found himself hoping there’d be a trace of his lipstick lingering when he moved away. Which he should have done by now. That had been the plan, a brief, sweet thing he could think about later when he was in bed, then run back to the ballroom and do everything he could do to calm the storm that would be waiting for him.

But it was so nice. It was so achingly sweet and simple in a way nothing had been for as long as Juno could remember. Rex kissed him like nothing else would ever be as important, like there were no unanswered questions between them, like this pure delight could go on and on forever even after the kiss had to end.

Juno leaned closer, bringing a hand up to rest lightly on Rex’s cheek, thumb stroking against those sharp cheekbones. Rex’s hands moved in answer, one hand slipping around Juno’s waist, pulled tight by the corset of his dress, hand splaying over the curve of him under the billowing silk, drawing him close. The shrinking, unoccupied part of Juno’s mind noted that this was moving beyond the realm of chaste kisses in the garden, edging up the royal scale of scandalousness if anyone stumbled upon them. But he found it very hard to care, especially when Rex moaned and those sharp teeth grazed Juno’s lower lip, when he pulled him close until their chests were pressed flush against each other, silk whispering against silk.

Juno smirked against his stranger’s lips. So he wouldn’t be the only one in trouble.

Eventually they had to stop, both panting, noses close enough the bump into each other, making them giggle breathlessly.

“My, my,” Rex exhaled and his breath smelled of mint, “I believe my first guess was correct. You, my dear, are simply magic.”

Juno grinned, not moving away just yet, heart beating in his chest like bird wings, “Now who’s flattering?”

Rex laughed, the hand on his ass squeezing lightly, shamelessly, “Always me. Was that enough to convince you to stay, dear heart? Now I want to know you even more…”

“Well you can’t stick around too long either,” Juno murmured, resting his forehead against Glass’s, “Not with half of the queen’s jewellery box in those hidden pockets of yours.”

Juno had to admit, for someone who’d been underestimated almost consistently since he could walk, it was damn satisfying to feel Rex Glass stiffen in shock against him.

“Ah…” his voice was surprisingly smooth, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear…”

Juno chuckled dryly and slipped his hand into Rex’s jacket. It was pretty clever and could only be handmade, sewn so cunningly you’d never know what was there. Unless he was pulling you close and kissing you.

Juno didn’t recognise the necklace he withdrew, the queen had so many jewels it would have been impossible to keep track of them all. But all of them would have that gold seal pressed into them, on the latch or the chain or even worked into the design for the days she was feeling ostentatious. On this one it was small, set into one of the pearls, the butterfly that was the crest of their house.

“Not exactly the wisest move,” Juno hummed, drawing away and passing the necklace through his fingers, toying with it the way the queen had let them do when they were toddlers. On her good days at least, “Unless you’re taking them far off planet where someone won’t know that symbol. Or if you’re gonna melt them down. Which one were you planning?”

Rex did seem to be a gentleman through and through, accepting graciously when he was caught out, “Both, actually. I was going to take them into the Solar planets and break them into smaller pieces that could then be passed off as antiques.”

“Smart,” Juno nodded, “I mean, you’d have to be. I know how good our security is, one of my best friends works in it and I do listen in all those meetings the queen thinks I sleepwalk through. How did you come up with an ID good enough to fool our systems?”

He smiled then, “Well, I’m hardly going to reveal all my secrets on the first date, am I?”

“Cute,” Juno grunted, handing him back the necklace, hands shaking softly as he did so, “I guess you were going to go for the crown jewels next, huh? They’re on display in the ballroom. Taking them in front of all those eyes should be a breeze for you, Rex.”

“I wouldn’t blame your guard so harshly,” he allowed, “This night has been a long time in the works. Though…” he looked down at the necklace, “I fear you’ve lost me?”

“You think I’m gonna stop you?” Juno arched an eyebrow, feeling acid in the back of his throat, “My mother has enough jewellery on her person right now to feed every hungry child in our capital, let alone what’s in her bedroom. And those crown jewels? Stolen centuries ago from the indigenous aliens that lived here before it was settled. They’re not ours. I couldn’t care less whether you take them.”

Rex was clearly deciding whether or not to believe him, clearly he wasn’t used to his plans going awry but was trying to make the best of things.

And Juno couldn’t stop now, the words were coming out like oil bubbling up from beneath the ground, “It’s all a big fucking game, isn’t it? Let’s play at being kings and queens like all the old Earth storybooks, making the exact same mistakes they made without even tasting the irony. Let’s dress up our princess, paste make up over his scars, paint over his depression with gold and silk and trot him out for the highest bidder so we can scrape together just enough to refill our vaults so we can keep on getting gout, stabbing each other in the back and looking the other way while our children overdose on designer drugs just to feel alive, for another hundred years. And then maybe, just maybe, he gets to grow up and sit in the big fancy chair, looking beautiful and wondering where his humanity went, just like me.”

His voice, cracking with anger and guilt and despair he hadn’t realised was building up, echoed off the shining faux stars that arched above them, making them shudder slightly, as if in grief. The butterflies shifted and stirred, wings fluttering in fear. But the words went no further, thankfully caught in the greenery. The flowers would keep safe his truths, the ones he’d never dared say out loud.

“Juno…” Rex murmured, he hadn’t taken his arm from around his waist, “Juno, dear, it’s alright…”

Juno gave a bitter laugh and shook his head, not even knowing where to start with how wrong he was. He reached up and took the tiara from his hair, the spun gold and otherworldly diamonds tugging painfully as if they were trying to cling on. But he got them free.

“Here,” he muttered bleakly, holding it out to Rex, “Take this too. I mean, you were probably planning on it anyway. I guess that’s why you took me out here, to flirt and flatter the gullible princess and rob him blind while he was still reeling? Not bad. You are a clever thief.”

“Juno,” Rex breathed, not moving to take the tiara, “I know I have no right to ask you to believe a word I say but, please. That is not why I approached you. I brought you out here because you looked like you needed it and...and I wanted to help. I know that sounds completely preposterous coming from me but it’s the truth. And, if it’s any proof to you at all, I will not take your tiara.”

It was the truth. Juno had spent enough of his time around people built entirely out of falsehoods to know that taste of something real, the way the water would taste slightly different on another planet or the air felt fresher after rain.

“You might as well,” Juno didn’t pull back his hand, “I hate the damn thing. Consider it a gift.”

Rex sighed softly and looked from side to side. Something in his face had changed, Juno realised, something subtle and hard to pin down but he could see it now in this light. He looked less sure of himself, wary, odd that he hadn’t up until now when he was planning one of the most ambitious jewel heists in Harpyia’s history.

But now he looked like he was taking a real risk.

“How about this…” Rex put his hands gently over Juno’s and took the tiara. He moved away and placed it between them on the bench where it shone with the bioluminescence, “Let us say I did mean to take this beautiful piece from you but, rendered careless by your beauty and that wonderful kiss we shared, I forgot it here. Now…if it is still here in an hour, when I realise my foolish error, I will take it back and steal away, never to be seen again on Harpyia.”

Juno nodded, biting his lip.

“However,” Rex lifted his eyes to Juno’s, “Say you find it first and take it back with you. I cannot leave this planet without such a lovely thing, of course I can’t. If it was gone then...I’d have to come back for it another night, wouldn’t I? And...on that night, maybe I would steal something far more valuable. If he wished to be stolen, of course.”

Juno inhaled in the softest gasp as he realised what Rex was saying, what he was suggesting, “Rex…”

“Don’t call me that,” he pleaded gently, rising up, “Not now. Call me...call me Peter Nureyev. An orphan from a small, battered planet much like this one who is trying to make something of himself. And who would gladly take on a partner.”

“Peter Nureyev,” Juno murmured, to feel the words on his lips. That was his real name, there was no doubt about it. He suddenly felt as if he’d been given a very precious gift.

The stranger, this Peter Nureyev smiled and bowed his head slightly, “Juno Steel. I am an expert on disappearances and I am offering you a ticket on one. I understand what you’d be leaving behind and I understand if the consequences are too great. But...I want you to see what you are worthy of, Juno. I want you to watch as someone truly sees you, for everything you are beneath that crown, and wants this for you.”

“I...I don’t know if I can…” Juno felt old excuses, old fears press up his throat, “And there’s no time, I’m supposed to be betrothed by the end of the night…”

“Then don’t take it, dear,” Nureyev said gently, “This is a choice. I feel it’s high time you got one of those.”

A choice. A chance to choose another one of those faces he saw at the bottom of his champagne glass. A chance to wear a name as lightly as Peter Nureyev did, to feel so free. To not feel the golden fetters around his ankles, tugging him into a life he didn’t want.

At such a high price.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmured, wiping away the last of his tears.

Nureyev nodded and smiled, leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips before saying, “Then goodnight, Juno Steel.”

Juno breathed in the scent of other planets, the scent of fresh, clean air and rain speckled earth, “Goodnight, Peter Nureyev.”

He straightened up, flashed those fox-like teeth and walked away into the shadows of the garden. Juno felt a flash of worry for him, there were guards all around the palace but he told himself he would have a plan to escape. Of course he would.

And he had left Juno with one too.

He lingered in the garden far longer than he should have, looking at his tiara, resting slightly crookedly on the bench, looking fragile and beautiful. He sat until goosebumps rose on his bare arms, possibilities blooming and dying behind his eyes, a hundred arguments raging inside his head.

And then he heard them, footsteps in the gravel.

“There you are,” Benzaiten was breathing heavily, “God, Juno, mother nearly called off the ball, she’s in there right now crushing macarons to dust so she doesn’t scream in front of everyone. She’s so mad, Juno…”

“I know, Ben, I’m sorry,” Juno stood, smoothing his skirts, “I just needed some air and I lost track of time. I’ll go see her now.”

Guilt and sorrow flickered over his brother’s face, “I...I don’t have to tell her I saw you…”

“No,” he took his hand and squeezed it, “It’s time I went back. Not like she’s going to get any less mad. I’m just sorry you had to tear yourself away from Mick.”

“Juno…” Ben groaned, blushing as he’d known he would.

He chuckled, nudging him with an elbow, “Come on. Any last words for me before mother tears me to shreds?”

“Not funny,” Ben walked closer to him than he needed to as they started back towards the palace, their hands still joined. Though just before they stepped back into the golden glow of the lights, he stopped them, “...oh, wait.”

“Hm?” Juno looked over as his brother reached up to the top of his head and brushed a few curls, neatening his hair with deft hands.

“There. Your tiara was crooked.”

#jupeter #juno steel #peter nureyev #benzaiten steel #mick mercury #sarah steel #angst #jack takano #tpp #the penumbra podcast #tpp fic #junoverse #juniverse #royalty au #juno is a princess #Nureyev is a thief #you know where this is going #please to enjoy!

[is-she-suffering]

KERRANG! MAGAZINE 13/05/2000

This week, get up close and personal with Queen Adreena's frontwoman Katie Jane Garside. What is your nickname and why? "No! I'm not prepared to divulge any of them, they're too incriminating. I can't do it. Nicknames refer to things about me that I'd rather forget." At school, were you a dunce or a teachers pet? "I was very removed. I daydreamed too much. I had a really mixed education; my parents taught me for four years and I went to a really hardcore comprehensive in Poole in Dorset. I did have an art teacher who was amazing. She made it alright to be me." What was your first shag like? "Coral gardens, and crystal blue waters. Glue sniffing and babysitting. I'll say nothing more. I was high in the most gritty way." Who is your best friend? "All of my little friends are down in the basement and in the attic. It's too trite to explain. I have to be abstract." What's the best pet you've ever had? "I had a cat we found when we were living on a boat in the Canary Islands. We named him Los Cristianos, after the place he was found in Tenerife. He fell overboard and drowned in the Pacific." Have you ever been arrested? "I've been strip-searched but not arrested. Flying back from a holiday in Tenerife. I'd gone back as an adult and I couldn't bear it. I took an early flight home and that alerted suspicions back in England. I was examined. You know the people who do that kind of thing love it. You can see it in their eyes." How would you describe yourself on a blind date? "I'd avoid the form and hand over my record. Actually, no, that might attract people even more psychotic than I am. Perhaps it would throw up someone who was at least prepared to stay the course." What's the most extravagant thing you've ever bought? "A lifetime of information and misinformation." Who's gagging for a shagging? "The primordial mother in the basement. She can never be filled. She's very frightening. Very emasculating." Who's gagging for a smacking? "Nobody. I'm too busy saving my own life." What's the worst job you've had? "I learned a lot when I was cleaning lavatories. I got a terrible eye infection and I got paid six pounds a week." When did you last call home? "I do it as a daily ritual unto myself. My dear family are always on tap." What was your most embarrassing moment? "I dance naked with animals, but that's not embarrassing. The worse moment was when I was at boarding school. It was a terrible regime, like being in the army. I forgot my hymn book and that was the biggest crime against God. As I snaked in, a teacher - one of the only men in the school - shouted at me from behind and I collapsed on the floor and pissed myself. I was so scared. He was very sadistic." Who would you least like to see naked? "My alternative job would be to work in a fetish house, and that teacher would come in for a good beating. I'd hand it out with expertise. There's that whole repulsion/attraction thing going on there. I'd get a kick out of it." What's the best rumour you've ever heard about yourself? "After I left Daisy Chainsaw (Katie's previous outfit) Robert Plant asked Crispin what had happened to me because he'd heard I was into golden showers - pissing on people. I don't know how that got to Robert Plant." What's in your wallet right now? "I have a bag. There's a copy of Kerrang! to check our review. I have a small bottle of Johnson's baby powder - it's my staple diet. There's a writing book with loads of new songs in. I don't remember writing this. I was drunk and every word is genius." What's your favourite joke? "I hear them all laughing at me upstairs but I never know what their joke is." If you were marooned on a desert island without food, which member of Queen Adreena would you eat first? "My, that implies so much. Billy would be the obvious choice to keep alive, he's kind of an Adonis. If I needed someone to talk to for a long time I'd keep Crispin alive. We'd have to eat Orson. He's the best prime cut. He's exotic and rich." Which Queen Adreena song would you donate to a compilation album entitled 'Crap Songs of Our Time'? "We're finding our way with our new album, but I'm not going to dismember it. I couldn't have given more to that album. I could say that every single one of them is crap, but the bit of me that looks after myself isn't going to let me say it." What's your drug of choice? "Eroticism and sex." What does God look like? "A friend of mine's little boy said to her, 'Mummy, God must be space because there's no beginning and no end'. She's cultivating a potent child there." When you die, how do you want to go? "I want absolution, to dissolve. I want to become sky and ocean. That's how I want to go. I know it can really be that simple."

Paul Elliott

#interviews #taxidermy #2000 #queen adreena

[gothhisoka]

ℭ𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬 𝔵 𝔒ℭ 𝔖𝔪𝔲𝔱

Warnings: minors DNI, 18+, nsfw, smut, too seggcy for tumblr?

Word count: 3.9k

Background: This is chapter 19 of my fanfic called Hunter University! You can read it on either Wattpad or AO3 by clicking here. Right now, both my OC and Chrollo are drunk after a night out at a ball. They had their first kiss there, and now Chrollo showed up for more(?). He got in trouble at the ball and said he would meet Reiko later. And here he is now.

Chrollo was surprised Reiko looked so intact. He was sure she would come waddling to the door in pajamas as she did the last time he visited her room. Although it had been an hour since the ball ended, her makeup hadn't smudged a bit. Sure, it was faded, and her hair was significantly messier, but overall she looked as remarkable as she did at the start of the ball.

Her tired eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him. He was just as unimpaired as she was. Though now he was missing his suit jacket. His hair had become slightly disheveled, losing its styled waves. He still had on those signature silver rings and little cross earrings.

Reiko attempted to soak in his sight with her intoxicated brain. He looked even more captivating in this particular state.

Her drunkenness had faded a bit but it was surely still there. With a quick rest, she had come to comprehend all that had transpired in the courtyard. Although she had a couple of first kisses to go off of, none were quite like this. Not one made her as flustered as this. Perhaps it was due to Chrollo's quiet yet domineering personality that she didn't know what to make of it.

But after all, he was true to his word. That meant more to her than he could ever imagine. However, it was unclear why he had come back. Maybe for a second round? Reiko could only hope.

"What happened?" Reiko asked. She had the right to know after he left her on the dance floor alone.

She couldn't even bother to be mad. Her intellect said to be angry but her heart failed her. It fluttered at the sight of him. He hadn't even stepped into her room yet.

"Nothing you should worry about," he replied.

Ok, maybe she could bother to be a little mad. How much more would she have to not worry? She ached to know his business. That's what comes after a first kiss, right? They owed it to each other to be truthful. At least as truthful as they could be without getting into the matter of secret missions and such.

Reiko stepped aside to let him in and shut the door. Her room was the same as the last time he saw it, with her drawings hung on the walls and lights strung above the desk. Their small bulbs reflected against the night-stained window.

Upon shutting the door, the tension noticeably rose. It was dark in the small space and they were alone. Again. The last time they were alone like this was only hours earlier in the courtyard. Reiko hoped that this encounter was heading in the same direction.

"No, really what happened?" Reiko looked at him with worry, despite his comment.

Chrollo decided to give a partial truth. Better than no truth at all. He shrugged, "I got off with a week-long addition to my suspension. It's really nothing to worry about. I could have got off with a lot worse but..."

Chrollo took his black dress shoes off near the door, placing them neatly side by side.

So he plans on staying. Reiko tried to hide a smile. The hour of his visit was surely suspicious. There could be only one thing on his mind.

He paused, noticing a drawing on the wall behind the place where the door would otherwise be covering.

He had begun to walk around the room, absentmindedly stopping at a piece of art from time to time. Reiko was too tired to care. The collection included nature scenes, portraits of people he didn't recognize, anatomy studies, and...

A full-body anatomy study of Reiko herself. To be specific, it would fit further in the category of a glorified nude. It was on a miniature piece of parchment sketched in charcoal. It was obviously her: the woman had her long wavy hair and distinct mouth and nose. The paper was hardly noticeable amongst the scatter of papers. You wouldn't see it unless you had a careful eye such as that of Chrollo.

He continued his sentence, now making a terrible attempt to hide a smile, "...But I'm in good standing with the school."

Reiko hardly noticed when he reached the particular spot on her wall. Her tiredness had waned significantly with Chrollo's entrance, but it still fogged her mind.

Additionally, she had long forgotten about her secret behind-the-door location for her drawings that were not meant to be seen by a single soul, including herself.

At the time, she had thought the self-nude might bring her some confidence. It had not. This explains the placement of it in her room.

She didn't lack confidence with her physical form, necessarily. If anything, she felt lewd and embarrassed by any sexual expression. She was not used to being open about it. Being brought up in a small town with a watchful mother had resulted in years of repression and secret partners. This restraint had begun to wane in college, to now, where she was finally becoming comfortable with herself.

She wanted nothing more than to experiment with the boy in front of her. He wouldn't be her first, but certainly, he would be her best.

The sheer amount of tension in the room proved this fact. Reiko was sure they both felt it. She wasn't about to suggest anything outright though. She wasn't that forward.

I probably shouldn't be looking at him like that. This man reads minds, remember?

"Well, that's good. So what're you doing here?" Reiko spoke nonchalantly, acting like she didn't just fantasize about putting the sheer amount of tension between them to use.

Chrollo opened and shut his mouth, his response escaping him. He turned back to her and used his eyes to convey a craving far deeper than any words could admit.

"I said I would come to find you, didn't I?" He said lowly.

When will we stop beating around the bush? Reiko smiled darkly. That was the answer, or lack thereof, that she had anticipated. The heat in the room shot through the roof. She was sure if she checked the temperature it would be well above its normal chilly state. Perhaps it was the heat in her cheeks that was causing such a change.

Reiko thought she had a good idea of why he had come to her room at one o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking and questionably close dancing. She couldn't be certain, though, because that was just how he was: unpredictable and exceedingly complicated.

Luckily, Reiko was prepared with a response. She never failed to come ready for something she could expect. And this, the direction in which their encounter is headed, is inevitable. She had been rehearsing the line in her head for the duration of their conversation like reviewing terms for a test.

This was the only way to test if her assumptions were correct.

Blame it on the champagne if I am wrong. But I really hope I'm right.

Reiko looked directly at him. Time to be daring.

She took a breath and did her best to maintain eye contact, "Oh, did you?"

Walking towards him, she placed a hand at the hem of her dress. Her delicate fingers wrapped around its lacy fabric.

"Well, I actually do need some help. You see, this dress is quite difficult to take off by myself..."

Chrollo looked amused. He sized Reiko up, looking from her hand holding the hem of her dress to her unfazed expression. Unfazed, yet her cheeks were slowly turning a shade of scarlet. Nice try, Chrollo thought.

He gestured, "Turn around."

Reiko obeyed. She desired something far more than the unzipping of her dress, but she was not presumptuous enough to say it. The expression on Chrollo's face told her that he was hoping for the same thing. He hid many emotions well, but being turned-on wasn't one of them.

Chrollo brushed Reiko's hair away from the zipper, delicately placing it over her shoulder. His fingers purposefully grazed her back as he did this, causing Reiko's breath to hitch slightly.

His hands moved to the zipper, carefully pulling it down. It went past the clasp of her bra to her lower back. There was complete silence. Both were still.

Chrollo was the first to move. He pulled Reiko close to him so that her back was touching him. His left arm wrapped across her chest possessively, holding her in a tight embrace. With his other hand, he brushed her hair back from her ear. He still smelt of sweet alcohol. Clearly, he was slightly drunk as well, for the next words he said couldn't be uttered by a sober man.

His whispered breath tickled her neck, husky with the threat of sleep, "I want you so bad right now."

Reiko tensed with a surge of want. Her impression had been right. He let his strong arm remain around her, patiently waiting for a response.

She choked out her reply, "The feelings' mutual."

Under his touch, her streak of audacity from earlier dissolved into compliancy. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to submit to his words.

With complete control, Chrollo took her shoulder and turned her around. Her dress was now loose on her shoulders. He placed his hands around her hips firmly. He looked at her under his thick eyelashes and slowly leaned in. The pressure was growing to an unbearable level, but he still wouldn't go all the way.

Then his lips crashed against hers with the force of weeks of pent-up desire. It was unbelievable how different this kiss was from the one they shared only hours ago. This one didn't speak of courtesy, of patience. This was raw passion. It was furious and messy. Reiko preferred this to sensitive steps around the intensity they both craved.

"You must still be drunk," Reiko said playfully as they both pulled away to catch their breath. She held her hand to Chrollo's chest. His heart was beating surprisingly fast.

Whats happening isn't connected to any feelings. He's drunk, that's all. As Reiko thought this, she still couldn't help but beam up at him.

"If I'm drunk, then what are you?" Chrollo said with a lazy smirk.

"I'm drunk as well."

Chrollo threaded his hands through her hair, pulling the long strands through his fingers. He pulled her in close again with his hand at the back of her head.

Reiko opened her mouth to allow for Chrollo's tongue to slip in. He lessened the intensity and slowly moved his tongue against her own tongue and lips. She couldn't help but let out soft moans that made Chrollo weak at the knees.

He pushed her against the wall to deepen their kiss. Drawings fluttered down, becoming detached with the sudden movement. Including that drawing.

Chrollo pulled away, much to Reiko's shock. She was left panting with reddened cheeks. Please don't let this end now.

He displayed a shit-eating grin. Even with his ego, in the current moment, his expression made Reiko melt. His face was inches from hers, looking down into her blue eyes.

He shifted his gaze down to the floor and said, "Nice drawing you have there."

Reiko finally noticed what he had been so smug about. Shit. Her face flushed ten different shades of scarlet.

Chrollo leaned in as he did before and murmured in her ear, "I wish I could see the real thing."

Reiko failed to not show her excitement. The way her eyes lit up exposed her. "I can arrange that."

At that, Chrollo leaned in again, this time moving to Reiko's neck. His lips fluttered down her throat to her collarbone. Reiko leaned her head back and tried to control her uneven breath.

His lips reached the edge of the neckline on her dress. He raised his eyes to meet Reiko's, asking for permission to go further.

She let out a breathy, "Yes. Please."

What she wanted to say was, Please, take me now.

It could be too soon for him, they had their first kiss that very night. But based on how this was going, Reiko expected it was leading to something more. Whatever that was, she wished she could know right now. The growing tension between her thighs began to ache.

Chrollo slipped his hand across Reiko's pale skin to the hemline of her dress, moving it completely off of her shoulder and down her arms. Her black see-through bra was now in full-view. Her nipples grew hard at the sudden exposure.

At least I went with my fancy bra. She suddenly grew very shy. The last time she went even this far was years ago. Her slim body resulted in average-sized breasts, but Chrollo didn't seem to care.

He evidently liked the lingerie as well for his hands immediately traveled to her breast to caress it as he continued to kiss her.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against her neck. Reiko's heart fluttered at his words.

Chrollo then moved his lips progressively further down as he slipped her dress off of her body. Soon her underwear came into view, then her feet. He helped her step out of the dress.

"Your turn," Reiko said, unbuttoning his shirt. All the while he continued to distractingly leave lazy kisses upon her face, one on her forehead, her cheek, her lips.

After an agonizingly long time, Reiko pulled off his shirt. Fuck.

She knew he would be defined. But him, this boy standing in front of her, resembled more of a greek statue than an actual human. It looked like his body had been sculpted by the finest stone on earth. He had a six-pack, defined pectoral muscles, and prominent collarbones. His biceps flexed as he leaned his hand against the wall, bracing himself. It was Reiko who needed to brace herself. Her breath hitched again at the sight of him.

She ran a hand up his firm body as she planted her lips upon his once again. This time Chrollo put his hands beneath her thighs, his fingers pressing into her soft skin. He picked her up easily. She wrapped her legs around him as he brought her to the bed, kissing him all the while.

He dropped her down gently, releasing his grip off of her thighs. Reiko took this time to look up at him and admire the beauty of his aroused state. He had a dangerous and wild look, with touseled hair and a constant smile playing at his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were lazily focused upon her.

They continued to make out on the bed, its white silk sheets creating an angelic halo around Reiko. Chrollo couldn't stand looking at her like this, underneath him. It was far too much power for one man to hold.

Reiko reached to her back to undo the clasp of her bra. She threw it to the ground. Chrollo immediately began to touch her naked tits in a way that made her want to dissolve. He moved in circles around her nipples first, watching as they grew harder under his expert touch. Then he moved his mouth to the sensitive area, playing with her and biting slightly. Reiko audibly moaned at the gesture. Damn the neighbors.

Chrollo sensed her desire to take it further. He looked up, grey eyes filled with lust, "Reiko...let me pleasure you."

It wasn't the suggestion Reiko was expecting, but she was satisfied nonetheless. She didn't care about anything in the world besides what he could do to her at this moment, whatever it may be.

"If you say my name like that you can do anything you want to me," Reiko said breathily. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Chrollo smirked and moved to take off her soaking underwear. Under his pants, his dick grew visibly harder. He threw the underwear onto the floor.

Gently placing his finger at her throbbing core, he began to stroke. Upon receiving his touch Reiko's back arched involuntarily. She was beyond eager.

"Fuck... Chrollo..."

This served as encouragement for him to insert his finger deeper into her, curling it slightly. It hit Reiko's g-spot repeatedly, illiciting ungodly sounds from her.

As he was doing this, he slowly positioned himself on top of Reiko, grabbing onto the bed frame with his spare hand. He just wanted to look at her face as she opened her mouth in delight.

He inserted one more finger which caused Reiko's arousal to heighten. God, he really knows how to do this.

Just as Reiko felt the heat in her core escalating, he slid his finger out. She whimpered in protest.

Chrollo looked down at her with a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

Oh fuck.

She gladly would. It was more her instincts speaking than any coherent thought.

"Please... Chrollo..." she said between breaths.

She wanted to not only plead for him, she wanted to worship him.

"More."

He belonged in line next to holiness. His fingers and mouth were sacred. He had made her feel like a divine being with his gentle to intense strokes. And oh god, did she eat it up.

"FUCK please do that again," Reiko exclaimed.

It was enough to convince him. Chrollo moved his face towards her slickened pussy.

Is he about to...

He pushed his hair back out of his face with his clean hand, his forehead tattoo revealed. For only a second, he raised his eyes to gaze into Reiko's. She fell for him all over again at that simple glance.

Then he entered her. His tongue made her want to weep. He devoured her insides, soaking up the salty juices. She couldn't help but hold his head, pulling it closer to her body. She ran her hand through his soft black hair. There was so much heat between them that they were both perspiring.

Reiko began to shudder." I'm going to... oh... fuck," she gasped.

She felt the sweet release of cum spread below her onto the sheets and Chrollo himself. She felt self-conscious for a moment. That is until Chrollo began to lick up her juices. He ran his tongue up her soft thighs.

"You taste so fucking good, darling."

Chrollo looked at her like he had fallen all over again as well. Reiko grinned back at him. Her cheeks grew even redder, if possible. Her heart screamed at her to continue but she was too physically exhausted to move. Still, wouldn't Chrollo want his turn?

She laid there, naked and panting on the silk sheets. Chrollo flopped next to her, unaffected beside his flushed cheeks and a wide grin.

The lights were still low in the little room. Looking out the window, Reiko saw that the sun had yet to rise. This was a positive fact because the only thing Reiko needed to do now was to sleep. And preferably, cuddling with the boy next to her. She hoped he would stay. It was more than hope, really. Her body couldn't spend any more time away from him after that.

Damn. He was good. He was really, really fucking good.

He knew his way with words, to begin with. He said exactly what needed to be said to escalate her arousal. She wanted to worship those fingers, the way he so expertly felt around her like he had memorized a map. And his tongue was even more worthy of revere.

Reiko flipped over to her elbows. Her breasts brushed against the bedding, noticeably making Chrollo gulp. Reiko boldly reached to touch the front of his pants.

"You don't want a turn?" she smirked.

"This was more than enough for me."

He stared into her eyes as if he was calculating a complex math problem rather than looking at the girl who just received the best head of her life.

Reiko yawned, despite herself. Her body ached with all the action of the night.

"Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be here."

Those were the last words she heard before her eyes drifted shut. Exhaustion stilled her naked body. Chrollo reached to turn off the bedside lamp.

He wasn't nearly as tired. He could've gone for a couple more rounds, perhaps take it a step further if Reiko so desired. But he knew she needed the sleep. Most of her makeup had rubbed off, displaying the dark circles under her eyes.

She must have not slept for a while. He wondered if it was his doing.

He hadn't been sleeping lately either. Ever since the painting theft, to be exact. The guilt ate at him in the late hours of the night. I shouldn't have used her like that. But why? What do I feel for her? Why do I feel for her, in particular?

He had a feeling this would be his first sound sleep for a long while.

He slipped off his pants and threw them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He found the soft sheets and pulled them across Reiko and himself. The bed was small but cozy. His strong chest was flush against her back.

Her soft brown hair smelt of a summer day, like sunlight and wildflowers. He took this opportunity to feel up the rest of her glorious body. He ran his hand lightly from her shoulder to her hip-dips, to her thighs. All of it was holy to him.

He moved her closer with his arm, protectively wrapping it across her front. Somehow holding her like this felt far more intimate than any sexual activity. The way the moonlight graced her skin was majestic.

How had he fallen so hard, so fast? It was unlike him to act with such recklessness.

Through it all, he still had his mind. Reiko had no way to tell the extent of his feelings. He made sure of this. His libido could act one way, that was clear from tonight. But he was an expert at controlling his outward emotions. She would never know. If she did, it would be over for him. All the planning will be for naught.

He closed his eyes before he could fall upon any more worries. He had already pondered the issue for many sleepless nights.

He fell into a dreamless slumber, Reiko safe in his arms. They both slept soundly until the sun peaked through the window, signaling the first day of the rest of their lives.

#chrollo smut #chrollo headcanons #chrollo #chrollo x oc #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #hunter university #hunterxhunter fanfic #hunter x hunter #hxh chrollo #hxh fanfic #fanfic #smut #hxh smut #adult trio #adult trio headcanons #hisoka #illumi #kurapika #phantom troupe #headcannons

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens. Can I kiss you? Please. Thank you

Hello, nonnie! I’m assuming that’s a prompt? XD Well, even if it’s not, here’s a one-shot. I hope you enjoy.

Can you hear me, God? It’s me. Crowley ... (1510 words)

Crowley visits Aziraphale at his bookshop and discovers that the mail system, and Gabriel, have done him wrong yet again ...

“How come every time I come in here lately it’s a new adventure in mail shenanigans?” Crowley complains, slogging through a mound of envelopes to get to – surprise, surprise! – another, bigger mound of envelopes. “Are you subletting to Publishers Clearing House then? They’re one of ours, you know.”

“Ha-ha ...” Aziraphale grumbles from amid the largest pile, lumped on his sofa and formed into a moat around him for easy access.

“Or did you rob a post office?” Crowley leaps over the last pile and lands clumsily beside him, scattering envelopes left and right, sending them flying across the covered floor. “Because if you did, I’m tellin’ you now, that’s a huge turn on.”

Aziraphale huffs in annoyance, collecting up the letters that went adrift within arm’s reach. “No such luck for you, I’m afraid. This is my latest assignment. I now get to manage the letters that humans write to God and send thru the post.”

“What are you supposed to do with all these?” Crowley picks up a handful and flips through them, searching for names or addresses he might recognize, tossing them over his shoulder when he doesn’t.

“Read them, sort them, categorize them. Anything I deem a priority gets sent to the head office.”

Crowley opens a few, hungry to cause mischief, if he can. “And what happens to them there? Do they get answered?”

“Some do.” Aziraphale clips a stack of letters together at the corner and sets them aside. “A lot of them will get re-read, re-sorted, re-categorized, and then …” He lets the sentence hang as he collects up a new stack of letters, no semblance of an emotion other than exhaustion on his face.

Crowley looks up from the letter he’s reading – a request from some slimy fuck to not let his wife find out he cheated on her with his sister-in-law. What pretentious twat would write God about something like that? And then be daft enough to send it through the post!? “Then … what?”

“They get filed away,” Aziraphale replies sadly, watching Crowley fold the letter he’s been reading and stuff it in his pocket. Aziraphale’s eyebrow arches, his eyes pointedly following the letter into Crowley’s coat, then stares at him questioningly.

“I think it best if I handle this one,” Crowley explains, patting his pocket. “Went to the wrong address, if you ask me.”

Aziraphale looks about to argue, then shrugs and lets it go, and Crowley digs into another letter.

“Okay,” he says, waving the new letter in Aziraphale’s direction. “This one’s a priority for sure!”

“What does it say?” Aziraphale asks in an even tone, as if he already knows.

“It’s from a little boy whose mum has cancer. Stage IV. He says she probably won’t live to see Christmas.”

“Right then.” Aziraphale reaches for it. “Let’s send that one up.”

“It’ll get answered, right?”

“We can only hope.”

Crowley stops, pulls the letter back. “What do you mean we can only hope?”

“I don’t make those decisions, Crowley. You know that.”

“But you believe this little boy deserves to be helped, right?”

“Of course, I do, but …”

“But …?”

“But God decides. And whether She helps or not, She has Her reasons. We’re not allowed to question them.”

“Right.” Crowley glowers, his eyes transforming to a brighter, more venomous shade of yellow. “Of course She does. And as we both know, She makes some bully choices.”

“Crowley …?” Aziraphale pleads, leaning forward, arm extended.

Crowley relents and holds the letter out. Not too relieved, Aziraphale reaches for it. But before his fingers come in contact, Crowley snaps his and the letter dissolves. Aziraphale’s eyes, half-lidded from a day of reading through humanities’ desperate pleas for help, fly open.

“Crowley! What did you …? Did you answer …?”

“I did nothing,” he says, brushing his hands together. “You saw nothing. You can’t prove a thing.”

“Crowley! I know how you feel! I really do! But let’s say that every letter here is from someone who wants the Almighty to save a dying loved one. Or themselves. And we save every single one of them. Do you know what happens then?”

“A bunch of people’s lives get saved. You’ve filled your good deeds quota, and humans of the world are happy. Maybe they even begin to believe in God again, did you ever think of that?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale sighs, looking decades older when that syllable passes his lips. “I did. I have. But as much as we hate it, there’s a system at play. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven.”

“I know Ecclesiastes, angel,” Crowley grumps.

“A time to be born, and a time to die,” Aziraphale finishes, his heart aching with the way those words chip into Crowley’s armor. “If we don’t let humans pass when their time comes – the mothers, the fathers, the children - there won’t be any room for the new ones. The population will overwhelm them. It’ll put a strain on the planet. There will be no food for them, no clean water, no place to live.”

“They’ll find a way,” Crowley growls. “Humans always do. They’re resilient.”

“Aren’t you the one always telling me that the humans are destroying the planet? That they’re pretty much putting demons out of a job with the Evil they do?”

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, pulling back into himself as Aziraphale speaks, his feelings on the subject wrestling sharply with Aziraphale’s logic. His sound logic.

“They’ll suffer,” Aziraphale continues. “And then we’ll have a new pile of mail sitting here to go through.”

Crowley rolls his head away, eyes drifting to the closest pile of envelopes, tracing over the words written on them without actually reading them. Aziraphale’s hand, reaching for the letter, finds Crowley’s arm and squeezes gently.

“If we give every human what they want, if we save every life, we’ll be solving their problems in the short term, but that won’t last. The pain and the heartache will continue on in the long run.”

“So you’re fine destroying one person to save another?” Crowley chuckles cruelly. “Of course you are. Your lot have no problem killing innocent people over the smallest infractions, do you? Not even children.”

Those words, Crowley’s tone, hit Aziraphale hard, but he can’t take them personally. Crowley isn’t angry with him. He knows that. As difficult as it can be to remember, he does know it. “I don’t get to make …”

“You don’t get to make those decisions. I know.”

“I know you think my job here on Earth should be to save everyone. And it is, but not the way you think. I’m here to try and make people see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“And the light is …?”

“That love survives. It persists. It fights to the death. And after death, it’s still there. And if you have faith, you’ll find it.”

“You do realize that ex-es out about seventy-five percent of the population, don’t ya?”

“No. It includes people who don’t have faith in God, per se. Just because someone might not believe in the Almighty doesn’t mean the Almighty doesn’t believe in them. I think that, maybe, you know that better than anyone.”

“Shove off!” Crowley snaps between his teeth, but he doesn’t move out of the reach of Aziraphale’s hand. He goes quiet, chewing on his tongue, and considers what the angel has said. His eyes narrow angrily for a moment, but he gives up his anger with a long breath in and a doubly long exhale. “They give you the suckiest jobs, angel. Don’t they?”

“Oh, I don’t know that I get any worse than any other angel.”

Crowley shakes his head. No. Of course Aziraphale wouldn’t see it that way, regardless of the horse shit Gabriel keeps piling on him. “Can I kiss you?”

“Do you want to? You don’t seem too pleased with me.”

“I am. But even if I wasn’t, I would be later, so can’t we start now?”

Aziraphale’s weary expression softens with the onset of a small smile. “Sure, my dear. Why don’t you slide on over …” Aziraphale surveys the mess of envelopes between them and chuckles “… if you can.”

Aziraphale carefully re-locates the nearest stack of envelopes to a clean spot on the floor while Crowley sweeps others thoughtlessly off the sofa and sits on the rest. He slides up to his angel and kisses him, not waiting a single breath for a word or a look. One arm cradles Aziraphale against Crowley’s body, distracting the angel with a hand kneading his shoulder, while behind his back, covered by that kiss, Crowley snaps a small pile of letters to his flat for future review.

Aziraphale’s fingers find Crowley’s hair and thread themselves in, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper. But behind his eyelids, covered by that kiss, Aziraphale knows what Crowley has done – how he stole those letters, how he intends on breaking the rules.

And he says nothing.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

[gingerpeachtae]

Strings of Suffering

masterlist

Pairing: seokjin x reader

Words: 3.2k

Genres: ANGST, a n g s t, soulmate!AU

Warnings: pain, self loathing, sadness 😀

Summary: The Judges believe ugly souls don’t deserve peace. Jin may have been beautiful, but his soul wasn't... at least, it hadn’t been while he was alive.

A/N: short stories really ain’t my thing but it was an assignment and I’m glad I gave it a whirl! I hope you engoy! 💙

The room was crowded, hot, and stuffy from hundreds of people milling about and shoving forward in the minutes before the show started. A woman with black hair loosely tied into a knot at the top of her head sucked in a breath as she tried to squeeze through a group of friends to reach a better spot before the lights dimmed. Pulling her body through a gap between shoulders, she gasped as her sweaty arm stuck to the leather of another woman’s purse and pulled it to the floor.

A few rows back, all Jin could do was watch the event unfold at a distance with regret and sorrow and knowing in his brown eyes. He had stopped walking behind the woman when the thin red string that gently looped around her wrist began to glow and pulse with soft garnet light. It was the sign she was moments away from meeting her soulmate, and that was the very thing Jin had been dreading for the past four months. The string that seemed to endlessly stretch out before the woman tightened and brightened in anticipation, making Jin’s feet falter and his breath hitch. The woman continued to maneuver through the mass of people, completely unaware of what was about to happen. Of course, Jin was the only one able to see the phenomenon of the light, as soulmate strings were just as invisible to mortal eyes as he was. But they were real. He was real. And so was the pain blooming in his heart.

The black-haired woman’s eyes widened when the bag plopped to her feet and she instantly dropped to a crouch to retrieve it with an apology on her tongue just as the purse’s owner, who also had a taunt, glowing red string tied to her wrist, knelt down. Reaching for the leather bag at the same time, the women’s hands grazed each other and the garnet light morphed into a golden aura that caused Jin to stiffen as pathetic melancholy surged within him. A sharp pang in his chest, a lump lodged in his throat.

All he could do was watch. Watch as his heart broke yet again. Watch them smile at one another. Watch as the woman he loved met her soulmate.

All he could do was watch while he slowly faded from the world. The job was complete, so he was forced to return to his prison… never to see her again.

Because this was his punishment.

Jin had been an utterly selfish and narcissistic person while alive; relishing in the praise his handsome looks garnered and never caring or loving anyone more than himself. He was beautiful… but his soul wasn’t. A car crash had ended his life early, only several weeks before his 29th birthday. After his death, the five judges of wherever he was now had reviewed his life and decided his soul did not deserve peace after death. They declared he would spend the rest of eternity as a Connecter - someone who brought soulmates together, which were rare. One pair every five years. When not connecting soul strings, he would be left in an empty room where the floor, ceiling, and walls were comprised of mirrors.

All the Judges agreed to the verdict and while they stamped the decree over his heart and locked a metal bracelet around his wrist, Jin had snickered and pulled his plump lips into a smirk. A room filled with mirrors? He thought he had received a wonderful sentence and couldn’t see how it wouldn’t bring him peace.

But he had been wrong. So so wrong.  

At first, it was because he had hated receiving assignments and being forced to spend time on Earth. Nobody could see him there. Nobody could praise his handsome features or fawn over his deep, soothing voice. His beauty was concealed from the world and he couldn’t even see his own reflections. It was devastating. While on Earth, all he wished for was his mirrored room. But as the decades passed, he slowly changed. He no longer viewed the mirrored room as a comfort but rather as a prison because no matter where he looked, all he saw was himself staring back with tired, sad brown eyes. All he saw was a man that never cared for anyone. A man that never opened himself up to another. A man that was forever alone and unloved.

As even more years passed, Jin began trying to delay connecting together his assignments. Just so he could have more time with someone besides his own pitiful self in an empty, cursed room. He was never able to refuse doing his job for very long, though, as the metal bracelet suffocating his wrist would send increasingly stronger flashes of immense pain into the very core of his being. Then came the day the Judges advanced his punishment. They began to select assignments they knew would bring hurt to his heart. Purposefully choosing pairs where Jin would inevitably fall in love with one of the soulmates.

And he did every single time.

By now, he’d lost count of how many times he had been in love and had his heart ripped out, shattered, and cleaved apart. Sometimes, when he would watch the person he ached for going about their lives, he thought of being selfish again, of not connecting them with their soulmate and just enduring the bracelet’s pain to spend forever with them. But in the end, he always chose their happiness at his detriment, just as he did with the woman with the black hair tied into a knot.

The next five years passed by excruciatingly slow. A mixture of tucking his head down to avoid the reflections surrounding him and staring at the man in the mirror with a deep self-loathing. Sometimes, when the rage inside him became too much, he would scream and punch the mirror in an attempt to rid himself of the demon gazing back at him. The glass never fractured or broke, not even the slightest of cracks. Other times, he would simply crumple to the cold floor, squeeze his eyes shut, and helplessly tug at his metal bracelet while hot tears poured down his cheeks. Memories of how meaningless his life had been and recollections of all those he loved would play like a movie reel in his mind, adding to his miserable pain.

No matter what, every day was full of ache.

Looking forward with disconnected eyes, Jin clenched his jaw and clawed at the metal bracelet again. Today, whatever day it was, he felt numb and disconnected. The skin at his wrist was burning red from where his nails dug in around the metal, and he sighed in defeat when the bracelet didn’t budge a millimeter. Just as it never did. Suddenly, a familiar dinging sound reverberated throughout the room, which caused Jin to freeze and hold his breath as a voice echoed out.

“New assignment. Y/F/N Y/L/N and Choi San.”

And just like that, the mirrors holding Jin captive dissolved into white light as he was sent back to Earth.

The first thing that materialized before Jin’s eyes was soft orange sunlight filtering through window panes. Spread out splashes of green from an abundance of plants in the room came into focus next. It was a bright, open space that connected to a kitchen. It seemed to be an apartment, most likely in a city, if Jin had to guess from the muffled sounds of traffic coming from outside. While the connecter blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes to rid himself of disorientation, a door opened behind him and you walked out. Dressed in loose shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you yawned as you entered the living room and swept your hair over a shoulder, the action bringing attention to the thin red string looped around your wrist. Sleepily, you murmured a ‘good morning,’ causing Jin to suck in a sharp breath, stiffen, and widen his brown eyes, but you only approached the nearest plant and tenderly stroked one of its leaves before waving to its siblings. Letting out a long exhale that was coated in self-deprecation, Jin watched as you, who he deduced must be Y/F/N Y/L/N, turned on the coffee maker with drowsy movements.

As you began to ready her breakfast while lowly humming an unknown tune, Jin took a deep breath, nodded to himself, and lightly treaded over to where you were standing. For someone having been in isolation for the past five years, the connecter was captivated by your movements, as ordinary and normal as they were. Entranced, Jin gently reached out his hand toward your, and sunlight refracted off his bracelet. The glinting of the metal brought him back to reality. He was only here for a job. Don’t get attached. Deflating slightly, Jin decided that while you were getting ready for the day, he would go meet your other half. Shifting his hand to touch a fingertip against the red thread of your soul string, which caused a shiver to travel down your spine, the world once again melted away into a white brightness as Jin traveled along it to your soulmate.

Three weeks later, the connecter had learned a lot about his assignments. You were a kind-hearted girl who found happiness in the smallest of things, like a child eating an ice cream cone with most of the treat smeared across their face. You worked as a marketing specialist in Chicago and had a habit, or perhaps more of a tradition, of making conversation with the plants in your apartment and any other greenery you found curious. You were quirky, honest, and radiated a playful but genuine aura.

San was a florist residing in Los Angeles, and nearly every day he was busy running the successful flower shop he had opened a few years ago. The man, whose hair was dyed ultramarine that was reminiscent of the ocean, had a bubbly personality and a positive energy that could only be described as warm and infectious. Every person who walked through the door of his shop was met with a sea of colorful, fragrant flowers and a smile that could easily rival the florets in beauty and brightness.

You both had vibrant, lovely souls, and Jin could see why the universe decided you belonged together. You would be good for each other. But he was also torn, hesitant, and unsure because he could see himself being pulled in by either of your soft and joyous hearts. Should he protect his own heart and connect your souls as soon as possible? If he completes his job quickly, he may not fall in love. He may avoid being hurt again. Yet… it would also mean he would return to his prison faster, and he wasn’t sure his heart could handle going back to that pain so fast.

Some more time passed, and Jin was having difficulty figuring out how to bring you and your soulmate together. You both worked long hours most days of the week, and that might not have been too much of an issue if not for the fact you lived on nearly opposite sides of the country. San only closed his shop on Mondays and you worked every weekday, and because living in the city was expensive, neither of you could afford to make expensive weekend trips or take time off for vacation.

Jin was stumped, and today it seemed he wasn’t the only one struggling. He silently trailed behind a fuming you as you stomped into a bar after a bad day at work. After being scolded by her boss for a report error that wasn’t even your fault, he didn’t blame you for needing a drink.

After two hours passed, however, Jin grew concerned. You, usually so strong and filled with eagerness, gloomily sat at the bar and continued to drink… and drink… and drink. Jin himself was perched on the stool next to you as the ever-growing amount of tequila numbed the frustration, anger, and embarrassment you felt. It took away those feelings until you could barely feel anything at all. Jin’s heart ached at the sight.

Stumbling home, Jin was worried you would fall or walk into the street, so he gave you guiding nudges that you wouldn’t notice in your drunken state. When finally at your apartment door, you breathed heavily while struggling to get your key into the lock, so Jin tenderly steadied and guided your hand. Your inhales grew more laborious and you clumsily waltzed to the couch. Collapsing on top of the cushions, you suddenly broke down, sobs racking your body as the numbing effect of the alcohol morphed into empty sadness. Freezing at the sight, Jin’s chest tightened and he silently cursed his own helplessness. The invisible man crouched beside you and prayed you could feel his presence, feel that he was there for you… but he knew you couldn’t. There was nothing he could do but watch in sorrow until your tears stopped then dried on your cheeks. After you eventually fell asleep, Jin retrieved the blanket from the back of the couch and gently draped it over your exhausted form.

In the days following that night, Jin felt joy and relief flood through him every time you laughed and danced around your apartment. You seemed better and full of life again, and Jin decided that’s how you deserved to be all the time.

He was behind you as you hurriedly walked through the streets of Chicago, your hair flying about in the brisk wind. Suddenly, whilst in the throng of hundreds of other people, you paused and tilted your head to take a moment to say hello to the flowers recently planted along the sidewalk. Your sweet greeting to the florets and the light shining in your eyes made Jin smile fondly, a warm feeling spreading throughout his body as he gazed at you. He thought of how happy you’ll be when you walk into San’s shop.  How happy you’ll be to talk to the many flowers budding and blooming there. How you’’ delicately run a thumb over their petals and ask how their days were going. How you’ll turn your head and call for your… your soulmate…

Jin’s smile slowly faded as you continued moving forward and the man quickly reached out for your soul string and traveled along it. He spent the next week with San.

His days surrounded by soft petals made Jin realize there was no way to get the florist to close shop longer than a day to make a trip to Chicago. The man loved his flowers too much to take a random vacation. Seeing no other choice, the connecter came to the conclusion that he had to get you to Los Angeles somehow. He had no idea how, so he needed to go back. But… was he ready to face you? Was he ready to face the feelings he knew had slowly and subtly developed for you? No, but he had to. Reluctantly, while San snipped the stems of some pink camellias to arrange with red carnations, Jin stepped forward and placed his fingers against the soul string. The smile he saw as soon as he arrived on the other end made all his hesitations disappear instantly.

A month later, Jin was gasping in pain as the bracelet sent another agonizing pulse into his very soul. Curled in on himself on the floor, Jin grit his teeth and once more tried to claw off the device enslaving his wrist but he could barely move, barely even think.

Your boss had chosen you to represent the company at one of the upcoming marketing seminars across the country, and it had been all too easy for Jin to manipulate the feed on your phone to show countless posts from Los Angeles to influence your decision on what city to go to. The plane had landed at the start of the week and now it was Friday, which meant you and San had been in the same city for five days without being brought together. Hence, the unbearable pain surging through Jin’s body and soul.

He knew the pain was the result of not doing his job. He knew that. He knew that and hated it. The bracelet tore into his soul, searing it apart and into small fragments with white-hot heat before mending it together… only to rip it apart again. He just wanted more time, just a little more time with you, the girl that was so bright and made him feel not so alone. The bracelet refused to give it to him, though, so he had no choice but to do what he was sent there for.

When you woke up, he would manipulate your phone once more to show San’s shop in the recommended posts on Instagram. You always scrolled through that damn app while eating breakfast. Then, he would take in as much of you as he could before the inevitable.

Your hair was blowing in the warm breeze as you excitedly skipped to your destination once the seminar’s final presentation concluded. The destination being the place that had popped up on your Instagram feed this morning. The flower shop that looked so invigorating and calming. After almost forty minutes of walking, the very place came into view and Jin slowed as you dashed forward with more enthusiasm.

The red string at your wrist began to glow and pulse.

With a jolt, Jin forced himself to approach the familiar shop as you entered. Peering through the large front window, he watched you. Memorizing your movements, actions, mannerisms. The way your hair fell against your shoulders, your lips as you whispered ‘hellos,’ your hands as you caressed the blossoms. He watched you and waited with shallow breaths. You admired the colorful flowers that covered almost every inch inside the shop, and took a deep breath of the fresh fragrance of the enveloping you. Twirling around, your eyes lit up as you spotted the burning orange and welcoming yellow of marigolds in the corner. Hurrying over, you traced your fingertips over the collection of tiny petals that reminded you of a scorching sunset.

The back door opened and a just-as-familiar man came out of the back room.

Jin’s lower lip quivered as the man with ultramarine hair and a smile like the sun strode toward the woman he had come to love. Your soul string glowed even brighter, casting a ruby light on the florets as the two of you made eye contact. Jin glanced down at his own wrist. A lone tear leaked down his face as the metal of the bracelet flashed in the hot sunlight, as if it was teasing him, taunting him. Reminding him that he would never have a soulmate. Never have someone that cared for him. That he was forever alone and unloved. More tears followed and trailed down his cheeks as he returned his gaze to the soulmates and tried to conjure a smile. You deserved this. You deserved to be held and cherished and given fresh flowers in the morning. He could love you but… he could never do any of that.

He tried to smile. For you. But a broken sob made its way past his lips instead.

He watched you come together. He watched as San lifted his hand to pick out the marigold stem you were admiring. He watched as your hands lightly grazed. All he could do was watch.

Then golden light filled his eyes.

#strings of suffering #seokjin x y/n #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #jin x you #jin x reader #jin x y/n #seokjin angst #jin angst #kim seokjin angst #bts angst #seokjin fic #jin fic #bts fic #seokjin #jin #kim seokjin #bts kim seokjin #bts soulmate au #seokjin soulmate #jin soulmate

[ask-asmodeus-infernal-sib]

Azzy Plotline Review

((Okay, this is going to be a really long post, with some highlights since Az's betrayal. Which is a lot more than anyone probably wants or expects, but here I am doing it. It's basically going to be a lot of excerpts from different pieces that I feel are important.

First, we have Az's betrayal:

The room has been destroyed. Like a tornado has gone through.  Except for one clean circle on the floor. With his phone lying in it. The only unbroken item left in the room. Asmodeus is nowhere to be found. Beelzebubs heart drops into their stomach. “Az- ASMODEUS?!” They sprint to the phone, frantically opening it. Terror filling them, seeping into the bond despite themselves. … Oh god. No. No no no no NO!

When the phone turns on, everything on it has been deleted. There is nothing.  Except the background has been changed to a message. I’m sorry honeybee One day, you’ll understand

After he goes back to Lucifer and gets his collar, Az was chained to the mirror. Here are some Asks during that time:

the-ineffable-dreamer asked: So what you wish for the most is for them to be happy? Why look for them in a mirror, then? Why waste your time with daydreams when you can be happy with them in reality?

“No,” Az pulled his hand from the mirror, curling up on himself, “No.”

.

Anonymous asked: Can we help?? In any way???

“Just,” Az stared into the mirror a long moment, then added, quieter than a whisper, “trust me.”

After he was released from the mirror and Lucifer took the throne here are some more Asks:

Anonymous asked: The bird or the cage, freedom to or freedom from. Freedom to do anything the choices are yours. Freedom from everything and everybody, safety in entrapment. You picked the cage.

Asmodeus snorts. “Pretty words, I bet you’re proud of yourself. I never said I didn’t pick this cage. I have been quite adamant that I did, in fact.”

.

Anonymous asked: I don't get it, didn't you have a thought on how this might effect the others? Bel? Bee? Pepper?

Rolling his eyes, Asmodeus readjusts his seat by the empty throne. “I thought this out, and I made my decision.”

.

Anonymous asked: So what if, hypothetically, oasis wins? What's left for you?

“I guess I die,” Az replies, shrugging slightly. As if the answer were of no consequence.

.

Anonymous asked: You really care about Pepper, though. Surely you wouldn’t hurt her if you got the chance.

“There should be no reason for Pepper to be involved,” Asmodeus replies simply, straightening up once again.

.

Anonymous asked: Is there any messages you want us to give your siblings?

For a moment, Asmodeus is silent. Once again, he looks around the room. “Yes,” He says slowly, “Everything comes full circle in the end. This was inevitable. Remember that, and think on it.”

Next we have an excerpt from the end of 'Pet' thread with Lucifer. Just before they are going to attack OASIS retrieving Levi:

Asmodeus nodded with a grin, as if Lucifer had promised a yes. Then he rolled his shoulders and stepped in close. His arm sliding around the man’s waist as they began to dissolve. His other hand briefly brushed over the grip of his sword over his shoulder. Reassuring himself that it was there, and ready.

For an instant, completely undetectable to Lucifer, his bond with his siblings opened. It flared wide. Blasting the others with the knowledge that they were coming. Then it was closed tightly once again.

An ask after said moment:

Anonymous asked: Do you want to fight them?

I want to end this.

The next major event was the fight between Az and Bee 'Rematch'--and honestly, I wanna quote the whole battle, but this thing is already gonna be long enough. Already is long enough. So here is one small scene:

Beelzebub waved the steam away from their face, and tilted their head. Looking at him, trying to read him. It was not usually so hard. But he was as unreadable as the day he had nearly killed them. As he seemed to be trying to do now.

“If I dropped my blade, what would you do?” They asked. Trying to reach out through the bond. Find any form of emotion besides this mask.

As they reached for him, they would find the bond tightly closed. As it had been since he left. But there was something leaking through. Just a little hint of emotion. Determination. Though for what, it was impossible to say.

At their question, Az raised his sword again. “Don’t,” 

Now we can move on to the point when Asmodeus is being held at the OASIS base, and Lucifer is coming to ‘rescue’ him.

There was no response from Lucifer. But it was clear he had gotten the message.

In fact, he was on his way.

Beelzebub noted this too, but they were still too disassociated for the dots to connect until they felt Levi speaking through their bond, one that Az was still very much shut off too. And a sense of resignation filled them, because they had had an idea, but to have it confirmed made it worse. “….fine.” They said finally to Az. “You can wait here for Him.”

Levi, grab Bel. I’ll take Dagon.

Before Beelzebub even finished speaking, Asmodeus opened up his bond. Wide open, his pain rushing through along with one single message. It was shouted at his siblings.

Run. 

Then it was closed again. Through it all, he stared at Beelzebub. Face blank. Eyes unreadable.

And, I think that about sums up the most important points, along with the full posting of ‘Just for a Moment’ that I posted. Yes, I do believe that entire thread is important. For any of you who have born with me to read this entire thing, thank you, and enjoy! -Mod))

#Azzy Plotline Review #long post #like really long post #I may have become obsessed with this whole plotline again #i really can't wait to finish it #y'all don't even #asmodeus #lucibitch #bitch with the flies #review #ask-g-o season 2 #rp #ooc