#and why are you up and about anyway?? its dark you nitwit

[goldieclaws]

Bro I ofc love animals but some of them are really testing me

#goldie speaks #wild animals would graduate the prometheus school of running away from things with flying colours #at first i thought: aww its sad to see a dead bird on the road #then you see the pigeons fly in FRONT of the car and i have to go fast bc im on a hill #MOVE YOUR ASS #animal death #how the hell are any of you still alive #im not the only car moron ffs #stop darting in front of me when i barely have time to stop or just cant! fuck! #and why are you up and about anyway?? its dark you nitwit

[yandere-society]

Moonlight

Pairing: Taehyung x Female Reader

Synopsis: Taehyung was a man of many things: handsome, young, rich, the reigning lord of the Kim manor. He was a man adored, a man respected. But beneath the studly exterior, he held a dark, demonic secret that floated towards the surface once every full moon. It was this secret that would unknowingly entangle you in his claws until there was no way out.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Yandere themes, Possessive Tae, Werewolves, Kidnapping mention, Sexual assault, Murder, Death, also it’s unedited cause I hate myself

Headline: Beast Of The Night Strikes Again! 2 Dead, Several Injured

Admin: @roses-ruby​

_

The town suffers through another full moon of terror as the one described as the ‘dog beast’ struck again late last night. Lawmen are baffled at the carnage, describing the victims torn limbs and missing hearts as an act- “most definitely inhumane.” Townsfolk have stated that they heard the creature growl and moan for hours on end until it seemingly disappeared near the Kim manor. As for the owner of the manor, Kim Taehyung - an attractive bachelor who inherited his great grandfather’s land - refused to comment and dismissed the claims of such a being as “ludicrous and delusional.” Whatsoever it may be, the fact of the matter is that there is someone or something raging with bloodlust every time the moon shines its brightest and it might just be out for your heart next.

“It is truly incredible how some of the most credible news sources have begun to sound so half-witted these days… ‘attractive bachelor?’ Seems like you’re up for auction in the middle of this tragic incident…”

“It is a small town with unusually large tales…they’ll do anything to sell their trashy story…” He runs his fingers through his long black locks, a small huff of irritation leaving his lips.

“A story that will keep children up past midnight I’m sure…” The older gentleman places today’s paper back on the table and walks up to where the younger stood, matching his distant stare out the window. “The flowers were exceptionally beautiful in this year’s bloom. Such a shame they’ll be dead soon.”

It was a passive observation, one he didn’t have to respond to; however, it was his nature to always hold a firm stance on even the slightest of interactions. He hums in agreement, gazing out towards the colorfully green garden that his study overlooked. But rather than admiring the beauty of the large field, his eyes were instead hooked on a small figure bustling about the grounds in a long black dress.

“Master,” A calm voice interrupted him from his trance, “Shall I adjust your schedule in case you were to head into town today?”

His long-time butler, Seung, bowed quietly in his direction.

“No need.” He replies mindlessly.

“Now, now,” His uncle next him chuckled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, “It would do you good to show your handsome bust among the public. Your presence as Lord might provide some comfort…”

As if he should be the one comforting weeping mothers and terrified children.

He was about to decline the smiling face of this man who bore him nothing but animosity, but he was interrupted by his uncle’s careless gaze suddenly modifying into something additionally sinister.

“Or is it that you’re too tired for such a simple task? You look as if you have not slept in ages. Are you doing alright, perhaps?”

Other than the shiver that ran down Taehyung’s spine at his foxiness, he was unfazed by the weighty question. Usually, his feigned concern would make him chuckle, if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted from last night’s events.

“I’m fine.” He turns to Seung without missing a beat, “Uncle is right. Get the carriage ready, I will be heading into town today.”

“Yes, Master.” Seung bows, but before he could quietly leave the room, Taehyung calls for him again. “And get my Uncle’s carriage ready for departure as well. I am sure at his age he would love nothing more than to be resting at home this very moment.”

There was a small confrontational silence between the senior and him after his loaded remark. But it vanished the very next second when his Uncle began to chuckle loudly, as if there was nothing but mirth between the two of them.

“You are right on the mark, young lad. As sharp as ever I see.” He spins around, walking back to the table he once sat at “I shall be out of your hair soon.”

Taehyung watches him as he picks up the paper he had been scrutinizing before he commences his departure from the chamber.

“Are you perhaps interested in the dog beast?”

“Why, not at all,” He responds calmly, turning to the younger with the same somber expression as before, “I just need some entertainment for the road. Surely, you don’t mind?”

He did not. For now, he desired his uncle’s departure the most. It was not as if he could see his own forthcoming demise stained in the ink of that paper.

Autumn’s cool breeze surrounds your body as you tend to the large grounds of the Kim manor, trimming off uneven stems from a massive rose bush.

“___,” A frantic voice suddenly calls your name, capturing your attention as your gaze falls down onto a petite figure dressed in a similar maid’s uniform running towards you, “___! Did you hear?”

“About?”

“Today’s paper!” Seulgi spoke out of breath, like it was the most obvious thing, “Those men…aren’t they the same lads who-”

“SSHHH!” You hiss, blocking her loudmouth with your palm. Her whines against your hand were similar to that of an adolescent as you whirled your head around the garden, making sure no one was near your vicinity. “I told you not to speak a word of that!”

Seulgi successfully tugs you off of her, “I know! But is it not bizarre? That beast attacked those men!”

“There is no beast!” You growled, “Everyone in town was aware that Wan and his men were good-for-nothing hooligans! They probably wandered into the forest late at night, drunk and belligerent, and attracted a bear!”

“Hmm, perhaps…” Seulgi pouts, “But what about the articles? All those farmers who lost their cattle the same exact way… with their hearts missin-”

“I’m sure those are nothing but carnivorous rodents.” You huff in irritation, picking up the sheers to return to your work. The girl besides you threw a tantrum using her feet, and you wonder when exactly it was that you befriended such a child. “Are you even done with your station or will I have to do that for you again after the Housekeeper is done scolding you?”

This manages to scare her off, and you watch her retreating figure in slight humor before turning back to the rosebush. As you snap another set of leaves, you manage to take a glance at the window of the lord’s study, apprehensively watching his back disappear further into his room.

All you’ve wanted from this manor and its lords was a chance to toil quietly – in peace. Your simple servant status does not offend you, rather it provides you security in relations with the world. You were not interested in meddling with anyone’s affair, especially with those who lived in powerful and dangerous realities. So, it does not matter.

What you saw last night, near the clearing behind the manor does not matter. It had nothing to do with you, and you were planning on keeping it that way.

_

Lord Kim was annoyed.

Really though, when was he not? As the carriage decelerates into the gates of his estate, his exhaustion only multiplies. Faking a straight face and an empty gaze took its toll on him, even if he had been playing theater his whole life. It was hard enough to keep up with this perfect charade as the lord of the manor, but it had just gotten worse with time…and with the incidents.

He was reluctant to head into town, leer over dismembered bodies and chat with the commissioner, but did so anyway thanks to his uncle’s instigation. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice - any sign of weakness would invite his extended family to sink their teeth and claws into him, wringing him dry within a matter of minutes. His father died too early and Taehyung did not bear a successor yet, so whoever would be the first to either exhaust, kill or seduce him would eventually take his place as lord. After being unfortunate enough to witness countless amounts of cruelty from them since age eight, he knew he had to keep his farce strong.

Common folk would think he was protecting his blessed birthright. But in a deep, hidden corner of his mind, the reality loomed that neither this life nor this manor was blessed in the slightest.

“We’re home, my lord.” His thoughts are interrupted as the carriage stops, the door opening to reveal a flawlessly still Seung waiting for him to disembark.

As he exited his carriage, his shoulders drooping and head spinning, his eyes managed to fall on you in the distance. You stood far away, underneath the stone canopy of the servant’s quarters, next to that bumbling friend of yours with your head bowed as the housekeeper shouted herself silly at the both you. It seems that you have once again found trouble thanks to the petite nitwit by your side.

Yet still, even with your gaze downcast, he could sense the poise in your stance. An aura of composure and self-confidence that has never left your being no matter where you stood, or who stood over you. At first, he just happened to relate to you and the notion of keeping together a tough act. But over time, he came to realize that you weren’t acting at all – that you, a mere servant, were as perfectly assured as you seemed.

It made him envious.

“Master?” Seung pulled him back to reality.

He turned away, scuffing his expensive shoes amongst the gravel to head into the direction of his manor. Yet still, after the small sight of you, he couldn’t help but smile to himself for the first time that night.

“Dinner is served.”

A tray was lifted to reveal a large pot of thick, saucy white soup. He had wanted something light ever since the previous night, and the chef had delivered quite nicely. Taehyung sits patiently, waiting to be served as the maidservants walk into the room with the housekeeper. His eyes immediately land on you out if habit, and he wonders if you were to tend to him tonight. But to his surprise, it’s your friend who comes up to the table to oblige him his dinner instead. She takes a ladle and dips it into the soup – just a minute, she forgot to pick up his soup bowl?

Realizing she forgot the bowl; she looks startled for a bit before she hovers a hand underneath the ladle and walks closer to his direction. He has to try really hard not to burst out into a fit of laughter as he witnesses you shake in fear at her antics. Seems like he was not the only one distracted because the very next second your friend trips over her own foot on the way to his bowl and loses her grip on the soup-filled ladle, which flies towards him.

And in an instant, his whole head was wet and runny with his dinner. It was quiet for the first minute – which appeared to have stretched out into hours for the servants – until many different voices began shouting at once.

“Y-young Master! T-Towel- I shall fetch a towel!”

“MY LORD!”

“My lord! I-I-I apologize I-!”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Your face was stiff in horror as you watched the creamy soup drip off his hair. Seung ran back into the room with a towel in his arm as the housekeeper bellowed at your friend.

Before Seung could wipe his hair, Taehyung held his wrist and took the towel into his own hands. Then he stood up, surprising the whole room, even the shrieking housekeeper, shut. He lightly wiped the edges of his bangs for a minute in silence, feeling the wet soup drool into his shirt before he turned towards your friend.

“Well, what a mess…” He stated absentmindedly, watching the girl shrink under his gaze until she became as small as a pebble. She seemed to be trying her utter best not to cry.

“Lord…” A soft, but confident voice interrupted the dead silence of the room. You stepped up next to your friend, your head down as you cleared your throat, “It…It is my fault actually…”

Your friend turns to you in shock. Everyone in the room was now glancing at you; the servants with petrified eyes and Taehyung with amused ones.

“Explain yourself.”

“Th-that…I spoke about the dog beast who was in today’s paper to miss Kang and…and I seem to have frightened her which is why she’s been a bit distracted…b-but it is my fault, so I deserve the punishment.”

“N-no!” You friend suddenly cries in a strained voice and you elbow her to keep shut. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish, before complying to your implication with her eyes squeezed shut tight. The servants all held their breath, waiting for the lord’s next move. They all seem to flinch when he sighs,

“…I see…” Taehyung holds in a chuckle, “You’re right miss ___, this indeed seems to be your fault…”

Seulgi quietly whines in her throat and you wish she could for once read your mind and jam her loud trap.

“…Well then,” Taehyung’s deep voice captures your full attention, “Meet me in my room an hour before midnight. I shall decide on your punishment by then.”

No one said anything further, but they all seemed to be thinking of the exact same thing. Even Seung appeared disturbed. But…it just couldn’t be… The lord has never even taken an interest in women much less bed with one. You, too astonished to remember your place, straightened your posture and stared at him straight in the eye for the very first time. There wasn’t any hint of jest or error, which left you further baffled at the Lord’s request.

No, perhaps it was just you who misunderstood.

“Y-yes Lord.” You manage to spit out.

At your approval the lord smiles, which startles you out of your insolence. You return to your humble position as the Lord begins to walk away from the room.

“Seung, prepare my bath.” Taehyung calls out in glee.

“…Yes, master…”

_

You sigh, standing in front of the thick wooden door of your Lord’s master chamber.

“Well, there goes the goal of keeping from trouble…” You whisper to yourself in defeat. And thanks to that gigantic fool Seulgi, you were late to your own punishment trial. She would not stop crying and apologizing, even though you told her it was now your problem, so she has nothing to be sorry about.

Still, the main dilemma for you in this moment was not her, but your current circumstances. Why were you called out to the Lord’s chamber an hour before midnight? The sensitive time frame would provide anyone the wrong impression, not just you. If he really were to ask you to…bed with him…what then?

You quickly shake your head no. It was not healthy for you to have such thoughts about your Lord. Since adolescence, you had been a reasonable girl who was guided by logic. There was no rationality in this idea and you’re sure Lord Kim had a good excuse for calling you out so late – an excuse that has nothing to do with...whatever you were just thinking. After pulling yourself together with a deep breath, you knock on the wood three times.

“Come in.” You immediately hear, which allows you to nervously turn the handle and push open the door.

There stood Lord Kim, by the end of the bed, in his sleepwear. His hair was a mess of slight, drooping curls, possibly the aftermath of his bath, and his stare was a lot more lax than normal. You gulped quietly under his gaze, stepping into the room and letting the door shut behind you.

“You’re late, miss ___.” His voice was deep, but soft. It felt as if he was trying to jester you.

“I-I apologize, my Lord. I was held up by the housekeeper…”

It was a lie and you did feel guilty, but it would also be immensely satisfying to witness that old witch being chided.

“My, my, it seems like she is always after you and that friend of yours,” You could hear what sounded like mischief in his tone, “Which reminds me, she came to speak to me.”

“The housekeeper?”

“No, your friend. She told me you lied for her.”

That was the last straw. You were going to kill that idiot.

“I…I…S…” What were you to say now? Should you apologize for your dishonesty?

“I think it’s commendable.” You were interrupted from your thoughts by your Lord’s words. When you meet his eyes, you see him smiling gently in your direction. “You tried to protect your friend. It takes a good heart for that.”

“Thank you, sire…” You weren’t sure how to adequately respond - if he really was complimenting you. Your uncertainty stemmed from your upbringing; rather than a trait to compensate, behaving and caring for your younger siblings was regarded as your duty. It was also why maid work came so easily to you. And Seulgi, with her childish nature yet endearing personality, reminded you of those you tended to back home, so you considered looking after her a mere responsibility.

“I do like that nature of yours.” He proceeds casually, making you blush. “But I still have to punish you for your dishonesty.”

You nod your head, eyes falling to the floor. Even without gaping at him, you were aware of how strong his gaze was. It was only natural to get disciplined as a servant, but for it to come from Lord Kim himself made you fearful.

“Miss ___, sleep with me.”

Your head whirls up to meet his stare, shock painting your face.

“W-”

“Please don’t misunderstand me.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Although you’re quite beautiful, I only desire your lap.”

…

What?

“I-” Your Lord stutters, facing away from you and crossing arms in embarrassment, “I just…these days I have been having some trouble sleeping. Many peers have remarked on my dark circles and laxing attitude. This won’t do! As the Lord of the Kim manor, I have to appear fully rested and in the best condition at all times or else.”

He turns back to your direction,

“W…when I was a young lad…I would sleep on my mother’s lap. It was the most comforting of places to me and sleep was never a cause for concern back then. Which is why…I wanted to seek that same comfort once more…so that I may be able to rest heartedly and prepare myself to face the world of politics tomorrow. I just…I was wondering if I could borrow your lap for a few nights?”

It was quiet after his explanation. Your mind gradually processing all the information in his tale. He appeared to be immensely nervous, as if waiting for you to decline. You had to hide your amusement.

“I am ready for my punishment, my Lord.”

The young Lord smiles, which has your heart racing. Surely, he was a beautiful man.

“Thank you. Please sit on the bed, near my headboard.” He orders bashfully.

_

You swung another sheet over the clothing line.

Days had passed since your initial ‘punishment,’ and today would mark the first whole month of you lending your lap to your Lord. Your nightly time with the Lord had become an occurrence you cherished. There was so much you managed to learn about the man who rested on you – like how he scrunches his nose when he encounters a nightmare or how he moans only when he is in his deepest of slumbers. He was different than how you originally imagined; his cold exterior was nothing but a farce. In reality, he was so childlike and so innocent.

So different from other men.

Yes, that’s right, he was nothing like Wan. Remembering that scoundrel had you shivering in your legs from disgust. You usually didn’t have the most pleasant encounters with the men in town, but Wan had been a special case. Although you did not wish to think ill of the dead, there was nothing ever good about that man, and frankly you’re not very upset that he’s gone.

You remember the day much too clearly; it was a week before he would meet his demise. The housekeeper had sent you and Seulgi into town on a shopping errand – she wanted you to pick up meat and vegetables for dinner. It wouldn’t be the first time you went into town for a chore, but it would certainly be the most unpleasant.

As you and Seulgi stepped out of the farmer’s store carrying a load of groceries in a paper bag you held with both arms, you spotted Wan and his friends walking towards you from the opposite direction. They were cackling loudly, drunk in the middle of the day and out of their minds. You paid them no attention, ready to head back to the manor but your unwitty friend stared straight at them until Wan eventually made eye contact with her.

“Well, well, well,” He slurred in your direction, catching your gaze, “If it isn’t the whores of Kim manor!”

Because of his brash nature, everyone’s regard fell on the two of you. You tried to look unfazed by his disgusting behavior, taking Seulgi by the hand and leading her around the men. But Wan interjected your path as his friends laughed on.

“We need to get back. Leave us alone.” You stated calmly

“Why, we won’t keep you for long,” He grinned, and you recoiled from the alcohol in his breath, “Besides, they won’t miss you- them rich folk. Isn’t that right, fellas?”

His friends began to shout and woo, enclosing in on you almost completely, and you could feel Seulgi shaking behind you.

“We need…to get back.” You say once again, cursing at yourself when your voice cracks. Wan throws his head back and laughs as hard as he could while the townsfolk just observe the show. Anger begins to well up alongside the fear and you purse your lips, picking up your feet and tugging Seulgi along.

It didn’t matter if you had to bulldoze through him, you were going to get back to Kim manor no matter what. So you step close, ready to collide into him before he suddenly sidesteps. Thinking he was distracted; you weren’t prepared for his swift movement and you certainly weren’t prepared to feel a hard thwack on your backside. A breath of surprise leaves your throat and the feeling in your arms disappear, which lets the paper bag fall out of your grasp, spilling its contents along the street. You stare at the ground, paralyzed by shock as Seulgi meekly cries out your name.

“Wan, you mad lad!” Someone from his group yells, clasping their hand into his in jest while they all express their amusement at your humiliation. The group aggressively howls, making perverse remarks before eventually continuing down the road, fully disregarding your presence. They left, without any consequences. As if they didn’t just horribly disgrace you.

“___...” Seulgi steps up to your side, crying her eyes out in worry. If this was another time you would console her – scold her for being a crybaby – but at the moment you could think of nothing. You had been a maidservant for almost a decade now and even then, you had never been treated so awfully. What’s worse is that they all saw…they all saw and said nothing.

Not wanting to waste a minute further, you fall to your knees and start gathering the vegetables that fell about. Seulgi calls your name again but you focus on your task. You have to stay composed, you have to stay composed – you repeat it to yourself like mantra. But that sensation of emptiness returns, and you freeze. Before you knew it, you were trembling on the floor with tears streaming down your face and everyone still watched on.

“___.” Seulgi wrapped herself around you tightly. For a moment your fortitude was shattered as you cried in her arms on that dirty street.

Wan was most definitely scum, you conclude with a huff as you finish straightening the laundered bedsheet. But still, you halt, dying the way he did…it’s something you wouldn’t wish on anyone. Your mind wanders back to that paper, torn limbs and missing hearts. Could it possibly be related to what you saw that night on the previous full moon? With a frown, you stare up at the sky, watching the whiffs of white clouds swirl through the blue fabric.

“___!” You hear the familiar shouts of your name and turn to see Seulgi running towards you. “___, there you are!”

“What is it this time?” You sigh as she encloses in on you

“___, is it true that you are consummating with the Lord?”

Dropping the sheet out of your hands, you spin towards the loudmouthed idiot, “W-w-w-where did you hear that?”

“The other maidservants were whispering on it,” She replies with an innocent grin, “Is he as good as the rumors say?”

“A-a-a-as the w-what? What rumors- what- consummate- a-are you out of your mind?” You were blushing from head to toe.

Seulgi looks dejected at your response, “So it isn’t true?”

“Of course not!”

“Ohh,” She groans sullenly, “But I guess it would be impossible for a lord to take interest in maidservants like us.”

Your bashfulness vanishes in an instant. She was correct, there is absolutely no reason for you to find yourself special. Lord Kim had made it clear that he has no interest in you, he just requires a lap and is too proud to ask someone close. This was originally a punishment for you and nothing more – you shouldn’t become too attached.

“___?” Seulgi’s voice was low, “Are you alright? You seem down…”

“…I’m fine.” You mutter, composing yourself, “But more importantly…why are you here to ask me about baseless gossip? Are you done with your station? Remember you have to use the right tools- just scrubbing vigorously doesn’t work-”

“Oh my god- yes, yes, yes!” She responds by childishly covering her ears, “I have to use the coil sponge not the foam one, I get it!”

You begin to scold her as she laughs, prancing around the grass without a care. But soon the humor dies down and it was time to return to work. Before she leaves for her station, she makes a passive comment.

“Tonight’s another full moon. In the night of Samhain.” There was something dim about her tone as she gazes up towards the sky. You join her, wondering if she somehow had the same bad premonition as you did.

_

While you were chatting with your friend, Taehyung was having tea with a man he’d rather throw into a river.

“What brings you here?”

“My, do you sound cold.” His uncle chuckles, taking another sip of his tea, “Am I not allowed to visit my nephew out of fondness?”

“Well, after twenty-so years, consider me surprised.” Taehyung deadpans, which only further humors the elder.

“Perhaps I do have a motive.” He grins for a moment before all signs of amusement vanish from his expression. “I could not help but toil my mind over that paper from before. The townsfolk swore they heard the dog beast growl late into the night before fading behind Kim manor.”

“I thought we agreed the paper was nothing more than gossip fodder.”

“And perhaps that’s all it is.” His uncle’s smile was innocent but held such contempt. “However, as a gentleman who resides in the city, I find myself quite inclined by the mysteries of small towns such as this.”

“What nonsense,” Taehyung scoffs, “Are you saying you wish to investigate this supernatural rubbish the townsfolks gripe about?

“Indeed! The dog beast is nothing but rubbish!” The elder’s laughter was hearty, “But then, there is the question of who killed those men?”

The room was silent, drowning in the animosity the two men felt for one another. Neither one spoke – his Uncle because he had nothing more to say and Taehyung because he felt his throat clogging. He wanted to decline, desperate to splurge words of refusal, but then the fact that he had something to hide becomes too apparent.

“Surely, you won’t mind me staying? Just for one night?”

“Stay as you wish, uncle.”

You were already situated on his bed when your Lord swung the door open.

The sound made you jump, and you immediately rose to your feet to show respect. He began walking towards you in a fast, heavy pace with his feet striking the wood. His face had you unnerved – anger in his frown as well as what you could only describe as dismay in his eyes. Before you could open your mouth to react, you were taken into his arms in a sudden and swift motion.

It left your mind blank.

He squeezed himself onto you, his chest colliding with yours as his scent surrounded your senses. Your arms were hovering his back while your fingers curled into themselves, unsure of your position at the moment. Lord Kim hugged you tight, as if he was afraid.

“M-my Lo-”

“Tonight.” He interjected, muffling into neck as he laid his head on your shoulder, “Do not let me go tonight, whatever you do. Hold onto me as tight as you possibly can, do you hear me? Do not let me wander, I beg you.”

His tone broke your heart. He sounded so frightened – so desperate and you had no clue on how to help him. The Lord has always been the strength of this household. No one had ever witnessed him so distressed, not even at the previous Lord’s funeral. Hesitantly, you placed your fingers against his vertebrate and sat back on the mattress, guiding him gently down with you.

“I won’t let you go, my Lord.” You didn’t know what else to say.

He placed his head on your lap, arms still clinging onto you like a child. His mind seemed to be in the middle of a warzone against himself. The memory of a young man sitting in front of his father’s casket, immobile and silent as a rock, was still so vivid to you. You had only been at Kim Manor for a few months back then, and you remember being disturbed by his attitude – wondering if he had any feelings at all. But after learning about how often his extended family plotted against him, to the point of kidnapping him as an eight-year-old, you began to view that tearless boy with pity.

Watching him tremble in your lap has you reaching out to him. Your digits tread into his soft hair and you slowly move them about to calm his tremors. He seems to respond; his quivers coming to a slight halt at your touch.

You don’t know for how long you rubbed his head, listening to him breath.

You don’t know when you fell asleep.

_

His whole body was aching as he walked towards the grass, trying to ease the sharp pain in his head.

He had been taught that the best place to alter was out in an open, murky environment. Somewhere you could feel the air on your skin as the patches of hair slit through your pores like needles through fabric. Yet still, somewhere impenetrable through the naked eye. There was an area like so behind Kim manor – a clearing that was connected to a large acre of uninhabited woods. And among those acres laid several swamps and bogs, which formed a thick layer of fog around the grounds of the manor – most prominent on the night of the full moon.

It was the perfect place for him, who had been poisoned with this modification.

With his mind as cloudy as the fog, he thinks back to the first time he witnessed his father alter. He was far too young, a month away from ten, when he was brought out to this clearing and visually counseled on his dreadful future. More than anything he wanted to look away, he did not wish to see his beloved father become this monster, but Seung held his hand tight and told him to hold witness for his very own sake. And he witnessed – witnessed his father thrash about as if he wanted to claw his own brains out and he cried.

He cried along with his father. But there was never any other option for him than to tolerate the dread from his place as heir to Kim manor.

It was always painful, every moment his heart pumped blood into his body, he moaned in agony. While the night raged on, he noticed his panting grew deeper by the second – tone sinking to a gruff growl which rips through his chest. His eyes and sense of smell grew keener, large nails grotesquely rip through his skin and his teeth began to enlarge. The image of the moonlight basking on his skin was the only thing offering him refuge.

If he had a choice, he would have chosen to stay inside with the warm you, stare enchantedly at your resting face like the many instants he’s done before. But his changes weren’t just physical. In this state he was bigger, louder, hairier, teethier – more aggressive. His desire for blood was intense but ever since he met you, so was this raw lust. As a rational man with a sense of morals, this perverse craving ashamed him, yet the beast inside did not care for his customs. It wanted to possess you, every ounce of you, thoroughly. To mate with you in a way that wasn’t meant for humans. Being around you in this condition would break the mental leash he chains this deviant with.

Although every time he alters, he feels it loosening. There was something wrong with him – his father and grandfather were able to restrain the beast from rampaging throughout town. But he, on the other hand, had been consuming the town as his sole hunting grounds for some months now. Which is why the “dog beast,” once a mere legend mentioned every decade, was printed in previous months paper.  

It is as if the creature wishes to mock him and the slipping control.

Drenched in sweat and agony, he knew the transformation was almost complete when he suddenly heard a small noise. He immediately spun around and met the petrified eyes of his uncle.

Neither of the men spoke – both gaping at each other with pure, unfiltered fear. The chill of the night establishes its presence in the worst moment possible. Taehyung was afraid for reasons too many, none he could not lucidly list. He recalls what occurred the last time the beast was enraged by someone and he desperately wishes not to hurt anyone ever again in this form.  

Opposite from him stood his uncle, wondering just one thought out of an infinite. How does a normal man, one untouched by the knowledge of this being, react in this situation?

A normal man would run. A normal man would cower in fear. A normal man would beg for his life. But he, the rightful heir to the manor, declined to let this young bastard trample him in such a way. It wasn’t that his uncle was a man without fear. And it wasn’t that he held great courage either, but rather, the very oxygen that burned through him was fueled purely by his stubbornness. He has spent the majority of his life trying to crush first his brother and now his nephew, so when this chance has presented itself so deliciously, he refuses to let it slip through his fingers.

“Y…” His voice was hoarse, throat achingly dry, “What are you?”

Taehyung stands there quietly, unresponsive to the question. Although he was the larger one, he felt so scared and so small. No one had ever spoken to him in this form which is why he was unsure of what to do. He had been a fool, he thought if he could sleep in your arms and you held him tight, he would be able to stop himself from altering tonight.

But now he understood, there was nothing that could.

“You killed those men.” His uncle continues, all on his own. As if he’s suddenly reached enlightenment.

“You do not…understand…” Taehyung shakes his head like a child about to be punished. He didn’t mean to kill anyone. He’s never hurt someone in his whole life. That night, on the previous full moon, it all occurred without any of his own authority.

Taehyung was a despicable man. Wan had hurt you, and he saw it. But rather than step in and intervene – rather than protect you from that scum – he instead just stood by and watched it transpire. No matter how many times he thinks back to it, no matter how often he racks his brain for an answer, he still does not understand why he did nothing. Perhaps he was paralyzed from his own traumas and forced himself to retain his composure – however the beast did not care for his pathetic reasons. It taunted him the whole week leading up to the full moon. Hurt him with insults he knew he merited.

“You’re weak.” It growled, “Weak and puny. I shall protect her myself.”

And then, for the very first time, Taehyung took the life of another human being without any cognizance. What’s worse is that he enjoyed it. That thought alone petrifies him.

“No, I do not understand you. And I do not wish to.”

“Please…” Taehyung begged as he held out his deformed hand to plead with the elder. Did this man think Taehyung desired this life? Did he think he desired this hundred year old curse - originating from a place long before his time - that was forced upon him and on any man who dared to reign over Kim manor. Perhaps despicable, but Taehyung was still softhearted. The reason why he tried so hard to keep his title as Lord was so that no one else would further suffer this abomination, even if it concerned his bastard uncle. 

And it’s also the reason he made peace with dying alone, without a bride and without children. He was meant to stand alone. That is...until he met you.

“How dare you. How dare you grovel to me, you servant of the devil.” The disgust and venom in his uncle’s tone made him recoil.

“No-” It was only a matter of time before the beast consumed him whole and he was certain, like before, it would not spare any mercy. The adversity is something Taehyung direly yearns not to repeat.

“I shall bring the priest and the commissioner. I shall tell them what you did. You shall be brought to justice for what you did to those men. You shall suffer in hell when they burn you at the stake!”

“Please- uncle- please listen TO ME-” He clasped his claws against his mouth when his voice became utterly inhumane. The beast was crawling out of his throat and his sanity was slipping. No longer was he able to see what was in front of him and once again he began to fade, like he did all those times before.

“Run!”

Taehyung with the last of his conscious tried his hardest to warn the man and take a dash for the woods but it was far too late.

The last thing he heard was his uncle’s shrill scream, and then all silence for him.

_

You woke up to a thump.

Or at least you were certain that was what you heard as you sit up on the bed. Your vision was groggy, mind still half asleep as you look in the direction of the sound’s origin. For a minute it was soundless, and then there was another thump. You weren’t sure what it was, but you stood up nonetheless, slowly walking towards the door. Still unaware of your surroundings, you stop in front of the wood, distracted by your own dizziness.

In the tranquility of the room, you caught a noise so faint, you thought perhaps you were still in your nightmare from before. It was immensely faint, but you heard it. The rapid breathing behind the door. Unhurdled by emotions such as caution and reasoning for once, you swung the door open in confusion. And as soon as you did, your own awareness came back to you at full force.

A clothless man stood before you, covered from head to toe in blood and gore. Your breath was stuck in your throat, eyes widening into saucers once you saw the length of his fangs. It took you a full minute realize that it was Lord Kim.

“W…what…” You step back in horror. Perhaps you were still dreaming.

The fear had snuck up around your waist and grabbed you by the throat, leaving you without the ability to move. He gazed at you with eyes that were a bright yellow, yet darker than any man’s you have ever looked into. Your orbs travel down his body as you absorb in his abnormal height, his ripping muscles, his long fingernails and…and his hand.

There was a heart. In his hand, he gripped a fleshy and large organ and you knew it was a heart.

Missing hearts.

“Nooo…please.” You quiver, crying without him ever speaking a word. All signs of alarm were raised in your mind and you don’t even remember what it was for that you came here. Only Seulgi’s words about the dog beast reigned in your ear. The world was spinning as your Lord…as he began to walk towards you. Your life started to flash by your eyes, and you closed them shut tight, so you would no longer have to witness this terror.

“Shhh.” You heard a deep growl before you felt cold and abnormally large fingers on your face. A gasp escapes your throat as he caresses your cheek.

The next thing you knew, you were floating. Your eyes flew open and you saw yourself being carried by him. There was no moment for you to react, as you were subsequently placed upright onto the bed. No longer restrained by his arms, you shifted about in a frenzy.

“Ah…uh…”  

“You are mine.” He states as if it was a fact.

Then he comes over you – wrapping his enormous, dirtied limbs around you as you squeak. He lays his head in your lap and you feel the tears leave your eyes as he yet again resembles your Lord. What you had thought of as just a hallucination from the fog was actually reality. That night, on the previous full moon, you woke up and strolled the grounds to clear your head of Wan. It was then that you saw the most horrid of things – you saw a giant dog shrink into a small human who resembled the Lord.

And you had told yourself lies. Told yourself it wasn’t true and told yourself to forget. But all logic was failing you now as a creature from hell winds down on your very own body. You muffle your cries and fear – too afraid to awaken the beast.

Taehyung laid peacefully in your arms; his mind detached from every other thing that did not concern you. The heart he held in his hand had stopped beating a long time ago, but he could still feel it slipping through his fingers. He is not sure, even as a beast, as to why he takes the hearts of victims. Perhaps it has something to do with how it’s his heart that hurts more than anything else each time he alters.

Well, it did not matter now, he thinks as his perception starts to drift. Nothing mattered at the moment – not the heart, nor his uncle’s body, not even your reaction. For this moment, more than anything, he just wants to rest.

To sleep, in your lap, under this cold, beautiful moonlight.

________

A/N: Okay so I really hate this I apologize. I had intended for it to be longer but well :) October has officially been 2020′s busiest month for me...but I hope you enjoy this garbage lmk what you thought!

#bts #kim taehyung #yandere bts #yandere taehyung #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #taehyung x reader

[imherongraystairstrash]

Can you write 42: “here take my sweater” for Jordelia?

It’s really long, my dudes. 

I changed the prompt a little, so that it sort of fit the time period better, so now it’s “Here, take my coat.” Anyway, I hope there aren’t too many mistakes and that you all enjoy it!

Ship: Jordelia (James x Cordelia)

Prompt: “Here, take my coat”

James and Cordelia were walking back from a winter ball in the Penhallow’s home. It had been incredibly dull, and the only thing that kept Cordelia from falling asleep had been Matthew and Lucie’s hilarious reenactment of Rosamund Wentworth and Thoby Baybrook’s wedding (where Lucie played Thoby and Matthew, Rosamund, respectively). 

Now, Cordelia couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her body as the cold, winter breeze pushed against them. Her thin dressing fabrics did nothing to warm her against the cold. She prayed to any of the angels that might have been listening for James not to notice, for she would simply die of embarrassment. Unfortunately, it seemed they all had their heads turned elsewhere.

“Angel,”James cursed. “I’m such a nitwit. You’re absolutely freezing in that measly shawl, Daisy. Here, take my coat.” he said, shrugging it off and placing it on her shoulders.

“Oh no, it’s quite alright, James. You needn’t spare it for me.”

“Nonsense, I’ve had it on all night. I insist you wear it.”

“Thank you,” Cordelia said, shrugging it on. It was large on her, the sleeves covering her hands but…it smelled like James. 

Cordelia fought the urge to close her eyes and breathe it in, for James would  

certainly find it strange, if not a bit unsettling. 

“Really, thank you.” she said, thankful she wouldn’t have to worry about getting sick.

“It was nothing, Daisy.” He said, offering her his bent arm, which she took. “You shouldn’t be suffering in the cold. I cannot understand why they do not make warm women’s clothes.”

Cordelia shrugged. “I imagine it is just the way it has always been.”

James pressed his lips together. “Well, it should change.”

Cordelia nodded. “At least, in the meantime, there are kind gentlemen who might offer theirs.”

James scoffed. “It really was nothing, Daisy.”

Cordelia just looked down, deliberately not replying. That was when her eyes caught on the bracelet James bore on his wrist. 

“That’s Grace Blackthorn’s bracelet, is it not?”

Cordelia didn’t mean to make such a bitter comment. She hadn’t wanted to make James feel uncomfortable. And it wasn’t as though they were truly married. It shouldn’t matter to her that he wore it, if he wasn’t hers to claim in the first place.

Except, it did matter. It mattered to her.

James looked down and his eyes widened. “I—What a fool I am; I must have forgotten to take it off. All these years I’ve worn it, I have become quite accustomed to how it feels on my wrist. A million apologizes, Cordelia.”

“You really mustn’t apologize, James. It’s hardly necessary if we aren’t in a relationship to begin with.”

“Still, Daisy.” James replied, unclasping the bracelet and stuffing it in the pocket of his trousers. “I cannot be wearing another woman's bracelet, while I’m married to you. Regardless of the reasons behind our marriage, you are my wife. You deserve better than that.”

“James, don’t stress about it.”

James opened his mouth, but Cordelia cut him off. “I don’t want to hear anymore about this business. Let’s talk about something el—”

James suddenly surged forward, causing Cordelia to exclaim a surprised “James!”.

“Are you alright?” She said, worry still heavy on her tongue as she helped him stay on his feet. 

James shook his head, as though to clear his thoughts. “Yes, I just—I had a dizzy spell.”

“Goodness, would you like us to sit? I don’t find it wise to be standing, much less walking, if you are unwell. Perhaps we wait until you have recovered?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Daisy. Let us continue walking home. I wouldn’t want to keep you in the cold for longer than needed.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Cordelia said, her heart practically swelling up to half of it’s normal size. “You’re unwell and besides, I have a wonderful coat to keep me warm.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of his coat and hugged herself for emphasize. 

James gave her a rueful smile. “You are absolutely positive?”

Cordelia felt her lips tug upwards, “Come now,” She walked him over to the nearest bench and sat him down. James did so, obediently, and looked up at her with those beautiful eyes of gold, like a puppy.  

“There you are.” She said, perhaps a bit breathlessly.

James continued to look up at her, his expression open and…liberated, almost. He was different in that moment. He resembled Lucie, during those times when she’d look across the room and stare at nothing, and subconsciously smile. She felt the urge to hold his face in her hands and kiss his forehead, asking him what is the matter. Or, better yet, what was the matter. 

He looked at her and she sat down at him. Cordelia lost herself in his eyes long enough to forget where they were, until a swan flapped its wings in the lake nearby. Both of them jumped, startled by the sudden noise. James seemed to recover quicker and cleared his throat. 

“Sit, Daisy.” He said, patting the seat next to him.

“Yes, yes, of course.” She said, taking a seat next to her husband. 

They awkwardly looked anywhere. Anywhere but at each other. Cordelia was concentrating so hard on looking like she wasn’t paying attention to James, that she didn’t realize he was looking at her until she shifted her gaze to a tree, and saw him through her peripheral vision. 

“Daisy,” he said, before leaning in slowly, giving her time to back away, if she wanted to. Except, she didn’t. All she truly wanted to do was lean in and kiss him. So she did. 

His lips felt incredibly soft against hers. Warm, too, against the bitter cold of the air. He slanted his lips to fit hers and she reached up to his hair, that was cold from the snow that had fallen on it. His gloved hands were also a bit cold, but their presence made her skin flush. Or perhaps it was his tongue on hers.

It mattered not what it was. The fact that James was kissing her, pulling her closer to his chest, and that there was so much love in those actions made everything else insignificant. 

He pulled away, their faces so close together that Cordelia could make out a lone freckle on the bridge of his nose. On his eyelashes were little bits of snow that got stuck. She went to brush them off and he closed his eyes in a graceful motion that made her think of angels. She brushed off the snow, wishing she didn’t have mittens on her fingers, if only to touch his soft face. Her hand lingered on his cheek and he slowly opened his eyes again, his hands drifting up from when they rested on her waist, one coming to rest on her upper back, the other on her chin.

Their mouths found each other once more, however this time, the kiss was slow. Their lips worked together silently and in perfect synchronization, as if they were modeled after each other. Cordelia couldn’t help but thank that they were married, and that if, in the unlikely chance one should happen to stumble into them, it would not be a scandal. Then, of course, she remembered the scandal she had caused before and couldn’t help but smile. She pulled away slightly, and they were once more looking at one another. 

“Daisy.” James said, his voice hoarse.

“Yes?”

He sighed. “You are an angel from Heaven. How they must have weeped when they had to let you go. To have to spare you so that you could venture Earth and save us.”

“How did I save you all?” Cordelia said, jokingly. 

“You’re a beacon of light. You’re the lighthouse that chases away my shadows.”

“No, James. I embrace your shadows.”

James scrunched his eyebrows.

“Your shadows are a part of you, and I adore everything about you.” Cordelia was quite sure she was being possessed by a demon, for she could not believe the words coming out of her mouth. She would have been mortified, had James not spoken.

“I adore everything about you, Daisy.”

Cordelia’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel her face get all cold, though not from London’s bitter winter air. James stood and pulled her up with him. He hugged her close to his body and reached out to caress her face with the back of his hand. She felt her eyes shutter to a close as he began to brush loose strands of her hair away from her face. And even though she could see nothing beyond darkness, she could feel James’ touch in every part of her body. 

She felt James’ hand slip down to lightly hold her chin and tilt her face upwards. Their lips met once more, perfectly content to having been reunited. Oh, how wonderfully James kissed! His lips were like the flapping wings of a butterfly in your cupped hand; soft and light, but frantic. It was almost like he was coming back to life, and wanted to experience everything it had to offer.

Cordelia shifted in his arms, falling deeper into his embrace. James broke apart and he moved to kiss the corner of her lip, her cheek, her jawline, behind her ear. She could have stayed there for days, would have let him kiss her days and would have kissed him for days. Could have felt his hands running up and down her body until the planets collided and the world ended. All of the time in the world, she would have dedicated it to him and being together and being in love. 

Cordelia felt herself go stiff in James’ arms. He nestled his face in her neck, and despite how much her body screamed to not do it, she pulled away and stepped back from James. 

They locked eyes, gold on black. She began to shake her head. He didn’t love her and she was a fool to think he did. A fool to let herself believe that this was anything more than physical attraction on James’ part.

“Daisy, what’s the matter?” He eyes were filled with concern and it hurt even more to know that they weren’t concerned for his wife, but for a friend. He took a step, and she did the same, except while he took a step forward, towards her, she took a step back, away from him.

James’ eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Daisy?”

She looked away, knowing tears would fall if she continued to look at those eyes. 

James would never love her.

She turned her back to him, turned her back to her pain, and began walking away. Away from the boy she loved.

How was any of this fair? How is it that all she’d ever done in life was love him, and yet would never receive that same love from him? 

“Daisy!”

Maybe she wasn’t kind enough. Maybe she wasn’t pretty enough.

“Daisy, what’s the matter?” James called out to her.

Nevertheless, didn’t she deserve to be loved? Was she so unloveable? So undesirable?

“Daisy, slow down!”

 What had she done wrong?

James caught up to her, and stood in front of her path. 

“Cordelia,” he whispered, bending down so as to be able to look her in the eyes. “Please tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing, James.” She said, refusing to look at him. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

She could feel his gaze on her, trying to see why she was acting the way she was. She forced herself to look at him, put on a half smile and begin walking again. To her surprise, James didn’t stop her and simply just fell into step alongside her. He didn’t touch her nor offer his arm. They just walked back home. 

Cordelia’s lungs filled with freezing air, which she could feel travel all over her body, as she took a deep breath. 

Love. It was a paradox unto itself. Because it can by the source of the greatest happiness in your life, or the source of all of your pain.  In Cordelia’s case, it seemed to be doomed to be the latter.

...

Hope you guys were in the mood to read some angst. 

Tagging: @celias @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @hitheresomeoneusingthus @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @niaforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @dustandshadowsworld 

If you want to be tagged in future fics, please let me know and I’ll add you to the list!!

#james herondale #cordelia carstairs #jordelia #tsc fanfic #the last hours #the last hours fanfiction #tlh fanfiction #chain of gold fanfic #jordelia fanfic #Lucie herondale #ana fics #tsc fanfiction #the shadowhunter chronicles fanfiction

[hotpinkrathian]

Kyalin Week Day 4

Prompt-  fake dating

"So why are we doing this again?"

"To catch Jingong in the act."

"Of what?"

"Selling drugs! God, Kya were you even listening?" Lin growled.

"Sorry, sorry. I've never gone undercover before."

"I know, just, do everything I say."

"You got it chief!" Kya winked, getting an eye roll from Lin. They arrived to the van, where Mako had his tech all set up.

"Whats the situation?" Lin asked.

"Well.... it seems we had some misinformation." Lin glared at him and the kid shrunk in his seat.

"What do you mean misinformation detective?" Mako began to sweat and Kya looked to Lin who's brow was furrowed in rage.

"Well, initially we thought this was a deal, or a hand off but..."

"Spit it out."

"Its a club."

"What?"

"I mean its a literal club, chief, drinks, dancing, all that." Lin's face went a subtle red and Kya took a step back.

"Its not misinformation you nitwit, it means he's onto us. He knew we'd be looking to catch him, so he went to the busiest place her could to do his dealings." Mako frowned, looking at the data in his book.

"You're right."

" of course I'm right!"

"So what now?"

"We continue with the plan. I'm going in."

"What about me?" Kya asked.

"You too. We need to change first, we'll be like black pig-sheep in a field of ostrich horses." Lin opened a small case under a seat attached to the wall, her look darkening.

"This won't work. What do people wear in clubs nowadays?" She asked Mako, but he just shrugged. Kya grinned, stepping forward with confidence.

"Lin," she said, "I think I can help with this."

"I can't wear this."

"Why not?"

"How am I supposed to fight in this if something goes wrong?"

"The skirt will rip if you push hard enough against it."

"Why does it do that?" Lin asked, looking at the skirt with a frown. Kya blushed, looking in the mirror to adjust her necklace.

"No reason."

"You bought an easily tearable skirt for no reason? Kya that doesn't make sense." Kya sighed, stifling a laugh.

"If you really want to know, I'll tell you after we catch the bad guys." Lin harrumphed, but left it alone.

"So what's the plan anyway?" Kya asked, "now that its changed."

"We'll go in together-"

"What do you mean together?" Kya asked, trying a little harder to push Lin's buttons.

"I mean together, like a pair."

"Like together together, or just, together?" Lin stared at her in confusion.

"What?"

Kya sighed, walking up to Lin, adjusting the top piece. Lin looked out of place in these clothes, but they looked good on her. She didn't have her usual intimidating armor on, but the outline of her abs would be enough to scare off anyone who thought about taking her one in a one on one.

"I mean are we dating in this scenario, or are we there looking for dates, like a wingman situation?"

"We're there busting Jingong." Kya face palmed, confused by Lin's confusion.

"Lin, as undercover clubbers, are our alternate identities dating?" Lin looked at her, lost in thought for a moment.

"Sure." Kya tried to hide her excitement, nodding her head in approval.

"Thats all I needed to know."

"Well actually I'd like to go over the rest of the plan first."

"Right, carry on." Kya half-listened to the plan, making sure to keep note of the the most important parts. This was her forte, dressing up, playing the seductress in a club with a beautiful woman on her arm. She'd show Lin how good she could be.

"Ready for insertion," Lin said into the radio, before leaving it in its place. Kya stifled a grin at the word 'insertion' causing Lin to roll her eyes.

"Please try to act normal." Lin said, before the sound of music drowned her out.

Lin cased the joint, it was pointless. The lighting was ridiculously dark and there were so many people she couldn't see two feet in front of her.

"I'm going to use seismic sense." She said into Kya's ear. Kya's eyes widened and she looked around frantically.

"What? You want to have sex?" Lin looked at her, unsure whether this was the waterbenders attempt at flirting with her or if it really was just that loud in here.

"Just... cover me!" Lin pushed Kya so the taller girl was standing infront of her, providing her with some cover from the rest of the crowd. Lin slammed her foot into the earth, picking up a hallway behind the stage.

"This way!" She gestured for Kya to follow and the older woman took her hand, allowing herself to be pulled through the crowd by the police chief. Lin peeked around the curtain of the stage, creeping forward silently.

"This is a suspicious back stage, usually there's partygoers back here, VIPs or stones who don't want to go outside.

"I'm going to forget you know that."

"Hey, I have my own special set of skills alright. You should see me dance on that stage."

"Another time, Kya." Lin replied, not understanding what she just said. She'd watch Kya dance on that stage another time, as in not now, but later.

Kya ran her tongue over lips, contemplating a response when voices and footsteps came from the end of the hall.

"Hide!" Lin whispered but before they could move Kya pulled Lin's face to hers by the material of her shirt. Pressing their lips together in a long, silent make out session, simultaneously hiding their faces as the men walked past. One of them whistled, and Kya resisted the urge to groan. When they passed through a corridor a little ways up, Kya let go of Lin's shirt, the shorter girl falling back on her heels in surprise.

"Did you hear what they were talking about?" Kya whispered.

"What? No I-" Lin stammered. For the sake of Lin's integrity Kya ignored her flushed cheeks, tousled hair and absurd posture. She was well aware of her affect on women.

"I'll bet whatever it is, just down there. We should follow them."

"Kya maybe you should go back."

"What? Now? We finally reach the creepy corridor and you're going to send me back to the truck with Mako. You asked me to come remember?"

"I know I did but now I think it was wrong of me to bring you along. You're a civilian."

"Lin," Kya said seriously, "I can handle this."

"I know you can. Its me I'm worried about." Kya stared at her, her mouth agape.

"What are you talking about?" She asked. Lin turned away from her her fists balled.

"I-I...." a crash echoed from the doorway, drawing their attention.

"Let's complete the mission, and then we'll talk, alright?" Kya said, and Lin nodded. Kya took Lin's hand, grinning at the other woman's confusion.

"For consistency," she winked, and Lin shook her head, but she kept the hold on Kya's hand, pulling them through the dark corridor. Just two best friends catching crime together. There was nothing romantic about it.

#lin beifong #team avatar #kyalin #legend of korra #kya ii #kyalinweek2020

[luciferloveschloe]

50 Cliché Prompts: 27

27. Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second

this is part of my 1k celebration! i invited people to send in prompts.

okay, so, the fact that i need to explain this highlights how long it took me to write it. in my defense, i have never written a longer one shot, and there is fake dating and pining and feelings and a bit of smut thrown in for flare. enjoy!

[deckerstar, 4.5k words, set early in s2, fake dating, first time, porn with feelings]

of holy things

“Ms. Decker?”

Lucifer’s bartender – Patrick, she remembers – slides a tumbler to where she’s taken a seat at the bar, perched somewhat uncomfortably.

“Oh no, I didn’t order any–“

“Ms. Decker, please.” Patrick interrupts her. “You do know you’re at the very top of our guest list, right?”

Oh. Oh.

She can’t help but glance in Lucifer’s direction, who’s currently deep in conversation with Maze, his right-hand-ninja-demon-bartender-whatever, pouring over what appear to be business records. He’s in a dark ensemble today, hair just the tiniest bit ruffled from their work, and he’s smirking at something Maze said. It suits him, all of it.

The very top, huh?

“Well, let me just…”

She makes to scramble for her wallet, but Patrick only shakes his head at her, chuckling softly.

“Do you want me to lose my job, Detective Decker?”

At that, she takes the offered drink with a grateful, earnest smile, tipping it briefly in salute to him before turning in her seat to face her partner’s club in full swing.

The stakeout had been a complete bust, she can admit that, but it had also been in close proximity to Lux. Lucifer had offered his penthouse to regroup and go over the case files again, Dan had Trixie for the night, and Chloe had agreed to his plan fast enough not to second-guess herself.

As she watches the ecstatic dancing, she starts to relax. Tonight’s DJ is clearly talented, the base surprisingly isn’t too overwhelming for her, and Patrick has mixed her a whiskey sour, she recognizes, which is– Absolutely delicious, really. Tart, sweet, perfectly balanced – and probably also ridiculously expensive. But, guest list.

Who knew having a night club owner for a partner came with such perks?

Said night club owner is still talking with Maze, though, and Chloe hopes he–

“Hello, beautiful.”

Oh, no.

The man stands right in front of her, and it’s too late to turn back to the bar again. Someone trying to flirt with her is the last thing she needs tonight. She opens her mouth to say so, but gets interrupted.

Rude.

“I’m George, by the way. I’ve been watching you since you came in. You’re such a pretty little thing.”

George is in his late forties, by her guess, and passably attractive. He’s also condescending, drunk, all but shouting in her ear and standing way too close for her comfort.

“Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for–“

She halts because he’s just put his right hand on her thigh, clammy fingers reaching toward her ass.

No. Definitely no.

“What’s your name, sweetheart? Tell me while we’re dancing, alright?”

Both of his hands clutch at her skin now, insistently, and she’s helpless at the instinctual well of fear inside of her. But not helpless against him.

Her fingers find her badge easily, and she reckons it’ll be enough to scare George into–

“What’s going on here?”

Lucifer’s voice is sharp and cold next to her, and she breathes easier instantly. George’s hands slip from her legs, and his gaze flicks between them in confusion. She knows the look Lucifer has fixed on him right now, knows the deadly calm, disquieting focus of eyes that sparkle for her, and she loves that it makes the other man squirm.

This is so much more satisfying than just flashing her badge at him, and – hold on, jerk – it’s about to get even better.

“Oh, Lucifer! Let me introduce you to George here. George, meet Lucifer, my boyfriend.”

“Boyfr–“

She elbows him to get him to shut up, then leaps from the bar stool and wraps her arm tight around his waist, pulling him to her.

Lucifer tries to sputter more, but when she looks up at him, he swallows and recovers enough to put his arm around her shoulders, the sensation somehow featherlight. Maybe she should be more shocked at how nice his touch feels in contrast, how right.

“I– I… I didn’t realise–“

George’s stammering is ridiculous, the crimson blush on his face betrays his embarrassment, and the way he tries not to cower speaks of how effective Lucifer’s psycho tricks are. Chloe fervently hopes their show will be cringy enough for George to stop him from bothering anyone else tonight.

“Oh, it’s a fresh thing,” Lucifer beams, now clearly onboard with her plan to cause maximum mischief.

She can’t not grin at how giddy he looks, and raises up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smells of luxurious cologne, maybe sandalwood, and something that’s just inexplicably him, something warm and intoxicating that makes her want to trail her lips down his neck to mouth at his collarbone.

What happened to being repulsed on a chemical level, exactly?

Her kiss probably turns out less chaste and fake than she intended, and when Lucifer’s smirk slips off his face and his eyes find hers, fingers hovering over where her lips were, she fumbles.

“Babe, let’s… Grab our stuff and head to the penthouse, yeah?”

She turns to gather her bag and the casefiles without waiting for an answer. When she’s facing Lucifer again, he nods at her, a cheeky little smile curling his mouth for her eyes only. They only spare George a glance when they leave, walking closely. Lucifer’s palm rests at the small of her back, barely touching, warm, soothing.

It stays there until they arrive at the elevator, when Lucifer withdraws it to punch in the code. Chloe immediately mourns its absence, but the doors slide open for them and Lucifer gestures for her to go in first.

His eyes are intent on her, his expression uncharacteristically open, almost insecure. There’s wonderment there as well, and awe. She smiles at him in return, unguarded and joyful because she wants to, and maybe because she’s just a little awed herself.  

–

Chloe’s smile warms him like the sun, but he’s still apprehensive, and he can’t shake the image of that dullard’s hand on her thigh from his mind. The doors close behind them, and Chloe sags against the wall across from him, relieved. Or deflated, rather?

“Detective, are you alright though? I should have noticed that insolent, boorish nitwit sooner, I apologise­–“

“Lucifer, no. I’m okay! There’s nothing to apologise for. I was just about to show him my badge, actually, but when you showed up… Well, I hope what we did will be more effective.”

Oh.

What they did.

Nothing, really. But he still feels a band of warmth where she’d pulled him into her side, and his skin still prickles where she’d pressed her lips to his cheek. It never felt like this before. Why does it feel different? What is she doing to him?

And why, why can’t he stop thinking about how her body felt underneath his hands?

(Soft, bare ivory instead of blazers and jeans and suits. His fingers wander, and her body yields to his, breathless sighs taking the place of clever quips and banter. She’s his Detective, she’ll always be, but here, in the gentle darkness of sins and holy things, here with him, she’s only Chloe. They’re wrapped around each other, flesh and bones and soul, and she moans in his ear. His name has never sounded sweeter than on her tongue, and he groans and he kisses her and–)

“Lucifer?”

He clears his throat, and it’s too loud in the small space, jarring. She’s studying him with her sea foam eyes, curious, and she has no right to be so beautiful in her simple white blouse and black jeans. His heart still thumps in his chest, and he needs to touch her, to be touched by her again, so very badly.

The Devil, tempted.

“Well… Well, I’m sure it was. Effective, that is. But I’ll text Maze to chuck him out anyway. There’s no room for miscreants like him in Lux, after all.”

He unlocks his phone to do just that, and he’s glad for the task, the distraction it provides him.

“Oh, that’s… That’s good. Thank you, Lucifer.”

He pauses and nods, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.

There’s that rush coursing through him again, this exquisite high he’s never quite managed to recreate since, no matter how many of his favourite substances and bedfellows he’s been combining.

And it’s… It’s just her, he realises with sudden, aching clarity. Her, and how she… The way he feels when–

“Lucifer, are you okay? I hope I didn’t overstep earlier. I mean, I…”

He wants to claw at his collar, flee, needs to kiss her until he can’t breathe anymore.

Chloe…

How come she knows him so well already? How come she sees right through him when he’s spent literal eons perfecting his masks, his charades? All the walls he built in loneliness and despair, the last defences meant to protect him from more hurt and pain, they crumble and give easily before her.

Why does he want them to?

The elevator dings, and he’s saved by the bell.

“Nonsense, Detective. You know me, always up for some good old-fashioned roleplay! Now, tell me what drink I can pour you, darling.”

–

He’s oddly quiet next to her. So far, she’s counted several excellent opportunities for a bit of Luciferish commentary, but he’s used none of them. His contributions to the conversation are thoughtful, but clipped, any attempts at jokes half-hearted at best.

By now, it has worry eating at her insides, the unsettling feeling slowly replacing the strange euphoria from before, from when he’d touched her.

Although the question is on the tip of her tongue, she doesn’t ask him if he’s fine. Again.

He is focused on her though, there’s no doubt about that. His eyes follow the movements of her hands where she spreads and rearranges the evidence on the coffee table in front of them, and every so often, he nods in agreement to something she has said.

When he takes a sip of his brandy, she doesn’t acknowledge the slight tremor of his fingers.

“So, that’s why I think you were right, yesterday. We tailed the wrong guy after all.”

A statement as rare as this should earn her a gleeful, exuberant “Detective!” at the very least. Instead, he only smiles distractedly, barely even looking at her, and gets up from the chair across from her abruptly.

O…kay?

He starts to pace in the open space of the penthouse, and although she should probably gather her things and leave so he can sort out… whatever this is, she feels compelled to watch him. To stay with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice her concerned staring at all, his graceful long lines tense in a way they usually aren’t, his eyes distant and his mouth set in a hard line. It’s such a far cry from his bubbly joy from earlier, and she doesn’t understand.

A predator, she thinks, but scared and backed into a corner.

What could possibly unnerve him like that?

He drags a trembling hand through his hair, the hair that’s always meticulously and perfectly styled, and it’s all wrong.

Maybe she can get him to talk by dragging him back to their case? A little bit of projecting never hurt nobody, either.

“So, Lucifer, what did you think about–“

“Can I touch you?”

“What?”

–

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“I… I’m sorry Detective, I didn’t… I‘m actually not feeling so well tonight? We should… We should go through the files at the precinct tomorrow. Alright, see you then!”

“No Lucifer, wait. What did you mean by that?”

Her eyes are bright and sharp when she’s focussed on him like she is now. Detecting mode on. She’s raw and unbridled energy, always hunting for the deeper truth, ready to pounce, ready to deliver justice, ready to bring whoever stands in her way to their knees.

She doesn’t know that before her, he’d sink to his knees willingly.

Chloe arches her eyebrows at his silence, and it’s a visceral effort to tear his thoughts away from her beauty.

“I– I just… When you–“

He has to stop and releases a shaky breath, feeling unsteady and disturbed by all this want, this pathetic longing that Chloe surely will have no need for.

“Lucifer, it’s alright, talk to me. We both… You make me vulnerable as well, remember? What do you need?”

He can’t lie to her.

“I– I want to touch you again, Detective. It felt… I know we only made believe, but I just–“

“Okay.”

It’s his turn to gape, now.

“What?”

Chloe tilts her head, considering. This can’t be a smirk she’s trying to hide. Can it?

“Wellll, I seem to have slept with my neck at a terrible angle last night, and my shoulders and back have been killing me for weeks now. I think… I could do with a back rub, actually. So…?”

She beckons him with sparkling eyes, smiling knowingly, and he’s helplessly lost.

“I– At once, darling.”

He crosses over to her, and tries to joke about massage oil and his comfortable bed, but it all gets stuck in his throat. He settles gingerly behind her on the couch eventually, his heart beating wildly and his stomach in knots, feeling as though he has never even touched a woman in his entire life.

And is this… Is this really what she desires? He has no way of knowing, will probably ruin things between them, and–

Chloe cranes her neck to look back at him, nothing but warmth in her gaze.

“Stop overthinking and worrying, okay? I want– I want this, too.”

He nods, completely enthralled by all her mercy, but she turns to face forward again, lifting her hair away from her shoulders. Just like that, her soft skin is bared before him, and he drinks in the graceful lines of her exposed neck and back. Without even intending too, his fingers card through her hair, carefully smoothing it to one side.

She sighs, and he brushes his fingertips over the expanse of her back, his hands coming to rest lightly atop her shoulders.

He knows it’s no small gift to have earned the trust of his Detective, and he’s not sure if he deserves it, but fuck, he’ll give his all to be what she needs, to give her everything she could ever want. He doesn’t understand his feelings, any of it, but he understands desire, and it has never been clearer to him what it is that he desires. Uncaring Devil façade be damned.

He starts with gentle pressure, massaging her with all the care and skill he possesses, and it is exactly as exhilarating as he thought it would be. She’s melting into him, her body welcoming and pliant under his hands, and he can’t quite believe she allows him to touch her like that.

When he tries digging his knuckles in a tad more forcefully, her surprised, pleased moan sends blood rushing towards his groin. He shivers, does it again, and–

“Yes, Lucifer, just like that. Right there, yes.”

This unfamiliar, all-consuming need is clawing out of him again, and it’s all he can do to clench his jaw, flex his fingers, and comply with her demand.

It’s not just that he can finally touch her, either. He can smell the nuances of her perfume, her shampoo, even her fabric softener. He feels her warmth and the rush of her blood, the vibrancy of her soul against his fingers. She should be just one simple human, but her life is more precious to him than he can even fathom, and everything about her calls to him like nothing, like no one before her ever has.

He continues to sweep his hands over her body, kneading down alongside the vertebrae of her spine, and her sounds of pleasure get him more drunk than all his booze ever managed.

When he’s arrived at her waist again, he stills her hands on her body and lets his forehead rest gently against her back. His breathing is heavy by now, but so is hers. He’s still not sure what they’re doing, but he has to ask before he goes insane. Slowly he moves his hands so that he’s cradling her waist, embracing her more fully. Surely she’ll flee now?

“Is this okay?”

To his surprise, Chloe covers his hands with her own, even pulls his fingers under her blouse suggestively.

“Yeah, Lucifer.”

He swallows hard, and finally dares to press his lips to her neck, peppering the skin he kneaded earlier with soft, open-mouthed kisses. There’s a small intake of breath, then Chloe sighs and arches her back as if to give him more access. He’s dizzy from it all, high on the sounds he can elicit from her, finally.

His fingers drift upward over her ribs of their own volition, but just below the temptingly full swell of her breasts, he hesitates.

“Chloe… Please, please tell me to stop when you need me to. I– I don’t want you to regret anything.”

To regret me.

Almost abruptly, she turns in his arms again. Her eyes focus on his for a second, intent and searching, then she drops her gaze to his mouth. She wets her lips, cradles his face with both of her hands, and claims his mouth with her own.

He groans against her lips, helplessly, and finally, gently cups her breasts. As if she set out to drive him mad specifically, she wears a simple lacy T-shirt bra under her blouse. He can feel everything through its material. When he flicks his thumbs over her stiff nipples, Chloe whines against his lips, nearly breaking off their kiss, and fuck, has he ever been harder in his life?

He takes his time to explore her, thoroughly, committing her shape and feel to his memory in case she decides never to grant him this again, and laughs when Chloe bites down on the swell of his lower lip.

“Lucifer,” she breathes against him, and it sounds even better than it did in his fantasy. She looks as dazed and unbelieving as he is, but her eyes are frantic with need. He wants nothing more than to please her, in whatever way he can.

“Let me take care of you, love. Please.”

She nods, and he slowly turns her in his arms. She leans fully against him now, not an inch of space between their bodies, and he notices the way her heart races.

He dreads the second she’ll leave him.

Almost timidly he lets his hands trace over her body until they’re resting at the tops of her thighs. When his hands hover over her fly, his resolve wavers again. Chloe saves him, pulling her zipper down quickly and wriggling, adorably, to give him more space.

She couldn’t state more boldly that she wants this, now, and the Devil might just come in his pants like a horny teenager.

Only their breathing fills the quiet as he slowly reaches to cup her over her panties, and they groan together at the first connection, as he realizes how drenched she is from what they’ve been doing.

“You kill me,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, then pushes her underwear aside because he has absolutely zero restraint left.

He’s allowed to touch, and she’s swollen and dripping wet. For him. He mouths at her neck, wraps his hand around her throat lightly when she throws her head back, and it’s intoxicating, all of it.

It would almost certainly be embarrassingly easy to get her off in this state. (Hell, he can barely keep himself in check, and he has eons of practice.) A few determined strokes, a handful of precise circles around her clit, and she’d be gone, he reckons. But this is not at all what she deserves, not at all what he wants to give her, now.

Instead, he takes his sweet time, caressing every inch of her, spreading her wetness with fingertips and knuckles, worshipping her silky skin. He keeps his touches deliberately featherlike, as if anything more would shatter her, but he knows it’s him that’s fragile, and he finds he’s not ashamed of it anymore.

She’s restless in his arms, writhing against his body, and he’s sure he bruises her hip with his left hand, but she doesn’t mind, keeping it there by pressing her own above it, linking their fingers together tightly.

Like this, only teasing and exploring, he brings her to the edge.

He senses when she’s almost there, and it’s glorious. She’s trembling and twitching, gifting him with quiet little whimpers he will treasure forever, and grips his thigh with enough force he has to bite back a grunt. (It hurts, and isn’t that marvellous in itself?)

But this is not how he wants to do this, and so he withdraws his fingers at what is possibly the last possible moment before she reaches her peak.

“Fuck, Lucifer– Why did you stop?!”

He almost feels sorry at the desperate lilt of her voice, almost. But pleasure is one of the few things he’s good at, and he knows this will be worth it in the end.

“I know, I know. Fuck, you feel so good, darling. Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing. I’ll stop your pleasure one more time and then I’ll make you come, I promise. If you don’t think it was worth it after that, you can throw me out of my own house, you have my word.”

She chuckles weakly, thankfully, then throws her head back again when he wastes no time and pushes one finger inside her.

“Ugh, Lucifer… More like you’ll do– Fuck. You’ll do my paperwork for a month.”

He smiles against her skin, both because of their banter and at the thought of him actually doing paperwork. He’s glad she doesn’t make a real deal out of it, but then, he trusts his abilities, doesn’t he?

She gasps when he finds her G-spot, and the way she clenches around him makes his eyes roll back in his head. He’s not sure which colour they are anymore. But all that matters is her pleasure, and he lets himself get lost in it.

He brings his thumb to massage her folds, all the sensitive spots he discovered earlier, but is careful to avoid direct contact with her clit. She keens in his arms, moaning openly, and he watches every beautiful reaction play across her face. He never wants this to stop.

A second finger follows the first, and he grazes sensitive nerves over and over, makes her grind against his fingers inside her. She pulses rhythmically around him, and the feel of her heat and strength maddens him.

“Lucifer, please, it’s so good…”

She almost sounds delirious by now, and it’s a conscious effort not to come just from this, just from seeing her carefree and lost in pleasure like this.

“Hold on for me, love, once more–“

He removes his hands from her body, and she whines and whips her head around immediately, crashing her lips to his with a fierce intensity that takes his breath away.

“Make me come already,” she demands against his mouth, and he groans helplessly.

He keeps her like she is now, wanting to watch when she finally falls apart, and returns his hands to her. With his left hand, he cups her breast, teasing a nipple with insistent, back-and-forth-strokes that earn him an exhale and hands fisting in his hair.

Two fingers of his right hand slip inside her again, snug against her G-spot, and he’s holding back nothing. Finally, he presses his thumb directly against her clit, in rough, dirty circles, just the way she needs now, and never lets his eyes leave hers.

After all the build-up, she’s completely lost in it, her face soon scrunching up in sensation beautifully and her fingers bruising his skin. He lets his forehead fall against hers and gasps with her, committing everything to his memory.

Her orgasm starts in little tremors and ripples across her body. Tangled up with her as he is, he feels them all, feels her clench around his fingers like a vice grip. Her mouth falls open, her eyes press shut, and finally, with his thumb circling her relentlessly, she freezes up in his arms and comes with a wail that cuts right through him.

He swallows it with his mouth, and he kisses her tenderly, smiling against her lips as she rides his hand through her peak, clinging to his body and whimpering softly.

Only when she goes limp and boneless in his arms he carefully removes his hands from her, breaking their kiss and opening his eyes to take her in, flushed and euphoric with pleasure. It’s the most beautiful, rapturous sight.

He brings his fingers to his lips because he has to, and he groans at her taste in his mouth, revels in the breath she sucks in.

“Fucking– Shit, Lucifer. You really had every right to brag all this time, didn’t you?”

She’s breathless and gorgeous and happy, and he always wants to be the reason she is.

“Course I did, darling,” he retorts automatically, but he can’t help the shit-eating grin, and he can’t help how not-unaffected he sounds.

Her smile dims a little, though, and it’s ridiculous how fast he panics. If she leaves now, he’ll be ruined forever.

“I– I know this is maybe not the right time, but I just… I guess I need to know if I’m just another notch in your bedpost, you know? If I am, if we are, I don’t know­, more than– Ah shit, forget I said anything.”

She leans in to kiss and distract him, but he stops her with a finger, understanding perfectly for once.

Chloe couldn’t be farther away from being just another notch in his bedpost, he realises. She is light and everything good that’s been missing from his existence. His heart stutters inside his chest, but the thought that someone could hold power over him loses its terror when he’s looking at her, when her emerald eyes shine like they do now.

“You are, Chloe. We are,” he vows, and it’s the absolute truth.

Voicing it aloud lends his devotion a shape, and he knows the word humans would use to describe his feelings. Some dark part of him still scoffs at the notion of him ever being able to love someone, much less being loved in return, but nevertheless, he knows it’s love that spreads like fire in his veins, that settles like a comforting weight in his chest, that floods his battered heart with life and his soul with hope.

“Really? Oh, thank God,” Chloe mumbles before she kisses him again, and not even the mention of his father can take this giddy happiness away from him.

This is new. This is terrifying. But it is good, and this time, he cannot wait to fall.

“Lucifer,” Chloe breathes against his lips, and there is nothing but her.

#lucifer on netflix #deckerstar fanfiction #lucifer fanfiction #thedeckerstarnetwork #1k celebration #me actually writing #asks answered #i PROMISE i'll also complete the other prompts #i'm always this slow lmao

[kumeko]

Title: take a chance on me

A/N: For @princerazzie​, for the @talessecretsanta2019​! I like Zelos/Sheena a lot myself and went with a bit of an AU for them. Hope you like this!

…

…

…

Sheena stared at her physics textbook, at the carefully labeled diagrams of triangles and circles and odd-sided shapes. It was confusing, sure, but it was a comfortable confusing. She knew where she stood with physics and that was on the border of failing or passing the class.

 What was more uncertain, however, was the red-head smirking at her cheekily from across the table. There were many adjectives she could and would use to describe him—lazy, flippant, skirt-chaser. Smart was never one of them and she wasn’t sure what was worse, that he was tutoring her or that somehow, somehow, she was stupider than the guy who spent all of class flirting.

 Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe the teacher had swapped their papers by accident. She glanced at the textbook once more and sighed internally. No, she was definitely failing the class. Unfortunately, that meant Zelos was actually useful for once and she didn’t know what to make of that. He’d never shut up about it, that much she was certain. Every conversation carried forward would mark this day down. Considering that she’d known him since kindergarten and would probably, unfortunately, never stop knowing him, that was a lifetime of nose rubbing.

 She had to make new friends.

Zelos’s smirk grew wider as he caught her eye and shit, she’d been staring too long. “What’s wrong, beautiful? Can’t look away?”

 Her ears went red. It was a small miracle this was after school and no one was in the classroom right now. Or maybe that wasn’t such a good thing; it literally was just the two of them in a classroom, all alone. Sitting straight, she crossed her arms and scowled at him. “Of course not. I just…can’t believe it. How do you have the highest marks in class?”

 “Hey, I’m not just beauty, I’m brains too.” Zelos winked. He curled an arm and patted his bicep. “Maybe not brawn yet, but brawny isn’t nice to look at anyways.”

 “Ugghhhh,” she groaned. This was the nitwit she chose as her first and, for some reason, best friend. This was the man she was going to know for the rest of her life. No, not the rest of her life; she was never going to make it that far. Maybe even as soon as today, she was going to murder him. She’d been making progress with her juniors, with the air-headed pair of Colette and Lloyd. She didn’t need him anymore.

 Maybe she could learn physics just to hide his body.

 Stranger things have happened.

 “Hey, don’t groan so much.” Zelos tapped on the book to get her attention again. “It’s not my fault you’re failing.”

 “I’m not failing,” she snapped back, indignant. She crossed her arms defensively. “I’m just not passing.”

 “That’s the same thing,” he pointed out, his expression deadpan.

 He had a point. She didn’t want to admit. Sheena glared at him, before gesturing at the classroom windows. It was a surprisingly warm fall day, almost t-shirt weather, and she asked, “I thought you’d be out flirting or something on a day like this. Why’re you even here?”

 “And miss the chance for some alone time with you?” His tone was light, but his expression was serious. Sheena swallowed as he looked at her. “Never.”

 He was just flirting. It was like breathing to him. That’s all there was to it and Sheena tried to remember her skyrocketing heart that this meant nothing to him and even if it did, she didn’t care about it. She didn’t. Not in the least. “S-sure,” she managed, finally, her voice hitching slightly. “How many times have I heard that line before? You say it to everyone.”

 Zelos studied her for a moment. Did he see right through her? And what did that even mean, if he did? He broke into an easy smile and shrugged. “Caught me there.”

 Yep. That was to be expected. Sheena released the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Pushing forward the textbook, she tapped on the first problem. “Explain. The sooner we get through this, the sooner we can leave.”

 “So gung-ho.” Zelos chuckled, leaning closer to the textbook to read. His long hair brushed against her fingers and she resisted the urge to jump back. How had they done this when they were kids? She felt so much more self-conscious of him these days. He read the book, his lips mouthing the problem silently, and sat back. Cocking his head, he asked, “So…you don’t get what, exactly?”

 “Everything.” Sheena rolled her eyes. She’d thought it was obvious. “The whole thing. All that stuff about volts and watts and circuits and the funny diagrams. None of it makes sense.”

 “I thought you were paying attention in class. You didn’t even understand one thing.” His brow furrowed and he shot her a pitying look. “I knew you were an idiot, but I underestimated how much.”

 She bit back a scream. Every conversation they had left her feeling like this: mildly annoyed and frustrated. “It’s not like you’re much smarter.”

 Zelos snorted derisively. “I am.”

 “Ok, fine, you’re better in class, but you know what? Out there, in the streets? You wouldn’t last a minute,” Sheena growled, her hands curling on the desk. Her nails dug into the wood, as though she could transmit her irritation into the furniture.

 Now Zelos looked at her sadly. Reaching out, he tenderly covered her hand, his touch light. “I’m also better there too, honey.”

 She yanked her hand away, her skin burning. His touch was seared onto her skin and she could still feel his fingers brushing against her wrist. Flushing a bright red, she leaned forward and yanked on his tie, forcing him to her eye level. “Just. Teach. Me. Already.”

 Now that she was this close to him, she could see that his eyes weren’t quite as light blue as she thought. There were flecks of dark blue, a more haunting colour, and with his eyes as wide as they were now, they were impossible to miss. No, that wasn’t why, it was because she was so damn close. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d leaned forward. Their noses were almost bumping and she could feel his breath on her lips. There was a slight blush on his cheeks and she felt irrationally proud of that, of getting him to turn red instead of her for once.

 But he was close, too close, and Sheena felt a familiar flush colour her face too. Her grip on his tie loosened and she swallowed. “I…”

 His lips moved and she was aware of it, so keenly aware of it. “You…”

 She had to back away. This was a danger zone, the area she didn’t thread with him no matter how many years they knew each other. No, maybe it was precisely because of how many years they knew each other—she didn’t want to be his next conquest, his next short-term fling.

 But he was close, too close, and when he moved forward, closing the gap, all she could do was close her eyes as she forgot how to breath. As his lips crushed hers. As his hands threaded through her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. The desk pressed against her stomach and his chair scrapped as he tried to get nearer. His hair was softer than she’d thought, she realized idly as she gripped his head back. Her body seemed to have a will of its own, knowing just what to do, where to move.

 Finally, running out of breath, he let go, and she sank back into her seat. Her breathing was shallow, rapid, and she stared at him with wide eyes. At least he looked like she did; she didn’t know if she could handle being smirked at right now. She watched as he raised a hand to his lips, as he stared from his finger to her, and then back again.

 “This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asked finally.

 “A nightmare, more like,” she managed, closing her eyes. “This was a mistake.”

 “A mistake?” he repeated, and she could hear the undisguised hurt in his voice. “You didn’t want it?”

 “Of course I—” She cut herself off before she could say anything else. Cracking an eye open, she froze at the frown on his face, the way his shoulders slumped, at how small he looked at her words. Sometimes, she forgot he had a heart.

 Sometimes, she forgot that he did actually care about things. About people. About her. For all of their headbutting, he was one of her closest friends and she never knew what that said about her.

 “I didn’t mean it that way.” Sheena sighed, pinching her nose. Some honesty couldn’t hurt. Just a little, at least. “I…it was nice…and I…” Oh god, no, she was wrong, honesty could hurt. The words were like taffy in her mouth and she forced them out. “I liked it.”

 Zelos was caught entirely off-guard and his mouth fell open. “Hhh?” he managed unintelligibly.

 Sheena shook her head. “I’m not repeating that.”

 It was too late. She should have known better than to give him even the smallest indication that she maybe-kinda liked his attention. Zelos bounced back to his usual level of enthusiasm and leaned forward onto the desk. Resting his chin on his hands, he smirked at her. “You liked it.”

 “I…” She couldn’t even tell him to not put words in her mouth, those were the very words and phrasing that she’d said it. Sheena clicked her tongue, sitting back as far as she could in her chair. With a frown, she added, “But that doesn’t make it any less of a mistake.”

 “How so?” he asked and maybe he didn’t understand what mistake meant, because his smirk was only growing bigger with every second.

 “How is it not?” she growled back, trying not to gesture with her hands because when she did, she’d lean closer, and if she did, they were definitely going to kiss again.

 She just knew it.

 Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself. “You know how you are with girls. I know how you are with girls. We both know this is going nowhere. All this did was make our friendship awkward.”

 Zelos stared at her unblinking. “Hmmm,” he hummed, considering it all. She felt her cheeks redden again at the attention; the way he studied her did dangerous things to her heart. “Right. I see.” He sat up now. “But what if that isn’t what happened.”

 “What?” Sheena looked at him owlishly.

 “What if I don’t act like I do normally?” he said slowly, each word deliberate. “I told you before, I’m serious about you.”

 “That was teasing,” she managed to reply, falling back to her old defenses.

 “It wasn’t. It never was.” He held out a hand, palm up. “I’m serious about you. I always have been.”

 And for once, she had to admit the honesty of his words. There was no teasing lit, no flowery words. She can’t remember the last time she saw him like this, so earnest, so open. Never, really. No, that’s not quite right—he’d always been a little vulnerable with her, a little open. Not quite the player he always pretended to be.

 Sheena stared at his open hand, at his hopeful eyes, and swallowed. “You’re not kidding.”

 “I’m not,” he repeated.

 This was a mistake. Sheena was ninety-percent certain about that—she’d known Zelos for years. She knew his moves, what he did, how he left girls.

 She took his hand anyways.

 Zelos broke into a wide smile and she stared, transfixed. Even if it was a mistake, it was too late. They were always heading here, she’d just been too stubborn to admit it.

#tales of symphonia #zelos wilder #sheena fujibayashi #sheena x zelos #zelos x sheena #fanfic #i love these two #they just banter so well with one another

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Indignity

Part 3 to Indecent and Indentured

This is a dark!Loki and OC fic. It will contain noncon content and possibly other sensitive matters. Please mind the trigger warnings. Explicit content, 18+.

In this chapter: um, sex, some oral, a little bit humiliating.

Note: Thank you to everyone who’s been following this rare Loki fic. I hope you guys enjoy this latest part. It might not be updated as much as my other stuff in the future but I’ve made a little bit of progress in writing.

Please let me know what you think and please reblog if you can. <3

Summary: Sigorna is forced to face her new master.

Sigorna stared out the window. It was too high to jump and the stone was too smooth to climb down. An hour had passed, or so she thought. She hadn’t done more than look out onto the cityscape. She missed her old life already. Wished she had Audun to make her smile. Everything seemed so dire yet so surreal.

She felt as if she would be sick. She finally pulled herself away from the window sill, tentatively approaching the far door. She stuck her head inside, a small bath chamber within. A large marble tub was inset in the floor and a commode in the corner was hidden within a closet. The counter had a basin atop it and shelves lined with vials beneath. Everything was so prepared. It was rather eerie.

Sigorna stepped into the bath chamber and closed the door. There was no lock nor latch on it. It stayed loose in its frame, ready to open at the slightest breeze. There was a pump at the head of the tub, when she pressed it water spewed from several holes along the side of the tub. The basin filled quickly, steam rising in the chamber, almost suffocating her. Or was that her anxiety?

She slipped out of her dress and shivered despite the heat which had filled the room. She folded her clothing over the counter, her shoes beneath, and turned to the tub. She usually washed in the river, but more often than not she used a rag and a small basin. Peasants didn’t have the time to worry about their hygiene as much as the nobles. It was a luxury, one she would have relished otherwise, but all she could think of was Loki. How he had ordered her to wash for him. There could be no mistaking why.

She sunk into the hot water but it hardly made her feel any cleaner. She suddenly had the urge to scrub herself raw. She couldn’t have said otherwise what was the alternative? To lose her brother; her only kin. If only Giermund hadn’t been such a tosser. If only Audun not so gullible. If she let herself drown, she wouldn’t have to do any of it but she doubted Loki would accept that. She couldn’t be certain he would go retrieve her brother and punish him instead.

She climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around her body. She gathered her clothing and returned to the main chamber. Her heart was in her throat as movement frightened her. A slender woman was setting down a tray of food on the round table near the hearth. She stayed silent as she approached Sigorna and made to take her clothes from her. She fought for a moment but relented when the woman did not cease her struggle.

“Wait,” She called as the servant neared the door, “Please, what is the hour?”

The woman shook her head and continued to the door. It locked behind her as loudly as before. Is this what it would be? Torturous isolation as she waited for her gaoler to visit. She hugged the towel closer and neared the closet. Within were silks, satins, muslins, and all types of fabrics in various tones. She pulled out what looked to be the longest garment but it did not offer much modesty. The neckline dipped low over her cleavage, the back was almost non-existent, and the silk felt scandalously thin. She searched the single dresser but there were no slips or underclothes to be found. She sat as her stomach twisted painfully.

She sipped from the water, ignoring the bottle of wine brought with her breakfast. The toast was all the could stomach and she left the rest untouched. She crossed to the door, fruitlessly trying to turn the handle. She knew it would be lock but she didn’t want to give in. She was restless. That little voice in her head told her to at least try. She tried looking through the crack beside the door but she only needed to listen to know that no one else was out there. She was suddenly very alone.

She relented as the sun passed it apex. Noon had come and gone and she sat under the desk, her feet stuck out. She knew she couldn’t hide but it felt better. She didn’t have to look at the chamber; the bed; the closet of scant clothing. The servant returned to clear her tray but still did not speak. She wouldn’t even tell Sigorna her name. Perhaps it was better that way.

She crawled out as the sky began to soften outside her window. Her stomach growled but even so, she would not have been able to eat. The servant had left the wine behind. Sigorna uncorked it and dumped it from the window. She set the empty bottle back on the table and sat in the chair, her leg shaking.

She stilled her nerves when she heard footsteps. They were light but determined. Chillingly familiar. The lock slid open and the door followed, revealing the dark-haired prince; her new keeper. The air felt colder on her skin, touching those spots uncovered by her gown. Her exposed cleavage and back forming goosebumps.

“My dear,” He closed the door behind him. He crossed to the table and lifted the empty bottle. He squinted at her curiously and bent to put his face before hers, he sniffed as she breathed. “I do not detect wine on your breath.” He weighed the empty vessel in his hand, “I suspect you dumped it from the window then.” He gripped it before tossing it at the wall over her head, the glass shattering around her.

“Now Sigorna, I’ve been quite accommodating thus far. Your thief of a brother still breathes and all you have to do is live in much better condition than you did before. I truly don’t see why you are so miserable,” His fingers tapped on the table as he loomed over her, “You have your meals brought to you, a selection of activities to keep you busy in my absence, and a lovely view.” She stared up at him, shards of glass settling in the tails of her hair. “I ask for little in return. A little gratuity here and there, and we’ve barely gotten to that just yet.”

“I told you I do not like wine,” She said evenly.

“I never thought a peasant would be so preferential,” He slithered, “Stand.” He backed away, “Now. Before me, dear.”

Sigorna didn’t move for a moment, measuring as she considered his order. His green eyes warned her against disobeying. Slowly she rose, shaking the glass from her hair as she moved forward and stopped before him. He smirked, his hands hovering along her arms as he looked her over. “You washed yourself and dressed. The least of what I asked but it shows potential. I should hate to have to break you entirely, just a little bending.”

He brought his fingers up under her chin so that she looked at him. “Why didn’t you just have him executed? Or me?” She breathed, “Why bring me here?”

He rescinded his hand, his fingers fluttering down her neck briefly. He turned away, looking through the window as he set his shoulders. He inhaled before he spoke, seemingly basking in the situation. He had his own personal pet to taunt. He was drawing it all out in such a painful manner. She was not entirely unhappy for the delay of the inevitable.

“You may have realized by now but this was not entirely spontaneous. This chamber has stood empty for quite some time. I’ve merely been searching for the proper occupant. There were a few servants I had thought to keep here but I found them entirely too dull.” His profile was limned in the setting daylight as he turned, “And the slaves they sell in the underground are too brittle. Far too lifeless.

“Truly, our meeting was entirely chance but it seems now it was serendipity. Your brother needed saving and I needed a bed warmer.” He faced her once more and she stared back speechless.

Having it all laid out made it even more real. She gulped and her nerves split. She turned and darted for the door. She hadn’t heard the lock after his entrance. She pulled it open, the handle turning easily but she was seized around her waist and yanked away from her escape. The door slammed as Loki held onto her with one arm. It locked audibly as he snapped his fingers.

“You’re quick,” He grunted as he struggled with her, “But not quite fast enough.” She tried to pull away from him as he clung to her waist. She could feel a prod as she reached out to grab onto a chair as he dragged her into the room. Her struggle had her wriggling flush against him and it was only enticing him further. “Go on,” He shoved her towards the bed, “I don’t want to tie you down, but I will.”

“This...this can’t be. Please, I could be a chambermaid or...or work the kitchens. The laundries,” She pleaded desperately, “You’re a prince. I’m sure there must be noblewomen eager to court you.”

“I have enough maids,” He said, “And noblewomen bore me. Now, if you don’t start fulfilling your side of our bargain I will have your nitwit brother dragged here and flayed before you and then I will take you anyway.”

She looked at him and knew he could see her surrender. She knew he wasn’t bluffing. She had agreed to this to save Audun and now she would dangle his life once more in the balance. She stood stalk straight, stilled herself and resigned her body to what was to come.

“Now, now, don’t be so dour,” He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, “We can take this slow. I prefer a little anticipation.”  He loosed her hair from its tie, “One step at a time.” He tugged on a curl, purring at the feel of her thick hair in his hand, “You may undress me.”

Sigorna swallowed, watching his pale hand release her tresses. He stood before her expectantly, his eagerness apparent through the leather of his trousers. He was entirely unashamed of his blatant desire. “Go on,” He said impatiently, “Or we will make this as painful as possible.”

She narrowed her eyes and nodded. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. She reached up and blindly began to unbutton his jacket, fumbling with the first button. He grinned and she fought to keep from showing her discomfort, though it must have been obvious. She pushed the leather down his arms and hung it over the chair before turning back to him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and raised his arms as he pulled up his tunic. She freed his head he watched her intently, “You should’ve had that wine.” He chided.

“I’m fine,” She insisted as he put a foot out. She knelt and unlaced his boot, pulling of one after the other. He stood, towering over her as she numbly brought her hand to his belt. She unbuckled it and freed its from its loops. She put it on the night table and picked at the laces of his trousers, she could tell he had no undershorts on.

She started to push his trousers down his hips and he leaned into her. He caught her hand, loosening his fly, and shoved in inside the leather against his member. He moaned and she fought not to pull back. She waited for him to release her before she continued to lower his trousers until they pooled at his ankles. He sat back on the bed and kicked them away, leaning back on his hands as he put himself on display.

“I don’t need to talk you through this, do I? You look like you’ve handle your share of men before,” He teased.

I know how to castrate a man, she thought but did not speak. She merely nodded and stepped closer to him. He sat up and his hands found the sleeveless shoulders of her dress, pulling the halter over her head roughly. The silk rushed from her body as he let it go, only catching on her hips briefly before leaving her fully exposed.

“Better,” He said, his hand resting on her hip. He traced along her waist, the curve of her stomach, his green eyes hungrily taking in her breasts. She wanted to cover herself. Wanted him to cover himself. She wanted it to be over. It would be easier if she just let him get it done with.

“Take a step back,” He ordered, “Let me have a better look.” She clenched her jaw as she did as he bid. “Turn,” He twirled his finger, his other hand inching closer to his cock, tickling along his base. “Good,” He praised as she turned her back to him, “Now bend. Fingers to toes.”

She pushed back her shoulders before she found her wits. She hesitantly stretched her arms and bent forward, reaching to her feet. He breathed out audibly at the movement and she cringed, closing her eyes. She made to stand but he tutted. “Stay, like that.” He was humming between words.  

The bed shifted and she heard him near. She tried not to tremble as she remained prone to him. His hand brushed along her backside and he cupped her rear, squeezing it with growl. His cock brushed her lower back, just above her butt. He dragged it down her flesh, cloyingly pressing on her outer lips before pulling it back.

His hands continued down her legs as he adjusted behind her. She opened her eyes and looked around her legs, he was on his knees. His finger lingered on her thigh before he pressed deeper. “Legs apart he ordered.” She reluctantly parted her legs and he pushed beneath her folds, past her opening and found her clit. She twitched at the sensation.

He circled her bud and she winced. His hair whisked along her thigh as he put his head between her legs, his nose tickling her as his tongue searched. She pulled away without meaning to at the cool feeling of his mouth and he grunted. She tried to step back into place but was shaken by a sudden smack across her backside.

“On your knees,” He slapped her again, the strike stinging her flesh. She lowered herself to the floor and he nudge her lower back. “Bend,” He guided her, “Arch your back,” He grabbed her hips and set the higher, “Mmmmm,” He purred, “Now, Sig,” She inhaled sharply at his use of her pet name, “I don’t want this to be too difficult for you, so let’s be a good girl and stay,” He smacked her ass again, “Still.”

Sigorna twined her hands together as she supported herself on her elbows. She rested her forehead on her hands and closed her eyes, bracing for what came next. Loki’s fingers were exploring her again, on her clit in an instant as he stoked her fire higher. She squirmed even as she fought not to and felt herself growing wet. She didn’t want this but her body paid no heed to her mind.

He drew circles and pressed harder and hard. He dragged another finger back and forth along her opening, spreading her dampness along her folds. He pushed two fingers inside, still toying with her clit as he did. Sigorna bit into her wrist as he began to work in and out of her. She felt the tension building. The heat radiated along her thighs and her muscles clenched and suddenly released. She couldn’t help but arch deeper as she came, her teeth digging into her flesh as she held back a whimper.

Loki removed his hands, wiping her juices along her rear. He sighed and tapped her butt, this time softer. She could hear him moving and felt his warmth dissipate. She gulped and looked back. He was smirking as he sat back down on the bed. “Come on then,” He stroked his cock.

She rose and neared him, the bite mark on her arm burned. He removed his hand and gestured to his member. “Go on,” He leaned back, legs splayed. She reached down and lightly touched him. She inhaled and urged herself on. She gripped him tightly, bringing her hand up his shaft. She repeated the motion, slowly at first. As she quickened her pace she looked at him, his head lolled back as he moaned. She dragged her palm over the head of his member and he twitched, groaning loudly. Maybe if she could finish him then and there, he would leave her.

She stroked him faster, firmer and he caught her hand suddenly. His head was tilted, his eyes alight. “Not so fast,” He pulled her hand from his cock, “Sneaky, sneaky,” He tisked, “Turn.”

She sighed silently as she turned. She shook her head at herself. This wasn’t ever going to be easy so why was she trying? He pushed his legs between hers as he led her back with his hands on her waist. His cock poked at her bottom and released her line to himself up with her opening.

Her legs were spread wide and he lowered her slowly, his head entering her slightly before he pulled her back up. He did it several more times, every time only letting is tip inside. He did it once more and paused as he was about to remove himself. He shoved her down suddenly, his girth filling her sharply and she couldn’t help her yelp. He chuckled and lifted her again. He started the motion, guiding her up and down.

He let go of her hips and let her move on her own accord. She knew if she stopped it would only be worse. He grabbed her elbows and pulled her arms behind her and thrust up into her harder and deeper. Her legs were too short to keep herself steady with him moving below her like that. He leaned back and pulled her with him, continuing his motion as he held her over him.

He turned her over beneath him onto the bed. Her legs hung off as she was bent over she edge. He released her arms and grabbed her hair in both his hands, gathering it and tugging her head all the way back as he pounded her mercilessly. His legs kept hers apart and she felt herself throbbing, already sore from him relentless fucking. He carried on for what seemed an eternity but was still not done.

He flipped her over again, lifting her onto the bed further as he pushed her legs up. He let them rest against his shoulders and climbed onto the mattress and entered her again. He leaned over her until her her knees were almost at her breasts. He lowered his head and his teeth nibbled at her throat before sinking into her flesh. She tugged at his hair as he bit her, the pain unbearable.

“No, no,” She rasped, “Please stop.”

“Stop?” He lifted his head. He thrust into her sharply, hitting her cervix painfully. She gritted her teeth, holding in the pained cry. “Oh, I’m just getting started with you.” He buried his hands in her hair again and pulled back so that her neck and back were awkwardly arched beneath her and her legs still bent to her chest. He didn’t let up and she couldn’t help the groan which escaped her lips between each breath.

He rutted and pulled himself from within her suddenly, aiming his cock so that his seed spewed up her pelvis and along her stomach. He stroked himself until he was finished, purring as she covered her face in shame. He spread his cum across her chest and pulled her hand from her face. He pressed a finger to her lips and she clamped her them shut. “Open.” He ordered dangerously. Reluctantly she obeyed and he slipped his finger in her mouth, wiping his semen along her tongue.

Content, he removed his hand and leaned back. Sweat glistened over his chest and Sigorna felt her body revolting. She was going to be sick. She sat up and pushed him away, scurrying to the other side of the bed. She wasn’t going to reach the bath chamber. She scrambled to the chamber pot and wretched as she heard laughter erupt from behind her.

When she finished, her hair was pulled and she was forced to look up at Loki as he knelt beside her. “Go wash your mouth out,” He commanded, “I’m not done with you yet.” He let her go and stood. His cock was already growing hard again. He yanked her up by her arm when she didn’t move and he shoved her towards the door, “One more infraction and I will tie you down…” He smacked her ass so roughly that she nearly tripped, “And I might not even unbind you when I make my leave, so be quick.”

Sigorna fled into the bath chamber before he could hit her again. Inside she shuddered and wiped the dried cum from her flesh. It would be over soon, she told herself. At least, she hoped it would be.

#loki x oc #loki #dark!loki #dark loki #mcu #marvel #fic #series #indecent #au #oc #dark!verse #darkverse

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Shattered, Chapter 9

Notes: Big thanks to my awesome editors, Drucilla and BlueShifted!

The two named demons are random villain names I picked out of Inducks. Bless you, Inducks.

Some of you guessed correctly about Ratface's identity! This was the first time I'd ever written this pairing. This role in particular got a lot of changes over the years (at one point, it was actually one of the dolls from Mother's house) but hopefully this one worked out.

Summary: Once upon a time, there were angels and demons. A trick was played to seize power, but the entire world wound up paying the price.

Once upon a time, there was a demon who was nothing special. He had the same abilities as his brethren, and he did the same things as them, but none of this made him noteworthy. He knew this, and didn't care for it. To be quite honest, there was nothing he cared about except himself. He didn't care about the futile war between his kind and the angels, the useless humans crawling around the earth, or even his fellow demons who mocked his woes. He wanted to make himself as special as he thought he was, and one day, he discovered how.

~*~

“Blasted angels,” Azimuth grumbled, brushing dirt off his skin. “I almost had them! An entire family of mortals, willing to work for us! Grandparents, uncles, kids, the whole group, I had them right in my hands!”

“But you didn't, so can we cut to the chase already?” Sirena said with a great roll of her eyes, though most of her aggravation wasn't at the big-beaked blabbermouth. “Gladstone! Do you feel like getting up anytime this century?”

Apparently his pretending-to-nap routine wasn't working today. The young man sighed from his perch in the tree, sitting up on the thick branch and looking down at his friends. Well, 'friends' was a stretch – 'acquaintances he could tolerate more than others' was perhaps more accurate, but longer to say. “What do you need me for? I'm no more powerful than either one of you. The day's already shot, let me get back to sleep.”

“Yes, you're a weakling,” Sirena conceded, hands on her hips, blowing some of her blonde hair out of her face. “But you're a charming weakling. You can get a mortal to do whatever you say with one look. If we hurry now, we can get to the next village and pick on some prey before the angels Azimuth ran into catch on.”

“I almost had them,” Azimuth whined again, demanding to be heard. “I was so close! I just needed a little more power!”

“Well, power doesn't grow on trees – and neither do demons.” Sirena then kicked the tree as hard as she could, and with a startled yelp, Gladstone fell down into the bushes. He popped out, his golden curls flopping all over the place.

“Remind me to take my naps further away from you,” Gladstone grumbled as he stood up and brushed himself down. What was the big deal about luring humans to their side anyway? It wasn't going to make any real difference in the end. No one cared about winning this stupid war, they just wanted petty vengeance at this point. Only the truly serious wanted supreme victory, and those fools died as a result of it. Every year there were less angels and demons as a result, and Gladstone figured at that rate, they'd all die out if they put so much stock into feeling superior.

Count him out. He wanted to be superior to both angels and demons, and that way, he figured he'd be alive forever. He stuck his hands in his pockets and followed the taller demons out in the forest, huffing all the while. Sirena, bothersome ninny that she was, had raised a good point. You couldn't just get more power by whining about it, you were born with your talents and that was that. Some demons and angels were born stronger than others, the same with mortals, it was all a game of chance. So Gladstone was never going to be more special than these two idiots.

Although...there was one way to become a more powerful demon. But he knew these two knuckleheads would never agree to it. Few demons would, bitter and selfish as they were.

The village was a short walk, and not worth much, if Gladstone's opinion was asked. It was a desolate dying thing, but the farmers appeared happy enough, digging in the mud for extra vegetables and laughing with abandon when they found extras. One burly man hoisted his son over his shoulders, showing him how to tend to the long stalks of corn nearby. They had no idea about the demons hiding about in the shadows, slinking nearby as they plotted.

“Papa, this field grew twice as much corn as last time!” the little boy discovered, handling an ear of corn in his tiny hands.

His father laughed again. “So it did! We must be the luckiest men alive!”

Gladstone paused in his sneaking, eyebrow raised. There was a word he'd never heard before, and he nudged his friends. “Luckiest? What's a luckiest?”

“You mean, luck? It's some silly concept the mortals came up with,” Azimuth said with a wave of his hand. “The idea of good things happening to you over and over without you having to do anything. They always want some name to destiny, like they have control over their lives. It's incredibly pathetic.”

It was also incredibly brilliant – Gladstone's eyes widened at the idea going through his head. Being superior in life without having to lift a finger? That was right up his alley! He could nap all he wanted and still get away with being better. Maybe mortals were good for something after all. Now there was just a matter of how to be lucky. That was the trick, and if demons were good at anything, it was tricks.

“Will you two pipe down?” Sirena snarled, kicking back at the two men. “We're almost near our target. Gladstone, you charm them. Azimuth, you threaten them. And I'll enchant them.”

“Why can't I enchant them?” Azimuth grumbled. “I'm good at enchanting! Why, last month, I charmed a mortal man into so much strength his muscles tore right though his clothes.”

“And then he whined about destroying everything he touched, so he prayed to the angels, you nitwit.” Sirena kicked him again. “We can only give away so much of our magic, and I'm not letting you waste it!”

There was the problem with Gladstone's desire – he'd need his friends to hand over a portion of their magic to make his own stronger, and once you gave it away, you couldn't take it back. He watched the two of them argue about taking turns, and knowing the day was going to be a waste, turned his attention back to the farmer and his son. A thin wife had joined them, and she lifted the boy into her arms before kissing her husband. The boy stuck out his tongue in disgust, and Gladstone had to agree. It was a gross thing to see, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. What were they so happy about?

They were weak. They were boring. They had to know it. So what made them smile?

“They're here!” a voice cried out, young and jubilant, its owner running across the wide fields. “The angels are here!”

“Already?!” Azimuth groaned, before shoving Sirena aside. “This is your fault! You picked the village!”

“It's your fault, they were following your lead!”

Gladstone rubbed his temples. “It'll be both your faults if they find us, so keep it down.” So long as they stayed in the dark shadows, the angels wouldn't notice them, hopefully. It was one of the few advantages the demons had, being nearly invisible in any dark place.

Sirena pouted, not wanting to give up so easily. “Let's head closer into the village. Once the angels leave, the mortals will have their guards down! Follow me!” She continued creeping, and the men reluctantly followed, knowing they'd get an earful for disobedience. The sun was high at its peak, allowing many long shadows to be cast from the short hay and mud-made huts.

In the center of the village were four angels – Gladstone squinted – in a way, it was three angels plus one who was all by herself. All of them were bright, shining beauties, surrounded by mortals who worshiped them and thanked them for their help. They practically glowed with tenderness, petting the mortal's hair as if they were telling dogs what good boys they were. High and mighty snobs, the lot of them, Gladstone thought. But there was something very strange about the fourth one – her wings.

Demons and angels had many physical differences alongside their internal ones. Demons had long nails, slit eyes, and a constant aura of darkness. Angels had long hair, warmth in every touch, and white feathery wings on their back – at least, that's what Gladstone knew about every other angel he'd seen in his life. So why did the fourth one have black wings? That was unheard of!

Black as her short hair that hung around her neck, deep as the lines on her face that told centuries of stories, rich as her eyes that captured the sunlight and kept it. She was beautiful, yes, but not the way angels were supposed to be. Angels were supposed to be about brightness and light, not... that. She was hugging a small silver mirror close to her chest, eyes scanning the area until she spotted the same small boy Gladstone had been eyeing earlier.

Her weary expression softened, and she approached him, one hand held out. “Hello, little one,” she said in a voice so soft that it made Gladstone's heart skip. She knelt down to see the boy better, and the child was hesitant before stepping towards her. “How are you today?”

“I'm... very good,” the boy decided. “We have extra corn, Papa says we're lucky.”

The woman shook her head. “No, it wasn't luck. It was your family working very hard. Remember that.  All your victories are made with your own two hands.”

“What a downer,” Sirena mused.

“And an ugly one too,” Azimuth added. “Black wings! Why does she have black wings?”

Gladstone said nothing, continuing to watch, as then the boy's mother suddenly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him away. Her eyes were on those same black wings, fearful of what they meant. The angel was startled, but not surprised, as if this wasn't the first time a wordless accusation had been thrust at her. It still hurt, but it wasn't a fresh wound. “All is well, I assure you. I just-”

“Magica,” One of the normal looking angels interrupted, her voice drone and dull. “Maybe it'd be for the best if you left the rest of this up to us.”

The black angel – Magica? - stood up straight, eyes narrowing. “I led you here with my mirror, I showed you where to go! You'd be wandering around lost if it wasn't for me. I came here to help!”

“Yes, well, you helped, so you can go.” The second angel tried to wave her away, without even looking at her, “You're scaring the poor babies, so, off with you. We'll let you know if we need you.”

Magica's hands clenched her mirror tighter, almost threatening to break it. “They are not poor babies, they're human beings! They're not our pets! If we can help them, then we must, but not so much that they depend on us!” Her temper was rising, and her wings began to jerk in reaction. “Why don't you ever listen to me!” With that, her wings fully stretched out, making her appear larger than she really was  - and frightening a dozen villagers who fled back into their huts. Upon seeing their terror, the woman's face fell with guilt, which made no sense to Gladstone as she hadn't done anything wrong at all.

“Nice going, Magica,” the third angel snorted. “Some help you are.”

Magica opened her mouth to likely raise another objection before silently giving up in defeat. Her wings folded up into herself, and she stormed off in the opposite direction. Gladstone watched her until she was little more than a speck in the distance, and might have watched further, had Sirena not pulled both men to her with glittering eyes. “Hey, do you think there's a reason that one has black wings?”

Gladstone blinked at the oddity of such a question. “A reason? You mean you think she wasn't born with them?” “Of course not,” Azimuth rubbed his hands together, catching on to Sirena's train of thought. “They must be special! Anything that unique has to mean something special. They might even be a source of her power!”

“If we got those feathers for ourselves,” Sirena said with a grin, malicious lining every word. “We could be invincible! Unstoppable! We could even be the most powerful demons that ever existed!”

Gladstone chuckled darkly, walking around his friends with crossed arms. “Oh, it's a fine idea,” he lightly mocked. It wasn't a bad idea, per se, and perhaps the wings were a representation of the angel's strength. But there was one glaring flaw. “Yet, it's like the old story goes... who will bell the cat?”

Azimuth cocked his head. “She looks more like a duck to me.”

Sheesh, why did Gladstone hang out with these morons? “What I mean is, if she's that powerful, obviously you can't get anywhere near her without being destroyed. You wouldn't even be able to pluck one feather off her before she used her magic on you, and poof, you're gone.” He snapped his fingers, and enjoyed the sight of the two elder demons wincing. However, the more he explained it, the more strength it gave to his own ideas. Yes, the angel might be the right thing he needed all along. “However... what was that you were saying earlier, Sirena? That I can get people to do what I want with one look?”

Sirena gawked, her eyes widening. “You're not honestly suggesting...?”

“Oh, but I am.” Gladstone stopped walking, holding up one finger. “How hard can it be to win over an angel? I'll just butter her up like a hot meal, and she'll melt in my hands. All those snobby angels just want someone to remind them how pretty and perfect they are. It'll be easy. I can get you those feathers, I'll let you have every single one...” He then held out his hand. “And in return, you two give half your own power.”

“Half!” Azimuth balked, staggering backwards. “Are you insane? I'd never give up that much!”

Sirena clicked her tongue, strumming her fingers on her arm. “Hmmm... if we did get stronger because of those feathers... giving up half our power may seem like nothing in the end. Assuming you can make her hand them over.”

Gladstone kept on his winning smile that had won over many a mortal heart. If ultimately the feathers were nothing but feathers, he still won. As long as he worded the deal perfectly, they'd still have to hand it over, because a contract with a demon was binding, no matter who it was to. He would get a lucky life, and finally be the superior being he'd always known he was. “Do we have a deal?”

Sirena and Azimuth exchanged uneasy glances, but eventually their greed won out. They both held Gladstone's hand – red rings emitted from their hands, symbolizing the contract bound between the three of them. It only lasted a couple of seconds, and when it was done, Gladstone turned around, smoothing down his green jacket. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

~*~

The demon was cleverer than most would give him credit for. He hunted down the black-feathered angel, memorizing her daily walks to find when she would be alone. Yet to his surprise, he learned she was often alone – the other angels were shunning her all but in name. She continued to try and help them, even though time and time again she was turned away for the mere crime of existing. The demon felt he had an easy target, and with greatest confidence, made his move.

~*~

“Hellooo, gorgeous.”

Magica had been walking a smooth path in the grass, her eyes on the mirror in her hands when the sudden noise disrupted her thoughts. She glanced to the side, and saw a well-dressed demon leaning on a tree, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight, as dapper as any true gentleman. He couldn't hide the shape of his eyes or the look of his hands, but he knew his handsomeness would be a good distraction, as it had been to all the other humans he tricked in his life. He held a bouquet of roses in his hand, fondly rubbing one of the petals between his fingertips as he spoke.

“Forgive me for my impertinence,” he said as he sniffed his own present, “but the moment I saw you, I couldn't control myself. Your beauty has captured my soul completely. From this day hence, I belong to you and you alone. I know these flowers pale in comparison to your alluring features, but I ask you on humble grounds to accept this small token of my affection.” He held out the bouquet...

… to no one. He blinked, blinked again, and saw that Magica had kept on walking, face back in the mirror. Having never been snubbed before, Gladstone was unfamiliar with what had just happened to him, and needed a faint moment to process it. Once he collected his senses, he jogged after her. “Hey! Did you hear a word I said?”

“Leave me be,” Magica said, not sparing him a further look. “I have no times for tricks from toddlers.”

Gladstone stared in slack-jawed stupidity. “Did you just... insult me? Angels aren't supposed to insult people! You're supposed to be all... sweet and goody-goody and giggly!” He went after her again, trying to touch her shoulder. “Listen, let's try this again. Your beauty has captured-”

THWAP!

Angels weren't supposed to insult people, but it seemed they could, and now Gladstone knew they could also send people flying with a mere smack of their wings. A sensible man would have given up at this point, but Gladstone's pride had been so roughly beaten up that he couldn't stand it.

The next day, he offered her a box full of gorgeous jewelry that reflected the glow of her skin, and she threw the box right at his face. The day after that, he composed a symphony of poetry to describe her every movement, and she plugged her ears. The day after that, he played ill, laying on the ground, moaning in agony that if he could not receive a kiss from her, he'd surely perish, and she casually stepped over his supposed corpse.

With each passing failure his stubbornness grew. It became less about earning the luck he desired and more about making that woman submit to his glamour. Every day she was more focused on her beauty than his – why else would she be constantly staring at her mirror? She had to be the snobbiest angel that ever existed! His anger and hatred for her bubbled hotter – he didn't ask to be born a demon, she didn't choose to become an angel, so why did she get to feel as if she was better than he was? The irony of his own superior feeling was lost on him.

Things came to a head when on her route, he decided to go for a different routine – hanging upside down from a tree branch as she made her way through the forest where he typically took his naps. “Fair day, my sweetest dove! My heart is full now, seeing your grace.”

It was no different than the flood of other compliments he'd been given her, yet now she looked up at him, the lines under her eyes darker than usual. “Is that all?”

“Is what all?” “Do you have anything else to say about me except my looks?”

“... What else is there?”

Magica scowled, grabbing him by his hair and yanking him down to the ground. He fell with a heavy “Oof!”, before scrambling to his feet. “Hey!” He was quick to smooth his hair back down. “What was that for? What's so wrong with telling you that you're pretty? You must know it yourself, you spend all your time looking at your own reflection!”

“I do not,” she replied, and held up her mirror to show him that it was not in fact a mirror at all – because instead of a reflection, it showed two small human girls at a lake, one of them crying heavily, the other one struggling to console her. “I look at them. I look for those who need my help.”

“What for?” Gladstone said with a heavy snort. “I've seen the way they treat you. You help them out, and what do you get in return? They scream at you, they mock you, they run away, all because of your wings.”

“So you don't think those are pretty,” she snorted right back, and resumed her walk. “Just as well. You have the face of a rat.”

This time Gladstone followed her and refused to leave. “This rat face has won over plenty! Who can you win over? Are you going to help those girls? They won't thank you, I know it.”

“I don't need gratitude. I don't think you'll ever understand.”

Gladstone followed her all the way to the lake, and just as he thought, the girls cowered in fear at the black-feathered angel. But Magica still persisted, kneeling down to their level, and gently asking them the reason for their tears. The younger of the girls said her mother drowned in the lake, and missed her terribly, could the angel bring her back? No, that was beyond her power. But she could offer a warm embrace, and a promise that the mother was always watching her children, and that love was something that did not die with the body.

The girls didn't thank her. Yet Magica was pleased when they began to smile.

~*~

The demon continued trying to woo her over, now following her as she helped the humans. He never interfered, never tried to sway those mortals to his side, and only watched as she lent her help. He rarely saw her use her magic – she preferred to let words heal wounds, for the humans to think for themselves. She never got anything out of it, no praise for her good deeds or rewards of gold. So why was she so happy whenever she did manage to help someone? The demon could not understand. He thought if he continued to watch her help, he could comprehend the joy she got out of it.

~*~

“I don't know what to do,” the young lady wept, the rain getting stronger. Magica held up her wing to try and shield the human from the water as best she could. “I don't want to marry that man, but he's the head of the village. He won't listen to my parents. I'll never love him, I can't.”

Magica frowned, as this was a hard problem to solve. “Some men can't be reasoned with,” she said with a sigh, one arm always tucked around her mirror. “But you must keep your head held high and fight on. Otherwise, you will always lose.”

Gladstone looked back and forth between the women. Typically he'd stand there and watch Magica do all the work, but that woman's sobs were getting on his nerves. Even if Magica was going to be proven right, this woman would never thank her for it. Why bother? “If you ask me,” he said suddenly, “He's the one who should feel like he's losing.”

“Nobody asked you,” Magica growled.

The woman looked at him. “Huh?”

“He wants a wife, and a pretty one, but he doesn't know anything else about you, right?” Gladstone wagged a finger. “Simple – live with him for one day, and be the worst possible wife on the planet. Burn his food, destroy his clothing, make it clear he'll never know a moment's peace. But! Do it all with a smile.” He flashed his own winning grin, showing how it was done. “So he thinks you're trying your best to be a good wife. You'll be kicked out before sunset.”

“That's...” Magica started, and then pouted, miffed because... “not the worst idea I've ever heard.”

The woman appeared to agree, her tears coming to a stop. “It might! It really might! I'll make myself completely undesirable! Why, I'll even stop bathing and wear my worst dress!” Pleased at her upcoming freedom, she flounced inside to tell her parents the plan.

Gladstone grinned at Magica, scooting over to her side. “That's one for me, and zero for you, darling.”

He expected Magica to blow up in jealous anger, and for a few small seconds, her expression said exactly that. But just as quickly it softened into something unfamiliar, and for once when she spoke to him, her voice was smooth instead of volatile. “Thank you.”

It was quite amazing the number of things happening in Gladstone's heart – like Magica, he'd never been thanked before either. Having never received any on her end, she had to know how powerful it was to give it away. He felt floored, like his chest was caving in. No victory over any other demon, angel, or mortal had ever made him feel so... so... what was the word?

… Grateful?

Magica walked on, not caring about the rain that slicked her and feathers, as it was time to help other souls in need. Gladstone watched on, touching his heart, feeling it beat faster.

~*~

From then on, the demon did more than observe the humans that the angel helped – he helped as well. Not all of his advice was useful, and not all of the times it worked, but he found himself wanting to be thanked again. It had felt so nice the first time that he wanted it more. The more he worked, the more he realized he didn't want thanks from the humans – he wanted thanks from her.

~*~

“Don't you say a word, rat face.” Magica hissed as she tried to fit through the small doorway, her large wings making it an obstacle. Even folding them in as tightly as she could still made her wobble on the doorframe. She didn't even have to look at Gladstone to know he was sporting a smirk.

He stood outside, watching with restrained laughter as she tried to push her way inside. “Who would have known that the answer between the war of our species was in tight spaces? One small room could have us take over the world.”

“Shut up or I'll kick you.”

Another chuckle escaped him, and he approached her from behind. “If you promise not to kick me, I could try to help push you in.”

She debated it before groaning. “... Very well. But be careful, they're sensitive.”

Gladstone, gently as someone like he could make it, placed his hands on her wings and slowly began to push inward. They were the softest things he'd ever felt in his life. Dare say, he would have loved to take a nap on them, and enjoyed that mental image. “Why so? Are they the source of your power?”

She glanced at him as if he'd grown a second head. “Are you daft? Of course not. They're just wings.”

Wouldn't Azimuth and Sirena be disappointed – funny how he hadn't thought of them or the bet in weeks, and shook his head to forget them once more. “I guess I was just wondering why they're black. All the other angels I've seen have white wings.”

“It's rare, not impossible. I just have a... defect, I guess you could say.” Once inside, she stretched out her aching wings before folding them up again.

Defect? He didn't like that word. It didn't suit her, as if her wings were a mistake, as if she was a mistake. His combative nature was driven up again. “They're pretty.”

“Oh, don't start that nonsense again.”

“They are! They're like... the wings of... of...” He tried to think of a creature with similar wings and similar beauty, and only one came to mind. “A raven.”

She stopped, looking at him, and then at her wings. No one had ever complimented her wings before, and eventually she had begun to dislike them herself. Gladstone could see the warmth such words gave her, and it made that weird feeling in his chest expand. He wanted to do it again, over and over and over. “Ravens are beautiful creatures, aren't they? Surely you've seen them.”

Magica's eyes met the floor, and her voice became quiet. She tucked some hair over her shoulder, and – and – and there it was. A smile. A real, genuine, one of a kind smile, and Gladstone never wanted to blink should he miss a moment of its existence. It didn't erase the lines on her face or the hardness of her eyes, yet he realized he didn't want those to go away. They were all a part of her. “They are... they are pretty birds.”

Decidedly bashful, she was swift to turn her head away so she could focus on the reason they came. “H-Hurry up. We can't keep the mortals waiting.”

Gladstone smiled too.

~*~

It wasn't long before the demon forgot his bet, forgot the luck he wanted, and forgot everything his life was before he met the angel. He never knew he could be so happy with so little. Soon it became a daily sight for all those around them, the angel and the demon side by side on the same paths. Everyone believed one would betray the other in due time. All the while, the angel never once used her powers, and never once let go of her mirror.

It was a clear crystal night when both of those oddities got an answer.

~*~

There were legends that said demons grew stronger at night and angels grew weaker, but this was a false theory whipped up by mortals. Although Gladstone would have said that he strangely felt strong and weak as Magica lay against his chest, the two of them watching the moon from an empty cliff. In days up to this, they didn't argue less, but they argued softer, and their conflicts ended in more smirks than insults. There were times they were perfectly content not saying a thing, with Gladstone smoothing down her black feathers with his fingers and Magica resting quietly on her side, eyes closed. They would have stayed like that for some time, but the mirror began to make noise within its images -  Magica's eyes flew open, and she looked down into it to see what was the matter.

It was a false alarm – a child had stubbed their toe and was wailing as if it was the end of the world. Magica sighed in relief, and Gladstone chuckled quietly. “Sheesh, how do you angels get any rest, if you're constantly on the lookout for trouble?”

“I'm the only angel with a mirror like this,” she answered. “The others just try to guess where people need help, and by then it might be too late. I didn't care for that, so I put all of my magic into this mirror.”

Gladstone nodded – but then stopped. Did he hear right? “All of your magic? Every single last drop?”

“All means all, rat face.” She poked his beak. “You've seen how angels and demons can behave with too much power. They act with reckless abandon, and don't care who they hurt so long as they get what they want and feel good about it. I never wanted to fall to temptation... so I put it all into my mirror.”

Gladstone sat there, dumbfounded at such a sacrifice. He couldn't imagine living without magic – it made him better than mortals. It was a cheat at life. Yet she decided to make her life more difficult, more challenging, just to help people? “Honestly, my dear, I don't think I'll ever understand you.” He wasn't sure that was such a bad thing, though. Learning about her had been fascinating.

Magica looked down at her mirror, and then began to stand up on the ground, with Gladstone following soon after. “You might... if you have this.” She placed the mirror into his hands – it was the first time he'd ever seen her let it go.

“W-what?” Gladstone fumbled with the mirror before clutching it to his chest like a sacred treasure. “What! What what what! This is... all of you, all of your magic! Why on earth on you giving it to me?”

“I'm not giving it to you,” Magica said, folding her arms. “I'm lending it. You will return it to me tomorrow at our usual path. If there's a single crack or smear, I will never, ever forgive you, no matter how many pretty things you say about my wings.”

Gladstone's arms felt very heavy, as if he was carrying bricks instead of a mirror. “But... why?”

“I want you to watch the mortals. Don't interfere, just... watch. Maybe then you'll understand why I do what I do.” Something like a smile played out on her face, but Gladstone couldn't be sure. A chill wind brushed by them, and she sighed, looking at the bright full moon. “Winter will be here soon... I enjoy winter. It's as if all the world has gone to sleep. But all things must come to an end... spring will come, and the snow will melt, and life will move on, as it always does. No angels, demons, or mortals can live forever... so with the time we have here... we must think of what we can do with it. This winter... it will be nice, not to be alone.” Her cheeks were pink, and then, not wanting to embarrass herself any further, she quickly walked away.

Gladstone slowly sat back down, looking at the mirror. The boy who had stubbed his toe was being consoled by his big brother, who played games with him until the pain went away. What did Magica want him to learn from this? That there were people who would help one another without expecting a reward? How silly – the brother's reward was to no longer hear that bothersome crying. Yet even that bite felt dull, as if that answer was an excuse. The brothers were then being lightly chided by their mother, it was time to go bed. She tucked them in, kissed their foreheads, and sang a sweet lullaby to lull them to sleep.

All around the world, Gladstone watched families and friends and lovers ending their days, putting away their tools, finishing their chores, and making plans for the next sunrise. Some he was able to recognize as Magica had helped them before, in small and big ways, and they never mentioned her, never gave thanks. She deserved thanks, she deserved... she deserved everything. He wanted to cup her face and tell her that she was a disgustingly good person, the sort that made the world a kinder place to live, and why did he want to tell her that? Why did he want to hold her hand as they walked while they remained quiet? Why did he want all the other angels to treat her better? He would get nothing out of her happiness.

Except... her happiness. Seeing her happy made him happy.

“Oh.” He exhaled slowly, having come to the conclusion in a way Magica herself probably didn't expect. “That's it.”

~*~

As the demon continued to watch the humans all throughout the night, he never knew he himself was being watched. His friends hadn't forgot the bargain they made, and were impatiently waiting out for him to make his end of the deal. However, with the way things were, they saw an opening.

~*~

Early the next morning, Gladstone whistled a merry tune as he walked down the familiar path he and Magica took routinely every day now. It was the same path he had first pestered her on weeks ago, with trees planted along the side that seemed to become smaller and smaller the further away you walked. He proudly held the mirror to his chest – see, not one scratch, not one smudge! Let's see her complain about that! He couldn't wait to tell her the things he'd seen, and thought up a few compliments that would make her fluster in an adorable fashion.

But... there was something odd about today. He'd been walking for quite some time, yet hadn't seen her. She was supposed to show up by now. Had she decided to sleep in, now that her mirror wasn't telling her where to go? He walked a little faster, a dreadful feeling crawling up the back of his neck, as if he'd forgotten something dangerous.

Then he heard screaming.

In days past, Gladstone would have ignored such a noise, figuring some worthless mortal was wasting his time. But now he ran faster towards the sound, actually concerned that a complete stranger was in pain – and then, to his horror, he realized who was screaming.

There in the dirt lay Magica, and there were was Azimuth and Sirena, the two of them holding her down with their legs as their claw-like nails tore apart her back in a morbid effort to take away all her feathers. The two of them cackled as they snapped the bones in her wings, ripping apart muscle and tendon to get every single last feather out. They thought perhaps if they ate the feathers, they'd gain the angel's magic, so they stuffed their faces with handfuls. Magica's face was drenched in tears and agony, unable to move, her throat raw from screams.

Gladstone dropped the mirror, and when it fell to the ground it now had a single circular crack near the edge. “STOP IT!” he yelled in fear and anger, rushing towards the demons with his own claws out, ready to beat them both if need be. “LEAVE HER ALONE! DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!” But just as he got close enough, red rings of magic blocked his body, the contract in full power.

I can get you those feathers, I'll let you have every single one.

The deal had been made – he couldn't break it. “No! NOOO! PLEASE, NO!” He banged his fists uselessly against the rings that wouldn't budge, pleading with his so-called friends, begging them to stop, but they ignored his cries and continued to destroy her beautiful black wings. He slid to his knees, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, and he saw Magica eventually could no longer scream, could no longer cry. She just lay there in anguish, her eyes growing dull, and Gladstone swore he could see every last bit of good in her dying as he saw his reflection in her eyes.

It felt as if an eternity passed before the two demons had finally gotten every single last feather, and the wounds of broken bone and torn flesh were now tossed aside, leaving Magica's back a bloody, disfigured abomination. The red rings began to fade, now that the contract was fulfilled. Azimuth rose to his feet, wiggling his fingertips. “Hmmm... I don't feel any more powerful.”

“Maybe it takes time to digest,” Sirena suggested, walking over to Gladstone's side. He lay frozen in a state of misery, unable to take his eyes off the still Magica. “I don't know what you were hollering about – can't say that I care – but a deal's a deal. Half of mine, half of Azimuth's.”

“Half our power for her wings,” Azimuth chimed in, his hand on Gladstone's left shoulder, Sirena's on the right. “Aren't you one lucky fellow!” All three of them glowed a sick, dark red, as the magic was transferred from two bodies to one. Gladstone didn't respond or react. All he could see was Magica. All he could feel was Magica.

With the transfer over, Sirena kicked her heels, beginning to walk away. “I bet the power will come any minute now! We'll be able to take down any angels in our way!”

“Maybe it's already working, we handled that one really easily.” Azimuth said as he walked with her – not knowing, as Gladstone realized, that with all the magic in her mirror, Magica had no way to defend herself. The demons laughed at their victory, their wicked cackles echoing in the trees long after they left.

Gladstone choked. He felt ill. Magica. His Magica. She lay there without saying a word, not even twitching, her face unreadable. He tried to reach to her, to touch her hair, and she flinched as if she'd been struck. “No, No, I... I'm sorry, I... y-your mirror! Here, I'll get you your mirror!” Maybe if she took her magic out of it, she could heal herself. If she couldn't, maybe his strengthened magic could do the trick. Yet even as he scrambled to his feet to collect the broken mirror, he knew that nothing would heal the deeper wound – why hadn't he warned her? Why hadn't he told Azimuth and Sirena he didn't want to do it anymore? Why had he even done it all in the first place? For luck? To feel better about himself?

Magica slowly, slowly, slowly began to rise to her knees, her entire body trembling. Gladstone returned to her, kneeling down, offering the mirror, his sobs making it difficult to speak. “I-I know it's cracked, I'm sorry – I'm so sorry – Magica, I didn't mean – this wasn't supposed to happen!”

Magica snatched the mirror from his hands, and for the first time, perhaps due to that accidental crack, she saw her own reflection staring back at her. In that moment, she saw all her pain staring back at her, all her mistakes, and what trusting Gladstone - what loving Gladstone - had done to her. She raised the mirror – and then smashed it to the ground.

And then smashed it again.

And again.

And again.

Gladstone cried out, trying to understand what she was doing, but she was done listening. There were endless shards on the ground, and she dropped the mirror to pick up the largest one, holding it in her hands – and stabbed herself in the chest.

She howled, and the wind picked up in an icy chill, faster all around them – the ground underneath their bodies turned into solid ice, and the ground rumbled, hard snow began to fall from the sky, and the wind took the shards and scattered them to the world. Through all this, Magica pressed the shard deeper and deeper inside of her, even as Gladstone pleaded for her to stop.

“I WILL SAVE THE WORLD FROM THIS TORMENT!” she shrieked, louder than the winds, louder than the storm, louder than anyone who could stop her. “I WILL NEVER LET ANYONE HURT THIS WAY AGAIN! FROM HENCEFORTH... THERE WILL NEVER BE LOVE AGAIN!”

With this final cry, gigantic walls of ice began to rise from the ground, encasing the entire forest, creating a castle of ice that reflected nothing and no one. The trees around began to die in the frost, and the cold spread throughout the world. Gladstone, who had barely registered what her declaration meant to him or to anyone, tried to stay, tried to pound on the ice, tried to apologize over and over, but he would not be heard. His own grief tore at his soul, hating his very being and knowing that death would be too swift a mercy for him.

In his suffering, he could only think of how he deserved to be punished for what he had done, and what he had failed to do. He covered his face with his hands, and with every single last burst of magic in his body, transformed his entire body into a pathetic, ugly, helpless bird, so he could never use his magic again. He would live on forever with his sin, never belonging to any world – angel, demon, or mortal.

He flew away, and luck was on his side, for the wind let him sail through the sky.

~*~

The angel spread her cold and her rule throughout the world. Now with her as the most powerful threat, the war between the angels and demons seemed pathetic, and those that did not die in conflict with one another over her shards went into hiding. In her goal to help every creature, she forbade love. To that end, her mirror would help her gain soldiers for her cause, those that once fought against her crusade. They would endure the same shards as she.

One shard to freeze their minds. To bind them to the cold, and keep them in constant pain.

Two shards to freeze their hearts. To eliminate their memories, and confirm their obedience.

Three shards to freeze their souls. To take their very life, and end the mortal coil.

And since then, the Snow Queen's rule has been firmly set, and no one has ever been able to defeat her.

And the demon forever lives with selling his lover for luck.

#fanfic #shattered #magicstone #magica de spell #gladstone gander #ratface

[bigskydreaming]

AU where Dick and Jason realized early on that their differences were actually all due to the same problem, one they had in common: Bruce is an ass. And so instead of continually butting heads, they agreed to call a truce and not let Bruce’s continued status as an Ass come between them. Allied against the Ass.

And thus they actually had a good sibling relationship, with Jason going to Dick when Bruce’s Asininery grew to unbearable levels, because GOD could Dick relate, and no way would he betray his little bro by letting Bruce know where he is or let him see Jason before Jason was good and ready. Because if Dick had had a Dick-like buffer when HE was a teenager butting heads with Bruce in very similar ways, their own conflicts would likely never have grown to the point that they did in canon, and cause a split as deep and long-lasting as the one between Dick and Bruce in canon was.

And maybe when Jason was grown enough that it was time for him to step out of Bruce’s shadow and adopt his own new identity, make room for a new Robin, he and Dick become partners. 

Only Jason being Jason, flat out REFUSES to be the Flamebird to Dick’s Nightwing, the natural other half of that duo, because Flamebird is a terrible name Dick, fuck you, that’s why. It’s LAME. 

Except Dick being Dick, flat out REFUSES to be something other than Nightwing, because he already picked it and is established and he LIKES it and everyone who knows anything about that name (even if its just other heroes who know Clark or Kara well) knows that Nightwing’s partner is supposed to be Flamebird, anything else will be WRONG, god, Jason, you’re the English lit snob, WHY DO YOU HATE SYMBOLISM??

And so finally they settle on a compromise that works for both of them: they’ll BOTH be Nightwing and Flamebird. They’ll take turns, switch off roles. 

Dick’s pleased because a) he gets his way and he’s a shit like that and b) aww his little brother really DOES love him, he’s willing to be Flamebird even some of the time so they can be a proper team, because they’re family, they’re brothers, and that’s more important than pride to both Dick and Jason even if they’re both so obviously prideful that this isn’t always evident. 

And Jason’s less obviously but still equally pleased because a) he didn’t totally cave, he resisted the power of Dick’s unapologetic guilt trips which is no easy feat and really it’s just the principle of the matter, principles are very important to Jason except when they’re not, he’s a shit like that, and b) aww his big brother really DOES love him, its so obviously important to him that he invite Jason into this identity that matters so much to him as a symbol of his independence, him being his own man separate and apart from Bruce, its a family thing, a brother thing.

And then they’re both pleased for an entirely different reason, the reason being that they’re both little shits who fucking love mischief and chaos in counter to Bruce and Batman’s rigid order and control. Oh, the glee once they realize the havoc that their constant switching has on villains and criminals. 

Because see, its not that hard to tell that they do it. Jason’s much bigger and broader than his acrobat older brother by this point, they have entirely different manners of movement even though they know all the same fighting styles, all the same gymnastics tricks. Their differences in size and center of gravity and muscle mass make it impossible to do everything the same, even if the moves are identical. Not to mention Dick physically can’t NOT run his mouth incessantly, whereas Jason’s quite content to stick to some well-timed cursing and catchy threats as punctuation for his beat-downs.

So its common knowledge that sometimes Nightwing is Nightwing and Flamebird is Flamebird and sometimes Nightwing is Flamebird and Flamebird is Nightwing except really doesn’t that still mean Nightwing is Nightwing and Flamebird is Flamebird even when Flamebird is Nightwing and Nightwing is Flamebird?

You see where this might begin to become confusing for their foes and hard to keep track of.

Especially since the Brothers Batty have gotten GOOD at compensating for their obvious differences, they crouch wherever possible in order to mask the difference in heights, they use shadows to obscure muscles and proportions, and they know each other well enough to mimic each other’s patterns and type of speech and banter when its for a good enough reason, like say, fucking with their bad guys’ heads. Like the order of prioritization goes Pride -> The Principle of the Matter -> Standing Firm Against Bruce’s Asininery -> Brothers -> Mischief and Mayhem.

See, its not that they don’t have clear priorities, its that their priorities aren’t immediately obvious to normal people aka non raised by the Goddamn Batman, that Emotional Toddler That We Nevertheless Desperately Seek Approval From, Ugh, Why Are We Like This, Why is HE Like This, Oh Right, We’re Like This Because HE’S Like This, Ugh FUCK BATMAN.

Point being, its not always easy to tell them apart in combat, let alone distinguish which one you’re talking about. 

And sometimes after a long week of patrolling Dick and Jason just kick back at home and replay the audio from their stakeout and resulting beatdown of the latest cabal of supervillains to try and set up shop in Bludhaven, cackling with glee as they listen to their targets ranting about those two damn Birds breathing down their necks.

See apparently, the Boss is really mad about an op Nightwing busted up the other night and one of his suck-up subordinates was like ‘Ugh yeah, me too, Boss man, he totally ruined that meet I was trying to set up with a couple of Gotham Rogues for you’, and then someone else is like no you nitwit, not THAT Nightwing, the OTHER Nightwing, the big one, the first one! You’re talking about Flamebird! 

And then someone else would be like shut up you dumbass, the first Nightwing is the SMALLER one, the one always running his mouth, everyone knows that! The big one is Flamebird! Y’know. Except for when he’s Nightwing.

And then someone else is like, that doesn’t even make sense, why would the first Nightwing be the smaller one, he was FIRST, obviously he’s the older and bigger Nightwing and what are you talking about anyway, the smaller Nightwing isn’t the one always running his mouth, he’s the angry one who says the really fucked up shit that makes you wanna crap your pants cuz like I fucking kill people but that shit is DARK

And then the Boss is like “EVERYONE SHUT UP! Alright. Look. There’s an easy way to settle this: Are we all talking about the Nightwing that hits harder than he kicks or the Nightwing that kicks harder than he hits?”

Which is when someone’s like “Well Flamebird’s definitely the only who hits harder - “ and it all starts up all over again.

Meanwhile, at home, Jason and Dick are on their sides, trying not to bust stitches they’re both laughing so hard.

And don’t even start with the times people hire Deathstroke to kill Nightwing. Because first Slade has to clarify. He’s like: “WAIT. Which Nightwing? Cuz I’ll only kill one of them, the one that’s really - usually - UGH FUCKING HELL - Look I’ll kill one of them but the other one’s off limits. So it depends on which one you want killed.” 

“And they’re like, well which Nightwing is off limits?”

And Dick and Jason REALLY get a kick out of the audio of what THAT devolves into. (They’re in the rafters of the warehouse the meet is happening in the whole time. This is just too fucking good to bust up any sooner than they have to. Slade looks hilarious when he’s frustrated).

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, a highly confused Bruce is listening to the same audio, Barbara having sent it to him in order to keep him from doing something dumb like storming off to Bludhaven the second he heard Deathstroke was in town and pissing off both his eldest two because CLEARLY, they do not need his help. 

Tim and Damian have no idea whether to sympathize with Bruce over their brothers’ refusal to take this situation as seriously as they obviously should be, or to just find it fucking hilarious. 

Cass and Duke aren’t hindered by the same need to be Team Bruce ever or by weird and arbitrary standards of professionalism, so they just find it fucking hilarious. Their older brothers are the best.

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

First Hunt

Case: 0100912

Name: Lawrence Mortimer Subject: His hunting trip to Blue Ridge, Virginia  Date: December 9th, 2010 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I always wanted to go hunting. It always seemed such a manly sort of pursuit. I mean, killing the deer or elk or whatever else was always beside the point; it was just the idea of setting off into the wild, surviving out there, cooking and eating what you kill – it all sounded like such an adventure. I mean, I’d thought about trying it in this country, but shooting pheasants with shotguns and riding down foxes all seemed too much the domain of, uh, nitwits in tweed. So, if I was going to go hunting, I would need to go to another country to do it. Somewhere where they had a few animals worth going after. Thinking about it, I suppose that is what happened in the end, in a perverse sort of way. And it did cost poor Arden his life.

Well, my desire to go hunting was always something of ‘someday’ project. I’m sure you know what I mean: those ideas you have, holidays you plan to do ‘sometime in the future’, but they’re never time- dependent and usually you just keep putting them off for more pressing things. So when I turned fifty back in February, I thought, ‘dash it all, I’m going to go hunting before I drop dead!’ When I told my friends they all thought I’d gone loopy, but I just reminded them that it isn’t just the young that can be impetuous and daft.

Anyway, over the past few years I’d become great friends with an American. Arden Neeli was his name. We’d met on a sceptics message board and got on like a house on fire. When I mentioned I was looking into impetuous hunting trips, he asked how averse I was to hiking. I said not at all, I’ve a been a very active sort, and he told me that in Virginia, his home state, there were a lot of excellent places to go hunting, providing I didn’t mind waiting until October or November. I wasn’t exactly expecting the Grim Reaper to come knocking in the intervening months, so I told him it sounded lovely.

We spent a good long while discussing it, and finally decided to take a three day hike into Blue Ridge on the Appalachian Trail, and see if we could find a deer or an elk for me to shoot. Nature, seclusion and guns – to my ears it sounded just perfect. 

So, early last month I packed my bags and caught a plane over to Virginia. The weather was cold but otherwise pleasant, and to be honest I was surprised how similar it felt to Torquay in November. I normally live in Torquay. I think I put that on your form there. If I did, it won’t hurt you to have it written down twice. I wasn’t, however, fully prepared to meet Arden in person. I’d never met an Internet friend in real life before, and he was far louder and more outgoing than I was prepared for, based on the well thought-out and considerate communications we had previously exchanged. He kept laughing at everything I said as though it was a joke, even when it wasn’t a joke, and would not stop going on about my accent.

Still, all was forgiven when he showed me his gun cabinet. They were beautiful, and while I’m a member of a few shooting clubs over here, you’ve always got to keep your rifles under lock and key, hidden away out of sight. To see a dozen, well-cared for weapons displayed proudly, well, it was just lovely.

We set out the following day, driving up to Blue Ridge from his home in Richmond. It took some time to get there, as everything is so much further apart in America, but we parked at Crabtree Falls shortly after midday. We had our tents and our supplies. I was very excited to don my hunters orange, and to take up my rifle. I was carrying a Winchester M70, which I had read was very good for beginners, while Arden carried a Remington Model 673, his preferred firearm, which he talked about to me at great length. And off we went up the trail.

Our first day was unsuccessful. I was something of a blundering presence, and though Arden was at pains to assure me that our failure was simply due to being too close to a road, I was sure that it was my own crashing footsteps scaring away the creatures. I mean, we hadn’t gone far compared to our proposed route, but we were already several miles from the nearest road.

As the day wore on, we began to look for somewhere to set up camp. We were attempting to “Leave No Trace”, as the Americans say, so we were likely going to set our tents up on the trail itself, but as we began to get them out I heard the strangest thing. It sounded like somebody whistling, a slow version of The Farmer in the Dell or, as I believe it’s more commonly known, A-Hunting We Shall Go.

I looked over, and by the expression of puzzlement on Arden’s face it was clear he heard it as well. I was just about to call out to whoever was whistling, when a figure wandered very casually through the treeline and onto the trail. He walked out of thick woodland as though he were strolling down a promenade. He was short and lean, with long, shaggy black hair and a slightly unkempt goatee. His clothes were the rugged, durable sort you’d expect to see on a hiker, but he had no jacket or coat. He carried no backpack or kit of any sort. In fact it seemed like he was just wandering through the woods with the clothes on his back.

Arden was quicker to pick up on this than I was and asked the man if he needed any help. The hiker stared at him for several long seconds, as though trying to deduce something, then smiled and said, “No”. I didn’t like that smile one bit. Far too many teeth to it, I’d say. He asked us where we were heading, how long we were on the trail for. There was something ever so slightly odd about his intonation, and he dragged the Rs somehow when he spoke. We answered as vaguely as we could without being rude, since neither of us felt comfortable near this man.

The hiker shrugged, and started to walk across the trail, between us. As he did so, he paused for a second, and took a deep breath, and it seemed for all the world like he was sniffing us. Then he said something, I forget exactly. “Tomorrow will be a good day for a run,” or something like that. And then he just started whistling again, and wandered off into the forest behind us. I think both myself and Arden wanted to stop him, it was so clear something wasn’t right with the situation, but we were both... astounded with his manner and I don’t think either of us could have thought of how to do so. And then he was gone.

I needn’t tell you that sleep came difficult. The sounds of the forest at night were far louder than I had ever heard them back home, and every cracking branch, every rustle of leaves, set my nerves on edge. It was an overcast night, and outside the tent was almost completely dark. Around two o’clock in the morning I could have sworn that I heard someone laugh, slow and softly, outside my tent. It sound like it was right by my head, just the other side of the thin nylon wall. By the time I’d managed to get up the courage to check, of course, there was nobody there.

The next day we packed up the camp and set off hunting again, donning our lurid orange vests and rifles. I must admit, I felt ten times better with the weight of the gun in my arms, and was inclined to put the events of the night before behind me. In fact, after a morning spent walking and joking and, on two occasions, damn near bagging an elk, I thought we were both having a splendid time.

It was about four in the afternoon, the sun just starting to begin its descent towards an early autumn dusk, when I saw my elk. I don’t know why, but when I saw him through the trees I knew that he was mine. I told Arden and we started to creep towards it very slowly. He had been teaching me since yesterday, and it wasn’t long before I had my position, and raised my gun. I sighted it just below the ear, and there was a moment, when its head turned right towards me. I could have sworn it looked me in the eye as I prepared to pull the trigger.

A gunshot rang out, but it was not from my gun. The elk startled and ran, and I spun round, but Arden was nowhere to be seen. The shot still echoed through the trees, but he seemed to have vanished. I began to search frantically for him. Had he... Had he been lured away by an elk of his own? Had he been accidentally shot by some other hunters? I called out his name, but there was no reply. 

Eventually, after several minutes of desperate searching, I came to a small clearing. There, slumped against one of the trees was Arden. He was dead. The tree behind him was painted in a spray of crimson, and there was a messy hole in the centre of his throat, as though it had been torn out entirely. His rifle lay next to him on the ground, also coated in blood. It seems silly to say now, but my first thought was to check his pulse. So I put my gun down to do so. Obviously he didn’t have one, but I couldn’t understand what was happening. I’d been with him not three minutes before and he had been alive and unharmed. It didn’t make sense.

Then I heard that whistling. That infernal whistling from the treeline. I turned and there was the hiker. His right hand was coated in Arden’s blood, and he grinned at me. Then he began to sprint. His speed was incredible, and he loped from side to side with a sort of zigzag motion. I ran. I know I should have picked up my gun, but you can’t understand just how frightening it is to have something like that, a true predator, running at you full pelt. Your death charging towards you like freight train. You can’t understand what it is to be prey. So I ran.

I turned tail, leaving my pack and my gun behind, and sprinted into the woods. I didn’t look back, I couldn’t. It took all my concentration to keep my footing, to not trip. I could hear him occasionally behind me, as he charged through a bush or scratched against a tree. I think he did it deliberately, you know. To let me know he was still there. There’s no way I could have won that footrace, but I think he must have been toying with me. After a while I could no longer hear him directly behind me, so I slowed to catch my breath. I’m in good shape, as I say, but I’m not a young man and I was dizzy with the exhaustion.

I sat there, so intent on listening out for any sign of danger, of this man, that I barely even noticed night fall. There were no clouds that night, and I was glad, since I had left my torch along with my pack. If I was to run at all during the night, I would need the moonlight to see by. Of course, any experienced hiker would tell you never to travel the woods at night, and certainly not to run through them, but I hardly had any choice if it came to it. And of course it did. The night was barely half an hour old when I heard it again, that... whistling, then the words floating through the trees, but with an low, bass tone to them. “A-hunting we shall go, A-hunting we shall go”.

And once again I ran. By all rights I should have broken my neck, charging off into the darkness like that. I should have tripped on a root or put my foot in a rabbit hole. I should have at least twisted my ankle. Somehow this didn’t happen, though; I ran and ran and, well, I just kept running. It didn’t seem to do me any good, of course. I was still far slower in the dark than I had been during the day, and it was obvious my pursuer could easily outpace me if he wanted to. So many times I’d hear that song coming from in front of me, and turned sharply to avoid it, until I was utterly lost. 

Finally, I broke through the treeline. I thought at first I’d found another clearing, but looking down, I saw I was next to Arden’s mutilated body. The wretched thing had just sent me in a circle. For fun. For the chase. I was tired, scared, covered in scratches and bruises over my entire body, and for nothing. I was still going to die.

I turned to face my fate, and for the first time that night got a good look at my hunter. The moonlight shone on him in full and what I saw was not human. It’s hard to describe exactly, but everything about him was sharper. His fingers, his teeth, his face, his eyes. His skin.

As I looked at him, the strangest thing popped into my head. Have you ever read The Duchess of Malfi? I had to study it for my O-Levels, many years ago. Dreadful play, as I remember, the worst sort of old revenge tragedy, all incest and murder and madness. But there’s a line that stays with me, a doctor diagnosing the Duchess’ brother with lycanthropy. As I recall it goes, “Once met the duke, ‘bout midnight in a lane behind St. Mark’s church, with the leg of a man upon his shoulder. Said he was a wolf. Only difference was, a wolf’s skin is hairy on the outside, his on the inside”. Looking at this thing that wanted to kill me, it’s the only way it’s the only description that feels right.

He didn’t charge this time, but slowly stalked towards me. I was... acutely aware of the loaded guns by my feet, but I’d seen how fast it could move and I didn’t rate my chances. It got close. Close enough that I could smell the foetid breath. Close enough that I could see the most disturbing thing illuminated by the moonlight: the slick drool on its lips as it salivated in anticipation of a kill. Then it attacked me. 

I am, in some ways, very proud of how I acted during that encounter. You see, as long as the thing didn’t think I was any sort of threat, I hoped it might get sloppy and clearly telegraph its strike. I was right; it drew back its arm and swung a clumsy, triumphant blow. I forget, did I mention my military background? Well, I used to be an officer in the Air Force. Now, it’s been a long time since the Gulf War, and I didn’t do much in the way of hand-to-hand fighting even then, but the training is something that stays with you. It certainly served me well for this one, desperate move, as I caught his arm and pitched his motion around. His claws dug into my shoulder, but missed my neck, and he fell to the floor, tripped by his own momentum. He began to get to his feet almost immediately, but it brought me the precious seconds to grab my rifle and press it to his chest. I didn’t hesitate.

The shot ripped through him and he jerked in pain. Not wanting to take any chances, I fired again and again and again until my rifle was empty. Then I picked up Arden’s rifle and emptied that one into him as well. 

Even after all of that, he still wasn’t dead. He had three bullets in his heart, two in his head and many more through the rest of him, but still he writhed there, making weak noises. I didn’t know how long this would slow him down for, but I hoped it would give me enough time to escape properly. I looked back as I left the clearing to see him slowly and painfully pushing his claws into his chest, digging for the bullets.

It was luck that saved me, in the end. Some park rangers were driving past our trail on a road about two miles distant. They were coming to investigate the gunshots and I stumbled on to the road through sheer good fortune. I never saw that thing again, or Arden, unfortunately, though they managed to find and recover his body about a week later. I don’t think I’ll try hunting again. I know the thrill of power that comes with the ability to end the life of something weaker than you, but... I can’t forget what it’s like to be the hunted.

Archivist Notes: 

Hunted. Yes, I think I’m starting to know the feeling.

Arden Neeli was found dead half a mile off the Appalachian Trail in Virginia on 1st December 2010. His death was ruled a wild animal attack. Mr Mortimer was treated for physical and mental trauma, but was not implicated in his death. Quite frankly that’s all the investigation I’m willing to do on this one.

‘Wolfmen in America’ is too far-fetched and too far away for me to care about. It’s... been two months now since Martin returned and we became the ones being... hunted. Are we being hunted? Martin’s still living here, and I’m leaving less and less. The worms keep turning up. We kill them, but there are more each week. What is she waiting for?

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 31 First Hunt)

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG31 #MAG 31 #First Hunt #FIrstHunt #Statement #The Hunt

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Kieran Culkin&#039;s Shirt Is Off

https://fashion-trendin.com/kieran-culkins-shirt-is-off/

Kieran Culkin's Shirt Is Off

When Kieran Culkin first started reading the script for “Succession,” he wondered whether it had been sent to the wrong person. The HBO powers that be originally thought he’d be a good fit for the character of Greg, a bumbling nitwit who gets high in his first scene and spends the rest of the first season failing to sidle his way up the ladder of a massive media and entertainment conglomerate owned by his great-uncle, Logan Roy.

Almost from Greg’s first line, Culkin knew he was wrong for the part. “He’s already a lot younger than I am, and just the voice ― I was, like, this is not me. I am not right for this.”

When I met Culkin at a small restaurant in the Noho neighborhood of Manhattan last Monday, it was just as clear to me as it was to him that he’s too old to play a character like Greg. But something in the Roy family’s dark saga held Culkin’s attention anyway. He said he kept reading the script, which follows the foibles of the billionaire Roy clan as its individual members vie for power within. A few pages later, Logan’s overconfident third son, Roman, appears, led into a meeting by a man hired explicitly to burn sage.

“Hey, hey, motherfuckers!” Roman proclaims to a room full of his father’s business associates.

“And I was, like, ‘Oh, who’s this fucking guy?’” Culkin said.

Culkin eventually got the part of Roman, an incompetent and lazy man-child who believes he wholly deserves the title of chief operating officer, even though he has little interest in doing any of the work that comes with it. Among the many nefarious faces that make up Logan’s Waystar Royco empire, Roman stands out as perhaps its most cynical ― a ratings-obsessed media executive motivated solely by profit. At one point, in his interpretation of corporate disruption, he takes off his shirt in a meeting, flexing and joyfully screaming “Blood!” at the thought of layoffs. During another, he gleefully tells his sister about a new viral video that is “evidence of precisely the kind of disgusting, liberal, metro butt-love that makes our viewership angry enough to buy pharmaceuticals.” To Roman, nothing could be better.

Culkin can’t say exactly what drew him to the morally depraved heir, described by his father as a “moron” and his brother as a “walking fucking lawsuit.” But it’s not hard to imagine some small part of Culkin was intrigued by the idea of playing such a sneering member of a media empire.

After all, Culkin’s distaste for the tabloid industry is beyond well-established. (“No matter what’s written there, it’s a total lie, even the person’s name, lie, lie, lie, lie, everything’s a lie,” he once told New York Magazine.)

But let’s not lump Culkin into that hyperpartisan Level 10 “FAKE NEWS” category of 2018 American paranoia. Mostly because when he told me “Now it’s a thing, ‘fake news,’” and I said, jokingly, “Fake news. You’re a believer,” he got nervous and pushed out a quick “no,” immediately realizing the millions of different ways such a quote could be aggregated, recirculated, quoted out of context and otherwise misinterpreted. You can almost see it now, can’t you? “Kieran Culkin Joins the Chorus: Media Is ‘Fake News.’”

Culkin’s distrust is of a more justifiable form, born out of a lifetime of his surname showing up in headline-grabbing tabloid fodder. From the moment his parents, Kit “The father from hell” Culkin and Patricia Brentrup, entered into an ugly, obsessively covered custody battle to when the National Enquirer proclaimed his eternally famous brother, Macaulay, had “6 Months to Live” in 2012 (he’s still alive), Culkin’s last name has served as a way to move and make paper ― the most intimate moments of his life repackaged as factually questionable entertainment content to sell ads against. 

Ron Galella via Getty Images

Macaulay and Kieran Culkin at the fifth annual American Comedy Awards back in 1991, just months after the release of the blockbuster hit “Home Alone.”

“There are things that are out there in the world as fact because it was written in print that are just completely false. My brother did not divorce his parents. They did not fight over his money,” he said. “But that’s out in the world as fact.

“I learned at a very young age to be, like, ‘Oh, I get it: It’s bullshit,’ shit that’s written in print.”

In person, Culkin ticks most of the boxes of adulthood: In his 30s. Takes his coffee black. Enjoys talking about his favorite East Village dives. Married five years. Nice watch. Clothes that fit. Hair slicked around his head just so. Like Roman, Culkin drops a “fuck” or “shit” every ninth word or so, as when he said to me, “Hold on, I’m going to eat the fuck out of these pickles. You say something for a minute, ’cause I’ve got a mouth full of shit.”

But no matter how many fucks he lets out ― and by my count, he let out around 25 over 40 minutes ― Culkin remains stuck with a membership to the official Former Child Actors club. Macaulay, or Mac, if you’re in the know, was always the main draw ― history’s most famous kid actor without a drink named after him. But Kieran was there too, in “Home Alone” and “Home Alone 2.” He found himself on the stage of “Saturday Night Live” before the age of 10, and schmoozed with Jay Leno on “The Tonight Show” before his voice dropped.  

Which is probably why ― and here I’m guessing ― Culkin might have been a bit annoyed when HBO suggested he audition for Greg.

But after 10 episodes of watching Culkin-as-Roman take part in his family’s imperious game of human chess, it’s hard to imagine the actor playing anyone else. If Jeremy Strong ― who plays Kendall, Logan’s cocaine-addicted second son ― is the show’s tragic star, Culkin is its nervous energy. There’s something in the way he pushes out a phrase like “What a pathetic beta cuck,” or belittles doctors and waiters alike.

What sealed Culkin’s interest in his character came in the first episode during a family softball game, when Roman points to a kid on the sidelines, the son of the site’s groundskeeper. Everyone grows quiet as Roman whips out his checkbook and starts writing a check for $1 million. Hit a home run in their game, Roman tells the boy, and the money is his. For the child and his family, it’s a potentially life-changing moment. For Roman, the child is nothing but a momentary subhuman toy to mess with and cast aside. After the child is tagged out at home, Roman can’t control his laughter. “I’m sorry, I can’t give it to you,” he says as he tears up the check. It is a degrading, truly awful moment of television.

“Oh, I get it,” Culkin remembered thinking, “he’s a fuck face.”

When Culkin filmed the scene, he embodied evil, letting out a cackle so cruel it sets the show’s moral compass for the remaining season. Culkin himself is not sure where his ability to play somebody like that came from.

“Being able to connect to some degree, not in a positive way, with these characters is odd to me because I don’t know the multimillionaires, I don’t know the super-rich, yet I know assholes like that,” he said. “I can’t even quite specifically pick out who I know that is exactly like that, but it’s weird that you can still, for me, relate.”

“Succession” suffered from a slow start, only truly hitting its stride around Episode 6, when Kendall leads the board in a tense vote of no confidence against Logan, who’s recently suffered a stroke, unleashing a sequence of events within the Roy family that are both comical and horrifying.

Culkin owns up to that. “The first three episodes to me, it’s not like they’re unwatchable,” he said, “but it’s not quite the show yet.”

Which, according to him, is fine. Some shows don’t grab you on first watch, and one in particular in his opinion: “I probably shouldn’t even say this on record. The example I have is actually [the British comedy] ‘Peep Show,’” which was coincidentally also developed by “Succession” creator Jesse Armstrong.

But the first season of “Succession” gained enough momentum before concluding Sunday evening for HBO to pick it up for another season ― making this the first time Culkin has ever been part of a television show that made it to Season 2, according to his IMDB page, a small victory in his more than two decades on-screen.

Culkin’s most acclaimed role came in 2002, when he earned a Golden Globe nomination for his role in “Igby Goes Down.” But that time the victory led to a full-blown existential crisis.

United Artists via Getty Images

Claire Danes and Kieran Culkin talk at a coffee shop for a scene from “Igby Goes Down.” Culkin entered an existential crisis after the film and took a breaking from acting. 

“[I] found myself at the age of 20 with a career I never chose, [and I] freaked out,” Culkin said. “I think everybody around that age has some sort of crisis. Usually, it’s like a straight-up ‘Oh, I don’t know what I want to do.’ Mine is, ‘I don’t know what I want to do with my life, yet here I am doing it.’”

Culkin took a break before eventually returning to acting, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to do. “I was just sort of doing it in the meantime,” he says now. He took parts in movies like “Lymelife” and “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.” Did two episodes of “Fargo.” Performed multiple versions of a stage play he loved, Kenneth Lonergan’s “This Is Our Youth.” In 2014, he was still apprehensive. “I often think about getting out of this job, but I’m terrified that there’s nothing else,” he told The Daily Beast.

Since then, Culkin said, something clicked. He remembered coming home from work one day and thinking, “Oh, I think I’m actually enjoying this.”

“I think I know what I want to do now,” he said to himself. “I think I should do this.”

Now deep into his 30s, Culkin has established himself as a stronger and more serious actor than the “essentially retired” Macaulay ever did. And in Roman, Culkin has stumbled upon something as special as it is sinister. TV Guide described Roman as “the very definition of the hate-f―k,” but he’s probably more accurately categorized as sexual overcompensation personified. He tells his brother that his “face is drowning in pussy,” despite the fact that his various partners claim he rarely wants to have sex. He masturbates to his office view of New York City while a string of emails piles up behind him. (“It’s to gain some sort of control,” Culkin surmised.)

More interesting than his sex life, though, is Roman’s complex relationship with his manipulative and emotionally abusive father. While most people want to prove their competence to the people around them, “Roman, for the most part, doesn’t give a fuck about that,” Culkin said, adding, “If his girlfriend says, ‘No, but you did a great job,’ it’s like: ‘Fuck you. Don’t patronize me.’” What he wants, Culkin said, is his dad’s approval: “That’s the only person that can get him, the only person that can look at him and make him nervous.”

Logan does exactly that when Roman prepares to stand against the tycoon in the vote of no confidence. With his father staring down at him, Roman can only muster a meek “maybe” before he slouches into his chair like an admonished child and votes with his father. Thanks to Roman, Logan lives to fight another day atop his dynasty, while Kendall is forced, temporarily, to surrender.

Earlier, in Episode 2, Roman finds himself watching as the world repackages his family’s tragedy into viral content. He and his family are huddled together in a New York hospital, awaiting information about their famous father’s deteriorating health post-stroke, like characters in a Gothic novel, when Roman starts scrolling through Twitter. His sister, Shiv, asks what people are saying.

“Eh, rumors, you know,” Roman replies matter-of-factly. “Some of Twitter says he’s dead ― and also a good deal of rejoicing at our father’s potential demise.” He notices a short video of the “South Park” kids yelling, “Oh my God, we’ve killed Logan! We’re bastards!” and asks an employee to “find out who these fuckers are and report them or screen grab their shit.”

When Culkin’s own father was hospitalized after suffering a stroke in 2014, TMZ, The Daily Mail, Perez Hilton all repackaged the tragedy as well. The National Enquirer pounced, too, running a headline that read, “Macaulay Culkin Rejects Dying Dad: ‘Rot in Hell!’” But unlike Roman, Culkin wouldn’t have been sifting through Twitter. “That would never be something that I would do willingly,” he says of social media more generally. “Because already at a young age, there was a public perception of me.” 

Francis Apesteguy via Getty Images

Kit Culkin, Macaulay Culkin, Kieran Culkin and Patricia Bretnup pose for a photo one month after the release of “Home Alone.” The father is now estranged from his children. 

Like Roman, however, Culkin and his siblings have a less than ideal relationship with his father. By all accounts, they have been mostly if not entirely estranged from Kit ever since their mother won custody of the children in the 1990s. Patricia, the mother, claimed during the custody battle that Kit had been abusive, and Culkin’s brother Macaulay has continued to do so throughout his life.

“He was a bad man,” Macaulay Culkin told comedian Marc Maron earlier this year.

When I asked Kieran Culkin if he has spoken with his father recently, he answered with two no’s so quickly that I couldn’t bring myself to ask a follow-up question, only saying, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, “Fuck ’em.”

“Fuck ’em,” Culkin agreed. “I’ll go on record: Yeah, fuck ’em.”

After a lifetime of his last name being splattered across the front pages of tabloids, Culkin seemed ready to move on from the controversies that have dogged him since he was a child actor with moppy hair and oversized clothes. That’s not him anymore.

What we’re looking at instead is Kieran Culkin, age 35 ― no longer a Greg and fully embracing life as Roman.

[tessatechaitea]

The Terrifics #4

The killer squid is Plastic Man's fingers. I mean, ew, I hope it's his "fingers."

Tone down the sex talk, Phantom Girl! Geez!

The Terrifics decide that going on an original adventure would be too difficult so they decide to reenact the trash compactor scene from Star Wars. In this day and age, that's an acceptable plot because fans feel smart when they can make the connection between an original work and the thing plagiarizing that work. They call it a "reference" and it elevates a written piece from boring garbage to intelligent pop culture commentary! Metamorpho brings up the fact that Mister Terrific always called himself the "third smartest person on Earth" and Mister Terrific begins to backpedal on that fact. He's all, "Third smartest?! Why, that's just hyperbole and facetiousness! I'm not really a terrible comic book reviewer that jerks off over young fictional super heroes! Sheesh! Can't you tell the difference between somebody just being entertaining and somebody who's an actual disgusting pervert?!" The Terrifics bond a bit in the trash compactor while battling the trash squid. It's the perfect amount of letting the readers get to know the characters and letting them bond realistically so the team doesn't seem as forced as the premise that they'll blow up if they separate balanced with just enough action for the people who like to read comic books. After they escape, they arrive on Bgztl to discover that Phantom Girl was trapped in the Dark Multiverse for thirty-two years which means she's really older than I am and I'm totally allowed to think about putting my tongue in her ass. In your face, judgy judgers! Rating: You know how I often read comic books and think, "Why am I still reading comic books?" Well this comic book didn't make me think that! It was well put together, had great art, and was an enjoyable read. And that's my praise before I even add in Phantom Girl's butt! It also had a sweet message in a saccharine kind of way that some of you emotional nitwits might enjoy. SIgn up for the E!TACT Newsletter!

#The Terrifics #DC Comics #Evan Shaner #Jeff Lemire #Nathan Fairbairn