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the-way-of-words · 1 year

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Surrender Your Heart

Nick Ruffilo x Holly(ofc), mentions of Noah Sebastian x Holly(ofc) and Nick Ruffilo x Holly(ofc) x Noah Sebastian

Content warnings: oral sex, P in V sex, unprotected sex

Contains sexual situations with fictionalized versions of real people. This isn't real. None of this happened. Feel free to hit the back button if that's not your jam.

Part of the PolyVerse // MasterList

One month. That's how much time he has with Holly this round, probably even less because he knows she wants to see Noah too. It's not enough time, it never seems to be enough with her these days. There's a word swirling in his mind, his gut, whenever he thinks of her. They've known each other for years, have known each other intimately for almost as long, but they’ve only been dating for six months. It might be too soon, but it's there all the same. The surprise on her face was worth the earlier flight when she jumps into his arms as soon as her brain processes he's there. "You said you wouldn’t be in until later," it's muffled with her mouth pressed against his.

"I know, but you're always surprising us, so I wanted to surprise you this time," he says before kissing her fully, opening his mouth with a groan when he feels her tongue run across his lips.

They take a while to get to her bedroom; pausing every so often to pull off a piece of clothing, touch newly revealed skin, and kiss. His back hits her bed, and he gasps when, in a move that reminds him of Noah, she falls to her knees and sucks him into her mouth without preamble. Fingers run through her hair as his hips move on instinct, slight movements that push him deeper into her throat. "Fuck Holls. I need—I gotta be inside you." She swirls her tongue around his length one last time, before letting go to pull off her panties as she climbs on top of him, his eyes rolling back when she sinks down.

He doesn't think he'll ever tire of the feeling that is entering her for the first time, nor the contented sigh that leaves her when he's buried as deep as he can go. His hands travel up her thighs, reveling in the feeling of her skin against his, before they come to rest at her hips. If he could only ever have her one way, he thinks this would be it, being able to take in every dip and curve of her body as she rises and falls above him. Nick doesn't ask her to look at him this time, content to observe the blissed look on Holly's face while she takes what she needs.

Her hands find his and she laces their fingers together, eyes opening to find his on her own accord. He almost says it right then, can feel the words rising in his throat but he swallows them down; choosing instead to tighten his hands around hers, hips rising to fuck up into her harder. The action earns him a gasp of his name as she grinds down on him in a way that has his eyes rolling back. With a needy look in her eyes, Holly brings a pair of their joined fingers to her center and he knows what she wants. Untangling their hands, he takes his thumb to his mouth, wetting the digit before bringing it to brush her clit. She sucks in a sharp breath and tightens around him, twisting her hips.

"That's it Holly," her name ending in a groan as she does it again, "That's my girl." He presses his thumb down just a little harder, watches as her eyes close and she cums with a cry, falling forward to rest her weight against him as her climax rolls through her. Their lips meet in a heated and needy kiss as she comes down, and when he rolls them so that she rests on her back, Holly doesn't stop him. His hands find hers again, threading fingers together above her head, nosing along her cheek as he whispers, "C'mon, look at me, babe."

Her eyes open as he presses into her again and he sees firsthand how the pupils expand and until there's only a thin rim of amber. She whimpers as he rolls his hips back before pushing forward to fill her again and he knows she wants to close her eyes at the slick drag of it, he wants to do it himself. But her eyes stay open and on his and, fuck, Nick loves her like this. Loves having her underneath him, legs hitched on his waist as she moves with him, taking what he gives and giving her own in return. He leans down to take a nipple into his mouth, teasing the sensitive nub with his tongue before nipping at it with his teeth.

The needy noise she makes has the coil in his gut winding tighter, ready to snap and she catches him by surprise as she cums around him again with a shocked gasp, fingers gripping his tight. He loses whatever rhythm he has as he reaches his own end, spilling into her with a choked off gasp of her name. He untangles their hands before he pulls out and collapses on the bed beside her. Sighing contentedly as she fits herself into his side, he wraps his arms around her as she throws a leg over his. For a moment, the room is quiet, save for their breath and he smiles when her fingers trace the different shapes of ink on his arm as she breaks the silence, "I missed you… so much this time." He can hear the emotion in her voice, knows it matches his own when he thinks about their time apart.

"I know Holls, I know," he says back, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he holds her close. "I did too.. we both did." They separate briefly, moving under the bed covers before resume their close position, and as he drifts off, he lets himself say the words, silently, in his head. I love you.

I love you.

It's been a few hours since he got back and Holly can't sleep. Not with the words playing through her brain on a loop like they have been since they escaped his mouth with a soft sigh. She hears her phone ping in the living room, deciding to leave the warmth of Nick's arms to investigate. Slipping back into her panties and a shirt she finds on the chair in her bedroom, she's halfway down the hall when she realizes it belongs to Noah; one she pilfered from his closet the last time she was in L.A. Her phone rings as she reaches for it, Noah’s face lighting up the screen. She pauses, wondering if she should answer or not, before shaking the ridiculous notion away and opening the call.

"Hey you."

"Hi my beautiful girl."

There's a tired edge to his voice and part of her aches, wishing she could be there with him.

"You sound tired. Are you home?"

"Just got to the house. I didn't want to interrupt, but I wanted to hear your voice before I crashed."

"It’s okay. You're not interrupting, Nick's currently asleep in the bedroom."

That earns her a scoff and chuckle.

"Took you to bed the second he saw you, didn't he? Can't say I blame him, I'd do the same if I could."

It's said genuinely, with no jealousy in his voice, yet she feels her chest crack open, regardless. She misses him so much it hurts and her mind wanders for a second, imagining what it might be like to be there when he comes home. Would he be rough and needy, pressing her into the mattress as he takes his fill? She realizes she must have zoned out, as Noah says her name for what sounds like the second, or third, time.

"Hmm? Sorry…"

"What's up Holls, where'd you go?"

Part of her feels guilty, here she is thinking about being with Noah, while Nick's passed out in the bedroom.

"What's going on in that head of yours, huh?"

"Nick said I love you."

The words burst forth, pushing their way out on their own accord. Holly slaps a hand over her mouth as if that could take them back.

"Finally told you, did he?"

"I'm sorry… what?"

"Holly, I've known Nick for a long time. I know what he looks like when he's in love. Even when he doesn't tell me.

Do you love him?"

"Are you asking as my boyfriend, or Nick's best friend?"

"Both."

Holly pauses, trying to figure out how to put the thoughts into words. She knows how she feels, that’s not the problem… or maybe it is. There’s a voice, deep down in the dark recesses of her mind, one that she’s gotten pretty adept at ignoring, that tells her she’s selfish. Most women would be grateful to have just one man of their caliber, and yet here she is with two.

"If I love him or not isn't the issue…"

He's gone quiet, patiently giving her the space to continue, and she wishes she could see his face to figure out what he's thinking. But she charges on.

"Am I selfish for — for wanting both of you?

Is it wrong for me to keep you both?"

"Holls… if anyone's selfish here, it's probably me and Nick.

…

I don't think either of us could have walked away once we got involved with you."

Noah sighs across the line, taking a breath before he continues.

"He won’t admit it, but he's been gone on you for longer than he knows.

And me? I was in this the moment I had a taste.

You're not selfish for wanting the both of us… because neither of us feel selfish for loving you."

The need in her chest expands at his words because while she figured this is where they would end up, there's something different hearing it spoken so plainly, so casually.

"But what if I can't say it yet?"

"It's not gonna change the way I feel… and it's not going to change the way Nick feels either.

Talk to him, Holls."

"... When did you become the level-headed one out of the three of us?"

Holly can’t help but laugh, because really, out of all them Noah is the least level headed, ready to argue at a moment's notice. He knows it too, given the way he chuckles with her.

"I am a man of many talents… But seriously. Don't worry, if you're not ready to say it, it's okay. There's no pressure.

We have time."

"Okay… I better get back to him then. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"I am only a phone call or text away. Rest easy, Holly."

"Sleep well."

Love you, Holly thinks as she stares at the blank screen after they’ve hung up. She stays in the living room, soaking up the silence letting the echo of Noah’s comforting words move through her, only heading to the bedroom once she feels settled, confident she’ll be able to get some sleep. Nick stirs when she crawls back into bed, waking enough to pull her close when he feels the mattress dip.

Holly's still sleeping when he wakes, the warmth of her body seeping into the skin of his chest. He strokes her hair back from her face, taking this time to just look at her; dark lashes against her pale olive skin, the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, her nose. His eyes catch on the Medusa piercing above her lip and he can’t help but smile as he remembers holding her hand through the sting years ago. God, they wasted so much time; he thinks. Years. They had been doing it for years, too afraid or too stubborn to look any deeper. It's almost obvious when he looks back on it, taking breaks when they saw other people, yet easily falling back into each other after things ran their course.

"You know, in any other situation, a man staring at me this hard while I sleep would be a red flag," she murmurs, startling him from his thoughts.

He huffs a quiet laugh, "How do you know I'm staring? Your eyes are closed."

"Call it an educated guess," yawning, her eyes slide open as she raises her head to look at him with a smile, "and would you look at that. I'm right."

"Can't help it. It's been a while since I've been able to look at you." He smiles before closing the gap, bringing his mouth to hers. It's a tender, casual thing and it's in these small moments that he's still struck that he gets to do this now. Kiss her whenever he wants; just because, with no worry about crossing some unseen line, and it warms him from the inside out.

The warmth fades a little when they pull apart and there's a nervous look on her face, "So, you said something last night… I don't think you meant to, but you did."

Nick can't help the dread that spreads through him, "Did I?"

Holly sighs and her eyes move from his face to his chest, "You did…"

"And?"

"... Does it bother you I'm not just yours? That you're not the only one I'm with? That you’re not the only one I--," she cuts off, silencing herself as she swallows the word down before continuing, "--that I want?"

"Does it—Holly, there are things that bother me about our relationship, like the fact that we wasted so much time before, the fact I miss out on more time with you when we're on tour; but you also being with Noah, wanting him the same way you want me, is not one of them." He pushes himself up on an elbow, propping his head up with a fist as his other hand grasps her chin, tilting her gaze back up to his, "The three of us work, and I don't think I would want it any other way." Nick means it, knows in his heart that it's the three of them together, that makes what they have so special. He couldn’t imagine it any other way.

"I need you to know, I feel the same way. I do, I just… I don't know if I'm ready to say it yet."

"That's what matters, okay? You don't have to say it if you're not ready… it won’t change the way any of us feel." His hand moves from her chin to cup her cheek, "Look, there's no pressure; we have time." He brings his forehead to hers, "Okay?"

"Okay." They lie there, soaking in each other's presence and he feels this new understanding settle over them like a warm blanket. It doesn't matter if she's not ready to say it yet, they have time; it might be brief, sporadic, but they have it.

And that's all that matters.

#nick ruffilo/ofc #noah sebastian/ofc #nick ruffilo/ofc/noah sebastian #rpf #bandom fic #bad omens rpf #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian #nick ruffilo #nicholas ruffilo

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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The Merry Whump of May—Day 17

“Going down in flames”

Pole | Regret | Fireplace

Surveillance Masterlist || Merry Whump of May Masterlist

Closely following this, not sure by how long. Maybe a day or two

(Special thanks to @enigmawritesstuff for the idea!)

Cw: noncon drugging, torture, branding, creepy/kind of intimate whumper, wound care

Noah hadn’t passed out.

Not as he felt the flesh melt from his back, an awful stench curdling into the air. Not as his legs have out and he fell, hanging only by his wrists, the iron still pressing roughly into his back.

Not after the red hot metal rod had cooled back to its regular black color, and pulled away, taking bits of burned skin with it. There was no blood, but the mark was worse than any knife could scar.

He had stayed conscious the entire time, until the guards let him down hours later, letting him fall to the floor without bothering to remove the cuffs chaining his wrists together, leaving the medics to tend to him with their cold, emotionless stares and much less than gentle techniques.

There hadn’t been much for them to do, besides pick at the wound to get rid of any debris and cut away worst bits of the burns.

After they had finished, they had left Noah there. Lying on the floor on his stomach, bound arms trapped beneath him already gone numb, struggling to breathe. And even then, his mind still hadn’t let him surrender to unconsciousness, remaining awake and aware long enough for the room to flood with the chill of the night as all heating systems were shut off in the lower floors, leaving only the December air to rush through the vents.

Despite how they shivered, shaking horribly as the cold ate away at them slowly, the fire against their back didn’t seem to lighten in the slightest, not at all, burning nearly as bad as it had when they were first branded.

Someone had eventually come to collect him, by the time they did, it could have very easily been the next morning. Two guards, armed with a syringe that had been stabbed into Noah’s neck. A sedative, he knew long before his eyes fell shut. He couldn’t help but be grateful, even when in his last fleeting moments of consciousness he was dragged up by bound arms and carried away.

He woke up some hours later, body braced on something soft, head turned to the side and propped delicately on a pillow. Soft light drifted across his face, prompting him to open his eyes after long minutes of being unable to move.

He blinked, willing his vision to focus.

He was looking at a window. A large window, stretching wide and tall. Sunlight cast the room in a soft glow, he could tell just by the gentleness of the rays that it was late afternoon, sun edging towards the horizon just enough to tint the edges of the sky pink, reflecting off the thin dusting of snow that covered the world outside.

He was in Declan’s office, laid stomach-down on the sofa. He noticed, blinking heavily, that it was not the same as the last time he’d been in there. A new couch, now long enough to lay on, cushions softer rather than decorative. There was a blanket draped up to about halfway up his back, soft threads woven together.

Confusion hit him like a slap, sharp and stinging, drawing him from the drug induced haze in moments.

The fireplace to the right was lit, a small gate blocking the hearth as it crackled softly. The artwork on the wall had been replaced, changed from sharp monochromatic lines to curves of color, a careful disorganization to the pattern.

That wasn’t the only things that had changed since he’d last been in there. It looked less like an office now, Noah thought faintly, glancing around as much as he could without moving his head. There was a plump armchair in the corner adjacent to the windowed wall and the one with the fireplace, a lamp fit snug besides that, and no one other than Declan himself sitting in the chair, legs crossed with his laptop balanced in his lap.

Noah didn’t remember making any sort of sound or movement, but as if led by some sixth sense, Declan looked up the moment Noah’s eyes fell on him, and he paused his work.

“Noah,” the man smiled, greeting him as one would an old friend. He clicked a few last keys, and then closed the laptop, reaching over to set it on his desk. “Do you like how I redecorated? I thought it was time to bring some more color in here, hm?”

Noah’s throat was painfully dry, even as he breathed feeling the air against his tongue, like sandpaper in his mouth. Even if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have spoken, having no answer to the question he’d been asked—if it even was that. Rhetorical, he supposed.

“I had it done just for you, my friend. I knew you must be sick of the grays and steel by now.”

Declan stood up, and Noah blinked, trying to swallow to bring some moisture to his mouth, but it caught in his throat, nearly choking him before he coughed.

“Oh, I’m sure you must be thirsty,” Declan paused, taking a small step back to his desk, pulling open a drawer and grabbing out a small plastic bottle, the kind that could be bought in packs of twelve or twenty-four, a brand wrapped around its middle. “Here, can you sit up?”

No, they couldn’t. And yes, it was completely for lack of trying. Noah’s limbs felt heavy just laying there, making even the idea of movement exhausting. Declan didn’t seem to mind, though, walking over to the couch and dropping to a crouch so he was just above eye-level with Noah.

“Lift your head,” he ordered softly, twisting off the cap before his free hand moved to Noah’s jaw, pulling his head up away from the pillow before pressing the bottle to his lips.

For a moment, Noah debated defiance, perhaps spitting the water out back straight into the bastard’s face. They’d spent weeks, their dignity and self-respectable stoicism slowly chipped away, silence and civil crumbling to a cursing and fighting defiance. They were going to be hurt regardless, why bother being quiet? At least this way, even with achievements as small as making Declan frown, it felt like they had done something, not just sit and quietly take the abuse they were handed.

But the moment the water touched their lips, any idea of such a thing dropped from their mind as they realized just how dehydrated they were. A trickle of water dribbled down their chin, which might have been humiliating at a different time, but now all they could think about was how good it felt, easing the scratch in the back of their throat, breaths coming just a bit more naturally.

All too soon, the bottle was pulled away, and Declan twisted the cap back on.

“Ah, none of that,” he quickly silenced Noah’s groan of protest, but the usual bite of authority was softened behind his voice. “You’ll get the chance to earn more in a bit, so long as you stay nice.”

And with those words, Noah sobered again, blinking away the desperation as he fell back into the dynamics of the situation.

Earn water. Fucking asshole, Declan.

Still, he couldn’t help but ask, the word coming out a low croak. “Whh’y?”

Why, there could have been a thousand things he was referencing, but of course, Declan knew exactly which. Noah couldn’t help the shiver as the man’s hand raised, pressing to the side of his head, gently tugging through the strands knotted with blood and grime.

“Must you always question things? Would you rather I treat you like traitorous rat you are?” Declan’s tone dropped, and he took the slight widen in Noah’s eyes as answer enough. “I didn’t think so. Now, to answer, I’m in a good mood, which is quickly fading, so I suggest you simply stay quiet and accept my generosity.”

Noah gave a hesitant nod after a moment, and Declan seemed satisfied, fingers carding lightly along Noah’s scalp before pulling back, tracing down the back of his neck.

“You behaved well yesterday. I’m not heartless, I will deal rewards when you’ve earned them. And for this,” his fingers traced over the brand, touch barely ghosting but it made Noah hiss, hands curling into fists. “Well, it certainly doesn’t dampen the mood. Would you like to see what it looks like? I’m sure you will appreciate it just as much as I do.”

No, no Noah did not want to see it, but Declan’s hand had already pulled away from his back, digging in his pocket for his phone before opening it to the camera app, standing so he could take a picture of their back.

“When it heals, it’ll be just perfect,” Declan murmured, turning the screen so Noah could see.

Noah felt sick.

The skin was destroyed, blackened and blistering. The brand was centered against his upper back, stretching to the edges of his shoulder blades, but it wasn’t the burns that made the bile creep up his throat.

It was what the brand said.

Big, thick letters stretched across his skin, so clearly visible even with the fresh burns.

Property of D. Madlouck.

——————————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff @whump-me

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philomenie · 2 months

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MOON HILL

4 Beings from a different time, a different world than today. Rivals, friends, allies from the beginning of time. 4 magical beings, long separated, now reunited to save what means the most to them.

Moon Hill

Nicholas: Peuchen, vampire-like winged serpent, demon

Joakim: Fenris, Fenrir, wolf-like demigod

Nick: Kerberus, hellhound

Noah: Yokai, demon, Chi o nomu hito, blood-drinker, also Kyuketsuki, vampire

CN Fantasy, Mystery, Mention and actual presence of blood, torture, killing, betrayal

TWO

Noah Patience has never been his strong point, but waiting for the seals to break and the path to become clear is taxing him to no end. He watches his companions. Nicholas appears calm on the outside, but Noah knows that he is also calm on the inside. Something he envies in his friend. Folio, on the other hand, is tense as a bow. His jaws grind, he snorts. Suddenly he notices a flickering of the force field and stares tensely at the bluish light pulsing around the building. There, that flickering again, longer this time. Nicholas draws in a sharp breath, he has noticed it too. Folio tears off his jacket. The flickering becomes stronger and suddenly the force field collapses and goes out. "Here we go, brace yourselves, it's not going to be easy, but we're going to win this time!" Noah nods to Folio and Nicholas. Folio slips out of his clothes and transforms into the hellhound, a gigantic monster with three heads and deadly jaws from which saliva drips in joyful anticipation. Nicholas also sheds his clothes and transforms into the giant winged serpent. Noah himself merely removes his trench coat and pulls his sweater collar over his lower face, his deadly sharp katana in his hands. Noah runs towards the building, Nicholas and Folio close behind him. They can easily reach the building's large, double-leaf door. Noah nods to Folio, who takes a running start and throws himself against the door. It takes three more attempts before the wood cracks in two under the weight of the monster and the door is lifted off its hinges. The friends slowly enter the high entrance hall. Noah's gaze sweeps over everything attentively. Nothing has changed since they were last here so many years ago. The raised statues in the semicircle of the hall are still there. In the middle, the doors leading up and down. Noah sees that Folio has scented something, Folio growls, Nicholas must have noticed something too, his forked tongue flicks back and forth excitedly. The guards are coming, Noah hears Nicholas in his thoughts. Noah's head narrowly points to Folio, who immediately sets off to smash the nearest door. Behind it is a labyrinth of stairs leading to the heights and depths of the building. The first guards appear in the broken doorway. Folio crushes them easily, their spears unable to penetrate his skin. Nicholas' mighty body glides over the dead, mangled bodies, penetrating deeper into the building. "We have to go down, Nicholas, you stay here! Kill anyone who shows up here, today we will have no regard!" Noah's voice is harsh. Nicholas nods to their leader with narrowed eyes, he knows what he has to do and it is his pleasure. His thirst for blood will be quenched tonight with the blood of the Asen Guardians. He hopes that a few of the Aesir themselves will appear when they realize WHO is here and WHY. What about the Norns, Noah hears Folio's question in his head. "Kill them!" is his curt reply. Folio growls with growing agitation. Aren't they still needed? Nicholas is surprised. 'No, we're supposed to render them harmless, Kami Izanagi was very clear about that. The Völva can work better without them, were his words!"

Noah... he's a god, what if he's lying? Nicholas is unsure about this, killing the Norns is sacrilege. The spinners of fate have enormous power and significance, and not just among the Aesir. "We can't let them live, they have to die, they would cut the threads!" How do you know that, Folio is irritated. "Kami Izanagi is certain that the nature of the Norns has been changed by dark forces. They now serve the darkness, the void!" Noah.... Nicholas is not convinced. "Nicholas, the kami was sure and I believe him! Besides, we shouldn't spend our time arguing, we should finally free our friend!" Noah sets off with determination. Folio follows him without hesitation. The two of them move carefully down the stairs, each floor secured by another door. Which floor is it? "We'll know!" Folio growls skeptically. They penetrate deeper and deeper into the building, the muffled sound of fighting can now be heard from above. Noah knows that Nicholas can handle the enemies, none of the four of them will lose their lives today! When he reaches the last level, he instructs Folio to smash the door. Folio takes a running start and fails. Howling in pain, he gets back on his paws. Noah narrows his eyes, examines the wood, takes off his glove and strokes it carefully. He had almost guessed it, magical yew wood. Well, he'll just have to try it. He takes a long swing with his katana and strikes the door. Sparks fly and he is thrown backwards. Furious, he gets to his feet again, his fangs bared. He gruffly pulls his collar down, hissing belligerently. His eyes turn blood-red, his already long limbs stretch even more, becoming stronger, his skin snow-white. The skin around his blood-red eyes turns black, his top rips open. His jaws open, his maw a deadly weapon for anyone who dares to oppose him. Eyes flashing, he walks back towards the door, his katana raised high above his head. With a yell, he strikes the door again. Sparks fly again, but this time his sword remains stuck in the door. With a jerk, he pulls it out again and immediately strikes it again. The wood now shows a few gouges. Panting, Noah tells Folio to thunder against the door again. The door groans, but does not give way.

Noah now smashes the door in a frenzy until the first holes appear. Folio takes another run-up and this time crashes through the damaged wood. He frees himself with a jerk and jumps against it again. This time he breaks through completely. Noah climbs smoothly through the huge hole, observing everything very closely. A long corridor stretches out from the door, with more doors on each side. Folio waits for further orders. Noah wants to take out the Norns first. He fears that the women have already started to cut threads. This must be stopped at all costs. He tries to remember which door leads where. He is briefly unsure, damn it, he had memorized everything so well. It can't be that he can't remember now. Noah takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and concentrates. There, the third door on the right, that must be it. A quick nod of the head and Folio is already storming off. This time he gets through the wood without any problems. Behind it, they really are, the three Doom Norns at the foothills of the root of Yggdrasil, the World Ash, the source of everyone's fate. Urd, the personification of the past, is the first to speak to Noah. "Blood-drinker, you can't change the past!" Skuld, the future, " Kyuketsuki consider your actions, your fate and that of others is in your hands at this moment!" Verdandi, the present, "Noah stop the madness and go, leave everything as it is! Everything has a purpose!" But Noah is not prepared to listen to what is being said. "You are traitors! You have betrayed us all, the light and the darkness! You have conspired with the void, you want to usher in Ragnarok!" "Whoever whispered those words to you is wrong!" Verdani's voice sharp "It is not we who are the traitors! Rather, it is you who bring destruction!" "Go and leave the bound man where he is! If you free him and kill us, the end you want to prevent will come and there's nothing you can do about it!" Skuld's voice sounds pleading. "LIES!" Noah shouts down the voices. "We are the Guardians of Fate, without us the World Tree dies and so does everything else, humans, gods, demons, magical beings, everything!" Urd's voice calm. Folio has now returned to his human form and places a hand on Noah's arm.

"Noah, what if they're right? Do you know for sure that your kami is telling the truth? What if HE has been taken over by the void? What if WE are the ones making things worse?" Noah gruffly brushes Folio's hand away. "You believe those women? The ones who wanted to cut our strings? Who can do that at any time?" "I'm not saying I believe them, just that I'm unsure about what your kami claimed! I mean, he's a fucking god and gods are fickle, conniving assholes! You know that, remember what Kami Izanami said about Yuki....." Folio doesn't get any further because Noah squeezes his throat with flashing eyes. "Don't you dare!" his words are a hiss. Folio grabs Noah's hand and tries to remove it from his throat, but fails. "Noah," he gasps, "think!" Noah's jaw grinds, uncertainty rises in him. What if the kami isn't right? Damn these fucking gods! He pushes Folio away and turns back to the Norns, his katana raised. "Fine, you shall stay alive, but you won't be able to do any harm!" and with that he cuts off the hands of all three of them in a flash.

"Madman!" Skuld howls. Urd and Verdani sink to the ground, bleeding. Noah turns away "Come on, we have to free Joakim!" Folio follows him speechlessly and begins to change again. Reader Both rush along the corridor to the last door at the end. Once there, Folio crashes into it. The door splinters from its hinges. Pitch-black darkness awaits them and they are catapulted directly inwards in a maelstrom, the subterranean portal to Asgard. Where is he? Folio looks around. Noah feels a breeze on his cheek and he throws himself in the opposite direction. Another spear whizzes past his head. Folio gives a wounded howl. A spear has caught his side and managed to tear open his skin. Noah blinks in confusion, how can this be? Their skin is normally invulnerable due to their tattoos. Another spear comes flying at them out of nowhere. Noah deftly intercepts it, examining it carefully in his hands. It is made of yew wood, magical wood, but its tip is made of a glass-like material that he has never seen before. WHAT is that?

Folio next to him growls and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. One, no, two figures step out of the darkness towards them. Skadi and Tyr!

The tall Asen, Skadi with long blond hair and blue eyes, Tyr with black hair, beard and dark eyes, look closely at the intruders. Of all things, Noah sees Folio flinch and growl harder. His lips pulled up. "Go!" Tyr's voice dark and angry. "Not without our friend, you will leave the Fenriswolf to us or we will kill you!" Noah's voice calm. Disbelieving, Tyr laughs out, "Get out of here blood drinker and take your demons with you, the Fenris Wolf will remain bound for all eternity!" "That won't happen, Joakim is coming with us! The balance has been disturbed since you held him captive. You know that, but you don't care, because only Asgard's interests count!" Noah spits out the words. Folio growls in agreement. "You won't get past us!" "I suppose you want to lose your other hand too? Do you want me to do it now, or do you want Joakim to bite it off like the other one?" sneers Noah. Furious, Tyr wants to lunge at the vampire, but Skadi holds him back. "Don't! You know he speaks the truth. Moon Hill was not protected by our actions. Our Allfather still denies it, but you know that the Kyuketsuki is right! We must not allow the injustice to continue!"

"Injustice? The Fenris wolf will tear everything apart when he's free again! He not only swore to us, he tried again and again. You can't release the monster!" Tyr is horrified. "I will break his bonds, Tyr!" Skadi turns away. Folio blocks her path, his eyes glowing murderously. "Nick" her tone full of regret "I'm sorry I used you, I thought I was doing the right thing!" She strokes one of his heads, fearlessly. Folio flinches at the touch, backing away from her. Noah feels all his emotions, his anger, his guilt, and yet there is still the desire for this woman.... Noah understands him, but there is no time or space for any of this. And suddenly events come thick and fast. Tyr raises his spear and roars, hurling it towards Skadi, but before it hits her, Folio throws himself in between and intercepts the spear. Noah's subsequent movement is so fast that nobody really notices it. Tyr collapses on his knees, his severed head slowly falling from his shoulders, his body hitting the ground with a thud. Skadi kneels beside Folio, shaking her head again and again. Noah is now at her side. The spear has caught Folio on the shoulder, it is stuck deep in the flesh of the hellhound, which whimpers painfully.

"What kind of shit is this that it penetrates our skin?" Noah can barely contain his anger. "Crystal from the depths of Helheim!" Skadi's voice a whisper. "Bloody gods!" Noah spits out. He stands up and removes the spear from Folio's shoulder, who yelps. "Does this crystal do anything other than penetrate our skin?" "It works like poison!" Noah laughs evilly, which is exactly what he feared. "On all creatures?" Skadi swallows "On all of them!" Noah would like to rip her head off her neck, he grabs her roughly "Is there an antidote?" he shouts at her. "Yes, yes, there is something!" "WHAT???" Noah can barely contain himself. "Blood of the gods!" He raises an eyebrow in amazement. "That's perfect, we just happen to have it!" With these words, Noah walks over to Tyr's dead body and lifts his severed head by the hair. "What now? Apply it or drink it?" "I don't know.... It never came to that!"

Noah growls "Both then! Folio open your mouth, you'll get gods blood to drink!" he holds the head in front of Folio's head. While Folio is busy with Tyr's head, Noah smears Tyr's blood on Folio's wound, which slowly closes. "You all right again?" Folio nods grumpily. "Good, then we can free our friend now!" Turning to Skadi, "After you!" Skadi is the first to take a torch from the wall bracket and lights a fire out of nowhere. With the torch in her hand, she goes ahead and lights other torches. The room, which turns out to be a dungeon, slowly lights up. The walls are made of rough stone with embedded chains to hold prisoners. Noah feels sick. He recognizes the slightly bluish shimmer of the chains. Magical, only there to bind their kind. At the far end, he can make out a figure lying bent over on the floor. The shackles are not made of the glowing bluish chains but of a thin, glowing golden thread that wraps the figure's body tightly. Noah gasps, Joakim! As Skadi steps closer to him, Noah would like to kill her just as much as Tyr, Folio also growls dangerously.

The Fenris wolf is bound so that he cannot move, his limbs tied tightly together. He lies before them in human form, naked. His long, stringy hair covers his face. Noah can't tell if his friend is conscious. His chest is heaving, at least he's still alive! Full of rage, Noah grabs Skadi by the neck. "GET HIM OFF! IMMEDIATELY!" he forces the words out. Folio has changed back into his human form. He stares wide-eyed at their mutual friend, then at Skadi. Anger, despair and hatred are reflected in them. Skadi cannot withstand his gaze. Noah throws her off him, she stumbles, Folio holds her tight so that she doesn't fall. "Free him!" he chokes out. Skadi nods and goes to a recessed cupboard in the wall, opening the iron doors with a key that she wears around her neck under her leather armor. She takes out a knife with a crystal blade. Noah is at her side in a flash, snatching the knife from her hand. "YOU are not going to do this! I'm going to untie him!" Skadi nods.

Noah slowly approaches Joakim and kneels down in front of him. He slowly stretches out his hand and lovingly strokes the strands of hair from Joakim's face. Once again, Noah has to restrain his anger, which threatens to become overwhelming. His companion's eyes are closed, his breathing is intermittent. Deep shadows mark his face. Noah now takes a closer look at the body. The demigod's once powerful muscles are almost gone, his skin battered in many places. Where the thread touches his skin, wounds and scars have formed over time. Folio is beside him, swallowing... Noah reaches under the thread on Joakim's shoulder to cut it. Joakim groans. Folio can't stand it. Furious, he claws Skadi's upper arms, "Why? Why did you do this? He's one of you damned gods? How could you torture him like that?" "Odin, he didn't want him to be able to move...." "WHERE is that goddamn motherfucker? I'm gonna rip his head off!" "He's not here Nick, all the other Aesir aren't here, Tyr and I were the last ones!" "The last ones? What does that mean?" "That we Asen have realized by now that the void won't go away on its own. And we have to make alliances, like everyone else!" Folio angrily pushes Skadi away, "NOW you realize that? It's YOUR fault that it's come to this!" "Nick, I know that and I've been trying to get the others to listen to me for so long...." "WHY DID YOU BETRAY ME, WHY DID YOU BETRAY HIM, SKADI? I TRUSTED YOU?" Skadi averts her eyes, "I'm so sorry Nick, it was the biggest mistake ever!" Noah has now cut the strings that have bound Joakim all this time. His friend's limbs fall limply to the floor. He still doesn't move. "FOLIO, come here, help me, we have to get him out of here!" Folio is immediately at Noah's side. Noah carefully rolls Joakim onto his back, then takes one arm, Folio the other and together they pull the unconscious man up, wrap his arms around their shoulders and hold him by the torso. Joakim's head hangs down, his legs drag across the floor as the three of them rush towards the portal. Skadi follows them. "Don't you dare follow us!" Noah's voice pure ice. "You need me, even if you made it here, you can't get through the front door without me!" "What do you mean?" "The seals have been activated again. Can't you feel it, Noah?" Skadi's voice calm and determined. Noah flinches, she's right, he felt it like a burning sensation on his skin, but ignored it. Damn it, how could that be? His kami has assured him that they will get in and out without a problem. "Then go ahead!" he orders her. Skadi picks up her spear from the ground, nods to him and goes ahead through the portal. The stairs seem almost endless with the unconscious Joakim on her shoulders. They finally reach the end. Nicholas is already waiting for them. He too is now back in his human form. When he sees the four of them approaching, his eyes widen in surprise and anger. He is with them immediately. "WHAT does she want here?" he growls towards Skadi. "We still need her, then you can rip her throat out!" growls Noah. "Don't......" Folio is barely audible. "Damn it Folio, are you just thinking with your dick again? Look at what she's done!" Nicholas points to the body between him and Noah. "Is he even still alive? What have those damn gods done?" Nicholas' voice trembles with rage.

"He's alive, but we have to get out of here, now, the seals have been activated again!" hisses Noah. "What? I thought.....?" Nicholas falls silent. "Skadi can deactivate them again, and then we have to get out of here, something's wrong!" "I was afraid of it, Noah!" Nicholas shakes his head. "LATER! Come on, Skadi, the seals!" Skadi hurries to the entrance, touches the seals in the door frame in a certain order, the bluish glow goes out again. "Come on, you can go now!" "Come with us!" suddenly comes out of Folio's mouth. "WHAT??? Are you completely crazy? She betrayed you and Joakim and you want to take her with you?" Noah is stunned. "She can still be useful to us!" Nicholas interjects. Noah growls, he thinks for a moment, "Fine, then let her come with us, Joakim can tear them apart when he's got his strength back!" Skadi stops the four of them again, "You can't possibly go out on the street like this, three of you naked, the other one with his clothes torn to shreds!" Noah groans.

Skadi quickly runs to a door and opens it. Behind it is the changing room of the human guards and their uniforms. Luckily nothing flashy, just black pants and black sweaters. Skadi hands out reasonably suitable clothes to everyone, Nicholas and Noah dress Joakim. "Nick, I'm really sorry...." "Not now, later, but tell me something, can I trust you? Or are you lying to me again, betraying me, all of us?" Skadi swallows, looks Folio firmly in the eye, "You can trust me, like you I only want one thing, to stop the Nothing, whatever the cost!" Folio nods. They leave the building together. Noah and Nicholas drag Joakim as inconspicuously as possible to the row of houses opposite. "Where to now?" asks Folio. "We need shelter, I didn't expect Joakim to be in such bad shape, damn it!" Noah rubs his face, visibly shaken. "Do you have a car? I know something outside the city!" Skadi's words take everyone by surprise. "Another trap?" growls Nicholas. "No, not a trap, I know you don't trust me, there's nothing I can do about it, but we can't stay here!" "Where do you want to take us?" Noah's skeptical voice cuts through the night. "A small farm outside the city, far enough away that we won't be found immediately, remote, unknown to the Aesir!" "Uninhabited?" Nicholas wants to know. "No, not uninhabited, a mortal lives there, she has become a dear friend to me, she looks after my animals, she knows all about medicine! They say she has healing hands!" Noah gasps, "Healing hands? Is she a witch?" Skadi shakes her head thoughtfully, "No, I don't think so....!" "I thought she was your friend?" Nicholas interjects mockingly. "Yes, she is, I trust her!" "Does she know WHO you are?" Noah wants to know. "No, she doesn't know that!" Noah snorts skeptically. "We should try, we have to get out of here, what other choice do we have?" Folio gets to the point. Nicholas disappears to fetch the bus, which is parked a few rows of houses away. In the meantime, Folio collects his and Nicholas' clothes and stows everything in his bag, which he has hidden behind the garbage cans. Skadi joins him. "She's really trustworthy, she's never let me down, never asked questions. She doesn't want attention, she wants her peace and quiet!" "Do you know why?"

"Yes, something, she's had a bad time. No family anymore, her boyfriend's an asshole!" "Hmph, mortal assholes are my favorite, they whimper for their pathetic lives before I tear them apart!" Folio's gaze glows. "I hope you don't get the chance! She doesn't need any stress in her life!" "And you? Do you need stress?" Folio grins demonically at Skadi. "Maybe!" Before they can talk any more, Nicholas arrives with the bus. Together they carefully lift Joakim onto the back seat, Noah holds his upper body with his arms so that his friend doesn't fall. Noah's eyes are still distorted with rage. Folio gets behind the wheel, Skadi in the passenger seat shows him the way.

#bad omens cult #bad omens band #bad omens #joakim jolly karlsson #noah sebastian #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #bad omens fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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some-stories-and-junk · 6 months

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Empire Arcana

Chapter 1: New York New York

In a world where the supernatural has always threaded through the fabric of the mundane, magic was not so much discovered as it was gradually recognized. As old as time itself, magic has always danced around the periphery of human senses, manifesting in sudden chills, unexplained laughter, or shadows moving of their own accord. Over time, humanity's perception broadened, slowly accepting these phenomena as facets of magic. Much like the evolution of society, magic too evolved, intertwined with our progression through the ages. It became a silent partner, an unseen mover of gears, an integral part of life masked by its subtlety.

Today, magic thrives in the modern era, unobtrusive yet pervasive, like an enchanting melody hummed beneath the roar of everyday life. And nowhere is this magical harmony more evident than in New York City.

The city that never sleeps is a symphony of magic and reality, performing a perpetual, hypnotic dance. Its towering skyscrapers are not merely steel and glass but a canvas upon which the arcane paints ever-shifting murals, only visible to those who dare to see. Patches of enchantment thrive in verdant parks, where fairies dwell in the twisted roots of ancient trees and where pond water whispers forgotten spells to those who listen.

Beneath the city's pulsing neon lights, everyday New Yorkers walk shoulder to shoulder with creatures of the fantastical. The subway, a maze of iron and grime, resonates with the echoes of sorcery. The gentle flicker of a lamppost could be a fault in the city grid or a mischievous spirit playing with the shadows. Magic is a language spoken by the city, a secret whispered between its ancient bricks, an undercurrent in the river of its constant noise.

A gritty twilight haze enshrouds New York, where the city's grim reality tangos with a hidden surrealism, and every corner turned could reveal a world drenched in the extraordinary. This New York is not merely a city. It is a realm, a character, a testament to the coexistence of the pedestrian and the paranormal.

In this city, there is wonder, eeriness, and an unspoken agreement between the citizens and the arcane forces around them: to abide, to respect, to exist in magical harmony. And it is here, in this city humming with secrets and cloaked in enchantment, that our story takes root, waiting to unfurl into the great tapestry of the magical world.

The Shoebox, they called it, an unassuming café nestled within a storefront's weathered display window. But the ordinary exterior belied a realm of wonders within. Every shoebox within the storefront was a doorway to another place, magic woven into their cardboard confines. The Shoebox was but one, a portal to a sprawling coffee shop of warm, antiqued wood and rich, coffee-scented air.

At a corner booth sat Harmony, Kai, and Noah, absorbed in a world of their own. Harmony, with her wild curls and broad smile, radiated warmth, a sunflower in a city of concrete. Noah, lean and tall with glasses perched on his nose, was all sharp wit and keen observation, an open book in a language not everyone could understand. And Kai, with his raven-dark hair and stormy eyes, had an intensity that could be mistaken for a tempest, yet those who knew him saw a fervor driven by caring.

Noah sighed, fiddling with his coffee cup. "Honestly, it's not the magic seminars I mind. It's the eternal discourse on 'ethics of teleportation' that grinds my gears."

Harmony chuckled, her laugh was as infectious as a catchy tune. "Because your ethics go as far as 'will this let me sleep more?'"

"Exactly!" Noah spread his hands in agreement, his grin turning boyish. "If I could pop into the seminar room five minutes past start time from my bed, wouldn't that be a service to everyone?"

Kai leaned back, his cup of black coffee untouched, lips curling into a smirk. "At least you're honest about your laziness, Noah. Better than some people."

The barb was teasing, devoid of malice. Harmony snorted into her cup, and Noah rolled his eyes, chuckling. The warm chatter filled the air, an echo of friendship strong enough to weather the city's relentless pace.

The Shoebox buzzed with its own rhythm, a beacon amidst the magical cityscape. The overhead lights flickered like faerie lanterns, casting dappled shadows over the patrons. The baristas, each one a magical entity of sorts, moved in an orchestrated chaos, brewing potions of caffeine. A playful illusionist shaped the froth of lattes into fleeting masterpieces while a quick-handed pixie made deliveries at lightning speed.

In this corner of their world, Harmony, Kai, and Noah found solace. The city outside hummed its relentless tune, but inside, time slowed, and the magic was in their laughter, their bickering, their shared moments of peace.

"I'm telling you, Harmony," Noah said, leaning forward, his eyes bright behind his glasses. "There's a leviathan in the Hudson. Saw it with my own eyes."

"You sure it wasn't another alligator in the sewers story?" Harmony teased, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"No, and I'm not crazy," Noah retorted, though his lips twitched with a suppressed grin. "Just you wait. One day it's going to come up, and I'll have my 'I told you so' moment."

"And on that day, I'll buy you the entire stock of The Shoebox," Harmony promised, raising her coffee cup in a mock salute.

"Wait, hold up," Kai interjected, stirring from his silent observation. "If Noah's getting free coffee for discovering a leviathan, I want in. What's my prize for taking down a troll in the subway last week?"

Harmony groaned dramatically. "Why do I have friends who actively look for trouble?"

"Trouble? No, my dear," Kai said, a wicked glint in his eyes. "We call it adventure."

As their laughter filled the air, anyone passing by would be reminded of the magic that resided not only in their city but in every friendship, every shared smile, every hushed secret between friends. For Harmony, Noah, and Kai, The Shoebox was a sanctuary, a place where they could share the absurdity and wonder of their lives.

As the laughter subsided, Harmony leaned back, her fingers playing idly with the edge of her cup. Her face softened into a thoughtful expression, her eyes reflecting the multicolored lights from the coffee shop's ceiling.

"You know what's funny?" she began, drawing the attention of her friends. "Despite all this…magic and chaos around us, I still can't shake off the fact that my biggest worry is that botched design I submitted to my boss yesterday."

Noah snorted, "Really, Harm? Leviathans, trolls, and your work keeps you up at night?"

She gave a sheepish grin, "I know, I know, it sounds silly. But I really love my job. I love designing, bringing to life something that was just an idea. It's a different kind of magic, I guess. One that doesn't need incantations or mystical creatures."

Kai smiled, "I get it. We each have our own dragons to slay, don't we? Yours just happens to come in the form of deadlines and demanding bosses."

Noah added, "And Kai's comes in the literal form of dragons."

They all chuckled, but this time the mood was a bit more subdued, more reflective. It was a reminder of the simple, yet profound connections that existed between them. Despite their different paths, they found solace in their shared experiences, in the magic that was as much a part of their lives as the mundane realities they navigated every day.

In stark contrast to the tranquility of the city-bound cafe, the world is suddenly awash with fear and danger. From the heart of an enchanted labyrinth, a young girl stumbles into view, her eyes wide with terror. Thirteen. Her very presence seems to shimmer with an ethereal quality, the air around her sparkled as if charged with tiny stars.

Behind her, two figures emerged from the shadows—menacing specters with twisted smiles. One tall and spindly, his elongated silhouette casts eerie shadows that seem to dance along the walls of the labyrinth. The other shorter, stockier, his heavy footfalls echoed through the maze as if in rhythm with Thirteen's pounding heart.

The labyrinth around them shifted and swirled, an unnatural entity pulsing with dark magic. Walls of stone and shadow twisted into ever-changing patterns, a paradox of confinement and open space. But the two predators, with an uncanny knowledge of its shifting pathways, navigated its confounding design with an ease that was as terrifying as it was mystifying.

Each turn Thirteen took was anticipated, each path she chose, orchestrated. It was like a perverse game, a deadly chase within a mystic maze. The more she ran, the more frantic her steps became, the brighter her starlight shone, her fear amplifying her innate magic. But she couldn't use it, didn't know how to wield it against her pursuers. She was a raw source of power, untamed and vulnerable.

Memories of her past life, a captive within cold, metallic walls where her energy was harvested like a precious commodity, spurred her on. Every breath was a desperate plea, every heartbeat a silent prayer. Fear was her constant companion, wrapping around her like a shroud. Yet, she kept running, her terror pushing her forward, one foot in front of the other.

It was a dire race against time, a frantic flight against predators in an ever-changing nightmare. Thirteen, the beacon of starlight in a sea of shadows, ran for her life, her freedom the prize and her survival, the goal.

Her lungs burned with each desperate gasp for air, the terror-stricken cries lodged in her throat as her steps began to falter. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, the labyrinth around her swimming into an incomprehensible mess of shadows and terror.

The tall man laughed, a sound that seemed to twist around the corners of the maze, wrapping itself around Thirteen like a suffocating blanket. The shorter man grunted in satisfaction, his heavy steps growing louder, a monstrous drumbeat marking the countdown to her recapture.

She stumbled to a halt, her legs shaking, her small frame heaving with ragged breaths. The labyrinth seemed to close in on her, its walls vibrating with her fear. Every stone, every shadow whispered of defeat. Thirteen was a beacon in the encroaching darkness, her starlight magic glowing brighter, more desperate.

The two figures loomed closer. Their eyes gleamed with the promise of the hunt nearing its end, their cruel smiles stretching wider. Her fear, once a live wire sparking inside her, now threatened to engulf her completely. But with nowhere left to run, the labyrinth at her back, and the relentless predators closing in, the reality of her recapture hammered into her.

The aura around Thirteen sparked and flickered, reacting to her heightened emotions, her desperate prayers for freedom. It was a spectacle of magic and despair, the starlight aura swirling around her in a frantic dance, casting eerie shadows on the high labyrinth walls.

Her body began to shake, not with fear, but with a raw energy that surged within her. Her starlight glow flared brighter, fiercer. Yet, there was an ethereal beauty to the scene, an otherworldly aura cast by the desperate girl's magic amidst her impending doom.

And then, the labyrinth fell silent. The only sounds were her shaky breaths and the chilling echo of the hunters' approaching footsteps. A moment stretched into an eternity as Thirteen, bright and trembling, stood her ground against the inescapable terror that closed in on her.

The distant rumble of the train and the hum of her headphones were the only sounds that existed for Harmony at that moment. Lost in the rhythmic motion of pencil on paper, she blocked out the rest of the world, the static of life and responsibilities that seemed to dominate every moment of her day.

Squashed into a corner of the nearly deserted train car, she took advantage of the solitude to delve into her project. It was late, or maybe it was early. Time seemed to have no hold over her when she had a pencil in her hand. The world around her — the sleeping homeless man huddled under a worn-out coat, the elderly lady clutching her pushcart — faded away.

She thought about home, about the looming conflict with her stepdad, about her siblings invading her limited personal space. She thought about Kai's carefree laughter and Noah's steady companionship. She thought about the rough draft in her hand, how every stroke of her pencil seemed to breathe life into it. She thought about her purpose, her place in the world, a thought that often left her with a pit in her stomach.

As she sketched, lost in the rhythm of her music and the swirl of her thoughts, a sudden flash of light made her blink. Starlight, inside the train, impossibly bright and beautiful. She glanced around, but the other passengers were still asleep, oblivious.

And then, there she was. A girl, not much older than herself, appearing out of the bright light, eyes filled with a terror that made Harmony's heart ache. She saw the number "13" tattooed onto her arm. The girl fell into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching onto her like a lifeline.

Harmony was taken aback, but she wrapped her arms around the girl, offering her a measure of comfort in her silent presence. She asked if she was okay, her voice barely audible over the noise of the train and the quiet sobbing.

The girl tried to speak, her voice trembling. Her words were foreign, and Harmony couldn't understand. She soothed her, her hand gently patting her back, her eyes wide with concern and confusion.

Harmony's life, once confined to the spaces of her sketchbook, had suddenly burst into a dizzying array of color and light, a starlight that was too bright to ignore. She was confused, scared even, but for some inexplicable reason, she felt an immediate bond with this stranger who had come seeking solace in her arms. Traveling with the girl, who Harmony had internally dubbed 'Thirteen' due to the mysterious tattoo on her arm, was an exercise in constant vigilance. Any uniformed figure – a beat cop patrolling the city, a security guard at a shopping complex, a doorman – set Thirteen off. Her body would stiffen, and her eyes would become wide with fear.

To avoid attention, they zigzagged through back streets and alleyways, a path that often led them through surreal scenes. Old brick buildings stretched to impossible heights, crowned with neon signs that flashed in languages Harmony couldn't comprehend. Street vendors sold ordinary trinkets that danced and shapeshifted when no one was watching. Mundanity and magic were intertwined in the city's veins, every corner a blend of the ordinary and the fantastical.

They finally reached the front steps of Noah's dorm, an old repurposed townhouse that was surprisingly quiet at this hour. Pushing open the door, they made their way through the labyrinth of hallways to Noah's room.

Inside, Noah was sprawled on a chair, controller in hand, engrossed in a video game. A pile of dirty clothes, textbooks, and food containers took up most of the floor space. He glanced up as Harmony walked in, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "What's up, Harm?"

Harmony gestured towards Thirteen, who was standing in the doorway, looking uncertain. "This girl… she appeared out of nowhere, in the train. She… she's scared. And she doesn't speak English."

Noah put down his controller, sitting upright. He looked at Thirteen, asking her something in a language that Harmony didn't recognize. It sounded a lot like Arabic.

Thirteen responded, her voice shaky but clear. Noah listened, nodding occasionally. He then turned to Harmony, a serious expression on his face.

"She says she escaped from somewhere… they were using her for her magical energy. She doesn't know how she got here. She's scared they'll find her again."

Harmony felt a surge of anger and sympathy, her mind whirling. Suddenly, the image of the golden starlight in the train car made a chilling sense. This was no ordinary girl, and they were in for more than they could have ever imagined.

The world Thirteen had known as a child was one of gray walls, sterilized air, and constant, relentless fear. She was just one of many, a nameless entity in a sea of uniformity, branded with an impersonal digit. Her memories of her parents were a blur, a fragmented mosaic of warm smiles and tender hugs, torn away from her too early. She remembered the day of the separation distinctly, the cries echoing around her as she was hauled away from her mother's frantic grasp.

Her days were punctuated by the delivery of meager meals through the narrow slit at the base of her door. The food was tasteless and bland, the bare minimum to keep her body functioning. Loneliness gnawed at her as she sat in isolation, cut off from the outside world.

The walls of her room, padded and white like the inside of a straitjacket, muffled the sounds of the outside world. She could barely hear the muted whimpers and shuffling movements from the neighboring cells. The tiny slits in her door, just wide enough for the trays of food, were her only window to the world.

Her captors had a horrifying way of extracting magic. A torturous ritual that left her weak and trembling, the golden starlight that was her magic wrenched from her as if drawing blood from a stone.

One day, she found her way out of her cell. She had spent days observing the patterns of the guards, their intervals, their blind spots. And then she made her break, the door to her room swinging open when it should've been locked.

As she stepped into the hallway, the vastness of the operation struck her for the first time. Endless rows of doors, each marked with a different number, extended before her in an intimidating array. Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved, her bare feet making minimal noise against the cold tile floor.

It wasn't long before they noticed her escape. The tall man, all angles and shadows, and the round man, a hulking presence radiating danger, began the chase. The echo of their footsteps grew louder and louder in the silent corridor, a nightmarish symphony of impending doom. Fear spurred her on, and she ran with the desperation of a caged bird that had seen a glimpse of the sky.

Thirteen's life was a harrowing tale of captivity and survival, a chilling testament to the darkness lurking behind the veneer of civilization. It was a nightmare she had barely escaped from, a haunting past that still clung to her like a shadow.

Noah was a neat freak, and his magic reflected that. He snapped his fingers, and the magic unfurled like a thread of silver light, intricate and delicate. It swept through the room like a breeze, papers and clothes flying up and neatly stacking themselves. Game controllers, empty food packages, and stray cables were whisked away. His bed made itself, the creased sheets smoothing over as if ironed.

In an instant, the room was unrecognizable. A meticulous space, neat as a pin, a stark contrast to the disorder from moments before. And as the magic turned its attention to Noah, it refined him as well, his casual loungewear morphing into a crisp suit. The magic swirled around him like a gentle cyclone, tugging at his clothes and hair until he emerged, sharp and well-groomed, ready to face the world.

Noah quickly explained his situation. He couldn't afford to harbor two sorcerers in his room. They'd draw too much attention. After some deliberation, Harmony suggested her home. She didn't like the idea, but it made sense. There were already sorcerers there, and an extra wouldn't be noticed.

So, they journeyed from the heart of the city, leaving the towering buildings and congested streets behind for the outskirts. Their travel took them on an elevated train that carved its path through the urban jungle. The city transformed before their eyes, the steel and concrete structures replaced with brownstones and greenery. As they moved deeper into the Bronx, the air changed, tangy and electric, a sure sign of magical presence.

As they exited the train and made their way into the borough, they felt the change in the atmosphere. The Bronx was a different breed. Its magic was less showy, more natural. The residents had a subtle aura around them, the spark of innate magic glowing faintly in their eyes.

They continued their journey, winding through the streets until they reached Harmony's neighborhood. It was a hodgepodge of various architectural styles, some old and quaint, others new and modern. The presence of magic was faint here, nearly imperceptible. It was a safe space for those who carried the spark within them, a sanctuary in the bustling city. Magic wasn't a spectacle here, it was a way of life, woven into the fabric of the neighborhood.

As they stepped into Harmony's house, it felt like they had finally found a refuge, a place to breathe, to be themselves. Little did they know that their journey had only just begun.

Stepping into Harmony's house was like stepping into a different world, a claustrophobic chaos of life and love and barely contained turmoil. The three-bedroom house was packed, a maelstrom of siblings, parents, and energy. It was a place where privacy was a luxury and personal space was a fleeting concept.

Noah, being a wizard, received a level of respect from Harmony's parents, despite the tight confines of the home. They greeted him with curt nods, eyes lingering on his refined appearance and the understated power radiating from him.

Harmony's entrance, however, barely registered. A few distracted hellos, a cursory glance from her mother, an indifferent shrug from her stepdad. She felt like an outsider in her own home, an intruder in her own life.

"Look who decided to show up," one of her sisters sneered as Harmony stepped into their shared bedroom, a space she barely recognized. Her corner of the room had been claimed, her things relegated to a box in the corner, out of sight and out of mind.

Harmony retreated from the bedroom, seeking refuge in the company of her youngest brother. The toddler beamed at her, his eyes lighting up with childlike innocence. His small, chubby hands reached for her, murmuring incomprehensible gibberish. A moment of reprieve in the midst of the storm.

The home was teeming with life, but it felt suffocating. The rooms were small and filled to the brim, the air heavy and stagnant. As a gesture of goodwill, Noah offered to use his magic to enlarge the space, to create a sense of comfort in the cramped quarters. He began to chant, the words rolling off his tongue like a melodious lullaby, his hands moved, tracing intricate symbols in the air. The room responded, space stretching, walls receding.

But Harmony's mother quickly declined. "Noah," she said with a forced smile. "We appreciate your offer, but we can't have that kind of magic here. It's not allowed in this area."

Dejected, Noah withdrew his magic, the room snapping back to its original size. The rejection hung heavy in the air, adding to the sense of confinement.

"I need some fresh air," Harmony announced suddenly, feeling the weight of the room pressing in on her. She moved towards the door, escaping the suffocating familiarity of the place she once called home.

Barely suppressing her frustration, Harmony stepped onto the streets of the Bronx, letting the night air cool her heated emotions. She slipped her headphones over her ears, pressing play on a song with a beat that echoed her rapid heartbeat.

She wound her way through the borough, her feet tapping out a rhythm on the cracked pavement, mirroring the pulsing notes in her ears. The streets were awash with the glow of streetlights and awnings, casting long, warped shadows that danced and flickered with each passing car. Graffiti splashed across building walls, telling stories of a resilient community in vibrant hues and bold strokes.

Her thoughts were a tumultuous storm inside her, vying for attention, trying to make sense of her convoluted feelings. As she walked, she hunched her shoulders, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold herself together.

Without warning, she almost collided with a tall, slender man who seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was like a wraith, draped in darkness, his features vaguely familiar but distorted, as if seen through a broken mirror. His eyes, cold and inquisitive, drilled into her.

He sniffed the air around her. "You're a sorcerer," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Quite a powerful one at that."

She recoiled, her steps faltering. "Thanks…" she managed, trying to sidestep him, but he moved to block her path.

He began to ask her about a girl, providing a description that was eerily similar to Thirteen. Panic gripped her, but she feigned ignorance. "There's a lot of sorcerers around here," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "Could be anyone."

She quickly sent Noah a text, telling him about the strange men and their unsettling questions. She didn't notice the taller man mutter a soft incantation, a spell that allowed him to trace the path of her message.

After ensuring she wasn't followed, she headed home, her heart pounding in her chest. As she neared her home, her blood ran cold. There they were - the slender man and his round counterpart, conversing in hushed tones, oblivious to her arrival. Her pulse raced, her mind a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty.

In the world of sorcerers, magic wasn't just spells and incantations. It was a living entity within them, as integral as their heartbeat. It had a personality of its own, choosing how to manifest differently within each sorcerer. For some, it was a roaring flame, an insatiable desire to create and transform. For others, it was a quiet brook, a whispering voice that guided and nurtured. But for Harmony, her magic was the fleeting shadow, the chameleon's cloak. It allowed her to blend into her surroundings, becoming invisible when she wished to be unseen.

Invisible, she slipped past the two men standing at her doorstep, their figures imposing and threatening. Her heart pounded in her ears as she snuck into the house, each creak of the old wooden floor seeming to echo throughout the house. She heard the front door open, her stepfather's voice wafting through the house with a cordial greeting to their unexpected guests.

She found Thirteen and Noah in her room, their faces pale and anxious. "We need to go. Now," she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. Noah, translating her words to Thirteen, nodded, his face tightening with determination.

The tension wound tighter as the sound of footfalls ascended the staircase, closer and closer to her room. Fear was a palpable entity in the room, its icy fingers brushing against their skin as they hurried to gather their things.

Harmony peeked through the crack of her door, watching as the ominous shadows stretched across the hallway. She led Noah and Thirteen, tiptoeing down the stairs, the men's voices becoming louder and clearer. The door to her room creaked open just as they reached the landing.

Heart in her throat, she ushered them out of the house, the night air hitting them like a physical entity. Their breaths came in short gasps, their pulses throbbing in unison with the fear coursing through their veins. Relief washed over them as they melded into the cover of the night, leaving the men behind in her room, ignorant of their escape.

Kai, guitar in hand, was a magnetic force at the center of the stage. His music wasn't just heard, but felt; each chord vibrated, resonating within the chests of the enthralled audience. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he lost himself in the rhythm, his fingers dancing on the strings. His voice, raw and passionate, cut through the smoky air, the lyrics ringing clear and powerful.

Beside him, his bandmates matched his fervor. The drummer's sticks were a blur, thundering out a heartbeat that the crowd moved to, while the bass player's fingers plucked out a melody that made the room thrum with energy. They were a perfectly synchronized chaos, a vortex of sound that drew everyone in.

The bar was a microcosm of life itself. Laughter bubbled around, mingling with the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversations. A sorcerer stood out amidst the crowd, skin glowing subtly, yet their presence wasn't threatening or startling. They were a part of the canvas, adding to the motley of people - humans swaying to the rhythm, living in the moment, unburdened by the trappings of the magical world.

From Kai's perspective, he saw faces that were more than just an audience. They were connections, relationships formed through shared melodies and harmonies. Each nod, each cheer was an affirmation, a shared understanding of what his music meant.

From an outsider's perspective, it was a spectacle of passion and camaraderie. Kai and his band were more than just performers - they were enchanters, casting a spell of music that left everyone bewitched. The scene was an intricate dance between the performers and the audience, a perfect symphony of sound and emotion. This was the essence of human connection, untouched and unspoiled by the magical world, simply thriving in the sheer joy of music and companionship.

#fantasy #fiction #black stories #my art #nyc #original character

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lighthouseborna · 2 years

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@tiderider literally did not send anything but did like (this) and I have just slooooowly been roasting the concept of them in the spirit of (this meme) on a spit in the back of my brain literally since I posted it so here we are

It took them by surprise. Unaccompanied by a roll of thunder or even a glimpse of lightning, only a prevailing wind that had held for three days now anyway, the clouds appeared in one moment and began to empty the next. Dumped rain with such little fanfare they were mid conversation. Mid sentence, even. The rest was drowned out. Fat, fast-falling raindrops poured against the deck in a torrential downpour that would scare the biblical Noah. As for Henry, well. He shook that loose piece of hair out of his eyes and laughed, amused by the sudden deluge. It was only rain. Just grey-blue clouds and rain and rain and rain. The visibility ruined no more than a half dozen meters out. So much for scoping out the coast.

The visibility up close, on the other hand...

Henry Turner would not describe himself as a young man in the habit of staring. It wasn’t a matter of manners, either, it could not have concerned him less whether it was considered impolite. It simply wasn’t something he did. He did not stare. When something captured his attention and held it, though, he could… linger. He might look for just a moment, with his head listing to the side. That had to be the explanation, then, for the way he was transfixed by the water streaming down Harry’s skin, the way it caught the light and highlighted the forward facing cut of his cheekbones. The way it gathered, briefly, arounnd his temples and the edges of his mouth. The way his hair hung, sleek and dark and stuck to his forehead in abstract shapes. Henry Turner would not describe himself as a young man in the habit of staring, but then no one ever asked save for when they caught him at it.

And if Harry was going to ask, he didn’t get the chance before Henry caught him by the back of the neck and dragged him into a kiss. Henry pressed - pushed. Crossed the deck without looking, his one hand threaded through Harry’s hair and the other gone to grab as his waist, pulling at the same time. When they reached the railing, he settled some. Traded the crashing for melting, smoothing one kiss over the other. He went trailing after a gathered stream of rainwater in a series of slow. deliberate. kisses. down. Harry’s. neck. Ending with one that lingered over the inside corner of his collarbone, that sank into that little hollow that rested there.

While all that distraction went on, Henry’s attention shifted. His hold shifted, hands trailing the distances between so that he could grasp both of Harry’s hands, finger woven together tightly. Then, centimeter by slow centimeter, he pushed them behind Harry’s back, ever so sweetly refusing to let go or relent when Harry pushed back. Harry scolded him for it, uttering Henry’s name in such a way that the edge of the sound was thin and sharp with warning, cutting through the drum of raindrops. The hum of laughter that rose from Henry in answer was a buzz against Harry’s skin more than it was a sound. The smile that bloomed had an air of unrepentant mischief. Henry chased another rain trail, this one in reverse. Up the side of Harry’s neck not in dropped, thoughtful missives but one unbroken drag and slight scrape of teeth to say without words what the rain would drown out: what are you going to do about it?

#IC.#tiderider #uhhh probably #suggestive cw #but not actually n/sf.w #chey fully u could write more onto this and i would support it but i doubt.......... that i would reply back after that because.............#;skdfjg;lskdfjg #but hi yes he really really really (really) wanted to kiss him

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shadowtechteller · 1 month

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Code of Change

"The Code of Change" delivers a thrilling blend of biotechnology wonders and a treacherous world of corporate espionage. Join Dr. Lily Chan, the mastermind behind a revolutionary meld of human genetics and AI, as she stands on the cusp of transforming healthcare forever. As her breakthrough teeters on the edge of FDA approval, the shadowy corridors of power and greed conspire against her in the form of The Syndicate, an organization that desires the Code for its nefarious ends.

With the clock ticking and threats mounting, an unexpected champion arises: Maria, whose sharp intuition and brave heart become pivotal in deciphering The Syndicate's cryptic schemes. Alongside FBI Agent Sofie's precision and Noah's digital mastery, they unite to outwit enemies that lurk within their midst.

In a breathtaking narrative where loyalty is a spectrum and betrayal cuts deep, Natalia—the Syndicate's own operative, faces her inner demons and conflicting loyalties. Haunted by her own conscience and manipulated by The Syndicate's puppeteer, Isabella, Natalia must choose between the dark ties that bind or the bright allure of redemption.

The story reaches a fever pitch with Natalia's audacious act of digital rebellion, setting in motion the downfall of The Syndicate's empire. As Interpol closes in, alliances are unmasked, intentions are revealed, and a new dawn of medical marvel emerges unscathed.

Dr. Lily Chan—with Maria's brilliance, Agent Sofie's tenacity, and Noah's cyber artistry—stand ready to usher in the 'Code of Change.' They rise as harbingers of a new era where scientific integrity triumphs over shadowy avarice, and where the promise of healing through technology outshines the temptations to misuse it.

As the dust settles, "The Code of Change" proves to be more than just a conquest against dark forces—it is a riveting testament to the enduring power of innovation and the unbreakable human spirit. Embrace this epic journey of courage, brilliance in the face of corruption, and the ultimate victory of a future illuminated by science and truth.

Detail Synopsis

Step into the threshold of "The Code of Change," a suspense-filled odyssey through the enthralling intersection of cutting-edge science and shadow-laced corporate espionage. Dr. Lily Chan, a luminary in biotechnology and the architect behind the paradigm-shattering 'Code of Change,' embarks on a voyage to irrevocably alter healthcare. Her brainchild—a melding of human genetics and artificial intelligence—beckons a new dawn of medical miracles, poised on the precipice of regulatory acclaim.

Yet, as the beacon of FDA approval flickers within reach, Dr. Chan and her ensemble of brilliant minds at InnovateGen Biotechnologies must traverse a gauntlet where every triumph is shadowed by looming threats, every breakthrough laced with peril. The Syndicate, an elusive cabal cloaked in ambition, covets the power locked within the Code. Under the guidance of 'The Shadow,' Natalia, and the strategic prowess of 'The Architect,' Edward, this nefarious assembly ingratiates itself into the sanctum of innovation, breeding a creeping infestation of treachery.

Amidst the encroaching danger and the harrowing specter of betrayal, emerges an unlikely sentinel—Maria, whose uncanny intuition and steadfast spirit of camaraderie become the linchpin in the unraveling of The Syndicate's dark riddles. With the prowess of FBI Agent Sofie and the cyber virtuosity of Noah, they coalesce into a formidable force, threading through a conspiracy that seeks to pervert the essence of the Code of Change into an instrument of domination.

Through a labyrinth of moral conundrums and clandestine warfare, Natalia—a vessel of The Syndicate's ambition—confronts the cacophony of her inner turmoil. Riven by a dual allegiance, she stands as both sentinel and saboteur, her aspirations for the Code's beneficent potential grappling with the corrupt whisperings of Isabella, The Syndicate's eminence grise. The ticking chronometer of fate propels her to orchestrate a defiant gambit, crafting an electronic scourge to dismantle the heinous web woven by her one-time conspirators.

Culminating in an electrifying confrontation, Natalia orchestrates a tactical tour de force against The Syndicate. Her resolve catalyzes an onslaught of justice, as the venal empire, once veiled in subterfuge, crumbles under the scrutiny of Interpol's reach. In the aftermath, a triumphant duo rises—Dr. Lilian Chan, a trailblazing pioneer at the helm of InnovateGen Biotechnologies, stands at the frontier of a revolution with the 'Code of Change'—a marvel that entwines the destined strands of human genetics with the limitless potential of artificial intelligence. A breakthrough that heralds a new horizon in therapeutic innovation, promising to redraw the contours of medicine and healing.

As the coveted stamp of FDA approval glimmers within reach, the final chapter in the long saga of development begins—an intricate dance through a maze of scientific rigor and the elation of discovery. This journey, imbued with the light of hope and human potential, soon spirals into the depths of intrigue when The Syndicate, a phantom cadre propelled by a voracious hunger for dominion, casts its gaze upon Dr. Chan's creation. Natalia, known in whispered tones as 'The Shadow', together with Edward, the mastermind 'The Architect', orchestrates a covert infiltration into the sanctuaries of InnovateGen, weaving discord and subversion into the fabric of Lily's trusted circle.

As Dr. Chan stands steadfast amidst rising tides of duplicity, a serendipitous ally emerges in the guise of Maria, a virtuoso in AI whose allegiance and acumen become the bulwark against the creeping malaise of The Syndicate's machinations. Aided by the sharp insights of Agent Sofie and the cryptography expertise of Noah, they embark on a quest to clamp down the creeping tendrils of an agenda that seeks to twist the very essence of the Code for shadowed ends.

Within this crucible, the narrative tugs at the threads of loyalty as Natalia stands at a crossroad bathed in conflict, her devotion to The Syndicate's cause wanes under the weight of her conscience. Shattered by the gravity of her inner discord, and swayed by the formidable Isabella's guidance within The Syndicate, she teeters at the brink of irrevocable choices. With the clock of destiny ticking, she executes a defiant design to neuter her former allies with a spectral swath of digital retribution.

As the crescendo of this cybernetic symphony approaches, Natalia steps from the vexing shadows to claim her agency, delivering the final blow to dismantle The Syndicate's charade—an empire built on the sands of deceit and powered by the engine of corruption. This pivotal moment brings forth the agents of Interpol, heralding the collapse of a criminal dynasty and echoing a resounding victory for the virtuous In the wake of this ascending chaos, it is the unforeseen valor and the convergence of genius and grit that reshape the battlefield. Natalia, once shrouded in enigma, emerges as a decisive force, tipping the scales with her act of mutiny against the very architects of The Syndicate's web of deceptions. A digital renaissance warrior, she wields her acumen to forge a malware so potent it promises to be their undoing, to shine a light so fierce that their shadows retreat into oblivion.

And so, within "The Code of Change," we find an exhilarating testament to the power of unity and the resilience of the human spirit. Dr. Lily Chan and her retinue—Maria, the AI virtuoso; Agent Sofie, the embodiment of law; and Noah, the cyber sage—fuse their diverse skills to thwart the looming shade cast by The Syndicate. Their journey is a testament to the enduring brilliance of innovation used for the greater good, a beacon against the darkling aspirations of those who’d usurp it.

In this riveting chronicle's crescendo, victory is not merely the quelling of a technological maelstrom, but the reclamation of hope. Natalia, wielding the specter of her newfound courage, stands shoulder to shoulder with Dr. Chan. In the quiet aftermath, they are not only the victors but the vanguards of a world now safeguarded from the desolate reach of corruption. They are the bearers of a future dawning bright, where science and integrity walk hand in hand, guided by the underlying principle that, in innovation, lies the seed of salvation for humanity.

"The Code of Change" is an entwining narrative of two formidable women, forging their legacies in the crucible of adversities. Join Dr. Lily Chan and Natalia as they navigate the labyrinthine passages of doubt and triumph, etching out a path that will not only define their fates but sculpt the very fabric of the world to come.

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sunstvneeet3st · 11 months

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♡ sunstvne : an independent and slow activity multimuse. mutuals only. blog and muses are heavily under co ! penned by cassie, 28 years, she / her pronouns. beta editor by default. no minors allowed. quick rules and muse section can be found below. — affiliated with mooncaught.

♡ open threads — wishlist — opposites

some quick rules you might consider before interacting:

please don’t use overly large gifs, whitewashed muses or graphics, heavy prose or multiple unique fonts in one post with me. don’t use me as a resource blog.

encouraging multiple and diverse threads and muses, ships and verses, including possible dark or potentially triggering content.

highly selective with writing smut ; skipping is overall preferred.

you control your muse and not mine. minor things are completely fine, but please don’t overdo it.

all of my muses are highly adaptable and can be thrown into any verse, ship and dynamic !

my formatting usually includes small font, double spacing and some bold or italics. however i’m always willing to change things up.

banned : ana de armas, animated or non realistic faceclaims, anyone under the age of eighteen, bella hadid, bella thorne, cameron monaghan, camila mendes, camila morrone, celebrities portrayed as themselves, charlie hunnam, deceased, dylan and cole sprouse, emma roberts, gal gadot, gigi hadid, hailey bieber, henry cavill, hunter shafer, ian somerhalder, jacob elordi, justin bieber, jack gilinsky, kj apa, manny montana, michele morrone, priyanka chopra, robert pattinson, sydney sweeney, the kardashians and jenners, timothee chalamet.

rape/non-con, pedophilia, incest, stepcest, suicide or suicidal thoughts, heavy mention of drug abuse or self harm. i also tend to stay away from eating disorders, both mentioned in backstories or writing, as well as non platonic relationships between a student and teacher.

the muses :

adrian fawcett, dance teacher and overall a kind soul and true passionate ballroom dancer. bisexual, he / him pronouns. late twenties to early thirties. — logan lerman.

sebastian vaern, economist and the one you call for a quick solution. bisexual, leans towards females, she / her pronouns. mid thirties to late thirties. — ben barnes.

chalita suwan, ceo of her own make-up company and one hell of a woman. business woman through and through. bisexual, she / her pronouns. mid thirties. — yoghurt nattasha.

diana metha, news anchor and the beauty with a brain. bisexual, she / her pronouns. mid twenties to late twenties. — cindy kimberly.

eduardo runo, it technician and good hearted chaos on a pair of legs, but precise with technology. pansexual, he / him pronouns. forties to mid forties. — oscar isaac.

francis blanchet, professional tennis player and a promiscuous man with an undeniable charm. heterosexual, he / him pronouns. mid forties. — regé-jean page.

harvey balfour, upcoming singer and songwriter. an artistic soul with a soothing voice. pansexual, he / him pronouns. mid twenties. — josh heuston.

noah bernard, car mechanic and casually the dad-friend. bisexual, he / him pronouns. mid twenties. — felix mallard.

mina gyeon, a stewardess and not as sweet as she looks. demisexual, she / her pronouns. twenties. — karina from aespa.

marina baran, hairdresser and a true cry baby, while being a doll overall. lesbian, she / her pronouns. mid twenties. — sara waisglass.

vimala kumar, aspiring actress and juwelier. a strong woman with a sharp mind. bisexual, she / her pronouns. late twenties to thirties. — sobhita dhulipala.

… more muses, test muses and exclusive muses to be added soon !

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musemash · 1 year

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youtube

Gallery: 1 Thus Saith The Lord Of Vegan Hosts 2 The Rapture Of The VeggieSaints 3 The Four HorseRadishes Of The Apocalypse 4 The Whore Of VeggieBabylon 5 The Battle Of Vegan Armageddon 6 The VeggieBeast With Seven Heads 7 Fallen VeggieAngels Bring Tribulation 8 The Last Vegan Judgement 9 And The Angel Said 'Beet Not Afraid' 10 The Artichoke Heart Of New Jerusalem

THE VEGGIE BOOK OF REVELATION – by David D. Fowler & Aeon 999 – revised July 9, 2023

VEGGIETALES was a brilliant vehicle for an upbeat child-friendly presentation of the world's most popular spiritual instruction manual. Its producers and staff also demonstrated a gift for cleverly lampooning pop culture. The embedded videos above are among their finest works.

MFF is proud to present recently unveiled images of their spectacular take on the ever-popular APOCALYPSE. This vegetarian edition of the Bible's intimidating conclusion must surely be one of the most important lost classics of film history – conveying both the abject terror and awe-inspiring hope embodied by the legendary REVELATION OF JESUS CHRIST.

The original director’s cut of the film evidently included LARRY THE CUCUMBER singing one of his signature Silly Songs: a jaunty little ditty about the proper way to stir fry vegetables, featuring many of the Veggies perishing in Satan's wok. Because of this ill-advised detour into dark humor, the film was understandably not released by the studio – for fear of boycotts by the Religious Right, the Young Republicans, and the Vegan Mafia.

Fortunately for us, AI artist NAT SHARPE has unearthed the images displayed in our gallery. On his Twitter account, he writes: "What happened to VeggieTales? Their last movie was The Book Of Revelation. Test audiences were so traumatized [that] the studio canceled the project – and shut their doors. All that remains is a handful of leeked concept art."

Sharpe's tweet thread, displaying all 17 of these phenomenal images in their original sequence, has the blessing of VeggieTales' creator. You can find the display, along with some entertaining responses, at this link: https://twitter.com/nat_sharpe_/status/1619847565855555586 – and for more of his artwork, go to this link: https://www.etsy.com/shop/Hornheim

The playlists below showcase videos based on specific Bible stories; and fables inspired by biblical precepts. Bonus tracks include FRANK ZAPPA's touching tribute to the vegetable kingdom; a compilation of VeggieTales HALLOWEEN episodes; the best of the SILLY SONGS; and we end with a heartrending cautionary tale about the sad fate of way too many of our veggie friends, perpetrated by THE ARROGANT WORMS.

We begin with a tribute to Head Veggie PHIL VISCHER, the wacky and visionary founder of BIG IDEA ENTERTAINMENT.

THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO VEGGIES Homage To VeggieTales https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUxtR5-tpyk Phil Vischer's Journey Of Imagination https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ljTK9ReAFqI Disrupted Dreams & Purposeful Puppets https://www.risenmagazine.com/veggietales-creator-phil-vischer-interview/ Why Is There No Crucifixion Episode? https://brucegerencser.net/2018/10/veggietales-why-is-there-no-jesus-character-or-crucifixion-episode/ We Couldn't Show Jesus As A Vegetable https://relevantmagazine.com/culture/never-forget-that-veggietales-werent-allowed-to-show-jesus-as-a-vegetable/ The Downfall Of VeggieTales https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJw_njstsNg A VeggieTales Horror Story https://relevantmagazine.com/current/buzzworthy/an-a-i-created-scenes-from-a-veggietales-book-of-revelation-movie/ https://rapzilla.com/2023-01-a-i-veggietales-book-revelation-scenes-horrifying/ Silly Song Medley https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbPAE5WNP3E VeggieTales 25th Anniversary https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vFlM3oNATY VeggieTales On YouTube https://www.youtube.com/user/BigIdeaInc

THE VEGGIE TESTAMENT Noah's Ark https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1vSBNmKrSI Little Joe Goes On A Western Adventure https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEitrIAknAc Josh & The Big Wall https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glZZR7a5XJ4 Dave & The Mean Giant https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6A0ipXpaacQ Gideon The Tuba Warrior https://archive.org/details/gideon-tuba-warrior-dvd Jonah & The Big Bad Fish https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVQidD4PaP8 The Girl Who Became Queen https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy_an0WkaLQ Little Danny In The Lion's Den https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDEbFXv6y04 The Star Of Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o70DCe92b1s Birth Of The Baby Messiah https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTcB5Sht3UY The Prodigal Son https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eus8J71YrsQ The Little House That Stood https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAKCYGsvsSs The Story Of Saint Patrick https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4ZPmGAjPhM The Joyful Giving Of Saint Nicholas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=brkq3BzzG80 The True Light Of Christmas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6p6-52lHAk An Easter Carol https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4o5e9AD3V4

VEGGIE PARABLES Larryboy & The Bad Apple https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kKDDAFTM7c Cheering Up Madame Blueberry https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3PRsRiBG_i0 The League Of Incredible Vegetables https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=geIwMQre00E The Princess & The Popstar https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8Yie1IRDyQ The Wonderful Land Of Ha’s https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ar9b4O7xUfk King George & The Ducky https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FtKFfZ14DQ8 Larryboy & the Rumour Weed https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrbcYcBXjxg The Duke & The Great Pie War https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXG0wXQzQXM Snoodlerella Gets An Extreme Makeover https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPtYNsLpDLI Sumo Of The Opera https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxMlk215uoM The Asparagus Of La Mancha https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wj6tKd1b7OA Sweetpea Beauty Saves Queen Blueberry https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NEdpEXbDBdk Larryboy & The Fib From Outerspace https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnaYI_qA6QM God Wants Me To Forgive Them https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtBjdIO4AnI The Life Stewart Always Wanted https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOyYvEfHxLc

VEGGIE BONUS Killer Tomatoes 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3uIKzgcDxo Call Any Vegetable https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnhgQsat0mo Killer Tomatoes 2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fy0fTFpqT48 VeggieTales Silly Songs https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsVPF-VsE9k Killer Tomatoes 3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aIXhmygh3A VeggieTales Does Halloween! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMBl5ge04Q8 Killer Tomatoes 4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNfLnRHpVjY Carrot Juice Is Murder https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUcR-_uqcmk

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akumastrife · 2 years

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Yule Be Caught; Under Bright Boughs {TRC//Fic Advent: Day 3}

Things were supposed to have calmed down–Adam was supposed to have calmed down. All of him. All of this. But any party at Fox Way, Yule especially, was bound to cause some sort of chaos. He’s not even sure it’s technically his fault. (Theme: Mistletoe)

{Part 1} {Part 2} {Part3} {Part 4 - Final}

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, casual as if it were a missed flashcard, taking his hand (sweaty) in hers tightly (small and sure), and tugged. “Maybe if you’d followed in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You’re not that powerful,” Adam grumbled, but let himself be led without a fight.

“Not powerful at all.”

“Too powerful for your own good,” Adam argued immediately, jumping to the other side of the argument. “You would’ve just made it happen faster.”

She threw a vicious look over her shoulder at him. “Oh? Is that right?”

“Yes,” Adam lied. Thought of her amplification. Thought of her lips firm against his. “No,” he lied.

“Hmm,” she said.

He scowled at her. What an annoying family.

Blue led him through three dining rooms, one parlor room full of tasseled everything, up the stairs, down two halls, and into a library that was half space for a giant loom, thousands of colored threads intertwined taut and making the idea of a picture.

Adam didn’t have time to examine it, didn’t have enough knowledge of the craft to even begin understanding what it was. The Monmouth Trio were waiting for him as they always were: Ronan a sharp tangle on a chair with his heel propped up, Gansey gesturing fast with his hands as he spoke faster, and Noah with a vaguely confused and distracted expression on his face as he looked elsewhere entirely.

It filled his chest with warmth like spilling sunshine on brick walls. It choked him. He wanted it every day.

“Adam,” Gansey said in delight, breathy as he always was at the end of a tangent.

“The fuck happened to you,” Ronan demanded.

Adam remembered all at once his ailment and slapped a hand over his neck. Glared. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ronan looked like the very sight of Adam was distasteful.

The mistletoe grew a little more, snaking between his knuckles.

“It’s just a weird blip,” Blue said, rejoining them. “We still don’t know the extent of Adam’s bargain with magic, I’m sure it’ll go away.”

“When Cabeswater gets what it wants,” Adam said. Hoping.

“When Adam gets what he wants,” Noah said, staring at him, at the mistletoe growing from the arch of his neck; staring through him at something only he would ever see and never took the time to explain.

“It’s nothing,” Adam said. “Can we just… just stay here for a while? It’ll go away.” He sat on the floor by the ornate fireplace, warmed immediately, and less surprised than he should be that Noah slid right off the ottoman onto the floor in his space, stealing both his own warmth and everything the fire was putting off.

“We can stay,” Gansey assured him, adjusting his glasses. “Better because now I can give you your presents.”

“Do we have to?” Blue asked.

Noah immediately held his hands out, near elbowing Adam in the chin.

Gansey gleefully passed out packages, cheeks rosy with the fire and excitement. “Nothing big, I promise, but it’s Christmas—”

“Yule’s first,” Blue said.

“Exactly right, Jane, it’s Yule, and I couldn’t help myself.”

“You never can,” Adam said.

Ronan was already tearing into the gold paper before he could convince himself to even slip a fingernail under a loose edge.

The paper fell away easily, and Adam’s calloused fingers ghosted and caught on the luxuriously fine satin. It was too nice for him. The rich, deep emerald green like moss under afternoon light, like stones deep in Cabeswater pools, like the breezy fields of grass he sometimes dreamed about.

And there, on the lapel and sleeve cuffs were little gold-embroidered vines. Small and inconsequential, but for him. Entirely for him.

“Gans…”

“They’re hideous,” Blue said right over him, holding up her own satin pajama top. Slightly tailored, sure, but old fashioned and several years out of trend, matching his. Except royal blue, her embroidered touches small enough he couldn’t see just then.

“I hate it,” Blue continued, but the corner of her mouth was tight and twisted against wicked delight.

“I knew you would,” Gansey said, enamored as he generally was.

“You expect me to wear these? Unbelievable—”

“Matching jammies, wow,” Noah said, laughing to the point of falling in a heap into Adam’s lap.

“You bought a fucking ghost fucking pajamas,” Ronan said. “Idiot.” It sounded a lot like a pet name.

“—You’re telling me Ronan’s gonna accept these with grace and wear ‘em?” Blue continued.

Ronan sneered at her, which meant that he would.

“They’re nice,” Adam admitted, quiet, near choking on it. Even worse, burning in inadequacy, the mulled cider crawling acidic up his throat, “I… have nothing this nice for you.”

Gansey said nothing.

When Adam swallowed and chanced a glance up—fingers tight in the satin set—Gansey was already looking back. Open, wanting, eyes blown dark.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Gansey said.

The room was very quiet, save for the crackle of logs in the hearth.

Gansey swallowed, wetting his lips, looking to his eyes and then his mouth and then… lower.

The mistletoe twitched and grew up the side of Adam’s neck. A leaf tickled his ear.

“You wouldn’t?”

Gansey shook his head, sliding to the floor in front of him.

Adam forgot about Noah pressed close, he forgot about Ronan and Blue throwing wrapping bits at each other, forgot about everything except the garish gift in his lap and the garish Gansey before him—Gansey who had everything and Adam routinely worried himself sick over what he could offer someone like him.

But just then Gansey was looking at him with a hunger he’d seen in the mirror a thousand times.

Adam… did have something Gansey might want, and couldn’t buy. Couldn’t buy he thought viciously, as he leaned in over both their laps to slide a hand into Gansey’s hair and pull him in for a searing kiss. Kissed him fierce and fast before he could think better of it, dragging Gansey along exactly how he’d imagined a dozen times by then.

Gansey tasted like mint and scotch and desire as heady as any drink he’d ever had.

Gansey made a soft and weak sound. Satisfaction and greed surged in Adam, drunk on the satisfaction of finally. The power in it was dizzying.

#the raven cycle #the raven boys #adam parrish #gansey #ronan lynch #blue sargent #noah czerny #my writing #trc #mistletoe as a plot device #everyones gonna kiss #fanfic advent 2022

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grcveyacd · 1 month

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" i'll be whatever you need me to be. i'll fuck off if you want me to. " // @atrickrtreat liked for a small starter

#atrickrtreat #threads / noah sharp

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

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HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 5

*Warning: Adult Content*

Rising, Noah Hunter pads across the light hardwood floor in his socks and peeks out the tall window beside the door.

Sure enough, the handsome vet from his midnight mishap is walking towards the house, the scrappy young golden retriever in tow.

Though Noah recognizes them, both man and dog look different than at their last encounter.

Dr Ambrose Thorne wears a light blue t-shirt and faded jeans and his long red-brown hair is tied back.

A few of the shorted locks hang free, framing his handsome face in loose curls.

Noah’s eyes wander from the vet’s broad shoulders to his trim waist and makes him wonders what Dr Thorne does to get that shape, swimming maybe.

The dog hops along happily at his side, one of it’s front legs in a cast and a large plastic cone around it’s neck.

Neither is doing much to slow the dog down, though and it wags it’s tail with such enthusiasm that it’s whole body wiggles and shakes with pure energy in motion.

As the pair mount the porch steps, Noah quickly steps aside from the window to stand (or hide) behind the solid shield of the door, wondering what on earth the vet is doing here and how he found him.

Perhaps, he conjectures nervously, Dr Thorne means to make him pay for the dogs treatment fees, after all.

Three loud raps on the front door makes Noah jump and he contemplates how long he’ll have to wait before the vet gives up and goes away.

After about fifteen seconds, Dr Thorne knocks again and calls out to Noah.

“Come on. I know you are in there. I saw you at the window. Open up. I haven’t got all day.’

Face burning with a mixture of indignation and shame, Noah counts slowly to ten just on the off chance that the vet will think he was in another part of the house and not lurking right behind the door.

Opening it slowly, Noah does his best to sound nonchalant and vaguely surprised.

‘Doctor Thorne. What can I do for you?’

The handsome vet’s dark, level brows raise a little over bright brown eyes.

‘Actually. It’s what I can do for you, Mr Hunter. You certainly do make a man work hark for a good deed.’

His slight Scottish accent catches Noah ears, making it difficult to catch his words.

‘I beg your p-pardon?’ Noah stutters, already off balance.

‘You left something at the clinic the other night.’ Ambrose Thorne says. ‘Haven’t you missed it yet?’

Noah looks at the dog, confused.

‘Surely this can’t be standard procedure.’

‘I’m sure it’s a lovely animal,’ Noah says.

‘But I’m in no position to take on that kind of responsibility right now.’

The dog is sitting obediently by Ambrose Thorne’s side though it is shivering with suppressed excitement and whines softly with every breathe.

When it sees it has Noah’s attention, whatever thread of self-control is holding it back snaps and it launches itself at the young man with frenzied friendliness.

Despite being a wolf, Noah is more of a cat person and takes a step back when it wiggles, squirms and sniffs eagerly around the young man’s legs bumping him with it’s plastic cone.

‘Dougal, enough of that,’ Ambrose Thorne snaps and the sudden sharpness in his voice makes Noah start.

There is something in the handsome vet’s voice that reminds Noah of his brother Dane when he uses his Alpha-gift and it stirs the young man’s in-born urge to obey.

‘Come, sit,’ Ambrose Thorne commands and after a final wiggle around Noah’s legs, the dog does as he says but rather than sit it flops onto it’s back, squirming and kicking it’s legs in the air in an attempt to beg a tummy rub.

Dr Thorne ignores it and turns his attention back to Noah.

‘I’m not here about the dog,’ Ambrose Thorne says, watching Noah with a curiously keen expression.

‘I’m here about this.’

He hold out a thin, rectangle leather of brown that Noah stares at for a moment before recognising it as his wallet.

‘You must have a lot on your mind, not to notice it gone. Not surprising, I suppose, being in the middle of a move.’

Taking his wallet from Ambrose Thorne’s hand, Noah looks up at him in surprise.

‘How did you know I’m moving.’

The handsome vet’s eyebrows quirk up a little higher.

“As much as I like to think I’m a good person, hand delivering the clinic’s lost and found is not part of my job. After we found the wallet, we tried to call the number you put on the clinic form but it’s been disconnected. An old habit, maybe?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I must have used my old work number which no longer exists.’

‘Also, it had a mid-west area code and seeing the address you gave wasn’t out of my way, I figured I could drop it off in-person, only to discover that you don’t really live there. The giant that does live there pointed me in this direction.’

‘That ‘giant’ is my brother,’ Noah says, picking up something derivative in his voice.

Ambrose Thorne’s eye brows rose again.

‘Your brother?’ he questioned.

‘Jeez. I guess you lost that roll of the genetic dice, huh?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m pretty sure I’m being insulted but I’m not sure.’

‘Well he’s a mountain and you barely qualify for the featherweight class, little thing that you are.’

‘Yes. Defiantly being insulted.’

‘Actually, five-foot-six is around the average high for a man, globally speaking.’ Noah says sharply and then internally cringes.

Nothing says ‘defensive’ like having dry factoids readily at hand.

Ambrose Thorne’s smirk spreads to his eyes.

‘Is that so? You learn something new everyday.’

‘Thank you for returning my wallet, Dr Thorne,’ Noah says in a flat, even tone.

‘I appreciate it. Have a wonderful day.’

The young man turns, intending to go inside, shut the door and wallow in post-social-disaster shame but the handsome vet takes a step forward and catches his arm.

‘Wait. I’ve offended you and that was not my intent. I have a habit of speaking my mind and and my mind is not well-mannered, much of the time. Forgive me.’

Noah looks at his long, pale hand on his arm, feeling the heat of it through his sleeve and then makes the mistake of looking up and meeting the handsome vet’s eyes.

Ambrose Thorne smiles and this time the only thing sharp about it are his teeth which are a little longer and pointer than usual, a bit like his brother Dane’s, in fact.

To distract himself from his nearness, Noah looks down at the dog again, which is still on it’s back, watching them with sad brown eyes from the depths of it’s core.

It seems to be playing the pity card now that it’s got scolded and thumps it’s tail against the planks of the porch with a slow restrained beat.

“You found it’s owner, then?’

‘What? No. I don’t think he has one. Hasn’t had one for a while, by the looks,’ Doctor Ambrose Thorne says, frowning.

‘Oh? But you called it something before. I thought you found out it’s name.’

‘Well. I though he deserved a name and Dougal seemed a good fit. he’s a bit of a doofus, if you couldn’t already tell. I have decided to keep him myself. Though, matter of fact, I bought him today on the off chance you might have changed your mind about taking him, after all. He’s a sweet boy, handsome too once he’s cleaned up.’

Ambrose is looking at Noah and even though he knows the handsome vet is talking about the dog, his face starts to grow uncomfortably warm.

“Even if I wanted a dog, I couldn’t take him,’ Noah says.

‘As you can see, I am at loose ends at the moment.’

Ambrose gives Noah a thoughtful look.

‘You know, I’ve got this big place all to myself and I’m in the market for a lodger, or a house-mate or whatever you call it. Interested?’

‘If keeping my off balance was a sport, he would be a champion.’

‘Ahh... I...’

‘Here,’ he says, pulling a card from his back pocket and handing it to Noah.

‘Just think about it. I’m off tomorrow and if you want to see that place, stop by. No pressure, it’s just a thought. You seem a decent sort of guy and I suppose I could do worse.’

‘Ah.. thank you. That’s very kind of you, Doctor Thorne.’

‘Call my Ambrose.’ he says, flashing his bright, sharp smile again.

‘All my friends do.’

Once again, Noah feels like he is teasing him again but he’s not sure.

Ambrose releases his grip on Noah’s arm and pats his arm and the young man realises the handsome vet has been holding it all this time.

The absence of his hand is oddly cold and Noah resists the urge to rub the spot as a shiver creeps across his back.

‘Well, I’ll be going then. Welcome to Spring Lakes, Noah Hunter.’ he says.

“If you can’t make it tomorrow, I’m off every Monday and I usually spend it at home. So until we meet again.’

Ambrose holds out his hand and Noah shakes it, his feeling of awkwardness fueled by the amusement he detects in the handsome vets eyes.

Throwing Noah a final wink and a lope-sided grin, Ambrose turns and trots nimbly down the stairs, striding away towards his car with his dog scrambling to it’s feet and tripping eagerly along at his heels.

Dr Thorne drives a white van and when he opens the side door for the dog, Noah gets the glimpse of his veterinarian equipment.

With a wave, Ambrose gets into his car and drives away, leaving Noah standing there with a wallet that he didn’t even know was missing in one hand and an uninvited invitation in the other.

He studies the address on the card.

[411 Lakeside Avenue]

Having visited Spring Lakes only briefly before now, Noah doesn’t know the area well enough to have any idea what sort of place that might be.

He’ll ask Dane and Julian later, he decides.

Noah was not eager to put himself in the path of the good doctor again, any time soon but Ambrose’s offer did intrigued him and he would need to find a place to stay before very long.

Grace and Chloe are generous and welcoming but if old Ben Franklin was to be believed, he’s got three days before they start to want him gone.’

‘More importantly, if what I had witness this morning, in the kitchen, was something I could expect to stumble upon, with any regularity, then I would want me gone, as well.’

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good-things-do-happen-dean · 4 years

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and the moment passes | 9x06 fanfiction gap because i’m basic | 4K

“Where to, Cas?” Dean asks, as if that’s a simple question, as if Castiel is supposed to have the answer ready to go.

But it isn’t a simple question. And Castiel certainly doesn’t have an answer ready to go. Where to? He could ask Dean to drive him back to the Gas-n-Sip so he can curl up in his thin sleeping bag in the supply closet. But the thought of spending the night on that hard floor surrounded by the sharp chemical smells of cleaning supplies and nacho cheese is suddenly revolting. He can only look at Dean and be mindful of his wrist as he climbs into the front seat of the Impala. After a long moment, Dean climbs in after him and the still-familiar creak of the driver’s side door opening and closing is somehow comforting. Dean smells of dirt and wood smoke from burning Ephraim’s vessel, Castiel notices vaguely, cradling his wrist in his good hand.

Dean clears his throat. “Let me get you patched up at least, okay? Then I can drop you…wherever.”

Wherever. Castiel nods once, gaze trained on his hands. The cloth he has wrapped around his cut palm is tacky with blood, although the cut itself seems to have stopped bleeding. There’s a dull ache in his palm and a sharp one in his wrist. He doesn’t know what a broken bone feels like. He remembers that Jimmy broke his arm once as a teenager, but then doesn’t know what to do with that. The memory was dulled by time and Grace even when Jimmy still inhabited this body. Castiel’s body now. Castiel’s wrist, which might be broken, except he doesn’t know what that feels like.

“Cas?” Dean says, sounding…worried?

It’s then that Castiel realizes he’s crying. He wipes at his face with his good hand, but still can’t find it in himself to say anything. An uneasy silence stretches between them, broken only by the quiet hitching sounds of Castiel’s breath.

“Okay.” Dean starts the Impala, which roars to life and startles Castiel, who flinches, jostles his wrist, and flinches again. “Let’s just – look, I got a motel room. I’ll clean up your hand.”

“My wrist,” Castiel says, voice thick from crying, and it takes a monumental amount of effort for him to lift his head and look at Dean. “It’s – It might be broken.”

Dean looks back at him for a moment and Castiel doesn’t recognize the expression there. “Okay,” Dean repeats. “Right, yeah, I’ll look at your wrist too, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Castiel to say anything, which is probably for the best, and pulls away from the curb in front of Nora’s house.

The corners of Dean’s mouth are turned down and there’s a hard set to his jaw. Fresh tears prick at Castiel’s eyes. Dean must be angry with him, Castiel decides. For being so fragile and useless that he can’t even tell whether his own wrist is broken. He looks away, stares down at the bloodstain on the cloth wrapped around his hand, memorizing its shape. He squints into the headlights of an approaching car. He watches as he rolls the hem of his shirt between two fingers, worrying at a loose thread until it falls away, then pulls his hand away when he remembers there are only two other shirts tucked neatly in his sleeping bag in the supply closet. He doesn’t look at Dean again. And Dean just drives them in silence.

***

Castiel watches the lazy drip of the showerhead from where he sits on the closed lid of the toilet, breathing carefully through his nose. Dean is perched on the edge of the tub, bent over Castiel’s hand with a pair of tweezers.

“Almost got it,” Dean says, then lets out a breath. “There. Big fucker.” He holds the tweezers up so Castiel can see the long hooked thorn he pulled from Castiel’s palm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dean sets the tweezers down and reaches across Castiel for a clean washcloth. The bathroom of Dean’s motel room is cramped, especially with Dean crowding into Castiel’s space. Their knees knock together in a way that Castiel vaguely recognizes as something he would have enjoyed some other time in some other place.

There is a streak of dirt on the back of Dean’s neck just below his hairline, like he wiped at it with the back of his hand. Probably when he was burning Ephraim. Ephraim’s vessel. The body of a man who believed in angels.

“Do you know what his name was?” Castiel asks, startling himself with the question.

“Who?” Dean maneuvers Castiel’s arm to rest on the lip of the sink so he can run cool water over the gash on Castiel’s palm. “Let that sit. I’ll get a brace for your wrist.” He stands and rolls his neck, letting out a pleased sound when there’s a pop.

Castiel hears Dean’s retreating footsteps, the door of their room open, the familiar creak of the trunk of the Impala in the parking lot, but only vaguely. The water that swirls down the discolored drain is tinged pink with Castiel’s blood and then runs clear. The man’s name could have been Noah or Christopher or Michael. The man’s name could have been Jimmy.

“Here,” Dean says, turning off the faucet. He dries Castiel’s hand, careful not to jostle his wrist, and rubs antibiotic ointment around the ragged edges of the cut.

When he started at the Gas-n-Sip, Nora showed Castiel, well, showed Steve, the first aid kit on the shelf in the supply closet. And the first night he spent there, he lay awake, staring at the glossy white cross on the front that was just visible in the darkness, unable to sleep until he got up and turned the plastic container to face the other way.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean says, taping down the end of the gauze wrapped around Castiel’s palm three times, over his thumb, under his thumb, over it once more. His hands are gentle on Castiel’s wrist. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he says finally. “Ice it for the next few nights, couple of ibuprofen, keep the brace on during work, and you should be good to go in no time.”

Castiel nods once and fixes his gaze on the showerhead while Dean maneuvers his hand into the brace. A drip forms as if in slow motion, stretching, oblong and misshapen, until it detaches and falls, splatting against the drain. Castiel swallows, feeling slightly ill, and looks away. Still, it’s been a long time since his last real shower.

There isn’t a shelter in Rexford, or a YMCA, so Castiel bought a portable shower at the combination hardware and sporting goods store after his first week at the Gas-n-Sip. Every few nights, he locks up promptly at eleven, fills the bag with tepid water from the bathroom sink, and goes into the small patch of woods behind the store to quickly scrub himself down with a rapidly shrinking bar of soap and hose himself off. And he carefully washes his face, underarms, genitals, hands, and feet with paper towels and hand soap early each morning before slipping out of the store to be seen unlocking the front door from the outside.

The showers in the shelters in the cities before Rexford seem ages ago. His shower at the bunker, a millennium. Longer. Castiel had spent centuries, millennia in Heaven without a second thought, watching civilizations wax and wane and fall into oblivion, and now each month that passed was an age.

“Dean,” Castiel says, surprising himself. “May I shower?”

Dean is fiddling with the straps on the brace. “Uh,” he says and looks down at Castiel’s wrist. “Sure, but I’ll have to undo all this.”

“I can do it myself,” Castiel says, already reaching over with his good hand. The bathroom suddenly feels too crowded, even with the door open. Dean is too close to him, and Castiel can feel words bubbling up in his throat: that he can’t remember his last shower because he doesn’t have a shower, doesn’t have a bed, doesn’t have a home, doesn’t have anything except a jacket, two shirts, one pair of pants, two pairs of socks and underwear, a cellphone charger, a toothbrush, toothpaste, disposable razor, deodorant, and a portable shower bag with a nozzle rolled into his sleeping bag in the back corner of the supply closet. He has the cellphone Dean slipped into the pocket of the jacket he gave Castiel at the door of the bunker, but the 80 odd dollars from Dean are gone, mostly spent on the Enochian script now inked onto his side. He has the clothes on his back and the Gas-n-Sip vest Dean tossed carelessly into the backseat of the Impala and a name that isn’t his, but he doesn’t have his Grace or his wings or his brothers and sisters or Heaven. He has his pain and his failures and his guilt, but he doesn’t have the Winchesters. He has Dean with him now in this cramped motel bathroom, but he won’t have Dean in the morning, or the next day, or the day after that.

Castiel unwraps the brace, unwinds the gauze, sheds his clothes after Dean closes the door behind him. He turns on the hot water and tries not to think of falling.

***

The water pressure in the motel shower isn’t nearly as good as at the bunker, but Castiel stays there for a long time, revelling in the constant spray, the tiny bottle of shampoo. He washes his hair twice, digging into his scalp with his fingers. His palm stings from the shampoo, but he doesn’t care. He scrubs his skin with a rough washcloth, then again with his hands, until he is flushed pink. For the first time in months, Castiel feels clean.

Castiel turns the water off with a squeak and is surprised to hear silence coming from the motel room. He had expected the low rumble of the television, or perhaps the muffled sound of Dean’s half of a phone call to Sam. But he can’t hear anything at all. Maybe Dean left him here in this motel all alone, he thinks suddenly. He doesn’t know how far away the Gas-n-Sip is from here. He doesn’t know how he would get back. Is there a bus? Perhaps another guest at the motel would give him a ride if he paid them, although he wouldn’t be able to pay them until he got to work and retrieved his small stack of bills from inside one of his clean pairs of socks.

Drying himself quickly and pulling his clothes on over his still damp hair, Castiel wrenches the door open in a panic.

Dean is still there, sitting on the edge of the bed with a grim expression, staring at his hands folded in his lap. He looks up as the bathroom door bangs against the wall. “You okay, Cas?”

“I thought -” he pauses, swallowing his fear, and the anger and sadness underneath. I thought you left me here alone. I thought you drove away and left me behind to fend for myself. Again. “Yes.”

They look at each other for a long moment, longer than Castiel has managed all evening since Dean dropped him off in front of Nora’s house, until Dean coughs and looks away. “Uh. Good,” Dean says to his hands. “Need any help with your wrist? I got some ice.”

“No.” Castiel turns back into the bathroom to hang his towel neatly on the rack and retrieve the brace from the edge of the sink. “Thank you,” he adds when he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

“Then, uh, do you mind?” Dean asks from the bathroom door. He gestures vaguely to the shower.

“Of course not, Dean. It’s your room.”

“Right,” Dean says, still not looking at Castiel. He doesn’t move from the doorway, so Castiel has to squeeze by him, angling to avoid brushing against Dean to avoid making things even more awkward, if that’s possible.

Castiel sits at the tiny table where Dean set the first aid supplies and the bucket of ice to dab more antibiotic ointment on his cut and wind the gauze around his palm, a little clumsily. He discovered early on that, as a human, he was left-handed. Handedness was another inconvenience that took some getting used to. Now he would have to adjust again. And how would he explain his wrist to Nora? He had hidden his cut palm wrapped in a cloth from the trunk of the Impala behind his back when she walked him to the door. But there was no hiding the brace, especially since he would have to use his weaker hand for - how long did Dean say?

“I fell,” Castiel says aloud to the quiet room, swallows. “In the shower. I slipped in the shower and sprained my wrist. I can still work.” He tightens the last of the straps on the brace. “I slipped and sprained my wrist. I have to wear a brace, but I can still work.”

The shower is still running, so Castiel looks around the room for the first time. When they arrived, Dean had shepherded him into the bathroom right away, so he hadn’t gotten a good look.

Oh.

Besides the tiny table and chair, there is an equally tiny kitchenette with a sink and a hot plate, an old floral couch with a noticeable dip in the middle cushion, a nightstand and lamp, and one bed. Of course there is only one bed. Dean came to Rexford by himself, after all, and he thinks Castiel has a... wherever to go back to, a wherever that isn’t this motel room, and definitely isn’t Dean’s bed in this motel room.

But that means Castiel will have to go back to the storage room of the Gas-n-Sip tonight. He will have to unroll his sleeping bag and fold his shirts and pants into something like a pillow and set an alarm on his phone for 5:00 to give himself enough time to pack everything away again before Bill the delivery man comes by. He will have to turn the first aid kit to face the wall.

Castiel’s gaze rests on the twin mounds under the blanket at the head of the bed. The blanket is rucked up in one corner, exposing the worn white sheets. He can’t sleep here, that much is obvious, but he can make the bed neat for Dean. As a thank you. To prove he isn’t useless. Castiel isn’t sure which.

He tucks the corner of the blanket in neatly, smoothing it over the mattress. He smooths the other corner too, even though it’s already neat. He rests his good hand on one of the pillows.

Dean opens the bathroom door, towel slung low around his hips, and Castiel freezes in place. Perhaps it’s because Dean caught him coveting the bed. But perhaps it’s because Dean is standing in front of him in a towel, holding it closed with his hand at his hip and Castiel is human now, despite the hurt feelings between them.

Castiel has not been aroused since his night with April. He has been hungry and thirsty, cold, tired, and unclean, angry and afraid, proud and hurt, but he has not been aroused. He swallows, tracking a drop of water that slips down Dean’s chest to his stomach to the edge of the towel. “I -” he starts with no idea what to say.

“Forgot a change of clothes,” Dean says without moving toward his open duffel bag on the floor between them.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I mean -”

Silence stretches between them. Castiel has seen Dean naked before, has re-formed every inch of Dean’s body with his own hands. But that was the Angel and the Righteous Man. Here, in this cramped motel room in Rexford, Idaho, there is the human Castiel with his sprained wrist and a beating heart that belongs to him, and there is his friend Dean Winchester fresh from the shower. They have survived the Rit Zien and the Fall, Purgatory and the Leviathan. Lucifer. And yet, Castiel thinks if Dean were to bridge the space between them now, he might shatter. It would be unbearable to have this, something, anything now, just this once before Dean goes back to Kansas and Castiel goes back to the Gas-n-Sip. It would hurt too much.

So when Dean steps toward him, Castiel steps back. Anger? Disappointment? flashes across Dean’s face momentarily, but he smooths it over and reaches into his duffel bag for a clean shirt and underwear. “Here,” Dean says, pulling out another shirt and tossing it on the bed. “I’m beat. D’you have work in the morning?”

Castiel nods, unable to speak.

“I’ll drop you off. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Dean shuts the bathroom door behind him without another word.

***

The bed is the most comfortable thing Castiel has ever experienced. It probably isn’t, not really, but it certainly feels like it after months of his sleeping bag on the concrete floor of the supply closet and before that, hard, thin mattresses in shelters, the bed in Dean’s motel room is frankly luxurious. And yet, Castiel still can’t sleep.

Across the room, Dean’s breathing is slow and even, but Castiel can see that his eyes are open in the dim glow of the streetlight through the curtain. Castiel looks at his arm instead, the careful stack of pillows under his wrist to keep it above his heart. For the swelling, Dean had said. He’ll have to use his small stack of clothes for his arm instead of his head for the next few days at least. Then maybe he can just sleep in the brace with his wrist resting on his chest. Castiel burrows deeper into the mattress, the sound of the covers shifting around him loud in the stillness.

“Cas?” Dean says it so quietly, Castiel thinks he might have imagined it. “You awake?”

Castiel wants to say yes, to whisper secrets and shame into the darkness between them. He thinks of another motel room, of his filthy trench coat and his beard speckled with dirt and Leviathan ichor. He thinks of the spark of Grace that cleansed him. And he thinks perhaps this is not so different.

But Castiel also wants to say nothing, to feign sleep until he drops off and to return to the Gas-n-Sip in the morning like nothing happened. To greet Bill the delivery man, then Nora, then each person who comes through the doors for gas or a lottery ticket or a bottle of water, as Steve. To wipe the slate clean. And, for the first time in a long time, Castiel thinks of Heaven.

“Dean,” Castiel says, staring pointedly at his arm in its brace. “Naomi ordered me to kill Samandriel.”

There is a creak from the couch, like Dean is turning to look at him. Castiel keeps his eyes trained on his wrist. He remembers the easy weight of his blade, the warm wetness of the vessel’s life force slipping away, the cold blast of Grace collapsing in on itself then exploding out. The charred imprint of Samandriel’s wings on the asphalt.

“You mean Alfie?” Dean asks, which is somehow even more horrible to know.

“Samandriel and Alfie, it seems,” Castiel says. He swallows. They haven’t discussed this. There wasn’t time, not after the crypt, not after the Fall. “I didn’t choose - I wouldn’t have chosen, not after -” Not after the massacre in Heaven by his own hand. Castiel’s stomach churns.

“Cas,” Dean says, and it almost sounds like pity. It almost sounds like disgust. “Why are you telling me this?”

Because I remember too much, Castiel wants to say. I am a human with an Angel’s memories of eons, but the only ones that matter are after I met you. Because my head is going to burst from it all if I don’t say anything. Because I murdered Jimmy Novak and ripped his family apart. Because I laid waste to Heaven, because I caused the Fall. Because I remember each way Naomi made me kill you, hundreds upon hundreds of times until I snapped your neck without a second thought. Because I agreed to a date with Nora so that she might invite me to spend the night in a real bed. Because I sleep on the floor of the supply closet, and because I don’t have a pillow to put underneath my wrist at night and I will have to steal ibuprofen from the first aid kit when my wrist aches.

Because I don’t understand why you sent me away, but I think I deserve it.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says, instead, and they slip into uncomfortable silence, broken only by the couch groaning as Dean flips onto his stomach and buries his head under his pillow.

***

It doesn’t occur to Castiel until the morning that Dean probably wanted to say something. He says, “Dean,” but when Dean looks up at him from packing his duffel, Castiel can only finish with, “may I use your toothpaste?”

Dean just says, “sure,” but it feels forced and overly bright in the light of day. Castiel is grateful that he can close the door of the bathroom between them.

They don’t speak again until they’re in the Impala. “Cas,” Dean starts, fiddling with his keys, still in his hand.

The parking lot of the motel is quiet. Castiel sees a bird, a robin, land on the roof of a minivan a few spots over. The robin cocks its head, then takes off. Castiel tracks its path up, over the motel, away from this place until he can’t see it anymore. He looks back over at Dean who is watching him watch the bird.

Dean opens his mouth, closes it, looks away. He puts the key in the ignition. “Gonna stop for breakfast on the way,” he says to the steering wheel.

Castiel tries again at the diner, but he is overwhelmed by the sheer number of options on the menu, and the smells. Dean orders bacon and eggs for both of them, when Castiel finds he can’t speak. He reaches across the table and flips the mug in front of Castiel right side up.

Around them, the diner is noisy, the low murmur of conversation, the scrape of utensils, the bell dinging in the kitchen. A woman comes by the table and fills their mugs, then their plates a few minutes later. “Dean,” Castiel says, watching Dean scoop his eggs and bacon onto his toast. He hasn’t touched his own plate, other than to pick up his toast and turn it between his fingers, before putting it back down to stop it from crumbling away.

The diner feels too public for the conversation, yet the Impala was too private. There are too many people, or too few. There is too much space between them, or not enough. They are two pieces that used to go together, but one of them is worn down too much to fit correctly anymore. Or perhaps it’s both of them. “Could you pass the sugar?” Castiel asks, and finally, eats.

***

The drive to the Gas-n-Sip is just as quiet as breakfast. Castiel expects it to stretch on for ages, but it doesn’t. They pull up to the curb in front of the store. Castiel expects his departure to be simple, without fuss, but it isn’t. Dean apologizes. Dean tells Castiel he is proud. Dean tells Castiel that he is human now and not to worry. Dean looks at Castiel through the open window and every unsaid thing from the night before, from this morning is laid bare on his face for a moment, then he lifts his fingers in something like a wave, and Castiel turns away.

There are Angels Falling on the news. There is a human in a gas station in Idaho with an ache just starting up in his once-borrowed wrist. There is a ding from the bell above the door as Bill the delivery man backs in, swinging his hand truck around with a, “Morning, Steve.”

“Good morning, Bill,” Castiel says, and the day begins.

#spncreatorsdaily #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #i'd like to personally apologize to castiel #again #i don't do angst!!!! except apparently i do!!! sorry!!!!#the boys don't know how to use their words #because everything is messy and guilty and difficult to navigate #there's only one bed but it's sad #i just have a lot of Feelings about bb human cas #also i have been working on this on and off since may and it needs to go away from me now #mine.fic #destiel

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soemthingsparkly · 4 years

Note

i have a headcanon for you BECAUSE I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. i totally headcanon that reggie is bisexual but has no idea that this is an actual thing people can be. he is 100% accepting and supporting of alex being gay, he knows luke is straight but reggie himself feels like a fraud because he finds both genders attractive. so he never told anyone bc he thinks he's broken. it all culminates when the boys are taking abt different sexualities with julie and he's like "this is normal?"

Okay, anon, consider this:

Julie talking about this guy that she used to have a crush on a couple years ago, but now he's dating another guy and Reggie being "oh, he was gay?"

and Julie shaking her head. "Nah, he was Bi, but i guess he was just into Noah more than me."

"He was what?" Reggie asks. "Did you say bye?"

"Yeah, bi," Julie says, and for some reason I picture her colouring in one of those adult colouring books and the boys just lounging around her watching and dictating her colour choices.

And Reggie is just confused and Julie is confused about his confusion. "What? Bi, Reggie. Like bisexual?"

"I don't..."

"You know, when someone likes both guys and girls."

And Reggie is just spun out. "You can like both? There's a word for that?"

And Luke and Alex just exchange this look of Oh™️.

"Yeah, Reg," Julie says, but Reggie just needs a minute (or an hour) to process this information because... well... that's new.

"Reggie, you okay?" Luke asks, clipping his shoulder.

"Yeah, I just..."

"I think Reginald is, as the kids say, buffering," Alex laughs, then nudges Julie. "Give the mouse pink fur. I think they'd look good in pink."

And Julie and Luke get this as a signal to let it go, at least, for now. Julie goes back to colouring, though they all keep stealing glances at a distracted looking Reggie.

And much later on, when Luke and Julie are in a flow of song writing, Alex disappears for a while. Everyone just assumes he's out with Willie, but he returns, an hour or so later, alone.

"Alex, where've you been?" Luke asks when he poofs back in. "Me and Julie have this–"

But Alex holds out a hand to stop him. "Yeah, just a sec," and he turns to Reggie. "Hey, come join me outside for a second?"

And Julie, Reggie, and Luke all share a confused look, but Alex nods his head and poofs out.

"Hey, what's up?" Reggie asks when he joins Alex outside. "You okay, dude?"

Alex smirks and nods. "I'm good, I got something for you. Come here."

Reggie walks over and Alex draws a small braided bracelet out the pocket of his denim jacket. It's dark, but Reggie can makes out stripes of pink, purple, and blue.

"What's that?"

"It's for you," Alex says, then leans in and lowers his voice. "Don't tell Julie but I might have snuck into Claire's after hours and... you know."

One corner of Reggie's lips quirk up in a smile.

"Here, hold out your hand."

Reggie gives Alex his arm and Alex ties the bracelet loosely around his wrist. He drops his hands and slaps his thighs as Reggie runs his finger over the threads.

"Um, it's up to you, if you wanna take it off, I get it... but I just want you to know that, uh, I love you," Alex says and blows a sharp breath out. Reggie looks up. "Uh, yeah. Okay. So, time for rehearsal."

But Reggie throws his arms around Alex's shoulders and grips him close. "Thanks," he murmurs into Alex's shoulder. He pulls away and pats Alex on the arm.

Both laugh awkwardly and dip their eyes.

"I love you, too, man," Reggie says. "I love this." He jangles the bracelet on his wrist and Alex shrugs.

"Alright, let's go before Luke starts feeling left out," Alex says.

Reggie nods and they both poof back into the studio.

Anon, this one might have got away from me.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #Reggie Peters #Alex Mercer #julie molina #luke patterson #<3 #julie and the himbos #luke jatp #jaz talks #jaz writes #jaz answers

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 24

first time reader click here

TWs/Summary: The party, finally. Nerds be nerds. They're all dorks tbh. Booze and partying. Clint is a disaster. Natasha is a queen. I beg for comments from y'all cuz I'm short on serotonin 🥺🥺🥺💚✨

This is a Spotify playlist I made for the first half of the party. Sets the mood 😌

The party was booming, the room was flooded with a large amount of people dressed in various extravagant outfits. It was enough to sweep my eyes over the crowd only once to take notice of the thought and money people had put into their outfits. I hardly noticed any cheesy "angel/devil" or "sexy cat" ensembles, my eyes caught on gemstones and feathers and floor-length gowns instead.

First Avenger to catch my eye was Thor - only because the people surrounding him barely held back from drooling. Hell, I did a spit-take: the usually graceless giant stood casually posted at one of the snack tables, wearing silver robes embroidered with tiny sparkling gemstones; a sleek, angular crown rested atop his head, his blonde hair was longer, lighter and straight. One look at his ears and the realisation struck me: Thor was Thranduil, the Elven king. It made sense since Peter had the thunderer hooked on the Lord of the Rings movies a couple of weeks ago...

Both Loki and Wanda cleaned up no less nicely. The Witch was wearing a midi dress, airy and soft, in pastel tones that brought out the natural rosiness of her cheeks and the scarlet undertones glimmering in the strands of her hair. Unlike me, she chose to wear a sparkling tiara, which Loki had created after a short debate - it was an intricate material illusion meant to last for at least ten hours.

Loki himself was a work of art: dark and macabre fantasy painting. I could barely tear my eyes away from the pale, tall man clad in dark green silks and brocade. The candlelight threw shadows on his angular face and his sharp cheekbones stood out more than ever: twenty minutes I spent on convincing him to let me put make-up on his face paid off spectacularly. Flickering lights toyed with the emeralds and forest greens of the shiny silk of his vest, giving Loki an ethereal glow. His eyes shone crimson red, making nearby people throw equally startled and appreciative looks.

As for myself, the stares I got were no more and no less than I expected. The dress I'd been aching to wear fit me perfectly, earthen tones, hand-embroidered blossoms and delicate golden threading. The layers of my skirt were just voluminous enough to give me the extra airy, floating walk, the medium-height platforms of my shoes lightening my step. The ropes securing them to my legs were decorated with flowers so delicate they looked real.

The peak of my outfit took an arm and a leg in bribery of the resident sorcerer-turned-vampire, but in the end, even Loki himself could hardly look away from his creation. An hour of research and some serious magic voodoo shit was what it took for the fluttering fairy wings to sit between my shoulder blades. I felt them as an extension of my own body, and whilst flying was definitely out of the question, I could flicker them and felt the delicate brush of Wanda's fingers as she admired the translucent, blue-green, marble-patterned sheen of pure, concentrated magic.

In hindsight, I should have simply bought a set of pre-made wings and asked Loki to enchant them to move on their own. Hindsight... I wasn't good at that. So, in this moment, with the wings syncing up with my jittery nerves, the shiny traitors shook with the force of stares directed at our little trio. There was an absurd amount of gorgeous people and breathtaking costumes, yet even then, we stood out like Mona Lisa in an indie art gallery. Muted 'woah's and 'oh-my-gods' traveled across the room, turning even more heads towards us.

"And you wanted to wear Walmart," I weakly chuckled in Wanda's direction, seeing her wide eyes and Loki's arm rapidly wrapping around her waist, catching her a brief moment before she stumbled. The trickster looked unimpressed and bored for all the world to see, but to me, the slight twitching of his eyebrow told me he wasn't feeling that much different from us girls either.

"Brother!" Thor gestured us over with a drink in each hand, parting the crowd of people easily.

Noah, et tu? I had no choice but to swallow my unease, hoping my concealer and highlighter did their job and my face hadn't lost the sublime glow I was aiming for. For a girl like me, the Fae aesthetic wasn't easily achieved: naturally, I wasn't innocent, I wasn't playful... However, I was mischievous. Plenty of that.

Spotting a semi-familiar face in the crowd of partygoers, I gave the man a lopsided grin and a wink without actually taking note of who he was. Tonight, I would be a fairy. I would play.

"King," Wanda mock-bowed with a laugh, carefully embracing Thor. Even Loki did a brief, composite left-handed tilt with a slight smirk.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" I giggled, immediately making grabby hands for the nearest brightly coloured, fruity concoction that fell into my eyesight. Being sober at a party was not something I had planned to be: first drink went down like water as Thor explained the whereabouts of our various friends.

"Steven and James are with Lady Natasha, there is a knife-throwing contest outside on the patio," As soon as those words left his mouth, Loki immediately perked up, not-so-subtly turning his torso towards the large open area.

"Go," I ushered him. "Win us something, good sir," With a chuckle of my own, I grabbed Wanda by the hand for both of us to give a chaste good luck kiss to each of Loki's cheeks. He smiled as I threw a tiny amount of sparkles at him, shouting "GOOD LUCK!" to his retreating back.

"Princess?" I heard a curious voice pipe up behind me, an arm carefully wrapping itself under my wings. Said arm jerked as the sensitive matter of my wings fluttered away from the touch, shivers running down my spine and making me shuffle in place awkwardly.

"Tickles," I breathed out, voice pitched.

Tony's utterly perplexed face came into view as he gave me an open-mouthed once-over. "Darling..." He cleared his throat. I had managed to rob Tony Stark of his words! "You look... Exquisite." His eyes critically surveyed the amount of make-up and glitter on my face before he lifted the inside of my wrist, touching his lips to the pulse point for two long seconds, stealing my breath away with the simple, intimate gesture. It was by far more powerful than having to get glitter out of his beard if he'd kissed me on the lips, or even on the cheek.

"Congratulations, you've caught a Fae," I grinned mischievously, my own eyes widening at the amount of tiny little details on Tony's costume. Delicate, moving clockwork gears and metals interwoven with dark brown, harsh leather; he wore a tophat decorated with a pair of glasses and both his arms and harnesses had moving details of polished, dull-grey chrome. It was unreal, like Tony had stepped out of a Steampunk graphic novel, like he'd just got done filming the Wild West movie. "Nerd," I affectionately brushed my fingers - glitter-free hand - along the handlebar mustache he'd grown out.

Tony spoke over Thor's laughter, pressing himself closer to me, this time careful around my wings. "Do I get to make a wish?"

"Don't be rude, Tony. The Fair Folk should be treated with politeness and respect," Bruce's amused voice signaled his arrival before I even saw him. His costume and Tony's complimented each other: whereas Tony the wngiy obviously was some sort of inventor, Bruce was a doctor, or perhaps, a chemist. Instead of moving gears, he had an array of brightly coloured vials attached to a gold-and-green embroidered belt, and a single monocle replaced his usual rectangular glasses. The scientist gallantly raised my palm to his lips, fighting a smile of his own. Utter nerds! "You're the most beautiful thing in this room, Princess. Everyone can't take their eyes off you," With that, a brief, bright flash of green blinked in his eyes and then I knew, Bruce and Hulk would be on my back, watching out for me wherever I would decide to go.

The knots in my back, in my stomach, slowly began to unwind, the feeling accelerated by the warmth of alcohol sitting low in my belly. I was happily sandwiched between my two men, chatting with Wanda and Thor, nibbling on the spooky treats that Tony's catering services had provided. They were delicious.

Sam appeared, dragging a flushed Clint in tow. The archer had evidently gotten well into his drinks, seeing as he was holding a horn in one hand whilst the other still barely held onto his head. Despite the costume fail, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

"We need glue," Sam announced, smiling in our direction. "Well, hello, ladies," Briefly, abandoning his bird bro, Sam kissed a giggling Wanda on the cheek and wrestled one of my hands from Tony to peck it, too. "My, my eyes have been so blessed!"

"What are you?" Wanda asked the man curiously, pointing at his... a sort of toga, brown leather shoes that looked more like hooves and a crown of... grapevine?

"Dionysus," Sam mock-bowed, "And this is my Pan. Who happens to be a lightweight and enjoys annoying witches that can throw knives with scary precision!" The man announced, annoyed, whilst Clint just drunkenly giggled as he was helped by Thor - the Asgardian-Elf was doing something to the archer's headdress and putting the wonky horn back in its place, hands steady despite Clint's swaying and squirming.

"Classy," I toasted Sam. "Who's the knife-throwing witch?"

"Natasha," He grabbed a drink of his own. "She went as Yennefer, both fossils are Witchers and Pietro is Jaskier. He looks like a proper court jester in that purple... Thing," The dark man was giggling, too, somewhat tipsy.

"The Ass of America could fit his sizeable rear end in leather pants? How much KY jelly did they use?" Tony snorted mockingly as all of us laughed. I remembered seeing an interview with Henry Cavill and his troubles regarding the leather pants - Tony's question was valid and you can fuckin' quote me on that.

"Man, don't ask me. I've already seen more than enough of him and Barnes in the supply closet," Sam winced, downing the remainder of his drink in one go.

"And what were you doing in the supply closet, Wilson?" Natasha was absolutely breathtaking in the black mesh dress. Pietro next to her looked like a masquerade attendee - in a good way. He had gone with the video game version of Jaskiers outfit and was a bright addition to or our mostly black and pastel coloured party.

Sam grumbled something unintelligible, striking a conversation with Pietro and Clint, pulling the rest of us into it one by one. People came by and went, saying their hellos and asking to take pictures - the party was attended by mostly SI and trusted SHIELD employees with the exception of a few B-level celebrities Tony knew personally, no press was allowed beyond their designated area so all of us could afford some degree of frivolity.

Steve and Bucky - oh my God their costumes were tight - shared kisses and heated glances over the tops of our heads. Bruce's hand snuck under the highest part of my skirt, caressing my legs and Tony's soft pecks on the top of my head filled me with the warmest sense of adoration. Loki, being the gentleman he was, had won both me and Wanda each a stuffed spider which we gracefully accepted, thanking the trickster with a dance.

Or three. Wanda went first, eyes sparkling and smile ten miles wide as she soaked up the admiration, the envious stares of the people in the room. The witch looked simply stunning, she was glowing, and Loki next to her shared the sentiment wholeheartedly - a small grin decorated his face, eyes kindest I'd ever seen them. In that moment, Wanda truly was a princess.

Three and a half drinks in, I swayed gently to the music, unbothered by the smile creeping on my face as I watched the two magical people dance and mingle. "You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey..." Singing along was a pesky habit of mine that manifested itself after a certain amount of liquor circulated through my system. It wasn't like I was a bad singer - my parents had made me take music classes until I was sixteen - but it was generally an embarrassing moment nonetheless. In that moment, I didn't give a damn. "You're as sweet as strawberry wine..." Trust Tony to pick the kind of music I actually knew and liked.

A flash of purple and my glass was snatched out of my hand and promptly downed. Shamelessly grinning, Pietro gave me a look with that cocky tilt of his lips, blonde hair in utter disarray. "That your work?" He nodded towards the dancing couple, giving the empty glass to Bruce who was now watching my swaying with a careful eye.

"My and Loki's," I replied dryly."Thank you," Pietro replied sincerely. "Wanda needed this," Briefly looking me over (fuckin' glitter! I was missing out on so many hugs!), the blonde settled on squeezing my hand between his own. "May I steal your lady for a dance?" He addressed Bruce, seeing as Tony was immersed in a conversation with some dude dressed as Marty from Back to The Future. IT department, maybe?

"You may, but no funny business," Bruce looked godly in his outfit with the stern expression: eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and irises having just a tinge of green. Hulk watching me added an unexpected sort of spice to our interactions. It made me feel...

"Let's go, Printsesa," Pietro unceremoniously dragged me to the dancefloor, all but stomping over other people's feet, shoes, tails and various other accessories. Boys will be boys... And we danced, and we laughed - until Loki and Wanda floated over to us, promptly swapping partners with fluidity I didn't expect from either of the twins. I watched Pietro spin Wanda with a smile as the Witch shrieked and cursed at her overenthusiastic brother.

"How's it going, Lokes?" I addressed the resident vampire, placing an arm on his shoulders. Tall ass bastard.

"Better than I expected," He admitted. "Although I cannot say I appreciate intoxicated Midgardian males."

"Nobody likes drunk dudes," I rolled my eyes. "I've lost count how many faces I've punched and balls busted at parties. They just don't learn."

"Oh, indeed, you're a fighter, little one. How could have I forgotten?" Loki teased me, doing an elaborate twirl to narrowly avoid the slap I was aiming at his chest. Tall, cheeky bastard.

I definitely should have put salt in his tea sugar.

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