#//short starter is short but replies could be same or longer however u feel like bee!

[mppan]

Banana Havoc || Pan&Tao

banana tree?! @taoxmp

When the door opened to reveal a customer that Pan had never seen before, he looked very much like his usual self. With just his bare soles pattering against the floor and a tattered sweater that was no longer the forest-green it once was nor nearly warm enough for the season, the wild god was as mildly disgruntled as he always was when the weather began to turn towards the cold. At least here in the flower shop he had to keep the space warm. Most plants and flowers simply didn’t do well in the wicked cold brought on by the continental winter. The god himself was definitely not indulging in that fact.

It never got this cold in Arcadia.

“Welcome to my flower shop,” Pan stated somewhat proudly. Few things gave him more pleasure than stating that fact. The shop and the god had quite a history.

“Can I help you find anything?”

[wtf-yoongi]

How am I supposed to sleep after this?

pairing | hoseok x reader

summary | vegas w/ your sunshine friend hoseok i don’t think i have to say anything else

genre/warnings | idiots to lovers + humor + fluff + alcohol + drunk j-hope becoming hopeless + gambling + flexing money bc he’s rich af + language bc it’s vegas come on wouldn’t expect anything less

words | 1,875

note | i went to vegas once and it hit me today: that would be 100x better if i had a hoseok (if any of u know where i can get one pls let me know thanks)

It has been thirteen minutes since you first texted Hoseok to know if he was ready to go. 

That idiot always takes the longest time for some reason. Probably choosing between which Balenciaga bag he’s going to wear for the night.

You take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t look so bad, you’re just not as rich or fancy and the dress you’re wearing might have been on sale last week at Zara, but no one has to know that, right?

You could never reach Hoseok’s level of fashion. Not even if you wanted to.

You don’t want to sit down and wrinkle your dress, so you walk around the fancy room at the Cosmopolitan and stop at the window. Of course, Hoseok booked rooms with a view even though they charge an extra who-knows-how-many-dollars for that, but it ain’t a problem for him.

The sun is setting now, giving tourists a little break from the burning hot temperatures that make everyone avoid the streets as much as they can. To be honest, even at night, the walk between hotel to hotel is just one excruciating experience until you can finally feel the air con on your skin again. The walk you took yesterday showed you that.

Yesterday, however, you both decided to stay away from gambling and just get to know the hotels as if they are freaking museums. Las Vegas doesn’t offer much to do if you’re not into hotels that look like the owner just had a theme in mind and an endless amount of money to realize their vision. So, yeah, visiting hotels is a top notch, must-see tourist attraction. Go figure.

Since you didn’t gamble yesterday, today’s the day. While you were enjoying the hotel pools this afternoon, Hoseok has walked you through every single thing he wants to do tonight. And he has a very meticulous plan.

First, you have to dress up to look fancy. Second, you are going to play blackjack so he can finally realize his dream of looking like he is in a movie. Third, you have to have dinner somewhere to balance the alcohol out. And then, finally, you are going to whatever party is closest to you.

Yeah, sounds like a plan.

Another seven minutes pass and you finally get a reply.

I’m outside your door.

You quickly put your shoes on and grab your purse, checking yourself in the mirror again before opening the door. Hoseok sure is there in all his glory looking at his phone as if nothing is happening, nothing at all.

“You wanna kill someone today?” You ask, eyeing him up and down. He’s wearing red dress pants with a simple white shirt. Come on. “You were right to book two separate rooms for us, I don’t think you’re planning on coming back alone tonight.”

He finally looks up from his phone and laughs lightly after inspecting your choice of clothes. “You say that as if I’m the only one trying to take an advantage of that. You look stunning. Wanna get a drink?”

Your first stop is at one of the many hotel bars. Hoseok quickly orders two drinks from the menu without thinking twice.

“Something light for starters,” he says with a smile as he passes the Cosmopolitan glass to you.

“Oh, you think you’re so funny. Ordering Cosmopolitans at the Cosmopolitan,” you say, raising your glass to touch his. “This is going to be a good night.”

“The best. And hopefully my liver will stand the alcohol levels and you won’t have to drag me back to my room,” Hoseok says, sipping the drink slowly.

“Wouldn’t be too hopeful if I were you.” You know Hoseok and, honestly, the expectations are extremely low. “You were always a lightweight drinker. That shit doesn’t change because you’re in Vegas, you know?”

“I don’t care. What I want today is stop at every single hotel and have a drink and gamble a bit, have some fun!” Hoseok excitedly shakes your arm with his free hand.

“Sure, what’s the worst that could happen?” You ask yourself rhetorically.

As you predicted, Hoseok doesn’t go too far before he’s needing your help to walk. You’re in tiny heels and, despite being tiny, they’re still heels and adding half of his body weight to the mix isn’t helping in anyway. 

You’re inside the ARIA Hotel on your third drink of the night when you first notice that Hoseok isn’t as sharp as he thinks he is to play blackjack. He’s finally living his dream movie life, but he has switched his light Cosmopolitan for Blue Label and you know things aren’t looking up.

If there’s one thing you have to give it to him, though, is that it really feels like a movie. Everything around you looks straight out of a James Bond set, even the young, good looking lady who’s dealing the cards could easily be casted as a Bond girl. But then again, you realize with a scoff, you’re the one standing behind Hoseok’s high designer stool with an eye on his drink so he doesn’t order another one. You’re the Bond girl.

When you get to Park MGM, it’s time to stop. Hoseok is looking sad as fuck as he usually does when he’s too drunk to function and you know he won’t protest if you say he’s had enough. You sit him down on a table at Eataly and leave him for a moment to buy a bottle of water.

“There you go. Drink it up,” you order, handing him the already opened bottle. “You told me I wouldn’t have to drag your ass back to the hotel, but here we are.”

“I never said that.” He takes a break from drinking the water to look at you while you move to sit in front of him. “I said I was hopeful my liver would endure such a challenge.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No, it didn’t.”

You stay silent for a few minutes until the water bottle is empty and Hoseok is using the droplets outside the plastic bottle to wet the back of his neck. He looks wasted and cute at the same time. How is that even possible?

“How about eating something, huh?” You suggest. It’s still early in the night and people are having dinner all around you. The smell of food in this place is driving you mad. “Does pizza sound good?”

Hoseok nods and moves his hands to get his wallet from his back pocket. He hands you the credit card he’s been using all night. “The pin number is your four initials.”

You look at him with raised eyebrows. That’s his pin number?

“Don’t look at me like that, it was the first thing that crossed my mind and you know I’m not good remembering numbers.”

You blink twice and say nothing before walking towards the pizza place, ordering two slices of the best looking one on display. Soon, you’re back at the table and handing Hoseok’s slice. You both eat in silence. 

It seems like he’s coming back to his senses and normal self after eating. For good measure, you order a shot of espresso and something sweet for him to eat from the coffee shop nearby. That should do the trick.

“Are you feeling better?” You ask after a long while. Hoseok is no longer supporting himself on his elbows or looking miserable. He nods. “Good enough so I don’t really have to drag you around?”

He nods again with a shy smile. “Sorry.”

“You wanna party or go back to the hotel? It’s only 11,” you say, reaching for his wrist to check the time on his watch. “You said you wanted to party, but if I’m being honest with you… My feet are killing me.”

“We can order an Uber to go back,” he suggests with a shrug. “I feel tired now, I wanna go to bed.”

“Well if it isn’t my baby showing up again,” you joke, standing up and offering your hand to help him out. “Come on, let’s go back.”

The Uber ride is silent and quick. It’s really such a lazy thing to do, getting a car for such a short ride, but your feet really thanked you for that. 

When you arrive at the hotel, you both go straight to the elevator area and press the button to go up. It feels like an eternity passes before one of the many elevators arrives. You wait for a group of friends to exit before you enter. The door closes and you feel yourself back up until you hit the wall. Hoseok does the same. 

“Sorry for being the drunk friend all the time,” he apologizes. “I feel like you can never enjoy yourself when you know I’m gonna make a mess.”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m used to it.”

The elevator arrives at the 39th floor and you both exit quietly, walking in the direction of your rooms. Looking at Hoseok to your right, you wave him goodnight before opening the door and entering the room with a puff – you just need to be out of those heels.

Soon after, there’s a light knock at the door. 

“Hey,” you greet Hoseok, who’s standing a little taller now that you don’t have your shoes on anymore. “What are you doing?”

“I have to ask you something,” he says with a weird I was drunk five minutes ago and all of a sudden feel sober look. “What would you say if I kissed you right now?”

Is he really asking that? What the fuck?

“What?”

“Fuck it.”

Hoseok closes the gap between your bodies in half a second, reaching for your face with his hands. It’s not romantic or slow or delicate, it’s just intense. 

It’s also rushed. It ends too quickly.

When you open your eyes, you want to say something, but your body needs time to catch a breath. What just happened? What the hell is going on? Your brain is panicking.

“Sorry,” Hoseok starts with a low voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

He lets go of you completely and you can almost feel your body have a physical reaction to that. You want more? What the fuck?

He takes a step backwards to go back to his room, but you can’t just let him go like that. You have to do something. Do something!

“Maybe you should have,” you repeat his words, your voice just above a whisper. “I- I don’t know what else to say.”

The only thing you can do now is laugh. That is your only reaction, almost like a self-defense mechanism when awkward things happen. 

“Good. I’m going back to my room now.” He’s smiling too, taking backwards steps so he doesn’t have to turn his back to you. “Breakfast tomorrow at 9?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding your head with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Cool. I’ll try not to be late.”

“I’m not counting on it.”

“Sleep well,” he says with a smile and finally turns to get inside his room. 

How am I supposed to sleep after this?

Read more ›› masterlist

[sylvanfreckles]

I Don’t Feel So Well (Whumptober 2020)

Day twenty-one! Inspired by a longer fanfic I’m planning.

Summary: The angels sacrifice Castiel’s grace to empower one of their own, leaving Castiel scarred, frail...and human.

* * *

“How's Cas doing?”

Dean grimaced and kicked the fridge shut, one arm full of sandwich ingredients and the other holding his phone to his ear. “Ate something last night, but I'm not sure he slept. Not long at least. Heard him thrashing around most of the night.”

Sam's heavy sighed filtered in through the phone's speaker. “We hit a dead-end with that Sergei guy. Anyone else you can think of?”

“Maybe a reaper? Billie probably wouldn't help, but someone else might.”

“We'll work on that when we get back. Need anything?”

Dean hesitated. There was a lot he needed. Cas's grace back, for starters. The bastard angels that did this to him would be good, too. “He, uh, he liked those muffins. The cheesecake ones.”

“We'll make a grocery run. Call if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” The call ended and Dean stared down at his phone for a second before stuffing it in his pocket. When they'd heard that heaven was able to power up one of their angels to a higher level, like a demi-archangel, Sam and Dean had thought that was good news. Archangels could make more little baby halos, after all, which meant more power for heaven. They hadn't realized, however, that this could only happen by sacrificing the grace of another angel.

And of course they'd picked Cas for this. Naomi and her entourage hadn't seen fit to choose a volunteer, or even draw names out of a hat. They'd snatched Cas up, cut sigils into his back, and burned his grace right out of his body just to elevate Naomi to Super Bitch. They'd just dumped him—human, scarred, and frail—a few miles away from the old gate to Heaven. If one of the angels hadn't had a crisis of conscience (or whatever) and called the Winchesters then it was likely Cas would have died of exposure.

There was no getting his grace back, that was for sure. Sam and Eileen were out tracking down anyone who might help heal the damage the ritual had wrought on Cas's body, while Dean stayed behind to look after him. Jack was in one of the other realities trying to restore balance after Chuck's temper tantrum, so they couldn't reach him just yet. Man, he hoped the kid tore Super Bitch in half for this.

Dean quickly assembled two sandwiches—BLT for him, PB&J for Cas—and made his way through the bunker to Cas's room. He knocked before entering, using his hip to nudge the door open enough to step inside. “Cas?”

The blankets on the bed rustled, and Dean thought he heard a muffled reply. He set the sandwich plates on top of the dresser and walked over to crouch next to the bed, smoothing the blankets away enough to see the man beneath them. “Doing okay, man?”

Cas stared at him blearily. “Dean?”

Dean gently ran one hand over the lump of blankets that covered Cas's arm. “Warm enough?”

“Mmm...enough.”

That was good. Cas got cold so easily now. They didn't know if it was the trauma of losing his grace or some other internal damage from the ritual, but it was awful. “Brought you a sandwich?” Dean offered. “PB&J?”

Cas blinked up at him. “I could eat?” he said, as though it was a question instead of a statement. Dean let out a soft laugh and slid one arm behind Cas's shoulders, gently easing the other man up to sit against the headboard.

He spent a few more seconds fussing with the blankets to make sure Cas wouldn't get too cold then brought the sandwich over to him. He might have gone a little overboard with the sandwich—cutting the crusts off and dividing the sandwich into eighths to make smaller pieces—but he couldn't help it. “Thought I might make some soup later,” he said casually.

That earned him a grimace. “I may not be up for more than one meal a day yet, Dean.”

“Hey, hey, yeah. Take your time.” Dean rested one hand on Cas's back, rubbing in small circles to avoid the scars left from the sigils. “So, Sam and Eileen couldn't find Sergei, but we're still looking for something else.”

Cas let out a sigh and stared down at the plate in his lap. He'd managed to eat three of the sandwich triangles so far, which was more than last night so that was good. “There may not be a cure for my condition.”

They knew that. No one in the history of creation had suffered through what had been inflicted on Cas. They didn't even really know where to start looking “But maybe we can find something to help,” Dean replied. He picked up his own sandwich and took a bite, and after a moment Cas went for another triangle of PB&J.

“So. How are you feeling today?” Dean asked after Cas managed to eat a bite of his fifth sandwich triangle but set it back down on the plate unfinished. Just over half a sandwich, that was actually pretty good all things considered.

Cas didn't reply right away, but he held his hands up to stare at them. There was the slightest tremor in his fingers, and Dean saw the flash of irritation on his friend's face before Cas balled his hands into fists and let them rest in his lap. “The same.”

Dean winced. In addition to the chills and appetite problems, Cas was afflicted with some kind of chronic pain. On a good day, and if he was warm enough, he could shuffle around the bunker unaided. Good days were few and far between, and Cas usually needed help even walking a few steps. “It'll get better, man.”

“And what if I don't?” In a flash of temper, Cas swept the plate off of his lap and scattered the remains of the sandwich. “What if this is the rest of my life? What if I'm stuck as a...as a...”

“As one of us,” Dean interrupted, catching his friend's waving hand. “Hey, hey, come on. Look at me, man.”

Cas turned to glare at him, anger and despair fighting in his eyes. Dean held his gaze, waiting until the fury dissipated and Cas's face crumpled, then he scooted up on the edge of the bed to wrap his arms around the former angel and let him cry into his shoulder.

“Whatever happens,” he promised. “You'll always belong here, man. Cursed or not, angel or man...you're a Winchester, Cas. You're one of us.”

Cas's fist twisted weakly in Dean's shirt. “It hurts,” he whispered.

“I know, man,” Dean rested one hand on the back of Cas's head, pulling him in closer. “I know.”

* * *

Bags in each hand, Eileen jerked her head toward the kitchen to indicate she was going to put the groceries away. Sam nodded and headed down further into the bunker to look for Dean and Cas.

He had the package of muffins and a can of pre-made protein shake in his hands—the shake had been Eileen's idea. If Cas wasn't up for eating much, maybe they could get him to drink the shakes at least, to get more nutrients into his system. The bedrooms were empty, but Sam easily tracked the sound of old Westerns to the “Dean Cave”.

“Tombstone again, Dean?” he complained as he entered the room.

Dean had traded out the recliners for a u-shaped couch, and he was occupying one leg of the U, bowl of popcorn in his lap and bottle of beer on the floor beside him. “Cas's favorite, Sammy.”

Sam looked at Cas, who was on the other leg and wrapped in several layers of blankets. “I said it was the least offensive,” he replied, staring at Sam with a resigned expression.

“Which means favorite,” Dean countered. “Have a good trip?”

“Eileen found stuff for homemade mac and cheese,” Sam offered. He settled on the arm of the couch near Cas, holding out the muffins and shake like an offering. “She wants to make a couple pans of it to keep in the freezer for easy meals, if we like it.”

If Cas liked it, that is. Eileen had more experience with picky eaters than Sam (she'd spent eight months as a nanny to try to teach a developing telekinetic how to control her powers), so she'd come up with the idea to make extra servings of the things Cas liked so they'd be on-hand when he wanted something.

“Dude. Marry her.”

Sam laughed. “I think we're both technically dead, Dean.”

“That's just an excuse,” Dean retorted as he popped another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Still good, Cas?”

Cas had set the food down on the floor and curled back into his pile of blankets. He tried to answer Dean but nothing but a whimper came out.

“Aw, damn,” Dean swore, pausing the movie and rolling to his feet. Sam was already leaning over the side of the couch, a supportive hand on Cas's arm. “Hate when it hits out of the blue like this.”

“Has anything helped?” Sam asked as Dean knelt beside Cas and slid an arm under his shoulders. Not holding him up, just offering his support.

“If he keeps warm,” Dean replied. “Cold seems to make it worse.”

Sam nodded, though no one was looking at him, wincing in sympathy when Cas shuddered beneath his hand. Cas's symptoms reminded him a little of fibromyalgia, except the flares of pain were relatively short despite their intensity. Painkillers didn't help, at least not in safe doses. It was like the ritual had torn Cas's body apart from the inside, but left him with his angelic tolerance for human medicine.

Cas's shudders finally slowed, and he let out a piteous moan and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. The older Winchester's face was pinched in sympathy, one hand stroking the former angel's dark hair. That was how these flare-ups always went—first the tight, intense pain that had Cas curling into a ball unable to make a sound (he'd once said it was like every joint was locking together, pulling his body into itself), followed by a deep ache that left him restless and miserable.

“Wanna go back to bed, buddy?” Dean asked softly. Cas nodded pathetically, still burrowed into Dean's shoulder as though the hunter could soothe away the pain. “Sam?”

“Heating pads,” Sam agreed. “We found an electric radiator, too, I'll bring that down when I get a second.” He gave Cas's shoulder another gentle squeeze before hurrying off to make sure the heating pads were turned on and in the proper places. He pulled the blankets back and straightened them, knowing Cas would probably twist around until he looked like a celestial burrito, then picked up the bits of sandwich that Dean had obviously forgotten to clean up.

Dean entered the room a few moments later, carrying Cas bridal-style in his arms, blankets and all. Sam felt his heart twist in sympathy—after so many years of Castiel just brushing off almost anything, it was hard to see him looking so small and frail in Dean's arms.

“Here we go, Cas,” Dean murmured as he gently lowered Cas down to the bed. It took a moment before the former angel released his death-grip on the front of Dean's shirt, but when he finally did Sam pulled the blankets up over his shoulders.

Cas curled up under the blankets, twisting to bury his face in the pillow. Dean settled down in the chair next to the bed and gently ran his hand up and down over Cas's blanket-covered back. “It's gonna be okay, man. We'll get through this.”

“I'll get the radiator,” Sam offered quietly, slipping out of the room before his brother could reply. It was time to redouble his efforts to find a solution for this.

Even if he had to tear Heaven down to find it.

[blainemoriarty]

Hi! I'd like to try rping with you but the rules/bio pages are incompatibke with either my phone or my my app. Would you be a dear and copy/paste them here so I can know if we are rp compatible please? Much appreciated! @cameron-allen

Of course!! Sorry about that–

** Also, if you have any other questions regarding either my rules or Blaine’s storyline, feel free to ask!

Rules

Just some basic stuff:

Blaine is gay. I will not ship him with women, or put him in any sexual/romantic situation with a woman (unless we discussed something otherwise). Don’t let that scare you off from plotting with me, though! I’m more than happy to roleplay with female muses, and even if they are in to him, that could make for an incredibly interesting plot. Blaine just won’t be attracted to them in return.

This is a semi-selective roleplay blog. I reserve the right to choose who I roleplay with and when I answer.

I’m open to roleplay with OCs or characters from different fandoms. This is a crossover account, after all, and Blaine is so out-of-character that he might as well be an OC himself.

I’m not very picky with who I ship Blaine with, when it comes to male characters. The relationships themselves can be as unhealthy and toxic as you please. Also, age-differences are irrelevant.

NSFW will be tagged. I’ll do my best to tag triggers, as well, but please let me know if I miss anything.

Blaine is a male prostitute. This should be a trigger warning in itself, I think.

Both the mun and muse are of legal age. I will roleplay with underage muns, but I would rather not roleplay smut with you if you are under eighteen. The reason for this should be clear enough.

I’m fine with doing threads in which our muses already know each other. I know how awkward it can be when you send an ask that’s replied to with “Who on earth are you?” That won’t happen here. Unless you wanted to.

The mun reserves her literacy for threads, for the most part. If we chat ooc (which would be awesome) be warned that I tend tO TALK TO U IN ALL CAPS LIKE THIS !!!

I tend to post a lot ooc, since this is my only platform to do so, and also may reblog stuff that isn’t particularly relevant to my muse. Please respect that. All of my ooc stuff will be tagged if it bothers you, and if I share anything that you find triggering or just don’t like, simply shoot me an ask and I’ll tag it for you so you can blacklist it. Easy-peasy.

I will automatically attempt to turn answered memes into threads, whether I’m the one who answered them or you are. Keep this in mind! If you don’t want something to be turned into a thread for whatever reason, don’t be afraid to let me know!

I don’t use small or formatted text in my replies, because that’s a lot of work (especially since I’m on mobile most of the time) and I think that the quality of the writing itself is much more important than how pretty it looks. So naturally, the same standards apply to my partners. Format your replies however you like, or don’t format them at all - I’m much more concerned about the content itself.

Icons are very rarely used on my part - mostly because I don’t have many and I’m on mobile most of the time. If you want to use icons, that’s fine - let me know when you send an ask. If you answer my ask using an icon, or tag me in a starter using an icon, then most of the time I will wait until I have access to a computer to reply. That means the time between my replies will be longer. Rarely, I might reply to an icon thread without an icon, in which case I will try to make up for it by writing oodles of text. This is either because I’ve been on mobile for a while and am anxious about making you wait, or have a lot of muse for that thread and want to reply already!

About

Name: Blaine Anderson

Age: 24

Place of Birth: Ohio, USA

Current Residence: London, U.K

Sexual Orientation: Gay

Occupation: Male prostitute

Family: Daniel Anderson (Father, deceased), Gabrielle Anderson (Mother, deceased), Cooper Anderson (brother, estranged)

And now…

   Daniel Anderson was the youngest of six children born into a wealthy Irish family, moved to the United States in his twenties to set up his own life and escape the suffocating atmosphere of his old household (while still making use of his share of his parent’s money, of course). He was a very devoted Catholic, and wrote mystery novels with his free time - they never did make it to publication. He came across as cold and unapproachable, caused both by his own, personal, emotional issues, and a deep, internalized idea of what a man should be that was far heavier than the weight of the Anderson family’s legacy. He married young, to the youngest daughter of another rich family, Amara Canton. They didn’t like each other at all, despite having a son together, and argued constantly until they finally divorced. Daniel met his second and last wife about a year later, and together they had another child.

  Gabrielle Mendoza was a third generation Filipino-Americam who had music running through her veins. She had the voice of an angel, and taught Blaine every instrument he knows how to play. She met Blaine’s father when she was twenty-seven and he was thirty-four; he’d recently divorced a woman whom he’d married solely for his family’s benefit and with whom he already had a five year old son, Cooper. Daniel fell in love with Gabrielle almost immediately. She was unconditionally kind and caring, even when Daniel seemed stiff and cold. She did what no other person had ever managed to do for him - she made him softer.

 They were married in little less than a year of meeting each other, and Blaine was born within another.

  Blaine was born on April 15th, 1992. His mother had always described him as ‘a tiny man with big dreams’ - tiny, meaning a five year old boy in a ridiculous bow-tie, dancing with his mom in the warm sitting room that served as their ballroom. Music was always something that he loved, and came as naturally to him as breathing. Of course, his father had certain opinions about his son’s passion, but Gabrielle would never let him rob Blaine of the one thing in the world that never failed to make him happy. (Besides, his father loved seeing him that way)

  Trouble came to Blaine in the form of his brother. Cooper didn’t like Blaine, and he despised Gabrielle. He even held a particular distaste toward their shared father, a remarkable amount of anger for a ten year old boy. The adults tried not to take it personally, and blamed it on grief - his mother had died, after all, not long after divorcing his father. It was understandable that he would be bitter over someone else’s happiness during such a dark part of his life. Blaine, however, couldn’t have understood that, and couldn’t help but think that he’d - at three years old - done something horribly wrong to ruin Cooper’s life.

 It wasn’t difficult to see why Blaine would believe such a thing. Cooper was mean - he was unjustly cruel and clever enough to disguise it. He bullied Blaine in secret for most of their young lives, knowing exactly how to manipulate his little brother into believing that it wasn’t really bullying, Cooper was just teaching him a lesson, Cooper was just making him a stronger person, Cooper was just punishing him for messing up that one dance move that he should’ve gotten right on the first try-

Blaine quickly began to hold resentment toward something that he’d once been passionate about. Nothing he did seemed to be right, or good enough, and the stressful need to be perfect trumped his enjoyment. Pleasure had turned into a source of distress - and it would stay that way for a long time.

 There was a short period of freedom when Cooper went off to college - if it could be called freedom. The derogatory thoughts about himself that had been drilled into him still haunted Blaine, but he could focus his perfectionism on other things, now. With Cooper out of the picture, at least, Blaine had some control over his own life.

  That all ended once Blaine turned fifteen and Cooper returned home. Blaine was at the peak of puberty and his body had a mind of it’s own. Cooper, being the kind of person that he was, took advantage of this. Blaine saw it as Cooper finally liking him - or, hopefully, loving him. For Blaine, the unhealthy charade between them was him finally being accepted and wanted by his big brother.

  For Cooper, it was the perfect way to hurt his little brother.

Their ‘relationship’ was a one-sided attraction laced with manipulation and abuse - both physical and emotional. Cooper hated Blaine; in his eyes, Blaine was symbolic of everything that had ever gone wrong in his life, and the perfect means-to-an-end of his lifelong, misguided quest for vengeance.

 Very simply, Cooper wanted to hurt Blaine. And that’s exactly what he did.

Blaine’s parents were both murdered a year after Blaine and Cooper’s relationship began. Cooper had left (he was always leaving for extended periods of time, during which Blaine’s mood usually took a turn for the worse. That was probably why) and the next time Blaine saw him, he was standing over their parents’ bodies. He didn’t know it was Cooper, of course. Not until much later on.

 After their deaths, Cooper left, and never contacted Blaine again.

 Blaine’s last year of high school was a blur. His family’s now-empty house was suffocating him. His country was suffocating him. He needed to get out, and college was his opportunity to do just that. Luckily, his stressful but successful high school career paid off, and he was accepted to a prestigious art school in London. He lasted there for less than two years before dropping out.

 Grief was a difficult thing to work with. Mixed with trauma of every shape and size, Blaine was barely able to function at all.

 How Moriarty became interested in him, Blaine would never figure out. At the time, he was just a whore. A resourceful whore, who knew how to get what he wanted, but anyone could

 Nonetheless, Blaine was contacted on his website (which he still refuses to discuss, because it contains some very old, very exposing photos of his barely nineteen-year old self) by the king of crime, looking for a whore.

 Foolishly, Blaine agreed to meet with him.

Surprisingly enough, Blaine wasn’t contacted just to be fucked - at least, not just by Moriarty. He proved himself to be a useful tool when it came to getting information out of people, without the mess that forcing it out of them would result in.

But why had he chosen Blaine? There were plenty of other sex workers throughout London, more talented and popular and charming than he was…

 Inevitably, Blaine stopped torturing himself over such things. Instead, he did something even worse to himself - he fell in love.

Jim Moriarty was, arguably, one of the most dangerous men in the world. Falling in love with him was probably the most idiotic thing Blaine had ever done. At the same time, what little seemingly-genuine affection that was given to him was also more than anything he’d ever experienced before. Perhaps it was all part of Moriarty’s ‘plan’, or maybe it was his own mistake (doubtfully), or maybe he the feelings he showed were genuine (even less likely), but whatever it was, it worked. Blaine was hooked.

Of course, that meant he was loyal to a fault. Especially since, alongside his romantic feelings, Blaine had quite a bit of fear. Once again, Moriarty was one of the most dangerous people in the world, and his violent outbursts made no exceptions for Blaine if he was irritated or not.

 Whatever there was between them, it was made very clear that Blaine was expendable.

 That was no surprise.

Aaaand also a crap ton of demon!Blaine stuff in case he interests you as well–

Incubi (Mun’s Interpretation):

Succubi and incubi are demons that feed off of orgasmic energy, created soley to please other demons, although it isn’t uncommon for them to feed off of humans as well. It’s rumored that the first succubae and incubi were fallen angels or nephilim, but only the more superstitious of the bunch (like Blaine) believe in this.

According to most sources, any succubus demon is also an incubus demon, and vice versa. Their title depends strictly on which gender they present as. An incubus demon would only “become” a succubus demon if they wanted to reproduce (which, thanks to handy demonologists like Sebastien Michaelis, I get to give you a ridiculously detailed step-by-step guide for.) In their succubus form, they would “collect” (ewugh) a human man’s sperm, and in their incubus form would “transfer” that sperm to a human female and impregnate her. Most sources agree with this, although a few mention that an incubus and succubus can also have a child together. Either way, the child produced is called a Cambion. There’s not much information on them, so let’s just say that they’re baby demons that later become either an inbcubus or succubus, determining their presenting gender once they’re of age and their “powers” appear.

Since incubi are also sometimes referred to as ‘fauns’, their demonic forms most likely have goat or deer aspects, such as horns or antlers, and equine legs. Rarely, they may also take the form of a ball of light (very similar to a will o’ the wisp). This only happens if an incubus desperately needs to burn off extra energy or needs to lure in new sources of it, and not all incubi know how to assume this form. Blaine doesn’t.

Sex demons feed off of the sexual energy of other people, but they don’t need to orgasm in order to feed. The process doesn’t harm other demons, but can harm humans, but this heavily depends on the demon that is feeding off of them. More powerful demons can feed off of humans in their dreams, but this is a rare talent.

An incubus’ body or form changes depending on how much energy they’ve consumed. As mentioned earlier, some can turn into a ball of light, but the body of every incubus and succubus has its temperature change. To put it simply, an excess of energy makes their body cold, while a lack of it makes their body warm, in order to be either alluring or repelling. If an incubus has too much or too little energy, their bodies can turn into dust, and they die. The obvious solution to a lack of energy is by feeding off of someone’s energy, but to cope with too much of it, most incubi will find another incubus or succubus to have sex with. Since they can’t produce energy on their own, feeding off of each others acquired energy evens everything out. This would suck if two of them wanted to be in a relationship, but their biological needs make monogamy nearly impossible, and none of them really have a desire for that kind of relationship. Often, outside of the harems kept by Hell’s royalty, incubi and succubae prefer polyamorous relationships instead.

Blaine:

Blaine presents primarily as an incubus, and rarely takes on his succubus form. He doesn’t really need or want to (he has no desire to reproduce, at all). He’s not the most powerful incubus, but he does have more status than some of the strongest, since he’s got two masters, one of which is the king of Hell (not necessarily Supernatural’s Crowley, but it can be) and another who is stronger than all of Hell’s heirarchy put together (my confusing au Jim Moriarty).

Blaine was born as a Cambion, the offspring of an unknown demon parent and his unknowing human mother, Gabrielle. He was raised as a boy because of mankind’s gender-binary thing (this is the case with a lot of Cambion children), and that stuck with him even after he discovered that he was a demon, when he turned eighteen and Moriarty sought after him. That was a long time ago, and he’s still very comfortable in his incubus form. In a way, he got lucky.

Despite his weakness as a demon, Blaine is still much stronger than any human, and smarter than most demons, which makes him an excellent spy. That’s the purpose he serves for Moriarty, who he considers his true master, and he’s unconditionally loyal. Blaine practically worships him, despite not being able to be intimate with him, since his power is so much that Blaine would turn into dust by even being too close to him during sex. As for Crowley, Blaine doesn’t mind him much, even if he feigns dislike towards him to please his true master; he’s not a terrible owner. A bit sadistic, unsurprisingly, but not terrible. (Or maybe Blaine is just very easily wooed)