#(please do not mind my asinine thoughts I just felt like I needed a place to put some of these things that had been flitting about in the

[runningmunson]

So Much More

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Summary: You experience another loss of yours and Aemond's child before they were born. Aegon insults you for it. Aemond is there to remind you that you are more than your ability to bear children. Warnings: TW- miscarriage (I tried not to be too graphic and more vague), blood, swearing, angst, comfort A/N: Did I write this as a way to help cope with my own trauma and from watching that awful scene in the beginning of episode 10? Absolutely

Masterlist

You woke up to a sensation of pain in your lower abdomen and a sticky feeling between your legs. One would think it was your normal blood cycle, but you knew better, seeing as you were with child, and that wasn’t supposed to happen. This was a feeling you grew to know all too well, having experienced it three other times. But when almost four moons had passed, you thought this finally meant one would stick. Oh, how wrong you were. 

Aemond was still asleep, so you tried to be quiet, not wanting to worry him just yet. You couldn't bear seeing his face when he realized what was happening, so you allowed him to be unaware for a little while longer. 

You moved your hand down, touching the warm liquid, and brought it to your face to confirm it was blood. You swung your legs over the bed and walked around the room to ease the pain.

All you could think about in this moment was the first time you met Aemond and his family at the announcement of your betrothal. 

You bowed and greeted the Targaryen family, nervous to meet your soon-to-be lord husband and new family. When you got to Helaena, you could hear her mumbling but did not understand, “An empty womb too soon.”

You looked at her perplexed. Aegon rolled his eyes, “It would be best if you learned to just ignore my dear sister wife. She often says asinine things of little importance.”

A cry escaped your lips when the pain became too much, leaning on the table for support. Your husband was up in an instant at the sound. He took in your appearance and noticed the sweat that glistened on your forehead and your drenched nightgown. Your face was twisted in pain, and blood ran down your legs. It made him think back to the first time it happened and how traumatic it was for you both.

He was quick to be at your side and helped ease you into a chair. He stared at you wide-eyed, but his face was neutral for the most part. “How long has this been going on?”

“More than an hour, but I am not sure,” you grunted and placed your hands on your knees, leaning forward. “Please go get the midwife.”

He was about to protest, not wanting to leave you until he saw the fear in your eyes and decided it was best to keep quiet and do what you asked. It felt like forever when he finally returned with the midwife and two handmaidens hot on his heels. They got to work, making concoctions for the pain and wetting towels to help cool you down. 

Most men would have left their wives when the midwives took over, but your husband was not like most men. He stayed by your side every time despite the pleas of the midwife to leave. He held your hand and whispered encouraging words that only you could hear. Whatever you needed, he got for you. With every step you took, he was right behind you, placing counterpressure on your back or giving you someone to lean on. He would gently run the cloth over your forehead and kiss away your tears.

—

It took all night and well into the afternoon until it was all over, and with it passed yet another child. The queen, unaware of what occurred, had requested your and Aemond’s presence for a family meal.

“I will let her know that we will not be in attendance,” he said as you lay in his embrace.

You shook your head, “That will not be necessary. We shall attend.”

“Have you lost your damn mind? You are still bleeding and in pain. You need to rest,” he demanded.

“What happened has already passed. There is nothing more we can do. No need to dwell on it and I need a distraction anyway, please,” you reasoned with him. He studied your face, knowing that you were only saying this as a way to cope. “Help me get cleaned up and dressed.”

Aemond made sure to send a servant to deliver a message of what happened to his mother so they do not bring up the child they still believed to be growing inside you. Once you were presentable, he helped you to the dining hall. You took a deep breath and opened the door. 

All eyes were on you as you made your way to your seat. Aemond pulled your chair out and helped you sit before finding his way to the chair next to you. 

Alicent turned to face you and grabbed your hand, “My sweet daughter, I am truly sorry for your loss.” 

“Yes, sister. It is truly a horrible thing,” Helaena said to you. You gave them a small smile as a silent thank you for their condolences.

“I don’t get what the big deal is. Just make another one, fucking isn’t that hard,” Aegon’s words took everyone by surprise. It suddenly became incredibly hot. Your dress felt entirely too tight and suffocating. 

“Aegon! That was very insensitive. You wouldn’t understand what it is like to endure that type of suffering,” his mother cried out.

He turned to look at you, a devilish grin on his face, “This is what? The 4th time? Absolutely worthless. Maybe she is doing it on purpose, but I guess I can’t say I blame my sister-in-law. No one in their right mind would willingly want to bear my brother’s children.” 

Anger overtook Aemond as he stood from his seat and strode over to his brother, ripping him from his chair by his shoulders. He slammed Aegon against the wall, and his hand found its way to his throat. 

“At least I don’t have bastard children running around King’s Landing, you self-righteous cunt,” Aemond spit out with his teeth bared. “It would be wise for you to never speak of my lady wife like that again because next time, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“Aemond! Aegon! Stop this madness now!” their mother demanded. She signaled the guards to stop the impending fight. Ser Criston rushed over to pull Aemond off Aegon and move him further away. He ripped his arm away from Criston’s tight grip and turned around to find you already gone.

“You disgrace the Targaryen name,” he said, but Aegon just laughed. Aemond shook his head and walked off, pushing past his mother in search of you.

—

He found you in your chambers, sitting on the bed and staring at a spot of blood the handmaidens missed when cleaning. It was a sore reminder of what previously occurred. You turned to face him, tears pooling in your eyes.

“I am a failure. I can’t even do the one thing my body was made to do, the only purpose of my life,” you cried out. “I want to give you a baby, but all I give you is death.”

Aemond took your face in his hands as he made sure you were listening to every word he said, “That is enough from you, I don’t want to hear those cruel words spew from your mouth again. Do you understand?” 

His eyebrow was furrowed and jaw clenched. You looked at him in shock, not expecting him to be so angry. He wiped your tears away and continued, “Do not minimize yourself to simply a woman whose only purpose is to be wed, bed, and bred. You are far more than that, my love. You are my wife, my companion, my equal. You are strong, smart, ambitious, and cunning. You are far braver than I could ever wish to be for what the gods have made you endure.”

“I know that you are being truthful, but I cannot help but be terrified that you will eventually stop loving me if I cannot give you one, I-” you tried to finish, but he shook his head and stopped you from talking.

“My love is not conditional upon how many children you bear me. I will love you all the same if you give me many or if you give me none. Your worth, my dear, will never be based on whether you become a mother. If the gods bless us with children, then I will love nothing more, but I will also thank them if they do not allow us that privilege because they gave me you. You are still worthy of a good and happy life. Do not forget that,” he spoke softly. 

In a year's time, you were holding your newborn son in your arms, celebrating new life. You believed every word he said. You were not just a mother; you were so much more.

[embersrevived]

merely some arbitrary CV game musings. and a bunch of positively rubbish and hackneyed ponderings in the form of word vomit pls ignore. my apologies in advance lmao

some thoughts I’ve pondered  here and there about things I either wished the games had explored more in depth, or had entertained the concept of at some point (other than very obviously one that centered on the great battle of ‘99 and the other fateful actors who played a part in it besides young Julius and Arikado): 

1. explored/developed more werewolf characters and/or protagonists , or expanded upon Cornell’s lore from the Castlevania 64 game, or even expanded on the concept of protagonists/Belmonts afflicted by such a curse 

2. more of a crack-ish concept, but for some reason the thought of Death somehow having had some sort of half-offspring is somewhat intriguing to me? influenced by master he had something that one time with that one ephemerally-special someone, and some grim reaper-ish offspring with a mostly humanoid appearance was conceived, but with an overly morbidly elaborate scythe in hand (though very reminiscent of Undertaker’s scythe from BB)? and perhaps this issue was at first an antagonist to Belmont, Alucard & co. and then proved to be something of an antihero/more neutral party depending on circumstances, whim, vested interest, etc. (also I feel said offspring’s name would be something very on the nose like Thanatos or even something like Charon or Mortimer idk kslfjsf)

3. a game that somewhat explained at least some of what Dracthias was doing to gap the bridge between the Leon-Trevor Belmont eras. when matty c decide to rock and grow out that facial forestation huh I want DEETS 

4. this thought draws inspiration admittedly from that idea of the horcruxes in the HP series, though the idea of a game in which Drac had somehow left symbolic/significant items with shards and pieces of his essence/soul trapped across various crucial points in the CV timeline, and whoever the protagonist happens to be (Belmont or other) and the result is that various versions and takes on Drac throughout the CV series have to be encountered and fought (starting with Stage Zero Drac AKA Le Maths) powered by memory and caliginosity magicks. Though perhaps unknowingly, each time the character(s) believe they have vanquished the threat, their seeming victory only has resulted in that shard of Drac’s soul having created a sort of ‘memory’ of that hero’s power and abilities, all of this information which is relayed to other elusive dark actor and orchestrator of this vast timeline machination (perhaps Galamoth or yet another future organization, albeit with malicious intent). though this does somehow feel like a rip-off somewhat McDonald’s version of Judgement and elements of GoS combined ngl also I explained this very poorly sdklfdsjf. 

5. a game based in the era of Soleil Belmont? I know he is perhaps the more obscure Belmont ever, but it is still something to think about lmao 

6. some sort of focus/explanation on the exact transition Alucard had into taking on a position in the government agency and assuming his Arikado alias, what prompted this, etc. and what part he had been playing in the decades leading up to this more modern role 

[loveislattes]

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 2

You can find Chapter 1 here!

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them.

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Depression, talks of death, smut, dom/sub, rough sex, Demon!Dark, demon-like anatomy, shadow tentacles, oral (male receiving), very minor breath play, teasing, pet names, dirty talk, minor degradation, praise kink, unprotected sex, primal/power play, and multiple orgasms!

A/N: Other than the kink warnings, this one is safe to read! No gore/death. No beta- there may be a few errors.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

Tags: (If you want to be tagged in my writing, just let me know!)

@when-the-sun-goes-dark

@underthedark13

@fruitypieq

@another-thirsty-blog

@hcrystal02

@just-a-little-bat

“You’re sure? The doctor is sure?” you questioned earnestly.

“Yes! Yes! They say it’s like some kind of miracle. They expect her to make a full recovery after some physical therapy. Isn’t it great, Y/N?!”

You could feel your lips twist up into a bittersweet smile as tears poured from your clenched eyes. The taste of salt was bitter on your lips as you nodded asininely into the phone.

“Yeah, that’s- that’s amazing,” you whispered, “Listen, auntie, I’ve got to get ready for work but please keep me updated if anything changes.”

The phone fell into the fluffy blankets across your lap and you let out the choked sob that you’d been holding back. Wish number four had been a success. You’d done some actual good with your imminent death.

Despite the good news, the oppressive cloud around you didn’t dissipate; Unsurprising but disappointing nonetheless.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you hissed, smacking your cheeks a couple of times.

Suddenly, a terribly wonderfully awful idea popped up and there was a modicum of relief in your chest. You snagged up the coin from its perch on the bedside table and clutched it to your chest close.

“Dark, I think I know my last wish. Is it possible to wish for death?”

There was no immediate answer, nor did you die immediately. A tremor in the atmosphere of the room was the only sign that something had changed and you brought your head up in surprise. The sight of the debonair demon standing amongst your depression room instantly filled you with shame. Great. Just what you needed to be added to your already heaping pile of negative emotions.

“Hello, darling.”

You managed a weak little hello in reply as he began to stroll your way. You weren’t sure whether you should stand up to greet him or just allow him to come to you, but he quickly made that decision for you as he came to a stop at your side.

“I regret to inform you that you’ve managed to find one of the three types of wishes I’m unable to grant. Is there something els-”

“Please, Dark!”

He leveled you with narrowed eyes and stated factually, “I can’t kill you. Killing you negates the contract. That includes putting you in any imminently dangerous situations, so don’t try it.”

Finally, you found the power to stand and glared up at him through tears.

“Can’t you break the rules, just this once?! I give you permission to keep my soul after I die if you do it! I just- I can’t take this anymore! Maybe you don’t understand it because you all Mr. Powerful Demon but I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of being alone! I’m tired of hurting when there’s literally nothing wrong! I’m tired of not being able to do a damn thing to make it better or change anything or- or-”

You fell into a messy pile of limbs and blankets on the bed, wrapping yourself up as best as possible, sobbing into your hands to keep a modicum of your dignity intact. Much to your surprise, you felt fingers brush against your hair as sharp nails began to massage through your strands.

“I must say, you’re definitely one of my more interesting clients,” he hummed lowly, “Even so, I’m unable to bend the rules, even for you. There’s a lot at play here that you’ll never understand but the short of it is that even I do not play with Death’s dealings, darling.”

As he spoke, you could feel the first peek of daylight glimmering through the shadows of your mind. Whether it was from his odd praise or the sensations his fingers were provoking, you weren’t sure, but it was nice. Ever so slowly, you found yourself leaning into his touch, chasing the dopamine rush he provided.

He let out a humored chuckle as you nearly fell off the bed in the pursuit and you could only manage a subdued apology in reply.

“Don’t apologize for being adorable, pet,” he teased.

Cheeks warming harshly under the sudden pet name, you buried your face in your hands and groaned slightly.

“Now that that’s sorted, I will leave you be. When you’re ready to make your last wish, you know how to reach me.”

There was a strange catch in his voice that you couldn’t quite place but it was enough to put you into action.

“Wait!” you called out when he turned away.

Carefully wiping the tears from your face, you stood up and took a steadying breath before reaching out to him. It was such a simple request but you could see the curiosity and confusion plain on his face. Nonetheless, he took your hand and allowed you to pull him in close. It had been so long since you’d even held someone else’s hand. More of the demons in the back of your mind were backing down, the sudden influx of serotonin of skin-to-skin contact turning them away.

“Okay, I get it, you can’t kill me,” you murmured, licking your lips nervously, “But you said you find me… interesting, right? Erm, do you think you would be able to do something else for me instead?”

It was like you had flipped a switch, the way his eyes clouded over with the devious smirk that curled up his lips and how his head tipped to the side in obvious inquiry.

“I’ll need you to be more clear on what you’re asking for, pretty little pet,” he cajoled, “It would be quite remiss of me to act without being completely sure what you want from me.”

Oh, the asshole! He was going to make you say it out loud! It was obvious in his gaze that he knew he had all the power here, in every sense of the word, and he was using it to his advantage… and you couldn’t deny that you loved it.

Face hot with mortification, you chewed on your lower lip before whispering, “I- I can’t. I can’t ask.”

Fangs peeked out in a grin as he leaned down, tipping your head up until you were nose to nose with him.

“Do you want me to kiss you? Touch you? Fuck you?”

Gods, he made it sound so dirty, so sensual. Shivers rolled through your bones as he teased the apex of your jaw and throat with his sharp claws.

“I need to know.”

You gathered every last drop of confidence and finally stammered out, “Fu-Fuck me, please?”

“With pleasure, darling,” he hummed softly, “But first…”

Fingers tangled in your locks once more, jerking your head back and his mouth slammed against yours. A choked sob passed from your mouth to his as he guided you back onto the bed, following with the grace and ease only an inhuman being could manage.

“If it gets too intense, just tell me to stop,” he breathed out as his lips fell to your jaw, “It’s been some time since I’ve allowed myself to indulge with a human and you are just so damn breakable.”

A sick thrill shot through your body at the warning. Why did a part of you want that? It was terrifying, thinking of a demon losing themselves and going feral on you, and yet it sounded so deliciously taboo.

“Okay,” you finally replied when you realized he was waiting for an answer, “I will.”

“Good girl.”

Oh. OH. It felt like all the air left your lungs and you couldn’t stop the tiny little noise that escaped your lips in embarrassment and desire.

His lips curved up against your throat as they slowly moved. Nibbles and kisses blazed a path up the sensitive column of your neck until teeth toyed with your ear lobe and he let out a little chuckle.

“You are going to be so much fun, pet.”

Your hands found his hair and held on for dear life as his fangs dug into your neck; not deep enough to draw blood but rough enough to tear a pained scream from your lips. Throbbing agony blossomed through your skin and still, you found your body arching into his, silently eager for more of what he could give you. Oh and the endorphin rush! The moment he released your abused flesh, it was like your body was on fire.

Moving without thought, you guided him by the hair into a frantic kiss, hoping to convey your need without words. Thankfully he didn’t seem offended by your little takeover of power and allowed you to soak in all you needed until he finally put a stop to it with a nibble on your lower lip.

“Enough, it’s time to prove that you really want this, darling,” Dark purred as his fingers dug into your cheeks symbolically.

You nodded the best you could and followed his lead as he pulled you to your feet. With a snap of his fingers, suddenly his clothes were gone and you were left staring at him in awe. While he looked incredible in the suit, it did a complete disservice to the glorious form hidden beneath. Black tattooed tendrils encircled his arms and legs, tapering out somewhere on his back, creating the most tantalizing contrast of shades against his toned limbs as he flexed them teasingly.

As your eyes traced the designs down his solid form, he suddenly gripped your shoulders and pushed you down onto your knees, tossing one of your pillows down after.

“If you’re going to worship me in such a way, you might as well do it from in your rightful place on your knees,” he purred.

Lips parting in surprise, you felt your insides curl up with embarrassment as you slipped the pillow under your knees and nearly apologized, but then he was stepping closer and you lost all thought.

Fuck, was he ever right; It was akin to staring up at a god! Not only were you given the best view of his body, but the way he stared down at you with desire and complete superiority had you trembling with need.

“Now, show me what that pretty mouth can do, pet.”

Oh, that, that you could do. Scooting in closer, you reached out to grab his cock but your hand was smacked away instantly. It stung more than hurt but it was surprising nonetheless.

“What-”

“Hands behind your back,” he demanded.

Cautiously, you did as he asked and were rewarded with a much softer smile.

“Good girl.”

Those words again. It was like they had a direct line to your cunt. Clenching needily around nothing, you let out a soft whine and let him pull you back in. As his cock neared your lips, you were finally given the chance to look it over closely. Despite being only half-hard, he appeared average length and a bit thicker than most you’d encountered. It was also darker than the rest of his skin but what set it apart the most was the ridges encircling it. Every inch or so down his cock were these ridges, smooth but creating quite an obvious size difference.

As you pondered over the way it would feel inside you, you let your tongue tentatively trace the tip and moaned at the familiar taste. He let out an encouraging sigh and tightened his hold, subtly pulling you closer until you threw away hesitation and took him in your mouth as far as possible.

“Mmmm, that’s it pet,” he praised huskily, “Get me ready to fuck you.”

Clenching your thighs in hopes of relief, you shifted higher onto your knees and followed the pace he set. Another difference you began to notice was the massive vein on the underside of his cock, the way it throbbed against your tongue with every swipe quickly became an addicting sensation. It was like his body was praising your efforts in its own way.

“Take a breath,” he warned.

You barely got a lungful in before he arched into your face, hastily fighting back the urge to gag as he slid into your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as saliva pooled in your mouth. You were mortified as both spilled out the instant he began to fuck your mouth. Embarrassing noises escaped your throat, far beyond your control with each thrust of his cock, but it didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

“Look at you,” he rumbled out huskily, “What a good little pet you are, swallowing my cock like you were made for it.”

As suddenly as he had started he stopped, releasing his hold on you so fast you nearly toppled over as you coughed for breath.

“Impressive, now get up here.”

Once you felt you were stable enough, you climbed to your feet with his assistance and were immediately thrown back on the bed. As your skin rubbed against the cool sheets, you were suddenly made aware of your lack of clothes.

He apparently sensed the shock in your expression and offered you a sly grin.

“What can I say, pet? There are some things I am impatient over.”

Dark kneeled on the bed and gripped your ankles, spreading your legs so he could easily fit between them. Rather than climb over you as you had expected, he instead traced gentle lines up and down your legs, slowly bit by bit growing closer and closer to your cunt but never actually touching. It was maddening. You could feel yourself quaking and twitching uncontrollably under every pass of his claws; your silent pleas coming out louder and louder each time until you were nearly sobbing with need. Teeth soon joined in the effort, searing bite marks into the meaty parts of your thighs while his tongue lavished the wounds fondly after.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re dripping wet for me,” he groaned quietly as he traced the crease between your sex and thigh, “Imagine what a mess you’ll be once I’m finally inside you.”

Desperation tore from your chest in the form of a whimper at the mental images burning in your mind. Your heart nearly flipped on itself in pleasure as he finally moved up the bed.

“You look like you’re struggling, darling,” he teased, “Is there something you need?”

You nodded frantically and whimpered out, “Please!”

Tantalizing shocks ran through your core as his fingers oh-so-tenderly ran over your lips, ghosting just where you needed him the most. Frustration began to well up like the sweat beading your forehead and you couldn’t help the huff that escaped.

“Tell me that you need to be used,” he breathed, ghosting sharp canines along your throat, “And I’ll give you what you want.”

“I- I need to be used,” you gasped out.

His responding moan was pure ecstasy as his fingers finally found your clit; the way his cock twitched again your leg an overwhelming aphrodisiac. The scrape of his facial hair prickled against your chest as his head ducked down and his lips pressed chaste kisses along your breasts. Swallowing hard, you bit back the overwhelming urge to demand him for more and were rewarded with the gratifying sensation of his tongue across your nipple. Pain and pleasure coalesced into one as he mercilessly sucked and bit into your flesh, drawing louder and faster moans from your chest by the second. When he finally pulled off with a pop, your entire body felt the bombardment of endorphins.

“And who do you want to use you?”

Pride shone through his playful teasing as you attempted and failed to whimper his name multiple times, ruined over and over again with each pass over your clit.

“Hmm? I can’t seem to understand you. Who do you want to ruin you?”

Thighs shaking and heart pounding, you fought through the onslaught of pleasure coiling in your belly to gasp out, “You, Dark! Please, fuck- fuck me!”

It was too much, not enough: The ache in your throat, the rawness of your lips, the imprints of his teeth burned in your flesh, the throb of your cunt under his fingers.

When he finally slipped his fingers in your core, you cried out. Relief! It didn’t take more than a few seconds for his stretching and thrusting to put you right on the edge of no return. Unfortunately, he jerked away before you could fall and, before you could even complain, you were tossed over onto your stomach with a sharp slap to your right cheek.

“Perk that pretty ass up for me, pet,” he demanded, gently guiding your hips up.

As you came to rest on your knees, you let your face rest on the pillow and arched your back until you could feel his cock brush against your cunt. Instinctively you pushed back against him with a little moan and were immediately rewarded with fingers to your clit.

But… his hands were on your hips…

“How-?”

When you stilled in thought, he let out a husky chuckle behind you.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he crooned lowly, “Sometimes they just have a mind of their own.”

Lifting up just enough to peek under your body, you were both startled and aroused to find black shadow-like tentacles where you expected fingers to be, and in turn, his legs were now free of those pretty tattoos. Realization hit hard and a pathetic moan fled your lips as you buried your face in the pillow.

“Glad to see you approve, darling.”

In the next breath, he slammed forward and yanked you back simultaneously. You were immensely grateful that he had taken the time to prep you as he sunk in, inch by inch, stretching you open like none ever had before. A wicked thrill sent a tremor through your body as you realized you could feel each and every ridge as it pushed into you.

When his hips finally came to a stop against yours, the noise he let out had your hair standing on end. Animalistic, inhuman, primal. You wanted to hear it time and time again.

He finally started rocking his hips, taking his time with deliciously languid strokes, until you begged him for more. It was with a cruel laugh that he gave into your desires.

“Oh fuck!” you whined, fingers snarling in the blankets for balance.

There was no more hesitation in his movements, gentleness abandoned in exchange for all-out fucking you in a way that made your toes curl and tears fill your eyes.

“You are so fucking wet,” he snarled out between breaths, “Taking me so well.”

A noise of agreement escaped your lips as you arched back to meet his thrusts. You couldn’t form words even if you wanted to, too focused on the raging storm brewing in your core.

Pain blossomed through your hip as one of his hands squeezed tighter, his growls and panting growing in volume to rival your cries, while the other found your hair and yanked your head back. Your body reacted instinctively, clenching down hard around him and startling a moan from you both.

“You feel so good! You going to come for me, pet?”

Reaching back, your hand found his and your nails found purchase, returning a sliver of the savage pain he bestowed upon you. All the while you bounced back harder on his cock, chasing the edge that was just out of reach. The tendrils between your thighs suddenly came back to life once more, their cool touch contrasting so perfectly with the heat of your bodies as they swirled around your clit in time with his thrusts.

“A-Ah! Dark, yes, pleeaaasse! Fuck- Fuck!”

“That’s it. That’s my good girl. Come for me and let me claim you, pet.

As if mimicking the hold on your hip, another tendril slithered up your back and encircled your throat. The unexpected pressure elicited a tantalizing response, your body suddenly feeling both free and trapped in the best of ways as he bound you to him

“Mine. All mine. My filthy little slutty human whore.”

Something in your psyche broke at those words and ecstasy rushed forward like a tidal wave. Every inch of your body trembled with pleasure as you screamed his name, voice cracking under the duress of it all. You could feel the proof of your indulgence dripping down your inner thighs, the sounds of your debauched pleasure growing louder with every slap of his hips against yours.

“Fucking hell!” Dark bit out harshly, “Good girl. Good fucking slut. Who do you belong to?! Say it!”

“You! Only you, Dark! O-Ooh, f-ffu-fuck!”

With inhuman speed, he slammed into you, over and over until the smack of your bodies was almost continuous. His choked roar filtered through your senses but it was was easily washed away with your second climax teetering on the edge. There was a sudden torrential shift of energy, pulsing eerie screeches filling the room as his voice echoed off the walls when he finally buried himself as far as possible inside of you. Any pain was quickly washed away by the thunderous roll of pleasure brought on by the touch of his tendrils mixed with the throb of his cock releasing deep in your cunt. Claws trailed down your spine as he practically purred your name, leaving behind five raw lines that stung under the combined sweat of your bodies, and somehow you found yourself okay with it; loved it, in fact, knowing that his marks would be on you for quite some time.

Quaking with bliss and exhaustion, you collapsed to the bed the instant he slipped out of your core and let out a little delighted whimper. You reached out blindly for him and were appeased when he laid down beside you, pulling you against him so your face was resting on his chest.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed that,” you murmured, fingers tracing up and down the little scar in his abdomen, “It goes without saying but that was fucking phenomenal, so thank you.”

Your head bobbed up and down with his laughter and you couldn’t help the grin that turned up your lips in return.

“I have to say I’m in agreement, pet,” he hummed back, “It’s been far too long since I’ve been able to let go in such a way.”

With a hand on your bicep and the arm under your head, he pulled you up and shifted you over his hips until you were perched on quaking knees. You almost questioned him but were silenced when he leaned up and captured your lips in a stinging kiss. It started out rough and slowly devolved into a passionate tangle of tongues.

It wasn’t until he pulled back for a breath that the reality of what was to happen started to sink in; the serotonin in your veins being replaced with anxiety.

“So, does this mean I die now? You have to take my soul, right?” you asked softly, “Since I made my last wish?”

“Hmm? I never heard you make a wish, pet,” he replied as he stretched back languidly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you let your confused expression convey your thoughts as one of his hands began to travel down your curves.

“But I asked-”

Your words were cut off by your own gasp when you felt his cock rising between your thighs. Wide-eyed and warm-faced, you gaped at him in shock. Apparently, a very short cool down period was also a demon perk?!

He smirked at your awe as a thumb traced your lower lip seductively.

“You asked and I gave freely,” he explained, fingers dipping to trace sharp claws along your throat, “You still have one wish remaining. Although, I’d suggest you save it for later. I feel like we have much more important things to attend at the moment, darling.”

[yanderemommabean]

A Yiga attacks you, drawing blood. A mighty roar sounds in the distance, and not even a minute later, a feral Sidon emerges from the water, enraged and ready to kill. With a few well-placed snaps of his powerful jaws, Sidon has ripped the Yiga to shreds. When you get back to the Domain, Sidon is livid with you, berating you for trying to run away.

Tears run down your face uncontrollably as the Zora prince begins screaming at you, angry and ballistic as his stance makes you feel small and pathetic. You honestly weren’t trying to do anything! All of this started because of a misunderstanding and he won’t even take a second to listen to you!

Words are stuck in your throat as he sighs and turns around, too angry to look at you. You’re always starting trouble! Always ignoring his warnings! Why is it so hard for you to listen?!

“Sidon please I wasn’t-“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“If you would just listen to me-“

“I SAID I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT!” He snaps, eyes turned to slits as he glared at you, mouth formed into a snarl “I don’t want to hear another word from you. You’ve deliberately disobeyed me and nearly gotten yourself killed! Unless the next words from you are an apology you can keep quiet for the rest of the day”.

You clench your fists, his words hurting and making you feel like a child being scolded. “If I knew you would treat me like a fucking child I would’ve let the Yiga kill me. I’m so tired of you acting like I can’t take care of myself. Fine. You want silence? Have it”.

Dramatic theatrics always pissed you off, and Sidon having the gall and audacity to act like he was scolding you out of love was asinine and grating on your nerves. Perhaps you should have been the one shredded by his teeth, at least then he’d actually do you a favor.

Not being allowed to go anywhere, be allowed to do anything, or even be allowed to speak your mind was absolute hell! You’re so fucking tired of it! If he wants to play games and be emotional then you can too.

Childish? Yeah but nothing about this situation was mature or on a level of calm and collected.

Hours go by, and you’re examining the bruises left by the attack as you sit by the waterfall. Another Zora guard is by your side, and he seems to want to say something but only nervously rocks on his feet as you stare down at the waters below.

“...He’s just looking out for you...you know?”.

You make a noise, looking up at the pale green Zora as he clears his throat and looks away. “The prince. He’s not doing it in the best way but...he just really cares about you and your well-being”.

You shake your head, not believing a word the fish said. “He’s got a funny way of showing it. That’s for fuckin’ sure” you bite out, looking up where the prince was pacing back and forth in the throne room. He still seemed livid and feral, but there was a hint of remorse behind those usually kind eyes.

With a sigh, the guard nods his head, toying with the shaft of his spear “The prince has had many hardships that he had no control over. You’re the closest person he’s been able to have in centuries. He doesn’t want to lose someone important again. I know he goes about it in a strange way, but you must know it comes from a good place”.

Sure. A good place. Right.

What’s so good about being treated like an incompetent child? Or being blamed for something you had zero control over? No, Sidon is just being cruel and controlling. Nothing sweet about it.

The Zora could tell you were hard set on brooding and frowing. Understandable given your circumstances. However he felt the need to try and cheer you up, even if just a little.

“Perhaps now that things have calmed down...you two could try to talk again? I’m sure even if you have choice words to say, it’s better than giving him the silent treatment”.

“HE’S THE ONE WHO WANTED ONE!” You spit, splashing the water slightly with the gesture you made with your hands. You huff, seeing the look on the guards face and turning to face the waterfalls again. “He won’t listen anyway. He’s mad at me and I’m tired of him. He only cares about how he feels, not about how I feel”.

“That’s not true, my pearl” a familiar, deep voice replied. You stiffen, turning to face the larger, more colorful Zora. Even now his eyes still held anger, but not for you. No he was angry with himself for letting his emotions take over, allowing instinct to muddle what he was truly trying to say.

He hurt you, and he can’t forgive himself. He swore to protect you and all he has done is smother the light you used to shine.

“...” you say nothing, turning back around and trying your best to stay silent. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shrug your shoulders as the only attempt at communication. Sidon nibbles his lips as he plays with his fingers nervously, debating on how to apologize and approach you.

He too stayed silent, giving a head tilt towards the guard to leave his post. Once the other left, he sat down in the waters beside you, drumming his fingers on the floor as his lips pout in thought. The sky was turning into a beautiful twilight, and the moons light casting upon you only made you look even more stunning. He could see the bruises made on you, and his chest ached knowing you were hurt.

You had defensive signs all over you. Signs that you didn’t go with the Yiga warrior willingly. Marks that proved you were scared and needing his protection and all he offered in return was anger and blame.

“...I’m sorry...” he said softly, eyes lowered “I...I thought you and the yiga...I...well-“

You cut him off, not looking in his direction as you finish what he was struggling to say “You assumed I was teaming with the enemy. I know” you bitterly state, fingers clenching your elbows as your arms were folded over, cradling yourself as a form of comfort. “Shows how much you trust me....”you weakly added, voice cracking.

Guilt was bubbling inside of him. He’s known you for so long yet he let his insecurities taint his image of you. And look where that’s gotten him! Your warmth was dying out because he can’t seem to realize that you aren’t like the others. Sidon knows you aren’t fragile and that you’ll always be by his side, but time and time again he ignores these facts over his emotion.

It goes silent again, the crickets chirping in the distance being the only noise for a while as he watches your face glimmer in the starlight. Amazing and breath taking as ever. His hand reaches over towards you, gently laying ontop of your own, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“I can’t take back what I did. But I can say that it’s eating me alive and that I hate how it even left my mouth. And...I want you to know I do care about you. I know I’m controlling and intense and unreasonable...and the fact you haven’t tried to kill me yet is amazing “ he jokes, smiling when he sees the little bit of amusement etched into your face.

You squeeze his hand and give half a smirk “well...you make up for it when you let me get away with stealing snacks from the store...so I’d say it’s even”.

Both of you share a soft laugh, and you swing your feet over the falls as you clear your throat. “I-I know you’re just worried about me but...Sidon, I’m not some fragile toy. I’m not some bad guy either. I wouldn’t ever do anything dangerous and despicable like join the Yiga...or leave you”.

Sidon lowers his head, pressing it against Yours as he holds your clasped hands to his chest. “I know...I know and I’m such a fool for thinking otherwise. I’ll make this up to you darling, anyway you want! Just say the word and it’s yours!”.

You gently kiss his cheek, and give a soft breath in thought. “Anything?”.

He nods in affirmation “Anything.”

You grunt, standing up to maneuver onto his lap “Well...for now just hold me. I’ll think of something extravagant later. Deal?”.

He laughs, holding you closer and nodding his head “Deal”.

-Mommabean (was this ok???)

[justcourttee]

Daminette soulmate au where Damian really doesn’t want a soulmate cuz of the league and Mari doesn’t know why but doesn’t wanna be a burden and just pushes away everything and the class is being horrible and she gets depressed and when Damien realizes he’s just like fuck. I’m in the mood for angst

This one comes with a bit of a trigger wanner, super angsty, at least I tried. There is so mention of suicide, but no description. I don’t want anyone to read unless they feel comfortable knowing that. 

I hope this is something like what you had in mind. 

A Moment Too Late

The first time Damian had heard the voice of his soulmate, he was only six years old. Her indecent squeals distracted him from the oncoming blow earning him a black and blue cheek and a week of cleaning duties for failing to end his opponent. 

He hadn’t let anyone know what had happened, after all, the league had forbidden contact with the outside world, soulmate bonds included. Damian recalled seeing hundreds of men and women die for contacting their soulmates or allowing them to become distractions that led them astray from the League’s mission. Just because he was the grandson of the Demon Head, it didn’t mean anything in regards to the rules. 

So he did his best to block out her thoughts or outbursts, only focusing on his current tasks, silently begging her to block him out as well. It worked for a little while, but as they aged, she seemed to become more observant of his silence. 

He was eleven years old when his mother first discovered that he had been on the receiving end of his soulmate bond. Marinette, as he soon learned, was trying to coax him into a conversation when Damian snapped, begging her to shut up. The very next day, he found himself drugged and on a boat floating in the dock of Gotham City. 

Never once did he blame his mother for his predicament. No, she was just trying to protect him. After all, if his grandfather had found out, Damian would have been beheaded in front of the others. The only one to blame was Marinette. 

The next time she would contact him would be her last. She tried to reach out, ask him if he was okay, but the sentiment only fueled his rage.

“Don’t you get it? I never wanted this bond! I begged you mercilessly to leave it alone. I begged you to shut up, but you just couldn’t could you? I lost everything because of you, you hear me Marinette? If you just would’ve shut your damn mouth, I would still be able to see my mother. I hope you never use this bond again, I never want to hear from you again.”

There was no response, but it didn’t bother him. This was what he wanted for so many years, for her to never utter a sound to him again. It was a blessed day, one filled with silence as he entered Wayne Manor for the very first time. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Grayson, can you stop mumbling to yourself? You look like an idiot.”

Dick reached back, swatting at where Damian once stood, the goofy smile on his face not wavering. 

“Oh little D, you just don’t understand. If my soulmate wants to talk, I’ll drop everything to take a moment for her.”

“A truly asinine thought, really.”

Damian rolled his eyes as he perched on the edge of the roof, gazing lazily over the darkened city streets. Personally, Damian wasn’t too fond of his brothers using their bonds while on patrol. It was as if they didn’t understand how much of a distraction it could be. No, it was much better to set boundaries, let them know where they stand. 

“Hey little D, have you contacted your soulmate yet?”

Dick squatted beside where Damian was perched, his smile pulling tight as if he already knew the answer to his question. 

“I told you, Grayson, I burned that bridge a long time ago. She hasn’t used the bond since we were eleven and I do not intend to be the first one to break that streak.”

“It sounds like you are too prideful to admit to her that you were wrong.”

“I was not wrong!” Damian could feel the red rising to his cheeks as he turned to avoid Dick’s piercing gaze. “She was the reason I had to leave the league, there is no denying that.”

His voice dropped slightly as he kept his eyes downcast knowing that no matter how many times he told himself that, it only got harder to believe as time passed. 

“Yeah, yeah, same line, less sincerity each time.”

Damian turned, ready to spat a venomous insult when a sudden wave of nauseous hit him like a truck. Doubling over, he could barely make out Dick’s words, the only thing monopolizing his mind was one piercing voice, one he hadn’t heard in years.

“I just want to die! Why won’t you let me die?”

Later, Dick would cry from the fear of the sight of Damian curled tightly on that rooftop, his eyes bloodshot and wide as if he’d seen a ghost. But, in that very moment, he knew that his main priority was to get him back to Alfred in hopes he could figure out any way to save Damian from the haunting phrase that slipped through his lips a hundred times over. 

“It’s all my fault.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

It was close to three in the morning when the pain subsided allowing Damian to slip away from the pestering of his family. His movements were still stiff as if he was just a hollow man trying out his own legs for the first time in years. Her words seemed to be stuck on repeat, even though he was sure that she wouldn’t still be muttering them hours later. 

He couldn’t figure out what had happened to leave her at this last attempt. He couldn’t figure out if he should care or not. 

His gut was still throbbing as if he had been stabbed and the wound wasn’t sure if it wanted to be healed. As he slid down onto his favorite bench in the gardens, he remained locked in a fight with himself as to whether he should reach out or not. Hesitantly, he checked his surroundings before drawing in a deep breath concentrating all of his thoughts on her. 

“Are you okay Marinette?”

It was silent. 

Damian let a minute pass and then another. With a sigh of defeat, he closed his eyes pulling his legs into his chest. Of course she wouldn’t answer, it had been years of silence and carrying the guilt that he so carelessly placed on her.

 Shaking his head, he gingerly lifted it to allow his chin to rest on his knee. No, maybe he was a small part of her problem, but she couldn’t have banked her entire existence on a soulmate. Just what had happened to her over all these years. Certainly, he had been through worse, but even as the words crossed his mind he could hear Dick chiding him, reminding him that everyone carries burdens differently.

“I do not know if you can hear me, but I wanted to apologize for my outburst so many years ago. I blamed you for a lifestyle I was born into and that wasn’t right. Please, I’d like to start again, Even if it’s just as friends.”

The biting wind of the night nipped at his bare arms as if it were her answer itself. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Just as he stood to leave, a soft voice tickled the back of his head, so quiet that he almost missed the harsh words. 

“I don’t have friends or family, hell, I don’t even have a soulmate who wants me. Don’t bother trying now. I’m sorry if my emotions got the better of me earlier, but it was no guilt trip and I don’t need your pity. I just want to be gone and leave Paris a brighter city for it.”

Damian could feel the wheel’s turning at the mention of her home. A private plane could make it to Paris in just six hours. She might not want his pity and he wasn’t sure if he had any to give, but one thing was for certain; he could not let her die no matter what she wanted. 

“What will you be doing in six hours?”

His heart was racing a mile a minute as he waited desperately for her response. 

“I’ll be leaving school I suppose.”

Damian couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips as he turned toward the manner, racing at full speed. 

Six hours. He could meet her in six hours. He could change her life in six hours. 

He couldn’t even focus on his clothes as they lay strewn across his bed, each missing his suitcase as he tore through his closet. Six hours felt like a lifetime knowing the stakes, but it was something he had to try. Even if he had to scour the entire city, Damian would find his soulmate. 

He just hoped that he wouldn’t arrive a moment too late.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat

[siremasterlawrence]

Pool Night With Daddy

Please let me know if you want more of this story in the future?

Part 1 - 3

Lyle Porter is a successful businessman in my neighborhood, also a total blow hard who gets me even harder,

If you know what I mean than you should be able to understand my most untimely moral dilemma.

He is also my fuckface asinine boss who just walks in to his main office room half way through the day.

His latest girlfriend on him like arm candy it it quite disgusting the lengths he goes to hide whatever he is compensating for,

Men that flaunt all they have to make up for some meaningless hole in their heart it is standard.

Par for the course so his cockiness will be his own undoing, never noticing the needle pricking his neck.

The cocky look drains from his face as he fell backwards on to the ground one last grunt and he is out.

His eyes slowly close leaving him one faint view of his room empty out and the shadow of one single soul left.

Hours later Lyle awakens with one slap of my hand, he shakes back to reality and he is in hours.

He struggles strapped to a chair with rope covering his entire body and medical grade tape concealing his mouth.

I stood in front of his desk with a wicked grin and evil eye slamming my right fist in to my left palm.

The sheer expression of horror on his face is the perfect prelude to terror about to be unleashed on him.

“Hey you greedy motherfucking bastard are horrible neighbor, a nightmare of a boss and the worst kind of human.”

“Do you know what you are truly?” Do you?”

“I am man, you are punk”

“Fuck you! You have no more control period.”

“Don’t waste your time crying out for help you fool, this place is super re-enforced for deaf ears only.”

Part 4 - 6

I make my way over to the control console switching the dial as the machine buzzes out control.

The building it’s self becomes camouflage in a quick action it starts to fall apart shifting in to one gigantic complex.

The room quadruples in size expanding with no end in sight forming a one story escape house.

“No way out buddy, so you can drop any do your half ass attempts to escape.”

“I called the office earlier, no one cares about you, and no one is expecting you either.”

“Where was I? Oh yes let’s have some much needed bonding time.”

I cackle a evil laugh filtering all other sounds out except of the drumming hypnotic sound in to his ears.

His body vibrates out of control shaking on to the floor, I can seem black out of his wok consciousness.

I feel bad propping on to the chair his body slid back on to the back of chair and felt a sense of victory.

“I think we can both agree that you are idea break, your worked so hard and need to rest.”

“Yyyyyyeeeeesssss, I need to rrreeesssttt”

“Trust in me always, I know what’s best for you asswipe, do exactly as I say.”

“Your mind erases forever leaving no trace of the man your were.”

“Rise up to your feet strip to your underwear for me, smile wide showing off your assets.”

“You are a with your best friend let’s play pool, get the pool sticks so we can play.”

“It feels right, natural, so right and you are so turned on.”

“Yo bro, come on already? What are you in a mood?”

“Sir Yes Sir”

Part 7 - 9

What are you waiting for? Christmas?”

“Hilarious, since you are so ready”

“My house bitch”

“What a lovely friend you are “

“I am bastard”

“You are that indeed”

“What did you say squirt?”

“Nothing boss”

“Thought so”

“Shut the fuck up”

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Peace out”

“Who am I? What the fuck?”

“Where am I?”

“Calm down, relax and obey “

“Yes I hear and obey “

“Sir Yes Sir”

“I am your Master”

The end

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Just Wants An Uneventful Holiday (Part 1)

This is not how you wanted to spend your break.

The school was supposed to be empty. Everyone except the Octavinelle trio was supposed to be gone.

Not to say you don’t enjoy your friends’ company but. No magic-using people means no magic-spewing overblots.

You were looking forward to just bringing the fairies their firewood and working on your winter homework while taking the first opportunity in a good long while to unwind with Grim and the ghosts. No investigations to worry about, no weird dreams to get worked up over, no overblots to frantically try and survive.

You wanted a break.

This? Marching 10km into the desert with the rest of Scarabia dorm for the third day in a row due to their leader’s looming psychotic breakdown? This is not a break.

Although...

There’s definetely something rotten in Scarabia dorm, you think to yourself as you watch Viper-senpai hand out skeins of water. Kalim-senpai had no problem using his unique magic yesterday, and yet today he acted like Grim had mortally insulted him when he asked for a repeat performance.

If the outburst had been after two or three other instances of Kalim-senpai using Oasis Maker and receiving what he felt were insufficient thanks for it, then his current attitude would make a little more sense. But taking umbrage after using it just once? And being universally praised by everyone else the rest of the day for it?

It doesn’t add up.

Even deranged behavior has some sort of internal logic to it, as Rosehearts-senpai and the Rules of the Queen of Hearts have taught you. Even with how nonsensical all 810 rules are, it’s rare to find a scenario where one rule actually conflicts with another— all of them usually work smoothly in tandem with the goal of having an orderly unbirthday party in mind.

Even if they do violate most forms of dignity and common sense.

Kalim-senpai’s behavior though? It’s erratic without rhyme or reason, bouncing from nice to mean and back again seemingly as he enters and exits a room. He insists you and Grim stay and participate in this asinine “training”, despite the fact that you both belong to a different dorm, and are technically rivals to Scarabia in Magift and exams.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s almost like he’s trying to imitate Rosehearts-senpai before his overblot—and doing poorly at it.

And with how much Viper-senpai has been invoking parallels between the current situation and what happened back then...

The smartphone Crowley gave you is a cold, heavy weight in your pocket. Its charge ran out yesterday, which is unsurprising given how many times you dialed and redialed the dumb bird headmaster’s number only to be met with his voicemail. You can probably recite that stupid message by heart now. You’ve heard nothing from Ace and Deuce either.

One thing is clear; no one’s going to help you out of this mess but you.

“Kalim-senpai?” You brace yourself as you step towards him. “Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly question me about?” He barks, glaring down at you haughtily.

“Well, I was just wondering, what’s the point of all this?” You fight to keep your nerve as his posture stiffens. “I don’t mean any disrespect, none at all, but you do want everyone to do better in Magift and exams, don’t you? I was hoping you could explain to me how the parades and defensive magic training are supposed to do that. I apologize for my ignorance, I’m nowhere near as smart as you, but could you please tell me why we don’t just practice Magift and brush up on the class material inst—”

Your head’s ringing.

You think you hear faint yelling, though it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away.

Your cheek aches.

Numbness blooming into a sharp stinging throb that feels like it’s growing with every second that passes, burning hotter than the sun above you.

You cautiously poke your tongue against your teeth, but none feel loose, thank the Seven.

Damn, the desperate, near-hysterical thought flits through your head. Even a pampered rich boy like him has strength behind his hits, huh?

The rest of you is just trying to process what the Hell just happened.

“How. Dare. You?!”

Asim-sama looms over you, red eyes burning with fury.

It’s a fight to keep yourself from curling into a terrified ball under his gaze, tucking into yourself as though seeing less of you would abate the anger, the shouting, the hurt, like you used to when you were a child.

“You dare to question my methods, my leadership of this dorm?! You? A sniveling street rat leeching off my hospitality?! Do you know who I am?!” He rages. “I am Kalim al-Asim! I am the Head of this dorm! I don’t have to explain ANYTHING, justify ANYTHING to the likes of you!!”

You knew, you knew you were pushing your luck when you first asked, but you thought it would just be yelling, like it was before. You can handle yelling, nothing Asim-sama can say could ever be worse than what you’ve already heard.

You didn’t think he’d hit you.

You didn’t think he’d hit you.

You didn’t think—

“DON'T YOU TOUCH MY MINION, FGNAH!”

Your arm whips out almost on instinct.

You jolt forward slightly as Grim collides with it, hissing and spitting like he really was an irate cat, the flames in his ears flaring brightly enough that some detached part of you is worried about getting burned.

The other Scarabia students are reaching for their magic pens.

“Lemme at ‘im! Lemme at ‘im!!” Your friend howls, fighting to get past you. “Forget butt on fire, I’ll BURN IT TO A CRISP FOR HURTING MY MINION!! I'LL STEAL EVERYTHING YOU HAVE AND SELL IT FOR LUXURY TUNA!! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR CROSSING THE GREAT GRIM—”

“No, Grim.”

Your friend halts in his flailing to stare uncomprehendingly at you. “But Yuu—!”

“It was my fault.” You say, trying to keep as much emotion out of your voice as possible. Tears and trembling only show weakness, only make them worse. “Asim-sama was just correcting me. He was right to do so. I shouldn’t have questioned him. I overstepped my bounds.”

Asim-sama sniffs. “At least you know your place. Be glad I don’t punish you anymore than this.”

“What?! He slapped you for asking a question, you can’t possibly believe—” You gather Grim into your arms and hug him close. You quietly thank the Great Seven you at least have him, trying to hide the quiver in your limbs by burying your face in his fur.

But that’s exactly why you can’t let him do this. It’s just the two of you, you can’t win against an entire dorm of wizards like you did against the ghosts. Maybe if Ace and Deuce and Jack were here...but it’s just you. You need to protect your friend in the only way you can. “We can’t win this. Please, Grim.”

You feel him grumble, then a paw carefully pushes at your forehead. “Hrm...I’ll show mercy for now, so geroff already. It’s too hot for you to keep hugging me like this, I’m cooking here fgnah.”

Despite saying so, he settles onto your shoulder, tail smacking your arm as it flicks irritably.

“If you’ll excuse me, Asim-sama.” You duck your head slightly. “I will remove myself from your sight and head back early as penance for my behavior. Once again, my deepest apologies for insulting you.”

Asim-sama gives you a curt, dismissive nod.

You turn and make your way through the crowd of Scarabia students, snatches of muttered conversations floating to your ears.

“How could he—?”

“Just for a question?”

“Isn’t that going too far...?”

“Unforgivable...”

“Prefect.” Viper-senpai takes you by the shoulder, turning you to face him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You reply monotonously, eyes on the sand below you. “Just...just need to be by myself for a bit.”

His lips purse and you can feel him study your face. He presses a full water skein into your hands. “Take this. Even if it’s not as cold as I’d like, it should help with the swelling some. Plus you need to stay hydrated out there.”

“Thank you, Viper-senpai.” You nod, keeping your eyes down.

“And Prefect?” He squeezes your shoulder, voice lowering only a fraction. “I am truly sorry about this. All of this. It will not happen again, you have my word.”

It would’ve been a nice apology, had you not caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face.

You nod, making sure not to outwardly react to that or to the way the whispers of the other Scarabia students turn from the condemnation of their dorm head to the exaltation of the vice dorm head. You begin following the tracks in the sand back to the main dorm.

The sun beats down on your back as you take a swig from the skein and pass it to Grim to drink from. He’s still grumbling about how you should’ve let him recreate his rampage at the entrance ceremony.

For your part, the distance and good company have let you pull yourself out of that headspace enough that you can try and look back objectively on what happened.

Your mind keeps circling back around to one question: why did Asim-senpai hit you?

Based on your interactions before this, Asim-senpai doesn’t seem to be the type to resort to physical violence as a first response, or even a last one. Which means something in your question likely backed him into a corner enough that the normally pacifistic dorm head felt lashing out physically was the only way to get you to stop.

...Like the fact that he couldn’t answer it?

Even when screaming abuse at you, his ultimate response was that he wouldn’t explain himself to you. Is that because he didn’t want to? Or because he couldn’t? Does Asim-senpai himself not know the reasons behind his own actions? But how can someone act without knowing or meaning to, without being under the influence somehow?

Under the influence.

People acted without knowing or meaning to thanks to being under the influence of Buchie-senpai’s Unique Magic during the Magift incident. But he went home, you saw him leave, so what...?

You pull out your notebook, flipping through the pages with sweaty hands until you get to your records of the testimonies from the incident. You scan through the testimonies from Scarabia students, hoping to find something, anything—

Oh.

Oh.

“Motherfucker.” You hiss, staring at the page in dismay. You are an idiot. You are the biggest idiot, you make Deuce look like a genuis, how could you forget about this?? It was only the key testimony that helped pinpoint Buchie-senpai and Savannahclaw as the culprits behind the injuries. And it explains so much— why you kept agreeing to stay here despite wanting to go back to Ramshackle so desperately, almost like your mouth was speaking without your consent.

“Minion?” Grim asks, pushing the water skein back onto you. “What’s wrong?”

You snap your notebook shut and slide it back into your pocket, taking another fortifying swig from the skein. “Grim? Think we can get back soon enough to work on the escape route in our room before the others arrive back for lunch?”

“If we pick up the pace a bit, yeah.” He hops back onto your shoulder. “But what’s the rush? We have all night tonight to work on it.”

“Let’s just say the sooner we can get out of here, the better.” You mutter, cogs and gears turning in your head as a tentative plan begins to form.

This is not how you wanted to spend your winter break.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 7

So this chapter is in Ivar’s POV. Kind of a glimpse as to see what is going on with him. Plus, its a great excuse to write some Floki/Ivar interaction. 

Warnings: swearing, implied violence, Ivar having boundary issues but that’s not new. 

Words: 4550

Tag List: @heavenly1927​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @zuxiezendler​ @punkrocknpearls​ @love-all-things-writing​ @southernbe​

Series Masterlist

"There you are, you crippled bastard. I've been looking everywhere."

 Ivar smirked, exhaling the cigarette smoke from his mouth, not even turning his gaze from the lights of the city beneath him. "How did you get up here? I thought your old, lazy ass wouldn't be able to handle it."

 Floki scoffed as he moved to stand next to his protégé. "Old, lazy ass. I may be old but I could still kick your ass if I wanted too."

 Wordlessly, Ivar pulled out his cigarette carton from his suit’s pocket, taking one out and handing it to Floki. He grabbed his lighter and held it out, open palm. When Floki did not immediately take it, he glanced over to see one of the people he trusted most, staring down at the cigarette spinning between his fingers. 

 "I won't tell Helga."

 Floki giggled. "You're a bad influence on me, boy." He took the lighter and lit his cigarette, handing it back over after. 

 The two stood silently for several minutes, leaning against the railing, overlooking the city. They were at the Ragnarssons Trading headquarters, one of the taller buildings in the heart of the city. The sound of humanity floated away to a hushed background noise with how high up they stood. The upper floors of the building were restricted access, being the main offices and meeting rooms of Ragnar, his sons and others deemed important. The lower floors housed the cesspool of asinine insubordinates, those that did their limited jobs and were easily replaced. Ivar avoided those floors, not just because of the stares, or the twittering females and few males who vied for attention from the Ragnarssons in hopes of snatching one up or thinking sleeping with them as an easy way to further their careers. No, he found them all boring and beneath him. With a single look, he knew what many of them wanted, they were so easy to read, to know their simple minds. It was pathetic. 

 So, when he did come to the headquarters, he immediately headed to the upper floors. He had an office next to Torstein that he used infrequently. Most of his work he could do remotely, a blessing due to his condition and his volatile temperament. When he had work that needed extra cyber security or to delve deeper into concerns, having the multiple monitors at his office and the ability to search out his father or brothers immediately came in handy. 

 The roof of the building was his favorite place to think and plan. No one came up here but more than that, he could see everything. The city, the surrounding water, everything. He wondered if this was what the gods felt like looking down on Midgard from Valhalla. 

 Ivar exhaled, the curl of smoke slipping from his lips. "Are you coming to the meeting?"

 Floki ran a hand over his tattooed head. "Your father asked for me to come."

 "Mmmm. Know what it's about?"

 "Probably the same old boring shit."

 They chuckled, still staring over the city. Out of the corner of his eye, Ivar could see Floki tug uncomfortably on the black business suit he wore. The only reason the shipbuilder ever wore anything remotely formal was when Ragnar demanded it….and coming to the headquarters fit into the category. Ragnar liked to say that if they wanted to be taken as serious businessmen then they needed to dress the part, and it was not too difficult to wash blood out of the suits. 

 The youngest Lothbrok leaned against the railing in a charcoal gray suit, his dark hair pulled back into a man-bun. He did not mind the formal attire as much, there was a sense of prestige and strength that came with it. On more than one occasion, he had been told he presented a striking figure and he liked to use that to his advantage. Whether it was terror or arousal that his figure caused depended on the person. He knew how to control them all. 

 A vibration had Ivar pulling out his phone to see a new text from Kari. He smiled softly at her cheeky response. When asked what she was doing tonight, she said she was taking a bubble bath and reading a book. He said he did not believe her and demanded a picture as proof she was actually taking a bubble bath like a child. Now he gazed down at an image of her feet peeking out of bubbles against a porcelain bathtub. The picture was so innocent yet sensual, just like his kitten. An innocent seductress. His cock began to stiffen at the lewd ideas running rampage through his mind at the simple picture. 

 With her picture came a text.

 Kari: You should try it sometime. It's very relaxing. 

 He snorted. There was no way in hell he would ever take a bubble bath, and he figured she probably knew it. 

 Ivar: the only way I'm gtn n2 a bubble bath is if u in there w/ me

 Grinning smugly, he could imagine the flush on her cheeks at his answer as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. 

 Floki's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You going to tell me about her?"

 Ivar did not answer right away, taking a drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaling it. "Nothing to fucking tell."

 "Hmmm…. I'd bet she is the only person you smile for like that."

 "Fuck…." He ran his hand over his mouth, before turning to lean his back against the roof's railing. Floki was right and clearly knew it if the sly look said anything. It made Ivar want to knock the smirk off the madman's face with his cane, which rested on the railing next to him. 

 "This isn't like Freydis, right?" Floki quietly inquired after several minutes of companionable silence. 

 "Gods, no. She is…." He found his words trailing off, unable to articulate what Kari meant to him. 

 Freydis had been a hope for someone more than just a fuck, someone who potentially cared for him. Unfortunately, he quickly realized that she may have cared for him, but she cared more for the status and money being in a relationship with him allowed. So, they used each other. She wasted his money on frivolous things, lavishing herself with stuff she would never dream of having otherwise. He used her for fucking and to have someone on his arm when they attended events, to silence the pitying looks from others and the comments that he did not know how to please a woman. 

 After ten months though, he found himself resenting her and their relationship. It was then he broke it off with her. She cried, supposedly heartbroken but he did not care. In the months following, she tried to worm her way back into his life but he slammed the door shut, uncaring of how cruel he appeared to others. He fucked other women or had them give him blow jobs, never even taking the time to remove his leg braces or pants. They meant nothing. They were nothing. 

 But all that changed a month ago when a woman with blue-green eyes and a sweet innocence about her bumped into him…. and then confused the hell out of him when she kissed him. 

 "What's her name?" Floki asked, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette.

 "Kari." He answered, probably sounding far softer than he meant to. After, he tilted his head to look at his surrogate father, brow furrowed. "How'd you find out?"

 "The gods told me." At Ivar's unamused look, Floki giggled. "Your brothers. They said you have a new girlfriend."

 "She's not."

 "Mmmm?"

 He sighed. "My girlfriend. She's made that very fucking clear. She keeps saying she can't be my girlfriend or she doesn't want to date right now. It's fucking infuriating!" He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it on the ground. "I don’t…. I don't fucking understand. She always says we're just friends, but I know she wants more. Sometimes I can see it when she looks at me. I don't know what to fucking do!" 

 "Why are you still wasting time on her then? She sounds like she doesn't care. Just move on from the bitch."

 "Don't you fucking call her that! And she does care! More than most people." He snarled, fists trembling at his side. When Floki only smirked at him, Ivar rolled his eyes, anger slowly abating. He played into the old man's game easily. 

 Floki dropped his own half-used cigarette, eyeing Ivar curiously. "What is it about this girl?"

 "She…. fuck…. she sees me. Not a cripple. Not some rich guy she can fuck and get stuff from. She sees... she sees me. Just me. Like you and mother. I don't….no one has looked at me like that. There's always a motive, always an angle. But not with her." The words rolled off his tongue, a dam unleashed, as if begging to have been finally uttered, to share his thoughts aloud to make sense of them. With Floki, he knew his thoughts were safe, that the man would never cruelly make fun of him. 

 "You really care about this girl."

 Ivar did not answer, the truth already hung in the air as if painted in the sky for all to see.  

 Floki moved closer, wrapping his arm around Ivar's shoulder and pressing their foreheads together. "Give her time. The gods will tell you what to do. But for fuck's sake, stop stalking her. Hvitserk made sure to tell us how you showed up at her work and home unannounced."

 Ivar chuckled, mirroring Floki's action. "Hvitty better keep his fucking hands off her."

 "He will. He sees how important she is to you." Floki leaned back, that stupid grin on his face. "When do I get to meet her?"

 "Why the hell do you think I'd let her meet your insane ass? She'd take one look at you and run away."

 "She puts up with your stupidity. I'd be an improvement for her." 

 "Fuck off." Ivar laughed, throwing a mock punch at the man. "I've only known her for a month."

 "But it feels longer, right?"

 Ivar startled at the soft tone Floki used, like he knew exactly how Ivar felt. For once, he wondered if this was how Helga and Floki’s relationship felt. His tone was just as quiet, almost reverent as he answered. "Yeah."

 "Don't do something stupid and lose her. Meet her where she is. Be her friend if that's what she wants. She seems good for you."

 "Where is this wisdom coming from?" Ivar scoffed, running a hand over the braids on top of his head. 

 "I've always been wise, you just don't listen, pretentious asshole."

 "No, it's Helga that's the wise one."

 "My sweet Helga certainly is." Floki clapped a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "Come on, the meeting will be starting soon. I was sent to find your crippled ass."

 "Why the fuck are we talking then?"

 "I wanted to hear about this girl. From the sounds of it, you'll start waxing poetic sonnets about the poor girl soon and the gods will certainly…."

 "Shut the fuck up." 

 Talking casually about the latest boat Floki was working on building back home in Norway, they headed towards the meeting room attached to Ragnar's office. The trip from the roof to the meeting room should have been quick but Ivar moved slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He knew the whites of his eyes had an alarming shade of blue. He had seen it that morning when he looked in the mirror but even more so, he could feel it in his bones. It felt as if with one simple misstep, he would break a bone. The fragility of his body was never more evident than on these days. 

 He loathed it. 

 Thankfully, Floki made no comments about Ivar's eyes or his slow, measured gait. Instead he talked, making sure to hold doors open and continued in his loping walk as if they were on a leisurely stroll. He did comment about how nice Ivar's cane was and asked if he had used it on anyone recently. 

 The cane had been a gift from Floki three years ago for his birthday. It appeared to be an expensive cane made up of an ebony tapered shaft and sterling silver handle with a snarling wolf's head. What only a few knew was that if Ivar twisted the handle and pulled, a long, slender knife came out, the blade attached to the handle. Plus, the shaft of the cane was reinforced with a sturdy material, making it easily used as a blunt force object without fear of it bending or denting. Floki had said long ago that one should never be without a weapon, and the cane was his way of ensuring Ivar followed that sentiment. 

 The private meeting room of Ragnar was a spacious corner room with two walls made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark hardwood flooring and deep green walls. A single slab wooden oak table was the centerpiece of the room, with cushioned chairs around it. Currently all those seats were filled besides two, signifying that Floki and Ivar were the last to arrive at the meeting. 

 Ragnar Lothbrok looked up as they entered the meeting room, appearing both suave and intimidating in his gray business suit and hair plaited. "Where have you two been?" He narrowed his piercing eyes at Floki. "I thought Helga wanted you to stop smoking."

 "Your son is very convincing." Floki shrugged. 

 The patriarch's lips twitched in a suppressed smirk. He waved at the almost full table. "Sit. Let's get this started."

 At the beginning of each month, Ragnar liked to meet with his sons and few trusted advisors to review the past month and discuss anything important in the future. It was his way of checking in with progress and making sure everyone was doing their jobs, while keeping all informed. Ivar typically found the meetings boring and a waste of time, but he made sure to attend them like a dutiful son. 

 In this particular meeting, Ragnar discussed how he would be meeting with Ecbert of Saxon Industries in a week, an impromptu decision but Ecbert had insisted of its necessity. 

 Ivar rolled his eyes but kept his thoughts to himself. He knew by the way Floki clenched and unclenched his fist on Ivar's left that he felt the same way. A glance at his brothers showed the two latecomers were not the only skeptical ones. Ecbert and Ragnar had a mutual respect for one another but it did not stop them from betraying and trying to sabotage each other's businesses when it pleased them. Aella, who ran the Northern part of Saxon Industries, made no qualms about showing his disdain for Ragnar and his family, labeling them nothing more than "power-mongering, bloodthirsty heathens who allowed their animalistic tendencies to rule them". 

 To say there was bad blood between Ragnar and his sons with Aella was an understatement. 

 Years prior, Saxon Industries had been the leader in imports and exports in the United Kingdom and Ireland but all that changed once Ragnar set his gaze upon those shores. Now, Ragnarssons Trading was the powerhouse of the United Kingdom, Scandinavia, and France, with that influence expanding even more as trade flourished around the Mediterranean.  

 Saxon Industries was forced to turn their ventures to North America, something that caused resentment from both Ecbert and Aella, even if Aella was the only one vocal about it. 

 Ivar personally thought they should just wipe out the competition, utterly destroy Saxon Industries until it held no hope of recovery. It would also send the perfect message to any who tried to compete against them in the future. 

 At the conclusion of the meeting, Ivar rose from his seat, still moving slower than normal. He could feel the tenderness in his muscles and bones. A silent threat to his body. The concerned looks from those around did not help. It only happened every few months now, but he still hated the pitying looks. 

 "Ivar, I need to speak with you." Ragnar announced, momentarily breaking off his conversation with Torstein and Sigurd at the head of the table. Ivar nodded his understanding. With a muted groan, he sat back down in the plush chair and pulled out his phone.

 "Want me to wait for you?" Hvitserk asked, coming to his side. 

 "Nah, go ahead. I'll see you at home."

 Hvitserk gently clapped him on the shoulder then leaned down to whisper smugly. "Tell Kari hello from me."

 "Fuck off!" Ivar said, making his elder brother laugh as he walked out. 

 Speaking of, Ivar opened his phone to view the response from Kari to his previous message.

 Kari: unbelievable. 

 For a second, he considered replying but closed out of the text. At this late hour, she would already be asleep due to how early she regularly woke up. Instead he decided to wait until the morning to reply. 

 Soon enough, everyone trickled out of the meeting room leaving him alone with his father. Once it was just the two of them, Ivar watched as the confident, composed expression typical on his father's face slid away to reveal something more haggard. He straightened in his chair when his father walked across the room and pointedly closed and locked the doors before taking the seat next to him. 

 Ragnar rubbed a hand down his face, gazing out the open window before them. A sudden falling star streaked across the sky, momentarily distracting Ivar from his impatience, which thudded in his chest like a drum, growing louder and louder each moment his father kept them locked in silence. 

 "What I'm going to tell you does not leave this room. If you have any questions, you come to me directly. Understood?"

 Turning his head to eye his father with intrigue, Ivar nodded. "Understood."

 Only after that did Ragnar shift to meet Ivar's intense blue eyes with his own. "Our security system caught an email being sent out which contained an itemized list of some shipments we will be sending next month to our friends in Finland."

 Ivar's eyebrows rose. About ninety percent of Ragnarssons Trading was legal, something his father was very proud of considering how the company started. That hidden ten percent, it allowed them to stay connected to the black market and underground trading, to know things before they happened. Most recently they had made contact with a new buyer from Finland who had an affinity for certain illegal weapons. 

 Ragnar leaned forward, rubbing a hand over his mouth before continuing as if it pained him to utter the words. "It seems the damn email was supposed to be encrypted but somehow never fully transitioned, leaving half of it legible. We know it was sent from this building."

 "Do you know who the recipient was?"

 "The Russian mafia in Thailand."

 Ivar sharply inhaled, his mind furiously working on the implications, plus what their next steps should be. "What do you want me to do?"

 "I want you to find out who the fuck is selling us out. By any means necessary….and I want to burn them alive."

 A sinister grin grew on Ivar's face, matching the one on his father's. 

 "Consider it done."

 "Good." Ragnar absent-mindedly tapped the table with his fist. "This is your main priority but completely confidential, not even a word to your brothers."

 "You think it's one of them?"

 "No, but we don't know who is close to them that it might be." Ragnar reassured.

 Ivar rubbed a hand over his mouth as he thought, eyes drifting to the window. "I'll trace from my office. If the need arises, I'll go to Norway with Mother."

 "Good. You've never failed me. I know you won't in this."

 Ivar's heart swelled at the praise, something he rarely received from his ambitious and frequently absent father, especially during his childhood. 

 After a long moment, Ragnar reclined back in his chair, a small smirk on his face. "Your eyes are blue."

 "They are always blue, courtesy of your genetics." Ivar retorted harshly, already knowing where this was going. 

 "You know what I mean, Ivar." His father flatly stated. "If you break something, your mother will be breathing down both of our necks."

 "I'm not a fucking child, I can take care of myself."

 Ragnar hummed, seeming amused by his son's antagonized state. "Don't come into the office tomorrow."

 "I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

 "Start whatever you want, but for gods' sake, stay in bed where you can rest. If I get a call that you're in the damn hospital with a broken bone, I'll break something else on you." He threatened, pointing a finger at his son.

 Ivar sneered, "Mother will skin you alive."

 Ragnar chuckled darkly, leaning back once again. "No, her style would be to sabotage me somehow. Now get out of here. Your brothers planned on going out for drinks tonight, are you going to join them?"

 He opened his mouth to answer when an impulsive idea latched itself in his mind. "No…." He answered slowly, a wicked smirk curled on his lips. "I think I'm going to bed."

 "Alright."

 Ivar rose, leaning on his cane. After taking a few steps away, he turned back to see his father watching him curiously. "Doesn't mean it's going to be my bed."

 With that, he walked out of the meeting room to the sound of Ragnar laughing loudly behind him.  

 *****

 He closed the bedroom door silently behind him, pleased with how the house remained quiet as he moved about. It was nearing two in the morning and the last thing he wanted was the police called with the neighbors thinking he was a burglar or something ridiculous. 

 Gently, he leaned his cane against the wall then proceeded to slip his shoes and shirt off. He dropped them on the floor, overly aware of any noise he made. Carefully, he maneuvered to the side of the bed, feeling very much like a thief in the night though he ignored it, and eased his legs out of his braces, setting them on the ground. Next, he slid under the rumpled covers, pleased when the bed's other occupant did not wake. His heart pounded in his chest though it did not deter his actions, if anything the forbidden feel spurred him on. Laying on his side, he placed his arm around her. Cautious of his body, he scooted closer to her until his chest was to her back. Before he could fully relax, she began to stir. 

 "Mmmm?"

 He tenderly placed a kiss on the back of her neck before murmuring. "Shhh, go to sleep."

 "Ivar?" Kari asked sleepily, her body tensing under his touch. 

 "Yes. Go back to sleep."

 At his words, she twisted in his arms to face him, his arm still over her waist comfortably. He could hear the sleep fading from her voice. "What? What are you doing here?"

 "Trying to sleep." He answered coolly, a flash of irritation shooting through him. Why was she questioning him? All he wanted to do right now was sleep with her in his arms. The increasing pain in his traitorous body made him want to lash out. To demand she shut up and let them sleep. He bit his tongue before the venom could erupt. Logically he knew his presence was unexpected and surprising at this hour, but he had hoped she would be more excited to see him. 

 "That…. what? How did you get into my house?" She demanded, trying to wriggle out of his hold but to no avail. 

 "I have a key."

 That easy statement made her freeze. "You have a key…." She slowly repeated. After a moment, she sighed, relaxing back into his embrace. "You know what, I'm too tired. We'll talk about that fact in the morning. Why are you here though?"

 Maybe it was the darkness surrounding them or the enticing sleepy voice of hers, either way he found himself answering honestly…. a bit too honestly. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he quietly confessed. "I missed you….and I don't want to be alone."

 They laid there for several seconds in a tense silence. Even though she did not pull away from him, he could practically feel her over-thinking. If she told him to leave right now, he wondered if his dark heart would splinter. Over the past month she had become so vitally important to him. When he first met her, his interest had been fueled by lust plus the mystery and innocent aura around her. He wanted her. Now though, it had moved beyond want. It was a need. As much as he needed air to breathe, his mind and body coveted her. She somehow slipped past his guarded heart to entangle herself in his very core. Her presence soothed the violence that controlled his mind, she gentled his rage. She cared about him, not because of who or what he was, like everyone else. No, she cared about him as his own person, as simply Ivar. 

 Finally, she spoke in a resigned whisper. "Fine. Go to sleep, Ivar."

 "I was trying to but someone kept asking me questions." He quipped, in hopes to hide the joy and relief in his voice. 

 She grumbled, then turned over and tried to move away from him but he was not going to have that. Not now. Not where he wanted her to be after so long. Where she deserved to be. With the arm around her waist, he pulled himself against her until they were spooning. At first, she attempted to fight him, squirming away, but after a few moments she surrendered. A barely suppressed chuckle escaped him, as he tightened his hold on her. She felt so perfect in his arms, like the gods created her to fit flawlessly against him, two puzzle pieces that finally found their match. He pressed his face into her hair, nuzzling into her. His elation only increased when her fingers intertwined with his that were splayed just under her breasts. A fond smile danced on his lips at her acceptance. 

 Within moments, he felt her go limp against him, sleep consuming her one again. He lightly kissed the back of her neck, pleased when he thought he heard a content hum come from her at the action.

 Knowing his kitten, there would be hell to pay come morning, but for now, he needed this. Her body against his, to feel her heartbeat, to know she was safe. It was something that was no longer optional. He felt a man possessed, bewitched. Everything about her cast him under her spell- her beauty, her friendship, her tenderness towards him, the silly ways she made him laugh, and how she stood up for him. She was his. His responsibility. His devotion. His peace. His kitten. His alone. 

 "God natt, min skatt." He whispered against her skin. (Good night, my treasure)

 It did not take long for him to follow her into sleep, more at peace in this moment than he had been for in years.

[mxvladdy]

Good hell, your True Form series is the absolute best! (and totally canon for me tbh). I saw that we can drop you a prompt and I wanted to ask, if you can do one where the obey boys comfort an Mc who lost someone dear to them? It's totally alright if you dont want to! I hope you are having safe and healthy days!

Thankie anon! I hope you are well too! My condolences if you have lost someone ;.; I hope you like this and I’m stoked you like my True Form series!  

Diavolo

Loss is not a new concept to him. Like many on the student council, he is well versed in it. The emotional strain can be numbing, and was numbing to him at one point in his life. He can’t really remember it now though. When was the last time he actually felt grief over a fallen companion?

But humans are different. Time is a scant commodity to mortals. Lose could stick to a human for their entire lifetime. When you come to him he is distraught. He hates seeing you in any form of discomfort. The best he can offer you is his undivided attention and shoulder if you need it. He is actually full of comforting and wise words from all the lifetimes he has experienced.

If you need time topside he’ll arrange a portal for you and you just take all the time you need. His program is not more important than family in his eyes. If you would like him to accompany you then he shall gladly. Sends the biggest, yet most tasteful flower arrangement to the funeral home and to the gravestone.

Barbatos

Probably has the hardest time relating to such a concept. The finite idea of time is something he struggles to conceptualize. Unless he physically wipes someone from the planes of existence he can, to a certain extent, simply find them in another stream.

He knows not to offer or bring up that idea to you. You don’t ask him to either. His abilities have ironically a time and a place. This situation is not one of those. It upsets you but there is nothing you can do about it.

He will distract you instead, taking you on errands and shopping trips around the Devildom. He will indulge your human curiosity under his watchful eyes. Then, he will take you to the kitchens and brew you something strong. If you need to vent while he cooks please feel free, he wants to listen. Nothing you say or do will pass through this room.  

Solomon

Being human, and yet not, he understands the most out of everyone. He has loved and lost a great deal in his lifetimes. Some of which is still a raw wound on his heart. He is very much someone who will avoid talking about his feelings or things that dredge up his past failings.

If you come to him he will give you coping skills and drag you around the Devildom to take your mind off of your thoughts. He’ll take you for walks or to the woods. Is it dangerous? Yes. But the distraction of self-preservation has always worked for him.

During all of this, he will check in on you. If none of his tactics work he’ll cave, taking you to sit on the nearest comfortable surface. He’ll ask you little things about them or your relationship and reply in kind, albeit stiffly. It’s-nice. Some human bonding he didn’t expect. In a way, you both console each other.  

Luke

He’s an angel in training. He can help! Simone has been teaching him! He’s excited but knows he has to tone it down. He’ll recite all the verses and words of wisdom he’s picked up from Simone and Michael.

He’ll sulk a little if it doesn’t help. Well, that’s fine, he will just have to study harder for you! Till then he’ll try other methods. He’s goto is homemade cakes and hugs. He will want you to help baking (he can’t reach the top oven shhhhh).

You naturally take over after a while, and as time in the kitchen progresses you teach him a few recipes that your late loved ones had taught you or were their favorites. It makes you feel better, it’s cathartic. The smell reminds you of home. Luke will memorize each recipe and will make them for you whenever he thinks you're feeling down.

Simone

The first to offer you his condolences and a warm hug. He is very vigilant of you and your mood for weeks after you had confided in him of your loss. His words of wisdom and experience with working with souls were more comforting than with Luke.

He will ask Diavolo to take you outside of the Devildom. Just you, Luke, and himself. You may pick where. Whether it be the mortal realm or the celestial one. If you decide you want to go back home to visit your old stomping grounds then that is where they will go.

You lead him around your familiar territory, pointing out where you and yours would hang out. He’ll buy you things from their favorite stores if you allow it. Humans are sentimental and if a little bobble or trinket will soften the pain in your eyes then it is worth more than gold. Will visit the grave with you to place the things you bought on it. If you allow it will pray from them too. 

Lucifer

He lashes out at first when you come to him. It makes him feel vulnerable, his pack mark is infused with your storm of emotions. He brushes off your feelings and bristles at you trying to seek comfort in him. Familiar loss is a very touchy subject to him and bringing those feelings back to the surface for him hurts in ways he does not want to remember. It takes Simone politely (or not) reminding him it’s not about him and perhaps swallowing a bit of his pride would help you both.

He will come to you in the dead of night. He just opens up and talks to you. He’ll sit on the floor of your room with his back resting on your bed and share memories. You both laugh and recount the good, bad, and some ugly memories. You give each other great words of advice and comfort too. You fall asleep holding his hand with a soft smile on your face. Your tears have dried up hours ago. He leaves you to rest feeling lighter and closer to you in the long run.

If you invite him to the wake he will join without hesitation and hold your hand the whole time.

Mammon

He will cry with you. Seeing you like this makes him think back to the fall, it’s a lot for him. He’ll take you out drinking. It’s how he copes aside from gambling and other reckless things. Turns you into the responsible party of the night. It keeps you busy though that's for sure and side-tracked. Though, he will notice when you are uncomfortable and dips from the casinos to lead you somewhere quiet. He’ll pass a bottle between the two of you and talk about anything that comes to mind. He is bad at opening up in public. But alone and drunk, he has a bleeding heart.

He slips into his big brother persona pretty quickly once you two are alone. He may be a goofball around the others but he can be serious when the time calls for it.

He will ask all sorts of questions about them. He wants to know all about them if you are willing. He loves learning about your life and wants to make it better if he can. He will listen with rapt attention and interrupt only to laugh or ask a question. He swears over a greasy plate of food he bought you both at Hell’s kitchen to sober you that if you want him at the wake just ask.  

Leviathan  

For someone who usually stumbles over his words when you come to him for comfort, he is surprisingly eloquent. He’ll be uncomfortable with physically comforting you until you expressly ask for it.

He’ll try to distract you with video games and asinine conversations while you rest your head on his shoulder and watch. If you’re ok with it he’ll also drape his tail across your lap. The best hug he can give you while his hands are busy with his controller.

He wasn't very close to Lilthe compared to some of the other brothers but he’ll exchange little funny memories he has with you or some cringe-worthy ones to hear you laugh. Between the dim light of his room and the blue glow of his fish tank, you chat until you fall asleep. He doesn’t mind and lets you doze, still filling the dead air with little stories.

Satan

Ah...You have his sincerest condolences. It pains him to admit it but he has never truly felt loss for someone before. Things, yes. A loss of a good book, either stolen by Mammon or destroyed in a fit of rage by himself. He knows that feeling-but those aren’t the same and he knows that it is an ill-suited comparison.

He’ll lend you his ear though. Listen to whatever you have to say, or if you need to cry it out. His arms are always open for you. If you get angry he can help with that.  He knows how to channel it all to be productive or temper it so you don’t burn yourself out while you process your emotions. 

He-like Levi- will give you sage advice or find just the right words of comfort you need. During the school week if you need a break he will gladly take extra notes or turn in your assignments for you while you take some time off. He will give you some books from his personal library too after an off-handed comment about your late loved ones' favorite genre or author. They are yours if they make you happy.

Asmodeus

Sympathy tears like Mammon. He’ll listen with rapt attention and coo over you. Very touchy when he senses you are troubled. He’ll stroke your hair and let you dumb whatever weighs heavy on your heart. Hugs are the best way he knows how to comfort you.

He doesn’t try to distract you from your grief or your emotions. He knows all too well what happens when one bottles up their emotions for too long. Nasty business that. But, if you want a distraction just ask. He'll give you one. Something nice and (hopefully relaxing) maybe a night out perhaps? Or if you want to stay in he’ll pop in a movie or playlist of your choice and stay quiet. You spend the night in enjoying the physical closeness and no need to express yourself or exert energy trying to vocalize your feelings. He’ll bring out his best snack for the movies too, only the best chocolates and dried fruits for you to munch on.

If you have to plan the funeral or wake he will be there every step of the way if you want him to. He can take the reins if you are just too emotionally drained to do it. If you have ideas or plans for it he will follow them to the letter, no questions asked.

Beelzebub

It’s a lot for him. Even though his sister’s death was a millennia ago it’s still fresh in his mind. But he is strong and will do anything in his power to be there for you. The best way he knows how to cope with such pain is to exercise. If you want to, he will take you to the gym and train with you. Let you tire yourself out on a punching bag or weights.

He doesn’t have many words to say so he will just listen. The best partner for this really, you could go on for hours and he would just sit there and truly listen. He won’t judge how you cope, whether it is wailing or you just trying to act normally around campus. He will be a little bit more clingy after you tell him the news. He knows the tells of a breakdown from his twin so he wants to make sure you are not close to one.

If you invite him to the wake he will stay in the back and offer emotional support. Afterward, he’ll walk you around the local neighborhood and ask questions sporadically about how you're doing. Back at school, he will take notes to you and homework if you don’t feel like going in person.

Belphegor

Stays up with you at night if you can’t sleep due to stress or sadness. You can stay up in his room with him as long as you like and do whatever you need to get through this. Stay up or sleep with him though the day is fine. Though, if you stay up too long he will use the pack mark to make you rest. He keeps a close eye on you like his twin does.

He keeps you up in his attic room with him during the school day. Online classes are a thing and he will keep you content and warm with him till you feel up to snuff. He is smart but just lazy, though if you just can’t get the work done he’ll do it for you to turn in. Whatever, you need a break anyway.

He will fill the dead air while you rest with stories of when he would venture to the human realm with his siblings. He likes to hear stories of your childhood and adventures you had with your loved one too. He won’t offer to go to the human realm with you for the wake. But he will give you an elegant star themed decoration for the gravesite if you allow it.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

oneirataxia, but make it comedy | marcus pike x reader

A/N: Part of the Sleepover Weekend.  Oh, shit, did I ever get carried away. “Write a blurb,” they said, “it’ll be fun,” they said. “You won’t write 3.3k words of a fake-dating Marcus Pike fic. Surely not. Surely the fuck I will. Buckle up, babe. I hope this is what you were looking for!

Pairing: Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x fem!Reader

Warnings: Romance is its own warning. 

Word Count: 3.2k of fake dating tropes, bad jokes, Marcus getting a lil sassy (he gets it from his mom, apparently), and coffee abuse.

Summary: Marcus invites you home for the holidays; but there’s a bit of a string attached to the invite. Based on the prompt: “Your mum hates me.” “She doesn’t hate you…she just doesn’t like you.” 

NOT MY GIF

--

You were absolutely going to kill Marcus Pike.

Okay, not kill. Maybe maim?

As you met his mother’s eyeline over the rim of her tea mug you could have sworn she sneered at you a little.

So, no. Most definitely kill. Marcus was number one on the list. And his mom? Number two.

Let’s back up a little here--

You and Marcus were both agents at the Bureau together. You were part of the Art Squad, and have partnered with Marcus on missions a time or two. Honestly, you thought he was kinda cute. He had a sweet vibe to round out his killer intensity when he was in the field. And once you started talking to him, he had a kind of puppydog energy you found so darn endearing.  But in your sporadic interactions with Marcus, it never felt like he was being his fullest, true self. Like he was holding back a bit.

Still, you didn’t press. Pike’s business was Pike’s business.

Beyond him bringing you coffees a few times at team meetings, your interactions were limited. And he brought coffee for other people sometimes, too, so you tried not to read much into it and to damper your little crush.

It wasn’t until the two of you were partnered to go undercover together at a gala that you think Marcus really, truly saw you. You two had made an excellent team-- posing as a husband and wife undercover to sniff out some art thieves.

Marcus, in his pressed suit, had looked every inch of just dashing. You tried not to let yourself get too carried away in your daydream. Your dress was uncomfortable, and rode up a bit, if you were honest. You hoped Marcus didn’t notice.

But he told you you looked nice, ever the gentleman. And you were so busy looking for your mark that you didn’t notice how often Marcus was really looking at you.

After the gala, Marcus approached you more.

The idle, “Hey, how was your weekend” became, “Have you heard the new Black Keys album?”

You started to feel like he really understood you-- and the agency must’ve thought so, too, because they partnered you more and more.

Sure, Marcus knew you. So it was honestly fucking baffling to you why he’d even ask this of you--

“You want me to what?” you asked Marcus, your tone taking a slightly interrogatory edge.

“Uh, come to my family’s house for the holiday? I know you were going to spend it alone anyway, so really, you don’t have to--” Marcus sputtered a bit, his invitation seemingly sweet on its surface. But you were no dummy, you knew what you’d heard.

“No, Pike. Don’t act like you’re doing me some huge favor. I fucking heard you--” you started.

“Then why’d you ask me to repeat myself?” God, he could be so smug at times. That sinful little smirk around his full lips making you want to smack said smirk right off of his handsome face.

“Pike, I’m not going to pretend to be your little girlfriend at some family holiday shindig just so you can convince your mommy you’re not a perpetual bachelor, or whatever asinine reason you have for this request,” you chided.

The nerve of this guy! And to think, you’d had an Alicia Sliverstone-sized crush on this sweet, good-looking Paul Rudd wannabe!

“Come on, it’s not like that,” he protested, trying to win you over to his (obviously terrible) idea.

“Then what’s it like?” You demanded.

“It’s, uh.. It’s complicated. I was just hoping you’d do this for me? Please? Partner?” He implored. You almost gave in. Those damn puppydog eyes slightly too endearing for their own good-- but, no, you have always been a stick-to-your-guns kinda girl. Marcus Pike’s failed, mid-2000s rom-com of an oddball request wasn’t gonna change anything. But still… you were curious.

“Nope. No way, Pike. If you can’t be honest with me, then why would I do something so obviously-insane for you? Don’t act like I’d be doing you the favor when it’s obvious it’s a favor to you… especially if you won’t even tell me why. We’re partners, we’re supposed to trust each other.” You were resolute.

Marcus looked like he was going to tell you. In that moment, maybe he would have… He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, before shaking his head slightly and closing his mouth again. As if he’d thought better about trusting you. Fuckin’ insulting.

“Sorry, Ace. I can’t tell you that.”

And with that, you left the room. Screw Pike! Screw him screwing with your feelings. A favor. Honestly!

Two days later, Pike walked into your office with your coffee of choice in one hand, and an apologetic look on his face.

“Look, I’m sorry about the other day. You’re right, it was crazy… it was crazy,” the second time sounded more to himself than to you.

“Bring me caffeine, babe, and all is forgiven,” you chirped, trying to lighten the mood. But it was clear Pike was thinking about something deeply, churning it over in his mind, his ochre eyes swimming with the sea of his own indecision.

“Pike, don’t think too hard. It’s not good for you. I can smell the smoke coming from your ears,” you teased gently.

“Teresa,” he said softly.

“Excuse me?”

“Her name was Teresa. She was my fiance… briefly. It… ended badly. Embarrassingly. I’m not-- I haven’t really been the same since. But I fucked up,” Marcus rambled. You nodded, trying not to interrupt him so he could continue. “I dove in too fast, proposed too soon. She didn’t really want me.”

Your heart panged at his confession. You’d had no idea. Honestly, your status as newbie agent didn’t really afford you to the inner workings of Marcus Pike, and you didn’t want to incite gossip by asking around too much. Being an inquisitive agent because it’s our job isn’t much of a guise if your crush becomes too obvious. Poor Marcus.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Marcus. I really am,” you placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one deserves that. But, um, what does this have to do with you asking me to spend the holidays with you?”

Marcus sighed.

“I told my mom about Teresa. When we were together, anyway. She knows it ended badly. I couldn’t take her smothering. Her pitying glances. Her everything. So, when she asked me about coming home for Christmas, I said I couldn’t because I was spending it with my girlfriend. I panicked. She then insisted I bring said girlfriend to Christmas at their place,” Marcus rushed out. “The problem being, of course, said girlfriend is fictional. Imaginary. Just like some bogus forgerd painting,” he chuckled a bit at his own attempt at humor.

Of course, of everything Marcus had just said, you were most surprised to hear that he was, in fact, single. File that one away for later.

“And your first thought was to ask me to be your fake girlfriend? Pike, that’s a little Hollywood. And not in a good way,” you chided.

“I know,” he moaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “And now she won’t let it go. So please, please, kid. Have pity on me? Come be my girlfriend for a week at Christmas?” He gazed at you pleadingly. “And you were an obvious first choice. You’re a stunner in the field, and smart. I thought you could handle it.”

Damn those eyes. Damn that face. Damn Marcus Pike.

If you hadn’t been caffeinated and in a better mood than the other day, you probably would have said no. Regardless of your caffeinated status, you definitely SHOULD have said no. And yet, here you were, drinking your coffee like it’s your dumb bitch juice.

But still, you couldn’t resist teasing a little.

“Don’t try to flatter me, Pike, it won’t work. I know I’m a good agent. But here, now, I’m just imagining you whining to your mom.” You put on your best, piteous John Mulaney impression, “Can my giiiiirlfriend come?” you mocked.

Pike rolled his eyes at you.

“Fine,” he said, popping himself up from the edge of your desk where he’d been irresistibly leaning since entering your office. “Enjoy your Christmas alone with your cats. I’m sure the ugly sweater looks great with cat hair stuck to it.” He started to walk out the door.

What possessed you to do what you were about to do?

“Pike,” you hollered, stopping him in the doorway. He turned.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was because you really did feel for him. Which you did. Maybe it’s because you didn’t want to be alone. Which you didn’t. But maybe it’s because you were still carrying a torch for Marcus Pike, and the idea of spending Christmas with him was too good to pass up. Even if his whole family was there. Oh, shit. You are so screwed.

He jumped up, wrapping his arms around you quickly.

“Great!” He intoned. “Because I already told my mom it was you.”

“I’m gonna let that one go for now, Pike,” although you were secretly imploding. “Because we need to set some ground rules.”

“Fine.”

So, here you find yourself, days later, standing in the threshold of the Pike family home, where Marcus’s mother had been smothering her son with kisses and coos, waxing poetic about how glad she was that her “baby is finally home!”

And then, like a demonic switch has been turned, she turns to you and greets you (if you want to call it that) nothing short of ice-fucking-cold and a chirp of, “So this is the tart you work with!” before turning on her heel and walking to the kitchen, hollering for Marcus to put his bags down and follow.

The rest of the week passed like that, Marcus’s mother flipping moods so fast it made your head spin like the little girl from “The Exorcist.” Ironic, really, since it was Marcus’s mother who was the damn demon.

“So, Jennifer, where is your family from again?” She’d been calling you “Jennifer” for the entire time. She knew damn well that wasn’t your name. You grinned and bore it, for the sake of her beautiful, idiot son sitting at the table at your side.

You mumbled your name, trying to politely correct her.

“Is that not what I said?”

Honestly. This woman was a piece of work.

“You know, Mrs. Pike, we could get to know each other a lot better if you started with the right name.” You were just trying to lighten the mood a little, but not able to resist a slight jab at this old goat of a woman.

“I’m sure I’ll learn your name, dear, if you stick around long enough for it to be important to remember,” she replied primly, sipping her tea. You wanted to knock the china cup out of her little rat hands.  

UNBELIEVABLE, you thought. Here, you were suffering this horrid woman because at the behest of the ghost of Teresa Lisbon, the recipient of a punishment for a crime you’d done nothing to incite. Guilty by association was still guilty, though, apparently according to Marcus’s mother. If another woman had broken her son’s heart, she obviously felt entitled to regard you with suspicion and disdain.

Marcus was nothing short of apologetic in the peace and quiet of his bedroom, expressing profuse regret from his spot on the floor where he slept. Because of course he would be a perfect gentleman to you and allow you to sleep in his bed during this whole whatever-it-was. And if he was trying to be a gentleman, he was failing. That tight white t-shirt stretched across his fine, firm chest was just fucking rude.

“Marcus, it’s fine,” you insisted. “You have no control over her or her opinions. And I’ve seen and dealt with worse. Federal agent remember?”

As the week pressed on, you were able to temper the rudeness of Marcus’s mother with the intensity of your ever-growing feelings for Marcus. Seeing him at home, in his element, in relaxed clothing was doing something to you. And you weren’t quite ready to admit it. You spent quite a bit of time together, reading in front of the crackling fire in his family’s cozy living room. You played boardgames against his younger brother and his sister-in-law, teaming up to destroy the competition at Codenames.

You’d thought maybe, just maybe, Marcus was developing feelings for you, too, his touch lingering on your waist as he shuffles past you in the kitchen, sending you soft smiles over the pages of his books as you two read. But the more you thought about it, the more you were convinced that Marcus was just being nice and putting on a show for his family.

Until that old goat opened her mouth.

The family dinners were the worst. Marcus’s mother always seemed to sit across from you just so she could glare into you with that unyielding gaze of hers.

“Jennifer, a word?” She asked, as you got up to help clear the table.

Yeah. Where were we? Oh yeah, you were DEFINITELY gonna kill Marcus for talking you into this.

Marcus put the dishes he was carrying down, and squeezed your hand gently.

“It’ll be fine,” he whispers to you, before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, your brain instantly going dumb and numb at the contact, like you were listening to the people in the room from underwater. Nevertheless, you followed her into the kitchen, where you stood, alone, a marble-topped island counter the Switzerland between the two of you.

“Yes, Mrs. Pike?”

“I’m going to be frank with you, dear, I don’t like you,” she stated.

You’d had enough. The wrong name, the cold shoulder, the glares, the hmphs of disdain whenever you talked about the cool cases you were working on. You’d just had enough.

“No shit, Mrs. Pike? I just assumed you’d greeted all of your guests this way, and that’s why there were so many of them here. Because of your warm hospitality,” you snipped.

“Don’t get cute with me. I’m not about to applaud a relationship with my son if it’s just going to end badly.”

Now that gave you pause.

“That Teresa girl really did a number on him. So excuse me if I’m not going to sanction any old relationship. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. Not if you’re just going to break his heart. You’re just his co-worker and it should stay that way. Unless you’re serious, especially with the way he looks at you,” she stated firmly.

And you could honestly forgive her in that moment. Almost, anyway. “The way he looks at you” ringing in your ears. You had to say something-- and snark was getting you nowhere. So, you spoke from the heart-- before you could think about it too hard.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pike. I wasn’t around for any of that. I don’t know much. Only the little Marcus has told me. And I'm not keen on making him relive any of that, or cause him heartbreak,” you paused. “But I wouldn’t do that to him. Because I care about him. Deeply. I really do,” and you just kept going... “I know I’m probably not what you envisioned-- I’m too dedicated to my job, it’s not glamorous, I’m not some subservient little housewife. I’m brash, I’m annoying. All of these things are true. But the biggest truth? Your son means everything to me. And that I won’t apologize for.”

And with that, you left. To go find Marcus and give him a piece of your mind.

You marched upstairs to Marcus’s bedroom, where he was perched on the bed with a book in his lap. You fist your hand into his sweater before yanking him up and planting a firm kiss on  his mouth. Marcus stilled in shock, before reciprocating, kissing you back, cupping his hands to your cheeks. You pulled away, heat pooled in you cheeks, blazing in embarrassment at what you’d just done.

Honestly, what the hell did you just do??

Marcus regards your silence by raising an eyebrow.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell was that?” Marcus asked.

You rushed the words out, knowing you’d retract and redact them from your brain if you waited too long.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m so sorry. Your mom just really got to me… she thinks I’m another… her,” you spared reference to Teresa’s name, mindful of Marcus’s melancholy that followed when she was mentioned. “But I’m not her. I love working with you, Marcus. And I’ve always had a thing for you, if I’m honest. Which I am. But it wasn’t until she really started pushing me that I realized… I care about you, Marcus. I want you, I really do. All of you, even the parts that hurt. I want you,” you professed.

Marcus stood there, shock etching his features, eyes widening and mouth starting to gape.

You bowed your head, blinking back furious tears as you stared hatefully at your shoes. Why would you do that? You thought. You’ve ruined everything, all because that old grackle dug at you too much. And now Marcus hates you.

Marcus’s hands were suddenly in your downcast eyesight, palms resting on your cheeks and urging your face and eyes upward to meet his gloriously shimmering midnight ones.

“I want you, too. God, you drive me crazy, you’re such a punk at work. But, fuck if I can’t stop thinking about you. You make me crazy. And I thought I was the only one. I’d go back to my apartment at the end of the day sad, because I knew you wouldn’t be there. My love is not really the overwhelming kind. Jesus, I just go home and drink rosé and watch ‘Remains of the Day,’” he implores. “But I mean it when I say I want you, too.”

And with that, he slides one hand from its resting place on your cheek to the back of your neck, scooping your face upward for a soft, slanting, warm kiss.

Needless to say, you were fine with Marcus relinquishing the spot on the floor in favor of lying next to you in bed for the remainder of the week.

Now, you held hands while going for brisk, winter-air walks around his neighborhood, despite his mother’s withering gaze. You were always touching, never far from the other’s hand or mind. Marcus’s brother teasing you good-naturedly about your interlocked fingers being “PDA.”

You head back to your lives and back to reality, but still on cloud nine. Sharing kisses before separating to one another’s respective offices at work. Spending weekends at one another’s apartments, making out against any and every surface you can find, your thigh slotting between his as you press together during every conceivable moment you can.

One of these nights finds you laughing about the inception of your relationship, when, inevitably, Marcus’s mother comes up in the conversation. You had spared him the gory details of your kitchen scene in favor of a simpler retelling.

“Honestly, Marcus, your mom hates me,” you implored. “She told me so.”

“She doesn’t hate you…,” Marcus trailed off, “She just doesn’t like you. I’m pretty sure that’s what she told you, if the grapevine was correct,” he smirked.

You slapped him on his chest. The nerve of this guy!

“But that’s okay. Because I like you enough for the both of us,” He said, smiling as he presses his lips to yours for a sugary sweet kiss.

[humangods]

❛ i’ll be your date for that christmas party if you don’t have one yet. ❜ / dolores & helena

@shin-minahs

"I’ll be your date for that Christmas party if you don’t have one yet."

Helena's hand stops mid-slice of the vegetables, but she doesn't shift her attention to Dolores. She's frozen there, pensive as she mulls over the suggestion, like someone hit the pause button on her. There's silence, yet the quiet rings out between them. A cacophonous absence of sound. Dolores exhales and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Helena knows she needs to respond before she elicits Dolores' vexed resignation and rescinds her offer entirely.

There's a twitch in her jaw -- the suggestion of a response that was about to be given -- but it's nearly imperceptible, and there's nothing further. No parting lips, no words.

They're not a couple, not in real sense of the word. The rings were only ever an accessory to fool any observers. There was nothing genuine about the action, and the ring always felt too heavy on Helena's finger when she'd worn it in the past. But the facade is over, it has been for some time now. They're separated until Soren returns home for his annual visits and Helena is obligated to do the same and don the role of a mother and wife who is there and yet also not there. Within grasp, but still just barely out of reach.

She could accept Dolores’ offer and it would certainly make the party more tolerable. She wouldn't have to explain why she had arrived solo and she could gossip and engage in other idle chatter with Dolores, which would be much more agreeable to Helena than to whittle time away in lackluster small talk and listen to the asinine opinions of people who thought too highly of themselves. She could also take silent pleasure in the way other guests would undoubtedly drink in Dolores' appearance and watch the jealousy they so desperately would try to conceal with a polite smile that wouldn't reach their eyes when they had no choice but to accept that Dolores was her date. However, on the other hand, what would accepting the offer imply? Would Dolores think she wanted more from their chilled relationship, if one could call it that?

"You're overthinking it," Dolores' even voice pierces through Helena's thoughts and jerks her back to the present moment.

She realizes she’s already frowning when she furrows her brow together to do so only to feel it crease further.

“So I am,” she responds in an equally placid tone, but offers no explanation as to what the thoughts that were racing through her mind were. She also presumes that by now Dolores can guess the second half of her thoughts when they were the very ones that caused her hesitance in the first place.

Dolores lets out a long sigh and leans against the wall as her eyes follow Helena’s hands that have resumed cutting. “You don’t have to say-”

“Yes,” Helena interjects without meeting her eye.

“Yes..?” Dolores echoes, her voice lilting upwards mirroring her raised brow.

This time Helena turns her head just enough to meet Dolores’ questioning stare.

“Yes, be my date for the Christmas party.” The statement comes out more firmly than intended. “Please,” she adds to soften her words.

[thestanceyg]

Time for some more Darcyland Drabbles

A little drabble racing on the Discord server. Here’s all 4 of my sprints, so they’re below the cut because it’s kinda a lot. (Keep in mind all of these are a one and done sort of deal.)

Magnetism 1 She was drawn to him. That was certain. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, and wasn’t that the funniest thing? She would have thought that she would never feel this way again after…. Well. After.

But now she did. Of course, it couldn��t have been a worse time to suddenly feel this animal magnetism toward someone. 

“Err, I suppose this isn’t the best time to say anything, but since we might die anyway, how about if we live we get coffee?”

The man shot her an amused look. “We’ll survive,” he said matter of factly. “I want that coffee.”

2 I’m just saying it’s super cute,” she smiled. “C’mon. You can’t tell me you don’t like it!”

He looked at the refrigerator speculatively. “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed, his hands wrapping around her waist from behind, his chest pressed against her back as he kissed the top of her head. “But for the record, I still think it’s a kinda weird idea.”

“Weird, but still cute,” she argued. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. 

She laughed a little as his fingers dug into her sides, tickling. Making pictures of their friends into magnets was her best craft idea yet.

3 “It shouldn’t work like this,” she said, pulling her glasses from her face and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Well, it’s not like there’s a lot of precedent here,” Bruce sighed. “I agree that the magnetism in this instance doesn’t quite make sense, but it is sort of fascinating.”

She had to agree. They had definitely stumbled upon something new. “This could take us years to fully explore,” she said. “Not that I’m complaining, but this was supposed to be a fun side project and not the seminal work of my life.”

“Sorry,” Bruce said, even though he wasn’t. “That’s just how science goes.”

4 She felt drawn to this place like there was a magnet pulling her. It was an insistent urge. It wouldn’t let up, and she didn’t know why the thought of ignoring it left her breathless with panic. 

But following it? Following it left her breathless with anticipation.

It made no logical sense. Where was she going, and more importantly, why? But as soon as the thought entered her head, she remembered her grandmother who used to sit her down on her knee and tell her about the hope. How the hope would draw you to where you needed to be. Suddenly it all made a lot more sense.

5 “Watch closely,” Darcy commanded to the little one whose eyes were wide with wonder. She carefully dropped the magnet on the other side of the tank and the iron filings started to pull over to it, and the little girl’s eyes got impossibly wider.

“Wow,” she breathed. When the movement finally stopped, she turned her head. “Aunt Darcy, how does it work?”

“Science, which is magic that we study.”

The girl’s eyes lit up. Gotcha, Darcy thought. She’d be damned if another little girl thought that sciences weren’t for women. No little girl would have the rough relationship she had if she had anything to say about it.

6 She gripped his hand firmly and swung their arms back and forth a bit, trying to make it seem more like a joke than the desperate need it was, clawing deep in her gut. She tried to look at him out of the corner of her eye, but he was so damn tall that it didn’t give her anything to work with.

She pulled him along toward the ice cream cart. “You want a cone?” she asked.

Finally she looked up at him, and his smile was blinding. “Of course.” He squeezed her hand, and she realized that there would be no pulling them apart.

7 “Where are my damn fabric scissors?” she all be growled as she lifted everything off her countertop and threw it back down. The scissors were nowhere to be found. She lifted her eyes heavenward. So help her if someone had taken them and used them to cute anything that wasn’t fabric.

Just as she was starting to wonder if she would be murdering a housemate, Clint dropped her scissors down in front of her.

“So help me if…”

“I used them because they’re magnetic,” he said sheepishly. “I dropped my lucky paperclip and couldn’t reach it, but it came right to the scissors.”

Luminous 1 She was radiant, he thought. He had never seen someone who seemed to just glow with happiness like she did.

And she was his.

Officially and legally as of fifteen minutes ago. She had said he vows and he had said his, and they had signed the paper.

She was his sun, and now everyone would know it. He couldn’t wait to introduce her to everyone as his wife.

His entire body tracked her like he was a flower seeking her warmth. She was luminous and she was all his. Though, for tonight, he still had to share her with the people at the reception.

2 Jane couldn’t stop laughing. “Are you sure you’re using that right?” she asked through laughs that had turned into hiccups.

“Of course I’m not. I don’t know shit about how to use highlighter, but let me tell you, even if I’m totally wrong, this is how I’m doing it from now on. Look at me Jane! I’m luminous!”

Jane couldn’t disagree. She certainly looked like she was radiating some sort of ethereal light. Though she had moved from dew kissed fairy into something slightly more alienlike.

“Well budge over,” Jane said. “I need to get in on this.”

3 “This flashlight is garbage,” she harshly whispered to him. “We can’t see anywhere. How many lumens is this damn thing?”

He didn’t answer at first and she tried not to be upset about that. It wasn’t his fault they were now lurking through the abandoned hospital trying to find their friends and get out of there before the killer on the loose found them.

“I don’t know,” he said with a frown. “Whatever the bureau’s standard issue is. Maybe the batteries are running down.”

“We’re going to die,” she groaned.

“We won’t,” he argued. “You own me a Scrabble rematch.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

4 “Look,” she breathed reverently as she pulled away from the telescope display. Everything was electronic now, and she had missed looking through the eyepiece in her backyard, so this was quite the treat. She waved him closer to the equipment.

Leo bend over and looked for himself. “Wow,” he breathed. You’re not wrong.” “Right?” she said. “There’s just something about being able to see the moon in your own backyard with such detail. How it illuminates the entire piece. It’s something that no modern display can replicate.” Her voice was soft.

He hummed his agreement.

5 “I can’t believe this is the bridesmaid dress you picked,” Darcy huffed. “Please tell me this is a joke and the real dress is totally different. Or it’s at least a different color.”

“Nope,” Simmons said with a soft smile. “I always imagined a bright bridal party.”

Darcy looked down at the offending fabric wrapping her body. It was like she was wrapped in some sort of tin foil that reflected yellow light instead of a rainbow of colors. It was highly disconcerting.

“Well we’ll all certainly be…luminous,” Jane said, trying to smooth over both of their feelings about the garment.

6 “I can’t believe someone tried to say that this book was some sort of ‘luminous beacon for book clubs everywhere. That it’s the quintessential read of the century’.”

“Agreed,” Pepper said with a curl of her nose. “This was…not good.”

“Don’t sugar coat it,” Maria argued. “This book was garbage.”

“The only way that this is luminous,” Darcy added, “is if we set it on fire.”

“I’ve definitely read fanfiction that was better,” Jane agreed, dropping her book on the coffee table.

“That’s not even hard,” Darcy snorted. “I’ve read Wattpad fic written by a 12 year old better than this.”

7 He had never seen her before, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t stop looking at her once he saw her. She was luminous. She radiated this softness and beauty, but also this intellectual and academic integrity that practically seeped from her pores. He hoped to introduce himself to her, but he wasn’t the only one that he noticed her beauty. She was surrounded by so many others.

But then.

Her eyes lifted up and met his. Suddenly she was smiling and walking his way. “Dr. Fitz?” she asked, her cheeks coloring. “I’m Dr. Darcy Lewis. I’d been hoping to meet you today.”

Gravity 1 She was on the ground. That wasn’t normally a problem, but it seemed she couldn’t get off the ground.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you Dr. Lewis?”

Her eyes scrunched as she felt the pressure pulling her down and keeping her there.

“What did you do.”

His smile was practically feral. “I finally figured out how to change localized gravity. It wasn’t even that hard. And you just walked into the field and got stuck in it. Now you’ll have to do what I say or I’ll turn it up until the force crushes you.”

She turned her head away. “I guess I’ll die then.”

2 “I don’t think the gravity of this situation is really hitting you,” Tony said with a pinched look on his face.

“Oh, I get it all right,” Steve argued back “IO just think that you don’t have any idea what you’re doing. Your solution is asinine.”

Darcy’s eyes bounced back and forth as she watched both of them argue back and forth,

“I’d kill for some popcorn,” she said, before inserting herself into the building argument that was now mostly about disparaging the other’s character.

She let out a loud whistle. “Listen up asshats. You’re both wrong.”

3 He was her gravity. He kept her grounded and secure. She had always expected love to be more like floating, but it wasn’t. At least not the way he loved her. He loved her exactly how she was. It made her feel more secure in who she was and what she was doing. His devotion to her was absolute, and he kept her from second guessing herself. She had never realized that feeling grounded could feel so liberating. Sure, there had been a bit of floatyness when they started, but if she was a balloon, he was holding her string, and she had never been happier.

4 “Maybe before we step out we should, I don’t know, check things like the air and gravity situation? Not to second guess anyone since I’m just the astrophysicist here, but, ya know, that environment might affect what we do when we get out there.”

The leader whose name she knew but refused to use, glowered at her. “You’re not in charge here Miss Lewis. Besides, you’re not here as a scientist. You're here for your social media expertise.” He practically spat the last words.

“It’s Doctor,” she countered. “And I’m here for both you absolute fuckwit.”

5 The situation was grave, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Of course, as soon as the thought entered her head, an explosion rocked the wall, blowing debris at her and pinning her down.

She came to unable to feel her legs. Well, that probably wasn’t good, but it also wasn’t the worst thing. She was pretty sure if she could feel them, she wouldn’t be able to think at all for the pain. Okay, the gravity of the situation had gone up. Well, nothing to do for it but get to work on a solution.

6 “Try defuyyyyinnnggg gravity!” she sang at the top of her lungs. She was singing so loud that she didn’t hear the door open and close.

“Oh Darcy,” Jane said as she turned the volume of the music down. “I realized it was a bad breakup, but I didn’t think you were this bad.”

Darcy snorted. “It wasn’t bad at all. This,” she gestured to the room that Jane noticed was covered in comfort foods and blankets, “has nothing to do with that. The breakup was unfortunately timed with my dissertation being denied.”

“What?” Jane said, the color draining out of her face before she turned the volume back up.

7 “Like, what even is gravity?” she asked, slurring her words.

Her companions stared at her. “Do you mean like in science?” Helen asked, her own words not fully enunciated.

“No,” Darcy said, shaking her head and immediately regretting it as the room seemed to tilt around her. “I mean, the drink,” she held up her glass and shook it in emphasis. It was luckily mostly empty and didn’t spill.

“I don’t think that’s the name of it,” Jane said. “It’s g something else.”

“Galaxy,” Maria said, put upon by her own sobriety. “It’s called a galaxy, not a gravity.”

8 “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation,” Jane said with a cruel smile. “You denied my best friend her PhD, and now no one can help you. No one will save you from the single stupidest thing you’ve done this decade.”

The man sneered at her. “That’s mighty presumptuous of you,” he said arrogantly. “You might have won a Nobel Prize, but everyone knows that had more to do with Thor than you.”

Jane just laughed. “You have no idea.”

Darcy pulled at Jane’s arm. “Come on. He’s not worth it. Stark’s already almost done ruining him. We need to prepare for my new presentation.”

The man paled and Jane’s smile widened. “Now you get it.”

Radiation 1 “Ummm, that was not a result I was prepared for,” Bruce admitted as he looked over at Helen and Darcy.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine any of us were expecting this,” Darcy agreed from where her skin seemed to have fused to his hip. “This isn’t really how radiation works.”

“Errr,” Helen said from the consul where she had moved a soon as the problem had arisen. “Which one of you recently had contact with an Asgardian?”

The looked at each other and Bruce said, “Last night? We were in New Asgard for a party.”

Helen sighed. “Well that’s a start,” she sighed.

2 The pain was radiating from her legs now and she didn’t like this new development. Sure, it meant that they probably weren’t a lost cause, but it was seriously interfering with her ability to think.

“Darcy?” a voice yelled before coughing. There was still dust heavy in in the air.

“Over here!” she yelled back after covering her face with her shirt.

There was a scrambling sound and then a soft curse and Sam Wilson was in front of her.

“A bit not good,” he said, looking from her legs to her face.

“Really? John Watson now?”

He smiled.

3 “Radiation therapy is my suggested course of action,” he said looking at her from across the desk. She wondered how many times he had had similar conversations across this desk. Probably a lot. It was kind of his job. She wondered if he had all the beats of talking someone through cancer treatment down. If his head was just a giant decision tree that took her answers and gave her the response he had given every time someone asked this question or made that comment.

“Okay,” she said after a deep calming breath. “I know what that means. Do I start scheduling with you now or is that later?”

4 The radiation the planet was emitting was fascinating. It wasn’t what she had been looking for, but she was glad to have found it anyway. “Move one quarter of a degree south,” she said to her tech that was running the telescope. “Read again and then change the spectrum. I want to see what else is going on with this plant.”

“That isn’t our mission, Dr. Lewis,” the intern argued.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. She was over snot nosed male interns thinking they dictated her research simply because of their genitalia.

“Not our mission. Mine. Do as I say,” she ordered.

5 The radiation fallout had been less than they had expected, but no less impactful. Coulson looked over at her. “You’re glowing” he said. 

She frowned. When she looked at herself she didn’t see a glow. She looked back up at him. “I don’t see a glow,” she argued. “Maybe it’s something only you can see? Try looking at yourself or someone else. Maybe your eyes were changed. Something that wasn’t visible before now is?”

He did as she said. “Maybe,” he agreed, looking around, “but you’re the only one I see glowing, and I don’t know what that means.”

6 Darcy’s tears were bitter and she didn’t feel like she had earned the right to cry them. She had known that radiation therapy was a last resort. She knew that the odds were against them. But knowing that and living the results were two different things. It had been just her and her dad as long as she could remember, and now it was about to be just her. The treatment had failed to bring about results. She knew it was just a matter of time now. It had always been just a matter of time, but that hadn’t stopped her from hoping. Now it looked like hope had run out.

7 “That color looks like it belongs on a door warning of radiation,” Jane said flipping her sunglasses down before looking at the dress again.

“Right?” Darcy said gleefully. “Isn’t it perfect?”

“I don’t know why you’re going out of your way to have a bad date. Just tell him no.”

Darcy frowned at her friend. “I can’t just tell him no. He’s a supremely arrogant asshole. He’ll keep bothering me until I say yes. This is much better. I’m going to make him think it’s his idea to never see me again.”

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

running away

request: Can u do 18 and 69 from the prompt list w Mat Barzal please?! 💗💗 love ur blog!!!

prompt: “Say that again, but less stupid.” & “I don’t get jealous.” / numbers 18 & 69 off of this list with Mat Barzal.

summary: Mat knows just how to annoy you and you can’t help but fall for it every time. 

warnings: drinking

word count: 2.3k

You didn't want to hate Mat. In all reality, you didn't actually. He was just annoyingly cocky when it came to his hockey ability. When you had tried to voice this to yours and Mat’s mutual friend Tito, he had just laughed it off, grinning out a ‘he has a right to be’ before leaving you pouting.

No, you didn't hate Mathew Barzal. He just really, really annoyed you.

“Say that again, but less stupid.” You blanched. You had lost your filter two drinks ago, and from your position wedged in a booth between Mat and Tito in some bar you were at celebrating a win, you were forced to listen to Mat and Tito talk about hockey. You weren’t totally listening, partially because you could only hear so much hockey talk before you lost your mind and partially because your head was a little fuzzy from your drinks. 

Your were contemplating on just how you were going to get past Mat and out of the booth to reach the bar when you heard his asinine comment. Normally, you would tune him out and you were certain you would’ve this time if you hadn't been sitting so close and if he hadn't sounded so dumb. So, really, you had no choice but to interrupt.

“I said, it’s fun to get in fights sometimes.” You scoffed at this, glancing up to Mat to see his trademark troublemaking grin. You were starting to think that maybe you should rethink the whole idea of going to get another drink because your next words tumbled past your lips before you could control them.

“I hate when you get in fights.” You regretted the confession instantly, seeing as it only made Mat’s teasing smirk grow. 

“Aw, do you care about me?” His comment made Tito laugh, and you hoped that the way your eyes rolled made you seem indifferent enough, or maybe you could blame the rosiness of your cheeks on the alcohol. 

Because as much as Mat annoyed you, you couldn't have helped the way you fell hopelessly for him. 

“No.” 

Lie.

Mat and Tito laughed at the defensiveness in your voice and you refused to look at either one of them. Right now, you just needed space from the two boys. You mumbled an excuse about having to use the bathroom and thankfully Mat let you leave without another comment. 

You took your time in the bathroom, straightening out your clothes and chastising yourself for reacting the way you had to his teasing. As far as you knew he was blind to your affections, there was no way he could know since you had never told anyone—let alone someone that would let it slip to Mat. 

Instead of heading back to the booth which had since been abandoned by Mat and Tito, you headed to the bar counter. It was crowded, and you didn't spot anyone you knew until a loud laugh sounded from a group of people to your left. 

You hated yourself for it, but it was a laugh you could recognize anywhere. It was a laugh that drew your attention, only the small smile that had formed at the sound faltered when you took in the scene before you. Mat and Tito were surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and they looked like they were having the time of their lives. 

The sight made an ugly feeling grow in your chest, one that had no right to be there. You and Mat were nothing, sometimes you questioned if you were even friends but your massive crush on him rejected the idea of having a just platonic relationship. But you were certain that friends didn’t get upset when the other was blatantly charming a group of girls. 

Your stomach dropped when you locked eyes with Mat, his smile turning to a teasing one as he caught you staring. You tried to change the sour look on your face to one a bit more neutral, but you were certain that made you look even more suspicious. Your head whipped forward, and you spotted the bartender nearby. You waved them down, and just as you finished giving them your order, another body stepped beside the stool you were sitting on to lean on the counter. 

“Put it on my tab, thanks.” Much like the laugh, it was a voice you’d recognize from anywhere. You’d heard the voice a thousand times, from across the room, whispered in a kitchen, yelled from the ice as you watched practice tucked in the stands, or right behind you in a crowded bar—Mathew Barzal was not one you’d easily forget. 

“Don’t you have anyone else to be buying drinks for?” You snapped before you could bite your tongue. Maybe the alcoholic drink you'd just ordered wasn't the best idea, but you weren't totally thinking straight under Mat’s heavy stare. 

“Jealous?” He teased, the word coming out as a chuckle. Usually, his smile was infectious but right now you couldn't help but glare at him. There was something about the way he said that one word told you he knew. He knew about your feelings and he was just throwing the fact that they were unrequited in your face.

At least, that's the way you saw it.

“I don’t get jealous.” You huffed, suddenly sounding very defensive. Your sentence was punctuated by the bartender setting your drink down in front of you, which you quickly sipped from in order to avoid looking at him. You didn't know how much longer you were going to be able to sit there and handle his teasing.

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not, then I’m just going to go back over and talk to those girls.” His smile was playful, and if your mind hadn't been so foggy you would've realized he had no real intention of going back over there other than to antagonize you. But the thought of it had the ugly feeling—jealousy, you know recognized—bubbling up in your chest again. 

You forced a smile onto your face, turning towards him before sliding off the stool. Before, when you had been sitting, the height difference between the two of you wasn't that noticeable. Now that you were on your own feet, and as close as you were, your neck was craning to look at him. You could feel your eyes start to get glossy, and you shoved your drink into his chest until he grabbed it. His gaze locked on yours and your chest tightened as his features softened into a confused frown once he recognized the strained look on your face, how your smile was tight and no where near reaching your eyes.

With his own drink in his other hand, he didn't have a free one to grab you to keep you in place as you shouldered your way through the crowd. You felt ridiculous, there was no reason that you should be this upset over Mat talking to other girls, but the fact that he came over and taunted you about your feelings had you feeling suffocated in the crowded bar. 

You were running away from your feelings, from confrontation, and from Mat.

You pulled out your phone as you maneuvered your way outside to call an Uber, and by the time you made it out the car was already pulled up out front. You checked to make sure it was your Uber and soon after that you were pulling away from the curb and headed back to your apartment. 

Aside from sending Tito a quick text that you had left so he wouldn't worry about you, you spent the ride pathetically staring out the window. You upset, that medium between anger and sadness that had you mindlessly watching the lights of the city night pass by without actually taking anything in.

You stayed in your stupor all the way until your apartment, changing into a pair of sweats and a tee as soon as you could. It wasn't until you had gotten a glass of water and were seated on the couch attempting to pick a show to watch that you were brought back to reality by a knock on your door. 

You could feel your heart hammer in your chest as you looked through the peephole to spot the very same dark haired boy you had left at the bar. He seemed nervous, rocking back and forth on his feet with eyes darting from your door to the elevator at the end of the hall. He was waiting for something to happen, and just as you watched him raise his fist to knock again did you decide to swing the door open.

Instead of greeting him like you would any other guest, you simply raised a brow to question his presence. He sighed, running a hand through his hair that was already so tousled something told you he had repeated the action dozens of times before you caught him. 

“Can I come in?” He asked, and still you stayed silent, though you did step back to allow him to slip in. He muttered a thank you before heading into the living room and finding home on your couch. “What are you watching?”

“What are you doing here, Mat?” You questioned, sounding a little standoffish and more than your fair share of exhausted as you wrapped your arms around yourself leaning against the doorjamb. He looked from the television to you, brows tugged together to show his confusion. 

“You basically ran off, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you want me to leave?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned about whether you wanted him to stay and nothing like the cocky hockey player you left back at the bar. You softened a bit at his question, but then you were reminded of just why you felt so defeated when flashes of him surrounded by women crept back into your head. 

“No, I mean, shouldn’t you be back at the bar trying to find tonight’s hookup?” You didn't mean to sound bitter, but you were honestly exhausted by trying to hide your feelings. You figured that since he already knew and used to it mock you there was no point in trying to be subtle. 

The laugh that left Mat had your head snapping from your shoes to meet his gaze, and it was your turn to draw your brows together. He was grinning, one that usually made your heart skip a beat but was only causing your annoyance to grow. 

“You’re so oblivious.”

“Excuse me?” You snapped, raising a pointed brow in his direction. He usually got on your nerves, but tonight he was testing your limits. He was creating more questions than providing answers and you were reading your boiling point. 

“I don't want to go home with any of those girls from the bar, so you don’t have to be jealous.” You scoffed at his comment, wondering just why he felt the need to keep bringing up the fact that you were so annoyed. It really wasn't helping his case at the moment, only serving to agitate you more.

“It sure looked like it.” You huffed, stepping towards the couch and ultimately him only to reach for the empty glass sitting on the coffee table before retreating back into the kitchen. You heard Mat sigh, and his footsteps following after you. 

You were being stubborn, you knew that. There was clearly something Mat wanted to say, but you kept your back to him as you filled the glass once more. He called your name softly when it became clear that you had no intention of paying him any attention. You turned, but your gaze was focused on your feet. 

“Do you think I was flirting with those girls?” He asked, a hint of amusement in his tone that had you scoffing once more. Your heart may belong to Mat but he sure knew how to get under you skin. “I was just being Tito’s wingman, I promise.”

“Why does that matter?” You mumbled, because you truly were in no position to police just who Mat talked to. Even if it made you feel like jealousy was going to consume you whole. At your question, Mat chuckled. You raised a brow in question, but otherwise stayed silent.

“Because I know you like me.” Just like at the bar, you felt like running away. Mat must have sensed it, maybe he saw your gaze flicker from him to the door, because he was moving closer to you, and before you could even think about what to do, he was talking the glass out of your hand to set on the counter. He place his hands on your hips, tugging you closer to him so quickly you stumbled, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest. “I like you too, you know.”

From where your hand was placed, you could feel his heart beating out of his chest, just like yours ways. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of disbelief, trying to decide if this was some elaborate prank just so he could tease you. But the combination of his racing heart under you palm, the sincerity in his eyes, and the fact that he followed you from the bar instead to make sure you’re okay convinced you this was real. His eyes flickered to your lips only to meet your gaze again. All he needed was the small nod of your head and he dipped back in, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was slow and gentle, and you felt it all the way down to your toes. When you finally pulled away it was because of a need for oxygen and Mat didn't let you get far. His grip on your hips pulled you flush against his chest and your arms wrapped around his neck. You weren’t mad about the closeness, it allowed you to chase after his lips once you caught your breath to give him a few more quick kisses. You were melting under his gaze, and he knew it. 

“I’m a pretty good kisser, huh?” He teased and you groaned, dropping your head onto his chest. Leave it to him to take the sweet start of your relationship and use it to get under your skin.

“You're so annoying, Barzal.”

[ihavejarlsberg]

Warning Labels

A short Brightwell fic by ihavejarlsberg/Suitupbuttercup

Author’s Note:  I just love Brightwell and they give me a lot of feelings, so I mainly wrote this for me, but I hope you all got some warm fuzzies out of it, as well. (Also I’m insane and can’t decide what tense I want this in lololol) Special thanks to my pal @the-ginger-avenger who looked this over for me and assured me it wasn’t total trash. Putting a read more line in so no one gets too mad at me.   ;D   If you like this, reblog and tell me about it! Have a great day, everyone!

Summary: Dani Powell feels like she should have come with a warning label.

(Probably several of them.)

She feels like she's tricked Malcolm, sometimes--that he thought he was getting this strong, independent woman who has her shit together. And she's not that, at all.

(She's so far from that, it's not even funny.)

When Dani has a nightmare in Malcolm's bed, she expects him to be uncomfortable at best, completely freaked out by her at worst. But, as always, Bright is full of surprises.

Find on AO3 here. 

----

Dani Powell feels like she should have come with a warning label.

 Probably several of them. 

 Malcolm Bright certainly came with his own set. (They were more like flashing hazard lights.) Dani had known full well what she was getting herself into with him when they had started seeing each other. Hell, the disclaimers had been self evident when they were only friends. It was obvious to anyone who spent more than ten minutes talking to the guy; he came with baggage heavy enough to crush him.

 At present, these were burdens she desperately wanted to help him with, to share with him. She could never fully take them away, she knew, but she could lessen the load when he let her.

 He was so much easier to love than she had ever anticipated. Even her most half-assed attempts to empathize with him, to be understanding and help him, were met with such reverent wonder and genuine appreciation that her heart nearly burst with affection for him. She found herself in a precarious, uncharted place, emotionally, where she wanted to throat punch anyone who had ever hurt him, anyone who had ever even thought to wrong such a gentle, special soul as Malcolm Bright. 

 And being that vulnerable terrified her. 

 Bright was still annoying. He still had plenty of quirks she would never quite understand. And she knew that one day, he was going to get himself hurt for the most asinine reason, and she would have to pick up the pieces. She knew the day was coming where she would need to sit him down and explain to him in the simplest possible terms that she  needed  him to be safe, that he couldn't pull this shit anymore, and that he had to  stop  and  think  before he ran headlong into danger at the drop of a hat. It was a conversation she felt coming, in the same prophetic way animals could sense hurricanes.

 In spite of all this, she still feels like she's tricked him, sometimes--that he thought he was getting this strong, independent woman who has her shit together. And she's not that, at all. 

 She's so far from that, it's not even funny.

 So when he sees her break down for the first time, she expects him to be shocked. Repulsed, even. She expects him to recoil from her, or think less of her. She expects him to not know what to do with her.

 But he doesn't do any of those things.

 When he finds her, comes to her from the other room after they’ve both fallen asleep in their separate spaces, she's sobbing into his pillow so hard, so violently, she's barely able to make any sound at all. The air she does manage to take in comes in hard, painful gasps and shoots out in breaths that make her entire body tense up. 

 She's spent a lot of time in Bright's bed lately. Very little of that time has been spent actually sleeping, in the months they've been seeing each other. (She's not upset about that.) Usually, she dips out. Usually, she heads home late, sated and happy and buzzing with the high of infatuation. 

 But lately, she hasn't wanted to leave. Lately, she's wanted to fall asleep with her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart. As they lie together, he traces his fingertips over her bare back, or plays with her hair, or massages her scalp so gently and so tenderly that it makes her heart swell, and she just  doesn’t want to leave. 

 He doesn’t make her. But, he steadfastly refuses to fall asleep in the same bed. He tells her that if he hurts her in his sleep, he will never, ever forgive himself for the rest of his life. (She believes him.) 

 She thinks he's worth the risk, thinks that the weight of another person next to him in his bed would comfort him tremendously. But she doesn't fight him on it. (Yet.) This is still new, this thing between them, and she doesn't want to barge into his life and make him do things he's afraid of. (Yet.)

 So he doesn't make her go home, and she doesn’t make him sleep next to her. He lets her fall asleep curled in at his side, and when he’s certain she’s in a deep enough sleep, he slips away. Moves over to the couch, where he's installed a second set of restraints for himself, and a spare mouth guard is waiting in its case on the end table closest to the wall. 

 The bed feels lonely and cold without him next to her. And eventually, his absence bleeds into her dreams. 

 Admittedly, the preceding week didn’t help. Work has been difficult for Dani lately, with their current caseload. Malcolm thrives on it, says he needs it. But if Dani is being honest, she could use a break. She's getting burnt out. 

 And then, to top it all off, their newest victim turns out to be a child—a little girl, no older than eight, from the Bronx.

 Malcolm is uncharacteristically quiet as they unpack everything they know about the little girl in the conference room, his focus solely on the whiteboard as he scrawls out his notes and observations. They're all uncharacteristically quiet, truth be told, and incredibly on edge. No one wants to talk about it, but they have to talk about it, and the conversation that follows is stilted and forced. 

 But it hits Dani the hardest. Gil pulls her aside later, asks her if she wants to take a break. And truthfully, she does. She desperately wants to take a break. And she will, once they find the sick bastard that murdered an innocent child in cold blood.

She'll spend an entire day lounging around her apartment, watching stupid baking shows on Netflix, not thinking about dead children. But they have to catch the guy first. 

 In the meantime, she can't stop thinking about it. It keeps her up at night.

 Malcolm sees her unraveling and is desperate to help. But the truth is, he's nearly always in a state of unraveling, himself. And they may be friends—good friends—at their core, but there's so much about her that he doesn't know. So much she hasn't let him see. So she shuts down, shuts him out. It's the wrong move, and it feels wrong in the moment. She knows avoiding his probing questions and those eyes that seem to read her mind is only going to work for so long.

 So, she distracts herself. She distracts herself with his mouth, with his body. He lies with her for a long time after, with his head resting between her breasts and his hand on her hip, caressing her skin with the pad of his thumb. Eventually, his hand slows as he starts to drift off. He lifts his head and glances up at her; she's been still for so long now, it's easy for her to feign sleep. So he eases out from her side, takes her hand in his, and kisses her knuckles once before gently laying her hand back down on his comforter. 

 Eventually, sleep does find her. But it doesn't take her gently. It sinks its talons into her and pulls down hard.

 She dreams of all the children from the Bronx she hasn't been able to save. One after the other, she sees them lined up in the basement morgue of the precinct, lying on cold metal tables, their small bodies half concealed by white sheets. She dreams of finding the person responsible for this, pulling her gun on him, and freezing up. He gets away; he gets to hurt more kids.

 In her dreams, she's screaming. In her dreams, she feels a terrible mixture of rage and fear, and they blend together until they're so strong, she's choking on them both.

She can feel someone grabbing at her, and she fights, kicks, and yells her heart out. A pair of strong arms constrict around her from behind, holding her own thrashing arms in place. Panic seizes her so strongly that it wakes her up; she throws her head back, and whoever is holding her narrowly avoids a broken nose.

 When she finally tears her eyes open, the first thing she sees is the soft light of the street lamps coming in through a familiar set of arched window panes. She's panting, pulling in one ragged breath after another as she looks around, taking in the familiar setting of Malcolm's bedroom. As she stills, the constricting feeling around her chest lessens some, and she looks down to see Malcolm's strong arms holding her.

 Dani knows first hand how physically strong Malcolm Bright is. He isn’t a large man, but he also isn’t one to be underestimated. She learned that first hand after he tackled her to the ground in his sleep and fought her with flailing limbs on the floor of the precinct until he jerked awake, crushing her to him with a grip that only loosened as he regained consciousness and realized what was happening.

 He holds her almost this tightly again, now, pinning her arms to her side from behind, holding her back to his chest, until he hears her breathing change. “Dani,” he says brokenly, and she gets the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s called out her name. “Sweetheart, please.” There’s a note of pleading threading through his voice that just guts her. She reaches up and grips his forearm with her hand, squeezing it tightly, and he almost chokes on his relief. 

 He nuzzles her hair out of the way with his nose and whispers warmly into the shell of her ear: “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

 Wordlessly, she turns toward him, pressing her face hard into his chest. Her breathing is gradually evening out, and she’s able to focus on what’s real and what’s in front of her. Mainly Malcolm, and she grips him just as tightly as she remembers him gripping her that day in the precinct. She grounds herself in his solid presence, taking the material of his T shirt in her hand in a tight fist.

 One day, she'll find it funny she's never seen Malcolm in just a simple T-shirt until she started sleeping with him. Her nose is smushed into the organic cotton material, and it's so much harder to breathe with her face pressed into him this way, but she doesn't care. As soon as she turns toward him, his hand is in her hair, cradling the back of her head.

 “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, “I didn’t hear you at first.” 

 She shakes her head, trying to tell him it isn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but all that makes its way out of her throat is a short sob. He lets out a shaking breath and hugs her tighter. His other hand moves up and down the small of her back soothingly. 

 She’s crying, and her tears are soaking the front of his shirt; but if he minds, he doesn’t say. He just keeps shushing her quietly, whispering to her over and over again that it’s okay, he’s here now, he’s got her and he’s not going to let her go. And slowly, tentatively, she starts to come down, starts to believe him.  

 Eventually and inevitably, fear is replaced by mortification. She starts to pull away from him, ducking her head to avoid meeting his eyes. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

 Immediately, his hand his under her chin, gently nudging her face up to look at him. “Dani,” he says firmly. His eyes are huge, intense, only made more so by how dark it is in the room and the way the moonlight coming in through the windows reflects off them. “Stop.” He leans down and brushes his nose over the tip of hers. “Darling, this isn’t your fault.” He’s never called her “sweetheart” or “darling” before tonight, but she decides then and there that it suits him--them--so well, she doesn’t ever want him to stop. 

 It doesn’t occur to her how fruitless it is to argue with Malcolm Bright, of all people, about nightmares, but she makes a valiant attempt anyway. “It’s been a while,” she starts, “But I’m not usually that loud.” She continues, despite the fact that he’s shaking his head vehemently at her. “At least, I--don’t think I am. I usually wake up. It’s j-just--this case has been--” Whatever she was going to say next is lost in a hiccup, and she can almost see Malcolm’s heart break through the expression on his face. 

 He leans down and kisses her cheek once, then darts over to the other cheek to deliver a second, and then pulls back to press his nose into hers lightly again before he touches his forehead to hers. “I know,” he says, and the weight with which he speaks those two words makes her believe he really does know how she’s feeling. Despite the fact that he’s spent the whole week talking about the type of person who would want to kill children, their background, their wants, motives and desires--as if he understands them. “I know,” he says again. “It’s not okay.  None of this is okay. But we’re going to find him, all right? We’re going to stop him, Dani. You and me--together.” 

 He sounds so sure that she finds herself nodding along with him. 

She decides, in this moment, that she loves him. The thought pops into her head and she latches onto it in eager agreement. She doesn’t voice it aloud (and won’t for several more months), but this is the moment she will look back on and know, as she looks up into his sincere eyes--eyes that shine with tears, eyes that tell her he’d do just about anything to trade places with her and relieve her of the fear that has her in a choke hold--that she’s let herself finally, finally, fall fully and fantastically in love with him. 

 He clearly misreads the stunned look on her face as residual fear, and he moves her hair back to kiss her neck, peppering her skin with kisses he hopes will ground her, until he finally makes his way to her lips and takes them against his own. He can taste her tears, and she can taste his, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is this, now, and how fiercely he’s holding her, and how hard she’s trying not to float away. 

 What matters is that despite her protestations, he stays with her the rest of the night. She needs him, and he knows it, so he stays. He keeps vigil at her side, refusing to let sleep take him, too. And with him next to her, Dani is able to drift off. This time, it’s dreamless. 

 And for the first time since she’s been seeing him romantically, she wakes up in the same bed as Malcolm. He’s the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. Feeling her stir, he looks at her, and her heart pangs at just how tired he looks, how prominent the dark circles are that cradle his eyes. But then his face splits into a beautiful smile, one she can’t help but return. 

 When they arrive at work that morning, Gil does a double take when he sees Malcolm and asks him if he even  tried to sleep the night before. Malcolm gives him a look, his eyes flashing, and, thankfully, Gil drops the subject without further quarrel. 

 Dani is almost positive she’s never loved Malcolm more than she does in that very moment, and when they sit down next to each other at the conference room table, she takes his hand in hers, squeezing it gently before lacing their fingers together.  His knee is bouncing, a conduit for his jittering energy, but it stills as he looks over at her. And the expression he wears is so tender, so adoring, that she just has to lean over and kiss his cheek. 

 JT chooses that moment to walk in--just in time to see it happen. “Oh, gross,” he mutters. “Seriously? That’s a thing now?” 

 “Shut up, JT,” Dani says quietly, though she’s smiling, as Malcolm leans in to kiss her for real.  ---- Gonna tag a few mates who might care about this. Let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in the future (or if you do want to be tagged and I missed ya!). I won’t be offended!  :D 

@malclombright  @atomrealm  @thatsmytrope  @prodigal-sons  @incorrectprodigalsonquotes  @malcolmwhitly-bright  @badguywindow  @brightcinnamonroll  @brightwell-central  @malcolmshiny  @asmolwhumper  @zoejoy24  @prodigal-hyperfixtation  @malcolmwhumply  @endless-navigator  @prodigalsonheadcanons  @brightandwell  @hollyethecurious   @sherlock-freud  @higherthanakite  @thoughts-ideas-statements  @detpowell  @frankensteinsmomster  @paranoid-peaches  @lavenderspark  @missscorp  

[the-lupine-sojourner]

A Bond Not Easily Broken [Thorn Oakenshield/Elf!Reader]

Here is another request! This one is from @queenofmankind​ who is a very very sweet person and a joy to work with. :) I tried to include everything from our discussions, Queen! 

Anyway, this fic is loosely based on the song Gemini Feed by Banks. 

Alrighty! Let’s get into it! Please note that this is being put up with not much proofreading cus I’m tired lol. 

I do hope you guys enjoy it anyway! :) 

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

You never would have thought it possible, but now there was no denying it. 

Your love, your One, was a surly, easily angered Dwarf King leading an attempt to reclaim Erebor from Smaug. 

The trouble was, he didn’t care about the fact that the pair of you were likely supposed to be as One being before Iluvatar. 

Thorin had been nothing but bad-tempered, gruff, and passive-aggressive toward you from the moment you’d joined the Company. 

Balin had told you Thorin held an old grudge against the elves for failing to come to the inhabitants of Erebor’s aid when Smaug forced them from their home.

While that was a tragic tale, seeing the way he acted toward you soon banished any empathy you had held for him. 

At first, he had the sense to at least grumble about you when you were on the other side of the camp where you could barely hear what he was saying, but within weeks he’d taken to insulting you and all elves to your face. 

You tried to fight fire with fire, but that only enraged him more, so you tried to give him a better impression of elves by being nice. 

You would set up his bedroll for him, make sure he got the first helping of the food, and fill his waterskin for him, among other things, but he’d only gruffly dismiss you with a ‘Thank you’ that was anything but sincere. 

At the peak of your frustration and anger at the dwarf leader, you’d turned to Balin, who’d been a boon, accepting your role in the Company (something of a negotiator/ambassador from Rivendell) with the good grace you’d hoped for from Thorin.

You and Balin had discussed the emerging bond between you and Thorin, and you asked him if he was aware of the bond. 

Balin shook his head. “If he is, and he likely is, he’s not going to be easy to win, lass. He feels he has been betrayed by Elves and his heart is hardened toward them.” That information helped you understand where Thorin’s attitude toward you came from, but it did nothing to ease your anger and frustration. 

You yourself had been orphaned at a young age when orcs and goblins had attacked a band of elves who’d been searching for a new place to settle. Lord Elrond had heard of the tragedy and offered you and the few other survivors sanctuary at Imladris.

Why could you rise above your past when Thorin drowned himself in it? Couldn’t Thorin see the damage he was inflicting on himself by continuing to hold on his grudge?

You soon decided that, since Thorin was not acknowledging you, you decided to get to know the others in the band, to various degrees of acceptance. 

Fili and Kili, Thorin’s nephews, were a charming pair, you found, and you felt at ease around them, often riding or walking beside them and talking about many different things. 

You would sometimes notice Thorin glaring at you and the boys from the head of the Company, but you didn’t understand why he was so opposed to you talking to his nephews and thus continued your friendship with them. 

And then, when you and the Dwarves had finally arrived at Erebor, it all came to a head. 

He became positively nasty, lashing out at any who dared question him, and to you he was downright harsh and cruel. 

No longer was he passive-aggressive; he was not hiding when he insulted you and your race. He even targeted you specifically more often, and his words were like knives in your heart. 

No amount of talking and pleading from you and the Company could snap Thorin out of his foul mood. 

Bilbo, that dear little Hobbit, had done his best to comfort you, but even he was dismayed at how intense this ‘Gold Sickness’ Balin spoke of gripped Thorin. 

That evening, after the gruff but honorable bowman from Laketown (Bard, wasn’t it?) had tried and failed to negotiate terms for honoring Thorin’s oath that ‘all would share in the wealth of the mountain’, Thorin was in the worst mood you had seen yet. 

It had been a foolish idea for you of all people to bring Thorin supper, but there you were. 

“Leave it there. Begone!” Thorin barks, nodding toward a table nearby. 

You set your jaw as you set the bowl down. “A simple ‘thank you’ would be appreciated.” You grumble without thinking. “Honestly, Thorin, I don’t know why you seem to hate me, but- -” 

“Did you not hear me?” Thorin growls, rudely interrupting you and stalking closer to you. “I said ‘begone’!” 

“I heard you. I am not leaving. You have no right to treat me the way you have, king or not!” You had suffered his ill will long enough. It was time to fight back. “I have tried to be gracious and give you time to adjust to my presence, but you have only grown worse! This mountain has driven you mad, Thorin. We’ve all noticed it. You are not yourself!” 

“And what do you know about me, wench?!” Thorin roars, eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“I know enough!” You retort hotly. “I know Fili and Kili admire you, though I can’t see why!” 

“Do not speak to me of my sister’s sons!” Thorin snaps, drawing away contemptuously. “The traitors.” he grits his teeth, whirling furiously on you, “I have seen the way you ingratiate yourself to them, and my company. Even the burglar has fallen to your charms. They shall soon see your true nature and break off your friendship, but at present they are still blind and foolish.” 

You back up a step. That...that had hurt more than you thought it would. “And just what, may I ask is my true nature, since you apparently know me so well?!” You demand, all pretense of control of yourself long gone. 

“You and your kin are all oath-breakers and cowards!” Thorin’s voice had risen in bitterness and fury, his eyes blazing with hatred. “Elves claim allegiance and swear fealty, but when the moment arrives for that oath to be fulfilled, you turn your back! You leave those you swore loyalty to suffering and in need!” 

“I’m from Rivendell, you asinine Dwarf!” Your voice, too, had become bitter and harsh, the bottled hurt and emotions now flooding out. “It was Thranduil’s decision whether or not to help you defeat Smaug! Given his previous battles against dragons, he elected not to risk his subjects to dragonfire and slaughter! You hold a grudge against Thranduil, and perhaps it has some merit, but you cannot extend that bitterness to all elves, and you know it!” 

“Elves are always the same! Lord Elrond claimed to know my grandfather, and yet no aid came from him when we had to forsake our home and flee!” 

“He was too far away to offer aid!” You counter, pointing out what you thought was obvious. 

But Thorin was too far entrenched in his anger to even notice you had spoken.

“The elves care for nothing beyond their affairs! Oathbreakers, every one of them!” 

“I have stood by my oath to offer my services, in case you have forgotten!” You thunder, unwilling to stand by and be insulted.

“For my gold, no doubt.” You shudder subtly at the way Thorin’s voice became something of a hiss, “You and Thranduil are so alike, only offering aid when it results in riches or favors. There is no true loyalty in elves.” 

The insult to your sense of loyalty, which you had always tried to uphold, was the final straw. 

You draw up to your full height, eyes filled with furious tears and hatred. You could no longer believe that Thorin was truly your One, your love. 

Fate must surely be mistaken. 

“Then you will not be surprised when I take my leave.” Your voice was icy, concealing the hurricane of hurt and fury beneath it as you spoke with forced calm. “From the moment I decided to travel with you, you have been nothing but cruel and filled with hatred toward me. I have stood it thus far, but no longer. Do battle with Thranduil and Bard if that is your desire. Be slaughtered with your entire Company. I no longer claim allegiance or affiliation with you, Thorin Oakenshield. I sever my ties to you and your company.” You turn on your heel before the tears fell, cursing him in Elvish inwardly though your treacherous heart was almost willing to turn back, to see what effect, if any, your words had on Thorin.

His guttural, enraged Khuzdul, which you assumed was his own curses to you, made up your mind for you and you stalked from the room, tears falling down your cheeks and sobs wracking your throat as you retrieve your belongings hastily, unable to bear staying in Erebor a moment longer. 

“Where are you going?” You jolt and spin to see who had spoken, the pack slipping with a dull thud to the floor. “You can’t just leave.” 

Poor Bilbo was standing there, confusion and hurt in his eyes. You embrace him. 

“You, Fili, Kili, and Balin were my only comfort on this venture, but I was wrong to leave Rivendell, I was wrong to think- -” You shudder at the thought of rejecting your one chance at love, but it had been made so painfully clear Thorin had rejected you first, so there was no hope for your happiness now. “I can’t stay.” You croak, voice half-strangled by a sob as more tears flow. “This place is torturous! I can’t stand it!” 

“Please don’t go.” Bilbo’s voice breaks what little was left of your heart after Thorin had shattered it. 

“Oh, Bilbo. I wish you the best of luck, but I cannot remain here. I cannot.” You lean down and retrieve your pack and the last few items, shoving them inside and securing the flap over the sack before slinging it onto your shoulders. “Please give my regards to the others.” With that, you string your bow across your shoulders and force yourself to leave without looking back, even though everything in you longed to find a way to stay, if only for Bilbo’s sake. 

=#=#=#=#=

You chose to sneak into Thranduil’s camp rather than simply walk in, not expecting to find Gandalf in the camp. 

You’d been passing Thranduil’s tent when you heard the wizard’s voice. 

From there, you wait til he emerges and ask to speak to Gandalf privately.

“I see things did not happen as I intended.” He muses sadly when you explain yourself. “I had hoped he could resist his petty prejudices and the Gold Sickness, but they were more persistent than I realized.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask. 

“Have you not felt the thread of fate connecting you to Thorin?” Gandalf asks. 

“Like a shackle.” You confess, tears brimming afresh at all the things Thorin had said and done in his rejection. “He has rejected it.” 

“I am not so certain, but that remains to be confirmed.” Gandalf comments shrewdly. “I am truly sorry you could not find happiness, [Y/N].” 

“I was a fool to think I could love him and he love me in return.” You were so exhausted from the day’s events you couldn’t bring yourself to feel much of anything anymore. Gandalf’s kind arm went around you as your eyes begin to drift closed. 

“Do not give up hope just yet, my dear. Thorin Oakenshield may surprise you yet.” Was the last thing you heard as sleep overtook you. 

=#=#=#=#=

The next morning was agony. 

Your heart, that treacherous organ which had been trod on and abused so harshly, yearned for the Company, and perhaps to continue attempting to get through to Thorin despite your words yesterday. 

You noted in despair that overnight the dwarves had barricaded the entrance, doubtless on Thorin’s orders, so any entrance to Erebor was now impossible unless Thorin wished it. 

The Company had foolishly shut the secret door once Smaug had left and now the only other entrance to Erebor was barricaded.

You couldn’t go back to the Company if you wanted to, now.

There was, perhaps, a part of you that had said the harsh words in the hopes that it would come as enough of a shock that Thorin would break free of the sickness that gripped him and beg you to stay.

You had hoped, should he have broken free at your words, that he’d become the dwarf Fili and Kili described from their childhood. 

That version of Thorin, surely, wouldn’t have treated a lady, much less his One, the way the present Thorin had. 

You hoped he might have gone after you, but it seemed Thorin was as cold and impassive as ever.

There were only two options in regards to the fragile bond between you and Thorin; you could either miraculously work it out and come to realize how happy you could make each other (highly unlikely) or you could sever the bond and live without the feeling of being with your One the rest of your very, very long life and perhaps even in the Grey Havens, should you be premitted to journey there.

When the thought of snapping the bond occured to you, you paled, clutching your aching heart. It seemed even now your heart clung to hope in Thorin, but you couldn’t see why.

But still, perhaps your heart knew things you did not, so you decided to wait it out, refusing to sever your one chance at love.

=#=#=#=#=

In the course of the day, things took an ill turn when it was revealed that the Arkenstone had been delivered to Bard and Thranduil as a bargaining chip for the promised gold. 

Thorin, if it were possible, grew even more foul tempered, demanding the return of Arkenstone and vowing death to those who held it. 

His eyes then glared over the army of elves and fishermen gathered before Erebor, and somehow he spotted you standing in the first few ranks of elves, unable to help yourself. 

He grew so livid you thought for sure he would explode from the sheer force of his anger. He cursed you and all elves so thoroughly, tears sprang to your eyes. 

“I was right about you!” Thorin roars, “Oathbreaker! Coward! Traitor!” He heaped insults in english and Khuzdul onto your head in utter contempt and fury as you stood shaking. 

It’s then something happened that turned the tide of events yet again. 

Bilbo spoke up. “I gave it to them.” Is all he said. “Leave Y/N out of this.” 

Your heart clenches as the dwarf king’s fury and wrath were unleashed on the poor Hobbit. 

Bilbo bravely stood his ground, berating Thorin for being so cold and cruel to you, and the company, and remarking that the dwarf he had met at his house would never have acted this way. 

That was the final straw, Thorin declaring that Bilbo should be thrown from the ramparts. 

You squeak in horror, tense seconds creeping by as no one moves to execute the unthinkable command. 

Thorin then grabs Bilbo and prepares to carry out his own orders, Bilbo leaning precariously out over the edge when Gandalf materializes next to you, magic increasing his voice’s volume as he strides forward. 

“If you don’t like my bulgar, please do not damage him! Return him to me.” The wizard’s presence seems to shock Thorin enough that Bilbo slips away unheeded. The dwarves tug Bilbo to the side and attach a rope to the wall, sending Bilbo down to Gandalf before Thorin could remember his wrath at the unfortunate Hobbit. 

As Gandalf remarks at how poor Thorin’s performance as King Under the Mountain was, Bilbo races toward the wizard and you, who had stepped up to offer comfort to your friend after what had just happened. 

Bilbo buried his face in your abdomen in fright, shaken at nearly being killed by a dwarf he had called friend. 

Once you had clung to the hope that, given time, Thorin’s heart would soften toward you and he would accept you as his One.

Now...that hope had withered near to the point of death. Soon enough, it would succumb to the bitter venom Thorin had unleashed on you and it would die and you both would forever live with no other lover, no other person that you could love like your One. 

Then, as tension rose higher still, an army of dwarves arrived, with a particularly rowdy dwarf at the head. As Thranduil ordered his army to face the newcomers, Gandalf explained that the rowdy dwarf was Thorin’s cousin, Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills. 

And that, of the two dwarves, Thorin was the more reasonable.

You swore under your breath. There was absolutely no chance of peace now.

After a brief skirmish that quickly turned into war between Thranduil’s army and the dwarves’, there arose out of the earth a monstrous creature Gandalf called a ‘wereworm’, a nasty thing that ate earth greedily and left a tunnel in its wake. 

It disappeared to continue it’s feast, and from the exit in the tunnel emerged a grotesque army of Orcs, some of which rode large evil wargs toward the dwarves and elves, who had stopped fighting in shock at this turn of events. 

The battle was grim and gory and all around you was pain and death until the sound of a bell tolling out offered a brief respite. It came from the mountain and out of the hole the bell had made in the barricade came Thorin and his Company, charging the army of Orcs as the remainder of the Dwarf army regrouped around the King. 

The battle continued on and, though you fought as well as you could, you knew it was only a matter of time til you were overcome. 

Then you saw Thorin and a select few others (Dwalin, Fili, and Kili) riding toward Ravenhill, where the Orcs’ commander was stationed. 

Shortly after that, despite your misgivings, you find a mount on the strange goats the dwarves rode and take off after them. 

If the dwarves had not cleared the way, you would never have made it. 

You watch as Thorin searches for the orc commander in vain. You stayed back, having left your mount at a distance so you could come upon the group stealthily. 

You had no idea how Thorin would receive you, and you didn’t want to find out yet.

The orc commander (or so you assumed) then appeared, just as the group was preparing to retrieve Fili and Kili from the tower they’d been scouting, the large orc dragging Fili by the hair. 

Your heart was pounding as you grab an arrow in your quiver. Sighting along the shaft, you released it swiftly. The arrow sunk into the orc’s chest, near the shoulder, not where you wanted, but it was enough that Fili was released to drop a worrying distance. 

Luckily, Fili was able to survive, with a few minor injuries, by rolling. You sent another arrow into the commander during the chaos you created. This time, the arrow sank into the orc’s throat, and he gurgled, then fell. 

That had the desired effect; the orcs retreated, dragging the body of their leader behind them. You jog out to meet the others and find Thorin staring at you as if you were a ghost. 

You pressed forward, unwilling to stay and see what reaction he would have next as you race to find Kili. Fili was searching too and you soon found him. 

You brought the boys back to the others, who embraced them and were generally thrilled to see the dwarf princes alive and well. 

“I thought you disavowed yourself from myself and my company.” Thorin’s voice was shocked, but not angry, coming from behind you. Your heart hammered as you make yourself slowly spin. 

“I...saw you ride up here. Something came over me. I’m not sure what.” You explain, unsure how to take his reaction. The orcs were still retreating, and behind you you see the large eagles that had borne you from the orcs after your escape from Goblin Town arrive and make quick work of the orcs before they could regroup and decide to attack again. 

You were suddenly free to talk further with Thorin, or leave. 

For some reason, your feet refused to move. You felt rooted to the spot. 

“I owe you my gratitude and sincerest apologies.” He murmurs softly, more softly than he had ever spoken to you. You take a step back. This was a new side of Thorin and you weren’t sure how to proceed. “You saved my sister-son. But, the way I treated you within Erebor and at the gate this morning...it disgusts me to recall.” You know he means it but...there’s a part of you that tortures you with the thought that this isn’t real.

“It wasn’t entirely you in Erebor. That gold...the sickness…” You're unsure what you’re saying, but Thorin sighs heavily, head hanging in what might be shame. You weren’t sure. 

“Aye, the sickness was there, but many resisted. Had I been stronger, I would never have yielded to the sickness. That, and I owe you still more apologies for my actions and words toward you along our road here. I have never once treated you as you deserve, and for that I am forever ashamed of myself.” 

“Thorin…” You can’t help wanting to comfort him as he bares himself to you. 

The others retreated, offering you and Thorin what privacy they could. 

“No, please, Y/N, let me finish.” Thorin mumbles, genuinely contrite. “I have always strove to be an honorable dwarf, respectable, a worthy leader of my people.” 

One of the things I admire about you, you muse inwardly. 

“Mahal knows I’ve made a fool of myself many times, and failed to uphold the standard I wished to achieve. I refused to see the reason in the elve’s actions after Smaug came, allowing myself to be consumed by bitterness and hatred for far too long. I unleashed that bitterness and prejudice on you and I can never make amends for it.” He slowly takes a step forward. 

Your heart begged you to embrace him, but your mind, still hurting from all the terrible curses and words Thorin had hurled at you, bade you stay where you were.

“If you would allow me to start anew, I should like to regain your trust and show you the way dwarves display their love.” His hand slowly reaches for yours and you can’t find it in you to resist. 

You even allow him to lay a gentle, feather-like kiss on your knuckles, your skin prickling pleasantly at the sensation. 

This was all you wanted, to love and be loved. 

“...I think...I think I would like that, Thorin Oakenshield.”

[adverb-slut]

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips (Fanfiction)

I just *clutches chest* really love the boys at Purgatory Hall and felt they needed more spotlight so here they are being big dummies on the road.  Oh, I also posted this on AO3 here. 

Title:

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips

Summary:

On a R.A.D-sanctioned road trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy, the Purgatory Hall boys prove that they have just as many brain cells as the demon brothers (read: none).

Genre:

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

T

Word Count:

6870

-

Hour 0

Our story begins just outside the gates of Purgatory Hall, where two of its three non-native Devildom residents stood near a rather expensive-looking, immaculately-maintained vehicle. 

The short, prone-to-fits-of-righteous-anger one yanked behind him a wagon, which was piled high with duffel and overnight bags, all made of a stiff white and gold fabric straight from the Celestial Realm.  

The other, older man, who never left home without a mysterious smile and his magic wand, too, tugged the handle of his own luggage—although his was a wheeled backpack which sagged due to the weight of the approximately seven-hundred souvenir keychains from around the Human World that he had clipped onto it.

The pair were waiting for their third friend—who, in every sense of the word, was an angel—as together they were planning to embark upon a new R.A.D tradition, which the Demon Prince Diavolo had appropriately christened—Our Annual Road Trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy (A.R.T C.D for short).  The Caverns of Degeneracy were on the far outskirts of the Devildom, over six-hundred-and-sixty-six miles away from the R.A.D campus, and yet, for some asinine reason, Diavolo had decided that they were the perfect spot for hosting the academy’s yearly Bleeding Hearts Festival.  

(Many of the Student Council Officers and faculty had wagered that the Demon Prince had just wanted an excuse to take a road trip—a phenomenon he had recently been introduced to through one of Leviathan’s video games.)

Diavolo himself planned for his personal driver to ferry him and his butler, Barbatos, up to the Caverns a day early so he could begin preparations for the festival and encouraged all students to find their own means of transportation in order to get to the event on time.

The R.A.D Student Council Officers—all of whom resided in the House of Lamentation—had decided to pile themselves into Asmodeus’ tour bus (he had bought it specifically because once he became a famous DevilTuber, he would need it to do meet-and-greets with his fans and also because it had a “bear-y adorable design”) and drive down together.  

As the Purgatory Hall boys had no modes of transportation to call their own, Lucifer had graciously allowed them to borrow Mammon’s Demonio 666 Lexura (fits had ensued à la the secondborn but were ignored), which both Luke and Solomon now hovered around.

However, as Solomon poked and prodded the vehicle, commenting admiringly under his breath at the paint job, the young angel peered nervously at the sorcerer’s backpack.  

He cleared his throat, bent on sounding as polite as possible—but failing miserably—and said, “Solomon, er—are you the one who’s bringing our road trip snacks?”  He followed this with a silent please say no, please say no, Father please let him say no.

Solomon raised an eyebrow.  “I thought you were bringing them.”

Luke dropped the handle of his wagon.  “No!  I would’ve made some snacks if I had the time but I was helping those,” he gagged, “wretched demon brothers pack using some low-level Celestial Realm magic.”  

“Oh, that’s right,” Solomon said, snapping his fingers.  “I just remembered that I volunteered to make the snacks, but Simeon heard and immediately offered to do it for me.  Then he sent me on a bunch of errands to buy groceries, but it felt more like he was trying to get me out of the kitchen.”  He laughed at the last part and shook his head because there was no way that such a criminally calm angel like Simeon would be that underhanded.  

“No!” wailed Luke, yanking his hat off and clutching it to his chest in despair.  “Don’t you know what this means?”    

“It means you don’t like Simeon’s cooking as much as you let on,” decided the sorcerer with a smile at Luke’s theatrical display.

Luke shook his head so vigorously that Solomon had to hold in a laugh based on how much the angel looked like a chihuahua shaking itself dry.  “For trips, Simeon only makes the most nutritious, most energizing food.”  He screwed up his face in disgust as he seethed, “The most disgusting food.”

“The stuff Simeon cooks for dinner isn’t particularly unhealthy and you seem to like that just fine,” pointed out Solomon.

Luke frowned.  “Yes, b—but I’m talking about real healthy stuff here, so we’ll all have lots of energy throughout the trip!  L—like entire salads squished between two pieces of bread and ‘yummy morsels’ of banana slices dipped in cashew butter and drizzled with mung bean and coconut water paste!”  He gestured toward himself.  “Look at me, Solomon!  I was made for jam-filled pastries and perfectly-iced cakes!  No—not,” he shuddered, “health foods.”

“You’re serious?  He’s really going to bring that kind of stuff?” Solomon’s eyes widened.  “I guess I should’ve given in to my gut intuition and made some pork pies as backup snacks.  ‘Snackups,’ if you will.”

Luke could feel bile rising up his throat at the thought of Solomon’s cooking.  “Er—no, I don’t think that would’ve been necessary!”  He spotted a figure exiting Purgatory Hall.  “Oh, look, there’s Simeon, now; we can just ask him what snacks he brought.”

“And then burn them,” finished Solomon.

The younger angel gave a scandalized gasp at the comment as Solomon nodded at Simeon, who walked closer to the pair.  

A lone celestial blue suitcase trailed behind the elder angel as he beamed at his traveling companions.  “Is everyone ready?”  Before waiting for an answer, he turned toward Luke with a gaze that was almost motherly in nature.  “And has everyone gone to the bathroom?  We only have a day to drive to the Caverns of Degeneracy and I want to see some of the Devildom sights along the way.  I even brought an instant camera to take pictures.”  

He pulled out from his cape pocket said camera and an enormous stack of printed DevilmapQuest directions and began to rifle through them, trying to decide which of the landmarks and tourist destinations he wanted to visit most.  

“S—Simeon!  Why did you have to stare at me when you asked if we all went to the bathroom?  I may be young, but I at least know that I should go to the bathroom before long car rides!”  He then blushed and handed Solomon his wagon handle.  “A—and that being said, I—I have to go to the bathroom.”

As he ran inside, Solomon peered over Simeon’s shoulder at the map sheets and laughed.  “You know, most of these directions are online.”

“I know, I know,” admitted the older angel.  “But reading the directions off of a D.D.D requires knowing how to operate one, and you know I’m not too good at that.”  

Solomon smiled and said, “That’s fine, then.  We three will take turns driving and meanwhile, one of the two who aren’t behind the wheel will navigate.”  

“Haha, you’re aware Luke can’t drive, right?” asked Simeon, turning to give Solomon a look that cautiously strode the line between tolerant and what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you.  

“Well, I guess he’ll be the one giving directions, then,” replied Solomon, without missing a beat.  He couldn’t help but silently add he’ll be doing that, either way.  

As Simeon continued to sort through the DevilmapQuest papers and double-check all the items packed in the messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Solomon began to load everyone’s luggage into Mammon’s car.  He couldn’t help but envision himself playing Tetris as he carefully arranged in the trunk the seven blocky bags that the group had among them—six of which belonged to Luke, who packed as if he were planning to change his clothes at least twelve times a day.    

His own backpack—and Simeon’s messenger bag—would be staying with the trio in the cabin space of the car.  He hadn’t felt the need to pack nearly as many outfits as Luke and most of his bag consisted of medical supplies, while Simeon’s was supposed to be filled to the brim with road trip snacks.

Speaking of snacks, Solomon felt his mouth turn dry as he mulled over the healthy monstrosities that Luke believed the older angel had created in place of actually palatable food.  He turned to Simeon.  “Er, Simeon—what’s on the menu in terms of snackage?”

“‘Snackage?’” Simeon laughed.  He pat his messenger bag and said, “Let’s see, well, whenever I go on long trips, I try to make foods that provide a lot of energy, since we’re going to need it—especially you and I, as we’ll be driving.  Here, I made dried, salted edamame and roasted chickpea trail mix, almond-butter-and-white-bean-stuffed dried dates, and oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls with dried pineapple, coconut, and avocado.”   

Solomon did not like how many times Simeon had mentioned “beans,” for as far as he was concerned, road trip food was junk food exclusively.  He took a deep breath and carefully twisted his mouth into a smile.  “That sounds well … delicious. Ten out of ten.”

“Excellent.  Now, where is Luke?”  Simeon peered behind them toward Purgatory Hall, where a munchkin of a silhouette now appeared.  “Ah, there he is.”  He tossed Solomon the keyring Mammon had tearfully given him the day before.  “Mind starting the car?”

Solomon nodded and after examining the gaudy charms that adorned Mammon’s keys, he clicked open the car and stepped toward the driver’s seat door.  “I’ll take the first shift.  It’ll take us fifteen hours of sheer driving to get to the Caverns of Degeneracy, so we’ll take three-hour turns.”  

As Solomon yanked the car door open, something tumbled out of the front seat.  He jumped back, and Simeon and Luke rushed toward the commotion.  

“M—Mammon?  What are you doing here?” exclaimed Luke.  

Simeon laughed, his brows furrowing in confusion.  “Hoping to hitch a ride?”

Solomon had to swallow his smile when he saw the almost-comical tears that ran down Mammon’s face.  “Did your brothers leave you behind?”

“N— no!  They’d never leave without me, The Great Mammon!”  Mammon hastily wiped his nose before sprawling his hands over his Demonio 666 Lexura.  “I just couldn’t fathom leavin’ my beloved baby for so long!  I had to say goodbye!”

“Speaking of saying goodbye, you do know that Asmo’s bus already left a few minutes ago, right?” asked Simeon.  “I caught a glimpse of them before I came out here and they were already on the road.”

Mammon’s face paled.  “Wh—what?  They wouldn’t! Wait—of course, they would!  Those bastards!”  He immediately turned into his demon form, planted a kiss on his car’s hood, and sped off into the horizon.

“I suddenly understand what the term ‘speed demon’ means,” commented Luke as he watched Mammon’s quickly disappearing form.

“I sure hope he manages to catch up to them,” Solomon said, rubbing his chin.  “Anyway, everyone, pile in.  It’s time to get this show on the road.”

Hour 1

After they had driven well out of the bounds of R.A.D’s campus, Solomon announced, “All right—first item on the agenda—”

Luke raised his hand from the back passenger seat as he strained against his seatbelt.  “—What’s an ‘agenda?’”

“Oh.  An agenda is basically a list of things we have to do,” explained Solomon.

Simeon’s eyes widened in concern.  “I didn’t know we had an agenda.”

Solomon nodded gravely.  “Oh, yes—an unwritten road trip one.  And the first thing on it is picking some tunes.”

Again, Luke raised his hand.  “I have a suggestion!  I have a suggestion!”  From the pocket of his shorts, he drew out a CD case labeled 1001 Hymns to Praise Him.  “This album is my personal favorite.”

Solomon began coughing violently in attempts to cover his laughter, while Simeon smiled and took the CD from him.  “That’s a great idea, Luke, but how about we play this when I drive, and when Solomon drives, he’ll pick the music.”

The sorcerer handed Simeon his D.D.D, keeping his eyes on the road as he instructed, “Here, go to my Akutify account and play my Travel playlist.  Hope you guys don’t mind that I managed to export my entire Spotify account onto Akutify, so we’re going to be listening to Human World songs for now.”

It took Simeon seven tries to carry out Solomon’s orders, but before long, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys blared through the state-of-the-art stereo system of the Demonio 666 Lexura.  

Luke was silent for a few moments before he innocently asked, “I don’t understand, Solomon.  What do they want ‘that way?’”

Solomon shook his head.  “I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”

Hour 2

It didn’t take very long for Simeon to discover the first location on his list of places to visit along their trip.  

“The Maw of Beelzebub,” Simeon breathed, taking in their dark, ashy surroundings from the passenger seat.  “I’ve seen it in pictures when I researched for TSL, but I never fathomed I’d get to see it in person.”

Luke pouted as Simeon exited the vehicle.  “Don’t tell me we’re going to see those dumb demon brothers.”

“Nope,” Solomon said, unbuckling Luke from his seat, despite the vehement protests from the little angel.  “The Maw of Beelzebub is a chain of three volcanoes, actually.  The two smaller ones that form the ‘eyes of Beelzebub’ are active, but the huge, massive one that we’re going to walk across by way of that bridge,” he pointed to a shaky overpass that was suspended over a volcano crater a thousand miles wide, “is dormant.  However, you can still see the enormous pool of lava bubbling inside.  Tourists like to drop things down into it—and of course, it disappears into the molten lava—which is why it’s named after Beel because no matter what you feed him, he’s still hungry as if he’s never eaten.”

“Remind me again, then, why we’re walking across it?”  Luke asked as the trio wandered over to the entrance of the precarious bridge.  

Simeon looked at him curiously.  “Don’t you think it’s exhilarating, Luke?  To be so close to something so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than yourself?”   

The younger angel pondered that for a moment before deciding, “Father is so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than me.  I think that’s enough.”   

Simeon laughed.  “So it is.”  He wiggled his fingers under Luke’s hat to rumple his hair.  “But let’s go see it, anyway.”

 Hour 3

“Psst,” Luke hissed, “Simeon.” The elder angel seemed to be too enthralled by the latest song in Solomon’s playlist, “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, to hear him, so Luke reached out to poke his shoulder.

If he wasn’t strapped to his seat by his seatbelt, Simeon would’ve jumped about fifty feet in surprise.  “Ah, you startled me, Luke.  Did you need something?”

Luke adamantly refused to meet Simeon’s eyes as he flushed and muttered, “I have to go.”

“Don’t worry, Luke—there’s no shame in needing to go to the bathroom,” assured Simeon.

“There is when you just went ten minutes ago,” mumbled Solomon under his breath, but he swerved into a gas station, nonetheless.  “I guess we’re due for a tank refill, anyway.”

Simeon put up his hand.  “You paid for the gas last time—let me do it, especially since Mammon left explicit instructions that his car is supposed to be ‘fed’ premium gas only.” 

Solomon grinned cheekily.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  He followed Luke, who had already gone into the gas station convenience store.  “I guess I’ll just have a look around, then.”

However, before he got more than a few feet into the store, he heard someone whisper-screaming his name.

“Psst!  Solomon!  Over here!  Behind the candy stand!” 

He followed the voice, only to find that it belonged to Luke, who was very much not in the bathroom and rather ripping open a packet of fruit snacks.

“Whoa, I didn’t know you had it in you to employ the much-loved five-finger-discount,” Solomon said, nodding appreciatively.  “Considering you’re an angel and all.”

Luke stared at him with blank eyes.  “I don’t know what that means, but these were in my pocket from earlier!”  He motioned for Solomon to come closer and poured a few of the gummies into his hand.  “This is my last pouch—eat them fast.  They might be our last bit of yummy food before we have to eat Simeon’s nightmares.”

Solomon bobbed his head, before dumping the fruit snacks into his mouth all at once, savoring their sweet taste.  He gestured toward Luke.  “Do you always keep those on you?”

The angel’s offended gasp could be heard by all the demons in the convenience store.  “I’m a ten-year-old, Solomon!  Of course, I keep fruit snacks in my pocket!”

Hour 4

It wasn’t that Simeon was a bad driver.  It was just that driving in the Devildom (and the Human World) was very different from driving in the Celestial Realm.

Here, in uncontrolled intersections, it wasn’t customary to say “hello” to the drivers rolling to a stop in all directions.  Even stranger, the traffic lights weren’t celestial blue, gold, and white, but rather red, green, and yellow! 

Luke, who had discovered a “2020 Devildom Rules of the Road” manual crumpled inside one of the cupholders, was forced to bark instructions at the eldest angel, all while offering condescending commentary on how imbecilic the rules of driving in the Devildom were.

“Simeon!  Listen to this!  In the Devildom, you have to obey the posted speed limits, or else you’ll get in trouble!” realized Luke.

“Wait—you don’t have speed limits in the Celestial Realm?” Solomon asked.

Luke replied smugly, “No, because angels have the sense to know how fast they should or shouldn’t be driving.”

“Wow, that’s honestly impressive.”  Solomon grimaced as Simeon ran through another red light.  “Remember, if the light is red, then you have to stop.”

Simeon offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m so used to remembering that blue means ‘stop.’”

Solomon slunk low in his seat, knowing better than to rile up the angel, who was rumored to have a feisty side when he got angry.  “I just hope the police or whatever they have here don’t catch us for breaking so many traffic laws.”

“What’s a ‘police?’” asked Luke.

“Oh, you know … people who are supposed to make people follow the laws and stuff,” replied Solomon.  His eyes widened.  “Do you not have a police force in the Celestial Realm?”

“The Celestial Realm is a perfect world, Solomon,” answered Simeon.  “We don’t need police.”

Hour 6

Solomon didn’t know that he could get sick of songs.  Sure, he got tired of the “Despacito” remix after the first dozen times it was played on the radio—but he meant real music.  

“Amazing Grace” in particular.

Luke’s favorite album, 1001 Hymns to Praise Him, really should’ve been called 1001 Ways An Angelic Choir Can Sing “Amazing Grace” because Solomon swore about ninety percent of the songs on the album were just renditions of the classic hymn sung by different groups of angels.

And this seemed to bother neither of his driving companions, who crooned along to the choir in heavenly tones—it seemed to be a prerequisite for angels to be divine singers—without missing a beat.  

He hadn’t even known all the words to “Amazing Grace,” but now he could recite all six verses on demand.  He fought the urge to smash the “eject” button on the CD player, but he worried that Luke would throw a fit or Simeon would look at him with a stare so full of disappointment that Solomon would be willing to throw himself off a bridge just to rid himself of its gaze.

But one could only hear the line “amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” so many times.

He had to do something.

“Hey!  I have an idea!” Solomon chirped.  “Let’s make up our own song!”

He had to fight the urge to smack himself upside the head.  Why did he say that?  He had no ideas for potential song lyrics!

“I like that!” Luke pursed his lips, deep in thought.  “Here, let’s have the first lines go like this: ‘Father, You are all that I need!’”

Simeon used one hand to snap out the beat, and continued, “‘Father, listen to my creed!’”

Solomon sighed.

He did not know if this was any better.

Hour 8

“Luke, wake up.  We’re here.”  Solomon couldn’t help but layer on the desperation thick as he shook the younger angel awake, despite the fact that they were in no danger whatsoever.

Luke shot up, trying very hard to hide the fact that he had been drooling all over his shoulder.  He rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. “What?  Did we beat all the other demons here?  Are the Caverns of Degeneracy as hideous as I imagined?”

Solomon unbuckled Luke’s seatbelt and dragged him out of the car.  He snickered, saying, “We’re not at the Caverns, yet.”  He gestured toward their surroundings, which now consisted of precarious cliffs and rocky crags instead of the open road of the Devildom. 

Simeon stood a few feet ahead of them and turned around, spreading his arms wide in wonder.  “Welcome to Sinner Falls!”

Luke stared at the dark stone formations.  “I don’t see any waterfalls.”

“That’s because Sinner Falls isn’t a waterfall,” Solomon explained.  “You probably better know it as ‘the Abyss—’”

“‘The Abyss? ’  Why didn’t you say so?”  Luke exclaimed, his eyes glittering excitedly.  “The place where demons are tortured for a thousand years during the Millenium has always been one of my dream places to visit!”

Simeon smiled, a little taken aback by the younger angel’s enthusiasm.  “If we’re lucky, we might get to see Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss. He’s supposed to be guarding the canyon up ahead.”

“If we see him, do you think he’ll let me call him ‘Abba?’” teased Solomon, even though the remark earned him a kick in the shin and a “He most certainly will not!  How dare you even say such a thing about one of the most high-ranking angels!” from Luke.

“Careful now, Solomon,” Simeon warned, as the trio walked toward the deep canyon amongst the cliffs.  As far as anyone could tell, there was no end to the inky, suffocating blackness that was visible when looking down into it.  He pointed into the canyon.  “This is the Abyss—er, Sinner Falls.  Us angels cannot pass this invisible barrier—” he pressed his hand out to the ledge of the canyon, only for it to smash against some kind of unseen wall, “—but any human or demon who falls down into it falls for eternity, never to come back to the surface.”

Luke beamed. “That must be why it’s called ‘Sinner Falls!’  Because most humans and all demons are sinners!”  Despite this, he grabbed Solomon’s hand to prevent him from wandering too close to Sinner Falls’ ledge (as he was wont to do), because, despite their bickering and mutual pestering, Luke had a soft spot for the sorcerer.

Simeon followed in suit and intertwined his fingers with Solomon as the trio looked down into the great Abyss, wondering if any of their demon friends would be among the many thrown into it one day.

Hour 9

Simeon rifled through his messenger bag, intent on looking for something to eat.  He had made sure to pack plenty of goodies and was pleased as to how nutritious the snacks he’d made had turned out.  He scooped a handful of edamame and chickpea trail mix into his hand and turned to Luke, who was hunched over a map in the back passenger seat. 

“You haven’t eaten anything in over eight hours; aren’t you hungry?”  Simeon offered him the bag of trail mix.

Luke gulped, as he beamed and shook his head.  “N—no, no!  I’m okay!”

Simeon shrugged and held out the bag toward Solomon, who was driving.  “Do you want some?  I can pour it into your mouth if you want, so you don’t have to take your eyes off the road.”

“As titillating as that sounds,” said the sorcerer, “I’m afraid I’m not hungry at the moment.”

“I guess that’s more for me, then.”  Simeon poured more of the trail mix into his palm, but before he could eat any of it, he heard a strange sound.

It was a low rumble, but very, very loud.

It almost sounded like … stomachs growling?

He whirled to face Luke and Solomon and scratched his head in confusion.  “Are you two sure you’re not hungry?”

When the pair shook their heads furiously, Simeon raised an eyebrow.  He yanked out from his bag the stuffed dried dates and the oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls.  “So … you two wouldn’t mind if I ate all of the snacks?”

“Yeah, sure, go nuts, Simeon,” Solomon assured.  He winced as his and Luke’s stomaches rumbled in unison.  “You wouldn’t actually have any nuts in that bag o’ treats, would you?  Preferably of the chocolate-covered variety?” 

“The dates have almond butter stuffed inside them,” pointed out Luke helpfully, although his expression was less-than-enthused.

Simeon raised his other eyebrow.  Clearly the pair were hungry but refusing food.  What kind of rebellious spirit had gotten into them?  Didn’t they know that food was essential to oh, survival?   His left eye twitched as he felt a black miasma of rage cover him. “If you two don’t eat, I’m turning this car around.  That’s a promise.”

Solomon exchanged nervous glances with Luke at the normally calm angel’s outburst. “Angry Simeon is scary,” he whimpered.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll see just how scary I can be,” promised Simeon with a smile that bordered downright terrifying.  He plopped an oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean ball into Solomon’s mouth and handed a stuffed date to Luke.  “Now, eat your snacks.”

He definitely didn’t miss Luke’s grumpy, “Yes, mother.”

Hour 11

“Solomon, I hate to complain—” which earned a snort from the sorcerer, as Luke continued, “but do you really have to play that now?”  He gestured toward the sound system, which, now that it was Simeon’s turn to drive, blared 1001 Hymns to Praise Him.  “Seven Lyres is my favorite orchestra and their take on ‘Amazing Grace’ is simply the best!”

Solomon, who had purposely pulled out a reed pipe from his backpack in an effort to drown out the nine thousandth chorus of “Amazing Grace,” sighed and put it down.  He knew he wasn’t an expert in playing the reed pipe—in fact, this was the first time he’d ever seen the instrument, but the racket was so soothing.

“Where did you even get that from, anyway?” asked Simeon.

“Found it in my backpack.  I didn’t pack it, but considering there was a note attached to it that said ‘Blow,’ I think Asmo put it there as some kind of visual innuendo.”  Solomon shrugged.  “Now seemed like as good a time as any to play it.”

 Luke tapped his chin thoughtfully.  “What’s an ‘innuendo?’”

“Something you’re not allowed to make until you’re much older,” replied Simeon sternly. 

Luke seemed satisfied with the answer and held out his palm toward Solomon.  “May I try?”

Solomon handed the reed pipe over and cocked his head.  “You know how to play?”

He received his answer when Luke gestured for him to lower the stereo volume (which Solomon did with immense pleasure) and began to carefully place his fingers over the openings and gently blow into the instrument.

The young angel played masterfully and Solomon would’ve given him a standing ovation if it weren’t for one tiny thing.

“Why don’t you play a different song besides ‘Amazing Grace?’”  he suggested.

Luke furrowed his brows.  “It’s the only thing I know how to play!”

Hour 12

“I don’t like this place, Simeon,” Luke mumbled, yanking his hat over his eyes.  “It looks like something straight from the End Times.”

He, of course, was referring to the town at which’s city limits they stood in front of.  It was one of the last tourist spots that Simeon had wanted to visit, and it was renowned for being one of the Devildom’s most haunted ghost towns.

Solomon nodded.  “I’m with the Chihuahua.  I’m super excited for the end of the world, and even I’m not getting a good feeling from whatever-this-place-is-called.”

“Deathblow Beggar’s Pass,” answered Simeon, ogling the city entrance sign gleefully.  “They say it’s the most haunted district in all of the Devildom.”  He took a step onto the creaky wooden path that led into the town.  “It’s been evacuated for centuries and now, even most demons are petrified to go inside.”

Luke gripped Simeon’s cape so tight, his knuckles turned white.  “Then why do you want to visit this place?”

“Don’t worry, Luke,” the older angel said (avoiding the question, which the young angel noticed), laughing, as he tousled Luke’s hair under his hat.  “I’ll make sure none of the scary ghosts come near you.”

Luke’s eyes widened.  “Sc—scary ghosts?”  He cleared his throat when he realized how incredibly uncourageous he sounded.  “I—I mean I’m not scared of any g—g—ghosts!”

Solomon and Simeon shared a secret smile at the angel’s feigned bravery, and instead of teasing him, Solomon turned to Luke very seriously.  “I strictly deal with demons, not ghosts.  How about you do me a favor and sit on my shoulders to be my lookout in case any of those ghosts try to pull anything?”

“W—well if you need my help, I’m definitely willing to offer it!” Luke blushed as he climbed onto Solomon’s shoulders.  “It’s my duty as an angel to help humans, after all!”

“That’s the ‘spirit,’” Solomon said.  He laughed when he saw the angels’ unamused faces.  “Get it?  ‘Cause we’re walking into a ghost town?”

Simeon laughed stiffly as to not hurt the sorcerer’s feelings before straightening his posture and looking ahead.  He channeled his inner fantasy writer as he declared, “Get ready, everyone!  We must put aside our doubts and fears as we charge forward into Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, where no creature has exited without releasing screams that could curdle the blood of the Demon Lord!  We might not be of this world, but we certainly can brave its most terrifying sites!”

It would have been a very heroic speech if it weren’t for the fact that not five minutes after the trio entered the city limits, Solomon and Simeon sprinted out, with Luke wailing loudly.

“That was the worst ever!” the little angel blubbered, yanking Solomon’s hair.

The sorcerer didn’t even have enough energy to flinch as he panted, “What in the name of all things unholy was that?”

There was nothing but fear in Simeon’s eyes as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath.  “We should’ve known the saloon bathroom stalls wouldn’t be empty.”  He gagged.  “I never want to see millennia-old demon penis again.”

Hour 15

“Simeon, are we there yet ?” asked Luke for the twenty-first time in the hour.

The other angel sighed.  “Almost, Luke.  Just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t you have the map?” Solomon pointed out as he honked the horn in irritation at a slow driver ahead of him.  “Shouldn’t you know where we are?”

Luke fussed with the multitude of papers that were stacked on his lap.  “I only have the stuff for Simeon’s places.”  His eyes opened wide in realization.  “Wait—how do you guys know where to drive if my maps don’t lead to the Caverns of Degeneracy?” 

“Diavolo said as long as we travel along Route 666 until we see the sign markers, we should have no problem getting there,” explained Simeon.  He peered ahead and squinted at one of the upcoming signs.  “And look—that sign says that the Caverns of Degeneracy are ten miles up ahead.”

“I hope we’re the first ones there,” said Luke.  “It’ll be nice to see all the looks on those dumb demons’ faces when we get there before them.”

Solomon pursed his lips.  “Speaking of those ‘dumb demons,’ I wonder if they’re all right.  We haven’t heard from them since we left Purgatory Hall.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Simeon assured.  He let out a laugh as he continued, “Assuming they haven’t killed each other already.  It must be hard having all seven of them cooped up in one small space.”

“We can only hope,” said Luke solemnly.  He paused for a moment as he shimmied as far as his seatbelt would allow him and peered over Solomon’s shoulder to look at what was going on in the front seats.  He pointed at the gear shift. “What does ‘D’ mean?”

“I’m not supposed to say that word in front of you,” answered Solomon as Simeon simultaneously replied, “Drive.”

“Oh.  What does ‘R’ mean, then?”

Simeon replied, “Reverse,” before Solomon could say anything.

At the elder angel’s preemptive glare, Solomon widened his eyes and innocently said, “I was going to say ‘reverse,’ as in ‘Uno Reverse Card.’’”

Luke turned toward the dashboard.  “What’s ‘E?’”

“I feel if I say ‘Evanescence,’ Simeon is going to yell at me, so I’ll just go with ‘empty,’” pouted Solomon.  

“Empty what?”

“Gas.”

“So … since that line-thingy is almost at ‘E,’ that means we’re nearly out of gas?”  

“Yep.”

Simeon turned around to cover Luke’s ears at Solomon’s next sentence: “Holy shit—we’re almost out of gas!”

The older angel’s eyes promised murder as he stared at the sorcerer, before directing his stare to the fuel gauge.  “We’re running on fumes.”

“We need to refuel, stat.  Simeon, grab my D.D.D and look up the nearest gas station,” directed Solomon.  “I always forget that Mammon’s car is a gas-guzzler.” 

“What should I do, Solomon?” asked Luke, eagerly awaiting orders like a baby soldier.

The sorcerer nodded, deadly serious.  “Sit there and be cute.”

Luke pouted as Simeon—with surprising speed—brought up a log of the nearest gas stations on Solomon’s D.D.D.  “There should be a station three miles ahead.”

Solomon frowned as he analyzed their fuel gauge.  “I’m not sure we’ll make it.”

“We have to!” cried Luke.  “How will we ever beat those demons if we don’t even make it to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”  

“We’ll have to trust that Mammon’s baby is strong enough to get us to the gas station, then.”  Solomon stroked the dashboard as if trying to offer the vehicle some kind of encouragement.  

And as the car’s fuel began to peter out, Simeon and Luke began to cheer in chorus, “You can do it, Mammon’s car!” while Solomon exclaimed, “You’re a fierce, strong woman who doesn’t need any man to tell you that your fuel gauge is empty!”  

After an eternity (okay, it was more like five minutes), the Demonio 666 Lexura finally eked it’s way to the first pump at a Demobil gas station. 

As the engine sputtered out, the trio let out a cheer, and Solomon and Simeon shared a hug in the front seat.

“Thank Father we made it!” exclaimed Luke as he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car.  He pat Mammon’s car.  “Also, thank you for getting us here, even if you belong to the scummiest demon in the Devildom.”

Solomon grinned and turned to Simeon.  “You spotted the gas bill last time, so I’ll do it now.”

“Are you sure?” asked Simeon.  “My TSL royalties are huge, even after I’ve tithed my ten percent.  I’ve got no problem paying.”

“Nah, it’s fine—you can go stretch your legs.” With that, Solomon exited the car and began to work the gas pump.

Simeon nodded and together with Luke, walked toward the attached Demobil convenience store.  By the entrance stood a higher-level demon, who appeared to be selling bouquets of fresh flowers.

The vendor, who had noticed the pair exit Mammon’s car and had seen Solomon get up to pump the gas, called to Simeon, “Flower for your Mister?”  He gestured toward the white-haired sorcerer. 

Luke gasped, absolutely scandalized, and huffed, “Simeon would never settle for a human!” while Simeon chuckled, replying, “I’m sorry, he’s not my ‘Mister,’ but I’ll take a bouquet, anyway.”

After exchanging Grimm for the flowers, Simeon and Luke strolled back to the Demonio 666 Lexura, where Solomon was just closing the fuel tank. 

“Simeon bought you flowers!” announced Luke.

The angel nodded as he handed the sunny bouquet to Solomon.  “It matches your wand.”

“How did you know gerberas are my favorite?” laughed Solomon.  “These are great—thank you.”  As they all piled back into the car, he carefully arranged the flowers in one of the cupholders and beamed, because God,  sometimes the angel was so nice. 

The group drove in silence for a few moments before Luke commented, “I didn’t know gerberas smelled like … salt?”

Simeon sniffed the air.  “I think that’s the sea.  After all, the Caverns of Degeneracy are right along the beach.”

Just as the angel spoke the words, Solomon pulled right into a parking lot that was situated right next to miles and miles of black sand.  

Luke cheered, kicking his feet at Solomon’s seat excitedly.  “Yay!  We’re here!”

Their road trip had finally come to an end.

Destination

After wandering the beach for a few moments, the trio eventually found themselves at the mouth of the Caverns of Degeneracy, which turned out to be several huge caves filled with glowing pastel stalactites and stalagmites.  Hellfireflies twinkled in the air, while friendly gentlemanbugs strolled about the cavern floor.  Some kind of glittering pink moss had been used to adorn the walls with the words, “R.A.D Bleeding Hearts Festival 2020.”

In the middle of it all stood Diavolo, who was discussing the festival decorations with Barbatos.

As soon as he saw the Demon Prince, Luke raced up and, bobbing uncontrollably, asked, “Are we first?  Are we first?” 

Diavolo let out a hearty laugh.  “Welcome you three!  And first for what, Luke?”

Solomon sauntered up and answered, “To arrive.”

“Luke’s been very anxious to know if we’re the first ones here at the festival,” elaborated Simeon, placing his hand on the younger angel’s shoulder.

“You make it seem like it was a competition to get here first—which, yes, you three are,” said Diavolo.  His eyes lit up.  “That’s an excellent idea, though!  Next year, we’ll make the R.A.D C.D a contest to see can make it to the Caverns the fastest!  First place will get a coupon for teatime with me!”

Luke wrinkled his nose.  “Teatime with you?  That sounds—”

“Incredibly fun,” cut in Simeon smoothly.  He turned to Diavolo.  “Have you gotten any word from those seven demon brothers?”

Diavolo grimaced.  “It seems that they’ll be late.  Beelzebub ate all their road trip snacks immediately as he entered Asmodeus’ tour bus, so they had to stop for food at every fast food restaurant they could find because he still wasn’t satisfied, Belphegor kept falling asleep at the wheel, and Mammon got so many speeding violations and every time the police showed up, Asmodeus tried to seduce his way out of their ticket, which only earned them more fines and lectures from Lucifer.  It’s comic-con season, so of course, Leviathan had to stop at every convention center along the way, and unsurprisingly, Satan’s road rage forced him to get into out-of-car fights with every driver he encountered when he was at the wheel.”  He sighed.  “They managed to turn a fifteen-hour trip into a twenty-two hour one.”

Solomon smiled as he said, “I guess we should’ve expected that.”  His grin grew even wider as he gestured toward his traveling companions.  “Meanwhile, we did all fifteen-hours of driving—courtesy of me bending the speeding rules quite a bit when there was no traffic— and saw some of the sights of the Devildom along the way.”

“Oooh, did you manage to get any pictures?” asked Diavolo with an excited gleam in his eye.  “I always want to travel around the Devildom but never get the chance.”

Simeon nodded as he pulled out from his messenger bag some of the pictures he had asked fellow tourists to snap with his instant camera.  He handed them one by one to Diavolo and beamed at the goofy scenes.

The first one was from when they stopped at the Maw of Beelzebub: Solomon teasingly dangled Luke’s hat over the bridge’s railing while the young angel cried and stomped on the sorcerer’s foot in retaliation.  Simeon, meanwhile, tried to rescue Luke’s hat.

The second photo showcased Solomon sitting at the ledge of Sinner Falls with his feet swinging over the bottomless canyon.  Luke and Simeon posed obnoxiously as if they were going to fall into the Abyss, even though as angels, they were unable to.  

The final picture was the only one he had from Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, and it was of the trio crouched in front of the sign that spelled “Enjoy your stay at Deathblow Beggar’s Pass!”

Diavolo examined the images wistfully.  He sighed as he handed the photos back to Simeon.  “You three looked as if you made some fun memories.”

The angels and the sorcerer exchanged contented glances and chorused, “We most certainly did.”