#Neither Girl Nor Woman But A Demon In The Flesh Now; She Will Be Your Plague Tonight (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞)

[whoaxisxme]

PLAGUE HAS APPEARED!

[hopelessromanticdeviant]

The Rise, The Fall

Chapter 8: Best Friends & Fiends

Chapter Summary:

“You did what!?”

Taehyung stared at the floor, dumbfounded.

“And Hyejin won’t speak to me now,” Jeongguk said.

“Neither is Haru! And nor will I if you don’t fucking fix this, Guk!” Taehyung was going crazy.

“What even led you to treat her that way? Have you lost your mind? You left her just like that, amidst all the danger she could get herself into?” Taehyung said again.

“He just goes around doing whatever he wants, without thinking how it’d affect the people around him,” Hyejin muttered, more to herself than anyone, as she came back into the room.

~this is smut

Jeongguk knew he was many things. Obsessed with a meager human though, wasn’t anywhere on his list. Sure, he definitely wanted her to be obsessed with him for some reason. He wanted to be the first person she thought of when she needed help, yes.

But his involvement with her solely lied on the fact that her soul had no color, and noting her life decisions and upbringing; it was obvious she was a good human. Then why was she different than anyone else? No demon, beast, or even God had occupied as much time on his mind as much as his human had.

Which had maybe, most probably, led him into making the worst decision in all his years of demonhood. Standing in front of him was the biggest enemy of his brotherhood, Manshik, a demon from an old rivalling brotherhood.

They were flesh-eaters, and often consumed humans as gourmet experts. Drinking blood was an every day occurrence for them, as if sipping a glass of store-labelled wine.

“Do you know what’s gonna happen if they find out?” Manshik gave a dry chuckle as his fangs peeked out a bit.

“I’ll be scolded by my hyungs for talking to a rival. You on the other hand,” Jeongguk’s eyes trailed to his mouth, gauging his sneer, “I don’t know what you lot do in such…cases.”

“I’d rather not find out,” Jeongguk added immediately.

Why would he care anyway? Manshik wasn’t obligated to be here, yet he came. Jeongguk had sent out a third-party messenger bird so there would be no breadcrumbs trailing back to them.

“Anyway, your Yoongi-hyung,” Manshik uttered, his voice bitter with venom, “he dabbled with us a bit, for a while.”

“Nonsense. Hyung would never-”

“Park Do-yun, wasn’t it? Could never forget that name,” Manshik cut him off.

“Yes. I think my hyung probably meddled with your brotherhood due to her involvement. He wouldn’t risk our brotherhood’s reputation like that,” Jeongguk explained, his voice cold and stern.

“Reputation, huh? Well, what are you doing right now then, Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk’s eyes widened momentarily but he regained composure instantly. This wasn’t the same thing. Jeongguk would ensure this was the first and last time he was seeing Manshik alone.

“Just so you know, I didn’t take the ‘reputation’ part well. Calling someone over then pretending to be above them. Classic Bangtan.”

“You could have said no. But you showed up anyway,” Jeongguk answered, holding his ground.

“Tch. Fair.”

“Just answer my damn questions, Manshik. And tell me what you want in return.”

“In return, I’ll have the same as before,” Manshik’s lips turned into a crooked smile, his left fang now in full view, “what your Min Yoongi refused to give us, then promptly lost his woman, twice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeongguk sensed the change in his tone and took one step forward, indicating he didn’t understand what the bargain meant.

“Your human girl; heard her soul’s got no color and no records of it. It’s not that much of a secret, but more a phenomenon everyone wants to see for themselves,” Manshik explained a bit.

Jeongguk’s hands balled up into fists. He needed to grip something. Of course, every demon was finding out about her. He didn’t understand why it had been so late though. They’d begun talking about his human. Yes, he’d been considering showing her to the council, but that didn’t mean he’d give her up that easily.

Snippets of him watching her came to his mind. It was a blur, as blood came rushing to his ears. Only one thing lay straight to him as her delicate form kept stepping forward in his mind, waist swaying left and right as she moved a few strands of hair from her forehead to the back of her ear; her nimble fingers tying up her hair into a braid while she wore a loose tank top, mounds rising and falling with each turn and pull; her body glistening in the evening sun as she hit a ball with her badminton racket, a wide smile plastered on her face.

His human was beautiful.

A very attractive woman at that. Jeongguk never wanted to admit it, but he always knew. He didn’t know why; he just dreaded that fact more than most of the things he was scared of.

But right now, as unrelated as it was, he couldn’t think of anything else to calm his seething rage. It’d worked for a bit, but seeing Manshik’s arrogant grin wasn’t helping.

Jeongguk blinked once, his eyes glistening while his knuckles turned white.

“Why does everyone want to see me?” the voice was solace and nuisance at the same time.

Manshik turned his head to her, and Jeongguk knew trouble had already been brewn. Jeongguk whipped his head to Haru, right as a smile broke out of Manshik’s reddish lips.

“Speak of the de-”

“What are you doing here? Who let you in?” Jeongguk was quick to interrupt with a flurry of sentences. He immediately closed the distance between him and Haru and grabbed her arm, dragging her out of the room.

“Jeongguk, you’re hurting me,” Haru opposed his hold on her and tried to break free.

Jeongguk flailed her to the drawing room’s couch in anger.

This was the first time Haru had seen him angry. And she didn’t like it.

“You didn’t answer my questions,” Jeongguk said with narrowed eyes, directing all his rage to the trembling woman in front of him.

“Hyejin let me in the mansion. I came to see you like usual,” Haru replied, rubbing her elbow that still hurt from his crazy grip.

Like usual.

All of a sudden, Jeongguk was reminded how Haru found everything that was happening to her.

“Do you think roaming around my mansion is like taking a walk in the park? Do you know what kind of situation you’re in? There are dangers lurking everywhere for you in your situation. How can you just go opening doors like everything is child’s play to you?”

Fuming was an understatement.

“Jeongguk, what-”

Everything about her hurt him. The way her eyes were glossing over at his rage as she tried to muster up the courage to say something; the way he knew he was targeting the entire bane of his angst over her for no reason; the way he’d hate himself after he calmed down; the way Taehyung and Hyejin had accused him, the way he could never bring himself to look at Haru in indifference. Everything.

“I don’t want to see you,” Oh, he knew he was going to hate himself, alright, “Don’t come here again.”

He turned on his heel and started walking but she called out to him again.

“Jeongguk, what do you mean? You’re making no sense-”

“I think I made it exactly clear, Haru. I don’t want you near the mansion again. You drive in too much attention. Your stupidity attracts danger and I have nothing to gain from you,” Jeongguk gulped down as he bit his tongue.

“You’re saying you won’t help me?” Haru asked, meekly.

“I’m saying I hate how you think everything and everyone in life surrounds you and others don’t have things to do or a life to live. The way you behave when you’re around us is annoying, so stop coming to us. Go to school, study; I’ll seek you out in case of any important information or send Hyejin or whatever. I said I’ll help you out and give you your old life back. That doesn’t mean you have to come around frolicking over here all the time.”

Jeongguk turned around to look at her again, just to see if she was hurt at what he’d spewed out. Just a little, and maybe he wouldn’t feel so empty yet filled with rage right now.

A tear rolled down her left cheek and Jeongguk sucked in a breath. That would do.

“What was all this then? You could’ve just said you don’t want me around. You didn’t have to be a hero, then treat me like a friend this whole time.”

Like a friend.

Jeongguk hadn’t even thought of that. She looked at them as friends. Friends who were helping her live.

Of course. He was so stupid. Nevertheless, he should’ve never allowed her to get close to them in first place. It was plain stupid; she was human after all.

“I’ll leave then,” Haru got up from the couch, clutching her elbow, “I hope you don’t have to be bothered by my situation next time. Thanks for everything.”

Haru picked up her slingbag and walked away. Leaving him seething still.

“Tch, tch, tch. Shouldn’t have treated her like that. Yoongi wouldn’t do this to Doyun,” Manshik appeared right as Haru left, “I was hoping you’d introduce me to her but I didn’t want to interrupt your little scuffle.”

“We don’t share a relationship like Yoongi-hyung and Doyun. As a matter of fact, we share nothing at all. She’s just a human that I accidently got involved with and have to take responsibility of.”

“Hmm. So you say,” Manshik clicked his tongue, “I believe you.”

Jeongguk hated it; the way Manshik acted and chose his words. But he wasn’t going to go ahead and try to prove anything. That would be like acknowledging his invisible challenge.

“Anyway, I’ll tell you everything you need to know about Yoongi and Park Doyun, if you give me your word that I’ll get a fair share of that girl’s blood.”

Jeongguk looked at him in disbelief. He huffed.

“You could add in a bit of flesh as tokens of gratitude too, if you like,” Manshik spoke as if this conversation was an everyday thing for him.

“Leave,” Jeongguk didn’t waste a second.

Manshik’s face immediately fell. After all, the demon was more used to successful blood and power deals.

“What?”

“We’re done here. I’m not giving her blood to you,” Jeongguk had calmed down by now, “You could’ve said it on the messenger that you wanted her blood in return. Then I wouldn’t have given you the pain of coming all the way here. What with meeting without being discovered and all.”

It was ridiculous; the way Manshik was behaving as if the girl was made for imminent doom. As if he was positive he’d get a piece of her, as if he was sure people were going to barter pieces of her in no time.

Jeongguk knew right then. He hated Manshik.

“I hope we never have to see each other again, my guy,” Jeongguk said as he closed the door, leaving Manshik staring at him from afar.

Jeongguk sighed and slumped into a nearby armchair.

Then, the regret came seeping in along with a peculiar feeling of impending doom.

He really, really hated himself the most.

.

It wasn’t fair.

Tears trailed down Haru’s cheeks as she wrote her science paper.

It was so unfair how Jeongguk treated her. No amount of explaining, or apologizing would ever make Jeongguk’s treatment of her okay. He decided it was okay to give her a look of disdain, and not only that; he manhandled her. He flung her across as she fell to a couch as if she were a mere thing to be toyed with as he pleased.

How foolish she had been. To think he’d started understanding her. But to be manhandled like a toddler like that; how humiliating.

A teardrop fell on the page in front of her, and Haru wiped it off.

That was it. She wasn’t going to cry anymore.

Not over a boy; or a man. Or whoever. God knew how old he was; and he was almost a stalker at that, asking if he can tap her windows and all. He could go and drop dead on the same couch he threw her in, for all she cared.

Her science test was more important. She'd look at him just like the way he deemed her; beneath everything else in her life. She'd do as he'd suggested - go to school and study.

Even then, it didn’t change the fact that she needed him more than he needed her. She was indebted to him too.

But the mistreatment and manhandling was going too far. Fine then, she’d answer when he beckoned her, but other than that, he wasn’t going to get a single word from her.

She only missed Hyejin; who hardly used her smartphone. She thought of texting her, but that would’ve been too desperate of her. Jeongguk had just shunned her. How clingy would she be if she went and talked to his subordinate right after that? Did she have any shame at all if she did that?

Disgruntled, she settled on calling her best friend; Raemi.

“Raemi, can I ask you something?” Haru asked, placing her feet against the bed’s headboard, her torso lying on the bed.

The science paper had been forgotten in lieu of talking to her best friend after a long weekend.

“No,” the other girl squeaked, huffing from her workout, “Of course, stupid. You can ask me anything.”

“Would you talk to a friend who manhandled you and yelled at you? I’m talking full-on furious yelling, showing your rage face kinda anger.”

“Uh, obviously not. What kinda friend mauls you and shows you that side of themselves?” Raemi answered, as a-matter-of-factly.

“No, not mauling. I mean like they’ve dragged you by your elbow and pushed you to a couch; would you talk to them then?” Haru asked, speaking way too fast.

“That’s oddly specific…” Raemi had caught on, “Spill it, Mae Haru. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Nothing. I was just wondering what you would do in a situation like that…” Haru was definitely not good at lying with her best friend present.

“Sure, babe. Believe it. Totally.”

“Ugh, why am I even trying.”

“So you gonna spill or nah?”

“Jeongguk, that dude who saved me from an accident, kind of manhandled me into a couch and yelled at me, all furious. He said he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Uh, he saved you from an accident, he’s not fucking Jesus. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, don’t. There’s nothing else to do.”

If only Haru could tell Raemi about the other details; how it was so complicated and how he was a demon.

“Right. Who am I to force him to talk to me if he doesn’t want to,” Haru agreed. After all, that much was correct.

“Besides, if he touches you like that again, you have every right to punch him. Nobody mauls my best friend.”

Haru’s giggle was audible on the line, “He just grabbed me; there was no mauling. Anyway, it won’t come to that. I just won’t see him again.”

“Good. And I don’t know what reason he had to grab you. But best be sure, I’ll punch him for you if you need me,” Raemi knew not to nudge Haru further. They had that much decency and respect between each other.

“I kinda hoped you’d have something going with him though,” Raemi added, and Haru could hear her frown even on the phone line.

“What? Me and him? Where’d you get that idea?”

“You look good together. Caught a whiff of that chemistry. Not gonna probe in. Let bygones be bygones. I just didn't know you were close enough for him to grab you.”

“Right. We don’t have any dynamic like that, anyway. So it’s ‘kay.”

“You prepared for the quiz tomorrow?”

.

“You did what!?”

Taehyung stared at the floor, dumbfounded.

“And Hyejin won’t speak to me now,” Jeongguk said.

“Neither is Haru! And nor will I if you don’t fucking fix this, Guk!” Taehyung was going crazy.

“What even led you to treat her that way? Have you lost your mind? You left her just like that, amidst all the danger she could get herself into?” Taehyung said again.

“He just goes around doing whatever he wants, without thinking how it’d affect the people around him,” Hyejin muttered, more to herself than anyone, as she came back into the room.

“What did that poor girl even do to you, Jeongguk-nim? Did she finally call you the ‘Jasper’ you are? Because you’re so unpredictable and creepy I just can’t stand it!” Hyejin was livid, “Did he tell you he’d been stalking her the whole time, Taehyung-nim?”

She'd just compared him to Jasper from Twilight. The day couldn't have gotten any worse.

“Dude, what the f-”

“Hyejin, wait. Hyung, I can explain.”

“I’m starting to doubt this thing called ‘love’ now…Are you sure you’re not just obsessed?” Taehyung was disheveled as he resigned himself to the sofa.

“Will you both just listen to me!?” Jeongguk had to literally yell at the both of them.

“Manshik was here,” Jeongguk was grateful for the shift in their facial expressions from insufferable to attentive, “he asked for Haru’s blood, right after he saw her.”

“Why did you let Manshik in here? What the actual fuck?” Taehyung was quick to indulge.

“I wanted to know more about Yoongi-hyung and Park Doyun,” Jeongguk didn’t explain any further except, “he asked for Haru’s blood in return; which I denied him.”

Taehyung and Hyejin knew he didn’t have to explain the denying part. Jeongguk wasn’t like that.

“I was just…so angry. It all happened so fast. She came into the meeting room and Manshik laid eyes on her…that bastard. And then I remembered all the pressure I had, when I don’t even understand what romance is,” Nobody interrupted Jeongguk as he went on, “And she was right there with her doe eyes, always coming to the wrong place at the wrong time; and she had to ask that stupid question-”

“That’s enough,” Hyejin picked up her smartphone as she asked Jeongguk to calm down.

“Poor girl, it was an awful day for her. I think I should contact her,” Hyejin stated, her voice gloomy.

“Don’t do that,” Jeongguk cut in, “I don’t know how to face her.”

“Jeongguk, you may be the maknae, but you should know when you should be apologizing,” Taehyung said, sternly, “Leave Haru alone for a while. It’s on us to apologize. I’m sure she won’t run into trouble in a single night.”

Hyejin blinked and stared at her phone, eager to call her best friend.

Her name was just Mae Haru with a star next to it.

Nothing special to it. Haru was just her best friend, who she’d met a month ago.

“I’ll text her tomorrow,” Hyejin stated.

<-Previous chapter

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More chapters here!

[robininthelabyrinth]

i've been keeping a list of possible prompts for you and there's one i have no memory of adding that just says "courtesan nmj????" so i guess that's the prompt you're getting lmao

What Does the Fox Say - ao3

“Second Madame Nie!” a disciple shouted, rushing into her little garden. She didn’t recognize him, but he was solidly built and well-muscled like most of the others – truly, the Unclean Realm was a rapturous feast for one with eyes to see it. Yum, yum. “Second Madame Nie, I have bad news!”

Boo. She hated bad news: bad news meant she’d have to do something, usually, and right now she was seated very comfortably in a pleasant piece of sun in the garden path that’d been made up just for her and to her preferences, with her feet up on a chair and a full plate of fruit from the kitchen on the table in front of her just begging to be devoured, morsel by delicious morsel.

Her schedule was packed!

“I regret to tell you, but your husband has been killed!”

“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly. “Has he? How obnoxious of him.”

How unreliable. Men.

She sighed.

“Second Madame – Second Madame – you don’t understand!” The disciple was all red-eyed and weepy, which was a look she liked, especially in big, stout men like this. The salt added a bit of spice to the whole thing. “You must flee at once! He was killed by Sect Leader Wen in an act of outright aggression – Sect Leader Wen has declared war – the Wen sect is invading!”

She nodded and picked up another lychee to start peeling it. She’d get around to fleeing in her own time. As long as this Wen sect or whatnot was being led by a man, she wasn’t terribly concerned.

“They intend to wipe out the inheritance of Qinghe Nie! They will rip out the child in your belly!”

She hummed noncommittally. Really, how attached was she to having a child of her own? Really?

“They will slaughter civilians – execute Nie-gongzi –”

Her hands stilled.

“What,” she said, and the disciple took a step back automatically, proving that he, at least, had something more of a survival instinct than her late husband did. “Hurt my little meat bun? My darling rice roll? My savory zongzi?”

She stood up, diminutive height and over-large belly and frilly clothing doing absolutely nothing to diminish the vaguely menacing aura that darkened the sky around her. She bared her teeth.

“Who does this upstart Wen dog think he is?!”

The disciple blinked owlishly, but nodded, seeming relieved that she’d finally accepted his concern, though she could see on his face that he was thinking that her reasoning was – characteristically – a little strange. But then again, and she could see this thought process on his far too honest face, it was well known that the second Madame Nie been quite strange ever since Sect Leader Nie had found her in some lonesome place with no family or background and brought her back to be his new wife nevertheless.

Such a charming man. Pity about his loss, really.

“You have to flee at once, we can’t possibly fight so many people,” the disciple said once more, and this time she nodded in agreement. “We can escort you to a hidden exit –”

“No!” a little voice called. “We can’t go.”

She turned to look, and there was the little pork-and-shrimp dumpling himself, chubby-cheeked and earnest-eyed, looking as delicious as always.

“What do you mean, fish cake?” she asked. “Of course we have to go. Didn’t you hear what this strapping young man said? This Wen person wants to kill you!”

“If Father is dead, then I’m the sect leader,” her stepson said. He was serious and solemn in a way that made her want to pinch his cheeks and bury her face into his belly to blow raspberries, and also possibly to eat him right up, flesh and marrow and gristle and all. “That means it’s my responsibility to preserve the Nie sect.”

“Nie-gongzi, no!” the disciple cried, throwing himself to his knees in a dramatic display of loyalty. “You would only die – far better for you to run, and live!”

“Then isn’t the same true for everyone else?” the tasty little dish asked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Possibly he was trying to put on a fierce expression, maybe, she couldn’t quite tell sometimes. He was so cute. “Why should I live, and them not? I refuse to buy my life with their deaths!”

“But – Nie-gongzi –”

Her charming little honey cake shook his head and held up a hand to stop the disciple, turning to look at her instead.

“Second Mother,” he said, and he had that wholesome trusting expression again that was such a perfect little one-shot-kill to the heart, ugh. “You always said you’re the best at hiding. The best in the world, no one better among all the gods or demons!”

She was, too. She couldn’t help but preen a little, proud.

“– can’t you do something?”

“Oh, darling cabbage bun,” she said, not without fondness. “I can hide myself from even the net of Heaven itself if I so choose, from gods and demons alike, and I can most certainly hide a small group from any mortal eyes that dare to look, if you don’t mind being a little tiny bit dishonorable about the business. But an entire sect? That’s a bit much, even for someone as talented and skilled as me.”

Her stepson looked up at her, all straight-steel sincerity and upright righteousness wrapped into a perfectly edible little snack-sized package. “If we split them up, the sect could be small groups,” he said eagerly. “Couldn’t you do something then?”

He was so cute, and he trusted her. He trusted her, believed in her, felt that she could perform miracles with a wave of her sleeve if only she so wished.

It was awful.

She couldn’t bear it.

“Oh all right, you nummy little slice of roast pork belly,” she said, yielding. “But I’m telling you now, it won’t be the least bit honorable! There’s only so many excuses you can come up with for having a lot of strong men with wide shoulders and women with thick thighs hanging around, and not a single one of them has the slightest bit to do with what you people consider to be appropriate.”

“That’s all right. Preserving human life comes first, always.”

The disciple looked between them, clearly completely confused. Clearly all his effort had been spent on developing the muscles in his arms (quite nice) rather than his brain (quite slow).

“What?” he said. “What’s happening?”

“We’re saving the sect,” Nie Mingjue announced happily, clapping his hands together. Too precious, too precious entirely; she’d have to make sure no one else even thought about going near her darling little snackling. “Tell everyone to prepare to evacuate.”

“That will take too long,” she said, and smiled, with teeth. “Let me call some friends to help.”

-

When the Wen sect arrived at the Unclean Realm, they found the gate open.

That was unexpected enough, but when they entered, they found that the entire place had emptied out – not just of people, but of everything else, too. There wasn’t a single intact chair or table in the entire place, not a scrap of cloth nor a bit of food, like it’d been swept clean by locusts or wild monkeys come to pilfer whatever they could.

Even the paving stones where arrays had been laid out by the Nie sect’s ancestors had been pried up and carted away.

Sect Leader Wen ordered a search, but there wasn’t any trace of it – of the people, of the stuff, anything.

No one ever found out what happened.

-

Jin Guangyao despised social events, he’d found.

It was one thing when it was something he’d planned himself, where the work was interesting enough to distract him, but when he was an honored guest for someone else…miserable. Utterly miserable.

The only thing more miserable was when the host was his erstwhile father, from whom he’d forcefully extracted recognition. With Wen Ruohan as his backer, indulging his favorite torturer as if a beloved pet, there wasn’t much Jin Guangshan could do to refuse, and neither could he force Jin Guangyao to do anything on his behalf, either. And so Jin Guangyao, sitting as always by Wen Ruohan’s side, right beneath his sons, was now an honored guest at his father’s house, getting offered his pick of prostitutes as if the man had no notion of the irony.

Maybe he didn’t. Jin Guangyao couldn’t quite tell if his father had just forgotten his origins, thinking his bastard son too unimportant to remember the details of, or whether it was meant as a deliberate insult – who could tell?

“Oh, right,” the simpering idiot in front of him, a nephew or cousin of some sort to the sect leader, said. “Our dear Jin Guangyao is known not to like the gentle flower queens, even when they come from the finest houses in Lanling. Isn’t that right, cousin?”

Jin Guangyao’s fists clenched. A deliberate insult, then.

Despite that, his face remained neutral. Instead, he chuckled and said, “The appeal is limited. After all, I have seen the best of them.”

Beside him, Wen Ruohan nodded and smirked. He appreciated Jin Guangyao’s devotion to his mother, though Jin Guangyao suspected it was because he thought it funny that Jin Guangyao would bother to honor such a lowly woman – but what he thought didn’t matter, not really. All that mattered was that he let Jin Guangyao pay his respects to her to his heart’s content.

“Well, you’re in luck!” the idiot Jin Zixun said, looking absurdly smug. “We have something of a different flavor than the usual tonight – we’ve invited entertainment from the local branch of Splendid Spring.”

Jin Guangyao barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

The Splendid Spring Palace was a series of brothels that had popped up fully formed just about everywhere some years back, with madams and girls and musicians and bodyguards of all sorts. It was so patently a political move that Jin Guangyao had barely bothered to pay attention to it once he’d become actually powerful, and Wen Ruohan hadn’t paid attention to it at all. After all, in the unlikely event that the business really was backed by a cultivation sect that didn’t care about its face any longer, anyone who needed to use such a façade to gather power was clearly beneath notice.

Jin Guangyao had paid only very little attention, but to different and unusual aspects of the place: by all accounts, they were surprisingly decent employers as far as places like that went. They didn’t steal girls or accept unwilling goods – they had some connection with the merchant caravans, or at least one of the companies that helped coordinate routes and provide protection to such things, and they were as meticulous about checking things over as they were about seeking refunds if they were dissatisfied – and they did accept married girls fleeing unhappy marriages, which not everyone did. They did buy up all the girls in the local markets wherever they were, but they swept them away and brought them back transformed, even the ones that wouldn’t sell because they were too ugly; Jin Guangyao assumed that meant they had people who were talented in make-up and clothing, since the usual rumors of the girls being blessed with a yao’s enchantment were obviously ridiculous and nothing more than the usual marketing gimmicks that brothels since time immemorial had tried.

Even once they had the girls in hand, the places were pretty decent: they had physicians on staff to help with the usual side effects of the business, made sure their girls were clean and healthy, and were said to even limit the number of customers a girl would be obliged to take on in a given evening…honestly, knowing as he did the brothel business, Jin Guangyao sometimes wondered how they’d managed to bespell enough people to even make money in the early days. At any rate, whatever they’d done, it’d worked, because by now they had a solid enough reputation to trade on.

In short: a decent enough place, far better than the usual run of the mill. Once he’d had the ability to do so, he’d even pulled a few strings and arranged for the better of his mother’s old compatriots to end up there, since he couldn’t convince them to leave their old professions behind entirely.

Anyway, if they also seemed to have a sideline in information brokering and assassinations, well, let them. In the cultivation world, where the only thing that mattered was strength, real strength.

A little thing like that wouldn’t make any real difference.

Or so Jin Guangyao had thought.

He found himself re-thinking that, though, when the entertainment in question came out. There were the usual set of attractive (albeit in a wider variety of shapes and sizes than usually seen) dancers, dressed up in silks that seemed actually high quality, and plenty of strapping young men carrying sabers – dancers as well, once assumed, to provide some spice to the entertainment, and implicitly on the offer for men who cut their sleeves or women with more flexibility, like widows or ones with especially permissive husbands. Wen Ruohan’s wives were in that latter category, and they were already whispering to each other excitedly, looking at them.

They’d even brought in the local madame, who was…

Well, she was actually breathtaking, even by Jin Guangyao’s extremely jaded standards. She had hair that fell almost all the way to her ankles, shimmering in the light, and dark eyes shining with liveliness, a smooth and ageless face that simultaneously suggested youth and health but also winked at knowable experience, the features characteristic of what his mother’s employers had called the ‘fox-face’. As if to emphasize that, the lady was wrapped in fox-fur and draped in embroidered brocade, with little stylized foxes running up and down the hems of her clothing and along the gazy silk draped on her shoulders.

It ought to have looked absurd, looked gaudy and overwrought and overdone, but it didn’t.

She was a thousand dreams of wealth and beauty and power and sex appeal all wrapped up in one, and even Jin Guangyao – who was in his personal preferences quite firmly a cutsleeve – couldn’t help but intrigued by her, wondering what it might be like to touch the hem of such a glorious creature.

And next to her…

The lady was accompanied by two men that seemed completely different from each other. One was a slender and winsome young man, fluttering his eyelashes from behind a fan with a charming smile, emanating the appeal of softness and weakness, ready to be indulged. While the other…

Jin Guangyao swallowed.

He was the exact opposite of the first man. Clearly strong, muscular and powerful, and tall to the point of towering, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, a chest that you could lean your head against and an ass that begged to have someone’s hands on it – and there were his hands, big and broad, perfect for holding someone down or up if they so wished and of a size that was very promising as to what was only hinted at under his clothes. His face was hidden behind a veil as if he were a woman, marking him, like his comrade, as one of the available courtesans of the Splendid Spring, but his body was visible under clothing clearly cut to put it to the best advantage.

And oh, what advantages it had…!

“It seems we found something to the tastes of dear cousin Guangyao after all,” the idiot said mockingly, sniggering and snorting like the pig he was, and for once Jin Guangyao didn’t even care.

“Who’s the woman in front?” Wen Ruohan asked, ignoring their interplay. He seemed utterly fascinated, almost spellbound, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t blame him one bit. If this woman had been at the same brothel as his mother, there wouldn’t have even been room for jealousy or shame; his mother would have gone straight up to her to ask for some tips. “She seems…familiar, somehow.”

“That’s the madame of the Splendid Spring,” Jin Zixun said proudly, as if he’d done anything at all in relation to this – nonsense, of course. Everyone know which brothels were backed by the Jin sect, and Splendid Spring wasn’t one of them. He was acting as if he deserve a pat on the back just for the introduction! “That means she’s not for sale.”

His smile faded a little, twisting in a small bit of bitterness. “Or so she told my uncle, anyway…although I’m sure if it were Sect Leader Wen asking, the answer would undoubtedly be different.”

Probably because Jin Guangshan couldn’t slaughter prostitutes with impunity if they said no to him, whereas no one could stop Wen Ruohan from doing any damn thing he pleased.

Wen Ruohan grunted, pleased by the answer – he was a possessive man, in the rare events that he did exert himself in the realm of women, and there had been more than one instance where he’d stolen away some girl his sons had been eyeing first just for the joy of having had her first – and raised a hand, catching the lady’s eye and gesturing for her to come over, which she did.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She laughed. “You can call me Hu Jiuwei. With the ‘Hu’ being the character for fox.”

Jin Guangyao tried not to choke. There were false names and then there were false names – the lady’s theme was already clearly related to foxes, given her fox-face and fox-fur lining and the foxes embroidered onto her robes. Was the over-the-top name really necessary?

“It’s a fake name,” she added, unnecessarily.

“I see,” Wen Ruohan said, sounding a little choked himself. Possibly it was the woman calling herself ‘Foxy Ninetails’ and then kindly reassuring them all that the name was false as if she thought them too dumb to figure it out that was tripping him up a little. Jin Guangyao couldn’t tell if she was doing it deliberately in order to make her frankly inhuman beauty a little less frightening, or maybe she was blessed with so much beauty that she hadn’t bothered to cultivate her brain at all. “Are you our entertainment for the evening?”

She smiled, and any complaints Jin Guangyao (or indeed Wen Ruohan) might have had about her intelligence faded away at once.

It was that type of smile.

You could wreck nations with that type of smile. Jin Guangyao couldn’t help but wonder: how had a woman this extraordinary ended up in a brothel, of all places? How had no one snatched her up to keep her all for himself before now?

“My sons and I –” she gestured at the two behind her, “– would be more than happy to provide you with all the entertainment you could possibly want.”

Her smile widened.

“We’ve been hoping for an opportunity like this for a long time.”

[savethelastdan]

Soulmate AU + Pregnancy Fic (Sesskagu)

Though her time in existence has been short, Kagura is aware that humans and demons believe in soulmates.

She is also aware that she does not have one.

At the horrible moment where she was rooted to the spot, watching Muso come to his end, Naraku had proven that.

"That woman!" The incarnation had wailed and gnashed his teeth. "Kikyo - is she my - "

"Pathetic," Naraku jeered, as the screaming incarnation melded back into his flesh, "Just a lump of useless flesh and desire isn't enough. You'd need a soul of your own, first."

Because she tries not to think of that incident, Kagura doesn't think much of soulmates either.

-

"Lord Sesshomaru," Rin says, for the millionth time since they left Mount Hakurei, and he wonders what questions his surrogate daughter could possibly have left that neither he nor Jaken have answered. "That man with the purple tears was talking about soulmates. Do I have one?"

Why that damn assassin would speak of such things to a child is absurd. As he usually does with the questions he does not feel like answering, Lord Sesshomaru simply acts like he doesn't hear her.

"What happens when I meet my soulmate? How will I know?"

"Shut up, you stupid girl!" Jaken shrieks, even as he keeps glancing behind to check Rin has not been stolen from them again. "Lord Sesshomaru wouldn't know the answers to your silly questions, since he does not have - "

A sharp click of his jaw, and the kappa flings himself to the ground in reproach.

-

He'd asked similar questions, one time before.

His mother had replied matter-of-factly, that meeting their soulmate would leave a permanent sign on the person.

"Like a wound?" He said, and she cut him off with sharp noise.

"Something gained, not lost."

But other than his demon marks, and the tattoo of his family line, there is nothing Sesshomaru gains from dealing with others.

It doesn't matter to him, and thus he does not ruminate on it often.

-

The world turns darker, as Naraku claws more and more power from the half-made jewel. Kagura crosses paths again and again with the demon Lord of the West, and no matter what she does - call him a coward, kidnap his human pet, throw blades of wind so strong it must leave his lungs aching for hours afterwards - Sesshomaru never puts an end to her life.

It's as good a reason as any, when her master finally falls to the combination of the priestess' arrow and the hanyou's sword, to stick around.

Sesshomaru's lonely, anyway. Ah-Un stays with Rin and Rin stays in the village, after finding the mark on her back in the same spot where Kohaku's jewel shard left a scar on his own. Jaken is company but not good company.

Only Kagura, of all of Naraku's incarnations, remains.

What do you think keeps you alive, Kagome asks her once, curiously and not at all suspicious. Kagura thinks of miasma-stained flowers and gold eyes full of understanding, and does not have an answer.

She thinks she might know, once, when Sesshomaru's mouth brushes against her in the dark. But it's not something she would ever consider in the light.

-

Now, it's the tenth month after her life truly began. And instead of being somewhere interesting, Kagura's sitting in the freezing cold hut of a river-spirit midwife.

She ate less than an hour ago, and she's hungry again. Despite not caring much for meat in the entirety of her short life, all she wants is some kind of bloody flesh to sink her teeth into. Sesshomaru barely has to look in her direction before she's ready to rip his head off.

"Congratulations," the spirit simpers. And despite it all, Kagura's chattering teeth bare in a smile.

-

"Walking is boring," she snaps, tossing a gust of wind into the nearest tree. Sesshomaru doesn't react to the litany of cracking branches; as usual, his attention is entirely focused on her.

The mother of his child, Jaken says, sounding jealous and like he is mocking her at the same time. I suppose we won't be getting rid of you now.

"Regular exercise ensures your health," he says, reciting the words as though they came out of that stupid little scroll that the inane monk from Rin's village whipped out as soon as he'd heard. "And lounging about all day will merely make you restless."

"Whatever." She shreds another tree just for the sake of it. Despite what he thinks, Kagura would love to lounge for the next four months - eating whatever is at hand, wrapping herself in soft blankets, and gossiping. And Sesshomaru could just sit in the corner and watch her; it's all that seems to carry his interest these days.

Not that she's complaining. It's just weird, is all.

"You are not feeling ill," he says, making it sound more like a certainty thanks to his insistence that she walk regularly, rather than a question. Kagura sighs as dramatically as she can and mutters, "No."

She's lucky in that way, it seems. The priestess that she guesses would be considered her sister-in-law, in some manner of human custom, spent almost her entire pregnancy as sick as a dog. (A joke that was sadly unappreciated by everyone Kagura told.) Her half-demon husband had been beside himself with worry, and Kagura is fairly certain that Sesshomaru gets a smug sense of superiority that this is not the case for her.

Kagome's soulmate marks are on both arms, where someone's claws might dig in; and Inuyasha's is a line around the back his neck, as though a string tied around it was yanked quite hard. Kagura thinks about it often, even though it's not like it has anything to do with her.

Even though she shouldn't care.

"I want to go to the mountains to see the snow," she says. Sesshomaru's mouth firms into a thin line. Above them, birds screech in warning as more branches fall apart; Kagura starts to scream back, but holds her tongue fast between her teeth.

"Very well."

She grins wide. Sesshomaru's expression softens - so little a change that anyone who doesn't know him well would never notice - and she rewards him by pulling his arm to rest warm against her abdomen. 

"I think they'll like the cold," she says cheerfully. "See, they're kicking because they're so excited."

Sesshomaru shifts his hand a bit, chasing the baby's movement. Fondness for the both of them hits her like a weapon's strike; soulmates aren't that interesting, anyway, she thinks, watching lines of amusement form around his eyes. I'd still choose you even if I had one.

-

Jaken can't say for sure that neither of them are aware. He only knows what he thinks, and what he believes neither Lord Sesshomaru or the stupid wind witch Kagura would bother to think.

For example, Totosai himself said that Lord Sesshomaru's heart was changed, by compassion for another. Why his Lord would have been affected so by someone as annoying as Kagura, rather than a faithful and eternally loyal companion, is a mystery. But the point remains, nonetheless.

Kagura, as well, still walks around making a problem out of everything despite the fact her master and creator is long dead and gone. Though Jaken doesn't have the nerve to ask Lord Sesshomaru if there is an actual heart in the witch's chest at this particular point in time (they're all much too focused on the baby and its associated organs instead) it certainly makes sense. Where else would she be keeping it?!

In summary: while it is rare for humans, due to their incredibly fragile bodies, Jaken knows of many demons whose soulmate marks don't show on the outside. Who would want to advertise such weakness to all of one's enemies?!

He considers bringing it up only a single moment. The mood was perfect - a gorgeous sunny backdrop, his Lord maintaining a neutral attitude, and Kagura hadn't dragged her sorry behind back from her lollygagging trip yet. Jaken had cleared his throat, readied himself to be recognized for his brilliance, and - was interrupted by the stupid wind witch's return, plus the announcement that she was carrying his Lord’s heir. A new little soul, housed in her body until it was ready. 

I don't see why you shouldn't be glad to hear about it, she'd said with a huge, foolish smile. But if that is the case, then I'll keep it for myself.

You always say pointless things, Lord Sesshomaru had said back, before reaching for her in a manner that always sent Jaken fleeing the room.

Bah! Even recalling it annoys him. Let them figure it out for themselves, after all.

There's too much else to do before the baby comes.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Nothing Left (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry to @geekandbooknerd 2k Writing Challenge. Congratulations again, Hayley, you deserve each and every one of us 🌻

The gif is a dead giveaway: this piece is an angsty one 😬 Sorry about that but I feel like I can’t write fluff all the time 😉

Prompt in bold

Thanks to @zuxiezendler for beta reading this for me (hope you don't mind Hayley, but since it was for your challenge... 😉)

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Leaving Ivar is not an easy task.

Warnings: angst; Ivar's temper; physical assault (no harm done, though); Freydis is beautiful; no happy ending (you've been warned).

Words: 2089

Crutch – right foot – left foot – crutch – right foot – left foot

You can hear him coming. Of course, you can.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He's not yet in your shared bedroom and he's already shouting. Instead of turning around, you grab the little carved wooden wolf he gifted you many years ago and put it in your pouch.

As he stabs the wooden floor with his crutch, you can physically feel his anger. "You thought you could sneak out? Uh?" You know his jaw is clenched, and he's probably shaking with rage.

"This is what you intended to do, admit it!"

You just scoff. No, you didn't intend to sneak out, not in your wildest dreams. Not with White Hair's men everywhere, night and day.

A thump – his fist hitting the table, you'd say – and then a roar.

"ANSWER YOUR KING!!!!!"

Glancing over your shoulder, you give him a tired, defeated smile. You don't want to fight. You never wanted to. "What does it look like to you, Ivar? Do you really think I'm trying to sneak out? Of course, I'm not."

"Rumors are false, that's what you're saying?" He snorts and, taking two more steps into the room, he joins you. "What's that, then?" He gestures angrily toward a wooden trunk, filled to the brim with your belongings, mostly dresses and a few jewels.

"I'm leaving, if that's what rumors say, Ivar, I'm just not sneaking out." You speak softly while closing the trunk.

A wide-eyed look on his face, he can't hide his surprise at your easy admission but he quickly pulls himself together, straightening up and towering over you.

"You can't. I forbid you." Giving you an intimidating look, he grits his teeth.

You barely shake your head. There's so much sadness in your heart. "Of course, I can. I'm not asking for permission, you know? I'm leaving, whether you like it or not."

That's when he explodes, his bottom lip quivering. "I SAID, I FORBID YOU! FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, YOU WILL DO AS YOU'RE TOLD, Y/N! I. AM. YOUR. KING!"

His scream is so loud that you can't help but take a step back. But you don't lower your gaze. You won't. You can't. So, keeping your chin up, you inhale slowly. "And I'm still a free woman, Ivar. I'm leaving today."

You know the man you once loved is not going to make that so easy for you. So, you're not surprised when he grabs your wrist so firmly you can't shake him off. Tossing his crutch on the floor, he places his now free hand on your shoulder. Looking at him, you can tell you've rarely seen him this angry. Never releasing the pressure on your wrist, he throws you against the nearest wall so hard that the back of your skull makes a resounding "clunk".

He leans in close to you, his breath stinking faintly of honeyed mead, and presses the weight of his body against you. "You're not leaving, Y/N." He then moves his hand from your shoulder to your throat and the air is immediately stolen from you as you stare into his now darkened eyes. With your right hand still pinned to the wall, you only have your left to defend yourself. You're slapping him, clawing at him, but you may as well be tickling him with a feather – your scratches and punches have no effect on him whatsoever.

"I could kill you, Y/N. Maybe I should." The threat is clear, obvious, but Ivar loosens his grip just enough for you to breathe. He won't harm you. Not yet anyway.

Clearing your throat, you don't look away. "Maybe you should. It wouldn't be the worst thing for me, you know? One way or another, I wouldn't be here anymore."

Your words sting, you can see it on his face as he steps away, wobbling and dumbstruck.

Slowly leaning forward, you grab his discarded crutch before giving it back to him. "Here." You mutter before taking a seat on the bed. Ivar follows suit, flopping down next to you.

Blinking several times, Ivar is obviously trying to come to terms with what you just said. "So, you'd rather be dead than here? With me?" His voice is shaking and he fidgets with his fingers on his lap.

"Ivar, there's nothing left here for me… Nothing… We just don't understand each other anymore, you know that. I don't understand you anymore, Ivar. Since Wessex, you've changed so much…"

You've tried. You've tried very hard. But this man, this king, is no longer the man you fell in love with.

"It's about Sigurd, isn't it?" Ivar asks sadly, but you immediately shake your head.

"No Ivar, you know it's not. I told you, even though I wish you hadn't killed him, I understand why you did it. And I know you didn't want to."

"It's about my legs, then." His face suddenly hardens but you know him, he always hides his pain behind anger. "I knew it. I knew this day would come. You're tired of the cripple, admit it."

Without thinking, you grab his hand, entwining his fingers with yours. As much as you resent him for what he has become, you can't let him run himself down like this. " It has nothing to do with your legs. Your legs have never bothered me, and they never will. You're stronger than all other men, not in spite of your legs, but because of them. Actually, you're the strongest man I know, and I've always felt proud to walk beside you, or to be your woman. I forbid you to doubt it."

"Why, then?" Ivar is so soft now, seems to be so… broken, you have to remind yourself why you're leaving. You have to remind yourself of the horror.

Closing your eyes, you conjure up frightful images behind your eyelids.

"You killed Margrethe, Ivar. You didn't have to do that."

He tenses beside you, releasing his hand from your grip. "She was talking rubbish all the time, she was spreading rumors about me, you know that!!"

"She was insane, Ivar! She was no danger, neither to you nor to anyone. And as for the rumors, I'm loud enough for people to know that you can pleasure a woman. She was harmless, and you killed her, and that, Ivar, I can't understand. And then, you did worse. You killed Thora." You can't help but wince, the stench of burning flesh still so vivid in your mind, you'd swear it's real.

Fuming, Ivar points an accusing finger at you. "She defaced my image. She was plotting behind my back. She was conspiring, criticizing me. She saw me as a tyrant while I was just trying to rule well. She was a FUCKING DANGER!"

Startled by his shout, you stand up hastily. "You burned her alive, Ivar!! You burned her entire family. Asbjorn, her brother, had not yet seen his tenth spring. And you killed him!" You know he can see the disgust on your face, and the truth is, you don't care. He deserves your disgust. He deserves your contempt. He deserves you falling out of love with him. "Thora was your brother's lover and she was my friend and you burned her alive!!! How could you?" Your hands tangled in your hair, you shake your head, still barely able to process the horror of what he did.

"And what was I supposed to do, huh?" Ivar seems unshaken, and it strengthens your resolve. He doesn't know between good and evil, not anymore. You want to reply that he could have exiled her, or had her thrown in jail, but to what end? What's done is done, and your former lover is a monster now.

"It doesn't matter, Ivar… What matters is that you're like a stranger. I don't know who you are anymore. Since this girl, you've changed." You shrug, blinking back tears.

Ivar rolls his eyes. "So that's what it was all about? I can't believe you're jealous, Y/N. This girl… It's just a... thrall"

Oh gods! There's none so deaf as those that will not hear, right?

"I'm not jealous, Ivar. She was naked on your lap, but I'm not jealous. Or maybe I was, but it doesn't matter anymore. And I don't give a damn about what or who she is. But she was whispering nonsense in your ear, and since then you've changed. I don't recognize you anymore. You're no longer the man I loved, Ivar..." Your words are genuine, your heart full of sorrow.

Still sitting on the bed, Ivar tilts his head. "You... You can't leave me, Y/N. What... What will I do without you?" His quivering voice sends shivers down your spine. But you won't change your mind. This man in front of you, unsure and insecure, is nothing but a ghost of who he once was. The boy you loved is gone. Dead. Killed by his inner demons.

Swallowing, Ivar slowly stands up, and frowns when you step back. "Y/N," he speaks again, reaching out but to no avail as you stubbornly put your hands on your back, "you're the person I don't need to explain myself to – not when it matters. You see everything I am and you don't run away from it. I... I can't do without you."

Your eyes filling with tears, you shake your head. "I can't be this person anymore, Ivar. I've tried, but I can't. I don't know you at all anymore. You've become the monster that people thought you were. You're paranoid, and narcissistic, and self-centered. You're cruel, and mean, and fearsome. I won't lie, sometimes I still see a shadow of the man – the boy – you used to be. But most of the time, what I see in your eyes is something scary and unfamiliar. I have said it before and I will say it again. I don't recognize you anymore, Ivar. I don't know who you are. You've done terrible things, which I cannot and will not forget and forgive. That's why I'm leaving." Pointing to the trunk, you bite the inside of cheek until it bleeds. "I'll send someone to get it later."

Heading out, you don't wait for his answer. There's nothing he can say that is going to change your mind.

Yet, you stop in your tracks when he calls your name, "Y/N!" his voice sounding like a wounded animal. Slowly turning around, you can see a single tear running down his face. "Please..." He begs and it kills you, because Ivar the Boneless doesn’t beg; never begs. For a fleeting moment, your resolve falters. Maybe you can still save your love. Maybe you can bring back the man he was. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe...

And then, a shadow slips between the heavy doors of the great hall and you recognize the thrall. She's undoubtedly beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Flawless.

Without even according you a glance, she walks with a confident stride and as soon as Ivar sees her, you can tell you cease to exist for him. Enthralled, he watches her every step, a sparkle dancing in his eyes.

Tears flow on your cheeks, but it doesn't matter. You were right.

This is the end.

It's like torture but you can't bring yourself to walk away. So, you watch. You see Ivar closing the gap between them, inviting her to sit down, pouring mead into a cup and handing it to her. "How are you? I've been thinking about you." You feel like you're going to throw up as you see the smile on his lips; as you realize how easily he forgot about you.

His next question nearly kills you. "Are you married?"

You can't believe your ears. You can't stay here anymore. You can't breathe.

You don't want to hear her answer. You know what she will say. And at this moment, deep down inside, you know he will marry her. Of course, he will. He will marry her because she will always be willing to whisper in his ear what he wants to hear.

A blond woman, attractive and seemingly submissive – you know better, but Ivar doesn't –swaying her hips... That's all it takes for Ivar to forget you.

You. Can't. Breathe.

You won't die here from a shattered heart, though. Your pride won't allow it. So, stumbling, your head spinning, you walk away, your fist in your mouth to keep you from screaming.

You were right. There's nothing left.

Nothing.

🛡⚔️🛡

@geekandbooknerd @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace

[lxnglxstlxver]

an open letter to the heterosexual community

if there’s anything i can say about all the boys i fell into a joe goldberg-esque obsession for, it’s that they all fit into a type. a different face but it was the same fantasy every time. the type of boy the girl in all the movies would have a meet cute with— the slow moving frame of a pretty face, kind eyes, and sweet smile. the type of boy to carry your books to class and write you notes under the desk. the type of boy who gave you hope in the male species again when you’d long given up, the type of boy you imagined you’d marry as a kid. the prince who would come to slay the dragon and give you the happily ever after you so rightfully deserved.

now there’s nothing wrong with a fantasy— until, that is, you’re unable to separate it from reality. because you can try your damnedest to carve a marble statue out of flesh but you can’t stop the cracks from appearing, and try as you might you can’t ignore the skin and the bones and the ugly ugly imperfections. and so icarus falls from grace and you blame him. but it was you who crafted his wings and it was you who burned them.

here’s the thing people forget about the myth- he was warned not to fly too low before he was warned not to fly too high, lest the saltwater dampen his wings. so the next time you meet a boy it’s game over before it begins— you exile him to the depths of hell without a second thought. the halo and white feathers replaced with horns and bat leather. and you tell yourself you’re only being careful, only being safe. but we never heard lucifer’s side of the story, now did we? how does a man fall from Your grace when You never gave him a chance?

because men are neither monsters nor gods, angels nor demons, flawless nor irredeemable. there are no princes (but you know this already don’t you, of course— it’s the first realization a girl comes to when she becomes a woman) but there aren’t any dragons either.

it isn’t my place as a boy to tell you to not be afraid. that guard is up for a reason, i know (and i understand that i will never be able to understand). there are bad men— awful, disgusting, and harmful men— and it seems at times it’s biologically hardwired, as if it’s an inherent part of male nature. nor am i saying “not all men” (always a pointless talking point that only serves to derail important conversations).

i am saying our society has forgotten that men are human as much as our society has forgotten that women are human. why is it when men and women speak about each other it’s only words of contempt and hatred and anger? it seems as if heterosexuals are only attracted to each other, but they don’t particularly like each other. because women are bitches and sluts and whores and men are trash and fuckboys and assholes, right? because women are all the same and men are all the same, right? is that truly what you believe? and if so, why the hell are you holding out for love in the first place? why haven’t you just given up yet?

men are human and women are human. i want you to look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never manipulated anyone of the opposite sex before. look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never used anyone just for sex or just for the attention or just for the simple fucking feeling of being wanted and being desired. look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never ghosted anyone before, that you’ve never gotten bored with someone, that you’ve never strung someone along knowing damn well they had feelings for you that you didn’t reciprocate. you spend so much time pointing fingers you’ve forgotten to take a look in the mirror. after all, we only project the worst of ourselves, because to deal with the burden of facing who we are we have to accept we are exactly who we hate most. everyone’s their own worst critic— there’s no one in your life you hate more than yourself.

now that’s heavy shit and we can unpack that later (not that you wanted to unpack it right now anyways— you’ve already locked it away in a deep deep corner of your mind). but instead of focusing solely on the negative, can we at least have some appreciation of the good parts?

there is a softness in femininity. a beauty in the vulnerability of it all, a blanket of warmth, a kiss on the cheek. a hug from your mother and the way she never stops worrying, even when it annoys you, because she loves you that much. the lightest sneeze you’ve ever heard in your life, exactly the way you’d expect a kitten to sound. the girls— crazy, quirky, goofy, can’t take us anywhere— laughing in the face of judgement, a liberating sense of happiness like no other. girls will be girls— call it basic and call it bland, but at the end of the day, who’s the one having fun and who’s the one being bitter?

there is a sexiness in femininity. a tilt of the head when she looks up at you, the slight upward curl at the edge of her mouth. “you’re so annoying” she says, how she rolls her eyes and bites her lip and how when she flips her hair it always seems to fall perfectly into place. “i hate you so much” she says when she means the exact opposite and the emphasis she puts on the “so”. a top that accentuates her breasts in the best way possible, a bottom made to show off the bottom, both hugging her body so tight it should be fucking illegal. “my eyes are up here” she says, placing her pointer finger at the bottom of your chin and guiding you to make eye contact. how when she hugs you every braincell except a single one dies off at once, and it desperately tries to focus on anything but the feeling of her breasts against your chest. and every part of your body— every part that makes you a big, strong, dominating man— turns to jelly. (well, not every part of you, because there’s one thing getting harder while everything else goes soft) because you’ve never been weaker in your life. because she makes you weak and you’ve never loved anyone more.

there is a softness in masculinity. the security and connection of dapping him up, the upward flick of his head as you pass by him in the hallway. another idiotic joke from your dad and the proud grin he gives when he says it, and how you roll your eyes and suppress a laugh because you can’t give him the satisfaction. the boys— young, dumb, broke, wild, and free— a second family and a place to call home. boys will be boys— the world is a circus and even if you can’t say anything good you can’t lie and say we’re not entertaining.

there is a sexiness in masculinity. “sorry i couldn’t hear you” he says, leaning down and placing his ear right near your lips, the sweet musk of his cologne catching you completely off guard. “stop playing with me” he laughs at you, his tongue jutting into his cheek, a roll of his eyes and smirk playing upon his lips. “so, uh, what are you trying to do” he says, his eyes tracing you up and down when he pauses for that “uh”, and that alone is enough to undo and undress and leave you naked, stripping your clothes clean off without even a whisper of his touch. and you can’t help that your mind shuts down and your lips run dry (and i mean the lips on your face, because your other pair has never felt more wet) because you are a strong, independent, capable woman— but there’s nothing you’d like more than to be tossed around like a ragdoll and fucked like you’re the last living being left on this earth.

at the end of the day, we are all fundamentally the same. we are idiotic and horny and desperate and lonely. we crave connection— to be understood and to understand. we all want the same things, and the most important things for each of us are all the same as well— family, friends, and love.

men are men and women are women— two sides of the same coin, reflecting each other in the mirror. neither needs the other to be whole— you are your own damn person. but to accept the love of another you must first accept yourself. no one said learning to love was ever easy (and it’s gonna take the rest of your entire life)— but then again, the most important things never are. *

— kurtsmuse

(p.s. if you’re straight and you’re reading this and want to write a letter back to the gays— don’t even think about it)

[devilishsahbi]

apotelesma | diavolo x fem! reader

[ apotelesma ] - the influence that the stars have over human destiny.

prologue. daughter of eve.

"A DAUGHTER OF EVE一A true descendant of the bloodline, in the flesh." The High Priest regarded you with stone cold blue eyes. His face held no fondness, no gentle wrinkles or lines, but hard, chiseled panes of bone and skin, and the sharp pull of his mouth that descended into a frown. He was no happier with your existence than he was about the task he was to send you on; but you counted your blessings every day you lived to see the sun besides. "Do you understand what they will do to you when they find out?"

       "The angels or the demons?" You inquired, an edge in your tone. You had never liked the way the man had discriminated against either race despite being a holy man, never liked the way he stared at the angels who came to visit you by the behest of the Father and deemed you their friend. "You need to be specific, High Priest."

       "The demons, of course." He scowled at you. "The angels, by some sort of curse, have no choice but to love you. No, I speak of the demons, foolish girl."

       You were neither foolish, nor a girl, but you would let him believe what he wanted. You shifted the bundle of clothes in your lap一a set of clothing that would allow you to enter the devildom unharmed, given to you by Michael一to cross your legs.

       "I remember. Once they find out, they'll drag me down to the icy depths of hell and torture me until the second coming."

      Which were all lies, of course; no one could sense the bloodline of Eve unless you let go of your human form. None except the angels, of whom would guard your secret to their deaths一taught to obey you and your wishes by some wicked love of the woman you had been long ago. A woman whose identity erased the entirety of yours.

        "At least you listened to Sister Anne's lessons." The High Priest grumbled and produced a gorgeous ring from within his robes. It was silver, inlaid with a delicate fire opal that held deposits of gold, and had several unholy symbols carved into the metal band. "This was one of your predecessor's. A powerful sorceress. It will protect you from harm, should you rouse one of the demons to their temper. Only once, and no more."

        You allowed him to drop the precious ring into your open palms. It was unusually warm against your skin, thrumming with its own heartbeat, a heady pulse against your fingers. You closed your fist around it, felt the connection to one of your past selves erupt into being like a chain of fire.

       "Thank you." It was perhaps all you could say. The High Priest had neglected you any semblance of connection to your past lives in the fear you would become corrupt by their morality and values. A mistake made one too many times, he had said, as the sisters discarded your normal clothes in favor of hand woven garb and shoes. "Is there anything else?"

        You so desperately wanted to leave this place, this temple. Even the devildom sounded sweet to your ears, as lonely and chained as you were in this place. You were lucky to have been chosen at all; the other girls were far more up to date with the times. You had only gotten a phone and social media to keep up appearances with your old life.

       "No." The tension in your belly dropped into a thread of relief. "Go now. The sisters will help dress you and escort you to the angels."

        You didn't spare him the grace of your farewell. You leapt up from the chair and darted out of the office and to your room一a small, compact thing that was as white as the rest of the temple, threaded with gold marbling一where the sisters waited for you to get ready.

        They helped you into the odd black spandex suit wordlessly. It had interesting holes cut into the hips, knees, chest, back, elbows, and shoulders, with a shiny sheer panelling that radiated a powerful magic not unlike that of the angels'. Over that went a sleeveless overcoat that felt more like silk than heavy cotton, embroidered with一you nearly cried at the sudden, second connection to one of your past selves一golden dahlias and calla lilies.

       You had also been given heels, but you forewent those for the soft, white leather sandals that had been given to you as a secondary option, slipping them on your feet with a relieved sigh. The sisters made no remark on your attire, the skin you were revealing, or the sudden realization that you had filled out far past what you had originally thought.

       Sister Anne entered the room as you were retying your hair to sit more comfortably on your head, the other sisters having left moments ago. She regarded you with a kind smile before handing you a small circlet. Elegant in design, it was the match to your ring, and you took it from her before you could even think twice.

        "I didn't think that the High Priest would give you the rest of the set," she said smugly, watching you set the jewelry upon your forehead. It fit as if it had been made for you. "I took it upon myself to give it to you before your departure. As a farewell gift."

       "Thank you." You wrapped the older woman up in a tight hug. It was odd to feel her hug you back, patting your shoulder with a quiet laugh. "Really. Thank you, Sister Anne. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there for me."

       "Probably jump out of the belltower like the last descendant did," she quipped, not at all joking. You stilled against her. "Lighten up. The poor girl was insane by the time she was brought here. You'll be fine."

       "If you say so." You parted from the hug. "I'll miss you, you know that, right?"

      "I'd be offended if you didn't!" Sister Anne laughed and slapped you on the back. Hard. Through the thin fabric of your suit, it felt like you had been hit by a truck. "Go on now, before I beg and make you stay. The angels are waiting for you in the courtyard."

       You smiled, but the disgust you felt overpowered it. The angels made you feel sick every time you saw them; when their perfectly normal, sane eyes turned to you and were instantly struck by that curse, bound to your bidding and will. The only angels who could resist and speak to you like normal people were those of the Seraphs and Archangels, even a few cherubim if they were lucky, but normal angels never stood a chance.

       They loved you, of course, because that was how they were created. To love humanity, but to adore one of the first of them all; Eve. And you, unfortunately, carried her soul within you.

      You could only hope that the delegates sent from above were Seraphim.

       You gave a final farewell to Sister Anne and left down the hall before you could turn around and reject your summons to the devildom.

      The angels greeted you in the courtyard with loving smiles and compliments. You tried to ignore them, even when the small slivers of hurt crept upon their faces.

       None of it was real, you told yourself as they opened up the portal to allow you through.

      None of what anyone felt for you was real, you reinforced that belief as you stepped through the portal.

        None of it was true.

        And you stepped out of the portal and into the humid, hot land of Devildom.

end prologue.

let me know what you thought! 💕

[manatehispants]

Finally Home

"And now he is gone. I gave everyone I could a happy ending but.....I have to wonder.....Humans and angels they talk all the time about Grandfather. They tell stories of his never ending kindness and his love for us all. But would a kind God really have allowed all of this to happen? He was ready to erase this entire universe. Erase billions and billions of lives. Would a kind God do that? Would a loving father really have allowed his son to fall as hard as Lucifer did? What about Gabriel? How could Grandfather have loved him so deeply yet punished him so callously for one slip-up? What is it? Grandfather loves us all until we disagree with him or mess up? Then what? He gives us the boot? Shames and punishes us? And if I keep being God.....If I master all this power does that mean I will become as cruel as he was? I don't want to be that. I don't want to forget what it is like to love and give a damn."

Elaine's voice cracked with raw emotion as she ended her line of questioning. A being who appeared as a young man with fair skin and straw colored hair listened to her intensely. His silver blue eyes held both love and sorrow for the girl. No words did this being utter, yet Elaine knew everything he would have said had he spoken. She frowned at the man as her hands balled into fist at her sides hard enough that she could feel her nails cutting into the tender flesh of her palms. For a moment she squeezed her eyes shut, a light shade of crimson formed in her cheeks as she felt her entire body start to tremble with rage, hurt, confusion and emotions that she couldn't even begin to put a name to. As her body quaked further her eyes suddenly snapped back open with defiance burning within them. For the first time since he had met this young woman Duma felt fearful of her. For the defiant flame in her eyes almost mirrored that of Lucifer's when he had rebelled against Heaven and all of the Host.

"It isn't fair and you don't know this is for the best!!! Billions of souls have ceased to exist because of me! Countless are dead! The Silver City is a mess! My biological father is dead! The father who raised me was killed, my mother no longer knows I even existed and the closest thing I had to a parent is gone for good. People I never even met they hate me for things I never did!! People praise my name and thank me at an overwhelming rate for things I had nothing to do with. Everyone expects something of me and keeps telling me I am meant for greatness....I don't want to be great! I just want to be me! Haven't I gave enough already!? How can you even think if this was all part of his plan that Grandfather ever once cared for me, Duma?"

The very air around them crackled with the intensity of the young woman's emotions. Duma had always been known for being calm in almost any situation. He was known for never doubting his Father but how with everything that had happened could he still remain so sure there was a plan in place for all? How could he still seem so certain that everything was going to be okay when even Elaine found herself doubting things.The ground under them seemed to pulse with Elaine's anger as rain began pour down at an impressive rate on them. Elaine wanted to crumple to the ground, to cry and scream her throat raw but when your God you don't get to be so childish. Instead she closed her eyes tightly and inhaled deeply. It was true Elaine had no need to breath but still this small habit helped to calm her down and remind her of how important it was to remain in control of her emotions. After a moment the rain ceased almost completely. Duma's hand softly pressed itself against Elaine's shoulder. For a half of a second she leaned into his touch wanting badly to be comforted but quickly she pulled away from him. Her light lavender-grey colored hues locked onto the ground as she spoke. It was so much easier to stare at nothing than look him in the face right now.

"I will never allow for myself to be like him. I will not allow this job to make me so cold. I won't constantly play with the lives of others as if they are nothing more than toys and end up making everyone around me miserable including myself. Mortals will be free of me and I of them. I will remain God but only in title and in the needed connection. Lucifer left this place....He left all the universes. I won't do that but I don't have to stay right here. Just as he didn't have to stay in Hell or in Heaven. His creation can still be remade. I will stay there and let this place do what it will. Because every time I try to help...Something ten times worse happens anyway. I don't need this heartache and neither does anyone. I will go and for the first time since I met any of you angels and demons, I am going to be happy."

Duma's soft features plainly showed concerned and even a certain level of fear at Elaine's words. Would she honestly do that? He held a hand up in protest but by the time he did this it was too late. The young Goddess had already turned her back to him. Carefully she began reforming the creation that had once been Lucifer's. This wasn't easy, she was still new to doing such things and being as upset as she currently was didn't much help her focus on this task. Yet within moments she had done it. She smiled triumphantly at the feat she had accomplished. The end of her fingers tips gave off a light blue glow as next she began to trace open a doorway to this recreated universe. It was only as she finished this that she turned back to Duma who looked completely crushed by the turn of events. Gently she took his hands into her own and spoke to him.

The angel blinked in confusion at this gesture but he made no effort what so ever to pull away from his new Lord. Instead he straightened his back and focused all of his attention onto Elaine. It was now her who gave him a sad yet adoring look. Without Duma having spoke Elaine still was fully aware of every single emotion that coursed through him at this moment. She was God after all and God is said to know all. Even the spoken emotions we attempt to hide away from the world.

"Don't look so heartbroken. I know.....This may seem wrong but I can't stay here and be what you all want of me. I can't rule over everyone and become as cold hearted as Grandfather did. I can't be everything you need me to be.....Even with all this power. I won't abandon this Universe like Lucifer had but I won't remain in it ruling and playing with lives as Grandfather did. I just.....I want to be happy and live my own life.....I know it won't last forever. Something will force me back here but for a bit.....I want to pretend to be okay.....That I too can have a happy ending."

For a long time nothing more was said. They both stood in silence holding each other's hands. After what felt to Elaine like a life time Duma gave her hands a gently squeeze and smiled at her. He nodded his head, dropping her hands from his own he pointed at the now fully opened door way and motioned for her to leave. It was in this moment that Elaine felt the weight of the world for but a second being lifted from her shoulders. She smiled adoringly at the fair skinned angel and wrapped her arms tightly around his slender form. For a second the angel's body tensed up completely. Angels weren't use to the social ways of humans. This seemingly random act of affection was some what baffling to him yet after the slight pause he smiled softly and returned the hug. After a moment he gently disengaged from the hug and lightly nudged Elaine towards the doorway as if to tell her that it was now time for them part way.

For a brief moment the Goddess bowed her head slightly and closed her eyes. Was this really the right move or was she behaving exactly as Lucifer now? She told Duma she would still be here in many ways. Her name was still written on every single person and thing in all of the universe. She was still as connected to this place as her Grandfather had once been but hadn't Lucifer remained in many ways connected to Hell when he quit there? Was this a sign that she too would end up on a path much like his and ended up abandoning everyone to fulfill her own selfish desires? Elaine's eyes snapped back open and now she laughed softly to herself as she shook her head.

No, she wouldn't end up like her uncle or like anyone else in her family. She would walk a path completely of her own. For better or worse. She was God now and Elaine would not back down from her duty as Lucifer had from his. Nor would she become consumed by them and grow cold as her Grandfather did. The young Goddess could sense Duma's eyes still on her. Despite his blessing he still had many misgivings about what she was doing. Elaine knew this and part of her wanted to linger longer. To keep talking to him and force him to completely understand why things must be this way. But how do you convince someone of such a thing when you, yourself are not convinced of it? Elaine did the only thing she now could do. She smiled one last time over her shoulder at Duma. Then taking a deep breath she turned and walked through the doorway. Out of the universe that she was so deeply connected to and into the one that her uncle had once had his own name completely intertwined with.

It was only once Elaine had fully entered Lucifer's old creation that she dared or even thought for that matter to exhale. It was strange to be back here once more. She had thought this was a place nobody would ever again lay eyes on. That there would never again be need of this place. Last time she had been here this universe had been filled with beings from all sorts of places but now the only life that remained intact was that of plants and trees. It was going to be a lonely place to remain Elaine knew this. Still this somehow being there felt more right than anything else had to her in the last few years. As she walked this newly created place a smile crept it's way onto her features. The young Goddess paused by a tree and gently allowed for her finger tips to brush up against the rough bark.

"Home. I am finally home. This is where I belong."

The words sounded strange as they left Elaine's lips but as she heard them out loud she realized how true they were. This, this creation of her uncle's had been the last place she ever felt safe, accepted, cared for and at peace in. Maybe that was the true reason for her being here again and the rest was just added excuses. Maybe she really had come back here because it was the only real home she had any longer. Even with Lucifer no longer running the show and with it being empty of any real life forms it still felt more like her rightful home than anything else ever had. Elaine was no fool and she knew she could not stay here forever. She knew in the deepest part of heart that something would soon force her to once more be on be back in her Grandfather's universe. However for now she would take pleasure in this small escape just as Lucifer once had. She would allow herself to remember once more what it was like to have a home, to be safe and to be allowed the freedom to live her life her way.

[florencwrites]

echoes, page five 〚dreamwastaken〛

She leaves the confines of the portal chamber, strained with utter confusion and grief. An extensive analogy about her future as the portal's keeper ensues, after showing insight in her remaining relationships.

series homepage

The obsidian burned on her back, scorching with pure despair as it left marks on her malnourished skin. The black details now seared in lilac hues, left entirely excited by the melancholic wails they had grown so attached to.

Lugubre tales of the jeweled stone had surrounded it since the beginning of time, never quite describing the fascinating in its rightful glory. The enchanting color palette that rose from the rapid fusion of exposed magma and murky waters was resilient, robust in a way that it allowed only the richest of ores to even attempt to splinter it.

During those days she had spent up in the cold, pent up in Techno's tundra home, were coincidentally the days where she had no longer had to long for warmth. The same apocalyptic warmth that burned patterns in her back, had there turned into a delightful, blissed glow.

A blissed glow that took over her every sense, one that contrasted the cold that encaptured her heart at night so harshly. Not every night had been filled with this freezing loneliness, naturally, but there were always exceptions to the rule. Nights where the love that filled Phil's homecooked meals were simply not enough to fill her heart along with her stomach. Nights where she couldn't help herself but wake Techno, begging for him to make an exception to his rule, and please just hold her for a bit. Techno would never admit it, but he never truly minded working around his boundaries for her.

He cared for her deeply, in a way he hadn't cared for many people before. Holding her stilling body, allowing his own body to engulf hers, urging her to meet his breaths. Deep breath. Hold it. Hold it. Out through your nose. Deep breath.

Another thing he would never admit was that during these sessions, he too felt a meditated calm rush over him. A calm that took his body and mind by devastating storm, one that would still his deepest and cruelest desires. The two had spent nights upon nights in amicable embrace, up in the attic, on the hard wooden floor. And even though the splintering planks felt rough to the touch, neither one of them minded the fragmented needles pinning into their flesh. Grim reminders, they were, of nights where his darkest demons were silenced by her tight embrace. Nights where his thumping chest would remind her aching heart that somewhere his would still be ticking, too.

Techno reminded her a lot of her obscured lover. The way he built towering walls around his every emotion, an impenetrable fortress shielding him from distress. However, Dream's walls were there, they were real. They were designed to be without flaw, to be entirely and utterly impervious. They were painfully physical, in comparison to Technoblade's mental prison.

She missed Technoblade, she really did. Every fiber of her being ached to just be held again, up in that freezing attic. However, Technoblade's jail was not the one she had to pierce anymore. She needed a way, any way, to find her way back to her lover.

No visits, is what Sam had told her time after time. Everyday at exactly noon, to be precise. When he either came from his shift or was just about to enter it. As soon as his body entered the bounds of the portal chamber, her tearful eyes would chip away at his consciousness a little more.

Especially now that Tommy had abandoned her, too. And while Sam knew very well that it had been her fault all along, some part of him felt sorry for the lonesome girl. The woman with no home, the woman who loved so deeply it left gashes in her own heart.

Two days, since Tubbo had pulled Tommy away from her asphyxiating hold. Two more days she had spent neglecting her every need, just to fulfill her ultimate promise to a man who hadn't as much as whispered her name. Of course, he would never tell her this. There was no point in shattering a broken heart, no point in defusing an extinguished flame.

This time, though, it was different. She no longer sat against the burning obsidian, offering scar upon scar for a love that may or may not be reciprocated.

She was sat against the blackened, dusting stone. Her feet dangling in the salty waters, her fingers curling around small patches of grass. He stood for a bit, watching her.

Her delicate fingers braided themselves into the grass, pulling it from its sodes ever so gently. She opened her hand in front of her body, watching the grass fall through her legs, into the stream. Silent, watching the strands either get engulfed by the water; pulled into the deep, or they would get carried by the tide, drifting upon the gulfs to another land.

Perhaps they would feed the soil of the sea, perhaps they would resurface again to create a new patch of grass, somewhere far away. But, one thing was for sure; to drift upon the tide would ensure a future somewhere new. To drift upon the tide meant to survive.

And so it was for her, she would get either pulled with the tide; to a new future, or she would get encaptured by the storming waves, to get pulled under and never resurface again. To serve as a mere, grim, reminder of what happens when the land meets the sea. When two booming forces are introduced to each other, forces that are too different to be the same.

Sam entered the portal chamber, silenced by the emptiness that suddenly seemed to fill it. He had expected it to feel good, to feel reassured when she would finally leave the room. However, for some reason, he felt his throat tightened at the idea of her leaving. At the idea of her giving up.

The uncertainty of what 'giving up' meant for her, is what scared him. The scarring image of the implications of it would not leave his swirling mind, entirely shaken now that he no longer knew whether or not she would be there the next morning. Nor the morning after that.

So, Sam did what any good man would do. He let the violet flames take him back to the chamber as soon as his schedule allowed him to, he let the violet flames carry him to her.

His shift had barely ended when he did, when he all-but-stalked over to where he had last seen her by the shore. A good eight hours, and she was still sat there, an empty patch of dirt surrounding her.

Her delicate fingers braided themselves into the soil, scooping it from the ground ever so gently. She opened her hand in front of her body, watching the sand fall through her legs, into the stream. Silent, watching the specks get engulfed by the water; pulled into the deep.

Silent, watching the dirt descend into the sea, to never resurface again.

[elmidol]

The Shackles of Fate - One

Dark Faerie Tale AU

Read on AO3

Summary:  If one misses curfew it is not only their life that is on the line, but their very soul. You are unlucky enough to encounter the fallen faerie prince when you miss curfew. He decides to claim your soul for himself rather than turn it over to the Master he has been enslaved by. As you are drawn further into his world, you learn more of your own past and how it is connected to the stories of your childhood.

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader Ben/Reader

Warning: dark fic, no warning for first chapter

There had been no faeries where you had grown, although you oftentimes had listened to such tales with wonder. Rey, the one constant that had been in your life in terms of someone who cared about you, had been there to hear the stories. Most had spoken of the faeries with adoration. It had startled both you and Rey the first time that a person had responded harshly, the hissed out whisper to be silent so that one could not be allowed into this realm catching you off guard. Rey had recovered first, grabbed hold of your hand, and tugged you away from the adult. That had been the year in your childhood that you had learned most stories hid the truth. Those some regarded as faeries were, to others, no more than vengeful demons or imps. Only a handful of true faeries remained, each of them set to guard the portals that would allow the demons to enter the realm. Wartime took away happiness and laughter, which the creatures had once been sustained by.

 It had been war that had stolen away Rey’s parents and placed her into your life. The remnants of her noble bloodline had been eliminated in a single stroke. Only by denying where she came from had she been allowed to live. Neither you nor Rey spoke of this truth. Instead it became another layer of the stories you listened to on the streets.

 As you had grown into a young woman, you had released fantasies in favor of harsh reality. Rey had made this transition first; she had always been stronger in those regards. You spoke not of faeries or imps, and certainly not of demons when one asked for a story. Such tales did not spill from your lips even once you became a nursemaid. There were other, more whimsical tales for you to read the children at night before the lights were turned out for bed. The older children protested these, which resulted in them being placed in a separate room from the younger kids.

 Once the children were all nestled in their beds, you would return to your own room. It was a quiet corner of the house, and large enough to store only the most basic of belongings. With work scarce, you considered yourself lucky. Rey had to travel for her job to ensure enough money was made. The family that you worked for allowed her to room with you when she was in town, however this meant that you took a docked pay for that period. You never once complained about that stipulation despite the scowl Rey wore any time she or you happened to mention it.

During work you were known as Miss or Nursemaid. At night, when you were alone, and on the rare occasions you had a day off, your name was used. That was often when you felt most like an individual, human.

You stared at your reflection in the wall-length mirror that was hung on the wall across from the door. You reached up into your hair and unwound the bun that kept it together then raked your fingers through the locks. In comparison with what society generally demanded, the length was short for a female. You found that you did not care for anyone else’s opinion on these matters. The small clock sitting on your bedside dresser noisily counted the passing seconds. Your gaze flicked to its face prior to returning to your reflection. You swallowed thickly, your nostrils flaring as you inhaled in preparation of choking down all of your emotions.

As you had grown into a young woman, faerie tales had become a harsh reality. What once had been a bedtime story was now a school lesson. Though you were not charged with tending to the children’s studies, you nevertheless were familiar with the tales.

Careful now, at the stroke of nine;

He’ll steal your soul then take mine.

The demon king of which faeries spoke.

The dreaded demon known as Snoke.

But rest you, now, upon the bed,

And tonight you will not join the dead.

To ensure that you did not miss curfew, you brushed your teeth when the children did. Their parents would be tucked into their beds as well. Observing yourself in the mirror, you removed your clothes and dressed into a thin nightgown that would not cause you to sweat in the heat of the night. Your heart pounded in your chest and you stopped breathing. Your eyes darted to the clock once more. Though it sounded like it was counting the seconds, in truth the hand was stuck. It clicked then twitched backwards.

Your lips formed around the words oh no. You leapt onto the bed, the blue comforter bunching up as your knees pushed it. Your hands landed upon the wall with a loud smack and thud. Try as you might, you could only guess how much time had truly passed since you had left the children. You twisted to peer around the room and felt your stomach plummet at the shadowy creature in the far corner.

It was crouched and shrouded in black attire. Robes, from what you could tell. Only when you squinted—though, in truth, you would have preferred to close your eyes—you were able to make out the outline of wings. That was worse than the fanged creatures other spoke of glimpsing. Wings meant that this thing, this monster, had once been a faerie until Snoke had drowned its light in darkness. They were less merciful. From the relatives of those who had perished, the most violent deaths occurred when former faeries were drawn into this realm.

A sharp cry cut through the silence of the night. This was proof that you had not been the only one caught out of bed past the stroke of nine. You thought of the children that you cared for and Rey. You wished that she had been there; she would not have allowed you to remain out of bed. On the other hand, you were grateful. She would have challenged this creature for your soul, which it surely would attempt to claim. The cries from outside turned more shrill then transformed into a wet gurgle.

Your eyes darted away from the faerie, which had not yet stirred and continued to observe you, as you attempted to locate a weapon with which to defend yourself. Not that it would do much good. Faeries had access to magic. What would have healed now became a weapon to destroy.

You trembled then cursed your body for giving into fear. There came a noise from the corner. It sounded like a chuckle. But that couldn’t be right. If it was, you thought with a grimace, then this monster enjoyed your discomfort. You clenched your jaw, tilted back your head, and stared down your nose at the creature. “I’m not afraid of you,” you hissed through your teeth. You tried to think of what Rey would do. She would not go down without a fight.

Your eyes followed the faerie’s every move as it rose to its full height. The tales from your childhood, those nicer ones that you had so loved as a little girl, depicted faeries as small. Reality showed things to be quite the opposite—unless it was capable of altering its size. “You have that smell.” You did not have time to wrap your head around the deep sound of his voice. And it was male. You were more preoccupied with the words he had said.

What did they mean? And, more importantly, why had he not killed you?

“Who are you?” There was an edge to the faerie’s voice now. He took another step nearer to you. His hands, covered by leather gloves, curled into fists only for his fingers to extend the next second. The dark faerie lunged forward. You pinched your lips as you watched the death of your clock. Seized by the creature’s hand, it was enshrouded by a dark glow and fell to pieces. What startled you was the lack of sound. A vacuum of dark energy?

Opening his hand, the creature allowed the remnants to fall to the floor. You remained still throughout, and did not budge an inch when he returned his attentions onto you. The unnamed creature bent at the waist. Only now could you appreciate just how large he was in comparison. Only now did you realize he wore a helmet. With a hiss of air, the helmet was pulled back. You looked to the side with your eyes alone. The jawline that was now exposed looked human. The lips so full. The nose—

Your hand reacted before you consciously decided to smack him for smelling you. He reeled back and stroked the reddening flesh. The mask was replaced then he spoke again. “A delicacy.”

The dark faerie made a gesture in the air with his hand and you felt something invisible tighten around your ankles. It locked your limbs into place and sent your heart racing. Your wrists slammed together in front of you. They were held out as though of their own accord so that you looked to be pleading with the faerie for your life. Still not a scream emerged from your lips. There was a chance that this was what he waited for. He climbed onto the bed with you. His knees on either side of your hips and his hands encircling your throat. The pressure he exerted was minimal, yet you felt it on your windpipe all the same. It threatened to choke out a scream of terror that you could feel bubbling up.

“When are you going to kill me?” you asked, hating how the creature was toying with you. “Steal my soul for Snoke.”

He tilted his head to the side. The dark visor that you had previously mistaken as being his eyes remained pointed at your face. He relinquished his hold, both the physical and magical, and moved backwards off the bed. Not, however, before he tucked his mask into your neck and took another loud inhalation of your scent.

You pulled your hair over your shoulders, covering your neck. At that, the faerie seemed to grow; he stood straighter, drawing up to his full height. A twitch of wings rustled the cowl he wore. You started to stare at those wings. Another, albeit newer, tale sprang to mind.

Bound now to the demon king;

The faerie prince with black wing.

Fallen from the name of Ben,

Now Master of the Knights of Ren.

He serves to Snoke your stolen soul,

Until once more the realm is whole.

You told yourself that it was foolish nonsense—there was no way a prince would be in your room! There were far more important people, more delicious souls out there, weren’t there? Yet the more time dragged on without him making another move to hurt you, the more you had to wonder if that assumption was wrong. You replayed all the words he had spoken in your head. Your smell. Delicacy. This prince would rip your soul from your body and feed it to the demon. You wrapped your arms around your torso and shuddered at the thought.

“Don’t be afraid.” A funny thing for this creature to say. You narrowed your eyes and glared at him. “You grew without parents to comfort you. Abandoned as a child.”

How does he know that? It terrified you that he did. You scooted backwards towards the wall. The faerie followed you, his knees on the bed then his hands on either side of your hips. The helmet in your face. You stared at your reflection. You were putting on a brave face, and doing a damn good job of it in your opinion.

There was a shout from the room above that broke through the silence that had wrapped around you. A shrill cry of Nursemaid. A subsequent sniffle and quietude. One of the younger children was having a nightmare. You bit down on your bottom lip. Looked up at the ceiling, the urge to comfort the child there. Not that you would have left the bed even if this faerie was not there. It would not be safe again to touch one’s feet to the ground until ten thirty. Ninety minutes wherein the threat of death was ever present.

The white material of your gown clashed with the black of his robes. The faerie’s wings twitched again, opening partway only to refold before you were allowed to see their full beauty.

“I don’t want to kill you.” His words had your lips parting in a silent gasp. If this was an attempt to get you to beg, you would not give in.

The search for a weapon began anew. You had started to move towards the end of the bed when the dark faerie surged forward. His hands pinned you by the shoulders against the mattress. You kicked, thrashing underneath him and not caring if your nightgown tore. At the same time, you worked to keep as quiet as you could to prevent any of the children from hearing your struggles. The last thing you wanted was for their souls to be forfeit. Clenching your teeth, you started to twist around to better free your hand. This allowed you to slam its palm into the front of the mask.

“If you leave me no choice then I will.”

His words infuriated you. The flame of anger that was already licking its way through every fiber of your being gave off sparks. You glared at him with disgust. The dark creature reached his right arm across his chest, fingers plucking at his wing. There was a shimmer, which grew brighter when he flung the dust from his wings at your face. Your world went black as you lost consciousness.

[whoaxisxme]

Rate Your Muse’s Traits 0-10! - PLAGUE

Repost and rate your muse’s traits, then tag your followers.

Compassion: – 7/10 Bitterness: – 11/10 Happiness: – 4/10 Politeness: – 6/10 Chivalry: – 2/10 Pride: – 10/10 Honesty: – 3/10 Bravery: – 10/10 Recklessness: – 15/10 Ambition: – 10/10 Loyalty: – 6/10 Love: – 8/10 Sense Of Family: – 3/10 Attractiveness: – 15/10 Agility: – 20/10 Sex Drive: – 10/10

Tagged By: Me!

Tagging: @allcfme, @synxis (Fini and Fanger!), @r-i-p-tothekid-iusedtobe, @bdkssunflowerseeds (Briony), @shadows-cafetalks (Rosy!), @thesonicever, @cxffeeshxp (Sonic, Shadow, Surge)

[rocket-remmy]

The Fae Step Tango||Lydia and Jax (ft. Remmy)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @inspirationdivine, @whatsin-yourhead, and Jax SUMMARY: Lydia confronts Remmy’s demon. Words, and promises, are exchanged.

Remmy, bless them, hadn’t been altogether too hard to follow. Lydia had, with great difficulty, morphed her glamour into someone a little rougher around the edges. Thin, terrible eyebrows, crows feet that distorted the rest of her face. She had a cape with hood too, which wasn’t together all too unusual at this place, it seemed. Nor were other fae. Bells chimed alongside the uneasiness of walking through the ring. Lydia understood the violence inherent to some species was much like the chaos inherent to her, but it wasn’t inherent to Remmy, not that she had seen. But Remmy wasn’t in the crowd, watching. They were in the ring at one point, against a beast that looked like a dog and all at once nothing but. Lydia averted her eyes, but couldn’t escape the sound of ripping flesh and the roar of the crowd thereafter. She needed to find a fae that looked in charge, like they were pushing thing. She swallowed as the cage of the ring rattled as either one or the other was thrown into it. This was not her battlefield. Lydia was strongest in the halls of her home, in art galleries and fae parties. But fae were easy to find, and there was a man who watched only Remmy, always watching. When the fight was over, he turned and left, and Lydia followed, letting her glamour drop. He could feel her too, and there was no pretending otherwise as she followed him into a back room. “We haven’t met, I don’t believe. I’m Lydia.”

Jax wasn’t an altogether subtle man. For his species, he didn’t really need to be. He’d enjoyed being what he was almost his entire life. He had a power over others that not a lot could break from. And he enjoyed that power. He also had the power to feel others like him, other fae. His sharp eyes turned before he made it to his office and he faced a woman, with opulent eyes and iridescent hair. A leanen-sidhe. What was one doing here? They dealt in other sides of the fae spectrum, what possible reason did one have to be at the ring? Aside from being a spectator, but he’d never taken the more softer of their kind as one for such...extracurriculars. “Why would we have? We seem to run in very different circles, my fair lady,” he responded, his tongue quick and cool like usual. Though influence over others was something he enjoyed, it was wordplay that he truly excelled at. It was a power unlike any other. To outwit, outsmart. Outplay. And he loved a challenge. “I’m Jackson, but my friends call me Jax. What is it that you seek, Lydia?”

“So it does appears,” Lydia replied. “Truth be told I did not know that such a place existed until today.” She glanced around, a sneer apparent on her lips as she judged the room and found it lacking. “Jackson it is, then,” she replied. “Might I sit?” She asked, looking back at him, the flash of silver in his mouth. She glanced to the ground. No shadow there. This would be fun, if the stakes weren’t quite so high. “Answers, one might say. I’m curious,” she looked back to the door, and the thin din of the ring that lay behind them. “What is your role in a place like this?”

“And why wouldn’t it?” Jax said back, turning around fully now to face her. He let an easy expression come over his face, but he understood the tenseness of the situation. Motioned to a chair when she asked. “Be my guest,” he offered, choosing not to sit himself. He stayed, standing, as he came over towards the desk, leaning against it. “And whom, might I wonder, is asking? A spectator, a concerned citizen, or…” his eyes flicked back towards the door. He knew who was fighting tonight. “Someone else?”

Lydia sat. Games of towering over eachother were for human men who didn’t know how to think beyond their ego, and she’d rather focus on the man in front of her than on feeling smaller. “I’m asking. You needn’t worry, I have no intention of bringing wardens nor police to your den of delinquency.” Never tell anyone that you wouldn’t, only that you weren’t planning to, and that then your future actions are not so set. “I ask so that I could know whether you are the man I need to speak to, or whether, as I rather suspect, there is someone more relevant that outranks you?”

Jax’s grin turned into a frown rather quickly. He did not like the way this Lydia spoke to him. Clearly, she was trying to anger him. To make him feel small with her words instead of her stature, which she had none of. She only had that pretentious way that those who only had power in words carried themselves. She was below him. And so he stayed standing. “I’m afraid you’ve come knocking on the wrong doors. We don’t let just anyone into our little establishment-- brethren or not.” He pushed away from the desk, held the door open. “I suggest you leave before this gets too tough for you to handle,” a pause, so he could put enough emphasis into the word, “Lydia.”   

“Cousin, I’m hurt,” Lydia replied with a smile, using the language of the mirror district with their same, eerie tone. “There is no need for such aggression. It was a simple question.” She glanced to the doors like you might indulgently to a troublesome child. “Besides, I’m not convinced there is any measure of tough you offer that I could not handle. Come, I have not played these games in a while. Perhaps you will tell me instead why some of your fighters are collared?”

“I’d love to see how your bile and spit do you in battle,” Jax said without skipping a beat. “But I doubt someone like you would make much of a spectacle in the ring.” He’d let it go, for now. “Because they misbehave,” he answered, shutting the door and standing in front of it. If she wanted to talk so bad, they could talk. That didn’t mean he had to let her go without a fight, even if it was a verbal one. They were on his grounds, now, and he would not concede so easily. “Just as a misbehaving child needs to be punished, so do misbehaving monsters.”

“About as well as your sweat and silver tongue, I’d imagine,” Lydia replied. “I’d make more of a spectacle than you most days of the week, although you’re likely right.” She watched him close the door, positioning himself in front of it. Lydia made no effort in hiding her glance around the room, aware of the complete lack of an exit. Fortunately, she’d eaten before coming, should things go that way. But they wouldn’t. Fae were better than all that. “I suppose that is the risk with letting your assets wander. Quite valuable assets they are indeed, considering the crowd I just saw. How much do you make in a night?”

He had to chuckle at that one. Lydia was a match for his own wit it seemed. “I suppose you would, with those looks,” Jax said, still standing promptly by the door, but relaxing his demeanor just a bit, as if he were softening to her. He wasn’t. “Enough to want to make sure my ‘assets’ don’t step out of line. And losing an asset, well,” he unfurled his arms slowly, put out a hand in a shrug, “I can’t go losing one of my top earners, can I? It’d be like taking your best selling product off the line. And that just won’t do.”

Lydia smiled at the compliment, preening slightly, her skin glowing brightly at his words. Pretty words could be seductive. He knew that as well as she did. That was what they did - create desire, in different forms and shapes. “Oh, that I understand better than you might believe. You need to keep the business going, and without any scrutiny, don’t you? The collars aren’t always the only thing binding them.”

He noticed the way she reacted to his compliment and he smirked in kind. Jax was a handsome man, old beyond the youth of his face, and he knew just how to use that to his advantage with humans. With other fae, however, it was a tad more difficult. But still just as fun. “Clever girl,” he said, folding his arms back across his chest, his sharp gaze trained solely on her now. She had his attention. Whoever this Lydia was, she was smart. Smarter than most fae that wandered their way into this place, either high out of their minds or looking for a release. Lydia was here with a purpose. And he wanted to know what. “Sometimes a little extra is needed, yes. Words, after all, can be very powerful. But I’m sure you know that.”

“More than most. Certainly more than your crowd back there.” Lydia chuckled, clicking the nail of her thumb and middle finger back and forth against each other idly. She looked at him, wondering how to proceed. He stood by the door, his stance chilled and closed off. She had not squirmed at the phrase Clever girl, but lord above did she want to.punish him for that. She was hardly youthful anymore. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“They’re not the smartest bunch, no,” Jax agreed, “but a smart person never makes a bad bet.” And if no one made bad bets, then he’d make significantly less money. Besides, he enjoyed being the smartest person in the room. Perhaps that was why he found himself uncomfortable with Lydia in his office. Somewhere deep down, he knew he’d met a worthy match. “I don’t do guesses. But I do know it has something to do with my star fighter out there right now, doesn’t it? A zombie is a good catch. A zombie who knows how to fight? A once in a lifetime opportunity. Well...I suppose a once in a human lifetime opportunity, but we don’t hold ourselves to their standards, do we?”

Lydia took a moment to adjust the hem of her skirt, although the end result was neither more nor less revealing. He was one of those, then, and Lydia saw a crack to wriggle his way through. Smart people made bad bets all the time, after all, but if you assumed you would always make the right bet, then, well, Lydia just needed to make herself look like the right bet. Appear to be a bad bet, and risk becoming another bloody smear in the arena. This was a den of wolves. Every twitch or ill thought word could be the one to trip her. Which was why she cursed herself when she felt her face turn in response to his guess. Lydia smoothed it and smiled. “Why would we?” She replied to his last question. “Their performance is extraordinary. They’re an asset of mine too, although in other ways, of course.”

That peaked his interest. “Oh, are they?” Jax moved forward slowly, still keeping his body between Lydia and the door, but coming close. Perhaps he had judged her all wrong, but what else was he to think, about being followed by this woman into the back of this establishment with no warning? “And how might that be?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. He couldn’t imagine what good the zombie was outside of fighting, but perhaps someone had found another way to get something out of them. And if that was the truth, he wanted in.

“That’s for me to know and you to figure out,” Lydia replied smoothly, tilting her head to look at him, uncrossing her legs and leaning a little closer, as if divulging a secret. “Let us just say that it is useful to know someone that is resistant to the charms of my kind, as it were.” She leant back again, spreading her hands out. “Of course, I assumed the collar was merely a fashion accessory, but when I found those tendrils of fae binding, I simply had to know more. It is inconvenient when someone so useful to me has to keep secrets, so I simply had to find out more. Which brought me here, to you.”

“I like a good challenge,” Jax said with a grin. His eyes observed Lydia, watching her very meticulous movements. He was no master on body language, but he understood what she was doing. “It is rare to meet those resistant to our charms, though where you find usefulness, I find a hindrance.” He shifted his weight slightly, giving a brief frown. “We did design them to look inconspicuous, so it’s good to know they’re functioning correctly. The promises were just...extra precaution. You understand, right? It’s not as if I throw my words around with just any monster. Special cases are rare, but I’m good at my job for a reason.”

Lydia chuckled. “We all respond to such things differently, do we not?” Her easy laugh was nothing of the sort. It was another thing to keep in mind, to keep this as safe for Remmy as could be. She didn’t blame fae who took advantage of other species, even if it was not her cup of tea. She did find it a little uncouth but then… so many species were so much worse. Her thoughts flicked to Orobas, briefly. “There’s plenty I understand. I just wouldn’t want my asset to be damaged irrevocably by your decisions. I’m sure you’d feel the same.” 

“We sure do,” Jax said, nodding. “We sure do.” A thing to remember. Despite the buzz in his skin with Lydia around, they were here for different things. He understood that. “You can’t really damage a zombie, though, can you?” he sauntered around her a moment, clearing a path for just a second before settling back between her and the door. “As long as the head stays on,” he made motion for his throat, “they’ll bounce back. Sometimes it just...takes time.”

“I find it rather depends on the zombie,” Lydia replies, quietly seething at his new attempts at physical intimidation. “Some of them can be… so fragile.” Remmy was, and wasn’t. They were so strong, dealing with so much pain and trauma, yet Lydia saw them every day. No matter what happened here, no matter how well Remmy healed, they left a little of themselves behind on that battlefield every time they came home. “Although I suspect you’d know more than I in the physical matters of their survival. But you have no intention of losing your prize fighter, one assumes.”

“All zombies are the same,” Jax said, “once so tragically human. Now so tragically cursed to live forever.” He shrugged. “But fragile is not something they are. Unless, of course...you’re speaking emotionally wise.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “But that’s what these--” he tapped his neck again, “and these--” tapped the side of his head, “are for.” Promises kept those immune to his touch in line, after all. “I’m sure you understand how powerful a promise can be.”

A trap set, that he’d neatly avoided, and Lydia didn’t know how hard to push on preserving Remmy’s unmortality, or if it was wiser to aim for a smaller venture, especially as he left her linguistic traps of his own. Lydia drummed her fingers against her thighs. A different route might suit them better. Or at least her. “Where do you get the beasts? The aufhocker or grim or whatever the zombie was fighting just now. Those things can’t be promise bound so easily, nor do they fully understand the danger the collar poses.”

Was Lydia really interested in what went on here? Jax needed to suss that out. “Those beasts are brought in by expert handlers. We have quite a few catchers working for us. Mostly hunters. They bring us beasts, we give them money. It’s a nice exchange for everyone, and the streets are made safer. Most of those beasts don’t need collars. Not a lot of them make it past their first night, if you know what I mean.” These were, after all, death matches. Who cared if a monster died? Not him. Surely not Lydia. “We only use the collars on the more sentient of species.” 

“You make deals with hunters?” Lydia repeated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, her bravery knocked slightly. Hunters over zombies, now that was a true, as Sammy would put it, galaxy brain take. Nauseatingly so. She stood, abruptly, and tried to make up for it with a smile. “I understand completely. It must be expensive, but then, I’m sure everyone pays for the extra excitement. Perhaps I ought to diversify my portfolio,” She looked around. “I hope I am not keeping you from more important things.”

“We employ hunters,” Jax corrected, “big difference. I hate them as much as any other of our kind, but they have their uses. Like all species. Hunter, Fae...zombie.” His eyes followed her as she stood. Was she uncomfortable with talk of hunters? “Oh really?” He didn’t quite buy it, but there was something she was angling for here. What could it be, he wondered. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. If I had more important things to do, I would go do them.” His brow lifted. “Before you say yes, you do understand the...discretion we take here, yes?”

“Employment is still a deal. It is why humans make contracts for it,” Lydia replied, and she couldn’t quite hide the distrust in her voice. Mistakes, each and every hint of feeling. Patronising little prick. Far be it for her to disown any fae when her closest friend was growing soft on humans, but, god, she wanted to leave here with something of his here tonight, even if it wasn’t Remmy’s safety. “I hadn’t offered to say yes to anything yet. Although who knows, I might be able to offer one of your star fighters some inspiration for future fights. I understand entirely the need for discretion.” Lydia took a couple steps towards him, as if being friendly.

“Hmm, touché,” he said with a nod. Jax moved to lean against the door. “You offered yourself to something the moment you followed me back here. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of place people can wander in and out of at their own discretion. There’s secrets and codes and promises for a reason.” His gaze fell on Lydia, hard this time. “Remmington has all the inspiration they need from me,” he spoke slowly, clearly. “Unless you’re speaking of another fighter. In which case, what is it that you would gain from doing this? Besides a quick meal?”

“Is that a threat?” Lydia asked, her smile nonplussed, pink teeth glinting in the light. She was certainly the opposite of nonplussed. Fae talking themselves into games of chess to resolve a problem was as old as time itself, but Lydia could feel herself losing. With every cursed reply, he cut off new avenues for her to chase him. With every minute that passed, her confidence faltered. His might not be a conversation that would end her way, and increasingly Lydia was swerving his actions more than making word traps of her own. “Fear is not inspiration, my dear, and you ought to know better. I’m sure someone has written a sonnet or two about you,” Lydia replied, “But I’m hardly fussy as to whom I might inspire.” Might, could, consider, some of the most powerful words in the fae language for how they protect one from a promise. “I can’t feed off the dead in either case.” There was another loud roar from the crowd back there. “I consider myself a rather enterprising businesswoman, Jackson. I’m sure there is plenty we could offer each other. You’ve already been ever so helpful.”

“Yes,” Jax said simply. “It is.” This place was dangerous, but Lydia already knew that, didn’t she? Outright threats weren’t really Jax’s thing, but sometimes they needed to be. Lydia was smart enough, it seemed, to understand that much. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, “you seem like a fussy woman to me.” A smile curling his lips. “Why don’t I see you out, hmm?” He turned back and grabbed something out of his pocket, pulling a business card from his wallet. “You think about what you’re offering, and give me a call when you’ve made a real decision. I think you could be a very useful asset, Lydia, if that’s what you truly came here to be.” 

“I think you’ve been spending too much time around the more violent species,” Lydia replied, with the slightest indulgent eyeroll. She pulled her cloak back on, and her glamour with it. See her out indeed. “I’ll give it all some serious thought,” Lydia said, an easy thing to be promise bound. She didn’t take the business card, and instead snapped a photo of the information with a phone. Taking it felt like a risk of a commitment she couldn’t really afford. Asset, he called her. Like Remmy. Was it really so wrong to wish someone might rip out his tongue? It felt like conceding. “You’ve been ever so darling.” Maybe it was conceding. 

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But I don’t entirely mind.” Jax moved out of her way, finally, reaching for the door handle. But he paused, and in his moment of relishing his victory, he forgot himself. His words, and said, “But first, Lydia-- I trust you’ll keep this to yourself, yes?” And only opened the door when she confirmed. He should’ve felt it, but his downfall always had been his smugness. People rarely outwitted him, and he rarely faltered. “Don’t be a stranger, Lydia,” he said after her.

Lydia was going to have him walk her all the way to her car. In part, because as much as she played that it didn’t bother her, the threat loomed over her, and she’d rather see him until she was safe. In part because she could hear in his voice that small victory lap, and sometimes that was when it easiest to trip someone. So when she heard him say it - oh, this was nearly language class 201. He did spend too much time around the violenter species. “I will.” Keep this could mean so many things, after all. Keep what? The conversation? The room, his coat? No, Lydia only wanted one thing, or at least one thing that she could gleam from those mispoken words. Not the collar off, not Remmy safe, but something. She wanted his promises, and as they’d come up in the conversation, they were fair game. Not even all of them, just a few, so she left him the rest. “Have a good evening, Jax,” she replied, and hurried down the halls. It wasn’t until Lydia was driving home in her car that she let out the breathe she was holding, and felt herself relax. The threat still loomed, but Lydia had her own ammunition too. 

------

Lydia was holding a glass of wine just a little too tight. When the door creaked open, she sprung to her feet, setting the glass down. She needed to see them. After whatever they’d been fighting, the crunch of bones, the roars of the crowd that masked much worse sounds, she needed to see them, and tell them. “Remmy? Darling, do you have a moment?”

Remmy dragged themself home after the fight, the blood of the bone dog still on their hands. They just wanted to get in the shower and then flop into bed. They shut the door as quietly as possible, but Lydia’s voice broke through the quiet house and they jumped a little. “L-Lydia, I--” they started, putting their hands behind their back. They didn’t want her to see. They didn’t even want her to see them like this, torn up and broken and covered in blood. “Can I just-- um...wash up real quick?”

“This’ll just be quick,” Lydia said, walking down the hall. “It’s okay. I know. I know. I -” Her tongue twisted into a knot. She’d celebrated too quick. The second half of Jax’s words had ensnared her. Keep it to herself. Lydia swallowed, and as her tongue slowly unglued itself from the back of her mouth, she coughed hoarsely. Not share. That was inconvenient. She could still break things she kept for herself. “Remmy, I relinquish you of all the promises you made the Gancanagh called Jackson, also known as Jax.”

Remmy tried to move around Lydia as she came nearer, but her words made them freeze. I know. She knew? And she still...could look at them like that? With soft eyes? With compassion? They blinked at the next words. “You…” it was like a weight was falling off of them. “You…” their chest felt like it was gonna burst. “I…how? You...how?” Something building inside of them. “How did you know I promised him? How did you--” the words spilling out, so quickly and suddenly, after having been held in for so long. “I’m free?”

Lydia laughed softly, putting her hands on Remmy’s shoulders, so that they could look at her and hear her. “Us fae, we’re not all that violent, usually. When we want something, we talk, until one of us trips up. He tripped.” When she laughed again, it wasn’t gleeful or proud, but the kind of laugh that might have been a sob, it was so heavy with feeling. Remmy had been here for weeks, slowly becoming needier and more isolated all at once. Their voice had been crumbling, growing frightened of even Lydia. “So did I, so I can’t… explain everything, but I followed you. I saw you fighting that Barghest or Yethhound or whatever. I felt him, confronted him.” Lydia’s voice trembled, looking down, blinking hard. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me. I, no, Remmy, I’m sorry, I tried, I wanted to get you safe, but it’s just the promises you made. The collar stays.”

“But you…” Remmy started, “you got rid of the promise?” They looked at her with sullen eyes. With eyes that had seen a thousand battles and might even see a thousand more, a part of their soul left behind in each. Withering away with every hit. “I can...I don’t have to lie anymore? To-to keep secrets?” They already knew the answer, they could feel it. Blanche had once warned them about the use of the word promise, but Remmy hadn’t thought much of it at the time. The fear they’d carried after this must have been apparent. Remmy forgot about the blood on their hands and wrapped them around Lydia, suddenly. Holding onto her as if she were the only thing grounding them. “Thank you,” they said through fresh tears, “thank you.” And they’d say it a thousand more times, owe her for all their immortal life if that was what she wanted. But she had risked so much for them, and the weight, though still there, wrapped around their neck, was lifted just enough for them to feel again. To cry again.

“No, you don’t,” Lydia confirmed. “You don’t have to keep any more secrets, if you don’t want them.” She had expected some kind of response, and perhaps even this one, but Lydia grabbed Remmy as tight as they did her. She cradled them as they sank to the ground, hot tears spilling on her own cheeks. She’d made a dozen missteps in the last month, causing Deirdre grief, frightening away Regan, letting a human drag her into their messy world. Tonight too, could have gone terribly. It hadn’t, and didn’t, and for the first time in a month, she heard hope in Remmy’s voice. Moose trotted over and nuzzled at them softly, and Lydia just held Remmy even more tightly. The thanks tickled her skin and she let them wash over her. If this was what being promise bound did to them, she’d make sure they’d never feel it again. “I hope you can find a way to use it,” Lydia said after a while, cupping Remmy’s head so that they would look at her again. “Give him fucking hell.”

[jtavington]

Beauty meet Beast

Constance and her patient.

The chamber was large with a high, vaulted ceiling. Light filtered in through a narrow slit in the wall and cast light on some picked over animal bones, the stench of raw meat still clinging to them. There was no furniture, not even a cot, that she could see. Nor could she see any other living soul, whether in the form of human or Beast with all these blasted shadows. "Your Majesty?"

Two pinpricks of red light appeared in the deepest part of the darkness and a harsh sound filled the air. It took her a moment to realize that it was breathing. "So Dimitri wasn't lying about sending for a mage." The voice, if it could be called that, reverberated off the stone and made Constance's stomach clench. "He never knew when to abandon someone to their fate. Or perhaps you are here to prepare me for my execution?"

"Your execution? Just the opposite. I will restore you to humanity. Though I won't deny anyone who desires to give you a good punch in the nose."

A rattling sound. "You sound Adrestian. Another who preferred clinging to ways that nearly brought Fodlan to destruction. Well, it hardly matters now. Do what you came here to do."

"That would be much easier if I understood exactly what happened to Your Majesty and if you weren't skulking in the shadows so that I can get a proper look at the transformation I will be attempting to reverse."

Silence for a long moment. Then: "I won't be blamed if you faint. Bernadetta did, you know."

She and Hapi had battled their share of Demonic Beasts. None resembled the creature before her. Those pinpricks of light were pupils that shone all the brighter against black sclerta. Edelgard had been pale even as a princess, but her flesh had been bleached and stretched over her bones until she resembled a corpse. Skeletal wings erupted from her shoulder blades. Even the kindest priest would have railed against her as an abomination, another cautionary tale of what awaited those who took power not meant for them.

Constance skin prickled. No, such reductionism did not befit either a scholar or a believer. The thing that made a Demonic Beast a monster was not its physical form, but its animal intelligence, its inability to control its own savagery. Whatever else has happened to her, Edelgard still has her mind. "I see."

Edelgard blinked at her and opened and closed her maw a few times before she seemed to find the words she wanted. "You stand before the feared Hegemon and all you can say is 'I see?'"

"Did you think sharp teeth and claws would cow me your Majesty?" She lifted her chin to meet those glowing eyes, the pale brown furrowed in surprise. "I am the proud scion of a noble house and I will complete my task.”

They stared at each other. Constance refused to blink. When she was a girl, she would have been deferential to the point of obsequiousness toward even a junior imperial princess. She would have done all but bow and scrape for favors from the Emperor who had the power to restore Nuvelle. She had begged enough for one lifetime.

Edelgard let out a foul-smelling breath and drew back. "Constance von Nuvelle. It seems I am to be haunted by more than my own failures. You look well for a woman who had everything stolen from her. Hubert heard rumors that you were a skilled sorceress and that you were vital to some of your fellow refugees." Her lips turned down, baring pointed teeth. "I apologize on behalf of my father for what you endured. It was nothing less than a calamity."

It was Constance's turn to blink. She had expected snarls, perhaps an attack born of rage and grief. Not an apology for something that had happened when they were both youths. Good breeding alone supplied her next words. "Your Majesty is too kind."

"Kind? It has been years since someone called me kind." She shook her head and the softness was replaced by the clipped tone of an Emperor. "You want Nuvelle returned and Dimitri has promised that to you in exchange for turning me back into a human. Do I have that about right?"

Constance nodded. There was little point in denying it. "I will break your curse, you may depend upon it.”

"I depend upon nothing."

"I would think you would be more eager to escape this filth. Wallowing in such a location is a disgrace to the Hresvelgs. "

The glowing eyes burned all the brighter. "You know nothing of what I do or do not consider a disgrace. But don't worry, I'll indulge Dimitri's delusions for a while longer." She hissed, as if in pain. "The only outcomes I foresaw were victory or death. This… I never wanted this."

What do you want? Did you want the atrocities done in your name or were they another mistake? What do you want now that you have neither victory nor death. Such questions had little place, but she couldn't help but wonder about this demon who had so much as raised her voice. "Good night, Your Majesty. We will begin in the morning."

And she would do something about this filth.

[beautysbeast-sesskagstyle]

Blossoms and The Abyss

SessKag Week Day 1

July 29th, Monday, Prompts:

Carnation- fascination, distinction, love

AU

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Chapter 1 - College Daze

Somewhere in the distance, a thoroughly annoying buzzing sound was steadily getting louder and making his left ear tick. But he didn't want to get up. He knew what sort of day awaited him- the same bleak day as yesterday was...and the day before that...and the day before that. Reaching out blindly, Sesshoumaru hit the snooze button on his alarm clock and burrowed deeper into his pillow. There. Problem solved...for about five minutes. So he thought...

"Oh, Sesshoumaru!" Toga's frustratingly gleeful voice kept him from drifting back into nothingness. A frown pulled at the younger Daiyoukai's lips as the metallic sound of the door handle twisting caught his attention. "You won't believe..." His father's voice paused as he strode right on into Sesshoumaru's territory without any sort of askance. Parents. He barely resisted the urge to snort. Even after several centuries, Toga had no respect for personal boundaries... "Well, now. I can't remember the last time you slept in."

"It is not sleeping in if the individual is not asleep," Sesshoumaru replied in a deep, husky timbre that suggested that he had woken not too long ago. "I am simply resting."

"I see," Toga chuckled, and Sesshoumaru barely restrained his growl of irritation.

"What do you want, Father?"

"I was just coming to inform you that the Higurashi miko will finally be coming to Awaseru Academy," he could hear the grin in his father's voice. And then the infernal alarm went off again...Sesshoumaru's hand firmly pressed the large snooze button on top.

"Hrrmnn....the Shikon Miko?" Sesshoumaru asked slowly, curiosity nagging at him. Little was known about the miko- her family had kept her on their sacred grounds with numerous wards in place that repelled demons. It couldn't keep him away, but he'd had no reason to venture there. With his curiosity piqued, Sesshoumaru reluctantly bid any semblance of sleep goodbye.

"That's the one. Because Inuyasha failed to protect her in her last life fifty years ago...that responsibility now falls to you."

"Joy," Sesshoumaru replied with all the enthusiasm of a dog at the vet. His fair mood had instantly soured. "How is it that I end up cleaning up Inuyasha's mistakes?" He finally cracked his molten golden eyes open, silver lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. He managed to glare at his father as his eyes adjusted to the dim florescent light filtering in from the hallway.

"You still refuse to take your rightful place as Lord of the West so that I may step down," Toga spoke, Sesshoumaru able to see him clearly now. His brow was drawn, and his lips thinned into a tight line. He knew that look...stern disappointment. It no longer bothered Sesshoumaru. He had his reasons for not stepping up...they simply did not want to listen. "Since I cannot, and Inuyasha has failed the task, you must be the one to step up and take on the responsibility...lest it fall to Kouga. And we all know how that would end..." Sesshoumaru could only let out a disgruntled grunt at that, his own lips pulling into a deep frown. Kouga. Prince of the East. Renown for his viciousness and womanizing ways. No...that wouldn't end well at all. "So...up and at 'em!" As if to punctuate his words, the damnable alarm clock went off again. With a snarl, Sesshoumaru grasped the clock, intending to turn it off...but it crushed into hundreds of pieces in his hand instead...at least it was finally silent.

"Hrrrmm...," Sesshoumaru's bare chest rumbled with his disgruntled hum as Toga's chuckling reached his ears. He opened his hand and let the pieces slide to the floor with a clatter, batteries and all. "I suppose I shall have to buy a new one on my way home from school."

"Or you may not wake tomorrow," Toga's teasing tone had Sesshoumaru gazing back at the  older male, amusement dancing in his bright golden eyes. "Get up and get dressed, Sesshoumaru. You have a full day ahead of you. Breakfast will be waiting." Just as abruptly as he entered, Toga left Sesshoumaru's territory with a click of the door. The younger Daiyoukai waited for the older Daiyoukai's footfalls to retreat down the hall before he collapsed back in bed, his silvery hair falling all around him in a silken mess.

For the first time in a very long time, Sesshoumaru did not feel like getting up. If it had been any other day, his father would have allowed it and covered for him. It was not often Sesshoumaru felt this tired...but it wasn't simply from exertion or the frustrating repetition of day to day life that blurred days together. Although that certainly didn't help. No...Sesshoumaru was weary in his very soul. It felt like something very powerful had bound him in youki-sealing chains and was steadily dragging him into the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean. No hope, no air, no light, just pressure all around and a depersonalization that left him largely apathetic. This wasn't the first time...and he knew it wouldn't be the last, either.

"In the least...today will be more eventful than yesterday," Sesshoumaru spoke his thought aloud with a mirthless chuckle. It took some effort, but he managed to drag himself out of bed to begin his morning routine he'd been practicing for nearly a millennia now. Wash his face, brush his teeth, brush his hair out, and put on the clothes he'd set out the night before. His garb had vastly changed over time, and had modernized so that he would fit in with the humans. Awaseru Academy, his college as elected by the demon Lords and top miko, monk, and taijiya, had its own uniform code. Demon males had to dress in black slacks, a crimson or black undershirt, and a black blazer with its red, white, and black insignia on the upper left side. He had set aside just that, with a crimson undershirt and a silver watch Sesshoumaru always wore on his left wrist.

After dressing, the young Daiyoukai grabbed his blue and black canvas backpack and made his way through the winding hallways of their mansion home to the large dining room. Toga was already seated at the head of the table, with Inukimi at his left side. Inuyasha had a seat in the middle of the twenty-seating table. He was leaning back in his chair so that only two legs balanced him on the hardwood floors, with his arms folded behind his head.

"Took ya long enough," the halfbreed snorted as Sesshoumaru passed him to sit between Inuyasha and their parents. Neither at his father's right side nor at Inuyasha's side, a subtle stand that had his mother rubbing her temples. He slid his backpack beside his chair neatly as he sat on it, pointedly ignoring his half-brother.

"This one apologizes for my tardiness," Sesshoumaru spoke, smoothing his pants and sitting perfectly upright in his chair. As was expected of him.

"You're excused," Toga waved off before any more could be said. "It's been a while since you've slept in, and I'm sure you needed the rest. Itadakimasu." He took a bite from his prefixed plate of various bloody meats. As per custom, once the Alpha had eaten the first bite, the others could then eat from their own plates.

"Finally!" Inuyasha grumbled. "Itadakimasu!" He started in on his lightly cooked meat as Sesshoumaru really took in the spread before him. There were three platters with lightly warmed raw meats, and one platter with lightly cooked meats for Inuyasha. The raw meats were venison, pork, and beef. Nothing truly wild or gamey...probably bought from livestock owners. His fangs tingled, itching to tear into the flesh of a living deer. It wasn't often he got to hunt anymore...and even less often in his true form. It had been a century since his last transformation...

"Are you going to sit there and fantasize about the meat, or are you  actually going to eat it?" Inukimi shot off, Sesshoumaru letting out a sigh as he met his mother's sunset golden orbs. Inuyasha snickered and Toga shot her a look.

"I am not very hungry." It wasn't a lie...he didn't feel like eating. Especially not this meat. And he didn't miss the way Toga refocused his attention on him.

"Overtired and not hungry? Are you out doing things late at night we should know about, Sesshoumaru?" Inukimi pressed in that irritating way of hers that would usually rile him up. It certainly choked Inuyasha up. The comment made him inhale his food by accident, no doubt. But Sesshoumaru...felt nothing more than exhaustion.

"You can check the security system if you wish," he replied, completely unfazed. "But you will find that I did not leave my rooms last night...and no one snuck in." He added onto his statement to nip that possible argument in the bud. Her lips pursed, and he knew he'd made the right decision. Kami...he hadn't lain with a female in....well, centuries, at least. Females did not interest him. Neither did power, as it had in the Feudal Era. Very little did these days...

"Are you feeling well?" Toga asked, brow furrowed. Obviously trying to puzzle him out.

"I am tired, father...that is all," Sesshoumaru shrugged off, not missing the way his parents shared a look as he turned back to his plate. "Itadakimasu." He used chopsticks to pull some venison onto his plate and began to eat...for the sake of normalcy and halting more troublesome questions. It was fairly quiet for the remainder of the meal.

"Before you go...," Toga spoke up as Sesshoumaru pushed his plate away. Dread started to creep in...what now? "You will need to go to the Higurashi Shrine to pick the girl up."

"Pick her up?" Sesshoumaru repeated with a raised brow and skepticism in his voice.

"Yes, pick her up," Toga reiterated with a stern tone. "Her name is Higurashi Kagome, and you will be picking her up from her shrine each morning and escorting her to the Academy and from it each afternoon. The Shikon no Tama she carries places a very large target on her back...some of our own may not be able to resist its call. Worse yet, humans may be influenced by it."

"You make it sound as though humans would be a larger threat to her," Sesshoumaru spoke, brow furrowing lightly. How could that be? Demons were more powerful by far, and more influenced by it than any human.

"They are," Toga chuckled, a strange darkness to his tone. "She has been trained to use her powers to fight demons...but ordinary humans are unaffected by it. At the very least, against a demon, she can cast a powerful barrier that cannot be penetrated by youki. But against a human...her reiki attacks will do nothing. Her barriers won't keep them out. Little Kagome fights well from afar, but she lacks the proper strength to fend off a strong enough human. And the little dear is pure. She would never harm someone if she didn't have to, human or demon. And this is another reason why she needs you as her protector. You can see the threats she will be blind to."

"Hn...," Sesshoumaru hummed, absorbing this bit of information. It was an angle he hadn't yet considered...but, ever the war general he was, Toga was on his toes and had already considered all of the different angles, it seemed. And something else Sesshoumaru realized...was that his father had already met the girl. Hmph. This felt like some sort of set up now... Troublesome... "Dually noted. I will take care with this one."

"Do," Toga inclined his head. "And Sesshoumaru?" The younger Daiyoukai hummed in acknowledgement. "Buy the girl a welcoming gift. This is her first day of school, ever. She hasn't been allowed off the shrine grounds with only a handful of exceptions where she met with the human council or the Lords. She deserves a little something..."

"It sounds like a courting gift, mate," Inukimi sneered. "Are you thinking of courting another human in secret? Through our son, no less."

"No, Kimi," Toga sighed, but Sesshoumaru caught the hint of displeasure that flashed across his face before he turned to his mate. "We've spoken of this many a times. If I wish to take on another mate or concubine, we will speak. It will not be a hidden affair." Sesshoumaru caught Inuyasha's anxious shifting...and actually felt a miniscule hint of pity for the hanyou. He had been caught up in many arguments over the years, thanks to their father's affair with a human princess in secret. Inuyasha'd had no choice in the matter, who his parents were and what they'd done...but he always wound up on the wrong side of Inukimi's arguments. And for that, Sesshoumaru pitied him. Inukimi could be ruthless...

"Headin' to college," Inuyasha bid as he grabbed his own backpack and hightailed it out of the room before any backlash could be had. Sesshoumaru didn't blame him...not with the way Inukimi seemed to be wanting to poke at someone this morning...

"I will get her a gift. Excuse me," Sesshoumaru excused himself from the table as Toga and Inukimi got into yet another argument. Of course...Sesshoumaru also had to wonder if she didn't start these arguments just to end them in bed. Or on the table, in this case. She was quite the manipulative bitch... Clicking a button on his watch, his hair turned to ebony, his demonic features were hidden, and his eyes darkened to a honeyed chestnut hue. His human guise. With that and his bag, he set off into town in search of a gift on his way to the miko's shrine.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hmm...," Sesshoumaru's chest rumbled as he growled softly. Nothing seemed appropriate, and he was quickly nearing the shrine. And...he didn't know anything about this priestess, what she might like, or even what she may be allergic to. Humans were so fragile... Taking another glance around, he spotted a small flower shop around the bend. Females liked flowers, didn't they? Taking another glance around, then down at his watch, he decided. It would have to do- class would be starting fairly soon. He strode across the road and into the shop like a male on a mission, and took a look at all of the many flowers crammed into the small shop...his nose was nearly overpowered by the numerous floral scents within. It was better than smog, but still strong enough to give him a headache...

"May I help you?" A scrawny human female behind the counter asked, her voice soft and almost hesitant. Sesshoumaru blinked back at her, and then scanned the blossoms, finding a flower that produced a softer scent than the others. And sweet, like honey.

"I would like a small bouquet of these...in red and white," Sesshoumaru pointed at the sweet smelling flower. Red and white would do, they were symbolic of the red and white miko garb. The girl paused, eyes wide, before she snapped into motion, making a nicely wrapped bouquet of fresh white and red flowers.

"That will be two thousand, one hundred and sixty-nine yen, sir," she rang up his order, and he reached into a pocket in his pack to procure the money. ($20 USD) He exchanged the yen for the flowers. "You're going to make someone very happy today." Sesshoumaru glanced back up at the cashier, a warm smile on her face with a blush dusting her cheeks. She smelled oddly...content.

"Hmm," he nodded his thanks, mildly confused. Was there some sort of human custom revolving around flowers he was unaware of? Or...did she simply assume he was taking them to a significant other? The latter seemed more plausible... Either way, Sesshoumaru shook it off, deposited his change and receipt into his bag, and headed back on track with the flowers in hand.

However...the closer he got, the more on-edge he felt. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, and his aching fangs nearly broke through his guise. The sheer amount of reiki he felt from this one area...it was impressive, to say the least. Was it truly necessary to display their power so? Surely the threats they encountered were not that bad...or were they? A bad feeling settled into the pit of his gut as he finally reached the bottom stair of the shrine. Well...things wouldn't be monotonous anymore. Of that one and only thing he was certain.

"I come in peace," he uttered before taking a step up the stair, a reassurance to the reiki as he forcibly stood down and let it wash over him.  Electricity cracked in the air and over his skin, not truly painful...but warning. The pressure it put upon him, though, made his teeth grind together and he struggled to breathe for a brief moment. His youki was raging inside of him...eyes beginning to glow red. It had been so very long since a power had challenged him so...and he itched for a good fight... But he closed his crimson-lined, more gold than brown, eyes and took a few steadying breaths instead of allowing it to take over. Tamping his youki down firmly, and taking a deeper breath, he opened his honeyed brown orbs once more. "My name is Taisho Sesshoumaru, son of Taisho Toga. I am here to escort the Shikon Miko to school." All at once, the reiki seemed to stop its passive aggressive assault. The weight remained, but he could deal with that. It didn't taunt his youki...and vaguely reminded him of a time he trained with his father when he was young. Toga had strapped boulders to his back and expected him to climb mountains by foot. This felt similar. Especially when he resumed his assent in a slow, steady gait. He didn't bow or bend as he had at that age, he bore it all while standing ramrod straight.

But it still wore on him. And he felt some relief in nearing the landing, struggling against his desire to just jump the remaining distance, reiki be damned. He didn't...but he wanted to. As he was able to finally see above the stairwell, the traditional red arch looming overhead, a young female came into view. Stunning blazing blue eyes greeted him, ebony hair dancing in the breeze. She wore a crimson pleated miniskirt, white knee-high socks, a pair of casual loafers that smelled of new leather, and a white button-up shirt that peeked out from beneath a familiar matching red blazer with an insignia on the left side. Ah. So it was her. Higurashi Kagome. It seemed almost scandalous to see a miko in a miniskirt, but his attention wasn't fully focused on that detail and the lean, muscular legs he could see between the skirt and her socks. It was focused on the nocked bow in her hands, the arrow aimed at him.

"Is this how you treat all of your guests?" Sesshoumaru couldn't help but ask, a thin eyebrow lifting with his question.

"I didn't invite you in, therefore you are not my guest," she came back at him with a surprising amount of fire. Her hand pulled the string of the bow back so far he could hear it creaking in her hold, reiki beginning to ebb and swirl around her lithe form in fuchsia and cobalt tendrils. And what power... She revealed only a small amount, but it was obvious she was holding back quite a deal more. It was almost...exciting... The feeling was almost foreign to him now... But, the only other beings, besides himself, that had such power nowadays, were the Lords. It certainly had his youki stirring in its cage within, his fingers twitching and fangs tingling as it threatened to break through his guise.

"The reiki allowed this one passage in," Sesshoumaru held out his right hand, the reiki sparking in warning across his palm. It raised the little hairs all along his arm, but did no damage to him. The female's brow furrowed as her hold eased on the bow, reiki dispersing. "You are Higurashi Kagome, correct?"

"...If I am..?...," she answered slowly, cautiously. Good. She needed to be wary. Perhaps this wouldn't be as troublesome as he first thought...

"Taisho Toga, my father, asked me to escort you to and from college each day," he answered, drawing some amusement from the shocked expression that crossed her pretty face. "This Sesshoumaru is to protect you while you are away from your defensible home." Her mouth opened and shut a few times, until it finally clicked shut and her bow and arrow was lowered to point at the ground, the arrow slack within it.

"But I thought...Toga would...," Kagome started, her tone broken and sounding oddly disappointed. "You don't look much like him...how do I know you're telling the truth?" Her hands tensed on the bow again, raising it a bit from its resting place.

"My father is Lord, and thus too busy to accompany you and be near you all day," Sesshoumaru explained simply, reaching over to click the button on his watch. The familiar tingling sensation swept over him as the magic that concealed his true humanoid form fell away. Blue eyes widened and a gasp fell from the miko's lips as she openly ogled him. If it was this easy to shock her...then perhaps he would make a game of it. How many times could he shock the miko in one day? Only one way to find out...

"O-Oh...," she stammered, still staring at him as her fingers laxed on her weapon again. "Okay...I can see the resemblance now..." Sesshoumaru inclined his head...and then moved to stand before her. It wasn't very fast by his standards, but he'd made the distance in the blink of her azure eyes. "Aii!" Kagome stumbled backwards, right into the side of the shrine, weapons slipped from her hands to the ground. Her heart was racing, cheeks flushed, and eyes wide. A smirk began to pull at Sesshoumaru's lips even as the reiki cracked against his flesh, mildly shocking him. This would be a fun game, indeed.

"Did I frighten you?" He asked, mirth dancing in his golden orbs. She seemed to understand that he was teasing her, a scowl twisting her lips as her heart slowed...but the blush remained.

"You just surprised me, that's all!" The miko huffed, lightly slapping his unoccupied arm. "Jerk!" Hm. She didn't fear or kowtow to him as others did. Just the opposite, she treated him like someone of her own kind. There was anger in her stormy orbs...but no hatred. Curious...

"I reiterate. Is that any way to treat a guest? One that brought you a gift, no less," Sesshoumaru spoke, shifting the flowers in his arm to his hand, offering them to the now-stunned miko.

"Those...those are for me?" She asked softly, blinking up at him with wide, innocent orbs. Had she never received flowers from a male before?

"Mmm," Sesshoumaru hummed and nodded, offering the blossoms up for her to take. Kagome looked between him and the flowers once more before she slowly, gently, removed them from his hand.

"They're beautiful!" She gushed, a smile finally settling across her face, lighting her features and bringing a sparkle to her eyes. Such a small thing...brought her much joy. Sesshoumaru had never seen anyone quite as elated as she over something so small and trivial. How puzzling... Wild ebony locks framed her fair face as her eyes slid shut and she leaned forwards to bury her small, dull human nose in the blossoms. "Mmm...are these...?" Her eyes fluttered open as she really took a good look at the blooms. "Carnations." She appeared to be stunned...but now Sesshoumaru was confused. More so as she looked up at him with wide orbs, a heavy blush settling across her cheeks. "Does this, ah...mean something?"

"They are red and white flowers, symbolic of your garb," He pointed out simply.

"Hmm? Oh...," Kagome nodded, still appearing...unsure. "Okay...you didn't mean anything by picking carnations, then?"

"They are a welcoming gift, courtesy of the Taisho family," Sesshoumaru further explained, holding back his urge to sigh. "Do these...carnations hold some special meaning?"

"Er...," she hesitated. Had her cheeks just darkened a shade? "I know you didn't intend them as this, and I really appreciate the gift, the flowers truly are beautiful...but...it's sort of like...a confession..."

"A confession?" Sesshoumaru's head tilted to the side.

"Of...ahem...love," Kagome fidgeted, unable to look at him. Sesshoumaru was just a little irked. How could flowers mean such a thing? "Those colors in particular, that is."

"Is there some secret language of flowers among mortals?" He asked, causing a laugh to bubble up and out of her mouth even as she tried to restrict it with her hand. What was so amusing about this? He just...didn't understand it at all...

"Not exactly," Kagome giggled as she wiped at her watering eyes. "The language of flowers is translated all throughout time by all species. Some are silent professions of love, others mean good luck, and some can even mean goodbye. It all depends on the situation and flower presented."

"...Can the carnations mean other things, then?"

"Red carnations stand for deep love and admiration, while white stands for pure love and good luck," she recited like she had read it a hundred times already and memorized the text. "Overall, though, they mean love,  fascination, and distinction." Sesshoumaru grunted. Not very much for him to choose from...

"Let them be a tiding of good luck for the distinguished Shikon Miko, then," he answered, rousing another earnest smile from the strange female.

"I can live with that," she grinned up at him cheerily. Truly, she was a simple, fascinating creature...

"Kagome!" An elderly female voice called, and the younger female turned towards the shrine house. "Where are ye, child?"

"Kaede-obaasan! Come see what the Taishos brought!" Kagome called back before turning back to Sesshoumaru and lowering her voice. Kaede...where had he heard that name before..? "Kaede-obaasan taught me all about herbs and flowers! She was also the sister of the last Shikon Miko." Ah. There was the connection.

"Toga? Is that ye?" Kaede called as he listened to her amble to the door before sliding it open with a click of the lock and a twist of the handle. She was a far cry from the child he remembered, her pale skin wrinkled and covered in scars...her back hunched as she made her way towards them with an unamused brown orb. Her right eye was covered by an old fashioned eye patch. "Hmph. Old dog."

"Little imp," Sesshoumaru inclined his head to her for formality's sake. It still unnerved him how quickly humans aged in the span of a short fifty years. Kaede cracked a smile as she looked up at him.

"Surprised to see how old I look?" Had he shown his unease? Sesshoumaru tightened his hold on his stoic facade.

"...I did not expect you to look so..."

"Old," she finished with a wise, knowing smile.

"Yes," he admitted softly. "I forget how quickly humans age..."

"You know each other?" Kagome popped back into the conversation, looking between the two as they both faced her.

"Aye," Kaede nodded. "He is Inuyasha's elder half-brother, heir to the Lordship of the West. Old mutt hasn't aged a day since I last saw him as a child."

"You haven't?" Kagome looked up at him in awe with those innocent eyes of hers.

"No...demons age very slowly." Didn't she know this already?

"Woah...it's one thing to read about it, but another entirely to experience it!" She was so excited...strange little female. "How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?" The question caught him off guard...just as much as his answer. Had so much time passed already?

"...Nearly a millennia," he spoke, watching her eyes nearly pop from their sockets.

"Old mutt," Kaede teased, her single eye warm.

"Indeed," Sesshoumaru agreed. Old, indeed...he was beginning to feel his age now. The years, as they crept upon him and added to the burden he bore. Kagome began spouting a hundred questions at once, to which Sesshoumaru's brow raised. Thankfully, the old brat intervened.

"Do ye not have college this morning?" Kaede broke in, Kagome stammering to a halt.

"Crap!" She cried, looking around. "Can you put these in a vase for me please, obaasan?" She handed the flowers off to the elderly woman.

"Yes...," Kaede took the flowers gently as Kagome ran back inside and exited a moment later with a pink backpack.

"Ready! Let's go, Sesshoumaru-sama!" Kagome smiled up at him, taking him by the crook of his arm and turning him around. He clicked his watch, reinstating his guise as he peered back at the elderly woman behind them.

"Good luck child, mutt," Kaede waved as Kagome all but dragged Sesshoumaru down the shrine steps. "Kagome is the polar opposite of me sister...good luck to ye, milord." She chuckled as she caught a loud half-hum, half-growl as Kagome moved him onwards. Kaede turned her old eye back to the flowers in hand. "Carnations? What a strange choice, milord.....is this, perhaps, a premonition of things to come? Hmm..." She turned her orb to the clouds overhead. "Kikyo...I hope ye can find peace and joy in this new life...after everything...ye deserve it most."

-End Chapter 1 -

[lady-divine-writes]

Moral Arguments (Chapter 2 of 2)

Summary: Crowley doesn't exactly take assignments anymore, but sometimes he does things for fun - like answering the call of a broken-hearted woman summoning a demon on St. Valentine's Day. But what Crowley thinks is going to be a simple hex-and-go turns into more emotionally charged than he bargained for.

(AO3)

Bzzz-bzzz

Bzzz-bzzz

…

Bzzz-bzzz

Bzzz-bzzz

…

“Holy Heaven!” Aziraphale exclaims, batting the air around his face. “The mosquitoes are out and about early this year. Odd considering it’s been so cool out lately …”

“Uh … I think that’s your phone.” Anathema gestures to the table with her half-drunk tumbler of whiskey.

“My wha---?” Aziraphale turns to his rotary phone sitting on his desk and waits for it to make a noise, but it doesn’t.

And the buzzing continues.

“Not that phone.” Anathema snorts. “Your cell phone.”

Aziraphale turns to the table, searching amid the half-empty cups of tea and the polished clean glasses of alcohol for the new cellular phone Crowley had given him. The accursed thing wasn’t so much a gift from his demon but a means to an end since Crowley isn’t fond of not being able to get in touch with his angel every blessed hour of the day - hilarious conceptually since they live together.

In protest, Aziraphale rarely answers it, requiring Crowley to race down to his shop anyway whenever he needs to speak with him.

The phone is apparently on vibrate, and Aziraphale neither knows how it got there nor how to get it to stop. Crowley must have done it when he entered his number in because there’s a rather obnoxiously smug photograph of Crowley on the screen with the words Anthony J Crowley underneath.

“Oh, yes. So it is. Thank you, my dear.” He picks it up and presses an icon marked call. “Hello?” he says, but it continues to buzz. He presses a green picture of a phone and repeats, “Hello?” but that does nothing either. After a third try and fail, Anathema, not quite drunk enough to deal with this hiccup in their plan, grabs the phone out of Aziraphale’s hand, swipes the phone icon with a terse, “There,” and shoves it back.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” he hears Crowley whisper hoarsely.

Aziraphale gives Anathema a bitter eye as she goes back to her seat on the sofa. He squares his shoulders, puts the phone to his ear, clears his throat, and says, “Crowley?”

“Aziraphale! I found the place.”

“Excellent!”

“Put the call on speaker,” Anathema says. When Aziraphale shoots her a confused look, she grabs the phone again and does it herself, laying it down on the table for all of them to hear.

“Now what?” Crowley asks.

“What do you mean, now what?” Aziraphale says, leaning in unnecessarily to talk into the phone. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, I trust. Go … do whatever it is you do.”

“Yes, I recognize that, but there are complications.”

Three pairs of eyes meet across the table, equally bewildered. Anathema and Aziraphale look to Samantha for an explanation, but Samantha shrugs and mouths, ‘I don’t know.’

“What sort of complications?” Aziraphale asks.

“I don’t want you mad at me, do I? Revenge work is highly desired amongst demons because it tends to get bloody. Now, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty for a good cause, but if anything I’m about to do will get me banished to the sofa for the foreseeable future, I’d like to know beforehand.”

“I see. What would you normally do?”

“I could turn him inside out.”

“Ewww!” Samantha and Anathema say in unison, while Aziraphale looks like he’s about to lose his lunch.

“Anything else?”

“The usual, really. I can bury him up to his neck in sand, pour maple syrup over his head and let the ants have at him. I can turn him into a one legged rabbit and throw him to the wolves. I can give him a flesh-eating disease. I can poke out his eyes and make him eat them …”

“Enough, enough!” Samantha says with a hand to her reeling stomach. “A-are all his options so violent?”

“He is a demon, my dear.”

“I could castrate him,” Crowley offers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snaps. “If Samantha wasn’t amenable to the idea of eye eating, I don’t think …”

“No, no, wait, Mr. Fell,” she interrupts. “He may be onto something.”

“Are you quite serious?” Anathema gasps.

“I …” Samantha bounces the idea around in her head, looking as certain as she looks uncertain. “I---I think so.”

“That sounds like a yes to me,” Crowley says in a chipper tone. “Let’s get on with it!”

“Let’s back away from the cheerful dismemberment for a moment, shall we, and have a bit of a chat. Look …” Aziraphale leads Samantha back over to the sofa and sets her down, taking a seat beside her “… take a moment and think – if you were going to make him pay for his crimes without demon assistance, how would you do it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want it to be fast,” she says. “I mean, I assume you can’t live once you’ve been turned inside out, right?”

“I can make that happen.”

“Shhh!” Aziraphale scolds the phone. “No,” he says, turning back to his guest, “he can’t live once he’s been turned inside out.”

“That’s what I thought.” Samantha’s eyes go distant, her thoughts drifting between Aziraphale’s bookshop and somewhere else. “The bigger person in me wants him to learn. To be sorry. To be better. But the petty person inside me wants him to suffer …”

On the other end of the line, Crowley cheers.

“… to live the way I’ve been living. In fear. With heartbreak.” Her lower lip wobbles, her voice cracks. “But mostly the things I want, I want for me. I want my sister back. We haven’t spoken since they ran off together. I want my sense of security back. Every time I change the locks on my house, he seems to find a way in anyway. A-and I don’t have the money to move. Not that it would matter. He’d probably find me.” She sniffles. “A-and I … I want my dog back.”

She drops her head to her hands, weeping openly. Anathema sits beside her, puts an arm around her shoulders and hugs her. Aziraphale takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I know, my darling. I know.”

“Necromancy?” Crowley pipes in. “Is that what we’re talking about? Or just a straight resurrection? Because I can do either.”

“No, I don’t think that’s the way to go,” Aziraphale says, “but I do have a plan. Stand by, Crowley, my dear. I’m about to send you a textual message.”

Crowley sighs. “A text message, angel. A text message. For Satan’s sake.”

“Ah, yes. A text message,” Aziraphale repeats, throwing Anathema a conspiratorial wink. “Thank you.”

“Angel?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

Crowley clears his throat. “Could you … uh … take me off speaker?”

“Dearest, I wouldn’t know where on Earth to begin.”

“Oh … right. Well, before I go, I just wanted to say …” Crowley clears his throat again “I … I love you.”

Aziraphale smiles at the phone. “I love you, too, dear. Now hold on, and be careful.”

“I will.” The phone clicks, the call ended. Samantha peeks up and sighs.

“You guys seem so much in love,” she says. “How long have you been together?”

“Oh, my dear girl …” He hands her a tissue for her watery eyes, taking one for himself after “… it feels like an eternity.”

***

It had not been a good day for Richard.

Not a good day at all.

Being a sewage monkey, on the whole, was a crappy position (pun intended).

But it had its perks.

The salary for one. He couldn’t sneeze at 45,000 euros per year. That’s been more than sufficient to keep him comfortable and then some. What with the way the sewage works kept mucking up, contracts abounded, needing to be filled.

Ergo, the work never ended.

People gotta shit, right?

And they had to be full of it lately.

If things kept going the way they were, he’d be able to retire in roughly ten years.

And for another thing …

…

Nope, that’s it. The salary is the only perk.

But today, everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

There were three major clogs in London proper, and even though that meant o.t. padding his paycheck close to triple, he’d been working in a damp, congested sewer for nearly three days straight with little sleep and less of an appetite.

And boy, did he smell like it.

Today he found out the brat he’d been training is the nephew of his supervisor, poised to take his uncle’s job next year! He should have been offered that position hands down! He’s been working with this same company for over two decades, slogging through putrescence and unimaginable filth, and for what? Now he’s going to be answering to a kid half his age!

Nu-uh. No way. From day one, that kid steps onto site, Richard is going to make his life hell.

To top it off, just as his crew got the all clear to leave, he took a wrong turn, ended up on the M25, and got stuck in traffic for over three hours!

Three hours of traffic? At midnight!?

It seemed evil, like the whole world was out to get him.

Richard turns off the engine of his sedan and sighs. Yup. Today sucked, but at least he’s home now.

He can’t really see things getting worse.

He opens his driver’s side door and pours his numb ass out of his seat. He can’t feel most of the left side of his body, having shifted his weight over an hour into his commute when the right side said, “Fuck you!” and fell sleep. Now he’s limping like a castrated dog up his driveway to his pitch black house.

And that triggers another awful realization.

Valentine’s Day ended hours ago.

And he missed it.

Not just that, he outright forgot about it.

And from the fact that there’s not a single light on in his house, his girlfriend must be pissed.

Temperamental little bitch, just like her sister. She’ll nag the shit out of him about this the second he walks through the door.

Or she’s dressed in head to toe sweats and a hoodie, wrapped beneath the covers like a mummy, prepared to give him the cold shoulder till the foreseeable future.

He’s gotta think of something quick to save his sex life.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!” he bellows, kicking stiff-legged at gravel on the asphalt. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He spins around, searching for a solution that will hold her off till morning. Maybe some flowers from the neighbor’s yard? They looked morbidly brown and wilted when he left for work, but in the dark, would she know the differ---?

“Pardon me, but does your name happen to be Dick Bag?”

“What?” Richard sees the man who interrupted his thoughts emerge from the shadows, strolling over in all black from his jacket to his jeans. “Whaddya mean is my name Dick---?” He rolls his eyes. “Richard Sack. My name is Richard Sack.”

“Same difference.”

“What’s it to ya?”

“I have a message for you from an old friend. Samantha?”

‘Speak of the devil …’ he thinks. “And who are you then? Another process server?” Richard chuckles. “You can tell that bitch she can take me to court all she wants, but nuthin’s gonna happen. She can’t pin shit on me.”

“Ah, now, you see …” Crowley takes a few more steps forward “… you just said the wrong thing.”

“Why? You fuckin’ her?” Richard slams his car door, then goes about punching his palm with his fist, trying to come off intimidating. “I didn’t take her for the goth type.”

“Not the goth type.” Crowley cracks his neck. “More like the demon type.”

“Yeah, right. You shittin’ me or sumthin?”

“Not at all.” A wind blows around them and, suddenly, Crowley stops. His nose wrinkles. He makes a noise and takes a step back. “But it smells like you’ve been. Jesus Christmas! What the Heaven did you step in?”

“Gonna be the remains of your skinny dead ass in a second!” Richard lunges at Crowley, swinging away. Crowley steps to the side, snapping his fingers when he does. Richard flies past him and lands on the ground, struggling within the confines of his clothes, extreme alterations made to his body.

His legs have been fused together, forming one thick limb resembling a mermaid’s tail covered in denim scales. Likewise his arms have melded to his sides, creating an overall fish-like effect.

And he has no mouth. Not a seam of it remains. Just a patch of smooth skin where lips should be.

He squiggles and writhes, building up momentum until he starts rolling down the driveway. Crowley follows him leisurely, knowing where he’s headed. The wriggling mass of human flesh called Richard rolls and rolls until he hits the tire of his sedan and stops, wedged in underneath with his head sticking out, his face staring up. He moans and groans with eyes squeezed shut, begging with muffled words for God to help him.

Crowley waits to see if She will. When She does nothing, he takes that as the go ahead.

He taps Richard on the forehead with the toe of his snakeskin shoe to get his attention. Richard opens eyes bulging with fear. Crowley can feel his fear, taste it like a fine wine slipping down his throat. A rare vintage.

Like an angel’s kiss.

And it’s delicious.

For a moment, he has to remind himself that in this situation, he’s one of the good guys … so-called.

“You have to admit, you had this coming. Now …” He crouches low so the man can hear him clearly “… I’ve got some good news and some bad news – take it as you will. I’ve been on the phone with my people all night, trynna figure out what would be the best possible punishment for a slimy piece of work like you. I wanted to go with an old favorite – turn you inside out and let the buzzards pick you apart … alive …”

That shuts Richard right up.

“… but my lot, well, they’re a might more compassionate than me. So I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. And you’re gonna go along with it, because the second you deviate from the plan, I won’t care what my side has to say - I’ll snap my fingers and turn you into a human meat suit. Understand?”

“Mmm!” Richard mutters, nodding emphatically, scream-murmuring to the tune of, “I understand! I understand!” if it were being yelled behind a thick wall of flesh.

Which it is.

“Good. Nice to see you being reasonable for a change.” Crowley raises his hand and Richard’s eye go wide. He starts mumbling, something that sounds vaguely like, “No! No! You promised!” but Crowley has stopped paying attention. This is where the fun begins. “Let’s go, Dicky! Time to do some penance!”

***

“So, you framed him for how many crimes?”

“About eighteen.” Crowley accepts a glass of wine from Aziraphale as his angel sits beside him on the sofa, cuddling in closer than usual. “All very old, and very, very cold, but within a reasonable enough timeframe to make them plausible.”

“But … but what about the real criminals?” Samantha asks, worried that, in solving her one problem, she’s unknowingly created problems for eighteen other people. “Will they ever be held accountable?”

“There’s no need,” Crowley says after a swig. “The crimes in question never happened.”

“Let’s just call them a work of forensic fiction,” Aziraphale offers, beaming at his clever demon.

“Mmm …” Crowley interrupts his next sip to say “… except for one. He’s been charged in connection to the disappearance of the Roanoke Colony. I threw that in there for fun. If anyone ever tries to double check it, it’ll disappear.”

“So all’s well that ends well,” Anathema says.

“I guess,” Samantha agrees halfheartedly, gazing sadly into her cup.

Crowley looks at his husband, his angel watching the young lady, their triumph of the night bittersweet, all things considered.

“Look,” Crowley says, “you were right. There was no reasoning with him. He wouldn’t hear it even if I tried. I could read his thoughts. They were very clear on the subject of you. He deserves what he got. Every damned inch of it.”

“I agree,” Samantha says. “I just wish things were different.”

“They will be,” Aziraphale promises. “Tonight was simply the first step.”

“Yeah, have hope and all that.” Crowley downs the remains of his wine and snakes an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “And before you know it, things will turn around, just like that.”

Crowley snaps his fingers.

Aziraphale smiles.

Outside the bookshop, someone knocks on the door.

“Oh! Who in the Devil could that be this late at night?”

“’dunno,” Crowley says, picking up his miraculously filled glass of wine. “Someone should go check. I would but …” He raises his glass and hugs his husband.

“Would you be a dear and go answer that, Samantha?”

“Um …” Samantha eyes Aziraphale and Crowley suspiciously “… okay?” She gets up from her seat and slowly walks through the stacks to the front door. Before she gets there, the person outside knocks again, making her jump nearly a mile high.

But this time, the phantom visitor speaks.

“H-hello? Is … is anybody in there?”

Samantha’s brow furrows, her fear dissolving, replaced by confusion “Libby?” she says, opening the locks as quickly as she can.

“I --- I’m a little bit lost, I’m afraid,” the voice continues. “I don’t know where I am. I saw the lights on and I …”

Samantha unlocks the door and holds it open wide. A woman darkens the doorway, dressed in blue jeans and a plum hoodie, a brown leather bag slung over her shoulder, bulging as if it may contain most of what she owns.

A woman who looks remarkably like her.

“Sammy?” the woman whispers, peering at the figure in front of her like it may be a ghost, might disappear with her breath if she speaks too loudly. But as she realizes what she’s seeing is real, she throws her hands to her mouth and cries. “Sammy!”

“Libby! Oh my God! Libby!” Samantha grabs Libby by the elbow and pulls her inside. She throws her arms around her sister, hugging her with all her might as she cries into the shoulder of her sweater. “H-how did you know I would be here?”

“I---I didn’t!” Libby confesses. “I was on the bus to London and the driver let me off outside. He said … he said he didn’t know why he even came here, but he couldn’t take me any further.”

“What were you doing going to London at this hour?”

“I … I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know, but at the time, it seemed really important.”

“What do you think, angel?” Crowley asks, relaxing into the cushions in his favorite way possible – with a glass of wine in one hand and his angel under his arm, holding him tight. “Did I do good?”

“Fabulously,” Aziraphale says, glowing in the low light. “I don’t think I could have done better myself.”

“Uh … and the dog?” Anathema asks, speaking in hushed tones between the two. “You didn’t forget the dog, did you?”

“Oh, a dog will come,” Crowley says like a dark promise, grinning wickedly.

Aziraphale gasps. “Tell me you didn’t order up a Hellhound?”

Crowley snickers. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Crowley!”

“Like you said, she did summon a demon. I’ve been all sorts of noble tonight. I get to do one demonic thing, don’t I?”

“Anthony!”

Crowley goes pale. In all their time together, Aziraphale has never voluntarily called Crowley Anthony. If he’s doing it now, he must mean business.

Crowley has no intention of finding out what that business entails.

“All right, all right,” he accedes, snapping his fingers twice. “Labrador it is.”

[thebarefootking]

The Vessel

"I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me."

-- St. Paul of Tarsus, Galatians 2:20

"Holy fire burn away My desire for anything That is not of You, And is of me I want more of You And less of me, yeah

Empty me Empty me Empty me --"

-- William Murphy, "Empty Me"

---------------------------------------------------

I don't feel I'm overstating my case when I refer to my parents as "religious extremists" (though I will concede they are less extreme now than they were during my childhood, by a fair margin). I grew up in a series of denominations (or, in some cases, 'non' denominations, which were always a very specific sort of denomination in disguise) which almost invariably allowed for such things as female clergy, and who (at least theoretically, which is itself still rare in extremist circles) considered all those who "accepted Jesus" to be part of the Christian Church.

But they also, and my parents with them, believed that any Christian who was sick or injured (in body or mind) could simply pray or be prayed for, and "the infirmity would flee them, by the power of Christ Jesus". Incidentally, this particular view didn't vibe well when it came up against the anxiety disorder I have suffered from since childhood. No amount of prayer, sticky anointing oils, or exorcistic commands could send "the Spirit of Fear" from me. Which is not to say that it stopped my father trying. And trying.

And, eventually, implicitly, blaming it on my own lack of faith.

I suppose, after a while, I believed that, too.

So my faith wasn't strong enough to keep the Spirit of Fear out. I could live with that. I would just do my best in all other aspects of my faith life. After all, we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. The important part was to do our best.

One's best, the church taught, should always be toward the goal of giving oneself entirely over to the will of God. The less there was of 'you', the more room there was for God to do good through you. To that end, our church practiced fasting, either as simple spiritual practice, or with an intent and request of God. Yes, even the children (though they were encouraged to give up something other than food). The message came through loud (though anything but clear, among the conflicting messages of 'be yourself!' and 'God has given you many unique gifts!'): Self was bad.

When I came to my teenage years, the message was reinforced. Unable to curb my personal oddity enough to cultivate many friendships outside of church, I decided that, if I couldn't figure out how to make God my identity, then making church my identity was the next best thing. I was the awkward, uncomfortable kid in Christian tee-shirts who invited everyone to special church events and called out their church fellows in front of everyone on their 'un-Christian' behavior.

It didn't prepare me for my self to fight back, this time with a new ally: puberty.

Not that I was too concerned with any lustful thoughts towards boys I might have had. I was an incredibly naive teenager, and was unfamiliar enough with sex that I hardly even knew how to fantasize about it. Boys made me giggly and overbearing, but nothing more.

Only… so did the girls.

Immediately, I knew: the Spirit of Fear had gone out, just like in the Gospels. It had found no rest, and decided to come back to me. I hadn't filled myself up with God, so it settled back in, this time with seven friends more wicked than itself!

I was oppressed by a Gay Demon!

I can't tell anyone about this! I thought. But the Bible said to confess your sins one to another in order to be healed! How was I going to un-gay myself without ruining my reputation? I knew for sure that anyone I told would never see me the same again, and most of them would spread the word, and not the Good Word, if you follow me.

They'll never let me teach a devotion at church again. I probably won't even get to go on the mission trip. Or camp! They'll never let me room with girls!

A proper misery set in. My identity was the weird church kid, and I didn't have anything else to fall back on. I was full up with a brainload of doctrine that couldn't help me at all in the face of actual, real-life people.

I hadn't filled myself with God. I hadn't filled myself with Me. I had filled myself with a rule book, and one that neither I nor anyone I knew could follow.

I did try for a few years. I struggled against my sexuality, all the while pushing the youth of my church to truly embrace the spirit of love and devotion that I felt underpinned the scripture. I drove them toward a passion for God, all as I suffered in His absence, an absence for which I believed myself to blame.

It seemed that I simply wasn't a proper vessel.

Adulthood joined the fray, throwing a few punches of its own: I had made it to the age of eighteen without forming any identity for myself outside of "weird church kid". No goals, no intentions. Those sorts of things were for people without God leading them; how could I say I had faith if I planned my own life instead of letting God take the reins? Surely he had some great plan for my life. That's what countless adults had been telling me since I was old enough to understand the words.

--------

At the last church I attended regularly, there was a woman we'll call Miss Lee. She has multiple sclerosis that, while I was attending there, was just then beginning to affect her mobility. She went from walking confidently on her own to needing to use a wheelchair most weeks. Nearly every week, we would pray for her, begging God to heal her, and demanding that the damage leave her body. And every week, nothing would happen. Well, not nothing. Sometimes the nerve pain in her toes would diminish slightly, or, more rarely, someone would say they'd had a dream or vision in the past week of her being healed. Once, she had a vision of her own that she would dance at the front of the church with one of her friends, someday.

That church dissolved some four or five years ago. Miss Lee's condition has progressed to the point where her mobility is severely impaired and she is often confused. She semi-frequently texts my mother asking for help because she's fallen and there's no one in the house to help her up.

---------

I gave up my birth religion gradually, over the course of a decade, and if you asked my what I believe now, I would not be able to tell you. I can tell you, though, that ten years has taught me that I cannot find healing in mea culpas, in prayer, or in waiting to see what God has planned. I have to acknowledge the makeshift self I have gathered together, and fill myself with it.

I might be late to the party. That's ok. I can still make something real.