#also sock is NOT taller hes floating to be annoying

[faggotdads]

2013 student thesis film tonite queen ,?

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: none, this is kind of an introductory/fluff chapter if you will :)

Story summary: Y/N Y/L/N, an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl, gets pulled into the world of rock and roll on a fateful night at the Marquee Club in London when she experiences the musical phenomenon of the Five Live Yardbirds. She grows up fast, navigating her way through the downfall of The Yardbirds, the legendary skyrocket of Led Zeppelin, era-defining decadence instigated by the ‘60s and ‘70s mindset of free love and personal gratification, and finding the courage to express how she fell deeply in love with one of modern music’s greatest guitarists.

Author’s notes (from Molly of rebel-without-a-zeppelin): Hi everyone! A little disclaimer on my part: this is the first story I’ve ever shared for public consumption. I’ve been toying with this idea in my mind for a very long time now, and I’ve finally mustered up the courage to share it with you all. I hope you like it. I am incredibly honored to collaborate with Syd on this project; this is truly our baby, as it has a very long, detailed, intricate plot, so saddle up for lots (and lots) of drama! This is also a sloooowwwww burn, like really, really slow lol. Over the course of the story, please feel free to send me your theories and comments; I would absolutely love to read them. Please enjoy, and happy reading!

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3 May 1965

The sound of a car horn beeped incessantly from the front of Y/N’s house. Dropping her backpack down on her bedroom floor with an annoyed huff, she sprinted down the steps. She never did get enough time to prepare, and it was no different today. With her friend Carolyn in tow, Y/N made a beeline for the front door, the click-clack of her Oxford shoes pounding across the hardwood floor. Y/N’s mum, who nonchalantly strolled out of the laundry room with an armful of freshly washed and folded bath towels, leant against the doorframe.

“Now remember Y/N: no drinking, no drugs, no sex. No going home with strange musician guys, nor are you allowed to go to their hotel,” her mum instructed calmly, knowing she’d receive an eye roll from the girl. Her stern expression at home on her gracefully-aged face, the girls receive the speech they get every time they go out.  “You too, C. Even though I’m not your mother, I still worry about your safety.”

Both Y/N’s mum and dad had a very protective instinct over their eldest daughter, just like their other three children. Even at Y/N’s healthy age of seventeen, she longed for the freedom and trust that her older brother had gained at her age.

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Carolyn replied with a little laugh.

“Mum! This is literally the fourth time I’ve been to a Yardbirds gig, and nothing bad has happened,” Y/N huffed. Her mum raised her eyebrows.

Lillian, Y/N’s little sister, walked into the foyer and surprised Y/N with a big, tight hug around her waist. Y/N gasped at the sudden contact, but chuckled when she realized it was her younger sister, and reciprocated the hug.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Y/N. Boys are icky. And stupid!” Lillian said in a whiny voice, her face muffled by being buried in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N ruffled her sister’s muss of dirty blonde waves affectionately, rubbing her back to soothe her worries. “I promise, I will come back perfectly fine! I won’t let any boys mess with me, Lil,” Y/N said with a smile, “And when I come back, I’ll tell you everything that happened.”

Lillian gazed up at Y/N with a similar smile, her small teeth shining a bright, pearly white and her chin resting on the taller girl’s stomach. “Okay,” she said, content, before releasing from Y/N with a stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

“Where’s Charlie?” Y/N asked, hoping she could say goodbye to her younger brother before she left.

“I think he’s riding around the neighborhood on his bike with his friends,” Y/N’s mum replied with a shrug. Y/N felt a little disappointed, but she figured she’d talk to him tomorrow at breakfast about her night out.

Thomas, Y/N’s older brother, continued to honk the horn rather obnoxiously, growing quite impatient. It’s a wonder the neighbors weren’t at arms, knocking on their door. He was forced by his parents to be Y/N and Carolyn’s chauffeur to the Marquee Club in London.

“We have to go, or else Tommy will have my head,” Y/N said as she started to open the front door.

“Wait!” her mum said, sloppily placing the towels down on a nearby counter to dash to the door and give Y/N a hug and a kiss on the head goodbye. Finally pulling away her weathered hands flew to Y/N’s shoulders, and gripping them firmly, she continued, “Be good. Love you.”

“I know, I will. Love you too,” Y/N smiled, before dashing down the steps and to the passenger seat of the car. Carolyn was in quick pursuit, following her to the car and taking a seat in the back.

“It’s about time,” Tommy huffed impatiently, tapping his fingertips on the top of the steering wheel as he put the transmission into drive.

“Sorry. Mum was giving me and C a safety brief,” Y/N replied apologetically.

“Why are you two still in school uniforms?” he snorted, shifting to look over at the girls; their studious appearance of white oxford shirts, sweater vests, plaid kilts, white knee socks, and smart oxford shoes would be quite out of place among the audience at the show.

“No time to change, just like usual,” she replied, turning on the radio, soft melodies pouring out at a low volume.

The three drove in silence, except for the sound of the radio playing, until Carolyn had dozed off on the somewhat lengthy car ride. Occasional small talk between Y/N and her brother permeated the quiet that fell over the group, but it picked up when they were only a few blocks away from the venue.

“You gotta stay safe in there, Y/N,” Tommy said, looking straight ahead. His teeth clamped down sharply on his bottom lip: a dead giveaway to the nerves he must have been feeling.

“I know, Dad,” Y/N joked, punching him lightly across the shoulder. Her bright smile wavered and fell when she saw his grim expression.

“I’m serious, you know. I don’t want my sister being pestered by some wankers in a blues band.”

Y/N smirked at her brother’s sudden defensive behavior. “I can take care of myself. Trust me. This isn’t my first rodeo. You should’ve seen the first Yardbirds gig we went to. Utter chaos...” The tilt of her lips signalled that she was joking, and Tommy huffed out a laugh.

Carolyn, stretching with a grunt, had miraculously woken up just as Tommy pulled up to the front door of the Marquee. Glancing at the venue with awe dancing in their eyes, Y/N and Carolyn disembarked from the car, walking closer with the façade of calmness and competency.

“I’ll be back later to pick you girls up. Have fun, but not too much fun,” Tommy rolled his window down as he said this, winking playfully.

Y/N waved to her brother as Carolyn thanked him graciously for the ride. Arms linked, Y/N and Carolyn entered the famous Marquee. Nervousness and anticipation began to pool Y/N’s stomach as she was greeted by the decadent atmosphere of the club: the smell of smoke, alcohol, and sweat hung in the air as her eyes were flashed by many people mingling about, dressed in typical mod clothing. Y/N and her friend looked at each other, feeling like aliens in their intelligent dress. They tactfully made their way through the crowd as they found their way to their usual spot, a small leather-upholstered booth set against the wall near the stage.

“Today might be the day, Y/N,” Carolyn said as they settled into their seats.

“I don’t know,” she replied, smoothing out her skirt, “the idea of that is both scary and exciting to me at the same time. We’ll just roll with the punches, I guess.”

“Which Yardbird do you have your eye on?”

Y/N smirked as she thought for a moment. “Hmm...I’m not sure. I guess they’re all pretty cute in their own way. What about you?”

“Yes, I agree. But I must admit, I do have a very soft spot for Chris Dreja.”

“I’ll pray for ya, C,” Y/N chuckled.

~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, backstage, five live Yardbirds were performing some pre-show rituals in the hopes of easing the preliminary anxiousness. Jeff, Keith, and Jim were peeking out the little sliver of curtain that allowed them to see their gathering audience.

“Look! It’s those two schoolgirls again!” Jeff pointed to the two teenage girls in school uniforms, chatting in their booth waiting for the show to begin. They were huddled together in conversation, legs daintily crossed as their faint giggles floated over to them. Jim couldn’t help but smile at the sound, though he recovered quickly, not wanting his bandmates to get any ideas.

“What’s wrong with that? They must like us,” Keith replied.

“I think they’re both really pretty, especially the one with the Y/H/C hair,” Jim pointed out, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Yeah, maybe we should invite them backstage after the show… have a nice little chat,” Jeff winked at the singer and the drummer cheekily.

After taking a final glance at the two conversing girls, the three returned to the backstage area where Paul and Chris were. Jeff immediately enlisted Giorgio, their manager, to complete the agreed-upon mission. Jeff loosely draped an arm around Giorgio’s shoulder before bestowing the request as politely as possible. Not trying to be suspiciously polite, of course, because everyone in the band and its entourage were firsthand witnesses of Jeff’s temper and stubbornness. Yikes.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” Jeff said to Giorgio with a mischievous smile.

Giorgio rolled his eyes, knowing this “favor” would have to do with scouting girls from the audience. “What d’ya need, Jeff?” he sighed exhaustedly.

“Don’t complain, please,” Jeff deadpanned. “There are two pretty birds in the audience, wearing their school uniforms. They’ve been coming to our shows for a little bit now, and they seem nice—”

“You want me to bring them backstage after the show?” Giorgio interrupted, somehow telepathically knowing, by routine, what the guitarist’s request would be.

“You finish that sentence like you know what I’m about to say.”

“That’s because I do, Mr. Beck,” Giorgio retorted sarcastically, “this happens a lot more often than you think it does.”

“Whatever,” Jeff grumbled moodily, knowing he was right, before walking back to the group of musicians in preparation.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Carolyn continued to gossip happily about what was happening at school, not a care in the world. They felt the stares of older men in the club, who silently disapproved of their knee socks being scrunched by their ankles, because that wasn’t the “proper” thing to do. But they didn’t care. Who are they to judge?

Every teacher scolded girls at school who did the same thing, because they didn’t want their long legs to be “tempting” or “distracting” any boys. A bloody nuisance, is what it is.

The girls were snapped from their thoughts by the sound of a heavy guitar tone being blasted through the speakers in an opening riff. Their eyes were stapled, almost transfixed to the stage as they took in the five sharply-dressed men in front of them, singing their songs and playing their instruments.

As much as Carolyn enjoyed The Yardbirds and music in general, Y/N had a rather deep connection to it, odd enough as it was. She could play the piano fairly well, so she understood where these musicians were coming from cognitively and creatively. From what she’d read in magazines about current popular musicians, like The Yardbirds for example, she liked the same music they did. Y/N understood dynamics, tempo, tone, key, and musical notation, just like they did. Perhaps she’d be able to get into an intelligent musical conversation with at least one of them one day.

Two straight hours of hits, obscure songs, and blues covers from The Yardbirds’ catalogue were played for the Marquee Club patrons, hypnotizing its drunk and high onlookers with polished musicality and instrumentation.

As the final song concluded, both Y/N and Carolyn, unbeknownst to the other, felt a sinking feeling of disappointment that fell like a pit in their stomachs. They wouldn’t have the chance to meet the band. No one from the entity had approached them yet, and momentarily the five live Yardbirds would be exiting the stage for the night.

After they said their goodbyes and thanks to the crowd, they disappeared behind the curtain. The main lights of the club brightened to signal that the show was over, as the voices of all the patrons raised in rave of the spectacular show they had just witnessed.

Discouraged, but still in light spirits at what they had just seen, Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seat and headed for the front door. Y/N expected her brother to be waiting in front; it was late, so might as well not make him wait longer than he needs to.

Y/N and Carolyn were merely a few feet from the door when Y/N felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning around to see a man with a dark beard already baring a jovial tight-lipped grin at her, the girl was quite surprised, maybe a little weirded out, but she reciprocated the gesture as genuinely as she could.

“Hello sir, what can we do for you?” Y/N greeted, discreetly nudging Carolyn to help her out and become a united front with her in front of this stranger.

“Good evening ladies, I was sent by Mr. Jeff Beck to offer you an invitation backstage to hang out with the band.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped and her face broke out into an obvious mad blush, much to her dismay. She was internally screaming. The Jeff Beck had spotted them in the crowd?! This had to be a dream.  Wait, this could be a complete drunken buffoon trying to trick them. Y/N remembered what her mother had said, and took the proper precautionary measure.

Y/N smiled in the most composed way she could. “Thank you for such a gracious invitation! Could I ask your name, if you don’t mind?”

“Giorgio Gomelsky, manager of The Yardbirds,” he replied, in a seemingly proud manner.

Okay, this was real. Y/N knew that Giorgio was definitely the manager’s name. She turned to Carolyn, who looked just as excited as she was.

“What are your names, dears?” Giorgio asked, pulling them out of their daze of what seemed like a fake reality.

“I’m Carolyn, and this is my friend Y/N,” Carolyn piped up, excited that she finally got an opportunity to speak to someone close to The Yardbirds.

She internally agreed to let Y/N handle the “diplomacy” part of the introduction, knowing that she was best at that. Carolyn knew her friend was quite shy, so she knew to step in when Y/N was starting to feel anxious. She noticed Y/N starting to fiddle with her fingers while talking to Giorgio in the most collected way she could muster; as excited as Y/N was, Carolyn knew she was growing very nervous.

“Well, it is certainly lovely to meet you both. So, what do you say? Would you like to meet the lads?”

After one final glance of excited mutual agreement, Carolyn replied, “Yes, we’d love to.”

Giorgio led the pair of girls back the way they came, through a sea of inebriated people, but this time through the backstage door. Y/N made an appoint to walk behind Carolyn, in an attempt to collect and relax herself. She was starting to sweat a little, her stomach doing flips and her hands becoming cold and clammy.

~~~~~~~~

“Our guests should be arriving any minute now,” Jeff said as he was placing his guitar back in its case.

Chris was standing and chatting with Paul in a corner when he turned around in surprise at the news. “Guests? What guests?”

“We had Giorgio invite two girls from the audience to come back here,” Jim replied, walking over to sit down in a metal folding chair.

“And why weren't we made aware of this?” Paul asked, as he walked to get another metal folding chair to place near Jim.

“It was their idea,” Keith replied, pointing two fingers between Jeff and Jim. Paul and Chris just nodded in recognition.

“I didn’t hear you disagree, Relf,” Jeff clapped back. He then told Chris and Keith to get some chairs for themselves and the two girls that would be walking through the door at any second.

Before Keith could respond, a couple knocks resounded in the room, signalling the arrival of the guests. Jacket lapels and ties were quickly straightened, even though each person was still glazed with quickly-drying sweat from the show they had just played, before the room fell unnaturally quiet as Giorgio opened the rather squeaky door.

The initial tension in the room that lasted a split second could be cut with a knife. Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest, a cold sweat already running down her back, as five pairs of eyes landed on her, Carolyn, and Giorgio, warm smiles following suit.

She felt like internally combusting.

“Boys, this is Y/N,” Giorgio broke the momentary silence by introducing her, “and Carolyn.” Y/N smiled shyly and sent them a little wave, a dusty shade of pink seeping its way to her cheeks. Carolyn’s greeting was much more exuberant than Y/N’s, as she took the initiative to go over and shake all of their hands amiably. Y/N realized she had to follow her friend in order to make a good first impression.

Knowing that the boys wanted to spend time with the girls without being chaperoned, Giorgio left the room to attend to other business affairs.

Upon first glance, Y/N was the most beautiful girl that four of the five Yardbirds had ever seen. Perfect features, long legs, a calm, gentle, sweet demeanor… Just an absolutely angelic young woman; a vision.

Jeff had obviously recognized her beauty, from seeing her at multiple shows, but he thought she was way out of his league. He decided to focus on getting her to laugh and relax around them, because he noticed just how nervous she looked. She was turning pale right in front of his very eyes! Paul and Chris began to internally question themselves, how have I not seen this girl before? She is so gorgeous! Jim had been glancing at her sporadically throughout the show, soaking up her faraway presence. He noticed how her eyes glistened in childlike wonder as she watched them do what they did best: perform the Chicago blues.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you both,” Keith replied enthusiastically. “I’m Keith,” he alluded to himself, then pointing to the other members of the group while giving their names, “and this is Chris, Paul, Jeff, and Jim.”

“I mean, we know who you guys are, but it’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Carolyn replied. Y/N nodded in agreement.

“Come and sit down! Make yourselves comfortable. We don’t bite,” Jeff joked, motioning to the open chairs. The girls smiled and accepted his invitation, Y/N taking a seat between Jeff Beck and Jim McCarty, while Carolyn took a seat between Keith Relf and Chris Dreja. The chairs were arranged in a circular formation, so each person could talk to the other with ease.

“Tell us about yourselves!” Paul initiated, “I think Y/N should go first though, because you haven’t said too much yet,” he laughed at the last part. Y/N giggled (a little too idiotically for her own liking), but she felt herself become starstruck at how her name sounded coming from one of their voices.

Y/N clenched her cold, clammy hands in her lap as a method to ease her anxiety before starting with a smile. “Well, I’m from Saint Albans. This is our fourth time, I believe, coming to see a Yardbirds gig. Carolyn and I came to see you with Eric Clapton once, and then this is the third time with Jeff.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I guess I see where your favor lies in terms of guitarists,” Jeff responded playfully.

“I guess you’re right,” Y/N laughed, “I will admit that I love what you’ve done with the body of work. Clapton was a blues purist, which I respect, and he’s great, but I think your playing is much more interesting and unorthodox.”

Paul, Jim, and Jeff all raised their eyebrows at Y/N’s comment. They were impressed with how she understood their musicality.

“Are you a musician?” Jim asked Y/N.

“Not in your sense of the word,” Y/N chuckled, “But I’ve been playing the piano for most of my life, so I understand music. Probably more than your average female audience member,” she added with a grin.

“That’s so cool! Are you classically trained, or is it just a hobby?”

“Classically trained,” Y/N admitted to Jim shyly.

“Oh wow, so you’re the real deal,” Jeff added.

“I’m not a professional, so I’d say no,” Y/N laughed.

“You probably know more about music than all five of us combined!” Paul said.

“Well, I know that you know much more about the blues than me!” Y/N answered playfully.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Paul smiled at Y/N. She cursed herself in her mind for feeling weak at Paul’s simple sentiment, but tried to keep her composure as best she could.

The four of them, especially Jeff and Y/N, began to bond over their love for different musicians. Y/N expressed her love for Chet Atkins and his fingerpicking style, Scotty Moore’s lively soloing style, and Robert Johnson’s slide technique and open tunings, rendering the three men shocked at her knowledge on the subject. Y/N loved how easily Jeff could make her laugh, and how interested Paul and Jim were at whatever she had to say, significant or insignificant. Chris Dreja, who was in a little group with Keith and Carolyn, occasionally spaced out of his conversation to hear what Y/N had to say.

They bonded for about an hour and a half about everything and nothing, until Y/N abruptly realized that Tommy was probably waiting for a while outside for her and her friend. She apologized to the band profusely for such a sudden departure as she and Carolyn walked towards the door.

“Say you’ll come visit us again after the show?” Jeff called to Y/N as she turned towards him in the doorframe.

“Absolutely,” she smiled brightly.

---------

Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!!

Taglist: @y0uth--anasia @reincarnated70sbaby

[cosmicbash]

Kiss prompt 61!!! 👀🥰✨💖✨

61. Hands On The Other Person’s Back, Fingertips Pressing Under Their Top, Drawing Gentle Circles Against That Small Strip Of Bare Skin That Make Them Break The Kiss With A Gasp

When he first gets to the hotel all Marshall wants to do is rant.

The airport security was a nightmare, somebody fumbled his privacy and the paparazzi made traffic a disaster, he actually had to sneak into the fucking hotel through some crappy underground garage entrance but even then the escort could NOT stop asking him for an autograph and about his life. Usually a chat like that wouldn't be too annoying but after having cameras shoved in his face for the last hour and questions spit about what his intentions are behind being in LA, Marshall could care less about how this guy was his "biggest fan". He's also just short of throttling the dude when he keeps insisting on carrying his bag to his room for him, because the ulterior motive behind that is painfully obvious.

Why can't people just mind their fucking business for once?

Marshall should be thrilled right now, finally he's standing outside his hotel room door. The long journey from Detroit over at last.

Really his fingers should be fumbling in their rush to slide the keycard through its reader, instead of the sluggish search he gives for it inside his pocket. But he's really just worn down already.

"Hey." Even his voice sounds tired and unenthusiastic once he's stepping inside. Vision partially hidden by his cap and the hang of his head.

Colson's socked feet are the first thing he sees, white and big crossing the room with a matching yet somehow softer sounding. "Hey." Trailing behind them.

The rant and bitchy complaints are dancing on the tip of Marshall's tongue. Ready to slip out and relieve him of some of his frustration when Colson continues forward. A warm palm coming up to cup his face next, tilting his view up from the floor to his partner's own much taller gaze.

He doesn't need to be a brain surgeon to know what's coming.

Colson's lips slot over his own perfectly. Sealing together like the last two pieces needed to complete a puzzle. Colson's other hand is curling around his lower back. Snaking it's way up and underneath both layers of his clothes to slide hot and electric up his lower back and ground him down to the floor.

It's a needed touch because with how his own hands rise and cup the blonde's neck Marshall swears he might start floating away.

It's warm, and soft, and feels so much like home he swears he can taste the words on Colson’s lips.

"I missed you." "Welcome home." "It's okay."

Colson always knows exactly what to say, and how to say it withotu ever uttering a word. It's amazing. The older rapper could honestly stay there for hours, his eyes closed and tension fading with every slow brush of lips back and forth.

The need for oxygen always denies him that though, starting with a small ache in his lungs and climbing to a full on burn with how long Marshall ignores it.

It takes Colson moving his other hand down to join the one already on his back for him to finally give in. The sweet rub of small circles and what feels vaguely like hearts dipping lower and lower until he can't deny his body a shaky inhale, and gasp for more.

When they part, foreheads still pressed together and warm breath mingling Marshall finds that bitchy rant gone. Stolen maybe into Colson's own mouth during their kiss, a relaxed. "I love you." Sighing out of his mouth in its place.

[thegizka]

I See You Reflected In The Moon

Chapter 1:  Searching

When Renji wakes up and Rukia is gone, he braves the cold of a winter night to find her.

Read it on Ao3.

Renji awoke in the middle of a dark December night, his toes freezing beneath the ratty blanket which was doing its best to keep off the winter chill.  Normally he’d just roll over and try to fall back asleep, but he felt unsettled. He gave his eyes a few moments to adjust to the weak moonlight sneaking through the gaps in the roof before sitting up and scanning the room.

The makeshift dormitory for the Hanging Dog orphans offered limited protection from the outside elements, but it was enough to help most of them survive.  They had allotted the few bunks and warmer blankets for those that were ill, the rest of them huddling together for warmth on the floor. The older kids had decided long ago that lighting a fire inside was too dangerous and the smoke would be detrimental for those who were sick.  So far they had managed to survive the cold, but none of them would call the arrangement ideal.

He scanned the sleeping forms of his friends.  Someone was missing. There was a conspicuous gap in the center of their huddle.  It was uncommon but not unheard of for someone to slip away in the middle of the night and disappear.  The Hanging Dog orphans had an unspoken pact to look out for each other, but their bonds were usually shallow, founded simply on self-preservation.  If someone chanced upon an opportunity to improve their standard of living and move to a better district, he or she would simply leave. No one begrudged them their chance at something better; there was an unspoken understanding that any of them would take that opportunity if it came.

Renji used to think like that, too, until she came.   Rukia .  Something about her had shaken his world, imperceptibly altered his way of looking at life.  He had had friends amongst the other orphans, but Rukia had somehow made them a family. Finding food and caring for each other were no longer acts of self-preservation but duties of compassion.  Her spiritedness was magnetic, and she pulled them into the vortex of her will until they reshaped their reality through the lense of hope she insisted on looking through. She showed them theirs could be lives worth living, that they were precious to each other, and because she had given them this family, she was the most precious of all.

That was why he felt so unsettled.  Rukia was the one missing.

She wouldn’t leave them for something better, would she?  She had insisted many times that she would not leave them.  Even after the discovery of her incredible spiritual pressure and control, she had promised she had no intention of becoming a Soul Reaper, even though it would guarantee her a warm bed, food, and some level of status.  But if she had actually been approached by a recruiter, if she was actually faced with this choice, would she really stay? She had insisted they each had a better future before them. What if hers meant leaving them behind?

Renji could feel his chest constricting at the thought of never seeing her again.  He was still just distrustful enough to think she might go back on her word. He couldn’t help expecting it, though his cynicism wouldn’t make it hurt any less if it was true.  She had become indispensable and irreplaceable. She was the nucleus of their makeshift family. If she left, their hope would be shattered.

But she had given them no reason to doubt her.  There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her current absence.  Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep without some sort of answer, he got up and picked his way across the cold floor, his years of scraping out survival in this crumbling building helping him avoid the squeaking boards and rusting nails.  He made it to the door without disturbing anyone else. He pulled a pair of thick socks from a grungy pile--the best they could get to protect their feet from the snow. They had also converted some of their scavenged blankets into cloaks, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to venture very far into the night.  He decided he could do without one for this excursion.

They had taken to propping a large board against the doorway to help the drape which normally served as a door keep out the worst of the winter.  Renji noted it had been pushed aside just enough for a Rukia-sized individual to slip through. It could mean any number of things, but he felt very cold, and it wasn’t all from the frosty air seeping into their home.  He moved the board away as quietly as he could so he could follow her into the night, sliding it back into place behind him.

It was deep enough into the night for the frost to have a strong grip on the outside world.  It was chilly enough for Renji to momentarily regret leaving the cloak inside, but when he spotted the slight difference in texture of the frost on the ground he dismissed his discomfort.  There was a trail of footprints heading out into the yard. The route was familiar, and as soon as he saw the direction, he released an unintentional sigh of relief in a billow of steam. He knew where she was.

Rukia liked sitting in the gnarled old tree that was the only semi-living thing in their yard.  Renji suspected she just liked that it made her taller than everyone, and also that it gave her a degree of privacy when she needed it.  It was such a strange place to hang out that she could sit there for hours without anyone thinking to look for her there. Renji often caught sight of her tucked into the crook of a branch watching them go about their lives with a thoughtful look on her face.  She was less guarded in these moments, softer, letting the raging determination of her will fade. She was vulnerable and young. She had barrelled into their lives and given them unstoppable hope, but she also shouldered the burden of that hope. He could see how much energy it required to keep encouraging everyone else, so he let her keep these hours of semi-solitude and left her to her thoughts.  She deserved at least that much for all she did for them.

He was inclined to do the same now, satisfied that she was afe, but he lingered for a moment.  Rukia was perched in the tree like some strange bird, wrapped up in a cloak so only her head was free to the elements.  Her dark hair was covered by a hideous hat he and his friends had pooled their together to buy for her birthday. It was handmade by a woman barely better off than they were who sold her feeble creations to make some semblance of a living.  It was constructed with some strangely colored yarn that was mostly purple but also peppered with oranges and greens and pinks. There was also a touch of sparkles to it, just enough for her eyes to light up when they presented it to her. She wore it every time she went out in the cold.  She might even genuinely love it.

Despite the warmth of the hat and the cloak, Rukia’s cheeks were dusted pink from the chilly air.  There was still a ghost of a smile on her lips, and her large violet eyes glittered like the frost when it caught the weak moonlight, though her eyelids were drooping with fatigue.  She was the image of tranquility. Renji couldn’t help but note how cute she looked, even in that strange hat and ratty cloak. It was like the moment they were fishing in the river at sunset and she got distracted by the flowers floating by in the current.  These moments were wholly insignificant, noteworthy only because Renji was caught off guard by how unguarded she was. They were still too young to have any fully formed ideas about love, but he grew suddenly warm and ached in a way that wasn’t physical. He only knew that whatever the future held, he wanted to see Rukia happy like this as much as possible.

But really, she probably shouldn’t be falling asleep perched in a tree in the middle of a winter night.  Her eyes were nearly fully closed, eyelids only fluttering half-heartedly as a corner of her brain told her to stay awake.  Gravity had pulled her chin down into her chest and the warm folds of the cloak. If she shifted much more, it would pull her down to the frozen earth.  It was time to step in before that happened.

“You’ll probably freeze to death if you sleep out here.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she wobbled a bit as the shock woke her up.  A teeny tiny part of him was disappointed she didn’t topple out of her perch as she was incredibly difficult to surprise normally, but she also had incredible reflexes.  He would have to settle for the momentary look of wild surprise that crossed her face before she realized it was him.

“Renji!  What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that.  It’s freezing!”

“You should’ve grabbed a cloak, dummy.”  Her violet eyes glinted with amusement as she watched him shiver below her.

“Well I’m not crazy and go wandering around in the middle of the night during the winter.”

She just hummed in response and turned her gaze to the moon.  He should’ve been annoyed, but it was so rare to have a conversation with Rukia alone that he didn’t want it to be over so quickly, even if he was freezing his butt off.  He simply waited for what she would say next.

“What do you suppose the moon is?”

“Huh?”  The question was so random he couldn’t think of any other response.

“The moon,” she repeated, glancing down at his bewildered face.  “What is it?”

To be honest, Renji had never given it much thought.  He knew its name and he knew it came up at night to replace the sun.  Beyond that, it wasn’t particularly relevant to his life so he didn’t spare it another thought.  Rukia’s question seemed ridiculous.

“It’s just the moon.  What else is it supposed to be?”

“But what is it made of?  Is it alive? Is it friendly?”

“Wha- Is it friendly ?”  He looked at her like she had sprouted a second head.  Was the cold making her crazy? “What are you talking about?”

“Someone told me a story once,” she replied softly.  “The sun and moon were lovers, a goddess and a god who traveled the skies together, until one day the moon god killed another goddess.  The sun was so angry, she refused to share the sky with him, and no matter how hard he tries, the moon can never catch up with her to apologize.”

“Huh.”  Renji thought it all rather strange.  If the moon really was a god, he thought, he ought to have the ability to trap the sun or catch up to her somehow.  He had been under the impression that gods were capable of anything. And why would he travel along the same path every night?  It was too ridiculous. But Rukia seemed to be giving it some serious consideration. It was surprising from someone who was normally so down-to-earth.

“Whoever told you that story must have had a great imagination.”

“Maybe…”  She looked a little troubled.  “I can’t remember who it was.”

They fell silent for a moment, pondering the moon, searching its blotchy surface for some clue as to the truth of its being.

“But what if something like that is true?” Rukia asked suddenly, picking up the idea again.  “What if there really are gods governing this world? What does that mean for us?”

“Rukiaaa.”  He could practically feel his brain splitting from the idea.  “It’s the middle of the night. It’s also freezing .  Can’t you do this some other time?”

She looked at him and laughed.  There were few things as beautiful as Rukia’s laugh.  It almost warmed him up enough to ease the knots she had tied in his brain.  She jumped down from her perch and began walking back to the dorm, still chuckling.  Renji forced his frozen legs to follower her, looking forward to the warmth indoors.

Right before they ducked inside, Rukia turned to take a final look at the moon.  Its light reflected in her eyes and shone on her face, making her skin sparkle like the frost around them.  The sight of her took Renji’s breath away. Or it could simply have been the cold.

He couldn’t help sighing through his teeth as they slid the makeshift door closed, relieved to have finally made it out of the sharp cold of the winter.

“Sh!” Rukia hissed.

“It feels like I’m being stabbed with needles all over,” he whimpered quietly.  It was a painful price to pay to warm up. He rubbed his arms and legs to speed up the process.  Rukia rolled her eyes, but she smirked at his discomfort.

“That’s what you get for being an idiot.”

“ I’m the idiot?  You’re the one who was sitting outside in the cold!”

“But I brought the right equipment,” she countered, dropping her cloak onto the pile by the door.

“Whatever.”  He shivered. “I’m going to bed.”

He picked his way across the rough floor and between the sleeping bodies to his discarded blanket.  He wrapped it tightly around himself and curled up, desperate for what little warmth the covering provided.  He tried to ignore his shivering, breath hissing through his chattering teeth, willing himself to relax enough to sleep.  He needed to rest and preserve his energy as the usual chores always seemed twice as difficult in the winter. As one of the older kids responsible for more of their needs, it would be difficult for everyone if he got sick.

After a few minutes of struggling and shivering, an extra blanket dropped over him and a warm back lay down against his.  He froze, the surprise chasing some of the uncontrollable shakes away.

“Goodnight Renji,” he heard Rukia whisper behind him.

Warmth was leaking through his body.  His cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“Goodnight Rukia.”

A few minutes later, they were both asleep.

[alifeasvivid]

Soaked Through, a slightly angsty human au drabble

It’s USUK-ish because it’s a human AU and Alfred is 16 and Arthur is 20 and already gone off to college. It’s just pinpricks of light on the horizon, a subconscious realization of nothing more than potential.

Rating: T+ Warnings: Alfred’s underage but see above. No romantic or sexual content. Word count: 1150ish Summary: Arthur is home in Portland from his second year of university. As usual, it’s raining. As usual, Alfred is being Alfred. As usual, Arthur is very out of touch with his own emotions.

I hope you like it!

Laughter bounces off the sound of raindrops and floats in through the slightly open window on the musty smell of wet cement. Twenty year old Arthur Kirkland would know the sound of that laughter anywhere. He knows it almost as well as he knows his own. The sound thrills him the way it has since he and his family moved to Portland when he was eleven, but at the same time it makes him regret coming home from university for the summer.

Because it’s odd, isn’t it? It’s odd that the annoying little boy across the street, the little boy who ran to greet the Kirklands as soon as he saw the moving truck pull up, the little boy who tagged along after Arthur like a hopeful puppy for all of their adolescence, the little boy Arthur left behind at the end of the summer before last, is now a young man. It’s odd that he’s taller than Arthur now, even though he’s only sixteen. It’s odd that his jaw is defined and his shoulders have filled out. It’s odd that Alfred F. Jones grew up almost entirely when Arthur hadn't been looking, like a bean spout, Arthur's mother had said. It’s odd that his laugh sparkles the same even though his voice broke awhile ago.

And more than anything, the way it makes Arthur feel is odd. It’s a feeling that shifts gently and just out of reach underneath the glow of nostalgia and warm affection for a childhood friend.

Surely it’s only because seeing Alfred so grown up means that Arthur can no longer convincingly call himself a child anymore either. That’s what Arthur tells himself.

It’s still so odd.

Yet Alfred is not yet that grown up if the way he’s whirling about in the street is any indication. Alfred loves the rain, which Arthur supposes is lucky considering they live in the Pacific Northwest, but which he has always thought to be rather out of character since Alfred is sunshine personified.

It’s pouring now, so Arthur has to shut the window. The gutters along the sidewalk fill up and Arthur dares to look up from his book and down to the street where Alfred is barefoot, kicking water out of the gutters, and laughing at the splash. His jeans are rolled up around his calves, but that’s all Arthur can make out.

Arthur realizes that he hasn’t really spent much time with Alfred since he went off to university. They used to spend all summer together, but eighteen year old Arthur had wanted nothing to do with an “immature child” like fourteen year old Alfred before he left for his first year and he had spent the summer after his second year abroad.

That undercurrent of emotion shifts again, still out of reach, but it washes up briefly against Arthur’s heart like a stray wave from a tide that hasn’t come in yet and before he can even think, he throws down his book, tugs off his socks and runs down the stairs and out the front door.

The door closes a little too hard behind him and Alfred stops splashing and turns to Arthur with the same beaming grin that seven year old Alfred had greeted the moving truck with. He waves and says something, but it’s hard to hear over the torrential downpour, so Arthur moves toward him, cold water sloshing around his feet as if to sweep him away.

“Hey, stranger!” Alfred says brightly and now Arthur can see that he’s only wearing a blue t-shirt with his jeans. He can also see that with Alfred’s usual hoodie absent, the boy is still very gangly. His shoulders have come in, but not the rest of his torso and his jawline is there, but his cheeks are still just a little bit pudgy.

In the next second, Arthur throws his arms around Alfred and it surprises them both.

Alfred laughs again, awkwardly this time, and Arthur feels it more than hears it as Alfred's arms loosely, tentatively drape around him. “D’ya actually miss me while you were at school this time?”

“Apparently,” Arthur says because it seems like the most neutral way to answer.

“And here I thought I’d been demoted from best friend to ‘that annoying neighbor kid.’”

“You have been,” Arthur mumbles on an exasperated sigh that Alfred knows well enough by now means it’s a joke, even if Arthur almost wishes it could be true. No one at school makes him smile or feel at ease like Alfred does, but it’s nothing more than the comfort of someone familiar, right?

“Hey! That is totally not fair. I just got my driver’s license last month and everything!”

“Is that supposed to disprove my point? You don’t even have your own car.”

“Low blow!" Alfred pouts, but rather than pull back from Arthur, he hugs him more tightly. "I’ve got one in the garage, it just doesn’t work yet, which you’d know if you ever came outside. I’m fixing it myself. I told my moms that I don’t want them to just give me one."

Arthur can't help but smile a little at that one. "Liar. Your mothers told you they weren't going to give you one. You're not fooling anyone by trying to seem like an upstanding son. You forget I already know what hell you've put them through."

Alfred laughs, but lower now, and it rumbles through Arthur's body rather than glistening in his ears. "Hey, just checking." He rests his forehead on Arthur's shoulder, holds him even tighter. "It's boring here without you, you know."

"Tosh," Arthur scoffs, even as his fingers cling to Alfred's t-shirt. "There's not a single doubt in my mind that you are the most popular person at school and I'm certain you're involved in all sorts of extracurriculars."

Alfred sighs. "Yeah, but... they don't know me. Not like you do."

Arthur freezes on the realization that Alfred shares his odd bereft feeling, but he chuckles and shakes his head. "You're only sixteen, Alfred, how much is there to know?"

Arthur then feels Alfred's brow furrow against his shoulder. The rain is the only sound in the entire world even as the rest of time suspends around them. Alfred answers so softly that Arthur almost can't hear him, "More than you think, okay?" There's another pause, but it's less loaded. "And anyway, you're only twenty."

Arthur swallows as he thinks of Alfred walking through the hallways of the same high school from which Arthur has already graduated and how his own life is already so much... wider than Alfred's. The four years between them seem so much longer than they ever have before. "Even so," he murmurs, but doesn't finish the thought.

As he stands there, in the middle of the street he spent half of his childhood on, soaked and entangled in a drenched embrace with his childhood best friend, Arthur feels warm despite the rain. He feels anchored, solid and content; there’s no danger of being swept away. It's just very odd. He wonders if that seemingly vast four year gap will shrink in two years when Alfred turns eighteen.

The feeling that accompanies that thought is the oddest of all.

I hope that you liked it! Likes are love. Reblogs are life

[thatmexisaurusrex]

The Shotgun Angel: Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: THE DEVIL’S DEN

  She was a good deal taller than six foot. From what Pearl could gander, almost seven feet. She, like Ortega, felt too perfectly put together to be real. A cloud of black hair, no loose threads on here maxi dress over a white turtleneck, vibrant stockings with thick socks and doc martens. She shouldn’t look so on point. Not with a hodgepodge outfit like that. Yet so she did, standing aloof behind Noel, following her like a lost puppy hoping for scraps.

“We need coupled blood for the look up, give me your blood,” Noel demanded at the priest and the fallen angel, flailing a knife at them casually and gesturing with a particularly copper bowl.

Like that was a normal thing to do.

“What,” was the only thing Pearl could muster before the priest interrupted with a groan.

“Again? Seriously? I feel like we should just ring out a pint every other month so that you don’t have to ask us every time you want to locate people,” grumbled Iker.

“Coupled? What does coupled mean?” Pearl asked, something in her brain short-circuiting.

Ortega curled his arms around the priest like a bad joke, like snakes on prey, eyes lingering on the man who leaned into his touch.

“We called each other our own gods,” boomed Ortega with a tantalizing grin, the priest choking on his own spit.

“That’s not what we did,” panicked Iker.

“Did I not kneel upon the alter of your shrine, invoking eternal and absolute love and devotion to your being?” growled Ortega, which, wow, were all angels this intense, “Bowing to you as my new religion, revoking my rite to holy power and immortality to be at your beck and call, as are you to me?”

Iker looked away as if shy.

“Can we not talk about this here,” he murmured, “It doesn’t help with how we look amongst the children.”

“We are gods to each other, my dear, to follow to the end of our days, and there is no shame to show love. We are stronger when we show and accept our emotions near the children,” drawled the fallen angel.

Noel waved the copper bowl and the knife, rolling her eyes.

“We going to talk about eternal love and happiness or whatever or are we getting this show on the road – they got married for a case, by the way. They just never got divorced afterwards. It’s helpful but also so annoying,” remarked Noel.

Iker grabbed the knife, doing a few impressive tricks before pricking himself and the fallen angel, allowing a few of droplets into the copper bowl. He wiped off the knife, tossing it back at Noel in an honestly unsafe way, but the cursed woman caught the knife and ushered for Pearl to take it as well.

“Excuse me?” Pearl queried.

“He’s your brother. To track him I need some blood from you too,” explained Noel.

Reluctantly, Pearl grabbed the knife. It felt lighter than Pearl assumed, and looking closer, there seemed to be runes etched into the edge. Pearl pricked her finger, allowing a few drips to flow down, mixing in with the blood already there.

Noel bounded about the place as if she commanded rooms, gathering strange herbs in weird hidden spots.

“Stop hiding your things around the place like a strange hoarder or a sneaky thief,” half-heartedly yelled Iker, “Just choose a cubby or something.”

Noel headed back, crushing whatever mess she was making with her bare hands.

“I don’t know, like, a good handful of those words. I mean, what even is a cubby?” grumbled Noel, tossing a lit match into the mash as white smoke bloomed from the bowl, going straight into her eyes and Pearl still wondered if what she said about not being a demon was true.

Noel wobbled, Dru reminding Pearl she was in the room by keeping the young woman steady on her feet. It made Pearl jump. But no one cared about Pearl’s reaction, though. Noel rested her head on Dru’s shoulder, frowning.

“Well. He’s in Hades House,” said Noel.

Pearl wouldn’t have said the room was exactly a pleasant atmosphere before, but the room’s tension felt as thick as a trifle now. Iker stomped towards his office.

“I’m going with you,” said Iker.

“What? No. I can do this. I don’t need a keeper,” said Noel.

“Iker, she can work a case,” said Ortega, stopping Iker, holding his arm, “You don’t do cases anymore.”

“But its Hades House,” growled Iker.

Noel shook off whatever fears her frown hid before, shoulders stiff as she glared at the Iker, grabbing Pearl and Dru as she backed them both towards the door.

“Yeah, so? Been there before. It’ll be no problem. Better than stepping into an unknown devil’s den,” said Noel.

“Don’t worry too much, I’ll be there for her,” said Dru, chiming in for the first time since she woke up from whatever bizarre coma she was in.

Noel pulled them out of that chapel into the streets, the children from before gaggling and giggling as they watched the three leave. There were a lot of those, weren’t there? Strange little children scurrying about the place. Noel swung around, keeping her hold on Dru as she walked to the left, deeper into New Town, down narrower streets.

“What’s this about Hades House?” asked Pearl, “And devil’s dens?”

There was a rage simmering in Pearl. She loathed this. Not knowing things. She made it a point to never be at the mercy of another person, yet here she was, being dragged deeper into what could possibly be a dangerous trap.

“They’re places where darkness lurks,” Noel explained, “Where daemons make their human homes, where deals are made to particularly powerful people. It’s a horrorfest. Best to keep close, for nothing good comes of them.”

Dru nudged Noel.

“I wouldn’t say nothing good comes of them. I met you in Hades House, after all,” hummed Dru.

And for a moment, Noel smiled wistfully up at her shotgun angel. As if she were human. As if emotions can be held in those topaz eyes. That poor girl was either pitifully naïve or obtusely ignorant. Angels could have no such emotions, even if that fallen angel Ortega seemed to be an exception to the rule. Pearl almost felt sorry for Noel.

“Yeah. I guess I did,” Noel said before clearing her throat, turning to Pearl as she added, “But I’m the exception to the rule, okay? Trust me, no good comes of them.”

The first thing that felt wrong was how pristine the building was amongst all the clatter. A tall, smooth, black obelisk of a building with fire spelling out the words “HADES HOUSE” atop, fire lighting the way to the front door. Pearl glanced over to Dru and Noel, hoping for some sort of guidance.

“So, we walk?” asked Dru.

“What? No. Never. Never walk through the front door – I keep telling you that,” said Noel.

Dru rolled her eyes. As if she could be annoyed.

“You keep saying that. It always feels rude,” Dru responded.

“Well, we’re not going for a visit and a cup of tea, are we? No. This is a wreck them up sneak attack, in and out,” said Noel, pulling them around the building carefully.

Dru was noticeably awkward in her sneaking about, despite how graceful her movements seemed to be up until then. Maybe it was the whole sneaking around thing? Pearl was sure angels rarely had to do such things. They never had to with the powers they have. Noel faltered, pausing for a moment and patting herself down, tossing Pearl a breathing mechanism.

“Wear the mask. It’ll filter miasma out,” Noel said.

Dru froze, gazing down at the mask.

“Miasma? I thought that only happened in films,” stuttered Pearl.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s how it is up there in Old Town. Very cushy, good for you. Unless you want long term magicks poisoning, wear that mask,” said Noel pointedly.

Pearl grumbled, positioning the ugly mask and adjusting the straps. It felt…filtered. The gross stale kind that one could smell in the particularly old buildings that hadn’t kept up to date on their air systems.

“Why aren’t you two wearing masks?” asked Pearl.

“Oh. Right. Well, angels have no need of it and, um…due to my particular cursing, miasma doesn’t impact me like most humans,” explained Noel, suddenly stiff, “Too much talk. We’re going in. Follow close. Stay near Dru, she’ll protect you.”

Dru gave an empty smile to Pearl that Pearl guessed was supposed to comfort her, but only made her feel worse about this whole situation. To be watched over by an angel? What a monstrous thought. But there didn’t seem to be any other option but to continue on through with them, close to the strange shotgun angel and the cursed woman.

It was gaudier than Pearl expected. Like some sort of hell-themed funhouse, with bright colors and strobing lights. Whatever mooks drew the short straw for back door duty looked like they dressed circus goes punk, intense exaggerated makeup and sharp yet tule-heavy varied uniforms, like someone went to an abandoned carnival and was told to make clothes out of the broken mirrors and leftover costumes.

One stood up, a man with a fuzzy hat and a tiger-onesy, pulling down his mirrored sunglasses as he blew technicolor smoke from his glass straw. Pearl wondered if this idiot was in charge of the rest of the band around.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t lil’ Noel Baird. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Heard you’re making a name for yourself. Whispers on the street,” he said.

Noel didn’t respond. There was a guttural noise, raw and instinctual, as she moved swift, punching the man straight in the throat. He choked for a second, stumbling, gargling, and falling on his back. His friends stood up, twirling their glass straws as they grew longer into glass-like beacons, like horns, horned instruments, something to blow through.

“No, don’t start,” the man tried to warn his cronies before they all began blowing that rainbow smoke like continuous soap bubbles, a woman with half a tutu, half an intricately woven golden clown costume bringing her hands up as she started ruminating words, pulling out a spell.

Spells were usually so innocuous. Blessings by street artists to make money off of crowds. Short films. Hallucinations of a summer day in a desert of red sand. Floating for just a moment. Pearl didn’t know what was happening here. She’d never seen such a spell before. It hurt to look at it.

Noel sucked in the rainbow smoke like a vacuum, the woman starting her spell convulsing and going into shock. For a moment she kept it in, held it as the people around stared in horror.

“Oh halos and harps, she’s a Sin Eater,” a woman with a one-armed, one-legged full body suit announced, horrified, her glass horn wilting back into a thin glass straw.

Miasma. That was what it was, wasn’t it? The rainbow. Daemon magicks. Miasma. They tried to flee. Pearl was sure of it. The only one smart enough to scramble a mask on was the first man who tried to warn the others, the one who knew Noel. Maybe he was able to because he knew this would be coming. The others had no chance, did they? And just like that, Noel blew the miasma straight at them, skin flaying in her wake, all of them crumbling in pain on the ground.

“You’re sick, you know that?” the man on the ground managed to cough, still impacted despite his mask, “To your own people.”

“You’re not my people,” Noel said, stepping over him and continuing onward, Dru pulling Peal away from the carnage in this room.

They stormed quietly through maze-like hallways that didn’t seem to have any normal logic to them, though, somehow Noel knew the way with ease. Maybe it was a disconnect. She was of daemon, even if she denounced it. How could a human swallow miasma like that and shoot it back out? What even was a “Sin Eater”?

They finally reached a door at the end of a diagonal hallway, ducking away from it and stopping. Noel gave Dru a glance, a talk amongst eyes, before Dru grabbed hold of Pearl. Pearl yelped. She heard of an angel’s touch before, sure. She heard about the odd tingly sensation that could come from it, but she didn’t expect it to feel like constant static shock. Pearl squirmed under the surprise of small pain. But neither Noel nor Dru seemed to care. Noel opened the door, hopping down.

When Dru pulled Pearl in too, that was when Pearl realized the gravity felt off, falling to the ceiling of a gold-plated throne room decorated with gem plant sculptures. He was there. Aria. With his stupid expensive quaff and elaborate three-piece suit. And in front of him, a woman with the most spectacular green eyes, like a grassy knoll. Green. Pearl wondered if green was something in all daemon’s eyes. Or simply a coincidence.

The woman was all muscles. A wall draped in an outfit that seemed made of a big top tent itself. She sat on a chair of funhouse mirrors, arms opening as she noticed the intrusion, smile filled with graded down sharp teeth. Noel stepped forward, glaring.

There was something familiar between the woman and Noel. A flicker between the eyes. Of pain, of hope, of humoring the other – both taking a beat before the lava cooled and malice set in between the two. Pearl wondered if this were a different world, then they would talk like it was normal, work out whatever those looks meant. But there obviously was no wiggle room in this world.

“The Baird child. We’ve missed you. Did you come for the price on your own head? How devious of you, I might have underestimated your gumption,” she said.

Pearl knew she should be paying attention or something, but all she could think about was Aria being stupid, kneeling on the ground, gazing upon this strange green-eyed woman with rapt awe.

“You really think that, Mara? That’s what you’re reading from the situation?” spat Noel.

Mara sighed, kicking Aria to the side casually. He toppled over, rolling several times. Pearl moved to do something, anything, but Dru kept her in place.

“I was hoping you’d grown smarter since then. I thought angels were supposed to be galaxy brains or something dumb like that,” Mara bemoaned, “Azazel won’t like this. He wasn’t happy before, but this? In his own abode? You insult him? Oh, you thought it was dangerous before. Let’s see what he does now.”

Noel shrugged, too casual, like she wasn’t scared of this woman. How could she not be scared? How could she be so cool near some daemon? She even looked like she was enjoying this.

“Oh, I’ve gotten smarter. Something I’ve learned from smaller devil dens is that people without your prowess, without your level of Miasma intake? They keep pockets to break over time. They save up and use wisely, unlike the house of gluttony you run,” explained Noel, “They have to, you see, with their limited resources, their lesser scaled magicks.”

Mara was definitely bored now.

“Your point?” groaned Mara.

“It’s like you always told me,” Noel said, circling the daemon, adjusting her stance, signing something so quickly Pearl wasn’t sure if that was ASL or just nervous ticks.

Noel snapped, electricity flowing from a miasma circle surrounding the daemon. Noel grinned for a moment, victorious, seeing Mara roar in pain. She was definitely loving this. There was something in her. There had to be something in her. It horrified Pearl, she knew Noel was not right.

Whatever success Noel earned was short, the ring of lightning quickly dissipating around Mara. Mara growled, turning to a surprised Noel as the lightning soaks into Noel much like the miasma did for Noel back in that first room.

“You spoiled, ungrateful child,” boomed Mara, her hand slapping Noel over.

Like a ragdoll. She flew, broken in the air, hitting the wall hard. Too hard. Deathly hard. She wasn’t moving on the ground. Was she even breathing? Did Pearl make a mistake choosing Noel’s services?

[ridiasfangirlings]

A strain is on the loose that turns cloths into gothic lolita style cue all s4 uniforms replaced with gothic lolita

I like the idea that all this Strain’s power does is make everyone’sclothes into lolita-style and so in the meantime everyone’s perfectlyokay to go about their normal business otherwise, meaning all theother criminal Strains in the city get to find themselves corneredsuddenly by the members of Scepter 4 drawing their swords and tryingto look serious and threatening while wearing big poofy skirts andpetticoats and possibly bows and wrist cuffs and the whole thing.Maybe the power just turns clothes into lolita-style in general, notjust gothic, and the Strain manages to attack all of Scepter 4 so fora while the office is just a mix of all kinds of different styles.The alphabet boys actually get off the easiest and end up with rathernice-looking military style lolita one piece dresses and coats(actually I’ve seen a couple pieces from some Taobao stores inparticular that would make amazing Scepter 4-inspired lolitacoordinates), the hardest part is that it’s difficult to carry asword around when you’ve got a big floofy petticoat in the way.Hidaka in particular looks pretty ridiculous because he’s so tall,his knee high socks don’t even go all the way over his knees and thebig chunky heels he’s wearing make him even taller. Akiyama andBenzai are both beautiful elegant lolitas, the two of them are likesitting at their desk drinking tea and discussing while Benzai’s hairfloats gently in the breeze and they look like elegant princesses.Enomoto handles the whole thing the best because he’s done maidcosplay before that has prepared him for walking around in a skirtand petticoat. Gotou is the one member who does end up in a totalgothic lolita ensemble and he looks vaguely like a cursed doll fromsome horror film. Doumyouji keeps complaining about his petticoatbeing annoying and he almost tears his dress a couple times, Kamo hasto follow him around and remind him to be more mindful of the fabric.

Meanwhile, assuming the Strain’s power can make many different typesof lolita clothes that means of course that Fushimi ends up in somesort of wonderful sweet style monstrosity that looks like whatAngelic Pretty might vomit up after a three week sugar binge, hisskirt is covered in unicorns and candies and he has an enormous pinkhead-eating bow on his head and his petticoat is probably full ofknives. Fushimi hates this more than anyone else because people keeptelling him how cute he looks (right until he pulls a knife and thenhe’s suddenly much less cute). He storms around the office in chunkyshoes with giant pink bows on them and his socks have a print ofsugar cookies in the shape of knives, and the only thing ruining theimage is the look of promised murder on his face.

For Awashima, since all the guys ended up in lolita dresses maybeAwashima gets to wear like a total ouji ensemble and she looksmagnificent and dashing, Awashima is a little disappointed that shedidn’t get to wear the cute clothes but on the other hand she’sactually got pants now and that’s a plus. Munakata of course is alsoin gothic lolita and he’s probably totally over the top old schoolabout it, like huge black bows and maybe a black bonnet on his head.He decorates the office with black roses and low lighting forambiance and his petticoats rustle regally with every step. Maybe forextra accessory purposes he’s holding like this little doll, justimagine him sitting at his desk in a full gothic lolita outfit andholding something like a child’s doll in his lap, the alphabet squadkeep having to try and stop staring at it while giving their reportsand they all agree that it looks a little bit like a gothic lolitaFushimi doll but no one wants to be the one to tell Fushimi that.(Elsewhere, Zenjoh locks himself in the records room, wearing a palepink jumperskirt and blouse combo with his big broad shoulders andthere’s a huge bow in his hair and he is just not enough of a willowybishounen to pull this off at all sadly.)