#and not to rustle any feathers but it also does happen here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peppered-moths · 1 month ago

Text

allies or enemies (or a secret third thing)

ao3 link

cw: one (1) scar-typical innuendo

So, here’s the thing, right. There’s only one bed. Jimmy doesn’t mind–honestly!--but it gets… cramped. Especially with three of them. Oh, they’ve tried, but it’s like doing a puzzle on a tiny raft in the middle of the ocean. Somebody’s always getting kicked in the face, or elbowed in the gut, or (on one notable occasion) the bed lighting on fire because somebody placed a torch too close to it. No naming names. So, yeah. It’s not exactly ideal.

Their solution, which works well enough if you ask Jimmy, is this:

One person gets the bed. (This is rotated daily. However, bed privileges are often traded in exchange for doing menial tasks like mining, or making sure Scar’s rollercoaster still works.)

One person gets to sleep on the ground. (Somehow, not the worst? Jimmy thinks he’ll end up with a bad back eventually, but that’s a future problem.)

One person keeps watch. (Should they be rotating this throughout the night? Yes. But it’s a formality… for now.)

If it works, it works. And it does! Promise! Jimmy really couldn’t be happier with this arrangement.

It’s only once they’ve settled in, after the first week, that he starts noticing… problems.

—

It’s Scar’s night with the bed. Really, it was supposed to be Jimmy’s. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that Scar was an expert salesman, and had been swindled into giving it up for… twelve bamboo and a couple of cherry blossoms. Utter junk.

So there he is, stewing a little bit as Scar settles into bed with what Jimmy thinks are obnoxiously contented sighs. Lizzie’s already half asleep, curled up in the cherry blossoms, even though she’s supposed to be keeping watch.

Just as he resigns himself to a chilly night, there’s a rustle behind him that’s not pink bedsheets or pink flowers. No, instead it sounds like… feathers. Jimmy narrows his eyes.

He shuffles around, making as little noise as possible. And, yep, there’s Grian, wings tucked in close to his body, creeping towards the three of them. What is he doing here? He’s still dark green, there’s nothing he can do to any of them. There’s no sword in his hand, or TNT, or–Jimmy squints–any creeper following him up the mountain. It’s just… Grian.

And then there’s another rustle, and this time it really is from the bed. Scar sits up, hair mussed and eyes bright even in the dark. He’s staring right at Grian.

Jimmy doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not for Scar to lift a corner of the pink sheet in a silent invitation. And he definitely doesn’t expect Grian to take him up on that offer, curling close to Scar in the bed with an ease that feels almost practiced. Jimmy blinks a couple of times, as if he might be hallucinating.

No, Grian’s definitely still there, one wing spread over the bed like a downy blanket. It’s… weird, yeah, definitely, but there’s also… not really anything wrong with it? Obviously, if they were conspiring or something, that’d be a whole other thing. But it really looks like they’re just sleeping.

Jimmy closes his eyes back to slits. He’ll just… keep an eye on them. Or something. After all, this is probably a one time thing.

—

It was not a one time thing.

“That pillow smells like waffles,” Scar tells him confidentially, “I’d know it anywhere.”

“He’s sleeping here even when you’re not?” Jimmy blurts, before he remembers he’s not supposed to know anything about that. That being the several nights Grian has wound up on top of the mountain, in the bed they share. Only when Scar is there, of course.

Nevertheless, Scar seems to take it in stride. “Well, you know how it is!”

No. No, he definitely doesn’t.

Still, he doesn’t say anything when Grian creeps back into Scar’s bed that night, pretends he doesn’t hear them talking in hushed voices (though he certainly can’t make out what they’re saying). He could only imagine what would happen if Lizzie found out.

Jimmy is woken up by her shriek. He blinks, blearily, up at the moon, which is still very high in the sky, and mourns the rest of his sleep for a long moment. Then he refocuses on the situation.

Grian is sitting bolt upright in the bed, wings flared out and eyes wide and shiny in the moonlight. Scar has tumbled off, and is propped up on one elbow, also staring.

Lizzie stares back at them, mouth wide open. She whirls on Jimmy.

“Did you know about this?”

He does the best to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Know wh–”

“That he was sneaking,” Grian groans and faceplants into the pillow, “around here at night? That he was–oh, I don’t know, stealing! Or something!”

“I don’t think he’s stealing,” Scar says thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed.” Grian mumbles something into the pillow that Jimmy can’t make out. Lizzie wheels back around to point a finger at Scar.

“You! Don’t talk! You’re fraternizing with the enemy!”

“...Is he the enemy?” Jimmy wonders. “We haven’t really had any problems with these guys yet.”

“Fra– fraber– fasternizing seems like a very strong word.”

“I didn’t ask you!”

“Lizzie,” he says. “It’s late. Like, really late. Can we deal with this in the morning?”

“And let him stay?”

“C’mon, can’t a guy just sleep with his buddy?” Scar pipes up from the ground. Jimmy and Lizzie wince simultaneously, and he’s pretty sure Grian does too, though his face is currently buried in the pillow.

She stands there for another couple of moments. “Oh, fine, whatever. Don’t come to me when he steals all your valuables!” She storms off to the other side of the mountain, which… isn’t really that far away.

“...rude,” Grian says, muffled by the pillow. Scar climbs back onto the bed. Jimmy closes his eyes, even though he knows he won’t get another wink of sleep.

They never do deal with it in the morning. Lizzie fumes for a couple of days, but even she gets used to it.

—

Jimmy had half-expected Lizzie’s discovery to stop Grian and Scar’s late-night sleepovers, or for them to at least be more subtle. The problem is, Grian just keeps showing up. It’s like he’s figured out their (nonexistent) schedule. Jimmy has to deal with his smug face as he flops down onto the bed next to (or sometimes on top of) Scar, feathers draping over the edges of the flimsy frame. It’s insufferable. Half of him–the very yellow half–wants to kill him, just to make him go away. It only gets worse.

And then he kills Grian. And then Scar kills Grian. And Jimmy can’t help but think oh, well, there’s the end of that as Grian explodes Scar’s reputation board along with the last scraps of his own reputation, wings bristling with undisguised rage. As he tells his teammates that he and Scar are top of the list, that he’ll kill them and kill them ‘til they’re out of the game.

He’s wrong, because of course he is. Because it’s Scar and Grian.

He’s trudging back up the mountain, body aching all over from new bruises and scrapes, but silently gloating in the amount of kills he’s managed to make this session alone. And then he stops. And stares. And thinks, oh, come off it, really?

Grian’s in bed with Scar. Yes, again, even though it’s Lizzie’s turn and he’s honestly starting to get annoyed for her. She’s already standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

“I know I’ve said it before, but he really is the enemy now,” she tells Scar as Jimmy approaches.

“I can hear you,” Grian says, miffed. “Besides, you’re fine, Lizzie. Or, well, you’re not, ‘cause you’re allied with them,” he sweeps an arm towards Jimmy, “but you’re fine.”

“Aw, he’s harmless.” Scar loops his arms around Grian and squeezes a bit, which causes him to puff up remarkably like an angry cat.

“You’re dead,” he hisses, but Jimmy’s finding it very hard to be intimidated by him when he’s curled up in Scar’s arms, face half buried in his chest.

Lizzie looks towards him, a little helpless, but Jimmy doesn’t have a solution to this either, other than–

“Make another bed?” he tries.

Lizzie draws herself up. “Absolutely not.”

Right, okay.

She clearly sees the skepticism in his face. “It’s the principle of it, Jimmy!”

“The principle. Not the fact he’s threatened to kill us, or that he blew up Scar’s reputation board–” “Oh, I am still annoyed about that,” Scar remarks quietly, like he’s just remembering, “--or anything like that at all?”

Lizzie grumbles wordlessly. Grian sprawls his wings farther across the bed (and Scar) as if he’s daring them to kick him out.

“Fine.” Lizzie sounds like she’s trying not to kill Grian herself. “Finefinefine. But!” she points at Scar. “It’s your funeral. Except it won’t be! Because we won’t hold one for you!”

Jimmy nods, because he’s not really sure what else to do. Scar just smiles, and Grian just shrugs.

“I can arrange that funeral,” he says.

“Oh! You would?” Scar sounds positively delighted.

“No– not like that. I mean I’m going to kill you.” Grian tries to explain, but Scar just seems star-struck, eyes bright even in the darkness.

Lizzie rolls her eyes and stomps away. Jimmy follows, casting a last glance at their one-sided argument.

No, definitely not a one time thing.

—

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Grian informs him, the first time it happens. He’s huddled close into Scar’s side, gray wings tickling his shoulder.

“Oh, yep, totally,” he reassures him, but he must sound a little disbelieving, because Grian presses a finger hard into his shoulder.

“I mean it, Scar. One time thing. I just don’t have a bed of my own yet.” Then why didn’t you go to Mumbo or Skizz? he wonders absently. He doesn’t really care, at the end of the day. Grian’s right here, after all, and Scar would be an idiot not to take advantage of that.

So he just smiles, and lets Grian get comfortable.

One time thing, indeed.

(And if he makes a point to steal all of the Spanners’ wool out of their chests the next day? Well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

#wild life smp #desert duo #trafficshipping #life series #sneaky little fic right before the next session #had fun with this one #scarian

63 notes · View notes

isa-ghost · 4 months ago

Note

Hey Isa, you wouldn't happen to have any head cannons back there would you?

Also, I hope you're doing well

Yeah hold on lemme check in the back *glass breaking* *metal clanging* *vine boom* *BRUH.mp4* *more glass breaking* *cartoon boink* *high pitched scream* *Taco Bell dong*

Okay got em here ya go

Phil headcanons masterlist

Quesadilla Island gave him SUCH a taste for Latin food and he can't fucking just Get That when he's home in the Hardcore world. Can you imagine him asking Rose to open a portal to another world for a 2am Taco Bell run. That's not even real/good Latin food but can you imagine.

Actually that's another thing he misses, Rose doesn't communicate with him directly when he's home. I don't have an idea of what the reasoning is for that but :(

Goddess of Death likes to tease him about his perching. She makes him so self-aware of it and he hates it but in that "god fucking damn it Kristin. I'm doing it again" way.

Ender King is just a bitch. Phil was scared of him on Quesadilla Island because there was no control or way of predicting what he'd do there. Or why. Or how. Phil generally isn't scared of a long-dead bitch baby. No, there's a hardcore deity we haven't met yet that he's scared of. And if Apollo doesn't dodgeball me on this the day Phil does a new build to introduce one of the two we haven't met yet, I might make a fan deity.

👆🏻 I mentioned this on stream Friday 9/6, I'm already cooking on the fan deity LMAO.

As a chronic overthinker who's way too insistent on constantly mentally firing on all cylinders in order to survive, this dumbass frequently forgets that taking walks (or more commonly: flights) help him unwind and actually organize his thoughts. He's so bad at walking away for a bit and returning to something with fresh eyes and a clear head. And then he remembers to do that finally and is like 🤯 about it.

Honestly, the same could be said for his emotions. I might have made a hc to this effect before, but he has such a bad habit of clinging to distractions or stubbornly trucking on from things instead of just letting himself Sit with his emotions, processing them and letting them just exist and then pass. He's a very proactive coper, but sometimes action isn't the answer and that's something he hasn't quite learned yet (Rose is trying to teach him this). He absolutely fucking hates doing it, but sometimes the best solution for him really is to just. Sit and cry it out, or seethe, or ride out the panic attack. Whatever it is.

Sitting in the warm sunshine, the sounds of leaves rustling in the wind, and the sight of flower pedals floating in the air fill him with deep, somber nostalgia for comfortably sitting and chatting with Chayanne & Lullah. Watching sunsets too. This is one of few times he'll actually do something to the effect of the previous hc and just let himself sit and Feel. He just can't do it alone, he needs the Murder to sit with him & chat.

Some things he'll do when he actually let's himself sit somewhere & vibe: chat with the Murder, fish, sketch something he sees (often Dorothy), organize his inventory (rarely).

Nowadays he also sketches things of Chayanne & Lullah, sometimes Missa, occasionally Techno. He also really likes doodling random emblems and sigils, often meant for the gods (minus EK) or Techno.

Btw he still gets paranoid about resource gathering, inventory management, and collecting cool stuff ever since his possession. :) Even now that he's back in the Hardcore world, where it's ironically more unlikely that Ender King can/will hurt him, he gets anxious about over-indulging his crow brain.

He's not ALWAYS treating the Murder like it's on sight. Sometimes he'll sit and preen their feathers (or his own while they do their own), he has a massive feeder full of any treat a crow would find yummy imaginable, and half the time they go on those walks/flights he should take to de-stress more often, it's for them because they're the little shits that love to travel so much. He's an explorer and historian/archivist, sure, but he tends to stick to the structures of the gods that he's discovered.

Which btw calling back to that Deep Dark Deity, if they end up existing in canon (and if not, this will be canon for my AU or whatever), he hasn't met/discovered them or their structures yet bc he's too cautious to explore the Deep Dark thoroughly. :)

Honestly this feels like a low-hanging fruit hc that I'm sure tons of people have, but Phil desperately wants to bring Missa to the Hardcore world some day to show him the builds and teach him about the gods.

When he got back to the Hardcore world after QSMP, he took some time to recover emotionally and then anxiously visited Endlantis to add some,, security to the cave Ender King's corpse is sealed in. Will it work? Probably not. But it makes him feel safer.

He has a journal/scrapbook type thing documenting everything he sees & learns about the deities and their associates (ex: He & She). He wishes he could've brought it with him to Quesadilla Island so he could've taught Chayanne & Lullah more about them in detail. But they're somewhere in the world with him now, so he's sure they've learned more over the last 4 months. :)

#philza #qsmp philza #q!philza #hc!philza #philza hardcore #hardcore philza #hardcore season 4 #qphil headcanons

28 notes · View notes

museumgiftshoperaser · 1 year ago

Text

California Kind

(Jarygle, CW for weed and slight memory loss due to overuse of said weed, kinda sad honestly? like very sweet, but also kinda sad)

Jonathan doesn’t remember most of it. Halloween sticks to Christmas sticks to new years in a syrupy haze. The palm trees here are evergreen and fall never truly tips into winter. Pumpkins rotted in the heat, melting to the porch until the maggots turned to flies and his mom got rid of them. A Santa hat with a wine stained rim. Thanksgiving was somewhere in there too. He doesn’t remember any of that at all. He turns to his side, facing Argyle next to him on the bed. “What happened to Thanksgiving?” he mumbles and smoke slips from his mouth. Right. He hands the joint to Argyle, brushing fingertips. “Huh?” “Thanksgiving!” he says a little louder. “Why didn’t we do shit for Thanksgiving?” “I was there, man.” Argyle takes a long drag and aims toward the ceiling when he exhales. “Your mom made that awesome cornbread?” Jonathan smacks his lips together. His mouth is dry, but he immediately forgets about that too. “You don’t remember?”

Should he? He does like cornbread, actually. His mom used to make that every year when him and Will were kids. She only stopped when- Jonathan swallows. Dry mouth. Sore throat. Month long cough. “Of course I remember,” he says. “Just messing with you man.” “You didn’t miss much,” Argyle says anyway, ignoring him completely. “Your sister ate the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl. Like with a spoon and everything.” “My what?” “Your sister?” Argyle frowns, but he plays it like a joke. “The girl at the dinner table? Looks just like your mom?” “Oh.” He blinks a few times fast. Yeah. Obviously. His sister. Lose a brother, lose your mother. Get him back. Get the girl, lose the town. Gain a sister and somewhere in the middle, lose your mind. Gain a friend. He looks at Argyle, next to him on the bed with their knees bumped together. About third of his hair has been loosely braided, Jonathan’s favorite stoner hobby, but he never tied the bottom so the strands have already begun to slip away. His eyes are red and glossy, but his stare never budges. He’s got those eyes. Nice ones. Good ones. Honest or some shit. “Dude, you’ve had enough.” Argyle crawls a little closer. He braces himself with a hand against Jonathan’s rib cage and reaches over him to put the joint on the ash tray on the nightstand. Argyle’s sleeve brushes against his cheek, feather light and ticklish. Like a curtain rustling in the wind, blocking out the sunlight, but letting in the fresh air. “You’re like a curtain,” he says as sincerely as possible. “Sure, babe.” Argyle traces a soft fingertip over Jonathan’s forehead as he moves to lie back down. “And you’re the sun.” He stays close. Hand still on his ribs, chin tucked against his shoulder. Jonathan shifts his knees to slip one leg flush against Argyle’s thigh. They’re like that. Argyle is like that. He’s California casual. A Sunday morning to Jonathan’s midnight. He’s all hands and all skin. Generous with almost everything. It’s a California kindness.

Jonathan never had a lot of friends.

Argyle said once that he didn’t either, but he was lying. Playing sweet because he didn’t want to be mean. Everyone likes Argyle. They all know him at school and at the grocery store. People know his first name and not just his last. But Argyle is his friend now. A California kindness. “Don’t wanna be the sun,” he mumbles, feels very strongly about it all of a sudden. “That’s wrong.” Argyle smiles and Jonathan can’t look at his mouth without going cross eyed, but he does it anyway. Just the glint of teeth. He hasn’t shaved in a few weeks, is trying for a mustache even though it’s slow work. “Then what do you wanna be?” Argyle’s hand shifts from his rib cage down towards his waist. Finds the sliver of skin right above the waistband of his sweats and scratches a soft fingernail across his stomach. Back and forth. Back and forth. Real and sharp. Jonathan lets his eyes slip shut and waits for the loose words in his head to connect into something that makes sense. Waits for a while. Argyle walks slow fingers across his stomach, finds a soft spot and pinches. Playful and sharp. It stings, but just a little. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, just exists in the small stretch where fingers dig into his skin. It’s like a language. Like a whole separate conversation. “I don’t remember.” Doesn’t remember what he wants to be. Barely remembers the question. Or his name or his week or all the things that happened to him before he crawled into this bed. Argyle’s breath huffs against his neck like a tiny cloud of smoke. Warm and slow. “That’s okay.” Soft lips against his collar bone, he thinks. He’s pretty sure. “You should get some sleep, love.” Yeah. Love. Can he be that? Jonathan sighs and sinks a little further into the mattress. Sleep doesn’t like him very much, not lately, but he drifts fast into something dreamless and quiet. The next morning in the shower, with a headache under the cold spray, he notices a tiny bruise right next to his belly button. Dark purple and shaped like a heart. Thinks Argyle did it, but he’s not sure anymore. He presses two fingers into his skin and it stings so at least that’s real. Thinks they kissed after that, thinks Argyle may have whispered something. Called him something. But he doesn’t remember.

#jargyle #jonathan byers #argyle #genuinely don't know what this is #it's way past midnight and i have class so so early tomorrow #but aparently i write jargyle now?#and aparently i write sad shit!!#might need to turn this into something??#but i also might need to sleep #<333

15 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 1 year ago

Text

What Lies Beneath (Indruck)

The runner up of the "things that happen when you're alone" poll was: "I’m caving and I just heard a noise I didn’t expect to"

Just when Duck thought the Monogahela couldn’t get any cooler, it finds a way to prove him wrong.

He’d have liked it better if the reveal of a closed off, unknown cave system by a mudslide hadn’t involved shutting down two campgrounds during peak tourist season, but if the caves are in any way navigable, they’ll make up for that in a big way next year.

Since he picked up caving experience while working in Brazil, Duck’s taking point on mapping this one out. It’s not Mammoth or Carlsbad sized, but it’s still deep and winding enough that they usually work in teams of two or more. But today he’s going solo, focusing on making sure the rooms they’ve already found are adequately described and that no one missed any bottomless pits or sudden drops.

As peers into a gap, a trilling, chittering sound echoes in the darkness to his left. Doesn’t sound right for bats, or any other mammal. A bird maybe? Or a big-ass cricket?

He carefully crosses the damp ground, ears on alert as he scans his light across the wall. Aubrey asked him if he ever got freaked out down here. The basic answer is no: he doesn’t believe in cave monsters or other creepy shit like that. His bigger concern is that there’s a human down here doing something they’re not supposed to and that they don’t want him to find.

There’s no movement, and only a faint rustle of feathers makes him turn his light to the far corner, where a tall, narrow gap leads to another room of the cave.

The beam hits two, red orbs, about seven feet off the ground. The orbs blink and the chittering noise returns.

“Nope.” He backs out of the room as safely and quickly as he can, and as soon as he’s close enough to the surface he radios Juno to let her know he’s calling it a day.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next two times he works in the cave, it’s completely normal. But the fourth time, another day when Dan isn’t able to come with him, he’s crouching in a tunnel between rooms when he hears someone muttering.

“...hello, nice to meet you, I have been…no, nono that will not do either…hello, I know I am alarming but please do not run away Duck Newton…no, no that will upset him more…”

He doesn’t want to know how the voice in the cave knows his name or why it wants to talk to him. That level of weird is beyond his pay grade.

Duck turns to sneak back the way he came. The grey rock beneath his boots has either ideas, and he falls with a surprised curse.

“Oh! Oh dear me, here, let me help-”

“Nope!” Duck holds out a hand and the red eyes stop coming closer, “nope, I’m good, you stay right there.”

His other hand finds his dropped light, and between that and his head-lamp, he brings the voice in the darkness into view. It’s covered in dark feathers everywhere but it’s chitinous arms–four, by his count–with fluffy antennae that droop in the cold air.

It also looks more terrified than he feels.

“Hello” one hand waves weakly and many teeth show in a smile.

“Hey there, uh, mothman?” He slowly gets to his feet.

The smile fades, “I am still known, then? I was so hoping people had forgotten.”

“Uh” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you got real popular last few years. And you been the main tourist draw for Point Pleasant for longer than that.”

At the mention of the town the mothman shrinks in on himself. He looks so upset, so lost, that Duck’s feet stop trying to turn him towards the exit.

“Have you just been living down here?”

“In a manner of speaking. I…I came down to clear my head and to hide my shame after my most publicized failure and I, I didn’t see that the cold and the dark would send my body into a form of torpor. Can you tell me how long I have been asleep?”

Duck does the math, “Uhh…not that, uh, not all that, uh, fuck.”

The mothman cocks his head.

“56 years.”

“WHAT?” His trill bounces off the rocks, “all that time and no one found me?”

“Guessin’ the cave got covered by something soon after. Or it was so damn hidden no one but you ever found it.” Cautiously, he adds, “you got anyone who needs to know you’re awake.”

“No.” The mothman says softly.

A growl makes Duck flinch, but the cryptid simply says, “It seems I am hungry. And no, I do not eat people. As you were about to ask.” He sighs, “I don’t suppose you could show me the way out. I…I suppose there’s no point in hiding from the world any longer, even if it has undoubtedly changed a great deal since I last stretched my wings in the sun.”

“Yeah. Here, follow me. Keep a hold of this rope, it’ll help you stay where it’s safe.”

The cryptid follows him into the entrance chamber, movements stiff and unsure, and Duck expects any small breeze to knock him backwards. In the late afternoon light filtering down, he can see the black in his wings is dull and dusty.

Duck should let the mothman fly off, should treat this as one of those strange things that can happen when you’re alone in the woods, and never speak of it again.

The mothman’s arms are wrapped tight around his feathery chest as he stares at the blue sky like it’s going to fall on him.

“Look, mister, uh, mothman-”

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

“Right, Indrid. If you wanna sit tight here, I’m almost done with my shift. I can bring my car up when I’m done and you can come crash at my place.”

A dark head swivels to gawk at him, “There was only one future where you offered that.”

“Well, now it’s a present where I’m offering. You don’t got to if you don’t want. Just figured you might want a roof over your head while you figure things out.”

“I would. Thank you, Duck Newton.” He sits down on a boulder in the sun, “I will wait for you here.”

—-------------------------------------------

The world is so much louder these days. Even a place like Kepler, where the NRQZ keeps some sources of noise at bay. And that’s before Indrid gets to the fact that there are so many people on Earth, so many futures all spinning and colliding in his mind.

He’s still shocked that one of them is letting him sleep in their guest room.

Duck Newton’s apartment is warm and welcoming, decorated in earthy tones with photos of loved ones and loved places on the walls. There is also a large, fluffy, orange cat named Henny, who has decided Indrid is her new bed. Which is why he hasn’t gotten up from the couch since Duck left to run an errand.

The doornob clicks and the ranger returns, Henny hopping from Indrid’s lap to yowl hungrily at him. Indrid is close to doing the same as the human sets the bags on the table.

“Did my best to get the stuff you said you liked. Got a couple extra things just in case.” Duck smiles a little awkwardly, then yelps, “ow, yeah fuzzball I got more food for you too, quit using me as a scratchin’ post.”

After eating an entire brick of cheese, four cartons of strawberries, two boxes of Lucky Charms, and downing a two-liter bottle of Pineapple Fanta (and the large glass of water Duck keeps refilling for him), Indrid feels more like himself.

“You good?” Duck asks from over his bowl of reheated chili.

“Yes, thank you. And since you are about to inquire, the reason I am not eating more is I think I will make myself sick if I stuff myself too full too soon.”

“Don’t want that. You mind if I eat some of those frozen waffles?”

“They sell waffles in packages now?!”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Duck spins the sunglasses rack at the thrift store a final time. Indrid had asked him to pick up pairs in a few, “hip” styles as part of a project he’s undertaking tonight.

He’d been at Duck’s place a week before Duck had asked if he needed to go flying or otherwise get out and about. Luckily Indrid had taken it as the worry about boredom that it was, not as an indicator that Duck wanted him to get out.

“I would, eventually. Go out I mean. Goodness knows if I’ll ever fly again; I can tell my wings have atrophied.” He opens them and Duck’s breath leaves in a hurry; there’s a stripe of blood red on the black, dramatic and beautiful beyond belief, even in its dulled state.

“I’m sorry, that sucks. Maybe you can do some kind of physical therapy on ‘em?”

“It is worth a try.” Indrid closes his wings, rousting his feathers up once and then ruffling them down. It makes Duck laugh every time, and he swears Indrid does it more ever since he confessed that.

“What’d you like to do? Before you went underground.”

“Hmmm” Indrid drums his claws on the kitchen counter, “I loved going to the drive-in. Taking my supplies and sketching or painting in the park. Nestling somewhere warm and reading a good book. I rather enjoyed roller-skating, sunning myself on the beach, mmm, there was one in Florida where you could have a pineapple malt while you lay in the sand, do they still have soda fountains? My research has not yet gotten to that question” he gestures to Duck’s laptop, on which he’s been reading up on everything possible.

Duck nods, “Yeah, they do. Don’t really call ‘em that anymore but it’s basically the same thing. There’s a place one town over that makes killer milkshakes.”

“Ooh, we should go there! Your home has been about all the stimuli I can handle but I may be ready to venture forth.” He taps his claws together, looking down, “of course, I can go alone. I, I do not want to presume you would come with me.”

“Be happy too. Seems to me the bigger question is how you’re gonna go without causing a scene.” Duck tilts his head at Indrid’s wings.

A pleased grin, “I have many tricks up my sleeve, Duck Newton. But I will require your assistance…”

“What an excellent selection, thank you.” Indrid studies the glasses on the table, then pulls a pair or round, red-tinted ones towards himself, “this should only take a moment.”

Orange light flickers in his hands. Duck watches out of curiosity (and to keep Henny from chasing the light as Indrid moves his fingers around and across the frames).

“Let’s hope this still works.” Indrid takes a deep breath and sets the glasses on his face. Suddenly there’s no cryptid in sight, just a tall, willowy man with silvery hair and a wide smile.

“Ha! It seems my magic is still on point, as the kids say.”

Duck chuckles, but his heart’s not in it, too busy skipping beats at the way the angles of Indrids face look in the light and the fact he’s given himself multiple ear piercings and arms full of tattoos. Or, god help him, the fact he’s shirtless.

Indrid notices him staring and glances at the ink swirling over his skin, “Do you like them? My old version did not have any that were visible, but I understand times have changed.”

Duck’s eyes drop down and he blushes, “Uh, they ain’t, uh, ain’t changed enough for you to go out without pants.”

“Oh goodness!” Indrid tosses a napkin into his lap, “apologies, clothing always did give me trouble. May I borrow some sweatpants? And the Zion National Park t-shirt? It looks very soft.”

“Go for it.” Duck covers his eyes as Indrid stands. When his willpower breaks the gaps between his fingers he discovers that yep, he loves watching Indrid go.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You sure you’re ready for this? That surround sound is no joke.”

“Positive” Indrid holds up his earplugs as they move up a spot in line outside the movie theater, “I have come prepared. But, ah, if I do start feeling overwhelmed would it be alright to touch your hand? Having something to run my fingers over helps with that feeling.”

“Sure.” Duck wonders if this is a convoluted way to ask to hold his hand, and if Indrid would like it if he just went for it once they sat down.

“Oooh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “they finally made a Spiderman movie! Let’s see that one. I can pay since you…oh dear, right, I don’t have money.” Indrid’s hand slips sheepishly out of his pocket.

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I got this.”

Indrid bumps their shoulders together, “I promise I will pay you back.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

In the month and a half they’ve known each other, Indrid has never been out this late. Duck is starting to worry when the front door swings open and his roommate strides in with an even wider grin than normal. He’s sporting tight black jeans and the worn, black leather jacket he found at a thrift store, and all that combines to make Duck forget what he was worrying about.

“Voila!” Indrid sets a stack of bills on the table, and a quick eyeball suggests it’s at least $500.

“Holy fuck ‘Drid, where did this come from?”

“Foresight makes one formidable at the Wolf Lodge Casino and Grille. Also I hustled some people at pool in the bars on the way home, just for old times sake.”

“For what?”

The smile turns sly, “I hide quite a life before my hibernation, Duck. Plus, pool halls are excellent places to meet attractive men .” He winks, slipping off his jacket, “anyway, that should cover what I owe you for now. And yes, I promise I will find honest work eventually. Now, how about we go out for dinner. My treat?”

Duck is already reaching for his coat as he says, “Hell yeah.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

“I changed my mind, I am not buying Halloween decorations, I am spending all my money on these.”

Duck laughs as Indrid stands in the Walgreens seasonal aisle with an armful of Squishmallows.

“Y’know, they make ones shaped like you. Think they’re online though, not here.”

“Very well. I shall put these back until I see all my options. Except this one.” He sets the plush bat in the basket with pumpkin lights Duck picked out, “let me just fetch more soap and then that’s everything on the shopping list…”

—-----------------------------

“How’s that?”

“Good.” The chirp in Indrid’s voice suggests the way Duck is holding his left wing is not, in fact, good.

“If it hurts too bad we should stop, doing these exercises ain’t any good if they just injure you instead of helping your muscles build up.” Duck looks down at the reference sheet he printed from work a few weeks back; it’s on how to rehab injured bird wings, but he figured it was as close as they were going to get to matching what Indrid might need.

“I am fine.” Indrid snaps, “And even if I am not, it is what I deserve for failing to care for them and failing to ever use them properly.”

“What?” Duck releases the wing and the mothman tucks it back into place.

“Even at the peak of my health these useless things could seldom get me where I needed to be in time. They were never enough. None of it was ever enough.”

Duck picks up the comb the cryptid uses on his feathers, stands behind the chair and slowing begins moving it over his wings, “That don’t seem fair. Callin’ these stunning things worthless and whatnot. Not any fairer than callin’ yourself a failure.”

“You were not there. You did not see the, the evidence” his voice cracks on that word, “firsthand.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. But you’ve told me plenty about what you did, what you tried to do too. I see the moments when think about trying to help again–your face goes blank and then you get tense for a long-ass time while you try to decide–and I know for damn sure there are people still alive now because you helped them way back when. You can think whatever you want about yourself, ‘Drid. But I won’t sit here and let someone insult my friend.”

Indrid chirrs, surprised, “We are friends?”

Duck runs the comb through the patch between his antenna, which haven’t drooped in weeks, “Yeah, fluffball, we are.”

—-------------------------------------------------------

Things can go to hell in a half-second when you’re out in the wild.

One second, Duck and Dan are talking about their plans for Halloween as they rappel deeper into the cave. Then all there’s a rumble and the ground beneath the rock they’d anchored too is gone, dropping into the darkness and taking them with it.

Duck claws at air as he falls, knowing the hard stone is waiting for him no matter how he flails or yells.

There’s a rush of air and then he’s falling up, his headlamp reflecting off magpie black feathers.

“I have you, I have you.” Indrid sets him on safe ground, “wait here, I have to get your friend.”

A whoosh in the darkness and he’s gone. Duck listens to his wingbeats soften and then return. Dan is in bad shape when Indrid sets him on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from his forehead, arms, and right knee.

“I radioed into the station to tell them there was an accident.” Indrid kneels beside them as Duck does his best to stem the bleeding, “I, he, he will live because of that but if I’d been faster you’d never have fallen in the first place and-”

Duck throws his arms around him, “Don’t you dare fuckin apologize.”

“But-”

“Indrid I swear if I catch you apologizing for saving my life and my buddies life, I will hide that case of cream soda where you’ll never find it, so help me god.”

A high, chittering laugh, “Alright, you win.”

Duck presses his face into the feathers of Indrid’s chest, “You flew.”

“Yes and I am already feeling the consequences. But I…if I hadn't you both would have died down there. I have failed at many things, but to fail at saving you…I could not stand the thought. I would get to you or fall from the sky trying.”

Duck lunges up, kissing him so hard the cryptids head bonks into the wall behind him. Four slide up his back, two tangling in his hair, as black wings wrap around him.

“I, I do not want this to stop, but we need to get you both above ground.”

“Fine, but we ain’t finished. When we’re home I’m gonna rub your wings and then kiss you silly.” He kisses Indrid’s cheek and stands, letting his cryptid carry Dan up to the surface and following behind.

As they wait, the sound of a speeding ranger vehicle in the distance, Indrid drapes his wing over Duck’s shoulder and lets the human rest against him, promising to be out of sight when the others arrive. Duck runs his fingers over the feathers and smiles when he sees just how brightly his colors are shining in the sun.

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #monster boyfriend #duck x indrid #mothman

12 notes · View notes

a-dragons-journal · 2 years ago

Note

Tone: /neutral informative

Words like Folx are significant to some BIPOC communities.

The X in Folx is used in retaliation of colonization, enslavement, and genocide.

The spelling references historical figures such as Malcolm X who changed his surname from"Little" (the name of the white family who enslaved his ancestors) to "X" in 1952, to recognize and protest the history of Anti-Black violence.

The spelling of Folx also references words such as "Latinx" and "Xicanx" which were also made in protest of colonization.

As is common with language that is significant to BIPOC communities, the term was co-opted by non-BIPOC communities and the meaning was lost, misconstruing it in quite a transphobic way, simultaneously refusing any attempts to discuss racial injustices (for the sake of white fragility) and unfortunately this is why many people are only aware of the appropriated meaning of the word Folx.

This happens often with English adapted by BIPOC for political purposes, non-BIPOC find it and erase the culturual significance in order to maintain the status quo of colonization.

As for the gender aspect irt "folks is already gender neutral" yup, it sure is! And so is Folx, but it's not really about being "more inclusive" or singling out nonbinary people as "other" (that's what the appropriated version does) the original word Folx is really about taking up space in the face of colonization, asking everyone to notice, in order to bring attention to and discuss injustices such as the historical erasure of culture specific genders and the linguistics-based discrimination towards BIPOC which structurally oppresses, ridicules, and penalizes BIPOC for adapting English to hold any cultural significance.

We're uncertain the full context of folken/folkel but we assume it might be for a similar purpose of attempting to bring attention to lesser known subjects/injustices in a way that purposefully takes up space and rustles feathers.

We know you're unlikely to take our word for any of this, erasure has lead to a lack of linkable sources, but we hoped that we might be able to at least shed some insight as a BIPOC alterhuman system.

This is all very informative, and I genuinely do appreciate the information and your time, but you are unfortunately correct that I can find literally zero sources corroborating it (including in searches specifically looking for its use in Black and BIPOC history) - the one source I can find is Cosmopolitan, which is already not exactly a stellar source:

It was popularized in the ’60s and ’70s by Black liberation activists and early feminists. Malcolm X famously adopted the letter in place of Little, the last name of a slave owner that his ancestors had been forced to bear.

(Source)

and the sources they link there... do not actually say anything about it being based on Malcolm X's name change, only about it being aimed toward being "more inclusive" (or at least more demonstrably/visibly inclusive) of marginalized people. It seems like these are two unrelated pieces of history that they're just kind of throwing into the same paragraph to imply connection, even though they don't have any evidence of a connection actually existing.

So, it's entirely possible you're correct, and it's interesting to consider, but considering that every source I can find disagrees with you - I'll keep it in the back of my brain, for sure, but it can't really hold much weight as the words of a single anonymous person on the internet, y'feel?

(...I also confess I don't actually see how "folx" versus "folks" would accomplish any of the goals set forward here either, but that's wholesale just my opinion, so whatever on that one; in the context you're setting forth, my opinion as a white person frankly isn't terribly important.)

#rani talks #filed under: posts that have a 50+% chance of getting me angry anons #(/joking. ...mostly.)#asked and answered #anonymous

11 notes · View notes

drewzeitlin · 6 months ago

Text

Cross Stitch Stories: The Resilient Heart: The Journey of Raz, the Last Caspian Tiger Part 2

Part 2: The Hidden Path

The hidden path Raz had discovered led him deeper into the forest, a labyrinth of ancient trees and tangled underbrush. Every step he took seemed to echo with the whispers of the past, and the eerie light that had drawn him here flickered ahead, like a beacon guiding him through the darkness.

Raz’s keen senses picked up the faint sound of rushing water. As he moved closer, the sound grew louder until he found himself at the edge of a treacherous river. The water roared, frothing white against sharp rocks jutting from its depths. It was a formidable barrier, but Raz knew he had no choice but to cross.

His muscles tensed as he prepared to leap. With a powerful bound, he launched himself onto a large rock in the middle of the river. The current was strong, threatening to sweep him away, but Raz dug his claws into the rock, holding firm. He scanned the river for his next move and saw a series of smaller rocks leading to the other side.

Raz’s heart pounded as he made his way across, each jump a test of his agility and strength. The river's roar filled his ears, drowning out all other sounds, but his focus never wavered. Finally, with one last leap, he landed on the far bank, panting but triumphant. His resilience had seen him through yet another trial.

As he caught his breath, Raz’s sharp eyes spotted movement in the trees above. A wise old owl, its feathers mottled with age, perched on a low branch. The owl’s large, knowing eyes met Raz’s, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other in silence.

“You are not just any tiger,” the owl finally said, its voice a soft, melodic whisper. “You are Raz, the last of your kind. I have been waiting for you.”

Raz’s curiosity was piqued, but he remained cautious. “Waiting for me? Why?”

“There is an ancient legend,” the owl continued, “of a tiger who would restore balance to the land. Your journey is part of a greater purpose, Raz. The forest needs you.”

Raz listened intently, his mind racing. The owl’s words resonated with something deep within him, a sense of destiny he had never fully understood. He nodded, acknowledging the wisdom of the old bird, and continued on his path.

The forest grew denser, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth. Raz moved with a newfound sense of purpose, every step carrying him closer to the unknown light that had drawn him here. He could feel the weight of the owl’s prophecy pressing on his shoulders, but it only strengthened his resolve.

Hours passed, and Raz’s journey took him deeper into the heart of the forest. The sounds of the night grew more pronounced, the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures surrounding him. Suddenly, a loud roar shattered the stillness, and the ground beneath Raz’s paws trembled.

Raz’s heart pounded as he scanned the darkness, his eyes locking onto a massive, shadowy figure. The creature’s eyes glowed with a fierce intensity, mirroring his own enigmatic gaze. Raz knew he was facing a formidable foe, a beast that could very well end his journey before it truly began.

With a deep, resonant growl, the beast lunged at Raz. The two titans clashed, their roars echoing through the forest as they grappled in a fierce battle. Raz’s muscles strained as he fought to hold his ground, his claws slashing through the air. The beast was strong, but Raz’s resilience and determination kept him in the fight.

Cliffhanger: Just as Raz seemed to gain the upper hand, the ground beneath them gave way, and they plunged into a hidden chasm. The darkness swallowed them, leaving Raz to grapple with both the beast and the unknown depths.

Come back tomorrow to find out what happens.

This story was brought to you by the Cross Stitch Pattern Animals Mammals Caspian Tiger With Story and Audio. Not only does this design look great, but it also tells a powerful story of resiliency, with an audio recap included. The hero of our tale, Raz highly recommends it. For more information, visit drewzeitlin.gumroad.com/l/caspiantiger. You can see all our cross-stitch patterns at DrewZeitlin.gumroad.com This is not your great-grandmother’s cross-stitch—it’s a multi-sensory experience! And one more thing: you get to choose the price. What do you have to lose? But how much do you have to gain?

#crafts #cross stitch #home decor #needlecraft #diy #needlework #crafting #crossstitch #homemade #animals #tiger

0 notes

raichett · 2 years ago

Text

Watcher

More Watcher-themed flash fic, lol. Warnings for some eldritch imagery and implied standard unhappy Watcher backstory for Grian, but nothing graphic.

This flash fic can also be found on AO3 here.

–

WATCHER

“It’s kinda funny that you don’t remember,” Scar tells Grian, baiting his interest, exactly one week to the day after their return. “Seeing as you are way more experienced with this whole thing than me.”

Grian blinks, then tilts his head, confused. His hands lift away from the shulker box he was about to pick up. In his other vision, Scar can see a few of Grian’s other eyes start to rove around, seeking the answer to the question Grian poses next. “Remember what?”

Void. He’s so – clueless. Oblivious. Scar shudders a little; he knows that he barely knows Grian’s true power, but all his new-fangled instincts, ruffled by the recent lack of recognition, are insisting upon shivering submission to a more powerful Watcher. To think that such could happen to someone whose might he has seen but a candle flame of, compared to the bonfire it truly is…

“You really don’t have any idea, do you?” Scar remarks, knowing the answer already. He presses his eyes tightly closed against his skin, folding his array of wings against his soul. Grian would see, if he knew to look, but right now him not knowing to suspect is what’s gotten Scar this far.

But even a week is too long, to not enlighten his soulmate. To be - alone. Abandoned, unknowingly or not.

Grian’s withering side-eye is more frightful now that Scar can perceive its many layers beneath his cute little flesh puppet. “Scar, c’mon, tell me,” Grian says, making his voice the nosy but kind whine of a good friend. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me – ”

Scar opens two of his new eyes, one either side of him, hovering above his shoulders. Grian snaps into silence, staring, suddenly-dozens of slit pupils contracting in fear. A multitude of wings rustle, swinging out in preparation on another plane. For fight? For flight? Scar is not yet good enough at Watcher body language to gauge it.

“Scar…?” Grian breathes out, horrified. He stumbles forward, his body jerking on its strings, far from the smooth manipulation Scar’s seen many a time, even if he hadn’t known the performance then for what it was.

“I’m this way because of you,” Scar says, not accusatory, exactly, but firmly still, making sure that there is no mistaking the origin of his change. Grian looks sick anyway, and Scar’s heart – no longer needed as it once was, but it’s still his – softens, as it always does, for him. “You didn’t do this intentionally,” he adds, trying to balm whatever wound he just sliced. “But it still happened.”

“I don’t – ” Grian swallows, sucks in a breath, and then a few of his great wings shuffle and extend, coming to curl loosely around Scar’s sides. Comforting, caring, protecting, his new instincts cry, some hard and cold shard of ice inside of him warming and dislodging at the show of – friendship, companionship, solidarity, some strange feeling that Scar thinks to name as flock. “What – what happened?”

Instinctually, Scar’s own wings unfurl, small and downy and clearly immature, but still spreading upwards to brush his feathers against Grian’s, responding positively to his soulmate’s gesture. “You don’t remember,” he repeats. “They made you not remember.”

You don’t remember doing this for me before. How many nights we spent in the nest inside the Red Velvet Keep, your wings curled around me.

“Who?” Grian snarls, wings flexing, more eyes open than he ever has here in Hermitcraft searching now with newfound rage.

“The Watchers,” Scar answers, quietly. “We were – void, we were taken, set up in a little enclosed world of theirs, and made to play one of their games.”

Grian clearly expects something close to this answer, because he doesn’t seem surprised. His face twists. “Scar…” He’s in front of Scar now, and his hands are on Scar’s shoulders, tugging him closer. An embrace. Scar flings his arms around Grian and returns it wholeheartedly.

You taught me how to open my eyes and then how to shut them, how to prevent it all from being just too much.

“We were bound together,” Scar explains into Grian’s hair. “Soulmates. We shared pain, healing, hunger. We started to take on… traits of each other. Yours were just – a little more potent than most.”

You told me the truth of what you are, when our hearts and souls were so intertwined that we were bleeding together at the edges.

“I’m sorry,” Grian mumbles into Scar’s neck. “I’m so, so sorry this – that this happened. Void, and they took my memories? Must’ve been Greater Watchers, more than one, to do so to me…”

“I know,” Scar says. “You told me.” He tries not to sound wobbly, but – this is his soulmate, this is a member of his flock. And it’s nothing but fact that a fledgling, created a Watcher or transformed so, needs their flock around them.

Grian’s hands fist into Scar’s clothes at the reminder. He lets out a low croon and Scar’s answering chirp – escaped from his throat before he can reel it back in – settles the matter.

“We’re flock,” Grian says, factually, a little surprised. “I – took you in as flock.” Suddenly self-conscious, he hastily says, “Of course I did, I wouldn’t have left you, I just – ”

“Haven’t had a flock in a while,” Scar finishes. Grian had escaped his last one more than he had left it, but Scar knows only the barest of bones of that story. At the time, there had been far more pressing concerns, and Grian’s honesty still too new to share overmuch.

Grian nods. “Yeah… yeah.” He straightens up, leaning back, stares Scar right in the eyes. “C’mon,” he says, “let’s go back to my base. I’ve got a nest to expand.”

Scar beams, delighted, and so, so relieved. “Thank you,” he says. “Um, I mean, I didn’t want to presume, but – ”

Grian looks at him, his gaze heavy. “You need to nest with flock,” he says, something that Scar knows Grian had far less of a good time with than he has had with Grian. “And besides, your story isn’t over yet.”

“True, true,” Scar says, faltering. “Um. It’s not a happy one.”

“Ones involving Watchers rarely are,” Grian says, angry and sad and reaching for Scar’s hand. “In… in your own time, then. I’m here for you. I promise. I’ll teach you as best I can.”

“I know,” Scar whispers. “I know.”

After all, you taught me our most important skill, no matter how much you despise it, how much you hated conducting the lessons:

You taught me how to watch.

#my writing #flash fic #double life #grian #watcher grian #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #hermitcraft

96 notes · View notes

bakuhoes-dumbass · 4 years ago

Text

Aberration - Chapter 3

MHA!Various x Fem!Reader

Thriller/Horror/Drama

Criminal!AU

Words: 2.8k

A/N: Third chap, here we go! It’ll start picking up soon. I know there isn’t much ‘horror’ rn, but it will get there, I promise. Also, I’m sorry Tamaki’s part is a bit longer than Hawks. I just adore Tamaki so much and he deserves the world and lots of hugs and kithes.

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Mentions of murder, blood, felonies, bullying, swearing. More to come.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of MHA, just this story. In no way does this reflect the characters, writers or VAs of the show/manga. MINORS DNI.

~~~

Aberration Masterlist

~~~

"Good afternoon Mr. Keigo, my name is Y/N and I'll-" You look up from your notes to see a half naked man with blonde hair and bright red bird wings lounging on his bed. Your jaw drops and you hold your clipboard up in front of your suddenly heated face.

Keigo looks over to you with his brows raised. "Well well, looks like we've got ourselves a new baby bird. How…" The handsome man's lips turn up into a cocky smirk.

"...interesting."

You peek over your clipboard to see his cocky smirk and hide your eyes again. "Keigo, would you please put on a shirt?"

He chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows. "What, too embarrassed to look at me, baby bird? I'll tell you what. You tell me who you are, and if you're single, and I'll cover myself."

"My name is Y/N. I'm the newest scientist in this facility, here to observe you, hoping it helps to find a cure. And there is no need for you to know my relationship status."

"Ah, ah, ah. If you don't tell me, you'll have to do this interview while gazing at my gorgeous body." You hear the cockiness in his voice.

"I swear to fu- fine, yes I'm currently happily single. Now, please put your shirt on." You mumble under your breath, "this is so inappropriate."

After a minute of rustling, Keigo leans back onto his bed. "Okay, my single baby bird. I'm all covered up for you."

You lower your clipboard just below your eyes to make sure, seeing the smirking bird man lounging on his bed with a shirt on. You finally lower your clipboard all the way before giving a curt nod. Making your way to the desk chair, you smile at the man.

"Thank you, Keigo. As I said before, my name is Y/N and I'm here to get to know you."

He snickers, "well, I'm here to answer any questions you have for me, baby bird. Fire away."

You sigh and open your notebook. "Must you call me such a name?"

"Awe, do you not like when I call you that?"

Sighing once more, you decide to just move on. You know you'll end up going in circles. "Please state your full name, age and date of birth for me."

"My name is Keigo Takami. I'm 28 years old. My birthday is December 28th." He paused to let you write that down before opening his mouth again. "Did you need my star sign and my relationship status? Well, I'm a Capricorn and I am definitely sin-"

"Nope, that's enough." You cut him off before he could ramble on even more. "Now, can you tell me what your quirk is exactly?"

Keigo blinks before turning around, the chains on his ankles clanking against the bed frame. Your eyes light up being able to actually see the giant, beautiful red bird wings coming from his back. You frowned slightly noticing they were pinned down, preventing him from being able to use them.

"Does that hurt? Having them pinned like that?" You tilt your head eyes following the edges of each feather.

Keigo lets out a quiet chuckle, eyeing you from over his shoulder. "A little. But nothing I can't handle. Why, is my baby bird worried about little ole me?"

Your frown turns into a glare and you clear your throat. "So, what exactly can you do with these wings of yours?"

Keigo's mouth twitches into a smirk as he turns back around to face you. "Well, I can fly. And I can also disconnect each feather from my wings and use them individually."

You nod, not wanting to show how impressed you were, knowing he'd make a crack at it. You finish writing down that information before asking your next question. "Now, can you tell me why you are here?"

"Getting down to the nitty-gritty, I see. Well, I was arrested and charged with Drug Trafficking, Forgery and Assault." You look at him, motioning him to continue. He shrugs. "There isn't much else to it. I'm a mafia leader. This shit happens on a daily basis, for years. Just so happened that I eventually got caught, on account of a leak in my group. Fortunately, for me, I use other people to do the killing for me. So that means they couldn't get me with murder." He cocks his head. "Unfortunately, though, trafficking and forgery are also felonies, so. That's why I'm here."

"So you spent your life moving copious amounts of drugs, forging money and assaulting clients who did you wrong?"

Keigo thinks about your words for a moment and nods. "Essentially, yes."

"Alright then." You stand up and bow your head to the mafia leader who was watching you carefully. "I will take my leave, as I have one more inmate to see before the end of my shift." You head towards the door, but pause for a moment. "Oh, and Keigo?" You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder. "Your wings are beautiful."

Keigo's eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly, watching you walk out that door. His face turns bright red after processing your words. He mutters under his breath, "oh, baby bird…"

After shutting the door behind you, you breathe out. Aizawa looks up from his phone. "How'd it go?"

You raise a brow, "what, you weren't watching me through the security cameras like before?"

"Oh, I was," he deadpanned. "But, visually, it didn't look as compromising as the last two visits. The cameras don't pick up audio."

"Well, besides the lack of clothing in the beginning and the incessant flirting, I was pleasantly surprised."

Aizawa looked at his watch. "Now, I think we have time for one more before we have to turn in paperwork and unchain the more dangerous inmates from their beds to give them some room to stretch out." Aizawa flips through the profiles before stopping on one. "How about Amajiki?"

You turn to his profile and scan the words in front of you. "A cannibal, huh. Well that's not something you see every day."

"I think he'd be good to end the day with. Despite him being, well, a cannibal, he's actually extremely reserved and quite timid. I don't think he'd try to hurt you or get close to you. He suffers from borderline personality disorder, as you see." Aizawa looks up from his notes and eyes you. "However, he is a level 10. He may come across as innocent and somewhat angelic, but remember, he is one of the most dangerous criminals in this facility. He has multiple murders under his belt. So just keep that in mind."

You nod your head, slightly bouncing with excitement. This one sounds quite interesting to you. You've never met a cannibal before and this one has a quirk that sounds intriguing. Aizawa sighs before turning away from Hawk's door and heading further down the long hallway. He stops in front of a heavy door and scans you in.

Once you step inside the white room, you furrow your brows, not really noticing anyone. That's when you hear a small whimper and a few muffled, stuttered words coming from the floor next to the bed.

"W-Who are you?"

You lean to the side to see an indigo-haired figure huddled against the wall between the desk and the bed. You notice his body is trembling, only his eyes visible through his bangs, his arms covering the rest of his face. Head tilted, you squat down from a distance and smile.

"Hi there, Amajiki. My name is Y/N. I'm the newest scientist at this facility. I'm here to talk to you and get to know you to help further our findings for a cure. I'd like to be friends, if that's possible." You reply gently. You can tell he's scared out of his mind.

He raises his head up, giving you a full view of his…

Muzzle?

"F-friends?"

Your eyes widen slightly. The bottom half of Amajiki's face, from his nose to under his chin, is completely covered by a silver muzzle. It's strapped around his head and locked in place by a padlock. Your eyes travel down to see his wrists chained together with quirk cancelling cuffs and, as you expected, both of his ankles are chained to the heavy duty bed frame.

"They have you muzzled like that?" You stare in disbelief, slightly angered at the treatment. You understand that he's a known cannibal, but to strap that heavy muzzle around his head on top of chains already weighing him down.

Amajiki nods shyly, "y-yeah. I guess it's because of the whole e-eating people… thing."

You sit yourself down on the floor across from him, your notes in your lap. "Is it uncomfortable?" He nods slowly, his eyes avoiding yours. You give him a small smile. "I'm sorry."

His eyes shoot to yours, confusion flashing through them. "Why are you sorry?"

"It...seems like a lot of you are possibly being mistreated here. I've noticed a few things here and there."

Amajiki's brows furrow. "And why should you care? W-We're criminals."

"True. However, this facility isn't supposed to be judge, jury and executioner. You're entitled to a fair trial, just like everyone else. That includes not being mistreated." Your smile never leaves your face as you look the man in the eyes. "I am not only here to research a cure, but make sure in doing so, it won't harm any of you. It'll be humane, I promise." Amajiki just stares at you with an unreadable expression. You sigh and click your pen. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Amajiki?" He shakes his head but stays quiet.

"Can you please state your full name, age and date of birth?"

"U-um. Tamaki Amajiki, 25, March 4th."

"Thank you. And what is your quirk?"

Amajiki hugs his knees tighter. "I-It's called Manifestation. Essentially, whatever I eat and digest, I can manifest as a body part."

Your leg bounces in excitement. "So, if you were to eat, let's say, Takoyaki, you can turn your hand into tentacles?" He nods his head. Your eyes light up. "That is incredible, Amajiki. That's such a powerful quirk!"

Amajiki's eyes widened, a blush spreading across his cheeks that were partially hidden under his muzzle. This is the first time he's ever been thankful to have this thing attached to his face. "U-um, t-thanks."

You let out a soft giggle and continue writing in your notes. "Here's a little bit more of a difficult question, Amajiki. Can you please tell me why you are incarcerated in this facility?"

Amajiki stays quiet, not looking at you. You notice his hesitation. You think for a moment before looking around the room. Amajiki sneaks a glance at you, watching you look around the room. His brows furrow. "W-What are you…"

You finally spot the locations of the camera and move your body so your back was facing it. Ignoring his question, you place your pen down directly in front of you so only Amajiki can see. You furrow your brows in concentration and stick your tongue out as you hover your hand over your pen. To Amajiki's utter shock, the pen starts floating in the air.

"Y-You have a quirk?!"

You nod your head and release the pen from your power. "Yeah, I do. It's nothing fancy like yours, but it is a mutation, nonetheless. Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who understands more of your situation than you might think. So that's why I wanted to show you." You smile at the man, who is looking at you with pure adoration. "Please, keep this to yourself. I don't know what Aizawa would do if he found out about it."

"I-I won't tell anyone, I promise."

You giggle and sit back down in your original spot. "Thank you. Now, can you please tell me why you're in this facility?"

He nods his head, still slightly dazed about this new-found information. "I was charged with multiple counts of 1st degree murder a-and…" his voice drops to a whisper, "s-serial cannibalism."

You couldn't help your interest in the subject and started rambling. "Would you be so kind as to explain how this came about? Did you grow up into a family of cannibals or-"

"NO!" He lashes out, causing you to flinch slightly. He winces as your reaction, not intending to scare you. "N-no. Nothing like that. It happened… against my will, so to say?" Amajiki sighs and rests his chin on his arms, not meeting your eyes. "I was one of the only kids in my small town to have been born with a mutation. My parents tried to hide it, tried to hide me. I don't know if it was from fear of people hurting me or fear of everyone judging them for having me."

He blinks a few times before continuing. "The town I lived in was small, a bad side to say the least. Lots of low-lifes and gangs running around. Well, long story short, someone found out about me and what my quirk was. They kidnapped me and…" He trails off. Suddenly, his eyes snapped to yours, an uncomfortable and intense feeling overwhelming you. "They forced me to eat another person, someone with a quirk. They wanted to see if I could turn their power into my own."

He cocks his head and lets out a cackle, still making eye contact with you. "Can you believe that?! It actually worked! So what did they do? They forced me to eat ANOTHER quirk user. They wanted to turn me into an ultimate weapon." Amajiki lets out a strange noise, sounding like a mixture between a guttural sob and a laugh. "Well, the joke was on them in the end. I ended up killing and eating them in the end and escaping. But after that point, something mutated further in my quirk. I couldn't stop craving human flesh." He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. "A-And that's why I'm here now."

Your eyes are wide and your breath is heavy. Something inside you feels a sense of panic, looking at the clearly broken man in front of you. It's so much information to take in, you stay quiet for awhile, your body on high alert. Amajiki notices how quiet you are and he opens his eyes. He notices a terrified look on your face and internally panics.

"W-Wait, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I-I'm not going to hurt you." He finally moves out from his huddled form and kneels instead, the sound of chains clinking together snapping you out of it. "I-I would n-never hurt you." He whispers the last part, hoping you wouldn't hear it.

You clear your throat after taking a few deep breaths. "T-Thank you for telling me this, Amajiki. It was really brave of you to relive those experiences." You look at him and notice the fear and concern in his face. Giving him a small smile, you close your notebook. "I'm fine, I promise." You stand up on shaky legs and bow your head. "I need to get going."

Amajiki quickly stands up, making you slightly flinch again, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. "Y-You're leaving already? Will I get to see you again?"

"You will. I'm an employee here now, so I'll be the one to check up on all the inmates and work on everyone's individual sessions." You turn your back and walk to the door. "I'll see you later, Amajiki."

The indigo-haired man watches you walk through his door, longing written across his face. The only thing running through his mind are thoughts of the pretty telekinesis that made his heart race.

Once out the door, Aizawa meets you in the hallway. "How'd it go with the man-eater?"

You scowl at the doctor. "Why do you say things like that? He has a name."

"He's a criminal, Y/N. They're all criminals. Shouldn't matter what we call them." He rolls his eyes. "Just come with me. We have to finish our paperwork before the end of the day."

You grumble under your breath but follow the tired-looking doctor to his office. "You also need to prepare yourself for tomorrow. You will be meeting Kaminari, Midoriya, Shinso, Bakugo, Todoroki, Dabi and Kai. And 5 out of the 7 are level 8 and above."

~~~

Taglist: @theblueslytherin @sterassion @somechick30003 @meena-in-a-nutshell @justtj-andnonumberspls @zombieonna @amajikiwife @yulifee @atexansadventureintokinkandlife @ep-ip-ha-ny @hcneymilkks @pastelmoonwitche @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @railmeddy @unlimitedfirepheonix @confaegion @drownedbytears @burntcrips @megumitodoroki @the-lady-writes-what @awkward-confused @themotherofmoons @ihaveakoreanseoul @1-800-multifandomness @dabis-s-whore @tragically-here @andyronii @sunnnyshark @henhouse-horrors @maggiecc @tspice283 @orenjineki @aaannabbanana @letskidaddle @yzviea @jjk-is-my-shit @iwachanslove

[If your name is bolded, I wasn’t able to tag you]

2K notes · View notes

lily-drake · 3 years ago

Text

Fantasy/Twin AU

Sorry for being late and not posting for a bit. Was a bit burnt out and had writer block. I will go back to write the other days soon though. Also, sorry, I suck at writing wing aus, this is my first time doing it.

Earth J-236, an earth full of mystical life. An earth where everyone is born with wings. Your wings represented who you are; well not really, but that’s what people believed. If your wings were bright and colorful then you were obviously an amazing person, but if your wings were darker or had little color, then you have great evil in your soul. Marinette was born seconds after her twin, Damian. It takes a few years before your wings fully grow in, usually to about 6. But with the accelerated growth serums used in their artificial wombs, it took them till they were three for their feathers to sprout. Damian’s were black like their father’s with subtle hints of red like their mothers. Marinette’s were pure black, devoid of any color, and her mother was so proud of that. She was the League’s charm, for it’s believed that anyone with pure black wings was pure evil. Her only purpose being to protect her brother, nothing else was more important than her brother’s safety. She would die for him, because if he died she might as well have died as well as her only purpose for living would be gone.

Damian glared at his sister, his wings ruffling in annoyance. She was hovering close to him again, and she never said anything to him ever unless she was completely sure they were alone. He did not believe that his sister was or could ever be, “pure evil” just because of her wings. In fact, her mannerisms are the exact opposite of what people believed. She, in her own ways, is caring, sweet, and protective. He had seen, and helped, her nurse a baby bird that had fallen from its nest back to health. She would often place little things around the base for only him to find such as some extra baklava, a throwing knife, a drawing of someone, beads, or other random objects. Grandfather had always been extra hard on her, making sure she wouldn’t betray them, she wouldn’t become “evil enough to lose herself”. Sometimes she would sneak into his room at night, and it tore him apart to see silent tears run down his little sister's face as small black raven feathers fell onto the floor from her days worth of training. He had been learning how to fly, her wings had been clipped every two or three months so she could not leave the base. She had learned long ago to control her facial and wing expressions, but he could always see the droop in them and the sad shine in her eyes as she stood on the ground while he was in the air.

________

Marinette looked up and watched as the fiery Phoenix flew through the air setting Nada Parabat aflame. She didn’t feel much as she watched her grandfather get blown up. She only felt great anxiety and fear as she could not find her brother. She loved her brother, and if her job was to cause chaos, she would make sure she could prevent it from hurting him. Grandfather had told her about how cursed she was, it’s why they had to be extra tough on her, and she understood that. They couldn’t have her hurting anyone they needed, only the people they wanted gone. She was angry at grandfather yesterday for taking some of her feathers for failing a task, this must have been her fault. She didn’t want to hurt her brother, her wings had only proven nothing but destruction. She had to leave now, then she could go where no one else was, and she wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else. So like a coward, like the disgrace she was, she ran. She kept her wings tight against her back making sure that no one could grab them as she ran. An arrow hit one of them, but she didn’t have time to think about the burning pain as she ran and ran and ran farther and farther and farther away. Tears ran down her cheeks as she silently prayed that her brother would be okay.

She didn’t know how long she ran, but she knew it must have been a really long time as she had just collapsed from exhaustion in the woods. She looked back at her wings and slowly and carefully spread them out and hissed in pain from where the arrow had pierced her left wing. Drops of red slowly dripped down her feathers and dropped on the ground. She quickly closed them and made sure they were as small and put away as possible. She looked up at the trees made of brass with different colored jade leaves. Pearl-like apples growing on a few. She watched a baby griffon follow it’s mother in the distance, turtle ducks waddling to a pond somewhere nearby, deer nibbling on plants, she could hear the rustling of leaves and branches from unseen creatures and everything was getting more blurry and dark. She was cold, it felt very cold. She slowly unwound her wings from around herself and closed them tightly around her, but that didn’t stop the chill that went deep down to her bones. She was a failure, a mistake, she would only cause harm. Here she wouldn’t be able to do that, and if she died here, then no one would be hurt by her again, and wasn’t that such a nice thought.

________

Tom and Sabine had finally been able to hire some trusted employees and explore places in Tibet. They had made lots of money over the years with their successful bakery, and they thought now was a better time than ever to go on a real honeymoon as they hadn’t been able to afford it before when the bakery had first started. It was during one of these forest explorations when they saw a trail of little drops of blood and felt they needed to follow it. What they discovered broke their hearts. There lying on the cold forest floor was what appeared to be a child hugging their very black wings around them. They knew of the rumors and myths of black winged people, but they did not care. They believed that their wings were not what made them evil, but rather situations put into their lives. Sabine quickly checked for a pulse, and though it was slow she sighed in relief when she felt it. She quickly handed the small unconscious girl to Tom and they both quickly went to the nearest hospital. How could someone leave such a small child all alone to die like that? It looked as if she had been injured if the dried blood on the small fragile wings said anything. And worst of all, upon closer examination, they had been clipped, recently too.

As soon as they arrived they carried the small girl to the front and demanded that they take her in. They waited until the doctors were done and gave them permission to visit claiming to be the girl’s adopted parents. It wasn’t technically a lie, they would be soon even if Sabine had to force it to happen.

When Marinette woke up she knew something was off. She was under a blanket, she’s never been given a blanket before. The sent of bleach and chemicals were everywhere and it hurt her nose. There was a beeping noise next to her that was giving her a headache. She didn’t know where she was, and that was bad. She opened her eyes a small fraction so nobody could see she was awake and looked around as much as she could. The entire room was white and there were bright lights. There were two strange people waiting in chairs near where she was laying. She wondered if they were the ones who brought her here. Slowly she opened them up all the way and silently sat up. It’s best to make no noise, then she wouldn’t disturb anyone.

“Oh sweety, I’m so glad you’re awake.”

The woman said in a cheery and relieved manner, but she just continued to watch and study them silently. Her wings felt stiff against her back, though she made sure they didn’t move or give anything away.

“How are you feeling dear?”

Silence greeted them, and her face remained as impassive as ever. They wanted something, why else would they save a freak like her? What were they aiming for here?

“Did your parents hurt you? If so, we can take you away from them.”

Marinette’s eyes widened only a fraction. These were randoms, innocents if you will. They obviously had no idea who she was, and they seemed unafraid of her and her wings. Did they not know how dangerous she was, didn’t they know that black wings meant she was cursed? The man and the woman looked at eachother and spread their wings. Marinette was shocked, but she wouldn’t show it.

The large man had light brown eagle wings while the small woman had white and black woodpecker wings. She wanted to reach out and touch the feathers, but then something bad would happen to them, so she held her hands together.

“We don’t care what your wing color is. Your wings don’t define who you are, it’s what you do with your life that does. Can we please help you?”

The woman said sincerely as she gripped the man’s hand in hers. She felt a pull to them, something telling her to accept. She didn’t want to hurt them though. But maybe she could protect them? Maybe she could find a way around her curse and make sure they don’t get hurt? Slowly she nodded and they both looked so happy when she did. She hoped that she wouldn’t hurt them, they didn’t deserve to be cursed. Maybe if she didn’t touch them things would be ok. If she didn’t let them touch her then it wouldn’t spread. She could do this!

________

Apparently she couldn’t do it because this is a very affectionate family, and the first thing that happened before they let her sleep on their —super fluffy, pure Heaven— bed was give her a hug. She had made sure that her wings were tucked under her clothes and tight against her back the entire time though. So they didn’t touch her wings, so maybe that meant they wouldn’t be cursed.

It was strange, because the next morning they went to a courthouse, and she was adopted. She hadn’t said anything throughout the entire event, she just watched and observed what people did. They stayed in Tibet for another few days before they flew to Paris, France. This was supposed to be her new home. The city of light and love. Maybe here, it would stop her curse. It was so bright that it had to block out her darkness. She still always carried one of her knives with her, she felt naked without one. Tom and Sabine seemed to understand somehow, and said that it was her business and that was enough for them till she was ready to talk about it. It was strange not to be interrogated for now wanting to tell someone something.

Marinette had lived with the Dupain-Chengs for about a year now. It was strange really, they were honest business people and their joy was always sincere. They didn’t question much of what she did even though it was probably weird to them. They didn’t punish her for messing up like the league did, and they never went near her wings without permission. They never plucked her feathers, and they would often ask if they could preen her wings. She would refuse every time, but she would often wonder what it would be like to have someone else touch them. Think of what it would be like if she weren’t cursed. When it was time for school she would always wrap them around herself then tape them so no one would see or be able to touch them. Things were finally going well, she couldn’t risk it now!

There was a blonde brat that liked to act like she was above her, and because her wings were always hidden with no explanation she made sure everyone knew that she was “wingless”. She didn’t care though, being wingless was better than being evil winged. She never really said anything in class or to other students, she never gave much reaction keeping her stoic face up. The brat left her alone soon after for being a, “ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous freak.” And nobody was the wiser.

Being Lady Chaos was….the best thing that ever happened to her if she was being honest. Even with pure black wings, people still thought she was a hero. She never flew, she was scared she’d fall and die. She was never allowed to fly before, and even if she technically can do so now, it’s not worth the risk. Her partner though, Mr. Bug has gold, red, and black wings. He can fly through the air with ease she wished she desperately had. Sometimes after patrol she would go to the very top of the Eiffel Tower and just stretch her wings out as far out as she could. She would close her eyes as the wind blew past her and ruffled her feathers and pretend that she was soaring through the air.

________

Year three of living with Tom and Sabine she was comfortable talking to them more, and with Plagg there to control her chaos she finally let them touch her wings. It was strange really, she never took care of her wings, never cared enough to. When she first felt the hands on her feathers she had to will herself not to draw them back for fear of them plucking or ripped out. But Sabine’s hands were so gentle and smooth that they seemed to move on their own and go closer to her touch. Sabine would smile and hum as she gently preened the dark raven feathers that were soft and smooth. Maybe she could finally tell the class that she wasn’t wingless soon, and maybe they would be okay with it.

No, they would not as she learned from listening to her classmates talk to the new student, Lila Rossi. To them Lady Chaos was the only good black winged person because she was chasing after Mr. Bug to earn his affections. Lady Chaos was obviously evil before she met Mr. Bug and she would always be evil no matter what she did. Marinette felt nauseous that she ever thought about telling them the truth. She had never felt more betrayed than she felt now, because she had given them her trust, and they broke it without even knowing it. After that day, she made extra sure that her wings were hidden and wore a bit thicker clothing just in case. Tom and Sabine are a little worried about it, but she calmed them pretty quickly. She was fine, it wasn’t like they were all great friends to begin with. That’s probably why everyone sides with Lila and decides that she’s a terrible person.

She had tried leaving her past behind, pretending that she didn’t hurt and kill people. Pretend that she wasn’t a weapon. She tried to push it far away, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. She had abandoned her brother. She betrayed the league. She did unspeakable things to please someone who would never care about her, just her use. The city of lights seems duller than usual, it was probably her fault Hawkmoth came to be in the first place, afterall she was cursed to bring ruin everywhere she went.

________

Lila and Chloe thought it would be a great idea to bring everybody to the Crime Capital of the World for their senior trip. Probably to watch people flounder and worry when things go wrong, which they definitely would. She had stopped Hawkmoth a month before the trip, but Mr. Bug took all the credit for it. The arrogant self centered bas*. Adrien kept giving her side glances that always made her feel uncomfortable and slightly disgusted. During school he would try to touch her with every chance he’d get. He almost discovered her wings at one point. She couldn’t do anything about it before because of the stupid your-rich-so-do-whatever-the-heck-you-want treatment. Now that Adrien’s family fortune is gone, and people don’t trust him because of what his dad did, so he has to be more careful. He now kept some distance, which she was extremely grateful for.

She would have broken his hand, she had imagined it plus other things more than once. But then Tom and Sabine would get in trouble by Gabriel for her actions. They didn’t deserve that, they had been nothing but good to her since they found her abandoned in that forest.

She would be fine though, as long as Lila had a grip on his arm and she was in the back, away from him. She listened to their tour guide, Richard Grayson, talk about the history and importance of WE. The architecture was brilliant really, and you couldn’t blame her for having to draw and sketch it. She often thought of Damian when she sketched. She used to leave drawings for him around the base, little things that expressed her adoration for him without getting too close. She wondered if he was still with the league, had he escaped, did he die? She hoped that wasn’t the case, she hoped that he would be alive and well. Bright orange and white wings nearly slapped her in the face if she hadn’t stopped right before the movement had occurred.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry Marinette! Sometimes my wings just spasm out of control like that! I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Marinette just silently rolled her eyes and took a few steps backward and watched the class glare at her waiting for her to comfort the liar. She would never lower herself to do that. She was still an Al Ghul afterall, even if she did leave it behind when she fled. She was thankful when lunch came, she waited far away from the line and watched silently from a dark corner to make sure no one would hurt her. Then she felt it, a hand touching her back feeling for something. She quickly and instinctively grabbed the arm and twisted it behind them pinning it behind their back at a painful angle.

“Ukhti, let go.”

Marinette knew that voice. She remembered that name and she could feel her heart stop. The lunchroom was silent as they watched the small bluenette silently and quickly release the “Ice Prince”. Everyone watched with bated breaths to see what would happen next. The boy’s wings were ruffled in agitation and fear.

“Where are they?”

He demanded. Marinette knew what he was talking about, she simply wrapped her arms around herself and turned her head away definitely.

“Why are you hiding them, Malak? Please.”

Marinette could feel her wings moving in defiance to what her brain was saying. They wanted to be shown, they wanted to be touched by her brother again. She looked down and slowly uncrossed her arms from her body. Damian gently took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.

“Everything will be ok, Taw'ami.”

She slowly nodded and with shaky fingers reached under her hoodie and began to slowly unwrap the tape that kept her wings confined. When all the tape was in her hands she hesitantly removed her hoodie and let her wings unfold from around herself and into the open. She had made shirts that let her wings slip through slits in the back that were tailored to her wings specifically and were most comfortable. Damian marveled at how big her raven wings had grown and how shiny they were. He reached out a hand slowly and gently ran his fingers down the inky black that was her wings.

Shouts of fear and accusations were thrown at her, mostly from her class. She didn’t listen though, she just observed. The tour guide was coming over now, probably to kick her out. He had such lovely wings though, they were a deep navy blue that looked similar to black with dark red and light blue running through them. They looked so well kept and soft.

“Damian, what’s happening? Who is this?”

“Grayson, meet my twin sister, Marinette.”

“You have a twin?!”

Richard exclaimed loudly, drawing even more attention. The insults and jeers stopped after that. She looked over at the class and smirked when she saw their shock and confusion.

“Yes, keep up.”

Damian said brusquely. They must know each other well then.

“Come, we must take her away from these imbeciles and take her to father.”

Damian grabbed her wrist and tugged, her quickly falling into line like she used to when he did this.

“Now tell me Ukhti, have you been taking care of yourself?”

She nodded as they came to an elevator and walked into it with Richard right behind them. Marinette felt her feathers fluff up nervously. She wasn’t in control of them right now, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Damian ran a hand gently down her right wing trying to smooth it down.

“Things will be fine Marinette. Just watch, father will be glad to meet you.”

She looked him in the eyes and squeezed her hands together.

“No, I have not told him about you. Things will be fine though.”

He seemed to understand her weird way of communicating, she still didn’t understand how he did. Richard cleared his throat and both turned to look at him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but um…I’m Dick, I’m Damian’s, and yours I guess, oldest brother. It’s nice to meet you.”

He spread his wings in a welcoming way that meant and showed safety and peace. Her wings involuntarily rose up as well to reciprocate his greeting. When the door to the elevator opened again she quickly forced her wings to hide on her back trying desperately to keep them from sight. Damian didn’t seem to like it, but he just grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a large office room. The plaque on the door read “CEO Bruce Wayne”. Their father was Bruce Wayne?! She couldn’t go in there, she couldn’t curse him and ruin his life. No, she had already messed up at the league, and she was just barely not messing up with Tom and Sabine, she would definitely ruin Bruce Wayne’s life, and she would not allow that to happen. She tugged at his grip desperately trying to get away.

“Marinette, stop. Your wings are not cursed, that was a lie.”

Marinette shook her head and kept trying to escape the iron-like grip.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

She froze at that and quickly shook her head. Of course she trusted him, it was her that shouldn’t be trusted.

“Good, because we’re going in now.”

And that was that, because the door was now open and she was being dragged into the office room where their father and another boy with large bags under his eyes stared at them. Damian puffed up his chest and feathers letting his strong, big, and brilliant wings rise into the air.

“Father, this is your daughter, my twin, Marinette Erebus Al Ghul-Wayne.”

They both stared at her in shock and Marinette slowly and cautiously raised her despicable black wings into the air. Both stared at them in awe before looking back at her, but she didn’t meet their eyes. She didn’t want to see the disgust and hatred in their eyes.

After a few moments she looked up and saw their wings greeting hers like Dick’s had. Their father’s wings were a mix of black and dark grey alternating the color in each row of feathers. The other boy’s were black at the top and slowly turned to red at the bottom. But they were welcoming her openly, so that must mean something! Well, it was time to get to know her father, she guessed.

300 notes · View notes

mammor0n · 4 years ago

Text

human | solomon x reader

based on lesson 46-12, so spoilers if you’re not up to it. if you know u know 😉 MC is gender neutral ✌

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: softcore smut, not rly explicit and it doesn’t rly start till abt 1k words in but it’s still there. also like one swear word. plus it’s nearly 2am so if there are typos etc. pls forgive me, i’ll give it a read through when i wake up to fix ‘em (probably)

____________________

You awake to a shuffling sound in the corner, and a year of living with seven demons has left you with more sense than to just ignore it. Still half asleep, you squint into the darkness and sigh an incoherent mumble.

“...oh, sorry. Did I wake you?” Solomon asks, voice barely above a whisper.

It takes you a moment to remember where you are; in a cramped motel room in a world that doesn’t really exist, undertaking a trial for your goddamn magic license, which somehow did exist, and the master to your apprenticeship waking you up as though this circumstance wasn’t the stuff of a fever dream already, or some twisted fairytale that slipped the works of Hans Christian Anderson.

“Mm… it’s fine. What’s up? Can’t sleep?” you sleepily slur.

“No… it’s weird, you know? After all that walking we did today, I should be really tired.” Although his voice is even, Solomon’s face echoes a vestige of sadness; loneliness only exacerbated as he continues. “As I watched the twins earlier, I couldn’t help thinking… they’ve always had each other. It’s just natural for them. And even though they don’t say it outright, you can tell how much they trust and rely on each other… it must be nice, you know? To have someone like that in your life. I guess even if you live for centuries on end, there are some things that can always elude you.”

Blinking away remnants of sleep, you push onto your knees and crawl a little closer to him. He sits on the edge of the bed, and you hear it creak as it dips beneath him, the motion pulling you towards him like gravity itself.

“Hey… you have me. You always will, okay? You’re not alone… you have people who care about you,” you protest, and Solomon chuckles.

“Thanks, MC… you really are nice. I’d like to have people I care about, and who care about me… especially if one of those people is you.”

You exchange a smile lit only by the dim streetlight spilling through the weathered, yellowing windows. Solomon’s eyes don’t leave you, and there’s a softness there you’re not accustomed to.

“Hmm… you know, going to sleep in an inn room and then suddenly waking up in the middle of the night is another staple RPG scenario, isn’t it? And usually at times like these, you can expect some sort of really important story event to take place. So what do you think, MC? Is that what’s about to happen here..?”

His eyes find yours, capturing you in a warm a gaze you wouldn’t dare to break; you become all too aware of the sound of your shallow breathing, and rise and fall of your chest, the lump of your thrumming heart in your throat. The air smells like dust and ash, with remnants of smoke from the fireplace curling around the ceiling as the tendrils creep into the cracks between the wood. Your eyelids are heavy, yet sleep has surely relinquished its hold on you.

Solomon is quiet as he looks at you questioningly; murky blue eyes seem to bore into your soul, and in this light, with his hair messy and wearing a loose shirt and cotton pants, you’re jarred by the reminder of his humanity. Now that the magic and jewellery and smirk has been stripped away, you’re left with warmth, sincerity, and something so purely human that you’d never seen in him before. It was something about his eyes, or maybe the bob of his Adam’s apple, the hints of five o’clock shadow carving his jaw, the slight flush blotching his cheeks. At this moment, he isn’t a powerful sorcerer to whom Asmodeus himself is beholden; he’s a person. A human. Two humans sitting together in an inn room with lights off, tangled in scratchy bedsheets as breeze rattles the windowsill overlooking the flame-lit cobbled streets outside. Like something out of a fairy tale.

You’re so lost in his eyes that you forget to speak, and a teasing smile slopes his lips, although the corners of his eyes are just a little too tight, his breath just a little uneven. He swallows, licks his lips…

“Does that look in your eyes mean I can kiss you?”

You reply by crossing the small distance left between you and kissing him. After a stuttered breath, Solomon kisses you back, leaning into you and deepening the kiss as his arms slide around your waist. Once he’s started kissing you, it seems he can’t stop; he presses kiss after kiss to your mouth, his tongue seeking yours, his hands squeezing and tugging you ever closer as you lose yourself in his warmth, the lavender and patchouli fragrance that always seems to follow him, in the eager grasping of his hands on your skin and of your fingers in his hair and of the taste of sleep and evening and to draw it all together, the smoky spark of magic in every touch of his body against yours.

“...I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Solomon confesses breathlessly between kisses. “But you know, wherever you are, Lucifer and his brothers are sure to be nearby. I thought maybe there was no hope. That I’d never get an opportunity.”

In his pause, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Well it’s just you and I tonight, right? Just us.” Your breath rustles the silken hair that isn’t snagged between your fingers, and Solomon smiles.

“Then… I take it this means I have a chance, right? A chance to… deepen our connection.” He supplements the words with a lingering kiss to your throat. “Why don’t you come just a little closer, MC..?”

You sigh, lips seeking his again as you crawl until you’re chest to chest. Slinging a leg over his waist, you climb into his lap and Solomon wastes no time in stealing your breath. His lips are hot, fast, sloppy yet calculated, and he holds you until your head is spinning and you can’t remember your own name.

“Solomon…” is the only utterance you can fathom, and then he smiles against your mouth, and you lose even that.

Wandering hands trail along your waist, beneath your shirt, and shivers ripple down your spine as Solomon suckles at your throat and twists his hands in heavenly ways that curl your toes and pry any thought from your head that doesn’t centre around Solomon, and you, and Solomon and you, two humans alone in an inn room and suddenly your clothes are gone and he’s on top of you and-

Solomon groans as he sinks into you, kissing along the column of your neck, suckling on your jaw, your chest, hands caressing every inch of soft flesh as he whispers curses in languages you’ve never heard into your skin.

You can feel the magic radiating off him as he thrusts, feel your power imbued with his, the fusing of your auras as his lips meld to your skin, over and over, hot and wet and electric and then-

“Fuck, Solomon,” you hiss, head thrown back against the feather-stuffed pillows as his moans are lost in the temple of your body while his hips bruise against yours.

“Mm… you feel so good, my perfect apprentice… my… my beautiful MC…” His words come in sharp gasps out of time with his urgent motions, and you feel him collapse against you as his hips stutter and his seed starts to drip from between your legs, hot and slick as it spills onto the bedsheets. The intrusion has the tightening in your abdomen finally erupting into the shaking of your legs, into shivers of pleasure that race up your skin and draw sharp gasps from lips that Solomon stifles with a hard kiss.

“Solomon…” you manage to breathe as he removes himself from you, lays beside you with a heaving chest and sparkling eyes mirrored in your own.

“Sleep, MC… you did so well… more work tomorrow…” he manages to sigh, his arms closing around your back and dragging you into his chest as he kisses you again, and presses a final kiss to your forehead.

Relaxing into his chest, you nod, humming as forgotten tendrils of sleep begin to slink between your thoughts and numb your tongue.

“‘Kay… night, Solomon…”

You feel him smile against your forehead, and if this is a fairytale, you hope you never reach the last page.

___________________

heyo, thanks for reading! if u enjoyed and u have a spare moment pls comment and reblog, it really makes my day!!! love u hope u have a good day/night 🥺👉👈

#obey me #solomon obey me #solomon x reader #swd obey me #solomon x mc #swd om #solomon #obey me solomon #obey me fanfic #om solomon #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #om #smut #obey me solomon smut #swd solomon #swd solomon x reader #swd solomon x mc #swd solomon smut

701 notes · View notes

demonologistfucker · 4 years ago

Text

MC wants to meet some Creatures - Obey Me! Brother’s - Fluff

Gn!mc asks one of the brothers to take them to find a magical creature. This is for the main brothers, but if people want one for the newly datables just ask! I would love to do more <3

Lucifer

Is Cerberus not enough? We can go down and pet him if you like

It’s going to take some convincing to get this trip to happen. Needlessly risking the human's life just to see something neat? I think not

But your eyes were so big when you asked… fine. He’ll find something worthwhile that isn’t going to get you killed

Prep for the trip is Lucifer covering you in about 50 different protection spells.

Then you’ll be flying. Hold on tightly and try not to look directly into the wind. That’s not good for your human eyes. Lucifer’s arms are firm around you as his wings stretch out. With a push you’re off. Being lifted from the ground purely from the strength of his wings? It’s an undescribable feeling.

Soon you are out of the Devildom and flying above the Hell Wilds. A vast landscape of all sorts of terrors. From red grasses that could cut through bone, or the vast tar fields that bubble toxic gas. There is a beauty to it. Especially if you are safe above it all.

A large canyon comes into sight. “This canyon was cut by Lotan’s first rampage, and where Levi made Lotan his pet.” Lucifer begins to descend. Swooping down in a tight spiral to slip into the canyon.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then you can see something glowing. Many somethings glowing. They crawl over the canyon sides. They are nothing like you’ve seen before, but if you were to pin down to something earth like… they are most similar to sea slugs? But they have legs and bright, piercing eyes. With beautiful fins running down their back. Each looks to be a droplet of a rainbow.

“Gems left in the earth can collect enough magic to come to life.” They have no name, but they could fit in the palm of your hand. Tho please don’t touch they are highly condensed magical creatures and could shred your human body without meaning too.

Mammon

“Can I trust you?” He looks at you with surprising serious. Though he’s scratching his chin which makes it a little hard to take him seriously. When you say Of Course, Mammon quickly cracks into a grin. “Alright, give me a day, but-” He just starts nodding and runs off. Delighted with his own idea too much to tell you more

The Next day you meet Mammon outside the house of lamentation. He is already in his demon form and has a large sack in his hands. Which appears to be full of weird trinkets and a whole lot of grimm.

Where are you going? The Hell Wilds. Which is… so unhelpful because the Hell wilds are nearly infinite.

Mammon scoops you up bridle style, and then you’re off into the air. Mammon cannot stop smiling, “I haven’t taken anyone here before.” He mainly says this too himself. But looks at you with so much delighted you can’t help but blush.

This would be a much longer flight if Mammon wasn’t so good at using the air currents to his advantage. Diving to catch the updraft that send you both rocketing through the air. You’re at not risk of danger. Mammon wouldn’t let that happen to you, but it does feel like a roller coaster. When you level out, you’re facing a dark mountain. It cuts into the air with jagged certainty. Mammon lands halfway up its sides.

“She doesn’t like it when I fly into the nest. So we’ll have to walk to the rest.” If you ask any questions about what is happening. His response is a grin. “You know how Crows and I get along? Well… this is where that started.”

The mountain is only partial rock. The rest is ash, twigs and mud stuck together to keep the mountain from falling apart. Crows and ravens sit perched along the cliff sides. Some crows come flying to the mountain with fresh mud to repair parts of the mountain. The dark birds watch you and Mammon with intense, unrelenting eyes. Mammon smiles to them, and carries on with ease.

The path winds up to a crack in the side of the mountain. Mammon gestures for you to wait outside while he walks in first. You can hear something massive stir. The rustle of feathers and the scratch of claws against stone. Then Mammon pokes his head out and beckons you in.

Curled within the mountain is a great beast. It’s hard to tell one part from another because she is massive, and her dark feathers blend into each other. Her head is stuffed into the bag Mammon brought. When she sits up, she has a golden cup in her maw. The Crow Drake is stunning and terrifying. Her eyes are molten red, and her teeth cut through the gold.

The Crow Drake is the matriarch from all the crows and ravens in Hell. When Mammon was young, he fled to this mountain and was given a drake’s comforts. As well as his first crow familiar.

She reaches up to get a good look at you. Her beak pressing against you. Nudging you around and bringing her eyes right up to yours. Then she sits back and let's out a satisfied sqwaks. Mammon is about to say something when the Crow Drake leans over and picks him up by the collar of his jacket. Mammon is plopped onto her soft back, and she begins preening his hair. Making little noises every once in a while. “I know I used too much conditioner, stop harassing me” Mammon is blushing fiercely.

Levi

“Gah! Why can’t Lotan be more gentle.” Levi really wants you to meet Lotan, but it’s highly likely that Lotan would try to kill you the moment you met. All the photos of Lotan have been just… blue scales, or a big eyeball.

But Lotan is one of many Sea serpents. Actually, there are all sorts of magical creatures in the sea, and Levi is going to tell you about All of them. While he tries to figure out how to make sure you can breathe underwater.

“I am not allowed near the merfolk palace though, so... Can’t take you there.” If pushed on the matter, he will turn red and stammer about how Lotan just wanted a snack.

He found a spell! He’ll need Solomon’s help, but it should give you 24 hours of breathing underwater. Now it’s time to go into his tank.

Did you assume that he just had a normal wall sized fish tank? Of course not. The back wall has been turned into a convenient portal to The Ocean. It’s not an earth ocean, and hell doesn’t actually have a lot of clean water. This Ocean is an in between realm that connects to the abstract of earth’s waters, and all the magic that one could possibly find in those depths.

At first Levi gets distracted showing you all the fish. Look at the coral! And the trigger Fish! Oh, what a pretty anemone. He’s so caught up in showing you around that he’s not even embarrassed to be holding your hand the whole time.

Levi is such a strong swimmer he barely even notices dragging you along with him. His tail easily propels you both forward, and with great agility he can swim through the coral reefs. Then you hit the edge. Suddenly there is a vast nothing below you. Light fades below.

Down you go! It would be more unsettling if you didn’t have leviathan right besides you. Who is practically vibrating with his excitement. Underwater Levi looks so much more comfortable. Moving with such ease and without any hesitation.

You can feel the water begin to shift as something Massive approaches. Levi pauses and let's out a trill. Which is met by a deep noise that rattles your bones.

Red is a hard color to see in the deep ocean. Not enough light in that wave length can reach that far down. So at first it’s just a dark dot in the distances. Then it’s brilliant red head comes surging towards you. The water rushes around as the sea serpent begins to swim in a spiral around you and Leviathan. Leviathan is beaming and spinning around to keep up with the Serpent’s face. Letting out happy trills sporadically.

Eventually the Sea Serpent settles down and lets its body relax out. The Serpent stretches out so far that it’s back fines look so small. Yet their face is larger than a bus. The Serpent looks at you for a long while, and then it flicks it head upward. Which makes Leviathan blush a vibrant red.

She approves

Satan

Satan needs two weeks to prepare! But he has an idea. How do you feel about sewers?

“The Devildom aqueducts are actually one of the cleanest places in hell. It’s really an astounding work of engineering-” he goes on for a while about all the intricate workings. Seems there is a lot of plant filtering the waters, as well as creatures that can digest what the plants can’t process.

Satan gives you one of his books of magic. “I am their friend, but if you want them to accept your presence, it’s best to provide a gift. To show you mean well.” Unlike the others, Satan will give you a heads-up on whom you’re about to meet. Though, he gives the explanation as you’re walking towards the sewer’s entrance.

“Their name is Elos, and they are one of the oldest chimera’s alive. They were created in less than stellar circumstances, but handled it rather well.” By eating their creator. “Now they used the leftover alchemical equipment to do their own studying, as well as keep the aqueduct ecosystem in balance.”

The entrance looks like any other sewer grate in a city. Satan can easily move the heavy cover off, and watches as you begin to climb down the ladder. Satan closes the cover as he starts his descent. The sewers are Massive. The tunnel is about 20 feet wide and 20 tall. A perfect circle, except for the walk ways going along the side. A sort of seaweed is growing at the bottom of the waterways. Little fish duck in and out of the waving reeds. Further in more plants grow along the side. Some areas have full banks that cover the waterways. You can also see long claw marks running along the sides of the tunnel. As well as the residue of a recent magical explosion. “Hmm, looks like Elos got annoying company.” Satan smirks at the blast marks.

One of the original designers of the sewers was the grand wizard who made Elos. So there is a laboratory at the dead center of the sewer system. If one were to look at the blueprints, you’d be able to see a magic circle drawn by the tunnels. Well almost one. Those plans were later worked over to fix the functionality of the sewer system for the devildom. Elos didn’t want to do any city wide magic, so they aren’t really upset about it.

Outside of Elos’s laboratory is a large blue door. Painted on it are bright yellow runes that start to shimmer green as Satan approaches. Satan knocks, and it’s a full three minutes before the sound of the door unlocking. With effort, it swings inwards, and the smell of chemicals and herbs assaults your nostrils.

Satan goes about the polite introduction. Leading you into the laboratory, but it’s hard to pay attention. There are so many strange machines littered across the room, and Elos themself is a feat to understand. Their face is divided into three parts, one of a bull, one of a woman, and the other of an ape. They have large arms with hands that drag across the floor. Their fingers are thin claws of a bird. Chest comes from some great lizard not from earth. Hide legs appear to be lion like, and its tail is an arched scorpion stinger. Elos looks at you with deep eyes.

When you present the spell book Satan gave you. Elos sneers at you but takes the book. “A gift provided from someone else is weaker… but will do.” her voice is a dry and raspy. Speaking with vocal cords never crafted for such intricate language.

Asmodeous

“Want to meet some of the lovelies that help me torment souls?!”

They’re the creature Asmodeous has easy access to, so I recommend saying yes if you want to go with him

“They’re for a very specific time of person. The sort who think their beauty makes up for all the harm they caused.” A dark look smolders in Asmo’s eyes, but when he looks at you, it softens. Back to his normal bright heart eyes.

Asmo summons a cab to drive you both to the outskirts of the devildom. To… a ranch? Soft green meadows stretch out as far as you can see. Wooden fences mark the edge of the road. When you look close, you can see sigils carved into the posts.

Out in the field you can see them. Powerful horses with glimmering spiraled horns. Some are pure white with long wavy mains, but they are as diverse as any herd of horses.

“My beautiful unicorns,” Asmo leans over the fences to get a better look at them. “You’ll get to have a closer look at those in the stables right now. They won’t be too happy about being locked up, but they’re so wonderful just to look at.”

These unicorns come from more of a… vicious tradition. Their diets are completely carnivorous and with a strong preference for humans.

While you enter the stables, Asmo explains that these stables are more for necessary check-ups, and not where the unicorns stayed. They had their own dens somewhere in the meadows. Asmo hadn’t cared to find it, but it is out there.

So the unicorns that are in are here to have a thorough cleaning by one of the stable works. No you cannot help I’m afraid. These Unicorns would not be able to tell you apart from the souls they are encouraged to feast upon. All the other folk who work at the stable are non-human, and they still get bite. What’s worse is when a Unicorn decided to charge.

To make sure none of that happens, you’ll be safely on the other side of the door. Even though you can’t get close. You still can see the Unicorns very well. They are beautiful creatures. The shortest is still taller than the average horses. With eyes set more forward on their skull, and sharp angular bodies. Their legs are less brittle. With hooves that are divined into three sharp angles.

While most of the unicorns with in the stable seem antsy to leave. They all give their own greeting to Asmo. A dappled gray is the most affectionate. Letting Asmo pet the sides of their face, and rubbing up against Asmo’s head. It looks at you with curiosity. Sniffs the air and whinnies. “I know,” Asmo coos. “They are very tasty looking, but you can’t have any. I want this human to stick around.” The Unicorn snorts and flicks it tail in annoyance.

Beelzebub

His eyes light up when you ask to meet some magical creatures. “We won’t have to go too far… but we should wait till the house is quiet.” Que Mammon sprinting through the hallways trying to out run Lucifer. “They don’t like the ruckus.”

Beel asks you to meet him in the kitchen once everyone else has gone to their rooms. When you enter you find him setting out a tray with a dish of milk, honey, and some crackers. He then hands you a block of cheese. “Cut up some cubes of this.” and so you do. Beel doesn’t take any food from the tray, but he does rummage in the fridge while you get the cheese ready.

Once it’s all ready, Beel sets the tray in the middle of the counter. He then pulls out a little golden bell, and rings it. There is a beat of silence, and then doors you had never seen before open. One door is tucked into the wall trim, another in the backspace, and a third underneath the cabinets. Who comes tumbling out are small fuzzy creatures. They walk on their hind legs, and have large flat faces. Almost like a bat, but their eyes are old and wise. They are dressed in hand stitched clothes made from old table clothes, towels, or other scraps of fabric they could steal without much fuss.

“Who is this?!” One of them points pocket knife at you. “My friend,” Beel says and when he looks at you he can’t help but smile. “Hmm… did your friend cut this cheese?” Beel nods. “Next time make them smaller. Our children will struggle to hold these.”

These are House Brownies. A type of fae that can be found in most loving homes. They are a people of high standards but with over whelming big hearts. Beel is the main reason the house brownies live within the house of lamentation. No one else remembers to set out food for them. So no one else gets the help of the Brownies. Beel however often finds that his chores have been done for him, and snacks are often left on his bed side table. Small snack since the brownies can’t carry too much, but he deeply appreciates it.

Brownies are some of the easiest fae to talk with. The worst you can do is hurt their pride, but they are quick to accept earnest apologies. Not the sort of fae who will steal your name and trick you into dancing yourself to death… well… There have been a couple brownies who have done that. But the people were true assholes.

One of the brownies who is dress in a floral dress comes up to you. They give you a once over, and then start to climb up the back of your shirt. Now on your shoulder, the Brownie sniffs your face and pokes your cheeks. The Brownie’s whiskers tickle, and it’s hard not to react. But their fur is so soft, and they smell like honey and clove.

“You should have brought this one sooner.” The floral Brownie says in a sing-song voice. “They can bring us human snacks, yes?” “I want a candy!” Another brownie cheers. “Are human homes as noisy as demon homes?” “What is a cat? We hear the mean one speak of them, but never have seen them.” “Is cat friend or foe to the brownie?” Another brownie is now climbing you. This one decided to perch on the top of your head. “Human smells nice. Keep them Beel.”

Belphegor

“Okay, but you’re paying for their snacks.”

Which turned out to be nearly ten pounds of red meat. You’re also the one who has to carry the bag as you walk into the properly sketchy parts of the Devildom city. Belphegor looks as nonchalant as normal. Except for when he needs to glare at any other Demon who might start making eyes at you.

Now it’s into the dark alleys you go. Winding past business and into tight brick alley ways. The surrounding buildings seem to tower up through the sky. Blocking the darkness above. There is even a hint of sulfur in the air.

“Alright, set the meat down.” Belphegor stops at the intersection of four alley ways. It makes a small circle in the middle. The ground is dark and stained from years of murk. Moss grows up the walls, and blooms in the cracks. You set the meat down and then back up next to Belphegor. “Are you nervous?” He grins a little and then brings his fingers to his lips and whistles Loud.

You can hear them running. Many heavy feet charging down the paths. They’re coming from every direction, and now hear their panting breath. Growling and snarls as they try to be the first to reach their meal.

If you thought earthly wolves are big. You are blown away by the size of hellhounds. They keep their heads low but still stand at least three feet tall. Their teeth are as black as their fur, and they have barbed tails that whip back and forth in a frenzy. The Hell hounds are at first completely distracted by the food left out for them.

“When they’re not hungry, they’re really sweet.” Belphegor crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. Patiently waiting for the Hell Hounds to calm down. “They’re in the city to hunt down pests. Lucifer see’s them as exterminators,” One of the Hell Hounds now trots over to Belphegor. It rams its head into his stomach, demanding attention. Belphie laughs a little and starts to scratch its ears. Now content that it’s getting love. The Hell Hound eyes you. First a sniff, and then it tries to bite your clothes. “Hey,” Belphie says in a stern voice, and that’s all the Hound needed. You’re not food? Well then you must be friend too.

The message is spread through the rest of the pack, and soon you are surrounded. The Hell Hounds breath is rancid, and they will not stop trying to give you kisses.

Two of the hounds manage to get Belphie on the ground, and sit on top of him. Belphie’s face is flushed, and he only tries to get them off half-heartedly. Then accepts their cuddles and closes his eyes. “They’re not allowed in the house. So I come here a lot… you can join me next time if you want.”

A/N: Thank you @squidubus for the great idea of Mama Crow Drake preening Mammon’s hair. I luuuv uuuu

#I had... so much fun with this #mammon's mom is a Crow Drake #Obey me!#Obey me! headcanon #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Mammon #Obey me! Leviathan #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Asmodeous #Obey me! Beelzebub #Obey me! Belphegor #my writing #creatures #fantasy #I just love magical creatures okAY?!#also you with MC powers Can befriend the man eating unicrons if you really want but you gotta Earn it

332 notes · View notes

shera-dnd · 3 years ago

Text

So ya girl failed miserably at taking part in the frostbyte week when she promised to, so to compensate I'm joining ROSEBIRD WEEK! And of course I'm starting with the freaking angst, because this little fic is for day 3: Gried/Regret

Hope y'all enjoy it.

Of all her journeys in these past couple of years, Ruby Rose found the trek back to Patch to be the most difficult stretch. Not because she was being hunted, not because the weather was foul, not because she got lost. But because of where she was going, and why.

She was returning to the place where her journey began, that lonely gravestone overlooking the forests below, and for once the journey was peaceful. There had been no accidents, no attacks, only a quiet and all too lonely trek through the woods...just so she could say goodbye to her mom.

So when she stepped out of the treeline, she was surprised to find that she wasn’t the only one there; perched atop her mother’s grave was a single black bird with red eyes. It looked at her curiously, but made no motion to leave.

Ruby was slow and cautious in her approach, not wanting to provoke the bird. Thankfully it did not seem to mind her much, only caring to give the most minimal of glances in her direction once she had stepped close to the gravestone.

“Hey there, little guy,” she tried to greet it, to no response, “are you here to talk to her too?”

The bird cawed at her, but did not move.

“It’s just that...I was expecting to do this alone,” no response. Okay, guess she’s gonna have to do this with some extra company then.

She sighed and slumped to her knees, but tried to keep a positive attitude. A skill that she had more than mastered after these past few years.

“I guess I could use some company,” she commented casually, “so…did you know her?”

The raven looked at her funny, but did not respond.

“I guess not,” Ruby shrugged, “well, she was my mom, and she was the best mom anyone could ask for. She was sweet, and kind, and brave. She would bake us cookies, and then go fight giant monsters,” she couldn’t help but smile as those old memories came back to her, “she was incredible.”

Until other memories came flooding too.

“Even when bad people tried to take her away, even when they tried to make her as bad as them…even then she kept fighting. She fought because she wanted to make the world a safer place,” she could still hear that voice, completely distorted, but still hers, “for me, for Yang...for all of us.”

Fingernails dug into her palms, and her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. She was just talking about her. She hadn’t even said what she needed to say, she couldn’t start crying now.

She hadn’t realized that the bird was staring at her now, studying her intently as if it could understand every word she had said.

“I…I think you’d like her,” she spoke to the raven, trying to bring back some levity.

The bird seemed to finally have realized it was intruding - or more realistically just grew bored of her - and flew away, cawing a couple of times on its way out. Leaving Ruby alone with her mother.

A hand traced over the engravings on the stone. The symbol of a rose, her mother’s emblem, and also her own. Under it was her name, Summer Rose, and the words “Thus Kindly I Scatter”. Ruby had read those words to exhaustion, ran her hand over those engravings until she worried she might cause them to fade away, she had come to this grave to speak to her mother more times than she could have counted.

She knew her mother hadn’t been buried under that stone, she knew her body had never been recovered, but she could never have dreamed of what had happened to her, even in her worst nightmares. But even though her body wasn’t there, that single stone still brought her comfort, and she still came here for a reason.

“Hey, mom, it’s been a while,” she greeted, voice weak, “a lot happened since we last talked. Been to Mistral, Atlas, Vacuo, even outside space and time for a while,” she forced herself to chuckle at that one, “we met some new people, some good, some bad...most good, and we even made some friends too.”

Her hand shifted and she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.

“I’m a huntress now, thought you’d like to know that. I also learned about the maidens, and the relics...and Salem. I know you probably didn’t want me to get involved in any of this, but once I knew what was at stake I couldn’t just sit back and let others suffer,” she tried to breathe, tried to center herself and calm down a little, but her breath was shaky, “I guess you would know how that feels...that’s why you kept going on missions, right? You couldn’t just sit back and let it happen.”

“I hope…,” no that wasn’t the right word, “...I think you’d be proud of us, mom.”

She hadn’t noticed when the tears had started, but she could feel them now, rolling down her cheeks and landing on the stone below. She also hadn’t noticed that the bird had returned.

“I know…I know you’re not really here. I know your body is out there, getting toyed with by Salem,” she flinched at the terrible memories that assaulted her, of her mother’s eyes staring from inside a beast’s maw, “but that thing isn’t you. My mom died trying to make the world a better place, she died protecting her family. My mom…” her hands were shaking, her vision was blurry and she sobbed, “my mom isn’t a monster! No matter what Salem does.”

Behind her stood the raven, large and menacing with her red armor, and a sword hanging from her side, though her posture was far from threatening. Tears that she had refused to shed for years now streamed uncontrollably down her face. One hand covered her mouth, trying to muffle any sobs that might try to escape it, and the other reached for the girl before her, quivering barely an inch above her shoulder.

She wanted to comfort her, show her that she wasn’t alone, but she couldn’t, not after all those horrible things she had done.

“I...I have to say goodbye now, mom,” Ruby continued, wiping her tears on the back of her sleeves, “for good. We’re going to fight Salem soon, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back, but I promise that no matter what happens…,” trembling hands clenched into fists, and her voice found the strength it had lost, “we won’t let her win! We’ll put your body to rest, and we’ll stop her no matter what! I know how powerful she is, but I also know that we can stop her, that we can make the world a safer place. And then...and then your sacrifice won’t have been in vain!”

The wind blew through her hair, the trees rustled behind her, Ruby sniffled, but there was no response. She knew there wouldn’t be any, but the silence was still heavy on her. It dragged on and on, allowing her fears and anxieties to return, to begin to dig away at what little confidence she had left. But before she was allowed to crumble again, the raven spoke.

“You sound just like her.”

Ruby had heard those words before, spoken by that same voice. Though the first time it had been stained by disdain and mockery, now it shook and trembled under the weight of soul crushing regret.

This time it sounded like grief.

She turned around to see her, to look the raven in the eye, but she was already gone, leaving behind only the silence, and a single black feather, slowly falling to the tear stained ground.

#rosebirdweek #rosebird week 2021 #rosebird #rwby #ruby rose #raven branwen

32 notes · View notes

7demonhoes · 4 years ago

Text

The devildom and hell are not the same part 2

This may have taken forever but I’m actually super proud of it. If you’re interested, I put a link to part 1 below. Also I take requests!!

Description: After giving into curiosity, MC has to deal with the consequences. They couldn’t leave the brothers be, not when they were clearly hiding something from their human. And now, with the demon’s secrets revealed, MC faces a dilemma that could cause them to lose the demon brothers forever.

Word count: 5,191

Warnings: Angst, body horror, mention of religion/hell. The demons act like actual demons.

Part 1

I kneel on the edge of the cavern that leads to the pits of Hell, throat raw from my terrified wail. Seven demons stare down at me, the sky beyond them tinged a cloudy red that resembles the blood being spilt far below.

The one that used to be Satan crouches down, moving as if to offer me a hand. It begins the motion. I stare at the arm; veins bulge from skin, its color a faint, sickly green. The hand reaching out towards me is huge, black claws the size of my fingers sharpened to a point, gore under the nails.

My eyes travel past the arm, looking towards the beast’s bare chest. Skin is stretched over muscle, pulled so tightly that it appears as if it will tear and bleed if it is stretched too far. A long, rigid tail snakes around the demon’s leg, swishing excitedly against a pair of bent knees. The tail travels up the entire length of the monster’s back, connecting to two obsidian horns at either side of the monster’s head.

The creature’s facial features are warped beyond recognition into a look of rage. Tight skin stretches over a small nose, dry lips forming a silent howl of anger. The mouth is horrible, its short, sharp teeth gleaming against pale green skin. Rows of teeth line the monster’s throat, reaching far back into the cavernous mouth.

Its eyes are blue-green, and they beg me for forgiveness. The beast whispers my name in Satan’s voice, far too soft to be coming from a hole filled with so many teeth.

“No,” I whisper, because it’s the only thing I can think.

“Why did you come?” The thing pretending to be Levi unhinges its jaw to speak, a forked tongue drooping from its mouth and slithering towards me.

“You’re so afraid,” another voice buzzes, “You’re making me even hungrier.”

“You betrayed us.” Mammon’s voice sounds pained. I can’t bring myself to look in the voice’s direction. When I looked at the figure before, I caught a glimpse of melted gold and burnt skin. “We loved you, you know.”

I could hear the meaning in those words. But not anymore. “Please,” I beg, because it’s the only thing I can do.

“Do not speak like them,” Lucifer rumbles, talons gesturing dismissively towards the Pit.

I stare at the ground, concentrating on the dirt sifting through my clenched fingers. I can’t think while I stare at them. The screams of the tortured souls get louder if I look into their eyes.

I remember the forcefield. I slowly crawl backwards. I need to get away from this place. I need to get away from-

A frail, thin hand with fine black hair rests on my own. If I wasn’t so afraid, I think I would reel back in disgust. “Running away?” Belgaphor whispers.

"I-" my voice breaks as the hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me forward. I stumble to my feet, barreling into hard muscle.

"Honey," Asmosdeus's sweet voice sounds sickly and thick. "You should have done what you were told."

I shiver against him, my arms wrapped around my chest. I stare down at his feet. A clawed hand gently touches the bottom of my chin.

"Don't," I whisper.

The demon ignores my request, forcing my eyes to travel up towards its face. Small, writhing bodies are pressed against the monster's skin, their nude forms stroking the demon.

When I look at the horror's face, the animal that stole Asmo's voice smiles at me. Its mouth splits open at the middle of the bottom lip, revealing a barbed tongue and curved canines.

Its hooded eyes reveal no emotion. Red makeup swirls around the demon's face, highlighting its elegant features. Four giant wings wrap around me, impossibly smooth to the touch.

I watch as it presses a clawed finger to its lips. "I'm sorry, baby," it coos, "but it appears that we have some things to discuss with you."

"...What?" I ask, attempting to reel backwards as the beast reaches for me. The demon places his finger on my tongue before pulling me in an embrace.

I feel a hand on the back of my head, softly stroking my hair. "Sleep," Belgaphore commands.

My vision blurs, my body starting to feel warm and calm. I find it impossible to move, but I'm too tired to care.

As my vision grows black, I hear the beating of wings and feel the soft caress of hot air against my skin.

I wake up in a dim room. Candlelight flickers across the stone walls and floor. Harsh shadow is cast across the other side of the room, so thick that I can't make out what might be lurking inside. Thankfully, I can no longer hear the screams of the damned.

I try to move my arm. To my horror, it pulls against a metal cuff. I look down to realize that I'm strapped to a metal chair by my wrists and ankles. I stiffen, looking wildly at my surroundings. I have to get out of here. What are they going to do to me? Are they going to keep me in Hell, now that I've learned what they are?

I can't help myself. I let out a whimper. I immediately hear rustling from the other half of the room. Glowing, red eyes stare at me from the darkness.

"Human," Lucifer's voice is rough. "I told you this was not information to be privy of." he steps into the candlelight, and I struggle against the chains. "And yet," he says, staring down at me with hunger, "I should have known that you would have meddled either way."

I stare at the figure in front of me. Its-his?- skin moves like ruffling feathers, never standing still. Hands and feet are replaced with the talons of a bird, the skin dry and black. The wings on the creature's back are even larger and more impressive than usual, crumpled slightly so they can fit in the cramped room. Black feathers shine an iridescent purple whenever candlelight flickers across them. Feathers travel from the wings, up the shoulders, and climb towards the demon's face, stopping at the jawline.

Lucifer's facial features are more or less the same. His cheekbones are sharper, his eyes brighter, and his lips are a shiny black. When the demon speaks, I see neat rows of fangs.

"Are you afraid?" The demon asks.

I remember when he almost attacked me in the common room. "Do you want me to be?"

Lucifer takes another step forward and crouches down, his face inches from mine. When I look into his eyes, I see the faces of those he has tortured. "Yes," he whispers.

I feel my heartbeat in my throat. "Why?" My voice is hoarse.

"It is my nature. And it is yours to be terrified of me." He gestures towards his body. "Especially when I look like this."

"Lucifer," I can't look into his eyes anymore. I stare at my lap, blinking away tears. "What is going to happen to me?"

"We will answer your questions. All of them."

"And then?"

He swallows. I glance at him to see his eyes on me. They're soft; if I look past the souls within them, I can see his sadness. "And then we will make you forget."

"Hell?" I guess that wouldn't be so bad. If I just woke up back in the House of Lamentation without any idea of what happened, it would probably be for the-

"No," Lucifer cuts off my thoughts. "You will forget your time in the Devildom."

If I wasn't sitting down, I think I would fall over. "Please don't." I can't forget this place. I can't forget them.

"It has already been decided." Lucifer stands and heads towards the shadows. "I will come back when it is time to say goodbye." He turns to look at me, opens his mouth, closes it with a shake of the head, and drifts away.

I shudder in a mixture of relief and despair when I no longer feel his presence. This place is horrible. I need to get out of here. But what would that do? They would find me, and they would bring me back.

And then they would say goodbye.

Maybe it's for the best. After everything I've seen… If I don't forget, what would become of my sanity? If I look at the demons in their human forms, will I ever be able to see them as the men I loved again?

I stare at the floor, feeling a coil tighten around my heart. Are the brothers truly that different? They've been coming to this place for more time than I can fathom.

And yet, those are human souls they are torturing. Do they ever look at me and think about hurting me? How much do they have to fight against their instincts to not attack me while I sleep?

But they never have. Does that knowledge by itself allow me to trust them?

It's not like I have a choice. They're taking away my memories of this place no matter what I do.

Someone coughs. I look up to see Beelzebub and Belgaphore. They stand huddled in shadow, looking at anything but me.

I eye them wearily, trying not to look away. Belphie looks even more exhausted than usual, the bags lining his eyes a deep shade of gray. His skin is covered in fine hair and rot, maggots crawling around his skin. Beel glances at the grubs, his stomach growling loudly.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

Belphie raises an eyebrow. "Does what hurt?" His voice sounds sickly. It makes me want to close my eyes and never open them again.

"Your skin."

He shrugs. "You get used to the pain."

I stare at Beel. His eyes look like those of a fly's, each bulb moving in multiple directions. His mouth is half open, drool spilling from his lips. Giant teeth poke holes into his skin, the edges of the white points soaked in blood. His wings buzz each time they quiver.

"We're here to answer some questions." Beel says, "If you want to know anything."

I pause, thinking. It would be a waste to not ask questions, even though the action seems pointless when I know that I won't remember their answers. Still, the longer I drag this out…

Am I really okay with saying goodbye?

"Why do you look like that?" I start, my stomach rolling.

"We naturally shift into our True Forms when in Hell," Beelzebub says. "It's hard to change if we're just in the Devildom, unless we're incredibly angry or we haven't…. come here in a while. The only person who can shift whenever they want is Diavolo"

I swallow, gripping against the chair. "Those people," I whisper hoarsely, "Do they deserve it?"

"People are brought here for different reasons. The book humans use for their religion has some truth in it, some lies."

"For example?"

Belphie sighs. "Killing for safety or self defense doesn't get you thrown down here, but destroying lives for your own well-being does. People never come here based on their sexuality or gender. Stuff like that."

"What about… people who make pacts?"

"Only if you offer your soul. And even those humans don't necessarily end up in Hell."

I frown, thinking. "What will happen to my pacts with you? Once I forget?"

Beel winces. "They won't disappear, but since you won't remember how to use them, the marks will never flare up and show themselves."

A desperate, sad fear twists in my gut. "I don't want to forget you." My voice breaks as I speak, my eyesight becoming blurry.

One of the twins growls. I look up to see Belphie right above me, his lips grinding in an angry snarl. "This is your fault," he rumbles. "If you never asked questions, if you never tracked us…" He kneels down, placing his head on my knees. "Were we that untrustworthy? Was it me?"

"Belphie," I sigh, trying to reach out to him despite the chains. "I was selfish. It was all my fault."

"Can't you stay here instead? What if you just never left? You could live here, with us, and I wouldn't have to-"

Beel walks over and rests a hand on Belphie's head. "Humans can't stay here for their entire lives. It's too dangerous." Beel sighs, walking behind my chair to wrap his arms around me. He's careful to hide his claws. "But it doesn't mean we can't be sad."

My lip quivers. I'm about to speak when Belphie cuts me off. "I can't do this. I can't look at you and know that in a few hours you wouldn't recognize me. I'll- I'll see you later." He gets up, grabs Beel, and drags him out of the room. Before he's engulfed in shadow, Beel reaches out for me.

I desperately try to reach back, but my wrists clang at their restraints.

I try to fight against the sadness in my gut. What have I done? I can't lose them. Not after all this time.

Before I can second guess myself, I concentrate, bringing the images of Leviathan and Mammon into my head. I imagine all of their forms and desperately force myself to think of each one as the same person.

I close my eyes. "Avatars of Greed and Envy," I speak, feeling the sigils against my palms and over the back of my neck tingle as they flare, "I summon thee as my guides. Be my strength." The sigils burn as I call out to the demons, feeling a familiar pull against my chest. I concentrate on that pull and imagine myself reeling it in.

The ground beneath my feet rumbles. I hear a whoosh and a flutter of wings. When I open my eyes, I find Levi and Mammon staring at me worriedly.

"Why did you summon us?" Mammon asks.

I smile sadly. "I still have questions. And I wanted to do it one last time."

Mammon winces, but doesn't speak. He tries to make him look as small as possible as I study him.

The Avatar of Greed is an impressive, terrifying sight. His blue eyes shine against his dark skin. His body and horns are adorned with jewels, the edges of the golden pieces melting into his skin. His hands are covered in melted gold, his fingers long and slender and decorated with beautiful rings. Black feathers cover parts of his chest and groin, the edge of them dipped in gold.

Burned skin presses against the gold, painful-looking blisters contrasting against the beautiful color of his skin. If Mammon is in pain, he shows no signs of it.

The tips of his bat-like wings are the same. One side of his wings brushes against the stone wall and leaves behind a smooth cut.

I turn my eyes towards Levi, and he shudders. "Don't look at me," he hisses, "I can't let you see me like this."

"Levi," I whisper, "Can you undo my restraints?"

"Won't you run?"

I shake my head. "I won't run away from any of you, ever. I promise." I put power into the words, feeling each of the seven sigils flare. The brothers in front of me gasp as they feel the power of the pacts within them.

Levi steps forward, gingerly reaching down to the cuffs at my ankles. When he moves to undo my wrists, he turns his head to hide his face.

His body is covered in purple scales. His arms and legs are disproportionately long compared to the rest of his body. His claws aren't as long as some of his brother's, but his fangs are the most impressive.

His mouth is huge, his jaw hanging open each time he speaks. Fangs dipped in poison reach towards his bottom lip, a forked tongue occasionally tasting the air. His eyes resemble a snake's, his extra eyelids blinking as he shies away.

Once he's released me from my restraints I rub at my wrists. I slowly stand up, barely coming up to Levi's chest. "Did you get taller?"

"We all do, in this form." He steps away from me.

"It's okay," I say. "Please don't hide. I want to be brave, so that your last memory of me is a good one."

I can tell how much they care through their words and actions. I could never hate them for what they are. They've shown me so much kindness and love.

I wonder if I'll know that something is missing? I've never been appreciated this much in my entire life. Will I feel a void in my heart once I wake up without these memories?

Before Levi or I can realize what I'm doing, I reach out and grab his hand. He jumps as I stroke his claws with a finger, his scales surprisingly smooth. Levi barely moves as I entwine our fingers together.

"Show me," I look at Mammon. He stares where my skin touches Levi's, a mixture of hopefulness and need plastered on his face. "I want to see all of it."

He stiffens, realizing what I'm asking. "No."

"Please," I take another step closer to Levi. I don't even think he's breathing. "I want to truly accept you all. I want you to know that I understand why you kept this from me, and that even once I forget you that I will never stop loving you."

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then shakily wipes at his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He nods before gesturing towards the shadows. Levi and I follow him, still holding hands.

I'm completely blind for a few seconds as we walk through the murky black. As the shadows around me dissipate, the sound of tormented souls reach my ears once more.

We stand on the other side of the pit. I look behind me to see a wall of shadow climbing towards the sky. "That wasn't there before," I mutter.

"Welcome to Hell." Mammon shrugs.

"What's it like?"

"There's eight layers." Levi points down to the pit. I glance at it, trying to put on a brave face. "Each one of us controls a layer, but the lesser demons are the ones who do most of the work. We go once a week or so to quell some of our more… natural instincts."

"Eight layers? But there's seven of you."

"The first layer is the pathway to the layer each soul will spend eternity in. The people you see now are those who have just died."

"And every demon needs to come here."

"Yes," Levi nods. "For some, it's almost like a job. Demons who have roles at other places in the Devildom only come here occasionally."

I catch Mammon's apprehensive stare. He swallows. "Aren't you afraid?"

I look down at the black dirt. "Yes. But the fear of Hell seems unimportant when I am so much more afraid of using all of you."

Levi sucks in a breath. "I can't believe you." He looks down at himself. "How could you see me like this and not be disgusted?"

"It's hard." I won't lie to them-- it feels like my instincts are screaming at me to run and hide. "But I know that you would never hurt me."

"But we have!" Levi shudders, "Don't you remember? We have never been fully able to control ourselves!" He takes his hand from my grasp, instead clenching them into fists. "Every time," he growls, "Every time we have ever hurt you it was because we had procrastinated coming here. And we never learned our lesson."

He's shaking, his eyes wide. "And now, you're gone. The first person we've truly cared about and you're being taken away-"

I crash into him, arms wrapping around his torso. He stiffens, hands remaining rigid at his side. The air beside me suddenly becomes hot as Mammon comes closer, coming as close to me as he can without burning me.

"I'm sorry," I sob into Levi's scales. "I'm so sorry. I love you all so much. I-I don't want to lose you."

Mammon tilts his head towards the sky and bellows, a ferocious roar emptying into the air and causing the ash beneath my feet to quake. He snarls, his feathers rippling. "Fuck this," he snaps. "Fuck Hell, fuck the rules. I'm not losing you." His blue eyes meet mine, flames burning within. "We're not showing you Hell. We're getting ya out of this place."

Levi bristles. "But where can we take them?"

I gasp. "Purgatory Hall. Solomon has a trap there. I'll be stuck in a forcefield, and only he can get me out. We'll be able to negotiate."

Mammon nods. "Let's go." He takes to the sky, giant wings flapping impressively.

Levi effortlessly picks me up, cradling me gently against his chest. "Hold on," he says. I tighten my grip around him as he takes off at an impossibly fast speed, the world blurring around me as he sprints around the Pitt and towards the forcefield back to the Devildom.

As we pass through the forcefield, he doesn't slow even as he shrinks in size and his scales recede. He continues to run as he returns to his normal demon form, his face a mask of concentration.

Mammon continues to fly above us, keeping pace with Levi-

A giant, terrifying figure in the sky flies toward him. They both go toppling to the ground in a flurry of wings and roars.

"Shit!" Levi yells, forcing himself to go faster.

"What was that?" I have to scream to hear my voice over the howling wind.

"Diavolo! He must know we're trying to help you!"

I swallow down a thick ball of anxiety. He wanted to kill Belphie for not following his orders when it came to the exchange program; what will he do to Mammon for letting me remember Hell?

Once we reach Purgatory Hall, Levi doesn't slow as we reach the door. He tightens his hold around me as he rams into the door with his shoulder. The wood splinters and falls beneath his weight.

Something screams behind us. Levi swears, heading towards Solomon's room. Just as we reach the hallway, the windows lining the walls all shatter at once.

Levi curls around me and jumps, hitting the ground and rolling as glass embeds itself into his skin. He sucks in a pained breath, releasing me and throwing me towards Solomon's door.

I scramble to my hands and knees and take a few steps forward before looking back. Levi's already standing, his arms spread wide to leave as little of an opening to reach me as possible.

And beyond him…. Is Diavolo in his True Form. He stands at a staggering seven feet, each limb defined with bulging muscle. His wings are so large that the edges poke past the broken windows, the stiff leather riddled with glass. His arms lay tensely at his sides, claws as big as my hand covered in a mixture of blood and strips of dark skin.

I shudder, thinking of Mammon and asking every god I know to let him be okay.

Diavolo snarls, his mouth stretching from ear to ear. A long, pointed tongue is covered with blood, red drool spilling from his horrible mouth. His eyes glow against black eye sockets.

And his skin…. Screaming faces press themselves against it as if trying to escape. The forms convulse against his entire body, hands reaching out and pressing against veined skin in a mixture of desperation and hopelessness.

Diavolo screams, and I cover my ears with a pained gasp as the walls around me shake. Levi steadies himself against the towering beast before him.

"Run!" Levi shouts just as Diavolo charges. I force myself to turn away and spring for Solomon's door as the sound of pained grunts and tearing echoes from behind me. I open the door and dive into the threshold of the room as something hot and wet erupts at my ankle.

I fall into the room and whirl around, staring at the open door as I lay sprawled out on the floor.

Diavolo bangs against the forcefield, his face a mask of rage. I cower beneath him, a small whimper bubbling from my throat.

I look past his hulking form to see Levi crumpled against a wall, his body covered in deep lacerations. I stare at him in shock, thinking the worst.

He coughs, opening an eye to look at me. He smiles when he sees me in Solomon's room before closing his eyes. His chest rises and falls.

I force myself to look at my ankle. The skin is shredded in three different places. I wince, just now feeling the pain as I stare at the wound. I quickly rip a part of my shirt and tie it around my ankle, gritting my teeth through the sharp needles of hurt.

A flurry of wings takes my attention away from my useless ankle. Diavolo turns as the rest of the demon brothers enter the hallway through the shattered windows.

Lucifer carries a bloodied heap in his arms. His eyes glow with an anger so intense I find myself scooting away despite the forcefield between us. He gently sets Mammon down next to Levi, his cold eyes softening as he looks at his brothers.

His eyes drift towards me, then towards my bandaged ankle. He glances at Diavolo's bloodied claws, then looks back at his unconcioUs brothers.

He faces Diavolo. His skin ripples, and with a sudden cry of rage he shifts into his True Form, his eyes almost level with Diavolo's.

A rumbling voice sounds from Diavolo's throat, more growls than words, "How dare you threaten me!"

Lucifer bares his teeth. "You laid a hand on my brothers. You laid a hand on my human."

"They broke the rules! They must face the consequences." Diavolo steps forward threateningly, but Lucifer holds his ground. "Bring Solomon here at once to break the spell."

"No." Lucifer shakes his head defiantly. "You will not harm anyone else."

Satan puts a hand on his shoulder. His skin stretches and pulls as he changes as well. Each brother steps closer to Lucifer, their eyes ablaze as they stand before their king. To protect their brothers.

To protect me.

I can't leave them.

"You cannot defy me!" Diavolo roars.

"No," a cunning smile warps itself on Lucifer's face, "but they can force us." He points a claw at me.

Diavolo gasps and turns to me, smashing against the forcefield with all of us weight. I focus on the brothers instead as they wait. With a grunt of effort, I get to my feet. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

I picture the brothers in my head, bringing my favorite memories of them to my mind. I pour everything I have felt over the past few hours-- the fear, the despair, the desperation…

And the love. I imagine golden love wrapping around their bodies and mine, entwining us forever; an unbreakable bond that cannot be forgotten.

I don't have to say the words. I feel all seven pacts burning on my skin, their colors washing me in a hue of seven different colors.

I look at Mammon and Levi. "Heal," I command. Their eyes fly open, skin closing around their myriad of wounds. "Change," I tell them, and their figures warp, the beautiful monster's falling behind Lucifer.

Diavolo screams, whirling around to face the brothers. He charges, raising a clawed hand towards Lucifer.

"Protect yourselves!" I demand, "And don't let me leave you!"

Lucifer catches Diavolo's raised hand. Faster than I can blink, the brothers hold Diavolo down. He tries to get loose and tear away from them, but he's no match for the seven of them.

"This is treason." His voice is full of malice.

"There has to be another way," Lucifer pleads. "There has to be a way to ensure that they don't forget."

"It's impossible." Diavolo shakes his head. He blinks, the rage on his face turning to a look of pensiveness. "Only damned souls and demons are able to witness Hell."

Satan stiffens. "What if-"

Belgaphore gasps. "It could be possible."

Lucifer frowns. "I doubt they'd want that."

Diavolo tilts his head to the side, his eyes turning towards my direction. "I suppose it wouldn't make the exchange program a complete failure." He takes a deep breath, his body shrinking in size until he's in his human form. He crosses his arms, staring at me.

The brothers follow suit, each of them shaking off their demon forms. I watch them, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Diavolo takes a step forward. His eyes no longer hold any anger. "You have two options," he says. "Either you can forget this place and live the rest of your days as a human…"

He pauses. I try to read the brother's faces for a clue, but the only expressions on their faces are those mixed with anxiety and hope.

Diavolo continues, "...or you can live in the Devildom for the rest of eternity. As a demon."

My heart skips a beat. I could be here. Forever, with the brothers.

As a demon.

"H-how?"

"With the correct rituals, it's quite an easy process. But if you do this, you will forever be changed. The human realm will no longer belong to you." Diavolo narrows his eyes. "You are trapped. You have no other choice."

I look at Levi and Mammon, who risked their lives to get me here. Levi shrugs, understanding the meaning of my gaze. "We gave you a way out. Now it's up to you to choose."

I stare at the demons in front of me, picturing their true forms. Do I really want to leave the human world behind? Would I be prepared to give it all up?

And what about my job as a demon? I would have to do unspeakable things…

And yet… could I stand to lose what I have here? I have never felt so loved, so complete until I came here.

I close my eyes. And I feel the decision in my bones.

"I won't forget you," I say.

The brother's eyes go wide, but Diavolo simply nods. Something shuffles from the back of the room. I turn to see Solomon materialize from a corner.

"What. The. Hell." I mutter, staring at the grinning wizard.

"Sup," he replies. He shuffles to his desk, pulling out a small container. He opens it before kneeling before my injured ankle, gingerly peeling off my makeshift bandage. He rubs some sort of cream on it, and the wound heals within seconds. He stands up with a wink, waving a hand in the direction of his doorway. The forcefield dissolves.

"Let's make a pact," he smiles.

I sigh, standing up and squaring my shoulders. Lucifer extends a hand out towards me. I take it. Each brother turns and begins to walk.

I leave my humanity at the door, following the loves of my life into the eternally dark sky of the Devildom.

#thank you so much for reading!#obey me #obey me fic #shall we date #obey me angst

214 notes · View notes

mldrgrl · 4 years ago

Text

Broken Things 9/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

He likes her more and more with every minute that passes. In some ways she reminds him of his sister. Samantha was such a determined and spirited little girl and he can see the same qualities in Katherine, though it’s clear she tries to suppress them. He suspects that’s a product of both her upbringing and her previous marriage.

He’s excited to get her settled on the ranch and to have her there. As a man raised by a strong woman of considerable influence, he’s missed both the female perspective and the companionship. There is a different energy that women bring with them that has been inspiring poets and heroes throughout history. Perhaps that energy is what Monica Doggett was referring to when she was talking about auras.

The ranch is alive with activity when he arrives. Jesse and Jimmy are training in the corral. Richard is mending fence posts and Trevor is moving the sheep from grazing back to the pen, with Queenie keeping the small herd in line. Melvin is nowhere in sight, which could mean he’s getting supper together or tinkering in the barn.

Mulder stops the wagon just outside the barn. He helps Katherine down and she waits to help with the unloading of her things. He gives her the valise and insists on doing the rest even though it will take a few trips.

“Go on ahead,” he tells her. “I’m going to see to the horses and I’ll be along in a minute.”

Trevor comes along as Mulder is unhitching the wagon and he takes the horses away to be watered and fed. Before he unloads the packages he stops by the corral and checks in with Jesse and Jimmy on the training.

With his arms loaded with packages, he steps into Katherine’s room, but stays just inside the doorway to wait to be invited in. She has removed her hat and has the valise opened and is standing before the open wardrobe.

“Looks like Melvin has been busy,” Mulder says, noting the vase of fresh wildflowers on the side table and the quilt folded at the foot of the bed. The room smells of lemons and a feather duster has been abandoned on the side of the wash stand.

“He shouldn’t have gone to any trouble on my account,” she says.

“I’ll be sure to scold him later and send him to bed without supper. Where would you like these?”

“I’ll take them.”

He hands off the packages to her and she places them almost gently on the bed and then touches one almost reverently. He wonders when the last time she had something new and for herself was. He hopes she got everything she needed and at least a few things that she just wanted.

“I need to take care of a few things with the horses so I’ll let you settle in.”

“I’d like to get started on my responsibilities as soon as possible.”

“You wouldn’t like a day or two to yourself before you start taking things on?”

“No, thank you, I like to keep occupied.”

“I’ll track Melvin down and send him to you.”

“I’ll put my things away then and wait here.”

Mulder takes a few steps to the bed and then twirls a bit of the twine knotting one of her packages around one finger. “This is your home now,” he says. “You are the lady of the house.”

“Are you trying to gently remind me that I should not act as a guest here?”

“Or reminding myself not to treat you like one.”

“Then I will find Mr. Frohike as soon as I have unpacked my things and have him show me what needs to be done.”

“As my lady wishes.” Mulder smiles and then bows slightly. “I will see you at supper.”

↭

She doesn’t have to find Mr. Frohike, he finds her, whistling as he enters the room and then stops when he sees her. He’s carrying two oil lamps, one in each hand. She has just finished putting her packages away in the wardrobe and is folding the paper and balling the twine to repurpose at some point.

“Mr. Frohike,” she says. “Please, come in.”

“Pardon me for not knockin’, Madam,” he says. “I didn’t know you was here. And we’re not big on formalities, you can just call me Melvin.”

“Only if you call me Katherine. Could I help you with those?”

“These are for you, actually. I was just makin’ sure they were filled and the wicks were cut. Got one for the table and one for the desk. I can rustle up a few more, I think, if’n you want.” He sets the lamps down where he said they belonged and then grabs the feather duster that was left behind and shoves it handle-first into the back pocket of his pants.

“No, I can make do just fine with these. I’m glad you’re here, I was just going to come look for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m ready for you to show me what my duties are.”

“Duties, huh? What kind of duties you after?”

“Cooking, cleaning, mending. Or anything else you think I should take care of.”

“Oh, so Mulder brought you here to overthrow me, did he?”

“You can think of it as lightening your load.”

“Alright then, I’ll give you the rundown on who does what ‘round here.”

Katherine learns that Trevor is the youngest and newest hand on the ranch. He’s sixteen, orphaned from a tender age, and came through town at the beginning of summer, looking for work. Melvin happened to be at the sawmill that day for some lumber when he came asking. He took one look at the boy and knew he was still too puny for hard labor, so he brought him to the ranch and Mulder put him to work seeing to the livestock.

The livestock, she soon learns, was also unintentional. They started with keeping chickens for the eggs, but then Mulder started taking in injured or abandoned animals. It was fairly common for folks to pick up stakes after some time and turn their stock out when they left. And there were also folks who Mulder may have nursed a sick horse back to health for and they may have shown him their gratitude for his time with a pig or a goat.

“That old gal right there,” Melvin says, pointing out a grey goat mixed in amongst the sheep. “She’s called Lucy, which is short for Lucifer. Folks dropped her off with us and said she was the devil himself and they were either going to put her down or see if Mulder could tame her, since he’s so good at breakin’ horses.”

“She looks alright to me.”

“Oh, she is now. Sweet as pie. Mulder knew there was somethin’ bothering her from the start. Said she was buttin’ and stompin’ because she was mighty afraid and just pretendin’ not to be. Turns out, them chickens at her old place were harassin’ her and causin’ the terrible disposition.”

“How did Mulder know that?”

“He says he asked her and she told him.” Melvin laughs. “Likely he just observed that she got ornery when the ladies of the coop got to cluckin’ and put two and two together. He moved the goat pen to the far end over here, away from all them chickens and now she’s got no worries as long as they keep to their end of the ranch. The folks said we could keep her and so we’ve had her with us since.”

“He really cares for these animals, doesn’t he?”

“That he does.”

She learns that Jesse and Jimmy are brothers, the youngest of a family of eight. Their parents have a sheep farm about fifty miles out on the way to Fort Worth. Their two oldest brothers and their wives run the place now and Jesse and Jimmy figured it was time to set off and do for themselves. A lot of mouths to feed out there and there wasn’t much of a place for them any longer. Jimmy is the same age as she is, twenty-two, and Jesse is only a year older. They’ve been working for Mulder for more than two years and spend most of their time helping with the exercising and training of all the horses. At Mulder’s insistence, they ride out and spend at least one week’s end with their family every few months.

Mulder met Richard in Fort Worth when he was there doing some trading. He was skin and bones and crazy whiskers when he boldly went up to Mulder’s wagon, opened the jockey box, and started tinkering with the wheels. When Mulder asked him just what in the hell he thought he was doing, Richard shrugged and said that the pivot was loose and the pin needed fixing.

Richard could fix just about anything, but he’d been kicked out of the army for arguing with the sergeants one too many times. They don’t know nothing about nothing, is what he will say about that.

“He’s a bit of a lone wolf,” Melvin says. “Set in his ways and nobody can tell him nothin’ when he’s tryin’ to solve a problem. Got hisself a temper, but only takes it out on hisself too. Got a wanderin’ spirit, and I think he would pick up and go sometimes if’n the streets hadn’t been so mean to him, poor beanpole.”

“What about you?” Katherine asks.

“I’ve been here from the beginning.”

“But, what’s your story?”

“Bah. I ain’t got a story.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I know that some things have to be kept inside.”

“It’s time we started on supper, let’s get on in the kitchen.”

Katherine follows Melvin into the house, noticing as he walks up the stairs that he has a hint of a limp. He shows her where pots and pans are, where the dishes are, where the spices are kept, how to open the cellar door for the canned vegetables and salted meats. She learns what the boys like for breakfast, what a typical noon dinner is like, and when supper is served.

Melvin is slicing beef steaks and she is slicing potatoes when he starts to talk. “I had a wife once,” he says. “Eliza. Her family settled near ours in what’s now called Lee’s Summit in Missouri. She showed up at the schoolhouse one day with her sister Becky and I was smitten.”

“How old were you then?”

“Nine. She was eight, but she was one of them kids that takes to book learnin’ like a duck to water, so teacher put her next to me to share my reader and work on sums together. I knew I was going to marry her the day I met her.”

“And you did.”

“Yes, we did. I was seventeen, she was sixteen. I got a little plot of land to start a farm and she wanted to be a teacher. We did good that year. The crops were profitable and she was teachin’ at a nearby settlement called Blue Springs.”

“Excuse me a minute, I’m going to put these potatoes on to boil.”

“Almost done with these steaks here and I’ll help with the carrots.”

They move about the kitchen in silence for a few minutes as they tend to supper. She checks the fire on the stove while he greases a pan and then she starts to chopping up carrots and he joins her.

“We weren’t too far off from Independence,” he says, continuing his story from where he left off. “People were comin’ through all the time gettin’ themselves ready to head out to the Oregon territory.”

“I’ve heard tales about the journey. They say it was long and harsh.”

“Yes, it was.” Melvin stops chopping for a moment and looks off into the distance.

“You went to the Oregon territory?”

“Eliza had an adventurous spirit. As a girl, her family come to Missouri from Wisconsin, and I think she remembered the trek with a child’s excitement. All them folks comin’ through, eager for new land, new starts and the like, it caught her like a fever.”

“She wanted to go, but you didn’t?”

“I wanted what she wanted. We waited until the followin’ spring, sold the farm, and then headed out to join a caravan up in Independence. Our parents begged us not to go, said it was too dangerous and we ought to stay right where we were with our nice farm and all our family and our friends. But, Eliza could not be swayed and so neither could I.”

“You were eighteen then?”

“Just turned nineteen. We left the day before Eliza’s eighteenth birthday, the twenty-sixth of April, 1850.”

“I bet that feels like a lifetime ago for you now.”

“Several lifetimes. You know, I just had a thought, if we peel up them apples Mulder brung in, we could spice them for dessert. The boys will like that.”

“I’ll get them.”

Melvin gathers the carrots into a bowl to boil when the potatoes are finished and he checks the fire in the stove this time while Katherine gathers the apples. It takes her some time to find the peeling knives, and she makes a few mental notes on how she’d like to organize the kitchen when she takes it over to maximize efficiency. She’ll have to ask Melvin about it later so as not to cause any offense.

“What happened next?” Katherine asks, as they sit down to peel the apples.

“The first part of the journey weren’t so bad,” he answers. Nothin’ real excitin’ to look at, but the journey itself was excitin’ enough, I think. We got to Fort Kearney where people did some swappin’ and then we followed a river up to Fort Laramie. I got a little worried because even in the summer it was so cold up there, but Eliza said it was nothin’ what compared to a Wisconsin winter. And the rain was just...so many folks got themselves stuck in mud and we had to leave them behind and hope they’d catch up down the way. We come close a few times, but I think I had the strongest oxen on the earth and they managed to pull us out. I wish they hadn’t, though.”

“You wanted to be stuck?”

Melvin is quiet for a few moments. “We carved our initials on this great big hump of a rock they call the Register of the Desert. Soon after we made a slow climb up into the mountains and on to Fort Hall. By that time there was only half of the caravan left. Some folks just gived up a long way back and turned for home, some folks just died where they was because it was too hot or they were too sickly or it was just too dadgum tough.”

“Did you ever think about turning back?”

“All the time. I think I knew it was a mistake before we even set out, but Eliza was as certain as I was skeptical.”

“What happened, Melvin?”

“They’re called the Blue Mountains. Steep, hard to navigate, rough terrain. I told Eliza to get on in the back of the wagon because I was afraid she’d fall off the seat, it was so uneven. The oxen were slippin’ and I could tell they were tired, but we couldn’t stop. I’ve never been so grateful for anything in all my life when we reached the top and I figured the way down would be easier. It was just too narrow. Too dadgum narrow.”

Katherine stops her peeling and puts a hand over Melvin’s. He lays down his peeling knife and lifts one arm to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. She finds that her own eyes are wet and she doesn’t need him to say anything else to know the rest.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t need to tell me anymore.”

“It’s alright. It’s been thirty-six years, but it stays fresh in my mind. The back wheel went off the path and I know them oxens tried real hard to pull it out, but the fact is, it was just too heavy for them and it happened too fast. We overturned and providence saw to it that I landed with no more than a busted ankle, but Eliza was inside the wagon. I always wonder if things could’ve turned out different if’n I hadn’t told her to go on and get in back.”

“I ask myself a variation of that question all the time. I try not to think like that, but I know it’s harder said than done.”

“It pains me the most that I was spared, and not her. I made it to Oregon with a family that carted me and my busted ankle in the back of their wagon, but she was the one that wanted to go. I spent a lot of years after that feelin’ sorry for myself, roamin’ around this country and refusin’ to settle.”

“You didn’t go back to Missouri?”

“Not ever. I couldn’t face Eliza’s parents after what happened. Or her sister.”

“And you didn’t remarry?”

“There’s no one compares to Eliza.”

“How did you end up here?”

“Same way you did, I guess. Or Richard, or them goats or the whole lot of us. We was in the right place at the right time and we run into a collector of broken things.” Melvin wipes his eyes once more and then lightly slaps the table. “So, that’s my story. Maybe one day you’ll tell me yours.”

“Perhaps I will,” she says. Unlikely, she thinks.

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 9 #AU #MSR

67 notes · View notes