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obeymehana · 5 years ago

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Unforgivable (Belphegor x f!MC)

this story covers the aftermath of chapter 16 so please make sure you play through to that point before reading the story!

belphie may seem a little out of character, but i think they moved on too quickly from chapter 16 to chapter 17 without covering the repercussions between belphie and mc, so i sought to cover this with this story.

please do not steal my story! :)

type: belphegor x f!mc, angst

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In this cruel place in the Devildom, it was not as if he had any claim to be angry. These irrational, painful emotions building within him were becoming impossible to ignore. It bothered him. After what he did, he could not expect her to be forgiving, much less understanding. Few would could his actions kind, many would call it one, simple word.

Unforgivable.

It was obvious, he already knew it. Stupidity was not a part of his skill set, unlike his second eldest brother. If he already understood this, why did he seem so desperate to get on her good side? It appeared that she was slipping out of his grasp. Once a human he lured to the room in the attic, she was now known as the descendant of Lilith. Lilith was so close to him, yet so far. She was disappearing, even though she had been found again. The red string that tied them together was pulling thin, soon to be little to no connection between them.

Belphegor had made a grave mistake. If the sins of his monstrous act could pull him any deeper into the depths of Hell, it would have by now. Although a part of this horrible situation had been fixed, there was hesitation within his family to let them completely by their side again.

What a lonely feeling.

One of the few things Belphegor did expect was that since he started acting kinder to her, (Y/N) would come around. She would see how sincere he could be, how he could apologize for wronging her, and all could be forgiven. However, it seemed like every act he did to beg for atonement was met with a form of silence.

It was almost as if she went out of her way to ignore him. He hated it. Everytime it happened, those feelings within his chest would stir and the realm around him felt blurry. Madness, how could he not charm one simple human after spending centuries around them? Every smile that touched his lips was greeted with a look of fear. Every attempt to beckon her over to chat was only a chance for her to run into the arms of another brother. Every hug, to pull her soft, warm body into his arms was met with stiffened, yet trembling limbs until a brother, the angels, or Lord Diavolo himself removed her from the situation.

She feared him.

To see someone who looked at him with such comforting eyes to now look at him once more in fear, anxiety, and possibly hatred. It was as if nothing he did was enough to remedy what had happened. How could it?

He had already stolen her precious life with his own two hands.

‘Murderer!’ His thoughts taunted. Deep, purple eyes watching the way (Y/N) interacted with Lucifer in the hallway. It was morning time, with merely an hour left before all demons plus one human were to arrive at the academy. He took the time to notice every detail about her, some which he had failed to notice before. The way her curves suited her nicely; uniform all neat with a cute, lavender bow tied around the collar of her shirt, and her phone in one of her hands, carrying a small, cute charm. Had she always been this sweet?

The pair had failed to notice him, as he was hidden around the corner, watching the interaction play out. It was clear at this point how much she cared about the other brothers over him. What a bright smile, seeming to light up the whole hallway as she listened to Lucifer’s plans for a student council meeting later today. Belphegor’s eyes narrowed as he saw (Y/N)’s hand rest on Lucifer’s arm, just below his elbow.

Lucifer was not always one for physical contact, yet he seems oddly comfortable with (Y/N)’s touch.

If Belphegor was the avatar of different sin, at that current moment, he would be filled with envy. Jealousy? Him? It felt confusing, but he could recognize this feeling after years of seeing his own older brother react in a similar fashion. ‘That should be me’, his thoughts spoke one more, his grip on the wall tightening, almost cracking the drywall itself. Not that it was hard though, it was an old house. The point still remained, the eldest was simply in the way of what was his, of what he wanted to achieve.

As usual.

There was Lilith’s descendant, standing right in front of him, only a few feet away. There she was, glowing, smiling, and seemed to remind him of a firefly in the night. Bringing just a small bit of peace and harmony to the darkness of his inner world.

Fireflies are never easy to catch.

(Y/N) would constantly be forever out of his reach until he figured out the right step, the right words, and the right actions to take. It was a tricky combination to unlock the path of forgiveness. What could it be? What did he have to do to regain that warmth he had lost? No he hadn’t lost it.

He had crushed it alive.

Belphegor shifted away from his thoughts to watch the pair part. (Y/N) turned to go to the dining hall. This was his chance, to try and make amends once more. He stepped out from the corner and sauntered down the hall, trailing not that far behind her. However, it seemed another demon had plans for him. When he felt that gloved hand on his shoulder, he could only stop and glare at his oldest brother, Lucifer. “What?” He asked, eyes narrowed and tone venomous. Lucifer returned the gesture, nails digging into Belphegor’s shoulder.

“What attempt will you make today to drive her into a state of panic?” Lucifer questioned, but it seemed to be more of a rhetorical question. Belphegor tried to shrug him off, yet his grip was as tight as ever. If the uniform was not there to separate him between his skin, he would certain there would be blood trickling down his shoulder. He began to speak, “I haven’t harmed her since-”

“-since you murdered her.” Lucifer finished, his own chilling, venomous glare sending chills into Belphegor’s spine. It silenced him for a moment, allowing the thick tension to grow. It was suffocating. The eldest brother spoke once more, “What you fail to understand about humans, even after your years of obsession, is that they were not bound to the same things that you and I might be.” He paused, allowing his lesson to sink in. It didn’t help the tension.

He continued, “If they are wounded by a situation, do you believe they are always likely to return to the same moment that brought them a world of pain?” Lucifer’s scowl was more than evident. Belphegor’s shame was beginning to overwhelm him as it had did the first time he realized the weight of what he had done. He gave a small shake of the head, eyes flickering to face the wall rather than look at his brother.

“So why would you force this human to accept someone who has gravely wounded her?” His words stung, cutting into the emotions of the youngest brother. The one with the biggest crime above his head right now. The guilt would never escape, no matter what he did. To feel her lifeless body, crumbling beneath. The last gasp of air, turning into a pale shade of blue as he ripped away her life. The senses from that moment running through his mind over and over again. Then there was the worst of it, dragging her body to the entrance hall, down those wooden stairs.

Dumping her into full view of his brothers. Lifeless, bruised, beaten. Dead. Although the trauma was still there, for both of them. He would never forget it, seeing her alive again, while her dead body rested in Mammon’s arms. He had failed his objective, the sins weighing upon him. He thought back to Diavolo explaining (Y/N)’s lineage.

He remembered his heart sinking, the room spinning, and the carpet beneath his knees. The string of apologies. The cries of his sister’s name leaving his lips. Cradling (Y/N) in his arms, begging her not to leave again. He hadn’t been the only one who had sobbed ungracefully, but he was the cause of it all.

So much pain, by him.

Could it be time to let (Y/N) go? To let Lilith go? No, that meant forgetting them. He couldn’t do that, it was the reason all of his had happened in the first place. He never wanted to forget Lilith, and he would never want to forget (Y/N). She had always been one of the reasons for his freedom, he owed her this much to try and redeem himself in her eyes. Anger bubbled inside him, reminding him why he had gotten locked up in the first place, but he couldn’t raise a hand to Lucifer again. Purple nails of his only dug into his own palms, surely to leave small scars later.

“What do I do?” Belphegor asked, after minutes had passed. It didn’t feel like it, but Lucifer had seen him go through a range of emotions. Sadness, remorse, anger, acceptance. Lucifer did not give a response right away, causing Belphegor to grit his teeth and dig his nails deeper into his palms. “Answer me, you bastard!” He cursed, becoming annoyed. “How do I fix this, Lucifer?”

“You can’t always fix it.” Lucifer replied, figuring out the right words to say. “The trauma of what you’ve done…is unforgivable.”

There it is again. That stupid word. It matched perfectly to everything that had happened.

Unforgivable.

“If she chooses to let you back in again,” Lucifer said, removing his hand from Belphegor’s shoulder, staring him down, “It will be by her own terms, not yours.”

Belphegor backed away once he felt Lucifer’s hand leave. He couldn’t look at him anymore. “…I’m going to breakfast.” It was the only response he could give before turning on his heel and resuming his walk down the hall. By now, (Y/N) was in the dining hall with the others. Laughing, talking, being happy with the others. It sickened him knowing he could not do that with her. He could feel his shoulders sink and head held low, gazing into the carpet beneath his feet.

Lucifer did not chase after.

As soon as Belphegor entered the dining hall, the chatter of his siblings was cut short. As expected. The clenching of his fists couldn’t be any tighter, and he swore he could feel the blood trickling slightly down his hand. Had they completely forgiven him? Of course not, he knew that. Maybe there had been hugs and welcome backs in his first few moments of freedom, but any sympathy had run dry by now. They began to make their excuses to leave, finding their way towards the door.

He waited for (Y/N) to leave too. He thought over Lucifer’s words. He couldn’t continue to force her to accept him, it would only drive her away. Yet thinking of it brought this own unforgivable feeling within his heart. What would he tell her anyways that she didn’t already know? Sleeping now only brought back those vivid moments, and he couldn’t wake up from the nightmares. He was always tired, but now he felt exhausted.

No sleep at this point would be enough, the pain was too much.

Belphegor had settled into his own chair when he heard Asmodeus’ voice ring out across the dining hall, “(Y/N), dear! Are you leaving with us?”

“Today, I will stay and eat with Belphegor.” Those seven words caused his head to snap up and look at her. There was a small smile on her face, although it wasn’t directed at him. It was for Asmodeus, to reassure him that she would be fine, but they all knew she was visibly trembling. In her eyes, there was a kindness he hadn’t seen in awhile. He knows that gaze and soft tone isn’t for him, but he can’t help but imagine it is.

Heart soaring, he wondered what had happened to finally bring her this close to him? She was across the table, just out of reach by hand, but this was the closest she sat by him since his crime. Had he finally done something right? Words from Lucifer trickled into his mind, and that soaring feeling faded as soon as it came.

“It’s okay,” Belphegor said, looking off to the side, “I don’t want to make you late for class.” He couldn’t bring herself to look at her gaze, afraid of her running away once more if he did. What a fragile human, and at the same time, so stubborn. He focused on filling his plate with whatever was left. It wasn’t much, that was no surprise. Lucifer soon came into the dining hall to rush them along.

“It’s time for you all to head to school, isn’t it?” His tone was stern, causing the last of his brothers to make a break for the entrance door. Lucifer’s view turned to (Y/N), glancing her over to make sure she was alright. They all knew she was scared, but attempting to overcome her own fears. There was not much they could do to change her mind, she was simply determined. Whether it was to finally piece together the rift between her and Belphegor, each one of them had acknowledged one fact.

Something had to be done.

Lucifer did not fully understand her intentions, but allowed her to continue with what she was doing. As long as she was in class on time. He strode past her, his hand brushing slightly over her shoulder before he too made his way for the door. The clicking of his shoes faded as the pair heard the door close behind him.

Once it was just the two, Belphegor let out a sigh. “My brothers..it’s not the same as it was before you came here.” He commented, still refusing to look at her, even if he wanted to. His view turned from the side to his plate, fork picking at his food. He wasn’t hungry, he just craved to be in her proximity. “After all that’s happened, we can’t go back to normal.” There was a frown on his face, but neither said anything about it. “It is my fault,” He owned up to it, “For every action I have done, I have hurt you.”

He could not forgive himself until she did.

“I haven’t forgiven you for it.”

There it was, her response. He could almost laugh in the irony of the situation. How did he expect anything to be different this time? (Y/N) was right there, but she would be always out of reach, no matter how close she looked. Her scent, her face, her voice, he could sense it all. It gave him a longing he couldn’t release. He knew what had been done was unforgivable, but he chose to believe otherwise. Had he always been beyond redemption?

How badly he wanted to pull her back into his arms, and just fall asleep, her by his side. Maybe then the nightmares of her death would stop. Possibly Lilith’s too. He wanted to remember them both, but how long could he go in this state of exhaustion? Always tired, but sleep never being fulfilling. Even that plush pillow he carried everywhere could no longer bring as much comfort as it used to.

Belphegor scooted his chair back, “I know.” His voice came out almost in a hoarse whisper. He was ready to leave, not thinking his heart could take anymore. He froze when he heard her next few words, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yet,” (Y/N) continued, eyes staring directly at him. Bright, beautiful, serene. He could finally look at her. Her fists were trembling, but she stood proud. “I believe if there is ever a chance to fully restore peace, I need to learn to coincide with you.”

He was taken aback by her sentence, unsure of what to say. Eyes were wide. “What does that mean, (Y/N)?” He asked, breathless, after a few seconds of silence passed between them. “You…want to be near me?”

“No.” Her response was harsh.

(Y/N) could only take a shaky breath, setting her hands on the table, stilling herself. “You used me.” She spoke, bringing her eyes to glare at the table. “You murdered me. You only accepted me for my lineage and not once for who I was personally.” Bitterness was laced in her tone. Now her legs shook, and she appeared like she was going to cry. She was getting louder.

“I will forever be scared by what you have done to me.” Her eyes closed shortly before reopening, it didn’t help hold back the tears. “I can still feel you choking me, it haunts me every night.” She slammed her fists down on the table, making Belphegor jump with her sudden actions. She had never been this violent before. “You betrayed me when all I did was try to release you and fix your broken relationship with your brothers!” (Y/N) yelled, and fell into her chair, unable to stop the stream of tears.

“Things will never be the same, Belphegor.” His heart cracked, hearing her say that. Moving swiftly, he came over to her, kneeling next to her. “(Y/N).” He said her name, a hand reaching out to her, but she smacked it away. “But, I know how much you mean to your brothers…and at one point how much you meant to me.”

How much she meant to him? What did she mean? Was he a part of her life more than he had thought before he had stolen her life? He did use her for his own gain, but their time in the attic, it had meant something more to her. He ruined it.

“(Y/N).” He said her name again, and instead of reaching out with one hand, he buried his face in her lap, hands grasping her wrists so she wouldn’t push him away. Her skirt became stained with his own tears. “I fucked up.” He told her, remaining in this same position. “I fucked up!” He yelled this time, hoping it could reach her.

“Let go of me, Belphe-”

“No.” He replied, becoming stubborn like her. He brought his head up slightly, just enough for her to see the pained expression behind his eyes. “I did use you, and I hurt you. It’s unforgivable.” He took a breath, trying to find his words, “These actions will never be atoned for, I know this now. Yet, you did so much for me. I don’t think I could stand to not have you in my life now.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m Lilith’s descendant.” (Y/N) sobbed out, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “Let me go.”

“At first, it was only because of that. My sister meant all of the three realms to me. However, you did so much more than you think. You released me from that prison of an attic, reunited me with my brothers, and reunited me with Lilith. You showed empathy for me when I was at a point when I was beyond that. I fucked it up, but please, (Y/N).” He rested his face back in her lap, his grip on her wrists remaining as tight as ever.

“I can’t rest without knowing you’re okay now. I know I’m always tired, I am the avatar of Sloth after all, but I’m beyond tired.” What were these mixed emotions within him? He wanted to coincide peacefully, he knew it was the best course of action, but he wanted more than that. He wasn’t sure exactly of these feelings stirring within him, but they would remain unsettled if he and she were to simply be acquaintances.

“I’m exhausted. These nightmares I have, they’re the same as yours.” He was remorseful, and never wanted to let her go. “I dream of what I’ve done, and it hurts. I cannot apologize more. I don’t know how to make it up to you, I don’t know what to do to change anything between us.”

(Y/N) was silent, and so was Belphegor. They remained in that silence until both of their breathing had calmed down. “I want you to protect me.” She said, almost in a whisper. Her eyes were puffy, and her wrists hurt from his death-like grasp. She had known he was trying to make up with her, but what had happened gave her a horrible anxiety.

Seeing him like this though, weak, kneeling, gave her this sense of relief. He didn’t have this horrible chokehold on her anymore. In fact, he was groveling for her to forgive him. She had assumed he had tried to move past it like the other brothers had, assuming she would be okay despite what had happened. She wasn’t, and she didn’t know when she would be okay.

Nevertheless, she could try.

“Protect you?” He asked, his grip loosening. He didn’t have much strength to keep her pinned down for long. She was able to free a hand, and instead of using it to free her other hand, she rested it on top of his head. “Protect me.” She confirmed, “From the demons who want to harm me, from risks I might take, and protect me from these nightmares I also have.” She stroked his hair lightly, her mind flashing back to their times in the attic.

When he would lazily fall asleep by the door, waiting for her to return with updates on the status of her pacts with the brothers. She would sometimes stick her hand through the metal bars of the door, just to pat his head. That small moment brought peace to her, even though it left a sour taste in her mouth now.

Perhaps that could be fixed. He moved his head away, and looked in her eyes, making sure she saw every expression on his face. “(Y/N), we are not in a pact yet, but I will protect you.” He said, “I will protect you from the demons who want to harm you, from the risks you will take to protect my brothers and I, and from the nightmares you have, even the ones I have caused you.” He smiled slightly, giving his best look of sincerity.

Normally, he hated mushy moments, but this was needed. He was fatigued constantly over the stress of what happened, and they both needed to heal to recover.

“I’ll never forgive you for the past, Belphegor.” (Y/N) spoke, not ceasing her motions with his hair, “But, I hope the future we have together will be more peaceful.”

Belphegor hoped so too. He returned to resting his head on her lap, closing his eyes. He was sleepy, and she felt like the perfect pillow now. How could she be so kind? He didn’t truly understand it, but he had a promise to keep now. She began to zone out too, noticing her shaking had decreased to a point where it was barely visible.

Lucifer would come home later that day to find out the pair had never gone to class, but were curled up together in the dining hall. Belphegor’s head resting on her thighs, hands on her hips. One of (Y/N)’s hands was on Belphegor’s head, the other on her own lap, near Belphegor’s face. What a peaceful look they had, appearing after this bout of fear and anxiety.

Belphegor had committed an unforgivable act, but he will make it up to her.

He will protect his human.

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galivantingg · 4 years ago

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Alpha and Beta

Girls

The months Cal had been gone were hard. Most of them Alex spent in a delirious state, wanting only for his mate. He didn't understand, his mate was near, or were they? He knew that they were hiding from Alex, that's all he knew. Those first few months were the worst. He didn't eat, didn't sleep, he barely drank water. He was just clinging onto life. Then came his saviour, Elizabeth. She worked so hard to keep him alive, she barely slept and she eventually brought back the light to Alex's mind. It was a month long process, and it's still going on, but he was finally stable. He was himself. And he had to deal with the aftermath of a family who had lost their youngest, and had their oldest swiped from beneath Alex's very nose. He blames himself a lot for that, Cal being kidnapped. He knows that Cal had been talking to him, but all Alex remembers is running away into the forest, and nothingness. The nothingness is what drove him insane. It was like his mate didn't exist, like they had never existed. He couldn't put the pieces together, he knew who they were, but there was something stopping him from finding out.

He owed his life to Elizabeth, and he wouldn't let her forget it. She refused to take any credit, but he kept thanking her, did everything for her. He even grew to love her. It wasn't the same love he felt for Cal, or what he had felt for Cal. Their relationship was rocky even before he went missing, and his amnesia when he came back? It was a sign that Alex could not trust Calchas. Something had happened to him, and he was going to fix it, but he would not tell him anything anymore. He had no idea what had happened, and if Calchas knew then he wasn't going to share now, and maybe not ever.

Daisy had been beside herself when Calchas disappeared. She was hysterical, screaming and crying, and had to be knocked out with a sedative by the pack doctor. Alex didn't know everything, because he was also in his own state, but when she had woken up the next day it was if all the life had left her. She would just sit in her room staring out her window. According to Elizabeth, she too had to be nursed back to her former self. So that's not just one, but two who owe their lives to Elizabeth. And she wants nothing in return, Alex had tried. He even tried to make her Luna. While he was absolutely feral and Calchas was gone, Elizabeth stepped up and took charge of the pack, telling the warrior wolves to keep patrolling, the tracker wolves to try tracking Calchas, and keeping them all safe.

Needless to say, she refused the title of Luna. She said something about Alex's mate, but when he questioned her, because it seemed like she knew who it is, she kept her lips firmly shut. He didn't push it, but he knew that she knew who his mate is, and where they are. Alex owed Elizabeth everything, so he didn't question her. Whatever she told him to do, he did it. It wasn't long until he was able to actually act out on his own, and didn't need to be helped with everything. Things had been looking up, despite the death of, of the youngest Edmonds, and the kidnapping of the eldest, when he suddenly returned. With amnesia. And now he was collapsed on the ground in front of him and Elizabeth, clutching his head and screaming. Alex didn't know what to do. He didn't want to touch Calchas, he didn't know what kind of torture he had endured and he was worried about causing him more pain than he was already feeling. Thank god for Elizabeth though, she leapt into action.

"Cal," she said softly. His screams got quieter. Alex could feel some of the pack members coming closer, and he sent out the message to go away, things are being dealt with. "Cal can you hear me?" He stopped screaming and was just sobbing loudly, which was a huge improvement. "Cal sweetheart I know you don't know who I am, but there's someone here you do know," she looked back at Alex and he understood. He strode from the room, climbing the stairs until he got to Daisy's room. Like usual, she was sitting in front of the window, staring at the trees. She was on the opposite side of the house, and hadn't seen Calchas come out of the woods, so she did not know he was downstairs. Time to change that.

"Daisy," he said, his voice soft. He remembered everything Elizabeth had taught him about how to talk to despondent people, or at least tried. "Daisy, someone you know is downstairs to see you. We need your help talking to them. Can you do that for me?" He waited.

She didn't turn her head but she spoke. "You hated me from the very moment you set your eyes on me, why would I help you?" Ouch, but fair. Alex thought for a second, then spoke.

"You're right, I did hate you, but that was because of how easily you replaced me in his life. If not for me, do this for him. Someone really needs your help," he tried. Nothing for a minute, then slowly Daisy stood and levelled him with a cool look.

"For Cal," she agreed.

He led her down the stairs and could feel when she recognized who it was crouched down in the living room. She practically launched herself across the room towards him and knelt down on his other side. For a few seconds nothing happened, then finally he smelled Daisy and enveloped her in a tight hug. Elizabeth stood and walked over to Alex, standing beside him.

"Looks like things are going to get back to normal finally," she commented.

Things did not get back to normal. It took a while before Calchas remembered who they were, because he even remembered his younger brothers. As it was, he was still sometimes asking questions on whether or not some things happened. He should be asking Alex, but Alex avoided Calchas as much as possible, not wanting to stir up old memories. His Beta's words still rang clear in his ears, and he would never forgive him for it. Their friendship had changed, so much so that it could only be called an acquaintance like relationship now. They only spoke if necessary, like when Calchas asked what happened to his parents. If there was a sibling missing. How he got here. He was very forgetful, sometimes asking for the same thing twice in a day, and several times over the weeks.

In short, he was useless. His brain was partially fried from whatever he had gone through, and the worst part was that Alex didn't care. He hadn't been talking to Calchas when he'd been kidnapped, not for months, and having him back was weirder than him being gone. He was just another pack member to Alex. It was, sad. Alex hated how cold he had become, especially towards someone who had meant, who still means, so much to him. Alex would never forget Cal, but he doesn't think things will go back to the way they were before. Yet, Alex knew that wasn't true. If Calchas suddenly remembered who Alex was, he would immediately take the broken boy back. He would be his best friend again, no questions asked, because that's how much he loved Cal. Cal had hurt him so much, but he just wanted to be his friend again. He wanted him again.

Elizabeth watched all of this from afar. She took in Alex's expression when Cal crossed him path then stopped, a confused look taking over his face, having forgotten what he was going to do. Cal couldn't retain much information anymore, not able to hold on to memories for long. Thankfully he was able to recognize that Daisy and she were friends of his, and the pack doctor would give Elizabeth exercises to work on with him. Slowly but surely, some of Calchas' memory improved, and he was released to the rest of the pack to relearn their names and who they are to him.

On one of these days, Elizabeth walked past Alex staring out the window at Cal, watching the boy play with the little kids. She kept walking, but that image burned in her mind, and before she knew it, she was walking up to Daisy's room. Something else had happened to Daisy, something that had to do with Elizabeth. She was hiding from Daisy, hiding who she was to her. Because Elizabeth had found out that Daisy is her mate, but she put aside her own feelings for Daisy's. Daisy didn't want to find her mate. All she had talked about when they had been at the Velvel Pack was about her best friend, Calchas Edmonds. So Elizabeth hid, so when Daisy found Cal she wouldn't be tied down to someone else. Because Elizabeth loved her so much that she was willing to let go of her.

Only she realized now that she isn't doing Daisy any favours. Daisy was becoming thin, not taking care of herself anymore, and the Hiding was finally taking its toll on her. Elizabeth knew this because she observed carefully, and it was the only reason she knew that Cal is Hiding from Alex. Oh yes, Elizabeth knew, and she knew that Cal knew just who Alex was, but something was so ingrained in his mind that he refused to accept the bond. She wasn't going to force them together, she'd never do that, but she would make Cal realize that it was always Alex. Cal had always been in love with Alex, and Alex had always been in love with Cal. It was always them, just them, and would always be them until the end of time. They were, in ever essence of the word, soulmates.

Elizabeth would not let a silly fight tear that apart.

So she got to work. The first step was accepting Daisy. So she stood outside her door and released her scent, letting it fill up the hallway. She felt the exact moment it reached Daisy, and stood there shaking in fear as Daisy crossed the room and flung the door open, anger all over her face. She pulled Elizabeth in roughly and slammed the door shut, pinning her against it. Before Elizabeth could explain, Daisy kissed her. It was soft and sweet, and lasted far too short, but it got the message across. Daisy understood. Elizabeth was filled with relief and she sighed, sinking into Daisy's arms. After a few minutes, Daisy pulled back and looked at Elizabeth with determination in her eyes.

"What do we have to do?"

#alpha and beta #em writes #part ten #jesus #werewolf #gay #mates #girls #I love this chapter

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ninjabobanekokyrie · 5 years ago

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Some People feel the rain (Others just get wet) Chapter 2-Karamatsu

Karamatsu wasn't sure how old they were when he and Todomatsu had began to grow apart.

Even more, he wasn't sure why.

They were so close as kids. Todomatsu would come to him with his every problem, and Karamatsu would always hold him in his arms until the youngest cried himself out and was ready to talk.

And when he did talk, Kara was more than ready to solve his problem right then and there for him.

He was defensive of all his brothers, but he found he was the most defensive of Totty.

The pink Matsu was the baby, after all. And it was his job as one of the eldest to always make sure that he was safe and sound, and properly taken care of.

Which was why whenever Totty came crying to him about Osomatsu being mean to him in some way or something among those lines, Karamatsu would always give the oldest a stern talking to.

Oso always told him that Totty was just being a big baby and that he needed to grow up, but Karamatsu would merely tell him to apologize anyways, which Osomatsu would eventually comply to do so with an annoyed look on his face.

Back then, Todomatsu always referred to Karamatsu as his best friend. His hero.

Karamatsu wasn't sure what happened to those days. Or what caused them to disappear.

All he knew was that he missed them. A lot.

Compared to then, these days he couldn't have a real conversation without his baby brother calling him painful and joining in on the bullying with their other brothers, or Totty calling him Nii-San like the very name was poision in his mouth, spitting it in disgust.

What exactly did he do to make Todomatsu hate him so much?

Did he do something? Nothing came to mind, not really.

Then again, there was that one incident where he and the others embarrassed Totty at work when they found out that the youngest had kept them a secret.

Maybe that was it?

No, this rift between the duo had started way before then. Still, he was pretty certain that the incident at work contributed to Todomatsu's hatred towards Kara.

Todomatsu would avoid every opportunity he got to be around the second son, and it always stung when the brother he was formerly closest to joined in on the making fun of him.

It wasn't like he could say anything, he didn't want the others to think he was being a big baby, especially not Todomatsu.

It would only make the latter hate him more than he already did.

Karamatsu was tired. He was tired of being in pain, tired of being bullied for simply being himself.

A lot of the time he would always use a knife or razor blade to numb the pain. But he was sick of that.

It was about time that he took action.

Which was why he seeked out the youngest brother himself, hoping to borrow his phone so he could get the directions that he needed.

"Stop being so painful."

Those words stung more than he wanted to admit. He again found himself wondering where it all went so wrong with him and Todomatsu. Why did the youngest hate him so much? What did he do?

He already had to deal with this kind of confusing agony with one of his baby brothers--Ichimatsu. He didn't know why the fourth son hated him so bad that he wished he were dead. And now Todomatsu did too.

He had two brothers hating the shit out of him.

Kara supposed it wouldn't be long until Choro, Jyushi and even Oso turned against him as well.

He suddenly shook his head, snapping out of his daze.

What did it matter? He'd be gone soon.

Instead, he managed to choke out a weak, "O-Of course. My apologies, Bruzzah."

He finally let himself crumble when he heard Todomatsu leave.

Karamatsu slid to the floor, leaning against the wall. A small sob escaped his lips as he desperately turned Totty's phone on with shaking hands.

Why? Why was this happening to him? Why did he have to be such a shitty brother? Why couldn't he be a good brother for once in his life? For him? For his brothers?

Maybe then they would actually love him, including Todomatsu.

As he tapped away at the keyboard, he couldn't help but think back to the pink Matsu.

Todomatsu has sure been hanging out with Osomatsu a lot lately. Hanging around him, confiding in him and talking to him.

Didn't he used to do that with Karamatsu back in the day? Why didn't he do that with Karamatsu anymore? Why not him? Why Osomatsu?

Kara shook his head once again. No. It was fine. If Todomatsu wanted to talk to Osomatsu over him, that was fine. There was no way that he was jealous of Oso.

Wasn't he, though? Was he truly jealous? Over Osomatsu?

No. Even if he was, he'd never admit it. Totty loved Osomatsu, he didn't love Karamatsu and that was the end of it. He wouldn't be able to change that if he tried.

Finally managing to get his mind back on track, he grinned when he finally recieved the results he was looking for.

"Bingo." He whispered to himself with a big grin.

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

Todomatsu yawned softly as his eyes gradually fluttered open. He first noticed that Osomatsu was still asleep, causing him to scowl.

"Shitty eldest, he said he'd wake me up," he muttered under his breath as he carefully sat up and pushed himself away from the oldest Matsu's chest.

He glanced worriedly at the clock, but relaxed once he realized that he still had 20 minutes to get ready.

The youngest sighed, noticing there was a blanket drapped over the back of the couch and hesitantly grabbed at it, spreading it over Osomatsu.

Turning, he nearly jumped at the sight of Ichimatsu in his respective corner, playing with one of his cats.

He exhaled deeply, placing a hand to his chest and willing his heart to slow down from the small jump-scare.

"Oi, Ichimatsu-niisan," Todomatsu asked, walking over. "Have you seen Karamatsu-niisan? He has my phone and I have to leave really soon..."

"Shittymatsu?" Ichimatsu hummed in disinterest, scratching a cat that Totty recognized to be Cocoa behind it's ears. "He's upstairs in the room. Last time I checked, he looked really happy at whatever he was looking up."

"God dang it, Karamatsu-niisan," Totty growled, walking past Ichimatsu and out of the room. "I have to leave in fifteen minutes. You better not be looking up anything weird!"

The pink clad marched upstairs and approached the room, sliding the door open with a call of, "Karamatsu-niisan, I have to go! Give me my phone back!"

Said second eldest jumped slightly, causing Todomatsu to frown.

Kara finally turned, flashing him one of his smiles, "Ah my dear Totty~is it really finally time? Well then, allow me to finish up and then I shall give my lovely brother--"

"Cut the bullshit, Nii-San. Why were you scared when I came in here?" Todomatsu questioned, tone snarky.

"You merely startled me, my dear bruzzah" Kara responded simply, appearing to be getting rid of whatever he was searching up.

Todomatsu caught onto this and glared suspiciously, "What were you looking up?"

"Nothing of importance, my dear, sweet Todomatsu~" Kara responded curtly once again, finally handing him his phone. "I thank you profusely for allowing me to use your phone once again, brother. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to let me know."

Totty grabbed his phone and looked back and forward between the blank search page and the seemingly innocent smiling face of his older brother.

He finally sighed, "Bye, Karamatsu-niisan." He said, turning and deciding not to question him any futher as he knew he wouldn't get any answers out of him.

Todomatsu wasn't sure what the second eldest had said, something like "Have fun" or "Have a good time" or something among those lines. He could barely hear as he walked away from the room and quite honestly couldn't bring himself to care as he moved further and further away.

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

"We'll be right back, Totty!"

"Alright! Take your time!"

Todomatsu smiled happily, waving with a small laugh as Aida and Sachiko left to go to the restroom.

Totty lowered his hand and sighed, staring at the table. The more he got lost in his thoughts, the more his smile wavered and eventually dropped.

What had Karamatsu-niisan been looking up earlier? From what he heard from Ichimatsu, he looked like he was really enjoying himself.

And why did he get so scared when Todomatsu entered the room? It all made no sense.

'Well', he thought as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. 'I guess if it bothers me that much I can just check.'

Todomatsu truly didn't know what he was worried about, really. It was probably just something pervy or painful. Still, he'd feel better after he checked.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply as he unlocked his phone and entered the safari, pulling up the most recent history.

The pink clad almost dropped his phone due to how bad he started trembling because of the sight before him.

What is the most painful way to die?

What is the least painful way to die?

How to hang a noose from a ceiling?

How do I successfully slit my wrists?

I wanna die

There were many more besides those, but Todomatsu couldn't bring himself to look. He clicked his phone off and shoved it back in his pocket, trembling all over.

He felt like sobbing and puking at the same time, but he decided that he'd rather not make a fool of himself and keep his lunch down so at this point he felt like breaking down in tears.

So many questions swirled in his head.

How long? Why? How long had his big brother been thinking about this? What brought this on in the first place? Why did he keep it from everyone? Why did he keep it from him? Was he actually planning on doing it? When? Where? How? How had he been so oblivious this whole time? Why? Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why...why!?

Todomatsu desperately clamped a hand to his mouth, stifling a sob as tears poured down his cheeks against his will. His shoulders jerked as multiple muffled sobs ripped their way out of his throat and he slumped in his seat.

"Fuck..." he gasped, punching the tabletop weakly as a whimper passed his lips. "Damn it..."

How had he not known? There were signs, there were always signs, and yet...he missed them.

Sniffling, he straightened up in his seat and pulled his phone back out, wiping at his face with his free arm. He texted Aida and Sachi.

'Sorry, you guys. Turns out I'm not feeling so good so I had to head home. See you next time.'

He then proceeded to place a tip on the table, grab his bag and walk out of the door of the restaurant they were in.

The whole way home, his mind swirled with terrifying thoughts. He was scared that he'd see Karamatsu hanging from somewhere or about to jump off the roof.

Halfway he recieved a text from Sachi.

'Aww.. :( Don't worry, we understand. Feel better. :)'

It was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.

Walking through the front door and shutting it behind him, he saw Choromatsu on the couch in the living room, reading a light novel.

"Choromatsu-niisan, is Karamatsu-niisan upstairs?" Todomatsu asked, feeling like he would panic if the answer were no.

"Yup, he's playing guitar." Choro replied, not even bothering to glance at his youngest brother as he flipped a page. "Oh, by the way dinner's ready in ten minutes. Be down by then."

"'Kay." Totty replied shakily, turning and walking towards the staircase.

When the youngest stood in front of the door to their room, he could hear Karamatsu playing inside as well as softly singing.

He swallowed hard, "K-Karamatsu-niisan, can I come in?" He asked loudly.

The music instantly stopped and he recieved a hearty, "Of course, my dear brother~! Come on in!"

Totty gulped and opened the sliding door where he saw Kara sitting inside, looking at him expectantly with his guitar in his lap as Todomatsu shut the door behind him.

"You know you don't have to ask," Karamatsu couldn't help but laugh, smiling at Todomatsu fondly as the youngest Matsu walked and sat across from him. "It's your room too, brother."

"I know that," Todomatsu stated, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. "Just wanted to be...polite in a way, I guess."

Kara hummed, looking down and playing with one of his guitar strings.

"I actually wanted to ask you something, Karamatsu-niisan," he spoke up, grabbing the second eldest's full attention. "You know how you told me this morning that if I needed anything from you, to just ask? Well, I need something."

"What is it, my wonderful brother? Whatever it is, it's yours." Karamatsu grinned, and Todomatsu felt nauseated at how obviously fake it was.

"Well, I've been thinking and," Todomatsu did his best to smile himself. "Let's hang out tomorrow, nii-san. Just the two of us. A hangout for the whole day. It'll be tons of fun."

Karamatsu's eyes sparkled and a big grin appeared on his face, but the sparkle dimmed slightly and the grin faltered, "Not that I am not honored, my sweet Totty, but why do you want to hang out with me? Would you not rather hang out with our other brothers?"

"I hang with them plenty. I never get to spend time with you anymore, Karamatsu-niisan. And besides, what I have planned for us really wouldn't spark the others' interest at all."

Kara perked up slightly at this, "Indeed it has been a while," he nodded, thinking for a moment before posing, "Very well then, brother! We shall hang out tomorrow as you have requested!"

Todomatsu felt slight relief and he giggled, lurching forward and throwing his arms around the older, causing Karamatsu to freeze up as he wasn't used to this kind of affection from any of his brothers, especially not Todomatsu.

Kara smiled weakly after a minute, returning the embrace and rubbing his back.

"We're gonna have so much fun!" Totty laughed a little more before letting go and standing, calling out, "See you at dinner, Karamatsu-niisan!" Before walking out of the room.

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shadowluverworks · 5 years ago

Text

Remissionem - Chapter 4

If you’ve been keeping up with the show, (SPOILERS HERE) Della has returned to Earth. In this story however, Della is still gone, and her whereabouts are unknown, she is presumed dead. (END SPOILERS)

This story has some gore in it, considering it’s about a family overcoming an accident and fighting mortality. Reader discretion advised as I work at a veterinary clinic, so wounds and the treatment of them may be described rather realistically. If you have a squeamish stomach, I suggest not reading these sections. For those of my readers who like this sort of stuff, I hope you are satisfied you creepy little nerds! Thanks for reading guys!

Chapter 4: Once Set Together

Pants leave the old duck as he regains his breath, coughing weakly here and there. Scrooge just barely succeeded in restraining himself from giving his third nephew a swift kick across the plane’s belly. He releases his death grip on Donald’s arm, who promptly rubs it with a wince. He lowers his left leg once again. His injured hip had been throbbing at the movements, but that pain had been numbed in comparison to what his kin were doing to him. He attempts to force himself to relax for a brief moment.

Dewey and Huey have moved aside, the broken leg now successfully splinted. They’re some pride showing in their faces, but mainly they’re just happy to have escaped unscathed. Scrooge glances at his lower limb. It seems straighter now than before; the two had done a good job, they should be proud of themselves, just like he is.

Breath now returning, his gaze rises back to his great nephews with a long blink, “...good lads...” It’s all he can manage right now. But it’s enough. The two give a small sympathetic smile back to him.

With that taken care of, Webby and Donald are ready to move on, whether he is or not. His first nephew is already lifting his bad arm up and away again. A whine wants to force its way out, but he puts an end to it before it even begins. They mean well, he knows, but the exhaustion of the whole ordeal is seriously catching up to him. He’d already lost consciousness more than once and can’t promise he won’t again. The concussion still makes his stomach twist and turn with every passing second, and there’s no way he could walk a straight line with the dizziness that plagues him. Lying more on his right hip again to give Webby access to the injury, he uses his good elbow for support, but it’s already trembling under his weight.

The girl duckling puts a towel on the floor in front of her to soak up any fluid and opens up a fresh water bottle. Donald kneels next to her, one leg on either side of his uncle, almost straddling without putting his own weight on the other. He delicately holds the bad wing out of the way with his right hand and places his left on Scrooge’s right ribcage to keep him in place and prevent him from moving away.

With the old duck pinned in a sense, Webby starts to pour the water over the wound. The oldest nephew immediately tightens his hold as the injured avian starts to thrash weakly with a groan between his clenched teeth. The boys see the struggle and assist their uncle in restraining, Dewey holding down the legs that have started to kick and Huey running around to the other side. He kneels next to the rich duck’s right side near his head, holding his shoulder in place and helping in any way he can to prevent any further injury.

Webby’s brows furrow, she hates having to see her hero recoil in pain by her own hand, but she knows it’s what is best. He would tell her not to hesitate if he were in his right mind. She steels her nerves, fighting her conflicting emotions, and continues. Her fingers circle around the inside of the cut and between the skin flaps, cleaning out any dirt and debris that might have gathered. A breathless gasp meets her ears as water and blood pool together on the floor.

The pain is too much. Scrooge wants to tell her to stop, he can’t take it anymore. He’s ashamed of himself; the toughest of the toughies fighting a wee lass over a boo-boo. But this boo-boo hurts like he couldn’t imagine. The ribcage possesses only a thin layer of skin and hardly any fat deposits over it, making it an extremely sensitive spot on the body to begin with. As if the cut wasn’t enough, every time her small fingers move back and forth, he could feel the bones shift around inside. The assault to his already broken body makes his supporting arm finally give way and he lands on top of Huey beside him, forcing Donald and Webby to adjust their positioning as the bloodied mess pools onto the blankets beneath him. Blast me bagpipes, this is worse than me arm!

The oldest triplet is knocked over by the force of his great uncle falling on him and he lands on his rump, the entrepreneur’s head landing in his small lap as a cough leaves him again. Huey is unsure what to do for a moment as his uncle’s now free hand squeezes the quilts below them. He’s almost certain he saw the dark turquoise eyes were moist when they widened with the pained wheeze; he’s never seen the old man cry before.

His uncertainty is replaced by his older brother instincts. Many a night has he calmed his younger brothers after a nightmare or provided support when they had fallen and scraped a knee. He’s dealt with this before, it was no different, the subject was simply older than he in this situation. He just needs to calm the other down.

He places his tiny right hand over the larger one tightly clinging to the blankets. It’s cool and clammy to the touch. His other is placed on the man’s head, gently running his fingers through the tufts of soft feathers there and combing out any debris or dried blood clumps. He’s careful to avoid any cuts that are still actively bleeding.

The action is supposed to be soothing, but from his position he can see his Scrooge’s eyes open wide in surprise. The back of his head is to the boy’s stomach, and the child can only see his left eye as it searches, seemingly unsure how to react. No one had ever done this to him before. He’d lived his whole life without being comforted, and he isn’t exactly sure how to respond to the gesture.

Though as Webby’s cleansing reaches the deeper sections of the wound, all thought is replaced by pain again, and his eyes close tightly with a grimace and a grunt. Huey can faintly feel the hand beneath his open just slightly to release the blankets and allow his own hand inside the tight squeeze. The body atop his stifles as many sounds as possible and attempts to keep motionless, head turning more towards the floor beneath them and inadvertently closer to his own frame. Huey chooses not to say anything, to protect what little pride the old man has left. He was just happy to help in whatever way he could.

Finally, the tortuous cleaning stops as the girl moves on to her curved needle, “I’m gonna start sewing this up now, Mr. McDuck. Please try to hold still.” She doesn’t want to stab any more than she has to or cause more damage to the avian beneath her whose thrashing has started to still.

Webby receives a soft grunt in response, and starts with the innermost muscle layer, using the needle much like one would if you were to sew up a hole in a piece of clothing. Each puncture makes a tiny red stream form to join the already flowing river as she pulls the meat back together. When too much blood blocks her view, she uses some gauze from the first aid kit to dab it away and continues her needlework. Her patient trembles but sits surprisingly still. What makes her move faster however, are the now quick, shallow breaths forming beneath her quaking hands.

Donald notices the odd breathing rate now, too. His eyebrows furrowing as he cranes his head over to look at his uncle, “Scrooge?”

No verbal answer, just more rapid breathing. Dewey peeks over the sailor’s shoulder to see what’s happening, the legs he was holding down have stopped fighting him.

Webby finishes the muscle layer and urgently moves on to the second, the subcutaneous layer, trying to finish as soon as possible. The bleeding has dramatically lightened already, but each new puncture still causes more to form. She can see the old duck is starting to turn a bit more pale. She needs to get this bleeding under control.

Huey gives the body on his lap a light shake to get a response as he tries to see the other’s face. Eyes are tightly closed, beak open to pant, but no reply. The cold hand is still tightly squeezing his own, but he feels it would go lax if he moved away, “I think he might have passed out again!”

Blood loss, fainting, shivering, paleness, rapid breathing; Donald can easily recognize the shock is getting worse. He frowns, “I don’t like the way he’s breathing. How’s it coming, Webby?”

Said duckling can feel the pressure now, her hands shaking as she works. It’s not easy to sew a cut when it’s moving so much! The ribcage rapidly expands and deflates, moving the laceration as it does. She keeps her face focused to not let on how much she’s panicking inside, “I’m almost done with the hypodermic layer, then I just have the skin left!”

There’s a wheeze starting to form in the breaths. Donald’s brows knead together even more, “He’s having trouble.”

The eldest triplet’s fingers never cease combing the thick feathers, still attempting to calm the one beneath him, “If we had an oxygen mask, that might help!”

Dewey is already standing and turning to the flight deck, “Launchpad! Do you have an oxygen mask in here?!”

The pilot’s head turns to shout back, “I have one up here in the cockpit, but I think there’s a portable one in the back!”

The middle child puts his hands up towards the other, “Don’t move, just keep flying! Tell me where it is!”

“The locker where the medical supplies are kept; there’s a compartment built in the back; it should be in there!”

The youngest triplet turns around and walks to the balcony in time to see Dewey running to the back of the plane in search for the locker, “Why do you need a...”

He cuts himself off, stomach dropping at the sight. He can see the limp figure on the floor, face hidden by his uncle kneeling over it. He can barely see Huey on the floor, his face is upset. Webby is across him on the other side, her back to Louie, thankfully hiding whatever she’s working on. The once white towel on the floor at her feet, now a crimson color, doesn’t help his queasiness.

Dewey carries a mask in one hand and trails a dark green tank behind him. He stops next to Huey and they start turning the knobs on the tank. Donald uses his free hand to lift the oxygen mask up to his own face, testing to see if it’s working. It must be, as he hands it back to the other triplets who begin fidgeting with what he assumes is his great uncle’s face. The view is still hidden, and he can feel his anxiety starting to well up.

Launchpad turns his head to the green triplet again, “What’s going on?”

Louie ignores the question, and yells out his own to the group below, leaning over the balcony railing to try and see, “Is he ok?!”

Donald turns his head to him, “He passed out again! He was breathing a little funny but he’s fine now!”

Louie breathes in relief. For a second, he thought they were losing the old codger. He watches for a bit longer, before turning back to his seat next to the pilot, “He’s ok.”

The phrase repeats in his head, as if still convincing himself. Launchpad looks concerned but turns his head back to the sky before them.

Dewey glances at his elder brother next to him, who returns the worried expression. Their uncle hadn’t been completely honest with their youngest sibling. Louie was exceptionally emotional, and Donald had tried to reassure him that everything was under control. But the truth was even after they had fitted the mask around Scrooge’s beak, his breathing still has yet to return to normal. Fog forms in the front of the clear mask with every breath, the same troubled expression on his face.

Webby finishes her last stitch on the skin and cuts the extra length away. The black stitches stick out on the white feathers, but at least the bleeding has mostly stopped now. The feathers themselves turned out to be quite bothersome in trying to get her needle around, but at last the gash is back together. She puts down her instruments and picks up the water bottle again, rinsing her work clean once more. The blood stains are still present as well as the deep bruise, but the injury itself looks much better. A clean towel dabs up the moisture and dries the feathers. The duckling sits back with a sigh, her face now finally showing her concern as she looks up at the sailor.

Donald leans over to look at her work before smiling back to her, “And you said it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Webby gives a small, half-hearted smile in thanks. The duck lowers the injured wing once again and moves away to sit next his nephews.

With the laceration now being left alone, the family notices the rich duck’s breath starting to slow down. Each breath gets deeper and his whole body seems to relax, the pained expression now moving to a neutral one, and the grip on Huey’s hand softens.

The eldest triplet continues running his left hand through the soft feathers on his great uncle’s head, “That’s better. I think he’s ok now.”

Donald stretches before reaching for the needles and tools beside Webby, “Good. Let’s keep cleaning the cuts while he’s out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donald’s steady hands work to bring the thin skin back together on his uncle’s forehead. Several minutes have already ticked by since Scrooge lost consciousness once again, this one is lasting longer than the other rather short ones before. Despite their worry, the group is actively taking advantage of it by cleaning the rest of the wounds scattered across his body. Ice packs are resting along the stinted leg to prevent anymore swelling from starting and ease what’s already inflamed. Most of the small cuts just needed cleaning, and Webby takes the initiative by rinsing them out with the water and then drying them afterwards with a towel.

Before moving along, Webby examines the large bruise over the left hip, lightly pressing around the bone. Nothing moves with her probes and the bones feel normal, though there is definitely some swelling around the joints. It’s most likely a deep tissue injury, and the bone might be bruised, but at least it doesn’t seem broken. With Scrooge’s age, his bones should be brittle; it’s a miracle more of them aren’t shattered.

Finished with the wounds here, Webby moves up to where the rest of the group are sitting. Dewey sits next to the green oxygen tank, making sure it doesn’t tip over. Donald’s sitting on his knees as he sews up the cut on Scrooge’s head, which rests in Huey’s lap.

The red garbed boy strokes the long feathers on the side the man’s face to keep out of the way of his uncle’s work; they’re much softer than he’d expected.

The girl duckling dampens a fresh towel and pats at the back of the rich duck’s head. Most of the small cuts there have clotted already, but she’s gentle. He most likely hit there when he landed, and it’s surely sensitive.

The old codger’s face twitches and they all notice, he’s been immobile since he lost consciousness. Webby finishes her cleaning and removes the towel. The sailor takes one last chunk of skin as he starts the last stitch and there’s a flinch in reaction. Two dark turquoise eyes open slowly, and he hurries to complete it. The blue pools are unfocused at first and simply blink in reaction to him tying it off and cutting away the excess.

As Donald sits back, the eyes suddenly widen as their owner’s mind becomes aware of his surroundings. His breathing increases slightly, and he then notices the mask around his beak. The hand holding Huey’s lets go and grabs at the mask as his breathing picks up to a panic; he’s unsure of what’s happening. Years of living on his own has made him expect the worst and awakening in this strange situation makes his mind assume he’s in the presence of an enemy. He can’t show weakness; he attempts to sit up in his confusion.

The eldest triplet seizes his hand before he can remove the mask and makes him pause in his movements, “No, no, no! It’s ok, you’re ok. Take deep breaths, in, and out. In, and out.”

The boy makes the old duck focus on him. Huey breathes with him, in and out. The eyes are large in alertness, but he watches the child closely, and follows his instruction, forcing his lungs to take longer, deeper breaths to calm himself.

Scrooge’s eyes lower and blink as his body starts to relax, his mind returning to him. He lowers himself back to the boy’s lap; he’s not among enemies, he’s among family; he can lower his guard. His hand remains on the oxygen mask, but he doesn’t remove it, yet.

Huey strokes his head again, “Good. Just breathe.”

He glances around him, noticing other family members looking down at him. Dewey sits next to the boy in red, holding on to what he assumes is the oxygen tank his mask is connected to. Webby sits next to the middle child, holding a crimson stained white towel. Donald sits next to her and beside himself. His own body is in an arc of sorts and wrapped around his first nephew. He doesn’t know how he got like this. Of course, he recalls the events that transpired earlier, his aching body making it hard for him to forget, but he doesn’t remember feeling faint.

Donald watches his uncle closely. Eyes glance around the room and at each of them, before finally locking with his own. He can see the confusion in them, silently asking ‘what happened?’ He answers the old man’s wordless question, “You passed out again while Webby was stitching up your side. You started having trouble breathing, so we found this oxygen tank and hooked you up to it."

Scrooge’s eyebrows furrow in what seems to be annoyance; he doesn’t like being doted over. Before anyone can stop him, he pulls the oxygen mask off his beak, and starts to push himself up to a sitting position with a grimace. His kin bark at him to stay still and lay low, but he ignores them until he can finally rest against the pillow leaning on the Sunchaser’s side. He lets out a breath before addressing his family, “...Oh quit yer worryin’. Ah’m fine.” His body rests heavily against the plane’s wall as his head spins with the sudden vertical position. Eyes close to keep the world from revolving before them.

The family can say little to sway the stubborn duck, they all know from experience. Instead of insisting he should lay back down, they decide to finish what they started. Scrooge had been laying on his right side, which prevented any wounds on that portion of his body from being cleaned. There are still a few small cuts that need attention, but the biggest one is the large laceration on his upper right arm. The gash had already made a bloody stain on the blankets where he had previously been lying a short time ago, and most of his feathers on that side are now a dark crimson color.

Webby is the first to start dabbing away at the smaller scrapes here and there, making the old duck open his eyes at the sudden probing, but he does nothing to stop her. Dewey turns the oxygen tank off, seeing as his great uncle was bound and determined not to use it anymore. But instead of returning it to the medical locker, he lays the tank on its side and pushes it only a short distance from them in case they would need it again. Huey readjusts the ice packs that have moved away from the broken leg to cover it again as Donald moves closer to inspect the bleeding arm.

The cut isn’t life-threatening, but deep, and would definitely need some stitches. Putting more towels underneath them, the sailor takes his bottle of water and starts to dump it over the wound, instantly sending a crimson river flowing down the other’s arm. Scrooge flinches, mainly from the sudden cold water running down his arm as he glares at his nephew, who promptly begins cleaning out the gash with searching fingers once again.

The rich duck grunts, leaning a little away from his kin, “Must ye git every nook ‘n cranny?!”

A scowl reaches his, “I’d hate for you to lose your arm from infection after I missed all the dirt in here and then closed it up!”

An eyeroll with a groan in frustration, but Scrooge doesn’t snap back.

Even though they argue, Donald can honestly say he’s happy his uncle is putting up a fight again, it means he’s starting to feel a bit more like himself. The sailor worried when his usually tenacious uncle never once retorted to them. As much as he wants to sigh in relief and even hug the man for the simple reassurance that the old cheapskate’s still alive, things still aren’t right between the two of them. He knows it, and he’s sure Scrooge is aware of it as well, but neither are the best at talking about their feelings. Thankfully that could wait for now, there were more pressing matters that needed to be dealt with.

He picks up the instruments again, hoping these would be the last stitches he has to do for a long time. He brings the needle to the muscle layer first, taking a decent sized chunk to start bringing back together. His uncle winces and grunts at the sharp stabbing but tries his best to remain still. Being able to physically feel your muscles being tied together is a strange sensation, and one that is not exactly comfortable. The old duck shifts a little, trying to distract himself as his nephew continues down his line of sutures.

Donald would almost prefer it if Scrooge was sleeping again now. The way he recoils and fidgets is not making this an easy job. At least when he was unconscious, he held still. The sailor feels bad for the young duckling that had to sew up the large laceration on the rib cage half an hour ago.

In the midst of his uncle’s writhing, his needle unintentionally pushes deeper than planned, drawing out a bigger trail of the red fluid. A yip rewards him as the body flinches away a few good inches, snarling, “Take it easy!”

He’s blamed for it, of course. He hisses back, “Well stop your squirming!”

The old codger snarls back at him, “Ah’m only squirmin’ because yer bein’ too rough!”

There is no gentle way to sew up a laceration; it’s not going to be painless. Donald’s eyes narrow as he draws out his trump card, “Would you rather we have Mrs. B take care of this when we get back?!”

Immediate silence...followed by a few grumbles under the Scottish duck’s breath in his Gaelic tongue.

Scrooge knows better than to have his housekeeper, Mrs. Beakley, dress wounds. The woman was a secret agent and a better bodyguard than he could ever hope for, but she was not known for her gentle nature. On the few occasions the world’s richest duck had been injured, she lived up to her ruthless and merciless nature. Sure, his wounds had healed well and were properly taken care of, but the pain involved in her rehabilitation techniques were worse than the initial injuries themselves. Even her own granddaughter, Webbigail, had learned at a young age to dress her own scrapes and cuts les she fall victim to her grandmother’s unforgiving methods.

At the housekeeper’s name, Webby visibly winces at the thought. Her reaction only seals Scrooge’s hesitation at having Mrs. Beakley sew up and dress his injuries. Instead of arguing or retorting more, he looks in the other direction and holds his body as still as he is able. His attempts prove to be beneficial for his nephew, who finally finishes the muscular layer and can move on to the second layer.

The girl duckling has moved to Scrooge’s left side to be out of Donald’s way, though she continues her cleaning by leaning over and carefully patting the cuts. There’s a particularly sore looking mark over his right collar bone, and she gently dabs away at it, trying in vain to clean the gravel and dirt from the scrapes. He winces with a strained grunt, whether from her or the sailor’s doing one can’t be sure, but her dark eyes still flick up to his in sympathy, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head just slightly, a bit unnerved at the look in them, “Don be, ‘s nae yer fault.”

There’s an awkward silence at that. No one replies as it seems everyone is lost in their own thoughts. The rich duck notices how the many pairs of eyes that were looking at him just a second ago, now glance away as their owners pretend to be busy with whatever they can occupy their hands with. He furrows his brows; what’s going through their heads?

With his mind distracted, he fails to notice his nephew move to the skin layer on his wound, and before he knows it, the gash is already completely sewed up. Donald leans away with a sigh, “There. Now at least you won’t bleed out before Mrs. B can get ahold of you.”

Scrooge stifles a groan. There’s sure to be many choice words filling his ears when they get back. He’d rather his kin have left him in the jungle.

But at last, his wounds have been tended to, at least until they get home. For now, they can relax and try to forget about what had happened. The entrepreneur feels a shiver starting in his frame again. Blood loss is cruel to the body. He’d tried to ignore it as best he could before, but now it’s proving to be too much.

Donald notices the trembling right away, finds a thick blanket, and promptly covers his uncle with it, tucking it in around him. Scrooge wants to retort at being babied but can’t find it in him as the warm quilt gradually rises his body’s temperature. His nephew places a hand on his forehead, mindful of the stitched-up cut, and hums in thought, “You still feel like you have a fever. Try to get some sleep.”

The rich duck blinks slowly back in response; his body feels heavy.

After cleaning up the mess they had made, the two boys and Webby all but passed out in various locations along the plane’s floor. They were utterly exhausted, merely running on adrenaline this whole time to make sure the rich duck would survive. Donald had sat down a little way away from Scrooge, leaning against the plane’s side. It was obvious he was having trouble staying awake as well, his eyes closing longer at every blink, head lowering.

The old duck can’t but feel pride in his kin. They had taken such great care of him already, ignoring their own needs. He adjusts a little, trying and failing to get comfortable as the dull pain relentlessly throbs throughout his frame, his shivers only exasperating it. A few minutes pass before the soft snoring informs him of his nephew succumbing to the fight. He closes his eyes as well, trying to at least rest and ignore his body’s complaints.

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tanyuu · 6 years ago

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end-eavor

Hi! This is my first article-style theory. It’s obviously not like an actual article, you can tell by the deteriorating quality and fact that I used my own headcanons in place of canon information, but I’d just really love to see an article written by a sleep-deprived reporter bashing Endeavor.

That’s… all this is. It’s just a 7-page rant on why Endeavor is a terrible parent. And then it quickly dissolves into a theory on why Dabi is Todoroki Touya, so… good luck.

The reporter who writes this (Ella) is me! I’m not actually a reporter or writer at all, but I work around books. So. I’m gonna call bullshit on myself and get INTO THIS!

YEEHAW!

Todoroki Enji, also known as Endeavor (#1 in PHR, but #-7,000,000 in our hearts), has at least three children. They are known as Todoroki Natsuo, Todoroki Fuyumi, and Todoroki Shouto. Shouto has been in the public eye for a while now, especially after he was accepted by recommendation into UA.

Shouto was confirmed to be previously the victim of an act of domestic violence. His well-known facial scar (over his left eye), covers a quarter of his face. The cause was confirmed to be his mother's unstable and rapidly declining mental health.

All three of the Todoroki children released statements in the following years to plead their mother as not guilty (and worthy of single custody.) Endeavor harshly refused these claims, and insisted that their mother had endangered his children. (though he did not call Shouto his child. the term used was 'masterpiece,' which implies... certain things.)

In all fairness, Endeavor's stance on the topic is expected. The safety of your children is important. It's a touchy subject though, so all you need to know is this:

- Rei Todoroki (ice quirk), mother to the Todoroki children, poured boiling water onto her youngest child (Shouto)'s face.

- The cause was deteriorating mental health, but the cause of said mental state has not been released. Ever.

- Endeavor has potentially harmful opinions regarding his children, as well as near POSSESSIVE qualities with and to his youngest child.

Moving on.

Todoroki Natuso (quirkless), has cut ties with his father, for unknown reasons. Speculators and theorists claim that his father MADE him, as to not interfere with Shouto's "training."

He is now working as a doctor near Shizuoka Prefecture, and has saved many lives. His sister and brother are very proud of him. (and we bet his mother is, too)

Todoroki Fuyumi (sparking ice quirk) works as a preschool teacher. Though Natsuo moved out of Endeavor's "estate" (look up the square footage. we DARE you), Fuyumi has not. According to THIS (link) article, she will not until Shouto has graduated from UA. When prompted, she gave no answer.

Now, you're probably wondering: "Hey, Ella? If there's some kind of scandal, why don't you just go right out and say what you think is going on?"

That's the fun part! I legally CAN'T. Todoroki Enji (Endeavor, your #1 PUBLIC HERO) has ordered that no reporters are allowed to comment on 'how he runs his family.' And honestly, I value my job just a LITTLE too much to run the risk of the Hellflame's wrath.

Onwards, I suppose. And time for some (LEGAL) speculation.

If you recall, I mentioned how there are three confirmed children. That's because (and i did some actual digging here) there are FOUR legitimate Todoroki children.

Does anyone else remember the sports festival 6 years ago? The kid who had a CRAZY blue fire quirk? And then there's the fact that five-ish years ago, all of the footage from the semi-finals was deleted. Almost all of it.

Now, (I say with a grimace, here) I found one photo, and anyone with an eye on the news regarding high-profile villains would recognize THOSE piercings.

Why am I bringing up this blue fire quirk kid, anyway? Blue fire, blue fire, blue fire.

Todoroki Enji, ENDEAVOR. THE NUMBER ONE HERO. Lied about his kids. I'm definitely losing my job now, so... might as well just go with this, I guess. How do I know this?

We're familiar with Endeavor's ultra-move, the jet-stream style fire blast. He used it in the Hosu attack earlier this year, just before he captured the villain 'Stain.'

What color is the fire in that crazy powerful attack? B L U E.

Sports Festival mystery kid? Blue fire, spiky RED HAIR, turquoise eyes. It's like... younger, amped-up Endeavor.

I brought up piercings already, right?

The boy from the sports festival (let's nickname him v2 for now, short for Version Two of Endeavor. because I would pay SO MUCH to see this kid kick Endeavor's ass. i'll be linking a kickstarter for that later, too) has four piercings on his ears, and a triangle of nose piercings on both sides of his nose.

Blue fire, spiky hair, turquoise eyes, a FUCK TON of piercings, and just LOOK at this smirk: <IMAGE ATTACHED>.

Now, who does this remind anyone of?

The leader of the Vanguard Action Squad of the infamous League of Villains (LoV). The villain's name is 'Dabi,' which means 'Cremation.' Coincidentally, I looked up what v2's quirk was named. After a HELL of a lot of digging, I found both v2's name AND the name of his quirk.

Cremation.

And as for the name, well, I'd like Endeavor's official and public reason for keeping his FIRST and OLDEST child out of the public eye.

Todoroki Touya.

What am I implying, here? That one of Endeavor's children became a villain? A high-profile villain, involved with the kidnapping of a minor and attempted murder of at least 19? A villain with a criminal record longer than Shiozaki Ibara’s hair?

I'll provide a list of reasons why I (personally, and definitely not free of bias) think there's way more going on in this picture. Thank you for reading this far, by the way. It really does mean a lot, especially considering that this will likely be the last thing I'll... ever write, at least professionally.

To answer my own question, I'm telling you that Todoroki Touya became the villain 'Dabi.'

Now for the REALLY fun part. Why on Earth would Touya even become a villain? And especially as one of the children of such a well-known (but, frankly, not well-liked) hero?

I have a short list of reasons why this may have happened.

- Todoroki Enji kicked Touya out (reasons unknown, date unknown, all unconfirmed)

- Touya ran away (reason unconfirmed)

- Pressured by villains (honestly? unlikely)

But, drawing attention to the scar patterns on Dabi (Touya?)'s arms and face. It's a fire burn, but not a REGULAR fire burn. From the looks of it, it wasn’t caused by an external force (you can tell b/c of his fingers). But this implies that Dabi did it HIMSELF, which... is a whole new can of worms.

(I swear all of this is relevant. I'm just... speculating. Diligently.)

In order to do so much self-inflicted damage, you would need a few key things.

1) High pain tolerance. (30% of Dabi's skin is scar tissue. That's... a lot. Have you ever accidentally touched a flame? It hurts, and keeping it there would hurt a lot more. Doing something like that and holding the flame there requires a lot of control.)

2) A high sensitivity to your OWN quirk. Now, quirk biologists have talked about how people usually have a natural immunity to their own quirks, especially emitter-types. But, if Touya THEORETICALLY had a body made for an ICE QUIRK (see where I'm headed?), it would explain why he was so easily burned.

But why would he have such a pain tolerance? And especially... towards burns...?

Well, I'll let you decide that one for yourself, there. I'm not allowed to talk about that, remember?

GREAT! We've answered some questions! (some meaning, like, two)

Now onto a Fun Part™! (It's not fun. Honestly, writing this makes me feel horrible. The things pro heroes cover up, no kids should EVER go through ANY of what I'm writing about.)

So far, Enji's been in the wrong... probably 80% of the time? Some of it (20%) can be marked down as 'concerned parent,' but the rest... yeah.

Anyway! Let's address a concerning topic. There are a few things I'm going to be talking back and going back to QUITE a bit:

- Shouto's refusal to use his fire in the Sports Festival last year (earlier this year? time is a concept, and i'm not familiar with it)

- The difference in personality with the Todoroki trio. (i'd say quartet, but my boss says i'm not allowed to interview a villain, and also. all of these. are still speculation. please pay me)

- How Endeavor (#1 hero. i keep bringing that up just to reiterate who exactly is the current face of the hero world and WHY THE FUCK IS HE STILL TH-) addresses his children

Where were we again? Let me check.

Oh yeah, before I start yelling about Enji being a piece of shit, I'm going to say a few things about myself. This article is very unorthodox, and I shouldn't... technically do this? BUT I'm already gonna lose my job! So, onwards and upwards, y’all:

- My name is Ella.

- I work for a really well-known (and lovely) publishing company, as a writer and editor.

- I get paid XXXXX a year. Which is okay, and better than some other companies, but I'm still... not getting anything out of this, so you can't say I was paid to write this. If anything, I'm LOSING money by writing this. (but i'm in too deep to stop now, so...)

- My hands hurt a lot from writing this. I've written it all in about an hour, but the research has taken me WEEKS. W E E K S, I TELL YOU-

Todoroki Shouto (15, Half-Cold Half-Hot emitter quirk, aptly named) is a student at UA. He is in class 1-A, the Hero Course. He's been involved with many mainstream villain attacks, such as the USJ invasion, the Stain + Hosu event, and All Might's last stand.

Shouto's personality can be seen as cold and standoffish, and the media likes to depict him as an aloof pretty boy. Please keep in mind, he's... been through a lot. And I'm speculating that he's been through more than anyone's actually THOUGHT about before. Kudos to him.

In the Sports Festival in Shouto's first year, his fight with Midoriya Izuku was ALL OVER THE NEWS. The green haired “no bones about it” kid had gotten Todoroki "I'm not using half of my power" Shouto to use his fire. Nobody knows the exact content of the fight, but it's worth mentioning that Shouto smiled during it. Full-on GRINNED.

(the more i think about that... the sadder it is? kid didn't look like he’d smiled very much. ever, actually. WHY COULD THAT BE-)

Speculation as to why Shouto didn't actually use his fire during the first events (and according to his classmates Asui Tsuyu and Kirishima Eijirou, he hadn't used it all YEAR. not even during the USJ invasion) was rampant through hero forums. Popular theories included:

- Shouto didn't want to one-up his classmates, so he restricted his power to make it fair. (which is understandable, but.... hon.... how likely is that. the damn MOTTO is ‘plus ultra’)

- Shouto was told not to by his father, and didn't, as some kind of rite of passage. (which is a whole NEW kind of 'what the fuck, enji' and i'm just. not touching that theory)

- My personal and biased favorite: Shouto was rebelling against his father after being pressured to surpass him and be even greater. (which, fair. honestly, any kind of intense pressure ESPECIALLY from a high-profile parent is stressful. take music lessons, for example! kids are gonna give up if they're forced to do shit! come ON, endeavor)

Endeavor (in MULTIPLE) interviews, has referred to Shouto as 'his masterpiece,' or 'his greatest work,' or other terrifying names. Honestly. Children aren't property, and although quirks are tossed around like clothes in a washing machine, their uses don't justify the treatment of their people. Especially with all the stigma surrounding "villainous" quirks. (WHICH IS BULLSHIT, OKAY? quirks aren't inherently villainous. sure, some are a little less flashy and virtuous, but fear is irrelevant! it's what you choose to do with what you have that matters. choices affect content of character, not predetermined morality)

BACK ON TOPIC. I'm not sorry. I feel like I could write a whole separate article on why villainous quirks don't actually exist? Should I? Hell yeah. I will, eventually.

Endeavor's blatant favoritism of Shouto is highlighted by the way he talks about his other children. By that, I'm referring to the fact that he outright DOESN'T. Not one WORD on Natsuo's confirmed cure for quirk burns. Not ONE WORD on Fuyumi's (SIX) teaching awards.

And, most concerningly?

Endeavor has refused to allow Todoroki Rei to leave the mental hospital she was put into (10 YEARS AGO) although she's passed EVERY SINGLE examination. (fuck, i'm not allowed to talk about that. OH WELL if i go i'm going OUT)

Shouto has affirmed that he doesn't want to work under his father, and will likely be joining a separate agency in the event of immediate hero work after graduation. He sort of implied that his father didn't know when to stop, but then left the interview.

"Didn't know when to stop? Stop what, Ella?" Remember how I mentioned some kind of 'training' way early into this? Mmm-hmm.

I'm going to do some extreme hand-waving here. This is ALL speculation, and as of now it's ILLEGAL speculation.

Back to Touya for a second. The records I found said that he won his match, but lost the semi-final due to intense quirk backlash. The time of the first match was INCREDIBLE.

6.3 seconds. Holy... SHIT.

(great job, touya! we're all really proud of you!)

Honestly! That's crazy! Record-breaking, even. Second only to... Shouto.

Second to Shouto. Maybe that's... not the first time Touya's heard that phrase.

Anyway. Training plays a role in this, because the difference in control between Shouto and Touya with fire is barely noticable. They both copy a move (left hand swing and then a full-fire short range blast) from each other. Well, maybe not from each-other.

Let's look into the Hosu fight. Endeavor uses a blue-fire jet-flame attack (can't remember if it has a name, only that it's INTENSE and I would NOT like to be on the receiving end of it), but later with the LoV's monsters (they're called 'noumu'), he uses a very familiar move.

Left hand swing. Full-fire short range blast.

Only this time, there's no eye flinch or subtle shoulder tense. Only cold, hard, fury.

What am I implying?

Well, I can't legally talk about THAT, now can I?

Thank you very much for reading this! I picked up this style from a few meta posts in other fandoms; the writer has access to information the reader does NOT, in this case the lack of canon information regarding Dabi’s background and/or schooling. I added headcanons:

-Natuso being quirkless

-Touya going to UA

-Touya being a badass (that’s not really a headcanon, though. he’s related to fuyumi. of course he’s gonna be a badass)

#dabi is a todoroki #786653328 #thats my tag for fics i WROTE #ya YEET #wooooo #bnha #todoroki touya #dabi is touya todoroki #todoroki fuyumi #todoroki natsuo #todoroki shouto #todoroki enji #todoroki rei #speculative fiction #character study #todoroki family #all handwaving! none of this is canon!#im a shit writer but IDC #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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treasure-my-aurora · 5 years ago

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We’ve got Tonight

• Summary: I’d known Felix since before he was born. My tiny preschool hand would often press flat against his mother’s round belly while I looked up at her with surprised innocent eyes as the baby inside kicked against my hand. Known him as a brother, a best friend and a rock to lean against through my whole life. But now, in just a month, he’d be going away to train with some of the best in the industry, and with time running out, perhaps there is more than just platonic feelings between us… something that would bring up more pain, jealousy and sorrow than we could ever imagine.

♥ Pairing: Bang Chan/Reader/Felix

♦ Chapter: 2/9

♣ Words: 4676

♠ Genre (in this one): Fluff, angst, teasing

It was Saturday evening, sometime around 10 pm and our apartment was full. Alcohol was flooding and for once, everyone in our group of friends was there. Two girls I’d befriended from work had joined on my request as well and both were already chatting up Changbin, Han and Jeongin. As the oldest of the group, all the boys included, I often felt responsible for them all and needless to say, I felt like the most boring adult ever when I clinked my glass with one of the girls to get her attention and nodded towards the smiley boy at the end of the sofa. His non-alcoholic carbonated drink in a steady grip as he listened in on the conversation between his hyungs and the girl closest to him. “Just a small warning” I paused, felt how I slurred slightly and took another sip of whatever it was Chris had mixed together. Grimaced slightly to the way too sweet taste before I continued, “Our youngest friend is only here because he enjoys the crowd” I nodded towards Jeongin and the girl I was talking to glanced at him before she looked back at me with big surprised eyes, ”He might try to convince you that he’s just as drunk as the rest of us but it’s just a big fat lie and he only wants to get laid” “No need to be a party pooper, noona” Jeongin said with a large pout and I only stuck out my tongue before giving him a big smile. Pursed my lips slightly when he rejected the love heart I formed over my head. A stern look on his face while shaking his head in disappointment and for a second I got worried that he was angry, but he couldn’t hold the stoic mask for long and soon enough broke out in a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Anyone wanna play a game?” Chris voice suddenly roared over the music and all of us looked up at him from our scattered places across the room. He stood in the corridor that connected our bedroom with the rest of the apartment and for a split second I got scared that his drunken mind would’ve found it funny to share the box of sex toys we had hidden underneath our bed. “What?” Jisung screamed out from the top of his lungs but only received frightened eyes from my two co-workers, the rest of us were used to it by now. “Spin the bottle” Chris screamed back and revealed the old whisky bottle that he’d hidden behind his back the whole time. I sighed deeply in relief and caught his eyes as he gathered the group into a circle on the floor. “You really thought I was going to do something naughty, don’t you?” He whispered as he sat down, right next to me. Fingers playing with the hem of my high waisted black jeans as he pulled my whole body towards him and I shivered slightly as he placed a sloppy kiss underneath my ear. I looked up, accidentally met Felix eyes across the circle, bottle in a tight grip and frozen momentarily in the motion of bringing the drink to his lips as he watched when my face changed as I sighed from the added pressure of Chan’s teeth grazing my skin and the small nibbles that followed, causing pink splotches of colour to blossom over the side of my neck. The moment only lasted for a few seconds though, before he looked away as if nothing had happened. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he downed the whole drink in one go. Excused himself from the group, even though no one listened, walked past us to the fridge to get something else and Chris asked (shouted) over his shoulder if Felix could be a dear and get him something as well. He doesn’t notice the look he gets in return, no one does because no one would. But I’d known him before he even took his first breath on planet earth and the small twitch in the corner of Felix mouth, the way his eyes rolled ever so slightly- was of clear annoyance and I wondered what my boyfriend now had done that had put the younger in such a bad mood. I wanted to reach out for him when he walked past us again, to try and cheer him up but decided against it as he placed a beer in front of Chris and another one in front of me. Only gave me a small look to confirm when I silently, without using anything else than the body language only the two of us knew, thanked him for bringing me something that I could finally drink. The evening continued and I didn’t know how I ended up in my boyfriend’s lap as two hours passed. Maybe it was from a dare, maybe it was because his hands hadn’t left my hips the whole time. Almost fucking up the game multiple times because the group could never decide if it pointed towards me or him. I was drunk, knew it from the thick cotton ball feeling in my head to my slightly numb fingers and the way my heart thumped hard in my chest. Stuck in that perfect stage when I had just enough to remember my every action the next day but still felt invincible at the moment. I revelled in it- the feeling. Chris body was warm underneath mine and my breath hitched when I felt how he tried to undo my belt buckle for the third time within the hour. I tried to wiggle away but he kept me locked where I was with two secure hands locked around my hips, and thrusted up slightly against my ass instead, just to tease me. I playfully hit his hand and shook my head as he rolled my body onto his half hard cock, the same way he’d been doing for the last fifteen minutes, and gave him another look of disapproval as a breathless gasp escaped my lips against my will, scolded him without using words but he just shrugged and gave me an innocent smile. “Ok, ok, we get it. You guys wanna fuck. It’s literally 12 am and this party is just getting started. Get over yourselves or get it over with” Hyunjin shouted, annoyance and what could be depicted as jealousy in his voice, from across the room and Chris hands were back around my waist as people around us laughed loudly from the shameless words. Chris pouted as his fingers drummed on my jean clad thighs, puppy eyes and all. Even fluttered his lashes a few times and I rolled my eyes to him as I tried to fight off the arousal that already burned between my legs from the thought of his cock pounding me while our friends were waiting for us on the other side of the apartment. “You’re a lucky girl” One of my co-workers shouted the moment I stood up and Chris followed, the dent of his own arousal clear as day because of the tight ripped blues he was wearing and Changbin, Han and Minho shouted more and more vulgar words after us as Chris took my hand, kissed it as he bowed, almost theatrically before he leaned down and surprisingly easy, considering how much we’d been drinking, swooped me off my feet and started to carry me bridal style to our bedroom. I caught Felix eyes and for the first time in my entire life, couldn’t immediately recognize the expression he on his face. Lips parted and eyes hooded as he brought the bottle in his hands to his lips again. Knuckles nearly white from holding onto it too hard and I feared for a moment that it would break and shatter in his hand. Tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip and he raised the bottle to me just before Chris closed the bedroom door, gave me a small wink as a cheeky goodbye with one brow raised, but his lips were pressed together in a way I only recognized as anger. - “I need a hug. A three hour one” I stumbled through Felix’s door and he looked at me with a small smile while putting his hand on my back to make sure that I didn’t stumble over his doormat. I was fresh of work, fatigued and tired. Feet and back hurting and I regretted for the thousand time that I didn’t just put away some money to buy a proper pair of shoes. “Tough day at work?” He asked and I nodded while kicking off my shoes and laid down in his bed. Closed my eyes and winced in pain as my back relaxed against the soft mattress. Felt the bed dip as he sat down next to me while placing a comforting hand on my thigh. The slight pressure as he splayed it over the sensitive area made me shudder slightly. “Do you want me to hold you?” He asked and I nodded again while scooting over slightly. He laid down next to me and I turned around, still with my eyes closed, and nuzzled up next to him. Breathed in deeply, felt how my entire body shook when I inhaled the smell of him and how relaxed I felt after I exhaled again. Heard him snort out a small laugh from my action and knew that he smiled brightly- were so used to it that I could see it against the darkness of my eyelids, as if my eyes were open. He placed his arms around me, hugging me close and I buried my nose against the place he sprayed his cologne, just above the collarbone. Felt him twitch slightly from the ticklish feeling while placing a delicate kiss on the crown of my head. “You smell like coffee” He whispered against me and I hummed back, “I know, I’m sorry” He chuckled and took a deep breath himself, laid his hand flat against my back and pressed us as close as we possible could. Connected from top to bottom with our legs tangled and I felt how my heart skipped a beat. “I just mind the taste, not the smell, and certainly not on you” “Cheeseball” I would’ve stuck my tongue out at him but didn’t want to move away from my place so close to him. We grew silent. Just listened to the sound of shuffling in the rooms around us, to music that played from a boom blaster outside, a car that honked from the road off campus and a tv programme in the common room downstairs. “I can’t help but to be selfish. Laying like this, really make me hesitate on actually going away” Felix voice was soft, or well, as soft as he could muster, and I felt how my body coiled slightly from the words as it twisted and turned inside me. He sounded so full of angst, of sorrow that it hurt me, and I quickly shook my head and reached up to comb my fingers through the hair at the back of his head. Felt how he gasped harshly as the tingly feeling sent ripples down his spine and I took a staggering breath against him while I repeated the action. “You need to go though. There’s-” “No discussion… I know, noona. I just-” “Want to stay as well” He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. I felt how his pulse picked up as his heart thumped hard against me. “I’d be lying if I said that I’ll be ok. That I won’t cry. That I won’t miss you. That I won’t miss moments like this… But to think so is selfish. The logical part of my brain knows that you will return to me. That you will come back so, so much stronger. With experience that will be vital to your studies, and for you to be able to do what you want in life” He was silent. Just stroked down my hair as he listened, and I was pretty sure that his eyes were closed as well. Just enjoyed this quiet moment of peace and serenity between us, “You know. It’s been some time since I was that bigger sister that always had your back. Since you were the one who looked up to me” “I still look up to you, noona. You’re kind. Well spoken. Beautiful. Put together” “Put together?” I chuckled a little, tried to ignore the voice that happily cackled like a maniac in my mind when he called me ‘beautiful’ and he returned the humour in his slightly exaggerated words, “Not put together then, no one really is. But I mean… strong… you know? You’ve always been. Ever since we moved away from our parents. You took care of me, and my teenage shenanigans every day. Made sure that I did my homework, made sure that the bills were paid on time, made sure that I had dinner in me before going to bed and breakfast before going to school. Even after I moved out and you moved in with Chris, you never faltered. You still do those little things. You have a job that you enjoy and people that love you” “That’s just being an adult, though” I smiled at him. Appreciative of the sweet words but protesting against them anyway, “There’s not many people who can say that they adult good though. You’re a good role model” I hummed a response. Not really knowing how to answer. - It was intoxicating. In the sweetest way possible. The weight of his body against my own as he leaned back against my chest. He’d come crawling up against me like a cat who craved warmth after finishing his studies. Slightly slumped over in front of me as I watched the small TV, propped up on an unstable table at the other end of the bed. Complained with a big pout that he was cold and needed me, and who was I to reject him? Who was I to say anything when he gave me a smile that made butterflies flutter in my stomach before comfortably laying down in my arms with his head resting against my boobs, using them as a pillow. My left arm thrown over his hard chest while the other automatically removed the cap he wore to reveal those bouncy lilac locks of his. I know that the “right thing”- what society told us every time we displayed physical affection and people realized we weren’t a couple, would be to protest when he laid down in that position. But we’d grown up like this, basically joined at the hip. So accustomed to each other that it was as if our bodies had grown up to fit against each other like puzzle pieces. To always lay so, so close to each other that the situation didn’t feel weird at all. My fingers combed through his hair, the softness of it rippled like water between my fingers and I couldn’t help but place a small kiss on the crown of his head when he looked up to meet my eyes, watched me upside down for a few seconds before he closed his eyes again as I moved some hair that had fallen onto his forehead, my fingertips brushing against the barely noticeable thought wrinkles there and I had to remind myself to breathe when he gave me another soft smile. I didn’t know what was on the TV anymore, didn’t care much either as he aimed his focus back to the screen, a breathy hum of satisfied content erupt from his throat when I scraped my nails softly against his scalp. “Stay the night?” He asked with a voice that didn’t think I would, and I frowned. Thought about Chris and felt a tinge of guilt in my heart when I wondered if he sat up and waited for me, if he went to bed on time like he’d promised or if he, like he usually did when I wasn’t home, spent the night out with friends. “Sure” I said, thinking that my apartment would most likely be cold and empty if I went home and Felix looked back at me again, that bright smile that I loved so much on his lips as he hugged around my left arm tightly and even though the act; with his smile, the adoration he displayed, the way he pressed closer to me, nuzzling his back harder onto my frame to get even closer- was part of a cute behaviour that made me softly smile, the muscles on his stomach clenched and my breath almost hitched as my fingertips brushed against the hard abs through the thin white tee he wore. He didn’t seem to notice though, or at least that’s what I thought at first but knew that I was busted the second he met my eyes. “Do you wanna see?” He asked with an unusual mixture of pride and insecurity and I guess the subconscious part of me, the one that has had way too many thoughts about him these last few days, must’ve nodded because he stood up, met my eyes and I sat up straighter as he hooked his fingers around the lining of his shirt and raised it high enough to show off what I’d felt but still low enough to keep the feeling of modesty between us. My mouth fell open. I didn’t realize it at first but the smile on Felix face told me so as he looked away, pink dusting his cheeks and I had to remind myself to breathe again. “You look…” I started but didn’t had to finish, as per usual. “Thank you. It’s nice to see that months of training finally pays off” He continued and looked down on himself. My fingers twitched in my lap and I swallowed hard, hoping that he hadn’t noticed, but he looked back at me at the same second and while one hand held up his shirt, the other reached out for me, “Come on, you can touch” “You make it seem like I’ve never seen abs before” I chuckled but still accepted the hand that took mine before he pressed it against the hardness on his stomach. I bit down on my tongue as my fingertips brushed back and forth, and he grinned from ear to ear when I still let out a small gasp of surprise, “I’m not saying that you’ve never seen abs. But it’s been some time, eh?” I met his eyes after he spoke. Embarrassed that he could read me like an open book. He let go of my hand, probably thinking that I’d let him go too, but the cogwheels in my mind worked fast, spiralled into a plan of mischief and I kept my hand where it was. Splayed it open against his stomach before it was joined by my other and I placed them around his hips instead, pulled on his whole body and he was forced to take a step forward towards me. I pushed aside my morals, my emotions and gave him a sweet smile from my place on the low sofa, thumbs rubbing down his hip bones and he seemed to realize the compromising position I was in as well. If he’d take another small step, I’d be close enough to press my lips against the exposed skin he was still showing. He could feel traces of my warm breath against him and the tips of my pinkies slip into the lining of his trainers. Even more noticeable, and I tilted my head with a small pout on my lips when his mouth fell open and a harsh gasp escaped his throat when I leaned forward while glancing down at his crotch- I could easily slide the rest of my hands into his pants and let him slip into my mouth without moving another centimetre. His cock twitched in his pants as he thought the same thing. Gulping slightly as his cheeks flushed and I met his eyes again as I smiled happily while pushing him backwards to put some space between us again. “I’m not saying that you’ve never had sex. But it’s been some time, eh?” I imitated him and he rolled his eyes before cursing loudly, pulled down his shirt low to cover himself. “Noona. You scared me for a second” He complained and slumped down next to me while grabbing a pillow to press against his crotch in the process and I chuckled at him. “Why?” I asked and he flushed even redder. Refused to answer the question. - Another stressful week had passed, and I felt bad for Chris when I once again rejected his suggestion to go to the cinema and watch a movie as soon as he had finished his essay. He was probably home by now, reading the note I’d written to him about where I was, that he should eat while the food I cooked for him was still warm and promised that I’ll be home early enough for us to watch a movie at home instead before it got too late. Felix hand was warm in mine as we laid on a double layered blanket on the hood of my car. Parked in the middle of a parking lot to the biggest shopping centre in our part of town. Dressed for the cold weather outside. The sky was clear, temperature a bit chilly but still calm, without any wind. He pointed out the stars for me, like he’d done so many times before and I was unsure if he understood that I only pretended that I didn’t know them all already or if he thought that it was one thing that I simply just couldn’t remember. He didn’t seem to mind repeating them though and I smiled softly when he tested my knowledge. Harshly clenched my jaw from the laugh that bubbled from his chest as I (purposely) told him the wrong answer and felt how my heart ached, because every time he laughed like that, with twinkling eyes into two thin crescents and pearly whites shining, I was reminded that he would be going away. “I’m going to miss you” I said just as he had questioned me again, turning my head so I could meet his eyes. “Wrong! It’s actually Cassiopeia” He said with a fully serious face but the mask fell quickly when my mouth fell open from the disrespect he just showed me, “I’ll miss you too, noona” He quickly added and I huffed slightly as I looked up to the stars again. “I bet I’m going to miss you more though” I said and felt my cheeks heat up from the sudden confession, “It’s not a competition, noona” Felix said softly, and I chuckled under my breath, but it sounded forced, painful, “You’re going to be busy with a full schedule all day and I’m going to wonder if you still want to be my friend when you get back or if you’ve found some cool girl that can mirror the dance moves you do. Someone that will be your new best friend because you’ll share more interests with her” I looked away, chewed on my inner cheek as the words spilled from my lips. Leaving out the rest of the sentence that I wanted to say. That I was worried he was finally going to fall in love with someone his own age, someone that would be the reason why he’d move away from me permanently. “You’re joking, right?” Felix asked with a voice that echoed the disbelief of the question. We were close, shoulder to shoulder and for a minute I could feel him breathing hard next to me, like the subject bothered him more than he wanted to admit, “Even if I befriended some “cool girl” there will never be someone like you, noona” He squeezed my hand and I squeezed back on pure reflex, hiding a small smile underneath my scarf “I’m more scared that Chris will put his thoughts into action and kidnap you to an undisclosed location so that he can finally have you for himself” He chuckled to himself and combed back his hair before he placed his arm behind his head to lay more comfortably, looking about as embarrassed as I felt myself when we opened up to each other, “He has always been jealous of me, you know. We still fight about it, five years later. I think we’ll always fight about... it” He grew silent and I swallowed hard, feeling how he wanted to say ‘you’ but switched the word to ‘it’ in the last second, changing the whole sentence by doing so. I didn’t know how to answer. Mostly since I’d been thinking about them, the same thoughts, as well, scared that even after this long, the bond that I shared with Felix had never wavered. Had never been affected, like I thought it would when I got together with Chris. Felix cleared his throat, a bit uncomfortable as the mood between us seemed to ripple a little. I wondered if he felt like I did at that moment. Like all the things that had just simmered in our bodies for years started to boil up, scorching us as the amount of time before his departure shortened. It was uncomfortable and I didn’t know what to do or what to say to make myself feel better. To make it feel like I didn’t betray the trust Chris had towards me, even though the most intimate thing me and Felix had ever done was the thing we were doing at the moment- just holding hands, cuddling as we watched a movie or huddling as close together as we could when the only comfort we could find was within one another, because there was no beginning where he also ended, only each other and vice versa. There had been moments when we’d teased each other, like that time a few days ago when I accidentally (on purpose) made him hard after touching his abs… but the situation has always been playful, like we’d just been joking around. “I uh… have tea, if you’d like” I steered away from the subject of him leaving, of Chris potentially taking me away and the feelings I still felt stirring in my belly and he nodded happily as we sat up and he turned towards me as I opened my bag to grab the thermos before I poured him a mug of the hot beverage. He switched hand with mine after a while, thoughtful since that hand had been heated up from the tea and I gave him a small smile before our eyes wandered back against the sky. He was truly the most gorgeous human I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t help but watch him as he continued to watch the sky. Dressed in trainers as usual, with a chunky turtleneck sweater and a thick jacket, all black from numerous brands, looking effortlessly well dressed, in a way I’d never succeeded. Shoulders raised and chin hidden in the extra fabric around his neck to protect himself from the chilly air. Soft purple hair sticking out from underneath a beanie and those freckles of his splattered over the bridge of his nose, cheeks and eyelids like the stars in the sky. Lips pouting slightly as he counted the gleaming constellations above and I counted the freckles on his face, even though I knew the exact amount of them already. Cursed myself as I leaned forward and swiped away a crumb of chip that had gotten stuck in the corner of his lips from when we ate snacks while watching the sun go down earlier. He whispered a small, “Thank you” and I pretended that I wasn’t curious if his lips tasted like the salty tanginess of the chip he’d eaten.

#bang chan/reader #lee felix/reader #stray kids chan #stray kids felix #lee felix #bang chan

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zeciex · 6 years ago

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Obsidian & Angelite The Final: From the Ashes a New World

Warning: Dark themes, blood, torture, death and just...carnage

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya touched the stone around her neck, fingers tickling with a need to destroy it and release the energy within but a thought stirred amidst the need of that. A thoughtful expression formed on her face, heart thumping in her chest and breath strained. It was a risk, she knew that, but it was one that was carefully considered and most importantly, one that would most certainly work. Oya turned to the mantle above the fireplace, taking the knife that had been previously placed there, before turning around to a perplexed expression on Michael's face. She placed the knife in his hands, once more entrusting him with her life.

“They won’t see me as a threat,” she explained. Michael turned fully to her, one hand brushing her cheek in a loving caress. There was something feral in his eyes, a spark of wild that made her heart beat harder as adrenaline was released.

“Show me,” Michael drawled, closing in on her. Oya to the hand in which he held the knife, slowly guiding it to where it would do minimal damage but cause quite the sight. The tip of the knife traced over the fabric. His hand felt burning in her own smaller hand. Their eyes remained at one another, hers filled with anticipation of the pain and his with something she couldn’t describe. The look on his face was one she had never seen before, not fully.

Oya licked her lips and took a breathed out. Michael kissed her, his mouth latched onto hers so quickly it made her head spin and then the pain came, it cut through her and caused her to hitch her breath ready to scream when Michael swallowed up her pained wail with his fiery mouth. Her hands fisted in his jacket, clutching the fabric for life while her knees threatened to cave in. A tear rolled down her cheek, wiped away by Michaels' thumb as he continued to kiss her until she had steadied herself.

Michael pulled apart from her, his breath tickling over her ashen face, his eyes fierce with adoration. Her action, the very plan she had come up with, one that he hadn’t even thought off was only showing how right she was. She was the sun, the moon, the stars. She was life and death, beginning and end. She was a goddess and he was willing to worship at her alter. “I love you more than you could possibly fathom.”

“Oh, I can fathom it,” she whispered, hand strengthening around his. With bated breath she pulled the knife out, small whines escaping her as she watched the crimson blade leave her body and the blood that followed turning the purple fabric a strange abugine. One shaking hand came to put pressure on the wound, the blood rising between her thin pale fingers.

She hissed at the pain and then swallowed it, moving on unsteady legs away from Michael’s warmth that she wanted to wrap herself in. “Give me a few moments before coming out.”

“Oya,” Michael said and brought back the attention on him. “Don’t underestimate them, you’ll know when the time comes to break the spell.”

Oya nodded in agreement and moved past Mrs. Mead who went to help take the bloody jacket off of her boy.

“Because you’re special, Mallory, and we need you,” A voice said, travelling along the stone walls to where Oya was. Her steps sounded, alerting the group ahead of her that someone was coming. There were hushed words said before silence. Oya let out a strangled sob, tears pouring from her dark eyes while her lips quivered. Each step sent a jabbing pain through her body threatening to bring her to her knees. How feeble human bodies were.

“Please, someone,” she cried coming around the corner to be met by 5 pairs of eyes all looking over her weak from. The wall was cold to the touch, her hand sticking to the surface as she leaned against it in an attempt to keep standing, sweat pearling at her temples. “She-she stabbed me...I-I” Her voice cracked. Oya tried to cross the room to them, legs unsteady underneath her.

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” A blond cursed at her, bobbing her hip out and placing a hand on it. Obviously, she didn’t find Oya’s presence a threat, all of them must know she had no magic, they could feel it and still the older blond woman, whom Oya recognized as Cordelia, was still suspicious.

“Oya,” Mallory said, arms reaching out to welcome the wounded woman. “What happened?”

“You weren’t with the others,” Cordelia said with evident skepticism.

“I wasn’t feeling well and went to my room and-and Mrs. Mead found me when I headed back to the party, she-she stabbed me!” Oya stammered, looking down at the bloody evergrowing spot on her dress, removing her hand to show it’s crimson covered palm before weakly covering the wound once more. She looked up with swimming pained eyes, lips quivering as she tried to hold back sobs. “She said everyone was dead, you were all dead, how are you here?”

“Are we really trusting this bitch?”

“Oya, look at me,” Cordelia commanded hand taking hold on Oya’s arm. “I know you’re hurt and confused but it's important that you listen.” The seriousness in her voice cut through the pain and demanded attention. If the situation was different Oya would have found the Supreme before her interesting enough befriend, there would have been a lot to learn from one another. But as the situation was, Oya knew that the biggest threat came from both the Supreme and the girl whose arms were currently wrapped around her to hold her up. “You need to stay with Mallory, make sure she survives so that the rest of us can survive. It is important, without her we’re all doomed, do you understand?”

“I-,”

“It’s a yes or no answer,” the bitchy blond cut in, stepping threateningly close. This witch she would have obliterated on sight, she reminded her of Coco somehow. Oya nodded rapidly, stammering ‘yes’ over and over.

“Good, because we need all of you,” Cordelia voiced sternly with the aura of a true Supreme.

“You’re on your own with that shit!” Dinah spat at the witches. “I made a billion dollars in TV and all I ever did was struggle the fence. I sure as hell not dumpin’ that strategy here, sisters. I haven’t promised anything, I haven’t signed anything and I’m not here to defeat anyone.” Dinah walked with sure steps towards them, eyes fixed on the Supreme. This was the first show of her character, a woman willing to do whatever it takes to survive and come out on top. It was admirable, a trait Michael would see fit for the new world. If she had revealed this side of her before Oya would have liked her so much more than she already did, there was something strong about it. But the act she had chosen would have worked, just like her own did, if it weren’t for Michael’s involvement. Venable would never have seen this coming.

“Who cares! As if you could defeat anyone with that backwards voodoo shit,” the youngest blond said, arms crossed and eyes rolling with disrespect. What kind of witch was she? Voodoo was among some of the most powerful magic, it was old and ancient. Magic was given by the gods and some of the oldest gods were those of Voodoo. The thought of slapping the dye blond out of her hair crossed Oya’s mind. It’s one thing to be rude and disrespectful, it’s another to be it towards gods.

“How can any of you defeat me when I’ve already won?” Everyone jumped, taken aback by Michael’s sudden entrance, not a single step heard. Oya clung to the grey, shaking in her arms, while her eyes travelled from Michael’s godly look to Mrs. Mead standing protectively at his side.

“You haven’t won!” Cordelia disagreed stepping forth to face him. The two sides bantered back and forth, neither bending the knee to the other. Hell, Michael offered them a place at his side, a chance to live but the witches were adamant on their plan, whatever it was. What came as the greatest surprise was, however, The Voodoo Queen herself Marie Laveau. The false voodoo queen fell to her knees with blood pouring from her neck in a thick crimson stream. And then the Supreme uttered a curse under her breath, the words out of ears reach. The effect of it was soon to be found as Mrs. Mead began shaking in a way that could only be mechanical, limbs stiff as her head twisted to one side and then the other, each time quickening.

Terror brewed in her chest, the air electric with knitting energy that clashed between the two sides so much so that even a human could feel it. Her stomach turned in knots, worry making its way to the surface and through the pain… Pain that was beginning to be forgotten with each new shot of adrenaline.

“Mrs. Mead?” Michael barely spoke before the woman exploded in anything but flesh and blood. It was like a bomb went off, skin and white matter flung in every direction, steel and iron shards falling like awful rain. Michael went flying through the air, backside hitting the bannister and tumbling over the side of the stairs. He landed with a dreadful trump, the air knocked right out of his lungs. The group of witches, along with Oya herself, were hunched together, Oya letting out a gruntled groan over the way her body was forced together. Mallory dung her fingers into her arms, breath hitched in her ear. She had the Supremes arm around her protectively, while she also held the wounded feeble human, that cried out a strangled sound.

Oya shifted, both frightened by the explosion and the sight of her loved one lying flat on the ground, bits and pieces of the woman he considered his mother cast in various directions around him. Neither of them had seen it coming, neither of the had been prepared. It was too late to change her role, she had to stay with Mallory, at least until Michael was back on top until she knew what plan the Supreme had in mind.

Michael shook with anger, his power coiling around him invisibly. His rage made the air taste of ash and smoke.

The young blond crawled over the floor despite the Supremes voice calling her back. Madison clawed her way towards Mrs. Mead’s arm, one of the few pieces still together along with her decapitated head. She pushed herself to her feet, holding the arm like a weapon and for a moment Oya thought she’d try and knock Michael over the head with it. The result was much different.

“Sorry about your little toy, bitch” Madison remarked with contempt and opened fire. Bullets sliced through the air the moment Michael turned towards them, eyes filled with fire and lightning. The bullets tore through fabric and flesh alike, the air painted in a spray of red. Coco wrapped her hands around Oya’s other arm, the one Mallory wasn’t holding, her nails digging into her flesh. Oya cursed in Korean at the sight of her lover being filled with spray after spray of pullets, Madison screaming like a warrior. Step by step Michael was forced back until his back collided with the wall, knees buckling underneath him.

The witch with the strange red hair was the first among them to stand, walking in quick paces over to Michael’s now dead body. He stared into the room, through the room with cold dead eyes.

Coco and Mallory helped Oya stand, cries leaving her as she stretched out. “What is happening?! Y-you just killed them!” She asked the Supreme trying to get her to reveal her plan. Now that Michael was dead at the moment, she had to stay with them and make sure they didn't win this fucking fight.

“I know it’s confusing but this is all for the best. We’re going to make sure all of this never happened,” she answered, eyes never leaving the enemy. When Oya looked back over at Michael she watched as the redhead ripped strands of Michaels' hair out by the roots. Her stomach turned. Then she walked over to the group still gathered and held out the bloodied strands for Mallory to take.

“A personal item. Remember, dear? Focus on it, locate a time and place with it in Michael.”

“Shed the ego. Disengage from this realm, place myself there and say the words. Tempus infinitum,” Mallory said, her voice filled with remembrance. The witches all smiled at her, relieved that she remembered the spell. Oya, however, frowned in confusion. Tempus infinitum? Time travel? So they couldn’t defeat Michael before the apocalypse and couldn’t defeat him after and so now they choose to change the past? It was cheating, it was forcing the pieces back in place in an attempt to rewrite history. Time travel, how utterly reckless.

“That’s our girl,” The redhead said with a smile.

“Bullets alone won't kill him. He’s become too powerful, we have to find a place to cast this spell before he wakes up,” Cordelia breathed unsteady, walking closer to Madison and Michael.

“I’ll hold him off as long as I can,” Madison said stepping up the occasion. As long as she could wouldn’t be long though. Michael will kill her with the snap of his fingers as soon as he could.

The group moved, Coco now taking hold of Oya to relieve Mallory of the duty, helping her up the stairs. Mallory ran ahead while Cordelia paused to look at Michael, whos dead eyes stared right through her. The moment they reached the top of the stairs Coco was waved off, the adrenaline smothered the pain and her legs had become more steady. Barely a second after they heard a gruntled angry voice hiss ‘I should have been on that plane!’, the sound coming seconds before the visual of a talk black dressed man stabbing Mallory in the gut.

Cordelia ran forth to get to Mallory, blood already pouring from the girl's mouth. By the look of it, she had been stabbed in the stomach. It wouldn’t take long before she bleeds out and the pain would be more than Oya felt. The man burst into flames and was sent flying over the railing to fall to his death. The witches attempted to heal their fallen soldier but failed.

“He’s coming!” Marie Laveau yelled.

“Take her arm!” Cordelia waved at the redhead and grabbed an arm herself. “Oya look out for Michael and follow.”

The four of them hurried down the halls. In truth there was a tiny piece of her that worried for Mallory, the girl had been nice to her and other than being on the wrong side, she really didn’t deserve to suffer a wound to the stomach. Mallory’s eyes rolled back and forth, fluttering shut every once in a while. They managed to manoeuvre her into a room with an odd round tub of water. There Oya grabbed the girls feet and helped lifting her up into the water. Her knees buckled beside Cordelia, hands gripping the side of the tub to hold her up. The obsidian necklace dangled from her chest, tempting with its raw power. She could destroy it now, could flick her wrist and kill the three of them, but a part of her was curious of this spell, despite the fact that a spell like that should never be cast. And Michael wouldn’t favour her if she killed all of them without him. He didn’t kill her enemies and so she shouldn’t kill the ones he had searched so long for. They were his to kill.

“Come on, Mallory, please,” the Supreme sobbed, holding the injured witch’s face in her hands. Tears streamed down her face, eyes swimming in them, in worry. “Come on, come on, come on! Look at me -look at me! You can do it! You can do this!” In despair, the witch looked to her friend for help, breath shaking. “It’s not working! It’s not working! She’s not strong enough!”

Mallory looked strangely at peace, the pain shutting down her system as blood poured into the water. “I’m sorry, Cordelia.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! Look at me, no, no, no.” Cordelia was panicking, she was frightened to the bone. With all those Supreme powers of hers and nothing, she had done was working. The Supreme was fading but she was enough to stand in the way between Mallory and life. As in the redheads' own words, ‘they were fucked’. And Oya was finding a twisted form of delight in it.

“I love you.” Slowly, with a sad and almost serene look upon her face, the woman that had been crying and begging the younger to stay strong, now rose from her position and walked into the hall where she’d meet the devil himself, Michael Langdon. Oya stared after her, fingers brushing against the cool but electrifying stone until it were fitted into her balled fist. She waited with bated breath, the other hand clutching the side of the tub and let its rough edge bite into her palm. The redheaded witch looked after the supreme, tears staining her impossibly pale skin, reddening the tip of her nose and eyes to match the fiery hair of hers.

Now, out of the view of the redhead, Oya tugged harshly at the stone, feeling the fine chain brake against the back of her neck and undoubtedly leaving a long bruise. The stone seemed to pulse along with her heartbeat. No longer were her eyes that of a scared fragile human that didn’t know what was going on but instead filled with intention, with calculation and anticipation. Cordelia's voice travelled around stone and wood, crept along by the walls and floors, and echoing off to the other end but still were her words out of Oya’s reach. She’d have to rely on her sight and gut feeling.

“Cordelia!” The witch screamed in agony, crying for her supreme with the intensity one does for family. And that’s when Oya strook. With a hard swing of her arm, the stone broke into pieces on the edge of the tub, the black shards falling to the tiles with the sound of broken glass. The shards gleamed in the candlelight, falling black as obsidian against the sandy tiles, then turning colourless as the power drained from the stone and into her body.

Her heart stopped as time stopped. And then it constrained only to burst the moment after. Energy in its purest form travelled through her veins with a push of adrenaline, every cell and fiber of her being electrified enough to cause goosebumps to rise over her soft skin. It burned deliciously just as it was cooled with delightful touches. Crimson bleed into the white of her eyes as it always did when feeling powerful enough to have the world in her palm. She felt herself long and ache for Michael, but knew that she had a task at hand.

In one swoop she jumped from a crouch and into the black and bubbling water, her dress drenching in seconds making it all the more heavy. Her eyes connected with Mallory’s and then heard her worlds. “Tempus infinitum.” Oya replied the same, grasping Mallory's hand that clutched Michael’s hair in a locked grip. As the girl sank below the surface, Oya followed sinking into the blackness and kept sinking.

There was nothing but black water surrounding her, pressing in on her, asking to be swallowed and breathed -asking to be let in. There was serenity, a calm rarely found, begging embraced and held to eternity and beyond. All past pains, all future thoughts, every memory good or bad, were gone. There was nothing but the black watery abyss.

But there was something in the distance above her. A thought or memory she needed to get to. A task that needed to be performed. Someone she loved. But she was tired, so so tired. Maybe this was where she was supposed to be, this was the only peace she’d ever get. For a moment she thought about letting go, letting the water into her lungs and let her mind get lost in the nothing. But then she heard him, the drawl that made her knees weak and her heart flutter. ‘I love you,’ he said.

Blue gleamed behind her eyelids, the memory of those Angelite orbs tickling at her mind.

Her eyes opened and focused on the light now coming from above. An air bubble danced from her nose and rushed to the surface, promising fresh air above the waterline. With hard strokes of her arms and her legs kicking at the water, she fought to the surface, feeling the pressure rise the closer she got. The need to scream scratched at her throat and strained her lungs.

One hand broke through the surface, then the other until her face shot up with open mouth gasping for breath. The moment she broke through the surface, her surroundings became bright and warm. A breeze danced along her skin and whirled around her hair.

The first sense that returned was the sense of smell. The air smelled warm, with blooming trees and grass, and a faint touch of the sea. But most prominent was the smell of roses, with every breeze the scent was renewed. Next was the sense of hearing. Sprinklers going off in the distance, car doors slamming and then the engine. Somewhere in the distance, a radio was on, playing some obnoxious American song. She kept blinking until her sight returned, mind reeling from the difference and knees weak and wobbly.

Oya found herself standing on a sidewalk, her feet bare against the stone and felt the heat rise from it. Cars filled the driveways, some bigger than others. The same could be said about the houses, but most of them were bigger than they should be. She circled around herself looking for anything that could tell her where she was. America, by the look of it.

She closed her eyes and let her energy wander, crows and ravens above answering to her presence by croaking out the stories that they’ve gathered. One specifically spoke about a boy, blond and blue and beautiful. A boy with a destiny. A boy with bad blood. A boy like none other, born of life and death.

It led her to a grand house which aura was dull with death. It stood beautiful to the human eye but to hers, she could see the darkness emanating off of it in pulses. The red brings were lined with death and the stained windows filled with sorrow. There were so many souls within, more than she had ever heard off or experienced. The history of it was soaked through with blood, with life. This was where it had all begun.

There was a tug at her mind, eyes turning towards the house beside it. That house was filled with just as much dismay, but it was entirely different. It was dismay of the living, a woman cursed with a horrid mind filled with grandeur. The house was cold, it reminded her of the same cold her own house had been filled with.

On the rooftops and in the trees crows and ravens gathered, for every passing minute, another came to be by her side, called by her powers. She stood on the other side of the road, waiting for something to happen, for Mallory to arrive. In that time waiting, she looked down herself and found that she was no longer wearing a purple dress with puffy sleeves stained by her blood but instead a black dress with a neck so deep and exposing it showed the side of her breasts and the shadow of her muscles while still hiding her bellybutton. The fabric was airy and whirled in the wind behind her, along with the additional fabric that was as close to a cape as it could be without going over her shoulders. The fabric was ordained with silver flakes, embroidered to look like snakes, feathers and crows.

Over her head, a crow croaked and alerted Oya of the boy walking with long strides out from the house that felt like cold and dismay. He looked so thin, with the mouth clasp together to hold in sobs and whimpers. Nose, eyes, cheeks red with crying, tears spilling over the edge of his eyes. Devastated, that was how he looked. Like someone who lost everything and everyone, someone who had no future ahead of them. He looked lost and all she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and tell him he was going to be okay. Fuck, he didn’t even have shoes on.

The sound of tires screeching and a roaring engine reached her ears. Her eyes shot towards the sound and watched as the black car headed directly towards an unsuspecting Michael. The second he stepped out in front of the car, Oya pushed out her hands towards him and breathed out air.

The boy was forced back and away from the car, his back colliding with the sidewalk in a breathless tumble. Even with the speed, the two women connected their eyes and then Oya tilted her head and smiled.

In a loud chorus of chirps and croaks, all the birds took wind beneath their winds, gathering in a massive mass of black feathers and claws. It was a murder of crows, an extension of herself, every beak and every set of wings. The feeling rushed beneath her while she took assured steps out into the middle of the road to watch her attack unfold.

One after the other, the birds swooped down and smacked themselves into the windshield of the car, glass shattering in a web. The tires screeched over the road, leaving angry black marks in their wake. There was the faintest whirling screaming coming from within the car, the sound swallowed up by the birds coming at the windshield. Bones and flesh and glass cracked alike. It was brutal and disgusting. Blood poured over the shiny front and dripped to the asphalt. And then the last of them broke through and into the car with their wings basking and their sharp beaks and talons.

The blond witch threw herself through the door screaming, her knees scraping over the road as she tumbled out. Oya couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. How her hair was covered in broken pieces of glass, droplets of blood and feathers. Her pale skin marked by scrapes. Then the new supreme clenched together her hands and let out a pulse that killed every bird still alive, whether it was rolling confused around in the car, crying out in pain on the front of it or actively attacking her. A mass of blood and feathers laid atop of the front, pouring down over the side to the asphalt.

Mallory stumbled to her feet, fingers brushing over the car for support as she got up, hair thrown over her shoulder. She wore a golden crown of growing roses.

Michael looked at the display from his place on the ground, understanding that the girl with the crown had tried to run him over, while the woman with black eyes had helped him somehow. He stayed silent disregarding the sting of the superficial cuts he had gotten on the way down.

Oya felt his eyes on her but remained steadfast, unwavering. Mallory shot him a pointed glare before returning her eyes towards the more pressing enemy.

“How did you-.”

“You’re not the only ‘special’ one,” Oya cut off.

“Why are you standing between me and him? Do you know what he's done? What he's going to do?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!” She exclaimed with anger and frustration.

“Quite possibly,” Oya answered with an indifferent shrug. “I won’t let you harm him.”

“Then you give me no choice,” Mallory bit harshly. It was strange to see the woman like this, how she had hardened -her skin now steel and iron. This woman who was small and good and pure were now filled with rage and bitter anger that’d only be washed away with Michael’s blood. It seemed entirely out of character for her to want to murder a boy rather than take his hand and offer help.

Mallory waved her hand by her hip, letting the fingers dance through the air until they stilled. All the other windows in the car smashed into pieces, the glass breaking into small bits only for them to be gathered in the air around her, the glass merging together into more massive shards, all pointed to her.

Oya’s heart drummed in her ears, excluding the sound of glass slashing through the air towards her. She could protect herself, shielding her with her powers and redirect the impending shards but she didn’t. Her energy was focused elsewhere. Quickly, her arms shot up, childing her face and upper body as the glass cut into her. She felt the white-hot pain as the glass cut over her forearms. When the attack was over and there was no more glass in front of her she looked down. Three pieces of glass pointed out from her stomach, one bigger than the other. With shaking fingers she took hold of the shard, groaning at the contact and then pulled. The tip was about 6 centimetres long and covered in blood. She did the same with the others and found one 4 centimetres long and the other 7. Blood poured from the wound and poured down her body. The glass pieces broke as they hit the asphalt, all but one that remained in her palm.

Oya looked up at Mallory, eyes stern and unyielding.

“I’m the supreme, you can’t possibly think you can stop this,” Mallory said.

“Miss Supreme,” Oya mocked and took slow deliberate steps towards the girl, who moved restlessly from one leg to the other. Behind Mallory through the flesh, bones, feathers and blood were a movement. It slithered from the bubbling mess, curled and formed until it was entirely visible. Feathers had turned to scales and beak to fangs. The snake was bigger than any other she had seen, the skull was as big as her chest, if not bigger. It looked like the mix of an anaconda and a python if it were not for the black scales dipped in red. Its eyes were as black as her own and gleamed in the sunlight with murderous intent. It coiled behind the unsuspecting Mallory. “You think you’re the all-powerful because ascended the throne?” Oya wiggled a bloody finger in the air and tsked. She approached the younger girl like a predator and watched as she began to draw in her power for the final blow. “You’re the supreme, the all-powerful witch.” Mallory frowned at the mocking tone, jaws locked together and eyes burning with hatred and anger. “But where do you think your powers came from?”

Mallory shook her head confused and stepped back, her heels breaking the glass beneath. It was true that the girl was powerful. More so than any other witch. It hung in the air around her, it was of light as bright as the sun. It was golden and white and good. It flowed around her, tugged at her edges and seams. It reminded Oya of her sister.

The young witch drew in a breath and lifted her hands in the air, ready to strike another blow but she didn’t get that far. No, for the snake shot forth, its sharp fangs piercing the flesh of her thigh as it’s strong jaw clamped down around her. The force made femur snap in two. Mallory screamed out and stumbled to her knees. The venom in Oya’s snake inhibited Mallory’s magic and left her defenceless. This was what she had focused on, what had drawn her energy.

The snake twisted around Mallory, its strong body squeezing so terribly that there was a constant sound of breaking bones. She cried as her body was wrapped up by the snake, its body twisted around her hips, waist and torso.

Oya was now standing before the fallen supreme and looked at her with pitiful eyes.

A gurgling sound came from Mallory's pale lips that soon turned into wheezing. The snake pressed further. It was clear that her ribcage had broken and one of the ribs had pierced through her lung filling it with blood. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of her lip.

“W-what h-have you d-done?” Mallory stuttered out, with each word wheezing followed. “You’d l-let him destroy the w-world?”

“The world was going to destroy itself sooner or later,” Oya answered with indifference. “I don’t care much for this one but the next… the next will be made with my touch as well as his.”

“You’ll destroy h-humanity to p-play g-god?” Mallory gasped at the pain, her torso incredibly small now. Her body sank together, the bones no longer able to hold her up. Life was slowly being squeezed out of her and her insides turned to mush.

Oya smiled. “Oh, little Miss Supreme, I already am a god.” The smile faded into something more serious and cynical. Mallory’s eyes were reddening with the pressure, blood falling like tears. Oya crouched down on her level before continuing to speak. “Cordelia thought that she was clever hiding you.” Soft and almost sweet were her touch as she brushed a piece of hair out of Mallory's face. “Michael expected her to come, but you were quite the surprise. It’s sad how much you underestimated him, sad how you underestimated me. You see, your plan would have worked were it not for me. Time travel… It is quite the move. Cheating, but impressive.” Oya wiped a crimson tear from Mallory’s cheek. “No one, not even the gods should have that power. When you die I’ll make sure Michael wins. When you die, you won’t be going to heaven nor hell.” Confusion wrote itself across the young supremes face. “It would most likely have been hell, you did, after all, try and kill a kid. No, you’ll be going to the underworld, my underworld, and I will make sure you relive you most feared scenario, the thing you dread the most, the thing which hurts you the most, over and over again until you go mad.”

“W-who are you?”

Her answer rang clear. She said it with such simplicity it was almost baffling. “I’m Oya but you may also know me as Ereshkigal, goddess of the underworld. Goodbye, Mallory.” The hand in which she held the longest glass shard were lifted to the young supremes neck, the veins popping with pressure and ready to explode. When the sharp edge ran over the fragile pale skin blood burst out in a heavy flow, running down her neck, over the curled body of the snake and dripped to the ground where it pooled. The snake released its fangs from her thigh and began twisting again.

Oya rose from her spot, brows twitching as she felt her body react to the wounds, to the excess use of her power. A single breath was drawn in behind her, pulling her attention towards the much younger Michael, with those big blue eyes filled with wonder and worry all the same. He was still lying on the pavement, hitched up on one elbow to look at the scene. With small simple steps she approached him, bloody hands held up in front of her in submission.

“You-you saved me!” He stuttered confused with a shaking childish voice. Oya sank to her knees at his side, groaning at the pain that shot through her body. Blood was pouring out more frequently now. The pain was nothing though, it didn’t cross her mind as she thought about the boy before her. He was older in body, but his soul was one of a child's. His eyes held the same confused innocence, one that was growing up without guidance, one that begged to be loved. Without a second thought, she reached for him, thumb brushing over his cheek reddened by crying and left a trace of crimson. The motion was gentle, not like the way she had done it to Mallory. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to tell him and warn him about.

“You’re hurt,” he said breaking her thoughts. She smiled at him.

“I’m fine,” she simply said.

“How did you… I don’t understand.”

“I know, I know it’s hard to understand but I need you to listen to me,” she began as she felt cold fingers of the abyss ghost over her. “Mallory was sent from the future to kill you. The witches wanted you dead because you pose a threat to them, to the entire world.” At the fear written across his face she paused. Within her chest, her heart stopped and strained. If she told him all of this, if she changed anything in the past, it would ripple throughout time to the future. Telling the boy before her would change the man that she loved. Any little thing would change the future. Pain bloomed in her chest, not like a physical one but rather… emotional. It made her throat strain with unvoiced cries. With a gentle touch, she took his face in her hands and looked at him with importance and seriousness, while he, in turn, looked at her with bewilderment and uncertainty.

“I’m sorry. I can’t let you know all of this, it’ll change too much, you might change too much.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, just… just, listen to me. You’re going to have a tough life filled with betrayal, Jagi. You’re going to feel so alone, so abandoned.” Oya began focusing her powers, letting the electricity run through her and into her fingers, letting them warm on his skin. Her fingertips brushed against his right temple as she began to withdraw his memory. Silver began to shine where their skin touched. “Never trust the witches, no matter what… and -and when you’re ready come find me. I won’t understand either but I will in time. I will always be there.” A silver flower bloomed when she withdrew her fingertips from his temple. The silver flower bloomed and then returned to a bud that hardened into a pearl. Behind Oya the snake had dislocated its jaws as it swallowed Mallory’s broken body whole. The glass than laid scattered in pieces collected and set themselves in place, the windows of the car shining in the sun as if it had never been shattered. Oya looked over her shoulder at the snake and breathed out just as its jaws set in place. Like parchment in flames the snake burned, ashes and small pieces of ember whirling in the wind to there was nothing left. No blood, no glass, no snake. The only strange thing left behind was Oya herself, still bleeding on the pavement.

“Oh dear god!” A woman gasped. Oya looked towards the voice and narrowed her eyes at the older woman. “What did you do?!” At first, Oya thought she had hissed at her but when the woman’s eyes shifted to Michael she knew. With one clenched hand, she took hold of the woman immobilizing her completely.

“Go inside, Michael,” she said softly and let him get up before rising herself. With deliberate steps she approached Michael’s grandma, fist still curled around the pearl and holding her in place.

“Who are you? What are you?” Mrs. Langdon hissed through clenched teeth.

“I’m the woman who loves your son,” Oya answered with a hard tone. Mrs. Langdons eyes widened. “I want you to know this so listen closely. You’re going to forget that you saw me, you’re going to forget whatever happened before that made your grandson run out of the house in tears and with no shoes. You’re going to forget all of it. But I want you to know that there’ll be a little voice inside of you, one that’ll never leave you and one that you’ll never be able to confess to any other soul on this earth. It’s going gnaw at your sanity for eternity.” Frightful tears welled up in Mrs. Langdons eyes.

“You know you’re a terrible mother. You’re a narcissist who thinks they have any business raising children. You’re a failure.”

“No, no! I did everything I could! I did everything right!” Mrs. Langdon defended with a wavering voice.

“You did not love him!” Oya spat, stepping so close she could smell the fear coming off of her. “And you will suffer because of it. You cannot hurt him so the only way out is to take your own life, and you will. You were never meant to be a mother.”

Something inside the woman snapped. Her matriarch mask breaking to reveal the rotten decaying soul of the woman inside. She reminded Oya of her mother. In a way, she fated her the same way. Parents who cannot love their children should not have them. Mrs. Langdon was a woman who thought herself perfect and true, it was written in the way her eyes were, the way she wore clothes from another time, the way she pinned up her hair. She was a woman who wanted to last forever, a woman who wanted the perfect family, a woman who was the cause of her own ruin. The silver pearl formed at her fingertips once more, this one cold and with the gleam of rot.

Oya let Mrs. Langdon go, the woman staggering inside her house in a trance that’d relieve itself once Oya had gone to her own time. She stared at the house filled with cold and dismay before letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The pearl with Mrs. Langdons memory caught the light as she held it up in her palm and then let it roll off into the bushes. It would remain there until the end.

The corners of her sight became fussy, black dots forming and distorting her vision. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let herself fall forward, the pavement rising to meet her with a hard embrace. Instead, she found that she fell through it, into darkness and water. Before her were her reflection, with her big black eyes looking back at her. She was naked once more, the dress ripped from her body and gone the moment she entered the darkness.

When she reached to touch her reflection it reached to touch her. The tip of their fingers met and suddenly she was thrown forward, water pressing in on her, forcing its way down her throat as she plummeted through the surface of the water. Her body ached and shot with burning hot pain. The dress wrapped around her tightly and weighed her down. Beside her were the contorted body of Mallory, with eyes shot open and red, bloody tears running down her face while her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her arms, legs, hips and torso were broken, a twisted lump wrapped in grey. And from her open neck had warm blood once flown.

Oya crawled weakly over the side of the tub, water and blood pouring from her. The moment she hit the floor she heard the last witch alive scream a blood-curdling scream that send her flying over the floor and into the wall with teeth clattering force. Pain bloomed at the back of her head, distorting her vision even more.

“You broot, you absolute monster! You’ve doomed us all!” Oya didn’t see what happened afterwards, not until later. Instead, she was engulfed by the scent of allspice followed closely by the feeling of scorching hands pressing against her cheeks and then her stomach. With her mind scattered in the past, the in between and the present, she couldn’t connect a proper sentence. Instead, she cried out jumbled words and sounds trying to tell him the pieces of her mind.

“I’m here! Don't worry, I’m right here,” he told her over and over, trying to soothe her. Slowly, her wounds began to heal with the touch of Michael, her own energy drained from her body. His blond hair was smeared in blood, so was his face and hands. The suit he wore ripped apart by bullets and drenched in blood and other fluids, with white pieces of what once was Mrs. Mead hanging on to it. And yet somehow he remained the single most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Her eyes caught his.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I was afraid and-and I didn’t… I was afraid,” she cried out between mumbled words and sounds, trying to connect with her body again.

“Shh,” Michael hushed her and caressed the side of her head, eyes filled affection and tenderness. “You did so well, love. You did it.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Oya spoke more clearly, pushing herself further up the wall to relieve the pain in her hips. Her bottom lip quivered, eyes filled to the brim with tears while her body shook. What if he’d never understand? The thought made her shudder. “I had the chance to change it all, to save you. I could have warned you, given you a better life, made sure you were never betrayed. But I was afraid! I was afraid that if I changed that I’d change the future. If I told you, you might not have come to me.”

Michael looked at her in bewilderment but still held the same love as before. He brushed wet locks out of her face and inched closer in an effort to calm her. In the middle of her palm that had once been closed in a tight fist, were the memory she had taken. She held it up for his eyes to catch, the silver shining through blue. In one shaky breath, the pearl bloomed into a flower and then withered until there was nothing left. Silver caught onto Michaels' eyes and she watched as the memory played in his head, eyes flickering back and forth as if in a dream. The silver ran out and blue poured back in.

“I’m so sorry, I could have changed it all but I was too afraid,” she coked out through a strained throat.

Michaels brows knitted together and his thumbs brushed away her tears. “Shh,” he cooed. “You did the right thing. You did the right thing. You did so well, I could never have imagined what you did for me but you did so well. You were right, my love.”

“Yeah?” she whispered and reached for him.

“Yeah,” Michael answered and kissed her forehead.

Walking through the carnage that had occurred Oya observed the different bodies she came across on her way to her room. She trailed a wet and bloody path over the grimly painted stones, dripping from her wet clothes. There was the redheaded witch whose head was twisted to an unimaginable point that was only matched by Coco’s broken neck. There was Mallory floating in the tub with her body crushed in a way that couldn’t be described. There was Marie Laveau whose heart laid beside her body, ribcage open with bones sticking out revealing the empty chest. And then there was the blond witch, Madison or so she guessed, with her head blown clean off.

That was the carnage she observed on her way to her room.

Oya dried her hair, the white towel drawing a hint of pink from the bloody water she had once been in. Then she changed out of her ruined dress for an airy pair of pants and a black see-through top that had one single line through the fabric that covered her nipples. It was what she had brought with her, what she was not allowed to wear, and now her chosen outfit.

“Where is it?” She questioned herself, digging through the chest at the foot of the bed. The glass was cool against her fingers, as she fished the small bottle out from under books and fabrics. The tiny bottle was slipped into her pockets before she walked out of the room for the last time.

She found him standing over Cordelia's body. He too had changed outfit, from ruined rags into fine silk and velvet. His skin was now clean and hair perfect as always. Oya came up behind him, hand slipping over his shoulder before her lips kissed it softly.

Cordelia was staring into the vast nothing, blood in a morbid halo around her body, hands held out like the usual statue of Virgin Mary. The only difference was that she wasn’t so innocent and she certainly wasn’t going to ‘heaven’.

Michael was looking at the fallen supreme with contemplation hinted with disappointment. This was what he wanted but now that it had arrived, was it what he wanted? Was it enough?

“You should never have underestimated me,” he mused quietly before continuing with a harder tone. “You were wrong and you failed, if only you were here to witness it.”

“You could bring her back or simply visit her in hell,” Oya commented. “I’m sure she’s there.”

Michael smiled back at her and let out a sigh. “She is and she’ll rot there for eternity but she… Managed to take away the pleasure of watching her fail… And she took so much more.”

Sympathy knitted her brows together, her hand travelling to cub his cheek forcing his eyes from Cordelia’s body to her. “You destroyed the witches. Every single one of them. They’re rotting in hell and if they’re aware they’re there, they’ll know they failed miserably. You’re the one who did that, you’re the one who won. You, Michael, are the victor, the king of a new world made in his image.”

She was right, of course. He had won the war. There was no longer anyone to oppose him, to threaten his rule or legacy. The world had been burned to ash and from that, a new world would rise. The price had been steep but it had been paid, and if it came down to it, he’d pay it all over again. His only regret was that he couldn’t change the price and bring back Mrs. Mead. Her loss would nibble at his edges.

Michael flashed a gentle smile at his counterpart, taking her hand and kissing her wrist before walking out of the round room.

Oya looked after him. He had won but his shoulders were heavy with a new burden. In one quick turn, she knelt down beside the pool of blood and let her jewelled hand dance in the air over it. Faint whispers of enchantment slipping through her red lips, the words dangling in the air and then twirling down with her magic to the Crimson. At first, nothing happened but then one single droplet raised from the surface and into the air quickly followed by more droplets. They merged together into one floating ball of blood right in front of her face. The blood then seeped into the now opened glass bottle fished forth from her pocket, filling it up the brim before being closed off and slipped into her pocket once more.

Then a spiteful vengeful streak settled in her soul and she gripped Cordelia's fine blond hair in a handful before ripping it from her head, just like that wicked redhead. The strands of hair were shoved into her pocket as well. Then she rose and joined Michael in the grand hall, walking around the round fireplace to find him staring at yet another dead body, this time Dinah’s.

“She didn’t exactly meet the requirements for the sanctuary but I suppose I should reward for her loyalty.”

Oya mused, lips pursed as she examined the body. Dinah’s neck was gaping open and arteries emptied of blood making her skin look dull and ashy. Her dark eyes were still open in shock as was her mouth. “She’s with Papa Legba now.” Michael looked down at her from the steps, waiting patiently for her to continue. He might know a lot about hell but that didn’t mean he’d know of the figures in it, nor the demigods and various demons that belonged there. His teachers would never have taught him this, they were too busy forming him into something they could use for their own advantage.

“I would recommend not making a new enemy when you’ve just gotten rid of the last. Making an enemy of Papa Legba would not be wise. If anything you should make a deal with him, trade a soul for a soul if you believe she’s worth it.”

“Hmm,” he sounded and stepped down to Oya’s level again. “Such a wise woman I have by my side.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and forced her body flush against his, lips dipping to meet hers in a fiery but light kiss. “Are you ready to leave this place?”

“More than ready,” she replied, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. Michael snapped his fingers and fire began to climb from the fireplaces with destructive tongues and tendrils, making their way over stone and wood alike.

In one breath and with one step the two disappeared from Outpost 3 and into the sanctuary.

The sanctuary was built underneath a mountain, a marvellous mix of old and new. The halls were of concrete, a simple and cold look, while the section in which Oya and Michael lived were much like the house they had stayed in, with floor to ceiling windows showing hardened lines and edges in stone. Their section was off limits to the few that lived there or so Oya had made it. Only the servant robots were permitted. Michael’s office was just before their section, furnished nice and simple, with a rounded rosebush that had been growing slowly in the middle of the room, shielding the view of the door from his desk. Nevertheless, he would always know with precision who came through the door before he ever laid eyes on them. That always seemed to chill the few humans there to the bone.

Oya and spend the first while getting accustomed to the servant robots there, their presence feeling strangely void with the lack of a soul. She didn’t trust them and was wary towards them, maybe because she didn’t trust the two crackheads who created them. How Mutt and Jeff survived the interviews remained a mystery despite Michael’s insistence that though they were not to be trusted they remained usable.

However, the one she seemingly clashed with the most was the Japanese Yuu Masaru whose eyes were always cold and calculative, with a stern mouth always in a straight line and high edging cheekbones. She could see why Michael wanted him there, he was everything he wished for the new world. But he was ambitious beyond his stance and ruthless in his ways, she could see it in him.

Michael stood for the politics of this place and Oya buried herself in nature.

Michael had constructed a marvellous arboretum. The room was as big as half the sanctuary in its own, the walls made of fine coloured glass to the top that arched as a true masterpiece of a greenhouse. One side held long lines of pots from floor to roof, ready for plants, with a system that could make it go around so that no stairs were necessary.

And with time and Oya’s fine collection of seeds, the brownfields became green with life. She had marked an area for her herbs and plants, while the rest were to provide fresh food for the sanctuary. The women that were, who didn’t have tasks anywhere else helped her with the maintaining of the food, though they were not allowed to touch her flowers or herbs. And if they weren’t there, the robots took over work. She hated seeing them through the green, something without a soul, without a living cell touch that which was living.

For two year she read through the collection of magic books and legends Michael had gathered in their private library. For two years she had tried different spells and hexes, made different potions and remedies and worked towards making her own spell. It had been a project of hers, when she wasn’t required to play doctor or queen, to find a way to make the impossible possible. She had been cautious, uncertain.

Now was the time, however. It couldn’t wait any longer.

Which was why she was now carrying a bucket with fresh blood through the concrete walls towards the arboretum. The thick red liquid waved back and forth, threatening to spill. Her big white dress vulnerable to the task at hand.

Minseo, her own personal robot made almost in her image, or rather out of her imagination, was carrying her heavy medicine chest like it was a box of feathers. Unlike the more human robots Mutt and Jeff had created, Minseo was made as a servant, with fine gentle features and a soft brow. She rarely showed any strain unless Oya had told her to switch on her humanity mode. Now she was a blank page following orders without question. She usually kept her like that, unsure what to feel when she seemed almost human.

In the distance she heard the voices of men talking, walking through the halls with some unknown purpose.

Oya and Minseo turned to the door standing between them and the smell of nature. Every time she stood there she felt a flutter in her stomach, happy to once again be with nature and to make things grow. It was incredible to let her bare feet sink into the soil of the arboretum.

The doors swished open, the delightful smell of flowers and soil hitting her nostrils in an instance. The pair made their way inside, locking the door behind them. She had ordered no one to come in and as far as she could see there wasn’t a soul or robot in sight.

Oya paved the way to her small garden of herbs as the spot left untouched by her nimble hands and seeds. The soil was bare there. She planted the heavy bucket there and ordered Minseo to put the chest beside it.

“Minseo, please stand aside,” she asked of the robot no taller than her. Sometimes she forgot she wasn’t real or maybe it was because she was raised that way, or maybe it was because she was the only one who didn’t have any ambition or life to fear for.

Swiftly Oya bound a piece of cloth around Minseo’s eyes in an assurance that Mutt and Jeff weren’t spying on her. They weren’t to be trusted and if Michael hadn’t explicitly asked her not to kill them, they would have been dead long ago. Especially because of their first interaction with where we're less than tactful given that they had implied she was an exotic pussy just there for Michael to fuck. Michael's hand held Oya back only to turn to them himself and let his tendrils of magic tear inside their heads. They had cried blood that day.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she repeated to herself as she drew a big circle in the soil and then divide it in two, with a single much smaller circle in the middle. The next half an hour was spend setting up candles in the circle, stones were scattered in the ridge of the circle, as well as her herbs.

When all that was placed Oya took the bucket of blood and poured it in an oval shape inside one of the chambers of the circle. Above her, her crows croaked with curiosity, their shadows following the circle around and around. She had let them free, used them to look after the garden and surveil the ones that came and went. And every once in a while she let them turn to shadows and travel beyond the stained glass and green to the halls on concrete to keep an eye on the inhabitants.

The blood seeped into the soil as if it was greedy for it.

She then went to her medicine box and opened the various drawers, pulling out vials and dried herbs alike. First, she crushed herbs in the mortar, pouting the powter into a deep bowl, followed by snake oil and two drops of belladonna essence. Other oils and essences were also added, among them being Daffodil oil and water hemlock essence. And for good measures mistletoe.

The concoction was fatal, to say the least, if it had not been for Oya’s keen potion making and alchemical abilities.

Then she crushed the bone of crow into dusty clumps, stuck a feather into the mix, poured the blood of a deer and added dried chicken feet as well as sparrow claws.

To be perfectly honest the concoction looked as revolting as it sounded and it smelled even worse.

“This better fucking work,” she muttered in her native tongue, cutting a tiny wound into the palm of her hand and let a few drops fall into the potion. The wound healed up immediately.

Oya rolled her neck and started murmuring forgotten words as the heavy smell of burned herbs began to fill the area. Her hands waved over the bowl, blessing it as well as hexing it. There was a faint feeling of her snake move beneath her skin, reacting to the words that fell from her lips.

At last she added the final ingredient, the sparse few drops of Cordelia’s blood that was left, the hair she had ripped out long gone, burned with the herbs.

The hardest part was swallowing it all down without throwing up. The taste was unimaginable and stuck to her tongue as well as nose. It clawed at her throat and threatened to spill into her lungs. Her stomach turned. Quickly and with stubbornness she swallowed the last of it, crawling over the soil to lie down in the other compartment of the circle, the one not touched by blood.

She closed her eyes and emptied her head, letting the soil swallow her up and the darkness wash over her. As she sank into the soil she raised above the surface of the Inbewteen. Her stomach turned again and a cold shill went through her body.

A gasp escaped her when she pushed herself up from the water, finding herself dry despite having gone through it. She was naked now, as she usually was in the Inbetween. There was nothing, a void so easily recognized by how often she had been there over the years.

Two doors revealed themselves, one shining black that caught the light that wasn't present and one a screaming red against the black vastness of everything. One felt familiar to her soul, begged her to open it, while the other was the one she needed to go through.

Her body felt weak and shaking, a sweat working its way up on her brow while she felt cold. Her stomach felt like a storm threatening to spill over at any moment. She strode to the red door with quick steps, twisting the knob and stepping into the black walls of hell. The red had turned to black as she closed the door behind her, hand resting on it while she sank forward, mouth pouring with saliva. She spat the excess onto the ground and heard her stomach growl in dismay while her insides convulsed.

What began as a waterfall of saliva turned into a strangled gag and then she felt her stomach purge, felt it rise throughout her oesophagus and upwards. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, made her eyes burn with tears and neck strain enough to pop every vein. It slithered up and she opened her mouth ready to spill the contents.

The white snake slithered forth and landed in a pool of her saliva. As soon as the head was out, the rest of the snake quickly followed and when she was finally free of it, she drew in deep breaths and strained gasps until she caught enough air in her lungs to stretch out.

At her feet the snake slithered around, waiting to be told what to do. She wiped her mouth and brushed her air out of her face, already feeling better. “Find her.”

The snake slithered forth, leaving a trail of wet behind it until it eventually disappeared. Oya followed with bare feet, her strides long and filled with purpose. The white dress swung around her, no longer dirty from soil, spilled blood and concoction. Guess hell made her clean.

At one point she passed a corridor and paused, looking down an opposite hall the mirror image of the one she was in. The black door opened and a man dark as midnight stepped out wearing a silver lined suit. He was beautiful, with high cheekbones and thick lips only a man as dark as him could have. What caught her attention the most was the aura around him, humming with as much glee as it did pain. There was a silver circle around his dark eyes only matched by the silver on his eyelids.

When he caught sight of her, he bowed. She automatically returned the bow, brows slightly furrowed in bewilderment. The demon then turned and walked away. It was the first true demon she had seen.

The snake hissed, the sound distant. With quick steps, she returned to the snake while it slithered forth until it coiled at a door. The doorknob was cold to the touch and when she entered there was the same cold crisp to the air. Everything was cast in blue light, haunting and strangely beautiful. One step ago she was outside in hell, now she was standing at the Robichaux Academy.

The floor didn’t creak when she walked through the room. The sound of a sob echoed through the dead silent halls, the only thing filling the empty void in the air. It felt just as it had done when she visited the real Academy. The lack of magic, the hollowness of the house as if its bones had been edged out and left empty. The snake slithered into the dining hall and waited patiently there.

She already knew what she’d see but she still she felt the gratification rise within her when her eyes fell upon the bodies of the witches, each scattered around a broken and crying Cordelia. The woman clutched one of the dead witches to her chest, one Oya didn’t know the name of. Her body rocked back and forth, eyes swollen and thick with tears.

“So this is what your personal hell looks like,” Oya mused. Her voice cut through the daze in Cordelia's mind, the loop she was in broken by her presence. The woman’s brows furrowed as she cast a fierce and biting look towards Oya. “Surrounded by those you love without any possibility of bringing them back.”

“No,” Cordelia murmur faintly.

“You lost, if you couldn’t tell,” Oya mocked with venomous glee. “Not that you didn’t try, I have to give you that. Mallory did her part and did it well but alas she was nothing against a goddess.”

“No,” Cordelia repeated, loosening her grip on the dead girl. Her eyes blinked, tears no longer filling them through the pain was still there. The fallen supreme gathered her strength and let go of the girl entirely, turning to Oya and staggering to her knees. “Why are you here?”

“You have something I want.”

Cordelia was about to question what it was but her mind clicked and a flicker of pure and adulterated spite settled in her eyes. “I will give you nothing.”

“Not to sound like a total villain but I was kind of hoping you’d say that,” Oya stepped closer, her steps deliberate and strong. “I could try and bargain with you if it weren’t because I can take what I want. Tell you about how Mallory died and where she is now.” Cordelia’s eyes narrowed in contempt. The flicker of light in the witches eyes told Oya everything she needed to know. That Mallory had been a soft spot and that her death would affect her. “Every bone in her body was crushed and her insides turned liquid with the amount of pressure on her. You should have seen it, blood pouring from her eyes that were ready to burst out of her skull, I wonder…. What she thought about when I cut her throat.”

“You can give me every single gruesome detail but it won’t change anything,” Cordelia spat, her hands clutching the wrinkled gown she wore so hard her knuckles were white. Oya’s eyes trailed towards Mallory’s body and noted that she merely looked asleep. Her eyes closed and she rolled her head back and forth drawing in a deep breath only to let it out again and with it her magic. It wrapped around Mallory’s body and within the blink of an eye, the serene looking witch turned to the horrific body Oya had left behind floating in the tub.

A strangled whine escaped Cordelia who clawed at the floor as she shook at the sight. The crying chorus of ‘no’ filled the air and with each word edged in the broken pain of the fallen supreme before her.

“S-she wasn’t meant to… She was good!”

“Not that good, she did try and kill a child. Not exactly the actions of a good-.”

“He was the antichrist! He was going to destroy the world and you let him!” Cordelia screamed, tears and snot running down her face all the same.

Oya waved her hand in the air as if she were waving off flies. “Yes yes, I’ve had this conversation before. I’d much rather tell you about where she is.” Cordelia's eyes snapped up at her, pleading and still spiteful. “She’s not in hell but the underworld. The principals are the same, torment for eternity. Her world shifts between emotional torment like this,” her hand motioned to the scenario surrounding them. “And a much more physical kind of misery.”

“Stop, just stop,” Cordelia trembled out, using her hand to shield her reddened face from Oya’s prying and cruel eyes. It didn’t help of course. There was no shielding her shame. “You said you’d take what you wanted from me so just do it and get it over with.”

The white snake slithered forth, curling between Oya’s feet and towards Cordelia, tongue snapping out every once in a while to taste the agony in the air. Oya let out a mocking sigh. “Only because I respect who you were and your stubbornness.”

White scales caught the blue light as the snake slithered to Cordelia who wrung away. In one swift movement, the witch was nailed to the spot muscles straining against invisible tethers. It climbed her body, twisted around her neck and waited patiently for Oya to force Cordelia’s locked jaws open and then slithered inside. Cordelia choked and sputtered, fingers jittering at her side while her eyes widened in horror. She gagged at the intrusion and Oya couldn’t blame her. The snake was big and far longer than a cock… When it had slithered inside Oya let got of her grasp and released her from the bindings. The snake would come out by itself and Cordelia was certain not to resist getting it out.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, trust me but you did have it coming.” It wasn’t like her to mock so much, to banter back and forth this way with cruel intentions and venomous words but the image of Michael’s heavy shoulders and the hidden hurt Cordelia had inflicted upon him wouldn't go away. He missed her. He wished for his mother figure, the woman who’d stand by his side and never betray him. Of course, he had her, the woman who’d do anything for him. But he was going to need a person to take part in the politics and while Oya would remain his other half, he was going to need someone less prone to curse her opponents.

In one convulsive move, Cordelia lunged forward, her nails raking over the floor audibly while her beath strained and body broke into shudders. Oya made a disgusted face at the sound of wet gagging, a shudder of her own running through her body with the memory of how it was for her.

When the snake returned from the inside of a human it was silver grey, the tips of its scales dark green. It fell to the floor among other fluids where it coiled and slithered towards the door now enlightened with the knowledge it was meant to obtain.

“Your hell, Cordelia, is going to be a lot more painful from now on,” Oya said and turned to follow the snake out. The click of the door closing shut out the sounds of broken sobs.

Oya followed the snake through the halls, seemingly walking forever with no change of decor or any roaming souls. There were no demons either and she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Either way, she continued on.

Then the snake finally curled in front of a door. Before entering she picked up the snake and let it twist around her wrist, its heavy body weighing more than you’d expect. It remained there, silent and tasting the air. The door creaked as she entered the building finding that the insides were darkened wood, carved out in a 1920-is style with dark wallpaper where there weren't panelling. The moment she set foot inside she knew where she was, the old haunted house beside the one Michael grew up in. There were the cold touch of spirits in the air and the lining of the house held dark energy drawn from the corridors of hell.

“Hello?” She sounded out hoping that this would be it for now. That Mrs. Mead would just appear and they could take their leave. But that wasn’t meant to be, she already knew that. She’d have to look for something out of place.

“Who are you?” A man asked after appearing around the corner followed by two women, one with strawberry blond hair and the other older with burned red hair. At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Langdon appeared, smoke in her hand and an annoyed expression upon her face.

“She is the one I told you about,” Mrs. Langdon answered. The strawberry blond crossed her arms over her chest and guarded her expression. She was the one who was the weariest.

“I’m Oya,” she introduced and stepped further in, eyes running over the surroundings trying to pinpoint something that didn’t belong. “I’m looking for something.”

“What?” The older redhead asked at the same time the strawberry blond said; “We’re not going to help you. You’re with him, Michael.” The name caused the house to groan, a shudder going through the air and rippling through the souls. What was guarded and weary became more so. Oya disregarded this and continued to look through the house, eyes catching a glimpse of the desolate land outside of the windows.

“I’m looking for something that doesn't belong, something new or out of place.”

“Why should we help you?” The man asked.

Oya inhaled in thought. Why should they help her? They didn’t have to. She’d eventually find what she needed but it’d go faster with their help. Each soul had a different aura, some told of their innocence while others told of the decay. Each had been judged but sentenced all the same. But who exactly judged them? “Because it’d get me out of here faster.”

“Can you help us?” The older redhead asked, soul, radiating innocence and eyes longing for peace.

“Moira!” The strawberry blond hissed.

“If this is my chance of getting out of here I’m taking it! Don’t you take that away from me, Vivien,” Moira hissed back, stepping forward with hands pressed together in a prayer and eyes pleading. Oya simply smiled at her and would have taken her hands between her own if it weren't for the snake residing in one of them. Instead, she pushed the paying hands down and away from her. Prayer didn’t help either of them.

“I can get you out if I wanted to, give you peace or send you on your merry way to heaven or whatever, it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is finding this object.” Her eyes looked past Moira to the couple wrapping their arms around one another protectively and then up at the woman on top of the staircase. There were more ghosts, she could feel their eyes on her, hidden from sight but very much there. They whispered amongst each other, some in scorn while others in hope.

“Is that a possibility for all of us?” A woman asked body and face burned to a crisp.

“Most of you,” Oya answered, eyeing Michael’s grandma and the strawberry blond who was without a doubt Michael’s birth mother. “I’ll release you to wherever is next for you, that being hell or the beyond.”

“This is hell,” Mrs. Langdon spat taking a few steps down the stair followed by a boy with blond curly hair and dark eyes. Born of life and death, human and spirit. This was the father. The vessel in which Satan used to spawn the antichrist. Oya could see it, the touch of the same kind of darkness Michael had emanating around his father.

“Hell could be far worse, trust me on this,” Oya replied. “And if it were up to me you’d feel the flames of hell along with the others that hurt Michael but he left you here to rot. I trust this hell is sufficient.”

“You’re just as bad as him,” Vivien commented, held back by whom Oya believed was her husband. Vivien was a strange soul with a strange aura. She was meant for heaven or eternal bliss but was trapped here with the rest of them and somehow she remained pure like Moira and the burned woman, untainted by the house and its deeds. Untainted by her attempt to kill Michael.

Her husband was another story.

“I won’t argue with you.” The indifference in her voice was staggering but honestly, she was tired and she wanted to get out of hell. “Most of us in this room as done shitty things-.”

“Like ending the world?” Michael’s father said from the stairs, voice as hard as his eyes. Oya shrugged and looked at Moira.

“Where is it?”

“Moira don’t,” Vivien begged but found that Moira had been swayed. There were no hard feelings between them though, both women understanding the other. Oya followed the redhead into the living room and pointed over the fireplace at a goat's head. It was black and its eyes seemed afire.

“It just appeared.”

Oya walked past the maid, hand squeezing her arm in thanks before continuing towards the mantlepiece. Why a goat's head she’d never have the answer for but she knew why it was here. This was the place Michael would have gone to last. The place in which he’d never set foot in. And she couldn’t blame him. With the many ghosts, most of which were calling his existence an abomination, most of which betrayed and disappointed him. It was no wonder Cordelia had chosen to hide her soul in this place. It was a stroke of genius, the intent calculated and malicious. If he were to come here it’d come with a great personal cost.

Too bad they hadn’t foreseen her.

The fur was coarse and stiff under her fingers, the head itself heavy as she took it down and walked towards the main room needing space for the next thing. Horrified eyes followed her as well as curious eyes. Moira followed her quickly behind tethering on the edge to ask for her price. She didn’t however.

Oya produced a knife from beneath her dress, once tied flatly against her thigh, but now catching the eyes of various spirits. The head had been placed on the floor with Oya standing over it, raising her arm with the snake in it, letting it hang limb as her hand was wrapped around its head. The blade cut through scales and flesh, blood gushing down onto the goat. Lights flickered in the house and a wind picked up. The snake was discarded to the floor followed by the blade.

The blood seared through the goat, smoke and steam rising from it and forming into a familiar shape. There was a chorus of gasps.

Mrs. Mead blinked at her, blue eyes framed by black eyelashes and pale skin. She wore a white ragged dress that looked more like a potato bag than a dress. Confused, her brows knitted together, eyes running from one face to another.

“Mrs. Mead,” Oya spoke politely. “I know it’s confusing-.”

“Where am I? H-how did I get here? Is this hell?”

“This is hell alright,” Mrs. Langdon muttered and drew in a breath through the cigarette.

“I will explain it all to you but first I have a promise to uphold.” Oya turned to Moira, then felt around for the souls that needed be here, the ones she deemed innocent enough and felt sympathy for. She might be fucking and loving the antichrist be she wasn’t without empathy. Each soul was judged and sentenced, her tendrils latching onto the ones that earned freedom and peace.

“Thank you,” Moira said moments before she disappeared, slowly dissolving out of existence like fading smoke.

“It was nice to meet you all but I have a world to build and you have an eternity to think over what you’ve done.” There were words thrown at her, one among them being ‘the devil's whore’ but she shut them out and lead Mrs. Mead to the corridors of hell.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Oya. I would say that Michael send me but that’d be twisting the truth,” she confessed. Mrs. Mead stopped and looked at her, eyes uncertain and examining. She wasn’t sure to believe her. Wasn't really sure of anything. “Michael told me about you. When he lost you he lost a piece of himself and he’s been missing it ever since. He would have come for you, he would, but he didn’t know how or where to find you. The witches hid you.”

“But you found me.”

“I did. I’ve spent over a year searching and then perfecting the spell to find you. Now is the time though,” Oya spoke and began to walk. There was a heaviness to Meads' eyes. A searching. Of course, she’d be wary. Anyone would be in her shoes. A stranger coming and freeing you, then walking down the corridors of hell with said woman, entrusting her to lead you to the boy saw as your child. “He needs someone at his side, someone he trusts.”

“If you’re doing this he already has one he trusts. Michael wouldn’t open up like that to just anyone.”

“Yes, he has me but he also needs you.” Mead would be his right hand and Oya his left. She’d be the woman he loved, his queen, and Mead his trusted advisor. “He doesn’t know I’ve found you, it’s quite possible he’d faint in surprise…” Of course, he wouldn’t but the mental picture of it was quite something. “There’s a lot that has happened since you’ve died. A lot has changed and I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I do but I’m hoping Michael will clarify,” Mrs. Mead spoke softly, even more so when speaking his name. “I somehow imagined hell to be much… warmer,” Mrs. Mead commented eyes running over the black decor.

“Yes, well I suppose they decided to modernize,” Oya chuckled.

“But how do we get out of here?”

Oya stopped at the door she had once entered through and looked at Mead with worry and warmth. “It’s not going to be pleasant. Quite frankly it’s properly going to be utmost unpleasant like you’ve been buried alive and every cell in your body screaming for air… Or so I imagine. You’ll have to claw your way out and you’re going to be disoriented.”

Mead nodded and drew in a breath. “I suppose it’s how it is when returning from the dead without a body to return to. For Michael, I’d do anything.”

“Good,” Oya smiled and opened the door. “Don’t get lost.”

Together they walked into the Inbetween, the door closing with a heavy sound behind them. Mead looked mildly distressed and if she had known what this place meant, what it could do, she’d have an entirely different look on her face. The water rippled with each step they took, the small waves catching none existent light. And then the fell forward.

Oya plummeted from the ground, stomach-turning the content within and forcing it up her throat with a burning touch. She clawed at the earth, forcing herself to her knees and hunched forward spilling every drop of the concoction in a heavy stream. It felt as it took all the energy from her, the water pouring all the way from her toes to her head and into the ground. Tears spilled over her eyes, burning. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tumbling around to watch the other side of the circle.

At first, nothing happened and panic fluttered in her heart, but then the ground started to move. Fingers sprouted from the ground, pale and covered in blood. The earth drew a breath and moved. Slowly, the woman fought her way through the surface, her entire body covered in dirt and blood, eyes wide and disoriented. Ragged breath was drawn in between tight lips, body quaking and shaking with stiff muscles.

Oya crawled to the chest and took the rough blanket that had been laid atop of it. She then stumbled on her knees to Mead and wrapped her naked body in the fabric, speaking soft words of reassurance to the panicked woman. It’d take a moment to return to reality. While Mead’s mind reeled Oya continued to soothe her, running her hand in circles on her back to comfort her.

“Y-you weren’t wrong,” Mead choked out raspy and breathless.

“Welcome to back,” Oya greeted and settled back on her feet. “Are you ready to stand?” Mead nodded and grasped Oya’s held out hands, helping herself up from the ground. They stood for a moment, waiting to gain stronger legs that weren't threatening to cave under them.

“When can I see Michael?”

Oya lifted her brows, a smile playing on her lips even though she felt dead tired. “Don’t you want to be cleaned up first?”

“You’re right, I can’t face him like this, covered in dirt and blood with only a blanket to cover me,” Mead agreed. She didn’t let go of Oya’s hand, instead tightening her grip. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Oya spoke, a little flushed before ordering Minseo to take the bindings off of her eyes and help the three of them to the empty quarters closest to Michael’s office. There Oya bid goodbye to Mead for the time being and projected herself into her own bathroom to clean up and get re-dressed, the white dress ruined.

They met by the door where they had bid each other goodbye and together ventured towards Michael’s office. By now he’d sit in front of the fire, reading over the plans on his tablet, though Oya suspected that sometimes the words on the screen weren’t reports or plans but rather a book or something entertaining. He couldn’t possibly be spending the entire time working, especially when there were years until most of the plans could be carried out.

The corridors were empty and desolate. Only the two of them walked through them, never pausing when faint voices were heard. They walked towards the dark wooden doors that were the only of its kind in the entire bunker, though it swooshed to the sides as all of the others.

They entered and immediately Michael’s scent hit her nostrils, soothing her tense shoulders and tired body. His mere presence eased her, lulled her into comfort and satisfaction. The energy emitted trailed along her skin and roused up goosebumps. Already she felt her heart drum faster than expected, butterflies fluttering in her empty stomach and warmth spreading through her cold body. Oya stepped around the well-grown rosebush that covered the rest of the office, eyes falling upon Michael sitting by the fire as she expected, tablet in hand and legs crossed, the silver tips of his pointed shoes catching the light of the fire. He looked so good and if it weren’t for Mead she’d have straddled him right then and there.

“What have you been up to?” Michael drawled, turning off the tablet and rising from the comfortable armchair. Oya walked to him, a smile on her red lips and a gleam in the eye. Michael narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. Her ritual and spell would have drawn his attention, that was expected, so much so it would overshadow Mead’s presence for the time being, but not much longer.

“A bit of everything,” Oya answered and stopped before Michael. “There’s someone I’d like for you to meet, or rather there’s someone you should introduce me to.”

A shadow fell between his furrowed brows, eyes curious but cautious. Then the blue snapped to the presence behind her and she heard his breath being pulled in. Michael stiffened and remained a statue, eyes following Mead as she approached. When she was right before him, the breath that he held was let out into a whisper. “Mrs. Mead.”

“Michael,” she spoke and cupped his cheek. Like a child that had missed his mother, he melted into her touch, tears brought to his eyes and a tremble to his bottom lip. Oya could feel the emotions, felt the swirl in the air and engulf them. Her heart strained against her chest at the display.

“H-how? They hid you.”

“This lovely young woman here found me and brought me back to you.” Mead took Oya’s hand and squeezed it before she let go again. Michael looked at her in a way he had never done before, filled with love and adoration, with surprise and worship. There was gratitude flowing in his tears.

“There’s a lot for the two of you to catch up on and I’m awfully tired,” Oya spoke, caressing Michael’s cheek. “Come see me when you’re done.” She turned to Mead. “It was nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Respectfully she bowed her head at them, a habit from the past, and then left the room. Already she could hear them speaking, the muttered voices muffled into silence by the door. Somehow the corridors were far colder than they had been moments before.

The fire crackled peacefully in the background, its long flames licking at the air and casting an orange hue into the room. In her lap laid a journal, the ink dried long ago, while the tip of the pen remained wet and ready for use. She had written down details of the spell, drawn sketches and made prints for it all. Of course, she wrote in Korean, if the book were to fall in supposed wrong hands they’d have a hard time figuring it out.

She had been sitting there for hours, the warmth of the fire pressed on her skin with a loving embrace, while her eyes looked into the dancing flames with a musing expression. Her body felt weak and tired but she couldn’t find rest, instead she bundled up in a soft velvet chair, feet tugged in beneath her and away from the cold nibbling at the floor. If there had been no crackling from the fire she might have turned mad at the silence.

Lost in thought, Oya didn’t hear him come in, didn’t notice his warm tendrils of magic close in around her. Instead, she remained a statue in the glow of the fire.

“You found her,” Michael spoke, his voice cutting through her thoughts and pulled her attention towards him. Like this, in this light and within their own walls his demeanour softened considerably. He truly looked like a benevolent god.

Gently she smiled at him. “Yes. I thought you’d need someone as your right hand.” The book closed, her fingers nimbly putting the cap back on the pen and then tugged into the corner of the chair. “And you missed her. I couldn’t let them take more from you.”

Michael kneeled down at her knees, his hands caressing the bare skin of her calves. “There’s more. I can feel it. The air around you is different.” Blue was swallowed up by black, his pupils dilated to the fullest. Electricity tingled between his fingers and her skin. The warmth he held within him was fiercer than the one emitted from the fire.

She paused, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in what seemed like worry. Then she took his hand and folded out before him, her feet meeting the ground as she sat more properly. Like this she lead his hand to her belly and pressed it in against the bump that was growing, a flutter forming beneath her skin, deep within. At first, there was confusion towards her action, then with another flutter a realisation. His brows went up and mouth opened with no words tumbling out.

“I’m with child,” her voice carried to him the words that brought the world to a halt. “I’m not sure how. I’ve taken precautions and medicine but…”

His hand moved beneath hers, pressing further into her as to feel more. His knees were now on the floor, his body pulled towards her as a reaction. There was wonder on his face, eyes flickering abortion. Her free hand cupped his face, drawing his eyes from her belly towards hers.

“You should say something before I take it the wrong way,” she spoke, a curl to her lips.

“I’m going to be a father?” His voice was haunting, that velvet touch.

“Well yes, I certainly haven't been fucking anyone else,” she chuckled at his big eyes.

A huge smile formed on his lips, one that could outshine the sun and brought her more joy than anything else in the world. “I am for the first time without words.” Before she could laugh at him, he was hunched over her, lips pressed towards her own in an intense kiss. Around her she could feel his magic whirl, his tendrils embracing hers, caressing along any naked skin of hers and then some. The kiss was filled with love that neither of them thought possible.

And then she as back towards her belly, his hands exploring the expanse as if it was a treasure map and he had found the prize. It was almost childish the wonder he held. While he did that she brushed her fingers through his hair, eyes memorizing every emotion that played across his features.

“Are you happy?”

“I’m ecstatic.”

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, I tried looking into the future, I’ve tried various spells and charms but I’ve seen nothing. Whatever they are, whoever they are, they’re not allowing me to peep,” Oya spoke quietly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael answered her, eyes now on her own again. “This world we’re creating is for them.”

“It’s for us.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #obsidian & angelite

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whitewitchdani · 7 years ago

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Infinitely Different: Chapter 13

Read Chapter 12 Here

Word Count: 2,912

Pairing: Winchester!Sister Reader x ???

Warnings: angst, fluff, canon typical violence

A/N: I told you chapters would start coming out steadily again. :) I hope you guys enjoy chapter 13! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged and please give me all the feedback on this series!

Infinitely Different Masterlist

“Well, you know all about my family, tell me about yours.”

Your head shot up from looking at the empty cup in your hands, “What? No. Trust me you do not want to delve into the mess that is the Winchester family.”

You had been talking for a while and heard the full story of the Original vampires and the amazing lives Elijah and his siblings had led over the past 1000 years. You had countered with the story of how your brothers jumpstarted Judgment Day the first time. But to tell him the story of how you became a Winchester? That was one can of worms you would prefer remained tightly sealed.

“Nonsense, my family is an absolute train wreck. I doubt there is anything you could say that could make me think any less of you. After all, you can’t change your family.”

You sighed, “It’s not that I think you’ll think less of me, more that it’s kind of painful to talk about. And also after I tell you everything about my family, John should be happy he’s already dead. The last time I told anyone about my family was to Damon and he was dead set on kicking my dad’s ass afterwards,” you said with a dry laugh.

Elijah smirked, “If you don’t want to tell me that is quite alright, I understand. I just wish to know you better, understand you more. Perhaps knowing your background will give me insight into why you are the way that you are.”

You looked at the Original vampire in front of you and let out a long sigh. There was no reason for you to not tell him, you trusted him and well if you were being honest with yourself, you kinda liked him. NO, you can’t think about that right now. Until you were able to sit down and think you liked no one.

“Well, I don’t know how much you know about the Winchesters but we have an interesting story. Firstly, I am not Sam and Dean’s full sister.”

“I knew that already.” Elijah interrupted.

You looked at him confused, “What? How?”

“Your blood smells different to me than theirs. It’s obvious you only share one parent, father most likely.”

“Oh, well, yeah. John is the boys’ dad, and mine. I’m about two years younger than Sam. My mom was a hunter and met dad when he was still kind of a rookie, sort of saved his ass on a nasty vengeful spirit case outside Indianapolis. After that, there were drinks at a little hunter dive nearby and then... bada bing, bada boom. Nine months later, Y/N Winchester makes her appearance in the world.”

Elijah smiled at your colorful description, holding out his hand, “Would you like another cup?”

You looked down at the empty teacup and back to the vampire with a sheepish expression, “No offense, but if you want me to continue with the Winchester Sagas I’m gonna need something a little stronger than English Breakfast Blend,” you said with a sly smile.

Elijah smirked, taking your cups and leaving the room. When he returned he carried two crystal glasses and a decanter of amber liquid. He poured two generous portions into each glass and handed you one of them. When you took a sip you smiled.

“Whiskey. Didn’t take the Mikaelson’s for whiskey drinkers,” you smirked as you took another drink.

“Not typically. But we have spent quite a bit of time in America and developed a taste for it. It was mostly a guess if you’d enjoy it, but hunters as a demographic tend to lean toward that type of liquor.”

You laughed, “I’m pretty sure we helped invent it and now keep most of the manufacturers in business.”

He began to laugh with you until it died down into a somewhat uncomfortable silence; the only sound the fire crackling in front of you. You knew what came next in the story, and part of you didn’t want to tell it. Stefan didn’t even know. The only people who knew the full story about your mom and your childhood were the people who were there for it: Sam and Dean. You had told Damon bits and pieces during your late night drinking sessions, but never the full story. But here you were, about to spill your guts to someone you were supposed to kill on sight. Real smart, Y/N.

“In the first six years of my life, I only met John twice. The day I was born and the day I turned six, because apparently he was nearby. I really had no desire to meet him, Mom talked about him like he was a complete bastard and after I lived with him for a couple months I understood why,” you huffed a small laugh.

“But John showed up the day I turned six and spent the day with me and after that I had this glowing view of my father. He was my hero. My dad saved people just like my mom and to me that was the best thing in the world. I wanted to be a hunter just like my parents. My mom never hid what she did from me, because she wanted me to be prepared for what was out there and because monsters and their families tend to be revengeful types. And she was right. Because that’s what took her from me.”

You were quiet again and suddenly found your glass to be incredibly fascinating. Again, all that was heard were the embers crackling in the fireplace. You could feel Elijah’s eyes on you but you knew they weren’t full of pity, rather admiration of the strength he had already seen in you. Now he was learning where it had come from.

Without looking up you continued, “Um about four months later I was sleeping when I heard a noise downstairs. I sat there for a minute until the noise turned into a loud crash. I raced downstairs to find my mom wrestling with a werewolf on the floor of our living room...

“Y/N RUN!”

“MOM NO!”

You watched as your mother continued to fight against the wolf holding her to the floor. The little training you had began to kick in and you bolted for the arsenal under the stairs, grabbing a gun and silver bullets. When you came back, the wolf now had your mother pinned to the wall. You pulled the hammer of the revolver back, loading a bullet into place. The sound of the gun cocking caused the werewolf to turn and look at you.

“My beef ain’t with you kid. Do what your mommy said and run, I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

While the wolf was distracted your mother had pulled the spare knife she kept from her boot. She went to stab him but the wolf was quicker, grabbing her wrist and turning it back around on her, causing the blade to go into her own stomach.

The wolf must’ve been a pure-blood, as he drew back his claws and his eyes returned to normal. He stalked toward you but your wide eyes were still locked on your mother’s slumped form against the wall. When he got close you finally noticed his advance and began to back up, dropping the gun as your back hit the wall behind you.

“You got someone you can call?”

You nodded.

“Good. Here, this was hers.” He handed you your mother’s cell phone, which you took with a shaking hand. “Now, don’t ever let me catch you hunting or I won’t be as nice next time. Understand?”

You nodded again, a tear streaking down your cheek.

“That’s a good girl.” He patted your head a couple times before walking out of the front door like nothing had even happened.

You stared at your mother’s body. You couldn’t find it in you to go over to her, so you looked down at the phone in your hand. There was only one person you could call and you hoped like hell he would even answer. With shaky hands, you dialed the number your mother made you memorize for this very instance. You thought she was being overzealous and paranoid, if you had only known.

The phone rang four times before a gruff voice answered, obviously upset at being woken up at the late hour, “What?”

You were silent. You had only met John twice and had literally just watched your mother get murdered; you were entitled to a bit of a freak-out.

The voice on the other end huffed, “Hello? Who’s there? How’d you get this number?”

Thinking your only family was about to hang up on you jolted you into action, “Hi,” you said in a small voice, “Is this John Winchester?”

“Yeah, who’s askin-” he paused as he thought he recognized the voice and when he checked the number that had called, he recognized that too. “Wait, Y/N?”

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Baby, why are you callin’ me at 3 in the morning?”

You sniffled, trying to keep the tears at bay, “I need you to come here.”

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Where’s your mom?”

The tears had managed to escape and were cascading down your face in full force, “Just come here please.”

“Where’s your mom, Y/N?”

“A man got into the house. There’s blood. Daddy, please.” You begged, crying hard at this point.

John sprung into action, waking his oldest son to get his youngest together. “Okay baby, I need you to go upstairs to your room and get into your closet and shut the door. Don’t come out for anyone but me, understand?” John thanked whatever powers there were that he was only an hour away from your house; with a Winchester driving it could be made in about 20 to 30 minutes.

When he arrived he rushed into the house, ordering his sons to stay in the car until he returned. He entered the house and cringed at the sight he saw; he and your mom may not have always seen eye to eye but she was the mother of his child and because of that, whatever did this was going to pay.

He ran upstairs to his daughter’s bedroom and tore open the closet door, finding her small form sitting on the floor hugging her knees and sobbing. Thankfully, she had no blood on her and looked unharmed. Physically at least. John knew it was going to be difficult for her; Dean was only four when Mary died and it took months to get him talking again.

He crouched down to her level, “Y/N/N?”

You looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, “Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me. C’mon, let’s go.” He scooped you into his arms and carried you out the front door, making sure you didn’t see the scene in the living room again. They were close enough to Bobby’s that he could drop off his children and then return to deal with this mess.

As he plopped you down in the front seat next to him, you turned to look at the two boys in the back seat, both older than you.

You turned to look at your father, “Who are they?”

He sighed, this wasn’t how he wanted to do this, “Y/N that’s Dean and that’s Sam; they’re your brothers. Dean, Sam, this is Y/N, your sister. She’s going to be staying with us from now on.”

The flashback played like a movie reel in your head as you told the story to Elijah out loud. It was strange; actually telling the full story to someone felt kind of... good? Freeing? Sort of like a weight had come off of your shoulders. Sam and Dean knew everything of course, but had always walked on eggshells around you when the topic came up. Something told you Elijah wouldn’t.

“I know this is not helpful nor any consolation to what you’ve gone through, but I am truly sorry. Losing your mother that way...”

You looked up at the Original vampire in front of you and smiled, “Thank you Elijah. You should know that you’re the only person who knows the full story besides Sam and Dean; I’ve never told anyone.”

“May I ask why?

“I didn’t want their pity I guess? Also I guess I’ve always felt sort of guilty. I could’ve pulled that trigger and saved my mom but I froze. It’s my fault she’s dead.” A lone tear streaked down your face.

Elijah moved closer to you, a bit hesitantly at first to see if you’d stop him, and then moved right next to you when you did not. Using his thumb, he wiped the tear from your cheek.

“First, you were six, merely a child when she was killed. Parents are meant to protect their children, not the other way around. You were incredibly brave for a child of your age, mature in your actions and thought processes.”

You laughed, “My mom always used to say you could’ve plucked my brain from my skull and dropped it into the body of an 18 year old and no one would’ve been the wiser.”

He smiled, “She was most likely correct. You should not blame yourself for her death, Y/N. If the blame lies with anyone, it is with the creature who took her from you.” He cupped your cheek after wiping another tear away.

“He’s dead.” You whispered into his hand.

“How do you know?”

“Because I killed him.”

Elijah pulled back and looked at you, “When?”

You sighed, “When I was 14. Dad came back from a hunt one day and said he had found the wolf that had killed my mom and that it was time for me to put everything he had taught me to the test. So he took me to the house the pack was holing up in and he took out the other two and left he one who killed my mom for me. He recognized me too. Cursed me for turning into my mother: a hunter, a cold-hearted killer. And then I put a bullet in his heart. John was so proud, I don’t think I spoke for a week.” Remembering the alcohol you had in your hand, you downed it in one fell swoop.

The room was quiet again. Tears were flowing down your face in full force now. You hadn’t cried in years, not since Sam had left for Stanford, but you had ended up on his heels anyways. You went to wipe the tears but two hands beat you to it. Elijah cupped your face and wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

“He was right. We’re all killers. Why we claim to be better than the things we hunt I’ll never know. I tried to leave this life, I did. But everyone always gets pulled back in. Even when I tried to leave I ended up here, a town made up of 75% supernatural beings. John made his children into killers, Dean never asks questions; it’s always so black and white for him. I never followed John’s orders like he does, even less than Sam did. No wonder Dean resents me so much. All I did was come into the family and piss John off basically with my existence as I got older.”

You were still crying at this point. Why were you spilling your entire guts to him? What the hell was happening to you? Oh yeah, this is why you didn’t want this can of worms unsealed, because it was so damn difficult to keep them all from crawling out. Now you were basically having a breakdown in front of someone you barely knew.

Elijah brought you into his arms and you instantly relaxed in them. He held you tightly and you wrapped your arms around his neck, reciprocating it. You felt your breathing begin to even out as one of his hands rubbed your back and one cradled your head.

“It may not mean much, but from what I have seen and heard you are an incredibly strong woman.” You both pulled back from the embrace but stayed close. “You protect yourself and others but know that there is a line that should not be crossed, and that there are shades of gray when it comes to people like me. To deviate your beliefs from those of your friends and family I know is not easy. From what you have told me you have overcome insurmountable ordeals and dealt with events no one else will most likely ever experience. Yet you still dropped everything to come aid your friends here in Mystic Falls.”

Elijah moved even closer to you, your noses almost touching, and you swore you completely stopped breathing. You knew what was coming, and even though you knew you should, you were making no effort to stop it.

“You are an amazing woman, Y/N.”

With that, Elijah closed the space between you until your lips finally met. The kiss started slow and gentle; you could feel the care he had for you behind it. Then it became a bit harder, more passionate. He cupped your face and you drew the lapels of his jacket into your fists. Your lips moved in sync and the rest of the world seemed to melt away. You didn’t know how exactly you felt in that moment; all you knew is that you never wanted it to end.

Oh you were so screwed.

Read Chapter 14 Here

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skvaderarts · 4 years ago

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Apocrypha Chapter Twenty Eight: Remedy

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Twenty Eight: Remedy

Note: It took me entirely too much willpower not to mention what was going to happen in this chapter when I was talking to a few of you about two weeks ago about something. You'll know what I'm talking about as soon as soon as you get to that part!

(-~-)

The peaceful evening silence that enveloped Magnolia’s sleepy tree-lined street suddenly subsided as a low hum filled the air. Within seconds, a glowing blue portal opened up at the foot of her front steps and out stepped Sparda’s descendants, slightly disoriented and unsure of their location at first glance. Nero’s eyes darted from side to side as he took in the area that surrounded them in an attempt to reorient himself. Nothing looked familiar to him until he caught sight of a familiar Apothecary, nodding to himself in silent recognition. How could he forget those stairs? Sometimes he swore he could still feel the indent they’d left in his body the very first time they’d come here.

Dante took in the quiet streets, seemingly recognizing where they were as well. He didn’t vocalize this, but it was evident nonetheless in the way that he relaxed and put his sword away. Explaining that sort of thing to any possible onlookers wasn’t something they intended to do anytime soon, especially after what had happened in Redgrave City. The only saving grace of that incident was the fact that people tended to close their windows and stay inside after dark. And something told the youngest Son of Sparda that something similar might happen to the quiet little beachside town they’d just vacated if they didn’t return sometime soon to make sure that conduit wasn’t functional. From what Dante could tell, it seemed somewhat similar to a Hellgate. If it was possible to destroy it, then they should probably go about doing so.

Moments later, Vergil passed through the portal with V, the portal finally closing behind it’s master as the Darkslayer carried the somewhat disoriented summoner towards the stairs quietly. There was a sort of cutting discomfort that came with the silence, indicating to Dante that his older twin might be more concerned than he was letting on. Vergil was focused on a task, and that task was making sure that V was safe. Anyone or anything that got between him and that task was in for a rude awakening. If there was one thing that Dante knew for certain about his twin brother, it was that when he set his mind to something, it became his only focus until the take was completed. That single minded drive was admirable in some cases, but the things that Vergil tended to focus on were, well, less than ideal most of the time. To say that it was a pleasant change of pace to see him focus on something or someone dear to him instead of staying behind to do battle would be an understatement. Dante just wished that something wasn’t his wounded nephew. It seemed that the young white haired summoner simply couldn’t catch a break.

Just before Nero reached the front door, it suddenly slammed open and out stepped Magnolia, weapon drawn and ready to fight. She looked as fierce and determined as ever. Nero felt a strange sense of dejavu pass over him as the alchemist lowered the long rod in her hands and sat it down against the inside of the doorway, letting out a sigh of relief as she shook her and blinked slowly.

“Well, it’s quite the surprise to see you here, love. But a pleasant one, to be sure. How did you manage to return so quickly…” Her eyes traveled away from Nero and down towards Vergil, widening slightly as she trailed off. The horror in her face was subtle but apparent as she caught sight of V, the back of her hand traveling up towards her face and covering her lips.” That’s a lot of blood. Please tell me he’s not…”

Vergil shook his head as he approached, the summoner in question shivering slightly and letting out a soft cough as if in response to her inquiry. “No, but I can see why you would think that. His condition doesn’t exactly inspire optimism.”

She met him halfway, placing the back of her hand on V’s shoulder to try and see the injury. With a disapproving scowl and a shake of her head, she gestured towards the front door, back away from them and towards the house. “Come with me. I’ll see what I can do. If everything goes as planned, then the others should arrive in just over two hours. I can work with that.”

Nero and Dante followed closely behind as Magnolia led them into the house, heading down a hallway adjacent to her staircase that Nero honestly hadn't noticed was there the last time he’d visited. The space contained three doors, on either side of the hall and one at the very end. She entered the door at the end of the hallway, passing the one closest to the living room. Upon entering, she turned on the light and stepped out of the way, allowing Vergil to enter.

At first, Nero was surprised to find that it was a bathroom, but then the logic behind the decision occurred to him. He was soaked in blood. This would probably be the easiest place to remedy that situation and to clean up after the fact. Nero could only hope that the majority of the blood his older brother had came from his kidnappers and not from him, but he silently acknowledged that that was more than likely wishful thinking. V wouldn’t have looked so weary and hurt if things had turned out any other way. But in spite of the fact that he had no idea where V was even injured, he couldn’t help but notice that he’d been limping rather heavily when they’d found one another.

“I think his leg might be hurt or something. He doesn’t seem like he can stand up, and I’ve seen him walk off worse injuries than that before.” Nero said quietly as Vergil placed V into the bathtub. Although there was no water in the tub, V shivered against the cold surface of the porcelain edging, showing that he was still more coherent than his physical state might have alluded to. He blinked slowly for a moment before closing his eyes again and breathing heavily, clearly exhausted but not one to complain about it even when he had every right to do so.

Magnolia nodded in recognition of Nero’s statement before leaning over V and snapping her fingers in order to get his attention. He opened his eyes slightly, only moving his vivid green pupils in response to her presence. Anything more was out of the question at that point. “Sorry, dear. I’m afraid that I have to touch you. I get the impression that’s not something you normally go for. Do forgive me.”

V blinked in a way so slow and deliberate that it could only be taken as a sign of conformation. She then turned her attention to his leg, quickly locating the puncture wound that had caused him so very much trouble. With a sympathetic wince, she sat down on the floor and opened the doors to her sink, pulling out a sizable clear container filled with a number of jars and other miscellaneous products. One could only assume it was a first aid kit of some sort, but they had no way of truly knowing until she actually used it. “That’s quite the stab wound. Some sort of crooked or curved blade if I was to make an educated guess. Nasty piece of work, that one.”

Upon leaning over to silently observe magnolia’s handiwork, Vergil nodded to himself subtly, making a mental note of something. “It seems you were correct, Nero. How observant of you.” Vergil said in an almost impressed tone.” Any ideas as to what kind of blade could inflict such a wound?”

In an action that surprised everyone present, V shifted slightly and reached into his back pocket, producing the very blade in question. The curved dagger glistened in the dim light, raising questions as to what it was composed of in the first place. Even in his weakened state, he found the energy to smirk in self satisfaction at his handiwork. “It’s nothing compared to this,” He said tiredly as he used the same hand to pull back the collar of his shirt on the left side to reveal the deep stab wound Agreus had inflicted upon him,” But I like to think he’s enjoying the matching hole I left in his leg in whatever part of hell he currently resides in.”

Magnolia gestured towards the blade, quietly requesting to hold it. V obliged, more than happy to not have to look at it again for a while. She turned it over in her hands, examining it in earnest with a look of confusion and fascination plastered across her face. She then passed it off to Vergil, the oldest Son of Sparda clearly displeased that such an instrument had found itself embedded into one of his children. Nero gritted his teeth at the sight of the blade, more than happy to pass up an opportunity to get hands on with it. From what he could tell, it was quite sharp. And he was willing to bet that it had been extremely painful to have lodged inside of such a sensitive part of V’s body. It made him want to kill the cultist responsible even more than he already did.

How could someone do that to someone else?

“That blade is exceptionally old, wouldn’t you agree, Vergil?” Magnolia said as she assessed V’s neck wound with a look of sympathy on her face. How dare someone do this to her newfound companion! He was such a gentle soul.” I can’t imagine where a cult would obtain such an artifact. It seems demonic in origin, and last time I checked, there wasn’t exactly a museum they could steal this from.”

Vergil held the blade up into the light again, turning it over his hands. Yes, there was most certainly something demonic about the blade. It seemed to almost absorb the blood that it was coated in, and a quick rinse under the faucet revealed that it was actually hydrophobic aside from that. How truly fascinating. And concerning.

As the eldest of the Dark Knight Sparda’s twin sons examined the blade, Dante stepped forward and shot it a glance, his brow furrowing slightly at the sight of it up close. He grabbed it as Vergil was in the process of looking it over, giving it a quick examination, and then immediately handing it back to him before he had time to become irritated about the fact that he’d just snagged it without asking to do so first.

“Is there something you’d like to add, Dante?” Vergil inquired almost sarcastically, his arms folded. He placed the dagger down on the counter, now finished with his studies. There was nothing more he could glean from it, at least not without further context and reference materials. That could be a problem. But right now, they had a list of those longer than Magnolia’s house was tall. And as soon as V recovered from his injuries, they needed to start addressing them. If the cultists had been telling the truth, then they had much bigger problems than a few deranged summoners having meet and greets in the wilderness outside of a derelict city. Belial was an especially unkind demon, the likes of which even the demon emperor Mundus didn’t enjoy interacting with. As demon princes, they were both constantly vying for power, but Belial was nothing like his king. No, he was much more cunning. Much more covert in his operations. Much more intelligent. His ruthless machinations knew no bounds, and anyone who stood between him and his goals tended to suffer immensely for their insubordination. And from what he could tell, the dark prince seemed to have a goal in mind. V.

How unfortunate for Belial.

“Actually, I do.” Dante said as he leaned against the back wall. Nero shot him a curious look. A situation where Dante knew something about the Underworld that Vergil didn’t? Now what was a rare thing to behold.” I’ve seen this thing before. It was about ten years ago now.”

Vergil waved him on as if to tell him to continue while Magnolia tended to V’s injuries to the best of her abilities. Things had suddenly become much more interesting. “How can you be so sure?

Dante sighed, glancing over at V as the young summoner shifted in discomfort. It was at times like this that he was exceedingly glad he healed so quickly from injuries. The prospect of having something stuffed into such a raw wound to help stop the bleeding wasn’t favorable to him. “Because I helped kill the guy who stole it in the first place, Vergil. He was going to use it to unleash some demon named Argosax, so this secret order of supposedly part demon guardians that… You know, I still don’t know what they really do?” Dante scratched the back of his ear, genuinely trying to remember and failing miserably at it. He’d honestly never really asked or paid that much attention in the first place.” My point is that they guard these things called Arcana, and that’s one of them. I gave them back to a friend of mine there and left it alone. Wasn’t trying to get wrapped up any further into whatever dad did with them way back when. They’d probably like that back.”

The oldest Son of Sparda stared at his younger twin blankly, clearly taken aback by this revelation, and not hiding it nearly as well as he probably would have liked. Vergil took a moment to compose himself before speaking, not at all used to being so far out of his depth.”... You found a secret order composed of others that are similar to us that were aligned with our father and never thought that mentioning that might be a good idea?” Vergil said gesturing firmly with both hands as though he were contemplating strangling the life out of his younger twin then and there.” Do you have any idea how long I searched for something like-”

Magnolia sighed, catching their attention. “Fight about that on the way over there, dears. You should go see them about this. Blades like that can sometimes be sacrosanct and cursed. Between that and whatever this fluid is that V is covered in, an order of guardian warrior priests might be just what the doctor ordered.” The alchemist brushed her hair out of the way and reached for the shower faucet, fully intending to try and remove said liquid off of her hapless patent.” This doctor, that is. Well, this Apothecary. I can’t claim the title. My point is that I’m doing everything I can, but I can’t account for that kind of magical interference.”

Nero nodded in agreement. “She’s got a point. We should probably do that. It’s their knife, right? Maybe they could tell us what’s going on with this cult and why they’d need it?”

As the three of them considered this, V practically jumped out of his skin in response to being sprayed with cold water from Magnolia’s shower. He bumped his head against the wall, shooting her a weary and perplexed look as if to ask her why she would do something like that to him. Magnolia gave his right shoulder a soft pat and ruffled his now damp hair, causing the not quite closed cut in his head to sting. There were so many individual parts of his body that hurt that it was genuinely hard for his brain to wrap itself around them.” I do enjoy traveling. And maybe this time there will be less cult activity since their leader fell into that conduit.”

Magnolia visibly paled. “Wait, is that what you're covered in?! They had access to a conduit and a ritual blade?!” She looked startled as she doused V with yet another layer of water.” That makes things considerably worse, all things considered. I can only imagine what they would have done should they have succeeded in finishing whatever sinister ritual they were obviously working on!”

Vergil nodded in agreement. The very thought of it was… unpleasant. “Especially considering the fact that we now know that Belial is in league with them. Nothing good ever comes from any dealings with him.”

The middle aged alchemist stared at her longtime friend for a moment, a look of blank horror on her face as she shut off the water.” … Belial? Oh, how I wish you were just joshing. Why couldn’t you have a sense of humor so that I didn’t always have to take you so seriously?!”

Dante scoffed at her statement.

He asked himself that same question every day.

With a shaky sigh, V turned to face the rest of them, nowhere near foolish enough to attempt standing given his current state. “I can only assume that was the demon who spoke to the cult leader before I…” V stopped dead in his tracks, his brain suddenly ceasing all function. He’d completely disregarded the gravity of what he’d done down in those caves.” Oh, that’s right. I may have done something I wasn’t aware I was capable of doing.”

Dante and Vergil both shot one another a curious look before turning their attention back towards V. Nero looked several shades more baffled than they did somehow. Magnolia simply looked at all four of them like she was about to commit murder if it was anything else bad. “Yes, we felt that. To be honest, I was doubtful that you were physically capable of triggering in the first place. Color me surprised.”

Nero decided to disregard Vergil’s pathetic attempt at humor in favor of staring at V like he’d grown a second head. That had been the energy he’d recognized when they were down there! It had reminded him of that day in the laboratory underneath Fortuna Castle when Agnus had nearly ended his life. Had V’s injuries triggered something similar within him? And if so, why hadn’t he recovered from his injuries yet? Did it have something to do with that blade, or was what had happened to him a one off in of itself? Nero had no idea how Dante or Vergil had managed to transform for the first time. And now that he knew that V was capable of doing so, he was genuinely irritated that he’d missed the opportunity to see him do that for the first time himself.

V gave the three of them an incredulous look. He wasn’t entirely sure how to process everything that had happened that evening. It all seemed surreal and painful in a way he was not equipped to deal with. All V wanted to do was rest at that point and recover from his injuries. He had a sneaking suspicion that he might undergo the same sort of rapid regeneration that he’d benefited from the last time he’d been hurt and gone to sleep. At the very least he wanted to know if that was the case.

Dante laughed slightly.” Yea I bet that was a rush. That cultists probably had no idea what hit em’. Kinda mad I didn’t get to see the look on his face now. But at least he’s probably dead, right?”

V gave his uncle a vapid look. Probably? “Do you think he could’ve survived something like that?”

The youngest Son of Sparda shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t know much about how those things work. Brother?”

All they received in response was a shrug from Vergil. He himself wasn’t entirely sure. Conduits were relatively rare, and the one they had just visited had been utterly decimated by V’s attack. Still, he would look into it. V didn’t need to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder in anticipation for yet another stabbing. That had to be bad for his mental state. “I cannot say. Although I am curious as to how you heard Belial speak in the first place on account of how he has no mouth.”

The young summoner blinked in surprise, wracking his brain in an attempt to try and figure that out for himself. Had that been inside of his head? Was it an unwanted side effect of being so close to a conduit? V could only speculate. And the severe amount of exhaustion and pain that he was currently suffering from didn’t help very much in that regard. “... I do not know.”

Magnolia shook her head and gestured towards the door nearest to the living room. “For now, let’s not trouble him about it. He needs to rest while I tend to the rest of his injuries. Don’t make me spray you with this. Because I will.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, intrigued as to why she thought he’d back down from such an empty threat. “Yes, Magnolia. Because water is such-”

Without warning she switched the sprayer back on, hitting Vergil dead in the face. The look of genuine shock and confusion that crossed his face in response to her actions was truly something. Dante ducked out of the way, not eager to be soaked as he scurried down the hallway like a kicked puppy. Vergil backed off, staring daggers at his longtime friend as he did so. He would find a way to get her back for that one.

For his part, Nero simply laughed at them both while V shook his head in exhausted disbelief. The short haired devil hunter turned to his brother and extended his hand, more than willing to help him up. After all the blood he’d gotten on himself from helping V, he could use a shower himself. “Need some help, V?”

V looked up at him, genuinely unable to find the strength to move even a finger. A small, appreciative smile crossed his face as he blinked slowly in response to his younger sibling’s generous offer. “Yes. That would be advisable.”

(-~-)

This was such a fun chapter to write the dialogue for! OMG! Here’s a link to the art that inspired my idea of what V’s DT looks like in this fic. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it! Go check them out! I’m sure you’d love their DMC art! Don’t worry, I asked first! They are super nice! See you in the comment section!

https://twitter.com/AsaderiChan/status/1112822343380975618

#Apocrypha #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #DMC #DMCV #DMC5 #V #Vergil #Dante #Nero #Magnolia #Post DMC5 #Post DMCV

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serenitykrp · 7 years ago

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—WARNING : suspect may be armed and dangerous! SUNG MINA, code named CRUX, is a CREW MEMBER on an unidentified firefly-class ship, traveling through the ‘Verse under the radar. They are known for being loyal, practical, patient, and perceptive, but beneath the surface, they have proven to be prideful, vengeful, defiant, and cynical. Although their origin lies somewhere on their home planet HARVEST, they have been caught by stardust and lost to the great expanse.

YOU ARE YOUR OWN EXPLOSION, BRING US YOUR VERY BEST VIOLENCE.

From the time she could walk, Mina always seemed to think about her destination before moving. She always seemed to have an end in mind unlike her twin brother. And it is this hopeful end that she has always used to motivate her actions and decisions. Her patience seems unparalleled as she has no problem waiting to get to the end even when others would have grown frustrated. Mina is however a wrathful person, whoever gets in her way, offends her, or hurts anyone she cares about will find themselves with the bloodiest end imaginable. Loyal—to a fault—she will even put aside her own dreams to focus on the dreams and pursuits of others. And anyone who messes with those pursuits will have to answer to her.

When she was younger, she seemed to be easy going, enjoying life day to day and seeing where the wind took her. She loved her life as a farmer and her time with her brothers was precious. They always knew she was an open book—Mina could never hide who she was. Until the war. As her time in the army continued, Mina became guarded, wanting to be the hard rock that others needed to survive. And even after years she has difficulty letting her guard down now and revealing the Mina that existed before the war. If she is even there. She’ll laugh and joke and play around with the best of them but no one can deny there is almost always a distance about her, like at any minute she could just disappear or point a gun at your face. And she just might. Unless you’re part of her crew, and she likes you.

THERE IS NO NEWS, THERE IS ONLY THE TRUTH OF THE SIGNAL.

The daughter of a farmer. The youngest of five. The only girl of the family. All titles that described Mina from the moment she was born. Titles she wears with pride to this day despite all else. And titles that bring her the most pain.

She has little memory of her father. Sometimes if she thinks hard enough, she can remember a tired but happy man with calloused hands that smelled of dirt and smoke. He died when she was too young to remember much else. And her mother—a victim of circumstance—died in childbirth. The doctors had always said that pregnancy would be difficult for her, something about her genetics. And it would take five children from them to realize the risks. Even at a young age Mina knew better than to ask about her parents. Something in the shadow of her brothers eyes held her tongue.

With their parents gone, responsibility fell on the oldest child. Fifteen years her senior, her brother Hoseok gave up his teenaged freedom to care for his four younger siblings. And when two out of four are rambunctious twins, he certainly had his hands full. Especially when they have a nasty habit of getting in to every kind of trouble they possibly can. From stealing animals in neighboring farms, to starting parties in the streets of the town. To this day, Mina feels as though she owes her brother most apologies than she can possibly count. Not that he would ever accept any.

By the time she reached her teens, Mina had settled down. She liked the farmer lifestyle, spending more time with the crops and animals than causing trouble. She was especially fond of horses, able to care for them easier than even her oldest brothers. And when she was old enough, her brothers found that she was a remarkably good shot. Good enough in fact, to be the unofficial guard of their lands which were vast and fertile and damn if that didn’t cause trouble now and again. Like the day the richest man came to their front door demanding the land either by conquest or by marriage to Mina. She was fifteen at the time. Her brothers didn’t even scold her for shooting him in the leg. Twice.

Of course, this didn’t stop her from getting up to other kinds of no good trouble with her brother occasionally. From sneaking out to dances in town, to running off with friends to adventure out of the town limits. With dirt under her fingernails and dust on her clothes. All she ever wanted was to explore and adventure and take care of her plants. Even when several boys in town tried to ask her brother for his permission to marry her, it would be Mina that turned them away with a wide and toothy smile swearing she’d never settle down with a single boy from town. It didn’t exactly help things when she kissed the Mayor’s daughter during one of the yearly festivals. Yes indeed, Mina had always been a trouble maker.

When The Alliance started to rear its ugly head in the area, Mina and her brothers were the first ones to cry out against them in town. Most people felt too weak to fight. Some even wanted Unification. Friends were lost, rivalries founded and too many fights broke out to even bother counting. Within months, two of her brother left to fight in the war. They wrote often for a while until one day the letters simply stopped and those left behind had to assume the worst. Well, everyone but Mina did. She still believes they’re out there. Somewhere.

This didn’t stop the twins from enlisting the day they became of age. Even when their brother begged them to stay home, to take care of the farm and stay out of danger. But even he knew they wouldn’t back down. They had too much of their mother in them.

When they reached the army, the pair seemed to excel. Gone were the silly children from Harvest. Replaced with driven and focused soldiers who still had a habit of going against direct orders if it meant saving the lives of their squad members. Their work in the field gave them patience and their aim with a gun saved their skins more than a dozen times. Mina especially seemed to change. From the time they were young she had worn her heart on her sleeve and suddenly that notion was so dangerous she withdrew into herself hiding who she was and becoming something new. It would be a slow, painful and terrible process but Mina always deemed it a necessary one. After all, she wasn’t on Harvest anymore.

With so many dying and Mina working diligently, she was granted the rank of Corporal after about a year and a half with the army. By this time she had gained a reputation for being stone faced and cold, preferring to punch first and ask questions never. And when she is separated from her brother and put with a different platoon this trait only seemed to grow more pronounced. Mina was like fire on the battle field and ice off it, clinging to her conviction and hoping to see her brothers again soon. It would nearly shock her squad to death the first time she told stories of home. And the way she screamed and howled into the night when she learned of the fate of Harvest her heart crumbling and her soul crushed.

And her twin didn’t even write to her anymore.

She blamed The Alliance for everything.

But her conviction never wavered.

Unfortunate circumstances granted her the title of Sergeant a few months before the war ended. Leaving her in charge of the squad she had grown to love so much, working with another Sergeant of the platoon. It was in those days that Mina really thought they could win the war. Her partner was brilliant and daring and they made a dangerous team. Even with death looming over them every minute of every day, Mina clung to hope more fiercely than ever. So much so that when it was ripped away by the armistices, no one could stop the enraged tantrum she went on. It simply didn’t make sense to her. How could the side of Unification win? How could the galaxy not see The Independents were right? How could anyone see what The Alliance did and believe them to be the better option? How could they look at the massacre in Serenity Valley and deem it to be the best option for the galaxy?

She didn’t talk for weeks.

Taking odd jobs and money where she could. Mina found herself more in the middle of brawls than with a wad full of cash. Every Alliance supporter she met made her sick to her stomach and the longer she went without contact with her brothers made her blood boil. Were they alive? Was she all alone now? She’s still not sure she wants to know the answer to that. It is when she ran into the soon to be captain of Serenity that things changed.

Recognizing him from her army days and desperate for some sort of familiarity and like mindedness, Mina pushed her way into joining his crew. Taking the rank of first mate seemed to suit her, her military background and minimal aversion to fighting made her ideal. Plus, she had always been an excellent cook. Smuggling wasn’t exactly ideal for her but anything was better than being an Alliance lapdog. And she had never been one for staying in one place for too long. A restless spirit obsessed with space. It was only a matter of time before she ended up on a ship. And she can’t think of a better one than Serenity to end up on.

#sy: follow #lee chaerin

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teableeds · 4 years ago

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Part 3

Quiet sniffling punctuated the laughs and shouts of the rowdier cousins. A dark-haired boy rubbed away tears with his fist, leaving a streak of red dirt on his cheek. Brown curls tickled his leg as Cait leaned down to kiss the bandaged wound.

“There, all better.” She promised, giving the boy an optimistic smile. “We’ll just have to be careful, okay? Climbing trees can be dangerous sometimes.” Not that it ever deterred Cait. She’d often end up swinging from the trees herself after a few drinks.

The boy nodded his head, his red cheeks and nose now thoroughly pasted with clay. “Yes’m.” He looked behind Cait to someone approaching from the house. “Marshall!”

Cait turned, noticing that Marshall had come over to help his cousin. She thought that a bit odd. She expected him to sulk the entire day, on his phone, in the dark. The last place she thought to find him was here with the children. But she stepped back anyway, just to see what he’d do.

“Hey, Quinn. Want to go for a ride?” With a nod of confirmation, the teenager reached down and picked up the smaller boy, lifting him onto his shoulders.

The boy’s injury was instantly forgotten as he was suddenly hoisted to such a height. The world was so new from up here!

Cait stood in shock for a moment. Who was this child and what happened to Marshall? Not that she was at all complaining. This expression of empathy was a welcome change! “He hurt himself tumbling out of a tree.”

Marshall re-adjusted Quinn so the younger boy sat more comfortably on his shoulders. “Did you? Did Auntie Cait patch you up?”

Quinn nodded enthusiastically, nearly falling off in his excitement. “She did! She gave me a dinosaur band-aid!” To prove his point, he kicked his injured leg to show off the decoration. But he had seemingly forgotten that such a movement would cause pain, as his eyes widened in response.

“Ah, maybe don’t do that.” Cait suggested, taking hold of Quinn’s hand to distract him before he could start crying again. “Marshall will carry you around. Right?” Please, please let this be a rare instance of a change in heart and not just an opportunity to cause further distress. But for the life of her, Cait thought, for just a second, she could spot a smile.

“Yeah, I will.” He tapped Quinn’s leg. “We have to take care of those in a worse position than ourselves.” With that, he walked off toward the woods, Quinn trying to lead the way like some terrible imitation of Ratatouille.

“....What?” Cait stared at the boys as they wandered away. Where on earth did Marshall hear that? It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d say. Ever. Not a single expletive, or a hint of anger, Just… empathy. Who was this kid? As she pondered this development, another emergency caught her attention.

“I’m so over it!” A girl screeched from across the yard.

Cait whipped around, finding a group of teenage girls gathered in a circle by the fire pit. She didn’t recognize them immediately. But as she blinked, their names entered her mind. Ella-Mae, the youngest, had just barely started high school, all freckles and stick-straight blonde hair. Lacey was the next oldest, chocolate brown skin and deep amber eyes. She’d recently joined the softball team, as evidenced by the callouses on her hands. Adelaide, Ella-Mae’s sister, her twin in every aspect but age, was still trying to pass her driver’s test. And Caroline, the one who screeched, held a sparkly blue phone in her tawny hands, and she looked very much like she had every intention to throw it in the fire. Cait rushed over to prevent such a course of action. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The girls looked up at her, as if noticing for the first time that she even existed. And judging my their expressions, they weren’t pleased with what they saw. Okay, ouch. Finally, Ella-Mae spoke up. “Jackson won’t text her back.”

“Shut up, Ella-Mae!” Caroline shrieked. That phone really looked like it was going to go flying.

Adelaide took a step between the upset cousin and the younger girl. “Don’t shout at her just ‘cause your man left you on read!”

“Yeah?” Caroline shot back. “And what of yours, huh? Out on that ‘hunting trip’ with Maybelle?”

“Enough.” It wasn’t often that Cait thought to exert a portion of that unsettling, supernatural power. But there was a certain benefit to being an immortal nation, well-practiced in her craft. For some small things like this, just a pinch of the unknown startled mortals into submission. She separated the girls, giving each a stern look. “Now, you better quit actin’ ugly. It ain’t becomin’ of a lady. Especially kin.” She gave this last instruction to Caroline specifically. “Now, first of all, y’all ain’t even seventeen. None of y’all got no ‘man’, alright? At your age, you should be focusing on school and sports. There’s plenty of time to stress over boys when they’re worth your tears. And honey,” She took Caroline’s hand in hers, trying to gauge the likelihood of this girl sobbing on the spot. “Ain’t none of these boys worth your tears.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Lacey piped up. “You’ve been dating the same guy forever.”

Cait’s face flushed red. “What?”

“Yeah! You and that Yankee are practically soulmates!” Ella-Mae added. “Weren’t ever a question of who you’ll marry!”

Jesus Christ, where were these kids getting their information?! She and Alfred had been broken up for five years! “W- we’re not talking about me!” Mostly because she wasn’t sure what Cait and Alfred these kids could possibly be referring to. “We’re talking about y’all. And- and how family is what’s most important.”

“So when are you going to marry him?”

Oh my god. “I’m not- you’re not listening to-”

“Are you going to invite us to the wedding?”

“There’s not going to be a-”

“You’re eloping? That’s so romantic! Jackson and I were going to elope.”

Adelaide laughed. “Like hell you were. Can’t elope with a man who won’t open your snaps.”

“Shut up!”

Cait raised her hands in defeat, stepping back from the girls. “Nope. Nope, I’m not doing this. Not today. Not in the year of our Lord 2020. No ma’am.” She clapped her hands together, gesturing toward Caroline. “It’s a holiday. He’s probably with his family. He’ll probably call you back tomorrow.” Next, she addressed Adelaide. “Any man who cheats on you isn’t worth shit. There will be shitty men out there, but you don’t have to settle for that.” Next, Lacey. “I know you didn’t say this but that girl on your team also thinks your cute.” Finally, Ella-Mae. “If you cheat on your finals, you will be caught, and it will be embarrassing.”

The girls stared at her in stunned silence. None of them dared to speak for several minutes, just staring at each other. More importantly, they watched Caitlyn return to the house, just in case. In case what, exactly, they didn’t know. But there was something very off about having a demi-god at a dinner party.

After they were sure she was safely inside, Caroline dared to speak again. “I didn’t know you were bi.”

Thanksgiving Drabble

Keep reading

#iced i.#drabble #yeah idk #but this is the second to last chapter

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fangirl-faye · 8 years ago

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Liars and Monsters

Pairing: human!Luciferx”Lucifer”!Reader

Characters: Reader, Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel, Dean, Sam, Adam (mentioned)

Summary: “I am a liar,” [...] “How so? I thought you would never lie.” “I don’t… I mean… I don’t want to. [...]But… I had promised [...]that I would be always there [...] nothing would ever happen to him and that our family would never break.”

A/N: Here you have to change it up a bit. To make it as easy as possible you might understand it better if you remember (I’ll add the actor that you know what they look like): Oldest: Dean/Michael (Matt Cohen) Second: Reader/Lucifer (Mark Pellegrino) Youngest: Sam/Gabriel (Richard, who else)

And then reverse it. The Archangels become human, the hunters become Archangels (and Sammy’s a Trickster). Hope this will help :3

The age difference between “Sam” and “Dean” will still be 4, “Readers” age difference to both is 2 years. Also there is no real timestamp when this happens, so… uhmm let’s say AU somewhere after S5, okay ^^

Word count:

Beta: @sdavid09

Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

How did this happen to me I guess, I’m to blame I’m laying faced down on the pavement and I’m full of pain

Waking up you shook your head slightly. Your hands scrub over the pavement in the dark alley. The lights from the streets reached you just barely and your back was aching. Turning around, you checked if your wings were still intact. Okay. As intact as possible for you after hundred years in the cage with an angry, raging brother. Surprisingly they were. Even better. They were restored. Fully restored. Quickly you got up, smiling brightly, as you noticed you had your old Vessel back. The H/L, red haired girl, with the bright green eyes. She was your favorite, you actually liked her more than your true vessel, Lucifer.

Speaking of the Devil (so… yourself), your head started hurting, memories of you and Lucifer in the Cage flashing through your head. Sinking back to the ground, pressing your hands against your ears you didn’t hear the sounds of footsteps approaching you. Your eyes were closed tight, hoping the headache would go away soon. And it was. You opened your eyes and stared at a Pair of simple Shoes and your look shot up, looking into familiar, green eyes. “D… Dean?” you whispered and your brother nodded simply. You stood up, your vessel slightly smaller than his. He looked like the younger Version of his Vessels father. You could sense the Anger around your brother, but after the apocalypse had failed, you weren’t about to fight him anymore. You would take every punch he would throw your way as long as it meant he would forgive you one day. You loved your brother. And you hoped you could end all this now that everything was over. You wouldn’t, couldn’t kill him. It was not what you wanted, what you ever would have wanted.

You saw the Angels Blade which couldn’t kill you, just harm you badly, slitting into his palm and he looked at you sternly. “Sister.” He said coldly with no emotion shown, but you knew Dean better. He would never let his emotions interfere in his actions. “Brother. I know what you are thinking. And I know you know that now, that this all is over, I won’t fight you anymore.” He closed his eyes briefly and you saw a regretful expression wash over his face. “You caused so much harm, Faye. You killed Sammy.” You heard the hurt in his voice clearly and the mention of your youngest brother took your breath away. Metaphorically. You didn’t need to breathe.

“I know. And I wish I wouldn’t have. I was blinded.” “And I will find a way to bring my little brother back. Maybe, we’ll see each other again, Faye.” and with these words, he pushed the Angels Blade into your abdomen and the pain flood through every cell of your Vessel. Breaking down to the ground in the dark alley, you heard the ruffle of wings and as you looked up from your bloody Hands, Dean was gone. You focused your grace on stopping the blood but the wound stayed. “As a reminder. I deserve it.” You murmured and stood up, your whole body shaking and aching.

I just refuse to see My mind is Anarchy Anticipating and debating is what is left for me

Walking out of the alley you covered the wound with the plaid you wore. Your only hope was to find someone, Angel or Shurley (AN: Instead of Winchester, bc in this case Chuck Shurley would be their father and so they are not the Winchesters but the Shurley’s), to help you out of this misery. Looking around in the town you were in, you felt the air around you changing as you saw a demon running down the street, chased by three men right behind. He didn’t notice you and passed you, rounding the corner into the alley you had left just minutes ago. Stepping out of the way of the three likely hunters, they also passed you. Or… the first two did. The last one spared a single glace at you and his feet came to a halt in the middle of the alley there, where your blood was on the floor. You had already recognized the three as the Shurley’s and now, the brother was staring at you in disbelief. You gulped. You hadn’t meant for them to really find you. Not now, not like this. Not when you haven’t even thought about what to tell them.

You saw how Gabriel took a few steps towards you, but you took a few more back and without a second thought, you turned on your heels and ran away. You didn’t look back, didn’t know if he was following you. Sure, everyone would say it was stupid to follow the devil, alone, at night, then again, Gabriel and his brothers were… who they were. They would do that. Seeing the motel on the next corner, you decided to stay there the night, thinking about how to talk to them. If you were lucky this would be the same motel the brothers were staying in and you would get the chance to talk to them in the morning if you would have made up your mind till then.

You couldn’t admit it to yourself. You didn’t know what to do. Not at all. Not even why, but you wanted to set things right. And it was… inexplicable to you, why you felt the need to talk to Lucifer. To say sorry for what you did to him. For what you made him go through in the cage, just month’s back. You had never felt the need to apologize. Yes, you wanted to set things right with your brother and you felt sorry for killing Sam, but they were your family. You loved them. And Lucifer, Michael and Gabriel? They were humans. Abortions your father created and wanted to be cherished. They were flawed… but weren’t you too? The thought, free will could be the reason for being flawed, was bothering you. Hadn’t you, by rebelling against your fathers will, created a mind of your own? Just like Sam, when he skipped out of heaven after you had been banned and had become a Pagan God?

Entering the Part of the motel with the reception desk, you got a room and as you walked towards room 25, you spotted the black Chevy Impala in front of room 24. You slipped into the room and sat down on the bed, thinking, trying to arrange your thoughts, stop this anarchy of guilt, anger, angst, and hopelessness and trying to focus on ways to make it right. You weren’t about to LOVE mankind, but for your brothers sakes you could at least try and live with them. Who said you had to acknowledge them. You just wanted all this fighting to stop.

Not long actually, one hour or two later you heard the door next to yours slam shut and you knew they were back. And now you already knew how to talk to them. You wouldn’t talk to Lucifer. Not yet. But you could try to talk to… “Why did you run off alone, Gabriel? You KNOW you were supposed to stay close and not to just… run off” you heard Michael through the thin walls of the Motel. Hearing this you were sure he followed you. Did he know you checked in here? “I know, I know. I just…” “Gabriel. Michael is right. You could have been hurt. You know the Demons are looking for a way to get to Michael and me. And you knew he wasn’t the only one that had escaped. You are our brother…” you heard Lucifer’s reasonable voice and smiled. “Gabriel, where are you…” and a new slam of the door. In front of your window you saw a shadow, walking towards the reception.

I am a liar I am no model figure I am a monster And I am ashamed Call me the devil My name’s what you prefer I come on shameless But I am ashamed I am ashamed

Ten minutes later there was a knock on your door. “I know you are in there. Let me in.” you heard Gabriel’s voice in a sharp tone and with a snap of your fingers the door opened and Gabriel slipped into the dark room, only illuminated by the little light next to the bed you sat on, leaning against the headboard. He closed the door as quiet as possible and turned towards you. You always had a special relationship with the youngest Shurley. He didn’t really fear you, he was just weary. That was also why he now came closer and sat down on the other end of the bed. “What are you doing here?” You stayed quiet, thinking how to answer.

“I am thinking,” you mumbled. You weren’t one to lie. It would just make everything more complicated than it had to be. And Gabriel knew that. “How is it possible? No one opened the cage…” “I think… God brought me and Dean back. I met him, not long before you saw me. And he gave me this.” You showed him the wound from the Angels blade and he inhaled sharply. “How are you…” “Angels blade, not Archangels. Will just hurt me.” “And why didn’t you heal yourself?” “Because I deserve it. He stabbed me the same place I stabbed Sam. I feel guilty that I had to kill him and if we wouldn’t have been in the middle of the apocalypse… if I wouldn’t have been blinded by rage and anger, I wouldn’t have killed him.”

Gabriel bit his lips and looked at you, the usual, happy spark in his eyes, gone. Replaced by the usual weariness but as far as you knew human emotions, you saw also a bit of sadness and sympathy. “I am a liar, Gabriel.” You whispered and the brown eyed man raised an eyebrow. “How so? I thought you would never lie.” “I don’t… I mean… I don’t want to. There is no point in lying. But… I had promised Sam… when Dean and I first started fighting… that I would be always there for him and with me around, nothing would ever happen to him and that our family would never break.” You let your head hang in shame and remembered this whole conversation. The sad, hazel eyes of your brother, his too long hair falling into his face.

“I said everything will be alright. And I was the one who made everything worse afterwards. I am the worst brother you could imagine, you know.” And just like Sam, Gabriel had something that just made you talk about things, you never thought you would let anyone hear. The human placed a hand on your knee and you looked up to him.

“I remember something, Sam said once. When he wanted my brothers to ‘play their roles’ as your vessels. As it is in Heaven, so it must be on earth. I remember when Michael and Lucifer were fighting, back when I was younger. When Lucifer was pissed because of Chuck and everything, you know. And when he heard me, granted most of the time I was crying, he used to say the same. That this is, what brothers were doing and that nothing would destroy us. Then, one day, Chuck told him to leave and never come back. One year later, I left to go to college. Dads sudden disappearance brought us back together and even when we are all fighting once in a while, we are family. We can’t stay mad at each other long. No one is perfect, Faye. Not even Angels, not even the Devil.”

He winked playfully and usually something inside you would hurt if someone used this nickname for you, but he? He just said it to make you smile. And he succeeded. A slight grin tugged at the corners of your lips and Gabriel winked. “I knew I could make you smile, sugar.” You rolled your eyes at the pet name. No one ever gave you a real pet name. And as said, the relationship between you and Gabriel was… unique.

He had every reason to hate you and yet, he didn’t. It was, metaphorically, heartwarming how he cared for you. He understood you, kind of. When you had first met the three brothers, Gabriel had seen through you, immediately and one night, when he was hunting alone, he had prayed to you. No trap, no fighting, nothing. He just wanted to talk. And the honesty in his prayer made you curious. So you came to his motel room and you talked.

As incredible as it sounded, you didn’t dislike him as much as every other human. He was different, probably because he was so much like Sam, your beloved little bother.

I look for help Can’t find it anywhere My own reflection is the one sight I cannot bear

A loud knock on your door announced the arrival of the worried big brothers. “Gabriel? Hey you in there?” Lucifer’s voice was quiet and had a slight worried sound. The next second, the door was kicked open and you flinched slightly. Michael’s eyes scanned the room and fell and you and his brother, both sitting on the bed, you leaned against the headboard and he on the edge to your feet. As the oldest Shurley recognized you his eyes narrowed. “Faye.” He spat your name out like poison. “Michael.” You answered calm and as you looked at Lucifer who stood right behind his brother you noticed that his look could kill you. But not only hatred was in his look. A slight overtone of fear. It knocked you off and you lowered your head in shame. A hand around your ankles made you look up to Gabriel and his look said it all. I’ll talk to them.

You heard shouting and loud crashing from the room next door and it broke your heart. Not only you destroyed your own family, no, you also destroyed the one of the only being in existence, in this case human, that you could kind of call a friend. Not only now, but also during the Apocalypse. You took his brother away, again and made the family split. He was alone and that had been your fault. And now? He was still trying to help you, supported you. You were looking for help and found it here, in him. Not from your father, not from your brothers. In a human, you took everything from. His family. And still he tried to help you. A knock at the door you had repaired after the brothers had left caught your attention. “Come in,” you said, not caring who would. Lucifer closed the door behind him and you raised an eyebrow. He was the last you expected here. He was the last one you expected to talk to you, hell even look at you.

“So, you really want to change?” You shook your head. “I don’t really want to change. Just… now that there won’t be another apocalypse since Dean and me are both tired of fighting and trying to kill each other, now that there is nothing to fight for anymore, I just want… I don’t know…” you let your head hang in defeat. Hearing Lucifer’s footsteps coming closer, you felt the bed dip. “So you just want… your family? Your brothers and sisters, am I right?” his voice was calm, almost too calm. “I want to be forgiven and want it to be the way it was. I don’t want to bow before humanity but since I won’t be able to destroy it, I would probably be able to live side by side as long as I am not forced to interact with them, except for a few, like your brother. Your brother is a good human. Yeah, he is flawed, but he is…” “Different? I know.” Lucifer nodded, a smile formed in his face. “Yes. He really is. I took everything from him. You, your brother left afterwards… and still he came here and talked to me. And… I thought about it. Sam was right… some of you humans are better than us. He forgave me. He could, what I’ve never been able to.”

Lucifer, slowly, placed his hand on your shoulder in a comforting manner. Your glance shot up. “I know… I know… I am probably the last person you expected to show up, right? But… you see… after that… I was curious, okay. Nothing more. I just… I think I just needed to talk to you after what had happened down there…” “Understandable. I could also understand if you couldn’t look at me. I mean… I can’t look at me. If I look into a mirror, if I see… me… I am disgusted with what I did to my and your family, you know.”

Lucifer stood up, yawning and stretching his arms. Then he held out one of his arms. “Thought about going to the nearest diner. I’m hungry. Care to join me?” Your head shot up and you looked him in his eyes. His glance was soft and honest and it confused you. This man was supposed to hate you. You had this man tortured. And now he was…

“Because Dad was right. They ARE better than us.” “But some of them try. To forgive.”

Your brother’s words echoed through your head and slowly, you took Lucifer’s hand, for him to pull you up. You threw the flannel around you and closed the lower buttons to hide the big stab wound in your stomach. Lucifer looked at you questioning. “Another time” you dismissed his question. Then you left for the diner. The Impala was gone and so, you thought, would be Michael.

Look to the sky and find Even the heavens cry Anticipating and debating what is left to life

By now, you were back on earth for… 6 months already. The stab wound was still partly there, a big scar-like imprint on your abdomen. Sitting on the hood of your own car, you watched the stars. Everything happened in these 6 months. Yours and Dean’s return was loud in hell and heaven. Many Angels feared you, many demons tried to come in good terms with you. You disgusted demons and waited for the forgiveness of your brothers and sisters in heaven. Some of them had been brave enough to come to earth, talk to you face to face. And these few who had, had welcomed you back and assured you, that everything would be back to normal, one day.

Adam, Michael’s Angel, also had talked to you, to make sure, you weren’t planning to do something to them. It was a welcome mistrust. And you, somehow, were glad that they had this mistrust. Not enough to push you away, not too less to let you in close. You heard the flutter of wings and turned around. “Faye” Dean said standing there, Sam right next to him and you slipped down the hood as fast as possible and ran towards your brothers. “Dean. Sam.” You stopped as Dean pointed his Archangels Blade at you. “This time I won’t hesitate if you…” But Sam cut him off. “Faye. It’s is great to see you unharmed.” Your hand flew to your stomach but you didn’t mention it further. “Sam. I am so… so sorry. I was blinded.”

He nodded and smiled at you. This warm smile of his never failed to brighten up your mood. When you were fighting with Dean it had been Sam who had made you happy. The tall Angel made a few steps towards you and wrapped his arms around you, you snuggled closer and relaxed into his embrace. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I knew it would end bloody for one of us. And somehow I knew it would be me.” Again you heard a flutter of wings and you knew, Dean was gone. Sighing you pulled away from your youngest brother and sighed. “He’ll come to terms with it, Faye. Believe me.” Sam winked and you climbed back on the hood, “so wanna tell me what you had been up to these few months?”

And you started telling. How you had been talking to Gabriel multiple times lately, how you had built quite a friendship with Lucifer and how you really enjoyed having these three humans around. Even Michael accepted having you around. And Sam smiled, hearing you talking, really enjoying and, not directly, admitting that you have been wrong about humanity. “And now what?” he asked as you ended. You were about to reply but… “Hey! Faye! I knew I’d find you here. I wanted to… oh… Sam? I thought you were…” “Hey, Lucifer” Sam smiled and winked at you. He just had to spare a glance at the human to see, that he had changed. The second he had laid his eyes on you, his soul had started to glow brighter. And he saw, how your soul also responded to his presence, by warming up. Usually you were cold. But now he felt a slight warmth radiating around you. And he hadn’t felt this warmth around you for a long, long time. The last probably had been, long before your father had created humanity.

Lucifer frowned. So your brother was back. Sure you seemed so happy. You now had probably everything you wanted. Now with Sam back, Lucifer was fairly sure, you would go back to heaven and try to fix your relationship with Dean. He took a deep breath, his smile back on his face. He had to be happy for you, right? You were, even after everything you had done to him, one of his best friends by now, right? You wouldn’t just leave him now, to be with you family. You wouldn’t just forget him… right?

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” you asked concerned. Had something happened? You spared a glance at your phone if one of them had called you. But they would have prayed to you, if they would have needed you. “Oh nothing… just wandering around a bit. The… hunt… you know… just… uhm… good night, Faye.” he mumbled and turned around, walking away with large steps. You raised your eyebrows and looked at Sam worried. “Is he okay?” it took way more than 6 months to be able to read humans emotions and needs and it would take even longer if these humans were the Shurley’s. Sam huffed a laugh.

“A bit disappointed, jealous maybe. Apart from that, he is fine.” “Disappointed? Jealous?” you were confused. Have you done anything that had upset him? Why did you even care so much? Yeah, okay. He was something you could call a friend. But apart from that? He was a human, a hunter. He was your vessel. Why did you care? You felt the first raindrops on your skin and turned around worriedly. Lucifer was not really close to the motel. And he haven’t had a jacket, neither had he had an umbrella. Focusing your grace on him, you created a small circle around the human to make sure the rain would not reach him and he wouldn’t come back to the Motel soaked.

“Maybe,” Sam guessed and a big umbrella appeared above the both of you with a snap of his fingers, “and I can just say what I read in his mind…” “Sam, you didn’t read his mind?” “I did. And he is afraid you would leave him behind now. That you would come back with me to heaven, even though I am not very eager to go back there, and sort out your problems with our brother and totally forget about him. He really likes you, Faye.”

“He… likes me?” you frowned. You weren’t sure if you really liked this thought, that Lucifer liked you. It made your vessels heart pump faster and your stomach feel lighter and it felt like your vessel would be sick. “Yes, he does. And I know you like him too. I saw it. I can feel it.” “And why am I feeling sick?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I think this is for you to find out.” And with that, he disappeared and you fell back against the hood of your car. Surely you would talk to Gabriel tomorrow.

I am a liar I am no model figure I am a monster And I am ashamed Call me the devil My name’s what you prefer I come on shameless But I am ashamed I am ashamed

The next day, the boys got ready to head to the next city, you walked up to them, clearing your throat. “Gabriel. Could I… talk to you?” “We have to leave immediately” Michael said and you nodded. Gabriel smiled. “Tell ya what. You go and when you stop somewhere, text me. I bet she’ll bring me there.” “Sure, I will.” Michael nodded. Looking at Lucifer you noticed he avoided to look into your eyes. Your chest hurt and you sighed. Then Gabriel pulled away. “So, what’s wrong? Ol’ Luci broke your heart?” he winked playfully and you shifted uncomfortably. “Well… last night, Dean brought Sam and we were talking…” you began and started talking about Sam and how Lucifer appeared and that he had acted strange. You also mentioned that Sam told you, that both of you liked each other. “And when I asked, why I feel sick every time I see him, he told me, it’s for me to find out and vanished.” You ended and he nodded. “Would you… describe what you feel to me?” “My stomach feels strange. Light, like… something would… I don’t really know… tickle me? And I can’t focus, I get distracted…” “Feeling like you want to be near him?”

You nodded. “Okay. It’s pretty easy. You in love with my brother. And I know he loves you. What you feel is normal for humans.” You gulped. Love? “I don’t love him!” you yelled at the hunter and shot up, turning around facing the other way. “That can’t be. I am not some… stupid abortion. I am fairly sure my vessel is just sick or something.” Gabriel behind you grinned. “Sure. Tell that yourself. But I am fairly sure, you are…” “In love. Gabriel is right, Faye/N.” Sam’s voice sounded behind you and you heard Gabriel yelp. “God damnit, Sam,” he panted and as you turned around you saw Gabriel trying to bring as much distance between him and the other Archangel. “It can’t be. He can’t love me. I mean… I am a monster, the Devil, Satan…” you sighed and added, “And I bet humans have plenty more names for me.”

“You are. But that does not rule out that he can’t love you. Sure, I bet you did many bad things to him in the cage. But he can see through this. He sees that you’ve changed” Gabriel explained. “His soul is bright. As bright as your grace, I’m not really surprised, and when he saw you last night, his soul shined even brighter than before. And your grace as well. Probably you are meant to be.” Sam smiled. “After all I’ve done?” “He tries, Faye. To forgive. To forgive you and to love you, because he knows you are better than what you did in the past. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Even you,” Lucifer walked up behind you. He had heard the whole conversation. Originally he wanted to chase after the both of you, trying to talk to you, about last night… then he had heard you talking to Gabriel and… “Probably you are scared, because this is new for you. Probably you feel uncomfortable with this… all this. But believe me. No matter what, I’ll be there all along the way, no matter which you choose. I know you shielded me last night that I don’t get soaked on my way back. And that you always answer my prayers.” Your cheeks flushed and you turned just to notice how close he actually were already. Behind you, you heard a flutter of wings and noticed that Gabriel’s and Sam’s presence was gone. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was the hunter in front of you.

He stepped closer, slowly, giving you time to back up if you wanted to. But your body won’t move. And something inside you also refused to move. Seeing where this would lead. Slowly he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight embrace, just like one of the many you had shared in the past months. Yes, you were one hell of a cuddler, but you would never admit that. To ANYONE! Wrapping your arms around the hunter, you settled your head against his chest and heard his heartrate increase. He planted a light kiss into your red hairs and you smiled. Okay. You totally could get used to this closeness.

Pulling away as Michael cleared his throat he looked at his brother. “Ready to leave? Will you tag along, Faye?” he asked and Lucifer raised a questioning eyebrow, looking at you. You scratched your chin, thinking. Then you nodded. “I would love to.” And Michael turned, nodding back towards his car. Lucifer turned to follow but you stopped him, standing on your tiptoes and pressing a light kiss against his cheek. He blushed lightly. “Come on. Let’s go,” you gripped his hand and pulled him along. “I call backseat.” He yelled towards his brothers, waiting by the car and Gabriel cheered.

“Yeah. I get to ride shotgun.”

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