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shiny-jr · 21 hours ago

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▶ damnation [ the praetorian imp ]

– Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Characters: Ortho Shroud, Idia Shroud.

– Note: Here it is. I got lazy and did not check it after reading it multiple times before posting on Quotev. So hopefully there's no mistakes. At least not a lot of them. Now read. Happy reading.

– Pages: 43

– Not satisfied? Try looking here for the quiz to take it yourself and see where you end up banished!

The Raven Retainer | The Praetorian Imp | ???

Cold metal. There was a slight weight on the top of your skull, like the heft of a circlet. Carefully reaching up, your fingers touched thin cold metal, but as you tried to gingerly remove it, it failed to come off. Gentle tugs become harsh pulls, but that only serves to form an ache in your head as if you were pulling on your hair. Was it some sort of deadly contraption placed on prisoners? Was this how they wanted you to die? By crushing your skull with this thing?

“Wh– Where am I…?”

As you stumbled over your own two feet, you stopped yanking on the metal on top of your cranium. Fear took root as you absorbed your surroundings, dark and unfamiliar, those same qualities as the jail cell but this was unlike any prison. There were high walls with columns of gray and silver and gold, arched ceilings that were mixes of blues and grays and blacks which almost looked like painted murals that had been smeared across the surface. The floor was freezing like cement, but it was a smooth polished dark gray. With at least two floors, the second was accessible by some wide curved stairs which lead to more of the unknown. Your voice echoed in the space, leaving you to believe you were completely alone.

Skull-crushing could still be on the list of possible ways to die. Or would your punishment be isolation? Complete solitude was known to drive people insane. It didn’t even seem like a single soul alive was here, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing in the otherwise unsettling silence. White flowers from large vases wilted, their petals suspended gray and limp like hanged bodies.

On the floors you nearly slip and hit your head, but you manage to grab a nearby column that was as thick and sturdy as an old oak tree. That’s when you caught sight of your reflection in a nearby huge vase coated with a reflective exterior. You were staring wide-eyed at an unfamiliar figure, so odd that it took a moment to register that it was truly you.

A long black cloth with dark blue meander borders acted like a shirt or a robe, wrapping over one shoulder and extending in different directions to act like a small cloak and cover part of your legs. From your hips to your ankles covered by part of the top cloth, were a pair of black pants with more blue meander borders decorating it. They were like modern day sweatpants and an ancient palla all in one outfit, which you might’ve admired if you weren’t currently filled with confusion and dread. That metal object on your head was like a headpiece, with two long thin black protruding pieces slicked back that glowed a slight blue. Like a demon’s horns. Impossible to remove.

You resembled a demon with these horns, a devilish little imp. When your eyes adjusted, the reflective surface of the vase was painted. Painted black and browns, like the famous Athenian ceramic styles with figures of black and brick red. Except, each vase depicted a different scene. A powerful muscled figure standing proudly and holding a bolt of lightning; a baby strangling two large snakes; a young scrawny individual training beside a satyr and a pegasus.

“Get– these off…!”

An imp… you were an imp! Horror spread across your features, and the constant tugging to remove the metallic horn-like objects from your skull served pain stronger than a slap, to let you know that this was no dream. The judges had cast the final verdict, and as soon as you arrived you were destined to live as a miserable little creature to serve a higher being. A god.

A God of the Underworld, that wielded the deadliest of blue flames and kept all souls contained within his land of misery. A being of divinity who envied his family and others who dwelled high in the clouds of Mount Olympus, so he planned meticulously for years to lay siege to the mountain by freeing titans who would wreak havoc across the globe. Just as he sits on the throne where the God of Thunder and King of Gods once dwelled, the human son of that royal god arrived to face the dark god. That gloomy and dreary antagonistic entity had three main underlings, two of which were imps he regularly abused and tormented.

Maiming, wringing their necks, burning them in blue fire, those were just some of the torture those imps faced at the hands of their master. You felt yourself fall to your knees in a heap, like a rag doll, by the overwhelming emotions weighing in your mind and the now new burden of survival on your shoulders. This was hell, literally. So caught up with this newfound revelation, that you didn’t even notice the vases become blank as if by magic, wiping the depicted scenes off their surface. Hallucinations!

These must’ve been hallucinations formed by your unstable mind–– You were especially sure of it when it felt as if the ground vanished beneath your feet and were surrounded by dark mists. The dark and elegant place you had once stood in, was gone, and you plunged into a dark pit. A small plunge, then you fell on rocky uneven earth, leading you to fall flat on your face. There was hardly any light, and the ceiling was low. But, there was a blue flame, a small glow to which you opened your eyes to.

In front of you was a young boy that looked more akin to an android. Surely, another illusion, but your certainty wavered when it blinked at you. It blinked with its wide bright yellow eyes. Its eyes were like a light, as was its hair made of what seemed like real blue flames that was like a torch in this small cave. Its body was dark and metallic, part of those metals extending over the mouth like a mask. “There you are! I was beginning to wonder if you chickened out. Are you ready to put on a show? Remember, we gotta make it believable, the hero won’t be the only one there! We gotta trick all the humans!”

“W-What…?” You watched as the android-like being opened up a hologram in front of him, and on the screen of light were various shapes and figures of numerous creatures and people alike.

Whatever this thing was, its voice became monotone for a brief few seconds as its pointer finger landed on the image of a normal young boy. “Selecting… Loading… Finalizing appearance.” In an instant, a light flashed over him and he became that little boy in the hologram. “What do you think? Pretty convincing, huh? Now, your turn!”

If you squint, it was like peering through glass, because at some angles you could still see the android. However, you had absolutely no time to question it, or the situation at hand, or what he could’ve possibly meant, because the quiet was shattered by the squeal of what sounded like a horse.

Scrambling onto your feet, you approached the thin tiny opening where light filtered in, far too small to squeeze past but just big enough to peer through. It took a few spare seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light of the outside on this cloudy day, but you could make out high rocky cliffs as gray as the sky. And a white horse with wings, a pegasus, several meters away with two people. A young man in purple who looked quite ruffled and a muscular woman with auburn locks. You blanched upon recognizing the location.

The mighty hero was said to have fought his first life-threatening battle in a gorge, just like this one. It was a battle that nearly cost him his life. The human servant, obliged to serve the dark Lord of the Underworld, lured the hero to the gorge under the guise of an accident requiring urgent attention from a savior. The accident involved two children trapped under rubble where nearby the hydra lurked. And those two children? Were the two imps who also served the God of the Dead. One imp, you were one. And the other? Beside you now, which explained his matching metallic horns on his head. Meaning the hydra was near. Each breath you took increased in pace, on the very verge of hyperventilating––

“Help! Hurry! We can’t breathe!” The android boy cried for help, his little eyes peeking out of the same gap you were peering out of. Even his voice sounded different with whatever magic or technology he used to disguise himself. As the hero was running over and a crowd was forming a good distance away, your fellow imp looked at you and whispered in confusion, “Where’s your disguise? You can’t let her see––”

“Get me out…!! Please! Anyone! Someone!” You gasped, suddenly realizing just how small it was underneath this massive boulder. It was a miracle it hadn’t crashed down yet, killing you instantly like rock squishing an ant. But if the boulder didn’t kill you, then the hydra would. And that was what terrified you, causing you to scream for help.

The young boy’s eyes brightened up, looking a bit taken aback at your volume before he grinned. At least, he must’ve been grinning, judging by the way his eyes lit up. Pausing his very loud pleas, he whispered in amazement, “Wow, you’re really good at this acting!”

You were not acting. Especially not when help arrived in the form of the protagonist.

Instead of a man as depicted in the stories, it was a woman. A woman with innocent blue eyes and a kind voice that attempted to ease the worries of what she must’ve thought were two poor victims trapped beneath debris from a rock slide. Her eyes darted from what she saw as a normal little boy, then over to you. “It’s okay, I promise you’ll be alright.” Those eyes like the bright blue sky, softened with a hint of pity, maybe because you just looked that pitiful and on the verge of tears. Because you knew what monster would come lurking from the gorge just moments after you and the small horned being beside you are supposed to be saved.

Incredibly, with only a minimal amount of struggling, the hero heaved the boulder slowly above her head with her strong arms. Even though the rock was easily ten times her size, she raised it up high above her head, allowing you and the boy to scamper out of the pit. Managing a charming smile despite the tons of weight she was holding, she began, “How are you holding up? Are you injured or––”

Running. You were running. There was no way you would waste even a second here, and become a victim to that three-headed beast. It sounded like the hero had shouted something as you fled, and were followed by the android boy still in disguise as he called for you to wait up. Climbing, climbing, you took what looked like a thin path on a narrow cliff’s edge until you reached a hollow cavity hidden by shadows and boulders. By then you were out of breath, heaving, the ache in the back of your legs screaming from all that climbing and your lungs burning.

It seemed as if your torment was far from over. As your gaze traveled up, you stilled like a deer in the headlights. There, engraved within the very surface of the rugged stone walls, was a mausoleum that appeared to be left abandoned. Its smooth columns held up ledges, and at the very mouth of the entrance was a throne of pure stone occupied by a stranger. A stranger that looked eerily similar to the android that had been your company.

A figure who sat looking quite bored upon witnessing a mortal with inhuman strength. There were no words, but just by appearance alone you knew that this was the divine god that ruled the underworld. Fire, blue fire, ran from the top of his head down his spine and over thin shoulders. He was covered from neck to toe, completely in robes of dark blues and dull grays. Long sleeves with meander patterns extended to his wrist, and even his bony fingers were pitch black either due to the fabric of a glove or it was his actual skin, you couldn’t tell. The himation, the cloth that pooled on the floor at his feet, was pinned by a brooch resembling a skull.

Chilling yellow eyes leered down at you, his blue lips pulled back slightly in a grimace to reveal unnaturally sharp teeth on his pale face. Under his judgemental gaze, you felt like a miserable little roach scuttering about underfoot. “This isn’t a theater, and you’re not Dionysus, tryhard. That was major overkill. You screamed so much I heard you loud and clear from all the way up here, pretty sure all those humans heard you.”

In the blink of an eye, the android’s disguise was gone and he floated beside you. Placing a gentle but cold metallic hand on your back, he eagerly piped up, “I think they did really good, brother!” Brother? The god, the villain of this story, was his brother? Certainly the resemblance was there between the god and the being in the role of the imp. “Did you see the look on the hero’s face, Idia? By my estimations, the act fooled all mortal onlookers!”

Brother. But… that couldn’t be possible. Now that you were high up beside the god, Idia is what your partner in crime had called him, you were no longer so fearful of immediately becoming the hydra’s next meal. That wouldn’t happen, especially when according to the story, the lord of the underworld was the one who controlled the hydra. But now you were currently more concerned and fearful of the literal divine being sitting in front of you. The lord’s brothers were only supposed to be other gods from Mount Olympus, not a being that served him. What else was different about the story? More importantly, what would he do to you once he realized that you did not belong?

“Okay, fine. Stirring performance. Gets five stars from me. Definitely better than that uber cringe Oedipus play that came out a while back. Ortho, nice, you really played the cute little kid you gotta feel for, and you…” Idia directed his attention to you, and you froze in place under his gaze as he sized you up. “You actually weren’t that annoying this time. So congrats, I guess.” He added dismissively, apparently bored with this prelude as the crowd of humans down below continued to clap for the protagonist that had just saved two souls from the boulders in the gorge. Then, his gaze traveled over to the shadows, on a small cliff where a figure you hadn’t even noticed had been standing in silence. “And can’t forget you. A thumbs-up for the leading guy. Even a girl like her can’t resist you, huh, Meg? Talk about pretty privilege. It must be nice.”

Startled slightly by the new presence, you glanced over, spotting a slightly familiar face looking over the cliff. It was that man who had been accompanying the protagonist. A fairly handsome looking man with brown wavy hair, in a purple chiton and baggy loose gray pants. Again, there was that modern style mixed with ancient, making you question what time this took place in. But that question was so insignificant compared to the rest of your worries, that it would be pushed to the very back of your mind.

Looking from Meg to Idia, you compare the two faces. The God of the Underworld certainly wasn’t ugly, per say. In fact, he was ethereal in his own unique way. It was more of an acquired taste to appreciate the slight cheekbones, the aquiline nose, and the dim glow his fire blue hair provided in the dark space. He wasn’t exactly the beauty standard that could be compared to a warm summer day, but cold rainy nights could be just as beautiful.

“What are you staring at? Can you not? Seriously, don’t you know that’s rude?” The god muttered in a near sneer, his gaze unable to meet yours. In fact, he appeared to be looking anywhere but at you. Like he was nervous. But what would a god have to be nervous about? “When I leave home, I’d rather not be gawked at like some freak. I don’t need another reminder.”

Embarrassment caused heat to creep up your neck and into your cheeks as you lowered your head swiftly in an apologetic nod. With your eyes now glued to the ground, you didn’t lift your head even an inch. It was a mercy that he didn’t appear to be a wrathful god. Cruel, perhaps, but apparently not quick to violence. If he was the hostile type, the last thing you would probably see was his calming blue fire turn an angry red before your body became nothing but ashes in the wind and your soul joining the countless in the river of the dead. In an effort to appease him so he wouldn’t believe you were staring for the wrong reasons, you began hesitantly, in a nervous tone, “I-I’m sorry–– I was staring because, well, you talk as if y-you didn’t have that specific privilege either.”

Because you kept your head down, you failed to see all three of them, Ortho, Idia, and even Meg whipped his head around to stare with their own forms of shock as you snapped your mouth shut. There was no room to question what was said and done as a tense sort of silence settled in the air.

“Not funny, didn’t laugh. I had no idea the role of jester was just taken up. Last I knew, we still had that position available. Guess I was wrong.” He replied, unamused, and surprisingly not offended. At least he didn’t seem as if he was about to smite you for offending a god. It was jarring how lax he was, but he spoke with bitter sarcasm which actually hurt. “If I wanted a laugh, I’d probably watch you snivel and cry again, but honestly it’s way more pathetic than funny so there’s really no point in it unless I want to remind myself that there’s someone within a ten foot radius who’s giving me a run for my money in the pity department.”

“I don’t think any of you are pathetic or pitiful.” Ortho chimed in, throwing in his two cents on the matter. To which the god only glanced at. “Shall I search our records for the soul of a successful jester? I believe we may have a few that once served kings in past centuries?”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the motion while propping up his elbow on the armrest of the stone throne. “Nah, don’t bother, none of them are that funny anyways. It’s not worth the effort of fishing them out of the river of souls. Once we secure our win, then maybe I’ll consider it when the muses run out of jokes to tell.”

The muses? Did he plan to use those divine beings as servants once he conquered Mount Olympus?

“Uh, you can scram now? I know your soul is probably drawn to the company of other mortals like pretty-boy Meg over there and that schlemiel Heraclea.” Idia scoffed, looking a bit bitter. Although, maybe that was his natural expression along with the constant gloom that seemed to permanently linger around the divine being. He rolled his eyes, murmuring the word so it sounded like an insult, “Mortals.”

“T-Then… I’ll talk to Meg.” You kept your head down both out of respect and out of fear. Even if this supposed god was nowhere near as frightening in appearance as you had originally imagined, he was still a god capable of things you could never imagine. Better safe than sorry.

There was no chance to add anymore, since a hiss and the screams of terrified people filled the gorge. The massive serpent slithering out from its hidden den screeched as a storm brewed. The beast was probably more horrifying than any creature from nightmares you’ve dreamt, and thankfully you weren’t one of the many mortals down in the pit where they were within striking distance.

As all this unfolded multiple levels down in the pit, you cautiously made your way to the edge beside the human who served the god, seeing that the Lord of the Underworld had grown bored of the ridicule and decided watching the death match was worth his attention. Of course you knew how the battle would unfold. The hero would struggle against the massive scaled beast, before beheading it, only to be faced with numerous more heads that resulted from each slice. In the end, the warrior would prevail, beaten and bruised, but alive and hailed as a hero by the townsfolk. However, watching it all transpire in real time right before your very eyes, brought a newfound level of anxiety.

That hero attempted to regain her confidence, but her maneuvers were awkward and unsure when faced with her first real threat. Each movement was just barely enough to save her from the snapping jaws of the currently single-headed hydra. Each swing of her blade met its equally sharp fangs, and clashed like two swords. Watching the scene beside you, was that human, the character that was to be the love interest of the hero.

Meg watched with furrowed eyebrows and crossed arms, looking both anxious and displeased. So quiet that it was easy to miss over the sounds of people in chaos and the snarling of the hydra, he murmured, “I don’t know what your angle is, but it won’t work.”

Averting your attention away from the spectacle below, you slowly turned your head to the man. “I’m sorry…?” What was he talking about? Angle? There was no angle. Right now you were just trying to survive, nothing more, nothing less.

“Don’t play stupid, you sleazy imp. Complimenting him? Of all people? Even I’m not desperate enough to sweet-talk him like that. He’d see through the ruse anyways.” He hissed, glaring at you with those odd violet eyes that momentarily stopped at you, then his superior, back to the gorge. “Heraclea should’ve dropped that boulder on you to squish you like the insect you are.”

At that mental image you nearly flinched. When his gaze glanced over at that god and his younger brother, your eyes followed. The android boy was peering down at the gorge, clapping his hands excitedly as if he was spectating some game instead of a deadly match. The god was still on that cold stone throne, grinning as he lounged as if he were at home kicked back on a couch. When those otherworldly yellow eyes met yours and his grin faltered, you tensed up before diverting your attention back to the nail-biting action.

Anxiously you twiddle your thumbs. Heraclea… So that was the protagonist’s name. You shuddered to think of what would become of you should she one day think of you as an enemy and not as an innocent person to be saved. Were you someone to be saved? Yes. Innocent? No, not exactly. Although, if the Lord of the Underworld managed to successfully conquer Mount Olympus, wouldn’t that mean he would bring his servants to that safe haven in the clouds too? All the other gods would be imprisoned, even the mighty God of Thunder who currently ruled over the mountain. Mount Olympus was high in the clouds, it was practically heaven. You would be safe there.

Eventually, Idia would acquire titans, each with astounding elemental powers and then some. Each and every god had fallen in defeat against the titans, all save for the God of Thunder and his son who defeated them, now daughter in this case. And the only reason the hero had regained their strength to defeat the titans, was because his love, Meg, had gotten injured. If Meg was kept safe, then he wouldn’t have ever had his strength returned to him, meaning he never would’ve been able to stop the siege on Mount Olympus. Certainly it would allow you to be safe and alive, perhaps even served by gods and goddesses, so long as you heed Idia’s every word. And a piece of the key to that future, stood right beside you.

Clearing your throat, you nearly felt sick when you watched as Heraclea finally beheaded the beast, and the hydra’s body went limp against the relieved cheers of the townsfolk. The calm before the storm. At that moment, you struggled to find something to say. “Is… Is it because I didn’t compliment you…?” Why was he so harsh towards you? Actually, scratch that. It was obvious there were trust issues there, and he wouldn’t be too fond of one of the two that worked so closely with the god he sold his soul to. “Nevermind, that was stupid thing to ask.”

“Yeah, it was. What a dope.” When he rolled his eyes, that was probably the sign to leave. However, your feet remained firmly planted. Even as he continued his degrading comments, “It seems like every peloponnesian minute, you get more and more pathetic.” With a wave of his hand, he shooed you away with a scowl tugging on his lips. ��Why don’t you go join the watch party with them?”

It was quite morbid to see the Lord of the Underworld and his younger brother appear quite enthusiastic when the decapitated beast suddenly started moving and sprouted three heads within a single second. The duo were raving about something you couldn’t hear due to the wind and rain that had picked up. They remained under the hollowed stone, keeping them dry. However, Meg continued to stand beside you on the cliff, getting drenched with each drop.

Part of you considered just extending out your arm and pushing him over the cliff, but there was no use in that. Chances are, Heraclea would save him and Idia might not appreciate the fact that one of his best pawns was gone. And if Meg died from the fall, for what reason would the hero then later have to give up his powers if not to save the love interest? So, refraining, you instead unraveled part of the cloth around yourself to extend over his head like an umbrella.

“... Thanks.” The thank you was hesitant as he eyed you carefully, but at least he had the decency to be grateful. By now, it appeared as if the hydra had been slayed by falling rubble along with the hero, but you knew better. Without even looking at you, Meg repeated, “Like I said before, I don’t know what you're up to, but keep me out of it.”

“I’m just… trying to spare myself is all.” Your response held a much deeper meaning than he, or anyone else in this world, could ever know. To him, it just seemed like you meant standing by him to distance yourself from the god when the hydra lay buried and still while Heraclea emerged bruised but alive to a rapturous applause from the cheering far below.

You swore you saw the god’s blue hair spark red for a moment, the flames appearing to wave a little faster but he didn’t make any motion to grab and burn anything with his bare hands. All he did was stand up and stalk off, and you were in no way tempted to elicit a worser reaction from him. Not when Ortho was unnerving you by how he stood still, his brows furrowed in disappointment with a tilt of his head as he watched the protagonist get showered in praise and thanks. Neither of them would you approach, even as a dark mist surrounding the ledge. When it was gone, you and the others were back in those dark hallowed halls from where you first arrived.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Staring at the ceiling. It felt as if you had barely slept, and you had no sense of the time as it was so dark in the underworld. All you wanted to do was sleep, sleep and never wake up to avoid this endless nightmare but all you could do was disassociate. And yet, you couldn’t even be granted that small mercy of sleep. A coma would be a blessing right about now. However, all you could do was get lost in the painted and carved shapes and swirls, silently staring up blankly.

When you imagined the possibility of perhaps achieving paradise on Mount Olympus by assisting the Lord of Underworld receive an ending of his own, you had not accounted for just how long that would take. How long each venture and battle would add to each hour, how the days began to bleed together and feel like a blur. Especially with each task done, you came no closer to derailing Heraclea off her fast-speed track towards a good ending.

The Erymanthian Boar was a wild and tameless beast that became the main dish of a feast when it was shot by a bow and promptly cooked on a spit. The Nemean Lion was like a kitten compared to the hero’s strength, even its claws famed for breaking the sharpest sword were no match. The Stymphalian Birds were caught and caged like canaries by the protagonist on her pegasus. Nothing, not a single beast or creature alive stood a chance against Heraclea. You witnessed these defeats firsthand, as you and Ortho were often charged with freeing whatever beast was to be the next challenge in a setting like a city waiting to be saved by the famed woman.

And after each loss, you saw the same thing. Idia would remove a piece off a large board. Each piece was placed strategically, carved to reflect the appearance of each monster he controlled and wished to obtain. You watched as he flicked off the Erymanthian Boar, slapped off the Nemean Lion, melted the Stymphalian Bird to a puddle. You feared meeting a fate like that, at the protagonist or antagonist’s hands––

“Hey!! Guess what?”

You hardly even moved, you didn’t even make a squeak, all you did was flinch when the face of the android appeared above you. After the first dozen or so times he spooked you by just magically appearing like a ghostly apparition, it stopped scaring you so much. Especially because Ortho didn’t want you dead. For whatever reason, he seemed strangely fond of you, perhaps because he thought that you were whoever you replaced as the role of his partner in crime. Besides, the one he wanted dead was the hero, he and his brother have made that much clear.

“No––”

“Meg recruited new pawns for Idia to use! Isn’t that exciting? And these three are super strong! There’s the Minotaur, Miss Stheno, and a Griffin! We think that the reason the hero has been winning all this time is because she’s only faced one enemy at a time. This is a game-changer, trust me!” Ortho took your hands in his cold metallic ones, his eyes shining as he whispered hopefully, “We’re so close, I can feel it…! Soon, we’re gonna be able to repay everything Idia ever did for us, by giving him Mount Olympus. I’ll be able to repay him for creating me, and you’ll be able to repay him for reviving you!”

That… was new. In all your time here, you had never once heard anyone mention a creation and revival. There was no way you could just up and ask. You were supposed to know this, and play the part. While Ortho was cheerful and bright, there was this ominous side of him and glint in his eyes. Along with his mechanical parts that pointed to the obvious, what he had just said might’ve confirmed it, that he was in no shape, way, or form, human.

“Yeah… I’m looking forward to it.” By now you knew the drill. Whenever Idia was plotting to use a new pawn, you and Ortho would have to go over details including where to release the enemies in a setting to wreck the most havoc and somewhere accessible to the protagonist. Sitting up slowly from the bed, you slid your hands out of his and used your palms to support yourself on the mattress. These next words, you would have to choose carefully. “Olympus for all that he’s done for us…”

Ortho paused when he held up your bag, and he slowly tilted his head. He did it in a way that creeped you out, with those wide yellow eyes no longer sparkling so brightly. “Oh, I mean, what he’s done for me. You can do this and I’ll forgive you for lying to me.”

You stopped breathing and your limbs froze in place. You were staring down at the young boy for what felt like a prolonged hour in silence as the air became thick with tension, but it was only a few seconds. It took a few more seconds for you to breathe, to swallow the knot caught in your throat which formed a bubbling pit of dread boiling within your stomach about to make you sick. “W-What…?”

“Your heart rate has increased significantly, more so than usual. Ever since the hydra, I’ve noticed your vitals seem off. Of course, you have always been the nervous one, always panicking, but it seems more extreme now. So I’ve conducted some scans without your notice, and I’ve made an interesting discovery. The details within your current profile do not match the previously saved one.” With each word you could only stare in horror. How long has he known? Has he told anyone else? What would he do with this information now? What would Idia do if he knew? Each and every word was like a brick being added to a scale, tipping the balance further until you felt as if your very heart would stop. “It’s the weirdest thing. It’s almost as if you’re a completely different person.”

At that moment you just wanted to vanish, disappear like gray smoke, because you’re certain that even the Lord of the Underworld’s lackey brother can give you a crueler ending than being swallowed whole by the hydra or seen as a foe in the eyes of the hero.

Ortho remained still, his head still tilted. There was no blinking, he didn’t even breathe. The voice that came from him was serious but quiet, “Do you want to be honest to me now? We were supposed to be a team.”

The horns. Those cursed metallic horns, the one on his head and the matching pair on yours, a telltale sign that you were supposed to be a duo. Somehow your hands found their way to your skull, to the base of the horns. No matter what you did, yanking, sawing, thumping them against the hard floors, nothing ever affected them when you attempted to remove them during lonely nights.

“Breathe.” Ortho whispered, his eyes softening and brows furrowing slightly, as if he were looking at a panicked little beast fearfully curled up in a corner. You hadn’t even noticed you were nearly hyperventilating until he said something. You recognized that look, one of pity. Why was it that you were so familiar and used to that look, but the one time you needed it during the trial, you were shown none? “If I wanted you gone, we wouldn’t be talking right now, you know that, right? You aren’t them, and I don’t understand it, but… you do good work. Help me understand you, and I’ll help you understand us. Okay?”

Broken. You broke, like a dam cracking and crumbling, the bricks swept away in a rushing torrent of words and feeble attempts at explanation. It was clear that he had been expecting some resistance of some kind, but he received none. You recounted everything, from your trial to now, the fear you’ve felt, your nightmares, the desperation to avoid a horrible end that you were destined to receive. Not divulging into the details, not mentioning the fact that this was like a story you knew. And finally, after everything was said, you wiped your teary eyes as you breathed the final words. “Please–– don’t tell anyone. N-No one can know. I’ll do what you want, I’ll help you get your brother to Olympus…! Please, all I want is peace too…”

Your fellow imp finally blinked, surprised and utterly taken aback by your rapid explanation and plea for secrecy. For a long moment, Ortho appears to scrutinize you. Who knew what was going on in that mechanical mind of his, what things he was realizing that were unseen by human eyes? Finally, he sat beside you. Well, almost, since he floated in the air in front of you, sitting on nothing but empty space. “He doesn’t want peace. That’s boring.”

Swinging his legs lightly, he removed the metallic mouthpiece that concealed the lower half of his face. You saw… nothing out of the ordinary. He looked so much like a real boy that it was uncanny, save for the pointed teeth that were very much like Idia’s.

Clearing your throat, you proceeded, “I-I don’t care, as long as I’m safe.”

“I like it better when you’re honest.” Placing the metal mouthpiece on his lap, he continued to observe you before he gave you a smile. A real smile. Somberly he proceeded, “Idia created me with his own two hands, because his biological family alienated him. Every other god lives in those high mountains, where they’re so close to the sun’s warmth and have an abundance of treasures! They never work, never worry… but not my brother. They forced him to live alone in this cold realm, to take on the responsibility of lording over the dead for all of eternity. So, eventually he brought me to life in this metal body. Then he chose a human soul to revive just so I wouldn’t be lonely either. That human soul was you, or my friend before you, at least. But I think I like you better.”

“You… You do?”

“Yeah! I think my brother picked a really bad human soul. The one you replaced was scared all the time, like you, but they never got the job done right. I like you, because even when you’re obviously scared, you do what you have to, and you do it right.” His blunt and casual manner of speaking, combined with the fact that he was still swinging his legs as he floated off the floor, reminded you that he really was a child. Or at least, molded to be like a child. “Don’t worry, I won’t speak a word about it to my brother. This doesn’t affect his plans anyways. As long as you pinky promise you won’t lie to me anymore, and you’ll still help!”

When he held out a little pinky, you blinked slowly. Such a childish thing, a pinky promise, but your life would hang on the balance between two small interlocked bones. Your life, on nothing but a promise. Did you really have a choice in the matter? “You swear you won’t tell anyone…??”

“I swear! We Shrouds always uphold our bargain. Imp’s honor!” His beaming smile could light up this entire dreary realm as you slowly wrapped your pinky around his and shook hands.

“But… imps aren’t very honorable––”

“Yeah, we are! I.M.P.– information management praetorians. We have to be honest, especially to each other, or how else will our team work?” Ortho argued, frowning lightly at the thought of being considered a liar. “At least, we have to be honest to our own. When it comes to mortals that are not you or Meg, who cares?” He placed that metallic mouthpiece back on that covered the lower portion of his face, and he stood up from his chair of air. “Come on, let’s start walking. On the way, you can tell me something interesting that I don’t know. I bet your world is so different! Tell me about it, please?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

This was your punishment, not from fate or the very hands that brought down the gavel then declared you were to be banished and die, but by Ortho. Ortho’s cruel little hands, who had tricked you into switching responsibilities for the day. Apparently he was still bitter that you had lied to him in previous encounters. What he hadn’t told you was that his main task for the day was to accompany the Lord of the Underworld across the river of souls and to the mortal realm.

So now here you were, seated so awkwardly and stiffly on the small thin boat, nervously watching the grotesque faces of the dead as their souls were carried by the currents. You could only pray that the boat didn’t tip over, because who knew what would happen to your mortal body if it fell in? It was likely mentioned in the story, but you couldn’t recall exactly what it was.

Idia appeared relatively unbothered, standing at the very edge of the boat as a masked being made of metals and dark robes moved mechanically. The mechanical charon rowed the vessel to the other side of the river, and quickly you grew bored of their slow and repetitive movements. So you turned your gaze to Idia. You couldn’t see his face, since his back was to you. All you could see was his glowing mane of blue flames waving lightly with the cold lifeless air. Abruptly, he turned his head and you saw his side profile. Those chilling unnatural yellow eyes glanced at you with a dull expression on his face, possibly sensing your stare, you quickly averted your gaze away. But it was too late, he had seen it.

“What is your deal? You have a major staring problem, imp.”

“N-Nothing, nothing!” Rapidly shaking your head, you looked for an excuse, any excuse. Anything to save you from this embarrassment, or avoid the risk of angering him. You saw his anger in brief sporadic moments, but you did not want to be the source of those frustrations. Not after you saw how he burned those pawns on that beloved board of his. “I was just wondering… what exactly are we going to do in the mortal realm?” And more importantly, how chaotic would things get?

“Tsk. Just monitor that lamebrain hero. Everyone like that has a weak spot. I mean, Prometheus and Epimetheus messed around with Pandora and the box thing, a bunch of the gods on Olympus got too involved in the Trojan War and in the end the Trojans bet on the wrong horse. All we gotta do is find her Achilles’ heel so to speak.”

It was odd how in the original story, The Lord of the Underworld never quite acknowledged most of the gods. Except for the God of Thunder, who he held a clear distaste for. However, Idia spoke as if he knew all of them personally, which would make sense. But whenever he said their names, he frowned and seemed as if he weren’t fond of any of them.

Seeing him roll his eyes, you glance at the charon who moved like a puppet, then back at the god. The silence was only temporary. Tucking your knees to your chest as you remain seated, you watch him as he continues to gaze out over the gray and lifeless realm that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Idia seemed like the solitary type, and if what Ortho said was true, than Idia would be alone. Clearing your throat, you inquired softly, “The Trojan War… which gods were involved in that?”

Upon hearing the inquiry, he paused but remained still. How many gods and humans and other beings had he known in his long immortal life? Probably too many to count. Idia remained looking away, as if he hadn’t even heard your question, but he answered, “Not that it really matters, but too many. To call the entire ordeal messy would be a major understatement.”

It sounded like one big trashy reality television show, except much more deadlier and the stakes were high. And yet, if his words were the truth, then he may have not had any part in the conflict. “And you didn’t get involved?”

“Why would I? I have zero interest in the stupid pointless affairs of mortals.” Okay, so he was not a fan of mortals waging war or causing conflicts. That was good to know. “Whenever they start fighting, more of them end up down there, and it’s annoying. The only bright side of it is that I don’t have to listen to all their arguing on Olympus.”

Carefully, you proceeded to ask, “So… you don’t like them? The other gods, I mean. Can you stand them…?”

“I can’t stand any of those self-important deadbeats.” A deep frown dug into his lips, clear hatred shining in those tired eyes. Honestly, you couldn’t even blame him. You would be equally bitter about practically being left to rot, to carry a burden for eternity all while everyone else who was supposed to stand beside you went to live lavishly in the clouds without a single care in the world, while their only worries were which mortals to support and pit against another like watching dogfights.

In a way, it felt like how the judges back in your home cast their judgment from aloft, and you were left alone to suffer for it. Unsure of what possessed you, you managed to ask, “What would you change? I mean, if you could punish them for wronging you, what would you do?”

Leaning against the curved end of the boat, he situated his elbow atop the curve and propped up his head on his cheek. For a long moment he was quiet, gazing at you with those striking yellow eyes. Tired, he looked tired. And after centuries, thousands of years doing his work, who wouldn’t be? “Make them suffer for the rest of eternity, just as they damned me to hell. Chains would be a pretty good start, to make them feel a tiny fraction of how it felt to be trapped. They killed that little smidge of hope I had a long long time ago, so I’ll be fair and return the favor by killing their little hero Heraclea.”

Considering his response, you nod slowly. While morbid, his feelings felt justified. Had anyone else been in his position, they likely would’ve gone insane. Maybe Idia wasn’t completely sane in the first place, considering how alone he had been until the creation of Ortho and supposed revival of the person you replaced. What sane person would create a family and a friend for himself, just to try and end their loneliness?

“You just focus your puny efforts on helping me change the world. When the titans are freed, everything will change. You can take that as gospel, or whatever.”

He returned his sights ahead over the river of souls, you suddenly remember what happens if a mortal falls into the murky depths. Their body is quickly drained of life, draining them like a grape dried to a prune, leaving nothing but a wrinkled corpse if the person stays in for too long. It’s how the protagonist nearly met their end, and where the god before you is supposed to become trapped in complete darkness.

You watched, both intimidated and captivated as a wide toothy grin broke out on his face like he thought of something funny. He scoffed, proceeding with his words in quick succession, almost breaking out into a laugh. “Those unsuspecting dolts have spent so much time up in the clouds that the air pressure must’ve literally dimmed their common sense and cut off the oxygen from their brains. They won’t even see us coming! Ah––” Freezing, his smile dropped instantly as he noticed your shock and he realized that he was allowing himself to speak more freely. Instantly he cut himself off, lowering his volume back down a few notches. Seemingly embarrassed, he partially covered his blue lips with the sleeves of his robes. “Uh… That… What I mean to say is… unlike them, I actually take others into account. One god won’t take up space on that mountain, there’s room for Ortho and a mortal too. To live however you want.”

That expression he had made, was it possible he was becoming more accustomed to you? Wait, no, he was just warming up to the role you played. Ortho had mentioned that you naturally acted just like the imp you had replaced. The Lord of the Underworld was just growing accustomed to the presence of the mortal soul of what he thought was the human he picked to become his lackey. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. The god would never care for a mortal, not when he used the two humans closest to him, yourself and Meg, as pawns in a game to defeat the human hero, and the result without that hero would be mass casualties. As long as it wasn’t you being tormented by the beasts Idia controlled or even the titans that would soon be free, you didn’t care. Fate was dangling paradise atop a mountain behind golden gates right in front of you, and you just had to survive long enough to make it there. If only it were that easy…

“However I want…”

“However you want,” Idia repeated, as the boat stopped and the charon froze in place at a rickety old pier. Just ahead on land was a cavern with the slightest bit of sunlight flowing through it. A possible path to the mortal realm? “Cause I don’t really care what you do then. Right now, hurry it up.”

Carefully standing, you immediately jumped off the rocking boat, following the ominous divine being who ruled over the dead. Cautious to keep some distance so as to not be burned by his hair, you trail behind him. “... So… what exactly do I have to do this time…?” You prayed for an easy task, wanting to at least be out of a few mile radius distance from the hero.

“You? Oh, nothing. A wimpy little imp like you wouldn’t survive if you got too close to that hero. And really, I don’t feel like going through the effort of finding another mortal to work for me. Not when you’re useful enough, I suppose. At least you’re better than the last imp.” He practically floated across the ground, the smoke following at his heels with every step he took.

At least you’re better than the last imp. When you heard those words, you froze in place, your feet stuck to the stairs. It felt as if your very heart had stopped, and your breathing had even come to a halt. There… weren’t any predecessor imps in the story, were there? No–– you would’ve remembered such a crucial detail. So that could only mean that he knew. Somehow he knew––

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His voice broke the silence, as he saw your foot inch back, as if wanting to escape back towards the river of souls. Maybe if you hijacked the boat, forced the charon to take you somewhere far far away from here. To another portal you could use to escape into the mortal realm, anywhere but here with him. The god that ruled over the dead could see the fear clear in your eyes. His gaze was cold, and he was frowning. “Thinking of ending it all here?”

Staring into his eyes, gazing right at him, was utterly terrifying now that you didn’t know whether he considered you friend or foe. In the stories The Lord of the Underworld practically tortured his imps for sport, what if he did the same to you? You were no brother to him, you weren’t even the original soul he handpicked! You only moved your head slightly, in the subtlest nod. You didn’t want to die, but a quick and painless death by your own hand would be a mercy when compared to the horrors those pale boney hands of him would wrought.

“Pfft––” A toothy grin spread on his blue lips. The Lord of the Underworld actually smiled, and nearly laughed at your blunt response. He shrugged at your notion, and responded, “You’re not special. Get over it. Don’t even try to kill yourself, because I'll drag you straight out of the river and back here in front of me.”

That was… extremely unnerving. As scary as death was and as much as you wished to avoid it at any costs, it didn’t appear as if it would become some sort of sweet release. Not until he found you useless. You couldn’t help but notice that he spoke much more… curtly than usual, as if ticked off by something.

By some miracle you managed to swallow your fear. Perhaps it was because he found you amusing that he allowed you a few more seconds of life, or maybe it was because he really had some kind of plan in mind for you. Which was worse? Spending your last seconds agonizing over how he would end you, or believe he may kill you only to put you through tasks that would make you long for death. Meekly you murmur, “N-Normal people don’t say that––”

“I’m not a normal person, am I?” When he rolled his head to look at you, you’re reminded once again that he wasn’t like you at all. Far from it. Piercing yellow eyes, blue lips, a mane of fire, these were just the physical traits. Idia was a god, older than you could possibly comprehend, and perhaps wiser than he let on. Despite his blunt and modern way of speaking combined with his lax mannerisms, he was still the Lord of the Underworld. And he could snuff you out with a snap of his fingers.

Whenever he looked at you a certain way, like he was studying you, reading your very soul, it made a chill travel down your spine and formed a sensation in your stomach that caused you to feel like hurling. You swallowed again, forcing yourself to avoid getting sick right then and there. You didn’t know what he was seeing when he looked at you, and frankly, it was probably best not to know. “If you think I’m a poor excuse for a god, you can say it, you know.”

Puzzled by the thought that he believed that was your opinion of him, you furrowed your brows, mentally recalling any recent memories that could’ve prompted him to think so. However, none came to mind. You didn’t know whether to reply, or let him continue. Which would bring about punishment. “I never ever thought that…!”

“Huh…” Standing with his hands at his sides, his shoulders slightly hunched as he faced away from you. There were a few spare moments of a tense awkward silence before he continued, “Or… did you think I was stupid? I knew the whole time. You think I wouldn’t recognize my own imp? Even the one I didn’t really give a damn about?”

All you could do was remain still, as still as a statue. Never had you ever been this frightened before, not when coming so close to the overpowered hero with superhuman strength, or when you were underneath a boulder in the hydra’s gorge, or even when you were tasked with freeing multiple creatures of nightmares beside Ortho. Because yes, while all those beings and myths could’ve caused your demise in various horrendous and grotesque ways, Idia was on a different level. If he so wished, he could revive you and kill you again and again, trapping you in a continuous cycle of death and misery for all time.

Lifting one hand where small whirls of weak smoke swirled at his bony fingertip, the small cloud resembled the gray murky depths of the river of souls where the dead were the waves on the surface. He continued, while brooding, “When I plucked the original out of the river and revived them, I did it for one reason and one reason only. For Ortho, to keep him company. I didn’t need anyone trying to annoy me, and the prototype was no particular help, you’re more like deadweight since Ortho can do your tasks all on his own. But he wanted a friend, and who am I to deny it? I chose the original’s soul for flat and basic little traits. A dim, sorry, subservient little mortal. Except…”

When he glanced over his shoulder at you, his yellow eyes glowed dimly and you couldn’t discern his expression due to how the angle concealed the lower half of his face. Those eyes alone made you want to jump right into the river of souls, but you didn’t want to test the theory if he actually forcefully dragged you out of certain doom. What was fairly certain was that the Lord of Underworld could most definitely create fates worse than anything the judges could’ve conjured up just for you. The only thing you could do was pray that he would be merciful. “Please, believe me, I didn’t want to lie to you––!”

“pLeAsE, bELiEvE mE, i DiDn’T wAnT tO LiE tO yOu.” Idia openly mocked you, even copying the way you would anxiously grip your hands together as if in a thoughtful prayer begging for mercy. “But you did! Lucky for you, I didn’t care for the original. And, it’s a hassle getting a new imp so you got stuck with me, just your luck. Poor sorry little imp, I almost feel bad for you. Almost. Not really though.”

He… didn’t care? Was this mercy? Or some odd form of it? He made no movements to end you right then and there, not seeming to be debating it.

“I’m not stupid.” He clarified with a scowl, and that’s what made you realize that he was cross because you underestimated his intellect. Were gods truly so prideful? Maybe. It seemed so. And in the grand scheme of things, maybe he didn’t care because this didn’t affect his plans in the slightest. Why would a powerful immortal who rules over the dead’s domain, care for a human? “I don’t care who you really are, as long as you stick to the script and make Ortho happy. Got it? If you do what you're told, you’ll live.”

“O-Oh…” That wasn’t even half as much as painful of a punishment as you expected it to be. Just don’t underestimate him for his pride’s sake, and keep a solid friendship with Ortho. Noted. Those you could definitely do. “Um, thank you so so so much for sparing me your, uh… your most lugubriousness…?”

His nose crinkled and he frowned at the horrid attempt at a title. “Ew, stop that, don’t be weird. I’m not gonna kill you, that should be obvious even to someone stupid. And don’t even think of calling me Lord, that’s complete overkill. This isn’t the Dark Ages. Just use my name, it’s not like I’m gonna smite you for it. Just Idia Shroud.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It was said that there were five stages of grief, and you had experienced all five since arriving. From the tiny voice in the back of your mind denying the reality of the situation, to the current state of acceptance to which you had no choice but to arrive at. With each passing night as you watched the planets in the sky like stars grow closer and closer to aligning, it counted down like the doomsday clock to your demise. If Heraclea didn’t lose by then, you would fail. Idia would never claim Mount Olympus, and you’d meet a terrible end.

As you stared up at the planets, seeing they were so close to a perfect straight line, you became lost in thought. It became common now, where you would stare off into space, wondering if death would come to claim you and fearing in what form it may come, only to be forcefully brought back from that eternal slumber should Idia continue to breathe. Going over constant plans and ideas, that led to deadends. Because the hero was destined to win, she had the smarts and strength to do any feat once thought impossible. The only hope brought you back to the original plan, keep Meg safe once Idia struck a deal with Heraclea in which the love interest’s safety hangs in the balance.

That was the only way.

“Are you even listening?” Ortho inquired, slightly annoyed that you had just ignored everything he was saying. Hovering off the ground, he floated upwards a bit to be in your line of vision as your head remained tilted up to the night sky. The artificially generated blue flames on his hair swayed lightly, casting a gentle blue glow and the shadows outlined his metallic horns. Tilting his head, he stared at your eyes filled with despair just staring off into nothingness. “Helloooo? Come on, there’s no time for mental breakdowns!”

When he waved a hand in front of your nose, you blinked, snapping out of that despondent daze as you slowly turned your attention to the young boy in front of you. Seeing his face that looked similar to Idia was not doing anything to help your current state. “H-Huh…?”

How did he even find you at one of Idia’s temples in the human realm? You had no idea. It was the easiest place to get to, considering all of the Lord of the Underworld’s mortal-made temples were accessible through the doors of his abode. Not that there were many of the temples, and the majority of them were abandoned inside the hollow cavities or caverns they were constructed in.

Ortho furrowed his eyebrows, as he floated back down towards the earth, now only hovering a few spare inches off of the ground. Whatever he was talking about before you began paying attention, was clearly no longer the topic of the conversation as he gazed at you quizzically. “What were you thinking about?”

Was it really worth telling him? Ortho had constantly insisted that you were supposed to be working as a team, and for a while, you had. While he was an android boy, he was incredibly dependable. He possessed abilities and skills you couldn’t even dream of achieving, and if anyone could help you while Idia dealt with leading the titans, it would be Ortho. However, who’s to say that you wouldn’t immediately be tossed to the side once you served this greater purpose as a step to assist the Lord of the Underworld in reaching the peak?

Your fellow imp gazed at you, blinking those wide yellow eyes that appeared so innocent. But you knew what Ortho was capable of, what he was willing to do for his elder brother. Lie, cheat, trick, murder–– and that was only scratching the surface. Well, maybe not outright lying, because he seemed so adamantly against it. “You can tell me. We’re friends, right? I’ve never had a real friend before, besides my brother, but friends are supposed to trust each other, right?” Gravity pulled him down, until he was right beside you, seated on a crumbling fallen column that was sideways on the floor. Small fingers reached for your long sleeve, slowly gripping it.

“Right…” You exhaled, still debating whether this was a good idea or not. Part of you worried if he could even detect if you were lying, and so you decided it better not to risk it. At the worst, you’d be discarded and had to survive in an apocalyptic-like world once the titans were freed, but in the best case scenario, you would actually manage to succeed in assisting the antagonist gain a happy ending. The latter of which would effectively grant you a good ending as well. “T-These plans you’ve been making with Idia haven’t exactly been working, but… I think I know how this’ll play out in the end. Everything that’s happening now is almost exactly like a story I knew from my home.”

“It is?” He brightened up, looking downright giddy as he jumped a few inches on nothing but air. Those wide yellow eyes of his that glowed like headlights, peered at you intensely as he exclaimed, “And you never told me! Well, how does it end? We could use this to our advantage in defeating the hero! With your help, we can’t possibly lose! This came at a perfect time, just as we were running out of pawns to use.”

With your hand so close to your mouth, you were debating whether to bite your nails out of pure anxiety or just clamp your fingers over your lips to shut yourself up. Instead, you opted to dig your nails into your palm and forced yourself to open your mouth. The words came out slow, like the painfully laggard pace of dripping water. “We’re supposed to lose…I’ve t-thought of everything to try and stop this story from dragging on for this long, but we keep underestimating Heraclea. That’s the issue. We forget that even though she’s mortal, she still has part of the strength she would have if she were still a goddess. So there’s no beating her, at least not fairly…”

Ortho leaned closer, hanging onto every single word. His little metal hands continued to cling to your sleeves. A silence lingered for a moment as he processed your words. “Okay… so we have to cheat…? I dunno…”

“Not exactly. We’re just… leveling the playing field. Yeah… That’s all we’re doing.” Nodding slowly, as if trying to convince yourself of this. Despite the Lord of the Underworld’s uncaring demeanor and your fellow imp’s rather cruel ways, they were both honest. Idia kept his word, and Ortho told truths. “Right before the titans will be freed, the Lord of the Underworld discovers that the hero’s weakness isn’t a physical one, it’s an emotional one. That… weakness is Meg. So the Lord of the Underworld pretends to kidnap the love interest, and offers a deal to the hero. I-If the hero agrees to give up their strength for twenty-four hours, Meg will be freed.”

Like a lightbulb going off in his head, his blue fire hair sparked for a moment as he straightened up and exclaimed, “That would work! But, wait a minute, if that’s the real story, then what happens so we lost…?”

“I was just getting to that.” You assured him, your voice remaining quiet as if afraid of being overheard by any living creature in the vicinity. The temple was abandoned, and they were the only two living things for miles. “T-The hero agrees to the deal, under one condition. If their loved one is hurt, then the deal is off.”

It clicked in his mind as he nodded in understanding. “Ohhhhhh…” The cogs turned in his mind, weighing the meaning of your words and what was supposed to happen. “You mean Meg dies…? That’s okay!”

Your jaw dropped at the mirth in the android boy’s tone. Wasn’t he supposed to be upset? Saddened? Did he not care at all for the human they occasionally worked with? It was true, half the time he was away on business trying to persuade other beasts to submit to Idia. “W-What? I thought–– I thought you would care!”

“Not really. It’s not really a secret that Meg doesn’t care about me or Idia! He’s kinda mean to me, actually…” He sighed, averting his gaze as he murmured, “Mortals are so complicated. I can’t understand them, and my brother says they’re all the same! Well, almost all of them. I get you, and Idia actually likes your company. Which is saying something, because he can’t stand any of the mortals he’s ever spoken to. It’s actually kinda concerning because all he talks about is you and how sad and miserable you are, but he doesn’t mean it in a hateful way. He just says it’s annoying how you get stuck in people’s heads. But we’re getting off track.”

Wait, wait, no, go back on that track. Why was Idia tolerating your company? Not that it was a bad thing, as it allowed you to live longer than most folk who had ever encountered him. It was a tad worrisome, and you couldn’t help but visibly grimace.

“All we need to do is make sure Meg lives and remains without a scratch for those twenty-four hours, right? That’s easy enough! We can knock him out cold or have Cerberus watch over him. Either way, with us on watch, it won’t really matter! We’ll be free!”

You watch him yell with glee as he jumps high into the air, until he is several stories in the sky as he laughs. What a sight this would have been to any other mortal nearby, who may have had the misfortune of stumbling across two imps at the abandoned shrine of their master. When he began to plummet back to earth instead of gracefully floating back down, you nearly stumbled on your own two feet with your arms automatically outstretched to try and catch him.

Just before you could trip and fall flat on your face, his hands caught your sleeve and prevented you from taking a nasty fall. He remained hovering off the ground, as per usual. Those brilliant blinding eyes gazed at yours as he exclaimed, “We’ll finally be happy! Idia and me, and now you! We can make history, you’ll be the first mortal to ever live on Mount Olympus! Isn’t that great? Of course, if the air pressure becomes an issue affecting your breathing pattern, I’m sure Idia would be glad to come up with a solution. He really liked your company when you two went to observe our target, you know. He won’t admit it, but I think you being there helped him calm down when Heraclea stopped the eruption at the volcano.”

“Uh, well––”

“Oh! You know what I want to do as soon as we get to Olympus?” Times like these when he jumped from topic to topic so eagerly, and remained so high in spirits is what reminded you that he was supposed to be child-like. It was easy to see him as an innocent youth, if you ignored the disturbing things he said every now and then. “I heard that Hermes has some really cool accessories. We should take them! And don’t forget Ares! I’ve always wanted to see his helmet and hold the legendary sword he wields! There’s so many things we can do once we’re up there, and we’ll have all the time in the world! And––”

All you could think of as your fellow imp blabbered on and on about relics he wished to steal from other gods and how he planned to spend his time having fun with his brother and yourself, was that you really just put your entire existence in his little metal hands. Only one sentence ran through your mind as you stared slack-jawed at him.

I’m going to fucking die…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

They were right on track towards the implosion of destined failure, but all it would take would be one sharp turn, and unexpected change, to send them veering off course. It was surprisingly easy for Ortho to convince Idia to send out Meg on a quest to find Heraclea’s weakness. Although you knew the answer already, and by extension so did Ortho, Idia did not. And you were not about to tell him your whole life story and how you knew details that others should not know of this world and those living in it.

Now it was only a matter of waiting, waiting for the confirmation to arrive that Meg was the key to the hero’s destruction. To occupy the hours, you looked upon a scroll Ortho had brought along to the mortal realm. Seated atop the roofs of grand estates to avoid being seen and questioned, it was the perfect spot as the duo of imps were to await further instruction from the god.

On the scroll you held, were various faces of monstrous beasts. Titans. The ones that stood out the most, were the four at the very bottom, with a fifth not too far behind. Those you recognized, and would be the ones to lay siege on Mount Olympus: Lythos, Hydros, Pyros, Stratos, and Arges. The last of which would be the one to kill the hero while she was in her weakened state.

“This one… This one-eyed freak is the one we send to kill Heraclea.” You point out the image of the cyclops, able to distinguish it from the other titans. Unlike the others composed purely of the four elements, this titan was several tons of pure mass. A creature of unnatural proportions and unrivaled size, which would serve as a worthy opponent to the hero when she didn’t have her superhuman strength to protect her.

Ortho gazed at the scroll, paying no mind to the garden below where Meg was eventually supposed to emerge with knowledge of Heraclea’s weakness. Focusing his optic sensors on the simple painted image of the titan Arges, he was still in thought before nodding in approval. “It’s true that Arges is a worthy titan with the capability of wrecking havoc and killing numerous humans, but why him specifically? If the hero won in the story as you said, wouldn’t we want a different titan? I believe that Pyros would be most effective! His elemental body composed primarily of lava will easily burn through human flesh.”

“Well, yes… That’s a very vivid way of thinking about it.” How in depth was Ortho picturing the death of the hero? It almost seemed as if he wanted to send the most destructive of them all just to cause her more suffering, even if his way of thinking was logical. You shook the image out of your mind as you explained meekly, “Arges comes close to killing the hero. If he had taken things seriously instead of treating it as a game and delaying death, he would’ve won. But he didn’t, because he was toying with his victim… and because the hero’s trainer returned to their aid in those last moments.”

Either way, you were damning a person, a good person, to a horrible death. It wouldn’t be swift or painless, and far from merciful. The titans would have centuries of pent-up rage to release violently, and if miraculously Arges was defeated, Ortho wouldn’t allow the protagonist to slip away with their life. The imp beside you was far from the helpless little devils that appeared in the story, he could be just as lethal as his elder brother. And yet, despite the guilt you could feel slowly building up the more you thought about it, the more often you repeated to yourself: she wasn’t real. If you could fully convince yourself of that, that despite her bright blue eyes and smile as warm as sunshine, she was just a character from a story, then the guilt of her approaching death wouldn’t faze you too much.

The dangers in this world were real, the enemies were real, Ortho was real, Idia was real. She was not. Even if that felt like a lie, it was a lie, it didn’t matter. If you thought of her as a simple pawn in a game, then the burden of your sin wouldn’t be able to permeate throughout your consciousness. It was just like flicking a piece off a board. It was that simple. Because it was either her, or you. The choice was obvious.

As Ortho peered down at you with his big bright eyes, he continued floating in the air as he inquired, “Hey, hey, when we get there, I call dibs on Ares’ helmet and sword. You can have Hermes’ stuff, okay?”

“That’s fine with me…” Frankly, you didn’t care for tinted glasses, legendary swords, or the helmet of a god.

In the midst of their conversation and planning, a swirling cloud of mist like a portal appeared a few feet away. From it, came the familiar voice of the god, “Imps, time’s almost up.”

Going through the cloud was one experience you could never quite get accustomed to. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, like a cold dead wind knocked the air out of your lungs as it transported you to a new location each and every time. This time, the destination was a place directly outside of a largely empty colosseum underneath gray skies that was bound to brew a storm.

“Meg is out of commission, he got too soft. But, he’s there to lure his little hero. Humans are so predictable, so naive, no offense.” Idia’s gaze traveled over to you, only offering a half-hearted shrug and a crooked small grin as a weak apology, if it could even be deemed an apology at all.

To which you nodded, not really affected by his choice of words. “None taken.”

“Ortho, you take care of the pegasus and the satyr. Will you?” The immortal lord’s yellow eyes darted over to his brethren, the young imp straightening in attention upon hearing new commands. “Clip its wings, do whatever you have to, I don’t care what it is. I want them out of the way. Join us whenever you’re done.”

“Understood!” Ortho chirped, watching as his elder brother turned away to slowly walk towards the colosseum. Your fellow imp’s eyes met yours and he must’ve remembered your warning of the impact the satyr could have on the plot, because he used his ability to generate a holographic disguise of the satyr over himself. With one swift slicing motion over his neck, his head rolled to the side in a disgustingly almost realistic spillage of blood before the holographic flickered off. The imp winked at you, far too cheerful for someone planning to commit murder in the next upcoming minutes. In the next moment, he was gone through a cloud of black smog.

The gruesome image was stuck in your mind as you were left to follow the Lord of the Underworld, jogging to catch up with him and walk at his side as he approached the coliseum. The closer and closer you got to the towering arena, the more the thought dwelled at the forefront of your mind. You would be responsible for not one death, not just extinguishing the burning bright protagonist, but others. Not just Meg, or the satyr, or the pegasus, but countless other souls. Who knew how many mortals the titans would crush, freeze, burn, shred to bits and pieces? So many lives all to save yours.

Just remember, it was a story. They were just fictional characters, they didn’t even have any relevance to the plot. Background characters whose faces and voices blurred together, whose names would go unheard. That’s all they were.

“Hey. You nervous or something?”

Immediately you were yanked out of your intense train of thought, as if pulled out from beneath the surface of water. The god seemed to have picked up on the nervous tics and the grimaces on your face.

“You look like you’re gonna puke… Cut it out. I’m the one who should be nervous, seriously.”

Gripping the fabric of your clothing to prevent any unnecessary movement, you swallowed thickly and nodded stiffly. Just walk. All you had to do was walk beside him, act as an escort and keep up with him when approaching the towering open entrances to the largely abandoned coliseum where one could faintly pick up on the sound of clanging metal dumbbells in a steady rhythm.

“Sorry…” You choke out, suppressing any sort of queasy sensation. Think of golden gates and feather-stuffed clouds softer than any tempur-pedic, not the destruction and trail of blood that would lead to paradise at the peak. “Just–– the hero we’re walking towards can probably crush my skull between her biceps without even really trying. And, I kinda prefer my skull intact, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Idia rolled his eyes, seemingly not very much in agreement. Then again, he had little to fear when it came to actually being harmed. Yes, Heraclea could do some damage to him, but he couldn’t die. He was immortal.

The pair stopped at the arching entranceway moments before entering the threshold.

“You know what I do know? Rumors.” Of course he knew things. Ortho constantly kept him up to date on the latest happenings, and of course his pawn that fit in best with other mortals, Meg, had kept him informed about anything important in the mortal lands. “A certain little bird told me something interesting before he turned traitor. That a strapping gal, who, I dunno, rides a pegasus and listens to a satyr, has been on the lookout for a small kinda pathetic-looking mortal with horns. Turns out that your crying face made a crying mark on her from that day in the gorge.”

She knew you. You didn’t know whether to cry or scream. What was worse? The hero with the strength of a thousand suns or the god that reigned over the dead?

The god. The god was easily the most frightening one, you decided as you realized that Idia was staring at you intensely again. It caused your breath to stop, your hairs standing on end. The immortal looked as if he just wanted to smite you right then and there, reducing you to nothing but ash. For something that was beyond your control.

“I have got to say, you have this talent, a curse, and it makes me want to literally just––” Idia tightly clenched his fist, pursing his blue lips as he decided against going into detail. To simply put it, words like crush, tear, destroy, or pulverize into atoms would not be able to adequately put his thoughts into words. “Turns out, it’s not just me that notices. You have this strange agonizing little ability to just… worm your way into someone’s mind, and not stop. It festers like an open wound. Infecting it, making the thoughts grow more and more, worse and worse, increasing every day.”

In your seconds of stunned and petrified silence, Idia peered down at you.

His eyes glowed in the shadows under the stone arches. The smoke at his feet brushing against your legs like tendrils of gray wisps. Abruptly he remarked, “I think I finally realized why I find you so annoying.”

“What––”

“You’re used to death and choose the logical routes that are deemed as heartless. Maybe in your previous life you were seen as odd and somewhat of an outcast, like us.”

Previous life. What exactly did he mean by that? How much exactly did he know, but chose not to explicitly state? Was he assuming you had a previous life here in his plane of existence, this story? Or did he somehow know that you once had a life elsewhere, before being damned into this role by trial?

Slowly your eyes traveled over to him, only to see that he was already glancing down at you with those glowing yellow eyes. The eyes of death himself. Unsmiling, unfeeling, unstable. The breath of life was frozen in your throat as he tilted his head slowly to one side, his gaze never leaving yours, not blinking even once. “Do you blame yourself?”

“H-Huh…?”

“Well, it’s common for you simple mortals in this type of situation you’re in to feel a type of guilt, before and after what has been done.” The number of mortal souls he must’ve seen of the damned were immeasurable. The good, the bad, the worst. All of it he had witnessed. Guilt. Was that what you were feeling now, at the thought of sacrificing others for your own survival as you manipulate the story?

The breath lodged in your throat escaped like a short stifled gasp. “I… I don’t––”

“I see it all the time, you’re no exception.” Idia turned to face you fully. The Lord of the Underworld was looking down at you, the smoke at his feet curling around your legs. It was cold lifeless air, sending a chill from your toes all the way to your neck. Those eyes felt like the worst pair of eyes in the entire world–– no, the entire universe. It felt like he could read you inside out, deciphered every bit of your soul like code. “Mortals will invent blame, trying to shove the burden on others and create an excuse. When in reality…”

Reality. This was reality now, at least for you. A reality you had attempted to shape into your will, into a satisfactory ending where things would be carefree in a heavenly paradise above the clouds. And yet… what did it cost? Lives? What did that matter? But a portion of your sanity.

“It’s completely out of your control.”

The Lord of the Underworld returned his sights ahead, to where he would encounter the beloved daughter of the god who damned him to an eternity of drudgery in the most secluded realm in this plane of existence. As he walked, it felt like his fleeting wisps of smoke lingering after each footstep, compelled her forward.

Just before the shadows of the arching columns ended, they stopped on the edge of darkness where they could watch. Straight ahead was Heraclea, her back turned to them. She was lifting a bar with huge thick metal weight plates that likely each weighed about the same as a house, yet she so effortlessly lifted them up and down with the same hands that strangled the most fearsome beasts to death.

Idia stood close at your side, keeping his fingers folded in front of him as he stood slightly slouched, watching the hero with utter disdain before his gaze traveled to you out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t move his head. Instead of that same type of hateful loathing he felt towards the protagonist, he looked at you with something else, something less evil and more gentler but equally as chilling.

In an instant, he was gone in a puff of smoke, his voice seeming to echo all around you and even within the confines of your skull. Low and quiet, but haunting. “You know you were never in control, right?”

You were never in control.

You could only watch almost lifelessly as Idia appeared in front of the protagonist. Everyone, everything, began to sound so far away. The crackling fire of the torches on the wall, the voice of the suspicious immortal and wary mortal in the distance, the low howling of the wind beginning to pick up, each one fell on deaf ears.

That one parting line, just five words, made you question everything that you had worked for thus far. Again, there was the question: how much Idia know? Have you been played for a fool? For all your days here, you had been through hell and back, quite literally, doing his bidding in the hopes to exploit the situation and create an ending that suited your preferences. Had he known this, or was it his choice of words messing with your unstable mind? Just as he insinuated that your presence was permeating throughout his mind, this god was driving you mad!

The plot appeared to be progressing as intended, the Lord of the Underworld attempting to trick the Hero into a deal they could not refuse. When Idia snapped his dark bony fingers, instead of seeing plum colored garbs and wavy brown locks of Meg, you felt that dreadful sensation of the cold dead wind knocking the air out of your lungs as you suddenly found yourself thrust into the spotlight of the center colosseum.

All eyes, the two pairs in the vicinity, were on you. You felt yourself go pale. There was a reason Idia had mentioned the fact that the hero knew you existed, and this was it. It was a warning, a hint to his plans. Somehow, someway, the hero cared, and it should have never happened. Why wasn’t Meg here instead?

The hero’s bright blue eyes sparked to life with familiarity. Any mild irritation she expressed while interacting with the immortal were quickly dashed and replaced by genuine concern. “It’s you––”

Immediately your gaze traveled to the Lord of the Underworld, who appeared irked by the mere presence of the protagonist that has gotten in the way of his every attempt. Idia hardly even looked at you, even as the words came rushing out past your lips, “This wasn’t––”

Those cold wisps of smoke gathered, materializing into a rope-like object that restricted your movements. It binds your wrists together, covering your mouth to prevent any sort of noise from leaving your throat.

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Why was this happening?

Just before you could hit the dirt ground, the hero’s warm hands inches away from your flesh as she extended her arms out to catch you–– snap! The snap of Idia’s fingers caused that dreaded cold lifeless air to hit you like a slap as you were whisked away from strong safe arms.

For a few sparse seconds, you were in complete and utter darkness. It was cold. Just you and your thoughts, with one more prominent than others: Idia had used you. Toying with you like one of the pawns on his board, pinning you against the unbeatable foe he was currently facing. The god utilizing you as if you were the secret ace up his sleeve, but why? What was stopping Heraclea from decimating you just as she had to his other pawns?

Again, you heard the snap, and you were back in the colosseum. Rapidly you scanned your surroundings, growing more and more disorientated with each snap of his fingers that tossed you back and forth from space to space until you couldn’t tell right from left. What you could still detect was the solid surface beneath you, like those uncomfortable rigid stone benches where the audience would spectate the bloody battles.

“–– that’s the trade off. You give up your strength for twenty-four hours, specifically the next twenty-four hours, and the mortal you’ve been looking for is as free as a bird.” Idia prattled on, speaking quite rapidly whether out of habit, out of the jitters, or due to the time-crunch, but it could’ve been all three fueling his fast-talk. “I mean, you do want them safe, don’t you? That’s the mortal you’ve been looking for, isn't it? The one you’ve spotted in multiple cities, right? Sorta small and meek, the distinct horn-things they got going on there, sad little face, kinda hard to miss ‘em.”

Heraclea had been looking for you. The hero had spotted you in cities–– and the only time you were in civilization was when you were tasked to set up the disasters and accidents that the hero would come to face. Were you sloppy and was this accidental, an opportunity the Lord of the Underworld decided to take full advantage of? Or was this always his intention from the very beginning?

How many times had Heraclea spotted you to grow attached, at least enough to the extent that Idia felt he could safely bet on the hero risking her divine strength to spare you? Each moment flashed through your mind, as you dashed through alleyways and backroads, with the help of Ortho, each time setting off a disaster or a beast to challenge the hero. While Ortho had his strange metallic body which levitated and his holograms to disguise himself, you only had your own two legs to run and a cloak to conceal yourself. How many of those times of sneaking past corners, weaving through crowds, disappearing behind buildings, had Heraclea seen? So engrossed in these thoughts, that you practically missed the intense verbal exchange between the two.

While Heraclea was naive, she wasn’t downright stupid, and Idia merely wanted this to hurry along to remain on schedule.

“––What do you owe these mortals, hm? This is the mortal you’ve wanted to save! Them and their sorry eyes.” In one swift movement, Idia was beside you, his thin fingers forcing you to look straight at the protagonist.

You couldn’t scream, you couldn’t yell, you couldn’t cry. How different would this have turned out, if instead, you had risked turning to Heraclea for help in the very beginning?

Those blue eyes, the kindest blue eyes in the world, peered at you from afar. Was that pity in her eyes as she looked at you?

The god pinched your cheeks between your fingers, as he made you look at her. Really look at her, the woman which you were planning to sacrifice to save your own skin. The woman who was currently contemplating on saving you at her own expense, even if she had no idea that you had aided in the countless attempts to kill her thus far. It’s like Idia wanted you to really get a good look of her before she was gone. “Are you for real going to look straight at that miserable little face and say no? I mean, talk about a letdown. I thought you cared for them––”

“Stop it!” Cutting him off, the hero’s soft gaze at you turned to frown once she focused on the pale immortal. It only took one second. Just one second for her to cave, just as what was intended. You feared being labeled as an enemy by her, but apparently, Idia did not feel the same sort of trepidation. “Swear. Swear that they’ll be safe from any harm.”

Finally letting go, Idia shrugged nonchalantly as he slowly approached Heraclea. He didn’t plan on harming them anyways. This worked out even better than what was imagined. Now, there was absolutely no use for Meg, no need to keep him from harm when it was his own imp that had to be shielded. An imp that risked the lives of others to keep themself safe, and an imp that the Lord of the Underworld wouldn’t allow any harm to befall. “Yeah, fine, whatever. This mortal here remains safe, otherwise you get your strength right back. Everyone goes home happy. M’kay, deal?”

As soon as he outstretched his pale hand, his black-tinted fingers reaching forward, Heraclea eyed his appendage with suspicion. As if she half expected the black on his fingertips to be some sort of deadly poison that would infect her as soon as she touched his hand. Her blue eyes glanced at you for a brief moment.

“Hey, you hear me? Look, you wouldn’t get it, but I’m on a schedule. I need an answer, like, now.” For a flash, a quick moment, his normally calm blue mane appeared to spark red and flicker higher and further across his shoulders.

Again, the hero looked at you. For all she knew, you were an innocent soul held hostage by a god. Yet you were far from innocent.

“Going once.”

You were watching the valiant woman practically seal her certain doom.

“Going twice––”

A fate in which you helped form and doing nothing to stop it.

“Alright…!” Heraclea looked at her own calloused hand with apprehension, but thrust it forward before any hesitation could kick in.

As soon as their hands connected, Idia gave an eager toothy grin. You could only watch as the life and energy was practically drained out of the hero as she sank slowly to her knees like being pulled down by intense crushing gravity. As soon as they let go, it was like seeing the color fade from her. Her healthy glowing tan was reduced to an ashy almost-gray hue, her eyes dimmed as they lost their spark of energy, and she could barely even stand on her own two feet.

Idia no longer held any regard for the now simple mortal, not even sparing her so much as a glance as a wave of his fingers caused the hefty weight she had been training with, to float before crashing against her, practically tossing her to the other side of the colosseum.

You had no idea if she were alive or dead, or nearly dead but left just breathing to receive torment from the titans that would be released only momentarily. There wasn’t even any time to ask or to check her pulse, as Idia snapped and suddenly your restraints dissipated into thin air.

“See, didn’t I tell you, you get into people’s heads?” He remarked far too casually. With another snap, there was chariot-like contraption summoned.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the rubble the hero had landed in. You waited, searching, anticipating some sort of movement. A sign of life.

“Don’t look at her anymore.” Upon seeing this, Idia frowned deeply. The tips of his fiery hair sparked warm hues, the flames growing taller and casting longer shadows. “Why are you still looking at her?” A final movement of his hand had his fingers land on your chin, keeping your head in place so his glowing eyes were peering right down at you. The worst eyes in the world. “Don’t wanna be late now, after all our hard work. If there’s anything left of Heraclea, we’ll have the titans handle the remains so there won’t even be bones to bury. You wanted this, didn’t you? Don’t let the guilt eat you alive now, not when you knew what you were getting into. Usually I’m the downer, but I don’t get why you look so shocked. I’m granting you a front row seat to this cosmic takeover biz, my Puny Little Imp.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #ortho shroud #twst ortho #yandere ortho shroud #idia shroud #twst idia #yandere idia shroud #ignihyde #damnation twst au

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moons-and-runes · 2 days ago

Text

Writing Goals for 2025!

💖 My main goal for the year is to finish writing at least one entire fic (but hopefully I’ll complete multiple)

🛳️ I have a oneshot idea for Benverly which isn’t really a new ship for me but I’ve never written for them before. I think I’d also like to write some Marylene stuff :)

🤔 Following on from the last Q, Ben, Bev, Mary and Marlene are characters I’ve not written before

🥸 Yes, I have a friend who I share most of my ideas with who also has some fic ideas in the works 👀

🥵…We’ll see. And if I do there’s no guarantee I would even post it lol

👻 Technically any genre is a new genre for me as I’ve never finished writing a whole story

🦄 I have a dual POV wip at the moment of Sirius and Regulus Black :)))

🐌 To finish a oneshot (3k - 10k words)

🦖 No I’m really only interested in writing IT and HP fics

🍄 None that I can think of atm but that might change as I read and watch more perhaps I’ll join a new fandom this year

🌈 Oh I’ve already done a ton of research for multiple of my wips. Things like looking up lunar cycle calendars, weather forecasts and major events from previous years as well as finding every character’s canon birthday and creating ones for those who don’t have one 😭 I have put in WORK!

✨ I’m pretty good at English overall but I guess spelling and grammar are my strongest areas. Although I do find myself wanting to look up certain grammar at times to double check I’m using it correctly.

🥕 Timeline? Plot line? Not sure how to word it but just managing to get all my separate ideas and scenes to flow into each other and form the bigger picture/full story

🫘 Currently in the works I have a reddie fic from Eddie’s pov (but with a twist), the dual pov Black brothers fic, a wolfstar au inspired by one of my favourite books and an angsty semi canon-compliant wolfstar fic

🥳 Allow myself to start making art based on my stories. I think if I do that before the fics are finished I’ll just end up settling for the art and never finishing the writing. However when I finish a fic I can then make art and also use it as the fic cover!

🎃 Yes I think it would be fun to do some holiday oneshots, especially Halloween and Christmas (or for character’s birthdays if I remember)

🐾 I’d like to say yes but I struggle so much with deadlines I just don’t see myself finishing within the short time frame 😔

✍️ Hits and Comments! I’d like to know that people are actually reading and enjoying the stuff I put out especially when I’ve worked so hard on it :) I would say kudos but since you’re only allowed to leave 1 per fic the numbers wouldn’t be as accurate to how many people are actually reading/enjoying it

👾 Not finishing wips 💀 I have so many ideas for fics and random notes in multiple places and I just need to focus on finishing the few I’ve started

🤖 Not really. I write wherever and whenever the inspiration hits. Whether at my computer, on my phone or on my iPad. And usually I’ll be in bed or at my desk

🦷 Any of the super angsty scenes I have planned (none of them are fully formed ideas yet though so I can’t share snippets or say what in particular I’m scared to write)

💥 Heheheh yes but I can’t really say bc I don’t want to spoil my current favourite wip. It involves brotherly bickering though :)

🍕 Posting schedules aren’t important to me. I’ll post whenever I want to post. However I think I’d like to have the full fic finished before I start posting it. That way there’s no chance I’ll abandon it as a wip with a cliffhanger

🛏️ Again, pretty much any trope is a new trope as someone who has never finished a piece of writing 😭

🪩 Not sure if this is specifically a writing habit but I’m super proud of the ideas I come up with and I’d like to continue developing my existing ideas as well as creating new ones

🎉 I will acknowledge that this is the first year I have set any writing goals and that I can always finish off my goals next year, just like how I’ve only completed 1/4 of my Goodreads goals so far

💌 Yes!! Although I think I need to build more of a following on here/ao3 before that happens :)

PHEW! that was a lot!! But also very fun!! I can’t wait to get more into my writing this year and hopefully 🤞 finish one (or more) of my wips

tagging: @staliamazing

Writer Goal Ask List for a New Year 🎉

These writer asks are always so fun to both ask and answer. Fanfic or original fiction writers, reblog away! These are asks based in new goals for a new year.

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

🛳 Are there any new ships you want to write for? (Platonic, romantic, or anything in between.)

🤔 Are there any new characters you want to write about?

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

🥵 Any plans to write steamy or spicy content this year?

👻 Is there a new genre you'd like to write?

🦄 Is there a new POV you'd like to try writing?

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

🦖 Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you'd like to return to?

🍄 Are there any fandoms you've never written for but want to try?

🌈 What research do you plan on doing for your writing?

✨What's one area of your writing that you think needs the least amount of improvement?

🥕 What's one area of your writing that you think needs the most amount of improvement?

🫘 Spill the beans. What's a new project you're doing this year?

🥳 How are you going to celebrate when you achieve one of your writing goals?

🎃 Do you plan on writing any seasonal fics?

🐾 Do you plan on writing for any fests or competitions?

✍️ Which stat matters most to you (if at all!): subscriptions, kudos/favorites, comments, bookmarks, word count, or hits?

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

🤖 Are you looking to change your current writing setup? (Or establish one, if you don't have one?)

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

🍕Will you be making any changes to your posting schedule (if you have one)? (Or do you want to establish a posting schedule?)

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

🪩 Do you have any "good" writing habits you want to cultivate?

🎉 How are you going to be kind to yourself if you don't meet your goals?

💌 Are you willing to take requests or prompts for writing?

#fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic writing #fanfiction writer #writing #writing goals #ao3 writer #ao3 #tag game #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #marauders #it #it fandom #it fanfiction #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #reddie #reddie fanfiction

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yaut-jaknowit · 1 day ago

Note

Morally ambiguous corpo scientist gets transfered to a "exciting new project" only to find it's a Predator breeding program.

Breeding Program

Character: T'a'yta (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: I'M WARNING YOU NOW, I WENT FERAL BADLY. Rape/Non con contents. Sex pollen, SMUT, very rough sex, knotting, breeding. Read at your own risk, seriously.

Word Count: 3159

Summary: As a scientist, the ability to move up in the world was amazing. To surpass people you thought were the top dogs in your program and placed in a new section. A new program. You hadn't been briefed but the pay was phenomena. Nothing to complain about there. You met up with Amelia, the head of the program, at the facility and get a tour. At the end, she takes you down a hallway, opens a door to a pitch black room. Then shoves you in.

Author Note: I'm warning you all. This seriously might be the darkest thing I've ever wrote. I don't know why my brain went this route, but it did. Please, I'm warning you. If you don't like it, don't read it.

Masterlist

Ao3

After the years to finally work underneath this team of scientist, you were astonished to find they had referred you higher up the chain. To a new exciting project that could change the world. The opening letter they gave you easily hyped you up. Before you knew it, you were accepting the new position. Your items were going to be transferred over at a later date.

The new team wanted to meet you so bad. That’s what they told you. That’s what you believed. You found yourself at the new building that had just been finished. This was nerve racking but exciting at the same time. All new equipment and gear to test out. State of the art equipment has been entrusted to you. Out of all the people, you’ve been promoted to such a position. This was destiny!

Smiles greeted you when you first walked through the doors. The team lead was here in person to greet you the moment you stepped onto the new grounds.

Amelia says your name with a soft smile that complimented her features. “It’s so good to see you! We’ve been waiting for you to finally arrive. I hope the travel wasn’t bad?” She guides you towards the elevator and presses the button. The doors open and welcome you aboard. You step in after Amelia, nearly bouncing off of the ground with each step. A dream becoming reality.

“No,” you shake your head. “It wasn’t bad. The flight was beautiful though. Being that high up.” The memory of all the gorgeous clouds that covered the sky. Then, seeing as far as the eye could see. All of the land that went on and on. You loved it. “I’m so excited to be here too. It’s been my dream to work in an environment like this. When do I get to meet the rest of the team?”

There weren’t much for details about the project besides how cool it would be for you to join the team. Of course, you couldn’t say no. Not when a job like this could be the last one you would ever need. Plus, the pay was… wow. Amazing!

The elevator’s doors slid open to reveal a long hallway with black tile floors and grey walls. Little décor filled the empty space. You didn’t mind it. The place was still new. Maybe they hadn’t gotten around to fully furnishing the space.

Both of you walked out. Amelia laughed. “Oh, they’re around. They just didn’t want to crowd you and overwhelm you on your introduction day. Today is just meant to show you around, learn the space before the people, you know?” You nodded along, agreeing with everything she said. You already felt on the verge of being overwhelmed with a different workspace and people.

“Aw, alright. If you can, tell them I can’t wait to meet them, please?” you asked of her. All you wanted to do was impress the team more than you already have. To show them that you have a passion for science. It’s your livelihood.

“I sure can do that for you.” Amelia took the closet right down the hallway from the elevator. Her steps were precise with black two-inch heels. “They’ll be happy to know you’re thinking about them.”

A long, rectangular glass window was built into the wall. Amelia stops and motions towards the glass. Where you see tables of equipment just sitting there, ready for use. They are brand new, still shiny and lacking even fingerprints. Your eyes sparkle, hands twitching desperate to touch everything. But, you tamper down the feeling.

“This is amazing already, Amelia. I can’t wait to see the rest of the building.” When she smiles at you again, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “When will be my first day? I hadn’t gotten any emails about it.” You were concerned that maybe something as wrong with your emails. You needed to get everything right. This was your dream job. Over your dead body will you let this go.

She waves her hand like she’s brushing it off. “We’ve been having a little issue with our emails lately. Currently, we have you starting as soon as possible. Whenever you are ready.” Seriously?! That meant you could probably start today!

The tour continued down the same hall, taking a right. “Really? Is it possible I could start today? I would love to get my hands on the tools as soon as possible.” Hopefully you don’t overdo it with your passion to work. At least in this field.

“Of course. I’m glad because we were planning for your first day to start right now.” She shows you to another room similar to room before with a more open space. This side looked like it dealt with more chemicals than biology. “The team isn’t here today. But I’m more than happy to let you roam after the tour, get to know the place.”

This possibly couldn’t be happening! God, you were in heaven. No one could smack the smile off of your face. No matter how hard they tried.

“Thank you. I’m so glad I can start today. I promise not to let you down.” Another room is showed to you. “I’ve had a passion for science since I was little. I know I’m going to be a great fit for the team.”

“I know you won’t let us down.” The two of your continue further down a different hall. The doors become less welcoming and more… prison like. As if they’re trying to keep something in. In the heat of the moment, you silence the alarm going off in your head. “I know you will be a great fit. Very great fit to our team.”

There’s something in the way she said that nearly threw you off. Your brows furrowed for only a second before she stopped in front of a door. This one looked even more heavily modified than any of the others you’ve seen. It’s at the end of a hallway, furthest from the rest of the facility.

“Ah, here we are. I can’t believe the tour already has come to an end.” She almost sounded genuinely sad to end the tour. Amelia places her hand on a screen next to the entrance. “This is where I leave you to your work, doctor.”

The metal slab slid into a hidden pocket and revealed a dark, pitch black room. You tilted your head and peered inside. Maybe the lights will turn on by motion. You turn towards her. “Hey the lights-“

Hands shoved at you from behind. A scream left your lips as you stumble forward before falling to your hands and knees. The darkness instantly crowds you, trying to suck you into its being. You whipped your head around to find Amelia standing at the entrance with an evil grin. A shudder ran its course through your body. Your breathing started to increase.

“Have fun with our new… project.” Then, the door snapped close and sealed you in the pitch blackness that threatened to consume you whole.

Your heart thundered in your ears. Blindly, you stood on unsteadily legs with your arms out to feel around. One step forward almost sent you back to the ground. The shakiness of your entire being was throwing you off. You took another step of faith only to be blinded by white light that sent you back on your butt.

Pain stung at your sensitive eyes. The change didn’t take you long to peel them open and see the room you’ve been thrown into.

And the beast who watched with rapt attention.

Terror gripped at your heart. You didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe. It’s bright, vibrant eyes that nearly glowed were pinned on your trembling form. It’s barrel chest heaved with each deep intake of air it took. Never did it look away from you.

Something about it made you feel like prey in the sight of a predator. It just needed to sink its claws into your fragile flesh.

“You might be wondering what this thing is and why we’ve brought you here?” Amelia’s voice broke the tension in the air coming from a speaker system. You yelped at the sudden sound and scrambled backwards. The humanoid creature observed every move you made. The moment you moved, it roared with a piercing sound and lunged at you.

Heavy chains secured it to the wall. They creaked under its strength as its wild eyes looked at you. Its arm clawed at the air as if it could pull you closer. Your back smacked against the nearest wall as you stared at the creature. Fear evident in your eyes. You watched as the beast cried and spat spittle with each attempt to get to you. But, thankfully the chains held.

“This is the project we’ve raved about. Meet… a Yautja. An alien from outer space,” Amelia lets the words settle for a dramatic pause. In the mean time, the creature has finally calmed down once it realized it couldn’t get to you for the moment. “Well, we needed someone to test something out for us. Of course, I didn’t want to use any of our wonderful staff here. So, I choose you. Our new test subject.”

Test subject?! “For what!?” you screamed at her, hoping she could hear you. Hear the anger that wiggled through the terror.

“For our breeding program.” You blinked once. Twice. Three times. Then, the words finally sunk in completely. “We’ve captured this Yautja when he landed in LA. We gave him an aphrodisiac. Now, he’s become a mindless, breeding male. And you, our dear test subject, will be the first. We hope you survive.”

Silence entered the air afterwards. The speakers no longer buzzed with energy. Her words flew wildly inside of your mind, bouncing around every corner. You tried to make sense, come to terms with what she’s put you into. But it… you couldn’t settle. They’re using you for a breeding program with an alien. An alien that looked ready to tear you apart rather then- you stopped the thoughts. You swallowed thickly and weakly stood on shaky legs.

In horror, you observed the chains clicking open. Once the last one was released, there wasn’t even time to register the brown, humanoid shape flash across the room. Strong, massive hands snatched your throat and the front of your shirt. The fabric was torn from your form and discarded without any regard. Next, your pants and underwear were taken care of in the same matter.

You screamed and tried to kick and punch the mindless beast. All of your strikes hit. Yet none of them deterred him. It seemed like they didn’t even tickle him. It forced you face down, ass up underneath it. The entire palm of his hand gripped the side of your head, keeping you pinned in a primed position.

It leaned down and covered you with its entire body. Heat radiated off of it like a firepit. Flames flickering to lick at your clammy skin. You shuttered at the difference of temperature. It’s free hand reached between your legs but paused for a moment.

“I-I ca-an’t stop,” a throaty, croaky voice whispered into your ear. You tensed up underneath the beast before jerking at the touch of its fingers. They glided through your slit, gathering what slick had pooled. Your body betraying you at the knowledge of a monster getting ahold of you.

That almost… sounded like an apology of some kind. The scientists have turned this alien into a mindless, breeding machine with the aphrodisiac. The poor thing couldn’t control its actions. All it could do was follow instinct, despite the difference of species.

A whine surged past your lips when the wet pad of its finger rubbed around your hardening nub. At least, he was trying to make it bearable. You felt something blazing hot and throbbing slide between your open legs, rubbing against your slit. A moan left your lips before you could stop yourself. You didn’t stop struggling but your attempts were weakening.

The tip was tapered by the feeling of it. You felt it nudge against your entrance. He paused for a moment, as if fighting the drugs that filled his system. Then, his hips snapped forward and full sheathed his cock into you. You cried out against the dirty, concrete floor and clawed for escape. The beast added more weight to pin you down and began a pace you couldn’t comprehend. All before you had a chance to make sense of what’s up and what’s down.

Each thrust nearly sent you flying towards the wall. If it wasn’t for his hand on your head, you would’ve been smooshed against it. Your eyes were clenched shut. “Fuck! S-slow… slow down!” you begged for relief, even for a moment. The beast deepened a growl and quickened his thrusts somehow. The pain only increased with pleasure. You were barely able to breath as he thrusted into you sent the air out of your lungs.

His other hand not holding your head gripped your hip in a bruising hold. Sharp talons punctured your flesh. Beads of red pooling to the surface then dripping down your belly and onto the cold, unforgiving floor. There was nothing you could do to stop him. All you were able to do was hold on for the unrelenting ride.

To ease some of the ache, you reached between your legs and circled two digits around your puffy clit. The stretch of his massive, thick cock pressed against every little nerve you had. At the touch, you mewled and quickened the speed almost to match his.

Your bottom lip was pinched between dull teeth, trying to hold in your noises. It was embarrassing. To take enjoyment out of this. But, fuck. The creature took up every inch of available space inside of you then some more. You could feel the way your stomach distended each time he sheathed himself to the hilt. There was something expanding at the base of him as well. It would catch each time he pushed in and out.

Thick fingers gripped the strands of your hair and yanked your head back. One arm slapped against the smooth concrete floors. You squealed and released the hold on your lip, forced to let everyone know how you were feeling.

The pleasure building in your stomach was amounting to something. Despite the ache and pains this gave you, you were feeling the coil tightening. You rewetted your fingers with your own juices before going back to work. The way they easily slid over your puffy clit had you seeing stars.

It continued to build and build. He lets go of your hair, letting your upper torso to lie back on the ground. You almost curled into yourself, confused about the nearing end, and panted heavily. “Oh, fuck. H-how?!” you muttered to yourself.

White flashed across your vision. Your walls clamped down on his thick shaft, trying to suck him in deeper. A weak, pathetic squeak escaped your vocal cords, the only sound you could make. Your entire body tensing up and rode out the waves of the overwhelming pleasure.

Amidst your orgasm, the beast growled in victory then pushed his hips flush with yours. A loud, deafening roar tore from his throat. You felt his cock swell inside of you, the base locking him inside of you. The ball of flesh pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves just on the inside of your cunt. You trembled and shook underneath him. The ecstasy far too much for you to handle.

As the last of the pleasure started to fade away, you slumped weakly onto the floor, hips still held up by his hand. The feeling of the thick, swollen flesh boarded uncomfortable. You trembled and attempted to pull your hips away from his.

The creature snarled threateningly and ensnared your entire waist with an arm. You fearfully tensed up. But, he calmed down afterwards and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Deadly fangs grazed across your flesh, pebbling the skin with goosebumps. Vibrations ran down from your spine. Barely a sound made. He rubbed his face against your skin, coating you with his scent.

You were thankful for that to be over. For the most part. He was still lodged deep inside of you with no way of pulling out. He wouldn’t let you. You took in deep, lungsful of air, and tried to regulate your breathing.

Some time past when you felt him start to deflate inside of you. With a grunt, the creature jerked his hips back. The ball of flesh popped free from your stretched entrance. He pulled away. Fresh air flushed over you and made you shiver at the coolness of the air.

Yet, you weren’t cold for long. The same heat from before prodded at your entrance. Your exhausted state immediately drained away. You jerked up and attempted to get on your hands. A massive hand slammed you back onto the ground. The alien snarled another warning to you then sunk all the way to the base inside of you again.

It wasn’t as painful as before. The earlier treatment had you stretched out beyond your limits. You still keened at the feeling and squirmed. He rewrapped his arm around your waist and pulled your hips flush with his.

“Again?” you asked with a cry. The first round was punishing enough. You didn’t know if you could survive another go with him.

He pulled his hips back until the tip was still sitting just inside of you. With a growl, the beast plowed back into you without any mercy.

The aphrodisiac was a powerful drug on him. It forced him to go on. All the way till you reached the verge of blacking out. Either from exhaustion or the amount of orgasms he pulled from you. You swore he went until his balls had been emptied inside of you, filling you with his seed. The inside of your legs coated with it. With a small puddle pooling between your trembling legs.

Finally, the creature collapsed to the side and pulled you with him. His knot was still lodged inside of you, keeping the contents of his last orgasm deep inside of you. You had no energy to fight. You let him take you, unable to barely keep your eyes open enough to see. They were filled with blurry tears.

His arm tightened around your waist, keeping you locked to him. You groaned, deep from your chest, eyes shut at this point.

“If you can hear me… I am sorry for my actions,” he muttered lowly into your ear. Only for you hear. You didn’t have the energy to answer. Just lying there, in his arms, letting sleep take you away. “I promise you. I’ll get us out of here.”

Hope fluttered to life in your chest.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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gigglesandfreckles-hp · 3 days ago

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okay so full transparency: i've never really read much fic. i don't have a ton of free time set aside for creative/recreational purposes and the time i do have, i use to write because that just fills me up a lot more. however, i made a commitment to consume more fan-created work in 2024 and i succeeded in that!!! there were still periods where i wasn't able to read much, which has lead to an ever-growing tbr, but i wanted to take a moment at the beginning of this new year to share a hodge-podge of some (completed) fics that wow'ed me this year. a great deal of these are several years old and likely 'old news,' but i got to experience their magic for the first time in 2024 and want to spend some time showing them some love!!! in no particular order:

in losing grip by @keep--driving - 2024 was the year of me learning to love a good second chances au. this fic has all the trope-y goodness you could ever want, along with toe-curling kiss scenes, the perfect kind of humour that makes you squeal into your pillow or porridge or wherever you find yourself, and characters that you just love and root for so easily. i especially loved her take on james and lily's mums and the ways they navigate the world with and beside their children. i read a large chunk of this fic on my kindle as i pushed a stroller this autumn and i will forever associate it with peace and calmness. i'll be re-reading it soon!!!

i love you (ain't that the worst thing you ever heard) by lizardcookie - enter: the other trope i fell in love with in 2024—failed friends with benefits. the way this fic deals with grief in such a poignant, devastating, incredible way had my jaw on the floor. yes there is sexy jily, but there is also giggly jily and insecure jily and scared jily and earnest jily and oh mannnn this is the good ish. the small detail of lily coming around to sirius and james both through her help with the flying motorbike. i love the minute breakdown of lily's thick walls until they come tumbling down and james is right there, waiting, as he always is, patient and Good.

i would drink a case of you, darling by treacherous_talks - one of the tags on this fic is "a good old fashioned 'lily and james get together fic' because there aren't enough of them" so obviously i was in from the jump. this magical fic does such an excellent job at highlighting exactly what it means to be a teenager with a crush on another teenager who you think has a crush on you but you're not completely sure and so you can't ruin it because what if you're wrong. that is such a jily sweet spot i don't often see done as well as it is in this fic!!!

poison of trust by soopsiedaisies - not a jily fic! gasp! in fact, it's remus and sirius (not wolfstar) who are actually not usually as compelling a relationship as some of the other marauder era possibilities. but this fic made me eat my words because it is delicious. the part that i literally included in my ao3 bookmark and that i think about all the time is when remus tries to accuse sirius of equating harry and james and sirius says, oooooh i have chills thinking about it, "i dare you to finish that sentence." YES guarddog sirius black! his position as sole protector of the potter family will never not be important to me and this fic highlights that in such a unique and compelling way.

bad day wall by @apalapucian - there's nothing i could say about this incredible fic that hasn't been said, and recently, but truly—jayne is such a phenomenal wordsmith. this has a dash of 'texting fic,' but make it canon compliant and so beautiful it makes you wanna diiiiiie. the blackevans is unmatched, of course. but james's head-over-heels-ness for lily also has to be mentioned. i love every single one of his batty contributions to the bad day wall as he mopes and wades through all the chaos of trying (and failing) to get over lily evans.

The Guide to Becoming a Better Man for Lily Evans by bronzeagepizzeria - the shirtless james potter agenda is quite special to me, which needs to be stated right out the gate, really. the shirtless james potter who is shirtless on purpose just to get under his dream girl's skin agenda is an ascension i have yet to come back down from.

Of Chrysalism by @maraudersftw - i shall give you this, line, dangling on a stick as a perfectly buttered and garlic'ed (??) carrot, enticing you to cast your cares aside and come read this fic: "He’s spoilt, and persistent, and endearing, and she’s hopeless." like??????? yeah. okay. sure. i'll pretend that i'm capable of returning from that in this lifetime. but actually: james "my feelings matter, too" potter is so important and i love the agency this fic gives him!!!

Scenes from a Hogsmeade Pub by @bcdaily - i think i read this years ago. perhaps. idk i was basically a baby when it was published in 2012. but i recently stumbled upon it (again? maybe?) and just absolutely devoured it. this is quintessential jily to me, in each iteration, as they grow and learn each other and finally, finally, finally choose each other. each of these scenes is so carefully crafted to showcase really important moments in their relationship, but does it using really unimportant moments, which is genius. it's the grand fromage of showing, not telling, and this would absolutely be the first week assigned reading on my syllabus if i got to live out my dream as a professor on jily.

say goodbye to my heart tonight by spinawren - my bookmark for this was literally just "SQUEEEEEEE" and i don't exactly know what i meant by that, but i think it's more eloquent than anything i could come up with here. the premise of this fic is genius: james and lily repeatedly having 'one-night stands' with each other until they realise they've accidentally started dating. but james potter's devotion to being in lily evans' presence is what makes this fic belong on the top shelf!

Bluebird by ocean_away - whewwww, this fic knocked me back in a way i didn't expect. it's a second chances fic of a different calibre all around, but what stands out to me the most in this particular fic is the way james and lily are both shown to so seamlessly grow. they begin as two broken, purposefully hurtful individuals (read: teenagers) and become young adults who choose goodness and each other over and over, even though it's not easy. i feel proud of them, when i read this fic. what a labour of love for our favourite couple.

The Way the Light Looks by @stonecoldhedwig - i have nothing more to say about this fic than this: BEST KISS SCENE I HAVE EVER AND WILL EVER READ!!!!!!!!!!!

Whispers in the Dark by @yallthemwitches - okayyyy so it's difficult to choose just one of tay's fics, but this is such a stand-out to me. friends to lovers!!!! james "but i've never lied to you" potter, i want to kiss you on the MOUTH! he's so earnest, so pure, so "no actually i just wanted to see you" when he has no business being such a sweetheart. honourable mention: the beyond-precious proposal scene at the end.

Love is Complicated by @theesteemedladydebourgh - this fic feels like sitting in the most beautiful library in the world watching rain trail down the ornate, darkened windows—and then the hottest professor on earth walks up to you and snogs you without preamble. except it's made better by the fact that he is somehow both james potter and an indiana jones variant? listen. just read it. then squeal and kick your feet with me, okay?

Sunshine in my Eyes by monroeslittle - another fic i devoured on my kindle this year (but definitely not during standardised testing at school when i was supposed to be actively monitoring teenagers for academic integrity and technically signed an oath that i locked all my electronics in the closet). ahem. this is some of the most rewarding angst i have ever read, which is genuinely some of the highest praise i could ever bestow on someone. lily going to james for lessons on how to kiss and the entire scene that follows will follow me forever. they're so endearing and sweet and did not deserve all they went through. but. angst with a happy ending xx

#fic rec #jily #i could have kept going and going and going #but alas it is almost midnight and i had a baby exactly 24 hours ago so i'm going to sleep lol #ps if you know the tumblr usernames of any of the authors i didn't already link pls let me know so i can edit and add them :-)#good night world

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adieutristana · 2 days ago

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hey, so i know that these kinds of posts have been flooding the jinx x reader tag lately, but i wanted to give my piece. i have a new jinx fic in the works, keep an eye out for that :)

i don’t write for men, and i never have. i’ve never seen why i would, considering that i’m a lesbian. i also never have seen why they would want to read my fics, seeing as they’re not the target audience.

my mentality when i see most female character x male reader fics is neutral. it’s not for me, why would i care? if men want to have their own spaces in the community, good for them, it doesn’t affect me. if they’re not writing about canon, confirmed lesbians, it really doesn’t matter. as much as i headcanon characters, everyone has their own headcanons as well. and most of all, these characters aren’t real. if lgbt representation isn’t being taken and it’s not something illegal being written about, why does it matter? do people not have lives outside of tumblr?

in my opinion, misandry doesn’t exist and never will. misogyny kills women, while misandry hurts men’s feelings at worst. in just the us, women were not granted no-fault divorce or the right to have a bank account in their own name until less than 100 years ago. women are having their reproductive rights threatened to this day. several countries are facing femicides- spain, turkey, and greece to name a few. women fear for their lives when driving, when walking after dark, when in the workplace. women are excluded from industries that have anything to do with STEM, along with many others.

not to mention the transmisogyny many of the men attacking writers have spewed. trans women, especially black trans women are one of the most threatened groups. trans women ARE women, point blank period. someone writing a character as trans does not cancel out the fact that they’re still a woman.

i purposely chose to attend a women’s college so that i wouldn’t have to fear for my safety when walking around campus or to my residence hall. that wasn’t the only reason, but it was a major factor. i’m constantly paranoid when i’m in an uber. i’m afraid to say no to men when flirted with in fear that they’ll act violently.

to reiterate: misandry does not exist. this is fanfiction, and if you’re so upset that the majority of arcane x reader fics are wlw, you’re more than welcome to write your own and make your own spaces, just like we have. but calling us delusional and throwing slurs will only make us want to include you less.

this is the last thing i’ll say about it. thanks for reading and to my women, don’t let this discourage you from being active in the community and putting out your work. 🖤

#lottie speaks #jinx x reader #arcane x reader

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tiddiesoutwhenthetisout · 2 days ago

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among other theories, apparently this is *actually* also possibly what he meant. since the color of the sea reflects the sky, i personally think it could either be him trying to aptly set the mood as a bloody sunset for the massacre that's been happening and is about to happen. it could also be plain poetry, which ties into the greeks' unique perception on colors. i'll get back to that later. i'll be going through a list of things that could have resulted in this description. although i'm leaning more on the "artistic choice" bit, as it was mentioned only for a few times among "gray" or "dark/black" (with hints of blue) apparently.

the unusual comparison could also have been made because the greeks diluted their water with wine. or, well, they mixed wine and spices and shit to their water. probably so they don't get drunk so easily-- jk, maybe they just loved their drinks. i read an article about wine and honey being a favorite. anyways, the water they used came from springs. drinking still wine (undiluted wine) was also considered barbaric, and would only be used as medicine or when traveling. it probably had a lot of cultural significance.

how does that turn giggle juice blue? maybe it was just white wine? it was not popular, apparently, and has not been made mention in the iliad. plus white wine is generally 'light'. then what the fuck?

anthocyanins are a group of pigments that manifest in plants and are responsible for giving them red, blue, or purple colors. now, i hated chemistry so i'm not sure how exactly the transformation happens, but when these polymers are exposed to a lower pH level, they turn red. when the number goes up the scale, they turn purple. thus; acidic = red, alkaline = purple. it would have turned blue when the substance was neutral, so maybe that's what he meant by wine-dark.

doing this mixing thing is unnecessary these days, so i'm not sure what a 3:1 water to wine ratio would do to the hue, but they poured enough to balance out the acidity, creating a blue substance (getting flashbacks to the curacao that turned my vomit blue- god, oh god). i'm sure you're thinking about the litmus strips from middle school right now. yes, the indicative pigment on litmus paper can be made by extracting anthocyanins from plants. i hope someone comes to correct me because i have no formal education on these matters.

i skimmed this article just now and it also says the greeks might have been color-blind, limited to black, white, and possibly red. no idea what the sources are, but it seems to be a pretty legitimate blog so... it also agrees with the thing i yapped about above, as well as makes mention of algae phenomenon which is commonly known to give the sea various colors. reminds me of bioluminescent phytoplankton lmao why can't i concentrate on the information i wish to share 𓀃

there's also the matter of greeks focusing on lighting rather than hue when it comes to color perception. so there could be something "winelike" about the way light reflects on the surface of the ocean, or it could just be as dark as wine that is kept in a jar.

i still firmly adhere to the state of the sea being described according to the weather, time of day, and mood he wishes to set. for example-- gray when he wants it to be a sort of 'calm before the storm', bright when he wants it to be daytime with the sun directly overhead, wine-dark on the afternoon where a vermillion sunset seems an appropriate backdrop, or "dark/black" when he wishes to indicate that it is nighttime. with the moon shining beyond the horizon, this could give the water a prominent gleam that can be compared to luscious dark hair that seems to be a feature among characters they wish to depict as attractive. considering "rosy-fingered dawn", it's probably similar to describing a voice as "angelic".

they also have theories about a limited vocabulary for colors, though, and i think i buy into it when you put the restricting aspect of languages being difficult to translate literally, or how it was originally intended, can only be understood in essence in its mother tongues, during its time of writing.

🌊

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requiemforthepoets · 10 hours ago

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first encounter ⟢ CL16

⟢ part two of you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part three ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: all thanks to leo, charles finally got the chance to meet you—the celestial being who has consumed his every waking thoughts, and managed to find out new things.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little bit of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. sorry it took me a LONG time to post the part 2 of this series, i already have this on my drafts but never got the time to check on it bc i’ve been working on my other series (fa16 series), but finally, here it is! the part 3 may take a long time to be posted again 🥲 but you don’t have to worry bc i intend on finishing this series. taglist is open for this series, so just comment or message me if you want to be tagged. your comment/reblog is highly appreciated, and i hope you’ll enjoy this second part of the series!

It was a warm late afternoon in Monaco, and Charles had finally pulled himself out of his apartment, hoping that some fresh air and Leo’s cheerful company might turn off the constant thoughts running through his mind. Since that night in Singapore, you had been all Charles could think about—the image of you standing before him, looking at him as though you knew the secrets he hadn’t even dared to ask himself. Charles had barely gotten a word in before you disappeared, leaving him with nothing but more questions.

The park was mostly empty, allowing him and Leo to stroll without the usual flood of cameras or people hoping to get a quick word with him. Charles enjoyed these rare quiet moments, watching Leo run through the grass, capturing photos of him mid-leap, his ears flapping, and his tail wagging in pure delight. For a while, it was peaceful—that is until Leo began barking persistently, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

“Leo, calme-toi.” Charles called, trying to soothe his normally docile dachshund.

Leo rarely barked at nothing, and Charles couldn’t see what had him all stirred up. As he looked past Leo, his heart skipped. There you were, standing at the edge of the park, just as he had remembered you, dressed in black, untouched by the brightness of the world around you, as if you had stepped from a different realm entirely. Slowly, Charles walked over, kneeling beside Leo, who was still barking.

“Can you see her too, buddy?” Charles asked softly, but Leo only turned his head back towards you.

His barks began shifting into a delighted whine, tail wagging as though greeting an old friend. To Charles’ amazement, Leo took off towards you, bounding across the grass with uncharacteristic excitement. You bent down on one knee as Leo reached you, his small body pressing happily against your touch. Charles just stood there and watched, captivated by the whole sight, how your hand moved over Leo’s fur, and how the dog responded, oblivious to the fact that what he felt was something beyond the ordinary. You then looked up at Charles and smiled, a gentle, knowing expression on your face.

“Hello, little one,” you murmured to Leo, reaching out to stroke him. Your gaze followed Leo’s figure as he trotted back toward Charles. “He’s a beautiful soul. It’s clear how well you take good care of him, he is very happy with this life.”

Charles swallowed, taken aback by the warmth of your words. He felt a huge wave of relief washing over him, and somehow, you were not a figment of his imagination. You were in front of him, speaking to him, your voice soft but firm, grounding him in the reality of your presence.

Noticing a bench nearby, you gestured, “shall we sit?” Charles nodded.

He followed you as you walked, though he kept glancing around as if worried that someone might catch him talking to thin air. The two of you sat side by side, your gaze focused on Leo as he scampered around, while Charles couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at you. The silence between you felt almost sacred, deafening, thick with all the unspoken questions he longed to ask.

“I know you have many questions,” finally, you broke the silence. Your voice was gentle. “Especially as to why you can see me, when others could not.”

Charles let out a shaky breath, nodding. “I—I don’t understand. I’ve seen you before, but you keep on disappearing, and no one else…they never see you.” his voice was a soft murmur, filled with confusion and wonder.

“Our kind, like myself, we’re not meant to be seen by human eyes. We’re here to watch and guide, but only from afar. Most humans only sense us as a passing feeling, a presence.” you softly said, as you studied him with a faint smile. “But in your case, you see me. Truly see me.”

“Why, though? Why am I able to see you?” Charles’ brows furrowed, his gaze intent on yours.

You turned to look at Leo, who was now sitting a short distance away, watching the two of you with a curious tilt of his head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Leo.

“It’s rare, Charles. But sometimes, there is a connection between our kind to your kind that goes beyond the veil. I’ve thought about it myself, and though I don’t have all the answers, it’s clear that there’s a reason you and I keep crossing paths.”

Charles’ heart raced. The way you spoke, as though fate had woven an invisible thread between you had left him reeling. He glanced around the park, reminded of how strange this conversation must look to anyone passing by, but he did not care at all. The need to understand, to know you, outweighed any risk of prying eyes.

“Maybe…maybe we should go somewhere less public?” Charles suggested, his voice low.

He did not want this moment to end, he couldn’t let you disappear on him again before he had the chance to understand this kind of connection. You looked at him for a long contemplative moment, then nodded.

“All right, lead the way.”

Charles led you quietly through the streets of Monaco and up to his apartment. He hadn’t said much on the way, clearly lost in thought, yet there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. When you entered his apartment, you immediately noticed how it held an essence of him. Warm, understated, and filled with memories. The walls were decorated with framed photographs spanning his life from childhood karting days to podium celebrations in F1. Trophies were all lined up on the shelf, and each piece seemed to carry a story of its own.

You were drawn to the photos, especially those capturing his relationships, the warm smiles he shared with his family, playful moments with his friends, and candid shots of him and his brothers. Then your gaze settled on one particular photograph, and a bittersweet feeling bloomed within you. It was a younger version of Charles, perhaps in his teens, standing alongside a man whose face you recognize. Jules Bianchi.

Charles noticed the direction of your attention as he finished filling up Leo’s dog bowl, and he stepped over to join you, his expression softening as he saw the photograph. Jules had been so much more than just a mentor to him. The man in that photo had shaped parts of his soul and his dreams. You could feel the weight of Charles’ emotions lingering in the air, a tender ache mixed with recognition.

“You knew him?” Charles’ voice was quiet as he stood beside you.

You nodded softly, your own voice taking on a gentle tone. “I was there in his final moments. I was the one who guided him when he was ready to go, helping him crossover.”

Charles’ face was a mix of expression, caught between surprise and disbelief. For a second, he seemed unable to respond, the information settling slowly. You watched him intently as he took a deep breath, grounding himself.

“You…you spoke to him?” he managed, his voice strained with a mix of sorrow and longing.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady but tender. “I spoke with his soul as he lingered between here and the afterlife. It was…peaceful. He was calm when I arrived, almost as if he knew he was not going to stay.”

You paused, “I then asked him about his life, what his favorite thing about life was.”

”He told me that his family meant everything to him. He then mentioned being a godfather, and his dreams for his protégé, a young man named Charles.” you added.

“He said that?” he whispered, breath hitched as he instinctively reached up to touch the frame, his fingers resting just over the image of Jules’ face.

“He spoke of you with such pride, with hope that you would go on to achieve everything he had dreamed for you. Jules saw himself in you, Charles. His last thoughts were with his family and you.” you looked at him softly. A quiet rage simmered in Charles’ eyes as he turned to look at you, his voice tinged with frustration.

“But why? Why couldn’t you let his family speak to him, too? They waited for so long, hoping he’d wake up, to say goodbye properly.” the raw pain and anger in his voice were unmistakable.

Charles had not meant to question your intentions, but the loss of Jules had carved a wound that had never fully healed, and in his grief, he momentarily forgot you were not human. You looked at him with a soft, understanding smile, letting the weight of his sorrow wash over you. You had witnessed this kind of reaction before, how those who are grief-stricken often felt deprived of closure.

“I understand, Charles. If I could have done differently, I would have,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But it wasn’t his body I spoke to, it was his soul. Jules was already watching from the other side, beyond the reach of the physical world. In those moments, he wasn’t in his body anymore, he was seeing all of you from a place where time no longer held sway.”

Charles looked down, processing your words, the anger fading slowly as he tried to keep his emotions steady. He tried to reconcile his emotions with the reality of what you had just shared. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on the floor as he took in a shaky breath.

“So he…he was watching us all along?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you assured him. “He was with you. Every tear, every moment spent beside his hospital bed, he saw it all, even if he himself couldn’t respond in a way you wished for it to be.”

“Souls don’t always leave the way we want them to. They transition gently, often lingering just to be close to the people they love.” you added. Charles’ shoulder slumped slightly, and he let out a shaky sigh, nodding as if finally accepting what had once seemed unimaginable.

“It…it makes sense,” he murmured. “Jules was always calm, even in the most difficult moments. Maybe he knew it would be easier this way.”

There was a peaceful silence that settled between the both of you, the only sound being Leo’s soft footsteps as he padded over to sit by Charles’ feet. Charles looked at you again, the sorrow in his eyes tinted by a glimmer of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, a sincerity in his words that touched you deeply. “For…for being there with him, and for telling me.”

You gave him a reassuring nod, feeling the depth of his appreciation. “He is proud of you, Charles. More than you know. You are honoring his legacy every time you step onto the track.”

Charles closed his eyes briefly, absorbing your words, a new sense of peace settling over him. He knew that the ache would remain, but perhaps now, with you there to share this part of Jules’ journey, it would be a little easier to carry.

Eventually, you found yourself seated on the barstool, observing how Charles moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients as he prepared a dish called pasta, and noting the way he moved with a quiet confidence. He seemed at ease, but you could tell by the occasional glance he cast your way that he was still processing everything. The strange connection he had with you, a Celestial he could see but others could not. As he stirred the sauce on the stove, he broke the silence, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“So…what exactly are you?” Charles asked, attempting to sound casual, though his curiosity was clear. “Are you like an angel of death or something?” his brows furrowed slightly as he added.

“No, Charles. I’m not here to take you away,” you assured him, tone gentle, and couldn’t help but smile at his suspicion. “Think of me as a guide and a protector. My duty is to help souls cross the afterlife, to make sure that they are not alone and lonely when they cross the other side.”

“So, you’re…you’re not here for me?” he asked, his voice tentative. You could see the worry in his eyes, as if he had been half afraid that he might be speaking with the very spirit that would one day guide him out of this life.

“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m here because, somehow, we have this connection. I was there in the hospital room, with your father, when you saw me for the first time. It was a natural part of my duty, I was waiting to guide him. Just as I was there for Jules.”

“So you only appear when…someone’s close to death?” Charles’ gaze dropped to the countertop, and he nodded slowly, as if piercing it all together.

“Typically, yes,” you replied. “Humans are not meant to see me. They may sense it, a presence, calmness, or even a cool warmth when I’m near, but that’s usually all. So, I could not quite understand why you could see me. It isn’t common.”

“But I can see you.” he said, almost to himself, as if still trying to grasp this phenomenon.

“Exactly.” you looked at him thoughtfully. “Over time, as I have watched over you, you’ve somehow become aware of me. It’s as if the bond between us allowed you to see me when others can’t.”

You let the words hang, hoping it answered the mystery that had puzzled him for so long. Charles turned back to the stove, his movements slower, as if he were allowing himself time to absorb what you had just said. After a moment, he turned to look at you again.

“Back in Singapore…I kept thinking of you, wondering if you were real or just in my head.” he hesitated, then continued. “And you appeared, it was like you sensed me or something.”

“That’s precisely what happened,” a gentle smile crossed your face as you saw the gears turning inside his head. “I could feel your thoughts, your longing to see me, and so I came to you. Your thoughts, they called to me.”

“But why do you always disappear?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “Every time I think I already have you here, you’re gone the second I look away.”

“It’s not by choice, Charles.” you met his gaze, understanding his frustration. “My presence here beside you is not permanent. I have duties beyond just watching over you, it is my duty to guide other people as well. My duty is to help those souls cross peacefully into the afterlife, which means I’m often called away. That’s why I can’t always be here, even if you want me to be.”

“I understand,” he said softly as he looked down, absorbing your words. “It’s…strange, but it does make sense.”

A comfortable silence fell between you and Charles as he took out a plate and transferred the pasta dish on it. You could still feel the wheels turning in his mind as he processed everything. After a moment, you spoke again.

“If you want me to be with you, well, there is a way.” you said.

He looked up at you, now intrigued. “A way?”

You nodded. “Yes. If you light a match or a lighter and call for me, then blow it out, I’ll hear it, and I’ll come to you.”

“Why a match?” Charles’ brows furrowed as he considered it.

“Fire.” you explained. “It is a symbol of transition. It’s an ancient element that is used to connect realms, to call forth spirits, and to bridge the distance between worlds. When you light a match or a lighter, you are creating a momentary flame that connects you to my realm, and when you blow the fire out, it becomes a message—a summons. I’ll hear it, wherever I am.”

“So, I just…call out to you, light a flame, and you’ll come?” Charles’ lips curved into a small smile.

“Yes.” you returned his smile, feeling the warmth in his gaze. “As long as you need me, Charles. Wherever you are, I’ll always find a way to be there.”

Charles looked at you with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, a newfound comfort that seemed to settle over him. In that quiet moment, Charles reached for his fork, but his gaze lingered on you, a newfound clarity softening his features.

“Thank you.” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He then placed a plate of pasta right in front of you, and you tilted your head, looking at the dish with sheer curiosity and slight confusion. Charles noticed your expression, stopping mid-motion as he raised his own fork.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle but genuinely concerned.

“I don’t…eat,” you explained softly, gaze flickering between him and the plate, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “Celestials don’t have the need for food, so I don’t know what it’s like to taste something, let alone pasta.” you could see a flicker of surprise and something that almost looked like offense pass over his face.

“What? You’ve never tasted pasta?” he asked, shocked, as he looked down at his beloved dish, looking genuinely horrified. “Pasta is…it’s comforting, it’s warmth and tradition. It’s something everyone has to try.”

“Okay, imagine this—it’s soft and a little chewy, warm and…kind of like a hug, but for your mouth.” he added, grinning at you with his eyes lighting up. “And with this tomato sauce, its got this balance of sweet and tangy, a bit salty too, it just…makes everything feel better.” his expression softened.

You watched Charles as he spoke, entranced and touched by his earnest attempt to describe something so familiar to him yet so foreign to you. Spending this time with him, watching his animated expression, hearing his heartfelt explanations, you begin to understand why his father and Jules had spoken of him so warmly in their final moments. Charles was not only passionate, but genuinely kind and unpretentiously funny. There was a gentleness to him that touched your heart, even if it couldn’t beat the way a human’s did.

Hours slipped by so fast, and you both found yourselves seated on his living room couch, talking quietly, the evening light fading around you. Charles asked questions after questions, fascinated by your world and by what you do. You answered each one as best as you could, and with each answer, his awe seemed to deepen. You shared stories of guiding other souls, moments of peace and love you had witnessed. He listened, hanging onto each word, and you could see a newfound calmness in his eyes.

While you were in the middle of telling him a story about guiding an elderly woman who had waited until all her children were by her side before letting go, you heard a soft sound. Glancing to your right, you found Charles with his head tipped back against the couch cushion, his breathing steady and calm. He had drifted off, exhaustion settling over him like a soft blanket. For a moment, you just watched him, studying his peaceful face. Charles’ long lashes rested against his cheeks, and a gentle warmth seemed to radiate from him, a stark contrast to the chill you carried with you.

A quiet yearning tugged at you as you lifted a hand, your fingers hovering near his face. You wanted, just once, to feel the warmth of human skin, to know what it was like to truly touch, but you know better. If you let your fingers graze him, he would only feel a cold wisp of air, a reminder that you didn’t belong to this world in the same way as Charles did. So, reluctantly, you lowered your hand and simply looked at him, memorizing the moment.

You had spent nearly the entire day with Charles, and though part of you longed to stay, you knew it was time to leave. Quietly, you stood up from the couch and made your way to where Leo was resting nearby. You knelt down beside the little dachshund, who lifted his head to watch you with those soulful eyes, tail giving a soft wag, and you reached out, your fingers ghosting over his fur.

“Leo, I know that your past life was not kind to you and had been cut short, but you’re safe now. In this life, you’re well taken care of and so loved.” you spoke softly, as Leo seemed to tilt his head, like he understood every word you say. “Charles is a good man, he will love and take care of you, always.”

As you straightened up, Leo continued to watch you, his eyes filled with a sense of understanding. You turned to take one last look at Charles, still asleep on the couch, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A soft smile crept over your face as you watched him, there was a wave of warmth washing over you, even without a heartbeat to drive it.

With a final, quiet glance at Leo, who looked back at you with trusting eyes, you let yourself disappear, and slipped back into the unseen world that had always separated you from the people you guided. Yet, for a short moment, you knew you had left a part of yourself with Charles and Leo in that Monaco apartment.

Charles woke up with a dull ache running through his neck, reminding him of the night he had spent sleeping on the couch. He rubbed the sore spot, groaning slightly as he tried to stretch out the stiffness. For a moment, he just sat there, gathering his thoughts, until the memories of last night’s memory surfaced. The conversation, quiet moments, and then the emptiness when he realized you had left. He sat back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as a sense of longing settled over him, a quiet ache that wasn’t so easily stretched away.

A small bark drew his attention to Leo, who was sitting nearby, watching him with an endearing tilt of his head, and noticing Charles’ contemplative state. He smiled and reached out, calling Leo over.

“What do you think, Leo? It was one strange night, huh?” Leo padded over gently, wagging his tail as Charles scooped him up, holding him close.

For a few minutes, Charles simply enjoyed and basked in the warmth of Leo in his arms, the familiar comfort that Leo offered in the midst of all the strange, unexplainable things that he was feeling. Last night had been a fever dream for him, but he knew that it was real, that it happened.

“Do you think it’s strange? Wanting to see her again?” he added. Leo just responded with a quiet, comforting look and nestled close to Charles.

After a while, curiosity began to gnaw at him. Charles could not shake the desire to know more about you, as to why he felt this pull, this connection that seemed impossible and yet so real. He padded into his bedroom, grabbed his laptop and settled in, typing Celestial Angels into the search bar. Countless articles, myths, and even fiction flooded his screen. Charles sifted through several pages, skipping over anything that seemed overly romanticized or far-fetched, until one article caught his eye.

The article spoke of Celestial Angels who formed deep bonds with their humans, describing how they acted as protectors, watchers, and guides. It mentioned the rare connection that could occur, a phenomenon where an angel might become so deeply intertwined with a human soul that they developed a sense of longing or even love, something that was both a blessing and a curse for the Celestial. As he read further, Charles could not help but wonder if this was what he had experienced, if this was the reason he kept seeing you, why he felt such a pull toward you.

Charles then stumbled upon a book: The Celestials by an author named Celestine Williams. The cover featured a faint, ethereal image of a figure wrapped in light, the silhouette barely discernible, much like he imagined you, and the description noted that it explored the stories and folklore surrounding Celestials and their interactions with humans, a deep dive book. The reviews were glowing, a few feedbacks talking about how the book shed light on the mysteries of these beings and the unique connections they could form. Without a second thought, Charles clicked buy, hoping the book would give him a glimpse into your world, something that might help him understand you much better.

Charles then returned his attention back to the article. But his focus kept drifting, thoughts of you had surfaced in his mind unbidden, wondering where you were right now, what you might be doing, if you were watching over someone else or wandering through some hidden place unknown to humans. The pull to see you, to call you, was growing stronger by the second, becoming a quiet ache that settled deep in his chest.

He set the laptop aside, exhaling as he mulled over the idea. Charles remembered what you had told him when he needed you—that he could call you by lighting a match or a lighter, a summon that would draw you to him. He doesn't know if it would even work, or if you would even come, but the need to see you was already overriding any doubts that he has. So he then grabbed a small lighter that he kept somewhere hidden in his kitchen and went to his living room, sitting down on the couch with Leo curled up beside him.

Charles knew it was kind of absurd, like it was something straight out of a fairy tale of a late-night ghost story, but last night, you had told him that if he wanted to see you, all he had to do was light a flame and call out to you. A part of him, the rational side, wanted to shrug it off as nonsense. But then the other part of him had witnessed things that were impossible and felt that strange connection to you, urging him to at least give it a try.

“Am I really fucking doing this?” he murmured, looking down at Leo for approval. But Leo just looked at him, with a face that said ‘what’s the harm in trying?’ “Ah, fuck it.”

Finally, with a deep breath, he flicked the lighter on, watching the tiny flame flame dance as he whispered out to you, a barely audible plea for you to return. The flame flickered as he called out to you, then he blew it out gently, his eyes lingering on the wisp of smoke that rose and faded. His heart was pounding, unsure if should expect an immediate response or if he had simply made a wish to the empty air.

A hush settled over the quiet living room, and for a moment, nothing really happened. Charles felt a pang of disappointment, even a touch of embarrassment at how eager he was and had hoped. He let out a disheartening chuckle, letting out a quiet sight right after, and lowering the lighter, thinking that maybe he had been mistaken or that the depth of the bond he felt was just his pure imagination.

Just as he stood up, about to return the lighter back into the kitchen, Charles felt a shift in the air, a delicate, almost undetectable shimmer, like a faint breeze brushing across his skin. He looked up, and there you were, standing in the soft morning light, an almost imperceptible glow framing your presence. The world seemed to pause, the weight of the day fading away as he took in the sight of you. You stood there, a soft, otherworldly light around you, the faintest hint of warmth in your eyes as you looked at him. Charles felt his breath hitching, he had not realized how much he missed seeing you until now. He began feeling a strange mix of relief and happiness.

“You called for me?” you asked softly, your voice like a distant melody.

Charles nodded, suddenly feeling a little bit embarrassed, but unable to look away at you. “I…I did, I hope it’s okay. I just…” he paused, fumbling over his words. “I wanted to see if it works, and to see you again. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“You’re allowed to call for me, Charles. That’s why I told you how you can reach for me.” you smiled gently, a warmth in your expression that seemed to reach him despite your distance.

“I’ve been reading about Celestial Angels, trying to understand.” he let out a soft chuckle, placing his hands inside of his pockets, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I came across all these stories about angels who…form connections with their humans.” Charles looked down, collecting his thoughts.

“I guess I just wanted to understand what we have. Why do you keep on appearing, and why does it feel like I know you, even though I don’t really.” he added.

“The connection between an angel and their human isn’t something that happens every day. It’s rare, something beyond explanation.” your expression softened, and took a slow step forward, closing the gap between you. “We’re not supposed to form attachments, but sometimes, it’s as if the universe allows it, just for a moment.”

“So…it’s real, then? I’m not imagining it at all?” his gaze never leaving you, but filled with curiosity.

“No, Charles,” you shook your head. “You’re not imagining it. It’s real. You were always different, even from the first time I saw you.”

“I don’t know what this all means, but I want to understand.” he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, voice quiet, and a raw honesty was lacing his tone as he held your gaze.

“Sometimes, understanding isn’t possible, not in a way humans desire. Some things simply are.” you said quietly.

You then placed a hand near his, close enough that Charles could almost feel your presence, but not quite touching. The silence stretched, rich and weighty, filled with words left unsaid. Finally, he managed a faint smile.

“Thank you. For you know, for coming.” Charles said softly.

“For you, I always will.” you replied, smiling at him.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 , @chloes-book-corner , @wierdflowerpower

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sugaryplum · 1 day ago

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LENKA'S ULTIMATE FICS HALL OF FAME ༉‧₊˚.

i’ve been reading fics on tumblr for a whileeeee. many years. i went through many phases, celebrity crushes, fictional crushes and obviously, fics related to them. only some stuck with me through all this time and well, here there are!!

what’s important, i’ve done this type of post before only with theodore nott in mind. i was asked by anon to recommend some more so here you can find him, as well as many different characters across many films, books, tv shows, genres. i lowkey recommend reading most of them honestly, even if you don’t know the characters. some are just in alternate universes so the name or context of the character doesn’t really matter :)

i’m picky and particular with fics so i promise these are best of the best 🤍 well written, in character, super cute all that. and like 80 percent is fluff

SO have a lovely time reading!! let’s start

(if i tagged a character and there's no section for them, they're for sure down at the bottom in "misc" – with poe dameron, regulus black, scorpius malfoy, jake peralta and some more <3)

spencer reid

i love baby steps by @sinfulspencer !!!!! i love domestic spencer

also can't let go by the same author i remember being lovely

fluffy cute ass blurb by @tinyluvs

asleep spence by @in-another-april <3

i looooveee @radiant-reid ! for example this little fic

and this omg

oh and these season 7/8 headcanons!!

theodore nott

i might accidentally repeat myself from my theo recs post, sorry:( most of them should be new recs though

speaking of repeating myself, first i'd like to repeat myself on purpose. if @artytaeh has no fans i am dead, i swear to goddd. i stand by what i said last time. best characterisation of theo, everything seems like it's made with so much care, no misses in the masterlist. read it alllllll

i mentioned veryberryjelly in my last theo recs too. here are some more of my favourites :) this and also this i ordered hehe. also i don't remember if last time i linked blair witch or tangled in lights so here you get them both

little dragon by @retrobutterflies super so very sweet

i remember the cat chronicles by @obsessedwithcelesteare being very cute 🌟 i love theo + cats combo always

like a moth to a flame by @julesinsummer angsty!!!!! but so good

honestly i'm pretty sure i talked about it in theo recs already but in case i haven't you need to read this by @agirlsguidetolove

i remember loving fools by @luv4freddie !!! cute

this by @darkmagic-s was super silly and fun i love silly and fun things yayay

i for sure i talked about @cassiopeiasdaughter but did i talk about mirrorball specifically? i requested this and i loooveee it

this unhinged smut by @theostrophywife i love i stan

also silly little smut hcs by @sucka4thepuss hehe, most of them i agree i love em

😣😣😣<3😣

alright done with this smut section just this too let me link

cute and silly reminders of marriage thing by

@wordsarelife made this cute thing that lol im like 70% sure i may have requested???? and the ask looks like something i would ask for hehe

@suugarbabe makes really good stuff :)

cedric diggory

golden by @sapphicwhxre (love the username btw) might be my favourite cedric fic? first date cedric loooooveee

plain sight by @softboyluvr too oh my god! love this as a scenario

rainy summers as well as just you by @mirclealignr i think im just all for pure cedric diggory fluff (well written too!)

godsend by @pariahsparadise with sick reader super very sweet

@mistress-riddle made this lovely thing (and she's also btw soooooooo unbelievebly great with tom riddle fics if thats your cup of tea, i love all of them)

ced yule ball hcs by @styleswithaseaview are so sweet and there are also lovely petnames ones by the same author <3

cuuuute girldad!ced called pigtails by @mayabooowrites

post hogwarts cedric just so so so sweet by @iliveiloveiwrite, here's lighthearted domesticity

misc (all the other characters)

there's a bunch of my phases passed a long long time ago but some fics are just waaay too good to not keep rereading and recommending them. i think they're all pretty universal and can be imagined with anyone as the main love interest so please read them even if you don't know the character. and DON'T judge me ;(((( for the characters !!! i'm exposing myself enough. these were found by young me from a long while ago

this by @wizkiddx is the sweetest ever tom holland blurb about how he's a clumsy mess trying to measure reader's ring size while she's asleep

i think destined by @thirst-refinery is the cutest soulmate au made, even though i don't think the story was ever finished? but i love it still and honestly i am very not ashamed to be in love with poe dameron

black leader shutting up by @starryeyedstories also greattttt poe dameron fic

clingy fluffy sugary sweet scorpius malfoy in dinner by @blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms <3

🤎🤎 regulus black bunch :) here and here as well as here and here

....or maybe i just love timothee chalamet? like here and also here and definitely here

out of my hamilton phase a few years ago came out my love for this fic which might be one of my favourites ever, i legit have this text copied to my notes just in case it ever gets deleted

my alex turner moment was brief but so fun

OH AND this long jake peralta fic by @ongaku-ato-kakikomi is oh my god SOOO much fun please read it

also another poe dameron fic, this one is so good, by @absolutelyfizzing, kind of angsty also!!!!

DALI ON TUESDAY charlie dalton fic by @rostovs-loveralso one of my favourite things on this whole app. love love love love

YAY THATS ALL. this took so long. you've got my whole collection now. all of the all time favourites and more. love love you, hope you love reading them as much as i did<3🌜🌟👼 night night

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #regulus black #scorpius malfoy #jake peralta #poe dameron #lenka’s recs #fic recs #timothee chalamet #tom holland

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kitteningotham · 2 days ago

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I actually have an incomplete WIP similar to this vibe, where Dick learnt mimicry at the circus and instead of becoming his own Batman he’s basically pretending to be him. Not sure how this would have worked logistics-wise if B had actually died, but in this no one really believes he’s died (which probably would have made Dick more accepting of Tim’s lost in time plan, but I’m not getting onto that right now. It’s here if you want to read it:

Without Bruce, Dick felt empty. Longing like a black hole filled his heart, and his thoughts echoed in the cold nothingness that was his mind.

Still, someone had to uphold the Justice League meetings, and Dick doubted they would react well if that person wasn’t him. In fact, he was pretty that without Batman, the entirety of the League would dissolve into disorder and chaos. But even obligation couldn’t fully stop up the grief welling up like tears inside him. (Now both of his fathers were dead.)

So he found himself speaking to himself in the mirror, pretending it was Bruce he was talking to. If he squinted and widened his shoulders, the black hair and blue eyes looked the same as those of his adoptive father. He wondered idly whether Bruce had done the same when he had gone missing at times.

“Dad, I’ve really messed things up.” Dick breathed, trying to hold back his tears. “I wish… I wish you were here to help me, but I guess it’s finally time to grow up. I’m gonna have to pretend to be you for the League for a while, so I may have to ghost and/or lie to Clark for a bit so he doesn’t notice. Sorry about that.”

He inhaled slowly, widening his shoulders in the extremely padded Batsuit so he appeared to have a more stocky build like Bruce, holding his breath for a minute before releasing it. It would be hard, mimicking Bruce’s posture, not because he wasn’t familiar with it, because his usual stance was very loose and relaxed, while Bruce was always very uptight and tense. Still, he had been trained to mimic his adoptive father since he was eight, so it was in no way out of the question.

It was just lucky that Tim or Jason weren’t indisposed in such a way (he couldn’t bear to think of B as just… gone, he couldn’t), because he would have much more trouble copying someone he didn’t know as well. But, again, he had the training of a circus boy. Before he had shown aptitude for the trapeze like his parents, he had been given a basic training for all things, mimicry being one of them. It was why he was so good at acting, he had always thought. If he could just think of a character as a real person, he could copy them to the point where he forgot he was mimicking.

very tired of the ‘Dick Grayson is mostly a pretty boy with bad puns, golden retriever vibes’ trope. Give me German Shepherd Dick. Give me the ‘consummate performer’ Dick. The one all, brilliance, bloody smiles and showmanship, the one with razor sharp wit and charm made weapon. Dick who seamlessly switches between a million personas. The one who doesn’t know what to do when the show’s over. Give me the Dick no one wants to be on the wrong side of because Nightwing might not start battles, but he finishes them. The only one whose threats the entire Batfam (including Bruce) takes seriously. The one fear toxins can’t affect because he’s been to hell and back.

The Dick who unlike Jason doesn’t even mention how much he’s been fucked up and survived. The one the Joker knew he couldn’t break.

#batman #nightwing #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc comics #food for thought

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damnfeelings09 · 1 day ago

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Gorgeous - Shadow version

Authors note: This is my first Shadow POV, characters are all +18 and I try to keep em as reallystic as possible, I'll add a few thing here and there. If you couldn´t tell this pov is based on T.S song Gorgeous so you can totally listen to it while you read, it will help you to understand it better.

Party

Your idea of a perfect afternoon at home was a good book and a cup of coffee; however, when Rouge mentioned they were going to Metropolis Zone for something relaxing, you thought it would be a good idea. How wrong you were. Right now, you were at The Heat, a bar with loud music, people all over the dance floor, and a lot, a lot of alcohol. Saying you were stunned would be an understatement, but deep down you were grateful to Rouge for getting you out of your cave, even though you’d never admit it.

While you accompanied Rouge to the dance floor and both had fun, someone was watching you curiously from the upper part of the bar. Shadow wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol in his system or his senses being dulled by the loud music, but his feet started moving to the melody.

“You should take it as a compliment, that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talked…”

You, already having lost more than one sense, were laughing loudly as you ran her hands over her body and swayed your fluffy tail from side to side. “Hey, Moon! Look over there,” said Rouge, pointing toward the stairs. There, a figure stood that she couldn’t quite make out, probably due to the amount of alcohol you had consumed. “Wow, looks like we have a party pooper,” you said, mimicking his pose and laughing. You stopped in your tracks when you saw that figure glide gracefully through the guests, heading directly to the bar. Like a magnetic field, you followed.

“You should think about the consequences of your magnetic field being a little too strong.”

When you reached the bar, you looked around for him and found him sitting on a stool, staring into the vastness of his drink.

“You’re so cool it makes me hate you so much.”

You ordered two drinks: “Whiskey on ice, sunset in vine,” walked toward that stranger, sat beside him, and slid the drink closer to him. “Hello” you smiled. “I haven’t seen you around here before.” He didn’t take long to turn his face towards you. Two perfect crimson orbs locked onto you, analyzing you, as if he could see straight into your soul. His spines were jet black, fading into a deep red, matching his eyes. He wore a black vest, his white fur shining through it.

“You’re so gorgeous, I can’t say anything to your face, cause look at your face.”

You felt hot, all the heat concentrated in your cheeks, you could swear you were just as red as a tomato at that moment. Damn it, how were you going to speak now? Look at that face, you couldn’t say anything.

“And I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

Although Shadow remained as stoic as ever on the outside, he was definitely not on the inside. All night, he had kept his eyes on that long-eared bunny in the short dress, admiring, analyzing every step you took, holding onto the railing to avoid saving you every time you looked like you might trip, and clenching his fists when someone approached you. Shadow found it peculiar that you wouldn’t dance with anyone, not even when that big yellow cat came over. Why were you talking to him now?

“You should take it as a compliment that I’m talking to everyone here but you.”

“I don’t usually come to places like this.” “Wow... well, neither do I” you said, pushing a drink next to his hand. For just a second, your hands brushed, and that second was enough to send a jolt of 100,000 volts. His spines flickered with small orange sparks.

“You should think about the consequences of you touching my hand in a darkened room.”

“I’m Moon.” When Shadow realized he couldn’t easily escape your company, he turned to face you.

“If you’ve got a boyfriend, I’m jealous of him, but if you’re single, it’s honestly worse, cause you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“Shadow,” He said, trying not to let his recently discovered liking for long ears show. Boy he was lost. Your big purple eyes, like the sunset, white fur glimmering from small droplets of sweat. I feel like I might burn so bright and die.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

What was happening? Shadow wasn’t used to this... this feeling of electricity running through his body wasn’t like using his chaos energy; it was something else, something foreign to him. He didn’t know if he liked it or disliked it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off your hypnotizing purple gaze.

“You make me so happy it turns back to sad.”

You stood like that for a few seconds, until your friends dragged you back to the dance floor. You didn’t want to leave. You wanted to know what it was about that hedgehog that drew you in. He was an enigma, and you wanted to uncover what he was hiding. Shadow didn’t want you to leave, but he wasn’t going to stop you either. He wasn’t used to wanting, to needing something. It was hard for him to get his thoughts and feelings in order. He raised his glass and drank the entire contents in one go, left a bill on the bar, and walked out, trying not to look back.

“There’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

Shadow got on his motorcycle, torn between whether he should go back inside and ask for your number, if he should say goodbye or just walk away as if nothing happened as always. That was stupid; you two just shared a drink and a look. It wasn’t anything.

“Guess I’ll just stumble alone to my house.”

You watched as Shadow leave the place, a void growing in your stomach. Quickly, you grabbed your coat and ran after him. What were you doing? Had you lost your mind chasing after a stranger who hadn’t even shown interest in you? But those eyes, you couldn’t leave without at least trying. Just before Shadow started his motorcycle, he saw the white bunny leaving The Heat. You were looking around, as if searching for someone. When your eyes met, you smiled and walked toward him.

“Unless you wanna come along.”

#shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow fanfic #shadow pov #gorgeous shadow version #Yes I have questinable likes but you cant deny shadow is perfection

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peachiejeongin · 1 day ago

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Could you maybe do a little imagine of sorts where the reader likes to cosplay but she’s chubby and so she gets quite a bit of hate online for it, and Seungmin /her boyfriend/ has to remind her how beautiful and perfect she is? (Coming from experience where i get alot of hate as of lately due to my body even with fully covered cosplays. Tysm🩵

Through His Eyes | Seungmin

Synopsis: After a plethora of hateful comments about your latest cosplay breaks you down, Seungmin is there to pick up the pieces and remind you how special you are.

Pairing: Seungmin x chubby!Reader

Genre: established relationship, non-idol!au, fluff, angst

Warnings: hate comments, fat-shaming

WC: 1.2k

Notice: Hello, my love! Thank you so much for your request! I apologize for taking so long to get to it; it is absolutely adorable, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it! To you, and all of my chubbier readers, you are absolutely BEAUTIFUL! Your size is just more of you that this world can enjoy :) Without further ado, enjoy the story!

Divider By: @chilumitos

The room was alive with color and texture, every inch of the area being a cornerstone in your passion for cosplay. Fabrics in vibrant shades of red, black, and other colors draped over your chair in a criss-cross fashion, and detailed wigs sat neatly on scattered mannequin heads, every hair-do from pigtails to twin braids styled to perfection. One wig in particular was propped on your desk; it had brown, flowing hair that nearly reached the floor, and a pair of goggles was perched just above the bangs, complimented by a pair of red rabbit-esque ears that lay just above it.

You had spent weeks putting your Amber cosplay together, from hand-sewing the details onto her gloves to carefully painting the golden embroidery onto the torso piece. Every aspect had been crafted meticulously in order to bring the Genshin Impact character to life.

When you first slipped into the outfit, a rush of pride coursed through you; it fit just right. The scarlet jacket draped over your shoulders, not too loose or tight, but still accentuating the areas you wanted it to. The one-piece style of the main outfit, which was tailored to your measurements, hugged your curves in all of the correct places without restricting your body from movement. The thigh-high boots you had scoured online for were the finishing touch, giving your cosplay the touch of empowerment you thought gave it an unstoppable adornment.

It was perfect.

You twirled in front of the mirror, grinning at your reflection. The brunette wig framed your face, and the goggles and ears sat perfectly in place. You were thinking that this just might be your best cosplay yet. Excited, you wanted to take pictures, so you set up your tripod and phone in a spot in your room that got the best lighting in order to capture every detail of the intricate cosplay. You set your camera on a timer, and before you knew it, the poses were coming naturally. Amber’s confidence and chaotic energy radiated through you as you struck playful stances, flipping the side strands of your wife and smiling at the camera. When you sat down to edit the photos, you were thrilled with how they turned out; thus, you posted a carousel of images to your account with the caption:

“Amber! Reporting for duty! <3”#AmberCosplay #GenshinImpactCosplay #CosplayLove”

For the first few hours, the response was overwhelmingly positive. Friends and followers commented on how stunning you looked; most of the comments focused particularly on the immense amount of effort you had put into the costume, complimenting each and every detail of the outfit. You could not stop smiling as you read their positive words, your heart swelling with tremendous joy.

Then, the negativity began to trickle in.

At first, it was only one or two comments; easy enough to ignore, right? Yet, as the hours passed, the hateful remarks piled up.

“This is NOT Amber.”

“Isn’t Amber supposed to be slim and…you know, pretty?”

“Another chubby cosplayer ruining my favorite character.”

“Cosplay someone who actually matches your size!”

With each comment, the confidence you had felt only moments prior chipped away. The photos you had been so proud of now felt like a mistake. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the bright costume you had adored earlier now feeling as if it did not belong on your body. Suddenly, the wig looked messy, the thigh-highs were too extra, and the outfit as a whole felt snug, almost suffocating.

It was a mess.

Your hands trembled as you set your phone down, the screen lighting up with yet another comment notification. You buried your face in your hands, fighting the sting of tears threatening to smear your makeup. Cosplay had always been a way to express your creativity and passion; however, today only made it feel like the very thing you loved so dearly was being stripped away by people who did not even know you.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

“Babe?” Seungmin’s voice was gentle, a familiar anchor in your storm of thoughts. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah!” You hastily wiped at your eyes, putting on a fake smile although he could not see you just yet. “Come on in, Sweetheart!”

The door creaked open, and there Seungmin stood; a warm smile tugged at his lips as he held a small bag from your favorite bakery. Once his eyes met your red-rimmed gaze, however, his expression swiftly morphed into one of concern. He sat the bag down on your desk and crossed the room in a few strides, kneeling in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, his hands finding and intertwining with yours. You hesitated to reply, the words catching in your throat; however, the weight of it all was too much to hold in.

“It’s the comments,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “People keep saying I shouldn’t cosplay because I’m too chubby for it.”

Seungmin’s brows furrowed, a flicker of anger passing through his eyes before he took in a steadying breath.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching for your phone.

“No!” you countered quickly, shaking your head. “I don’t want you to see that stuff. It’s just…it’s awful.” Seungmin cupped your face in response, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had escaped.

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need to see them to know that they’re wrong,” he told you firmly. “Every. Single. One of them.” You looked away, but he tilted your chin back, his gaze locking with yours.

“Listen to me,” he continued, his voice full of conviction. “You are beautiful. Absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. Not just in your appearance but in your drive! It doesn’t matter what some idiots online think. All that matters is the effort and creativity you put into every cosplay and the way you light up when you talk about the characters you love!”

His words warmed you, but the lingering doubts remained.

“But, Minnie-”

“No buts!” he interrupted gently but firmly. “You are perfect exactly as you are, and anyone saying otherwise is blind to how amazing you are.”

He stood up, motioning for you to follow him to the mirror. Standing behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Look at that beautiful, intelligent, sweet girl in the mirror. You’re stunning, you’re strong, and you are talented beyond words. Do not, and I mean, do not let them take what you love away from you. You understand?”

You felt the tension in your chest begin to loosen, his words wrapping around you as if they were a shield against the hateful comments.

“Besides,” he added with a small smirk. “I’m your biggest fan, and other than your own, I think my opinion should be the only one that matters.” A laugh bubbled out of you despite the tears, and you nodded.

“Of course.”

Good. Now, let’s go through that bag I brought,” Seungmin said as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your temple. “I got all of your favorite treats, and after we eat, we’re gonna clean your makeup up and I am going to absolutely parade you around in this cosplay.”

You chuckled as you sat on your bed, and as you and Seungmin shared a batch of strawberry pastries, the hateful words faded into the background. Seungmin’s unwavering support reminded you of why you had started to cosplay in the first place.

All you needed was a reminder of why you did not need to stop.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

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nightingale-ghost-writer · 20 hours ago

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Possibly [Ghost x Fem!OC]

Summary: Ghost wouldn’t know love if it shot him in the face… or comfort, for that matter. A certain pretty medic could change that.

Author’s Notes: A companion piece for Maybe, with 10.7K words! Reading Maybe isn’t necessary, but provides bits of context for this toward the end. And again, a HUGE thank you to my beloved @uselsshuman for proof reading this for me. ❤️

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive content

Ten years ago

“Stay with me, Simon! Shit, shit, I need help!”

Ghost could hear Price yelling for the medical team, but he couldn’t make his mouth work enough to tell him to bloody stop. It was making his already splitting headache twice as bad. There were searing pains in his chest and abdomen that he was pretty sure came from bullets, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on the pain to keep him awake, but he could feel his consciousness slipping.

“Shit, Kate! I need that medic!”

Laswell did respond, but Ghost couldn’t hear what she said over the commotion of being lifted out of the chopper. “C’mon, Simon. Stay with me,” Price muttered. The older man patted his cheek somewhat less than gently, shaking his other arm. “We’ve got too much work to do for you to go dyin’ on me now.”

Ghost tried to snort, but what came out was more of a wheeze. He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t seem to get enough air in to say anything. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to compartmentalize the pain. The stretcher he was on bounced along with the footsteps of the men carrying it, making the throbbing in his torso worse.

His eyes snapped open when he heard metal doors slam against the wall. A pretty medic jogged to the stretcher, carefully shining a light into his eyes and running her hands down his body. He could tell when she found the bullet wounds, fingers prodding gently at their edges. He wheezed again.

Ghost was still fighting to stay conscious while she asked Price what had happened, one hand lifting to his mask. A last vestige of strength surged through him as he reached up to grab her wrist. Her eyes snapped to his, questioning.

“No,” he croaked weakly. His grip on her wrist had already loosened, despite his panic, and he feared she would pull the mask off anyway. But she only looked at him for a moment before pulling a pen torch from her coat pocket and shining it in his eyes. He squinted, trying his best to follow the light as it moved.

“Alright, you don’t have a concussion,” she said. “You can keep the mask on.” Ghost’s hand fell back to his side as she produced a pair of trauma shears and sliced through his tactical vest and shirt. The chilly air on his bare skin made him shiver. He slipped in and out of consciousness as the stretcher was carried into a surgical room and he was lifted onto a table.

Something cold swiped along his chest and in the crook of his arm. He felt a pinch as an IV was inserted, then a light tingling throughout his body. Then an agonizing pain pierced his chest.

He blacked out.

When he woke up again, bright sunlight shone through the window. It was cracked open to let in a fresh, cool breeze, and he could hear birds chirping outside. A soft beeping drew his attention to a heart monitor near his headboard. The pretty medic was at it, making notes on her chart.

Without looking toward him, she said “Good to see you’re finally awake.” Now that he wasn’t fighting for his every thought, Ghost took a moment to study her while she worked. She had delicate features; high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and a small chin. A deep cupid’s bow accentuated her full, upturned lips. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair framed her pale face while the rest threatened to spill out of a massive bun at the back of her slender neck, and he could see in the light that freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Pale, seafoam green eyes sparkled at him as she tilted her head, studying him back.

Bloody hell, he’d been caught staring.

He cleared his throat, preparing an apology, but she cut him off before he could start in.

“You took quite a beating. I pulled out a couple of bullets and got your lung reinflated, but you’ll need to take it easy for a few days. I’d prefer a couple of weeks, but Captain Price told me I’d be lucky to keep you at all once you woke up.” She smiled wryly at him. “I’m hoping you’ll work with me, here.”

As if hearing his name, a soft knock sounded at the door and Price stepped in. He smiled at Ghost from the doorway before turning to the medic. “How’s he doin’, doc?” he asked.

“Oh, he’ll be right as rain in no time. He just needs to take it easy for a while.”

Price snorted, glancing toward Ghost. “Good luck with that,” he muttered. The medic giggled, an echoing wind chime sound in the otherwise cold room. Ghost rolled his eyes, half because it’s what he would have done in the first place, half to stop from laughing himself. As he did, his grin dropped and his hand darted up to his face, instantly relieved to feel the fabric of his balaclava still there.

The medic arched one slender brow and smirked. “Don’t worry, it hasn’t come off.”

Ghost looked to Price for confirmation, who nodded slowly. “You can trust her, Simon.”

He looked back to the medic again, blinking at her. “I don’t even know your name,” he finally said. The realization had taken him too long to come to.

“I’m Cat,” she said cheerily. “Nice to meet you, Simon.”

Ordinarily, Ghost would have flinched. Only Price called him by name. Maybe it was because Price trusted her, maybe it was because he thought he might have some small amount of trust in her himself. Just a bit. He didn’t flinch. He sighed, feeling something almost like defeat sag his shoulders. Exhaustion.

“Nice to meet you, Cat,” he murmured.

She hummed in response, ushering Price toward the door. “You should get some sleep. If you need anything, just hit that call button.” She gestured to a small device on the bedside table as she checked his monitors one more time. “I’ll be back after I make some rounds, but hopefully you’ll be sound asleep by then.” She turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder at him. A smile spread across her pretty face when he held her gaze. “See you tomorrow, Simon.”

He slept peacefully that night for the first time in years. He decided when he woke up that it was from battle fatigue, not Cat’s presence in his room. She sat in a chair in the corner, curled up under a throw blanket, utterly engrossed in a book. For a long moment, Ghost just watched her. He couldn’t see what book she was reading- the back cover was facing him. The paperback spine was so worn that he couldn’t read the faint lettering on that, either.

“What’re you readin’?” he finally asked. His throat was hoarse, his voice even more gravelly than usual. Cat’s head snapped up and she beamed at him, scrambling out of the chair. She poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the countertop and moved toward him slowly. Giving him time to tell her to stop.

“The Great Gatsby,” she answered, handing him the cup. Carefully, he raised himself onto his elbows, taking the cup as he scooted back toward the headboard.

“‘Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known,’” quoted Ghost. Cat’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as a smile spread across her face.

“You’ve read it?” she asked.

Ghost gulped the water she’d brought him, nodding as he gestured to her tattered copy. “Not as much as you, though.”

Cat looked toward the book with a fond smile. “It’s my favorite book,” she said softly. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I could read you some, if you’d like.” Ghost blinked at her. After a moment of silence, she glanced back up, suddenly nervous. “O-or not, I’m sure you-”

“I’d like that,” he said. Her smile came back full force instantly.

“Well before I do, how do you feel? All of your vitals are looking good, but are you in pain? Collapsed lungs are no joke. And, y’know, neither are bullets.”

Ghost rolled his shoulders carefully. His stitches tugged, his joints ached, and there was a dull burning sensation where his wounds were. “I’ll live,” he said gruffly. Cat snorted.

“That’s kinda the poiiiint,” she sing-songed, grinning at him. She dragged her chair up to the bedside, leaning back and crossing her feet near his at the foot of the bed. She read softly, deliberately, voice lilting over the words. Ghost thought that if this was what taking it easy looked like, he could possibly get used to it.

Four years ago

Ghost hissed as he peeled his gloves off, tender skin protesting at the friction. His hands and arms had been burned pulling men out of a crashed helicopter.

“Half an hour and you’ll be with the medic,” rumbled Price as he passed by.

“I’m fine,” Ghost muttered back. Price stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly on his heel to stare.

“Half an hour,” he said deliberately, “and you’ll be with the medic.” Ghost stared for half a second before remembering himself, dropping his gaze, and mumbling a quiet acquiescence.

He didn’t need help like some of these men, but Price was unlikely to be swayed. Besides, there was nothing else for him to do when he got back to base. The mission had been quick and simple, a rescue for a downed bird. Price wouldn’t need him in the debrief and he’d only end up licking his wounds himself in the privacy of his own quarters. Besides, the base had a full medical team. The other soldiers would get medical care regardless of him.

When their plane landed, he made his way to the infirmary. He watched as several men were carried in on stretchers and slunk to the back to wait in the corner of the room. He stood for what felt like both ages and only minutes, watching soldiers come and go.

“Simon?” called a soft voice. He turned his head to see a petite woman with a mass of strawberry blonde hair. Cat.

“Cat,” he answered gruffly. She beamed at him, and even though she couldn’t see it, he smiled back. He was pleased to see her. After she’d treated his punctured lung some years ago, she’d come back to read to him every day of his recovery. He wasn’t sure if Price had specifically requested her presence, but he hadn’t been seen by any other medics during that stay.

It had settled his frayed nerves more than he’d ever admit.

Cat turned on her heel, motioning for him to follow her. He did. She’d treated various wounds and injuries since their initial meeting, and Simon had grown to trust her as Price did. She was competent and professional, gentle and compassionate. She seemed to know how much space he needed and she had never tried to insert herself into that space.

They reached a room, and Cat gestured for him to sit on the exam table while she shut the door behind him. He pulled off his hoodie as she slipped a pair of exam gloves onto her hands, back to him..

“So, Price tells me you’ve changed professions,” she said. Simon raised an eyebrow.

“He what?”

She turned to face him, eyes twinkling. “He says you’re a firefighter now.”

Simon scoffed at that. “That’s because the old man is losing his marbles.” Cat snickered.

She pulled a tray with various items across the room and stood directly in front of Ghost. He saw ointments, bandages, and several metal tools he didn’t like the look of.

He nodded toward the tray as she took one of his hands, lifting his arm to better look at it. “What’s all that?”

She glanced at the tray before turning her gaze back to his arm. “The tools? They’re for debridement, but I shouldn’t need them. They’re just standard in burn kits.”

Simon nodded, relieved. Cat cocked her head at him. “I… do kinda need you to take off your shirt. Well, preferably most of your clothes.”

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, holding her gaze. She waited patiently as he stood, unbuckling his vest and pulling his shirt over his head. She busied herself with examining the tubes of ointment and opening the bandage packages as he untied his boots, removing those and his pants and sitting back on the edge of the exam table in his boxers and mask.

Simon cleared his throat, and Cat turned back to him, smiling gently. She murmured questions about his pain level as she examined the burns on his arms, smearing various burn ointments across them before wrapping them gently. She worked her way up his arms, across his chest, down his torso, and finally down his legs, periodically using ointment and wrapping patches of skin she deemed needed attention. When she was satisfied with her work, she strode across the room and washed her hands.

“You can get dressed now. You should be okay in the next week or two, just try to keep those covered.”

Simon blinked, standing to pull his clothes on. “That’s it, then?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Cat turned to look at him, gaze piercing. He knew what was coming. He knew he’d opened the door. Why, he would never know.

“Well,” she said softly. “I really should look at your face. Lots of your burns are thermal, and there could be more under that mask.” She continued when he stared blankly at her. “Thermal burns are basically like steam burns. There’s no actual contact with fire, but the skin heats up so much that it still causes damage.They can be painful.”

Simon sat again, looking toward the wall. His eyes snapped back when she said “It’s up to you.”

He studied her. He’d studied her a lot since he’d met her. She held his gaze, but not in challenge. He could see concern, built up from all the times she hadn’t asked him to take off the mask. She seemed nervous; she leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around herself. Her shoulders were hunched slightly and in that moment, she looked much smaller to Simon than he knew she really was. She was as nervous to ask him as he was to consider her request.

He weighed the choice in his mind, gauging how much he had come to trust this woman. Her eyes flickered anxiously over his hands, his chest, the bandages she couldn’t see now that he’d put his shirt back on. Anywhere but at his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to ask.

He looked down to his hands. “Alright,” he said softly. He said it so softly that for a moment, he thought she might not have heard him. He raised his head. When he caught Cat’s eye, she was watching him carefully. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Slowly, as though he were a scared animal she didn’t want to frighten, she placed her clipboard on the countertop and picked up a new pair of gloves.

She stepped toward the bed, pausing as she reached his side. With one hand, she tapped his knee. Simon froze for a moment, then parted his legs. Cat stepped between them, carefully raising her hands to the edges of the mask at Ghost’s throat. She glanced up at him, a final request, waiting for his tiny nod before touching the fabric.

Her fingers were feather light as she tugged up the fabric slowly, revealing his face centimeter by centimeter. Ghost held his breath, eyes unfocused somewhere near Cat’s elbow. She pulled off the last of the mask, laying it on his thigh lightly. Reverently.

He met her eyes and felt stripped bare. More naked than he had been moments before without his clothes. She smiled at him, small and somehow relieved. Slowly, she reached up, turning his head in her hands. Her fingertips brushed against tender skin at his temple, then again at his jaw. She turned, opening another tube of ointment, and dabbed it onto where he assumed the skin was red. Simon’s eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched so tenderly, if he ever had been at all. He was overwhelmed with the abrupt desire for more of this gentleness. More of her.

Before he knew it, Cat withdrew her hands. He opened his eyes to watch her pull her gloves off before picking his mask back up. With as much care as one might handle a fine and delicate piece of art, she lifted the mask, rolling it carefully over his face. She leaned back just a bit, eyes soft. Simon instantly and viscerally missed her fingers on his cheeks.

“There you go,” she whispered. Then, before he could even gather his thoughts enough to thank her, she was gone.

Three months ago

Ghost breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. He had to remind himself to do it, lest he lose his cool. Soap’s shoulders weighed inordinately heavy in his arms. Gaz held the Sargeant’s feet as they hustled down the halls, trying to find a functional elevator. Daniela ran from door to door, mashing buttons furiously, swearing under her breath in Spanish Ghost wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.

He couldn’t believe he’d shot his subordinate. His friend.

“Take the shot, LT.”

“Soap, I can’t get a clear-”

“Take. The shot.”

“-I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. What kind of sick, twisted-

“Aquí!” shouted Daniela. She’d found what seemed to be the only functional elevator in the building, and the 141 crammed into it. The tight space forced Ghost to hoist Soap further up, resting the younger man’s head on his shoulder. Daniela reached up, stroking his cheek and humming shakily. Ghost leaned back against the elevator wall, letting his eyes drift shut. He fought to keep a clear mind.

“He’ll be alright,” rumbled Price. Ghost’s eyes snapped open. The Captain was leaning heavily on the elevator wall, eyes boring into Ghost with an intensity he was much more used to giving than receiving.

Ghost didn’t answer him.

The rest of the trip passed in a blur. The exfil chopper landed and they loaded in, strapping Soap in as comfortably as they could. Daniela’s hands stayed on him the entire flight. She worked to stabilize him, alternately whispering prayers and curses. Price had stayed back to deal with Hassan’s body, but radioed a safehouse location to Gaz, who passed it to the pilot and graciously didn’t try to talk to Ghost. One look had told him all he’d needed to know.

When they landed on a hospital roof, Daniela held bandages against Soap’s chest as Ghost and Gaz carried him toward the door. Just before they reached it, it burst open and Ghost’s whole body sagged with relief. Cat. Her eyes met his and the two shared the briefest nonverbal conversation before she scanned his body, then Soap’s.

Cat took charge instantly, ushering her team forward to move him onto a stretcher, and the whole group rushed inside as Daniela nervously detailed to Cat what she had done to treat the wounds. Gaz was pulled to another room to be examined. Another medic motioned for Ghost, but he shook his head. He caught Daniela’s arm when she tried to follow Soap’s stretcher into the operating room. She tried to wrench out of his grip, but he had been expecting it and held her tightly.

She screamed, fighting him as he lifted her bodily to carry her away from the door. She swore at him, kicking his shins and clawing at his arm, throwing her inadequate weight in every direction in an attempt to break free from his hold before realizing that she couldn’t. She sobbed brokenly in his arms. If Ghost hadn’t been numb from his own worry, listening to her whimpers and cries would have broken him, too.

When she finally quieted, the two sat together in the hallway, backs to the wall, waiting on any word. Gaz joined them shortly after, wearing several bandages but otherwise looking no worse for wear. He sat across the hall, stretching his legs out to touch his boots to Daniela’s in solidarity. She sat curled into Ghost’s side, head resting on his shoulder, while he sat ramrod straight next to her. Gaz raised an eyebrow, shocked that she hadn’t been pushed away, and Ghost shrugged the shoulder her head didn’t rest on.

He didn’t know how to comfort her, wouldn’t even begin to try- but he owed it to Johnny to allow her this. Especially since it was half his fault he was here in the first place.

It had been at least several hours when Gaz suggested that they find something to eat. His expression was nonplussed at the immediate “no” he received from Ghost and Daniela, even when he offered to wait outside the door, but he accepted it in stride and rose to his feet to find something himself.

He returned not long after, carrying chairs and followed by two nurses carrying steaming trays of food. Ghost gratefully moved to a chair and accepted the food, eating it robotically. If anyone had asked him later what he’d eaten, he wouldn’t have an answer for them.

The three were dozing in the hall when Price arrived, Ghost the only one to open his eyes when the Captain pulled up a chair of his own to join their silent vigil. They both nodded off, and everyone bolted upright when the door opened hours after his arrival. Cat walked through, offering quiet reassurances all around that their teammate would be fine. When her team rolled out the gurney, Daniela’s hand was on Soap’s before anyone could react. Ghost followed as their little convoy made its way down the hall into a recovery room, pulling a chair to the bedside for Daniela. She thanked him softly, laying her head on Soap’s hip and watching his face intently as she stroked his hand.

Cat touched Ghost’s elbow, bringing his attention to her upturned face. “Has anyone looked at you yet, Simon?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I’m alright.”

Cat’s brows came down worriedly. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He raised a hand to hers, squeezing lightly. Cat’s face relaxed just a bit. “I��ll let you look at me once he wakes up, how about that?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling up at him. “If that’s the best you’ll give me, I’ll have to take it,” she teased. Ghost relaxed, squeezing her hand before moving to the other side of the room to sit in a chair in the corner. He watched the sun and moon dance across the window, watched Daniela doze and wake, took another tray of food from Gaz, and then another later from Price.

He and Daniela hadn’t uttered a word to each other since walking into the room. It was over a full day later when Ghost gently rested a hand on her shoulder, waking her from her fitful slumber. “You should go sleep in a real bed,” he said gruffly. Daniela shook her head violently.

“No,” she said. “I’m not leaving him.” They both watched Soap’s chest rise and fall several times before Daniela spoke again. “You should take your own advice, Lieutenant.”

Ghost shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving him, either.” He turned to the window, staring out across the water. “It’s my fault he’s here in the first place.”

The scoff that Daniela uttered was enough to turn his head. She leaned forward, stroking Johnny’s cheek. Her eyes were glued to his face. “No. El idiota se lo hizo a si mismo,” she said softly. Her words weren’t particularly kind, but her tone was affectionate. “It’s not your fault.”

Their eyes locked, sharing a moment of fear and regret for the man in the bed. Then Ghost nodded. “If I go shower, will you go when I come back?” Daniela had begun to shake her head. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. You’ll feel better,” he pressed. She hesitated, then nodded.

The shower did wonders to help rejuvenate Ghost, and he was grateful for the clean clothes that had been left for him. Even though he’d been virtually unscathed in the mission, he felt filthy. Guilty, and disloyal. The hot water helped to wash some of that away. Some. His mind had raced, the last day or so, over every detail he could have used to protect his subordinate. Johnny had told him to take the shot, but damnit, he should have found another way. There was no other way. If he hadn’t, Johnny would have been thrown to his death and they might have lost Hassan, anyway.

When he got back to the room, he called Daniela’s name quietly from the doorway to wake her from her drowsing. Despite her agreement, he still had to pry her fingers from around Johnny’s to get her across the hall. Ten minutes later, she was back in the same chair, head back on his hip as she stroked his skin.

Cat had been by several times to check on Johnny’s vitals, saying nothing to disturb the peace. She’d only looked over first Daniela, then Ghost, concern written across her features. She hadn’t tried to convince either of them to leave. The next time she came after they’d showered, though, she walked to Simon’s side, fidgeting with something behind her back. She glanced back to Daniela’s sleeping form, then looked at her feet.

“What is it, Cat?” Ghost asked softly.

“I, um, thought you might like something to read,” she stammered. She pulled a book from behind her back, holding it out to Ghost to take. He recognized the tattered paperback before he even saw the cover. The Great Gatsby. He took it from her outstretched hand, suppressing a shiver when their fingers brushed.

Something had changed between them the day she’d seen his face.

It was like she couldn’t bear to look at him any more if it wasn’t a medical conversation. Ghost felt ill at ease in her presence, nonsensically longing for physical hurts to match his injured soul, just to have her benevolent gaze and gentle touch again. He found himself mourning the easy banter they’d shared, her quiet presence being enough to quiet his mind. He was both cynically unsurprised and stupidly, deeply wounded by the shift in her demeanor around him.

He broke from his rampant thoughts when she stroked a finger down the side of his hand, and he realized he hadn’t actually withdrawn it. He snatched the book toward his chest. “Yeah,” he started hoarsely. “Yeah, thank you. That’s nice.” He glanced up, meeting her stare briefly before dropping his eyes. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She lingered for a moment, and Ghost held his breath. She seemed to want to say something. He hoped she did. But she turned and walked away, murmuring a quiet goodnight from the door.

He sat for a long while, staring at the place she’d been, before opening her well-loved book reverently and beginning to read. Upon opening the worn pages, he was surprised to see notes scribbled in most of the margins. He felt as though he’d been brought to a secret, special place- reserved only for Cat’s deepest thoughts. He felt honored. He read by the moonlight, storya nd notes alike, wondering briefly if he was like Gatsby- craving the idea of Cat rather than who she really was. But he put that thought quickly aside, not truly believing it for even a moment.

He devoured the book, and around the time of Gatsby’s grand declaration of love, Soap stirred. Ghost sat bolt upright, watching closely. He barely dared to breathe. Then, Soap’s eyes opened slowly.

“Johnny?” Ghost whispered.

Slowly, Johnny turned his head. As he did, Ghost rose to his feet from his chair, taking two quick steps to the bedside. Soap opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ghost scrambled to pour a cup of water, then gently helped Soap lift his head to drink. He saw the younger man’s eyes settle on Daniela before swallowing several times to clear his throat.

“What happened?” he finally asked.

Ghost’s gaze dropped to the floor, dreading this very question. “Do you want the short or long story?” he asked. His voice sounded exhausted to his own ears.

“How about the short one, for now?”

“I shot you,” said Ghost. He let that statement hang in the air before looking up to meet Soap’s eyes. “I shot you, Johnny. Because you told me to. Because you’re the best of us, and you’re clever.”

Soap nodded, eyes drifting shut, as though this was the answer he had expected. Ghost wondered if he’d really heard him.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “You’re lucky I’m such a good shot,” he grumbled. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to ease tension only he felt, or create tension on his friend’s behalf. He shouldn’t be so okay with this.

Soap chuckled softly, wincing as he did. “That I am,” he said. “Hassan?”

“I shot him, too. Twice, actually.”

“Through me the first time, eh LT?”

Ghost deadpanned. This wasn’t funny. But when Soap grinned at him, he softened. Good that he could find humor in even this. “That’s right, Johnny.”

“Perfect shot, LT.” “You called it, Sargeant.”

“The best of us, huh LT?” Of course he’d heard that.

“Can it, Sergeant.”

For a moment, the two shared a companionable silence. Then, Ghost spoke so softly that he wondered if Soap would even hear him. Almost hoping he wouldn’t. “I almost didn’t take it.”

“The shot?” Of course he’d heard. Again. “Why not?”

“There was no shot,” Ghost exploded, throwing up his hands. His frustration was finally breaking the surface. He glanced at Daniela, lowering his voice as he continued. “He had you directly in front of him, and he would have thrown you out that window before I had time to move.” He had been scared for the first time in who knew how long. Soap’s calmness was making him angry, because he shouldn’t have been okay with this. He should have been angry. Ghost was supposed to take care of him, not shoot him.

Almost as though he could hear Ghost’s raging thoughts, Johnny let his eyes drift shut again. “You still got him, LT. I’ll call that a win.” Just like that, Ghost’s anger abated. Only weariness remained. “We got him, Johnny.”

“I’m starting to think you really have taken a shine to me, Simon.”

Ghost hung his head before looking back up. He most certainly had. Johnny had been one of only two people he’d let himself learn to trust in the last decade. “Maybe I have,” he relented. He turned, picking up his chair, and sat it right by the bed as quietly as he could. “That one has, for sure,” he said, nodding to Daniela.

Soap looked down at her. “How long have you both been here?”

“Since you got here,” Ghost mumbled. Soap’s head snapped back to him.

“And when was that?”

Ghost shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Four days, give or take.” Soap stared at him. Finally, he threw up his hands as irritation bubbled back to the surface. “You, Sergeant, should have died.”

He lifted one gloved hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “You have a field-treated gunshot wound to your right arm, which was in fact infected. Thank your lucky stars that Daniela saw through your idiocy.” Johnny, at least, had the decency to look sheepish at that. “A bruised bone in your hip. Three cracked ribs. A grade four concussion. Multiple hairline fractures in your legs. And a shredded left pec from a 50 caliber bullet. Might I add that last one only missed your heart by centimeters?” By some miracle.

Soap snorted. “Well, that explains a lot about how I feel. Hell, how I’ve been feeling.”

Ghost just shook his head, dumbfounded by Johnny’s casual reaction. Most men would have been in an uproar. Then again, Johnny wasn’t like most men. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thought we lost ya. Again.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, LT.”

“Good,” grumbled Ghost. He looked toward Daniela. “I had to pry her off of you,” he said softly.

Soap looked down at her again. There was a softness in the way he looked at her. Simon had only seen it a handful of times before- when Daniela looked at Johnny, when Price looked at Laswell, and when Cat looked at him. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” murmured Ghost. “Could hardly get her across the hall to shower.” He was tired all over again just remembering arguing with the feisty woman.

Soap let his eyes drift shut, looking exhausted. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Amsterdam. Laswell has friends here. We’re in a private hospital.”

“Price? And Gaz?”

“They’re trying to find a lead on Shepherd.”

Soap nodded sleepily. “She kissed me,” he murmured.

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Doctors say she saved your life with that.”

Soap hummed, cracking one eye open to peer at Ghost. He shrugged.

“Something about the adrenaline helping to push off the shock.” It made sense to him, in a strange way. He wondered if Cat would ever kiss him like that, if she thought he was dying.

He banished the thought quickly as Soap hummed again, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Sleep, Johnny.”

He didn’t answer, and within moments, his breathing had evened out as he rested. Ghost waited for a while, watching the monitors beep steadily. Then he stood, stretching before he made his way to the door. He padded down the hallway to Cat’s office, then stopped outside her door. He rolled his shoulders, bracing himself, and then knocked.

He’d barely lowered his hand when the door flew open, Cat looking anxiously up at him.

“Is he..?” she asked.

“He’s fine. He woke up for a few minutes, but he’s asleep again. All of his vitals looked good.”

Relief washed over her face. “Good, then we’ll let him sleep.” She stepped back, gesturing Simon in. “Now let me take a look at you.” He shuffled past her, sitting on the chair in front of her desk. On a wild impulse, he pulled his mask off and ran his hand through his mussed-up hair. Cat froze for a moment when she saw him. Then a wide smile broke over her face.

“Nice to see you again, Simon,” she said. He flushed.

Under his breath, he murmured “It’s nice to be seen.” He’d thought it when he pulled off his mask days ago, standing alongside Price and Johnny and Daniela and Kyle and Alejandro. He thought it again now as Cat stole glances over her shoulder at him while she donned gloves and gathered instruments.

She came around the desk, slowly moving between him and it, to perch on the edge between his knees. He spread his legs, leaning toward her, and let her check his pupils and inspect him for injuries. She ran her hands over his face, his arms, and his torso. Her soft words didn’t do enough to prepare him for the cold of her stethoscope on the skin of his chest as she reached under his shirt to listen to his heartbeat.

He leaned involuntarily closer as she reached around his back to listen to his lungs, raising his arms to rest on the desk on either side of her thighs. He hadn’t realized he’d shut his eyes until Cat ran a gentle thumb along his cheek. He blinked up at her.

She looked angelic in the soft lamplight. Her hair seemed to halo around her head, and Simon belatedly realized that it was in a long braid over her shoulder instead of her usual copious bun. Her skin looked velvety and he longed to touch it. Her eyes roamed over his face as her thumb smeared the grease paint under his eye.

“How are you really, Simon?” she whispered.

“Tired,” he answered truthfully. He felt so exhausted from the past week that he wasn’t sure any amount of sleep could restore him.

Cat studied him for a moment. Then she firmly pulled his head down to rest on the top of her thigh. She threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched gently at his scalp, reaching her other hand up to squeeze his shoulders.

Simon nearly purred.

He shifted his arms so that they circled her waist, burying his face in the crook of her hip. Cat lifted her legs, crossing her ankles behind his back and pulling him closer.

For the first time he could remember, he felt at home. Comfortable, safe. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep. When he woke up, Cat was half folded over him. Her arms were around his shoulders and she was leaned forward, cheek resting against the top of his head. He didn’t want to wake her, but he was sure she couldn’t be comfortable. He disentangled himself as smoothly as he could, but as he lifted her arms, her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” she said sleepily.

“Hey yourself,” he answered. She reached up to scrub her eyes, wincing as she straightened out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t be silly,” she yawned, leaning back and raising her hands above her head. “You need the rest.”

“So do you,” Simon retorted. Cat smiled lazily at him. He looked to the ground. “I should go check on Johnny.”

“I’ll come with you.” Cat reached behind her on the desk, then held out a small, black piece of fabric to him. His mask.

He took it from her gratefully. Once he’d pulled it on, he extended a hand to help her off the desk. The short walk from Cat’s office to Johnny’s room gave Simon enough time to fully wake up, but he still wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him when he opened the door.

Johnny had clearly woken up while they’d been gone. He half lay, half sat, propped up on one elbow as he held Daniela tightly to him. She straddled him, one hand bracing her as the other ran through his hair. Her mouth was on his collarbone, and his eyes were shut in bliss. Simon blinked and the image of himself in the same position with Cat seared itself into his eyelids and his brain before he could stop it.

He coughed sharply, to shake both the lovebirds and himself out of the haze they all seemed to be in, and looked to the ceiling. He could feel his face burning under his mask. Daniela sprang up, scrambling off the bed with one hand covering her mouth. Johnny’s head whipped toward the door.

Simon could hear Cat’s amusement as she quipped. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Sergeant. My name’s Cat, I’m a friend of Kate’s. Mind if I take a look at you?”

Johnny must have given some indication that he didn’t mind, because Cat moved toward him while Daniela retreated to the corner of the room. Simon refused to lower his gaze from the walls.

“Would you two-” started Cat.

Johnny cut her off. “They can stay. Nothing they haven’t seen already.”

Simon glanced at Johnny as Cat helped him out of his gown. He flinched internally at the mottled bruising, angry broken skin, and the two bandaged bullet wounds. He looked back toward the ceiling.

“So Cat,” asked Johnny. “How did you meet Laswell?”

“Oh, she and I met probably fifteen years ago. She was still on the field, back then. I was still in training, working in a field hospital. I patched her and John up after a rough mission. I guess she decided she liked me, because as soon as I graduated, she snapped me right up.” She turned to Simon, who had turned his gaze to her as she spoke, and smiled. “Good thing, too. I’ve fixed this one up more times than I can count, and Kate tells me he won’t let anyone else touch him.”

Simon looked away again, focusing on a scuffed tile halfway between the chair Daniela sat in and Johnny’s bed. He hadn’t expected her to know that.

“Oh, is that so?” teased Johnny. Simon shot him a warning glare. He didn’t like that tone. The younger man’s eyes twinkled with a mischief Simon hoped he was imagining, but knew he wasn’t.

“I trust her,” he muttered.

Cat beamed at him. She looked back to Johnny, smiling conspiratorially. “Quite the compliment, eh?”

“That it is,” he answered smugly. Simon held his stare, unamused. Johnny looked back toward Daniela, eyes softening. She smiled back at him. Then Cat smiled at Simon, and he thought she might have looked at him the same way Daniela had just looked at Johnny. He blushed even more. He was so absorbed in his own bashfulness that he missed most of what Cat said to Johnny.

“Alright, well I’ll be back tonight to check in with you again. Simon, would you walk me out?”

He saw Johnny’s head whip in his direction, but refused to look at him, holding Cat’s gaze instead. He nodded at her, holding the door for her on their way out.

“He’ll be fine,” she told him as they walked. Simon nodded, relieved. “It might take a month or so, but he’ll be back on the field in no time.”

“That’s good,” breathed Simon. He held her office door open, following her in.

“You need to sleep,” she said. “Why don’t you take my cot over there?”

Simon glanced at the cot in the corner of her office. “I don’t want to put you out,” he began, but Cat’s cheshire-cat grin stopped him in his tracks.

“Who said you’d be putting me out?”

Simon’s face flamed. He’d seen Johnny and Daniela in a too-small bed together twice now, and he’d by lying if he said it didn’t make him crave sharing his own space. He’d never wanted to be close to anyone before, but Cat was like a magnetic force to him. He wanted to be close to her, and after today’s display, he was having flashes of desires less innocent than simply being close to her.

“I- I don’t-” he stuttered. Cat took mercy on him, reaching out to lay a hand on his.

“I’m only kidding. Sleep for a while. I have some paperwork to fill out, and you need the rest much more than I do.”

He looked longingly at the cot again, and Cat took the opportunity to shove him toward it. Her determination was rather cute, really. He moved because she wanted him to, not from the force of her physical strength. But she got him to the edge of the cot, sat him down, and rested her hands on his shoulders. He looked up at her, hoping she would stay. But she only smiled, turning to walk toward her desk.

“Will you wake me up when you’re ready to sleep?” he called.

He sounded desperate to himself, but Cat gave no indication that she thought so when she said “Of course,” to him. He lay back, closing his eyes as his body tensed and then relaxed into the cot. He could faintly smell something like the ocean, and realized it was Cat’s pillow. Before he could overthink it, he turned his face, pulling his mask up over his nose, and breathed in. He drifted off not long after that.

Today

Ghost breathed deep, forcing himself not to panic even as he felt it bubbling through his stomach, searing up his throat. Even as his mind threatened to grow fuzzy from it.

A week ago, Price and Laswell had briefed the 141 on a new mission far behind enemy lines. It would be unsanctioned and unsupported. They’d have no backup if anything went wrong. It would be just the four of them- Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost- and one medic.

Cat.

Ghost had asked Price privately if it had to be her. Price kindly didn’t question his Lieutenant questioning orders, only assured him that it did have to be her. She was Laswell’s most skilled and trusted medic, and this mission called for the highest level of skill and trust.

She’d gravitated to him on the bird in, and he’d helped her secure her parachute and pack and tactical vest. She was to post up in an abandoned bunker two klicks from the site they were infiltrating. She was nervous, but not too nervous. She’d be alone, but she’d be safely away from the enemy. At least, that was the plan.

The plan didn’t pan out.

Somehow, the enemy soldiers knew they were coming. They were met at the gate of the facility by at least ten men, all of whom were quickly and quietly gunned down. Soap made good on his call sign, Gaz made good on his excessive target practice, Ghost made good on his hand to hand combat skills, and Price made good on his leadership skills. Within ninety seconds, all ten bodies were hidden and the 141 pushed silently forward.

Ghost was grateful for the radio silence Price had called for on their way in. It meant he got a break from Soap’s incessant pestering and teasing about the way he acted around Cat.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, LT.”

“Had what, Sergeant?”

“Love.”

Ghost had scoffed. “Love? I acquiesced to taking a shine to you, but I wouldn’t call that love.”

“‘M not talkin’ about me, LT.”

“Who then?”

Soap’s face had been unimpressed.

All throughout Soap’s physical therapy and rehabilitation training, Ghost had listened to this. Any time Cat walked away, Soap would joke about Ghost hating to watch her go. Any time she passed them in the halls, Soap would get her attention, trying to set up awkward encounters for Ghost to wriggle out of. At one point, he got so far under Ghost’s skin that the Lieutenant said something he instantly regretted about Soap projecting his missing Daniela. The joking had stopped then, and Ghost had felt guilty. But the reprieve hadn’t lasted, so neither did his guilt.

He’d rebuffed his friend over and over, denying any feelings for Cat other than comfort.

“I trust her, Johnny, but I wouldn’t know love if it shot me in the face,” he’d huffed after a particularly long session of rebuttals.

He’d never seen Johnny look so unconvinced.

He’d have never told Johnny, but he was honestly confused about his feelings for Cat. He’d never loved anyone before, and he’d only been half joking when he’d told Johnny he wouldn’t know love if it shot him. Ever since she’d seen his face, the air had shifted when they were together. Ever since falling asleep in her lap, he craved her presence. Ever since watching Johnny with Daniela, his thoughts would race to imagine himself with Cat like that.

He’d dreamed about her, after that. Often. Mostly, the dreams were innocent. She’d read to him, they’d have picnics, or he’d just be in her office, spending time with her whenever he could.

Some dreams weren’t so innocent. Her hair spread out under her, cheeks flushed as she moaned his name. One hand on her mouth, one on her belly, holding her against him and keeping her quiet as they moved together in his cot with the rest of the 141 only meters away. He did his best not to think about those. It felt wrong, as though he were betraying her trust. He felt ashamed. He told himself it was just pent-up lust, manifested in her because he cared for her as a person. As a friend. It couldn’t be love.

Now, as he stood with his hands raised, kicking his gun away, he knew- deeper than anything he’d ever known, better than he knew himself- that he had been wrong.

He did love her. More than anyone he’d ever loved before.

He wondered- as tears streamed down her face to the gag in her mouth, as he put his hands on his head, as he was roughly shoved to his knees- whether he’d ever have come to the realization on his own. Probably not.

The squad had known they were coming because Cat’s bunker hadn’t been abandoned. The enemy team had sought refuge there after a mission of their own gone wrong, found Cat, and dragged her back to this base to warn their fellow soldiers.

Ghost had breached the room he stood in now, ready to eliminate any target who showed his face.

Only one had. From behind Cat’s back.

He held a gun to the side of her head, wrenching her back by her cuffed hands, and screamed at Ghost not to come any closer.

Four more men flooded the room, all guns on Cat.

“Drop your weapon,” snarled the first.

He did.

“Hands on your head!” yelled another, while the first shouted for him to kick his gun away.

He did those things, too.

Cat shook her head violently back and forth, sobbing around the gag in her mouth. Blood dripped from her temple into her coral hair, and her normally pale skin was bone white. She shook in her captor’s grip. Whether it was from fear or pain, Ghost couldn’t tell.

“Ghost, how copy?” came Soap’s whisper in his ear. “I can hear men, are you in that room?”

Ghost said nothing.

“Alright,” breathed Soap. “How many?”

Ghost turned his head almost imperceptibly. Then, as softly as he could, he clicked his tongue five times.

“Five?” said Soap. Ghost made no sound, hoping beyond hope that the Sergeant could put together a plan. He was quiet for almost too long, then “Cat?” Clever, Johnny.

“Cat,” he said softly. “Are you injured?” She shook her head quickly. He breathed out a sigh of relief, even as the man behind him kicked his legs, pushing his shoulder to drive him to his knees. Another yelled and stepped closer, cocking his gun. Soap cursed quietly in Ghost’s ear. Cat wriggled, wide eyes still on him. His eyes hadn’t left hers since they’d met two minutes prior.

After another long silence, Gaz spoke in his ear. “Ghost, I’m in the building across. I have sights on the bastard who’s got her. When I fire, you go get her, alright?”

Ghost nodded a tiny nod.

“We’re right behind you, hermano,” came Soap’s low rasp. “We’ll get the other ones.”

“On my mark,” whispered Price. There was a beat, then two, then three.

Ghost breathed in.

“Mark.”

A loud crack rang out as glass exploded and the man who held Cat dropped. She spun to look at his body in shock, ducking instinctually. Ghost launched himself from his place on the floor, tucking her under him as he wrapped his arms around her head. Heavy fire rang behind him as Soap and Price burst into the room, taking advantage of the other soldiers’ surprise to put them down.

Cat whimpered, shaking, and Ghost tilted his head to be closer to his ear. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

By the time he got the words out, the gunfire had stopped.

“LT!” called Soap. He’d jogged the two steps forward, extending a hand to pull Ghost up. “Y’alright, sir?”

“Solid,” rumbled Ghost. He tucked his hands under Cat’s armpits, hauling her to her feet less gently than he’d have liked to. He reached for the gag, dragging it down and out of her mouth, and she gulped in the stale air.

“Simon,” she whimpered. He hauled her to his chest with one hand around her waist, the other stroking the back of her head.

“I’ve got you, Cat,” he whispered. Then, over his shoulder, “Price! Have you got keys?”

“I’ve got ‘em!” called Soap. He’d turned away the moment Ghost had pulled Cat forward, his small gesture of granting what little privacy he could. He’d made good use of the time, patting down the bodies of the fallen soldiers as he went. He tossed the tiny key to Ghost, who caught it deftly and spun Cat to release her hands from the cuffs. “Got the flash drive, too.”

Ghost glimpsed Soap handing the flash drive to Price as Cat rubbed at her wrists, still shaking. He still had a hand on her elbow and he wasn’t keen to let her go quite yet. He’d be damned if he let her out of his sights again, that was certain.

“Alright, move out! Gaz, how soon can you get to the rendezvous?”

“Three minutes, Captain.”

“Right, let’s go then.” Price and Soap raised guns to move out, and Ghost turned to Cat.

“C’mon, petal, let’s go.”

She nodded, but as she moved toward him, she lurched forward. Ghost’s hands flew to her shoulders to steady her as he looked her over frantically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I am concussed,” she said softly. Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed as she thought to herself. She looked up at him, and nodded. “I am concussed.”

Simon leaned down, wrapping one arm around her waist and one under her knees, and hefted her up. “Thought you said you weren’t injured,” he grumbled.

“Well I was a little too busy getting dragged away to think about it at first, and then they-”

Ghost glanced down at her as he rushed down the hall after his teammates. They were halfway down the staircase, carefully checking each landing and doorway. When he looked back to Cat, she was staring at him with an intensity he’d only seen a handful of times over the years.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” she whispered. She reached up, stroking her fingers across his cheek over the mask. Her eyes were watering, her bottom lip quivering, and her hair had long since abandoned the tight-wound bun she’d put it in before they flew in. Simon curled his arms up until he could touch his forehead to hers, allowing himself one brief moment to close his eyes and thank the powers that be that she was okay.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” he murmured back, moving quickly through the building again. Price had just breached the door at the ground floor and Soap made his way to an abandoned truck. Gaz jogged out of the building he’d positioned himself in, meeting Price and Soap as they popped the hood of an abandoned truck. “Never would’ve forgiven myself if anything happened to you.”

Cat’s voice was soft when she said “It wouldn’t have been your fault.”

Ghost only looked at her as he climbed into the chopper.

The flight back was filled with quiet chatter as Price assessed Cat’s concussion, Gaz filled in Laswell, and Soap watched Ghost watch Cat.

Ghost was just grateful the Sergeant kept his mouth shut.

Cat leaned heavily on Simon’s shoulder as they stepped off the chopper, but was able to walk on her own. Price dismissed him from their debrief and he walked her to the med bay to be checked over by a colleague, then back to her office, opening the door for her and helping to ease her into her chair.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” She grimaced even as she said it, reaching up to rub her temples.

Simon froze, watching her. “I… I can go, if you want me to-”

“No! I mean, I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammered. She looked down to her hands, picking at her cuticles. “I just meant I’m sure you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

“I don’t.” Cat’s eyes flicked up in disbelief and he shrugged. He pulled a chair around from the front of her desk to sit facing her, taking her hands in his. He studied them as he struggled to choose his words. His palms dwarfed hers, fingers nearly fully looping her wrist to touch his thumbs where they stroked the backs of her hands. “There’s nothing more important to me than you. Not even the mission.”

The silence was tense enough to snap, like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. Like a tripwire about to set off a grenade. Simon’s heart pounded in his ears as he stubbornly refused to look up, keeping his eyes locked on his fingers. He had to get the words out before he buried them too deeply to ever be found again.

“I make out like I think Johnny’s pretty daft most of the time, but he’s one of the most clever people I’ve ever met.” He paused, steeling himself. “He annoys me, but he knows how to read people. He’s been telling me for months that I’m in love with you, and it took today for me to realize he’s right.” Cat inhaled a sharp breath, but he still kept his gaze glued to their hands.

“It took being scared for the first time in…” He thought of Las Almas. He’d been scared then, too. But nothing like this. “I’ve never been afraid like I was today. Afraid that I could lose you without telling you that I love you. And that I’ve loved you for… probably years, now.”

Simon finally tore his gaze from their joined hands. Cat’s eyes shone with unshed tears that he reached up to wipe away. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way-”

“I do,” she cut him off.

They stared at each other for a moment before Simon said “I think that’s your head injury talking.”

Cat’s head whipped back and forth as she shook it emphatically. “It’s not the concussion, Si.”

With that single syllable, Simon’s heart seemed to melt in his chest, seeping between his ribs and pooling in his stomach with a warmth he’d never felt before. He let his eyes drift shut as he pulled Cat’s hands up, laying them on his masked cheeks and leaning heavily into her touch.

“I’ve known for a long time, too, but… I didn’t want to scare you off,” she admitted softly. He opened his eyes to find her watching him, eyes shining again. Her fingers twitched against the fabric of his balaclava. “I know you have a hard time trusting people.”

“I trust you.” The words came unbidden, instant. He’d never meant anything more. He leaned further against her hands, turning his face to nuzzle her palm. As her fingers fiddled with a loose string, he whispered “Take it off.”

She froze. Then, slowly, she ran her fingers down his cheeks, across his jaw, down his neck to lay against his collarbones over his hoodie. She grasped the zipper, waiting for him to protest, and tugged it down when he didn’t. She only lowered it enough to tuck her fingertips under the edge of the balaclava, pulling up gingerly.

She paused again when she reached his mouth, fabric bunched under his nose. Suddenly, Simon couldn’t help himself any longer. He leaned up, quickly closing the gap, and kissed her softly. She tugged the rest of the mask off, tossing it onto her desk and pulling him closer by his hoodie’s zipper and the back of his neck.

Their lips slid together, insistent and firm. Cat’s lips yielded when his tongue traced them, allowing him entrance. He groaned quietly as her grip on him tightened, pulling him nearly out of his chair. His hands ran from where they’d rested on her shoulders, down her sides to grip her waist, and he pulled her forward.

She let out a squeak of surprise, but spread her legs as he dragged her onto his lap, body flush against his. She gathered herself quickly, tilting his head up with her thumbs on his cheeks, and bent down to kiss him again. Simon squeezed her thighs as she kissed him feverishly, pressing him back until his head hung over the back of the chair. When she broke for air, Simon wrenched his head up to attach his lips to her neck, just under her jaw, sucking lightly. When his tongue ran over the flesh there, she keened, throwing her head back and holding him tightly in place by the back of his neck. All of those less than innocent dreams and thoughts came flooding to the surface.

His heart stuttered in his chest and he doubled down, desperate to hear that sound again. To drag it out of her. He sucked harder, tongue flat against her skin, and wrapped one arm around her waist tightly. He reached up with the other hand to grip the back of her neck and then leaned forward until Cat was nearly parallel with the floor, held up only by his hold on her. She clutched at his shoulders, gasping as his tongue laved the tender skin just under her jaw. No dream could ever compare to this.

When he leaned back again, pulling her up with him, she held his head and kissed him sloppily, sucking on his bottom lip. His breath caught in the back of his throat, and then she released him and took her turn at kissing his neck. When she licked the underside of his jaw, his hands fell to his sides, vision blurring around the edges. She took full advantage of his ragdoll state, pressing herself forward and squeezing her thighs around him as she sucked a spot that made his head spin. She reached up to his hoodie again, pulling down the zipper, and Simon came back to himself like he’d been hit by a truck.

He reached up, grabbing both of her wrists in one hand, and held her upright with his other as he leaned forward. Cat stared at him, wide-eyed and panting. Simon squeezed his eyes shut. The only sound in the room was their labored breathing.

“I’m sorry-” Cat began, but he shook his head to cut her off.

“No, I’m sorry.” Then he whispered “I can’t take any more from you than I already have.”

Cat wriggled a hand out of his grasp, stroking his cheek with her knuckles. “It’s not ‘taking’ if it’s freely given.”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. “Wouldn’t be freely given if you knew what you were getting yourself into with me. Who I am, what I’ve done.”

Cat pulled her other hand free and held his face. “Look at me,” she commanded. Simon opened his eyes, holding her gaze. “I know who you are, and I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve loved you from a distance for years. And if you’ll let me, I want to love you from a little closer now.”

Simon searched her face for any sign of uncertainty, but there was none. His heart beat wildly as he reached up to stroke her cheek.

“And if I don’t come back one day?”

Cat’s eyes watered, but she still gave him a shaky smile. “‘‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’,” she quoted.

Simon let out a breathless chuckle. “‘Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?’”

Cat beamed down at him through her tears. “You know Alfred Lord Tennyson?”

Simon reached up to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “‘Course I do. I grew up 200 kilometers from where he lived.”

Cat hummed, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand. Again, he wondered at the lovingness with which she touched him. He wondered at his killing hands, touching her with the same love. He leaned forward, laying his head on her chest and clutching her waist, and rocked them slowly. They stayed that way for a long time until Cat finally leaned back, taking his face in her hands again.

“Don’t shut me out, Simon.” Her stare was heavy, sincere. “Think you can do that?”

He leaned up, kissed her temple, and then rested his forehead against hers. He smirked slightly.

“Possibly,” he teased. The smile Cat beamed at him wiped away any fears he had for the moment, and he leaned up to kiss her again.

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