#as cringe as these fics are on some level I do genuinely stand by them

[outer-edges]

JASKGKFKKSKS OH MY GOD UNCOVERED THE CURSED SPIDERSONA X TWILIGHT CROSSOVER I WROTE IN HIGH SCHOOL. LOSING MY MINDDDDD. BEING A TEENAGE GIRL DURING THE PANDEMIC WAS QUITE A TIME.

[ticklystuff]

Hi! Can you please write Lee Kaveh and Ler Alhaitham with Bellybutton? 👀

closed, send no more!

a/n: hiiii i'm sorry this took so long! the idea for this fic is cringe but i really liked it so i just ran with it hahaha but hope you enjoy!

characters: alhaitham, kaveh, tighnari is here for a minute lol

wc: ~2.1k

"No way! You're not serious, right?"

"No, yeah, I'm not kidding! It's actually so funny!"

Alhaitham huffed as the two's voices permeated through his bedroom walls that he was sure were made of paper at this point. Visitors weren't commonplace for his humble abode and there was a good reason for that, yet despite knowing this, Kaveh's persistence somehow managed to sway Alhaitham into allowing Tighnari to come over for tea. The blond's request was immediately shot down with zero hesitation on Alhaitham's part, as entertaining guests was not particularly one of his strong suits, but after some careful consideration, the potential pros seemed to outweigh the cons. Not only would it give Alhaitham some free time away from the blond, but Kaveh would have someone else to let out his little vents onto. Oftentimes, there was little substance to what Kaveh usually had to say and the inability to spark meaningful conversation meant a good waste of a portion to Alhaitham's day. With Tighnari over, however, Alhaitham would no longer be subjected to such a time sink and could enjoy his afternoon Kaveh-free.. or so he initially thought. The ecstatic giggles from the two escalated into screeching laughter and that familiar feeling of regret, something Alhaitham often associated with anything related to Kaveh, began to take its place in his chest. Not even the noise-cancelling earpieces he purchased specifically for situations like these were of aid.

That's it. Tighnari had overstayed his welcome.

Slamming the book in hand with one swift motion, Alhaitham stood up from his desk, marching over to his bedroom door to give Kaveh and his guest a piece of his mind, only to immediately stop in his tracks when his ears caught on to the topic at hand.

"Yeah, Alhaitham is so ticklish too!"

The little cogs in Alhaitham's brain seemed to come to a standstill, malfunctioning as his brain attempted to process what Kaveh so casually blurted out, taking more time than it should have put him back on track. Once things were back up and running, Alhaitham was still at a loss on how to react, left standing in place, blinking over and over as the words replayed in his head, face turned flush unknowingly. Why was this even a topic of conversation, let alone something that Kaveh felt the need to share? Do normal people even think about tickling in their daily lives? What would even bring such a subject on like this?

"Wait really?" Tighnari sounded genuinely shocked, as if most people in the world weren't ticklish on some level. "People like Cyno and Alhaitham too, I guess, always go around acting super serious, but then just fall to a couple of tickles." Okay, so apparently this is a normal thing for Tighnari too.

"I know, right? He's always like 'I'm acting grand sage Alhaitham, my house my rules blahblahblah.'" Alhaitham reeled at the comically guttural voice Kaveh used to imitate him; he didn't sound like that at all. "But then he screams when your hands even get close to his sides."

"Wait, that actually reminds of this one time," Tighnari began, clearly excited by the tone of his voice, "but I poked at Cyno's ribs once and he made like these sounds; I'm not sure how to describe them, but like, he almost sounded like a pig, I guess?"

"A pig? I don't think- oh wait! You mean like this?" The following sounds were reason enough for Alhaitham to rip his eardrums out, resembling what he assumed was Kaveh's best impression of a snorting pig. Whether the imitated pig was being laid to slaughter or not, he wasn't so sure.

To Tighnari, though, these noises sufficed, as evident by the entertained laughter that Alhaitham was able to make out through the door. "Yes, thank you! That's exactly what he sounds like!"

"Oh, and don't even get me started on Alhaitham." As much as wished to stop eavesdropping, the sudden mention of his name again piqued the scribe's ears. "He may not snort like Cyno, but he does something just as bad." There was a brief silence that not even Tighnari broke and Alhaitham found himself removing the earbuds that seldom left his ears, pressing the side of his head to the door for full clarity. "One time, I tickled Alhaitham and I was able to get him to squeal," Kaveh spoke, as if this was a personal achievement to be proud of.

Something in Alhaitham's brain snapped at this very moment, his left eye twitching as Kaveh and Tighnari continued their waste of a conversation. Squeal? Never once in his life has he ever done such a thing. He couldn't even recall the specific instance that Kaveh was referring to, but the more he thought about it, the more the heat in his head began to rise, creating an unfamiliar feeling as it was unlike the scribe to lose his cool. Still, even if it was true, which it definitely was not, who did Kaveh think he was to be spreading around hearsay like this? His hand reached for the knob of the door, fully ready to go out and not only defend his pride, but rip Kaveh to shreds, yet Alhaitham's hand froze just as he turned the knob, halting at the thought of a new idea, a plan most satisfying.

"Ah, it looks like it's getting late." Alhaitham's ears perked up at the sound of Tighnari's voice, nearly smirking with how things just seemed to line up for him. "I should get going soon. I promised Cyno I'd walk him home today." How convenient.

"Oh, take some of the snacks! Let me go find some containers to pack them up for you." Alhaitham listened to the shuffle of multiple footsteps resounding off the floorboards, mixed with the idle chit chat that his ears began to tune out. At least they moved past the previous subject..

"Alright, thanks again!" The familiar sound of the front door being opened followed Tighnari's farewell. "Tell Alhaitham I said hi!"

"Alright, alright, take care!"

Alhaitham continued to stand by his bedroom door in silence, giving himself a few minutes before proceeding with his plan in mind. He listened as the front door shut, followed by what he assumed was Kaveh cleaning up after his gossip session with Tighnari, noting the occasional incoherent grumble from the blond. Once a sufficient amount of time had passed, Alhaitham slowly stepped out of his room, walking down the short aisle to see Kaveh's back to him, tidying up just like he presumed. There were two empty wine glasses resting on the table, a possible explanation to the obnoxious laughter.

"Kaveh."

The sound of Alhaitham's voice seemingly morphed Kaveh's mannerisms, a noticeable shift to the strung-up self Alhaitham was most familiar with. "Ugh, there you are!" Kaveh bellowed with a spin to his heel, marching up to Alhaitham, a slight tinge of pink to his face. "You couldn't even spare the time of day to come out of your room and greet Tighnari! Like, what kind of host do you think you are?!"

"A good one, considering you'd most likely complain about my presence killing the mood," Alhaitham simply brushed off the nagging, visibly irritating Kaveh further. "Anyway, I did not come here for you to criticize me. Rather, I'm inquiring about your earlier conversation with him."

Kaveh scoffed, hands on his hips. "Oh, so now you're interested in things I have to say?"

"Not really," Alhaitham responded flatly, "but for the sake of my efforts, let's pretend that I am."

"I mean just some normal chit-chat, I guess," Kaveh said with a shrug, raising an eyebrow at the other. "Why are you asking? If you're so curious, just hang out with us the next time."

"Well, I'd prefer not to go through the trouble," Alhaitham waved off the suggestion, an ill use of his time, really. "However, I couldn't help but overhear-"

"Oh, so you were listening!"

"-the topic of your conversation being a peculiar one," Alhaitham continued, the interruption hardly worth addressing. "Kaveh, tell me, have you ever squealed before?"

This fully caught the other off-guard, the blatant confusion written all over his face. "What?"

"During your conversation with Tighnari, you mentioned details about my overall sensitivity. Although I do not deny being somewhat ticklish, I must refute the fact that you mention I squeal. There has never-"

"Seriously? This is what you're hung up on?"

"-been a time where I have ever done such a thing, leading me to the conclusion that you've yet to experience the particular sound. Therefore, I have decided-"

"Come on, Alhaitham. It's not a big deal."

"-that perhaps you need to squeal yourself."

"What are you even-" Alhaitham observed as Kaveh's own words suddenly caught in his mouth, the look of alarm bells visibly going off in his head as the realization of the younger's words settled in. The blond gave two nervous blinks, to which Alhaitham responded with a single nod, an indication of what was about to occur. Before Alhaitham could take his next breath, Kaveh was already off running, prompting Alhaitham to shortly do the same.

"Don't-! NO! Stay away from mehehe!" Kaveh shrieked with apprehensive giggles as he barely avoided Alhaitham's grasp, snatching one of the cushions from the sofa to use as a lousy projectile that hardly required dodging on Alhaitham's part.

"What's the matter, Kaveh?" Alhaitham barely missed a beat in his step as Kaveh attempted everything possible to throw off the scribe in his pursuit, knowing Kaveh well enough to read his movements. "You wouldn't happen to be ticklish, would you?"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" Kaveh's voice grew more frantic with each circle around the sofa, his pleas for mercy falling on Alhaitham's deaf ears. "I shouldn't have said anything! I'm sohohorry!"

"Yeah, you shouldn't have."

"Alhaitham, wait! Truce! Trucetrucetruce! Please- noHOHO!" Whether it was due to his usual clumsiness or the glass of red wine from earlier, Alhaitham was sure it was a combination of both, the scribe managed to eventually snatch Kaveh by the waist, firmly wrapping his arm around the other to prevent him from squirming free. Kaveh was already a giggly mess before Alhaitham had even started, doing everything in his power, which admittedly wasn't much, to stop the inevitable, but once Alhaitham's fingers began prodding through the thin flowy top that Kaveh oh-so loved to wear on his days off did the fun really begin.

"Noho! NOHOHO!" Choosing to start at his ribs, Alhaitham was rewarded with a healthy dose of laughter as his fingers teased at the sensitive area with dexterity and precision, unfazed by the squirmy Kaveh in his arm. On top of the flurries of movement came multitude of cursing and swearing, most incoherent due to the mix forced laughter, yet Alhaitham continued in a collected manner, already an expert at blocking out Kaveh's voice. After all, he only had one goal on his mind, each poke pushing his determination further.

"Squeal."

This appeared to set something off in Kaveh, arms flailing about more wildly accompanied by a cry that could only resemble one of a strangled cat, clearly rejecting the proposition. "NOHOHO! LeheHEHEheht me gohoHOHO!" His body seemingly shrunk in Alhaitham's hold, a failed attempt at scrunching away from the way his fingers walked down the middle of his ribcage and along his waist, each step defined to trigger an individual sensation that made Kaveh jump.

"Squeal."

"Alhaithahaham, wahaHAHAIT!" Jumbled laughter was all that spilled from his mouth now, unable to properly structure coherent sentences. Despite the shrill shrieks, there was something almost charming about the laughter that filled the room and Alhaitham couldn't help but smile along, if only just slightly. Still, despite the near entrancement, Alhaitham remained on track, taking particular notice to the seemingly growing frenzied responses elicited in Kaveh's reactions, both bodily and vocally, whenever his hand hovered just over his navel. Perhaps this might just be what he needed..

"Squeal."

"HaAAAH!! NO-NOHOHO!"

Just as he thought, Alhaitham had struck gold, drawing out the exact reaction he sought. Kaveh's squeal echoed throughout the space, almost as if the walls reverberated with his laughter. He allowed himself to tease that specific area longer than intended, enjoying the hectic mess Kaveh had become in the process, before finally releasing the blond, watching as Kaveh quickly hobbled away to create distance between the two.

"Well, I hope you've learned your lesson," Alhaitham put it bluntly, catching the irate expression Kaveh shot him. "Now, you wouldn't want me spreading the story about how you squeal when tickled, right?"

"Fine, fine, we're even!" Kaveh scoffed, throwing his arms up in annoyance. "Truce?"

Alhaitham couldn't help but smirk in response. "Truce."

[weebsinstash]

God I want a yandere that just forces me into feminization. I use to love wearing dresses and flowly/frilly clothing, getting my hair done.

It's just lot of gross people made me feel gross for being a girl and others would shame me for provoking them for their advances.

🤡 I legit had to stand outside and interact with strangers for this business. Just for my mentor to tell me to stay in the car because all these grown men that could be dad are ogling me and saying inappropriate shit.

Oh gosh for starters I am so sorry that happened to you :( I am in a way grateful and kind of lucky I grew up chunky because I genuinely believe it shielded me from having many of these sorts of scary experiences.

For me, I think the concepts that keep coming out to me are either A. Yandere makes you all cute and pretty because they think you're adorable and wants you to be as pretty as you can be, almost kind of infantilizing, and then B. Yandere is a dick and a control freak and you wearing makeup is because HE wants you to because HE thinks it looks good and even if he's taking you out around other people, you aren't dolled up for them, you're dolled up for HIM

God you know that one shigaraki auction fic i wrote that in hindsight wasn't executed that great but like, I have this thing for darlings that get all dolled up by their captors in like dehumanizing but luxurious ways idk how else to describe it? Yeah you're wearing a choker/necklace that looks lowkey like a dog collar and maybe even has a leash or something but the little pendant dangling from it has stones in it worth a small fortune. You're being forced to dress up but it's in expensive clothes because the captor is materialistic and doesn't want you looking cheap. It doesn't matter what kinds of styles you like, or even if you don't like makeup at all, they're going to make you do it or else

Something about that second one obviously really ignites the shit disturbing rebellious brat nature inside of me

God i just also like. Ok. So you guys wanna hear an embarrassingly super specific fic idea I keep writing in my head. So. Yeah its my go to cringe comfort the chobobros again ok 💀 so. Imagine after Reader starts you know kinda just lowkey mutates/evolves into an Omega, everything is kind of awkward as everyone is trying to navigate the new, uh, pack dynamic? All your new smells that let them kind of vaguely know how you're feeling, how your scent will fluctuate between certain intensities and how it affects them biologically such as you raising your voice in anger and all of them suddenly feeling a strong urge to become passive and apologize, an almost biological reaction of wanting to keep you happy and healthy? They can tell when you're starting to get hungry or you're anxious, and it can be hard for you, as someone who kind of "just got the equipment" to try and control your growling or purring or little whines bc yeah I think people in the omegaverse having enhanced vocal abilities that include sounds that are more primal/animalike is a neat idea

I just imagine like. Everything is all awkward and no one really knows exactly what is going to happen because I mean. Omega haven't been documented for like maybe a few centuries at this point, maybe like Past Ardyn's era since that's when the gods basically first touched down or whatever, and absolutely no one really knows anything besides like old wives tales, like you're talking about a unicorn. So. Anyways. Imagine doing the whole on the road thing and everyone is trying to chill when you pass through a town with some sort of like, farmers market going on, or maybe through some NPC side quest level shit you meet an old man having a garage sale and that's when Ignis finds THE THING: an extremely old looking leather bound book in its own protective little case that reads something along the lines of THE OBSERVATIONS OF OMEGA VOL.I

Obviously the gang HAS to get this book, and I imagine Ignis starts making offers and when the old man sees how desperate he is, he instead proposes, say, some sort of monster slaying quest, maybe a daemon has been terrorizing his land or the area for generations and he wants it gone or some typical side quest bullshit BUT, anyways, you get the book, and I imagine since it's potentially one of the only few copies of written information on this topic, i imagine Ignis is, kind of a little bit of a bitch about anyone but him touching it because, like, HE GOES ALL OUT. Even touching an old book with your bare hands can ruin the ink with the oils from your hands, so he always handles it with his soft leather gloves on, always meticulously careful. The book isn't quuuiiiiite falling apart but doing something like dropping it could split the bindings, or turning a page too aggressively could tear it right off.

But sometimes I think it would be interesting if the book is written in a scientific-but-not-really-and-actually-maybe-this-is-lowkey-creepy kind of way but Ignis is consuming it 100% unironically. He's trying to thumb through a chapter and it's saying something like "omega form strong emotional attachments due to their biological roles and instincts as caregivers and child-bearers" and Ignis looks over across the campsite and you're teasing Prompto over a bed head and suddenly taking a comb and tidying up his hair while the blonde is getting all red in the face and Ignis just completely unironically internally going "oh you're helping groom him 🥺❤ you ARE a caregiver"

And I feel like Ignis would slowly start sharing his "academic research" with the others, bit by bit, until suddenly you feel this, depends on perspective but most likely uncomfortable shift where you seem to go from being perceived as "one of us but female, let's roughhouse and be gross sometimes" to "one of us but female BUT ALSO our sweet precious omega oh my god look at you in your little sundress aren't you just so cute, dont strain yourself carrying anything even remotely heavy because You Are So Very Sweet And Delicate"

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Demon Alya fic snippit

Feel free to do what you want with this. (If you want to put it on your blog or AO3 or something as a related work, I don’t mind).

—- 

This, Juleka thought as she strained at the ropes which bound her tightly inside the bloody pentagram, is really not my day.

“The hour grows nigh!” shouted the loudest (and smelliest) of the five hooded dorks who were standing around the pentagram, one per point, and intermittently chanting while waving cloying incense around. “Soon a powerful demon shall accept our sacrifice and manifest before us, and in exchange for our undying loyalty and our immortal souls, shall grant us vast power over this world!” He spread his hands. “Rejoice, my coven! Rejoice!”

“Rejoice!” repeated the four idiots, as Juleka termed them, to the lead idiot. “Rejoice!”

Juleka thrashed a little but still couldn’t get out, and she growled to herself. If she somehow got out of this, she told herself, she would learn for her mistakes. For instance, the next time Rose had to cancel their date because something came up, Juleka would not browse around online until she found a meet up for people who ‘believed in the occult’ and ���wanted to explore the horrors lurking beneath the world’s surface with an open mind,’ and even if she found such a group she certainly wouldn’t go to check it out without telling anyone where she was heading. Or at the very least, if she did go, she’d get better at dodging so that if a bunch of creepy robed guys jumped up from their Dungeons and Dragons spellbooks and  tried to seize her again she’d be able to get away.

But that presupposed she’d be able to escape in the first place, and unfortunately, it seemed like the one things these guys were good at was tying people up. She wondered briefly if she could try to get mad enough that Hawkmoth would akumatize her and give her the power to escape (and throw these idiots into the Seine), but she knew that if Hawkmoth was paying attention he’d likely have already sensed her anger and done that. And besides, even if she did get akumatized, wouldn’t the Miraculous Cure put her right back down here when Ladybug finished beating her up and de-akumatizing her?

“We have already laid the incense and slain the goat!” the first guy went on. “And painted the pentagram in the goat’s blood!” Juleka gagged. “Now-”

“Are you sure your Mom is cool with us killing a goat in her backyard?” another of the robed guys suddenly asked. “I mean, it kind of made a mess.”

The leader shook his head. “When we get our demonic powers, we won’t need to worry about messes or moms. We’ll be able to do whatever we want. We could–we could stay out after curfew! Order two desserts at dinner! Make girls hang out with us!”

Juleka wondered if it was possibly to die of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

“Now, the hour is nigh at last!” the shouty guy yelled. “And as for our sacrificial victim: know that your death is not in vain, for with your blood we shall obtain the power to change the world!” He grabbed a knife from within his robes and Juleka’s eyes widened; despite everything she realized that on some level she hadn’t thought these losers would actually do it. “Have you any last words before your soul is sent to the realm of the demons?”

Juleka debated a dozen different responses, but none seemed right–she wasn’t going to beg and plead with these morons, or even threaten them; there was no point and she wouldn’t satisfy them by looking angry or terrified. So she settled on, “You’re holding that knife wrong.”

“What?” The robed guy seemed to have been knocked out of his spiel. “I–no I’m not! The pointy end–”

“If you’re going to sacrifice someone, you grip it differently,” said Juleka in an annoyed tone. “You’re holding it backwards, like you’re going to stab up at someone. For a sacrifice you aim the knife down at the sacrificial altar. And you use a different knife in the first place, one specifically for rituals.”

The other robed guys stared at the leader as he fumbled with his blade. “This is a ritual blade!” he insisted.

“Ritual blades are made of special materials and don’t have serrated edges like that,” Juleka said. “That's… dude, I think that’s a steak knife.”

Everyone froze. “It is not!” the lead guy yelled at last. “It is magic! Look, this sigil on the hilt we could not decipher–”

“That’s the logo of the cutlery store down the street,” Juleka noted. 

All of the other robed guys looked at each other. “How do you know so much about knives?” one asked Juleka.

Because my Mom has one and every so often she insists on telling me about how she dated a coven leader one time and has her ritual dagger to prove it, Juleka thought. It’s the story that comes after the 'I dated a pirate and here’s the scimitar to prove it’ one and before the 'I dated a magician who I think might have had actual fey lineage and here’s some other sword to prove it’ one. 

Juleka loved her mother dearly, but she had to admit that Anarka was… not entirely moored in reality at times. 

“No! She knows nothing!” the leader raved before Juleka could answer. “And besides, I know the knife is real! I bought it on EBay from a genuine wizard; it said so right in his seller profile!” The leader took a breath. “I mean, come on, do you really think I would have spent eight hundred francs on a ritual dagger that was forged in the fires of Hell itself if there was any chance it was just a steak knife?”

“Based on what I know of you,” said Juleka, “I think you’d spent your life savings on a rock if a guy with a mysterious accent told you it could give you magic powers, but would only work once he took all your money and left town so you couldn’t get a refund.”

“She’s got you there, dude,” said another of the robed guys.

The leader roared something inarticulate. Then he slashed down and cut Juleka’s cheek, just enough to draw a trickle of blood that spilled down and touched the pentagram. And then, to Juleka’s amazement, the circle actually began to glow and hiss. “We’re doing it!” gasped the leader. “See? I was right! This works!”

Juleka felt herself growing warm as the pentagram heated up. The blood suddenly ignited and Juleka cringed away from it, but the only place to hide was the pentagon in its center, and the smoke from the burning goat blood was all drifting there despite the absence of a breeze in the dingy basement. She was forced to roll into the pentagon and hide against one of its edges as the smoke coalesced. “Demon, we summon you!” the leader was yelling. “We bid you speak your name! Have we summoned the mighty Asmodeus? The brilliant Mephistopheles? The great Balphagor? The–”

A crack of thunder sounded and the smoked cleared, revealing the shape of a girl a little shorter than Juleka. The figure had horns, red skin, small wings sticking out of her back, and a tail with a spade on the end, but otherwise looked like a regular girl. In fact, she looked like a very familiar girl to Juleka. She had red hair, a beauty mark on her face, glasses, a red-and-white checkered shirt–

Wait.

“Um, Alya?” Juleka managed. “What’s going on?”

The redhead didn’t seem to notice her as she spread her arms and beamed at the robed guys. “You have summoned the demon Alya Cesaire!” she said. “Are you prepared to trade your immortal souls in exchange for great power?”

“Oh yes!” said the robed leader. “And we even prepared a sacrifice for you, oh mighty demon!” He pointed. “You can rip out her heart whenever you want!”

Alya glanced down, then froze. “Juleka?” she said. “Is that you? What are you doing?”

“Being sacrificed by these idiots, apparently.” Juleka briefly wondered if she was going crazy, but this didn’t seem like the kind of thing she’d hallucinate. Somehow, someway, Alya Cesaire had teleported in and at least appeared to be a demon. Maybe this was some weird akuma, or a new miraculous user with a demon theme for some reason (although Juleka personally felt that if anyone got a 'demon’ miraculous it would be LIla Rossi), but whatever was going on, it was really happening. So she’d just have to find some way to deal with it. “Alya, what’s going on? What are you doing?”

“They summoned me–” Then Alya caught herself. “Wait, no no no, you’re not supposed to know about me! Oh no, Nora is going to slaughter me…”

Everyone stared at Alya as she took a few breaths, suddenly looking less like a demonic tempter and more like an unhappy teenager who was about to get grounded. “How do you know these guys?” Alya asked Juleka at last.

“I don’t! They said they were looking at occult stuff, so I came by and they jumped me when I showed up!” Juleka insisted. “I don’t know them!”

Alya stared at her, and Juleka saw a truly frightening look of anger cross the girl’s face for a brief moment before Alya turned back to the cultists. “Did you seriously just try to sacrifice a random stranger to me?“ 

"…yes?” said the leader. “I mean, we’re not going to sacrifice someone we like–”

“It’s not a sacrifice unless you sacrifice someone you like!” said Alya, sounding both angry and exasperated. “The whole point of this is you’re promising to forswear any earthly attachments in order to devote yourself to demonic causes, you idiot! You can’t just kill some random stranger to do that! If it’s not someone close to you, someone where it’d mean something for you to betray them and give them up, there’s no point!”

“So,” said Juleka, “what you’re saying is, if Luka was going to sacrifice me for some reason, you’d be cool with it.”

Alya looked down at her with a hurt expression. “I mean, not you specifically, but…” She caught herself and quickly coughed before turning back to the cultists.  “I can’t accept this sacrifice,” the demon said more loudly. “I–”

“You have to!” crowed the lead cultist. “We summoned you. It’s a bargain, and you can’t leave until you take the sacrifice and give us the powers we want! And if you don’t do what we want we’ll cast spells on you to hurt you!”

“That isn’t how that works!” Alya rolled her eyes. “The only power you have is the power I give you! You can’t use it against me or I’ll just take it back! Devil below, did you put even five minutes of thought into this?" 

"You have to!” repeated the leader. “Or you can’t leave. Look, we don’t care if you take the girl, but give us our powers already!”

The demon and the cultist leader stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Alya said, “And what powers do you want, exactly?”

“All of them!” said one of the other cultists.

“Yeah, you’re going to need more than one sacrifice for that,” Alya snarked. 

“Then we’ll start with just one.” The cultist leader grinned. “I know. The one we discussed earlier. Make girls like us!”

The other cultists nodded. “Yeah, I need a girlfriend,” said one. “Someone who doesn’t care about dumb illogical stuff like 'showering,’ and who doesn’t mind me playing games with my friends all night.”

“Why just one?” The lead cultist rubbed his hands together. “You, demon. Make us irresistible to girls in general. We’re smart; we deserves harems!” He chuckled. “Oh, and we can have them wrestle to see who gets to spend each night with us!”

Alya exchanged astonished and exasperated glances with Juleka. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “You–”

“I read there was this Chinese emperor who had a harem of a thousand girls,” said another cultist. “So many that when he wanted to go on a date he had a donkey take his carriage around the harem quarters and just dated whichever women was closest when the donkey stopped, so the women put out salt and carrots and stuff to make his donkey stop by them. Give us the power to have that many girls!”

Alya shut her eyes for a long moment. “I might be able to do something,” she said at last. Her tone was a bit off and Juleka noted that this was how Alya sounded when she was lying, but the cultists didn’t seem to realize that. Alya went on to say, “But not with me in here and you out there. Step into the pentagram and I can give you power.”

The leader grinned. One of his subordinates said, “Hey, aren’t we supposed to stay outside that thing?”

“It’s fine. The demon knows who’s boss,” said the leader as he entered. (Juleka managed to roll over so she had a good view of the guy; she figured Alya was about to wreck him and wanted to see it when that happened.) “And maybe she’s charmed by me. After all, I did summon her, and it’s not like I’m a bad catch. I speak fluent Klingon and–”

Alya surged forwards as soon as the guy got into the pentagram, then rammed her hand into the guy’s chest. Juleka gasped but no blood leaked out, and then Juleka realized that Alya had somehow phased her hand into his body without harming his physical self. The guy cried out, and then Alya withdrew her hand holding a greenish-brown ball of light about the size of a billiard ball. “I do need to take a soul before I can leave here,” she said. “Fortunately, yours qualifies." 

"That’s my soul?!” gasped the lead cultist. “Hey, give that back! I–”

“Nope. Mine.” Alya grinned, and Juleka’s eyes widened as she saw that the girl had fangs in this form. She then looked at the captured soul thoughtfully and said, “Of course, one soul is fine, but five are better.”

“Five?” said one of the other cultists while the leader just gaped dumbly at his missing soul. “Well, we’re not going in there, so–”

Alya chuckled. “No problem.” She tapped the captured soul and it seemed to glow a little more brightly. “Break this pentagram,” she ordered–and the leader stiffened before mechanically walking over to the pentagram and scuffing out a section of the bloody lines with his foot.

The cultists yelled and began to run. Alya glanced down at Juleka and said, “Be right back,” before blasting after them. Juleka could only watch as Alya’s wings flared and she leapt, hands curled into claws, on top of the slowest fleeing cultist and ripped out his soul too. Then she threw some kind of fireball–Hellfire?–at the stairs, blasting them out and cutting off the cultists’ escapes from the basements, before she jumped at another. 

The battle was over in less than a minute, at which point Alya–now casually juggling five ball-like souls in one hand–ordered the cultists to 'sit down and shut up’ before hurrying back to Juleka and slashing the ropes with her talon-like fingers. “Are you okay?” Alya asked quickly. “Did they hurt you?”

“Not too bad.” Juleka managed. She stood and stretched before backing up a step and looking at her demonic friend. “So. Um…”

Alya hesitated, and then her head dropped. “Yeah,” she said in a voice that actually sounded sad. “I know. You know about me and now you’re scared and you think I’m awful and–”

“Hold on,” said Juleka quickly. “I’m not afraid of…” The word 'monsters’ seemed rude, so Juleka looked for a better one. “…unusual people,” she said at last. And it was true. She didn’t know exactly what Alya’s deal was, but now that her life wasn’t at stake, she wasn’t feeling nearly as scared anymore. Not scared enough to lose faith in a friend, even one with a demonic appearance, anyways. “I mean, you did save me from these guys–thanks for that–and we’re friends, so–”

“We’re still friends?” Alya asked quickly. “Really?”

“Of course, and–agh!” Juleka flinched as Alya rushed to hug her. The girl smelled like sulfur and brimstone, which Juleka decided really shouldn’t have been that surprising. Despite herself, Juleka felt a small smile coming to her mouth as she hugged Alya back. “Yes. We’re still friends. ”

Alya grinned. “You’re the best, Juleka.”

Juleka nodded, then saw something. “Um, Alya?”

“Yes?”

“I think you just dropped one of your souls.” She pointed at the ball of light–this one a brownish-black–which had just fallen out of Alya’s hands and was rolling away towards what looked like a small hole in the floor. “So-”

“Agh!” Alya immediately sprang for the soul. Juleka wasn’t sure what Alya planned to do with it in the end, but she hoped it was something mean. The guy had tried to murder her, after all. “Bad soul! No running away! I need you to make my quota!" 

Juleka couldn’t help but giggle as Alya gave chase. This might not have started out as her day… but her life had been saved, she’d discovered an amazing secret about her friend, and things were starting to look up.

Chapter 2

Juleka had taken a few minutes to rest on the (gross) couch and munch a pudding pop from the cultists’ fridge while Alya fixed the summoning pentagram. "Just need to drop them off,” she had said cheerily. “Be back in a minute.” And then she’d vanished in a puff of smoke and brimstone along with the souls.

“So,” Juleka had said after a little bit. “Are you guys, uh, okay?”

The cultists gave her blank looks that were… well, 'soulless’ was probably how Juleka would describe it. 

“Meh.” Juleka finished her pudding, then looked in the fridge again and grabbed a soda. “You guys deserve it.”

Alya reappeared with a flourish and another blast of sulfur. “Alright!” she chirped to the guys. “Your souls are now safely stored in my demesne Down Below. I'l be in touch with your orders.” She turned to Juleka and seemed to hesitate for a moment before catching herself. “Want to get out of here?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Juleka rose. At the same time, Alya shimmered and then her body took on the form Juleka was familiar with–no horns, no wings, no tail, and skin that was brown and definitely not red. “Let’s go.”

As they left the house, Juleka glanced back at Alya. Her mind was bursting with questions and she barely knew where to start. “So, uh–”

“You weren’t just saying that before, right?” Alya asked suddenly. “About still being friends with me despite, you know…?”

“Of course I wasn’t just saying it.” Juleka paused. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be friends with someone that went around hurting innocent people, but the only people I saw you hurt were the guys that tried to kill me. And I know you. I can’t imagine you ever hurting an innocent. As long as you’re only going after really bad people like those guys, I don’t care.”

Alya let out a breath. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and Juleka thought she sounded sincere. “That's… that means a lot.” She managed a smile. “I’m sure you have questions.”

“More than a few.” Juleka considered, then went for one of the simplest ones. “So when you get someone’s soul, you just order them around? Can you control them directly?”

“Not exactly. It’s not like how Max can program Markov to run certain programs or take specific actions. But when I get someone’s soul I can influence their personality: make them more aggressive, or lazy, or hedonistic, or whatever. We do that to push humans on the paths we want for them. One of the things we can influence is loyalty, so I made those guys loyal to me. There’s limits–I won’t be able to get him to rob a bank or jump off a cliff, because his loyalty won’t be able to override his self-preservation or sanity or whatever–but within reason, now they’ll obey what I say.”

“Hmm.” Juleka paused. “And… just to be clear, you’re an actual demon. Like, this isn’t a really weird akuma or something.”

Alya giggled. “No akuma. No miraculous. Just 100% grade-A demon here. If you have a copy of Dante’s Inferno I can show you the exact circle I was born in.”

“Not necessary,” said Juleka, and the two girls exchanged grins. Then Juleka asked her next question. “So if you’re a demon have you… I don’t know… met the Devil?”

Alya laughed louder. “You’re French; that doesn’t mean you hang out with the Prime Minister,” she said. “I saw the big boss a couple times, including when I got assigned to Paris, but no more than that. Of course, if I do a good job here I could get a promotion.”

“Why are you in Paris specifically?”

“Well…” Alya paused. “Honestly, I got assigned here because I’m junior and the more senior demons filled up the other postings. Not a lot of demons want Paris these days. You can probably guess why.”

Juleka could. “The miraculouses?”

“Right. Historically, some miraculous users were known to go full paladin and strike down tons of demons. So all the demons want jobs in London, or Shanghai, or Abuja, or America–places without miraculous users. I got sent here because they needed someone and I was what was left.” Alya frowned. “But I’m going to do a good job. I’ll impress my superiors and show them all.”

“What exactly is your job?” Juleka thought back. “You mentioned a quota.”

“I just have to bring in so many souls a month,” said Alya. “That’s basically it.”

Juleka nodded. “And I’m guessing you can’t just run around yanking them out of people’s chests whenever you want.”

“Right. I can only 'yank’ the souls of people who make a souls-for-power deal with me, or who are like those cultists and do something evil enough that I can take their soul right away instead of having to wait for them to die–that’s in Dante’s Inferno too, actually, the story about Fra Alberigo–or in a few other circumstances.” Alya waved a hand. “There’s a bunch of rules. So my job is to get people to make a deal or otherwise break one of those rules so I can get their soul.” She smiled. “It’s fun work. Challenging too, since everyone’s different and needs a different strategy to tempt them.”

“What kinds of people do you usually focus on?”

“Well…” Alya’s eyes twinkled. “You know how the news is always wondering why Hawkmoth only akumatizes random people and doesn’t go after professional criminals, people who are already really evil and would work with him willingly?”

Juleka hesitated. “He worked with a criminal one time, when we were in New York.”

“Okay, but just looking at Paris. It’s like he can’t pick criminals. Why do you think that is?”

Juleka got it. “You get to the criminals first. When someone does something so evil it shows they’d probably be willing to work with Hawkmoth, you get their soul and then make them loyal to you and order them not to accept his akumas.”

Alya beamed. “Yep. I get the souls, and Hawkmoth loses a fighter–which means Ladybug is less active and there’s less chance of her discovering me. Win-win.” She paused. “There’s a rumor that a demon was assigned to tempt Hawkmoth and Mayura full-time; get their souls and make them use their miraculousness for Hell instead of whatever their real goals are. But if that’s true, I don’t know who the demon is.”

“Huh. Well, on behalf of Paris–thanks for screwing over Hawkmoth. We appreciate it.”

Alya grinned.

They stopped at the Dupain-Cheng bakery for snacks–Alya bought several pastries, murmuring to Juleka that as a demon she didn’t technically need to eat but she loved the taste of the Dupain-Cheng’s food, while Juleka got some lemon bread and a few Japanese sweets called mochi which she knew Luka liked–and then headed for Alya’s house. Juleka was a little nervous about going into a demon’s lair, but she figured that if there was a giant portal to Hell in the living room or something, Marinette would have noticed during one of her sleepovers at her best friend’s house and mentioned it. “Do you have any cool powers besides the soul thing?” she asked.

“I might,” said Alya in a teasing voice. “Let’s get to my room and I’ll show you.”

Alya let them in and then hurried Juleka into her room. “Is the rest of your family, uh, like you?” Juleka asked as Alya pushed her inside.

“Just Nora. Marelan and Otis couldn’t have kids, and so they made a deal with one of my bosses. In exchange for being able to have Etta and Ella, they’d agree to provide covers for two demons who would be based in Paris. The demon said yes, Marlena and Otis had the twins, and a few years later it was time to make good on their promise, so they took in Nora and I.” Alya shrugged. “It works pretty well. They know they aren’t allowed to interfere in our soul-collecting, but other than that they look after us okay.”

“Is Nora your real sister, or is that part of your cover?” Juleka looked around Alya’s room as Alya shut the door behind them. It certainly didn’t look like the room of a powerful demon who could literally rip out the souls of sinners. But of course Alya didn’t look like such a demon either, at least in her human guise. Looks could be deceiving.

“No, she’s my real sister. And she’s kind of protective of me, which is why it’s probably better if she doesn’t know you know about me.” Alya stretched, then snapped her fingers and dispelled her human glamour. “Ah. Much better.” She stretched again, and Juleka watched in amazement as her wings and tail flared. “Those get so cramped under the glamour.”

Juleka moved a little closer. “Do you mind if I, uh, take a closer look?” Alya gave her a curious look and Juleka blushed. “Sorry, but I find this stuff really cool and–”

“Go right ahead!” Alya beamed and Juleka wondered if she was just happy to have a human friend who thought her true appearance was neat and not scary. Juleka leaned in and marveled at her wings and her waggling tail. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got a pretty awesome body,” said Juleka before she realized how that sounded. Alya burst into laughter, Juleka couldn’t help giggling too. “I meant the wings and stuff! Seriously, I’d love to have wings. Flying sounds awesome.”

Alya hesitated, and Juleka blinked. “What, can’t demons fly?”

“We can, but…” Alya blushed, her already-red skin darkening. “It’s kind of embarrassing…”

Juleka got it. “Demons in general can fly, but you specifically can’t.”

“I’ll be able to!” Alya insisted. “My wings just aren’t done growing yet!” Juleka grinned. “I’m serious!” Alya went on.

“Of course you are,” said Juleka neutrally. Alya didn’t seem too put out by the teasing, and Juleka guessed that maybe she was just relieved Juleka was still willing to joke with her instead of freaking out and worrying that Alya would damn her over some tiny slight. “I’m sure you’ll be able to fly. Someday. Far in the future.”

“If you keep teasing me I won’t show you any of my cool demon powers,” Alya sniffed. “And some are really awesome.”

Juleka sat down on the bed. “I’ll be good,” she said, though she was unable to hide her smile. “I saw you throw a fireball at one of those guys–”

“Yeah, I can summon Hellfire!” Alya snapped her fingers and a bright ball of flame, about the size of one of the souls she’d taken from the cultists, appeared in her talon-like hands. (And now that Juleka looked closer, she saw that Alya’s feet were cloven). “This stuff is great. Burns hotter than human flame, and it’s perfect for barbecues. Seriously, meat grilled over this stuff is awesome.”

“Can you possess people?” Juleka asked. “Like in the movies?”

“Some demons can but I’m not good at it.” Alya summoned more balls of fire and began to idly toss them around. “I’m okay at Whispers, though.”

Juleka blinked. “Whispers?" 

"Have you ever been talking to a friend or family member and then heard a little voice in the back of your head saying something like, 'they don’t really mean it when they say they like you, they’re just pitying you, and as soon as they can find someone better they’ll abandon you?’ Things like that?”

“Uh…” Juleka couldn’t deny it. That had been worse before Marinette had fixed her photo curse problem, but she did sometimes have to fight off the fear that Rose and the others were only hanging out with her to show her charity. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Sometimes–not always, but sometimes–that’s a demon. Here’s how mine sounds.” Alya focused on Juleka, and her eyes grew a little redder. And then–

Juleka heard a voice in the back of her head. “Juleka,” it hissed in that familiar tone of cynical wisdom, the voice of a grizzled elder cutting through nonsense and delivering the hardest of truths. “You are a bad person. You must redeem yourself by buying more cookies at the Dupain-Cheng bakery for Alya–”

The goth snickered at that and threw a pillow at Alya, who cheerily ducked and impaled it on her left horn. Then Juleka mimed holding her hands straight out as if she were a zombie and meandered in the direction of the door like she was really about to do it. Alya burst into laughter as she removed the pillow from her horn. “Hey, stop, I wasn’t serious! And I’ve already got cookies. I go to her bakery every day.”

Before Juleka could respond, the door slammed open. “I heard noises, sis,” said Nora as she strode in. “What’s going–”

Her eyes flicked to Alya, still in her demon form, and then Juleka. Her face twisted into rage. “Human!” she hissed as she surged forwards, and by the time she’d grabbed Juleka by her collar and slammed her against a wall her body had shifted into a greenish lizard-like thing with four arms, bright yellow eyes, and a forked tongue. Her new form reminded Juleka of a yuan-ti from that Dungeons and Dragons game the cultists had been playing when she’d walked in on them. “Alya, what are you doing?!” Nora demanded. “We can’t show ourselves to humans! What if she calls a paladin or an angel!”

Juleka choked and struggled to escape, but Nora’s demon form was apparently even stronger than her human one and she couldn’t move. Then Alya was rushing towards them. “No, it’s cool! Some idiot cultists summoned me and tried to kill her, but I dealt with them. And hey–I got five souls, I’m ahead of quota–”

“Don’t change the subject!” Nora yelled. “And don’t take her word for things either! Do you really believe she just happened to be there when the cultists summoned you? What if she’s a paladin trying to get in close so she can banish you?”

Nora, Juleka recalled, was sometimes overprotective of her sister. This was apparently one of those times. “I’m not a paladin,” she managed in a deadpan voice. “Seriously.”

“So you say now, but I’ll make you tell the real truth.” Nora’s grip tightened and Juleka winced. Alya opened her mouth to object, but Nora cut her off. “Sis, you know I’m looking out for you. We can’t have humans knowing who we are. So let’s just lock her in the basement until I get the truth out of her and she also agrees to give up her soul in exchange for letting her out. Then you make her super loyal to you so she never talks. Or we just go the other way and have Marlena and Otis move across town and change our identities so she can’t sell us out.”

Juleka thrashed more. “I’m not going to tell anyone!” she insisted instead. “Alya’s a friend, I wouldn’t sell her out!”

Nora gave Juleka an astonished stare and Alya smiled a little. “She means it, sis.”

“We can’t trust that. And even if she’s serious now, these are long-term covers. What happens if in five years you guys have a falling out?” Nora shook her head. “It’s not safe. There’re rules against this for a reason.”

“Those rules have exceptions,” Alya pointed out.

“Yeah–for humans that form cults to worship us and make us stronger. Is she planning on being the high priestess of the Cult of Alya Cesaire or something?”

Alya hesitated. “Uh… yes,” she said. “That’s what she wants to be.”

Juleka swiveled her head to stare at Alya in surprise, but then Nora shoved her into the wall again and Juleka got it–if they could bluff Nora into believing this, the chances of Nora trying to rip out her soul or something would go way down. “Totally,” Juleka lied. “That’s why I was with the cult. I was like, 'I want to find a demonic overlord to pledge my loyalty to,’ and they seemed onboard with that, but then they tied me up and tried to use me to summon Alya. Once she saved me, of course, she earned my undying love and devotion.”

Despite the situation, Juleka saw Alya visibly stifling giggles as she turned away. But Nora was less familiar with Juleka and couldn’t pick up on her sarcasm. “Really,” she said. “That’s your story.”

“Uh huh. I even practiced chanting for hours.”

Juleka wondered if that last line was too much, but Nora gave her a long look before dropping her and stalking over to her sister. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said. “I’ve got a nose like a bloodhound. I could follow you across the English Channel.” Then she grabbed Alya and dragged her out of the room.

Juleka took advantage of Nora’s absence to take a breath and then try to think through her story in more detail. She didn’t know anything about being the high priestess of a demon cult, but she imagined it couldn’t be too hard–some chanting here, some praising the demon there, maybe lighting candles or setting off fireworks on whatever the demonic equivalent of Christmas was. (Although, she somehow doubted Alya actually wanted those things.) And besides, this was just a blufff for Nora. She wouldn’t have to actually go through with it–

The door banged open again as Nora came back in with Alya behind her. “So,” Nora said. “Juleka, right? Why do you want to lead my sister’s cult? What’s in it for you?”

“Uh–”

“Magic?” Nora snapped her fingers and summoned some Hellfire of her own, though her fireball was much larger, about the size of a basketball. “I mean, that’s possible, but I think it’s best we’re all on the same page. Wouldn’t be good if you wanted something she couldn’t give you.”

Juleka opened her mouth, then hesitated. Magic was awesome and she’d love to have the chance to cast spells, but she wasn’t sure if she should say that. Nora still seemed volatile and Juleka figured there were probably 'wrong’ answers to this question which would be very bad for her.

“Or other kinds of power?” Nora went on. “Gold smelted in the fires of Hell? Demons have plenty of that. Or political power? Maybe a boost to your blog? Are you here because you want Alya to get Nadja Chamack’s soul and then induce her to promote you all over Paris?”

Juleka glanced at Alya for just a moment and noticed how nervous the other demon seemed. But then Nora went on. “Or do you want Alya to smite your enemies? Like Hawkmoth, or that Marinette girl who brought you on as a model and then made you so nervous you got re-akumatized into Reflektdoll?” Nora clenched a fist. “Well?”

“Um.” Juleka paused, having no idea what to say. If she got it wrong she was in real trouble, and…

And so why not just tell the truth?

Juleka gulped. “I, uh… I mean, all that stuff sounds cool but it’s not why I’m here. And honestly, I didn’t go to the cult hoping to meet a demon either. I found out about Alya’s whole, uh, demon thing by accident. But she’s a friend, a really good one, and I’m not going to abandon her. And so if being her 'high priestess’ is the only way I can keep my soul and stay her friend without you, I don’t know, changing covers so I never see her again or wiping my mind or something, that’s what I want to do." 

Nora stared at Juleka with a stunned look, and then her tongue darted out. "I don’t taste any deceit,” she murmured. “I…”

“See?” said Alya, looking relieved. “I told you she’s legit. You can relax.”

The bigger demon struggled for a moment before growling and saying, “Fine. Bind her properly, sis. Don’t screw it up. I’ll check on you later–I’ve almost got Roundhouse Ron’s soul, and if I can get him to throw the match tonight it’ll be as good as mine. But when I’m done I’ll be back.” She stalked out.

Alya ran to Juleka’s side and hugged her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know Nora can be rough–”

“It’s okay. Not your fault.” Juleka returned the hug. “So. Apparently I’m your new high priestess.”

Alya’s skin somehow grew even redder as she blushed again. “We don’t, uh, have to go through with that if you don’t want. I’ll make up some story for Nora.”

But then Alya might get in trouble, Juleka thought. And she’d might never see her friend again if Alya were forced to change covers. “What would it entail?” Juleka asked.

Alya blinked. “Uh… well, there’s a magic spell I’d cast and we’d exchange blood. You’d become bound to me. I’d be able to lend you magic power, and when you 'worshipped’ me I’d get stronger. You’d be responsible for worshipping me on a regular basis, eventually bringing other people into the cult, and helping me to enact my will–that is, capture souls.”

“Any risks?” Juleka asked. “Would I lose my soul?”

“No. I mean, technically I’d be supposed to constantly tempt you into giving it up–that’s the usual reason most demons do things like this, most other demons don’t like humans and only loan them a little power to ensnare people who are too clever to just lose their souls the usual ways–but I wouldn’t do that. Um, if you ran into a paladin or angel they might notice that I’d marked you and want to smite you. It’s not likely unless you’re actively using demonic magic, but it’s a risk, so I get if you don’t want to do it. Like I said, I’ll lie to Nora–”

“I’ll do it,” said Juleka at once.

Alya stared. “Really?”

“Sure. It doesn’t sound too bad, as long as I get to keep my soul. And… and you’re a friend. I don’t want Nora to take you away. And this is sort of my fault anyways for getting captured by those morons. If this is the way to stop you leaving, let’s do it.”

Alya was still for a moment before a genuine grin burst onto her face. “Alright,” she said. “Here we go.”

She got a ritual knife–a real one this time–from her desk and then had Juleka sit cross-legged across from her on her bed while she summoned a ball of Hellfire between them. She murmured several words in what sounded like Latin, then motioned for Juleka to put her hand in the fire. Juleka cautiously did so, but whatever spell Alya had muttered prevented it from burning her. Alya used her knife to cut into her palm, forming a trickle of sizzling blood, before doing the same to Juleka’s hand and then clasping it in the flames.

Juleka gasped. Suddenly she felt as if power were surging into her, power that clutched at her mind and screamed at her to use it to do whatever she wanted, smashing up her enemies and building palaces of molten gold for herself and–

She caught the thoughts and forcibly pushed them away. Then Alya dropped her hand and when Juleka looked at her palm there was a strange sigil instead of a scar. “There!” said Alya. “You’re my high priestess now. It’s official.” She beamed. “I can’t wait to tell Asmodeus. He told me when I started taking soul-catching lessons that I’d never be good enough to start a cult. And here I am, one of the first in my class!”

“Great,” managed Juleka as she uneasily got up. Power was still surging through her and she felt heady. “Woah. That’s a rush. Um, do I need to worry about accidentally setting off fireballs or anything?”

“I haven’t given you any magic yet, just the potential to cast it once I do,” said Alya. “So no.”

“Okay.” Juleka took a breath. “And this worship thing. What does that involve?”

Alya hesitated. “You know, worship,” she said at last. “Spending time being devoted to me. Making me happy. I’ll do the same for you of course–we’re friends–but when you do it to me, I’ll grow stronger and then be able to give you more magic.”

“But specifically,” Juleka pushed. “How do I be 'devoted to you?’ That’s pretty broad.”

 "I don’t know,“ Alya admitted. "I’ve never, uh, actually had a cult before. I didn’t think I’d be strong enough to make one.” She glanced away. “Just… whatever’s traditional, I guess.”

“Ah.” Juleka tilted her head, then smiled wryly. “Well, based on Hollywood movies–which I’m going to assume are totally accurate–I think the tradition here is for me to take you into a drafty catacomb, light some smelly incense, chant in Latin neither of us understand, and talk a lot about how someday the rivers will run red with the blood of your enemies.”

Alya blanched. “Please don’t.”

Juleka’s smile grew. “I could also dress up in stupid clothes and wander around yelling prophecies that the dread lord Alya will slay all who do not bow before her. I could form a 'Satanist’ metal band and yell that everyone who didn’t buy my merchandise with your face on it would burn. I could–”

Alya burst into laughter and threw a pillow at her. “As your new demon queen I hereby order you to not do anything so ridiculous I’d get laughed out of Hell.”

“Or,” said Juleka, still beaming, “Seeing as how you told Nora you’re caught up on your soul quota and don’t have anything to do for awhile, I could rent us a couple movies about exorcists and demons. Then we could watch them together, eat popcorn, do each other’s hair, and laugh about everything the films get wrong. Would that count as being 'devoted to you’ and 'making you happy?’”

“I…” Alya smiled. “I think it would. And seeing as how literally no other cultist I’ve ever heard of would have come up with that–seriously, most of those guys love Latin chants, except they don’t know Latin so they just recite random phrases and usually wind up chanting that their togas got caught in their chariots or something–I think it’s safe to say you are officially a much better high priestess than all those other guys.”

She gave Juleka a hug, which the goth returned. And then she flopped down on her bed while Juleka got the movie set up. And as Juleka did so, she saw a contented look on Alya’s face and grinned.

It was nice to be someone’s friend. Especially a very unusual someone, such as a certain Alya Cesaire.

Chapter 3

Life as the high priestess of the Cult of Alya Cesaire, thought Juleka, was pretty similar to her life before taking on that role. She still went to school, did her homework, played music with Kitty Section, dated Rose, and helped Marinette’s various doomed attempts to win the heart of one Adrien Agreste. But now she was hanging out more with Alya too, and those hang-outs could be… interesting.

This was the case when, a few weeks after becoming high priestess, Juleka noticed that Alya was looking sluggish in school. She caught up with the girl at recess and asked, “What’s wrong? Can you, uh, get sick?”

“Not with human diseases, but there’s some demon ones that are a real bitch.” Alya wrinkled her nose, then sneezed into a tissue with an annoyed grunt. “Ugh.”

“Why don’t you go home?” Juleka asked. “I mean, your 'parents’ are just supposed to be looking after you for your bosses, right? They can’t actually ground you?" 

"They actually can. To 'maintain the cover,’” Alya smiled ruefully. “Wouldn’t look very realistic if I was just going around doing anything I wanted and they ignored it. I mean, I know Chloe’s dad does, but that’s because he’s a total idiot–it still doesn’t look right. But that’s not why I’m staying here.” She gestured at her bookbag, which Juleka saw had a thick notebook sticking out of it. “Today’s the study review session in Mendeleiev’s class, remember? And the test is next week. I can’t miss that.”

Juleka raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah!” Alya sneezed again. “I mean, this is a long-term cover. I won’t be able to tempt people if I fail out of school and wind up living in an alley behind Marinette’s family’s bakery!”

Juleka gave Alya a long look.

“…and I like this stuff,” Alya admitted. “We don’t really have 'schools’ like this in Hell, just lessons on specific things like tempting people. It's… interesting being in this kind of place.” She gestured at the school around them. “I don’t want to screw it up.”

“Hmm.” Juleka tilted her head, then came to her decision. “Okay. As your high priestess, I’m making an executive decision and sending you home.”

Alya blinked. “I… I don’t think that’s how–”

“I’m supposed to look after you,” said Juleka. “So I’m ordering you to go home. I’ll take detailed notes at the study session and run them over to you once school’s out.”

Now Alya looked stunned. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course–ack!” Juleka winced as Alya wrapped her in a tight hug. She was confused for a moment–taking notes for others was pretty common, after all–before remembering that Alya was new up here. She wondered if maybe demons didn’t have 'friends’ in Hell, and that was why Alya kept being surprised and overwhelmed whenever Juleka behaved decently towards her. (And now that Juleka thought about it, she could recall Marinette having said similar things about how happy Alya seemed to get over the slightest kindnesses.) “No problem.”

“Thanks.” Alya broke the hug and began to run off. “I’ll be at home then. See you later!”

###

Juleka took copious notes, paying even more attention than she would have if she were only focusing on her own learning, and after school she headed out for Alya’s house. Before she got there, though, she was stopped by Rose. “Juleka!” chirped the short blonde, giving her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Are you doing anything?I got tickets to the new fashion show down on the Champs Elysses and I was wondering if you wanted to go?”

“Wish I could,” said Juleka, taking a moment to hug her girlfriend and lose herself in the girl’s sweet perfume and sweeter personality. “But I’ve got a thing with Alya; she’s sick and I’m bringing her notes to study for next week’s test. Maybe tomorrow?”

“She is?” Rose gasped. “That’s awful. But it’s really nice of you to go help her study. You’re amazing, Juleka.” She gave Juleka another hug. “Tomorrow is fine. See you then!”

Rose ran off and Juleka headed over to the Cesaire house to see her friend. When she knocked on the door, though, it was Nora who opened it. “You,” she grunted. “Right, Alya told me. Come in.”

Juleka let the older demon usher her inside and then tried to go to Alya’s room, but Nora blocked her. “Wait,” Nora said. “My little sis is sick. You’re her high priestess. So here.” She thrust an ancient-looking book into Juleka’s arms, and when Juleka opened it to see tiny, spidery writing, the book let out what sounded like a pained moan. “Use this.”

“…how?” Juleka asked.

Nora glared at her, then flipped the book to a certain chapter. “A spell for healing sick demons,” she said. “Now that you’re her high priestess, only you can cast it on her. So do it. Or else I’ll eat your soul.” She stuck out her tongue, and it briefly flashed back to being forked and scaly before Nora restored her own glamour. “Got it?”

Juleka glanced down at the ingredients for the spell and almost gagged. The first three were goat’s blood, the heart of a lamb whose wool was pure-white, and the frayed end of a hangman’s noose; the rest were similarly baroque. “Got it,” she managed. “Make Alya feel better, check.”

“Good.” Nora finally let Juleka go. “And remember, Juleka: her welfare is your responsibility. If you screw up and my sister gets hurt, or banished, or something worse, I’m taking it out on you.” She clenched a fist and a ball of fire appeared above it. “Just so we understand each other. Now: get out of my way.” She stormed off, presumably–Juleka guessed–to go capture another soul from someone she knew as a boxer. Juleka watched her go and took a breath, then headed into Alya’s room.

“Hey!” Alya was lying on her bed in her demonic form, which now looked a bit blotchy and mottled. The base of Alya’s wings in particular were covered with some kind of splotchy growth, and as Juleka watched Alya tried to scratch them but couldn’t quite reach. “You okay? I mentioned you were coming over and Nora freaked out.”

“I’m fine,” said Juleka as she set down her bag. “Nora just told me to make you feel better. Apparently I’m supposed to… let me see…” She looked at the book. “Sprinkle you with goat’s blood, then puree the prepared heart of a lamb and have you drink it…” She flashed a wry smile. “Do you like your lamb heart prepared any particular way, o mighty demon?”

Alya groaned theatrically. “Agh! Nora’s cures for things are worse than the diseases. Please don’t do any of the goat’s blood or lamb’s heart stuff.” The two laughed. Then Alya reached at her back again but still couldn’t reach the splotches at the bases of her wings. “Stupid demon-rot…”

Juleka paused, then went over to the bed. “Here. Let me get that.” She sat down and began to gently scratch the splotches.

“You don’t need to… oh. Oh, yeah, right there.” Alya let out a sigh of contentment as Juleka massaged the inflamed and splotchy patches of skin on her back. “Oh, you’re awesome.”

Juleka smiled slightly as she continued to work on Alya’s back, as well as a couple of blotchy spots near the base of her horns too. The demon made contented noises, almost purrs, and her tail began to thump on the bed and against Juleka’s legs. “That better?” Juleka asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. You’re the best high priestess ever,” sighed Alya. “Way better than that stupid toady Asmodeus got that he never shuts up about.”

Juleka massaged Alya for about fifteen minutes until Alya declared she was feeling a lot better and needed to get to studying. Then they got the books out and began going over Juleka’s notes, with Juleka still giving Alya an occasional scratch or massage on one of her sore spots. 

“Best high priestess ever,” Alya repeated quietly, and Juleka couldn’t help but grin.

###

The next day, Juleka got a text from Alya that she was feeling much better. “I’m practicing with Kitty Section before the fashion show,” Juleka wrote back. “You can come by if you want.”

But by the time Alya had gotten there, practice had been canceled and Juleka was consoling a sobbing Rose. “It’s awful!” Rose was saying. “I can’t believe it happened again!”

“What’s wrong?” said Alya, now wrapped in her human guise, as she climbed onto the Liberty.

“That XY jerk stole our music again.” Juleka growled something inarticulate and hugged Rose more tightly. “And Bob Roth threatened to sue us for slander if we protest.”

“You should tell people anyways,” said Alya at once. “We’ll show him.”

Juleka shook her head. “The last time this happened, Luka got akumatized when he found out. We can’t risk that happening again.” She looked down. “We’ll figure something out, Rose. We can write another song.”

“Maybe…”

Alya hesitated, and then a faint smile crossed her face while Rose’s head was buried in Juleka’s arms. Juleka saw the smile and gave Alya a querying look, but Alya just waved it off. “Well, let me know if you want to go public; I’ll talk about it on the Ladyblog if you do,” she said. “Anyways, I just came by to say I couldn’t hang around for practice after all. Maybe next time. Later!” And she hurried off.

Juleka didn’t think too much about it until an hour later when, as she sat in her cabin with Rose on her lap while they ate ice cream and tried to think of a new song, Luka came in. “Hey, you guys hear? Something’s going down at Bob Roth’s studios.”

The two girls looked at each other and then Juleka opened up her laptop to see a news report. “Fire at a major studio!” Nadja Chamack was saying while Roth’s building burned behind her. “Preliminary reports are that a fire somehow ignited in the server room and destroyed most of the master recordings, including a new piece of music scheduled to debut later today. The fire then spread through the building–oh, Mr. Roth!” Bob Roth and XY had just burst out of the building as firemen ran into it. “Do you have any–”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” XY was screaming. “THIS PLACE IS HAUNTED!”

“Monsters!” Roth gasped. “A monster set everything on fire! Aaah!” And the two ran away.

Chamack blinked, then shrugged. “So to recap: a fire at a record studio appears to have driven famous pop musician XY and his manager Bob Roth into temporary states of insanity, as well as destroyed their new release. We’ll keep you informed. Now back to the station.”

“Hey,” said Rose as Nadja’s feed cut off. “If their recording was destroyed–that means they don’t have our music anymore! We can still release it and Roth can’t claim it was his first!”

Juleka smiled to herself. She had a pretty good idea of which 'monster’ had started that fire. “Yeah,” she said. “We can.”

Later, when Juleka was biking home, she happened to come across Alya and braked to stop near her. “Thanks,” she said.

Alya put on an innocent expression. “Who, me?” she said sweetly. “But I would never burn down a record studio! I’m very innocent and gentle.”

Juleka laughed at that, and after a moment Alya followed suit. “Hey, just like you look after me, I’m supposed to look after you,” Alya said. “I’d lose all my cred if I let someone mess with my high priestess. You guys practicing tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll be there. Unless Roth tries again.” Alya winked, and Juleka grinned at her once more before biking off.

###

Two days later, Juleka helped Alya capture a soul for the first time.

“Our target is Aurore Beaureal, the wannabe weather girl,” Alya said. Juleka was with her in her bedroom, and Alya was in her natural demon form. Juleka smiled as she Alya’s tail lashing around eagerly while Alya spread out a map over her bed. “She’s a prime target for soul-capturing.”

“She is?” Juleka asked. “Why?”

“Because she wanted to be the weather girl but Mireille bribed the guy running the contest to pick her instead,” Alya said. “All I have to do is tell her and she’ll be so angry she’ll make a deal with me to get revenge–and then I’ll get her soul.”

Juleka shook her head. “Wait, back up. Mireille bribed Cataldi?”

“Of course she did. What, did you think a half million people really voted in a competition for a local news show to pick a weather reporter?” Alya shook her head. “One of my demon powers is… I guess you could call it a 'sin’ sense. I can tell when people are doing corrupt or evil things, and when I saw Mireille that day she was practically glowing red to my eyes. So I knew she’d done something really bad, and after that I made a few guesses as to what it might be, then snuck into Alec Cataldi’s room and recorded him telling one of his goons how he was going on a shopping spree because Mireille had bribed him with so much money.”

It took a moment for Juleka to consider that fully. She didn’t know much about Mireille, although she had indeed found it odd that the weather girl had won the competition by so many votes. “Shouldn’t we be going after Mireille then?”

“I tried.” Alya frowned. “But her soul is… guarded, somehow. I can’t touch it. That usually means she’s pledged herself to another demon. Well, either that or an angel, but if she were with the angels she would have had to admit to what she did to Aurore and she hasn’t done that. So she has a different demon patron, probably the demon that’s preparing to go after Hawkmoth, and I don’t want to mess with that. We’ll take Aurore instead.”

“Why now?” Juleka asked.

“Because Mireille’s contract with the studio is almost up. If she wants to renew it she’ll need to win the next competition, which means she’ll be cheating Aurore out of it again.” Alya rubbed her hands together. “I just need to tell Aurore what’s going on and she’ll be putty in my hands.”

“Oh.” Juleka hesitated. “I’m, um, not really comfortable taking someone’s soul just because they’re mad about being cheated in a competition. I mean, those cultists were one thing because they tried to kill me, but…”

Alya waved a hand. “I’ll get her to agree to some really awful revenge on Mireille. Something damnation-worthy. I’ll make it work.”

Juleka wasn’t fully convinced, and she thought she heard something catching in Alya’s voice. The demon didn’t seem entirely comfortable with this either, and Juleka wondered if Alya was doing this more because she her superiors demanded damnation for even 'minor’ sins like Aurore’s anger, as opposed to Alya being truly convinced Aurore deserved it. “Are you sure?” Juleka asked gently.

“Sure I’m sure! Now come on!” Alya snapped her fingers to summon her glamour. “Aurore posted on her blog that she’ll be visiting the studio today to submit paperwork, and there’s all kinds of back hallways in that place. We’ll just catch her in one of them and get it done.”

She hurried out, and Juleka followed, though with clear unease on her face.

###

Juleka raised an eyebrow as Alya put on a hooded robe after sneaking them into the back hallways of the television studio. “In case she says no, I need to keep my cover,” Alya explained. “Besides, this makes me look more credible.”

“It really doesn’t,” Juleka said.

Alya stuck out her tongue. “Well, maybe not to you, but trust me–when you try to get someone to sell your soul, you can’t do it in jeans and a T-shirt. You need to look the part. Here.” She shoved a robe at Juleka. “I brought you one too.”

Juleka glanced at it, then pointedly dropped it. “What am I supposed to be doing here, anyways?”

“Right now, watch and learn. Eventually I might have you help me with temptations, but for the moment, I just want you to see how awesome I am.” Alya chuckled from beneath her hooded robe. “And–wait, those are her footsteps. Hide!” She pushed Juleka behind a stack of crates and then moved into a shadowy part of the hallway.

Soon enough a disgruntled-looking Aurore came up. “Why won’t they take my papers?” she growled as she glanced over an office map. “Last time was bad enough, but this time it’s like they don’t want me here!”

“They don’t,” intoned Alya in a low voice.

Aurore jumped and then swiveled to point her parasol in the general direction of Alya’s shadows. “Who was that?” she demanded. “I’m–I have an umbrella and I know how to use it!”

Juleka had to work to stifle her giggle.

Alya slipped out of the shadows, and as Juleka watched, Alya’s robe shuddered in an almost inhuman way. Juleka made a note to ask her how she did that. Then Alya spoke again, “I think you know they don’t want you here. Mireille bribed the host last year, and she did it again this year. Your application to compete won’t even be accepted. They’ll have Mireille run against a fake candidate who already agreed to take a dive, and thus she’ll win for sure.” Alya shook her head. “Such a shame.”

Aurore flushed. “Why should I believe you? You’re just a creepy person in a scary robe!”

“Am I?” Alya held up a phone, her hand briefly shifting into its natural state–red, with talon-like fingers–before blinking back to its human form again. Aurore boggled but didn’t flee–Juleka figured Aurore was trying to tell herself she was just seeing things–and then Alya hit a playback button on the phone. 

“…going to be eating steaks and sushi for a month!” Alec’s voice said. “That Caquet girl paid me so much I can really take it easy for a while!” He laughed. “Maybe I’ll finally get that sports jacket… nah, I’ll wait until Caquet wants to win something else and comes knocking again. Say what you like about her, she’s loaded!”

Aurore flushed a bright crimson. “I knew it. I knew that jerk cheated!” Her fist clenched, and she dropped the papers she’d been carrying. “I worked harder, I was better, I deserved to win! Just because she has money–agh!” She slammed her fist into the wall.

“It’s so unfair,” Alya agreed. “But I could help you get revenge.” She lowered her hood just enough to reveal her horns and red skin. Aurore gasped, but Alya said, “What? In a world with miraculouses and akumas, are you so surprised there are other powers out there?” She waited for Aurore to jerkily shake her head. “So, Aurore. Would you like my help?”

“And what do you want in exchange?” managed Aurore. 

“I think you know.” Alya moved closer to Aurore. “Your soul. But in exchange… revenge on Mireille, perhaps Alec too, the job as weather girl, and so much more.” She spread her hands. “Well?”

Aurore hesitated, and Juleka could tell she was really tempted. But then she shook her head. “No,” she said twice, first hesitantly, then more strongly. “I don’t–just forget it. No way. I’m not the kind of person who would do something like that.”

She turned, but Alya quickly moved around her to face her again. “Not so fast,” she said in a charming tone. “You don’t want to give up your soul; I get it. We can work something else out. In fact… I might be able to lend you a little magic help to get your revenge, just so you can see what I"m offering. No other charge.”

Juleka frowned, but then remembered that Alya had told her there were at least two ways for her to take a soul: either to get someone to explicitly make a deal with her in which they gave it to her, or to convince someone to do something evil enough that Alya could just take the soul without a deal. The first tactic had failed, so now Alya would be trying to get Aurore to agree to some really bad sin and thus allow Alya to get the soul that way.

“Magic?” repeated Aurore.

“Sure.” Alya leaned close. “For instance, if I gave you a certain power you could…” and her speech trailed off as she whispered something, presumably advice on how to use magic to do something really evil, into Aurore’s ear.

But rather than agree, Aurore stiffened and then shoved Alya back. “What? No way. I’d never do that, not even for revenge. I told you, I’m not that kind of person.” She scowled. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“But–” Alya began.

“Why am I even talking to you? Get out of here before I call Ladybug.” Aurore backed away. “And–”

Then Alya’s phone went off.

Aurore and Alya both stared down at Alya’s pocket, and Juleka winced–Alya had a distinctive ringtone, a theme song from one of those shows following investigative reporters, and everyone knew it because her phone sometimes went off when she was filming Ladyblog stuff. “Uh,” said Alya. “Hang on–”

“Alya?” asked Aurore. “Is that you?”

“No!” Alya insisted as she reached for her phone, but Aurore was faster and swept out her umbrella to fully knock down the demon’s hood. That revealed her head, which–though red and with horns–was still noticeably that of Alya Cesaire. “Alya?” breathed Aurore. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not Alya!” yelped the reporter. “You can’t prove–”

Aurore turned, said, “Stay away from me!” and began to run for the exit.

As soon as she had turned a corner Alya slammed her head against a wall. “Stupid stupid stupid!” she hissed. “I completely botched that!”

“Yeah,” Juleka noted. “You did.”

Alya shot her a mock glare, but it quickly dissolved into fear. “If she tells people I’ll have to move and change identities, assuming I don’t get recalled to Hell and punished, and without her soul I can’t influence her to–”

“Wait.” Juleka thought quickly. “I might be able to set her up so you can take her soul. But then you have to do me a favor.”

Alya blinked. “Sure, anything, but how can you–”

“No time.” Juleka grabbed the office map Aurore had dropped. “Just follow me at a distance. And 'watch and learn.’” She shot a faint smile at Alya, then took off at a run.

Aurore had a head start but no longer had a map, which meant Juleka was able to catch up to the lost girl before Aurore could find her way back into the inhabited parts of the station. She reached the blond’s position just before Aurore would have passed through an exit door, then grabbed a random object–a little ball that someone, probably Manon Chamack, had left lying around–and gently tossed it at Aurore’s head before ducking into an open office.

“Huh?” gasped Aurore as the ball bounced off her. She spun around. “What was that?”

“You are Rain Delay,” called Juleka in her lowest, most imposing voice, “And this is Hawkmoth. I–”

“Oh, come on!” complained Aurore. “What, are all the bad guys trying to tempt me today?”

Juleka smiled. Aurore had been akumatized, but seeing as how it was hard to remember what happened once Hawkmoth touched someone, that didn’t mean she knew what it was supposed to feel like. For all Aurore knew it was a simple 'butterfly bumps into you and turns you evil’ thing. Meaning she’d have no way of knowing Juleka was faking. “Tempt you?” she said. “Oh, no no no. I’m helping you get revenge. No need to thank me, just get me the jewelry, yadda yadda.”

“I’m not–”

“Yes you are,” said Juleka. “You already want to. Your anger is growing. Nobody can resist me.”

Aurore hesitated, and Juleka smiled; she’d figured Aurore correctly. Aurore hadn’t refused Alya’s offers because she was opposed to taking revenge; rather, she just didn’t want to feel like she was the kind of bad person who would agree to a demonic bargain in order to get said revenge. But everyone knew that nobody could resist Hawkmoth, which meant that it wasn’t anyone’s fault for getting akumatized. So all she had to do was convince Aurore that Hawkmoth was making her do something bad, and Aurore–now believing that anything evil she did wasn’t really her fault but just was Hawkmoth’s influence–would go along with it. 

And Aurore finally said, “…yes,” in a tight, angry voice as a cruel smile crawled across her face. “Give me power and I’ll destroy Mireille. I’ll bury her in a storm, I’ll drown her, and Alec, and–”

And then Alya slipped out of the shadows behind Aurore and easily pulled her soul out of her chest.

Aurore flinched and shuddered, then turned–and gaped at Alya holding a ball of blueish-gold light about the size of a billiard ball. “What–”

“Your soul,” said Alya by way of explanation. “Mine now.” She glanced in Juleka’s direction. “Well done, high priestess. Your help was useful.”

“Help?” said Juleka in a joking tone. She came out of the shadows–Alya had Aurore’s soul, so she could ensure Aurore didn’t tell anyone about her identity–and frowned. “Is that what we’re calling 'doing the whole thing?’”

Aurore reached for her soul, but her hand passed through it without making contact. “Give that back!” she insisted.

“Nope. Mine now.” Alya beamed. “I’ll be taking this Down Below and–”

“You can’t!” insisted Aurore. “That wasn’t fair! I’m sorry!”

Alya hesitated and Juleka saw real conflict on her face. The goth coughed. “Hey, Alya, remember that favor you said you’d owe me if I got you her soul?”

“Yeah?”

Aurore turned. “Wait, Juleka Couffaine, right?” she asked. “Why are you helping her do this?!”

“She’s my high priestess,” said Alya.

“She what?!” Aurore sputtered. “You can’t have a high priestess! You’re a demon! You–”

“Aurore,” said Juleka at once. “Hold on a minute. I need to say something to Alya.”

The blond scowled at her but stopped talking, and Juleka turned back to Alya. “My favor is: don’t take her soul down to Hell.”

Alya blinked. “But that’s the only reason I got it. To make my quota.”

“We can look for someone else to fill your quota, a real bad guy. I’ll help you. But don’t take hers down there.” Juleka paused. “She doesn’t deserve it, Alya. You know that.”

“Well… I mean, my bosses–”

“Your bosses want you to take every soul that just barely steps over the line,” Juleka guessed. “Because they’re jerks. But I don’t think you want to do that. Getting rid of really bad people so they can’t hurt others, or work with Hawkmoth, or do things like that is one thing. Aurore’s not like that." 

The two locked gazes for a moment before Alya said, "…maybe… I mean…”

“No maybe about it,” said Juleka. “You know damning her isn’t the right thing to do. Besdies, I’m your high priestess and we made a deal: I’d get you her soul so she couldn’t tell the world that Alya Cesaire is actually a demon temptress running around Paris, and in exchange you’d do something for me. Well, what I want you to do is not damn her.”

Aurore blinked. “Um–”

“But–but then what do I do with her soul?” Alya asked. “I can’t give it back or she’ll be able to talk to people about me!”

“Can’t you just keep it around?” Juleka asked. “In, I don’t know, a desk drawer or something?”

“Hey!” Aurore said. “I–”

“–were going to willingly ally with Hawkmoth,” said Juleka in a deadpan tone. “If you’d been successful you would have stolen the miraculouses and possibly helped Hawkmoth conquer the world. You’re getting off easy, Aurore.”

Aurore blushed a bright red, but then bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just–I worked so hard on the weather competition, and learning that Mireille cheated… but alright, I know I should have tried harder to resist 'Hawkmoth.’ Still, I don’t want Alya to mess with my soul!”

Juleka turned back to Alya. “As long as you don’t try to rewrite her personality, will you having her soul effect her?”

“No. I mean, there might be a few odd issues now and then, but nothing big. I do need to make her loyal so she doesn’t tell–”

Juleka swiveled again. “Aurore, if you tell anyone about Alya or me, she’ll have to move and change identities, and then you won’t be able to get your soul back from her because you won’t be able to find her. So you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

The blond quickly shook her head. 

“Great.” Juleka smiled at both of them. “Then there’s no need for Alya to 'mess with’ Aurore’s soul, about loyalty or anything else. Alya can just hang on to it until… I don’t know… Aurore demonstrates she’s not the type of person to work with Hawkmoth anymore, no matter how mad she gets.” She nodded. I’m glad we worked this out.“

Alya and Aurore both seemed like they wanted to argue, but neither could come up with anything. And that was that.

###

"This is weird,” Aurore said.

They had returned to Alya’s house and Alya had put Aurore’s soul on her dresser, where it lit up the immediate area with a gentle blue and yellow light. Aurore had tried to take it back, or at least poke it, but her hand just passed through it; Alya had explained that only those whom she allowed to touch it could do so now that it was hers. “This is so weird,” Aurore said. “I mean, I’m happy I’m not getting damned, but…”

“Alya will take good care of your soul,” Juleka promised. “I’ll make sure of it. We’ll polish it every week, maybe take it for walks on Fridays.” Alya playfully stuck out her tongue. “And hey, if you want to check in on it maybe you can come over now and then.” When Nora is away, Juleka thought. “We could have you over for girl’s night. Ooh, you could even join my cult.”

Alya brightened. “Yeah! We need more members.”

“…cult?” asked Aurore. “What, like chanting?”

“It’s mostly watching anime, eating ice cream, and telling dumb jokes,” said Juleka. Alya tossed a pillow at her, and she easily dodged it. “But if you really want to chant I can pencil that in somewhere.”

Aurore actually laughed a little at that. “No, that’s okay.” She paused. “Um, does the whole stealing-my-soul thing being… allowed to happen, I guess… mean I’m a really bad person?”

“It means you did a really bad thing,” said Alya. “I wouldn’t be able to take your soul otherwise.”

“But,” Juleka went on, “It doesn’t mean you’re irrevocably bad. That’s just for people who actually do get sent Down Below. You can get better. We’ll help.” She smiled gently. “And also have some fun. For instance: the meeting of the Cult of Alya Cesaire is this Saturday at noon. We’re going to be 'worshipping’ Alya by watching Lord of the Rings–which she somehow hasn’t seen–”

“They don’t have human movies in Hell!” protested Alya. “At least none of the good ones!”

Aurore and Juleka both laughed at that, and then Juleka went on. “We will also be snacking on stuff from the Dupain-Cheng bakery and talking about what to get Principal Damocles for his birthday. And maybe we can fit in some, I don’t know, moral instruction or something. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Aurore nodded. “I… I guess I’ll see you two then.” And she left.

Alya left out a breath and sagged down on her bed. “Ugh. That was a trainwreck,” she muttered. “I need to get better at tempting.”

“Fortunately, you have your expert high priestess to help,” joked Juleka.

Alya smiled at that. Then she said, “And… thanks. For coming up with the idea of what to do with Aurore. I think–I think you were right. Damning her would have been the wrong move.”

“Of course I"m right.” Juleka sat next to Alya, who leaned on her shoulder. “Happy to help.”

“Yeah… but I still need to get another soul by the end of the week.” Alya pursed her lips. “I–”

Juleka’s phone beeped with an alert. She looked down at it. “Hey, some nutjobs are trying to rob a bank,” she said. “And they’ve taken hostages that they’re threatening to shoot. If you hurry I’ll bet you can get their before Ladybug, steal a few souls from the robbers, and make your quota that way.”

Alya brightened. “Yeah, that’s perfect!” She jumped to her cloven feet. “Thanks again, Juleka! You’re great.”

“I know,” said Juleka as Alya ran out. Then she chuckled and lay back in the bed. Becoming a counselor and spiritual advisor to a demon–and, apparently, at least one newly-soulless girl who needed a little anger management–wasn’t really where she’d seen herself going when the year had begun.

But that didn’t make it not fun.

Chapter 4

It was about one month after Juleka had learned Alya’s secret when things began getting hectic again.

“You know what I think?” Rose asked as she lay on Juleka’s lap, staring at the sky while they finished their lunches. “I think we should do something special tomorrow. We should go to Andre’s ice cream cart, get our favorite flavors, and then ride in one of those boats that goes up and down the Seine.”

“Sounds fun,” said Juleka. She gently stroked Rose’s hair, and the girl grinned and wriggled deeper into Juleka’s lap. “Is tomorrow a special occasion?”

“The most special of all!” said Rose. “Tomorrow is our six-and-a-half month anniversary!" 

Juleka chuckled. "Ah. How could I forget. The most important day in any loving relationship–”

“Don’t make fun of love,” said Rose. “It’s amazing. Like, I love you, so when I look at you my heart starts racing and I feel like the most fortunate girl in the world.” Juleka blushed at that. “And I’m sure you feel the same way, 'cause you’re also in love!”

“Sounds about right,” said Juleka. “Although, at the moment, I’d kind of love to get back to class before Mendeleiev gives us detention…”

Rose checked her watch and made a soft 'eep’ sound. “You’re right!” she said as she scrambled upright. “But let’s cuddle more later. It’s fun.” She grinned at Juleka before rushing back to the school, with Juleka following at a slightly more sedate pace.

Juleka had gotten inside and was heading towards the classroom when she saw Alya approaching. “I think Marinette’s in that room there,” Nino was calling to her from around a corner. “I heard her say Lila wanted to talk to her about something.”

“Thanks!” Alya called back. Then she looked at Juleka. “Hey. Got any plans for this afternoon?”

“Cuddling with Rose,” said Juleka. “And after that… I dunno. We can do something or–”

A yelping noise sounded from the closed room. Jueka and Alya glanced at each other, then quickly looked through a crack in the door. Juleka’s eyes widened as she saw Lila pulling her hand away from Marinette; the hand looked bruised and Marinette was giving LIla an astonished look. “That’s all you’ve got? Poking me in the chest? Whatever. I’m done with you." 

Marinette stalked towards the other door. As soon as she left, Lila’s scowl deepened, and then–

Then her body flashed and took on an appearance similar to that of Alya’s.

They weren’t exactly the same. Lila’s horns, wings, and tail were all larger than Alya’s, and her skin was a deeper red. She also had some tattoos which writhed a little on her body. But they were clearly the same species, and Juleka couldn’t stop herself from gasping. 

"No!” hissed Alya as she covered Juleka’s mouth.

But it was too late. Lila glanced at the door, then waved one claw-like hand at it and whispered something in Latin, and then Juleka felt herself being dragged through the door by an unseen force. Alya was dragged in besides her, and the two were thrown to the ground in front of LIla.

“So,” said Lila. “I guess you two will be my next acquisitions.” She waved a hand and the door shut behind them. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not too hard of a taskmaster. Your souls will be safe and–”

“Hang on!” said Alya as she forced herself to her feet. Her body shimmered and then she was in her natural demonic form too. Juleka scrambled up afterwards. “Our souls aren’t up for grabs. I’m gathering souls for the bosses, same as you. And, uh, Juleka’s the high priestess of my cult.”

Lila blinked and then stared at Juleka. “You. The high priestess. That’s insane. She can’t possibly do the job.”

“I get that a lot,” Juleka drawled. “But it turns out I’m really good at chanting.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Har har. If your demon shows up at midnight half-dead from fighting a paladin, can you rush out and sacrifice a vestal virgin to restore her strength?”

“No,” said Juleka, “but I can watch anime with her on the weekends. It makes her happy, and it comes up a lot more than the vestal virgin thing.”

Lila boggled, and then Alya stepped between them. “But seriously, I had no idea,” she told Lila. “I mean, you’re always doing charity work with these famous celebrities from all over the world and…” She trailed off for a moment. “…and now that I know who you are, I can see those stories are totally ridiculous and you’ve probably been using demonic magic to make everyone believe them.”

“Exactly. And even if Dupain-Cheng is still too 'pure’ right now for it to work on her, everyone else believes me. It’s the perfect cover.” Lila beamed. “And I’ll get Marinette eventually.”

“Hang on,” said Alya quickly. “That’s–that’s not a good idea. I mean, you just tried to get Marinette’s soul and you failed, right? That girl is damn-near incorruptible. No way would she ever do anything bad enough to be vulnerable to one of us. You’re better off looking elsewhere.”

Juleka gave Alya a querying look. The girl sounded nervous. Evidently Lila picked up at it too, because she leaned back on her cloven hooves, then grinned. “Oh, I get it! You’re actually friends with that little pink rodent!”

Alya scowled. “Marinette is… nice,” she said at last. “We’re allowed to have friends.”

“No, we’re allowed to fake being friends so we can get their souls.” Lila snorted. “As if humans were worthy of friendship. Bunch of self-righteous morons who’ve never really been tested and think they’re better than us. Put any of them with a decent tempter for thirty seconds and they’d sell their souls, their lovers, and their children to satisfy some sick desire. I might be here for Hawkmoth and Mayura, but along the way I’ll get Marinette, Alya. I’ll get anyone I want.”

“Marinette,” said Alya in a slow voice, “Is off limits. So are all my friends in class. Come on, Lila, Paris has millions of people. You can go after any of them.”

“Sure. I could. But I think I’ll go after Marinette and her friends instead.” Lila grinned. “Marinette annoys me. She acts like she’s virtuous, and she’s so… smugly casual about it. Like she doesn’t even have to try at it. Like anyone could be that nice if they wanted.” She shuddered. “Filthy human. And I don’t think she’ll be hard to get at all, Alya. See, first I’ll get the souls of her friends and make them act incredibly cruel to her. Then, when she’s hurt and broken, I’ll corrupt her and take her soul too. Hmm, maybe when I finish here and get back down to Hell I can have her as a personal thrall to trim my hooves and everything.”

Alya opened her mouth, but then Lila began talking again. “Besides, I have my own career to look out for, don’t I? Right now I know of two demons in Paris: you and me. If anything big happens, we’ll share credit, and half-credit’s just not enough for me. But if one of those demons should, say, lose her cover–because all of her friends start telling people she’s a demon, working to expose her, maybe even going crazy and drawing attention to her–she’ll have to leave. Then I’ll be alone, and when I capture Hawkmoth’s and Mayura’s souls–not to mention Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s, of course–I’ll be promoted for sure. I might even become an archfiend and have a whole legion of lesser demons under my command." 

Juleka stared at Lila as the demon grinned. "Sorry, Alya,” Lila went on. “But that’s how the game is played. If you don’t like the thought of me stealing all your 'friends” souls in front of you and using them to force you out in disgrace, you can leave now, quietly, with your dignity and reputation intact. I’ll be sure to keep you apprised on how my work in corrupting Marinette is going.“ She chuckled, then walked past Alya towards the door. "See you around, partner,” she called, then summoned her human guise around herself and left.

When the other demon was gone, Juleka shut the door and turned to Alya, who was starting to panic. “No no no!” Alya hissed. “This can’t be happening! This isn’t fair! I don’t want Lila to touch them!”

“Can you call your bosses?” Juleka asked.

Alya snorted. “They’ll tell me if I"m not strong enough to fight off Lila I deserve to lose everything to her. Damn it! We have to do something, but her magic felt really strong. I don’t know if I can fight it.”

“I could worship you more,” offered Juleka. 

“One or two worshippers won’t be enough, and even if you post an ad on Craigslist or something and get more recruits we don’t’ have time. Lila will already started corrupting the class more aggressively.” Alya clutched her head. “This is awful.”

Juleka thought for a few moments. “But we do have time, at least a little. Lila just tried to get Marinette’s soul and couldn’t, and in fact, her hand looked pretty messed up from the attempt. Do you know what that means?”

“That something’s blocking her, I’d guess.” Alya shrugged. “Marinette might have angelic backing; she’s pure enough it wouldn’t surprise me… although if she did they would probably have warned her about me by now. Or maybe some other semi-divine force is protecting her, though I have no idea what.”

“Still,” said Juleka. “We just saw she can’t get Marinette’s soul.”

Alya shook her head. “She can’t directly, not yet, but her plan’s a good one. Marinette loves her friends. If Lila gets their souls and warps them so the class is horrible to Marinette, then Marinette could break and become vulnerable.”

“Hmm.” Juleka thought back, and then an idea hit her. “You said you couldn’t get Mireille’s soul because someone already had it.”

“Right.”

“So why don’t we try to get the class’s souls before Lila does? If you have them locked up then Lila can’t loot them.” Juleka tensed as she spoke. She had no idea how she’d go about getting Rose’s soul in particular without it seeming like a betrayal. But if that was the only way to keep her girlfriend safe from Lila, Juleka would do it. 

Alya blinked. “That… that just might work!” she beamed. “Juleka, you’re brilliant!” And she hugged the goth.

“Thanks,” managed Juleka. “I–”

“There’s no time to lose,” said Alya. “We’ll start today. Operation: protect the class from Lila by stealing all their souls first is a go!”

Chapter 5

“Let’s deal with Alix first.”

Juleka leaned against the wall and looked at Alya, who was putting together a corkboard with photos of their classmates. Alya drew a red circle around Alix and then put a ’#1’ next to it. “She’ll be one of the easiest,” Alya went on. “She’s so hot-headed. All we have to do is challenge her to a dare and get her to bet her soul on it, then win!”

“Winning might be tough,” Juleka noted. “Alix is pretty competitive.”

“Fortunately, being a demon, I’m allowed to cheat.” Alya winked. “And that’s what you’re for. You’ll help me rig things so that I can’t help but win. Then her soul will be mine!” She grinned and summoned a small ball of Hellfire, which she began to toss up and down in one hand. “And then I–”

The Hellfire slammed into the ceiling light and blew it out, shrouding both of them in darkness–except for the light emanating from Aurore’s soul, which was quietly glowing on a shelf. Alya shrugged, then picked up the soul and began using it as a flashlight to see the corkboard. Juleka snorted. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use souls like that.”

Alya waved this off. “Now let’s see… ah. I’ve got the perfect way we can trap Alix in a bet she can’t win.”

###

“A race around the city?” Alix’s eyes gleamed. “That sounds awesome! The news station really asked you to help them plan it?”

“They know I go around the city to film Ladybug, so I guess I was the natural choice.” Juleka smiled slightly as Alya tossed her hair back, then gestured at the map she had set down on the cafe table where she had asked Alix to meet her. “I just need to get from checkpoint to checkpoint and then report back if there were any problems with the route–you know, road under construction, 'no pedestrian’ signs, zombie outbreak, things like that. I won’t even need to tell them how long it took, since the checkpoints are set up so that they’ll register when peoples’ phones get near them; that’s how they’ll make sure nobody tries to cheat by skipping a checkpoint, and that’s how they’ll record my time. So it seems really easy, right? But I was thinking, it’d be really boring to do it by myself, so… why not make it a race?” She gestured to her bike. “Me  versus you? You can use your skates, of course.”

Alix cracked her knuckles. “Sounds like a blast. But if we’re racing, we should have stakes. Winner gets the losers’ wheels?”

“Can’t do that.” Alya shook her head. “Mom will kill me if I lose my bike.”

“Hmph,” said Alix. “Well, we have to bet something, and it should be high stakes. None of this 'winner gets a cookie from Marinette’s bakery’ stuff. Something worth racing around the city for.”

“I agree, but what?” Alya glanced at Juleka. “Any ideas?”

The goth chuckled to herself, then said her lines. “I’m sure you guys’ll probably just bet ten bucks or something,” she said in a dry, slightly smug voice that she’d rehearsed with Alya. “I mean, I’ve seen weirder bets, but mostly just from some pagans I met online.”

“What kinds of bets do they make?” Alix asked.

“Well, I saw one group where they gambled blood,” lied Juleka. “Winner got a pint of blood from the loser.”

Alix wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“What? It’s high stakes betting, right?” Juleka smiled slightly. “And that wasn’t even the weirdest one. I saw one bet where the winner got the loser’s soul.”

Alix actually laughed. “Goth much, Juleka? Souls don’t exist.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any problem betting it,” said Alya. “That sounds fun! Winner gets the loser’s soul… and two hundred bucks.”

Alix snorted. “Soul shmoul, but I could use the money. Deal. Count of three?”

“Sure!” Alya beamed. “One, two… three!”

Alix took off at a blast, immediately turning a corner and rushing towards the first checkpoint on Alya’s map–the Eiffel Tower. Alya waited until she was out of sight, then darted into the alley behind the cafe with Juleka. “Perfect!” said Alya as she sketched out a pentagram in chalk on the ground. “Let’s go!”

“And this will still count?” Juleka asked. 

“Of course it will. Alix made the deal: whoever gets to all the checkpoints first and then returns here wins the loser’s soul. Sure, it might not be fair for me to use my demon powers to teleport, but I didn’t explicitly say I was going to use my bike to get around–I just implied it–and besides, like I said, demons get to cheat.” Alya grinned. “It’s part of our style. Now come on; Alix is fast and we’ve got to get going.”

Juleka followed her into the pentagram. “Why am I being teleported too, again?”

“Because if anything goes wrong I’ll need your help to fix things,” Alya said. “And besides, part of being my high priestess is accompanying me on my adventures and giving me support.”

Juleka blinked. “Okay. Rah rah rah, Alya is great, rah rah.”

Alya giggled. “I meant magical support, in case I need it.” She took Juleka’s hand. “Let’s go!”

And then they vanished in a flash of brimstone and sulfur.

###

For a moment, Juleka thought she had the impressions of fire–massive flames higher and hotter than had ever existed on Earth–but they didn’t seem to touch her. And a moment later she was back on the ground, having arrived with Alya in the pentagram they had secretly sketched beforehand in a small janitor’s closet next to the Eiffel Tower.

They then disappeared and reappeared several times in quick succession, all over the city, hitting each checkpoint in succession. Finally they reached the last one, landing in a dingy basement under Montparnasse Tower, and Alya grinned. “Now just to get back to the cafe and wait for her!”

But when she tried to teleport, nothing happened, and Alya frowned. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “This always worked when I practiced it!”

“Maybe somebody disturbed the pentagram in the alley,” Juleka offered. “So we can’t use it to get back.”

“Agh!” Alya groaned. “Then–then we’ll have to get back the old-fashioned way. But we should still be way ahead of Alix, so–OW!”

Juleka blinked as Alya held up a small ball of Hellfire to illuminate the area, and they both winced as they saw that Alya had stepped into what looked like an animal trap. “Guess they have rats or something down here,” said Juleka as she helped Alya to pry it off.

“Stupid rats,” grunted Alya. “Ow, that really hurts…”

They got the trap off, but when Alya put her foot down she yelped and had to lift it again. “Will you be okay?” Juleka said at once. “Are you–”

“I’m fine. Demons heal fast… but not fast enough to win the race on foot.” Alya grit her teeth and leaned on Juleka. “We have to get as close to the cafe as we can before Alix catches us.’

"Then what?” Juleka asked. “You need to beat Alix, so is there any way I can slow her down while you go ahead?”

Alya nodded. “Yeah. I can… I can lend you some powers. Technically I’m supposed to demand you give me blood and swear more loyalty and so on, but whatever. I’m desperate. Here.”

She grabbed Juleka’s hand, the one that she’d cut to get Juleka into her cult, and chanted a few words in Latin. Juleka gasped as another surge of power flowed into her, this one deeper and more powerful than the first. Her hair stood on end for just a moment and she stumbled away from Alya as the surge faded. “What was that?”

“Just a couple basic powers,” Alya said. “Standard high priestess starter pack: Hellfire summoning, and a few passive spells related to magical strength, toughness, and so on. It should be pretty instinctive.”

Juleka blinked, then focused on her hand–and to her amazement, a surge of energy ran through her and a little flame appeared at her fingertips. “Woah!” she gasped. “That is so cool!”

“Yeah, yeah, demons are awesome, I get it,” said Alya. “Can we focus on the race right now?”

“Right, right. Here.” Juleka got Alya’s arm around her shoulder and began helping her limp back towards the cafe.

###

They almost made it back by the time Alya said, “Okay, Alix just hit Montparnasse. She’ll catch up to us in a couple minutes.”

“How can you–”

“I can sense when people I know go near my pentagrams.” Alya winced. “The cafe’s not that far. You just need to stall her for a couple minutes. But nothing too flashy in public, okay? If someone videotapes you summoning balls of Hellfire–”

Juleka nodded. “I know, I know. You’ll be very upset that they’ll have scooped you before you could get it on the Ladyblog.”

Alya snorted. “And, you know, you could be seen and then hunted down by angels and paladins. But other than that, yes, the blog is the most important thing.”

They got to a corner and Juleka let Alya limp on ahead towards the cafe. Then Juleka ducked into another alley and kept watch, soon seeing Alix furiously skating down the sidewalk. She thought for a moment about what she could do with her powers. Something very subtle, she thought, would probably be best. Something subtle and sneaky and…

Then she shrugged. She had Hellfire now. What was the point of that if she couldn’t have a little fun with it? 

So she focused, summoned up a big ball of Hellfire, and then–from the safety of the alley, where nobody was watching–lobbed it at a fire hydrant in Alix’s path.

The fireball blasted the hydrant to pieces, and jets of water began shooting in all directions. Alix yelped as a water blast hit her and destabilized her. She almost fell, but Juleka darted out from the alley and caught her. Before she wouldn’t have been able to do so, but Alya had given her just a taste of demonic strength and she was easily able to arrest Alix’s fall. “Careful!” she said as she helped Alix slow and then stop. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” said Alix. “Stupid hydrant just exploded!” She quickly shook herself off. “But no worries. I’ll still beat Alya back.”

Juleka stepped out of Alix’s way, but just as the skater began to take off again Juleka fired a very tiny bit of Hellfire down at her skates and melted one of the wheels. Alix tried to roll and almost tripped. “Oh, come on, what now?” she growled as she looked down.

“Looks like a piece of the hydrant may have smashed the wheel,” Juleka offered.

Alix kicked off her skates and shoved then into Juleka’s arms. “Hold these,” she said. “Don’t lose them.” And then she took off at a run.

Juleka frowned, not knowing how to further slow Alix, and began running after her. The girl was fast and even Juleka’s demonic-enhanced energy wasn’t enough to enable the goth to overtake her friend. But she was able to keep pace, just barely, and she chased after Alix as they rounded the final corner–

Just in time to see Alya stagger into the cafe and then turn. “I win!” Alya called as Alix groaned. “Hah!”

“Hmph.” Alix slowly approached Alya. “Only because a fire hydrant blew up.”

Alya glanced at Juleka, who smiled slightly. Alya returned the look with a grin of her own. “Guess you owe me.”

“Yeah, I’ll grab the money from my room and drop it off at your place. Oh yeah, and my 'soul.’” Alix chuckled. “Love to see you collect that, Cesaire.”

###

“You JERKS!”

Alya, now back in her room and in her demonic form, beamed triumphantly as she held Alix’s soul up in the air. Alix jumped for it, but she was so short she couldn’t even reach Alya’s hand. “I thought you said you wanted to see me collect it.”

“I wasn’t being literal!” Alix jumped again. If Alya’s demonic form phased her, she didn’t show it. “Juleka! Make her give it back! It's… it’s my soul!”

“Sorry.” Juleka shrugged. “I"m her high priestess. I’m on her side.” She paused. “Wow, Alix, your soul is really pink and red.”

Alya nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of cute." 

"My soul is not cute!” Alix wailed. “It’s rough and tough! Like me!”

“No, it’s cute.” Alya poked it, and Alix suddenly stepped back and giggled. Alya blinked. “Wait, are you ticklish?”

“Uh–no! No way!” Alix insisted.

Alya and Juleka exchanged knowing glances, and then Alya began to tickle Alix’s soul, causing the redhead to collapse in hysterical laughter. “Stop!” Alix begged as she laughed wildly. “Stop please!”

“Only if you promise to stop yelling,” Alya said primly. And after a little more tickling, Alix had to give in.

Alya set Alix’s soul next to Aurore’s, and Alix tried to grab it but found she couldn’t touch it. “Seriously, what the Hell?” she demanded. “Look, Alya being a demon from Hell, fine, whatever, but taking my soul–”

“Another demon’s in town,” said Juleka. “Lila Rossi. She’s really good at collecting souls, and she’s coming after the class. We’re trying to get everyone’s souls first so she can’t actually send your souls to Hell.”

Alix hesitated. “Couldn’t you just warn us so we wouldn’t fall for her tricks?”

“Lila could get your soul even if you knew she was coming–I looked up her record after we learned about her, and she’s a validictorian-level tempter,” Alya said. “But don’t worry. As long as your soul’s safe with me, she can’t grab it!” She beamed. “You’re welcome.”

“I… agh.” Alix threw her head back. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Juleka smiled. “You could join the cult. Hang out with other people who’s soul got yeeted out of their bodies by Paris’s best demon.” Alya grinned. “See some really cool powers.” And she summoned a bit of Hellfire, causing Alix’s eyes to widen. “And watch some really, really ridiculous anime.”

“That's… that doesn’t sound like much of a cult,” Alix noted.

“Maybe for a lame demon who just wants to hear people talk about how great she is,” said Alya, “but my cult is very big on having everyone eat snacks and watch fun tv shows.” She paused. “Look, I–I get this is a big deal for you. I wasn’t planning on going after the souls of anyone at Francois Dupont, honest. But there was no other way to keep you safe from Lila. And if you’re in the cult, you can check in on your soul whenever we meet… we can watch out for each other, make sure Lila doesn’t attack…”

Alix slowly nodded. “Okay. I’m in. But I want your word that once Lila is gone you’re giving my soul back.”

“Sure,” said Alya. “I don’t need it for my quota anyways.”

They all looked at each other in silence for a moment before Alix said, “And can my soul at least get a blanket or something? It’s chilly in here.”

“It doesn’t need a blanket. It’s a soul; it can’t catch cold,” protested Alya.

“So? It’s still nippy!”

Juleka grinned and settled back as the two continued to argue. She’d helped protect someone today, she thought. She’d made it so Lila could not damn Alix. She’d done good. Nothing could ruin her mood.

###

Ten minutes after leaving Alya’s, she took a shortcut through an alley to get back to the Liberty, and then she almost bumped right into Lila Rossi.

“I know what you’re doing,” said Lila without preamble. “And it annoys me. I’ll give you one chance. Forswear Alya and take my side. I’ll give you more power and wealth, and–”

Juleka snorted. “Not a chance.”

“Fine.” Lila whistled, and something growled at Juleka from within the shadows. “Then you’ll get eaten by my pet Hellhound. See you never, Juleka.” She vanished in a puff of smoke as a gigantic wolf-like dog, drooling saliva that burned into the alley floor and breathing smoke and flame from its nostrils, approached.

Juleka gulped. Then she threw a blast of Hellfire at it, but it had no effect. Then it leapt at her and she cringed back–

Only for a blur to swoop in and knock it aside. 

Juleka stared as a short girl with blond hair, wings full of white feathers, and an actual halo raised a sword. “Begone, beast!” she roared in a very familiar voice. “And bother not the innocent, lest you taste divine wrath!”

“Uh,” said Juleka. “Um.”

Then the angel–whom Juleka knew very well as Rose Lavillant–turned back. “Juleka!” she said in a slightly nervous voice. “I, um… I have some things to tell you!”

Chapter 6

“Uh,” said Juleka. “Um.”

Her heart was beating very fast, and she quickly clenched her hand–the one that Alya had marked–into a tight fist so Rose couldn’t see her palm. “You’re an, um.”

“Angel,” said Rose. “And–hey! I said stop!” She pointed her sword at the Hellhound, which was still slavering. “The power of–”

The Hellhound leapt at Rose, who sighed, then quickly swung her sword up and decapitated the beast.

Juleka boggled as Rose wiped her sword clean on the alley wall. The Hellhound’s body shuddered, then both its head and the rest of it burst into flames and crumbled to ash. “As I was saying,” Rose said. “I’m an angel. I’ve been sent here to look out for the souls of Paris.”

“…a guardian angel is dating me?” Juleka asked.

And then Rose blushed. “Well, angels are allowed to love!” she said a little too quickly. “We’re not like the other guys. And–and you’re very lovable! I can see souls, and your soul is as bright and lovely as the sun!”

Despite everything, Juleka blushed. “Um.”

“You are! You’re kind, and loyal, and… oh!” Rose swiveled on her foot. “More Hellhounds!” Juleka turned to see four more darting in from the shadows deeper in the alley. “Stay back!”

Juleka cringed against the wall as Rose rushed forwards and dueled the Hellhounds, slashing and thrusting to keep them away. However, the sheer weight of numbers began forcing her back. “Begone!” Rose yelled again, but the Hellhounds didn’t listen. “Uh… begone, I said!”

“I don’t think they’re listening,” said Juleka.

Rose gave her a tiny frowned, then blinked. “Oh, I know! I can make you my paladin. Then I can give you powers to help!”

————

I LOVE IT YES ITS AWESOME

I’d love to see more but no stress, this was just so enjoyable

[internalsealpanic]

Do It Yourself Hauntings

Summary: You and Terry get extremely bored while on a group date as you walk through a haunted house. Terry has a brilliant idea that’s sure to chase away your boredom. 

masterlist

a/n: Guess who is flagrantly avoiding homework to write a fic? So this is Cat!Reader x Terry McGinnis. Reader is still as gender neutral as I can make them so I went with the name ‘Stray’. A tid bit I could not write in organically is that reader is painfully shy in their civilian identity but has little to no inhibitions when in their night time persona. Another clarification is that this is the outfit I had in mind. It was legit the thing I had my heart set on when my lizard brain said Catwoman character.   

Warnings: Adult language, clowns, clownery, and this maybe a tinsy bit spicy at one point (I tried) (kind of? Look, I just don’t want anyone going all mother superior on me. Just in case. ).

You were incredibly, stupidly, magnificently bored.

You shifted on your heels, letting them click and echo trying to distract yourself from the thrum of excess energy surging through your body.

It-It didn’t work.

The clicking only made you more anxious, plucking at your taut nerves like well-tuned guitar strings.

It probably didn’t help that you just came back from a dazzling night of heists and getting shot at. Adrenaline still flowing through your veins like molten ichor. Heart still floundering in your chest as if- at any moment- the cops would come rushing in and you would have to make your daring, if not dramatic, escape.

Between this and the sorry attempt at jump scares the poor underpaid actors subjected you to, your head started aching and your mood plummeted into something vile. Thankfully, your group was none-the-wiser unless all of them spontaneously decided to master micro-expressions then you were the picture of an apprehensive young adult trekking through a cheap haunted house.

Why did you agree to this again?

Pulse still pounding loudly in your ears and content with letting the others have their fun, you silently fall into the back of the group. There was a higher chance that you would encounter the cringe-inducing scares but you weren’t too concerned. Nope. You were more worried about the very real possibility that you might deck Nelson or Chelsea or Blade or whoever the fuck decided that girls need to play scared to make guys feel cool. Ok, yeah, the last one.

When Chelsea did another ill-timed flinch, scrabbling for Nelson’s arm, and Nelson ate it up, you swore your eyes would roll their way out of their sockets. Whoever popularized this needed to be shot. Twice.

There was always a possibility that they weren’t faking it, that they were genuinely terrified but you highly doubted it considering if anything actually scary happened, Nelson would be the first one to run.

Neck deep in your musings, you hadn’t noticed as Terry slowed to keep pace with you. He leaned down close enough to brush his lips against your skin and blew a light gust into your ear.  You jumped clutching your ear feeling the heat spread through your body. You twitched away. The memory of his lips against your ear making your stomach dance. Your skin prickled with curiosity-

 You glowered at him. You prayed that the embarrassment plain on your body language did not dampen the venom in your eyes.

“Told ya I could be scary,”

He winked.

You sighed.

Of course, he hadn’t let that go.

You rolled your head to the side and shrank into your puffy leather jacket trying to hide the bright flush of your cheeks. From the absolutely smarmy grin he gave you, he was enjoying this. Was this payback? It was probably payback. Payback for all the slag you said over the comms, the flirty little touches, or all the little kisses you dealt him every time you encountered him in the field.

Here’s a novel concept! Maybe don’t dish out what you can’t take.

“Compared to this place? Yeah,”

“Ouch, what’s got you in a mood?”

You leveled him a look. Terry leveled you with his own. You tilted your head ever so slightly to show the bruise blooming on your collar bone. He winced. His jaw clenched.  You instantly regretted showing him when his brows were carved with guilt. Normally, you liked looking at Terry. Easy on the eyes kind of handsome. He only looked punchable in the Batsuit. But you could never stand the guilt and worry on his face, especially when you were the cause. It wasn’t even his fault. You took the blow knowing your armor wasn’t quite as enforced. That was on you.

You sucked in a breath and rolled your shoulders contorting yourself away from the ever-present need to apologize. Instead, you waved your hand vaguely at the cheaply constructed haunted house. “Admit it, this place is-” 

“isn’t that-” He looked around rubbing the back of his neck. “-bad?”

“Terry, the scariest thing about this place is how many credits I wasted,” you deadpanned looking down at your, now, lighter wallet. It wasn’t physically lighter but you were a drama queen and you had a point to make.

Terry chuckled at your antics and rolled his eyes. “It’s got its charms,” You raised your brow and crossed your arms. His shoulders slumped then straightened, a teasing quirk to his lip curling.   “Still better than doing that family studies paper,”

Ok, that you could agree on.

The rest of the walk was marginally bearable with you and Terry providing quiet commentary on each scare. It was hard to hold back laughter. Your body shook, nearly falling into a giggle fit several times. You got dirty looks from the others several times for the transgression of ‘ruining’ the mood.  You were a little impressed that they had managed to make a mood for you to ruin. After all, what’s more romantic than zombie clowns and warehouses?

 Your sides ached. You really wanted to just let out a laugh, a real full belly laugh but you hated your laugh. Terry, you thought, was aware of your broken plate laugh. Why did he keep trying to draw it out?

Your group made it into a large clearing. Your anxiety immediately ratcheted up with the wide-open space but relaxed after scanning the room. There was nowhere to put

Creaking and scraping of old rusty metals resonated in every corner.

Terry nudged you and pointed upward, directing your attention to the silhouette moving around in the rafters.

Your heart stopped momentarily but picked back up again as soon as you saw the graceless way the figure moved around.

A clown covered in gore and shards of metal jumped down from the rafters landing in the middle of your ragtag group. You scattered. You heard a few gasps. You even saw Nelson flinch. You took some petty satisfaction in being right.

You yawned less concerned with the crazy act he was putting on and more with how the hell he hasn’t landed on a single patron. You made your boredom plain. You’ve seen crazy.  Your sides throbbed in protest of the reminder.

You looked down to distract yourself only to be met with the sight of floppy red clown shoes. Genuine, floppy, red clown shoes. You pinched the bridge of your nose and bit your lip. Your body trembled from trying to contain the laughter roiling in your stomach.

The man continued to spout something about keeping you all here for his entertainment. Blah. Blah. You crossed your ankles and leaned ever so  slightly into Terry’s space, cocking your head to the opposite side.  You yawned into your hand muffling the sound as best you could in an attempt to be polite. Terry had other ideas.

Terry leaned down into your ear making an exaggerated snoring sound.  An ugly snort tore its way out of your nostrils loud enough to be heard over the clown’s overly dramatic soliloquy. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle the onslaught of snorts rising up from your chest. You narrowed your eyes at Terry who, at the moment, was also fighting his own fit of laughter. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you, in solidarity, tried not to laugh too hard at the expense of the wannabe Shakespeare actor.

You kind of felt bad.

Maybe.

Ok, you did. But not nearly enough to actually stop laughing. In your defense, Ace had more acting chops than this guy. But kudos, he was really into the bit.

He lunged at the two of you, fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. Terry grabbed you pressing you to his side and wrapping a protective arm around you. You let out an embarrassing little squeak. You witnessed as he cataloged it into the ‘stuff y/n is never gonna live down’ part of his brain. ‘Cute’ he mouthed silently. You cursed yourself. You turned to cuss at Terry-

The clown lunged at you again, murderous intent plain as day on his face. He snarled as you two dodged him easily with a quick sidestep. In the corner of your eyes, you could see the other actors look on in bewilderment.  One of them shook her head clearly exasperated. Ok, so you unintentionally pissed off one of the actors. Great. Now, what?

The man lunged for you again. Dodging gracefully, you two turned on your heels and bolted leading him away from the group. You could hear the group collectively cheering him on behind you as you made your escape.

Technically, you could just knock him out and maybe go back to the group. One of you was the goddamn Batman while the other was Stray, thief extraordinaire, after all. But between the gasp of laughter and the playful grin stretching across Terry’s face like hell that was happening.

You two ducked into a corner tired and panting. You press yourself against the cool metal of the wall with Terry shielding you from view.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”  You whisper, shrinking into your leather jacket feeling keenly aware of your lack of undershirt as the heat radiating from his skin pressed against yours. He leaned against you, closing the gap between the two of you.  His panting breaths fanning against your skin, lips brushing against the bare skin of your collar.  You bit out a curse as the color on your cheeks darkened. You swallowed a lump, heart floundering again. You felt him smile against your skin.

You like to say it was anger that flared up in you. You really would but the heat suffusing in your body said otherwise. You pushed at him weakly. “We have to get back,”

Terry stepped back giving you space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“You sure you want to? Bozo is still looking for us. That and you’ll probably still be bored,”

You tapped your foot and tilted your head considering it. You looked into his face searching for something. You sigh inwardly. “Yeah, no. I really don’t wanna go back. The scariest thing is still the amount of money we wasted and I have yet to be scared shitless,”

He smiled at you victoriously. “I have an idea,”

You blinked at him.“Ok, great job! Now, I’m pissing myself with fear,” You teased. You weren’t a fan of Terry’s ideas half the time but hell if they weren’t entertaining.

Terry rolled his eyes at you holding out his hand. “You brought your goggles, right?”

“McGinnis, I didn’t exactly have time to go home and-” You stilled, feeling his eyes trail down your chest before darting back up. Normally, when you were in costume, you left the zipper of your jacket open showing tantalizing glimpses of your soft flesh. Terry was absolutely not opposed to your costume choice unless you were in danger which was rare (thank you very much). This was what led to your current blushing predicament not that the other aspects of your costume were any less complementary. You sighed inwardly before stammering out “Yeah, I have my goggles,”  Fishing them out of an inner pocket of your jacket, you waved them around half-heartedly. 

“Schway! Come on follow me,” He said grabbing your wrist before you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

You rounded a couple of corners before stopping at a beam. He looked from left to right brow furrowed. He tapped his foot twice then somehow decided to go left. How the hell Terry managed to find his way around in the dark was a complete mystery to you. Your first guess is echolocation but the second, more logical guess, was that Bruce was a paranoid old man. Like a normal human, you were entirely dependent on the night vision mode of your goggles. 

You stopped when Terry stretched his arm out in front of you. You squinted seeing another group of bored-looking patrons. You turn to Terry who was looking at them and seemingly analyzing the group and it clicked.

“Oh,” you whispered quietly as you understood what he was planning. He threw you a playful smirk knowing you wouldn’t be able to resist this golden opportunity to fuck around.

“I would like to go on record and say this is a terrible idea,”

“And yet you’re going along with it,”

You were about to protest but couldn’t really think of a good defense.

“You know, if you really wanted to scare them you could have just dressed up as old Brucie,” 

You huffed and put your goggles on before crouching low. He followed suit bending low.

“Weeell, sorry. Your gremlin mug was the best I could do on short notice,”

You made a face of mock hurt which made him chuckle. “Am not,”

As it turns out, two vigilantes well-trained in sneaking around are actually pretty good at scaring people. In the last 5 minutes, you’ve scared four different groups of patrons all with varying reactions but all equally hilarious.

“Yanno we could probably scare Nelson,” Terry hummed innocently trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. You answered him with a vicious smile. “You just want payback for the prank he pulled yesterday,”

“And you want to see him  piss himself,”

This was true.

“Ok, fine. What’s the game plan?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Terry chuckled knowing he’s got you hook, line, and sinker. You scoffed but let him lean closer to you to whisper his maniacal scheme.

“If this works I am going to cry-” You crowed ducking behind another row of boxes as you quietly trailed your group.  “-Hand me your jacket,”

Completely avoiding your outstretched hands, he draped his jacket over you like a strange leather veil before giving your head a quick pat. “Hope you brought tissues then,”

“Like slag, this is gonna work,” You said quirking your brow and tilting your head to make the doubt plain on your face. Even with your vision impaired by your new headpiece, you could still admire how nice he looked in his shirt. Not that you let it show. You hoped.

“Just watch and learn nonbeliever,”

“Oh god he thinks he can pull off miracles now,” You sneered climbing on to his broad shoulders.

“Shhhhhhhh”

You pouted down at him crossing your arms. He shrugged his shoulders, the movement drawing a surprised yelp from you in turn making him snicker. You were about to open your mouth when your smoke trap was triggered.

Ok, this was a blatant abuse of your equipment but who was gonna tell you off? Bruce? Probably but the man was allergic to fun so being at a Halloween fair was, likely,  safe.

Thick waterfalls of white smoke cascaded down from the rafters, blanketing the floor with a thick mist of curling smoke. The group stopped almost mystified by how well-timed the eerie effect was. You had to hold back a derisive snort when they all turned to each other confused.

Because, yes, this is what your hours of booby trap training have been leading up to.

Truly, a magnum opus of spite.

You could already see Nelson readying himself to bolt even as Blade and Chelsea hung off his arms. Petty satisfaction bloomed in you.

Ok, you may be a gremlin.

You threw your voice in a shrill cackle letting it echo and bounce in the room over the too slow circus music playing in the background. It was a chilling sound, the kind that rattled in bones and traveled up the spine. One that you’ve only ever used for pranks during long nights at the lab. You even felt Terry freeze up beneath you. His grip on your thighs getting tighter. How on earth you didn’t yelp or squeak or make any other little noise at that was the true miracle.

“Wha- what’s going on?“  Blade squeaked, pressing into the group.

"Didn’t we just pass the last attraction?!”

“Are you sure it was the last?”

“I don’t know man!”

The group shrank in on itself as the conversation grew more panicked. You felt Terry shaking from holding in laughter. You nudge him softly with your heel. He took a breath and nodded to tell you he was fine.

“Oh children, there’s no need to fuss,” You coo sickeningly sweet. You see them swallow taking in your presence heavy as it was.

“The fun’s only just beginning!” You shriek flicking on the orange lights of your goggles. Your shrill, shrieking voice transmuting over the speakers filling the room.

They screamed, scrambled, and scattered. Your nearly 10-foot silhouette hovering over them. They tripped over each other. Some of them pulling at each other. Some stepping over feet in their haste to get away. Pure terror etched themselves on their faces.

You let them all sprint to exit, watching their forms all disappear before bursting out into laughter.

“Did- Did you see their faces?!”

“Please tell me you were recording,“

“wait-” You choked grabbing for your goggles. You made a show of checking and letting your shoulders fall in disappointment.

Terry looked crushed. A vicious grin carved across your face. “Relax, I was,”

Terry’s slumped against the crate as he leaned back. He ran his hand through his black hair and began to laugh again.

You put your goggles back to your jacket pocket. You clutched at his jacket letting your ugly laugh tumble out of your lips. Terry planted a kiss on your nose making your breath hitch. 

"What was that for?!” Your hands flying to your nose. Your fingers traced the small patch of skin he touched.

“You were just too cute,” He laughed ruffling your hair.

How do you respond to that? How could he say things like that so casually? Does he not know how many heart attacks it gives you?

“Jerk”

“PFFFFT”

“Don’t ‘pfffft’ me!” You bit out, throwing his jacket at him.

“Pfffft”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“I-”

“Ahem!”

You both looked up to see a security guard and Bozo glowering down at you. You gave them both what passed for a sheepish, but not exactly, apologetic look.

The burly guard picked you both up by the scruff of your necks and hauled you out of the building. He tossed you out back as Bozo yelled “stay out” from the comfort of the guards back. 

“Kick us out yourself, coward!” Terry yelled, shaking his fist like an old man. You slapped your forehead in an effort not to encourage him. Bozo glowered at him from behind his meat shield. Terry snarled. You grabbed his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I knew it was you two,” Max sighed, hand on her hip.

“How’d you guess?”

“Circus music,”

You looked at her uncomprehendingly before remembering your well-documented discomfort with circuses. You slapped your hand against your forehead. Terry, helpful as usual, snickered at you.

 But before you could throw hands, Max spoke cleared her throat.

“You dumbasses are lucky they don’t press charges,” Max aggravated pinching the bridge of her nose. You had the decency to look a little sheepish at the accusation but Terry looked pleased which earned him a chastising look.

“Sorry, ma’am” You both grumbled as she pulled you both up. 

All three of you walked in tandem.  Max let up the responsible act.

“Not the worst group date you’ve been on, right?” Terry nudged.

 “No, guess not,” You scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Stiiiiill not as bad as that time you got us caught by the Joker Gang~”

“That wasn’t even my fault,”

————————————–

Thanks for reading! Also please do not do this in real life. They will get mad at you even if their haunted house does stink.

taglist:  @batarellabatarella (YOU BITCH I GOT ANOTHER BATBOY FOR YOU), @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders (I wanna drag you into Terry hell), @l-horizon11

[bloodycassian]

Enemies and Allies - Reader + Night court. the concept:

enemies forced together in alliance to save their courts. Politics, tension, "Once we're done here I will be the one to kill you." slow burn reader x an Illyrian? Not sure who yet

Part 1 of a possibly reoccurring fic.

You never liked dealing with other courts, but Rhysand and Tamlin were possibly the two worst high lords to deal with. Helion would have been up there too if he wasn't so damn charming. And Beron didn't even count, considering he was your uncle. He was annoying automatically. And a damned fool for not showing up to the funeral. Tamlin was a brute shoved into power much too early. You could tell just from the way he carried himself. No nobility, no grace. Just the brutal beast that lurked under his skin. The way he didn't bother leaving any flowers along the coast line was further proof of his childish ways.   Rhysand was the polar opposite. The epitome of arrogance, grace, poise and political power. All words and strategy, enough to make you double take every time he opened his mouth. Constantly on the lookout for hidden meaning or loopholes in his word choice. He made your heart race with stress.  His spymaster and general though, were like two neutral, yet menacing gargoyles on either side of him. They were unsettling, especially with the shadows that crept over the spy. You tried not to stare at those curling around his shoulders, or the dull siphons that laid on each of their hands. Or the wings.  The wings would have been the worst part if there weren't other winged generals at the funeral. Peregryns guarded their high lord, one at each side much like Rhysand. Only they radiated sunshine, and light and goodness. Still terrifyingly deadly, though. Their polished armor and ceremonial scepters glinting from the overcast skies.  "A funeral should be a celebration... of the life that was. Please, join us." Tarquin said, voice thick. His mate's lip quivered. The ocean crashed against the sand, scooping up the flowers left to honor his son. Your heart squeezed at the tone change in his voice. The way he struggled to hold himself together for his court.  Vivienne turned from the crowd, and Tarquin followed. Her dark hair moved like water over her thin frame. They held each other for a long moment while the Summer court guards ushered guests to the large open beach house. You hesitated, looking out towards the ocean as it roiled. The dark water churned, seagulls overhead made no sound as they passed.  "Its been a long time, Autumn." The sultry voice was enough to make your skin crawl. He had kept the nickname since he'd met you. And in the two hundred years since. He did not forget such a remarkable introduction. Especially of someone who had your kind of power in an opposing court.  His eyes flashed with amusement when you turned, plastering on a charming smile. "I would have preferred longer, but the Cauldron works in strange ways sometimes." You retorted, and began walking away from him, grinding your teeth when he followed with ease.  He laughed and nodded. "Indeed it does, with the passing of Tarquin's only child." the not question was leading, looking to see if you knew anything of the murder. Anger spread though you at the subtle accusation. You couldnt let it show.  You had to keep your calm. Or he would surely suspect something of you. You could practically see the accusation scene play out when Night court invaded Autumn on Summer's behalf. Claiming that Autumn had killed the boy. "A parent should never outlive their own child." You said mournfully. You knew from experience how it ruined families after such a loss.  When you snuck a glance at his face, you could have swore you saw pain there. A longing that you didnt understand coming from him. It almost made you feel bad for him. You jolted yourself, forcing your mind to focus upon on your steps in the sand.  He paused for just a second before opening the bungalow door for you, inviting you to the wake. All courts dressed in mute tones of their colors, not one dared to raise their voice above the hushed murmurs. Rhysand gave a nod to his two generals in the corner, standing like statues. "I'll be seeing you then, Autumn." His eyes met yours and you swore you saw something linger there.  Before you could tell him to knock it off with the nickname, he was weaving his way across the room to the two Illyrians. Stopping every so often to give grim smiles to the families of Summer Court. His actions seemed genuine in nature. You dared not reach out a mental hand to him though, knowing you might not return with it intact.  + "And what of Night court?" Beron's slurred words were familiar. The old man had been wasting away in his own filth for years. After the Lady of Autumn disappeared, he had nothing left to keep him in line. His sons - Eris namely- made the important decisions in the court, but he still acted as ruler. The figurehead for important events and nothing more.  He had also become obsessed with the innate abilities of all the other high lords. Constantly comparing his own lingering power with the others. In two hundred years, his body had seemed to begin to wither. Directly after your birth, some said. And cursed you for their ruler's demise. After the shame of being one of the few courts to refuse to help win the war, Beron had given up completely. Still power hungry, but no longer driven.  "Night court seems to be fine. Not shaken by the murders." You surmised as best you could after your short interaction with the High Lord.  "Was it's high Lady there?" He asked with a grunt of a laugh. He was always undermining the role, laughing whenever you mentioned seeing the lady of Night. "She was not. I believe she was taking care of the babe, as the two generals were there." He shook his head, his gray hair falling in his face. "As a female should." You fought not to cringe or bite back at him. Even if he was your uncle, Beron would be a fantastic target if there was, in fact a murderer loose in Prythian. You shooed the tratirous thought away.  "Tarquin and Vivienne send their regards." You said, hoping he would allow you to take your leave. You glanced around to the cavernous space that encapsulated the dark throne room. The banners on the wall seemed lacking in color. Years of dust likely growing on them. The cracked stone floor showed its age as well, moss growing in the corners. He refused to let anyone touch up the dim room after his wife had gone.  Echoing steps sounded behind you. You turned on your heel calmly, but gripped your sword. Ready to defend your High Lord if needed.  Your mouth fell open at the sight of The Morrigan striding down the long hall. Eris on her heels behind her. She was a beacon of light among the dull ancient stone walls. Eris had a wicked grin on, eyes locked on his father.  +  "The Queens have been killed." She announced, no wavering in her tone. Your stomach hit the floor. Beron said nothing, didnt show any reaction in the slightest. As if he already knew. "And they sent you so I could be assured the court of Nightmares isnt lying?"  "They sent me because I saw to their end personally." Eris even glanced at her with the tone she used. She leveled a look at Beron.  He waved a hand, as if the Night court commander hadn't just announced that the biggest enemies to Prythian were dead."Cut off the head of the snake and more appear." He coughed after the shrug, his breathing labored. Eris hid a pained look that you knew all too well. The denial of his father's life coming to an end in front of him. You could have balked at him for the outright insult but kept your mouth shut. "High Lord.." you began, wanting to consult him on the weight of the situation. He glared at you, that familiar piercing stare that told you to stop whatever you were doing. As a child, that stare was enough to make you behave. You didn't dare think of what more than a stare Eris had to go through during his childhood.  Eris' jaw clenched before he began "Father, the Queens no longer pose a threat. This would be the perfect op-"  "Enough, boy!" Beron's voice echoed in the hall. Your cousin's face went red with shame. Fear settled in your stomach. If Beron  had no plan for moving forces to the continent to stablaise, there would be a power struggle. Even you knew that. "You assume I dont have a plan. We can discuss this when there are no wandering eyes or ears present." His tone was softer, but still laced with that High Lord's authority.  Mor's eyes could have killed them if she had the ability.  She snorted, and turned on a heel to leave. Her footsteps echoing in the long hall. "The Night Court's whore, going back to where she belongs." Beron mused to himself. She stopped dead in her tracks. Eris' face went pale when she turned. Your palms went sweaty at her eyes, like two daggers looking at him. She held up a hand. Light flashed, and suddenly there was a razor thin spear flying through the air.  You ran at The Morrigan before you knew what you were doing. Your hands were a flurry of movement as you tried to keep her down. Eris just watched, unable to move as he watched death race for his father.  A wet splatter, and Beron's chest was punctured by that golden spear. His mouth leaked blood, his eyes closing. Eris was rooted to the spot. Your body locked up, and Mor shoved you off of her with a grunt. She wasnt trying to win the fight, she could have obliterated you in a second if she was. You felt like you weren't in your body. She stood, wiping the blood from her face. You didnt remember hitting her that hard. Your mouth was dry, mind buzzing. Mor waved her hand again and the spear was gone.  "Have all the power you want, Eris. Our deal has been struck. Send your forces to Rask by next week." She scowled at the body on the throne. The male you had just wished death upon. The reality of it made everything fuzzy. Eris was still pale, his eyes not looking away from his father. "We will see you there." He said, voice weak. Distant.  You could only faintly hear Mor Winnow away. The roaring in your head was overwhelming. Your uncle dead on his throne. A hysterical laugh bubbled from Eris' chest. Only one, before you could catch his gaze and see the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. + "You killed the Queens and my father without consulting me first. I hardly think our deal was struck." Eris had been strange after his father's funeral. But for the first time since, you saw a glimpse of the old him. On the move to Rask, he had been that hollow shell he seemed like. Btu as soon as he laid eyes on Morrigan waiting at that tent, he seemed to put on more of a show.  Inside the tent seemed too small. It was enormous, but with everyone inside it was too hot. Too cramped. The sun beating down did not help. The two Illyrians in the corner leering at you and Eris was not helping either. "A deal's a deal young Lord. I suggest you choose your words more carefully next time." Rhys winked. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hold back your tone. "You murdered him. I am being blamed for not guarding him well enough." Your reputation in the court had fallen.  Several Royal court members had been rumoured of your position inside the court, if you should be banished because of the death. None of them knew what actually happened. You and Eris had agreed on a believable story though, whoever had murdered Tarquin's son also reached Beron the night of the funeral. "I did not murder him. My lovely cousin however, did." Rhys drawled with a cat-like grin. It made you see red. Azriel grinned behind him. Those creepy shadows of his seemed more transparent in the sun. Mor glanced to you, her eyes not betraying anything she felt of the kill. You were hoping she would show some remorse for the death. Heat roiled in your stomach at the lack of care.  "Dont act so upset, Autumn." Rhys waved a hand, and you felt those clawd mental hands whisk across your shields. You snarled at him, reaching for your sword. You knew you couldnt win, even on your best of days. That didnt stop you though. Eris placed a hand on your arm. The two Illyrians had their siphon shields glowing in front of their high lord instantly. Rhys laughed calmly despite the tension in the room.  "You did give Mor quite the cut however, and burn it seems. Call it revenge." He folded his hand on the desk, wiping away dirt that wasnt there. Azriel's siphons burned brighter. His wings tightened behind his back. Mor still showed nothing, only looking from her cousin to Eris. Tense, her shoulders and posture radiated the worry. The tension of the room. Eris' jaw locked. He pulled you, willing you to let it go. You weren't proud of the fight with Mor. You wanted Beron to have at least died in an honorable way. But in the recent years with him hardly leaving his seat at the throne or his room at the castle, it made the chance of him seeing battle again nearly impossible.  "Maybe I should have done more." You muttered, sheathing your sword. The shadowsinger stepped forward, chest pushed out. His lips pulled back in a snarl, "Do not-" He began, voice a low threatening growl. "Azriel." Rhys said calmly, voice like honey. You grinned at the Shadowed one.  Rhys sighed and waved his tattooed hand in the air. Wine glasses appeared on the table he sat at. "Let's begin the real discussion at hand." He said calmly, pouring a glass. You glanced to Eris. He hesitated, but strode forward, taking a glass and downing it. + Eris was nearly drunk by the time you helped him out of the tent. After the long hours of dribble and stale conversation about diving resources, you couldnt blame him for having a few extra glasses of wine. He tripped on the rug going out. You caught him, but noticed shadows lingering around his torso.  "Get. Off."  You hissed, Not looking back. The shadows lingered for just a moment, then skittered away. You heard something like a sigh come from one of them as you led your cousin to his tent.

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Four: Supper

Table Of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,748

MASTERLIST

~

A sudden loud beep had you shooting upright in bed. You leapt up and put your ear to the door. Rather than sinister noises, you heard the faint humming of a very familiar theme song.

You cracked open the bedroom door, peeking into the kitchen where Spencer was bustling around with a frying pan and a spatula with a focused expression on his face, humming the theme music to Doctor Who under his breath.

It was actually kind of adorable. You pushed open the bedroom door further to get a better look, but the door creaked and Spencer spun around, withdrawing his gun and pointing it square in your face.

“I’m sorry!” you squealed, throwing your hands up in surrender.

He quickly holstered his gun and ran over to you. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” you tried to laugh. “A little shaken but I’m okay. Really!” you added after a doubtful look from him.

His eyes were a deep hazel that seemed to peer into your soul. His hands felt good on your shoulders, clutching you tightly in comfort. It had been a while since you’d had, well, any physical contact. He was so tall he had to lean down to level his face with yours.

Suddenly, he seemed to realize how close the two of you were and stepped back, clearing his throat. 

“I was, uh, trying to make dinner.”

“I can see that,” you said playfully, with a glance at the kitchen in disarray.

“Yeah. I’m not the best cook. I can memorize thousands of recipes in minutes but i’ve never seemed to master the execution.”

You hesitated. 

“Thousands of recipes in minutes? What are you a genius?” you laughed.

“Scientifically, yes. An I.Q. score over 160 classifies someone as a genius.”

Your jaw dropped.

“You’re kidding?”

He shook his head, slipping his hands into his pockets and shrugging.

“Nope.”

“Wait so you can read like, a thousand words per minute?”

“Twenty-thousand,” he corrected, stepping back into the kitchen to continue cooking.

“Twenty-thousand!? That’s impossible!”

“Actually, the unconscious brain can process up to eleven million bits of information per second. It’s just a matter of being able to—“

“—to access the information from your subconscious,” you said, cutting him off. “Wow. That’s impressive.”

He looked at you in shock.

“What’s even more impressive is that you finished a sentence for me.”

“Sorry,” you blushed.

“No! No, I mean, not a lot of people can, erm, keep up. When you start college at fourteen, not many people expect you to be smarter than them. Then when they find out how smart you really are, it can be intimidating.”

Your mouth twitched up into a smile. Spencer was impressive, for sure, but he was also entertaining. Not in a make-fun-of kind of way, but he made you laugh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Supper’s ready!”

You stifled a laugh.

“Supper?”

“What?” he looked over at you, reaching up to get two plates.

“Who says supper? Are you eighty?” you teased. 

“I’m twenty-six!” he said indignantly.

You froze.

“Wait, really?” He nodded. “You’re only twenty-six and you’re a prominent FBI agent? How?”

“Genius I.Q, three Ph.D.’s, and my irresistible charm,” he said, giving a goofy smile.

“Three PhDs? How? I’m getting a PhD and I can barely keep up with the workload!”

“You‘re getting a Ph.D.? That wasn’t in your police report. What’s it in?” he asked as he filled your plates. 

“Actually, I’m working on two.”

“Two!?”

You nodded, happy that you’d been able to shock him.

“Yep. Linguistics and Philosophy. I like Philosophy better but Linguistics is more challenging. The library won't let you into the section with the really good language books without a certain clearance. But I've actually nearly finished my thesis for it. What?” you added, noticing him staring at you.

“You’re working on two doctorates simultaneously?”

“Surprised you’re not the only genius?” you joked, taking your plate from him, then, upon seeing what he’d made, bursting out into laughter. 

“What?” he looked genuinely confused, which only made you laugh harder.

“Bacon?” you said through gasps. “Bacon and pancakes? You are aware it’s—“ you glanced at the clock, “—nine forty at night?”

“Gimme a break!” he said defensively. “It’s the only thing I can cook. The word ‘cook‘ being a generous descriptor.” 

It was better than Doritos and bourbon for dinner, your go to meal. You were just glad you’d had the stuff to make dinner. It would be very awkward trying to explain your unhealthy eating habits to Spencer.

You didn’t have a dining table. Anyway, you usually ate on the couch and watched something on TV. That was normal nowadays right? Whatever. Spencer didn’t seem to mind which was good enough for you.

“So, um,” he said nervously, pulling out a pad of paper and pencil. “There’s a few things I need to go over with you.”

You nodded, remembering the situation you were in.

“Is there anyone you can think of who might have shown a sort of stalking behavior before? They’d be unreliable, constantly late, not being able to stick to a schedule?”

“The only person I know like that is Claire, one of my co-workers, but she’s not a stalker, she's just always late to work. Honestly, the only people I really know are my co-workers, some people from school, and Steve, my friend.”

“The FBI is going to need a list of people you see frequently. If you could put that together as soon as you’re ready. Also, all your credit card information will have to be analyzed, everywhere it’s been used. Whoever accesses your card, even for something as small as a stick of gum, has the opportunity to use that information to find your name, your address, your workplace—”

“Ok. I get it. People I see frequently and my credit card info. Gotta warn you, there’s not much I buy with it other than books and coffee. Then again, there’s the occasional splurge at the mall.”

“Well, the FBI needs all of it.”

You nodded softly, staring at the bacon on your plate. He hadn’t said I need he’d said The FBI needs. You weren’t sure what that meant exactly.

“Do you want to watch something?” he said, gesturing toward the TV. “It might be a good distraction?”

“Yeah,” you put your plate on the coffee table, noticing that you’d barely eaten. “Yeah that sounds good. Could you just put something on? I don’t wanna choose.”

He nodded and picked up the remote.

The only thing he really knew you liked was Doctor Who so he put on a random episode. You let the TV become background noise to your thoughts as you stared off into space.

Spencer was comforting to be around. He helped take your mind off the situation you were in. You looked over at him on the couch, long legs crossed under him. He had taken off his tie and shoes and changed into more casual clothes: a jumper and some jeans. He was absentmindedly fiddling with the throw blanket between you on the couch. 

His hands are so long, you thought. Wait, why were you thinking that? You shouldn’t be thinking about his hands. Or how long they were. Or what they could—

“Are you alright?”

You felt yourself twitch, startled by his sudden acknowledgment. Even more embarrassing, you were sure he’d seen you staring at his hands.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Hey,” he moved closer on the couch, “you don’t have to be sorry. It’s alright to not be okay.”

They were just words, they didn’t help. What did help was the care behind them. He wasn’t just saying it to comfort you, he actually meant it. To him, it really was ok to not be okay.

“Thank you Spencer, that actually helps.”

You glanced at the clock. It was 10:26.

“I should do some schoolwork,” you said, cringing afterward. You didn’t want him to think of you as some school kid.

“Okay!” he chirped happily, standing as you stood like a proper gentleman. “I’ll just be out here. Is it okay if I keep watching?” The episode played on, The Doctor dangling from a rope above London. “I really like this episode,” he said sheepishly.

“Sure,” you chuckled. “I’ll be in my room and please let me know if you need anything, seriously.”

He nodded assent, but you weren’t sure if he actually would. He seemed a little withdrawn, comforting you when you needed but keeping his distance when possible. It’s his job to keep you safe, you reminded yourself. Don’t get excited.

An hour later your eyes watered from the strain of keeping them open. But you were almost done with this paper. Sure, it was due next week but you were on a roll. Using an allusion to the Holocaust to support the point that Hollywood writing is riddled with antisemitism. In the morning, it might not sound as clever, but to your sleep-deprived brain, it was poetry.

A light knock on your door startled you.

“Come in,” you croaked.

Spencer peeked into your room, squinting.

“It’s pitch black in here,” he said, reaching for the light.

You shrieked as the light filled the room, blinding you.

“TOO BRIGHT!” you yelled, slamming your computer shut and throwing your arms over your eyes.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he fumbled with the switch and clicked it off. The room was now shrouded in darkness, neither of you able to see yet.

“Are you there, Spencer?”

“Yeah.”

You were both whispering. Why was it that people whispered in the dark? 

“You should try and get some sleep,” Spencer said. He was becoming more visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. He had changed into a blue set of pajamas. The fabric looked so soft.

“Yeah,” you muttered, moving toward the bed, “Yeah, I’ll do that.” 

Your bed felt scratchy and cold. Just last night getting in bed had been such a relaxing experience. So much had changed in a day.

“I’ll be right in the next room if you need anything,” 

“Hmm,” you hummed.

Spencer padded back out of your room.

The moment before the door closed you thought you heard a very faint, “Good night, Y/N.” But before you could wonder if it had happened or not, you were dropping off into a deep sleep. Knowing that you were safe with Spencer in the next room.

~

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13

[bao3bei4]

i have basically covered the material in this post several times on my twitter. but this is, in my opinion, the only s*xy t*mes with w*ngxian take you need. 

(cw transphobia, transphobic slurs, antiblack racism, mentions of csa and bestiality in fiction)

edit 6/10/21: hi! i’m realizing people are still reading this! this was written in response to aja romano’s vox article on the fic that was published in late february of this year. i had been frustrated with how their article seemed to miss the point in many ways, because they never talked about the substance of the fic. which, i mean, fair. i wouldn’t want to read a 1million word fic either.

but i already had, so i thought i’d write about some things that i believed needed to be part of the conversation. namely, that its author wasn’t a harmless troll, but a person i genuinely disliked who i believed should be deplatformed.

i think virtual1979 is a bad person. 

i think a lot of people mainly know about sexy times the phenomenon more than they do sexy times the fic itself. i have the dubious honor of being one of the few people who has actually read large portions of the million word fic, and that’s why i wanted to write this meanspirited hit piece. 

the fic is down right now and the author’s notes and comments have both been deleted, which is why i cannot provide screenshots. however, these are all quotes i have saved from when the fic was online, and i’m happy to talk with anyone if you feel any of these quotes are mischaracterizations of the fic. 

i also want to be clear this is not a “callout post” and i’m not trying to “cancel” them or whatever. i am just explaining why i don’t like them, why i don’t feel bad they’re being harassed, and why i do not find them sympathetic at all, and perhaps why you should also adopt these stances. 

let’s start with transphobia. 

sexy times with wangxian is transphobic. this much is apparent from the tags. virtual1979 tagged the following: F*tanari, d*ckgirl, Sh*male. they use this language in the chapters that include a character with both a vagina and a penis. 

they refer to this character (wei wuxian) with the pronouns “he-she.” the following excerpt is a fair representation of how this wei wuxian is referred to in the chapters where wei wuxian has a vagina and a penis. 

[Lan Zhan] would never be turned on by a female, and he would actually be turned off by a drag queen - but this… this Wei Ying, it’s Wei Ying, and he-she looks [...]

i know these words are common in porn categories, but they are also slurs. virtual1979 also uses hermaphrodite to refer to this set of anatomy, which is not strictly a slur, but definitely a stigmatizing choice of language. 

they have repeatedly made clear they are not open to criticism. they have also since removed the comment section. making an intersex character for the express purpose of using transmisogynistic language towards them in your million word porn fic isn’t annoying the way their tags are, it’s actively fucked up. 

fanfiction has a transphobia problem, and if we’re talking about sexy times with wangxian in any capacity, we must be clear: sexy times with wangxian is part of that problem too. 

secondly, virtual1979 is also complicit in ao3’s racism problem.

i think the way they write about chinese characters and settings is annoying and racist, but they are a malaysian chinese person, so i do have some sympathy for them. i am committed to having some patience for people who are annoying if they themselves are working through the prejudice they have faced. 

they’ve commented as much: 

Not gonna lie, this fic has been a steep learning curve for me despite my roots being Chinese as well, but I have absolutely zero knowledge in some of these aspects!

and i’m happy on some level they can get in touch with their roots. who among us has not been cringe and diaspora. any criticisms i have of their portrayal of chinese people will stay private and be made to other people of color.

i’m going to be clear here i don’t think the actual comment they made makes them super evil or anything. but this essay IS clearly in response to That Article, which did mention racism in fandom. so.

i think we have all seen the infamous karen comment they made, in which they compared people who criticized their tagging with “Karens,” equating antiblack state violence to... mean comments on ao3? and “SJWs,” which, eye roll. no ageism but you’re 41 why the hell are you complaining about sjws

anyway. i am deeply frustrated by the co-option of the word karen. a stand-in for a particular type of racist violence white women specifically can and do inflict has become fused with that reddit-type mommy issue “can i speak to the manager” internecine white resentment. 

so their trivialization of antiblack racism is another reason i don’t like them. again i KNOW it’s petty to point this out here, but this to me shows that virtual is afflicted with the same kind of fandom brainrot that aja is, where everything comes back to that same sort of self-centered bullshit. 

sorry for that jab. julian told me that aja thought that cql was about callout culture and all i could think was “wow! just like virtual thinking that--” because i also have spent too much time on twitter this week. 

this is just like. part of this ongoing pattern i’ve noticed with virtual, where they’re aware enough of real problems to acknowledge they exist (police violence, accessibility issues caused by their tagging) but are determined to double down on their minor relative persecution as king, shittily drawing parallels between like... real problems and fandom problems. equating the two or allowing the second to take priority over the former is like... par for the course for this type of person! 

third, this is just another clarification on more parallels between ao3 discourse and sexy times that went completely unremarked on by That Article. 

i would rather DIE than get into discourse. but why did they write this sentence: 

Lan Zhan’s rational mind finally broke with a tsunami of pedophilic lusts [...]

by the way that is the start of a 430 word sentence. and yes this fic does contain hundreds of thousands of words of aged down wei wuxian. make of that what you will. 

also why would you make wei wuxian teach baby chickens how to sexually pleasure him. do you hate these characters. what’s going on. i think mxtx should be able to sue virtual for that one. 

there’s a very obvious connection between mainstream ao3 discourse and sexy times that went completely unremarked on in That Article. sexy times contains multitudes and some of those multitudes are bestiality and explicit childfucking. 

this is not unrelated to fannish culture, they are not unfamiliar with fannish norms, blah blah blah. this is just normal fandom. they’re not subverting shit, they’re just a normal fan who unlike 99% of fanfiction writers on twitter, spends more time writing than posting. this has taken their fannish tendencies to cartoonish heights. 

finally, they don’t care about mdzs or wangxian. they’re literally just horny and spiteful that’s it. this isn’t a question of like... “ohh they were a good faith participant in fandom until they went joker mode” and the REAL villain is society/ao3. like no they wanted to write shitty porn, and when they found out they were annoying people, they decided to double down because they could be the main character of the mdzs ao3 tag every time they found a spare hour to write. 

here are some select receipts on that topic:

they do not care about canon: 

MDZS has quite a complicated and expansive plot and history, and enough content that one can choose to tune out certain parts and still get to the end of the story in one piece. Also, because of its source, some fans may not fully realize the nuances, cultural aspects (ooh, cultural appropriation is another triggering topic) or the full breadth and depth of the source material, such as a person like me, who is half-baked in terms of knowing what the canon universe is all about. So I end up playing with characters and settings technically borrowed from the story, and make them do things that would otherwise run counter to the original source material - and that draws quite some flak from those opinionated people I mentioned just now. It's part of what makes the fandom toxic. It's like they're the self-appointed guardians of the source material and they act like they own the rights to question such questionble fanworks, and dare I say, try to take down those that cross certain lines too.

they are just horny: 

After that giddines of extra drunken Lan Wang Ji scenes at the beginning, I'm blessed with Lan Wang Ji (Wang Yibo's, actually) fuzzy nips! Bless Bless Bless, and Amen! muahs the nips on the screen

anyway they did get nuked over wishing covid on people. 

so yeah. i want to be really clear. this is my thesis: i do not feel bad for them. you should not either. i do not like them. you should not either. that’s ALL!!!! 

[hotchley]

i saw your reblog of the Spencer giving Aaron a father's day card thing and i can't stop thinking about how Aaron is the father figure to the entire team now.

(yes I'm also especially thinking about that one scene of Spencer and Derek stuck in the malfunctioning lift shrieking for Aaron just because. 🥴 dad!Hotch ftw!!!!!)

i know this concept has probably been done hundreds of times already but imagine: (SORRY THIS IS GOING TO BE A REALLY LONG ASK, I deeply apologise in advance)

[tw food/eating habits, some references to murder cases because you know this is Criminal Minds, some slight spoilers for people who haven't really watched the show and also reference & mention of autism & a character on the autism spectrum -> just a heads up, a disclaimer, I'm in no way diagnosed with autism, so if i have misrepresented autism, or made any mistakes, i apologise, it wasn't my intention, and i welcome all feedback & criticism — i genuinely want to learn]

a year after Spencer joins the BAU, Aaron notices & becomes very concerned over Spencer's (super bad) eating habits aka him only drinking coffee and forgetting to eat actual proper food when he gets absorbed in cases or research or reading etc -> which results in Aaron absolutely being like "hey Spencer let's grab lunch together" almost everyday just so Spencer eats (healthy, full meals)

(also Spencer picking up on this after Aaron "casually" gets him lunch/treats him to dinner/invites him over for meals for almost every day of the week and he was initially almost irritated/offended until he realised he could use Aaron's habit to make Aaron himself eat properly too because this hypocritical bastard doesn't eat properly himself either so every alternate day you can see Spencer purposely not going for lunch breaks while sneaking glances at Aaron's office just waiting for him to notice and drag them both to lunch together 😌)

also I really think Spencer is on the autistic spectrum (high functioning, imo, but I'm not really sure how this works, and I'd have to do more research) so I'd like to imagine Aaron knows that too because he's noticed Spencer's behaviors + Spencer got an official diagnosis and told him about it maybe 6-7 months into joining the BAU so I really think Aaron lets Spencer stim (physically, his hand gestures) on their lunch break because he knows that Spencer can't really do that in front of the others, so even when they're on cases, he would take Spencer out either for a private lunch or dinner or something, just the two of them, and he'd let Spencer stim & talk about any subject of his fancy as much as he wants to (I'm pretty sure someone wrote a fic like this and I absolutely can't remember the name or the author but I really LOVED the idea too)

initially Spencer was really taken aback too, because you know, this isn't something you do with your boss, of all people, but Hotch had always meant what he says and his facial expression and body language suggested that he was being absolutely sincere and serious about this, so Spencer tentatively started talking, and as their meal progressed, he eventually got comfortable enough to just go on, and not once did Aaron cut him off rudely, until the end of their meal, when Aaron couldn't continue to pretend to drink his soup because he'd finished it somehow with those incredibly small spoonfuls, and he'd had to gently tell Spencer that they had to go back, but Spencer wasn't upset, because he'd just got over an hour to talk about this recent seminar about the connection of ancient Greek mythology to the developments of the society in ancient Greece which no one had ever done for him before and he's full, satisfied and beyond elated because Hotch really didn't have to do this, but he did anyways

at first it was just something between them but eventually Derek noticed & like in the end I think it's a kind of open secret between Aaron, Spencer & Derek and now when Derek notices Aaron doing it he gives Aaron a small nod and he wards off & deals with the questions that the others have when they inevitably notices the private meals Aaron & Spencer has

speaking of Derek, Aaron definitely has 1 on 1 time with Derek too, but doing different things. Derek's thing is sports & home renovations, and he repairs/maintains cars & bikes when he can, and I like to imagine Aaron knowing about his hobbies and casually asking Derek about the home renovation he's working on one time (before or early S1) Derek came into his office to submit a case file, and Derek being kind of shocked/caught by surprised initially (because he knows Hotch has a soft spot for the kid because he's much younger and much, much more inexperienced but Derek's older and should know better, so Hotch won't do the whole private lunch thing with him, right?) but then he grins and starts telling Aaron about how "I got that place absolutely shining right now, man" and then he invites Aaron over to take a look at the place out of courtesy/habit (his mama raised him as a good, polite young man, and no way Hotch would even say yes right?) and to his surprise once again, Aaron does accept his invitation

after that one time, Aaron begins casually asking him about his projects and even starts offering to help him do some of the painting and decorating (to be fair, it calms Aaron too, to have a getaway from Haley and initially from the crying baby, because while he absolutely loved Haley and Jack with all his heart, some days, some days he just couldn't take it, all the stress from Strauss and from trying to be a good father unlike his own, and he had to take some time off to himself, and painting walls is calming and therapeutic to him in some sense) & Derek and Aaron start bonding over hotdogs while sitting out on the front porch of some halfway remodelled house, talking about the latest sports news (they support different baseball teams but that's okay, because Derek gets to grin at Hotch and ask him to pay up when Hotch's team loses to his, and Aaron gets to raise his eyebrows with that small knowing smirk of his and ask Derek to "complete this by the next weekend, will you" when Derek's team loses to his)

when Aaron recruits Penelope, he's read her file, or what little the FBI's cyberteam got on her anyways. he knows the Black Queen's reputation, and he knows that the cyberteam really don't trust her and recommended high levels of surveillance, but the moment he saw her through the glass of the interrogation room and her resume & application on pink paper, he knew that she's not just what the file said she is. initially, she sticks to the "bureau regulated office attire" because you know, Penelope knows she's lucky, she should've been jailed for what she did, she was jailed, until this Aaron Hotchner guy decided, somehow, that she was deserving to be on his team, even after looking at her resume, which she had written on pink paper out of pure spite (because nothing in the FBI rulebooks said anything about submitting your application on specialized coloured paper anyways) but she was moody and unhappy because she's stuck in this tiny office having to answer the phone whenever agents called to ask for details on icky, gruesome murders and disgusting, vile murderers so she decides that hey, since no one ever comes in here anyways, she might as well do some re-decorating right? so she starts bringing in her own soft toys and figurines and starts amassing a whole collection of soft, plushy, and colourful toys in because it's her office and if she has to deal with all these yucky stuff on a daily basis she's going to make it at least bearable to be in here

one day, some tall, stern looking guy just comes into her office with this Tupperware in his hands saying "hey, Garcia right? my wife made some extra cupcakes for the team, you want some?" and she asks "do i know you?" and he blinks, stands there for one, two seconds before- "sorry, i forgot we haven't actually met. Special Supervisory Agent Aaron Hotchner, assistant unit chief of BAU Team 1, nice to meet you," [i like to headcannon that before Boston & all, Hotch was Gideon's assistant, some kind of assistant unit chief probably, but while he wasn't yet the unit chief he was definitely taking care of most, if not all of the administration matters i.e. hiring new agents etc already because let's be real Gideon is caring & capable but really hands off sometimes (also in S1E1 Derek referred to Gideon as their Unit Chief so I assumed Hotch took over the position full time, officially somewhere between S1E1 and S1E2 or 3)]

and then Garcia's brain kind of short-circuits because holy shit this is her BOSS, aka the guy who somehow, crazily looked at her resume and decided to HIRE her and she just asked him if she knew him OH GOD ALL THOSE FIGURINES- and she tries to explain because she really didn't mean to break any rules with them and they aren't, are they? and she can remove them but just, please, she can't go back to prison.

but then Agent Hotchner just goes "hey, hey, Penelope. it's fine. I understand. this is your office, and you have the right to decorate it. I'm not going to fire you over.... My Little Ponies? and uh, some unicorns?" and Penelope can't help but laugh because he genuinely looks baffled by her collection on her desk, and did he just call her Penelope?

and after that, once, after a bad case that Aaron knew affected Penelope (it involved murdered parents & their only child left orphaned and it just hit too close to home for Penelope), he stopped by a local toy shop and bought the brightest, most sparkly, most colourful thing he could find in there (it ended up being a small figurine of a princess on a small, detachable throne that could light up and play some really funky pop music. Aaron cringed internally as he brought it over to the counter, and awkwardly nodded as the cashier asked, "buying this for your daughter, sir? she's going to love it, it's the latest in a collectable series" and he pretended to not see the questioning eyebrow that Derek gave him after seeing the package) and when he presented it to Penelope when they got back, he got the biggest and most bone crushing hug ever from Penelope because "aw that's so sweet, thank you! and you got me the latest in the collection! it's limited edition!" and it just ended up becoming a tradition — Penelope always looks forward to the end of a case now, not only because that means her people are coming home, safe, in one piece (sometimes debatable but still, they're coming home, to her) but it also means that Hotch has brought her yet another tiny figurine or souvenir to add to her collection and she can't wait to see what it is, and Hotch always, always, finds the time after they've wrapped up the case, before the jet leaves, to pop by a local toy shop to get both Penelope and later, when he's older, Jack some toys or souvenir from wherever state he's in, because he wants both of them to know, that despite all the bad out there, there is still good in the world, and they should never forget that

OKAY this ask is SUPER LONG already i apologise skfjsk i have ideas for JJ & Emily but idk if you'd even wanna continue reading them... (maybe.... give me a sign and I'll send another ask and write it? 🥴)

anyways this was just something that came up and i had to write it out 🥺 sorry for spamming you, i hope you're having a great day/night ahead.

- 🌙

Hi so I'm putting everything below the cut for scrolling purposes x

He is!!

Oh my god, I love that scene. It came up in a TikTok about ships, because Person A and Person B are both very smart when they're alone, but put them together and it cancels out, and it made me laugh.

I also love Dad Hotch. Like I love him as much as I love "fighting to keep his emotions in check because he needs to be a leader, but you can tell from the slight change in tone, or the slight glaze of his eyes that he's seconds away from crying" Hotch. Which is saying something.

DON'T APOLOGISE FOR LONG ASKS!! That's what the keep reading on posts is for :))

Oh I love how much Hotch cares about Reid, and of course Reid uses it to his advantage to get Hotch to do the same, because they're similar in that way. Also, he would definitely start grinning when Hotch looks down at his empty plate like: oh. Platonic Hotchreid is everything to me, because it's these two people that have been caretakers their entire life trying to look after another person that wouldn't let anyone do that and it's just... the HOTCH ANGST POTENTIAL THAT IS SO UNTAPPED!!!

Also, not a criticism of you, but from what I've heard from people is that functioning labels are harmful and shouldn't be used because it misrepresents the situation!

I love that idea though!! And Derek being protective over them so he's just like: no, you won't interrupt them, and I will take control of the situation for a few hours AAH!!

OH I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT MORGAN AND HOTCH BONDING!! It's so perfect!! I love the idea of Morgan teaching Hotch to do things, and Hotch realising how relaxing he finds it to do these things.

And because we can't have nice things: he refuses to go after Foyet breaks into his apartment because he doesn't deserve peace, but then Morgan just uses his key, drags him out, takes him to a house and presses a brush into his hand because he's not going to let his friend self destruct like this.

EVERYTHING ABOUT GARCIA!! OH MY GOD!! I need to get some work done, so I'm going to finish up there, but seriously!! Amazing!! I love the idea of Hotch getting her little figurines and stuff <33

(shameless self promo, she does the same for him in "and he will come back home" hehe)

I would love to hear the Emily and JJ ones!! I hope that's the sign you need :)

Don't apologise for spamming I was having a dull day, and I hope you have a good day too!

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Imagine this: You are at a small party and you get bored with all the mindless chattering and gossip. You say you need some fresh air and head outside. Sighing, you place your wine glass down on a table and take off your heels. "Good evening.", a voice calls out from behind you. Your eyes meet mesmerizing scarlet. You know this man. But does he know you? "May I have this dance, my fellow outcast?" Smiling as you cringe at his words, you take his hand. (1/2)

Holy shit, Anon!

Before I start, I need to tell you that I am obsessed with this ask, and literally started mentally writing this the MINUTE I read through. Please pardon a little creative license; I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy!

Edit 22 Oct. 2021- As a special request, there is another part to this fic, told from Gil’s perspective this time. Thank you for reading!

It isn't as hard to slip away from the festivities as it should be; everyone is already so deep into their drinks that they wouldn't really notice even if you did made an effort to announce your departure.

You take the miracle at face value however, weaving through various groups and couples to the kitchen, topping up your single glass of wine and stealing a few pieces of food.

For a few minutes, all is quiet in your little haven, only the soft lighting from the stove and a jack-o-lantern keeping you company. You finish off a few bites, and just as you're about to grab some more food, a couple stumbles through the doorway, oblivious to everyone and everything.

Deciding you would rather leave than interrupt them, you slip out the back door, closing it softly behind you.

Sunset is painting the sky in vibrant lilac and rose, birdsong still carrying across the yard. The day is still fairly warm, and you slip your shoes off with a sigh, wiggling your toes through the grass as you make your way to a white bistro set.

There are two empty chairs, and you happily take the nearest one, setting your glass on the table, happy to melt into the iron.There is nothing except the beautiful sky and a newfound inner peace. Blessed silence after all the hullabaloo and gossipmongering from the past hour.

"G'evenin'."

Dammit.

You hadn't noticed anyone else slipping outside, or hanging out in the yard. And now you'll have to make small talk again and feign interest in whatever pointless topics come up. Terrific.

Not bothering to even glance at your companion, who is already making himself comfortable in the other chair, you offer a frustrated sigh. "Hi."

"Oof. Little bitterness there."

Whoever he is, he sounds concerned, if not bemused.

Despite your irritation at having your privacy interrupted, you don your manners once more, turning to him with a smile you don't really feel. "Long night, sorry."

He hums. "That I get. More like a long week I think."

The admission and his tone have you breathing out the ghost of a laugh. "You got me there."

He's surprisingly quiet for a few minutes, seemingly just as content as you are to watch the skyscape. You find you're not nearly as uncomfortable with the company as you would have expected.

Subtly, you try to figure out exactly who he is, though the design of his mask makes it absolutely impossible. Really, the only thing you can make out are his eyes, a vibrant red you're sure are contacts.

You can't help but ogle his costume; he's dressed as if he stepped right out of a portrait, and if you didn't know better you would swear that was a genuine sapphire resting against his chest. And then there's his mask-

Scarlet eyes flicker your way, his lips turning up in a grin when he realizes you've been staring. "See something you like?"

You're far too embarrassed, yet somehow- "Jury's still out."

The grin grows even bigger, showing off the fangs that complete his ensemble. 

With how pale he is, you mentally decide, it's the perfect outfit for him.

You had thrown yours together on a whim, using a thrifted evening dress, hand-me-down jewelry, and a fake tiara you had worn a few times during your childhood. Ironically, the only part of your ensemble that was expensive is the mask itself, a custom piece that cost more than the rest of your outfit put together.

Now, sitting next to someone who looks like he stepped out of the 1800s, obnoxiously blue jacket and all, you feel a little underdressed, the feeling passing by as you realize he's discarded his own shoes and socks sometime ago.

There's something familiar about him, his slight slouch teasing at a memory from long ago. 

You would think, considering how few people are actually here, you would recognize him, would be able to figure out who he is.

But his eyes are strangers to you, his voice is... unique.

The not-knowing is more aggitating than his company, enough that it is the sole reason for your next words to him.

"As lovely as this has been, do you mind?"

There's no real expression on his face as he turns to you. "Nope. Do you?"

That was a challenge. You can see it in his eyes, heard the playful hitch in his voice. God help you, he's annoying. 

"Yes, actually." Deciding to press further, because why-the-hell not, you offer your own challenge. "You're interrupting my alone time."

"Pardon the intrusion, milady, but I'm pretty sure this is neutral territory."

"I was here first," you retort, a bit childishly.

He snorts, folding his arms across his chest, falling further into his chair, posture absolutely intended to mock you. "Were you, though?"

Dammit, he had you.

You shoot him a scathing look, one that was frankly just a little on the playful side, before folding your own arms and pretending to scowl at the setting sun.

A few more minutes pass, before you hear his voice again. "So..." he says, dragging out the sound in a pointed attempt at getting you to talk to him.

You ignore him, or you attempt to at least. It's kind of hard to do that when he's standing now, just inside your peripheral, head turned towards the heavens.

Finally realizing that you have no plans of responding, he takes another step, now more-or-less directly in your line of sight. "Why're you alone out here? Party's inside, ya know."

You level an unamused stare at his pointed question, a hint of bemusement coating your reply. "I could ask you the same thing."

He smirks, some quick, passing thing, before he hides it behind a small sip of his beer. "Touché."

Somehow, that brief exchange has revitalized you, and you take another drink from your wine, watching some birds make their final rounds for the evening.

The sky is shifting, darkening with each passing moment. And inside, the party is getting louder, laughter carrying out to you from the still partially open door.

He glances back towards the house, an odd expression on his face. You follow his gaze, almost instinctively, turning back to him curiously when you can't determine the cause of his- Discomfort? Irritation?

"You ever just want to run away?"

His question takes you by surprise, and you feel your heart constrict when his focus once more turns to you, achingly familiar eyes seemingly- haunted.

Whatever annoyance you had held previously is gone, replaced with something you don’t really recognize.

Trying to ignore it, you nearly default to the normal lie that comes with small talk, especially with strangers, but there's something so familiar about him-

You give yourself a minute to actually weigh his question, tasting different answers on your tongue. It teases you, the temporary daydream of just hitting the road, abandoning everything and everyone you know to start a new life elsewhere.

After a few moments- really, it could have been an Infinity or merely seconds- you have your answer.

"I'd be lying if the thought didn't appeal to me sometimes."

He hums, sounding somewhat detached, turning once more to study the treeline. There's a heaviness around him now, an aura that almost hurts to see.

"Something tells me it's been on your mind lately?"

He studies you for some time, and maybe it's the lighting or just the contacts, but you could swear his eyes are almost glowing. Finally he offers a small shrug, all that negativity seeming to disappear into thin air. 

"Eh. Comes and goes. Let's just say my cousin's really pissing me off."

You huff a laugh at the statement, thinking of your own loved ones inside, and how tipsy they were already when you first slipped outside. "Family, am I right?"

He hisses slightly, apparently his own form of laughter, that smile once more teasing the left corner of his mouth.

Silence reclaims the pair of you for a few more moments, and as awkward as it could have been- He's good company. After spending so long having to mindlessly chatter about the weather and ambitions, it was nice to simply breathe.

Your companion- it’s still bothering you that you don’t know his name- seems as at ease as you are, content to lean against the table as if he owns the place.

The sunlight is almost completely gone now, the waxing moon taunting you from behind a few scattered clouds painted in amethyst. The stars are not so shy, several distinct constellations already twinkling above you.

With the coming night, there's a chill creeping closer, a crispness to the air that has you sighing in contentment.

He seems to mistake the sound, eyes flashing with concern as he turns back to you. "Cold?"

Your denial is barely even formed before his jacket is over your shoulders, his lingering warmth already starting to seep into your bones.Your mouth opens in a small protest- Seriously, how dare he just assume!- but seeing how instinctively he had done it, how it almost seemed his second-nature-

Rather than offer up any protests, you sigh out a small thank you, and soon slide your arms into the sleeves, marveling at how warm the damn thing is despite how thin it is.

There is another round of laughter inside, and someone decides to raise the volume of the speakers.

Some orchestral piece is playing, a haunting melody that you felt befit a Gothic novel, a spellbinding spectrum of emotions carrying past the still opened door.

You see your companion shift, straightening his posture as he turns his attention back to you. Curious, brow raising slightly, you glance over at him, wondering at his next move.

Shockingly, he's bowing, a right, proper bow, before standing upright once more, a soft smile just noticeable. "May I have this dance, my fellow outcast?"

Oh God-

"You are ridiculous," you're laughing out, even as you take his offered hand.

He's grinning again, a playful look that fits him far better than some of the ones he's had on before. "It's all part of my charm!"

You're rolling your eyes, still smiling despite yourself.

It's only when he's guiding your hands to a ballroom position that you feel the first flickers of panic. You had been expecting maybe some swaying or just kind of shuffling, not-

"Relax, would ya?"

You meet his eyes, immediately reassured by the soft expression there, eased from that inexplicable familiarity. He isn't going to pressure you, and somehow you know he will always have your back.

"Just follow my lead; I've got ya."

You believe him. 

Despite not even knowing his name, what a majority of his face looks like, or even what accent that is- 

You believe him, and you decide to trust him.

Letting go is a strange sensation, one you're not entirely sure you dislike. He seems to know you're a novice, goes at a tempo that he can easily guide you through. Despite never having danced like this before, a few moments in you feel as if a part of you has been reawakened, the next steps coming to you before he begins to move into them.

He seems almost proud of your progress, your dance becoming more a partnership with each passing moment.

The song had shifted a long while ago- now some creepy lofi piece with samplings from a children's cartoon- yet your pace remained the same.

"So..." He puts out into the air, a pensive prompt that has you smiling.

"So," you repeat curiously.

There's another weird expression, fading away before you can analyze it. 

"What's your name?"

Maybe it's the thrill of anonymity, or maybe you're too caught up in the giddiness of your newly discovered talent. Instead of giving him a straight answer, you playfully offer: "Someone smarter than Cinderella's Prince Charming." 

Pensive, you offer an extra thought. "I know the power of a name; who knows what you'd do with it."

The comment seems to amuse him, that achingly familiar smile returning as he guides you into a dip. He hovers there for a moment, slightly pensive. "You know, Prince Charming is a lot smarter than you give him credit for." 

He's guiding you back up, his eyes glowing once you're upright again. "He could do more with his beloved's name than she could even begin to imagine."

That last line, a whisper meant just for the two of you, is digging at you, tugging at some memory buried deep, deep in your subconscious. 

There's something there, a name starting to shape on your lips-

But then he's doing that half-shrug again, dismissing the exchange entirely. "No matter. Keep your secrets, princess."

The last word was spoken with such fondness that your heart actually skipped a beat.

He barely gives you a moment to process, pulling you into a different routine that soon has the rest of the world fading away again. You let yourself forget everything else for a while; you exist only in this moment, dancing on the grass with a stranger.

Except, he's not a stranger, is he?

God help you, you know this is the first time you've met him, know that you've never interacted with this man before in your life, but you know him.

With every minute you spend with him, you imagine all kinds of moments with him- 

Laughter as he wipes chocolate cake off his cheek from an impromptu food fight, annoyance at his cousin's lecturing, the soft smile of pride as he listens to his brother's speech.

And dammit, he never even mentioned having a brother.

But the daydreams keep coming.

Holding his hand in some cobblestoned square, racing through the woods, collapsing into a freshly constructed snow fort, lazing in bed running your fingers through his hair while he reads aloud-

They're so vivid that you're starting to wonder if you lived an entire life with him already.

And God, doesn't that make you sound so ridiculous. 

You've only just met this guy, literally know maybe five things about him, and yet you're already imagining a future with him.

Life isn't some fairietale, and despite the tiara you're wearing for the night, you are not a princess. Shit like this isn't real.

But the way he's looking at you, watching you with such vulnerability and longing-

He's pulling you closer, your eyes drifting shut reflexively.

You feel his breath teasing your neck, his hand pulling you closer to him.

You-

A familiar voice is calling your name.

You barely hear it over the sound of your racing heart beat, over his. Your eyes flash open in irritation, though not at him. Never at him.

"It's not midnight yet."

Given the circumstances, the weight of his hand on your back, how tantalizingly close he is, and the inexplicable gravity you've long since stopped denying, his growl actually elicits a laugh, pained as it is.

"Sadly even the most rebellious of us princesses still have curfews."

He groans in frustration, arms wrapping around you in a hug, his forehead dropping against your own. "Don't. I-" His eyes are meeting yours again, darkened by expanded irises and still nearly sparkling for how vibrant the red is. 

"Run away with me."

It's a whisper, a plea. It echoes through your entire heart and soul, that aching a crescendo of longing and adoration.You would give anything to stay with him, would follow him in a heartbeat.

But you have a family, a job, responsibilities. You can't abandon them, even at the risk of never seeing him again.

"I'm sorry," you force out, the agony resounding from every last inch of your soul. 

You never meant the words as much as you mean them now, your own heart breaking in your decision.

You step away from him, shedding his jacket and turning away.You know if you look at him, if you see his face, if you glance at his eyes once more time-

You manage five steps before he's choking out your name. You close your eyes at the pain in his voice, but it's not enough.

He's used your name, and the sound of it from his lips, the weight of it on your spirit, it's too much for you to resist.

You're turning again, once again struck by how devastatingly handsome he is right now, how much sway he already has over you. 

Every one of his approaching steps, each more confident than the last, is increasing the tempo of your heartbeat, filling you to the brim with anticipation.

It's ridiculous, impossible.

Yet you can't lie to yourself. Not about this.

"Please."

He's barely an arm's distance away from you now, hair haloed and features shadowed from the nearby sconces. And those damned eyes-

"N-"

He's murmuring your name again, slowly, hypnotically, shaping it as if he's savoring the flavor, enjoying how it feels. 

You really want to ignore the effect it has on you, but he's whispering it again, not giving you a moment's mercy. 

"Come with me."

You're powerless to resist.

"Yes." 

[yandere-daydreams]

Since requests are open... Awhile back you answered an ask about elected Class Darlings. So could you actually write something for the reader being the Class Darling of Class 1A? And the reader just being so unimpressed by the whole thing.

I’ll never try to write for so many characters at one time again,,, there’s a reason I stick to bottle fics. And for anyone who doesn’t know, this is a little something for the Yandere-verse, where Yanderes make up the majority of the population, and normal people are referred to as ‘Darlings’. Protective, Possessive, Obsessive, etc., are all categories Yanderes are sorted into, depending on their alignment.

TW: De-Humanization and Mentions of Past Abuse, Both Subtle. 

You always felt like you were on display, at times like this.

Sitting on the teacher’s desk at the end of class (Katsuki and Iida would throw a fit if you stood for too long), the other Darlings having already been released back to their dorms, even if a good handful of them waited simply waited outside for their Yanderes. It used to bother you, being in a room alone with more than a dozen violent, trained psychopaths, but after months of simply tolerating the downsides that came with your… position, you’d learned to tolerate the way to their eyes lingered on all the wrong spots, burning holes into your uniform, trying to see which of their classmates had touched you that day.

Who’d they have to target during the next week’s training.

Aizawa’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, low and bored, as tired of this weekly ritual as you were. It was only fair, in his defense. He’d been the Class Darling god knows how many times, something you still overheard the other teachers teasing him for. “Alright, everyone,” He started, already fiddling with his Capture Weapon. “Who’s taking care of (Y/n) over the weekend?”

“Uhm, if I could pick…” Your voice was soft, weaker than you would’ve liked. But, your gaze drifted to Kirishima, the boy perking up like a puppy about to be given a treat. You never liked that, how desperate he seemed to be for your attention. Unfortunately, he was the only one you could really trust enough so sleep next to. “I think I’d like to go with-”

“Todoroki and I can do it!” Izuku interrupted, a giddy, toothy smile plastered across his face. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up, probably more eager than he should be, sparks of green electricity already buzzing around him, his desk cracking beneath his hands. You flinched back out of reflex, but if Izuku noticed, he didn’t care, addressing Aizawa rather than you. It was something you were used to, but that certainly didn’t mean you enjoyed it. “Please, please? He hasn’t done anything… possessive-y in weeks, and we just got a new pair of handcuffs. They’re quirk-canceling and everything!” He paused, taking a deep breath, looking back to Shoto for encouragement. The boy in question smiled gently, nodding as he rested his chin on his fist, Izuku’s grin only growing wider. “It’ll be really good for us, I prom-”

Before he could finish, an empty soda-can hit Izuku’s forehead, Katsuki throwing the trash over his shoulder as soon as he grew tired of letting his ‘rival’ ramble. “It’s obvious that, if (Y/n)’s spending the weekend with anyone, it’s not going to be any of you dumbasses.” Izuku opened his mouth again, still standing awkwardly, but Katsuki didn’t bother hearing him out, just resting his feet on the desk in front of him as he continued. “We have a test on Monday, and I know none of you fuckers are going to prepare. Besides, isn’t Daddy-Issues over there the reason we don’t have weekly rotations, anymore?”

You cringed, the hand-shaped burn on your back seeming to ache at the slightest mention of Shoto’s ‘incident’. “It was an accident! My room gets really dark, sometimes.”

“Don’t defend him, sweetheart, brutality should be beneath all of us.” It was Momo’s turn now, always so sweet until she didn’t think her lovely, precious pet would fall into her arms. “And, that sounds awfully protective of you, Katsuki. Is there something you want to admit, while we’re all here?”

He let out a growl, finally turning in his seat, clenching his fists, loud cracks and pops echoing throughout the room. “I keep telling you, I’m Possessive and you fucking know it-”

“Don’t you already have Jirou?” Shoto asked, the genuine curiosity in his voice almost catching you off guard. Momo pursed her lips, looking down, searching for an excuse as she picked up where Shoto left off. “I mean, yes, but she needs someone to play with while I’m studying.”

“No, you don’t have Jirou,” Kaminari corrected, making this the first time he’d spoken-up during one of these little ‘sessions’. He threw his hands up, clearly frustrated, as he always was when these ‘class-debates’ took longer than a few minutes. “Me and her are dating, so I don’t see why I should have to sit through this. I’m not some creep who thinks acting like I’m in a relationship will actually make someone love me, which is why I'm the only one here in a mutual relationship.”

At this, everyone paused, the Delusional huffing, smoldering in his seat for a moment before he stormed out of the room with a soft ‘fuck this’. Aizawa was the first to react, pushing himself away from the wall as he came to stand beside you, if only to regain some semblance of order in his classroom. He sent you a sympathetic look, but any kind words lost among the bickering and arguments of his students.

Briefly, you dreaded the grudge that would undoubtedly last until Monday’s class. Then, you remembered you weren’t allowed to do anything too difficult, anymore. 

“Someone step up and give me a good reason, now,” He called, his tone authoritative enough to make you shrink into yourself. “Before I pick a neglectful bastard to expel. You should count yourselves lucky I haven’t made you fight for the Class Darleing, yet.”

Again, arguments were raised, some getting out of their seats only to be stopped by their more level-headed peers, forcing you to flinch a little more with every hostile word, every glare, every shove. In the commotion, no one (save for Aizawa and yourself) noticed when the classroom’s door opened, pink hair and a bright smile peaking into the room, waving to you before pouting at Aizawa, the man relenting as you practically sprinted towards Mina. She was always tricky, like that, leaving a few minutes before class ended, waiting for things to boil over and coming to save you, like your knight in a mini-skirt and hot-pink lipstick.

You took her hand just as the other’s began to realize what was going on, letting her tug you out of the room, kissing your cheek while the two of you began to jog down the halls, attempting to get back to the dorm rooms before someone had a chance to protest. Of course, you weren’t dumb. You caught that familiar, jealous glint in her eye, the way she seemed to take so much joy in your immediate submission, how the acid lingering on her palms stung at your skin to harshly to be subconscious, but… you were well acquainted with pros and cons, at this point.

And Mina was the lesser of many, many evils.

[handthigh]

Soooo I may or may not have gone crazy and gone stupid and wrote a whole ass one shot fanfic of Tianshan in the office AU

ETA: this is now also available at AO3! (ETA 2: This is now a multichapter fic!)

Big thanks to the people over at Tianshan discord for taking a read and giving me the feedback. The fic follows right after this paragraph, with notes at the end of the fic.

He Tian (Work):

Little Mo, pass me a stapler (6:35pm)

Frowning at the message notification, Mo Guan Shan wordlessly takes the stapler lying on his desk and wheels his chair out of his cubicle to pass to his next door neighbour who grins upon receiving the stationery from the redhead. The reciprocity is not returned however, as Guan Shan wheels back into his cubicle to complete a report the supervisor had dumped onto him 15 minutes before the time he ends work. It is already bad enough that he is working overtime on a Friday while being the only one stuck with He Tian, the last thing he needs is for the annoying colleague to interrupt his progress.

The report turns out even more taxing than expected, further souring Guan Shan’s mood. He glanced at the time displayed on the laptop, “6:55pm”. Great, the report’s barely done and closing time sale at the nearby sandwich shop is already over. So much for a “quick task”, he scoffs bitterly at his supervisor’s words.

As if He Tian can read his mind, comes another text:

He Tian (Work):

Little Mo, are you cursing out the boss in your head again? (6:57pm)

Damn it, not another interruption. Glancing at the new message, Guan Shan cringes at the accuracy of the guess. Guilt quickly turns into irritation however, as he glares at the cubicle separating him and the culprit of these messages. This has been going on for about 3 months now, ever since he was assigned to be seated with He Tian at the corner of the office. The reason? The supervisor claims that only the short tempered Guan Shan is immune to the raven haired’s hunky looks while workers of all genders in their department are too busy admiring He Tian to work productively. Guan Shan tries to suppress his gag upon the memory.

First of all, Guan Shan does not appreciate being called short tempered. He just has little patience and a lot of irritation for mindless small talks and forced formalities, that’s all. Second of all, seriously? Of all words, hunky? While Guan Shan admits that He Tian is a looker because after all, he has eyes; but that is certainly an exaggeration. Sure, He Tian has the physique and face for the magazine covers, but he’s not that good looking. Especially not when he assigns Guan Shan that stupid nickname and constantly texts him for no justifiable reasons despite already repeating many times that he only wants to reserve the texting to a minimum and keep it strictly to work matters.

Wait, what the fuck? Why is he thinking about him again? Ugh, this is why he emphasises on keeping social interactions to a minimum! The report and the constant texting must have really gotten to him, because the next thing he knew, Guan Shan picks up his phone and types at his source of annoyance.

Me:

Yes, genius. Since you’re so smart and volunteered to OT with me, why don’t you make yourself useful and help me out with the report then you chicken dick! (7:05pm)

Normally Guan Shan tries to keep his temper in check, wanting to believe he is no longer the moody middle school boy that he was. Besides, this is the first job he managed to get right after graduating university 6 months ago, just in time before the recession. Thus, he is not trying to screw up an opportunity just because he got involved in some petty office drama. However, the combination of working overtime, growing hunger and unnecessary buzzing of his phone followed by He Tian’s unnecessary messages is making Guan Shan throw both caution and formalities out the window. 

He is not the only one surprised by his own outburst however, as He Tian guffaws and rolls his chair out of the cubicle to meet the redhead, currently glaring at him and asking what’s so funny.

“Chicken dick? What kind of insult is that? Also, I dunno, I just thought you’d never asked me for help.” He Tian replies with a shrug and his signature grin.

He Tian is not wrong - Guan Shan seldom asks for help, believing that it’s better to be self-sufficient than to rely on someone else. Furthermore, it allows him to avoid having to keep up with forced interactions with others. But it’s getting late and the report doesn’t seem to be finishing soon, and there is someone in the office right now, might as well right?

“So are you going to help me or not?”

“Sure, anything for you Little Mo~”

“Stop calling me that! Give me your email, I’ll share the document with you on the cloud.”

So, here they are at 7:30pm, working in a shared online document together - cubicle to cubicle. Guan Shan mainly typing out the content of the report while He Tian formats, elaborates and adds any figures and charts where appropriate; explaining his rationale to the other while he works.

As Guan Shan sees the report transform before his very own eyes, he is now confronted with the thought he’s been trying to will away for 3 days, ever since he overheard the company executives discuss whether to promote He Tian. 

As much as he hates admitting it, He Tian is talented and hardworking when situations call for it. Not only is he able to easily handle the tedious formatting that is typically required of such reports, he also goes the extra mile of further perfecting any tasks assigned to him. It also helps that he has great social networking skills to accompany his equally great looks, not only charming the other coworkers around them, but also clients and other company staff alike in network events. 

Attempting to ignore the ache of admiration growing in his chest, Guan Shan wonders why is someone as good as He Tian working at an entry level job like him in a medium sized company when the latter can easily negotiate for a much higher salary in a conglomerate. What he heard about his raven haired coworker isn’t helping much with his curiosity either.

While Guan Shan prefers minding his own business, he also doesn’t live under a rock. He has heard the rumours - that He Tian had interned for various big names while he attended an Ivy League business school and graduated a valedictorian. He was also rumoured to be taking over his family’s multinational company branch in China while his older brother gets based overseas to look over their international branches. Yet somehow, here he is, working overtime in a too small cubicle with an aloof coworker who has nothing to boast for. After all, Guan Shan’s resume mainly consists of mediocre grades in a local university that is far from being a C9 League, one proper internship experience and multiple part time odd jobs to help him pay his student loans. 

He Tian has everything going for him, and yet, why? Guan Shan is so lost in his own thoughts that he does not notice an arm reaching out to his laptop and folding it down, clasping his fingers that are resting motionlessly on the keyboard.

“Ouch! What the fuck?!” Guan Shan stands up and yelps in shock, spinning around to glare at the culprit. This proves to be a mistake as he realises he is face to face with He Tian, barely an inch away. 

Suddenly, the room feels hot and all Guan Shan can hear is his heart rapidly beating in his ears as he sees a totally different expression from the latter: lips twitching up, high cheekbones raised making them even more pronounced, coupled with a pair of grey eyes sparkling and curving in childish amusement. Even though he knows that He Tian is laughing at his expense, somehow, Guan Shan could not bring himself to break eye contact, wanting to look as long as possible until he commits He Tian’s genuine smile to memory.

“Earth to Little Mo, I said I was done with the report and had emailed our supervisor, and was thinking of treating you to a sandwich as a thanks for your effort.” He Tian replies, amusement laced in his voice as he breaks the silence.

“...How do you know I like…” Guan Shan dumbly replies, still feeling overwhelmed by the close contact to even retort He Tian as he feels his face getting even hotter.

Breaking eye contact, He Tian steps to the side and fishes out his car key, hooking the key ring to his finger. As much as he finds his flustered colleague both amusing and endearing, he makes sure to give Guan Shan some space in case the other gets too stunned and passes out. “Well, who else in this office eats those except for you? So what do you say, it'll be my treat and I can drive us there.” He Tian says as he leans back on the cubicle wall, spinning the car key around.

“.... Uh… mm” Guan Shan nodded, feeling too light headed to speak properly.

“Let’s go then.” He Tian steps out of the cubicle, making his way out as he turns off the office lights.

Guan Shan’s mind is reeling as he follows He Tian from behind. Why is he suddenly reacting like this? Why did he agree to have dinner with him? Most importantly, WHY IS HE SUDDENLY HAVING SUCH THOUGHTS OF THAT ANNOYING CHICKEN DICK?

God, he hates working overtime.

Notes:

If you made it here, thanks for reading! I’ve been wanting to write a fluffier, slice of life office romance with Tianshan for quite awhile now - an AU with no mafia drama, no She Li being a creep, just coworkers dicking around and relatively normal problems here and there. I only committed after getting reminded of this official Tianshan art by Old Xian on the discord. Aside from 19 days, I also draw inspiration from a webcomic called Senpai ga Uzai, Kouhai no Hanashi. I’m a huge sucker of slow burn fluffy Tianshan where Guan Shan is initially annoyed at He Tian and slowly and reluctantly falls for him. Hehehehehehehehe *continues to laugh in fujoshi*

Not going to lie, I do feel nervous posting it. However, after seeing many Tianshan fics (they are good! don’t get me wrong) that doesn’t have a workplace AU, I thought I’d manifest it onto the internet space! Do let me know what you think, as I am considering expanding this into a multi-fic once I stop being lazy. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be ch.1 (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge's broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.

Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff, Chickens

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch had always liked taking a walk on the science side. Even when he was a kid, he’d loved it, digging soggy books out of the dump that no one else wanted about exotic things like physics. Yeah, sure, he’d taken a detour for a little while in his life, spent some time as a sentry in Snowdin, but here in the Aboveground, he’d gotten back into it, reluctantly at first and then with the same enthusiasm he’d had in his striped shirt days. He loved science and experiments, coming up with theories and either proving them or setting them in the ‘learning experience’ pile.

Confirming a hypothesis, that was what he did, but even he had to admit, this was one he could've lived without. But hey, now he had empirical evidence to explain why he was never double-dog-dare ever taking Edge on the bus again.

It hadn't even been his idea. Everyone with a driver’s license was busy today so there was no one to cadge a ride from. Didn’t help that Edge wasn’t exactly great on the passenger side anyway, he took backseat driving to new and historic levels. Even Andy started getting a weird tic in his cheek the last time he gave them a lift and in the interest of not giving his best bud a stroke, when Edge suggested they take the bus to his doc’s appointment, Stretch went along with it.

Yeeeah. He’d made worse choices in his life, but this was hovering right at entering the top ten.

To begin with, it seemed like that when he made the suggestion, Edge didn’t fully realize it would require sitting on a grubby seat inhabited daily by dozens of other butts, something Stretch’s personal neat freak was not keen on exposing to his own pelvis.

But there was no way he could stand with the cast holding his leg together, that was kinda the reason they weren’t taking Edge’s car. Probably the only thing that could make the seats actually tolerable for Edge was a good power washing, but Stretch did the best he could with the baggie of antiseptic wipes he’d stashed in his backpack. That at least got Edge's nonexistent butt in the chair, even if he sat so close to the (heh) edge that one hairpin turn was gonna send him rolling across the floor.

If the universe were kinder, that probably would have been the worst of it. Stretch sat right next to his baby and held his hand for moral support, the bus route took them right past the hospital so there wasn't even a changeover. All they needed to do was sit quietly and get off at their stop. Stretch did it all the time, all by his lonesome. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Only, fate seemed to be in the mood for a different kind of citrus, choosing the path of difficult difficult lemon bullshit because they’d only been sitting for about five minutes when an older Human lady got on. She shuffled on over to sit right next to Edge even though there were a dozen other seats available on the bus and before the bus even pulled away, she’d started talking to him. And talked. And never actually stopped talking.

Blue once told Stretch, fondly and with only a sprinkle of salt, that when Stretch got going, he talked like he was trying to qualify for the chatter Olympics. This lady not only qualified, she’d swept away the competition and gone home with the gold.

To be fair, it was miles better than her screaming and tossing a shoe at their heads, sure, but Edge usually took a while to warm up to people as it was, especially to Humans. Considering that some Humans took one look at Edge coming their way and crossed the street? That kind didn't look at him as a person with feelings who could see them, thanks, even if Edge would never admit how much that fucking hurt, and sorry, did he say Humans? He meant assholes. Assholes saw Edge as a threat before they ever even met him.

Betty White over there wasn't at all put off by the sharp teeth and the crimson eye lights. She'd found a captive audience and watching his baby struggling to be polite while she chatted about her newest grandbaby, complete with actual photos scrounged out of her handbag, was setting off the cringe meter, big time.

About ten endless minutes in she’d shown no sign of losing steam. Stretch did make an attempt to help. His thinking was that if he moved to sit on Grandma Moses's other side, maybe she'd chat with him instead. He was pretty good at oohing and ahhing over pics of the potato babies. But the second he tried to stand, Edge's hold on his hand tightened like an iron claw, hard enough for him to feel the pinch of his sharpened fingertips even through gloves. Whether he was afraid Stretch was going to abandon him to his fate or didn't like the idea of him sitting next to unknown Humans, Stretch wasn't sure, but he wasn’t gonna argue with The Claw.

He sat back down and leaned against Edge instead, like maybe he could osmosis some soothing vibes his way. Never worked before, but hey, it was worth a shot.

Whistler’s Mom paused. “are you two boys…together?”

“Yes,” Edge said shortly. Stretch struggled not to wince as the grip on his hand dug in. The last thing he wanted was another bus fiasco. For starters, Andy wasn’t here this time to play white knight and he seriously doubted the Embassy would appreciate dealing with an all new public relations nightmare involving Edge getting into a street fight with an octogenarian.

So, Stretch put on his very best hundred-watt smile and leaned around his husband to shine it towards the old lady. “yes, ma’am, we’re married.”

He expected maybe a little outrage; he and Edge pretty obviously identified as male and Humans could be, ah, tetchy about that. Enough offense and maybe she’d go move to sit up at the front of the bus. But Queen Elizabeth over there just beamed happily, clasping her hands to her chest. “Isn’t that nice! You two make a lovely couple, aren’t your rings beautiful! Have you been together long? Ah, you’re newlyweds, aren’t you, I can tell!”

Next to him, the tension was slowly draining out of Edge, his kung fu grip loosening. Stretch lowered the wattage on his smile to merely friendly levels and asked, “how’s that, ma’am?”

She gave them a watery-eyed wink, “To begin with, you’re still holding hands.”

That was about all it took to tenderize Edge’s steak. He still didn’t chat, but he didn’t look like he was about to throw himself out of a window at any given moment, piece by piece if necessary, and that was a hell of an improvement.

By the time they’d gotten off the bus, Beatrice had shared a recipe for strudel that Edge promised to try and Stretch somehow ended up wearing a new knitted hat topped with a bright pink pompom, because in the words of the immortal Beatrice, he was too skinny and he might catch cold in the bright spring weather. He had a feeling if she could’ve smuggled him home in her handbag, he’d be holed up right now in a cozy kitchen mainlining soup made with fresh noodles and no amount of protesting that skeletons kinda couldn’t get fattened up would save him.

“see, babe,” Stretch teased, handing over his crutches once Edge made it down the stairs back to earth. He waited until the bus was out of sight, taking Beatrice with it, before taking off the hat and adding it to his backpack stash. “take the bus a few more times and pretty soon you’ll have as many friends as i do.”

“I’d rather strip naked and run a marathon through a pack of hungry dogs,” Edge told him feelingly.

Yeah, okay, that one made Stretch burst out into unexpected laughter. He was still chuckling as they headed into the doctor’s office. “i swear, babe, no one ever believes me when i tell them you’re hilarious.”

“That wasn’t humor,” Edge said dryly as he crutched along, “that was a promise.”

The appointment itself was the usual doctor bullshit, starting with an endless fifteen-minute wait before the doc even came in the room, long enough for Stretch to inspect every drawer and jar in the room before Edge told him to sit down. Which, yeah, okay, it was his appointment and fidgeting around the room probably wasn’t doing much for any anxiety Edge had.

Not that he looked like he had much and Stretch honestly envied Edge’s ability to seem coolly serene in any given situation. It was less appealing that the skill made it impossible for Stretch to know if he was genuinely relaxed or hiding it from the world, but eh, that much he was used to. He could read his baby like a well-loved book, but damn if the cover wasn’t inscrutable some days.

By the time the doc came in, Stretch was ready to vibrate out of his damn shoes, but he kept his trap shut and let the doctor do his job. Highly trained professionals, he’d told Edge, who knew what they were doing, and Stretch could do healing magic but that was his limit. The fine tuning was up to the guys with the stethoscopes.

So he played on his phone, messed around on twitter, kept one suspicious auditory canal tuned in to make sure that the doc didn’t have any strong opinions on how Edge was healing up. In less time than they’d spent waiting, the cast was removed, cut right through the drawing of Undyne flexing, and the doc was checking the bones out, making positive little sounds as he poked and prodded.

That got his reluctant curiosity going and left him torn between getting a look at what he hadn’t yet seen or waiting a little longer for the scars to fade.

He hadn’t chosen a side by the time Edge decided for him, “It’s fine, love, have a look if you want.”

The doc obligingly stepped back and let him take a peek at what the cast was hiding. Even if the freshly healed breaks weren’t still chalky-rough, he would have been able to pick them out of a line up. He knew every scar on Edge’s bones, knew how they felt beneath his fingers, knew which ones were sensitive and which had little feeling to them at all.

Edge was right, they weren’t bad, all things considered. Tori must’ve poured on the healing because the scars weren’t much more than hairline fractures. A lot of hairline fractures, too many, and Stretch blinked hard, turning away to flump back into his chair. Way too many fucking scars, his leg must’ve been…it must’ve…

He probably wasn’t hiding his upset very well, his poker face wasn’t up to standards these days, because the doctor said, gently, “He’s healing very well. A few more weeks and he should be able to resume his normal routine.”

They both seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer from him, so Stretch slumped back into his chair and muttered, “that’s good.”

He pulled out his lighter, flicking it absently through his fingers, listening to the rhythmic clicking of metal against bone as the doc stepped up again.

Pretty quickly Edge was Velcro-ed into a sort of boot that went up to his knee and sternly told not to stand more than two hours at a time, ice it at night, yadda yadda, it was all on the instruction sheet. He went from crutches to a cane and they’d be sending him one of those knee scooters for when he went back to the Embassy. That was a photo opportunity waiting to happen.

The ride home was a lot less eventful. The only other person on the bus for most of the trip was a Human that Stretch only knew in passing and they were eating a sandwich so aggressively that Stretch was afraid to get too close, lest he get sucked into the chomping vacuum.

Edge didn’t talk and Stretch kept busy on his phone, ignoring the quiet of the bus around them. Stretch usually wore headphones when he rode the bus, he had about fifty different podcasts he listened to and Cabinet of Curiosities just released a new one today. He didn’t feel like listening right now though and if anyone told him an hour ago he’d be missing Beatrice’s chatter, he’d have told them to retune their Ouija board.

The only real transfer was from the bus proper to the New New Home shuttle and they were the only Monsters on it except for the driver.

“hey, angela, you know why you’re the best driver?” Stretch asked cheerfully when they got to the stop. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “it’s ‘cause you’re so good at telling people where to get off!”

Angela rolled her eye, “Sans told me that one last week.”

“of course he would,” Stretch sighed, “sans is never short for time when it comes to a joke.” That one got him a chuckle from Angela and a sigh from Edge as she shooed them out the doors. Before he could take so much as a step towards home, Edge had him by the arm, tugging him over to sit on the nearby bench.

“wha…you okay?” Stretch blurted. The anxiety that was slowly easing ramped it back up to high. As far as he saw, Edge was walking pretty well with his new gear, but maybe— “is it hurting, do you need to rest a minute? i can call the doc, hang on…”

Edge gently stopped him from scrambling for his phone, shaking his head. “I’m fine, love. I’m more concerned about whether you’re okay.”

It would’ve been easy to tell him yep, sure, 100%, doing great. Dig up another 100-watt smile out of his reserves in a lie that Edge wouldn’t believe. Instead, he slumped, leaning against Edge’s side and letting his skull drop on his shoulder. “can’t fool you, huh.”

“I don’t want you to fool me,” Edge told him. He reached up, his gloved fingers gentle against Stretch’s cheek bone, his jaw line. “I want to know when you’re upset. Even if I can’t really help, I at least want to know.”

Stretch sighed heavily. “i’m okay. no, really,” he insisted when Edge made a skeptical sound. “i’m just…i don’t like to see you hurt.”

Edge shifted and there was the light touch of a kiss being pressed to his skull. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t really like being hurt. I’ve been injured in the past, you know that, but this is my first experience at being off my feet for so long and I hate it,” Edge said, frankly. “I don’t like not being able to go through my normal routine, whether it’s my work at the Embassy or simply baking bread, I don’t like being—” he hesitated, then, softer, “vulnerable. I don’t like feeling as if I can’t keep you safe.”

The last was said at a mere whisper, a confession Stretch hadn’t expected, and he sat up, wrapping both arms around Edge and held him tight. They sat like that for a while, arms around each other with spring sunshine pouring down over them and Stretch loved him, so, so damn much.

He could hear someone walking up the street, probably heading to wait for the shuttle, and Stretch reluctantly drew back, pausing to press a light kiss against Edge’s cheek bone. “welp, you’re a couple steps further along in getting back on your feet, anyway. what’re you gonna do first?”

He was kinda expecting a shower. Edge never complained but it was hard not to notice that he didn’t enjoy wrapping up in plastic like last night’s leftovers. But Edge was packed with the unexpected today so Stretch was a little surprised when he said, “I’d like to work on my garden. Spring planting isn’t for a little while yet, but my perennials will be coming up and I need to clean out the winter detritus.”

Yeah, okay, that sort of made sense. May as well get as dirty as possible before hitting the suds. They made their way back to the house, a little slower than Stretch’s preferred pace but not by much. Stretch went in the house and aside from Edge taking him on a quick field trip outside for an informational lecture on the different flowers that were already starting to spring out of the ground, he left his honey to get to the gardening. And if he was keeping an eye on the clock to make sure Edge didn’t go over the two-hour mark, eh, Edge said from the start he was going to follow the doctor’s orders. Stretch was only helping him keep a promise.

It was closing in on an hour-fifty when the unexpected knock came from the front door. That had Stretch curious; Edge was in the front yard, any visitors would be bypassing him, so who would be coming specifically to see Stretch?

Welp. There was only one way to find out.

Read Chapter Two

[leggomylino]

Dark Rising☽✮☾Act One

☽✮☾ Dark Rising Masterlist ☽✮☾  

Genre: Horror/Thriller, Drama, Romance, Comedy

Pairing: NCT’s Johnny Suh x fem!reader (x ???)

Word count: 5.9k

Warning(s): mentions of blood, yandere-esqe themes, cuts/injuries, soul stealing and kidnapping. Possibly more in the future depending on what the original authors decide. They write for ot9 and so do I.

A/N: Main Masterlist in BIO! | This is a spinoff series to the SKZ fanfiction Twisted Karnival, by @gaiyofanfiction​. It can be read alone, but you are encouraged to read the original story first. At the authors’ request, I will take this down if asked to do so. I do not own Twisted Karnival or Stray Kids, or Johnny Suh, or any characters used in this. All credit goes where credit is due. The events that happen in this story are not canon in the original story, this is simply a work of fandom and appreciation, and thus will tie into canon events as closely as possible in respect to the original works. All that being said… Thank you. <3

IMPORTANT -> (** This story picks up after the events of Twisted Karnival, Chapter 6. While this can be read as a stand-alone fic, better understanding can be found upon first reading through T.K. Ch. 6. Please support the series! ♫)

~  ☽✮☾ ~

A cross necklace, and a whistle. That’s all you had to defend yourself.

The sky was dark outside the main tent, the walkways bare and lifeless. A cold breeze swept up from the South, adding to the chills that threatened to tear you down where you stood like a hazardously put-together Jenga tower. One wrong tug, one sudden misstep, and you would be a heap at their disposal...they being the nine demonic beings encircling an unfortunate young girl who couldn’t be far from your age.

You were watching now from the back of the tent, through a small flap that had been open to allow air to circulate after the events that had taken place. It wasn’t nearly large enough for a person to fit through, about the size of one’s head, with a slit of velvet and silk curtain separating the back passage from the main stage. You’d lucked out, really, that one of the younger demons had come tromping by complaining about the humidity and had opened it for your eyes to witness.

Though in some ways, you really wish you hadn’t. You felt like you were going to be sick, seeing this poor girl bruised and crying, blood seeping down her arms and through the rips in her jeans.

“Hey, come on. It’s going to be okay. This is why you’re here.”

A hand fell lightly on your shoulder from the man beside you. You looked to him with clouded eyes and doubt in your heart, before turning back to the scene unraveling before you, whilst your fingers toyed with the chain and pendant around your neck.

You weren’t sure where it had come from or why you were here. But apparently that’s what this man, Johnny, was for.

Let’s back up a bit. Okay, picture this: You were just a regular girl minding your business, walking out from your part-time job to go straight home like the good student you liked to think you were, the only thing on your mind the leftover BLT waiting for you in the fridge, when you’d come across a crowd buying (or rather, receiving free) tickets from two dangerously handsome (and somewhat scary looking) strangers. Life had been peachy before all of this; sure, a little stressful balancing a life that consisted of school, a job, and a small almost non-existent social life, but hey, it wasn’t bad. 

That’s when he’d first showed up.

“Suspicious, isn’t it?” He’d asked, staring into the crowd with his hands in his deep dark trench-coat pockets. He’d completely snuck up on you, appearing out of nowhere to your right and effectively scaring the daylights out of you. And you’ll admit, you let out a noise that wasn’t exactly...ladylike. Something between a “bwarf!” and a screech. It’d managed to turn a few heads nearby, but Johnny, who you hadn’t known was his name just yet, only pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “It’s nice to meet you too,” he said, training his eyes back on the growing crowd. His face went from lighthearted-borderline amusement to vacant and dim.

“Do you see all these people here?”

You stared at him a moment before following his gaze, a frown encasing your lips. Who did this guy think he was, first scaring the daylights out of you and now trying to strike up a conversation and keep you from that delicious leftover BLT calling your name? “Uh...yeah…” Slowly, you turned your head back up to face him, brow arched. “...I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Nah. But I can fix that.” He held out his hand without taking his eyes off the wavering crowds of innocent bystanders, a faint smile taking over for the hair of a second as he introduced himself. “Call me Johnny. It’s a pleasure.”

“......” You stared at his outstretched hand for an awkward moment too long before hesitantly grabbing it, shaking it once, twice, before becoming...pleasantly aware of how incredibly soft and warm his skin was, and the comforting pulse that radiated through your whole body. It soothed each ache and pain from the day’s toil like an iron over a smooth silk sheet. Every wrinkle and crease had vanished.

Woah...it’s like...I feel like a totally new person...where did all this energy come from?

...Observing him in awe, you’d almost forgotten to give him your name in return, gaping up at him as you were like a fish out of water. “...U-Uh...I’m--”

“Y/n,” he stated, matter-of-fact. Your eyes went wide. 

What the heck? “...How did you know…?”

“Shhh,” he kneeled down to be at eye-level, for he was an incredibly tall individual. A typical dark, mysterious, handsome stranger all the girls in high school dream of encountering, except he couldn’t possibly be a bad or dangerous guy...in fact, you couldn’t help but want to cling to him. It was crazy, but just being within eyesight was enough to make you feel safe. Which was odd...and crazy. Definitely crazy. It didn’t make any rational sense whatsoever. Which is why you found your body taking the smallest of nudges and half-steps closer to his side, to this man you knew nothing about save for his name and the fact that he made you feel nearly invincible by some nameless sorcery.

When he leaned down, his cheek was practically against yours. Despite feeling safe, you began to sweat.

Johnny pointed far out into the crowd, where the two gothic-looking boys in strange but attractive attire were shouting and waving flyers around, passing out tickets in between, some yellow, others black. Each of them looked charming and genuine beyond belief. Heck, you wanted to buy a ticket from them too; and maybe a lunch date.

You held up a hand to point as well, trying to remain as discreet as possible. “Those guys?”

Johnny nodded, lowering your arm slowly and moving to stand behind you. You would have been weirded out and panicking had you not felt so unusually calm and comforted by his presence. Seriously, something is up with this guy. I don’t know anything about him and yet...ugh, it’s like I’ve known him my whole life. Talk about cringe...

He placed his hands over your eyes, and you closed them on instinct. You didn’t have time to question, and again, you found that you couldn’t, anyway. Somehow, something deep inside told you to trust him. “Now,” he continued, “when I count to three and let go, you’re going to see something that isn’t so pretty. But don’t be alarmed, they can’t hurt you. I promise that nothing you see can hurt you. This is really important, so I’m going to repeat it again, because the last human I said these words to nearly had a heart attack because they didn’t listen: I promise, nothing you see can physically hurt you. Understand?”

You began to squirm, growing more impatient by the second, what with your stomach growling and all. “Yeah, yeah, I got it already! I’m waiting!” ...That BLT wasn’t gonna eat itself, y’know? But really, at the same time, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted him to let go. 

But then he reached a final count. And he did let go, slowly as not to startle you and give you time to adjust.

What you saw was a thing of nightmares.

The sky had grown dark, blood red shrieking at you from behind pitch black clouds. A scream caught in your throat; you were too speechless to move, or speak, or do anything but stare in absolute horror.

The people around you had all become vessels. They were still human, but...different. Rather than solid beings, they’d become hollow and see-through, as if they were made of mist or steam. Everyone had a light at their core, which instinct told you was…

...Their spirit. It’s pulsing with energy and life.

Some were dull and barely hanging onto life. Others were bright and vibrant, bursting with color and joy. Many were somewhere in between, balanced and average, each telling a new story, a different tale; a little girl worried about starting kindergarten, a man who was down on his luck and endlessly searching for a new job. A woman who’d just gotten engaged, a teenager wondering if he should risk punishment bringing the stray cat in his bag home. Everyone had a different story, varying concerns, sadness and joys.

But there was one in particular that was a conundrum. It wasn’t necessarily good, or bad, or anything like the others: what it was was pure and vivid beyond belief. It was almost blinding, but...there was a film around it, choking out the light. A ball of white light encased in a mist of thick, gray fog. The demons were eyeing it like a rare delicacy they’d been deprived of for years…

And it was emanating from a young girl, who couldn’t be any younger than you.

And then you’d gasped, because that’s when you realized what they were. Demons. Monsters. Vile creatures targeting humankind. There were two of them-- the well-dressed boys from before. But they’d changed now, those innocent young men long gone, left behind to shadows and ancient rust. Their true appearance...or whatever this was...was too terrible to describe. It was worse than any horror movie you’d been forced into seeing.

The thing that made it worse was that it wasn’t a horror movie. This was real.

The scream in your throat had long dissipated into empty gapping and heavy realization, and it was at this point Johnny must have decided he wasn’t very good at first impressions other than the whole making-you-feel-safe-with-a-simple-handshake-and-being-within-eyesight, because the next thing you knew he’d spun you around to face him, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Sorry you had to see that so soon. But we’re running out of time and I know how brave you really are. I thought it’d be easier if we tackled the first milestone a little early, crash course style.”

What…?

But then he’d swiveled you back around, and everything was back to normal. The crowds, the noise, the gothic-themed advertisements. The blood-painted sky, the dark clouds, the vessels and auras and demonic dark blobs that you couldn’t get past describing-- they’d all gone, and two cheerfully sly salesmen remained, making it rain tickets and creatively crafted flyers left and right.

“What...What was that?!” You demanded, anxiety blooming late in your chest. Screw feeling safe, that was still terrifying as heck! Surely you’d fallen asleep at work and were just overtired...right? Right…? 

Maybe this was all just a dream. You’d fallen asleep at your desk again, and any minute now your coworker Chenle would be batting you with a rolled-up newspaper or gently shaking you awake if he knew you’d really had a hard day, or-- er-- and-- 

“Th-The lights and the shadowy blobs and- and all the noise just disappeared, it was so quiet, and those two--” You shivered, taking a step back and bumping into Johnny, who held you firm. “Those two...they’re...they were…”

You were beginning to hyperventilate. The man behind you sighed. “I know.” He gave your shoulders a slight squeeze, and you felt that soothing impression run over you once more, helping your breaths to relax, your pulse slowing to a steady, normal thump. “It’s exactly as you saw it. Each sphere of light is someone’s spirit encased in their aura.”

“Their...aura?” The frick was he talking about?!

“Yeah. Like I said, we’re pressed for time here, so try to keep up. A lot of people think they’re one in the same, but they’re not. Your aura is tied into your emotions, both on the surface and buried in your subconscious. It’s the bridge that connects the two. They can be manipulated at will by many factors…” His eyes landed heavily on the two demonic creatures disguised as charming young stagehands now maneuvering their way through the crowd to pass out tickets faster and with more demand than voluntary. “...But it is seperate from the spirit. Your spirit is your lifesource. It’s who you are and what defines you. Auras can easily change, but the spirit is something that takes a lot more elbow grease and determination to turn.”

“......” You hadn’t been sure what to do. What to say. You were practically speechless.

So instead you tilted your head back and asked the only thing on your mind. 

“Johnny…who are you?”

He’d only looked down on you with another guarded smile. “You’re about to find out. First, I have a job for you.”

“What? Job?” You frowned. “I’m sorry but, hold on a sec.” You pushed yourself away, but not too far, wanting just the right amount of distance from Tuxedo Mask and the Dark Kingdom not far off. “Listen, I don’t even know you, you just appeared out of nowhere and started showing me all this weird and scary stuff, and preaching to me about heavy topics, and now you want me to perform some...job?” ...You shuddered at the way it’d come out, how it all sounded. Perish the thought.

Johnny, however, remained as calm and nearly stoic as he had been this entire time, puffing his straying locks away from his face and shoving slender fingers into his coat pockets like some cool P.I. Detective...or quite possibly, Tuxedo Mask. Which is how you were slowly beginning to see him. “Perform...ironic.” His eyes flicked over to the girl with the white as snow soul, then back over to the young men (who you were just about dang near positive weren’t really men at this point), making their rounds through the continuously enlarging masses. 

The square was steadily growing more and more crowded, forcing you to close the small amount of distance you’d managed to create between you and Johnny. Suddenly one of them, who had secretly been eyeing Snow White this whole time, took off and seemingly disappeared a moment before popping back up right in front of her, engaging her and her friend in conversation. 

Meanwhile, Johnny gestured almost bluntly toward the other one, a boy with cherry red hair and fox-like features. “I want you to get yourself a ticket to the carnival.”

“You want...wha?”

It took you a minute to register those words, standing there staring off into space. But before you knew it, a spontaneous gust of gentle wind was literally pushing you into the crowd you’d previously been trying to get around and away from, thus ending the fleeting hope of sitting at home with that delicious, delectable, slowly aging BLT.

“Don’t worry, I’m with you,” the wind whispered...yeah, whispered. It spoke to you, in Johnny’s voice. You weren’t sure if that was meant to comfort you or just...creep you out that much more…not to mention you were apparently the only one that heard it.

...But you guessed you felt a little better knowing Johnny was secretly beside you-- if that really was him-- ...Wait, Johnny…?

The gust of wind that’d stolen Johnny’s voice dropped you off in a small opening a few feet away from a dark red-haired boy with a sly grin and some of the most charming dimples you’d ever seen on such an equally attractive boy, but...no, no. You weren’t going to get swept up in that. Not when you knew the truth. Something was very wrong with this picture, other than the fact this boy was actually a demon of some sort, and you suddenly (by some influence not entirely of your own) had a need to get to the bottom of it.

In the name of the Moon™, I’m onto you.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened, slightly, taking a step forward.

A new wave of ecstatic carnival-enthusiasts cut you off, swarming the young boy and begging him for tickets, lowkey sending you flying. Ouch. You crossed your arms, a huff of impatience leaving your chest--

And then it was like you blinked, and they were gone, and suddenly the boy was before you. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat. What the…?

But for a wavering moment, just one short second, you could have sworn that something passed over him. Something that had been foreign to him for many years, and had just then, for the slightest of moments, climbed back up to the surface and gotten its first breath of air in what had to be a very long time.

It was fear. Uncertainty. Caution. Insecurity...and it rippled over him like a small pebble dropped into a forgotten spring.

But it had faded and crawled back into its cradle just as quickly as it had come. “...Hello there~” the boy greeted, and the moment he spoke you felt a xylophone being played against your spine. His chords were sweet as honey, playing a siren’s tune. It made the hairs on your neck stand firm. “Are you curious about the carnival as well?”

“......” You’d time-lapsed backwards into gaping-fish mode. All your instincts were screaming at you to run away, scram, scat, get out of there and as far away from this boy, from his accomplice, from everything that had to do with the word carnival as possible, but instead, this happened:

“Um, yeah. Just one, please.”

~ ☽✮☾ ~

...And that’s how you’d ended up here, in a twisted back walkway of the infamous and appropriately titled Twisted Karnival, with what you’d soon found out to be your temporarily self-appointed guardian angel, Johnny, at your side. Because get this: he really was an angel. No, really. Wings and all. He apparently didn’t care to show them much, though…more on that later, it was besides the point. You were here, now, with Johnny, in a demon-run carnival that was all a scam to steal people’s souls for who knows what, and apparently, as Johnny had told you when you finally had managed to make it home and finish off that deliciously awaiting BLT, it was up to you to stop them.

That’s right: you. Y-o-u. A human girl that had absolutely NO connection to ANY of this shenanigans until now and would much rather be laughing at the corny overexaggerated jokes of your favorite night time sitcom but were instead standing in what was literally hell on earth.

Your eyes glanced down to the pendant nuzzled between your fingers. A gift from Johnny that he’d basically thrown at you on the way over and almost poked your eye out. Apparently, it was supposed to protect you, and so far it hadn’t done a bad job, you’d admit: “As long as you have it on you,” he’d said as the two of you skulked about the festival grounds, “They won’t be able to see you from a specified distance. The higher ranking the demon, the less effective it is. But get within three feet of any of them, and it’s game over.”

“What about you?” You’d asked, worriedly tossing glances left and right. This carnival was definitely haunted, or infested with some kind of bad juju.

He’d only smiled in return. (He did a lot of smiling for a guy so seemingly serious.)

“Don’t worry about me. They can only see me if I let them...or if I run out of juice. But don’t worry about that right now. Focus on the mission.”

...Sigh. So here you were, at last, staring into an evil tent at an evil ritual happening on evil grounds. Fun.

“Johnny,” you mumbled, gazing sadly back into the dim-auraed tent. “This necklace...you said three feet, right?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you, then back into the tent as well. “But I told you not to worry too much about it. Even if they do spot you, they won’t be able to touch you so long as you have it touching some part of your body. ...That’s really important, okay? Your pocket won’t work, a small part of it has to make contact with your skin. I’ll say it one more time, for good measure--”

“Don’t. I heard you the first time…”

Geez. Don’t worry, don’t worry. He sure did say that a lot.

“I got it already, just get to the point on what it is that I have to do with any of this. You never explained why it has to be me or why I’m here. Also, shouldn’t we be helping her right now?!”

“...No. Listen to me, be careful to never take that necklace off--”

“What do you mean no?! Are you kidding me right now?!?”

“Shhh!” He pulled the two of you down for the count of twenty rapidly-pacing heartbeats, then slowly back up when he’d deemed the coast to be clear.

Be careful, be careful… Ugh. Your questioning brow gave away your deposition as your thoughts trailed off, peering annoyed and worriedly back at nine handsome men surrounding a helpless injured young woman. “...Why would I do a dumb thing like that?” you asked, countering the previous topic. “Are you kidding me? I don’t have a death wish--”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” His face grew sad and melancholy despite the gentle smile he wore for you. At least 80% of the past few hours, anyway. “Demons are crafty. They’re clever. Though they can’t remove it themselves, they’ll find ways to convince you to do it, to expose yourself to them from the inside. They’ll get in your head and manipulate your heart. It happens all the time…it’s what they’re good at.” He scoffed a bit, nodding to the youngest boy in the circle. “That’s what happened to him.”

“What? Wait, the blob-- I mean, boy...who gave me a ticket?”

You pondered curiously at the red-headed kid with fox-like features. You didn’t know his name, so you’d decided to dub him as Cherry Boy for now. Creative, yes.

“Yeah.” Johnny shifted his weight to one side, inclining his head just slightly. “Not all demons are born demons. A lot of them were once human, or...something else.”

A heavier sadness filled his eyes, a painful memory taking place beyond them. You didn’t like the way he’d said “something else”... You started to reach out for his hand, yet decided against it. You still didn’t know him that well. 

You’d try to pry the truth out of him, gently. “Like...what?” you pressed softly.

He took a hefty breath, taking his time to single out two more of the demons you’d soon have the joy of getting to know. All in good time. “That one…and that one, over there.”

“Wait...the...tiger guy? And Freckles?” Your lips pursed. “What about them? They weren’t human?”

Johnny shook his head. “They, uh…” There was an uncomfortably long pause. His next words were so quiet, you really had to strain your ears to hear them, despite the fact he was right beside you: “...fell.”

“...Fell?”

It rolled off your tongue like a stone. Johnny began to sweat. “...From grace. They fell from grace.” He rubbed the back of his neck with equal discomfort. “It’s not something I enjoy talking about. Basically, they were tricked and dragged down to earth and…” he swallowed. “Well, one was dragged, but he’d made the mistake of giving his consent beforehand. He was fooled into a false contact. The other, he was simply fooled into coming down willingly, by use of twisted words. When the song played...it was over.”

Song? There was music? … 

…A swaying sickness of dread rushed past along the seasonal breeze. “So...you...knew them…?”

There was no answer for a long time. Johnny cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable silence, once the situation inside was beginning to look grim. Like it hadn’t already. 

“...Sort of. We were never close, being in different factions and all.”

“Factions?”

“Never mind that. You ask too many questions.” He nodded once more. “Look.”

You turned your head to peek back inside at one of the many sights you wished you could avoid and forget about entirely. (But alas, there was no way that was happening.) The girl with the white soul was now screaming in agony, and the strings that had previously been attached to her by the boys (...men? Demons?) were glowing red, then a bright, crystal blue…

And then you just knew. It was impossible to miss.

She was gone. 

The ringleader of the troupe, who the others had called Chan, paced closer to the girl, tucking a finger beneath her chin and lifting her drooping head gently, with such twistedly sickening love and care that was the largest paradox of the century-- how could it be both so loving, yet so dark?-- and dragged it carefully upward, caressing her face. His voice was as soft as silk.

“My little puppet, are you okay?”

You wanted to throw up and pass out right then and there, but Johnny held you firm again, sending his soothing pulses of comfort and security to steady you (and honestly, what a great power to have). You didn’t like it when the leader spoke. It was too...something. Just too much; it reminded you of fairytales like Snow White and Red Riding Hood, where a witch or a wolf or whoever would speak so sweetly, so kindly, and yet tear the other characters apart, ripping the rug out from under them and dragging up their virtues from the inside out. Just as Johnny had said. You could see how anyone could get lost in the distorted forest it was so easily...

A twisted grin appeared on the face of the Snow-White girl, a cacophony of psychotic laughter leaving her rose-tinted lips.

“Yes, Master Chan. I am perfectly fine.”

You shuddered at those words. It was all you could take. 

You didn’t know what came over you next, but there were suddenly twenty-seven different emotions flooding through your veins, hyping you up and tearing you down all at once. And you’d already had your time of the month last week, so that definitely wasn’t it. 

Was this it? Were you finally transforming into the Sailor Guardian Johnny had made you out to be? You wanted nothing more than to run in there, tell all those demonic freakshows what they could do with their fancy clothes and beautiful but terrifying faces, and make a 180 to the nearest hospital with the girl in tow. 

...You also wanted to turn around and run for the hills alone, with Johnny perhaps, never stepping foot on demonic carnival soil ever again. And, you also kinda wanted to puke; which you almost did, again, but thankfully Johnny whipped up some more of whatever calming magic he’d been pumping you full of almost the entire time you were here, and that chased off the sickness for another while. The two of you stepped away from the tent, Johnny assisting you to fresh (only-partially tainted) air.

“...S-So, let me get this straight…” You shook all the goosebumps out, holding your head high and proud now that you had a bit more distance between certain death and crazytown. “You want me-- me-- a normal [high school/college] girl, to go in there and...what, take down the demons? Are you serious? Is this really happening? What the heck am I supposed to do, threaten to call the police? Throw a sucker punch and hope it lands and I don’t get killed or possessed?! ...Don’t they write fantasy books and fanfiction about this kind of crap?” You sighed. “There’s no way I can--”

“Hush,” Johnny instructed, looking a bit nervously toward the terrifying mass inside. You were speaking too loudly again. “You can and you will. I didn’t just choose you at random, all of this was planned by a greater power upstairs.”

“Greater…?” ...You squinted your eyes in suspicion. “Are you talking about--”

“Most likely, yes, that’d be the one,” he winked. “Actually, my boss sent me. I sorta picked you out last minute, but you have a pure heart, and your soul is good too. You have what it takes, as long as you keep your guard up and follow my instructions, we can and will take these guys out.” He gave a thumbs up. “Sound good?”

Sound good?! ...Oh, yes. Risking my life in an insane zero-chance scenario sounds right up my alley, bro man! Sign me up!

You let out a frustrated groan, beginning to pull and mess with your hair, and Johnny once again shushed you and peered around in a tizzy. “But...I don’t even know what to do!” You put your foot down. “I can’t fight! And I...I don’t wanna hurt anyone.”

That last part had come out pretty weak. Johnny scoffed. “You don’t wanna hurt demons?” He rolled his eyes, scratching his head. “That’s a bit surprising.”

You scowled. He just chuckled and sighed. 

“Relax. You’re not totally obliterating them.” He smiled, and the next words he spoke actually brought music to your ears...sort of. Good music. 

“You’re going to save them.”

“I’m...huh?!”

“Look.” He leaned against a smaller tent behind him, making himself rather comfortable for the case scenario, and your mind suddenly wandered back to that girl inside the main tent. Was this really the time to be having an idle-- semi-kinda-serious-- chat? “I’m sorry I can’t be with you the entire time. Unfortunately that would get in the way of a lot of character development. But I’ll always be nearby.”

“Character...who...wha? ...” Your hands covered your face a moment, to which you sighed heavily into before holding them out before you. “Johnny, okay, hold on--” 

“Here,” he said, tossing something shiny into the air. You caught it unexpectedly, nearly dropping it a few times as it almost slipped through careless fingers. You stared at it hard and skeptically.

“What...is this?”

It was some kind of...whistle? “Blow into that when you need help, and I’ll come to you. But only if it’s a real emergency; it’s not a toy, yeah?”

“......” You beheld him with dumbfounded incredibility, face remaining stoic in blank confusion. “...So it’s like...a dog whistle?” You blinked. “You’re my dog now?”

“Ahem,” He coughed, clearing his throat. “...I’d prefer if you didn’t call it that, but, ...yeah, I guess. Essentially. I guess that’s an accurate analogy.”

“...No way.” The whistle went flying over your shoulder as you turned your back, beginning to take the first few much needed steps out of looney-toon central toward the safety of home. In the direction you thought was homebound. “This is insane. I can’t do it. I’m going to a payphone or home or someplace I can get a signal and calling 911--”

...But of course, a six foot wall had to ruin your dramatic and much needed escape. “Hold on…” Tuxedo Mask sighed. “Look, I won’t stop you again if you really want to go, okay? But if you do, these guys are going to continue running around rampat and steal away thousands of more innocent lives. And that girl will never be the same ever again.”

The scowl you sent him actually made him flinch a bit, though he held his ground nonetheless. “Then why don’t you and all the other angels and heavenly powers do something about it!?”

“SHHH!” Covering your mouth, he looked left, then right before releasing you, gritting his teeth in anger. “...Because...dang it, we can’t, okay?” 

...He can’t?

“Why not?”

“......” He ran a troubled hand through his neatly groomed hair. “...I mean, we can, but...we’re not allowed to influence freewill or get involved without human intervention. That’s you. It’s complicated, okay? Just...please.”

...W h a t ?

You didn’t understand any of this. He was giving you the most heartbreaking gaze anyone had ever managed to pull off on the face of the planet; like he’d just witnessed you step on a litter of puppies, or you’d taken his heart and stomped all over it and then backed over it with a steamroller, declaring that boys had cooties and you didn’t want to be infected.

“Please think about it. There’s not much time.”

“.............”

“.............”

You sighed. A long time had passed, but...every second you wasted thinking about it was a second closer to someone else’s demise, to that girl’s apparent destruction. If it wasn’t too late already.

It’s not your problem, y/n, it’s not your problem…

...Except now, it was. You’d already gotten involved just by being here, and witnessing what you had. Your conscience would never let you live that down, were you to walk away, even if it was to get the police or the fire department or an ambulance. Not if you had the power to do something about it.

 And what were any of them going to do about it, anyway? These were demons you were dealing with, not stereotypical robbers or serial killers. And even if you were just a girl...

Curse it all. DANG IT!! 😫

“...” You gulped. “...You swear you’ll protect me if I need you? And you’re not going to abandon me?”

He smiled. Yet again. “I try not to swear, but...you have my word.” He placed a hand over his heart, bowing slightly as an old-fashioned gentleman would. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t help admiring his indication and be just a bit flattered.

“And you promise I can really do this? ...Like, you...really need me for this?”

The angel’s eyes sparkled softly beneath the eerily pale moonlit atmosphere. That blood red sky hanging somewhere beneath a sheet of stars and night. “That, I can promise.” He stood up straight, readjusting his thick coat. “Boss called, said you were the one. Or, at least, you would do. I called before confronting you, to make sure.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You mean before magically materializing beside me and scaring me half to death?”

The accursed man laughed. “Yeah, before that.”

“Hnnn…” Your eyes closed. Thought for a moment.

Then you held out your palm. “...Fine, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll help. Just call me Buffy the...Demon Slayer,” you joked, smirking at your own dumb humor. “Sailor...Y/n? ...Ugh, just give me the stupid whistle.”

Tuxedo Mask smirked again, holding it up for you. But as soon as he placed it in your hand, something...odd happened. Other than all the chaos and oddities that had been occurring for the past however-many hours or so.

A soft, hollow “boom” echoed in the surrounding atmosphere, and you found yourself looking around wildly for any means of nuclear warfare, cringing into the rising darkness. “What the heck was that?!”

“Calm down. That was meant for you. No one else could hear it,” your new guidance counselor explained. Something almost sinister washed over him for one so...holy. “It means that the game has officially begun.”

“Game?!” You practically screeched. “I thought this was serious! What do you mean, game?”

Johnny continued to smirk. “Oh, it’s serious alright.” He adjusted his coat again, turning his back to you. “We need to get you somewhere safe for the night. DON’T worry about that girl, she’s going to be fine...for now. Eventually,” he’d cut you off. “You can start whenever, but you’re probably going to want at least an hour to adjust and come up with a strategy.”

“What?! Hold it, I still have questions I--”

A stray finger waved to you over his fleeting shoulder. “Follow me. Stay close now.”

You just stood there, gaping like a fish again. A reoccurring theme to this story, you'll soon find out. “Johnny...Johnny!”

...You’d had no choice but to follow him; and so the game had officially begun.

Boom. Game on. ✩

~ ☽✮☾ ~

[brrahbrrahcharacterimagines]

Joining Forces (Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Reader

Word Count: 2065

Warnings: Knife mention

Request: Yes omg someone who will write for Logan (wolverine) could you perhaps do a fic about you being in the avengers and the x men join forces but he starts to get feels and flirts with you a lot everyone can see that you like it each other and it’s really flirty more than fluffy x -(Anon)

A/N: Crossovers aren’t my forte, but I don’t think this turned out too bad!

After the battle of New York, Fury decided that the Avengers Initiative needed to grow. In his search for other members, he found his way to Professor Charles Xavier and his school for gifted youngsters. Finally after what seemed like an eternity of discussions and negotiations, today you would get to meet some of these “mutants”, as they were called to join the forces of your two groups.

Being one of the Avengers yourself, you got to be one of the first ones to meet with the new group of heroes calling themselves the “X-Men”. You lined up with the other Avengers, and although not a single one of you would have admitted it, you were trying to look cool to impress the newcomers.

The X-Men entered, and although an entire group of these mutants entered the room, you were transfixed with one in particular. He looked angry, but not at anybody in the room. It was as if he was mad at the world itself. His hair was long and it looked soft; you mentally scolded yourself for wanting to feel the hair of a complete stranger. He looked over at you, making eye contact. You hurriedly looked away, but you caught the smirk on his face. He knew you had been staring at him. 

Both groups made their introductions.

“Y/N L/N,” you said as they got to you. “I excel in close combat, my specialty is knives.”

You saw the man smirk again while raising his eyebrows at you. His movements were slight, but it was enough to confuse you. Why was that so interesting to him? 

As the other group introduced themselves, you couldn’t help but anticipate hearing him speak. When he finally did, you were not disappointed. 

“They call me the Wolverine,” he said in a gruff voice. “But you can call me Logan.” You couldn’t help but feel as if he directed his second statement to you, as he looked right into your eyes as he spoke. As he finished, he held up his hand with a cocky smile. Out of nowhere, blades appeared in his hand. You thought that somehow he had hidden them and you had missed him grabbing them, but after looking longer you realized that the blades were coming from his hand. They were a part of him. Your head spun, finally grasping why they really called themselves mutants.

“Thank you Logan, for that demonstration.” Announced Fury, making you tear your attention from Logan. “We’re holding a dinner tonight so that we can all get to know each other better. You need to report there at 6.” The Avengers all nodded in affirmation at Fury and began going their separate ways. The X-Men seemed unsure until the man who you assumed to be Professor X himself spoke.

“Thank you, Nick.” He said with a smile. After seeing the reaction of their leader, the rest of the X-Men agreed and made their way to their new rooms on the helicarrier.

You made your way back towards your own room, wanting to change into something more presentable for dinner. You weren’t sure what to expect out of introductions today, so you wore your uniform like the rest of the team did. Now that you knew there was such an attractive man amongst the newcomers to SHIELD, you wanted to step up your game.

You settled for a dress, choosing one that fell to your lower thigh. You wanted to show of a lot of leg, but you wanted to be sure not to flash anyone by mistake. The dress had short sleeves and a plunging neckline, and the back also had a large cut out that ended at your lower back. It was a deep, navy blue, and it suited you perfectly. You left your hair down and put on only a hint of makeup, not wanting to overdo it, and left your room. It had taken you a while to decide on the right dress, and now that you had it on it was time to go.

The walk to dinner was short, but with every step your nerves intensified. You had thought earlier that Logan was giving you signals, but it might have been all in your imagination. You couldn’t commit to thinking that he was flirting with you earlier. If you did, it would shatter you to find out that he wasn’t.

You entered the room, and your best friend Clint teasingly whistled at you.

“Dang!” He exclaimed, making you laugh. 

“Hey Clint,” you said, walking over to him with a playful roll of your eyes.

“You look really nice tonight Y/N,” he said genuinely. You smiled and thanked him as Natasha came over to the pair of you.

“Y/N!” She squealed. “You look hot!”

“Natasha!” You said, embarrassed. 

“What?” She retorted, “I’m right.” You blushed, leaving Clint and Natasha to laugh at you. The three of you were rather close, thanks to your shared lack of superpowers in the group along with your shared experiences in Budapest. Glancing over Natasha’s shoulder, you saw him. 

Logan was standing on the other side of the room, a drink in his hand. He was watching the three of you, and he seemed to be looking at Clint with anger. Part of you got excited, thinking that it may be because he was jealous, but a larger part of you was reminded that he had a general look of anger to him when you met him earlier. There was no reason to get your hopes up.

Either way, you excused yourself from conversation with Clint and Natasha and made your way across the room to the man they called The Wolverine.

“Hi,” you said shyly. You were banging your head against a wall in your mind, cringing inwardly at your awkwardness. In your mind you were going to come over here and be witty and sexy, but in reality you felt boring and awkward.

“Hi,” he replied with a chuckle.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, reaching your hand out.

“I know,” he said, taking your hand in a firm handshake anyway. “You introduced yourself earlier.” You flushed in embarrassment after realizing that you had just re-introduced yourself, and the redness of your cheeks was not helped by feeling his hand around yours. His hand was much larger, and as cheesy as it sounds you felt as if yours fit right into his.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered with a smile, shaking your head. “I’m not the best at meeting new people.”

“Neither am I,” he admits. “It helps when they are as beautiful as you though.” His words only worsened your blush. You didn’t want to open your mouth quite yet, afraid you would say something stupid, so you instead let him continue talking. “So, knives, huh?”

You smiled. As odd as it may sound, talking about your skill was much easier. You knew you were a good fighter.

“Yea,” you said proudly. “But I’m guessing you are even more skilled with blades than I am, considering they are a literal part of you. I have always seen my own as extensions of my arms, but that’s how yours really are.”

Logan sighed, offering you a sad smile.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

You wanted to ask him more about himself, about why he had the power that he did. However, based on his reaction to what you had already said you figured it would be a bad idea. Instead, you cleared your throat and changed the subject.

“How long have you been a part of the X-Men?” You asked.

“Too long,” he laughed. You loved his laugh, it was contagious and you couldn’t help but laugh in return. Before you could respond, Fury entered the room talking to Professor X, and you all began taking your seats. Logan sat beside you, and you were glad. It had to mean something that he chose to sit next to you when he could have found a seat next to some of the other X-Men instead. Plus, he called you beautiful, you remembered.

Dinner itself thankfully went smoothly. Everyone seemed to get along, at least to the extent of being able to work together. You and Logan didn’t talk much, and when you did it was just surface-level chit-chat. You didn’t mind though, hearing him say anything in that husky voice of his made you happy. As dinner was wrapping up, a familiar cocky voice came over the microphone, halting the soft music that had been playing in the background.

“In the spirit of making our new partners feel welcomed,” said Tony Stark, “I think we should get this party started!” The music increased in volume, making you feel like you were at the club. Fury glanced over at Tony, who quickly turned it back down to an acceptable level, albeit still much louder than the background music it had been relegated to before. 

As everybody began getting up from their seats, you and Logan did the same. However, you did not move to the forming dance floor. You weren’t much of a dancer, and you could tell that he felt the same. Instead, you talked about anything an everything on the side of the room. Until, that was, when Tony came over the microphone again. 

“It’s getting late, so I’m going to slow things down a bit,” he said as a slower song came on. “Pepper, I see you avoided eye contact,” he teased the woman he had brought as his date tonight. “Don’t you dare walk out of here on me before I can get off this stage.”

Suddenly you felt nervous again. You felt like you were at a high school dance, your crush standing in front of you while you both sipped water from cheap plastic cups and tried to ignore the smell of sweat permeating through the gym.

“Would you, maybe like to dance?” You asked him, going out on a limb. You looked up into his eyes, biting your lip nervously.

“I have to admit, I’m not a very good dancer,” he said, but he took your hand in his anyway and led you onto the dance floor. He took one of your hands in his, placing his other hand on your waist. You felt sparks erupt from where his hands touched your body, and you were willing yourself to not melt into his arms. You moved your free hand up to rest on his shoulder, trailing your hand up his chest without thinking. You heard him take a sharp breath, and you felt the hard muscle under your hand. You quickly moved your hand the rest of the way towards his shoulder, a blush prevalent on your face. You swayed together in silence, and as the song went on you gained courage. Eventually you had enough of said courage to rest your head against Logan’s chest, and you tried not to giggle as you heard how fast his heart was beating. 

After the song ended, Fury took over the microphone before Tony could, bidding you all a goodnight. Logan kept a hold of your hand, offering to walk you back to your room. You agreed, and the two of you began making the nearly silent walk back.

You didn’t mind the silence. Some people might have found it awkward, but you took comfort in the silence so long as it was with Logan. It made it even better that he had not let go of your hand, whether he was still holding it on purpose or not. As you reached your room, you looked up at him.

“Thank you, for tonight.” You told him with a smile which he returned.

“Anytime Y/N,” he chuckled. “Anything for someone as gorgeous as yourself.” In a burst of courage after his words, you stretched up to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Logan,” you said as you pulled away. He was obviously surprised, his eyes wide and a lazy smile on his face. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He replied, and you shut the door. As soon as it was shut and you began hearing his light footfalls leaving down the hallway, you let out a small squeal, pumping your fist into the air in victory. You would have to thank Fury and Professor X for joining the two groups’ forces.

[lux-i-fer]

Believer of Faith and Mortality

Ao3 link

Synopsis: Lucifer and Chloe’s victim shouldn’t be alive, but the fact that he’s currently alive and giving a statement says otherwise. When more and more miracle cases begin popping up, Lucifer believes that their lives aren’t being spared out of the goodness of his Father’s heart. The knock at the door only proves his theory.

Rating: T

Notes: *Cue the vine of the guy saying "SHIT" in various locations*

Hey guys! Remember when I said I'd have another chapter of this put out in November? Haha yeah me too. I'm so so sorry about the wait, it's been killing me too, trust me. A lot just went down in my life, you know? I graduated, I moved, I'm preparing to go out of the country, etc. So uh things just got kind of busy?? Anyways, hopefully I can get back into the swing of things! This fic has a new direction so hopefully it'll just take off soon ;) Thank you guys for being patient and thanks to titc who puts up with my bullshit.

Chapter Number: 1, 2, 3, 4

All of the accusations John had lined up died in his throat. He tried to move, speak, blink, just anything other than standing there like a gaping fish. But he couldn’t. John stayed rooted in place, frozen by that wretched name he’d heard Chloe say with such reverence.

“Is my phone down there?”

John flinched at the sound of her voice. Did Chloe know who she was talking to?

The angel, Lucifer, tore his eyes away from John. His heavy gaze darted around the room until it focused on something in the living room.

“Yes,” he replied.

It was the touch of discomfort in his response that finally broke John out of his trance. He took a step closer to Lucifer and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the footsteps he’d heard not even two minutes ago pounded down the stairs.

John turned reflexively towards the sound. When his thoughts caught up to him a half second later, he chastised himself for putting his back to the Devil himself. But the dreadful feeling barely had time to sink in because when he caught sight of Chloe, all John could feel was an overwhelming sense of relief. She’d changed her clothes and pulled her hair back, but she was still the same Chloe from last night. The same Chloe with a daughter named Trixie and the same Chloe whose conversations had been Lucifer-free.

Their eyes met for a brief moment and the atmosphere changed. The smile stayed plastered to her face, but there was something wrong with the rest of her countenance. John watched as her shoulders drooped and she frowned, and he knew that his relief was short-lived.

“Dad.”

There was a hint of surprise in her voice.

“Hey monkey,” he said casually.

She started to walk towards him as if to embrace him, but stopped short when something else caught her eye. John followed her gaze behind him, and found Lucifer staring back at them. John watched in disbelief as she walked right past him, went around the breakfast bar, and looped an arm around the Devil’s waist.

“Dad, this is Lucifer. My...partner.” John didn’t know what to do. Half of him wanted to go and tear Chloe from Lucifer’s arms, and the other half of him wished that he’d stayed dead. It didn’t help that she was looking at him with those big, expectant blue eyes, as if this introduction was no different than any of the other times she’d brought a boy home in high school.

Even before he knew just who Chloe’s partner was, he’d had a bad feeling about him. Lucifer had shown up at four in the morning upon Chloe’s request and that was something John could respect, but there had been something off about his soundless movements and smooth words that John just couldn’t shake. Lucifer switched between aloof and caring with an ease that made it hard to determine which version of himself was the genuine one.

The Lucifer he’d been speaking to before Chloe had interrupted them fit the rebellious son of God role to a tee. But seeing Lucifer now with a protective hand on Chloe’s side made John uneasy. He’d been gentle with Chloe last night, but how long would it be until the Devil decided he didn’t want to play house anymore?

Someone had brought him back for a reason, was this it? So he could protect Chloe from the Devil? As a cop, he’d had no problem protecting Los Angeles from criminals, but protecting his only daughter from the Prince of Darkness? That was way over his head.

It’s not like he could just brandish a pistol at Lucifer and threaten to convict him of life in prison and expect everything to turn out okay. John remembered what he was like in Limbo. The Lucifer he’d met was bitter and unpredictable. He was the thing that nightmares had nightmares about.

John looked at Lucifer again and then at Chloe before realizing his mistake: He’d taken too long to respond. Unlike earlier, when she’d masked her true feelings behind a polite smile, Chloe’s expression conveyed every ounce of anxiety and disappointment plainly.

“Oh,” was all John could manage to say.

A ringing cut through the tension, and it took Chloe breaking out of Lucifer’s embrace and rushing to grab something off the coffee table for John to realize that it was her phone.

“Decker.” John couldn’t make out who was on the other line, but whatever they were saying made Chloe blink in surprise. “Another one?” she asked the caller. Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up and John concluded that he must have figured out who the mystery caller was.

Chloe’s responses were clipped and to the point. John would have admired her directness if it hadn’t plunged all three of them into more awkward silences than he would have liked.

Finally, she hung up the phone. “That was work,” she announced to seemingly nobody in particular. “We have to go.”

“But I just made breakfast,” Lucifer said, mournfully gesturing to the plate of unfinished scrambled eggs. “They’re going to go cold.”

“This case is going to go cold if we’re not down there in twenty minutes!”

John cringed at her tone, recalling Lucifer’s prior annoyance to being snapped at, and tried to reach for Chloe, but she’d already begun to busy herself with packing up her purse.

To John’s surprise, instead of getting angry, Lucifer gave a melodramatic sigh, covered the plate, and stored it carefully in the fridge.

John felt like he was staring at a completely different Lucifer. He filed what he’d just witnessed away for a more careful analysis later. Right now, there were more important things than the Devil’s uncharacteristic meekness.

“What about me?” he asked instead.

Chloe stopped putting things in her purse and hesitated. “Dad…I can’t bring you to the station. There’s some people there who would recognize you.”

John had anticipated her answer, but that still didn’t stop it from stinging. He tried to keep his voice level. “What should I do then; stay here?”

Purse forgotten, Chloe came close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah. Dad, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what else to do. You’ve been dead for almost a decade…” John tuned out the rest of her sentence. At her reminder, his mind had instantly gone to Penny. Chloe still hadn’t mentioned her, and something about that worried John beyond belief. “...I’ll have Lucifer stay with you.”

John’s attention snapped back into place. “What?”

Lucifer scoffed. “I’ll second that, Jonathan. What? Detective-- ”

Chloe raised a hand and cut him off. “Lucifer, come on, you know this is the only way. Plus it’s only for a few hours.” She took her hand off John’s shoulder so she could face Lucifer completely. “Please?”

Lucifer fiddled with his cufflinks before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Fine, fine. I’ll babysit your father.”

Chloe closed the distance between her and Lucifer to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I love you.”

Lucifer’s eyes darted to John and then back to Chloe.

“And I you, darling.”

Hearing those words somehow made John feel worse than he already did. By the time he’d stopped replaying those words in his head, Chloe had grabbed her purse and was pulling him into an absentminded hug.

“Bye, Dad.”

John smiled despite himself. “Bye, Monkey.”

Lucifer walked her to the door and they exchanged a few words that were too quiet to eavesdrop on. Then, just as quickly as she’d come into the conversation, Chloe was gone, leaving John and Lucifer alone once more.

The moment a car engine roared to life outside, Lucifer’s posture lost its ease. The showmanship he’d put on display for Chloe cooled in favor of the same stoic confidence John had seen in Limbo. Speaking of Limbo--

“You’re barred from Heaven aren’t you?”

Lucifer’s head snapped towards him.

“That’s why you couldn’t go with me when we were in Limbo.”

He sighed a much heavier-sounding sigh than before. “It is.”

John decided to push his luck. “If you won’t say why you’re here, why am I here?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Lucifer said thoughtfully. Without another word, he grabbed the jacket he’d draped over the chair the night before and put it on. He fished around the interior pocket for a few seconds until he produced a set of car keys.

“Uh, where are you going?” John put up a hand, as if that would stop a fallen angel.

Lucifer pulled a leather jacket off a hanger by the door and threw it at him. John just barely caught it. “More like where are we going.”

“Okay. Where are we going?” He paused. “And didn’t Chloe just say not to leave the house?”

Lucifer sighed again. This time it was closer to the one he’d directed at Chloe. “Jonathan.” He clapped his hands together. “Firstly, we’re going to get to the bottom of this.” He made a sweeping gesture. “You shouldn’t be here. My Father is a bastard, but he’s never broken his deals before. At least, not the cosmic ones. The ones with me, well, those are debatable. Secondly, I made a deal with the Detective that I would keep you away from the precinct, which I plan on doing, but she didn’t say anything about the rest of LA.”

“You’re really going to break Chloe’s trust like that?” John asked shortly.

Lucifer’s expression hardened. “Be careful which words you choose to put into other men’s mouths, Jonathan.” If he’d still had his wings, John imagined they’d be lying ramrod-straight down his spine right now. “Anyways,” Lucifer continued a little more guarded than before, “we’d best get going if we want to catch the good doctor on her lunch break.”

John considered his options. Option A was to stay at Chloe’s apartment and spare her a headache by doing exactly what he’d been told to do. Option B was to go with Lucifer and possibly upset Chloe, but also possibly get to the bottom of this entire resurrection mess. He knew which choice was best, but he still hated the sour taste making the call would leave in his mouth.

“Fine.”

Lucifer’s face lit up like a child’s, and he was bounding out the door before John could finish putting on his borrowed jacket. Briefly, he let himself wonder what he’d just done. It was no “deal with the Devil,” but he was getting pretty damn close. His worries only grew when he reached the parking lot and saw said Devil leaning against a black '62 Corvette. Because of course the Devil would drive an expensive car.

“We haven’t got all day!” he shouted. There was a freshly-lit cigarette between his index and middle finger. John rolled his eyes and squeezed himself into the passenger seat. Lucifer folded his body into the cramped space with a lot more grace than John had mustered. He plucked the cigarette from his lips and tossed it out onto the pavement before putting the keys in the ignition. As he did, John caught sight of a group of angry red scratches decorating Lucifer’s wrist.

“What are those?” He gave a pointed look at the marks.

“A gift from the last victim we investigated,” Lucifer replied smoothly. A little too smoothly for John’s taste, but he let the comment go regardless. If he was going to be spending time with the Devil then there were some things he was just going to let slide.

“So explain this to me again,” Dr. Linda Martin began slowly.

Lucifer drew his attention away from the window he’d been standing by and to the blonde woman John had learned was the good doctor. “This is John Decker, the Detective’s father,” Lucifer said, matching Linda’s tone.

Linda peered over her glasses at John and took another bite of her salad. “Chloe’s father who’s been dead for almost two decades now?” He tried not to flinch at the mention of his death, but there was something about her stare that was making him uncomfortable. When Lucifer had said doctor, John hadn’t been anticipating a therapist. Especially a therapist who seemed to specialize in treating LA’s supernatural population.

The man in question nodded. “Correct. But now he’s back for some unspecified reason.”

“Uh...huh.” Linda set her fork down and stood up. “And why are you coming to see me?”

“I just told you, Doctor. He’s back for some unspecified reason and I need to get to the bottom of it. I have a feeling my Father’s involved.”

Lucifer, John noticed, was growing visibly more agitated the longer they were together. When they’d first arrived at Linda’s office, he’d been wringing his hands. Now he was outright pacing like some overgrown house cat. Linda must have noticed it too, because when he came close enough, she grabbed his shoulder and brought him to a halt beside her.

“Does Chloe know?” she asked gently.

“Of course the Detective knows. He,” Lucifer jabbed a finger in John’s direction, “showed up at her door.”

For the first time since they’d met, Linda addressed John. “Really?”

John shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Do you know how you got there?”

“Trust me, Doctor, we’ve already been through this,” Lucifer interrupted. Linda silenced him with a look before she continued.

“What do you remember, John?”

John stared at the glass pitcher and matching glasses laid out on the coffee table. He could feel Linda’s eyes analyzing his every move. “Nothing, really. Just that I woke up a few blocks away from her complex and felt like I needed to get up and knock on her door. I didn’t even realize who the door belonged to until she opened it.”

Linda and Lucifer shared a look.

“Do you remember anything about...Heaven?”

He shook his head. “Just Limbo.”

Linda’s calm expression morphed into confusion.

“Limbo is similar to purgatory,” Lucifer explained. “It seems that dear Jonathan got trapped there after his exit from the Earthly plane. It happens to humans sometimes when they put up a particularly nasty fight with my sister about leaving. They get dropped there and usually get devoured by the beasts unless I happen to be there too, which in Jonathan's case, I was.”

Linda opened and closed her mouth. After a few seconds of doing a fairly accurate fish impression, she sat back down at her desk. It seemed even the most accomplished therapist was having trouble wrapping her head around the clusterfuck that was John’s life. “And what did you do when you saw him?” she finally said.

“I took him to the path that leads to the gates of Heaven,” Lucifer replied with a hint of indignation.

“Why?”

He looked at the floor. “Because it was what he deserved.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as both John and Linda processed the weight of Lucifer’s confession. Since finding out that the Devil and the angel in Limbo were one and the same, all John could think about was why Lucifer hadn’t dragged him down to Hell when he’d had the chance. He was the Father of Lies after all. Surely he could have just lied to John and told him he was taking him to Heaven and lead him to Hell instead. Or maybe just tell him he couldn’t get to Heaven, period.

Lucifer cleared his throat and brought them out of their pensive states. “Right. Linda, this conversation is getting us nowhere. I think we’re going to go have a chat with Amenadiel instead.” He pulled out a billfold and passed her a few bills. John’s eyes bulged when he realized they were hundreds. “Come along Jonathan.”

“Lucifer, this conversation isn’t over. We will talk about this later.”

Lucifer either didn’t hear or didn’t care because he offered no response to Linda’s comment. He just turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Linda watched him go, then she turned back to John with a polite smile. “It was lovely meeting you, John. I hope for your sake you figure out why you’re here. I’d love to talk more, but right now I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have about--” she checked the clock on the wall, “five minutes left before my next patient shows up and I’d really like to eat my lunch.”

John stood up from the couch. “Yes, yes. Sorry I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you weren’t anticipating having us barge in on you like this.”

Linda chuckled. “I never anticipate it, but I never discount the possibility either. Lucifer places little value on social mores when they’re an inconvenience to him.”

“Are you scared of him?”

“Of Lucifer?”

John nodded.

She paused and wrinkled her forehead. “No,” she said quietly. “No, I’m more scared for him than of him.”

“Oh.”

“Are you scared of him?”

John pressed his lips into a hard line and considered her question. He expected that she would be able to tell he was projecting, but he didn’t anticipate that she would call him out on it. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

“It’s okay not to know, John.”

He mustered up a pitiful smile. “Yeah.” John lingered for a moment more and then started towards the door. “Thank you.”

Linda’s face broke out into a genuine smile. “You’re welcome.” When John got back outside, Lucifer was smoking another cigarette. Instead of putting it out like he had the first time, he took a long drag and blew the smoke in John’s direction.

“Those things cause cancer, you know,” John said when he got in earshot.

“I’m the Devil, I can’t get cancer.” He took another drag, obviously intending to finish this one. “Besides, with the week I’ve been having it’s a miracle I haven’t spent the entire day sitting around chain-smoking Cuban cigars from the 1950s. But,” he inhaled again, “no rest for the wicked, I suppose.”

John forced himself to ignore that not only had Lucifer referred to himself as the Devil, the adjective he’d used to describe himself was wicked. Instead, he said the second-most pressing thing on his conscious. “Who is Amenadiel?” Lucifer barked out a short laugh. “My holier-than-thou brother.”

“He’s an angel?”

Lucifer took his final drag and ground the cigarette butt into the dirt before responding. “He is, but don’t tell him you called him that or I won’t hear the end of it for another millennium.”

He got in the car and John followed suit. Just as he turned the key, Lucifer began to cough. At first, John thought it was just a normal, dry cough caused by the smoke, but when it didn’t stop he started to worry. Lucifer yanked his handkerchief out of his breast pocket with a shaky flourish and pushed it against his mouth. After a few more coughs, each one sounding worse than the last, Lucifer finally fell silent. He slowly removed the handkerchief from his face and sniffed. “Excuse me. I don’t know where that came from,” he said as primly as a little English grandma.

A metallic glint caught John's eye, and he awkwardly gestured to the corners of his own mouth. “You, uh, got a little something…”

“Oh.” He wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. “Thank you.”

Seemingly by accident, Lucifer glanced down at the cloth in his hand, drawing John’s line of sight down with him. What he saw made the Devil himself recoil. John thought he’d been imagining the color when he’d first spotted it, but staring at the bright silver splotches staining the red fabric made him think again.

“Is that normal?” he asked hesitantly.

Lucifer hastily refolded the handkerchief and tucked it back into his pocket. “No.” Without another word, he put the Corvette in gear and pulled onto the street.

The drive was silent. The car horns and the hum of engines felt muted by the image of the silver liquid burned in John’s brain. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Especially if the sight of it shocked the Devil himself. He glanced over at Lucifer. His jaw was set into a tight line, and John feared if he stared at the road ahead of them any harder, he’d burn a hole through it.

If John didn’t know better, he’d say that Lucifer looked scared. He kept running his fingertips over the steering wheel and he twisted his cufflinks at red lights. Even though he didn’t entirely trust Lucifer, John felt sorry for him. For someone who spent so much time trying to look carefree, Lucifer was incredibly high strung.

Twenty minutes later, the Corvette stopped in front of a group of studio apartments that looked too normal to be the home of an angel of the Lord. John followed Lucifer up three flights of stairs and down a hallway. They came to a stop at the door at the end. Lucifer took a deep breath. John thought he was preparing to knock, but instead, he grasped the door handle and pushed the door open. Before John could interject, Lucifer was already striding into the apartment.

“Knock knock, brother! Get your feathered ass out of bed, this is important!” he shouted into the empty living room.

A tall black man materialized in the doorway of one of the rooms, nearly making John jump. “Luci, the last time you said that you wanted me to slow time so you could prolong your threesome.”

Lucifer waved a dismissive hand. “It was a foursome and at the time it was very important.” He busied himself with rooting through the kitchen cabinets. When he found a whiskey bottle under the sink, he pulled down three glasses and poured them each a glass.

The man John assumed was Amenadiel stepped into the room and sighed. He didn’t really look like an angel. He was wearing a red beanie and a long sleeve button-up shirt. There was no indication that this man was anything more than human, save for the way he seemed to just radiate power. In a way, it was a similar feeling to when Lucifer had grabbed his shoulder in Limbo. It commanded both respect and fear from anyone within a twenty foot radius.

“Luci, what are you doing here?” Amenadiel asked with a frown.

Lucifer gestured in John’s direction with his glass. “Look at him. What do you see?”

When Amenadiel looked his way, John stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m John Decker.”

For a moment, Amenadiel just stared at him. Then he blinked, as if coming back to himself, and shook John’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you, John. I’m Amenadiel.”

“See what I mean, brother?” Lucifer said, picking up the second glass and taking a sip.

Amenadiel kept his gaze trained on John, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. “I do. John Decker, you’re supposed to be dead.”

John snorted. “Yeah tell me about it.”

“And he’s not the only one,” Lucifer continued.

John whipped his head around. “Wait what? You never mentioned that.”

“How many more are there?” Amenadiel asked.

“Three if you include the call the Detective got this morning.” Lucifer drained the remaining liquor out of the second glass and began to move onto the third. “Although none of them have been over the threshold for as long as Jonathan has.”

“Do you think this is Father’s doing?”

Lucifer shrugged. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Why would God care about me anyways?” John cut in. Lucifer and Amenadiel exchanged a look. “Why did you guys do that?” They exchanged a second look.

“Don’t worry about it,” Amenadiel said.

“I am worrying about it because it’s my life we’re talking about here.” John jabbed a finger in their direction to make his point. “What aren’t you guys telling me?”

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, Jonathan,” Lucifer placated. He lazily downed the third glass of whiskey, and for some reason it made John’s blood boil. In fact, it made him so overwhelmingly angry that he marched into the kitchen and grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt. From somewhere behind them, he heard Amenadiel protest.

“Tell me now. I don’t respond well to celestial bullshit.”

Lucifer’s face changed and he snarled like some feral animal. His brown eyes flashed red with the fires of Hell and he shoved John away with a superhuman amount of strength. “How dare you.” His voice was softer than John had ever heard before. “This is how you treat me after all I’ve tried to do for you? You insolent bast--”

Lucifer seemed to choke on his words. He coughed once and the air seemed to seep back into the room. The coughing continued and changed into rattling breaths and gasps for air. He slapped a hand over his mouth with a look of fear. The coughing didn’t stop. Amenadiel rushed into the kitchen and put a hand on his brother’s back. “What did you do?” he shouted. John said nothing and stood dumbstruck, gaping at the scene before him.

“I-I’m sorry,” he managed to say when Lucifer’s coughs had finally died down.

“It’s quite alright, Jonathan. I’m not sure if it was your fault,” he responded weakly. To emphasize his point, he turned the hand that had been covering his mouth towards John.

It was coated with silver.