#but if you leave them unprepared the reaction could be very negative

[fernrisulfr]

Campaign Intro Idea

Just a random idea I had earlier for the beginning of a campaign. Now part of the idea involves not telling your players the full truth of the actual game. Obviously you want to be somewhat truthful as to not undermine their character concepts, so give them at least a clear idea of the sort of game you’re aiming for.  What you don’t tell them is the game will be in the Shadowfell, and they’re going to start by dying. You set things up like all is normal, they’re going on their first quest for whatever reason they’ve been given. First encounter, a bunch of suspicious hooded thugs. They immediately get merked by these much higher level rogues. We’re talking killed outright, the faster the better so that the players aren’t left sitting on their hands for long. 

Then the reveal, they awake in the Shadowfell. The thugs were either Cultists of some kind, or possibly even clerics an appropriate deity. They’re all chosen for some plot relevant reason, and now the real adventure begins. 

[aziraphales-library]

I remember a fair few fics where the premise is vaguely “Aziraphale does a blessing/miracle/other religious thing on Crowley and it’s strange/overwhelming/etc for all involved”. I just can’t… find any of them. I remember them being various ratings, pure fluff to pure smut

Your best bet is the divinity kink tag on AO3. Here are some to get you going...

The Agony And The Ecstasy by entanglednow (T)

A split second decision by Aziraphale to save them both from discovery leaves Crowley experiencing something he is unprepared for.

your love is sunlight by EveningStarcatcher (M)

“Why wait?” Crowley’s voice was faint, almost a whisper, but lined with the usual forced nonchalance. “What?” Aziraphale froze, brow slightly furrowed. “Just, I don’t have to wait.” Crowley’s cheeks flushed. “Could be all better right now. I mean. I-if you wanted.” “Are you asking me to heal you?” Aziraphale’s eyes flashed with something… divine.

A Negative Integer by racketghost (E)

“I’m the holy object,” Aziraphale says, and is also looking frantically around the room, the bookshop, the skylight filtering in the first glimpses of afternoon sun and holding dust particles suspended in their beams, dreamy and soft. “I can’t touch you.” “Yes you can,” he blurts out, and swallows down the cacophony of what are sure to be any number of embarrassing and hopeful ways in which the angel can touch him, really, whenever.

Bleak Without and Bare Within by Princip1914 (E)

Perhaps Crowley was right, Aziraphale thought. They were both working very hard in sometimes very awful places and for what? It was obvious that they couldn’t give up on temptations and blessings entirely--someone would notice, they had to surely--but combining forces here and there? What had Crowley called it, lending a hand, when necessary? It didn’t sound too bad. It didn’t sound like a good idea either, but Aziraphale supposed that was the whole point. It was a morally neutral proposition, and everything would still get done in the end. “I agree.” Aziraphale said finally. “As long as you accept that we’re going to have to teach one another.” Or, an angel learns to Tempt, a demon learns to Bless and things get a bit out of hand at the beginning of an unusual Arrangement.

Divine Hands by WanderingAlice (T)

After the end of the world didn’t come, Crowley had planned to spend a lot more time with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale didn’t seem opposed to the idea at all. Unfortunately there’s one glaring problem. Crowley has a strong, uncontrollable panic reaction to being touched by something divine. And Aziraphale cannot turn off his own divinity. A Good Omens Holiday Exchange fic written for the prompt: After the Notpocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale start getting closer...but they find out together that Crowley has deep-seated trust issues triggered by something about Aziraphale that he can't help. They have to overcome it together.

sanctuary by moonyinpisces (T)

“You’re staring.” “Oh dear,” says Aziraphale, completely unapologetic. “How rude of me.” Crowley begins to smile something slow, bright, and lovely, but he schools it with a bite to his lower lip. Aziraphale thinks of the way he looked two millennia ago, pressed up against the wall with Aziraphale's blessing healing his wounds, the only demon to experience divine ecstasy and live to tell the tale. How Aziraphale's hands itch to do it again, and again, and again. Crowley opens his mouth as if to say something, but then stops and spins around instead to go back to stirring the curry. “Shut up,” he says to the stove, flustered.

- Mod D

[cow-smells]

You’re Mine [Eli Hawk Moskowitz x Reader]

Requests: 1. there’s a new girl on miyagi-do, she’s classmates with sam, hawk, miguel, tory, robby, demetri, etc... for some reason, she and hawk didn’t like each other (he can be on cobra kai or eagle fangs, that’s your choice), and one day they make a bet, which this girl wins. hawk has to be her slave for a whole week. BONUS IDEA: a stolen kiss during a fight. maybe admitting feelings for each other? i’d love that! ( @berriewrites​ ) 2. love the hawk smut but i’d also love some fluffy hawk about him secretly liking the reader who’s in miyagido but he tries to act all tough and hide it (anon) 3. AHHH CAN WE GET SOME HAWK FLUFF!? I love the idea where you swear that you don’t like him and you guys make eye contact from a distance when he’s standing with his friend group and you’re standing with yours and you get flustered and he can tell and he smirks and just ahh (anon)

A/N: this took so longggg this came out longer than expected (and honestly i could go on, but i wanted to get this out already) + real life has come hitting all at once and its been overwhelming lol. thanks for being patient and sticking around <3 i enjoyed writing some fluff (amidst a flurry of smut reuests loool :)

Words: 2981

Warnings: none

Read this on AO3

Summary: You don't like Hawk. He's a bad person, that much you know for sure. You're ready to make his life miserable when he loses a bet with you, but then you actually have to spend time with him...

   You didn't like this.

Forgiveness seemed to be a virtue that evaded you. Eagle-fang and Miagi-Do were uniting and everyone seemed to be all for the union – except for you.

Some things were simply unforgivable. For you, Hawk breaking Demetri's arm was one of them.

You and Demetri became nearly inseparable friends when you both joined Miagi-Do. He had told you all about his former friend Eli and how he'd abandoned him in the favor of bullying him in any way he could come up with; that bullying taking a turn to the extreme when Hawk took to breaking bones.

    Demetri had since forgiven him, but you hadn't.

Demetri had a softer heart than he let on, and he missed Eli terribly, so when the latter suggested they work together he gladly accepted.

But you were more objective about the situation, as you weren't a part of it, and forgiving such cruelty was beyond you.

    The one good thing about the dojos coming together was the intense dedication that grew on everyone. Now that you had a common enemy, many participants would hang around in Miyagi-Do's dojo long after training sessions, training until you could hardly move your limbs.

     The sun had ago long fallen when you and the remaining students took places around a mat, ready for the sparring session to begin.

With Daniel and Sensei Lawrence gone, you had taken to writing down names and pulling them out of a bowl to decide on sparring partners.

    All the negative emotions you felt channeled in to great excitement when Miguel called your name – followed by Hawk's.

You could have sworn you saw a look of something you couldn't read – concern, perhaps, or fear? Before he seemed to share your excitement as he stepped on to the mat with a grin that was almost predatory.

    Two could play at that game.

    “You're as good as dead,” you said, your voice dripping venom. Hawk's smirk just grew.

    “Is that so, princess? I'd like to see you score as much as a point.”

A light bulb lit in your mind.

    “Yeah?” you taunted. “What if I get three?”

Hawk laughed. “You got a lot of confidence, don't you? I'll tell you what. If you can score three points on me and win, I'll...” He bit his lip as he thought. “I'll let you boss me around for a week. Whatever you want.”

The blood rushed through your veins, ready more than ever to fight. You were grateful for the lack of your sensei, knowing this nonsense wouldn't stand if he were here.

    “Deal.”

    “Are you guys done?” Miguel huffed, standing between you two, ready to referee. “Good. Bow.”

    You bowed without intent and got straight to attacking. Hawk didn't expect it; he came from the dojo that prides itself on strike first and yours cared mainly about defense. You earned your first point within seconds.

    That only served to throw Hawk off his game further. He dived in right away for the attack and was caught unprepared when you fell, sweeping his leg.

    You earned your second point.

By that point, Hawk might as well have been fuming out the ears. His brows furrowed in anger as he looked at you like you were the most vile thing he had ever seen; that satisfied something within you.

    The flurry of hits and misses was so rapid you were caught unprepared when you managed to land a punch on Hawk, Miguel's voice rising as he named you victor.

    Hawk huffed, clearly exerted. You smiled. “You're mine.”

You were fully intending to use this bet to its full potential.

The next day was Saturday, and Hawk, true to his word, showed up at your doorstep at 9 p.m sharp, just as you had ordered.

You paid him no kindness when you opened the door, not exchanging a word with him before demanding: “Helmet?”

Hawk handed you a helmet, not looking particularly pleased about the situation but not being able to stop himself from taking in an eyeful of you anyway.

You needed a ride to tonight's party – that's where Hawk came in, beginning his work for you as a personal valet. Accordingly for the event, you were dressed meticulously, showing off your best features – and if you were to judge by Hawks reaction, you were on your way to turn heads.

You climbed on the motorcycle after him, circling your arms around him loosely; but when he kicked off and started the ride, you couldn't help but tighten your hold.

    The party was overcrowded with people from the moment you got there; Yasmine's parties tended to get a bit... excessive.

You ditched Hawk the moment you got sight of your friends, ditching the helmet on his bike to run over to Sam, Moon and Yasmine.

Yasmine didn't hide the dirty look she sent at Hawk. “Ew. Who's the freak?”

You grinned proudly. “My valet. Ignore him. Actually...”

You looked over to the drinks table; someone had tapped a keg and it was being swarmed with people.

    “Hey, Hawk!”

Hawk turned to you, the slightest furrow in his brow as he had already joined his own friends. You pointed at the drinks table. “Vodka soda!” you ordered.

He rolled his eyes, but did it anyway. Your friends watched wide-eyed as he obeyed you wordlessly, bringing over the drink. “Anything else, princess?”

    “Yes,” you gave him a judging once-over. “Don't drink tonight. I want to get home in one piece.”

He bit his cheeks and glared at you before growling “Fine” and returning to his friends.

At some point you didn't even want a drink any more, it was just fun ordering Hawk to go fetch you another one; and so, you found yourself unintentionally drunk, laughing mindlessly at anything said and swaying on your feet.

You didn't even know how late it had gotten when Hawk came in the living room looking for you, ready to go home as most the others already had.

You had earlier made him promise to take you home as well, and – something you were quickly learning was, Hawk was definitely a man of his word. He spotted you half-sprawled on the couch, laughing with Yasmine at something you didn't fully register. Your cup was askew in your hand, contents about to spill over when Hawk grabbed it out of your hand, placing it on a table nearby.

    “Come on, Y/n. It's time to go.”

    “Not yet!” you grinned gleefully, taking hold of his wrist and shaking it dumbly as you spoke. “Later! We're having fun!”

Hawk placed his free hand on yours that held him. “It's four AM, Y/n, time to call it a night.”

    You didn't reply, instead resorting to pouting like a child.

His eyes softened (the puppy eyes never failed to work) – but his jaw clenched. “If you don't come now I'm leaving you here.”

    “Fine!” you hurriedly rose to your feet, using Hawk for balance. “Bye,” you pouted at Yasmine childishly as Hawk pulled you away from her and out of the house.

The sudden quiet of the outside was nearly overwhelming, Hawk's voice sounding too loud for you. “How am I supposed to get you home when you're this drunk?”

    “I'm not drunk,” you answered instinctively, knowing that you very well were.

    “If you can make it to the bike in a straight line, I'll believe you.” You look at his bike, ten feet ahead. You decide to keep holding on to him. “That's what I thought. Listen. You gotta stay awake, okay? I can't have you falling off in the middle of the road, or making me sway, because then we're both dead. Got it?”

    “Dead. Got it.”

Hawk didn't look convinced, but placed a helmet on you and buckled it anyway.

It was about ten minutes in to the ride when Hawk pulled over. He turned to you, his voice as serious as he could make it; you simply smiled, somewhat dazed. “This isn't going to work.”

    “Hm?”

    “Y/n!” Hawk called, trying to wake you up a little. “Don't fall asleep!”

    “Yes, sensei.” you slurred. Had you been any more awake, you might have noticed the way Hawk's eyes widened at that.

Hawk had to refocus himself to go on. “I'm serious. Look... My house is closer than yours. You can sleep it off at mine, and I'll take you wherever tomorrow. Okay?”

    “Okay,” you shrugged, your mind not caring about much other than regaining the warmth of Hawk's body pressed against yours.

Minutes later you pulled up at an unfamiliar house. Hawk unbuckled your helmet and set it aside, helping you off the bike and guiding you inside, motioning Shhh as he led you through the corridor of his darkened house until you reached his room.

The most natural thing for you to do the moment you saw a bed was to collapse on it. In the seconds Hawk turned his back on you to find you Pj's to wear, you had fallen asleep.

    Looking at you on his bed, Hawk exhaled heavily. He was very aware of your hatred of him; what he couldn't understand was, if everyone else forgave him, why not you?

It certainly didn't help that you looked the way you do, that you were talented, and that everyone loved you.

So Hawk undid your shoes and pulled them off, laying a blanket on you before leaving you to sleep.

    You woke up groggy, somewhat hungover and in a strangers room; an interesting start to the day.

You didn't really want to leave the comfort of your lonesome in the room but it was clear you would have to face the music at some point, so you womaned up and left the room.

Following the smell of food cooking, you walk down a hallway to find a red-haired man in the kitchen, his tattooed back to you, muscles flexing as he flipped a pancake.

With his hair down, it took you a moment to register who you're seeing; who's bed you spent the night in.

    Hawk.

Your first instinct was to groan, to cower in to yourself in regret; but then you remember how tenderly he treated you the night prior, making sure you got safely to a bed, letting you have his bed.

You swallowed your pride and stepped in to the kitchen. “Morning.”

Hawk's shoulders jumped in fright as you startled him; you couldn't help but giggle. He quickly rightened himself, straightening his back and flexing his abs as he turned to you.

    He was good looking and he knew it. You hated him.

However, you felt your power returning to you as he couldn't help but look you up and down, your disheveled clothes revealing a bit more than they had the night before. Hawk inhaled sharply, reminding himself of who he was, how he was supposed to act: unfazed.

    “Bout time you got up.”

You frowned, looking at the kitchen clock. “What do you mean about time? It isn't even noon yet.”

    “Yeah, well,” Hawk flipped a pancake on to a nearby plate. “You wanted me to take you to the mall today, right? I have practice later, so it's gotta be now.” The Eagle-fangs were holding weekend practices of their own, something you weren't a fan of.

    “Jeez, fine,” you sneered, allowing yourself to sit at the kitchen table. Amidst the chaos that was waking up in Hawks bed, you had totally forgot you previously asked him to take you out today. Yasmine's parents were making her take tutoring lessons, Moon was doing some spiritual healing thing and Sam was with Miguel, so you were left all alone – but you certainly didn't intend on spending Sunday at home, doing nothing.

    Hawk finally shut off the burner and joined you at the table with a stack of pancakes and two plates in tow. “Eat away your hangover. I'm not gonna hold your hair up if you hurl.”

Breakfast with Hawk ended up being a surprisingly civil affair; so was shopping. There was something exciting about dragging him along after you, shop after shop, having him carry your bags and modeling clothes for him. And honestly, you were loving the effect you had on him. You knew he was trying to hide it, but you could see the way he grew antsy when you tried on bikinis. You loved teasing him, knowing he couldn't have you.

    What also didn't hurt was the way you two turned heads walking down streets together. You were undeniably gorgeous, and he... While at first you thought it was the bright red mohawk that grabbed peoples eyes, after a close inspection you couldn't deny he had fair features, too. You had to look away whenever he tensed his jaw, accentuating his jawline, or if God forbid he smiled, you had to deny the way his smile made your stomach knot up.

    As though to top off the experience of him, by the time you finished shopping, Hawk would have been late if he was to take you home, so you suggested he take you to practice with him and just take you home once he was finished. And oh my... You did not need to see him fighting. Having a whole hour to see his biceps flexing as the threw punches was doing you no favors; when you were both practicing you were too busy with yourself to notice him, but right then you had a whole hour to do nothing but stare.

At the end of the practice you rose when Hawk approached you, ready to go. When his sensei understood you were waiting there for him, he asked Hawk, “Yours?”

Hawk didn't answer; he merely smirked that Hawk smirk of his. His sensei nodded proudly. “Nice.” Creep.

You had a couple more days to squeeze the most you could out of your bet, and by all means were you planning on using them.

Hawk was taking you to school and home every day on the back of his bike – to Miyagi-do, too. It became a regular thing to see you two together, and if anyone was expecting you, they expected Hawk, too.

Just as the previous mornings, you and Hawk walked in to school together. Seeing your friends, you bid him goodbye and went to join them, your eyes lingering on him a bit too long as he said hello to Miguel.

Yasmine's jaw dropped as she looked at you, her expression scandalized. “What?” you asked.

    “You're totally in to the freak!”

    “What? No,” you denied – but even as the words left your mouth, you could hear your lack of conviction. “No.”

You looked back to where Hawk and Miguel stood; this time, he caught your eye. Then, with total audacity, he winked at you.

You felt heat rush through your body.

The smirk that grew on him suggested he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

    You hated it.

Deciding to put an end to this madness, you wordlessly leave your friends and march up to Hawk, a new rage running though you.

He stopped talking with Miguel when you reached him; Miguel visibly tensed at what he felt was a dangerous situation for him to be in.

    “Sidebar,” you ordered. Hawk smirked.

    “After you, princess.”

You hoped no one would notice when you lured him in to an empty classroom, but in all honesty, it was you and Hawk. There were always eyes on you two.

You turned to him once you were engulfed in the silence of the room. “Listen. I don't know what you're playing at, but cut it out. I own you, got it? Don't go winking at me in the hallway like I'm your girlfriend or something.”

You expected to see him cower, blush, show any sign of intimidation – but there was no such emotion. The smirk he wore only grew in confidence. “You sure about that?” he asked cheekily. “Because it seems to me like you'll find any excuse to be around me.”

You couldn't believe the audacity of this boy. You were stunted for words; he went on. “Be honest with yourself. Once the week is up, you'll still find reasons to talk to me.”

You bit your cheeks; you hated how he was right, how he read you so easily. “And look, I'm done playing this game too.”

Your stomach dropped. Was he about to reject you, without you even confessing? “I'm not playing with you,” you tried to say intimidatingly, but your voice came out too small for comfort.

    “Me neither. So...” Hawk looked down at you; you could have drowned in his ocean eyes. You averted your gaze to the side, crossing your arms.

    “Fine. We can call it off early.”

Hawk chuckled. You wanted to punch him. “You still don't get it, do you?”

You returned your eyes to Hawk, ready to chew him out when he placed his hands on your cheeks, pulling you to him for a kiss.

You could feel yourself melting in to the kiss, feeling a rush of adrenaline run through you as you finally got to experience what you didn't want to admit to yourself that you craved so deeply.

When he finally pulled away, he kept his hands on you, your noses nearly touching. “I've wanted to do that for a long time,” Hawk admitted.

You half-smiled. “It's only been a week.”

Hawk had burst in laughter, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. “You still don't get it.” Before you could protest his words, his lips met your once more.

    Maybe you could find it in you to forgive him, after all.

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Chapter 5]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: !!DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF A PANIC ATTACK!!; Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

Note from the authors: Hello dear readers! This chapter, as mentioned in the warnings above, has a detailed description of a panic attack which might be highly triggering for some individuals. That being said this chapter is NOT A MUST-READ. You can understand the further progression of the story perfectly well without reading this chapter. If you decide to skip this chapter, which we recommend if you are easily triggered, we’ll be seeing you in the next chapter. If you’re sticking around for the ride, enjoy 🖤🖤���

“headed for a breakdown“

“I’ll catch you later, feel free to text me anytime.” Cora smiles warmly, standing outside Corpse’s apartment complex, where they’ve spent almost half an hour just talking in his car before she finally mentioned she had to get going which led to them both stepping out of the car and into the late afternoon air. At first, Corpse thought it must have been something he had said or did but before the panic could start eating away at his calmness, Cora was quick to reassure him, promising she had a client meeting her in about two hours which is why she needed to get going.

Now he finds himself standing in his apartment, feeling cold and alone. He feels like a huge chunk is missing from his life now, despite that very chunk not even being a part of it just a few hours prior. He allowed Cora to bring him some happiness, relief and ease for those few hours, and now that she’s gone, he realizes how unprepared he is to be dealing with his loneliness again. He’s aware he shouldn’t get this attached to someone he barely knows, or to anyone really, but she made him feel so much, and none of the feelings unpleasant: she allowed him security, safety, comfort; she gave him some of the most genuine laughs of his life, managed to speed up his heart because of excitement and joy, not anxiety or insecurity. She provided him with what he’s been longing for for so long, and she did all that in less than a day.

With all that taken into consideration, one would find him missing her more than reasonable, but Corpse isn’t so easy on himself. Quite the contrary actually, he’s scolding himself for it in this very moment as he paces the living room. 

He shifts from one foot to the other, tipping his head down as he carefully toes off his shoes. He stops in one spot suddenly, feeling himself consumed by the deafening silence, a lump starting to form in his throat as well as tightness building in his jaw. The telling sign. His eyes sting, burning red and painful. His head is swarmed, buzzing statically like a TV on a dead air channel.

I fucked up

I fuck everything up

I am a fuck up

These thoughts begin to cloud his brain with such intensity there is no way of him even having a chance at fighting them or pushing them away. They take firm hold on his brain and refuse to let go. He’s no stranger to them but that doesn’t mean he has any defenses ready for when they show themselves. He’s helpless and hopeless even after all the times he’s had to deal with them though it seems like they get progressively stronger instead of weaker.

This time, they appear the strongest yet.

Tears burn his eyes so he covers one eye with the palm of his hand in a hopeless attempt at keeping them at bay, choking out a soft noise from his throat as everything starts welling up in his heart, causing him excruciating pain in his chest. 

He’s sure he did something wrong. Said the wrong thing. Had the wrong reaction. Messed something up. 

He plays every second back in his mind over and over again, searching between the lines of conversation, skimming through each word they exchanged for something, anything that would indicate that his worries and anxiety are grounded and concrete. His heart is galloping, his mind is going haywire. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to defend himself against the raging storm that has taken over his head and the incoming waves of negativity that are for sure to attack him in the horrible, painful minutes to come.

He wants to sit down, lie down, anything just to get off his shaking feet and relieve his knees that are threatening to give up on him any second now. However, he simultaneously wants to punch a wall, a mirror, break something, ruin something as a piece of evidence that he always ruins things for himself and others. That he is exactly what he claims to be - a fuck up.

You aren’t worth it

You aren’t good enough

You are never good enough

People deserve better than you

They don’t want you around

She doesn’t want you

AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT

His mind races, spins, betrays him, leaves him to drown in the darkness that is slowly consuming him. The room feels both too big and too small at the same time, suffocating yet he feels so small in comparison to it. His knees finally give, let him down just like his mind has and he drops down to his knees, clutching at his chest. Breaths come at a rapid pace as he starts hyperventilating, wheezing and sobbing with each passing moment, barely able to squeeze enough air into his lungs as to not pass out. He digs his nails into the carpet in desperate attempts to ease the pain or just to keep himself awake and stable, as stable as he could possibly be during a panic attack.

Pity Grief  Loneliness Disgust  Sorrow Dread

His checkpoint isn’t here and the demons in his head are telling him she’ll never be again. Telling him he isn’t worth it, telling him she deserves better and shouldn’t be wasting her time on him anyway. 

He forces himself to his still and even more so unsteady feet, swaying dangerously before finding some weak stability to carry himself to his room to avoid being any more miserable than he already is by lying on the floor. His body doesn’t seem to agree with him though, flashing warning signs at him that he shouldn’t be standing up right now. He ignores all the warnings, the clouded and then vignetted vision, the much harder process of breathing and the retching that is steadily climbing from the pit of his stomach up towards his throat.

All signs telling him this is not a battle he can win.  

                                                               *  *  *

Corpse wakes up on the floor, having dropped before he could reach his bed, vomit beside him. His breathing is shaky, almost as much as his hands. Ignoring the warning signs yet again he pushes himself in a sitting position, causing his head to spin even worse due to the sudden movement which is the last thing he needed in this state the panic attack has left him in.

I blacked out. I can’t even have a panic attack right, He thinks to himself, the toxicity remaining in his mind just to pollute it for the next couple of days or so.

He’s trembling horribly yet he still chooses to not allow himself the rest he so desperately needs and instead gets up onto his feet to clean the mess on the carpet he’ll probably need to buy a stain remover for. His jaw clenches, his shaking hands doing a poor job at making anything better, actually worsening the situation he’s trying to fix. With another fail added to his list of fuck ups, he gives up on the carpet, removing his stained sweatshirt with force and throwing it across the room before he climbs into bed, wrapping the blankets around him like a safety cocoon.

Just as he thinks he’s about to drift off to sleep, his only refuge, his phone chimes, startling him more than it probably should’ve.

Out of instinct, he reaches out and fishes for it among the many items littering his nightstand. Finally feeling the rectangular device under his touch, he retrieves it and checks what the chime is alerting him of.

It’s a text from an unknown number but the message’s content clears up the identity of the sender right away.

Digital Checkpoint activated. Reply to save progress. 💜 — Cora

With minimal contemplation he replies seconds later.

Corpse: save

Cora: your progress has been saved. Thank you for choosing A.S.S. - the Automated Save System. You are now free to activate the digital checkpoint at any time. 

Cora: I had a nice time. Text me whenever you need to. We’ll hang out again soon, deal?

Corpse: thank you

Cora: anytime sugar ;)

Funny how a text exchange so simple and short can turn so much around for a person. Funny how a huge weight lifts off him the second he locks his phone, suddenly finding it easier to breathe, to move, to blink, to function - to live. She gives him that kick he needs to be reminded to live and not just be alive. He’s still not comfortable with how much he’s relying on her but seeing her effect on him is nothing but positive, the most and best thing he can do for himself is go with the flow and let things happen. No overthinking, no planning, no shooting guesses, just facing things as they come face-to-face with him. He may never get used to it, but he won’t know that until he tries, will he?

@fockingwhore  @vixenl  @annshit  @wineandionysus  @wiseflamingoqueen

[fishyfod]

(Slightly) more organized thoughts on the V8 finale.

tl;dr I think the finale had some issues.

I’ll start this off by emphasizing again that this is my opinion, so read something else if you can’t handle negative criticism of RWBY. I say this because too often people in this FNDM can’t handle a difference in opinion without insulting or patronizing others, and I want none of that.

Now, RWBY’s general structural issue is a lack of time to fulfill all their ambitions, and they usually tend to neglect one aspect a bit more than others. In volumes 7 and 8 this proved to be quite a problem, because they wanted to tell quite a complicated story while introducing a fairly large amount of new and returning characters. I very much like the story they told in these volumes, but it must be said that the development and focus on the regular cast, and team RWBY in particular, has suffered for it. It’s not a deal breaker for me personally, but I do think it’s an issue.

So when I saw the finale episode only had about 20 minutes, I figured the best course of choice for RWBY would be to focus on the Atlas-only plots, and leave RWBY & co’s stories for the next volume, which by all accounts seems to be focused only on their character. And credit where credit is due, this is what RWBY decided to do with this finale. This doesn’t really solve the underlying issue that the main cast has yet again been relegated to such a minor role in their own show, but I can live with it.

I still do have a problem with how RWBY’s role in this finale was handled, and forgive me because this might be the least well-explained part of this review. The best way to describe it would be that, though I know I’m watching team RWBY, they don’t feel present in the finale? I struggle to put my finger on it, if it’s more an issue of direction or execution, but something about RWBY’s fight felt off for me.

By comparison, when I think of the episode before, I don’t have this issue. While the way Yang fell isn’t RWBY’s best execution, the reactions of RWBY to that fall worked quite well. There was individual focus on Yang falling, Blake screaming and raging at it, Weiss’s heart breaking into two, Ruby falling into more despair - the tragedy works because of it. I don’t feel the same about the finale, RWB fall almost as if they’re passerby rather than the main characters.

Again, maybe this is just me, maybe I’ll change my mind later. Whatever.

I think Cinder is the one I’m most satisfied with. She seems in character, she acts a lot like she did in her confident state during Beacon, and I did get the impression Salem knows Cinder is lying to her. I admit that I did not expect this direction for Cinder, it seemed like the right spot to have her break free from Salem, but it’s too early for me to call where her arc is going to.

The only nitpick I have with Cinder is how she offed Arthur. I felt like it could have a little more focus? I get that his death is supposed to feel completely inconsequential, but I wish there was just a little bit more there. Again, only a nitpick.

Vine - I think my opinion on Vine’s death is quite unpopular. It felt too last minute, without enough setup. See, while killing Harriet here would have its own set of issues, she was well developed enough where you could actively feel for her, while also expecting a possible death. I can’t say the same about Vine; Vine is only a teensy bit more developed than Elm, which isn’t a lot. He’s making a huge sacrifice, but the lack of character makes him seem expendable by design. It feels like the writers put all their efforts into threatening Harriet’s life, realized last minute that actually they could a lot more with her character (good call), so they shoved in Vine in her place because they still needed a bomb sacrifice.

On the flip side, three of the Ace Ops surviving and proving once and for all they broke away from Ironwood too, with Harriet and Marrow still alive - that is good. I’m not sure what more they’re planning to do with their characters, but it’s preferable to far worse alternatives I can imagine. We’ll see.

Then there’s Penny. sigh

I’m not sure what I can add that P5, bell or cosmokyrin, and probably a few others haven’t already said, but I don’t think it was well written. The whole body-thing in “Creation”, sure, I can accept that was a difference of interpretation. This? This whole, let’s resurrect Penny, develop her immensely as a character, reaffirm her autonomy multiple times over, avoid multiple deaths, only to die like this?

I know the common comparison people make here is with V3, and I can see where people are coming from. After all, Pyrrha and Penny’s deaths were impactful and tragic there, and most people agree that was well written. What’s the difference here? Some differences in circumstance are worth visiting here.

Penny of the Beacon era, lovable character that she was already, was not the most developed character. At the end of the day, most of what we knew of Penny then was in relation to Ruby - we knew Ruby cared for her a lot, we knew why they bonded, so we had setup as to why her death would impact the Fall so much. It works, because it gave enough focus on her for us to care about, but not overly so where the shocking factor of the Fall wouldn’t work.

With Pyrrha, I think we all knew the signs were there at the end of the day. I’d argue that Pyrrha’s very conception as a character lead to her death, she was just slightly too perfect for us not to expect a tragedy to occur. Importantly, her major arc in V3 sets us up to her death - through her conversation with Ozpin’s gang and Jaune, the introduction of Ember and the soul transfer device, killing Penny - by the time Pyrrha dies you’re prepared for it, and it still hurts. Even if the tragic scenario presented (losing Pyrrha because of the soul transfer) wasn’t the one used, dying because she tried defending the use of those powers from Cinder made sense. It was enough of a switch you weren’t bored because you expected everything to go to plan, but it wasn’t too drastic where you felt completely unprepared for what would happen.

The trouble with how Penny’s death was handled here, is in part because they just kept pushing us to the edge, making us worry about one tragic scenario, another way for Penny to die, only to alleviate our fears - only to kill her off anyway in a completely separate way. It happened so often in these two volumes, when we were already fresh off recognizing Penny wasn’t dead in V3, that rather than feeling like an expected death that is tragic, is feels like they toyed with out perception constantly only because they could. When you raise and lower death flags over and over in such a small amount of time, the tragedy you aimed to convey is lost. Perhaps unintentionally, the point no longer seems to be telling a tragic story, it’s only playing this cruel game of perception with the audience. What’s the joke about Jean Grey in x-men, that she keeps being killed off and resurrected so often it’s hard to care about it all? Is this how I’m supposed to look at Penny, RWBY’s Jean Grey?

Granted, I’m not sure that if they committed to one consistent death threat with Penny and followed through, that necessarily would’ve been better. I’m not sure how I’d think of RWBY if she died from the virus, for example. At least, however, I’d be more confident in saying that was a difference of direction, rather than a difficult writing choice to comprehend.

It’s only fitting I’d talk about Winter now, huh? I think you all know my stance about her as a character, I’d argue that she, Ironwood and Cinder were the best handled characters in these two volumes by a fair margin, but the finale leaves me very conflicted about her.

On the one hand, it’s everything I want. Winter’s confrontation with Ironwood is like a mix of Blake facing off against Adam and Yang confronting Raven, and while not as impactful in terms of storytelling, they do deliver on the same fronts. Winter calls out Ironwood for his lies, establishing once and for all it was by her volition she broke off, her conscience that was always better, and there is something poetic about her gaining the Winter Maiden powers to fulfill her goal of protecting others.

...but I can’t separate this from Penny’s fate. And it frustrates me to no end, because I love her connection to Penny, I made comparisons of how it reminds of Bumbleby’s relationship, it drives their characters forward so much, heck, I like that Penny took a part in taking down Ironwood with Winter, in a sense. But because Penny’s death feels so contrived, its connection to Winter almost cheapens the importance of their relationship with each other. And it doesn’t seem quite needed either, since they individually as characters already broke free from Ironwood.

I can sort of see that I am supposed to interpret it as a tragedy, and I do indeed think Winter getting the Maiden powers is tragic for her character (not unlike Spring Maiden!Yang theories), and I am excited to see where this is going. I thought this was the end for Winter’s major impact on the story, but there’s a whole other arc waiting, and Penny’s a major part of it too.

To say I’m conflicted about Winter would be an understatement.

The actual silver lining, for me, is the post credit scene. Volume 9 is an opportunity for RWBY to try and change some of the problem I presented initially. My hope is that by focusing almost exclusively on team RWBY, with Jaune and Neo, and putting less emphasis on developing the settings of giant-tree-land and not over-complicating the plot. Hopefully, this would allow them to focus on developing the main cast again, in in particular addressing some of the main issues presented; notably, the Bees confessing, Ruby maybe reaching her breaking point, Yang’s issues being addressed, and hopefully something more individual for Blake and Weiss as well. Neo is an interesting curveball to throw into this equation, and I have a decent amount of hope with Jaune (although then I remember it’s probably going to be about Penny, and, ugh...).

Yeah, that’s all I have at the moment. If you want to talk about it, my inbox and DM’s are always open. If you disagree with me that’s fair, just give me the minimal amount of respect rather than being an ass about it.

[lorelylantana]

Unconventional Observation Chapter 2; Gamble

Chapter Rating: M Overall Rating: E

First-Next

The first step of any reputable scientific inquiry was to establish a control group. This proved a tad difficult, as there was only one Link. But such a small setback didn’t deter Zelda for long, as she resolved to begin with recording the everyday behaviors of her knight. After all, you can’t identify deviations without first knowing the standard.

It was largely uneventful, in all honesty. Her knight’s trademark stoicism meant that any visual mannerisms were hard to come by, harder still to record with the consistency required for scientific revelation. The flip side of this bland undertaking was its simplicity. His countenance was so stable, so predictable, that she didn’t need nearly as much time putting it to paper as she anticipated.That wasn’t to say there weren’t roadblocks. One such aggravation came from the realization that Link reacted to her differently. Granted, this should be obvious, as she was his charge. What she didn’t expect was a discrepancy in how he reacted to her gaze.

Zelda had spent a lot more time staring at her knight than she had in the past, and he had noticed. He couldn’t meet her stare all the time, having to focus on their surroundings as her guard. Yet there was an undeniable tension in him, he stood straighter, and she noticed a light pink on the tips of his ears. 

Zelda had a list of potential causes, though, narrowing them down should be simple enough. The first possibility was the obvious. Zelda thought that this was how he reacted to being looked at in general. It made sense, if his lack of spoken word was an indication of bashfulness. This conclusion was shattered with the discovery that he endured the brazen stares of smitten maids giggling as they passed with barely a blink. She knew they weren’t unnoticed, as the giggles started after he made eye contact with them, which sent her back to the drawing board.

Her second guess was Link’s reaction being a byproduct of her rank. He may be the Hero of Hyrule, but Zelda was still his princess, and he was still a soldier. Even the freshest recruit knew any special attention from a superior while on duty was negative. Certain instincts were tough to crack, even after his ascension to Champion.

 In the end, all she needed was a week to get feel confident that she could effectively identify any differences he might exhibit during trials, where she knew her questions would be answered.

Then it was time for a gamble. Confident in her baseline recordings, Zelda set out to craft her experiment. Detestable as he was, he was still a person, and experimenting on him without his knowledge or consent was unethical. Thus, she approached him on a trek to the Dueling Peaks. Her studies suggested that his favorite meal was a prime meat and rice bowl, so she had some packed for their journey. 

“I have a proposition, sir knight,” she said as they made camp. He didn’t answer, only stared. She felt a thrill flick at the bottom of her stomach at the look in his eye. A gambler’s high, perhaps. He gave no reply save for the tilt of his head, which she took as a sign to continue.

“I would like to ask for your assistance in a new line of scientific study,” she began, voice quivering slightly. He raised a brow but said nothing, so she continued,  “I’m sure you know of my father’s insistence that my research is fruitless, however I firmly believe that my current subject of study could add to my efforts to gain Hylia’s power. If I can map out how energy flows through the body the knowledge might help me find the sealing power,” she said

“It’s not a waste of time,” he insisted, quietly but with conviction. It took only those few words to fill Zelda with optimism.

“You’ll help me then?”

He nodded. She clapped her hands in triumph. 

“Excellent! Let’s get started right away,” she said, reaching for her notes and a measuring tape, “I have some experiments in mind, but for now I’d like to get some baseline measurements down so any changes will be apparent immediately.”

Link nodded, though he didn’t say anything, Zelda felt her cheeks flush a bit. She was no stranger to her knight’s gaze, but this interaction was foriegn to her. Unlike the obligated glance he threw her way as her guard, now Link was engaging in conversation. Undoubtedly one sided, but existent nonetheless. She continued, blush burning even brighter at her next request, “In order to have a comprehensive foundation to build off of, I’ll have to take a close examination of your physique, and how it reacts to certain stimuli.” 

Link tilted his head again, only instead of a silent question, Zelda swore she saw a smirk grow on his face. Zelda needed a breath before she continued, the fluttering in her stomach knocking her off her stroke.

“Before we begin, I would like to remind you that you may bow out at any time without fear of repercussions,” she said, “I wouldn’t want my knight to break.”

Now that was most certainly a smirk. He looked her in the eye again, a rarity quickly becoming common, challenge burning in his eye.

Well, Zelda was never one to back down, and certainly not from the likes of him.

He sat on the desk in her study a few days later, pliant beneath her gaze. She’d emptied one of the tables to use as a makeshift examination table and dragged it out so he could sit on it without hitting his head. He’d shed his tunic and she’d locked the door, having no desire to explain this to any passing maid.

She put a hand on Link’s chest, gently pushing him down until he lay still beneath her on the wood. Zelda sucked in a breath, drunk on the quiet power of his compliance. She ran her hands over his stomach, blushing when the muscles clenched under her fingertips. She felt her face heat, but then her eyes flicked to his face. His jaw was set, and he stared at the ceiling.

She withdrew her hand, cursing herself for already making him uncomfortable.

“Sir knight,” she said, he looked at her, “I meant what I said, you can leave if you’re uncomfortable.”

“That’s not-” his voice broke, unprepared to be used so forcefully after his time he spent silent. He paused, trying to word his thoughts. Zelda waited, half in shock to have heard his voice at all. He took a breath, “I don’t get touched very often. When I do, it’s because I broke something, and fixing it’s going to hurt.”

Zelda felt sick. She’d imagined time and time again what his first words to her might be, if they ever happened. She’d imagined his patience snapping, his ire finally been let loose as he spewed a toxic deluge of hate and contempt.

Somehow, this was worse. It shattered her because it was the antithesis of the concept of him Zelda had crafted. She had wasted so much time focusing on how high his pedestal was. She spared no thought to how much it hurt him when he fell down.

She brought out a set of paints and a thin brush and brought it over to him. He’d stated his intent to stay, and she didn’t want to betray his vulnerability by shying away now. She ran the brush along his bicep. To her relief, although one that was painful, he didn’t flinch.

“How does that feel?”

He nodded, “Fine.”

“Okay.” Zelda dipped her brush into the jar of paint. “I found this recipe in the library. Apparently it’s supposed to augment your combative capabilities.” She rattled off the ingredients, anxious now that the man in front of her was made of flesh and bone instead of myth and steel. 

She dipped the brush into her jar, tapping it out before dragging the brush down his arm. She had a chart of standard Hylian muscleclature that she used as a reference, tracing each major muscle with her paint. It started off strangely tranquil, as she worked, Zelda noticed him relax. His breathing slowed, and another glance at his face revealed him dozing off. Zelda’s heart fluttered, an unfamiliar, affectionate warmth growing in her stomach. 

Things changed when Zelda finished with his arms and shoulders and moved to his chest.  When she drew the brush under his collarbone and down towards his sternum he jumped. She looked at him, worried that he was uncomfortable, but his eyes were still closed and she continued. She began to circle each of his abs individually, going lower and lower.

Then she noticed that the bulge in his pants had shifted. Not that she’d spent much time looking. Link must have realized why she stopped, because he really did tense up, his abdomen crunching as he sat up.

“I’ll- uh- go down and do some drills,” he said, swinging down to stand on the floor. “I’ll let you know if the paint does anything.”

And then he was gone, leaving the door open behind him and Zelda standing flustered and confused.

[datawyrms]

The thrilling conclusion. (may not actually be thrilling/a conclusion) Part 1 and 2 respectively. Why was she actually doing this? Standing outside of FentonWorks and it’s eye searing sign in full ghost fighting gear, preparing to knock on the door. It had to be a trap, the ghost kid must have done something to the ghost hunters to make them want to help it. ‘Wanting to talk’, as if. Yet here she was, blundering right into the obvious bear trap anyway. Danny still hadn’t returned to school, even though Sam and Tucker had been acting like they knew where he was, so they had to be in on it too. If Phantom thought he could use her friend against her, he’d have another thing coming. Several very painful things, even. She clenched her fist hard to stop the slight tremor before knocking on the door.

Jack always struck her as more of a brick wall than a man, towering and orange as the door swung open. He looked puzzled for half a second before beaming. “HA! I was right, you did show up! See Mads, she totally did!” He seemed more like an excited puppy than anything, neck craning back to talk to his wife.

“Yes Jack, I see her.” Maddie still had the hood of her suit up, adjusting the goggles as she peered out to their doorstep at the teenage ghost hunter. “You did come to talk, right?”

“Course she did! He’s gotta trust his friends more, like I do!”

Even with her face obscured, Maddie clearly wasn’t a fan of the ‘trusting friends’ line, lips pursed before patting the boisterous man on the back. “How about you go let him know sweetie, while I let her in?”

“Great idea! I’ll even get some discussion fudge!” He zipped away faster than Valerie thought he could manage, the oppressive positivity swept away with him as the blue jumpsuited hunter crossed her arms.

“You don’t have any weapons? We have more than enough ourselves if you’re worried about your safety.”

“I won’t do anything if that ghost doesn’t.” It was hard to keep the disgust out of her voice, watching them act like this. Maddie had always struck her as the more reasonable Fenton, yet she seemed far more worried about some ghost than Jack did, for all his positivity.

“That isn’t what I asked. So I’ll repeat it. Do you have any weapons on you? If you do, just hand them over and then we can talk.”

She was talking like she was more of a threat than that monster in the basement! Whatever that ghost did, it must have been powerful. Maddie Fenton, worried for a ghost she’d gladly spoken about cutting open in the name of science only a month ago. It felt like she’d walked into bizarro world. Maybe if she waited long enough a white rabbit would run by screaming about the time.

“I didn’t bring any weapons. Even though I should have.”

Maddie watched her for a long moment, as if trying to see past the mask and figure out if the red suited ghost hunter was trying to lie. With the smallest sigh, she stepped aside to allow her into the home that doubled as a laboratory. “Follow me. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

She doubted anyone could be perfectly safe in a lab with a portal to another dimension filled with ectoplasmic fiends in it, adding the most dangerous ghost that liked to play ‘innocent’ just made it worse. She wouldn’t be alone down there, judging by the snippets of conversation that were floating up the stairs.

“-not gonna eat that, just take it.”

“Aww, but it’s the good stuff!”

“You need to try-” Jazz stopped speaking at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, turning to glare at the ghost hunter.

Phantom barely even reacted, only the eerie green eyes flicking towards the entrance. Apparently he was too busy sitting comfortably in what looked like a recliner they’d brought down for the ghost to bother with more than that. It just seemed off, having a ghost looking so grounded. “Left it to the last day, huh?” The confident grin didn’t reach his eyes, and even that vanished after a few seconds, like it had been more of a habit than wanting to act like that.

“Only because I know you’re up to something.”

“Yup. That’s me, plotting evil deeds. Maybe next time I won’t get punched through a wall!” He had the energy to roll his eyes, but didn’t cross his arms like she expected him to. “You can go guys, it’s just a chat. Probably.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-” Maddie’s concern was sickening, watching someone she could respect sometimes just fawning over a playacting ghost.

“I’ll be fine. This is between us.”

“Sure thing! Oh, if you have any symptoms just yell and I’ll be right there kiddo.” The huge man mussed the ghost’s hair, grin wide despite how wrong it looked. “I totally thought of a new approach, so just sit tight!” He was halfway up the stairs by the time he finished talking, not that the distance made him any less audible. Maddie hesitated a moment longer, but followed the loud love of her life.

The only unjumpsuited Fenton seemed to disagree. “I’m not leaving.”

“Yes you are Jazz!”

“I don’t care if she stays, ghost. You can quit stalling.” Valerie interrupted before the two of them could make her wait for ages with some pointless bickering.

Instead the redhead rounded on her. “He has a name. Use it.”

“Jazz, I really don’t care. Just go already.” He looked almost as irritated as she felt . “I just want to get this over with.”

“I don’t trust her not to do something.”

Didn’t trust her? Over the destructive white haired menace? That was just insulting. “You said you’d talk, so start explaining” she did her best to ignore Danny’s sister, it was probably just whatever the ghost was holding over their heads making her act like this.

“Won’t help if you don’t actually listen for a change.” His eyes narrowed, but more at Jazz than Valerie. “You don’t need to hear this Jazz. Okay?”

“If you think I don’t, I definitely do.” She scowled right back, acting as if they were a bratty younger kid than a ghost that could rip her face off. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine! Whatever, be stubborn. Can’t do anything about it.” His eyes seemed to glow more strongly before the ghost slumped back more in the chair. “So what do you think I did then? Since you keep trying to bother my friends.”

“There’s no way you got the Fentons and those two on your side without leverage. Sure, some kids actually buy that hero crap, but the Fentons don’t.” Only having a finger to point at the ghost made her feel unprepared.

The glowing teenager looked bored. “So you think I’m a kidnapper.”

“I know you did something to Danny. The timing matches up too well. So out with it.”

“Or what, you’ll kill me faster?” He seemed to freeze up after the words were out, smacking himself in the face. “Habit. I didn’t do anything, but it’s going to be hard to explain.”

This was such a waste of time. “Because it’s all made up nonsense?”

“It’ll sound like it! But it’s not. I can prove it.” the ghost stopped as if he needed to catch his breath. “At least I think I can. You left this really, really late.”

“You’re getting off track.” Jazz spoke up before Valerie could say something similar but with far less charitable phrasing.

“Right. Just trying to figure out how to say it.” A gloved hand rubbed at his forehead, brow furrowed as the ghost muttered. “You know what ghosts are made of, right?”

“Ectoplasm and bad attitudes. Duh, anyone in Amity could tell you that.” What was this, quiz time? Some sort of ‘How long can I annoy the ghost hunter before she shoots and makes me look good’ plan?

His shoulders barely move, a negative effort shrug. “Close enough.”

“It really isn’t! Ectoplasm might be what a ghost builds their body out of but-”

Phantom cut her off, leaning forward with the air of absolute exhaustion. “Jazz I do not have time to explain the specific inner workings of ghosts to someone who hates me right now!”

“It’ll help with the next bit, but fine. Go ahead and get all confused.” The redhead sat back, arms crossed.

“Thank you.” Green eyes shifted to find Valerie again before the ghost continued. “Thing is, I’m not all ectoplasm.”

“Is that why you’re extra obnoxious? Have some dirt mixed in there?”

The ghost actually laughed. “Probably!” He did hold up a hand while the laugh subsided, apparently having something more to add. “Not all dirt. But you got the important bit. I’m not a proper ghost, exactly.”

“I don’t run some endangered petting zoo, ghost. So why should I care?” Though it did explain the hunter ghost that was always after the obnoxious white haired creep.

“You should care because right now, I’m doing the whole ‘post human consciousness’ thing completely wrong.” He was watching her closely, a strange look on that dead face. Dread, anxiety? It didn’t look right on his face. “In that I’m not post human. Yet.”

Maybe the ghost was just trying to see if he could get a funny reaction. “Sorry Phantom, you look really dead to me.”

“Oh I feel real dead! But nope. Ah- I said I can prove it, don’t start yelling.” he muttered the last bit quickly, eyes flicking away from her obvious disbelieving glare. “Probably. Hurts. Gimme a sec-”

“I just wanted an answer to what you were doing, not this inane story.”

“Inane story very important answering that.” the ghost didn’t seem to even notice he was just dropping words from his sentence, more focused at staring at his own hand.

Jazz got up, hovering over the ghost as if deeply concerned for the absurdity spouting spirit. “I can back you up, you don’t need to prove it.”

“She’ll never believe it without seeing it. Which is why we’re doing this at all. Before I can’t.”

“Mom and Dad are still working on it, they’ll figure out a way to fix it.”

“No they won’t Jazz! I want them to, but they won’t! Not with how they explained it.”

“You’re just letting the worst outcome seem like the most likely one.”

“No, I’m actually understanding what they mean and being realistic!”

Honestly, this entire little exchange felt like something private she’d barged in on. She gave a loud cough, which seemed to startle both of them, heads jerking to look in her direction. They almost looked related, being that in sync.

The psychology lover recovered first. “Urgh. Just say it out loud, you’re obviously struggling.”

Which snapped the ghost boy out of it. “And you’re obviously not helping!”

“So what, you threatened the Fentons with a really bad comedy act?” The ghost winced at the angry rebuke, but she wasn’t done. “I get you being obnoxious, but dragging Jazz into it? You’re pretty sick.”

“He’s Danny.” There was no amusement in her voice, no hint of the concerned smile she kept giving the ectoplasmic pest.

“Jazz!” There was a genuine note of anger, and the temperature seemed to dip as the ghost glared at the one that didn’t want him blasted out of existence.

“I don’t really care what you call him, that doesn’t answer-”

Jazz cut her off, ignoring the cold glare being thrown at her. “It does. Danny isn’t missing, he’s right here.”

“You managed to trick the Fentons into thinking you’re their kid? What did you do to Danny?” Valarie rounded on the ghost, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“Nothing!” His hands were up even as his eyes stayed fixed on the elder Fenton child. “I told you she won’t believe it!”

“Nothing’s happened to Danny. This is him. Only grumpier.”

“You can’t honestly think that thing is your brother!”

“Wow Jazz, you managed to get me called a thing. Great assist, keep it up.” Phantom was muttering, settling back as if he planned to just take a nap. “If you keep this up, maybe she’ll shoot me!”

“You could try standing up for yourself, Danny.”

“Oh no, you dug this hole. You lie in it. I’d say your grave, but I have dibs in that department. Twiceover!”

She was going to punch this ghost. Even if the creature could just phase through it. She wanted to clobber it for whatever THIS was. “So you killed Danny, and took his place. That’s what you’re saying?” At least she had the satisfaction of the ghost looking like it wanted to vanish as she stepped forward.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything. That was Jazz.”

“No! Danny’s always been both. I’ve known for a while, but he had to tell Mom and Dad. That’s why they’re suddenly fine with Phantom.” Jazz insisted, trying to look Valerie in the eye. “He isn’t missing, and hasn’t done anything to us.”

“Danny is not a life ruining monster. I don’t care how convincing that thing seems to you, that ghost is NOT my friend.” Danny was sweet, big hearted and a bit of a shy little dork. Phantom was nothing but a snide, cocky creep that insisted you should just forget anything that made him look like the scummy ghost he was. They were nothing alike.

“And this is why I just wanted to make things quick.” The ghost seemed to fold in on himself, not looking at either of the humans in the room. “You can hate me all you want, just let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain! You aren’t Danny.”

“He is. It explains everything. Think about it logically. Danny goes ‘missing’. He tries to fix the problem himself, but he can’t. We convince him he has to tell our parents. He finally does, and even though Danny is still ‘missing’ they stop saying things like a ghost kidnapped him. Because we know where he is.”

“Or he’s still missing and you’ve bought some nonsense story to feel better about it when this ghost probably just tortured him for information.” Jazz didn’t back down from her snappy response, but did seem to be at a loss.

“Hey! I do not do torture. That’s literally everyone who isn’t me.” the ghost sounded offended, shaking his hand as if trying to get it to do something. “Anyway, this is going to suck. I blame you Jazz.”

“Excuse me for thinking friends of yours can be logical with the truth in their faces!”

“Nah. I get to say I told you so for a change.”

Valrie planned to make the two quit their pointless bickering, but words died in her throat as a set of rings appeared near the ghost’s wrist. It wasn’t an attack she’d seen the menace use before and she was already settling into a fighting stance to combat it. Yet it stayed around the ghost, slowly down his arm. It seemed a bit much as a way to take off a ghostly jumpsuit, but she preferred that first thought to how the ghost changed as it swept over his face.

Black hair, blue eyes. Her friend’s face, Danny’s face set in a grimace of pain as the rings snuffed out, a boy that looked pale and sickly while struggling to breathe where the blight of a ghost had been.

“Yup. Sucks. Ow.” Danny wheezed, eyes unfocused even though he knew the two of them were still there.

Jazz was there in seconds. “You need to switch back. Mom said-”

“S-she’s gotta know it isn’t a trick first.” the boy insisted, and his voice was right. It was Danny’s, without the horrid echo or slimy snaps the ghost made.

Yet it had to be a trick. There was no way her friend had been a lie. Just some rotten ghost who’d gotten close to her as some sort of joke. A ghost that had tricked her after making sure she knew he was nothing but a monster in one disguise. “Who are you.” The question was weak.

“Just Danny. Been this way since the accident.” He looked like he was going to say more but was cut off by a coughing fit, flecks of ectoplasm making his pale skin look even closer to dead as it splattered on his hastily raised hand. “That’s new.” His laugh set her teeth on edge.

Her brain wouldn’t work. It was impossible, it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want it to be true. She’d liked him well enough before. This-she wasn’t sure how else she could take this. “So why are you telling me now.”

“I wanted you to know while I could still prove it.”

“Why? Did you think this would help you? Think I might pity you if you look sick?”

“No.” Blue eyes looked away as the rings returned the ghost to the chair. “I told you so you’d leave my friends alone. Since I don’t think I’m going to stop being missing.”

He’d revealed his nasty trick, but wasn’t mocking her about it, or lording over her with it. It didn’t fit. They couldn’t be the same person. You couldn’t be alive and dead at the same time! She wanted to choke him, but also wanted to help. She hated this, she hated him for making this complicated. “Stay missing?” The sickness had to be an act, right? Like how he pretended he was a friend.

“Yeah. I got lucky in the accident. I wasn’t quite a ghost, and not exactly a human.” Phantom wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, apparently preferring to stare at the wall. “It was a balance thing, I guess. I didn’t really notice at first. Like the obvious I did, the whole having ghost powers thing, being able to switch back and forth.” The rambling didn’t stop even as he started scratching at the back of his neck. “I didn’t notice even as a human I needed ectoplasm to keep my heart going, or as a ghost I could use more than just ectoplasm to keep my energy up. I need both halves, I can’t survive without both.” He hesitated again, getting a reassuring hand on the shoulder from Jazz. “Problem is I managed to get that balance screwed up. Ran myself ragged fighting ghosts, didn’t get enough sleep, basically coasted on my ghost half to keep functioning. And I’m a strong ghost now, I guess. Too strong for my weak human body to manage anymore. So I’m basically eating myself alive and falling apart. It’s great. This is when I have a quip about work life balance or something, but I’m too tired to think of one.”

“He wasn’t hiding this out of maliciousness you know. He was afraid.” Jazz was frowning as she watched how the ghost hunter hadn’t really relaxed, still stiff and angry looking. “He couldn’t even make himself tell Mom and Dad until we basically forced him to.”

“She doesn’t care, Jazz.” he grunted, still not looking, “But you know now. So you don’t need to go after anyone to find out what happened. It’s self inflicted.”

It was too much. The whole thing was absurd. What could she even say to something like this? To have the world invert to show ugly stains you didn’t see before? They would need to talk again. About this. About what he actually was, or wasn’t. Now though?

She could only leave without a word.

[deniigi]

Last Mike piece kind of combining a handful of different requests.

It’s a long one and is under the cut.

(Note, contains some stereotyping--I love Mike but I don’t imagine him as a super sensitive or culturally aware type of guy.)

Thanks to everyone who sent in asks!! And who has read and commented on stories up until this point.

You’re all darlings and stars and I appreciate you immensely. Truly immensely. It is a pleasure to read your comments and reactions and to have met so many lovely humans through the work.

---

keeping brothers

Mike comes to SF to demand retribution for not being invited to Matt and Foggy’s wedding. He crashes into Sam and finds in him a challenge that is perhaps even too great for even Mike Murdock to overcome.

---

Foggy was not presently receptive to advances.

This was unfortunate. Especially since revenge was needing to be taken here over dear, dear Matthew going forth with a wedding without even inviting his only, humble brother to sit in the pews.

Mike had picked out a suit and everything.

It was yellow.

Everyone loved yellow.

He’d gotten a hat to go with it.

Everyone loved hats.

Matt, however, seemed to have other ideas and went on and on about how he was planning on an August wedding and he’d tell Mike in the next month or so what the decided date was and what the color scheme was, and so on and so on. And yet, somehow, by the time May was rolling to a close, with months left until the auspicious August date, Mike got a furious call from the Sister who, for once, had found it in herself to contact him first and who was also offended on Matt’s and Dad’s behalf that Mike had failed to show up to his own twin’s wedding.

She didn’t yell. No of course she didn’t. But she told Mike that God was watching him and that he should consider how he was going to make it up to his brother.

His brother.

Hmph.

More like his little shit wombmate.

Oh, Mike would make it up to him alright.

--

Dearest, darling Matthew lived in San Francisco these days and while Foggy was not receptive to Mike’s usual charm and wit, he did say that Mike was welcome to stay at the happily married couple’s house for the night.

Foggy felt guilty when Mike explained the phone call from Mom and the whole unworn suit situation. He said that it was wrong of Matt to have lied to him and that an apology would be forthcoming, but in the meantime, if Mike could keep an eye on the dogs and the apprentice while he went out to find his beloved husband, that would be great.

Mike, of course, promised he would.

He chose not to mention that dogs were the foul scum of the earth on his personal hierarchy of creatures and things.

He also chose not to mention that children were right below dogs on said hierarchy. After all, not everyone in the world needed to know his business.

--

Matt’s dogs were…disgusting.

Mike didn’t get it.

The number of times Mike had moved Matt to the other side of the pavement to keep him away from dogs (out of brotherly love and fear of the neighborhood kids knowing that his little bro was a crybaby) had long passed countable means.

And yet.

These things.

Hazel was alright. Mike got why Matt was obsessed with her. She was ginger. They were ginger. There was an unbreakable bond there.  

But Tuesday?

Just why?

She was old. She was pale. She looked sad all the fucking time.

Mike tried to throw a tennis ball for her, but after he’d pried the wet, nasty thing out of her mouth, she just watched it bounce and roll onto the living room carpet before looking back up at him like he’d just shot Bugs Bunny dead on the carpet and tried to feed him to her.

“You ever considered therapy?” he asked her. “Maybe anti-depressants?”

She said nothing.

She just looked sad.

“How about a walk?” he asked.

Hazel flung herself out of the kitchen and crashed into the bottom of the island on her way.

Mike could appreciate that level of enthusiasm. Tuesday watched her and the slowly looked back up at him. Her tail swung exactly once.

“That’s it?” Mike asked her.

The tail drooped.

Fuckin’ A.

Look who’s Sandra D., huh?

The door rattled open and both dogs suddenly leap into action. Mike threw hands over his ears at the sudden explosion of barking.

“HEY,” he snapped at them.

They carried on yowling and bustling, racing each other down the stairs. Mike stood up and begrudgingly accepted that he was gonna have to chase these slobbering idiots out into the street, but froze.

A person was down there at the bottom of the stairs with bags slipping off their shoulders. They were laughing and petting the dogs. Cooing to them.

Mike decided that he wasn’t in the mood for housecleaner chatting. He was here for the express purpose of shaming Matthew in his own home.

He took a step back, but not soon enough. The black hair down there snapped up and made eye contact.

“Oh, hey Boss,” the cleaner said. “You’re home early.”

How to respond? How to respond?

This appeared to be an opportunity.

“Wasn’t busy,” he said in his best, stiff, huffy Matthew impression.

The kid cocked his head to the side a little.

“Really?” he asked. “Huh. Wild. Did you already take the girls out?”

Housecleaner and dogwalker? Come on, Matt. You ain’t that busy.

“Negative,” Mike said.

“Oh. Okay, I’ll take them then,” the kid said. “Jia and Chunhua want to meet them, is that cool?”

Um.

But

Like

Why.

“No can do,” Mike said.  “They’ve been poorly behaved.”

The kid stopped with his hand on the downstairs closet door. He turned his head slowly back up the stairs, this time frowning.

Mike decided that he was going to make a drink.

You know. A “drink.” For protection. Against suspicion.

“You feeling okay, Bossman?” the kid called up the stairs.

“Just fine, thanks,” Mike called back from the kitchen. He found a safe place behind the counter and hunkered with the muzzle of his piece over its edge.

Surely, this guy knew Matt’s ‘leave me alone’ tone. Mike had it imprinted across his heart and his impression of it, he knew, was flawless.

The sound of rustling eased downstairs for a moment, and the creak of a door opening followed it. The dogs did not come back up the stairs. Mike started to stand up.

Perhaps the suspicion had passed?

The sound of a door opening downstairs destroyed that dream and the sound of the kid hiking upstairs with intention followed the shattered its remaining fragments.

And like.

Damn.

There were two ways to go about this.

Way 1) Shoot the kid, hide the body, hire new household help for the brother.

Way 2) Engage full and complete Matthew impersonation.

Tricky, tricky, tricky.

One of those involved paperwork and speed interviewing. Mike stowed his piece and made a show of picking through the cabinets for a glass. He was careful to feel around at the bottom of the glasswares’ stems.

He heard the footsteps stop behind him and could practically feel the kid’s eyes burning holes into his back.

“You need a Tylenol or somethin’, Teach?” the kid rumbled.

The hair on the back of Mike’s neck stood up.

He’d fucked up.

He didn’t know how he’d fucked up, but he’d fucked up.

Damn.

Poor little shit. Dyin’ on a kitchen floor was just one step above dying on the toilet.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said to the cabinet contents.

“Are you?” the kid asked.

Pushy.

Stop asking questions, boy, and start prayin’.

“I am,” Mike said, closing the cabinet firmly. “Is there a reason—”

He turned around.

Blue, glowing eyes stared right through him.

“What’s the matter, Teach?” the kid asked sweetly. “Never seen me before?”

Oh.

Shit.

--

 Mike never claimed to be Matty.

Ever.

He wasn’t there for the whole cult-training thing. He only became aware of it after the fact. Of course he’d noticed the change in behavior and the personality shift and yadda yadda yadda. But he couldn’t have done anything about it. He’d just been a kid himself, not to mention that he’d been busy being shipped out to a thousand different foster families and group homes while Matty had been shuffled through a series of special needs placements. They were broken apart and thrown back together all the fucking time while every social worker and home and institute claimed to be trying to ‘keep the twins together.’

As a result, one day Mike woke up and learned from the paper that his twin was secretly a devil in disguise.

It had been kind of neat, actually. Matty’s devil fought crime and Mike’s devil did crime.

What a pair!

The contrast! The tension!

Delicious, all of it.

And while that was very good aesthetic-wise, it unfortunately meant that Mike was woefully unprepared to fight a dog-walking, house-cleaning marital artist on kitchen tile.

The kid was strong. And fast. And fuck, could he land a punch. Or eight.

He’d snatched Mike’s gun and chucked it in the sink within seconds of this conflict beginning, and while Mike had a height and weight advantage on him, someone had taught him how to go for the kidneys and the knees.

Christ.

Mike was going to have to knock him out.

He didn’t want to.

Matt’s kitchen was already a disaster. Adding blood to that had not been part of the shaming plan.

Welp.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

He managed to get the kid locked into an elbow and pulled up with the intention of giving him a head start in the napping arena, when the front door slammed open. The kid simultaneously sunk his teeth down into Mike’s forearm.

Mike shouted before he knew he was and suddenly there were dogs everywhere and people talking over each other and one second, Mike was reestablishing his grip on that mangey little mutt, and the next the kid was gone and he was staring into Matt’s furious grimace.

A glass rolled around on the counter by the sink.

“Oh,” Mike said. “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

“Sensei,” the kid cried, trying to push past Matt’s side to get in front of him.

“That’s enough,” Matt said to Mike’s face, but really to the room at large. The kid stopped.

Sensei, he’d said.

Oho.

Ohohoho.

Mike might have misjudged things here.

“Go clean yourself up,” Matt ordered him, pulling back out of his braced form and catching the kid when he tried to get in front of him again.

“Righty-o,” Mike told him pleasantly. “Just one question—”

A muscle in Matt’s jaw jumped. Mike decided that that was permission.

“Does your little whelp there got all his shots?” Mike asked him.

 --

Sam.

This kid’s name was Sam. And he was not household help. He was apprentice and employee and he was fucking sharp.

Matt kept grabbing him and forcibly manhandling him back onto the couch to keep him from lunging at Mike with intent to kill.

Mike didn’t know what to make of any of this.

When Foggy had said ‘apprentice,’ Mike had assumed that some 14 year old would be arriving for lessons in MMA in the garage or something.

He had not expected this guy.

“Fuck you,” Sam snapped at Mike when Matt told him in hushed tones to settle down or go downstairs until he could.

Wow.

Mike was almost…impressed?

“Samuel,” Matt said in a voice that gave Mike shivers because it sounded exactly like Dad.

Holy shit.

Sam and his glowing blue eyes jerked and then stared up at Matt in hurt betrayal. Matt sensed it somehow and softened.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Thank you for protecting the house. There’s just a misunderstanding here.”

Boy, was that an understatement.

“He’s impersonating you,” Sam told his teacher. “He was cursing Tuesday.”

Eh?

Oh.

That.

“He’s not impersonating me,” Matt said calmly while Foggy made aggravated sounds at the state of his kitchen. “He’s my twin.”

Samuel went slack and stared up into Matt’s sunglasses. He swiveled his head back to Mike. Mike tapped his own glasses down and winked.

Sam bared teeth at him.

Hm.

Unfriendly.

Yes. Like the dog.

Why did Matty collect such things?

“Sam,” Matt said, apparently aware that this type of Sam-silence was not a benevolent one.

Cowed by the warning, Sam’s new tactic for dealing with Mike abruptly became hiding from him. He wriggled out of Matt’s hold and tucked himself up against his back instead, peeking out to squint severely at Mike as though daring him to come any closer.

Matt sighed.

“What do you want, Michael?” he asked, holding his head in his hands while the sound of glass being swept rang out from the kitchen.

Mike hummed and leaned his chin on his palm.

“I think we both know what I want,” he said.

Matt took off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

 --

“Hostile,” Mike noted disapprovingly at the now-empty doorframe.

“He’s not always this way,” Foggy assured him.

Mike scoffed.

“Little shit bites,” he said.

“Where do you think he learned that from?” Foggy asked.

Ah.

Matty.

Mike saw now.

“Matt’s not even trying to include me in his life anymore,” Mike sighed. Foggy matched his posture on the other side of the now-clean kitchen counter.

“Sam is a soft spot,” he said.

“Psh. He shouldn’t be. If Matty wanted a nephew, all he had to do was say so. I’m sure I’ve gotten some broad or ten knocked up over the last twenty years,” Mike pointed out.

Foggy’s silence was judgmental. He was lookin’ kind of thin.

“Bad timing?” Mike asked him.

“More like tasteless,” Foggy told him.

“Maybe tasteless, but not untrue,” Mike volleyed back with a winning smile.

Foggy pursed his lips at him.

“Matt and Sam are already bonded, Michael,” he said. “It’s going to be far easier for you to accept Sammy than it is to get Matt to accept one of your eight thousand love children.”

Mike huffed.

Always a double-standard in this family.

 --

So Sam was definitely trying to kill him. Or at least run him out of this place.

There was broken glass in the guest bathroom. There was a rug suddenly on the stairs in the middle of the night. There were wet, disgusting tennis balls waiting to be stepped on in the house’s hallways.

Sam allegedly slept downstairs, but Mike didn’t think he was sleeping.

“You’re accusing my apprentice of sabotage, now?” Matt deadpanned to him over breakfast.

“He’s jealous. He doesn’t like the idea of there being two of you,” Mike told him reliably.

Matt reached out and felt around for Mike’s forehead. He held his hand there like the fucking dick he was.

“Hm,” he said.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Mike told him.

“Hm,” Matt said again, taking his hand back to stuff a piece of toast in his mouth.

Mike heard a door open downstairs and then a burst of babytalk towards one of the dogs.

It cut off abruptly.

Mike looked over his shoulder towards the staircase and sure enough, the most favored blue-eyed boy of the household was down there, glaring up at him. He waved. Sam gave him the finger and hauled the dogs off with him to go make his own breakfast in the downstairs kitchen.

“He’s adorable, Matty,” Mike said without intonation.

“I am aware,” Matt said. “I like to keep him around. Really draws in the ladies.”

Hm.

 --

Sam hid. Mike became aware of this on the third day of staying over that he managed to wrangle out of Matt and Foggy in return for their inhospitality over the weekend and the whole wedding situation.

The boy was always in his room or going or coming from the house. He did not touch the stairs.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” he asked Matt.

Matt didn’t even turn his way while he brushed Hazel’s fur.

“I mean, he doesn’t love to come up here in general,” he said, “But yeah, no. He especially doesn’t love you.”

Hm.

“I’m gonna bond with him,” Mike decided.

“Please don’t,” Matt said immediately.

“I’m gonna,” Mike said.

 --

Sam blinked slowly at him once and then twice.

Then he picked up his plate and mug and made to leave for his room.

“Hold on now, partner,” Mike said, blocking the doorway with an arm. Sam’s eyes flicked up to the arm, then back to his face. Then up to the arm again.

“I think we both want the same thing here,” Mike continued. “You clearly love my brother. I appreciate that. I love my brother too. And if you’re gonna be stickin’ around, me and you should get onto more even footing, no?”

Sam turned his head to the side and ducked right under Mike’s arm into the hall. His bedroom door closed with a thunk.

It locked.

Mike blinked at the window he had been standing in front of.

Little shit.

This kid was a little shit.

 --

“Mike, he’s just not about you,” Matt sighed. “It took him months to warm up to me. He’s not that kind of person.”

Bullshit.

He was what? 18?

18 year olds could be bought.

Matt’s lip twitched.

“He’s 24,” he said.

Oh.

Well.

Same difference. 24 year olds could be bought too.

Matt smirked.

“Alright, do your worst then,” he said.

 --

He invited Samuel out for Vietnamese coffee. There was a place close by. It seemed to be quiet enough.

Sam stared at him and informed him that he was Chinese, thanks, not Vietnamese and all Asians weren’t the same, by the way.

Mike didn’t know what to say.

“Do you not like coffee?” he asked.

“I don’t like stereotypes,” Sam told him. “And I don’t like you.”

He shut his door.

 --

“If we do East Asian food, then we let Sammy pick where we get it,” Matt told Mike dutifully.

That was like, fine. But also wasn’t that equally presumptuous?

“He’s got much stronger opinions on it than we do,” Matt shrugged. “And certain places don’t have things that he likes that we don’t know very well.”

…right.

“So I should let him pick,” Mike translated.

“I think you should leave him alone,” Matt told him.

Well, they both knew that wasn’t happening, but it was a sweet thought, little brother.

“You have a compulsion to feel liked,” Matt said offhandedly.

“You have a need to be hated,” Mike sighed.

Matt glared.

The stalemate remained intact.

 --

Sammy. Samuel. Sam.

He told Mike to call him Mr. Chung or Blindspot. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mike thought ‘Sammy’ was very cute.

It sounded nephew-like.

Sam told him that he wasn’t his nephew because Sensei wasn’t his dad because he already had a deadbeat, missing father, thanks. He wasn’t looking for another one.

Mike was getting the feeling that Sam was angry with him.

Matt wandered downstairs afterwards and knocked on Sam’s door and was allowed admission. For like. An hour.

Them double-standards, man.

 --

Matt announced that Mike was coming with him and Sam to walk the dogs. He bribed the kid with a promise of a bagel. Mike watched this happen.

Sam stared long and sad into Matt’s unseeing face exactly like Tuesday. Matt patted him on the head in consolation and he did not (did not) bite his hand (unlike the damn dog).

“Half an hour, kiddo,” Matt told him. “Then bagel.”

Sam was from New York, it turned out. Not Shanghai or Beijing or Hong Kong. And apparently it was rude to ask or assume the latter.

He liked bagels as much as any decent New Yorker did, and Matt knew this about him.

“Only for the bagel,” Sam told him.

“Only for the bagel,” Matt agreed. “I’ll buy and you can put whatever you want on it.”

“Egg,” Sam said definitively. “And peanut butter. And sriracha.”

Matt tried not to wince.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

Sam was pleased with his submission.

“Is it cold outside?” he asked.

 --

Sam loved the dogs. Mike suddenly understood why he and Matt got on so well now.

This kid had little care for drool on his hands and had a killer arm. The dogs raced after his lobbed tennis balls like their lives depended on it—even the old lady.

Matt said nothing.

He was busy acting as a buffer. He elbowed Mike in the ribs after the fifth throw or so.

Mike remembered the mission.

“Where’d you learn to throw, Sammy?” he asked.

Matt clutched at his face with a hand.

Sam side-eyed Mike without moving.

“Sam,” he said firmly. “Or BT. Or Chung.”

“Sammy suits you,” Mike told him. “Where’d you learn to throw?”

Sam furrowed his brow.

“My mom,” he said.

Oh, nice.

“She play baseball?” Mike asked.

“Archer,” Sam said stiffly.

“Very cool. Very cool.”

Annnnd that was it. Hm.

“Teach, why’re you lettin’ this guy hang around?” Sam asked out of the blue.

“Familial obligation, minor guilt, fear of maternal retribution,” Matt listed out dutifully.

Sam picked up the proffered ball and with it, accepted this answer. He chucked the ball and watched the dogs run.

“Are you a devil too?” he asked the field.

Mike blinked then realized the question was for him.

“Sort of,” he said.

“Definitely,” Matt sighed.

“What’s your thing then?” Sam asked. “You carry. Why?”

Why?

Because Mike Murdock wasn’t being caught out in the cold, no siree.

“My choice of company relies on, how shall we say, some rather poor communication,” he went for.

Sam hummed.

“So you’re a crook,” he said.

Matt choked on a laugh.

“A crook? No, no, kid,” Mike said. “You got me all wrong. I’m what you call an opportunist.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Sure. Why’re you such a dick?”

Wow.

No respect for his elders, truly.

“It’s the trauma,” he deadpanned. “And the older sibling burden.”

“You don’t look older than Sensei,” Sam pointed out.

“Well, looks aren’t everything, sweetheart,” Mike told him kindly.

Sam frowned.

“Why do you wear a hat?” he asked.

“Because I’m fantastic,” Mike told him.

“Oh, I get it now,” Sam said.

Mike straightened his back.

“Do you?” he asked.

“You’re just a fuckin’ clown,” Sam said.

 --

Okay, so Mike might just have to throw this one.

Matt wouldn’t stop laughing at him and it was his job to make Matt miserable, not the other way around. Any more of this and Matt would forget his place.

“Your son is out of line,” he scolded Matthew. “Doesn’t respect his elders. Doesn’t play well with strangers. You need to socialize him.”

Matt found that even more comical.

He wouldn’t say why. Mike had to interrogate Foggy, but that was difficult because Kirsten showed up and was gorgeous and too good for Matthew, so that had to be addressed with full and complete attention.

Kirsten leaned over and took Mike’s hat and patted him on the shoulder and said, “Sam’s never been disrespectful for more than five minutes at a go the whole time we’ve known him, Mikey, we’re learning more and more about him each day that you’re here.”

Which was.

Hm.

Not sexy.

But he would deal with that once Sexy herself gave him his hat back.

 --

He got a job on in Miami that night and had to cut his visit short. Matt was not sorry to see him go. That was pretty typical.

Sam had no opinions on his leaving. He stuck his head upstairs and said bye, but nothing more than that.

Mike felt bitter.

It had been a long time since he’d left a job feeling unsatisfied.

No closure.

Matt wasn’t supposed to be better with people than he was. That was their trade off. He wasn’t allowed.

“I’ll be back, and I’ll crack him,” He threatened his brother on the way to the airport.

“I have no doubt that you will,” Matt said patronizingly. “And I am sure that he’ll be waiting for your return.”

Yeah, well.

He better.

[starstruckteacup]

Cottagecore Films (pt. 8)

Second Time Around (2016)

TW: character death - possible suicide (offscreen)

starring Linda Thorson, Stuart Margolin, Alexis Harrison, Louis Del Grande, Laura de Carteret

After enjoying a night at the opera, the vivacious senior Katherine suffers a major fall, breaking her hip and sending her into rehabilitation. Despite her protests, she has to stay in a retirement home to be cared for while she recovers. There, she meets a variety of new faces, including the charismatic and flirtatious Charlie and the defeated and introverted Isaac. When Katherine damages a piece of clothing, Isaac offers to repair it, at which point the two strike an unlikely friendship. As their relationship grows, the two get to know each other’s pasts, presents, and hopes for the future, and things truly escalate after a formal dance hosted by the home. Even when their situations grow dire, they still find room for love. Even after they both recover, they stay together, choosing to pursue happiness as a dynamic pair.

This has to be one of the sweetest, funniest, and liveliest movies I’ve seen in a long time. It takes a very real look at what life is like for the elderly in retirement homes, but it doesn’t dwell on the depressing aspects, instead choosing to rejoice in the many types of love. The characters felt so genuine, and I was constantly rooting for their success. For example, I’ve never been so engrossed in a scene of people getting ready for an event; I was cheering them on the entire time. You really felt the joy they got out of dressing up for this one special night. How can you not feel happy when people are so confident in themselves, and are ready to take the night? The acting in that regard was truly exceptional. It’s one thing to get into character, but the actors in this film seemed to feel their characters’ stories to the fullest, and it truly came across on screen. This film defies the stereotype for geriatrics to sit around, aspiring to nothing, by showing us exactly how unique and full of life they still are. The characters experience such a plethora of emotions, but it’s the acting that truly draws you into their reality. And where do I even begin on the chemistry? Every relationship in this film was as real as if it wasn’t a film at all. Love, attraction, envy, jealousy, every feeling a character directed toward another was impeccably real. The only critique I could possibly have for this film is the camera work, which was somewhat unstable at times, but it doesn’t detract from the quality of the film at all. If you’re looking for a joyful romance, this is the one. 8/10

Under the Eiffel Tower (2018)

starring Judith Godrèche, Matt Walsh, Reid Scott, Dylan Gelula, Gary Cole

When bourbon connoisseur Stuart loses his job, his friend’s family invites him on their trip to France. It doesn’t go well for long, however, when the 50-year-old proposes to his friend’s 26-year-old daughter beneath the Eiffel Tower. The family cuts him off, continuing on their trip and leaving Stuart to figure out his own way home. In the airport, Stuart meets professional footballer Liam, who encourages him to use his train ticket to Bordeaux and enjoy France while he’s there. On the train, the two meet Louise, an artistic winery owner, on her way home from Paris. The two men quickly find themselves stranded, and are taken in by Louise to stay in her chateau. Chemistry grows between Stuart and Louise, until several miscommunications erupt and send Stuart and Liam packing. This isn’t the end for the duo’s misadventures, however, as Liam runs into a familiar face and Stuart realizes he’d left behind the only thing that made him feel alive.

This movie was extremely disappointing. Not only did it have every cliché in the book, the characters were thoroughly boring and fake. Stuart was a highly unrelatable character, for starters. He’s introduced as an immature alcoholic who doesn’t think clearly and proposes to a woman half his age, already someone that the audience will clearly have no attachment to. Then for the rest of the film he’s portrayed as an artistic, business-minded, loving man, which doesn’t fit at all with how he was at the start. And there was no character growth to explain it. He just changed all of a sudden, yet he still reverted back to a bumbling child every time he saw his friend’s family. Liam was similarly immature and poorly behaved, never taking no for an answer and constantly forcing Louise to spend time with him. We’re clearly supposed to like him because he’s suave and handsome, and has a Scottish accent. Louise was a very dull character as well. We saw her paint once, and suddenly she’s supposed to have depth without the film actually showing it. With all of these negative characters, there’s no sense of satisfaction when Stuart and Louise run off into the sunset together. He’s still weird and creepy. Not to mention how weird and creepy Liam is after making moves on Rosalind. She’s 26 and more than capable of making her own decisions and dating older men, but she was thoroughly repulsed by Stuart and yet forgave Liam of his own age and creepiness only because he had a Scottish accent (yes, that’s what she says in the film). The scenery could have been breathtaking--a vineyard in southern France???--but the film showed next to none of it. Stuart even talks about it but there’s not a single shot of the landscape throughout the entire film. Save yourself the effort. 2/10

Midsommar (2019)

TW: intense gore, suicide (onscreen and offscreen), murder (offscreen), intoxication, drug usage

starring Florence Pugh, Jack Reynor, Vilhelm Blomgren, William Jackson Harper, Will Poulter, Ellora Torchia, Archie Madekwe

A friend group of anthropologists--named Christian, Josh, and Mark--decide to accompany their close friend Pelle on a return trip to his home in Sweden. Dani, currently in mourning over the deaths of her parents and sister, agree to accompany them in an effort to take her mind off her grief. The group arrives at the idyllic commune, the Hårga, to participate in a special celebration that is only held once every 90 years. There they meet Pelle’s brother, Ingemar, and two of his friend’s, Connie and Simon. The group indulges for the first day, trying to learn about the Hårga and their traditions. On the second day, however, the celebration begins, and from the unknowing tourists’ perspective, things begin to spiral out of control. As more questions are raised and more of the commune’s beliefs are dishonored, people start to go missing. While Dani’s suspicions grow, the rest remain willfully ignorant, until only Dani and Christian are left. When Dani becomes the May Queen by winning a dance competition, tradition demands that she help complete the commune’s celebration. While it’s nothing she was prepared for, perhaps it is what she needed in the end.

I found that I enjoyed this movie in an uncomfortable way. I didn’t like it in the way that one would typically “like” a movie, but it was absolutely an excellent film. I don’t particularly appreciate intense gore, and while I understand that this is a horror film, I don’t think it needed to be that present. I suppose it was more to overwhelm the audience and put them in the same mindset as Dani, so in that way it does make sense, but it is very intense. The thing I liked most about this movie is what also made me the most uncomfortable. The character situation is so strange because the main characters are clearly selfish, manipulative, ignorant, arrogant, and disrespectful, without any real redeeming qualities, so you can’t possibly like them, but at the same time you’re unable to sympathize with the cult because of how foreign and violent their customs are. I watched this movie in this uncomfortable, removed but still invested way which I’ve never experienced before. It’s a beautiful film and the acting is incredible, especially from Pugh. The extreme way she depicts Dani’s grief is consistent throughout the movie, but the reactions she receives are vastly different each time, and Pugh adapts to the evolution of the story spectacularly. In summary, this film is an intense, psychologically horrifying art film, and despite being aware of the entire plot prior to watching (I don’t usually watch horror movies), I was still wildly unprepared for what I watched. 10/10

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven

[dyinglightroleplay]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

NAME : Davey Ariel Gudgeon RELATIONSHIP TO THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX : Ally / Informant AGE / BIRTHDATE : 18 Years Old / born 7 May 1961 at 4:10pm IDT ZODIAC SIGN : Gemini ( sun ), Scorpio ( moon ), Scorpio ( rising ) EDUCATION : Hogwarts Graduate ( Slytherin House ) BLOOD STATUS : Muggleborn

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

✧     Alastor Moody ( platonic ) ✧     Frank Longbottom ( antagonistic ) ✧     Bilius Weasley ( wild card )

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍.

In Diagon Alley.  They’ll learn of the Battle of Hogwarts as the rest of the Wizarding world does.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍.

PLAYER : Mod Rivka FACECLAIM : Ezra Miller URL : @goodgeon​

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: BIOLOGICAL ESSENTIALISM, ABLEISM, NON - BINARY PHOBIA / BINARY APOLOGISM, SEXISM, ANTI - SEMITISM, ALLUSIONS TO THE SHOAH, DRUG USE

ZERO / RISING. * How is your character perceived by others?  What mask do they wear, and is there more than one?

Davey is a person comprised of many, many layers, not all of which are shared with all people.  To say they were mysterious would be a misnomer --- --- truly, they're a pretty quick study, just don't tell them that --- --- but they are . . . complicated.  They're easygoing, affable, in possession of a quick and scathing sense of humor and an equally vicious wit ; they're difficult, they're petty, they can veer straight into condescension and self - isolation if given the slightest provocation.  They're a show - off, certainly, and they're a know - it - all, too.  They are many things, they are many, made up entirely of a rainbow of facets they flit between from day - to - day depending on their mood, surroundings, relationships, and desires.  ( Does this manifest with a hefty handful of flakiness, too ?  Sure it does.  Alongside a loyalty that's selective, hard - won, and blood - deep. )

Throughout their life, Davey's experiences have asked them to form a particular set of armor, a beautiful, well - maintained shell they've created for themselves to safeguard what they care about most : their Self, their soul, the body that carries them through the world.  A childhood spent learning to trust themselves, despite what others would seek to tell them, built the scaffolding of teenage years spent aggressively reclaiming that energy, outright refusing to budge along or to reduce themselves to accommodate anyone, even in situations where, objectively, they likely should've.  Their reaction to being told they're too much, too feminine, not masculine enough, what are you wearing, what's wrong with you, are you a boy or a girl ? has become to double down, and their reaction to similar taunts about their blood status or disability or family is the same --- --- they've created a life in which any barb aimed in their direction simply plinks off the chestplate of the armor they've spent so long forging.

Davey was raised to never apologize for who they were, told from childhood by their family that what they are is perfect, is priceless, is hard - fought and deserving of defense.  The discovery of their magic and their acceptance to Hogwarts did nothing to challenge this, although the sudden realization of the sliding scale of indifference to HATRED that Davey's blood status fostered once at school certainly did.  But rather than quail beneath it, rather than dim themselves, Davey only got more proud, louder, BRIGHTER, something that made them just as many enemies as friends as they passed through school.  For every student who looked down at them, for every slur thrown their way, every judgmental look, Davey took it and added it to their armor.  And this pride doesn't stem simply from the dawning knowledge of the war rising up outside the castle's walls ; Davey would be proud of who they have become no matter the climate.  They've spent too much time feeling unwelcome in their body to waste another second.

And Davey doesn't have the privilege of living in only one world, either ; they leave Hogwarts every summer to return to their family home in London, as equally a stand - out in their family's community of Orthodox Jews as they are walking the castle's halls.  They could allow all of this to dull them, but they don't.  Instead, they just burn brighter.  But that shouldn't be mistook for extroversion, either.  Davey keeps their circle of genuine friends small --- --- they gravitate toward others on the fringes, the misfits, the loners, the people for whom life has been made hard through no fault of their own, and they are willing to lay it on the line for them.  That's what their parents taught them, from a young age, a story born from millennia of persecution, from scant decades separating them and so, so much death : there is no honor in neutrality, no goodness in standing by simply because what's happening does not directly affect you.  This is what drives them, it's what makes them difficult right alongside what makes them so, so incredible --- --- Davey will never, has never and won't ever begin to go down without a fight.

ONE / THE SUN. * Choose one to explore : what about their personality, general preferences, sense of self / ego, or fundamental traits attracted you to them?

Davey has really presented me the opportunity to indulge in a lot of my Very Favorite Meta Concepts in this universe : I've always had a massive soft - spot for investigating how ' Muggle ' religion and culture intersect with the magical world, how muggleborn children adjust to life at Hogwarts and to life with powers, how the global history and political climate of this time period influence these students coming of age inside a private, closed community locked in a secret war, how disability and difference present and are handled by the wizarding community, how gender and sexuality are examined by a group of people who know that the world has never, will never, be binary or black - and - white.  They're really a neat reason to delve way into a lot of these ideas that I've been kicking around as long as I've been a fan of this medium, and truthfully, I've never really had the chance to stretch my legs - and - creative - muscles with a character that's essentially an OC, before, and there's no time like the present, right ?

Geminis are people of many talents, sometimes disjointed but always insatiable ; adaptable, excitable, and open to whatever the world has to offer them, their investment can sometimes be overwhelming, particularly for people who are unprepared to have their worldviews challenged.  A Gemini Sun inspires an unstoppable force, trading flexibility for fire, tact for speed.  They're flexible, mercurial, and often polarizing, and can shift sharply between being charming and outright off - putting.  Their Scorpio Moon intensifies this, opening a well of emotional sensitivity, fostering vulnerability right alongside an everlasting ability to form and hold grudges based upon mistreatment.  STUBBORNNESS and hard - headedness becomes a dominating trait, only magnified by the rising sign's indication that darkness must be faced head - on in this lifetime, rather than excused or ignored.  Concerned most with the soul, Scorpio rising encourages a life that doesn't dwell in the negative, but seeks to abolish it, by any means necessary, even, sometimes, to the person's detriment.

Gemini is also aligned most closely with Hod ( הוד ) the eighth sephira of the Kabbalah Tree of Life, which houses the ten attributes through which G-d reveals themselves.  Hod is the act of submission to obstacles, not in surrender, but rather to overcome : its astrological significance weighs heavily upon Gemini's often aggressive shoulders, warning of times when battles can be fought by simply leaving them behind.  Hod is also thought to be where the truest form of magic is available, and is closely associated with intellectual pursuits, ritual, and the act of breaking concept into smaller pieces for specific mastery.

I really am leaning into duality here as well : Davey's entire existence is politicized --- --- Jewish, disabled, muggleborn, non - binary.  They exist in a space they've made for themselves, a space they've more often then not had to TAKE BY FORCE.  Their perspective on blood supremacy, on this war as a person who was born entirely outside it is so interesting, and I want to see where it goes ; Davey's family fled Occupied France, they were raised by Jews who survived an atrocity that would've seen them eradicated, the concept of some stodgy old group of in - bred idiots convinced of their own mythical superiority isn't a totally new or groundbreaking thing for them.  In a lot of ways, Davey's a wildcard this way : they're neutral, not because they don't have strong opinions, but because they do, because they lie outside a pre - established order of things in a world they weren't born into.  Davey is . . . far too radical for groups like the Order, and I doubt they would've accepted an invitation even if they'd received one, because in their mind, caution is synonymous with inaction.  They have a unique perspective, informed by their family's history, by their people's history, and the understanding that plotting something as simple as the Loss of a Leader by no means fosters a victory, by no means untangles the tendrils of hate that allowed that leader to take power in the first place.

Davey hardly trusts his Order - adjacent friends, sparing that for the closest few muggleborns he considers to be nearly family.  Davey doesn't consider themselves wixen as much as they consider themselves a person with magical abilities, in fact they hold very little affinity for the greater magical world.  And while they aren't privy to all of the Order's dealings, obviously, their anger runs deeper and burns hotter, born from a place of exclusion rather than anything particularly righteous.  I want to see Davey's arc take them to confrontation with --- --- and hopefully, eventual understanding alongside --- --- witches and wizards who believe that Voldemort's death brings the end of blood supremacy.  I want Davey to continue their life - long refusal to be cowed, refusal to be quiet, refusal to shut up and go along for the ride, refusal to be pushed aside ; they come from a very, very long line of people who should've been dead, they aren't wasting time letting their life or their rights languish in anyone else's hands but their own.  The Ministry, the Order and its supporters, the Death Eaters, even the blessed true neutrals who can't be bothered to care : none of them are on Davey's side.  For them, there isn't growth or protection in joining ; I want to see them get proved wrong, or maybe get proved right.  The distinct separation between Davey's worldview, seen from beneath the oppressive lens of day - in, day - out institutionalized and INBORN blood supremacy and hatred, and that of half - blood or pureblood wizards for whom this war has become more about defeating an enemy is vital to this.

TWO / THE MOON. * Which color would you associate most strongly with them and the emotions that dominate them?  Describe however you’d like.

NEON.  Buzzing signs and the black - lit smudges of a blotter sheet, a rainy city’s night reflected back in puddles disrupted by quick steps in patent - leather boots.  Hallucinations and their accustomed heaviness, the soft - edged weight of exhaled smoke and candlelight, unnatural pinks and reds crawling from flowerpots in a greenhouse that could make any child fall in love.  The brilliance of blood against white teeth, fuchsia lipstick against stubble, satin, silk, leather, velvet, something sumptuous and traffic - stopping worn with all the impenetrable confidence of chainmail.  Spell - pops, spell zings, the heat of magic and how it always feels just the smallest bit of a miracle, the brilliant - blue of a withering patronus and the rainbow’s worth of charms and hexes yet unmastered.  Loud prints, pasted - up posters, glow - in - the - dark and glitter and the wash of bar - room bathroom halogen light.  The sunset flare at the end of a cigarette, at the end of a joint, at the tip of a match held to a braided candle bearing witness to Havdalah.

THREE / MERCURY. * What is this character’s area of expertise? Where do they excel?

Davey is a gifted Herbologist ; they took to the subject overwhelmingly well at Hogwarts, and count Professor Sprout as both a tremendous influence and a friend.  They’ve gone out of their way to combine Muggle sensibilities with magic, and alongside acting as a drug dealer ( ' florist ' was the slang term of the day ) for both the Magical and Muggle communities in London, Davey spends their time experimenting with new ways to grow marijuana plants and synthesize other psychedelics, as well as cultivating various expensive, rare, or otherwise uhhhhh illegal plants to sell to potioneers or anyone else in need of such ingredients.  They tend to test most of their experiments on themselves, especially to ensure they're safe --- --- their magical physiology affords them a bit more protection and durability than their muggle family members, for example --- --- but they also have a habit of asking their magical friends to test the final products, free of charge of course, as long as they allow them to hang around and see what happens.

[sol1056]

EPs: "we chose Netflix to explore things like sexuality" (nothing was explored or was explicit for even 2 seconds) "when they told us u cant kill Shiro, we knew we could push the reveal 4 later" (so nice of them to admit they stopped our rep just to be able to kill him) "when we found out about byg we knew we coulnt kill Shiro & we thought we'll find rep w another character. Then we learned we could go on w/ Shiro as the rep" (theres ANOTHER REP WE DIDNT GET?? Was it vague then erased? Whatt??)

I think these are two separate issues. One is related to who made VLD, and the other is related to the EPs’ ignorance of characterization. The second overlaps with a bunch of asks I’ve recently gotten about race and representation, so here I’m just keeping it to a general discussion of characterization, with Lance as example. And then about Shiro in particular, how the EPs’ statements reveal their lack of thought.

Behind the cut. 

remember where these people came from

The team behind VLD is almost entirely formerly Nickelodeon. DreamWorks wanted to break into television on a much larger scale, and since they almost always promote from outside the company, they lured over Margie Cohn from her position as a Nick VP. As VP/exec levels tend to do, Cohn brought a bunch of people with her.

One of those was Mark Taylor, who’d been involved in both AtLA and LoK. Taylor, in turn, brought JDS, LM, and I think one or two of the other producers. Taylor also probably brought over Hamilton, Chan, and Hedrick, as known entities with proven track records. 

These are people who — for for the last ten or more years — have swum in Nickelodeon’s considerably more conservative fishbowl. It’s entirely possible (given what people tell me about storylines in HTTYD, and DW’s open support of She-Ra) the former Nickelodeon team automatically downgraded DW’s “go ahead and explore these heavier/darker topics” to mean “maybe kinda mention in passing but don’t be too obvious about it.”  

Now, to be fair, the EPs may have pushed for more LGBT+ rep, and their obstacle might not have been DW, but Taylor. It’d explain how the EPs could praise everyone (read: DreamWorks staff) as supportive, yet allso complain about pushback (read: Taylor’s Nickelodeon-influenced sensibilities). Two different parties were calling the shots. 

It’s also possible what the EPs saw as ‘rep’ was still considerably toned-down from what DW execs (and the VAs) may’ve expected. After all, that one-minute scene in VLD might’ve required an act of god at Nickelodeon. VLD’s staff may have genuinely considered this scene landmark because even that tiny bit was far more than their previous employer would’ve allowed. 

Cue the victory lap and excited chatter, and seeming blindness to Korra being long since surpassed by Steven Universe, Young Justice, Bob’s Burgers, Adventure Time, Gravity Falls, RWBY, Rick and Morty, Clarence, BoJack Horseman, Danger & Eggs, Big Mouth, and Summer Camp Island. Remember, it wasn’t until 2016 that Nickelodeon would have a married gay couple (in The Loud House), and they’re not even central characters. The VLD staff may’ve thought itself bold, and unprepared for the reality of modern (non-Nickelodeon) audience expectations. 

No, I don’t think that absolves them. It just seems the most reasonable explanation. That is, short of seeing the EPs as so utterly cynical they’d pump up the audience for what amounted to a nothingburger in light of what else popular media now delivers. 

and then there’s representation

VLD’s troubles can all be traced to one crucial detail: the EPs don’t understand that characters are the bedrock of stories. And as such, there are no shortcuts.

Ever had the misfortune to catch a home decorating show? Here we have a windowless basement: mock up a mantle from polystyrene, paint the walls gray, put up sconces with flickering lightbulbs… it’s still a basement. It’s just now desperately pretending to be something it isn’t. The bones of the structure are undeniably American Suburbia, not generic castle keep, and those bones are integral to how we experience the space.

The average person isn’t trained to be aware of those bones — the underlying architecture — and its subtle impact on our experience, just as most non-storytellers aren’t trained to see how and where and why characters create plot. I guarantee you, though, you will never mistake a late-century Kmart for the Centre Pompidou or the Forbidden City or Mount Vernon. Just as you would never mistake a beginner’s first novel for Lord of the Rings or Left Hand of Darkness. 

That is, the dressed stone isn’t paint and plaster; it’s a core element informing (even dictating) height, width, and depth of a space. Characterization is the same: it must be structural. In turn, characters inform the breadth and depth of the story. If your characterization is shallow, wild swerves and dramatic reveals can make the story fun, but they will never make it deep. 

I empathize with the (hopefully genuine) intent to avoid making Shiro’s sexuality a ‘reveal.’ The unfortunate truth is: waiting 60+ episodes to even mention in passing makes it a reveal. It wasn’t structural, or viewers would’ve been sensing it from the very beginning. 

This isn’t a haircut or a pair of jeans. It’s a person’s identity, and that has crucial impact on hopes, fears, desires, and needs. It doesn’t start only once the audience is let in on the secret; it was always there. It should’ve informed the character’s actions and reactions all along. 

If Lance is Cuban, and the story takes place in a quasi-future America, then to understand Lance’s perspective, we need to ask questions like: is Cuba still under embargo? Is it a free democracy now, or did Lance’s family flee at some point? Is he part of an exchange program, or is there a lottery that let him come to the US for his education? Did he leave his family behind? How young was he, when he left? What was his childhood like, and how does that differ from what he found in America? What was his parents’ relationship like, and how does that influence his expectations for friends and lovers? 

Was he fluent in English when he arrived, or did he only become fluent later? Does his Spanish have a noticeable accent, and if so, has he felt isolated from other Latinx at school? Or is he the only Latino at the Garrison? Is he proud of his heritage, or ashamed of it? Did he get bullied for being foreign, and how did that change what he says/does? Even if America is joyfully multi-cultural, he’d still be an immigrant or foreigner, and that’s a different experience from a non-white community that’s multi-generation American. What was his impression of his new life? What compared favorably (or not) to his childhood? 

It’s not just, “He’s a boy from Cuba.” You have to think about what it means to be ‘from Cuba’ and how this is different from, say, growing up next door to the Garrison (like Pidge probably did). If you put that much thought into it, if you talk to people who’ve lived that experience, if you push yourself to imagine as deeply as you can how Lance’s life would have shaped him? 

By the time you’re done, Lance would never need to say a word. 

His reactions, his assumptions, maybe a few mannerisms, his humor, a few throwaway comments about his family or things he did as a kid — and there would be Cubans in the audience going, “hey, wait a minute, he’s just like my cousin.” Or brother or uncle or friend. By the time someone asks at a panel? Half the audience would be saying, yeah, we were right, Lance is totally Cuban. 

Or you don’t think about it, and you use stereotypes in hopes that’ll do the work for you. As @sjwwerewolf commented:

Man, I’m ready to rant about Voltron. I’m Cuban. Lance, oh boy, Lance. From season 1 on, he has been written as a huge stereotype. The flirtatious, passionate comic relief character who’s dumb. Like. He’s literally Antman’s sidekick. That character. All you need to make him a full caricature is like, “I have a gangster brother.“ 

The stereotype is a shortcut. It’s slapping on behaviors without thought for a real person’s experiences or perspectives. VLD is, sadly, full of them: the Latino (wannabe) lover, the big guy who likes food (with only the slightest twist to have him actually good at cooking), the boyish-girl who’s a brain and likes computers more than people, etc. 

just pull shiro out of a hat

At some point early on, the EPs said (once again in an interview, not in the story) that VLD is a world without homophobia. The story itself contradicts that ideal, or at least, it emphasizes a certain level of heternormativity over an open embrace of diverse relationships. What’s in our face for six seasons is Lance’s lover-boy stereotype, Allura’s attraction to Lotor, Lotor’s attraction to Allura, Matt’s attraction to Allura, and so on… and the closest we get to anything resembling an alternate attraction is one blush from a servant in a flashback, and Kuron’s startled reaction to Keith’s return. 

All VLD had to do was have Hunk mention his moms. Or Coran mention his late husband. Or Lance mention his sister’s wife. Something explicit to offset the heterosexual attractions going on. Frankly, for six seasons it was an open question whether homosexuality even existed in VLD: the absence of a negative is not proof of the presence of a positive. 

That absence means we really have no idea how being queer in VLD’s world would affect a character — and it would, have no doubt. Our sexuality affects every single one of us; it’s just that straight people have the benefit of seeing the roadmap of their sexuality played out in a million books, movies, and television shows. If you haven’t given thought to whether this is also true in your world, then you don’t really know how a character could discover, define, and map their sexuality, or how they’d quantify or qualify relationships that overlap their sexual preferences. You don’t understand the structure. 

That lack of thought means, nine times out of ten, the creator has said to themselves, “it’s easier to just say this character’s experience of their sexuality is exactly like the one I, as a straight person, vaguely recall having (that I never actually had to question because it was already mapped out for me, everywhere I looked).” That’s not a queer character. That’s a character with a label slapped on their forehead that says here be a queer character. It’s paint, because the structure underneath is straight person. 

Which means that of course the EPs could consider making someone else “the rep,” because they really seem to believe this is as easy as removing the label from Shiro’s forehead and sticking it on someone else. And it’s not. People don’t work like that. Sexuality is no more a simple paint-job than race, gender, culture, or dis/ability. Each of these things is etched on our bones, literally or metaphorically, and that changes us all the way through. 

The short version, then, is: no, we wouldn’t have gotten any other rep, just as we haven’t truly gotten any rep as VLD was delivered. Shiro has a label on his forehead, but unless and until the canonical story demonstrates this goes all the way down to his bones… he’s just a straight suburban basement with a mediocre paint job and some fake queer columns.

[pennys-th0ughts]

Cream Game

The far chirping of the birds woke me up early. I opened my eyes and found Emilee’s face a few inches from mine, her expression was peaceful and carefree and she seemed to be having a good dream since I saw her lips discretely curling up. Strangely that made me smile too and I suddenly felt that sensation in my chest again. There was something messing around inside my head and in the last few hours that awkwardness became even more disturbing.

I stretched my arms and legs and got out of bed, I headed to the bathroom intended to take a brief shower to help me wake up. I took my clothes off and left them on the floor; I opened the hot water tap and got under the shower. The temperature was on point and it felt delicious after so many years of having cold water baths. The warm liquid splashing against my face and sliding down all over me took my head elsewhere then the waves of Emilee’s body came to mind making me picture her without any clothes and in her most pure natural state. My heart started pounding hard and really fast, and my breathing abruptly became erratic forcing me to gasp for air. The combination of lust and excitation was such that it finally made me have an erection. I sighed starting to feel a little uncomfortable about it since I wouldn’t come out of the bathroom in that state; I had to do something to fix it so I spent the next ten minutes under cold water without mention that I had to also relieve myself with a hand job. After the arousal left my body for good, I got dried, put my clothes on and went back to the bedroom. Fortunately Emilee was still sleeping so I lied down next to her again and gently started waking her up; she turned around a couple times until she finally opened her cute eyes.

– Good morning, beautiful. ¿Did you slept well?

– Hey… yes I did – she shyly smiled at me burying half of her face in the pillow-. ¿Why is your hair wet?

– I took a shower while you were sleeping to wake me up. I hope you don’t mind…

– ¡Of course not! Make yourself at home Rob-

– Bob, you can call me Bob.

I slowly got close to her and kissed her forehead tickling her face with my hair to which she laughed and placed a lock of it behind my ear. She caressed my cheek with her thumb and fixed her grayish eyes with mine, her pink lips were and invitation to be kissed but I held myself back from doing it, I didn’t want to be disrespectful or do something to freak her out. She had been kind enough to let me spend the night at home, what meant that I was going in the right direction earning her trust and I didn’t want to spoil that.

– Let’s have some breakfast ¿shall we? – I proposed getting up.

– I would love to – she agreed sitting on and stretching her arms-. You can go ahead and start making some coffee and whatever else you want to eat, Bob. I'm going to take a shower as well to get rid of what is left of the hangover from last night.

– Breakfast will be ready when you get out so take your time.

I went down the stairs and headed to the kitchen. I wasn’t an expert cooking and I actually didn’t know much about food but through the years I got very skilled in learning things fast so I searched for a cooking book and some recipes. I was aware that some humans liked to eat pancakes while drinking coffee or tea in the mornings so I looked for those. Once I got them I opened the fridge and saw if I could use some of the fruits the recipes offered as ingredients. Luckily Emilee had a great variety of small fruits as blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, grapes, apples and bananas. I picked some blueberries and raspberries and got on board of an exciting cooking voyage. There were many things to do at the same time and I thought it would be a good idea to have an extra pair of hands to help me out with them so I took my shirt off and let the other three pair of arms get out of my back. Being half spider and half human had its advantages and to have four pair of arms and hands was really useful sometimes. I only needed to be careful Emilee didn’t see them, at least not yet.

As expected, breakfast was ready before she got out of the shower. The coffee and the pancakes were just made, there was hot milk just in case and some whipped cream. I was sitting at the bar reading some magazines when she got down the stairs and joined me.

– Oh, sweet lord – she sniffed the air-. ¡That smells delicious!

Her compliment made me smile. I had never heard such nice words in a very long time and those made me feel good. I invited her to have seat, I got up and poured coffee in her cup and served the pancakes; she put some milk to her drink and tasted the food, enjoying each bite.

– ¿May I ask where have you learned to cook so good?

– I went through your recipes book, darling – I answered honestly-. Many recipes in that book are quite easy to pull off, but the truth is I just wanted to surprise you…

Her cheeks went beetroot in a fraction of a second; she lowered her eyes to her plate with a shy smile on her lips and took a piece of pancake to her mouth. Her reaction amused me.

– You must be kidding me ¿right? – I asked incredulous.

Emilee shrugged her shoulders as if the subject didn’t matter to her but I found it quite shocking since she was a very attractive girl.

– ¿Are you trying to say that no one ever made you breakfast before? – I scratched my chin still feeling dumbfounded.

Emilee shook her head negatively. She took a sip of her milked coffee and finished her pancakes. I remained silent for some minutes thinking about what she just said until she, placing her little hand over my arm, brought me back.

– Bob ¿you alright?

The warmth of her touch made me snap out of it as if I was being dragged to earth again. I shook my head and looked at her thoughtful; the expression on her face seemed concerned so I decided to lift her spirit a little. I took the can of whipped cream, put some on my finger tip and waited for Emilee to get distracted. When she looked back at me I took the chance to put some of the cream on her nose. The surprise effect worked and changed her mood instantly; she grabbed the can and pointed it at me menacingly. I instinctively stood up and put some distance between us walking backwards but she kept threating me until she finally pressed the button and a long stream of cream reached me.

– Emilee, you are going to get your kitchen dirty… - I tried to reason with her but she seemed determined to empty the can on me.

I was still backing off trying to find some shelter when she shot more cream at me; there is when I started to run. She chased me through the kitchen and the whole living room leaving traces of cream everywhere until I figured out that the sofa was her Achilles heel and she wouldn’t do anything to spoil it, so I used it as a shield for a moment. Once I caught my breath I tried to get out from behind the couch but my foot got stuck with one of its legs and made me fall.

– Oh my god, Bob ¿are you okay? – She hurried and knelt next to me.

Being that clumsy only made me laugh. Emilee helped me stand up and took me to the couch, I sat down but didn’t let go of her hand, what is more, I made her sit on my lap. She blushed but she didn’t leave her place, I moved away a lock of her hair to uncover her neck and watched it carefully. The skin in her chest had a handful of tiny moles but there were three of them in an almost perfect line, as if they were some kind of constellation. I was softly sliding my fingers over her neck, feeling its smoothness, when I suddenly noticed Emilee’s breathing began to accelerate. She remained quiet and yet I could feel her arousal getting high. She began to unbutton her blouse, and I didn’t need to know she wasn’t wearing any bra because her nipples could be seeing easily; she took my hand and put it inside her clothes making me touch her breast. I didn’t wait for her to do anything else and I just kissed her. I think I caught her unprepared but she didn’t rejected my lips against hers; on the contrary, she kissed me back. The strength of her kisses escalated pretty fast turning me on at the same speed. Emilee changed the way she was sitting and sat down on me with her legs open, she kept kissing me with more eager than before and began rubbing her pelvis against mine slowly. A couple minutes later she had already managed to give me a boner, wet my clothes, removed my shirt and loosened my belt. She was covering my neck with kisses while pulling my hair and it was driving insane until she finally decided to take my pants off. She got on her knees, grabbed my cock with her hands and began pumping it in a harmonic rhythm. The feeling was so pleasant that sent delicious shivers down my whole spine as if it was some kind of sweet electricity tickling my senses. But she didn’t stop there and started licking and sucking, playing from time to time with the tip as if it was a lollipop, making me growl of pleasure. When she got tired of using her hands and mouth she sat down on my cock and began riding me, pushing her pussy really deep against it, moaning fully satisfied at each one of her pushes and plunging her nails in my shoulders. The lust her body was giving off was such that I was going through the exact same state Emilee went when she got drunk. Her hormones were a powerful drug and I was getting really high. I surrounded her waist with my hands and buried my face between her tender breasts letting her do whatever she wanted to with me, until us both came.

Exhausted, after making love for three hours, we took a short nap on the couch to get our strengths back. It was almost noon and Emilee wanted to go for a walk after having lunch. She had told me about a nice place not far from her home that I would surely like.

Still curious about my cooking skills, Emilee gave in her kitchen to me and allowed me to prepare something for lunch. I quickly went through the recipes book and then I checked the fridge for the ingredients. Once I gathered them all on the table, I read the recipe one more time and started to cook. This time I wouldn’t need my extra pair of hands since I already had one and it was a very pretty one, Emilee volunteered to assist me and I happily accepted. Her company was delightful and having her around meant that there would be always some kind of surprise in stock.

I sighed feeling relieved and satisfied, my plan was finally accomplished.

To be continued…

@sunflowerskissed Enjoy! 💕

[sugaxjpg]

devotion; m

⤷  As an angel questioning your place in Heaven, the last thing you needed was for someone like him to appear. 

✓ Couple: Jimin x Reader | Angel!AU and Demon!AU

✓ Filed under: angst, smut, horror

✓ Look out for: violence, death/murder, torture 

✓ Words: 16,463

Author’s Note: imma be the first one to say that this fic made me so nostalgic lmaooo I remember posting this back in the ol’ days of 2016 and, as much as my writing style switched a lot since then, I still hold this story in a very dear place! pls enjoy~

EDIT: March 4th, 2019, fixed the dialogue punctuation.

Above your head, the cosmos opened gently; a burst of stars lethargically waltzing in front of your eyes. Covered by diaphanous passing clouds, the moon watched the city with tranquility, never annoyed by the music’s reverberation, no matter how frequently it broke the stillness of the night. Below you, an effervescent pub stood asymmetrical in the middle of the quiet street, its neon resplendence shining with an almost futuristic look; its grey walls encompassed by a line of impatient people. Many meters above that gelid asphalt, your legs danced beside the rooftop of that residential building, your body being gracefully wrapped in the cool breeze that blew through the neighborhood streets.

Your chaotic thoughts contrasted with the homogeneity of the night, eyes minutely scrutinizing the humans in front of you. You were tired of them, could not comprehend their actions. You did not know how you could have been predestined to love them unconditionally when they did not even love each other, nor did they know how to take care of their own kind. You were promised improvements and assurances that they would move away from the darkness, but, after endless centuries, the most you noticed was the considerable decrease in the number of black plague cases. Humans were still as putrid as when they started constructing complex sentences, still murdering and torturing their own blood; egotistical and narcissistic beings, masking their faults behind false and convenient devotions to ethereal beings they have never even seen—

“—What a lovely night.” 

An unfamiliar voice scared you out of your daydreams, causing your line of thought to break abruptly. Trying to disguise it the best you possibly could, you turned around gradually, gaze discovering the outlines of the silhouette that shone against the achromatic moonlight.

Oh no.

The primordial element that struck your cognizance was his aura: permeated by negative energy, it was a vortex that seemed to suck all your strength into a black hole. You felt as if you were being wrapped by insubstantial cold arms, which pulled you towards that oddly familiar man. His hair, a tone that bordered on silver, immaculately took in the luminescence of the moon above you, giving him an almost spectral — yet frighteningly beautiful — semblance. The stranger wore dark clothes that matched his obsidian eyes — so profound and wise — which flashed demonically as he took small steps towards your figure, head slightly tilted back so he could observe the scintillating stars above.

He chuckled as his gaze lowered to the line of humans in the street. “They look so small from up here,” the man pondered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Meanwhile, you kept your mouth shut, turning your head to look back at the mortal creatures beneath you.

The sounds of his shoes whispering against the concrete only stopped when he was already by your side. Then, the redolence had already reached your nostrils — the unmistakable stench of putrefaction and blood. You had never learned how to get used to it, especially because you rarely allowed yourself to be so close to such grotesque creature without it being turned into dust. Which, of course, could be quickly arranged.

As if reading your malevolent intentions, the silver-haired man looked at you as if he were noticing you for the first time in that delightful night. A charming smile effloresced on his ruby-colored lips. “What is a pretty little kitten like you doing in a place like this?” he then inquired, clearly amused.

It had not occurred to you that a flinching reaction was precisely what he desired to get from you. “Don’t call me that,” you said before you could stop yourself. Almost instantaneously, you perceived the traces of disgust that ornamented your sentence, which caused you to feel some sort of shame — truly, you needed to have a better grip on your demeanor, and not present vulnerable emotions to such beings. Only the Lord knew what they could use against you.

“Oh, so the kitten can talk,” he replied, satisfaction almost palpable in his silk-like voice. The creature crouched down and sat down beside you; soon after, his legs were swaying next to yours. For a moment, you considered pushing him down and going elsewhere, but had no motivation to do so.

“I thought I was clear,” was your response, trying to present an irritation you were not truly feeling. Beings like that rarely managed to awaken something in you besides the purest disgust. And, may the Lord forgive your sins of judgement, his mere presence was sufficient for you to reach closer to the edges of your self-control. “Put yourself in your place,” you added.

“And she also has claws.” He allowed himself to drop a low chuckle, unbothered by your claims. You had not even turned your head to look at him, but he could already tell that your presence would be simply delightful to endure. “So, do tell me. What are you doing here, dear?” he tried again. “You seem quite lost.”

You thought for a second, considering whether it would be worth answering. “Watching,” you told him, timbre carrying nothing but impassiveness.

He hummed, deep black irises following the movement of a specific human — a ginger woman in an exceptionally short dress entered the building, the fire in her hair mingling flawlessly with the indigo and rose of the lights above her. “Watching? That’s interesting,” the hellish creature remarked.

You were not aware why he even bothered to construct a dialogue with you. You knew exactly who he was, and knew you could be severely punished if your superiors found out you were getting involved with beings like that — yet, you still gifted him with an answer. “And why is that?” your reply came out in a monotonous, disinterested tone.

But of course, he was wishing for that special inquiry to depart from your petal-shaped lips. “You said watching, not guarding,” the man promptly pointed out, waiting for your reaction expectantly. When it did not come, your beautiful face remaining inexpressive, he could not disguise the disappointment that irradiated throughout his moonlight-bathed features. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, love, but you are a guardian angel. That is what your heavenly duty consists of.” 

You did not answer. He was getting somewhere.

The creature’s smile germinated in his perfectly sculpted lips, satisfaction painting his smirk with traces of victory.  “What are you watching?” he mumbled, tender voice caressing the nocturnal breeze.

“Them,” you practically spat that word, wishing to get rid of the nauseous aftertaste it left on the tip of your tongue. You should leave, get out of there before you gave that hellish being an opening he could use against you. You had heard of him — sincerely, there was not a single angel in heaven who did not know his disgusting little name.

“Humans?” he questioned, leaning his head slightly to the side. From the corner of your eye, you could see that he had turned to look at you with infinite attention. “Oh, dear, but they can be so boring, don’t you believe?” inquired the man.

Again, no response from your part. You two had gotten into a tricky subject, and it would be the right time for you to disappear from that forsaken rooftop — the last chance the Heavens would gift to you, in fact. Why did you stay, then?

Moreover, your silence was also a confirmation to the man: he knew well that you could not disagree with him if it meant you were lying. 

“Dear, you don’t need to pretend around me, I am fully aware that you agree with my humble point of view,” he spoke out, voice as tender as the softest silk. His presence, once massive and menacing, now gradually turned into something almost comforting. Maybe you were just getting used to it — pathetic. “Humans are not immaculate beings made do be protected, and I believe you are fully aware of that,” he elucidated.

The man met the silence once more. A breeze blew against his pale face, disheveling his silver hair. In his lips, the phantasm of a shy smile still lingered. “I was once where you are right now,” he continued, patiently. “Nothing but a lost little angel with a lot of unanswered questions. Quite sad, if you ask me.”

“I am aware,” you replied, stiffness clear in your voice, “and that’s why you were sent down.”

And then, much to your dismay, he laughed. A laugh of amusement, a chuckle of one who had heard that claim so often that it was starting to border on the hilarious. The action was so unexpected that you looked at him in pure disbelief, unprepared for what you were going to find. It was odd how one single action could snowball into the primordial error of the night.

Sanctified — that was what the stranger appeared to be. As ironic, and borderline blasphemous, as that comparison was, that was the only imagery that permeated past your nebulous ponderations. The pallid illumination that oscillated on his features embraced each and every detail with a graceful, cherubic-like semblance. Obscure, the neon-filled darkness permitted for his features to undulate in the scalding oceans of dim fire; his infinite eyes sucking in each fragment of warmth that germinated from its luminescence. Irises like the ones on saints in a chapel: serene, patient; filled with melancholy. And so, so dangerously hollow.

Until that moment, you had not truly absorbed the reality of your own words, but his melodious laugh and harmonic features were enough to make you realize that he was once as ethereal as you. Or perhaps even more, if you were to tell the truth.

Jimin was his name. A mere group of letters and syllables that held a connotation so dark — so absolutely diabolical — that for a long time you avoided even thinking about it. Angelic creatures being casted down from grace was already an unusual occasion, but an archangel? One of the Lord’s most beloved squires? No, no, that was different, absurd, panic-inducing. How could a creature made of loyalty and benevolence hold a spirit so corrupted by evil? It made no sense. He made no sense.

Awakening you from your brief episode of trepidation, his tranquil tone dragged you back to substantiality. “Oh, no, I was not precisely sent down.” He smiled, clearly amused by your look of pure confusion. “You see, kitten, you could say that it was my choice.”

“What?” you inquired, bewildered by the mere hypothesis. Trust no word that comes from the Devil’s lips, someone once had told you, and you could tell that it was absurd to even consider them — still, why were you there by his side? It was past the time to go. “No one chooses to fall, that is… that is preposterous.” 

“That is what they told you, then.” Jimin’s smile did not subside. Quite the contrary, even: you thought it even increased by a few millimeters. “Of course they would tell you such thing, kitten:  the idea of an angel wishing to leave that madhouse is terrifying enough on its on. Imagine if you all knew that the outcome not as bad as they make it out to be.” He chuckled.

The velocity of your thoughts was almost overwhelming to accompany, your mind trying to comprehend the explanations he presented to you. Part of you thought that his perfectly-built sentences were nothing above a lie, a cheap trick; but another part took his words as the only logical explanation for his position: an archangel would not be corrupted unless it wanted to. 

You swallowed dry. “What are you saying?” the words left your lips before you even thought about the consequences they could bring along.

“I am saying,” he continued, shifting his penetrating gaze back to the humans below you two. Now the line that waited outside the pub was already smaller, but few were the ones who actually entered the construction. “That there is a myriad of positive points about not being an angel that Heaven does not tell their workers about. For starters, there is this thing called autonomy. Don’t believe you are familiar with it,” the creature teased.

Even if you managed to camouflage your outrage fairly well, Jimin could tell — from the tiniest eye flicker to the rapid movement of your lips — that his words had resonated within the strings of your soul. “Autonomy?” you echoed, and he nodded. “Of course I am familiar with that, we have it as angels.”

“Oh, but do you, dear?” He elevated one eyebrow, staring deep within the veil of your skeptical eyes. He was challenging you, biting back on his own eagerness as he pushed you towards the edge of your made-up excuses.

Your confirmation came within a heartbeat, “Yes.”

In a realization that appeared within your mind like lightning — quickly rupturing the sky of your certainties, its ephemeral glow not lasting longer than the thunder that soon followed — your moral code was challenged. Suddenly, you were not certain of your own words, and Jimin was prepared to bring them down.

“Then please answer me this: if I were to go down there right now and snap that bodyguard’s neck...” He pointed at a man in a black shirt, arms crossed, in front of the large, illuminated door. The image appeared clear in your mind: that creature appearing like a charcoal mist beside the poor man, wrapping his slender, cadaveric fingers around his neck and, with minimal force, ripping his head from his neck. Just the prospect was enough for a shiver to run through your skin, your body instantly becoming alert. “What would you do to stop me?”

“I’m not…” you started, but he was not really expecting an answer. So, when your sentence trailed off into the night, the demonic creature was ready to fill the quiescence.

“You cannot intervene without orders from your superiors.” Jimin sighed, leaning his head on his hand. He knew what you were going through — even more than you could understand yourself — and you were in a very dangerous position to get carried away by his words, stuffed with artificiality. He was a fallen angel, a creature of darkness, and you could not forget that; could not forget that he was trying to manipulate you.

But, even so, you could not help but hear what he had to say.

“You cannot do anything without being told before, am I mistaken?” he continued, not getting an answer from your part. “Not even when you are guarding your own souls, you cannot save them, cannot even help them. You are merely an expectator, you just watch. And that is not quite fair, is it?” The man suspired, staring up at the stars one more time — as if he expected the answer to come from them instead of you. “You lack free will, that is something heaven does not allow you to have. It is not your fault, kitten. ”

“Jimin, listen—” you began, suddenly feeling suffocated by his presence.

When his name poured from your lips, however, he did not even bother to disguise his reaction: his head turning quickly to look at you. Something that you could not quite characterize burned deep within his eyes, and you realized that staying there had been a terrible mistake. “—Jimin! Then you know who I am!" he exclaimed contentedly. The previous calm of his voice had been replaced by a peculiar excitement. You despised it. "That brings us to my other point: recognition. Angels, demons, you name it, they all know who you are, especially if you are a fallen.”

“I don’t care for fame,” you vocalized a little faster than you probably should — he would catch any minor slip in demeanor. Even worse, though: were those words your own, or had you merely been programed to verbalize them when the correct time came? It terrified you that you could no longer tell the difference. “I’m not doing this to have my name known,” you made sure to add.

From the manner he hesitated for the first time that night, something within your spirit screamed out that he had achieved what he desired. “That may be true.” He shrugged, speaking slightly slower than before. “But you do care about being heard, taken into account as an individual. How many times have you questioned the ones above you? How many times have you been shut down?” He paused. Your silence was all the confirmation he necessitated. “My apologies, kitten, but you are merely a guardian angel, after all. Disposable. You have no voice in heaven.”

The shadow of a frown was casted down upon your features, “That is—”

“—The truth,” Jimin interrupted your sentence. Mattered not how hard you tried, you found yourself unable to decipher his abstract expression, “And I believe you know that,” he added.

A pang spread through your chest as you considered the possibility of being watched. To agree with his claims would be equiparable with a direct treason, and you could not take that. “This is not what I have been created for, don’t you understand? I follow orders. I might not have a voice, but I...” You hesitated. As much as you would never admit that, you were unaware if you were attempting to justificate your position to him, or to yourself. “I also saved souls, and that is something that you can never do.” 

Much to your anguish, your claims had no effect on the demonic being, “How many souls have you saved, dear?” Jimin spoke calmly and patiently, as if he already knew the answers before he even uttered his question. “Besides, who said that I cannot do such thing? If anything, I can save more humans than you ever will. Have you not heard my first point, kitten? Autonomy. Even for good actions. For whatever you wish.”

"Blasphemy,” you threw back. Deep in your mind, it sounded more like a prayer than a fact.

“Why, dear? Because you deeply wish it to be?" He smiled amiably, getting closer to you. Your reaction was immediate, and you jumped away from him. “Because you were taught that anything that is not celestial is negative? We are not followers of the light, but the darkness is not as one-dimensional as you perceive it to be.”

As if a colossal wave had just crashed upon your mind, you stood up and moved away from him — since when was the world so awfully suffocating? — a couple steps that resounded against the concrete and set your soul ablaze. It seemed as if you had just woken up from a profound trance, as if reason struck you in a single, painful hit. You were not only talking to a fallen angel, but getting carried away by his words. "Stop trying to trick me.” You breathed out.

Subsequent to a suspire, his response came. “I’m not, all I’m saying is the purest truth.” The man turned around lethargically, watching the beautiful silhouette that stood in front of him — from the manner your hair took in the glow of the moonlight to the way your clear dress swayed around your body with the light breeze that enveloped the city. Jimin could almost taste the fear hidden in your gaze, the confusion that monopolized your mind. Duly, he once was where you were now, and knew how could it be a fragile, vulnerable situation. But oh, so deliciously confusing. “But I suppose it is far too easy to just talk. Let me show you what you have been missing down here, kitten,” he proposed.

“Show me?” You laughed, not believing what you were listening. “Please, who do you think I am? A human you can trick into selling my soul? There is nothing you can show me, demon.”

For the primordial instance that night, Jimin appeared to be truthfully taken by surprise. “Human? Never, my darling. I simply believe you are a lost little angel questioning your beliefs, but far too terrified to do something about the rage that is being born within your essence,” he answered your first question, internally amused by the way you had stopped masking your emotions. That would make your interaction much simpler. “And, fortunately, I also believe that I can assist you with those issues.” 

Instead of all the protocols of behavior that resounded in your head — most of which begged for you to depart from that place — you found yourself growing intrigued by his words. Even if you did not believe that there were any sort of veracity within them, you thought it would be quite entertaining to experience his arguments, especially if it was to prove him wrong. “And how exactly would you do that?” your question sounded like a challenge, and he accepted it.

“Three small tests.” Jimin turned his figure around on the edge of the roof to his torso could face you, laying his shoes on the concrete and crossing his hands on his lap. His demonic features had been outlined by the faintest of excitements, permitting for a minimum grin to irradiate through his lips. “If you can even call them that. I will show you what you will be able to achieve if you chose to join me.”

It was nauseating how deeply he was able to get inside your head, enunciating the perfect words to entice your curiosity. “What is the trick?” you questioned, forcing yourself to focus: he was a diabolical creature, not your personal savior. Jimin was a twisted being, and that was why he lost his grace.  

“Dear, I need no tricks,” the man assured you promptly, giving you another amicable smile. “And, regardless, the final choice is always yours to make. If you want darkness, I shall give you darkness. If you want heaven, I shall leave you alone. How does that sound?”

Progressively, your eyes fell to the concrete beneath your feet. Your figure, being insubstantial, was unable to cast no shadow over its monochromatic substance, and yet you felt as if you were fully immersed in penumbra. Jimin’s proposal was almost too good — almost benevolent — to be true, and yet you discovered yourself being magnetized towards accepting it. You sighed. “It sounds like a monumental error.”

Jimin stood up slowly, his slender figure rupturing the nocturnal air like an arrow. “So, do you accept my offer?” he pressed further, taking a couple steps so he could stand right in front of you. Again, the aura surrounding him seemed to expand around you, curling up like roots at your ankles and pulling you against his nefarious presence. Your ears buzzed with the alarming proximity, his body only inches away from yours. “It is not like you will be missing a lot here, there will always be humans for you to watch. Let’s have fun tonight, shall we?” he inquired.

Courteously, the demon held out a hand to you, waiting for your final response — he was certain of what it would be. Jimin had surrounded you so well that you found yourself with nowhere to run; no desire to escape from his malevolent atmosphere. You could not tell if he had done something to you, but, when you reached out to touch his hand, you did not feel any kind of regret. Accepting his peculiar invitation only awakened in you the deepest of curiosity.

And so, you two disappeared into the veils of darkness.

Around your figure exploded a world of consolidated heat. Dense, the air was impregnated by the awful redolence of sulfur and blood; echoing on with the panic-inducing cries for clemency of tortured souls. From the black walls emanated an unbearable heat and, if you dared to look closer, you could perceive small lines of orange within its cracks; openings which moved around as if the entire ambient was breathing in and out; magma pumping through its veins — may the Creator have mercy, it was like an unholy living creature.

From what you could perceive, the two of you were in an obscure, narrow hallway. With a rapid turning of your head, you could that it stretched endlessly towards both sides, drowning in the same tenebrosity that overtook your presence. In front of your trembling figure, one corroded metal door stood patiently. Near its top, a small opening allowed deep screams to echo through the passage, reverberating around you.

You swallowed dry, fingertips growing numb underneath the tides of your nervousness. “Where are we?” you questioned, even if the response was clear. Some part of you wished that you could be mistaken, perhaps he had taken you to a better place than—

“—Hell,” he responded simply. Jimin must have seen the panic that spread through your eyes, for he soon tried to comfort you. “Worry not, kitten, you are with me. You could not be safer than what you are currently,” he guaranteed.

Still, you were not convinced, “I don’t trust you,” you told him.

“That means you are not stupid.” The demon smiled. In the background, metallic sounds made your trepidation increase in force, soon followed by a resounding yell, “besides,” he continued, unbothered. “I am not asking you to do so. Even if it would make our adventures a bit more… interesting.”

Absentmindedly, you nodded, even if your attention was placed elsewhere. The small square-shaped opening was not sufficient for you to see what occured beyond that door, but the momentary glimpses you caught were enough for you to feel sick. “Care to tell me what are we here for?” your voice was slightly shaky, but he did not seem to notice it.

With a prolonged suspire, his gaze trailed the same path as yours, falling upon the islands of rust that ornamented the metal. “Open the door,” Jimin told you, nodding toward the passage.

Against every fiber of your being, you took a step closer to it. Hesitation controlled your every move, an odd gelid sensation exploded at the tip of your fingers as they slowly moved towards the handle, soon curling around its asperous surface. One deep breath, one long exhale — with a terminal movement, you did as you were instructed.

When the door was open, the image that greeted you was enough to push your panic into almost human-like levels. For a instant you considered turning around and running away from that atrocious view, but Jimin was standing right behind you and, when you took a shaky step back, his body blocked your way. You felt his chest moving as a small laugh dripped in between his lips; his firm hands curving around your arms, moving upwards, and resting on your shoulders, forcing you to look at what was unfolding before you.

A male human was tied to a metal plank, his feet and hands fastened with heavy silver cuffs. Profound dahlia-colored cuts decorated his pale skin, bathing his naked body with the deepest scarlet tone. Tears blurred his grimy face, trickling down his dirty features until they found his mouth, which was eternally open in terrifying screams. Randomly and without any warning, the surface bent at an angle of ninety degrees, causing the man’s bones to crack with a horrible noise. When he returned to the starting position, his members were already healing, ready to be broken again.

For the first time you were face to face with the eternal torture of Hell. Of course, you were aware of what was done in those lower levels, but it was still a nightmarish experience to see it so closely — no stories from the higher Angels could ever compare to that circus of horrors; that putrid smell, that frequent cracking of members. “What...What is this?” your voice trailed off, terrified.

With ease, your companion walked around your body, slowly taking steps towards the human — his black shoes were slightly stained by an odd mixture of dirt and blood, but Jimin did not seem to take notice of it. “Mr Cooper was given to us after he did some bad things, isn’t that so?” Jimin smiled as that inquiry remained trapped in the static air. Behind him, the door was gone.

When that poor soul saw the silver-haired demon, his frail body began to spasm, locked limbs in vain trying to break free in the purest explosion of panic. The human’s mouth moved around ferociously, but nothing but meaningless screams left his bloody lips. “Silly, you cannot talk! It’s fun watching you try, though.” Jimin’s smile only grew. He was truly taking pleasure from something so excruciating, and you had no idea how.

“Why are you showing me this?” you inquired, taking that instant to look around the torture chamber. The cubicle was tiny, able to fit just that horrendous machine. It did not seem to have any source of light, but the room remained dimly illuminated, as if an invisible flame was shining all around — most likely coming from the cracks in the walls, if you had to trace an hypothesis. “Watching souls being tortured is not going to change my mind about Heaven, demon. If anything, it will only make me despise your work even further.”

Laughing out freely, the devilish man merely disregarded your opinion, “Oh, but he is not being tortured, he is getting his payback.” Jimin knelt in front of the human, holding his chin delicately. The stranger’s eyes seemed to be about to jump out of their sockets, awfully red and open in sheer, hysteric dread. “Mr Cooper here killed himself, but not before murdering his entire family. Can you tell my lovely friend why?”

I am sorry — he mouthed, but nothing came out. He could not speak.

The response, instead, came from the same person that placed the inquiry, “Because his wife was cheating on him.” Jimin’s smile did not waver, it seemed like he was having the time of his life. He turned to you — were his eyes always that alarming shade of sanguine? You found yourself unable to recall. “But, between you and I, it was not a surprise. He used to beat her a lot. Isn’t that right, Mr Cooper?” He turned back around and patted the man’s face gently, “Was it worth it? Watching your kids scream as you killed them? Did your wife’s death change what she had done? What you did?” 

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Please! — he mouthed once again in unbearable silence. You felt sick.

Pouting, the demon leaned his head to the side, blinking a couple times as the incandescent shade in his irises withered back into twilight. “No, I believe it did not change a thing.” Jimin sighed, standing up again and letting go of the human’s face. “It is what we always say down here: the blame of the act shall always be placed upon the actor. Matter not the moral justification behind it: a sin is a sin; a life is a life. Violence against your brother is a direct act against the Creator’s work.”

For a second you were taken aback by his words: you could recall them, for they were one of the most basic, fundamental rules of Heaven’s judgement. The Archangel that Jimin once was sometimes peeked through the cracks of his serpentine demeanor, and it often caught you off guard: it was one thing to disregard a demon’s opinion when the immoral is all they have ever known, but a completely different position when you were facing someone who truly existed amongst your equals. He had the taste of the immaculate and the altruistic and, yet, he had chosen the path of the corrupted ones. You could not comprehend it.

Jimin’s tone was velvety as he spoke out again, this time looking deeply inside your eyes. You could be telling lies if you said that the man was not extremely beautiful, but you could also perceive a veil of dissimulation that twisted his features around. There was something off about him. “See, kitten, this is what you can do: justice,” Jimin told you slowly, measuring your responses as he did so. “You can make a difference, show corrupted souls what they have done wrong and make this world a little bit better—”

“—Creating demons,” you completed without a second of vacillation.

“What? No, we do not create demons!" Jimin counterclaimed. Your legs felt absurdly warm, throbbing with the pressure around you. In your lungs you felt as if the air could not properly get in, making you dizzy. “They are forged by their own willpower. No torture can turn someone into a demon if they do not wish to. Want to see?” he asked, not waiting for your answer. Jimin intertwined his fingers in the man’s blood-soaked hair and pulled his face upwards, placing it absurdly close to his own. "Mr Cooper, do you wish to be set free? The only price is that you will work under my command, collecting souls.” He pouted. “We have already had this talk, I believe you know the deal I am presenting you.”

No! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!

“Really? What if I say that you can get your life back?" Jimin pressed on, his delicate voice contrasting with the metal noises echoing in the background. Chains moved around like vipers surrounding their prey; the metal plank trembled as if it awaited for its master to move away so it could continue its job. “We can make it perfect this time. You can get everything you have ever wished for, with the small price of your perverted soul.”

Never! Never! Never!

Jimin appeared to be slightly let down as that unspoken response was ever so eagerly mouthed. "See, kitten? There is no demonic future here.” The demon sighed, letting go of the human's head. His fingertips were colored by splashes of vermillion, which only added to the macabre atmosphere of his presence.

“Still,” you almost whispered, somewhat shocked. Guardians angels should remain tranquil in situations like those, but you were about to combust in pure horror. You were trapped in hell with one of the most evil and powerful beings you could find, and he was showing you how to torture a soul. There were limits not even ethereal beings could take. “This is not for me. I cannot watch this any longer.”

Subsequent to a hum, his answer came, “Oh, I understand.” He ran his hands through his silver hair, lightly soiling them with the blood of the still struggling man. The surface bent again, and the sound of something breaking found your ears, followed by a horrible scream. Jimin remained impassive. “I thought it would be necessary to give you the other side. Though, that will require a bit more of hard work from your part,” he mumbled, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“What precisely is the other side?” you had the chance to inquire, but the world around you was already fading out of focus.

Once your eyes were open again, you found yourself in an ambient even more peculiar than the sulfuric lands of Hell. What resembled a suburban household expanded around your figure with delicacy; the terminal evening rays of the run dripping down the half-closed curtains, bathing the wooden kitchen cabinets in a honey-like glow. Around you, the carpeted floor of the living room was stained by splotches of blood and ornamented by pieces of broken glass; the couch turned over.

Regardless, what caught your attention was the man behind it, knife still in his hands.

The world was, quite literally, frozen in time. The humans that existed in that theater-like scene looked like dolls, completely immobile, interrupted in the middle of their actions. Mr Cooper, you came to recognize, was in the middle of a run, polo shirt decorated with carmine dots that stood out in the midst of the bluish lines of the fabric. His arm was raised, weapon being held with enormous force, making the tip of his fingers turn white in fury. His face was no different: even without moving, you felt the same anger as if he were screaming profanities to your very face.

Your eyes moved to the woman in front of him. Quickly deducting that it was his wife, you observed how she stood with her arms raised in front of him, shielding her face as her mouth remained open in a reticent scream for mercy; red lipstick stained and covering her cheeks like a bizarre wound. Her dress was torn out in numerous places, revealing the deep cuts on her caramel-toned skin. Even in standstill, you could tell that she was absolutely exhausted.

On the stairs, two children ran for a place to hide.

“Here we have the scene of the crime,” Jimin’s voice pulled you away from your momentary trance. The demon looked comfortable as he sat on the one of the living room’s chairs, hands buried deep inside the pockets of his ebony pants in a casual, relaxed pose. “There is Mr Cooper, Mrs Cooper, and the little Coopers running upstairs.” He pointed, fighting back a smile — how delightful was the taste of carnal hysteria! “When I snap my fingers, they will start moving again, however,” he emphasized, as if he were reaching the apex of his speech, “you, my dear kitten, can save them. If so you desire, of course.”

With the verbalization of that possibility, your shock was ruptured instantaneously. “What?” your incredulous question echoed through the emptiness of the static universe. “No, we cannot change the past like that. There are rules about the universe’s progression, demon, even you are aware of that.”

“Kitten, we can do whatever we want to.” Jimin smiled openly, finding diversion in the trails of your despair. He took one hand out of his pocket. “Now, think fast, my dear. Time is running out.”

And, with a snap of his fingers, the universe began to move.

“No, wait—” you called, desperate. Mrs Cooper staggered, stomping on the shards of glass and falling to the floor with a horrible scream. The man leaned over her, ready to attack, “Jimin, stop this!” you pleaded.

The demon chuckled. “Me? But I am not even here.”

You turned to him, but he was already gone. Feeling the panic begin to spread through your veins, you turned back to the couple, only to realize that, in those few seconds of hesitation, her throat had already been cut open, bathing her skin in a fountain of throbbing scarlet waves. Mr Cooper seemed to be possessed by an inhuman rage, for he struck her body one more time before turning to the stairs. “Kids, come down here!” he shouted, standing up again. His limbs had small spasms of adrenaline. Even his voice sounded animal-like. “I just want to talk!”

In a natural action, your hand reached out to stop the human, but it went right through his flesh, disappearing like a phantasm before being pulled back. “Oh, please, Lord, no,” you prayed, walking behind the man with rushed footsteps. The smell of fresh blood was so strong. What were you doing? What could you do? You could not interfere, you did not have the permission to do.

The human’s sanguine-covered shoe found the first step of the wooden stairs as he dragged the red-colored knife on the polished railing. You felt like you could faint from the despair that thumped through your ethereal body. Another step.

“Father, please!” you called out, defeated. “Is anyone there?”

And another.

Then something occured that you could not immediately comprehend: there was no response. No immediate negation or confirmation, not even a slight signal your words had been sent through the levels of Heaven. There was no other presence to guide you, no protocol sent for you to follow. There was only white noise; ignored phrases. There was only you. May the Lord show you clemency — there was only you.

And you needed to do something.

Mr Cooper was already halfway up the stairs when you finally ran after him, passing right through his body and heading towards the upper floor. It was odd how your entire essence appeared to be working in automatic motions, even the most ephemeral of ponderations deeply aware of each step you necessitated to take to change the horrid nightmare that unfolded right before your eyes — and so you did. No questions asked, no permissions taken.

As your feet met the floor of the second floor, you stopped and concentrated in the energy that curled around the ambient. Where were the kids? How strongly was their panic sending signals for you to follow? You could discover their hiding place much faster than the man that stomped behind you, for their naive spirits could shine brighter than any evil that came their way. You just… had to...

There — your eyes snapped open. You could hear whispering behind the door at the end of the hall.

Within a second you were bursting through the wooden passage. You barely had an instant to absorb the details of their room — from the baby blue painting of the walls to the glow-in-the-dark stickers that decorated them; the legos thrown around the ground to the unmade beds — before your attention was magnetized towards the inaudible mumbles. They came from the closet doors.

“Kids?” Mr Cooper called from the hall, followed by the sound of a door slamming. He was looking around the other rooms. “Answer me! Don’t you have respect for your father?”

Another door — their whispers grew louder, quivering in panic. You had not received any answers yet. Where even was Jimin?

Another door, closer — you could not watch something so brutal, you just could not.

And another.

But you also could not allow for it to happen.

The bedroom door opened with a violent movement, slamming the blue wall and leaving a deep gray mark on the painting. Mr Cooper entered the room like a tornado — now, where are those two brats hiding? — knife swinging between his bloody fingers in sheer anticipation. With slow steps, he moved towards to the closet as if he already knew the location of his children, a sadistic smile emerging on his cracked lips. He did not look human; did not look as if he even had a soul.

The murderer paused before the blue closet doors, his blood-covered hand slowly reaching out to touch the doorknob. In the other, his fingertips held his knife with more force.

At last, you could not control yourself anymore, “Pause!” you commanded.

And the universe paused.

In one of the most human-like emotions you had ever experienced, you saw yourself falling to your knees as the trembling adrenaline morphed into fragile alleviation. The pandemonium that unraveled in your mind was far too chaotic for you to measure your next actions and, before you could censor yourself, your mind traveled back to hell, where the man once screamed for mercy. This time, nevertheless, you were unable to experience any sort of compassion towards him. Mr Cooper had just murdered his own wife, and was about to do the same with his children. Right or wrong, you were completely isolated in that static world, and you had to do something.

Right or wrong, the blame of the act is placed upon the actor.

Before you could further analyze your choices, you took the knife from the man’s hands, landing it on the ground and away from him. With delicate fingers, you opened the closet door, finding the two small humans in there, crying and trapped in a faithless hug, the older no more than nine years old. Taking a deep breath once more, you picked them up with little to no force — you did now know how you could touch matter suddenly, but the inquiry did not even cross your head then — and headed for the bedroom door. 

You only stopped walking when you were already in front of the neighboring residence, placing them in front of the door.

Still locked in that immobile cosmos, you felt as if the pretty cream-colored door was mocking you, the vague aroma of baked pies curling around the atmosphere in infinite sweetness. If not so terrible, the prospect that a murder could be occurring next to such pleasant residency would have been almost hilarious to conceive. Human beings were so, so strange.

You could acknowledge, even if still somewhat numb, that an explosion of tenebrosity appeared in the scene. “How does it feel, my kitten?” Jimin murmured behind you, so close that his breath hit the back of your neck. If his intention was to startle you, it did not concretize.

How did it feel? Lord! Everything was unreal to you. It was a weird mix of conflicting feelings, relief and guilt battling mercilessly inside of your chest. Never in your life have you done something like that, never on your own; never with your own decisions. And that was delightfully pleasant.

“Strange,” you whispered back, lacking emotion in your timbre.

“Freeing,” the demon corrected, watching the children in front of him with no trace of affection — how annoying were those panic-struck eyes of theirs, those irritating tears that traced down their flushed cheeks. “I think that is the word you might be looking for, dear,” he continued.

You took a deep breath, disregarding his sentences. “What now?” you asked, not sure you wanted to know the answer.

Behind you, Jimin chuckled — oh, he was looking forward to that. “Now, we move on to the second part.” He touched you shoulder and, once again, everything morphed into twilight.

Past the large rectangular windows came a deep ruby glow, a phantasmal illumination that dripped past the translucent glass and into the room, tracing fragmented shapes over the large maroon rug. It was possible to trace parallels between that ambient and a victorian mansion, for both its dark wooden floors and golden-ornamented wallpaper seemed to belong in centuries past. As much as you could still perceive the small orange cracks emanating heat, you also felt that is was not as unbearable as aforetime. It was almost comforting, in the most peculiar of ways.

Right before the windows, a couple marble steps lead its visitors to a slight elevation, where a large desk stood. Jimin sat down in a large silk chair, legs crossed and hands patiently resting on the surface in front of him. Underneath the crepuscular luminescence — combined with the fire of a candelabrum that was placed next to him — the remnants of his celestial side shone in the heat of the flames; sculptural lineaments being bathed with auriferous beauty.

Your initial shock dissipated soon after you came to terms with your surroundings. “I see that we have returned to Hell,” you spoke out.

Jimin nodded slowly, his silver hair glowing with that rufescent aura — like a saint covered in blood. “I see you are getting familiar,” he said, almost fondly so. “Already feeling like home?”

“Don’t waste your time,” you warned. He just chuckled.

“Forgive me, kitten,” the demon apologized, even though his words were obviously artificial. "Your face looks especially beautiful underneath such warm lights, I could not help myself.“

You thought the best attitude would be to ignore that flirtatious remark, for it was obviously constructed to get a reaction out of you. "So, what are you planning?” you inquired.

Even if you could not be completely certain, you swore that the orange glow that ruptured his irises did not come from the flames before him. “To show you fear,” Jimin leaned back in his chair, speaking with little to no emotion — amusement, perhaps? You could not characterize.

“Fear?” you echoed. Images and baseless hypothesis ruptured your mind, bringing you to conceive terrible pictures painted by horror: mayhaps you would have a taste of what human beings had. Perhaps you would be tortured.

Regardless, the man was quick to soothe your mental preoccupations. “The only way to be respected, my love,” Jimin assured you. Within his eyes laid the answer you were seeking for: you would not be the one to be experiencing such emotion.

“It is not the only way,” you countered instantly. The lack of arguments in your head to back up that claim worried you deeply.

“Oh, is not it?” he examined you, leaning his head to the side. Every time he did that, you felt like a helpless prey in the clutches of a patient lion; perhaps that was precisely the case. “Do you follow your superiors because you love them deeply? Or maybe because you are best friends with the Archangels? Had some intimate conversations with the Creator himself, per chance? Believe me, those leaders are not exactly the kindest beings in heaven.” 

He laughed, somewhat nostalgic. Good times.

When your answer did not come, Jimin continued, honey dripping from his tongue — how could such malevolent creatures have such way with words? “You are afraid of them, dear, afraid of the consequences of your acts, and rightfully so.” He paused, gaze falling down to the desk before him. “You have been brainwashed to construct responses that way, after all. It is only expected.”

“I would be a fool not to be afraid of someone more powerful than me,” you told him, expecting that he would read between the lines and put himself back in his place. Jimin could have been a powerful Archangel once, but now he was far below you in the hierarchy. You should remember that as well.

“Oh, so you do admit being afraid of them,” he noted, happy that you were accepting the hard truth of your position. “And yes, I agree with you. But, once again, I ask you to recall my previous point: if you fall, you have your own set of powers, and you can even rival them if you wish to do so,” he spoke slowly, presenting you with rivers upon rivers of magnificent possibilities.

Ephemerally, you comprehended why so many humans sold their soul. Never could you explain why someone would sacrifice their entire afterlife for the glory of a few years on earth: it made no sense. But of course, those serpentine devils were masters of manipulation and negotiation; who were you to claim that Jimin was not, in fact, treating yourself as an ignorant human? The least you could do was not act like one. “I am not planning to do such thing,” your voice was firm, but he did not feel any certainty embellishing your words. “Unlike you, I am not that immature.”

“That is perfectly acceptable,” Jimin assured you, not minding the astringent comment you threw his way. His complete disregard for the levels of purity that segregated the two of you was too much for you to take in, completely outrageous; his arrogance was getting to you. “Brushing these frivolous conversations aside, let’s move on to our next test, shall we?” the man said, moving around on his chair. “Let me present you the infernal equivalent of a guardian angel: contract workers.”

There was no doubt that his sole intent was to offend you with that infamous comparison. Perhaps Jimin had not ignored your commend as easily as you primordially expected. "What for?” you questioned.

Placing his hands over his knees, Jimin paused for an instant. Behind him, the supernatural glow seemed to grow more intense, causing for his silhouette to become darker against its radiance — the penumbra that was his essence dripping past the cracks of his elegant demeanor. “Do you wish to rule by my side?” his question caught you off guard, enunciated with so much delicacy that you could not help but grow skeptical at its premise.

“Rule?” you echoed that world, utterly cynical of the connotation it carried. A laugh ruptured upon your curled-up lips. “Please, demon, you are no king,” you told him with endless detestation. What a presumptuous little creature he was.

Still, his audacious posture did not falter. “I am not,” he agreed, almost humbly so. “Nevertheless, I am the… president of my own small… segment of the afterlife, if you can say that.”

Before you could say anything else — most likely a cascade of mockery — Jimin snapped his fingers, and the heavy desk moved to the side with a prolonged whine against the wooden tiles, pulled by an invisible string. With another snap, a second chair appeared next to his own, just as luxurious. “Come and sit here, darling,” he tenderly requested.

With hesitant footsteps you did as you were instructed, moving upwards the marble steps. Meekly, your eyes scanned the chair before, at last you sat down. Jimin found himself entertained by your lack of trust, a part of him even sympathizing with your situation. Not that he would ever admit that, of course.

“Now, let’s work.” He snapped his fingers again, and the table returned to the previous place with an even louder noise, almost trapping you against the silk-covered seat. You could not help but think that the man was becoming more excited by each passing second, and you did not find that relieving at all. On your back, the red phosphorescence felt like it was burning as intensely as the midday sun. “Come in,” his voice echoed across the room abruptly.

For a moment, there was only quiescence. Soon after, your momentary puzzlement evanesced as the grandiose door on the other side opened with a low clicking noise. In the room entered a human-looking boy around his twenties, so handsome he could be a model; with an aura so viscous that he could surely pass as a demon more powerful than his supposed position.

Next to you, Jimin appeared almost bored, “What do you have for me?” he inquired.

The creature’s response came as he took steps towards the center of the room, the sound of his movement soon muffling as his black shoes met the emerald rug. “Three v-virgin souls and…” he mumbled, clearly anxious — that was quite an unexpected personality to be faced with. He stopped walking, “Eight-t murderers—”

“—Nervous, demon?” Jimin inquired, holding no bitterness in his tone as he did so. Contrary to what you foresaw, your companion did not laugh at the worker’s misfortune, but remained impassive.

The other boy swallowed hard, playing with his fingers in front of his body. He looked like a child being confronted by an abusive parent; you thought that there was a chance he had been recently turned into part of Hell. “No, sir…” he looked down at his feet, attempting to find the forces to continue his speech. “I am sorry.” 

As if a thought had been sent directly to your own mind, you came to understand that what you saw was not solely nervousness, but glimpses of respect and adoration — the young malignant spirit did not want to disappoint his leader, no matter how much he humiliated himself in the process. Some way, you related to his position.

With a suspire, you were brought back to reality. “Do not apologize. You worked well," Jimin guaranteed, signaling that he could leave.

"What?” you questioned impulsively. You hardly realized that word had departed from your mouth until you noticed the way the room seemed to have frozen around you, the two men staring at your direction expectantly — one with consternation, the other with enchantment. You cleared your throat, thinking that vocalizing your thoughts would be better than facing that excruciating silence any longer. “I apologize for my interruption, but did he really work well?” you tried again.

“You do not share the same impression as me?” Jimin’s tone remained velvety, but you noticed remnants of doubt in its background, along with something you could not identify.

You paused for a second, reflecting on your words. If you had already committed the mistake of verbalizing your confusion, you might as well go into detail. “How long did he have?” you asked Jimin.

He pondered, “About a month or so.”

“A month?” you repeated, incredulous. Jimin raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in your reaction. “We caught demons that stole more souls than that in a single day.” 

Your counterclaim was immediate, yet hardly considered. Somewhere amidst your contemplations, a part of your mind begged you to remain logical — this was not a mere joke, you could not share singularities about Heaven with an individual so powerful. Remember the hierarchy.

“Oh, dear, then it looks like I might be mistaken.” Jimin gradually transitioned his gaze back at the other demon, who was shaking in front of the large entrance. If the young-looking boy was not a creature of the shadows, you would feel some sort of pity towards his awful position — however, since that was not quite the case, you brushed those ponderations aside. “What would make it better, besides the quantity?” 

The inquiry by itself was pathetic, but even more comical became the clear manner Jimin expected you to gift him such information. “I am not planning to sit here and share with you everything I know,” you were quick to speak back, crossing your legs.

Jimin smiled as if that was precisely his desired reaction, running his hands through his silver hair, even if there was no strand out of place. You noticed that the bloodstains had disappeared, but you did not mention anything. “I already have my answers, regardless of your collaboration,” he said with endless conviction, and you knew that was precisely the case: he had once seen much more — discovered much more — than you could even begin to imagine. Of course: he was merely playing with your loyalty to Paradise. “In simple terms: the purest the souls are, the better,” he smoothly enunciated. Correct.

As if waiting for his cue to remind the two of you of his presence, the younger demon begun verbalizing his defense. “B-But those are so much harder to get,” the boy replied, stammering. To a demon like him, Jimin should be the one of the most horrendous, intimidating images they could dare to conceptualize; his unnerving presence being sufficient for them to forget how to formulate the simplest of sentences. It was lamentable. Amusing, but lamentable.

“If that happens to be the case, I suppose you should work harder. After all, you are here to serve Hell, and not the other way around.” His response came within a heartbeat, followed by a prolonged suspire. Your gaze automatically fell to the pouty motion of his lips as the air broke in the middle of them, intrigued at how perfectly-shaped they were — angelical; Jimin still managed to be terribly angelical. “Out of my face,” were the words that shattered your enchantment, followed by a hand gesture by his part.

For the first instance glad to follow an order, the demonic boy disintegrated into a cloud of stygian dust, leaving you two alone once anew.

Staring at the devil by your side, your mouth parted slightly so you could say something. However, before your voice could reverberate in the compressed space that existed amongst the two, Jimin moved swiftly and placed a finger over your soft lips. His touch, contrary to what you expected, was warm and inviting, endowed with so much electricity that you instantaneously jumped away from the contact, surprised by his sudden courage. 

“Did I give you permission to touch me like this?” you blurted out, offended. 

Regardless of the outrage that his misdemeanor incided, the fallen remained trapped in an atmosphere of diversion — you could never tell if he was manipulating you, or if he truly saw something different, familiar, waltzing in the background of your actions. “Kitten, you are too fun. Do not take my jokes so seriously,” he presented you with a low chuckle, leaning back against his chair. No apologies this time, not even forged ones, “This time, you should talk a bit more,” he proposed.

You turned back around, trying to ignore the tingling that hung on your lips. Before you, the hellish room felt much more suffocating than ever before. “Why is that?” you inquired, glad to perceive that your tone came out neutral, unaffected.

“Dear, do you not see it?” Jimin asked back at you, not expecting a response. “They are terrified of you. Use that in your favor to teach them a lesson.”

“On how to collect more souls?” you almost laughed, not believing what he was sharing with you — you could not comprehend how that filthy creature truly believed that you would fall into the temptation of Hell so quickly, perhaps even awakening your desire for justice in the path. Punishment was not on you or any part of Heaven: in fact, that was why the demonic presence was even allowed to exist. “Who do you think I am? A traitor?” you asked.

“Not on how to collect souls, but to scare them. As humans say: a taste of their own medicine.” He snapped his fingers. The door promptly cracked open — why a passage was even necessary, when they could transport past matter, you did not know. “Next! It is quite delightful, though. Kitten, you should give it a try.” Jimin playfully advised.

For your second guest for that night, it was a girl who appeared. Like owning a flame of her own, her long red hair wrapped her slender body, falling down upon her short dress like a scalding cascade. Jimin drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, split between bored and glad to see a familiar face — actually, from earlier that night. Still, only his detachment reached your perceptions: you realized that he should do that constantly, and was probably beyond tired of going through the same procedures over and over. “What do you have for me?” he asked.

She was notoriously more confident than the previous boy, perfectly enunciating her finds with a raised head. “Twenty-one murderers and rapists; three devotees.” she told her boss. If the woman had noticed your presence by his side — which was quite inevitable — she made no mention of being overtook by it. You could not tell if that was a good sign or not.

Subsequent to a low hum, the man by your side turned to you. “What do you say, my love?” Jimin inquired, thoughtful. “Be honest, there are no innocent feelings here for you to hurt.”

“I think…” You cleared your throat, conflicting feelings rapidly monopolizing your thoughts. However, it was impossible to deny that you liked that position a bit more than you should, for the moment the girl’s eyes met yours, she lost her composure immediately, lips opening in complete disbelief — perhaps she truly had not noticed you aforetime. “I think twenty-one is a pleasant number, but three devotees? I am not sure about those.”

“Why is that?” the man asked, showing no reaction to your words.

Lips falling shut for a second, your gaze trailed its way back to the woman’s, feeling the translucent panic that begun burning beyond her clear eyes. You did not know what it was, but that mere image of despair was sufficient for a dose of courage to be injected in you, a dim sense of pleasure spreading across your chest — amusing, lamentable; human. “Speaking from the perspective of someone who has seen the judgement of these spirits, I can comprehend why murderers and rapist would sell their soul, probably to cover up their crimes,” you started, and Jimin hummed in agreement. “But devotees that sell their soul? Does giving up eternal delight for ephemeral pleasures sound right to you?” you asked him. Still, your eyes were locked on her. Her fear; her lack of words.

“No, it does not,” the man agreed, slowly turning back to face the ginger girl, who was trying not to show the trepidation that was taking hold of her — to no avail. “Are you distorting your words, demon?” he asked. For the first time, you swore you could notice traces of disgust hanging at the tip of his tongue. Ironically, Jimin did not like being played with; lied to.

With the impact of that inquiry, her demeanor was shattered. “No, sir, I swear!” she assured her superior, speaking a little louder than before. Her tone did not vacillate, but her grandiose hand gestures showed that she had been struck with a change of adrenaline. “That is what they told me. I swear I would never lie to you,” she continued.

You did not know if Jimin had a response, for an incredulous laugh erupted on your chest. “And you believed them? Humans? What kind of naive demon are you?” you wickedly inquired. Back then, you did not realize the dim sentiment of superiority that begin germinating within your soul.

Jimin laughed at your reaction, gently placing his hand on top of yours — once again, the touch was almost electrifying, sending currents of sheer power up and down your skin. “Calm down, love,” his mellifluous voice bordered on a whisper, somewhat intrigued that, this time, you did not pull away from his caresses. He turned back to her. “I must admit that my darling has a valid point. Were you fooled by the words of humans?”

“Yes, I mean— No! I—” the girl mumbled, seeming to be confused by her own discoordinated words. At last, she took a second to close her eyes, rearranging her mercurial thoughts. “I don’t know, boss.” She breathed out.

“Why is she... so scared?” you murmured, leaning closer to the man.

“Dear, you look simply terrifying.” Jimin grinned, his fingers moving to caress yours. You liked the sensation. “An angel criticizing a low-placed demon? That is quite the nightmare fuel for a mere contract worker like that.”

Your gaze flickered towards the demon girl for an instant — even bathed by the reddish luminescence of the room, she appeared to be much smaller than before, shrinked underneath the ponderation of her despondence. “Did I… get carried away?” you questioned him. You did not care for her well-being, but more about the manner your personality had so swiftly changed.

“A bit.” The man chuckled, almost whispering the next part. “But you never looked hotter,” he confessed.

Choosing to ignore his insubordinate speech, you turned to the other demon, who was still waiting for her superior’s orders. Compared with other heavenly beings, your presence probably would not be so excruciating, but, in the eyes of a low-slung demon, your aura should be the most frightening thing she had ever encountered, especially if combined with the fallen angel sitting at your side — a duo that ever so minutely analyzed every word thrown in their direction. Strangely, you found yourself finding pleasure in that situation, the possibility of making your own choices and correcting the mistakes of others appearing more seductive than ever.

Mayhaps Jimin was correct, after all: maybe fear was the only manner to be absolutely respected. Even more so: heard.

Next to you, your companion came to perceive that the creature was still there. “You should work more on manipulating pure souls. Do not return until you have true benevolent humans in your hands." Jimin waved, wanting to get rid of that damn demon as soon as possible. His patience was far gone with those little worm-like things. "Get out of here,” he spat.

The girl bowed in agreement and, like the first, seemed relieved to burst into a cloud of obsidian smoke. Right after you were left alone, the man spoke again. 

“How do you feel when you are finally being heard, kitten?” Jimin asked softly, his hand still caressing the back of your own. Lost amongst your asymmetrical ponderations, you had not let go of his touch, and now you realized that you did not desire to do so. “Does it feel good to be respected? Feared?” he instigated your response.

“It… does,” you hesitated for a moment, the words coming out of your mouth as if you were in a hypnotized state. “I guess it does.” 

You suspired. Yes — it felt deeply pleasant.

Jimin’s lips slightly curved upwards in satisfaction, which was quickly hidden as he moved to stand up in front of you. The absence of his touch was immediately felt, and you realized that his aura had stopped annoying you for some time now. “Well, then... I believe we shall move on to our final adventure.” He told you, raising his hand for you to take it.

Unlike the first time, you did not hesitate to accept his invitation.

As twilight morphed into gold, you found yourself surrounded by a magnificent bedroom. Ivory could be discovered in the luxurious floors and the delicate bed sheets, matching the damascus-colored lights almost exquisitely. Above your head hung a medium-sized chandelier and, on the wall besides you, a large glass window stood behind long alabaster curtains, presenting you with a immaculate image of a bright city, many meters underneath.

“Where are we?” you verbalized that question yet again, looking around with a certain dose of admiration. Even the aroma of the room seemed gentle as a vernal breeze, sweet as vanilla, yet with vague traces of cinnamon.

Jimin was by your side, and his response soon reached your ears. “A five-star hotel in Dubai,” he said. The confession made you stiffen up a bit, suspicious of the sudden change of atmosphere. You did not know what he was planning to achieve by taking you there, and it made you uneasy. “Do you like it?”

“It is quite beautiful,” you admitted, looking around with dreamy eyes. The demon saw scintillations of purity shimmering in your eyes, and he swore it was the child-like gaze he used to see all the time when he was still part of Paradise. He missed it, in a way. “Jimin, why was this your choice?” you questioned, breaking his reveries at the spot.

After a low shuffle of his shoes against the marble floors, his voice sounded dangerously close to you. “Because...” he murmured, touching your arm slowly. You turned around, only to realize that his face was inches away from yours, so close you could feel the luciferous heat emanating from it; the caresses of his breath against your smooth skin. “There is one last part of your test that I am afraid I have not yet mentioned,” he disclosed.

An instant of silence followed his words as you swallowed your disquietude dry. “Does that require for you to be so close?” you asked almost timidly, but made no mention to step away. You liked his proximity.

“It does.” He glanced at your lips as he said so, a flame of hidden concupiscence burning in the depths of his dark eyes — conflagrant, scalding. “Kitten, have you ever had the taste of carnal desires?” the man breathlessly questioned.

“Never wanted to,” you answered quickly — too quickly — not even ruminating about the connotation that dwelled in the hidden corners of his question. The truth of your position was as clear as a beautiful sunny sky: you were an angel, how could you surrender to something so… human? Mirroring the mistakes you so despised? No, of course not.

Jimin, however, was able to see past your mask. “Oh, but I think you did,” he whispered, giving you a brief laugh. The man was suddenly serious, focused on every minor movement your body made. “But, just like any other angel, you pushed it to the back of your perfect little mind.” He turned his head to the side, leaning in closer and planting a small kiss on the line of your jaw. His lips were gentle and soft as petals of a rose, and the small contact suddenly did not seem to be enough for you. “Allow me to remind you, my dear kitten,” he proposed.

Taken aback by the tides of your surprise, your voice almost failed you. “What... are you doing?” you asked, feeling his arms wrap around your waist. Jimin pulled your body against his torso, the nefarious vortex of his energy pulsing around the two of you; locking your figures together. He lowered his feathery lips, kissing your neck, his nose touching your skin.

“I could have chosen to show you the rewards of greed… the confidence of pride, but no,” he mumbled against your warm skin, his hot breath making shivers run through your figure. Why could you not find the forces to get out of his embrace? You would regret it, no matter how fantastic the sensation was. “No, no, my dear, you deserve something more special than that. You deserve to feel the flames of lust.”

You attempted to sound confident, but your voice betrayed you. “I-I will not,” you struggled to blurt out.

He managed to notice your nervousness instantaneously. “Oh, but you will. In fact, you already felt it,” he assured you, giving your skin a light suck — a moan perished between your closed lips, and you convinced yourself you had not allowed it to resound between your bodies. “Allow me to show you what you have been losing; all the incredible pleasure you can feel… all you have to do is say yes, love.”

“Jimin,” you called his name, trying to lock yourself back into reality. Your hands rested on his shoulders in an attempt to push him away, but you found yourself without strength — above that: without the will to do such thing. You did not want for his caresses to resume, for you were drowning in every second of it. “I cannot.” You breathed out.

“Have you not learned yet, kitten?” Jimin left your neck, slowly climbing back to the direction of your jaw, and then to your cheek. “We can do anything we wish for.” His nose brushed against yours lightly, his speech reaching your half open lips in small clouds of heat. “You can rule by my side, you can be my pretty little angel.” He hugged your body tighter, making your arms wrap around his neck in an unexpected instinct. “We can be feared by everyone, we can show them our side of the story. Do you not want that?”

“I don’t know, I—” you found yourself unable to speak, your mind only focused on his lips: painted by a pallid shade of carmine and slightly swollen. You did not know why you were feeling that unwavering desire to surrender to his charms; decay into the temptation of his perfectly articulated movements. But you could not, you simply could not.

As his following words departed from his mouth, his hands navigated upwards on your back, finding the zipper of your loose white dress. “I can have you all for myself,” Jimin’s voice was so slow, so engulfing that you found yourself unable to escape its claws, sinking deeper and deeper into his presence. It was a mistake; a trap that, once you entered, you could never escape. “I can make you feel good whenever you want to, take you wherever you desire me to.”

And — may the Creator have mercy — there was nothing else in the universe that you wished as strongly as that. “Jimin…” what was meant to sound like a warning came out more like a prayer. You were already suffocated by his charms; manipulated by temptation, and he knew that as well as you. The man had given you a taste of a whole new universe, a reality you did not want to leave behind — you had nothing to lose, only to gain.

“Dear, I love you when you say my name like that.” Jimin moved even closer, placing your foreheads together. You could tell he wanted to dive into carnal needs as much as you did. “So, let me ask you one more time, all I need is a yes…” he trailed off. The enchanting man was so close that his lips brushed against yours, slowly and painfully marking his territory on your mouth, “Can I kiss you, kitten?” he whispered.

You took a deep breath, feeling the ponderation of that response before it even left your throat. “Yes, please,” you finally agreed.

Then, there was no turning back.

Jimin joined your lips to his with such ferocity that you permitted for a small exclamation to resound in between your mouths, your fingers rising to curl into his soft hair. You felt as if you were floating, completely ignoring the guilt that weighed down in your stomach — ignorable underneath the butterflies that waltzed there. Decorated in every corner of your spirit there was the certainty that, as much as you knew it was wrong, the man was what you hungered for.

Nothing seemed sufficient then: you needed more of him, needed more of what he had ever so softly promised you. You wanted Jimin, and every painful flame that accompanied his presence; craved the poisonous power that ran through his veins and dripped from his fingertips; you perished underneath the venom of his tongue, tasting death and revival every time his kiss grew more intense, lascivious.

He grunted softly as your tongues met, not hesitating to pull your zipper down fully. The thin straps of your dress ran down your shoulder with the fluidity of water, and soon your clothing was already on the floor, a puddle around your feet. Jimin’s hands slid down your naked back, curving around your waist and positioning themselves behind your thighs, pulling you up in a single precise movement. A soft moan escaped your lips when legs curled around his waist, the man effortlessly leading you to the large round bed.

Laying your body tenderly on the soft mattress, he left your lips once more, migrating to your neck and then to the valley of your exposed breasts — which rose and fell with every breathless suspire from your part. Emotions danced within your essence in an uncoordinated symphony, an endless mix of curiosity and amazement at every small touch of his. It all was part of a completely unexplored, unknown world.

Jimin’s palms massaged your body with almost torturing patience, slowly caressing your breasts, only to then run towards the curvature of your waist, tracing the outline of your form as his lips delineated an insubstantial path down your body, heading toward your center. The man wasted no time in undressing you from your last piece of clothing — a cotton underwear, also colored in white — and soon he was positioning himself between your legs, opening them delicately.

“Kitten, look how eager you are,” he commented, voice as low as if he were speaking to himself; constructing hollow philosophies about the beauty of the being before his eyes. Before you could respond, one of his digits moved from of your opening to your clit, making circular motions on the sensible place. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing how to react to being experiencing so much at once. “No need to hold back your voice, love, we are alone,” the man told you.

Some part of your logic thinking still vocalized for you to get away from his grip, the same piece of your ego which felt contaminated, completely vulnerable and manipulated. Regardless, when his hooded eyes met yours, temptation pouring from them, you did not care about any of it, “Jimin, I’m—”

“—You are sensible, I know,” he completed your sentence, applying a bit more pressure on your sensitive spot. A small moan slid from your lips, and he grinned at the result.

There was something about seeing a being so virginal and unblemished sinking into sin that Jimin profoundly loved. Something about the manner your eyebrows were knit together; how a dim choral hue was already taking hold of yours cheeks; about the way you discreetly lifted your hips, silently asking for more. There was a hidden aspect about that corruption the demon adored, something tragically beautiful that enveloped his very essence. “I want to you feel each second of this, I want you to know what you can have,” he mumbled.

His finger slipped back to your opening, teasing and causing a weak tingling sensation to spread through the region. It was not long before you were holding down to the golden sheets, blissfully unaware of how perfectly your hips rolled upwards, moans and whines rupturing the equanimity of your lips again and again.  “Jimin, please—” you called out, not knowing where you were heading with that empty phrase.

Even unspoken, your desire was clear. Addicted to every small sound of pleasure you presented him, the man lost no time in moving away from your center, ready to accept your every command. “Dear, I cannot refuse when you ask so nicely,” Jimin playfully said, kneeling down in front of your body.

With tranquil movements, he took off the pieces of his clothes — his black tie; his dark blouse and trousers — at last introducing you to his statuesque figure. From the outlines of his abs to the manner his silky, silver hair fell over his obsidian eyes, you could tell that the man was absurdly enticing, every minor detail of his form seemed to be sculpted by the best artists mankind could discover. Then and there, you swore you could envision the ethereal transcendence of Heaven and the putrid tantalization of Inferno dancing together in the background of his nebulous gaze, shimmering inside his smile and dripping in between his scarlet-painted lips like ambrosia.

Jimin emanated so much energy that you could feel something ringing slightly in your ears, anticipation running through your veins as he undressed, then rested his hands on either side of your head, leaning closer to you. His terminal remnants of self-control were fading, his eyes drowning in pure salaciousness. He was the very own image of Lust then — nothing more, nothing less. He was what he had promised you, and what you had ever so gratefully accepted.

An exclamation of pleasure echoed past your hard-bitten lips as you felt the way he positioned his member between your folds, slowly swinging his hips so that he caressed your center at an unbearably delicious progression. “Can you feel what you are doing to me, love?” Jimin whispered, overwhelmed by the tides of his own craving.

Jimin leaned in, kissing the curvature of your neck, deep grunts leaving his throat as he grinded against your wetness,  but never entering you — you were aware that he wanted to hear you beg, one last confirmation that he had your permission to stain your spirit. “Please,” you impatiently asked, almost as if in a trance. 

“Are you sure, kitten?” he asked against the warmth of your skin, clear desire in his deep voice. Your fingers were curled in his silver hair, and they yanked its strands lightly as the friction found your soft spot — it felt marvelous, but you needed something more. “You cannot go back from that,” he warned.

Still, you would not change your mind. “I am sure, please,” you repeated, defeated. In the depth of your mind — which was almost fully taken by carnal needs — you felt horribly human underneath his mystical touches, but you could not care about it any longer. All you wanted was him, and all that he could give to you; all the filthy power that came along.

Like a judge’s hammer decided your fate, his voice came to accept your decision. “As you wish,” Jimin told you.

The man entered you slowly, taking all the time in the world to get accustomed to the incredible way you enveloped his member. There was no pain from your part, only the most absolute delight and satisfaction; the assuagement of finally feeling everything he could give you. “Oh, love— You feel amazing, kitten,” he moaned out, gradually starting to roll his lips against yours. You whined, curling your legs around his waist as your body moved up and down in the same rhythm as his. It was the most wonderful sensation, a delicious numbness that gathered at the base of your spine and spreaded throughout the expanse of your body, combusting in your chest and weakening your arms and legs. “You feel just perfect. Just like an angel should be...” he trailed off, absent-minded.

“Jimin—” you called for his name yet again, closing your eyes and concentrating in the fantastic rhythm of his precise movements. Your fingernails descended to his defined back, marking his muscles with thin red lines; inducing for a grunt escape his swollen lips.

“Take control, love,” he murmured against your ear, making a shiver run through your skin. Before you could fully comprehend his words, he was already spinning your bodies around, making you sit on top of him. The new angle caused for him to reach deeper inside you and, before you knew it, your hips were automatically moving against his, rising and falling in an intoxicating cadency. Jimin held to your legs tightly, traveling up to yours hip and waist; lower body and breasts. He seemed to want to touch every part of your body all at once, his dark eyes watching you as if you were the most engaging being he had ever encountered in all his existence. “Yes, just like that—”

The man groaned below you, rolling his hips against yours, lifting them in pure bliss. With his eyes falling shut, he threw his head against the achromatic pillows, a long moan leaving his parted mouth. Jimin was approaching his climax, his touches growing stronger as pleasure increased inside him. He bit down on his lower lip, opening his eyes to meet yours, his gaze burning in a mixture of desire and submission beneath heavy eyelids. “Keep going, kitten,” he whined, guiding your movements more accurately. “Come on, love, you are doing so well…”

You threw the weight of your body forward, resting your hands on his chest and going faster. Your own relief seemed to be approaching as his name became more and more constant on your mouth, that pressure reaching much higher — excruciating; sensational — levels. Your thoughts were gradually morphing into puzzled contemplations, simplified by the need within you; erased by the whimpers and cries from your part.

Jimin closed his eyes tightly, throwing his head back again as his breathing grew shorter and heavier, moans interrupting words you could not quite grasp — but, at the same time, resembled fragmented praises; overwhelmed compliments and bargains. With a few more desperate thrusts, he was coming undone beneath your figure, and you soon followed. Your apex hit your body all at once, making you call his name again before you felt all that expectation crumbling around you, metamorphosing into sheer satisfaction — legs shivering, palms growing weak as you rode out the afterglow of your climax. Until, at last, you could not go on any further.

You threw your weak body next to his own with a minor bouncing of the bed. Closing your eyes and concentrating on the delectable sensations that still took over your body, the vague sensation of your pleasure slowly creeping up into nothingness. In your chest, an unknown heat started to pulsate, spreading all the way to your back. It felt good — right, even.

However, your bliss was short-lived.

The same comfort that such heat provided soon became a thumping noise in your head, a scorching, throbbing feeling that begun to frighten you. What just before was a vague weakness turned into a horrible vertigo, the disequilibrium of your own soul starting to weigh down over your chest — suffocating you with what you thought would protect you, “Jimin, I feel a bit strange…” you managed to verbalize, forcing your head to turn towards the man. Your vision was so, so dark.

Amongst the tenebrosity of your sight, Jimin responded, “I believe that you are falling, my dear,” his voice sounded muffled in your ears — why could you no longer feel your limbs? —  and it was the final aspect of that world you heard before everything shattered around you.

Eclipse — light, then darkness.

In a monochromatic kaleidoscope, you found yourself fighting to keep your eyes open in an ocean of  passing clouds; the agony that pulsated in your back aggravating every time the night air entered your lungs. The stars passed like blotches of pallid luminescence in your blurred vision, the neon phosphorescence of the citylights approaching at a frightening pace. Your frail figure traced uncoordinated pirouettes in the air, limbs reaching out for a salvation that would not come.

Everything felt as cold as ice, but it embraced you with the heat of hell.

At last, your pain reached its peak. Brutally and remorselessly, your wings were ripped from your back, moving much slower than your free-falling silhouette. They stood behind in the nocturnal air, gradually swinging amongst opaque clouds and soulless stars as you continued your path towards the city.

You are falling, my dear.

The liveliest, most gruesome shade of cardinal surrounded your body as you woke up on the concrete. Even if your nude body was intact from the fall, you were aware of the source of the blood, aware of the precious thing you had lost so quickly, mercilessly — the two holes at the back of your figure that burned with the anguish of a billion tortured souls; the openings in your flesh that would never let you forget the ponderation of your errors.

Even with a dizzy perception, your blurred eyes could see that you had landed on the same residential building from earlier that night; now awfully quiet with the lack of music. Underneath the light of countless stars, you forced your gaze to focus on the world around you; your touch becoming cognizant of the wet sensation beneath your weak, trembling palms. Angels did not bleed.

Like a gunshot rupturing the tranquility of night, you heard footsteps moving closer to where you laid. Blinking a couple times, you moved your stare just a couple centimeters, meeting a figure wrapped in ebony. The man was standing besides you, expensive shoes only a few inches from where your blood wetted the asperous ground. He was dressed exactly like the first time you saw him and, for a moment, you considered that you might never have left that place.

Of course, only empty hopes.

Your dry lips quivered as they parted, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth — covered by the taste of iron. “Jimin, hel-help me,” you stammered. You did not know what to do, your brain seemed unable to comprehend the magnitude of what was happening. “It h-hurts...”

Gradually, his gaze moved downwards. Against the dark sky, you could barely see the way his emotionless eyes fell upon your figure, utterly phlegmatic. “Why should I help you, my love?” he inquired, tilting his head to the side and analyzing the way your fingers were already tinged with crimson, immersed in the warm liquid. “There is nothing I can do.”

The cuts on your back throbbed mercilessly, making you moan in pain as you attempted to get up from the ground — with oscillating arms, you fell back to the puddle of sanguine, splashing your chest and torso with the cooling liquid. “W-What have you done to me?” you inquired, your voice coming out like a frail whisper.

“Me?” Jimin smiled, amused by the lack of hope that ornamented your situation. The story repeated itself throughout the centuries: it was always the same denial, same shock. “I showed you possibilities, and you made your choice. Just like what I told you: you wished for darkness, now I am giving you darkness. I am a man of my word.”

You swallowed dry before continuing, “My wings—”

“Yes, I am afraid that they are gone.” The demon suspired, briefly analyzing the openings in your skin, as deep and black as the sky above you. As much as his eyes were dead, the frown that overtook his features was quickly noticed. “I believe I will miss their presence too. Angels are particularly delicious to play with,” he lamented.

“W-What?” You gasped, resting your elbows on the cement — you despised the splashes that resounded underneath your chest; grew to hate the trails of tears that begun rolling down your flushed cheeks. “Was I just your plaything?”

For the primordial instance that night, Jimin appeared to be truly enchanted by the infantile hope that you still held tight to — either you were still pure, or you were just an idiot. “But of course! What else?” the demon exclaimed. He squatted, lowering his body to your level. His touch, once so warm and tender, was now gelid as he brought one of his hands to your wet cheek, caressing the place gently. “Dear, you did not think there was anything else going on, did you? What kind of naive angel are you?”

Had you been foolish enough to believe in someone like him? You felt completely hopeless. “I am… I am not—”

Before you could even finish, a shadow of sheer hatred was casted over his features, silencing your words at the spot. For that second, Jimin was the most demonic he had ever looked. “—You angels are just ridiculously innocent sometimes, it disgusts me.” He grunted, rising again to his feet. He would have spat on you, but you did not deserve even that. “However, you were a fun one, at least. Easy to corrupt.” 

Sentences, before so natural, now fought to depart from your lips. “I have not been corrupted, I—”

“—Oh, but you have,” Jimin interrupted, smoothly turning away. Above you, the stars shone with less force than ever before. “The first test, you intervened, even knowing what I was showing was not real.” He took a glimpse back at your incredulous face, letting out a small laugh then. “Don’t dare to act surprised! I am not the big man upstairs, I cannot fix what already was, and neither can you,” he emphasized that last part with special taste, then moved on. “The second test was even more simple: you could have stayed with your pretty little mouth shut. But no, you liked being taken into consideration, didn’t you? It is almost worthy of pity how badly you needed attention. You guardians are so fragile. Practically begging to be torn into shreds.”

His speech had barely evanesced into silence when you vocalized your frustration. “I will… I will tell my superiors!” you threatened, again failing to sit down. An unfamiliar anger began to bubble inside you. It was all a lie, and you fell for his every word. You had been so stupid.

The demon suspired. “Firstly, you no longer have superiors to run to.” He turned to you, now much more distant. Jimin just wanted to get it over with, but you did not seem to comprehend what you had done oh, so terribly wrong — amusing, lamentable; pathetic. “Second: they were the ones who contacted me in the first place,” he disclosed.

“Blasphemy,” you spat that word for the second time that night. “You only tell lies.”

Another suspire. “Again, my dear, I need no lies,” Jimin assured you, “You know, the first step to be promoted in heaven is to start questioning orders, something you were already doing quite well,” he explained, impatient. “Nevertheless, questioning is not enough: you cannot make impulsive calls in the name of one single human; you cannot seek power and control over other beings, and.” The man paused, looking even a bit disappointed. “You cannot give into carnal desires. That is what divides an archangel from just a pathetic little… rebel.”

“Was I going to be…?” you babbled, incredulous.

“Maybe so.” Jimin shrugged, putting his hands inside his pockets. His timbre seemed to be in dissonance with the words he was speaking, all you wanted was for his voice to be pulled into tune, to be devoid of that boredom, that disgust. The same nauseated enunciation you had once shown him. “It is not that simple, but you would have been on your way there. Regardless of those hypothesis, I am afraid you failed all the tests, and that cannot be taken back,” he assured you.

Utterly lost in a chaotic sea of disconex thoughts, your anger spoke louder than your reason. “No, no, you controlled me!” what was meant to come out as a certainty sounded more like a faithless request, bargaining. “Manipulated me! You are a demon, a fallen angel: that is what you do best!”

“As much as you would like to use that as an excuse, I did not,” the creature told you with endless honesty, his hair getting a bit messy because of the cool breeze — it was truly a beautiful night, if he could say so himself. “There was no need to do such things, especially on the third test.” A small smile appeared on his lips — you felt like you were about to throw up. “Kitten, you begged for me to be inside you, and you loved every second of it. There is no denying that. It is so simple to grasp that even your silly brain can understand: you fucked a demon, and you fell from grace,” he concluded.

Flickering towards the blood-bathed concrete, your eyes broke your stare the second your lips fell shut, devoid of excuses. The demon paused and embraced the image before his gaze: if not terribly melancholic, he would claim that your blood-covered body was tragically enchanting. A shame, to say the least. “Regardless of the outcome, I must say that it was a pleasure meeting you, kitten,” Jimin confessed, looking one last time at your direction. “You know where to find me.”

And, with that, he vanished, leaving you alone in a city that was slowly beginning to wake up. Behind your quivering silhouette, a pallid shade of rose broke the indigo horizon: a brand new day began, welcoming you into a brand new life.

Above your head, red-painted feathers begun falling amidst the clouds.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Why us? (G.D.)

Summary: Grayson and Y/N finally start talking about their feelings.

Warnings: cursing?

Word count: 2050

Why him? Why her?

Grayson’s POV

Okay Gray…You have about two minutes to figure out what to say to the girl of your dreams. Yeah…two minutes is enough time..NOT. God, why am I talking to myself in my head? Breathe…just breathe and it will come to you. She loves you too, at least that’s what Ethan says. I swear if he is messing with me I’ll shave his hair off….and his eyebrows!

I finally made it to the diner. So I just walk in and profess my love for her and we both live happily ever after…sounds easy enough.

The little diner was perfectly lit up and inviting but it didn’t ease my nerves. I remember finding out about this place and taking Y/N with me to check it out one night. It was remote, so not many people came ‘round, especially not after midnight. It’s one of those places that are open 24 hours which made it perfect for all the times sleep evaded me.

I take a deep breath and decide to go in. The inside of this place gives off a homey vibe and for the first time ever it doesn’t calm me down or bring peace to my mind. My heart is beating so fast right now it might actually pop out of my chest…that’s a thing, right?

Unclenching my fists I shake my hands a bit to get the blood flow going and start walking towards our usual table that was next to the window and had a killer view. In just a few steps I was close enough to see the back off her head and it felt as if I could barely breathe. What if she doesn’t want me?

I shake my head slightly, hoping I’d shake the negative thoughts out as well. I need to stop overthinking this and go for it. Why wouldn’t she want me? I mean there are about a million like on a certain YouTube video that shows just how many girls would be with me in a heartbeat. I shake my head again to rid myself of those thoughts as well. I can’t be too cocky, she’s not into that.

Taking one more step closer to her and I can almost see her completely. I’m one step away from her now. I can see she ordered our usual: fries with a strawberry milkshake. Okay, I’m ready.

I take the last step and slide into my usual spot but she didn’t notice me. Her head was hung low and her beautiful (Y/E/C) were closed. She was probably off in one of her fantasy worlds. She tended to stray into them whenever she was sad, lonely or stressed.

„Try dipping them into the milkshake“, I say with a weak smile. Her head suddenly jerks up, eyes wide open obviously startled. She looks at me, but it feels different. Her eyes were almost emotionless which was a first as her eyes were always the ones to betray how she felt.

„Trust me“, I added and sent a smirk her way hoping I’d get any kind of emotion from her. Come on babe, say something.

„Why are you here Grayson?“ She finally speaks, the tone of her voice cold. She put up those damn wall around her again. It took me months to even chip it the first time around and now I have to do it in one night.

„You left the party and didn’t pick up the phone. We..I was worried.“ I respond softly not breaking eye contact with her.

„I’m surprised you even noticed I was gone.“ Guilt hit me like a tidal wave. Y/N is right…I didn’t notice she was gone because I was too busy trying to get under someone else to get over her. I did that sometimes…flirted with a girl in front of her hoping to elicit a reaction from her..any kind of a reaction that would show  she felt anything for me. She never said or did anything. I convinced myself she didn’t care about me like that. Hell, there were times I was jealous of her friendship with Ethan thinking she might like him.

Her eyes narrow and I notice a flicker of hurt and anger in them. She leans forward and puts both of her hands on the table.

„WHY. ARE. YOU. HERE?“ She repeats her initial question slowly, word by word. Oh, she was definitely angry. But that’s good…at least she’s showing some kind of feelings towards me instead of indifference. If she was indifferent, I’d be worried.

„Because I needed to talk to you.“

She scoffs.

„Maybe I don’t want to talk to you. Ever think off that? How did you even know I was here?“

„I know this place brings you peace and puts you at ease. I know because I know you. I know because I care for you. So, you don’t have to talk. Just listen.“

I lean forward a bit and take a deep breath and smile.

„Wow, this is hard“, I say and start nervously tapping my fingers on the table.

I can do it.

„The day we met, I helped you up and you looked into my eyes and made the world stop moving. Everything around us disappeared, almost like we were the only people in the world. It felt like every single thing that happened in my life, the good, the bad…all of it..has led me up to that moment. I met a girl that made my heart grow in size every time I even thought about her.“

I notice her eyes starting to water, but she was too stubborn to cry. She chewed on her bottom lip which showed how nervous she was. I need her to know how much I love her, if there’s any hope of her letting me in, I have to go on.

„I’ve spent every day since thinking about her. Dreaming about her. I got to know her better with time and it only made me fall for her more. She’s quirky and funny and has a heart of gold making her beautiful inside and out. I admire her intelligence and courage to face her demons without batting an eye, her caring nature and loyalty to those she lets in.“

„Gray“, she starts but I cut her off.

„Stop. You don’t have to say anything (Y/N). I know I messed up, but I need to explain myself. I thought you were too good for me (Y/N), I still do..I know you probably don’t feel the same way, I don’t expect you to. I’m not saying all of this because I want something from you. I don’t expect you to say it back, but I need you to know how I feel.“ Okay, this is it. It’s finally gonna happen, I’m saying it.

„I, Grayson Bailey Dolan, am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you.“ I finally said it.

Her hands start to shake and she breaks eye contact. You don’t have to say it back, but say something. Come on. You can do it babe. Suddenly, she springs up and practically runs to the door. I get up and run after her. I don’t even know how I’m standing right now considering the fact that I can’t really feel my legs.

I catch up quickly and grab her forearm.

„Y/N, please wait.“

She turns around and this time her tears are flowing freely. It breaks my heart to see her cry. Every teardrop weighs heavily on my soul.

I come closer and cup her cheek with my right hand. I wipe her tears with my thumb causing her to shut her eyes tight. Using my left arm I encase her in hug. I can feel her trembling like a leaf in the wind. God, did I really do this to her? How did I hurt her this bad without realizing it.

„It’s okay baby, it’s okay. Let it out.“

She puts her hands on my chest and slightly pulls away making me panic. Is she pulling away to leave me again?

„I’m sorry I ran out“, she says quietly.

„It’s fine. I..“ She puts her index finger on my lips cutting me off.

„It’s not fine. I ran out and left you there after you told me you loved me. It’s not okay. I don’t even know why I did it..my mind screamed at me to get the hell out of there as my heart wanted nothing more than to stay.“ I couldn’t fight the smile that played on my lips. She does feel the same.

„I always felt like I wasn’t good enough for you. I thought that maybe I was too old for you, or maybe I wasn’t smart enough, not funny enough, not adventurous enough, not pretty enough.. I look nothing like those girls from the magazines or the ones you usually go for. I mean I wore this dress tonight solely to impress you and you didn’t say a thing.“ She laughed, wiping away a stray tear.

„I guess we were both overthinking things and let our insecurities get the better of us. Y/N, don’t ever think you’re not good enough. You’re actually too good for me. And trust me when I say that I NOTICED how amazing you look tonight. You always look good to me. But you were right about me going for girls that are nothing like you…There is no girl in this world that is like you. I mean you’re not just a pretty face (Y/N), you’re a fucking force of nature.“

A wide smile spreads across both of our faces.

„I really want to kiss you right now, but I don’t know what to do. I mean I KNOW what to do, just not how to do it. I’ve read books and..“ She starts rambling like she always does when she’s too nervous or excited.

This time I’m the one to cut her off, but not by placing my finger on her lips. That’s right! I crashed my lips into hers. I felt her stiffen up a little, her lips not moving initially. A second later, nature took it’s course and guided her lips to move against mine. The kiss was slow at first…slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. My hand rested below her ear, my thumb caressing her cheek as our breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down my spine, pulling me just a little bit closer ensuring there was no space left between us making me want more. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I’d spent with (Y/N) watching her talk and laugh that I would know all there was to know about her lips. But I hadn’t imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against my own.

Pulling away, I rested my forehead on hers gently with my eyes still shut just trying to catch my breath as she did the same.

„Wow“, I say still trying to steady my breathing. I open my eyes and see she’s already looking at me.

„That was one hell of a first kiss to give me Mr. Dolan.“

„Mr. Dolan? Hm..I like it.“ I say quirking my eyebrow.

„Yeah? Very fifty shades of GRAY of you“, she laughs at her own pun causing me to laugh too.

„Grayson…tell me you love me again.“

„I love you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)“ i say honestly and give her a quick peck on the lips.

„I love you too Grayson Dolan. Always have, always will.“

YEEES!! She finally said it. I’d do a happy dance right now but my desire to kiss her won.

„GREAT, WE ALL LOVE EACH OTHER, I’M SUPER HAPPY FOR YOU. CAN WE PLEASE GO HOME NOW!“ Ethan suddenly yells out from the tree line making us break the kiss and laugh hysterically.

„IT’S NOT FUNNY! I’VE BEEN OUT HERE FREEZING, TRYING TO MAKE SURE YOU TWO DIDN’T MESS THIS UP. LET’S GO!“ Ethan continues to shout as he walks away.

I look to the girl beside me and pull her in a side hug and start our short walk to the car and to the rest of our lives. I guess my initial idea 'go in there and profess your love and get the happy ever after’ actually worked.

[ficdirectory]

Disuphere Universe Miniseries: The Early Years: Pearl

When Pearl is born...well...that’s when Paris’s whole world changes.

He’s always wanted to be a dad, see.  And wanting that made him too eager to marry the first woman he thought he could start a life with.

Carla’s younger, sure.  Twenty to his thirty.  But they got along.  Had fun together.  She was such a nice person.  Everybody said so.  Everybody in town.  Carla had a reputation for being well-liked.  She was fun.  A free spirit.  So, pregnancy got her down a little bit.  Morning sickness and all that.  

When they got the first ultrasound?  Their baby was nothing but a tiny speck.

“Just like a little Pearl,” Carla had remarked.

“Honey, we don’t know if it’s gonna be a girl or not.  Right now, it’s just a baby.”

“Oh, she’ll be a girl, all right,” Carla had said in that way she had of convincing everybody around her to listen to her.  “She’ll listen to me because I’m her mom.”

Sure enough, Carla’s right.  They’re having a girl.  Even though Paris suggested the name Evangeline, after his great grandmother who raised him, Carla had scoffed and Paris had tried not to show how deeply her reaction hurt.

“She’s a baby, Paris.  I don’t want her named after some old lady from the 1800’s.  It’s 1983!”

One afternoon in June, Paris gets home to find Carla gone, and a note, left on the door, in Carla’s handwriting:  

“St. Joseph’s.  Baby.  Water broke at store.  Hurry.”

Paris doesn’t remember making the drive to the hospital.  Stopping by the receptionist’s desk.  Being told Carla West was in labor and delivery, and he was welcome to wait in the waiting room.

He just remembers pacing.  Pacing and pacing and pacing.  Trying  to tune into the news on in the corner about how there’s about to be a U.S. woman going up in space for the first time.

Paris finds himself thinking of Pearl.  Imagining possibilities for her.  She could be an astronaut someday.  Paris is not naive.  He knows this is not an ideal world.  But he would like to make it as close to one as possible for his daughter.

It’s just after 9 PM when somebody comes to speak to him.  Informs him that he has a beautiful baby daughter.  He goes to Carla first, who asks him to go write the baby’s name out for the birth certificate:

“Pearl Marie,” she insists, spelling it out for him like he’s not, in fact, ten years her senior.

(He knows, very well, that Marie is Carla’s grandmother’s middle name, as well as her own.  Her hypocrisy in this strikes him like a blow.)

“I got it,” he answers, and walks out of the room.  To the nursery, where a nurse holds up his tiny baby, Pearl.

He takes a good look at her, crying and perfect.  God, Paris has never seen a more amazing baby.  He taps on the door, and asks to come and have a closer look.

“Please, I’m a new dad,” he all but begs.  “Carla West’s my wife. Just had a baby girl.”

“Of course.  Baby Girl West is right here.  Does she have a name yet?” a nurse asks, picking up baby Pearl and handing her to Paris to hold.

“She sure does.  Her name is Pearl Evangeline West.”  He takes his time.  Spells it carefully.  Knows it will be a few days before Carla knows anything, and by then, it will be too late to change it.

“Marie means bitter, baby, and you are not bitter.  You are a bringer of good news.  Just like your great, great grandma was.  Yes, you are.”

In his arms, Pearl stirs and opens her eyes, squinting at the bright lights.  Her tiny hand finds his big old finger.  Grabs on.  Holds tight.

“Hello, Pearl.  I’m your daddy,” Paris tells her, soft.  Gentle.  He feels filled with certainty that this will be the greatest thing he will ever be.  The biggest job he will ever have.  His most important responsibility.  “Are you gonna be an astronaut?” he asks.

Pearl yawns.  Her eyes fall closed.  She’s still holding onto Paris’s finger.

Somewhere, a nurse snaps a picture with a Polaroid camera.  Paris in a rocking chair.  His arms full of sleeping baby Pearl, clinging onto his finger.  When he knows he’s been gone too long, Paris reluctantly puts Pearl back.  Tucks the Polaroid into his jeans.

Goes back to Carla.

--

On June 12th, they come home, a family of three.

Carla is exhausted, and still angry about his giving the ‘wrong name’ for Pearl’s birth certificate.  Paris is a pretty patient guy.  He’ll blame her current mood on the hormones.  

“It ain’t the wrong name, honey.  It’s her name,” Paris points out.

“It’s Pearl Marie.  I told you,” Carla snaps.

“I can take her.  Hold her for a bit,” Paris offers.  “You can get some rest.”

“Oh no.  Who knows what else you’re gonna do?  Change her birth date?” Carla jeers, holding onto Pearl tighter, so she fusses.

“Carla, that’s not…  Come on…” Paris hates that he’s all but begging to hold his own baby.  But what else can he do right now?  Might as well let Carla simmer down a little.

--

Turns out, there is one huge chunk of time where Carla cannot be bothered to hoard baby Pearl.  And that’s anytime between about 8 PM and 8 AM.  So, Paris is up at 10 PM, and midnight, and 2 AM and 4 AM, and 6 AM.  Heating up formula.  Changing diapers.  Singing to Pearl.

It’s exhausting, especially as there ain’t no such thing as paternity leave.  So he’s got to be out the door at 8:30 AM to work a full day, after making sure Carla’s awake to take the baby.

But the half a dozen times Paris is up at night?  That’s their time.  When Pearl looks wide awake, and smiles at him at 4 AM, Paris can’t help but smile back.

It’s these times, late at night, while Pearl’s taking her bottle like a champ that Paris talks to her about himself.  (“Confession time, baby, your daddy? Is smart.  And that’s how I know you’ll be smart, too.  Maybe not book-smart like your old dad.  But maybe you’ll be people-smart.  Or street-smart.  Everybody’s some kind of smart.  Including you.”)   He tells Pearl about his family, knowing just how little Carla likes to associate with them.

But if Paris has anything to say about it?  Pearl is gonna know where she’s from.  Her family.  Her people.

--

Things start to decline in the marriage, even while Pearl flourishes.  

Standing at 6 months.  Full on running 3 months later.  Never even crawled.

She talks for the first time at 9 months old, running up to Paris as he arrives home from work with an exuberant, “Hi, Dada!”

Paris scoops her up, and greets her, equally happy to see her.  “Hi, Pearl!  How you doin’?  You good?”

She nods, and wraps chubby arms around his neck.

(Carla, of course, is livid that Pearl’s first word is not Mama, like it “should be.”  Paris tries to ignore it.  Tries to protect baby Pearl from the onslaught of negativity.

Pearl’s two, speaking full sentences and reading The Cat in the Hat like a pro.  But Carla seems completely unprepared for what to do when Pearl reaches her end at McDonald’s one afternoon.  She wants to play on the playground and doesn’t seem interested in eating her food.

“I’m gonna slide and merry-go-round,” Pearl tells them, as Paris manages to convince Pearl to eat one French fry by covering it in ketchup and offering it to her.

“God, Paris.  She’s two years old.  She’s not a baby.”

Paris sits back.  “Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m gonna slide and merry-go-rooouund!” Pearl insists.

“After you eat your food!” Carla snaps, in a mocking voice.

Though, she’s just a toddler, Pearl knows when she’s being teased.  The lip comes out.  Her eyes fill with tears.

“Pearl, McDonald’s is a treat.  If you can’t be happy, we can’t come here anymore,” Carla warns.

Paris’s heart breaks, as he watches Pearl, unable to keep it together and at naptime, no less, breaking into tears.

Carla wastes no time scooping her out of the booth and carrying her to the car.  She falls asleep on the drive home.

--

The next time Paris is coming back from work, he makes a stop at a local store and cases their toy aisle.  Until he finds what he is looking for.  A grumpy Care Bear with a sad cloud on its front.  Paris buys it, knowing some things, you gotta make an exception for, even if money’s tight.

Carla’s getting her hair cut a few hours later when Paris gives the toy to Pearl:

“This is for you.  I know Mommy told you you had to be happy all the time--”

“--or no McDonald’s,” Pearl remembers, sad.

“Right.  But this right here?  This is a special friend named Grumpy Bear.  See, how he’s not smiling?”

Pearl studies the bear, concern showing in her eyes.

“Well, that’s because Grumpy Bear wants you to know if you’re grumpy, you can tell him.  Or you can tell Daddy, too.”

“He can’t go to McDonald’s…” Pearl says, regretful, cuddling the bear.

“He absolutely can go to McDonald’s,” Paris corrects her, gentle.  “But how about, before we go, we talk about what’s gonna happen when we get there.”

“Okay,” Pearl agrees with a smile that melts Paris’s heart.  He talks her through how they’ll tell what they want.  Then, they’ll get their food.  Then, they’ll eat their food, and then they’ll play on the slide and the merry-go-round.

He writes it all on a receipt in simple words.  Gives it to her to carry.  He can hear her talking to Grumpy Bear in the car:

“Don’t worry, Grumpy.  We get to go to McDonald’s.  We don’t have to be happy all the time.  See?  Look at this list.  This is what we’re gonna do.”  She shows the bear the list, talking him through all the steps.

When they get there, Pearl still wants to slide, but Paris is able to reason with her, by making quick work of ordering their food and then pointing out that they’re already one step closer to getting to play on the playground.

He occupies her by asking if she can read NO SWEAT, written on his hat.  She correctly reads NO and almost reads SWEAT.

“No sweat means something is easy,” Paris explains.

“Not hard?” Pearl checks.

“Not hard,” he confirms.

“That’s why your hat says NO SWEAT?  Because going to McDonald’s is easy?” Pearl asks.

“That’s right.  Know what else is easy?” he asks.

“What?” Pearl asks, standing Grumpy Bear on the table.

“Loving you.  You’re such a good girl.  You’re smart and kind.  You’re curious.”

“Like Curious George!” Pearl pipes up.  “Pearl was curious…” she quotes, except that line originally had George, the monkey’s name in it.

“That’s right!” Paris laughs.  “And you can have all the feelings you have.  Because feelings are good.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Pearl beams.

Their food comes.

They eat.  

He catches her as she slides down the biggest slide.

Pushes her on the merry-go-round.

She falls asleep again in the car on the way home, but at the end of a much better day.

--

It’s two years later.  October 24th, 1987.  

Pearl’s four and has just started kindergarten.  Paris has spent the last couple of years talking to lawyers, and anybody who will listen about his situation.  About the state of their marriage that has only gotten more and more awful.  About the effect that it’s having on Pearl.

But it’s no use.  Everyone he talks to says if he divorces Carla, custody will likely stay with her.  No judge awards it to fathers unless there’s significant abuse or neglect.

And even though he’s glad it hasn’t gotten that bad, he also knows, the verbal and emotional wounds Pearl has already, thanks to her mom, will last.  Even though they don’t scar, the damage will be there.

Paris thinks long and hard about what to do.  Actually has Pearl in the car.  Just picked her up from school.  And it would be so easy.  So, so easy to just drive away with her.  To let Carla find the papers in the mail when she gets home from work today.

But Paris can’t do that.  So, he talks to Pearl on the way home, like always.  Tells her he loves her.  Tells her he will see her later.  Gives her a kiss.  And drops her off with the neighbor, who babysits her while he and Carla work.

“Bye, Daddy!” Pearl calls, smiling.

“Bye, Pearl.  I’ll see you real soon.  I promise.”

(But he doesn’t.

Carla’s madder than a wet hen when she finds out about the divorce.)

And what’s worse?  As he’s pulling into a motel for the night?  He finds Grumpy Bear, on the floor in the back seat of the car.

Paris brushes him off.  Brings him inside.  He’ll go to the post office in the morning.  Mail it first thing.

It just doesn’t seem right that Pearl be without her favorite toy.

[agent-shield-blog]

Start Over (3/?)

You were trained at a facility that made the best of the best assassins. When your graduation day was drawing near a group of the Avengers show up. You are taken back to NYC to join the Avengers, and you find it hard to adjust. But a famous someone comes in to save the day and offers you a deal you can’t refuse.

Pairing: Reader X Steve Rogers Featuring: Basically everyone Warnings: None Rating of Series: Pg-13

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/Part 10/Part 11/Part 12/Part 13

I continued looking around on the darknet until I heard a knock at the door. I slowly closed my laptop and made my way up from my desk. I walked over to the door and cautiously opened it. Through the crack, I could see Captain Rogers. I extended the door fully and motioned for him to come in. Captain Rogers looked around for a second before turning his view back to me.

“So what do you think?”

“It’s all very nice.”

“You a bit overwhelmed?” I stood in silence. We weren't supposed to show any emotions that would count us as weak. We had to be seen as stable people who could not be brought down. “It’s okay to admit it. When I first got back to New York City after my accident, everything had changed. The world was overwhelming, and honestly, for a moment I didn't know if I was going to survive.” I couldn't help but let out a laugh. As soon as I did, I was quick to cover my mouth.

“I’m sorry Captain Rogers. It’s just we learned about you at the academy, and well, you don't seem like the type to be intimidated by this sort of change.”

“Everyone has there moments (y/n). I’m sure you do too.” I looked back down at my feet. I hated admitting I had fears. Captain Rogers cleared his throat, and I turned my attention back towards him.
 “Well, we were just getting ready to make dinner. We thought it would be a good chance for you to meet everyone and really connect with the team. If you want to?” I sat down at the edge of my bed and looked back up at Captain Rogers.

“At the academy, I didn't have friends; I didn't really socialize unless it was for practice. I want to get to know you all, but I don't want to fake it.”

“Well if you're up for it you can come with me and you can pretend this is practice. Just think of this as a class at the academy, except the only bad thing that can happen is you get tomato sauce on your shirt.” I couldn't help but smile at the joke. He was right. What did I have to lose? I could either stay in my room for all my time here, or I could make the best of my opportunity. I stood up and began to follow Captain Rogers who smiled at me. Before we were out of the room, he turned around to face me.

“You might want to change shirts though. Pasta and white shirts don't get along well.” I grinned knowing that I wouldn't spill a thing on my shirt. At the academy, we weren't just taught how to kill people. We were required to take multiple cooking classes. But I grabbed a sweatshirt from the closet and quickly changed in the bathroom. It felt bizarre to have something so lose forming on my body. I stared in the mirror for a moment before heading back out into the room and following Captain Rogers to the kitchen.

Once downstairs I saw all the Avengers in the kitchen. I couldn't believe that they could all fit, but then again it was a huge kitchen. Mr. Stark, Natasha, Clint Barton, Dr. Banner, Thor, Sam Wilison, James Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, James Rhodes, and Peter Parker. I took a deep breath before following Captain Rogers into the kitchen. This was a new battlefield for me, something I was never really prepared for. Walking into a social setting with a group of the worlds most famous heroes.

Everyone seemed to be doing their own thing. Some were working on making the pasta others were slicing and dicing. When I finally made my way into the kitchen, everything seemed to stop. For a split second all eyes were on me. Everyone smiled at me before returning to their kitchen duties. I stood aimlessly in the kitchen before Wanda tapped my shoulder, I spun around and was greeted be her smiling face.

“It’s very nice to meet you (y/n) I have only heard great things about you.” I gave her a small grin, not exposing my teeth. “Peter and I are in charge of the sauce if you would like to help. It’s tough to mess-up.” I followed Wanda over to where she and Peter had been working. Peter also gave me a smile before going back to cutting the tomatoes. What was up with everyone smiling? These people certainly couldn't be this happy all the time.

Wanada passed me a knife and a few tomatoes. Within 30 seconds I cut all my tomatoes and tossed them in the pot. Wanda looked over at me and seemed to be impressed. Little did she know I had taken so many cooking classes that I could prepare this whole meal by myself in no time. But I stayed quiet and continued to cut whatever she put my way.

As we worked, I listened in on the different conversations going around. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner were discussing some of the new technology Mr. Stark had developed. Vision and Natasha were fighting over the amount of flour for the pasta. Vision said to stick with the recipe, Natasha told him she knew what she was doing. Captain Rogers and Mr. Barnes were listening to Mr. Wilison's and Mr. Barton's song choices. Thor and Mr. Rhodes seemed to be keeping quiet while everyone else worked. And Wanda and Peter were discussing some tv show that apparently had been on a few nights ago that they both watch. While I was listening to other conversations, I heard someone call my name

“(Y/n)?” I turned my head and saw Peter looking at me.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a favorite tv show.” I stood their awkwardly. We were only allowed to watch a few tv shows of every genre, so if asked this question we would be prepared. I stood awkwardly before replying.

“I guess it depends what genre we are talking about.”

“Comedy.” I quickly remembered the comedy I had watched

“Friends.” Wanda face lit up with excitement.

“I love that show. We will have to watch it together.” I smiled and nodded. For practicing social situation, I felt so unprepared.

After fixing dinner, we all sat down at the long table and began to eat. As I ate my food, I would occasionally glance around the table, and again everyone was looking at me. Everyone was getting into the conversation except for me. People were talking about past mission that they worked on together laughing about some of the idiotic things people would do in response to having to fight the Avengers. I was in the middle of the bite when Vision turned to ask me a question

“Miss (y/n) I must ask. What was it like at the academy, I've heard some negative comments about it?” I stopped eating and put down my fork. Everyone was glaring at Vision but also looked at me with concern. I didn't know what they expected me to say or how much they knew about it. I didn't want to be fake, not anymore, but personally, I wasn't a confident person. I didn’t like to share; I didn't like to discuss private things. I took a deep breath and pretended this was just work. That this was my first job, I had been given.

“The academy is well the academy. You learn the things that most children would never learn. You learn to read, speak, and write in five languages, I know ten. You study fine art, music, movies, tv shows. It's our jobs to be knowledgeable in society during jobs. If you don't know the latest tv shows or understand Netflix, you won't get far. I took a lot of science and math classes. We have our cooking classes, art classes. Its kind of like college but you take all the courses, and you are so much younger. You have to be ready for any job given when you leave the academy. This could mean going from a chemist at a lab, to being a librarian. You never know.” I stopped talking for a moment and looked for reactions. Most everyone seemed to be very understanding. I turned to Natasha who gave me a smile and a nod. Although the red room is ten times harder, I figured she would understand what I was going through. I took a deep breath before speaking again. “I know this all probably seems weird to you. Having to take in this girl from a place that raises assassins with no true agenda besides receiving money, and giving away their work. But we weren't raised on sides there. Some of us go on to work lives of good; others work for the opposite. But I want you all to know that I’m in this for the long run. I want to help. I want to use my skills and powers for something else. Something good.” Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner looked at each other and then back to me. Mr. Stark sat down his cup and cleared his throat.

“You said skills and powers am I correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What powers?” I was in shock. How could they know where I was and who I was but not know that I had powers?

“At the academy, the top of the class is genetically modified. This has been going on for about a few years now. I'm the fifth to be changed.” Now Dr. Banner spoke to you.

“What exactly are your powers?”

“I can shapeshift objects. for example.” I took the final swig of my water and sat the glass cup down on the table. I focused my energy on it. Under the table, I moved my hand every so slightly, and the cup turned into a tiny glass box. I waited a moment before changing the box back into a cup. Everyone just stared. They tried their best to contain the pure shock, but you didn't care. It was something apart of you now, and you were pretty sure there was no going back to how you were before.

Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner sat up immediately from their seats. Mr. Stark motioned with his hand for me to stand. I followed the two out of the kitchen and into the elevator.

“Where are we going?”

“Going to the lab. We need to get some tests done immediately.” You sighed knowing there would be more needles and blood involved than you'd like, but if it meant being a part of the team, you would do anything at this point. A little blood and pain wouldn't stop you.

Part 4