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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

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redorich · 4 years ago

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Techno asker here! I have missed today's stream... Thank you so much for that plug though, it was a great read! I got to learn a new word too - asymptote.

English isn't my first language, and I covet more of the secret words it holds yet hidden from my grubby little gremlin hands.

Now I'm really looking forward to reading more of your Willbour and steal from his vocabulary. Perhaps, if you are up for it, when we see him coming to terms with his newly re-invigorated self and the memories that brings with it? Perhaps when he is on the hermitcraft server? Perhaps?

(Mammon is my sin..)

dude i’m gonna be real with you, your english is like 10 times better than most native speakers. you use cool words like “covet”, and your syntax is unique, but in a correct way?? who the hell granted you the right to be so smart

-------

Wilbur revives in the hot dog van. He isn’t sure what he does and does not remember.

All at once, it hits him. He sees flashes behind his eyelids, flashes of pushing the button, of making Techno and Tommy fight in a pit why did he do that, of the Final Control Room. He clutches his chest-- he’s wearing his yellow sweater again.

He hears his name being called by three different voices: two English, one American. They know what he did, they’re coming for him--

“He’s in the van!”

Wilbur looks around desperately for a place to run. He’s got no tools to dig and hide with, can’t leave the van or he’ll be seen. The door opens.

It’s Dream. Eleven and a half stacks of TNT.

“Hey, hey,” Dream says with a hint of a smile. “Calm yourself, have a carrot.”

He tosses Wilbur a handful of carrots. They fall on the floor and roll away. Wilbur pulls himself into a kneeling position. (When had he fallen down?)

“I want to be alone right now,” he says.

“No, you don’t,” Dream responds.

Wilbur bangs his fist on the floor, ever one for dramatics. His hair falls wildly in his eyes and Dream is uncomfortably reminded of Wilbur’s dishevelled-bad-boy look, as Dream had privately called it when Wilbur was leading Pogtopia. Now, Dream recognizes the look as pure instability, spilling over into the man’s physical appearance.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Dream says for a lack of anything else to say.

Wilbur seems to take Dream’s discomfort and quietness as a cue to spill everything in his mind. He’s hysterical, like an over-full blender running without its top on.

"My death was just and everyone rejoiced. I’ll-- I’ll do it again, you know. If you keep reviving me, I’ll go insane again and again, and hurt people and destroy because it’s all I do! It’s what I was made for, Dream! If you care about this server you’ll kick me out and leave me to rot all alone in some singleplayer world. Everything I touch turns to ash. They’re all better off without me.”

Dream crosses his arms. “Have you already forgotten why you asked me to revive you in the first place? I thought the whole point of all this is that you’d stop forgetting things. Like your brother.”

“Ah,” Wilbur flinches. “He’d... I’d only hurt him more. Drag him into my schemes, once I inevitably lose sight of my morality again.”

“So you won’t even try?” Dream scoffs.

“Like you care about Tommy,” Wilbur spits, suddenly acerbic. “I remember his death now-- or rather, the moment we believed he was dead. I saw the tower he was meant to have jumped off of, I remember the way he looked at the lava ocean. You did that to him.”

Dream cringes. Leave it to Wilbur to pinpoint his nightmares and speak them aloud. The van’s door slams open, and in marches Tommy, followed closely by Tubbo.

“Tommy--” Wilbur blanches. There’s no way that the two teens didn’t hear at least part of what he’s just said.

Tommy sticks out his hand to Wilbur, who stares at it blankly. Tommy shakes his hand in front of Wilbur’s face. Ah. Now he understands. Wilbur takes the hand in his own and allows his little brother to haul him to his feet.

Wilbur stiffens when arms wrap around him. Unbidden fat tears roll down his face. He glues his eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to stop crying.

“...Why?” he asks. “I’m evil, Tommy. Why are you doing this?”

“You’re not evil.”

Wilbur chokes on the lump in his throat. “It’s-- it’s my fault. Everything. My baby brother died... Why don’t you blame me?”

“Well, that’s a bit selfish of you,” Tubbo says lightheartedly. “Hoarding all the blame for yourself. I’m the one who exiled him. Dream’s the one who told me to do it, even if there was some possession fuckery going on,” he nods to Dream. “Technoblade’s the one who summoned two withers. No one’s free of guilt here. Deal with it.”

They all fall silent.

“Oh, does this mean that Wilbur’s getting a Hermitcraft-therapy-house-building-vacation now?”

Wilbur, Tubbo, and Tommy all turn to stare at Dream.

“What?” the man in question demands sheepishly. “Tommy got one, I got one. I assumed Wilbur was next.”

Wilbur starts laughing. It’s contagious; they all laugh with a tinge of unnamed emotion and just can’t stop, even though it wasn’t that funny.

“I think I’ll stay here for a while,” Wilbur finally says. “I need to stop running away from the things I’ve done.”

Tubbo puts his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. The president of L’Manberg is two-thirds of Wilbur’s age and nearly a foot shorter. The gesture is comforting nonetheless.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit!tommy au #sleepy bois inc #tommyinnit #tubbo #wilbur soot #ghostbur #dreamwastaken #me.cpp #Anonymous

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stusbunker · 4 years ago

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AGA: Spit It Out

A Supernatural Denny AU

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny Lafitte

Other Characters: John and Mary, Jody, Garth, Anna, Castiel, Sam, (mentioned) Benny, Jo, Jack

Word Count: 4222

Summary: Dean has the toughest conversation of his life. Cas asks questions. Sam is a little shit.

Warnings: Homophobic language, internalized biphobia, coming out

Series Masterlist

Shout out to the amazing @cracksinthewalls for all her help on this series.

Dean hadn’t realized how terrified he was of facing his father until he broke down at Jo’s. It hadn’t felt like something he would ever have to do until then. Now, it felt as inevitable as a death sentence.

John had always been a huge force in Dean’s life, but since he had gotten hurt to the point of disability, he was less of a presence and more of an imprint. Letting down his folks was the ultimate sin, one Dean had fought his whole life to resist. He knew they loved him, but would it be enough for them to see beyond the idea of Dean they had in their heads. Could they love a pansy?

His mother would be easier to bring on board; he was her favorite whether she’d admit it or not. On the other hand, John was a Marine, he was a mechanic; he didn’t deal with feelings or things he thought were reckless, selfish choices. Dean had never been selfish a day in his life, but this was something that seemed worth it. Benny was worth it. Dean couldn’t give up on family, and he needed them in his corner if it was going to work at all.

First, Dean just needed to get the words out.

The wind whipped through the neighborhood he grew up in like a child unleashed upon the playground. Direction and speed split its focus until it stilled long enough to move on to the next distraction. Dean parked on the street, letting the familiar siding and newer front door center him as he approached, trying to ignore the uneasiness that was unfurling in his gut. Sam was having lunch with some guys from high school who were in town early for Thanksgiving, granting Dean this window of privacy.

Not that Dean told Sam anything. He had done enough talking at Jo’s, even Benny didn’t know everything that he’d been processing the last few days. He hadn’t wanted to make any promises. Dean walked into the house, calling out his greeting, never one to knock at home. John was parked in front of the television in the living room while Mary sent her welcome from somewhere in the basement.

“Hey! Talk about timing, lunch is just about done,” John teased. “What brings you ‘round? Sammy’s out for the day.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. Kinda why I came,” Dean shoved his hands in the pockets of jeans, still standing.

“Jayhawks are playing at two if you wanna stay,” John offered. Dean hummed in uncertainty. John dragged his feet from the ottoman to sit up and face Dean better. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing we can’t talk about over lunch. I’m gonna go see if Mom needs anything,” Dean nodded towards the basement steps and left John to his football.

Dean bowed his head as he reached the bottom of the steps, clearing the duct work to find Mary folding laundry at the long narrow table they used for everything from school projects to writing out Christmas cards.

“I thought that was you,” Mary said pleasantly. “Did your dad tell you lunch was almost ready?”

She dropped the shirt she had finished atop an awkward pile and opened her arms for a hug. Dean scooped her up, probably a little too enthusiastically, but he didn’t care and she didn’t mind. A simple gasp told him she noticed though.

“So--- what’s the occasion?” Mary asked, turning back to the basket.

“Nothing really, just wanted to catch up,” Dean downplayed, grabbing a pair of jeans to help. Neither of them pointed out that they’d see each other the next day for Sunday dinner. Mary welcomed the visit as much as Dean was dreading it.

“Your father had physical therapy yesterday. I don’t think they get paid enough,” Mary conspired with a heavy side eye.

Dean chuckled, “I’m guessing not his at least.”

“And supposedly I’m the stubborn one,” Mary muttered. “If you want to make some sandwiches, I’m almost done down here. I don’t want to spread the soup too thin.”

Dean nodded and handed her the sweater he had folded last. “Sounds good, anything in particular?”

“Just don’t let him trick you into letting him have the salami, his doctor says he needs to watch the fats,” Mary warned.

Dean perched against the edge of the steps, listening. He slapped the banister and headed back upstairs. “On it.”

The kitchen’s layout hadn’t changed in thirty years and Dean quickly set up an assembly line with poultry, condiments, lettuce and tomatoes. He tucked the cheese with the processed deli meat back in the drawer, hiding the temptation from John. But not before stealing a slice for his and Mary’s sandwiches. He set the table, like hundreds of times before. John’s spot was the head of the table, Mary to his left. Dean set his own plate on John’s right, a seat he fought Sam for more often than not.

Dean stirred the pot, which was much more a vat, of chicken noodle soup. John’s approach was announced by the steady clink of his cane on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Dean pulled out John’s chair before settling down to his heaping sandwich and extra large bowl of soup.

John lifted the top tier of his sandwich, judging the contents. “She got to you, didn’t she?”

Dean just chewed purposely and gave John innocent eyes.

“Figures,” John muttered before bellowing through the house. “Mary! Soup’s ready.”

They ate comfortably, fighting the cold outside with the warmth of the familiarity of a shared meal. The grease from the chicken made bubbles in the broth and Dean blew across the surface mixing them back in. Meanwhile Mary made small talk and John teased her about her part time job.

“Well, I need to get out of the house, or we’d kill each other, you know that,” Mary flicked John’s ear as she cleared their bowls.

“How’s that going?” Dean asked, eyes fixed on his mother’s face. Panic clogged his ears at the thought of never seeing her again.

“‘S fine. People are picky, but it isn’t bad for what it is. Better than being behind a desk or answering the phone,” Mary explained of her work at the local sporting goods store. “Friday will be nuts, lots of sales, but it’s not like we would have been doing anything anyway.”

“So, Bobby and Ellen’s on Thursday?” Dean verified.

“Yup, dinner’s at 1. He says you’re on pie duty?” John asked, surprised.

“That I am. Sam’s stuck with sides, so please remind him. I don’t want to show up and only have rolls and turkey,” Dean asked Mary.

“Can do. We’re bringing the---,” Mary started.

“Cranberry sauce,” Dean and John said in unison.

“And the wine!” Mary said in dismay at their laughter. “Jerks.”

John and Dean grinned as Mary rolled her eyes.

“So, was that everything? It seemed like you had something to hash out with us,” John asked Dean, picking up the last of his sandwich.

“Yeah, mostly. I gotta check with Ellen first, but I might be bringing somebody along,” Dean rushed out. He tipped his bowl back, finishing the final dregs.

“A special someone?” Mary asked delicately, looking at John in hope.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean grunted, standing to grab another sandwich.

“Well, is it somebody we know?” Mary prodded, not trying to be too pushy, but obviously curious. “Dean, why are we just now hearing about this?”

Mary’s tone had shifted to apprehension, Dean felt their silent conversation behind his back as he slapped the ingredients together. He shrugged in response, unable to find a proper jumping off point.

He tried to remain casual, but the dred had clawed back up. Without enough wherewithal to speak, Dean sat back down and ate, drawing out his confession to the point of confusion.

John chuckled at Mary’s suspicion. “He’s nervous. Let the boy get it out.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the phrase. “I’m thirty six, Dad,” he said through a mouthful.

“Is that right? Coulda fooled me.” John tisked his tongue. Mary ignored his teasing tone.

“Dean, what’s the matter? What’s this girl’s problem that’s making you act so--- cagey all the sudden?” Mary asked anxiously. John slipped Mary’s hand into his, silently soothing her as they waited for Dean’s answer.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Dean started, sitting back, and shooting for blase. “Turns out I actually like guys, too. So, uh, there’s no problem with a girl. I just wanted to bring, um, this guy I’ve been seeing, Benny, to Bobby and Ellen’s.”

Mary inhaled and clenched John’s hand. John stopped stroking Mary’s arm and twisted in his seat. Dean exhaled slowly, like a pin prick in a deflating balloon, he couldn’t take any of it back. Dean took a chance and looked out through his lashes, face tilted towards his plate. First to Mary’s blue worry and then a flicker to John’s almost black disbelief.

John swallowed and ducked low enough to force Dean’s eyes onto his. "You tellin' me you take it up the ass, is that what you're sayin?"

"Jesus. John!" Mary reproached. But neither man's glare faltered. The dark challenge in John's eyes caused Dean's lips to turn up in a silent snarl.

Dean finally broke the silence. "You really want me to answer that?"

"I think I have a right to know exactly the kind of man my son is," John countered.

Mary stood abruptly. “He's your son! What's the matter with you?! You asking Sam his jerkin' habits now that he's single, while you're at it?!" She went to the sink, bowing over it as if it would cleanse the images the conversation had conjured.

“Oh, hell, that’s not the point,” John muttered.

Dean had been arrested in high school for drag racing. The whole ride home from the police station he was worried what his dad was gonna do to him once they got home, it was the same quiet rage that had terrified Dean as a child. But it was Mary’s disappointment when they walked in the door that tore into Dean to the point of scarring. He could live with his father’s anger, Sam had taught Dean how to slowly stand up to John over the years.

But Dean didn’t know if he could live in the shadow of Mary’s disappointment. He needed somebody to see him as himself, not just a screw up or a queer.

Dean sighed. "I am your son. But if you can't handle this, Dad. I don't think you have any right to know me anymore." He looked from Mary to John as the last sentence left his mouth. Maybe he was asking too much after all.

Everyone in the room froze. But not even an ultimatum like that could stop John Winchester from digging himself deeper. "Christ, son, Jo really did a number on you, didn't she? Made you turn tail to the other team all together."

"Leave Jo out of this,” Dean spit out as he stood up. “This is about me and who I'm with now." He stalked the long way around the table, shoving chairs in as he went. He approached Mary alone, carefully, one terrified animal to another. "You'd love him, Mom. He cooks, runs his own business, even got an old Harley in the garage."

Mary couldn't hide her tears, but she tried to smile through them for Dean's sake. "Sounds like a catch, sweetie. But what matters is if you love him. You don't need our say so."

"Don't I?" Dean replied sadly before glancing over Mary’s shoulder to John. "You know Jo told me to give you the finger if you couldn’t see how happy I am. How important Benny is to me. And maybe she's right. But I wanted this to work. I wanted to keep the family together. That's why I'm here. The rest is up to you, Old Man."

Dean kissed his mother on the cheek, between murmured reassurances and left without another word to John. He teetered on the brink, somewhere between busting his knuckles against the cold glass of the impala’s window and losing his lunch on the frostbitten ground. Somehow, Dean made it into the solitude of the driver’s seat before he broke down and sobbed. The only saving grace he got was when his mother's voice roared from inside the house.

Dean dragged the salt and snot from his face with a heavy palm and started the engine. He couldn't stay there, but he didn't know where to go either. He just drove.

Dean pulled into the parking lot at The Pearly Gates on autopilot. He’d spent the afternoon equally suppressing and dissecting his conversation with his parents as he kept it even between the lines of two lane country roads. Now, Dean was ready to be somebody else, to make drinks and flirt and just forget everything that had happened.

The college football crowd was winding down, which allowed Dean some time to catch up with the day shift bartenders Garth and Jody. Back before Cas got blindsided with the responsibility of business ownership, Cas, Dean, Ash and Artie would claim a booth near the pool tables and blow their grocery money every weekend. When Sam moved back after law school he and Mick joined the crowd that were regularly praised for paying for Jody’s son’s braces.

Garth had been the first dragged from the friend pool to fill the schedule when Cas’s brother dropped off the face of the earth. Though Garth volunteered, Dean knew it was just out of the goodness of his heart, not a need for extra cash.

“Here he is!” Garth announced Dean’s arrival. Luckily for Dean, Garth was pouring a beer otherwise he would have been wrapped in one of Garth’s spider monkey-like hugs. A few regulars in the corner raised their glasses to Dean in greeting as he passed by with his company smile. Jody whipped by him, fresh out of the stock room with her arms full of their dollar bags of chips they sold to keep from having to run a full kitchen.

“Look who’s early,” Jody exclaimed before dropping the load onto the back counter. “You trying to cut into my time there, Winchester?”

“You know if you ever want more hours, you just gotta ask,” Dean offered suggestively, strolling behind the bar.

Jody sputtered dramatically, “And work nights? No, thank you.”

“It was worth a shot,” Dean replied, shrugging at Garth who knew better.

Jody sighed and cocked her head. “You’re cute, but you’re not that cute.”

Dean ducked his head against the compliment as she patted his arm apologetically.

“Want me to split your tips before you go?” Dean asked, bending out of his jacket.

“That’d be lovely,” Jody answered, sorting the chips by kind. “Garth get’s an extra twenty because Bess and Donna were ‘round.”

“Look at you, Mr. Slick,” Dean teased as he grabbed the old milk bottle filled with mostly singles. Garth blushed.

“You know what they say Dean-o, flattery is everything,” Garth explained. Dean, who routinely had the most tips out of any of the staff, including Bela, just nodded at the quirky dude. Dean doled out their shares and washed up before officially punching in.

Jody was gone as soon as Anna arrived, but Garth waited for Jack to show before leaving her and Dean on their own. It was seven o’clock before Cas arrived instead of his unreliable nephew.

“Everything alright?” Dean asked knowingly as Cas hung his trench coat on a broken notch on the rail beside the server’s station.

“Jack is under the weather,” Cas explained blandly. Dean eyed the windows, taking in the light flurries that danced in the streetlight. “I guess I’ll have to do tonight.”

It was a surprisingly unremarkable shift, the weather kept traffic bearable even after Anna’s shift ended at midnight. Dean walked her out the back to her car, like he always did as the plow eased out of the parking lot.

“You gonna be alright with him for the rest of the night?” Anna whispered before they breached the cold. Her big brown eyes held more mischief than worry.

“Goodnight, Anna,” Dean drew out as he held the door sternly.

“Night, Dean,” Anna chuckled. Dean watched her tiptoe around the icy patches and make it to her old Tahoe. He made sure it started before heading back behind the bar, and three more hours with Castiel.

The speakers were set lower than usual to balance their minimal customers. On his shifts, Dean had always insisted on having control over the musical selection. So when he walked into a pop singer’s version of mopey folk he did a double take before bee lining for the stereo.

“Please, don’t,” Cas’s simply requested from somewhere to Dean’s right. “I kind of like this song, but more importantly one of the customer’s requested a change of station.”

Dean eyed the patrons like suspects in a line up, uncertain who would blaspheme in such a way. No one seemed particularly guilty and he had to let it go. Between drinks, Dean washed glasses in the small sink behind the bar until Cas was finally able to start his nightly paperwork. The last couple paid their tab just after 1:30, leaving them holding their breaths in hope as they started to put up the chairs.

“Is it often this quiet?” Cas wondered aloud, “I don’t recall Saturday’s business to dwindle so.”

Dean smiled to himself; leave it to Cas to look a gift horse of a slow night in the mouth. “No, man, this is not the usual. But, it worked out. And thanks for filling in for the kid, I know you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

Cas quietly beamed at Dean’s gratitude before pausing at the not so subtle jab at the end. They went through the remaining end of day routine in silence. Dean turned off the faux neon signs in the windows to signal the early close as Cas handled the money. Dean would usually even out the till and split tips with Jack, leaving the deposit for Cas to handle the next day. Instead he was left with cleaning detail as the boss man did the accounting.

Before long Dean was rolling the dirty mop bucket back to the office/store room/ kitchen/ employee area. Exhaustion had eaten at Dean’s internal walls, leaving him on the slippery edge between slap-happy and zombie. He hummed to keep his eyes open, waiting on Cas to finally call it a night and let Dean clock out.

“We don’t talk anymore,” Cas said abruptly, without looking up from the cash machine. Dean’s head shot up, concern furrowing his features. “In fact, I’m prone to think you don’t like me at all, Dean.”

“What do you mean, we’re talking right now,” Dean downplayed defensively. Cas glanced up over his desk, mild surprise evident. Cas always seemed such a mystery to Dean, from his social awkwardness to his blunt observations. Dean had come to envy Cas’s almost innocent lack of need to perform for others, to be anyone but himself. He had forgotten that Cas would read into his demeanor in the uncanniest of ways.

“True, we are. But are we?” Cas typed the code into the safe and waited for the time delayed entry. “We used to hang out, watch football, play pool, or cards even.”

“We’ve got bowling every week, man,” Dean wrung out the mophead and latched it onto the rack on the wall. He was trying to remember the last time he and Cas had fun, just the two of them and couldn’t recall a single occurrence over the past year.

“I miss you. I miss my friend,” Cas replied sadly. “And I don’t know what I did to ruin it, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean to.”

Dean closed his eyes and grimaced. “Hey, no, it’s not like that,” Dean started. He walked over and leaned against the edge of the desk, assertive reassurance written all over his face. “Look, I’m tired. Working all week and then coming here is kicking my ass. So I don’t have a lot of free time or brain capacity to hang out like we used to. But I’m doing my best, man.”

Cas looked like a confused puppy, eyes drooping and head tilted. “That isn’t it. There’s something else, something you’re not telling me?”

Dean huffed and shook his head, hands raised in exasperation. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I like you, okay? We’re still--- you know--- buddies.”

“Buddies,” Cas said it like it was a war crime.

“Yeah, man, friends. Do you need me to pull up a dictionary on my phone?!” Dean was getting anxious. He didn’t know what exactly had set Cas down this path of questioning, but he was certain he needed it to end. So much for a quiet night.

After a few weighted stares, Cas squinted and turned them down a different path. “Did me employing you negatively affect our relationship? Should I not have asked that of you?”

“Wait, that would have stopped you?” Dean asked, surprised by Cas’s sudden, if extremely late, realization.

“I wouldn’t knowingly do anything to hurt our friendship, Dean. Has working here hindered you?” Cas asked apologetically.

Dean’s mouth dropped open and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, man. Working here--- everyone is great, don’t get me wrong--- but man I need a break. I wanted to help out here or there, but I’ve got no time for a life if I stay on.”

“I see,” Cas sat back, poorly masking his own discomfort with Dean’s confession. “Look, I know I’m not the best at what I do. But I find it very hard to trust new people. Employees, especially, tend to let me down. I guess--- I guess I’ve relied on you for too long, Dean. I’m sorry if I’ve taken advantage.”

Dean chuckled. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”

Missing the joke, Cas continued, “I am taking this conversation as your verbal resignation. I hope you will stay on for the customary two weeks time?”

“You’re serious?” Dean asked, stunned.

“You’re unhappy. I don’t want to cause you anymore grief,” Cas replied simply.

“It wasn’t that bad, Cas.--- But, you gotta do something about Jack. Man up and light a fire under his ass, or just kick him to the curb until he’s ready to live up to the family business. You need to hire people who want to be here,” Dean offered.

Cas nodded dejectedly. “I know, I just have an awful gauge for people’s reliability from a simple interview. And past employers rarely ‘spill the tea’ as Bela would say.”

Dean giggled, but stopped himself once he saw the worry in Cas’ eyes. “Hey, what if somebody does the interviews for you? I bet Jody would weed out the bad seeds before their asses ever hit the bar stool.”

Cas was surprised by that option. “That could work. She is very intimidating.”

“Right?!” Dean exclaimed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “So, we’re really doing this? Two weeks and I’m out?”

“Yes, Dean. You’ve done more than I should have asked of you.” Cas stood and extended his hand.

Dean grabbed it and pulled Cas in for a hug, their bound hands stuck between them. “Thanks, man. But, I’m glad it worked out. It will work out. This is gonna be good.”

“And we’ll---,” Cas asked as they broke apart.

“We’ll still be friends. Hell, if I’m free maybe we can reclaim our old table every once in a while,” Dean offered, patting Cas’s shoulder. A genuine smile crept across Dean’s face for the first time all day.

“I’d like that,” Cas admitted as the safe alerted his time was up.

The next morning, Sam held the door for Dean who was smirking as they walked in. Exhausted and needing the comfort of his favorite diner to fill his empty stomach, Dean agreed to Sunday breakfast with a seemingly none-the-wiser Sam, certain he'd be missing their weekly dinner with his parents for possibly the first time.

"Not that one. Let's see if there's a spot in the back," Sam muttered as Dean tried sitting in the first open booth he saw.

"What? Why?" Dean groaned, but straightened up and followed Sam passed the bustling counter.

Sam lifted his chin and motioned Dean to the second to last spot. Slightly annoyed, Dean threw himself onto the bench seat, only to have Sam slide beside him, caging him in.

"Glad you boys could make it," the all too familiar drawl of their father's voice greeted them from across the table.

Dean looked at Sam and cursed beneath his breath. Sam had the nerve to look guilty, but his puppy dog eyes didn't hold an ounce of potency now.

"Wow, Dad, I had no idea you'd be here. Funny coincidence, hey, Sammy?" Dean snarked.

"Shut up," Sam grumbled.

"I made him drag you here, Dean. So if you wanna be pissed, be pissed at me," John began. "I ordered your usuals, to give us some privacy. It seems we need to talk."

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6 @cracksinthewalls @atc74

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ichigo-daifuku · 4 years ago

Text

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil [2]

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Pairing: Diavolo/F!Reader Genre: Soulmate AU, Fake Relationship (?), Misunderstandings, Fluff, Angst, Suggestive Themes

Synopsis: During a confrontation between Diavolo and a certain witch who harbors unrequited feelings for him, he declares his intention to ask you to stand beside him in reigning over the Devildom someday. You conclude only one logical explanation for the insanity he uttered: this is his way of discouraging the witch from being so persistent. Although clueless, you play along and become ‘lovers’ with him.

Inevitably, your existing attraction for Diavolo grows, but the distinction between truth and lies, the crisscrossed lines of the right and the wrong, and the question of what’s real and what isn’t, begin to plague your mind and stir up trouble for your relationship with him with each passing day.

Entangled within the woven threads of soulmates and a royal prophecy, this is the story of the Demon Prince and his future Queen: you.

1 | 2 | 3 Chapter 2: Hear No Evil Word Count: 6.5k

To say your week was eventful would be an understatement.

It was no secret that wherever Diavolo went, eyes followed. Even if demons walked on eggshells with him, word about him spread from one mouth to another rapidly, both news and rumors alike. Now, your circumstances mimicked his own. When the two of you would be spotted together, all hell ensued. Once, Diavolo walked you to your classroom, and by the end of the day, everyone—including Belphegor, who had skipped classes—had knowledge of what happened. As the days passed, you slowly fell into the normalcy of such occurrences. The reason for it was when you were in Diavolo’s company, the last thing you cared about was the eyes trained on you, as strange as it sounded. On a positive note, it contributed to the fabrication of your relationship and made it more believable. No one had questioned either of you about it yet.

The most awaited day of the week arrived, Saturday.

You awoke in a good mood, undeniably filled with anticipation of the events today would bring. As you watered the Mirage Flower on your windowsill, the item resting beside it caught your eye: a note. You finished your task and took the crisp white envelope in your hands, flipping it over to see the crimson wax seal on its flap. While you were expecting the RAD logo to be stamped on it, the sigil was one you were positive you’d never seen before but felt strangely acquainted with.

With utmost care, you unsealed the envelope, and in the card, the sender had written:

Bewitched, I was, on the fateful day you and I met.

The familiar penmanship was all you needed to confirm it was, indeed, from none other than Diavolo.

You’d be lying if you claimed your heart didn’t flutter when you finished reading that single sentence, but that was a normal response, wasn’t it? Such a romantic sentiment was written in a note for you, and it was from an admirable man—of course, you’d be moved by it. As you breathed in and out to curb the initial surprise you felt due to the content of the envelope, you tapped behind the paper with your index finger, thinking.

Diavolo loved games, and he was entertained the most by being their mastermind.

This is a riddle, you thought. What a strange way to ask someone out.

You chuckled, both amused by his antics and by the way the gears in your head turned to figure out the meaning behind his words. Months ago, the demon brothers had insisted on coming with you to the Demon Lord’s Castle when you were invited there for tea. Perhaps, it was because, back then, Diavolo had requested for your company in the same manner that you found the answer in no time.

Quietness ruled over the RAD campus on weekends, a stark contrast to the busy picture it painted on weekdays. The area remained open, though, permitting industrious students to hole up inside the library and club members to work on their extracurricular activities.

Leisurely, you strolled along the garden and entered the building without bumping into anyone you knew. Once inside, you recognized a few demons and nodded to them as a greeting while navigating your way to the answer to the riddle: The Student Council Room.

The door let out a small creak as you pushed it open. Since Diavolo was nowhere to be found, you stepped inside and opted to look around for any signs of another envelope. Despite having a lot of papers and writing implements, Lucifer’s area was the tidiest. The square-shaped tube of the tinted lip balm Asmodeus had been frantically searching for yesterday was on his table. Meanwhile, a stack of overdue assignments Belphegor ‘forgot’ to bring home was on his desk.

You roamed around the room until you reached the space you had landed on when you were transported into this world. Standing still, you raised your head, your gaze meeting the podium Diavolo had occupied, the place where he greeted you. It was the very first time your eyes landed on him. In absolute clarity, you could picture the scene of your meeting and how he looked like back then. He was tall and proud, his eyebrows scrunched together in worry at your discomfort at being summoned so suddenly. Most of all, he was regal, as if the place he had been standing on was not a student council podium but a throne.

“This takes me back,” you commented, feeling nostalgic after realizing how far you’d come. You’d learned many things from your stay and met friends more precious to you than anyone else. In the past, if someone told you what kind of relationship you’d be sharing with the Demon Prince months later, you would’ve laughed and brushed them off. “Now, where could that envelope be?”

You stepped aside and moved forward. The stairs led you to where Diavolo had been on that ‘fateful’ day. Footsteps tentative but thrilled, you approached his seat, halting and pulling the chair out. You stood in the place where Diavolo belonged; high up, the sight offering a clear view of what was happening below. Your gaze zeroed in on the center of the room, the spot you stood at a while ago, where he first landed his eyes on you. It hit you that you were looking at that place from his perspective. What did he think of you back then?

“‘ Bewitched, I was, on the fateful day you and I met, ’” you uttered and caught yourself having thoughts you shouldn’t have. Sighing, you shook your head, picked up the envelope on Diavolo’s desk, and muttered, “Why is he so good at this?”

You unsealed the envelope and read the next riddle:

The greed and lust I harbor for you know no bounds.

How in the Devildom were you supposed to interpret that message? If you were surprised by the previous riddle, then you were flabbergasted now. You had to remind yourself multiple times: it was a riddle; nothing more, nothing less. Based on the emphasis he had given the sins in the message, the clue laid in the two members of the Seven Rulers of Hell: Mammon and Asmodeus. Intrigued by the events he had in store for you, you contemplated the riddle’s meaning further and descended on the stairs with the intent of going home. Before you could forget, you grabbed the missing lip balm Asmodeus left on his desk and decided to return it to him and ask him for any clues Diavolo might have given him.

Once you arrived back at the House of Lamentation, you went straight in the direction of Asmodeus’s room, but surprisingly, you met him along the hallway.

“Asmo! I found the tinted lip balm you’re looking for in the Student Council Room,” you stated, handing him the item.

He accepted it gratefully, his eyes wide. “Oh, my… I must have left it there a few days ago. Thanks for bringing it!”

“Sure thing,” you replied. “Where are you off to, by the way?”

“Glad you asked! The Into The Devildom collection I designed is going to be launched soon, so I’m meeting some partners for it.”

“Wow, congratulations! I’m looking forward to seeing your designs!”

“Oh, thank you, darling! As crazy as this sounds, the executives suggested Mammon as one of our models, so he’s going to attend the meeting, too.”

“Wait! What did you just say? Mammon?”

“I know, right?” His facial expression morphed into one full of disbelief and exasperation. “Well, I mean, even if he’s scummy off-cam, he does justice to clothing on-cam, so I have high hopes for this campaign... but don’t tell him I said that!”

“Yes, yes, of course…”

The request Asmodeus made barely registered in your mind as you figured out the place connected to both the Avatar of Greed and the Avatar of Lust: Majolish.

The Majolish VIP Room lived up to its name; it was nothing short of glamorous.

After going to an AkuDonald’s drive-through, Mammon, Asmodeus, and you—or as you liked to refer to yourselves: TEAM PARTYYYYY—headed straight to Majolish while chatting about random topics and gossip. Once inside the rose-colored establishment, Mammon and Asmodeus parted ways with you to attend their meeting. You were about to search for clues from the racks and shelves when a staff member approached and escorted you to a sitting room to serve you tea and snacks.

Minutes after partaking of the refreshments, the head stylist welcomed you to the adjoining VIP Room, where, at the moment, you were sitting inside and waiting. You stared at your reflection in the grand vanity mirror. All its lights were turned on, and it was an image you’d only seen in Hollywood movies back in your world. After you were all glammed up with flawless makeup, a staff member under Asmodeus brought an ensemble from his unreleased Into The Devildom collection. You tried to refuse, but after a phone call from the designer himself, insisting he wanted the best clothing for you on your ‘momentous’ date, you relented and expressed your gratitude for his thoughtful gesture.

“My lady,” the head stylist called. Although everyone in this place had been referring to you using this title since earlier, you were still unused to it. The head stylist offered you the item in their hands. “Lord Diavolo asked us to give you this envelope after you’d chosen your outfit.”

You smiled and received it. “I see. Thank you so much.”

“I wish you both a wonderful time,” the head stylist replied and left to give you privacy.

You opened the envelope, wondering what the riddle would say. Since he led you here to prepare you for your date, this would be the last note, wouldn’t it?

Meet me at the place where we first shared dinner, my princess.

I will be waiting.

— Diavolo

‘My princess.’

He called you his princess.

Your heart did a complete somersault at that.

Unexpectedly, the riddle—if you could even call it one—was more straightforward than the previous two you’d received. You placed the card back inside the envelope, putting it together with the other two inside your clutch. Clearing your throat and fixing your posture, you stood and adjusted your clothing. You were nervous again, but you were ready.

A sleek black car waited for you outside, ready to take you to your destination: Ristorante Six.

“You look even more beautiful tonight,” Diavolo remarked.

He smiled at you from across the table, his appearance dashing though he was only in a plain dress shirt and slacks. He took the champagne flute in his long fingers, your eyes refusing to miss the way his arm flexed at the movement and how his throat bobbed as he took a sip of the beverage.

“I have you to thank for that,” you gulped and managed to reply. “The staff at Majolish were all so nice and accommodating.”

“That’s good to hear.” He placed his glass on the side and leaned back to his seat, his eyes trained on you. “Did you enjoy the riddles?”

You let out a laugh. “I can’t say I didn’t.”

“I’m glad,” he said, the smile on his lips shifting into a frown. “To tell you the truth, I initially planned for us to enjoy a day together in the human world… but when I asked Lucifer for advice, he told me it wouldn’t be pleasant if we were to run into a certain witch…”

Ah, you thought, wondering what that would’ve entailed. However, wouldn’t it be better for Maddi to see you and Diavolo together for her to be deterred? When you contemplated the matter further, you supposed that would be dangerous—for you, at least. Honestly, you would’ve been fine with a simple dinner, but knowing Diavolo, the fact that Ristorante Six was empty save for the two of you was his way of apologizing and making up for the breakfast Maddi ruined. “You don’t need to worry about that. I really enjoyed today. It’s my first time going on a date in the Devildom.”

“That makes me happy,” he stated, visibly relieved and pleased. “We can still go, next time.”

Next time. The implication he wanted to go out with you again made your chest thrum with anticipation. “Yes, you’re right. Next time.”

He reached across the table and took your hand in his, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “Thank you for agreeing to go out with me.”

The scent of roses swirled around the room. The romantic atmosphere enveloping the two of you was intoxicating—as if it was an invitation for you to give in to the thoughts and emotions looming over your mind and heart. Was it those riddles that got to you? Or was it Diavolo himself, whom you’d always admired from afar?

You smiled at him and let your fingers hold on to his own tighter, just for a moment.

As you expected, Diavolo insisted on taking you home. You didn’t mind—no scratch that—it delighted you he’d offer, as your dinner with him felt strangely short. You’d spent a considerable amount of time during the day figuring out the riddles, a period longer than your two hours of dinner. While the five-course meal left you satisfied, your conversation with him was so enjoyable that it felt brief. It wouldn’t take that long to travel from Ristorante Six to the House of Lamentation, so you figured a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Soon, you arrived at your home. Diavolo entered the gates of the House of Lamentation with you in comfortable silence. Once the two of you stepped on the porch, you offered, “Do you want to go in and say hi to everyone?”

“Hm?” Diavolo was lost in thought as he gave you an indecisive stare.

“Diavolo?”

As you stared back at him, it dawned on you. You’d witnessed this scene a thousand times in human world movies before, and with his interest in the pop culture of your realm, he had, too. You used to think it was nothing but a ridiculous cliché, but now, you weren’t so sure about that anymore.

“Can I kiss you good night?” Diavolo asked in a low, husky voice.

You had no way of concealing the surprise etched on your face. Even if you expected the question, the thought of kissing him was surreal. You never dared to dream of it, yet here he was, truly asking you if such a thing would be fine with you. The demon brothers would be watching somewhere from one of the tall windows, you had no doubt about it, burning with curiosity about the date between the human they shared a pact with and the Prince they swore their loyalty to. You had agreed to be a part of Diavolo’s charade, and your first date went well. This was natural.

You nodded. “Okay.”

Closing your eyes, you leaned into his warmth as his palm made its way to your cheek and curved at your jaw. The gentle pressure of his lips on your own lasted for a mere second, and the loss of contact prompted your eyes to open, the desire for more reflected in your eyes… and his.

In front of you, Diavolo revealed the rare sight of his vulnerability. You’d never known it before, but there was a limit to his seemingly perpetual composure. As you gazed at the undeniable flush on his cheeks and the hesitation painted all over his countenance, the longing to see more of this version of him led adrenaline to spike in your veins.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered, “Do you need me to do more?”

Diavolo’s eyes widened at your astute inquiry, but he made no move to deny it. “Will you?”

The question sounded like a challenge, but underneath that layer, it was a plea. He wanted this, and you did, too—even if it was only for show.

“I can,” you confirmed, “if you’d like me to.”

At your agreement, his hesitation dissipated. He leaned in and brushed your lower lip with his thumb. “If you continue to tempt me like that, you need to prepare yourself for the consequences.”

“I’ve been prepared for them. Ever since I said ‘yes’ to you.”

You closed your eyes as Diavolo bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. It was a real one, this time, and you returned it enthusiastically, throwing caution to the wind. His palm moved past your cheek, down to your shoulder, pausing on the small of your back until it settled around your waist, fitting your bodies together. His warm tongue slid past the seam of your lips to meet yours, deepening the kiss and awakening a wave of desire inside of you.

Before it could get out of hand, you broke the contact of your lips on his. You caught your breath while Diavolo leaned his forehead against yours. Your lips stayed a hair’s breadth away from each other’s, sharing warm puffs of breath and brushing as you whispered, “Good night, Diavolo.”

“Good night, my princess.”

The first kiss you shared with Diavolo had been the beginning of many.

A certain thrill hung in the atmosphere whenever the two of you were in the vicinity of each other. More often than not, your encounters would lead to the two of you leaving hand in hand to move to a more private setting as everyone watched. Although there was no reason for you to continue your charade behind closed doors, the moment your eyes met his, kisses followed. When your relationship with him took a physical turn through your heated kisses, your attraction to him inevitably grew stronger.

Being the heir to the Devildon’s throne, Diavolo was a busy demon. Despite this, he would still take you on dates. You’d gone to Ristorante Six a few more times. There was an instance when he wanted to go to AkuDonald’s, and you were more than happy to introduce him to your favorites. Your date at Hell’s Kitchen went well, too. How he managed to find the time for these things, you had no idea. The following dates you went with him were accompanied with gifts, and soon, across your bedroom’s shelves and beside your pillows, various plush toys from Cranesanity rested—all acquired personally by Diavolo. It was both amusing and endearing, his interest in that game.

On a Sunday afternoon, weeks after you began your dangerous affair with him, Diavolo invited you to come over for tea in the Demon Lord’s Castle. Much like how it began after your second date, he had asked you in a way you’d consider normal, this time, through a text message. Either way, if he was the one who invited you, you’d be delighted to accept.

With the inky view of the Devildom outside the sitting room window, you sat across Diavolo, a round ornate table full of pastries between the two of you. The freshly brewed Ceylon tea by none other than Barbatos, a culinary legend, was warm and fragrant in your teacups. One of the best things in the Demon Lord’s Castle was the food. Barbatos’s cooking was the best, truly fit for royalty, and worth every praise you’d heard about it. As Beelzebub would mention now and then, from being served such food alone, Diavolo was lucky to have Barbatos as his butler.

While eating, Diavolo brought up how the RAD Newspaper Club contacted him and asked for his approval for your photo in the academy’s courtyard to be published. Before giving them a response, he wanted to know if you had any objections or conditions for Mephistopheles to take into account.

“I have no problem with it, honestly. It would be better if the denizens knew, wouldn’t it?” you responded after giving it some thought, meaning every word you said.

Diavolo nodded, considering your answer.

“What about you? What do you think?” you asked.

“I’d like nothing more than to let everyone know about us. Not that they don’t know already, but officially, I mean.” Diavolo chuckled and handed you a printed copy of the photograph for your approval. “We look like quite the pair, don’t we?”

As you examined the picture, a smile made its way to your lips, a tiny, if not bittersweet, one. You, Diavolo, and the Mirage Flower were at the center of the frame. On the surface, the two of you looked like a couple in love; convincing, real. You knew better, though, and that reality left a pang in your chest. “We sure do.”

A celebratory ball was going to be held at the Demon Lord’s Castle in honor of Diavolo’s prophesied ‘Queen.’ In other words, the ball was going to be held to honor you. The situation was similar to what happened some time ago when the demon brothers, through their gratitude, made you the guest of honor during Diavolo’s birthday. It lessened the nervousness you felt and replaced it with anticipation.

Still, it would be nice to thank Diavolo for everything he had done for you. You looked back on the facts you’d learned about him in the past few months and listed the arts, cute animals and items, and sweets as the things he was partial to. His tastes were eclectic. When you first met him, you wouldn’t have guessed he considered flowers and small animals to be comforting.

In the end, you decided to go for the ‘sweets’ option. Macarons and cupcakes would be nice, wouldn’t they? Both of them would be cute and sweet. You decided to experiment with a few trial batches before making a final one to give Diavolo as a gift on the day of the ball.

Luke, who you were convinced was truly your guardian angel, was more than happy to assist you when you asked him for help.

Once your classes were dismissed, you returned to the House of Lamentation with Luke. After he demonstrated how to make macarons and cupcakes, you sat side by side and chatted as you waited for the pastries to bake.

“So,” Luke began out of the blue, “you’re really dating Lord Diavolo, huh? I couldn’t believe it when I first heard about it.”

While you had experienced telling white lies to children back in your world, at the moment, you found it difficult to believe how you were lying to an angel. “Haha, yeah. It’s been a while.”

“I’m still not over the fact that a good human like you ended up being destined for a demon all along! Even if that demon is Lord Diavolo…” Luke frowned. He had always been like this, worrying about you, a human who was constantly surrounded by demons. To him, now that you were going to be Diavolo’s Queen, your entanglement with demons had become inexorable.

You couldn’t help but reach out to him and ruffle his hair. He was truly an angel, a good kid.

“H-Hey,” he complained but did nothing to move your hand away, “stop that!”

“Thanks for worrying about me, Luke.” You smiled at him reassuringly and patted his shoulder. “Everything will be fine. As you said, Diavolo and I… well, we are destined, after all.”

The sound of the timer prompted your heads to turn to its source. Luke’s face lit up as he excitedly grabbed his mittens and skipped to the corner of the room. The heavenly scent of pastries wafted all over the kitchen as he drew the oven’s door open.

You, however, stayed in place and merely watched, once again having difficulty believing how you lied to an angel.

Diavolo’s trusted footmen fetched you from the House of Lamentation to the Demon Lord’s Castle.

Over the last few months, you’d developed a sense of familiarity not only with Diavolo’s staff but also with the ins and outs of his grand home. You’d stayed over numerous times that the guest room you frequented in was now assigned as exclusively yours, with your personal effects in it, serving as your room. Aside from your possessions, brand new designer clothing purchased by Diavolo—which were, unexpectedly, all in your size—as well as makeup, accessories, toiletries, and everything you could need, occupied the walk-in closet.

“Is this really necessary?” you had asked him when you found out about his shopping spree, worry trumping the other mixed emotions you felt at the sight of more gifts.

“I want to give all the best things to you.”

“If you say things like that, I…”

“Don’t you think my future Queen deserves the best of the best?”

“...Right, of course.”

Diavolo’s Queen. That person was not you. You sighed and reminded yourself he was the Demon Prince. He had an eternity’s worth of money to spare, purchasing these items was nothing to him. He prepared this for the Queen in the prophecy, a partner deserving of such luxury. When you eventually had to use some of the items for attending events with Diavolo, you told yourself you were just borrowing them. You handled everything with care and returned them to their original place after use—as if your hands never touched them at all.

You arrived at the Demon Lord’s Castle and found yourself sitting on the plush sofa inside Diavolo’s study. After recently having a vision of Diavolo playing hooky, Barbatos requested for you to keep an eye on him, insisting his master would listen to you. Barbatos asked you to make sure Diavolo would finish his tasks before the two of them had to leave for a meeting with important figures of the nobility in the Devildom. You obliged, having nothing else to do on a Friday night, preferring Diavolo’s quiet company over the club music and neon lights in town, which would no doubt be full of demons unwinding tonight. While you scrolled through Devilgram, liked your friends’ photos, and laughed at funny videos, Diavolo went through his stack of papers diligently. As the pile grew smaller, he hummed to the tune of a song from Mononoke Land, which piqued your attention.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” you commented.

“I am.” He nodded happily. “You’re here, after all.”

You smiled at him. “I’m glad.”

Diavolo signed his name at the bottom of the page he was working on and placed his seal on it. After the wax dried, he closed the folder and placed it to the side, leaning back against his seat with an exhausted sigh.

You glanced at him and asked, “You’re finished?”

“It seems so,” he replied, checking the grandfather’s clock in the corner of the room, “and with a few minutes to spare, too.”

“Barbatos will be pleased. Congratulations!”

He chuckled and shifted his gaze back to you, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

“Maybe,” you played along coyly. “What kind of reward do you want?”

“Something only you can give me.”

“Such a thing exists?”

“Yes.” He gestured to you with his fingers, beckoning you over. “Come here.”

You locked your D.D.D. and left it on the sofa, standing up and stepping in front of his desk. “What can I do for you, Diavolo?”

“You can come closer.”

You circled the desk until you were beside him. “Here?”

“Not quite.” He took your wrist and encircled your waist with his arm, pulling you into his lap. “Right here.”

You shifted and found a more comfortable position with your legs hanging from the side of his knees. “That’s it?”

“No.” Diavolo brushed your hair aside and caressed your cheek. “Kiss me.”

Gladly, you thought but ultimately chose actions over words as a response.

Your lips had long been acquainted with his, but every single time remained as a sensual experience that left you wanting for more. Sometimes he’d be slow and gentle, taking his time to savor your taste, while other times had been quick pecks on your lips when either of you would be busy and in a rush to say goodbye.

But now, the kiss the two of you were sharing could only be described as passionate. Your palms rested on his shoulders, and slowly, you wrapped your arms around him, closing in your bodies toward each other. His lips moved against yours so greedily—lustfully—that you felt sinful as you reciprocated, drowning in his warmth.

When you pulled away to catch your breath, his arm tightened around your waist, and his mouth swept over your cheek, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake until his lips found your neck. He kissed you softly, his tongue darting out to dampen your skin before nipping and sucking at it.

“Diavolo,” you closed your eyes and whispered, not wanting to make noise but unable to hold it in.

“Let out your voice,” he said, moving his lips downward after leaving a lovebite on your skin. “I want to hear you.”

His long fingers unfastened the button of your blouse, giving him more access to your body. As he moved to the next button, however, a loud knock on the door caused the two of you to freeze.

“My Lord,” Barbatos called. “It is time for us to leave.”

Without waiting for an answer, the sound of footsteps echoed on the empty hallway and faded as Barbatos gave the two of you privacy.

He knows, doesn’t he? That Barbatos, you thought, internally panicking. You moved away from Diavolo and fixed your hair and clothes. Even though your mind was all muddled now, you managed to casually tell him, “I guess it’s time for you to go.”

Deep inside, you were anything but calm. Your head replayed the events that occurred minutes ago. That was a close call. Too close. What in the Devildom were you thinking? Seriously…

It always irked you how times when, after sharing a kiss, Diavolo appeared to be unbothered existed. You preferred the vulnerable expression he had shown you during the first time you agreed to kiss him. Still, you were curious, and you turned your head to peek at the face he made tonight, but nothing could have prepared you when your eyes met his.

His gaze on you was full of desire, an emotion you’d only seen on him in flickers before; a speculation you doubted but was now a blatant truth. He stepped closer to you and pulled you in a tight embrace, letting you feel the extent of his arousal as he stroked your hair and inhaled your fragrance.

“We’ll finish this next time,” he whispered.

And then, he sealed his promise with a kiss.

After seeing Diavolo and Barbatos off, you opted to go home instead of staying longer in the Demon Lord’s Castle. You needed time to think, and being in a place full of memories with Diavolo didn’t help in clearing your mind.

You’d long accepted your attraction to him. If you were to imagine what it would be like to be in a relationship with a soulmate, every detail would be the same as the romantic affair you shared with Diavolo, except it would be real. Tonight, you had to face the music and admit it to yourself: you wished it was.

The situation was getting out of your hands, and at a loss of what to do, you grabbed your D.D.D. from your pocket and dialed a reliable friend’s number, knowing this decision would change your life.

As insisted by the angels, Solomon went to town to order takeout for dinner instead of experimenting in the kitchen. That was when he received your call. The two of you agreed to meet up at Hell’s Kitchen, as you spontaneously decided to purchase food for the demon brothers as well. It had been a while since all eight of you had gone for a meal there. Solomon wasn’t in a rush and had time to spare, so he was more than happy to sit down with you for a chat as you waited for your orders to be processed.

“Shall we have a round of Demonus tonight?” he asked, leading you to a nice, secluded table in the corner of the room.

“Sounds good,” you replied with a nod and took the seat in front of him.

After some idle chat, a waiter brought two horns of Demonus for you and Solomon.

With his elbows on top of the table, Solomon rested his chin over his folded hands. He broached the subject with a smile, “So, what did you want to talk about? Spells? Pacts? Demons? Recipes?”

You took your time in replying, not having uttered this word in this world before. “I’d like to talk about… soulmates.”

“Soulmates? Well, that’s something I didn’t expect.”

“Yes, I… I wanted to know if there are demons who have soulmarks.”

“How come? By any chance, do you have a soulmark?”

It was difficult enough for you to acknowledge you had one, but if you wanted to acquire information from Solomon, your best bet at the moment, you had to come clean about your situation. “Yes, I do.”

“Does Lord Diavolo know?”

“No, this is a secret I’ve never revealed to anyone before.”

Solomon contemplated the situation you had given him. “That is certainly complicated.”

You sighed and took a sip of your Demonus. “I know.”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you. I’ve been around for a long time, but I’ve never met a demon with a soulmark.”

“I see. That’s…” Sad? Unfortunate? Heartbreaking? What were you supposed to say when the disappointment clouding your mind felt so heavy?

“I’m sorry,” Solomon said sincerely.

“It’s… It’s nothing. I’m alright.”

He took a sip of his drink and allowed you to process the information he had given you. As you did, you couldn’t help but dwell on another matter that continued to plague your mind. After a few minutes, you decided this would be the best moment to ask.

“Solomon…”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Have you heard about Diavolo’s prophecy?”

A sly smile made its way to his lips. “Let’s just say having pacts with seventy-two demons has its perks.”

That caught your attention. He knew something about it. “Will you tell me?”

“Why not ask him yourself?” Solomon suggested. “It’s something that concerns you as well, doesn’t it?”

There had always been a sense of camaraderie between the two of you as the only humans in the exchange program. Revealing the fact you had a soulmark was one thing, but telling him about the secret you shared with Diavolo was another. Still, if you were to receive the answer your gut feeling told you that you would receive, there would be no need to worry about that any longer.

“I’m going to tell you another secret.”

Solomon nodded encouragingly. “And it will remain as one.”

His quip made you laugh, but the amusement faded in the blink of an eye, the words you were about to utter weighing you down.

“The truth is, I’m just a stand-in for whoever is the one in the prophecy,” you confessed. “I’m sure you’ve heard of her, but Maddi… well, long story short, Diavolo had to drive her away, but she steered the conversation to the prophecy, and I happened to be there, so…”

Solomon peered at your face, his expression grave. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes, I was there. That’s what happened.”

“And the demon brothers don’t know, so you can’t ask them yourself.”

“That’s right.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

Relief washed over you at his agreement. If Solomon ended up refusing, you didn’t know who else you could approach.

Solomon cleared his throat and divulged, “It was long ago, so the version of the story varied, but from what I’d gathered from the different sources I had, one thing was constant: a witch had a vision of the future when the Demon Prince was born. It was said that Diavolo’s Queen would be the bridge to his goals, and only when the Queen would rule by his side would he be able to see them into fulfillment.”

This was the revelation you needed, the answer you sought after. If the prophecy was made when Diavolo was born, it meant that he had been waiting for his Queen for millennia.

It must be lonely, you thought, but loneliness was something you never saw on him.

While you never cared about finding nor ending up with your soulmate, it was a different matter with Diavolo. The Devildom would always be his number one priority. To figure out the dream the prophecy was referring to was easy: for the three worlds to live peacefully in coexistence. He’d expressed that many times before. The establishment of the exchange program was a stepping stone to actualize his vision, but he was still waiting for his Queen, a position vyed by many but was in your wrongful hands.

It would be fine to continue pretending to be his Queen if you weren’t in love with him… but you were. How could you continue kissing him and wishing every caress of his lips was sincere? It was as if you were a traveler with a parched throat who spotted an oasis from afar, only to discover it was a mirage once you reached it. Even now, a flicker of envy sparked within you for the nameless, faceless Queen of the Devildom he was bound to have by his side. At once, you discarded the thought and decided it wasn’t a good feeling to have, to covet him, who is destined for someone else. It would be wrong of you to continue pretending to be someone you weren’t, especially since someone who might be out there already existing, deserved this place.

Solomon’s worried voice roused you from your reverie. “You seem shaken. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine,” you responded with a shaky voice. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”

“What do you plan to do now?”

“I’m going to break things off with him.”

“You say that, but will he let you?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” You let out a sardonic chuckle. “It’s not like there was anything going on between us, to begin with.”

“Hmm…”

“Solomon? What is it?”

“Oh, nothing.” He shook his head and smiled. “I’m curious to see how this unfolds. I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you.”

Yes, breaking things off with him would be the right thing to do. After all, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in Maddi’s shoes as Diavolo blatantly rejected your affection. The thought alone was painful enough. Before that could happen, you’d part ways with him in amicable terms and through your own will. The exchange program was going to end soon, anyway. Truly, there was no point in holding on to him any longer. This would be for the best.

You would set things straight and end your arrangement with him the next time you planned to meet each other: at the upcoming celebratory ball at the Demon Lord’s Castle.

Notes: I went through a writing slump for a while, so I decided to work on a few shorter pieces before writing this chapter. Finally, it’s here! To those who had been waiting for this, I hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for your patience! ♡

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Obey Me! Masterlist | Main Masterlist

#obey me #obey me!#obey me diavolo #obey me! diavolo #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #swd #shall we date #shall we date obey me #shall we date: obey me #LordDiavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo x reader #🙈🙉🙊

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obaby-me · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, uh feel free to ignore this but, could I have some headcanons on how the brothers react to an MC with really bad depression but it’s hard to spot? Like, they’re a really sweet cinnamon roll and always putting everyone before them and loves talking about anime, books, cats, music, and anything else they like. It’s hard to spot but the more time they spend with them the more the little details show, like how they never finish a meal(pt 1)

Author’s Note: No need to apologize. Really, you just handed me a bunch of starter sentences.

Lucifer

“I’m used to it,” you said with a smile.

There was nothing to smile about.

Lucifer had this whole evening planned out for the two of you. A night out at one of the finest restaurants in the Devildom, a special bottle on reserve for the two of you. He’d been prepared to take you to the skies tonight, to see the meteor shower up close tonight, and have you make wish after wish tonight.

You had been so excited for the shower. You told him of the human custom of wishing upon shooting stars over a month ago and the minute he knew the shower was coming, he made positively sure to clear his schedule for it. And yours as well.

But he’d had to break them. Diavolo had requested his presence on an emergency and he couldn’t say no. You knew that. He knew that.

And when he broke the news, while he knew you’d be understanding, he had expected at least some disappointment, maybe even tears.

He’d been prepared for that.

“The things happen all the time,” you assure him, giving him a smile. “I’ve learned to accept that. Plans are always more likely than not to be cancelled. I’ve learned not to keep such expectations.”

Lucifer felt guilt well up inside him. “My sincere apologies,” he said once again. “I did not realize I had made it such a habit to put you aside like this. I will make it up to you,” he promised.

“Oh, it’s not you,” you told him waving away his concern. “Everyone does it. It’s okay, really!” To emphasize your point, you continued, “One time, for my birthday, we were going to go to this giant indoor waterpark. But mother sort of forgot and took the family car for the day to a friend’s place. We had to cancel.”

And you laughed. You laughed and Lucifer knew that something was deeply wrong. Wrong with the people around you to treat you with such disrespect to put you aside for the most menial and selfish of reasons; and wrong with you to believe it as acceptable.

Lucifer would have to correct that. While in this particular case, because it was an absolute emergency, for the future, he made sure to keep a perfect record: every plan he made, he kept—and always perfectly on time. Nothing but Diavolo emergencies, real emergencies, could deter him. If it meant sleepless nights in preparation, or sending a brother in his stead, he would suffer it. And he made sure each brother kept their promises as well. Punishments became extremely severe should they be late when attending to you or in skipping any plans to you.

You had to know you were worth the time promised to you.

Mammon

“My church always did say I was going to hell,” you chuckled in response to Mammon when he officially, and drunkenly, proclaimed you “one of us!”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, slinging an arm around your neck and giggling drunkenly into you. “What for, troublemaker?”

“For being bi.”

Mammon gave a small snort, and waited for the rest of your list, but apparently, that was the end of your list. Or maybe he missed it. His head was spinning rather terribly. “Is that it?”

“Yes.”

Mammon laughed loudly in response, his grip on your shoulders pulling you to sway with him as the two of you walked towards the House of Lamentation. “Love ain’t a reason to be sent to hell!” What a ridiculous concept. Love wasn’t a sin, in fact, it was a kind of virtue.

You gave him a smile, smaller than you should for a night like this. Did you not believe him?

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound as sober as possible despite his drunken state. He figured it’d help if maybe he stopped walking to do so. “We really don’t judge that here,” he said. “Ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that.”

“I know,” you said as you tried to get him moving again.

“No, ya don’t. Ya lookin’ all sad. About bein’ bi. Ya ain’t gotta be sad ‘bout that.”

“I’m not sad that I’m bi,” you clarify.

“Ya look sad,” he insisted.

You giggled slightly in return, and he just knew the words in your brain were something emasculating, like ‘cute.’

“On the contrary, I’m happy. I’m happy you don’t mind.”

Mammon laid his head against you. “Course I don’t. They shouldn’t either.”

“Well, they do.”

“Well, I don’t. And I’m here. And they’re not.”

You gave a small laugh as he blearily babbled on about how he intended to protect you from such people, from such things. You needn’t worry about a thing with him around, he assured you.

Leviathan

“I can relate.”

“To... this?” Levi asked with some surprise, eyes averting from the screen to you cuddled into his side.

You gave a small nod, unexpressive as you watched the protagonist, having lost his match against his rival, defeatedly monologue his own existential crises to the audience. Was all their efforts for nothing? What was the point of trying for more when clearly their dreams would never be realized?

Levi was quiet for a time, watching as the hero wallow in himself, waiting for the inevitable turn around, where the hero finds the answers to his question, finds his inspiration and resolve to keep them going.

But it didn’t come, not by the end of the episode.

Offended, Levi began a tirade of criticisms for regarding the episode, his worries not for the hero despite the context—but rather, for you.

For the next week he searches for anime and manga that center around the same themes, making sure the episodes and chapters that would bring the answers and conclusions necessary were available.

You had to read them.

You had to know.

Satan

“I think I was raised by a cult,” you murmured quietly.

Satan peered over his book at you, the air of silence you two had been enjoying while you read side by side broken by the most unexpected sentence.

He had many questions, but the first to make it out of his mouth was, “what?”

“Sorry,” you apologized quickly for having broken his concentration.

“A cult?” Satan continued, curious as to where this was going. “What kind of cult?”

“I was raised to think I was my dad’s property and that to go against my parents was to go against God.” You explained quietly, embarrassed to be speaking about this topic at all. But you had been the one to bring it up, albeit by accident—your mouth converting thoughts to your external voice rather than internal.

“Not an entirely novel concept for the middle ages. Have to say I’m surprised it’s managed to stick around,” Satan responded with a frown, closing his book carefully, a marker set into place to save it.

“Do you believe that to be true?” He asked.

You shook your head. He felt relief wash over him.

“But sometimes I still feel that, sort of, guilt, you know?”

Satan shifted so that he could get his arms around you, laying himself gently against you. “I imagine it would be difficult a feeling to unlearn.”

You said nothing in return, but quietly put some of your weight against him in acceptance of his affection.

“You don’t belong to anyone. You have every right to your own choices, no matter how your parents feel.” Satan murmured reminders into you. You knew these things, but to hear it felt reassuring.

It became a running theme that when asking you out for a date, Satan would ask or simply surprise you with, “something you’ve always wanted to do that you’re parents would absolutely hate.”

Asmodeus

“My dad’s always saying how fat I am,” you explained as you decline Asmo’s offering of his parfait.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Asmo asked with a tilt of his head.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat across from him and give a small noise that he thought you thought were words, but were entirely unintelligible once it hit the air.

“What was that, darling?”

“I said, I just don’t think I should have any.”

“Are you on a diet?”

“I mean, I should be.” You fidgeted in your seat, refusing to look Asmo in the eye. This was supposed to be a happy occasion: a special date he’d planned for the two of you out on the town trying all the most wonderful trendy treats the season had to offer.

“What do you mean you should be?”

“Well, my dad—“

Your dad, again? Why did his opinion matter to you so much? Especially when that opinion was just so wrong?

“Your dad has no right to say anything about your beautiful body, love!” Asmo protested. “If you want to diet, honey, we can go on one together. But don’t you dare say no to this parfait on account of your dad.”

For the rest of the day, and on into the evening, Asmo laid his compliments thick, and showered you with the attention your lovely body deserves.

Beelzebub

“I’m just not that hungry.”

“You said that at lunch too. And at breakfast.”

It wasn’t entirely unusual for you to skip a meal now and again. Sometimes, you just weren’t hungry after spending two hours snacking on gummies and popcorn in Levi’s room while marathoning TSL. Technically not a meal, but at least you had something in your stomach. Sometimes you were just too focused on a task that you’d forget the time all together.

But today you’d had nothing at all while holed away in your room. The few times he’d passed by, you laid curled on your side, scrolling through your phone.

A growl erupted in the room, and it wasn’t Beel’s. Your stomach was calling you out as a liar—outing you to the Avatar of Hunger incarnate.

“You should eat. I’ll pick something up for you.”

“I’m really not up to eating anything today.”

“Are you ill?”

“No,” you responded, turning your face away, as if ashamed to even look at him.

“You need to eat,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to.”

The question of why didn’t need to be asked. He only need to stare at you expectantly until you’d cave under his gaze.

“I don’t feel well,” you grumbled, contradicting yourself.

“Is it a cold? Satan does say you starve a cold and feed a fever.” He paused a moment. “Or was it the other way around?“ Beel asked himself, trying to recall the last time he and had his brothers had gotten sick. It had been centuries ago. (And it had been a disaster of each one getting sick after the other, passing it around.)

“It’s not that kind of sick.” You mumbled softly. “It’s not a body sick. It’s just... a...” You sunk further into the cocoon of your covers looking miserable. An unusual look for you.

“Sad sick?”

Not quite the way you’d put it, but it was apt enough for youYou didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Beel quietly joined you on your bed, wrapping his arms around your comforter wrapped form and tugging you close. He’d feed you later, he’d hug you now.

Belphegor

“My needs don’t matter.”

“They do,” came Belphie’s immediate response—cutting in a way that felt dangerous, frightening: an end to the sentence, to the thought. His eyes were stern and you shivered beneath his gaze, having both been caught off guard by how quick his response had been, and how angry it had been.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered in response, feeling guilty that you had upset him, to have ruined the lovely moment you two had been having.

Arms wrapped around you as Belphie pulled you against him. He shifted from sitting beside you, to wrapping himself around you, trapping you between his legs and his arms. “Don’t say it again. Don’t think it.”

Easier said than done, he knew that. “Belphie, it’s okay—“

“It’s not.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, an automatic response.

“You matter,” Belphie said, his head dropped into your shoulder and neck as he curled tighter around you. “You matter to me. If you need something, you should ask it. I’ll give it to you. I’d give you everything.”

There was quiet as you thought the statement over. “I just don’t want to be a bothe-“

“You’re not.” Belphie pre-emptively answered. “You could never be. Ask me. Ask anything of me. I gave myself to you, didn’t I?”

You thought yourself so little, so unimportant, but to Belphie you were so significant, so important, so beloved—and to have you not recognize that was as disrespectful to yourself as it was to him.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #headcanon #ouch #my heart #it's gonna be okay anon #i hope these make you feel better

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luminashdawnwing · 4 years ago

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The Wages of Sin: Part I

Never had Luminash set foot in a place where the air was so utterly dead. Not still, for there was movement of a sort, drifting particles swirling about. He shuddered to think what, precisely, they were. Some intelligence, after all, indicated that the very dry, dusty ground beneath his boots was the shattered, trampled remnants of tormented souls, reduced to nothing more than powdery stygia. It was not his first time diving into this abyss, and it never failed to fill him with dread.

Nothing in this place possessed even a passing semblance of life. The Mawsworn appeared to be little more than walking armaments, hollow shells filled with agonized spirits, mere husks of their former selves. They did not speak - at least that Luminash heard in his hunts here; there was no way to communicate with them. Whatever they had once been, they now were empty vessels for the Jailer’s will.

The Tremaculum teemed with them, and the stygian shades, their faces - multiple screaming faces, shifting, growing, shrinking on each one - trapped in torment, the preparation for becoming fuel for the Mawsworn. That was, as far as the magister could tell, the purpose for this fortress. A cozy, fortified corner of the Maw to tear and warp the innocents now rushing into it in droves until nothing remained.

The very idea of this place was sickening. Not just the Tremaculum, but the entire plane. Had it always been this way, an endless, timeless hell with no escape? Or had the Jailer turned it into a weapon for his ends? Perhaps if he could find more information on the First Ones beyond their waystones, their little baubles…

Shaking his head, he dispelled his wandering thoughts. At this moment, they mattered very little. What was of greater importance were the souls trapped below. Luminash observed the fortified Tremaculum from a vantage point on a floating piece of debris, twisted remains of whatever this place had once been. Following the stray paths of anima, his keystone had allowed him this, and he was thankful, for below were too many Mawsworn for his taste. It reminded him of more pleasant times, more pleasant places. Nagrand, for instance. He permitted himself a short, dry laugh.

His efforts in the Maw had seen new souls brought into Sinfall, new souls to drive the machine of redemption. Here, though, he had traced one of particular importance. Amid the flows of anima bleeding from all the wounded, maimed spirits trapped, Luminash had caught something familiar. A fleeting trace of a memory, a man lying face down in the mud of Nazmir, shovel - his only weapon, his failed hopes - lying beside him. Reliquary chief digger Ardien. Luminash’s charge, and Luminash’s failure. He could not tell if it had been calling to him, or purely a trick of his mind. Either way, the traces had led here.

The Mawsworn patrolled almost aimlessly, unpredictably, and yet there were few gaps to exploit in their defenses, so great were their numbers. The traces of anima were too slight here to follow - he had tried - and too tangled up in the multitude of others. How he wished he could save them all, but this had driven him nearly to collapse entirely in Nazjatar. He would not allow it to happen again, for his sake as much as for Jaskian, as for Theras. He would need to fight sooner or later here, he knew well, and closed his eyes, gripping the keystone.

In the span of a breath, he was now just outside the outer wall of the Tremaculum, sheltered from view in its shadow, hugging the cold metal - was it metal? - tightly. A step closer, and yet infinitely more dangerous than his distant perch had been. His quarry - his charge, his failure - had passed by here, through this gate, a presence the magister still could feel, still could follow. Using the keystone here, though, would be too risky. Too likely to hurl him into the midst of Mawsworn. He would have to rely on the more traditional methods available to him.

Stepping out of the shadows, the darkness seemed to cling to the magister for a moment, he becoming an extension of them. Another step, and there was only a shimmering haze in the air where he ought to have been, the light bent around him to cloak him from view. Within, he felt the rush of the arcane, a sense of calm as he rode that surging river, and the lingering presence of the exhaustion he would feel if he drank too deeply. This could not last long.

With quick strides, he slipped past the Mawsworn sentinels at the gate, his magic muffling the sound of his steps, too, on the hard-packed stygian soil. The keystone throbbed in his hand his grip was so tight, but the trail remained clear, winding through the courtyard - of a sort, anyway - and veering towards cages lining a shaded passage beneath a rocky outcropping, the tormentors of the souls within standing watch.

Still wrapped in invisibility, the magister continued, his steps purposeful. To his right, a sight he tried to put out of his mind to better focus on the task at hand, the Jailer’s husks were inflicting something upon captive shades, tendrils of domination magic snaking around them, the horrific amalgamations shrieks echoing off the walls. To his left, those rows of cages, most of the souls within recognizable as Azerothian - victims of the Fourth War - winding out of sight in the shadow of the rocky outcropping that sheltered much of the Tremaculum. It was through them that he had to follow the trail. In all likelihood, Ardien was trapped within.

Luminash could feel his grip on the space around himself slipping. His cloak would soon give way, exposing him to the sight of the Jailer’s legions. A lone Mawsworn stood guard over the way forward, the deep shadows behind it a perfect refuge, and it posed little threat while unaware. Drinking from that river of the arcane, Luminash focused on a location nearby - but not too close - perhaps his former vantage point, the lone rock teetering over the abyss. There was a tearing in space as he raised his hands, clasping them and pulling them apart again, and a sound like ripping fabric. In a split second, a portal opened beneath the guard’s feet, and snapped shut again as soon as it had fallen through, a clattering arising from the other end before silence again fell.

Launching himself forward with a blink, Luminash slammed into the stone, slumping against it and letting out a breath he did not know he had been holding. The shroud of light folded around him dissipated. This was going well enough, he thought, even if he had spent this much energy early on. This secret corner would provide a bit of respite. Another thought, and a small chuckle - how the Kirin Tor would grouse and moan if they knew how a portal had been abused!

What would he do when he found Ardien? The Venthyr had acquired a soulkeeper, a Broker device, for the magister to use, to bring the broken spirits of the Maw back to aid in restoring Revendreth. He thought, wryly, that he might just know which Broker was responsible for this deal. He had no illusions that they were still keeping tabs on him. The device itself, a white crystal not too much larger than his hand, could only hold a few souls at once. What if others were trapped too? He could not leave them behind. But he must, if need be. You cannot save them all, he repeated to himself, a refrain in his mind, melancholy yet ringing with surety.

Heavy thoughts weighing him down, yet light with purpose, Luminash began to slowly, carefully, make his way along the walls, always keeping close, and winding by cage after cage, ebon-clad tormentor after tormentor. He repeated to himself, blinking from refuge to refuge, you can’t save them all. Not today. The trail, the traces of Ardien’s anima, continued through the passage and out the other side, winding down steps. He was not in one of the cages after all, it seemed. Though this should have been a relief, Luminash’s stomach turned. There was no relief in the Maw. Wherever he was being held, it could only be worse.

Another drink of the river, another shroud cast over the magister’s body as he slipped down the steps. The path continued into a doorway carved in the stone face, its frame that same dark, bleak metal as the rest of this infernal architecture. The anima was stronger now, its source closer, and something told Luminash, in pain. He had another flash before his eyes of his chief digger scrabbling in the muck, a wave of panic in the face of the inevitable. It was enough to shake his concentration, and shatter his illusion. He slumped forward outside the door, looking up to see one of the armor-clad Mawsworn before him.

The sentry lashed out before Luminash fully understood what was happening. His reflexes, though, saved him from the downswing of its axe, a barrier of pure arcane raised by his own raised hands. The axe struck, a sharp crack, like a rock striking glass, and Luminash grunted with exertion as he channeled that force into his own blast, the barrier folding and striking back against the attacker, sending even a figure as large and imposing as it stumbling back.

Standing on more even ground now, Luminash’s hands and eyes surged with the arcane. One hand rose up, tightening the space around the Mawsworn’s axe, then jerked to the side, the black steel torn away and clattering against the passage’s wall. In what may have been surprise, the armored figure turned, and while reaching for its weapon, was struck again with another arcane blast, the surge overwhelming it and knocking it to the floor too with a crash. The metal encasing the soul fragments swirling within began to buckle and screech as Luminash clenched his other hand into a fist.

The magister strode forward, stepping over the crumpled heap of metal, even as it still tried to reach for its weapon, to no avail, “Do stay out of my way.” His target was still further along, and it seemed that stealth was no longer an option by the sounds of more Mawsworn clattering about ahead, alerted by the shrieking of their fallen sentry’s armor. The air had changed; what once was still had become heavy, oppressive. Something had taken notice.

The hall that wound into the depths of the Tremaculum grew darker as Luminash traveled further from the surface. He wondered, perhaps, if the Mawsworn even needed light to see given their nature. The idle thoughts were shattered by the arrival - he had expected them - of backup for the fallen sentry.

As the first clanking shell of armor rose into view on the steps, Luminash unleashed a burst of power into its chest, sending it flying back and bowling into those following. The crashing of metal on metal echoed off the bleak walls, but the magister paid it little heed. As the Mawsworn scrabbled back to their feet, weapons at the ready, he blinked by their tangled mass and continued on. A wave of his hand to gather the thread, a clench of his fist to knot it, and the sentry’s reinforcements were trapped in a time lock. Not for long, though, Luminash reminded himself. Every second counted now.

The air of oppression continued to grow worse as Luminash delved deeper, quickly discounting any side path or open door beyond which he could not feel the pull of Ardien’s anima. It felt as if eyes were boring into the back of the magister’s neck, peering from somewhere in the darkness - or even through the stone and steel above and around him. The threads that bound the time lock were beginning to slip, he could feel them, the flow of arcane growing thinner and thinner as his distance from his hapless victims grew. As the passage opened into a massive underground chamber, the threads at last snapped. Ardien must be here, or else he would need to make a hasty retreat. His heart had begun to pound as the eyes bored deeper.

Luminash’s eyes grew wide and his heart sank as he observed what lay before him. He had not seen anything like this since the Sunreaver campaign in Icecrown, though this made the Cult of the Damned and the Scourge look like amateurs. The walls were lined with nooks, souls bound in bleak chains, the ashen magic of Domination swirling around them, woven by floating figures in dark robes, the armor worn over those robes looking eerily like the frosty spires of Icecrown itself. The victims of the dark magic were each, from their disparate corners, letting out screams of torment, resulting in a grim chorus assaulting the senses. Grasping at the keystone again and focusing, Luminash could see, at last, clear as day, the trace of Ardien’s anima leading directly to one of the nooks, to one of the bound and shrieking souls.

Amidst the screams, a renewed clinking of Mawsworn armor in the passage leading back to the surface, and the arrival of a dull throbbing in his head from the weight of whatever was watching him, Luminash blinked again, throwing himself forward in a panicked rush towards Ardien’s captor. He pulled his hand back, drawing energy in, then released in a swirling burst that whirled through the air and struck the tormentor, washing over it and breaking the hold the chains held over its unlucky prisoner.

Twisting around - and it was twisting, as if the fabric of the tormentor’s robes had nothing underneath, like a scarf caught in heavy wind - the Mawsworn let out a hiss, a cold rush of air, and released a wave of its own Domination magic. Lashing out, Luminash bent the space between himself and the Mawsworn, sending the ashen cloud harmlessly to the side.

Continuing to close distance, Luminash flung a needle of magic into the tormentor’s chestplate, driving it deep. As power began to radiate from it, causing the Mawsworn to begin clawing at its own chest, the magister called upon a barrage of arcane missiles, striking his foe from all sides. With each blow, the power embedded within built, the crackling energy growing until it could not be contained. The breastplate was the first to split open, spilling out blinding white arcane power. Another hiss of air and the Mawsworn’s helm split with a loud crack. The thrashing did not last long, as a final burst from within tore the fabric of its robes apart, and the debris fell to the ground, motionless.

Stepping forward, breathing heavily, Luminash at last reached his goal. Kneeling, he reached out a hand towards the tortured soul. Since the chains of Domination had failed, it had ceased its pained utterances, and only remained motionless, hanging in the air. It bore no resemblance any longer to a mortal, only retaining a tattered, shredded form.

“Ardien?” Luminash ventured, voice low. He tried to project an air of hope, of comfort, but he could not help his voice cracking. His charge, and his failure.

The soul remained silent for what seemed an eternity. The echoing shrieks remained, their tortures continuing. At last, it spoke, “It is...over? Magister Dawnwing?”

“It is. They can do no more harm.”

“Good. The Alliance’s...dishonorable attack…” The spirit struggled, as if having trouble finding either the words or the voice with which to speak, “Has been...repelled?”

Luminash’s heart sank, and he struggled to keep his voice even and calm, his face steady, “It...has.” Did this shattered remnant of his crew even know he had been slain?

“Will we be able to… We will be continuing our work, Magister?” What was left of Ardien shuddered, its edges beginning to fray and grow fuzzy.

Clenching his jaw, Luminash nodded, “We will begin again at dawn. The Reliquary is...very much looking forward to what we will turn up.” He reached for the soulkeeper, slowly.

“It should be a...good day. We had a promising lead before...the fog came. I can only hope they did not...trample…” Another shudder, “Magister… It is still so...cold.”

Luminash forced a smile and shook his head, “The sun has yet to rise. But it will, do not fear.” He held the soulkeeper out towards the rapidly degenerating spirit, “And I went out as soon as the Alliance was driven off. The site is secure. They might…” He cleared his throat, “The Reliquary may even consider a commendation for your efforts, Ardien.”

A note of happiness soared in the spirit’s raspy, hissing voice, even as its form began to collapse entirely, “Oh? That is… That is wonderful… Wonderful news, Magister…”

As it uttered its final word, trailing off in an echoing magister, the soul - or what remained after the Mawsworn’s torture - was drawn into the soulkeeper, and Luminash was left once more alone with the screams of torment pounding upon his ears.

His ears perked at the sound of metallic steps behind him. So the guards had tracked him down - he knew they would. The weight of the Jailer’s eye had only grown while he had spent these final moments with the last remnant of his Nazmir crew, so much that he found it hard to stand, soulkeeper in one hand, keystone in the other.

He turned, haltingly, to face the Mawsworn now approaching. Holding the keystone before him, he managed a dry laugh and shook his head. Already in his mind’s eye was the soul anchor, that column carved in the patterns of the First Ones. He closed his eyes, and let go.

“Not today. Don’t worry, I am certain you’ll have another chance.” So he spoke, and then he was gone.

#story #wow #shadowlands #wages of sin

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logsfm · 4 years ago

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hey my loves ! i’m mia , 21 from the east coast ! i have not roleplayed in sheeeesh ... like five or six months ? but i am so excited to be here for opening with all of y’all . i spent like all morning trying to weed out this gal logan right here ... she’s a trip , that’s the best overall description i have for ya . anywho , lets get to the actual thing you’re here for her lil intro . also if you wanna mssg on discord here ya go 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐬 𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖊#7040 .

logan samara-de jaager was spotted in the fashion district adorning air force 1’s university blue , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to benz i know by kelvyn colt . you may know them as @delogan or as that bella hadid lookalike . their twenty fourth birthday just passed . while living in the upper east side , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be querulous but on the other hand passionate . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . ( cisfemale / she/her + mia / twenty one / she/her ) + ( “ logan de jaager seen shoving ex in hotel footage during heated argument , not so sweet huh? ” / “ miss de jaager was spotted sneaking into ex beau’s apartment , what could she be up to? ” / “ sweet socialite or greedy trust fund baby ? milan de jaager publicly accuses daughter logan of stealing $1M … ” )

born into the true lap of luxury . the daughter of real estate magnate & high - profile attorney milan de jaager and his wife , british born socialite lana samara . the two of them held high favor within the 1% but were also able to find a perfect balance . they did a great job of separating personal life from the tabloids . it was rare to really know the happenings of their day to day . they had this particular kind of mystery to them , if you will .

it wasn’t long before lana began to instill the very same rhetoric she received as a child into her own . quality over quantity , was the motto . just not in the way you’d assume . the quality at which a de jaager presented themselves to you was much more important than than quantity of time you spent with them . looks ? they’re everything , in the de jaager household . time was simply a societal construct implemented to catch you on a bad day , for that very line of thinking they embodied being late . rushing out of the house to finish your make up in the car ? a literal sin in the eyes of her mother .

she was encouraged to take part in ballet and beauty pageants growing up . anything that could showcase how beautiful their daughter was lana and milan were on board for . personally logan hated ballet but she couldn’t deny she loved the applause the night of a showcase . she also couldn’t stand pageants but loved having all eyes on her as she went on stage .

it became quite clear as the years went on that her parents were much more like close friends to their daughter than like rule - instilling guardians . she would text them to dismiss her from school , get them to buy her & her friends alcohol for sleepovers / parties , was very much so that kid who got high with her parents . really anything you could do with your friends ? was fair game with logan & her folks .

at sixteen a friend of her moms who was going to be a designer for spring fashion week that year asked if logan would want to walk for him . she was quick to accept the offer and before she knew it she had multiple offers to walk in that years fall fashion weeks , because of how easy it came to her - though , she’s the first to admit she never really took modeling all that seriously .

it was just a year later that her way of life changed drastically , logan and her twin brother had been caught by paparazzi on a friends boat in the hamptons snorting a white substance , anyone with eyes knew exactly what the group of teenagers were doing . upon returning home the two received the crackdown of the century . their once friendly parents turned to strict jail like guardians . often reminded that they put the families reputation at stake . the pressure to be perfect was something logan had never had to deal with until now & she almost cracked under the pressure at every turn .

it wasn’t until she left for college that she was finally given some room to breathe , attending the university of florida was the best choice for what logan truly wanted to do with her life - become a sports analyst . growing up she was infatuated with sports & and would have been involved in much more than just cheerleading had her mom allowed for her to get so much as a speck of dirt on her . during her time in florida the paparazzi seemed to find her more often than not , something her parents often denounced both over the phone & in public . the longer she spent away from the upper east side the more she became america’s sweetheart & simultaneously a thorn in her parents side . she graduated from university in 2018 , only returning back to new york for the sake of work . she’d been offered a reporting job with espn , on top of taking up modeling gigs here & there when ever she felt necessary .

personality …

one thing is very true about the de jaager’s & is very much so the same for logan ; she is not to be trusted . she can be extremely charming when she wants to be . she could sell a bag of rocks to a beach & get a princess to sell her sole to sex work . she knows exactly what people want to hear & when they want to hear it and has no qualms about lying straight to someone’s face if it means she gets something out of it . in fact sometimes , she might lie to your face just for the sheer fun of being able to call you gullible .

she’s very much so a spoiled brat although she hates when anyone call her one , she feels like she has more layers to her than that broad term . hand in hand with that is her drama queen like tendencies , any situation were there is a simple solution she will find a way to blow vastly out of portion .

due to her mother’s heavy influence growing up , she can be rather vein & materialistic . catch her like “ i can’t date a garbage person ” to someone simply because they’re not as rich or known enough for her liking .

it’s rare that you’ll ever see her jump out of character . she’s very calculated & aware of who she is ( or who she needs to seem like ) so if you ever see her emotions getting the better of her , you’ve really broken her .

she’s the type to dabble in a little bit of anything ? she’s a rich nyc party girl who’s been partying well before anyone should have allowed her to so she’s done it all . you’d be kidding yourself to think you could surprise / scare logan on a wild night out .

she’s quick & creative with her sense of humor . she has both a crude / dry sense of humor , as well , and really just doesn’t find goofy things to be funny but more or less embarrassing ( so if she ever tells you you’re goofy , remember it’s not a compliment ) .

her upbringing & parents sentiment on tabloids once reflected massively on logan , but now she couldn’t quite care less about it all . after all she spends hours in front of cameras on a regular basis for work . although she does tend to shy away from people who she deems are hungry for fame or attention . she’s been used in the past for fame & will never let it happen again , plus she’s the type to lap up attention so she likes to have as little fame whores around her as possible , more shine for her .

when she isn’t being a total nightmare though she’s actually really fun to be around ? she’s playful & loves to keep the party alive . often can be found claiming “ i’m high on life ” although everyone saw the pictures , logan , we know what you’re really high on , girl .

very chatty girl , too . victim of foot - in - mouth syndrome , big time . she doesn’t try to be disloyal & spill people’s secrets ( or does she ? ) but she can’t help herself . if she has piping hot tea she’s gonna spill it because she doesn’t wanna burn herself .

very observant girl , who loves to people watch but her observations can sometimes get muddled when she starts judging people a little too hardcore .

she’s also a undercover couch potato & by that i mean if you give her an option to go out & do something she’ll never outwardly choose to stay home to watch netflix and snuggle up under the blankets but secretly she’s hoping & praying she gets a chance to do so .

plots ...

END THIS ( L.O.V.E ) / her first love . these two brought the absolute worst out of one another . they messed her up so much that she has a weird perspective on what love between two s/o’s should even feel like now . maybe they had another s/o at the same time as her & kinda just strung her on & when it came out were able to lie so much to her that she believed them . idk , in truth we could really plot something completely different as to what they did & inevitably what the breaking point was . maybe they broke up with her & had they not ended it maybe she would’ve still been okay with being in the relationship . idk i just feel like this one could be fun as hell . also they’d be the one whom she was caught arguing with in one of her headlines . ( 0 / 1 )

AFTER PARTY / this is a more reckless take of party buddies . im envisioning a group of people who when the parties over they all pull up to close by gulf course , indulge even more in their choices of substance , there is a naked gulf tournament going on , there are drunks driving golf carts , swerving and pouring bacardi all over the course . running from security when they pop up . it’s tradition at this point & if someone doesn’t come it’s almost disrespectful at this point . idk i just love the thought of this kinda vibe . ( 2 / ? )

SECRETS / okay so this one is messy . basically logan was very private for most of her life ( thanks mom & dad ) and during the early stages of highschool she lied to everyone saying she was a virgin . she told each one of these individuals that they were her first whether it be to make them fall for her “ innocence ” , want to chase after her , or whatever else we might be able to plot out . inevitably they compare notes at some point and find out that she’d been lying to them all . we can plot out how they confronted her i feel like we could make this real dramatic though . this would also be a backstory plot so , we can also plot out how things have transpired since for them . ( 0 / 3 or 4 )

BEST FRIEND / these two girls take best friends to the next level . they relate to one another on every level and are there for one another at all times . there is never a moment where they are competing with one another because they know that their #1 in there respective category . they are one another’s ultimate hype beasts . they truly embody chaotic goddess vibes . it’s like they were placed on this earth simply to be friends because they compliment one another that well . ( 0 / 1 )

LETS FALL IN LOVE FOR THE NIGHT / they are the one that’s there whenever she’s down . they have the ability to make her feel like they have some sort of old love whenever she’s around them . those feelings only last for the night though . they enjoy when she rambles on about sports or the novel she just recently read or really just anything she enjoys can put a smile on their face . they know better than to ever confuse what is going on between them though , they know that she’ll never be theirs . whether they’re okay with this or not we can definitely plot out . ( 0 / 1 )

MOANA / they are not a fan of logan . they see her for what she is : an attention seeking , spoiled brat and the fact that they don’t want anything to do with her makes her want them all the more . when they finally slept with her it was only to prove a point to her s/o at the time , to prove that she’s not the sweet girlfriend she claimed to be . basically they’re the person who outed her for being a ho ho ho but despite knowing that they outed her for that she still tries to hook up with them because they were the best she ever had . they often turn her down but after a while not even they can deny that they’re attracted to her . they still don’t fuck with her though . also i think it’d be cool if their were two of them & maybe they worked together to out her to her s/o that didn’t believe she was a cheater ( 0 / 2 ) also bring the s/o that they outed her to ( 0 / 1 )

ELEVEN / the type of relationship that is stuck in the grey area . they’re more than friends but they don’t necessarily admit to having feelings for one another . honestly they probably don’t even think they have feelings for one another . it’s a weird dynamic . they spend the most of their time together late at night . there meeting time ? 11pm . they go on wild joy rides to the beach . heads out of the sun roof as they let out a loud woo . the only thing accompanying them is a big bag of weed . sometimes they have deep talks , honestly they probably know more about one another than anyone else ? because of these adventurous of theirs . when they aren’t having deep talks they’re running across the beach aimlessly & rolling around in the sand with one another . it’s really just a very pure plot that i need in my life . ( 0 / 1 )

TRUST NOBODY / this is someone who used logan for fame / attention . they either became close friends or even started dating & they used everything they learned about her or what went on between them to relay back to a tabloid / would call paparazzi to come and take pictures of them together whenever they’d go out . ( 0 / 1 )

some other plot ideas i’d love to see : x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x , x .

#wealthyhq:intro #hellurrrr *

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annaraebananawriter · 4 years ago

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Somewhere Only We Know

Yellow everyone! I am finally back after a while with another Oneshot. Sorry it took me a bit. School has been rough, as you can tell. This is one that I thought of quite randomly and worked on for a few weeks. It involves a couple characters i have not written for before, which is always exciting.

Also, before you start reading, two things to note: first, is that the some I’m using is Somewhere Only We Know by Keane, but I specifically imagined it with a cover of the song by Lilly Allen, which you can find here!

And second, is that @maggicsorceress has a oneshot with the same song and even the same pairing, or at least the first one listed. Of course, it is far better than this one is, but that’s simply because I don’t have the poetic skills they do. Their oneshot is beautiful, and you can find it here. I really recommend you read it after this one.

Besides that, happy reading!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Aftertale, Errortale and Reapertale

Characters: Error, Geno (Who belong to CQ) and Reaper (Who belongs to Ren)

Pairings: AfterDeath and DestructiveDeath

Warnings: Language, I think that’s it. Let me know.

Word Count: 4218

~oOo~

I walked across an empty land

~oOo~

As the god of death, Reaper was often alone.

He could touch no mortal because they would die at his touch, making him or his brother reap them. This has been a fact of his life from a very young age, only a few centuries old. He wasn’t to talk to mortals, never come into contact with them. They were beneath him. They didn’t deserve to see such an important figure like himself.

He still remembered the first time a mortal died by his touch. He had been hysterical. He didn’t know that it was normal for him, that it was going to be his curse to bear. At the time, he had thought he had done something wrong. Like any other kid who made a mistake, he panicked and didn’t tell his creator what he had done until he was cornered by the man himself.

“Reaper,” Creator had said, voice betraying nothing of what his mood was. It was always like that. Calm. To Reaper, unnerving. “I see you betrayed my orders.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact.

Reaper wanted to hide. To disappear and never face the consequences for what he did. But that was wrong. That would be digging himself a bigger hole, and therefore a bigger punishment. Creator was law. You always went by his word, for he knew all was always right, no matter what you did. So, Reaper pushed away his fear and straightened, looking his creator in the eye, no emotion present, just as he knew the older liked.

“I did.”

He didn’t say sorry either. Father didn’t like that.

In response, his creator did something Reaper never knew possible. His mouth curved into a smile. Reaper stared, eyes wide. He wondered if this was some weird punishment for his betrayal. If it was, it just took number one as his least favourite.

Creator sighed and gestured for the younger to follow him as he started walking. Reaper followed without a second thought. “I suppose I should have told you sooner,” Creator said, not looking at him. “so that you didn’t accidentally do something like this.”

Reaper blinked. His curiosity outweighed his distrust. “Tell me what?”

And so, his creator began the explanation of why death’s power was so extreme, why it should be fear by all.

It was this discussion that sprouted the seeds that would grow into the dislike he felt for his existence and job. He would feel disgust every time he reaped someone’s soul. The feeling of his powers shifting and expanding as he did his job made him shiver. But he managed it. It was fine, in the long run. At least it was him and not his brother, who got the better part of the job.

His brother got the gentle souls. The good ones.

Reaper got the bad ones. The sinful ones.

It was this way for millennia. Doing his job, acting as the obedient soldier his creator loved him to be. All while keeping his personal business a secret. He visited Life as much as he could, which he knew she appreciated.

It was…manageable, if quiet, boring.

Until he discovered the Save Screen in the AU of Aftertale.

~oOo~

I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

~oOo~

The blackness was intriguing to Reaper. He had never seen a place so desolate before. Even when he entered the realm of magic, there were colours and stars all over the place. But this place? There was nothing. At least, until he reached what he assumed was the middle.

A patch of glass highlighted with a light that had no source.

Two floating buttons: CONTINUE or RESET.

His curiosity increased. It was like nothing he had seen before. He had seen many snowy forests, heard echo flowers saying the same thing over and over, felt the heat of the CORE all too many times…but he had never seen this. The inner workings of the world. A place he had believed to never exist.

The Save Screen.

“Who the hell are you?!”

The voice startled him and he turned, looking down at the origin. A small skeleton monster, with white clothing and a torn red scarf. He was drawn to the monster’s eye. A patch of white boxes covered it, the other formed into a glare that the god thought looked…not threatening. Maybe cute, but not threatening.

Reaper blinked. He smiled.

He decided he liked this monster.

He was gonna keep him.

“Why,” Reaper started, lazily floating forward into the monster’s face to look him in the eye. “I’m a thief.” He winked. “And I’m here to steal your heart.”

The monster blinked, slowly.

Reaper stayed smirking.

Then the monster punched him.

~oOo~

I felt the earth beneath my feet

Sat by the river and it made me complete

~oOo~

Geno was adorable.

Whenever Reaper teased him, flirted with him, or talked dirty with him, a blush would rise up and consume his cheeks and he would tense up like a cat, usually telling the god to shut up. But the god didn’t care. He knew the other liked it. He saw the smiles and amusement dancing in his eye when he tried to hide it. It made him feel smug that, no matter how much he denied it, the mortal liked having the god around.

But that wasn’t the best part.

Geno didn’t die at his touch.

Neither knew why, but the mortal just…didn’t. Maybe the glitched around his eye worsened a tad bit, but that was the significant effect. Nothing else. It baffled Reaper and confused Geno. They just decided to accept the gift for what it was.

Reaper loved it. He exploited it as much as he could, relishing in the times when Geno got fed up and punched or slapped him and he didn’t dust away, leaving the god alone. He liked the feeling of picking the other up whenever he wanted to and the other would struggle before he saw the god’s grin and then settle down, grumbling as if he was truly angry.

(He wasn’t. He was just acting like the cat he was.)

The years of this relationship were the best of the god’s life. He found that he was the happiest he ever was. His face always held a grin. His brother had asked what made him so happy, on the rare days that he was now home. Not wanting to put Geno’s life in jeopardy, he lied and made up some random excuse. Not that his brother believed him. But he stopped asking.

When Reaper realized that he had fallen in love with the mortal, he had panicked. This went against one of the main laws in place: never speak to a mortal; never befriend one. Well, he had certainly done more than speak and befriend one. He didn’t know what to do.

So, he went to the person who gave him the best advice.

His brother.

After a lecture on lying, his brother had told him to simply confess. If it didn’t go well, it didn’t go well. It didn’t matter. The two of them would probably remain friends, with as close a bond that they had. The advice gave him confidence. Reaper decided to confess right away. There was no use delaying the inevitable.

But when he got to the Save Screen, it was empty.

~oOo~

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I’m getting tired and I need someone to rely on

~oOo~

Reaper was devastated.

He searched through all of the AUs over and over again, but he found no trace of the one he loved. He refused to give up. Geno had to be here, somewhere. The mortal couldn’t just…up and leave, could he?

His brother had to find him and force him back home, as he had been neglecting his duties. He was put on watch by the king, to make sure he wouldn’t run off again.

He hated it.

He tried to focus on his job because he understood that he shouldn’t be turning a blind eye to his job, but he just couldn’t. No matter what he did, something would remind of Geno and he would get angry and sad again. The mortal never left his thoughts.

He wanted him back.

He was…lonely without him.

He didn’t like being lonely.

~oOo~

I came across a fallen tree

~oOo~

Error, the destroyer, was someone Reaper didn’t interact with.

He heard rumours about the other and had seen him work from a distance, but he had never gone up and talked to the other. He was still hung up on the disappearance of Geno, even though it had been years since the last time he saw him. But when he saw the destroyer, for some reason, the curiosity that had drawn him to Geno was drawing him to Error.

If he was honest, it frightened him. Also infuriated him. Geno was the only person who had made him so happy and he had left. And here was Error, someone he had never talked to, who so ruthlessly murdered countless innocents every day, who he felt the same initial attraction to. Was the destroyer trying to replace the mortal? How dare he!

But he wouldn’t know why until he talked with the other, no matter how much he didn’t want to. It would all be cleared up. He wanted it to be cleared up. He just…didn’t want to talk to him. That’s when he thought of something that would act as a compromise, that would let him see why Error was so special without him talking to the other.

He stalked the destroyer.

…

…what?

…

In hindsight, Reaper would think later, when he was dangling from some blue strings in the Anti-Void (a place that reminded him like the Save Screen, but made him feeling unease unlike the other did), stalking someone who destroyed AUs in a snap and heard voices probably wasn’t the best idea.

Since Error wasn’t around at the moment, he looked around the place, eyeing the dolls distrustfully.

“Okay, who the hell are you and why are you stalking me?!”

The glitchy voice made Reaper blink and look down. The destroyer stood there, tense. He was glaring at the god. Something about the way he did so seemed…familiar to him, in a painful way.

(“Who the hell are you?!”

“Why, I’m a thief. And I’m here to steal your heart.”)

The god shook the past away.

He glared right back at the destroyer.

Then he noticed it.

There in the destroyer’s eyes. A look that told the god he was trying to cover something up, something that looked like…pain? But why? It wasn’t like he knew Reaper…unless…a thought formed in his head, one that seemed impossible.

~oOo~

I felt the branches of it looking at me

~oOo~

“Are you going to answer me?” Error snapped, crossing his arms defensively.

Reaper tilted his head, looking the other over thoughtfully. He needed to test this thought, to have the proof in front of him before he believed it. “Can I see your soul?”

The destroyer blinked. It took him a minute to process it. Reaper could tell when he did because a blush appeared across him checks, the blue and yellow gradient perfect. “What!” The answer resembled a squeak.

“I said, can I see your soul?”

“No, I know what you said—”

“Then why did you say ‘what’?”

“Because it’s an inappropriate thing to ask!”

Reaper raised an eyebrow.

“Shut it!” Error said, bush increasing. “I’m not showing you my soul.”

Reaper sighed. So, it’s the hard way, is it? “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Error blinked, confused. “What—”

The destroyer yelped and scrambled back a few steps as Reaper summoned his scythe and ripped himself free of his strings. The god approached the destroyer calmly and the other prepared to fight. Before he could make a move, the god thrust his scythe under his chin, the blade resting just shy of his throat.

The destroyer froze.

By the magic of the scythe, his soul was summoned forth and Reaper stared at it, no emotion present. Well then…

The destroyer’s soul was just a sliver of a piece, like it had been ripped from its owner.

It looked just like Geno’s.

The thought made Reaper’s mask break. Why did Error have Geno’s soul? The only explanation would be that somehow his love had turned into the glitch before him, who looked like a wild animal that had been cornered. The god didn’t want to believe it…but the proof was too strong.

He looked up into the destroyer’s eyes.

The truth was written there, too. Underneath the angry front he put on, there was a panic and pain that Reaper longed to take away. He didn’t want to see his love feeling any of that. The worry he had been reserving for when he found Geno overflowed and made tears gather in his eyes.

He saw Error’s eyes widen and he knew the other had seen the tears.

The god of death retracted his scythe and reached forward. “Gen—”

In a blink, he was sent through a portal and into a random AU, away from Geno Error.

~oOo~

Is this the place we used to love?

Is this the place that I’ve been dreaming of?

~oOo~

Reaper tried to talk to the destroyer many times after that.

He never succeeded.

The pain of having someone he loved always running away from him was almost too much to bear. But he kept trying. He promised himself that he would make his way through to the other. Make him realize how much he loved him, no matter what name he went by or what he looked like.

He wasn’t going to let him go this time.

Never again.

~oOo~

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

I’m getting old and I need something to rely on.

~oOo~

Reaper watched as Error fought Ink.

He had a plan this time and just had to wait for the right moment to use it.

He winced at every hit that landed on the destroyer and felt pride every time his love had an attack hit the other. One particular hit made him twitch with worry, fighting the urge to interfere and hold Error in his arms, making sure he was okay and stayed okay.

But if he did that, he would probably be kicked out of a job, which would just be bad for everyone.

So, he waited.

Eventually, Ink retreated, leaving Error alone in the AU. The destroyer stayed for a minute to catch his breath and Reaper watched, preparing to go over and interrupt him once the time was right.

The destroyer stood and turned, raising a hand to open a portal.

Reaper’s hand twitched on his scythe and he shot forwards.

Now.

~oOo~

And if you have a minute why don’t we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

~oOo~

Just before the destroyer left, Reaper grabbed his hand and pulled the other towards him and through his own portal.

Once they landed, Error pushed the other away, which Reaper allowed. He watched with a smile starting as his love gazed around to find out where they were. He watched as he froze at the sight of the dark void and two glowing buttons in the air.

CONTINUE or RESET.

~oOo~

This could be the end of everything

So why don’t we go

Somewhere only we know?

~oOo~

The Save Screen. Aftertale.

Their place, a place only they knew.

The destroyer tensed. “Why did you bring me here.” It wasn’t really a question with the way he said it so stiffly. So…scared.

“Well,” Reaper started, ignoring the hurt he felt from making the other scared. “I figured that if you won’t speak to me regularly, as normal people would, I had to kidnap you.” He tilted his head, smiling even if the other wasn’t looking. “I had to bring you to a place you can’t refuse.”

He could see the way the other struggled with himself. Should he drop the act or continue playing as if he didn’t know where he was? Reaper saw how the other really wanted to go with the second option, keeping this place in the past, forgotten. He didn’t want anything to do with this place anymore.

Reaper knew that. And he decided that, if Error chose that option, he would respect that. He would put Geno in the past and try to be friends with Error. If he was still refused, then he would leave the other alone. It didn’t matter how he felt on the topic.

Error wasn’t Geno anymore, not entirely, and he had to accept that.

But to his surprise, Error went with the first one.

~oOo~

Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?

~oOo~

“I never liked it here.” Error whispered, making Reaper freeze for a minute. “I still don’t.”

He blinked at the other, close to openly gaping at him. Then he shook himself and straightened, playing with his scythe in hopes to calm himself. “I’m sorry.” He really was, too. “This was the only way you would listen to me.”

That actually got a little laugh out of the other, who turned to face Reaper. “I suppose. But now that you caught me, can we leave this place?”

Their eyes met; one pair full of hope and the other full of pain.

Reaper tilted his head again. He echoed Error’s words. “I suppose.” He paused and reached up to rub his chin. “Well, that is if you promise not to run away from me. Again.” He gave a grin.

Error looked at him without amusement.

“What? It’s a perfectly reasonable request.”

“I make no promises.”

“Aw. Then I guess we’re staying here.”

“No, we’re not.”

“You’re not promising.”

“We’re still leaving.”

Reaper only laughed and Error turned and opened a portal.

They left for Outertale.

~oOo~

I’m getting old and I need someone to rely on

~oOo~

They continued bantering as they walked. It felt natural, like a piece of the puzzle clicked back into place and now everything went more smoothly. They stopped for a minute to rest, looking up at the stars.

Reaper looked over to Error.

The destroyer looked magical, sitting there and staring at the stars with a smile and eyes full of awe. He was glad that the pain so prominent in his eyes had gone away, for now. What was left was someone who deserved everything, able to sit with peace of mind that everything was alright. He deserved to be alright, to be loved. His glitches had even calmed significantly, only one or two remaining. Besides that, the mostly black bones glowed elegantly in the lighting.

He looked perfect.

Reaper smiled and an itch grew in the back of his throat. He longed to say the words he had been holding in for so long, but he wasn’t sure if it was time. They had only just reconciled. He didn’t want to ruin things before they started to get better.

But then Error turned to him with a questioning smile, looking even more beautiful that he couldn’t build up a block in time, so the words came blurting through:

“I love you.”

~oOo~

So tell me when you’re gonna let me in

~oOo~

They both froze.

Error blinked for a minute, the surprise openly shown on his face.

Reaper internally panicked. He was so screwed! Why did he do that? He had just found his love again after years of searching—years of haven given up—and now he just threw it all away. But he couldn’t just say he was kidding, too. That would just make him a jerk.

He had to calm down and explain himself. Make sure that Error understood that he wasn’t messing around, that he truly loved the other no matter what he looked like or how he acted. The fact was that he loved the destroyer.

That was it.

Reaper cleared his throat and continued. “I have for years. I was going to tell you, but then you disappeared. And now I’ve found you again. So…

“I love you, Error. And I mean that. It isn’t just something to make you feel better. It’s not some leftover feelings from Geno. I mean, I don’t even care that he’s gone! Well, I care, you know, because I loved him—like I love you! But my point is, that if you want to move on from being him, then I get that. I accept that, and I would say I moved on from him a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it because I didn’t know he had turned into you.”

Reaper inhaled shakily and swallowed. His vision had become a bit blurred from tears that had appeared with how nervous he was. Error was silent. The god of death concluded his confession in a whisper. “I love you, whatever that may be. Whether Geno or Error. I love you. Nothing in the world can change that.”

He stopped and held his breath.

Error was still silent.

“You’re an idiot.”

Reaper blinked, vision still blurred. “What?” He winced at the shakiness of his voice.

Error shook his head and laughed lightly, something soft hidden in it. “I said, you’re an idiot.” His expression changed, becoming something sad. “Why would you love me? I mean…I get loving Geno. He was normal and nice and…a monster with unfortunate circumstances. But me? I’m a monster. I’ve killed thousands of people, more than half of them innocent. I hear voices in my head and fight people on a regular basis.” He laughed again, this time in a self-deprecating kind of way. “How can you love someone like that?”

Reaper tilted his head. It seemed, to him, that Error believed he was unworthy of love just because of something he couldn’t control. By being the destroyer, he had to kill people. There’s no way around it. And just by looking at the pain in the other’s eyes, he could see that it wasn’t something he was actively choosing to do.

So, if he was doing something he didn’t want to do, why would that make him unworthy of love? In the god’s opinion, that just made him more loveable. It told him that he was a good person at the core. It was one trait that he still shared with Geno. They both were doing things they didn’t really want to do, just had or thought they had no choice in the matter.

However, just because Reaper saw it that way, did not mean Error did.

And that was something he had to change.

~oOo~

I’m getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

~oOo~

Reaper laughed, making Error jump. “And you think that one of the gods of death hasn’t killed people?” He smiled more coldly than he intended. “It’s part of my job. I reap souls. In order to do that, I need to make sure they’re dead. That’s where my curse comes into play.” He held up a hand. “Whenever I touch someone, they instantly die. Same goes with plants. Anything living, really. I touch them and they die.”

He looked over at the destroyer. “But not you. You never dusted when I touched you. I’m still not even sure why. But that doesn’t matter.” He put his hand down. “The point is, I’ve killed people as well. You’re not special.”

Error blinked twice. “But—”

“They were innocent? I know. But that’s not your fault. It’s part of your job. You destroy AU’s, doesn’t matter if they’re designed to be good or bad. Your job isn’t about that; it’s about making room. Without you, the AU’s would crash into each other and collapse, in turn killing the entire multiverse.” Reaper smiled. “In a way, you’re protecting the multiverse instead of destroying it. Aren’t you?”

Error looked at him. “I don’t understand how you can think that way.”

“Give it a few weeks. It’ll grow on you.”

He snorted. “I doubt that. Idiocy isn’t contagious.”

“After all that, I’m still an idiot?”

“Oh, definitely.”

~oOo~

And if you have a minute why don’t we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

~oOo~

When they parted ways for the evening, Error stopped Reaper as he turned to leave.

Before the god could do anything, the destroyer leaned up and kissed his cheek. It was like time froze for a minute. Reaper almost didn’t believe what was happening was even real, but the warmth on his cheek was too pleasant to ignore. All he could do in turn was blink and gape when the other pulled back, a light blush on his face.

“I may not understand how you think now,” Error said, “but I think I might like to try to, if that’s alright?”

The god of impure deaths blinked and smiled, said smile full of love and affection for the destroyer in front of him. “I’d love that.”

~oOo~

‘Cause this could be the end of everything

So why don’t we go

Somewhere only we know?

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot #undertale #error sans #reaper sans #geno sans #mentioned ink sans #errortale #aftertale #reapertale #afterdeath #destructivedeath #error x reaper #language #tw language #i think that's all the tags i need

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ladyhallen · 4 years ago

Text

Unsaid Words and Unsung Hurts

Read in AO3 | FFNET

Sansa had a problem.

Sitting across her arch nemesis - her assignment and trying not to stare so obviously, Sansa felt her stomach flutter and scowled.

She was not supposed to feel those annoying fluttering’s. It had been going on for decades now, and she wanted no part in it.

Being a demon of hell, one of Lucifer’s generals, technically, meant that she had no time or place for dwelling on feelings, good or otherwise. Lucifer, or Ramsay, as he’d taken to calling himself these days, had named Sansa the demon of hatred and that meant she didn’t have feelings of the sweet and fluttery kind.

Sansa slumped in her chair, ignoring the angel’s look of admonishment at her posture. His own back was ram rod straight, but somehow conveying relaxation as he slowly and methodically consumed a chocolate truffle.

“Angel,” she sighed. “Any adventures you’re going to get up to, today?”

“It’s called good deeds, Sansa,” he told her, somehow not sounding condescending. He sounded gentle and stern. As he always did. It did terrible things to Sansa’s stomach, must be the ulcers making it flutter.

Right.

Sansa sighed again, quieter this time. She would leave in a moment, she thought while staring at Cor’s lovely blue-gray eyes and punishing herself. She would leave. Just...until Cor finished eating. It would be rude otherwise.

Sansa hadn’t meant to fall, is the thing.

She hadn’t been Sansa then, but with a different, more angelic name. Working under the lovely angel Raphael and being compassionate. What an angel of compassion was supposed to do, Sansa always wondered.

Raphael had encouraged her to make more friends and Sansa had agreed. Free will wasn’t quite a thing, merely a concept that Father had brought up in the weekly meetings and whatever Raphael ordered, she would always do.

So she roamed around, looking for friends. Groups of angels congregating, was still the description, because that’s what friends did? Sansa hadn’t been sure then.

She’d joined the first group of angels congregating and talked to them.

They were nice, Samael and nir friends. They welcomed her readily with bright smiles and heady laughter. Too bright she would realize later. Too sharp edges carefully hidden away from the newbie.

She hung around them because they always made her feel welcome and Sansa adored them for listening to her questions and her confusion about compassion.

“What is compassion?” she would ask the archangels.

“It is concern for misfortune,” Father told her when all her siblings couldn’t answer.

“What is misfortune?” she asked Samael, because even then, Sansa had tact not to ask God that.

“It is the absence of God,” Samael’s friend would answer.

How can there be an absence of God, when God was everywhere? She wondered then.

After being cast out simply for being with her friends at the wrong time and place, Sansa understood. There can be an absence of God, for God had abandoned her.

Sansa’s best work, so far in Eos, was traffic jams.

No matter how hard city planning worked to keep the cars moving fast, Sansa always managed an inconvenience that made people curse and work up a temper, damning their souls.

Once, she’d short circuited connections in all the banks in the entire world, causing a drop in the market. The amount of chaotic fury she’d felt that day made her laugh, even as guilt shimmered in her stomach.

Cor had looked at her and sighed that day and Sansa had wanted to cry. If demons could cry.

Sansa still caused tempers to go high, hatred to go up, simply because she existed in their general vicinity. She tried to tamp it down just to enjoy a bit of light reading, but inevitably, there would be an argument by someone or the other and she would have to leave to work off the excess energy.

Cor helped, simply because, as angel, he radiated such immense goodness that they balanced each other out.

That was what Cor had told her when he’d hunted her down in Accordo during the executions and her mere arrival in the city had incited the mobs to tear apart their king limb from limb with their bare hands.

She’d wept with relief when he left her, but still stayed in her general area. She had watched that King die and felt his fear, his hatred and wanted to vomit. She never wanted it to happen again.

Cor helped. Maybe that’s why her stomach started those strange convulsions and fluttering’s.

The Fall started, not with anger, as the bible like to say, but with a question.

Samael asked, “Why should we care for these lesser creatures? Look at all their imperfections!”

God talked and Samael argued. Angels and archangels gathered around and Sansa hovered near her friends, confused, frightened. Because Samael’s white wings were changing. The symbol of his soul, his very existence, was changing.

After that very blasphemous debate, God cast out Samael and ripped nir’s name away.

Sansa’s Fall was not quite so dramatic, just quieter.

Raphael, always doting on Sansa, had tried to tug her away. But she’d stayed. Confused but loyal, she’d stayed.

“My friends,” she said, tugging at the hand Raphael had on her.

Raphael had eyed her wings and gasped in horror.

“Then you have betrayed us all as well,” her dearest mentor whispered in grief.

The gates of Heaven opened and the command entered the Psyche of all the angels. To toss out the betrayers.

Without concept of free will, siblings turned on siblings and obeyed. Raphael as well, despite nir’s reluctance.

Sansa was one of the last, and all heard her scream out in despair, “Father! I don’t understand!”

Her scream followed her as she fell through the ether and into the depths of despair. God had indeed abandoned them.

Cor liked to visit the orphanages in the city since his mentor, the Archangel Michael had taught him to guard the children.

Sansa, of course, had followed him around for good deeds to thwart at first. Then, it turned out, it was exceedingly difficult to thwart that good deed. How was Sansa supposed to subvert children? Children had malleable souls, true, but that also meant that they had their own guardians and Cor himself being there…

Sansa should have deemed it a lost cause. Except.

Except…

Sometimes, when Sansa had no sins planned that day, she would watch Cor playing with the children and ached.

All of the Fallen woke at differing intervals, wings trembling and limbs malformed.

Sansa herself had found she had deformed jaws to make way for her newly large teeth. Like a wolf. Her own beautiful white wings had burned on the way down, the color turning into burning ember, flames of her anger licking the feathers, a fire that never died.

It hurt.

All of it hurt, all of their souls did. A change that happened like that, no matter how sturdy their very beings were, still ached. They were beings of perfection, formed without blemish. They were not made for changes. Their very psyche rebelled against it.

There was also the absence of their Father to contend with. For the first time in millennia, they were without him.

There was a great cry that rose up then, a great weeping.

Sansa stood up and howled her agony, her pain and her rage.

Everyone followed with their own screams, and perhaps it was because of that howl that none of the Fallen succumb to their despair.

Lucifer stood in the ashes of Samael and Sansa looked to him as did everyone, because while his wings were black, his eyes still shone with the light of creation. He, among all of them, had Light. Perhaps he led them to their downfall, but he also shone with the familiarity of home.

Sansa had a guilty secret from the forces of hell.

She loved to sew, to embroider.

Runes of protection, runes of love. Not Enochian, because no human made cloth could hold that majestic language, but the old Language of Solheim. It was enough to warm the cloth for winter and Sansa would drop it in strategic places where the homeless slept.

Sansa didn’t really care about the homeless, she just needed somewhere to dump old projects. She hated clutter and her apartment had very little space.

Cor was not to know.

Sansa sewed and did it without heaven or hell knowing.

Sansa and Cor had ‘dates’.

Well, Cor called it Equilibrium Meetings, to balance out Sansa’s aura. Sansa called it dates in her mind, because she loved to torture herself.

Cor sat across her and read a book and Sansa muttered irritably about Cor’s book. If he was reading, he wasn’t looking at her and she couldn’t see his lovely eyes. An irritated Cor would have eyes that flashed with his anger and divine light. It made his already lovely features breathtaking.

Then…

“What are you reading?” Sansa said, her usual question during the start of the meetings.

“Wolves, and how to take care of them,” Cor said in his lovely voice.

Sansa felt her metaphorical ruff stand up. Her more wolf-like features were hidden under carefully sewn glamours, but she and the wolf were one, he never went away.

“Are you thinking of getting a pet?” Sansa asked despite herself.

Cor looked at her, just a second of his attention, but Sansa felt it. “I don’t think you’d like it if I did,” Cor said.

Was he implying…? Sansa did not know what he was implying, but it was probably nothing good.

“’Wolves are cunning and extremely intelligent’,” Cor suddenly said, reading from the book. “’Some wolf hybrids are docile but most and all wolves are stronger, smarter and more independent than dogs.’” He snorted. “Smart indeed.”

Sansa, who had relaxed listening to his lovely voice, bristled again. “Are you implying that wolves are dumb?” she demanded.

He smiled, that quicksilver flash of humor that vanished quickly. “So dumb.”

Sansa raised her nose into the air in offense, turning away from him. Her stomach fluttered like mad when she heard him laugh.

Sansa felt her insides melt.

Lucifer was their rock in the strange new world they’d found themselves in, but soon, his very presence turned Sansa’s stomach.

She hated the sight of his eyes, for they reminded her of Father and the complete and utter absence of him.

“There is a new world that Father has created,” Sansa told Lucifer eventually, when she could no longer bear the sight of him. “I wish to corrupt it.”

Lucifer smiled. “Of course, my dear. I thought you would volunteer for it, your hatred still burns in you.”

He referred, of course, to the flames that danced in Sansa’s deep red wings.

Sansa climbed out of hell and met Cor.

That he didn’t immediately draw his sword was perhaps due to his mercy.

But Sansa was all out of mercy and attacked him immediately in rage.

Jeyne was, perhaps, Sansa’s only true friend.

That she was a wolf-child, borne of Sansa’s blood when she bled for the first time, was irrelevant. The child immediately decided to be Sansa’s friend.

A millennia of companionship and Jeyne had ideas about Cor.

“How was your date?” Jeyne asked.

Sansa harrumphed. “It was not a date, as I keep telling you. It is to mitigate my aura.”

Jeyne rolled her eyes. “Excuses. Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Sansa couldn’t help the blush. Jeyne cackled and Sansa strategically retreated to her room. Sansa would own to being a coward and she had no shame in retreating.

In one of Sansa’s once a week schedule for chaos, she caused a shortage of coffee and switched what was available to decaf.

This time, the outcry made her laugh until tears dripped from her eyes.

“Inspired,” she giggled. “Their outrage.”

Cor landed outside of Sansa’s balcony and she would swear she didn’t squeak.

“Angel!” she exclaimed. “Hi.”

He leveled an unimpressed look at her. “I was drinking coffee. Sansa. I was enjoying my coffee.”

She giggled. “Perhaps it is time for you to switch to tea? I have some lovely chocolate tea you can try. May I tempt you with some?”

He softened, winching back his wings. “Alright. It better be good. I liked that coffee.”

She served him tea with a smile and he smiled back. The fluttering’s increased.

Oh no.

Cor talked her down from her anger.

It took ages and ages before she would show him her back and even then it made the hairs at the back of her neck prickle.

It was worth it though, because for the first time, someone preened Sansa’s wings.

She would never trust anyone in hell with her wings and her wolf-child didn’t know the first thing about wings. Cor, angel and tentatively trusted, knew to work the down into her feathers and to pluck the ones that needed loosing.

She settled into a puddle of contented demon on his lap and felt Cor turn stiff.

Immediately, Sansa launched herself away from him.

She had made him uncomfortable.

She thought.

She thought he didn’t mind her mouthful of fangs. Of the extra ribs that made her lungs bigger and more suitable for howling.

He minded. By the look in his face, he minded very much.

After that, Sansa never allowed Cor to touch more than her wings. If her body made him uncomfortable, then she would just hide her body from him.

During one of their not-dates, as Jeyne had taken to calling it, Cor held her hand.

Sansa was so stiff, he could have shattered her if he pushed her over.

“Cor, what are you doing?” she asked quietly.

Equally quietly, he said, “I’m holding your hand.”

Sansa took in a breath. Held it. Let it out through shuddering lungs.

“Alright,” she whispered.

“Shall I let go?” he asked.

Her grip tightened. “No, it’s alright.”

“It’s alright,” he agreed.

For a decade, Sansa ran away from Cor.

After that disastrous preening, Sansa ran and didn’t look back.

She caused several disasters without looking and hid away from Cor for a decade.

It took a few more years before she would trust him again and he touched her gently, almost achingly gently.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she replied.

She didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but Sansa was sorry.

Sorry for falling, and sorry for making him uncomfortable.

Cor’s eyes burned with the light of creation and Sansa just hurt.

When Cor locked the window, Sansa was suspicious.

When Cor sat her down and asked, “May I kiss you,” Sansa wanted to run. So that’s why he locked the window. But there was still the door.

“Sansa,” he said, tugging at her hand, held loosely in his large one, where she can escape if she really wanted. “Centuries ago, during that first preening,” he said, finally talking about that moment, where he turned away from her in disgust.

Sansa turned stiff and tensed, ready to launch herself out of the window and damn the glass.

“No wait, listen,” he pleaded. “I haven’t. I wanted to touch you for ages, long before you fell and when I saw you again, I thought I was dreaming.”

“You’re serious?” she said through numb lips.

“I’ve loved you since you were following around Raphael in heaven!” he exclaimed. “Of course I don’t mind your extra additions, your teeth are lovely now too!”

Sansa wasn’t sure what size her eyes were, but she was sure they were wide. “I thought. We, heaven that is, were sure that you and the rest of the Fallen were dead. Then I saw you climb out of that hole and I was so happy, I could have cried,” he said. “You were still you, but you were different. I loved you still, and I wanted to know you again.”

“You were stiff,” she said. Sansa doesn’t know how she keeps talking.

“Because you were adorable and I wanted to hug you!” he said seriously. “I had to hold back. And then you ran away. For ten years!”

Sansa just. Blinked at him in surprise.

“So, may I kiss you?” he asked.

May I kiss you? Sansa thought incredulously. Is he serious????

Sansa climbed into his lap and carefully kissed him.

And Cor. Cor, battle angel and Michael’s right hand man, melted.

#fanfiction #SanCor #Sansa stark #cor leonis #ffxv #asoiaf #crossover #angels and demons #au #angst #prepare for tissues #ffxvxasoiaf

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 5 years ago

Note

I have so many prompts😭😬 my last one was "Peter works at a rescue, Tony comes to get a doggo because he’s a single man in his 50s starting to feel the emptiness of the penthouse more and more. He gets way more than that."👬🏻🐶 But if that's not your thing and you fancy having a look at the ones I think of + ones others have come up with and I thought were cute I'll leave you the link ( /tagged/pp%3A%20prompt ) 🌸🌸🌸 can't wait to read regardless of the prompt!! have a lovely day!!

Struck From A Great Height

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Teen (T) Notes: This was perfect! I love puppies and Tony with a puppy was a true treat to envision. Thanks for the prompt @puppypeter! I’ll take the next one please ;D Oh, & the picture Tony sends to Peter is this one! Word Count: ~3.3k Warnings: There aren’t any - just cute puppies. Summary:

Tony is lonely so he adopts a white lab named Zero. He meets another kind of puppy at the rescue and decides to keep him, too.

do the thing, send in all the prompts

Loneliness – a word that could easily be used to describe the feeling that steadily crept up on Tony Stark.

He couldn’t pinpoint when it became a thing. For most of his life, being alone was the goal – with no one around to want things from him, Tony was free to do whatever he wanted, when he wanted. Building a multi-billion-dollar company up from a structure that Tony didn’t want anything to do with took a lot of time and effort. Simple things like love and affection weren’t really anywhere near his scope.

When getting older started to become apparent, Tony ran from it. He hopped into bed with whatever man looked his way with the right sparkle in his eye. If these people found him to be desirable, did looming near 50 actually mean anything?

The longer he let himself stoop to the lowest of low, the more he realized that men who wanted nothing more than his body weren’t worth the effort it took to get dolled up, go out, entice them, and do the whole song and dance that inevitably led to something quick in the bathroom or a rough fumble in his bed. Waking up alone after that made the emptiness ache a little more.

It became pretty apparent that behavior like that didn’t particularly help, so he reverted back to the lab rat that he truly was and put all of his efforts into the creation of tech and furthering of the projects that were already in the works. If Tony could rely on anything to get him by, it was his brain and the depths that existed within it.

And while that was fulfilling in a professional sense, Tony craved something more. No matter how much he told himself he didn’t need anything or anyone else – the deepest part of his soul called out, his soft bits desperate to take care of another living thing. The grandness of his penthouse that used to bring him so much joy just seemed empty – the multitude of rooms wouldn’t make him happy, that much was for sure.

Rhodey brought up the idea of a pet one night over dinner – he’d been able to step away from his pregnant wife to spend a bit of time eating junk food and playing the latest COD update. Tony didn’t like to admit it, but this time with his best friend was the highlight of his month. The thought of that made his skin crawl slightly – he loved the hell out of Rhodey, he couldn’t deny that. Yet, being completely overjoyed by nothing other than his presence had that pit of loneliness opening up within him a little more.

Listening to him talk, Tony wasn’t put off by it – in fact, having a dog with floppy ears to make a mess around the place might actually be the cure to the melancholy that didn’t want to go away. Tony couldn’t take the blue feeling for much longer – to most people, his life was perfect. Trying to portray that constantly was exhausting and compounded the already shitty feelings that weren’t anywhere close to changing.

The very next day, Tony spent the first part of the day looking up rescues that were open for adoption. His heart started to beat a little faster when he started to scroll through the many adorable little faces of the dogs that were just waiting for someone to come along and take them home. A small white lab puppy caught his eye, the small dog making his decision pretty easy.

Tony took the rest of the day off – he wanted to see about the adoption process and if all things went well, get his new friend home and on the path to adjusting to the good life that he couldn’t wait to provide. Changing out of his suit into a pair of jeans, an old AC/DC shirt, and an open black and red flannel, Tony set out towards Happy Tails, his final destination.

A wave of nerves washed over him when he first walked through the door of the shelter. The smell of cleaner reminded him of the many hospital visits he had over the years, the memories almost enough to send him back through the doors and as far away as possible. Before that could happen, Tony was welcomed by a soft voice – a sense of calmness surrounded him almost immediately. Continuing on his original path, Tony clenched his fist tightly and walked towards the comforting voice.

“Welcome to Happy Tails!” Tony heard again when he got a little closer. Looking up, Tony had to stop himself from gasping – the man behind the counter was the most exquisite being he’d ever seen. Chestnut hair framed sharp cheekbones that were covered with a soft redness that probably sat there enticingly all day. There was the slightest touch of facial hair coating the man’s face, the chin strap he was working on still on the thin side. When they locked eyes, Tony felt himself blush, the wide smile on pink lips knowing and entirely too enticing to actually be real.

Raising a hand like the idiot he actually was, Tony waved at him – his stomach dropping at his stupidity almost instantly. “Uh, hi – “ Tony muttered, his brains attempt to fix the situation failing miserably. The hearty chuckle he was met with was just as sinful as the smile and eyes and cheeks that this man was graced with.

“Hi! Thanks for stopping in. I’m Peter – one of the resident puppy gurus. What can I help you with today?” The man – Peter, said with a wide smile and the most brilliant twinkle in his eye. Tony found himself returning the look without a second thought, his cheeks pinching uncomfortably after a few minutes of the beaming grin taking over his face.

“Puppy guru, huh? You may be exactly who I’m looking for, then. I saw this dog online,” Tony started as he walked closer to the desk Peter stood behind. He showed him the beautiful white lab, the fingers on his phone shaking slightly. “I want to adopt him, if he’s still available.”

“Oh, that’s Zero. He’s one of the newest fellas on the block and is very much available. He’s really chill and likes to sit around a lot for a dog his age. Labs are usually filled with energy. Not Zero – he’s just along for the ride.” Tony listened intently, Peter’s babbling about the dog absolutely adorable. Not to mention the fact that Zero sounded like the best companion – another entity in the house that just wanted to exist.

“Why don’t we got back and meet him? They just got fed, so he’ll be ready for a nice cuddle.” Peter gestured for him to step around the counter and opened the door leading into the kennels, following behind him closely. Tony looked around, his senses overwhelmed by all the sounds and smells that immediately hit him. There were a multitude of dogs in kennels, all shapes and sizes of them, each one looking at him with some sort of look in their eyes.

Peter put a hand on his lower back and pointed towards the end of the hall – “ the puppies have their own hallway.” The hand stayed where it was until Tony was out of the danger zone and in an area that was far less populated. Tony saw Zero before Peter could point him out, the small white lab sat in the middle of its kennel, looking at them curiously.

Tony felt his heart melt a little when Peter opened the kennel and Zero walked right over to him. Crouching down, he put his hand out to be smelt – the wet nose against his skin had him laughing, a huge smile slipping across his face. When the paw shot out to press against his wrist, Tony was a goner. He sat on the floor and let Zero walk into his lap – Tony wrapped his arms around the pup and scratched wholeheartedly up and down his back.

He saw Peter sit down beside him in his peripheral vision, his hands reaching out to run over Zero’s soft fur, too. Tony turned his head to look directly at him, the grin still alive and well on his face. “What do I need to do? I can’t leave here without him,” Tony admitted shamelessly, his chest light in so many ways for the first time in a while.

The smile he got from Peter in response to his question could only be described as breathtaking – the roundness of his cheeks made Tony want to reach out and touch; his entire being ached to see if his skin was really as soft as it looked. He watched Peter slip his tongue out and wet his lips, the other not missing the fact that Tony couldn’t look away. Peter let out a soft breath and kept staring at him.

“The process is pretty easy, honestly.”

And it was – Tony paid the fee and signed the paperwork while Peter ran through Zero’s latest vet visits and the ones that would be necessary in the future. Tony didn’t think to bring a leash, so Peter gave him one hanging behind the desk. “I teach a behavior class on Friday nights. You can bring the leash and Zero back later this week for it,” Peter said confidently, their fingers brushing when the leash exchanged hands.

Nodding, Tony held up the leash in salute. “Whatever you say, puppy guru. Do you happen to have a card? Just in case I have any questions, or anything.” Tony tried to sound innocent, but the smirk that pulled across his face gave him away. It’d been a long time since he tried to get someone’s number – he felt a little rusty.

Peter didn’t miss a beat, however – he pulled a drawer open and de-capped a pen, his hand flying over the card quickly. “That’s my personal. Just in case,” Peter shot back, his fingers pushing the card across the counter.

Tony picked it up before he knelt down to get the leash attached to Zero’s collar – the dog resting heavily against his leg while he did. Petting his head lightly, Tony stood back up and threw Peter one last grin. “Thanks for the help, Peter. We’ll see you Friday.” Tony couldn’t help but smile as Zero started to pull him forward, the dog’s paws slipping on the floor in his haste.

----

After letting Zero explore both the front and back seat of his car, Tony settled into the driver’s seat and set off towards the nearest pet store. He felt a little nervous bringing his brand-new friend into the store – they weren’t used to each other yet. Zero didn’t even bat an eye, though – he followed Tony around the aisles with a wagging tail and minimal barking. Tony held the different toys down for Zero to sniff every now and again, his dog just as indecisive as him.

In the end, they left the store with a whole lot more shit than Tony originally intended. The big bed looked hilarious in the backseat of the small Audi. Zero seemed to like it, though – he curled up on the thing the second Tony started the car. He figured he’d be dealing with an unruly puppy, or overexcited thing that couldn’t control itself. The reality of the situation was even better.

The night went surprisingly well – Tony let Zero take up whatever space he wanted in the penthouse. Peter assured him that he was potty trained, which proved to be correct pretty early on when the dog scratched his leg and looked longingly towards the balcony. He did it again early the next morning, his cold nose pressing against Tony’s cheek more than enough of a wakeup call to get him out of bed, stumbling towards the sliding glass door. The damn dog was too cute, it seemed impossible to hold anything against him.

Physically unable to part himself from Zero, Tony put the brand-new blue collar and tags they got the night before around his neck. The ‘bad to the bone’ leash clipped nicely to it – the whole look totally fitting for the badass little pooch. With Zero completely decked out and identifiable as Tony’s, he felt comfortable enough to leave with the pup for the day.

Tony’s caffeine headache had him pulling into the drive-thru of his favorite café, a smile coming to his face when he got to order a pupachino for the little dog that already owned all the pieces of his malfunctioned heart. Zero climbed up onto his shoulder while they waited in line, so Tony flipped the camera on his phone and took a picture of the two of them. Fumbling around the cupholder he put Peter’s card in, Tony sent the picture in a text – the happiness he felt needed to be shared.

Tony Stark: Look how cute we are. Thanks for hooking us up.

He got a few sips of his coffee in before his phone went off, the number he already typed in as Peter Parker lighting up his screen. Tony shook his head at the giddy feeling spreading through his chest, an old man like him shouldn’t feel as on edge about a cute guy texting him as he did in that moment.

Peter Parker: You two are quite the pair. Peter Parker: It was my pleasure! Glad to have made such a sweet connection.

The soft grin he already associated with Peter stayed on his lips the rest of his drive into the office and even further into the day as the two of them continued to text back and forth. Tony didn’t get much work done – between trying to be as charming as possible in his texts to Peter and loving the fuck out of Zero, there wasn’t much room for anything else.

Predictably, the rest of the week followed suit. Tony couldn’t get enough of the white fur-ball that got more and more comfortable with him as the days passed. Zero stayed by his feet while he was in the lab and followed him around the penthouse when Tony was finished for the night. The mutual appreciation of walks had them wandering around the little neighborhoods Tony never took the time to explore before.

By the time Friday rolled around, Tony was excited to show off his and Zero’s bond – a big part of him thought that Peter would be the most impressed by something like that. In their conversations throughout the week, Tony learned that Peter trained dogs professionally after studying behavior in college. He answered any of Tony’s questions and appreciated all the little anecdotes Tony shared about the short time he’d been enjoying the heck out of Zero.

Walking into the room he was directed to, Tony lit up when Peter noticed him. In a couple of long strides, Peter was right in front of him, his hand already reaching down to press against Zero’s head. “Hey you two! You guys are in luck – it’s a small class, so you’ll get lots of hands on stuff tonight,” Peter caught his eye as he spoke, the smirk on the younger man’s lips making Tony’s throat suddenly very dry.

He nodded his head listlessly, his hand tightening on Zero’s lead. The crush on Peter that he’d been fostering for the past few days doubled in size throughout the next hour. There was one other dog owner and their pup – another puppy adopted from the rescue. Not only was Peter attentive, he knew his shit and didn’t mind explaining things as he went. As someone that put information above almost everything else, Tony liked all things about that.

Zero seemed to like it, too – he showered Peter with affection when he stood talking to Tony at the end of the class. He nosed at Tony’s hand, then pressed against Peter’s leg and licked at his ankles. Tony couldn’t help but grin down at him – the antics already too much.

“I found a local brewery that has a patio that allows dogs – any interest in catching a drink with us?” Tony asked – the conversation had got to the point where they were just staring longingly at each other. It seemed like the perfect time to put himself out there. The grip on Zero’s lead tightened for just a second; he didn’t think he read their interactions wrong, but after so much time away from the dating game, he could never be too sure.

Peter reached out and laid a hand on his arm, the touch the slightest bit reassuring, “I would like that very much. I hope you’re talking about Landry’s – they have the best cheese curds.” He turned his body and started to gather his stuff up like he’d merely been waiting for Tony to buck up the courage to invite him out before getting his shit together. Maybe he was – the idea of that honestly not the worst thing. At least then, he was joined in the intensity of his feelings.

They split up for the few minutes it took them to drive their separate cars to the brewery and met back up at one of the picnic tables closest to the open grass space right next to the building. There were a couple of other dogs milling around the grass – Zero looked over at them curiously, but remained by Tony’s side, his body resting on his feet after a while.

Their view of the sunset was fantastic – they shared a couple orders of cheese curds and truffle fries; Tony liked the way Peter closed his eyes around the bites that were extra indulgent – the redness of his cheeks absolutely divine. The amount of times being caught looking at him probably should have been embarrassing. Yet, Peter simply smiled back and moved his hand a little closer to Tony’s on the table.

It took most of the night for their fingers to finally tangle together – Tony wanted to be sure and enjoyed the build-up to it once he was. Peter’s hands were just as soft as Tony imagined them – his long fingers fit perfectly between his own. They shared a shy smile and sat together until the sky started to rumble a little while later.

Big raindrops suddenly falling on them made the decision to pay the bill and huddle for warmth in Tony’s car easy – Peter climbed into the passenger seat without any restraint. It was obvious that neither man was ready for the night to end.

In hopes of a few seconds to think his next move through, Tony started the car and made sure the vents were open so the car didn’t get too hot. He was startled by a cool hand on his own, Peter’s fingers around his wrist pulling his attention back to where they both wanted it to be.

“I had a really good time tonight,” Peter admitted, his body shifting in the seat. The Audi didn’t have too much space in it, so they were already close. The move of Peter’s shoulders brought them within breath sharing distance. “I like spending time with you.”

Tony didn’t bother trying to find the words to respond appropriately. Without any hesitation, he closed the space between them and pressed their lips together. His hands wandered to the front of Peter’s shirt; the fabric there warm from the heat of his body. A soft moan left Peter’s lips, the sound so encouraging – Peter’s response to it all exactly what Tony was hoping for.

Tilting his head, Tony was about to deepen the kiss when he felt a wet tongue on his cheek. Since his was currently tangled with Peter’s, it could only belong to none other than Zero. He pulled away with a sudden laugh – the excellence of the situation hitting him when Peter beamed at him.

“Better get used to him, Zero. I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” Tony murmured, one of his hands running softly over the puppy’s head.

Peter pulled Tony and Zero towards him, the group hug the sweetest thing Tony figured he’d ever been a part of. The press of lips against his forehead had Tony sighing, his body light for the first time in decades.

The start of something new felt pretty damn good.

#starker #ironspider #puppypeter #bobbie writes #au prompt #struck from a great height

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deans-haunted-baby · 5 years ago

Text

Why I don’t think Michael will side with Chuck in the End

I know there’s theories floating around that Michael may have been deceiving the Winchesters in 15x08. Its true we have no idea what his agenda is or if he’s that interested in playing nice with TFW. They did trap him in Hell with their half brother for a long time so he’s not exactly warm & fuzzy about that. However this isn’t the psychotic, sinister version of Michael from the alternate universe nor is he the same steel cold obedient soldier back in 5x22. He’s changed massively. There’s more humanity in him now than he’d like to admit. In spite of what we’ve seen from Michael in the past, I don’t think he’s interested in harming Sam and Dean, at least not currently. And I just can’t see him running to Chuck, not after receiving all that alarming information. So I'm going to present the following reasons for why he probably won’t turn on the boys. Number 1 being the most important. Adam Milligan.

For however it happened the archangel bonded with a human. The formally resurrected 19 yr old illegitimate son of John Winchester. All those years spent in the cage these two managed to forge an understanding between one another; an unusual strong connection. They're friends and allies. Michael listens to and respects Adam’s opinions even if he doesn’t always agree. Allows him freedom to control his own body. And despite being the ruthless warrior that he still is, Michael’s been shown to be much more merciful, patient and compassionate compared to when the boys last faced him. Because of his relationship with Adam, Michael’s developed a newfound appreciation for humanity similar to his aunt Amara aka the Darkness. He truly cares about Adam and protects him. Like at the diner when he smote Lilith for posing a threat. Then instead of killing the witnesses in front of Adam, Michael chooses to spare their lives by erasing their memories. He even defended Adam to the Winchesters further demonstrating that he does consider his feelings. That’s beyond the person he was when he told Dean “Adam isn’t home right now” all those years ago.

So I have no doubt Michael will do what ever means necessary to keep Adam safe from Chuck, who is hell bent on destroying the world which Adam is part of. Even if that means siding with some old enemies to take him down so be it. As the old saying goes “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”. Of course that doesn’t mean Adam shares any love for Sam and Dean. Hell no. He made that pretty clear at the diner. He has every reason and right to hate them after ten years of failure to save him from Hell. Every reason to make them suffer. Adam deserves to be pissed at the Winchesters and the world for doing him dirty like that. But...for better or worse, Sam and Dean are still his brothers. Its for that reason and that reason alone that I don’t see Michael threatening to go after them later. He knows Adam wouldn’t want that unless (he really is a scheming crazy person deep inside) Michael’s friendship with him is just smoke & mirrors which I don’t believe for one second.

And Adam’s been presented as being a very forgiving, kind soul despite all the pain he’s been through. Revenge wasn’t even on his mind the moment he got out of that cage. It was human food on top of wanting to go back to school or get a job. Meaning he cared more about getting back to some sense of normalcy. Then when Castiel and the Winchesters pulled him and Michael into their crisis, Adam was willing to hear their side and attempted to convince Michael to help them. Why go through that whole charade if Adam just wanted Sam and Dean hurt or dead? They had every opportunity to double-cross TFW while being held captive but instead Michael & Adam chose to put aside their grievances, at least for the moment, and give the Winchesters something useful. Now whether or not the spell actually works (I doubt it’ll be that simple) is the mystery. However this definitely not the last time we’ll see these two characters which brings me to point number 2. Jack Kline.

This is a big one. Why you ask? Well lets go over that scene in 15x08 where Castiel shares his memories with Michael and Adam. There was so much foreshadowing in this moment (from Michael/Adam’s return down the road, to Michael’s unavoidable confrontation with Chuck and finally his eventual encounter with the young Nephilim himself) based on how that scene was shot and edited. The primary objective was Michael watching Jack die at the snap of Chuck’s fingers and reacting to it along with all the other nasty business his dad’s been doing behind the scenes. Talking didn’t seem to be enough to get through to Michael and neither did antagonizing him. His stubbornness and arrogance wasn’t surprising being he is the Prince of Heaven and has a blind idealized devotion for his father as his loyal son. So in order to open Michael’s eyes and get him to see the truth, Castiel focuses his energy on the most ruthless, evil act Chuck has ever committed. Murdering his grandson and Michael’s nephew.

Doing this Castiel shatters that righteous image Michael has had of his father forever because Chuck/God (father of all creation) is suppose to be the embodiment of light, love, hope, peace and benevolence. He created Michael to be his champion of humanity; the guardian protector of Heaven and Earth. Its Michael’s sworn destiny to defend good against evil. And Chuck crossed the line, several in fact. He represents everything Michael was born to oppose. Trying to mess with free will, attempting to destroy everything he created all out of spite because the Winchesters refused to play his games anymore. But above every horrible thing he’s ever done there’s no sin greater than taking the life of his own flesh and blood. A child born of a human (God’s greatest creation) and an archangel (Michael’s younger brother Lucifer whom, despite their conflict, he loved immensely). That is unforgivable. No matter how much he may still love him, Michael has absolutely no reason to trust his father; not after all those centuries of deception. And Chuck has shown he has no regard for human life let alone the lives of his own family which Jack’s death all represents.

Now Michael chose to leave at the end of 15x08 after giving our heroes the spell to trap Chuck and showing them the door to Purgatory. But what’s interesting about that is his reference to the Darkness. It’s unclear if Michael even knows Amara has been released and neither Dean or Castiel ever mention it. I wonder if he can sense her energy. So the question is where is Michael going? Is he planning to seek her out or leaving to confront his father (which I doubt since Chuck is preoccupied with Sam and Eileen at the moment)? What we do know is Michael and Adam can’t avoid the inevitable. They’re as much apart of this fight as TFW whether they like it or not. It all depends on which side Michael ultimately chooses. Will he align himself with the Winchesters or is he going to be on his own side? It’ll be interesting to find out when the show returns in 2020! And I’ve been thinking a lot about what Michael’s interaction with Jack will look like when they’re finally reunited because if its anything like what we saw with Gabriel (or better) that could be a good sign for Sam, Dean and Castiel.

Out of all his paternal family members Jack’s so far met his biological dad (that didn’t go over so well), his grandfather (that didn’t go well either) and one of his archangel uncles. He’s yet to encounter his great aunt Amara the Darkness or his most powerful famous warrior uncle. The original Michael. Those are interactions I’d very much like to see happen before the show ends. But for arguments sake lets say Michael does consider turning on the Winchesters. Not that he would or might but what if he still has doubts. Jack could be TFW’s best chance at gaining Michael’s trust, cooperation and alliance. He could tell his uncle that Castiel and the Winchesters had been raising him as their own; protecting him since he was born. Things I’m sure Michael might appreciate. Or Jack could confide his biggest regret (accidently killing Mary Winchester) as a means to bond with Michael and help him understand the Winchester brothers a little better. Reminding Michael and Adam of redemption and forgiveness. That any pain the Winchesters might’ve caused them has no comparison to what Jack took from Sam and Dean and yet they’re still a family.

It’ll be fascinating to see how they go about the dynamic between these characters considering what happened with AU Michael in S13 and S14. Jack may be a little hesitant of his uncle at first and Michael may be hostile (since he probably knows Nephilim are forbidden) yet curious or a combination of both. Or maybe their first encounter may be a bit softer than expected what with Adam in the middle of things. Michael could become very taken with Jack and protective of him. He was very distraught after seeing those horrifying images of his father killing his nephew. And I could see Adam being their ice breaker (oh the comedic possibilities of this!) he’s a very laidback, likable chill dude not to mention Sam and Dean’s half brother. Yah that little detail is probably going to be the most shocking for Jack since Adam’s never been a blip on the Winchesters’ radar.

Moving onto point number 3. Heaven. It’s dying which is why Jack was manipulated into creating new angels to power it up. After all the damage done by Metatron, Lucifer and the Entity it’s left in ruin and without proper leadership. We know as of right now Michael has no intention of going back there. He’s severely withdrawn since learning his brothers are all deceased and probably feels like a failure and a fool. But none the less he’s got unfinished business back home. By the time Supernatural ends someone’s got to be left in charge of things up there, my moneys on either Amara or Michael since he’s the heir to the throne of Heaven. It would be a fitting ending for either of them. Maybe Michael will somehow restore Heaven’s power (with Amara and Jack) and reopen it for the all the earthbound souls. Or maybe in the aftermath of the final showdown against Chuck, Michael will just hang around with Adam and whoever else is left standing on Earth. And finally we reach my last point number 4. Amara.

What do we know about Michael’s complicated history with his aunt? Not much either than the fact that he and his brothers were ordered by Chuck to seal her away centuries ago; with no intention of ever releasing her. Something tells me Amara wouldn’t harbor any kind of affection for Michael, not after what we saw with Lucifer. And we have no idea if she still shares that same connection with Dean as she did in S11 (though rumor has it they got an upcoming storyline together in the back-half of S15) or if she’s even interested in lending a hand in the Winchesters’ business of saving the world. However Amara has been shown, like Michael, to have developed a love for humanity. She’s having the time of her life vacationing all over and taking advantage of her freedom. I don’t think she’d be too thrilled knowing her brother plans to destroy all he’s accomplished and he’s not exactly her favorite person to be around. She’s completely done with Chuck’s crap. He’s alienated her to the point where she wants to be as far from him as humanly possibly.

And if she does still view Dean in a favorable light after what he’d done for her, that could be what persuades Amara into helping TFW. Michael would have to be an absolute moron to attempt an attack (if he decided to make them his enemies) if Sam and Dean manage to get the Darkness on their side. Its canon that she’s far more powerful than the archangels which is why it took all of them combined to lock her away. That said I don’t think Michael’s character is being set up as a villain. We already had AU Michael, been there done that. Nor do I see him and Amara at odds specifically because of their deteriorating ties to Chuck. Could their reunion be pretty heated and violent? Possibly. Its hard to say where they’ll stand with each other when they cross paths, there’s some bad blood between them for sure so they’ve got some family issues to sort through. But as of right now, what’s happening is bigger than both of them and their angst. Ironically Michael and Amara got more in common with each other than they realize.

Both of them were abandoned, lied to and used by Chuck on top of being imprisoned for many years. And they actually care about the world they're currently inhabiting which Chuck wants to end. That’s got to be worth more to them than some old discrepancies in the past. Enough for them to want to put aside their differences and work together to stop Chuck. Imagine how awesome this storyline would be, former enemy family members coming together because of a common threat they’re all facing. Michael and Amara along side TFW, that’s a pretty badass team. I WANT THIS. I want to see Michael get to be a good guy. Become an ally and the honorable hero he was meant to be. Saving humanity whom he now cares about with his human best friend. We deserve to see this version of Michael come into fruition before the show ends.

Anyway those are my thoughts on the Michael/Adam situation. I hope it comes true or most of it anyway. I know Supernatural is building up for a big finish. It would be nice if they didn’t waste two characters we haven't seen for ten years. I want to believe that they have plans for Michael and Adam that don’t include killing them off for shock value and/or villainizing them at the last second. They deserve better than that. 15x08 was a perfect example of how to utilize and develop these characters into the plot. They have so much potential and story left to tell. Lets hope the writers know what they’re doing.

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sepublic · 5 years ago

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Regarding Hazbin Hotel’s themes of Redemption

Okay, this may be a controversial suggestion, but you know one thing I’d REALLY like to see Hazbin Hotel do? I’d like to see it take the whole idea and message of ‘Even the worst of the worst deserve a chance to change themselves, and that anyone is capable of becoming a better person’ and actually… go through withand explore it.

Like, I don’t want all of the characters who get redeemed to very obvious, blatant choices where you can immediately tell, “Oh they’re actually a good person deep down inside!” Because when it comes to the idea of redemption, Hazbin Hotel’s core theme, that’s neither interesting, nor THAT much of redemption. The inherent goodness is already clearly there and a part of them, and if left to their devices, such characters, like Angel Dust for example, would definitely be good people.

The thing is- This is HELL. This is where the worst of the worst come, this is rock bottom after you’ve taken an excavator and dug down a few miles. It’s easy to look at a Demon who clearly has good tendencies otherwise and was mostly bad by circumstance, and say, “Let’s redeem that person! It will be SO revolutionary to see that person redeemed, even though they’ve already been clearly set aside from the rest as naturally good!” I want to see the show try to redeem ACTUAL bad, terrible people.

Which, gets into the controversial part- I want to see the kind of people who choose to be terrible, who choose to be cruel and kill, end up getting redeemed. Because the thing about redemption is, you don’t naturally deserve it- That’s antithetical to redemption. It’s not some gift just prescribed to a person beforehand, it’s something that’s earned, painfully, through trial and error. Because like Charlie said, EVERYONE deserves a second chance to be better, and even if that person was a bigoted abuser… If they decided they want to change, then they should be given the chance to do so.

Now, I’m not saying EVERY character should just be redeemed. I’m not saying every horrible demon should have good values and a change of heart handed to them on a silver platter, nor do I want any of them to be forcedinto changing, so to speak. I’d rather not see Charlie kidnap random Demons off the street and forcibly torture them into changing their habits (Now, Lucifer’s order having to imprison a Demon to keep them from doing further harmful actions, THAT’s fine and acceptable, as is self-defense). But what I’d like to see is a nuancedtake on the idea of redemption, that actually explores this idea instead of carefully poking the surface with the tip of the toe and then saying, “Well I’ve done all I can do!”

Because when a demon chooses to redeem themselves… It’s not going to be pretty. It’s going to be uncomfortable, arduous, difficult, and excruciating. And yet, if one is so fixated on justice, perhaps this is the best course of action? It’s easyto just be awful and never change yourself, that’s why Sloth is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. But actually stepping back and evaluating yourself, confronting yourself, living with the results of your mistakes and their implications, forced to feel consequences instead of just dying to escape it all? THAT’s real justice. It’s painful for the demon, but also the BEST possible option for them too.

By the end of the day, isn’t it in everyone’s best interests for everyone and anyone to become better? To lessen the amount of pain in this world? And it’s not like punishment can’t keep existing, either- It’s not a black and white choice between getting off scott-free, and dying permanently with no option of ever becoming better. A character can still be punished for their actions, while still working to change.

And, yes- Some people won’t change, and maybe they never will. But the thing is, this isn’t regular, real life in the living world, where people have limited lives and resources and better things to do. This is Hell, this is rock bottom, THIS, of all places, is the place and time to start working on rehabilitating the worst, because what else will you do? What else would be the purpose of Hell, besides endless, meaningless pain? Infinite punishment should not apply to finite crimes.

Likewise, even if some people will never change… It should always be made availableto them, the option to change- Just in case. The chance should always be ready, 24/7, eternally. And I know this may sound incongruous with what I said earlier, about how I want to see a character get permanently killed off by an Exterminator weapon… But really, such an event, I feel, would further highlight how important it is that rehabilitation and redemption be made readily, conveniently available at all times! Because life in Hell IS unpredictable, and it CAN be finite, and a permanent death would be a good way to really hammer in WHY Charlie is so insistent on giving these demons a chance to escape their fate. There’s an urgency to the Hazbin Hotel, because if people don’t start investing in it and making it available as soon as possible, people who could have changed will die and lose that chance they might have taken.

Now, I’m not saying every terrible demon, if any of them, should be forgiven- Absolutely not, and especially not by those they’ve hurt. There’s no obligation to forgive them, so even if it is an option that’s taken within the show, I’d still prefer if it was made clear that this was a choice by the victim, not by the abuser. Because a person who’s hurt others doesn’t automatically deserve forgiveness for making an effort- If anything, forgiveness is impossible. But just because you won’t be forgivenfor something, doesn’t mean you can’t change your behavior from then on- Because the crime being unforgivable is precisely WHY one would change their behavior! Because that behavior never was okay to begin with! If some terrible demons are redeemed, and it should be made clear that the bad things they did will neverbe forgiven, and that’s okay.

And of course, the Hazbin Hotel should be allowed to employ self-defense. It should still be allowed to fight back against those who may seek its destruction, because self-defense is okay, and if it hurts the attacker, then I don’t want the narrative to blame the victim for defending themselves. If a victim remains eternally hateful towards their abuser, then even if that abuser changes, even if that victim is also redeemed too… I still want that victim’s hate to be valid and accepted. Because earning redemption isn’t about making people like and forgive you, it’s about changing yourself. Those people don’t owe you anything, but YOU owe yourself a lot, and owe them a lot as well.

Again, some people will never change- But then again, never say never. Yes, redemption is a choice, and that part should also be emphasized… But redemption should also be made possible and available. The worst of the worst should know that it’s possible to try for it, while still being held accountable for the time they took to do so. Likewise, I’d really like to see the Hazbin Hotel’s teachings spread a lifestyle of being kind to one another, because when people are kind to one another, offer comfort and support, and so forth, you’d be surprised at how much a stubborn mind will yield away to that.

Of course, I don’t want said support and love to be forcedonto a demon, and have their personal autonomy violated. Sometimes you have to respect that they want to be left alone. Likewise, just giving someone a bunch of love and support won’t automatically change their mind, and I’d like for the show to remind the audience this… But at the same time, it can soften circumstances and make it morelikely for a demon to consider redemption, depending on the demon and their flaws in question of course.

I just… think this is kind of take on redemption would be infinitely more unique and intriguing than previous, rather vanilla takes on it. What happens if the ugly, generic war criminal mook who’s happily killed innocents, suddenly realizes they want to change? Or they’re suddenly exposed to love and support, and they look at those kind of lifestyles and realize that’s just so much NICER than what they’ve been doing… What if someone truly understands and sees that others are PEOPLE, just like them?

The closest I’ve seen to this kind of take is Steven Universe, which is amazing, but also by itself. Likewise, I’m also afraid that if Hazbin Hotel DOES go in this direction, it’ll be accused of ‘forgiving abusers’ and being ‘sympathetic to genocide’. I’d rather not want another SU Critical situation, but at the same time, I suppose such a thing would be inevitable. I think I’d rather see Hazbin Hotel actually try to explore REAL redemption, not just “Oh this ‘bad’ person just needs to be told it’s okay to be good and then they’ll be good!’… I want effort and actual change. And I think witnessing that in action far outweighs the cons of some people misinterpreting the message in bad faith.

After all, Demons have literally all the time in the world, assuming they avoid extermination, to change. So let’s see what happens when, after an eternity, a demon realizes their existence has become dull and bleak?

#hazbin hotel

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flamehairedwritings · 5 years ago

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Eight

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

An American Welcome

Clicking his tongue, he urged Ophelia into a gallop, eager to put some distance between him and the town. He rode north, knowing Bill would head wherever he thought was appropriate to bury the boy and Micah would ride back to camp... and tell everyone what had happened.

This might just break Ada.

It was the first thought that came to his head as he finally began to process, and he immediately wanted it out of his mind. After all she’d been through, past and present, what would this do to her now? Christ, she’d even said he reminded her of her brother and now he, too, was gone.

Arthur slowed Ophelia to a canter as they began to pass wide, open fields. A few minutes later, he slowed her to a walk.

He was being a coward and he knew it, putting off the inevitable.

But, selfishly, he was thinking of himself, of what he could do to help her, of what he could say. He wasn’t good at comforting people and God knew she would need that. What if she turned him away again, like she had when she’d first arrived? It wasn’t good for someone with her history to be left alone, not when another tragedy struck. He shouldn’t have left her that first time, but what would he have said?

She’s got no one to make her laugh now.

As he turned east and took the familiar paths back to camp, Arthur tried to rid himself of the sinking feeling in his chest. He knew grief, knew it all too well, but he couldn’t let it get to him now. He would, somehow, have to be there for Ada and whatever was going to come the camp’s way next.

There was no one on guard duty as he came into camp from the north path but he wasn’t too surprised. They were probably mourning Sean as Micah relayed the story, lying through his teeth about how upset he was.

Arthur decided to hold onto the anger the boy’s death had provoked rather than the sadness. Anger was easier to deal with, more proactive.

Dismounting near a post and patting Ophelia’s neck, his head lifted as he heard raised voices near Dutch’s tent.

“... down. Everybody just relax. We are doing all we can.”

Frowning, Arthur began to move towards the small group that consisted of Dutch, Kieran, Molly and Trelawney. Dutch lifted his head and when his eyes fell upon Arthur he suddenly strode towards him, brushing past Kieran who looked distraught.

“Arthur, have you seen the boy, Jack?” He was the most rattled Arthur had seen him in a long time.

Arthur’s stomach twisted as he searched his features. “No, wh—”

“Where’s my God damn son?!”

Both men turned to see Abigail advancing towards them, her features thunderous. Ada followed close behind her, a Repeater gripped in one hand. Arthur glanced between the two of them, catching Ada’s eye. Her lips parted slightly, and he saw the fire in her eyes.

“Where is he?! Where’s my son?!” Abigail demanded as she came to a halt right in front of Dutch, her fists clenched.

Oh dear God...

“They took him, didn’t they?” Abigail’s voice shook as she spoke. “They took my son!”

“Who took him?” Arthur asked, trying to meet her gaze, his heart starting to beat faster.

Not little Jack...

“We think the Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea called as he approached, as frantic as they all were. “That Kieran saw a couple of fellers, sound like Braithwaite boys.”

Abigail released a pained sound as she pressed a hand against her chest, and Ada settled her hand on her back as she demanded again, “Where’s my son?! If anything— Where is my son, Dutch van der Linde?!”

Dutch turned to her, fixing his eyes on her, and Ada had never seen him so serious.

“We will find him, we will bring him back to you and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on the boy’s head! Abigail, you have my word.”

Ada felt someone appear beside her and glancing up she saw John Marston, his obvious rage rivalling Abigail’s.

“Just get me back my son!” Abigail ordered through gritted teeth.

“I will get that boy back, so help me God, right now!” Dutch promised, and he, Arthur and John were already turning away.

As they began to stride towards their horses, Bill’s voice suddenly called out, Charles, Lenny and Javier behind him, “Dutch, we just heard about Jack! You need some extra guns?”

Ada lifted her head and looked to him, then Abigail. “We’ll get him back,” she murmured gently, before moving towards the men as the other women neared, Susan gathering Abigail into her arms as she finally released a sob.

“Yes, I do,” Dutch answered lowly, continuing towards his horse without looking at them.

Ada met Sadie’s gaze, and both women headed for their horses.

“Micah, Kieran, anyone strange turns up, you kill ‘em! Rest of you, let’s ride!”

The men, Sadie and Ada mounted their horses and one after the other followed Dutch out of the camp.

Ada could feel her heart pounding in her chest, every kind of scenario running through her mind of what could have happened.

They’ve just done this to scare them, she told herself.

From what she’d found out about this business they had with the Braithwaite’s, it wouldn’t have surprised her if they’d finally caught on.

But to have a child pay for the sins?

“Let’s go get that boy back!” Dutch called as they all began to canter, some falling in beside each other.

"They must’ve figured out what we was up to, Dutch,” she heard Hosea call from a little further up in the formation.

“Yeah, we just got shot to hell by the Grays in town,” Arthur added, his voice coming from behind.

She glanced back at him, her gaze sweeping over him, assessing.

“I know, I heard,” Dutch answered, “About Sean, too. I don’t wanna even think about that right now.”

Ada stiffened and her eyes rose to meet his.

She doesn’t know.

Arthur opened his mouth, but then she turned and looked ahead.

Oh, God...

“We have to focus on Jack,” Dutch continued.

“I swear, I’ll kill everyone there.”

“Easy, John, try to stay calm,” Dutch called to the younger man.

“I’m fine.”

Ada stopped listening. She gripped the reins so tightly her knuckles were white.

She could see from the corner of her eye Arthur had moved up to ride beside her as they turned onto a wider path but she kept her gaze ahead, Dutch’s voice ringing in her head.

Focus on Jack, focus on Jack, focus on Jack...

The chant continued on and on in her mind as they rode. Soon, lights appeared in the falling darkness of the distance as they turned onto a long stretch of road, and she saw a large house looming ahead.

Braithwaite Manor.

“Okay, get your heads right. Nobody makes a move until I say so,” Dutch ordered.

Slowing their horses as they neared a brick archway, Dutch then called out, “All right, everyone, dismount and come to me. We’ll go in on foot from here.”

Ada pulled up beside Charles and dismounted swiftly, drawing her Repeater from Faithful’s saddle. Sadie joined her at her side as they moved towards Dutch.

“First Sean, now Jack. We should have stayed out of all of this,” Lenny murmured.

“Bit late for that, ain’t it?” Bill muttered.

“Quiet, we’re going to fix this right now,” Dutch silenced them. “Come on, let’s get this done.”

He then gripped John’s shoulder as the younger man made to pass him. “John, you sure you’re okay?”

His mouth was set in a grim line. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

Dutch nodded, and drew his revolver, his jaw set. “Follow my lead.”

Everyone drew or adjusted the grip on their guns as Dutch led them down towards the Manor.

“Both these redneck families think they can ruin us? I don’t think so... Who steals a God damn boy,” Dutch muttered.

“There they are,” Hosea warned as they neared the house, and Ada saw men step out onto the porch, guns in their hands.

“I’m gonna let fly at those sons of bitches,” John hissed.

“John, I need you to stay calm.”

John didn’t answer Dutch, his gaze fixed ahead.

“Get down here now!” Dutch suddenly yelled out. “You inbred trash!”

“What the hell do you want?” a man called from the porch.

Dutch glanced back and gestured at them all to halt.

“Easy, John...” Hosea murmured, catching him by the arm as he made to continue moving forward.

Taking a few steps forward, Dutch answered, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

“Shouldn’t have messed with our business now, should you?”

The man speaking and two others moved down from the porch, only a few feet between them and Dutch.

Dutch inhaled a breath, steadying himself.

“Whatever complaint you have with us, alleged or otherwise... That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the hell off our land.”

Doors up on the balcony opened and more men appeared, there and on the porch.

Ada’s gaze darted between them all, and she could feel every one in the gang just as tense as she was.

Waiting.

Dutch’s voice was low and calm when he finally spoke.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilised about this...”

He raised his guns.

Everyone fired in the same moment.

Racing for a nearby tree, she dove behind it, gasping out a breath as bullets rained down. It was shoot or be shot at so, raising her gun, she fired at the men that spilled out onto the balcony on the first floor of the manor.

They took Jack, was all she thought, was all that rolled around in her mind.

Both sides yelled at each other, gunfire drowning out whatever curses they spat. As she reloaded, pulling bullets from the pockets of the trousers Sadie had given her, she watched Dutch, John, Arthur and Charles advance towards the front doors, the other men giving them cover. A well oiled machine.

“Annie!”

Her head whipping to the left at Sadie’s shout, she saw her beckon her and point towards the fields; men were running between the produce and trees, firing at them.

“Come on!”

Without thinking, she followed after Sadie, running and standing behind an apple tree close to the other woman. Her gaze darting between the men, she counted them.

Sixteen.

“Sadie, we can’t take them all on!”

“Can’t we?”

Glancing at her, she caught Sadie’s grin.

“Christ Almighty...” Ada muttered through gritted teeth as she and her friend began to fire at the advancing men, sending them diving for the nearest cover.

“How do you like that, you bastards?!” Sadie yelled over the cacophony of sounds.

Ada just aimed, shot, aimed, shot, aimed, shot, pausing only to reload. It wasn’t until one, solitary man tried to run to new cover that she realised, yeah, they could. With Sadie’s bullet finding its mark, all sixteen men were dead, their blood seeping into the earth. Blowing out a breath, Ada glanced over at Sadie.

“Well, that was—”

“Annie!”

Before Ada could react, she felt a solid force barrel into her, knocking her and her gun to the ground. Her head rattled as her teeth clamped together with the motion, narrowly avoiding her tongue. Groaning as she hit the dirt, her eyes snapped up to see a man snarling at her, a Revolver in his hands. Half-twisted on her side, her nearest hand shot out, shoving the gun to the side as he pulled the trigger. Gasping as a bullet buried into the ground beside her head, she used his shock to shove her body up and over, pinning him beneath her.

She could hear Sadie cursing, trying to find an opening to take a shot as she and the man grappled, fumbling with the gun he clung to. He was probably no taller than her but strong, making her hiss through her teeth as he tried to bend her hands away. One of his hands suddenly left their scrambling and she thought she had the advantage, when his fist drove into her stomach. Gasping for breath as he rolled them over again, she had to swiftly block his next oncoming punch to her face. Undeterred, he aimed the gun again and she stared into the barrel.

A boot invaded her view, kicking the gun aside and she seized the opportunity. Thrusting her leg up, she reached into her boot, withdrew the knife Sean had gifted her and thrust it into the man’s heart. His eyes widened as he choked on his last few breaths, before he went slack and slumped forward. Shoving him aside, Ada sucked in a breath, her chest heaving. Shaking from adrenaline or fear she didn’t know, most likely both, she looked up, watching Sadie pick the Revolver up and pocket it.

“Thanks for that,” she gasped.

“If you hadn’t’ve been rollin’ around like pigs in the mud I could’ve ended it sooner,” Sadie answered, arching an eyebrow as she smiled.

Giving a much needed if slightly shaking laugh, Ada took her offered hand and let her pull her up to her feet.

“You all right?” Sadie asked, rubbing her back gently as the auburn-haired woman brushed the dust from her trousers.

“Yeah.” She straightened after wiping her knife clean on the leather material of her boot and pushing it back into it, licking her lips. “I think so.”

Sadie dropped her hand, smirking lightly. “Good. Let’s see what else we can do.”

She jogged towards the front of the house as Ada moved to her Repeater, retrieving it from where it had fallen. She could still hear gunfire towards the front of the manor, Sadie now possibly, no, definitely joining in. Checking how many bullets she had left, she took a breath, turned and followed after her. Two wagons filled with men came down the main path and she ducked down beside Javier, firing at them as horses screamed and tried to pull them away. They were handled quickly. Behind her, she could hear shouts and gunfire in the building and a swift glance around told her Dutch, Arthur, Hosea and John were missing, most likely in there.

Sounds to the left distracted her; men coming up from the cabins on the shore. There was only a small group of them, though, and it was almost a relief that, after firing twice, she ran out of bullets, her pockets empty.

I’m going to have to get a gun belt and bandolier, she thought faintly.

The men were finished with in barely a minute, and Ada and Javier shared a look.

Was this all of them?

Glancing over the crate they’d used for cover, she caught Sadie’s eye, who shrugged.

“I think that’s all of them!” Charles called from beyond her, standing.

They all stood, too, still watching the fields and pathways, just in case.

Screaming came from within the manor. All turning, they tightened their hold on their guns but none raised them. It was a feminine scream, without a doubt belonging to the lady of the manor.

Ada had never seen her, of course, but Hosea had described her to her only a few days before. She reminded her of her mother, physically at least.

Moments later, Hosea, John, Arthur and Dutch emerged. Mrs Braithwaite, thin and small in only her nightgown, her grey hair unkempt, was over Dutch’s shoulder, hollering and yelling. Beyond her, the manor was on fire, rapidly being engulfed by hungry flames. Ada could feel the growing heat of it on her face. The gang backed up, forming a close group as Dutch deposited her before them on her side.

She looked up at them all, full of hate and pleas.

“You damn yankee!” she spat at Dutch, snarling.

Hosea stepped forward, standing over her. She’d never seen him so angry, as calm as he sounded. “Why’d you take the boy, Mrs Braithwaite?”

“You stole my liquor—” Mrs Braithwaite began to yell.

“Boys are off limits,” Hosea spoke over her, anger now seeping into the calmness. She could see how this man, who was so gentle and kind to her, had made this life for himself.

“— you stole my horses, ain’t no rules in war, Mr....”

“Matthews,” Hosea helped her.

“Yes...” she hissed, smoke unfurling around her, flowing down the front steps, “... that’s it.” She began to cry.

“Where’s the boy?” Hosea pressed, unfazed.

Ada saw the older woman grit her teeth, and she turned onto her back, looking Hosea full in the face.

“My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte, so my guess is Saint Denis.” She looked to Dutch and revelled in every word. “Either there, or on a boat to Italy!”

Oh my God.

She felt sick.

Hosea turned away instantly, his features thunderous. “Let’s go.”

The rest of the gang moved as he did, returning to their horses, their expressions matching his. Ada went with them but couldn’t quite look away from the sight of the sniffling woman.

“Arthur, come on!” Dutch commanded, turning away.

“What are we doin’ with her?” Arthur asked even as he followed after him.

“Leave her,” Dutch retorted as she pushed herself up to her feet, weeping loudly.

“I told you she was crazy,” Hosea called from atop his horse.

As they all walked up the main path to their horses, Ada stared over her shoulder, watching, unable to look away, as Mrs Braithwaite stumbled towards her home and into it, disappearing into the smoke and flames that touched the dark sky.

As she looked away, all she could hear was the woman’s cries.

—

It was a fast, quiet ride back to camp. Even Dutch didn’t say anything, or John. Looking over to the latter, she felt her heart tighten at his grim expression. He was going through the unimaginable, he and Abigail both.

This could have been avoided, was all that kept returning to her.

Only when they entered the safety of the camp did Dutch speak.

“Javier, Micah, Lenny take a watch, Hosea, John, Arthur with me, everyone else get some sleep.”

And that was all that was said. No one quite knew what to say, she supposed. There was one thing, though. Something that she’d had to shove to the deepest corners of her mind, something that was now clawing its way to the forefront.

Dismounting, Ada strode towards Arthur.

“What happened to Sean, Arthur?”

He pressed his lips together as he stroked Ophelia’s neck before turning to her, murmuring, “Ada—”

“Just tell me.”

He gazed at her, the obstinate fire still burning in her eyes.

“He didn’t make it,” he murmured after a moment. “Bill buried him somewhere.”

She stared at him, her features unchanging, though her breaths had quickened slightly.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll ask him.”

She made to pass him, her eyes already fixed on Bill, and he gripped her bicep, pulling her to a halt and around to face him.

“Ada, not now,” he implored, keeping his voice low. “He ain’t showin’ it but he’s torn up about it and now with all this with Jack—”

She pulled her arm from his grip and straightened, trying to pass him again. “I need to see him—”

“Ada—”

“I want to see him, Arthur.”

Taking hold of her arm again as she tried to stride away, he glanced around to make sure no one was looking before he led her behind Strauss’ wagon, the older man nowhere to be seen.

“Let go of me, Arthur,” she hissed as he pulled her along, turning her to him a moment after.

“Ada...” He held her by both arms to keep her eyes on his. “He’s dead, Sean is dead.”

She inhaled a sharp breath, trying to keep her voice calm. “I just want to see him, that’s all—”

“He’s dead, Ada, he was shot in the head, he died instantly.”

Her jaw was clenched tightly but he could see her eyes beginning to shine.

“I just, I want, I need to see where he is and then—”

“Ada...” he murmured gently.

She took in a shuddering breath and finally dropped her gaze.

“All right.”

It was so quiet, the way she said it. He watched her, waiting for how her grief would reveal itself. He straightened as she shrugged his hold off.

She opened her mouth then closed it after a few moments.

“Good night, Arthur.”

For the second time, Arthur opened his mouth as Ada turned away. He watched her walk away, silent.

What else could he do?

If she hadn’t been trying so hard to keep her composure, Ada would have been grateful that he didn’t call out to her or try to stop her again. Pushing through the flap of her tent, she then came to an abrupt halt at the centre of it, her jaw moving. Her hand swiftly came up to cover her mouth as her eyes closed.

Don’t cry. Don’t let them hear you...

He was shot in the head... he died instantly... he was shot in the head... he was shot in the head...

She didn’t know how or when she ended up on her knees, her face buried in her hands.

He hadn’t deserved that. He hadn’t deserved to end like that.

Or maybe he had. Maybe he had done terrible things that he hadn’t told her about, why would he. Maybe he’d done awful, vile things to other people.

Then again, maybe he hadn’t.

She didn’t know.

Whatever kind of a man he was, he was now dead.

From one day to the next, people here were hurt in one form or another.

It was another cold reminder of the kind of life she was trying to adapt to, that she was trying to make work.

Because what else did she have?

They’d spent all night trying to plan, Arthur, Dutch, Hosea and John.

Should they return to Braithwaite Manor, or what was left of it, and find any other Braithwaite’s to try and get more information? No, that would be too dangerous. Greys would probably be out looking for them, too, or perhaps a miraculous event had happened and they’d partnered with the remaining Braithwaites, just for now.

Should they go out to Saint Denis to find out what they could? Yes, but where to start? Was it wise to leave the camp unguarded after all the mess they’d created? Should they move?

They were, each and every one of them, tired, frustrated and shaken. But what to do?

John was growing ever more impatient and, as the sun rose, Abigail had risen from a restless sleep, her cheeks still wet with tears and her eyes blazing, demanding what they would do next. After no clear answer was given, she stormed away and they let her. John turned on Dutch, his anger keeping his weariness at bay.

“We have to do somethin’, Dutch, and soon.”

“It’s gonna work out, John,” Hosea soothed him. “It’s gonna work out, listen to Dutch.”

Dutch fixed his gaze on the younger man, nodding slightly. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but I have never been more proud of you than I am right now, brother. You’re doin’ the right thing by not rushin’ in to anythin’.”

“If I don’t get that boy back safe, I’m...” John shook his head, his eyes briefly closing. “She... She’ll kill us all.”

“I know, but, lookin’ at this logically? That boy is fine. They took him to scare us. Nobody takes a boy to harm him.”

“He’s right, John,” Hosea added.

“What do you think, Arthur?” Dutch asked, turning to him as he rolled his shoulder.

He nodded, trying not to sound as weary as he felt. “That boy’ll be fine, but of course Marston’s scared rotten. We killed all those people, we stirred up all that trouble...” He scoffed. “For nothin’.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “No, no, not for nothin’. For livin’. Now we get that boy back, and we go.” He looked to all of them, then. “Trust me.”

“Hey, Dutch!”

Lenny’s call had all of them turning, Arthur straightening and squinting his eyes against the low morning sun.

“We got a problem.”

“Not a problem...”

All the men but Dutch suddenly rose to their feet as two Pinkertons approached, one with a gun resting against his shoulder. Lenny moved close behind them, a gun trained on them. Arthur recognised them immediately; he’d encountered them once before when he’d taken Jack fishing.

Shit.

“... Visitors. A solution.” The agent without the gun smiled at Dutch as the camp began to gather around after hearing Lenny’s call, circling around them, most carrying guns. Only Abigail and Mary-Beth weren’t there.

Arthur rested his hands on his guns as his gaze darted about above their heads, checking the treeline for anymore agents. Nothing... yet.

How the hell did they find us.

As his eyes moved back to the man who spoke, they fell across Ada. She stood beside Sadie, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her arms folded, her hair slightly unkempt. She must have just woken. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying, possibly all night. His chest ached.

The agent, his face pockmarked, glanced at them all, his smile lingering. “Good day, fine people, Mr van der Linde...”

Dutch was looking away, still sat down, his thumb and fingers rubbing together.

“... Mr Matthews, I presume,” He nodded at Hosea who didn’t move, before his attention turned to John beside him. “... and who are you?”

“Rip Van Winkle,” John answered blankly, his hand resting on his gun.

“Huh...” He looked him over. “... good day, sir.” He then looked at all of them. “Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency. Agent Ross,” he finished, gesturing at the other man.

Arthur had begun to move closer, putting himself between them and Dutch, who still hadn’t looked up, his back to them.

“Ah, Mr Morgan, nice to see you again,” Milton smiled.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch suddenly said, sounding rather weary, his head moving slightly in their direction.

Milton seemed to have waited for this moment. “I don’t know if you’re aware but this... this is a civilised land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded or not yet invented. This thing...” He gestured around. “... it’s done.”

Dutch rose to his feet. Arthur didn’t take his eyes off of Milton.

“This place...” Dutch began, finally turning to the Pinkerton. “... ain’t no such thing as civilised.” He began to step towards him, Hosea moving with him. “It’s man so in love with greed, he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.”

In her grief, Ada could have laughed.

What a pretty line.

“And as a consequence that let’s you take what you please, kill whom you please and hang the rest of us?” Milton countered incredulously. “Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led so horribly astray?”

Ada’s stomach twisted. She’d thought almost the same thing the night before.

“I’m nothin’ but a seeker, Mr Milton.”

“You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr van der Linde.” Milton’s voice suddenly rose a little. “But I came to make a deal. It’s time. You come with me, and I give the rest of you three days to run off, disappear and go and live like human beings someplace else.”

Some of them shifted slightly.

Take it.

Ada eyes were fixed on Dutch now.

Take it. Be the benevolent god you’re so desperate to be.

“You came for me?” Dutch actually sounded humorous. “Risked life and limb enterin’ this den of lowlifes and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain’t that fine...”

Quiet laughter arose from some in the group.

Take it.

Milton’s jaw moved. “I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch. Just you.”

Dutch looked at him. Then, he lifted his hands and stepped forward. Her heart stilled.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God, he’s going to do it.

“In that case,” he was saying, “it’d be my honour to join you.”

Her heart was now pounding, staring at him. This was it. This was finally it.

“Excuse me, friends,” Dutch continued lightly, stepping closer to Agent Milton, “I have an appointment to keep with...”

She jumped slightly as the clicking of hammers being drawn back on guns sounded as they were lifted or removed from their holsters by every single person in the group who had one besides her.

She’d been a fool.

“I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch,” Susan said firmly.

Their loyalty to this man was astounding.

Agent Milton seemed to think so, too.

“You’re making a big mistake,” he warned them, staring between them. “All of you.”

Dutch chuckled. “Yeah, dreadful.” Lowering his hands, he smiled. “We have got somethin’, somethin’ to live and die for. How awful for us, Mr Milton.” The smile vanished. “Stop followin’ us. We’ll be gone soon.”

"I’m afraid I can’t,” Milton retorted, “and when I return I’ll be with fifty men.” He pointed at them all, his voice rising. “All of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools! Run!”

Lenny tutted and stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Come on.”

Milton snatched his arm away, glowering. “Get your damn hands off of me, boy.”

Without another glance at them, Milton turned and strode away, Ross following close behind. Lenny and Javier followed after them at a little distance. They all watched in silence as the men left the camp, lowering their guns only when they were out of sight.

“What now?” Arthur was the one to ask, with a faint sigh.

“We get outta here,” Dutch answered, his voice low, “and quick.” He glanced at Arthur. “Any ideas?”

People stayed where they were, looking to their leaders.

Arthur nodded a few times. “I know a big old house, hidden in the swamps outside Saint Denis. I’m sure they’ll find us eventually but it should buy us a few days.”

“A few days is all we need.”

Lies. More and more lies, and still loyalty.

“It’s a spot out by Shady Belle,” Arthur was continuing, “Lenny and I got into a dispute with the previous occupiers. Place is well hidden.”

Dutch nodded, then looked to John. “You and Arthur ride out and make sure no one else has moved in.” John was already turning away as Dutch added, “And, John, we’ll get Jack back and we’ll get gone.”

John just nodded silently, moving with Arthur to their horses.

“The rest of you,” Dutch shouted, “Get packing!”

Ada turned away.

How could they all be so blindly loyal to this man?

Alone with her thoughts the previous night, she’d wept as silently as she could into her hands and pillow. Grief twisted to anger, then back to grief, then anger again at the cause of all of this, of all the pain that had occurred in her twenty five years of living. It all came back to Dutch. Why had he meddled with these two families? Why, now that a child had been taken, was he still not seeing how delusional he was? Then again, she knew children had no sway over Dutch van der Linde’s decisions.

She wanted to ask him, so desperately, what had caused him to carry out such a vicious attack on Colm’s, her, family. Did he remember two small children? One black-haired and screaming, the other red-haired and silent? She’d tried to quell the thoughts because what could she do to him? Seeing the gang’s loyalty to him now only confirmed that they would all turn on her in a moment if she tried anything at all or even revealed herself.

Ada moved automatically as everyone else did, knowing what they had to do, familiar with the routine. It wasn’t until she was in her tent that she realised she had nothing to pack. All she had was the clothes she was wearing and an extra skirt and blouse. The blouse Sean had stolen for her. And the knife he had given her. She had nothing else.

‘How many rocks have you got there, darlin’?’

‘Ten!’

‘Ten! Goodness, that’s a lot. Where are ya gonna put them?’

‘In my bed.’

‘In your bed?’

‘Yeah, so they can keep warm.’

‘I don’t think your Ma’s gonna like that.’

‘She doesn’t have to know, Daddy,’

‘You’re most certainly right there, darlin’.’

A wagon rumbling past the tent made her head lift.

Christ, that was fast.

Did she take the tent down? It wasn’t even her’s. John had allowed her to continue using it even after she’d insisted he could have it back, and now either slept with Abigail and Jack or against a tree if he’d annoyed Abigail, which was often.

“Annie?”

Turning, she smiled lightly as Miss Grimshaw entered, in her element.

“There you are, sweetheart. Why don’t you come and help the girls pack the supplies away? The boys can take this down, they can do it quick and we gotta move on quick.”

“Of course, Susan, I’ll be there in a moment.”

As the older woman ducked out of the tent, Ada took a breath.

Don’t lose your head. You adapted to here, you can adapt to the next place.

With tired eyes and a weary soul, Ada lifted the two garments from the barrel and exited the tent.

John had left moments before, riding back to gather the others and lead them here to their new home. Arthur had been left the unenviable task of clearing the bodies from the camp. It had been too easy to clear it, the men unprepared and Arthur and John better shots then all of them combined. They’d discovered a wagon to the right of the house filled with food and ammo, and there was room aplenty in the house and on the ground which, all in all, would no doubt lift spirits.

And, Christ, did they need lifting.

On the ride out here, John’s despair was unsurprising but worrying. He was nearly echoing things he’d said before he’d left the gang, though now Arthur could barely argue against them. It shouldn’t have come to this, yeah, they shouldn’t have gotten involved in those families, they should have left by now. It wasn’t just John either. He’d seen the way Ada had looked at them all, particularly Dutch, when the agents had arrived at the camp. He had seen the hate and disbelief smouldering in her eyes, could practically see what she was thinking. It was all things he, too, had been thinking, but he had to trust in Dutch. And he did, he always would.

The rumbling of wagons drew his attention to the window; he’d pushed the last body into the swap to the back of the house a short time ago and had taken the opportunity to take a seat in the front room, resting his boots on a stack of books. Getting to his feet, he headed to the front doors.

Ada brought up the rear of the group, keeping herself occupied as a look-out; a caravan this large would most likely attract attention, but John had led them down quiet paths and she was surprised they didn’t encounter anyone. The wagons pulled off to the right of the house and she drew Faithful to a halt as Arthur emerged from the house, stepping out onto the porch with his arms out wide.

“Welcome home, everyone, to my humble abode!” he called, smiling. “It’s fine livin’, ignore the corpses and the alligators, it’s paradise.”

Dutch laughed, shaking his head. “I love it! Miss Grimshaw, Mr Pearson, would you two kindly work your magic?”

She couldn’t believe it. Not a day ago one of his men had died and a child had gone missing. Yet here he was, smiling at their next great adventure. Dismounting, she turned away and her gaze landed on John. He was looking, too, a frown set across his features. She wasn’t the only sane one, then.

“Arthur, take a ride with me,” Dutch continued as people scurried about, turning The Count back towards the main path.

“Sure.” Stepping down from the porch, Arthur looked to Ada as she handed her reins to Kieran with a faint smile. He wanted to ask how she was, tell her that they were safer here, that he understood what she was thinking but—

“Come on!” Dutch called.

Sighing, Arthur gathered Ophelia’s reins from where they’d been wrapped around the porch railing and mounted her.

Following after Dutch, Molly suddenly appeared, playing with her hands.

“Dutch?” she asked uncharacteristically gently, hopeful, even.

Dutch looked at her, not slowing The Count. “Yes?”

“Could I have a word with ye?”

Dutch pressed his lips together, then looked away. “Not now. Come on, Arthur.”

Molly paused, slightly taken aback, then clenched her jaw and strode away past Arthur, her fists clenched.

“Can you believe that girl?” Dutch scoffed as Arthur caught up to him. “All I’ve got goin’ on and she wants to talk.” He scoffed again as they broke into a canter, heading through the tree.

Ada watched them ride away, torn between relief and unease. She could breathe a little easier when neither men were around, but she wanted Dutch within her sight and Arthur... She wanted to talk with Arthur. She felt it was safe and not too bold of her to admit that they were friends. With Sean gone she could only talk to him or Sadie, but Arthur was the only one who knew everything about her. But... No, she couldn’t talk to him about this. She already knew what his thoughts and feelings were; it would be Dutch and the gang every time, no matter what.

Turning away, she raised her eyes to the building. It was the kind of grand house her mother would have loved to live in, probably could have lived in if she hadn’t disobeyed her parents.

It was less closed in than their previous hideout, with a river on one side and swampy fields on the others. The heat was verging on oppressive, though, much more noticeable than back at Clemens Point. Trenches lay on either side of the wide path leading up to the house, a few dirtied guns lying within them.

“Dutch and Molly have got the big room upstairs,” she heard Miss Grimshaw call out as she emerged from the open doors of the house, directing the men to where crates and boxes should go. “Abigail, you’re up there with John, too, room first on the left with the bit of wall missin’. Arthur can go up there, as well, in the smaller room. Hosea’s got the room downstairs and, ladies, you can take the rest...”

Ada’s gaze drifted away from her as she continued on. She moved towards the white bandstand to her left, moving around a dry and cracking fountain. Stacks of sandbags lay within it, as they did in the trenches, and leaves and dirt covered the floor. It had space, though, enough for a person to lie down.

Moving up the steps into it, she dropped to her knees and began to brush the debris out with her hands, pushing it down the steps to her right. Soon, the floor was clear, and she rose to her feet. Moving one sandbag at a time, she then rearranged them, blocking off all the entrances but one. Deciding she needed more, she headed to the nearest trench, taking two and moving back to the bandstand.

“Do you need a hand?”

Raising her head as she dropped the bags, Ada met Charles’s gaze.

“No, thank you, Charles, I’m fine.”

She could feel him watching her as she returned to the trench, but she ignored him, carrying out two more trips. On the final one, he had gone, and she stacked the bags.

Taking her bedroll from Faithful’s saddle, who grazed nearby, and her blouse and skirt from the saddlebag, she spread the bedroll out on the floor of the bandstand, placed her clothes at the foot of it, then stood back to assess her work.

It would do. It was hidden, protected. The bugs might become an issue but she could deal with those.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she raised her head. It must have been nearing noon. Most of the wagons had been set up as had some tents, people were milling about, resting or exploring the land. Good, they’d all have space here, somewhat.

Moving down the steps, Ada found herself heading to the small jetty. She’d identified what it overlooked as a river, however the water was so slow moving it might as well have just been part of the swamp. Standing at the edge of the not-entirely-safe jetty, she looked down into the water. She saw indistinct shapes, various kinds of fish, most likely. Maybe even a water snake or two. She’d have to watch for those, as well as the bugs. She could deal with those.

Before she realised it, she was sitting down, leaning her head against a wooden pole. It was quieter than Clemens Points. Perhaps it was the rising, stifling heat that muffled sounds, or the warmth sapped the energy from beings that would make noises. She certainly felt drained.

Steps sounded behind her. She didn’t look up.

“Hey.”

Sadie sat beside her, balancing her rifle across her lap.

“Hey.” Ada watched a small fish slowly swimming in circles.

Sadie blew out a breath, leaning back on her hands. “I can’t stand the heat.”

“Me neither.”

The fish suddenly went one way, then started to circle again.

“Your stand looks nice. I’m sure someone might have some candles so you can perhaps read at night.”

“Someone probably does.”

The fish disappeared from view.

“Annie.”

Ada’s gaze rose, but not to Sadie. She looked instead to the far bank, watching the unmoving grass.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sadie.”

“I know. And once upon a time, I didn’t. I understand, Annie, you know I do... But goin’ through it and watchin’ someone else go through it ain’t the same.”

Ada knew she was right, but she was so tired of talking. So tired of trying to rationalise everything and justify it.

“Annie, say somethin’.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Don’t say somethin’, then. Shout, scream, shoot somethin’—”

“Sadie—”

“You can’t keep it in, Annie, I know that now—”

“I don’t know what to do, Sadie.” She finally looked to the other woman, finding Sadie’s gaze imploring. “I don’t... I don’t know what to do with all this pain.”

Sadie gazed at her, her lips pressed together. Then, she pushed herself up to her feet.

“Come on.” She held her hand out to her.

Ada frowned now, staring at her hand.

“What?”

“Come on.” Sadie waved her hand. “We’re goin’ into Saint Denis, see what we can find out about Jack.”

Ada stared at her. Then, after a few moments, she took her hand, and allowed her to help her up.

Saint Denis was... It was big. And loud.

From the moment they passed under the ‘Saint Denis’ sign, Ada could only stare. People were everywhere, racing about, milling about, laughing, shouting, talking, buying, selling, music was playing from what sounded like nearly every street. Police officers seemed to be on every corner and street, too, she noted. It was almost overwhelming, in the most delightful of ways. She followed close behind Sadie as they moved along the cobbled streets, happy for her to lead the way as she just stared and stared.

“Over here,” Sadie called, having found whatever she was looking for, guiding them towards a quieter street.

Dismounting and tying their reigns to a post, Ada arched an eyebrow at her. “What brings us here?”

“Best place to find answers about the underworld.”

Ada followed Sadie’s pointed finger to a house across the street, the porch a foot off the ground. Various women stood or sat on it, chatting, smoking and drinking. She breathed out a laugh, glancing at her.

“And how would you know that?”

“It’s just common sense, ain’t it?”

“Not to me.”

Crossing the street, Sadie cleared her throat. “Ladies...”

The women glanced at her, some instantly returning to their conversations while others just looked.

“You both looking for work?” asked a scrawny, pale, blonde woman with a thick foreign accent that was unfamiliar, an eyebrow arched, a cigarette in her hand. “Or a good time?”

Some of the women chuckled and Sadie smiled, stopping at the bottom step with Ada.

“No, thank you, we’re lookin’ for answers.”

“Get him to touch the thing at the top that looks like little lump, you will come very hard.”

The women laughed again and Ada’s lips twitched.

“No, thank you, we know about that,” she said as Sadie chuckled. “We want to know about someone called Angelo Bronte?”

The women went silent, all amusement vanishing.

Well, shit... That says it all.

The blonde woman took a long drag of her cigarette, glancing between them. “Why do you want to know?”

“A little boy’s been taken from his family, we’d like to get him back to them,” Sadie said, leaning her boot against the first step.

A dark-haired woman with brown skin exhaled a breath, her arms folding across her thin body. Another woman, almost identical to her, narrowed her eyes at her.

Sadie looked between them all, some not meeting her eye. “He’s just a little kid. Any information would help.”

“We can—” The dark-haired woman started to speak, her accent different but also unfamiliar.

“I like you two so I’m going to tell you truth,” the blonde woman cut in, flicking her cigarette aside. “You should stop asking questions. It’s not safe.”

“Why?” Ada asked, glancing at the woman who’d tried to speak.

“I just said, it’s not safe,” the woman repeated, “Listen to me and look after yourselves, ladies, you both seem very nice.”

“Oh, we ain’t nice,” Sadie chuckled lowly. “We can handle him.”

“It’s not just him.” The woman stopped herself quickly, pressing her lips together.

“He has men, then? A gang of some kind?” Ada pressed gently.

“Please stop asking and go,” the woman said firmly, folding her arms. “It won’t just be trouble for you.” Looking from Sadie to Ada, she then turned and went inside, a few of the women following after her.

Ada looked to the dark-haired woman, smiling lightly. “Look, we just want to know what we’re up against. Is there anything that could help us, anything at all?”

The woman swallowed, then stepped forward. The woman identical to her, a sibling most likely, caught her elbow but she shook her off, speaking rabidly in another language, French, Ada realised, seeming to plead with her. When the other woman just shook her head and tutted, she turned to them, leaning over the porch railing and spoke in a quiet voice.

“He has many men, he practically owns this city so please be careful. If his men found out we were talking to you then we would get in trouble, too, that’s what Jane meant so that’s all I can say.” She glanced around the street, then looked back to them. “Please stop askin’ us questions. I’m sorry about your boy but unless you got an army then you ain’t gonna get him back. I’m sorry.”

Pushing away from the railing, she made to go inside when Sadie called in a low tone so as to not draw attention, “Where is he based?”

The woman paused in the doorway then turned. She hesitated. “East, a house on the river.” Then, she vanished inside.

Her sibling shot them a cold look before she went after her, pulling the door shut.

The remaining women on the porch had already turned their backs, engrossed in their conversations. Sadie straightened and turned, pressing her lips together.

“This is bad,” Ada murmured as they moved back across the street to their horses. “This isn’t some other gang hiding out in the middle of nowhere that we can just confront.”

“We faced the Braithwaites,” Sadie answered as she surveyed the street.

“Again, they were isolated. This is a civilised city with police everywhere, there’s no way we’d get out alive.”

Sadie sighed as they stood between their horses, shaking her head. “Bronte’s got quite a reputation, too, if even whores don’t wanna talk shit about him. What do you wanna do, shall we check it out?”

Ada took a breath. “Well... It is on our way out.”

Sadie grinned, taking the reins and mounting her horse. “Look at you, gettin’ a taste for danger.”

“It won’t be dangerous,” she corrected matter-of-factly, gathering Faithful’s reins and pulling herself up into the saddle, “We’ll just ride by and have a short look.”

“Whatever you say.”

They rode idly through the centre of Saint Denis, pointing out various shops to each other, telling the other to remind them it was there. They could buy new clothes, get a haircut, buy decent food, there was a bakery, and what seemed to be a well-stocked bookshop.

Life would be so easy if I lived here, Ada thought, everything I could ever want only a short walk away.

Easy and safe.

They were waiting for a tram to pass, a tram, she wouldn’t even need to walk anywhere, when a small commotion caught their attention. Turning their heads, they watched a man chase a boy, possibly a teenager, out of an alleyway, across a street, and into another alleyway, shouting after him. Ada’s eyebrows rose, then her eyes widened.

Turning to Sadie, the other woman also looked surprised.

“Was that Arthur?”

Sadie chuckled. “I think it was. There’ll be a story there.”

“Should we go and help him?”

“With a kid?” Sadie laughed. “I think he’ll be fine. Come on.”

Well, I can’t wait to hear about that one.

There were only three houses in the eastern area of Saint Denis that sat on the river, and it wasn’t hard to guess which one was Bronte’s. Riding past the wide, iron gate, they glimpsed men standing guard with guns, more men beyond them.

Blowing out a breath, Sadie redirected her gaze ahead. “Well, shit... It’s gonna take a hell of a plan to get in there.”

“What the hell are we gonna do?” Ada murmured, her heart sinking. She couldn’t bear to think of how afraid Jack must be.

“You wanna get a drink?”

Ada arched an eyebrow. “You know I don’t drink, Sadie.”

“You wanna get a book and a cake, then?”

“... Okay.”

—

Arthur rubbed at his face as he entered the camp.

Those fuckin’ kids...

Well, fuck all that, at least they knew where Bronte was now, the bastard. All he had to do now was get John, go back to Dutch, then they’d be closer to Jack and this would all be over.

And I can get some fuckin’ sleep.

Dismounting Ophelia halfway down the path, he patted her before heading down the rest of the way.

“Hey, Karen?”

She looked up at him from where she was sat on a crate, cleaning a gun. “What?”

“You seen John?”

“Turn around, you fool.”

Doing as he was told, he saw the very man coming round the side of the house, striding towards him.

“You got anythin’?” he asked before Arthur could speak as they neared each other.

“Yeah, we know where Bronte is,” he answered. He quickly continued as John turned and strode towards Old Boy, falling into step with him. “Dutch is at the east park in Saint Denis, we’ll meet him there and go and see Bronte.”

“All right.” John pulled himself up into the saddle, his features set. Gathering the reins, he looked to Arthur expecting him to have moved to Ophelia. Instead he’d remained where he was, frowning at Annie who, a quick glance told him, was stood a little way off, pushing a Repeater into the holster on Faithful’s saddle and mounting him. “You comin’ or what?” he asked the other man, Old Boy shifting beneath him, feeling how unsettled his master was.

“Yeah, I just...” Arthur sighed, looking up at him. “You go, I’ll catch up to you.”

John nodded and moved around him, heading away and nudging Old Boy into a gallop.

Running a hand down his mouth, Arthur cursed himself as he moved towards Ada.

What the hell am I doin’.

“Where you goin’?”

She glanced at him as Faithful began to walk. “Out.”

He resisted the urge to grit his teeth. “I can see that.” He stepped in front of them, gently gripping at Faithful’s bridle to get him to stop. “Out where?”

She pressed her lips together and exhaled a breath before looking at him. “Bill told me where he buried Sean. I’m going to pay my respects.” She paused, then her features softened a fraction. "Can you let go, please?”

Watching her, he released Faithful and stepped back. His mind was made up in seconds.

“You ain’t goin’ alone.”

“Arthur—”

“I ain’t gonna hear it.” Mounting Ophelia, he turned her towards the entrance of the camp and inclined his head towards it. “Now, c’mon.”

Hissing out a breath through her teeth, Ada followed after him.

—

At any other time, Arthur would have snorted. Clemens Point? Bill had buried him so close to camp? Well, what had he expected.

Dismounting as Ada did, he followed her through the trees, glancing about in case someone else had decided to use their old camp.

“Bill said he was around here...”

He nearly knocked into her when she halted suddenly, his hand instantly going to his revolver, but then he saw it too. Two thick branches tied together to resemble a crucifix, stuck into the ground before a pile of rocks. SEAN MACGUIRE RIP, the horizontal branch read. They stood in silence, staring at it as a gentle breeze blew the green leaves on the branches around them.

Suddenly, she made a sound which he thought at first was a sob, before he realised it was a laugh. She was laughing.

“He was so irritating,” she said through it, a smile pulling at her lips.

That’s a damn understatement.

He couldn’t stop a smile himself, though. “Yeah, he was.”

She hummed, a laugh trailing off, her smile lingering. “Bill did a nice job.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet here,” he nodded, his hands resting on his belt. “It’s nice.”

“It is. Very peaceful.”

They fell silent again, lost in their own memories.

“Say some words about him,” she finally said quietly. “You knew him better than I did.”

Arthur shifted, rubbing his jaw. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think he was a good friend to you.” He glanced at her as he dropped his hand; she just kept looking at the grave, her amusement nowhere to be seen now. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands together before his belt. “He was like an annoyin’ little brother to me, but we had fun ridin’ together. He was a good an’ loyal friend when it came down to it, an’ that’s what matters.”

She inhaled a breath, clearing her throat. “Amen,” she murmured. Wiping at her eyes, she shook her head. “Damn you, Sean.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Camp’s sure gonna be quiet without him now.”

“It sure will be.” Wiping at her cheeks, she turned away.

She moved out of the trees and across the grass. A rock jutted out of the small hill and she sat on the edge of it, her legs swinging a little as she looked out at the lake, water gently lapping at the shore, the sun making it sparkle. He joined her a moment later, standing beside her. It was damn peaceful around here. Birds trilled and chirped, fish splashed about in the water, and out on the lake a couple of boats and canoes moved idly. He should’ve taken advantage of it more when they were here, but there was always something to be done.

“Arthur, I...” she began quietly, hesitating, playing with the finger where a ring should’ve been, then she looked up at him suddenly, frowning. “Are you meant to be somewhere? Weren’t you looking for John?”

“Yeah, but...” He waved his hand dismissively. “It can wait.”

He couldn’t tell her. She be damn horrified and probably hit him for being with her rather than trying to get Jack back... but Dutch and John could handle it without him for a short while.

What the hell are you doing here, you idiot, a voice hissed to him.

You know what, another voice whispered back.

“Are you sure? Arthur, are y—”

“You were gonna say somethin’?”

She huffed out a breath. Would she ever be distract him from anything? Looking back at the water, her hands fell into her lap.

“Dutch should be here, too, saying something.”

There it was, dangerous waters again. Shrugging, he folded his arms. “Dutch don’t do so well with losin’ people. Hits him hard ‘cause he feels responsible for us all. He’ll probably come, in his own time.”

He caught her faint smile. “You have a lot of faith in him, you all do, all of you really do love him.”

His tone was gentle but reproachful. “Ada, you don’t—”

“No, sorry, I’m not trying to...” She paused, licking her lips. “I don’t want... Oh, I don’t know what I want.” She continued on after half a second, frowning slightly. “Something is screaming at me inside, Arthur, that I should want him dead, I should want to kill him, but I... I just don’t know what I really feel anymore these days.”

He watched her his chest tightening even as he kept his tone light. “I think all that just means you’re a good person.”

This was getting dangerous. Dangerous and complicated.

She snorted as she slid down from the rock, brushing dirt off of her hands. “No, more likely hopeless.” Smiling lightly at him, she headed back up the small hill. “Come on, I’m sure you have something to do.”

Arthur immediately started walking with her, grateful for the change in subject. “Yeah, I should get goin’. I’ll take you back to Shady Belle.”

“No, it’s all right—”

“I’ll take you, it’s on the way.”

He heard her mutter under her breath, probably curses, as they mounted. “Fine, fine, all right.”

Heading back to the main road, she looked to him, amusement having suddenly returned. “Did I see you chasing a child earlier?”

He frowned, narrowing his eyes at her. “What?”

“Did. I. See. You. Chasing. A—”

“No, well, yes, what the hell were you doin’ in Saint Denis?”

She lifted her chin slightly. “Sadie and I were asking questions, what were you doing?”

If his eyes could’ve narrowed any more, they would have. “Asking questions about what?”

She had the decency to look a touch sheepish. "Angelo Bronte.”

“You were both asking questions about Bronte?”

“Yes.” Sheepishness turned to defensiveness. ”We wanted to be useful. Sadie wanted to tell Dutch what we found out when we got back but as you know he hadn’t returned.”

Arthur harrumphed. “Well, Dutch and I were askin’ questions, too, so tell me what you found out.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’ll tell if you will.”

“Yeah, all righ’, fine,” he muttered. “But it ain’t a long ride so be quick.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

Ada wrapped her arm across what she could of the thick trunk, swinging around it to avoid wetting her boots in the swampy water. Sadie had been ghoulishly delighted to tell her about the sinking graveyard at the back of the property when she’d returned, Arthur having departed from her before they got near the camp so he could continue on. It must have been quite old, some of the gravestones having decayed from the constant assault of the water and she could barely make out some of the names on them. How many generations had lived in this house and been buried here? Who had been the last and what circumstances had led to the place falling into ruin?

It was something else, something occupying, to think about rather than what she’d said to Arthur, because she didn’t know why the hell she said it. In a moment of vulnerability perhaps, created from grief. She’d realised on the ride back that that was the first time she’d been able to grieve properly, that Sean was the first person she’d been able to grieve properly for, with full understanding and complete with an occupied grave.

She’d been too young to really understand when her father had died. The only real memory she had of it was her mother and brother weeping, and how, in her innocent, kind, child’s mind she’d vowed to be strong for them as they both held her hands tightly at his funeral. Then when she and her mother had accepted that Thom had died her mother couldn’t bear the thought of a funeral or even a memorial.

Ada hadn’t wanted to cry around her mother either; she would have got no comfort from her because she was too busy grieving herself, so Ada had had to look after her. Not that she resented her for it, God, no, she couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through of losing a child, but... sometimes comforting yourself just wasn’t enough.

“Hello, dear.”

Looking up, Ada smiled warmly as Josiah Trelawney approached, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hello, Josiah,” she answered, stepping away from the swampy graves.

The odd man was just that, odd, but she liked the tales he told of different cities and worlds, though they’d never spoken alone so this was a surprise.

“Bill said you and Arthur visited young Sean’s grave.” He smiled sympathetically. “Were you close?”

She folded her arms, a slight pang in her chest. “I suppose we were, yes.”

“Sweethearts?”

She laughed softly. “No. Fond of each other, yes, I think, but not sweethearts. More like brother and sister.”

He nodded, his smile widening a little more as he rocked on his heels. “Yes, well, we are all an odd little family, aren’t we.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She didn’t feel it quite right to include herself in it. Not that she wanted to, actually.

“And you are a part of this family.” It was as if he’d read her thoughts. “Whatever troubles you, troubles the pack.”

She maintained her own smile. “That’s comforting to know. I’m very grateful for everyone’s generosity.”

“I’m sure you are.” If his smile hadn’t been so kind she would have been unsettled by his gaze. ”Sean’s death troubles you, of course?”

She frowned slightly. “Of course.”

“The event or the cause?”

She looked at him. “I don’t quite know what you’re implying, Josiah.”

He waved his hand, chuckling. “Forgive me, my dear. My wish to be mysterious and interesting sometimes runs away from me, as does my thirst for knowledge.”

She didn’t return his smile just yet. “If you wish to know something, just ask it, Josiah.”

He shook his head, that smile just lingering and lingering. “No, Miss Sawyer. Mystery. Mystery so intrigues me, it would almost break my heart to hear truth.”

—

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