#even giving her a gig to work as muscle and company

[dreamrcven]

GG being fascinated by masuyo for having zero cybernetic enhancements, not even an organ replacement/implants, and then proceeding to buy her 500 eddies worth of real fruit just because he thinks she's "cool" will never not be funny to me

[archiveofkloss]

The Gentle Workout Karlie Kloss Swears By by Olivia Rose Rushing

The model, entrepreneur, and mother of two shares her go-to wellness rituals.

At just 31, Karlie Kloss has already lived many lives.

When she was 21, the Missouri native was a Victoria’s Secret Angel. In 2015, she founded Kode With Klossy, a company that creates opportunities for young women in tech. Flash forward to today, and the mother of two has learned a lot about dealing with change.

“With life as a mother, you don’t lose who you are — you evolve,” Kloss tells Bustle. “My fashion career is still a core part of who I am, but I’m also an entrepreneur and I just had a second baby.” While she still prioritizes aspects of her wellness routine, sometimes things slip.

“If something’s got to give, it might be a few extra steps in my skin care routine, but I’m going to make sure that I make time to break a sweat or even just go for a walk and get fresh air,” she says.

In between modeling gigs, educating the next generation of intellectuals with her company, and annual invites to the Met Gala, Kloss is taking on a partnership with Coterie, a subscription-based diaper service that aims to take one thing off a parent’s plate.

Here, Kloss talks all things motherhood, the wellness rituals she swears by, and finding moments of self-care amid her busy schedule.

What has changed since baby number two?

Not to be cliché, but everything — in the most beautiful ways. That's really what the Coterie campaign is all about — the changes. I'm looking in the mirror and I have mascara left over from last night, I don't even think I've run a brush through my hair today. My self-care routine has definitely gotten more efficient, and maybe a little neglected, but that's OK. I'm enjoying this phase of life, which has made me so much better in a lot of ways. As a businesswoman, I've become more efficient and I make decisions faster, and I think a lot of working moms can relate to that. It's impossible to even anticipate what is about to happen, but it's the most beautiful changes that force you to grow.

What’s your skin care routine like these days?

I just take better care of my skin so I don't have to wear as much makeup. I've found that's been a better investment of my time, so I’m diligent at the end of the day about taking off makeup, cleansing, toning, and using a serum and a retinol.

Are there any non-negotiables that you always make time for throughout the day?

I'd say fitness. I exercise for my mental health more than my physical health. I find that's such a core part of my mental well-being. I’m not as focused on high-impact or intensity — I’ve developed a more gentle exercise regimen post-baby number two, so I’ve done a lot of Pilates lately, which I find helps me show up better in every other aspect of my life.

What’s on your workout playlist?

Anything Beyoncé.

What’s the most out-there wellness treatment you’ve ever tried?

There's this guy who is called The Beauty Sandwich who has some sort of ultrasound technology he uses for facials. I've done his treatments before the Met Gala or a big red carpet, and it does some magical thing to the muscles under your face, your jaw, your neckline — it just pulls and tightens in some mysterious, magical way.

Coffee or tea?

Iced coffee always. There's snow on the ground here in New York and I just went out to get an iced coffee this morning.

Physical book or Kindle?

I love an audiobook, actually. Especially now, I always have my hands full or I'm in transit, so I love to have headphones in and listen to an audiobook.

Do you prefer walking the runway or photo shoots?

I do love the energy of walking in a runway show — it's like a live performance, and there's something about that adrenaline rush that never gets old.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?

My dad always used to say to my sisters and me, "No matter what it is that you do, you should always try to be the best you can be at it." Both my parents instilled this idea of pursuing your passions and doing it with excellence. That always stuck with me.

find the interview here

[cheerfulnihilismqualitysuffering]

I tutor students who have dyslexia and learning disabilities as one of my gigs. I like working with kids, and I am good at it - but (a) I have long COVID and (b) I can handle up to a 1:3 ratio, but classroom management turns me into an angry tyrant. The company I work for gives me the more complex cases, usually kids who have significant anxiety in addition to other complex issues beyond just having Dyslexia.

I was wracking my brain trying to think of how to do this with my newest student, because she's a tough nut to crack. She's a teenager, and wouldn't even turn her camera on for the first couple of meetings. I let it go after I figured out that it was a psych issue and not a tech support issue.

Then I was like...duh, of course - be vulnerable and authentic.

So I talked at her about how I was so anxious when I was learning to drive that my entire body would hurt from the muscle tension, and I didn't end up getting my license until I was almost 18 because I was anxious (I left out the part where I totalled my parents car haha). I talked to her about how I changed my major three times and ended up being in undergrad for 5 years because I didn't know what to do with my life.

Our session was much less combative and she was actually willing to expand on what had previously been one word monotone responses or just awkward silence.

So this is just to remind myself, really - the way to connection is through vulnerability and authenticity. Instead of projecting an air of authority, I humbled myself and said, hey these are my flaws. I'm human, too. We're all in this together.

[elen-aranel]

Curtain Call - Act 1

For: @writer-wednesday, but week 16... yes this took that long Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: None! WC: 3k Rating: Teen Notes: People keep telling me, "Take your time, Elen", and I say, "but I don't want to!" But I needed this story to keep me company this summer. There's a further act to come! Summary: Chris is there. He catches your eye and tilts his head, a small, sheepish smile on his face, and time almost stands still for a second as you stare back at him.

Masterlist • Act 2 >

In space, no one can hear you sing.

One of your teachers at the conservatoire told you that, years ago, and somehow it stuck with you, along with how to use your stomach muscles to support your breath, and what to picture in your mind as you reach for a high note.

You never questioned her about why she said it; you don’t know if she thought space travel could be bad for your voice, or whether she thought Earth music belonged on Earth. But either way, you’ve only sung off-world a couple of times.

Work on Earth has been plentiful, though, so you never had a reason to think about it. You’ve been all over the planet: Europe, Asia, a stint at the Sydney Opera House which was magical… And you like this gig, a few more weeks in a theatre in your current home city of San Francisco, a lot. It’s where the Federation brass bring dignitaries to give them a flavour of human music, and you’ve sung for admirals, ambassadors, members of the Federation council, even the president.

Your numbers aren’t until the second half, so before the show you can mingle with the audience. And recently you’ve found yourself wondering. Feeling a little restless. Pretending to yourself you’re on a starbase somewhere, or maybe Kasseelia, at one of the opera houses.

Maybe one day, when the right opportunity comes up, you’ll perform off Earth again.

For all of your thinking about space, you have to appreciate the historic building that you get to perform in on Earth. The crystal chandeliers that cast a soft warm glow and the polished wood panelling aren’t actually hundreds of years old, but they’re a re-creation of the theatre’s original design. You wonder what it would have been like, when you couldn’t get on a starship to go to another world. When a place like this might have been your only escape from a mundane life on Earth.

There are a lot of Starfleet uniforms in the foyer this evening among the suits, dresses and alien robes; even more than usual. Some are the older style navy blue, but a lot of the newer, more colourful uniforms are dotted about the crowd. Reds, blues and golds. There are aliens of a species you’ve never seen before too, taller than humans with a sparkling stone which may be jewellery in the middle of their foreheads. You smile to yourself as you push your way toward the stairs, taking care, as you always do, that no one steps on your dress. There’s something about getting to witness the crowd, and their sense of anticipation.

Your other pre-show ritual is going up to the circle level bar for a drink. You pause at the turn in the stairs for one last look at the crowd before you perform to them later, then head the rest of the way up.

It’s quieter up here. You’ve noticed during the season that the bars on the ground floor are more popular pre-show, and patrons tend not to come upstairs as much until right before the performance starts. There are a few people at tables, but no one right at the bar. It’s as picturesque as the rest of the theatre, with walls covered with vintage posters advertising operas, plays and musicals that were staged here in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

You slide onto your stool, beneath the black and white girl on the poster of Les Misérables.

“The usual?”

“Hey, S’nera, yes please.” You smile at the Caitian bartender, ginger fur glossy under the bar’s spotlights, who already has a highball glass in hand.

“Let’s make that two,” a deep voice says, and you and S’nera share a doubtful look before you turn to see who’s spoken.

“All right,” she says, and you hear ‘your funeral’, but you forget that as you look at the stranger sitting down next to you, and your breath catches just a little. He is handsome, with a square jaw, mouth pulled into a small smile, perfectly styled greying hair and blue eyes, made bluer by the green wrap-around top he wears. He has a Starfleet badge so must be an officer, but that’s not a uniform colour you recognise. He wears it well, though. And it does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and muscled arms.

You’re jolted out of your admiration by the sound of the glasses hitting the bar, and you turn to pick one up.

“Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, and you both take a sip. His confident expression falters. “Room temperature pineapple juice? Really?”

“It’s what I always drink.” You shrug, grinning. “First time anyone’s joined me, though.” You take another sip, the fruity flavour soothing you as it always does.

“Well, guess I walked into that one. Figures, the day I’m having. I hate these things.” He gestures, somehow encompassing the whole theatre, and sighs, and you have to stop yourself watching his mouth on the glass when he takes a drink.

“You hate concerts? Music?”

“I’m not sure the music will really be my thing, but... it’s the having to be here to see and be seen. Being here because of who I am and what I represent. It feels... inauthentic. If—” He pauses. “I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to complain about my troubles to you.”

“No, that’s all right. Sometimes we just need someone to hear us.” You tilt your head. “Let me get you a proper drink. S’nera?” You reach over and take the glass from his hands, your fingers accidentally-on-purpose brushing against his. You clock his eyes widening just a fraction. “I’m putting it on my tab. What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey on the rocks. But won’t you join me?”

You shake your head – alcohol is bad for your voice, pre-performance, and so is ice. “I’m good. Perhaps later, though? After the show?”

“I hope so.” S’nera places his new drink on the bar, and he picks it up and raises it to you.

“So what brings you here, officer?” You ask. “I’m guessing work, but your uniform, I—”

“Chris, there you are. I knew I’d find you hiding out somewhere. Finish that, and come back with me.” The newcomer is also wearing a Starfleet uniform, dark blue with elaborate gold epaulets and badge. His dark eyes are equal parts amused and frustrated, and you’d bet he’s Chris’ superior. “I had to leave Sarah on her own with two of our guests; I’m hoping there won’t be a diplomatic incident by the time we get back.”

“Admiral, I—”

“Good evening and welcome. If you wish to take your seat for tonight’s performance, the auditorium is now open. May I please remind guests—”

You look at the antique clock above the bar. Somehow it’s already 7:15pm, and even though it’s much too early for your call, people start getting antsy if you’re not in your dressing room before the show starts. You step down off your stool, and pat Chris’ shoulder.

“I’ve got to get going now too. It was nice to meet you, Chris. Hope the show’s not as bad as you think.” You nod to the admiral on your way past, and smile at Chris, now standing, as you leave the bar.

“Anyone interesting out there tonight?” the principal ’cellist asks you as you pass her in the narrow corridor backstage, making sure to give her cello as wide a berth as possible.

“Mostly the usual, but there’s a diplomatic party. Some folks the Starfleet brass want to impress.”

“They came to the right place. We’re gonna blow them away.” Ayre, the tenor soloist, looking smart in a dark gold suit which sets off their golden-brown skin and close-cropped bleached gold curls gives a smug grin as they emerge from the door next to yours. “You coming out for drinks after?”

You open your mouth to reply, but an image of Chris floats in front of your eyes, and how you said you might meet him later. But you’ll never be able to find him—

“Hesitation is not like you.” Ayre’s expression turns suspicious. “Did you have other plans? Did you meet someone?”

You shrug. “Kind of? But no. No plans. Drinks sound great. And if I’m remembering right, you owe me, from—”

They laugh. “Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“Performers this is your five-minute call. Beginners, please stand by.”

“Break a leg,” you wave as you open the door to your dressing room.

Inside you flip on the humidifier, check your appearance and read for a bit before you start your warm-ups. At least your routine is well established, so it doesn’t matter if you can’t quite put a handsome Starfleet officer completely out of mind...

The thing you love about singing is that it’s just you. There’s nothing standing between the music and your audience; it’s your artistry, your emotion, your soul, direct from you to them. There are no instruments to get in the way, no keys to get stiff, no strings to break.

That’s not to say you don’t have to take care of your voice. You were tired and run down at the end of a semester at the conservatoire in your first year and you overdid it. You spent that entire summer resting, and praying that the doctors were right, and that your voice would come back by itself.

But as you step out onto the stage, hear the strings play that first soft chord, there’s only you, the audience, and the direct connection between you.

That’s part of why you like to mingle with the crowd before the show. The house lights are down and the stage lights are bright so you can’t make out anyone clearly, but you can picture who you’re singing for. You can see the faces, in your mind’s eye, of the regulars who you’ve seen at multiple performances. The aliens who you’d never seen before today. The Starfleet officers, including that admiral. And Chris.

You take a deep breath, and sing.

Another nice thing about being a singer is after your warm down, which only takes a few minutes, you’re done. You don’t have to drag your instrument in a case along with you if you go out, or stress about whether you’ve left it somewhere safe. And, while this run is going on, you can keep your fancy dresses at the theatre.

As quick as you are to leave your dressing room, Ayre is quicker.

“Leda said you were special tonight, you know.” They say as you fall into step with them.

“Wait really?” Leda is director of music at the theatre, among other things, and her good opinion matters.

“Of course really. I might get jealous. I’m supposed to be her favourite.”

You laugh. “Only because you dedicated Nessun Dorma to her that one time—”

“Shush. Piacere for drinks?”

“Sure.”

By the time you make it to the stage door there’s a good size group of your friends heading to the bar, and you’re looking forward to a couple of drinks before turning in.

But as you exit the theatre, stepping out into the fresh evening air, Chris is there. He catches your eye and tilts his head, a small, sheepish smile on his face, and time almost stands still for a second as you stare back at him.

Ayre nudges your shoulder, speaking in an undertone. “Guess you’re not coming after all? Make good choices, babe. “And they somehow manage to herd everyone else away before you can react.

“Hi,” you say, suddenly feeling a little nervous, a little exposed. “You enjoy the show?”

“I did. You were—” he shakes his head a little. “You were sublime, and I... I owe you an apology. I said a few things back there that were… ill-considered.”

“All you said was you didn’t expect you’d enjoy the music.” You shrug. “And that’s fair – not everything is for everyone. Mostly you seemed unhappy about your situation, not the concert. So no apology necessary. But… if you really want to apologise, you can buy me a drink?” You take a step towards him, smiling. “After a performance I can even have ice.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He grins as he offers you his arm. “So why do you drink warm pineapple juice before shows?”

“It’s a placebo, really. But I like the taste and it doesn’t do any harm, so I grab one pre-show while I’m sizing up the audience. Really you have to keep yourself hydrated all the time. And humid atmospheres help.”

You finger his jacket with your free hand. “My turn: why haven’t I seen a green Starfleet uniform before now?”

Conversation flows easily as you walk, and he’s happy to let you steer him to one of your favourite bars. It’s a bit of a hidden gem – by the bay, small but not crowded, and sleek and modern, unlike the theatre.

You like it because you can see out across the water as you sit with your drinks, to the Golden Gate Bridge in one direction, and lights on Alcatraz in another.

Above the water is the new moon, bright enough to reflect off the waves. And above that, stars.

Discussions of uniforms naturally lead to talking about space, and you question Chris on life as a starship captain, the places he’s been and the things he’s seen. His stories fascinate you, even if you’re not entirely sure you believe them all.

“You ever think about travelling? Seeing the stars?” he asks as you start in on the second round of drinks.

“Actually yes. More and more, recently. I was in a tour commemorating the founding of the Federation a few years ago. The concert on Vulcan... that was fun.”

“Oh?”

“A couple of Vulcan musicians caught up with me after the show, asking about the logic of conveying emotion in music, and why I didn’t just showcase the beauty of the mathematical structure underpinning it all.”

“That sounds very Vulcan. I have some experience with them.” He smiles, there’s something fond in his expression as it goes distant for a moment. “My chief science officer is Vulcan. He can sometimes be... blunt.”

“Yes, blunt.” You nod. “I knew they were asking in good faith, and after I got over my surprise it led to an interesting conversation. It was good to look at things from a viewpoint I hadn’t considered before.”

“That part of exploration... the way it challenges our perspective? That’s one of the things that keeps me going back out there.”

“Plus the things you get to see... the crystal formations on Iyer sound amazing. I want to see those. Shame Starfleet doesn’t take passengers.”

He laughs at that. “If I could I’d take you in a heartbeat.” He pauses, then reaches out to touch your hand. “You should go, though. To Iyer. Hell, you should travel the galaxy, if you want to. You can. Earth will still be here when you want to come home.”

“I should, huh. I still have a few weeks to go here, but after that... I was waiting for the right opportunity, to sing somewhere? But maybe I should just go explore.”

You sip your drink, feeling thoughtful. “So how long are you planetside?”

“Until tomorrow. Afternoon.” He smiles, lopsided and utterly charming, and you feel flutters inside you as you make your decision.

The corners of your mouth turn up, and you look him in the eye. “It’s a bit too late for food now, but would it be forward of me to ask you to—”

Your communicator beeps, and you frown, pulled out of the moment.

“You gonna get that?” He asks, expression gone amused.

You pull the communicator out and stare at it a moment, wondering if you can make it go quiet by force of will. But anyone calling this late must have a particular reason; it’s probably just Ayre wanting to give you an out from your date if you need one. You pull a face, and stand.

“I’d better. I’ll just be a minute.”

The breeze coming off the bay is chilly, and you feel goosebumps raise on your arms as you activate the communicator one handed, hugging the other across your stomach.

“Hello?”

“Oh thank God, I thought you were never going to pick up. It’s Leda. You need to come back to the theatre, now. It’s nothing bad, but we’re having a meeting. The others are here already, but you weren’t with them.”

“Um... now now? I’m sorry Leda, can’t whatever it is wait? I—I’m on a date...”

You hear her take a breath, and you can picture her in your mind’s eye, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to slow down. “I’m sorry about that, but I wouldn’t call you in if the matter wasn’t of the utmost importance. Time is a factor, too. When will you be here?”

You stifle your sigh.

“Give me fifteen.”

Chris must pick up something in your expression as you return to him.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, but no. Leda – Leda Lau, director of music – has summoned me back to the theatre for a meeting. I tried to tell her I was otherwise engaged, but she was insistent.” You sigh. “I’m so sorry, I was really enjoying our evening, but I’m going to have to abandon you.”

Chris stands and picks up your jacket, expression sympathetic. “Orders are orders. I understand. Let me walk you back.”

You take your jacket from him as you get to the door, and put it on before stepping outside.

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s way out of your way, if you’re staying at HQ.”

“I insist.” His small half-smile is back, and he holds out his arm for you. “My parents didn’t raise me to let a date walk back alone.”

The streets are quiet on your way to the theatre, stars glimmering above you, and it seems like no time before you’re coming up to the stage door again.

“Thank you for tonight.” You turn to face Chris, staring up into his blue eyes. “I’m sorry I had to bail on you. But... if you find yourself back on Earth again, feel free to look me up.”

He stares back down at you, and something in his blue eyes is searching. You know he’s going to kiss you—

“—don’t want you to worry, that’s all. I’ll be back soon. Yeah, see you later. Oh, hi—” Edward, a violinist, waves at you as he walks up to the door. “You here for the…? I’ll, uh… see you inside.” He gives you an apologetic glance, having just noticed Chris.

But the moment is broken, and Chris has already moved away.

“If you find yourself in space, feel free to look me up,” he says.

You smile, wistful. “I will.”

Somehow you make it through the door without looking back.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Hello i would kill for some awkward Connor attempting to comfort Chris during training please and thank you

Follow-up to this piece from yesterday

CW: Pet whump, implied whump of a minor, bruising, some dehumanizing language, BBU, facility whump, creepy comfort, The Moral Standards of Monsters, some implied conditioning due to ableism (blink-and-you’ll-miss-it)

“Hey, Manning.”

Connor looks up from his lunch - he’s at his desk in his training room, a sandwich, bag of chips, and bottle of his iced coffee set out in front of him while he finishes up paperwork from the last trainee’s fitness reports - and sighs. Fucking Luke goddamn Petrus. “Yeah?”

For a second, his stomach flips. Linda swore up and down that the complaint would be anonymous, and Connor isn’t the only person in the hallway who has brought up the screaming being… irritating… but still.

Luke is Director Renford’s favorite in a big way, her loyal henchman, and he can make a handler’s life a living hell if he wants to.

Luke leans against the open doorway, giving him a bright smile. Above the expression, though, Luke’s blue eyes stay cold as ice. Like the Director, Connor thinks sometimes. Two fucking peas in a pod, and Connor’s always a little bit on the outside.

Lately, though, he’s been feeling kind of grateful he’s on the outskirts. The Director’s approval is something everyone works for, but having her focus on you too long and too thoroughly sounds as terrifying as her anger.

“I just got called up to a meeting with Renford.”

Renford. Like they’re buddies. Like he’s equals with her. Connor keeps his mouth shut, but he wonders how the Director would react if she knew he calls her Renford when she’s not right in front of him. “Good for you. I don’t see why that should affect my lunch break.”

“The meeting could last a few hours. I know you’ve got the afternoon off from trainee work. Would you mind keeping an eye on one of mine? He’s just out of a week in solitary, so he’s needy as fuck.”

Connor perks up a little at that. Needy trainee and unscheduled afternoon sounds like just the pick-me-up he needs today. “He need any training work?”

“Nah. Do whatever you want with him.” Luke gives Connor a wink. “He’s got some top notch fucking flexibility. Just saying. You can twist him into pretzels. Tell him he’s being good and he’ll do it all himself. Kid’s eager as fuck now that we’re past the halfway point.”

Kid?

Connor swears internally but keeps his expression carefully the same. “What do you mean, kid, Luke? Wait a sec-”

“I’ll bring him in, hold on!” Luke’s already gone from the doorway.

Connor has a sinking feeling of realization that Luke didn’t just randomly decide to leave a trainee with him. He must’ve figured out who put the fucking complaint in. And he knows that Connor hates the screaming, if he knows that.

Which means…

Luke reappears, and sure enough, the little redheaded trainee who is the cause of all the wailing and sobbing is right beside him.

No weights hanging from his hands this time, but there are deep red marks around his wrists and bruises at his upper arms just below his sleeves that suggest he’s done plenty of training work this morning, whatever Luke says.

Jesus, this kid is eerily beautiful. Pale skin, flushed in the aftermath of tears, with a smattering of freckles all over like constellations of stars. His hair’s that rare shining strawberry blond, with eyebrows pale enough to make him seem faintly inhuman. Connor wonders exactly which piece of shit with a thing for teenagers put the order in.

He wants to make sure he doesn’t vote for the guy.

Not that Connor Manning votes.

But maybe he’ll start, and then start purposefully voting for someone else. That's probably way more effort than he'll ever put in to anything that isn't work or Socks, but it feels kind of nice to think about it.

The trainee keeps his eyes carefully down on the floor. Connor notes he’s not even wearing the shock collar any longer - just your average band of black leather, buckled at the side, no padlock. Not only not being shocked, or not needing it, but already far enough along not to try and remove his own collar.

“Luke. I’ve told you how I feel about the underagers-”

“Yeah, and I’ve told you that you can judge me when you're an angel, numbnuts. You’re not better than me. You just have different victims.”

“Oh, the Director would have a shit-fit hearing you call the trainees victims.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m the only one who really grasps exactly what it is we do here, Manning. I just also happen to enjoy it. Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life, right?"

“Go fuck yourself, Petrus. I enjoy my job just fine.” Why is he defensive about this? Connor doesn’t quite understand the surge of irritation within him. Why does he give a fuck what Luke goddamn Petrus has to say about anything, anyway?

“Yeah, for now you do. We’ll see how it goes. I’ve been at this gig for a long time, I see the ones who flame out, and you’re one of them. Anyway, I’ve got to go meet with Renford, I’ll be back by three. If you get tired of him, just put him on the mat and I’ll pick him up when I’m done.”

“Yeah, okay.” Connor frowns, pushing himself to his feet. “I do like my job, Petrus.”

“For now. Bet I’ll be the only person here totally unsurprised when you quit one day.”

“I’m not going to quit.”

“I’ll bet you a thousand damn dollars you do, and I’ll raise the bet to fifteen hundred that it’s over your fucking conscience making a reappearance.”

“Don’t have one."

Luke just sighs, and gives Connor a patronizing little smirk before he turns and leaves. The trainee looks over his shoulder to watch Luke go, pleading with his eyes but not saying a word. The door shuts, and Connor and the trainee are alone.

Connor clears his throat, picking up the sandwich but finding he doesn’t really want it any longer. “What’s your number, trainee?”

The boy’s eyes snap back to him, briefly, before they drop to the floor. Connor notes with vague professional detachment that they’re red-rimmed. He’s been crying again, but then, when isn’t this fucking trainee crying?

When he’s screaming instead, Connor’s thoughts answer him.

God, he wishes these trainees didn’t get to him so much. He can’t talk to anyone about it, either, word will get out Connor Manning has regrets. Questioning the company is a good way to find yourself on the wrong end of a shock collar.

“223499, sir,” The boy says. His voice is low and soft, and each number and word is deliberately placed, as if he’s carefully pacing himself as he speaks. “Designation… Romantic-”

“Yeah, I knew that already. That’s all Luke does.” Connor leans his chin on his hand, looking the kid over. There’s solid muscle in that kid, he thinks, legacy of whatever life he lived before. It’s wasting away under the carefully calibrated malnourishment they’re all subjected to, but the memory of strength is in there, still. An easy, unconscious grace that didn’t have to be taught. “You’ve already done training work today?”

Those green eyes flash up at him again, nervous. Frightened. The boy shifts from foot to foot, then goes still. His fingers twitch before he pauses that, too. Connor watches it all with a kind of slightly repulsed interest. “Yes, sir. But… Handler Petrus said that… that if you want, you can-... can test me-”

“I don’t want,” Connor says heavily, cutting him off with a gesture. The boy’s mouth snaps shut instantly. “Not in the mood.”

There’s an expression of genuine confusion - when is a handler not in the mood? - that flits across the boy’s face. It’s a look of such comedic bafflement that Connor ends up laughing, shaking his head. He doesn’t even put his sexy, dark laugh on, but just snort-laughs naturally, before he walks over to the kid, watching him pull into himself, shoulders hunched.

“Relax, kid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The kid’s nose wrinkles. It’s adorable. “But… all you do… is hurt us.”

Luke’s fucking technique, Connor thinks. Luke’s trainees don’t forget anything he’s taught them, to be sure, but they never quite learn how to act like they’re in love with it, either. Connor can turn out a trainee who genuinely thinks he’s in love. Luke turns out trainees who hate everything they can’t stop themselves from doing.

Some perspectives are into that, he supposes. Connor thinks he’d rather have the act.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to do that today. Come on,” Connor says, and his voice gentles a little. “I’ve got plenty to keep myself busy with. Why don’t you lay down on the mat and get some sleep while I work?” He puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling him trembling slightly through the thin cloth of his white trainee t-shirt. The boy moves when he’s nudged, carefully stepping across the room, tense as a wire about to snap.

“Are you-... are you going to, to, to, to, um-” The boy flinches back from an expected punishment when he stammers. "Silence is, is better than stammering, try again, silence is better than-... try again." The kid mutters to himself, takes a deep breath, tries again. "Are you... going to... give me a pill?"

Connor pulls his hand back, frowning. Now it’s his turn to look confused.

What the fuck is even going on with this kid?

“Nah. I don't even keep them in my training room. No worries, kid.” He pitches his voice low, soothing, reassuring. “The only thing I intend to do is finish up some papers, go take a smoke break outside, and then come back and get set up for my next rounds at seven before I head out. This is a real break. Okay? I’m not even interested in whatever it is Handler Petrus is doing with you. I just want to do my job.”

The kid looks at him. He’s almost always seen him drugged out of his gourd, barely able to focus on anything not right in front of his face. Right now, though, there’s a sense that the boy is considering his words, actually able to think about them. “Yes, sir. I can-... I, I can lay down?” 

 “Yeah, go for it.” Connor waves his hand again, moving back to his desk.

“Thank you, sir.” The kid’s gratitude is pathetic. Connor has to give Luke that, he does know how to make a trainee say thank you for just about anything. Connor’s method takes more work to get to that than Luke’s.

But Connor doesn’t have to drug his trainees to do it. And he doesn’t work with kids.

Shit. Maybe I am going to wind up with a conscience. Handlers get fired over that.

Or worse.

After a pause, watching him go, the kid kneels down, then lays down on his stomach, making as much contact with the heated mat as he can. There’s a soft exhale, something almost like contentment. Connor watches those tensed, probably painful muscles slowly relax. His bare feet start to rub against each other, back and forth, back and forth.

There’s a blanket nearby, and the boy hesitantly grabs at it, pulls it over himself. Breathes out, eyes fluttering shut as warmth surrounds him utterly for what’s probably the first time in a while. Or at least warmth that doesn’t come with certain conditions.

Connor’s eyes trace the line of the boy’s jaw - there’s a bruise there, too, like a thumb pressed too hard into delicate skin. Coppery eyelashes lay flat, long enough to just brush his cheek. His hair falls over his forehead and eyes.

It’s like looking at a fucking painting.

“Jesus, you’re pretty as hell, aren’t you?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrow, briefly, but he doesn’t open his eyes or pull back from the mat. He curls up tighter under the blanket, disappearing up to his chin.

Connor turns back to his work, filling out a questionnaire. He’s still working at it when he hears, just barely, the boy’s soft reply to his question.

“I, I, I wish I wasn’t.”

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[sparkledfirecracker]

Deeds For The Big Screen

I see writing as a form of creative artwork with everyone having its own liking or preference to it.

Do not interact if you are uncomfortable with any of the given warnings or if you are a minor. 

Your media consumption is your own responsibility, proceed to read with care. Warnings have been up and mentioned, if I missed any please feel free to let me know. 

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, explicit language, sexwork, porn industry, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, oral receiving (f), swearing

Rating: explicit

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Female Reader

Summary: You’re taking power into your hands when your actors don’t seem to do their job and are wasting expensive production time.

Word count: 3006

 A/N: This might be a little rusty, I haven’t done this in a while, but some creators have inspired me to pick up writing again! Fairly new to Tumblr, despite having an account for years and having done zero with it. Apparently me dreaming about different story ideas has become a thing now. So bear with me here. As said; if I missed any warnings please feel free to let me know.

@punani​ ’s ‘The Fluffer’ was inspiration for the chosen work field. So thank you for writing that magnificent piece.

English is not my native language; my grammar mistakes are purely my own. Constructive criticism is allowed and appreciated, I won’t bite unless you’re being rude.

I do not consent to have my work copied, reposted or translated on any other platform. Reposts on any given platform have been reposted without my permission or consent. By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old!!!

Please do feel free to comment, like or reblog.

ENJOY!!!

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

Deeds For The Big Screen

Irritation bubbling underneath your annoyed expression, your lips tightly pressed together. Fingernails tapping aggressively on the armrests of your director’s chair. Your legs crossed, bouncing with frustration at the sight in front of you. It seemed liked the actors onsite were on a mission to make everyone’s life on set hell. Your hands grabbing the armrests your knuckles white from the intense grip of the edges of your chair.

You were a visionaire, adultery was your passion, you had been in the business for year before starting your own company. Focusing on the female friendlier porn demand had paid of well for you, your company was your pride and you thrived on the success. You ran a tight ship, time was money and currently both actors were wasting every second of it. The current creative project was not being envisioned at all. It had been meticulously drawn out on a storyboard, it seemed like everything that had been discussed and rehearsed was thrown out the window.

You let out an annoyed huff, it had been hours on end anything between action and cut. Your million-dollar superstar was propped on his elbows towering over the fragile body underneath him. His hips franticly pumping in and out of the actress underneath him, who was clawing her nails into his skin desperately. Was he really the problem or was it the useless woman caged underneath him. Her super loud moans that probably could be heard at the other side of the world and the quantity of clawing at his skin.

 “CUT!!!” you yelled and everyone in the production stopped, heavy sighs heard across the studio. Your hands rubbed your face slightly not wanting to yell or lose control of the raging thoughts running through your mind.

“What’s wrong this time?” your most prized possession asked, the annoyance clearly dripping of his tone. He stood up facing you, his hands falling to his hips, sticking out his chest while his thick muscle stood proud against his pelvis. You couldn’t help but take in the sight, his cock was red and he was painfully hard. You licked your lips and took in a deep breath, trying to refocus on your thoughts.

“Alright let me make myself very clear here. The crew is TIRED and I am tired of fucking repeating myself” you took another deep breath as you felt anger rising “was I not clear enough when we had a table read yesterday and when we rehearsed this morning?” your eyes switching between the actors. No response “An answer would be nice, because that storyboard on the wall contains every movement of where body parts go during every fucking scene”

“Get the fuck out Y/N, you know storyboards only contains the major outlines of a grand story being told, it is different when you are pumping in and out of a body you know. You don’t always get to choose where a hand, leg or cock lands”

“Ari, we are in the god forsaken porn industry, that thick throbbing dick better end up in the fucking dripping vagina, between her lips or even in that nice and tight puckered hole” you could hear a few supressed snickers from the crew. Ari just kept staring you down “Right now all I see is stiffness, no passion, no fire and absolutely nothing that was on the fucking board or script”

“Whatever Y/N” Ari huffed, you rolled your eyes breaking the tension that was clearly building between you and Ari. You turned your gaze to Edie, who just sat there uncomfortably.

“Edie, can you just tone down on the moans, I know this is your first gig and a step up from the amateur adultery films you have done, but we are not in the cheap kind of porn. This is exclusive, sensual and soft sex. We make porn for the ladies and if it happens that men love it too so be it-” you clapped your hands together trying to get through to the actors in front of you “Also ease up on your facial expressions too they are just too much and stop clawing at Ari, we are not feral wolves in the outskirts of woodsy valley…” you pointed at her, the hostility evident in your voice, she just nodded your way she almost looked too scared to speak. Your attention turned to Ari, just by looking at him you knew he wouldn’t be able to take a lot more of your antics “-And for you mister, I need more open posture. We want to see those muscles work underneath that toned skin of yours. Flex them a little, you want the person watching this to drool from their mouths while their vaginas or arseholes are begging for your majestic cock. Yes, we can do this all rough and tough, but with this project we want fire, passion and mind-blowing sex. Understood?”

Both pornstars nodded your way and you sat back down in your chair. The actors taking their spots again, you raised your hand, cues being called across the room.

“ACTION!” Edie tried her utter best to contain her excessive sounds, but she looked like she was about to take a dump “CUT!”

“Y/N, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Ari yelled, jumping of the small platform, grabbing his robe from the floor, storming your way while putting on his robe, you got off your chair.

“Is it really that hard to do what I am asking? Edie you look like you are about to take a dump right in front of the camera” you lost control of the anger that had been boiling inside of you. Ari bumped into you, almost knocking you down, it must have been on purpose as you could sense his anger “where the fuck do you think you are going?” he spun on his heels

“I have been edged for hours on end, I need some form of release and it looks like our director is not going to let us get any release for a few more hours” Ari spat your way

“GET BACK HERE!!” you definitely lost control, watching Ari on a mission to march out of the studio “ARI I SAID GET BACK HERE”

“I AM NOT YOUR FUCKING A DOG!!!”

“YOU ARE MY FUCKING TOP DOLLAR DOG, SO YOU BETTER GET THE FUCK BACK BEFORE I FIRE YOU MYSELF” it was true, Ari was your million-dollar star, your company couldn’t have grown without him. He had been there from the beginning, you had him to thank for the success of your company and in return he had you to thank for his stardom.

Your words had made Ari stop in his tracks and turn around, the temperature in the room increasing quickly. You had started to doubt if the room had been that hot the entire time or if it was the arousal creeping through your veins caused by Ari’s deep angered gaze.

He charged your way his finger pointing at you and his mouth was moving, but your hearing seemed to have vanished. You contemplated if you should just show them what you meant or just call it a day. Things were getting heated and the crew was already exhausted enough. Your thoughts interrupted as your mouth started to speak.

“Do I really have to do everything around here?” you muttered under your breath “Edie get off the sunbed and put your robe on” she complied to your order, getting of the stage and putting on her silk robe. You took a moment to analyse your thought, to see if the voice inside your head would protest of what you were contemplating. Nothing came to mind, so instead you unbuttoned your sundress quickly before regretting your decision “Last attempt to film this guys, start rolling. Ari off with the robe, we start from the beginning. Edie take notes” you ordered around the room. Your sundress and underwear falling off your frame piling up next to your director’s chair.

“What are you doing baby girl?” Ari whispered in your ear as you walked backwards his hands holding your hips guiding you towards the double sunbed. His anger seemed to have disappeared and replaced with intrigue.

“Showing you what I want, but mostly taking what I need right now” you replied, he quirked an eyebrow, a smirk plastered on his face in approval “Let’s give them the show they want”

“The show you want” Ari chuckled as he corrected you, before narrowing his eyes a little “The big boss in action, I like it…” Ari whispered as he took in your naked body “I like it a lit” His confident spoken words made you a little insecure, but you hid it well trying to hold your nerves together.

You climbed on the sunbed laying back, your eyes wandered over Ari’s toned chest, his cock aching, your pussy throbbing. You licked your lips and the muscles in your core tightened with the exciting thought of him filling you up to the brim in a matter of minutes, you being at his complete mercy.

“ACTION!” you yelled

Ari crawled on top of you, your hands roamed freely over his arms and chest, his lips crashing on yours briefly before moving on to your neck and your upper torso. Your hands finding their way onto his shoulders, caressing the bare skin. You arched your back at the delight feeling when he sucked on your nipples, a low moan left your lips. Ari’s hands cradling your frame as he peppered kisses further south.

Your eyes following him, he looked back at you through his long lashes as two of his fingers tease your entrance, running gently through your folds. One thing was for sure, you were hot and bothered, all because of the eye candy encaging you in his porn play. He dipped two fingers in your aching core and pumped three times before they stilled inside you. His face coming up to meet yours, his eyes darkened and stole another passionate driven kiss.

His fingers starting pumping you faster earning a few unexpected deep moans. Your lips parting, your lust blown eyes were completely taken by the current moment. Your mind completely forgetting everything was being recorded. Ari’s fingers left your soaking cunt as he lowered his head and settled himself between your legs.

His mouth sucked your clit, you took in a sharp breath. His tongue firmly stroked downward on your slit, enough pressure for a controlled yet obscene moan to escape you. His tongue entered your dripping hole before returning his attention back to your clit. Ari’s fingers rejected as your vaginal muscle had tightened from the attention your clit was receiving. His mouth eased off and he pushed his fingers inside you, your cunt accepting, sucking them in.

The pleasure was almost too much, your hands caressing your upper body finding your breasts. With a feathered touch you rubbed your index fingers over your nipples, biting your bottom lip at the pleasure. Your touch made your nipples erect, the sensation spreading like wildfire through your entire body. Ari increased his pace and your moans and whimpers became more frequent, but in a more wanting and loving way.

Your back started to arch up and you were about to cum, when Ari stopped all his actions. Your eyes shot fully open to protest, but he shushed you by placing two of his fingers in your mouth allowing you a moment to taste yourself before retracting them. You watched him pump his hard cock with his hand, before he gripped your hips as his member slowly pushes down in your sopping cunt.

“Big enough for you princess” Ari grunted as he pushed fully into you.

“Y-Yes” the response was short and simple, your brain not functioning anymore when the pleasure had taken over from the thoughts. His tempo made your eyes roll backwards, your hips meeting his rhythm as he held a firm grasp on your hips helping and guiding you up and down on him. Without warning Ari stopped and flipped you over. A fistful of hair grabbed pulling you back, his grasp wasn’t harsh and only intensified your lustful awakening.

His left arm snaking around your waist finding your right boob, giving it a sinful squeeze, pinching your nipple between his fingers. He held your back close to his chest while his lips sucked pleasure marks on your neck and breathing heavily into your ear, whispering nothing but obscenities to you. Your arms lifted up and your hands fisted his hair, your fingernails scraping his scalp a little. He growled in your ear, you repeated your actions and he gave your hip a single firm squeeze.

His cock slowly being dragged in and out of you, your walls coating his thick veined cock. The squelching noises pulled from the juices being pulled from between your legs. Ari’s hands running freely over your skin setting it on fire. You felt fucked out and your orgasm was building rapidly. 

Ari must have felt it as his hips started bucking up into you even faster, making is his mission to finish you. Your moans of sin becoming frequent again, Ari’s wandering hand slid in between your folds, rubbing your clit gently, pushing you even closer to the edge. One of your hands held onto his wrist holding it in the pleasurable place whilst the other placed on the nape of his neck, fingers gripping the hairs at the bottom.

Your orgasm washed over you as Ari let you ride out your high before pulling you off, laying you flat on the double sunbed. As you tried to calm your breathing he straddled you underneath him, pumping his member faster. The white strings of sin faltering out of his cock, you leaned up on your elbows and opened your mouth while he decorated your face and chest. 

Licking your lips with his salty cum, you swallowed and stared back at Ari who seemed to enjoy the fucked out sight in front of him. When he had finished squirting his load on you, he cradled your head in his large hands, his thumbs running over your lips before leaning in to steal one last fiery kiss. You separated from the kiss and kept staring each other in the eyes for what felt like hours.

“Happy boss?” Ari questioned still holding your head gently as you nodded your head

“CUT!” you yelled, Ari climbed off of you and helped you up.

“WOW, that was amazing” Edie clapped being stunned by the scene that just had taken place.

“Thanks, hopefully a great lesson for you on what to do next time” you spoke, she smiled widely back at you when you walked towards your chair, picking up your clothes from the floor “Well done everyone, I think we all need a break and we’ll continue with fresh eyes tomorrow” a relieved cheer was heard “I’m off to have a shower, since I have become a Picasso art piece” you started walking towards the dressing room

“Worth millions” Ari spoke after you, you raised your middle finger at him without looking back at him. His loud laughter filled the room.

 -----------------------------

You walked out of the building, rolling your eyes at Ari as he leaned against your car, one leg propped up on the tire, his arms folded and a cocky grin beaming back at you.

“There she is, my million dollar star” Ari clapped his hands before raising up his arms slightly and bowing down “I bless the ground you walk on peaches”

“Oh shut it Ari” you felt your cheeks burn, embarrassment bubbling underneath your skin. It was ridiculous, but you felt a little insecure “Hopefully good enough for what I want to get done” you continued walking towards the car, halting in front of Ari. 

“Hopefully?” Ari raised an eyebrow “Peaches you were wonderful, you are in my top 3 ‘the best fucking sex I ever had’ so I guess for a retired pornstar you still possess your magic” you shoved him a little and his head fell back letting out a laugh “Don’t be embarrassed, I liked it a lot” his hands found their way on your waist pulling you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you Ari, but can you move out of the way, I want to go home, I am little worn out” “Must be because of my majestic cock” he laughed

“Don’t flatter yourself, it doesn’t suit you” you giggled “Why are you still here, I thought you left a while ago”

“Couldn’t stay away from you peaches, since you performed so well today” Ari wiggled his eyebrows

“Had to show you guys somehow, you were costing me a fortune” you pointed out, opening the car door, tossing your bag on the backseat.

“Would it make a difference if it was done on purpose?” Ari questioned, climbing into the driver’s seat. Your mouth had fallen open from the shock and your brain scrambled for words and phrases to throw Ari’s way. You opened the door on the passenger’s side and got into the seat.

“Are you telling me you put on an entire show so you could get your dick wet on the clock?”

“Had to fuck the brat right out of you somehow” his cocky grin beamed back at you. You knew he was taunting you if it wasn’t for his sunglasses shielding his eyes “You have always been such a perfectionist, so I knew you would fall for my well thought out trap”

“Well next time ask me to eat a snickers instead” you rolled your eyes as Ari started the car.

“Might need another round of fucking the brat out of you peaches” Ari grabbed your hand, pulling the intertwined hold to his lips and placing a kiss on top. Your cheeks flushed with heat at the thought of how intense your fuck session had been and what kind of ways you both would fuck one another later.

YIKES, that was a true adventure!!!

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 3

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support you've been giving to this fanfic!

CHAPTER THREE

It was a day of sunlight and cold smoke in New York. The clouds split above towering buildings, the sun shining in its full glory. You left the apartment earlier, scared to wake Bucky up, only for him to wake up to his stepbrother's roommate creeping up on him in the morning. You pushed Bucky's face at the back of your mind. Perhaps he just looked like someone you've seen before or you've bumped into. Who knows? New York is a pretty big city.

With your airpods plugged in, and your phone in your hand, you started running on the streets, greeting some people with a smile on the way, ignoring the pain on your head. There was Millie from the flower shop, Bob from the woodshop, Rex from the coffee shop, and Colin the friendly street beggar. After five blocks, you didn't know anyone anymore. Just some strangers on the street you see from time to time but never interact with.

Already nearing highway streets, you slowed down your pace, careful not to crash into some bikers or worse, these honking cars rushing to get to their 8-5 jobs. There was a pang of relief that rushed over me as you stood on the other end of the street, waiting for the walk sign to turn green. It was one of the things you loved working in a bar and handling your own photography gig. You weren't answering to no one and rushing to work like these angry hooligans. You both worked in the evening and on your own time. Steve wasn't a bossy boss who yells at his staff. He was just like one of you guys, but unlike you, he had a sense of leadership.

And you get to run every morning -- even though there was still a throbbing pain on your forehead. Peter will never be able to persuade you to go work in their company or in any company for that matter. But you must commend him for his unwavering determination.

You stopped at a convenience store after rounding a few more blocks and bought a bottle of water which you've finished right in front of the cashier who found her phone more interesting -- or perhaps she was just used to some girl finishing a bottle of water in mere seconds.

"Hey, where's the trash?" You asked. The trash can beside the counter wasn't there. She just shrugged and popped her bubblegum.

You walked away from the store, knowing all too well that she wouldn't say or do anything past chewing and popping her gum.

Right across from where you were standing was a tall, elegant white hotel adorned with golden flecks of some kind of shiny paint, which you remembered was Bucky's. It stood twenty something stories tall and wedged between a coffee shop and a pizzeria. On Sundays, whenever you and Peter would walk past it, he'd never forget to remind you that it was Bucky's "empire." It was no Chuck Bass empire but you must admit, that was one fine hotel.

You crossed the street and stood in front of it, a way of slowing down your heart rate just a few beats low. You were just about to cool down, anyway.

You admired the engrossed name of the hotel on the archway that led to the lobby: WHITE WOLF with a wolf headstone right between it, like the one in The Arcadian. A memory of Peter telling you how Bucky renamed it came across your mind. Before it was White Wolf, it was the Golden something. Apparently, Bucky was in a safari somewhere north or south? Maybe west. You honestly can't keep up with some of the stories. Somewhere in the face of the earth -- he was on a safari and came across a gorgeous white wolf with fur as white as snow, eyes as blue as the seas and skies. Bucky swore the wolf looked right into his soul. That was implausible but it did give him a good name for his hotel. He repainted the whole beige building white, standing out from the other buildings around.

A woman with no shoes made you tear your eyes away from the beautiful wolf headstone, screaming Bucky's name. You stepped aside and leaned in on one of the archway posts. There was a muffled noise coming from her. You removed your airpods to listen.

"...the hell is Bucky? You! Have you seen that son of a bitch?" She approached the valet boy. He shook his head no. Then she went to the uniformed man on his post or was it a podium?

"I haven't seen Mr. Barnes, madam."

You could tell by the sly look on the man's face that he saw his boss probably running down the street and taking a cab, but before even stepping foot on the streets, Bucky probably told not to tell.

The woman's lips were smeared with red lipstick, hair disheveled and was wearing a man's clothing, probably Bucky's.

Was this the thing that happened at his penthouse?

"Okay, I'm just gonna wait for him in his penthouse. If you ever see your boss, tell him I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, madam."

She went back in, hips swaying along with her blonde hair, not giving a damn at the strangers staring at her as she walked towards the elevators.

The uniformed man caught your eye and you gave him a small wave and a smile. "Crazy morning, huh? Okay, bye."

You chuckled nervously and walked away as fast as you could back to the apartment.

When you got back, Bucky was already up, eating something out of a bowl while watching something on the television. You ignored the memory of you staring at him as he slept safe and sound earlier.

Without looking up, he spoke: "Weren't you supposed to rest?"

You grinned as you walked towards the kitchen, and prepared a protein shake. Suddenly forgetting the wound on your forehead. It didn't hurt as much now.

"I don't listen to Parker." You answered. "I never do."

You set your airpods on the kitchen island then grabbed a shaker, poured in some water and dunked a scoop of protein powder inside. You shook the whole damn thing while approaching Bucky.

You stood beside the couch and faced television. It turned out he was watching some old cartoon.

The image of his hotel flashed before your eyes. "I ran past your hotel today. There was a woman looking for you."

He almost choked on his cereal. You could feel his head look towards in your direction but you ignored him, enjoying the chase between Tom and Jerry on the tv screen. "Can't believe this is still on tv." You commented.

"D-did she say something?"

"Kept shouting your name and stuff. Called you son of a bitch and all that." You stopped shaking the shaker then took a big gulp. "I hear she's planning to burn down the White Wolf into the ground." You stifled a smile, letting the liquid stay in your mouth for a little while. "Then find you and take all your money away."

He groaned, picking up on your tone. "Not funny."

"All of that was true except the last part, though." You finally let out a laugh then looked at him who now had his eyes back on the screen. "So, you leave your girlfriend alone up there? Then come here?" You would've said it was pretty low of him but this was Bucky. You knew he'd done worse.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"She's a girlfriend?"

"She's nothing but a one night stand. Don't have a girlfriend." He sighed, putting down the bowl. It turned out it was cereal he was eating. Cartoons and cereal. Wow. He really did act like an eight-year old. "Then after we... well, you know, she suddenly told me she loved me. I was drunk! Then I felt this rush, like a panic, then when she was fast asleep, I didn't know what else to do so I came here."

You knitted your brows and kept your gaze on him. Last night, he told you guys it was a long story. A thing came up. "That wasn't a long story."

"I was hammered and real sleepy. For me it was a long story." He replied.

You just laughed in response, then walked towards your bedroom. Before you could even finish your drink, Bucky shouted for your name. You yelled for him back.

"Will you come with me to the hotel?" Bucky's voice was loud but small. Like a child asking to go to the playground. It felt more like it with the muffled cartoon noises in the background.

You stepped out of your room, finishing the rest of your drink. A big gulp. Then you pouted at him. "Want me to drive away the scary woman?"

Instead of responding with a simple yes or a slight nod, Bucky shot you a wide smile with his shoulders up, making an accidental flex with his lean tricep muscles on both of his arms, and squeezing his chest muscles while he was at it. He held it for too long that veins were starting to show.

You diverted your attention from his muscles to his face. He tried to look cute as a button but in your view, he looked strained. Yet his smile never wavered. You finally agreed to go with him as long as he took a shower first, telling him he reeked of alcohol.

"Are you always this mean?" Bucky said, but his voice was light and not at all heavy or dark.

"Pretty much." You snickered before going back inside your room.

You were sitting on your yoga mat -- just finished some few stretches -- and watching some tv show on the HBO channel when Bucky came out of the bathroom. A towel hung low on his waist -- you didn't even bother to look at his toned details so as to not freak him out with all the staring since you've been doing that a lot since he'd arrived. You focused your attention back on the screen.

"Were you just working out?" He asked, ruffling his hair.

"Just some yoga." You shrugged.

You let him borrow an oversized shirt of yours. The entire time, he was behind your in your room. Bucky attempted to make some small conversation while you were rummaging through your stuff. "Cool space you got here. You photograph?"

"Yeah." You replied. "It's probably not convenient having a studio space inside my room but Parker and I couldn't afford a three-space bedroom, so yeah."

"It's still pretty cool." His response remained.

Your room was bigger than Peter's since you had to have your studio corner. He wasn't a space hogger or anything so he let you get the bigger room. You had little decorations in your room except for a few photos of college friends, old roommates, and you and Peter, a clock on the wall, some band posters from the 70's like Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith, and the lights you needed for your studio corner. On that side, on the other hand, had more things to offer. Products from previous projects and all the stuff you needed for taking photos like lights, backdrops, tables, a bunch of chairs, and whatnots. Then the walls were just plain white. Yet Bucky still managed to explore around until you found him an oversized shirt.

You threw the shirt towards him. He managed to catch it on the air without looking at it. A quick reflex.

"Do you have some of your photos here?"

"They're in the bar downstairs." You replied. He looked at me with both eyebrows raised, asking a question with his face. "I work there as a bartender and my boss lets me put up my photos on the wall."

"Well, I'd love to see them."

"Actually, there's a shipment coming this afternoon. There will be no people. You can come with me then." You paused. "Unless you have other plans?" There was a part of you that wanted Bucky to have no plans this afternoon. You had a feeling he didn't. You wanted to trust your instincts.

"I have nothing going on." Oh good. "I can show you how I make a mean drink while we're there." Bucky smirked then put on the shirt which had a Rolling Stones logo on the front. He looked down on it and shot me a smile. The shirt still fit him, hugging all his muscles but it was better than Peter's clothes who wear the tightest fits on earth.

"What do you think?" He asked, showing you his fit while still having the towel draped around his waist.

"You look like a rockstar." You blatantly replied. "And hey, I can also make a mean drink. Really mean."

"Please I make the best ones, doll."

"I'll be the judge of that."

[consumeconstantly]

Summer Photography (aka the thirst trap)

Summary: Marinette is forced to take pictures for Gabriel in order to pay for her summer graduation trip with her best friends from lycee. Adrien, her primary model, wants to avoid the summer heat and pulls in one very attractive bad-boy motorcycle man to be his replacement.

_______________________________________________________

July in Gotham comes with an almost rancid kind of heat.

The kind of heat that is impossible to banish unless the air conditioning is set to 65 degrees and there’s a dehumidifier in the room. The kind of heat that makes babies cry with discomfort and adults curse whenever they have to take a foot outside. The only age population that enjoys it are the teens. More precisely, the teens are more fans of being on summer vacation, rather than the sticky warmth, but they find ways to work with the heat, rather than against it. Some teens gather on apartment rooftops, taking in the rare, smoggy breeze with pleasure. Others frequent their local swimming pool, an ice cream parlor or convenience store. If they get really desperate, they take shelter in the library.

Should a teen be forced out onto the muggy sidewalks full of sweaty bodies, they drift towards parks or areas of ‘city beautification’ and find a tree to rest their weary bodies under. 

Of course, there are always exceptions to these norms. 

“Marinette,” Adrien groans, sweat on his brow. “Can we please do this not during peak heat?”

“No,” Marinette says. “Your father insisted on having pictures of a male model at precisely two in the afternoon, and it took me months to convince him to let us come on this trip, so we’re not going to do anything to jeopardize it.”

“It’s not like he can do anything now. We’re literally an ocean away.”

“Suck it up, sunshine,” Marinette swats her hand at a lazy fly, not bothering to look up from changing the lens on her camera. “Maybe I’d let you get away with a substitution. Gabriel didn’t specify that the person in the pictures had to be you, but we don’t know anyone in Gotham, and everyone we’ve come across so far isn’t exactly the friendly sort.”

Adrien flicks the collar of his t-shirt, desperately trying to generate some sort of a breeze so he doesn’t melt. “This is all Nino’s fault. He and Alya insisted on going to that couple’s show when he could have been out here, taking my place. If Luka were here, he wouldn’t have deserted me like that.”

“We all know of your and Luka’s undying love for one another, but he is busy touring. He’ll meet up with us in New York, though, and you can have your disgustingly sweet love-fest over there. Meanwhile, I’ll be forever alone.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Marinette. At least five people in each city we’ve gone to so far have tried to go on dates with you.”

She crinkles her nose and does a test shot, making sure the light setting works out. “Yeah, but they all reeked of desperation and alcohol. Plus, at least two of them were just looking for a person to cheat with.”

“No good,” Marinette says, frowning at the shadows the tree cast. “Gabriel won’t be happy with these kinds of photos. You’re going to have to move out of the shade.”

“No!” Adrien wails. “I refuse! It’s bad enough that you dragged me out here, but to make me go in the sun? You know I burn easily.”

“Yeah, yeah drama queen, but these photos aren’t going to take themselves, and I’m one hundred percent sure that you don’t want to have to do this twice. Which is what we’ll end up having to do if you don’t get your little butt out into the sun so we can take quality shots.”

Adrien whines before a motorcycle revs in the not so far distance. A very Chat Noir smile creeps onto his face. “I don’t think I will. I’ve just found my substitute.”

Marinette follows his gaze, then shrugs. “If you think you can convince him to substitute in, you’re free to go. But remember, it’s Gotham, and if you get jumped, I’m not going to help. It’s too hot for a fight.”

“You underestimate my charm.” Adrien says, already triumphant.

#

True to form, Adrien somehow manages to get motorcycle man over to her. 

“Not sure how Adrien convinced you to do this, but I guess he gets a free pass.” Marinette knows exactly what Adrien’s going to do with his free time. He’s gone on and on about Gotham’s Museum of Vigilantes, and to be quite frank, Marinette doesn’t want to get caught up in another one of Adrien’s rant sessions on the Bat Family. “Anyways, nice to meet you. I’m Marinette, and my awful boss has come of with the wonderfully creative idea of Summer Heat for a photoshoot in the summer.”

She has a bone to pick with Gabriel Agreste. More than one, actually. In fact, she’d say that out of the 206 (well, 207, if she counts the fracture she got in her left pinky toe after that last akuma battle that weirdly, still hasn’t healed) bones in her body, she’d pick a fight with Gabriel over at least 200 of them. The lack of originality is one thing, but she’s not sure how she feels about his blatant attempts to set her up with her son during this trip. Somehow, he still hasn’t grasped the fact that his son doesn’t swing her way despite having hundreds of pictures of being lovey-dovey with Luka all over the internet. In fact, maybe it’s because Adrien and Luka have that many pictures that Gabriel is trying to push for a heterosexual relationship. A lack of vision both for his photo shoots and for his company. Marinette doesn’t understand how she once looked up to this man.

“It’s no problem. I’ve got nothing better to do, anyways.” 

Marinette blinks, then reassesses the man in front of her. Not only does he have a sinfully attractive voice, but his visual appeal isn’t that bad, either. “It’s still nice of you to do this. Should be a pretty quick shoot. Five outfit changes and a few poses in each-- shouldn’t take any longer than an hour, hour and a half.”

She rummages through her bag, fishing out a stack of paper. “You’ll get paid for your time. $250 for the whole shoot, and if you want to keep one of the outfits, feel free.”

If she’s being completely honest, she thinks that Gabriel’s summer collection is a hot mess, and she doesn’t particularly want the burden of bringing back the disgusting articles of clothes back with her in her suitcase. Should motorcycle man not want any of them, she’ll send them back via express mail.

“Don’t need the money, but I’m trying to stay out for as long as I can. Any way you could make the shoot go on longer?”

“You want to stay out in this heat?” Marinette asks in disbelief, taking out a small bag of makeup to apply to his face. She motions for him to sit in the shade of the tree while she sees what she needs to cover up. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Motorcycle man says.

“Like the owner of a custom Harley-Davidson is poor,” Marinette quips. Humming in approval after giving his features once over, she decides that foundation isn’t necessary, only concealer to cover up the dark circles and some old scars.“You have great skin.”

During their summer trip, Marinette has become makeup artist, photographer, public relations manager, and trip advisor. It’s a taxing job, but well worth the reward, which is an all-expense-paid graduation trip with her friends from lycee. Well, Nino and Alya had to pay, but between Nino’s part time DJ gigs and Alya’s ad revenue on the Ladyblog, it wasn’t hard for them to raise enough for the two month long, seven city, four country trip. 

“One of my siblings is insistent that we do our best to minimize the scarring. Don’t know what his deal is, it’s not like our faces are sellable commodities.”

“That’s where you’re wrong-- you’re pretty good looking and could easily go into modelling or acting if you wanted. So props to whoever your sibling is. And thank your genetics too.”

Motorcycle man snorts. “Not cut out for that lifestyle. I like more… adrenaline inducing jobs.”

Marinette almost-- almost laughs. The placement of the scars on his face do imply that he’s gotten in at least one or two knife fights before, and there’s a thin line on his neck that definitely looks like it hurt. Motorcycle man has definitely been in trouble before, but he’s also good enough to get himself out of it. She’s not going to bother asking what his job is. She doesn’t want to be an accessory to any of his crimes. “Action movies, then?” 

“Oh sweetheart, I make action movies look like a kid’s fist fight.”

“Wow, we have a bad boy on our hands, ladies and gentleman.” She finishes applying highlighter and sits back to admire her work. His jaw can cut glass. “Okay, Motorcycle Man, it’s time to take pictures. If you’re good, maybe I’ll draw the shoot out-- I’m not a fan of this humidity.”

Summer is better than winter, if only because she’s acquired a weird habit to almost hibernate when the temperature gets too cold. It’s easy for Marinette to shrug off the heat most days, even when her friends complain constantly.

“The name’s Jason.”

“I think I’ll stick with Motorcycle Man. Alliteration, you know? Now, one hand in your pocket, the other at your collar. Left leg out a little, like you’re ready to take a step-- perfect. Walk forwards a little, yeah, just like that.”

Jason is Adonis personified. The perfect package of cocky, arrogant, and bad boy. It doesn’t hurt that he’s well muscled either-- even Adrien doesn’t have thighs like that, and he spends hours as Chat Noir jumping from rooftop to rooftop. 

“You’re a natural,” Marinette praises. “Have you ever modeled before?”

“Not like this, but I’ve got my fair share of pictures on the internet.”

She’s going to regret asking this. But curiosity killed the cat, not the ladybug. “If not for modelling, then what for?”

“Oh, you know. This and that. A few odd jobs here and there.”

And if that doesn’t make Jason sound more like a criminal, she doesn’t know what will. Marinette decides that she definitely won’t bring up a day job, let alone a night job. 

“All right, next outfit.” She pushes a muscle tank top and light, ripped jeans into his hands.  “You can change in the public restroom, and if anything doesn’t fit, just let me know.”

He takes the outfit, but pauses at one of the other outfits she has in her bag. “Is that… leather and fur? For a shoot with the theme of summer heat?”

“I don’t call the shots, I’m just the poor lackey who has to make them look good. Trust me, if I were in charge of design, the only outfit that might still be in the bag is the one you’re holding right now.” Gabriel is definitely losing his touch. But hey, doing this weird intern summer program for him isn’t the worst thing she’s had to do in her life. It’s good to learn from other people’s mistakes, rather than making them herself. 

“Don’t worry. Crappy fashion isn’t going to scare me away. Have you seen some of Gotham’s villains?”

At that, she couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re talking Gotham villains? How about Paris?”

“Paris is some weird alternate dimension. It doesn’t count,” Jason protests. 

“I could say the same for Gotham. Really, why are there so many Robins? Can’t they come up with another name?”

“I almost wish I could argue with that.”

He comes out of the stall, and Marinette feels the summer heat. Jason, Motorcycle Man is ripped. Yeah, his thighs are probably some of the thickest she’s seen, but his biceps are to die for. She’s half tempted to ask for his workout regime, but she’s sure that somewhere he’ll casually throw in ‘beating up random people on the street’ or ‘punching people who piss him off.’ Those are just the kind of vibes that Jason gives off. 

“The arm holes are kinda tight.”

“I’m sure they are,” Marinette breathes, chest tight. Jason’s eyes smoulder. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he places an arm on the door frame and flexes. She thinks she can die happy, now.

They wrap up the shoot quickly. All of the clothes are promptly packaged up except for the tanktop and jeans.  

@jasonette-july-2k20

____________________________________________________________

For the other jasonette prompts i’ve written for so far, i think i’ll probably continue them eventually, so lmk if you want to be added to the tag list for that. pretty surprised these are getting such a good reception thank you guys for that ;)

[stark-tony]

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 2

part 1

Queer Eye for the Cacti by silentsaebyeok

summary: He bought one-hundred cacti on Amazon! Pepper was going to kill him!

What had possessed him to do such a thing? He never went on shopping sprees when drunk. That just wasn’t a Tony Stark type of thing to do. And in all honesty, he was astonished he even remembered the Amazon password.

--

Tony makes an interesting purchase while drunk. What he doesn’t expect is for said purchase to bite him in the ass in the worst possible way.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Tumblr Posts by Jen27ny

summary:   Literally what the title says. All the prompts and one-shots I post on tumblr.

pairings: pepperony, spideychelle

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

warnings:

It Lasts for Always by YellowDistress

summary:  Peter has never asked anyone to kill for him, especially not Tony.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Cursed Christmas by sahiya

summary: A series of unfortunate events befalls Tony, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan (and Happy and May) in the week leading up to Christmas.

It'd be kind of funny if it didn't totally suck. Fortunately, they've got good back-up.

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Keeping your head up by frostysunflowers

summary: It’s been a while, a long while, since Tony felt this defenceless. He’s without a suit, the manacle around his ankle is solid steel, and he can’t see a single way out.

 He’s been here before, but back then there had been tools, resources, options.

Here, there’s just the walls, his missing kid and the water. 

The water.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: kidnapping

Young, Dumb and Suffering by wordscorrupt

summary: In a moment of desperation, Peter decides to take Steve's pain medication to relieve a migraine.

or

Peter accidentally overdoses on pain medication.

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings:

Midnight Oil by JolinarJackson

summary:  After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

Love Will Remind Us Who We Are by blondsak

summary: There had been many times in Tony’s life when he’d known the piercing clarity that separated a Good Day from a Bad Day. Had known the ways in which, upon first waking, one’s soul would strike a balance between agony and relief either in your favor, or not.

But none of his earlier Good and Bad times had prepared him for his reality now.

//

Nine months after the Avengers defeated Thanos, Tony is still reckoning with the toll the final snap took on his body. Between grueling physical therapy, near-constant pain, and the inability to so much as tie his own shoes, well-- things aren’t exactly like Tony had imagined.

Luckily for him, there’s a certain kid from Queens who won’t let Tony give up so easily.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Summertime Sickness by Spideysickfics

summary: "Well, this is your lucky day, then!" Peter replied enthusiastically, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he broke into a wide grin, "You're looking at a former Boy Scout!"

Tony let out a huff of air.

"No shit, a Boy Scout, huh? When did you quit?"

"First grade." Peter's grin didn’t waver. Tony rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"I'm sure you're very knowledgeable."

OR

An Irondad camping trip and sickfic to soothe your soul

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings: none

to break in these bones by searchingforstars

summary: “We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

--

or, Peter doesn't listen to Tony, pisses off someone dangerous and ends up on the wrong end of a baseball bat.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

5 Times Peter Gave Tony Something by impravidus

summary:  and the 1 time Tony gave him something back

pairings:  none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

You'll Be Here (in My Heart) by seekrest

summary:  The morning that Tony’s life changed forever began as his days usually began now — shuffling into the kitchen half asleep, going through the motions as he searched for Pepper’s favorite coffee mug.

Tony stifled a yawn, grabbing the Black Panther novelty mug she adored while he grabbed one that Morgan had made them years ago - one that made her now cringe with embarrassment anytime she saw him use it, the childish scribbles that made him laugh.

  He sets Morgan’s creation down on the countertop as he reaches for the Black Panther mug, it being just barely out of reach for when Pepper has put it last.

“Damn thing.” Tony mutters to himself, fingers barely brushing against it before he grabs it - going to set it down on the counter only to be surprised when Pepper walks in from the bedroom, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Morning. You know, you and I need to have a talk about about your choice of mugs. I know T’Challa somehow perfected the cup warmer thing here but you could at least show a little—“

“Michelle’s in labor.”

pairings: spideychelle

tags: angst

warnings: none

the little things we don't say out loud by JBS_Forever

summary: “It's not funny,” Peter says, voice catching as he whines, “This is life or death, Ned. I'm actually dying.”

On the other end of the line, Ned sighs, amused and not at all concerned. “So you're Mr. Stark's secret Santa. It's not that bad.”

- - -

In which Peter is Tony's secret Santa, and it is, in fact, that bad.

pairings: none

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: none

Hiking Essentials: A backpack, plenty of water, and a Spider-kid by kiwifeather

summary:  Morgan, Peter, and Tony enjoy each other's company on a hike through the woods while Peter is staying with them for the weekend. Father-and-son bonding ensues

(Takes place after the snap but Tony survives because this is the good timeline and we know that Tony deserved a happy ending)

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

In Case of Emergency by Bowtiez

summary: Babysitting his little sister at the Stark's lakeside cabin seems like quite the gig for 17-year-old Peter. Of course he's got that covered- he's a mature individual and he can watch over a five-year-old for forty-eight hours.

On a totally unrelated note, did anyone know that super-healing doesn't really work on bacterial infections? It's a good thing Morgan knows what to do. Well... it's probably a good thing?

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Three Times Tony Stark Used Italian Nicknames and One Time He Received One by MCUsic_to_my_ears

summary:   Tony can't help but slip into his Italian when with his children.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

More Ancient Than Magic by ironfamjam

summary: Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: torture

Peaches by peterparkr

summary: There’s no response, not even a faint twinge of muscle. Peter tries to listen for a heartbeat, but he can’t seem to focus enough to pinpoint it. Another bubble of thought starts to rise. This could be the reason his spidey-sense is going haywire. Tony could be—

He pushes the bubble down.

OR

Peter and Tony find themselves stranded in the woods after an Avengers mission

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Snowflakes by Jen27ny

summary:  Tony just wants to see his kids happy - which means letting Morgan stick as many snowflakes to the window as she likes, and making Peter talk about his nightmares.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I Sure Do Like Those Christmas Cookies by baloobird

summary: Tony is spending a fun afternoon baking cookies with his kids, but his older one isn't acting like himself.

Whatever the problem is, it's up to the now-retired hero to figure it out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: bullying, acephobia

An MIT Halloween by bethy_277

summary: Coming to MIT had been difficult, having almost lost his mentor when he had snapped to save the entire universe, and Peter had really struggled. If it hadn’t been for Ned and Harley- who he had met shortly after he came back and become good friends with- he didn’t think he would have made it past the first few weeks at school. He had called both May and Tony that first week, hysterical and begging to come back to New York. May had been patient, Tony had been ready to get in his car to drive to him to help him through it, and Harley and Ned had been there and talked him down both times.  

** Peter is a college student at MIT and Tony brings Morgan up for some trick-or-treating.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Someone Take Me Home by GallagherHunter

summary:  More than a month since May's death Peter is having a less than stellar day at school in the hopes of making it through the day so he can get to the apartment where he's been living with Tony since his world came crashing around him. Meanwhile, Tony has been advised to adopt Peter to assure him he won't leave him.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

It’s Gonna Be Lit by Pawprinter

summary: What Christmas gift does one get for the man who seemingly has everything?

Peter is struggling to find out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I'll Be Home For Christmas by snarkymuch

summary:  May gets called away for work, and Tony steps in to make sure Peter isn't alone for Christmas. Harley, Morgan, and Peter being adorable kids, and Tony being a great dad.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The power of makeup by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter shows up to a prestigious awards ceremony with a black eye and a whole lot of regret.

Tony raids Pepper's purse and decides to improvise.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

if you'll be my star, i'll be your sky by ftmpeter

summary: There are two things Tony learns about Peter after Morgan is born.

The first thing is that when it comes to kids, he's a natural.

The second thing is that he's a self-sacrificing little shit.

(Tony already knew that. He has the gray hairs to prove it. But. Still.)

It isn't the kind of self-sacrificing that will get him killed or seriously injured - thank God - but it's just as annoying. Maybe even more, because while he can ground Peter from Spider-Man, he can't exactly ground him from staying up all night to make sure Morgan sleeps through it.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

give the cookies a miss by searchingforstars

summary: “Surprise!” Morgan exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She gestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

--

or, Peter is poisoned by the ones he trusts most.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

i want to be with you 'til the whole world ends by searchingforstars

summary: The last thing he does as his eyes slip shut is wrap his arms tighter around Peter, as tight as he can manage when it feels like the life is draining from him.

Please, for the love of God, I'm sorry I couldn't do it, but please, please, someone look after this kid for me.

Tony would give anything to make sure that Peter Parker is safe.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much left to give. He’s about to have nothing left to give.

The world goes dark.

He drifts away.

--

Or, Peter and Tony nearly lose each other.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Of bright autumn days and things that go bump in the night by frostysunflowers

summary: Halloween/fall themed fics featuring plenty of fluff, feels and seasonal shenanigans!

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings: none

Twelve Days of Terror: A Whumptober Collection by seekrest

summary:

pairings: spideychelle

tags: 

warnings: 

[untitledtheunknown]

Valor Rzeszutek timeline from birth to 2077+ cuz have put way too much thought and planning into his dumb ass. It's not 100% to everything, a lot of things are over simplified and had major effects on him, as well as other smaller events that did occur. But its something to kinda base him on of where he's been and where he's at now.

October 21st 1994 - Valor and Glory Rzeszutek were born to engineer Jeremiah and corpo Vivienne Rzeszutek in South Africa.

August 2005 - Vivienne received a new position with the HQ of her company, uprooting the family from SA to NUSA Las Vegas.

June 2006 - Jeremiah takes Valor with him on a small trip to NC, surprises him with tickets to see Samurai.

October 21st 2006 - Valor gets his first electric guitar for his 12th birthday.

November 19th 2010 - Vivienne dies of sudden health complications. Corporation covers her funeral costs and gives an additional 1 year salary to the family.

July 2012 - Valor joins Lazarus Group starting his mercenary/solo career.

September 2012 - Jeremiah leaves LV joining a group of Nomads heading East.

2013-15 - Valor served as gunner for Trauma Team LV; Glory was quickly rising through corprate ranks with Liive a doll company.

December 2017 - Corprate counter extractions, target found dead in a warehouse with a wreath around his head. First of many to be found this way.

2021-27 - Valor is assigned on military contract back to SA, orders suggested territory dispute and area fortification but actual politics of it was left out for troops. Mostly a show of muscle and patrolling different hot zones.

February 4th 2027 - Transport detail, halfway camp under fire. 14 dead another dozen injured, Valor and 3 others are taken prisoner.

February 6th 2027 - Valor wakes up strapped to an operating table, system diagnosis states a foreign piece of unregistered cyberware has been installed. Installation location is unknown as all ports are open, given the bandaging around his head and the pain at the base of his skull, assumed it was surgically implanted.

February 8th 2027 - Dumped in an unknown location, small town, in the middle of the night. Bloody, bruised, and weak manages to get himself up and starts to stumble down the empty street. Chip is activated, neural system goes offline, cyberpsychosis takes over sending Valor into a chaotic feral state.

February 9th-15th 2027 - Valor is held prisoner by local military company. Believing he works for the black market vendors he is tortured for days on end until information arrives that he is one of the MIA soldiers with Lazarus Group. Returned to a nearby base and sent back to NUSA for medical evaluation.

March 30th 2027 - Valor is released from medical care, honorably discharged from Lazarus for medical purposes. Do to the chip's nature it is unable to be removed, with no known tracers on the technology he is put on as risk for possible cyberpsychosis relapse. No evidence to prove that he will relapse he is free to leave the facility.

June 2027 - Valor meets a street drummer that goes by Rango. Former Nomad, part time roadie. He's a part time drummer and makes for good company, two start hanging out on the regular.

August 19th 2027 - Abduction in progress, high on painkillers Valor gives chase. First official run in with Arasaka Extractor, Umbra. Though the fight was short lived and Valor failed, Umbra, impressed with vitality and fight, severs Valor's ring finger. Taking it as an oath for the fight to continue on a better day for the solo.

December 7th 2027 - Valor is selected among a small group of Solos for a new prototype of cyberarms known as the MonoBlades by Kendachi. Do to his medical records he is unable to undergo the procedure for the new cybernetics though is assured his spot will be held until he's well enough.

April 2028 - Once again confronted with Umbra, though no fight happens, terms of the affair are made clear. Valor is being stalked by the other, for better or for worse. Next several months this obsession is made clear.

September 2028 - Convinced by his sister that he needs to get out more, get back to work, do something with his time. In a haze of foggy memories ends up joining an inferno and becoming a dom for hire. Pays good and keeps his nights filled can't complain.

December 19th 2028 - Clearance for the new cyberarms is granted, Valor is sent to one of Kendachi's orbital stations to receive the procedure and physical therapy for the new arms.

March 14th 2029 - Contacted by an old Netrunner friend asking to meet up. Meeting up at a Café off the old strip Sami introduces Valor to Kelvy Kai-Eurodyne, an independent media hunting down a Netrunner killer in NC. The name Umbra comes up in intercepted Arasaka documents, Valor tells them to drop it if they value any part of their lives before leaving the Café.

September 2029 - Working more on his music, got a group of friends together and produced their first demo by the end of the year going by the name Herken.

April 2030 - Local rock station for Central Vegas started playing their music, shortly there after Damion Kre Saint for No End Records signed the band, started work on their first official album.

August 2031 - Herken releases their first studio album, Remembering Nothing More to major success

October 15 2031 - First major tour for the band, switching from opening act to headliner at different gigs

May 2033 - Second album is released, touring there after

September 2036 - Third studio album is released, Cherish the Pain, album becomes a sensation in the rock scene

2038 - after several strings of murders, and NC naming a new serial killer, Sami contacts Valor thanking him for his warning nearly 10 years ago about Umbra.

February 2040 - Fourth album is released

August 2045 - Valor returns to work with Lazarus, back into solo work, mainly preforming counter extractions.

November 2046 - Attempted counter extraction comes too late, Valor calls in the body only to be confronted with Umbra as he attempts to exit the scene. Conversation was not recorded, both men left unharmed.

March 17 2049 - Glory Rzeszutek is murdered several blocks from her home, during an attempted robbery. Trauma is unable to revive her, information regarding her death is forwarded out to Valor there after.

March 23 2049 - Valor is switched from ops being put back on leave to manage his sister's affairs. He is the sole beneficiary to her estate, inheriting her wealth and stock with Liive, overnight making him a multi-billionaire and part of the Vegas elite.

April 2049 - dealing with the loss of his twin sister, Valor begins to go through a deep pit of depression. Having dealt with loss before, Solo career wasn't uncommon to lose friends, this however was different. Depression began to manifest into visual and audio hallucinations, making work nearly impossible to do

May 2049 - Jan 2050 - Valor is in and out of court and legal hearings in regards to his inheritance and the remainder of his sister's estate. Interviews running like its a celebratory thing gaining this wealth, truth being he just wants to get back to work. Ending result 75% of the wealth is locked in accounts and will not be released for another 20+ years.

February 2050 - Valor once again returns to work with Lazarus taking on smaller gigs for a time. Still dealing with his own mental state, he refuses to take on anymore large gigs.

July 2051 - Contract comes in for a security gig, easy job, 24/7 body detail for 1 year on tour. Contract is immediately pushed forward to Valor who accepts, only during briefing for the gig find out its for Kerry Eurodyne.

July 2052 - contract concluded with the tour a benefits relationship starts between Kerry and Valor. Valor opting to stay in NC for a few months extra on a "private" contract with the Rockerboy.

September 2054 - Kerry once again hires Valor as security for a shorter tour, media events for new album put on by his label.

2057 - Rumors start to surface that Umbra has been decommissioned amongst a small group of extractors, Sami brings up that Arasaka is keeping it quiet because he was the NC Gallery Killer and that is not a PR mess any company wants to deal with. All traces of him have been scrubbed from their databanks.

2058 - Valor receives a token from the Nomad group The Veils, and invitation to join them. Having heard rumors of the group, he's hesitant to act, even more so to inform anyone.

June 2059 - Valor retires from Lazarus and takes up the offering on The Veils token, following it out into the desert.

2060 - He is officially accepted into the clan, given a title by Azera and branded as part of them with his unique code. Beginning of a new life.

2067 - Valor begins spending more time at the Edges of Silence, a bleak stretch of dead desert where nothing grows. The clan believes the desert out there will either consume or the spirits will direct. Something keeps calling him back whenever he is close.

August 2074 - The choice is made to continue heading out West, follow the signs and see if he can make sense of the visions and voices. Gifted passage and return by Azera it is not a final goodbye from the clan.

2075 - Settled into NC, doesn't take long for his reputation to catch up with him, starts taking on independent Solo gigs. Quickly climbing up the chain and becoming a regular at the Afterlife, a gifted work horse for Rogue, but one she knows will get any job done.

2077 - Happens, that was a thing... yeah.

January 2078 - Valor and Kerry make the trip back out to The Veils, after a trial devoted to loyalty, Azera decides to spare them both, attempting to save Valor from the effects of the Relic.

May 2078 - Finally wakes back up, and on the recovery as his vitals have evened out and a sense of normalcy is restored. Though some side effects of the Relic cannot be reverted in his current body, he has his life with no threat of a imminent collapse.

[walshnikki]

Pitch: Jack & Nikki

Sitting in the cab of the beat-up pick-up that had clearly seen better days, Nikki allowed herself a few minutes to compose herself. It wasn’t like the thirty-year-old to be nervous; on a good day, the brunette was rational and self-assured, but this was a small town. The smallest fucking town. Though she’d been living in Duffy for a few months now, she’d only set foot off her aunt’s property on a handful of occasions and of those, she’d only spoken with like three people at most. It was a bit daunting: trying to find a place in a town so… tight knit, but that didn’t mean she could let herself hide away in her aunt’s home.

She was a firm believer in the saying, ‘people need people,’ and Nikki needed people, or she was going to go insane. (The gothic-style manor got awfully quiet when it was just her and her aunt.) How to go about getting people, though, that was a question that she’d needed to ponder. How does a new girl make in-roads as an adult? An answer to that very question arrived in the mail, forwarded to her curtesy of her mother: her bachelor’s degree had finally arrived. A job. That was the perfect way to establish root and make connections.

With the document finally in her hands, Nikki had felt she had to try and make use of her degree; to not do so would make the four-year degree a gigantic waste of money & time. Research about the job market in Duffy, and all the surrounding towns, put a bit of damper on her initial excitement. Public relations gigs in the area were non-existent as it turned out. She’d never planned for small-town life, her post-college plans had been to move to New York and work her way up the corporate ladder at a medium-sized public relations firm. Georgia had no public relations companies at all. None, zip, zilch. But then she realized: if the job you want doesn’t exist, create it.

Double-checking that the flash drive bearing her business-specific proposal was tucked safely into her portfolio, Nikki pulled the keys from the ignition, hid them beneath the floor mat under the driver’s seat, and tugged her black plastic portfolio into her lap before elbowing open the driver’s door.

Once out of the truck’s cab, she put the item onto the driver’s seat, straightened up her burgundy satin bow-tie blouse from Bella’s Wardrobe and ran her hands down her charcoal grey slacks. She wasn’t just selling her public relations abilities; she was selling herself… and that started by making a good first appearance. She went for business casual, and, this was just her opinion, but she thought she’d done just that.

Tucking her portfolio under her left arm, Nikki locked up the borrowed beater, took a deep breath, and headed for the warehouse. With its chipping painting, fading signage, and forgotten posters drooping from black-painted doors, the DWL didn’t have the best exterior, but the thirty-year-old wasn’t fooled. The DWL was a powerhouse, not only in Duffy, but throughout the wrestling world. It just needed some help to boost its audience reach; that was where she planned to come in. First thing was first, though, entering the building and finding the man in charge. He was the one she’d need to convince.

Nikki followed the soft sound of voices deeper into the building, assuming whoever she came upon in the end would be able to point her in the direction of one, Jack Spade. The Heel, the myth, the legend. Or at least that was what her research had indicated.

Nikki thought the man himself was worthy of note all on his own. It wasn’t every day that a man made such an impression upon her… and in a lawn care store of all places! He had such a warm demeanor, such charm, she’d almost felt like a naïve schoolgirl under his attention. Thank God, she’d managed to get through her purchase without embarrassing herself. She was even more glad of that fact when, in scouting potential clients with public relations needs, the DWL came out on top of that list.

Coming up behind a gathered group of well-muscled men chortling and roughhousing with a couple of females milling about on the edges of the ruckus, Nikki mentally identified some of them (thanks to the background she’d gathered on the people working for the DWL): Rooster, Crystal, Bobby Pin, Diego, Apocalypse & last, but not least, Ace Spade. Ace was the most identifiable with his long blonde hair and pompous air, though that was to be expected with him being the ‘face’ of the DWL.

Finding no break in the ruckus to cut in, Nikki raised her fingers to her lips and gave a loud, piercing whistle. The whole group turned almost immediately, “Yeah, hi. Can someone point me in the boss’ direction?”

“I’m Ace Spade, sweetness,” Ace replied with a tone of voice that undoubtedly dropped a lot of panties in his time, “what do you need?”

Looking her up and down, he tacked on, “if you’re here for the valet gig, you’re way over dressed.” He sauntered closer to her, the others snickering and murmuring, taking in a show that Ace excelled putting on, “don’t worry, though, I’m sure I could help you get underdressed.”

Over his shoulder Nikki spied Apocalypse giving Diego an underhanded high-five. What exactly motivated that exchange, the young woman didn’t know, but she was willing to bet that it was some juvenile male thing. For some people high school never ended.

“If I wanted to get underdressed,” Nikki said, giving the cocky-blonde wrestler a withering look, “I wouldn’t need your help.” After beat she tacked on a demeaning, but sharply cheerful, “Thanks though.”

The rebuke seemed to throw the younger Spade off, the man just blinking at her like a confused owl. Poor thing. He probably wasn’t used to the sting of female rejection.

Looking past him, she inquired of the others in the room, “So, Jack?”

“Down the hall,” Bobby offered in answer after a moment of awkward silence.

“Thank you.” Tossing him a genuine smile, Nikki walked off in the direction that the DWL’s sweetheart had indicated. The muffled sound of a raised voice guided her until she was just steps away from the partial opened office door. Raising her right hand, she knocked lightly, but the sound went seemingly unnoticed by the man in charge.

Nudging the door with her foot, Nikki spied a man (presumably Jack) facing  away from the door, a phone held tight to his ear as he spoke to someone on the other end of the line. She felt a little awkward just standing in the hallway, like a delinquent waiting to be called into the Principal’s office, and made a decision to step inside the office to await the conclusion of his phone call. That wasn’t overstepping, was it?

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (December 14, 1974): 51/?

QUEEN KILLING THEM SOFTLY IN FRANKFURT

IT WAS, said the tall and studious Brian May, like playing to a vacuum cleaner. "We were just pouring it out and they (the audience) were sucking it in, with nothing coming back. I tell you, for the first time in many months I felt like I'd done a hard day's work when I came off stage."

May, along with the rest of the band, is sitting in the diner of Frankfurt's Why Not club reflecting on Queen's second date in Germany. The mood is not bad, but there's an undercurrent of steely determination following the difficulties of that night's gig.

The fact is, support band Lynyrd Skynyrd. were exactly what stoned-out Frankfurt wanted. As in England with Golden Earring, so in Germany with Queen, Lynyrd Skynyrd make an over-poweringly succesful support band. Here In Frankfurt there were even more difficulties for the English and. Most of the audience are American GI's, looking like inmates from the local borstal with their cropped hair and rippling muscles.

As you enter the 1100 capacity hall, the air is stuffed with the stench of dope — an intermingling of hash and grass and the sweat of a crowd at least 300 over the top.It's a strange place, former stock-exchange for farmers, complete with balcony, and surrounded by tropical plants.

Up on the balcony above the stage a group of Queen supporters self-consciously tap their feet to Skynyrd's rhythmic weave. Roger Taylor, ever grinning, appears to check on th band, notes the wild applause and disappears, no doubt to plan strategy.

There's a long break between sets leading to the dissipation of part of the crowd. Heidi, the whizz-kid of EMI Germany, explains the local GI's problem: "Zey have to report back to camp by 11.00 pm". So when Queen's little rock 'n' roll drama explodes, there are considerably fewer people end even less enthusiasm.

Presence

Mercury, the self-styled rock supremo, looks unabashed as Queen open with as much presence as a band can muster. Lights, tapes, and screaming dynamics combine to counter the audience apathy. It's ahighly professional first assault. Procession, Now I'm Here, and Ogre Battle make a promising start which draws warm applause. But unlike many gigs, this one did not cook to boiling point. If anything the crowd were almost undecided when Queen departed after an energetic stab. It took fully two minutes before muted applause turned to a good old stmp and chant, bringing the boys back on stage for a stirring finale.

Freddy stalks the stage with controlled aggression as they bash into Big Spender and you realise that here's a rock artist who can sing, cavort, and write songs with an almost contemptuous level of excellence. He is a classic rock star — complete with costume changes and bare hairy chest. Seems, his only real need is to develop that outrageous off-stage campery into the act. He's very much the mincing Queen, yet on stage this seemingly natural personality is overtaken with host of: "Right now we'd like to do" type announcements. Roger Taylor, a veritable demon on the drums and very fine musician, has more idea when he tells the crowd to get off their arses. Nevertheless there were those in the company who felt Queen showed too much aggression in the face of audience apathy.

Anyway, by all account there's a huge row in the dressing room afterwards which sends the EMI rep scurring away with cries of: "Don't let them break the windows."

The Swedes were apparently as wild as English audiences, but in Germany it's different.

Next stop is Hamburg with Skynyrd supporting for the last time.

Unapproachable

More talk on the way back to the hotel suggests the band will be unapproachable and there's even talk of spending the rest of the evening with Slade, who just happen to be staying at the same hotel. The word is that Queen are THE most fastidious band and no matter how good the gig, they (or Freddy paticularly) will find fault.

Eventually Brian and John walk into the bar. They look cool but not too unnerved and they're all prepared to go clubbing.

According to them there've been a few problems already on this, still young European tour like the incident which decapitated their equipment truck. Apparently some hapless roadie was hurtling through the Swedish night when he failed to notice a low-bridge warning. The lorry went on through, losing its root and half the amps in the process. Two gigs had to be cancelled while another truck was driven out from London in time for the Munich gig, a first in Germany. According to Heidi, Munich was a smash: "The audience just didn't know what had hit them," she says, adding that tonight's comparative failure does not over concern her: "Queen will be huge," she says confidently, "I'm sure they are going to be enormous, but it will take a year."

None of the boys seem overly worried and the general feeling in their road party — and among the visiting journalists — is one of disdain for the Frankfurt crowd. A crowd of dopers into boogie rock is hardly likely to appreciate futuristic guitar pyrotechnics and 1975 flash a la Mercury.

"Still," muses May, now installed at the night spot, "they could have returned something. The more an audience feed back the better we play — naturally — but there I just felt like I was wasting my time."

Electronic

He's a musician of the electronic school, very much on top of the latest developments in the uses of amplified sound. On stage he uses two American Echoplex units. The guitar he built himself over two years: "There's nothing special or different about it, it's just a good instrument." The amplifiers, he draws from a good old British tradition. Back in the days when The Shadows were the inspiration for every rock group in the country (they were celled rhythm groups then) Vox amplifires were renowned. Now, in contrast to almost all of his contemporaries, May uses the good old Vox AC 30, or to be more precise, nine of them (three are spare). 

Over a crab cocktail and non alcoholic drink (he's still recovering from Hepititis) Brian quashes the popular misconception that Queen are just a studio band manipulated by highly professional technicians. The truth is self-evident in the stage act. They compare favourably with their recorded sound. But Brian goes further. 

"Do people really believe it's all down to the studio?" he asks indignantly. 

Well, er, yes Brian, Trident Studios has got a reputation for expertise, and you must admit there's a lot of production goes into the Queen discs.

"OK," he returns, "but most of that studio direction comes from us.

"We think of all the ideas. We love being in the studio. We're full of thoughts on how the songs should come out."

Fair enough. But what about being on the road? There are nothing but tours ahead for the band. Can they all cope? What will they do to keep sane?

"I suppose this," he looks unimpressed. "I can't drink more than a couple of pints so there's no danger of me getting wrecked. I must admit though it's going to be long haul. It'll be really good for us but I'd prefer not to be away so long. We're just going home for Christmas then we're off again to America." 

Meanwhile on the next table, Freddy Mercury is being his ourtageous self: "When we were in Copenhagen dear, we went to a Russian restaurant where naturally I ordered the speciality of the house. It was delicious. I said 'what in this' and they told me I was eating bear. Bear, dear, I loved it."

Freddy and Roger Taylor seem to be taking Europe in their stride, and a few indifferent gigs won't stop their growing style in this band. Freddy's voice is on the way to giving out, yet he still has time to confide that he simply must do something about his hair. Perhaps he should send for his personal hairdresser? 

The Queen has her eyes on an entourage no doubt, and what's the betting she gets it...?

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 17

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: Katriona Cassiopeia belongs to the wonderful @kc-and-oc

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning:

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch

She's got a smile that it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky

~ Guns N’ Roses - Sweet Child O’ Mine ~

On the morning of their charity gig, Lizzie woke to a blissfully cool morning and an overcast sky. She turned in her bed and indulged in another moment of sleepiness before sitting up.

She hadn’t slept as badly as last night in a long while. After their discussion at the pool, Orion had been restless and had preferred to keep himself busy with working, meditating or whatever else it was that he was doing to ‘find his balance again’. So Lizzie had left him to it and had spent her evening with the rest of her friends.

It wasn’t like Lizzie wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore; since their tour had started, she had made sure to get back to her room instead of staying with Orion every night. The hotels they were staying in were busy and she didn’t want anyone to see her leaving his room first thing in the morning.

But still, going to bed without so much as talking to him had been strange; Lizzie was surprised at how used she had become to having someone to unwind with.

On the other hand, Lizzie knew how much events like the one ahead were affecting Orion. He usually had a good grip on the events of his childhood but being confronted with his memories in such a direct way tended to unsettled him. If he needed his space, who was she to deny it to him.

Lizzie yawned as she got out of bed and changed into her workout gear, glancing glumly at the alarm clock on her nightstand; it had gotten late last night and she hated early mornings as much as the next person. But Orion would already be up for his morning round of yoga and she had promised she would join him.

Lizzie couldn’t help but shake her head at this retrospectively stupid idea. She did enjoy doing yoga, and especially together with Orion; it worked wonders on her flexibility and chronically sore muscles. Could she have her way, though, afternoon yoga would be just as fine. If it cheered Orion up, however, she would just have to bite the bullet.

As it turned out, Lizzie could have stayed in bed for all that it was worth. Orion remained silent throughout the flow, but it was not his usual serene calm; instead, he surrounded himself with a melancholy mood that was uncharacteristic for him. Lizzie did manage to cheer him up with a little extended exercise after they were done, but even then she could tell a part of Orion’s mind wasn’t with her.

Much to her dismay, his restlessness had rubbed off on her as well. Lizzie felt a nervous energy course through her body, which usually only got hold of her right before a show was about to begin. Her fingers itched for a practice session on her drums, but those were lying dismantled in their boxes at the arena.

She was still wearing her workout clothes, so she decided to go for a run to channel her energy into something more productive than pacing around her room.

When Lizzie stepped out of the hotel and onto the private parking space, the sky was still clouded, but blue patches could already be seen here and there. Just as she was about to put her headphones on, the sound of her name drew her attention.

“Hey Jameson,” Skye’s voice sounded from across the car park. “Rath and I are going for a run. Wanna come?”

She motioned over to where Erika was standing at the exit to the streets, looking what Lizzie assumed was mildly impatient; it was always a bit tricky to tell with the blonde head of security.

It was nice of Skye to ask, but Lizzie wasn’t in the mood for company. Each of the girls was as competitive as they came in their own right; Lizzie usually never backed down from a challenge, but combined Skye and Erika were too much even for her taste.

“No thanks, go on without me,” Lizzie consequently declined the offer. “I already worked out with Orion.”

Skye grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Spare me the bloody details.”

“Yoga, Skye. We did some yoga,” Lizzie responded wryly. “Get your mind out of the gutter, will you?”

She did make a point to omit the second part of their workout routine, however. Skye didn’t need to know everything after all.

Unsure what to do after Skye and Erika had left, Lizzie turned around and marched back into the building. She couldn’t really go for a run by herself now, so she might as well go on the hunt for some much needed coffee and breakfast.

When Lizzie arrived at the breakfast room, most of her friends were already there. Orion was sitting with Merula at a table in the far corner of the room. He gave her the briefest smile as their eyes met. Lizzie returned it before walking over to the large table beside the window where some crew members were sitting.

She would have loved to sit with Orion but she didn’t want to get in Merula’s way. Where a confrontation with his past was unsettling for Orion, it turned Merula into a loaded gun. On days like this, it was better to steer clear of her; the only one who was safe from her moods was her foster brother.

Lizzie and the others were chatting about the shows of the day and the work they still had to do. Organising and playing two consecutive gigs in a row, and in such a short time span as well, was something neither of them had done very often. Lizzie thought wistfully about the hours of sleep she had missed last night by tossing and turning in her bed.

The topic of the discussion had just changed to the ever on-going debate about their favourite kinds of sports, when Lizzie’s attention was drawn from Murphy’s admittedly impressive case for basketball. Artemis was standing in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room, probably looking for Charlie.

When she saw that he was sitting with the rest of them, a small frown appeared between her eyes. She wasted no time coming over, but walked straight to the buffet laid out in the middle of the room.

Lizzie downed the remains of her coffee with one determined motion and stood up. As she tried to get past Charlie to get herself another cup, Charlie shot her a warning glance.

“Relax,” Lizzie rolled her eyes at him, “I’ll be nice to her.”

“That’s exactly my concern, rockstar,” Charlie snorted in response.

Ignoring his concerns, she stuck her tongue out at him and made her way over to Artemis. The pyro technician only briefly glanced up from the selection of food as Lizzie stood next to her, but she could have sworn to hear a defeated sigh coming from Artemis’ lips.

Not getting discouraged so easily, Lizzie flashed Artemis a cheerful smile. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

Artemis didn’t look at her but made a non-committal sound as she picked out an almond croissant for herself; Lizzie took that as a sign to go on.

“I couldn’t sleep at all,” she said. “The noise from the street kept waking me up.” At least, that was half the truth. “I’m going to need all the coffee to get me through the day.”

To prove her point, she put her cup under the outlet of the fancy coffee machine and waited for it to fill up again. Artemis wasn’t responding, so Lizzie just continued talking; maybe she wasn’t a morning person. Then again, who besides Orion was?

“The day’s going to be such a long one, too. I can’t even remember when we last played two full shows in one day. Okay, granted, the first one is an acoustic set and that’s a lot less fuss but it’s still pretty exhausting if you want to do it right. And if you ask me, those kids deserve the best show we can give them,” she smiled at Artemis. “Do you and Charlie have anything special planned?”

“No,” Artemis said, turning to the coffee machine. Lizzie stepped away to make room, looking at her curiously.

“Your display is great as it is, so no need to change that much. The children will love anything you do either way.”

“There won’t be much to love. We’re not doing anything.”

Lizzie blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because,” Artemis said pointedly, “I don’t want no child anywhere fucking close to my igniters. They can’t be controlled. One of them might burn themselves or some shit,” she smiled, but it was without any humour. “Imagine what that would do to your publicity.”

With that, she downed her still steaming coffee, turned on her heels and marched out of the room, the plate with her breakfast all but forgotten.

Lizzie stared after her for a moment, confused by Artemis’ strong reaction. When she returned to her seat, Charlie shot her a glum look.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Lizzie shrugged. “We were just talking about the gig this afternoon and she ran off.”

Something like understanding was showing on Charlie’s face. “Ah, that explains a lot.”

Lizzie looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. “Why?” she said slowly, when Charlie made no move to do so.

“She’s not coming.”

“Why not?”

This time, it was Charlie’s turn to shrug. “She didn’t want to tell me.”

Lizzie sighed as she poured more sugar into her coffee, blatantly ignoring KC’s unhappy face. “That’s a pity. The kids would have loved some cool effects.”

“Don’t worry about the effects,” KC said. She reached over the table and gently but firmly took the sugar dispenser out of Lizzie’s hands. “Just leave it to me to make your stage look pretty. After all, what are pyros but fancy lights?” she winked at Charlie.

Charlie muttered something incomprehensible into his coffee that sounded suspiciously like “No idea, that woman”. Murphy must have heard it as well, because he laughed and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“Trust me, with the boss on the matter your show has a 94.3 % chance of being the best thing these kids have ever seen.”

*

As usual, Murphy’s prediction proved to be correct. Even without the use of pyros, KC had worked her magic on the lights, giving their show that little extra touch that made it even more special.

Sometimes Lizzie wished she could see the full display from the crowd’s perspective instead of being the subject of the spotlights. The only thing she could see was the change of colours and the patterns scurrying across the stage, but not the full glory of the elaborate show KC had designed for them.

For the show today, the head of Aurora Tourealis had known exactly which effects to reprogram without even thinking too hard on it. Suited to their acoustic set, she had dimmed the lights, toned down all effects, making their show feel different and yet familiar at the same time.

Even Everett had caught one of his better days; his voice sounded like liquid honey as it rose over the soft sound of his and Orion’s guitars, accompanied by the clear melodies coming from Merula’s piano.

They were met with thundering applause when they were done. Even though the crowd they had been playing for was ridiculously small compared to what would be waiting for them later, seeing the excited faces of all those children warmed Lizzie from the inside.

After their show, the kids, who were being allowed to meet them, split into two different groups. While one of them was shown around backstage, the others stayed with them and were given the opportunity to hang out with the band for a while.

Not all members of Equinox were in as good a mood as Lizzie, however. The only one enjoying her time seemed to be Skye, who was joking around with a few of the older kids. Everett was smiling his best stage smile, but it was obvious that he wished for what he considered a chore to be over.

Merula was hiding her discomfort much less well than Everett did; her answers to the questions were brusque and no longer than they had to be. There were considerably less children gathered around her than with the rest of them, but knowing Merula, that was just fine with her.

Every once in a while, Lizzie’s gaze wandered over to Orion. He was sitting cross legged on the stage floor, surrounded by a group of very attentive children. He was explaining why he was using different guitars for different songs, and the kids were positively hanging from his lips. Lizzie could understand why; when Orion was talking about his music, he did so with a passion that was completely captivating. She could listen to him talking her through his songs for hours on end and not get bored.

To anyone not knowing him, he might have looked just as calm as he always did; but Lizzie knew he was putting on a show. It was the little things that were giving him away; the way he was repeatedly running his hand through his hair, how he turned the pendant of the necklace between his fingers, or absentmindedly plucked on the strings of his guitar without even realising it. All these quirks showed Lizzie that he was trying to keep himself in check.

“And what is that for?”

Her attention returned to her own little group of fans. They were standing around her drum kit and she had just finished explaining the different kinds of drums, toms and cymbals.

One of the kids, a little girl probably no older than eight, was sitting on her lap; she seemed to be the youngest of them all and apparently an avid fan of Lizzie. Her stream of questions about Equinox, playing in a band, and how to become a drummer seemed to have no end. Lizzie was happy at her enthusiasm and answered every single one of her questions diligently.

Right now, she was pointing at something fixed to the stand of her hi-hat. Lizzie smiled fondly as she looked at the small construction of wood, string and feathers.

“That’s my dreamcatcher,” Lizzie explained, “I always keep it on my kit whenever I play. It’s supposed to watch over me.”

“How did you get it? Did you make it?”

Lizzie’s eyes went to Orion, only for a moment. “A very good friend gave it to me.”

The girl looked at her sceptically. “But if it’s supposed to catch dreams, why is it on your drums?”

Lizzie laughed. “That’s what my friend said, too. But I like looking at it when I’m playing. It’s my lucky charm.”

She remembered when Orion had given her the dreamcatcher. She had spent the night at his place and had woken from a nightmare that had left her shaking. She had those very seldomly, but when she did, she found it hard to let them go again. Orion had helped her breathe until she had calmed down; afterwards, he had collected the dreamcatcher hanging from the window above his bed and had given it to her.

“To keep away the bad dreams.”

The memory made her smile.

When it was time for the two groups to switch and the chaperones were calling their charges to their sides, Lizzie was surprised to feel a timid tug at the back of her shirt. Turning around, the little girl was standing behind her, a very serious expression on her face.

“I have to ask you a question,” she said urgently, eyeing the other children suspiciously.

Lizzie kneeled down in front of her and smiled. “Of course, sweetheart. What else do you want to know?”

A faint blush spread on the girl’s rosy cheeks as she looked over to where Orion was taking pictures with a few of the other kids. “Is Orion the friend who gave you your lucky charm?”

“He is,” Lizzie said, “you’re a clever girl.”

The girl’s eyes widened and the red on her cheeks deepened. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Caught completely unaware, Lizzie just so managed to keep her face from slipping. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re looking at him all the time,” the girl explained matter-of-factly, “and he keeps looking at you, too. And you smile when you talk about him.”

Without meaning to, Lizzie’s eyes flicked to Orion again, and sure enough, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when their eyes met. She felt the heat rise to her face and looked away again.

“No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Are you sure about that? He looks like he might be your boyfriend.”

Lizzie took a deep breath. “We are just very good friends.”

“That’s good,” the little girl stated, clearly satisfied with Lizzie’s answer.

“Why’s that?”

The girl lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Because I’m going to marry him when I'm grown up,” she said, completely serious about her plan.

Lizzie tried to mirror her earnestness but had to suppress the urge to chuckle; that was the cutest thing she’d ever heard. “Well, Orion is a very lucky guy then.”

“But you won’t tell him, right?” the girl said, suddenly looking very shy. “You have to promise me!”

Lizzie knew Orion was watching them and she smiled when she caught his gaze. Turning her attention back to the girl staring at her out of big eyes, she held her pinky finger out to her.

“I promise. This will stay our little secret.”

[thenextchapter22]

Angel of the Three Realms

PART FOUR!!

Description: You were an Angel who went to the human world to escape punishment for loving Lucifer only to be brought back into his life, this time in the Devildom where you pretend to be human.

In this chapter: Simeon brings you back the medicine and some not so good news...

Warnings: Unrequited Love, Angst, WIP

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Authors Note: It’s been a while again but here is a 2k chapter to make up for it?! Please check out my AO3 for my other works or my Masterlist on my pinned post :)

Part One Part Two Part Three

_+_

“Did Michael give you any problems?”

“He didn’t know I was even there. I was very discreet in my arrival, only one knew I was there.”

“That’s unlike you… but good.”

“Lucifer, why are you so mean to me…”

Simeon’s whine made you grin but you tried not to react too much. You were eavesdropping after all.

It was a private conversation obviously otherwise they would not be whispering. Simeon had come back from fetching whatever it was he needed from the Celestial Realm (you didn’t even think at the time to ask what it was from Barbatos or Lucifer, you were more worried about him stealing. He was an Angel and he was going to steal from the Heavens for you, a pitiful little thing that had broken wings). As soon as he came in it was like your body woke up in time and somehow you knew not to move or speak. Instinct of the Angels or something ridiculous, or maybe just coincidental. Either way you were glad you were conscious to hear this.

Lucifer had been watching over you while you slept and waited for the medicine. As the eldest brother, he was also the one who worried the most and had the most stress, but he hid it well. Not from you, though, and you could tell he was worried about you. If you got a sort of look in your eyes, Lucifer you distract you however he could. Mostly with stupid stories of his brothers but it worked for the most part. He kept you company and sane while you tried not to bite your nails off freaking out about what was going on.

When you actually did bite at them, though, he slapped at your hand and you gaped. “Lucifer—”

His nose turned up. “Do not nibble on your nails, it’s disgusting. Do you know what you’re putting in your mouth?”

You smiled. He was so cute. “Nibble? I never thought it’d hear that word from you.” You nudged him from where he sat beside you, and he was not prepared and wobbled. It was hilarious and you outright laughed.

He narrowed his eyes, playfully. “Behave yourself or I won’t bring you the strawberry sorbet that Barbatos made.”

Anything made by the Demon Butler was incredible, so you pouted and apologized, “Sorry, I’ll be good.”

He huffed. “No you won’t. But I accept your apology.”

You both laughed then, and he took your hand and squeezed it once. The hue on your cheeks was noticeable in the room but thankfully he was paying attention to the book in his lap.

The time you spent with him was always amazing. Be it in silence, reading together, or talking about his work or your schoolwork, or just teasing one another, every word and action or lack thereof, if it was with him… there was nothing more you could ask for. After so long without him, then seeing him but not being able to be who you were without repercussions, this was… nice.

A soft touch to your shoulder had your mind reeling but it was just Lucifer adjusting your blanket. You faced the other way so it wasn’t like they could see your face but you kept your breathing and heartbeat as regular as you could.

“She’s looking better than a few days ago. Her wings are beautiful. Well done.”

“Hm. Yes, but this will help considerably. What do we need to do with it?”

“Mix it into her tea or water. I’ve already crushed it into a powder. The effects should be seen within hours and she should be able to sheath her wings again and her strength with come back.”

A pause for a moment, and a sigh from Simeon. “Lucifer… while Michael gave me no trouble… there is something else I found out.”

Simeon sounded very worried. And you couldn’t help but inhale with worry, too, and it was apparent they both noticed as it was dead silent for a moment. You blew it. The gig was up, time to confess your sin.

“Sorry,” you said, turning your head and opening your eyes. “I wasn’t doing it on purpose… at first...”

Lucifer chuckled. “Of course not.”

Simeon half smiled. “No, little lamb, it’s all right. You need to hear this, too.”

You sat up with a little help, wings being curled behind on the bed, and folded your hands together on your lap. Switching gazes between Lucifer and Simeon standing before you, heart pounding, you felt so young again. The tension in the room was slightly suffocating.

Simeon sighed before he spoke. “I didn’t hear it from Michael but one of my closest friends keeping an eye on the Celestial Realm had information for me. He told me that he noticed Michael had been acting strange ever since I left to come to the Devildom. Which wasn’t odd, he didn’t want to do this at the start. He also found some terrible things out, something Michael did right after you Fell. From what was discovered, Michael came to Earth without our Father’s consent under the cover of an Ancient spell of cloaking used by Angelic spies millennium ago, and he… well, he sought you out.”

You were confused. “Michael came to find me when I… left…?”

Simeon nodded. He looked upset the more he spoke. “Yes.”

That made zero sense. Firstly, how did he know you left, and secondly… “I never… I would have known if Michael came to see me.” And you would have ran as far away as you could go.

Nodding, Simeon continued, “Yes, I know, my dear, but he didn’t come for conversation exactly. He came and went quickly after….” He looked at Lucifer, who was also patiently (not really) waiting. “…after he put a spell on you.”

You were rigid in your spot. Michael was crafty, so it wasn’t something simple, it had to have been very powerful and purposeful spell he cast. It wasn’t something like a prank spell, especially if he used such Ancient Celestial magic to hide himself.

“Simeon, what was the spell for?”

“Michael didn’t want Lucifer or his brothers to figure out you were still alive, why I am unsure. Maybe jealousy? Maybe hatred? It could be many things, but it’s all speculative. This spell… it only affected those on Earth, and in Heaven. So I, too, had been affected. He was the only exempt, along with Father, of course. He was out for weeks replenishing himself back then and no one knew why he wasn’t seen for so long… until now.”

Lucifer glared at Simeon. “Get to the point. Now.”

“Yes. Well, this spell was to block Sight, and alter Memory. Of you. He wanted you erased from our minds, as though you died when you Fell from Heaven. I am so sorry, my dear.”

Time itself stopped and you didn’t breathe for several seconds. You inhaled from your nose and grit your teeth. Lucifer sat at your side and tried to take your hand, seeing your reaction, but you pulled away and shot daggers at him. “No, don’t attempt to comfort me right now, Luci. This is fucked up for even him to do. I’m pissed off!”

“Please, calm down, you’re still healing and—”

“Shut up Simeon!” Your voice echoed in the room, both Angel and Demon glancing at each other and then to you. “He’s going to pay for this, I’ll make sure he suffers.”

You felt your magic struggling to start up but it was growing steady each second. You attempted to stand up, to do what you were not sure. All you knew was anger and it boiled in your veins like a volcano about to pop.

Michael never liked you, but this? What he did to you, and your family, and all of the world? It was horrific. If he could make the Celestial Realm forget you, what else could he do? He couldn’t reach the Devildom, thankfully, but you would find a way to reach him and tear his eyes out and shove them somewhere unpleasant.

But there were two obstacles in your way… Simeon and Lucifer. They each held you down by your shoulders, one hand from each, and kept you still on the bed.

“I understand your anger,” Lucifer said, “and I want to seek revenge just as you do but this is not the time. You need rest and we need to think about this.”

“Fuck. You. I hate him for this. What kind of monster just changes thousands of Angel’s memories? Of me? Me?! I didn’t do anything to him, Lucifer!”

Your body was burning. Lungs, eyes, muscles, all of it. Tense, ready to burst like before with your magic. He could do it again, couldn’t he? Make them forget you? It was so easy the first time, what if he could find a way here and do it again? You’d be alone all over… no home, no friends, and no brothers to tease or school to learn all about demon customs… No Lucifer for the second time.

The ringing in your ears was loud, but one voice rang louder, like a megaphone breaching through a thick wall. “Breathe deeply and relax your muscles. It’s all right. We know you, we are here for you.” Simeon. He gently squeezed your upper arm and you tried to do as he said.

Lucifer was next, his voice even louder, clearer. “I’ll never allow that wretched Angel to be near you. If I see his face I will rip his head off and burn it in Hellfire.” Lucifer’s words oddly brought you comfort more than Simeon’s.

You sniffled, wiped a few straggling tears, and dropped your head onto Lucifer’s chest, clutching his shirt. “Don’t. Just…” Stay.

He caressed the back of your head and let you be. Breathing him in, feeling him and his own magic curling around you like a dark blanket, and Simeon’s energy right beside you like a nightlight along with it. Several calming breathes and a minute later you were okay.

You blinked up at Lucifer, “Sorry. Thanks for that.”

His eyes softened and he brushed a few tangled pieces of hair out of your face. “You’re welcome, little one.”

Simeon had stepped away, messing with the water pitcher. The Angel walked to you with a glass in hand. “Here, while you’re awake you may as well take this.” Simeon handed you the cup, and it looked like it had dirt swimming around inside. “I know it looks unpleasant but it will help you heal quickly so you can finally leave this bed.” He smiled softly.

You downed it quick so you didn’t have to taste it for long. But what you did taste was like pee stained socks. You almost vomited it back. Why did medicine have to taste so nasty? Wasn’t this from the Heavens, and shouldn’t it taste better?

They both chuckled at you, and Simeon gave you clean water to wash it down with. Ice cold and delicious water.

After a moment of settling that stuff in your stomach, you asked in a quiet voice, “But you do remember me? Everything, right?” Just to be sure. You had to be sure.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course we do. I remember chasing your around in your diapers after you stole flowers from the Sacred Gardens. You fell into a patch of Lily’s and your butt was coated in pollen.”

You flushed. “S-simeon!” Why would he bring up such a memory? Your ears were burning you turned so red.

Lucifer chuckled. “Oh, I remember that as well. Do you recall her face? It was yellow with the same pollen.”

Simeon nodded and laughed, “Yes, I do!”

Groaning, you begged, “Please, no more, I don’t want to hear any other embarrassing stories right now.” They laughed but stopped at your behest.

You thought a bit more, and wondered… “But how did your informant remember me? Was he not present in either Realm when the spell was cast?” you asked Simeon.

“I had wondered the same, actually. He was in the Celestial Realm back then. But a few weeks ago he had been searching the private Library for all Top Level Angels on a task handed to him by God, and he found a secret doorway with stacks of books and papers and notes with Michael’s handwriting. Your name was there, so that must have triggered the spell to reverse. He told no one at my command until we find out why Michael did all of this.”

“But I told you all my name… And it was only when my wings showed themselves you all remembered.”

“That is true. But this was most likely from the original spells wordings, and thus it had the ancient magic connected to it. I can only assume however.”

Lucifer had some input as well. “Hm… It’s possible that the same could be said for your wings. It’s also considered ancient magic, you had not once used it around us before so that could be another possibility.”

You rubbed your head. This was too much at once. “Okay, I’m done with tonight. I couldn’t care less why you guys remember me or the circumstances behind all of this. All I know is this: Michael is a scheming asshole and I want him to pay.”

Lucifer sighed. “We know, dove, we feel the same way. Simeon?”

“Yes, I have to agree, Michael has done something that needs punishing, but until we find out more on why, I think it’s best to have you rest. Why don’t you go back to sleep? Hopefully in the morning you will be able to move around by yourself and put away your wings. I know how difficult this all is for you.”

“Thank you Simeon. You have no idea what this means to me, that you did that for me. I can’t ever repay you.”

Simeon smiled. “I just wish for your health and safety, little lamb, that’s all I want. So get some sleep now, and dream good dreams for me. Maybe of when you were young and wild.” He kissed your forehead, and left after bidding Lucifer goodnight.

With the help of Lucifer you were back under the covers. “I hope this is the last night I have to spend sleeping like this. I miss sleeping on my back and stretching my legs out.”

Lucifer smirked. “Yes, I do recall once you had come into my bed and stole it with your flailing limbs. You were no older than a toddler then so I can imagine the space you take up now.”

You chucked a pillow at him and he dodged it elegantly, his hair perfect still. How he did it, you wondered. “Jerk, I don’t have flailing limbs.” But wow, sharing a bed with Lucifer now sounded lovely.

You sighed and closed your eyes, shimmying into the bed and pillows. It was toasty warm. “Goodnight, Luci.”

“Sleep well, dove. In the morning you should be well again.” He smoothed his hand down your upper back and leaned in to kiss the top of your head, and then left to his own room now that he knew you were going to be okay.

Somehow, despite all the bad you had discovered, you found yourself dreaming of old days, of flying circles around the Angels in lower class than you, of jumping on your bed and Lucifer scolding you then making you snacks to make up for his scolding because you were spoiled. And, yes, you dreamt of the time you fell into the flowers and stained yourself yellow with pollen.

Barbatos said it right: “Our dreams are extensions of our conscious minds” and this time, the dream playing behind your eyelids was full of joy instead of pain. Memories, beautiful and exquisite times with your Angelic family. It was lovely recalling those days in your head.

When you woke up, you smiled. You had traded in one family for another, and although this family was full of demonic brothers and a Demon Prince and a few other strange beings (Solomon was the strangest possibly), family was not always blood.

You were ready to face anything the world gave you. Be it Michael or whatever else, to protect them.

As you lay there, your wings sucked into you with an influx of magic, and you barely even noticed. Too caught in your head remembering good times with the Devildom family you made.

[waywardnerd67]

This One’s For You

Title: This One’s For You Summary: Dating the world’s number one rockstar takes its toll on (Y/N), but in the end he always makes it worth it. Pairing: Jensen x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 1612 Squared Filled: Rockstar AU Bingo Card: @spnaubingo​ A/N: Song featured: “Off My Mind” by Radio Company

Check Out: SPN AU Bingo Masterlist

He was late.

Over the last five years, (Y/N) was used to her boyfriend being late, missing dates or unable to attend functions. That was the life of a rockstar and she knew what she had signed up for when agreeing to go out with him so long ago. Tonight, however, was the one night he had promised not to be late too. They spent months arranging his schedule so there was no tour dates or studio time ensuring he would be available to be here.

“I promise I will not be late babe. It’s just a meeting with my manager.”

Famous last words.

Looking to the doors once more as the speaker stood at the podium giving their speech. The speech that was all about her, her accomplishments for the year and why they were honoring her tonight. (Y/N)’s heart sank when her phone lit up on the table in front of her.

OMW

She stared down at the text for a moment then glanced over to the empty seat beside her. The overwhelming weight of despair vanished as the fiery rage consumed her soul. She had always been patient, understanding, forgiving when it came to his career. Tonight that ended as the final line in the sand was drawn.

“It is my honor and privilege to present the Teacher of the Year award to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!”

She pushed the corner of her lips up into a wide smile and made her way up to the stage. Her Superintendent and friend presented her with the small statue then stepping aside for her to speak. She took a moment to look out over the coward of people who had been her school family for twenty plus years. Their joyful faces and cheers blanketing in a cool calm as she took a deep breath.

“First I have to acknowledge the teacher who inspired me to become the teacher I am today…”

One Year Later

(Y/N) was watching the clock tick in slow motion just as her last class of Myth and Legends students were. The bell echoed throughout the quiet classrooms and halls releasing the tight tension bounding everyone as summer break officially began. Several of her students hugged her on their way out of her classroom. Cheers and laughter filled the halls as (Y/N) slumped down into her chair letting out a sigh of relief.

She still had a week to clean and organize her classroom before being off for two and half glorious months. Right now, she gathered her things and headed home before her celebratory night out with her best friends. The last year had been difficult and she was finally feeling back to her normal self once again.

Arriving home, (Y/N) poured herself a drink and made her way up to her bedroom. The blistering shower relaxed her strained muscles from her heavy school bags five days a week. Standing in her closet, she decided on her favorite olive blouse and best fitting jeans to wear out. Letting her natural hair down for the night, (Y/N) put the finishing touches of make-up on that she hardly ever used and admired her work in the full length mirror.

“Not red carpet ready but good enough.” She chuckled to herself finishing off her drink.

Her friends had been teasing her for weeks now about their surprise night out on the town. Good food and drinks were had at her favorite restaurant. Her group had been there to surround her in love and support since they were teenagers. Laughter and conversation came easily if not loudly with the more drinks they had.

The next stop was just a walk down the block to their favorite bar. The bartender already had a table and drinks set up for them near the center of the small stage. There was a current in the air as (Y/N) sat down making her fidgety.

“Isn’t there a band normally on Saturday nights?” she questioned.

Her best friend Meg nodded, “Yeah, but tonight is special.”

(Y/N)’s heart thumped louder in her ears, “What did you do?”

Before she could answer someone tapped on the microphone and a few notes from a guitar came through the speakers. Slowly, (Y/N) looked over to the stage and her heart shot up lodging into her throat.

“Just hear him out.” Meg whispered, taking a hold of her hand.

On the small stage in front of her sat the very man that haunted her dreams every night. His long, denim covered bowlegs holding his guitar as he strum a few notes from it. His broad shoulders and chest covered by a simple black t-shirt that revealed a couple of new tattoos on his large biceps. His chiseled jaw was covered by dark cooper beard and his normally short sandy brown hair fell a little longer towards his eyes. Just then the bright olive orbs looked up connecting with hers. Everything around them stopped for an instant fading to black. This was not a dream and he was truly here in front of her.

Jensen. Her Jensen.

“Hello everybody, I’m Jensen and I just want to thank y’all for having me tonight. I wanted to start the night off with a new song that was written for someone that means everything to me.”

His deep voice sent shivers down her body and (Y/N) squeezed Meg’s hand a little tighter. The slow, somber melody floated from the speakers and his haunting voice filled her ears as his eyes connected with her once more.

“All you gotta do is nothing Trade it all in for something new Blame it on the way we were put together While some remedy's forsaken you

Oh, and how do I get you off my mind With you back in my bed How do I get you off my mind Can't have you living in my head”

(Y/N) was entranced by his voice and lyrics. How was it that she was even of thought to him over the last year? The man who put everything in front of her now confessing in front of her, her friends and strangers that she had been on his mind the whole time.

“You can only stay awake so long While deciding what is true I lean in for a kiss upon your shoulder Realize it wouldn't do, not with you

So, how do I get you off my mind With you back in my bed How do I get you off my mind Can't have you living in my head”

The only time he ever looked away from her was when he closed his eyes. In those moments, the lyrics of the song would hit her like a tidal wave. He sang out the last note as the crowd in the bar began to clap. It was then (Y/N) realized she had tears streaming down her face. He launched into another song and suddenly the room was closing in on her.

“I need some air.” (Y/N) quickly got up making her way towards the door.

The cool night air pierced her heated skin and burned her lungs. Leaning against the brick wall, (Y/N) closed her eyes trying to keep herself together. She heard the door creak and the air around her charged. Being with the same person for so long, you don’t need to see or hear them to know they are nearby. She knew Jensen was there and her body froze.

“Why?” she asked just barely above a whisper, “Why are you here after all this time?”

His boots scratched across the sidewalk as he ran his fingers through his thick hair, “I quit the life. It has taken me this long to get all my affairs in order to get back to the life I wanted. To the woman I wanted.”

“What do you mean you quit the life? You quit touring for now or joined another band?” She shoved her hands into her pockets staring down at the ground between them.

She heard him sigh, “No I mean I quit. Everything. I left the band and let everyone go. The managers, the publicists, the record company, everything. It took gathering every bit of my net worth to break all the contracts in order to be out of the business for good.”

Her gaze snapped up to his, “You don’t play anymore? At all?”

“No. Tonight was the first gig I’ve played since the night you left. My life crumbled into pieces watching you walk out my door. All I have thought about is getting back to you.” His eyes shined from the streetlight above them.

“Jensen, I don’t…”

His arm moved with lightning speed reaching his hand behind her neck pulling her lips to his. Her hands pressed against his firm chest before sliding up over his shoulders and around his neck pulling him closer to her. This spot in his arms was the only place she ever felt truly at home. Their heavy breaths warmed the air between them as Jensen pulled away from her. His forehead resting on hers.

“All I want is you and me. We’ll take it one day at a time.” He pressed his full lips against her forehead.

Looking up at him, (Y/N) truly smiled for the first time since that fateful night. Loud cheering and applause erupted from the front of the bar as her friends and a few strangers stood there watched the whole scene unfold. Looking back to Jensen, she watched a brilliant and beautiful smile spread across his handsome face.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

For updates please follow #waywardnerd67fics

[thenightgazer]

Spark of Stardust

Chapter 1 : An Interstellar Quest It's not a date. Vergil insists upon it, even when he doubts himself as he asks Lyra to accompany him to search for a perfect birthday gift for Kyrie. But just like the dying star that sparks its undying stardust; the "date" is just a start for him to get to know more about Lyra, as the librarian reveals her "little, deepest and darkest secrets"

Warning : implied psychological and drug abuse

Part 6 of Tales of Apotelesma

You can also read this fic on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~

It starts with a soft hand that brushes his face. The fuzzy sensation wakes him up. The lamp on the ceiling is the first thing he sees when he slowly opens his eyes wide awake. His eyes linger to his surroundings— and that shocks him because he’s no longer in his bedroom at Devil May Cry. He’s awakened in someone else’s bedroom. The wall is painted with warm colours and there is a large bookshelf besides the bed. When he turns his head to his left, he spots toys and trinkets which supposedly belong to a little girl, and there sits a young woman who smiles at him.

Where am I?

“How was your sleep?” she asks him. Her soft hand ruffles his hair gently. “You look so peaceful.”

He’s speechless. Not because he doesn’t want to answer, but his mouth won’t cooperate with his head. His survival instincts scream at him to get away from this situation, but all he could feel is numbness.

“I brought you dinner,” the beautiful woman continues. He observes her cautiously; she is approximately in her thirties, with long brunette hair and brown eyes. She looks like the kind of woman who looks absolutely harmless. The way her body moves is delicate. Her voice sounds appealing as she tells him the menu and hopes he will like it. She gives him the same warm impression as his own mother, but this woman seems shady. Her eyes remind him of someone... but he couldn’t remember the person. The same cold, void eyes...

“The nurse said you haven’t eaten since last night. You refused to take your medicines. Why? Don’t you want to get better?” Her voice turns colder. “When I heard that you refused to eat, I couldn’t concentrate on my work. I’m afraid you won’t get better. Now you will eat and take your medicine for me, okay?”

He can’t follow everything she has said just now. Who is this woman? What medicines? What nurse? But his head nods automatically as if his body is controlled by someone else, and that little gesture makes this woman’s warm smile appear on her pretty face again.

“Good. Let’s eat! After that, I’ll read you something exciting. How’s that sound?”

He nods obediently, opening his mouth to eat the porridge. He can’t feel the taste, nor can he sense the texture of the food. But the woman looks at him as if she would blast if he didn’t eat. The sound of friction between the spoon and the bowl drives him crazy. She’s making sure that he swallows the food as she cleans up his mouth. After the bowl is empty, she proceeds to pour something from a bottle—medicine— on a small spoon and look up at him, opening her mouth as a command for him to mimic her gesture. She seems delighted when he swallows the medicine.

“Atta girl.”

What is this nonsense? What is that thing she put inside me?

But he knows he won’t get the answer.

It’s all just a dream, right?

The woman walks to the bookshelf. Her fingers run through the book until she finds the one she desires. She sits back besides him again and opens the book, her fingers scan through the pages.

“You don’t like Cinderella, so I picked up this one,” she shows him the cover of the book. “I guarantee you’ll like it! It’s called The Hobbit, an adventure story. Your favourite, right?”  

I do like adventure stories. But it isn’t my favourite. It’s Dante’s…

She starts her storytelling in a clear voice. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit...”

There’s something in her face when she reads. She seems more relaxed and softer than before, as if she got lost in the story. His suspicion is surprisingly gone while he listens to her and the familiarity strikes him again. She reminds him of his own mother when he was a child, reading him bedtime stories. Cambions in their early childhood needed a lot of sleep just like human children, but Dante and he always refused to sleep early and asked for more stories. There’s something peaceful about this familiarity. It calms him, then he decides to close his eyes again whilst the woman’s voice slowly fades away.

---

The dream shatters as Vergil’s cell phone rings loudly.

The hybrid lays still on his bed. He was sleeping for two hours just because he had no other options left to do aside from sleeping. Yet, even though his body doesn’t particularly need to sleep, he hates it when his slumber is interrupted. His hand reaches to find his phone and immediately pick it when he finds it on the desk beside his bed without seeing who’s calling him because he doesn’t bother to open his sleepy eyes.

“Dad?”

That familiar voice forces Vergil to open his eyes.

“Nero?”

“Yeah. You busy?”

“No,” Vergil throws a blanket from his naked chest as he moves his body to sit and brushes his hair. “What’s wrong, Nero?”

Nero doesn’t reply immediately. Vergil can hear a heavy sigh from his son and that makes him a bit anxious.  

“Nothing wrong. Just...” The young devil hunter lets out another sigh. “Today is Kyrie’s birthday. She invites you and the crews for dinner at six. Uh… six as in Fortuna time, which is an hour later from Red Grave time. Just in case you got lost in time again.”

“Of course. We will be attending the dinner. Thank you for the invitation.”

“It’s Kyrie who invites you, not me.”

“...”

“... but having you around here is not so bad. The kids were always whining whenever you and Dante left the house.” Nero’s response is almost excited and eager, much to Vergil’s relief.

The picture of Julio, Carlo and Kyle somehow makes Vergil grins. “You did very well taking care of those little rascals.”

“Thanks,” there’s a pause before Nero continues. “Anyway, I should get going. Nico needs my help to do some crazy shit.”

“I hope all is well for you.”

“You too, I guess...” the young man clears his throat. “And... thank you. For accepting the invitation.”

“It’s the least I could do,” The blue devil smiles, his anxiety is gone as their interaction goes smoothly. “Carry on, son.”

“Y-yeah— bye, then.”

Warmth fills Vergil’s heart as he cleans up his bed and folds the blanket neatly. Never in his life would he have thought that he’d become a father. Even though it was unplanned, having a son does change his life. He has no parental figures to ask advice from and those parenting books are not helping at all, but he learns at his own pace. Two years of effort of atonement is nothing compared to his sins, yet he wants the very best for Nero and is very protective to him.

Then the word stings him.

Birthday, huh?  

Ever since he was a little boy, Vergil has never understood the concept of celebrating birthdays. For him, birthday is just another day to pass. If anything, it seems like people love to celebrate the day when their life spans decrease. People are getting old, so what? Why do we celebrate that irony? Is that because of the presents and cake? Little Vergil never found the answer, but he did feel happy whenever he received presents and ate his birthday cake, even if that means he had to share it with his twin, Dante (he had given up the dream of having his own cake, since being twins means sharing almost everything). He didn’t even think about birthdays until Nero reminded him.

I wonder if he knows his birthday...

Vergil walks to the bathroom and washes his face. He looks at the mirror and the man guy in the mirror stares back at him. His reflection somehow reminds him of the strange dream. What was that dream about? It seems visceral, like it was my own memory. His heartbeat gets faster when he has a dreadful negative thought that it could be Mundus’ mind manipulation. If that was Mundus, it’s too pointless. He’d use my own memories to torture me, not with some kind of irrelevant vision.

“Mornin’,” Dante shoves himself besides Vergil and yawns. “I’m hungry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Hungry.”

Dante bursts into laughter. “Since when are you into dad jokes?”

“I’ll take the shower first.” Ignoring Dante’s question, Vergil picks up a dry towel and gets inside the shower cubicle.

Dante takes off his shirt and stretches his muscles. He washes his face and begins to shave his beard. “You said you fought Angelo demons at last week’s gig, right? Heard from Lady the same Angelo demons got sighted at another city. We still don’t have any information on who created and summoned them.”

Vergil wipes the droplets of water from his face. “It seems like those Angelo demons were none like all the artificial demons we have ever seen before. Their form, their abilities, their durability. They looked rather... futuristic, I'd say. I got an impression that the new Angelo was created mostly by advanced science rather than magic.”

“Another thing happened these past weeks. There are three outbursts at restricted medical facilities in different cities.”

“What medical facility?”

“Trish said that the three of them were research laboratories owned by Ravenhill Corporation.”

“Isn’t that the same corporation that won a peace award or something like that?”

“Yeah. The Ravenhills are an influential aristocrat with power over the health and security industry. Most of the health facilities in this world are sponsored and if not, owned by Ravenhill Corporation. They have a branch company here in this city too.”

“And do you think those incidents have a connection with the appearance of Angelo demons?”      

“Just a gut feeling, but that’s worth investigating, better safe than sorry, aight?” Dante brushes his hair and flips it back like Vergil. “Hey, I look just like you with this hairstyle! Perhaps I should go with this style from now on.”

“If you’re done talking, get out of the bathroom.”

“This is MY bathroom!”

“And I’m the one who cleans up the mess you’ve created in this house, Dante.”

“Fine~!” Dante chuckles as he cleans up the remaining shaving foam from his jaw. “Have you bought something for Kyrie’s birthday? Got missed calls and a text about the dinner party from Nero.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve been thinking of giving her a fancy revolver. Heard from Nero that she’s quite good at using guns.”

“... do you really think that women fancy weapons as a gift?”

“Trish and Lady do. But hey! You can go ask our clever librarian!” Dante's face lightens up in exhilaration.

Vergil turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist as he opens the cubicle. “What do you mean by ’our’?!”

“Yours, then. She’s a normal civilian woman. Perhaps she can recommend you a perfect gift for Kyrie.”

No, if only you know that she’s not normal! “... you’re probably right.”

A teasing whistle comes from Dante as he takes off his pants and walks inside the cubicle. “As Yoda said, Verge, ‘ do or do not. There is no try ’. Call her and ask her out for a date.”

“I’m not taking any advice from a man who has rotten luck with women. And who is Yoda?”

“Call it what you want it. If you’re not asking her out, I’ll go ask her by myself.”

“Not before I step over your dead body.”

“Ha! Someone’s jealous for realsies~”

Vergil walks away from the bathroom before his inner turmoil tempts him to try to kill Dante… again. His insolent brother might have been teasing him too much, but in a way he’s right. He needs to find someone trusted enough to help him buy the perfect gift for Kyrie.

But she’s on duty today is her work day. I won’t make it right on time to the party if I have to wait for her shift to end.

He’s still thinking about it when he enters his room on the second floor and grabs his phone. Lyra’s contact name is showing up, but he hesitates. It’s still 9 o’clock. The library must have just opened.

After having a quite long internal battle with himself, he decides to call her anyway.

It takes a little bit long for Lyra to finally pick up her phone. Vergil catches the sound of her voice and a man’s laugh who Vergil assumes is Nate. “Bugger off for a minute, will you? — Clayton here.”

“Lyra.”

“Oh, hello Vergil!”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all! Is there anything I can help you with?”

“... yes.”

“Are you okay? You sound like you want to cry.”

“I am certainly not,” Vergil groans at Lyra’s giggle. “Yet, I do believe I need your help.”

“Name it!”

“... it’s about a birthday present.” Vergil clears his throat. “Do you remember Kyrie, my son’s fiancée? She will be celebrating her birthday this evening. She invited Dante and I to her house for dinner.”

“I see.”

“Kyrie has always been there for Nero,” he continues. “She helped guide him to become the person he is now. She took care of him while I wasn’t there for him. She’s an important person to my son. That’s why... at least I have to show her some respect.”

“By giving her a decent birthday present.”

“Yes.”

“I think she will appreciate everything you give to her.”

“She will, certainly. She’s too polite to reject a present, but I don’t want her to think that I’m a careless father-in-law by giving her a gratuitous gift.”

“You’re right. I’d be delighted to accompany you to buy the present, but…I’m on duty right now. I’m afraid I couldn't help you any further.”

“That I know. That’s why I call for your advice.”

“I suggest something small, but meaningful. You told me she love to sing, right? Maybe a vinyl of classical music would — what in the bloody—! Nate! Give me back my phone at once!”

Vergil hears them grumbling and arguing at something. He considers to just hang up the phone given to his hunch that Lyra and Nate are probably having a fight right now, but suddenly he hears Nate’s voice as the young librarian speaks to him.

“Mr. Vergil? It’s Nate!”

This scoundrel's audacity...! “I recognize your voice, Nathaniel. What are you doing with Lyra’s phone?”

“Err... sorry for the interruption, but Lyra forced me to tell you this myself, or else you won’t believe her! I told her that I don’t mind if she wants to go on a date with you! My father won’t be checking on the library today!” Nate lets out a dry chuckle to break the ice, but since Vergil says nothing, Nate continues to speak. “She insisted on at least working today, so I told her to finish the duty earlier so she could spend her time with you. That’s all! Oh yeah, a little advice here; Lyra has a terrible sense of direction, means that you should hold her close— ouch!”  

A sound of a book slapped on Nate’s head comes to Vergil’s ear. The next is Lyra’s nervous voice talking to him. “Vergil? You heard Nate. So... we meet at three. How’s that sound?”

“I’ll pick you up at the library.”

“Okay!”

“Then... I’ll see you around.”

“Cheerio!”

Vergil hangs up the phone, unexpectedly feeling the queasiness after he recalls the word ‘date’ as Dante and Nate said earlier. Foolish. We are not dating. We are just going to buy a birthday present. That’s all. Stop this unnecessary disquietude. It’s just Lyra—

“Tell me you’re not gonna go on a date with your boring clothes!”

Vergil hardly glances to his side and sees Patty’s figure standing by his door. The twenty years old girl is wearing an apron and holding a broom in her hand. “At least wear something stylish! You and Dante are all hopeless! No wonder the two of you haven’t gotten married yet!”

“I believe that’s none of your concern, Miss Lowell. And although I lack what humans would consider common sense, the last time I know about human norms and etiquette, that it is rude to trespass on someone's private space and eavesdrop on other people’s conversation.”

“I’m not eavesdropping! I just happened to pass this room while cleaning this house because lately you are not present in this house and Dante is being a lazy bastard as usual! Show some gratitude!”

“Thank you for your help. But as you can see now, I am here and that means I will do the household job while you can go disturb Dante’s peace now.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Dante shouts from the first floor.

“Anyways, let me help you to choose better clothes for you!” Patty insists. “I don’t know who this girl is because Dante won’t tell me, but she seems special to you. You need to dress at your best! Impressing a girl on their first date is a must!”

“I’ll forgive your impudent attitude this time if you kindly close the door, Miss Lowell. I need to put some clothes on.”

Realizing that Vergil wears nothing but a towel wrapped on his waist, Patty flusters as she looks away and grabs the door knob violently. “Fine!”

The blue devil chuckles softly when he hears Patty goes downstairs and screams at Dante for whatever antics that he does right now. He searches through his wardrobe, pondering if Patty was right. And maybe she is. He’s about to blend into society, that means he needs to look less suspicious. He should wear something casual and humane.

Humans and their fashion. Even demons are much simpler.

He picks some clothes with a hope that he won’t look too ridiculous.

---

“Do you think he’s the type of person who brings flowers for a date?” Nate throws paper planes at Lyra’s direction, which she blocks it all with a book.

“Why do you insist that this is a date? We are friends. Friends go hang out sometimes.” Lyra says.

“Dammit, Lyre! You are older than me but I can’t believe you’re so clueless about this. Even idiots could tell that he likes you!”

Lyra groans desperately. “That’s it. That’s the problem of modern society. People nowadays confuse politeness with flirting!”

“Sometimes both work simultaneously! And that’s the case of Mr. Vergil. Sure, he’s polite to everyone even though he always looks like he wanted to kill someone. But he’s different with you; he’s not just polite, but kind. That’s two different things!”

Lyra half-heartedly listens to Nate’s babble; despite she already knows what is inside Nate’s mind. She knows what he means about Vergil being kind only to her, and Nate’s mind interprets how soft Vergil is whenever he’s around her. The thought of those forms of romanticism confuses her. Being a telepath, she has seen and listened into people’s minds for almost her entire life. She’s no stranger to the concept of love according to universal belief, yet she still doubts its existence.

Sometimes, what people think about something isn’t always synchronized with how they feel about it.

And speaking of which, I haven’t heard Nate’s thoughts since fifteen seconds ago...

“He’s here!” Nate declares as he looks up at the window near the front door. “Wait, uh... is it really him?”

“What?”

“He looks... different.” Nate mumbles. “And he didn’t bring flowers. Guess he’s not the flower type of guy.”

“On the contrary, he is.” Lyra takes a brief look at her appearance in the mirror and puts on eyeglasses before giving a wink at Nate. “See you tomorrow!”

“Now who’s excited about the date!?”

She giggles throughout her journey to the front door, only to be surprised when she opens the door and finds Vergil standing in front of her and about to open the door too. But today he looks stunningly different; he is wearing as black shirt beneath a navy-blue casual coat. His dark trousers make him look taller than usual. He changes his footwear into a pair of black chukka boots. Even with his usual warrior clothes, Vergil Sparda is already breathtakingly handsome. His casual look just enhances his majestic stature.  

Lyra has never really given any attention to fashion, but now she can’t take her eyes off of him. “What’s with the sudden change in your sense of fashion?”  

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it!” she blurts. “You look… so… normal”

“Is it just me or does it sound like an insult?”

“It’s a compliment!”

“... thank you, I suppose,” Vergil reluctantly scratches his nape. “Shall we go now?”

“Let’s!”

Lyra glares at Nate who’s giving her double thumbs up and loudly wishing her good luck before she closes the door.

“So,” the librarian walks side by side with Vergil. “Do you remember I mentioned that I purchased my devil arm at an antique shop?”

“Yes. What’s with that?”

“I think it’s a good place to start our quest. The shop sells antique weapons, jewelries, old books and trinkets. Perfect collection for Kyrie.”

“Very well. Where’s this shop located?”

“Nova Town.”

“It’s too far from here.”

“Lucky for us, you have Yamato.”

“I’m beginning to think that you see me as a mere means tool of transportation.”

“Maybe,” she winks playfully. “But you are too decent to be a mere tool, my dearest friend.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, “Let’s find an empty alley first.”

---

“That was the first time I saw Lyra smiling like that,” Nate mutters at himself as he taps something on his cell phone. “Good for her! Ever since I saw their chemistry on the murder in the library weeks ago, I know they’re going to form a relationship soon!”

The twenty four years old librarian giggles at his own fantasy while drowning himself further into a mobile game he always plays whenever he has free time. He almost startled himself when the bell rings and a customer comes in. Nate abruptly pauses the game and greets the guest. “Welcome to The Literarium!”

The guest — a tall and ginger-haired man — returns Nate’s greeting with a nod. A suspicion arises in Nate’s head as he observes the man’s eyes that are covered with sunglasses. Why the hell does he wear sunglasses indoors? He continues to follow the man’s movement, which is also suspicious. The man seems detached from reality as he stares at one of the shelves quite long without really doing anything, not even touching the books. He walks slowly to another section, again without any interest in the books. The man seems eager to look for something as he repeatedly tilts his head to look outside the window, but Nate is certain that he’s not here for books. Then why bother coming here if he’s not interested in books? Nate clicks his pen anxiously. Paranoia begins to consume him. What if he wants to rob this place?!

The ginger-haired man approaches the sale section and finally picks a book. He looks at the cover briefly before heading to the counter. Nate fakes a polite smile when he scans the book— Lord of the Flies by William Golding— and forces himself to make a small talk. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

The man nods while giving Nate his money. “I agree.”

“You like allegorical one, huh?”

The man furrows his brow. “Sorry?”

Nate lifts the copy of Lord of the Flies . “You don’t know that Golding wrote one of the best allegorical novels all the time?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I only recognized it as one of the bestseller books,” the man chuckles. His laughter surprisingly sounds very friendly. “I picked it because the synopsis reminds me of the past.”

“Jesus, what a chaotic past you must have back then.” Nate gives him the book and his change.

“Quiet so,” the man flips the page, but Nate can sense he’s focusing on another thing. “By the way, the woman who wears eyeglasses… She came out from this place with a man about five minutes ago. Does she work here?”

Shit, another Lyra’s admirer. That explains my suspicion! “Yeah. You know her?”

“She looks like a person I used to know. Quite different, but I spot some similarities.”

“Maybe they are the same person?”

“The same person?” the man chuckles again as he closes the book. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“She died years ago.”

“Oh, man… I’m so sorry...”

“It’s fine. She wasn’t related to me, just a person I knew. At first glance, your friend looks eerily similar to her,” the man’s face abruptly turns into doubt and anxious. Nate swears he can see his hands tremble. “I was terribly surprised when I saw your friend out there. I thought the woman I knew was alive again. What is the name? Your lady friend, I mean.”

“Louisa.” Nate lightly says his lie as soon as he’s aware of the man’s intention. I’m not doing anything wrong. Lyra told me to fake a name in case some flirty bastards ask me her name.

“Louisa, then. Pretty name,” the man seems pleased at Nate’s answer. “Thank you. Lovely library, anyway. Good day for you.”

“Thank you. Happy reading and have a good day!”

He’s different from any of Lyra’s secret admirers, Nate feels uneasy about the man’s strange attitude even though the man has already taken his leave. He makes a mental note to contact Lyra soon after he closes the library. “That guy looks like he’s about to plan something fishy. But I can’t disturb Lyra and Mr. Vergil right now.”

Nate grabs his cell phone and restarts the game with a hope that nothing bad would happen.

---

She’s strangely quiet today.

Ever since they arrived at Nova Town, Vergil catches something unusual from Lyra. She guides the way to the antique shop without talking to him but carefully watches her surroundings. But at the same time, she seems to lose her focus and sometimes stares blankly at something. They have been walking for almost 30 minutes and they haven’t arrived at the antique shop yet. Also, that’s not the only thing from her that is unusual... “You wear eyeglasses.”

“Huh?” Lyra automatically touches her eyeglasses. “Why? You don’t like a girl with eyeglasses?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“You have a funny way to compliment others, don’t you?”

“I have never seen you wearing eyeglasses before. I thought I was looking at a completely different person when you opened the door earlier.”

“I always wear eyeglasses whenever I’m out to shop, just for aesthetic purposes. I’ll take it off if that makes you uncomfortable—”

“Please don’t. You look lovely with that.”

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Are we getting closer to the shop?”

“… I think so?”

Vergil stops abruptly, “Tell me we are not lost.”

“W-we’re not!” she stutters in panic. “I’m just having a little confusion here, because this town looks different from the last time I came here. It has only been two years and the town is already changing...”

“Are you even certain that we are in the right town?”

“One hundred percent certain!”

“Then tell me,” Vergil curves a devilish grin. “Is Nathaniel right? That you have a terrible sense of direction?”

A light blush blooms on Lyra’s face. “Uh... yeah— but we are in the right town! For real! Just because I have a terrible sense of direction, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot!”

“Yet we are lost, aren’t we?”

“We are not! See that monument over there? It’s the town’s icon. We just have to turn left to that road and the antique shop should be on the right corner.”

Vergil watches the monument that Lyra mentioned before he glances at her again with doubtful looks. “Alright, then. But why don’t you use… what is it again... GPS?”

“Later. I’m practicing my sense of direction by practicing my telepathic ability.”

“Does your telepathic ability have something to do with your sense of direction?”

“Since the murder in the library, I’m practicing to read people’s mind whenever you’re around me because your magical defense blocks my telepathic ability. Normally, all I need to do is just focus on their minds and find out if some of them have knowledge of the place I’m about to go.”

“Why bother? You still can read minds by touching their body parts.”

“That’s impractical! Not everyone wants to be touched. Just imagine if I need to touch a person with haphephobia.”

“I thought you like it when you don’t have to read minds anymore.”

“Just in case of an emergency. Who knows if we would find any strange cases again, or if I’m stuck with Dante and there’s an urgent situation where I’m required to smuggle into someone’s head.”

“Hold on. Your telepathy doesn’t work on Dante too?”

“I guess the power of Sparda includes protection from telepaths.”

“I see. Now I understand,” Vergil scoffs. “The reason why you were awfully quiet since we stepped in this town is that you tried to practice your telepathic ability to find out the antique shop’s direction, so you won’t embarrass yourself in front of me because you have poor sense of direction and you think having to use GPS would make you look unreliable as a guide.”

Lyra hides her hands behind her back and stares at the ground, which to Vergil indicates that everything he said is true and that she’s embarrassed to admit it. To be very honest, he doesn’t think that Lyra does something wrong. He just wants to clarify things behind her unusual behavior, but it unconsciously sounds like he’s scolding her for her little secret.

“Just use the GPS if you need it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. That won’t make me think less of you.”

Lyra seems to hesitate at first, but eventually shrugs and takes her phone out from her bag. Vergil quietly smirks at her surrender.

“Fortunately, we’re on the right track!” She shows Vergil the map. “Thank you for your encouragement, Vergil. That’s the longest advice you ever said to me.”

He shrugs it off. “I guess that’s what friends are for.”

“Still, that means a lot to me.”

“Just forget it. Then how’s your practice going?”

“Still doing my best. The first time I tried to read someone’s mind without touching them whenever you were around me, it was all nothing. But now I can see blurry images and hear buzzing sound!” She smiles at him, her eyes beam as she points at the rustic shop at the corner of the street. “Look! We've arrived!”

When Vergil enters the antique shop, he expects the shopkeeper to greet them with unstoppable pestering offers like all the shopkeepers normally do. That’s why he hates shopping. Thankfully the shopkeeper is sleeping on the counter, like she doesn’t care if someone steals one of the items. The shop itself is quiet and the goods are all unique. The problem is, Vergil doesn’t know where to start searching. There are many items that Vergil puts a certain degree of interest in—necklaces, bracelets, clocks, paintings—but he doesn’t think that it would be useful or meaningful to Kyrie. He starts to think about Dante’s suggestion to give her a weapon for self-protection. It seems easier than this endless searching.

“Do you know the biggest dilemma when it comes to shopping? You expect to find a certain thing, but when you’re in the shop, suddenly you’re not sure what to buy anymore.” Lyra chuckles at Vergil’s confused expression.

“Evidently,” Vergil picks an antique revolver. “I think I want to give her a weapon.”

“Is Kyrie an excellent combatant?”

“She can take care of herself, though she still needs a lot of practice, but she won’t survive a second if she had to fight multiple opponents.”

“Mmmm... okay but... how about something for protection from the demons?”

“That will do. It’s way more practical and useful.”

“Alright. Let’s ask the shopkeeper.”

Vergil points his chin at the counter. “She’s sleeping.”

“I’ll wake her up.” Lyra fixates her focus on the shopkeeper until she slowly raises her head from the counter table and rubs her eyes.

Vergil almost couldn’t hide his amusement. She can wake someone up from slumber? How advanced is her ability actually?

The shopkeeper yawns loudly. “Welcome. How can I help y’all?”

“We’re looking for an item for protection from demons. Do you have anything suitable for that?” Lyra asks.

The shopkeeper looks straight to Lyra’s eyes, then to Vergil’s. She sighs as she walks to the weapon cabinet. “I don’t have much of that, but I have this one. Take a look.” she mumbles, handing Lyra a red music box. The music box looks captivating with a rose pattern carved on the box. When Lyra opens the music box, Vergil recognizes the box is playing Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier.

“Lovely, but I don’t see what’s so special about the music box,” Vergil mutters his doubt.  

“Easy, dude. Push the button near the mirror to open the secret room behind it.”

Lyra does the exact instruction until the secret room is opened and reveals a golden bracelet inside.

“What’s that for?” Lyra asks.

“It will glow red whenever there's demons nearby,” the shopkeeper lights her cigarette and walks back to the counter. “When the bracelet glows, you press it and close your eyes, because it will cast a very blinding light. It’ll blind and burn demons and that’s the best time for you to run away.”

Lyra glances at Vergil, who’s examining the music box and the bracelet. She holds her giggle when she notices that the bracelet glows in red when Vergil holds it and abruptly puts it back to the secret room behind the mirror before the shopkeeper notices it.

“I guess the bracelet couldn’t distinguish demons and cambions,” she whispers to him.

“This should be fine,” Vergil forms a satisfied grin. “It has both protection advantage and aesthetical function. Perfect.”

“You take that?!” the shopkeeper shouts eagerly.

“Yes,” Vergil replies. “Is there a money-back guarantee in case the item doesn’t properly work?”

“This is an antique shop, dude. Some items might not working at all—”

“I believe I don’t have to repeat myself.” Vergil insists.

The shopkeeper gulps at Vergil’s unspeakable death threat within his icy eyes, knowing that there’s no use to argue with a man like Vergil. “Dammit, fine! Now can I get my money?”

Lyra howls with laughter, “Blimey, you are a terrifying customer.”

Vergil grins in pride as he heads to the counter.

---

The birthday party will begin in an hour, but Vergil chooses to spend the rest of the time with Lyra at the Sparda Manor. During the day time, they only meet in the library. That makes their little adventure today seem rare... and fun. Lyra buys them ice creams at the end of their journey in Nova Town. She can’t hold her laughter when she catches Vergil’s eyes sparking in childish interest as he holds his ice cream once the magic portal opens its way to the Manor.

“The shopkeeper was different from the one whom I met two years ago. He was nice and helpful,” Lyra murmurs, licking her bubblegum ice cream. “Guess he didn’t work there anymore. We get a sleepyhead instead.”

Vergil says nothing as he examines his blueberry ice cream cone. His memory of V eating cheeseburger hits him. “Why do humans think that creating something messy is a good idea?”

“It’s called innovation, Vergil.”

“Messy innovation.”

“As long as people like it, it is considered as a great innovation.”

He finally gives up and chomps his ice cream. “This is not bad.”

“Tell me this is not your first time eating ice cream.”

“I might be inexperienced in human lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I never tasted ice cream.”

It’s strange, Vergil recalls the moment when they used to be strangers before Almagest helped them to get closer. Now they stand side by side and talk about stuff like old friends to the point where he could never get enough of her companionship. He lets her wander around his childhood house, even if he barely calls it a house now. He lets out a silent chuckle when she lifts a pile of rocks up to the air just to see what hides behind it, only to find another ruins and she’s slightly disappointed.

“For a second I thought your father was Johann Sebastian Bach.” Lyra looks up at Sparda’s family painting.

“You are not the first person who said that.”

She laughs. “Oh look at you… stoic since you were born. And I already got a picture on Dante being impatient while the painter kept asking him to stand still.”

“Pretty much correct. He complained how itchy his feet were at the end of the session.”

“Your mother was gorgeous,” Lyra admires Eva’s angelic stature. “No wonder Sparda fell for her.”

Vergil forms a wistful smile. “She was.”

“This painting reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray .”

“Pray tell, why?”

“Dorian sold his soul to the devil for eternal youth, and it decayed his self-portrait painting every time he did a sin. Of course your family portrait is a different case, but you see, your mother’s face is the only one that didn’t get burned by fire. It’s like a sign that she was the only human in the family…”

“And the rest of the family members were cursed by the evil blood that ran in their veins. That’s why the faces of the three of us were burned. That’s a picturesque perspective.”

“I didn’t say that demon is always evil—”

“I know. Still, it’s a good metaphor. Haven’t thought of it myself.”

“Why don’t you take the painting with you? People keep their family portrait in their house.”

“Dante and I agreed to leave it here as a sign that this mansion once belonged to our family. Besides, I can’t imagine such a painting to be hanged on the shop’s soiled wall. It would be a disgrace for the painting itself.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think you are right.”

Lyra continues to lift some rocks and put it back carefully once she finds nothing interesting.. “Have you been in there again after you escaped the Underworld with Dante?”

“To collect mementos, yes. Though, as you can see, nothing much was left since Urizen destroyed the whole city. Not to mention almost all parts of the house were destroyed or blocked by pillars and huge stones. We tried to remove them, but it’d cause a domino effect throughout the manor and demolish it completely.” 

“How did it feel to visit your childhood home again?”

Vergil swallows his ice cream at once. He puts a handkerchief out from his coat and wipes his lips. “It felt mostly heartbreaking.”

“I see,” Lyra nods and gives Vergil a light pat on his shoulder. “Not everyone could even come back to the place where their trauma began. Not that it’s necessary. I just found it encouraging.”

“Speaking of memento, what was the most valuable present you had ever received?” Vergil curiously asks.

“Oh, we start to have a small talk now?”

“I thought we agreed to trust each other, don’t we? Then we should start from mundane things.”

“Alright. Make sense. Let me recall it… mmmm… oh right! A lyre!”

“You play lyre? Amazing.”

“I thought you were about to say ironic.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You know, a lyre plays a lyre.”

Vergil smirks, recalling her remark on their previous little adventure, “You’re right. It’s ironically amazing.”

The librarian rolls her eyes as she bites the ice cream cone. “My mum bought me one for my fifth birthday. It only lasted for two months before I asked her to give me a harp for the next birthday.”

“Did she finally buy you a harp?”

“She didn’t.”

“Why?”

“She died before my next birthday.”

Vergil immediately stared at Lyra’s sullen eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles at him, chewing the last part of her cone. “It was a long time ago.”

Lyra has so many things she hides behind her amicable demeanor, and Vergil should’ve feel relieved because after all these months, Lyra finally opens up a little bit about her family, yet he doesn’t feel it at all.

“Were you close with your mother?” Vergil’s tone is full of consideration.

Lyra taps her fingers on her chin. “I guess so. We only had each other.”

“… How did she… die?”

The librarian smirks at him. “If I told you she fell from the tree, would you believe me?”

“Only if that’s the truth.”

She goes silent for a while, seeming unwilling to continue her story. She opens an empty drawer, looking at nothingness for a while. “You might’ve heard about her.”

“Your mother?”

“Uh-uh,” Lyra nods calmly, but Vergil senses a slight hesitation. “Her name was Asteria Crescent.”

Impossible! “The award-winning astronomer?”

“Astrobiologist, yes.”

“I see. That explains your fondness of astronomy.”

The first time Vergil heard about Asteria Crescent was when he was eleven years old, still homeless and constantly moved out from place to place in search of power. Asteria’s groundbreaking research of modern astrobiology broke the news. Her discovery led the scientists to rethink human’s position in this world and question the exact location of the Underworld in the known universe, considering demons as an extraterrestrial creature with its own origin and evolution. Demons and magic are inseparable, but Asteria Crescent was brave to make a further step to explain demonology in a scientific approach. Science and magic are two sides of a coin , Vergil recalls her statements. Science just has yet to understand magic.

“Asteria was a Titan goddess of falling stars and nighttime divinations. That suited her very well,” Lyra chuckles bitterly, swinging her hand to lift a pile of ruins back to its place. “I once wondered why she didn’t name me Hecate, daughter of Asteria and goddess of witchcraft. Maybe at that time, she didn’t have a thought that someday I’ll develop this… psychic ability.”

“The media never reported anything regarding her cause of death. It happened all so sudden, they said.”

“They always spoke highly of her. But when she died, they turned the story into rumors and gossip.”

“So did she fall from the tree?”

“She did fall.”

“But not from the tree.”

Vergil’s demonic eyes catch Lyra’s body slightly flinching, but she maintains her calmness and fakes a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you further about your private life.”

“You entrusted me your biggest secret. I intend to do so. I’m just… not ready to open up, but I know that I want to.”

“When I said that we should try to trust each other, I didn't mean that you should abruptly open yourself to me.”

“Too late. Now you know I’m the daughter of a dead astrobiologist.”

“Why did you change your surname then?”

Lyra stops and gazes at Vergil. She seems anxious while glancing at her surroundings carefully, as if she’s afraid that someone else would hear them. Vergil slightly bows his body when Lyra whispers in his ear.

“I’m being hunted.”

The furrow on Vergil’s brow is going deeper. “By whom?”

“Someone who wants to abuse my power. That’s why I need to change my surname and hang out around wearing eyeglasses, so people won’t find out about my identity.”

For a moment, they stand still there, staring at each other’s eyes to find some clues. It’s logical that Lyra’s unique ability would attract power-seekers, be it humans or demons. Vergil knows it too well; the danger of possessing a greater power. A part of him wants to believe her words…

If only he failed to spot a subtle grin on the corner of her lips.

I would be absolutely fooled by her deception, Vergil grunts discontentedly. "You are lying, aren’t you?”

Lyra’s laughter echoes throughout the lake.

Vergil snarls at her unstoppable giggle. "Quite a jester, I see.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Vergil doesn’t bother to reply, because he knows it would lead to another bickering. He doesn’t try to hide his amused smile too, even though Lyra teases him about the ‘sly devil smile’. To be honest, he couldn’t care less. He just wants to see her smile, her true smile.

Like the way she’s smiling right now.

“Do you want to have a look at the lake?” Vergil offers, trying to lift the mood. “There’s nothing left to see here.”

“Sure!”

They sit on the cobblestone pier in the lake while admiring the twilight sky. It’s Vergil’s favorite place, ever since he was a child. This place has changed; there are no more Qliphoth roots left and there are several trees and wildflowers growing on the land. The lake no longer contains human blood. It’s mesmerizing how fast time flies and changes the entire city.

“I used to spend my days here, reading and playing with Dante,” Vergil says. “We loved being here more than staying indoors.”

“I can see the reason. It’s bloody beautiful here.” Lyra mutters her admiration. She taps her fingers on the cobblestone playfully, causing a small rift in the lake.

“Dante once pushed me to the lake because we fought over a chocolate bar,” Vergil recalls one of his precious memories. “I pretended to be drowned. He pulled me out of the water and cried, pleaded to me for not leaving him alone and that he’s sorry. Promised me that he won’t disturb me again. Right when he shook my body to wake me up, I pushed him to the lake but he managed to drag me with him.”

Lyra can’t hold her howls of laughter. She chortles until her stomach hurts and her throat gets sore. Vergil swears he never saw her laughing like this. “I’m sorry— I— HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Lower your voice,” Vergil grunts. He starts to regret his decision for rambling about his childhood antics just to get rid of Lyra’s gloomy face. “You might end up choking yourself to death.”

“ Pfffftttt!”

“Will you shut up?!”

“Sorry!” Lyra bites her thumb to hold her cackle but fails. “I just… bwahahaha! It seems that ‘never hold a grudge to the people who wronged you’ is true!”

Vergil pulls her thumb away from her teeth, caressing her reddened thumb. “A little deeper, you would bleed your thumb.”

The careful touch from Vergil distracts Lyra for a while. It’s the first time he holds her without gloves on, and it surprises her how soft his palm is despite the fact that he is a warrior who wields various weapons. Her thumb slips lightly from his palm. “Even if I bleed, I got your Lucy Pevensie’s cordial to heal me.”

Vergil sighs heavily as he removes some strands of Lyra’s hair from her forehead. “I gave it to you for an emergency case only. The cordial was made mostly from demon’s blood, mixed with rare herbs and some complicated spells to make it suitable for human’s bodies. Even the bottle was made from demon’s materials to prevent physical damage. Trish produced only a few bottles of cordial, so use it wisely.”

“I will,” Lyra picks out the cordial bottle from her bag and shows it to Vergil. “See? I haven’t used it since Capulet.”

“Put it back into your bag before it slipped from your hand and fell into the lake.”

“Alright alright! Why do you sound a lot like my mother?” Lyra puts the bottle back into her bag.

“You are clumsy and easily distracted. I have to keep my eyes on you every time. It’s rather distressing.”

“I can take care of myself!” Lyra lays a punch on Vergil’s chest. “Remember, I weakened Phantom last week, so you devil twins could kill that spider easily!”

The cambion smirks disdainfully to her weak strike. He puts something off from the back of his coat and hands it to Lyra. It’s an old book with a black leatherbound with the title engraved in a beautiful golden emboss. “Your payment for escorting me today.”

Lyra observes the front cover with beaming eyes. “The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe...”

“It’s one of the mementos I brought from the Manor. I reckon you would love Poe, given to your fondness of horror and mystery.”

“Then I have to refuse! It’s yours!”

“I believe I made myself clear when I said the book is for you.”

Lyra was about to refuse again, but quickly zip her mouth when Vergil glared at her with his terrifying and undeniable gaze. He won’t take any ‘no’ from her. She flips the pages, and something almost falls from the book before Lyra catches it quickly; an antique necklace with an obsidian pendant. She takes a closer look at the pendant and recognizes the familiar white, shiny dots pattern on it— the Lyra constellation.  

“… did you pick this one too from the manor?” Lyra asks carefully.

“… it was from the antique shop.”

“I didn’t see you strolling around the jewelry section.”

“It was displayed on the counter. Nothing special. Just normal jewelry. The pattern just reminded me of you—”

Vergil can’t finish his sentence because Lyra wraps her arms between his waist, locking him in a tight embrace. He can feel the strange, but comfortable warmth fills his body as he returns to hug her without hesitation. Her body is so small and shorter compared to his height that he needs to bow slightly in order to balance the embrace. He loves her scent— a strange mixture of peach, black tea and old roses— and quietly inhales the intoxicating fragrance from her hair. He feels like he could do this all day.

“Thank you,” Lyra’s murmur vibrates his chest. “I’ll cherish this forever.”

“It's just a book and a necklace.”

“These are the best presents since the lyre from my mum!” she chuckles. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually hug people around.”

“Neither do I.”

“So let us hug a bit longer, shall we?”

“It looks like I have no choices but to comply.”

For a moment, they banish their distrusts about each other, breaking the adamant barrier and wishing the time to stop ticking.  

---

Yesterday, Lyra dreamt of a boy who wanders around a big house.

She thought it was just a meaningless dream, at least until she realized that she was the boy himself. She looked at her—  his — reflection in the mirror; the little boy was handsome with swept back silver hair and a black pajama. His serious and grumpy expression reminded of someone she couldn’t remember yet. She— the boy —wandered off around a big and dark house. It wasn’t her own intention; like her movement was controlled by someone else. She opened a chamber and let herself in. There was a woman who lay unconscious on the bed. Lyra could see traces of tears on the woman’s sullen face. Her body forced her to lift the quilt to cover the woman’s body and tip-toed herself out from the room.

When she was about to go back to her room, she heard a wheezing cry and followed the voice to the main hall. It didn’t take her too long to find out the source of the voice as her hand reached to open a white drawer, where another little boy with the same silver hair cried inside it.

“Vergil…” that little boy stared at her with a turbulent sob coming out from his mouth. “Father… you… you d-d-don’t believe that he died… r-right?”

I am…Vergil?

Does that mean that this crying boy… Dante?

The next thing Lyra remembered was she woke up with tears stream down her face like a waterfall, soaking her pillow. She was sure the sadness she felt in the entire dream wasn’t hers, but Vergil and Dante’s. She was going to tell Vergil about her strange dream when she saw the exact same white drawer in her dream at Sparda Manor, but she thought she was biased. Vergil had told her about how devastated his family was when they heard that Sparda was deceased, and her dream must be just her brain playing a trick to her.

But then she thought, Vergil never told me that he found Dante hiding and crying in that draw…

Tonight, Lyra falls into another strange dream. Even weirder and scarier. A titanic, god-like demon tortured her in the most unimaginably painful way. Her entire body was chained and spiked. The demon was merciless. His face was full of disgust and hatred as he spat her insults and penetrated her head with dreadful illusions she couldn’t even envision. He kept calling her “disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda”. It was only then she realized that she wasn’t herself, but Vergil.

Lyra fights herself to wake up, and is barely successful. The dream is too visceral that she almost still can feel the pain all over the body as she opens her eyes. Her back is wet from her own sweat.

Why do I keep dreaming of him? Moreover, I never experienced this kind of pain…

Does it have something to do with our accidental mind link on that day? Strange things have happened since then...

Her wave of thoughts are interrupted by the sudden thirst in her throat. She snaps her fingers and the light from the lamp brightens the bedroom. The door cracks slowly to open its way for Lyra. The librarian walks with leaden steps as she rubs her sleepy eyes. She almost stumbled upon a chair when she entered the kitchen.

“A cuppa sounds delightful to cure nightmares,” Lyra mumbles at herself, swinging her hand to summon a cup from the drawer. The cup flies and lands right in front of her, but she makes no further movement but staring blankly at the cup. Her body is still shivering by the imaginary pain from her nightmare.

“From all the people in the world, why does it have to be Vergil? This mind link is vexing me...”

The harsh cry of a raven causes Lyra to glance over the kitchen’s window. She curves a light smile while opening the window and lets a little raven enter her house. The raven lands on her shoulder for a while before flying around the house and lands on the kitchen counter.

“Where have you been, Corvus? Haven’t seen you for days!” Lyra greets the raven.

The little bird tilts its head and squawks. Lyra giggles as she pats the raven’s head. “Hey look. My friend gave his poem book to me and one of the titles is The Raven. I like it, by the way. And I’ve been thinking about him lately, even dreaming about him. To be honest, it’s disturbing. Do you think I should invite him here and tell him the truth?”

The raven gives her a nod.

“You are right. A cuppa is best served with a friend, don’t you think?”

Corvus flaps its wings eagerly. The black bird flies around Lyra’s head before making its way outside the house.

“Leaving already? You haven’t eaten yet!” Lyra shouts at the raven. “Alright then, send my regard to your girlfriend!”

Corvus squawks something like a curse, causing Lyra to barks in laughter. She heads back to the counter as she turns on the radio to entertain her confusing state of mind, picking the channel telepathically until she finds her favourite channel. She listens to the song while summoning her phone from the bedroom, tapping the screen until Vergil’s contact name pops on the screen.

Down in the willow garden

Where me and my love did meet

As we sat a-courtin'

My love fell off to sleep

I had a bottle of burgundy wine

My love, she did not know

So I poisoned that dear little girl

On the banks below

I drew a saber through her

It was a bloody knife

I threw her in the river

Which was a dreadful sign

“By Jove, that song is sinister,” Lyra chuckles darkly. Her solemn face is turning pale. “As for the poisoned little girl… well…”

She clicks Vergil’s name, waiting for the devil to answer with fingers tangled between the black pendant on her neck, hoping half-heartedly that he wouldn’t pick her call.

~~~

A/N : the song mentioned at the end of the chapter is “Down In The Willow Garden” by The Everly Brothers.

Tagging : @drusoona @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz @shiranyaaww @andieperrie18 @rubixa-seraph @blooddrop-palace (I honestly forgot who to tag, so if you want to be tagged just send you reply or DM me! XD)

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