#half of them are neophytes too

[pharmaciacatholica]

there really is something so laughably irritating about seeing a group of low church evangelical millennials talking about the “errors” of Catholicism and various articles of faith

[aqua-the-smiter]

Ferrus is feeling a bit cranky over Candlemass, so Sanguinius takes it upon himself to cheer his brother up.

Just some wholesome Christmas writing Divider by @squishyowl

“Hurry Ferrus, hurry!” Sanguinius called cheerfully to his brother,  laughing as he dragged him by the wrist through the streets of Macragge.

“Four bloody hells where are we hurrying?” He snapped testily half running and half sliding. “Why are we hurrying, we’re ghosts, why are we running at all?”

“Sorry! Still haven’t figured out the whole ‘manifest in the Materium thing’ yet. But we are not missing this! Especially not you. C’mon, you have got three feet over me. Use those long legs of yours and move!” He replied, his wings flaring as he leapt to avoid a knot of Ultramarine neophytes.

Technically with them both being dead obstacles weren’t a problem, a fact the duo proved later by blowing through an intersection and phasing through the vehicles as if they weren’t there at all, briefly leaving the occupants with either a very warm feeling or a very grouchy one.

Although even in his fugue state Ferrus had to admit that winter on Macragge was something to behold. The sky was overcast and mottled with clouds. Huge, fluffy snowflakes whirled through the air on the icy wind, blanketing the city of Macragge Civitas in a pure shroud of white (except on the roads where salt and slush turned it a dirty gray). She looked regal, in her pale veil. Elegant. As the evening had crept in the streetlamps flickered to life, bathing everything in a festive golden-amber glow. The citizens were all bundled up warmly in coats and cold weather gear, walking and laughing together or celebrating in the streets and squares with family and friends. Even a few of the Ultramarines themselves were out enjoying themselves, battle brothers rubbing shoulders with everyone from senators to starport workers. It was here he found himself being ferried along by his much more enthusiastic sibling, who ran with the grace of a deer to get to…somewhere. He hadn’t elaborated beyond ‘we’re going to cheer you up’. 

He ran with much less grace but no less speed. Not really a deer. A draft horse maybe, one of those big ancient Terran breeds with hooves the size of dinner plates. 

A candle glowed in nearly every window (no matter how many windows that building had). It was Candlemass, you see. Humanity had never lost its love for celebrating the end of the year, bringing festivities and good cheer to the darkest, coldest months. Saturnalia, Christmas, Yule, and now in the 42nd millenia, Candlemass.  It was, by and large, a joyous time, but Ferrus Manus was feeling far from festive.

For you see, while Candlemass is a time of celebration, it is also a time of remembrance. Honoring those lost in the last year and beyond, remembering the good times and the sacrifices made for loved ones. The Imperial Guard, the Astartes, the Sororitas. A few candles were even lit for the men of the Custodes and the women of the Sisters of Silence. Even Primarchs were remembered this time of year.

Or, most of them, anyway.

Ferrus never wanted to be worshipped like a god. As Roboute and now Lion did, he found the whole idea unpleasant. But while he didn’t want worship, he did want to be remembered, and therein lay the problem. He usually never was. His idiot gene sons were decrying him left and right. Of all his loyalist brothers, he had the least amount of shrines, icons, windows, etc.  Most of them were on Medusa, his homeworld anyway, which hardly counted. The ones that weren’t were all included in a group of shrines. It stung, and he was man enough to admit it. Being forgotten about when he had died in the manner he did. A few hymns and a little thanks wouldn’t be too disagreeable. 

He felt a fresh surge of hatred for Fulgrim, making the fiery halo above his head flare white with hot rage. 

At least his men and women in the Legion of the Damned remembered him. Contrary to popular myth, the legion didn’t just have space marine. Guard, Custodians, Sisters of Battle. If you were a soldier of the Imperium in any capacity, you came to him. He cared for them, truly, and he could see that reciprocated in admiration. And it was nice to have them around to keep him company on the other side. He enjoyed the stories he got from the guardsmen, the technical chatter with the Skitarii, even the theological debates with some of the more fanatic branches of Imperial military strength. 

But still. Some kudos from the land of the living would be appreciated.

Sanguinius of course had no such problems. He was beloved by all in the Imperium great and small. He even had his own holiday, Sanguinala. Even on Candlemass though, the good folk of the Imperium took time to light a candle for the Angel. He always loved this time of year, unlike his dour black armored counterpart. Thus, when he’d noticed Ferrus’s equally dark mood, he had taken it upon himself to lift his spirits in the name of Candlemass cheer. And he seemingly had the perfect way to do it.

The two were pounding up the stairs of the Fortress of Hera now. Through doors, through the corridors and courtyards to a grand cathedral near the center of the Fortress Monastery. 

“Here we are!” Sanguinius said with a broad grin. “Let’s go.”

Before Ferrus could get a word in he was dragged through the ornate double doors.

Inside was lit with thousands upon thousands of candles. It was beautiful, ornate but tastefully so. The light inside was a mix of warm amber from the flame and blue from the stained glass windows. Between all the Ultramarine iconography were the chapter banners of the loyalist legions. Astartes and baseliners alike sat in pews, and the music of a pipe organ soaked into the atmosphere. 

“I thought Roboute hated the Imperial Cult.” Ferrus said.

Sanguinius nodded. “Oh he does. But this is not a Father-bothering service in the least.” He replied, finally letting go of Ferrus’s wrist. The two stood in the aisle, watching as said service unfolded. “Watch.”

Ferrus looked around, noticing that the candles were all being put out. As the music faded, the sanctuary went dark. The only light coming from augmetic eyes and the duos’ halos which nobody could see anyway. 

“What’s going on? Come on Sanguinius, why did you drag me all the way here?”

“Shh.” He pointed. “Shoosh. Just watch.”

As he said it a light flared to life at the sanctuary. Roboute stood there, not resplendent in his armor but dressed in a simple white toga and a blue cloak, the Emperor’s sword belted at his hip.. Ferrus had to bite back a gasp of shock.

He looked so tired and haggard. His hair was longer and thinner. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them. His face was lined. But for all that he seemed to be in a good mood, and it was clear why. Next to him, also holding a candle lighter was none other than the Lion, dressed in a forest green doublet and a black sable cloak. His shield was slung over his back. He looked older too, his hair much paled in color and longer, his beard fuller. 

“As we bid this year farewell in its final few weeks and prepare to greet the new one, whatever trials and triumphs it may bring, I would like to take one last moment of your time this evening to remember those that are no longer with us. Ceremony such as this ensures those we have lost are always honored and never forgotten, even if their names have been lost.”

He walked to the side of the sanctuary and lit several candles as he spoke. “For the Imperial Guard, the brave men and women of the Navy and the Aeronautica. We are all grateful for your continued bravery and courage in the face of horrors. You are the strongest of us all.”

There was a round of applause then. Several members of the congregation stood, and were seated again when it died down.

Next Lion walked to the other side and copied Roboute’s actions. “For the Adeptus Astartes. My sons and my brother’s sons. All our nephews without their gene-sires to guide their blades and guns. We thank you for your unwavering spirits and loyalty in the face of hellish odds. I am proud to call you my kin.”

More ovations, and this time the space marines in the crowd stood up. Ultramarines, Dark Angels, and a few scattered successors of each. But the middle was still dark. Roboute moved inward a bit, and then Ferrus saw it.

Shrines. There were shrines. One for each of the loyalists. A beautiful crafted statue of each rested on a small altar, surrounded by candles, although the features were obscured in the dark. Roboute began lighting them once again. These were colored either a dark forest green or an antique gold. The Primarch himself had taken his seat, leaving Guilliman alone up front.

“For my brother Lion. You are a pompous, stuck up, trigger happy, smug bastard, and I missed you more than I can say. I am glad to have you back. You wear your age gracefully, which is more than I can say for your armor.” 

The Lion laughed aloud at that, grinning, and after a moment the Dark Angels decided it was ok to find it funny as well. Guilliman moved on to the next altar. The candles were white and red.

“For my brother Jaghatai. Your speed and skill are sorely missed, as is your dry wit. Dustier than the deserts of Tallarn, and as sharp as any power sword. May your battles in the Warp be victorious and your return home as swift as the hawks and horses of Chogoris.”

And the next. The candles here were storm gray and yellow. 

“For my brother Leman. As loyal a brother and faithful a friend as anyone could ask for. I miss your ferocity, your brooding, and your joviality alike. You were one of my Dauntless Few, and I feel your absence sorely and sharply. You who so masterfully pretended to be a beast to disguise the razor blade of a mind underneath the wolf’s pelt. One day I pray we may drink and share stories again, and that I may hear of your great victories and tall tales. Come home soon, and come home safe.”

The next candles were yellow and black. “For my brother Rogal. Stalwart, unbending, unbreakable. You couldn’t understand a joke if it wrote an after-action report to explain itself to you, and you were as blunt as an old knife. But you were my good brother. You were my friend, a man of my Dauntless Few, and we are lesser without you. May you rest peacefully, and know that the Imperial Palace still stands. Know that nobody has forgotten your immoveable soul or your determination. Rest knowing you did your duty to the utmost and that we are all grateful.”

He paused as he reached the next shrine. These candles were crimson and gold. When he spoke again there was a barely perceptible quiver in his voice.

“For my brother Sanguinius. Everyone knew you as the Great Angel. Refined, graceful, powerful. One of my Dauntless Few. I knew you as that and as a mischievous jerk more often than not. You are missed and beloved by all. I miss your kindness and good counsel. May you also rest in peace, and know that you are regarded as a hero, and rightfully so.

There was more laughter at that. Guilliman wiped his eyes and moved onto the next one. The candles were gold and emerald green here instead of forest.

“For my brother Vulkan. You were a much needed voice of kindness among my brothers. You who always remembered baseline humanity and encouraged us to do the same. Your hands made us all many wonders in your forge, and your sons carry that flame with them. May you return safely and swiftly to them and to us, and rekindle your forgefire once more.”

“A kind gesture, if nothing else.” Ferrus said dismissively.

Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. “What, are you jealous? Do you really think Roboute would forget you?”

“Everybody else has forgotten me except you.” His tone was bitter now. “Maybe because I died so ingloriously. Why wouldn’t he?”

“I know you’re jaded, and trust me I understand. But just keep watching.”

The shrine in the middle was still unlit.

Black and white candles flared to life. “For my brother Corvus. A liberator. May that spirit live on, because there are so many worlds that need liberation. May you return home and take up your mantle of freedom-fighter once more, because so many worlds need freedom. And may you have good luck in your hunt. When you come home, I hope your bring Lorgar’s head as a trophy. Throne knows it couldn’t happen to someone more deserving.”

A few hoots and shouts of agreement. 

Finally, Roboute made his way to the last shrine. He lit the candles here slowly, taking his time for each. They were a dark, inky black and a metallic, shimmering silver that glittered beautifully under the candlelight.

And it was then that Ferrus noticed that the middle shrine had the most candles out of all of them.

“And finally. Last but far from the least. To my brother Ferrus Manus, Lord of the Iron Tenth. You were one of the greatest among us. Not because of your metal hands but in spite of them. The greatest of my Dauntless Few. We remember your death not because it was dishonorable or tragic but because you were courageous and defiant to your dying breath. Your soul burned bright and beautiful and it does so even now as you shepherd the Imperium's loyal soldiers. We remember your skill in the forge and the might you granted the rest of us. We remember your strength and power in combat, your iron will and steel tenacity. We are lesser without you, my brother Ferrus. Know that I have not forgotten you. We have not forgotten you, and we never will. Not as long as I still draw breath. I remember you often liked to say that nobody knew you, and I believe that to be true. Nobody really did know you, and I regret not remedying that when I had the chance. Of all of us, I should have known you. May you find peace, and know that as with all my brothers, I love you.”

Ferrus felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down no matter how hard he tried and his eyes prickled. He noticed a few wet trails on Guilliman's face as well, shining in the firelight before he scrubbed his face with an arm.

The rest of the service passed in a blur for him. Many of the baseliners and Astartes went up to light a candle themselves. Many more tiny lights flared to life by his shrine. But eventually the room emptied, and the four brothers were alone with each other.

Roboute turned to the two of them at the end of the aisle with a small smile. “Are the two of you planning on saying hello, or just lurking?”

The two finally faded fully into the Materium.

"You could see us the whole time?" Ferrus asked, incredulous.

"Not really see you per say." Lion said, coming to stand with Roboute. He'd been helping his brother extinguish the remaining candles. "But we felt the two of you there. I figured you didn't want to cause a scene. It…it's good to see you again. Both of you."

"Yes, it is." Roboute echoed. "Unexpected but it's wonderful to see the both of you."

Ferrus opened his mouth but found himself choked up. Sanguinius stepped forward, wrapping his arms and wings around his brothers wordlessly.

When they pulled apart, Lion had misty eyes, Roboute was openly weeping again and Sanguinius was beaming at them both like the sun. He grabbed Ferrus and yanked him forward.

“I came for this grump.” He explained. “He was in such a bad mood because he thought everyone had forgotten about him. Maybe he’s not as well loved as he deserves, but you two wouldn’t forget. I knew you wouldn’t. Your speech was lovely by the way. You always had an ability to talk perfectly. Not too simple, not too eloquent, always genuine.”

It was more than that. It had taken all of Ferrus’s considerable willpower not to cry like a child. He was touched. And a little ashamed of his earlier dismissiveness. Maybe not many still cared, but the ones who mattered did. His family remembered him.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Ferrus huffed, but before he could continue Roboute had wrapped him in a rib-crushing hug. He stiffened, but after a moment returned it.

“Throne but it’s good to see you again, Ferrus.” And damn him if it didn’t sound genuine. 

He blinked hard, trying to contain his own tears to no avail. “It’s good to see you as well, Roboute. I’m glad Fulgrim couldn’t take you down too. The bastard.”

“He nearly did. I got lucky.”

When they pulled apart Lion surprised all three of them by wrapping Ferrus in an equally strong embrace.

“You idiot. You bloody idiot. You really thought we’d forget about you? Give us some credit, Manus. Maybe we could have done a better job of showing it but your absence was sorely felt. I wish I had noticed something. Gotten the Laer Blade away from Fulgrim, I don’t know. I’m sorry Ferrus.”

“Don’t-” he swallowed. “There’s nothing you could have done, in the end. I made my own choices, foolish as they were.”

“He made worse ones.” El’Jonson said fiercely. “You are deeply missed.”

“More than you realize, you big lump.” Sanguinius smacked his shoulder with a wing. “See? What did I tell you? Cheer up, it’s Candlemass.” 

“I wonder if your xenos…friend could help…?”

Roboute shook his head. “With the state he’s in? I don’t know. I was a different case.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it could be much worse. And someone needs to look after the Legion of the Damned. Aeonid Thiel says hello, by the way.”

“I-well. It’s good to hear from him too.”  He paused. “I must ask, how are the two of you here? This isn’t something you can do regularly, is it?”

Sanginius shook his head. “I wish. I would have come far more often, but it’s really only doable, even for powerful ghosts like us, during certain times. Or when the energy is right and the veil is thin.”

“Trust me, if we could do this regularly my idiot gene sons would have already gotten an earful they wouldn’t soon forget.”

“How much time do you have left?” Lion asked. 

“More than enough.” Sanguinius flashed another one of his brilliant smiles. “That's the thing about ceremonies like this. Remembrance. It helps to thin the veil, draw power. All that raw emotion. It’ll linger for a while. We can stay and talk.”

“I like the sound of that. We have much to catch up on, don’t we?”

Lion nodded. “ We do. And I’m sure you’ve got a bottle of Macraggian red you can dig up from somewhere.”

“And there’s his real motivation.”

“Hardly. It’s tradition to have long talks over alcohol, you know that.”

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that. What about you, Ferrus?”

He shrugged. “I have nothing pressing at the moment. I’m sure my men and women can go a night without me around.” 

And he smiled in spite of himself. It was nice to be remembered.

[skxrbrand]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 || 1 / ??? ||| NEXT

“ Quite a surprise, this.”

The Prince of Pleasure leaned forward, his pointed chin resting on the back of a dainty hand. His other hand was folded neatly beneath it, the Ruinous God of debauchery and debasement the very picture of coquetry. Before him was the Trickster God, the dancing and laughing deity of the Elven Pantheon Loec. Of Joy and Plays, a fellow god of Revellry, and to be sitting here in this will-conjured space, playing games of wit and deception, was not unusual. However, he was not alone. To either side of the Wardancing god were his darksome kindred, the twin Cytharai sisters Hekarti, lady of Desires and Dark Magic, and Atharti, the elven deity of pleasure and seduction. When he first slithered into this godly sub-realm that had played host to many of his games with Loec, Slaanesh rather suspected an ambush had awaited him. But the trio of gods were still as statues and the twin sisters were lax as sated wildcats. If anything, the loathing that Slaanesh could feel writhing beneath the calm stillness within each of them was for other, not him. But he didn’t let the fact take him off his guard. After all, there was nothing like a joint enemy to make old foes set enmities aside.

“ An unwelcome one?” Loec replied lightly. Slaanesh shook his head, his mane of silver-golden hair dancing about his horned head.

“ Not at all. Anything that breaks up the monotony of existence is welcome before my sight.” Slaanesh rejoined airily, his six eyes cast over the trio of elven gods yet again. “ But I'm afraid I must ask the reason for the occasion.”

“The very same of which you’ve spoken.”  This was Hekarti, many headed Mistress of Dark Magic and, the middlemost, serpentine head of the goddess speaking in a hissing lilt. Before she could go any further, the masked Atharti chimed in and within the timbres of her voice, the Pleasure-God could feel the pleasant buzz of sensation on his flawless skin. His tongue flickered and hunger stirred within him, a desire making itself plainly known.

 He wanted to eat these three.

“ The game we propose is far more satisfying than whatever your stomach is urging you to do, Perfect Prince.” Atharti said laughingly. Her words did not provoke alarm in the other two gods, for Slaanesh’s hunger for them – the elven gods and the elves themselves – was well known. Behind her mask, the Prince could here the smile in his voice, smug and provocative.

“ Do tell.” Slaanesh responded with a curious tilt of his head.

“ We all claim pantheons of Revelry, pleasure, seduction, desire—” Hekarti began.

“—But it begs the question of who is the best. Who is the most superior swayer of the hearts.”

Now, at this Slaanesh had to laugh. His hunger gave way to amusement and he tittered behind his beringed fingers, his long face and black plush lips split into a too-broad smile. He laughed and laughed, trying and failing once or twin to reign in his humor, before at last he calmed. Lavender eyes shined with unshed tears of mirth and his smile remained as he finally responded.

“ There is no question. Gods you may be, but you are as babes before my majesty. Neophytes playing at true greatness. The business of owning mortal hearts is one I am unmatched in, if perhaps—” He tittered, eyes lingering upon Atharti. “ – imitated.”

“ Please. We come here as fellows in joy and amusement. There is no need for any ugliness between us.” Loec mollified, feeling the desire goddess’ growing fury. “ But we spoke nothing of mortal hearts, Slaanesh. Tempting the flesh-bound is childs play for any god; any one of us would be able to do it easily. It would not differentiate better from lesser.”

“ And what do you suppose would?” Slaanesh asked, crossing his arms of his half-bosom. Through his arrogance peered a genuine curiosity, one the slighted Atharti immediately capitalized on.

“ The seduction of a fellow god. A god of ones own caliber. The hardest of marks.” The Lady of Desire put to the Prince of Slaanesh, piquing his interest. “ You are not alone in your pantheon, I recall?”

“ Unfortunately true.” Slaanesh’s snout came out of joint for the briefest of moments as he mused on his fellow powers.

“Splendid. Then you may join us in our game, and give truth to your claims.”

“ And so that it is fair,” Loec interjected, “ We shall each choose a mark for the other.” He spread his arms wide, invitingly. Unguarded. “ And as our guest, you shall take first pick, Slaanesh.”

The Prince was bemused. Something was afoot, but he rather could not wait to see what it was. What these little elven gods, led by the Trickster beckoning him, had cooked up in some effort to humble or perhaps slay him. His smile was cruel and he lifted a manicured claw as he pointed to Loec.

“ You shall win the heart of Addaioth, the Cytharai, and pull adoration from pride and hatred.” He declared, then retracted his talon. Loec considered the choice, turning to Hekarti.

“Anath Raema shall be your mark, the hunter becoming the hunter.” The Trickster god decided, pleased by his own joke. Flashing him a look, Hekarti quickly turned to her sister. Even here, even now, the Lady of Magic would not waste the chance to be rid of her wretched sibling.

“And you, Atharti, shall win Khaine. The sister for me, the brother for you.” Hekarti chimed, rather relishing the reservation that settled in her sister’s bones. Atharti leered long the Mistress of Magic, but that was an old hatred that would be avenged later. Right now, the Great Enemy of the Elves stood before them and it was her turn to hand down his sentence. And he had slighted her, not moments before.

Loec and Hekarti looked on in baited interest. Even Slaanesh, head tilted in curiosity, was quiet, his spade-tipped tail flicking in antsy.

“ A Murder God for me, and a Murder God for you, Prince of Pleasure.” Atharti spoke at last, “ Khorne will be your target, for if you can tame the most hateful of all beings to your whims and wants, your position as greatest seducer will be without question.”

Atharti’s declaration echoed off the semi-solid walls of the half-made temple, made of their wants and desires, housing them. All the Elvengods beheld Slaanesh for his reaction, expecting indignation, disgust, or perhaps even outrage. Indeed, hints of those emotions flitted over his long face, but in the end, the Prince just gave a great sigh and rested his chin on the heel of his palm, blowing a strand of curly blond hair out of his face.

“ I do believe I have my work cut out for me.” He responded, laughing and exasperated. “ Very well. But I would suggest one more rule to this game.”

“That being?”

“ We each must bring undeniable proof of our success. Or failure.” The Prince proposed.” And since mine is the hardest of marks, I would ask a reward for my triumph, when it comes.” At this, the long black tongue of the prince swiped across his serpentine muzzle. The hunger from before roared back into focus and there was little wonder what the Dark Prince might’ve wanted. “ Souls. Elven souls. Fattened and sweetened with the trials and triumphs of lives long. One thousand from each of you.”

The Elven gods hesitated. But the sisters not for long. Only Loec of the Cadai lingered in thought and doubt, but even he acquiesced, compelled by the Prince and Lady-Desire both to offer up the souls of his people. Sealed in words, the Gods there sealed their deal in blood, and then set off in their own ways to woo that god to which they had been inflicted upon.

[burningvelvet]

One of my favorite excerpts of Jane Eyre (1847) taken from chapter 14:

“Yes, yes, you are right,” said he; “I have plenty of faults of my own: I know it, and I don’t wish to palliate them, I assure you. God wot I need not be too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast, which might well call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for like other defaulters, I like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right course since: but I might have been very different; I might have been as good as you—wiser—almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure—an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?”

“How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?”

“All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen—quite your equal. Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one of the better kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don’t see it; at least I flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you express with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Then take my word for it,—I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that—not to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow this to you? Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourself elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances’ secrets: people will instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte to tell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations.”

“How do you know?—how can you guess all this, sir?”

“I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been superior to circumstances; so I should—so I should; but you see I was not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm—God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life.”

“Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.”

“It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform—I have strength yet for that—if—but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I will get it, cost what it may.”

“Then you will degenerate still more, sir.”

“Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the moor.”

“It will sting—it will taste bitter, sir.”

“How do you know?—you never tried it. How very serious—how very solemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head” (taking one from the mantelpiece). “You have no right to preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries.”

“I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence.”

“And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered across my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing—I know that. Here it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance to my heart.”

“Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel.”

“Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the eternal throne—between a guide and a seducer?”

“I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said the suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you more misery if you listen to it.”

“Not at all—it bears the most gracious message in the world: for the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don’t make yourself uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!”

He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being.

“Now,” he continued, again addressing me, “I have received the pilgrim—a disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine.”

“To speak truth, sir, I don’t understand you at all: I cannot keep up the conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one thing, I know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and that you regretted your own imperfection;—one thing I can comprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with pleasure.”

“Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am paving hell with energy.”

“Sir?”

“I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they have been.”

“And better?”

“And better—so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem to doubt me; I don’t doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes and Persians, that both are right.”

“They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them.”

“They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute: unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules.”

“That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it is liable to abuse.”

“Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to abuse it.”

“You are human and fallible.”

“I am: so are you—what then?”

“The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine and perfect alone can be safely intrusted.”

“What power?”

“That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,—‘Let it be right.’”

“‘Let it be right’—the very words: you have pronounced them.”

“May it be right then,” I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.

“Where are you going?”

“To put Adèle to bed: it is past her bedtime.”

“You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx.”

“Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am certainly not afraid.”

“You are afraid—your self-love dreads a blunder.”

“In that sense I do feel apprehensive—I have no wish to talk nonsense.”

“If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don’t trouble yourself to answer—I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother—or father, or master, or what you will—to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?”

“It has struck nine, sir.”

[krysta-cross]

I made a story for mage Rain to practice my writing, I mindlessly typed everything that came up and here it is. Feel free to read and tell me what you think ^^

Don’t Rain on my parade

You’re new to the Outworld Exclusive Academy of Sorcery alongside a few chosen students waiting for the head mage to give you all a warm welcome and help you settle in.

You really didn’t think you will be picked out when you submitted your application, knowing how this esteemed head mage is very strict and doesn’t take students with low average or less promising and is known for being brutal with his tests.

You view yourself as an average neophyte, studying by the books and trying it out. Sometimes you succeed but many times you fail as it requires extreme focus and concentration which you find hard to do because the place you live in is noisy and always bustling so you decide to take your chance and send your letter in, praying to the gods to grant you this once in a lifetime chance to practice magic on a proper school, away from the distractions and now, you still can’t wrap your head around the fact that you are standing here, waiting for the welcome and orientation from the head mage and his colleagues.

“Breath in, breath out. Compose yourself. You don’t want them to think you are a weakling by trembling on your first day!” you silently murmured to yourself, trying to calm your nerves as you wait.

“The head mage is here!” you heard your fellow starters say as a man wearing a hooded clothing in purple and yellow with golden linings walked in. Your gaze fixed on him and you immediately noticed that he has a perfect physique and strong commanding presence as he eyes all of you that are standing there, seemingly gauging you and your abilities already which made your building nervousness rise up again and you felt suffocated as his eyes met yours and the seconds that you are eye to eye felt like the longest 10 seconds of your life. While his presence is enough to send shivers, you find yourself admiring his looks. His tanned skin and bulky strong arms sticking out from his sleeveless clothing, your mind wanders how does it feel being held by them. His face half-hidden by his mask is also a sight of delight. His dark eyes and nose bridge are so sexy you wish you can pull that hood down and get rid of his mask so you can fully appreciate his godly features. When his gaze went back to you, you fail to notice as your mind is busy appreciating his appearance and wanders on your fantasies which are abruptly cut off as he speak.

“We have a few new fledglings here I see, I officially welcome you to the Outworld Academy of Magic. I expect more from you from here on out! If you have doubts or think you can’t fulfill the qualifications we have set, you are free to walk out now!” the head mage announced while his eyes roam around you, who stands in front of him. You look at your fellow newbies and see that some of them can’t look at the head mage straight and some of them looks nervous, you feel it too but you took a deep breath to lessen the lump like weight obstructing your airways.

He broke the defeaning silence since he arrived “Very well, I see everyone here are confident of themselves and their abilities so let’s put it to a test!” he said and waved his staff around, there’s a water vortex that appeared and he looked at us “Try to hit me at least once or deflect my attack using your magic, anyone who gets hit directly will have to go into extra training! Just so you know, I never go easy on anyone, not even novices like you as the real world never goes easy on you just because your new and inexperienced.”

The neophytes quickly scatter as they think of strategies on how to attack and defend against the impending attack.

You immediately ran behind a statue nearby while others hid behind trees and pillars.

The head mage started shooting water orbs and you saw it go through the thick body of the tree, hitting the person behind and his cry of pain seared through your ears, cementing the fact that the head mage’s reputation of being strict and not giving any handicap even for newbies were not merely hearsays.

You immediately held on to the statue and enforce your magic on it to harden it and morph some parts like stone daggers hidden so you can attack him. You also took some water from the nearby fountain and made little orbs that you controlled to crawl on the grass, masking their existence.

You closely watch your fellow mages fight against this ruthless man as he takes them down one by one, you can tell even under that mask that there’s a sly smirk painted on his face as his target falls.

You swallowed a bit of your saliva as you see him nearing your hiding spot, after he brought down the nearest student nearby where you are, you were surprised how fast he has appeared in front of you, too close that his face is merely inches away from you. You got so startled that you tumbled down as he crushed the statue you enforced as your defenses with his water. As you felt the ache on your lower back from the fall, you remained focused on him because you knew taking your eyes off of him will surely be fatal. Your sharp gazes are nailed on your opponent that is now standing in front of you, his shadow blocking the sunlight like an eclipse on broad daylight.

“I like the way you stare at me like you’re out to get me. Show me what you’ve got!” he taunts as he waves his wand and tries to hit you with his water magic but you managed to pull your weight and dodge it a few seconds before it hit, leaving a little crater on the grassy ground where you were before.

“Shit! I almost got knocked out from that!” you muttered to yourself as you twist your waist and controlled the stone daggers to hit the head mage. He just trapped all 5 of them on a water wall and crushed them like biscuits in seconds.

You tried to stand up but the pain on your lower back due to the fall made you wince and put your weight down, kneeling using one of your legs and had the other bended up as you force yourself up. Your hand touched your throbbing back and felt blood trickling down from your back to your legs. You realized that you got injured when the statue was crushed and the pieces went flying around, you have fallen on one of the sharp pieces but is too busy to notice because you can’t let your focus go away from him.

“Just my luck!” you told yourself and as you raise your head up, you see him towering close to you with the same familiar smirk he flashed as he brought others down earlier. “Is that all you’ve got? If that’s it then I am utterly disappointed!” his words hit you like knives, you bit your lower lip to stop the tears from falling like raindrops, knowing that your defeat is close but your fighting spirit refuses to go down without a fight so you used all your remaining mana and waved your fingers using your blood stained hand behind your back to order the water hiding on the grass to shoot like bullets as your last attack in hopes one of it should be able to land the target.

The head mage was surprised with your attack but managed to block all of the water bullets going his way. As he is busy with it, you used the last of your energy to form 5 blood bullets from your own trickling blood and send them his way, he saw them and blocked but one of the bullets managed to slip in and hit him on his cheek but due to weak force, it looks like it was just splattered on his face. You smiled as your vision becomes slowly blurred due to exhaustion and blood loss but you knew you won. The electrifying feeling of success ran all over your body, sending tickles from your chest down to your foot soles.

You saw him wipe of that blood of his cheek using his palm and letting out a laugh as he approaches where you are slumped, with your hands supporting your body not to fall back.

“I didn’t expect that at all but you’ve done a very good job, I will now personally train you so better be ready. By the way, you can call me Rain. Can you give me your name, you sly little vixen?” your energy is slowly escaping your body but you still managed to hear everything he said. “My name is Y/N, I’ll be in your care then, master Rain…” you answered weakly and passed out, reaching the limits of your already exhausted body.

Rain immediately caught you before you hit the ground, you’re unconscious to even see the look in his face as he saw your blood dripping down from your open wound and painting the grass as he lifted you up. He used his water magic to block your wound and temporarily stop you from bleeding out, the rapid draining of color from your face worried him “Y/N, nice name. It fits you and your looks. I like that, looking forward to what you can do and show me.” Rain said as he walks out, carrying you to his quarters to treat your wounds.

[meowcats734]

[Soulmage] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord.

"The Academy must be getting desperate if you're the best tutor they could find," my new student said.

I didn't disagree, but that didn't mean the man had to be a jerk about it. "The Academy's a little shorthanded thanks to that rampaging demon from a few weeks back," I said. "Both because everyone's suddenly very interested in learning self-defense magic, and because a decent chunk of the people who were good at self-defense magic died."

"Weren't good enough, then," the grumpy, ancient man said.

"I take it your emotional attunement is being a dick, then?" I deadpanned. I was half-certain that I'd been assigned the ornery old man just because my teacher wanted to spite me.

"What did you say?" he asked.

I blinked. "Emotional attunement. The emotion that you use to power your magic. This is first-year stuff. How can you—"

"Not that, you idiot. I've sneezed out more knowledge of magic than you've learned in your life. How did you just address me?"

"I... didn't?" I asked.

He scoffed. "Young people these days. When speaking to your senior, address him by his full title."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright. Fine. Grandmaster Water Magic Lord, I take it your emotional attunement is being a dick?"

He scowled. "My full title is Grandmaster Water Magic Lord Sage Unmatched Crusader Knight."

"Fine. GWMLSUCK, you're a dick."

GWMLSUCK bristled. "Your disrespect—"

"—is a part of the teaching process," I interrupted. "Look, I'm no master fire mage, but I know basic magical theory. Each emotion corresponds to a specific school of magic. Happiness for light, sorrow for cold, passion for heat." Self-hatred to make yourself feel small, too, although I felt no particular need to share my own brand of magic with someone who went by GWMLSUCK.

"And you think disrespecting me will make me more passionate about your imbecilic lessons?" the GWMLSUCK said.

"I think that it'll make you angry," I countered, "and that anger is a type of passion."

The GWMLSUCK fell quiet. "Using anger to fuel spells is in the domain of fell magic," he finally said.

"Yeah, well, a bunch of fell mages just kicked our collective butts." I shrugged. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, GWMLSUCK."

"Stop calling me that," he snapped. "It makes me so... so..."

"Yes?" I asked, patiently waiting.

He paused, then shook his head.

"You're right. You're an arrogant little pebble, and you make me want to blow my top off. But nothing's happening. I don't have the faintest attunement to anger, no matter how hard I try."

That was what I'd been worried about. You could have all the emotions in the world, but unless you had the right attunement, you couldn't convert them into magic—and I hadn't the foggiest idea where attunements came from. It was classified knowledge, kept only to the highest-ranked witches, and there was no way anyone would tell a neophyte spellcaster like me how to—

"There are four things you need to create an emotional attunement," the GWMLSUCK began.

I blinked in surprise, but the GWMLSUCK wasn't paying attention to me. "You need to feel the emotion yourself. You need to lose the emotion yourself. You need to cause the emotion in others. And you need to take that emotion from others."

A chill ran down my spine.

"I've felt anger in my life," he said, "and I've certainly angered others. So for me to lack that attunement... it means that either I've been perpetually angry my entire life, or there's never been a time when I've helped someone else calm down." For a moment, the old man looked terribly lost and terribly vulnerable. "And I don't want either of those to be true."

I was hardly listening to the old man's words.

Because I was a witch who used self-hatred.

For me to have an emotional attunement, it meant that I had to have caused that emotion in someone else.

My head swam. Who could it have been? Who had I hurt inadvertently so badly that it made them turn their anger inwards on themself? Who...

"I don't know why I expected a youth like you to help," the old man said. He stood. "This lesson is over. I will be contacting the Academy for a replacement immediately."

"That... may be for the best. For both of us," I muttered, dazed.

And then I realized who it was. Who was responsible for the magic I held.

And I knew how to make amends.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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[just-some-random-blogger]

I've seen Motionless live many times, and I definitely love their vibe. They really put on a show. You would NOT be disappointed at all. I promise you. Heres some song recs if you're interested.

Motionless song recs:

"</c0de>", "Rats", "Eternally Yours" (watch the mv for this, you will not be disappointed), "Headache" , "Sign of Life" , and "Cause of Death". There's so many more, but those a great place to start. I love Chris Motionless. I have a funny story about one Warped Tour which was my first one with my sister and omfg. If you wanna hear it let me know. It's so funny to me now lmfao.

I love Amity but I know they're not for everyone. I know the lead singer, we talked a few times. 🤭But, listen to their song "I Bring The Weather With Me" and "Drag the Lake" . Those are two of my favorites of all time.

BESTIE I LOVE THOSE SHIRTS!!!!! OH MY GOD! I will never NOT be astounded by the shit people can make. I'm so not creative. My sister is a fucking Martha Stewart ass bitch who can make anything. It's so crazy to me the things people can create 😭😭😭 THE GUCCI ONE! YASSSSS GAGA!!!!!! ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

wait ARE YOU EXTROVERTED TOO?!!?! SHUT UP I am always so afraid that I'm "too much" too soon and i'm like GOD I HAVE DONE IT AGAIN. 😭😭😭😭😭 LIKE NOW, I'M LIKE OMFG THIS IS TOO MUCH SHUT UP BITCH. lmfaoooooooooo

dang you really pr-ed motionless in white to me AHAHA ok anyway have a love letter <3

: i like it lyrically, reminds me of in the end by black veil brides because of the melodic progression in the chorus, i like the feel alone part by 3:17 and the lets get this fire started by 3:27. i like the end part too.

Rats: the beginning synths sounds like something i'd do on my digital audio workstation where i make music lol. i like this more than the first one because there are more musical elements. i also like the ending of this one

Eternally Yours: from the intro i immediately i knew i was gonna like this one. the chorus is so emo HAHHAHHHAH love that for them AHHAAHAH. ok i forgot to watch the mv imm a watch it now. immediate thought their drummer is hot T_T RIP at this point i have no idea if i actually find drummers attractive if theyre attractive or if they're drummers (i have a thing for drummers) T_T 3:05 🧍‍♀️ is that the lead guy in the bun??? that must be why his bob is so thin thought he wa going bald T_T HAHA. so they just boutta get freaky in a casket. //: ok. if he doesnt want me in my casket then i dont want him. random addition: i pressed another vid after, angel eyes by new years day ITS COOL AND HOT TOO LOL

Headache: i like this one too because of the .... chromatic scale (it goes up half a note). wAIT I REALLY LIKE THIS. i like this the most i think

Sign of Life: this one is good. ngl the emo pronunciation T_T had i not seen the lyrics i would have sorely misunderstood

Cause of Death: interesting beginning. WE LOVE HALFTIME. i love all the parts that was got faster. also the cinematic part with the violin slay. i like the lyrics too!! i think i like this album too

I Bring The Weather With Me cHURCH BELLS AND RAIN WE LOVE FOLEY omg the intro is that an organ>??? slay i love the scream with the background vocals. i like THIS SONG TOO!!! i like the final ill sleep with the stars then silence. THEN TH ENDING WITH THE BELLLS SLAAAYY

Drag the Lake: i like this one too but in like a .... its a rock song kind of way AHHAHAHAHAH lsafhl'ashfasf i like the part were its soft with piano and atmosphere then it get heavier.

im glad you like my shirts!!!! im really excited to make the other ones. my mom likes them too, which is a great indication cos my mom has high standards and doesnt like a lot of things that i do because it's neophyte or basic. i was surprised that she really liked the gucci one and said she would pay for it cos she doesnt like adam driver 💀💀💀 the slander this man has gotten from my mother T_T she said she didnt like the font of the daemon one and i was like ok and? HAHAH LOL.

im not sure why you used martha stewart as an example, is it because martha's a cook and your sister cooks too, or that martha is an all around entrepreneur and so is your sis, but either way, slay for your sister.

i dont think im extraverted T_T im more of an extraverted introvert, or a learned/forced extrovert. i used to be really quiet but then i would be alone T_T and i dont like being alone, so i kind of forced myself to be more outgoing. also, idk, i think about my place in the world like... nothing really matters so i just do what i want LOL and i mention this because i talked to someone on the train just cuz. thats more on impulse than extraversion methinks.

xxx

[enternights]

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.　clementine's trailer, afternoon. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵.　clementine rhodes. @outc4sts

〔　🦇　〕　　...　　𝗶𝗳  𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀  𝗼𝗻𝗲  𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝘁𝗼  𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲  𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁  𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗹𝗮,  it's  that  she's  always  on  the  hunt  for  answers.  the  world  is  so  vast,  with  so  many  things  undiscovered  and  untouched  by  the  human  mind.  ange,a  has  spent  restless  nights  wondering  why  and  how  things  happen  and  if  they  mean  anything.  the  last  few  months  have  only  ever  been  questions,  left  unanswered  despite  angela's  constant  pursuit  of  them.  with  all  other  options  exhausted,  there's  really  only  one  way  to  figure  out  if  her  hunches  are  correct  —  by  getting  a  tarot  reading.  she  leans  back  on  the  floor  against  the  couch,  body  curled  and  knees  pulled  to  her  chest.  her  dirty  matcha  sits  on  the  coffee  table,  watered  down  and  still  half-full  from  when  she  bought  it  at  early  rise  that  morning.  beside  it,  a  celtic  cross  spread  lays  before  her.  a  glint  of  concern  taints  her  gaze.  though  her  own  skills  are  that  of  a  neophyte's  at  best,  she's  learned  enough  to  know  when  someting  isn't  too  good  —  that,  and  she  can  clearly  tell  by  the  look  on  clementine's  face.  she  sits  up,  letting  her  uneven  bangs  fall  over  her  face,  the  corner  of  her  lips  tugging  downwards  as  she  takes  in  the  cards.  “  are  you  sure?  ”  she  asks,  as  she  often  does  when  things  don't  go  her  way.  “  did  you  shuffle  it  right?  ”

[coca-alshey]

Ash's RyoTaku draft fic

Post IniD series but way too Pre-MFG

Title: Still Unknown

Time and initial settung: Morning at the Takahashi Residence. Saturday Morning

It's been a month and a half since Project D disbanded. The air changed alot. It was like yesterday it was so tiring yet joyful. The exchange of roars between his brother's FD3S and his Takumi's 86 was now nothung but a piece of Memory. It hurts more that he is now all home alone. Having no choice but to obey his parents' wishes to become a doctor. Not even Keisuke is there to cheer him up on the harsh medical academe life. He is now a neophyte professional racer now along with Takumi.

As he paused fiddling his homework on his laptop, he grabbed his phone and looked at the contacts. The entirety of Project D crew is still there. They are still one call away but he knows that its not the right time for him to drop even a single hello to them as well as he might potentially distract them on their busy days. But again, they are now nothing but a bunch of ghost contacts now. Nothing but a full storage fodder but he doesnt like deleting it to move on as they hold a special place to his heart like Kaori does.

He leaned it as puts his chin on his right fist. A bead of tear running to his eyes as the pain of time and nostalgia is getting the best of him.

[moodymisty]

here you go I had to I didn't go into detail but i'm sure that would be even funnier

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

The Armour of Fate’s boots slam against the metal of the ship, as the primarch rushes down the halls as fast as he’s able. He makes a sharp turn and nearly barrels down a batch of neophytes in his path, of which they grow wide eyed at the sight of their primarch. It was quite possibly their first seeing of him, though he couldn't care less at the moment.

Finally he reaches the room, and forces it open.

His eyes scan the room in milliseconds and he sees, laying in the massive bed at the back of the room is you. Alive. The breath of relief Guilliman lets out at the sight is audible to near everyone in the room. Multiple human medicae are hovering around nearby, having just arrived to check you and your child over.

After having given birth while the ship was being boarded by Death Guard, the chance for complications was more than vast. Far beyond just the expected complications of your child being half primarch. But you’re alive; You hold your baby in your arms as you lean back against a mountain of pillows.

A few of his men are in here- the ones that had been with you at the time. Uriel is kneeling at your bedside waggling an armored finger in front of your babies face, as if checking for pupil response.

It's endearing; Seeing a space marine so separated from a majority of the norms of human life attempting to reconnect. He's sure Thiel would do something similar, if the man was here today.

"I'm sorry you missed it Roboute,"

You speak up, your voice hoarse and catching his attention. Guilliman comes closer and Uriel quickly backs off, giving his primarch the space closest to you.

"I am just happy that you both are ok."

Guilliman takes a knee at your bedside. He hates the way he feels gargantuan next to the both of you in his armour, but he had come here in so much haste he had forgone getting it taken off.

Leaning forward, he kisses your forehead before looking down to your child; His child.

Do all fathers have this odd feeling in their chest upon seeing their baby for the first time? He once again wished his father was here to ask. He wished both of them were here. He would do anything just to be able to show them once how far he's come.

"Are you sure you don't want some privacy?" Guilliman asks to you quietly. There's multiple medicae and astartes in here, it seems so crowded. You just shake your head.

"It's fine, they can leave all leave whenever they want. I'm sure Uriel may want to leave to go process his trauma, though." The marine smiles at you from his spot a few feet behind his primarch.

"You wound me by thinking I'm so easily broken, my lady." Guilliman looks between the both of you, and you provide context.

"He's the one that helped me. The others continued doing what they knew how to do." A polite way to say they stood jaws agape and had no idea on how to help, other than making sure no Death Guard made their way past them.

Of course it was Uriel- Guilliman laughs.

His ever flexible captain is unafraid to bend the rules a bit, and learn on the fly. Perhaps he'll never outright thank him for helping you- he's afraid the conversation would be far too awkward for either of them to recover- but he hopes the astartes knows that you two are both safe thanks to him and his squad; An action he'll never be more thankful for.

"I think it a bit of a stretch to say help, I was largely there for her to hold on to and scream at." Uriel adjusts his jaw after talking. Guilliman wants to put his head in his hands.

Why can not even the birth of his child go somewhat normally?

"You're exaggerating, Uriel, I didn't scream at you." Uriel raises his eyebrows with a stoic expression, and Guilliman merely stands in the middle of this conversation.

"I very clearly remember you saying my name alongside no shortage of curses in high and low gothic. I know Captain Sicarius and Chapter Master Calgar imply otherwise, but we space marines do have feelings."

You wheeze before suddenly starting to shake in silent laughter, occasionally groaning in pain inbetween. Uriel shines with no shortage of pride at having made his legion mother laugh.

"Lady Gulliman, you shouldn't stain yourself," A medicae points out. You nod and raise your hand at them.

"Ok ok, I'll stop." You take a few deep breaths and calm down, child still sleeping in your arms. You look at Guilliman and gesture to your child.

"Do you want to hold her?" Guilliman noticeably hesitates.

"I, I want to yes. But let me go and remove my armour first." His gargantuan frame isn't mean to hold a child. You nod, and watch as he stands to leave.

Within moments the marines are slowly moving closer, taking the spot he left. They all are casual, but still clearly alert.

He's glad you're safe.

When the Legion Mother is going into labour, who'll help her?

It's between an Apothecary or a group of midwives. And I think I'll go with the latter. Apothecary specifically are made to treat Astarte physiology. I don't think they'll even know what to do in the moment they'll get a new brother 😭😭

Fun fact, in Eye of Ezekiel a group of dark angels are actually forced to help a civilian woman give birth. Well not forced but you get what I mean. She unfortunately doesn’t make it but the baby does.

I think think the potential for a fic where poor Lady Guilliman or lady Sanguinus goes into labor while only in the presence of her retinue would be fucking hilarious.

Like they have zero idea what to do, there’s no midwife around for even emotional support, and like, this is your genefather’s wife and child, you cannot fuck this up. Hilarious.

[ganymedesclock]

Was just listening to MCR's The Foundations Of Decay and hit that part where the singer goes "let the flesh submit itself to gravity," and the stress that he puts on the latter half of the sentence turns it into kind of a scream,

and I'm thinking about the nature of art as a thing concerned with surfaces and in some ways deeply with beauty as an exercise of communication, and in the face of this, what it means to tear back the facade over the infrastructure, lay the girders bare, to force the medium to strain and creak under the force of what is being expressed.

We think about a truth too much to bear as a thing reserved for gods and terrible gods at that, but I think that there are countless things in casual human conversation every day that are some degree of unbearable, and we wrap our stubborn tongues and teeth around them anyway, if we do not ourselves originate them.

And I mean. I was exactly that kind of kid that listened to MCR, Linkin Park, Evanescence, in middle school. It may have seemed very funny from the outside, as a person who grew up in a context with no shortage of sweet words. The notion of 'teen rebellion' vaguely occurred to me but I couldn't imagine what I possibly would fight against (my imagination was limited)

Even then, to my neophyte mind, it seemed that there was something about the nature of raw emotion. Some things, that are never meant to be said sweetly. Some things that can only be howled.

Humanity does not merely have the ability to scream but we need it to survive. The sublime is not outside us; it moves through our bodies as medium. A singer grips their voice until it cracks, and lightning flashes between their teeth. The sound hits the audience like the crack of thunder when elements pass the tipping point, heat and moisture, and they become rain.

We can admire these things externally but art proves they live inside of us just as well. We are the vessels of emotions that cannot be described or summarized.

[baekhansol]

Requiem chapter 1: Acid

𝐦���𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : supernatural/thriller/action/fantasy

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 : mature

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : werewolf!skz x f/nb!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 7.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : graphic descriptions of violence, gore, and injuries

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭 : you try to become an apostle for The Accord.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @tvrbulence-blog (?) @crazyoverghosts @chan-s-laptop @daniblogs164 (lmk if you want to be added!)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : this can also be found on ao3 here, where the glossary and bestiary will be kept the most up to date. I would like to thank @dreamystuffers for beta reading this! I thrive off of feedback, so please take the time to reblog with a comment or send in an ask. If you can, consider donating to my ko-fi (or dm for paypal/venmo) so I can buy my textbooks for grad school!

Stepping out of your car, you glance up at the soon to set sun. You shut your door with a resounding thud, shoving your keys in your pocket as you pop the trunk. When you open one of your bags, you grab your wooden stakes and put one in your pocket, the other strapped to your thigh, and you hold a third. Reaching down, your fingertips brush the hunting knife strapped to your thigh, so you merely grab a flashlight to hold in your free hand. After you zip your bag up, shutting the trunk and head out towards the nest.

You head to the path in the woods, a soft voice stopping you. “I’ll show you the way, Y/N, but don’t expect me to show you back. The wolf beasts live out here,” they say, and you find the source of the voice within seconds- a werecat. Werecats were larger than your ordinary house cats, perhaps on the larger side of a maine coon. “Now don’t die in there, because I’m not coming to save you,” she informs you.

“Thank you for leading me, Suni. And no, I don’t expect you to do anything, this is more than enough,” you explain, following the large tabby cat into the woods.

“I’m not getting too close, it smells worse now,” Suni explains, soon breaking off of the main path down a deer trail. “I will get you close enough so that you can see it though,” she assurres with a slight purr.

“I appreciate it,” you say, careful not to trip.

“I haven’t met a neophyte in ages, so I was curious. You have indulged me in my curiosities, so I am merely returning the favor, darling,” Suni says, bringing you to the end of the forest. She sits and glances at the house, raising a paw. “We are here now. Be sure to give your maestro my regards. It’s still Minji, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is Minji,” you respond, nodding.

“Well, send her my regards. Now off you go! I look forward to you completing your mandatum. Now, I must be well out of here before dark, so I shall take my leave now” Suni says, scampering off.

You take out the vial from in your belt, taking the liquid like a shot. You tried not to think about how the burning, acidic taste always made you cough, and instead shiver as it begins to immediately take effect. After blinking a few times, your eyes were perfectly adapted to the night.

As you scan the run down house, it looks uninhabited, as expected. You slowly approach, your eyes scanning the windows for movement. Ideally, the setting sun was keeping them locked inside, in a dark room. As you neared and circle the building, scanning for the most used entrance, for more signs of life, and anything else worthy of note.

A loud howl sounds in the distance, and you hope Suni made it out of the woods.

The back door was definitely unlocked, and you figured that would be the easiest way in. As you carefully tip toe onto the porch, the fetid stench filled your nose. You knew it shouldn’t smell so terribly from vampires, so you tighten your grip on the stake. The door opens without a creak, leading you into a dirty, run down kitchen. You peek into the fridge, half expecting to find a body, and finding nothing.

You sneak through the dining and living areas downstairs, once again, not finding anyone. You hold back a frustrated growl as you head upstairs, doing your best not to let it creak. You go through the closest door, only to have it slammed shut behind you.

The room was completely empty, albeit decrepit. Empty until you turn around, raising the stake, only to drop it in surprise as you back into the wall. The large humanoid beasts were undead, but that was where the resemblance of these beats to vampires stopped.

The unfortunate truth was that the hulking gray beast was no new creature to you, and was instead the bane of your existence.

You froze, the yellowing eyes of the beasts holding you captive. No matter how long it has been, the memory was always just as vivid.

Your friend's parents were dropping you off late, as you went over to their house after school. You couldn't stay the night because you were supposed to go on a weekend trip in the morning. So when you came home and the door was unlocked, you knew something was wrong before you even opened it.

You let yourself in and immediately see your parents arguing at the top of the stairs. Your dad had an unusual empty look in his eyes and drool dripping down his chin. His eyes were glowing an eerie yellow, and his skin looked grayed. You could have sworn his nails were more claw-like and he was trying to bite your mother. You were vaguely aware that it could be in a kinky sense, but this looked like raw hunger.

You could feel it in your chest that this was not natural, and this was not really your dad.

You were the perfect distraction, and your mom managed to get your not-dad-dad off of her, only for him to crash down the stairs. He hit his head hard against the small table there, and the mirror above it fell and shattered onto his skull.

The glass had shattered, partially through the nose and face. Blood seeped out of the injuries, but instead of the crimson red that you were expecting, but a deep, royal purple.

"Momma-?" You call, your voice rising in panic.

Her face drained of all color as she looked down at you, her eyes devoid of emotion. She was a changed woman, just as you were a changed child.

As your not-dad-dad's body stopped twitching, it shifted to its true form. It was a monster, and not your dad. The same type of monster that was standing in front of you, but this time, as a pair.

Another, closer loud howl brought you out of the memory, just as both beasts lunged at you.

You stumble backwards, prying at the window frame. You manage to pull off part of the paneling just as one lunged for you. The inertia from pulling the paneling free made it easy to swing into the ghoul. You smack it in the shoulder and immediately notice the nails sticking out of the panel.

You twist your wrists, aiming the nail at the creature’s temple. Before you can tell if that land hits, you kick the beast in the stomach, doing your best to dive past the second ghoul. It manages to grab onto your wrist, but you catch the door and manage to yank it between your bodies, snapping the door on its arm with a resounding crack of breaking bones.

It’s claws dig into your wrist as it gives up its hold, and you knew immediately that you had between five and thirty minutes before its paralysis effect would begin. You turn, not wanting to waste any time and turn to race down the stairs, finding yourself face to chest with a different ghoul.

“Tttttthhhhhherrrre yyyyou arrrre,” the ghoul hisses, making you immediately realize that this was not a ghoul, but a ghast. The long tongue now trying to lick your face was one of the giveaways, as was the fact that it was intelligent enough to speak.

If I can trick it and get away, perhaps the wolf beasts… Well, Suni said they were benevolent but she never wanted to risk being chased on instinct.

You pull away, but the ghast steps forward and reaches for you, its claws digging into your shoulder and audibly snapping your clavicle, the sound ringing in your ears. This paralysis would take effect within seconds.

“Yyyyyou arrrrrrrn’ttttttttttttttt getttttttttttttttttingg awayyyyy,” it hisses, pulling you in. The venom on its long tongue drips down your shirt where it immediately disintegrates the fibers, causing a slight stinging sensation on your chest.

You try to take a deep breath, but it ends as more of a shudder than anything, and you use your flashlight that you kept a hold of to smash the ghast’s jaw with what little strength was remaining in your arms.

I need to remember to thank The Academy for giving me this industrial level flashlight, you think to yourself, knowing that the wrist part was the only reason you were still holding it.

Your legs were feeling numb, but you do your best to knee the ghast, only to have it laugh in your face, more of its venom dripping down your front.

It’s putrid scent fills your nostrils as you attempt another deep breath, wanting to give out a warning howl, only to choke up as the contents of your stomach threaten to erupt onto the beast before you.

Nausea takes over and you wonder if either of the paralysis has the side effect of hallucination, or if perhaps the wolf beasts really were benevolent and were attacking the nest.

You watch as a big brown wolf clamps its jaws around the shoulder of the ghast, pulling it back- and unfortunately, you with it. Within seconds, a larger, silvery gray wolf was pulling the ghast’s arm that was holding yours, managing to sever the limb straight from the ghast. The purple blood stains its fur as its amber eyes bore into yours. The brown wolf pulls the ghast away from you, putting his body in front of yours.

The silver wolf tilts its head, giving you a slight tail wag before barreling into the next room. You begin to fall into the brown wolf, only to hear a sudden thud. A strong arm helps you stand up, and you manage to take in the bulky man guardedly holding you up. His eyes swipe down your figure, handing his axe to the brown wolf, who begrudgingly takes it in the mouth.

The man smiles and picks you up, your nerves beginning to burn from the next stage of paralysis. He sees the panic in your eyes, so he quickly brings you downstairs and out the front door.

“YAH! Seungmin!” he shouts, the knot in your chest beginning to tight as your anxiety and fear overwhelms you.

A man, presumably Seungmin, pulls a bottle out of a bag and opens your mouth before you could attempt to protest. The liquid goes straight down, your gag reflex not even working. Your nerves slowly cooled to a slight tingle, and your muscles began to twitch.

“You’ll be okay now. Don’t fight the sleep, it will help you heal. I’ll be here for you,” Seungmin says, looking into your eyes. You wondered if he was trying to check for a brain injury.

You manage to get a deep breath of fresh air as they lead you into the forest, and soon the brown wolf from earlier returns. He shifts before your eyes, making his injuries more noticeable. You gasp, trying to form words to apologize, but he merely offers you a sentimental smile, taking your hand and kissing it before guiding your injured arm to rest on your stomach.

His shift back into a human form was a dead giveaway to their identity-werewolves.

The knot of anxiety fully dissipated, as werewolves were benevolent creatures, protected by The Accord if registered. You were taught never to trust strangers, especially ones who weren’t Unknowing humans. For some reason, you couldn’t help but drift off in this strange werewolf’s arms.

***

Your eyes flutter ever so slightly as you stir, the insistent beeping of a heart monitor paired with the hum of the oxygen an unwelcome irritant to your groggy state. You’re in a hospital room, but not a hospital. It was nicer, homier. Your vision was unclear and you couldn’t quite focus. You shift ever so slightly, letting out a hiss of pain.

“You’re alright,” someone soothes, and you manage to recognize the voice of the person who carried you out of the nest. You don’t have the chance to focus on what he looks like before you’re gone into the void again.

The next time you regain semi-consciousness, the person you believe to be Seungmin is redoing your bandages. One hand was helping you sit up as the other carefully cuts the bandages off, sliding underneath them and up your back. They fall onto the bed and you feel him do the same with your wrist.

You do your best to open your eyes more and assess the damage done, but your bare top half insists on you shivering, but you are too stiff to move. A soft cloth drips water down your chest, and you manage to see some of the results of the acid. Your skin was blistered and raw, the soft flesh burnt away. The acid had burnt your decollete and between your breasts, the soft valley of the two blistered and red as well. A sob builds up in your chest as tears begin to drip onto the blankets.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’ll be okay. I’ve got you, I promise,” Seungmin softly reassures, continuing to clean your chest and stomach.

You almost can’t tear your eyes away from your chest, but you manage to tilt your neck to the right, wanting to know the results of the ghast clawing into you. At your clavicle were a few stitches from where its thumb had impaled you, and you figured you had more on your back to match. Your brain is too foggy for you to count the stitches, so you allow your eyes to drag down the same arm.

On your forearm was the impression of a bruise from the ghoul's grip on your wrist, but it was marred with a scratch from its clawing. There was no putrid scent or pus from any of your visible injuries much to your relief.

Your eyes close once more as Seungmin continues to clean you off, his touch incredibly gentle and relaxing.

Another person enters the room, a quick "oh, I'm so sorry!" escaping them as they back out.

"You're fine. They're barely conscious and mostly injured. Tell me what it is," Seungmin says.

There's a pause, the sound of opening a package filling the void.

"Jeongin told me you may need help," the voice explains.

"I will."

Your eyes manage to open, and you watch as Seungmin applies an ointment to your burned chest.

"Their sheets need to be changed."

"Ah…"

The ointment soothes the irritation, and you see him covering it in what seems like fish scales. The shiny covering catches your eyes, and a soft giggle manages to escape you.

"This helps with healing and should reduce scarring. The fish skin contains collagen," Seungmin lets you know.

You shut your eyes as he does the same to the injury by your clavicle, on your shoulder, and your forearm. Somewhere before he finishes you drift off once more.

What feels like moments later, you become very aware of someone moving your body. Someone was bending your knee towards your chest, moving your hip joint in its near full range of motion. Your leg gets straightened only for them to rotate your ankle both clockwise and counterclockwise.

You open and close your left hand on your own, earning an encouraging "great job!" from an unknown voice.

You can’t manage to open your eyes, relying solely on your other senses.

“We have to keep your body moving to prevent muscular dystrophy. You’ll still have to work up to your previous muscle mass, it seems like,” the person explains. He continues moving your joints, and you’re relieved to find that they’re not stiff.

“There, that’s all. I’ll be here for a while longer. It's okay if you fall back asleep, it’s expected,” he explains.

Your fingers twitch as you try to reach for his hand, and you’re unsure if he gets the message as you fall back into a deep sleep.

***

Upon waking up once more, you felt completely refreshed. The bed you were laying in was comfortable, and you were propped up on the pillows. As your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows knit in frustration, finding pieces of tape covering your eyelashes. A gentle hand pulls them off, and you make a face at the tug. You look around, immediately noticing that this must be a healing room. It was empty besides a wheeled table next to you, a sturdy table in front of it with a small sink, and chairs next to your bed, one of which was currently occupied.

You take a moment to look at the man, who was grinning like a fool. You note briefly how he is more foxlike than wolf, but know to keep that to yourself. His eyes sparkle in excitement, and he immediately dashes out of the room. All you hear is the soft beeping of your heart monitor, the drip of your IV, and the quick thudding of his footsteps. You know he is saying something; you hear him shouting but can’t make out the words.

You instead choose to focus on your body, attempting to survey your injuries. You knew you must have been given a sponge bath and changed, because there was no dried blood on your skin. You glance down at the IV in your left hand, carefully moving your arm to pull back the blankets. Your fingertips run down the bandage covering your shoulder and circling down your arm to your wrist. You struggle to feel underneath the bandages, and you peer underneath the hospital style gown. The bandages wrap around your chest and front, and there is a large patch on your stomach. As you attempt to sit up, you feel the irritation of the injuries moving and a sharp spike of pain through your arm, so you immediately stop with a loud cry of pain.

You’re soon greeted by the same fox like wolf from before, his eyes narrowed from his wide smile. As he notices your pain his smile immediately drops into a frown.

“I brought you water,” he explains, setting the cold glass next to you. “Let me help you sit up, hold on…” he murmurs, opening a drawer and finding a remote. He takes the abandoned pieces of tape that had fluttered down onto the blankets, and presses a button. The bed slowly bends upward, sitting you up. The wolf gently adjusts your pillows from behind you as he hands you the water.

“You should drink, it’s been a few weeks,” he says, waiting for you to take the cool glass.

Your grip falters at his words, and you bring the glass to your lips. Some of the water drips down your chin, but you wanted to drink on your own. The fox like wolf grabs a napkin and dabs your shirt, wiping your face when you take the glass away from your lips. You try to thank him, but your voice refuses to escape.

“My name is Jeongin, and I’m an apprentice healer. Seungmin is the healer,” he lets you know, taking the glass when you empty it.

You manage a short nod this time, letting him know you understood. Your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion still keeping a tight grip on your healing body. You hear the sound of footsteps once more, and do your best to open your heavy lids. Seungmin enters the room, sitting next to you on the bed.

“Look at the wall,” he directs you before turning on a flashlight and looking at your eyes. “Good, you aren’t concussed. Or if you were, you’re healed from that at least,” Seungmin informs you both, offering you a smile. “We’ve notified your superiors that you’re alive, and they want you to stay here for the meantime. I’m the only one in the nearby area qualified to take care of you, and it’s too risky to transport you anywhere,” he adds, wanting to at least somewhat explain your situation.

You nod slightly, managing a small one.

“This must be a lot, so just let it sink in,” he says, smiling reassuringly. Seungmin turns to Jeongin, and you miss the vexed look on his face. “You should have held the glass and gotten a straw,” he murmurs to him.

“She was able to hold it on her own…” Jeongin offers, and a mix of a scoff and giggle escapes you.

“Are you in pain?” Seungmin gently asks you.

You begin to shake your head, but your shoulder aches. “Maybe a little,” you grumble.

“Jeongin, go grab the green potion from the fridge and heat it up. Do not microwave it, and stop everyone from coming up except for Chan,” Seungmin says, and the younger immediately makes his exit.

“Green potion?” you manage to ask, only now starting to realize how hoarse your voice was.

“Yeah, it’s a healing potion; all of the ones downstairs are. Except this one also helps act as a pain medication. Don’t worry, it’s not habit forming. It’ll soothe your nerves, more or less,” Seungmin explains. “I should change your bandages again. Jeongin has changed them before, and Chan is…”

“The alpha,” you murmur, figuring it only made sense. You were a stranger staying on their territory and had been for what was apparently weeks. “How long have I been out? Has anyone come looking for me?” you ask.

“Don’t worry about it too much. We found your things and contacted people with The Accord. A werecat actually came looking for you. She refused to come onto our territory, not that I blame her. Her name was-”

“Suni?”

“Yes. Suni. Suni said she would contact your maestro and fill out what she can. She gave me some paperwork, and I filled that out the best that I could.”

“They didn’t send anyone, then?”

“The Accord? No. But they want to hear from you as soon as you are able. But I’m not letting you do anything until you’re feeling better,” he explains.

“Really?” you ask, surprised at his subtle sternness.

“Really. Now, I’m going to take off those bandages,” he says, standing up to wash his hands.

You blink, trying to wrap your head around what was happening. He quickly comes back and is pulling down the blanket. You know Seungmin is telling you what he is going to do, but you zone out slightly.

A sudden snap in your face brings you back.

“I will not have you falling back into a coma. You have been out for nearly three weeks,” Seungmin nearly growls, keeping you back grounded.

“Three weeks?” you ask, your face dropping.

“Yes, three weeks. And look at you,” he says, tugging at the bandages to have them fall off where he had cut them.

“This is three weeks of recovery?” you practically groan, staring down at what was left of the initial injury.

You were fearful your chest was starting to keloid where the acid dripped down your chest. The stitches were already removed from your shoulder, and it seemed to be healing pretty well.

“Yes, and for an acid burn it’s going quite well. It looks worse than it is. It’s like a burn, so it may look bad for a while, but as long as you take good care of it it should heal up just fine,” Seungmin explains.

“Should?” you scoff, not even noticing someone come in in your distraught state.

“Well you heal faster than the average human, you know?”

“I know, but that’s little help. My shoulder still aches from where it broke,” you huff with a frown.

“Little help? Any little bit helps, you know,” one of the voices you had heard before says, causing you to immediately try to cover your chest, only to wince in pain.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N, you're fine," the same voice softly assures you as you shyly look up at him. The man was breathtaking. He was clearly intimidating with his broad shoulders and well defined arm muscles. His tank top left little to the imagination in that regard, but you couldn't help but wonder what he looked like beneath.

"I woke up when you were moving my limbs," you realize, putting his face to the voice.

"I did," he responds, smiling.

"Are you-?"

"Chan? Yeah," he says, his smile showing off his dimples.

“You should have let someone else do that,” you immediately begin, shaking your head ever so slightly. “You’re the alpha, you shouldn’t be spending time on a hunter like me-”

“Don’t say that,” he huffed, his eyes flashing red.

“Say what?” you respond, hissing as Seungmin begins to apply an ointment.

“It doesn’t sting,” Seungmin murmurs as the room goes quiet.

“But it’s cold,” you murmur back, glancing at him. He was quite handsome and was more doglike than wolf. You look back at Chan and repeat, “Say what?”

He seemed to be furious over something, but you couldn’t tell what. But before he could say anything, Jeongin peered his head over Chan’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, Channie,” he says, sliding past him and to you, offering you a warm bowl of soup. “It shouldn’t be too hot now, Y/N,” Jeongin lets you know, smiling. “Do you want me to feed it to you? Your dominant hand is the injured one we know,” he says smartly.

“Do you now?” you muse, a smile making its way onto your face and relaxing your features.

“Yes, that arm appeared to be slightly stronger, and you have a callus on your right hand,” Jeongin says, gently poking the bump with a finger.

“Yes, I write with my right, but I’m quite ambidextrous, mind you,” you say with a grin, taking the bowl.

“No, Jeongin, keep the bowl. I need access to their chest,” Seungmin says, shaking his head as he continues to paint the ointment onto your chest. It was rather soothing, now that he continued.

You sigh ever so slightly, but their ears pick it up. You hand Jeongin the bowl, but feed yourself the soup. It tasted like chicken broth, with a hint of herbs that you couldn’t remember the name of. “Does this have the healing potion in it?” you recall what Seungmin directed, looking at Jeongin.

“Yes it does,” he responds with a nod.

“It better,” Seungmin jokes.

You glance up at Chan, who had since gone silent. He had calmed down and was watching Seungmin’s actions with a critical eye.

“I’m the trained healer, hyung,” Seungmin reminds him, barely sparing Chan a glance.

You watch as Chan occupies one of the seats in the room, taking another spoonful of the healing soup before looking back at Jeongin.

“So if he is the healer and he is the alpha, what are you?” You curiously ask, the potion taking some effect.

“The healer’s apprentice,” he responds, smiling eagerly. “You’re an apprentice too, aren’t you?”

“Of sorts, I suppose. I’m not supposed to be, but here I am,” you shaking your head, halfheartedly shrugging with your good shoulder.

“They gave you too difficult of a task,” Chan grumbles, his eyes on your chest. You remind yourself he isn’t being a pervert; he is watching Seungmin finish slathering your wounds in the ointment.

You roll your eyes at Chan’s words, huffing in irritation. “I’m not a frail little girl, you know. I am a fully fledged neophyte who should be an apostle. I would have been fine, but you interfered. Not only are you an unregistered pack- which I am only letting slide, by the way, because Seungmin and Jeongin are healing me- but if it weren’t for your pack here, I would have known what they were properly. But no, wolves and cats can’t get along,” you snicker, your heart level increasing- the insistent beeping of the monitor a dead giveaway.

“How dare you-” Chan growls, standing up as his eyes turn red.

“Chan, do not make me call for the others. I will not have you threaten the safety of my patient,” Seungmin immediately says, standing between you and him.

“Registered with whom?” Jeongin asks, confused.

“The Accord,” you and Chan immediately respond.

“So you knew?” you growl back, fingers twitching as they unconsciously reach for a weapon you did not have.

“Of course I know, but I have to solve one major problem at a time. Besides, my pack is safe with me, so don’t you dare threaten us. I don’t care who you are to me, you have no right to speak in such a way,” he growls.

“Changbin, Minho, Jisung, help us get him out of here,” Seungmin sighs, waiting for them to come in.

They must have come running after Seungmin’s ultimatum, as they immediately pulled Chan out of the room, not giving him enough time to react to their sudden presence. You immediately recognize Changbin as the one who carried you out of the nest. He was broad shouldered and looked a lot tougher than you knew in your gut he probably was. You really wanted to touch his pecks because they looked so firm and soft.

You weren’t sure which was Minho or which was Jisung, but they were both very attractive men. One had a jawline so sharp you figured you could cut yourself on it. The other had soft cheeks you really wanted to pinch. (You blamed the healing potion.) Sometimes you were surprised to find out who was a werewolf because some of them certainly did not look the part.

You can’t help but snicker at Chan, to which Seungmin flicks you (lightly) on the forehead. “Hey, be nice. If you weren’t my patient I would let him go at you,” he grumbles, getting out the clean gauze and covering your chest with a large piece.

“Fine,” you huff, setting down the spoon and holding up your arms for him to wrap your torso.

“Don’t lift this arm that much. Here,” he says, gently pulling your knee up and resting your elbow on it. “Leave that there, and I can wrap it with your other arm up.”

You stare at the now closed door, idly watching Seungmin wrap the bandage around your chest, securing both the gauze and your breasts. “It’s not too tight, is it?” he asks you, his touch gentle. It’s clear that he knows what he is doing, as his touch doesn’t linger and his grip is firm while gentle.

“When will I be able to take a bath?” you softly ask, watching as Seungmin worked to secure the bandage in place.

“Not until your chest is more healed. Your wrist can be kept out of the water, but I worry too much about your chest,” he responds.

Jeongin looks back from staring at the closed door himself, and up to your face. “You’ve still been getting cleaned. Also, Changbin is outside the door waiting,” he says.

“Yes, but it’s not the same as a bath,” you explain.

“I suppose not, but you’re at least getting cleaned,” Jeongin responds with a shrug.

“Changbin, come in and properly introduce yourself,” Seungmin says, his voice increasing in volume.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, smiling as he opens the door. Changbin’s eyes were bright despite their dark hue, a big smile on his face as he sets down folded fabric. “Shirts, for the pretty one!” he sheepishly giggles, holding up a tank top. It was simple, and was something very agender. It was a muscle shirt or athletic shirt, but not super masculine. You could potentially see Changbin wearing it, but it was too bright of a color. The others weren’t anything special, but you realize immediately that he got you them out of convenience.

“I’ll be able to wear them, won’t I,” you realize, your smiling coming back.

“There are a few different styles, but I figured you’d like at least one of them. And, as you can tell, easy access for rebandaging purposes!” Changbin says, holding the same in his hands as Seungmin moves on to your shoulder.

“Is it going to scar?” you ask him, looking up at him.

Seungmin’s lips were pursed in thought as he mixed a different salve in a smaller bowl, and this time he used his gloved fingers to apply it. “I doubt it. You heal very well, for a human,” he says.

“Should I take that as praise?” you say, a soft laugh escaping you. “I’m a mutant, in a way. Not properly human, so it makes sense that I heal better than the average human.”

“I didn’t think that they did that at HUTA,” Seungmin says, his fingers pausing.

“They don’t,” you immediately respond, shaking your head. “That was before. I was old for it, you know,” you sigh, shaking your head a little.

“Someone did what to you now?” Jeongin asks, a bit lost.

“Turned me into a mutant, of sorts. Does that make you uncomfortable?” you ask him, tilting your head ever so slightly as you bore your eyes into the young wolf.

“No.”

You knew it was a lie, your lips curling up.

“Don’t scare the poor kid,” Seungmin laughs, continuing to finish adding the salve to your healing scars.

“I’m sorry Seungmin. But isn’t it at least a little bit funny?” you ask, pouting.

“It is,” Changbin instead supplies.

“It’s not like you’re a mutant in a bad way,” Seungmin responds with a barklike laugh as he applies simple band aids to your shoulder. You hiss softly in pain as he places the one on the front of your shoulder, as it was over the bruise of your broken clavicle. “Sorry,” he soothes.

“How can someone be a mutant in a good way?” Jeongin asks.

“Shirt time?” Changbin suggests, raising and wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shirt time,” Seungmin agrees, taking off his gloves.

Changbin helps your injured arm into it before guiding your uninjured arm and head through it. “Better than a hospital gown?” he asks, smiling hopefully.

Your heart mushes, turning into an ooze or a blobfish out of deep water. You didn’t normally turn so soft so easily.

“Better than a hospital gown,” you agree with a short nod, blushing and looking down at your lap.

“Did I finish the soup?” you wonder, trying to peer into the bowl Jeongin was still holding.

“Just about, yes. Take it and drink the rest please,” he says, taking the spoon and offering you the bowl.

You do your best to raise it to your lips, but Changbin is quick to help you hold the bowl. Your eyes meet his and he smiles. You gulp down the rest of the lukewarm soup. Despite the cool temperature, it still warmed you inside. You knew it was the healing property of it at work.

“Alright, so this one will smell when I take it off, but it will smell because of the ointment,” Seungmin says, taking your arm. “Keep it over this bowl, please,” he adds, setting a large bowl in your lap as he unravels the wrap on your wrist over it.

“Why does the ointment smell?” you ask calmly.

“Ingredients,” he murmurs.

“Which one?”

“Fish.”

“Fish? Why?”

“Collagen,” Seungmin explains with a slight shrug.

“I’ll… take this down and get the fish scales then,” Jeongin says, taking the empty soup bowl.

“Wouldn’t fish scales make it worse?”

“It’s more of a fish skin wrap,” Seungmin explains, now tossing the bandages and revealing silver scales wrapping your wrist. “It’s used almost in place of the gauze, see?” he says, gently peeling off the scales.

It reeks of low tide, and it only gets worse. There was a thin layer of flesh holding the scales together, and underneath the fish was bruised skin and deep claw marks from the ghoul. Five distinct claw marks marred your forearm, giving way to muscle and bone in your arm. You could see where your artery and tendons had been sutured back together, and muscles were stitched together. The skin was stapled together in some places, but was mostly gaping open.

“No skin graft?” you ask, feeling vile rise in your throat.

“No, the fish scales act in its place,” Seungmin explains. He takes some sort of liquid and begins to slowly run it over your arm, and you hiss in pain.

You briefly wish for leather to bite on as the stinging persists, but Changbin takes your good hand.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you want, okay?” he says, smiling.

“What if I break your hand?” you ask, squeezing it anyways as Seungmin pours more over the wound.

“Seungmin can reset it, but it will heal nearly instantly. Don’t worry about me,” Changbin assures you.

“It’s hard to break his bones,” Seungmin mutters, turning your arm some as he pours more liquid.

“Rea-?” You begin, a squeal escaping you as a part of it really stings. “Really?” you say again.

“Really,” Changbin assures you, nodding.

“Seungmin are you almost done?” you ask him, your voice over an octave higher than usual.

“Almost,” he says, nodding.

Jeongin sneaks back in the room with a plate. The fish scales were sealed, and it looked like they just came out of the fridge.

“You haven’t put the ointment together yet?” Jeongin asks, tsking a little at the elder.

“No, it’s a lot to clean and I figured you’d be back faster,” Seungmin huffs, continuing pouring the liquid on your forearm. The stinging slowly ceased as the wound got cleaner.

Jeongin huffs, and you meet eyes with Changbin and grin. Jeongin hurriedly begins measuring ingredients and putting them into a mortar before crushing them with a pestle, creating a pungent but calming smell. The paste turned into a lime green, which he set next to Seungmin as he finished what was the last rinse.

“It’s a lot for me to smell, so I can’t even begin to imagine how bad it is for you,” you murmur, watching Jeongin fill your wounds with the ointment. You gag and nearly vomit at the sensation, immediately knowing that even if the nerves were slightly severed, some places still definitely worked.

“Sorry,” Jeongin mutters, frowning in concentration.

You whine and Changbin squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles to distract you.

Jeongin repeats the process four more times before smothering your bruised skin with the excess. “There,” he says, relieved to be done causing you irritation.

Seungmin took over, opening the seal for the scales and applying the skin onto yours, wrapping the flesh around your forearm. He then wraps it with regular cloth tape like your chest, but adds an additional layer of self adhesive tape from around your palm to nearly your elbow.

“I want this nicely protected in case you decide to get out of bed today,” he explains as he finishes up. “How is it feeling?”

“I kind of want to vomit?” you offer, letting go of Changbin’s hand with a soft squeeze.

“Can you squeeze my finger?” Seungmin asks, placing his forefinger in the palm of your right hand.

You do your best to squeeze his finger, and he encourages you with a “as tight as you can.” Unfortunately, you only get a very loose grasp around his finger.

“That’s okay, you can work on that,” he says.

“It’s good that you can move it at all,” Jeongin says. You aren’t sure how much his words help, considering that you could do nearly nothing with them to begin with, and it hurt like hell.

You glance at Changbin, feeling your emotions plummet. He gives you a reassuring smile, which calms you and helps ground you.

“You really should get out of bed. Why doesn’t Changbin show you around?” Seungmin suggests, beginning to clean up after himself. He takes the bowl off of your lap and collects his mess as he talks. “You really should properly move around, and Changbin can easily carry you back if need be. Plus it gives us the chance to change your sheets easily,” he explains.

“Well, I suppose that is important…” you agree, watching Seungmin.

“I wouldn’t mind at all!” Changbin begins. “I can show you the main pack house and around the territory some, since you’ll be here healing for a bit. And you can meet the others. They all want to meet you!”

“They do?” you ask, tilting your head as you look at him.

“Yes! They do! They have ever since you got here,” he says with a slight giggle. “And don’t worry, you can lean on me while we walk.”

You look away, blushing slightly.

Jeongin, who had since been quiet, spoke up. “Yeah, I can get you clean bottoms! You should probably visit Chan too…”

“He just threatened me last time, so pass,” you huff.

“He probably thought you were threatening him and questioning his authority,” Seungmin softly offered as an explanation.

“I was questioning his decision making,” you say, nodding.

“I’d leave that out if I were you,” Jeongin says with a laugh as he leaves the room.

“It’s idiotic of him not to be registered, it puts all of you in danger,” you explain, shaking your head.

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Changbin says, gently patting your leg.

“Everyone has reasons, but that doesn’t mean they’re good ones,” you point out.

Jeongin comes back before any arguing could continue, holding a pair of sweats and underwear that looked oddly familiar.

“We brought your stuff here so it wouldn’t get towed,” he explained, setting it down.

“Wait… do I not have a bedpan?” you suddenly ask, realizing that you had been in a coma once again.

“Not anymore. We started being able to rouse you enough to get you to use the bathroom,” Seungmin explains.

“That’s really weird,” you point out.

“It worked,” Seungmin shrugs.

“Changbin, why don’t you help her to the bathroom and help her change, unless you can, Jeongin?” Seungmin adds.

“I can do it myself!” you immediately argue.

“I don’t trust you not to fall,” Seungmin says.

“No, he can do it. Bye Y/N!” Jeongin says, making what seemed like his escape.

I laugh softly, pulling the blankets off my legs and swinging them over the side of the bed.

“It’s fine, I can do it Seungmin,” Changbin assures him, picking up your clothes and snaking his arm gently around your waist.

“Ready?” he asks. When you nod, Changbin helps you stand up, his grip steady as he leads you to the bathroom.

Once you’re done, Changbin helps you put on your clean underwear and sweatpants. “I’ll just take you on an easy walk, okay? I bet most people will be in the living room,” he explains, gently guiding you out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

“The healer’s den, so to speak, is just a small building. You can tell now that it used to be a house. The rooms have been converted to bedrooms for the injured. It’s sanitary and easy to access for the pack,” he explains as you pass other empty rooms before the kitchen.

“It was a smart idea. Was it just what was next door?” you ask, curious.

“Yeah, we were pretty lucky,” he admits, leading you outside. “The pack house had to be majorly fixed, but most of it we were able to do ourselves. I think it’s pretty beautiful,” he admits, gesturing to the pack house.

There was a trail between the pack house and the healing den, and even the side of the house was impressive. “Down run mansion?” you guess.

“Yeah, it was. There was an odd amount of that here, but everything is safe. Pack territory always is,” Changbin assures you, leading you around back. There was a large back porch with tables and chairs, as well as a firepit in the lawn. It was absolutely lovely.

“Can you take the stairs easily?” he asks, stopping at the base.

“Yeah, my legs are mostly okay. Weak, but okay,” you admit.

“Alright, we can take it slow then,” Changbin says, smiling as he leads you up.

You hate to admit it, but the stairs were harder than you would have liked or expected. Once you reach the top, Changbin says, “Great job!”

He leads you towards the sliding back door, but before he can get it open for you, someone opens it for you both.

[nixalegos]

what is an action your muse regrets NOT taking?

"I should have been more forceful. I shouldn't have respected their damn privacy, their useless trepidations and simply made the Unwavering Eye when I had originally planned."

"Nearing the end of the Blood War, I had an idea for a device. Fel tomes often burn out the mind. Void ones shift in lies and madness. Holy Tomes are too literal and yet prosey. Arcane Tomes are, well. They're not easy reads. Right? And I thought to myself. All this cosmic bullshit is getting annoying. These are all expressions of the building blocks of the universe. All just magic. And magic is just language, notes of music in a song we need training to hear. How do I abuse one to get context on the other?"

"So I went and thought in a small controlled device, like a jewelers lens, I could layer the cosmic expressions on top of one another."

"I'd made contact with a shady Draenei, who was obviously Auchenai, or possibly Sargerei. The tattoos they had visible were hard to read...due to burn scars. But they assured me, they could do the impossible, and secure a pound of dirt from Nathreza. Now, obviously, we've the hindsight provided by the Shadowlands to throw that into doubt, but at the time, I, and most of the world, was under the impression the world was truly dead and gone thanks to the Illidari. This, I felt, was a substitution for the Arcane."

"Next, I sought the dead. The Scourge remnants weren't easy to find, so you can -really- imagine my surprise when Icecrown was swarming with Cult of the Damned neophytes down the line. But I had the phylactery of a lesser Lich who'd returned to the glass three times. Taken as a prize by rite of conquest. Thrice had they stolen the song of life to the bottle. Thrice seen glimpses of the other side. You're not going to find much more in tune with death then that."

"The Light was going to be difficult, I didn't want some random paladin or priest doing some blessings and calling it a day. All the materials had to be equal. We've seen what happens with cosmically opposed forces rub against each other wrong. And I thought. Church glass. The Cathedral of Light of Stormwind. Now there was glass who'd been brushed by the prayers of hundreds of thousands of believers for years. I only needed a half panel of it. So I sought to contact the best thief I knew at the time...That's when things started to go wrong."

"The Void wasn't the issue, Void was bloody everywhere at the end of the conflict, you couldn't take two steps outside without stumbling over someone using corruptive armor and weapons then. I'd hired an Illidari to hunt a greater void beast who depended on foresight magics, and rip the chitinous face plate it uses for a face back as proof of the deed. I was going to crush the mask to a fine paste, and use the carbon it's built out of to make glass. They killed the damn monster, and then NEVER DELIVERED THE MASK."

"The rogue, ghosted on me. The Illidari threw a hissy fit like a petulant child. The draenei refused to deal until I could confirm I had enough other pieces to show I was in fact a serious player with might behind them, after two weeks past of my prying and poking for -some- sort of resolution, boom. Now my contact with them was dead, all their limbs and throat ripped out. Suspecting a double cross I raised their body, had them guide me to where they'd been actually murdered, and lo and behold. My supplier, now also dead and completely desecrated, their secrets taken with them."

"I still hadn't gotten a line of the Life domain, but after having to deal with a flippant half mad Pandaren Jade conjurer with a drinking problem I said to the nether with it."

"Time passes, The Shadowlands in turmoil, yada yada....And what's this?"

"Zerith Mortis. The clockwork machine behind the engine of death. Proof the universe is of intelligent design, and that metaphysically, supposed to slot against its kin, a massive gear, turning in time with its equals."

"...Maybe my plan wouldn't have worked. Maybe sabotage or backstabbing would have befallen me, and the device would explode, or kill me, or a thousand other problems. But knowing I was right, that my thought about the truth of the universe years before proof was forced into our laps was RIGHT?"

"Who knows what we could have prevented or seen coming had we been able to use the device if it had worked..."

[marigoldbaker]

Omfg Jenny and Giles writer editor au

Hey Rupert, (NOTE: in any business setting, this would be considered an egregiously informal greeting. When writing to your EDITOR, it's most appropriate to begin with "Dear Mr. Giles," "Hello, Mr. Giles," or, "Mr. Giles, I apologize in advance for whatever inane idiocy I am about to waste your time with.")

With regards to your latest comments on my manuscript -- are you even literate? (NOTE: I would recommend refraining from questions that all parties know the answer to, i.e. "are you literate," "are you better at writing than I am," "should I write a novel with an actual plot rather than a meandering and poorly-constructed mediation on technology that seems much too optimistic about a distancing and ultimately very soulless fad," that sort of thing.)

A guy with half a brain would be able to put together what I am trying to do with this book, but you are so fucking (NOTE: While profanity at this point is currently a staple of our own professional communications, I would again recommend formality, if only for the sake of continuing your attempts to masquerade as an attractive female writer rather than a wholly belligerent neophyte with no interest in social niceties) bent on actively ignoring the message I'm trying to convey (NOTE: I am not ignoring it. I think it's banal and overly simplistic. There is a distinct difference and YOU as a writer should KNOW THAT.) that you're just openly antagonizing me at every turn! (NOTE: YOU STARTED IT.)

Anyway, I've put twenty-seven typos in the latest manuscript. Good luck finding them all. (NOTE: I found THIRTY-FOUR.)

Love, your hottest writer.

(NOTE: HIGHLY inappropriate, Ms. Calendar.)

[historitor-bookshelf]

Oh, many, many ideas.

Kinda fitting in with a lot of headcanons shortly after the Lion returns I have.

- First off, she and Zabriel might not have interacted much but I think he still loves her like a little sister and she looks up to him, first because Dark Angel Space Marine serving his Primarch that showed up out of nowhere and later because he is fiercely protective of Camarth

- I don't like Camarth and its people being totally destroyed so I headcanon that some people survived. Maybe the tech priest got some void shields going. Orbital defenses got online enough to fire at Baelor, so voidshields are definitely possible. Anyway, our girl and her soldiers have still intense survivor's guilt because how could you not? Your planet was destroyed and you survived because a primarch whisked you away by accidental warp (?) shenanigans.

- She tried to join the Ark of Omens campaign but the Lion asked her to protect Camarth instead. She agrees, even if she had to be talked to for hours

- For all his mild annoyance at the existence of his honor guard, Lion genuinly likes her - mostly because she is smart enough to get the message that religiously worshipping him is not something he likes (to put it lightly). The more she follows him around she also learns the men he is beyond all religious dogma - and she likes him a lot more for what he is than what she was told who he is

- Totally goes to fistfight a priest on Avalus about it, too

- After the DA meet up with the Lion's Guard again, she is introduced and inducted to the Inner Circle who are not that impressed by someone who is maybe half their size insisting on following the Lion around as his honour guard

- The Risen decide to prank the DA by encouraging shenanigans from her. She may or may not know that this is what they are up to (She does)

- Fiercely protective of any and all aspirants and neophytes. Kinda becomes their mom/big sister replacement even if they are a full head taller than her after a short while

- Views the Watchers with a mix of fear, disgust and fascination - on one hand, Xenos, on the other hand, the Space Marines and especially the Lion are chill with them

I would kill, literally kill for a book focused on M'kia. Will I ever get it? No, but I want it so bad!! Such an interesting character concept in such a fascinating position. One of the rare humans in a primarch's entourage, someone who has been with the Lion from the start, one of the few survivors of her planet who only lived because she led the honor guard her people insisted on giving to Lion. How has that shaped her as a person? What is her relationship with the rest of the Lion Guard? To the Risen? To contemporary Dark Angels? To the Lion himself?

I picture her as a pretty quiet person with a lot going on internally. Perhaps at first she was fiercely protective of the soldiers under her command, trying to preserve what little is left of Camarth. But as time passed, people died and others joined, and that bond faded to a more professional detachment. I doubt she opens up easily, and then only to trusted people who have been around for a while. Leaving the Lion Guard isn't an option, even though she's more than earned her pension. It's all she's got left at this point.

I like to think that she builds an odd sort of friendship with the earliest of the Risen. M'kia should be dead several times over, but she's survived and even held her own (by human standards, at least). And she wasn't some elite trooper before joining the Guard, she was just PDF. That earns her a measure of respect. They've fought a number of campaigns together as well. There's a connection that comes from that. No idea what the Dark Angels themselves think. Is she respected for the length of her service in the Lion's retinue? Distrusted for her association with the Risen? Ignored entirely as one of the humans that Dad keeps around for some reason?

M'kia! I love her! Tell me all your M'kia headcanons!

[themoonslore]

Succubi and incubi teen wolf fan fic part 1

Get Off (Me) by KouriArashi

Word count: 77707 chapters 9/9 steter ( TW r@pe but not steter)

Stiles hates being left behind with Peter while the pack is fighting monsters, because he never knows exactly what Peter will get up to.

The Sundering Kiss by trilliath

Word count : 92466 chapters 9/9 sterek

Stiles is a young adult incubus who has made his way to New York City. After his first makeout session ended in death, he left Beacon Hills to try and understand what he was and protect the people he cared about. But being his father's son, in name if not by birth, he's never been able to accept the idea of killing innocent humans to feed himself. So in order to survive and keep his morals both, he travels across the country feeding on sexual predators.

Derek is a NYC werewolf cop, who dedicates his life to protecting and serving both the human and fae communities - protecting them from each other if necessary. When a string of succubus or incubus kills starts hitting his city, and Derek runs into Stiles at a crime scene, Derek wants to find a way to help this neophyte fae survive under the radar before someone else puts him down. Too bad Stiles seems to run away whenever Derek gets near him.

The Sweetest of Words (Have the Bitterest Taste) by omni

Word count: 9902 chapter 1/1 sterek

“Ah, yeah, Desiree, I told you I was meeting someone. Well, that someone is Derek. My boyfriend. We’re totally in love.” His heart was racing and Derek was holding him so tight it was difficult to turn enough to face the young woman. What he did see of her had his breath catching on fishhooks in his throat. She was normally a relatively pretty girl, with cute round cheeks and large dark eyes, but in that moment she looked…terrifying. Her cheeks seemed gaunt, her eyes glowing like they were little windows peeking into a deep pit of raging flame.

(Or: Five or so years after the show. Stiles is in college, and finds himself getting stalked by a succubus. Derek's determined that the best way to thwart her is to prove that he and Stiles are madly in love. It's not really as much of an act as either seems to think.)

Devoted by Jerakeen

Word count: 5089 chapter 1/1 sterek

Stiles expected the incubus to be something ethereal, otherworldly, inhumanly beautiful. This guy looks like a lawyer.

Dangerous Things by Rallamajoop

Word count : 143768 chapters 18/18 Sterek

You want me to hold you down while we do this, Stiles?" says the incubus. In one sudden movement it has Stiles’ arm wrenched over his head and pinned it by the wrist below the headboard. "Would that make this easier for you?"

Stiles swallows. "Maybe?" This whole thing where he gets the chance to opt out of having mindblowing sex with a demon of questionable intentions is causing him more unnecessary stress than he wants to deal with. Can't it just get on with ravishing him already?

"You really think that’s what we do? You think we need to? Ever?" The incubus' breath ghosts warm against his neck. (Actually, Stiles has half an idea that ‘thinking’ isn’t much of good description of anything that’s gone through his head for a good few minutes. It’s so unfair of it to pick on him for that.)

AKA: The Medieval AU where Derek is an incubus and Stiles is so, so far out of his depth right now.

Hot Pocket Ratio by ShippersList

Word count : 12337 Chapters 5/5 sterek

At the threat of the alpha pack, all Derek wants is to keep his pack safe and alive. As the last resort, he tries summoning a demon to help with fighting the alpha pack. He gets a bit more than he bargained for.

Or, the story where the classic demon deal of "Will you pledge your firstborn to me?" takes some unexpected turns.

Part 1.