#he really likes your little wings in your human guise though

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

with the release of a certain bird adeptus approaching i cannot stop thinking about Foul Legacy befriending an adeptus

you're one of the younger adepti, a solitary, curious bird hidden away in some distant mountain that rarely ever receives visitors, even from the most determined of humans- most mortals are unaware of your existence entirely, but you don't particularly mind. you've never been one to demand worship and total respect, even if living alone on your little mountain can get very quiet from time to time. Cloud Retainer- or Xianyun as she's going by nowadays- and her two daughters occasionally visit, but that's all the traffic your home ever receives. it's fine- you're content tending to your garden and practicing your magic and making little packets of herbs for Xianyun to distribute amongst your fellow adepti.

you're fine. you're not lonely at all.

the other adepti have told you bits and rumors about the ground splitting open, leaking dark, stellar energy from its roots, but you don't quite believe them until you get to witness it for yourself, wings flapping open in surprise when there's a crack and a rumble and suddenly a beast twice your height emerges from the earth- your plants are utterly ruined, and you let out a cry of despair. the monster shakes its head to dislodge the dust and dirt, before turning its one-eyed gaze towards you- but it doesn't attack or even act threatening in the slightest, merely approaching slowly and sniffing the air around you. it suddenly notices the plants and the distressed look in your eyes, and the beast sits back on its haunches, letting out a low, apologetic whine. you're not a vengeful adeptus, though, and silently allow the creature to stay as you tidy up the garden.

his name, as you learn, is Foul Legacy.

in a way you're both oddities, him with his Abyssal traits and you with your incomplete human disguise, feathers standing out on your cheeks and a tiny pair of wings still on your back- it's one of the main reasons you don't venture into the city, along with your hatred of large crowds. one day of company turns to two, then to three, then a week and a month until Foul Legacy is essentially living with you, following you around and helping you with your daily chores. needless to say Xianyun is... not happy when she finds out, but she begrudgingly allows it, saying something along the lines of "one's third child needs to make more friends anyways". and when the eventual time comes that Foul Legacy does depart, he leaves you with a lick on your cheek and a purr, his way of promising to see you again.

so it's by no coincidence when you finally perfect your shapeshifting skills and step foot into the Harbor for the first time, that you meet a man with ginger hair and a playful grin that you've never seen before, but looks so familiar all the same

[ephie-om]

I know this one is short but every time I tried to make it longer it ended up awkward x.x sorry I tried

CW: None

Day 6: Beelzebub

When you first came to the Devildom, Beel was conflicted. He had an innate urge to protect you, since you had no claws, wings, or tail. But he knew from experience how terrifying he could be, even accidentally, so he kept his distance. He did his best to keep his table manners in mind so that you wouldn't get the wrong idea, especially when meat was on the menu.

If there's one thing he knows, though, it's that you are irresistible. Everything about you draws him in and knocks down all the walls of self-control he puts up. He often finds himself much closer to you than he would like, but you don't seem to mind. He can't quite figure out why that is, but having you close satiates some part of him. He craves it when you're not around, so he starts to come up with little excuses to end up next to you.

It starts under the guise of being helpful when he sees you about to climb on the kitchen counter. He swoops in to help you get a cup from a high cabinet, brushing his stomach against your back in the process. He smiles at you; after all, it wasn’t your fault the house was demon-sized. You smile back gratefully as he hands you the mug you were searching for. You don't tense up from the contact, and he takes that as a sign.

Occasionally he finds you in the common room, reading, watching a movie, taking a nap. You might be cold, he thinks, and he couldn't have the exchange student uncomfortable in his house. So he takes it upon himself to always find the softest blanket he can for you and drape it over you. Sometimes, in his more daring moments, he touches his fingers to your arms as he tucks you in.

He starts insisting on helping you with your coat, and he’s worried you might be onto him. You still let him, but you get a shine in your eyes and he’s not sure exactly what it means. Whatever it is, it’s worth it to share that second of bliss when his large hands cover your shoulders. These little moments add up in his heart and leave him satisfied.

Mostly satisfied.

Every time you smile up at him as he barely touches you, that urge to protect you grows tenfold. He wants to make sure nothing ever dims that smile, and he doesn't care one bit what he has to do to keep you safe.

He lies in bed restlessly as a fierce storm rattles the window panes. Belphie went to sleep long ago, leaving him alone to try and get some rest. A quiet knock on the door interrupts his tossing and turning, and he finds you standing there looking uneasy. He invites you in wordlessly. You only just step into the room when a clap of thunder booms through the sky, and Beel suddenly finds himself as the only thing between you and the window. “Sorry,” you whisper. “It's a lot worse than the storms I'm used to in the human world. These ones are bad in the daytime too, but when it's late at night it really scares me.” Your hands clench the back of his shirt like it's your lifeline.

“It's okay,” he whispers back. “I wouldn't let anything happen to you.” He turns and hugs you gently. The tension drains from your muscles and you rest your head against his broad chest.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course.” He's grateful for the darkness to mask his reddening cheeks as he places a hand on your back to guide you to bed. You make yourself comfortable, tucking yourself underneath the layers of blankets. You reach out towards him with both arms. He settles himself beside you, making sure he's not crushing you accidentally. Blissfully unaware, you curl up to his chest with your head beneath his chin.

How can such a small creature be so warm? It's like a tiny heater crawled into his bed. He stifles a laugh and wraps you up in his arms.

Thunder strikes again, but you only jump a little bit. He mutters something in your ear about always keeping you safe, and your thumb strokes his collarbone. He falls asleep only a few minutes after you, satisfied with protecting you from the storm.

[rosarionegro]

[Continued from HERE.]

@hxvemxnd:

Stop looking at...? Oh... They had been staring again, hadn't they? It's been occurring more and more frequently, though they don't always realize it before the Punisher. Staring off into space, at the human they've already decided is theirs, wondering what would be customary to do in this situation as a human. After all, humans' courtship was quite complica-- Wait-- did he call them cute?? There's a sudden sputter as the other's words sink in, shaking their head and blinking. They're fully startled out of their staring haze, processing such a simple but important comment. Cute? He... He said cute - and it wasn't just to mock them about calling him baby girl. No-- they weren't cuter than him this time, but... Just cute. Their face feels warm, but they're nowhere near the windows... What was this strange fluttering feeling? Was their guise coming apart? They place a hand at their chest, just in case. "Cute?" Their words mimic their thoughts. "You think we're cute? Not just cuter than you - cute? When did this happen? You really think we're cute...?" Perhaps a juvenile question, but... They hadn't expected the Punisher to echo their own thoughts about him.

He's actually cut down on the smoking lately, or at least within the hivemind's presence- Something that he hadn't noticed before until the smell of his own clothes began to bother him. Stale tobacco and sweat may be manly and alluring in paperback romance novels, but to the human nose it wasn't so pleasant. Not like he needed an excuse to bathe more often, but he definitely considered when and how much he would partake of his cigarettes these days.

The response to his teasing isn't Zazie's usual playful jibing, no air of superiority or statements of the colony's perfection in comparison to what a mess humankind could be.

"You've been staring and making moonstruck lookin' faces for the past few days, your wings do this little flitter on occasion, you're makin' squeaks-" he points out, counting off the odd behavior on his fingers. The sound of the collective's wings were even more plangent than the Boss' erratic piano playing whenever he got all moody and shut himself up in his creepy-ass mausoleum.

"I dunno- You just seem a lot more... vibrant than usual."

Whatever happened, must'a been good.

[everythingheard]

Accepting the business card from Oraia's outstretched hand, Constantine considered the opulent script etched across the front ( Artemisia — reminded him of the Italian Baroque painter, last name Gentileschi ) before turning it over in his fingers. As his dark eyes returned to the refined lettering, they lingered on the symbol she mentioned. ' If you need me, hold the card by that symbol and think of my name. ' Convenient.

Her inquiry, however, drew his gaze upwards once more. As a child, Constantine had only distinguished what he saw as dark or light: the spread of white wings that made his breath catch in awe, or the contorted guises of monsters that led his parents to believe he was insane. After he learned the truth at the age of fifteen ( died, went to Hell, came back, all that fuckin' jazz ), he had emmeshed himself in the hidden side of the world and discovered there was more he could see than just angels and demons. Case in point — her.

"I see what you actually look like, not how humans see you." A beat, then he said, "Your skin makes me think of sea glass, the way most of it's almost translucent. And your eyes are black, but the irises are green, really green. It's almost like you're unwater with the way your hair flows around you, even though you're not." Oraia was divine in the most literal sense of the word, and she looked like it. "I see everyone's true face." One corner of Constantine's mouth rose a little higher for a moment. "Whether I want to or not, and it's not always so pretty. Fuck how I feel about it." But life said that to most people anyway, didn't it? Fuck how you feel about it.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a business card of his own before holding it out to her between his index and middle finger. It was simple: a thick, white card with John Constantine scrawled in larger font across the top, followed by detective, exorcist, occult expert and a phone number beneath. "I know you said you don't like phones," he said, another subtle grin playing across his lips, "but just in case."

"I do," Oraia answered, gently letting go of his hand. She briefly considered looking at John Constantine's soul, to see if he was being afflicted by any curses (or possibly, blessed by some interested party)...but she could do that some other time. If he was desperate for help, he probably would've asked her for it, and she doubted he was some great hidden evil, if he was busy saving goddesses from cults. Besides, her magic was still building back up.

She reached out, and a portal the size of a suitcase opened up in midair, edges subtly glowing. On the other side, it was easy to see her flat in Cape Town. Oraia reached in and grabbed a white purse that cost somewhere around $900. She traded it for her knife, which she'd need to clean. The goddess rifled through the Chanel for a moment, then triumphantly offered Constantine a business card, with pretty embossed lettering reading:

"Artemisia Stavros: socialite, authenticator, art dealer."

There was a unique symbol just beneath the words, which Oraia was careful not to touch. "If you need me, hold the card by that symbol and think of my name--my actual one. It'll allow me to hone in on your being, and I'll portal over to you. Phones are...breakable. I only use them for appearances." She smirked. "Unless you want to give me a number to remember. And before you go...what does that True Sight of yours see when you look at me? My people aren't exactly demons or angels."

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

A bit from the BG3 fic; trying to make a different kind of deal with the devil >.>  Tagging @oxygenforthewicked and @kirkwalls-dumbest as well as anyone who sees this! (if u do and want me to tag u in the future, let me know)

...

Everyone’s stares were fixed on her, waiting for Zyn to say something.

The light from the flickering firelight had an ominously red cast, only highlighting the crimson skin of the cambion before them, his wings half-spread.  Definitely a better look than the human guise he’d shown originally.  Now, Zynatheri was an idiot.  That was a fact tried, tested, and true.  But was she enough of an idiot to make a deal with a devil?

No, definitely not.

He’d been stupid enough to choose her to be the one he spoke to, which meant he’d observed their merry party and found her to be the weak link.  Which she was.  But to think she’d be that weak?  A little stupid.

“I’m afraid I’m not looking for your help,” she said apologetically, flashing a feral little smile.  “I do not want to give up my soul.”  She saw Wyll’s sigh of relief out of the corner of her vision and felt vaguely insulted.

“Why cling to something you don’t even value?  You can’t really expect me to believe you’ll finally choose a side, after so many years sitting on the fence?”  Raphael smiled when her expression froze.  Damn it, she hadn’t expected him to know about that.  “If you gave your soul to me…neither of them would get it.  And you’d finally win.”

Zyn laughed, dropping her head with a slow nod.  “You’re good, you’re very good.”

“Thank you.”

“Still must be be a no, I fear, but you’re very good.  Counterpoint, though.  I have a proposition for you.”

“Do you?”  Raphael asked, taloned fingers stroking his jaw.  “Do tell.  I’m intrigued.”

“We skip all the business of tadpoles and souls for now.  Where’s the fun if I just give you things?”

“Stop her,” she faintly heard Shadowheart hiss.  Of course Shadowheart had already figured out where Zyn was going with this.

Smirking, she hurried up before someone managed to interrupt her.  “I would love to enjoy your charmingly alluring company in a more private setting.  So why don’t we start in bed, and we see where things g-”

Lae’zel loomed up from behind and slammed a gauntleted hand across her mouth, hard enough to bruise, and Zyn gave a yelp of pain and surprise.  Squalling behind the hard metal, she found herself being lifted off her feet, painfully.  Zyn knew she was short, but this was rude!

“This is undignified!” she shrieked, muffled.

Astarion patted her on the head as she struggled in Lae’zel’s grip, condescendingly.  He just looked amused, a smirk curling up the corner of his lips.  “Sorry about that, can’t do a thing with her.  Though, if you are...”

Shadowheart kicked him in the back of the knee, and Astarion buckled with a yelp.

He turned on her, voice loud and vicious.  “I wasn’t going to proposition him like her!  Do you mind?!”

“It certainly sounded as if you were!”

As they descended into bickering, Zyn thought she saw a flash of exhausted irritation on the cambion’s face.  Behind Lae’zel’s gauntlet, she smirked.  Ah, a victory.

Served him right.

[delimeful]

breathing cleaner air (2)

warnings: miscommunication, slight body horror, arguing

-

Roman woke up, which was a surprise in itself.

He was sprawled over a wooden floor, covered in what seemed to be a significant amount of unbound hay. His body ached severely, and he spent a moment waiting for his brain to register how horrifically itchy he must be under all this straw.

A beat later, he recalled that his sense of touch had grown muted and strange as soon as his skin vanished behind a layer of bone and keratin. Not itchy after all, then.

Whatever he was laying on, it was moving, slowly but steadily, and he couldn’t seem to make his body move more than an inch. He couldn’t even lift his head to see over the short back barrier of the space.

A twinge of pain, and then he was blinking rapidly as a new source of vision opened up, creating a dizzying overlay effect. He closed his eyes, and found that the new sightline was all that remained, showing him sprawling fields and a dirt road slowly inching past.

It was an eye, popping up on his shoulder armor as though that was a reasonable place for an eye to appear. He shuddered, revulsed, and it sunk away into nothing with a sharp spike of pain, leaving him with only the pair of eyes on his face.

Roman took a deep breath, trying to remain composed. His body had been malformed, and his best friend had attacked him, and now he was here, unharmed but for his immobility and the strange quirks of this new form. Surely Logan wouldn’t dispose of a corpse without first checking that it was actually deceased?

He had to be sprawled in the back of a covered wagon of some sort, the slow rhythmic motion of the vehicle thankfully not enough to jar any of his newly-obtained wings. If he’d been an actual seraph, he would have plenty of motivation to murder the farmer hired to move its ‘corpse’. Logan would never be so sloppy as to risk civilians like that.

So then, how had he gotten to this point?

He chewed on the question as time passed, mentally going around in circles until the wagon ground to a stop.

Footsteps circled the body of the vehicle, and stopped. Roman resisted the urge to try and make another eye to look through.

A surge of magic later, his body felt suddenly lighter, and he jolted upright into a sitting position, head turning to the back of the wagon.

Logan stood there, his staff held in a defensive block position. “Hello there.”

Roman made to indignantly ask what he was playing at, but all that came from him was a fierce shrieking whistle, not from his mouth but from his throat, where there were irregular gaps in the armor covering.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re confused,” Logan continued, still on guard. “I’m pleased to inform you that though I don’t yet have a solution to your ailment, I have no plans to kill you.”

A wave of relief washed over Roman, and he preened slightly, so immensely grateful that his best friend was a genius. How he’d figured it out, Roman had no idea, but clearly, he’d known from the moment Roman had stumbled past the treeline.

He leaned forward, intending on some kind of friendly contact, and Logan took a step back, his staff smoothly moving to point out in threat.

“No closer, please,” he instructed firmly. “I can’t understand you or your intentions at the moment. You’ll have to wait until we reach the others so they can translate.”

Roman drooped, wings drawing in around him as though he’d received a physical blow. The guarded look in those eyes, the stiff lines of his body-- Logan hadn’t looked so wary around Roman since he’d still thought him a snobby prince with a hatred of all things magical.

“It’s nothing personal, I assure you,” Logan offered, awkward the way he only way around strangers.

Roman sat back heavily, the shifted weight of his new form making the wagon shake slightly. Logan had secreted him away without knowing his true identity. He was taking a ‘defeated’ seraph somewhere in secret. He’d mentioned others. Other seraphim.

Logan had been on the field much longer than him, but they’d fought side-by-side together whenever Roman could shake his duties. How many monsters had Logan been preserving right under his nose?

Logan scythed his weapon through the air without hesitation, easily settling another heavy sedation spell on him. Belatedly, he realized that a low, threatening growl-- a sound like the deepest timbre on a pipe organ-- had bubbled up from his chest.

Good, he thought furiously as he settled back into a hazy unconsciousness. Why shouldn’t he be angry? In every sense of the word, he’d been betrayed.

-

When he next woke, the wagon had once again stopped and his body ached a little less. Soon, there were warm hands carefully supporting him from either side, lifting him from the pile of hay and settling him on soft fabric.

Voices spoke in soft murmurs. Roman struggled to tune in, focus wavering under the lingering exhaustion of the spell.

“--round, could I speak with him?”

“No, not today. He’s been awake for a while, you know how he gets about missions like this. I could pass along your message?”

“... It was a long shot anyways. I’ll be back in a week’s time, hopefully with better news.”

“You’ll find him, Logan, I just know it. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Won’t you stay, just for---”

A blink, and the light had changed, from the dimness of dusk to early morning sun.

Finally free of magical interference, he pushed himself to his feet with only the slightest of swaying, intent on figuring out what was going on and giving Logan a piece of his mind. Possibly in that order.

He was in a spacious but mostly-empty room, a soft arrangement of thick blankets and half-shredded pillows strewn about where he’d formerly slept. The single door was unlocked and opened into a hallway that was too short for him to walk through without crouching.

Feeling slightly foolish and mostly determined, he shuffled along the hall, searching for answers but finding none that made any sense. He didn’t recognize anything about the interior of the building, other than how it looked, for all intents and purposes, like a cozy, lived-in home.

There were framed photos lining the walls, candid pictures of many or just a few people smiling and talking together. Before Roman could inspect them too closely, a clatter from nearby caught his attention.

He turned into a small kitchen, where a short man with brown skin and dark curls appeared to be cleaning up a spill as something on the stove began to smolder. He didn’t seem to have any wings.

Befuddled by the mundane sight, a confused, croaky chirrup made its way from his throat, drawing the attention of the stranger. He braced himself automatically, his wings bristling slightly on automatic, but the stranger only smiled sympathetically.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Placing the washcloth he’d been mopping with aside, he dusted his hands off on his battered apron. “Good to see you awake! Did Logan-- that’s the guy who brought you here, did he tell you anything on the way?”

Roman stared at him blankly. The stranger-who-apparently-knew-Logan shook his head in amused resignation. “Well then, I suppose introductions are in order! You can call me Patton, this is my home! You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, and you can come talk to me if you need help with anything!”

"You’re taking in monsters like stray cats?" Roman attempted and completely failed to ask, the words coming out as hollow but incredulous discordant notes.

“Yeah, I suppose I can’t really talk to you just yet,” Patton replied, proving his own point by misinterpreting Roman’s noises entirely. “But no worries, we’ve got other seraphs who can translate! My friend is waiting out in the barn to answer any questions you’ve got, and then once I finish up breakfast, you’re welcome to join us!”

Even without the charcoal mess that had used to resemble eggs currently smoking on the stove, there was no way he was just going to sit down and eat breakfast with monsters and monster sympathizers. He huffed, an airy whistling sound, and ignored Patton’s friendly smile as the man gestured helpfully to the open back door.

He would find Patton’s ‘friend’, question them to find out where this place was relative to his kingdom, and then leave promptly. From there, he’d… he’d figure something out. Hunt down the one who did this to him, maybe, and get some answers.

Decided, he stalked out the door, and managed to get three steps into the yard before pulling up short.

The acres of farmland stretched out to freshly-plowed fields, and more than a few chickens wandered about, but most notably, the main yard seemed to be dotted with winged children.

A variety of different shapes and ages, he could spot them in little groups, playing games or chattering or even roughhousing like weaned puppies. He spotted a pair wrestling, and nearly stepped forward in alarm at the sight of sudden shifting limbs and feathers.

To his surprise, even with one in a more inhuman state, they continued to playfully tumble without a single scratch, no sign of the sharpness that lined Roman’s entire form.

He could feel curious eyes on him as he beelined for the barn, trying to keep a level head. He shouldn’t have been so shocked by the sight. If there were seraphim adults, of course there would be seraphim children. He just hadn’t expected them to look so… human. He’d had no idea that they could even develop human guises so early in life.

The barn was a humble thing, the red paint worn, but the door hinges barely whispered when he pushed the door open. Inside, there weren’t any animals, but rather, tightly-packed cots and scattered piles of stored supplies. A few kids scurried past, while a deeper voice slowly counted down. An adult figure was sprawled over one of the ceiling rafters, face pressed into the crook of their arm, a pair of wings hanging down loosely around them. The early morning light cast them in silhouette.

Roman attempted to clear his throat, which didn’t work even a little bit and in fact produced a horrific squelching sound. The adult’s wings jerked slightly, but they didn’t look up.

“Seventeen. Sixteen. Hey, newcomer. Welcome to Sanctuary. Patton gave you the spiel? Twelve. Eleven. Ten.”

With an array of hushed giggles, the kids secreted themselves away, some abandoning the barn entirely. They were… playing hide-and-seek?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. More importantly, why did this stranger’s voice seem familiar? Roman stepped forward, drawing his wings in to avoid clipping any nearby hiding spots.

“Two. One. Better have hid well,” they finished, pushing themself up and then swinging over the edge of the rafter. They dropped to the floor soundlessly, looking him over with mismatched eyes. “I’m Virgil.”

Roman felt his whole body bristle up with shock, and then fury.

‘You!’ he screeched, pointing aggressively at the guy who had single-handedly ruined his life.

‘Virgil’ eyed him speculatively for a moment, and then recognition lit his gaze.

“Oh. It’s you. Thought you died.”

In the corner of his vision, Roman could see the way his wings had fluffed up to twice their previous size, sharp-edged and rattling. A low, resonant hum filled the air around him, a poor placeholder for the accusations he’d like to hurl at the seraph.

Virgil only raised an eyebrow, looking much less harried than he had during their last encounter. Roman sorely missed having a sword to point threateningly, and also fingers that weren’t half-fused together.

“Might as well sort this out now.” He raised his voice, an edge of something other slipping into it as he projected. “Olly olly oxen free, you little menaces. It’s time for the adults to talk.”

There was rustling as those hiding in the barn crawled and hopped out of hiding spaces, a murmur of complaint that died as soon as they looked at Roman. He wanted to call the gazes invasive, the silence eerie, but it was hard to be truly suspicious of children who looked so hunted.

“Scram, fledgelings,” Virgil instructed dryly, shaking his core wings out.

As though breaking a spell, the kids scattered, some slipping past him to the front doors, others vanishing out of sight in hidden corners. Backdoors, secret exits. It seemed these people were well-prepared for an invasion.

An older kid lingered, dark hair and light grey wings ruffled up as they glanced between the two of them. The kid didn’t say anything, but the concern on their face was plain to see.

“Relax, Ellie,” Virgil said, bumping their wings together gently. “I can handle myself. Go make sure Patton isn’t burning the kitchen down?”

The kid-- Ellie?-- nodded slowly, casting one last unreadable look at Roman before departing and leaving them be.

Virgil stretched, arms over his head, and then between one motion and the next, his body spilled, stretching out into feathers and bone like it was nothing.

His outer wings were narrower, longer, and they stabbed into the ground where Roman’s curled around himself. He had no mask of bone covering his words, but the lower half of his face seemed to be solely composed of jagged, interlocking teeth, and pedipalps like those of a spider rested on the underside of his jaw. Roman couldn’t seem to count just how many eyes he had without his head beginning to ache.

“So,” a mental voice spoke, overlaying his own thoughts. “You survived after all.”

The resulting startled chirp that burst from Roman was nothing short of humiliating, but honestly, how often did one suddenly have to interact with telepathy! After a moment of scrambling, he gamely shot back a vitriolic assortment of unkind names.

“All I’m getting is static, buddy. Ease up on the mental clutter.” The seraph tilted his head, the small pair of wings atop his head fluttering mockingly. “Try not being so bad at this.”

Roman scowled with what little facial muscles he could still move, and took a rattling breath before ‘speaking’ again, forming the thought as clearly as possible. “Change me back.”

“Can’t.”

“What?!” Roman projected, trilling in alarm for emphasis.

Virgil yawned widely, displaying a throat that was, perhaps unsurprisingly, also full of teeth. “You heard me. Can’t do it.”

“You can turn people into monsters, but not change them back?”

“Oh, you had ‘monstrous’ down fine already.” Virgil was staring at him with several of those uncanny eyes, a challenge in his gaze. “This is an improvement, really.”

Roman stepped forward and loomed over the seraph, burning with anger. His wings began to flare fully open, feeling sharper than ever. “If you won’t tell me how to fix this, I’ll figure out a way to convince someone here to.”

All of Virgil’s eyes abruptly narrowed.

“Oh yeah?” Virgil’s wings dug deeper into the dirt floor as he lifted himself right off the ground to be just slightly taller than Roman, their faces only inches apart. “And just who do you think is around for you to extract info from? You gonna interrogate a bunch of 10 year olds? Pick a fight with a toddler, maybe?”

“No! I mean-- Well,” Roman faltered, thinking about the number of children he’d seen just in the past half-hour. “You can’t be the only one-- how are there only kids here?”

Virgil’s head tilted slightly, as though Roman’s answer wasn’t quite what he’d expected. “Patton’s here too.”

“But he’s just a guy!” Roman gestured widely for emphasis. “Even if these kids didn’t have the ability to shapeshift into prickly pint-sized poltergeists, there’s way too many of them for one person to look after properly!”

“Two people,” Virgil corrected, leaning back. “And these kids are more self-sufficient than you think.”

He stared at Roman for a moment longer before smirking in a way that made Roman immediately and irrevocably suspicious. “Listen, Knight, since you’re so eager to get in a brawl, I’ll make you a deal. If you can beat me in a fight, I’ll tell you all about what I did to you.”

“Deal,” Roman agreed, as quickly as possible. He shifted into his starting hand-to-hand stance, though his changed form made it feel sort of unbalanced. “Let’s go, you and me.”

Virgil stepped forward, sliding back into his false human form as he strode right towards Roman. Roman hesitated, his arms still up in a guard position, and between one moment and the next, Virgil had slipped right past him. He made an indignant sound that came out grating, like metal-on-metal.

Virgil turned to glance at him as he reached the barn door. His lips twitched as though barely concealing laughter. “What, you thought I meant right now? No, we’ll fight on my time. And right now, it’s time for dinner. I can tell you all about the rest of the terms that you didn’t wait to hear before agreeing to our deal.”

Roman stared in disbelief as the seraph turned and strolled out, leading the way back to the main house.

Just what exactly had he gotten himself into?

[kim-monsterlings]

Vardelk - M Goblin x GN Reader // SFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: SFW/Orange, mild fae trickery, swearing, a rude goblin, mention of past heartbreak + cheating, alluding to past sex, one cute lil kiss - if there is anything below which needs to be mentioned here in future, let me know!

Wordcount: 2256

Notes: so... this isn’t really the prompt (and knowing me I will be writing the prompt again because I can’t help myself, and creating Huddle Haven just has so much opportunity for cuddly monsters) but I read it and my brain just ran off with it and thus, Vardelk was born. Credit to @monsterkinkmeme​ for the original prompt!!

Masterlist

"Nobody else is available," Lacey said. Her keen, fae-folk eyes fell to where your knuckles cracked in the uncomfortable silence. "He looks so sad. Just for an hour? He told me to find someone for him, and, well," she drew in a breath. "I'm trying."

Huddle Haven was always busiest on the weekends, though tonight was one of the busiest evenings you had ever seen. The ache in your chest reminded you that this weekend had just followed Valentine's Day. Most of the patrons crowding the small café now had come with broken hearts, from failed dates and relationships ended only a day prior, and you had told Lacey - you had, you remembered, even texted her, that more volunteers were needed for today.

You were only supposed to be staff behind the counter, helping clean and take orders, sometimes assisting in the baking, not one of the volunteers for dates. No less being a human, and not what the customer had come for.

"Double pay "

"Lacey-"

"Permanently."

Fae could only articulate the truth. If she truly offered you double pay, a permanent rise, then Lacey now was beyond desperate. In bringing you out to customers - hardly presentable under the guise of a date, too, then the patron had to be more than just “sad.”

Her unwavering resolve made you frown. "Are you trying to trick me into this?"

"Permanent double pay raise," she said - a deliberate avoidance, then she pursed her black lips, the same glossy colour as her gossamer wings. "I would owe you a favour, too."

"Deal."

Lacey’s jaw fell baring sharpened teeth, her eyes sparking at the weight of the binding deal. Though, you wasted no time on the burden of the oral contract, nor on what you could claim from it, already passing over your sugar-stained apron. An exchange of forced smiles worsened the knot forming in your stomach.

"He's in the corner booth."

Chest tight, you nodded, whispering, "what-?"

"Goblin."

It wasn't like you were seeing anyone. You hadn't for a while, and the nerves forced a lump to your throat. The only real reason you were against this was a panic beginning to cloud your thoughts. He must have come with a broken heart, and you weren't so sure how much help you would be, rusty as you were.

Lacey's gentle nod was a push out of the kitchen. The sight already overwhelmed you; booths filled mainly with couples, though some sat as more, partners hurt by another in a polyamorous relationship leaving. Today wasn't the first time you had seen someone crying on a volunteer’s shoulder, though admittedly the first time you had seen both a tiefling and harpy cry here.

The goblin in question wasn't visible above the booth until you squeezed by an octomer - one you had seen surprisingly frequently, well-versed in walking on tentacles curled together in an effort to find a mate - before hesitating just before the table to steady yourself.

Lacey was right; he looked miserable, and bitter. From first impression alone, the atmosphere he exuded was one you were reluctant to disturb, and served only to lock your body tighter. Even still, he had made an effort; smart clothes, a black shirt crisp against his dark green skin, trimmed gold at the collar like his thin septum ring. Another two gold rings sat at his thin lips, gnawed at now by sharp teeth.

He might have looked miserable, but when he looked up, the softening of his face softened yours, too, and he looked cute, with his bright eyes rounded and long ears twitching; before he scowled, and turned back to staring at his hands.

"May I?" The goblin tipped his chin, though didn't say a word, so you sat slowly and introduced yourself. In silence, too, waiting for the goblin to say anything.

Only after a minute of silence did he grunt, "Vardelk."

"So," you hummed, and his face fell. Questions raced through your mind, but each seemed too cliché, too date-like too soon. Some came to Huddle Haven for comfort, for a distraction or a date, but if you had to guess, his deadpan stare wasn't one of wanting a date. "Have you been waiting long?"

Vardelk only shrugged one light shoulder, but his eyes narrowed. They ran over you in a way that had you squirming and struggling for words.

"Are you hungry? Their sundaes are good. Cakes, too, but I prefer the brownies. Hot chocolate over coffee," you mumbled, itching to draw a response, anything from the pensive goblin, but nothing worked. With nothing coming to mind - and in a last ditch effort before you began to ramble all the more, you asked, "what brought you here today?"

Vardelk's nails tapped at the faded cloth. "You work here, don't you?"

For such a sudden change in conversation, albeit a one-sided one, you stared at him for a second before your thoughts caught up. In the moment that passed, he scoffed, and his sharp eyes pierced you. They struck you like Lacey’s had, narrowed and biting.

"They had to pay someone to sit with me, huh? Forget it. Fuck this."

Guilt twisted at you when he began to shift out of the booth, but you made no move to stop him, only speaking quietly. "We ran out of volunteers. They didn't anticipate it being so busy. I'm sorry. I usually only work in the kitchens."

His dark eyes rolled and his voice hardened. "You didn't anticipate monsters having their hearts broken? Typical. Never the humans."

The initial shock of him realising that you were, in fact, human, wore off fast. Unhindered pain replaced all guilt and lodged at the back of your throat, but your words held steady and hopefully, hit as hard as his stare. "I first came here like you months ago, not for a job, but because I'd had my heart broken. By a drider, by the way," you added, and Vardelk had the nerve to shrug. "I sat with-" breath rushed from you at the memory of the day warmed in the hug of a volunteer. "He was a minotaur, and he sat with me as I cried. We went out again on a real date. For a while, actually. Until I finally put out, as he so eloquently said, because apparently broken-hearted people make for the best fucks. So no, it isn't only monsters, and our time is up, I think."

The sting blurring your vision wasn't worth the glimmer of regret on the goblin's features. He didn't deserve to know the hell you'd been through, and you were almost from the small booth when a soft touch caught your hand.

Needless to say, you snatched back from his touch, unashamed of the tears now brimming when you finally met his dark stare again. Thick ears you had earlier thought of as cute twitched back when his shoulders hunched over.

"I'm sorry."

It was your turn to don the mask of an empty expression, voice blank. "Thanks."

“We were together a year,” Vardelk whispered. Blunt nails tapped at the cloth as he cleared his throat. “Someone else was in our bed. Goblins can’t be enough for anyone, apparently. That we wouldn’t ever be enough. I’m quoting,” he said then, finally looking up.

His eyes were misty, too. "You left?"

Vardelk's smile was pained. "The offer of an open relationship didn’t appeal after being cheated on."

"Human?" His small chest puffed out and he sunk back with a weak nod. "I'm sorry, too."

Little could be said beyond your whispered apologies. There was little you wanted to say. Silence in your booth was nothing in the warmth of Huddle Haven, soft laughs echoing among deeper conversations at other tables. This weekend would be the hardest, not only with the rush of heartbroken patrons, but the reminder of your own pain, thanks to your “date.”

"Do you… do you want a brownie?"

"Me?"

Vardelk's smile was small, but it was there. "Hot chocolate, maybe?"

With an equally tentative smile, you said, "your treat for being an ass."

Then to your surprise - and relief, the goblin grinned, small legs tucking beneath him on the cushioned booth when he reached for a menu. Your rambling hadn’t fallen ignored, as Vardelk ordered a salted caramel sundae from Lacey, then, smiling, two hot chocolates and a brownie for you.

"Let me clarify first," you said. Vardelk’s ears drooped with his body shrinking back, and you spoke softer when his hands fell beneath the table to wring in his lap. "This doesn't have to be a date. Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to be distracted?"

With the desserts laid down, Vardelk brightened. "Distract me."

So you did. Obviously, a little unfortunately, Vardelk was aware of where you worked and how you were paid to accompany him. Under your careful shift in conversation, you learned he worked only across the road in a small flower shop, one he loathed more than anything at this time of year; as much as you hated the crowding in your café.

“I’d never been interested in coming here before... before yesterday, but,” Vardelk sipped at the hot chocolate, frowning at it. “People rush here. I see it all the time, coming to buy flowers then crossing the road. I don’t like blind dates. Never have,” he bit out. "They only start in disappointment and end in wasted time."

“I’m not disappointed.”

Vardelk rolled his eyes, but you only laughed, even after inadvertently calling this a date.

Until today, dating, the mere thought of it, sickened you, and with good reason, too. Even this had come at the coercion and bargaining of a fae, which said enough about your aversion to dating.

But something about Vardelk made your cheeks warm. The longer you sat with him, the easier conversation flowed. He was prickly and pessimistic, but you laughed, and his smiles grew until enough time passed for you to return the favour - you had been a little bit of an ass, too - and you shared churros together. Over the second dessert, small mannerisms began to warm you to him, your stomach fluttering with each eye roll. His earrings would clink when his head tilted, or when they trembled and tucked back at his embarrassment, or how when he was listening, really listening, he would draw his lips rings between sharp teeth and hum quietly. It was endearing to see his legs swinging gently beneath the table, too.

Huddle Haven closed at seven. Not late, but it wasn’t a bar, only a café, and any later welcoming the heartbroken would have the café open infinitely. Lacey came when Vardelk was absent from the table with the reminder that you were still on shift, and would be staying behind as usual to clean with everyone; "so don't get any ideas about leaving just yet," she'd said, her feathered eyebrows raised, but with the way she nudged you, there would be more probing for gossip about your forced date than any cleaning.

The goblin stood tucked into the wall beside you, bundled beneath a thick coat and a scarf almost his height. He was the last to leave, and reluctantly so, scuffing his heels and fiddling with the frayed ends of his sleeves, enough that you had to turn to hide your smile when he fumbled buttoning the coat, too.

"I know I was a prick," he began, and there was no avoiding the warmth to his eyes when he looked up. He stood a couple of feet smaller than you, the difference in height more obvious when he looked down again. "But I want it to be a date. To have another date."

The inclination to continue this into the evening shocked you, the want to agree on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t. As much as you longed to, you whispered, "I'm not looking to be a rebound."

Vardelk flinched. He began to deny it, words stuttered and softening into whispers, before biting down on his lip with a sharp nod. This was your first date in a long while, and after a reluctance to pursue any relationship for as long a time. He had been in a year long one, too, and if he only used you to move on once you had grown attached, your heart couldn’t take it.

But...

Beyond the resurfaced pain, the initial spat and his outwardly cruel demeanor, the afternoon together had been pleasant. For the first time in a long time, you wanted to go out again, to spend time with someone knowing you could be more than just friends, and you wanted that to be with him.

And he was cute.

"Come back in a month," you said. Vardelk's teeth caught at his lip ring when he choked, a nod shaking his gold earrings. "I'll say yes in a month."

The goblin came back the next day, a small smile enough for you weaken into accepting the bunch of flowers, and he returned each week with a brighter bunch. Keeping your word was a struggle, and on the second week you may have bowed to kiss him that night, just once, and Vardelk tucked a flower against your ear when you crouched, promising you would be worth the wait.

A month to the day of meeting, you saw him leaving the florist, and met him outside with a smile as big as his.

[thirdhandidiot]

Yes I’m here to offer domestic dialucibarb. No I havnt gotten any further on the Young Dialuci au. What you gonna do?

This is just 1.9k of unapologetic soft idiots in love

•The three of them are like your typical old married couple, except with wings and horns and oh dear, they’re arguing over who has to get up to make more tea

•Barb and Lucifer lovingly bicker a LOT, much to Diavolo’s amusement. It will be over the most trivial things that neither of them really care about either, they just enjoy trying to one up eachother verbally. Lucifer once threatened to throw Barbatos out a window, absolutely not meaning it, but Barb taunted him, telling him he probably couldn’t even pick him up, he’s so skinny and all he ever does is paper work and there’s no way he’d ever hurt him, never mind have the physical strength required. Lucifer absolutely decides he’s going to take it personally and lunges, picking Barbatos clean off the floor, bridal style, triumphant smirk lighting up his face, only to immediately realise that Barb has wrapped his arms around his neck to make sure he doesn’t fall. They’re both immediately far too flustered to do anything after that, just staring at eachother in shock, remaining there for what feels like hours until Diavolo walks in and coos at them, taking hundreds of pictures whilst the pair get impossibly more red. The image ends up Diavolo’s Home Screen, and don’t be fooled, he treasures all images of his boyfriends, especially together, but this one, he thinks, will always be a favourite

•They’re all sappy in their own ways, but mostly Diavolo, he is shameless. He will talk about ‘his darling boyfriends’ at any given opportunity, and more. Whilst it’s rather sweet to see him so passionate and so happy in love, it gets rather inconvenient in meetings when everyone just wants to go home. The brothers are particularly upset by this as whilst the gossip about Lucifers love life was fun at first, they’re rather bored of hearing how cute Lucifer is he wakes up, and they’re still a little scared of what Barbatos might do if they end up hearing too much. And that’s not all, Dia loves tropey dates that he read about in books and imagined going on with the two of them before they got together, his favourite being picnics, which he adores. He and Barbatos will spend hours in the kitchen preparing a sweet lunch date for Lucifer (by which Barb does all the preparations and Diavolo provides ‘moral support’ in the form of kisses and trying to steal bits of food only to get caught everytime and punished with more kisses- needles to say this is not an effective punishment to persuade him to stop)

•Barbatos relaxes a lot more when he’s off the clock, even having gently bullied Diavolo into making HIM tea, even if it’s not as good, after all, he’s been working all day and he’s tired. When they first got together he always felt guilty asking anything of Diavolo, feeling that it was an imbalance to their dynamic, but he quickly comes to see that Diavolo loves the chance to try to do things for him, even if they aren’t nearly as efficient or well done. Diavolo just wants to look after his boys like they do him and this usually comes in the form of serving them cute biscuits he found and hid until that moment just to see them smile

•Lucifer gets stressed easily and puts up a near flawless front of professionalism and dedication to his work, however Barb has spent decades doing the same and is always the first to tell when Luci needs to take a break. Whilst Barb has strict ‘off the clock‘ hours, Lucifer has tried to bring paper work to bed multiple times, frustrating the other two to no end. Despite that, Lucifer has gotten a lot better at taking care of himself ever since he realised how happy it made his partners, and it’s not like he minds spending more time with them, infact subtly asking lucifer if he wants couch cuddles is the fastest way to get him to leave his work, the man is tired and desperately craves affection, not that he likes to admit it, but they all know

•Barbatos has a strange fondness for human conspiracy documentaries, and Diavolo is prone to believing an awful lot of them. Barb loves to tell Diavolo that they’re real, convincing him that ‘Yes all birds are spies darling, is that not common knowledge?‘ or ‘The human realm has underground lizard people, didn’t you know love? The do all of Earth’s admin work, someone has to‘ This leads to an awful lot of misunderstandings that usually Lucifer clears up. He pretends to be annoyed but when he walks into the front room to see his Barb lying on top of Diavolo, enthusiastically telling him that there’s aliens in Area 51 whilst Diavolo stares back, mouth open in shock, he doesn’t stop them, just presses a kiss to each of their foreheads and goes to make hot chocolates for everyone and brings blankets back with him, making a note of whatever it is that Dia is about to believe so that he can make sure that damage control can be done ahead of time. (He finds it cute when Diavolo tries to tell his brothers about it, Mammon falling hook line and sinker for each one. The others are more sceptical until Diavolo says that Barbatos told him, at which point they just end up confused, surely Barbatos wouldn’t lie to Lord Diavolo? (He would if it was funny))

•When Lucifer moved out, Levi sent him an old console under the guise that it was for Diavolo, who had expressed an interest in learning to play various games. Dia absolutely loves it, and lucifer really is very competitive.. the two of them can be found trying to distract the other whilst playing mariokart, resorting to pushing, biting and even a few instances of manifesting wings to try block the others view of the screen. As soon as one of them has as good as lost they’ll switch to just making the others game as hard as possible. There’s nothing raunchy about the wrestling match that breaks out as a result, Barb has decided it’s a good form of physical therapy for them both and just records them. He has a file of ‚blackmail‘ that they all know he will never use, it’s mostly just a folder of cute but embarrassing pictures and videos of Luci and Diavolo. (Diavolo has Barb send him everything, he loves to watch it back)

•None of them are particularly ‘flamboyant‘ although Diavolos love for human world festivals has landed them at various pride festivals before. Lucifer was mostly confused seeing as sexuality isn’t an issue in the Devildom, neither is ‘polyamory’, a concept he’d never spared much thought to. Diavolo is delighted to see Humans celebrating love and feeds off the positivity (he also gets hit on a lot, but after spending just ten seconds with him it’s obvious he’s already madly in love and that there’s no separating him from the slightly alarmed looking men loitering behind him that he proudly calls his boyfriends). Barbatos is constantly trying not to get lost, it’s busy and he ends up having to hold on to someone at all times. It’s not his fault, he can’t use magic here and there’s no other way to combat the crowds, Lucifer stop smirking he isn’t short it’s just that you’re both bloody giants, Lucifer you’re encouraging Diavolo, p l e a s e. Dia loves it though because it gives him an excuse to cling to his boyfriends all day and people will randomly tell him how lucky he is, he absolutely agrees

•Both Barbatos and Lucifer have threatened Diavolo with bodily harm at some point after they’ve been woken up by one of his stray limbs in the night. The two of them sleep quite comfortably next to eachother, occasionally with an arm or leg over the other, but no matter how Diavolo falls asleep he ends up in a dreadfully confusing position that no one really wants to question. Unfortunately he also tends to gravitate towards the heat of the others too, making them easy targets Diavolo’s heavy limbs. He’s always sure to apologise when he finds out in the morning, even if he finds their grumpy faces quite amusing. He won’t laugh out loud though because one time Barb was so disgruntled when he woke up that he bit the hand that was smothering his face and Diavolo ended up having to have his hand bandaged in the middle of the night. Needless to say that Lucifer was both confused and concerned when he woke up (and a little proud, he’s extra nice to Barbatos all day, who feels a little guilty about it, even if Diavolo was ok)

•Diavolo and Barb will wind lucifer up deliberately, and whilst he is entirely aware what’s happening, he indulges them. Diavolo will convince the brothers to try some kind of scheme that they wouldn’t be able to pull off without him, but makes sure it’s never taken too far, and Barbatos will egg Lucifer on as soon as he finds out about whatever minor inconvenience has befallen him. He won’t admit it, but it makes Lucifer incredibly happy to see his brothers take such a shine to his partners, and whilst he wishes they’d have a little more trust in Barbatos, Barb assures him that he isn’t upset and that it can be used to spook the brothers a little. There will be weekly ‚family meals‘ which always seem a great idea before hand, he somewhat misses living with his brothers after all, but always result in him going home with a headache. He’s grown used to the loving and (mostly) calm presence of his beloved, so seeing his brothers hurling both insults and occasionally food or assorted table wear at eachother, has a tendency to infuriate him. (He hasn’t realised that they act up more when he’s there)

•Dia Is obsessed with matching couples things and is constantly trying to find things for the three of them, but due to lower supply, they end up being so much tackier and non sensical. Barbatos genuinely despises them, but opts to say nothing because of how happy Diavolo is. Lucifer knows this and whilst he isn’t exactly a fan either, he indulges Dia just to tease Barb. (They do all have matching keychains tho, with different charms. Diavolos has a little teacup and a feather, Lucifers has a crown and a cake and Barbatos‘ has a pickle and a peacock. He was the one who got them to make up for all the hideous ideas Diavolo had, and delighted in seeing Diavolos pouty face when he realised what Barb had chosen. He did end up also adding a golden heart tho, somewhat pacifying Diavolo)

•Whilst it’s usually Diavolo who initiates longer cuddles, Barb likes to wrap his arms around his lovers from behind, pressing his forehead into their shoulder blades. He finds is comforting to be so close whilst allowing the other to continue with whatever they were doing before. Before leaving he will stretch to place a kiss on the back of their neck, a silent reminder of his love. Most of the time Barbatos is very quiet, opting to watch, and it’s only when he’s relaxed that he becomes chatty. Both Luci and Dia recognise this and can’t help but feel special whenever Barbatos is particularly talkative, and Barb is grateful that they don’t ask questions and love him for who he is

•Lucifer absolutely initiates the most ‚traditional‘ kisses, he’s proud of his partners and wants everyone to know that they’re his. He’s also a bit of a traditional romanticist when given the chance, leaving bouquets of various flowers, with the meanings for each attached on a handwritten card, a line of poetry and an elaborate signature. If he ever gets given flowers back he melts a little and keeps them on his desk as long as possible, before pressing the best looking ones. He has notebooks just filled with pressed flowers that he treasures. He doesn’t know that Diavolo and Barbatos both know about the notebooks and is convinced he’s slick

•Some nights the three of them will get drunk together and spend hours giggling and pressing kisses to eachothers faces and feeding them fancy chocolates. They half lay half sit on a slightly too small couch that they never replace for a more suitably sized one. Diavolo will slowly reach across to brush Lucifers fringe out of his eyes before gently caressing his face and pulling him in for a long slow kiss that tastes of expensive demonus and the orange sweets that Diavolo keeps on his desk. Barbatos is more than content to sit and watch his two gorgeous boyfriends kiss for a few minutes before they both turn their attention to him and decorate his face with kisses, across his cheeks and forehead, straying down to his chin and up to his eyelids, trying to convey all their love for eachother in adoring looks and heads pressed into necks

@softrealism Thankyou for inspiring me to post xx

[candycityy]

waltz

Synopsis: He'd chase her to hell itself, and beyond, if he had to. Greek mythology/PJO-inspired reincarnation AU.

[Click here to read on AO3 instead.]

The first time, Levi dies quietly, in his sleep.

He does not go out in fire and fury; it is a peaceful death, one he goes into with grey in his temples and sickness in his blood, unbecoming of humanity's strongest soldier. But Levi has never been a hero. Never wanted to.

He wakes to the gentle, rocking motion of a sailboat. It's dark, cavernous, but there is no ceiling as far as he can see, only steep walls of grey rock that stretch into the sky, lined with candle sconces that curve upwards and throw eerie blue light onto the dew-slicked surfaces.

He moves to sit up. His head spins, his consciousness threadbare and fragmented. When he glances over the edge of the boat, he sees a strange reflection in the black water.

It's him, but...different. Paler, younger, gaunter. The ghostly light casts shadows that pool in the hollows of his cheekbones and underneath his eyes, making him look almost skeletal.

Appropriate, he supposes, considering he's dead.

The figure that sits silently at the other end of the boat smiles, a flash of white, pointed teeth in a silhouetted face. "Levi Ackerman," it pronounces. Its voice is soft but grating, like its vocal cords are made of rusted iron instead of soft flesh. "I finally meet you. It's an honour."

"More than I can say for you." His voice is unnaturally loud, bouncing off the rock and echoing into the silence. "Am I supposed to know who the fuck you are?"

"I am Charon." It inclines its head, and Levi catches a flash of its eyes; they're the same strange blue-grey as the flames that light the cave. "You don't know me, but I know you. Oh, if I could count all the times I've heard that name on the lips of the newly-dead...as if you were a demon, or a god."

When Levi doesn't respond, Charon continues, its conversational tone clashing with the rasp of its voice. "But now that I see you here, as dead as any of your soldiers, I see you are no more than simply human."

The boat bumps roughly against the shore. In the distance, a city emerges, like magic, from the darkness. It glows with a warm light, delicate towers of glass rising up into the sky, which is already lightening into a soft, clear blue. As Levi watches, the grey rock of the shore metamorphoses into an endless, rolling green field, blades of grass shifting and swaying in a nonexistent breeze.  

"Your fare?" Charon extends a bloodless, expectant hand. Levi stares back uncertainly.

"What?"

"There is always a price to pay, to cross over into death." Charon's withered lips curve into a smirk. "Blood, or wealth, or sorrow...and in your case, that." It nods at his clenched fist.

He uncurls his fingers, revealing a tattered soldier's patch, torn from their uniform, embroidered with the emblem of blue and white wings he thought he'd never see again. It sits among a sea of red, crescent-shaped imprints, carved into pale flesh.

Before Levi can react, the ferryman reaches over and plucks it from his open palm. In its skeletal grasp, the patch shrinks and changes, turning into a single heavy, gold coin.

Charon stands up, its spine curving into a low, mocking bow.

"Welcome to Elysium, Levi Ackerman. I wish you a pleasant death."

==

Levi doesn't remember much about his death.

He'd died in bed, he thinks—he remembers the sharp, acrid scent of medicine and disinfectant, the way the illness crept into his bloodstream, making his bones brittle and his lungs constrict. But already, his time on earth is becoming a distant memory, colours and textures and emotions once cast in sharp detail softening into a sighing, distant grey.

Such is the spell of Elysium, he hazily guesses. The pain of life has no place in paradise, and his life has been so little apart from pain. Some memories remain, though, either unable or unwilling to be pried from his mind—a strange, lilting lullaby in a language he doesn't recognise. The crisp aroma of fresh tea leaves. Hair the colour of a sunset, a shifting mass of reds and golds. A name.

He struggles to remember, and fails.

The ground is soft, unresisting, under the crunch of his boots, and Levi isn't sure if it's been minutes or years when he finally steps onto dry sand. When he looks up, he's engulfed by the radiance of the golden city—Elysium.

"Welcome, hero." The woman that appears before him smiles. She is undeniably beautiful, and yet not quite right; there is something unnatural, inhuman, to the curve of her mouth and the brightness in her cerulean gaze. Her white dress drapes her every curve and flows to the ground, gossamer-like and almost liquid. A closer look reveals that it is constructed entirely of tiny white flower petals, stitched together with a silky, translucent thread—spiderwebs, he realises with an inward shudder.

"I am Persephone, queen of the Underworld, goddess of spring." She lifts a hand, and a sighing, heady breeze envelopes her, making her hair and dress ripple. "Levi Ackerman—I must admit, I expected you much sooner."

"Sorry to disappoint," he says flatly. "Although, you can't really blame me for trying my damned best to avoid, you know. Dying."

"Well, no matter." She lifts an elegant shoulder, in a guise of a shrug. "You're here now. I'm delighted to welcome you into my realm."

She spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture, and the otherworldly light coming off her intensifies to an almost blinding degree. He winces wordlessly. "Could you turn that goddess thing off?"

"Hmm." Persephone casts him a thoughtful look, and then smiles, catlike. "Maybe you'd prefer this, instead, then?"

As he watches, her statuesque form shrinks until the top of her head reaches just below his eye-level. Her elaborate crown of braids, as pale gold as a wheatfield, softens and falls to her collarbone, and darkens into a honeyed copper. Her features blur and bubble over, revealing amber eyes and a too-familiar smile.

The elusive name—he forgot, how could he forget?—is torn from his throat, a ragged whisper. "Petra."

The word is a hook, tugging to the surface a lifetime of memories, and all at once, he remembers.

The first time he'd seen her, she'd been participating in a titan drill. She'd swept through the air like quicksilver, tumbling past her comrades in a graceful choreography of movement, silvered blades like deadly extensions of her slender arms. But far more arresting was the look in her eyes: her amber irises set ablaze from within, bright with ferocity and triumph.

She'd been the first person in the Survey Corps who'd ever been kind to him; who'd looked him straight in the eye and spoke honestly, defiantly. Levi doesn't know exactly when, but she'd cut a hole into his chest with that warm, reticent smile. And for the first time since he was nine years old, he'd allowed himself to be weak.

An initially uneasy truce had grown into a comfortable companionship, and after months of push-and-pull, polite banter turned into shared moments in the corridors, and evening tea sessions turned into late nights spent in his office, fingers intertwined underneath the table.

And he remembers, with startling clarity, the day he'd been walking in a Sina marketplace and found that silver ring, set with a stone the exact colour of her eyes. He remembers how it'd seemed to burn a hole in his pocket after he bought it, day after day, week after week. Impatient. Demanding.  

It'd burned all the more when he'd found her that day, sprawled against the tree, her neck thrown back at a grotesque angle, empty eyes trained at the sky.

"So you do prefer this." The goddess who is not Petra smiles, cold and otherworldly, and the expression looks desperately wrong on her face. "How terribly unsurprising. Humans are all the same, in every age and time...I suppose even being humanity's strongest wouldn't change a thing."

"Is she here?" is all he manages to say. Persephone waves a slender white hand, carelessly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she drawls. "But we are not here to talk about your long-lost love, Levi Ackerman. We are here to talk about you, and that all the wildest desires that your fragile little soul can muster." Her lip curls. "You are in Elysium. What is your heart's desire, hero? What do you ask of paradise?"

"Isn't that your job, to figure that out?" he shoots back. She sighs.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'd hoped you would be different, but you seem just as human as the rest." She pronounces the word in a manner similar to the ferryman, with a kind of amused scorn. "For most humans, it's either love and power—only two things satiate them."

Her ageless green eyes seem to pierce him like knives. "Which do you want, Levi Ackerman? What drives you?"

Kenny once said, everybody needs to be a slave to something. A god, a drug, something to be drunk on, to keep the air circulating through their lungs and to force them to wake up day after hellish day.

Levi doesn't agree. He'd lived years and years without anything, after all; a shell of a man driven by pure survival instinct, by the sheer virtue of a heart that refused to stop beating, all the way until it did.

But Petra had been different. She'd believed in the old stories, the ones in the countryside hymns she used to sing. Of a purpose, a meaning, something greater. Sometimes she'd close her eyes, her lips moving in a soundless prayer, and he'd close his eyes as well and wish with all his heart to believe, too.

He looks straight at the goddess. "Nothing," he replies, truthfully.

Persephone laughs, a too-perfect, bell-like sound, that is so utterly unlike Petra's that it sounds nearly obscene coming from her lips. "Oh, you are just delightful, hero. You're telling the truth, aren't you? That's adorable. And yet—this girl," she gestures down at herself, "I saw her at the top of your mind. Your biggest regret, isn't she, Levi Ackerman?"

He grits his teeth. "So what if she is?"

"She is not here, hero." Persephone smiles, her pale irises alight with an icy glee, and for a second, a wave of cold dread crashes over him—could she have ended up anywhere else? No, she was a soldier, brave to the end. She couldn't have.

"Not anymore. You're too late." An exhale of relief—she had made it here, after all. "Petra has chosen a different path, to be reborn again, and to try for the Isles of the Blessed."

"The what now?"

"It is a paradise above all," she explains airily. "To reach it, you must live and die thrice, and each time reach such heights of heroism or courage that so suffice to earn you entry into Elysium."

Levi exhales, a low hiss escaping his teeth. Of course she would have—she was always so restless, so fierce, a caged bird striving constantly for the sky. She could never stay in one place, never settle down into comfort and domesticity. Elysium would never have been enough for the girl with fire in her eyes and an unquenchable thirst for more.

"What will you do?" She surveys him with her cool, immortal gaze. It rankles him.

"I'm going, too." He straightens, fixes her with a a cold glare. Persephone cants her head to the side, her expression shifting to something akin to amusement.

"Then, will you give up Elysium to follow this girl?" She waves a hand, and the city's glow reaches almost blinding heights, forcing him to turn his gaze away.

"How much does she mean to you, hero? In this city wait so many who you know and love, who have yearned to see you. Your men, who gave up their lives for you. Your friends, who rode with you to their deaths. Your mother, your own flesh and blood.

"Petra Ral has the spirit of a warrior," she adds, almost conversationally. "Do you, Levi Ackerman? You, with your heart that has ever only wanted peace and comfort?” Her lips twist, mocking. “Or is your heroism a mere product of your circumstances? Do not expect to be blessed with Ackerman blood again, this time. And if you fail—you will never see any of your loved ones again."

Some paradise.

"Do I have to make this decision now? Don't suppose I could stop to sightsee first?" His words are gelid but his tone is raw—not that he'd fool the goddess either way, he supposes.

"Of course not. That wouldn't be any fun," she goes, with that chilling bell-like laugh that makes his hair stand on end. He hesitates.

He thinks of Isabel, that trusting, childlike gleam in her eyes. Furlan, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk ghosting over his lips. His mother, singing him lullabies in the dark of the brothel. Erwin, who he'd told, in no uncertain terms, to give up his dreams and die.

And Levi knows it isn't there—he'd slid it onto the finger of her corpse, all those years ago, and it'd be little more than tarnished metal against bleached white bone by now—but he feels the phantom heat of the ring in his pocket, scorching hot. No regrets.

He's never had a single regret, except for her.

Levi lifts his head, and meets the goddess's gaze, unfaltering. Decisive. "I'm going."

"If you wish. But know this, hero." Her voice seems to thunder through the city. "If you succeed, upon your third death you may enter the Isles and live a life of eternal bliss.

"But, if you fail to reach Elysium even a single time." Persephone's eyes gleam with a predatory eagerness, "you are doomed to spend eternity in whatever realm you are sentenced to. The light of paradise will be barred to you...forever."

Talk about dramatic.

"Get on with it, then," he almost spits. It figures, it really does, that even in death, he wouldn't get a second of fucking peace.

Persephone casts him a quelling look. He ignores it. With a roll of her eyes, she waves a hand, and immediately, the glow of the city begins to crumble away, even the sand beneath his feet, and he feels himself fall. An incredible wind rises, and he finds himself being shoved backwards, the fields and the cavern roaring in his ears.

"As a final gift to you, hero..." The goddess's teeth flash tauntingly in the fading light, like pearls set against ebony. "I grant you memory."

The last thing he sees is the glint of cruel delight in her eyes.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 22

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Putting aside your doubts and trepidation, you finally show Bucky how you really feel.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Alcohol use, explicit sexual content with a non-human entity

AO3

Operation: Seduce Bucky Barnes… had stalled.

There you’d been, standing in the snowfield, bathed in moonlight like a scene straight out of a romance. He’d been right there, shirtless and too unbelievably gorgeous to be real.

It was The Moment you were looking for. The one for heartfelt confessions and hasty, frantic kisses that had been building up for weeks.

And you froze. Completely and utterly froze.

What if Bucky was only being nice? you asked yourself. Maybe he was trying to make an effort to be friendlier and you were completely misreading his intentions.

By the time your frantic thoughts had been corralled back where they belonged, it was too late. Bucky had taken back his shirt with a small, sheepish expression, and replaced his clothing and guise, looking as if he hadn’t been flying a hundred feet in the air with you moments before.

The reason the opportunity had passed right over your head? You were still too afraid of what would happen if Bucky rejected you. The tenuous not-knowing how he truly felt about you was almost preferable to having an answer that would be devastating.

But that wasn’t what this was supposed to be about. It was about Bucky, about making him feel appreciated and wanted and loved. If that’s not what he wanted from you, then… at least you’d know. Even if it killed you a little more every time the bond had to be sated.

So: the mission was still on, but you needed some serious help, and this help happened to come in the form of rum-spiked egg nog. The whole family was participating, even Bucky; it was the perfect opportunity to get inebriated just enough to smother your cowardly doubts.

Which was how you wound up on the couch, legs draped across Bucky’s lap as you sipped on your drink. One by one, your mom, aunt, and uncle headed off to bed, leaving the two of you alone in front of the small lit fireplace.

The room was dark aside from the flickering flames, filling the room with a sleepy kind of coziness that made one want to cuddle up to something warm. It would have been perfect, only you were slightly too inebriated for grand romantic gestures, and also, Bucky was too comfy and you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

So you just laid there, eyes closed, until a hand took the mostly empty glass out from your fingers before you could drop it on the carpet. You opened your eyes and smiled sleepily, snuggling deeper into the cushions.

“That stuff do anything for you?” You pointed your chin at the glass in his own hand. Bucky softly snorted.

“No.”

“Shame.”

He finished off the rest of his glass, not even wincing at the burn of the alcohol. Or maybe there wasn’t much in it. You’d definitely made yours on the strong side.

“Still like the taste,” he remarked, smiling a little. “Reminds me of Christmas when I was a kid.”

You gasped and held a hand to your chest.

“They let you kids drink alcohol?”

Bucky released another snort and leaned back further into the back of the couch, setting a large hand on your shin. He traced the side of your calf with a warm thumb. It felt very, very nice.

“Guess you’ve never heard of a hot toddy before.”

The teasing smirk on his lips made you want to reach for your glass of eggnog and drown it in one go. Bucky was way too pretty to be in your life, let alone your house. How the hell was this your life?

You turned back to his comment and scrunched your face in concentration, trying to recall the phrase, and also trying to decide if he was fucking with you about having booze as a kid.

“Hot whiskey, honey, and water,” he supplied helpfully, still smirking at you sinfully. “Sometimes sugar or spice if Ma could get it. Gave it to us when we were sick and… I could swear it worked.”

He had a far-off expression as he spoke, the teasing smile turning into something more fond and wistful.

You propped yourself up on one elbow so you could get a better view of his face. To make sure you weren’t crossing any lines with your questions, of course.

“What were they like? Your family?”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the carpet, and for a moment you thought your question would go unanswered and if you’d made a mistake by asking. But then he began to speak, about his mother and father, and more fondly, about his younger sister Rebecca. How much he missed her, and that while she had passed away years ago, she’d been survived by her adult children. Bucky had nieces and nephews he’d never met, who didn’t even know he was still alive.

When you suggested meeting them someday, he shook his head quickly, a dark pall over his expression.

“It wouldn’t be safe. HYDRA was around hundreds of years, I can’t believe they’re gone now. Even if they were, I’m still… It would be better if they believed I’d died a long time ago. Better for them to never know that demons are real and their uncle is one of them.”

You frowned, not understanding. Hadn’t your life gotten immeasurably better since Bucky had been in it? Sure, there was the terrifying, almost-dying parts, but… everything else more than made up for it. But how to get Bucky to see what you saw?

You’d said all the right words to him. Your relationship had definitely improved, but it wasn’t enough. Words weren’t going to cut it.

Taking a slow breath, you sat up and pulled your legs off Bucky’s lap, curling them beneath you. He snapped out of his dour brooding to give you a look, one brow raised.

“I want to see you,” you said.

The eyebrow rose higher on his forehead.

“Everyone’s asleep.” You lowered your voice, softer. “Let me see you.”

Bucky’s close scrutiny caused the warmth under your skin to turn into a flush, but you weren’t going to back down. The alcohol had made you bold, or maybe it was the impatience.

You waited, unyielding, and eventually the tension in his shoulders loosened. The guise melted away, shimmering in the air like a mirage, revealing everything that Bucky tried to hide but you could only love.

He removed his jacket, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his chest unfairly, but he didn’t spread his wings, leaving them drawn up against his back. When Bucky set his jacket on the end of the couch, you leaned forward, one hand outstretched, but you paused before it could make contact.

“Can I… touch you?”

His eyes darted between your hand and your face, appearing dubious about the thing you wanted to touch seeing as your fingers were inches from one swept-back horn, but eventually he nodded.

“Like I said,” he murmured, “you can touch me whenever you want.”

His eyes were dark, voice so low it was gravelly, and the monkey part of your brain screeched danger! danger! at the presence of what was clearly an apex predator.

You’d never been one for self-preservation, though.

Your fingers touched the edge of the horn closest to you. You’d always liked them. They were rigid and angled backwards but slightly up, like an especially annoyed cat. The texture was hard but lightly spiraled, and interesting pattern that you traced up to the tip.

Bucky had gone very still, watching you out of the corner of one eye as he barely breathed.

“Can you feel this?” You continued to stroke along the horn, marveling at the pattern you’d somehow never noticed before.

“Not really.” His voice was as stiff as his posture. “I can sense the vibrations your fingers are causing, but I can’t feel it directly.”

“Mmm,” you hummed thoughtfully as you continued your journey downward until you reached the soft strands of his hair. When you pressed them against his scalp, Bucky shuddered, and you paused.

“Is this okay?”

Bucky made a small noise that turned into his clearing his throat.

“It’s-it’s fine.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“It’s fine, I mean it.”

“All right.”

You sounded pretty damn steady for someone who was internally going oh fuck, he feels nice, oh shit, he smells nice too. As many times as you’d been physically close with Bucky, you’d never really been intimate. Getting to actually touch him just for the sake of touching him, and not as it being a byproduct of the feeding, was… so much different.

There was warmth in your stomach that had nothing to do with alcohol as you gently massaged the crown of his head with your fingers. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered, gaze losing focus as you continued to knead little circles into his scalp.

How long had it been since he was touched like this? It had been a long time for you, but it could have been decades for him.

When his expression was blissful and his posture more lax, you moved to the other side of his head towards the ear facing away from you.

“What about these?” You barely touched a tapered ear when Bucky gave a full-body shudder.

“Those are… more sensitive.”

A complete understatement judging by the way the plates on his arm shifted and his tail wrapped around your thigh. He must not have known what it was doing because he didn’t look down. It was fascinating something as simple as rubbing his ear made him react so strongly.

You leaned over him, chest pressing against the bared armor plates of his shoulder, right over the carved pentagram. You weren’t trying to be seductive or coy; you were leaning on him for balance as you moved your hand down the back of his head. Your plan had been to keep going until you got to the shell of his folded wings.

But the noise he made when your fingertips brushed against his nape, it was unmistakably a sharp, strangled moan. You gave another experimental run of your fingers up the back of his neck, and Bucky shuddered again. Your gut coiled with unexpected heat at his hair-trigger responses.

Holy fuck.

Steeling your nerves, you swung your leg over his, placing yourself firmly on his lap. There was still some space between you as you were perched on his thighs, but not much. His body heat at this distance was practically blazing, but you focused kneading your hands along the bunched muscles of his shoulders.

“What… are you doing?” His voice was strangled, blue eyes wide.

“Touching you.”

Bucky sighed and gently took your wrists and drew them forward, holding them in his claw-tipped hands.

“No, what are you doing?”

You didn’t know what answer to offer him, one that would fit into words, so you met his questioning gaze as he held your wrists. An impasse.

Moving your hands forward, he blinked and let you go, eyes locked onto your face as you carefully, gently cupped his face in your palms. The stubble tickled against your skin, but he was so warm. Real. Alive.

His eyes widened in surprise as you stroked your thumbs against his cheeks. You savored every small change in his features as he tried to figure you out when you yourself had no solid plan yourself. There was only you and Bucky, and this was how you always wanted it to be.

You leaned down, slowly as to give him time to pull away, and hovered over his lips.

He didn’t move an inch, his breath stilled in his chest as he waited for your next move.

You crossed the small distance left between you, pressing your lips to his so lightly that you almost couldn’t feel it. Just a light pressure, faint warmth and unbelievable softness.

At Bucky’s lack of response, you pulled away. He was completely locked up under you, still not breathing, and when you opened your eyes he was staring without blinking.

Doubt sat heavy in your stomach. Should you have done this? What if it wasn’t what he wanted? What if he didn’t want you?

There was no mistaking your feelings now; he would have to reject them, and every time you fulfilled the bond it was going to slowly destroy you.

You shouldn’t have kissed him, shouldn’t have thought up this stupid, stupid plan—

Arms looped around your back and pulled you forward, slotting you against Bucky’s torso as he cradled the back of your head. His lips were on yours in an instant, demanding and hard.

A fire ignited low in your belly, one that had nothing to do with the mark on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck, drawing your thighs tighter around his waist as you opened your mouth to him. He took the invitation immediately, delving his tongue inside as he curled his claws into your hair.

Bucky lifted you both from the couch and you clung tighter to him so you wouldn’t fall, but he held you securely, lips never leaving yours as he somehow navigated the stairs to the second floor.

You’d expected Bucky to place you on the bed, but instead he set you down in the middle of your old bedroom. When he broke the kiss and stood back, you tried to chase his lips while making a noise of frustration.

Bucky gave a crooked grin that showed he knew exactly what he was doing to you, evidenced by the way he pulled off his shirt, leaving him bare-chested.

You were torn between wanting to undress yourself and needing to touch him. You settled for clumsily stripping off your shirt and immediately returning your hands to his chest, fingers mapping over the hardened muscles and stopping at the scared edge of his left shoulder.

Bucky’s smile faded and he parted his lips to say something, but you ran your fingers over the scars, gentle over the rough skin. Skin you hadn’t realized until now looked like claw marks, as if someone had tried to tear the limb off.

Your heart ached as you continued on to trace your fingers over the grooved edges of his plates. They shifted restlessly under your touch, much like the demon himself as he shuffled on his clawed feet.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked quietly.

Are you sure I’m who you want?

Even now, he was giving you an out. Not understanding you’d made your choice a long time ago.

You leaned against him and pressed your lips against where scarred flesh met hardened carapace. You kissed all the way down to his mark, a mirror image of your own, in answer to his question.

Evidently, it was enough to finally break through whatever doubts were still holding Bucky back. In one swift movement, he unclipped your bra and pulled it off your shoulders, forcing your hands to drop from his shoulders. He quickly replaced them, not on his chest but on his belt buckle.

The fire in your gut reignited, different from how it usually was. Even though you only had a couple days left until Bucky would need to feed again, your mark lay dormant and painless. Everything your body was doing right now was a hundred percent you. Which meant you were slightly awkward, flustered, and flushed.

You fumbled at Bucky’s belt, finger shaking as he chuckled against the bare skin of your shoulder. It was the only warning you got before he pressed his lips against the side of your neck, and you had to struggle to pull the belt from its loops as your knees trembled.

Damn demon didn’t even seem bothered as his hands roamed over your waist and back. It was completely unfair.

Once you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, you got your revenge by sliding your hand inside and grasping a hand around his—oh, fuck, you’d forgotten how massive and not-human his cock was.

A deep growl rumbled in his chest as he quickly tugged off your pants and underwear, his movements still controlled but just on the edge of it. He yanked off his jeans and picked you up, laying you gently on the bed before you could flounder at the loss of balance.

You stared up at him, already panting as you clutched onto his shoulders, hips wriggling to search for some kind of friction against your aching heat. Bucky hovered just above you, thighs spreading your legs as he knelt between them, pupils blown but brows pulled at an uncertain angle.

Frustrated and impatient, you wrapped your legs around his waist. Something curled around your ankle and you grinned; at least one part of Bucky was fully onboard.

You opened your mouth, to say what you weren’t sure, but you never got the chance. His mouth closed over yours, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, and you groaned and opened them willingly.

The drag of his cock against your abdomen was pure torture, and no matter how much you tilted your hips upwards to rub against it, Bucky wouldn’t push inside. He was teasing you.

It was a wonderful torture, your body writhing every time the strange ridges of his cock dragged along your folds. You desperately rutted against him, but everything Bucky denied between your legs he gave to your mouth, kissing in a way that was obscene and filthy. You’d known his tongue was long and dexterous, but it was like he was fucking your mouth, tongue pushing in and out as it coiled around your own.

“Bucky, please,” you groaned when he finally let you come up for air. He trailed kisses down your jaw to your neck, lapping at you with that sinfully long tongue.

You rolled your hips to make your point, whimpering when one of the soft ridges passed right over your clit. Bucky wasn’t unaffected, either. His breathing was hitched and uneven, and precum was smeared all over your stomach.

Without even thinking, you scooped up some of the mess on your finger and popped it in your mouth, closing your eyes to focus on the unique taste. Slightly salty but distinctly Bucky.

When you opened your eyes, Bucky was staring, mouth slightly agape. You quickly removed your finger, face heating, but Bucky didn’t let you stew in your embarrassment.

He kissed you hard, tongue licking into your mouth to taste himself as he put one arm under your hips. Completely unprepared as the tapered head of his cock pushed past your folds and opened you up.

You cried out against his lips, clutching his shoulders tightly as he continued to push, stretching you impossibly wide as you took every inch of him.

Bucky broke the kiss when you made another overwhelmed noise, his breathing uneven and hitched, voice strained.

“Are you… did I…”

“I’m fine.” You gave a quiet, breathless laugh. “Did I ever… tell you… how insanely huge you are? F…fucking… feels like I’m being… murdered.”

Bucky’s eyes rounded in horror, and this time, you giggled, wincing as you tightened around him. Terrible idea, because it also felt really good, and now you were rolling your hips against him again.

“Please, don’t stop. I’m only half-kidding,” you gasped out when you could breathe again. Bucky made a choked noise and buried his face against your neck, groaning.

“You can’t just… say things like that.”

“Why. Is it hot?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky gripped your hip tightly as he started to ground down against you, testing his shallow thrusts. You tried to stay quiet because there were still people in the house, but at least there was a bathroom between your room and the others. There was no way you were going to stay silent, not with Bucky’s perfect cock splitting you open.

When he began to move, all you could do was bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. It shouldn’t have been possible for anyone to take a cock of that size, yet you did. It didn’t hurt, but each thrust was overwhelming. A jolt of pleasure accompanied each one, your heart thudding wildly as you gradually tightened around him.

Bucky placed desperate kisses along your neck as if starved for it, each powerful move of his hips driving him deeper. Something tore next to your head, his claws ripping a hole in the pillows. You didn’t care, drowning in the scent and sound and feel of Bucky to mind the state of your bed.

Your legs trembled, nails digging harmlessly against the hardened base of his wings. They were open now, curled over you both. Possessive and shielding.

“B-Bucky… I…”

You whimpered pitifully as he kissed along your jaw with that same fevered need.

“I know, I know, it’s okay.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and whined, so close to the edge it was maddening.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

You wailed before your voice cut out altogether, unable to breathe as your body tensed around him.

Bucky groaned and fucked you through the orgasm, murmuring assurances and praise. You were barely coherent, your body squeezing him as if trying to milk him dry.

His hips stuttered and he followed you soon after with a sharp cry, muffled as he buried his face in your hair. You could sense the actual pull of energy, flowing through your body as you fed him, and it made for an unearthly orgasm.

You winced as you still pulsed around him, quickly growing oversensitive, but Bucky had stopped moving and laid on top of you. You half-expected him to get off you and regret what he had done.

Instead, he turned his head and kissed you on the temple. You huffed a quiet laugh, pulling an unexpected smile from you.

“What’s so funny?” he mumbled, sounding completely blissed out as he nudged the side of your cheek with his nose.

“You.” Rubbing your hands up and down his back, you reveled in his closeness, practically drunk on it. “I… wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Me too.”

You groaned in complaint when he finally moved off of you. He wasn’t gone for long, returning with a warm, damp hand towel from the bathroom. You really hoped Mom wouldn’t a buck-ass naked demon in the hallway.

As he cleaned you up, so gently that you wanted to cover your face with your hands, you asked, “What do you mean, me too?”

Bucky sighed, set the cloth aside, and got back into bed. He pulled the covers over you both and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“I meant I should have done that sooner,” he said. “I wanted to. I just didn’t know if you…”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I was in the same boat.”

Bucky chuckled, breath tickling your scalp.

“We really need to work on the whole communication thing better.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Although.” He rubbed your back. “We seem to communicate fine when we’re naked.”

You groaned against his chest. Bucky was not allowed to have a dirty sense of humor. It would be the death of you.

“Am I wrong?”

“I have nothing to say,” you muttered, your grumpiness undermined when you snuggled against him. “Nothing at all.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead. You really, really hoped the kisses and easy touches would be standard from now on. He was spoiling you, and you didn’t know how you’d survive without them now.

“We should… probably talk about this later,” he said in a softer tone. “After we get some sleep.”

You huffed. Even if you agreed you should talk more, you didn’t want to. Couldn’t you just be a couple? Why’d it have to be more complicated than that?

“I’m sure your family will want to be up early tomorrow,” Bucky added thoughtfully.

You frowned, brain churning slowly, and then your eyes went wide.

“Shit. I forgot it was Christmas again.”

“Was it that good?”

“Bucky!”

He showed mercy after you buried your face in the pillow, squeezing you tightly and petting your hair with a chuckle. He was quickly forgiven. A part of you still couldn’t believe this was real, it had finally happened, and Bucky hadn’t run away. You hadn’t run away.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured into your hair.

Your breath caught in your throat, a lump forming. Everything was going to be fine, you would sort things out later. All that mattered was you had this moment with Bucky. Hard-fought and won.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you said, and snuggled up to your demon as you finally drifted off to sleep.

Next Chapter

[lildevyl]

Egotober Day 1: Hat

Little Ram/Son of a Ram/Second Chance: Schlatt

Summary: Tommy stood there on the Prime Path frozen in front of Dream. Wishing that someone - anyone would come along and save him from this encounter. This silence stretched on for what felt like possibly hours to Tommy until Dream finally spoke.

“You know Tommy, I’ve been wondering. Why do you constantly wear that hat all of the time?” Dream tilted his head as if trying to figure out a really difficult puzzle that laid before him. “You’re not trying to hide anything now are you?”

Inspired by Son of a Ram, Shatter Me

(Prime Path)

It was starting to get late at night when Tommy started to make his way to his house with a small smile. He couldn’t help it, things in L’Manburg - Manburg were starting to turn for the better. Schlatt was trying to be better, which surprised Tommy. Schlatt was trying to sober up, drink less, and listen! Actually listen and take others' opinions to heart. Tommy felt kinda proud of himself. For once, someone actually thought that his opinion mattered! Don’t get Tommy wrong, he still misses Wilbur! But maybe . . . just maybe . . . Schlatt might not be the bad guy? Or at least not all that bad?

Tommy’s not sure, as a matter of fact Tommy’s not sure about a lot of things anymore! Especially with all the damn changes that’s been happening to him! Subconsciously, Tommy pulled the beanie hat that stole from Quackity down a little more.

Horns! Tommy was starting to grow horns! Not only that but Tommy’s pretty sure he might also be growing a tail? The headaches started around the Election Time but then they grew into migraines. At first Tommy had thought that it was the result of all the stress and pressure from everything that’s been happening. But then Tommy felt small little bumps on his head. Okay, so at first Tommy thought it had to be acne or that he possibly hit his head on something. But then the bumps grew more and then Tommy felt the beginnings of horns starting to grow from his head.

Needless to say, Tommy began to panic and kept everything that’s been happening from his brother, Wilbur! It was one of the biggest reasons why when Schlatt offered Tommy to come back to L'Manburg - Manburg, was that Tommy jumped at the possibility! Yes, he’s here to spy on Schlatt and help keep Tubbo safe! But Tommy didn’t know what to do!

What if his brothers found out? Prime, Tommy wasn’t sure. Would they still love him or cast him out? Would they view Tommy differently now that he’s a Hybrid of some sort after thinking and believing for so long that he was human? Which led to another thing that kept Tommy freaking out about. Not knowing exactly what kind of Hybrid Tommy was! He’s growing horns and possibly a tail for Prime’s Sake!

Goat Hybrid? Hey! Tommy and Tubbo could be “Goat Buddies” then!

Demon Hybrid? Okay now, there’s a possibility! Well, everyone kept calling Tommy a “Gremlin Child” ever since he first came onto this Server! Who’s to say that they weren’t wrong? Might explain his quick temper and chaotic nature more. Huh, maybe Tommy should get in contact with BadBoyHalo and Sapnap? Maybe they could help!

Ram Hybrid? Tommy stopped walking as that thought just crossed his mind. There was only one other Ram Hybrid that he knew of that was on this Server. And he was the one that invited Tommy back after exiling him and Wilbur.

Which brought Tommy back to his original dilemma, Wilbur. Tommy didn’t know what to do about Wilbur. There’s no denying it or lying to himself anymore. Wilbur’s gone! He’s been replaced by this - this Doppelganger of Mad Man! Wilbur needs help! A lot of help! Maybe Tommy could convince Schlatt into letting Wilbur back into L’Manburg - Manburg! And maybe force Wilbur to get the help that he needs!

Or maybe . . . or maybe . . . Phil! If there’s one person in all of the Minecraft Universes that Wilbur will listen to it’s Phil! Now how to get Phil here was the million dollar question? Tommy could message him, call him up and explain everything! But would Phil believe Tommy? Or would he just think that Tommy’s being over dramatic and just over exaggerating things due to Tommy being Exiled and scared?!

Techno! Tommy could message Techno! He’ll message Techno under the guise of Schlatt planning something that he and Tubbo aren’t sure what it is (which isn’t a total lie) and that Techno needs to contact Phil to be here encase Tommy or Tubbo’s cover was blown! Techno would message Phil. Phil would come here. Techno would take Phil to Pogtopia and then Phil would see that Wilbur wasn’t doing good and be able to help his two sons! Yes! This was a perfect plan!

With a plan of action in place, Tommy continued down the Prime Path to his home. It’ll work! It has too! Phil will be here and everything will be alright! Phil will help Wilbur. Wilbur will get better. And then they can figure out how to get L’Manburg back from Schlatt!

“Hello, Tommy.” Came a familiar voice.

Tommy froze where he was standing on the Prime Path for there standing in front of him was none other than Dream.

“What the fuck do you want?” Tommy demanded, ignoring how nervous his voice just sounded. No, he wasn’t scared of Dream! He wasn’t! He was a big man! So, not scared of Dream! Not at all! There’s nothing to be scared of by him!

“Well, I heard that you were back in Manburg and wanted to see it for myself if it was true or not.” Dream replied. “Not gonna lie, I’m kinda surprised that Schlatt invited you back and not well, Wilbur instead.”

“Wilbur wouldn’t have accepted even if Schlatt invited him back, though.”

“And yet you did?”

Silence.

“You know Tommy, I've been wondering. Why do you always wear that hat?”

Tommy shrugged. “It’s getting cold out. And I want to change up my brand!”

Dream tilted his head to the side as if trying to figure out a very difficult puzzle. Tommy stood there silently praying and begging that someone - anyone would come along and save him from this encounter. He really didn’t want to be talking to Dream of all people! It was a long time that felt like hours to Tommy until Dream finally spoke again.

“So, it's not like you’re trying to hide anything, right?”

“Why would I?” Tommy took a step back from Dream subconsciously pulling the beanie that he stole from Quackity down. He couldn’t let Dream see his horns! He couldn’t!!

“Oh Tommy, you’ve never been a really good liar.”

Tommy didn’t see the outstretched hand until it was too late. Dream grabbed the beanie and before Tommy could do anything, Dream tore the beanie right off. Revealing Tommy’s newly growing horns and the start of his ears beginning to change as well.

“So, I was right! You do have something to hide!” Tommy could just hear the smugness in Dream’s voice. “I mean I had a feeling after that little slip up of his! But now this just proves that I was right!”

“Right about what?”

“You know Tommy I’m gonna be real with you. I never thought that in a million years that Schlatt would invite you of all people back. But after that little slip up he made about how he has been looking for his son . . .” Dream trailed off and shrugged his shoulders letting what he just said sink in.

Son?! Schlatt had a son?! What does that mean? Does that mean?

“No, no, no, no! Dream! You got - you got this all wrong man! I mean . . . Phil’s my Dad!”

“Phil’s an Avian Hybrid, Tommy. You would have been sprouting wings if he was your biological father or you would’ve been human if the gene was dormant. But the Hybrid Gene wasn’t dormant in you. And that just leads to asking you one thing Tommy. Why would Phil lie to you? Why would Phil lie to you about who your father is?”

Why indeed?

[fallenrepublick]

Homebound

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Surprise! It's part two! Now this is mostly plot, but it's important plot.

Warnings: A Child, Pain Flare Ups, Death Mentions

Word Count: 3,318

You know better than anyone that Thrass wants to respond.

How long has it been? As much time as Themis has lived, you remember. Thrawn... isn't aware that Thrass survived. All he knows, as of now, is this stranger, flying his brother's ship. In a territory that apparently, he holds jurisdiction over.

But even then, your instincts fight against the idea. The large silver ship looming overhead, blocking out the stars that should have been beyond the horizon, was reminiscent of the Republic Dreadnoughts you were used to, though looking far more damning in presence, practically a blinking sign that familial trust only goes so far. Thrass hesitates, searching your face for an answer you don't have. A slight shake of your head, and he resigns to silence.

"Respond."

One more glance back to you, and he turns to the console, taking the controls in his hands, giving no response to Themis's confusion.

"Father, what are you doing?" she asks, holding the back of the pilot's seat. "That's uncle! We have to go see him right? You promised we'd go see him…"

“I know, little one, and we will, but…” he watches out the windows, the stillness of it all eerie, calm nothingness the warning that comes before the worst of it all. “Things have changed.”

Ships like you’ve never seen deploy from below the vessel, wide hexagons framing opposite sides of windowed spheres, swarming towards you in preparation to destroy.

Something in Thrass changes. A sharp focus takes hold of his eyes, barely acknowledging when you slide into the seat beside him, his hands working at the controls, attention flipping from the buttons and the throttle to the outside.

“Hold on.” The ship curves down, evading the attackers from the front, sharp turns twisting you through the space in front of you, defensive weaves between the squadrons throwing them off just enough to prevent shots from hitting their target, though often only barely.

The distance closes between your ship and the dreadnought, which begins firing as well, precision not its forte, but power enough to cause concern.

‘What are you doing?!” you demand, your husband’s gaze straight, a clear intention on approaching the ship holding his brother in his eyes. “You’re going to get us killed-”

“I’ve crashed one ship before, I’m not about to do it again.” He says it with a hiss of seriousness, his concentration breaking just enough for him to glance over, a silent plea to trust him, if only this once. “On my mark, make the jump.”

You shake your head quickly. “You can’t just do that! If the trajectory isn’t scanned right and we run into another one of these ships-”

“We won’t,” he insists, making another quick turn, his words now coming out faster than the blaster shots fired at you. “Look at that. He’s not trying to kill us, he’s trying to corral us into the docking bay after taking out our engines. I’ve seen him do it before-” A quick jerk sends the ship rolling to the left. He opens his mouth, about to shout, “Now!” But… he stops.

A different set of ships, longer, pointed noses and two sets of wings crossing the body. Leading the squadron was a flatter, larger ship, shaped more like a kite than anything, already beginning its onslaught against your enemies.

“This is Captain Hera Syndulla of the Ghost. State your designation, over,” comes a new voice over the comms. Not pretentious, like the last woman’s, nor demanding beneath a guise of professional curiosity like Thrawn’s. Instead, it’s urgency, a need to know before she can proceed. You feel… safe. And despite Thrass’s unwillingness to answer, you do so without hesitation.

“This is the Justice,” you respond, ignoring your husband’s frown.

“How many are on board with you?”

“There are three of us.”

“We’ll clear an opening for you. Once you find it, jump to these coordinates, and we’ll meet you there.”

The numbers come through in an instant. The same numbers you were using before.

Watching the battle before you, Thrass huffs. “I don’t trust it.”

Though you place your hand on his gently, a reminder of your presence that he doesn’t need, yet wants regardless, you still say, “You don’t trust anyone.”

“Just a little longer, okay?” you continue softly, turning around to see the state Themis has found herself in. Her little hands stuffed under her legs, she’s scrunched down, seemingly in preparation for more attacks.

“Then we’re landing?” she asks hopefully. “I want to get off…”

“We will, baby, we will…” Thrass soothes, repeating the coordinates once more, preparing the jump, smoother, less tension in his shoulders.

The opening appears, and with hesitation at his fingertips, he pushes forward, blind trust in you guiding his actions forward, and in a moment, the speckled lights around the ship stretch into lines of white, replacing the shadows that had overcast the ship’s interior. And in the sudden brightness, you’re made frighteningly aware of just how pale Thrass had gotten.

“Thrass…” you say, making every possible attempt to keep your voice low and soothing. His hands retract gingerly from the console, head leaning back slowly. “Are you alright? If it’s happening again...”

“No.” It’s short, a determined answer with a brittle sound that holds the truth more than the word. A sharp inhale, his chest shakes. “I’m fine.” A jerk of his head down. “I’m fine.”

With the ship moving automatically, you turn to him fully, taking his face in your hands. His eyes don’t open, teeth clenched as if to lock away even the slightest acceptance that he isn’t fine. That he hasn’t been for a long time.

Another gasp, and his eyes screw tighter, fluttering between barely open and sealed closed, hands raising past yours, pressed over his ears. There’s little you can do but watch as a small cry escapes his lips, your hands still following as he folds almost completely.

A ringing, a high, screaming ring, in his ears, in his mind, pulsing against the beat of his heart. There’s no blocking it out.

His head pounds, he refuses to look forward. If he did, he knows it all would spin.

Can’t see, can’t hear. It’s almost like he’s-

No, no that was over.

That was done.

It was so long ago.

He knows that.

And… And he can feel.

He can feel… It’s you. Your hand… still holding his face, like you always did…

He says your name. Over, and over again. But he doesn’t know if he really did. It could’ve just been a scramble of sounds for all he knows. Your thumbs rub, ever so slightly. You’re there. You hear him. It isn’t his imagination.

He continues. “It hurts,” he thinks he says, chest heaving with each syllable. His hands slide down from his ears, finding you. His fingers curl between yours, clinging to you with every bit of life he still has. “It hurts…”

“I know,” you tell him, barely a sigh. Yet he finds it in himself to look at you. Your voice. He can hear your voice. “I know.”

Weakly, he swallows, still only barely able to keep himself upright, fearing that the slightest harsh movement would send him tumbling down further than he was. Something told him that, despite it all, you’d catch him.

“I…” he begins shaking out, the mere thought of putting together a cohesive sentence returning a dull ache to settle in his brow. Still holding to your hand, albeit softer now, he leads it to his lips, kisses he lays on the palm fearful, apologetic, and grateful all at once. Your ability to hold back your tears wavers. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s... not safe. If it gets worse… If I forget where I am…”

“It’s not like that. You’re never going to hurt us, you hear me? You’re still you.”

“What proof do you have of that? How can you know something won’t change?”

“Because every time it’s happened, you’ve only ever asked for me.” You lean closer, seeking his eyes, a request that he has no option but to oblige. Tilted, yes, and nearly overflowing with repressed tears, but there nonetheless. “I’m not afraid of you… I never have been, my guardian angel. I never will be.”

And you coax him to rest, Themis’s sleepy silence a noise you welcome, one you wish Thrass would follow. Shaking head and insistances that he must stay awake for your arrival to your destination, you have none of it.

“You need your strength,” you reason, “I’ll stay up just in case, alright?” As much as he hates it… you’re right. Lingering dizziness isn’t ideal for travel, and even less ideal if you encounter any hostiles. And yet… he can’t help his guilt.

Still, it feels like only a moment later that he feels the sudden boom that accompanies the exit from hyperspace. Shaken from oddly restful sleep, he gazes on towards the approaching planet, natural muted greens and blues such a change from Csilla. He blinks away the thoughts of Thrawn that enter his mind again.

Bursts of sound echo behind The Justice, the ship that had contacted yours now appearing to your side, silently guiding you down to the planet’s surface, and with it, their base.

“You’re absolutely sure of this…” he whispers, trying not to wake Themis. It’s more of a reassurance to himself than a question, still progressing downwards, the hush the ship gives as it lands almost a signal to his own worries that as of now, they are unfounded. Can he afford not to be worried, he wonders. There’s no answer to give.

The ramp lowers, and you’re the first to stand. It takes a deep breath… or two. What are you to expect? Who will greet you? Thrass, on the other hand, takes a moment to rise, still unsure, still fearful, for you, for Themis. How could things already be so wrong? What else… does he not know?

There’s no reaction to your exit. Confusion, perhaps, at the stranger who followed the people’s captain from the depths of space, dressed strangely and looking awfully disoriented at the sight of so many gathered in one place. People in palettes of natural colours surround the ship’s entrance, many human, others not, watching every move you make, though without hostility.

Not yet.

But there’s a change. A sudden switch that seems to flip in nearly all of them, battle stances taken, blasters drawn. Turning, the connection you make confirmed, no matter how much you wish it hadn’t been.

Thrass had followed you out, arms crossed over his chest, feigning a pride you know doesn’t exist, expression tight in the same way he held it upon entering a risky debate. Your hands raise, one passing in front of him, slight direction for him to move behind you.

“We aren’t… who you think we are,” you say slowly, their fears a clear message of how much Thrawn had done to them.

“Stand down!” calls an order from behind the crowd. Weaving between these makeshift soldiers, a green Twi’lek woman appears, her flight suit indication enough of her identity. “They’re safe.” A young man follows behind her, dark hair and a scar on the side of his face. His countenance holds suspicion, yet he remains silent.

“Welcome,” Hera says professionally, hiding well enough the courage it takes her to look Thrass in the eyes. “I’m sorry, their past experiences have raised caution, but they mean nothing by it. The three of you are safe here, as long as you need.” Her eyes cross between you and Thrass, clear confusion about the number of newcomers.

“The third is still inside,” you say with understanding. “She’s… still young, so the trip was tiring.”

“There are still a few empty barracks,” she offers, pointing with her thumb behind her. “If you want to let her sleep better, you can bring her inside. But… there are a few questions I have for you.”

Nodding, you give Thrass a touch on his forearm before retreating to fetch Themis, who rubs her eyes groggily as she’s picked up. Thrass steps behind Hera, keeping enough distance between them that whether he’s following at all is debatable, feeling the cold eyes of her allies on his back, certain that most, if not all, would be rid of him in a heartbeat if given the chance. And she leads in silence. The answers she seeks, she’s decided, would be best told in front of the others, despite the displeased presence of the quiet young man, his expression becoming more contorted the longer he watches Thrass.

“So…” she says, reaching a circular holotable below an overhang further in the base. Standing around the edge, a small group still discusses future battle plans, anticipation hanging tense in the air, while a young woman with short hair grimaces at a star map. And just like that, all attention raises to the new arrivals, voices halting instantly as if shut off with the press of a button. The young mandalorian simply stares, the boy moving around her to find his own place at the table. Most others watch in much the same manner. An older man with red hair and tired brown eyes flinches.

“You must be pretty important for Thrawn to be so interested in you,” Hera coaxes, avoiding an assumption that Thrass senses she’s already made. “Care to tell us why he was so intent on catching you?” Her arms cross, an eyebrow raising, reminiscent of a mother coaxing a confession from her child, odd for someone so young. Although, he had been quite similar once.

“I am in possession of his brother’s ship,” Thrass answers, unsure if his attempt at dodging reality was more for his sake or theirs. There’s a flash of emotion in the woman’s eyes at the word “brother,” though gone long before others take notice. “Likely, he wanted to know why.”

“Care to enlighten us?” Expectant, not a person amongst them dares to move, preparing for the words they fear, seemingly most of all.

Blankly, Thrass’s eyes take a scan of the group, making note of the multiple individuals avoiding his gaze, and the remaining few that held it far too tightly for his liking. “As far as Thrawn is aware, his brother was killed years ago. To see his ship once more, in this system no less, is either suspicious or indicative of foul-play. Possibly both.”

Hera falls silent, studying his expression, or lack thereof, falling onto the scar running from his jaw up his cheek, as if seeing how deep it had once been. She sighs, looking down in contemplation, debating whether the next sentence is wise to say, and lifts her head once more in confidence that she had been right the moment he got there.

“So he still doesn’t know you’re alive.” The moment drops, there’s rustling amongst the others, the Mandalorian bows only slightly in case he becomes a threat. And yet his dark red eyes don’t leave Hera.

“So you’re an imperial spy, that’s it?” The boy speaks up, accusatory maybe, but even with his hand resting on the hilt of the weapon at his side, his volume remains even. “Or something worse?”

“Ezra-”

“No, how can we trust him? Thrawn’s done things like this before, there’s no reason to believe that this isn’t just another trick to get information.” He leans over the table as he speaks, his urgency pulling him forward, ensuring that everyone around him hears his reasoning, knows his stance. Thrass finds himself listening with interest, curious at the way the boy commands the room. It’s familiar, in some strange way. “They’re related, that’s bad enough as it is.”

“No one can decide that kind of thing, Ezra,” Hera reminds him, the care in her voice wholly unmasked. “You know we couldn’t turn them away.”

“Thrawn’s hurt so many people…” Pain. That’s what this is.

“But they aren’t the same person.” Her mind recalls the image of you, protecting him, standing between fearful rebels and this man you call your family. Yes, she thinks, this is different. “They needed help, and we have it to offer. Isn’t that what this is about?”

“You say…” Thrass begins, frowning, “That he’s hurt many. My brother… doesn’t kill without due reason. Under what circumstances could this have happened?”

Ezra scoffs. “Due reason? He killed a factory worker out of suspicion. He’s tried to get rid of me multiple times.” A hatred arises in his voice, laced with a mourning that had yet to find its peace. “We… We lost someone important to us… because of him.”

“If that’s truly the case…” Thrass begins, resigned to a truth he had little choice but to trust. “Then I will repay your aid in full through this. I had always known he would do what is necessary... but this has gone too far. I know best of all how my brother’s mind works, and with that, I will help you be rid of him, if you’ll allow it.”

Turning to him, more assured, trust in her forwardness, Hera’s eyes soften yet further, a small smile on her lips. “Thank you.” And when she receives his nod of acknowledgment, she returns to address the group, the commander in her taking hold of her words. “Then that’ll settle it. Meet here in the morning for a briefing, we move out at midday.”

The crowd disperses, some moving faster than others, returning to tasks or the barracks. Though one catches Thrass’s eye. Jumping atop crates and climbing over rock formations, Ezra finds his way to higher ground, sitting far above the crowded base, watching over the horizon where stars have already begun to peak above hilltops. He doesn’t turn, and yet Thrass pauses his ascent at the boy’s words.

“I never caught your name.”

It wasn’t a demand to leave, Thrass realises, and continues up to where Ezra sits, seeing that he had made a space for him.

“Thrass,” he answers simply, not wanting to go through the trouble yet again of hearing it mispronounced. The silence that follows yet again sends a wave of anxiety through him, yet he can’t quite place why.

That name… It sounds so much like Thrawn, Ezra considers. Yet it isn’t. He smiles, thinking about how right Hera always is. Not that he’d ever say it.

“So… your kid. She’s force sensitive?” Ezra asks, changing the subject as fast as he can manage.

Thrass nods, solemn, an admittance of fear. “We left my planet for her sake,” he explains, omitting information. The other reasons stay with him. “My people would have found out, pressed her into military service, even as a child. We would never have been able to bear it.” The darkness closes in, yet the cloudless sky illuminates the night well enough that no light besides the moon and stars above is necessary.

“I’m not sure that’s much better than here,” Ezra says, frowning, angling his head towards Thrass. “The Imperial Inquisitors are made to hunt force sensitives, she won’t be any more safe now than she was before…”

In a way, it’s as if Thrass knew it already, as if his brother’s mere presence with the Empire told him that the unfortunate events were only just beginning. There’s an odd calm in his heart, even still. “Had the Empire ever chosen to come to my planet, they would have found her anyways. I had, and still have a chance to protect her, as long as I’m here.”

“I can… teach her, if you want,” Ezra offers, immediately wondering if he's too bold in his abilities. “I mean, just a little, so that she can control it enough."

Thrass can't help but laugh, small and glad, his assumption about the weapon at Ezra's side all but confirmed. "Then… she might learn to protect herself, if no one else can."

Below, the base has quieted, the only sounds remaining from engineers on late shifts and the watch crew, pacing the borders in search of an intruder. Thrass watches the movement, the lives of these people. Long ago, many of their families might have been aboard that ship. Had things been different, they might have been as well. Now, though, they worked here fighting, risking their lives for something that no longer exists, that lives only in their small collective memory. How poetic.

But Ezra… he turns to look at Thrass fully. And as good gaze follows the edges of his face, he's suddenly reminded of a lesson he once had, silently chastising himself for forgetting it so often, for looking, not seeing.

They were the same species, yes, but the difference ended there. The small bump on his nose before it curves up, the way his eyes downturn ever so slightly, his smooth voice small and burdened, as if speaking took effort, the way it takes from an injured arm that will never move the same again. His family, his willingness to help, to rectify a wrong he had no hand in creating. And Ezra recalls Thrawn, his nose pointed down in nearly a straight line, his narrow, even eyes, and the cool, confident voice of a man who was used to getting what he wants. His animosity, the way he held the kalikori in front of Hera’s face like he was baiting an animal to dare moving forward.

"I'm sorry…" he says finally, voice small, uncertain. Thrass's head turns. "I… I jumped to conclusions. I thought… I thought you two were similar."

"Yeah…" Thrass says, returning his eyes to the sky. He's too far. He can't see Csilla from here. "So did I."

[thegizka]

Our Time

Writer’s Month 2020 Day 4:  Long Distance Relationship

Byleth believes in the future that she and Claude are working towards, but serious news from over the border could mean they have less time to create that future than they thought.

Read it on Ao3.

Note: I do not own any aspect of Fire Emblem: Three Houses.

Byleth had only been to Almyra twice before, both times travelling only an hour over the border late at night.  She couldn’t venture very far because she wasn’t welcome, and peace wasn’t yet secure enough for an extended trip out of Fodlan.  It was much easier for a roaming prince to cross the border when he would be welcomed by many as a friend.  He never stayed long enough to socialize, though.  If word got back to Almyra, he would lose what hard-earned trust from his people that he had.

“The timing is terrible,” Lorenz said when she asked him to hold down the fort for a few days.  “Claude never did cultivate that noble quality of considering others’ schedules.”

“It’s not like he asked to nearly die on the battlefield,” Hilda snapped.  Byleth knew she was worried because she hadn’t complained about the extra work she’d have to do in her leader’s absence.  She had also nursed her brother through his more serious battle wounds.  She knew how bad it could be.

“Do you think the report is accurate?” Marianne asked.  “Could he really be dying?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Byleth said.

“May the Goddess protect him,” she prayed.

Lorenz, Hilda, and Marianne were the only ones she told before leaving.  The fewer people who knew about her absence, the less likely it was that one of the disgruntled lords would try to seize power.  She also doubted her opposition would look kindly on her rushing to the aid of an enemy prince.  Neither Fodlan nor Almyra was favorably disposed to their union.

Byleth didn’t usually mind waiting, and experience had taught her that peace and unity took time and effort.  She had time, and Claude had a plan.  Eventually they would have the future that they both wanted.  She only wished this phase of the plan wouldn’t keep them so far apart.

She had known there would be a battle.  The Gonerils had informants just over the border, and Hilda was quick to share anything they heard about Claude.  A band of dissenters had been marauding the coastline, sometimes dangerously close to Fodlan’s border.  The prince had summoned his warriors to confront them.  It sounded routine, well within his tactical capabilities.  No one expected the scoundrels to have set a trap or Claude to be seriously wounded, possibly fatally.  Suddenly they didn’t have as much time to chase their future as they’d thought.

Byleth covered the distance in a day and a half.  She didn’t grant herself the luxury of admiring the scenery like Ignatz would have.  Sometimes in the quiet moments they shared, away from the politics that kept them apart, she’d ask Claude to describe a place they would someday visit together.  She loved watching him as he used words to conjure images of places held in his memory.  She could see his love for his country in his eyes, and he was extremely secretive and protective of the things he loved.  That he trusted her with his memories meant a lot to her.  She was looking forward to visiting those places and making more memories with him.

Her destination was not one of those places.  From the exterior, it looked like a farmhouse with an accompanying barn.  The buildings were tucked into the shadow of a mountain.  Byleth knew the facade disguised an intricate network of tunnels and rooms that could be extensively defended should the need arise.  No one but Almyran royalty and their closest guards knew about it..

“If anything happens and Fodlan is no longer safe for you, go there,” he’d said.  “I’ll meet you there and we can come up with a plan to keep you safe.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Byleth reassured him.

“But if it does,” Claude insisted, “promise me you’ll go there.”

She wasn’t sure what had spooked him that day.  Perhaps the unrest in Almyra was growing, or he had heard the rumors that a band of Those Who Slither In The Dark had escaped and were plotting against her.  He usually didn’t let such things get to him, but everyone has his limits.

“I will,” she promised, and relief washed over his face.

“Thank you.”  He kissed her hand affectionately.

“And if you’re in serious danger, I’ll be able to find you there, right?” she asked.

“If I’m in serious danger, you shouldn’t come looking for me.”

“But I will.”  She took his face gently in her hands.  “I would scour every inch of this earth for you if I could be by your side for a single moment.  I will always come back to you.”

His eyes said a thousand true things, many of which she felt more than understood.  It was strange to feel so much when for most of her life she had felt very little.  Claude made her feel the most, and the experience was as wildly beautiful as he was.  She wished she could feel this way with him forever.

“If it’s serious, I will go to the farm,” he conceded.  “Just don’t come to me unless it’s an emergency.  Wait for me to send word.  I don’t want you falling into a trap.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He kissed her to seal the promise, then pulled her into a hug.  They held each other for a while, drinking in each other’s presence.  Byleth never realized how starved she was of him until they were together like this, at peace and in union.

“I wish I could bring you back with me,” he murmured, lips brushing her neck.

“I wish I could make you stay,” she sighed.

That had been two months ago.  Now she crouched in the brush a safe distance from the little farm.  She hadn’t waited for him to send word because she wasn’t sure he would.  If he thought it would be safer for her to stay away, he wouldn’t ask her to come, even though she knew he ached for her just as strongly as she did for him.  He had lived his life too carefully to start letting his emotions override his reason now.

The guards at the farm were good.  Disguised as farmers, they made frequent trips between the buildings under the guise of agricultural chores.  Byleth had spent enough time around warriors, though, to notice the telltale signs in their movement.  She knew they were keeping careful watch while they appeared to work.  That they were so active confirmed her suspicion that Claude had been brought here after the battle.  All she had to do was get inside and find him.

She waited until dusk.  It was terrible knowing he was so close and not being able to rush to his side.  Their relationship remained a secret to all but a handful of their most trusted friends, and it had to remain that way.  Claude knew firsthand how a mixed marriage could polarize people, and even though their love was enough to endure the backlash, their future union had to unite their lands as well.

Byleth chose the barn as her point of entry, slipping inside as the sunset stretched long shadows over the land.  The guards seemed less attentive to this building, and it was evident why as soon as she entered.  The smell of wyvern cut through the dusty scent of hay and timber.  She felt nearly a dozen pairs of reptilian eyes bore into her as her vision adjusted to the low light.  Wyvern were fiercely loyal and sometimes dangerously territorial.  Walking into  one’s den was a sure way to get into trouble.

Despite this, she moved forward with minimal trepidation.  She had fought beside most of these creatures when Claude had brought his Wyvern Corps to Fodlan to stop Edelgard.  They recognized her as an ally, and several rumbled a low greeting as she passed, patting snouts and scratching behind their frills to reassure them.  Byleth noticed fresh scars and wounds plastered with pungent salves, signs of the battles they’d fought and their most recent skirmish.  It must have been a tough fight because no beast remained unscathed.  That made her worry.  There could be more truth to the rumors than she had believed.

With growing concern, she made her way to the back of the barn.  The Wyvern Corps’ presence was irrefutable proof that Claude was here.  The warriors were as fiercely loyals as the beasts they rode and would stay by their prince’s side no matter what.  But she had noticed there was a wyvern missing, and it made her worry a great deal.

She almost missed the large stall at the back of the barn because she was so intent on finding a way further into the compound.  The rustle of hay and a chirp brought her to a stop.  Appearing like a ghost in the thin light, Claude’s wyvern lay on a bed of hay, eyes looking at her intently.  He chirped again, and she went to him.

“That’s his name for you,” Claude had said when she’d first heard those syllables back at Garreg Mach.  They had just finished a strategy meeting for their planned assault on Enbarr, and as was happening frequently these days, she had sought him out to hear his unfiltered opinions and take comfort in his presence.

“My name?” she asked, gently scratching the wyvern behind his frill.

“He only makes that sound for you.”  Claude grinned.  “He must like you a lot.  It’s much cuter than his name for me.”

“And what does your name sound like?”

He made a series of clicks and growls that sounded ridiculous coming from a human throat.  She laughed, and Claude grinned brightly.

“It’s rare to hear you laugh, my friend,” he observed.  “It’s a nice sound.”

A warm emotion stirred within her when she met his eyes, something new and exciting that she wouldn’t mind feeling again.  She turned her gaze away, choosing to focus on the wyvern instead so she could sort through this new sensation.  He simply chuckled behind her and let the comfortable silence draw about them.

“Sh,” she cooed as the beast chirped the now-familiar sequence again.  She could see why he was separated from the rest of the wyverns.  His chest was a criss-cross of scratches, one wing was bound in a splint, and a large gash traced nearly the entire length of his side.  It had been treated and bandaged, but the cloth was damp from leaking fluids.

“You’re looking a little rough,” she murmured, rubbing his chin reassuringly.  He bumped her with his nose. “I bet the enemy looks even worse, huh?”  She scratched the patch of his neck that she knew he liked and was rewarded with a rumbling purr.

Byleth was torn.  She wanted to continue on and find Claude, but his wyvern also needed care.  Could she wait a bit longer?

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, patting his cheek before stepping out of the stall.  With the state of his wounds, the healers ought to keep their medical supplies nearby for emergency treatment.  She ducked into a nearby storage room.  It was mostly empty save for a few cratesr.  She popped one open to find bottles and jars of ointment, pungent-smelling like the salves slathered on the other wyverns’ wounds.  The labels were in the flowing, angular script of Almyran.  She could read just enough to understand the general application of each.  Byleth grabbed a few that promised to disinfect and encourage fast healing.  She dug into another crate to find large bandages.

The wyvern chirped her name again when she returned.  She rubbed his neck reassuringly before going to his side.

“Easy boy,” she soothed as she peeled back the old dressing.  He rumbled uncomfortably as the deep gash met the cool air of the barn.  It was oozing pus, but the bleeding had stopped.  She gently cleaned it, murmuring reassuringly as she did.  She took one of the disinfectants and carefully spread it around the gash.

Stepping back, she took a deep breath.  Reaching within her to the part of her that had been touched by the Goddess, she summoned the energy and poured it forth.  The magic wove itself into nosferatu and pulled the exposed tissue together.  The wound was large, and she was tired from the journey.  She also selfishly wanted to conserve some magic in case Claude needed it.  The Almyran people didn’t have many magical healers and were suspicious of Fodlan’s magical traditions, so most wounds were left to heal naturally.  She accelerated the healing process until the gash was past the potential of danger before releasing the magic and letting the Goddess’s powers fall dormant within her.  She then reached into her own pack and pulled out a jar of ointment.  The wyvern turned and clicked at her as she started applying it to what was left of the wound.

“Do you like that?” she asked.  “Marianne has more experience with warmblooded animals, but she thought this might help if you were hurt.  She’s always thinking of our non-human allies.”

Byleth finished dressing the wound with clean bandages before tending to the wing.  She knit the bone back together but kept the splint in place to discourage activity until the surrounding muscle finished healing.

“There,” she sighed, rubbing the wyvern’s snout.  “That’s about all I can do for you right now.  I hope it helps.”

He exhaled against her stomach, making her chuckle while she scratched behind his frill.

“Well this is a surprise.”

If Byleth had had a heart, it would have jumped in momentary panic.  She turned around.  Claude leaned in the entrance, eyes wide with surprise.  Bandages covered his torso, and he leaned on one leg as though avoiding putting weight on the other.  But he was there, and he was alive.

She walked the short distance to him slowly.  His eyes were tired but vibrant as they studied her face.  His gaze softened when she reached him and gently wrapped him in a hug.

“It really is you,” he murmured.  “I thought I was dreaming for a moment.”

“I’m here,” she promised in a whisper.

“Why?”  He pulled back so he could look at her.  He gently brushed some hair from her face.  “Don’t get me wrong, I am unbelievably happy to see you, but why are you here?”

“I heard about the battle.  I was worried.”

He blinked in surprise.

“I sent word that I was fine.  Did it not reach you?”

“I left right away.  I wasn’t sure there was time to wait.”

“I know you worry, but you need to be careful, my love.”

“Sh,” she hushed, cradling his face gently.  “I am here now.  Let’s leave it at that.”

“Okay.”  He gently rested his forehead against hers.  “Okay.”

They stood in silence together practicing the art of being.  Once again, she felt how heavily his absence had weighed on her.  She never felt so whole as when she was with him.

The wyvern behind them clicked and growled Claude’s name.  He chuckled.

“Someone’s feeling a little left out.”

Byleth let him pull away and limp over to the creature.  He spoke to it in Almyran, murmuring in beautiful, lilting speech that she only partially understood.  She loved the cadence of his voice and watching him interact with his wyvern.  He was somehow less guarded, perhaps because he had grown up with this beast.  It was one of his closest friends, and it was nearly impossible for him to hide his affection.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, noticing the bandage along his side turning crimson.

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“Should you even be out of bed?”

“Probably not.”

“Claude!”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, though he let her help him into a sitting position with his back resting against his wyvern’s side.  “I just thought this guy could use some company.”

The wyvern nosed his chest in concern.  Claude patted his nose to calm him.

“What happened?” Byleth asked as she carefully peeled back the soiled bandages.

“The luck of battle,” he grunted.  “It was not with me.  Some archers on the other side got in a few lucky shots instead.”

She counted three puncture wounds and half a dozen bruises.  It was amazing that he’d been able to stand, let alone walk to the barn.  He must be under immense pain.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he promised, though it was hard to believe him.

Byleth was already manifesting the Goddess within her and weaving magic into nosferatu.  She poured her intention into her work, tenderly treating his wounds.  Muscle knit together and bruises faded.  She knew the energy was taking a physical toll, but she was determined to ease his pain as much as she could.  That was largely why she was here, after all.

“Don’t overdo it,” Claude cautioned, gently grabbing her wrist.  “I can afford to heal on my own a bit.”

She wanted to continue until the wounds had disappeared, but the reassurance in his eyes and her fatigue convinced her to let it be.  The magic faded, leaving the wounds red and tender but no longer bleeding.  She took a moment to catch her breath before reaching for some ointment and bandages.

He took her hands once she had dressed his wounds and kissed them tenderly.

“Thank you,” he murmured against her palms.  The hair of his beard tickled her fingertips.

“I haven’t even looked at your leg yet,” she chuckled, trying to pull her hands back.

“Leave it,” he said.  “It’s just a sprain, and you’re already exhausted.  You must have traveled nonstop to get here.  Rest while we still have some time together.”

He was right.  She’d have to leave in an hour to avoid detection and return to Fodlan.  Their stolen moments were never long enough.  Byleth settled into the hay and nestled against Claude’s uninjured side.  He took her hand and held it against his chest, kissing the crown of her head before resting his cheek against it.  She listened to the steady, reassuring beating of his heart.  She could have fallen asleep there wrapped warmly in his love, but she didn’t want to waste their precious seconds together.

“Claude?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Anything.  I just want to hear your voice.”

He chuckled, and she felt it vibrate in his chest.

“Alright then.  In two days, it will be the twentieth day of the Great Tree Moon.”

“Yes,” she grinned, thinking he was being silly and listing mundane facts.

“On that day nine years ago, Dimitri, Edelgard, and I got separated from our classmates during some evening training exercises and were set upon by bandits.”

“I thought you snuck away from the others.”

“There was never enough evidence to prove that,” he chuckled.  “Regardless of how we got there, we were almost surely going to be captured or killed until a band of mercenaries led by the famed Captain Jeralt and the Ashen Demon routed the thugs and saved the future of Fodlan.”

“That was nine years ago?” she asked.  It felt more like three or four.  She’d lost five years to a coma.  Sometimes she wondered what might have been different if she had been awake to guide her students through the turmoil.

“It was.  Nine long years of fighting and bloodshed to create the future we believe in, and we still have a ways to go.  But on the twentieth day of the Great Tree Moon next year, I’m going to marry you.”

Byleth sat up quickly to see whether he was joking.  His eyes were earnest and soft, and they filled her with the conviction that he was making her a promise.

“Whether or not we’ve brought peace to Almyra and Fodlan, although I expect we will by then, we should get married.  I don’t care if it’s a tiny ceremony at Raphael’s inn with only the Golden Deer around to witness it.  The only future I want is one where we’re together.  What do you say?”

She felt emotions stir within her that were too big to name.  They spread through her body and swelled in her throat until she wasn’t sure she could speak.  But what could she say?  Claude had already spoken her desires for her.

“You’re crying.”  His eyes went wide in surprise, and a touch of fear passed through them.  Byleth reached up to her cheeks and felt their dampness.  She laughed in surprise.

“I��ve never been this happy before.”

Claude chuckled with relief as he wiped the tears away.

“You had me worried for a moment.”  He held her face, thumbs rubbing her cheeks gently as he grinned.  “I take it this scheme sounds good to you?”

“Yes,” she beamed.  “I think it’s a winning strategy.”

His grin grew wider as he kissed her.  She kissed him back, sealing their new promise.  Somehow the future they wanted seemed much closer than it had this morning.  One year.  They just had to get through one more year.  Then they’d have all the time in the world together.

[funeralhomewifi]

Little Secrets - Diavolo x MC

Concept: Due to being the prince of Devildom, Diavolo keeps his and MC’s relationship a secret. Until a ball tests their limits. (tagging @beelzebubsthot bc I word vomited headcanons into their inbox)

Coherence? We don't know her, but I'd low key like to write more for this MC.

“This has to be a secret.”

And you had been fine with slipping into Diavolo’s office to seek out a kiss under the guise that he simply likes keeping tabs on his exchange students. You were also more than fine with traipsing around the palace after hours, hair tangled and already desperately missing being in his arms.

Because it wasn’t a secret. Not really. 

Not to Barbatos, who’d caught you many a time taking detours to class and who had started leaving water out for your walks of shame back to the House of Lamentation.

It wasn’t even a secret to Lucifer, because not much was when it came to Diavolo, and he’d become accustomed to hearing you enter the House of Lamentation minutes before curfew.

But now, you sit in class as discussion of a ‘once in a millennia’ ball hosted by Devildom royalty is underway. It’s important for Diavolo. To his entire legacy that he mingle with other nobles from other levels of Hell.

It doesn’t bother you at first, because it sounds fun, until there’s mention of desperate nobles cloying for a chance to toss their eligible single child onto the throne beside him like years and years before.  

You tune out of the conversation, stomach tossing as you make your way to Diavolo’s office during lunch to savor the few minutes of time you have before he’s whisked away to more meetings.

Ever watchful and knowing, Barbatos pours a glass of tea and leaves you two be with the gentle reminder that you only have fifteen minutes. The warning being not to start anything that can’t be finished within ten minutes.

But today you don’t press a kiss to his neck and wrap your arms around him. You quietly slip into the plush seat next to his desk and become hyperaware of how chipped your nails are compared to the fine china as you take a sip of the tea.

Diavolo is watchful, quickly catching on to the shift in routine. “Do you not like this brew?”

“Hm?” You hadn’t savored the taste to make an adequate assessment, “No, it’s nice.” When he doesn’t respond, you sigh, “So what’s this ball about?”

“You’re invited,” Diavolo starts, sipping his own tea thoughtfully. “So is Solomon. There will be other humans there. If that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Dia…” You hesitate and tap a nail against the glass. You don’t want to ruin the few minutes you get with him. You don’t want to question the soft kisses and late nights and thoughtful messages just yet. But you want a straight answer. “That’s good. That, um, I’m invited. But…”  

“You will be a guest,” Diavolo tests. “Not a date. As a formality. You know this, MC. We can’t—”

“I know. You’ve told me. And I understand. But…” You start to chastise yourself mentally for even opening this can of worms, for questioning your feelings, and start to feel a knot at your throat. “Should we end it sooner than later?”

Diavolo pauses, brows furrowed, “MC…”

“No, wait.” You sigh and set the tea cup down, using it as an anchor, “If this concerns your future, the future of Devildom, then maybe we shouldn’t do… what we were doing anymore?”

Eerily calm, Diavolo nods, “Is that what you want?”

“Not really, Dia,” you quietly answer as there is a knock on the door signaling the end of teatime. “But my forever isn’t the same as your forever.”

Barbatos enters to clear the cups. You stand and force a smile as you shoulder your messenger bag and slip out of the office.

XXX

You allow yourself a night to cry then allow your feelings to go on the back burner as you tune out any talk of the ball and throw yourself into more activities with the brothers.

Lucifer leaves you be, for the most part, because at least someone is doing the dishes without complaint. But that comes to an end after day three of avoiding Diavolo, when Lucifer sends you a single text late at night: Message him.

In your overall tiredness from studying for final exams, you send Diavolo a single ‘??? Demon Emoji’ and leave it for the night, only to wake up to a missed call.

A week of halfheartedly ignoring Diavolo and mere days away from the ball, Devildom is crawling with nobles, leaving you to tag along with Asmodeus as he catches you up on at least 100 years of gossip while practically turning Majolish over.

“Breasts covered or on display?” Asmo asks suddenly and you nearly choke on Bujo Tea. He grins and leans in to pull at the bags under your eyes, “You weren’t listening. Now answer my question.”

You pull away, “Your boobs?”

“Aw, you really think I would cover up?” Asmo squeezes your cheeks, “I know a post-break up funk when I see one, dear. You need this ball as a pick me up.”

“No.” You huff, “The ball is the last thing I need.”

“No, MC,” Asmo circles a rack of dresses, “you’re going to get dressed up nice, feel good, maybe get laid. I’ll even go through my little black book for you. Maybe I’ll even offer myself up.”

“Maybe?” You flick through a few dresses idly, “Maybe doesn’t sound like you.”

“Because I’m confident in my—Oh! MC! Here!” Asmodeus pulls a dress from the rack and practically pushes you into a dressing room.

The dress is a deep crimson, verging on brown that flows against your curves, but leaves your back on display and just barely covers your breasts. The flowing sleeves leave your tattoos and pact marks just visible enough.

Asmo pokes his head in and nods, “That’s the dress.”

XXX

Asmo pats on thin layers of make and expertly styles your hair while you sip on wine that twists in your stomach instead of chasing away the nerves. You wouldn't be able to avoid Diavolo tonight, but despite the words and distance, you wonder if it’s a good thing or not.

The castle ballroom is buzzing, gossip and giggles and music merge together in a way that a party in the human realm never would be able to.

You try your best to not let your eye be drawn to the immaculate muddle of tan skin and gold making the rounds, although you swear you can feel Diavolo’s gaze follow you around the room.

You try to stick close to familiar faces. But Lucifer is near Diavolo, who’d placed himself on the dark throne to overlook to ongoings. Asmo introduces you to a gaggle of succubi, who promptly invite you to a ‘little afterparty’. You decline and join Beelzebub at the snack table, only to down a glass of wine quickly before palming a cup of something unknown and wandering.

Conversations prickle your nerves.

“He’s not very interested.”

“It’s not about interest, though.”

“He has…”

You finally drag your attention back to the throne. Your gaze meets Diavolo’s and your stomach flips as he cocks his head, acknowledging you only briefly before returning his attention back to a guest.

The liquor is bitter on your tongue and you tune back into the desperate conversations.

“He declined a little rendezvous in the coat closet.” Because Barbatos would be five steps ahead.

“He declined a taste of my raspberry infused poison chocolate liqueur.” He doesn’t like raspberries.

“He’ll need an heir eventually.”

“Wasn’t his father already—”

You finally step out of the throne room and into a more empty area of the castle, with the empty glass and heated cheeks, you’re tempted  to text Lucifer for the house key, thinking incorrectly that you’d at least be ready to go when one of the other brothers would be.

You slink into a hallway that hadn’t been enchanted to be off limits and wait, listening to muddled conversations and rethinking most of your life decisions as the alcohol burns in your stomach.

Your DDD vibrates.

Barbatos: The enchantment on the main wing has been altered to allow you through.

Barbatos: Please go on through to the rooms. I’ll send someone with water.

You want to hesitate and ask for an escort back to the House of Lamentation, but allow your feet to guide you through the hallways you know so well. You linger at the entrance to Diavolo’s personal rooms and give into pressing into the bedroom.

After a while, a Little D hops into the room and leaves glasses of water and juice along with a bottle of aspirin to ‘prevent a hangover’.

You sip on the juice and pace around the room, lingering near the dresser upon noticing a collection of small trinkets you’d brought Diavolo from your visits in the human realm. With a sigh, you finally sink down to the bed, Diavolo’s cologne wrapping around you.

You’re alone in the silence, the room horribly empty and dull by yourself. And you dare to wonder how Diavolo stands it. Then you remember: he has no choice but to endure the dark silence, it’s what he is.

The door creaks, then opens, and Diavolo enters, a heavy air around his demon form, yet it doesn’t unnerve you. It never has. It probably never will.

“MC.”

“Dia.”

There’s a silence as he approaches you. Gently, he reaches down, gold around his wrists cold against your cheek and you lean into the touch. Instinctively, you stand and wrap your arms around him as best you can, a hard feat even when he’s not in his demon form.

His arms go around you, hands exploring your hair, “You look lovely, MC.”

“So do you,” you muffle into his chest. You bask in the warmth for a moment longer before peering up, “We do need to talk… about this, Diavolo.”

“Give it more time, MC,” Diavolo kisses your forehead. “These events won’t be needed much longer. I promise.”

---

Dress Reference

[emotionaldepravity]

Since you love Starscream so much, why don't you answer some fluff alphabet prompts? Namely F, R, U and W. I'll leave the continuity up to you

OwO okay so technically these requests are closed, but its Starscream so I’m going to make an exception. I think we are going with Armada, Prime, and Cyberverse for this one. I just hdjsdhf love him! ❤❤❤❤❤

Armada

F-Feelings

-He felt nothing but shame the moment he saw you after he betrayed the Autobots. It didn’t matter what the Autobots themselves thought or even the children, but the hurt expression on your face threatened to break his spark into a million pieces. He wanted to run and pretend that he hadn’t seen you, but when you called out to him, he paused. He let you tell him that you didn’t hate him and that you never would. You only wished that you could have had more time with him, and that if he felt the same, you’d be happy to leave everything behind just to be with him. He knew then that he really did love you, and it scared him.

R-Remember

- You were curious about how it felt to ride in an air plane since you had never been in one before, and Starscream was happy to oblige. He had seen the Autobots unfazed by the children riding along with them, and he had often wondered what it would feel like. The moment you entered his cockpit he could feel your warmth. The heat you radiated surprised him, but it wasn’t unwelcome. The way you patiently waited for him to get adjusted to the idea of flying like this made him quite happy. The smile you had on your face as you peered through his windows to see the bright blue sky and fluffy white clouds as they surrounded the two of you was a treasure that he’d always take with him. 

U-Universe

- A bright shooting star you get a glimpse of just as it falls and fades into the blackness of the night

W-Why

- He loves you because you treat him as an equal being that matters. You love him so openly, knowing that there is nothing to gain from doing so. Despite knowing he has little to offer but his own affection, you still love him. He has never had anyone care for him the way you do before, and he truly is thankful for you. When you smile at him, his whole world seems brighter, and he finally has something worth fighting for. He’d do anything to keep you safe and to give you a world where this war was over. 

Prime

F-Feelings

- You were supposed to be just another worthless human that he could use as leverage against the Autobots. You were supposed to be afraid when he showed up to your house to steal you away. You were supposed to hate him for being an evil Decepticon. Yet you willingly came with him, eyes filled with nothing but pity. You had seen on more than one occasion what failure meant for Starscream, and if nothing else he always seemed to keep you safe from the other Decepticons until Optimus and the rest of Team Prime came to save you. He always kept you locked in his quarters rather than a cell which offered you some comfort as well as protection. As he stole you away, you could feel his entire frame trembling. You had pet his dash not knowing what had made him so on edge, but it wasn’t too hard make a guess. This wasn’t exactly the first time he had come to you in this state. However, you were a bit surprised when he took you not to the Nemesis, but to the wreckage of the Harbinger, a place he had taken you only when he first discovered its ruins.

 He had felt so alone staying in the damaged ship, and now, at least with you here, things didn’t seem as bad as they have been. He wasted no time letting you out and mass displacing to hold you close to his chassis. You could hear him lightly sobbing into your hair. Expecting you to want to pull away, he loosened his grip on you. However, you didn’t let him go, and instead you continued to embrace him and lightly stroke the base of his wings to comfort him. Barely above a whisper, you told him you loved him. His spark felt so full that he felt compelled to kiss you which he did. He had known for a long time that he loved you, but only now could he admit it to himself. 

R-Remember

- During one of his several information exchanges with the Autobots, he asked to see you. He was exhausted and lonely, more so than he had been in a while, and he thought if he could at least see you he’d feel a bit better just in case Ratchet refused to patch him up. Luckily, Ratchet and Bulkhead, despite their better judgement, did bring you along. The shame Starscream might have felt for you seeing him in such a sorry state vanished when you ran over to him with genuine worry painting your face. It took more willpower than he could ever admit to keep the coolant from running down his face. Perhaps it was improper for a Decepticon like him to be so close to a human, but at a moment like this, he could hardly care.

U-Universe

- Sitting absolutely alone at a party you willingly came to knowing and fearing that you’d be watching as everyone else seemed to enjoy themselves 

W-Why

- He knows better than anyone that he isn’t perfect, he is berated for it almost on a daily basis, but with you, he knows that he doesn’t have to be. He is his own worst enemy, and he knows it. However, you still don’t turn your back on him even when he feels like he doesn’t deserve your kindness or time. You aren’t some perfect saint either; your flaws keep him grounded, reminded that neither of you are perfect and that’s okay. He loves you because no matter how miserable things are you don’t turn your back on him. You are willing to tell him the hard truths and expect better of him. While the thought of expectations mortifies him, you only ask him to try. And with you supporting him, he feels like it is safe to try.

Cyberverse 

F-Feelings

- Useless, trash, weak, stupid, Megatron was quick to attribute all these words to him and more no matter how untrue Starscream believed them to be. Everyone failed their missions sometimes, but only Starscream was shamed so publicly for his mistakes or at least, that’s how it seemed to him. It was after being reminded of how much the leader of the Decpticons hated him, that he found himself pinging you for a moment of reprieve. Typically, he would hide in his habsuite and let the frustration in his spark pass, but as he had gotten to know you, he felt comfortable enough to vent to you and trust that you’d be understanding. Your voice hit him like a fresh cube of energon after a long battle. Being so supportive of him, you boosted his mood and refreshed his mind. You talked with him for hours, but it was only that you noticed how late it was getting that you told him you needed to go to bed soon. As he was about to end the communication, he just naturally told you that he loved you like it was just the typical way he would sign off. He was about to apologize when you returned the sentiment. He couldn’t wait to have another moment of freedom to hear you say it again. If he was really lucky, maybe he’d also get to hear you say it in person. 

R-Remember

- With there being a lull in the orders to attack the Autobots, Starscream had been able to spend a lot more time with you. You were slowly introducing him to Earth media, and that just so happened to include some romance movies which he seemed oddly fond of. He often asked questions about the movies, and so when he finally asked about kissing you were quite prepared to explain it. Under the guise of needing to tell him in secret, you convinced him to pick you up and when he got close enough you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He was surprised but was quick to give you one in return

U-Universe

- The hiss of a shaken up bottle of soda in a previously silent room that grows louder the longer you leave it alone

W-Why

- Before he would have said he loved you because you listen to him when he needs an ear/ audial receptor. You laugh so genuinely at his jokes and smile at him like he is the center of your world. He likes to be praised, and though he does ask, you manage to surprise him with how sincere your admiration for him is. When he had a brush with death, he thought it was destiny itself to love you and for you to love him. Nothing felt right without you. As he hung between life and death he thought realized something, that if you died and weren’t in the AllSpark with him, he would never know true peace. In the delusion that he had dreamed up, he truly believed that he came back online to make sure he can find a way for you to be with him forever. Until he can figured out how, he would just have to settle for setting all of the sparks of his fellow Cybertronians free. Of course, he now knows that he was just a mech, left for dead, praying to see you one last time. The only thing that has never changed is how much he cares about you. You really are the only things that keeps him grounded. Despite all that has happened to him, he waits for a day that he can see you again.

[thebumblebeetumbletree]

Pretty, Ugly

This is for Harringrove. Apologies this took so long, I recently was hired at a hospital so I've been swamped with getting settled in. And of course, to boot, I got a nasty case of writer's block and had absolutely no motivation whatsoever. But I recently found this really awesome prompt that I wanted to try my hand at.

30. "We could...you know, go together if you wanted?"

Steve is actually Seven, a "failed" experiment from the lab that Brenner deemed unworthy of his cause. Steve is taken in by one of Brenner's fellow scientists to keep an eye on him in case of any changes in his ability status.

The lab believes Steve has no powers, but in actuality, Steve's ability is being able to physically see others internal pain as if it was an external one.

For Steve, the pain could be seen as a few scratches, other times it looks as if they've been in a car accident (it varies).

But the first time he saw someone who he couldn't compare an injury to, was a day Steve couldn't forget. Billy was something Steve couldn't forget. 

When the blue camaro with California license plates pulled into Hawkins high school, interrupting the early morning rush of students mingling before classes, Steve got this sudden feeling. It quietly and steadily crept up his spine as he and Nancy watched the passenger door open, a young girl with penny copper hair angrily slamming her way free.

The sensation of his nerves tingling on either side of his spinal column was like the feeling of stepping up to the edge of a cliff. Steve's stomach ached as the Camaro's driver side door slowly opened, as a leg clad in tight apple bottom jeans appeared. As more and more of the mystery student was revealed to the curious eyes of onlookers, the pain in Steve's stomach turned to something he could only compare to the time he once caught a moth with his bare hands. He had held the little bug, feeling its wings pumping frantically in search of an escape route until his mother scolded him for playing with bugs.

As Steve finally got his first glimpse of him, the imaginary moth in his belly fluttered its wings even harder. Steve felt that just looking at the god that lay before his eyes was akin to getting only a glimpse of the sun. Blinding, breathtaking and hot.

But as the young girl, who could only be his sister, skateboarded away, Steve watched as cracks started to form. Blue eyes turned dark, a long fissure faded into view from his curly hairline down over his cheek. Obscuring beautifully sad eyes and sun kissed skin.

And even when Steve met him- met Billy, officially, he didn't hate him. He wasn't jealous of his sudden rise to fame and his own usurp, he was just- sad.

Steve could barely look at Billy without his gaze immediately being dragged to the scars and bruises. They seemed to be a dark cloud that grew the longer he partied, the longer Max flinched at his very presence, the longer he stayed in that house with him.

Steve knew. Everyone knew. But no one saw. 

He did though, Steve saw things that he didn’t understand, things he had long come to accept as the new norm. So, it wasn’t really surprising when Steve finally met Eleven or El, as everyone called her, and she came with a surge of anguish and power that Steve just knew Brenner and his lab of merry men had fueled. 

He wasn’t even surprised when she fixed her gaze to him, a furrowed brow and a tilted head the only acknowledgement she gave him before the chief ushered her out into his idling jeep. 

Steve trembled and gripped his wrist and continued to even long after she and Hopper vanished into the night and it only grew worse as Nancy and the Byers fled their home to an undisclosed location, leaving Steve to watch Dustin, Lucas, Mike and Max. Max, who was Billy’s step-sister and someone Steve knew would only bring trouble. 

They were only left alone for an hour, tops, before Steve heard a rumble and a squeal of tires. He knew who it was before he even side-eyed Max. She sat beside Lucas, pale and shaking as the car grew louder, the music blaring a familiar tune that reminded Steve of sun-kissed skin and apple bottom jeans.

The sound of trouble.

“Stay here and don’t get caught dip shits,” Steve didn’t spare them a second glance as he headed out the door to meet Billy. He should’ve, at least then he could’ve hidden in the house and hoped Billy wasn’t into breaking and entering, before he got the shit beat out of him.

-&-

The next time Steve saw Billy, he was naked from the waist up and sauntering in front of all the mothers at the local pool. Steve himself was far too pale to be out and had decided on a sensible white button-up that used to be his dad’s and was far too big on Steve. He only had a few buttons done and yet it still billowed around him and slipped from one every time he went to flip the page of his magazine. 

He should’ve looked up, it would’ve saved him the embarrassment of ignoring the shadow that fell over him. “Dustin, I’m not rubbing anymore sunblock on your back. Go ask one of the others to do it. Or better yet, ask your goddamn mom before we leave your house next time!” 

In his defense, Steve had been bribed to take all the kids to the pool as a sort of coming home present to Dustin for getting back from science camp. So, it came as a surprise when he heard no whiny retort or Chewie noise and instead heard a scoff that sounded vaguely like a laugh. When he peered over his sunglasses, Steve squinted against the blinding sun and nearly ducked back down against the sight before him.

“I didn’t know you made it a habit to visit the pool, pretty boy.” Billy wasn’t glaring, and Steve was taken aback at the sight of a near glistening Billy Hargrove. “I knew Max was being less of a little shit than usual. Now it explains a lot.”

Steve flushed and prayed he wasn’t implying anything like he had back at the Byers house so many months ago. “I’m just letting their parents catch a break from the brats,” Steve hid a wince behind the guise of flipping another page. He had hoped that brat would’ve come out less fond, but at the knowing look in Billy’s eyes, he knew he would’ve failed if he had even tried. 

"You coming to the party tonight? At Heather's?" Steve startled at the sudden question. He hadn't expected Billy to keep talking to him and honestly expected him to move on to making eyes at Mrs. Wheeler.

"Oh- I'm," Steve was glad the heat of the sun concealed his sudden blush. He'd never stuttered before the fight with Billy or struggled as much for words as he did now. It had nothing to do with the questions or conversation, not completely. The unseen scars from past wounds- verbal and physical- lay before Steve's eyes, a constant reminder to him that Billy was just a human and not a monster. "I wasn't planning on it. I was actually gonna take the kids to the faire."

The fourth of July wasn't until next week, but Steve remembered when he was their age and going a week ahead to watch the rides get set up and see the firefighters test run the fireworks. It wouldn't be anything big, but Steve thought it'd be good way to show El something new and different.

Steve winced as a fissure appeared right above Billy's nipple, cresting up and over his shoulder. "You- we could...you know, go together if you wanted?"

Billy looked surprised, his eyebrows disappearing into his curls, and for a moment, Steve could see the indecision, could practically hear the no on his lips. "I'll see you there pretty boy."

Steve gaped as Billy winked and sauntered away, his sunglasses flicked over his eyes. Steve expected the no since he had seen Billy flirting away with Mrs. Wheeler only moments before. And yet, he felt a pleasant tingle in his belly at the thought of Billy skipping out on a bad decision to hang out with him.

It didn't escape his notice the way the cracks faded away at his offer or the way Billy seemed to brighten at the prospect of being with them. And if he had a strange feeling that he just stopped something, well, Steve was only happy Max had a way to get to the faire grounds.