#hes using ancient form of “nail polish”

[headcanon-fodder]

I have a headcanon that the only selfcare chilchuck regular engages in is taking really good care of his hands/nails cause he views it the same as the upkeep of his tools

he also liked keeping his hands nice for holding his wife and children but don't worry about that part

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.3)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: Its the task force's first mission as Agents at Taylor Tailor's. How will it go- will other agents accept them and most of all- will you be able to handle working with so many agents on the same mission?

Warnings:2500 words, light swearing and teasing, depictions of blood and violence. A/N: sorry for the delay... decided to change the look of these stories too (hope you like the change!). Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

6:00 PM | Autumn | National Museum of Art and History

Agent Whitby grips the back of another man's suit into a fist, slamming his face repeatedly into the brick wall of the storage room. Blood pours out from their nose, a harsh gash forming against their left cheek and forehead- the skin purple and blue as one of their eyes swells shut. “You really are wasting my time here- you’re a waste of time really for anyone so why not just tell me what the code is, make it easy on your looks and my patience- hm?” he challenges, flicking his head back as the man tries to elbow him in the face. 

Letting out a tisk, Whitby drops the man, holding him in place with a dress shoe to the chest as he feels the man begin to cough up blood as he cringes, eyeing at the lower fabric of his suit becoming damaged by the liquid. Letting out a sigh, while shaking his head, glass slipping down his face as he reaches into his waistband leveling the barrel of the gun in between their eyes. 

“Let us try this again, where-” Whitby pauses at the sound of your voice coming through his earpiece, tilting his head to the side as he continues to stare down at the man, waiting for him to speak the answers he evers-so needs. 

“Whitby, do you have a moment?” you ask coated in sweety-coated sarcasm as you watch him through a hidden camera put on his glasses- observing the man on the floor with mocking pity on your features as you turned to Laswell and point to the room Whitby closed himself into as various enemies flooded the floors below him, making their way upstairs and into the ancient egyptian part of the museum. 

“All my time is yours, love. Only to ask,” Whitby says lovingly while stepping into the man's chest harder, hearing as he wheezes out from the pressure. “Warming my heart here darling,” you start to say, hands moving across the keyboard as you add the scanned models of your newest agents into the digital model. “Whitby, I am sending my newest agents in to help you as a gage for the training that needs to be done. You are in charge, congrats- you are a new father of four!” 

“You’re joking-” Whity begins to say before Handler Jacobs patches themselves into the call, a still image of them setting on your computer screen as soundwaves spike and drop in rhythm to his speech. “Agent, this is Handler Jacobs, you are green to finish him off- passcode is.” You wince as the gunshot rings in your ears- stilling the blood in your body as switch yours and Laswell’s calls over to the boys comms as they arrive at the scene. Their once greyed out figures now bursting with colour and moving in sync to their current actions. 

“Alright Agents, give me a sign that you hear me,” you test, watching the surveillance coverage with a nervous smile as you begin to pick at your nail polish, blood pumping and making it way upwards to your head- settling its thundering beat in your ears. Laswell scoots her office chair closer, placing a hand on your shoulder for reassurance as you let out a large breath. “Loud and clear” rings through your comms as you shake Laswells hand off of you, moving to stand and lean over the diagram. “A physical sign please-” you stress as silence is all you receive on the line, watching as they start to whisper to one another and look around, feeling around their suits. 

“I don’t think I copy, Dee…” Gaz says, rubbing the back of his head. “I watch your every move boys while on a mission. And that is Handler D, please. Turn left and go through the staff entrance, inside the envelope is a swipe to get through the door. Charlotte has already put your biometrics into the security. You will have to climb up the disabled  elevator shaft. Agent Whitby is on the third floor in the Egyptian exhibit awaiting your arrival as we speak.”

“Oh,” Soap responded, waving his hands widely in the hair as you shake your head- looking at Laswell who is struggling to contain her laughter as you grip at the table, knuckles turning white. You watch as the task force makes their way, peering down each corner and into the elevator shaft as they begin to climb the ropes. You watch their technique, writing a few notes on a nearby paper-pad from your desk upon their technique. “We are on the third floor,” John states. 

“Walk as I talk please, turn left, left again, open the yellow door to your right there is a card swipe behind the suit of armour. In 10 steps you find a closet door, open it,” you order, falling back into your chair as their digital models work through the space, guns raised as you click your pen on and off, listening as your clicks sound in tune to the digital clock on your screen. You continue your notes as a ping vibrates through your phone. Mouthing a thank you to Laswell, the report you asked for finally in your inbox. 

“Well hello there,” Whitby states, picking up the dead man's handkerchief as he cleans his hands before shaking each of the task force’s in a strong grip and tight smile. “Agent Whitby, do follow me,” he commands, dropping the piece of cloth to the floor before ushering the group outside the closet as he starts to jog down the hall and places the code into the staff hallway before continuing to navigate the maze of white tiled floors and beige walls without a blink of worry. Handler Jacobs rattles off directions in his earpiece as the task force remains impressed by his supposed memorization of the building. 

“Alright boys, there is one hostile coming up on your west in 5, 4, 3 2, and…” you watch as Johnny tackles the forager into a nearby cart, various vitals of chemicals spill across the floor as they hiss and fizzle amongst one another, eating away at the leather of his shoes. Loosening his tie, Whitby restrains the woman, humming to himself while scanning the rest of the hallway. “Good work, agent,” Whitby compliments, clapping a hand down on their shoulder before continuing to move down the hall and sporadically turning on 90 degrees to slam the door back on another forger, they curse out in pain, dropping to their knees before quickly standing and rushing out into the hall, starting to swing at Whitby.

Dipping down and extending his leg outwards, the man falls over, face slamming into the tile floors below just before they grip his ankle, tackling the agent down with him. Various punches are shared before Whitby has their purple-head in between his thighs- they whimper for air, slamming their fists repeatedly against his thighs while. Whitby signals over for another tie as John wraps the fabric tightly around their wrists. Straightening his jacket one more, Whitby’s chest rapidly rises and falls- needing air he unbuttons a series from his dress shirt before punching in a code back into the door as it creaks in welcome. 

Flicking the lights on, Whitby now walks with a limp to his step- observing the various artifacts in the room sat beside the fakes that were to be sold. Pinching the edge of his glasses, he takes a series of photos- uploading them into the system. “Ghost and Soap, right? If you could demolish these fakes.”

“You have 12 combatants coming from the roof, 20 minutes until they reach you all,” you comment, eyes flicking from the model to the surveillance photo as you chew your lip anxiously. “I have already informed Kyle and Price in the hall but the police are on their way- 30 minutes tops you all. Destroy and set the forgers in place. We cannot be seen,” you state, setting a timer to each of their watches. 

“Then let the fun begin,” Whitby announces to the room before they all get to work smashing through the various fake vases and statues that were to be sold for profit through these criminals. Porcelain shards fly and rattle against one another, crunching beneath their shoes. Glass cabinets are flung open, mixing with the debris on the floor as Soap sets fire to a fake wooden ship carving. Flicking your vision back to the hall, John and Kyle made their way back into the room, tying the criminals to desk chairs and placing a bat at their feet with a smirk. Just as they shut the door behind themselves, you clicked a button on your console as the ties fell from their hands and the forgers scrambled and scratched against the door for an escape to only find none besides the prison cell that awaits them. 

“You are to take your cars back, Whitby is driving to get your gear cleaned before you step back into the facility- safety protocol. Good work today, boys- a few training notes I have for later but other than that, a successful mission is all that matters- management is pleased,” you note watching as they descended from the window, grappling with their belt and buckle before skirting off into the city streets.

A rock station began to bang through the car's audio system just before you shut off communications and watched them drive to the specialty cleaners. Taking a stand and clapping your hands, Laswell rubbed her eyes before announcing her departure. Taking a long hug together you showed her back to the store front before running across the street to pick up a bottle of liquor. Smiling at the black label brand you pay and dash back to the lobby - pouring out a series of cups with ice and phone for Charlotte, Jason, Jacobs, and Samantha to join you all for a debrief. 

–

You smile, watching as the boys do their best to flatten out their freshly primed suits and straighten their ties before walking up to you lounging in one of the many chairs in the large living space of the lobby. The leather creaks under each of their weight, each man smiling as you hand over a glass of Tennessee whisky just as Whitby sends you a knowing wink while eyeing up the bottle. 

“Interesting choice, sweetheart.” He teases as you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder with your own playfully before he starts to lean closer to you, lips drifting featherlight words into your ear as your cheeks turn back. Charlotte smiles at the bottom of her glass, emitting an echoing chuckle before locking her ankles with Jacobs sat across from her. 

“Are you all dating? Or is this an agent-handler culture thing we don’t understand?” Johnny asks. Eyeing the way Whitby's hands drift across your clothing, finding hidden bits of your warm skin with a small frown as you furiously shake your head. “No, no, no, definitely not. But in this line of work specifically… you only want to get with people who really know you- for you. Not the management-mandated mask externally…” you drift off just as Whitby places a hand on your knee, smiling reassuringly before standing and distributing the rest of the bottle as you each cheer for a successful first mission. 

Returning back home, flicking on the bedroom lamp and getting ready for the night and the subsequent morning after. You could only close that night, snuggling into your cold empty sheets of your house- praying that your remaining “favour-missions” go just as smoothly as the last.

But as the cold night air wept its way through the curtains and into your harrowing dreams as you tossed and turned through the night, gripping and digging into your sheets as the streets became lively in the morning light. Your alarm sounded as you felt around to slam it down shut, another day, another mission done and with your bags packed in preparation. It would be a quick training session and the team's first international mission as a kidnapped royal needed your help. 

You groaned at the panic voice mail, the personal bodyguard shaking like a leaf before pleading through your home's digital system speakers. You start a voicemail while pouring a cup of coffee, the toaster pops up as you navigate through the kitchen and settle down at the island. 

“I have an agent close by to their last known location- they will be forwarded until I can get me and my team into a local base of operations. We will bring them home for the country,” you finish the note with, chugging down the rest of your drink before washing your plates in the sink. Feeling underneath the counter, your fingers dip into crevices- a light flashes red and the floor just beside your slides open. 

A fireproof box hisses open to your fingerprint, various foreign currencies and passports from your past missions flood your memories, fingers drifting over each material and number before settling them on the countertop. 

Stepping into your pantry you push back on a wall, the surface rumbles for a moment before turning itself and revealing a series of steps down towards your basement. The lights flicker on to your presence, humming slightly above your head as you make your way down the firing range and towards your collection. Gently picking up and cleaning each gun, you place them in their travel safe and locked containers before slamming the door behind you. 

Packing your belongings into a bulletproof suitcase- made from the same material as your suit. “X?” you request to your house, “Yes, Handler Daniels?” the AI responds in a pleasant accent back- awaiting your every order. “Please make a suit reservation in one hour, request for beige to be brought out- we are going tropical,” you state. “Very well,” X responds back before going silent once more. 

Suiting yourself up, tying up your dress shoes and slinging a shoulder bag on, you look between the car options you have before deciding on an SUV- needing the seating space for their airport trip that awaited you. Checking your appearance one last time in the rearview mirror you rolled out the driveway and down the country roads. Your house is locked automatically with the lack of your detected presence.

Clicking on the radio, Skyfall began to play through the radio as you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel while awaiting a light change. Rolling your eyes as a driver in front of you almost clipped a pedestrian on the sidewalk wishing to cross on their signal. You pulled into the underground garage underneath the building before driving into a specific parking spot off in a dim corner. It scans the bottom of your car, clicking with approval once finding your matching icon before lowering you deeping into the ground. You smile seeing the various sports cars and SUVs already parked in a line- workers busy or some that even worked through the night as you smile at Samanatha as she waves you in from the front desk, settling yourself in the office once more you read through Lasswell's report before sending out the email. Back your bags boys, we are going international.

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @infpt-zylith @kaoyamamegami @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt

[mewsingsbynataliek]

NSR Halloween DLC ideas, just in time for Spooky Night!

The soundtrack for the Halloween DLC would feature instruments associated with the holiday being incorporated into the songs, such as pipe organ and theremin.

The Bosses

DJ Subatomic Supernova

DJSS is a scarecrow, wearing a straw hat, flannel shirt, and denim overalls (cut-off, of course!).

For the battlefield, the background of the Planetarium is a deep orange. The planets he uses to attack are replaced with pumpkins, and the asteroids are replaced by a swarm of crows.

Sayu

Sayu is a cute ghost girl. (I felt it would be fitting since she’s a floaty character.) She's slightly translucent and sports a ghostly wisp-like tail rather than her regular mermaid tail. Her colour palette features off-whites and faded pastels, making her look more etherial.

Sayu wears a tattered white Victorian/Lolita-style dress, lacy cuffs around her wrists and a little bow on her head.

For Phase 2, her dress becomes poofier and more elaborate as small ribbons resembling tentacles appear around her waist. Her trident is completely white.

Phase 3 has her go full-on ghost bride. Her dress has a huge multi-tiered skirt, her hair is adorned with a long veil, and her tentacle ribbons have grown to full length. Her deep-sea mode has her face turn glowing green with solid black eyes, making her resemble a spookfish, while her “tentacles” feature flickering lights similar to a bioluminescent jellyfish.

Her final form is basically your stereotypical bedsheet ghost shape with her legs sticking out the bottom.

Sayu’s team are dressed in dark wizard-like robes, and each of them are wearing masks like the ones worn by Lock, Shock, and Barrel from The Nightmare Before Christmas. 

For the battlefield, the “landscape” is dotted with jack-o-lanterns, tombstones, and dead trees. The background is changed to a seafoam green color, with wispy little ghosts flying about.

Yinu and Mother 

Yinu is dressed as a cute little witch. Her hair is in pigtails similar to her Christmas skin, and her witch hat is adorned with fall leaves and little jack-o-lanterns.

Mother, meanwhile, is a spooky Halloween tree with spiders. Her dress is a dark wood colour with translucent, ragged-edged sleeves, and she wears a thorny hairband and spiderweb earrings.

The ends of her “hair” have been dyed the same colour as her dress, and she wears both black lipstick and black nail polish.

When she grows bigger, her branches begin to sprout large thorns, which end up making her cage form look more like a spiderweb. (There are even little fake spiders sitting on top of it!)

For the battlefield, the stage is decorated to evoke a bountiful harvest, with pumpkins, hay bales, bundles of wheat, stalks of corn, apple trees, cornucopias, and garlands of leaves.

Both the gate and the giant piano hammers are adorned with thorny branches and autumn leaves.

1010 

1010 are pirate ghosts. (As a fun gag, Blue could wear two eyepatches instead of his sunglasses!)

Meanwhile, Neon J is their ghostly captain, complete with a captain’s hat, a sword at his belt, a fake parrot on his shoulder, and – once again – a fake beard attached to his screen head.

For the battlefield, the flying limousine is decked out to look like a pirate ship, with a mast, a crow’s nest, and a tattered sail.

(I felt 1010 as pirates would be fitting since they're a navy-themed boyband and Neon J was a captain in the navy.)

Eve 

Eve is dressed as Medusa.

Her dark green dress has a scaly pattern, and she accessories with a lot of gold, including spiralling gold sandals and a golden diadem crown.

Her hair has been dyed, shaped, and styled to look like several little writhing serpents.

Her backpiece is composed of even more snakes in gold and teal which wrap around her upper torso and spread out behind her like a peacock’s tail.

Eve’s pupils even become snake-like starting at Phase 2!

For the battlefield, Eve’s gallery has been transformed into an Ancient Greek temple, but with a postmodern/vapourwave twist. Stylized Greco-Roman columns with snakes wrapped around them line the walls, and an ancient looking gold chandelier hangs from the ceiling. The left side would be eggplant purple while the right side would be cerulean blue.

If the player gets hit by the eye lasers from Eve’s giant statue, they’ll actually turn to stone and be frozen in place for a short time.

For Phase 2, on Mayday’s side, the snakes wrapped around the columns have grown larger and are now looming over Mayday, their faces twisted into angry snarls (representing Eve’s derisiveness and hostility towards May).

Meanwhile, Zuke’s side features floating fragments of ruined columns (representing how lost and incomplete Eve felt after Zuke left her). 

Phase 3 is where it really starts to get trippy. Both rooms feature ruined columns and floating shards, along with giant brightly colored snakes slithering all over the background.

The shards in Zuke’s side reflect images of faces screaming in anguish, while the shards on Mayday’s side have limbs protruding from them- one shard has three legs protruding from them in reference to a trinacia. (Look up what a trinacia is to understand the reference!)

Tatiana

Tatiana is a vampire.

She wears black and red robes with bat wing-edged sleeves and a wide collar. Her earrings are coffin shaped, and she has small, pointed fangs that can be seen when she opens her mouth.

At the beginning of her battle, she starts throwing flaming bats.

For the battlefield, Tatiana's office/battle arena is made to feel like a vampire’s castle tower.

The whole room is lit with a deep red glow, and the tall windows that feature the NSR murals are topped with pointed arches, giving them a Gothic look.

You can even see some glass bottles filled with (ahem) red liquid on Tatiana’s desk.

Meanwhile, the Goolings' stage outside is decorated with jack-o-lanterns and hanging skeletons.

DK West

DK West is dressed as Frankenstein FrankenWest!

His look consists of neck bolts, stitch markings, and a dark ragged recolour of his original outfit.

His bull shadow puppet has matching neck bolts, which even emit shadowy electricity when it appears during the battle.

Bunk Bed Junction

Mayday

Mayday is dressed as an imp, wearing a bright red dress with black sleeves and waistcoat, black wings, red horns, and a red tail.

Her guitar is deep purple and splattered with glowing orange paint. It emits a wolf howl when she powers it up for the Showstopper.

Zuke 

Zuke is a werewolf. Ragged clothes with fake fur poking out, extra fur attached to his forearms (don’t ask how got it on there), pointed ears, a bushy tail, pointed fangs, his nose has been painted. Pretty simple.

His drumsticks are splattered with glowing green paint and tipped with tiny light-up pumpkins.

The Other NPCs

Ellie has little bat wings attached to her back and wears a springy bat antenna headband.

And last but not least, 

Kliff . . . is just wearing a pair of Groucho Marx glasses. Yup. That's it.

Let me know what you all think. I’d love to hear some feedback. Thanks for reading! Happy Halloween!

[fleetwood-rendezvous]

Footballer Cristiano Ronaldo recently made headlines because fans noticed he was wearing nail polish on his toes and the reason has nothing to do with trends. This has been around for over 5,000 years and is what motivates him to adopt this practice. One of the oldest civilizations to use nail polish was that of Babylon, where men painted their nails with crushed minerals before battle. The colors they chose indicated their rank and class and also served to intimidate their enemies. Likewise, ancient Egyptians applied nail polish according to their social position, with darker shades reserved for the elite. Some tomb paintings show men receiving manicures from servants. Nail polish was a cosmetic product and a symbol of authority and prestige. Today, many male celebrities use nail polish to express their creativity and individuality or to make a statement about gender fluidity and diversity. Wearing nail polish can be a form of self-expression that communicates a person’s identity and values.

Le footballeur Cristiano Ronaldo, a récemment fait la une des journaux car des fans ont remarqué qu’il portait du vernis à ongles sur ses orteils et la raison n’a rien à voir avec les tendances. Cela existe depuis plus de 5 000 ans et ce qui le motive à adopter cette pratique. L’une des plus anciennes civilisations à avoir utilisé du vernis à ongles est celle de Babylone, où les hommes se peignaient les ongles avec des minéraux broyés avant les batailles. Les couleurs qu’ils choisissaient indiquaient leur rang et leur classe et servaient également à intimider leurs ennemis. De même, les Égyptiens de l’Antiquité apliquaient du vernis à ongles en fonction de leur position sociale, les teintes plus foncées étant réservées à l’élite. Certaines peintures de tombes montrent des hommes recevant des manucures de la part de serviteurs. Le vernis à ongles était un produit cosmétique et un symbole d’autorité et de prestige. Aujourd’hui, de nombreuses célébrités masculines utilisent le vernis à ongles pour exprimer leur créativité et leur individualité ou pour faire une déclaration sur la fluidité et la diversité des genres. Porter du vernis à ongles peut être une forme d’expression personnelle qui communique l’identité et les valeurs d’une personne.

[percabeth4life]

hey ward do you have a list of Percy's full inventory since I am kind of interested of all the things he got

Pets

Hippolyta: Coconut Octopus Appa: Hippocampi Ran: Sea Glass Sea Serpent

Magical Artifacts

Hippocampi whistle: allows Percy to call them from afar Storm call: Spinning stone top Restoration stone: speeds healing within certain area of it

Clothing & Jewelry

Bracelet from Triton:

Charms Conch shell made of Coral-enchanted to tell Triton Percy’s health Pearl-used Trident-changes into a trident as a weapon Sparkly spiral stone-lets Percy take a mer form Octopus charm-lets Hippolyta go on land with a water bubble

Hair Pieces:

Hair tie: from the Aphrodite cabin, has a dove hanging from it Veil pins Sea shell hair pins Coral hair pin: protects from poison

Earrings:

Silver moon earrings (from Fetu) Two simple pearl ones (one blue and one white) Mother of pearl earrings shaped like conch shells Three hooped earrings in gold, platinum, and coral Two sparkling gems

Necklace

Pearl necklace (Samoa) Necklace made of intricate coral Prayer necklace: from the Demeter cabin, shaped like a shell on the end with Ancient Greek writing stating a prayer on it.

Veil:

Plain Black with constellation patterns A pure white with elegant twisty gold patterns that have mixed hearts and doves and stuff hidden in them Shimmery deep green with curling deeper green wave patterns on it

Gen Clothes

Two main style sets, a variety--flowy and clasps, 12 pieces total Blue scarf (Marinette) Leather pants (Ares)

Weapons & Armor

Oceanskin: connected to the ocean Celestial Bronze Trident Abyssal Platinum knife: able to cut through the shells of basically anything, don't break though it will go up in a beautifully impressive display of doom. Stabby comb shaped like crescent moon (Elei) Ceremonial Dagger Chest Armor: sea serpent scales, very strong, hard to break (Elei) Armor that covers joint of tail and fin (Elei) Forearm braces: a Kraken design intricately done on them, enchanted to cushion his arms so they don't cut into them, feels light as a feather (Amphitrite)

Utility Supplies

Enchanted bag: keeps anyone from removing or affecting Percy's belongings in the bag Rainbow Stone: projects a rainbow Calming Stone: will calm a storm as long as it's not bad (Masina) 2 seeing in the dark potions Water bottle: holding enough water to fill a pond (shimmery white covered in hieroglyphics) Food set: magic lunch box filled with food, snake design on it Tatu blankets: super soft blankets Map of ocean currents and paths

Assorted

Starglobe: projects stars, is pretty Sea Shell: plays sounds of sea (Somoa) Pretty Coral to grow Photos of camp Journal (undersea journals expensive) multi-piece calligraphy set Mini curling wave statue with dolphins in it Interlocking puzzle with many parts (has prize in the center) Current board for surfing fast currents

Makeup/Self Care/Hair Care

Detangling brush Nail polish Fancy mirror Perfume samples Hair oils

Plants/Teas

Tea selections Set of seeds: brambles, roses, nettles, Echinacea, Gingko, the sandbox tree, hogweed

Medical Supplies

4 healing potions 2 energy potions (exhaustion after they wear off) 6 bottles of nectar 6 bottles of unicorn drought

Fully stocked medical kid

Treated seaweed Purification stone Slim Shell Knife Antibacterial Mix Shell paste: Hardens into a cast Spider Crab Thread Enchanted Fish: eats dead skin, clears damage Tweezers, scissors, painkillers, thermometer Large blanket of woven sea grasses: one side woven with coral, keeps in heat, other cools when exposed to water

:P Full list for you, roughly copied from my files. Hope this helps!

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

When it all falls down

Hi guys! The next chapter is here! I just wanted to say I don’t really have a update schedule so it will most likely be updated every few days. I’ve pre-written most of this fic (or at least planned it) so as long as I don’t lose motivation it will be completed!

Ao3

Story Masterlist

——————————

CHAPTER TWO: The call from the catacombs

Warnings: threats, mentions of kidnapping & death

“I don’t need guards surrounding me constantly, father. I may be of royal bloodline, but I am no weakling.”

He was the crown prince and a trained assassin, yet he was babied similar to when he first arrived at the manor. His family smothered him.

After the coup he was taken into his father’s protection, and although he was born of his mother’s sexual misdeeds, his father treated him the same as his brothers. The first of his father’s charges that he met was Timothy Drake. Drake took part in Wayne Trading and became a successful merchant (but the majority of Gotham’s coffee supply mysteriously disappeared overnight). Then Damian met the Wayne clan’s eldest ward Sir Grayson, he was a famous knight in not only Gotham but Blüdhaven too.

He bonded with them along with his new sisters; Lady Barbara from the Gordon House, Stephanie Brown, Helena Wayne (his toddler sister by blood, conceived from his father’s Union with Countess Kyle) and Cassandra Cain. He had met Cain prior due to her mother being Lady Shiva, a close associate to his mother and grandfather. The reunion between Bruce’s third male charge and the young prince was awkward to say the least. During Jason’s MIA period of his life, he was ‘taken-in’ (aka kidnapped) by the royals and took on a guardian role for Damian (who was only a toddler at the time). The two silently conversed and as the tension faded it lead to constant rough housing and insults being thrown.

He lived and learned from his family until he was nineteen. At nineteen he had an argument with his father about his family’s smothering nature. Lord Wayne agreed they were being a bit much and lessened the security presence that followed his only blood son. After which he was promptly kidnapped by his mother and forced into an arranged marriage, to which the Wayne clan wasn’t even invited to witness.

And now here he was, months later, married and without the ability to contact his found family. Here he was drinking fucking tea with his ‘chosen’ bride. Not much had changed between the him and the bluenette, they were just two strangers joined by a forced union. There were no loving touches, longing glances, consummation of marriage or any connection other than a bond between respected acquaintances.

They communed under the watchful eye of the palace servants. “Spies.” Damian hissed, seething under his breath. “They are nothing more than rats feasting on gossip.”

Marinette sat across from him, posture straight as a board. The couple were separated by the cotton tablecloth that was decorated with a vase of lilies and porcelain plates. A small feast fit for at least twelve sat before the two of them, all were delicacies from across the country and beyond the borders. Her pinky pointed outwards as she sipped the piping hot moli longzhu, a playful smirk danced across her features.

“Your mother has made sure that they have nothing else to eat other than hearsay.”

Although he had been tempered by his father’s teachings, a fire flared within him. If anyone heard her it surely would be reported back to his family; the aftermath wouldn’t be pretty. No this wasn’t him protecting her, he was protecting himself, if someone heard her and it spread another ‘incident’ could occur. No matter the outcome, it wouldn’t end well.

Marinette tilted her head, raising an eyebrow at him, delivering a silent plea for him to challenge. He huffed looking away, her words were treasonous but true.

“You shouldn’t talk like that if you’d like to keep your tongue.”

“Aw, I’m glad to see you are looking out for me.” She quipped back, hand against her chest, mocking him. Her smile was wide and her eyes crinkled as she laughed. ‘Either she was insane or stupidly brave’ he thought as he watched her, ‘what had mother gotten him in to?’

“I’m looking out for myself.” He stood up and brushed off dirt from his garb. “If you make a fool out of yourself, it reflects badly on the Kingdom and I. You said yourself, you wouldn’t burden me through the bonds of matrimony, so don’t make this harder then it already is.”

She sat there in shock silence. Her jest was nothing more then that, she never meant it to cause him harm. She didn’t mean to burden him. She eyed him as he walked down the path. She sat in the pagoda, alone. ‘He was right’ she thought, ‘I need to be careful with my words. Not only for my safety but for my people also. I don’t want my actions to cause them harm.’

Later, when she finally saw fit to reenter the castle, she wandered the desolate hallways. League Castle held few materialistic decorations that didn’t serve a functional purpose. So paintings were no where insight. The only form of artwork she knew of was a sculpture of the late King, his majesty Ra al Ghul.

She looked down at the sculpture from a second story window. It lived in the confines of the royal gardens, atop a grand fountain display. She remembered hearing of the coup when she was just a child. ‘The King was killed and the prince was exiled’ but Lady Talia still ruled and the prince is back from his supposed banishment. It didn’t make sense. And for that matter why was a ten year old exiled in the first place?

Her arm was yanked, spinning her around to face the she-demon herself. The Mistress’ nails threatened to break her skin, they were sharpened and resembled animal claws. The woman’s dark eyes made Marinette uncomfortable, ‘she seems to be on the verge of being unhinged.’

“Come.” It wasn’t like Marinette had a choice, Talia dragged her down the hallways. She stumbled every so often as she tried to keep up with the woman’s strides.

The two came upon a dead end. The bluenette looked forward confused, and before she could even question it, the bricks separated revealing a dingy staircase that descended into darkness. Turning towards her captor, she saw her grab a nearby torch that lit the hall, a brick slowly slid back into place. They followed the spiraling decline until they reach the bottom, the air down here was moist and musty.

The fire only lit a few feet in front of them. They had gone from walls made of polished marble brick to decaying wood and cracked stone. The flooring creaked underneath their steps, the torn carpet was worn by those only travelling one path. She held her breath trying to avoid breathing in the damp air, mould growing at the corners of the walls. Realising she hadn’t said anything until now, the shock of Damian’s words and her abduction by his mother had kept her silent. “Lady Talia? Wher—“

“Hush child.” The venom dripping from her tone was the opposite of one used to shush a toddler, Talia’s hand covered Marinette’s mouth, silencing any objections; the heat of the nearing flame caused her to flinch. “You must learn your place.”

‘Did she know!? Did she hear me?’ Her silent scream reverberated through her mind. The seed of dread in the pit of her stomach grew vines that restricted her limbs causing her to stumble. Her heart clenched, it now felt made of lead and weight heavily within her chest. It’s beating was similar to a drum. But still the dragging continued.

They happened upon a room. Said room looked to be an older, more dilapidated version of the castle’s throne room. There were torn tapestries and fractured tables, it was like the souls of the ancient couldn’t escape this place fast enough. It’s whole atmosphere was eerie. “This castle was built from the ashes of the former empire.”

Marinette suppressed a gasp, she was right. Everything and everyone had told her she was wrong, she saw the shaking of their heads and heard them debunking her theories. The king was alive and the prince was never exiled.

The king was alive.

Taglist:

@thesunniestdays @jayjayspixiepop @toodaloo-kangaroo

[binniesthighs]

EIGHT LEVELS, THE DESCENT

CWs: death, bits of horror and fear, hellish things 

Descent 

you had never imagined death to be something like this. 

with careful footsteps you followed the hollow sound of metal on rock, metal on metal, metal on skin. 

you were scared, but a thrill crept up your throat like none other. it bubbled in the pit of your stomach and fluttered like butterflies through each and every nerve of your body. 

the hallway was dark, nearly pitch black, save for the light at the end of the hall. it seemed like it must've been the size of a pinhead from as far as you were. you thought to yourself, that this must be your punishment: walking on and on forever towards a light that you could never reach. 

seemed reasonable enough. you were not saint...if this was hell anyway. 

sweltering hot heat caught up to you as you walked on, and it singed your skin with a burn that only grew over time. your brow beaded with sweat, and your legs felt heavier with each step. 

at the same time, you felt a deathly chill: a piercing kind of cold that you could only describe as loneliness and emptiness. the two temperatures fought a terrible tryst, and your body could not decide if the shivers ailing you reminded you were really dead, or if by some mistake you had been mixed up in some devils game. 

you don’t remember dying. does anyone? you didn’t know. you can’t exactly ask someone. 

in your shock, you realize that the pinhead of light was growing larger and larger before your squinting eyes. now, the sounds of metal were replaced with wails in despair intertwined with something much different. 

ungodly sounds of pain and pleasure filled the dense air, and moaning and groaning spilled into your ears with some kind of cacophony that made little sense. 

the light approached closer and it became blinding: the kind of blinding light that you had always imagined death to be like. maybe you really had died. 

what you had seen at the end of the tunnel, was not at all what you had expected. 

a reception room. a normal one, like the ones at a hospital. 

am I a ghost? you wonder. is my soul trapped in the place that I died? 

a normal looking nurse in a normal looking nurse’s uniform waves you over. 

“me?” you mouth. 

she nods. 

she gives a curt little smile, and pats down her sterile looking baby blue scrubs. she wears no nametag, and the only thing distinguishing her is the fiery red nail polish that decorates her nails. her eyes are kind, a kind of hazel brown that looks to be a dozen different colors at once. 

“welcome!” she greets. 

“...thank you?” you return. 

“how can I help you today?” the nurse beams. her smile is perfectly white, but her teeth crooked. 

“i...don’t know.” 

she asks outright: “do you have your key?”

“my key?” 

you note that there is no one else in the waiting room besides you. light streams in from the windows, but it is pale and white, like the kind of sun on a cloudy day full of grey. the air smells dusty, old...and burnt. 

“yes?” she cocks her head. “you should have a key?” 

“i-i don’t think that I have anything...” 

a weight pulls down the pocket of your jeans and you see the bulging fabric. 

a brass key makes the imprint. it looks ancient and is a bit rusted on the edges. there is nothing too complicated about the skeleton key except for the fact that the head of the key is shaped to the number eight. 

“what...”

“ah! that’s the key. well, it looks like you’ve got an eight. that’s wonderful.” 

the nurse looks down at her desk to her paperwork, but the white sheets of paper hold no writing or ink. 

“says here that you qualify for all eight levels--just as your key says! well, now i’ll show you to your first room and you can just wait patiently in there for it to begin.” 

“it? i’m sorry, what is “it”?” 

“you’ll see soon enough dear.” 

through her crooked teeth you catch sight of her tongue, and at looks as if it is split: forked like a serpent. 

“this way!” she rouses from her desk. 

the waiting room remains empty when you follow the nurse behind a frosted glass door and into yet another hallway, but this one is illuminated with a flickering green-ish white light. the hall is quiet, and no other patients in rooms can be heard. no talking voices, no crying children, no moans mixed in pain and pleasure. 

“hold onto that key! you’ll need it. that’s all i’ll say!” the nurse nods, and her hazel eyes change color as they’ve been doing under the lights, and you can’t quite tell what color they are. 

“wait!” you reach out to her, a million more questions swimming. before you can get another word out, the door is promptly shut with a slam that seems to shake the whole room. 

the examination room seems normal, just as the nurse seemed to be at first. it is a windowless place, and you almost miss the grey light from the waiting room. a chair is positioned in the corner and the examination table is covered in white paper that crinkles when you sit on it. 

i can’t be dead. she shouldn’t've seen me. 

a lock on the wall ticks and your heartbeats match the rhythm, beating thickly in your chest. 

your eyes close tightly and you draw back your memory as far as you can take it. 

i’m asleep. i’m asleep. that’s it. i’ve fallen asleep. this is a dream. 

your eyes open, and there he is, back to you, facing the wall. 

your whole body jumps from the scare, and your chest aches with fearful gasps. 

his skin is nearly inhumanly pale and white, but peaking muscles curve under his leather vest. muscled arms stretch out bare, and every single twitch of his equally toned legs flare under his skin-tight pants. by contrast, red leather bands wrap around his arms and thighs. thick, long, silver chains drip from his wrists--it would’ve been impossible to get them in their quietly without you knowing. his hair is starkly white, much like untouched snow. 

“you have your key?” he growls. 

your voice is dry when you answer “yes.” 

the man turns. rather than the beast that you had expected, he is handsome: some kind of godly form that glows with a kind of white light even when he looks at you with his icy blue eyes. 

his sharp cheekbones are astonishing and serious. he studies you and you shy away to crinkle the paper under you. 

“you’re new.” he simply says. “we’re going to like you.” 

“w-we?” 

the man chuckles with a kind of laugh that seems to reverberate in your chest. with a wicked smile that nearly cracks the corners of his mouth, he leans in. you’re frozen in your horror when he whispers into your ear: 

“welcome to hell.” 

┈     ┈     ┈     ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟     ┈     ┈     ┈

EIGHT LEVELS | READER X OT8 | 1k SPECIAL 

Pairing: self insert, female reader, male reader, gender neutral reader x ot8 

Genre: pure smut, angst 

Tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language, minor pain play, bondage, impact play, sensory deprivation, edging, overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, throat fucking, use of pet names, degredation, shibari, pet play, sex toys, orgasm denial, marking, exhibitionism, threesome, foursome, general debauchery and more 

CWs: mentions of death, blood, hellish things and slight horror elements 

Word count: ?? 

aka the hardest thing that i will have written to this date. can you endure the pain and pleasure of eight of hell’s most sinful demons? 

~if you would liked to be tagged on this piece, let me know! 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop

[spxllcxstxr]

Crushing (on) the Competition • L.E

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Sorry, can I request for Lily Evans? Just something that involves reader and Lily having friendly competition when it comes to studies, but Lily knows that reader has a crush on her but she waits for reader to finally admit it to her. — anon

Summary: Studying for hours in the library can lead to some strange dreams about one of your competitors.

Warnings: Gets a bit suggestive towards the end, school, homework, exams, a paragraph about Snape, glass breaking

Word Count: 1.6k

A.N: We can all agree that Karen looks absolutely stunning in this gif, right? Inspiration hit and this blurb became a fic. And I absolutely enjoy it. Hopefully it’s all good it became a bit suggestive, it really just came out that way without me planning it like that lmao. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all ❤️

****

The competition in your year was getting out of hand, in your opinion. There were four particular students, you included, vying for the top spot in every available class, but recently that seemed like an unobtainable goal. The four of you were equally matched as rivals, constantly battling each other for the top position, but never staying there long enough to boast and brag to your peers.

Hamish Stebbins, a Ravenclaw with pristine horn rimmed glasses and one of the most massive superiority complexes you’ve ever witnessed, was a force to be reckoned with, especially since he could bang out an O worthy essay of any length an hour before it’s due in class. And he made a living off of it. For the right price, a perfect score in any class of your choosing could be yours with that massive brain of his.

Severus Snape, while it pains you to admit it, was so effortlessly intelligent to the point where he was extremely smug about it. He took his time, carefully crafting out each word of an essay and never took short cuts on his assignments. Unlike Stebbins, however, his knowledge was his own, meaning not even Slughorn could force him to help another student with some measly little problem if it meant he had to impart some of his sacred knowledge.

Then there was Lily Evans. She poured her heart and soul into each assignment and it always paid off for her. But she wasn’t like the other two. Lily never bragged about her perfect grades or rubbed it in your face like Stebbins and Snape. She always went out of her way to help other students, for free, of course. Lily was willing to spend hours in the library explaining concept after concept to anybody who needed assistance. That was just the way she was.

And to be completely honest, you wouldn’t even be in the running for top of your year if it wasn’t for Lily and her persistent kindness.

Ever since you met in first year, the two of you held long study sessions in the library, pouring over textbooks until the text became fuzzy and your vision swam about. She often helped you understand lectures and pointed out how to decipher essay prompts. Luckily, you’re a quick learner so with her aid you were able to beat out most of the other students in your year.

The study sessions between the two of you still occur, but they’ve been shoved off to the side recently because of the heavy workload you each have to endure. The final two years of Hogwarts were the most crucial years of your life and you weren’t going to screw it all up now.

Plus, ever since she squeezed you into a bone crushing hug right before your final O.W.L. exam in fifth year, you can’t seem to form a sentence or even think straight around her anymore.

Your eyes always avoided her piercing green ones, instead focusing on how awkwardly your feet shuffled around in your black Mary Jane shoes against the stone flooring.

Many of those times where she would skip over to you unexpectedly, you would end up flinging your wand across the room or spilling your entirely new ink pot all over your fresh ream of parchment. She would always giggle and offer to help you clean your mess up, and you could never actually choke out a coherent thought before making a mad dash towards the exit.

So to save yourself from the embarrassment, you always wind up studying alone in the library well into the night.

So that’s where you find yourself well into Sunday evening, in the back corner of the library obscured by mountains of Transfiguration books, studying for the next day’s exam.

The four of you were equally skilled in the subject, meaning if wanted to be on top, you needed to work for it more than usual.

Your corner is dark and dusty, the only light being from the flickering lamps you lit and placed haphazardly around the oak table. They cast an eerie orange glow across the paper, almost dreamlike.

The handwritten black ink text starts to jumble together at around nine, which makes complete sense considering you’ve been holed up in this one spot since classes ended hours ago.

Your legs and your butt had gone numb hours ago, making your old rickety wooden chair seem comfortable.

Eyelids droop considerably, the weight almost becoming unbearable, just like how your head starts to slide away from your palm. The text starts to shift, and in your tired haze you distantly wonder when you started studying ancient runes.

You’re able to get out one meek yawn before your heavy head slips down to your textbook pillow and your vision cuts to a comforting black.

A delicate hand rests on your shoulder, trying to shake you awake.

In your dreamlike state, you blearily open your eyes and glance at the hand. It’s pale and freckled with light pink nail polish that looks fresh considering each nail is still in pristine condition. If they were yours, you would’ve bitten through it all already.

“(Y/n)?” The voice is soft and hushed. “Sweetheart, you gotta wake up, it’s past curfew.”

Your eyes trail up their robe covered arm and finally rest on their face. It takes you a moment to fully register the galaxy of freckles adorning their face and those green eyes that always made you fidget. She’s stunning in her Gryffindor robes, she always is in your dreams, her top two buttons are popped.

“Lily?” You mumble, still attempting to will yourself less tired. Yawning, you pick your head up.

“Did you spend all this time studying, sweetheart?” Lily continues, the hand on your shoulder trailing up to your jaw.

Sweetheart was the nickname Lily always used in your dreams and each time she addressed you, your stomach erupted in butterflies and your heart began to skip beats.

You hum and nod in response.

She pouts, her pink lips plump and vibrant. Swiftly, she moves a few of your books so she can prop herself up on the table while still looking at you.

Her grey pleated uniform skirt rides up her thigh a tad, exposing her soft and pale skin.

You swallow, eyes wide. “Merlin Lils, the things you do t’me.”

“And what, do tell (Y/n), do I do to you, exactly?” Her green eyes are wide and doe like, playful feigned innocence drenching her gentle features.

The particles of dust float aimlessly by, glowing like balls of light due to the lanterns you still have surrounding you.

She’s towering over your seated body, thumb swiping across your bottom lip.

Your dream was in a whole ‘nother territory now.

“Lily, I’ve fancied you since bloody fifth year! You can’t just—“ You sputter, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “We’ve got an exam—!”

She giggles, the lovely sound filling up the library.

“Oh, I’ve known about your crush for some time now, (Y/n).”

Breath catches in your throat. “Oh.”

Once again, Lily giggles. She pushes herself back against the table, skirt being pushed up even more, the stack of books behind her tipping, the lantern on top of them falling, falling, falling...

The shattering of glass makes you jolt up from your seat, the piercing sound waking you up as you tear your gaze away from Lily.

“Shit!” She curses. “Shit, I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

As she turns to wave away the mess, it suddenly occurs to you that you may not be dreaming after all. While her back’s turned, you pinch yourself hard, stifling your yelp behind your other hand.

A dreadful chill shoots down your spine causing your body to freeze.

You weren’t dreaming.

“Oh fuck.”

Quickly, your hands shoot up to your head, fingers grasping at your hair in disbelief and embarrassment.

Lily turns back to face you, eyebrows drawn together in concern, the glass gone.

“Are you alright? Did a shard get you—?”

“This—this wasn’t a dream.” You shakily state, staring at her.

“Do you frequently dream of me?” She raises an eyebrow, still stepping closer to your form.

“Yes!” You cry, before dropping your voice down, remembering that you are out after curfew even if Prefect Lily was with you. “That’s why I thought—I thought—“

“You only confessed because you thought it was a dream.” Lily interjects calmly in realization.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry!” You groan, gaping at your own stupidity.

“No! No, don’t be sorry, (Y/n)!” Her smile lights up her face once again as she moves her hands to cover your own. “I wanted to hear you admit your crush on me so I could...confess in return.” She bites her lip shyly.

“You—you like me?” You mutter, stomach doing complete flips.

“It was fifth year for me, too.” Lily confesses. “Something about seeing you all stressed out while studying and us huddling over a paragraph in the candlelight...” She trails off.

“Well that’s grand!” You laugh. “Absolutely ace!”

“Well c’mon then, sweetheart, let’s get you up to the dorms.” Lily chuckles as your rejoice.

“But the exam is tomorrow, Lily—“

“Tomorrow after lunch, (Y/n). You need your sleep if you wanna take down Snape and Stebbins.” Lily teases, helping you pack away your things into your leather bag.

“And if I want to take down you as well?” You ask, shoving books away and collecting your notes.

“Well,” She starts, shooting you a wink. “just ask me nicely.”

She laughs at your audible gulp before taking your hand and dragging you up to her own dorm.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

On the Eve of November

Outpost!Michael x Demon! Fem Reader Oneshot

Halloween night marks Michael’s final victory over the witches, and his father sends you--a Prince of Hell--to offer your congratulations to his son.

Warnings: Smut...this is really just smut. Language, Some Blasphemy, maybe a little fighting for dominance, Scratching (let me know if I need to add anything!)

Word Count: 5k (WHOOPS)

Outpost!Michael won the poll, so here is the Halloween oneshot I promised! I hope you all enjoy, and have a great Halloween! (Bonus points to you if you know which Prince you are before the end.)

--------

The fires and candle flames of Outpost 3 flickered into nonexistence and threw the empty hallways into shadow. The tendrils of smoke rising from the wicks and embers funneled to one concentrated spot and blotted out any remaining light. As soon as your form finished materializing, your nose crunched at the acrid smell of vomit and blood. Heels clicked on along the floor as you wove your way around the room and past the array of bloodied, decapitated, or smoldering bodies around your feet. You hiked up the burnt, ragged edges of your long skirt to avoid the mess. It was one thing to cause such carnage, and it was another thing entirely to wear it.

“What the fuck, Michael,” your groaned. Your pace quickened as you hunted for the man. It wasn’t hard--just follow the bodies. Candles and fires relit upon your approach to light your way through the complex. It looked like absolute chaos. Large bullet holes littered the once perfectly polished wood walls, and blood and organs had exploded over the stairs. It was a lovely tomb, far too generous for these failed humans, you thought. You quirked an eyebrow at the body of a woman laying on the floor missing her heart. At least he was keeping his energy up with all of this. You rounded a corner to see him standing in the hallway with his back to you and his elegant clothes in tatters. His shoulders were tensed and he pulsed with the energy prepared for a fight.

He whipped around and extended a hand towards you, intending to launch you against the wall, and you deflected the attack with a dismissive wave of your hand. His crystalline eyes widened a fraction as his lips curled into a silent snarl. You tilted your head to the side with an incredulous furrow of your brows and a soft smile at his reaction.

“Really, Michael?” He stood straighter at the sight of you, his eyes searching you from head to toe, and you sway carefully over to him as if approaching a caged lion. His eyes held the same predatory, calculating, coldness on that beautifully chiseled face. 

“You.” He spit the word as if it’s the same poison on his tongue he’d used to kill the inhabitants. Your eyes widened in a gesture of mock hurt, and you placed an ornately armored hand to your chest, each piece of clawed armor on your fingers clinking together.

“Me? Here I thought you’d be happy to see me. I’m happy to see you.” You pouted when reaching your other silver clawed hand out to wipe some of the blood from his cheek. He gripped your wrist in a vice with his rings digging into the broken shackle around the delicate joint. 

“Why are you here?” Your pout melted into a smooth, seductive smirk. He still towered over you, and you looked into his turquoise eyes from under your lashes.

“Daddy might not always answer you, precious, but he’s always listening.” Feigning boredom, you began to run one metal nail under the other. He practically growled at the pet name and you chuckled. “After a pathetic fiasco in 1984, he decided to take a more passive roll with summons and rituals. Otherwise, people would never shut the fuck up with their pathetic begging. ‘Save me this’ and ‘help me’ that. That’s what God is for, you wretches.” Your eyes narrowed up as him, and you reached out to try and straighten his shirt and salvage whatever was left of his style. The bloodstained velvet of his dinner jacket had somehow managed to retain the smooth and luxurious texture, and the heat of his body kept the fabric warm beneath your fingers. The richness of the material suited him. “Since the apocalypse, I haven’t been very busy, and--as a mere prince--I have to do what your daddy says,” you shrugged, running your hands down his lapels. “Consider me a sort of...answering service. Though you seem to have everything well in hand. How about that!” Your head tilted once again with a coy smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Michael said through gritted teeth. His lips are pursed tightly in his annoyance, and the air grew stagnant in the hallway around you both. Michael took a step closer until you were nearly breathing on his chest. “Answer me. Now.” His voice rose marginally, and it’s just enough to echo through the vacant halls. 

“Oh, listen to you! Making demands of an Archdemon and a Prince of Hell! My, how you’ve--” Michael’s hand quickly grasped your throat and squeezed. What he anticipated causing you pain earned him a moan instead as your eyes slipped closed. You could feel his grip falter momentarily in his confusion before it grew more intense. You gasped and released a breathless chuckle. His gaze searched your face, you could feel his eyes taking in every aspect of your lustful expression. Suddenly, his hand released you, and he took a few steps back with a tight smirk.

“That is exactly why you’re here, isn’t it?” He watched you with a side glance as you adjusted the chandelier choker at your neck and shoulders.

“Whatever do you mean?” Your eyelashes fluttered with an ill-suited expression of innocence. Michael’s eyes travelled down to the deep v of your dress that plunged to the top of your navel. The dark laughter bubbled from low in his chest and reverberated in the halls as he tipped his head back. It had you absolutely throbbing with need and was fucking embarrassing. Then again, this was Satan’s son, the highest Crowned Prince of Hell, created to be every idea of perfection and desire there could be. From the shimmering strands of golden silk draping his shoulder, to his slender perfect nose, to those mesmerizing oasis eyes set within the dunes of his elegant cheekbones… You couldn’t have designed him more perfectly yourself, and you had a lot of ideas thanks to your reign.

Michael ran his tongue along his upper teeth and continued to smirk at you. He tilted his head inquisitively, and you mimicked him playfully. The timber of his voice had dropped to a dangerously seductive tone filled with confidence when he spoke again.

“I have won.”

“A very astute observation, Michael.” Slowly, he sauntered back to you and ran one ringed finger along your cheek and down your jaw.

“I have won. I’ve done everything he asked. Cordelia let her successor die before she could complete her plan.” Michael extended his arms out from his sides, a prideful smirk stretching across his lip, and he cocked his head to the side. “There is no one left to stop me.” The warmth of Michael’s hand rested on a bare section of your clavicle as he looked over your body once again. His smirk grew and he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Now, I’m receiving my reward. Father sent you, did he not? One of his princes, here to please me in the hour of my greatest victory, and on our night no less. The night before your powers are at their strongest, if I’m not mistaken.” Michael leaned his head down and his breath ghosted across your cheek as he spoke softly. You could feel his lips only a hair’s breadth away from the shell of your ear.

His words should not have caused the goosebumps that prickled across your arms and chest, nor should it have caused the slight weakness in your knees. You had been around for millennia. You had 72 legions of demons under your command, dammit! How dare--

Michael’s lips brushed along your neck above the elaborate jewelry veiling your soft skin. He knew exactly what effect he had on. The hierarchy of demons granted him the ability to toy with you just as he did with humans despite your ancient status. And he played you like a child with their favorite old toy. Michael’s hands gripped your hips tightly and, with a violent jerk, he tugged you flush against him. 

You didn’t even want to fight him. You wanted him to have his moment and embrace his victory--embrace you. Despite the lack of necessity for breath, you found yourself panting against him in anticipation. The tip of his tongue traced up the tendon in your neck up to your jaw. The mewl that slipped from between your lips was almost embarrassing and made worse by his syrupy chuckle that you could feel against your chest. You were positively dripping, and there was no doubt that he knew. 

“Hell has sent its greatest whore to pleasure me, I see. What, was Lilith too busy today?” His verbal jab made your eyes narrow dangerously. That succubus had nothing on you, and you would prove it. Renewed vigor flowed through you as your hands gripped his jacket tightly; the sharp metal claws tipping your fingers scratched and tore into the thick, expensive fabric adorning his chest.

“I’m going to make it so that you don't even remember her name. From now on, whenever your cock gets hard, you’re going to think of me,” you purred into his ear as you stood on your toes. Using the purchase you had on his clothing, you dragged his mouth to yours and moaned at the sweet and smoky taste of his sultry full lips. Michael's body radiated power and the heat of the inferno from which he was born, and it drew you in like a moth to a roaring bonfire.

Michael’s hands clenched into fist at your waist, and you heard the sharp inhale through his nose when you ran your tongue along the curve of his lips. It was your turn to chuckle. Dominion over lust had not been granted to you without reason, and you’d had centuries of playing with mortals and lesser demons to perfect your...talents. You weren’t entirely helpless against the superiority of the Antichrist. The feeling of his rigid length pressed firmly against your stomach proved that.

Within seconds the power shifted, and he had you against the wall. His dull nails sank into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs when he bunched up your skirts and held your legs apart around his waist. The touch was scalding. You could feel the crescent marks burning into your skin.

“Not making empty promises, are we?” Michael crooned, the tip of his nose dancing along yours. The smirk on his face was predatory when your lips parted with the expectation of another searing kiss. His wicked laughter caused a shiver that ran up your spine. “What makes you think you are worthy of me?”

With your heels locked behind his waist, you used the position to your advantage and flexed your legs to grind your hips together. As much as he talked shit, you knew he wanted this, but two could play his game. A light breath, akin to that of blowing out a candle, forced Michael off of you and against the opposite wall. 

“If I’m so unworthy, I suppose I will simply show myself out.” You vanished in the blink of an eye, your playful chuckle bounding throughout the underground complex. Of course, you made it very easy for him to find you. All Michael needed to do was follow the trail of lit candles up to the room he had inhabited as his office while at Outpost 3. The growl he emitted upon opening the door and seeing you sitting so daintily on the spiral iron staircase made your eyes burn with unbridled lust. 

Michael stalked over to you with a scowl on his face, golden hair billowing around his shoulders from the speed of his strides, and you parted your legs wantonly to welcome him between them. You had him eating out of the palm of your hand whether he would ever admit it or not. Michael was rough when he pulled your hips against his once more. Your metallic claws dragged down his torso and cut through his shirt and jacket to leave thin red marks on his otherwise unblemished skin. You could feel him twitch against you with his pants the only barrier standing between the two of you.

Both of your hands grasped onto the metal rails of the stairs when he sharply yanked your hips towards the edge of the stair. The last thing you expected was to see him dropping to his knees and burying his face between your legs. Your head tipped back against the stair above you with a strangled cry of surprise that quickly morphed into a long moan. Instantly, your hands sank into the satin curtains of hair around his head as his tongue made a long swipe over your folds. His movements were impatient when he forced your legs farther apart.

“Michael…” You could feel the smirk on his lips when he took your clit into his mouth and sucked. Hard. Your back arched against the stairs and your hands scrambled to grab onto his shoulder. It had been so long since someone had sought to pleasure you as much as themselves. He certainly didn’t get those manners from his father…

Michael’s teeth nipped at your sensitive nerves and you yelped, filling the room with your loud cries of pleasure. Soft sounds of tearing fabric filled your ears when you continued to clutch his shoulders so hard that his jacket ripped at the seams. The deeper he worked his tongue into your core, the brighter his celestial eyes burned. It made your chest heave as you stared at each other, waiting to see who would break first.

It was you.

Michael stumbled back when you pushed him away. His eyes flared black in his agitation, and you returned the obsidian gaze. Short strides carried you to him until your hands grasped his sculpted face and drew his lips back to yours. It was a dance of domination and desperation, your tongue swirling and battling against his while you both inhaled the growing heat and arousal of your flushed skin. At the same time, your steps urged him backwards until he dropped down into the chair behind the desk. Ah, victory. It looked so sweet when it came in the form of Michael man-spreading in a chair with mused hair, kiss-swollen lip, and a very obvious and impressive erection all courtesy of you. You knelt in front of him before he had the chance to move. He had done the same for you, and you weren’t so cold as to not return the favor.

Michael’s eyes watched you carefully. At first, his expression almost looked like boredom, but you could see the tension in his jaw and feel the way his abdominal muscles contracted beneath your fingers. You pursed your lips while deftly roaming your fingers over his belt.

“Take your jacket and shirt off, Michael.” It hardly covered him anymore anyway, but his eyes narrowed at your command. You sat back on your heels to look up at him. “Come on. Off with it.” Reluctantly, he undid the buttons and tossed both items away. The sight of his bare torso, stained here and there with flecks of blood, was so very enticing. You leaned forward, placing sloppy and open-mouthed kisses over his chest and down his stomach. The sight of his stomach heaving from your actions made you moan against his skin. His hips bucked into your hands when you cupped him through the material of his pants. 

Teasingly, your fingers slowly caught the waistband of his pants. Your eyes shot up to his when you noticed the absence of anything else underneath. The smirk he gave you was pure mischief, and you licked your lips at the sight of his weeping tip. One of his ringed hands sank into your hair and urged you forward; you allowed it this time. The shape of him was perfect--something humans modelled their toys after. Oh, how eager you were to play. He truly had been crafted to perfection.

The tip of your tongue ran along the pulsing vein of his shaft, and his groan filled you with pride. Flicking your eyes up to his, you noticed that they were closed and his head was tipped back to let his hair cascade over his bare shoulders. The candlelight flickered on his skin and you could spot the beginnings of sweat beading on his chest. A quick flick of your tongue caught the beads of precome that tickled from the head of his cock. The hand in your hair tightened, but you gave him a warning glare with growl. This was not his time to take control.

One hand stroked the length of his shaft and the other gently scratched down his chest. Michael arched into your touch, and you hummed around his tip when your lips encircled him. The groan that fell from his lips was nothing short of obscene and it drove you on. He even sat up more to get a better view of your mouth swallowing down his cock. Your eyes locked with his and you smirked around him. The taste of his heated length alone made you moan. Trick or treat indeed.

Michael’s chest was heaving before you even reached the base. You held there for a moment and then began to bob your head. It was only moments until he bucked his hips upwards, shoving himself deeper down your throat, and tugged your head against his pelvis. Your nose is pressed to his skin and the musky, salty smell invades your senses. A guttural moan tore through the amber-lit room when hollowed your cheek to suck greedily at the head of his cock and your hands pumped the rest of his shaft. The way your core throbbed at the sound told you your body was more than ready to feel him inside of you. You stood without warning, and Michael instantly moved to follow. One of your heels on his chest pushed him harshly back into his chair.

“Stay.” Michael glared at you, but he did not repeat his effort to move. “Good boy,” you cooed. You didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on the arm of the chair. You removed your foot from him and took a step back. With your back to him, you reached back to undo the clasps of your dress. Clearly, he was far too impatient by that point, and a light snap of his fingers finished your work for you before it even began. The clothing covering you both disappeared, but you noticed that he left the vast amounts of jewelry on you, from the tips of your ears down to the gilded manacles on your feet. 

“Let me see you.” The request fell from his lips much softer than you would have expected, and you complied easily. His eyes widened so subtly that you would have missed it had you not been watching him carefully. Azure eyes devoured your appearance. Your breasts were framed by the chandelier necklace hanging over your shoulders and dripping onyx beads down your sternum. Michael’s hands slowly rose, his eyes still roving over your figure. 

"You may touch me," you allowed. At first, he only ran his fingers over the shimmering cuff on your upper arms. Then he trailed down to the broken jeweled shackles on your wrist that matched the pair around your ankles. He gently maneuvered your hands on his shoulder to lure you closer. It placed your chest at the same height as his lips. Greedily, his head leaned forward to take a hardened nipple between his lips. A sigh of relief escaped your own.

Michael continued the slow exploration of his hands. They moved back up your arms, over the collection of diamonds and midnight gemstones dangling across your shoulders, and down your sides to hold your hips. Each fingertip left a trail of raised skin in its wake. The simple touches made you shiver, and you let Michael see this time. His hands curled around your waist to pull you in closer, and you pushed your hands against his shoulders. He released your nipple with a wet “pop” and furrowed his brow.

Your movements were fluid and smooth when you pushed him back into the chair and straddled his hips. His erection stood proudly against his abdomen; you stroked him delicately, careful not to graze the sensitive skin too harshly with your armored fingers, and you returned your lips to his. The pillowly softness was something you had never encountered with your previous lovers. Michael could happily drown you in those full lips, drink you dry, or curse your name and you would beg for more. A combination of your movements gave you the room necessary to line him up with your core. 

Sweet moans accompanied the simultaneous fall of both of your heads towards each other. His breath mingled with yours in the limited space between your lips. For moments the pair of you did nothing but breathe each other in and stroke your noses together in an almost tender fashion.

“Move,” Michael breathed tightly. The flex of his fingers into your hips made you bite your lip. Your lips lifted slowly at first, and then dropped quickly into his lap. “Fuck!” Your head dropped back again with a bark of a laugh. Hearing him curse from one simple movement had you clenching around him instantly. You repeated the motion, his fingers digging into your hips with a fiercer grip, and you moaned loudly. 

Tinkling of your jewelry chimed in time with the steady rolling of your hips over Michael’s. Always one to enjoy an active role in his pleasure, Michael urged you to ride him harder using his hands on your hips. He pulled you down sharply, burying himself inside of you, and returned his mouth to your chest. His teeth caught a taut nipple and tugged. You rewarded him with a cry of ecstasy and carded your hands through his long hair. Every pulse of his cock inside of you stroked your walls with a delicious pressure and pulled you closer to the edge. You didn’t notice how much Michael was controlling your movements until he angled your hips forward on your downward thrust and made you cry out. You tightened around him and increased your pace to bounce off his lap. Soon, the chiming of jewels was drowned out by the clapping of your skin on his and your unified moans of each other’s names.

Michael abandoned your breasts for the time being and turned his attention to the droplet of sweat rolling down between them. His tongue caught the salty droplet, and he licked his way back up to your neck. You shuddered over him and pushed him back against the chair again. Things like that would have this over far sooner than you wanted. The smirk on his devilishly handsome face clued you in to just how pleased he was with himself. He could feel you trembling around him. You ran a jeweled nail over his lower lip and decided to tease him. Your hips rose slowly until only the tip of him remained inside of you. The descent back into his lap went just as methodically. Several times you repeated the motion, swirling your hips once he was fully sheathed inside of you again, and you grinned wickedly at the tortured groans you pulled from him.

He had been so good and so attentive thus far, so you decided to give him a break. He desired it hard and fast, just as you craved it. The chair protested beneath the forceful ricochet of your bodies colliding. You laughed breathlessly at the return of Michael’s lips to your skin. This time, he left open-mouthed kisses over the tops of your breasts and your neck.

Without warning, Michael propelled himself up and out of the chair to slam you down on the desk. His pace never faulted throughout the change of position. The lines of his face were set into a look of determination.

“You’ve had your turn. Now it’s mine,” he hissed in your ear. His hair framed his face and grazed your skin as he loomed over you. Rough hands gripped your thighs and shoved them apart. The first sharp thrust forced the air from your lungs. The sparkle in Michael’s eyes was unmistakable. He was in control now.

He targeted the depths inside of you that had caused you to cry out earlier, and he set a relentless pace. His lips burned across your stomach and chest as he explored every inch of your skin that he could want. Your hands found purchase on his back, the points of your nails sinking into the slick flesh around his shoulderblades. Michael growled and bit into your collarbone with a particularly rough thrust into you.

“Michael!” His name fell from your lips in the most sinful, sensual prayer. He breathed heavily in your ear now, drowning out the deep thudding of your back being drilled into the dark wood of the desk. “Michael…” You could feel his hips beginning to stutter in the bruising pace he had set. It must have felt good for him to be able to let go and not worry about the frailty of a human’s body beneath him. His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you into him again to achieve the depths his mind was screaming for him to reach. 

One bite into the already bruised skin of your neck and a perfectly timed thrust was all it took to send you spiraling over the precipice of pleasure. Your legs latched behind his thighs to lock him against you. Every spasm that rippled your body amplified his pleasure, and you felt Michael spill himself into you with a strangled cry. His warm release inside of you made your head drop back against the desk with a thud. He buried his face into the crook of your neck to ride out the aftershocks of your combined orgasms.

“Happy Halloween, Michael,” you whispered with lips pressed to his ear.

Dampened skin held you together, and you lovingly stroked his hair back out of his face. It had been well worth the visit, you thought with a smile. Feather light kisses in your neck and jaw caught you by surprise. The kiss to your lips was slow, conveying a long-sought satisfaction, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulder. It was an ancient dance, the tangling of tongue and limbs, and usually accompanied by the same heady smell that surrounded you both in that moment. You decided that this was your favorite perfume--the smell of desire and sin, of sweat and carnality, all mixed with the intoxicating scent of Michael.

A gentle tap to his shoulder signalled for Michael to remove himself from you. He did so slowly, carefully, and with a slight grimace. Your back still arched with the sensation. You looked over his lean and picturesque form from your spot on the desk. Yes, you wouldn’t mind if this became a regular occurrence. He dressed languidly--all the time in the world stood waiting for him now. You followed suit when he retrieved your dress. Michael even offered to help with the clasps and buttons at your back. Of course, it wasn’t so simple. He dropped sensually slow and wet kisses over each inch of your spine Bedford doing up the respective button. The resounding boom of clocks striking midnight thundered through the halls. November 1st. Your eyes slipped shut at the returning power thrumming through your veins. It had only been fair to Michael to send you before your powers heightened to their prime. Now you would be able to return home.

“Do you really want to know why I’m here?” you asked over your shoulder. His hands paused in their task.

“It would be in your best interest to tell me the truth.” You rolled your eyes and turned to drape your forearms over his shoulder. His hands instinctively fell to hold your wasit, and it made you smile.

“Your father wished for me to bring you to him.” The expression that crossed his face was precious. Your smile grew at the pure disbelief and childish wonder. Your fingers picked up one long curl and twisted it around your fingers and then let it fall back against his shoulder.

“What?’

“I know! He’s proud of you. He knows how hard this has all been, and he wishes to congratulate you. In person.” You took a few steps towards the door, your hand clutching his and trying to pull him with you, but he was frozen where he stood, eyes unfocused. “Michael, come on!” you laughed softly, “We shouldn’t keep him waiting--not any more than we already have.” He looked to you then and gestured between the two of you.

“So what was this then?” You swayed your hips on your way to the door and twisted the handle with a coy little smile.

“Fun, wasn’t it?” You winked as you opened the door. The deserted halls of Outpost 3 were not on the other side. Michael’s eyes widened at the geysers of molten lava and the long polished bridge of obsidian leading to an ancient palace of equally dark stone set on the far side. “Welcome home, Prince Michael.” His arm slid around your waist while his eyes took in everything new around him.

“Thank you, Asmodeus. I suppose having a friend in the Prince of Lust could have its benefits.”

"Oh yes. Whenever you'd like."

[aphrodisians]

◜     choi  yerim  ,  ciswoman  ,  twenty .     ◞     ┈     through     her     all     -     seeing     crystal     ball,     [     𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳     ]     has     her     winking     eye     trained     on     hestia     jones.     the     ever - enigmatic     fifth     year     is     infamous     for     her     righteous     ways,     but     something     new     seems     to     be     weighing     our     resident     au     courant     down.     a     rumor     is     spreading     through     these     ancient     halls     like     fiendfyre,     &     even     their     erudite     face     can't     save     them     from     the     flames.     she     can     try     to     drown     out     their     sorrows     to     the     tune     of     goddess,     but     xana     can't     fix     everything     ⏤     much     less     something     as     grim     as     [     𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳     ].     but     ten     points     to     ravenclaw     for     trying.

hey  besties <3  i’m  cc  &  i’m  super  excited  2  be  here!  i’m  writing  your  local  hater,  hestia  jones,  who  i’ve  actually  never  written  before  but  i’m  really  excited  for  her.  anywhomstdve,  i’d  love  to  plot  w  all  of  you  &  i’m  ecstatic  for  this!

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬.⠀ ⠀

an  accidental  crack  of  a  book  spine  that  echoes  throughout  an  otherwise  silent  library,  never  letting  anything  pass  you  by  –  never  letting  yourself  be  unaware,  unwelcome  surprises  that  you  greet  with  flushed  cheeks  and  clenched  fists,  a  collection  of  skirts  stolen  from  a  mother  that  has  seemed  to  have  forgotten  you,  bruises  forming  next  to  the  scrapes  on  almost - broken  knees,  passing  tears  off  as  just  ‘my  eyes  are  sweating’  &  heavy,  heavy,  bags  underneath  eyes  that  just  never  seem  to  sleep.

⠀ ﹟𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲

birth  name.    jeong  hyun - ae nickname(s)  /  alias(es).    hestia  jones. preferred  name.    hestia  jones,  only  hyun - ae  to  family  +  very  close  friends age  +  dob.    twenty  +  dec.  23 hometown.    belfast,  ireland blood  status.    half  -  blood house.    ravenclaw activities.    fifth  year  prefect,  ravenclaw  chaser,  chess  +  duelling label.    au  courant  –    aware  of  what  is  going  on;  well  informed ethnicity.    korean nationality.    irish gender.    cis  woman pronouns.    she  +  her face  claim.    choi  yerim

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝.⠀ ⠀

height.    five  feet,  seven  inches  /  170cm tattoos.    none piercings.    earlobes  only scars.    a  two  cm  line  that  lays  horizontally  above  her  left  eyebrow  from  falling  off  her  broomstick  during  her  third  year  at  hogwarts hair.    never  dyed,  meticulously  taken  care  of  but  rarely  styled.  naturally  falls  straight  and  is  often  left  down eyes.    round  and  dark,  accompanied  often  by  dark  bags  underneath  and  an  absence  of  makeup usual  expression.    stressed.  just  like,  if  you  look  at  her  you  can  tell  she’s  going  through  it  (  and  has  been  for  like  the  past  three  years  ),,,  she  needs a  break  but  she  will  not  be  getting  one  <3 distinguishing  features.    cheeks  that  always  seem  to  be  flushed  a  rosy  hue  of  pink,  bags  underneath  her  eyes  that  are  haphazardly  covered  with  fake  glasses or  makeup,  brown  -  hued  hair  that  just  always  falls  correctly

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀

( + )  positive.    erudite,  bluestocking,  intuitive,  heedful ( - ) negative.    righteous,  hubristic,  zealous,  moralistic natal  chart.    triple  capricorn,  pour  one  out mbti.    istj  -  a,  investigator moral  alignment.    neutral  good godly  parent.    athena languages  spoken.    korean  +  english likes.    quiet  -  the  kind  of quiet  that  comes  only  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  +  in  restricted  access  zones  where  it’s  close  to  silence  (  but  not  quite  ),  victory  in  all  forms,  feeling  appreciated  tbh,  sleeping  but  genuinely  hasn’t  gotten  a  good  night  of  sleep  in  years,  the  color  yellow,  scarves  that  are  long  enough  to  wrap  her  entire  head  <3,  being  a  hater dislikes.    attention  (  though  she  is  overjoyed  /  obsessed  with  winning  ),  losing  -  a  notoriously  sore  loser,  being  out  of  control  in  any  situation  -  even  if  she  can  have  no  humanly  control  over  it,  nail  polish  (  because  she  bites  her  nails  :/  ),  actually  reading  i’ll  be  honest,  staircases quirks.    as  mentioned  above,  bites  her  nails  often,  doodles  when  stressed  (  which  is  all  the  time  )  -  is  halfway  decent  at  it  too  thanks  to  all  of  the  practice,  can  fall  asleep  in  two  seconds  if  given  the  opportunity,  taps  her  foot  a  lot hobbies.    being  a  hater,  being  obnoxious  enough  to  have  attention  (  aka  dramatic  )  n  then  having  the  audacity  to  complain  about  the  stress

⠀ ﹟𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫

when  he  meets  your  mother,  he  tells  you  it’s  like  the  world  stopped  turning.  she  was  enchanting,  he  says,  like  a  rose  blooming  in  the  dead  of  winter,  a  blossom  of  red  among  a  blanket  of  white  -  and  he  swears  that  he  has  never  loved  anyone  more.  their  romance  is  swift,  a  bouquet  of  flowers  traded  for  an  engagement  ring  and  a  passionate  kiss  exchanged  for  the  start  of  a  family.  your  father  never  says  anything  bad  about  your  mother,  raising  you  on  his  own  with  a  faint  line  on  his  ring  finger.  she  will  be  back  soon,  he  says  with  glazed  eyes  and  love-flushed  cheeks  that  you  seem  to  inherit.  she  will  come  back  soon,  he  tucks  you  in  with  a  faraway  look  on  his  features  and  you  realize  with  a  ceiling  full  of  glow-in-the-dark  stars  that  he  isn’t  okay.  but,  you  hold  his  hand  when  crossing  the  streets  with  you  leading  and  you  let  him  dawdle  about  your  mother  and  you  pat  the  top  of  his  head  when  he  falls  asleep  waiting  for  your  mother.  she’ll  be  back,  he  says,  unaware  that  she  only  visits  when  he’s  not  around.  she  will  come  back  soon,  he  waits  for  her,  a  stranger  in  his  own  body.

you  yearn  for  control  the  way  your  peers  yearn  for  freedom.  freedom,  you  have  enough  of,  but  everything  in  your  life  is  just  out  of  reach.  for  your  entire  childhood,  you  grasp  at  everything  and  nothing,  your  fingers  brushing  past  the  things  you  desire  most.  you  are  a  young  girl  with  magic  in  your  blood,  but  you  watch  from  the  end  of  your  driveway  as  life  seems  to  spin  so  wildly  out  of  control.  your  father  isn’t  okay,  but  you  don’t  understand  why.  your  mother  comes  around  wearing  guilt  like  one  wears  a  birthmark  and  you  can’t  fathom  why.  you  are  left  alone  on  playgrounds  and  with  scrapes  on  your  knees  and  people  whisper  about  you  but  you  don’t  understand  why.  life  goes  on  with  or  without  you,  and  you  think  it  unacceptable.  it’s  infuriating  being  in  the  backseat,  unable  to  control,  unable  to  know.  when  a letter  falls  into  your  hands,  you  swear  to  use  it  to  your  advantage.  you  refuse  to  ever  be  in  the  dark  again.

you  arrive  on  your  own,  a  year  older  than  your  peers,  a  sheltered  girl  from  a  muggle  world  and  you  look  around,  determined  to  change  your  life.  it’s  obvious  to  anyone  early  on  that  you’re  a  bright  girl,  ambition  tied  into  your  intelligence,  potential  pouring  over  every  single  one  of  your  edges.  for  a  while,  it  comes  easily.  you  know  things,  you  understand  things;  most  of  all,  you  learn  how  terribly  things  can  go  wrong.  you  swear  to  never  let  that  happen  to  you,  but  of  course,  life  has  bigger  plans  for  you.  the  first  few  years  fly  by  quick  and  your  hands  build  up  a  reputation  that  you’re  eager  to  upkeep.  you  wipe  the  sweat  off  of  your  palms  onto  your  skirts,  you  might  use  magic  to  make  sure  your  hair  always  looks  good,  you  always  know  the  latest  news,  you  always  pass  your  classes.  then,  you  go  home  during  your  third  year  to  an  empty  house  and  your  father  is gone.

when  you  return  after  the  winter  holidays,  it’s  obvious  that  something  is  -  wrong,  but  you  do  your  thing  and  you  pretend  everything  is  okay.  your  mother  in  all  of  her  magic  and  love  writes  you  a  letter,  telling  you  that  you’ll  be  in  her  care  and  that  only  stresses  you  out  more,  giving  you  gray  hair  and  bags  underneath  your  eyes  that  never  seem  to  away  from  that  point  on.  every  blink  is  heavier  now,  every  sliver  of  information  repeated  as  least  three  more  times,  everything  you  learn  adds  a  little  more  weight  to  your  shoulders.  but  you  soldier  on.  you  become  more  and  more  high  strung,  more  sharp,  more  wretched  with  stress  that  shouldn’t  be  yours  to  shoulder.  you  are  still  an  intelligent  girl,  still  a  bright  witch,  still  gleaming  with  potential;  but  you  almost  permanently  look  like  you’ve  been  handled  an  impossible  task  and  worse,  you  wear  your  flushed  cheeks  almost  as  your  father  did,  a  fact  that  you  dislike  whenever  you  see  yourself  in  the  mirror.

⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⠀ ⠀  ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ has  a relatively  tough  exterior,  but  wow,  words  hurt  and  hestia  is  a  lot  more  sensitive  than  she  cares  to  admit.  say  one  off  thing  about  her  and  she’ll  be  all  “i  can’t  stand  it  here!”  and  storm  off  angrily,  but  she’s  really  just  gonna  go  cry  in  the  owlery  and  talk  to  the  owls  as  if  they  can  understand  her  through  her  snot  bubbles.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ is  this  genius  of  a  witch,  right,  but  is  the  messiest  person  ever.  her  area  in  her  dorm  is  just  .  .  .  yeah,  it’s  messy.  she  comes  to  the  library,  throws  seven  books  down,  loses  ten  pages  of  notes;  is  disorganized  and  completely  messy,  but  at  least  she  always  looks  put  together.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ coming  right  off  of  the  last  one,  because  she  cares  most  about  her  image  +  her  reputation  than  she  does  anything  else,  mostly  because  it’s  all  that  she  thinks  she  has.  so,  yeah,  she  may  be  consistently  stressed  out  and  on  the  brink  of  a  breakdown,  but  at  least  she  looks  GOOD.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ her  style  is  a  little   .  .  .  amateur,  if  i’m  being  honest. very  season  one  rachel  berry.  always  looks  in  uniform  even  if  she’s  out  of  uniform  and  it’s  because  she  has  no  personality  than  being  a  ravenclaw  prefect  idk  what  you  want  me  to  tell  you.  she  has  never  been  normal  once.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ i  laugh  and  kid,  but  she’s  genuinely  a  genius.  might  have  a  bit  of  dyslexia,  but  is  just,,,  a  smart  kid.  also  makes  it  her  entire  personality  though,  so  i’m  not  sure  what  to  do  about  that.

 ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ also,  not  to  be  That  Girl  that’s  so  quirk  n  clumsy,  but  hestia  is  always  injured.  not  gravely,  but  a  scrape  on  her  knee,  a  cut  on  her  cheek,  tape  around  her  fingers,  etc.  etc.  she’s  a  problem,  to  say  the  least,  and  always  hastily  takes  care  of  herself  (  aka,  cleans  it,  leaves  it  ).

 ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in  general,  is  a  hater,  but  is  so  STRESSED  from  having  a  #missing  father  that  she’s  just  like  :|  in  every  situation.  i  wouldn’t  call  her  awkward  per  se,  but  she  definitely  just  says  what  she  wants  when  she  wants  cause  there’s  “no  point  in  quieting  myself  for  someone’s  comfort”  idk?

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in  MY  canon,  hestia  actually  conjures  up  a  fox  patronus,  but  it’s  non  corporeal  for  now  simply  because  she  literally  cannot  focus  long  enough  to  cast  the  charm  correctly  –  in  fact,  a  lot  of  her  magic  has  been  suffering  for  the  past  few  years  due  to  her  stress,  something  that  really  only  stresses  her  out  more  rip  in  pieces.

⠀ ﹟𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

academic  rival:   personally,  i’d  love  for  someone  who’s  just  naturally  good  at  academia  to  be  her  rival,  like  the  person  who  doesn’t  study  and  “doesn’t  care”  but  always  just  manages  to  beat  her  in  scores;  yeah,  i  think  that’d  be  fun  to  watch  her  spontaneously  combust.

significant  annoyance:  someone  who  really  just  is  the  person  to  tell  hestia  she’s  wound  up  too  tight  all  the  time  and  tries  to  get  her  to  live  her  life,  but  she  just  sees  them  as  someone  who’s  ANNOYING  HER  because  maybe  her  entire  life  is  being  uptight,  ever  think  of  that?  rabastan

quidditch  rival:  because  quidditch  is  really  the  only  time  she  lets  her  hair  down  per  se,  this  rivalry  is  more  friendly  than  it  is  serious like  the  academic  rival,  but  there’s  still  a  lot  of  trash  talk  involved  and  meet  ups  in  the  corridors  to  talk  shit  <3

best  friend:  the  one  person  who  she’s  like  .  .  .  super  grateful  for  because  they’re  always  there,  no  matter  what  she  goes  through  or  does  to  them  through  her  stress  induced  breakdowns.  you  know.  they’re  bffs  and  always  eat  together  and  spend  time  together  n  gossip  together.  eloise

tutee:  someone  that  either  hestia’s  offered  to  help  or  has  been  forced  to  help,  either  way,  she’s  as  strict  as  any  professor  and  takes  her  job  completely  seriously.  as  in,  will  approach  them  in  the  great  hall  and  ask  if  they’ve  done  the  work  they’re  supposed  to  do.

stress  reliever:  imagine  this  -  hestia  comes  up  to  your  muse  and  is  like  we  need  to  talk,  but  they  just  find  a  nice  seat  underneath  one  of  the  archways  and  talk  into  the  night,  they  make  hestia  laugh,  hestia  makes  them  laugh,  they  have  flushed  cheeks  by  the  end  of  it  and  she  doesn’t  speak  to  them  otherwise.  xenophilius 

their  biggest  anti:  ur  muse’s  #1  hater???  hestia  jones  <3  why?  probably  because  they’re  better  than  she  is  and  she’s  a  nightmare  of  a  person  so  it’s  just  her  being  their  biggest  anti,  probably  runs  a  hate  account  dedicated  toward  them  tbh  <3  rodolphus

The  Ex:  you  know.  the  ex.  didn’t  end  the  way  they  wanted  it  to  so  there’s  A  Lot  There.  longing  glances,  awkward  bumps,  lots  of  what-ifs  .  .  .  a  lot  of  sad  headcanons,  a  lot  of  wholesome  headcanons.  yeah

like  family:  just  someone  who  hestia  is  so  comfortable  with  that  it  feels  like  they’re  family.  and  by  family,  i  mean  like  the  kind  to  tackle  her  on  sight  just  for  fun,  the  sort  to  tease  her  and  make  everyone  believe  it’s  her  birthday.  you  know?

also  a  barely  filled  tag  here  n  anything  u  can  possibly  brainstorm  i’d  love  <3  thank  u  love  u 

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 36: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A set of technical diagrams to create a weapon of unspeakable power. The diagrams are hundreds of years old and show how to make a trebuchet.

A stunning broach, embedded with a misty quartz crystal.

A flat, otherwise unremarkable pearlescent-white overcoat button about an inch across. It is heavier than it should have any right to be. It practically vibrates with barely contained magical force.

The severed claw of some monstrous scaled creature, preserved and formed into a camping stool.

A human skull, yellowed with age, with the jawbone wired in place with fine copper wire. The skull has been etched with very fine runes, visible only in bright light, that identify it with the name of "Jerimr". When the skull's name is spoken aloud by someone holding it in their left hand, it will rise into the air and assume a position over his left shoulder, hovering unsupported.

An opaque, black eyepatch that the bearer can see through perfectly.

Bag of Useless Junk. A tattered burlap sack that jingles as if it were full of broken glass, rusty nails and wooden scraps even when empty. The bag actually generates its own trash and three times per day, the bearer can reach into the sack and withdraw a Random Worthless Trinket. 

An ornate bullseye lantern adorned with gold filigree and sun patterns.

A carved rosewood relief depicting half-men, half-rhinos whipping peasants into an oven.

An illustration of a silver tabby cat with these words on what seems to be a flyer: “Lost kitty. Responds to the name ‘Mankiller.’ Please return to Alda’s Alchemy Shoppe if found. Reward provided—higher if alive. Do not feed or raise from the dead. He bites; wounds will be treated. You kill him, you will be cursed and haunted by something that is utterly unholy and has a somewhat questionable sense of humour.”

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A set of technical diagrams to create a weapon of unspeakable power. The diagrams are hundreds of years old and show how to make a trebuchet.

A stunning broach, embedded with a misty quartz crystal.

A flat, otherwise unremarkable pearlescent-white overcoat button about an inch across. It is heavier than it should have any right to be. It practically vibrates with barely contained magical force.

The severed claw of some monstrous scaled creature, preserved and formed into a camping stool.

A human skull, yellowed with age, with the jawbone wired in place with fine copper wire. The skull has been etched with very fine runes, visible only in bright light, that identify it with the name of "Jerimr". When the skull's name is spoken aloud by someone holding it in their left hand, it will rise into the air and assume a position over his left shoulder, hovering unsupported.

An opaque, black eyepatch that the bearer can see through perfectly.

Bag of Useless Junk. A tattered burlap sack that jingles as if it were full of broken glass, rusty nails and wooden scraps even when empty. The bag actually generates its own trash and three times per day, the bearer can reach into the sack and withdraw a Random Worthless Trinket.

An ornate bullseye lantern adorned with gold filigree and sun patterns.

A carved rosewood relief depicting half-men, half-rhinos whipping peasants into an oven.

An illustration of a silver tabby cat with these words on what seems to be a flyer: “Lost kitty. Responds to the name ‘Mankiller.’ Please return to Alda’s Alchemy Shoppe if found. Reward provided—higher if alive. Do not feed or raise from the dead. He bites; wounds will be treated. You kill him, you will be cursed and haunted by something that is utterly unholy and has a somewhat questionable sense of humour.”

A hand mirror with a butterfly relief on it's non-mirror side while it's reflective surface appears to be a pool of moonlight.

A jointed ceramic finger on a leather thong. A nub of bent and broken metal, whereupon the thong is tied, sticks from the stump like an end of bone ripped from its joint in a whole hand. The finger's two joints may be manipulated with some difficulty, articulated over some rusty armature of metallic bone.

A long arrowhead with only one barb, like a fishhook. The shank is helically grooved, as if meant to screw onto a shaft. No rust, nor any sign of age or wear at all shows on the brilliant, blued alloy from which the point is crafted.

A tiny skull themed toy castle with a hinged “jawbridge” and a handful of tin soldiers.

A velvet cloth that erases most scratches, scuffs, and ink when passed over them.

A large, weathered bit of cloth covered in inter-woven spider's silk. It has been folded many times over and bears an ever-changing nonsensical mass of blurred lines, shapes, and symbols.

An ancient animal skin drum yellowed and worn with age. It naturally hums softly to the rhythm of nature's heartbeat.

An ebony carved walking cane with tiger head; the head has a hidden jaw with space within to hold a small object such as a potion vial or scroll. The interior hinge is fashioned from a preserved human finger.

A large incense burner depicting an apocalyptic scene; A palace and surrounding town is levelled by an earthquake and fire. Dancing tiger-headed demons laugh and dance and whip the dying locals

A wooden teapot with brass and wood inlays with a handle made from a vitrified monkey hand.

A gold piece that has been bitten in half.

An exquisitely crafted red ceramic cup, incised with black figures depicting lions, wolves, and fruiting plants.

A small glossy stone on which is drawn a complex runic sigil.

A wide-brimmed leather hat that has a tall crown with a crease down the middle. A trio of small, gold rings pierces the hat's brim along one side.

A crystal orb, awash with a swirl of colours at its centre, bearing a crack along one side. The colours within are constantly leaking out, in a thin mist.

A cello made of maple inlaid with hornbill ivory and tuning keys of cold iron.

A jar made of cut crystal that is sealed with a stopper of iron. Its filled with amber fluid, and a floating clot of tissue that undulates and pulses.

A squat stone goblet made of dark green stone with black intrusions, polished to a silky veneer and carved with capering, vomiting frogs and nonsense rhymes in abyssal. Any liquid poured into this goblet instantly becomes a rancid, foul smelling greenish slime.  

A hickory cane with a polished rose gold head in the shape of a grinning head.

A dark crystal orb with the patterns of the night sky revolving within it; a small sun and moon appearing and submerging over time.

A bead, about the size of a large man's thumbnail, carved from brilliant orange opal with sparkling yellow flaws inside. It looks like a stylized flame or sunburst on casual examination.  

The skull of a dire tiger, painted in infernal runes and mounted upside-down on a pedestal of black basalt carved in the shape of an erinyes who holds the basin up. The skull's eye sockets are filled with blood coloured star-sapphires.

A crescent-shaped wooden handharp, about the size of a human hand, with metal strings.

An iron pocketwatch with the chain extruding from an eagle's mouth mounted into the top of the watch. The clasp at the end of the chain is a talon.

A strange looking stone made of a material that looks like basalt, only with small insets of strange red, almost gleaming, material. It is slightly warm to the touch, and if one examines it very carefully or is very tactile to the touch, it seems to be almost pulsating.

A rattle that looks like a shrunken humanoid skull. Eyeball-like marbles rattle within it.

A lace-trimmed white silk handkerchief embroidered with the initials ‘FLS’ and stained in one corner with fresh blood.

A handful of polished dice carved from bleached human knucklebones. One of the dice is obviously heavier than the rest.

A calligraphic playbill for “The Physicians’ Apprentice” with yesterday’s date and covered with half a dozen half-illegible signatures.

An envelope, yellow and weathered, but still sealed with wax pressed by a local legate’s signet.

A neck guard made from hardened leather reinforced with a band of metal etched with the sunburst holy symbol of the God of Light. Knowledgeable PCs will know that collars such as these are worn mainly by vampire hunters and the extremely paranoid. The guard protects the bearer against vampire bites and attacks directed against the throat when worn.

A set of half a dozen tiny figurines carved into simple animal shapes. When placed on a reasonably flat surface or held in the palm of your hand, they gradually begin to animate and interact with one another.

A small tin box with a hinged lid, half-filled with finely ground, pure white, sea salt.

A goblet carved from blackened bone and ivory with black adamantium fittings. It is the size of a large brazier, its basin in the shape of a toothed demon face, its base a nest of serpents.

A perfectly round ball of translucent crystal as black as the night sky. Floating in the darkness of the ball are twinkling motes of white light, and seven steady coloured lights. Looking into this darkened orb is like looking out a window onto the night sky.

A pair of goggles made of leather that have an unwholesome oily sheen and fitted with lenses ground from a transparent crystal that makes objects refract and shimmer slightly when the bearer looks through them.

A brooch made of gray stone, studded with uncut dull gems and wrapped in tarnished metal wire.

An elegant yet simple flute carved from a single piece of ebony wood.

A coin-sized piece of polished bone that can be worn around the neck as an amulet or pinned to clothing as a brooch.

A herbalism kit that contains a variety of instruments such as clippers, mortar and pestle, and pouches and vials used by herbalists to create remedies and potions.

A bizarre structure of pink, worm-like protrusions, each ending in a clear, bright violet crystal. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as cobaltian calcite.

A large, clear quartz embedded with a seemingly random assortment of tiny golden crystals. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as pyrite.

A ragged hunk of malachite has been broken open to reveal a series of translucent cyan domes. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as chrysocolla.

A collection of hundreds of delicate, clear white crystals the length of a finger radiate from a central point. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as strontianite.

A series of sharp teeth on a leather strap, which can be affixed around the head. A realistic yellow cat eye blinks in the central position.

A wand crafted by moon druids in honour of the great beasts of nature. The core is made of a dryad sapling grown from the fertile remains of a large beast. The bones grow around the sprout and meld into it.

An ornate bronze tube, capped on each end with polished horn and wrapped tightly with thick red cord.

An intricate metal contraption which clamps to a table top and consists of a small vise, several articulated arms with lenses, clamps, and unidentified doodads. The entire thing is covered in small coils and loops as though to hold a vast array of tiny tools.

A life-like painting of a skull on black canvas with intricate embroidery decorating every surface of the skull and tiny silk flowers sewn throughout the surface.

A polished jade hair band studded with tiny black stones which sparkle with a faint, internal light.

A collection of small pastel spheres made of some tightly packed powdery substance with a cloying floral scent.

A slick, polished cane with a ferocious sea monster’s head modelled on the top. A hidden trigger causes the monster’s mouth to open and close.

A six inch bronze fish hook encased in a clear glass cube. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize this as the third place trophy of the annual fishing competition of a local port city.  

A perfectly smooth clear glass square, roughly arm-length along each side, with bevelled edges and rounded corners. It may have once been a table top.

A leather mask that is probably depicting the front half of a skull, with two tiny horns stuck on the top. It is sewn of layers, and layers of a strange leather, needing the multiple layers to give it any sort of structural stability. Knowledgeable PC's can determine that the disturbing object is sewn of ancient human skin, taken from bodies long lost under the hungry earth of swamp bogs. Should the bearer wear the mask and make eye contact with another intelligent creature, he feels as though he is just at the cusp of tapping into unfathomable knowledgeable.

An old lute made of ironwood, with strings and tuning keys of glistening steel.

A large, transparent red tumbler made of some unidentifiable material, its sides textured delicately and a single seam recognizable down one side. Strange characters decorate the bottom.

An ornate, hand-inlaid, glass globe contained within a protective wicker cradle.

A leather wallet containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a member of the moneylenders, investors and bankers guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A series of ancient, hand-drawn maps representing uncountable countries and territories in some unknown part of the world.

A crystal ball containing a miniature frozen landscape. When shaken, the landscape appears to experience simulated snowfall.

A polished metal case containing a set of fine needles, similar to those for sewing, several thin glass cylinders, and a single ampoule of a sluggish red fluid.

A small sterling box engraved with the image of a small bunch of fruit with leaves and vines. Resting inside is a sealed paper packet which rattles when shaken.

An intricately detailed figurine posed as though singing to an audience on a balcony above her. Her eyes sparkle with tiny jewels to make it appear that she is crying.

An inky black square housed within an ornate golden frame. On closer inspection, faint shapes and motion are visible in the painting, as though it shows an active scene in an unlit room or perhaps underground.

A large brass hook that vaguely reminds you of a boating implement. Sharpened to a wicked point at one end and threaded for mounting on the other, the metal is polished to a mirror sheen.

An intricate clockwork crow that stands frozen in a quizzical pose, as though gazing at something interesting just above your head.

A sheaf of parchment that contains entirely too many limericks.

A pair of crystallized humanoid eyeballs. You can see something dancing inside the pupil of each eyeball.

A carved wooden mask depicting a snarling animal face with sharpened teeth and painted in brilliant yellows and reds to resemble flame.

A large travel pouch crammed full of preserved cheeses.

A joined oak stool with troll-shin legs.

A small dowry chest inlaid with enamel pictures depicting lusty milkmaids.

A bronze lamp of a leaping sun figure being pulled by three heavily pregnant sphinx.

A papyrus scroll depicting a ritual disembowelling.

A bronze horse figurine trampling on slave children.

A written note saying, in what looks like a child’s handwriting, “You’d better stop doing what you’re doing. It’ll get you killed…or worse.”

A smooth piece of rounded amber that has a human eyeball in it.

A handheld mirror that's cracked with one missing shard of glass. Each new moon, the missing shard appears, and voices singing unsettling songs emanate from it until the sun rises.

A lady's ankle bracelet designed to look like rutting unicorns.

A delicate lacquer and silver fan with death’s head moth motifs.

A set of five bones wrapped with different-hued ribbons. Each ribbon is made from different fabric, and each one causes the bearer to smell or taste something unsavory when touched.

A bracelet made of brass triangles each with a face of anguish carved into them.

An anklet crafted from jade with hieroglyphic warnings of dire things to come.

A pair of large earrings set with faceted citrines that flash again and again with a thousand twinkles, attracting the eye.

An embroidered claret-coloured jacket decorated with brass buttons on the front and on the sleeves.

A crimson, demonic bloodstained robe that grants the bearer the unholy vigor of the demonic blood that taints the cloth.

A set of fine, angular robes closed with a wide band, tied behind him in a crisp, elaborate knot. The clothing is impeccably clean and its former owner must have been fastidious about his appearance.

A perfectly preserved hummingbird, its wings fully spread as if in flight, encased in a clear glass cube.

An enormous star sapphire, well over a hundred carats, but of very poor quality. The colour varies from cloudy gray to muddy brown, and there are concentric rings crossing the material and several black inclusions and imperfections.

[ka-za-ri]

Descent Pt. 2

Masterlist of other Chapters: Here Crossposted to Ao3: here

Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

I’m so glad y’all are enjoying the food so far, please take some more of it. Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist or anything like that. For now, let’s enjoy our favorite angel doing ... not very angelic things (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Pairing: Simeon x Reader Wordcount: 5,000 ish Genre: Luxurious Smut Tags: Voyeurism, mutual masturbation Summary:   With the first chapter behind him, there's still something missing in Simeon's writing, and he needs your help to figure out what it is.

Stumble

True to his word, Simeon had the draft he promised in your email inbox within a few days. You were surprised. He seemed to be struggling so much when you last saw him, you really expected him to take a little more time. Regardless, it was to your benefit since it meant you had more time to edit. 

Even if it was just the first chapter and a little bit after, you were surprised at the speed in which he jumped to the lewd scenes. It wasn’t surprising considering sex was the focus, but you would need to teach him how to reign in his enthusiasm. By the time you were finished reading through the draft the first time, your whole face had gone hot. The explicit details he wrote out only brought your mind back to what you had acted out in that sunroom just a few days ago. It was a direct translation of your actions to text. Sure, Simeon was new to the genre, but his talent as a writer still shone through. 

Despite the roughness of the draft, the publisher approved it as acceptable proof of progress. They greenlit the whole project and you were more than excited to email Simeon and let him know the good news. Just as you had come back from the meeting with the executives, your phone chirped with a new message.

[SMS: I AM STUCK. I CANNOT WRITE ANYMORE. HELP ME.]

You laughed at how short and crude the message was. For someone who spent most of his time on a computer writing; he was absolutely hopeless with any other form of technology. Shaking your head at how someone like him had gotten so far in life barely knowing how to send a text, you packed up your things and made your way to his place. You did have a few notes about his first chapter to give him, anyway. 

Simeon hated being deceptive. He hated how quickly he had started to rely on that image of you in his brightly lit sunroom to fuel his writing and for his own desires. He was ashamed to ask you to come over again; but he was repeating the same motions in his writing, he needed new visuals and you were the only one he could trust. In reality, his request was a thinly veiled request to see you perform again. He was able to complete his work so quickly after watching you. Researching video clips and online articles gave him some fuel, but nothing got him so fired up as watching a scene unfold from you. 

It was a strange obsession he was still wrapping his mind around. He had to be careful, the temptation you possessed was absolutely dangerous. Simeon had to reassure himself that he was ancient and knew his way around humans with how long he had studied them. He needed to convince himself that he would never sully a human body, no matter how much he wanted you. His title, status and reputation as an angel were the most sacred parts of him. With so many years of writing experience, surely he could write a proper sex scene without actually ever having to fuck you.

It didn’t stop him from being nervous. No matter how many fail safes he came up with, he knew that you were effortlessly enticing him to be joined with you. He had to be vigilant. It would be the ultimate test of his will and his determination. Both for his career and his soul. He would see it through, he knew he could. No material experience could be more important than his angelic status. Right?

He paced back and forth in the foyer of his home, gnawing on his nail while he waited for you to arrive. It had taken him half an hour to find the right words to text you. Simeon glanced at the phone in his hand almost every ten seconds, hoping you had replied. He knew you had a meeting, but it should be over by now and you should be arriving at any moment. You hadn’t answered him which made him antsy. Usually you would have at least told him you were coming over. He could only hope that you were just eager to see him as he was to see you again.

He didn’t want to admit how he had fallen asleep with his hands down his pants the past three days, dreaming about your sweet voice as you came and called out to him. He didn’t want to think about how many positions he had imagined you being in. Simeon didn’t want to dwell on how many scenarios he came up with just to have you reenact them for him. Some of the scenes delved so deep into his darkest desires that he was scared to even admit he thought about them. 

But he wanted to see them play out. 

The doorbell barely finished ringing and he was already flinging opening the door to let you in. “I’m guessing the meeting went well.” He said with a bright smile to hide his nerves. He was already set up in his sunroom. During the time you were gone, he had brought a small folding desk to the recliner. The cable for his computer had also been moved so he didn’t have to worry about the battery being drained. You instinctively went over to the couch lined up against the wall but he stopped you. Instead of letting you lounge like you did the last time, he offered you a chair across from his makeshift desk instead. He refused to make eye contact as you made yourself comfortable. 

“The meeting went as well as it could,” you said while taking out the envelopes that contained his work. “They like everything so far, but it’s still rough and needs a little bit more refinement, and I have to agree with them.” 

You glanced up at him and noticed him fidgeting with his fingers while he kept his face calm. “So, what needs to be fixed up?”

You flipped through a few pages and showed him the paragraphs of smut he had written. The color drained from his face as he was face-to-face with the obscenity of his work in physical form. “So, it’s not bad. But I can tell it was your first time. There’s something missing about the partner. I can’t place it, but it just feels… flat? Like I can’t tell if they’re feeling anything from the exchange or what.” 

“Ah… Oh… Hahaha. I see… That explains a lot.” 

You raised a curious eyebrow at his comment. “Does it?” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back in the chair. It seemed as though Simeon was just at the verge of another great discovery about his writing and you were rather intrigued about what his thoughts were. 

“Yes. I was struggling to write this next scene and I just… couldn’t figure out how to convey the partner’s feelings. It’s frustrating. I should have all the resources that I need to make it work.” He gestured at what he had written and bade you to take a look. 

It was always fun to see his work in progress. With the partially polished scenes and unfinished sentences, it was like you got to see the inner workings of his brain. What he had in front of you was a far cry from the more polished work you were used to, but the overall flow of action was much better than the travesty you had seen last time. However, you could see the exact point where he started to struggle. As he said, there was a lack of feeling behind the words. 

“Ooh… So this is the part where you need my help again, huh?” 

Simeon covered his face with his hand. “I’m ashamed to ask you to assist me with another scene.” 

You smiled softly, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “Well, I’d be the world’s worst editor and manager if I refused to help you, right?” 

“You don’t have to…” 

“But I want to.” You reassured him, while getting up from your seat to start stripping. Truth be told, you were waiting for the next time you got to see him so hot and bothered while working. Something about how focused he was on writing and not what his body needed made you want to push him further, see just what it took to get him distracted. “But you know… I’m sure you’d get more out of it if you experienced it too. Sometimes, just watching isn’t enough.”

Simeon felt his heart drop to his stomach from your suggestion. You were putting into words all of his desires and what he had craved ever since the last time. If he didn't have his wits about him, he knew he would have taken you up on the offer. The temptation of knowing how it felt to be in you while you moaned had piqued his curiosity and he longed to experience it. “I… Uh,” he stuttered, trying to wrap his mind around how to reply. 

You dragged your finger up his thigh, pausing right at his crotch and waited for his reaction. He was so cute with his eyes wide, lips slightly parted and his brain short circuiting from your advances. You wanted to devour him and see him crumble under your fingers. “You what?” You encouraged, moving the focus from his crotch upwards, your finger skirting the soft sweater he wore and up to his chin. You tilted his head upwards to meet you eye to eye. “You want to write the best novel… don’t you?” 

“I do…” He breathed, unable to take his eyes away from you and his mind struggled to keep up with how quickly you had taken control of the situation. He needed to wrestle some semblance of calm back in his favor if he wanted to continue getting what he wanted without you suspecting his obsession.  “In order for me to do that, I need you to show me how…” He trailed off, cheeks flushed warm from thinking about his lewd request. 

“How what? Come on now, you asked me to fuck a pillow last time, how is this going to be any worse than that?” you teased. Much to your delight, he became more flustered, his gaze dropping to the floor and he mumbled to himself. You let him get over his shyness, waiting patiently with his chin balanced at the tip of your finger. 

Please uhm… Please show me how you please yourself… for this next scene.” He managed to save himself from falling completely into your trap, specifying exactly what he needed you to do. You were so alluring and so close to him, he had almost asked for the unforgivable. 

You smiled, letting go of his chin and stepping back. “It’d be so much easier if I had some toys to do that… but I guess I’ll show you since you asked so nicely.” You planted a kiss on his forehead before undoing the buttons of your blouse. 

“T-toys?” Simeon squeaked. He had seen them in video clips and read about them in reviews when he researched; but it never occurred to him that you might want to use them. 

“It’s okay if you don’t have any. I can always settle with this…” You teased, walking over to him and fondling his crotch. “In fact, I would prefer this over anything else.” 

You were close enough to see his pupils dilate and notice how his breath hitched as you touched him. He pulled away from you, hiding behind his screen and pretended to be busy with opening a new document. “I… I need to write.”

“But that’s the problem…” you whined, pouting that he pulled away but you didn’t press the issue any further. Watching him squirm was so satisfying; and you hadn’t even done anything yet. “You were writing the last time and you had the same problem, so stop writing this time and get into it.” You suggested. 

“I can’t.” he shook his head vehemently. “I can’t do it. No.” 

You sighed, putting your hands on your hips and looked at him. You never pegged him to be the kind of guy who waited until marriage to be intimate, but it seemed like he was alluding to the fact that he was saving himself. If he wasn’t, he was at least being very reserved for the type of content he was writing. “Fine, we don’t have to do it,” you conceded before going back to stripping yourself bare. “But feel free to help yourself to whatever you need for inspiration.” You winked, looking down at his crotch and he hastily crossed his legs when your gaze lingered. 

He was so cute. You couldn’t tell if he knew exactly what he was doing. It was hard to expect someone so beautiful and of his age to not get intimate when the chance arose. Part of you wondered if it was because you weren’t desirable to him outside of your little acts. Dwelling on that thought made your chest hurt in bitterness and you shoved that to the side to focus on helping him instead. 

You flopped back down on the chair, spreading your legs and resting them on the arms of the chair so that Simeon had a clear view of what you were about to do to yourself. Having him watch everything you did so close to you aroused much faster than you expected. “Well, time to get to work.” you said nonchalantly. 

You closed your eyes, imagining Simeon joining you in getting nude. You imagined what it would be like for him to reveal his skin a little at a time in a playful strip tease. He always wore such bulky and cozy looking sweaters, it made you wonder just what kind of body he was hiding underneath all the layers. You started at your breasts again, squeezing them together and playing with them to aid in the fantasy. 

In front of you, Simeon was typing up a storm. In your mind, it was his hands at your breasts, playing with your nipples until they were perky. You thought about him latching his soft lips around your nipple, licking at the sensitive skin there until you squirmed and moaned his name. You were careful this time to make sure you didn’t accidentally call for him when you really got into it. You weren’t in a rush to experience that embarrassment a second time. 

He could see your folds progressively get wetter as you touched yourself and wrapped yourself in a fantasy he had no access to. Recalling the last time, Simeon wondered if he was occupying your mind again. This time, he was much more aware of his body’s reactions to the scene in front of him. There was no way he could ignore the pressure growing in his pants. No matter how much he focused on the document in front of him, he could feel his desires bubbling and threatening to spill over. 

It was different this time. You were sprawled out in front of him, moaning softly and panting. Your head rested on the back of the chair. With your eyes closed and your mouth open slightly in an “O” you looked absolutely angelic. He wanted to join you, his fingers stopped typing and he was once again frozen, watching the performance in front of him. 

You noticed he stopped typing much sooner than the last time and smirked a bit, cracking open your eyes to see his precious face staring at you in wonder. “Like what you see?” You asked coyly, sliding one hand down from your breast to your pussy. You spread yourself wide so he could see exactly just how wet you were. 

Simeon only nodded, entranced with the way your folds glistened and he could smell your arousal from where he sat. He licked his lips holding onto his fraying desires as best as he could. Control yourself. You can do this. “Y-yes…” His voice came out thickly, as if his vocal chords refused to work properly. 

You giggled, loving how riled up you were getting him and slowly rubbed your slick slit with your fingers. You moaned, the pleasure your fingers gave you was much better than riding a pillow. With just a quick glance, you noticed he had uncrossed his legs and was sporting a rather impressive tent in his pants. “Well, I’m glad that you’re not bored.” you teased much to his dismay. 

His hands flew to his crotch, covering himself and he tried to will his boner back down to no avail. You giggled again, pulling his attention away from his arousal. “It’s okay, I would have been disappointed if you didn’t get turned on by what you’re seeing.” 

“I uhm…” 

“It’s okay.” You reassured him again. “Feel free to join in however you want. It only makes it all the more fun.” 

Simeon gulped, torn between work and pleasure. He put himself in this predicament, he needed to figure a way out of it. He needed relief and he needed to write. The two sides of him warred as he scrambled with his fizzling brain to figure out something. An epiphany dawned on him when he heard his phone go off. 

“Spam?” you asked when he fumbled with the incoming call, trying to silence the ringtone. “Or were you expecting someone?” 

“Ah.. uhm… spam. I think.” He confirmed once he managed to figure out to disregard the call without picking it up. The next thing he needed to figure out was how to get the camera working and recording. You wanted to help him, but with one hand covered in fluids, you weren’t sure if he wanted you touching his phone. 

Eventually with a little vocal coaching on your end and a lot of fumbling on his side, he got it to work and propped the phone up to start recording what you were doing. If he was going to get relief now, he needed to at least have proper reference to go back to later. 

“Wow… you are so much kinkier than I thought.” You joked, causing Simeon to cover his face in shame, but he didn’t try to argue. There was something about having everything recorded for later that only added to the sexual tension in the room. 

“It’s for research…” He mumbled more to convince himself than to explain to you what he was doing. 

“Right… research.” 

He moved his hands to mirror your own. One at his crotch and the other at his chest. It was difficult to hide your disappointment when you saw he wasn’t about to expose himself. His hand slipped under his clothes to touch and tease at his skin. You could see the barest hint of his abs peeking out from underneath the oversized sweater and you practically drooled at just the little bit of skin he showed off. You couldn’t help a small pout, frustrated at how unfair it was that you were putting in so much work for him and he could just so cutely masturbate alongside you. 

The frustration disappeared the moment you saw his eyelids flutter clothes and he let out a soft moan. It was the most beautiful sound in the world and it was infinitely better than anything you could have imagined. His blue eyes lidded with pleasure were only opened to a sliver as he urged you to continue what you were doing. 

With the camera rolling and the very vision of sin in front of you, you were more than eager to get back to getting off. Your finger found your clit and you rubbed it in the way that always made you see stars. “Hmmm, oh yeah…” You groaned, flicking your finger side to side before circling the little bundle of nerves. You were undoubtedly going to ruin his furniture again, but you didn’t care. 

Simeon watched the way your fingers moved and he mimicked everything you did. His hand under his shirt pinched and rolled his nipple between his fingers. The sensation made him hiss from the initial pain but that was quickly replaced by pleasure which sent jolts of bliss straight to his aching cock. He bit his lip, repeating the motion, drowning himself in the sensation over and over again. 

The scent of your essence was thick in the air. It felt like you were surrounding him with every breath he took. You were invading his every thought and infecting everything he thought was pure. But the freedom you gave him and the gratification that came with it was intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough of your breathy moans and the wet sounds of your fingers toying with yourself. 

His own hand in his pants pumped his cock in time with the motion of your fingers. At one point you had done the most lascivious thing and slipped a finger inside of you. His eyes widened as the digit disappeared and reappeared covered in your slick. His cock twitched in his hand in jealousy. He wanted to be buried in there, he wanted to feel your heat surround him. But all he had was his hand to satisfy him. 

Simeon was heavily panting now, working up to a frantic pace in his pants as his hand stroked his length. It was cramped and uncomfortable; but he couldn’t bear to expose himself to you. Surely that would be too much for you to see; and he wasn’t sure if he could control himself if he stripped alongside you. 

“Mmm, I’m getting close.” you groaned, rolling your hips to meet your fingers and you teased your clit further, feeling your body tense in preparation for your climax. “What about you?” 

“I… Uh.. I’m…” Simeon, stuttered, not able to process how close he was. It was so different from all the times he relieved himself alone. He just had to keep going until he was done. But with you in front of him, he wanted to do it together with you. Seeing your soaked pussy right in front of him made him more excited than he ever had been. “I think I’m close…” 

You laughed at his naivety. “You think?” You teased. Perhaps you needed to up the ante a bit. “Come on… come with me.” You beckoned and pressed two fingers into your tight hole. 

He blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what his hormones were doing. Seeing your fingers being engulfed by your pussy, sliding in and out slowly while you moaned right next to him was pressing all the right buttons in him. He could see you stretch to accommodate your fingers and he was entranced by that. Without warning, he gasped, his grip on his cock tightened as he came. “Oh … I’m… I’m sorry…” He panted. “You just… that was… Uhm..” 

“Too hot for you to handle?” You asked, now working yourself faster. The face he made when he came all of a sudden was so hot. You would definitely think back on it during lonely nights. Simeon’s breathy moans, the way his skin glowed with a thin sheen of sweat from exertion. It all added up to be a breathtaking image. 

“I...Yeah…” You could see the faintest hint of red on his cheeks and smirked, satisfied that he was enjoyed himself just as much as you were loving every moment you were in front of him. 

“Good… I guess it’s my turn then.” You said and went right into the motions of getting yourself to climax. Locking the image of Simeon’s “O” face in your mind, you finger fucked yourself closer and closer to completion. 

You could feel your inner walls tighten and you were just at the edge of no return when you felt Simeon’s firm hand pull your fingers away. Whining loudly and glaring at him, you were about to berate him for ruining your good time until your entrance was filled with his own slender fingers. “Let me help you…” He said, his bright blue eyes were lit with a determination you hadn’t seen before and the fire behind them was such a turn on. 

For someone who had just been so bashful about being intimate with you at the beginning, Simeon sure was being bold now. You didn’t say anything, not like you really could. Your capacity to form coherent words disappeared when his slender fingers entered you and mimicked the motions you had shown him. He was a fast learner, able to have you shivering with little to no effort. It was hard to believe just how he had a sudden switch in personality, but it was beside you to figure it out now. 

You were free to call his name. After all, he was the one touching you now. “Oh… Simeon.” you moaned, panting and once again ramping towards your climax. This time, he was in control of the pace and the intensity of what got you off. He curled his fingers in you and you cried out loud when he brushed past a sensitive spot in you. He was so gentle and so precise, it was mind blowing what he picked up just from watching you. 

“You’re close… right?” He asked sweetly. You looked at him and the intensity in his eyes was only made more obvious against his dark skin. The tone of his voice was in direct contrast to the laser focus his gaze had on your most intimate parts. Just the dichotomy of that alone inched you dangerously close to your climax. 

Then, his thumb pressed against your clit and your world exploded. It was just the last bit of stimulation you needed to go over the edge. You clutched onto the arms of the chair while you rode out the high on his fingers. A mixture of curses and his name fell from your lips as you breathlessly tried to ground yourself. Your inner walls clenched around his digits and Simeon continued to slowly slide them in and out of you, marveling at the sensation of your pussy milking his fingers. 

You kept seeing stars at the edge of your vision with every extra pass he took. You wanted to tell him to stop, but he was too engrossed in his ‘research’ to really pay any of your protests any mind. Eventually, he pulled his fingers out of you and you sighed in both relief and disappointment. 

Simeon looked at his glistening fingers, holding them to the light and observed the slick essence that coated them. It was almost a little embarrassing to watch him be so intrigued by your fluids that you needed to distract yourself by getting dressed again so you didn’t have to look at him. While you had your back turned, Simeon experimentally licked his coated fingers and by the time you were fully clothed, he had fully cleaned them off. He looked at you and licked his lips. “Research.” He said nonchalantly with a shrug. 

“Right… research.” you said, already getting hot and bothered again at what you had just witnessed. This man will be the end of me. “Do you think you’ve gotten all you need for your next scene?” 

“Hmm….” He nodded sagely, remembering to stop recording. “I’ll have to review everything, but I think I know where to go from here.” 

You smiled good naturedly and pat his head gently. “Don’t overwork yourself.” you said gathering your things. Once again, it had gotten late and you had to regretfully leave to ensure you caught the last trains home. “Call me or text me  if you need help again, okay?” 

“Oh, of course. I plan on it.” He smiled at you and your heart melted a little, but there was a devilish nature to that smile that had never been there before. “I’ll finish the next chapter probably in a week and send it to you.” 

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with. I’m sure it’ll be great, as usual.” You grinned, feeling giddy after such a great climax as well as knowing that Simeon was able to continue working. It would definitely be good news to report back to the publishing house and keep them off his back as he worked in peace. 

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. It was a shame that he was already back to his usual innocent self. You wouldn’t have minded seeing more of that sex god who showed himself a few moments before. “Well, I’ll do my best to not disappoint. I have a lot to learn.” 

“I’ll be sure to help you in any way I can.” You said. Looking down at your phone, you gasped noticing the time. “Shit. I gotta run if I don’t wanna walk all the way home tonight. Text me if you need anything!” You yelled, halfway across his home and stumbling to get your shoes back on. 

When the door slammed shut, the silence that surrounded Simeon was deafening. He had been able to hold out on taking you, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten a taste of what it was like to sin. The uncomfortable dampness of his cum clung to his leg, but he barely noticed it. Instead, he was focused on the file on his phone. The recording of what transpired that afternoon. 

Taking a shaky breath, he resisted the urge to press play. The scent of your arousal and the taste of your essence were still too fresh in his mind. He needed to clean up. He needed to work. He needed to research and plan for you. He sighed and started to make his way to the shower. If he needed relief, then at least he could take care of it there and not in the mess that was his soiled pants. 

As the sun sank past the horizon and gave way to night, the light within his soul waned and the darkness he had pushed aside grew. After a taste of sin, it was only natural that he would crave more until it consumed him. 

And it felt heavenly.

[crystalirises]

The Final Answer (36 Questions AU 3/13)

Third part.

OUR SWEET OLD LIFE

Fundy curled up on the farthest end of the couch, his slitted eyes tracking every movement that Dream dared make in the rundown shack he had made for himself. He watched as the blonde glanced at the cobwebs in the corners, at the dusty windows, at the tattered couch that Fundy sat on, at the grime-covered walls, and at the recently polished floor. 

The blanket was draped over his own shoulders, Dream insisting that he didn’t care much for the cold. Like how Dream didn’t care for anything except for a bunch of flimsy discs that held no significance to anyone other than Fundy’s uncle who was exiled by the very man in question. His sharp nails raked through the cloth of the couch, wincing as a small tear formed. Niki would kill him if she noticed it. Heh. He didn’t know how Dream found his way to Drywaters, but he must have done something to know. His hair bristled. Dream didn’t threaten Niki or Ranboo, did he?

He let out a low growl as Dream’s attention turned to him, their gazes piercing through each other’s soul. Fundy refused to wonder what was beyond the porcelain mask. He refused to wonder if he would see hurt in those forest green eyes he used to love so much, the eyes he woke up to every morning. Dream fumbled, mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish in a dirty pond. Fundy pulled his knees closer to himself, his sharp nails biting into the skin as he waited for whatever bullshit Dream would concoct. He didn’t know what was going on in that devious little mind, but it couldn’t be good. 

Fundy was exhausted from being fucked over by the entirety of New L’manburg and the Essempy. He hated the man before him, hated how his heart ached at the sight of him. He hated that he wanted to forgive him even if the blonde didn’t apologize. He hated how he still felt for his ex-husband, the ex-husband he thought he’d left behind.

“So… I know we can’t go back to the way we used to be. You’ve made that perfectly clear, sta― Fundy.” He doesn’t miss the way his old nickname easily slipped through Dream’s lips, the way he quickly averted from finishing it. Fundy sniffled, wiping at his nose with the edge of his jacket sleeve. He hated that nickname, anyway. So why did it hurt to be reminded of it? 

“We just have to move forward from this. The sooner we apologize to one another, the sooner we can go home… where it’s safer.” Dream walked closer, trying to pull Fundy into an embrace.

“Dream, with you… no place is safe.” Fundy winced at the bitter and harsh words that left his tongue, averting his gaze the moment those beady black eyes turned to him. He shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around him. He didn’t like being scrutinized in such a way… he couldn’t see Dream’s face. Fundy would like to give him the benefit of the doubt… but this was the masked man who took everything from him. He didn’t want to see what was behind that painted smile. 

“You can’t speedrun an apology, babe― Dream.” Shit.

“I’m sorry… I know this hasn’t been easy… for you… for us…” His ex-husband’s tone was strained, with fear or with sadness Fundy couldn’t really tell. He forced himself to look at Dream, watching as the man placed a hand inside his sweater pocket, scouring for something… Fundy leaned further into the couch, wishing that it would swallow him whole. Then he’d be free. 

“But I… I want to fix this, Funds. We can still fix this. I have a plan, trust me. Remember those… questions you forced me to answer during our date?” Dream smiled, hoping that the memory would illicit some semblance of nostalgia within the fox hybrid.

“Oh! You mean those 36 Questions that you said were stupid! Those questions that were designed to make a stranger fall in love with you! How could I forget?” Fundy wanted to remain positive. He really did. But Dream’s presence made it difficult. He wanted to forget this. He wanted it to be over. He was stupid to think he could escape. Was there any land in this land that Dream didn’t own? 

“If you think answering those questions are going to help, then you’re wrong. You probably lied about your answers, anyway.” Fundy sniffed, his nails digging into the skin of his arms.

“Funds.” He saw two glints of light emerge from Dream’s pocket, and Fundy did everything he could not to cry right then and there. Dream had their wedding rings, the large diamond gems glimmering despite the dim light of the living room. Fundy had worked hard for them. He didn’t even beg or plead with Wilbur for money nor did he steal them from some unsuspecting L’Manburgian. Now… Now he glared and sneered at them as if they were nothing but dirt. 

“We need to move forward, and I know how we can do just that.”

“And what brilliant plan is that, Dream?” He heard the thwack of metal against wood, his attention turning towards the metal bucket Dream had placed on the ground. The man turned to pick up the flint and steel Fundy had dropped before, his fingers lingering in the air for a moment before finally grabbing them. Dream walked back towards the bucket, gazing longingly at the weddings rings before tossing them in. Fundy winced, the rings clamoring against the bucket’s steel surface. 

“What… What are you doing?” Fundy glanced up into that white porcelain mask, his heart stuttering in his chest.

“If we want a new start, we’ll have to do it again, right?” Fundy curled up into himself as Dream approached him, the flint and steel in the man’s hand giving Fundy a vision of cloth burning against a blood red sky. He felt nauseous as he stood up and followed Dream towards the bucket. They stood on opposite ends, an arm’s length away but neither of them tried to reach out. Fundy felt cold, his hands trembling. 

“We could restart. A new life. A new chance. At least… this should give us closure.” Dream placed a hand on his chest, wishing that they didn’t really have to do this. But they needed to.

Fundy felt his throat constrict, a hint of what was to come forming in the back of his mind. Was this really what they needed? Was this what Fundy wanted? He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to look up into that porcelain mask, the urge to tear it off rising with each second. He didn’t make a move. He didn’t want to get a sword through the chest, thank you very much. Fundy stared, hoping that the man would start to elaborate his purpose. Of course, he had no choice but to ask the question, 

“What is this, Dream?”

“There is something to the ritual of setting some old stuff on fire.” Setting what on what? Fundy felt his heart skip a beat. He suspected, but he didn’t… His stare focused on the contents of the bucket, holding in the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Would burning what they used to have really help them in the long run? Fundy didn’t know, and he didn’t know why he still cared for two rings anyway. Fine! Yes! They should burn them. 

“A way of saying this now lives in memory. A way of saying it's only a memory.”

Dream sighed, “There's something to the ritual of setting a torch to what is gone.” The flint and steel were heavy in his hold, his knees threatening to give way as he stared at the devastation on Fundy’s face. Dream didn’t want to do this… but they needed to move forward, didn’t they? He recalled an old memory of his childhood, of a man standing before a bonfire as the crackle of burning metal rang through the air. This was how it was done. 

“The ancients did it to honor a memory, and now we do it to honor what we used to be.”

Dream held back the sob in his throat, “Let's say goodbye to our old life. It was heavenly.” Fundy wished Dream wouldn’t remind him. He didn’t need a reminder. Dream was adamant about this, and Fundy couldn’t bring himself to protest. He nodded, listening to the haze of words his ex-husband was spouting. He didn’t want to hear any of them. He couldn’t bring himself to. Besides, he already knew how this would end. He knew it since he opened the door. 

“Tonight… let's say goodbye to our old life...”

Dream smiled as he looked back, “…and the memories.” Dream recalled the first time they had met, no war hung over their heads. He remembered the hesitation in Fundy’s voice as he asked Dream out on a date. He remembered every moment they shared together. What a shame, they were coated in misery now.

“It was imaginary.” Fundy recalled the rush he felt as he prepared the perfect date for a perfect man (Hah! He was wrong about that). He remembered the fear he felt… of being rejected and mocked for even daring to try. He remembered the Dream he met. The Dream he loved. What a shame that the Dream he knew never existed.

“Which is why we say goodbye to it, and hello to this.” Dream gestured to the two of them, the short distance between them bothered him. But it was what they had. It was real. He raised his hands, ready to burn away everything they had. His chest burned with agony, the tears in his eyes hidden only by his mask.

“This is ridiculous.” Fundy reached out, grasping Dream’s right arm before he could drop the flint and steel into the bucket. Dream turned his attention to him and Fundy quickly redrew. He didn’t know why he had done that. He wanted it to be over, didn’t he? But he reached out… Why did he want to prolong the pain?

“Why?” This was the perfect way to move on. They needed to move on. Dream held back his frustration. He wanted to end it quickly, but Fundy just had to hesitate. His fingers curled tightly around the flint and steel. It needed to stop. He was that close to fixing it. Fixing them. That was how it needed to end.

“I don't see why I have to join your little cremation ceremony. You're the one who ruined us…” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Fundy took in a shallow breath of air, refusing to back away despite the aching need to immediately apologize. He wouldn’t apologize. Not to Dream of all people.

“It was a bit more collaborative than you're remembering.” Dream raised a brow at the accusation. This wasn’t entirely his fault. He hadn’t forgotten the way Fundy had mocked him during the meeting. His own fucking husband had laughed at his face and called him a bitch. He held back the seething rage he felt.

“All I want right now is the same thing I wanted two weeks ago. The truth. Did you care about me? And why did you let us continue in the first place?” Fundy let the matter drop. They didn’t need to argue right now. At least… not when Dream was holding the flint and steel. He only had two lives left after all.

“The person who I was on the day you and I met…” History would paint him as a bloodthirsty tyrant, but they forget that he too was but a child when the war began. He never wanted to go to war. He only wanted peace… but Wilbur broke the law and staged a revolution. What was he meant to do? He did what he had to… that doesn’t change the fact that he would scrub at his hands at night, willing the red that stained them to go away. 

“…was deeply ashamed of who he had become. So deeply ashamed of what he'd done…” His hand clenched into fists.

Dream’s hands began to shake, “…and when you showed him questions, the 36 questions…” Fundy scoffed, but it felt half-hearted. He remembered their date, Dream looked uncomfortable and Fundy didn’t blame him. Why would he? Dream only agreed so Fundy would stop pestering him. Still, he wanted to know who Dream was and maybe… he wanted Dream to know him too. He then brought up the list of questions his father had once used on his own date with his mother. 

“He looked ahead and saw who he wanted to be.”

Dream had loved who he was with Fundy. He didn’t feel as if he had some higher obligation, he was just… Dream. 

“We built a life. Forgot our history. ” Politics was never meant to get in the way. That was the agreement. No politics. That was their promise. Dream wouldn’t bring up the Essempy and Fundy wouldn’t bring up L’Manburg. What they did in their respective circles was never meant to seep into their lives. When did that change? When did that line get crossed? 

“Added the details that fit in our old life.”

They didn’t let the outside world ruin their life. Until now… “Let's say goodbye to our old life. It was heavenly…” Dream’s attention flickered back towards their rings, the symbols of their promise. Their wedding was an event to remember, a momentary peace between two warring factions. Dream had walked down that rose petal-covered aisle, a happiness he’d never felt before blooming inside his chest as soon as he saw his husband at the altar. He never wanted to forget that day. 

“… those old memories.”

“They were real to me…” Fundy was ecstatic with joy as he had watched his Dream walk towards the altar. He forgot about his fears, he forgot about his pain… He had Dream… and that had been enough. He wished he had known beforehand that while Dream was enough for Fundy, Fundy was not enough for Dream.

“I don't expect for you to understand perfectly.” Dream adored every moment he had shared with Fundy, he might even go so far as to call them his favorite memories. He doesn’t miss the doubting glint in his husband’s eyes. Even without this whole… dilemma, Fundy would always doubt their love. Would always doubt him. Dream tried so hard to show him that he was enough. He didn’t need validation from anyone… but Fundy never saw that. 

“I loved them, too, as much as you, and I’d want you to bury them with me.”

“Okay…” Fundy gave in. He was an idiot for that, at least that’s what he thought. He moved until their shoulders were pressed together, but he refused to look at Dream. They were here to finish… whatever it was they had. He wanted to get this over with. He needed to get this over with. All it took was one second.

“Okay what?” Dream looked down, registering the way their shoulders were grazing. He savored that small yet brief touch. It might be the last one he’ll ever get from his husband. He wished he could reach for the fox hybrid’s hand, but he knew he’d ruin the moment and probably get tossed out of the house.

“Give me the thing. There is something to the ritual…” Fundy doesn’t wait for Dream’s response, yanking the flint and steel from his hands. He needed to do this. Not Dream. He was the one who wanted to move on. He looked down at the familiar tool, the echoes of his past seeping into his mind. Thrill raced through his veins, the feeling of being free… When was the last time he had burnt something? He should fix that. 

“… of setting fire to the lie. A way of saying that's one win for honesty.” He felt nothing but sheer joy.

“What's done is done.” He heard the soft click, the flint and steel falling from his grasp as the flicker of flames began to rise from the metal bucket. He listened to the crackle of fire, soaking in the warmth. 

This was better. Fire made everything better. For a moment. For just this moment. He felt happy.

“Tonight… I say goodbye to our old life.” He could feel the satisfaction on his face. He could feel the apprehension in Dream’s gaze. Good. He drove them both to this. Fundy let out a small laugh, this was a good plan. 

“It was heavenly.”

“Tonight…” Dream’s heart ached.

“We say goodbye to our old life…” Fundy’s heart soared.

“And the memories.” This was all wrong.

“It was imaginary.” Fundy had never felt this free.

“It was heavenly.” Dream had never felt this hopeless.

They watched as the rings turned to ash.

Fundy smiled, “May it rest in peace.”

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

prev / next

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Hey lovely! How about Spike wants to hunt reader, reader hits him with a baseball bat, love ensues ♥️ I hope you are doing well :) i love your writing

“First Up to Bat”

Warnings: cursing, violence

Note: thanks for the request and for the compliment! I might do a part two for this because I feel like Spike isn’t the type of person (err... vampire) to fall for someone so easily and I didn’t think I could do the build-up required in a one-shot. I hope you like it! I tried to have a little fun with it :)

It was too quiet. Campus—for some reason—wasn’t ever that rowdy after dark fell, but tonight was different. You had been the only one in the gym, except for the desk monitor, who had locked up immediately after you left and sped to his car. You had chalked it up to Sunnydale U maybe not having so many of the active type populating its halls. But the complete lack of socializing going on at 9 p.m. on a Friday night set off some alarm bells. Something was not right.

You kept a bottle of pepper spray clipped to your backpack, and before you left the building you uncapped it and gripped it in hand. You were new to Sunnydale, but you weren’t an idiot. There were a suspicious amount of missing and dead people whose cases were swept under the rug by the police. You weren’t going to give up your routine and hide under your bed all semester after paying $10k in tuition, but you weren’t above taking precautions.

When you heard the first twig snap, it was like a scene straight out of a horror movie. It felt too clean, purposeful. Like something wanted you to know it was trailing you. You allowed yourself one breath in, one moment to consider your options, before you turned around.

“Look, I really don’t have time for this cliché,” you said, your fingers biting into the plastic of your pepper spray keychain. “Stop fucking following me, you creep.”

Best case scenario, you figured you’d scare off a raccoon or something. But luck wasn’t on your side today. A lean blond guy in a leather trench coat stepped out from behind a tree to your right, holding his hands up playfully.

“I think this is the part where you run,” he said. His face started to morph into something wrinkled, ancient. Two fangs elongated and poked his bottom lip, drawing two perfect dots of blood that bubbled up to smear the perfectly pink skin.

Your mouth went dry, but your hand was steady as you shot a five second burst of spray directly into his eyes—or as directly as you could without getting uncomfortably close to those teeth. Then you followed his advice, keeping an iron grip on the tiny bottle as you sprinted for the dorms.

Campus wasn’t huge, but it became apparent within the first thirty seconds that you weren’t going to make it in time. The vampire (you still half-believed it was just some loser in special effects makeup, but a very murderous one) was already on your tail. You could hear him, cursing and probably tearing up a fair bit as he followed you not fifteen feet behind. There was absolutely no one outside to help you, not that you thought any students or faculty members would care if they saw what was happening. Sunnydale had a way of looking right past everything gruesome that happened right under its nose. Now you knew why.

You made it back to the rec center, panting, and skidded to a halt, letting yourself in through the wire gate that led to the baseball field. The equipment had been left out, as if everyone who had been playing before sunset had dropped their gear right where it was as soon as it began to get dark. Shedding your backpack on the ground, you stooped to pick up a solid oak bat and whipped around to see the vampire right outside the gate.

Blondie was laughing at you openly. “Not that I don’t enjoy playing with my food, love,” he said, stepping soundlessly inside the diamond. “But what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You knocked the bat against the dirt as menacingly as you could. “Come over here and find out.”

“Gladly.”

As you backed into centerfield, the lights flickered on, dazzling the vampire with their brightness. You were squinting yourself, but he had backed up and almost tripped over home base in his haste to get away.

“What’s wrong? Afraid sunrise had come early?”

He snarled at you, wiped his no-doubt stinging eyes. “Let’s see how good you are with that bat.”

He picked up a stray ball and pitched it at you to knock you off balance. Without thinking, you swung and cracked it right back at him, missing his head by a few inches to the left.

“Twelve years of softball,” you said with a sugary smile, noting his surprise. In reality, it had been a weak pitch and you had been lucky. But he didn’t have to know that.

He started circling you like a shark in the water, drawn by the smell of easy blood, but you assured yourself that you’d never be that. You kept your stance relaxed, your grip firm, your smile tight. The lights were too bright for him—you had the advantage here. You just had to use it.

When he swooped in, you went for the legs, letting the bat bruise his stupid vampire skin over one knee. The smack was so loud that you wondered for a moment if you had broken something, but he moved back again without issue, even if he wasn’t as graceful about it. You corrected your stance immediately, getting ready for another strike.

“I have to admit, I’m a little impressed,” he said, biting back a yelp. One of his hands, the fingers tipped with black-polished nails, cupped his knee.

“You should be. And there’s more where that came from.”

“You think you’re deterring me, pet,” he sighed. “But I’ve always loved a challenge.”

You steeled yourself, but his retaliation didn’t come. His eyes had locked on something right over your shoulder. You didn’t dare turn to look, but when a voice called out, “Spike?” you took your chance and backed away.

You hear the gate creak, then footsteps, then a blonde girl armed with a crossbow stalked across the field.

“Didn’t take you for a baseball fan,” she said, readying an arrow.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Before the girl could retort, the vampire raced out through the open gate with agility and speed that made you glance down at the bat in your hands, open-mouthed.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking at you with sympathetic eyes that suggested you were a disaster victim of some kind.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

The words came from far away. You could feel yourself form them, but that was the only attachment. You kept replaying the escape of the vampire––Spike?––over in your mind. The girl, who was obviously more prepared than you, hadn’t even had time to shoot. So why hadn’t he snapped your neck in the first place and gotten it over with?

You thought back to what he had told you earlier, that he enjoyed playing with his food, and you shivered.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your dorm.” 

The girl relaxed her hold on the bow and walked you all the way back to your hall, leaving you on the steps with only a semi-awkward smile and a “see you around.”

Hours later, you laid in bed staring at the ceiling and asking yourself what the hell had happened. You tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you were safe, but you couldn’t shake the paralyzing fear that your adrenaline hadn’t allowed you to entertain until now. 

Would Spike come back to finish what he started?

[mollymauk-teafleak]

baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle (chapter one)

Peter Nureyev has a new name, a fake identity, a fake life to step into to complete his very first off planet solo mission. Unfortunately, it involves going undercover as a high school student at Oldtown High. And the people he meets there mean his mission will go anything but smoothly.

This high school AU was the idea of my amazing girlfriend @spiky-lesbian

Please leave a comment over on ao3 or reblog if you like this! 

---

If he repeated his mission over and over again in his head, he couldn’t fail.

That’s what Peter Nureyev told himself as he sat on the hard plastic chair, gripping it’s edge with knuckles tighter than they needed to be, his jaw set hard like he was trying to chew something that wouldn’t go down. He would fix his face, smooth his posture, shift his face into the look of unshakable confidence he’d spent so long perfecting but he needed to look nervous right now. He needed to look like a cornered animal.

Which was convenient, at least. Less work for him.  

Repeat the instructions. Remember the rules. Follow the plan. Don’t fuck up. It sounded so simple and, if Peter believed hard enough, it would be. First rule of thieving, belief in your own skills is half the battle.

There was a secretary at a desk across from him, taking up most of what little room there was in the anteroom to the office. She was mostly focused on her computer screen, typing or tiredly slapping the flat of her hand against it when it glitched out, but every so often she’d give him a sympathetic glance. The kind of glance you’d naturally give a clearly underfed, scrawny teenager, starting a brand new school in the dead centre of the roughest part of Oldtown, with his too big, second hand clothes, scuffing his worn trainers against the carpet. The kind of glance that said oh you poor thing, you have no idea what you’re in for.

If only she knew, Peter thought with a dry amusement. If only she knew just how far he’d travelled, how out of his element he was right now, how he’d simultaneously faced things so much worse than a high school and was so deeply terrified by it. If she saw everything in his cheap rucksack that weren’t school supplies; the long range signal device, the pen drive stuffed full of the galaxy’s most insidious malware, the plasma knife, all carefully concealed amongst the notebooks and pens and pencils. Peter wondered how her face would change then.

It was as if remembering it was there had reminded him what he was here to do and the nerves welled up fresh, like a wound had been prodded. His heart began to thud in his thin chest, his palms began to prickle with heat, the old tic he’d been trying so hard to suppress made his knee bounce. Peter tried to tell himself it would be fine, talking himself through the plan, repeating the mission again and again as if to prove to himself that he knew it by heart. As if simply remembering the words Mag had left him with would be the same as pulling off his very first solo, off planet job.

First rule of thieving, don’t go into a gig you aren’t ready for. Mag was a pragmatist, he’d always been the one sensibly pouring water on Peter’s fervour, after all, making their risks calculated and manageable. And so much was riding on this, the work Peter did here would open up whole new streams of income for them back on Brahma, so much more fuel for the fight. With everything invested in it, the ticket to Mars, the accomodation for a month, the effort to build Peter a fake life solid enough to get him enrolled in a government funded high school, there was no room to play it fast and loose. If Mag said his apprentice was ready for this, then it had to be true. When had he ever steered him wrong?

Peter allowed himself a sigh, one that the secretary wouldn’t hear or, if she did, she’d chalk it up to the understandable anxiousness of the new kid. He’d come a long way from the first time he’d stolen an apple from a stall under Mag’s careful eye.

To keep himself focused, he played a game. Peter did that a lot, he found himself uncomfortable with any time not consumed by some useful distraction. It was why he always listened to the radio as he fell asleep, no matter how many times Mag threatened to take the power brick out of it. He just couldn’t stand idle silence. So he pushed his glasses up his nose and took a quick study of the secretary’s desk to see what information he could glean about her.

His brain worked fast, plucking the bits of information out greedily. Family picture, wife, three children. Notes on her desk, the numbers of different homes for the elderly in Hyperion. Infirm parents and an upcoming heavy drain on her finances, then. Her nails were long but the polish was chipping, like she drummed them on her desk frequently. A short temper or just stressed? More likely the latter, she’d been kind to him so far. Or at least as kind as someone who worked in a place where she must see a hundred neglected, underweight kids with clear signs of poverty could afford to be without going insane. Her desk had no signs of organisation whatsoever, not so much as a sticky note to pin a flag in that riot of loose papers. So she was distracted, under pressure and clearly prone to losing track of information.

Peter thought he could drain the full contents of her bank account within a month.

Obviously, thinking that didn’t make him feel good and he’d never actually do it. But he could feel how proud Mag would be, if he brought him all of that from just a minute of observation, her whole life mapped out in a blueprint. How he’d smile at him and squeeze his shoulder and remind him of the first rule of thieving, know how to read your marks in a single glance, a glance might be all you get. Peter had mastered that one at age seven.

The secretary’s intercom buzzed suddenly and Peter didn’t need to fake his nervous jolt at the harsh, staticy sound. The voice on the other end was too muddy to make out but the secretary lifted her eyes and said, “You can go on through now. Mr Spoor is ready for you.”

Nureyev nodded, scrambling to his feet, patting himself down in a way that would look like he was trying to neaten himself up when in fact, he was deliberately ruffling his hair, yanking down his t-shirt so the frays on the hem would be visible, missing the smudge under his ear. First rule of thieving, you’re never in such a position of power as when the mark underestimates you.

The principal’s office was pretty meagre but at least had a slight edge on the rest of his run down, underfunded school. The chair Peter sat in was worn through so the stuffing poked out, the desk between them had deep gouges in it that hadn’t been sanded down, the computer to the side of them was an ancient model that Peter could have cracked with his eyes closed. That boded well for the rest of his mission.

“It’s customary to have these orientation meetings with your guardian present,” the principal's voice was cool and had no trace of a warm welcome in it, not even a greeting. It matched the expression on his craggy face, “I was expecting to meet them.”

“Um…” Peter swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably, shrinking himself down, “They, uh...my dad...he...he was sick this morning so he couldn’t come.”

There was a lot that could be read into that, half a hundred hidden explanations that, given the catchment area of Oldtown High, Mr Spoor would have seen again and again. So he didn’t press, just giving Peter an unimpressed glance like it was his fault that his non existent father was absent, turning to the screen.

“Very well then...Peter Ransom, correct?”

“That’s right…” Peter nodded.

“That’s right, sir.”

Peter gave a little start, cheeks reddening to come off as merely intimidated and unsure rather than outwardly defiant. As fun as that would be, it wouldn’t make his task any easier, “Sir. Sorry. Sir.”

Mr Spoor likely would have narrowed his lips if they weren’t already worn down to a permanent grimace of disapproval, turning back to the screen and whatever information was on there. Most of it counterfeit, of course.

“So you were born on the outer rim...passable scores in your previous assessments…”

Peter kept his face impassive, though something roiled inside him. The grades Mag had put together for him were fantastic, he knew that for a certainty, and he could match them with his ability. But he didn’t rise, he didn’t bite. He just looked suitably shy and intimidated, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor, fidgeting with the large, second hand glasses Mag had given him to replace his usual sleek, cat eye ones.

“You’ll be starting with us as a senior, given your age and...supposed ability. I expect you to maintain an acceptable standard of work, given that you’re joining so late in the year. We cannot afford for you to fall behind,” Mr Spoor continued, looking more at the screen than the child in front of him, “What is it exactly that brings someone from a place like Brahma to a Martian high school?”

Peter swallowed, “My dad got a job on Mars, sir. He said things would be better for us here...that I’d be able to go to a good school and make friends…”

The principal didn’t even try to hide his snort of disdain, deepening Peter’s instantly formed dislike of the man. He must have thought this new student of his was blind, that he hadn’t seen the graffiti covering the front of the building, how the chairs didn’t match in the classrooms he’d passed, how the books were dog eared and the floors permanently scuffed. Did he enjoy seeing these children clearly born just after the war, with their tattered families and nightmares of a time they could only half remember, crossing the galaxy for something close to a life worth living, coming through his school and being ground down just like the rest of them? Did he find it amusing, seeing a boy who’d grown up scared of the sky itself daring to hope that things might be better here?

Again, Peter repeated his mission in his head.

“We might as well take you on,” Mr Spoor said, as if he didn’t particularly care one way or the other, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in with our other students.” The way he said it made it sound neither reassuring or like a positive.

“Thank you, sir,” Peter feigned a mix of relief, excitement and fear, “I promise I’ll work really hard and do really well.”

The look Mr Spoors gave him made him wonder how he’d like a plasma knife at his throat but, thankfully, it was brief, soon replaced by dismissal, “You’ll begin classes after lunch. Go wait outside again and my secretary will give you your timetable.”

With more breathless, slightly panicked enthusiasm, Peter retreated, looking forward to rewarding himself with a momentary, bitter scowl in between the door closing and approaching the secretary.

But, as it happened, he never got the chance. Because there was now another student was occupying the same chair he’d been sitting on. And Peter’s heart stopped dead for a moment, for a number of reasons.

One, their face was covered in blood. Splatters of it radiated out from a nose that was now swollen and tender, from a lip that was messily split, and Peter knew enough of basic field medicine to know their left eye would be black and purple and swollen nearly shut the next day. The fists angrily clenched in their lap had split knuckles too, just to complete the image.

Two, the face beneath the gore was beautiful.

Peter steadied himself, swallowing hard and taking the seat next to his new schoolmate. Almost immediately, the uninjured eye fixed a glare on him so sharp and vicious that Peter promptly shifted to the next chair along.

He knew the over eager, overcompensating new student he was supposed to be playing would immediately try to make friends, stick his hand out in the gap between them and introduce himself in a too loud, too sunny voice as Peter Ransom. Probably to be met with another glare and possibly a punch to the face, given how much they were twitching with what was clearly post-fight adrenaline. But for some reason, he couldn’t quite manage it so they sat in a frosty silence, punctuated only by the secretary's nails tapping on her computer keys and the steady drip of blood from their nose to the floor.  

Still, Peter had a thief’s curiosity. He stole enough glances at the other kid to glean a little bit about them. They were his age, though shorter and stockier by nature, with an anger naturally set into their face that poor newbie Peter Ransom would never feel. Their hair was a mess of black curls, piled on top of their head and shaved underneath, their ear held numerous piercings they were clearly too young to have acquired legally or hygienically. That surely wouldn’t be permitted by the dress code Peter had studied avidly along with the schematics of the school, the faculty list and every other piece of information he’d been able to get about Oldtown High, determined to do a good and  thorough job. The code would probably have had something to say about their combat boots that were a size too big, their fishnet tights and short skirt, their sleeveless shirt with, incongruously, a picture of a cartoon man on it and the bright, bubbly text reading ‘Turbo!’. There had probably been bigger misdemeanours to think about at the time than a dress code violation.

“What the hell are you staring at?”

Peter jumped at the rough, angry voice, realising the kid was scowling right at him. Their face was clearly made for that expression; Peter had faced down armed guards, lasers from the clouds, jobs that would have landed him in jail for ten times the years he’d been alive but he’d seldom felt so intimidated.

And people didn’t normally notice him looking. After all, first rule of thieving, your eyes are your greatest weapon, don’t be obvious when you use them.

“I...nothing, I’m not…” he searched for a response, glad it was in Ransom’s nature to be easily put off.

“Do I look like the kind of guy you want to mess with right now?” the scowl deepened, sending a fresh line of blood running down their chin from their broken lip.

“Um...no,” Peter decided it was better to give simple answers.

“Yeah,” they gave a dry snort with no humour in it, “So keep your eyes to yourself or lose them, pal.”

Blood, angry tones and threats didn’t scare Peter Nureyev but they weren’t the reason he looked away hastily and was glad of it. It had more to do with dark eyes, holding depths he knew he’d never open up with just a glance, a faded white scar across a flat nose that he thought he’d like to trace with the very tip of his finger, full lips that looked soft somehow even as they were curled in anger.

Peter gave himself a mental slap, repeating his mission again, louder and firmer. He could practically hear Mag laughing at him all the way from Brahma.

First rule of thieving, stop mooning after every pretty boy who so much as glances at you, Pete! How many times do I have to tell you?

He had to admit, he’d been hoping for a smoother start on his first off planet solo mission.

Fortunately, the secretary spoke up not long after, “Peter? Peter Ransom?”

He jumped to his feet, receiving a few papers from her. A class schedule, a map and an outline of expected behaviour. Peter had seen all of this and far, far more in his research but he made sure Ransom looked at it with apprehension, as if it was written in another language.

“And for you, Mr Steel, another detention slip,” her voice took on a kind of fond, bemused exhaustion, “Add it to the collection.”

The other student jumped up and swiped the pink piece of paper from her hands, stuffing it carelessly in the pocket of his skirt, “Thanks, Brenda.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to Peter, “It’s lunchtime at the moment, I’m sure Mr Steel here would be happy to show you to the cafeteria.”

Instantly, Mr Steel stiffened and shot her an exasperated look which she soundly ignored, turning back to her computer screen in a manner that suggested he could stand and look at her like that all day, for all she cared. Eventually, he gave a growl and stomped out of the office, down the corridor. Peter followed, pausing in the doorway to give him a chance to storm off and leave him behind.

There was no hiding his surprise when, after a few seconds, he snapped, “Are you coming or what?”

Peter did.

Nureyev knew every inch of the hallways but of course Ransom didn’t, so he fixed an expression of wary awe on his face. There were some things that didn’t take a lot of effort, like the swear word carved into one locker that he’d never even heard of or when the sound of a muffled explosion shook the floor above them where the science rooms were. They passed other students, who shot unsurprised looks at the state of Steel and appraised him like a piece of fresh meat in a butcher’s. Peter would have loved the chance to try his knife or his wits against one of them, he’d long ago learned to make up for the scrawny appearance that made them look at him so hungrily.

Stick to the mission. Follow the instructions. Do your job.

Abruptly, Steel stopped, without turning around, “Cafeteria’s down that way. See you.”

Peter blinked, glancing at the double doors he was indicating with a thumb, which were practically shaking out of their frames with the sound of what had to be a riot behind them, “Aren’t you eating too?”

“What’s it to you, pal?” Juno did turn then, just enough to fix him with an incredulous look.

Before Peter had to come up with an answer, they were interrupted by a loud shout of, “Juno!”

Peter thought his eyes were playing tricks on him for a moment, an exact copy of Steel was bounding down some stairs to their left. Except this one was smiling, a hundred kilowatt grin, and wearing leggings, an oversize sweatshirt and sneakers that flashed when they hit the floor.

“Oh god, Juno, your face is a mess,” he grimaced at the sight of his twin’s face, “Jones did a number on you, huh?”

“‘Bout half the number I did on them, they got carted off to the emergency room,” Steel, now Juno, grunted, still stiff and awkward, throwing glances in Peter’s direction.

“I’m sure they deserved it,” the other Steel shrugged, turning their grin on Peter, “Hey! I’m Benzaiten, you can call me Ben or Benten. You new?”

“Um, yes! I just started today actually, I...I’m from off planet and…”

“That’s cool! You can tell us more over lunch,” Ben’s tidal wave of positivity bowled over him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder.

Both Juno and Peter froze.

“Over what now?”

“Uh, that’s kind of you but...um, I don’t know if I…”

“He’s new, Juno, of course he’s coming to sit with us!” Ben shrugged, like the matter was obvious.

Juno was staring daggers at his twin, looking ready to throttle him, “The guy says he’s fine, so he’s fine.”

“Come on, Juno, don’t be a bitch,” Ben laughed fondly, like he didn’t see that his twin was gritting his teeth hard enough to shatter, “We’d better get moving, Mick and Sasha will already be waiting…”

He turned on his neon flashing heel and bounced down the hall in the complete opposite direction to the cafeteria, not waiting for them. Juno groaned and pressed his fingertips to his temples like he was trying to ward off a migraine. After what was clearly him counting backwards from ten, he frowned and set off after his brother.

“Come or don’t come,” he growled over his shoulder at Peter, “I couldn’t care less.”

For a moment, neither Nureyev nor Ransom really knew what to do. He repeated his mission again in his head.

Blend in. Sneak in after dark. Find the evidence. Upload the malware. Send it to Mag. Run.

Nowhere in that list did it say follow a beautiful, angry stranger and his bubblegum brother god only knew where. In fact, Peter was pretty sure they fell squarely under the definition of a distraction, something he knew to avoid. He knew what the sensible choice was, the decision someone who could be trusted with missions like this, who would work tirelessly to be the best thief he could be, would make.

But...wouldn’t this count as blending in?

Armed with that flimsy excuse, Peter followed Juno Steel.

[dawnshadowlegacies]

Demetrius Dawnshadow

Face Reference: Jon Snow, Dante from the Devil May Cry series, Tom ellis, and Kate Beckinsale Mix.

Name: Demetrius Dawnshadow

Race: Sin’dorei

Gender: Male

Age: Adult

Class: Demon Hunter/Rogue

Height: 6’0 

Weight: 175 lbs

Body Shape: Athletic

Occupation: Demon Hunter, Adventurer, Rogue, Lord, Captain, Spy (formally)

Nicknames: Deme, Dem, bastard, Tatsu Longwei, Pain in the Arse

Titles: Lord of House Dawnshadow, Slayer, Dragon of the Illidari, Captain of the Red Siren Count of Starhaven (fromaly)

Alignment:  Chaotic Good

Appearance: 

Demetrius is a toned athletic elf with long dark shoulder length hair and a pale complexion overall with a reddish demonic hue around his hands and lower arms.  He has a rugged roguish look to his facial features that some may consider charming especially when he dons his trademark grin showing the barest hint of his tiny fangs.  He has a black Dragon tattooed on his right shoulder, while on his left is an elvish sword that bears a resemblance to his own weapon.  His eye sockets are an almond shape with fel flame that can turn crimson when excited.  He keeps a well groomed goatee on his face further accenting his roguish charm.  He has various scars across his body from years of fighting, the most prominent being the scars under his eye sockets, a scar near his heart, and a burnt scar tracing up his lower right arm.  Clawed nails tip his fingers and from time to time his reddish wings are out and folded round him like a cloak.  While in his demon form his skin takes on a dark red color, his feet become cloven hooves, and horns grow from his head.

He wears dark black and red leather clothes with minor nether dragon scales on the sides and a coat made of the same materials with a sewed on black hood. An onyx etched dragon shaped pendant with ruby eyes hangs from his neck while his onyx and ruby shaped wedding ring that bears his house's emblem rests on his left ring finger.  He keeps his family heirloom dragon hilted sword Dragonkin at his side.  His belt holds his bag of holding as well his trinket to summon his fox friend Dexien. He wears the standard black Illidari blindfold as well.   From time to time he can be found wearing his coat tied around his waist and a set of warglaives on his back.

Personality:

Demetrius’ personality can be best described as outwardly as both brooding and fun loving as well as bold, creative, mischievous, and reckless.  Dem is devoted to his family and his friends doing what he can to safeguard and protect them.  He follows his own code of honor choosing to defend the innocent and avenge the dearly departed.  While he is known to brood and seem standoffish once he gets to know a person he tends to open up more and show that more playful side of his.  Dem tends to enjoy a good fight and will taunt and display a devil may care attitude to most foes unless the fight is deeply personal or what he would consider serious.  He is creative and will improvise new ways to attack enemies and look good doing so as well as create strategies on the fly.  He is reckless and impulsive to the point sometimes he will do something because it seems fun to him at the time.

Dem enjoys swordplay, riding on the back of a dragon, fox, or his mechano hog, adventuring, writing, reading fantasy novels, sailing, games, and playing his lute.  He hates monsters and people who would prey on the innocent, Blood Knights, demons, undead, and most void entities as well as all their former minions though he is not above giving them a chance to redeem themselves. 

Gear:

Dragonkin:  Dragonkin: A prismatic elementium, titansteel, and dragon bone runeblade crafted in a joint effort between the Kaldorei and the Black Dragonflight before the War of the Ancients in the arcane forge of the aspects in the elven style.  The curved blade is 27 inches long and was folded 16 times to pound out the impurities in the metal. The blade has a dull silver to blackish sheen to it after being polished. The Hilt is made of the fang of a dragon and coated in the same material as the blade and is 13 inches long.  The hilt is shaped in the head of a dragon with the tail wrapping along the groves of the hilt. The eyes of the dragon are made of hardened sapphires that depending on the mood of the wielder can turn blood red in an instant. The tsuba or hand guard is formed into the shape of a dragon claw plated in true silver and gold.

The curved blade is enchanted to drain the life of its wielder’s enemy if they are living.  It used to choose its owner binding itself to them until their true death.  It was gifted to the Starshadow family by a Black Dragon before their corruption and contains a fragment of his soul.  The blade would be passed down to the Dawnshadow family till Demetrius obtained it.  Recently it was broken during the first battle on the broken shore  and then reforged by the Netherwing Pyreaku and now is bound to Demetrius’ own soul for eternity and thus is able to deal shadowflame damage as well as appear in Dem’s hand with a thought.  If Dragonkin is broken or destroyed Dem can still call on it again after a period of time has passed.

Demetrius’ Clothes and Waistcoat (Grab of the Dragonfox): Demetrius normally wears a pair of black leather pants with netherwing scales swon between the leathers and inside the cloth of the pants.  His black boots are made of the same material with white fur lining on the top and elementium steel toes.  His shirt is a simple black shirt with an exposed neckline and sleeves that reach to his forearms.  His waistcoat is a sleeveless red and black leather piece with high collar and a black hood within it.  This ensemble is dubbed the Garb of the Dragonfox.  It is heavily enchanted to protect him in battle as well as repair itself should it become damaged as well as adjust its size when he transforms into his demon form.  The hood is enchanted to withstand mind based attacks and compulsion while the mask filters out poisons and diseases.  Despite the nature of his boots, when he clicks them together the sound from his footfalls is muffled to be near silent.  Minor slits in the back open up so that Deme’s demonic wings can push through when needed.  Due to the inherent properties of the outfit, Deme can summon it back to him through his bag of holding.

Jewelry:  Deme wears two rings, an amulet and a piece of eight.  His amulet is an onyx etched dragon shaped pendant hanging from a true silver chain.  His ring on his right hand is a true silver band and red dragon eye gem. On his left he wears an onyx and ruby shaped wedding ring that bears his house’s emblem.  It was given to him by his wife Gwenda'lyn Starshadow.  It is enchanted with fire resistance and a magical link private mind link between him and Gwen.  The Piece of Eight he wears is an enchanted Elunite Coin signafing his place on the Midnight Corsair’s council.  It is enchanted to defend him from time magics, and should the need arise hasten his movements for a limited time.

Miscellaneous Items:   Deme wears a black leather belt that has three pouches one of them being a bag of holding.  His bag of holding contains food, water, tent, bed roll, healing potions, first aid kit, a set of thieves' tools, a small portable alchemy station among other things.  The rest of his pouches contain various other tools.  He wears simple black gloves, a white wrapping on his upper right arm down to the top part of his lower arm.  From time to time he wears a black and white furred cloak.

Armaments and Trinkets: Besides his own physical and magical abilities as well as Dragonkin, Deme has a few other weapons at his disposal to help in his adventures and quests.  

Clipped with an elementium and netherscale wrapped chain is a white fox tail.  With it Deme can summon to his side the Fox Spirit Dexien from the Emerald Dream to fight beside him or mount for 24 hours.  If Dexien is knocked unconscious his essence will return to the tail and Deme must wait 24 hours for him to recover.  If lost or stolen Deme can concentrate to pull the tail back to him.

Abilities:

Besides his own physical and magical abilities as well as Dragonkin, Deme has a few other weapons at his disposal to help in his adventures and quests ranging from an array of swords, daggers, and his own set of warglaives.  

Demetrius is a Demon Hunter and thus has the physical abilities they all possess.  His strength is at the point he can stab a dagger into a bolder down to the hilt.  His speed, agility and dexterity has been boosted to be greater than mortal standards .  His body also heals faster due to his damned blood, healing most wounds in a manner of seconds and some of the greater wounds in minutes and the most severe in a matter of hours or days.  He can call upon his own wings to glide and fly around if needed and bite down on an enemy with his fanged canines.  His skin though not scaled is thick enough to ward off some cuts and slashes.  Thanks to his furthering demonic nature Deme can grow bone spikes or as he calls them hidden blades from his wrists and has claws for fingertips.

Due to his training and adventures as well as being hailed as a prodigy with the blade he has become a master swordsman, a competent assassin, a master of parkour and freerunning, as well as having knowledge in the Temple of the White Tiger style of unarmed combat, and an adapt marksman.  He has developed a keen sense of tracking, deductive reasoning, and a knowledge of anatomy.  He has also learned how to navigate and sail a ship as well as fight on his fox or wolf mounts.  He is also a Dragon Rider and has learned to use his glaives and felmagics when riding on Pyre’s back.  He is a decent writer though has terrible handwriting thanks to his claws.  He is also a master swordsmith and has begun to study more alchemical pursuits.

From a magical standpoint thanks to his blood he can control and bend shadows to the point of fading away, shadow stepping and dropping a field of shadow to conceal himself and others.  Like other demon hunters he is able to conjure green fel fire and the chaotic forces of the fel and has the ability to temporarily become a demon elf hybrid. He has begun to master combining his fel flame and shadow flame together due to his link with the darkness flame.  He can manipulate it to form the shape of a black and fel accented dragon to devour and burn away his enemies. He has begun to learn how to create barriers using his magical abilities or soul magic as well as create sigils with his fel, shadow, or own blood.

History:

Demetrius was born alongside his twin Ambrose into the Dawnshadow minor noble family.  Being born a bastard most of his life he was looked down upon by others his age for his heritage and not knowing who his father was.  He had few friends growing up.  Dem and Ambrose were raised by not only their mother Lana’thel, but also by their Grandparents Avadeth and Kayleen Dawnshadow.  While Ambrose took more to a studious education, Dem felt more at ease with the sword which helped him channel his intal childhood running along the walls' energy.  This didn’t mean he wasn’t educated in history, writing, reading, and his least favorite subject math.  Under his Grandfather's guidance Dem grew into something of a child prodigy with the sword.

In time Dem would spend time with the more criminal element of Silvermoon during his late late teens and early adulthood.  His tutelage from his Farstrider Grandfather paid off and he fell in naturally with the more roguish elements of the city and became something of a spy for one family or another as to make some coin while at school and away from home.  Eventually his mother and Grandparents found out thanks to Ambrose who since childhood never approved of Dem and his antics.  Dem was soon steered towards another more noble path, that of the Farstrider.  And thanks to his roguelike skills and swordsmanship Dem was made a scout in the order after another year of training.  Dem would excel in it and find his new role adventurous especially when it came to skirmishes with the Armani.  Eventually Dem would meet a young Priestess his own age named Gwen and became smitten with her.  After a humorous first meeting with him failing a backflip landing thanks to a log with mud on it he began to court Gwen and eventually marry her.

Over the years Dem would rise within the ranks of the Farstriders as a Captain and join Alleria Windrunner’s unit to fight in the second war.  After the War he and Gwen would finally have a child of their own named Melisande.  Minus skirmishes here and there Dem spent the rest of his time with his family in peace.  That was till Arthas came leading a tidal wave of death through Eversong with his Scourge army.  Dem witnessed a Dreadlord named Dagrim slay his Grandparents during the chaos of the time.  Ambrose and his mother also disappeared in the carnage.  Dem took up his family's Elven dragonforged runeblade Dragonkin and eventually chose to leave Gwen and Meli and venture forth with Prince Kael’thas’ forces eventually fighting up in Northrend and forced to retreat to Outland. 

Dem was chosen to undertake the trials in becoming Demon Hunters.  As part of Dem’s trial he was confronted by the Nathrezim Dagrim, the one who killed his Grandparents.  After a battle that nearly claimed him, Dem used Dragonkin to carve out the Demon’s heart and ate it as well as drank its blood.  After a long battle of wills and seeing the horror of the Legion and their involvement in creating the scourge, Dem pledged his life to the Illidari cause.  He was tasked with hunting demons and rogue Illidari who turned to the Legion.  Over time He along with other adventurers including his Great Great Grandfather of the same name as him; would free enslaved Netherwings and he would befriend the Onyx Netherwing Pyreaku.  For this Dem was sent on separate a mission as a form of semi exile from the rest of the Illidari.  This act saved Dem from being captured alongside his other Illidari by the Wardens.

Dem soon killed the demon he was sent after and learning of the Fall of the Black Temple he returned home and blended with Sin’dorei society as best as he could.  He would stay with Gwen and Meli as well his recently discovered Kaldorei ancestor.  Pyre would join him and together with Gwen he would answer the call to arms and head up to Northrend to take the fight to the Lich King once more.  Dem and his group would find themselves helping the Red Dragonflight in the Nexus war, Witness the calamity of the Wrathgate, fight near the Titan complex of Ulduar where Dem would discover the titan forged void corrupted sentient blade Blackrazor.  Eventually Dem would discover a horrible truth.  A Death Knight loyal to Arthas confronted him up near Icecrown.  The Death Knight was his long lost twin, Ambrose who had willingly submitted himself to the Scourge for more power and as he stated a more natural order.  The twins would fight before Ambrose stabbed Dem through the chest.  If not for his demonic healing factor and Ambrose just missing his heart he would have died.  Instead he was imprisoned within the Crimson Halls of the San’layn with the Darkfallen draining him of his demonic blood and attempting to figure out a way to convert him to their order in undeath.  Being bound to a Dreadlord which was for all intents and purposes a demonic vampire Dem did already show signs of vampiric tendencies.  Luckily Gwen came and saved him along with Pyre during the Siege of Icecrown Citadel.  Dem would heal up and immediately hunt down his brother and find him.  It was then that Dem learned Ambrose as part of a show of his allegiance had killed their mother.  The twins battled once more with Dem seemingly killing Ambrose with Dragonkin and Blackrazor.

The next couple of years were spent with Dem and his family, both Sin’dorei and Kaldorei aiding in the defense of MT Hyjal where Dem saved and bound the spirit fox named Dexien to an item to preserve his soul from death for all time.  All the while thanks to his time captured and the whispers of Blackrazor Dem would eventually begin to lose control of his inner demon before locking up Blackrazor after the defense of Wyrmrest Temple.  When Garrosh bombed Theramore and Dem’s cousin Darron’s died in the defence of the city, Dem planned and failed to hatch a plot to assassinate Garrosh Hellscream.  Recovering on a Bloodsail ship the Demon Hunter began to find it hard to control his inner demon once more.  It didn’t help that the captain of the ship was also a slaver.  Once recovered Dem killed the captain and took the ship for himself and released the slaves in Alliance lands before finding his wife and daughter.  Dem became a privateer assaulting Garrosh’s ships.  He also hatched an Onyx Cloud Serpent named Shen’long whom Pyre considered a little brother.  Dem would even sail to Zandalar after one of the Garrosh loyal ships where after a misunderstanding and a valiant escape, Dem found himself with a portal curse and wanted on Zandalar.  Dem, Gwen and others would soon join the Siege of Orgrimmar on the side of the Alliance the Vol’jin’s resistance.  There they would save a young enslaved Sin’dorei child named Seraphina.  The husband and wife would adopt her and even take in her menagerie of wolves.  

Instead of initially going to Draenor Dem sought out and received a pardon for his privateer actions against Horde ships.  He would also make new friends and along with Gwen’s sisters learned to control and merge his soul fully with his inner demon.  Yona provided him her expertise as a monk and trained him in their ways despite his lack of control of chi.  As for Gwen’s older sister Farei she would provide him a hood that would protect his mind from intrusions and the whispers of the void and other sources though it would cost her her life eventually.  During Dem’s training with Yona he would befriend the Orc named Zuggrum Skullspliter and the Matriarch of House Shadowfel Valanthriel.  Gwen would also take up the path of the Monk after Blackrazor resurfaced and nearly destroyed Dem, herself, and their friends.  With her last act as a Priestess she shattered the blade.  Dem would eventually discover his birth father named Antheleos who tried to bring forth the Legion but failed thanks to Dem bringing in friends and allies alike.  Part of that Alliance would fall apart after Dem broke a blood oath with the Lady Shadowfel and ultimately her potential control of him.

Eventually the Legion did return in full force.  Demetrius would clash with his father on the Broken Shore and once again was nearly killed with Dragonkin shattered.  Thanks to Pyre Dragonkin would be reforged and forever bound to Dem.  Afterwards he would rejoin the Illidari and learn of a special form of fel and shadow magic fused together as shadowflame.  Dem with the rest of the Dawnshadow clan would join forces with an Old Rival House known as House An’velas and their head of family a Blood Knight Knight Champion named Admmari An’velas.  Despite House An’velas’ pledge House Dawnshadow found itself alone till Dem found his Great Great Grandparents once more, Demetrius and Gwenda’lyn Starshadow.  The united family would help fight the Nightmare before heading to Suramar.  An’velas would soon show up.  Instead of helping the people of Suramar from the Legion, they would instead commit war Crimes something Dem stopped them from doing and planned to report to Silvermoon.  Before he could two major events happened.  Dem and his friends and family were greeted by Antheleos once more and after a long battle including a frostwyrm and a portal to the ruins of the original Dawnshadow estate, Dem was able to slay his father and trap his soul in a soul stone, but not before he revived Ambrose from the dead.  The other event was Dem and Gwen adopting the Shal’dorei orphans Aliden and Leysase.  An’velas took these events as a boon for themselves and framed House Dawnshadow for the warcrimes they themselves commited such as murder and pillaging of the people of Suramar.  Dem and his family were forced to abandon their home but luckily the Starshadow clan took them in.  Dem and Gwen would soon discover she was with twin children.

Despite it all Dem focused his attention on the Legion.  Soon he would hear rumors and along with others part of a group called the Raven’s Watch would discover Ambrose undergoing the ritual to become a demon hunter.  With the help of the Heridents, a group of traitorous Illidari Dem sent to the nether with the sole exception of their leader Sensi; Ambrose succeeded and became a hybrid of a Death Knight and a Demon Hunter. The Heridents along with Ambrose would head back to Argus. Dem along with the Raven’s Watch steal a legion ship dubbed the Millenium and would hunt each of them down.  Despite it all, Ambrose feigned seeking redemption and together, he and Dem would fight Sensi only for Ambrose to steal Antheleos’ soul stone and take all of the twin’s father’s power for himself.  Sensi was slain and Ambrose took his spot as leader of the remaining Heridents betraying Dem once more.

Dem knew he couldn’t defeat Ambrose at that moment and instead focused on his training.  Over time he would begin to control a variation of shadow flame called the darkness flame thanks in no small part to Pyre.  During his training Gwen would give birth to baby Darron and Anastasia.   The time had come at last and during the final battle on Antorus the twins battled once more and Dem with his new control over the Fel and Shadow used a special type of shadow flame called the Darkness Flame which in honor of both his bond to Dragonkin as well as with Pyre he molded into the shape of a dragon’s maw.  With his new technique in hand he would confront Ambrose during the final siege of Antorus.  The twins would battle nearly killing one another.  Despite being the better swordsman Dem was still at a disadvantage against Ambrose and his new powers.  When all seemed lost the Demon hunter would unleash the Darkness Flame having it consume Ambrose before falling into a coma.  

When he awoke from his coma, Dem discovered Meli his eldest daughter along with his Great Grandmother Darcynia had been consumed by the void and became Ren’dorei.  He also learned Meli had become engaged to her childhood friend Nihlis, a Sin’dorei paladin pledged to the Silver Hand.  Due to his mastering of the Darkness Flame and the shape it took along with his efforts against the Legion, Dem was bestowed with the titles of Slayer; the highest honor a Demon Hunter can achieve with only a few before him obtaining the honor and, Dragon of the Illidari by the rest of the remaining Illidari.   For a time Demetrius Starshadow had given Dem the title of Count of Starhaven and he looked over it before handing back the title both because he longed to restore his own House and also to spend more time with Gwen and the children.  Once Azerite was discovered some began to appear in the Starhaven mines which drew the attention of House An’velas.  Dem longing for revenge against this house found and fought Admmari and slew the man breaking his ancestral sword Kel’faloom.  Thanks to the notes and letters found on the ship Dem found the evidence he needed to prove his and his families innocence for the frame up as well as discovered Admmari was the last of his own line due to his wife dying before giving birth during the war with the Legion.  Before he could bring the evidence to the Magisters of Silvermoon the call to war was sounded once more.  And once again Dem was forced to watch and be on the losing side of another elven genocide as he along with family and friends tried to defend the Kaldorei people from Sylvanas’ Horde.  Dem fought as a Privateer for the Alliance and learned more about the Inquisitors of Drustvar and the Drust as well as deal in piratetics in Freehold.  

He would join the Kaldorei and Starhaven forces in their retaking of Darkshore thanks to a gambit created by Demetrius the older.  It was then that Dem discovered Ambrose survived Argus and was working with Sylvanas but for his own secret goals and mission.  Even in winning Darkshore Dem knew he would be forced to face Ambrose again in the future.  Before he could follow Ambrose’ trail he joined his Kaldorei kin in Nazjatar and after the fall of Azshara he provided the proof of the An’velas family and their cohorts framing the Dawnshadows.  Dem continued to aid both the Alliance, and Saurfang’s rebels where he could till the end of the fourth war.  Despite his Kaldorei kin still wanting vengeance against the Horde he was able to convince them to focus their efforts in hunting Sylvanas and their loyalists instead of blindly attacking the Horde for the time being at least.  With his family and himself acquitted of the war crimes they were framed for and the Alliance and Horde establishing a tentative peace, Dem for the first time since the start of the last war with the Legion returned to Silvermoon City openly as a Demon Hunter and also as a Grandfather.  Meli had married Nihlus and gave birth to a child of her own.  With his return Dem began to focus on three things, finding and reuniting with his old friends and allies such as Zuggrum, restore his house and finally embrace his role as Lord of House Dawnshadow, and find Ambrose and try to redeem him or put him down forever.  He would eventually discover his sister Ash and became close with her during an accidental trip through with the rest of his family save Ambrose and Meli.  During the time travel adventure Dem and Gwen would separate and upon their return divorce.

After his divorce Dem focused on the House and hunting down evil before the Shadowlans opened up.  He would go on an Odyssey leaving his twin children in his sister’s care.  During his odyssey he would discover the part of Ambrose that remained in the Shadowlands, a Foreworn version who nearly killed Dem and tossed him into Torghast.  Dem endured various tortures before escaping and ending the soul of Admmari An’velas once and for all.  He would find his way to the plane known as Revendreth and reunite with his mother.  After overcoming his open pride and envy and going through Venthyr training Dem fought the Foresworn Ambrose one last time and win.  He returned with that portion of Ambrose’s soul and began to focus more on his family leaving the heroics to others for a time.

@elvenwitches-things​