#his true form cradles his human form like it's the only thing that matters

[willosword]

Fake, facsimile, forgery.

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Blind Gojo adjusting to his new life…

The fight against Sukuna took a lot from everybody. With everyone making sacrifices, it was only right Satoru did too. He wanted to win, he was the strongest right? He had to win, no matter what. Losing the six eyes was just the mere cost of winning the battle. It was worth it right?

Satoru believed he didn’t deserve to live, but he had too now for everyone who died. Ultimately, deciding to now live his life as Satoru Gojo and not "the strongest” anymore. Losing the six eyes initially lead to frustration and anger, as he tried to adjust to being blind. He felt useless for a while, not being as efficient as he was. But over time, this loss lead to his personal growth. Gojo developed a deeper sense of humility and empathy for others, finally understanding the struggles of those who are not as gifted as he once was.

It wasn’t until he met you that he started to feel a sense of normalcy. And here he was at almost 30 learning how to live as a human for the first time. You taught him what true genuine love was and you patiently taught him how to reciprocate it back to you. He learned how to express his feelings to you instead of bottling them up inside. You created a safe space for him where he could unveil the true side of himself. Trust and intimacy forming between you two. Both of you navigating the complexities of loving each other.

He also didn’t know exactly what you looked like, not that he cared. His other senses were still in top shape and keen allies to him. That’s why his hands are always on you, he could feel you. Feeling the warmth of your body against his fingertips, large cold hands always coming to your face. He liked tracing your bone structure with the pads of his fingers, caressing your cheeks, and especially savoring your lips against his own. With each caress, he discovered new assets of your beauty, not defined by your visual appearance but by the sensations that awakened within him.

He could also smell your scent. He knows when you walk into a room when the sweetness of your perfume fills his nostrils, causing it to twitch like a bunny. He buries his nose into your hair because he loves the fresh fragrance of your shampoo. He loves when you bake him all his favorite sweets, the aroma of brown sugar lingering on you makes you smell even sweeter.

The sound of your voice. Satoru could never get tired of it. For once in his life, Satoru found himself not being the talkative one in a relationship. He cherished all the words that would leave your lips, each word a symphony to his ears. In the mornings Satoru would always lay in bed until you woke up waiting for the sound of your voice to be the first thing he heard each day.

All these aspects combined Satoru knew he was finally living the life he finally dreamed of. Every touch, every word, every moment was filling his deepest desires. In your presence, he found the reason why he deserved to live. He found peace and joy, a sense of completeness that he had long yearned for all in one person.

Even though he couldn't see anymore he felt things he didn’t before. He made up his mind that he didn't want to waste any more time. Satoru was now certain that his blindness didn’t stop his ability to love or to commit fully to you and he was more than grateful that you showed him that. It wasn’t long before you both decided to marry.

“She’s perfect…” you utter softly, handing the baby gently into an anxious Satoru’s arms. He cradles the baby just like you taught him, careful to not get too excited and accidentally hurt her. The baby babbles as she feels the comforting warmth of her father.

“The little sounds she makes are my favorite thing to hear,” he says, poking the baby’s cheek. “Describe her again to me, will you?” Satoru looks up from the baby, trying to decipher where you were.

You walk over to join him on the couch. “Of course, she has your beautiful blue eyes…” You noticed Satoru smiling, still holding his daughter close to him. “And your white hair…” you continue, Satoru’s finger coming up to her head, feeling the softness in her hair.

You describe every detail you could about the little baby to Satoru. You tell him about how her eyes seem to gaze into his soul full of love, and the way her tiny nose wrinkles when she sleeps just like his. A lone tear falls down Satoru's face, filled with heartache knowing that he will never be able to see her with his own eyes.

In that vulnerable moment, you hold Satoru close, letting him know that you were there. He smiles at you as he feels your touch, sniffling. There was determination in Satoru’s eyes. He was going to cherish every moment with his family.

"I'll be there for both of you," Satoru whispers, his voice filled with quiet resolve. His words carry a promise.

Thank you @suguwife for this lovely idea and the discord server as well!

[poppy-s-rampage]

Once a Hero.

-Prologue-

Danny Phantom fought with the knowledge that at any given time he could be stricken dead. With the knowledge that his own parents, the people who brought him into this world, could be the ones to take him out permanently. The Job was already half done after all.

But no matter what, no matter his adversaries, Danny held strong. Despite the constant threat of the GIW and his parents, despites his rogues’ shenanigans and Vlad’s scheming, despite the citizen’s ungratefulness, he held his ground. Always staying true to his beliefs.

Yes, he made mistakes ,terrible ones. Yes, he has done things he would forever be ashamed of. But he never let others take responsibility for his actions. The very proof being his existence as Phantom.

There is no denying it, Danny Phantom/Fenton is a hero.

An existence to whom every victory comes hand to hand with tragedy.

An existence favored by fate.

And fate is known to be a cruel mistress.

~~~

He should have known something was up. It was too good to be true. He should have trusted his instinct. But he ignored it, choosing hope instead of the very thing that kept him alive all these years. All it took was one mistake for everything to domino into a nuclear warhead that quite literally took his everything.

And now, there he is on all four in the middle of a crater of what once was Amity Park and its surroundings. His ears ringing only able to hear the sounds of his own screams.

The once menace, once protector of a city too soon departed wailed in agony. Clutching at his wounds with a strength that reopened his sloppily made stitches. His devastated wails, only interrupted by his sobbed breath and hiccups. His throat was ripped to shreds, tainted ectoplasm pooling into his mouth and lungs while some got projected out with each wail.

Rivers of tears cascaded down his face burning his already bloodshot eyes. His unstable form glitching from ghost to human to something in between.

His once healthy balanced core was now struggling to remain whole. Cracks appearing all over, life and death fighting to preserve their precious Halfa’s existence. Danny felt his body and core beginning to give out. His consciousness finally fading. His body slowly being engulfed into the cold familiar embrace of death.

He fell on his back. His wails dying to choked wet sobs and coughs. Through his tears, Danny could only vaguely see the smoke covered nightsky. Ash falling slowly around him like snowflakes.

He could feel the cold creeping up his limbs then gripping his chest. His already dying heart being embraced by a type of cold even his core couldn’t dream to reproduce. Phantom finally fell silent, his unseeing eyes staring at the starless sky above.

Danny in his last few coherent thoughts felt the pain of his core shattering and reforming itself. It felt like his entire being was set on fire before being melded back together. He felt familiar arms cradling him close to their unbeating heart. The familiar ticking of a clock luring him into a dreamless rest.

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Masterpost!

Chapter 1!

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Author notes:

My brain vomiting this at 3 am. I am sorry for any catastrophic grammar and english, that would be my brain short circuiting from lack of sleep. I intend to hopefully continue this story wherever it may go. You’re welcome to suggest anything or add yourself something to it.

[rocks-in-my-vodka]

lestat is the most glorious morally grey character in modern media rn and here’s why :

he is literally the vampire ever.like ever. every mythical creature, when stripped of its feathers and stage makeup (as in exaggerated monstrous behaviour to incite fear in humans as a form of enjoyment or just to create lore) at its heart reveals a mirror to humanity’s worst qualities. it’s rotten humanity’s most bent out of shape behaviours given a fantastic name, put in the body of folklore passed down centuries, ideas that we as people still cannot escape, we are just as fascinated by vampires and zombies and werewolves now as we were 500 years ago and it’s truly because ( and i’ll talk abt vampires here specifically) vampires are everything a normal human would like to be but as all things it can only be achieved by a complete perversion of our “moral ideals”, a rejection of morality and humanity. and lestat is a diva at playing this part

like think abt it. you’re a vampire. you will never die, you will be young and youthful, you will have strength beyond belief, you will have the ability to create (fire) from nothing, super speed, flying, all fantastic things humans themselves work tirelessly to achieve. but at the cost of what? you must sustain yourself on the blood of others, thus, you must consider your own self more deserving to live than the mortals, you must decide daily that you are more important, you matter infinitely more, that the people who were once your brethren are now simple prey, there for you to literally drain the life out of, who else can make this choice of whose life matters more than others’, other than some kind of a god? everything around you will change, you will remain, the eternal witness, the immortal hunter, a living juxtaposition of a savage creature who hunts like an animal for blood and at the same time a narcissist who thinks itself above mortals. and lestat is exactly this. he is a walking contradiction and yet you will believe everything he claims because it is all true, because he has a thousand lifetimes stored in him, because these creatures have worn a hundred skins and a million faces, at what point do you forget where your skin begins and your mask ends? where lestat the young actor began and lestat the devastated, angry, jealous lover ended?

and yet everything he says is true. when he tells you he would murder you in cold blood while you sleep, it’s true, when he tells you he loves you more than anything in the world, it’s true. he contains multitudes, contradictions get neutralised inside him like nebulas colliding. as a vampire, you get to do the one thing that, as a mortal, eats you alive from the moment you are born, and that is : meet your maker. when you’re born as a human, you can only imagine your maker, hear stories, believe lies, but never see for yourself, as a vampire, in your second life, in your living death, you can know your maker, your master, your maitre. so when you look lestat in the eyes, in his cold glassy undead vicious eyes, you realise he is your god. and if this god said to you he would burn you in pain and misery forever for not believing in his love, you believe him, when he says he will lead you into glorious heaven like the lord shepherd you believe him, because you know he will. he knows only killing, only savagery, only the kind of love that is realised in complete bodily physicality, viciously, unforgivingly, through pain and death, not a love that is simply felt but never materialised. when he says he will kill you if you disobey him, you know he will, when he says he stitched your initials into his chest pocket so your name cradles his heart, you know he did. he is a boy, a monster, a puppy, a wolf, a savage manipulative liar and a killer, and the eternal lover, betrayed and frozen in time and memory, his memory too a monster

[earthnashes]

It's been a long day, and Melon is exhausted. Ever since escaping Hookbill and those pesky Lakitus, he and Mario had been on the move almost non-stop, taking advantage of the Super Star Fruit's power to cover more distance. But it had to wear off eventually, with Mario burping off the remnant of the magic before they slowly--but surely- sunk all the way back to the forest floor and in the middle of the Sluggy Snowdrift Mountains.

As soon as they touched ground a blizzard fell upon them, and Melon set out to find suitable shelter.

So far, no such luck. No matter where he turned, all Melon could see was the vast expanse of snow, the screen of heavy snowflakes, and the dark silhouettes of tall mountain peaks in the distance. As a yoshi the cold didn't bother him as much, but he could feel the shivering of Mario upon his back even wrapped so tightly in his favorite blankie (how he managed to keep it, Melon can't be too sure).

Melon stopped for only a moment, just to pick the boy up from his back and instead cradle him close to his chest. He huffed hot air across Mario's red-tinged face, tucked his blanket closer (if that were possible). When all Mario did in response was shiver even harder, Melon let out a trill of distress; he had to find something.

With his eyes straining against the blizzard Melon set off again, head on a swivel in hopes of finding anything that could work.

His luck finally earned him a place in the form of an old burrow. It must've been home to a Huffin Puffin before it migrated. Whatever the case, it was empty, and Melon wasted no time setting the place straight.

Snow was dug out and away, debris cleared, dirt scrapped until it lay flat and dry. Only when he felt it right did he set Mario down in the bare nest, being sure to tuck him into his blanket before he settled in himself. Melon positioned himself in front of the entrance to shield the boy from the cold, curling protectively around him.

He didn't dare sleep, not at first. He waited until he felt Mario's shivering subsided, until his breath evened out into the cadence of a peaceful slumber. Until he was sure the kid was warm and secure, red eyes trained on his face for any sign of discomfort.

Mario eventually sighs and snuggles deeper into the yoshi's side, chewing contently on his binki, and it's only then Melon allows the insistent pull of sleep to drag him under.

-----------

Against the darkness of the night, three pairs of red eyes peek into the den. Even against the howl of the blizzard they can hear the reptile's rumbling from within; it's likely a purr, but one as small as a mouse can never be too careful.

Two of the three stay back, mindful of their distance, but one braves the entrance and quietly patters into the den. Closer to the yoshi and the human cub he's curled around.

The hidden mousers squeak out questioningly, but the brave one doesn't answer at first. It clambers up a rock and leans as far as it dares, peering into the sleeping face of the small child.

Brown hair? Check.

Big nose? Check.

Red hat with an M? Double check.

This is the one they were searching for. The Tweeters reported true.

Finally the brave Mouser squeaks its affirmative; perhaps a little loudly, if the sudden growl--sleepy but full of warning-- was of any indication. The rodents flee the den before they could wake the yoshi and his boy up, cowardly but excited nonetheless.

The boss will be very pleased with their findings.

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Part 7<<– Part 8 (CURRENT) –>> Part 9 (TBA)

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Part 8 of Melon's Adventure is here! :) We're now entering the home stretch of the first act of this story; only 2 more parts to go!

I'm super excited to finally get so close to the end, largely because I have plans on making mini artbooks out of the story's illustrations (it'll include both the art and the written shorts). The books is planned to also include things like concept art, a few WIP progress shots of some of the pages, character bios of the main characters + enemies, and unique cover art. It's gonna be a bit of an undertaking but I think it'll be fun!

At any rate, that's all for now! Apologies for the writing in this one; I've been a little sick the past few days so the quality may have suffered a little bit, but I wanted to deliver both to ya'll on time. ;_; I hope you enjoy! More to come soon!

[cottoncandy-cult]

Babification Diasomnia

I might conjoin Rook and Epel's, since after some research Epel doesn't have much experience with people his age or younger. So we'll see when I get there.

Lilia

Lilia hummed softly as he carried the little (Y/n) back to his room, it had been a few days since she had been turned into a child and Lilia was starting to enjoy it. He was gentle as he laid the sleeping baby on his bed and began to shift to his normal form. It made him feel nostalgic, caring for a child in such a form reminded him of when Silver and Malleus were young. Plus, he liked being so much larger than her, he felt like it was easier to handle her and carry her about in his older form as he could more easily balance her in one arm without worrying about dropping her. He sometimes wonders if it was that one time, he dropped Silver that made him so drowsy, if he didn't know any better, he'd believe it was the cost at least. "You know you really scared me baby bat, being so close to that accident. You spooked all your friends too, naughty girl." He spoke softly as he chuckled, moving to lift the little girl once more before he moved to sit in a chair by the window so he could read one of his many books. Once sat down and comfortable he cradled the little girl in one arm across his lap, opening up an old red bound book to read, his hand gently rubbing her back as he waited for her to wake from her nap so he could feed her some dinner and get her bathed before they played and got ready for bed. He was a bit nervous at first, humans were already so fragile compared to fae and his human was magicless on top of it. So, to be made into a baby made her quite fragile, he almost tried to convince Crewel to take her because he feared he may be too reckless with her. Of course, he came to his senses quickly, he was a general and a damn good one at that. He of all people understands restraint, and he's already raised a few babies so he could easily handle this.

"Lilly?" The soft voice called sleepily up at the male, the 2-year-old girl gazing at him groggily from where her cheek rested on his chest. "Hey there baby bat, I didn't wake you, did I?" Lilia set the book aside without hesitation, he had only been reading it to waste time. "No…wanna bubble bath." She would sometimes speak in short sentences; he wondered if maybe she was still in there and just couldn't articulate or act the way she wanted given her child like mind. He made sure to listen to her though, in case she was aware he wanted to keep her situation stress free. He chuckled, moving to stand as he brought his arm under her bum for her to sit on as she leaned against his chest. "Alright cutie, do you want to play in the bubbles tonight or are you to tired? You did have a big day today playing with the boys at lunch." He chuckled as he thought back to how Ace and Deuce played with the little girl; the duo having sought him out to see how things were going. Malleus often liked holding her for Lilia whenever he needed to fly around a bit when he got restless, it was honestly cute how her friends would interact with her in this state. He was starting to enjoy her state of being, of course he wanted her back to normal but having her like this feels almost like a bonding experience. A true show of trust and love as he took care of her while she was in such a helpless state, he'd ensure that she always knew she was safe with him around no matter the situation. "Don't know." She pouted as she tried to stay awake, she liked playing with Lilia after she bathes. "Alright, we'll see how you feel once we're done washing your hair." He smiled as he sat her on the carpet by the tub, setting a small basket of rubber animals in front of her to play with while he ran the water and got her Pjs. He lived for domestic moments like these, he really did. Humming softly as he removed his button up, leaving him in a sleeveless muscle top as he tied his hair back in a bun so it wouldn't get in the way.

Malleus

The dragon male had missed a few days of classes since little (Y/n) came into his care, he had been worried when he heard of the accident but had calmed down some when Lillia brought the girl to him and explained in full. But it didn't take long for his protective side to come out, he's sweet child of man was at her most vulnerable, she couldn't even properly communicate. He rarely left his room and never strayed from the dorm, he refused to bring her around people he didn't trust. So, he treated her like a treasure, having made a nest of silk sheets to keep the little girl tucked away in. He had Lillia pick her up some toys so she wouldn't get bored, much of his day was spent doing classwork at his desk in his room and playing with the sweet little girl. He'd often talk to her even though she couldn't respond, holding her in his lap as he'd read from a picture book about gargoyles. When it was time for bed, he'd remove his top so he could free his wings, preferring to sleep curled around her little nest with one of his wings draped over it. Lilia had taken several pictures that he loved to show off, the male was absolutely delighted to see how Malleus' instincts affected him and how Malleus had absolutely devoted himself to this little girl. Silver was often the one that brought him food for (Y/n), being one of the only ones in the little group that actually can cook. Though sometimes, times like tonight, he would bring the little girl to the kitchen so he could make something for her himself. Of course, he knew her list of solid foods she could handle wasn't very long, mostly fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, chopped veggies, etc.

Tonight, Malleus was making something special for her, a reward for behaving while in Sebek's care as Lilia and Malleus had to attend a meeting for house wardens and their vice wardens earlier in the day that had been considered mandatory. Due to (Y/n)'s accident, the house wardens and their vice wardens would be notified when members of their dorm are caught doing something dangerous in class. Of course, he was grateful for this, especially since he knew just who's dorm those boys belonged to. She had been a little pouty when he got back, clearly not understanding why he had to leave. But when she made grabby hands at him with glossy eyes, the big dragon absolutely melted into a giant golden retriever. He had been quick to scoop her up, rubbing his cheek on hers to soothe the little girl as he thanked the male for watching her and swiftly went back to his room so he could snuggle her. Now he stood near the stove, baby (Y/n) sat in her highchair and nibbling on some blueberries to keep her distracted while he put to use his cooking classes. He was making her some mashed potatoes and sauteed veggies, he knew she may not really understand the difference, but he wanted to make her something new as a reward for not being fussy while he was gone. He couldn't fight the smile that formed on his face when he turned to her with a small plate of food and her face lit up, his child of man loved to eat, and he loved when she enjoyed something he made her even more. "Let's get you fed, shall we?" He chuckled as he sat the plate on the kitchen island and tied his hair back into a ponytail before grabbing a spoon. He had done some reading when she slept so he understood he had to be careful when feeding her, not wanting to burn or choke her. So, each small spoonful he'd blow on for a moment, making sure it wasn't too hot before feeding it to the little girl. Each bite she gave a little clap, a cute little habit she had when she was enjoying her food. He had been so focused on feeding her that Malleus had completely missed the 3 pairs of eyes watching him from the doorway, the small group of his friends and protectors whispering amongst themselves about the sight of Malleus being so gentle and about how happy he seemed to be. Of course, Lilia was recording, he'd need something to show at the wedding when he was giving his speech about how he knew from this moment they would be together for eternity.

Silver Lillia would be lying if he said he wasn't a little worried about letting Silver take care of baby (Y/n) on his own, babies were a lot of work and Silver was pretty low energy. Though to his relief the young man was doing just fine, despite still dozing off at seemingly random he's never once done so without the little girl being somewhere safe. There have been times he falls asleep while holding her when in the Diasomnia common room, usually laid back on one of the couches, but whenever Lillia or one of the others try to go pick her up they don't get within a 6-foot radius before he is waking up and staring them down. He would let Lillia or the others in his close group interact with her, but he never liked leaving her alone with anyone. He trusts them for sure, but he felt guilty whenever he'd try to walk away and hear just the softest whimper from her as she reached for him. He gave in every time, which was why she went with him to all his classes, he had the ability to leave her with someone at the dorm but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. That was what lead him to this, Silver sat at the table in the lunchroom with his family from Diasomnia. Malleus had even joined them that day, the group in general just seemed interested whenever the baby human was involved. He found her interesting as well of course, but at this point Silver was starting to think Lillia might make a baby book for (Y/n) with the number of pictures his father takes. "You're doing well despite her being the first baby you've taken care of, much better than when I first found you in the woods."

Silver smiled some at his father's praise, wiping a bit of food from the corner of the little girl's mouth. "I had to do a bit of reading, but it's not as hard as I was expecting. It revolves around remembering she is little, she is fragile, and she doesn't know anything about anything right now. There is no such thing as malice when it comes to babies, so you have to be patient." He nodded his head as he remembered the words that his professor spoke to him that first day he brought her to class, of course Crewel insisted on holding her while he took part in making potions. But that also meant that Crewel would linger around his cauldron, giving him tips and tricks when it came to child rearing. Of course, he knew she'd turn back eventually, but he was still enjoying this virtually uninterrupted time with her. She was a cute and sweet baby, always wanting to interact with him and nap with him. He loved fixing bubble baths for her, he'd sit on the toilet in a tank top and shorts as he'd let her play with some little toy animals Sebek found at Sam's shop before he washed her hair and cleaned her up. He never took his eyes off her, the minimum amount to drown an adult is more than enough to drown an infant so he always made sure she wasn't near the faucet or anything she could hit her head on and would use a cup to pour the warm water over her head when rinsing out the shampoo and conditioner. Silver was patting the girl on the head when his thoughts were interrupted by Malleus's chuckle. "Very right, humans are fragile creatures to begin with. As are babies, I don't think I'd want to set her down either. Especially not in a school of magic, where accidents happen regularly." Lillia nodded his head, hovering his way over to the little girl as he hung upside down and poked at her cheeks. "The prefect is so charming, isn't she? Such a cute baby. Takes me back to when you lot had pudgy cheeks and chubby fingers." He smiled widely as (Y/n) giggled and cooed at him, gently grabbing onto his finger. She didn't know it yet, but she'd never be able to get away from them now. Even once she was back to normal, she'd be the center of their little world.

Sebek It had been a surprisingly normal day, exactly 48 hours after little (Y/n) was brought to them. Lillia and Silver had been somewhat worried about how the girl would do in the care of their loudest member, and though Sebek did his best he still had a few loud moments. But to their surprise the loud sounds never seemed to bother to little girl, only making her giggle and tug on his shirt in an attempt to get his attention. Lillia had kept an eye from afar, he knew Sebek would never neglect her or put her in harm's way but if anything happened and the boy became flustered the older man wanted to be able to step in and lend a hand. So far things went well though, very rarely did the girl become fussy and Sebek manages to be at least somewhat calm when narrowing down what she wants. He still gets a bit antsy when it happens in class, wanting to tend to her but not enjoying the curious looks he gets as he cycles through drinks, snacks and toys. Currently the two were out in the garden, Sebek had the little girl sat in his lap as he read from a children's book that Lillia had brought back from Briar Valley. The half fae male was quite attentive to the little girl, he kept her baby bag close at all times and kept it full of healthy snacks and plenty of water. She was around 3, and though she could talk she didn't do it often. When she did the girl could be quite quiet, often near whispering and leaving Sebek to be her proud translator who is just happy she is saying SOMETHING. "Bek?" The little (H/c) head looked up at the taller male, tilting her head before he started reading once more as if to not interrupt him later midsentence. "Yes? You need something (Y/n)?" The male looked down at the little one, her head was tilted back against his chest as she looked up at his face. Blushing slightly, one tiny hand held onto his sleeve as the other pointed to the basket. "Can we have a snack?" The little girl glanced at the basket before looking back up at the male, both missing the short bat fae hovering closer in an attempt hear her better.

"Of course, you wanna try the ham and cheese sandwiches I made first? Or do you want something else?" Sebek had sat the book aside and moved the basket in front of them, opening it up to show her its contents so that she could choose their first snack of the day. "Wanna sammich." Her small head nodded, confirming with him that she wanted to try his sandwiches. Granted the way she said it had him laughing, hugging her close but gently as he nodded. "Alright princess, we'll have our sandwiches first. But what about to drink? Do you want water or juice?" His hands reached into the basket, pulling out a sippy cup of water and an orange juice box. Holding them up to the little girl, watching her giggle and reach towards the brightly colored juice. He sat the water to the side for himself before removing 2 neatly wrapped sandwiches, watching her eyes widen as he handed her one half of a sandwich to start with as he got one of his own out. He was too busy fawning over how the girl was and praising her for being willing to try something "new" that he didn't notice Lillia hovering above them, recording the pair as they enjoyed their little picnic adventure together. He almost wished the prefect would stay like this, but he knew the young man would be a father eventually so there was no need to rush. He treated Sebek as one of his own, finding it helped with training the boy since there was a time and place for the active militant training the bat fae knew too well. As the two ate, talking about the story in the book Lillia took the moment to head back to his room. He was content that everything was ok, and he also wanted to go ahead and post the video to magicam to keep their friend group updated on the prefect's status and daily life in their dorm.

[seven-meds]

I hope that this isn't a weird question, but have you ever had an interest or had leeches on you specifically before? Or is it all fantasy in regards to Arthur/other characters? You post about them a bit, and I know your interest in trepanation realistically probably won't be achieved but I'm aware that leeches on the contrary are pretty possible through several channels.

Despite having ventured into many a creek and lake I have not been desired by a single leech. It makes me feel a bit self-conscious, honestly. Though I think for me the fantasy is about being a leech rather than being bitten by one. A creature that is smooth and limbless, whose continued existence involves harm… It feels true. The relationship between parasite and host can be tragic or cruel, but there is romance there, the tender love that could be had between a willing host and a parasitic creature. To be a writhing, chewing thing guided to bite down and feed, to carve in and gorge yourself… It seems wonderful. The position of the host is that of benevolence, understanding, relation; someone cradling an animal in it's most vulnerable and destructive moments.

Though sometimes the fantasy shifts to placing leeches on Arthur, lining them down his spine like drops of oil. It's a quiet moment, everything filtered through sunlight. I coax them to bite down, Arthur shivers as water dries on the skin of his back, all of us pulse gently with life. It's so intimate and I'm not certain why, perhaps it's the trust involved, or that I'm a parasite by proxy, or maybe because it's such a strange interaction that it could only ever be shared between us.

I have seriously considered and researched keeping a pair of leeches. They require no specialized care and are predictably hearty. But I have concerns about their well-being and enrichment. Leeches are very active and curious things despite their simple form and I'm hesitant to keep something enclosed that may have an unfulfilling life in captivity. Though I suppose it's better than the tragedy of a medical leech, destined to be used once and then dissolved.

No matter what I think they are beautiful creatures. So simple, so efficient, so deceptively human.

[dandelion-blues]

The Souls of Death

Intro:

Lord Death's soul fragment split in two. One was Death the Kid, and the other would become Percy Jackson after the twin fragment was taken from Death.

Death, though, won't rest until his other child is found. If only the fates didn't need a son of Poseidon to be born more powerful than just being a demigod would allow.

PJO x Soul Eater Crossover fanfic

Next Chapter

Chapter 1: Twin Souls

Lord Death walked into his mirror dimension. Light and dark reflected off and bounced around the room in a chaotic kind of order. It was a culmination of the pure dark dimension to the light of the world outside the mirrors that shone its way in.

The mirror dimension was home, and only shinigamis could ever access and be able to survive in such a space. Here, Death could shed his masked form and allow his true form to rome. There isn’t a truly accurate way to describe in words how Death went in and out of corporal forms, like a misty shadow that swelled around the dimension, or Death was a solid dark matter coalesced in a small fragment of the dimension. Or the way sometimes stark white bones formed out the being like a jagged crown amongst his form. Death just simply was.

Death sighed, and his form condensed back into a smaller, more solid form. “It’s time.” The deep sound reverberated around the dimension like a whisper about the wind, even as no air ever entered this realm.

Death formed bony hands from his dark form, the skeleton digits reaching into his body, and from within, he grabbed a vial which contained the most precious and valuable thing he kept safe and hidden within himself.

Death gasped, though, when he looked at what was in the vial, and his form split apart and merged together while his hands turned into shadows.

The fragment of his soul that he separated from himself after Asura…

It became two twin soul fragments of himself!

Death didn’t account for the small fragment he carved from himself to split into two, but it did. His void-like eyes went large in shock, and he exclaimed “Twins,” in his high animated voice he uses around his students.

He cleared his nonexistent throat, and he formed a skeleton frame that was wrapped around shadows, and stroked his skull chin with his bony fingers with his free hand as he examined the two twin souls in the vial, “Well I can’t say I was expecting this, but maybe this will be for the best.”

Death opened the vial and carefully put the soul fragments into his palm, cradling them like they were the only thing that mattered in the world. “My children. I have so many hopes and wishes for you, but more than anything, I just want you to live. My part in this cycle is ending, and it's time for you to start yours.”

“Alright, I can only start with one of you at a time, so which one of you twins wants to be older.” Death says in his animated voice.

As expected, neither shard answers, but Death still chooses the shard on his right. “Hmm, you want to be older, alrighty! I’m just going to put your sibling back in the vial for now while I start forming your body.”

In the vial, the soul fragment on the left goes. Except that Lord Death made the mistake of setting the vial and soul aside instead of storing it once again in his shadowy form. After all, nothing but shinigamis could enter the Mirror dimension, right?

Lord Death needed all his concentration and much of his power to craft a body for just one fragment to reside in, and he couldn’t afford to split his attention by doing them both at the same time.

And so he crafted a human-like but immortal body for his child to inhibit. He crafted it around the small soul fragment of his child.

Death learned his mistake last time and wanted his child, his children, to learn like mortals, to grow like mortals. Thus, in his hands, he crafted the body of a baby. He painstakingly created all the necessary organs and veins and cells that are part of the human body. Of course, he improved upon the mortal body for his child and made it so a shinigami could inhibit the body.

Finally, he made the child’s appearance, from the eyes and skin and hair. Death may have been thinking of his first child when he created this one, and oh, he wanted another boy!

Finally, the first vessel was done for the first twin, and the soul fragment started to merge with the body. A soft glow lit up around them, and three pure white sanzo lines appeared on the right of the baby’s pure black hair. The baby, then, opened his eyes, and pure gold looked up and met the now golden ones of his father’s and he took his first breath.

“My son,” Lord Death whispers, his voice like shadows, and as he looks upon his son who looks so much like a version of him (when he’s eyes reflect the sands of time, and his body is as pale as a corpse), but instead of being ravished by time, his child is little, a kid.

And oh, that’s perfect! Death just decided on his son’s name and speaks it aloud, his voice filled with love and shadows, “Death the Kid.”

Death, however, was so enraptured by the tiny miracle of his son that he didn’t notice three ladies entering his domain.

The first was a young woman appearing in her twenties, and with her soft tan hands, she carefully took the vial with the other twin soul in it, a golden string spooling from her finger. Careful not to make a sound.

The second appeared in her forties, and she measured the string from her sister’s hand.

Finally, the third sister was an old woman in her eighties. Her hands weathered and worn, and she held the end of the golden string. And she watched as the golden string mixed with green. Though in her other hand, with her great shears, she did not cut the string.

It was time for other things.

Finally, Death took notice that he wasn’t alone in his domain, and he looked furious. Though he didn’t feel fear, he could never feel fear again.

He carefully held his newborn son in a shadowy limb, and from his body, great shadows burst forth and tried to latch on to the 3 ladies. However, they evaded him, even as he covered his entire realm in shadows.

“WHAT ARE YOU?!” Death bellowed. He knew these 3 weren’t witches. No, their souls, if he could call them that, were more like strings spooling into a great big tapestry that connected to each and every soul in and outside of the dimension. It was too much, and Death couldn’t see them if he focused on their souls, and he blinked their souls out from his perception.

The three ladies laughed. The laughter reverberated from all around.

“We are what was,” the youngest sister said. Her statement already felt years old. A distant memory, though an immortal like Death is hardly phased.

“We are what is,” the middle sister says. The statement echoes around forever in the present.

“We are what will be,” the oldest would say. Her voice like a vision that Death couldn’t quite understand just yet, but he understood enough from the other two to get it.

The three stare at Death and say all at once,

“A son of Death turned to a mortal for thee,” They laughed as they held the string that was overtaken in lovely golden green.

“If only we didn’t need a son of the sea.” Their voices crashed around like screams. It sounded like they were drowning.

“LET GO OF MY CHILD NOW!” Death echoes, his voice shaking his domain. Even the outside world felt Death’s rage. The mirrors of the outside world did not reflect any light, for darkness consumed their visage. And shadows grew darker, nights drew on longer, and madness seeped more into mortal’s souls.

The three sisters smiled, but their grins were twisted, and their eyes shone with glee.

“He’ll be back before the ascendance of his brother.” They pointed at the hidden Death the Kid, laughing all the while Death screamed in rage.

“But not before he holds the weight of the world of another.” The ladies' promises echoing around the realm, their voices echoing like the boom of thunder.

And just like that, the three ladies vanish, gone with Death’s soul fragment in their wake.

Death screams in fury. The world is shaking, for Death is on a path of vengeance. Madness seeps into people's skin. It curls around in their blood, and it infects their hearts.

And a wail is heard. It’s soft, but the voice stops Death in his tracks. His shadowy form condenses, and gold eyes overtake his void.

Death hurt his son. He infected him with madness. Death collapsed, his new solid from falling down to his created floor in his domain.

Death pulls his shadowy limb that cradles his son in close and checks over him. His baby’s eyes were slightly crazed, but there was recognition when he looked upon Death.

Death sighed in relief, his breath like darkness itself.

Death hurried to fully conceal his madness wavelength, but his son was still exposed to the full brunt of his madness and power while he was not even hours old. It would likely have ramifications for the rest of his life until he was able to access the full of his shinigami powers.

Death didn’t know how this would affect his son, but he would do his best to help, for he was the one who did this to his son. Even if it was only for a minute, it was a minute where his son was fully exposed to Death's divinity.

Now that Death knew his son would survive even if there would be ill effects, he turned his furious gaze outside to the mirrors of the world and located any visible Weapons and Meisters.

Death might be trapped in the confines of his city, but his weapons and meisters weren’t and they were going to find his other child.

<><><>

They couldn’t find his child. Death’s child was nowhere to be found, and there was no trace of the three ladies.

Of course, Death never told anyone that the three ladies weren’t witches, nor that the bright shard of light was a fragment of his soul, his child. But he gave avid descriptions of what they were searching for, as well as listed the missions as the number one priority across to all people Death commanded.

Everything else was put on hold for this for months on end. Meanwhile, Death stayed in his mirror realm with his newborn son, accumulating Death the Kid carefully to life and to fighting off the worst effects of the madness.

No word, no sighting, nothing. Those bastards had stolen Death’s child, and they succeeded!

Death stewed in his fury. He wouldn’t rest until the crones were nothing but blood and guts stomped and ripped apart by his own hands.

For now, though, Death knew he needed to resume the hunting of kishin eggs across the world, and he had to prioritize the child he already had, as much as that hurt. It needed to be done, and Death reluctantly allowed the normal missions to proceed, though his child’s retrieval was still listed as a top priority.

The world slowly but surely recovered from Lord Death’s madness wavelength, Weapons and Meaisters still continually fought witches and kishins and reported to Lord Death, and new students were being brought to Death Weapon Meister Academy. Slowly, the mission of retrieval faded to the background, but Death could never forget. His rage would never lessen until the three ladies were dead, but for now, he has Kid to keep safe.

<><><>

The three ladies returned to one of the many worlds they influenced. In this one, just as they entered a small cabin by the beach side, a pregnant woman was peacefully sleeping.

This was Sally Jackson, who was just shy of being 8 months pregnant, and she was about to have a miscarriage.

The ladies, however, could never allow that to take place lest they lose one of their favorite worlds to mess with.

The youngest-looking one still holding the vial with Death’s soul fragment carefully unscrewed it. And she dropped the soul onto her palm.

The youngest smiled and spoke. Her voice would have sounded sweet if her grin wasn’t so sharp, “Their beautiful.”

The soul didn’t like the lady, and the soft hum of their resonance quieted.

“Now now Clotho, we don’t have the time for this,” the middle sister scolds, her voice grating like the crashing of metal.

The youngest rolls their pure black eyes, “Lachesis, you know as well as I that we have plenty of time.”

The middle scowls, her eyes like an explosion of light and looks to the oldest, “Atropos, tell Clotho you don’t have time to waste.”

Atropos inclines her head, her pure white hair falling down her wrinkled face. See looked to the youngest, but there were no eyes in her sockets, as if they’ve long since dried and shriveled up, “It’s time.”

The youngest then gains a serious look on her otherwise mischievous face, and instantly moves over the pregnant woman's stomach, just before she is about to have miscarriage, and she forces Death’s soul fragment into the still soulless unborn child of Sally Jackosn and Poseidon.

The soul fights, but they are too weak still to fight against the fates just yet.

Atropos smiles with no teeth, the gums of her mouth dry, ‘This soul is perfect. Already proving a challenge.’ Her sisters had similar thoughts on the matter.

Death’s soul fragment, then, sinks into the body, and the soul and body merge together as one.

It’s only a mere moment that the baby’s soul leaks out their divinity before the fates seal the baby’s soul into a mortal form. A moment before the sisters sealed the unborn baby’s lines of sanzo and most of their inheritance as a fragment of Death’s soul.

However, it was in this moment that caused the three sisters known as the fates blink out of sight from a mortal's and even immortal’s eyes, as Sally starts screaming in the moments after their sealing took place.

Though Sally would no longer have a miscarriage, the baby could no longer stay in the mother’s womb. The once pure divine soul has already done too much damage to the mother’s body.

Moreover, this wasn’t just any mortal being born. This was a god that was being born. Even if the baby was born a mortal god, it was too much for a mortal to take.

Still, Sally prayed to Poseidon in her anguish, fearing she was losing her baby. Ever selfless in her endeavors. Poseidon appeared frantic and looked over to his lover in fear.

“The baby!” Sally screamed, her body already bleeding.

The fates watch as Poseidon helps Sally through her birth. The fates hide the divinity being broadcasted from the small birthing room that would have shone like a supernova to an immortal’s eyes. The fates watch as the seas grow choppy, hurricanes and storms are birthed, the ground shakes, and deaths are given prematurely around the world as the father and the child cast their pure divinity to the world.

‘It’s funny,’ Clotho says to her two sisters in their minds, ‘How a child so tied to destruction and death is also tied to creation and life.’

‘Indeed.’ Lachesis agreed back, as the three watch on as a new god is born. A god that would have killed their mother in death but gave more life to her instead.

‘That’s why we chose him after all.’ Atropos laughs, already loving the child’s chaos that he will bring all for the loyalty that was always tied to his very soul.

‘Yes, he is perfect isn’t he.’ Clotho smiles as she watches the mother hold their chosen one.

‘Perseus, a perfect name.’ Lachesis agrees, watching as Sally names her son destroyer.

‘Indeed.’ Atropos states, for a destroyer can be many things.

Then, the fates leave the small family of three. Already loving the past, present, and future planned for the child born from three.

Notes:

I don't know about you, but I really love this! I can't wait for Death the Kid and Percy to meet later!

Also, Lord Death, he's furious and protective. Great combo for a god, imao.

Next Chapter

[cruyuu]

I fear Sukuna's background might be similar to Angra Manyuu from fate hollow ataraxia, some poor kid chosen just to blame everything on him and hurt him. It would explain why Sukuna said he was hated as a kid, just because he looked like that

Hi anon!

I haven't played that game so I don't really know who you're talking about but did do a Google search and gotta say that the character design is quite beautiful.

As for Sukuna, well... yes. His true form is one with four arms, four sets of eyes and a stomach mouth. Anyone seeing him in the Heian period would most likely have a stroke (thinking they saw a demon). What remains of interest to me, however, is just how casually he brushes everything off.

Yes, I was born unwanted. Yes, my mother died and I ate my twin while in the womb to survive. Yes, I had no one but I don't need anyone. Yes, I look like this.

Like any human being in Sukuna's position would lament his situation. Still, we can imagine that Sukuna- by getting rid of his humanity- stopped crying over who he was and the situation he was in a long time ago and instead embraced it. Worn it like armor. Stopped caring about what other people think of him and hence stopped considering himself human but embraced himself as a monster. He technically started loving all his flaws.

He chose to embrace himself over society which had probably shunned him because of how he looked. Thus came the legends. Thus came the title.

It's totally logical to come to that conclusion based on his behavior and what we know (even though it is still little).

But yeah... some parts we can only assume about. Sukuna doesn't appear that bothered by it? but that could be because he had grown into a monster and had cut away any feelings. Still, negative emotions such as grief and anger are the foundation of cursed energy and knowing Sukuna is the King of Curses... you can put two and two together and say that even though he's quite dismissive of everything, he is very much burning with hatred and pain. Knowing that he was unwanted first by the world (starving in the womb) and then by the society (after his birth) does make his behavior quite self-explanatory. He may be dismissive of everything but he's definitely hurting.

From that pain came incredible strength, though, which is why I really love him as a character. Even though he does terrible things to others, it's quite logical why he would do so. As someone who had only felt pain from humanity, it makes sense why he would abandon humanity and instead turn to seeing himself as anything but a human. A curse. A jujutsu sorcerer. Whatever.

I always found his speech to Yuuji in 215 quite interesting. He insulted Yuuji (and humanity) by calling them "weak creatures that cling to life" even though he, himself, had also once clung to life. But then, to Sukuna, Yuuji's suffering (as well as humanity's) dwarfs in comparison to his. After all, while Yuuji (and humanity) were complaining and crying over the times they are living in (which aren't that terrible), Sukuna did something about it. He was weak? He became strong. He was unwanted? He became something akin to a God. He was shunned by humanity? Curses came and accepted him.

You could say, if Sukuna truly is the reason why this cycle is happening (and why curses even exist), that Sukuna had invented a world where he was accepted by doing something terrible such as eating his twin brother and that's... quite sad, really. The resulting pain coming from separation (and such a brutal act) could've been the reason for why he is as strong as he is and why negative emotions are tied into everything (precisely because of Sukuna's origin).

But, I'm still going to acknowledge the fact that he could've done all of that just because he wished to (which would explain why he vehemently rejects pity) but if he was born human and not born as a curse then... nope. Hell, with 268 in mind, with Yuuji cradling him and telling him that he will accept him no matter if the world doesn't, I do believe that he truly didn't choose to be a monster nor to eat his twin brother. He was, as Yuuji puts it, just cursed. Forced into that position. And because Yuuji understood him and told him what he needed to know, all those negative emotions (cursed energy) disappeared which is why he evaporated and why he is portrayed as just a little blob. (Love you blob Sukuna <3)

Because when you feel happy, you can't really create cursed energy right? You can't really fight. You're losing control of the body you're in. The best you can do is feign to be angry but your state is quite telling.

I hypothesized some time ago that love would kill Sukuna and that Yuuji would be the one to do it because a positive emotion cannot be a negative emotion. I'm ofc, referring to the famous "Love is the strongest curse of all".

Love can be twisted into a negative emotion (unrequited love) but it's usually associated with a more positive one. Yuuji genuinely connected with him. Sukuna was trying to hide behind Megumi but even that failed him. He still dug him out and told him everything he wished to hear since a long, long time ago. Makes you think, then, that perhaps this was what he had wanted all along? Someone who'd understand and release him.

Now as for if he'll return or not... I'm quite hopeful. I do have an ask sitting that needs answering (and I'll get to it soon!) but I do think that Sukuna (as someone cursed from birth) definitely deserves to be happy and deserves a second chance. If all others get it, while he (the inventor of pain) doesn't, then I seriously don't know lol

[humanwithfourheads]

Je suis humain.

I am human.

Humanity is a fickle thing. It’s constantly changing, at least, depending on who was asked. What does humanity mean to them? It can mean a lot of things, it can mean desire, family, the look of the skin and the body that holds the physical property of humans. The perspective of people is what made that definition.

It was a topic that made Antoine think. This idea that humanity was made up of the exact thing it was meant to define, humans, was beautifully crafted in a way. It wasn’t true by any means but the thought was there and it was so sweet.

The floating palace home had been coming along quite nicely. It had a lovely view of their moon and the shit towers beneath it. Nostalgia had been what drove him to craft the four pillars. Something as simple as dirt can be pretty too. Nobody really thinks about that. There’s so many prettier materials, why would dirt be their first choice? They forget the dirt is what holds them day by day in the cradle of a universe expanding beyond everyone’s earthly existence.

Oh! Dirt is also just fun. It can grow stuff and has smaller bits of rocks in it.

Stepping back for a better view Antoine gave a satisfied hum. The windows looked nice. The first wall wasn’t done but stepping back to see the progress of his creation is always so pleasing. Change was always happening and building was a perfect example of that.

This project has been keeping them busy. They still visit Pomme to take care of her of course. A lot has happened though, she knows that, she watches from afar like watching hamsters in a wheel spinning. The timing might have been bad to announce his newfound communication abilities, but oh well, Antoine hopes they know that while she doesn’t understand the fuss she’s glad most of them came out unharmed. That death message had given him a moment of shock, it didn’t stay as it never does, but it was definitely a surprise. Hm. Mortality was a rope their universe defied wasn’t it?

Moving on, Antoine smiled. She usually was but this time it was for a good reason. There was a mark left on this world by him. Something done by his two hands that would forever sit on in this world even if it were to one day slip into the distance of time.

“C'est parfait.” It was. It was perfect to them and that’s what mattered most. It didn’t need to be perfect to anyone else but her and that’s why it was special. Sure, Antoine would show their work off, but the responses of his friends mattered very little. What mattered was how it was to him.

Antoine approached the first wall, fishing out the blueprints from their bag. They weren’t very sure about their placement of the windows and just needed to double check that he had done it right. Perfection wasn’t what he was chasing but they just wanted to make sure it was correct so far.

As Antoine studied the glass she caught her reflection beaming back at her. The cardboard box smile greeted them with a loopy expression. Antoine was alone that day, no Pomme, so she wasn’t as bothered to hide their form with their robes. Their dark hands with red tops and claw-like nails visible holding the contrast of the blueprints.

Sometimes Antoine forgot his appearance wasn’t the most human resembling. It used to be. Hell, even on the plane to the island it was. She can recall as the flight progressed the ill feeling of being wrong creeping down their spine. The shock of running to the cramped bathroom to see his face fading into inky depths again. The disguise of human skin was slipping and only got worse the closer to the island the plane got. Antoine had taken some random box left stored away and drew silly expressions to distract from it, not that Antoine found it ugly, just that Antoine didn’t want their friends to be put off and ask questions. No one questioned it. It was Antoine, of course Antoine would do something silly like that! Wearing a box on her head! Being on the island though it worsened. The disguise wouldn’t come up anymore, his old form of skin wasn’t coming back.

Poetic, in a way, thinking about that now. That face died so many years ago but the person never did. That human lost their soul only to be graced again by the universe with the chance to walk once more. Antoine was lucky, he thought, looking into the glass. Those who are given second chances don’t always come back the same. She did. That weak humanity is still intact in their mind racing with the fear of life and death, but not the universe. The universe took their hand and showed them the course soil they walk on.

If the box was off Antoine would look fond. How could he not? It was a gift to be human again. Every few years that thought comes up and it’s such a loving memory to her.

Taking a final look at the glass Antoine picked up quartz and began to add fine details to the first wall. Soon the palace would be finished and there would be another mark in this world. This time the goal was to work until the two moons sat above each other waving like old friends of the world. Perhaps they could have a castle-warming party to celebrate? Maybe not. After that last party he had witnessed with her second pair of eyes it didn’t seem wise to try and have a party. Oh well. There’s only one thought Antoine holds for certain.

I am human.

Je suis humain.

[C'est parfait - It’s perfect]

[kayura-sanada]

Ugh, yeah the scene of Hawke handing Fenris to Danarius and Anders agreeing with it is utterly horrific. I don't understand why the writers went with that, but I guess it's what we got. You'd think Justice would interfere as well as he despises slavery. Vivienne stans living in an alternate universe where she's the perfect model minority with no flaws whatsoever? What a shocker..

Yeah, that moment makes little sense to me. If it was Surana, whom it was originally supposed to be, then the comment, though disgusting, would fall more in line with the horrible crap she said in Awakening. But for Anders, who's been on the run almost a dozen times? For Justice, who was still himself when we entered the Fade? It just doesn't click for me well. One of those moments that feels like the original writers wrote him OOC, tbh. But as you said, it's what we've got.

The only way I can think of it is... Anders was looking to hurt Fenris, for some reason. In his efforts to do so, he said something horrible, something he may not even agree with, just so he can create a wound. It's something I've done; it's something I think most people have done at least once in their lives. Allowing themselves to become a monster just so that they can make someone else hurt.

Whether it's that or he meant it doesn't matter. It's sickening. It deserves to be called out. You can love the character and also despise that moment; humans are capable of such complexity. In fact, maturity often means recognizing both the good and bad in a person.

A person, for instance, like Vivienne. Because from what I've seen, Vivienne made herself into a monster long ago, and she now revels in it. I've quoted this before, but there's a conversation between her and Cole that makes my stomach twist every time. I'll give you the pertinent recounting here:

Cole: The templars hurt mages.

Vivienne: Stupid, panicking mages who became a danger to themselves and others because of you!

Vivienne: You brought matters in the Spire to a head. Without you, there would be no rebellion.

Vivienne: Countless deaths are on your head, demon. Are you satisfied with the result of your protection?

Cole: You're lying. You're... twist the words right, and it will show its true form. Blood or banishment, either will suffice.

Cole: You like the templars. You think they were right.

You like the templars. You think they were right.

In this exact instance, Cole is saying, point-blank, that Vivienne knows the templars were hurting and killing mages, and she feels they were right to do so.

So when it comes to mages... no, Vivienne does not care. After all...

Solas: While mages live in depravation you do not share? You lord their mystique over those not so gifted. Well played, Enchanter. In another age you might have ruled an empire.

Vivienne: You are too kind, my dear. But this age is still young.

I don't think I need to explain this any further.

As for elves...

Inquisitor: There's an altar.

Vivienne: If the elves performed some sort of magic here... we should proceed with caution, Inquisitor.

This may sound normal if you look at it from the surface - you're in the Cradle of Sulevin, there's a weird altar, and it all culminates in a battle you definitely saw coming. But it's weird that Vivienne didn't say something like 'if these people' or 'if they' or 'if some sort of magic...' It's disturbing that she emphasizes with, 'if the elves...' It's almost like she's denigrating them or something.

Sera: You all think no one can touch you, but I say a kind word to a butler and I'm in your vault. Because he hates you.

Vivienne: And I'll fill it just to watch you scurry from the gutter. Again and again and again.

Vivienne: Big vault. Little elf.

She says it because she knows it will bother Sera. But it bothers me. Mocking her as if she's a rat. It's disgusting.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. The things I remember off the top of my head.

These people can despise Anders all they want. They can love Vivienne all they want. They can have a million reasons, or none at all; everyone has the right to love or hate whichever fictional characters they want. But pray they don't come to my house and say anything so hypocritical and stupid as how Anders is racist, but Vivienne isn't.

[seasideretreat]

Action

I do not have anything to say. That's the thing: there is nothing to be said. Although, I did discover something amazing today, but it does not really make a huge difference; unlike history. History makes a huge difference. As a matter of fact, we should do some history, but I don't see the point of reciting endless facts, and I don't know that many facts anyway.

During a war, people can make an impact. Everyday, people can do things, but only during a war can you really interfere in the quotidian flow of mundane events. During peacetime, we are constantly pressured by the ordinary, but during a period of war, excellence can come to the fore; in fact, during peacetime - economical years - our "lives lengthen like a shadow", we are constantly situated in that absurd competition for money and possessions, whereas during wartime, true shrewdness is promoted.

The Romans called themselves sons of Mars. The other nation that I think about is Britain. The main thing about Britain is that they don´t think themselves indebted culturally too much to the Roman Empire, but they do take Greek education very seriously, but most elite people in Europe do, Greece is the cradle of our civilization, in fact. But what I realized lately is that I do not really feel the lingual presence of English that much in a cultural sense; lingually, English is almost a Romance language, probably, we might as well speak Latin here. I live in The Netherlands, but we speak quite a bit of English around here, heck, our word for sorry in The Netherlands is the English sorry!

It's all about power in the last analysis I suppose. There's a lot of Greek words in Latin, but it is not a Hellenic language. English can be compared either with Latin or with Greek in terms of modern standing - in most ways, it is the language of the digital age, the average man's French. A clever man knows all the languages. I know English and Dutch. That's all. I don't have a way with words; I don't care. I don't deem language to be the essence of communication. English helps you survive in a globalized world. What to say about speech? What are words worth? I'd love to learn a cool language, but there are no cool languages.

But I love English! You know, English may not say exactly what it all means, but it does say so much. English is really a great language for communication. It's perfect for - and formed by - the modern commercial world. That's why I am so interested in Oxford and Cambridge. In those venerable halls, English has truly assayed to remain a human language, independent from post-Marxian prolixity. You know, Schopenhauer said that by learning to write Latin man learns to treat diction as an art. That says a lot about the value of philosophy; verily, we don't have a lot to do about speaking when we do not make art; philosophy is not art, yet we should strive to write artfully, or something.

Obviously, Greek is the language of philosophy, simply because there are so many posh words in Greek. I don't expect too many people to speak ancient Greek fluently, nor Latin for that matter, but we don't need to communicate in it, we just need to have a profound interest in it. I mean, English is a Germanic language. I mean, there is no logic in these things. I mean, I don´t really find linguist's statements very nice. It seems they just don't want us to think about language, you know? And they don´t really know what language really is.

Our life is looking forward, or its looking back. Latin and Greek are to some extent from the past. English is the language of the future, but we don´t have to speak British English. We can speak Dutch English, and perhaps, in a literary context, we can speak Dutch. Everybody speaks his own language. It's edifying to learn Latin, and so likewise any classical language or surely any language whatsoever, but we must always speak English to the vast international audience. Language doesn´t have to be political; it is, in a lot of ways, purely cultural. Combat, however, surely happens on a level of classical language; and we find that English is much emended by knowledge of Latin - so you'd best learn some Latin. But this is surely the hierarchy: English, Latin, Greek, your own language. These must all be combined. Your own language is both most and least important.

[husbandohunter]

A Furry Predicament, but reversed (Reader turns into a cat)? Pretty please with a sweet lil cherry on top? (I recently stumbled across your blog and may I just say that I absolutely adore your works??) Thank youu and take care~~

A Furrier Predicatment [Genshin x Cat!Reader]

♤♡◇♧☆

Synopsis: It's your turn to be a cat after this incident.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Albedo, Zhongli, Childe, Venti

(A/n): Ah you did OwO that's very sweet of you. It's alot of fun to write, especially when your imagination is stunted and you just gotta spit out something silly.

=======================

[Diluc]

Any beloved pet owned by Master Diluc would be under the most high quality and meticulous treatement. Mostly for cats since they tend to be calm while elegant...to some extent. If they were dogs then he'll ensure that they also serve as a partner for sniffing out trouble such as a certain bard who'd might've sneaked into the wine cellars. But you weren't either, so to say, you were both a beloved AND a cat.

As he picks you up gently into his arms, Diluc would be a little baffled on what to do next. He has no idea how to care for delicate creatures as he never had one (other than a pet tortoise but that's different) in which he needed to look for help. But who? The staff? Certainly not, no one can find out that his partner turned into a pet (imagine all the scandals he'll be in). Jean? Anything but the knights of Favonius. And most certainly not his brother.

So Diluc ends up figuring everything out by himself (old habits die hard). All the sweets and regular meals you craved were no long in your menu, you were forced to have a proper cat diet because he believed it was healthier. Half of the time he has no idea what he's doing, since you were a cat and all you could do was "meow" (which Diluc forgets. He tries to have a mundane conversation until you stare at him with feline eyes. That was when he remembered).

"What would you like for tonight's dinner, my love?"

"Meow." He has alot to learn.

Though Master Diluc often gets very tired and he attempts to take a quick nap before killing himself over the next set of duties. That is, until you could help it. Being a cat has it's furry and comfy advantages. So you leapt up to the bed as quietly as possible and onto the side of your lover, circling a few times to see if he was really asleep. When he was you snuggled close to keep him warm, hoping it would lull him into a rest even deeper. He slept like a baby.

~xx~

[Kaeya]

If the Cavalry Capatain were to own a pet, they would either be charmed by him or snaring their teeth because of his unreadable and suspicious aura. Animal instincts are quite powerful. But your case wasn't the latter, thankfully and he could feel himself growing fond of this new found relationship. Almost. What should he do with you now that you're a cat, Kaeya wonders.

Belly rubs and a lot of them. He absolutely adores the way your cute little nose scrunches up while he runs his fingers on the center of your tummy (though he knows when to stop, Kaeya is rather gentle with you nowadays). You found that he absolutely adores the shape of your nose, would pick you up and boop yours with his own somehow knows how to be his flirty self despite your unusual form.

There was this one incident where you saw something shiny flashing over the wall. Slowly you followed it as the bright dot moved futher and further away, evetually gaining speed. Little did you know it was Kaeya who was watching you swipe your little paws up and down against the wall while he was just cleaning his sword. How could he help it? You were often so headstrong and independent, now you were just an adorable little kitten that loves to play with yarn and shiny things. It backfired him though, now there were a bunch of scratchmarks marring the surfaces (which he had to pay for repairs).

Takes you out to Windrise so that you could get some fresh air (also for you to find somewhere else to shed your fur other than his humble abode). Kaeya sits back under a tree while you either chase a butterfly or start slapping against the dandelions (only sneeze when they fly into your face). He wasn't sure if you were aware of what you were doing right now, if you were then he'll have lots of things to talk about once you turn back into human. If not, then at least he had the opportunity to witness such a soft side coming from you.

~xx~

[Xiao]

If any animal were to go close towards the adeptus, they would run away. Xiao isn't very good at interacting with others, pets included, usually they would run into the alleyway or hide around the legs of their owners while he glaringly, blankly stares at them (Even though he wouldn't admit it, Xiao thinks to himself, how soft is cat fur?) Now he gets to touch your cat form and turns out that fur is very ticklish yet pleasant against his skin.

Would be the most awkward conversationalist, the poor yaksha was already terrible with his words (often coming out harsh so he prefers to either keep away or say nothing at all) and even with you sometimes, now it was almost impossible to communicate. Xiao is not very good at reading a cat's body language. When you want him to hold you again, you'd walk in circles. He assumes you were hungry and leaps out the window to go fetch some fish...for the nth time there was a pile of raw salmon stacking upon the floor. Xiao thinks that maybe salmon species weren't to your liking, hence he does out to find another one.

As he plays his flute, you'd magically doze off on his lap. (There was one thing that you both can communicate with at last). Slowly but surely, he comes to learn the different gestures you make for certain situations. You often rub yourself upon his leg which he had heard to be a cat's way of claiming their territory. That was when Xiao picks you up, FINALLY. Though the real reason why it took him this long was because he was hesitant to hold you. He never really held a pet so naturally he has no idea how to hold a cat. Ends up cradling you in his arms because it seemed to be a safer option <3

"I never thought I'd be able to hold you like this," Xiao softly says to your lazy form, observing the way your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, "But I...forget it. We can stay like this for the time being, if you'd like. If not, that's fine too."

You stay.

~xx~

[Albedo]

The only pets Albedo had were for his alchemic experiments (plus they were put in cages too). Fact be told, he would make a terrible pet owner with the lifestyle he has now. The alchemist would be so absorbent into his work that he'll most likely forget that he has someone to feed and by the time he realized it, they would have already starved to death. After hearing glass bottles crashing to the floor, Albedo bursts into the rooms as the smoke fills it completely, finding a cat lost between it. The cat was you. He knows because he made the potions.

Sometimes he'd a little too scientific for his own good. Albedo assumed that when you turned into a cat, you've gone into cat mode and ends up treating you as such. "No, don't go near any bodies of water. You wouldn't like it." He almost forgets that you were once human which is very much like him if you had to be honest. Though when he does find out that you still carried human traits, Albedo must find ways to adapt things to your liking.

He makes your food himself. He's not a cook but he sure is good at everything he does, even if it's something he never did before. This goes for other areas too such as the size of your bed, if you need a little couch to stay on or maybe some tools to play around. (The only time when he is a good pet owner). In his sketchbook he'd have a bunch of blueprints and contraptions of what to make next. There's something enjoyable when spoiling you, those little reactions when you're pleased, like the twitch of your whiskers or the lift of your tail. Albedo finds is very cute.

On top of all that, he could also make you a potion to turn you back into normal. It seemed that it was the last thing he thought of on the list. Albedo was too occupied with treating you like a cat that it all flew over his head until now. Time flies when you're having fun.

~xx~

[Zhongli]

Unlike Albedo, anyone who has Zhongli as a pet owner would be considered to be a very lucky animal. He radiates a calm and serene aura that gives the perfect environment to have infinite nap times. People look at this man and wonder why his pet never gives him any trouble, especially when cats were considered to be both fiesty and needy. But they just didn't know that the cat was you (not like it would make a difference, any animal would know that Zhongli was no ordinary man).

How on earth does he know what you're saying? Maybe it's because he was once an archon. You could meow and he knows exactly what you would like to snack on. You could tilt your head, he takes it that you were curious on what he was currently doing (which was exactly what you were wondering), you can say nothing at all yet as if he could read your mind, Zhongli comes over to pet you with his gloved hands.

"How can I tell? Indeed it is because you're my lover, of course. Throughout this time we spent together, I've come to learn the way you speak through your eyes. They seem to hold true no matter what form you take. It's rather comforting."

Though there were many moments where you sneak up behind Zhongli. His hair, his ponytail- so long. Must play with. As you jump up and down with his thin strand swings side to side, it'll take a few seconds for him to decipher what your were doing. The minute he turns around he catches you with his hands midair and laughs heartfully. Cats were very endearing creatures.

~xx~

[Childe]

Back home in Snezhnaya, Childe would probably have owned a dog or two. They were mostly meant for hunting purposes, big and large furry creatures with thick skin suitable to endure the harsh cold. He has dogs because cats hate him for some strange reason. They either hiss or snootly turn their backs on him, one time he picked one up as a kid but his face bleeding after the cat scratched him with their paws. But of course you wouldn't do that to him. You would never~ he was your cutie pie anyways.

He was an obnoxious hugger, not gentle at all. Childe forgets his strength as a human man and when he squeezes you tightly against his chest, you'd spike out on all ends because by the archons, you're suffocating. But it was your fault for feeling so comfy and warm! Similar to Kaeya, they're both obnoxious but Childe deemed himself to be even worse. He'd rub his face against yours, commenting on how sensitive it sways. Tonia once told him that she wanted a pet cat instead, maybe he should also bring you back to his homeland now.

Yes he would love to play with you. Bring in the cat toys...or not. This was the eleventh Fatui Harbinger, what were you thinking? Normal cat activities? Not here. He's gonna teach you how to hunt like how he taught his dogs to hunt in Snezhnaya. You gave him the most deadpanned and dissapointed look with your large feline glare. Not only was he disliked by cats but he certainly was not good with them.

Though he can take it down a notch sometimes and just indulge in relaxing activities. When there was nothing else for him to do or when he was just tired after a productive day, he'd sit by the kitchen and you on top of the table. While you yawned and leaned down for a nap, Childe plays with the small of your paws to the soft edge of your nails. If he taps your nose, your whiskers twitch. Your ears are nice, maybe he should get you a headband version once you turned back to human.

You immediately wake up when he touches your tail.

~xx~

[Venti]

Achoo!

You sometimes wonder how is it that the anemo archon was able to live through 2000 years without getting beaten up by a cat. If andrius was a large cougar than a wolf, maybe he wouldn't be an archon now. Which is why you are to stay miles far far away from him unless you want the whole of Mondstadt to be blown away by the wind.

Wears a mask (as if this were the covid19 pandemic), although it doesn't take away all his problems, at least it'll minimize it. Venti always has a box of tissues ready but you can tell by the puffiness of his eyes that he's been sneezing alot. He really tries his hardest to pitch in every once in a while when Albedo was working on a cure for you to go back to normal. Though acts as if he was quarantined by staying all the way at the other side of the room.

"Ahahaha don't mind me. It's your local bard of Mondstadt dropping by to see how things are going. I wanna make sure how long it will take for you to make the potion? Just curious!"

No hugs, cuddles or anything involving close proximity. This makes Venti very pouty and impatient. Albedo finds it very hard to concentrate with all the sniffling and sneezing that he had no choice but to kick him out. It didn't help that the location was Dragonspine, now he was sneezing even more.

[plush-rabbit]

Obey Me! Heavy Thoughts for the Dateables

Warnings: Mentions of Death

A/N: Reasons for heaviness may vary! I was in a mood so I kinda scribbled this out in days,, uh yeah!! A little all over the place and ye!!

-

Barbatos:

His eyes and hands ache, his mouth dry no matter the amount of water he intakes. His temples thud with a dull pounding, one that echoes lightly and steadily. It’s been a rather rough day for Barbatos. Woken up late, and with an already bad feeling about the day. His eyes glow, a bright green light that fades as soon as it comes. His head is heavy and he can feel the effects of the power creep against him, but there is no time for rest, he has duties that he must attend to. He picks himself up and blinks once and then twice, as if willing the pain to go away and he is off. He is steady as he works, precise as if there is not a growing pain that makes itself known the more that he goes on and the longer that the day continues. He was allowed the day off, had concern expressed over him with a steady hand on his back slowly leading him to his bedroom but he declined. It was a simple headache, a simple bad day that must be powered through. There was no use for such worry over something so simple.

It’s a heavy day and he’s had them before but they don’t lessen with each blow- they still hit as heavy as ever. He walks quietly, his demon form exposing himself, his wing-like horns piercing into him, the bones of the appendages pulled taut. His tail swings widely, curved as it sways along, narrowly missing each statue and piece of item that decorates the hall. He cleans dutifully, each piece of furniture polished and dusted, the headache only growing more and more, pounding against his head. His hands grip a cleaning feather duster, the wood splintering in his hand, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. The brick wall touches against his gloved palm, the indent and grooves of it press against the fabric, marring it with imperfections, the hand that holds the duster loosens, the feathers brushing against his pant leg. His vision grows spolthy and he casts a glance towards the end of the hallway, paintings move and peer from the frame, watching as the butler walks away. His steps echo in the castle, and he knows that he’s taking time off for such a simple feeling, guilt builds in his body, his legs becoming heavy with lead, and yet, he can’t stop himself. He was given permission, was encouraged and he had looked the other way, but he needs it now.

He hides himself in a corner of the castle, door locked and lights off and he’s nervous. He isn’t allowed to use his power freely and he isn’t going to; he’s simply going to take a peek. Something has come over the butler, something so terrible and nerve wracking and he has no idea how to calm it, how to force his tail to stop swinging so rapidly- he feels irritated. A final look is given to the door- there are no shadows underneath and he takes a deep breath, the smell of parchment and cotton in the air. Time flashes before his eyes, glowing brightly, his hair slowly creeping, longer and longer as milliseconds go by. Everything passes by in a mere blink of the eye and when he returns, his hair receding back to its usual length, his eyes slowly dimming, he sits on a chair. His head is in his hands, his eyes closed and nails softened by gloves scratch into his scalp.

It’s a dip of himself, just a slight little thing that went wrong; and yet, he can’t shake off the feeling. Nearby, he can hear footsteps, they come in eager and almost unsure. Shadows form under his door and he can hear muffled voices, his name being spoken is a constant and there is worry evident in both of the voices. His brows furrow and he rises, his shoulders slacked and exhaustion heavy in his eyes. One of the shadows disappear, footsteps echoing in the distance and the handle to the room turns slowly, his name called once more in a whisper. Through the small gap from the doorway, he sees your face, hesitation graced among your features until they fall and in its place, concern takes over. You close the door quietly behind you, his name whispered under your breath as you rush towards him. You cup his face in our hands, pulling yourself close to him. You hold him as if he is porcelain and he simply bows his head, eyes closing, and his tongue is bitten between his teeth. In a sudden movement, he goes to hold you.

Your hands move from his face to wrapping your arms around him. He leans into your touch, his tail wrapping around your waist and tightening his hold on you, the bones of his horns, pressed against your plush cheek. Barbatos tells you how silly it all is, to feel this bad over a simple bad day, his voice trailing off into a hoarse whisper, and you don’t want to imagine the poor demon crying at the thought of such a heavy day. You hold him, comfort him and edge yourself closer until you reach a couch. He rests nearly above you, his leg swung over yours, and face still buried against your shoulder. Your fingers thread through his hair, curling strands of it around your index as you listen to his woes, his grip tight and voice delicate. In your arms is a demon, beautiful and powerful, but in your arms, he is exquisite and frail, never once lifting his head no matter the times his name is whispered. His hands ghost over your body, the gloves soft against your skin and slowly, he removes them, letting the warmth of his hands curve over your neck as he rests near your collarbone. He begs for you to hold him, just a little bit longer, just until he feel like he can stand and you do so, promising to sit and hold him, ending the words with a kiss against the crown of his head.

Diavolo:

The soon-to-be king is lonely. He grew up being respected but without a friend. He grew with a father who had lost someone he loved and he grew without a mother’s touch. As much as Diavolo can try, he will have limited friends. He is someone that people watch their tone with, they watch their words and avoid playful teasing. Deep in his bones, he knows that he is lonely, that the friends he does have still hold some type of fear towards him, they still respect him. It’s a long day in the castle. It’s quiet, there are minimal sounds and the portrait of his father stands behind his desk, looming over his shoulder and he can never tell if his expression is remorseful or something akin to a scolding look. The prince sits alone with a heavy heart in a room that feels far too large for him to be in.

As a young boy, he has learned to hold himself high. He has grown up knowing that he will be a king. He wants to do great things. He wants to bring people together for reasons that he doesn’t quite want to admit but also because he is so desperate for attention, for any sign of love and acceptance. He is a caged bird, trapped between bars, watching as others gaze upon him, watching relationships form in front of him without reaching towards him. It isn’t healthy for him to let these thoughts dwell but in an empty room, he can’t find the will to push them away. His face is buried in his hands, eyes closed until colors and inorganic shapes dance behind his closed eyes and he sits still for a long time, the unblinking eyes of his father boring into him. Golden eyes brimmed with hope are dimmed, staring at the papers on the desk. He’s already done, finished long ago and yet, he can’t force himself to rise and leave the room that is slowly constricting around him.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, something that makes him sick to his stomach when his D.D.D. remains unbothered, the screen faced down, not a single sound erupting from it. He learned long ago to never expect much from it. But now you’re here. You are a human, that is it. You hold no true power other than the pacts that you have made and yet you make him wait with bated breath for every message of yours. It’s unhealthy to put so much of his happiness in your hands but he can’t help it. You are the first to not fear him for his title. You are the first to hold his hand and lean against him. You are the first that he has ever had the pleasure to grow so close to and yet you are human. You are compassionate and you do not fear him in any type of way, you include him and laugh with him. You both share inside jokes and he isn’t alone with you. He stands from the desk, his bones aching and he sets out.

He goes to visit you, a bag of sweets in his hand- a cheap excuse to come and visit you even though you have told him that he can visit whenever he wants to. His smile is bright, stretched wide as he holds the bag in front of him, already making himself comfortable on your bed. He can breathe a little bit lighter, his smile now more tired than forced, and his heart still heavy. The weight on his shoulders has shifted into something more troublesome. When your hands cup his face, his smile wavers and he leans into your touch. He confesses to you that he has been lonely and it isn’t like his other confessions- this one isn’t made in a passing comment, this one is said out loud in a somber tone, his hand encasing yours, his eyes brimming with tears and voice in a hoarse whisper and he can’t find the words to describe just how lonely it is for him- how lonely it was before you came into his life.

Diavolo is large beside you on the bed and he is somber, looking much older than he usually does and you wonder for a brief moment just how lonely he was, how it must have felt for him to realize that he won’t have a true connection. You move to sit beside him, cradling his body and pushing him towards you, his head on your chest and hands held together. You rub your thumb over his knuckles, the scars soft under your touch, and when you kiss the top of his head, he holds your hand tighter. He can be a king, he can be a prince or a lord, but he is still someone who craves a relationship, to be included and to have a friend. He rests on your bed, his body warmed by yours and his hand held. He is soothed by your heartbeat, your ever loving touch and his thoughts are silenced when you begin to whisper to him promises that you’ll be beside him while legs entangle themselves with yours. Resting on you, he is comforted, held and told sweet things, and soon with a heavy heart, he moves to hold you above him. You lean down and peck against his lips, his smile tired and eyes still holding wisdom and knowledge that you’ll never know of and he keeps you by him throughout the night, memorizing each and every scar that your body offers, his lips hot against your body.

Simeon:

As an angel, Simeon has to avoid temptations wherever they fall. He’s seen what it can cause- the destruction and death that it could lead to and he has no time for that, not when Luke is under his care. You, however, do not make it easy to sway from such temptation. He doesn’t know what will happen in the coming future and the thought terrifies him. He knows that human life spans are so short, so insufferably short and unexpected, and even if you do live for long, he’ll see you die and the odds of you becoming an angel are something that he has no clue in. You come to him so eager and full of life, so ready to hold him in your arms and he won’t ever be ready for the day that you lay in a bed, too weak to move your arms and hold him again. While he won’t ever do the unspeakable- at least that’s what he tells himself- you unknowingly add to his pressures.

For now, he doesn’t think about that. He thinks about you now. He thinks about your smile and your usage of kaomojis. You still have life and that’s all that matters to him. He thinks about the fun memories that he can make in the meantime with you. His D.D.D. will buzz with new messages, new reports and various other things that come in and he’ll have to face it eventually but it’s all too much. It’s too much, too soon. He has to speak to you one day of his duties, confess upon his knees and tell you that he does it because- well, because he has to. He is an angel, who is he to disobey, to find his voice when it’s suddenly convenient for him. His wings weigh him down, heavy and lined with gold, shimmering under the light of God, and he is supposed to be holy and yet, he cannot touch you without his gloves. He’s afraid he’ll stain you and your being. He’ll taint everything precious about you with just a simple touch.

However, he still seeks you out. Late at night, he’ll search for you, a ripple of itchiness that shoots across his back, tingles that ache as his wings beg to be released. He finds you and curls up to you, so tense and terrified and you’re there to comfort him. He rests beside you, hand in hand, wickedness and love combined, something so sweet that it makes his eyes water and mouth thick with honey. His hands are gloved, not daring to touch anything that he shouldn’t unless it burns his skin. He stares at your wall, littered with pictures of you and the family that you’ve made along the way, you're smiling with a smile that stretches so wide he’s blinded by it. You’ve allowed him in your room, in your sanctuary because he came to you. He’s beside you, a small, golden cross rubbed between his forefinger and thumb, and he can feel his heart race.

Sweat beads against his forehead, his back aching as his mouth dries. The flesh of the son is heavy on his tongue, the blood thick and bitter as it soaks anything sweet in him. His hand tightens and he can feel his hand tightens round yours. He has to be careful- he can’t hurt you. He won’t forgive himself if he ever did. His tongue is between his teeth and in a picture of yours, your tongue is stuck out, hugged between your lips and his vision becomes blurry, fire in his eyes as he stares. He must show the emotion- whatever it is- on his face, read like an open book. You call his name, your hand above his, and he doesn’t register it, he can’t. You call him again, tugging on his hand and pulling away the golden cross. His eyes are wide and you can see the angel in his eyes, the years and the time, the war and the love that he has seen. The cross marks itself in the palm of your hand, and he snaps at you. It’s nothing cruel, but his words are sharp and loud.

You flinch at his words but you offer a tender smile. Your hand opens and the cross itself is tight in your hand. He hadn’t meant to snap. Tears fill his eyes and scorch his cheeks and he’s on his knees, the floor under him cold and solid. Apologies fill the room and he can feel your eyes on him. It’s a heavy day where he cannot feel anything but the weight of everything on his shoulders. You embrace him in your arms, pulling him close to your chest. Unlike the floor, you are soft and warm, holding him as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, feeling your heartbeat like a lullaby to him. Your lips press against his forehead, lips pressed to his skin and hair and he leans to you. His hands tighten around you, pulling himself closer to you; forgiveness has never felt so delicate and repent has never felt so fragile. He cries silently, holding you close to him, letting his tears trace against your skin. Your hands curve against his back, fingertips fluttering between his shoulder blades and pressing lightly between. He wonders briefly if you know where his wings rest, where the hurting hurts the most. You touch lightly around, barely ghosting against the muscles, and he holds himself closer to you. His eyes are fresh with tears, the heaviness in his body slowly lifting as he leans into you, and he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with you. The Celestial Realm is far above, shining in golden light and the sweet air of holiness. Your room is casted in the soft, orange glow of the lamp, the room smelling of apples and jasmine, and here, the tired angel feels safe to lay his weight against you and close his eyes.

Solomon:

Despite being an accomplished sorcerer, Solomon isn’t immune to emotions; he is still human despite being immortal. He is older than you can comprehend, dates and times have been long forgotten by him and the people that he held so close no longer have faces. He is human and he misses the people that he has grown close to. He is immortal, a life that is coveted and always seeking to figure out it’s secrets and yet to him, the life is nothing but cursed. It’s the same routine with each lifetime; it’s people that he grows close to, people whose hands he holds and people who hug him so tight that he can feel their breath on his neck, people with hands that soon grow limp in his.

He does his best to never let his emotions show; he rather not deal with the endless questions of his well being because while he’s fine, he really isn’t. He bottles his emotions and hides them far away and it stays like that. For a while, he can be young, laughing and making references to the world that he lives in now. Other times, he lays in bed, the sun that has been rising is a friend and an enemy to him, the people who age before his eyes are something that he envies. Around you, it’s much different. He knows you’ll die sooner than he would like and he’ll be left alone. You made your way into his heart. You hold a special place within him and he worries for the day when he’ll forget your face and the way your hands feel against his neck, and the taste of your lips that are so sweet and soft.

Glyphs and notes are strewn across his room, the sorcerer at work as he tries to figure something out- something to just keep you safe as much as he can, to ensure that you won’t meet an early fate. It’s desperate and selfish of him but he knows he won’t be able to stand the silence once you’re gone. He’s unlike himself, silent and eyes too focused to see what is going on around him. You have no idea what he’s doing, just happy to be beside him, to see him at work. You stare at him for far too long, your own notes of spells and potions resting beside you, now forgotten as you choose to focus on your partner. He stands still, eyes fluttering about, and then he moves rapidly. He seeks and searches, erases and scribbles notes crudely in a journal. He is a work of art- beautiful to look at, imperfections and lines adorning his skin and you worry for the day that he’ll collapse.

His eyes will meet yours, a tired smile on his lips and he holds a hand up- five more minutes. A promise that has long turned repetitive but you know how important his work is, how he strives for perfection in his spells. He talks aloud to himself, the spell book in hand- the corners of the pages frayed and various notes and inches of extra paper peeking past the pages. The book fits perfectly in his hand, his face flushed and eyes tired as they stare at a potted plant, the leaves brown and nipped. He mutters under his breath, his eyes glowing for a brief second, his hair lifting as if static were the cause, and you can feel the magic in the air. You glance at the plant, the leaves curling in on themselves before falling off, replacing themselves with new leaves. You stand straighter, excited, assuming that’s what he wanted and when you look at him, he lets out an exasperated chuckle. His chuckle turns to laughter and his laughter turns into frustration, a string of curses chased in different languages echoes in the room. You call his name and he turns to you, cheeks nipped with red and eyes fresh with tears.

Your name is whispered under his breath and you frown, rushing over to him where he holds you tight, his face hidden in the soft curve of your neck. Solomon does not let go of you, he keeps you close, crying into your neck, his hands tightening and he doesn’t speak. Tears burn hot against your skin, his lips moving, words silent and when you hum his name, he only shakes his head, his lips going still. Soon, you both sit on the bed, his body leaning against you for support. He holds your hand, his fingers playing with each of yours, fingertips pressed against his lips in gentle kisses. Solomon confesses to you that he worries for the day that you’ll pass, his eyes closing when he feels your body tense beside him. He doesn’t think he could handle it if you were to leave him. He craves your touch and he hates to admit it, but without you, he is lost. You hold him in your arms, moving until you rest against the headboard, while his head rests on your chest. You hold his hand and tell him that no matter the time that has passed, you’ll still be with him. You hold him in your arms, his tears wetting your shirt as his whimpers are muffled by you, and he knows he’ll miss you but for now, he’ll be comforted by your hugs and the press of your lips on the top of his head. He’ll wish and pray that this isn’t some dream and that when he awakens, you’ll still be there.

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

I really liked this prompt by @nuttynutcycle and felt the need to write something with it. Soo, here it is! (NOTE: the story starts before the prompt, so it appears in the middle.)

Warning: none.

~~~~ Flying through the air, Hero held onto Villain's body so hard they swore they could feel their knuckles cracking. All their limbs had tightly wrapped around the other as soon as they jumped out of the burning building, the hero's face buried in the other's shoulder to not inhale the smoke, and also so they wouldn't have to see the destruction around them.

The entire city had fallen into ruin, and the villain's henchmen were everywhere. Hero wasn't aware they had so many people working for them, as their enemy only ever had a couple of men with them. But- But this? This was an army.

Was that all part of the plan? Was Villain sparely using their minions to trick the hero? To make them think they weren't capable of something like this?

To make them think they couldn't possibly take over the capital city? Take over the country?

...

As the villain's boots thumped against solid ground, they loosened their hold on Hero, letting them crumple to the floor and frantically scramble away until their wounds forced them to stop moving. Villain had flown them both over to a nearby rooftop, which building had yet to catch aflame.

From their spot on the ground, the hero shivered under their nemesis' silent stare. As a fire burned brightly in the distance behind the villain, their form became shrouded in shadows, adding to their terrifying aura.

The silence was unbearable, and Hero decided to be the first one to break it.

"Y-You saved me." - The hero trembled like a leaf in the wind, head still swimming from the intensity of the last few minutes. "W-Why?"

Villain, still quiet, slowly approached them, making them tense up in anticipation. Hero's breathing grew shaky as their enemy knelt beside them and gently cradled their face with one hand.

"I want you there when I win." - The villain brushed their cheek softly, a small smile on their face. "Whether it's by my side or at my feet is up to you."

"I- I-" - the hero struggled to answer, stuttering out nonsense as they looked into the other's dark eyes. Villain's smile fell at their hesitance, and they flinched in fright as the criminal let go of their face and stood back at full height, towering over them again.

Taking deep breaths in hopes of calming their racing heart, Hero observed as their nemesis walked to the nearby edge of the rooftop, just a few steps away from their shaking body. Villain looked out over the burning city, one arm neatly held behind their back and the other one resting on the parapet wall protecting them from falling off the building.

Not that it mattered if the villain fell off or not. With how many powers they had, Hero was, at this point, pretty convinced nothing could hurt them.

"That would be the correct assumption to make." - Villain calmly said, still admiring the view.

Confusion decorated Hero's face shortly before they realized what had happened. Telekinesis. You can add that to the endless list of their abilities.

Expression still neutral, the villain asked, "Hero, do you want to know how I managed to pull this off?"

Honestly, the hero just wanted this craziness to end, but they'd be lying if they said that their curiosity wasn't eating away at them. So, like the cat that put his nose where it didn't belong, they replied, "I- I do..."

Slightly turning their head to look at their nemesis, Villain quietly explained, "I became a god."

Worry instantly gripped Hero's chest at the other's answer. What- What was that supposed to mean? They- They were a human! A powerful one, true, but... b-but a god? H-How-

"How could y-you possibly achieve s-something like- like that?"

The villain smiled again, and the hero really wasn't liking the look on their face. It made them feel weak, like they were only prey waiting to get caught.

"You're not like the others, Hero... Surely you've noticed over the years how I became stronger and stronger?"

Hero... Hero had noticed it. The process was gradual, barely visible unless you've been there from the start like they had been. It went from Villain getting shot, going into hiding, and reappearing a few days later fully recovered to Villain conveniently surviving deadly explosions or poisons. Until, eventually, years later, they were straight-up getting their limbs blown off and regrowing them instantly right before the hero's very eyes.

Shakily exhaling, Hero's mind floated to a memory from a few weeks ago, back when this hell had first started. They still remembered the dread that filled them at the sight of their nemesis floating high up in the sky, their voice bellowing across the city as they commanded their army. The sheer amount of power that came off Villain at that moment made the hero's knees nearly give out under them. At that moment, Villain was truly above everyone else in every sense of the word.

"Exactly." - the villain's voice suddenly sounded in their ears, and Hero jumped back as their eyes refocused and recognized that their enemy was suddenly right in their face.

The hero's breath hitched as Villain held their face again, this time with both their hands, as they lowly continued. "I've made myself unkillable, indestructible, invincible."

As a glint of possessiveness shined in the criminal's eyes, Hero's eyebrows furrowed in concern, the villain bringing their faces closer. "And I could- No. I will make you the same, whether you want it or not."

Trembling in the other's grasp, the hero questioned, "B-B-But h-how?"

Resting their foreheads against one another, Villain answered, "The same way I've made myself so powerful... The same way I've made my henchmen so loyal and unbeatable..."

Voice barely above a whisper, they claimed, "I will share my powers with you."

Hero froze, only able to keep listening as the villain caressed their cheek again and continued talking. "Not all of them, of course, but know that... where the hierarchy is concerned... you could be my equal, my partner."

Removing themself from their nemesis yet again, Villain loomed over them ominously. "And this is where my question returns, dear Hero."

Standing tall, arms neatly held behind their back, their mere presence demanded that the hero answer them as their shadow fell over them.

"Do you stand by my side and rule together with me, or... do you go from being the government's dog to being my dog... for all eternity?"

With tears stinging at their eyes, Hero pleaded, "V-Villain, please, just- How?! How c-can you share your-?!"

"It's a power that I stole."

"Wh- What...?"

Eyes shining brighter than the fire, the villain explained once more, "My power... The power that I was born with... Is the ability to steal the powers of others."

As they ranted, they looked off into the distance, for a moment getting lost in the past. "And over the years... I've gathered every power that I'd need and more."

Turning back to the hero, they ignored the fear in the other's eyes. "With time, I've learned how to mutate them, how to combine them to make them even stronger, to make myself stronger."

Done explaining, they squared their shoulders. "Now, answer me." - Villain growled out, odd desperation in their voice. "Will you lay at my side or at my feet?"

Hero stared at them for a long while, battling internally before ultimately, their gaze turned away from them, making them sigh in frustration. Clearly, they had to go about this a different way.

"Hero, you can't deny that we're not so different."

That got the hero's attention again, so the villain continued, "We both want what's best for this country."

Now it was Hero's turn to get upset, their face twisted into an appalled snarl as they demanded, "What's best for the country...?! HOW IS THIS WHAT'S BEST FOR THE COUNTRY?!"

They pointed at the destruction around them, nostrils blaring, as they paid no heed to the pain in their lungs, and Villain had to take a deep breath due to the other's stubbornness. Why did they have to be so difficult?

"Changes needed to be made. The system was broken, and you know it."

"W-Well yes, but-" - Hero faltered, trying to argue back, but their enemy cut them off.

"But what? Have you bothered to make a change, hmm? Bothered to take action?"

Not awaiting a response, Villain answered for them. "No, you didn't. You just followed your little orders, thinking that things would magically turn better."

"How is this better...?" - Hero croaked out, losing hope of winning this argument.

Frustrated, the villain yelled, startling the other. "GAH! JUST TAKE A PROPER LOOK AROUND, HERO!"

The criminal grabbed their nemesis by the arm and effortlessly dragged them over to the edge, making them look at the city, this time not through the lens of fear but the lens of truth.

As they finally took a real look at what was happening, a look not misguided by being down there in the heat of the moment, Hero noticed the way Villain's henchmen weren't attacking the civilians, but rather... escorting them away from the danger...?

They finally saw how the people willingly went with them, how they didn't even look scared of them. No, they only grew frightened when... when the heroes showed up... and... started mindlessly firing in the henchmen's direction..., not caring about the people who would... who would get caught in the crossfire...

...

...

"Do you understand yet, Hero...?" - Villain softly whispered, watching as their henchmen dutifully followed their orders, knocking the heroes out and capturing them, protecting the civilians from the necessary chaos.

"I want peace... I want equality... I want things to be right just as much as you do..."

As the wind softly blew against them, Hero turned to face their... enemy...? and was surprised to see tears spilling from their eyes as they continued.

"...But I can't make things right unless I'm in charge..."

Shaking, Villain questioned, "So tell me, Hero. Are you going to stand in my way? In the way of progress?"

With their fists clenching at their sides, the villain whispered painfully, "I don't want to force you to your knees..., but I will do it if I have to."

The hero looked at them, an array of emotions on their face, their own tears having fallen down their cheeks long ago. They opened their mouth to reply but failed to utter even a word. With conflicted feelings, their face scrunched up in thought, their gaze returning to the city below.

Villain stood beside them silently, awaiting their answer. Their body was more tense than the day they had opened fire upon the city. They didn't want to hurt Hero. They didn't. But... But if they had no other choice...

"Villain..." - the hero's meek voice barely reached their ears, but they stiffened nonetheless. "You..."

Arms suddenly wrapped around the villain's waist as Hero held onto them, muttering into their shoulder with an unsteady voice.

"...You better not make me regret this..."

With hope twinkling in their eyes, Villain asked, "D-Does... Does that mean you...?"

"I'll join you. I'll be at your side."

Relief flooded Villain's entire being at the hero's decision. They returned the embrace, tightly holding onto the other as if they would disappear at any moment.

"Thank you, Hero... And..., I'm sorry..."

Sorry? About what-?

Pain suddenly erupted in Hero's chest, their first thought being betrayal as their entire body burned with agony. They screamed and thrashed, trying to get away, but Villain held onto them with an unyielding grip, their heart aching at the hero's frantic shouts and thoughts.

Luckily, the whole ordeal only lasted about a minute, and Hero fell limp in the other's hold once it was over, breathing shakily, a few sobs escaping them from the unexpected pain and stress. As their heart rate began to slow back down and their mind had managed to calm down, they noticed that something was different and gasped quietly, as they felt something inside of themself.

Power.

So, so much power it made them shudder.

Was... Was this how Villain always...?

No, the villain didn't feel like this; they were stronger. Much stronger. Hero could feel it now, could feel the power thrumming inside their ex-nemesis. And as their mind focused, in the distance, all around them, they could sense Villain's henchmen, and even then, all the henchmens' and Hero's power combined was nothing compared to the villain's.

Villain was so much grander than all of them. They...

They really did become a god.

...

...

The feeling of a hand gently rubbing circles into their back brought the hero back to the present. Their eyes had closed at some point, so they fluttered them open again and lifted themself off the villain's shoulder.

Oh, when had they fallen to the ground? Both of them were on their knees, Hero's legs must've given out, and Villain probably lowered the two of them.

"I'm really sorry about that..." - the villain apologized again, a bit of concern on their face. "How... How do you feel?"

It was then that Hero noticed that they felt... good. Amazing even. They felt better than they ever had before. They were so full of energy, and their wounds had disappeared too.

"I-I'm good." - they eventually responded with a small smile. "And apology accepted."

With a smile of their own, Villain pulled themself to their feet, the hero moving with them. They stood there in silence for a few seconds, softly holding each other's hands. Both their gazes momentarily caught on one another's lips, but no. That could wait. After all, they had all the time in the world now and... some more pressing matters at hand.

Calling forth their power, the villain slowly lifted themself into the air, Hero following suit, listening intently as their partner instructed them on how to use their new powers. Together, they went off, conquering the country and at last making things right.

[inhuman-obey-me]

God-Fearing Faith

Can also be read on AO3 here

Word Count: 5.7k

Description: In the Great Celestial War, torn between Lucifer and his Father, Simeon chose not to fight. That comes with its own consequences. There's a reason Simeon's greatest fear is his own Father.

[cw: body horror, abusive parent, PTSD]

This was, of course, always going to have been the outcome.

He had made his choice. As soon as he heard that Lucifer was planning on rebelling, he had made his choice. It was not an easy choice, or a simple one, but it was his choice nonetheless.

Alas, they say that neutrality is the side of the oppressor, but a tyrant never sees it that way.

"You did this to yourself," Michael reminds him disapprovingly.

Simeon stands at the center of the Council of Seraphs, awaiting a judgment that was already preordained before he ever stepped in the room. They will convict him, because there is no other option - their Father has demanded it. The trial is merely a formality.

He did not plead his case. There is no point in trying, after all. Father will not listen, and the other seraphs will never listen to another angel over God. Lucifer had just proven that, hadn't he? And maybe he had chosen wrong - maybe, all in all, he should have chosen Lucifer's side. Because it wasn't as though he hadn't been asked, and oh, how Simeon had longed to stay with his fellow seraph, his closest friend who was like a brother to him.

But between a brother and a father, he chose neither, praying quietly that it could end in peace.

Yet, who do you pray to for peace when God himself is party to war? What higher power could he have appealed to when the highest power in existence was one of the ones at fault?

Though he cannot bring himself to regret his decision, he feels the slightest twinge of regret for not supporting Lucifer more. At least, if Lucifer had won, he wouldn't have ended up here now, standing trial for not being loyal enough to their Father.

Simeon stares Michael in the face, and reminds him that he too loved and adored Lucifer not too long ago. That he still does, no matter how he votes in this trial. That, after everything, Lucifer is still precious to all of them. He knows it, and so does Simeon, and so do all the seraphs in this room. All of them still deeply love Lucifer. Even now. No matter what they say.

Michael's expression twists with anger. How dare Simeon say such things in front of their Father.

With a vengeful sneer, he reads the judgement firmly, steadily - "With unanimous votes from the Council of Seraphs, we do hereby declare you, Simeon, angel of devotion, guilty of desertion and treason. For your crimes, you are hereby sentenced to demotion - from Seraph, to Cherub, to Throne, to Dominion, to Virtue, to Power, to Principality, and finally, to Archangel. The ceremony shall be performed two moons from today, in this room, at the highest point of the sun. You may not appeal this decision. You are dismissed."

And so it has to be. This has always been, after all, the only possible ending.

--

Well before the ritual has even begun, Simeon feels himself burning. He repeats a prayer, day after day, for two long months - praising the glory of God, worshipping his light, acknowledging his greatness.

Begging for peace and mercy, again. Because that worked so well before, right?

But there is nothing else he can do when the burning begins. So he prays.

“Master, now dismiss your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation and for glory.”

--

When the day arrives, the chill of the chamber feels like the coldest he's ever been. It isn't, not really, but after two months of flickering heat burning on and off within him, it's strange to be left cold this way. But he relishes the cool air while he can, because he knows what's coming.

Uriel gives him an almost pitying look as he wraps the chains around his disgraced colleague. For a split second, it almost looks like he wants to say something - but the look is gone as quickly as it came, and he retreats quickly back to his place in the circle. And Simeon is left alone in the center, wrists and torso bound in ropes of thick gold chains.

He looks defiantly at his Father, positioned directly before him in the circle. No matter how he thought it over in these past months, still he did not regret his decision. So he would stand by it. The punishment is coming either way, so he might as well be proud of the choice he made.

His Father glares back.

You will regret defying me, his voice echoes in Simeon's mind.

With a wave of his hand, the ceremony begins.

The seraphs kneel, pouring holy water into an intricate pattern engraved in the ground, which glows with magic as the liquid flows down to the center of the circle. It feels cool against Simeon's bare feet, for the moment at least.

Michael steps forward to recite the prayer chant:

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

The seraphs clasp their hands together in a circle, locking the magic into the ceremonial space, and repeat the chant back.

At once, his Father's heavenly fire strikes him, a pillar of light beaming down upon him and spreading through his body. All six wings of fire burst from his back against his will, stretching out their full length as if to try to escape from the blast. He feels his form contort; his brown hair shifts to a snakeskin halo of spikes; his face melts away to reveal the twisting golden rings of his true angelic form. It travels down to his feet, absorbed by the holy water, which burns at his soles as though he is standing on coals. The gold chains, too, absorb the searing heat of the fire, and as he strains against his bindings in pain, it only serves to etch the curves of the chains into his body.

His eyes, normally covered modestly by his wings, ignite with the fire as it spills through him, but still, his Father maintains his cruel gaze, and even without eyes, it is all Simeon sees.

The heavenly fire has engulfed his entire form now, and he gasps at the sudden weight as his wings turn to molten rock. They rip themselves from his back, crashing behind him with a reverberating thud against the marble floor, and his shoulder blades expand behind him, tearing themselves out of his back to create four new wings of feathers and steel. Under the chains, his arms become metallic themselves, as do his chest and neck. He tries to scream, but there is only fire in his lungs, and it travels through his throat, tearing through every part of his head. When he feels a mouth to close again, it is not one mouth, but four - the four faces of the cherubim.

After what feels like hours but was surely only a few minutes, the fire drains into the holy water beneath him. He gasps, finally able to breathe, as his many faces and wings draw themselves back into his body. Everything in him aches at the transformation.

His Father's cold eyes are still locked with his.

The seraphs pour fresh holy water to the ground and begin the chant again:

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

It hurts no less the second time - the fire smiting him down, drawing back out the form that had just folded itself into him. His face tears into four; his wings again force their way from his back. His legs buckle beneath him, forcing him to the ground before burning away entirely. The metal of his hands breaks apart into floating shards, and thin wheels of gold extricate themselves from the gold plates of his waist. His vision blurs as hundreds of new eyes burst open upon the wheels, every single one trained on his Father's own unforgiving gaze as he watches the angel morph again. He feels the melting of the metal in his new wings, and feels with anguish the searing of the metal against the feathers of the same, as both shift shape to rounder wings that wrap the fire all around him.

Vaguely, Simeon can hear the echoing roar of his own lion's face as it is engulfed by the flames, followed by the eagle's caw, and the human scream. The ox face left behind stretches into a sphere of hollow rings of gold, and yet more eyes merge their way into his vision.

And then, in a flash, cold hits his skin, the fire retreating into the holy water as suddenly as it had come, pulling all his ophanic features back into his human-like form.

His father's contemptuous stare continues to bore into him.

Are you still so defiant now?

Is he? With the dizzying slew of transformations, Simeon can hardly think straight to even consider the question. His mind is still catching up to the vision of one thousand eyes bursting into existence across his body. His head is throbbing, and trying to cradle it in his hands only leads to the still-hot metal chains searing marks into his wrists.

What he does know for certain, however, is that his Father is far from done. Seraph, to Cherub, to Throne, to Dominion, to Virtue, to Power, to Principality, to Archangel. Step by step, stage by stage, the demotion ceremony would continue. There is still a long, long way to go.

As if reading his mind - and knowing his Father, he probably is - the ritual begins again.

Holy water. Hands clasping. The same prayer, again.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

The third time, he releases himself easily to the fire, giving in to it at once as it draws out his chariot-like Throne form, but it doesn't burn any less all the same. Wheels, rings, eyes - all dissolving to the flames, blasting apart and falling from his form.

For a moment, fire is all he is - no body, no mind, only soul and blazing heat. And then the pyre takes shape - brilliantly burning stars for arms, a halo of embers, sparks shifting constantly in his belly. His hands twist long and thin - one into a sword, the other to a sceptre, planetary orbs swirling into existence at opposite ends of each. A mass of dark matter settles as his face, and tiny galaxies piece themselves together beneath him for legs.

Simeon grasps helplessly at balance, trying to stabilize a form made of formlessness. He can feel himself spilling out of himself and coming back together, pulsing without edges, and all the while still - burning, burning, burning. Wet tears form but are immediately lost in the void of his shapelessness.

When he is abruptly returned again to human form, he is thankful just to feel himself contained within a definite body again, grateful to feel the warm wet streaks as the tears welling at the edges of his eyes roll down solid cheeks.

Yet, again, still trapped with the other definite - the harsh stare of his Father.

Any strength left in his legs leaves him, and he collapses to the ground, ignoring the pain as his wrists pull against the hot gold of the chains yet again. On his chest, too, the metal constricts against him as he frantically gasps for air.

It's almost a surprise to him that they give him this moment to recover - though, having been a seraph himself as recently as an hour ago, he knows it's purely out of strict adherence to the rules of the ritual, not out of any kind of sympathy for him.

When he pulls himself together enough to stand again, Michael motions to Uriel. Three levels down, which means he has fallen to the Middle Order already. Time to adjust the bindings accordingly.

"I'm sorry," Uriel whispers quietly to him, maintaining expressionlessness as he wraps new, thinner chains around him, reaching further along his arms and chest than before.

Bitterly,Simeon thinks to himself that there is no apologizing for this - it was voted upon, and it was unanimous. But he knows, too, that the other seraphs had no choice either. Their Father had demanded this verdict, and none of them could ignore a direct order from him.

Doing so was, after all, precisely why Simeon himself was in this situation now.

So without breaking eye contact with their Father, he responds simply, "Don't be. Or you'll be next."

His former peer completes the rest of his work in silence, and as soon as he resumes his place in the circle, the ritual begins again.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

Going from Dominion to Virtue is an almost welcome reprieve, relative to the earlier transformations. Fire strikes him down again, but Simeon braces himself this time for the feeling of nothingness as the edges of himself fall away, galaxies and empty space bursting from inside him. A million stars explode into existence along his body, then explode again out of it, the black holes left behind dancing with the heavenly flames coursing through him.

Gradually, the fire slows and hardens. The light of embers flickers through cracks in molten rock left behind along his core. His wrists, too, tremble with new mass as crags form beneath the chains, connected to his shoulders only by stormy flashes of lightning. Dark clouds fill his form like billowing smoke, and he almost feels like he will choke on his own existence. Blinding rings of light wrap themselves along his limbs like snakes. He is at once heavy and weightless, dark and light, chained and unmoored.

In this confusing contradiction of his newest form of existence, Simeon is almost glad for the holy fire and icy glare of his Father. He clings to them as his anchor, however painful of one to hold onto, lest his mind drift too far away and leave him entirely. Or is it better to lose himself by letting go, than to focus on the pain? He isn't sure, but he's not certain that he will come back to himself if he doesn't hold on. So he clings to the thread of stability he has, embracing the burning as best he can.

It makes it all the more jarring when the heavenly flames abruptly retreat again, leaving him solid and cold, everything around him a blur except his Father. The sudden chill sends an involuntary shiver through him, echoed by rattling chains reverberating through the chamber.

He shuts his eyes, tries to reorient himself. Deep breaths. Halfway through now. Just three more, and it will be done. His fall from grace will be complete, and he'll be free. Or at least, as free as the angels ever are, given their roles as God's warriors and messengers. But he'll be out of this ceremony, freed of these chains. And...then what? A low-level grunt worker, to be bossed around by all his former equals in this room?

Maybe that's a good thing. At least, that's what he tries to tell himself. True, a demotion is a demotion, and he'll have less power available to him, less respect from the other angels. Less freedom to do as he pleases. But in truth, can he say he's ever had that much freedom? Isn't that why he's here now? Because he never really had that freedom in the first place - just the space to do the things his Father approved of, which had just happened to be the same things he'd wanted to do, until now. And at least, once his full demotion is complete, perhaps the freedom he loses in the work he does will be a worthwhile exchange for being freed of the pressures of being a seraph, from being always close to their Father and his strict command.

That's what he thinks, at least, until he opens his eyes again and sees his Father still staring down at him.

There is no escape from me, his Father's voice taunts in response, and Simeon isn't quite sure whether the voice in his head is actually sent by his Father or just created from his own fear.

Regardless, another half of the ceremony is still to come, and so it must continue.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

Heavenly fire comes down, and his insides ignite once more. His legs stretch and split apart into glowing rings; his arms turn stormy again. His chest hardens back to molten rock, tightening against his attempts to breathe before breaking apart, leaving trails of flame and lava dripping down through the rings of light below. The dark clouds throughout his form catch fire as well and burn away to steam and smoke.

His shape changes less drastically now as his rank falls lower and lower, yet the heavenly fire lingers longer this time. The transformation aches through him, new pieces stretching and pulling themselves into place.

Slowly, thin metal plates emerge through the fire and settle as his new face, locking his expression to neutrality - as if mocking the neutrality he'd tried to take in the war. More sheets of steel fold themselves together into layers of a round shield for a torso. A ring of eyes opens along the outer border of the shield, confusing his vision again, along with six larger eyes in a circular pattern around the center. It takes his mind a moment to catch up to processing all of them, trying to orient to so many new perspectives all turned to different directions. Thorns prick all over as two long rose stems grow from his chest, wrapping themselves around his neck, and another eye opens at the center of each flower. Sharp golden wings extricate themselves from his back, and a harsh golden halo slices in an arc behind his head.

Simeon clenches his fists as the flames travel through him, clinging to his insides and pulling his new form gradually, painfully back in. Unlike the previous times, it holds onto him on its way down to the holy water this time. He feels every inch of his wings scraping against his returning flesh as they drag themselves back inside his body, as with the rest of the form.

It's strange - angel transformations are usually instant. They aren't meant to be this slow.

That's when it sinks in that this isn't just rote punishment for law's sake - it is spite. He lifts his gaze again to see that his Father's cold expression has not changed at all, but there is wrath in those eyes. He can feel fury emanating from the light that always surrounds him.

Simeon has never heard of their Father drawing out a punishment for vengeance's sake before. This ceremony, the entire demotion process, was always just a ritual that was part of a judgment given for the sake of upholding a realm of law and obedience. But then, their Father had also never personally weighed in on a trial to tell the seraphs what way to vote until this, either. And there is no mistaking the anger coming from him now.

All for choosing neutrality...?

No, that's not it. It's not for choosing neutrality; it's for not choosing against Lucifer. The realization dawns on him - this isn't about him, never was about him or his refusal to fight. It is about Lucifer. It is about their Father's most beloved angel until the war, rebelling against him. It is about the fact that the war that ensued was the first time any of the angels had ever really questioned their Father's rule. It is about reminding everyone in this room of his power as the unmistakable, undeniable ruler of the Celestial Realm.

This is not about punishing Simeon. It is about punishing Lucifer.

And for the first time since his trial began, Simeon is truly, deeply afraid. He had known that the punishment for his refusal to fight would be intense and painful, but he had prepared himself for that when he made his decision in the first place. But to be a proxy for punishment against Lucifer for rebelling, now that the Morning Star himself was out of reach, fallen to the Devildom?

But the realization has come far too late, and there are two more rounds of this still to go.

New holy water flows down to his feet, and the seraphs begin the chant again.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

The heavenly fire burns hotter this time than any of the ones before, and in the fog of pain, the knowledge that the last one will only be worse briefly flits across his mind. But his thoughts are quickly pulled away by what is now a slow, excruciating transformation back into the form that had just left him moments ago.

His wings cut their way out of his back again like jagged knives, hot from the blazing heat pushing them from his body. They quickly melt away as they exit him, dripping molten streaks of metal down his back, as do the sheets of steel making up his shield-like frame. The liquid metal snakes its way down him, hardening back into rough shards cutting against his feet as they reach the holy water below. His neck feels choked with prickling flames as the blaze travels up the thorny stems of the roses growing from his chest, framing his face with fire.

The chains binding him stretch and grow, twisting themselves up his arms and wrapping his torso in a constricting suit of armor that feels more like it's meant to squeeze the life out of him than protect him. Each ring burns itself against his newly reforming skin beneath, merging into his flesh - it is not actually armor, after all, but a part of his own body. The metal continues threading its way up him, wrapping his neck, his face, his hair, until it grows past him into a twisting, tulip-shaped crown atop his head. From the flames at his core, jewels start pushing their way out of him, each one piercing him on its way out, and they spin together into a blinding orb in front of him. From his fingertips, thin needles of yet more metal prick as they join the gems, sending a reverberation of eerie music through the hall as they merge to form a long, thin scepter.

Simeon can feel his mouth being pried open by the flames, or perhaps it is being burned away entirely - in the shifting uncertainty of transformation, he's not quite sure which. Against his will, his voice joins the echoing notes of the scepter, until the sounds accumulate and stretch into haunting shriek.

And then, all at once, the flames leave him, the form of Principality leaves him, the scepter and the armor and everything leave him - and he is left standing, alone, silent, cold, enchained, mouth still agape with the memory of the sounds that had just moments before been wrenched from his throat.

He gasps for air, shuts his eyes as he readjust his vision from the now-gone blinding light of the jeweled scepter. Phantom pinpricks still tingle at his stomach, and for a moment, he almost thinks he's going to vomit. Still, he hangs on to the barest shred of dignity and composure until the feeling passes, and waits for the pain of everything to subside.

When he opens his eyes again, he meets the gaze of his Father in almost a plea. Stop this. Please. I am not Lucifer. Lucifer is gone.

But if his Father can hear the begging of his thoughts, as he seemed to hear him earlier, he doesn't show it. He doesn't respond at all, merely staring Simeon down with the same ice cold stare he's held this entire time. And the ceremony continues.

Michael waves to Uriel, who steps forth to replace the chains again. Simeon is down to the Lower Order now, the last and lowest ranks of angels. Redundant as it feels to replace his bindings, given all the transformations that have already happened, the ritual demands it.

Uriel doesn't meet his eyes this time - despite his remorse, he keeps in mind Simeon's earlier words of warning. But he can't quite bring himself to do this with pride, either. Just earlier that day, they had still been colleagues and equals. It's a cold reminder that no matter how strict or obedient any of them are, their Father is the ultimate in charge, and they are all only one displeasure away from the same fate. Likewise, Simeon avoids eye contact, neither ashamed nor proud of his current state.

The chains are even more slender now, almost elegant in the way they snake around his wrists. As a seraph, he could have broken these new chains easily, but now as a principality, they're more than enough to hold him. Deep inside, he can still feel the great well of power within him, but as if a glass cloche sits in the way, he knows instinctively that he can't summon any of that strength anymore. He will never be able to again.

Somewhere, just as deep inside, he starts to question whether he even wants to - to access the strength given him by the one now putting him through all of this.

He pushes the feeling far away though. He should be grateful that, following the war, he wasn't equally cast out of the Celestial Realm, shouldn't he? Those who had fallen, they were informed, had met a far worse fate. Lucifer and his brothers flit across his mind; though he wasn't close with all of them, he wonders if they are okay. Lucifer, at least, proud and full of conviction, surely must have made it out with his head held high as ever, right? What fate had befallen him worse than this, that Simeon was experiencing now...?

When Uriel finishes and retreats back to his place, Simeon hangs his head down, giving up on his silent begging to his Father. It's clear at this point that there is no mercy coming. Their father does not forgive; he condemns.

Until the war, Simeon had really believed that his condemnations were right and just.

But are they, after all? Can he truly believe it anymore? He had understood Lucifer well enough, but...he had really believed that trusting their Father was the right way to go. That Lucifer's rebellion was wrong. That their Father was, always, in all cases, correct, and that there was a reason for everything he did.

The cool brush of holy water at his feet pulls him back from his dark thoughts.

"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, for you created all things, and by your will, they do exist. Purify this one from all unrighteousness."

Even the heavenly fire seems to come slower, now on this final time. His Father's eyes, though still coldly distant and unreadable, almost seem to shine with the voraciousness of his vengeance.

The flames lick at his face like hounds hungry for a meal.

In the pain, time seems to slow to a stop.

And then it does. It stops. Everything stops. He doesn't feel the chain metal armor searing itself back into his skin, or the gems pulling themselves through his body. Everything falls away; all becomes just a bright, white brilliance. Simeon feels weightless.

Is this it? Has his Father abandoned the ceremony after all? Is this...

No, a booming inner voice answers him. You won't die. That's too soft for an angel like you.

"Father?" he calls back silently. His eyes would have widened, if he'd had feeling left of them to widen. So it was true, his Father could hear every one of his thoughts.

And yet, he had ignored Simeon's begging for this to stop.

I told you that you would regret defying me.

"Father, I-I'm sorry. I thought - Lucifer is so precious to us. He was acting on what he believed in. I know that he was wrong, but -"

Yes, he was. And you, Simeon. You are an angel, one of my children, my creations. And yet you dared defy me. Pathetic.

He almost wishes he could summon the courage to defy his Father again, but he is too exhausted from round after round of transformation. Instead, he feels only sorrow. For Lucifer. For the other angels that fell. For himself.

You still don't understand your lesson? Troublesome child, Lucifer wouldn't listen either. I've removed him. Miserable wretch as you are, you will learn. You ought to be more grateful I chose not to eject you too.

Darkness floods his blinded vision, and Simeon sees himself in his mind's eye. His reflection smiles sweetly at him, before its eyes widen. Its mouth twists into a scream, expression more pained even than the shrieks pulled from him in his last transformation, but rather than sound coming out, shadows spill inwards, consuming him.

As if in answer, Simeon's own soul suddenly twists equally in pain, choking on a flood of umbra enveloping him from inside, until he's unsure if the image before him is a reflection or just him seeing himself from the outside. The dusty taste of ash and soot covers his tongue, as a fire unlike the clean holy flames chokes him from within - the smoke of hellfire.

Feathers, light and dark both, explode in bursts through his body. Flurries of new wings extrude themselves from his back, pulling patchwork marble patterns in jagged edges, fighting with each other for dominance as they clash in their growth. He feels his face split into two, one side drawing the hoop of a thin metal crown behind him, while a thin horn twists out from the other and loops back over to pierce his cheek. Scattered across his hands, fingers stretch into sharp, wicked claws, while his palms turn to pure light.

Though this twisted form is removed from his actual, physical body, the heavenly fire burns harshly against him still, and harsher yet upon his new demon-like features, incinerating them away almost as quickly as they emerge from his body. His angelic elements fare hardly better, as the hellfire within him eats away at them.

And all the while, his Father's voice hums tauntingly in his mind.

Feeble excuse for an angel, you are blessed to still hold my power. Do not forget who made you. I created you, gifted you with my divine power, and I can wipe you from this existence. And it will make not a shred of difference, for I shall make another, one more obedient, who understands his place...unless, my child, you submit now. Surrender yourself back to my command, and I shan't destroy you completely. Or this will be the last of your miserable, wretched life.

Amidst the pain, the infinity of nonexistence blankets despair upon his mind in threat, an incomprehensible emptiness.

It's too much. He is not able - was not created to be able - to endure all of this agony. An infinite void, heavenly smiting, darkness corrupting, all at once - his whole soul feels on the verge of collapse.

"I swear, Father!" Simeon cries. "Please, anything! Anything you ask, I'll obey! Forgive me, please...!"

It feels like another eternity before his Father murmurs his satisfaction, letting the frozen moment fall away back to the reality of the seraph council's chamber.

The rest of the transformation ritual proceeds as before, though after the jumbled, aching blending of transforming into both angel and demon at once, turning to an Archangel feels as though it passes quickly by comparison. When the last of the fire extinguishes upon the holy water at his feet, and the chains release themselves to mark the end of the ceremony, he collapses to the ground, succumbing at last to the blissful release of unconsciousness.

--

For a long time after his demotion ceremony, Simeon cannot sleep through the night. He wakes at random times, gasping for air, from dreams of being on fire again. A few times, when he wakes, he finds his wings actually alight, as though they remember their seraph form when they used to be made of flame, and he screams at the half-asleep memory of how those wings turned to rock and tore themselves from his body. Other times, he is wrought from his rest by a phantom feeling of ash in his throat, choking on the taste of hellfire.

He wonders if these dreams are being sent to him by his Father, or by his own mind.

Which would be worse?

Night after night, he prays desperately for release, exhausted.

“Master, now dismiss your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation and for glory.”

He never receives any answer.

It is years before he makes it through a night without waking, and many years more before he manages a peaceful, dreamless night. It is centuries more before those nights outnumber the dreams of flames.

All the while, he hears the whispers and snickering of older angels as he passes through the Celestial Realm halls now, particularly from Middle Order angels smugly delighting in now outranking a former seraph. Gossip of his restless nights spreads between them, rumors flying around of the demonic screams that come from his room when all should be asleep.

Some of them wonder if perhaps he's not an angel at all anymore. Others sneer that maybe he shouldn't be.

Maybe they're right. Maybe he shouldn't be.

He doesn't enter his angel form very often anymore. He still remembers the feeling of corrupting, of horn instead of halo.

Maybe he's not fit to be an angel.

He prays again.