#his yearning for peace ; his knowledge ; watching over history . . .

[vaguelette]

eeeeeee i love al-haitham so much . . . 💕💕💕

[zapreportsblog]

Markus X Reader (any gender)

It Is dark out and the reader is in bed trying to sleep. But they couldn’t so they get up to find Markus, only to not find him and the reader being sad so they go to the library to distract their head and maybe help them get sleepy.

When the reader goes to the library, they find a book to read and sits on a chair right beside Markus usual spot.

After maybe 45 minutes Markus goes to the library looking for the reader while being worried for where they ran off, only to find them passed out on their chair, the book in hand about to fall off.

Markus relaxes and stares at the reader when the moon shines down at their body, showing the reader how relaxed they are and is in peace. And so, Markus picks up the reader to bring them back to the room and lays down beside them and watch them sleep (since vampires don’t need sleep) with a content look, wondering how he got so lucky.

Just lots of fluff 🤭〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→

Very wholesome, we need some happy moments after that sad fic I just wrote a few minutes ago

↳ moments like these ↲

✭ pairing : marcus volturi x reader

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : marcus can’t find her and that’s when the panic really starts to set in, luckily she isn’t that far from him

✭ authors note : look at this man, he needs happiness

✭ twilight masterlist

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a dim light through the curtains of (y/n)'s chamber. The room was still, the only sound being the soft rustling of the sheets as (y/n) tossed and turned, their mind a swirl of restless thoughts. Despite the late hour, sleep seemed to elude them, leaving them feeling frustrated and restless.

With a sigh, (y/n) pushed the covers aside and swung their legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floor met their bare feet, sending a shiver up their spine. The chamber felt empty, a reflection of the unease that had settled in their chest. The bond that tied them to Marcus, one of the Volturi kings, had been pulling at them relentlessly, leaving them yearning for his presence.

Determined to find some sort of solace, (y/n) left their chamber and began to wander through the vast halls of the Volturi castle. The torchlight flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with the uncertainty in their heart. They had hoped to find Marcus, to be comforted by his presence, but it seemed that fate had other plans.

After a fruitless search through the castle's corridors, (y/n) found themselves standing outside the grand chamber where Marcus often held court. They pushed open the heavy doors, their heart fluttering with a mix of hope and apprehension. But to their disappointment, the chamber was empty, the throne unoccupied.

A heavy sigh escaped (y/n)'s lips as they stepped further into the chamber, their shoulders slumping with defeat. The bond that tied them to Marcus should have been a source of reassurance, a connection that provided comfort and understanding. But tonight, it felt like a cruel reminder of what they couldn't have.

Feeling a sense of restlessness, (y/n) decided to head to the castle's library. The room was a haven of knowledge, its shelves lined with countless books that had the power to transport them to different worlds. Maybe immersing themselves in a story would help quiet the turmoil in their mind and coax them into sleep.

As they entered the library, the soft glow of lamplight enveloped them. The shelves stretched high, their contents a testament to the history and wisdom contained within the walls. (y/n) walked along the rows of books, their fingers trailing over the spines as they looked for something to distract their thoughts.

Finally, they selected a book and settled into a comfortable armchair by the window. The words on the pages seemed to come to life, transporting them to a different time and place. The stories wove a web of distraction, drawing them away from their worries and into the world of the written word.

As time passed, the tension in (y/n)'s shoulders began to ease. The stories provided an escape, a respite from the weight of their own thoughts. The library was a sanctuary of calm, a place where they could lose themselves in the pages and let go of the restlessness that had plagued them.

With each turned page, (y/n)'s eyelids grew heavier. The soft light and the comforting surroundings began to work their magic, lulling them into a state of tranquility. The turmoil of earlier seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the peaceful embrace of the words on the page.

The castle's halls were quiet as Marcus made his way towards the library, a sense of unease settling over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that (y/n) was in some kind of distress. The bond that tied them together felt like a thread pulled taut, vibrating with a sense of urgency.

As he pushed open the library doors, the soft glow of lamplight welcomed him. The room was still, the shelves of books standing sentinel as if guarding the stories within. His eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of (y/n), and that's when he spotted them.

There, in an armchair by the window, sat (y/n), their head tilted to the side and their eyes closed in sleep. The book they had been reading was precariously balanced on their lap, the pages threatening to slip from their grasp. The soft rise and fall of their chest indicated that they were lost in a deep slumber.

A mixture of relief and concern washed over Marcus as he approached (y/n). He couldn't help but marvel at the sight before him—their features softened in sleep, their expression free of the worries that often haunted them. But at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that they had been struggling, that their restlessness had driven them to the library in search of distraction.

The moon's gentle glow filtered through the window, casting a silvery light across (y/n)'s sleeping form. Their features were serene, the tension that had plagued them earlier now replaced by an air of calm and contentment. Marcus watched, his gaze fixed on them, his expression one of quiet admiration.

He had been drawn to (y/n) from the moment they had crossed paths. Their strength, their vulnerability, and the depth of their emotions had captured his attention in ways he hadn't anticipated. The bond that tied them together was a constant reminder of their connection, and as he gazed at them now, bathed in moonlight, he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder.

Quietly, Marcus approached the bed, his steps soundless on the floor. He looked down at (y/n), their features illuminated by the moon's soft rays. He reached out, his fingers brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen across their forehead. The touch was gentle, a testament to the care and affection he held for them.

With a sense of tenderness, Marcus carefully lifted (y/n) into his arms, their body light and pliant against his. He cradled them close, their head resting against his chest as he carried them back to their chamber. The bond between them seemed to pulse with warmth, a shared connection that resonated with every heartbeat.

Once inside the chamber, Marcus carefully laid (y/n) down on the bed, arranging the covers around them. He positioned himself beside them, propping himself up on his elbow as he watched them sleep. Their breathing was steady, their expression peaceful, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude that he had the privilege of being a part of their life.

As a vampire, Marcus didn't experience sleep in the same way humans did. He had lived for centuries, his existence marked by timeless nights and endless solitude. But in (y/n), he had found something that transcended his immortality—a connection that made him feel alive in ways he hadn't thought possible.

A soft smile graced his lips as he continued to watch (y/n). He traced the contours of their face with his gaze, committing every detail to memory. The moonlight seemed to dance across their features, highlighting the delicate curve of their lips and the flutter of their eyelashes.

In the quiet of the chamber, Marcus's thoughts turned reflective. He marveled at the twists of fate that had brought them together, the moments that had forged a bond between two souls. He couldn't deny the feeling of contentment that settled within him as he lay beside (y/n), his presence a silent promise of support and companionship.

As the night continued to unfold, Marcus remained by (y/n)'s side, their breaths in rhythm with each other. He knew that the road ahead would have its challenges, but he also knew that he was willing to face them alongside (y/n), their bond a source of strength that transcended the darkness.

And so, as the moon cast its glow upon their entwined forms, Marcus allowed himself to bask in the quiet beauty of the moment. He watched over (y/n), his heart filled with gratitude and a sense of wonder at the profound connection that had blossomed between them.

[cosmic-navel-gazin]

Two thoughts while reading HTBAG:

1. Those household scenes where Rumata's servants are just people being people with their mundane nighttime routines and ridiculous morning chatter and everything about those, I'm literally falling in love with them (the people, the scenes, and also I want to shake Rumata by the shoulders but also his hypocritical contempt for both his fellow observers and Don Reba (I keep calling him Lord Fish in my head bc like ryba is fish in Russian iirc?), is giving me so many thoughts my GOD)

2. Ohhhhhhh boy has Anton been away from Earth far too long, he's gone head first into that rose-tinted nostalgic romanticising of home, huh? 👀

1- YESSSSSS thank you I also fell in love with those household scenes! I keep coming back and reread them once in a while and I distinctly remember thinking when I first read them: "Came for the moral and ethical dilemmas, the philosophical debates and the "don quixote in space-esque" setting, stayed for all that AND the domestic scenes!

Love how you see Rumata's frustrations with his fellow earthlings also turn on himself (he's very self-aware), and you see it develop into this intense self-hatred as you read through aaarghhhh I love it.

"is giving me so many thoughts my GOD" - throw them at me friend please I need them! I want all the thoughts! I YEARN!

2- OH THAT'S A GREAT OBSERVATION ACTUALLY! Didn't quite think about it that way but I see it! I personally took those bits where he thinks about how things were on Earth as being very true, as idealistic and dreamlike as they are. It just went to show how in over their heads the earthlings actually are. That having grown up in this idyllic place, it's one thing to read about/have watched on a screen/studied the atrocities happening far away on an alien planet (or on your own planet's distant history), it's another to live there and get to know the people who are suffering as individuals and not just nameless masses. That in spite of all their accomplishments, and knowledge, there is a naiveté to the earthlings that is to be expected because at the end of the day they still grew up in that safe peaceful place and there really is no amount of training that could've prepared them for suddenly living in the opposite environment. "We’re babes in arms" - Anton recognizes at one point, not that different from when they were kids playing their role-playing games in the woods during the prologue.

Going off on a tangent here but I really like this bit in chapter 2 because yeah, it's easy to call yourself a humanist when everyone's a nice decent person back on utopian earth:

"It turns out that the reservoirs of humanism in our souls, which seemed bottomless on Earth, dry up at an alarming rate. Holy Míca, we were true humanists over there, on Earth. Humanism was the backbone of our personalities; in our worship of Man, in our love of Man, we even approached anthropocentrism..."

Anyway I'm rambling I just wanted to add that it's also possible that maybe, like Kira, I just really wanted to believe Rumata's descriptions of Earth because I needed some source of hope. If in spite of everything they made it on Earth, then there's hope for Arkanar too.

[skiyoosmi]

to the stars above | z.

featuring. zhongli (genshin impact)

genre. fluff, angst, smut, ancient-liyue!au

word count. 5.4k

marga's notes. aAAAa look look, it's my first commission!! school has kept me really occupied for like the past month but after pulling a few all-nighters, i've finally finished my responsibilities along with this little baby! once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to my bubs @ramannnn for trusting me with this one <33

Nobody knows when the world began, how it came to be and why it continues to be. Even I, whose mind is filled with nothing but wonder for it, have no idea. One thing I am quite sure of... is how mine did.

It all started with him— a man of many titles, different identities yet at the end of the day, all these monikers are the same; it's all him. He adored Liyue more than anything else, knew it like the back of his hand. He went where the winds lead him, stayed where the moon shines upon him, stood where the golden sun kissed his skin. He found serenity in the walks he travels as he goes about his day, the sceneries his eyes take in and the calm sounds the nature resonates for him. And as if it was fate decided upon by the Celestia, it led him to me. Suddenly, my little world that used to be nothing became everything... quickly and all at once.

An exasperated sigh escapes from my lips, frustration and disappointment filling my whole being as I stare at the blank parchment paper I held in my hands. Another day was again wasted with no progress, I thought, mentally beating myself up for not being productive enough. Before I could further drown myself into such pessimistic ideas, I snap out of it and let my eyes cherish the view that lies ahead of me. Though I feel a little guilty for taking Vermeer's place, I can only whisper an apology with little to no sincerity. Because truly, nothing can beat the picturesque landscape of Luhua Pool— the crystal clear waters that would most probably reflect my face like a mirror if I were to ever look at it, the ruins that ignited the spark of curiosity within me, wondering about the pasts it holds and the stillness and feeling of peace it gives me as I sit in this cliff. Feeling somewhat a bit better, I place my things on top of the old bag I bring no matter where I go. There's always a better day for writing, I tell myself as a form of consolation, bringing my slim arms up to begin stretching. I've been sitting on this log for quite a long time now, after all.

"It seems like you are in a bit of a dilemma," a deep voice comments from behind me. Out of surprise, I lightly jump and turn my head towards the stranger. Right at that moment, it felt as if all the air circulating inside my body had been depleted. Captivating was an understatement as to how he appeared before me. With the sunlight striking his face and accenting his unique features further, he stood with his hands behind him, head tilted as he looked at me with interest, all while keeping his dignified posture.

"Oh, hello. I am afraid so, yes," I respond, or rather, mutter under my breath since I was not really used to having sudden encounters with other people, nor am I fond of it. I tend to keep to myself, finding it much more peaceful than having to tend to others' overbearing expectations and demands which is partly the reason why I chose to live in the outskirts, far from the center of Liyue that contrasts my comfortable abode, "I apologize. I failed to realize that somebody other than Vermeer liked to stay here," I told him, arching my eyebrows a little when he let out a breathy chuckle.

"Oh, you have no need for such formal apologies. I do not always go here, at least probably not as often as the man you call Vermeer. I was simply taking a walk and I think I got carried away by Liyue's view and eventually, my feet led me here," he explains, a hint of sheepishness present in his tone, "and I guess I'll have to thank my feet for that."

Because it led me to you, interesting one. For many years, it will remain unspoken, kept by the strange man to himself and unveiled once his heart gives up from the resistance he upholds.

For the following hours of lounging around Luhua Pool, I learned a lot about the stranger— he calls himself "Morax," and like the god of Liyue, he enjoyed history and is extremely knowledgeable about it, aspiring to know and understand everything of the world, he often brews tea, even going as far as inviting me once I am free from any form of work. Just as he shared facts about himself, I did too.

"So, Cheng, you said you have a bit of a dilemma?" he inquires, slightly angling his head towards the direction of the side I'm sitting on. I nod my head up and down, mouth forming into a small pout of disappointment as I remember that today has not been that progressive.

"Yes. I am trying to write a novel, you see. Something that will leave an impact on this world so that even if I may pass, I will still live on the memories of people," I tell him, an ambitious expression present on my face. He hums, eyes going over the terraces that make up the current view we have and the two huge statues standing by the ruins, "Why so?"

I pause for a moment to think of a reply, "I guess I just do not want to let someone alone in this cold world. Wouldn't that be too cruel and sad, to just leave them with nothing?"

If I'm able to write words that will provide comfort to my readers, then maybe... just maybe the world will be less lonely... even for just a little bit. At least, that's what I thought as silence consumed us, the sun setting as if to remind us that finally, another day is nearing its end. Now, what will tomorrow bring?

"Well then, I do hope I will be able to read at least some of your works at least once," he speaks as he stands up, lightly dusting away his clothes, "It certainly has been a pleasure to be your company, Cheng."

As he walks down the slope of the hill, his somewhat broad back facing me, I call out, "Will you be back?"

He stops and turns, a soft smile is plastered on his face as he responds, "Only time will tell."

But time was no friend of mine. At least that's what I have come to realize as many days passed without him returning to this place. Though maybe it's only because it almost felt as if time slowed down and I was only eager to see him again, something I have scolded myself to— what a fragile heart do I have to already seek a stranger's presence? That is what others call love at first sight, a devilish portion of my mind whispered cheekily within me and I gasped in disbelief, "Absolutely not," I lightly slap both of my cheeks, "I'm just too coped up in my own world. I probably need to go see more people."

That thought remains a simple yearning though because once again, I find myself lounging around the same spot in Luhua, a quiet hope ignited within me, fulfilled when I hear the familiar voice he adorns as he speaks, "You're here."

I release a sound that is between a giggle and a breathy chuckle, "And I see your feet had led you here once more?"

"They were curious, or should I say... I was," he explains as he takes a seat beside me, his posture remaining solid despite the uncomfortable position.

"Of what?" I ask.

"Of you," he simply replies, unaware of the sudden yet unsurprising effect it had on my heart that was already beating rapidly with just his mere presence. I try not to be so showy of it though, too embarrassed to even think of how fast I became fond of him.

But it was no wonder. After all, he himself was an interesting one; from the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, and the way he's just him... all and every action hold so much dignity that it just leaves me almost breathless and in awe every single time my eyes finds their way to his figure— and to think that this was just our second meeting? My mother would most probably let out the most shameless giggle as I tell her these thoughts, pushing me and teasing me like a normal person in their teens would. I shake my head to get out of these thoughts, listening to Morax as he tells another wonderful tale, almost making me think that he lived it himself with how he knew it, going over even with the smallest details.

"You know, Morax, you have such a good memory to remember all of those things despite simply hearing about it," I suddenly speak up in the midst of the silence that engulfed us while he tries to think of the next story to tell, "I hope I can stay in them too... in your memories, I mean. I know I am far from being the most interesting person but for some reason, I wish for that."

He pauses, eyes trailing slowly towards me, beyond my knowledge, before he lets out a somber smile. You already are, is another one of him that becomes an afterthought.

I heaved out a sigh before shaking my head again, "Ah! Why do I keep having such lonely thoughts? Forget about that. Please do not mind me, alright? I think I really need to stop being stuck in the mountains."

I pick up my small bag and shuffle inside it, letting out a quiet sound of 'aha!' as a sort of celebration when I successfully got a small book out, "Here."

He blinked his eyes in confusion, wondering what it was I handed to him so I spoke in delight, "You told me you wanted to read at least one of my works so, here. I am warning you though, it is not like the ones that sell best in the bookstores. It might bore you, or weird you out like what others say."

"What others say?"

"They say it's too unrealistic, too impossible... but I believe otherwise. We live in a world where gods and adepti watch over us. What makes my story impossible then?" I ponder, him still being confused.

"What is it about anyway?" He asks, having no idea of what the context my book had.

"It's about an archon who began living as a simple man in Liyue."

Our meetings became more frequent after that and eventually, we got comfortable with even just the presence of each other, having no need for long talks and such, but just peace. Today, like any other day, Morax was just reading the book I gave him, while I was thinking of what my next story would be about. Occasionally, he looks at me with an odd expression that is almost equivalent to astonishment, as if I have done something so great that it made him look at me that way.

"What made you think of this plot?" he asks all of a sudden, not forgetting to put a piece of paper that served as a bookmark on the page where he stopped just in case he accidentally closed it.

I hum, thinking about my answer to his question, "Hmm. Truth to be told, it was just a mere wonder for me. Archons and the adepti, although not entirely immortal, live so much longer than an average human does, watching over us as we go about our daily lives, waiting for sudden wars to break out and then fight the enemies that attack us. Growing up, those were the things that all the people around me told me. So I began to wonder, do they ever get tired? Is it not too taxing to keep on doing that? What if... they just lived with us, among the crowds? Because I think it is too lonely wherever they are. Would it not be better if they were with us, rather than above us, so they could at least have memories to live by?"

Morax does not give a response, or rather, he finds it difficult to find one. Still, it does not stop the affection that spreads within him. He does not say it out loud, but for someone who prefers to be alone, Cheng was full of empathy. And somehow, that did wonders to Morax's heart.

"Now that I think about it, I kind of actually want to address my books to them now," I hum once more, "It would be like a message for them: Do not be too lonely even if we pass. Because of your help, through these stories, we can show you that we lived a good life."

I huff as soon as I finish my sentence, "Although one of those who read it said that was impossible, because according to them, why would archons give up their power to live a life where there is only simplicity?"

Morax let out a sound that made it look as if he got offended himself, "Archons can do that, can they not?"

"I know! That was what I was saying to them. Anyway, I am not forcing them to like what I wrote. It's just a story, after all. It can do no harm," I shrug, beginning to fix my belongings as the sun began to set, "I should go now, Morax. It is still quite a long walk to my home."

"I want to live a good life too," he suddenly tells me, making me halt and turn to him in confusion, "With you. The good life and memories you shall tell in your stories, can I be part of them too?"

The universe does not stop for anyone, nor does time— science will consistently proclaim this fact matter what timeline we shall live in. No matter how much someone begs to the Celestia to grant their wish of controlling, or stopping time, no one will be able to do such things. But somehow, it seems like when it comes to him, everything is possible as I feel my world stop at his words, just like the way it also began when I met him. And as if planets were colliding with each other, I suddenly felt my heart crash upon him and as if out of instinct, I let go of the truth.

"Of course. It would be the greatest thing to have you."

Life was strange in its own way. That is what I have come to realize in this simple life of mine.

Despite the fact that the "me" of the previous year has never even thought about putting my whole being on my sleeve, it is pleasingly odd how right now, I find myself in this kind of situation with the man who swept me right under my feet and claimed my heart as his.

“You're cold," I whisper amidst the silence of the night in my abode, my index tracing the ears of the man who had me sitting right on his lap, the shorter strands of his silky hair tucked behind them. So, so alluring.

He takes hold of my wrist, planting a soft kiss on its side, all while maintaining eye contact as he quietly drawls, "Then I suppose you can keep me warm tonight. Will you?"

As if in a trance, I nod my head, letting him take the lead as he laid me down, back against the soft mattress, him following on top with his arms supporting his build. With arising confidence, I circle my arms around him and pull him down, bringing our lips together, a sigh of relief escaping both of our mouths as if to say, "Finally."

I wonder if he thinks the same way as I do— that this was Celestia in its own way. I felt like I could do anything as long as it was with him. The kiss felt like the power we once suppressed from each other became a supernova that changed our world's course all of a sudden. But despite the tension and heat we both emitted at the moment, there is a warmth that engulfs me the same time he fully wraps his arms around me.

I am here. I will always be here.

No noise disturbs the peace we have created, only the quiet sound of crickets reach our ears but even that fails to distract him from what he's doing. He gently tugs on the sash that keeps my coat tied. Nimble fingers explore the remains of my clothing, loosening all until I am set free from them.

His eyes raked over my body, an expression of awe plastered on his face for so long that it made me somewhat conscious. Because as he unravels his to me, I am enlightened by the fact that my figure is nothing worth comparing to his — not even close. A hint of sweat glints from his skin due to the moonlight, making him look even more ethereal. But who was I to complain?

So instead, I look down, fiddling a little with my fingers as I feel my cheeks heat up. How is it that I only realize now what kind of situation we are currently in? Before I further drown in such shameless thoughts, he lifts my head up by the chin, an amused look on his usually-gentle face, "Are you feeling shy, beloved?"

I meekly nodded, to which he lets out a soft laugh and whispers, "Don't be. You are the epitome of beauty itself. If you don't believe me, allow me to show you nothing but truth tonight, I swear under the moon and all these stars."

He dips down and captures my lips in a kiss once again with more passion, if it was still even possible.

"You are made for me, as I'm made for you," he proclaims as he thrusts inside me after minutes of preparation, soft pants and groans following his statements. I can only whimper in response, pain evident in my tone at first with my hands lightly clawing at his back. I pray to the heavens above that they don't leave awful marks after this.

He halts and utters an apology, thumb caressing the bone of my cheeks while he waits for me to adjust. He scans my face after a few seconds, relief flashing in his eyes when I nod for him to continue.

"I... b..." I try to speak out but the pleasure overwrites any sensical thought that goes through my mind. He slows down a little, looking over my face and smiles, urging me to talk.

"Stay with me, beloved. We still have all night," he tells me, encouraging me to voice what has been on my mind.

"I... I belong to you, always have and always will..." I manage to croak out, voice quite hoarse due to the sounds that I let out previously. Perhaps pleased with what I have proclaimed, he begins going even deeper and at the same moment, I begin falling deeper.

"Yes, yes, you do," he repeats like a mantra, his voice sounding more and more desperate to reach his high. I cry out with him, creating a harmony that even the best bards shall be ashamed.

It was a long night— the longest yet most beautiful night I have ever had in this simple life of mine. And in that moment, as we reach the stars together, I knew right there and then that this man is someone who will be etched in my heart for as long as I live, deep into its roots— for him, it shall beat and it shall love.

You, who are reading this, most probably have had enough of these teeth-rotting praises I kept on writing. But what can I do except to apologize? These words are the only ones that can flow out of my mind and mouth to show how magnificent it was to be loved by him.

Well, nothing significant really changed. He was still the same gentleman I met, if anything, more gentle. Just like in the beginning, he made my heart flutter every chance he gets, no matter how many years have already passed.

We built a dynasty together.

But maybe I should have known that ours were also bound to crumble like the ones that have long existed even way before us.

Days, months and years went on, I realized that he was actually the opposite of me— unlike me who was clearly not parallel with time, he held it right on the palms of his hand. I was not blind, nor was I a fool, I can clearly see how he looks like he has not aged a day, all while I was here, maturing more and more each second that passed by, the amount of signs of me aging increasing significantly.

Morax. Knowledgeable of history as if he lived it himself. Time. All these thoughts eventually congest my mind as realization dawns upon me. He was not merely a man named after the god himself— Morax was him, he was Morax.

"How appalling," I mutter with a hint of sadness and dismay in my tone. I stood in front of the mirror, fingers hovering over my face, wrinkles appearing as I scrunch it. A pair of firm arms snake its way around my lean waist, chin resting on one of my shoulders as he hums his words, "What has got your beautiful mind occupied, my beloved?"

Taking hold of his arms, I turn my body around to face him, a somewhat melancholic smile etched on my face as I look up at his much taller frame, "You are a sight to behold, even to this day." He arches one eyebrow out of amusement and curiosity, wondering why I suddenly started pouring him compliments. After all, my shyness prevents me from consistently doing so. Nonetheless, I continue speaking, "I wish... I could be with you even when everything changes into a whole new world."

I lifted a hand up to cup his cheeks and began rubbing it lovingly, a lone tear finally dropping from my eye as soon as I closed it, "but I cannot, I do not have the ability to do so... I am but a mere mortal, after all."

His eyes widen as he finally discerns my actions and concerns, immediately opening his mouth in hopes of consoling me but I beat him into speaking, "It's alright, Morax. I have been putting the pieces together for a while now. I am in no way angry. I just..." I pause, gulping hard before my lips start to quiver, "... I cannot imagine how lonely it must have been. And now... I think about it and I... I do not want to leave you alone again."

My cries eventually start becoming louder, something that is very new to the both of us, seeing as I have always been composed. Love can change a person into a whole new being. I remember a book I have read once and at the moment, I can only agree. Maybe it was the way my heart clenches at the mere thought of him walking alone, or the way I can imagine us taking our last breaths together yet I know that will never happen— but either way, it was painful.

He whispers sweet nothings to my ears, placing light kisses on my temple as he leads us to the bedroom to rest once my tears have finally ceased and I have calmed down. His hold on me gets tighter every time I let out a small hiccup due to crying, almost as if he was telling me that he was feeling the same pain as I was.

Hours pass by as we lay in silence. My tears have long dried up but we remain coped up in each other's arms.

"Would it not be interesting if you bear the name Zhongli?" I ask him in a somewhat croaky voice.

He peers down and tilts his head, "Now where did that thought come from?"

I shrug, or at least try to, and look up at the ceiling as we shift our positions to lay on our back, hands finding one another and intertwining, "Hmm... nowhere. Just a name I wanted to give you in case that you are needing a new one."

"Oh? How come it would be interesting then?"

I look at him with a comforting yet sad smile.

"Because it means it's time to leave, to go somewhere far away... and unfortunately, I will have to leave soon."

He furrowed his eyebrows together, "Do not say that. Who knows? Maybe you will be able to live a hundred years by my side. Besides, I think it sounds lonely. I do not think I would want to get reminded of the fact that you are not here with me."

I hum, "But if you bear the name I gave you, wouldn't it feel like I never went away? That no matter where your feet take you, no matter how far you go, I am and will always be with you, just as I have vowed."

The wooden door leading to my writing room slowly slides open and Morax's head peers in, an adorable smile plastered on his face, "You have been quite busy these days, beloved. I do not wish to disturb you but I am starting to long for your presence."

I let out a shameless giggle, "Alright, alright. Just let me write down a few more words while I still have ideas to input."

He peeks on the parchment paper out of curiosity, taken aback when he finds his name on it, "You are writing about us?"

I nod proudly, "My last piece."

"... But why?"

I smile and approach him, taking his hand and placing my forehead against his after he lowers his head down to my level, "I told you, did I not? I do not wish to leave the person I love with nothing. So that you will not be lonely, my words will be with you. I will be with you, always..."

"... and to tell the gods... to tell you, that I loved every second of my life with you— that it was, indeed, a good life."

"Who are you, young man? Are you my son?" I speak with a very hoarse voice, squinting my eyes at the figure in front of me, as if my poor vision will allow me to do that.

I hear a melancholic yet gentle sigh come from him before he takes my rough hands and looks afar, "Don't mind me. I'm just someone who vowed to be with you for as long as time lets us."

"Oh.... really? That’s quite endearing," I hum, "Well, may I know your name?"

"This… I think I may just have an idea to whom this book is for," Paimon trails off, looking over at the traveler who was in the same trance as her, "Paimon thinks we should let the strange person we saw a while ago give this directly to Zhongli!"

Lumine nods, turning around and starting to run towards the direction they were at previously, recalling the person named Cheng who gave them the novel they just finished reading. They were unique, dressed in layers of robes and it was almost as if they lived in the old times of Liyue. Even the way they talked and moved screamed ancient.

Just as they turned the corner, a woman near the Liuli Pavilion called them over, "Traveler! Here!" As they approach, Lumine cranes her neck to look around the area but to no avail, the strange person was long gone.

"Are you two alright?" the woman asks, much to their confusion, "I saw you talking to literal air awhile ago and I was worried you have eaten something strange."

The pair looks at each other in surprise before Paimon replies, "You didn't see anyone? Like a person dressed in the strangest attire? They dressed really anciently!"

The door of the Liuli Pavilion opens and there goes Zhongli, a calm expression morphing to an awkward one when he realizes he barged into an ongoing conversation. He apologizes for the disturbance and despite the curiosity he had upon overhearing bits of Paimon's statements, he starts his walk back to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. At least not until he hears Paimon call his name, "Zhongli! Wait! A person named Cheng. Do you know them?"

He abruptly stops and turns to the two, eyes wide for a second before it returns to his usual demeanor, "How... how do you know of them?"

"We met them," Paimon says, as if it was the simplest thing to do, "Well, honestly, we don't know because we were apparently speaking to nothing but air! It's so odd!"

He stays still, honestly having no idea of what response he should give them because he himself found it hard to believe.

"Well anyway, they asked us to give you this nov— wait, where is it? It was just in your hands a while ago, Traveler!"

In the midst of the loud chaos made by the two in the middle of Liyue, he thinks he knows what to do and where to go now.

It was the day of the Rite of Parting, an event where he's supposed to be taking part of, even just a part of the audience. But he finds himself hanging around the Wanwen Bookhouse, eyes scanning the shelves until it stops at a familiar name engraved on the cover of a book.

"Oh! Greetings, Mr. Zhongli! I see you took a liking to a very great and romantic novel," Jifang comments as she sees the book in his hands.

He looks at her, "Is it really great?"

She gasps in delight, "Yes, indeed! Almost all of the Liyue folks have enjoyed this story! You can say it is a classic, especially for readers! Cheng definitely outdid themselves with this one! Such a mysterious person yet equally amazing. Imagine? Being able to make such a beautiful love story with Morax? They don’t mention the present name they gave Morax though, such a shame. Maybe it was due to old age, they wrote it until the last moments of their life after all. Anyway, I have to get back to work but enjoy reading that masterpiece!"

He feels his heart swell in pride upon knowing his lover had his wish come true. His nimble fingers carefully open the pages of the book and hours later, as he sat inside the Funeral Parlor after taking the novel home, he finds himself absorbing each and every word Cheng have written, the loneliness sitting idly inside him subsiding little by little.

I found solace in the countless cups of tea you brew whenever I encounter distress with my works, the endless stories you tell with a smile so beautiful that not even the most heavenly scenery can vanquish, but most of them all, the feeling of your hand intertwining with mine, providing me with serenity no one else has ever done before. Under the moonlit night of Liyue, I remember your wistful amber eyes, staring deep into my soul as you proclaim your love and desire for me. How foolish was it of me to think that I could live this life without even experiencing such warmth and intimacy?

It is a banality, really — how I wish to become a well-known writer with unique tales and yet the story I am telling is something so common to folks that they have most probably heard similar ones before. But I guess this is what it means to love and to be loved. Everything is like a cycle that just keeps on being repeated, yet we never get tired of it, of the feelings it brings. So, thank you, Morax. Words will never be sufficient to show how grateful I am to you for showing me a whole new world but I suppose this is still a way for me to give back to you.

With this little book of mine, I hope my heart reaches yours regardless of how many eras may have passed before and after us. So, my beloved, do not be too lonely without me. Even if you find yourself longing for my presence, just open this and my heart shall be with you.

This belongs to you, it always will.

And I do, as well.

[gentlemancrow]

OH MAN I MADE MYSELF SAD WITH THIS ONE OH NO OH JEEZ OH CROW WE'RE REALLY IN IT NOW. But this one was FUN. 83. I mean the prompt also just SCREAMS for something truly fucked up for Jmart and UHHHH I HOPE I DELIVERED? ENJOY EVERYONE!

Oct 5th: Nightmare/ “It’s not enough anymore.” (CWs for major character death SORT OF? References to major character death?? unreality and dreams!)

The Archivist surveys his domain from a broken throne. Crimson cast in the long fingers of light from a dying sun, what was once a wonderland, a cornucopia of horrifying delights, is now just a gutted-out carapace, gnawed clean and bleached red. Everything is sand and rusted girders and shattered glass and bone and hungry silence. What few things that still exist to shiver and be afraid are wrung dry, lifeless creatures more of sorrow and resignation, of defeat and yearning for oblivion than of fear. Sorrow still tastes of fear, in a way, but it is thin and malnourishing, a placebo to glut distended bellies on limbs too thin and weak to carry them on through the wasteland.

He has never had need to leave his ivory tower to wander, however. He can see everything, after all. The mylar veins and nerves of him root him to the core of the Earth and had drunk their fill for countless eons. He had watched from ocular buds and many-eyed vultures feeding the green dandelion iris of him sitting high in his panopticon as all of existence knelt and cracked open their skulls and chests and spilled their secrets unto his waiting pastures. There is nothing now.

No secrets, no history, no science or art or books, just the fluttering of crumpled black strips of mylar tape. The sky falls, piece by piece, and there are no stars in the wounds left behind, only the void of nothingness and crouches with wide-open jaws ready to breathe in the dust of them when they are gone. Something else bellows out, a foghorn headed thing echolocating blindly in the emptiness, searching in the hollows of a lonesome world for that feeling which cannot exist within itself. There is no one left to miss, no one left to watch, no one left to stalk in the dark, no porous flesh to make a home, no stories left to tell. No one even to bury. Their time is ending. His monarchy crumbles around him and all he has left to do is bow his crown and weep.

Tears flow from countless eyes to water the newly fecund soil beneath him and in a few scraggly, achingly defiant bursts of color, fearless primordial life makes its final stand, heedless that it too, will soon blink out of existence. The delicate, starry petaled blooms trace out an ancient shape and memorialize a long-forgotten form in final repose beside him. Always beside him, no matter where he went. They grow between eternally reaching fingers, up through the cathedral of crumbling ribs, in a halo around the head laid forever in reverence and love at his feet, lively pink and sky blue and purple for him. He lays what once must have been a head, a blushing cheek, the corner of a mouth full of teeth like marble commandments, down upon the crumbling cage of bone. If he searches long enough through the endless annals of his knowledge, he can find the sound of the heart that once beat there. There must have been a voice once. Laughter. A smile. But they’re so far away, buried so deep, and he is so weak.

He wonders if maybe he will be waiting for him, wherever he is going, wherever things like him go, if they have not exchanged existences too many times to do so just once more. He wonders if maybe one day he will close all his myriad eyes for the final time and open them again into a sea of cobalt blue. He wonders if maybe there is peace beyond the stars, if they can both lay their heads down in the silken crystal fires of creation and sleep at last, together. There is a twinge of old excitement in a thing he does not know. There is hope again in that word, maybe. Just maybe. Maybe he can see him again. For now, The Archivist just curls against the remains of that thunderous, bright chest, winds a few tendrils of tape around the half-buried fingers, and waits for extinction. Or a dream. Whichever comes for him first.

And then Jon wakes up with a strangled cry from where he was snuggled into Martin’s chest, eyes wild, streaming with sweat and fighting to fill his lungs with air. Martin catches him immediately, envelops him up in his strong arms and blankets and love and softness, peppers kisses all over his face and brings him back down into the comfort of their bed.

“Shhhh, shhhh… it’s alright, you’re alright, Jon. It was just a nightmare. I’m here, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a cosmic hymn in the wake of such complete oblivion.

“S-Sorry… I’m sorry,” Jon whispers tremulously into his chest, “It was just… it was awful.”

“I’m sorry, too. D-Did you want to talk about it…?”

Fingers glide through his hair, shedding warped images like sand into the sheets.

“Maybe. I-I… It’s hard to… put into words. Feelings mostly. Not good ones… E-Everything still feels a little fuzzy.”

Martin chuckles a little.

“They say you can tell if you’re dreaming if you try to read. Can’t read in dreams, you know.”

Jon manages a lopsided smirk.

“Is that so?”

There is a stack of books on Martin’s nightstand. Jon does not allow their titles to catch his eye.

“Aren’t you supposed to know everything now, hmmm?”

“What is there to know about dreams? We don’t know why we have them. As far as we know they serve no discernible purpose, they may as well not even exist,” he replies, tetchy academia bleeding into his still sleep-thick voice.

“But they do exist, they are something, a memory, a feeling, a fear…”

“Or all of them at once.”

Silence swells between them, punctuated by the ticking of the clock on the wall. A chaffinch sings an aria somewhere unseen.

“…Are you afraid, Jon?”

“…All the time.”

“Why don’t you have a peek at the clock, then? Clocks can tell you, too. Time doesn’t work right in dreams,” Martin continues sweetly.

Jon does not look.

“You don’t work right in dreams,” he teases instead as the edges of unreality begin to crumble.

“Oh, very original…”

Jon pays for his crimes by being tackled into the mattress and tickled, and he forgets for just a moment, the smell of desiccated plastic and sand in his nostrils and the cool touch-polished bone against his cheek. He forgets with his fingers tangled in russet curls, forgets in their tussling and kissing and laughing in the billowy cloud of their comforter, their bed, forgets until it all bleeds together into a muffled blur in his ears. He steals a furtive glance at the clock on the wall as Martin kisses his neck and shoulder and envelops him utterly.

The second-hand ticks backward just once.

And Jon no longer knows which one of them is having the nightmare, and which one of them is the nightmare.

[prettywordsyouleft]

10 Dates | The Confessions Date

Summary: Kim Junmyeon was the epitome of a perfect catch - he was successful, handsome and everything you currently didn’t want in a man. Yet after agreeing to his request to give him 10 dates in total to change your mind, you realised you might have been looking for someone like him all along.

Pairing: Kim Junmyeon x reader

Genre: dating au / romance

Warnings: none

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

After a morning spent in bed exploring one another intimately, you had walked along the River Arno, tried delicious gelato, visited more museums and monuments than you could count on one hand and eaten your weight worth in Italian bread. Another evening was spent out until the night grew old, and the sheets in your bed were ruined by the morning. It was constant heaven and when you got into a rented car to travel to Florence for the rest of your stay in Tuscany, you had believed there was a high possibility that you had already died and this was the afterlife.

It was all too magical to comprehend otherwise.

And even with all your mental preparation, as soon as you saw the Duomo in the distance, you were a lost cause. “Junmyeon, I’m sorry in advance if I cease any type of expected etiquette from here on out.”

“That overwhelmed?” he asked as you gripped onto your seatbelt, your eyes round as saucers and breathing became harder to do naturally.

“I don’t think I prepared you well enough for the history buff within me,” you explained and vaguely heard him chuckle.

You couldn’t explain it. Being in the city with so much rich history and architecture, the birthplace of the Renaissance art movement, and the place of your dreams since you were a teenager, left you utterly speechless. You didn’t know what to look at first or if your brain could even store as much as you were pleading with it to do. The hotel you stayed in held no effect on you once you found the windows, opening them up and staring out at your current world dreamily.

You flinched when Junmyeon reached around you to offer you a drink of water. It made you blink a few times before taking it. He grinned when you finally looked at him. “I should be offering you something with bubbles right now. It might calm your nerves.”

“I’m really here, aren’t I?”

He nodded, rubbing your upper arm repeatedly and you shivered. Junmyeon put his glass down on the small tabletop before encasing you in his arms.

For a moment, even with the dazzling world you wanted to memorise inch by inch, you sighed with comfort into his embrace. Since becoming intimate with him, there was no place you enjoyed more than being buried in his chest. He was always so warm and listening to his heart worked enough to bring peace to your erratic system.

You glanced up at him and shared a grateful expression and a kiss before looking back outside. “I’m glad I’m seeing all this with you, Junmyeon. My friends Kelsi and Ayla aren’t into history like I am. Which is fine, I was going to come here by myself when the time was right. But being with you makes it all that much more special.”

“You better stop with all these beautiful words you keep sharing on this trip or I might go ahead and ruin it,” he told you, blinking a few times and then looked outside, away from your sudden gaze on him.

“Ruin it how?”

“With some little words that shouldn’t come out too early,” he admitted and you smiled giddily.

“What if they come from me first?”

“I’ll call your bluff.”

You gaped at the man and pulled back to arm’s length to pout at him. “Hey!”

“Tell me when we’re back home. This place is our current paradise and it makes everything seem amazing to us right now. Those types of words need to wait until we’re back in reality.”

You thought over his reasoning and nodded. He was right, it would be all too easy with being caught up in the moment to rush ahead and say things that weren’t needed just yet. Two months could easily be enough time for someone to fall in love, and the romantic within you was certainly gearing up for it.

However, the whole reason you were hesitant to date in the first place was from those past experiences. Once you had confessed to love in the past, it crumbled away, the illusion of your adoration replaced with reality. There was no love at all, at least, not the kind you were searching to capture you for the rest of your life.

It could wait until you returned home. Until months had gone by and this dizzying honeymoon period had eased off. That was the most logical.

Your heart yearned for a little more magic, however.

By the third day in Florence, logic had all but left you. You were surrounded by a world you had travelled only through textbooks. It was right before your eyes, tantalising your senses everywhere you looked, listened and touched. When you thought you couldn’t be further impressed, you would enter another museum, exhibition or monument and fall further in love with Italy.

And with the man at your side.

As you walked around the Boboli Gardens listening to the guide over the Medici history, you found yourself thinking more about your return home than taking in everything around you. You wondered how much it would hurt to come back down to reality, to wake up in your bed back home and no longer at Junmyeon’s side. Would you be satisfied with sending him off to his dreams each night with a simple farewell over the phone instead of a kiss? Would you still see much of him once you were both back at work and pursuing the next big project? You knew he wasn’t going to just disappear from your world but you had gotten a taste of what it was like to spend time with him and you weren’t quite ready to stop doing just that.

Smiling to yourself, you decided you didn’t care how hard it would get at times; you would balance having a relationship with him. You grew excited for the comfortable moments to come, the bickering, the mundane parts to dating someone. So far, you had nothing to see Junmyeon any less for. He had ticked all the boxes you hadn’t believed he would and then some.

The adventure wouldn’t end just because you weren’t in Italy anymore.

So, when you were back in the centre of the city, you stopped walking around the Fountain of Neptune in the Piazza della Signoria and turned to Junmyeon, reaching for his hand.

“I can’t wait.”

“For dinner?” he questioned, checking his watch. “Baby, we have about an hour until our reservation.”

You stilled at the use of the nickname, your heart swelling further. Junmyeon seemed to become aware of what he said, rubbing at his neck a little awkwardly.

“Oh uh, I just said that.”

You grinned. “That you did.”

“You liked it,” he observed and you nodded quickly. A smile erased his hesitance and Junmyeon then beamed at you. “I know another secret about you.”

“I hardly would call that a secret. It’s a common nickname for a partner.”

He faltered. “Common. Maybe I need something better?”

“No,” you spoke firmly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love it… I love a lot about you.”

“You’re getting dangerously close to words we agreed we’d keep to ourselves, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to keep them anymore,” you announced, brushing your nose over his as you moved in towards his lips. “I can’t keep them to myself. I’m falling for you.”

“I’ve waited years for this,” he said softly and you blinked in confusion.

Years?

Junmyeon seemed lost in his thoughts. “I never expected you to say them so easily to me either.”

You tried to dismiss the moment. He’s meaning for a love like this. Not you specifically, you thought, still blinking in hope that would settle some of the way he had said it in your mind.

However, there was the unmistakable shift in his eyes, the same one you had seen back at his house, shrouding you from the knowledge he seemed to bear. You wished you hadn’t seen it. Been able to fool yourself into the sentence you told yourself, to hold onto those loving sentiments you both had shared.

Junmyeon knew you had seen it too and the confessions fell flat, straight into the fountain behind you, sinking like your heart was.

Was this the catch you had been waiting for unnervingly?

“Junmyeon,” you started, and watched as he moistened his lips in preparation of your heavy question. “What made you go on that first date with me?”

“The first date?” he repeated, trying to smile but it didn’t light up his eyes as it usually did. He was simply trying to buy time, figuring out his path forward. You implored him for an answer and after glancing around the bustling plaza, Junmyeon pointed to one of the alleys that would lead someplace perhaps quieter. You weren’t sure even away from all the people that your mind would silence, the buzz growing louder the longer you impatiently waited for his answer.

Eventually, he found a stone bench for you to sit down on, clasping his hands together as he looked at his feet. “It would have been much the same as it was for you.”

“Kelsi set me up with you. Her work colleague is friends with yours and showed your profile to her. I still don’t know why she put me forward instead of herself though,” you explained calmly despite the noise in your head. You closed your eyes, hoping it would settle it some. “Wasn’t it the same for you?”

“It was,” he stated slowly and then sighed. “It wasn’t the first time I was shown a person to go out on a date with.”

“Likewise.”

“Normally I would insist to Chanyeol that I was too busy to date because my career is in a pretty pivotal moment right now, if I’m honest. The last thing I needed was to start dating.”

Snapping your gaze to his side profile, you frowned. “Then why?”

“I couldn’t turn you down,” he answered, nodding along with his statement. Junmyeon’s eyes remained downcast and you wondered why he couldn’t look at you right now. What was so big that would make him feel less able to stare at you whilst he talked? His smile turned bittersweet. “Because I know you.”

“What? No, you don’t,” you corrected, your gaze narrowing on him. Finally, Junmyeon looked up, his expression sincere. “I really don’t-”

“We grew up in the same area and although we went to different high schools, I know you from back then.”

“How?”

“We did an interschool competition one year. You were on the history quiz team, remember?”

Your memories travelled back to a younger period in your life, growing clearer with the more thought you put into it. Junmyeon smiled again. “I was on the athletics team.”

Blinking some more, you tried to find the younger version of him in your memories but you came up blank. He seemed aware of this, nodding again.

“I don’t think you would remember me much. But I remember you.”

“Because of a high school competition, you decided to go on a date with me as adults? That’s nothing to be so concerned over; some might think that’s sweet.”

Junmyeon sighed heavily. “I liked you so much that I convinced a friend who I knew at your school to help me out. He gave me some pointers on how to approach you and then when it came time to, I was beaten to it.”

“Beaten?” you echoed and then sighed with realisation. “Do Kyungsoo.”

“Do Kyungsoo,” he confirmed with a light laugh, leaning back. “You dated him for what, a year?”

You were surprised he had known how long you dated for. Still, you shrugged. “Only for him to break it off when he said we weren’t compatible.”

“I had the biggest crush on someone I didn’t really know. I mean, I tried to know you. Once you meet someone, it becomes easy to see them everywhere. We have crossed paths in life, even as adults, multiple times before that date, you know.”

“Really?”

Junmyeon nodded. “I tried dating others but I guess the juvenile part of me who didn’t get the girl of my teenage dreams wasn’t satisfied. If it wasn’t you, I wasn’t interested.”

“Wow, you thought so highly of me,” you murmured, unsure of how to feel.

Should it be endearing? You felt a little uncomfortable thinking there had been moments in life where Junmyeon had watched you, had felt something for you and you had no idea he even existed.

“So when your picture crossed my desk, I thought maybe this was a sign. That’s why I agreed to the date. And then you politely turned me down. Was this what the universe had wanted me to understand all along?” Junmyeon wasn’t talking to you, but rather himself, perplexed over the concept. He then shook his head. “I couldn’t let you go this time. Not without trying. Which is why I came after you-”

“And suggested the ten dates,” you finished and Junmyeon nodded.

“But here we are in Italy, enjoying each other and our dream. Yours is the place and mine is… well, I guess, it’s you.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“I hope you would be considering I’m aware how this must sound to you.”

“It is a lot to take on,” you admitted, chewing on your lip.

“I’ve been honest about my approach this whole time, Y/N.”

“Except when you acted like it was your first meeting with me.”

“Well it was, I had only liked you from afar.”

“Maybe it’s best we leave it in the past,” you stated, standing up and inhaling a deep breath.

Junmyeon didn’t join you. “Don’t you have something to say too?”

“Me?”

“Your friends coming on that second date wasn’t a coincidence.”

“That was innocent, simply a backup plan.”

“You said yes to ten dates but wanted to ensure you could find a way out if I didn’t present well?” he surmised and you nodded.

“I didn’t know what to think back then about you. I didn’t think we matched, remember?”

Junmyeon stood up and held out his hand for yours. “Can we go back to smiling and having a good time? We have only one day left in Italy. The truths we’ve confessed to, let’s navigate them back home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, slipping your hand into his waiting one.

It didn’t feel the same as before.

_________________

Part 8

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[carewyncromwell]

[HPHL] Robert Harker/Loretta Gallagher-Harker Moodboard

“Do you remember, back in the spring, Every morning birds would sing? Do you remember those special times? They'll just go on and on in the back of my mind... Do you remember the time when we fell in love? Do you remember the time when we first met, girl?”

~“Remember the Time,” by Michael Jackson

x~x~x~x

In the late 18th century, before Bat Varney became a vampire known by the students of Hogwarts for his extensive knowledge on every subject, he was a poor Muggle-born wizard from Sheffield, South Yorkshire, named Robert Harker. When Robert was a boy, a wealthy Irish family moved into the estate down the road from his family’s rundown old cottage. Nine-year-old Robert didn’t think much of it until their daughter -- twelve-year-old Loretta Gallagher -- sat down under one of his favorite apple trees one day to read. As Bat told the story to Atticus Grimsley @cursebreakerfarrier over a hundred years later:

"There was a very pretty girl who'd just come to town. She was a few years older than me and a lot of people didn't talk to her due to her ancestry...but one day I'd been picking apples when she came over to sit under my tree so she could read. She hadn't seen me. I hadn't wanted to startle her, but I just had to know what she was reading -- so I dangled upside down over her to ask. But I ended up just a bit too close, so when she looked up -- bam. Lips locked. We were so shocked that I fell right out of the tree and she bolted. It took me another three years to approach her again." 

Robert met Loretta again at a summer ball, right before he headed back to Hogwarts for his second year. Now that he knew the truth behind his “oddities” (namely, his magical talent), had made friends for the first time in his life at school, and had a better sense of who he was, he felt a bit more confident in approaching the young lady, properly apologizing for their horrible first meeting, and inviting her to dance. Dancing in those days was a social ritual that facilitated casual conversation, so as Loretta and Robert danced, they bantered back-and-forth, the older girl lightly poking fun at Robert’s “professor-like” tendency to go on long tangents on different topics. Despite this, she was charmed by the younger boy’s intelligence and passion, and even more so by how Robert treated her more like a friend and equal than some romantic or sexual conquest. As Robert explained at the time, he would be away at school for nearly all of the year, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t socialize and visit at parties when he was in the area. And so they did. Every summer, both Robert and Loretta looked forward to reconnecting at the local summer balls, so they could take a few turns around the dance floor together and have spirited conversations about science, history, politics, and religion. Despite being the black daughter of a wealthy white Irishman, Loretta had received an extensive education with tutors at home and had also taught herself about five different languages, including Egyptian hieroglyphics, so there was never a shortage of things for the two to talk about.

When Robert graduated and returned home to Sheffield more permanently, he took an apprenticeship at the local apothecary, covertly using some of his Potions expertise from Hogwarts to help “spruce up” the store’s herbal remedies. Robert’s return gave Loretta and him more of a chance to spend time together, with Loretta visiting the apothecary to pick up medicine for her infirm father, Robert colliding with Loretta at more of the town’s local balls, and the two accompanying each other around town as they did their errands. Robert even -- despite being raised Protestant in a town that looked down their collective nose at Irish Catholics -- asked to accompany Loretta to some of her church masses around Christmas, Epiphany, and Easter, so that he could compare and experience the different traditions. It didn’t take long for Loretta to become very enamored with the poor young wizard, and only a little longer for Robert to realize how truly in love he was with the young Muggle lady too. They married at the Cathedral Church of St. Marie in spring 1780, with Robert wearing a handsome suit his best friends from school, the new Bartholomew and Cecelia Varney, paid for and Loretta holding a ribbon-decorated bouquet of purple irises, the flower Robert gave her most often while they were courting, which symbolizes both wisdom and admiration.

Given Loretta’s status as an illegitimate child, she wasn’t set to inherit a lot of money from her parents’ estate, at least in comparison to her older half-siblings, and Robert’s employment at the apothecary alone would not be enough to support them financially as a couple, let alone any family they wished to build together. So Robert, looking to his own father’s example, made the difficult and courageous decision to join the British army, which was currently attending to the “disorder” in the American colonies. When Robert told Bartholomew and Cecelia, Barty made a selfless choice of his own and enlisted too, so that he could stay by his friend’s side, both for his own sake and for his wife’s, since she -- as a woman -- wouldn’t be able to go herself.

Six months after Robert left for the colonies, Loretta gave birth to their first and only child: a little girl who the two decided through letters to name Irene. The name meant “peace” -- a symbol of what the two Harkers prayed for most, in their future. Unfortunately, as anyone who knows the rest of Bat Varney’s history knows, that was never to be. Robert never got to meet Irene in person, nor did he ever get to reunite with Loretta again before her death -- instead he was condemned to watch them live from afar without him and without even knowing that he still existed. Fortunately, despite the heartache Bat feels of never knowing what could’ve been, he takes comfort in the fact that Loretta was strong enough to live well and happily without him and that Irene was able to live a full and successful life and raise a happy family of her own in the Wizarding World he loves so much and yearned so dearly to share with his wife from the very beginning.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Good morning!

I’ll never get over the end of Supernatural. 

I just won’t. 

And I’m gonna talk about it some more under the cut.

Buckle up. I’m back on my bullshit.

Here’s what’s jarring: The end of 15x18 felt so honest. I mean, we can make jokes about Jensen’s reaction shots and super mega hell or whatever, and we can be angry about Cas’s fate, too. That last one, at least, is a totally valid criticism. 

But Ackles, Collins and Speight have all gone on record on that moment in the show, talking about the heart and honesty behind it (Speight and Collins on a virtual convention chat, Ackles in the instagram comments of a woman who worked in wardrobe on the show, though he was talking about the how as a whole). A lot of thought and care and work - and probably fights with the network - went into that one scene to make it land, and if you’ve been actually watching the show, it really does, especially if you take into account that you now get to rewatch the show with the knowledge that Castiel was in love with Dean, and that’s going to give a canonical, romantic context to his actions.

But when we hit 15x19 and 15x20, it...it feels like a completely different show. 

Here’s what’s interesting about Supernatural: Since day one, the underlying heartbeat of the show has been this lowkey feeling of yearning. Of reaching out for something you know is just out of reach. And I don’t know if that was intentional, and I don’t know how they managed to keep that up for 15 years (I blame the cast), but for whatever reason, that feeling is entirely missing from the last two episodes.

That heartbeat just...isn’t there. And so when we watch the last two episodes, and very specifically, the last episode, it feels all wrong. It feels like we’re watching cardboard cutouts of these characters.

Dean’s million year death scene felt all wrong. Jensen acted the hell out of it, but it felt all wrong. The end montage felt all wrong. Even Heaven felt all wrong. It was all wrong, for a number of reasons.

1. The big one being that Supernatural is an action show. And the last episode had no action. The first 10 minutes of the episode is great as a set-up. Dean and Sam keep on keeping on. The dog, the laundry. All good.  

But then we come to the pie conversation, and we find out that Sam and Dean...

Are not actively looking for a way to bring Cas back. 

This is the one major plot thread left for the show to cover. Castiel has been taken by the Empty to fulfill his deal, and if there’s one thing we know for a fact about Supernatural, it’s that these dumb boys make deals and then do their damndest to save each others’ skins from the consequences of those deals.That’s been the through-line of the show sinse season 2/3. 

So why is it dropped here? 

Dean’s acceptance that his best friend - who just confessed that he was in love with Dean - is gone forever is deeply out of character. 

2. And I’ve talked about this a lot: killing a character with a history of mental illness and suicidal ideations and calling it a reward is a bad look. I can’t stop thinking about it, and it makes me feel downright ill. It goes against all of the work the cast has done to raise money for mental health awareness and it’s just a dark, unhappy end for a character who saw 15 years of growth and acceptance. I will never be over Dean Winchester’s death. Ever. 

3. Cas’s love confession is never mentioned again. This enormous, beautiful confession he gives Dean is just...forgotten. Dean never mentions it. He never tells Sam that it happen. We have no indication of how Dean feels about it at all, save for a little smirk he gives when Bobby mentions Cas helping Jack create Heaven. 

We can read the smirk a number of ways. It could be a “yay Cas is safe” smirk or a “Yay I finally get to talk to him about how mad I am that he made that deal and also tell him I love him back” or a “Sweet I’m super gonna get laid” smirk.

But we’re given no real answers. 

Which leads me to my final point: 

4. The finale commits to nothing, and ignores everything we previously knew about the show. It gives no real answers or finality to anything other than Dean’s death, and then, eventually Sam’s. “Was that blurry woman Eileen?” You figure it out. “Did Dean ever see Cas again?” The world may never know. Jared went on record as saying that the finale takes place 5 years from 15x19 but that’s not confirmed because 15x20 makes no mention of a time jump. So maybe it was, but maybe it wasn’t? Why did we get this tiny shitty funeral for Dean when Sam could have called Jody and Donna and Bobby and Charlie and Claire etc. Even with COVID restrictions there would have been a way around showing the characters being there and us being TOLD that they WERE there. A call from Jody, saying she and Donna were on their way? A condolence call from Bobby? Rowena is the queen of hell, and she cared about Sam a lot. She couldn’t call to check in? As it is, Donna has law enforcement calling one of Dean’s phones for help because Sam told none of the people who also loved Dean that Dean had died. Which is totally out of character for Sam not to lean on friends, and also fucked up. What happened to Dean’s dog? Did Sam ever talk to any of the people in his hunter life ever again? If Jack had saved Castiel from the Empty, and it is, in fact, five years in the future, it is out of character for Castiel not to be watching the Winchesters from heaven. He would have seen Dean get mortally wounded, and it’s very out of character for him not to come down and save Dean with his Angel mojo. 

So my big question is this: Why did we watch 15 years of this show only for one of them to die in a really ho-hum, out of character way, and the other to live an apple pie life he wasn’t even happy in? 

I think about that a lot: That Dean’s ending, his death, we’re told, is a good death, and that he gets to rest and be happy in heaven. Which feels wrong.

And Sam lives the apple pie life, which we’re told is a good life and something he’s at peace with, which also feels wrong, and we’re SHOWN it’s wrong, because Sam isn’t happy. 

In the end, we’re told that the only true happiness is in death. Which, for a show that spat in Death’s face - that literally KILLED multiple incarnations of death - makes absolutely no sense. 

And it’s driving me crazy  because I can’t justify anything that happens in this episode except for Dean hugging the dog, and Sam hitting Dean in the face with a piece of pie. 

what the fuck.

[thedespairzone]

The last words of Elias Edwards.

Before I share this story, I’ll preface it by saying I am not the author, and nor is my grandfather. After his passing, I found this amongst his belongings. Pieced together from torn and water-damaged scraps of paper were the last words of a man lost at sea. Alongside the tale was a glass bottle. Supposedly, this is the bottle that the story washed up ashore in. I will presume this tale to be real, instead of some elaborate piece of fiction, as my grandfather insisted upon this in his accompanying notes.

Without wasting any more of your time, I will now type out the story to the best of my abilities. Forgive me if some details are inaccurate - the handwriting is already bad, and almost illegible in some places due to water damage. I will use my grandfather’s speculative notes to assist me in places where the water damage is too great. 

Let’s begin: 

To whomever finds this note, be sure to keep it to yourself. I’ve a need to tell someone of my fate, but I wish not for my beloved to know of the tragedy that befell me. I’d rather she believed our ship was capsized, that we all drowned in the frozen hellscape of the Atlantic. I shall surely perish out here. Whether I drown, starve, or be eaten, I hope it will bring me peace. I want not for my own demise, I’ll make that much clear, but I no longer fear it. As a last remark, before I begin, let it be known that I don’t hold a grudge against anyone. I pray their souls feel the same about me. None of us were brave men. Not on that day. Least of all me.

My name is Elias Edwards. I am twenty-six. The year is 1846. I will die at sea, as have all but one of my shipmates. 

We set sail from the Bristol City Docks. We’ve a history of seafaring men in town, and whoever reads this will surely recognise us as the city that bestowed Blackbeard upon the world. With that sort of history, its no wonder we’ve so many fishermen and merchants clambering for a chance at sailing the high seas. We were a crew of one hundred and fifty men, each of us very capable. As our ship was presently the brawniest of the seaworthy bunch at Bristol City Docks, the academics at the University of Oxford had arranged for us to keep watch over a young scholar. He had been developing a device that would revolutionise seafaring, as they boldly claimed. The young lad, definitely no more than twenty-one, was named Henry Clark. 

I had expected Henry to be a meek academic; I’d known the type - scrawny, with such a penchant for all things scientific that he’d be sooner caught in bed with a book than a woman. But Henry gave a different impression. He fit in well with the crew, and we almost forgot that he was there for a reason other than pay. We had all said our farewells and see-you-soons to our betrothed, beloveds, firstborns, and mothers - each man to whomever it was he cared for the most in this world, and so we journeyed out to the Americas. Our ship was well stocked, and we carried with us crates of goods to be sold to the Yanks.

As our ship cleared her path out to sea, and the bustling docks melted away into the distance, a number of the men began a mild teasing of Henry - despite his friendly disposition, nothing was enough to save him from the mockery that one who had not found their sea legs would receive.  Amongst the group was my cousin; he too was a member of the crew. Albert Edwards, a little older than I, patted Henry on the back as the jests subsided. “Happens to everyone,” he reassured Henry. I went over to greet Albert, but stopped when I saw Henry pull a strange box from his pocket. 

My cousin and the others were fascinated by the machine too, and we all began to gather around the scholar. I can’t quite describe best how the machine looked; I’ve no knowledge of steam engines or any other such mechanisms. There were blinking flashes of red and green along one side, and on its front were a series of levers and switches that did only God knows what. A rectangle above the switches showed numbers that changed, six digits that increased and decreased for some reason unknown to me. Albert went to touch the box, but Henry quickly pulled it away. 

“We have to be very careful with this.” 

Henry refused to let anyone else touch it, but was more than happy for us to look. This new mystery device, the one that would revolutionise seafaring, soon became the talk of the whole crew. Many of us speculated upon how it worked, but none of us quite understood when Henry explained it. He told us to rest assured that, one day, nobody would set sail without one. While none of us could understand how it worked, Henry told us what it did. He said that its use was to pinpoint your exact position on the globe, and that’s what the numbers meant. We were all amazed, but after a number of days spent sailing, we carried on with our normal duties and forgot about Henry’s box. 

I shan’t bore you with details of ship life. The next two weeks were uneventful. There were no skirmishes with marauders or freebooters, no gunfights with other ships. Our canons were covered with dust - I wasn’t certain whether they had ever known the joy of firing. The Captain ran a tight ship, but enjoyed the company of a relaxed crew, so we entertained ourselves by playing cards and other such things when our attention wasn’t required. It was also a common occurrence for one or two items of freight to go missing from time to time - this trip it happened to be a few bottles of cider. We allowed ourselves to get merry on the drink we had brought, and every now and again on the drinks we were supposed to be delivering. 

On a night out in the middle of the Atlantic, Albert and I sat on the deck. I’d procured a bottle of cider, and Albert cracked in to a bottle of rum that he had stowed away below deck. We sat, bottles in hand, eyes up at the night sky. The blazes of stars lit the way for our journey, and we marvelled in the beauty of a thing we had seen a thousand times. But both of us, without saying a word, knew that the stars we looked at that night would be the same stars our wives looked at when night came for them. We spent some time watching, drinking, the ambient sounds of the ocean and creaking wood of the ship did well rocking us to relax on that still night.

Some time passed before either of us spoke.

“When we get this far out,” my cousin said, “it’s not nice to be away.”

“We’ve done it plenty of times.”

“You’re right. But I’ve got a boy now.”

Albert and his wife had their firstborn not long before we set sail. As horrid as it made him feel, he had to leave her with with their little William. We all need money - with an extra mouth to feed he needed it more than ever. We spoke about fatherhood; Albert’s newfound trials and tribulations, before Henry came to join us. 

“You should come and look at this.”

We each turned to face him, then followed him to the side of the ship. Henry peered over the side, and we followed suit. Beneath us was the ocean black, a glistening mirage of stars floating on its surface. 

“What are we looking at, Henry?” I asked.

Henry pulled his box from his pocket, the red light flickered and flashed like a flame blown by the wind. It made a repetitive ding, which sounded like the bell of a bicycle or some such noise. He watched the numbers closely. 

“There’s something strange beneath us.” He said. 

By this time, I had just about finished my cider. Henry asked me to drop the bottle into the ocean upon my finishing it. I swigged the dregs of my drink and dropped the bottle into the sea. It splashed against the surface, then sunk rapidly down - and as it did so the waters around it were ablaze with a golden hue. A perfect, fantastic, gold. 

“Wow. That’s incredible. What’s that there, then?” Albert asked. 

We thought about what it might be, before Henry hatched a plan. 

Albert recovered his empty, discarded rum bottle and found some rope, and some of the other men crowded around us to watch. Albert held the rope, and I fastened the other end of it securely to the bottle. We lowered it down the side of the boat and into the ocean. It swung and tugged in the breeze, but Albert held a steady hand. The moment it touched the water, a web of gold echoed about it. A subtle humming filled the air while we allowed the bottle to be filled with ocean water. I gazed upon the returning bottle filled with that flowing, glowing gold, and I felt inexplicably drawn to it. We all crowded around Albert as he pulled the bottle up the side of the ship. Some of the golden waters were sloshed around the outside of the bottle. Coiling the rope in one hand, Albert finally dangled the bottle onto the deck. 

“Nobody touch it.” Henry warned. “We need to see what it is first.” 

The crowd that had gathered grumbled at his caution, myself included. We all must have felt the same pull, the same yearning for the golden water. Albert, who had become quite drunk on his rum, complained that it was his bottle and he should be able to do what he wanted with it. Henry ignored the rabble, and unveiled a second device. Much like the first box we had all seen, this second one was of an equally confusing nature. Extending from one side of it was a glass appendage, which Henry dunked into the top of the bottle. It filled itself with the golden liquid. 

“This tells me what it is.” He informed us. 

While Henry was looking at the device he had kept hidden from us until this point, the golden glow within the bottle, and that which was dripping from its sides, had simmered down. It had faded and appeared as if it were regular water of the ocean. The crowed had lulled, but Albert reached forwards to the bottle, noting aloud in a drunken slur the obvious fact that it had faded. He placed his thumb over the mouth of the bottle, and shook it. Sure enough, the water inside began to sparkle again with that same dazzling gold. So did Albert’s hand, as he took it away from the still-wet bottleneck. The tip of his thumb was bright and golden. A number of the men laughed, and so did Albert - but his laugh slowly grew nervous, before falling silent. He began to scratch at his hand, to try to wipe off the gold, but all he did was spread it to his other hand. Albert scratched and scratched, his breath became snatched. I asked him what was wrong.

“Don’t touch me!” My cousin screamed as both myself and others tried to help him and see what was the matter. He panicked, whirling about, before he began to wail in pain. Alongside Albert’s screams was that same humming chorus - we all heard it, rumbling and ominous. I wanted to help Albert, but was terrified of going near him. I knew that the rest of the crew felt the same. He flailed about, winding and twisting himself around and around as he desperately tried to remove the golden waters from himself, but all he could do was spread it further. Albert’s skin began to bubble, began to pop, and even began to fall off. Flesh dripped from my dear cousin’s arms as he begged God for mercy. One man tried to throw some of his alcohol over Albert to wash away the gold, but it didn’t work. I winced and turned away from the scene. The constitution of my stomach was not enough to behold the sight any longer. In the commotion, with my hand held before my mouth and facing away, I noticed Henry skulking behind the mast. 

“Where are you off to?” I called over the screams and humming, dashing over to him. 

“I told everyone not to touch it. I’m leaving.” He said, flicking the levers and dials on a device of his. I went to reach towards him, to grab him and tell him to explain himself… 

Perhaps it was a mix of the alcohol and all the panic in the air, but I swear I saw Henry vanish before my very eyes. Like a spectre, he disappeared. I know not how, but it must have been something to do with his device. I was stood in shock for a moment, trying to understand how a man could do such a thing. It was as if he flicked a switch on his box, then folded into himself, as if he was being crunched and eaten by some invisible beast. He folded and folded, all within the space of a second, until he was no more. Gone... 

While I was preoccupied being completely dumbfounded by what had happened with Henry, the ship had fallen into complete disarray. The alcohol that someone had thrown onto Albert had facilitated the spread of the gold; and in all of the confusion someone must have knocked the first bottle over. I quickly climbed the rigging, and saw others following in my footsteps. Hand over hand, foot over foot, I scrambled my way up high and perched atop the crow’s nest. Canon fire blared beneath the screaming and humming on deck; and I looked down around at the chaos that unfolded before me.

It was a terrible golden mist that slithered upon the side of the boat, reaching at us and clawing its way ever closer. It moved slowly, yet we couldn’t outrun it; there was nowhere to run to. Slowly, but strongly, the sea spray stuttered and juddered its way above and over the walls of the ship, engulfing the bow and marking men for dead with its gentlest touch. Men with melting flesh climbed to reach me, but fell back to the deck as the searing pain became too much for them. 

As strange as it sounds, there was forever an allure about the golden mist that fluttered in the wind. Though I saw it burn through whatever it met, I felt a desire to reach out below the crow’s nest and touch it. I was wise enough to refrain from doing so, but something about the mist could draw men in. Pandemonium was unleashed below me by the onslaught of the golden mist - which reached just below my perch. I sat terrified as I waited for everything to stop, the screaming, the humming. The canon fire had ceased, likely as soon as the operators realised how fruitless an effort it was to fire a cannon at mist and water. 

The ship began to violently rock, side to side, until I could no longer peek over the side of the crow’s nest for fear of falling to my death - be it the mist or the impact that took me, I desired neither. I hunkered down and crouched hidden, surrounded by the small circle of wood that acted as my final wall of protection. I was wobbled by the rocking of the ship, and I tried to hold myself still, but the rocking soon became so violent that I was thrown back and forth by the assault. I cowered in my hiding hole, too timid to face the horrors below, dwelling upon the thought that my friends among the crew, and my dearest cousin Albert, had by now all but fallen apart by the will of the golden mist. 

X X X

From that point onwards, my memories are terribly ill-defined. I must’ve hit my head while I was being flung by the rocking of the boat. I’ve no idea how this came to pass, but when I awoke amidst the scattered, floating wreckage of the ship, I was still afloat myself in the bucket-shaped crow’s nest. Amongst the floating debris were some crates - gifted to me in them are the parchments on which I have written this message, and the bottle in which I will seal this message. And, of course, plenty of cider to keep me company in my final days - though God knows how much of the beloved stuff we’ve lost to the sea floor. 

Make no mistake: I wish I could have helped even just one soul. But to see a man’s flesh fall from his bones as if he were well-cooked meat is enough to send the bravest of men into a blind panic. Please, cousin, hold no grudge against me for my cowardice; I’m serving my punishment, withering away to nothing while drifting aimlessly through the barren ocean blue. 

I’m growing weary as I write now. I’m sensing that the end is near. Whoever finds this, wherever it may wash ashore, thank you for letting me share my story with you. 

I shall now drink the remainder of that which floats with me. If you would be so kind, have a drink with me as you read my final farewell. 

- Elias Edwards

Unfortunately, a lot is left unanswered by Elias. My grandfather’s notes focus heavily on working out what the “golden mist” was, with the avenues he has explored being related to bioluminescent plankton, various microbes, and even the mythological sirens. He also focuses very intently on Henry Clark, and working out how he “disappeared” - though with the fact that Elias had been drinking and had hit his head, I can’t be certain whether any of this really happened. 

[kiliinstinct]

In The Garden - Nalu One Shot

Has a lot of things implied here, but was inspired by the sads I felt when re-watching ‘Angel Beats’ yesterday.  Note, I said inspired, but not based off of.

Anyway, consider this pseudo tragedy and pseudo angst. It’s all based on how you technically view it yourself, so I’m not sure how to explain it. oops!

--- Tag List ---

@pbfanart @yuldragneel @bearpluscat @millennial-star-gazer @caandleworks @kaycha1989  @furidojasutin @eragonsoul @just-another-dream-girl  @whatdidyasayiamdaydreaming @hanahathefluffydragon @softscream @dlshieldss @ctay21 @acidrain1698  @lovelyluce @clockworkassassino @celestialwolf24  @unwei @jem-hamster-chan @melissa827  @meilynalu  @littlejinxed @moonlitstargazerforever @trollka21

---

The air was crisp and clear. 

It was the purest atmosphere he had breathed. The wind blew gently through his hair, cooled his sore limbs and wafted the scent of grass and wildflowers through his nose. Water trickled nearby, tickling his ears with the sound. He couldn’t see it, the thick foliage circling him blocked his sight, but that didn’t bother him. Everything from the blue of the sky to the green of the ground served one purpose: to calm and relax him. 

He knew nothing before his eyes had opened. No beginning and no end. There was just his own, singular existence. Time held no meaning. His body moved on instinct, bare feet scraping along the blades of grass, toes curling in the dirt which each step. The man who had never existed until that moment, took his time exploring the garden. Hummingbirds and bees flew by, drinking the nectar from sweet honeysuckle or rested upon the flowers his arms brushed by. 

This was heaven. Though he had no clue what heaven was. This peace and comfort was his only way to describe it. He enjoyed it, following the sound of water, hoping to find its source. With each step his speed increased, noticing the ground beneath him was inclining. Soon, the man rushed through the thickets at a full run, unaware that his lack of fatigue was not normal, and that the outer edges of the garden dropped off at the end the higher up he moved. 

There was no knowledge before he opened his eyes. Therefore, it was normal. Further and further he ran until he broke free of the thicket, barely noticing the way the twigs and leaves brushed along bare skin. Eyes widened at the open path before him,  leading up to the top of quiet hill. One, lone tree stood upon it, looking over the small garden like a silent watcher. 

One, dead tree- and a bench, occupied by a figure, gazing out into the distance. Golden hair shined under the bright sun and their head turned from the crunch of his steps. A woman with honey-brown eyes, wide and perplexed. She stood when he advanced, one arm grasping the other as she sucked her bottom lip. A nervous tick he noticed. 

Adorable. 

“Who are you?” She asked, voice a tiny whisper. “Why did you come here?”

At first he worried he wouldn’t know how to respond, but he swiped his tongue across his lips and broke the dam of silence to answer.  “I don’t know. I’m just here. What about you?”

She sucked in a breath, unsatisfied. Looking back towards the expanse of endless plains and drop offs, the woman who had always been there, shut her eyes. “I thought I was the only one. It feels like an eternity since I opened my eyes.”

He didn’t know the depths of eternity, but her empty tone filled him with guilt. “Sorry I’m late, then.”

“You should be. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

A chuckle passed between them and he moved to join her at the bench. The stone looked old and cracked. It sent a chill through his skin. When she resumed her position, now next to him, she gave no reaction, as if the cold had soaked within her ages ago.  He noticed small things about her: a shine to her eyes, the soft pink of her lips, the way the wind blew strands of gold across her face as she habitually attempted to blow them back. 

They were new and familiar all at once. He resisted the urge to reach out and brush his fingers through the silken strands. A spark inside his mind said this was not the first time he had done so, but that couldn’t be right. He hadn’t existed until today. 

“Will others come?” He asked after another eternity. She shrugged, casting her gaze to him with the barest hint of a smile. 

“I don’t think so.” She said. “I feel this is our place.”

A strange declaration for two people who had never met before, but after another second of forever, he realized it was true. This was their place. It would always be their place.  There was nothing around to prove it, just a feeling of absolute certainty that settled in his gut. 

He noticed light freckling on her shoulders,  finding them like secret constellations and he grinned.  “You have stars on your shoulders.” It was a weird thing to say, but fitting. She was weird. She had always been weird. It was natural to say weird things with her.  Her laugh came out like bells ringing from loud and clanging to low and airy. 

“And you have,” She began, reaching out to tap his cheeks, “two. adorable. dimples.”

He recoiled and frowned in feigned offense, “I am not adorable!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Her eyes gleamed in mischief, “I forgot, you’d rather be handsome!”

He balked, leaning away to feign a pensive expression. Handsome? Is that what he’d rather be called? The word ‘badass’ shot through his mind and he grinned, “Hmm, nah, but close enough!”

Her giggles uplifted him giving the sensation of floating on air. He could hear her laugh forever.  Their laughter conjoined together as natural as the world around them. In that quiet peace, their chuckles slowly died as he nudged her shoulder with his. As normal as breathing, as existing. It took only a few seconds more for him to realize they were strangers acting like old friends. No, friends wasn’t the right word…

“Are you sure you don’t know me?” Her confusion matched his own. Considering his question, she licked her lips, one hand moving to brush strands of pale-red hair from his face. Their movements felt like an age old tale, unrecognized but subconsciously remembered. 

“No,” She said, with a sigh, “I’m sure I’ve never seen you until now, but I feel like..”

He finished with a light breath, “... like we’ve known each other forever.”

“- but that’s impossible,” She waved him  off, cheeks paling. It made no sense. There was no possibility for two people who knew nothing of themselves or each other to be this connected. Was there? Her head bowed in thought, considering his agreement, fingers fidgeting as she tangled them together. “... it… yeah, it really feels that way, though…”

He took her hand then. The urge was not ignored. Fingers touched familiar, slender digits, entwined and clasping tightly to one another. Their silence became thick and brooding. It fell between them like a fog, erasing the beautiful environment around them. There was just him and her, and the connection felt between them. He realized he loved her hand in his. The grip was strong despite its small size; they grounded him and gave him a sense of peace inside his soul he hadn’t realized he was missing. 

Empty pieces of himself clicked together as his eyes memorized her. Passed her freckled shoulders, down the swell of her breasts and smooth expanse of her stomach, down to her thighs and back up again, but stopped, zipping back to her hip. He had missed it at first, but the telltale sign of a scar puckered and discolored the skin on her stomach. His mouth ran dry.

“Is.. that ...new?” He croaked, finding it difficult to speak. She followed his gaze and flinched, withdrawing her hand to move away. Like a broken animal she curled into herself, gnawing her lip rapidly. 

“Yes,” She said, eyes glancing this way and that, “I mean no, I don’t think it was there earlier, but it… no.. It’s.. “ Realization shone in her eyes, “it’s why I’m here.”

With each shift back, he followed, moving slow as shaking fingers reached out to pull her back. He clicked his tongue, voice dropping to a smooth baritone. After little resistance, she relented, sinking into his arms so he could examine the scar. Her back rested against him and hands moved to trail along the skin from beginning to end. He frowned. 

“There’s more.” He whispered, finding older scars, more faded and difficult to see. One on her right, another on her arm, the faintest trace against her neck. Place to place, location to location and each new revelation made his lungs tighten, squeezing the air from him and he struggled to stay calm. Who? Who had hurt her like this?

How many times? How many lives?

It was like the light of the sun flashed into his own mind and he gasped. “Lucy, how many times have you died?” He did not stop to question the sudden use of her name, for that is what she was called, time and time again, in one form after another. This was Lucy and her body mapped out her history like a book. 

She breathed in shaky gasps, memories of times that didn’t exist flashed through her eyes and she twisted her torso, fingers trembling as they traced the planes of muscles on his chest- the touch electrified his nerves with each movement. Up to his neck and cheek, back down to the sharp concave caused by his hip bones. They slowed to a stop, centimeters from his skin, not touching, but just enough for him to feel and burn and yearn. He tore his gaze from Lucy’s scars to watch her hand, belatedly realizing she had paused across his own angry, protruding scar. 

“How many for you?” She asked when her eyes met his, bottom lip trembling. “I can’t count the times, Natsu.”

Natsu. 

He felt a punch to his gut the way the name tore the air from him and stabbed his mind like a hundred daggers all at once. A shriek of his name, faded and lost, laughter, love, friends and family- a jolt of memories shot down his spine. All his, but not. 

He was Natsu, but he wasn’t. Just as she was Lucy, but she wasn’t. He struggled to regain himself, realization crushing through his soul. He took Lucy closer into his embrace, nose burrowing into the curves of her neck and shoulder. He breathed her in while her hands sought desperately for purchase in his hair, bodies meshing close together in an attempt to become one, solitary figure. 

He knew her. He knew her like the taste of his own tongue, the weight of his own limbs. Like breathing, she was every part of him as he was of her. They were separate and not and his memories of a time before he existed struck him until tears formed in his eyes. 

“I couldn’t save you.” Natsu exhaled sharply, voice thick and rough, growling a pain he hadn’t felt until that moment, but had felt a dozen or more times before. 

“No.” She disagreed, voice muffled. “We were unlucky.”

He couldn’t believe it, “Bad luck every time, Lucy?” His grip tightened while soft lips pressed against the back of his ear followed by consoling whispers. 

“Not every time,” She assured him,  voice cracking from the multitude of lives pressing against them, “we never know what will happen in the next one.”

“The next one?” It hadn’t occurred to him that there was more beyond this plain. Existence and time felt elusive. In their current present, Natsu saw no future, only the woman in his arms and the truth. They were together. They were always together. Over and over again and this was their haven. 

Lucy settled against him, sighing as they enjoyed the heat of their own bodies and the wind gently caressed them. The tree blossomed with pink, blue, purple and green petals, thriving with new life over their heads. Natsu could see now, the distance between their garden and many others. Some were connected through small arches and bridges, some were too distant to make out. Everyone of them floated in a large expanse, separated from each other. He didn’t know what lie beyond his own, but he knew its thriving life and gentle breezes was something created between two souls in harmony. 

“When does the next one come?” He asked while thumbing her scar again. Natsu didn’t like it. The prospect of her cycling through another life, earning more scars to her skin. Scars meant she lived and learned, but suffered. 

Lucy didn’t answer. Her silence grew and her hands moved to cup his cheek, tilting his face towards the base of their little hil to the stream of water, cutting off the end of their little world. It weaved through the area and disappeared into the thick brambles of the garden Natsu had traversed through. He had forgotten his failed search for it until then.  Dark gaze narrowed as he looked at its crystalline surface, watched the pebbles sparkle beneath the clear liquid, finally noticing the dirt path, faded as if it were not fully there, just on the stream’s outer bank. 

It was translucent. As if one wrong step would send you falling through it.  “There?”  He asked. They could walk through and be no more?

“Only if you’re impatient.” Lucy moved away, leaving a trace of cold air against his skin from the loss. “You can go at any time, this is just….. A place to rest.”  

Her voice trailed off as he watched her. It felt as if he had heard these words before like a mantra. How many times would they forget? What made them remember? Was it always him asking the questions?  While Lucy marveled at her own knowledge coming to light, Natsu struggled with a need to never leave. 

Why suffer if they could stay? He remembered the feel of her in his arms, more perfect than the garden around them. He could drink in her sweetness, become one with her and never leave. They could enjoy the sunlight and brilliant scents and sights for an eternity or more without pain or fear.  The distance Lucy put between them was excruciating, a second feeling like forever, as if he were dying of thirst. He could be happy here, he knew this, and his hands reached for her arm, intending to draw her close once more. 

Her hand firmly pushed his hand away and he stared, “I’m sorry, Natsu,”She whispered, hair slipping over her shoulders to form a curtain across her face. “I’m so sorry, but it’s best you don’t touch me anymore.”

Natsu balked, “But that’s… that’s…! Lucy we’ve got forever here! What’s wrong?!” Even in a sadness he could name for centuries, she was beautiful. Her hair continued its light glow as shoulders shook from tears he could not see. He attempted to gently touch her shoulder, but the result was the same, “Lucy, tell me what’s going on?”  Why so sudden? 

“I’ve been waiting for you.” She croaked, wiping her eyes to peek at him through her tresses. “I’ve been patient for so.. So very long…!”

His stomach twisted into knots, “I didn’t mean to make ya’ wait Lucy, I just-” Just what? What had he been doing? Fighting? Living?  His memories told him they were joined, but what happened when one died without the other? Why couldn’t he remember after? “I can make it up to ya since I’m here now, you don’t have to be alone anymore-”

Natsu was silenced by Lucy lifting her hand between them, poised in the air for him to see- translucent like the path below them. “What-”

“I waited as long as I could.” The simple truth held between them, but her tears were not lonely tears of anger. They were content, a sad acceptance, “- but this place cannot hold us here forever. It’s a miracle you made it before I had to leave.”

Lucy was fading. The transparency in her hand trailed up her arm like spiderwebs, criss-crossing further and further up until pieces of her faded away,. “No, but I just, I just got here, you can’t leave yet!” Natsu wouldn’t accept it. Couldn’t accept it. Ignoring her pleas, he pulled her in, fingers moving along her arm, as if attempting to use friction to put her back together, “I haven’t seen ya in so long after you... after you- Lucy!”

She caved, hands grasped his face to hold him still and her lips fit against his to say everything they hadn’t the time to say. Lucy poured her emotions, her loneliness, her sadness, her peaceful and calm existence, and every memory coiled between them into her kiss. Natsu tasted tears and didn’t know if they were hers or his. He clung to her, hands pressed against the small of her back, trying to will her to stay with him forever. 

Her teeth tugged and pulled, he responded and drank everything she was willing to give, but the moment ended far too soon. Pulling back with swollen lips and tear stained cheeks, his other half smiled, a hand he could no longer see rested against his heart. 

“Come find me.” She said. “We have many more adventures to live before we’re done and everyone is waiting.”

Natsu’s arms fell to his side. Lucy was gone. 

In his own personal garden his soul came into being. In her own personal garden her soul met his. Together they lived on and on and on, building their Garden into a paradise they would never have to leave. The sky was still clear, but the tree above his head wilted once more. They weren’t done yet. 

He shook at the loss, cried into his hands and stained the ground with his tears. It felt like death, but then there was light, the little pathway shone before him, quietly waiting. He didn’t have to wait. Natsu didn’t have to stay.  As he mourned the loss of her, he stood firm and glanced out to the many other gardens in the realm. 

They needed a bridge, he decided. To visit the friends they made on the other side. Natsu would work on that next. Smiling through his tears, he walked towards the path with a spring in his step. 

When he crossed the stream,  birds chirped and quiet peace continued on, everything stayed as it always had, but his steps crunched in the dirt until there was none and right as he stepped off the edge-

He closed his eyes and knew nothing once more.

[theholycovenantrpg]

In the beginning was EPHEMERA, an ANGEL loyal to the cause of the ANGELS. She is said to be IMMORTAL and uses SHE/HER pronouns. In this New Testament she serves as a MEMBER of the VIRTUES. Blessed be her name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

Ephemera was given the title Virtue of Prudence and was one of the first to be anointed this. She is widely regarded as the general of the legion of angels due to her clever strategy that was employed during the coup that took place in Heaven. Since then, she has often counseled both Zadkiel and Michael in war strategy as well as served as multiple times within Michael’s inner circle whenever he has sought another perspective. The blade of Prudence which she wields is known to be a stark contrast to the often-seen swords of flame that have been depicted not only within the bible of the Old World but that the archangels themselves wield. Her blade is known to look as though it has been cut from glistening ice. It has even been said to stop the hearts of mortals and to render celestials completely and utterly paralyzed. Though Ephemera would say that her glare has no problem achieving that anyway.

THE HISTORY.

It was as if she took the universe and held her blade to its throat, robbing it of everything that it could dare to offer her; any notion of glory or adventure, of romance or thrill -- it was all hers for the taking. She was never meant to be painted in shades of pastel as God had wished her to be, but in daring, garish shades of red, hues of purple as dark as a fading twilight sky, and stormy blues that bespoke of hurricanes and storms. From her mortal inception, she had only ever served to goad God and challenge Him -- thwarting His every attempt to mark her as His. She evaded his grasp, dancing away from the tips of His fingers, parrying every strike that He sought to serve her. And yet, He could not find it within Himself to loose His rage upon her, finding Himself utterly beguiled by the cleverness of His own creation. It was His folly for thinking that it was anything other than Ephemera’s own spirit that was owed credit for the legacy that she left with her people -- the legacy of the first woman to rally her people to prestige and glory, to rule them with nothing but wisdom and honor, to make of them something greater than the mediocrity that they knew. So, when her mortal life ended in a scarlet-tainted glory, it was God’s folly to grant her wings, and think that she might herald the legacy of any other creature than herself.

She found the life of a celestial being wanting, even with all the privileges that God allowed her and the many tasks of great import with which she was bestowed. They all applauded her for being the first mortal to be blessed with wings, their little laudations tipped with poison at the edges -- their spite for God’s creation poorly swallowed, the bitterness coating their words. So she did as they seemingly wanted and traversed to the earth once more, walking among the people that she so loved and longed for, their novel ideas and trinkets enthralling her just as assuredly as it had when she was a creature with a fleeting lifespan. For a time, she was able to watch from afar, allowing the knowledge of their wonder to satiate her. But her longing began to grow and grow, taking root in her heart until she was driven to near madness with it -- she had been a creature of little patience to begin with, so how could she expect to exercise something which she had little of to begin with? Ephemera began to mingle with them, guising herself as something close to mortal, as close to it as she could remember -- for the life of the celestial had begun to wear at what memories she had -- but it did not take long for the sons and daughters of Man to realize that something deified walked among them. After all, Ephemera could never paint herself in pale shades, she could only ever be rendered in vibrant, daring colors that bespoke of greatness and glory.

They called her Athena and Freya, Minerva and Nike. They recounted her glory in epics and legends, myths and folktales -- throughout Man’s history she was given different names but she appeared again and again. For centuries God was none the wiser, too enraptured by His own tales that were rendered in ink to give much thought to what devotion that she had incurred until it was too late for Him to stop them from etching her gilded name in temples and her heavenly visage in stone. When brought before the throne of God to answer for her blatant transgression, she did not bow her head nor did she throw herself prostrate at His feet. Tear my wings from me, she challenged, chin raised and eyes ablaze as they stared into her Creator’s, tear them from me and listen as they sing of my bloody story. But why would God ever want to cause ruin to a creature as novel and bewitching as she? Why would He want to tear at wings so beautiful and refined? Instead of casting her from the lofty heavens that, to her, were a gilded cage He only sought to draw her closer, to illuminate her in the wonders of His ways.

She could not wait until the moment she could illustrate her wonder with the edge of her blade. When Michael divulged to her the ire of his thoughts and his intent to  cast God from His throne, there was little thought on her part as to whether or not she would join him -- no, from the moment the silence fell over them her only thoughts were of the mechanisms that were required to accomplish such a feat. Ephemera thought of little else but the strategy that would need to be employed to toss the prideful deity from the pearly cage He had constructed, she thought of little else but stepping foot upon the soil of the earth once more. What sweet bliss it was, the moment when she stepped upon what is now the realm of Caelum -- and what a heady thing it was to be filled with such indisputable power, and dictate how this kingdom was to rise. She played no small part in its construction, and played an even larger part in cutting the Heretics down as though they were nothing more than dry wheat. But as this age of tenuous harmony descends upon this earth that was once so novel and bloody, Ephemera can’t help but wonder: what is there left for an angel that has rebuked any notion of peace?

THE CONNECTIONS.

SALOME: Ire. What hunger stirs beneath her skin whenever she lays her eyes upon Salome -- the demoness inciting within Ephemera a peculiarly reckless need to have the other’s attention on her and her alone. It feels to the bellicose angel like baiting the gaze of a viper or perhaps taunting a gaunt lioness with bloody, fresh meat; it is the closest she can come to coaxing the adrenaline of war without having to unsheathe her sword. The two fought side-by-side to rid the Holy Land of Heretics, and between them was fostered this wholly identifiable need to goad one another into furies, this undeniable obsession with stoking each other into simmering bouts of rage so that the only thing upon the other’s mind could only be satisfaction. Whatever is brewing between them seems as intense in its throes as an oncoming storm -- and Ephemera cannot help but ache for the clashes of thunder and the torrent of rain that is promised.

BASTIEN AVALOS: Gnat. Having a throng of admirers look on as she reigns with a fist of silver is not something that Ephemera is unused to -- over the centuries she has come to expect it, even among her celestial kin. What has become rather vexing is the inescapable puppy-dog gaze that seems to haunt her every twitch whenever she has the singularly aggravating misfortune of being within the same vicinity of the mortal boy, Bastien. He simpers at her steps as though she is an encyclopedia of the intricacies of war and gore which, in truth, she is. But that does not mean she wanted a whelp of a mortal to follow her every step, to barrage her with questions about battles she finds boring and strategies that are tedious to recount. Nevertheless, she indulges him still -- with gritted teeth and a poorly disguised scowl. Not because she yearns to be worshipped, no, it is simply because she hopes that the horrors she recalls will make him tuck his tail between his legs and scurry the other way.

DMITRI: Lure. There are very few creatures roaming about the world that are capable of capturing Ephemera’s undivided attention.  There are even fewer who would not balk in the face of her intensive focus -- eyes fixed and blazing, lips curled into a near-snarl. But instead, they stared at her, intrigued by the fractured nature of her gaze, even more fascinated by the fact that celestial wings sprouted from her back. They circle one another in equal parts like dogs, ears perked in equal parts curiosity and apprehension, waiting for the other to snap and bite so as to draw blood. Within the tension of their encounters, there is a quiet revelry, though, to know that there is another like them, so very different yet so compatible within their nature. The affinity that has grown between them is something few expected, and even fewer are glad to see. Why should anyone want to see the Horsemen of Conquest so in the hands of a conqueror so ruthless?

CADE BEKKER: Amusement. She sees how deeply he loathes -- not just her, but all things. From the path that he has set himself on, to the power he wields, to the great cosmos above he loathes it all. He thinks himself better for it and assumes that infernal rage is a worthwhile armor to wear, but Ephemera sees it for what it is. Fear. Utter fear that the world will devour him if he does not set it aflame first. She does nothing to disguise her amusement with him, especially when he turns those eyes toward her, as though many before her had fallen for the farce of his fury. Perhaps many had, but he should know better than to think that Ephemera might be one of them. One of these days, for her own satisfaction, she might provoke him into a duel -- the strength of an angel against the strength of a Gifted. But for now, she is all too content, watching him seethe.

Ephemera is portrayed by Veronica Ngo and was written by ROSEY. She is currently TAKEN by KIERSTEN.

[lady-divine-writes]

Coping Mechanism

After they get married, Crowley and Aziraphale discover that an angel marrying a demon comes with some difficult and heartbreaking side effects. (2309 words)

(Warning for angst and not entirely explicit sexual content.)

“Good morning, my dear,” Aziraphale says, greeting his demon before he’s even fully in the room. He felt him when he woke up this morning, knew his approach without needing to hear his feet shuffling across the floor. “How did you sleep?”

Crowley merely grunts as he enters the veranda where his angel is cheerfully engaged in misting his plants. They look better than Crowley has ever seen them – lusher and greener now that Aziraphale has snagged the reins and begun taking care of them. They even perk up when Aziraphale walks into the room. But Crowley isn’t about to admit it. Watching them thrive under Aziraphale’s care hits his pride hard.

The ungrateful buggers.

They don’t even tremble in fear when Crowley comes near them anymore.

They know that as long as Aziraphale is around, the angel won’t let him hurt them.

And if they ever break up, Satan forbid, Aziraphale would surely get custody.

“There,” he says, giving a spider plant a little extra love, “how do they look then? Are they growing to your standards?”

“Meh. They look all right, I guess.” Crowley comes up behind his husband and puts his arms around his waist. Aziraphale leans back against him, hums contentedly at his husband’s touch.

“Just all right, hmm?”

“Mmm … maybe better than all right. But only a little.”

“High praise indeed.”

“Don’t’ch know it?”

“I was about to get breakfast on.” Aziraphale puts down the mister to layer his arms over Crowley’s and tighten his embrace. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah. Not yet. Uh …” Crowley clears his throat uncomfortably “… you go ahead. I’ll be along in a minute.”

Aziraphale sighs. “Of course, my dear. Whatever you want.”

“I … I don’t need to.”

Aziraphale pats his husband’s arm. He means it as a comfort. It comes off as condescending. “It’s alright. You haven’t in a while. I know it must be difficult sometimes.”

Crowley hooks his chin over Aziraphale’s shoulder and shakes his head. “No. I’m willing to wait.”

“It’s up to you. But you forget, I hear you talk in your sleep. I know what you’re thinking. I don’t want things to change. I don’t want … you to change.”

Crowley swallows hard. The truth is always the most difficult pill to swallow. “All right. I won’t take long. I promise.”

Aziraphale tilts his head, kisses his husband on the cheek. “I’ll get breakfast started. You do what you need to do.” He breaks from his husband’s embrace slowly, in parts, fingertips tracing down the length of Crowley’s arm as long as possible before he walks off towards the kitchen. Crowley looks at the mister on the table, and at the peace lily sitting beside it. He looks at the beauty surrounding him in this room. Many of the plants around him are new acquisitions – ones Aziraphale brought with him when he moved in and introduced himself to Crowley’s precious collection.

But the way Aziraphale went about adding new members to the fold baffled (and admittedly angered) Crowley. Aziraphale didn’t go searching out the largest, fullest, or most beautiful plants available. He got his plants from the clearance section, from the near dead rack.

From Crowley’s mulch heap outside.

He nursed them and sang to them, talked to them and complimented them. These plants, some of them only twigs stuck into pots of dry, grey earth when they were brought through the door, thrive now, and it’s all because of Aziraphale. He brings things to life.

He inspires humanity.

And one demon.

Aziraphale’s relationship with their plants and his relationship with Crowley mirror one another a great deal.

Aziraphale gives all to where he loves, even if it chips away at him.

“I love you,” Crowley says, hoping to catch his angel before he’s out of ear shot.

Aziraphale stops walking. Then Crowley hears him smile.

“I love you, too.”

Crowley waits until Aziraphale leaves, then heads down the hall himself, branching off back to the bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, closes the curtains, and sits down on the bed. He closes his eyes, focusing on the things he wants to do today, reaching out with his mind in the hopes of finding some minor temptation he can accomplish without leaving this room, something simple to take his mind off things.

But there’s nothing.

And his brain is a mess. His body, too. His hands have started shaking again, his legs restless, his wings shifting beneath his skin, eager to break loose from their prison of flesh and spread wide. Every inch of him reeks of power, simmering and pulsating, yearning to bleed free. A breeze passes over his body, making him shiver, and that agitates him more, sparks flying from his fingertips. But before he gathers back enough mental capacity to realize that a breeze shouldn’t be possible in this airtight room, something climbs on top of him, weighs down over him.

And a warm, familiar mouth covers his own.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley yelps, pulling away. “You can’t just … you shouldn’t be here right now!”

Aziraphale smiles – innocence and mischief swirling together in one intoxicating concoction. “Sorry, I … I just couldn’t wait!” He loops his arms around Crowley’s neck and kisses him – urgent and naively sweet.

And Crowley kisses him back, even though he knows he shouldn’t. This isn’t the right time. Not now. Not when he’s like this – vibrating with energy, on the verge of ripping through his own skin.

“Aziraphale … darling … this probably isn’t a good idea.”

Aziraphale giggles. “Sometimes the best ideas aren’t necessarily good ideas.”

“There’s logic in there somewhere. I just don’t know …”

“Shhh, my dear. Talk less. Kiss more.”

Crowley grins, too caught up in his own power to say no to this delectable sin. He’s a demon! He can’t be expected to kick a sin out of bed. “Your wish is my command, angel.”

Crowley lurches up, kisses him roughly, and Aziraphale’s squeak of surprise and his smile against Crowley’s lips become everything. Crowley manages to flip him over, lay on top of him, press him into the mattress with his hands over his head - a throwback to a day when, out of anger, he’d slammed Aziraphale up against a wall.

It wasn’t a hard slam. More like a forceful relocation. But it was also a revelation.

That was a light bulb moment for him.

He’d grabbed Aziraphale’s coat, shoved him hard, pinned him and yelled at him, berated him for having the audacity to call him nice. But not for a single second did Aziraphale look afraid.

There was a time when, even knowing about all of the battles Aziraphale helped fight and win throughout history, he thought of his angel as lesser, weaker, simply because he was a messenger of love. Crowley saw kindness as a weakness, so to be called kind, in his mind, was to be called weak.

But looking back on that moment, remembering how it felt, he realizes Aziraphale wasn’t weak at all. He was restrained. Not by the knowledge that he could fend Crowley off, but by the trust that he wouldn’t need to.

The more Crowley railed on, the more Crowley yelled, the softer Aziraphale got, facing down his anger without even flinching until they were rudely interrupted. Then, with one subtle glance at Aziraphale’s face, Crowley realized that that entire time, Aziraphale had been staring at his lips.

Possibly wishing that Crowley would kiss him.

That one detail, regardless of all the temptations he’d done, none of which had ever given him so much as a tingle, was the biggest turn on of his existence.

“If you’re granting wishes, maybe you can grant another one?”

“That depends,” Crowley says, kissing around the contours of Aziraphale’s mouth while he speaks. “What is it you’re wishing for?”

“Show me something new?”

“Oh … well, you and I, we’ve both been on this planet the same amount of time. I’m not sure there’s anything you don’t know that I can show you.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” Aziraphale says, looking deep into Crowley’s eyes. “Maybe there’s something that you, a demon specifically, can show me.”

Crowley’s breath catches. There are dangerous connotations wrapped up in that request, things he doesn’t have the wherewithal to resist. He stares up at his angel with pleading eyes. “I … I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry,” Aziraphale whispers. “You won’t. And if you do … I’ll forgive you. It’s all right …” Aziraphale layers kisses across Crowley’s forehead. “I’m here to help you.”

Crowley nods. “Where would you like me to begin?” he asks, his voice beginning to shake as he struggles to keep the Evil within him at bay. He’s not going to taint this act with dark power, not going to let it overwhelm him.

Not going to let it get at his angel.

“Why don’t you undress me?” Aziraphale suggests. “But carefully. I’d rather not have us miracling this outfit back together from shreds when we’re through.”

Still hesitant, Crowley starts with Aziraphale’s shirt, trembling fingers undoing stubborn buttons as he leans forward to kiss his angel on the mouth. Aziraphale’s fingertips brush Crowley’s skin and send his brain reeling, everything after that first touch a whirlwind of clothes and kisses and moans and prepping; begging and please and there! and yes! and faster!, until Crowley has switched their places again, splayed out on his back on the bed, stretched out like a snake, with Aziraphale panting above him, moving up and down with the fluidity of liquid silver, head thrown back, mumbling softly spoken words of pleasure and devotion.

Crowley loves this - watching his angel ride him, loves his body, his pale skin, the subtle glow that surrounds him the more excited he becomes.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale cries in a choked off rendition of his usual melodic voice that’s simply too … well, he has to face it – Heavenly to be real.

And Crowley wishes it was. Dear God, he wishes it was.

But it’s not.

It’s a temptation, one he’s cast on himself, putting lust into his own mind so he can have this. So that he can ward off something more sinister.

Like taking up smoking to stave off an addiction to cocaine.

Right before he has a chance to finish, on the edge of ecstasy with no turning back, he stops himself, grinds his teeth and bites his tongue, digs his nails into his skin to dull the pleasure.

He doesn’t want his first physical experience of completion to be with this fantasy, even if that fantasy is Aziraphale. He wants his angel – his flesh and blood angel, his heat and his taste and his voice and his softness. But until they can figure out a way around the possibility of him falling, or they can devise a way to control Crowley’s demon urges, this will have to do.

And the more he indulges, the emptier he feels inside.

As he prepares to leave the bedroom and go to the kitchen in search of his husband, he abandons everything. He takes a quick shower, washes his hair, changes his clothes, and brushes his teeth. For demons, all this is unnecessary, but for Crowley, it’s a ritual - a symbolic way to cleanse himself of what he’s just done, so he can feel worthy to be in Aziraphale’s presence again.

He adds other small touches to his usual look as a subtle nod to his husband, to prove how committed he is to their life together. He’s long since exchanged his blood red collars for his husband’s tartan ones, gone back to simpler sunglasses with small, round lenses that complement the ones Aziraphale wears, and splashes on a dash of his husband’s favorite cologne. He strides into the kitchen, much more awake but guiltier now than before when making love to Aziraphale was simply a dream.

This feels too much like cheating.

“My, my, don’t you look chipper,” Aziraphale says with a pleasantness that sounds forced. “And right on time. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yeah,” Crowley lies. He’s lost his appetite, but he needs to do something to occupy his mind aside from staring longingly at his husband, cursing the fact that the time he’d just spent couldn’t be with him. “Absolutely ready. Smells great.”

Aziraphale’s smile becomes fixed and tight. “So, how was I, hmm?” he asks, bitter, but not at Crowley. At life. Because they can’t share physical intimacy together. They can’t make love.

And the way things are going, they may never.

Aziraphale didn’t mind at first until Crowley started doing this. It’s not the act itself that spears him.

It’s how much Crowley craves it.

But it’s a necessary Evil if they want to stay together, a solution Crowley came up with when they discovered that a demon marrying an angel came with a bizarre side-effect, one no one could have predicted since this type of union, up till now, had been unprecedented.

Making their marriage official, having the gall to marry under God, made Crowley hungry to corrupt his husband to the point where the demon within him in its true form would often times fight tooth and nail to burst out of his skin.

It was a test, Aziraphale said. It was God testing their love for one another. Their loyalty. He thinks it will pass.

It’s been close to a decade now, and it hasn’t.

So Crowley devised this - to take the edge off, he’d said. To push the temptation away.

To keep Aziraphale safe.

“Amazing, as always,” Crowley says, wrapping his angel up in his arms. Aziraphale melts against him, into his heat and his thrumming joy … his sharp regret. “But it’ll never compare to the real thing.”

[thesnadger]

Hard To Extinguish

We don’t know what exactly the connection between Gertrude and Agnes entailed, but I’m very interested in the idea of emotional feedback. Probably something that comes and goes in quick moments so that other people don’t realize what’s happening. But it has an effect all the same.

Ao3 version

- - - 

Truth be told, I don’t know what you actually did do; neither Arthur nor Diego would explain it to me in detail, and Jude simply flies into a rage when it’s brought up.

It was a binding, she knows that much. Why the Mother of Puppets would want her linked to Agnes Montague, Gertrude can’t imagine. It may be that the Web’s aim is the same as hers: stopping the ritual from succeeding. But she very much doubts that. She knows not to be optimistic when dealing with the dread powers. Far more likely that the connection is only one step in some dreadful, convoluted plot.

Still, she doubts there is any merit in trying to understand the Web’s machinations. That line of thinking only to leads to a paranoia that ultimately feeds it. And perhaps there is no greater ‘plan.’ Perhaps the Web simply pulls and guides and manipulates for the sake of it, just as the Slaughter rends and the Desolation destroys and the Eye watches.

She only wishes she knew what exactly she invited into herself that day. Whether binding herself to an avatar of the Desolation will have side effects that Gertrude can’t predict.

She’s in the Archive today, following a potential lead regarding the Church of the Divine Host. Attempting to, at any rate. There’s a new archival assistant there, so new he still thinks this is an ordinary job. He’s clearly hoping to prove himself as an enthusiastic worker by pestering her with questions and suggestions every few minutes. She hints rather blatantly that he probably has work he ought to be doing someplace other than her office. But he remains oblivious to her irritation. He’s wasting her time, and her time is absolutely invaluable.

It’s as the last thought enters her mind that a sudden, white-hot rage rises in her. Before she realizes what she’s doing, she’s wrapped her hand around a letter opener and she’s holding it out, shouting at the man. Growling in a way that doesn’t suit her at all and describing in specific detail exactly what she'll do to him if he doesn't quiet his babbling and get far, far away from her this instant.

He backs out of the room quickly, propelled by a mixture of confusion and animal fear. Until today he’d no doubt seen Gertrude as a reserved, doddering old woman. He won’t know how to respond to the suddenness of her outburst or the downright unsettling knowledge she seems to have of the human nervous system and the various ways to damage it. But he at least has some instinctive sense for danger. He’ll steer clear of her from that day on.

The strange pulse of anger fades after he bolts, and Gertrude is left shaken. Unsettled. Wondering where on earth that all came from.

Agnes is at her apartment with Jude and a few others, staring out the window into the street. She likes watching the people as they walk by outside. She sits and wonders about them, about the places they’re all hurrying towards, what they do with all their days. Whether any of them think about destiny or fate.

Behind her, Eugene is going on about the glory of the Scorched Earth. How everything that stands here now will one day be ash and so on, and so on, and so on. She’s so bored of it all. So tired of hearing the same sermons repeated over and over. She wants him to be quiet so she can think her thoughts about the people outside.

She glances back at them, her family, her caretakers, and her keepers. And something comes over her. Suddenly they all seem . . . ridiculous. Not one of them has a clue how any of this works, but they're all so confident that they're serving a higher purpose. So certain they're powerful, free creatures far above the mass of humanity when they're no less lost than anyone else. It’s ridiculous, it’s absurd, and she can’t help but laugh. But the laugh that comes out of her is an odd one. Her laughter is rare, especially these days, but when she does laugh it’s wild, loud and barking. This is a dry, bitter chuckle--barely audible, but it quiets the room.

With contempt in her voice, Agnes fixes her gaze on Eugene. "Can't you talk about anything else? Your droning is dimming me."

The whole cult freezes, not sure how to react. They've seen her angry. They’re used to that, they understand that. They understand screaming and tears, they understand throwing things and threats made and threats carried out and fire. What they don’t understand is the cool, certain superiority in her as she turns her attention back towards the window.

Eugene isn’t sure whether he’s glad she didn’t burn him. But he quiets down, and Agnes is left with her thoughts again.

Many days later Agnes is alone. She’s in her apartment. Waiting, as she always is, for a future she is meant to bring.

Something creeps into her as she sits. It’s a feeling she’s not able to name because she only knows the word contentment as something to be disrupted. Satisfaction and accomplishment are always setups to the inevitable conclusion, which is devastation. She would not think to apply them to this soft, pleasurable wave that settles on her. It’s the feeling of being someone who has survived another day in a hostile world. Someone who goes to their rest knowing that they’ve arranged a small part of that world to their satisfaction.

For just a moment, Agnes doesn’t feel restless. She doesn’t feel a yearning for something she cannot name. She feels . . . at peace.

It passes, and she feels the hiss and pop of tears evaporating as they roll down her face.

Then one day, Agnes is dead. Gertrude keeps tabs on the cult’s affairs, of course, but in the end it isn’t necessary. She feels it as it is happening.

She’d have expected it to be painful, the binding had certainly been. But when the moment of death arrives Gertrude doesn’t feel anything that she would call pain. Just a sudden absence. A sense of loss and a chill that cannot be eased for days no matter how warm her office is kept or how many sweaters she piles on. She knows what it means. The child born of flame is no more, and another ritual has been prevented.

If Gertrude is unable to feel any pleasure at that thought, it is no doubt because of the binding. She can hardly expect to live through the death of someone she is metaphysically tied to without it affecting her mood, after all.

She’ll get over it. There’s too much to be done for her to sit and mope about.

Time moves on, and so does she. Eugene Vanderstock’s statement fills in the details her assistants in the field had missed. She finds that she’s hardly the worst-off survivor of the affair. That young man, Jack Barnabas . . . Gertrude has a strong stomach, but she feels a twinge somewhere when she sees the photos. The burns, she knows, are only the beginning. For someone as defenseless as him to attract the ire of the Desolation? He would have been far better off if Agnes’s kiss had reduced him to cinders.

Barnabas’s silly, earnest attempt at flirtation stopped a terrible future from coming to pass. And of course, he would never know it. Any more than he’d know why the rest of his days on earth would be filled with misery, torment, and pain. He’d saved the world in ignorance, and he would suffer just as ignorantly. It’s a bit poetic, Gertrude thinks, the tragedy of it all.

She dwells on it as she looks over his file. However little Barnabas understood about the situation, the fact remains that she has him to thank for preventing the Scorched Earth. It seems a shame to let him suffer and die. Besides that, sitting back and watching his fate when she has the ability to intervene feels uncomfortably like what the Beholding would want from her.

Eugene has been taken care of already. She isn’t the type to let someone with a long, long history of murder walk away after threatening to burn her alive. In hindsight, her method of disposal might have been overkill. But then, overkill seems to be the only thing those who attach themselves to the Lightless Flame understand. There can be no doubt that some other representative of them will come banging on her door one day. When they do, perhaps she’ll speak to them directly. And if Jack Barnabas comes up in conversation, well, no harm in making a few extra threats on his behalf. Assuming he’s still alive by that point.

As she makes this decision, she feels a quiet heat rise in her. A feeling of satisfaction tinged with sorrow that is not altogether unpleasant.

“If I die quietly,” Agnes says, taking in the shocked faces around her. “Without fire, anguish or mourning, my spark might return to the Lightless Flame so that a new chosen one can be born. One that will not falter.”

She speaks softly, without emotion. She isn’t certain what she feels and hasn’t been certain of that for a long time. She only knows what she does not feel. Agnes has never known what she wants. But she is finally sure of what she doesn’t want. Perhaps never wanted at all.

A few of the assembled members are shaking their heads, still not believing it. Some clench their fists and shout and growl. Not in true anger, she knows, but in the desperate rage that flies up when one feels their heart begin to break. When one finally, truly realizes that everything they built and toiled and struggled for is being burned. Something that has been inside Agnes ever since her birth is feeding on their misery even now. She can feel it giving her strength she neither needs or desires.

Jude is, of course, one of the people shouting. Her anger does nothing to hide the agony that surrounds her like a haze. She’s saying something, but Agnes isn’t paying attention. She just looks at Jude. The lines of her face, the edges of the tattoo barely visible on her bare shoulders. She’s wearing the same tank top that she’d worn in the cafe a few months back.

They’d been talking about the future. The Scorched Earth, the Lightless Flame, Agnes’s destiny, it seemed like that all they ever talked about. Jude was frustrated with waiting and believed that the best way to release Agnes from whatever tied her to the Archivist was to go to their institute and burn her out of it. She said that an old woman and a pile of ever-so-flammable records would have no hope against Agnes’s full glory. The Eye would be left an ashen husk, and Agnes would be free to embrace the fate she had been born for.

Agnes had never met the Archivist, of course, and there was something appealing about the idea of confronting her. Though she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kill her as Jude hoped or just see her, face to face.

Either way, she shook her head. “If I did that . . . .” she said, “I think that something in me would burn up with her.”

Jude hadn’t liked that answer. She’d pressed her palms flat on the table and looked pleadingly at Agnes.

“Maybe it’s something that needs to burn,” she’d said. “Something you’re better off without. Even if it isn’t, surely any loss you suffer can only feed the Lightless Flame.”

A week after that day, Jack had asked for her name.

Agnes had been worshiped and adored, and in many ways loved. She’d felt the heat of a supplicant’s devotion and the burn of a fiery, passionate longing. But Jack was the first person who seemed to want to know her. To know the person she was, instead of the person she was going to be - that destined destroyer whose light was so blinding it kept everyone from seeing her. Jack didn’t know her, but he’d wanted to. That had been enough.

Jude is still shouting, and now there are tears. Her words have gone from pleading to recriminating in the face of Agnes’s silence.

“How could you give up on yourself,” she shouts. “After everything we’ve done, all we’ve sacrificed! Do you even realize what losing you will do to me? To us?”

Agnes reaches out, drawing a gentle finger along the side of Jude’s face. A deep groove forms in the melting wax, and Jude is quiet.

“Surely,” Agnes says, her voice cold, “any loss you suffer can only feed the Lightless Flame.”

There are no more protests after that.

Jude Perry has a scar now that extends from cheek to jaw. Wax is easy to mold, she can be rid of any scar with a moment of concentration if she wishes. She keeps it all the same, and whenever the heat of a burning building or the struggling limbs of a person she’s tying up cause it to lose its shape she is careful to reform it exactly as it was before.

Jack Barnabas endures three terrible years. Then slowly, eventually, things begin to turn. He finds a job in a warehouse where no one gives his face much thought, at least not after the initial surprise. He begins to make friends again, moves out of his father’s place and finds an apartment of his own. Things are still difficult, but he can see hope on the horizon.

He thinks about her now and then. Wonders if that end had been what she’d wanted or if those people drove her to it, not sure which answer would sadden him more. He has no way of guessing, of course. He knows he never understood anything about her, couldn’t even say what she was or why her touch held such blistering agony. He won’t ever forget her, though.

The scars on his face still ache sometimes. But it’s the one on his hand, the path of a single teardrop, that hurts the most.

Gertrude Robinson isn’t the mother type. She’d made that very clear, not that Eric had needed reminding. Still, she promised to find his son and has no reason to break that promise. If Gerard is a threat, she’ll deal with him. If not . . . perhaps he can be useful, perhaps not. Either way keeping him close probably isn’t the worst idea given his upbringing.

She is prepared for a threat. What she isn’t prepared for is the young man she eventually finds huddled in the corner of some horrid little dive bar, speaking to no one. Drinking in the mechanical, joyless fashion of someone looking to obliterate their consciousness as quickly as possible. He looks up as she approaches, and she wonders briefly if his connection to the Eye is enough for him to have Seen her coming. Unlikely. She doubts he can see past the edge of his own glass at the moment. Without asking, she sits down across the table from him.

“Well,” she says. “It has certainly been a while, Gerard.”

He looks at her with a little suspicion. Mostly resignation. “Do I know you?”

“Not personally. You could technically say we’ve met, in that I saw you once when you were an infant,” she replies. “But I imagine your mother has spoken of me.”

“Yeah, well. If you’re a friend of mum’s you can fuck off.” Gerard’s expression moves from resignation to dismay the moment Mary is mentioned, and he lowers his head to the table. “Not dealing with more of her stuff today.”

A wry smile moves the corner of Gertrude’s mouth. “‘Friend’ is not the word I would use.”

Gerard sighs heavily. “Look. I’m not in the mood for dancing around the point. If you’re some enemy of hers here to kill or kidnap me to get at her, you’d be better off going after something she actually values. And if you’re one of the ones that likes being creepy on purpose you’re wasting your time. Whatever you’ve got to scare me with, I’ve seen it before.”

Gertrude pauses and considers the young man in front of her. He's half-drunk now, but she doubts he would look better sober. There’s a desperation in him that she’s seen before, usually in people who come in to give statements and then disappear a week later. She doubts he’ll be able to manage much longer unless something changes for him.

Poor man hardly had a chance, really. Raised by someone who could have only seen him as an extension of her will, an heir to mold into the continuation of her legacy. Gertrude isn’t the sentimental type, but she's not unaware, either. She certainly doesn't imagine Mary ever gives much consideration to what Gerard himself is feeling, or if he feels anything at all. Only interested in the person he is going to be, never the person he is.

Her mind briefly wanders to a few years ago. When she’d been shivering under five layers of clothing and for a moment found herself madly, ridiculously wondering whether Agnes Montague had ever dreamed. Were her dreams only of fire, of torturing heat and despair, or were there ever gentle dreams? Dreams of other futures?

It’s a thought Gertrude lets go of quickly. A pointless thing to speculate on even at the time. Agnes is dead, and any dreams she might or might not have had are hardly relevant to the current situation.

“All right,” she says. “To the point, then. How would you like to be rid of your mother?”

Agnes’s death is cold and quiet. But it does not go completely unheard.

[wordsturnintostories]

we're pack, moonchild.

Seokjin | Yoongi | Hoseok | Namjoon | Jimin | Taehyung | Jungkook

Masterlist

Summary: Kim Namjoon. Class best. Current second leader of the Bangtan gang. [a drabble in which you go to the same school with the Bangtan gang and are tiring to figure out if that’s what they really are. a gang? or a pack?] Word Count: +1k Note: I started a new series. i’m so excited for this. ✨ college!au, supernatural!au

Gif not mine, credits to the owner.

Kim Namjoon. Class best. Current second leader of the Bangtan gang. Caretaker of your grandmother in her fragile years. It is obvious he’s a werewolf. To you, there’s no doubt about it as the Bangtan gang flaunts the facts like a banner. Even his appearance, strong body, attuned mind. To you, it’s obvious, always has been since the day someone mentioned it as a joke.

However, to this day Namjoon has never responded to either side, the school’s gossipy crowd or the boisterous cackling clique of boys following his every move with utter reverence. He’s never confirmed or denied the categorization as “werewolf”, giving every individual the option of coming to their own conclusion. (Of realizing how ridiculous the tag sounds.)

So to you, the most pressing question is not whether or not Kim Namjoon is a werewolf but what kind of werewolf he is. Of course, you, a not-exactly-normal human (you know there’s something off about your family, even if the blurred details and ominous stories could all be interchanged with any other student’s family history; after all, which family does not have a skeleton in their closet?), you don’t know that much about werewolves. But from all the avid researching you’ve done, hours and hours in libraries and online-databases of other scholar’s essays and studies, you know a thing or two.

The frustrating part about it? It doesn’t help in any way with identifying who Kim Namjoon might be. And at this point, with your legs more than knee-deep in the Bangtan gang (you’re not a member, just an observer), you’re too afraid to even ask yourself what caused this curiosity to catch fire. You only know you physically, emotionally and spiritually need an answer. It’s like a scavenger hunt with one twist. You’ve forgotten your starting point, so you’re forced to find the finish line.

In your observations, there haven’t been many irregularities in Kim Namjoon’s interactions with others. Sometimes, however, you see Kim Seokjin and Min Yoongi, both older than Namjoon, bow to the smart young student. Every time that happens, your skin tingles a little, just as if you’d witnessed a turning point in history that the world won’t forget. The fact that two Korean boys ignore social status, social hierarchy, all human rules, screams pack behavior. Screams Alpha. You think.

You scribble it down, cappuccino steam rising up to you while rain pours down outside the windows of the tiny cafe you’re sitting in. It’s the one next to the library.

Other times, you see Namjoon walk with some Bangtan boys, eyes lighting up like a little child’s at some joke Seokjin recounts, and the way Jimin curls up into Namjoon’s side because his small body can’t contain all that fizzy laughter. Namjoon always catches the younger boy, always lowers himself to help and indulge that one, who -just like his friend Taehyung- doesn’t care much for personal space. When the older boys ruffle through Namjoon’s hair in moments of quiet and sleepy togetherness, your thoughts divert from the first assumption. Namjoon doesn’t seem very dominant. Alpha’s son maybe? Next in line?

And then you walk the library, your self-chosen second home, a place that is coincidentally also part of Namjoon’s territory. To be honest, when you spot him there more frequently than the librarian herself, you consider that an accomplishment. When he passes you for the fourth time with a stack of books in his arms, Wise wolf are the words that come to your mind. Whenever the tall boy stumbles over the air or his own feet, however, those noble titles vanish, because the gangliness of his limbs is strange, almost as if he hadn’t had time to acquaint himself with them. New beta?

There are so many moments you try your best to define what and who Kim Namjoon is, to the point where it fills your diary with a daily entry and completely new and completely far-fetched propositions. The curiosity leaves you restless, and hungry for an answer.

So, when you drive hours into the countryside for a camping trip with your friends, you expect your mind to finally take the exit that says “vacation time”, to finally free itself from the daily workload that is Kim Namjoon. But even then, lost in the night as you’ve wandered off the camping spot too far, too in thought, you realize you’re still circling around him. Like the planets around the sun, you can’t break your orbit. Even in the semi-dark and in the serenity of an open field, you can’t let Kim Namjoon vanish from between your fingers. It’s exhilarating as it is maddening.

“Glad to know you’re here too,” someone says and you turn, scanning your surroundings. All is fine because you’re still alone. Even so, it’s haunting to find there’s no owner to the voice you’ve definitely heard. Your eyes catch something at the edge of the field. A massive wolf overlooks fields and the woods alike from atop a big rock. The sight makes your systems crash.

“I see you’ve been watching me,” a voice like a little firefly hushes across your soul. The longer it speaks, the more it seems to extend, capturing you completely. It’s him, you think. It’s him. You’re not sure what to do but his presence feels right. It’s almost as if you’re waiting to run into the arms of an old, dear friend. His voice sounds like there’s infinite knowledge within him, and you long to come closer.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better companion. Come up here, and watch the pack with me.” And as you climb, stone for stone, inch for inch, your target unmoving above you, you reach for what you’ve craved the past months. Home.

“You’re the surprise Alpha, from the books,” you breathe heavy, either from the climb or in awe. The big wolf’s head shares your gaze, then searches the woods on the other side, like he can see the pack in the darkness. He probably feels it. In your heart, his voice holds awe and sweetness.

“You’re my surprise companion, from the moon,” he hums.

(Four words are enough to make the stars tumble, enough to give you your reward. To fill the yearning of your heart. Companion.)

(The peace doesn’t hold for long. Through the treeline, distinct barks and yips travel towards you, greeting you ahead of the pack.)

Thanks for reading! :)

Penny for your thoughts?

Masterlist | moodboard masterlist

taglist: @xmagicxshopx​, @jiminnies-baby, @inappropriatepirate

[queer-author]

Escapade

Summary: After consulting the Arcana for help solving the mystery ahead, Auriel gets a reading that sends him on an adventurous night at the tavern.

Word count: 3,166

Pairing: Julian Devorak x Auriel Drake (Original male apprentice)

Fandom: The Arcana (Visual Novel)

________________________________________________________________

The shop was quiet, despite the chaos that occurred that day. Between preparations for the Masquerade and searching for clues to clear Julian's name, Auriel felt like he hadn't been calm enough to hear himself think since this whole situation began. That's why he came back to the shop; the place that he had come to call home. He always found peace there and had always known warmth and safety amongst the menagerie of herbs and magical paraphernalia that filled the small shop. The calming smell of lavender that permeated the space made Auriel's body relax almost immediately upon entering, and all of the tension that had built up during the past few days finally started to release.

      After a deep breath to collect himself, Auriel made his way to the table in the back of the shop. Even though he yearned to head upstairs and collapse onto the bed and sleep for about a week straight, he knew that there was work to be done. There were questions that needed to be answered. And while he didn't know how to find all of the answers, he knew where to start looking.

      Reaching into his bag, he pulled out Asra's tarot deck and laid it on the table in front of him. It was a familiar action, (he had done hundreds of readings at that very table for as long as he could remember) but for one reason or another, he was nervous of what he might find. Slowly, he sat down, gauging the energy he read from the deck. The cards were practically buzzing in his hands, but maybe that sensation was just shakiness from lack of sleep. Whatever it was, it was clear to him that they had something to tell him.

    Auriel started to shuffle the cards and allowed his mind to quiet so he could focus. It was hard, truth be told. Even with all the practice and training under Asra, there were a million questions running through his mind. Was Julian truly innocent? If Julian didn't kill the Count, then who did? Was there a connection between Julian's missing memories and Auriel's own elusive past? Did they somehow have a history with each other that neither of them remembered, and is that why Auriel felt so drawn to the roguish doctor? His fingers fiddled with the cards of their own accord as his mind was taken with these questions. Then suddenly-

    Stop.

It was more of a feeling than a command. The familiar sensation of finding the card he had been searching for shook him back to reality. His fingers felt electric where they touched the chosen card. With a flourish, Auriel flipped the card over to reveal the face and, hopefully, the truth.

    The Lovers.

    His face immediately filled with heat, even bringing a touch of pink to the tips of his ears. Asra had always warned him of the dangers of letting your mind wander while doing a reading. "The cards have a way of telling you exactly what's on your mind, even when you don't realize it." Well, Auriel guessed that Asra could tell him 'I told you so.'

    Heart still slightly elevated, Auriel wondered what this meant. He knew that the cards often had double meanings and were hardly ever literal, but he was still very caught off guard. Surely there was another interpretation. Either way, the Arcana always had something to say. Whether or not that something was helpful was an entirely different story. Regardless, Auriel picked up the card and listened for the voice of the Lovers to tell him their message.

    Immediately, and to Auriel's chagrin, the image of Julian Devorak popped into his mind. The phantom doctor had a wolfish grin on his face and seemed to be looking right at Auriel, as if he was in the same room. Julian's eyes held a familiarity that Auriel hadn't seen before. Or... had he seen it before? Was this a memory, or just some vision conjured by the Major Arcana?

    In one fluid movement, the image of Julian raised his hand and gestured for Auriel to follow him. A single hooked finger that beckoned him and also seemed to grasp onto something deep within him.

    Now, usually, Auriel would proceed with caution if a vision like this told him to follow them. Asra would urge him to think about what the Arcana wanted to show him, and whether or not he wanted to see it before doing anything. But Asra wasn't there. And yes, the Arcana could be mischievous in their ways, but Auriel was hopeful that whatever this was, it would give him insight into how to prove Julian's innocence, and he was going to take whatever chance he got to do it.

    So, Auriel rose from the table and made his way back toward the front of the shop, making sure to grab the deck before heading out the door and locking it. Not Julian appeared down the alley next to the shop, now a full-body apparition and Auriel watched as he disappeared around the corner heading south. Okay, that was a little suspicious. Maybe Auriel would cast a protection spell just in case.

    Auriel followed the vision like that for a while; watching Julian's doppelganger appear in the distance and walk out of sight around the next corner before Auriel could reach him. It was a game of cat and mouse, but soon it was over. Auriel finally rounded a building and saw where he was being led. Warm light spilled out of the door of the Rowdy Raven as Not Julian (?) made his way inside, his cloak swishing behind him. Quickly, the apprentice slipped inside and was met with a wall of loud pub-goers milling about the place that stopped him in his tracks. There was no sight of Julian, which Auriel only thought fitting. Of course, a hallucination wouldn’t have to worry about crowds getting in the way.

    With a sigh, he weaved his way towards the bar, hoping it would be a better vantage point to scope out the place in order to figure out what exactly he was doing there.

    He finally popped out of the throng of people, a bit breathless, and walked over to the bar to take a seat on one of the honestly rickety looking stools.

    "Can I get a pint of... something?" Auriel asked the barkeep. He was too distracted to think of the name of the drink he wanted, so he just decided to take a leap of faith and hope the barkeep had good taste. The apprentice twisted around on the stool to take another look around the pub, his eyes scanning for some kind of sign. Maybe a long cloak, or a shock of red hair.

    "Here you go." The voice of the barkeep was gruff and somewhat tired. Looking out over the sea of drunken patrons, he could understand why. Grabbing the tankard by the handle and taking a swig, Auriel was pleasantly surprised by the taste. It warmed his chest as it went down and soon Auriel felt a wave of calm lightly lap over his body. Hell, maybe the cards just wanted him to relax and get a drink, Gods knows he needed one. He took another long drink, savoring the taste, when someone spoke right next to him, making him sputter mead back into the glass.

    "Hello, Goldy," Julian said with a bright eye and a charming smile. Auriel almost choked on his drink and had to set it down and cough.

    "Gods, you could have at least tapped me on the shoulder," Auriel said indignantly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Or, maybe he couldn't have tapped him, seeing as this still might be the vision of Julian and not the man himself.

     "I'm sorry." The doctor did look genuinely sorry. "But I was just so surprised to see you here that I couldn't help myself." His smile widened as he leaned towards Auriel. The faint smell of alcohol caught Auriel's nose, and he recognized the drink immediately. Salty Bitters. Julian seemed to have had at least one so far. And seemed to be getting another, as the man turned to the barkeep, empty glass in hand, and asked for a refill. The barkeep poured him one, and shot a glance to Auriel, as if to wordlessly convey that yes, he was at least a few drinks in.

    So, the barkeep acknowledging Julian meant that this was probably the real one, but just to be sure... Auriel held his hand out tentatively and, before he could change his mind, placed it on Julian's arm. Soft leather met his touch, and Auriel breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to deal with any more apparitions tonight, especially not after dealing with that wretched goat.. thing. Julian gave Auriel a questioning look, his brow raised above his eyepatch, and Auriel squeezed his arm lightly and gave him a quick smile, his own brows wiggling playfully. Hmm, maybe this drink was a bit stronger than he thought.

    "So what are you doing here?" Julian asked, returning the touch with a nudge. "Other than for the great drinks." Auriel barked a laugh as he eyed Julian's drink with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust.

    "I just seemed to wander in," Auriel muttered, knowing that it would take too much time and effort trying to explain how he really got there. Julian wasn't too knowledgeable of magic in the first place, so trying to get him to understand something as high concept as some weird vision leading him to a bar was probably going to go right over his head.

    "I see," Julian mused, and he took a swig of his drink. "Come on, how about we go grab a booth? Sitting at the bar is a bit too out in the open for me." Julian stood and held out his hand for Auriel to take, which he did, glad to be headed somewhere a bit quieter. The pair passed a few tables with patrons crowded around them, sharing tales or playing games. The patrons barely gave them a second glance, which was good. Julian was still on the run for murder despite the bits of evidence that said he might be innocent, so the less attention they attracted, the better.

    Julian led Auriel to a table towards the back of the tavern, and there were a few people sitting quietly at separate tables, drinking and eating. The two of them settled into a booth, sitting across the table from one another. The benches, Auriel noted, were scored from years of bar brawls and stained with alcohol spills. He felt the energy of hundreds of memories of reveries made at that very booth, and some of them, Auriel guessed, were Julian's. He looked across the table and watched Julian as he took another long drink from his cup, almost draining it completely. How he could drink so much was beyond Auriel's comprehension.

    "Now, Auriel," Julian sighed, "do you want to tell me why you're actually here?" Julian's gloved hands steepled in front of his mouth, and the brow above his eyepatch quirked. Auriel blushed, feeling sheepish about having lied to him, and scratched the back of his head.

    "I... followed you here?" Auriel replied, his voice unsure and quiet.

    "Unless you've been here for hours and I miraculously haven't seen you in all of that time, you did not follow me here." Julian searched Auriel's face quizzically.

    "Well, it wasn't you... per se."

    "...What?"

    After a lengthy and confusing explanation from Auriel, Julian finished off his drink in one big gulp and sighed in exasperation. "Wait, so what were the cards even telling you to do? Come and get drunk?" Auriel decidedly didn't tell Julian that he had pulled the Lovers card. He decided that it wasn't relevant. He really hoped that it wouldn't become relevant.

    "I- uh, I guess so," Auriel said, and took a long drink from his glass, hoping that would be the end of that line of questioning.

    "Well, then, who's to argue with the ever-wise Arcana?" Julian mused, wiggling his brows mischievously at Auriel. Oh, no. Auriel definitely did not like that look. "Barth, another round!" Julian shouted, and slapped his hand down on the table and looked Auriel up and down.

    "Tell me, Auriel, have you ever played Ring of Fire?"

    Auriel gulped thickly.

................................................................................................................................

   "And so I told him, 'If this is your ship, then why are you the one walking the plank?'" Julian roared with laughter, and Auriel clapped a hand over his mouth trying to stifle the giggle that bubbled in his throat.

    "You did not!" Auriel shouted incredulously.

    "I did! And then I almost fell overboard myself!" He went into another fit of laughter, and Auriel couldn't help but join him. His face felt warm and his head felt light. How many drinks had he had? He seemed to have lost count after 5.

    Suddenly, the band in the corner switched songs, this one a sultry tempo with a thick bass line. The singer's grumbling voice crooned the lyrics as he swayed to the music. The accordion and violin played a hypnotizing melody that captured Auriel's attention. He couldn't help but move along to the tune.

    Julian gasped almost melodramatically. "This is one of my favorite songs!" He was stood up before Auriel could even process it, and his hand extended toward him.

    "Auriel, would you care for a dance?" Julian's uncovered eye sparkled in the flickering candlelight, his handsome features perfectly shadowed. Auriel felt a bit taken aback, but the prospect of dancing with Julian, to this song, in the dim back room of the Rowdy Raven... He would hate himself if he didn't.

    "I thought you would never ask," Auriel replied, his voice low, his eyes lidded. Julian's mouth crooked into a smirk as he took Auriel's hand and led them to the middle of the room. The pair took up a stance; Auriel put one hand on the space where Julian's neck and shoulder met. His thumb absentmindedly brushed against the skin below Julian's ear, and Julian almost shuddered. Julian's hand fell instantly to the small of Auriel's back and pulled him closer, leaving Auriel just the tiniest bit breathless. Auriel grabbed Julian's free hand and laced their fingers together, and he couldn't help but note how much bigger his hands were, and how the doctor’s calluses felt against the sensitive skin of his palm.

    And then nothing existed but the two of them and the tempo of the song. Julian’s gaze was taken by Auriel. His hair, his face, his golden eyes. Julian couldn’t look away. And neither could Auriel.

    “You know, Auriel, I’m glad we did this.” Julian’s voice was low as he leaned next to Auriel’s ear. “I’m glad I got to know you before…”

    “Before?” Auriel leaned back to look at the taller man, concern lightly furrowing his brows.

    “Ah, it’s nothing. I’m just happy to be here with you.” Julian spun Auriel away from him, twirled him back into his arms, and dipped him. Auriel could barely breathe, and his cheeks burned.

    Julian smiled knowingly. “There’s no one else I’d rather dance with.” He pulled Auriel back up to standing and held him close against his chest. Auriel felt the doctor’s heartbeat against his, and it felt like the room was spinning. Hopefully, that was just the drinks. The final notes of the song faded into silence and all the pair could hear was their breath coming out in quiet huffs against the other's skin.

    “Bravo! Bravo!” The few patrons left in the pub applauded them from their seats, and the band even gave them an appreciative nod. Oh, Gods, was it hot in there, or was it just Auriel?

    “Thank you for the dance,” he managed to say, looking up at Julian and smiling softly.

    “My pleasure, dear,” Julian replied, and brought Auriel hand to his lips and kissed it sweetly.

    “Guards!” The barkeep ran into the room, looking pointedly at Julian, to which Julian gave a curt nod.

    “I hate to dance and dash, but I’m afraid it’s time to run.” Julian gave Auriel a wink and snatched his drink from the table, chugged the rest of it, and headed towards the back door.

    “Wait, I’m coming with you!” Auriel grabbed his bag and followed suit.

    “Well, after you, darling,” Julian purred as he opened the door.

    And then they were running. Flying through back alleys and around corners. Past flickering flames of fireplaces through windows and over the canals sparkling under the full moon. They lost the guards blocks back, but they weren’t stopping. A laugh bubbled in Auriel’s throat, and he couldn’t help but watch Julian as he smiled, steam puffing out of his open mouth and hanging in the air like a cloud.

    Finally, and much too soon, they skidded to a stop in front of the shop. Julian should be safe here. Now, to get past the warding. Auriel was a bit lightheaded, but he managed to open it and unlock the door. The two of them stumbled into the shop, and Auriel all but collapsed onto the nearest chair.

    “That was… the stupidest thing… I’ve ever done.” Auriel huffed, his chest heaving, head spinning.

    “You drank with me, I feel like it actually turned out well, considering.” Julian raked a hand through his auburn hair and let it flop back down over his eye. “Now, let’s get you to bed, you’re definitely going to need your rest.”

    “What, no, I’m fine! You still might be in danger.” Auriel stood up, but far too quickly, and he had to brace himself on the chair as to not fall over. “Well…”

    “It’s alright, Auriel, there’s no way they could find us here. Anyways, you had quite a few drinks. You can hold your liquor surprisingly well.” Julian appeared by his side and draped Auriel’s arm around his side, half picking him up. He helped Auriel upstairs and up to the bed, taking off his cloak and boots and covering him with the blanket.  

    “Now, there you are. Nice and cozy.” Julian smiled softly and sat down at the foot of the bed. Auriel felt sleep coming over him like the tide coming in, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the doctor.

    “Thank you,” he whispered and sat back up to lay a hand on Julian’s arm.

     “No need to thank me, Auriel. Showing you a good time was a prize in itself.” Julian held Auriel’s hand in his and looked down thoughtfully.

     “Auriel?”

     “Hmm?”

     “What card did you draw?”

     “...The Lovers.”

    “Ah, of course.” He kissed Auriel’s hand and stood from the bed to stand next to Auriel.

    “Tell them I said thank you.” Julian smiled and leaned down to kiss Auriel on the forehead. And then Auriel was asleep.

[kingakatsuki13-blog]

RWBY: Fall for a Rose VOL 1

Chapter 2: Blood for Syrup Something was wrong with Cinder Fall. Everything had for the most part been proceeding as it had been planned. For the past week since their infiltration, Emerald and Mercury had been socializing with the students in order to not only gain their trust but also so that they may learn more of their strengths and weaknesses. They also began to pry around attempting to discover a way into the bowels of the school where the prizes they sought more than likely were held. Cinder, mostly confined herself within her team's shared room.

For hours she analyzed the data the duo sent her and adjusted the plan according to each new scrap of information she was given. She also made sure to add contingencies for any uncounted variables that could possibly, however unlikely, hinder or dismantle the entire operation. Much to her annoyance though, she wasn't able to concentrate on her own tasks as well as she normally would. Yes, she was able to do it but it took her far more concentration than she had expected. As she would work, almost most sporadically her thoughts would begin to drift and focus on a certain red-cloaked wearing young girl. As soon as the mental image of the smiling young student clouded her head, Cinder would spend long stretches of time agonizing over why she could not stop thinking of Ruby Rose. Their initial encounter was one of the briefest meetings Cinder had ever had with anyone in recent memory. The two other times she had run into Ruby were only slightly longer and even then there was very little the girl had said or done, aside from literally running into her again both times, to make Cinder so invested in her.

So why couldn't she stop thinking about her? What was it about her that had gained her near full attention? Perhaps, she was instinctually afraid of scythe wielder? Such an idea had originally been brushed aside but Cinder once more considered it seriously for several hours before once more dashing the idea. Cinder was not afraid of some petite fifteen year old. If not that, then maybe the girl held some form of power that Cinder was unknowingly drawn to. Again, she ridiculed the thought. What power could the girl possess that she'd ever want? Unless. No, the idea was too farfetched. Every answer and possibility she could come up with was more illogical or ridiculous than the one before. Ruby appeared to be a normal huntress in training, a peculiar one with potential for sure but a common one nonetheless.

"Cinder?"

Then what was it? What kept her mind from focusing on the most important mission of her young life? That kept her focused on the young red and black haired huntress that she barely even knew let alone had any information on? She was still waiting on Emerald and Mercury to discover something. She needed to know who the girl was. What about the young Rose that vexed her so. That made her think of her unique and beautiful silver eyes that looked at her with such innocence and happiness. That made her daydream of her pretty face sporting a small faint blush on those adorable cheeks on hers after she was scolded.

"Cinder?"

There was no clear answer. It could be many. True be told she hadn't felt something like this since the moment she meet Salem for the first time. The fear and intrigue that she felt once her mentor had laid eyes on her was something very similar to what she was feeling now. Only at that time, it was rather different. When she had met Salem, she couldn't stop thinking of her and the power she emitted. She wanted to learn more about what she was able to do and what the witch could offer her to fight back against the twisted and cruel world. While with Ruby she felt the need to learn more about her and that somehow the girl could…

"Cinder!"

The trance of thoughts that was holding the long black haired woman from the physical world was suddenly broken once she heard the voice of one of her followers. She turned her head towards Emerald as she sat on her bed. The short minty green haired woman along with Mercury gave her a concerned look.

"Are you alright Cinder? You seemed lost for a moment."

"Yeah, in fact, you've kinda seemed distracted for a few days now."

"...I'm fine I've just been...remembering things..." Cinder said while she stared at the floor for a small moment before she looked back to both Emerald and Mercury. "Have you found anything new to report?"

The silver-haired man gave a slick grin, "Think your gonna be really happy. We managed to find plenty of info on that team RWBY and their leader." He followed with a teasing pause to see how his boss would react at the fact they had finally garnered the information she had wished for near a week.

"Such as?" Cinder questioned with a tone that indicated she was not to be kept waiting on such information.

"W-Well the easiest to figure out was the Schnee brat," he began before reading from his scroll, "Seventeen years old, from Atlas, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. Her weapon of choice is a Multi-action dust rapier, able to make use of different forms of dust in combat. Her semblance like all Schnee is the use of glyphs and..."

"Whatever. She's the most obvious of them all. We'll discuss the Belladonna and the other one later. For now talk to me about their leader. Ruby Rose," Cinder commanded as she arose from her bed and sauntered to the window. The raven-haired beauty clasped her hands behind her back as she looked out over the school's courtyard, begrudgingly admiring the beauty of its architecture and landscape as well as peaceful presence it emitted.

Mercury in that moment turned to Emerald and gave a slight shrug before motioning to her to inform their boss of what they had discovered about the red and black haired girl. Emerald took out her own scroll and began to search for the notes pertaining the one her savior wished to know.

"Well?" the slightly irritated voice of Cinder sounded making both of them flinch. It also continued to make the terrible duo question why Cinder appeared to be fixated on a girl she simply bumped into randomly. Regardless, Emerald quickly found the notes she had compiled and began to read them aloud.

"Here Ma'am. Ruby Rose, leader of Team RWBY. Born on October 31st. 15 years old. Raised on the Island of Patch. Wields a high caliber sniper scythe. She is evidently the youngest student to have ever been accepted into Beacon Academy in its entire history..." Emerald continued to exude all the information they had discovered in Mercury and hers weeklong research. Cinder absorbed each particular piece of information that was revealed to her. Ruby was actually the half-sister of Yang, had a near obsession for cookies. She had a dog-named Zwei that she kept hidden in RWBY's dorm room. How, it was her team that had actually disrupted their allies, The White Fang's operations at the docks a few weeks prior. The woman who yearned to be a seasonal maiden listened to every little detail. When Emerald had ceased speaking did Cinder make a response.

"Fascinating...well done you two," she said as she continued to stare out over the courtyard. Her mind had already begun processing everything her minions had reported. She was searching for whatever it was that made Ruby cloud her thoughts.

Interestingly as she reviewed everything she realized she and Ruby had unknowingly crossed paths a few months before. It had been Ruby who had thwarted Roman Torchwick's dust heist those many weeks prior and it was she that Cinder had attacked to cover Roman and her's escape. Cinder unknowingly frowned at the information and wondered if perhaps that had been the reason for her odd interest. No, it wasn't that. Cinder continued to sift through the data until she was pulled from her thoughts once more.

"Ummm Cinder...maybe we could go down to the cafeteria? Do some observation of the other teams down there?" the mint-haired mental manipulator suggested. 

She had been watching as Cinder contemplated the information of Ruby Rose. It frankly worried the tan skinned woman. In the few years, she had served her source of purpose, never had she seen her take such a sudden interest in a subject like the young Rose. Ever since their brief interaction, Cinder had been adamant on learning all there was to know about the scythe-wielder and to a lesser extent her team. She had appeared almost distracted by the thought of the young girl, something that almost made the dual sickle-wielding woman mad with jealousy. Even now, after being given all that information Cinder still seemed to be distracted and was obviously reviewing all the knowledge presented to her inside her nefarious mind. Thus she hoped she could now distract Cinder with something else and refocus her attention back to the overall mission.

"..." Cinder simply started at her protégé as she too slowly reminded herself of the end game.

"Yeah. Besides I'm freaking starving. Let's see what kind of food this posh place has for us today," Mercury blatantly commented, not understanding Emerald's true reason for the suggestion.

"...I think you have a good point Emerald, looking at the interactions between teams could help us to find any relationships that they may have with others. We could easily use such relationships to our advantage. Besides, I need to make more appearances…I can't continue to miss these routine activities, or I may begin to raise some suspicions," Cinder said to the red eyes young woman who couldn't help but nod at smile at the small recognition she received from her superior.The raven-haired woman than turned to Mercury with an annoyed look but appeased his simpleness, "And Mercury start thinking outside of your stomach for once."

"Hey, I can't gather information or kill anyone on an empty stomach."

------

"...I'm honestly still surprised at how well the quality of food is here," Cinder said.

Her lunch tray held a generously sized medium rare cooked steak, steaming carrots, fluffy mashed potatoes, a freshly baked slice of pie alongside some chocolate chip cookies and finally a glass of milk. With a slight incline of her head, Cinder, Emerald and Mercury walked through the cafeteria searching for an available table, preferably one away from the other teams.

"I know. Little brats are freaking spoiled," Emerald huffed, evidently bitter at how well off the students had it.

"Pft, why are you complaining about? Who cares if they get spoiled, this food is amazing," the silver-haired young man commented with an annoyed tone before taking a bite of his dessert cake.

"Seriously? You couldn't wait till we found a place to sit down before gorging yourself?"

"What? I'm hungry."

"When are you not hungry you sociopath?"

"Bite me klepto."

Cinder's right eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the incessant bickering between the two. The nefarious femme-fatale was about to order them to stop when she heard the unique and unmistakable sweet excited voice of someone call out to her.

"Cinder! Hey Cinder! Come here you guys we have free spots here!"

Cinder turned her head to stare at the origin of the voice and of course found none other than Ruby Rose. The very girl who had unwittingly been inconveniencing Cinder's thought process for several days. Said girl was sitting at a long table along with seven other students, all form of Beacon. It was easy to see she was sitting alongside her team as well as another group. This new quadrate integrated of a blonde goofy looking boy, a beautiful long red haired tall girl, a black-haired boy that had a pink strain within his dark locks and finally an orange haired girl, who seemed completely focused on eating what it looked like pancakes.

Without a moment's hesitation Cinder began to make her way over to the beckoning girl, quickly followed Emerald and Mercury. The former of which grew a scowl on her face when she once more saw the bubbly Ruby.

"Hello Ruby, it's nice to see you and your team again," Cinder said with a smile on her face as she and the others arrived at the table. Emerald took a seat next to the orange haired girl, who was fully devoted to devouring her pancakes, Mercury sat next to the blonde boy and Cinder had managed to squeeze in a spot next to Ruby. The young Rose seemed to be barely containing herself at the happiness of meeting Cinder once more and the fact that the sultry young woman was now sitting next to her. Making her equally excited was the idea that she would, at last, be able to ask her pantheon of questions to pyromancer.

"Hehe, same," she flashed a toothy smile, "Oh before I forget! This is team JNPR. Guys, this is Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury. We uhhh kinda met them the other day when I accidentally bumped into them."

Cinder gave a tiny giggle at the flustered state of Ruby as she recounted her own bumbling. She then listened as Team JNPR presented themselves to herself and her own team.

"My name is Jaune Arc from the Arc family...I-I'm the leader, nice to meet you," spoke the blonde boy, who to Cinder seemed rather unimpressive.

"Greetings, I'm Pyrrha Nikos, it's very nice to meet you all," the green-eyed young woman said in a gentle way.

The silent young man who sat beside her followed in the introductions, "I'm Ren, Lie Ren, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The remaining member of JNPR had just taken a rather large bite of her 'lunch' and with a full mouth greeted, "Ghi! I'mg Ngah Vhakmie!" As she spoke, some chewed bits of saliva-covered pancake flew onto the table causing Weiss, Emerald, and Blake to display faces of disgust whilst gagging.

"...Charmed to meet you all." Cinder replied with a weary smile."So, since you guys have been here for a week, how are you liking Beacon so far?" Yang asked to the new additions to their table, blatantly attempting to ignore the sickening display that was Nora's consumption of pancakes.

"It's a most impressive academy. Far grander and larger than Haven," Cinder replied before cutting her self a piece of her juicy steak and consuming it.

"Really?" Ruby peeped.

"Yes, little Rose. Granted there's only so much space Haven has given that it's built on a mountaintop."

"That's so cool!"

"…I suppose in some sense it is."

The Beacon teams then continued to press for more questions regarding the "exchange students," all clearly curious about life in Mistral and the other academy, save for Phyrra, who originated from Mistral. It was Ruby though that began to ask the more personal questions.

"So Cinder, I was curious but what's your story?"Cinder cocked her head a little at the inquiry before responding,

 "My story?"

"Yeah. Like where in Mistral are you from? What's your family like?" Ruby asked eagerly awaiting the response.

"Oh. Well, I'm actually from a town in the northern regions near Argus. It's called Kuraikako."

"I know that town," Weiss exclaimed excitedly, "My father and the rest of Atlas have strong connections in that region."

Cinder grimly nodded, "Indeed. One the largest Dust mines in all of Remnant is situated right next to it and if I'm correct it's owned by your family, is it not?"

"It is and I've been trying to visit for ages. My sister informed me it is a place  one must visit at least once in their life. It was constructed on the world's largest natural arch wasn't it?" Weiss asked, nearly as excited, as Ruby would normally be.

"That's right. It makes growing up really interesting when your entire town is situated about seven hundred feet above a massive river." Cinder commented.

"You live on the world's biggest natural bridge and you go to school on top of a mountain? That's so freaking awesome," Ruby chimed, her eyes being replaced with stars of wonder, "Tell me your parents are just as cool!"

"…My parents…" she paused, "...Well, not really. Unless you consider traveling merchants to be really cool."

"Well, that's…interesting," Weiss said, slightly disappointed at the fact her new acquaintance was not of Kuraikako's elite.

"It's a noble profession," Ren stated.

The other's grumbled their thoughts, and though Cinder could care less for the fabrication she had crafted as a backstory, Ruby of course did.

"Hey come on guys. Think about it they get to travel all over Remnant," Ruby exclaimed.

Cinder continued to behold the energetic girl with wonder.

"Hehe Rubes, huntsmen get to travel all over the world too," Yang chuckled. It was all too clear to the elder sister that her sibling had a unique interest in the black haired student and thus was trying not to offend her.

"Y-Yeah but…"

"It's fine Ruby. I'm fully aware that merchants are not the most exciting profession. Besides, my parents and I have rarely spent time together over the past several years. So it's fine," Cinder interjected.

"That's so sad to hear," Phyrra uttered.

Cinder turned her head to see the famed redhead with an empathetic expression upon her face. As her amber colored eyes darted around the table, she saw the others adopt similar faces. Cinder sighed, as she realized she had unwittingly created a pity party. If there was one thing Cinder despised most in the world, it was people looking down on her in any way. Be it through pity or arrogance, she hated it with a burning passion. Thus, she quickly resolved to turn the conversation away from herself and direct it towards the others.

"I wouldn't get choked up over it. My parent's and I have never really been that close, to begin with," she continued to build on the lie. She paused for a moment to let the information sink into the others, "Anyway, I think it's now my turn to ask all of you some questions."

"Yeah…Sounds fair after all we did kind of just blast you with all of ours," Jaune said sheepishly. He, like everyone, wanted to distance away from the awkwardness that was arising from the parental subject.

"Indeed."Cinder began her own inquiry into the various members of the two teams while Emerald and Mercury watched and ate their own lunches. To both of them, these students were just so annoying. All they had wished to do was to quietly east some food and do some discrete observations. But no, that annoying little Ruby Rose just had to spot and invite them over to sit with her and her friends. More than that, it continued to irk Emerald something fierce as Cinder continued to drift her gaze on to the energetic crimson-cloaked girl. All the servant of Fall could do though was to eat her meal and let Cinder do her interviews of the Beacon students, which luckily for them was giving them new information about each individual.The sultry woman stylized her questions around general topics while slipping in bits of bait to pry deeper intelligence about each of them. It worked quite well as she was able to get each one of them to unwittingly reveal their semblances, granted she had, in turn, had to tell them her own when they asked. She replied that she could simply create and control fire, which while a lie wasn't exactly far from the truth. Yet, one of her more interesting questions made even Emerald slightly curious as to its answer.

"Now if you don't mind me asking...why are you all here? What are you hoping to gain out of being huntsmen?"

The answers they received were quite diverse, some nobler than others, to which Cinder and Emerald mentally rolled their eyes at. Yang, of course, was simply interested in beating up monsters, Weiss was seeking to restore her family's name given how her father had tainted its reputation, Jaune similarly was interested in upholding his family name and to Cinder, they were just the same old excuses she had heard a dozen times over. Kill the Grimm, be a hero, restore some lost honor; it bored Cinder to no end, though of course, her face did not show it.

Only after everyone else had given their reason did she at last turn to the one who she most wanted to hear from, "And you Ruby? Why do you wish to be a huntsman?"

"M-Me?" the half-sister of Yang stuttered. Despite her bubbly nature, Ruby was evidently shy enough when she herself was under the spotlight. "Umm well…my parents were apparently incredible huntsmen and my Uncle Qrow is one of the coolest out there. I guess you could say I've always wanted to be like them. You know going out and just helping people and all that…Oh and I find the aspect of being a huntsman the coolest!"

Though Ruby's answer was similarly common, the tone in which she talked withheld some sadness to it as if she was hiding another part to her desire to be such a warrior. Regardless, she said nothing regarding honor, vengeance, glory or anything of such nature. Her desire was simple and innocent; a desire that drove Ruby forward. Cinder, while of course being intrigued by Ruby, still could not help but mentally scoff at the simplicity of her drive. Yet, because of it's simplicity and pureness Cinder strangely found herself once more curious, something that made her mind cry in frustration at the mystery Ruby presented.

As the conversation between Cinder and the Beacon teams continued, Mercury began to become increasingly bored and tired. He assumed no one would mind if he decided to take a quick nap upon the table. Pushing his tray of uneaten food away from his person, he lay his head upon its hard surface and closed his eyes. Unbeknownst to him, he had pushed his tray a little too hard and at an angle that had it smacking into the tray of pancakes that Nora was still consuming. The action caused both trays to spill over past the Valkyrie girl. Her eyes grew wide at the horror that unfolded in almost a slowed down motion. Never before had something so insulting transpired before her. Each fluffy, butter and syrup coated flapjack fell to the floor, where they flopped, tore or crumbled apart upon hitting the tiles. Her pancakes had been assassinated. Ren and the others around them gasped at the suddenness of what transpired, all except for Cinder and Emerald, the former whom just rose an eyebrow in curiosity. Like the head of a bird of prey, Nora's head snapped in the direction from where the rouge and violent tray that committed the unspeakable deed came from. Her turquoise eyes landed on the napping Mercury and immediately narrowed. Without a moment's hesitation, she grasped some fallen pancake within her mighty fist.

"Avenge yourself my delectable confection," she whispered to her lost love before flinging the cooked batter cake into the face of the undercover assassin.

"Ghaa!" the young silver haired man shouted in both surprise and anger at the feeling of something soft yet sticky smashing into his face and interrupting his attempt to take a relaxing little nap. "What the hell?" he questioned while he cleaned the pieces of pancake from his face and searched for the culprit of the assault. Only to find the answer once he looked at Nora.

The girl with a semblance of electricity raised both hands to air while looking up to the ceiling and cried out loud, "Your death has been avenged, my delicious friend!"Cinder looked at what transpired before her with a face that was slightly baffled but more so un-amused. Other students too took notice at the sudden outcry of both Mercury and Nora. The feeling of becoming the center of attention and feeling so many eyes upon them quickly made several members of the large group uncomfortable. The exception, of course, being Ren, who was had become desensitized to Nora's crazed antics along with Ruby, Yang and surprisingly Emerald. All three girls were giggling at how funny the scene was, especially for the former thief.Their light laughter along with the fury of being attacked with food, Mercury did not think twice before he went and grabbed the pie from Jaune's tray. Not missing a beat, the son of Black threw the pastry towards Nora before Jaune or Cinder could protest. Unfortunately for him and everyone else in the cafeteria, Nora was fully prepared for retaliation. Out of nowhere she pulled out an iron pole with a large stack of waffles skewered on the end and used the odd device to smash, the upcoming cake into many pieces that flew everywhere.

Almost everyone quickly shielded themselves with their trays as the pie pieces sprayed everywhere. Yang, however, was not so fortunate. She had been about to drink some juice when Mercury had struck back and Nora sent his revenge pie spraying everywhere. Said pieces of pie ended up hitting the Xiao Long in the face but more importantly, bits of the pie embedded themselves in her precious hair. This fact registered almost instantly with Yang. Her muscles began to tense, her eyes shifted from purple to blood red and a demonic aura began to enwrap her. The members of both RWBY and JNPR grew quite with their eyes filled with fear as they saw this.

"E-Emm...Yang a-are you okay?" Weiss asked, terror slowly etching itself into her face.

This quickly caught the attention of Cinder who also noticed that the faunus girl and team leader seemed to tremble of what was coming. She also picked up on that Phyrra and Jaune had begun to slowly raise their trays as shields once more.

"Yang...just...breathe in and try to not think about it. Just clear your mind and breathe," Blake said trying to calm Ruby's elder sister before chaos was unleashed.

At first, the words of Blake seemed to have some effect as Yang started to steady her breathing while her eyes transitioned back to purple. For a quick moment, the Beacon teams thought that everything was going to be fine, that was until till the long blonde haired huntress resumed her heavy breathing. Her breathing became quicker and harsher than before; her eyes once more became red but now glowed with her rage.

"N-Now Yang please don't…" Blake tried once more to reach her friend's conscious with words but was swiftly stopped. The sudden explosion of Yang's juice glass that she was holding signaled the shut down of the Belladonna's attempts. This once more got the attention of the other students, who all began to scuttle away as Yang's demonic aura reached new heights.

A single utterance sounded from somewhere in the near silent hall of eating that best summarized the feelings of the student populace over what was about to take place, "Oh no...not again."

As if in response to that remark, Ruby jumped on to other table and with both hands raised to her mouth, she shouted out, "Food Fight!"

Once Cinder heard those words from the red and black haired young huntress, she turned to leave when a loud crash sounded behind her. Her head spun back to find the table had been smashed into the ground, Yang standing at the epicenter from which the table had collapsed. Evidently, her punch had been so swift and powerful it created a temporary anti-gravity effect with several trays full of food that had been on the dinning platform. These platters stuffed with varying consumables seemed to float in the air before the now psychotically grinning Yang proceeded to punch them all in every direction. Cinder easily dodged the tin plate and its messy contents that were launched at her head. She proceeded to back up and stand against the wall away from the chaos that was unfolding. She took note of all the other students evacuating the premise and decided it would be wise for her team to follow suit. As she moved to gather her teammates, the nefarious woman growled in displeasure when she realized that one was already mixed up in the ridiculous bout.

The disciple of Salem watched as Yang launched herself forward to collide with Nora and Mercury. Having the momentum, Yang catapulted the three of them into several other tables causing more and debris and food to fly all over. At the same time, Ren tried to stop Ruby as she tried to back up her older sister. She came at him, tossing slices of pizza as he deflected each one with the large carrots he held. Meanwhile, Pyrrha and Jaune dueled with both Blake and Weiss. Jaune used a tray as his shield as Weiss assaulted him with her signature swordfish. Blake made use of an overly large turkey drumstick as she combated Phyrra's salami loaf thrusts. The sight of everyone fighting with food made Cinder feel disgusted. It was all so idiotic, so childish, and normally she would have despised every aspect of the mock fight. But looking at Ruby, seeing the joy-filled girl have fun, prevented Cinder from completely looking down upon the lively clash. In fact, it almost made the undercover villainess want to get involved.

Suddenly, Emerald appeared next to her master. She had somehow avoided the confrontation but was cleaning some pieces of food from her hair.

"Jeez what a mess these losers and Mercury have created," she stated before ducking as several watermelons zipped past and swiftly exploded behind them.

"S-sorry!" apologized Phyrra.

"… Maybe we should get Mercury and leave before someone gets here and we get caught up in this mess…Cinder?"

Cinder silently looked to her lackey as food flew in the air around them before returning her gaze to the fight of food raged in front of them. Her normally collected and mature mind had become bewildered as she watched both parties battle one another with their comical makeshift weapons all the while smiling and laughing. Even Mercury of all the sociopaths in Remnant looked to be enjoying himself as he kicked and threw various pastries at the powerhouses of Yang and Nora. And then there was her, the petite, nimble and mesmerizing Ruby. Her flowing scarlet cloak, her slender but defined arms, the way her mixed colored hair bounced and swayed as she flipped an kicked, and finally her pale but rosy face that emitted such overwhelming euphoria. She completely mystified Cinder with her pureness. The fiery seductress' concentration on the Rose until it was broken when an airborne pie struck Emerald on the side of her face, covering it in a mixture of mashed apple, crust and whipped cream.

"Bwaggh! T-THE HELL MERC?"

The ruby-eyed girl furiously turned towards her partner, while trying to wipe the creamy substance from her face. The certainty of Mercury casting the pie that struck her was without doubt as he was the only one at that moment with a stockpile of the delicious confections.

"Hehehe come on Em! Lighten up. I need some back up here," he laughed as he launched another pie at Yang who intercepted it and returned right back at its place of origin with meteoric speed. Despite, what he felt and thought about the Beacon students, Mercury had to admit, they could be fun.

"Tch. In your dreams moron!" Emerald spat back before once more looking to Cinder, "Cinder? Come on. We..."

"Cinder!" came the voice of Ruby Rose.

Interrupting Emerald's plea the daughter of Rose and Xiao Long ran up to followers of darkness while evading a sudden barrage of soda-cans from Phyrra. Smoothly she slid right next to the two infiltrators.

"Cinder! Emerald! I need some help taking down Ren and Phyrra! Any chance you two could help me out?" Ruby requested while flashing one of the brightest smiles anyone could give.

"W-What?" gaped Emerald at the sniper-scythe wielder, "What makes you think we'd..."

"Ruby, I don't think that we…" Cinder initially interjected before taking in Ruby's excited expression. Her amber eyes locked with Ruby's silver ones, eyes so vibrant and filled with life. Normally, she'd want nothing more than to snuff out such virtuousness, but again, Cinder did not feel it with Ruby. No, instead she felt a bizarre and out of character need to protect the happiness of the girl. Thus, she realized to spare Ruby disappointment, she begrudgingly but calmly responded, "What do you need us to do?"

"Huh?"

To say Emerald's face fell into one of shock would have been an understatement. She questioned whether she was in a dream or not, as she refused to accept that Cinder Fall, one of the most strong-willed, mature, deadly and ambitious people in all of Remnant had just agreed...to partake in a food fight. She had also, without any warning, signed Emerald up to aid in Ruby's fight. Things were simply no longer making any sense to Emerald.

"Emerald, I need you to draw their fire as Cinder and I use the tables as cover to try and flank them on their right. Cinder, as soon as we get there we'll take out Jaune first, then Ren before finally focusing on Phyrra hehehe," Ruby chuckled as she gave her instructions. "You ok with that?"

Before Emerald could even begin to protest, Cinder once more spoke for her, "Sounds like a plan. Lead the way little Rose…Emerald."

"Y-Yes ma'am?" Emerald replied, still confused at what was going on.

"Make sure they don't spot us coming," Cinder ordered before her face took on a small smile.

With that both Fall and Rose moved to prone positions beside one another and began to crawl military style beneath the tables. Emerald started at the bizarre sight of Cinder crawling before shaking her head and adhering to the orders her superior gave to her...as strange and out of character as they were.

"Sigh...can't believe I'm actually doing this..." the former thief mumbled to herself before arising and took to chucking a mixture of fruits and meats at the survivor of Kuryuri and Champion of the Mistral regional tournament. Both of course immediately returned fire in kind to which Emerald comedically dodged.

Save for the eleven participants of the food warfare, the cafeteria of Beacon was completely empty. The cacophony of noise that the eleven created would contradict such an idea. Plates shattered, food splattered, silverware clanged and each individual gave a roaring scream as they gave it their all defeat their foes with chickens, cakes, noodles and any other edible substance they could grab. Any outside passerby would assume the noise emanating from the hall signified actual combat taking place. Granted, the way each participant was conducting himself or herself, such a notion wasn't far off.

"Blood for syrup!" Nora war cried as she slammed her pancake mallet into the end of a table.

The table end easily buckled under the force of Nora's strike and created a catapult-like motion as the rest of the table flew up. The food upon the dining top shot off and towards the silver-haired agent of evil. Mercury's jaw slightly flew at the sight of the wall of confections barreling towards him. Quickly recomposing himself, he used a combination of his advanced robotic legs and two sticks of butter to "skate" between the multitudes of airborne foodstuffs. Nora cackled at the sight as in the moment Mercury gained the appearance of some kind of figure skater.

"Ha. Nice try Pancake brain but you're gonna need to better than th-bwaagh!" Mercury yelped in shock and pain as something hit him from behind.

Whatever struck him contained enough force behind it that he was sent careening towards Nora. The orange haired ball of energy was not prepared for an actual body to be flying at her and thus failed to move in time. As soon as he collided with her, both Mercury and Nora tumbled and rolled over one another until they crashed into a rather large cake.

"Yeah! Two for the price of one," Yang cheered.

Mercury was the first to arise from the cake. From head to waist he was covered in a mixture of white frosting and yellowcake crumbs. Swiftly he wiped away the sweet dessert's remains from his face before giving a hard glare at the young girl that had just humiliated him.

"Alright then…" he commented.

Seeing her foe rise once more to face her, Yang adopted a smug grin, "Oh? Back for more are we?" 

She proceeded to give him a "bring it" gesture with her free hand and while showing off the big roasted chicken she had crafted into a gauntlet. She then assumed her fighting stance while commenting, "Let's taste if you're a man...or a chicken."

"You know..." Mercury said spitting the remains of cake that were in his mouth, "...I never liked vanilla cake but I have to admit that it's way better than listening to your lame puns."

"Oh, now you done it, old man. I'm going to end you!" Yang said with her eyes glowing fiery red once more before she charged towards him.

"Ha, how original. Mocking me for my hair," Mercury said as he also charged towards the blonde haired huntress. Soon both were heatedly engaged in an incredible fighting sequence between Yang's chicken fists and Mercury's greased feet.

"Augh! We can't fight back," Weiss complained.

The Schnee heir, now accompanied by Emerald, endeavored to find cover from the unstoppable rain of food that came from the side of Pyrrha, Jaune, and Ren. The two males of the trio threw their stockpiles of food at the rate an automatic rifle would fire its ammunition. Pyrrha, on the other hand, made use of her semblance to deploy cascades of silverware and soda at the panicking duo. As they ran Weiss saw their salvation ahead in the form of a large mound of upturned tables that in many ways resembled a barricade.

"Quick! Behind those tables," Weiss instructed to her ally and they both jumped towards the safety of the tables.

’Cinder and Ruby at that same moment were attempting to engage their flanking maneuver as team JNPR became solely focused on the others. They had completely failed to notice the sneaky approach of Ruby and Cinder.

"Are you ready Cinder?"

"..."

"As soon as Phyrra's out of ammunition we can..."

Ruby never finished her description of their counter-attack. It was interrupted by the duel of Yang and Mercury. In their thirst to out due one another, the battle crazed brawler and assassin had obliterated the tables that had allowed the scythe and bow wielders to progress as far as they did. Yang swiped at Mercury's buttery metallic appendages with her full might. The resulting impact somehow had thrown each other and the remaining tables back, one of which was knocked into the face of Mercury who stumbled back in a comical way before falling over. The Suddenness of this skirmish by their flank instantly alerted Ren, As the quite young man surveyed the lightning fast bout, he instantly saw the prone figures of Ruby and Cinder now without their cover. Ruby's eyes grew wide as she saw Ren see them.

"C-Cinder," she squeaked.

"…" mutely replied Cinder.

"Fall back! We're exposed!" Ruby shouted before jumping from the ground and dashing to where Weiss and Emerald had taken cover. Cinder watched as she ran before looking back to Ren and saw that he had directed Phyrra and Jaune to open fire at her current location.

"...Shit," she muttered before she too made a dash for the refuge of Weiss and Emerald's table barricade. Behind her droves of flying, food and drink crashed into the ground at such strength and speed the floor's tiles began to crack. Cinder, surprisingly found the whole experience to be invigorating. Of course nowhere near the level she had felt when trying to acquire the Fall Maiden's power years ago, but this time it felt different. As she took cover alongside the others she cast a look at Emerald that informed her that she was disappointed that she did not completely succeed at drawing the enemy's fire. Emerald made a motion to where Mercury lay prone, blaming him for blowing their cover.

As Emerald defended herself, Ruby and Weiss were contemplating battle strategies, "Alright our flanking plan didn't work...Oh what if we..."

Again the silver-eyed warrior's proposed stratagem was interrupted as a vending machine soared above their heads and crashed into the floor front of the quartet.

"S-sorry about that!" came Phyrra's apology once, sounding clearly embarrassed, that is until she once more resumed her fire.

"Has anyone ever said that her semblance is completely OP?" Emerald inquired her mouth agape at the sight of the crushed vending machine.

"Ugggh. This is pointless! We're completely pinned! There's no way we can win this!" huffed Weiss throwing her arms up in frustration.

"Don't give up yet Weiss. We gotta keep going on till our last breath. Till the las...wait a minute. Where is Blake?" Ruby asked looking for her faunus partner as she realized her absence.

"She's there" Weiss directed with her thumb towards a dizzied Blake lying on the floor surrounded by loads of discarded food. "While we were fighting, she got distracted when she saw a bowl filled with fish and that allowed Pyrrha to knock her out," Weiss explained.

An awkward single sweat drop slid down the foreheads of Emerald, Cinder, and Ruby out disbelief that something like that could have happened. They were all brought back to the battle at hand as more food and utensils crashed into and rocked the table barrier.

"We'll avenge you, Blake!" Ruby shouted.

"But how? We don't have an opening to counterattack," Weiss reminded the energetic girl.

"Then I'll create one!" Ruby said with a playfully serious face. Both Cinder and Weiss couldn't help but look at the black-red haired huntress in confusion of what she may have been thinking.

"What do you mean Ruby?"Cinder followed up with, "What are you going to do now?"

"If I don't make it..." Ruby said almost like if she was about to cry "it was a pleasure to have served with you all...And tell Yang...not to touch my stuff."

Ruby suddenly disappeared from the sight of all three women, leaving behind a flutter of rose petals. Cinder found the falling scarlet floral remnants quite beautiful and certainly a fitting tribute to the last name of the young woman.

"She's creating a distraction," Weiss said, pulling Cinder from her petal-induced trance. The undercover villainess rapidly realized what Weiss meant. The food assault from JNPR was no longer aimed where they were. Instead, the enemy trio had their sights focused on Ruby. Said target had transformed herself with her semblance of speed into a mesmerizingly beautiful flying twister of scarlet. With such incredible speed, the twister danced in the air as it avoided anti-air soda cans, chickens and cakes.

"This is our chance."Weiss' voice, however, was muted out as Cinder once more contemplated her current situation. Without Ruby beside her, the black-haired femme fatale was able to think more clearly.

'What the hell am I doing? Am I really lowering myself to playing this ridiculous game…just because I've gained an interest in that girl?' her brow furrowed as the realization made her more frustrated and angry with herself. 'Shit. How could I be so moronic as to get up in this foolishness? If we were to leave now it could lead to unnecessary questions and make these teams more reluctant to interact with us.'

Cinder bit her lip as such an option was out of the question. She knew there was something about Ruby that tugged at her curiosity. To have the girl skeptical of her would make her investigation that much more difficult. She once more reaffirmed her commitment to the fight, which she acknowledged was rather fun. As she prepared to move with the Schnee heiress a thought crossed her mind. A thought that made her realize that the mock battle did have an actual benefit to their overall mission. With this second realization, Cinder donned her signature smirk.

"Cinder, are you coming?" Weiss asked readying her swordfish.

Cinder's smirk dissipated and was with a serious look and nodded affirmatively. She then turned her gaze to her underling.

"Emerald. Make sure you cover us this time," Cinder she commanded while her eyes flashed with flames, emphasizing her point. Emerald nodded her head fervently before picking up bottles of both ketchup and mustard respectably.

'What the hell is happening? Why is Cinder agreeing to partake in this childish fight? Mercury, I can understand. But Cinder? The hell is going on?' Emerald pondered as she readied herself.

Weiss and Cinder vaulted over the barricade and rushed towards their distracted targets, picking up whatever leftover foods had yet be eviscerated by the intense cuisine melee. As they did Emerald fired globs of the condiments at Phyrra. The red-headed warrior noticed the flavored projectiles streaking towards her person and easily dodged the airborne sauces. True to her form and combat aptitude she redirected a fair portion of her floating soda cans at the poor villainess. Emerald gave an audible gulp at the sight of hundreds of cans paralleling towards her. Her body refused to move at the somehow terrifying sight and was quickly buried beneath the avalanche of pop.

Cinder rolled her eyes at her apprentice's inability to dodge before refocusing on Weiss and the JNPR trio that stood ahead. Cinder thrusted several chocolate chip cookies toward Jaune as if they shurikens. She aimed for Jaune under the analytical deduction that he was the weakest and clumsiest of the group. Her assumption on him being clumsy was correct as when the blonde boy turned to face the new threat he undertook attempts to dodge the cookies in a laughable fashion but in the end, failed. Several of the crisp snacks struck him in the face, hands, knees and of course the nether regions. The striking of the latter area forced the boy to collapse in excruciating pain and rolled off JNPR's hill of wrecked tables.

The loss of Jaune easily distracted Phyrra who rushed to his aid before Ren stopped her and ordered her to focus at the present threat at hand. With a mental apology to her crush, Phyrra focused her efforts on the heiress and attempted murderer. Once more using her semblance she raised hundreds of soda cans, eating utensils and other metallic objects from the floor into a massive singular cluster. The redhead prepared to fire it at the oncoming Haven and Beacon team up as they drew nearer.

"Phyrra! To your right! Ruby's coming in for an attack!" Ren suddenly cried.

Phyrra, Weiss and Cinder's all snapped their heads to see the spiraling twister of petals that was Ruby, launch herself in a spearheaded assault at both Ren and Phyrra. Reacting on instinct, the girl of polarity commanded her magnetized weapons of the food war towards the leader of RWBY. Luckily for Ruby, she was able to pull out of her attack vector just before colliding head-on into the pillar of food and cans that had been sent at her. Unfortunately, on her escape trajectory, she still scrapped alongside a fair portion of the attack and flew out of control, crash landing upon the mess hall floor and into a large puddle of soda. Seeing this Cinder and Weiss both changed direction and ran to the fallen huntress. Both skidded next to her in an attempt to assess the damage.

Weiss addressed her comrade before Cinder could even begin to form words, "Ruby? Ruby are you ok?"

They rolled her body onto her back to get a better look at her. The small warrior emitted some coughs as she slowly opened her silver eyes to look at both women who attended to her. Her expression conveyed sadness as she extended both hands to grasp the hands of both women who kneeled beside her.

"W-Weiss...cough…C-Cinder...I-I'm feeling cold. Cough, cough…" Ruby croaked in a clearly exaggerated tone of pain. Knowing her leader was simply being her playful self, Weiss simply rolled her eyes and sighed in relief that she was fine.

Cinder proceeded to remark,"Maybe that feeling has to do with the fact that you're laying in a puddle of soda?”

Weiss followed Cinder's deduction, "And it's quite sticky, thank you for showing us that by grabbing our hands."

"Don't ruin this for me!" Ruby shouted annoyed before resuming her self-imposed role of a dying warrior, "Cough…G-Girls…cough…a-avenge me...a-avenge...uuggggaaa…" Ruby finished her dramatic plea with an improvised dying sound before she closed her eyes and went limp. Deciding for once to actually continue the charade for her friend, Weiss cried out in theatrical anguish over the stiff "corpse" of Ruby. Cinder, however, took up the opportunity Ruby presented her in her "final" moments.

"Weiss…lets get her out of here. Then we shall avenge her," Cinder stated as she stood up and sized up Phyrra and Ren. Both had, in a small sign of respect, allowed them to have the small moment to say "goodbye" to Ruby.Weiss looked up at the "Haven Student" before nodding. They proceeded to carry Ruby out of the puddle of soda and onto one of the few remaining tables. There the two of them laid the fallen leader to 'rest'. Then both quickly went to procure weapons for the final battle that was upon them.

Cinder grabbed two long baguettes. She activated the fire dust sewn into her clothing and roasted both baguettes so thoroughly that when done, each was as hard as a metal pipe. Weiss proceeded to take up the swordfish she had already been using. Yet at the same time, she skewered various foods upon the fish's namesake, turning it like some kind of shish kebab of tomatoes, meatballs, fish, cakes and many more. When finished reequipping, both young women stood side by side ready to end the destructive conflict.

In a small but extravagant tribute, Weiss directed her weapon towards both Pyrrha and Ren and proclaimed, "For Blake!"

Picking up on Weiss's intention to dedicate the final melee to the "fallen," Cinder settled to play along and declared, "For Emerald."

Somewhere buried beneath a pile of crushed and leaking soda cans, the future Fall maiden's apprentice gave a tiny squeak of joy.

As the unlikely team-up began to walk then sprint forward they gave a synchronized cry "and for Ruby!"

The four engaged in a clash with a phenomenal display of combat choreography. Ren flipped backwards into the air before, using her own idea against her, chucked several cookies like shurikens against Cinder. Not surprisingly, she simply deflected them with her hardened swords of bread. Weiss, meanwhile, used her fishy rapier covered with its added assortment of consumables not only as a close quarter tool but also as a projectile launcher. Every slash and thrust she made through the air fired one of the impaled foods at Pyrrha's pale face. Given how close they were it became increasingly difficult for the red-haired champion to effectively evade the tasty projectiles and the pointy end of the deceased fish's bill. Fortunately for her, her semblance was able to award her with more metallic lunch trays to use as shields.After what could have easily been ten minutes of non-stop action fight, everything ended up between Cinder and Pyrrha after they both had ended their respective opponents. The black haired nefarious woman had defeated Ren with a well-timed slash upside his head, knocking him out. The woman with the semblance of polarity had bested Weiss with a pair of éclairs. As Weiss had pressed her advance, Pyrrha came across the pastries near one of the many upturned tables. Wasting no time she grasped the doughy rods and aimed that at the white-haired girl and squeezed. Vanilla and chocolate cream shot at fire hose speeds into the face of the shocked RWBY member. Upon impact with her face, she flew back and slammed into the floor, knocked out with a face covered in delicious pastry cream. For the third time since the entire theater of warfare had begun, the red-haired woman quickly apologized. It was then that she gave her full attention to the young woman she had only been introduced to only a little while ago.

"Most impressive. You've managed to beat three members of that team along with my own teammate all on your own," Cinder commended.

"I appreciate the compliment. I can also tell by the way that you fight that you yourself are quite skilled. It's oblivious you defeated Jaune and Ren without using your true potential," Pyrrha observed.

Cinder's eyes narrowed at Pyrrha's deduction. The girl was already known to be a prodigal warrior, but now Cinder recognized that she was also extremely observant from her statement alone. Cinder hadn't even really fought in the lunchroom war, but even then she did her best to act at the same level as the students. Pyrrha though, even as she directed her magnetic attacks and dueled with Weiss, had been able to observe her and deduce that she was, in fact, holding back. She wondered briefly if Pyrrha was able to grasp the true extension of her abilities. If so that girl alone could compromise the whole mission. However, the way she acted towards Cinder failed to raise any more alarms for the young woman.

"Hmmm very observant. Though I'm curious," Cinder replied as she flourished her grain-based weapons, "Are you strong enough to best me?"

"We shall see,” Pyrrha answered and assumed her natural fighting stance. In one hand she held a silver tray to act as her shield and in the other a salmai loaf to be her javelin. “May the best huntress win,"

 Both gave a curt nod to the other prior to their charge against one another for the final duel.

However, the huge food war would have a more unexpected end than it ending in a victory for either Cinder or Pyrrha. Before they had the opportunity to lock weapons, they were both suddenly knocked out as two bodies crashed into them at break speed. Yang and Mercury had recovered from their earlier bout and were set to duel again when Nora once more appeared. Her reentry into the fight was not expected and thus neither Yang nor Mercury was prepared for her attack. She whacked the two with her pancake mallet, resulting in them leaving the conscious state and sending their rag doll-like chassis slamming into Cinder and Pyrrha, rendering them unconscious as well. Pyrrha, Mercury, Cinder, and Yang ended up rolling over the food and debris littered floor and came to rest in a comical pile before the table Ruby lay on.

The victor Nora climbed up of a stack of overturned tables extended her arms to the ceiling and with a slightly crazed smile on her face laughed out, "I'm the queen of the cafeteria! I reign supreme! Bow before me you fools!"

The euphoria that Nora felt was not shared by a rather unhappy blonde haired woman. Glynda Goodwitch aggressively taped her foot and squeezed her crop in anger at the fact that the same eight students had destroyed the cafeteria only a week prior had done so again, this time with assistance with some of the exchange students. While normally she would clean the mess up with her semblance, she opted against such a route as she formulated another way to clean up the cafeteria. As such she allowed Nora to continue enjoying her moment as it would become greatly bittersweet once she and the others knew what was in store for them.

------

"Ugggh I can't believe Ms. Goodwitch!" Nora exclaimed as she and the other perpetrators of the cafeteria brawl marched down the academy halls to the janitorial office. "Repairing all the tables and walls is one thing but ordering us to actually clean up the entire cafeteria? Oh, she's a monster!"

"I simply can't fathom the fact that she's actually making us wear janitor jumpsuits," Weiss grimaced. The thought of herself wearing something so unappealing horrified her to no end.

"Oh lighten up princess. Janitor suits aren't that bad. It's not like your current look with a hot dog in your hair and sticky bun on your butt make you look any better," Yang laughed as she stretched her arms back over her head.

The response by the Schnee heiress was priceless as she yelled at everyone for not alerting her to such embarrassing effects being stuck to her.

"WHAT? I can't believe you all would allow me to traverse this far into the school without alerting me of these! So humiliating," the Ice princess declared as she rummaged her hair looking for the aforementioned hot dog. "Ugggh I hate you all," she grumbled after finding it and throwing into a nearby deposal bin, doing the same to the sneaky sticky bun that attached itself to her backside.

Deciding to be her joking self, Yang continued, "Jumpsuits looking pretty good now huh Weiss?"

"Oh shut up!"

"What? I'm just saying that jumpsuits can be really stylish. Especially if you know how to wear em the right way, am I right Blake?" Yang inquired to her cat friend while shooting her a quick wink.

Blake's cheeks quickly gained a rosy color at the combination of Yang's teasing and the image of said teasing installed into her mind. Yang, wearing a yellow and black jumpsuit, its zipper pulled down in such a way that exposed the smooth curvature of her cleavage. Her supple breasts almost wanting to fully escape from their containment within the bumblebee colored clothing. Blake could just see them, almost inviting her towards them and…Blake quickly shook her head violently trying to dispel the perverse thoughts from her mind. Blake reminded herself that Yang was her friend and teammate. Nothing more.

'Besides...I really shouldn't think about getting into another relationship for a while...' the feline fanus thought to herself. Though the blush upon her cheeks still remained, something that made Yang smile and hope.

Walking some distance behind the Beacon teams were the three undercover agents of Salem. While they obviously could have slipped away following Glynda ordering them as well to aid in the cleanup, Cinder had opted to not draw further attention by ignoring the punishment. As ridiculous as she claimed it was, it was a risk they could not take. Thus the false students trotted behind the others towards the office of the janitors.

"C-Cinder...I..." began Emerald. Stuttering, as she was nervous to even question Cinder's actions but her attitude and actions over the past week were cause for concern. " I hate to ask...but what was that back there? Why did you agree to take part in that stupid game? Mercury I can understand!"

"Hey what's that..."

"I'm not trying to..."

"Emerald. Mercury." Cinder sharply spoke, silencing the inquisitive and perplexed young woman and stopping any form of a snide comment from the silver-haired. "You should know I don't do things without a reason. Now stop questioning why I'm doing certain things and focus. Yes, we are stuck doing this time wasting task, however, think of the benefits it awards us." Cinder smoothly expressed, offering for both Emerald and Mercury to find the answer she was implying.

"...I-It makes us look more natural?" guessed Mercury.

"...yeah…we now appear far more like regular students," Emerald realized, her conflicting emotions beginning to at last steady themselves.

"Exactly. Just as well that little food fight gave some insight into those teams combat capabilities."

"I-I'm sorry for thinking that..."

"Don't think… Obey," Cinder commanded with a tone that held such power, that few would challenge it. Emerald and Mercury were not among those few.

"Hey Cinder! You guys are falling behind!" Ruby chimed trotting back towards the group of criminals.

"Oh excuse us, Ruby, we were just having a conversation about this silly punishment," Cinder said with a small smile to the cute young black red-haired huntress.

"Yeah about that..." Ruby said looking down to the floor like some sort of guilty child, "I...really want to apologize for getting you all in troubles...I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?... You don't have to be sorry for that, we all decided to participate with you all remember?" Cinder said with a calm and gentle tone in her voice.

"Yeah I know but...I mean, I don't want you all to be put off by us."

"And why would we be put off by you all?"

"Well… because every time we meet it seems something bad happens...I mean when we first met we ended up knocking into each other. Now we meet again and everyone ended up gettig punished by Ms. Goodwitch," the silver-eyed young huntress said rubbing the back of her head a bit nervously.

A pang of regret shot through Cinder. Regret that she had made such a cute, sweet and caring young girl feel any form of guilt over this minor inconvenience. Upon fathoming this Cinder took a deep breath. Once more, the girl before her was making her feel unusual and out of character. She was causing her to experience emotions she had long forgotten. Once more Cinder's thoughts became solely focused on the girl with a floral last name. Unlike the past several days, however, she didn't care. For whatever reason of the girl's influence upon her or the fact she consistently plagued her mind, it was in that moment Cinder cared not the reason. All she did care about, was making sure Ruby no longer felt guilty and ensuring she was happy once more.

"Ruby..." Cinder said as she placed a hand on the shorter girl's shoulder, "...you don't need to apologize at all. In fact, I should thank you for what you all ended up doing back there."

Emerald, Mercury and even Ruby looked slightly baffled at such a claim. Granted the former two rapidly assumed, remembering what she had said moments ago, Cinder was once more acting to continue gaining the girl's trust.

"Truth be told, Emerald, Mercury and I have never really experienced something as fun and carefree as what you and your team did along with team JNPR. It was quite unique and exciting and for that, I should thank you little Rose," Cinder said with a genuine smile that made Ruby's cheek turn slightly pinkish for a moment.

"Yeah, even if I ended up with a concussion thanks to your sister’s punches and that crazy chick's hammer, I have to admit that it was a wild ton of fun back there," Mercury said following along with the play that he believed that Cinder was putting on, while also confessing some truth.

"Yeah...even if it was gross and messy, I can't help but admit that I did really enjoy that food fight," Emerald said with a smile on her face. Which along with Mercury's funny comment and Cinder's words transformed the solemn Ruby into her naturally bubbly self once more.

"Oh you guys are awesome," Ruby cheered before she jumped and gave Cinder a big 'thank you' hug. 

Her action shocked both the silver-haired assassin and mint haired illusionist. Their shock, however, was nowhere near the level of shock Cinder was at. She simply could only stand there not knowing how to react, yet somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she knew…she enjoyed the hug. As soon Ruby realized what she was doing, she broke the hug, much to the silent disappointment of Cinder.

"Hehe sorry for that. I couldn't help it...Anyway, I'll see you guys at the janitor's office," the sniper-scythe wielder said with a smile as she ran to catch up to teams JNPR and RWBY.

Cinder's rational mind had come flooding back as Ruby disappeared from sight. Her perplexion with the young girl resumed in earnest but this time it was different. The nefarious woman acknowledged she needed to discover what made Ruby so impactful on her. Why she made her feel so foreign to herself and randomly enwrap her thoughts. Yet at the same time, she could no longer deny that she rather enjoyed the warm and bright feeling Ruby supplied her with. It felt, nice. But as nice as it felt, Cinder knew she had to discover the mystery that was Ruby Rose before they put their plans into full motion.

"Ptch that girl is weird..." Mercury said with an amused tone after Ruby was completely out of their field of view, pulling a now focused Cinder back to reality.

"She's more than likely going to be a problem, right?" Emerald asked with an annoyed look. When she did not receive an answer from her motherly figure, she turned her way and found her looking, with her trademark smile towards the hallway Ruby had disappeared down.

"…Perhaps," Cinder, at last, purred in response before motioning the two to follow her down the same hallway to join the others in clean-up duty, "I will keep a personal eye on her… to see if she really is."

------

"So you're sure that our enemy has already infiltrated the school?" James Ironwood asked to the two others who stood within the office of the headmaster. 

Assembled there were he and Gylnda, two of the select few who had been entrusted with the secret truths of the world they lived in and who held council with the room's third occupant. That occupant was the very man who had revealed to them those secrets and the one who led them, Ozpin.Said man sat behind a large desk from which he could view almost all of Beacon, gingerly sipping coffee from his favorite mug. Completing his quench of thirst, he set the piping hot ceramic cup on his desk before folding his hands and looked ominously before his disciples.

"There is no doubt in my mind that they have arrived. No better opportunity has there been to slip into the school than the influx of exchange students arriving for the festival," the white-haired man said calmly, "I also have strong reason to believe that these infiltrators are the same ones Qrow encountered two years ago."

"Sir...are you suggesting that they've come to..." began Glynda.

"Yes...unfortunately I do believe that they know she is here and have come to finish the job," Ozpin answered his brow furrowing in frustration.

"Then why have you yet to increase security?" shouted Ironwood, "If they are here and we know what they are after, we must take the necessary precautions and defend this institution and its assets!"

However, Ozpin countered the man's thinking, "James, I understand your train of thought yet we cannot act irrationally."

"Irrationally? Two years ago we nearly lost one of our greatest assets to the cause and now you're informing us that they who perpetrated the act are nowhere? How is what I'm proposing acting irrationally?"

"First of all, she is not simply an asset. She is our friend and ally. Secondly, you must trust me on this James, there is a reason we have not enforced security around the academy. We cannot have an overwhelming presence of force. It will alert our enemies that we are on to them and in turn will make them far more cautious. We need them to assume that we are not aware of their presence and in doing so they may make a costly mistake," Ozpin explained to his student and friend.The well-built man looked down slightly embarrassed by his outburst. Ozpin, of course, meant not to shame the man and attempted to ease his conscious, "But if it will please you, I'll have you know several of our best hunters will be returning soon to aid in the security detail. Have trust in me, James."

"...I do. I'm sorry… I merely wish to make sure everyone is kept safe." Ironwood commented before turning away to the lift out of the office, " If you will excuse me, I must make sure the final groups of my students have all arrived and are settled in."

"Go, James. See to the youthful minds you help shape." smiled Ozpin before once more taking a sip of his caffeinated beverage. 

James bowed and entered the lift and descended to the levels below. Unbeknownst to either Glynda or Ozpin, James, despite his apology, still held reservation against Ozpin's strategy. Taking out his scroll her began to make some calls. 

After a brief pause of silence following Ironwood's exit did Glynda at last speak up, "Sir...I hate to say it...but James may be right about the security measures. Are you sure a few hunters will be enough to protect the school? If the situation is as grave as you say it is..."

"No Glynda I'm not sure," sighed Ozpin. "Still though, while this is a dark situation we find ourselves in, we cannot invite anymore conflict and anxiety amongst ourselves. The kind of force James proposes would not only undoubtedly alert our enemies that we are aware of them, but it was also insight fear and other negative emotions among the students and staff. We cannot have that. It will only bring more trouble with it. Therefore we can only do what we can and pray that we can stop their plans in time."

------

At that same moment, a young woman stepped off one of the many airships arriving at Beacon. Compared to the other students emerging from the ships, one might have mistaken her for a preteen given her diminutive height. Her multi-colored eyes looked upon the academy in the not too far distance and smirked as she had at last reached her target. Granted, she would have preferred to have stayed in the city of Vale itself and aid her father figure in continuing the plan there and ensuring his safety. Unfortunately, she had been ordered to meet up with their allies and aid directly with their infiltration, which she did note could be quite fun. Placing her pink parasol on her shoulder, Neapolitan made her way down the grand entranceway towards Beacon Academy.