#i HAVE to go to sleep but god in heaven does he ever make me so fucking happy 🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖

[cherry-bomb-ships]

OH MY GODDDDD THESE PANELS FROM ONE OF THE CN CROSSOVER COMICS 🥺💖🥺💖🥺🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖

[abyssalpriest]

God I could and should write a whole fucking book by the end of this life here on Lev and his symbols

ill write it then burn it before anyone else gets a copy. or i wont. im supposed to be helping him this incarnation here to get a better anchor in this plane so maybe it would help more than itd be weird - im just getting from him the energy of "yeah no people already effectively have these things, people on my plane already know me inside and out to an extensive degree, may as well have it here too" you know. fair

[kelppsstuff]

this sounds weird but could you do how adam,angel,vox etc would react if reader had a miscarriage

What could of been.

Hazbin Hotel head-cannons about miscarriage

Masterlist

Warnings: miscarriage TW

Taglist: @fandomsbookclub @adamsfavoritesinner @leathesimp @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @strangerthings36 @carylinflors

—

Lucifer

He would be so so heart broken.

He would find you on the floor crying with blood surrounding you and panic.

He would immediately transport you to the hospital.

You two have been trying for awhile. You were a sinner so it was obviously going to be hard.

You were told early on in the pregnancy that there may be complications. That couldn’t have prepared you for this though.

Lucifer held your hand throughout the whole thing and when the doctor came in, the look on his face broke the two of you.

You stayed in the hospital for about two weeks before you were sent home.

Lucifer carried you bridal style through the doors, and just passing the nursing room broke you more.

You knew Lucifer was hurting just as much. He was the only one who could truly share your pain.

You hug him as he cries, just as he hugs you.

For months you two would cry each other to sleep. And if you went to bed before him he would often walk outside on the balcony and stare up at heaven.

“You are Cruel!” “I thought god was supposed to be merciful!” “Why couldn’t you let me have this why?! Does my father hate me this much!”

He would yell to the heavens, yell to his father — god. You would often find him out there crying, begging someone to bring back his child. Begging someone to give him your pain.

You two were shattered. You would pick each other up, but the mirror was still cracked.

You never loved Lucifer more as he would comfort you. And him the same to you.

Alastor

I like to think this was when you two were alive.

You had became pregnant when you were alive with Alastor’s child.

The doctors wasn’t great during the Great Depression. They couldn’t help you when you felt the pain in your stomach.

The pain in your stomach was nothing compared to the pain in your heart.

You would beg the doctors. You would beg ever god known to man.

You’d often cried yourself to sleep in Alastor’s arms. While you cried going to bed, waking up Alastor would cry knowing the day before wasn’t just a nightmare.

You would wake and find him breaking. You hug him and tell him your sorry, while he would kiss you and tell you that it wasn’t your fault going to sleep.

You once heard Alastor over the radio voice break over news. It had been some family that had gotten in a car crash and the kid didn’t make it out. He was talking about how cruel this world was.

You quickly went to his broad casting station. You didn’t care he was on air, you hurried to hug him.

I’m that moment Alastor knew he had to marry you. That you two would be together forever. No matter what god threw y’all’s way.

Angel

That had been his last straw. He broke, yelling how this wasn’t fair. Not to you or him.

You’d cry for days and days. The whole hotel breaking for you two.

He wished he had the power to bring y’all’s kid back. He wished he had the power to make your eyes shine as they once did.

Surprisingly Valentino let him off work for awhile. Angel didn’t know you yelled screamed and cried to his boss. The princess of hell backing you up as well.

Angel would try and convince everyone he was fine, but he wasn’t.

You found him crying in the mirror and when he wasn’t answering you called out to him once more, “Anthony?”

He turned to you. Eyes full of despair, “I’m sorry baby, so sorry.”

Angel would also stay up with you as you cried to him, you’d often ask why this happen, and his only answer would be, “I don’t know, sugar.”

Adam

Adam didn’t believe it at first. He couldn’t.

He was so so excited for this baby. He was never really a good father. I mean one son killed another.

He was scared, but he knew this time he would be there. He would be a good dad.

This time he was ready for a kid. He wanted a kid. He was so happy when you showed him that pregnancy stick. He would often talk to your belly as well. He grew so close to it.

That was the first time you actually saw Adam cry in anguish. He tried to hold it together. He really did. But when y’all finally got home and he saw the “I love my daddy shirt.” He broke down.

He threw all the stuff around. Only calming down when you ran your fingers in his hair and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“I thought heaven was supposed to only be good?”

He would often check on you. Always making sure you were okay. He went into overdrive with his protectiveness with you.

When you’d cry he hug you and listen to your pleas. Wishing he could grant them.

Adam thought this was heaven, but it felt like hell. What was worse was he had to watch you go through the same pain he did.

He begged Sera for help. Begged every arch angel, every higher being. Only to he met with “I’m sorry Adam.”

He didn’t need sorries, he need his family to be alright. He need his wife to be 100% happy again. He need you to be okay.

When Adam finally accepted it, he would try his damn hardest to bring the light back in your eyes. But it was hard. Just because he accepted it, didn’t make it hurt less, if not more.

He didn’t know which was worse, the bliss of denial, or the bitterness of the truth.

Husk

Husk would immediately comfort you.

He’d also drown his sorrows in a bottle. He never drank to much however. He always was there for you, like you were there for him.

He went to Alastor, and begged, like on his knees begged him to bring his baby back.

Alastor felt sorry. He did. But that didn’t mean he could grant his wish.

Husk would cry at night. He’d often would try and cry alone, but you made it your mission to remind him that you loved him and was still there.

While physical touch was often your main sense of love, acts of services became the main one after.

You two would always try and help and do things for the other.

Husk would always rest his hands on your stomach, at night he’d rub it, reminiscent of the excitement he once had.

Vox

He would be in denial. For the first hour he’s just shake his head.

But when the hour had struck, so did the truth.

He throws anything he could find. He would also apologize just as quickly for reacting like that.

Vox would always never be far from you after that. Always with you.

When Vox would work he’d often play the babies heart beat he had on recording.

I have a head-cannon that he can’t physically cry. Cause yk tv and water?

So he just bang his hand on the table and cuss. He looked down and his feet through his fingers and would think.

How can he help you?

That would always be his first priority. You.

Why? Why me? Why you? This wasn’t fair. You two didn’t deserve this. His baby was innocent.

Those would be his main thoughts.

He would always text you, becoming more clingy after the whole ordeal. And you would welcome it. You loved the way he would check up.

He’s text every hour; check up.

You would sing him baby songs to sleep and he would play the heartbeat for you.

—

Ahhhh this was so sad! I feel so bad for all of them. Anyways I hope this seems kind of accurate 💛

[altxrrmelancholy]

Cherry Lemons.

Tags: biker!Seonghwa, hints of a toxic relationship, a bit suggestive, Seonghwa does something leaning towards assault, arguing, Seonghwa lashes out, angst, hurt zero comfort.

Word count: idk honestly

•••

Seonghwa hoped that you would continue to hold on to him as he drove back to the frat house. As much as he was upset, he couldn't afford to keep arguing with you on a bike. He had to calm down enough to make sure you got to your destination safely. That he wouldn't get mad and ram the motorcycle into a telephone post just because. He could still feel your arms around his waist if he focused enough so that's a good sign, he hoped. It being dark already did not help the fact that he was riding angry.

As he neared the frat, he could feel your arms slipping from his waist. He stopped his bike as he reached and no sooner had he than you leapt out of the bike.

"Y/n. Y/n!" You were walking away from the house towards your dorm building. You couldn't take his antics anymore. His on and off behavior had been killing you.

"Y/n can we please talk. I promise I'll listen to you." You scoffed when you heard him.

"You'll listen to me now? When I want to leave is when you want to listen to me?!" You turned towards him to see him holding his helmet on his left hip, a somewhat desperate look on his face. All you had ever wanted was Seonghwa to listen to you.

He sighed deeply. "Can you come to the house Y/n, please."

It reaches a point that even you don't know whether he means what he says. No matter how much he tells you he does. You walk slowly towards him and glare at him before turning a corner to the pathway of the house. If you weren't so focused on the movement of the man behind you then you wouldn't have heard him scoff. This angers you big time.

"Come again?" You stop, your voice low. "You wanna scoff at me again, Seonghwa?" You say, your voice gradually getting louder.

"I didn't mean that." He says, his voice totally blank.

"You didn't mean that? Like you didn't mean to leave me stranded at the park tonight? Like you didn't mean to call me a bitch in front of all those people? What didn't you mean, huh?!"

"Can you calm down?! I just think you're constantly overreacting. No wonder we can never talk properly." You were stunned. Was this what he had always wanted to get off his chest about you? Are these words, these thoughts what he was feeling about you?

"I'm overreacting." You laugh a little, more filled with anger than anything else. "I'm trying to tell him how I feel and he thinks I'm being overreacting. Oh heavens."

"Can you stop? You're being ridiculous about this. Let's just go into the house so that we can talk about it properly."

"Ridiculous, huh? Earlier you found me ridiculous because you didn't think going on dates was a good idea. When I asked you to introduce me to your friends, you didnt think that was a good idea either. And then you finally allow me to meet your friends and you're passive about it-"

"I didn't allow you to meet my friends-"

"I'm not done talking Seonghwa, oh my god!" He physically resigns and crosses his hands, his helmet dropping on the grass, glaring at you. At this point, his whole frat has probably heard the commotion outside. Again, for the millionth. Time.

You slowly approach him, lifting up your finger to point towards him. "I'm constantly trying to tell you how I feel, Seonghwa. The way we agreed when we started dating. But I don't think it's working out the we hoped it would."

"Yeah no shit." He spits, his voice full of hatred. He never used to talk to you like that back when the two of you were merely sleeping together. In fact, you don't think you have a single bad memory of Seonghwa from before you started dating. You wonder if he turned this way because of you or if it was always like this, and you just didn't know.

"Seonghwa please. Listen."

"Ha. Okay, you know what? You want me to listen? What is with you constantly telling me to listen to you as if you're literally not right here. You keep telling me to listen when the truth is you're insecure." He stays glaring at you.

"Seonghwa, please."

"None of this arguing would have ever happened if you hadn't forced me into dating in the first place." He mutters.

You freeze. You had a feeling he would say that, and you low-key agreed. You didn't think it would hurt as much as it did actually hearing it though. You always wanted him to try for you, but you guessed he wouldn't. Especially if you kept arguing the way you always did.

Not knowing what else to say you make your way past him and head to the gate, still tense.

Don't cry.

"Where are you going." You hear his footsteps behind you as you approach the gate quicker.

"Y/n, stop. I said stop. Where are you going."

Don't cry don't cry.

To leave. You needed to leave. Before you started crying in front of a frat house, because of some motorcycle-wielding frat boy.

"Y/n, stop!" Is the last thing you hear before you're tackled to the ground. Shock runs through your system before you realize that Seonghwa had just tackled you to the ground. What the fuck.

You turn to your back aggressively, still in Seonghwa's hold. You look up at him with anger and shock. "Are you crazy?! Did you just tackle me?!"

"I'm not letting you leave before we talk about this- Can you stay still?" You push against him.

"I'm not talking about anything with you, let me go. Seonghwa I said let me go! I'm done with this!"

"Please don't break this off. Just come with me and we can talk about this, okay? Y/n- can you just stop struggling?!"

"You just said that I forced you into dating me, Seonghwa!" The yelling intensifies. "Where exactly is this supposed to go from there?" You say, voice breaking a bit as you stare up at the eyes you loved staring up at on most nights. "Please, just please let me g- mmmfh..." He suddenly slams his lips onto yours. If he isn't going to get you to walk to the house with words then he'll have to do it another way. The way he knows best.

Your eyes are shut tight as tears finally resign and find their way down your face, your hands on Seonghwa's shoulders as you try to fight him off you. You don't even know if you're doing much, though. For you're always absolutely weak in Seonghwa's arms, especially if he's kissing you. One of his hands makes its way down your body under your shirt, ghosting on the skin that is your stomach. You feel him grind his hips onto yours and you're moaning against your will. Your moans come out chocked as you're still crying.

But you still feel so good. And so broken at the same time.

"I didn't mean any of that Y/n please... Please stay..." You feel him kiss down your neck and suck the skin into his teeth, making a hickey. You're sobbing at this point, half-trying to get him to stop.

"S-Seonghwa stop, please..." Your sobs get even louder as he keeps grinding into you. You think you feel him shaking, but you have no idea if he's crying too.

"S- ah! Seong-"

"Hey!"

You distinctly hear a couple of footsteps run down a set of stairs and onto the grass.

"Seonghwa! The fuck, man? What's going on with you two?"

You feel Seonghwa get lifted off of you and you immediately roll to your side, still crying.

"Y/n? Hey, y/n. Can you hear me?" You look up and see Hongjoong, the frat leader standing above you looking concerned. He crouches beside you.

"Hey, hey. Breath Y/n. You're okay." You feel him rub your shoulder a bit. You hear a commotion behind and feel your embarrassment from being caught in such a position skyrocket. "Breath, okay? You're okay, I promise." You slightly calm down from that. You distinctly hear Seonghwa scream at someone to let him go. You're guessing someone is holding him back.

"Are you okay to get up?" You look up at him shyly. You weren't even given the opportunity to get to know his friends properly and now you never will. You nod and he lifts you up gently to your feet. You hadn't even realized that your shirt was slightly torn until you felt him put a jacket around you. You look up towards Seonghwa and see him struggling in Mingi's arms. At this point, you can also see all the frat members of atz look over at you from the windows, and you've never felt more embarrassed. You cower even more behind Hongjoong.

"Mingi. Take him inside and get him to calm down. Let's go, Y/n. I'll take you home." You hear the leader say as he ushers you away.

"Like hell you are! That's my girlfriend she's not going anywhere with you! Mingi let me go-"

"Oh cut the crap Seonghwa and grow the fuck up! Didn't you realize what this looked like from inside?"

Seonghwa stilled at the stern voice and looked from Hongjoong to you. Really looked at you. You were a mess. Hair messy and with grass on some parts of your body. Your eyes were red from crying. He could faintly see the hickey he put on you and how coloured it was. You felt Hongjoong lead you away from the lawn toward his car. "Come on Y/n."

You shuddered a bit and got into his car. You could still feel the wetness between your legs from Seonghwa's touch earlier. You didn't think you could get even more embarrassed at this point.

Seonghwa tried walking up to you but he was being dragged toward the house by a trying Mingi.

"Y/n babe I'm sorry. I-I'll call you, okay? I'm really fucking sorry Y/n, please..."

Is the last thing you heard before your focus shifts to Hongjoong starting his car, and leaving the premises.

•••

Feedback? I would love love love to hear it. Let me know if I should do another part. Thank you for now!

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Fifteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader are really enjoying being in L-O-V-E, which makes them a little careless. Daddy Fin likes to make gestures. Kaeda thinks she’s smart but she fucking AIN’T. The night of the ball arrives.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Some very light depictions of sex (not really smut). A light sprinkling of the ol’ violence.

Fingers rake slowly through your hair.

They belong to hands that have felt such torturous agony, and have been left with scars to show for it — but their touch is as light and as loving as a warm summer breeze.

Azriel’s body shudders against yours as he stares down at you. The hand that toys with the strands of your hair moves to brush a tender caress to your cheek, and his panting breaths land on your lips.

“I love you.” He whispers, not for the first time that morning.

Barely morning, in fact. The sun is not yet up, and even the dorms are still blanketed in silence. It’s the third time in a week you’ve snuck away to steal a few hours with Azriel — with Rhysand’s valued help. Your friend will return you to Velaris before Fin can even discover you left.

You push up onto your elbows, capturing Azriel in a languid kiss. And you murmur through a smile, “I love you, too.”

He also smiles. Your body is aware of his every touch as he pulls out of you and settles at your side, tugging the sheet over your naked bodies. The dorms aren’t the most romantic setting for you to lose yourselves in each other, no, but the mutual need for one another’s touches is getting—

Well. Quite frankly…out of hand. In a good way. The best way.

Gone is the endearing, nervous Azriel of that first sexual encounter. In his place is a male who knows your body like he’s been painting it with love for years — and not the mere two weeks since you first slept together.

Perhaps it wasn’t practice he needed at all, but rather…you. Just you.

He rests his head beside yours on the pillow, and his hand is clasping your cheek and turning your face towards his. “Sleep here with me.” He says.

A soft groan leaves you. Never would you have thought a night in the dorms would sound like heaven, but with Azriel, it really does. “I wish I could. I have to go back.”

“For how much longer?”

“I think Fin will make his decisions on the night of the ball. He knows what I think…what I want him to decide. And whatever choice he makes, I’ll come back here after — to you. I just hope I don’t fail in convincing him where Tathaln is concerned.”

Az twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers. “You will not have failed. Whatever the outcome.”

You stare back at him. “We’ll be together regardless.”

“Yes.” He agrees. “We will. Let them screw with the camps, if they must. But wherever you go, I go, too.”

There is such ease in reaching forward to slant your mouth over his, that you almost forget how close you came to losing the opportunity of that simple gesture. The thought has you leaning in closer, throwing everything you think and feel into that kiss. You feel Azriel gasp against your lips, and you can’t hide your smile.

“One more week until the ball.” You say as you pull back. “Just one more week.”

Azriel studies you, sliding a hand over your cheek. “I want a life with you.”

Gods, you want the same. And it takes everything in your power to keep thoughts of war at bay — to push away the conversation you had with Fin concerning humans and uprisings and battle being inevitable. Happiness sits right here in front of you, and you…you’re going to throw yourself into its open arms. Think about the bad stuff later.

But before you can kiss Azriel again, the door is flying open, and Rhysand’s leaning against the frame.

“Time’s up, lovebirds.” He says, biting into an apple. “I have to get the damsel back to her tower before first light.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rhys.” Az scrambles to pull the sheet tighter around you. “You ever heard of knocking? We need to get dressed.”

“I’ve seen Y/N’s tits literally so many times.”

A snarl comes from the shadowsinger, and Rhys’s violet gaze glitters with amusement.

You roll your eyes, sitting up and clutching the sheet to those tits he’s seen literally so many times. “Stop winding him up, Rhys. I’ll be right out.”

“You sure you don’t need help dressing—”

There’s another deep snarl, and Azriel is launching a pillow in your friend’s direction. Rhys is out of the room before it can hit him, bellowing a laugh that causes a sleepy, disgruntled resident of the dorms to call out, “Shut the fuck up!” Rhys shouts back, “You shut the fuck up!”

You make to push off the bed, but Az tenderly catches your wrist and kisses you again. “Go careful with the High Lord.” He pleads.

“Always.” You peck him once, twice. “I’ll be back in your arms before you know it.”

He tries his best, to his credit, to smile. But you recognise the worry that lurks behind it, exists in a glowering streak on his beautiful face.

It’s the same worry that prowls in your veins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Rhys winnows you straight into your bedroom at Fin’s palace and parts with a kiss to your cheek — and a playful thank fuck you and Az sorted your shit out.

To which you’d promptly told him to go get his dick sucked by Zakai.

To which he’d promptly told you that he most definitely planned to.

Alone in your room, now, you feel…light.

Staring down the large bedroom filled to the brim with luxuries, you feel…content. Content to know you will soon be walking away from this and back to where you may have the bare necessities, but you — most importantly — have love waiting for you.

Perhaps you are a naïve fool in love. But with that love…anything seems possible, somehow.

You quickly change into your nightgown, not wanting to rouse suspicion by bathing too early in the morning — even if Fin does consider himself privy to your sleeping habits, he knows also that you have a routine. Doing anything outside of that may just pique his interest a little too close for comfort.

So you’ll sleep. Not for long; a few hours, maybe. And when daylight bathes Velaris, you’ll return to your scheming.

One week to go.

One week.

That thought becomes loud — too loud — the second you slip between the sheets. You want to shove a pillow over your head and attempt to block it out, but one urgent thought turns to another, another, and any tiredness that may have begun to bleed into your bones is interrupted by the very realisation that soon…things will be happening, moving along, soon.

You toss under the blanket, huffing quietly to yourself. But a slow, measured inhale of breath brings with it the lingering scent of Azriel, and it’s an immediate relaxant, a soothing presence of cedar and frost and—

You jolt at the click of your door echoing through the room. The sound of it opening.

The sky has lightened enough outside to lend little shafts of daylight to the room, but not bright enough to see much. You sit up quickly, watching the door inch open.

Footsteps thud against the floor, and Fin is emerging, his tall, muscled outline undeniable even in the dimness of the room. Your body tenses. You watch, stunned, as he strides further into your room, an object clutched in his hands. He heads straight for the desk.

Perhaps it’s foolish of you, but you reach over and lay your palm over the small orb on your bedside table. The touch has faelight blooming in the area, a golden glow that illuminates it just enough for you to see Fin stop in his tracks and turn towards you—

Flowers. He holds a bouquet of gorgeous, peach-coloured flowers in his hand. He meets your gaze, and pink dusts his cheeks.

“…did I wake you?” He swallows, shifting on the spot. “I’m sorry — I was trying to be quiet.”

You swallow, also. You eye him. The flowers. Him again. It makes you feel strange to have him here, in your room, at this hour. To think he came with a nice gesture.

It takes you a second or two to remember the role you’re playing. You force your shoulders to relax and plaster an airy smile on your face, drinking those flowers in with genuine surprise.

“Those are for me?” You ask.

Fin glances at the bouquet like he forgot, entirely, that he was even holding it. He clears his throat and nods. “Yes — I, uh…I got them from the Summer Court. You can only find them there. They’re called—”

“Dusk-Light Blooms.” As you kick your sheets away and stand, your reaction isn’t entirely for show. “I know — I’ve read about them. They’re beautiful.”

The male’s brown eyes study you, and then the peach petals, and then you again. He inclines his head a little. “Almost as lovely as you.”

“You say such kind things to me, Fin.”

“I think you’re owed twenty years of kind things.” He straightens himself, handing the bouquet out to you. “I meant to leave them as a surprise for you to wake up to. A parting gift, also. I’ll be away on business for the next couple of days and I…I didn’t want you to assume I left without thinking of you.”

There are such warring, conflicting feelings inside you that they almost knock you off your feet. Make you want to sit down.

Firstly, you almost feel like a wretch — for playing a game, and playing it so well. Who knew that you could charm a High Lord, make him so besotted by you? His kindness is not for show. He genuinely holds you in high regard.

And then a little bit of anger slips in. Because whether he and Roza honour their bond or not, Roza is his mate — his very pregnant mate. His very pregnant mate that’s currently sleeping in her quarters of the palace. It sits funny inside you that he’s not leaving her a beautiful bouquet of Dusk-Light Blooms before he parts for business. That he’s not more concerned about leaving her and the babe behind when he leaves.

But you suppose that means you’re a temptress, a wretched, seductive little thing. You have filled the High Lord’s brain with such sweet things that he can currently see no one and nothing but you. Manipulative, yes. But if it gets you your crucial result…if it saves Illyrians from Tathaln Baralas’s cunning mind…so be it.

Your voice is like syrup as you lift your gaze to his hickory-hued one and curl your lips into a smile. “I’ll look at these flowers while you’re gone.” You say. “And I’ll think of you.”

And it’s not an outright lie, because you probably will. You won’t be able to take in the beauty of those velvety petals without considering the fact that the High Lord of the Night Court went to the trouble of getting them for you in the first place.

“I’ll be thinking of you, too.” Fin turns, placing the bouquet onto the desk. He pauses with his back to you. “…I think of you a lot, in fact.”

“And I, you.” And Tathaln, and Fenlaros, and what a shit show this could turn into if things aren’t righted—

“If I could give you anything you wanted, Y/N, what would you ask for?”

He pivots so he’s facing you again, and the question leaves you stumped for a moment — even though the answer sits on your tongue.

You blink. “Anything?”

“Anything.” He dips his chin. “A house, a business to set you up for life, your father’s head on a spike for all to spit at—”

“I just want Tathaln Baralas to leave the Illyrian camps and their inhabitants alone.”

Fin stares at you. His head falls into a very slight tilt.

“It is by no means a glamorous place, Fin.” You breathe your words, unable to stop them pouring out of you. “It’s certainly not a gem like Velaris. But it works. The way it is has worked for hundreds of years — thousands. And where Tathaln thinks merging the camps would be the making of Illyria…I think it would be the death of it. In numerous aspects. Not just in the strength and training of its armies, but…in the strength of its families, too. There’s a lot to be righted about that place. Turning into one, huge cesspool of chaos and anger is not the way to do it.”

He knows all of this, of course…that you feel this way. But he stares at you like it’s the first time he’s hearing it, and he purses his lips. You can see the cogs turning in his mind. You let him think.

And when he steps closer to you, you do not step back. When he comes to within touching distance, you do not balk. Even when he raises a hand and taps the centre of your forehead with his finger.

“This,” he murmurs, “this mind is a brilliant thing. It should not go to waste.”

“I’m just speaking from the heart—”

“And from a logical standpoint, too. Your brain should be put to work on the council of a court. Not in a war camp where your excellence isn’t even seen, let alone appreciated.”

Your eyes dip to the floor. There’s no hiding the blush that creeps up your neck. “I don’t know about that.”

��I do.” Fin draws even closer, and his hands are suddenly cupping your face, forcing you to gaze up at him. “You remind me so much of—”

He stops short.

For a moment, you can’t tell what cuts him off. You study his face for the answer.

And then you catch the very slight twitching of his nose. His brow furrows.

“You smell…different.” He says.

It is such a gargantuan effort to stop yourself from stiffening under his touch. To keep your expression mild, unperturbed.

“I don’t know what it is.” He sniffs again. “Familiar, but also…not.”

You swallow. Hard. “I used a different soap when I bathed before bed. I didn’t like the smell of it, so I threw it out.”

He leans in closer, and you stand still as his nose bumps the skin of your neck. He inhales deeply, slowly.

“…Cedar?” He guesses. “Cedar and…something else.”

“Yes.” You clear your throat. “I bought it from a market in Windhaven a while back. Like I said…I wasn’t fond of the scent.”

Such a lie. Such a godsdamned little lie.

But you will not give that away as Fin considers your words. You remain unflinching in your answer. You silently plead with him to believe you. If he could just believe you…you’ll kick yourself after he’s left, for not washing Azriel’s scent from your skin.

He slowly moves up your neck until his lips are at your cheek. Brushing the skin. “Interesting.” Is all he says, before pulling back. “I much prefer your scent.”

You bow your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He studies you. Closely. It seems to last for ages — so long that you grow restless on the spot.

But then a strange smile tugs his lips up, and he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger — a tender gesture. “Enjoy your flowers,” he says, “and don’t think of me too hard while I’m away.”

“I’ll try not to. And thank you — for the flowers.”

A deep laugh leaves him, and he’s brushing past you, striding back over to the door. Your heart is galloping inside your chest.

He stops with his hand rested on the doorknob, turning back to you. He tilts his head.

“If you have any more trouble sleeping,” he says, “just think about the night of the ball.” He opens the door. “I can do a great many things with my tongue.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You’ve reread the note at least ten times, now.

Something just feels…off about it. Churns your gut.

Perhaps it’s that it’s your father’s handwriting that glares up at you, dark and ugly and smeared on the page. Even his hand is threatening, domineering.

I need to see you urgently. Meet me at the mead hall this afternoon, three o’clock.

Of course, you consider simply throwing the note into the fire and giving it no further thought — that’s certainly what your father deserves — but…you don’t know. For all his flaws, your father is not a hyperbolic male. You can’t imagine him stressing urgency without good reason. You can’t imagine him wanting to see you without good reason.

Azriel flies you from Velaris to Windhaven, his arms a supportive band around you. He can feel the tension tightly coiled in your body. As his shadows guide his way through the skies, he leans in and presses a kiss to the crease between your brows.

“I love you.” He says, and those three little words loosen some of your restlessness. “You’re sure you don’t want me to meet your father with you?”

Yes, you want him to. But whether or not it’s a good idea is a different story entirely.

“It’ll only make him more hostile.” You smile apologetically. “You know…how he feels about you.”

“And he should know how I feel about him. That I hope he gets eviscerated. Slowly.”

He’s not joking, but a quiet, nervous laugh rasps out of you, and that laugh softens the fury in his eyes and causes him to squeeze you tightly against him.

“Alright,” he concedes. “I’ll stay away from the meeting. Not too far away, though. I’ll be nearby, and when he’s said his piece, I’m getting you straight out of there. We’ll go and buy hot chocolate.”

A smile curls your lips. “From the market stall?” The very one the two of you have been frequenting for years.

He leans in, kisses you again. “From the market stall.”

He sets you down a few buildings away from the mead hall and vows to wait. Something in his gaze as you part from him tells you that while he may not encroach on the meeting, his brilliant shadows will be putting the feelers out, keeping him updated. You expect — nor want — nothing less.

So close to Starfall, even Windhaven is mild enough that your heavy overcoat is starting to feel like a bad choice. Or perhaps the clamminess of your skin is from raw, nauseating anticipation. You do not want to do this. You would happily never see this male ever again. You wonder if it’s better to ignore his request and go running away from the building—

But you open the door and step inside before you can talk yourself out of it.

It’s always empty this time of day, when the Windhaven residents are finished with their lunch. The smells of roasted meat and potatoes still linger in the air, the warmth of the hearths still permeating the building. But it’s dark, and a little eerie, and that’s why you jump at the clipped footsteps that emerge from the kitchen.

The strange concoction of emotions you feel in that moment is jarring.

You’re both shocked and not shocked at all. Annoyed. Anxious. A little sick to your stomach. Kaeda holds your returned note in one of her hands. She chucks it onto the closest table.

“Wasn’t hard to imitate your father’s handwriting.”

You purse your lips, watching as she slides her hands into her pockets. You suppose you hadn’t considered this side of things — that she’d want to confront you about you and Azriel. But luring you here under false pretences…using your father to taunt you—

“Why.” You bite out. “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop messing with my fucking work.”

Straight to the point, then. You take in her beautiful features, and oh, she’s angry. Her face is so pinched that it’s almost…not beautiful at all. Her vibrant hair is a flash of her temper.

But you’re angry, too. Livid. That she would use Azriel the way she did, play on his emotions, try to separate you…

“Azriel,” you snap, “is not your work. He’s not your anything.”

She stares at you, and her lips twitch. There’s amusement there, but it’s a sneer. A cold, calculating sneer.

“I knew, from the very first time he mentioned you, that you were going to be a problem.” She removes her hands from her pockets to fold her arms over her chest. “Azriel’s loyal little lapdog who’s so down bad for him that you’re loath to let him experience anyone else.”

“That’s bullshit, Kaeda. He didn’t want you. That had nothing to do with me.”

“Except it does. Because I could have convinced him if it weren’t for you, and then he would have come back to Fenlaros with me, and my fucking livelihood would not be hanging in the balance.”

Perhaps it makes you cold, but you don’t feel bad. It doesn’t grate on you that she may go from having everything, to having as little as you do. You feel…nothing.

She can sense that, you think. Just looking at you seems to incense her even more.

“If I can’t give my father what he wants,” she hisses, “I will lose everything.”

You shrug. “You play dumb games, Kaeda, and you win dumb prizes.”

“And what of the games you play? Word on the street is you’ve been cozying up to the High Lord. Does Azriel know just how far you’re willing to take it?”

If she’s trying to strike a nerve, it works. You try not to let it show as you straighten your back, hold your head up high. You may not be a seasoned schemer like she so clearly is, but your actions as of late are nothing to scoff at.

“Azriel knows,” you say, “that I am doing what I have to in order to stop your father destroying Illyria as we know it.”

“My father is trying to help Illyria—”

“Your father is power hungry and wants nothing more than to rule Illyria. Anyone can see that. And he’s using you to do it.”

“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing.”

A laugh breaks from you. “I know a great deal more than you do. And I know that if your father gets what he wants — and that’s a big if, because I will do whatever I have to to stop him — he will drop you so fucking fast, Kaeda—”

In the blink of an eye, she’s moving, and you’re suddenly slammed against the wall, her fingers wrapped around your throat. Her perfectly manicured nails bite into your skin as she squeezes.

“I didn’t come here to listen to your bullshit. It’s all steeped in jealousy, anyway, because my father actually loves me.”

“Your father,” you choke out, “needs you, Kaeda. He doesn’t love you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She repeats, slamming you against the wall. Her hand squeezes your throat harder, tighter. “And stay out of the High Lord’s head. This is a warning. You do not want to cross me—”

Air punches your lungs so suddenly that you don’t even register the fact that Kaeda is ripped off of you. You slide down the wall, coughs shuddering from you, spotty vision just catching the way dark shadows snake out and launch the female across the room.

Azriel doesn’t even move from the spot he winnowed to. His shadows do all the work, shoving Kaeda against the opposite wall and pinning her there.

“This is a warning,” he intones quietly, dangerously, “that if you ever touch so much as a hair on Y/N’s head ever again, I will fucking destroy you and take great delight in doing so. Do you understand?”

Kaeda says nothing. Merely tries to fight against those shadows that only tighten the more she struggles. Az takes a step closer.

“We’ll attend your father’s little ball and face whatever he’s planning head-on.” His face is a sheet of icy rage. “But if you think we won’t retaliate, you’re sorely mistaken. It’s not too late to switch sides, Kaeda, and you’d be wise to do so before things really get out of hand.”

“Oh, fuck you—”

A shadow snaps out, and you can only watch in quiet horror — and delight — as it forges itself into a weapon that slices the skin of Kaeda’s cheek. Draws blood.

“I do not mess around where my loved ones are concerned, and you’ll do well to remember that.” Azriel watches with indifference as the blood trickles down. “You will never come for Y/N again. Won’t even look at her, in fact. Do you understand?”

The shadow-knife-sword-thing that cut her cheek now sits precariously at her neck. She tries to move, but her arms are bound to her sides. She’s backed into a corner and well and truly knows it.

“Don’t make me ask you a third time.” Az says.

“…Yes.” Kaeda grits out as the shadow presses against her neck. “I understand.”

And just like that, upon Azriel’s command, those shadows are loosening their grip on the redhead female, letting her go. She releases a staggered breath.

“You’ll regret this.” She seethes, pushing away from the wall. “Both of you will.”

She disappears before either of you have a chance to respond. All you can do is watch and watch those incredible shadows — watch as instead of returning to Azriel, they swim through the air, over to you. Their cool, gentle touch brushes the skin of your neck.

“My love,” Az is kneeling at your side, and he, too, brushes your neck. “I should have known. I’m sorry—”

You don’t allow the needless apology to linger between you — not as you reach out and pull Azriel into a heavy, heated kiss. It seems to knock him speechless for a moment, before he’s gripping your face and kissing you back.

And that kiss says everything. Tells him that you will not be intimidated out of loving him, out of wishing for a future with him. You will not stop until you get it.

You kiss him and kiss him until you’re both gasping for breath, your lips swollen and a little tender from the exertion. When you finally break away, just enough to meet his gaze, question swims in his hazel eyes. He wants to know what you’re thinking.

“We’re going to destroy them.” You promise breathlessly, pecking him once. “We’re going to stop them before they can stop us.”

He nods vigorously, hair falling into his eyes. “Yes.” He pecks you back, quick. “We are.”

“We’re going to tear them apart.” Another kiss, two, three — growing in desperation with each one. “Limb from limb.”

Your love, your heart, your soul, does not answer you with words. But rather, he answers by meeting your fire, your intensity.

His mouth captures yours again, and he’s scooping you up into his arms. And with the promise of a future lingering on both your lips and his, he lays you down and moulds his body to yours, exactly where this all first started.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A week later — the night of the ball — you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You can’t help wondering if…if you wouldn’t have been able to pull off this dress a mere few months ago. If this garment is only to be worn by the person you’ve grown into. It’s like seeing it for the first time all over again. Its glimmering beauty knocks words straight from your mind until you can only gape at yourself.

You are beautiful. You are brave. You are strong. You are capable.

The gown, the makeup, your hair…it only encourages you. Encourages you to be the kind of person who whispers honeyed words and brings High Lords to their knees.

As if right on cue, the door inches open behind you. Fin strolls in and stops a few steps away. Stares at you.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, and your coy expression is not for show. He picked out everything about your appearance. You want it to be pleasing for him.

And his will certainly be pleasing for anyone who claps eyes on him. The blue of his tailored suit matches the blue of your dress. He looks resplendent, regal, kingly — a High Lord through and through.

He seems to remember how to walk, how to talk. He blinks out of his daze, and his feet are moving again, carrying him closer to you. He stops just behind you, his body more or less pressed against yours.

“You—” He clears his throat, shaking his head. “You are a vision. I think I might be lost for words.”

Your painted lips curl upwards. “I imagine that doesn’t happen very often.”

“No,” he agrees. “It does not.”

He falls silent, his eyes drinking in your reflection, and you allow him the time to do so. If he’s aware of your trembling, he doesn’t let it show.

“You are a vision, too.” You tell him, watching as his eyes flick up to yours in the mirror. “Truly.”

His smile is, perhaps, a rare one. One so few people get to see. It gives away the softer side to him that you genuinely believe exists. The one that takes the compliment to heart.

But then his expression sobers, and he’s closing the minuscule gap between your bodies — pressing his front to your back and allowing his chin to drop to your shoulder. You try not to tense.

“Where the ball is being held,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating through you, “The Hewn City — Morrigan’s home…she calls it the Court of Nightmares.”

You’ve heard of it, of course. Its callous residents. And you would have happily never paid it a visit. But…needs must, and all that.

“I’ve heard it’s not the most pleasant of places.” You say, standing still against the warm hand that brushes your hip. “Is that why you don’t want Roza there while she’s pregnant?”

Fin hums in response. An agreeing noise. “Partially.” He concurs, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “But also because of what tonight will be.”

Your two reflections lock gazes with an intensity that turns your blood cold. “What will tonight be?”

The High Lord takes a moment to answer. He continues to stare at you, all the while stroking a thumb over the curve of your hip.

“Tonight, Y/N, will be one for the history books.” He eventually answers, and another kiss falls onto your shoulder. “Of that, I can assure you.”

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl @mybestfriendmademe

[the-lives-i-am-not-living]

Good night

Wolverine x reader

Summary: you’re sick. What's especially bad this time is that your throat is filled with mucus (lovely), which makes sleeping a nightmare. Feeling especially bad one night, there's only one person you want to go to.

Warnings: none - this is just pure fluff!

Note: hi y'all, this is my first time ever posting something here, so I hope you like it! Inspiration hit me today! (and the gasping actually happened to me recently ._.) Hope you enjoy!

You jolt up in the middle of the night, gasping for air. But the air doesn’t come. For a few seconds, you try and see if the tightness in your throat subsides on its own, but the only thing you’re able to do is heave. 

Panic sets in - you’re convinced you’re going to die if you don’t get help. You get out of bed and head into the hallway. One, two, three, four… When you get to the fifth door, you softly open it. Unable to speak, you pray that Logan is still a light sleeper.

You peer into the darkness of his room, suddenly unsure whether to approach him, but then you’re blinded when his bedside light turns on. Logan looks at you with narrowed eyes, adjusting to the brightness. His expression immediately grows concerned when he processes what’s happening. 

Still gasping, you drop to your knees at his bedside, trying to get your breathing under control. Besides the obvious fear of dying, you mostly feel bad for waking him up.

Logan hurriedly slides out of bed and joins you on the floor. “Look at me, hun,” he says, and places a hand on your lower back. You move to sit sideways, facing Logan. When your panicked eyes meet his, you’re struck with the intensity of them. He has never looked at you like that before. The initial feeling of being scrutinized ebbs away and turns into something warmer.  

“Keep breathing. You’ve got this. It doesn’t feel like you can breathe, but you’re doing it,” he says. His voice is surprisingly clear for someone who just woke up.

You give him a few small nods. The gasping doesn’t subside for another whole minute. All the while, the two of you are locked onto each other.

Then, finally, your heart starts beating less erratically, and your breathing becomes less labored.

You close your eyes and let out a shaky breath of relief. You lean your head against the bed. “I’m so sorry,” you say with a tiny voice. 

You hear a strangled sound from Logan. “Why the hell are you sorry?”  

When you open your eyes, his incredulous expression is front and center. “I thought I was choking. I didn’t want to scare you, but -" You pause to catch your breath. "But the only thing I could think of was to go to you.”

His features turn soft at those last few words. “I’m glad you came to me.”

“Thank you for helping," you croak. "Oh my god, I sound even more like a chain smoking little kid now.” Logan chuckles and gives you a pat on the knee. “Very welcome. And yes, you do.”

“I hate being sick.”

With an old man groan, he rises to his feet. “Stay put. I’ll get you a glass of water. And I’ll see if I can find some medicine for your throat.”

“Thank you,” you breathe.

When he gets back with a glass of water, you haven’t moved an inch. 

“Sorry, couldn’t find any medicine,” he says while handing you your water. “But let’s get you looked at first thing in the morning.”

“I’m a bit scared to go back to sleep,” you admit. Logan watches you take a few sips of water. “Do you want to talk until you fall asleep?”

You look up at him, slightly surprised. When he doesn’t meet your eyes immediately, you can’t help but smile. “That would be nice.”

“Alright, let’s get you back to your room. I have some stories that are guaranteed to bore you out of your mind.” “I can’t wait!” you say in an excited whisper. “Having your voice lull me to sleep sounds like heaven.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back.

“Oh, does it?” Logan’s voice drips with self-satisfaction. You don’t dare look at him. 

Instead, you cough. But this sadly sets off a coughing fit, and by the end of it tears are streaming down your face.

“Goddammit,” you wheeze.

From the corner of your eye, you see Logan holding out his hand. “Good sir, I have respiratory issues,” you say as you swat at him. “I can still walk!” 

“Okay, excuse me,” he says, holding up his hands in mock offense. “Good to see your near-death experience didn’t mess with your sense of humor.”

Once you’re settled back in your bed with extra pillows and blankets to help you sleep in a more upright position, Logan takes a chair and sits across from you. It takes you a while to shake the giddiness of having Logan in your room, telling you a bedtime story. Hearing him use a different kind of voice. But as expected, around ten minutes into his story, sleep takes you.

You don’t see Logan’s expression as he watches you drift off. 

After a while, he quietly gets up from the chair and leans over towards you. As softly as he can, he strokes your hair.

“Good night.”

[cultkinkcoven]

I wasn’t even going to post this, because I didn’t want to contribute to some of the anxieties that you all are having about the election, but when I spoke to Lord Lucifer about it yesterday, he got really quiet.

“Why do you ask? What does it change?”

well it changes a whole lot. Project 2025 is extremely concerning. Of course it matters.

But when I looked at him, his eyes communicated something incredibly intense. I could see flames and hear anguish.

“I have never seen a group of slaves so concerned with its master’s mythology”

and damn that hit me. The way we treat politicians as Gods, and politics as mythology, how we allow it to inform our sense of self and morality, when did we all get so comfortable with that?

“Tomorrow the elites will decide who the new commander is. They will dictate who’s ideas become law, and who must obeyed. One day, when all is lost, we will turn around and wonder why we ever cared about law, why we ever allowed people to dictate our movements, why we ever acted as audience to this drag show. For reasons xy and z , reasons that even you do not understand, there is a new chief, a new law, something new to obey, because the people refuse to make their own law. They refuse to be their own Gods, they cannot write their own myths, so they accept what they are told. How the heavens, or government, acts, is absolute and unknowable. It’s been so long since they tasted freedom, they don’t know what it tastes like anymore. I want you to accept that the world is what it is. Disregard this illusion that things have suddenly, or will suddenly change. Disregard the idea that this timeless battle will resolve through politics. You’ve been fighting and will be fighting for the rest of your life. Who wins? I don’t care. The fight won’t happen in the polls. It doesn’t transform based on these myths. You will have the law, the one that even they do not obey, and they will have the land.

But the enemy has always been the same, the battle has always been the same, since the very beginning, no matter how many times the myth is rewritten. Be it he or she who sits on the throne, there is still throne, you are still slave. When slaves reconnected with their Gods, understood that they were divine, as worthy as kings, they began to recreate their mythology and that began to recreate their idea of law. You want freedom? You crave liberation? Stop thinking like a slave. Stop hoping that master will be kind. Stop buying into the lie that the power exists only in the hands of others. They are not the only ones capable of creating law, they are not the only ones capable of changing minds. America is the perfect embodiment of the doctrine of supremacy who wraps itself in the false flag of freedom. True freedom starts in the mind, extends to the community, and embraces humanity with love. Reinvent the mythology, write one in which all people are Gods, and all power is in all the people. These kings are not kings without their myths and stories, they have no power beyond the power you all give them. I don’t care what the kings are doing, they aren’t real. I care about you and all your kin, and that’s truly all you should care about too.”

…. so voting is useless?

“Imagine if you knew and loved everyone in your community, and you all got together once a month to compile your assets and equitably distributed them. Imagine if you all knew what was going wrong and worked together to fix it. Imagine if you compromised with each other, and found a way to coexist peacefully. Is such a thing truly impossible? Do you even know your neighbour’s name? Do you even care about the man sleeping outside? Could you love them? Could you try?”

[twelvemonkeyswere]

I re-read Good Omens via audiobook and I just collected my favorite details

"Crowley rather liked people" is a quote I still love so much. Even though he is a demon with the job of making people upset each other, he likes humans. The contrast between what they make him do and how he experiences Earth.

That scene with the ducks where Crowley almost drowns a duck and Aziraphale is like "I say, my dear" and Crowley is like "Oh yes I forgot myself" and allows the duck to return to the surface. Crowley is usually very polite about the most unhinged things which I just find endearing

All the times Aziraphale calls Crowley "dear boy"

The fact Aziraphale has "exquisitely manicured" hands lmao. I like to think he does go to the manicurist, same as he has a proper barber in the show

Aziraphale blushes sometimes and often gives mean looks to customers to push them out of shop

I like the on-going theme in the Good Omens universe of wanting to build a better world for loved ones, but how that drive, when taken to an extreme, is self destructive. Adam says he'll make the earth good for the Them, and will make sure the Them will be protected and happy in it. But the Them don't want it, they understand Adam is acting out and is not thinking things through. There is no point in trying to possess something and bend it to will forcefully. It wouldn't be good. It wouldn't be of free will. It would make them just another of his whims and no one, either the Them or Adam, actually want that

Aziraphale thinks Crowley is a creature of God when you "get right down to it", which is a thought both meaner and kinder than he realizes

Crowley is described to have "a voice so laid-back you could lay a carpet on it"and it's my most favorite thing ever lmaooo

"You're seducing women here!" /"I think perhaps you got the wrong shop" is always a brilliant line

Even though everything in the Bently turns into Queen's Greatest Hits, I love that Crowley actually loves music, and keeps his collection of records highly organized

Also love the fact that Crowley keeps his apartment orderly, though that's probably in big part because he doesn't really live there

I do appreciate that Crowley sleeps because he wants to, not because he needs to. Truly a relatable guy.

There's a big HOLY SHIT moment in the audiobook - the speech the American evangelist gives about the apocalypse. It's fucking incredible. The actor is amazing, delivering fire and brimstone and absolute hatred and certainty until Aziraphale pops inside of him.

Death really is Azrael, literally the angel of death

Aziraphale comes up with the solution at the end but ONLY because of Crowley, who challenged Aziraphale about the difference between the great plan and ineffable plan at the very beginning of the book

There are many moments where both Crowley and Aziraphale are thought to be a gay couple, but it really made me laugh that they are at the end of the world, telling each other it's been a pleasure to know each other all this time, and then Shadwell interrupts to call them "Nancy Boys"

Everyone in the Good Omens fandom is right, I do love that in the book, the wings of demons and angels are the same color

Crowley thinks the biggest battle will be heaven and hell vs humanity. This has got me thinking a lot. I figure this is because at some point humanity will rebel against any divine intervention, once we figure out that heaven and hell have been playing dice with us. But we'll see.

It does warm my heart that the story begins and ends with a garden and with the eating of the apple - Adam doesn't know why the old man hates people touching his apples so much, but the world would be a lot less interesting if he didn't. It's a fitting end for a fitting beginning.

[starry-eyed-wild-child]

🌻 kappa x reader headcanons 🌻

. yikes, first off this man right here - I need him in my VEINS

. but swiftly moving on

. i'm not gonna sugarcoat anything, this relationship is probably toxic af - like you're both AWFUL for each other, it's like an obsessed kinda love that's probably really unhealthy

. but it's okay, we move

. probably met when he broke into your house or smth - but he'd probably been stalking you for weeks before, I don't make the rules we know it's true. but he'd 100% deny it to your face if you asked

. yes he would probably live in a VW samba. stereotypical? sure. but you can't tell me he doesn't - look me in the eyes and try I beg

. will get high with you every single night, if that's your vibe - and if it's not, he's still getting high with you every night cause he's such a gentleman

. kappa will swear on his life he hates animals, but the day you bring a cat home, bro is smitten

. will convince you to join the cult, let's not kid ourselves at all - whether you do so willingly is up to you, but either way, you're sleeping in that commune, babes

. would NEVER admit it aloud but he secretly wants small braids in his hair - tiny, tiny ones that go around. but you couldn't torture this information out of him

. try it, he'd probably get off on it

. i have said this before, and i stand by it - kappa listens to the zombies, it's a guilty pleasure that he'd rather die than admit

. y'know that red pendant he always wears? put it on for him, i beg. man will be on his knees

. is actually surprisingly a really good cook (i personally headcanon kappa as a veggie but that's just me, don't come at me pls)

. tries to be this heavy dominant man, but then probably smells like fucking fire and patchouli or some waffle

. putting the nsfw under the cut cause i don't wanna get scolded

. we, as a fandom, have collectively agreed that kappa is absolutely packing it down there

. he's a solid nine inches, and definitely has a few piercings - nipple bars are the ones that come to mind when I think of kappa, but probably had them in more intimate places 🤭

. is the kinkiest motherfucker you'll ever meet in your life - everything you knew? forget it, babes, kappa knows best

. if it's not messy and sloppy, kappa doesn't want it - you will be covered in scratches, bite marks, cum, blood, spit and sweat by the time this man is done with you

. he's so mean, man, oh my god

'c'mon, sugar, you can take it, you've fucking done it before'

'stop fucking crying or I'll give you something to cry about'

. aftercare? what's that? kappa will clean you up and maybe, maybe, if you're really, really good, he'll hold you

. loves, loves, loves fucking you outdoors - in 'mother nature' 🌿🍄

. hot take but kappa actually LOVES mutual masturbation (he's so gross, he just likes watching you touch yourself)

. his ego will be heightened when you can't finish by yourself

'awe, what's the matter, sugar? can't even cum without me anymore?'

. he's so fucking mean, I want him bad, man

. BREEDING KINK ( look me in the eyes and tell me no, i dare you)

. pushes his cum so deep inside you that it doesn't even drip out

'gotta make sure it stays nice and put, sugar, gonna fuck a baby into you, hm?'

. will praise you but in a really derogatory way? idk how to describe it

. when i tell you, you will never want another man again - kappa will make you feel things you didn't even know you could, man

. very, very good at what he does - kappa is very cocky, he knows he's good, and he loves when you tell him how good he is

. let this man eat you out, bro - you'll be in heaven. he's so disgusting with it - he's messy, sloppy and you can guarantee he will lap, lick, drool and dribble absolutely everywhere

. you have to beg this man to get away from between your legs - and even when you do, he still doesn't

. realistically, he's probably like a -2/10 BUT I'm gonna give him a solid 9/10 cause he's my man, and i'm delusional

. 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

[drconstellation]

Come Back When You Can Make A Whale

This is going to contain some speculation for S3, so you know what to do! Or not do!

SITIS: What did God say? JOB: Um... I'm not sure. I didn't understand much. Things too wonderful for me. Ostriches came into it. SITIS: Ostriches? JOB: And whales. God's very proud of the whale. Went into some detail about... how great whales are. SITIS: But did They explain? JOB: [shakes head] I think the point was, if you want answers, come back when you can make a whale.

Whales, huh?

If you aren't well read, this could be quite the misdirection. It should be reasonably obvious, given who is doing the talking - Job - what he is actually referring to, then we can join a couple of dots to make some speculative leaps.

You still with me?

No? Then let us start with how do you make a whale?

By giving it another name.

Leviathan.

Chapter 41 of the Book of Job is all about the Leviathan, a great sinuous sea serpent with impenetrable scales and breath like fire. It sleeps beneath the sea until the end of days. Over time it came to be associated with any sea monster, then anything large, and what is the largest animal ever known to have lived? The whale.

The top of the matchbox is also worth a look. We have a skull and crossbones, which is classic Memento mori symbolism, fitting in with the resurrection theme of the Second Coming - but look at the way the address of the pub is spelt! Now, this not the same way it is spelt on the record single Maggie gives to Aziraphale; Goatgate is spelt as one word, not two. A little bit of searching reveals the meaning behind this fictional address that backs up and reinforces the quote on the side of the matchbox.

Strong's Concordance for 66 gives us "wild, savage, fierce." Goatgate is an interesting one, because it turns out to be a relatively modern term from the urban dictionary, and I'm just going to refer to the polite version of it here - it's another word for "mouth." So 66 Goatgate is a "fierce and savage mouth." Yes, that does sound about right - in more ways than one, once you know who it is. (If you want to look up the impolite version, go ahead - I'm sure you will still find the connotations very amusing.)

Our metaphorical Leviathan is Crowley. He gave the game away at the end of S1 during the appearance-swap.

This also means Aziraphale is his counterpart, Behemoth. Why - well, I made a bit of joke in my post here that he was playing at being a "river horse" while he wallowed in the bath of holy water during his part of the appearance-swap scene. Modern day scholars think the description of Behemoth in the Bible may be that of a hippopotamus in real life history. If that is so, I'd still be betting this is what the "dark horse" comment from Nina in S2E1 is foreshadowing.

Maybe none of this new to you if you've been hanging around the the fandom for a while. That's fine, I'm just trying to establish the scene. And the next bit we need to talk about is this one, where Job gets a lecture from God.

During this sequence, we hear lines that come from Job 38 and 39.

GOD: Job, if you have questions for me, I have questions for you. Do you know how I created the earth? Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth, Job? Were you there when all the morning stars sang together and all the Angels shouted for joy?

These lines are paraphrasing some of the beginning of Job 38.

Then we have:

GOD: Do you know the rules of the heavens? Did you set the constellations in the sky? Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you? Did you give wings to peacocks, Job, or teach the ostrich to run?

These lines are again, paraphrasing Job, half from 38 and half from 39.

So then, we need to ask, why highlight these lines in particular?

Job 38 is mainly about setting the boundaries of the universe around us. The Earth might seem impossibly huge to a human, but it started with a single stone at its foundation. Earth and the other planets obey certain laws as they move around the Sun. The patterns of the stars in the sky take so long to change that it seems like they are set and inconstant. Even the chaotic form of lightning respects its Creator and returns to its point of origin.

From the last part of Chapter 38 to the end of 39 God challenges Job with a list of animals. The theme here is about freedom and wildness. Whether it is a noble lion, a loathsome crow, a nimble mountain goat, the head-strong wild ox or the willing war horse, they all flourish upon the Earth under the sight of the Almighty. Even the mightiest and most fierce beasts of all, Behemoth and Leviathan, have a place, although only God has the means to control those two.

None of this needs a human to be involved. We are so often the center of our own universe, and try so hard to control every aspect of the world around us that we lose sight of the bigger picture. Shit happens. Some things are out of our control. That doesn't mean its your fault and you're wicked and damned to go to Hell because of it. And that was the point God was trying to make to Job. The world is a far bigger, wilder and chaotic than you can imagine, but its also incredibly beautiful, and it runs itself within the rules and limits that seem to be set by invisible forces you can't see.

So back to the script from the show.

The first set of questions from God could apply to both of the duo. They were both around when Earth was created and were more than likely there when the "morning stars" (the highest angels, such as Lucifer, Gabriel, Michael and angel!Beelzebub) sang together.

The second set of questions are the ones that seem to have got the most attention so far, with ops cross-matching them to things Crowley does in S2.

Do you know the rules of the heavens?

Did you set the constellations in the sky?

Can you send lightning bolts and get them to report back to you?

Did you give wings to peacocks, Job...

(I make a suggestion this has something to do with Michael, but also see comments below)

...or teach the ostrich to run?

The first three of those questions are fairly straight forward, and I doubt many would dispute what they are referring to. But the reference to the peacock and the ostrich are more subtle and curious, and I would like to take a moment to look at the actual verse - because it is only one verse that is providing both questions - that is being paraphrased here.

Job 39:13 Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks? or wings and feathers unto the ostrich?

Did you realize that the King James Version of the Bible is the only one that mentions peacocks in this particular verse? All the other versions mentions the first sentence of that verse in relation to the wings of ostriches: "The wings of the ostrich wave proudly." The ostrich is considered a cruel and witless bird in the Bible, pleased with the way it looks, and seemingly careless about its young.

Why does that sound familiar...

Shax thinks this ostrich feather-clad angel in disguise isn't too smart either.

So using the peacock line is a curious choice in the script. Other than the "eyes" in the tail of the peacock having a connection to Michael's many watchful eyes on the world, it's still not clear how Crowley helped them upwards. Unless both lines are supposed to refer to Gabriel, and how the vain peacock was helped to both fly and run to a distant location in the stars.

Edit: Since I first wrote this, @beebopboom pointed me to some more peacock lore, and this helped me delve a bit deeper into them. Peacocks were associated with wealth and royalty, but they were also associated with immortality in early Christian beliefs. There was a belief that the flesh of the peacock did not decay after its death. The bright colours in its tail came from its eating venomous snakes, which reminded people of Christ becoming sin for humanity's sake (think of Crowley downing the laudanum to save Elspeth from Hell in the crypt in 1827, its a similar action.) The "eyes" on the males tail also represented the all-seeing eye of God. So we have a connection with both royalty and resurrection here.

(Oh - just as an interesting connection here - a number of the newer versions of the Bible not only don't mention the peacock in this verse, they compare the ostrich to the stork! The meaning is meant to be that the stork cares more for their young than the ostrich, but if you read the words at face value, you could take a double meaning away...)

Let us return to questions, answers, and whales.

Questions. Always questions. It's like the proverbial toddler who's always asking a never-ending string of "but, why?" for funsies and you just want them to shut up for a moment and think about the last thing you said first. They, too, are a bit like Job. They are the center of their own universe at that age, having not had much experience of the world. They have no grasp of how far it extends beyond them, and how little even we as adults know.

If at this point you're going "oh, no, no, no, no, op, please don't tell me the point of this meta is it's all ineffable," relax. I'm not.

The point was to set you up for some nice, juicy, awesomely sweet S3 speculation.

Because I believe Crowley will finally get to ask his questions of God.

(oh lordy, I made the mistake of taking a break to have a shower before trying to finish this off, because I was having trouble seeing how to finish this in a tidy way, and that caused me to have "shower thoughts" and now the nice sweet simple speculation has turned into a slightly bat-shit crazy kind-of one, although still on the same track as what I was originally thinking. Here goes...)

We have this three card spread from waaay back at the beginning of S1. We all think its something to do with the three babies.

What if its not?

Because we need something like this to happen again - Aziraphale and Crowley either side of a third protagonist. What if it's the King of Kings, Love personified, Jesus, in the middle? (Or Adam again, I wouldn't discount that option either...)

If you would look at the GIF and the screenshot together again and go, well that makes, sense, white for the angel on the right, and green for the demon on the left, I would jump up and shout at you - NO!

Look at the cards again! In the Tarot, that's the Ace of Swords on the right - it belongs to Aziraphale. It's a very powerful card, about new beginnings and change.* Lets call the one of the left Knight of Wands, which also represents the element of Fire. Knights are all about movement and journeys. Who owns the Bentley? And look what Gabriel has instinctively done with his hands - he has held his screen-left hand out to Aziraphale, the Sword, the angel who wears green, and his right hand out to Crowley, the Knight of Fire. The yin and yang qualities are actually swapped. That was what I was trying to tell you in this post. They aren't as obvious as they seem at first glance.

And love is the answer, it turns out. Did you see my comment the other day on another post? In Strong's Concordance 25 = to love.

Anyway, we should get a third parallel scene somewhat like this, and like when Aziraphale and Crowley took Adam out of time to talk to him in S1.

Only this time the three of them (with who ever is in the middle) should be having a talk with God about what is or isn't supposed to happen.

JOB: I think the point was, if you want answers, come back when you can make a whale.

Crowley could be a literal serpent (though I would be very surprised if he did manifest that way) but it should be a metaphorical Leviathan that stands before the Almighty to ask his questions and get his answers. And it will be that he has earned the right to be there, because he finally understands the lessons of Job.

@makewayforbigcrossducks I hope this answers one of your questions

*The Ace of Swords speaks of new beginnings, but it is a two-edged sword that can cut both ways. It is strength in adversity, victory out of struggle, good out of evil, a change in the old order on the way.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Family in hell | Dad!Chishiya x Mom!Reader + Platonic!Son

Warnings: AU - Dad!Chishiya - Mom!Reader - Mentions of pregnancy - Canon typical violence - MDI - +18

Chishiya would blame god if he ever believed in one to start with. He really saw no reason for his family to be in a place like this.

He on other hand...well he knew he was not perfect and had lots of problems when it came down to emotions and being social with others, not caring for the rest was his way of living.

"Dad?"

Till his son came to the world.

Truly, he was an accident. Chishiya never planned to get you pregnant and your relationship had started as only a sexual one. But later he found himself falling harder for you.

And since he sucked at showing feelings his way was to have even more sex with you. So maybe that did the trick and ended with you pregnant of him.

In that moment he was happy, for the first time in years he was so happy to have a family, even if it came at some of the worse times possible with him still in college.

Oh, If only he had know these were not going to be the worse times.

This place, whatever it was, this was the worse.

It was hell.

Chishiya had decided he would use anyone and everything to keep both of you safe.

"Sasaki, he is sleeping love, the day was long, why dont we go get him some food?" You gentle voice could be hear in the dak room.

It had been a hard day indeed. Chishiya almost lost his son because of a stupid player and then you got a nasty burn protecting him.

He had took you back to the beach and making sure your wound was not severe. He had to calm his crying son, Sasaki was young and intelligent but he was still a kid who loved his parents, crying was not something he would not do.

Completly different from Chishiya.

When the hard truth of this place has hit him, Chishiya explained to his young kid how the "games" needed to be winned no matter what.

"But cant we all win?"

These were his words at first, he had got your kind nature.

"Not here. Do you remember Hajime?" His kid nodded at the mention of his school bully "He was always mean right? And wanted to win everytime, well now I need you to do the same"

"You only have to do this for a short time, your dad and I will be taking care of the rest" You added ruffling his hair.

The memory faded away as he hear the door Open and only one pair of steps.

"Where is he?" Chishiya asked turning around to see you with some fruits.

"He is fine and safe, Kuina took him to the small pool and she will make sure no one comes close to him"

Chishiya nodded, taking the appel you had brought back.

"We need to leave this place, I dont trust it will support itself much longer"

"Chishiya, Hatter knows what he is doing" You said taking a seat besides him.

"Does he? Do I need to remind you we had to specially ask that he would let the three of us go together? He is giving this people fake hope, and thats dangerous"

His words were true, part of you did not want to believe it. The beach was a safe heaven at first, having a bed to come after the games, food...but it was too good to be true. The place has its dark side and you knew they could use your son to get Chishiya.

"I know, but we need to be carefull. You need to tell me your plan"

"No. You and Sasaki Will have to act as if you two never had any type of information. If someone goes down it wont you or him, and trust me it wont be me either" Chishiya assured you kissing the top of your head. "Today I almost lost him and you, I wont let that happen again, I promise"

The door opened again a nervous Kuina appearing and your son running into the room with the biggest smile.

"Mom! Dad! Look" Sasaki said pointing at one animal made by balloons "A guy made me this!! And he asked if you two would go to the bar but I dont know what that is, oh!! And then I-"

"Sorry" Kuina whispers to you "the guy was Tatta, he is good. But I tought it would be better if he is with his parents"

"Thank you Kuina" you responded smiling then looking at how Chishiya was nodding as your kid told him about this animal and its name. It was the most sincere smile he has ever made.

"I will go now, if you two want some...alone time let me know, I love taking care of him" Kuina said giving you a wink then leaving.

"Dad, will we go back to the Real world?" Sasaki asked making Chishiya freez.

"I dont know Son, but what I do know its that your mom and you are the most important things to me and nothing Will change it"

"And I love you and mom too!! I Will fight for you Dad, mom will be safe"

You had to turn your face to not let him see your tears. He was so inoccent and sweet, truly not made for here.

Chishiya pulled you and your kid for a family hug, with how things had been and how things could get he had learn this was the best moment he could have.

And he swears, more times like this one will come. Because no one matters besides his family.

[vibingandsimping]

What kinks do you think Dammon would have?

I received this ask JUST after reading a Dammon fic. Get out of my head, Jesus christ.

I adore Dammon, truly. Sadly, he doesn’t strike me as a hardcore guy. He definitely has a fair share of kinks, though.

Worship

He adores your body. Honestly, anything about you. He whispers it to you as he trails his lips down your chest. Along your sternum as you begin to writhe. Each kiss is followed by some sort of compliment. “Your skin is so lush.”, “I love to hear you.”, “I would do this all day, god.” Really anything to get you off. His hands will work your flesh until you begin to whimper. Dammon works with enthusiasm til you’re practically begging. No need, though. Once you’re ready he’ll happy turn to one of his other kinks. On the other hand… He flusters so much if you do it in return. His brain shuts off but the raging tent in his trousers is proof enough. His skin a deep bronze as he draws ragged breaths. He enjoys it both ways. He could never ask for it, though. It’d have to be something you initiate.

Oral Fixation

Between your thighs is his heaven. He’ll spend all of eternity worshipping your sensitive flesh, if you’d permit. God, if you gave him permission to do it whenever he pleased? Practically every morning and night you’d go to sleep and wake to him. Tongue working like a feral animal as he uses skilled technique. Hands flying to his hair as it drapes over his shoulders. He forgone his hair-clip in his laze. Truthfully, all he thought and sought was the wondrous cries and ambrosia that you leaked. If he could write a song or poem- he would. You grow used to climaxing by his tongue alone at least once every time you visit. God forbid you two live together.

Mating Press

Not sure if this is a kink but… it’s the way he can reach so deeply within you. He tells you he doesn’t particularly have a breeding kink (he’s a liar). No, he just settled down in his life and can’t spare the thought of raising a child. He’d love to grow a family when his blacksmithing is solid and there’s no threat of danger. Despite that, he does welcome a little thrill. Your legs thrown over his shoulders as he drills into you. Even if you can’t biologically have kids- he’ll relish in the position. Yes, when you two are ready… he’s going to put you in this every time. Until you two have the kid you wish. Til there’s a bundle of joy to take care of and run around the house. Better get used to the burn in your thighs, baby. It’s going to be so hard to say no when he gives you those puppy-eyes of his.

Prolonged Foreplay

He is torturous. Dammon will sit and whisper his wants into your ear for days. Fleeting moments of you visiting his smithery for new tools and armor. Grabbing your arm as your companions depart to tell you his depraved thoughts. How he misses you so dearly. When you two finally grab a drink at a tavern as everyone chats. His eyes take you in hungrily and he plays so innocently when you pointedly stare at him. Finally alone, his nails tickle your skin as does his lips. Locked in the passion of your make-out and groping. Groaning into your skin as you touch a particularly sensual spot on his body. You can feel him pressing into the inside of your knee. When you suggest taking things further he simply shakes his head. He’s adamant on making sure you’re ready. Even if you whine and say you are. He gets off on the desperation between you two.

Tail Restraint

This goes both ways. If you have a tail of any sort he’ll gladly let you use it on him. Takes a little reassurance but he trusts you so much. How could you ever hurt him? You wrap your tail around his ankles or wrists as your hand wraps around his cock. His jaw lowers in a choked moan as you begin to slowly guide your hand. His erection, leaking and aching, being slowly jerked off as his body twists in your hold. It’s a delicious sight. If you want him to use his tail on you… again he’s very willing with some reassurance. (Also with the solid establishment of a safe-word. He’s so paranoid he’ll push your boundaries.) The leathery texture of the skin coils around your wrists. Laying on your arms as he pins and restrains them underneath your back. He slips to his knees and begins to work his hands on your sex. He’s slow, painfully so, in working the seed of desire in you. Finally, when your sex begins to weep for him does he use his tongue. The feeling is gratifying and leaves you nearly forgetting the lack of movement in your arms and hands.

[mengyan]

i had been made into an archer, the shadows suiting me best; you were a sun-bright girl forced into immortality, eternal servitude to chosen sacrifice for the people.

i think the first thing you taught me was absurdity. no one that knew me ever dared— through these years i’d become as much of a man as the rest, and it was rare for someone to think of wanting me. not that you did— did you? did you want me, wen xiao, or did you not think so much and just trusted that i would catch you?

sleep was always restless when it came. the heartbreak in a-heng’s new-blue eyes always marked the end of my dreams, because i was too afraid back then to turn around and see the rest of him. one month was enough to grow sick of my chambers, and i retired only when i could no longer keep my eyes open.

but then: a forest, a sea. fog cleared and the ink of you kissed my palm, calling me awake.

xiao, for daybreak, but if i allowed my tongue to loosen just the slightest— xiao, for you.

was it then that i became unable to see much else? was it then when i started seeking you first in every room, your voice in every pitch, your hands, arms, fingers touching mine— and me racing to reach you before you changed your mind? was it then that my heart wavered, and i thought, perhaps, that the dark wasn’t so lonely after all?

i never intended to keep you. i knew your eyes strayed elsewhere— i always noticed you first, but so did he, and him, and everyone that has ever met you. the fate of a goddess, maybe, to be beloved by all, to spill her love as floods to the people— but i knew you had long found your home in the soul of one. bloodbound by contract, kindred through heart and mind— how often i’d find myself rushing to stand before you only for him to already be there. 

the place by your side was never meant to be filled by me. but wen xiao, i’m no less absurd than you taught me to be. i would pray to a false god if it would make you safer; i would shoot even at the heavens if they tried to take you. flesh and blood is all i can offer you— is it too much to let me shield you with it?

later the worst of winter stole away your beloved, your closest friend, but kept me. still alive, rosy-cheeked and frostbitten on my knees in front of you, but the snow might as well have buried me too. live with me, die with them— and you picked up the dagger.

what does that mean, wen xiao? what am i supposed to do about what that means? you pulled me from the abyss, but am i not worthy enough to do the same for you?

the cold began to cling to me. one by one we lost the best and bravest of us, and i could do nothing to stop it. i thought myself useless, a drag, but you took my hand and said, so earnest, so warm, so thawing— i need you. you wouldn’t lie to me, but how badly i wish it were the truth.

it had been at least four fortnights since i’d ceased being afraid, since the fears in my heart stopped festering. they never disappeared, but i could stare at them head-on now, knowing that what a mortal lacks is only the difference of a body. you said that you thought of me as irreplaceable, and so i believed that’s what i was.

a fool’s tenacity is, perhaps, the strongest of all.

i woke to everyone but three gone, your tears pouring from the skies. he left to him white streaks in his hair, horseback roaming, world seeking; he left to you an age-old vow on paper, in jade, an impermanent parting, a once-more isolation.

and you left to me not even a farewell.

how is it that the demon hunting bureau is fuller than ever yet so grave with silence? how is that what i guard is no longer home to anyone that used to live in it?

i must be going mad, sometimes, to hear bells that no longer ring, bickering that never ends, idioms i’ll never be able to correct; to smell food i’ll never taste again, wine i’ll never get to drink, sulfur from cases unsolved; to see golden eyes, the rustle of notebook pages, the swoop of a brush— and feel the lilt of you, so willing for me to stay.

and so, absurdly, ridiculously, stupidly— i’m still here, wen xiao, and this is how i’ll remain. come and see me just once, and ask me what i asked you. three hundred years in a sundial: was it hard? the rest of my life with only your memory to keep me company— i’ll answer you the same.

don’t you want to know what my big-as-him secret is? i’ll give you a hint: if you see him in the rain, i see you in stone. just as pillars hold up these roofs, this city— the cliff i hung from was too-steep, yet you held me by the soles of my feet, dug yourself into my palms, and said look up, pei-jiejie. dawn has come.

the morning will always return after night. but wen xiao, when will you?

[thewinter-eden]

psycho | han jisung (16/20)

16 : here's looking at you

Pairings: HAN JISUNG x OC | LEE MINHO x 2nd OC

Rating: mature

cross posted on AO3 under the_winter_eden and wattpad under alone-at-last.

Warnings: discussions of murder, torture, rape, pregnancy

psycho masterlist Comment a request to be tagged!

< last chapter | next chapter >

“Would you stop looking at me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because look at me.”

“You literally just told me not to.”

“Oh my god, Minho, stop looking at me.”

“I’m so confused.” The once former police officer—recently reinstated thanks to Commissioner Min—had the nerve to give the hospitalized girl a cheeky smile. “But either way, here’s looking at you.”

Cass rolls her eyes, but feels her cheeks heat up.

The doctors tell her it’s been four days since the unsanctioned rescue operation, and that she slept through all of them.

They also told her that Minho has only left her side when physically bodied out of the room by Seungmin.

She’s been given a thorough sponge bath and a hair cut, which has left her with a garishly short pixie after she had them chop off all the unkempt dreads—but even so, she doesn’t feel quite as devastated as she did before.

She’s still painfully thin, bones jutting out in every direction, her skin still dry and marked with rashes and sores, the scars still glaringly obvious on her flesh, but she’s clean and she isn’t hungry and there’s a heater blowing warm air somewhere on her right.

She’d never thought heaven would look like a hospital room.

“I can’t believe you’ve been staring at me for four days.”

It’s his turn to blush, the tips of his ears reddening. “I have not been staring at you for four days.”

She pulls the hospital blanket up to her chin and sucks in a deep breath of fresh laundry detergent, clean fabric, and a hint of whatever scent Minho is wearing. “Thank you for coming for me, Minho.” She whispers, and lets her eyes close. She has so many questions, so many requests now that she’s back in a world she never thought she’d see again, but she has to thank him first.

He came for her.

When nobody else would, when nobody else cared, he came for her.

She’s alive, reaping the benefits of about thirty IV bags because he came for her.

When no response comes, Cass turns her head and is met with his downturned gaze, tears brimming in his reddened eyes.

“Minho?”

He sniffles brusquely and scrubs at his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Cass.” He rasps brokenly. “This is all my fault. I should have come for you a year ago. I am so sorry.”

She blinks at him, mouth pinching. “You did come for me a year ago.”

He did. She remembers him searching the sewage system for a way down to her until he made himself sick. She remembers him skipping class and sleep and meals just to look for her.

He shakes his head. “I should have tried harder. I should have studied those files, I would have found out about Anna’s parents and the nightclub, I should have done more.”

“You did everything you could—”

“Stop comforting me, Cass.” He interrupts her, and the look in his eyes is heavy with guilt. “I don’t need you to comfort me, I need you to know that I am so, so sorry.”

She feels her own eyes water. “I know.”

He runs a hand through his hair—his genetically perfect hair—and sniffles again. “I’d do anything to go back and change it, Cass.”

“I know.” And she does. This is the first time she’s seen him since he carried her out of her prison, but he’s crumbling in front of her and she knows it. “You’re the one who saved me, Minho.”

Still kicking himself, he pulls a frown. “I don’t need you to comfort me, Cass. All I ever needed was for you to be safe.”

“Comfort me, then?” Her voice sounds teasing but her hand falls out from under her blanket in the hopes he’ll catch it.

He does.

He scoots his chair forward and cradles her hand in both of his. “I’ve got you.” He doesn’t mean to say it, because it doesn’t really make any sense, but once the words are out of his mouth he’s glad he did.

Cass sags into her pillows and tears leak from her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“I’ve got you, Cass.”

P S Y C H O | H A N J I S U N G

“Hey,” A soft voice comes out of the clouds. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

She doesn’t feel safe.

She feels sick.

Her stomach aches like she’s been vomiting for hours and her throat aches with searing rawness.

“It’s okay, take your time. They had to pump your stomach, that’s why you probably feel like you’ve been turned inside out.”

She doesn’t know who’s speaking. She’s lying on something soft, surrounded by warmth, the scent of soap in her nose. “Hannie?”

At the sound of his name in her own confused, cracking voice, the memories start to come back.

…my favorite part…

…that look on your face…

…that’s how the game works…

…God I fell in love with you…

Her eyes snap open and her sudden rush of breath is choked by sputtering coughs. For a moment she gags on air, eyes darting around what appears to be a hospital room, finally landing on a tall young police officer by her bed.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” He croons softly, lowering himself into a chair. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

For a minute she just lays there, gasping, gaping at him.

A warm smile curls his lips. “I’m not a dream, by the way, if that’s what you’re wondering. My name’s Seungmin.”

Seungmin.

She’s heard that name from Cass.

He’s Minho’s friend. He brought the chocolates.

She lets herself fall back onto her pillows.

Seungmin leans forward, a hand on the edge of her bed but not touching her. “You were unresponsive when we found you.”

Dead. She was dead.

“We’re so lucky you’re the first one we found. We almost couldn’t get you back.”

Her eyes shoot open at that and he chuckles, knowing exactly what she wants to ask. “The others are fine.” He promises. “Ruby’s doing well, and her baby is on the small side but should be okay. Jo is alright. She’s got some infections but she’s just come out of surgery and she’s stable. Kara is the best of all of you, she’s mostly sleeping it off. Cass is on heavy painkillers but she’s gonna be okay. Minho’s with her now. The wedding’s on Saturday.”

He meets her horrified look with a coy grin. “I’m kidding.”

Anna swallows roughly. “And?” Her voice feels like sandpaper.

“Ah, no signs of Han. I’m sorry, but it looks like Roberts tried to take off with him. And Jeongin, well—”

Anna tries not to flinch at the names, brow scrunching in rejection. “No,” She coughs and tries again. “Kim?”

Seungmin pales, a wince replacing his kind smile. “She wasn’t there, Anna, I’m sorry.”

P S Y C H O | H A N J I S U N G

The next time Anna wakes up, there’s a different police officer with Seungmin, this one of a much higher rank.

“Anna, this is Commissioner Min Yoongi. He’s taken over this case. He’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s alright.” Seungmin says. “And your parents are here. You’ll be able to see them when he’s done.”

Anna nods weakly, but says nothing. A beautiful bouquet of flowers on her bedside table catches her eye and distracts her, giving her a chance to breathe.

After a year of wishing for nothing but rescue, when she finally has it, it sits in her heart with discomforting dullness.

She’d thought she was going to be rescued with Han, that they’d escape their hell together, that they’d be free together.

But that’s not what happened.

He’d manipulated her for sport.

She feels her eyes welling with tears.

He’d made himself appear to be vulnerable and unassuming, a safe place, a refuge from Cain. He’d enticed and invited her and coaxed her to fall in love with him.

And then he’d killed her.

Her Han, her Hannie, her wretched savior, had murdered her.

He’d played some sick game with her heart, just for the thrill of revealing his hand and destroying her.

All consuming rage taints Anna’s blood, flowing beneath every inch of her skin.

She’d loved him so much that she’d hung her entire existence on him. She’d fixed him at the center of her narrow universe and placed every last shattered piece of her heart in his hands.

He’d taken those pieces, snatching them up as soon as she’d extended them, and the game was up. He won.

He fed off of those pieces and made her watch.

She’s never felt so much anger.

“Anna?” Commissioner Min questions as her tears fall. “I can come back later.”

She shakes herself out of it. “No. I’m okay.”

Min takes a seat and spreads a file across her lap. “I have some photos here for you to look at. Would you be able to identify your captor for me?”

Anna flips through the pictures.

Page after page of unfamiliar faces pass before her eyes, until she’s near the end of the stack and she finds herself looking at a handsome, dimpled smile and eerie blue eyes.

Her stomach lurches and her heartrate monitor beeps wildly. “Him.” She swallows stiffly, tapping a shaking finger against the broad crest of the man in the picture’s nose. “Definitely him.”

Min’s mouth tightens and Seungmin’s head bows.

“Shit,” The younger officer mutters.

Commissioner Min pulls the file back onto his own lap. “Thank you, Anna. How are you feeling today?”

She doesn’t answer, but he can see how sick she feels in the deathly pallor of her face. After a moment of tense silence, he folds his hands over his lap and rolls the appropriate details over in his mind. “We found you unresponsive, strapped into the chair. The others have indicated that its where Cain Roberts conducted his torture sessions.” He begins carefully.

Anna’s expression darkens, a frown growing at the words.

She wasn’t in the chair.

She was in the pantry with Han.

With Jeongin.

“You had ingested enough cyanide to stop your heart. We believe Roberts intended to get rid of as many of you as he could once he realized he’d been discovered. After he poisoned you, we believe he took Kim with him as protection in case we caught him. We haven’t yet, but we will, don’t worry.” Min leans forward, sincerity bleeding through his stern expression.

Anna’s mind is racing.

They think Cain is the one who poisoned her.

Han dragged her into that damn chair, framed his own fucking uncle, and made a run for it.

She’s so angry she can’t even speak to correct him.

Commissioner Min spends a few more minutes asking her questions about her condition, about what she’s willing to do in terms of cooperating with the investigation, and then he takes his leave.

With one last sweet smile, Seungmin shows her parents into the room and leaves her to a tear-soaked reunion.

pov : Cass

Soon after she wakes up, the doctor asks Minho to leave the room. They’ve given her a female doctor to make her more comfortable, and Cass already knows what the woman wants to talk about when she somberly pulls up a chair.

Cass feels the chills set in immediately, anxiety crawling up her spine as though she’s done something wrong. She hasn’t, she knows she hasn’t. Even so, when the doctor glances over her charts one more time and then looks back up with a soft expression, Cass feels trapped.

She doesn’t want to talk about it.

She wants to pretend it never happened.

It’s all over now, all signs long erased—why does she have to talk about it as though it’s still there?

But the doctor isn’t involved in the frantic storm of thoughts in her head, and she asks anyway. “How long ago was your miscarriage?”

How long ago?

That was a difficult question.

Days, at least.

Weeks? She doesn’t think so.

She remembers the day, the blood, the stabbing cramps, but not the time elapsed since then. What does it matter, how long ago it was?

Cass winds a loose thread from her robe around her fingers and shrugs.

They let her have a soft, fluffy robe so she doesn’t have to worry about all the nurses and police officers staring at the scars on her arms.

“While you were out, I did an examination when I noticed the signs.” The doctor continues gently. “I wanted to make sure there would be no concern of sepsis. If I can give you any good news, it’s that your blood transfusion and continued good nutrition should get you all of your health and strength back. All of your tests came back clear in terms of sexually transmitted diseases or infections, so I hope that can ease your mind at least a little bit.”

It does, but Cass still doesn’t know how to handle this conversation. She knows one thing with perfect clarity, and she can’t stop herself from interrupting the doctor’s next words to say it. “Please don’t tell my parents.”

The woman doesn’t seem surprised. “That is, of course, your choice. I do want to tell you, though, that this will be easier to go through with a support system. We have a number of therapists to recommend, and this will be the easiest time to let your parents know. I can tell them myself, and prepare them for some of the considerations that may be helpful to you going forward…”

Cass tunes the doctor out after that. She can’t listen any more, she can’t think about it any longer.

The day it happened, when she realized what was happening, she was alone. Huddled in the corner of her room, weeping into her pillow as her body viciously rejected its own malnourished pregnancy, completely alone. When Hannie came in with breakfast and found her in a lake of blood, she begged him not to tell, and he didn’t.

He’d cleaned the floor and held her as she cried, and then he brought her a second helping of breakfast.

She hadn’t even known she was pregnant.

She couldn’t even bring herself to tell Minho.

“—especially when we’re still within a week of the miscarriage, I want to keep an eye on you.” The doctor got to her feet and gave a smile. “Your parents have been waiting in the lobby for four days. The police have finally given the okay for visitors—are you up for it?”

But all Cass can hear is the first part.

Still within a week?

Less than a week ago?

She feels worse than ever.

“You can tell them,” She whispers, lost. It’s all slipping through her fingers. Her sense of time and sequence of events crashes around like a cyclone in her mind and all she wants is to stop thinking.

Does she let go?

Does she hold on tighter?

“Please tell them before you let them in.” Cass feels the emotions bundle in her chest and constrict with crushing force. She doesn’t know whether to scream or cry, never speak again and hope it all goes away, or act like everything’s fine and hope it all goes away.

The doctor lays a comforting hand on Cass’s mangled fingers and then leaves her alone.

P S Y C H O | H A N J I S U N G

The next time Cass sees Anna is a week later. They’re both entirely different people—fresh haircuts, freshly showered, properly bandaged and stitched up, color back in cheeks, and life back in eyes.

Minho is pushing Cass into the hospital cafeteria via wheelchair when she sees the familiar face.

Anna, also in a wheelchair pushed by Seungmin, being situated at a table with two other unfairly gorgeous young men.

Minho pushes Cass right to the same table and helps her lock her wheels, greeting the men who are clearly his friends.

Seungmin handles introductions. “Anna, Cass, this is Hyunjin and Felix. Hyunjin goes to university with Minho, and Felix owns Brewsed Books on 5th.” He pulls up his own chair and sits next to Anna.

Cass returns polite greetings and notices Felix peering curiously at Anna.

“You’re staring, dude.” Seungmin kicks him as Anna frowns down at her lap.

Felix’s eyes go wide. “No! No, sorry, it’s just—you’ve been to Brewsed Books before, haven’t you?”

Anna practically deflates with a relieved sigh. “Yeah, I used to go like every other week.”

“You were looking for the old copies of the Nancy Drew books.” Felix is beaming. “I remember asking about your collection.”

She blushes. “The 1930s bindings, yeah. I grew up reading them.”

The others watch the conversation, finally stepping in to change the subject when Felix begins to get emotional over what could have happened to one of his most loyal customers.

“So, anyway,” Hyunjin butts in before Felix’s eyes can overflow. “They’ve got macaroni and cheese today that’s pretty good, and their roasted vegetables are surprisingly edible. What does everyone want?”

Seungmin stands. “I’ll help.”

But Hyunjin just pulls Felix up by the collar instead. “Felix will help me. Give us your orders and we’ll be right back with lunch.”

When they’re gone, silence settles comfortably over the remaining four. Cass’s eyes find Anna. The younger girl is sunk back in her wheelchair, the features of her face more drawn and morose than Cass has ever seen them.

She reaches over to touch Anna’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

Anna finally smiles, her mouth shaking at the corners.

“We haven’t found Kim yet,” Minho states softly. “We’re hoping, since we haven’t found a body either, that she’s still alive. If she remains useful to Roberts, hopefully she’s safe.”

Cass finds herself subconsciously leaning into Minho’s soothing voice, pulling away from Anna. “I thought his name wasn’t really Cain Roberts though.”

“We don’t know his name.” Seungmin says. “The organization that he’s part of would have provided him with aliases to keep him undetected. They created a decoy for him when he started abducting the girls—named him Cain Roberts and put someone else’s face in the spotlight to allay suspicion. Then they kept the decoy in reserve in case they needed someone to frame in a pinch.”

“Not that it would have worked,” Minho cuts in. “The guy they chose looks as weak as the rest of you.” He hasn’t really spoken to Anna yet, but he looks at her now. “Your parents didn’t know what was going on downstairs. I know they’re punishing themselves for not finding you sooner, but Cain’s people are good at covering for him.”

Anna accepts his words silently, gratefully.

“So he was your boss?” Cass murmurs. “This whole time?”

The young officers look absolutely wrecked over the facts of the case, ashamed, embarrassed, and enraged by the truth. “Bang and Roberts are the same.” Seungmin confirms tightly. “He kept us off your case by claiming the FBI had taken over, that they wanted to sit on Cain and sus out his organization. He lied to us and we fell for it.”

Nobody says anything.

What is there left to say?

Hyunjin and Felix return, loaded down with food trays and a little bit of life falls over the table again. The chatter with Minho’s classmate and the bookshop owner is lighthearted and playful, and the girls quickly realize why they’ve been invited to this lunch date.

It’s very hard to have a bad day with Hyunjin and Felix at your table.

let me know what you think!

tag list : @mysterysold

[eris-snow]

7. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, juxtaposition, angst, swearing, crying

A life behind the curtain is heaven for some, but for others, it’s utter hell. 

L/n!” Katsuki hollers, ripping the curtain open. “We need to talk—oh.”

Katsuki knows what he sees. He doesn’t like it.

You’re wearing that big hoodie and you’re hiding your face, shivering in a corner with a pack of tissues next to you.

You’re sniffling and shaking like an earthquake hit, and his thoughts immediately go blank.

Uh-oh.

Katsuki has been through a war, died and came back. His heart stopped beating for the love of nachos, and he still can’t handle it when he sees someone cry.

What’s worse is that your breaths are quickening and you’re tearing your hands through your hair as your eyes are shut so tightly he’s afraid they might never open up again.

A tiny sob wrecks your entire body before Katsuki says fuck it and kicks his instincts to gear.

“L/n?” He kneels down, forcing himself to smoothen his tone of its rough edges.

No go. You’re still quivering as frantically as before and he thinks it’s getting worse.

“Y/n, hey—” He reaches out experimentally, but you don’t even flinch at his touch. Nothing he does helps, hell, he’s the worst person to deal with this kind of—

Sunshine.

His mind spat out.

Almost instinctively, his mouth followed suit. “Sunshine.”

To his utter surprise, your head snaps up for him to see your face riddled with tears and snot. Your face says one word: Help.

“Katsuki?” you croke, eyes desperate and breath caught.

He nods, right in front of you. “I’m here.”

Your breath doesn’t slow, but your eyes are on him and he needs to do something. He lets go of the decade-old foolscap and focuses his gaze on you.

“Breathe with me,” he says softly, “I need you to stay with me.”

He works you through the exercise for god knows how long, rubbing circles on your hands and breathing, but it’s finally worth it when your breaths coincide and you look lucid again. It’s especially rewarding when you stop quaking like you’re in a frenzy.

He eases himself on the floor, letting your hands go.

“Better?”

Your nod is shameful, and you can’t bear to look him straight in the eye. You look so embarrassed, hiding your face away and shaking your head like you’ve made a fatal mistake.

“This is—you shouldn’t have seen this,” you finally mutter. “Forget this happened, please—”

“No.” Katsuki’s voice is firm, and it holds such authority that it makes you flinch. “I’m done pretending that whatever the fuck going on is normal. Shit’s been weird, and we’re finally going to talk about it. No diversions, no more secrets.” He grabs the foolscap paper at his side and tosses it to you, eyeing your reaction. “I found this in the library. Seen it before?”

Your silence speaks louder than any words could.

“Thought so. I’ve had a real, shitty week with no fuckin’ sleep and too much coffee to be healthy.” He grits out, hands steaming. He’s fed up, and he has every reason to be after being strung along like an idiot. You’re so frustrating that it’s driving him insane.

“I don’t have a damn clue as to what is going on, but I’m smart enough to know that I’m involved in it. So for the sake of my sanity, tell me what is going on.”

You don’t say anything for a good second. And then, you take a tissue out of the packet beside you, blow your nose, and crumple it up in your hand. You look at him, and you look wrecked. Eyes frost cold, the usual warmth stripped and shredded like a glass shattering on concrete.

“You’ve had a shitty week?” You repeat, voice sharp, enunciating each syllable like the words are foreign to you. It’s such a stark difference from the you that would listen to him earnestly, or reply to his banters ever so snarkily.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a shitty week, Bakugou, and I’m sorry that you’re scarred emotionally because of the war, your kidnapping, and being literally revived on the battlefield. But news flash, everyone probably had a shitty week too! And you don’t see them complaining about it, do you?”

“You wanna know what’s happening? Fine! Where should I start? What about when I found this stupid report, hm? Or that time you told Izuku to take a swan dive off the roof? Oh! How about the day you forgot about me.” You’re practically snarling now, and, oh look, you’re crying again.

“We attended the same piano lessons; best in our academy's and whatever. We skipped stones and traded likes as I listened to you rant obsessively about heroes like a sick puppy dog. You called me Sunshine, you called me your equal. Your ideas, your dreams, your friends, you shared everything with lil’ old me even as we quit music. Where’d you think I know All Might’s successor from?”

“Izuku’s been high profile for a long while now—”

“You told him to suicide because he was Quirkless.” You spit. “I was in that classroom when that happened, the same classroom you told me to get lost in because you didn’t remember me.” You laugh. It’s a bitter, dark, humourless one. “I was so confused. Everyone kept ignoring me and so were you. I kept calling out to you in class and you got so fed up with me, you snapped.”

—

Past (3 years ago): Middle school 2nd year,

“Katsuki.”

The ash blond stopped and looked back, obviously annoyed. “What do you want, extra? Who the fuck are you?”

You looked at him in disbelief, face crumbling as fear, hurt and disbelief seeped into your heart.

“Katsuki, don’t you remember me?”

No. No way. Not you too.

He laughed, low and raspy and god damn mocking that it makes your blood boil. “Who do you think you are, hah? I’ve never seen you in my life. Now get lost—”

“Sunshine, remember? Nuvole Bianche our duet?” You pointed to yourself, getting desperate now. If Katsuki didn’t know you, who would?

“You’re a freak,” He spat, shouldering his bag. “Stay the fuck away from me, creep. Talk to me again, and see what’ll happen.”

You stood there in utter shock, watching as he stalked off with his lackeys who flanked him left, right and back, and in a wave of utter panic you called out to him, just one more time.

But your voice was stolen by the wind, and you didn’t even get a glance as he left you alone in the classroom.

—

Present:

“I couldn’t have known you!” Katsuki’s voice cuts deep, and boy, it stings. ”There’s too many missing holes, someone would have noticed!”

Lashing out is the worst thing you could have done with Katsuki. When you yell, he yells back, and everything escalates until harsh words that can’t be taken back spew from both your lips. You’ve always been good at taking, but it’s a pity that Katsuki finds a way to tear down your mask one way or the other.

You give him a glum smile, the fire in you finally fading as you settle back into your corner.

“If everybody forgets, nobody remembers.”

And because of that, Katsuki’s heart tugs.

Katsuki doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know a thing about your family, have a clue about your past or even how this happened.

So why did he call you Sunshine? Why did he come back and visit you every goddamn day when he has internships, school work, training and so much in between?

Why does he feel like even though he knows nothing about you…

He’s drawn like a moth to a flame to this place just so he can see you again?

You seem to blend a little more into your surroundings as you murmur, no longer shouting but instead coming back to grudging acceptance. “Who am I kidding? You read that catalogue. I’m finished, whether you believe me or not.” You slump down, head tucked in between your knees. “I tried everything.”

“You clearly didn’t.”

You glance up to glare at the blond, opening your mouth to snap back when you catch his eyes.

You’ve forgotten that feeling. That feeling of being really seen, of being heard. That look that you’ve long for the past 3 years…is now the look that is being given by one of the most explosive people on the planet.

Something stirs in your chest but you fight it down. Now isn’t the time for past regrets. Now isn’t the time for feelings.

“You have me now, don’t you?” Katsuki refutes, raising an eyebrow as he swipes the log out of your hands. “For someone who supposedly knew me my entire life, you have balls to underestimate me like that.”

He waves the foolscap in front of your face, a familiar, cocky smirk coiling on his face. “We have alumni, teachers, and I have insane fuckin’ connections. This was written by Invisible Shit and his knight in shining armour? Great.”

“Let’s go find them.”

[storm-angel989]

Outside The Office Part Thirty

“Hey, princess. You have to wake up now.” 

The  sound of Vox’s voice and the feeling of his hand startled me awake. I sat up quickly, the blanket falling from where my head had been tucked in. Gone was the warm, protective darkness of Valentino’s wings. Instead, the blankets were wrapped tightly- mimicking his hold on me. My head ached, and I wondered how he had managed to get me into bed without waking me up.

“Where’s Val?” I asked as I looked around the room. 

“Valentino went to go handle something, and he left me in charge of making sure you, my dear, eat dinner and don’t sleep for too long. We’re going out tonight! Drugs should be well out of your system by now, so up you go!” He said in a sing-song voice. “Com’on now!”

I groaned and flopped back down under the covers. “My head hurts.”

“Shocking,” he said sarcastically. “Here, drink this,” he untwisted the cap and handed me a bottle of sweet sixteen. “All of it, in your tummy. Then I’m checking your vitals, and then you can get up.”

I scowled at him. “I would say you act like my Dad, but that would be an insult to you.” 

“Aw, love you too princess. Now drink up.” He replied as he pressed the back of his hand to my head. “All of it.”

I took a sip. And then another. Instantly, the headache began to fade. 

 “You will actually make a great Dad one day, you know.” I said between sips. 

He rolled his eyes. “No. Vel and I don’t want kids, but I’ll make a hell of an Uncle whenever you and Val decide the time is right.”

I paused and lowered the bottle. Kids? I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  “Can that even happen? Can I get pregnant?” I asked. 

Vox shrugged and pulled his hand away. “Do you still get your period in hell?”

I felt myself flush. “I mean, yeah. On time, every month. Just like in heaven.”

“Then there you have it- yes. You and Valentino can have kids. It’s just a matter of trying, I would think.” He paused. “Not that I’m rushing or encouraging it, but you brought it up.”

I felt a shiver run down me. Valentino had to have had sex with thousands of demons in his line of work. Was Vox implying something? 

“Wait, does Valentino already have…”

Vox let out a laugh and cut me off. “Fuck no. God, that would be awful. No, princess, he would have to want them in order to have them. That’s why you two can fuck all you want and not have a single worry. Part of the perk of being the Overlord of Lust. Until he decides, really decides he wants to procreate, he won’t physically be able to.”

I took another sip of my drink as I considered his words. “I would need a big diamond on my finger before kids are even a thought. And a wedding. Do people, demons, get married in hell?”

“Sure do,” Vox said. He sat down next to me and took my wrist in his hand. “Demon weddings are a good time, might I add.” 

I squirmed ever so slightly as he took my pulse, but tried to exhale and stay calm. “Don’t you have my vitals synched from my watch to your phone?”

“Sure do. I like to check the accuracy though. Make sure the data is correct,” he replied as he clipped a pulse oximeter to my finger. “Why are you so fidgety?”

“I don’t particularly like medical stuff being done to me,” I replied honestly. “I mean, it's one thing to play around with it, or like, when Valentino and I are in bed, but it's another thing when it's serious.”

“And why is that? Did something happen when you were with the angels? Cause I don’t have any record of any major surgeries or traumatic events or things like that?” Vox asked as he leaned back, waiting for my answer. 

I shrugged. “I got held down alot when I was little. I didn’t like shots, and it didn’t take much for me to be pushed down and forced to stay still. I mean, it was for my own benefit of course, but…”

“There are better ways,” Vox finished for me. He shook his head, looking absolutely disgusted. “Fuckin angels.” 

I let his comment go. “It’s weird though, because, I mean, when my head is on Valentino’s body, I feel the opposite. Safe. Secure. And I don’t mind him taking my pulse when he’s not looking to…do something medical with the information, if that makes sense?”

“It does- and I appreciate you sharing that with me. I’ll bear it in mind.” He squeezed my shoulder gently with his other hand. “Our goal is to keep you safe, so you’ll never fully escape getting checked over, but at least we’ll make sure you consent. Can you agree to that?”

I nodded. 

“And on your other note, I think listening to the heartbeat of someone you love is much, much different than being held down and medicine painfully forced into your body.” He released my wrist and reached into his bag.  “But speaking of heartbeats, I do need to listen to yours. You good with that?” Vox asked as he pulled a stethoscope out of his backpack.

I nodded and sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Thanks for asking. I am. I trust you. You didn’t tattle on me.”

“No, you tattled on yourself. And I’m glad you did. Stop talking for a second, let me listen.” Vox said as he pressed the disk to my chest. “Good, now deep breath in. And out. 

I stayed still and tried to relax. His touch was light. Gentle. Finally, he pulled back and draped the scope around his neck. 

“Heart sounds good. Lungs do too. Let me check your blood pressure and you’ll be all good. You need to keep drinking.” His voice softened ever so slightly. “Which arm did Val put the IV in? I’ll use the other arm.” 

I offered him the opposite arm and he wrapped the cuff around. I felt the nerves begin to settle. 

“So, why do you know how to take vitals? I mean, I sort of get Valentino but, why you?” I asked. 

He paused and looked at me. “Data accuracy. If something I create reads a number, I want to make sure it's right. And I don’t trust anyone other than myself, so I learned basic skills. Vitals I mean. I technically could take blood or put an IV in but if given the choice between a nurse or me, pick the nurse. For your own benefit. Now shush for like one minute.”

I waited patiently until he deflated the cuff. He seemed satisfied and tucked everything back into his bag. I took the last drink from the bottle of sweet sixteen and set the empty bottle on the nightstand. Silence from Vox as he typed furiously on his phone. 

“Am I okay?” I asked after a few moments of quiet.

He looked unconcerned. “Mhm, yep. You’re fine. Vel’s going to be late, which means it's you and me, kid.” He stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder. “Look, why don’t you go shower and get yourself comfortable for the night? I’ll get to work on dinner. Vel will join us eventually, but I think eating here before we go out will be a nice change of pace. And fits with what you’re trying to do a bit better. Agreed?”

He saw me hesitate. 

“Oh no. You don’t get to tell me you’re not a fan of my cooking after all this. Come on, you can help.” He took me by the hand and pulled me to my feet. “Go shower, get yourself comfortable and meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes. I’ll get the prepwork all done.” 

I watched as he strolled out of the room and closed the door behind him. Vox really did mean what he said- eating at home, supporting my choices. I took a quick shower and wrapped myself in my comfiest pajamas  before walking into the kitchen to join him.  

“You’re brave, cooking with Vox isn’t my idea of a good time.” Velvette said as I walked into the living room. “And come see me once he gets everything in the oven. I’ll do your hair while we wait.” 

“Hey! Come on over kid!” Vox said cheerfully as I stepped into the kitchen.

I popped myself up into the usual place on the counter. “Whatcha making?”

“Something yummy. Here, try this.” He stirred something in a pot and offered me the spoon. 

Again I hesitated but let him put the spoon in my mouth. Warmness, an spicy and sweet. It was delicious. 

“Damn, Vox- what is that?” I asked.

He beamed. “You like? It’s the sauce for the pasta. We’re having one of my personal favorites for dinner tonight, along with chicken and spinach meatballs and a big tossed salad. A few carbs, good protein, all the things your body is going to need to get back on track.” He stuck the spoon back in the pot and stirred.

“What can I do to help?” I asked as he moved fluidly around the kitchen. 

“You can sit there and talk to me. Information, kid. I want to know more about what they fed you, I want to know about how your day to day routine went. And I really want to know if you’ve ever heard the name Alastor.” His voice caught on the name. “And any information you have on him.”

I tried to think back. Vox had mentioned his name before and at the time, it hadn’t meant much to me. I was more wrapped up in the moment to pay much attention to the cause of his rage baking. But now that he mentioned it, the name was familiar. 

“Alastor. I know the name, I just don’t remember why.” I said finally. 

“So walk me through your day, maybe it will trigger something,” he answered eagerly. “Start with waking up. What did you day look like?”

My day? Depended on the age.

As soon as I was old enough to talk, my day started at four. Memories of my father in the kitchen, making sure I ate what he cooked. Days spent either in his office, or in the arms of one of his many “brothers”- my Uncles. If I wasn’t being taught a skill or concept, I was by their side.  I was on base constantly, a shadow to the soldiers. I learned how to eat, speak, breath, control, be controlled, clean, and act like one by process of diffusion. I knew nothing else. 

It wasn’t until I was old enough to dress myself that things began to change. Dad became stricter, and my focus shifted from tagging along to participating. Memories of one of my most favorite “Uncles” running alongside me, slowing his pace to mine. My father yelling at me to speed up. Training drills with my wings out, falling to the ground after a hard hit. Whining wasn’t tolerated. I learned how to take the beating and get back up as if nothing happened. 

That wasn’t to say I wasn’t taken care of in a sense. Nor was it all bad. My father wasn’t always completely harsh. But when we were on base, which was most of the time, his job was to train and lead. And that was his focus. Making strong soldiers. 

Vox was quiet as I talked him through the details.

“Did he ever offer you comfort? Was he ever kind?” He asked after a few moments of silence.

I shrugged. “I mean, sure. When I was little I would climb into his bed and cry out nightmares. Or he would put bandaids on boo boos. But it wasn’t exactly his strong point- some of the others had daughters and he was more than happy to let them handle the softer points.” 

Vox shook his head in disgust as he put a pan into the oven. “Kids deserve love. No wonder you have such a…”

“Fucked up idea of things? And Dad loved me, Vox. It was just a different kind of love.” 

“I don’t know if I would call that love, kid,” he answered. 

“Vox has a point, mi amore.” Valentino’s voice entered the room.

I turned my head and looked as Valentino walked into the kitchen. He kissed the top of my head. “Sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up love.” 

I shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Can we get back to the whole kid who grew up without love thing, because that’s fucked up,” Velvette said as she joined us. She pulled herself up next to me.

I frowned. This conversation was quickly becoming incredibly uncomfortable. “It was love,” I protested. “Just a different kind of love.”

“Mmm, no, it wasn’t. But you’ll learn the difference, one way or another, eventually,” Valentino replied. 

He seemed to sense my unease because he immediately turned to Vox and changed the subject.

“What are you making, anyway? It smells good.” He gave Velvette a meaningful look and she jumped down from the counter.

“Hey, reader, let’s get you dressed for the night, its going to be a blast! Come on, I have the perfect outfit in mind!”

Grateful for the escape, I followed her down to her room.