#i was also going to do a full circular window at first with sin and dizzy as angels presiding

[jamlabs]

My art for the arc system works secret santa event! Based on a circular window of St. Theresa!

[queerdraws]

Cleaning Out the Rooms - a Harry Du Bois playlist Alcoholism, getting better?, memory loss, being a superstar, The Final Dream, forming political opinions, bad breakups, past transgressions, being a strange and inconsistent being, and persisting despite it all 26 songs (r-slur warning for Turnin’ on the Screw - QotSA)

including: David Bazan, They Might be Giants, The Mountain Goats, British Sea Power (of course), Queens of the Stone Age, and more.  Full track listing and lyric excerpts under the cut

---- Turnin' on the Screw - Queens of the Stone Age (This is the opening track on Era Vulgaris, seemed like an appropriate opening song / introduction to Harry's general essence) ----

... They say those who can't just instruct others And act like victims or jilted lovers You can't lose it if you never had it Disappear, man, do some magic

Want a reason? How's about because You ain't a has been if you never was

I sound like this

Scared to say what is your passion So slag it all, bitter's in fashion Fear of failure's all you've started The jury is in, verdict: r******d

I'm so tired, and I'm wired too I'm a mess; I guess I'm turning on the screw

---- Bless this Mess - David Bazan (Harry being a drunk and a general mess, things going in cycles) ----

God bless the man who stumbles God bless the man who falls God bless the man who yields to temptation God bless the woman who suffers God bless the woman who weeps God bless the children trying her patience Trouble getting over it Is what you're in for So pour yourself another 'Cause it'll take a steady pair of hands Holy or unholy ghost Well now I can't tell, but either way you cut it You should get some distance if you plan to take a stand God bless the house divided God bless the weeds in the wheat God bless the lamp hid under a bushel I discovered hell to be the poison in the well So I tried to warn the others of the curse But then my body turned on me I dreamt that for eternity My family would burn Then I awoke with a wicked thirst

---- Don’t Sit Down Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair - Arctic Monkeys (general Harry vibe.  off-kilter) ----

Break a mirror, roll the dice

...

Find a well-known hard man and start a fight Wear your shell suit on bonfire night Fill in a circular hole with a peg that's square

But just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair

...

Bite the lightning and tell me how it tastes Kung fu fighting on your roller skates Do the Macarena in the devil's lair

But just don't sit down 'cause I've moved your chair

---- I've Been Seeing Things - They Might be Giants (feels very Harry's detecting style, surreal happenstance) ----

I've been seeing things I've been seeing things Don't have answers but I've got lots of questions

Carpool's up, someone gets out Hand someone else a violin case I'm trying not to let them see me looking at them But I'm pretty sure there was a dollar sign

Keep your eyes peeled and you'll see stuff Which at first seems like unimportant irrelevant things

Can't just ask some perfect stranger "What are you hiding in your violin case?" Shadow them at a distance instead Try to get inside their head

Where'd they go now (Where'd they go now) I got distracted (I got distracted) Begging me to stay (Begging me to stay) Wearing a disguise (Wearing a disguise) That lady (That lady) Must have ditched the kid (Must have ditched the kid) Hidge the down (Hidge the down) [???] What's she up to now? (What's she up to now?) Trembling cold by the airport road Watching them stack containers in rows Seagulls, helicopter, windblown trash Something doesn't add up

I've been seeing things I've been seeing things No one asks but I'm packing all kinds of attention

Later I'm watching a news report Camera pans across a crime scene Unremarked upon detail Empty violin case Okay maybe not the same case Different material, different color Still you have to wonder Am I the only one who knows

I've been seeing things

---- Music is the Victim - Scissor Sisters (breakup Harry.  drug-addled disco Harry) ----

I left my heart in San Fransisco It's at some motherfucking disco The people there where dancin' on it And that's including Ms. Matronic

Hell if music is the victim then so am I Of lovin' and a cheatin' the snake gon' bite I beg and I scream and I cuss and I cry If music is the victim then so am I

Of your bad fun Money's all gone but you need some Lover's on the phone but they got none Daddy ain't home from the dog run And you're riding through the city with a shotgun

I left my bag in Pasadena Where all them girls was doin' Tina Them bitches sure were crunked up on it I said I'd rather smoke some chronic

Hell if music is the victim then so am I Of lovin' and a cheatin' the snake gon' bite I beg and I scream and I cuss and I cry If music is the victim then so am I

---- Down to Your Soul - Right Away, Great Captain! (about the Final Dream and pre-game Harry) ----

And I see things I actually don't see. I knew it wasn't actually you a few feet from my reach. I looked into your eyes and I began to lose my teeth, And I felt you were dreaming the same thing.

And I know you don't know what I'm capable of But if you give me just one more minute I'm sure That you would be shaking right down to your soul And I'd hope that the fear of the lord brings me home. I'm a man in a body of water so tall Could swallow you whole and forget where he's going But I carved a map in the back of my arm Don't worry I'm coming home I said don't worry cause I'm coming home

---- No Surprises - Radiohead (suicidal harry, pre-game.  Maybe immediately before the game.  A little Big Communism Builder) ----

A heart that's full up like a landfill A job that slowly kills you Bruises that won't heal You look so tired, unhappy Bring down the government They don't, they don't speak for us I'll take a quiet life A handshake of carbon monoxide

And no alarms and no surprises

…

This is my final fit My final bellyache

…

No alarms and no surprises, please (get me out of here)

---- Cleaning Out the Rooms - British Sea Power (The instrumental part seems to have been used / referenced for a background music track.  And also the name of that one thought project. as expected, it fits beautifully.  Wake up in a new life, down by the seaside.  Cleaning out the rooms.  She’ll be coming soon.) ----

Where life is good in a way Swept away upon our hearts, in cold coal ceremonial On a rainy day, hang it up Get the vacuum and suck it in Cleaning out the rooms, I'll clean it up Dark cloud, drifting out of view I'll never know, she'll be coming soon, that is all I'll wake up in a new life, ship shape and shoe shine Cleaning out the rooms, I'll clean it up She'll be coming soon Drifting into view, way in the west, white cloud If everybody knew, I never knew, she'll be coming soon I'll wake up in a new life, down by the seaside In a new life, down by the seaside Cleaning out the room, I'll clean it up Dark clouds, she'll be coming soon Down the chimney, out the window, that is all

---- In the Morning of the Magicians - The Flaming Lips (waking up with no memory, but bad vibes) ----

In the morning I awake

And I couldn't remember What is love and what is hate

The calculations error

Oh, what is love and what is hate? And why does it matter? Is to love just a waste? And how can it matter?

Oh...

As the dawn began to break I had to surrender The universe will have its way Too powerful to master

---- Once in a Lifetime - Talking Heads (Huh??  What's happening??  same as it ever was, same as it ever was) ----

And you may ask yourself, "How do I work this?" And you may ask yourself, "Where is that large automobile?" And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful house" And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife"

...

Same as it ever was, same as it ever was Same as it ever was, same as it ever was

...

And you may ask yourself, "What is that beautiful house?" And you may ask yourself, "Where does that highway go to?" And you may ask yourself, "Am I right? Am I wrong?" And you may say to yourself, "My God! What have I done?"

---- Don't Change - David Bazan (alcoholism, cycles of wanting to get better, depression, slipping in to old coping mechanisms, plus a little bit in here about dreams.  This is a song for if Harry continues partying after the memory wipe, I suppose) ----

He seems nice You met him once or twice But you wonder what he's like When he's sober

Then again You hear he has no friends Just people that he spins To do him favors

When he wakes up in the morning he tells himself Today I'll make a change But falling into his bed at night he thinks Man it was a beautiful day to stay the same

I'm so deep That only in my sleep Do the secrets that I keep Float to the surface

So I hold them down Till they don't make a sound Like they accidentally drowned Except on purpose

And when I wake up in the morning I tell myself Today I'll make a change But falling into my bed at night I think Man it was a beautiful day to stay the same

---- Airbag - Radiohead (born again, back to save the universe) ----

In the next world war In a jackknifed juggernaut I am born again In the neon sign scrolling up and down I am born again

In an interstellar burst I am back to save the universe

In a deep, deep sleep of the innocent I am born again In a fast German car I'm amazed that I survived An airbag saved my life

In an interstellar burst I am back to save the universe

---- A Comet Appears - The Shins (puppeting a man-body around pretending to be a living thing. drinking, depression) ----

One hand on this wily comet Take a drink just to give me some weight Some uber-man I'd make I'm barely a vapor

They shone a chlorine light on A host of individual sins Let's carve my aging face off Fetch us a knife Start with my eyes Down so the lines Form a grimacing smile

Close your eyes to corral a virtue Is this fooling anyone else? Never worked so long and hard To cement a failure

---- The Communists Have the Music - They Might be Giants (Big Communism Builder, but especially Harry's shallow understanding of Communism.  Party-boy communist) ----

I got handed an Ayn Rand sandwich Straight from the can, it tasted so bland I asked a lass to pass me a glass Of Engels' Conditions of the Working Class

Right away they dragged me to the committee To explain my un-American activity They're gonna see they made a mistake If they'd only let me play my mixtape

I'm not partial to the martial Or the plutocrats, in their beaver hats And the fascists have the outfits But I don't care for the outfits What I care about is music And the communists have the music

---- Harlem Roulette - The Mountain Goats (Harry thinking about Guillame le Million?  Generally: that vibe of secret, maybe supranatural machinations happening just outside your field of view.  A kinda lonely, pensive vibe, sprinkled with past drug use, driving...memory) ----

Unknown engines underneath the city Steam pushing up in billows through the grates Frankie Lymon's tracking "Seabreeze" in a studio in Harlem Its 1968. Just a pair of tunes to hammer out. Everybody's off the clock by 10:00. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. Feels so free when I hit the avenue. Nothing like a New York summer night. Every dream's a good dream, Even awful dreams are good dreams, If you're doing it right. Remember soaring higher than a cloud. Get pretty sentimental now and then. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again. And four hours north of Portland, a radio flips on. And some no one from the future remembers that you're gone. Armies massing in the dusky distance. Ghosted in the ribbon microphone. Leave a little mark on something, maybe, Take the secret circuit home. Nothing in the shadows but the shadow hands. Reaching out to sad, young, frightened men. The loneliest people in the whole wide world are the ones you're never going to see again.

---- Suture up Your Future - Queens of the Stone Age (Harry's gonna fix his mess) ----

I'm gon' suture up my future I ain't jaded, I just hate it See, I been down too long It's kinda hard to explain Burned and buried, all I carried

...

Tried explaining unexplained Got caught in the plan All this talking at once I've been giving my love away To the things that tear it apart I'm gonna suture up my future

---- Lampshades on Fire - Modest Mouse (Harry trashing his body / having already trashed his body, just kinda a Harry-vibe song) ----

...

Well, the lampshade's on fire when the lights go out This is what I really call a party now Well, fear makes us really, really run around A-this one's done so where to now? Our eyes light up, we have no shame at all Well, you all know what I'm talking about The room lights up, but we're still dancing around We're having fun, having some fun now

Pack up again, head to the next place Where we'll make the same mistakes Open one up and let it fall to the ground Pile out the door when it all runs out

...

As our feelings are getting hurt Oh, we want you to do the work Our ass looks great inside these jeans Well, we want just our water clean

Well, this is how it's always been And this is how it's going to be So you just move on

---- Seven Nation Army - The White Stripes (Harry "can-opener" du Bois.  Talking to the skills, solving things, detecting, generally being a terrifying force of nature / the pale) ----

I'm gonna fight 'em all A seven nation army couldn't hold me back They're gonna rip it off Taking their time right behind my back

And I'm talking to myself at night Because I can't forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette

And the message coming from my eyes Says, "Leave it alone"

Don't wanna hear about it Every single one's got a story to tell Everyone knows about it From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell

And if I catch it coming back my way I'm gonna serve it to you And that ain't what you want to hear But that's what I'll do

And the feeling coming from my bones Says, "Find a home"

---- Body of Years - Mother Mother (Harry's past that follows him, Harry's half-decomposed body that marks the years of abuse it's been through) ----

All the remains of a cadaver of days I keep hidden away, keep them there just in case I wanna visit that place Blow the dust from the bones Off a body of years that I leave all alone Just a body of years

See the skin disappears And the blood turns to stone In a body of years now a pile of bones Like a sheet of veneer Each a piece of my soul It's a body of years that I leave all alone

It's Just a body of years, now a pile of bones You know Old soul who falls down Can't stop trippin' on these Old roads I go down Get back up and get my foot in the door And my face on the page Make my mark in the world With a bat and a blade It's a body of work that you can't ever change Like a body of years that you take to your grave It's just a body of years that I leave all alone It's just a body of years, now a pile of bones Like a sheet of veneer Each a piece of my soul

---- The Cap-m - They Might be Giants (just a Harry vibe song) ----

When I talk you keep looking away from me 'Cause you probably think that I'm high on pot But I'm not, I'm not

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm You say it's such a joke But I don't see you laughing

People seem to think you can't be called the Cap'm Unless you drive a boat Well, I don't I don't

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm Go ahead and mess with me You'll find out what will happ'm

...

Did you say what I think you just said My hat looks good on me? I agree, I agree

Look me over, I'm the Cap'm You act like it's a joke But I don't see you laughing

---- Broke - Modest Mouse (oops!  all mistakes.  Broke it all.  Want to forget it but can't) ----

Broke account, so I broke a sweat I've bought some things that I sort of regret about now Broke my pace and ran out of time Sometimes I'm so full of shit that it should be a crime

Broke a promise 'cause my car broke down Such a classic excuse it should be bronze by now Broke your glasses, but it broke the ice You said that I was an asshole and I paid the price

Broken hearts want broken necks I've done some things that I'd love to forget, but I can't

Broke up, and I'm relieved somehow It's the end of the discussions that just go 'round and 'round And 'round, and 'round, and 'round ... It was like everything was evidence of broken time

You're living on fancy wine You'll drink that turpentine You're starting conversations You don't even know the topic

---- Spent Gladiator 2 - The Mountain Goats (Defiantly alive) ----

Like a spent gladiator, Crawling in the coliseum dust. Who can count on his remaining limbs, All the people he can trust. Like the one who stands behind him, Cheering him on. Ecstatic when he stands defiant, Wild with abandon when he's gone. Just stay alive. Keep your eyes on the pay line. Like a village on the step, About to get collectivized. When the men emerge with rifles from the haystack, Everybody looks surprised. Like the mice in the forgotten grain, Way up on the top shelf. Like someone who's found a small town to escape to, Keeps one eye on his abandoned, former self. Stay in the game. Just try to play through the pain. Like a fighter who's been told its finally time for him to quit. Show up in shining colors, And then stand there and get hit. Like the clock that ticks in Dresden, When the whole town's been destroyed. Like the nagging flash of insight, You're always desperate to avoid. Like the bloody-knuckled gunman, Still stationed at the breach. Like that board game with the sliders, And the children on the beach. Stay alive. Maybe spit some blood at the camera. Just stay alive. Stay forever alive.

---- You Only Live Once - The Strokes (just general Harry, talking about the skills, choices you can make, what kind of cop you can be) ----

Twenty-nine different attributes Only seven that you like, oh-oh Twenty ways to see the world, oh And twenty ways to start a fight, oh

...

And countless odd religions too It doesn't matter which you choose, oh, no One stubborn way to turn your back, oh This I've tried and now refuse, oh

Oh don't, don't, don't get up I can't see the sunshine Oh, I'll be waiting for you, baby 'Cause I'm through Sit me down Shut me up I'll calm down And I'll get along with you

---- Pork and Beans - Weezer (Superstar Cop) ----

They say I need some rogaine to put in my hair Work it out at the gym to fit my underwear Oakley makes the shades to transform a tool You'd hate for the kids to think that you've lost your cool

I'ma do the things that I wanna do I ain't got a thing to prove to you I'll eat my candy with the pork and beans Excuse my manners if I make a scene I ain't gonna wear the clothes that you like I'm fine and dandy with the me inside One look in the mirror and I'm tickled pink I don't give a hoot about what you think

Everyone likes to dance to a happy song With a catchy chorus and beat so they can sing along Timbaland knows the way to reach the top of the charts Maybe if I work with him I can perfect the art

I'ma do the things that I wanna do I ain't got a thing to prove to you I'll eat my candy with the pork and beans Excuse my manners if I make a scene I ain't gonna wear the clothes that you like I'm fine and dandy with the me inside One look in the mirror and I'm tickled pink I don't give a hoot about what you think

No, I don't care I don't care

---- Freaks - Surf Curse (head filled with skills, The Final Dream) ----

Don't kill me just help me run away From everyone I need a place to stay Where I can cover up my face Don't cry, I am just a freak

I am just a freak(x3)

My head is filled with parasites Black holes cover up my eyes I dream of you almost every night Hopefully I won't wake up this time

I won't wake up this time(x3)

---- The Smallest Church in Sussex - British Sea Power (oh yeah this is mandatory) ----

[amuhseen2003]

SANDERS SIDES KARAOKE: GOTHIC LITERATURE MUSICALS EDITION

Okay, so after four years of being in the Sanders Sides fandom, I’m going to attempt to write some headcanons. Here we go.

Since it’s well-known in fanon that the sides do have karaoke sessions, imagine what would happen if they sang musicals based on gothic literature.

Roman’s happy because broadway, duh, Logan is happy because it’s canon that he enjoys gothic literature since he dressed up as Frankenstein’s monster for Halloween, same reason for Virgil and Patton’s happy that his family is bonding. He made extra cookies for the occasion. He’s dangerous like that. 

(I headcanon that when Thomas had to write analyses of gothic literature novels for school, Virgil, Roman and Logan would work together to come up with stuff and write the best essays in class and Patton would be so proud of them)

I’m not going to count Les Mis because I’m not too sure if that counts as gothic literature and whilst the Hunchback of Notre Dame is indeed gothic (trust me I read that in a plane once. An entire, like, ten pages is dedicated to describing the scenery) I don’t think it became a broadway show.

Now this isn’t like their usual karaoke nights, no sir. Just idly remaining in the living room won’t do. Where is the gusto? The pizazz? The accolade winning extravaganza? The-

“We get it Princey, can you just get on with it?” - Virgil

No, this type of singing can only be accompanied with an atmosphere that will do it justice. To the imagination they go and with Logan’s (who has practically memorised every single one of these books and is not geeking out at all) input on how the novels describe each setting, Roman creates very intricate landscapes for each song.

When they sing ‘Alive’ from ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ Roman thought that it would be really cool for Patton to play Mr Edward Hyde since Hyde is literally the human id and Patton, being the embodiment of morality, is literally the superego (although to be fair, Patton is also shown to be quite childish and impulsive since he’s also the base of Thomas’ emotions and Hyde is impulsive because he’s a way for Jekyll to act on his own emotions - especially since the only crime that Hyde does in the book are him over-reacting with his anger by beating a man to death. And in the novella, Jekyll writes that he and Hyde are like father and son and that Hyde is actually younger than Jekyll is, he does have that sense of childishness that Patton has only instead of that childishness being good and helpful, it’s bad and hurtful. Plus in the soundtrack of Alive, whilst Anthony Warlow does sing about how good being evil feels like, he also sounds like he is crying tears of joy of being able to be himself, the first words post-transformation being freedom and anyways these are supposed to be fun headcanons not analytical headcanons so I digress…)

Anyways Patton is happy to play the villain because “look kiddos, Roman conjured up this really swell cape” “the correct term is cloak” “and check out this top hat and cane!” and he’s just belting out the words and froliking around Victorian London without a care in the world, making his cape swoosh in the wind.

“Patton I would advise you not to take your shoes off. This is nineteenth-century London with people dying of cholera by the dozens, your feet could catch a myriad of infections.”

“Worry not, specs, the scenery is merely an illusion. I would never allow for our dear padre to succumb to the villain of illness”

“Aww, thanks kiddo (cue Patton’s sunshine smile) now where was I? IT’S THE FEELING OF BEING ALIVE! FILLED WITH EVIL AND TRULY ALIVE!”

They have Logan sing ‘I Need To Know’ because a doctor of science singing about wanting to expand his knowledge and having that thirst to do whatever it takes to get said knowledge. That is a Logan Sanders song right there. At first he’s like “why do I have to sing. I was happy enough giving directions and helping you with the scenery” but Roman creates this big scientific library that could rival the one from Beauty and the Beast/ laboratory from that’s practically the identical to Jekyll’s lab in the book and he’s like “Fine” like he isn’t enjoying himself. He is. They all know it. He’s not fooling anyone

Patton and Roman sing ‘Bring on the men’ together (yes, whilst wearing dresses) whilst Virgil and Logan drink apple juice from those big british beer glasses in the mind-scape created Red Rat (which Logan is quick to point out doesn’t exist and is vocally upset at how the musical adaptation added unnecessary romantic subplots with Lisa and Lucy when the book itself only had three background female characters who were only there for like one paragraph. He’s even more upset at the other inaccuracies with the book like how in the play Jekyll creates his formula as a cure for mental illness and Hyde was accidental whilst in the book he did it because he wanted to indulge in sin without fearing the consequences and Hyde, whilst not being exactly what he wanted, was actually created on purpose or how in the book Hyde only kills one man and in the musical he kills practically everyone except for the one person he did kill. Virgil pats him on the back with sympathy). Roman and Virgil are sniggering at the sexual euphemisms at the end of the song whilst Patton’s confused. She just seems really enthusiastic about food.

Roman sings both parts of ‘Confrontation’ by himself. He gets a standing ovation.

He also does ‘Transformation’. The problem is that he was so good at sounding like he was in complete agony and near death that they had to stop the song prematurely because Patton was getting upset. Don’t worry, Pat gets lots of cuddles by Roman afterwords.

(You know what I might do some sides reacting to The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde later because 1. It’s my favourite book and 2. All four of them would have very interesting takes on it)

From the Frankenstein musical Virgil plays the criminal from ‘Say Amen’ because he wants to (seriously, the guy’s first words in the song are ‘I curse the day that I was born into a world so black with hate’) and Logan plays Victor Frankenstein but Patton refuses for his son to even pretend to be executed by the noose so they have Roman play a man wearing a british executioner outfit with a foam sword and the creative side just bonks the anxious side on the neck with it. Logan despairs about the historical inaccuracy from his place in the stands whilst Patton is cheering next to him. Patton also hands him an extra jumper to keep him warm in the Switzerland cold. 

“Patton, I am grateful that you are thinking of my health but no one in eighteenth century Switzerland wore bright blue jumpers with cartoon kittens on them”

“Really, Logan, are you paw-sitive?”

“I would like to change places with Virgil. Immediately” 

Roman and Logan turn ‘Birth to my creation’ into a duet because Logan enjoys the scientific aspect of it and Roman can’t resist the drama (of course). He goes all out. He makes Victor’s lab perfect to the smallest detail (and cheers when Logan’s eyes start lighting up and he does that cute clappy thing when he’s excited), he conjures a storm and makes lightning strike at the best moments of the song. He even creates a ‘wretch’ (what Victor calls the monster in the book. I’ve heard that it’s name is Adam but all I remember from the novel is Victor calling himself god and the creature his Adam) to lie on the table. 

“And we didn’t even have to go grave-robbing for it. Or drop out of University.” - Roman

“No matter how many times I wanted to.” - Virgil

Roman and Virgil do most of the songs from Dracula. The creative side creates this huge, expensive-looking window-balcony thing with glass double doors and billowing silk curtains so that he could dramatically sing ‘the longer I live’ whilst the wind blows through his hair and he dramatically drapes himself on the balustrade so that the light from the full moon hits his figure just right. Patton’s close to crying.

Logan is very eager to give as many facts as he can about nineteenth-century mental institutions for ‘The Master’s Song’. He gets really into the history behind certain treatments and different cases. Roman plays Renfield and the others play doctors. 

Virgil is super into Dracula’s castle during ‘Life after life’. He and Roman duet that song wearing all-black. Logan tries to help Patton’s slight fear by telling him the history behind different pieces of architecture.

Patton plays Christine during Phantom of the Opera

Roman, Virgil and Logan sing ‘A story told’ from The Count of Monte Cristo around a circular table in a dimly lit tavern. Patton takes pictures and drinks hot chocolate in the sidelines.

[vecnawrites]

A Sister’s Temptation, Chapter 1

Knight Jaune Arc is in desperate need of solace, so goes to the local church for confession. Sister Pyrrha of the Sisters of Beacon has always felt for the blonde knight, can she resist temptation?

(Posted on AO3 (same name as here) with art from Owl_pie!

Knight Jaune Arc made his way into the church, heart heavy with worry and anxiety. Even though all of his training made him one of the most skilled knights in the village of Ansel, he still worried about the Grimm. They never made things easy. Fortunately there had been no losses in several weeks.

But the last...had been saddening. An elderly woman, one in her seventies. While everyone said he should feel no guilt, having been helping the neighboring town when the attack happened, he still felt like it was his fault for not being there, like he could have done something…

That’s why he was going to the church. He knew confessing and getting advice from the priest or the sisters would help. It always did.

Inside the church, Sister Pyrrha Nikos’ eyes brightened as she saw her favorite blonde enter the church. She had always held a flame for him since they had been children, but unfortunately, never had the courage to confess before she had been asked to join the sisterhood. But the feelings remained, and indeed, only became even stronger as the years passed and he grew into the strong knight she knew he could be.

Oh, she knew it was wrong to lust, so wrong, and pleaded to God for forgiveness nightly as she committed the sin of masturbation, her fingers running through her folds as she instead imagined her strong knight’s fingers, tongue and even cock exploring her sacred garden, spreading her slick wetness around, moaning into a pillow as she brought herself to shameful completion, imagining herself wrapped in his arms as she drifted off to sleep.

“Careful, sister,” she heard a voice distantly chastise her, and turned to see Sisters Sustrai and Politan looking at her in amusement. “Get any thirstier and we’ll have to pour holy water on you.” Pyrrha flushed, but knew that the two wouldn’t inform Mother Superior Goodwitch and get her into trouble. After all, both Emerald and Neo had been taken in from the streets, both having been stealing and selling their own bodies in order to survive. “But it looks like your man wants to confess...you’d better hurry, otherwise Schnee or Rose will get him!”

Leaving her giggling sisters behind (curse their traitorous mindsets), Pyrrha hurried up, concern filling her breast as she saw the tired, almost haunted look on the face of the man she loved. But she smiled sweetly at him, hoping to ease his heart a bit. “Hello, Knight Arc,” her heart twisted in bitter sourness at being forced to address the one she loved in such a manner, but there were too many people around.

Despite the heaviness of his heart, Jaune couldn’t help but smile as Sister Nikos, one of his oldest friends, come up to him, although he would admit it did sting to hear his formal title come out of her mouth. “Hello, Sister Nikos...is Father Ozpin or Mother Superior Goodwitch in?” his heart sank as she shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry, but they’re on pilgrimage to the neighboring towns, performing weddings and last rites...perhaps there is something I can help you with?” Pyrrha asked, hoping that her love would allow her to sooth his worries.

“I...I wished to confess to one of them, but I don’t wish to bother you with my troubles…” Jaune began, only to blink several times as Pyrrha grabbed his right hand in both of hers, looking at him intensely, her emerald eyes staring into his cerulean.

“There’s no need for that line of thought, Knight Arc! Please, follow me. I will gladly take your confession and ease your burdens.” Pyrrha began to gently lead her oldest friend along the path to the confessional, trying desperately to ignore the rapid fluttering in her breast.

Jaune himself, was fighting the heat that wanted to rise within his cheeks. He knew that it was wrong to lust, especially after a sister of all things, but he couldn’t help himself. He had known most of these sisters since they were all small children, but Pyrrha...Pyrrha was special. She was his first real crush, and he had hoped to court her...but she and most of his and her female friends in their age group had been chosen to join the “Sisters Of Beacon”.

Unbidden, his eyes drifted down, pants tightening as the nun’s robe Pyrrha wore was rather...flattering, to say the least, clinging tightly to her full backside, the round swells of her rear jiggling lightly as she walked.

His pants began to strain as he watched, making him tear his eyes away in a panic, his blue eyes darting back and forth, praying that no one caught that. He could not be seen lusting after a sister! He groaned mentally. That was another sin to confess, and to the woman he was showing lust to, to boot!

Coming up to the confessional booth, Pyrrha turned and smiled sweetly at Jaune. “Here we are, Knight Arc. Please enter.” she tilted her head as she saw the flush on his face, wondering what that was from, before entering and closing the door behind her.

The small stall surrounded her, the must of pine and incense filling her nose, the only two fixtures a small latticed ‘window’ (more for aesthetic than anything) and a circular hole to allow the confessor and the priest or sister to communicate easier. Hearing the shuffling and muffled clanks of Jaune’s armor as he sat down, Pyrrha placed her hand on her breast and tried to calm her rapidly pounding heart. “Speak, and tell me of your sorrows.” she said, placing her hand on the wall and imagining what the man she loved looked like on the other side, his downcast eyes, his pinched brow, the twitching muscle next to his mouth. Her heart ached at the thought.

Jaune swallowed, lacing his hands together as he imagined Pyrrha sitting down on the bench, looking so much more beautiful than any nun should, the robe she wore tight around her body, stretching around her bust and her bottom, those full lips...he shook his head forcefully to get those images out of his head, but to his dismay, he was fully hard, his erect shaft pressing against the inside of his pants, tenting them outwards. He would have to stay in here until it softened.

Hearing Pyrrha’s words, he jerked in place, fumbling through his thoughts. “I...forgive me, Sister, for I have sinned.” he began with the traditional confessional greeting. And god, had he just sinned not moments ago. But he would start with the problem he had initially come for help with: dealing with the guilt.

“I...I feel guilt over the last Grimm attack. I know people say I shouldn’t-” he heard a soft sigh from next to him. “And they are right...you shouldn’t.”

Pyrrha placed her hand on the wall again, desperately wishing that it was her love’s face, but she would make do with her words for now. “Miss Calavera lived a very long, very happy life. It is true what happened was tragic, but I was there to give her last rites. She told me that she had lived a very long life, and wasn’t afraid. She was happy that it was her, rather than one of the children, and that she would get to see her own family once more. Please, June, do not feel guilt over not being here...Maria wouldn’t want you to.” Pyrrha desperately wished to reach out and hold Jaune's hand, but the blasted wood prevented her.

Jaune sighed softly, feeling his spirit lift as he heard of Maria Calavera's final words. His lips tweaked upwards. "T-thank you, Sister Nikos...I...I guess that's all I needed to truly hear."

But that relief was ruined by the second part of the confession he would have to make...that he had lusted after her. He hoped that she wouldn't think him a filthy deviant and never want to speak to him again.

Pyrrha smiled, happy that she had eased her loved one's heart. "I'm so glad I was able to help you...is there anything else you need to confess?"

Jaune grit his teeth. This was it. "I am dealing with problems concerning...lust." he hated the fact that he practically growled the last word, but god, his cock ached! "Particularly when I am desiring someone I truly shouldn't."

Pyrrha gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth. Jaune was listing after someone? Who? The shock retreated to reveal a nasty pang of pain and the burn of jealousy, but she tempered it and forced it down. Jaune needed her. "When did you first notice these feelings?" her voice was soft, as though making sure she didn't scare a frightened animal. Her tone also served to cover her own feelings.

"I...I think these feelings have always been there...but I only noticed them very recently...and only acknowledged them today."

Jaune squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. This was it. "I have been lusting after you, Pyrrha." there. He said it.

Pyrrha's eyes were wide, her mouth open in a silent 'o'...her thighs rubbing together from the sudden influx of heat between her thighs from this knowledge. She roughly swallowed. This might be the chance to actually get what she fantasized about...

Before she could speak, Jaune continued, his voice becoming more panicked. "I know it's wrong, so wrong, you're a Sister, and I shouldn't dare-"

"Jaune." Pyrrha spoke firmly, knowing that she had to take control of the situation, before it got too out of hand.

The knight cringed at the firm tone, but stopped speaking, knowing she deserved to say her piece. "You are correct, this lust is a problem…" he winced more, "So we are going to take steps to mitigate it." he blinked. What did Pyrrha mean?

Taking a deep breath as she rubbed her core through her thick robe and panties, Pyrrha licked her lips and said, "I want you to open your pants, and show me the effects the lust I have stirred within you caused."

Jaune's eyes bulged as he heard Pyrrha's  words. "B-but Sis-sister!" he stuttered. He shivered as he heard a firm noise.

"I have caused lust within you and forced you to sin, Jaune. It is therefore my duty to fix it. Open your pants."

Swallowing, Jaune rose to his feet and turned, unbuckling his belt and loosening his trousers. Lowering them a bit, his erect shaft sprung out, and despite himself and the situation, he groaned in relief. His cock was angry, his balls heavy and hanging beneath.

"I heard that, Jaune! It's getting worse, place yourself through the hole so I can help cleanse you of your pent up lust!"

Jaune swallowed, and taking a deep breath, moved towards the hole and slowly slipped his cock through it.

Pyrrha watched with bated breath as Jaune’s shaft entered her side of the confessional, her heart pounding hard and her breathing getting fast and shallow as it moved further and further in, the thick pillar of flesh arching slightly upwards, the veins prominent, the head an angry dark red. It was bigger than she had imagined in her head, and she slipped off of the bench, kneeling before it, her nose twitching as she smelled his powerful, enticing scent, a rich musk that filled the small area. Placing her left hand on the wall next to the hole, Pyrrha gently reached out and grasped the thick flesh.

Both gasped in unison.

Jaune fought not to buck his hips against the wall and alert anyone outside, biting her lip and grunting as Sister-as Pyrrha’s ever-so-soft hand cupped his erection, her slim fingers curling around his swollen flesh, his fingers rolling and curling against his palms, making fists against the thin wood. “Sister, please forgive me…” he gasped, eyes rolling back in his head.

Pyrrha, on the other hand, could feel herself soaking her undergarments as she gently held the hot, almost burning, flesh in her palm. She felt a rapid beat against her hand, his heartbeat, she realized, slowly beginning to stroke it. A soft, but throaty groan met her, making her smile.

“Don’t worry, young knight...you just need to trust me...I’ll get all of that pent up lust out of you, I promise.” Pyrrha smiled softly, her cheeks flushed and eyes hooded. She began to stroke gently in earnest, watching in amazement as clear fluid began to bead at the tip and weep, her palm catching it and making the glide of her hand smoother.

She knew what it was. Precum, Jaune was aroused by her actions and responding. How did she know this? The resident reformed thieves/prostitutes, of course. They had given her far more information than she had ever wanted to know, but in this moment, she found herself grateful for the knowledge.

She stroked him further, with more energy, her own breathing and the heat between her thighs growing as Jaune’s moans grew louder and longer in intensity. “Pyrrha...oh, God, Pyrrha…” she squirmed as Jaune’s voice, the voice of the man she loved, said her name with such passion.

“That’s it, Jaune…” she gently encouraged as she rubbed his flesh, “Let it all out...cleanse yourself of your lust.” she murmured. ‘Not for me, though, never for me…’ she never wanted Jaune to stop desiring her, even if she was a Sister. Recalling more of Emerald and Neo’s talks, she knew that Jaune would cum, and it would be messy, especially depending on how long it had been since he had ‘gotten off’, and it would have to go somewhere.

Blushing brightly, Pyrrha took her free hand off of the wall and reached to her waist, brining her top up slowly, exposing the smooth expanse of her belly and with a forceful tug, her large breasts, her nipples already stiff as she bared her upper half to the small room. She liked to imagine Jaune could see them, his eyes looking at her body in lust and awe.

As she placed her hand back on the wood, she continued to stoke Jaune, she recalled one final tidbit of ‘advice’ from Emerald and Neo: that men loved it when lips and tongue were involved, but that it usually tasted horrible. She looked down, nervously licking her lips, before leaning her head down…

Jaune rested his forehead against the confessional wall, taking deep breaths to keep himself from breaking too early. On some level, even though he knew that this was only meant to be of help for his lust, he couldn’t keep himself from trying to impress Pyrrha with his stamina, even though, like her, he had never done anything like this before.

He closed his eyes and imagined Pyrrha kneeling before him, gently holding his cock, looking up at him with those beautiful green eyes-his balls churned, wanting to release everything they had backed up within them, but he couldn’t do that. That would cover Pyrrha in his cum, and she would be ruined when the other sisters either recognized what it was on her, or got too inquisitive and asked-his eyes snapped open and nearly popped out of their sockets as something warm and wet touched the head of his cock.

Pyrrha smiled as her tongue moved away from the head of his shaft. 'That wasn't bad at all!' she realized. It didn't taste bitter, or any of the other unpleasant things that Emerald and Neo had described. In fact it was rather...sweet?

She licked his head again, getting that same taste, as well as that same intense gasp from Jaune. God, she squirmed in place, this was so sinful, but she couldn't stop!

She began to kiss and lick the leaking tip as she pumped the pale flesh, the moans and whimpers she received music to her ears.

Jaune wanted to hold out, he truly did, but this felt too good! He scrambled, he needed to at least warn Pyrrha. "Pyrrha, I'm...oh, God...cumming!" he gasped, his world going blank as pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. “A-AAHHH~!”

Hearing Jaune's desperate warning, Pyrrha straightened and began to stroke Jaune's shaft fiercely, aiming the tip for her bare breasts.

She shivered as the flesh within her palm throbbed mightily, before spitting out stream after stream of hot, thick, sticky fluid onto the swells of her bosom. Even then, some hit her face, coating her cheeks and dripping down her chin as well.

Her core throbbed with want beneath her skirt, the air around her legs hot and humid, the perfume of her own desire becoming noticeable in her booth. “Aahh…” she could hear Jaune’s relieved gasping through the thin wood, making her smile. “All sins are forgiven…” she murmured.

Finally as the spurts of fluid lessened and became mere trickles, Pyrrha leaned forwards again, gently licking away the excess, kissing the head as the shaft of flesh began to soften.

She smiled. "The first stage of treatment is complete." she said happily, carefully pulling down her top and shivering slightly as the 'cum' (as Emerald and Neo called it) smeared across her breasts. She then used her fingers to wipe her cheeks and chin off and after a moments thought, licked them clean, smiling at the fact that he did taste sweet, far better than she envisioned.

Feeling his cock finally softening, Jaune's mouth dropped, not only as he fully registered what just happened, but Pyrrha's words. "F-First stage?" he whispered, slowly pulling his cock back and tucking it into his pants.

Pyrrha smiled. "Of course! With lust as powerful as yours, you can't expect one treatment to cure it! From now on, whenever you feel lust, I want you to think of me, and at your soonest convenience, come and find me for another confession. I will happily do my duty as a Sister to help cleanse you of your sins."

Jaune and Pyrrha walked to the front of the Church in comfortable silence, Jaune taking furtive glances at his oldest friend, the girl he had come to love.

Smiling at her love as he stood at the door, Pyrrha waved lightly as he smiled at her before leaving through the door with a lighter heart.

Pyrrha smiled softly, glad that she had helped the man she loved...but for now she turned, feeling her soaking wet undergarments shift against her core. For now, she needed to go and help herself.

"Ahh!" Pyrrha moaned into her pillow as she lay naked, chest first onto it, her rear in the air as her fingers rubbed and delved into her wet, sticky core, her viscous essence coating her slim digits as she brought herself to the height of pleasure. "Yes! Jaune, please! EEK!" Pyrrha trembled as she reached the crescendo of pleasure, her naked body going limp on her bed, hand still cupping her core.

As she relaxed, a wicked thought entered her mind. She was helping Jaune relieve his lust, shouldn't he be kind enough to do the same for her? It wouldn't do for a sister to fall to temptation, after all…

A sultry smile formed on her lips and her hand began to twitch against her core again. That was a wonderful idea...one she would bring up when Jaune came for his next 'treatment'...

[tae-cup]

Gouache on Calculators by Kim Taehyung | Calcu-LATER (1)

Pairing: Art Major!Kim Taehyung x Math Major!Reader, Jimin x reader-ish

Summary:  Math never fails you. The numbers might not always make sense, but you know there must be a solution. Everything fits together like a perfect puzzle, like your tidy life and solitary living…until Kim Taehyung spills paint all over your notebook. He, quite literally, trips into your life.

Genre: College AU, Fluff, Angst, Angst with happy ending, Light Topics, humor

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Uh, it’s not this dark i swear,  slight Internalized homophobia, Drinking, Cheating, uh uh uh it’s going to be a ride.

Word Count: 2.7k Words

A/N: Ah! I’m so excited to present this absolute mess of a story! Let me know your thoughts and if you’d like to be added to the taglist! Also also also, this chapter is short, but I promise the next one is a little over twice this length!

Other: 

Series List

Masterlist

Previous (teaser) | Next 

       Mr. Erich was a slow talker. You could almost understand why Jimin was falling asleep next to you. Almost. Jimin wasn’t someone you really considered a close friend, but then again, you didn’t have many close friends. 

      The teacher continued droning on about number theory. You placed your head down on the desk, but your hand continued writing your notes. Staying up late last night wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to write an essay on Anaxagoras, a greek philosopher. 

     You hated philosophy. But you loved your mother and your mother had urged you to take a class that didn’t only involve numbers. 

     Jimin was snoring peacefully and you glanced over at him. It wasn’t exactly your issue so you looked away and went back to following the lesson. A few minutes later, he jerked awake and groaned audibly.

      A few people in the seats around looked at him quizzically. You shrunk lower in your seat. You didn’t want to attend class, too many people and it made your heart race, but you needed to pass this class and so you, sadly, must attend.

        Many knew Jimin as the son and heir to BigHit, the large business conglomerate that had wealth that made even the 1% drool, but to you he was just that guy who fell asleep in Calculus and cheated off your notes. Objectively, this was annoying. Subjectively…

     You felt him staring out of the corner of your eye. He was looking pointedly at your notes. Subjectively, you didn’t care enough. If he didn’t pay attention in class, that was his problem and you didn’t feel one way or another. At the bottom of your notes, you wrote, Pay attention. 

He wrote that down too without a second thought. 

   You were busy. You were always busy. In fact, you had an extremely important Algebra assignment to do and you knew you could get it done as long as no one bothered you-

“Oh my god.” 

    A man with blonde hair and a light blue beret stood in front of you. In his hands was a tray of spilled over paints; paints that were now on you. You tilted your head. 

“Can you move?” You spoke up after a while. 

“I’m so sorry!” He seemed unfrozen and hurried after you as you brushed by. 

“Uh, can you go away?” 

“I know you’re probably really mad! Do you want money or something? I can buy you new clothes or-wait that sounds weird.” 

“Clothes?” You glanced down and then realized the state of your wardrobe. 

    You were splattered with red, green, and yellow paint. You then glanced at your notebooks, also, helpfully, coated in a thin layer of paint. More importantly, your beautiful TI-84 calculator was ruined. 

     You opened your mouth, furiously holding up your calculator, but the man continued rambling on. Annoying. But somewhat entertaining, you supposed. 

“You got paint on my-” 

“Let me take you out! Somewhere nice? I’ll buy you a coffee!” He tore off some notebook paper and scribbled some numbers down. You paused. What was he doing? 

“Besides, it’s not paint, it’s Gouache.” He announced proudly, shoving the paper into your already full arms. 

“But that- you still got-”

“Taehyung!” Jimin called from behind you. You turned and the man winced. “Oh, Taehyungie has never been too neat, sorry about him. Anyway, we gotta go, Tae. Yoongi just called and Jungkook set fire to the carpet again.” 

“He really needs to change his major to something a little less dangerous.” 

“What is this, the third time?”

“I don’t know, but we need to go, Tae-”

“What’s his major?” You questioned.

“Philosophy.” They both said in unison. 

“Anyway gotta go!” Taehyung grabbed Jimin’s hand and started speed walking away. 

“You got paint on my calcu-”

“Later!” Jimin shouted over his shoulder, his eyes lingered on you for a moment.

    Did you have something on your face? You swiped at your cheek and he grinned, turning back around and following Taehyung.

    Once they were out of sight, you juggled your notebooks around until you could successfully pick up the paper. 278-367-5433 ;). You scoffed at the numbers, something you did often, and crumpled it up. 

“Art majors. What a waste of trees” You muttered and trudged back to your dorm. 

 “I’m so stuck on this problem, Y/N, you’ve gotta help me.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re my friend?”

“I’m not your friend, Jimin.” You moved the phone to your other shoulder and continued working. 

“But-”

“Bye.” 

      You hung up and groaned, massaging your temple. Your room could be seen as lonely. Plain white paint sat on dull gray walls. There wasn’t a speck of trash or clothing littered on the floor. You lived an orderly life. Tidy. Your eyes strayed to your hamper. 

      Your clothes from earlier were spilling out of the top. A splash of color on a black and white canvas. You scrunched your nose and looked away in disgust. You had never understood the point of art. What did anyone ever see in it? It was meaningless. You looked back to your notes. 

      These numbers meant something. They meant the height of a ladder leaning against a building, the measurements of a bridge, and where Mary Jane would end up in 400 minutes if she’s going five miles an hour on a circular road. It was pretty deep. 

      You looked at your watch. Then you moved your attention to the window. Your dorm overlooked the sprawling center of campus. The place was a concrete playground, but with the extensive arts program, it was always covered in colorful murals and art pieces. 

       You didn’t have a roommate and you liked it that way. You had always preferred to be alone. Others called you anti-social, but, to put it another way, if there was an apocalypse and it was just you and another person alive in the entire world, you would probably leave them for dead. Life was simpler alone. 

       Besides, you wouldn’t have to deal with people chastising you about not picking up on “social cues” or whatever the hell those were. How were you supposed to know that when someone leans in real close, they want to kiss you? It seemed quite arbitrary in your mind. 

      Your phone was buzzing again. 

“What do you want?” 

“Please Y/N! This. Is. Really. Hard.” 

“Jimin, figure it out. How are you going to pass midterms if you can’t understand algebra?” 

“Ouch.”

“I mean that in the most sincere way.” You relented. 

“You’re so mean, Y/N.”

   Your eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words. 

“I’m honest. You could go ask the teacher or something.”

“He told me to ask you.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

You heard him let out a dry laugh on the other side and rustling of sheets. 

“You’re really good at math, Y/N.”

“I hate number theory.” You objected. 

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not good at it!” 

“Shut up. I’m going to hang up now.” 

“Wait no-”

Beep. 

     People were annoying. That’s what you had decided. You weren’t trying to stick out like a sore thumb, but getting in the flow of other people and understanding all the shit they wanted you to understand was hard. 

     You put your pencil back down onto the page and continued writing. You reached for your calculator, groaning when you realized the paint had covered the display. 

“Great. Just great.” 

      You set the calculator aside, feeling a little sentimental. After all, you’d had that thing since seventh grade. Your phone buzzed again. Jimin jesus chr-

“Yes?” You picked up. 

“What is this So ka toe ah everyone is telling me about.”

“How did you pass trig without sohcahtoa?” 

“Tell me!” 

“Ask Taehyung.”

“Taehyung is an art major and hasn’t had to be proficient in math since the fifth grade!” 

“Sin, cosine, tan. Bye.” 

Beep. 

     You massaged the crease between your eyebrows and your attention got caught by the darkened campus. The gross fluorescent campus lights lit up the concrete. Freshmen were running wild, happy with their newfound freedom, and seniors were leaving for clubs or parties. The lights in the dorm buildings across campus began turning on one by one. 

     You searched your pockets for the crumpled paper. When you didn’t find any, you made your way to your hamper and dug around the pockets of your paint smothered clothing. 

“Aha.” You unfolded the paper and dialed the number. You didn’t feel like talking, but Jimin was driving you up the wall. 

“Taehyung, right?” You said as he picked up. 

“Yeah? Changed your mind?”

“No. I’m going to make this short and sweet, tell Jimin to stop calling me for math help. Thanks.” You hung up and went back to your work. 

     So, technically, you were done with work, but being done with work meant that you were free and if you were free, that meant you had no excuse not to go out. And you needed an excuse to avoid people. You opened up your textbook and frowned at the various graphs and equations. You had already done all of them for fun this summer. 

“Hey, Y/N, a bunch of us in the dorm are going out, wanna come?” The hall monitor knocked on your door. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job?” You looked back with a confused expression. 

“Charming as ever I see.” She chuckled. 

“Come on, Jasmine, Y/N never wants to go out anyway.” Another girl shouted. 

“I know! I just wanted to be nice!” Jasmine shouted out, as if you weren’t right there. 

“What would be nice is if you left.” You said, your voice monotone and matter of fact. 

“Alright then. If you need anything, just text or call.”

“You won’t pick up anyway.” You whispered under your breath, but Jasmine was already gone. 

 “You forgot that this has to be positive, Jimin.” You leaned over him like an overbearing mother. 

“But that doesn’t make sense!”

“You’re dividing two negatives. They cancel out.” You explained, a frown twisting onto your face. 

       There was a long silence as you watched him scribble down the new numbers. The library was relatively quiet. The giggles of a group in the corner would pierce the peaceful ambience every now and then, but the librarian would always shush them and they’d die down. 

     Jimin cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to this study session. You moved across the table and sat at your seat again. You just sat and stared at him. He was intriguing. He made silly mistakes that he should honestly understand for being a junior in college. His eyes flicked up to you three times and back to his paper. 

“Well, this is awkward.” He said after a while. 

“Is it?” You shrugged and continued staring him in the eye. He shifted awkwardly and looked away. 

“Why are you staring at me?” He whispered. 

“Oh, do you want me to stop?” 

His mouth opened and closed then he looked back at his paper, his ears turning red. 

“Are you coming on to me?” He murmured. 

“What? No, why would I do that?” You said, disgusted, and returned to your work. 

       To be clear, you weren’t disgusted with him, but you were disgusted at the idea that you would come onto him. After all, you were just here for math and Jimin was just here because he needed help studying, obviously. He looked like you had just slapped him. You honestly didn’t see an issue. 

“You know, my parents are pretty traditional and they want me to bring a girl home this holiday season. You’re the only girl I’m really close friends with.” He began. You felt his eyes on you and you looked up. 

“Uh, alright? That sounds like a problem. Who are you going to take then?”

“You’re really dense, aren’t you?”

“I’m not dense.” You defended. “You need to expand your friend group.” 

“I was wondering if you could come along?”

“What?” Your furrowed your eyebrows. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t be anything romantic, just-” 

    A man with mint green hair and a slim build walked past and Jimin’s eyes followed him. You followed his line of sight. 

“....We can just go as friends, you know?” 

You nodded solemnly. “Just friends, Jimin.”

“You’ll go?”

“Only if you promise me it’s just friends because I really don’t want to have to deal with romance.” You huffed, picking up your pencil and jotting down numbers. “You already have my number, just send me the details.”

“Thank you!” 

      The librarian shot him a glare and he lowered his voice. 

“You’re a real lifesaver.” He whispered. 

“I know.” You narrowed your eyes and then began to pack up your things. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Bye.” 

“What, but we just-” 

“Yeah I know, but I’m sort of sick of talking to people and I helped you with your work so I’ve got to go work on Philosophy.” 

“Philosophy? I didn’t take you as a philosophy person.”

“Me neither.”

     Aha! You knew you recognized Taehyung from somewhere. You ran your finger over the screen. The list of student names in your philosophy class was displayed. 

“Kim Taehyung. KTaehyung24@WillowsUniversity.edu.” You murmured 

“Whatcha doing?” Jasmine leaned against your doorway. 

“Just...research.” You explained lamely. 

“I see.” The hall monitor came inside and sat on your bed. “You never go out, Y/N. I’m worried about you.” 

“Okay, and?” You glanced at her as she sat cross legged on the bed. Great. She’s wrinkling the sheets. 

“Well, as a friend-”

“We’re not friends.”

“-and hall monitor, I command that you go out this weekend. Do something with your college life. I think you might regret not doing anything fun later on.” She prodded softly. 

“This is fun.” You gestured to the scattered math homework pages across the desk. 

“Right… well, just keep it in mind.” She stood and moved to your door. 

“Jasmine?”

“Yeah?” She paused, turning to look at you. You read over your philosophy work and then your essay.

“You ever think that there are so many people in your life, but no one is really a part of it?”

“You’ve got to stop with the philosophy, Y/N. It feels weird coming from you.” She laughed.

       You didn’t find anything funny in that. She looked awkwardly from you to the door, expecting you to chuckle along, but you remained silent, blinking at her. She shivered and left without another word. 

      The second she was gone, you stood abruptly and smoothed out the bed sheets, but as you did that, more wrinkles appeared on the other side. You felt the anxiety pouring out of you and you rushed to smooth down the other side, but more and more wrinkles kept appearing like disgusting bugs that wouldn’t die. You let out a frustrated sigh and tore all the sheets off your bed. 

       You took the ruler off your desk and measured out the width and height, then calculated how much extra cloth is needed on both sides for it to be perfectly centered. Then you marked it off and remade the bed. You felt yourself calming as order was restored. 

    You thought back to Jasmine’s words. Go out? Absolutely not. Then you looked at the crumpled paper on your desk. 

“Fine, Jasmine.” You pursed your lips and dialed the number once more. 

“Y-ello?” Taehyung’s voice rumbled through the speaker. 

“I want a coffee, but I’d prefer to go somewhere quiet.”

“Straight to the point I see.”

“Polite niceties take up too much time. When are you available?” “Whenever you are, love.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright. Uh…” There was a long pause and you heard rustling in the background. “Sorry just grabbing a piece of paper.”

“Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to apologize for.” You said quickly, eager to get this conversation over with. 

“I’m free this Saturday?” 

“Works for me.” You said. You didn’t need to check your calendar to know you had nothing to do. 

“Great see you then.” He said stiffly.

“Yup.”

“Uh...bye?”

“Alright.” 

Beep. 

      Now it was time to overthink the arrangement until Saturday.

Taglist: N/A

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[sondepoch]

Chapter 7

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Panic sets in the moment you open your eyes.

You'd sensed hints of it in your dreams: the sensation of Lucifer's arms loosening their hold on you despite your protests, the feeling of the Devildom heat growing faint and being replaced with the coolness of the heavens, the sensation of the Morningstar's aura growing dimmer and dimmer until you couldn't detect it at all.

No doubt, your subconscious realized what had happened. Asleep, you may have been, but you felt it when your angel form manifested, when the room grew noisy with shouts and chaos as people must have set their eyes upon the blackness of your wings.

Your subconscious had known it, and yet your mind continued to deny such truth.

But now, having opened your eyes and taken in the unmistakable sight of the room you've spent thousands of years in—you can't deny it any longer.

You've been taken back to the Celestial Realm.

"S-Simeon!" You shout on instinct, untangling your limbs from the softness of the blankets.

When he doesn't come, you stand, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror mounted on the wall.

Your eyes widen when they fall upon your wings.

They're white.

Just how long have you been asleep?

Biting your lip, you creep the door open. "Simeon?" You call again, hoping, praying that he's nearby. You turn your head to the right, glancing down the hall that's usually lined with paintings and artwork, but all you see is an empty stone wall.

A sight you know all too well.

Gasping, you slam the door and retreat back inside, but then all the small details of the room you'd missed earlier are now highlighted in your eyes.

Your eyes dart over to the circular rug, the same creamy white you're used to but far too new and pristine to be the same one that you've had in your own room. You glance at the bedframe, a perfect replica of the one you once slept on, but it lacks the scratches along the side from all the nights you'd spent dragging your nails along the wood in boredom. The robes hanging off the hooks on the back of your door look the same, but they lack the telltale creases of your failed ironing attempts, too perfect to be the ones you've worn for so long.

You fall onto your knees, a shudder running through your body when you recall the familiar sight of the empty, stone walls outside.

There's no pretending otherwise.

You're in the tower of the High Seraphs.

You glance out of your window, hoping that the sight will prove you wrong, but the lack of neighboring clouds only confirms your fears. The room you're in is nothing more than a replica of the one in your shared abode with Simeon, the familiar surroundings nothing more than an illusion meant to give you some peace of mind.

You scowl.

Stomping over to your closet, you yank it open to find all the same clothes you have in your actual room, but it's obvious that these have never been worn. Still, you yank them over your figure with such force that you almost injure your wings in the process, knowing that time is of utmost importance right now.

You frown, running a comb through your hair as you begin to realize everything that must have taken place while you slept.

Doubtless, Simeon administered medicine to you, which must have manifested your angel form. If you recall the sound of shouting correctly, then the first person to scream must have been Luke—who likely summoned Michael on instinct.

Curses, you can't help but think. Luke can hardly be blamed for doing what he thought was right, but this situation absolutely could have been avoided if you'd told Simeon the truth about your wings. And now he must know that I've kept secrets from him.

Regret fills your heart at the realization, and you begin to wish you'd given him the truth from the beginning. Not just about your wings, but about Lucifer as well.

You're terrified to see the look of disappointment he'll give you when the two of you next meet.

But surely, there will be more to it than just disappointment. Michael must have also seen your wings and returned you to the Celestial Realm, which means that, as your guardian, Simeon should also be here. And if the High Seraphs know that your wings turned black while under his guardianship…

You don't want to begin to think about the punishment he will have to endure.

Mind heavy with thoughts of the angel, you yank open the door and storm down the familiar corridor that leads to the chamber of the High Seraphs. You've walked these halls before, during the Great Celestial War, when you were locked in these towers and isolated from Lucifer.

But back then, you were young. Young, timid, and docile. Now, you won't hesitate to speak your mind.

***

"Speak wisely, child." One of the seraphs warns you, raising a hand. Every holy being in the room frowns upon your figure, disapproving of your blatant disrespect, but you won't let them intimidate you into silence.

"Return me to the Devildom at once!" You repeat, your plea phrased as a demand while you cross your arms in defiance. "You promised me that I would be given a full year with Lucifer, and I will be given the full year!"

"You will be given what we permit," A voice returns swiftly, disinterested in your protests. "And nothing more."

"You can't go back on a promise!" You screech, gesturing wildly. You hate their utter apathy toward your situation, how they barely look at you as you argue your case. "It's unholy! You swore to me! You swore!"

"Our oath to you was that you would be allowed to partake in the exchange program as long as you did not allow your divinity to be corrupted by the demons," Another voice answers, and you whip around to face them. "Do not lie, child. Your wings were black as the abyss when Michael returned you to us. You are not so foolish to let such a thing go unnoticed. It is by Father's blessing that they have been restored to their true color."

"Perhaps our current punishment is too lenient for the child. Not only did she hide the truth, but she broke her vows to us in the process."

"Indeed. It is rather an embarrassment to have one so troublesome."

"Ah, but she is still young. With her lies, she has ruined all chances of ever seeing that fallen angel she adores again, so perhaps that may be punishment enough. Not to say that further punishment cannot be issued if she continues to act out."

Your body flits back and forth, turning every time a new voice speaks. The room is circular, and the High Seraphs each sit across from each other in different parts of the room, making a perfect circle that forces you to turn every time someone else speaks. Finally, you've had enough.

"Stop!" You shout, hands clenched into fists. You know that every time you raise they take you even less seriously, so you try to compose yourself. "Please, High Seraphs. I beg you—hear me! My wings turned black not from corruption but simply because I absorbed the darkness the way I absorb light. It never tainted my purity, I assure you!"

"The darkness did not taint your purity, but do you deny that you allowed Lucifer to do so?"

How do they know?

You flinch at the seraph's words, looking down. "W-we never had…"

"It matters not what physical pursuits you engaged in!"

"You foolishly gave your heart to a demon, child. How is that befitting of the holy equalizer of our realm?!"

"Love between an angel and a demon is forbidden. We allowed you to reunite with Lucifer because you swore that your love for him was pure, but that vile creature defiled you with temptation!"

You stare at the ground as the High Seraphs continue to rain insults down on you, each one mocking and ridiculing your relationship with Lucifer. You shut their voices out, trying your hardest to hold back tears as you stand, remembering a time where they had once praised you with the same vigor.

When a silence settles over the room, you speak again.

"W-who told you?" You ask, glancing away. You don't have any proper defense for falling in love with Lucifer when you were warned against that very thing, but you have the right to know who breached your privacy and spilled your secret to the High Seraphs. "W-was it Simeon?"

"Simeon?" A seraph asks from behind you, scoffing. "The fool has refused to answer any of our questions since returning. He is being punished. When he understands that it is his responsibility to confess the extent of your sins while in the Devildom, you can be certain that your own punishment will follow."

You gasp. "You would punish him simply for maintaining his silence? That's awful! It's immoral!"

"Simeon's sole instructions were to ensure that you were kept in line, and he betrayed us in the name of what he called your 'happiness.' We are not so foolish. Your happiness lies here, in this realm. Not in the arms of the treacherous Morningstar."

A fire ignites within your heart, fueled by the thought of these heartless divinities punishing the angel who's protected you for so long. "How could you do that?!" You spit, disbelief painted over your features. "Simeon has served for millennia as your holy defender! How can you lock away the very angel sent to protect you?!"

"Simeon is honorable, no doubt, but his loyalty is wasted. We live in the Celestial Realm, child. The defender of the High Seraphs is a noble title, but what need have we of him? Who would attack us?"

The fire in your heart blazes bright with the seraph's deriding words.

"Me."

The word leaves your mouth before you can even consider the weight of what you're saying, and you lunge forward to the seraph directly in front of you, your smaller frame growing closer and closer to his until he rises, summoning a wave of holy energy that deflects your body back onto the ground with more force than you ever imagined a person possible of procuring.

You try to suppress the sound that leaves your mouth when your body strikes the floor, sending you sliding along the ground as it cracks beneath the weight of the force you were thrown at. But you can't hold back your whimper as you raise your hand in defense, wings curling around your body as you try to nurse your front where the seraph's whip of light burned into your body.

"Foolish child!" The seraph exclaims, shaking his head in disdain. "You would dare attempt to attack me?!"

Another voice speaks up, and you might consider it an attempt to deescalate the situation if not for the fact that they take the side of your assaulter. "Celestial equalizer or not, this child's ways have been corrupted by demons. Let us leave her to repent, and that will be the end of her right to see us for the day."

With that, you sense the bodies of those around you fading, each seraph disappearing and leaving you alone in the room.

You let out a broken wail once they're all gone, not sure you're releasing your pain over being struck or over learning that Simeon is being punished for your actions or over the fact that the High Seraphs have made it painfully clear that you will not be permitted to see Lucifer ever again.

For once, you really don't know which is worse.

***

"And you'll never let go of my hand, is that clear?"

"For the thousandth time, I get it!" You tugged Lucifer's arm forward, pulling the two of you closer to the edge of the cloud. "Can we start now?"

Lucifer hesitated, glancing away. He didn't want to, you knew, but it was high time you learned how to fly, and he had made it clear that he wouldn't be letting any of his siblings teach you.

"Come on, Luci," You mumbled quietly, his nickname slipping from your lips as you pleaded with him. The angel had practiced posture and form all morning and all afternoon with you, running you through various exercises on land that he insisted were necessary for flight. Of course, you knew it was all just a ploy to delay the inevitable. Mammon had already told you about his first attempt with flight, and how Lucifer had thrown him into the sky and let the boy figure the rest out on his own, merely flying beneath him in case something went wrong.

But Lucifer was far too protective to pull anything remotely similar with you, and his hand never left yours as he tried to protest one more time.

"The sun is setting, MC." He gestured with one arm toward the ball of fire, which had only begun to journey underneath the horizon. "It's best to wait until tomorrow to try this."

"No," You responded, scowling. "We're doing this now."

Without even waiting for his word of agreement, you swallowed the last of your fear and jumped forward, tugging Lucifer with you as you spread your wings.

"Eek!" You screamed when you realized that you were falling, only held up by Lucifer's firm grip. But then you recalled the exercises he had drilled into you and attempted to flap your wings once, then twice, then thrice, and then you were flying!

"Lucifer—Lucifer, look! I'm doing it! I'm flying!" You exclaimed in joy, realizing that you were floating in place, wings bobbing your figure up and down as they flapped. Laughter spilled from your lips as the thrill of flight seeped into your bones, feeling nothing but unbridled joy as you pulled the angel next to you higher and higher.

"Very good, MC," He said, trying to keep his voice even. But you could see the pride in his smile, and his grip on your hand loosened as he began trusting you to use your wings. His hold tightened every time you wobbled or lost balance, and he pulled you closer when the two of you began making simple circles around the cloud of your home island, but soon he was letting you roam freely in front of him, a watchful eye trained on your body as you attempted to replicate all the fancy twists and spins you'd seen from Levi and Asmo.

"How does Belphie go so fast?" You asked, trying to flap your wings with more intensity. But the motion only lifted you higher in the sky, rather than propelling you forward.

"Lean forward," Lucifer instructed, flying in front of you to gently correct your posture. Even he couldn't tear the smile off of his face as he watched you. "And when you move your wings, make one strong push and then fold them inward to minimize air resistance. After that, just move your upper body to guide your path of flight."

Your guardian demonstrated once for you, circling back to where you were, pushing your neck down once before nodding.

With his approval, you followed his instructions, flapping your wings once with all the strength you could muster, and then folding them on your back as you tried to let your body propel forward.

For a few seconds, it worked. You were soaring faster than you'd ever moved, and you could feel your body cutting through the wind. But then, you began to plummet downward, falling headfirst as you desperately tried to unfurl your wings. But the wind was too fast around you, and it kept them furled close to your back as you flailed your arms out, opening your eyes and desperately trying to stop yourself from dropping.

You didn't even have the time to call Lucifer's name before he had managed to catch you, soothing you quietly while smoothing out your hair. "It's okay," He whispered, placing a kiss to your forehead. "You're safe. It's okay."

You managed to stop yourself from trembling in his arms, leaning into his strength and using it to fuel your own.

"I want to try again," You told him, and he didn't even protest as you pulled yourself out of his arms and got into position once more. He flew low beneath your figure, gazing up at you before nodding, and then you were at it again, flapping your wings once and then tucking them into your back, soaring forward at top speed. You managed to stay on your desired trajectory a little longer this time, and you almost thought you had gotten the hang of it when your body began to dip down against your will, leaving you to desperately try to stop yourself.

But this time, Lucifer was already waiting for you, strong arms wrapping around your body to catch you.

"Again?" He asked, a smile on his lips as he watched you continue to attempt the move over and over, proud of your tenacity.

You nodded, holding his hand as the two of you soared back up to try once more.

A smile blooms on your face at the memory.

Even then, you always knew that Lucifer would be there to catch you if you fell. But now that you've been ripped away from the Devildom, will he ever be able to save you again? Doubtless, if he had seen the seraph strike you earlier—regardless of whether you started it with your futile attempt of an attack—he would have been at your side, defending you against anyone who might hurt you.

And while you were prepared to leave the safety of his arms at the end of the school year when the student exchange program finally ended, you never expected it to happen so soon.

Just yesterday, the demon had been by your side, hugging and holding and kissing you. The two of you had expected to have ten more months together, ten more months of happiness before having to separate, but your time has been cut short.

How is that fair?

Please, Father, you plead, staring upward into the emptiness of your ceiling, imagining the face of God peering over you. Please help me. The High Seraphs can never understand. They'll only hurt me again if I continue to ask them, so I need your aid. I know that Lucifer has wronged you in the past, but have mercy.

You offer a light smile, unclasping your hands.

No matter how focused you are during prayer, your thoughts always stray to Lucifer at the end. Though this is the first time you've consciously voiced your desires to Father.

Mercy on us both, you think, closing your eyes before you rise to your feet. Amen.

Glancing at the mirror, you see that the feathers of your wings are still ruffled from when your back collided with the ground, and though your front still stings, there are no marks where the seraph summoned light to strike you down.

But your entire body is sore.

Not even bothering to change out of your clothes, you pull yourself into bed. It's already well into the evening, and you should probably stay awake in case someone delivers dinner, but the crawl back to your room had exhausted you. You just want to fall asleep.

Closing your eyes, you barely have the time to make yourself comfortable in the bed before exhaustion pulls you away to the dreamworld once more. Silently, you hope that Lucifer might visit you in your dreams, that you can bask in memories for some final tranquility.

But the moment you close your eyes, you're taken to a place all too familiar.

This isn't right, you think, recognizing the familiar circular chamber where all the High Seraphs sit.

This doesn't feel like a normal dream.

You frown, realizing that no one in the room seems to react to your presence, not even when you wave your hand in front of one seraph.

You're far too conscious for this to be a dream, impossible aware, to the point where you recall falling asleep just moments ago. So then, what is this? A vision? Of something to come or something still going on?

You walk forward, looking around as you try to make sense of what's going on. It almost feels as if you're awake, but surely that's impossible.

Hear me.

You flinch at the voice, the sound seeming to come not from anyone around you but from the inside of your own mind, the two words echoing in your brain. It's familiar, you realize, though you can't pinpoint where you recognize the voice from. Almost like...

A hush falls over the room, and you realize that the High Seraphs have heard the voice, too.

"Father!" A seraph cries, raising their hands to the sky and bowing low against the ground.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Surely that cannot be true? But then you hear the voice again, and then there's no denying that this is the unmistakable sound of your Father, and you drop to your knees in a bow, honoring your creator even though you don't understand this vision.

Is it true that the child I have sent to you to answer all your prayers is now being denied happiness in her time of need?

"The child?" A seraph asks. "Do you mean the equalizer, Father?"

Who else?

You can almost hear the huff of irritation in Father's words.

I speak of MC. Her prayers cry for happiness and for mercy. Are you the fools who make my child weep?

Your eyes widen at the Father's words, realizing that he has heard your prayers. Instantly, you understand the nature of this dream, this vision, this truth. It is his gift to you: his silent blessing to allow you to sit in as he speaks to the High Seraphs as he does so often. Only this time, the subject of discussion is your fate.

And it seems that he is on your side.

"N-not at all, Father! She foolishly seeks the love of a demon, and we have been trying to show her the path of light."

"Indeed!" Another seraph cries in response. "Her heart betrays her holy nature! The Morningstar has corrupted her, and we merely wish to purify her soul!"

"The Morningstar may be gone, and her capabilities of absorbing the light may no longer be needed, but we aim to—"

You dare presume she was simply sent to absorb the excess light of my domain?

Everyone in the room flinches at the hostility in Father's voice.

That angel is my child, the daughter I constructed by hand to eternally protect the Celestial Realm. In her body, she harnesses the power of equality—to absorb light or radiate it, whichever is necessary to maintain the balance of the Celestial Realm. I gave this child to you as a blessing. You would dare trample her happiness?

Your eyes widen at your Father's words, and you glance down at your hands.

You've always absorbed the light, never attempted to radiate it. You've always thought that you were different because of your inability to radiate light, but if what Father says is true, then you truly are one of the most powerful of angels.

Suddenly, the title equalizer rings differently in your ears.

"Th-that is too much power for a single child to possess! Her heart is not pure, if she sides with the demons she can eradicate our entire realm and—"

You dare presume one of my holiest creations would misuse a power I have personally invested in her?

There's a pause, filled only with Father's fury. Not even one of the High Seraphs dares to speak.

Come, child! Show the realm what you are capable of!

You flinch, and suddenly everyone in the room has their eyes on you—likely another work by the hand of Father.

Hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the seraph who struck you earlier.

Don't just absorb the light, you tell yourself. Radiate.

It's every angel's most basic instinct: to give off light. Yet you've always walked the line of absorbing it.

But if you try...

You visualize Lucifer, how he's always pulsed so brightly with the light of his heart, carrying in it holiness or darkness and spreading his will.

Be like Lucifer.

While the High Seraphs watch you in shock, you try to harness the power in your heart, to radiate light as Father has so clearly instructed.

Like Lucifer.

A blinding light fills the hall, bursting with your energy. The sheer brightness of it jolts you awake, and then you're acutely aware of the power flowing through your veins. Breathing in and out, you can sense yourself absorbing and radiating light, the room darkening and brightening with your every motion.

Your gaze flits to the door. It's the only thing separating you from storming down the corridor and back into the hall of the High Seraphs.

Father's words replay in your mind.

It's time to show the realm what you are capable of.

***

Lucifer wakes up with a start, flinching as he opens his eyes.

The ink spilled, he realizes, wary eyes glancing over his desk. The demon blinks and pulls off a report that's stuck to his cheek. He must have fallen asleep. Small wonder, given the fact that he's hardly slept since Michael whisked you away, instead opting to bury himself in work.

But for the first time since your departure, Lucifer is wide awake, the demon now scrambling out of his desk to tear his door open.

That dream was vivid. Too vivid. And it's not the first time he's had such an impossibly lucid slumber.

Did Father mean to send him that vision?

Lucifer bites his lip, stumbling through the corridor. He's sweating, and his hair is disheveled, but he bangs on Mammon's door anyway, the noise loud enough to wake all the residents in the hall.

"Did you—did you dream—"

"Yeah," Mammon nods solemnly, not an ounce of sleep in his eyes when he opens the door.

"Go, Lucifer," Belphie calls from behind, standing next to Beel. "Father sent al of us that vision for a reason. Looks like MC is about to show the Celestial Realm the full scope of her power. And you can bet that she's going to want to see you when it's over."

Lucifer turns around, hesitant. "Lord Diavolo—"

"Lord Diavolo will understand," Satan interrupts, crossing his arms as he, too, opens his door to face the firstborn. "And if he doesn't, I'll take over your duties until you return, so stop wasting time and go."

Levi opens his door, nodding in agreement, and even Asmo is startled awake by the vision, making no comment about missing his beauty sleep as he urges Lucifer to go to you.

"I—" Lucifer hesitates, running a hand through his mussed up hair as he looks at his brothers. Each of them stands with their arms crossed, waiting for him to leave. "I want you to know that I—"

"Hurry up and go."

Lucifer can't tell who said it, but the words bring a smile to his face. This isn't the time to thank his brothers. Rather, the best thank-you gift he can get them would be the sight of your smiling face, something he'll only get to see if he manages to reach you in time.

Without another word, he nods his head and flies out the overhead window, left open the night prior when Belphie was stargazing. He begins soaring into the sky, his four black wings pushing him higher and higher as he prepares to exit the domain of the Devildom and approach the heavens.

It's been millennia since he's been so close. Millennia since he's dared to fly so high.

But he won't let any of that stop him, any of that prevent him from going to see you. Because to him, you are his world.

And there are no lengths he won't go to for your sake.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

Word count: 4.7k

Notes: It's kind of wild to think that at this time next week this series will be complete 0.0 This has been a wild ride and we finally get the beginning of our happily ever after with luci in the next chapter so yayyy

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/13/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[theclosetpoet7]

The Honeybee Inn

A CloTi fic by theClosetPoet7

Rating: MA, smutty goodness

Summary: "This one." Her well trimmed finger hovers over the screen, teeth biting into her lower lip. Cloud merely nods his head and clicks on the room. Then, he swipes his card to complete the purchase. The girl behind the counter, who is dressed in a sexy bee outfit, smiles at them and bows down while cheerfully telling them to; "Enjoy yourselves." [Set Before the Bombing Mission in the Original Game].

She peruses through the various pictures of the rooms that are available. Tifa watches, with contained nervousness, and takes note of the diverse options in front of her. The barmaid quirks an eyebrow. Sure the Honeybee Inn is otherwise more well known for the bee girls they proudly boaster; sultry ladies coming out to entertain lonely men for the night. The building would often be full during weekends, neon lights showing off its generous prices. However, a deeper look into the business revealed that they were also one of the most popular love hotels in the Slums of Midgar. Cloud stands next to her, hands in his pockets while also running his cerulean eyes over the previews.

She wonders if he is just as apprehensive as she is. His face is a look of pure apathy though. One that betrayed no emotion. As if being here does not faze him. But, she knows Cloud. Knows the expressions he is capable of making, knows that he is just as capable of hiding them. His azure orbs suddenly meet hers and it takes all of Gaia’s strength to stop herself from stuttering.

Tifa shifts her focus on the choices presented. It is a vast array of special night offerings, some even with the bonus of having an extra participant; both men and women alike. The twenty-year old pauses when she sees one particular room. It is the most simple one yet, granted that all the others were full of pink and fluffy decor fit for a princess. It had a bed that was circular rather than the usual rectangular shape but it was the most tamed; with a king-sized bed in the middle of the room, covered by beige colored sheets and a navy blue comforter. It stood out because it lacked the outrageous sentiment of the nature-themed ones she saw. There was one room with yellow and black stripes that gave her the impression that there were other features she dared not to think of.

"This one."

Her well trimmed finger hovers over the screen, teeth biting into her lower lip for having decided which lodge they were gonna rent for the night. The SOLDIER next to her merely nods his head and clicks on the room. Then, he swipes his card to complete the purchase. The girl behind the counter, dressed like all the other ones in a sexy bee outfit, smiles at them and bows down while cheerfully telling them to;

"Enjoy yourselves."

It was then that Tifa realizes what they are about to do; when the situation finally dawns on her. The fact that, she's in a love hotel with Cloud Strife, getting ready to have a night all to themselves. The very thought warms her insides, along with a certain part of her. Surely it was normal for couples to go into said establishments without much hesitation. Still though, they hadn't defined what they were to each other.

Fuck buddies perhaps.

No. It was more than that. They had history between them; an undeniable trust for the other person that escalated to a night of rutting one day. It was completely random, but their minds had been muddled with the effects of alcohol. And after coming home from a mission that day, they were most especially in need of some physical contact. She had poured him his third drink while she still worked on her second glass; scarlet eyes boring into his blue ones, silently telling him what she has been thinking of ever since he first joined AVALANCHE. Her face must have mirrored her desire because her childhood friend had suddenly leaned in to claim her pink lips. The next thing she knew, Cloud was pushing her to the twin sized bed they shared once and then, he was between her legs, showing her what it was like to have a man's tongue inside her.

And it was divine.

Oh so divine.

It was a series of endless fucking after that. Cloud, with the virility of a man whose stamina served as proof of his physical prowess in the battlefield, turned out to be a fiery partner. After that first night, in their one-night only shared quarters, it seemed like he couldn't quite keep his hands off her. Not that she was complaining. It felt good to have him inside her. Felt good to have her mouth around him. Felt good overall. So good. She doesn't remember how many times they've had sex, because honestly, she has lost count.

There were a number of trysts that almost got them caught by Barret and the rest of the team. Times wherein their unspoken craving got to be too much and he'd silently take her in the closet; Times when he was more daring, when their friends would retreat early and she'd closed the bar with him, then he'd fuck her on the counter while she wrapped her legs around his thrusting hips.

It didn't take much for them to reach the edge of bliss. Tifa thinks that perhaps it is because they just have this physical chemistry that was hard to deny. On rare nights, she'd fantasize about the possibility that they were made for each other and that was why they fit perfectly; why his arms were just the right size and built that could support her; why his height complimented hers in an exact way and why his hand could hold her breast without having them spill out.

It was on nights like these when she'd tell herself that they didn't have contradicting memories of the incident back in Nibelheim. And that they were simply childhood friends who found their way back to each other after seven years.

She follows him through the dimly lit yellow halls, boots shuffling through the carpeted floor while her hands busied themselves over her leather skirt as she tried to erase this sudden feeling of unease. She feels like a blushing school girl. Like she is about to delve deep into a world of sin. Except that she is far from the innocent maiden she once was. Cloud had made work of that.

He glances at her over his shoulder, a hint of a smirk on his person as he takes the lead. The keys he carries make metallic clinks; filling their silence. Tifa shyly smiles, offering her hand out to him which he gently takes into his gloved one as they make their way to their reserved room.

She gulps as they stand in front of it, inwardly questioning why the swordsman is taking his time.

When he finally inserts the key and opens the door, she is snapped out of her thoughts. Cloud steps aside and allows her to enter first. The sound of the door sliding shut behind him held a sense of finality and it is then when she lets out a deep breath.

"Should I turn the lights on?"

His smooth baritone allows goosebumps to rise over her skin. It is the first thing he's said to her since entering the inn. The last was when he had asked if she was sure about what they were about to do.

Honestly, she wasn't so sure if it was a good idea. But, they have a dangerous mission in three days. Barret had given them the day off tomorrow to enjoy the last bit of free time they have because after this final bombing mission, their lives would never be the same.

It was her idea. She simply wanted to be with him without the constraints of the possibility of being interrupted. A part of her, who had always been used to having her own room and a bigger space than the one in Seventh Heaven, simply wanted to spoil herself. And, to have him spoil her too.

"Not yet."

The window is open, the sparkling lights of the busy district seep in to paint their skin with shades of viridian, red and occasionally, lilac. Cloud steps in from behind, close enough for her to feel his breath against her neck.

"Tifa, are you..."

"Yes, I am." Of course she is sure. Her light squeak doesn't support her claim though so she puts an arm around the other to calm herself. There is a brief silence then. Then a slight shuffling. She flinches when his bare hands come over her toned arms, running slowly as he narrows the space between them. When did he take his gloves off? She never noticed. She can feel the tense air behind her. Or was that anticipation?

"Do you want this?"

It is so typical of Cloud to ask again. In truth, it is a trait she finds endearing and reminds her of the boy who called her to the water tower years before. Why he feels the need to ask when she's the one initiating this, the brunette doesn't know. She doesn't blame him though, because she must appear like she's having second thoughts. Even if she isn't. To reassure him, Tifa places a hand over his.

"I do."

Of course she wants this.

Wants him.

The sharp intake of his breath tells her that he's relieved. Then, in an act of intimacy, he pulls her fully against him; molding her rear to his front as he tightens his hold.

"I don't know where to start." He whispers against her ear and the very sensation threatens her knees to buckle. But his embrace is strong and his face is buried in her hair, so she pushes her backside against him, slowly starting her seduction. Cloud hisses at the action, immediately turning her to slam his lips to hers. He kisses her with the kind of intensity she is used to. Lips pushing against hers, mouth opening to stick his tongue in; inviting her own wet appendage to dance with him. She complies and he wastes no time in tangling his tongue with hers.

Ah. He did know where to start.

It doesn't take much before their kiss becomes more aggressive. Tifa pulls him closer, arms circling around his nape as she stands on her tiptoes to press closer to him. Calloused hands begin their descent to her plump bottom. It was a habit of his that she'd discovered, sure he was just as enamored with her breasts, but he liked to run his hands over her ass to push her closer to him. Which is exactly what he does. It is an act so simple yet so erotic because it gives her a preview of what's more to come. She feels the outline of his manhood through his pants. The thought of the very appendage hard and fully erect moistens her cunt.

She wraps a leg around his hips, rubbing against him. Cloud pulls his lips away and takes a step back. He doesn't waste a second before he's taking off the gauntlets on his shoulder and the bands on his wrist. Tifa follows suit by snapping off her suspenders as well as tossing her elbow pads to the floor. His blue eyes continue to watch her as he pulls his sleeveless shirt off him, hand reaching out to her again to mold her lips to his, his tongue diving deep to encircle hers whilst drawing her flushed against him. Her hands settle on his belt, carefully unbuckling, nimble fingers settling over the top of his trousers to unbutton it. She nearly unzips him to take hold of his cock when he stops her.

"Hold on. I don't want to cum too soon."

His puffs brush softly against her neck. Pearly white teeth bite into her smooth skin.

"We haven't even reached the bed yet."

She stifles a moan when he begins to suck.

"Let's remedy that then."

She grabs his hand and takes the few steps towards the round bed. Tifa leans over to throw the comforter off while Cloud's hands skim over her midriff, silently teasing her. He's already making her moist with desire when he touches the dip of her back. The martial artist sits on the bed and faces him with a pink flush over her cheeks. She comes face to face with his defined abdomen for he is standing in front of her, with the top of his pants undone and that hunger in his eyes.

The fighter traces her fingers over the defined lines. Carefully memorizing the board of dips and troughs that is Cloud Strife's abs. She's about to touch him where he's most sensitive once more when he stops her again.

"I said, hold on."

There's a flash of playfulness in his eyes and Tifa watches with excitement when he lowers down to his knees to take hold of her exposed calf. He gently unlaces her boxer boots and takes them both off along with her socks, then he rests his hand on both her thighs to push them apart. He's about to...

He buries his nose inside her skirt. Eager digits ascend to inside her leather garment to grab the hem of her panties as he tugs them off her.

"Cloud."

He rewards her strained moan with a kiss to the inside of her thigh. Slowly, he puts a hand over her strong stomach to push her to lie down. The eye contact he maintains as he does this causes a jolt to run through her body. It is a connection so intense and so risque that she swears he might be able to make her climax with just a flick of his finger.

"Relax."

She couldn't help but follow his demands; elbows digging into the soft sheets as she pushes herself up to look at his chocobo locks under her skirt. He spreads her wide and plants a kiss on her core.

"Aah."

It is the first time she lets out such a sound. And with her legs dangling at the edge of the bed and Cloud Strife lapping at her juices, Tifa couldn't help but tangle her fingers in his blonde hair. They've never been this slow before, considering that they'd always hasten their foreplay, hushed voices withheld lest someone hear them. But tonight, he's leisurely taking his time with her. Building up her sensual gratification. It feels different to have this sense of freedom; like she can let go of all her inhibitions even more than she already has.

He hooks two fingers to open her folds wide just so he can bury his tongue deeper. The contact makes her buck her hips, and she fists the sheets, stretching like a newly awakened kitten, angling her body to his tongue's exploration. Cloud takes her on that journey to completion, changing the angle every now and then; tenderly appeasing the itch within her. She's involuntarily pushing her hips to his mouth as she feels herself cresting over the sharp sensations he is invoking in her. Just when she's about to taper off the edge, he pulls away.

"Wait."

The female monk sits up only to be held in place when he rests the weight of his hand over her belly again.

"Easy Tifa."

"I was almost there."

She didn't mean to sound whiny but Cloud's tongue has always had that effect on her.

"I know."

His smirk is scandalous, with the sticky moisture of her essence wetting his chin. Tifa feels her cheeks warm at the sight but shyly nods her head when he rids her of her belt and then her short skirt, lips peppering over her skin as he takes it off her; fully exposing her lower half.

She doesn't know how to feel. The previous position was shameful at best but now, with her white blouse being the only clothing she has on while her lady parts are on full display to her childhood crush, Tifa couldn't help but feel amorous.

Cloud settles her knees over his shoulders and pulls her closer, tongue yet again entering her moist crevice, darting in and out, mimicking what he is going to do to her later. It doesn't take much before he takes her there again and Tifa comes with her ass bouncing off the side of the bed and her fingers bunching up the sheets. And she screams. She screams for the first time, finally having a space to themselves. Her pleasured sighs must have turned him on because suddenly, he's on his feet, quickly yanking his boots and pants off him, rewarding her with the strained spectacle of his black boxer briefs appearing tighter than they usually do.

She backs up to the center of the large bed as Cloud follows. She gulps when his knees burrow into the mattress, hovering over her. The yearning in him is visible, reinforcing her earlier claim that she had been privy to his many facial expressions. Her pussy tingles again at the sight of him, already past the point of no return. Her body succumbs to the heat of their eventual mating that the barmaid surprises herself when she crawls to him to pull his briefs down. There he stood, tall and proud, a hint of pre-cum at the tip of his dick. This time, he lets her wrap her fingers around him; a grunt coming out of his lips as her hand goes up and down, occasionally squeezing him.

"Fuck."

Cloud Strife cursing is actually her personal kink. She loved it when his mouth formed foul words especially in the throes of pleasure. Tifa wastes no time in tasting him. It is his fingers' turn to tangle in her long silky brown tresses as he moves his hips to her mouth's fucking. His knees are on the bed with her body bent below him, giving him the type of blowjob she knows won't make him last long. True to her experience, he releases into her waiting mouth, salty and tangy ejaculate, caressing her taste buds as she swallows it while putting the back of her hand to her lips.

"Shit Tifa."

She knows he loves it when she swallows. His shaft becomes flaccid upon release but she knows it's not over yet. Cloud tilts her chin to pull her lips to his again. Their juices mix in with their saliva as they mash their tongues together, eager hands now re-exploring the shape of their bodies.

He lifts her shirt off and wastes no time in taking a nipple into his mouth; suckling like he's never done before, hand taking hold of the other and fondling it in a clockwise motion.

The SOLDIER is pushing her to her back while he focuses his attention on her assets, Tifa's hands run themselves over his broad shoulders, legs spread wide to accommodate his lithe body. She feels heat pool to her belly once more and she tenderly grabs hold of his head to bring his lips back to her.

"Cloud, I need you."

Her desperate claims are roughly satiated when he kisses her briefly, only to pull away and settle his lips over her neck.

"Cloud."

She doesn't ask him for more because the feel of his two digits stretching her fills her with immense pleasure. Her insides shake when he makes a scissoring motion. Then, he pumps them in such a hurried pace that she couldn't help but meet his touch with her own upward thrusts.

"You're so wet. "

His voice sounded rough, as if he's just as filled with pleasure as her even though he is fucking her with his fingers. She comes, body arching towards the sky like she's being pushed by a giant wave below her. She's barely able to catch her breath before he settles himself between her thighs.

Clouds eyes meet hers while one of his hands grabs hold of his cock to get it to full attention a second time. Tifa is entranced when he takes a condom off one of the drawers and uses his teeth to open the package without breaking eye contact. Then, he rolls the rubber onto his erect manhood.

The time for play is over.

There is a brief moment of connection when he lines himself with her sheath's entrance. He positions her long legs above his biceps as he prepares her for his penetration . Tifa tightens the back of her knees over his hard arms, body already pliant and ready for him.

His entry is swift and hard, hips coming into her as he starts a slow yet rough tempo. His pubic hair tickles hers when he drives her deep. He's letting the pleasure build in a sluggish pace that Tifa loves. His shaft goes in and out, the crown almost coming out but never doing so. The bed creaks in tune with his forceful movements, springs bouncing under the weight of both their bodies.

Tifa claws at his back when he presses her down, her legs clamp up the side of his pelvis as he changes his angle and hits her in a sensitive spot.

"Cloud."

She puts a hand to her mouth covering up her whimpers when he picks up the pace. He pries it away and pins her wrist to the side of her head.

"I want to hear you voice."

His pumps come to a full stop, arms shaking beside her head as he holds himself above her. The sweat of his brow slides to his chin and falls onto her cheek.

"There's no one else here."

His grip on her tightens, and he couldn't help but jerk his hips to hers a bit, blind instinct taking over this moment of tenderness that he's giving her.

"Cloud."

Then he starts again, knees harrowing into the bed to lose himself in their carnal desires; bodies slapping against each other in this indecent act, cores coming together again and again until Tifa can no longer tell where she ends and where Cloud begins.

Tifa can't quite figure out where to put her hands. They're on his back, in his hair, then they're on the headboard. Her nails grip onto it as she meets his thrusts with her own, heels pressing onto the linen to arch her body to him.

She didn't mean to do it, but she accidentally switches a button on when Cloud rams her to the hilt. She is rewarded by a bright light then. Eyes chinking shut when the glaring fluorescent rays nearly blind her.

When her vision clears though, she couldn't help but gasp at the sight she sees. Her eyes widen. Above them is a large mirror, hovering on top of the bed. It was directly over them with lights surrounding the corners; giving her a good view of Cloud's backside. His sweaty body still fucking hers. It takes her pleasure up a notch because now she can see every move, every grinding and every muscle on his body.

Every push and pull as he drives into her with all the passion he has.

.

.

.

The very image brings her to the promised land.

.

.

.

She pulls her boots on; cheeks painted in pink hues when she shyly meets his eyes. Last night was incredible. After discovering the presence of the mirror, Cloud had taken her to new heights of pleasure. And after minimal debate, the warrior won and left the lights on, this time asking her to ride him because he is still hard and wanting. He's as lazy as a sloth; with his arms behind his head as he watched her bounce up and down on his rigid phallus. He had lasted longer than he usually did. But Tifa supposes that the lascivious view he had couldn't have strengthened his control because suddenly he could no longer be a complacent participant. His second orgasm comes in spurts of warm fluid that Tifa swears that he had emptied all he had inside her.

A few minutes after though, Tifa found herself on all fours as she positioned herself over the blonde, taking his cock into her mouth again while he had his tongue deep in her.

It was the first time they've done such a thing and the realization caused her body to burn with how lewd it was. They found themselves in different angles throughout the night; making the most of the room they had for the two of them alone; sating their lusts but never quite getting enough of each other.

Cloud smirks at her when she wobbles on to her feet, core throbbing with both pain and pure sensitivity.

"Was that too much?"

She settles on playfully glaring at him, mouth pulled into a mock frown.

"You wish."

He lures her in to meet her cherry lips, his own lightly caressing her as a form of apology.

"We can always see how much you can take after our mission."

The very thought churns her insides and before leaving the Honeybee Inn, Tifa couldn't help but casually skim her eyes over the other rooms available, inwardly noting that perhaps princess pink isn't such a bad idea after all.

_______________

Author's Note: *covers her face and nervously laughs, silently hoping you guys enjoyed this. Just experimenting with more detailed smut. R & R!

[gaslightwestern]

When Sins Haunt: Pre-Story Drabble #1 Planning a Crime Over Coffee (Jack’s POV)

Context: Technically proceeds this scene. Jack, Martin, and Mae are bantering discussing breaking into a house when Officer O’Brera shows up. [ Dialogue-heavy; canon; 1,300+ words ]

[ Overview | Intro | Page | # | Charlotte | Jack | Warren | Sam | Martin, Mae & Theo | TL ↓ ]

The bell above the café door chimed as another customer entered; faces buried beneath bundles of thick wool. Each time they brought along a gust of frigid air with them. Jack shivered violently, his threadbare brown coat no match for the torture that was January in New York City. Everyone in the vicinity seemed cozy in their overcoats, clustered around circular wooden tables full of baked goods and hot drinks.

“I just ordered my coffee and it’s already cold,” Jack grumbled, taking a small sip from the large white mug in his hands.

Outside the snow was falling steadily, covering the city with another soon-to-be-tarnished white blanket. The red brick tenements that towered around the small café looked almost picturesque—if not for the frozen filth hanging from the iron staircases and the vagrants huddled together in the trash-filled crevices between the buildings. Carriage wheels and countless footsteps mashed the snowflakes into a sea of slush outside, flooding the dirty streets of the Lower East Side with a fresh layer of grime.

Awash in the gray light from the window, Mae and Martin shared a knowing glance, before he raised a thick eyebrow. “It’s cold because you haven’t shut up since we walked in.”

“I wouldn’t have to talk so much if you’d contribute to the conversation instead of making eyes at the waitress.” Jack retorted, before lowering his voice. “We need to figure out how we’re going to break into Captain Marlow’s house.”

“You need to figure that out, not me. I’m just here for the scenery.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Martin’s dark gaze returned to the voluptuous brunette who, with balance of a tightrope walker, skillfully weaved her way through the tables despite the trays of dishes and heavy mugs in either hand. In Martin’s defense she had sent more than a couple lingering glances his way. Most of the ladies who catch his eye do.

“We don’t know where he lives,” Mae pointed out, dabbing her lips with a handkerchief having finished her hot cocoa. Maybe he was talking too much. “Isn’t that, you know, the first rule of breaking and entering?”

Jack grimaced, letting the sounds of chairs strapping the floor and chatter sweep over him. The location of the Marlow residence was something Jack had neglected, but he refused to admit it. “No, that’s the second. The first is figuring out when to do it.” His hands were fidgeting and he slipped them under his thighs. “I’m thinking Friday. I overheard him bragging about how he’s planning to take his wife to Delmonico’s.”

Martin snorted. “Since when can he afford Del’s?”

“Marlow’s magically come into some money recently.”

“You’d think he’d want to be more careful about flashing his money about,” Mae said dryly, as she searched through her bag, pulling out the latest from Henry James. Jack made a mental note to borrow the book from her later.

“You’ve mistaken Marlow for a man of intelligence,” Jack grinned.

Mae suddenly gasped. Both Jack and Martin sat up alert until they noticed what, or rather who, she was gawking at. Officer Theo O’Brera was strolling up the street, nodding cordially at passersby while surveying the area. Given his rosy nose and cheeks, he was likely several hours into his sixteen-hour shift. His face lit up upon spotting the trio through the window. Mae hurriedly smoothed the sleek black strands that had escaped her bun behind her ears. Jack vacated the seat by her and sat by Martin instead, who stared openly at the pair.

“You’re both ridiculous.”

Mae ignored Martin and plucked some stray gray cat hairs off her pale green dress. “Jack, did you pick this café and the window seats because you knew Officer O’Brera was on the beat?”

A long pause followed. “Maybe.”

“Jack!”

Another gust of cool air accompanied Theo as the door swung open. Several people eyed him wearily; a few pulled up their collars while others shoved their card games aside. Theo paid them all little heed, instead tipping his cap to his friends. “Good afternoon to you all. Surprised to see you out and about. Keeping warm?”

“Trying to,” Jack replied as Theo unraveled the blue scarf Mae knit him for Christmas. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit?”

Theo gave him a hard look. Was he going to scold Jack for attempting to lure him from his duties again? The young patrolman acted as though crime would escalate the moment he turned his back on the miscreants lurking in the darker corners.

“Trying and failing.” Theo plopped his own coat on Jack’s shoulders. “You might want to save for a new one, mate. Spring is more than a fair while away.”

Rather than explain how every time he saved up some money it seemed that rent was due, Jack mumbled a quiet thank you. He wrapped the gray wool tightly around him, simultaneously relishing the warmth and attempting to cover his burning cheeks.

“How has your shift been so far?” Mae asked, flashing a smile. Martin rolled his eyes.

“Boring,” he laughed, sitting next to her. “I guess criminals took the day off. Can’t say I blame ‘em. Mostly I’ve just been informing the outdoor poor of better places to stay warm.”

While Mae and Theo discussed the plight of the less fortunate, Jack and Martin eyed one another. Undoubtedly his friend was also thinking about the times patrolmen greeted them with nightsticks, not words, to clear them and other huddled street urchins from their hideouts.

Martin’s lips twisted into a devilish smirk. “When your shift is over you should warm up at Mae’s.”

Mae’s pointy boot swiped Jack’s leg as she delivered a swift kick to Martin’s shin. He gripped the table suddenly, clamping down on his lips and smothering whatever curse words threatened to slip past. While Theo explained how his shift would end too late for that, the two glared daggers at one another. Jack sank further into the coat, knowing his whole face had gone red from repressed laughter.

“Has Captain Marlow ever invited you over to his house?” Martin asked through grit teeth.

Theo gave a nod. “He had a fair number of the lads over for dinner party back in the fall. Why?”

Jack’s back snapped up as though someone had suddenly shoved an iron rod down his spine. “What’s his address?”

Theo’s gray eyes narrowed. “What deviltry are you three up to now?”

A large gulp of cold coffee did a poor job at smothering Jack’s nervous laughter. Although normally included in his investigations, Jack had kept Theo in the dark as he and Marlow both worked out of the Seventh Precinct Station. The possibility of a speck of loyalty between the colleagues left Jack hesitant to reveal his determination to bring down the Captain.

Martin looked at his nails. “He suspects Captain Marlow is involved in an illicit liquor scam.”

“Just tell the whole world, won’t you?” Jack snapped.

Theo’s lips pursed under his thick red mustache. “Wouldn’t put it past him.” Jack’s eyes went wide, but Theo raised a hand. “Not saying the Captain is guilty. I’m just saying he’s the sort.”

“Jack has compiled a compelling trail of evidence,” Mae explained, swiping the notebook from Jack’s tattered coat to show Theo. “All he really needs now is to locate where the alcohol is being stored.”

“You gotta tell me his address.” Jack was unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “His house would be the easiest place for him to store the boxes. Or at least some of it. If I’m right—and I am—I’ll bet you more officers are involved.” Jack grabbed Theo’s sleeve. “This could be big!”

Theo glanced down at Jack’s hand, then noticed Martin and Mae were staring at him eagerly. He gave a great sigh then began searching through his pockets, pulling out a pen and paper. “I’ll write it down for you.”

Tag List: @jess-is-a-writer, @maskedlady, @thewritertiffany, @strawberry--sunrise, @teacupwriter, @girlnovels, @cirianne, @okrashan, @paranoidwriter, @drabbleitout, @nyxnevin, @scintillations-of-the-scribblers

[mooosicaldreamz]

like four days ago, someone asked me to talk more about the stn and myiy playlists and i finally finished the post about it. so here. be warned, it is long.

i will use this opportunity to talk about what lynne and i like to call the “OG” stn and myiy songs. these are songs that we feel are the VERY MOST stn or myiy, and together would make the short forms of the playlists. the distillations as it were of these playlists that best represent the fics.

WE BEGIN

stn:

waves - miguel and kacey musgraves. amazing, spectacular, all about the very sensual sex that they get up to - but also very intimate. u know, they have a connection that goes deeper than sex that i think is clear in how good their sex turns out to be.

unforgettable - french montana. has always been to me a kara in the club song like a little bit drunk flirting with some girl and then texting lena like a classic ‘u up.’ it’s another intimate, sexy song that i think is very them. i also love the line ‘i gotta give it to her like we in a marriage’

passionfruit - drake. another club, intimate, sexy song. stn to me is about kara and lena just constantly circling around each other over and over because u know. they’re soulmates. and this song has a very circular work to it that i think works really well for the mood of this fic. also ‘i think we should rule out commitment for now cuz we’re falling apart’

i feel it comin’ - jillian jacqueline. i mean, it’s about sex, but it’s about knowing someone, too - knowing when someone is about to come is like a really sensual thing i guess and its intimate and u know. u get the deal. its them. ‘we don’t have to rush when you’re alone with me’

stay the night - jukebox the ghost. the OG song named stn on the playlist, a very fun romp of a song. probably the other half of this fic to me - kara and lena also have a lot of fun and are very flirtatious. some other songs on the playlist like walk the moon are of this family too. i think its obvs how this song interacts with the fic

more than you know - axwell /\ ingrosso. is a kara song, has always been a kara song. was an original song on the warm up playlist but moved over to the stn main because i think its lyrical content bears out. ‘come a little closer let me taste your smile until the morning light’ honestly kills me!

i watched you slip - panama. was an og song on the playlist for the eventual breakup phase that we saw at the end of stn5. i also think it reflects to the deepening of their relationship and understanding of each other, kara talking about her family and lena also talking about her family.

one foot - walk the moon. i’ve actually really thought of this as a lucy and alex song and if lynne and i were ever to get their story out there, this song would probably give its title. but it has relevance for kara in particular too.

sign - vhs collection. another og breakup song, another really the hard work of being in love with someone. reminds me of when kara talks to lena about her parents and they just hug? honestly this makes me cry just to think about.

tropics - mantaraybryn. there’s a subset of songs on this playlist about being in california and making out. this is one of them. the sort of longing quality of this song also works very well for the fic. ‘you’re breaking a smile, and i’m changing the pace’

i fall apart - post malone. has always been a post breakup song as well. it was all here on the playlist ALL ALONG.

your song - rita ora. it’s a sweet love song. i don’t know. it makes me smile. ‘we were way up kissing in the back of the cab, and you said hey love, come back to my flat’

all the stars - kendrick lamar and sza. a mood song. no other way to describe it. some of these songs on the playlist are just songs i can close my eyes and imagine them driving around national city in the range rover with the windows down.

thief - ansel elgort. this is all because of the fan video with the same song.

love lies - khalid and normani. another post breakup song that has also been a dark club somewhat drunk song for me for a while.

carly rae jepsen - favourite colour. this song was given to the playlist by lynne herself and its a BANGER and REAL!!!!!

back to you - selena gomez. another song that i think is really about how cyclical and circular they run around and around each other. they’re soulmates. its chill but its fine.

MYIY

adore - amy shark. a killer lena song, connected totally to the scenes of them pretty early in college but specifically the party scene early on in the fic.

can you tell - ra ra riot. this song i actually gave to lynne when we first started flirting and it’s so a sweet lena song like, i’m kind of really into you. one of the key things about myiy to me is that they do meet when they’re really young and have to grow into an adult relationship (they’re still working on it). but they do still have a quality of like two people who met young and are just like that still sometimes. they’re sweet.

abc - alexander fairchild. one of my very favorite true love songs on the playlist.

first time - vance joy. a big fave of mine, reminds me so much of them just being together at college and like. riding bikes. i don’t know. it’s a pure ass sunny love song and i would die for them.

let’s get married - bleachers. one of my very favorite songs. when lynne told me why she wanted it on the playlist for the first time i laid down on our kitchen floor and cried.

she’s casual - the hunna. absolute killer of a myiy song. when we listen to myiy in the car lynne demands we listen in order and so i ask where she wants to start and she always says this song. it’s a great song for both of them, and i think it really shows some measure of the desperation they feel for each other, as it were.

scared - delta rae. this song KILLLLLLLLS me. it’s a song for both of them, and it’s just - really emotional. you can really feel the fear i guess, and it’s a great breakup song. the premise of myiy really relies on how much they were really wrapped into each other by the time they broke up and i think this song really shows how invested they are. “i’m sorry, i loved you, but even those words are getting see through” is an a+ lyric.

looking too closely - fink. made it onto this playlist because it was in a fanvid that made me cry. is a great like, sitting in the dark drinking wine song, LENA.

without you - oh wonder. this song was one of the very first songs on the playlist and is the emotional crux of their breakup portion on the playlist - all of the oh wonder songs are meant to be benchmarks for different parts of their love story. it was, i believe, the song lynne suggested to give the fic its title. i rejected it and she still complains about it. i wanted the title to come from “fountain of youth” which is like four songs down.

dearly departed - shakey graves. one of MY fave songs, a great thumper of a lena song. i think it really speaks to how lena just like. know she’s the one who fucked it all up. “you and i both know that the house is haunted, well, you and i both know that the ghost is me”

let’s be happy - fire chief charlie. this is a great sad circa like ch5-6 song - totally the sort of precipice of getting back together, wanting each other so bad and willing to let go of the past to move into the future. “and if i say hello again, let it be for the last time.”

tiger teeth - walk the moon. every fucking inch of this song is so myiy i nearly died when i heard it for the first time. it is TEXTBOOK. the slow beautiful beginning, the like hymnal quality of the music and synth. it’s all there. it’s perfection. truly. and it’s just so them - they just love each other SO. MUCH. “when you swallow someone whole, you are bound to choke / well i guess we could never be friends, i ate you up the day we first spoke” honestly. i die.

the last of the real ones - fall out boy. this song is right at the beginning of the full weight of the back half of the season, essentially, when the drama of the fic becomes more external than internal (aka will they get back together). this song is really for the both of them, but it’s a fun adventurey fight song that i love. i like the sense of grandeur it gives them.

sand and lead - neiked and brolin. this song is one of my favorite songs about kara. “i’ll take the wheel if you do the pedals” is one of my fave lines. it’s just about, to me, exhaustion and the toll of being a superhero and stuff and getting the chance to be with lena and how that helps kara.

the lightning strike (what if this storm ends) - snow patrol. there are a few songs on this playlist that i’ve loved for a long time and have been looking for an excuse to put on a playlist. myiy runs enough of an emotional gamut that i have p much free reign. this song is one of those songs - a totally epic, edge of the precipice song. it’s great for storming into battle, and probably some daxamite nonsense. who knows.

heroes - peter gabriel. another endgame drama song, totally amazing, made me cry the first time i heard it, yes i cry a lot if you’ve read this far. i heard it and immediately knew it was a myiy song, knew exactly what it was for.

may i have this dance - francis and the lights. this song makes me HAPPY. it’s so sweet, a nice sunshine after the rain type song to help close out the playlist into ultra life which is the IDEAL song to end on. it’s just about dancing and happiness. “let me stay and excite you / we are bound to inherit the sins of our parents” so on so forth. they fucking love each other.

[bluraaven]

We are the Flame

5. Dismas

"Lux, tueri animas nostras!"

When Dismas turns around, Junia has one hand curled on her chest, and her pallor is almost indistinguishable in colour from the white of her nun's headdress.

Mallory has stopped mid-stride, her lips parted in a gasp that never makes it past them, and Paschal –

Paschal's eyes are wide as a child's as she takes in the unnatural spectacle happening outside of the window.  "Wow!  Have you ever seen anything like this?" the doctor exclaims in wonder, peeling her nose from the glass to look from one person to another.  She appears to be completely oblivious to the fact that none of them are as excited about a giant magical hole in the sky as she is. 

Whatever she's taking, Dismas wants some for himself, if only to help him sleep at night.

But it seems rude to outright ask for a drug recommendation, and since he's all about becoming a better man, Dismas instead chooses to observe the last member of their group.

Reynauld is as straight-backed and tight-lipped as ever, and his face betrays neither fear nor disbelief.   The knight has the infinite blackness of the Void reflected in his eyes, and Dismas wonders what kind of man it takes to gaze into the Abyss and not flinch back from what he sees there.

Dismas looks away again.

He might not speak the Heaven's language, but he doesn't have to in order to understand the Sister's prayer – he's heard its like often enough.

 Light, save our souls.  

But why would the Light choose him for salvation?  Him, a man already damned on account of his sins?

He is all too aware that in this company, he is the odd one out, standing beside a doctor, a noble, a Sister Vestal, and... Reynauld.  So here they are; a warrior of Light – someone who would claim communion with the Divines – and a back-alley cutthroat, sharing a purpose and a room upstairs.  It's madness.

And it is all around them, invisible but just as deadly as toxic gas in a mine shaft.  It has poisoned this place and already he can feel its sharp teeth gnawing at his mind, his sanity.

Dismas rubs both palms over his face, hard enough for it to border on painful.  He can feel several days' worth of stubble as well as the bony ridges of his face, sculpted by too many hunger days and nights spent sleeping in roadside ditches.  It brings back a sense of who he is, and where.  It also banishes these unbidden thoughts, for now.  'Tis good enough, at least until Dismas can get his hands on some alcohol.

Thankfully, he knows just the place where he can get some.  Grandfather Dumont liked to have his booze close at hand – and now Dismas understands why, if this kind of shit happened regularly around here.

He isn't looking forward to the prospect of descending the stairs to the cellar, but the only other alternative is the bar, and he wants to track all the way there even less than he wants to face the darkness of the mansion's underbelly.  

Only Reynauld notices him exiting the room, and the knight doesn't comment on it.

Dismas carefully searches the doorway for any signs of magic, even gives it a few pokes with the hilt of his dagger to make sure there is absolutely nothing supernatural about it.  But this time there is only wood and stone, ordinary as can be.  He leaves the door wide open nonetheless and whistles a tune as he hurries down.

The circular room looks the same as the first time they descended down here and Dismas tries hard not to focus on the walls, how they seem to be closing in, eager to trap him as they have their group earlier.  Only this time he is alone, and the thought is enough to make him shiver and break out in a cold sweat.

Fighting the urge to turn and flee back upstairs, Dismas instead busies himself with inspecting the shelves.  They are full of bottles cocooned in a thick layer of dust that sticks to the dull glass.  The labels are yellow and wavy from humidity and the ink has run, making most of the writing indecipherable.  Not that it would do him any good if it hadn't.  Dismas knows his numbers well enough; his mother had made sure of that, but letters are something reserved for the upper classes.

In the end, he just grabs the nearest three bottles – better to take one extra than have to go back for some more later – and returns upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.  When he kicks the door shut behind him, it feels like muzzling a feral beast.  The danger is still here and to be wary of, but for the time being it is contained.

Just as the highwayman returns to the living room, the gloom is lit up by a net of lightning racing over the sky.  A storm of thunder and magic rolls over the countryside, and then disperses, wisps of swirling blue and purple lazily drifting through the sky, becoming paler and paler until they fade into nothingness.

"Thank the Light," the Vestal breathes, her relief audible.  

"What do you think this was?" Mallory finds the courage to ask after a few more seconds of shocked silence.

"Nuthin' good, that's fer sure," Dismas says to announce his presence.  All heads turn to him, even that of the crusader.  Dismas lifts the bottles.  The heiress sure doesn't look like she disapproves.

"Court'sy o' yer gramp."

Mortimer Dumont is watching them from his spot on the staircase, eyes black as a pit adder scales glimmering with malicious amusement.

"He shot himself to close the wards until someone of his bloodline reopened them."  Mallory speaks slowly, and her voice gains sureness with every word.

"Stab 'im in the dick!"  The suggestion comes out in a low growl as Dismas struggles to get the cork out of the first of the bottles.  He stops short in surprise when Mallory passes by him and actually does just that.

Under different circumstances, the highwayman may have winced in sympathy as several inches of spear are thrust into the portrayed old man's crotch and the wall behind him.   This time though he feels it is wholly deserved.

"Do you know what would have happened if I had ventured down there alone!?"  Mallory whips around, two angry red spots blooming on her cheeks.  She wipes at her sweaty brow to get a few strands of wild hair unstuck from it.  The spear, white-tipped from scratching the stone but none the worse for wear, is still in her other hand.

Dismas makes a mental note to never piss her off.  He is rather attached to his balls and he prefers they stay attached to him.

"Aye, lass."  Dismas replies and takes one of the silver cups that Paschal has found in a nearby cabinet.  "But ya didn't, so best not dwell on that."

"What have you got there?"  The heiress picks up a bottle, and turns it so she can read the label.  "152 Reserve."  Her eyebrows lift in surprise.  "This is a pleasant vintage."

Dismas wipes the inside of the cup clean of dust and pours Mallory a generous amount of the dark red liquid.  "Boss first," he announces, because already Paschal is thrusting another cup at him, and even Junia is lining up for a little pick-me-up.

Mallory knocks back her drink without waiting for the others.  Half a heartbeat later, her face scrounges up and Dismas can jump out of the way just in time before she spits it back out.

"Wine's gone bad?" the highwayman asks, his heart sinking.  Seems this is to be one of these times.

"This isn't wine," Mallory croaks, and hurries to the kitchens to wash out her mouth.

"What is it then?" Junia asks, reaching for a bottle to see for herself.

Dismas sniffs the dregs.  Immediately, a cloying coppery and sweet smell assaults his nose, and Dismas has to admire Malory's iron self-control. He would have just hurled right on the carpet.

Junia puts her cup away again, the expression on her round face as weary as Dismas is feeling all of a sudden.  Meanwhile, Paschal is eying Mallory's abandoned cup and its contents with interest.  "Huh."

Dismas can hear her mutter, "How did they keep it from congealing?  I wonder... ," before he catches the doctor dipping her pinkie finger into the leftover liquid and holding it to her tongue with an expression of intense concentration.  "This is most curious."

"Fuck this," Dismas mutters and just like that he is done with this day.  "Sorry folks, I'm off ta bed."

Junia tears away her eyes from the doctor and picks up her mace.  "It seems best we rest and pray to the Light for guidance," the Vestal agrees in a tired voice.

"Ya do that," Dismas tells her.  "I'll go ahead an' do the restin' part."  Turning, he almost collides with Reynauld – Reynauld who appears to have completely deserted his corporeal body and is just standing there, with his helmet tucked under one arm and an empty gaze.

Dismas raps one knuckle against his breast plate to get the knight's attention.  "You comin'?"

Reynauld startles like a person woken from sleep and looks around the room as if lost.  "Are we dismissed?" he asks no one in particular.

"I believe we are, brother," Junia replies before Dismas can.  "I'm sure the lady Mallory knows where to find thee if there are matters thou needst to discuss."

Reynauld hesitates before he slowly nods in answer.  Dismas observes that he has the mannerism of someone high on drugs, but the knight lacks the physical aspects of an addict.  Maybe holy water and incense have negative side-effects too.  Maybe Paschal's smoke bombs do.

"C'mon, Armour," Dismas says, not unkindly, tugging on the crusader's elbow to get him moving.  "If ya crash on tha floor, I ain't draggin' ya upstairs."

The words are running together in his mouth, but he is too tired to care, to pretend he is someone he is not.  Reynauld moves of his own accord, thankfully, although he seems to be favouring his left leg.

It isn't until the door falls shut behind them and the cool of the room begins to seep through his clothes that Dismas realizes he is missing something.

"Shite!" He doesn't know what to make of Reynauld flinching at the profanity.   He ain't in the mood for a lecture, but the crusader doesn't give him one, so Dismas simply adds, "Fergot me coat."

He doesn't have much to his name other than a nice bounty and a ban on the premises of several establishments, and he likes to keep what few possessions are his close.  Just in case.

Junia is gone and the fire in the chimney has almost burned out, given how no one had added any more wood since Reynauld had lit it right after their return, but there are voices coming from one of the adjacent rooms.

"I am sure you wish for reimbursement?" Dismas can hear Mallory ask when he sneaks into the living room, keeping to the deep shadows cast by ancient furniture.  Old habits and all that.  He sure ain't spying on the two women when he risks a peek.

Paschal, however, waves Mallory off, and takes the bottles of blood as payment.  Dismas prefers not to think about what she plans on doing with them.  He is beginning to feel a twinge of sympathy for Lenn.  Lenn, who now owes him a month's worth of supply with booze, he remembers, feeling marginally better.

Tomorrow he'll make the barman regret agreeing to the deal.

Dismas snatches up his coat and returns to his shared bedroom.  The pulling sensation in his side has steadily increased, but it is only now that he truly becomes aware of how his entire chest is aching, every breath putting strain on the newly scarred skin that has yet to stretch.

He is not the only one in pain.

A man in his profession knows to find and exploit the small weaknesses that most people like to hide, and so it doesn't take Dismas long to notice how the corners of Reynauld's mouth are down, his lips pressed into a firm line.  The knight uses his left in place of his right, his dominant hand, to tug open the straps of his armour.

"Need any help with that?" Dismas asks, tossing his coat onto his bed.

He expects the knight to rebuff him, but to his astonishment Reynauld nods after a moment's hesitation.  Up close, Dismas can see fine decorative etchings along the edge of the armour, as well as the cuts and miniscule dents that mar the otherwise shiny surface of the metal.

"If you could just undo this clasp."  The crusader dips and turns his head, to better observe the highwayman out of the corners of his eyes.

He does as he has been asked to, opening the clasp on Reynauld's right shoulder blade, and the one on the very top of his neck and watches as bit by bit the armour begins to come off.  Dismas gets to see how each piece is fitted so as to offer the best protection while still allowing the wearer their full range of movement.

He does his best not to think about how much the whole suit of armour must be worth.  More than everything  he had ever owned in life combined, that's for sure.

When Reynauld removes the cap, Dismas is amused to find that his hair sticks every which way.  He curses the sudden urge to run his fingers through the unruly tresses to comb them into some semblance of order.

It is a bad time for such thoughts.  An exhausted mind is a fickle thing.

The hauberk rattles as it pools on the bed, almost like a liquid, and the padded jacket is carefully hung over the back of the chair at the desk. Reynauld stretches his neck and rotates his shoulders.  There is a hollow pop that makes Dismas hiss in sympathy, but Reynauld sighs in relief, slumping now that all the weight has been lifted off him.

Summer is almost over, and in the crisp night air, the knight is steaming.   There's not so much as a nick in his tunic, but his eyes are red-rimmed.  Whatever Paschal had hit him with, left them puffy and irritated.

"Better go wash that shit out," Dismas says, circling a finger in front of his own face.

Reynauld's head snaps up, the tension returning to his posture.  He appears to have forgotten about the other man, but after a moment he relaxes again, a weary nod telling Dismas that he intends to follow through with that idea.

A soft knock announces Reynauld's return a couple of minutes later.  He has changed his tunic, so he has probably washed up too.

"I could do with a basin and some hot water," Dismas greets him from the depths of his bed, although now that he's gotten vertical he doesn't plan on getting up anytime soon.

"Is there a bathhouse?" Reynauld asks although he doesn't sound like he really cares.

"There was once.  It closed down," Dismas informs him.  He is ready to bet the last of his snuff that Reynauld will not follow his example and simply fall into bed.  He smirks when he is proven right.  Recognizing patterns is a useful skill to have, and one he has honed.

Reynauld checks his equipment, putting away each piece only after it has received a thorough examination.  Then, he kneels to pray.  Just like he had yesterday.

'He should learn to take care of his bodily needs as well as his spiritual ones,' is the last thing Dismas remembers thinking before he passes out.

That night, Dismas learns the hard way that Reynauld screams in his sleep.

His own dreams are uneasy, full of ever-shifting corridors and the search for an exit he knows he will never find in time.  A small bubble of panic begins to fill his chest, and it grows with every step he takes. He cannot find a way out of the labyrinth of hallways, and he is being pursued by someone or something that he only manages to catch glimpses of out of the corners of his eyes.  If he doesn't escape, he will die here ant he corridors will become his tomb.

In desperation, Dismas scratches at the stone walls with torn, bleeding hands and cracked nails, and he screams for them to  let him out.  He'd done his time, he'd –

Dismas wakes abruptly to a voice that is not his own, shouting in a language he does not understand.

He jerks up too fast, gets tangled in something, and crashes to the floor.  It's dark, too dark to see, and his heart is pounding in his throat.  All he is aware of is that he has to fight or flee – and he does not yet know which.

Before his situation or his surroundings become any clearer, the door bursts open, and it's pure reflex for him to point the gun at the intruder.  By the light of a single candle, Dismas can see Mallory charge into the room – she and her boar spear.   The fact that she's wearing a nightgown does not make the weapon any less intimidating.

The door bangs against the wall, and Reynauld wakes with a gasp, reaching for his sword by his side.  

The heiress looks around with wide eyes, taking in the scene – Dismas lying on the floor, blankets twisted tightly around him, Reynauld sitting up slowly, and her mouth opens and closes a few times.  It takes Dismas several seconds to realize he's still holding his flintlock and he quickly lowers the weapon.

"I thought I head – ," Mallory says in way of apology, her eyes briefly skittering to the crusader whose face is hidden in the shadows.

It's fairly obvious by now what she heard, but Dismas has to commend her dedication of rushing to their help.  "It's alright," he says in a rough voice, though his position on the floor might belie his words somewhat.  "Thanks."

Mallory nods a couple of times, as if she has to convince herself that everything is indeed alright, and much gentler than she had come in, she closes the door behind her.

Dismas rests his forehead on his knees and takes a moment to take several deep breaths.  The panic has passed, but he still feels shaky when he gets to his feet even though by now his heartbeat is slowing down.  Dismas shivers when the cold night air stirs his sweat-soaked shirt.

Being awake may have pushed back the terrors of the unconscious, but when Dismas remembers the previous day and the horror they had found under the mansion...

Shit, he don't even begrudge the knight his nightmares.

Dismas can hear Reynauld breathe heavily, though he cannot make out much more than the other man's hunched over form.  The crusader sits on the bed with feet braced and his sword across his lap, the exact opposite of someone relaxing and ready to return to sleep.  Not that Dismas can blame him, but the other man's tension is making him uneasy as well.

Dismas is about as awake as he's gonna be, and he really does not wish to lie around and let his mind come up with more ways to torment him.  

"Ya know what always makes me feel better?" Dismas asks suddenly, pulling on his pants and shrugging into his coat after a quick change of shirts.  "A walk."  He's certainly going on one, and the invitation stands; it's up to Reynauld to accept.

The crusader heaves himself to his feet, a motion more fitting for a man thirty years his senior.  His limp is less pronounced than it was when he was wearing armour.  Dismas cannot recall it being there yesterday, or even this morning, which means it is a souvenir from today's forage.

They do not speak, but Dismas waits impatiently as Reynauld dresses in something warmer than his tunic.   When they descent side by side, only the stairs creak in the otherwise silent mansion.  The air is musty, thick with dust and something else.  Dismas cannot put his finger on it, but he senses that Reynauld can feel it too.

Out in the open, the night envelops them like a blanket.  It's cold and fresh, and with the stars and moon out it's even lighter outside than it was inside.   Bright enough that do not need any additional light sources.

Dismas slowly begins to relax as the confinement of walls is left further behind him with every step.  He doesn't ask where Reynauld wishes to go, they just stroll around the old house as if that was a path they had agreed on before.  The sword Reynauld carries bumps into Dismas' hip a couple of times.  Reynauld does not seem to notice.  Dismas would have said he hasn't been like himself ever since going down into that cursed cellar, but the truth is he doesn't know the knight well enough to make that assumption.  

Behind the mansion there is another courtyard, wilder than the one in front.  It is flooded in silvery moonlight that reflects off the white marble statues that are wrapped in evergreen ivy as if they too had dressed for winter.  An ornate fountain takes the center, but upon having a closer look they can see that it is clogged with rotting leaves.  This place must have been beautiful once, but much like the rest of the Hamlet, it has fallen to decay.

When they find a low bench, they take the opportunity to sit down.  Instantly, the cold of the stone surface seeps through Dismas' pants.

"If I didn't know better I'd say it's pretty," Dismas says, surveying the gardens around them.  Talking is just another way to stave off the desperation, but when Reynauld doesn't react at all, Dismas' discomfort tips over into worry.

"Hey.  Ya sure yer alright?"

Reynauld looks up only when Dismas' hand lands on his forearm.  Dismas withdraws instantly, because he doesn't like how the knight flinches back.   Something sure ain't right there, but he'd be damned if he knows what it is.

"Fine," the crusader replies, but he does not meet the highwayman's eyes.

Yeah.  Sure.

But there's a change; Reynauld seems more alert than before.  He runs his fingers through his hair, then remains with his hands pressed to his eyes.

Dismas picks at a loose thread on his sleeve.  They remain like that for a while, but Dismas has never coped well with the quiet.   He likes the sound of a voice – even if it's just his own.

"How's the leg doing?" he asks eventually.  They're not on good enough terms for Dismas to tell him to drop his pants so he can check for himself.   The thought of the knight's face if he did does lift his spirits somewhat.

"It has suffered no greater harm," Reynauld replies, lifting his head.  "It should heal, Light willing."

The crusader had patched him up, he knows something about medicine.   Probably much more than the highwayman does.  Dismas drops the topic, and they lapse back into not talking.

"You are a very fine marksman," the crusader says out of nowhere.

It's nothing short of true, but to hear another one say so, ignites a spark of pride in Dismas' chest.  He's also a bit too shocked about the knight complimenting him to manage anything more coherent than,

"Thanks... Rey."

The smile Dismas directs at the other man sours and withers when the crusader keeps looking at the ground.

"I have seen much," Reynauld rasps after a while that us just long enough to make Dismas fiddle with his coat again, "but never the dead rise up to claim the living as their own.  And the things they whispered to me- ."  At this point he seems to be talking more to himself than to his companion.

Dismas shivers, happy not to have heard a thing.   Maybe Reynauld is talking about his dream.  Maybe he isn't.  Either way, Dismas doesn't want to know what the dead whisper.

"We made it out.  S' all that matters."  But even as he speaks, doubts assault him. This was just the first real run.  Will they have to go back?  He isn't sure he can face what hides under the manor again.  At the same time, he may have to if he ever wishes to leave he Hamlet.

He may deserve this hell, but that does not mean he can stand it.

"Let's go."

"What?" Dismas asks stupidly, so caught in his own thoughts that he has missed Reynauld getting up.  He swears he can see a muscle twitch in Reynauld's jaw.

"You said to go for a walk; let's walk."

They do so, passing dead flower beds and bushes that had long ago lost their artful trims.  On the other side, Dismas spots a low building that he had never paid any attention before.

"What's that?" Dismas asks, pointing.

"The stables," Reynauld replies, and picks the path that will take them closer.

"Huh. Didn't know there were any."  A silly thing to say, he realizes too late.  Of course there are.  Mallory's got to keep her horses somewhere.

As they draw near, he can hear a soft nicker greet them.  There are six animals in total out in the pasture; two are the horses who pulled their ill-fated chariot, and one is Mallory's sleek hunter.  One of the others is sway-backed and thin enough for its ribs to show under a shaggy, patchy coat, and it is the first to get its nose rubbed by the crusader.  Dismas chooses to stand a few steps behind.

Horses are fast, and appear to be even faster when you're on top of them, they eat grass and they kick.  That's the gist of his knowledge.  Not that he'd not stolen the one or other, but certainly never one as fine as most of Mallory's animals.

Reynauld seems happy to pet his furry friends, even one enormous steeds whose head is as big as Dismas' torso.

"Don't get your hand bit off," the highwayman grumbles, eying the beast warily.  He sure ain't gettin' anywhere near those teeth.

"They don't like meat," Reynauld says calmly with a look over his shoulder.   "If they take a couple of your fingers, they'll spit them back out again."

And that is supposed to be... comforting?  Dismas gapes, at least until the nearest beast snorts and sprays the crusader with a fine mist of snot.  Then he breaks out in a laugh that spooks the horses into trotting away.  That's what the knight gets – but Reynauld chuckles too, genuinely amused and Dismas watches the transformation in him with fascination.

They head back to the house soon, for what rest they can get for what is left of the night.

The next time when Dismas wakes, it is because the early midday sun is shining through the window and straight into his face.  Usually an early riser out of necessity, the only times he sleeps in like this is when large amounts of alcohol are involved.

By the time they returned to the house, a faint stripe of grey was visible on the horizon.  They'd both managed to find some more rest, and the rest of the night passes without any further incidents.

The highwayman casts a glance towards Reynauld's bed – which he finds made and its owner gone.  And he had not heard a thing.  A man of the crusader's calibre ought not be able to move so stealthily.  That trait should be reserved for rogues such as himself.  But even so, the water pitcher that Dismas knows for sure wasn't full yesterday, is most welcome.

When he finally makes it down, Mallory isn't around and neither are Reynauld or the Caretaker.  The latter also runs a small general goods store in the village, which might explain how he continuously fails to do his duties around the mansion.  The Heiress is convinced that it is because of the man's madness, and not out of any ill will or inherent laziness.

Dismas' feet take him towards the Hamlet, in the opposite direction of the path they had walked yesterday night.  Over the crest of the hill he cannot see the stables where Mallory's horses are undoubtedly noisily munching some fodder.  As always, the town seems to be half-deserted, although today he can see pale faces behind broken shutters that quickly disappear when he looks their way.

Dismas tries to shake off the strange feeling that suddenly assaults him and turns towards the one place where there seems to me some manner of activity: the abbey.   There, Dismas spots Liz and Darell hauling wooden boards, such as are used in construction.  The man is sporting a large bruise on his cheek and both of them keep their heads down and their mouths shut.  It seems someone's learned their lesson, as neither pays the highwayman any heed when he walks past.

Just out of curiosity Dismas decides to have a closer look at the church that his roommate has taken upon himself to restore, probably with the help of the Vestal.  She doesn't seem to be here now, but the highwayman instantly catches sight of Reynauld.  It's easy to make out the crusader's broad form next to that of another man who has to be the priest.  He's got a long face, too big ears, and tufts of hair that stand up just so as to best frame his balding head.   Dismas dislikes him at first sight.

He doesn't approach any further.  They seem busy enough with abbey work, and he isn't sure what he could contribute to that – or whether he wants to.

Dismas decides to look in on the smith, and leaves with a rack for Reynauld's armour, a lance, and a pouch full of newly cast bullets, which is the bribe that convinces him to help Farley carry the former two back to the mansion.

Unlike Reynauld or the smith, Dismas doesn't have work to do, and he is free to wander the village and to spend his time as he wills.  Eventually, he gives in to the pull and slowly makes for the tavern.  It's still early for drink, but there's bound to be food there, and company, and he craves both in equal measure.

As he nears the building, Lenn's booming voice spills out from the tavern.

"No!"

Grinning from the thought that the barman might have sensed his presence, Dismas pushes open the door – and immediately finds himself in the midst of a heated argument.

"Tis' a guesthouse or not!?" a stocky man in his middle to late fifties bellows.  He has a head full of grey hair that is on its best way to becoming white as snow, and is a stark contrast to the red in his round face which betrays his enragement.  But without a doubt the stranger's most memorable feature is the patch covering his right eye.

"Aye," Lenn growls without backing down.  "A guesthouse, not a bloody hospice!"

"Friend," another man intervenes, and his quiet, calm tone that has much more impact on his companion than anything Lenn has said so far.  "It is his tavern, and his good right."

Dismas is shocked to see the stranger's telltale getup.  A mask and clothing that leaves not an inch of his skin visible.  He now understands what the dispute is about and has to agree with Lenn; it's discomforting being even this close to the afflicted.

The leper's companion sits down, although he does so with a glower, and Dismas swears that even his moustache is bristling with belligerence.

"There's plenty of empty houses around," Lenn grunts, and he sounds more sullen now that he's no longer having his feathers ruffled.  "Bring or buy your own dishes, and I will provide you with food and drink."

"Well.  I shall go find us an abode then," the bloke who had argued with the bartender huffs, and rises again with the brusqueness of a military man.  He is not tall, but Dismas suspects that his girth is more muscle than fat, and he prudently steps to the side to let him pass.

Dismas takes the opportunity of a lull in the conversation to approach the bar.

"Who're they?"

"New arrivals," the barman grunts.  "Say they came here 'bout an hour ago.   The leper over there," Lenn isn't subtle in pointing the dirty glass in his hands at the man in question, "and two of his friends.  Offered them a room, but they didn't take it well w hen I said I ain't housing him, no matter what that witch says."

Two?  Dismas had not seen anyone else, but a careful look around reveals what he had missed at first – there is another figure leaning against the tiled stove, motionless and far too easy to overlook.  Dismas feels a surge of ire towards this person, although it is his own fault that he had failed to spot him.  At least he doesn't have to enquire who that witch is.  Nor is he surprised that the plague doctor would take an interest in the diseased man.

"What does she say?" Dismas wants to know.

"That the chance of someone getting infected converges towards zero," Lenn parrots.  "Well, it's a chance I ain't taking.  There's a reason they cast them out," the barman grunts.  "Poor sod – he ain't even the actual problem.  Been nothin' but polite since he came it."

"Ah."  Dismas can guess the pain in the ass has been.

The person in question returns just as he is midway through his second mug of rum-spiced berry infusion.

"I found a house," he announces.  "It's not much, but it has a room and a functional chimney."  He gives Lenn a dark glare which the barman returns without blinking, and Dismas is good and ready to find cover under the counter the second something other than dirty looks gets thrown.

"Thank you, Montfort" the leper answers.  "I am sure we will make it homely in no time."  He nods in the direction of Lenn and Dismas, and beckons to his other mysterious companion, who follows like a shadow.

"Let's go then," Montfort agrees, holding open the door as the entourage gathers to leave.  "There's some sort of congregation happening outside, I don't like – "

Dismas doesn't get to hear the rest of it before the door closes and cuts off the rest of the sentence.  All of a sudden, the bar feels empty and confining, and the urge to move again like an itch under his skin.  He chugs the last of his drink and hands back the mug.

Provoking the barman is the next closest thing Dismas has done to poking a snarling bear with a stick, but he cannot resist to grin up and Lenn and add, "See?  I ain't that bad."

The answering snort tells him otherwise.

Just as he is about to leave, there is a burst of noise as the door swings open again and a cloaked figure comes running up to the bar, almost knocking Dismas over.  A flash of irritation crosses Lenn's face, until the hood is thrown back, and he and Dismas both recognize Farley's wild hair and beard.

"She's not here?" the smith gasps, looking around, as if expecting to see someone familiar.

"Who?"

"Mallory!"

"No, why– ?"

Farley waves a hand to silence him, and hurries to explain.  "The townsfolk, they are planning to march on the estate.  Last night's magic has them scared witless.  I tried ta reason with some of them, but they think what worked on the old man might work on his heir."

It takes a few seconds before the words sink in, but when they do they do a better job of sobering Dismas up than being dunked in the horse trough by the city guard.

"I need to go," he blurts out and he gets up so fast he knocks over his stool.

"Wait!"  Lenn's paw on his shoulder stops him.  "Better take the back door."

Dismas doesn't have time to nod, because he is already on the move.  He hits the door at a full run and barely takes notice of all the people milling around, of the torches being lit.  Farley was right, it don't look good.  Angry shouts fade in the distance as Dismas hauls ass back to the mansion, as if the Holy Inquisition itself was on his heels.

Every step feels like being stabbed anew, and there is an irritating pinch in his knee and thigh, but he doesn't slow down.  He needs to get to the house before the mob does, or they're all royally fucked.  Funnily, enough he's not thinking about Mallory as much as he is about Reynauld.

Tin-man will help, he tells himself, because after sprinting all the way up the hill he ain't sure he'll be good for much more than throwing up on the threshold.

Dismas bursts into his room with enough noise that the crusader jumps up, actually jumps, and stares at him with wide eyes.  Ain't the time for him to worry what that is about.

Dismas' chest is heaving and his throat burns worse than after drinking fire whiskey, but he manages to point to the window and wheeze,

"We're in trouble."

In the distance, a fiery serpent has begun to coil itself around the alley leading up to the mansion.

AN: Fifth chapter is out and it took quite the unexpected turn!

You can also find this story here on AO3

[bakaiju]

Survival at Mount Massive Asylum chapter 19

Underground Lab (part 1)

Kirigiri couldn’t help but to feel sad for her lover trembling and repeating the same curse in front of her.

“Fuck…” he started, then he looked at his right hand, “fuck…” then at his left hand, “Fuck…” his tremors getting more violent with each repetition, then he looked around on the new area, “Fuck! Is Martin behind this?”

“I don’t know…” she answered, still holding him, “But listen to me. I know that you must be thinking the same thing as me right now. So let me remind you: We are not crazy. I know, I know only crazy people say that. But believe me when I say that we are as sane as this world allows, and we have this camera full of evidence. This isn’t a ‘gospel’; this is a mockery of reason. We will let the world know about this, is Murkoff’s fault! We’ll bury them with this video.” she said with a determination that would match his if he was in a better state.

“Y-Yes… You’re right! L-Let’s do this! So we must keep going…”

“There’s no other choice…”

“Kyoko… Thank you. If you weren’t here, I would have given up by now…”

She smiled at him, but kept it to herself that she was feeling the same thing.

They both looked around and decided to go deeper inside this new area.

“When will we leave this place…?” they wondered out loud.

The corridor was circular, as if they were in a tunnel, and by looking at the white composition of the walls, they thought that it looked like ice, but from the composition, it was obvious that they were inside the mountain right now.

They opened a door and entered what looked like another entrance lobby, there was a desk and two big screen behind it. On the left screen: Murkoff Corp. Logo and on the right: WALRIDER Project and its logo.

They looked around, there was blood and body parts everywhere. Also some destroyed guns.

“I know this place” Kirigiri said.

“Y-You know…?” Naegi asked with wide eyes.

“I mean, I know this lobby. Father Martin showed it to me before sedating us and bringing us to the Prison Block, right when we unlocked the front door. These soldier were killed by the Walrider.” she explained.

“Wait. Soldiers? I… I can’t even recognize them.” Naegi looked at one of the mutilated bodies.

They had to continue, there was something strange about the bodies and blood splashes. Some splashes were logical, but the ones near the ‘bodies’ looked like the bodies exploded, like when they were in the sewers.

From that room on, every single room of the underground lab had at least one corpse. The corridors were bloody with headless guard corpses. In one small lab room they found just a pile of organs spread over a table wallowing in a pool of blood.

On another room they found a file of report of a scientist working in the lab, they were talking about how the Walrider project was using patients from the asylum for their tests and some of them just died or became even crazier.

As they went deeper inside the laboratory, they eventually found a panel with the words they have been searching for all night.

“Delivery EXIT”

They almost let out a shout of joy as they followed the arrow indicating where was the exit they were oh so looking for. As they walked down a new corridor still full of blood and bodies half, they found a lot of barrels blocking the way, but they could easily climb over it, it was just a hassle. They reached a bulletproof window showing a hangar with some military trucks inside, but most importantly, the giant doors were open. They saw that there was door leading to it, it was also open, they just need to get to it and leave this damn place.

They walked down the corridor they were in and it opened up to two ways, but the left one was way more appealing to them with another panel indicating that the delivery exit was this way.

They went down the left way and found a decontamination room that might lead to where they wanted to go. But when they were a few feet away from the door, it locked itself, an alarm went off and red lights started to flash in the corridor and what they didn’t want to see appeared before them.

The Walrider.

The couple immediately turned back and ran in the opposite direction as the ghost started to chase them. They jumped over the barrels but it was slowing them down.

“Makoto! Grab my hand!” the lavender haired detective shouted as she reached for her partner’s hand.

He grabbed it and didn’t let go as she pulled him.

They reached the doors leading to the previous corridor, maybe they could find somewhere to hide over there. They opened the doors and another monster they didn’t want to see appeared behind the doors.

Chris Walker.

“Little pigs.” he growled as he reached for both of their necks and grabbed them, “Little pigs…” he repeated as he threw them behind him violently against the wall, “No more escape…” he ‘smiled’ as he approached again, ready to kill them once and for all.

Then something unexpected happened.

A dark mist appeared out of nowhere and threw the giant Variant against the wall. As Chris started to scream and moan in agony, the dark cloud didn't stop, always lifting him up and smashing him against the wall as if he was a ragdoll.

Naegi was looking at the scene with wide terrified eyes, Kirigiri on the other hand quickly lifted the camcorder to record what was happening.

The slender but tall form of the Walrider was looking down at Chris as he tried to stand up, his face bloodier than before. The dark ghost grabbed the Variant once more and threw him again against the wall, leaving a splash of blood to mark where Chris’ face landed. The sadistic monster kept throwing the large man against the walls for some seconds before finally lifting him up and throwing him inside a gridded vent that was nearby, leaving a giant wave of blood spurting out of the vent. Killing Chris Walker.

The couple of detectives stood still for a few seconds before standing up and slowly walk towards the last splash of blood, there was some organs in the middle. Then they looked up to the gridded vent only to see that Chris was thrown in there… without breaking the grid. Meaning that his body was certainly pressed and cut with a lot of strength. They didn't want to see inside that grid and hoped no one will.

This was the way he dies. Ripped to pieces from the inside, watching his marrow scatter on a concrete wall.

“You’ve escaped one Hell, Chris Walker…” said Kirigiri.

“God help us but I somehow hope you didn't find another.” Naegi concluded.

The old Soldier turned Variant died...

It was weird but they somewhat felt more sympathy for his death, than Father Martin’s.

They could still hear the alarm echoing in the halls so they guessed that the door leading to the exit must be closed. They needed to find a way to stop the alarm and open the doors. Maybe there was a room they’ve missed, so they turned back towards the corridors they walked before.

Until they heard a voice calling out for them.

“Is somebody there? Has somebody survived? Come closer. Please talk to me before he kills you too. Over here! Please, I must try to explain…”

It was coming from a door that they swear was locked before. They got inside the room that immediately locked itself after they got in. It was an office with dead guards, but they were separated from the office and its occupant by a glass wall. On the wall behind the office was a giant painting of a man getting killed by a dark mist, the Walrider. The said occupant was an old man on a wheelchair, he was weak, his mouth not moving when talking, he talked via a machine, like Stephen Hawking.

“I know, I know… I am supposed to be dead. No… no such luck.” The old man started.

Kirigiri crossed her arms as she glared at the man.

“Rudolf Wernicke…” she called.

The old scientist turned his chair around.

“... I am older than sin, but, somehow, the only one left… because of Billy.”

Here he was, the one behind the Walrider project, Dr. Wernicke. Both detective stared angrily at the man.

“Explain. Now.” Kirigiri demanded.

“Aren't you going to present yourselves first?”

Naegi was about to do it but Kirigiri quickly stopped him from doing so, they didn't know that man, and he could be dangerous.

“I see… Billy took care of me. He may think I’m his father. He certainly loves me, the poor idiot.” Wernicke started before wheeling toward the logo of the Walrider Project that was on the wall.

“Do you know what this symbol represents?” he asked, “It warns of a Nano hazard. Microscopic machines, technology we have had for decades, but never mastered. Murkoff discovered it, in my research, a work-a-round. Turning the cells of human bodies into Nano factories. It's the natural function of cells to produce molecules, but through psychosomatic direction, we engineered the precise molecules necessary. Mind over body.” he paused after his revelation, “It was foolish and wrong to think we could control it. To use mad men to control something so strong.”

He turned to them.

“You have to stop him, to murder Billy. Turn off his life support, his anesthesia. You have to undo what I've done. No one can get out of this place while he lives. You must kill him.”

The duo looked at each other, they didn’t know what to say. They weren’t murderers… but they must to get out of here. And there was no way with Billy still alive and controlling the Walrider.

“What else?” asked Kirigiri.

Wernicke stared at her before turning around and answered, “We achieved something like this in 1944. Those fascists thought it was spirits, and I let them believe it. Let them kill themselves thinking there was some kind of afterlife now empirically promised to them. Fools… Poor Alan. He would weep to see what I've built from his dreams.”

Wernicke moved his head a bit to try to look over his shoulder.

“Billy doesn't mean harm. He's a child with a damaged mind, granted the powers of a God. It would make any of us into a monster. You must end this. ” He paused then continued

“Murkoff knew the dangers, but they didn't care. In the corporation's mind, we are all just dollar amounts in a ledger. And the profits Project Walrider promised, overshadowed whatever pitiful balance a few doctors and patients amounted to.” The doctor turned to the couple.

“He will spread if you don't stop him. The Morphogenic Engine is self-perpetuating. I pray to god you have the strength to end it here with you death.”

“We are not planning to die here. We will get out.”

“...Whatever you say… I wish you luck. I… More than anything else want to rest. Billy will not let me die. He could never imagine how cruel this is. I only want to die.” and with that Wernicke turned around, pressed a button to stop the alarm.

The couple walked out of the office that locked itself once again they were out.

It Seem that they must find Billy. And… murder him. But will they be able to do so?

To be concluded...