#if you ignore the whole eternal damnation bit--

[faultedloyalty]

“‘Anything’, you say?” The question is rhetorical, said merely to hear himself speak more than anything—the pen is all but flying across the sketch-page already, the illustration coming to life beneath his fingers without pause. “It’s quite my luck that I can work with such an open-ended wish, then.”

A chuckle is tacked onto the end; he can’t help the tease, can’t help from making his own amusement, at the young man’s expense. He thinks, for a moment, of how very dangerous that word is, when spoken to a creature like him—one cannot, should not, face his kind and say they wish for him to do ‘anything’. Even if it is just in the context of a quick drawing, such a thing bears consequence still (nothing is trivial, unless he so chooses to see it so).

Consequences, however, do not always have to be meted out on a grand scale; he is no stranger to doling out more than is fair, at times, but he is also not without his understanding of what could be too far. So Daisuke will suffer a small laugh, if only to satisfy Sebastian’s inability to ignore such the infraction (and for the better that he does—Saying such things, most especially without hesitation, can get even the most iron-willed beings into trouble, some day.)

“My, but do forgive me; I assumed not that you had meant so, either.” He corrects his own infraction easily, only sparing a glance (calculative speculation masked into apology) up from his work before he returns to it again. “Neither is it so unusual to assume that I have created art for my Master, however; what I meant is that his age is not the correlation to my doing so.”

Really, it is not as if he’s complaining; his meal does not need to be artistically inclined in order for him to consume it, after all. Beyond what is required of his education, his Master hardly partakes in the more creative avenues of life as it is (a soul living only for and until its want for revenge is fulfilled will hardly allot itself time for the finer aspects of existence).

“Nevertheless, there is no need for apology.” He continues on, the matter dismissed as easily as the clouds parting above them to reveal the sun. “Offense was neither intended nor done, if I may so humbly assume myself; there is no need for worry.”

But, oh, satisfaction curls deep and twisting within his mind as the young man finally gives in. Dark, smug elation is hard to keep from his own features; even if it took time, he got what he wanted out of the offer, and it is nothing short of pleasing.

Is it not so much easier to simply relent, to acquiesce to one’s own desires? Human’s overwhelmingly have such an inability to resist them for long, and even with a far more limited patience for waiting to see it done than he lets on, he will never tire of seeing attempts to try crumble with just a bit of prodding.

“That you would accept our gift at all is gratitude enough.” Especially for myself; I require nothing more. “Please, I implore you to think nothing of it.”

His duty as both creature and butler fulfilled, for the time being, he hardly notices when his own hands still over the paper. What he’s drawn is one of the roses growing in the garden, close-up and detailed—simplistic in its choice, perhaps even predictable given where they are, but he’s sure it matters not. Not just for it having gone said, but also because the young man had been enthralled by them upon initial sight. Though, to think it’s merely his duties that give him pause would be wrong, because what is this about him knowing famed artists, might young Daisuke elaborate on that—?

(Ah, but wait; it would not be so off-base...)

“...Young Master Daisuke,” he starts, , “it was not to my knowledge that you were of such infamy yourself!”

A light scold, mostly untrue; he’d done his reading of the Niwa family several days prior to the young man’s arrival, but what-with the warning of the Phantom Thief appearing, he hadn’t gotten far. Other than being of worth-enough to have his Master agree to their young son paying a visit, there’d been little other evidence to suggest they were of nobility beyond any norm—knowing artists of any sort was mere territorial expectation.

(And yet, he still can’t help but to want to press; if only to see what is found in doing so.)

“To be so acquainted with famous artists,” it doesn’t matter that they weren’t named or known to him, “that they give you advice, surely you would know something of criticism. Might this be a way for you to judge my talents instead of merely observing them, despite the knowledge that my own work will pale in comparison to such famed individuals? How very cruel of you; to make me think you were merely interested...”

Feigned self-doubt sees him sighing dramatically, tilting the sketch away from the human’s sight. Surely he could have been warned he would be in the presence of one like this, he would have prepared his heart—!

(His facetiousness knows no bounds.)

' mm , well , really --- ' he considers it for a moment : what he'd like against what he'd dare to say that he might need , and his heart's curiosity quickly wins out versus the rest . ' anything is okay ... ! '

even if sebastian's work turned out infinitely complex , wouldn't he still be able to study it , then ? taking to it like a souvenir , one he would find far more intriguing and organic than what priceless piece his mother expected him to return with from this place .

' er , uh ! i didn't mean anything bad by it about ciel being so young , either --- i guess i just imagined you drawing for him often , maybe ... ' or was that simply the sort of thing he'd have had his own butler doing , if argentine was anything like half as well-put together as the aide before him ?

the more he thought it over , the more stupid everything seemed after-all . even his own hidden dexterity contributed little to nothing towards creative endeavors . what did it matter how swift or clever a butler and phantom thief could be ? without the proper sense for art , motions were merely motions : ' ... sorry , i shouldn't have assumed anything . '

his head dips and his shoulders slump a little ; in the end , he easily relents . ' if it's really no trouble for a sketchbook either , then , um ... t-thank you . thank you to you both ... ! '

and an enormous apology , one he doesn't dare to actually voice , though the anxiety of such a decision remains clear on his troubled expression --- easily mistaken for a polite discomfort in accepting whatsoever . the irony of his interests has never gone unrecognized , at least by his own self . a phantom thief's duty was to rob fine arts ; not laughably attempt to produce them . sebastian's words could have comforted , if only they didn't remain half ignorant .

a pity and a shame , but best kept that way --- such various lies and omissions were perpetual , outright necessity . nevertheless , daisuke keeps his curious gaze down at the butler's work in progress .

' at least i can say if making art wasn't fun , not even a little a bit , then i probably wouldn't care about it so much . besides , back at home , i made friends with a lot of really famous , incredible artists --- ' lives that were like beautiful works of art in their own right . ' they were nice enough to give even someone like me compliments and lessons , sometimes ... so maybe i just don't want to disappoint them . '

[gatorbites-imagines]

please pretty please good sir, please right an imagines of Kurt Wagner with a demon, like full on demon from like the Bible s/o, like straight up like a prince of hell kind of demon.

p.s. I love your fics sm 💐🌅

Kurt Wagner x Demon male reader

Headcanons

Did you guys know that in olden time, people thought owls and toads were linked to the devil? Was this an excuse to give the reader animal characteristics? Yes, yes it was. Fruits like strawberries and cherries were also used to symbolize different more bodily involved sins. I took a bit of inspo to how the demons look in Dictionnaire Infernal, since they’re cool and goofy.

I may still be tired and wrung out from all my classes, but the will to write lives on. How’s everyone’s week been?

No one had known you were a demon in the beginning. Everyone just kind of assumed you were another mutant. They already had one member of the x-men who had wings, so it wasn’t the wildest thought that you were like warren.

Your wings were a bit more like an eagle owl, and sure, sometimes your eyes would morph into something like a toad or even a goat, but they had seen much weirder.

You not stepping inside churches or other holy areas was mainly seen as a personal preference, since you were so casual about it. you technically could step inside the buildings, but it was too much work to be worth it for you.

Instead you’d hang out outside with the others who didn’t feel a need to step inside. And yeah, you may have carved a sigil or two into the building behind your back, so you could teleport there in the future to cause some trouble if you got bored.

Demons had no specific form, at least your father didn’t and so you didn’t. you simply morphed into the one that felt most comfortable, making most believe you had a shapeshifting mutation.

There were multiple kings of hell, but your father had always been the most powerful and most influential, so you were expected to follow in his footsteps, which was why you had kind of ran away to earth.

It was just so boring, sitting there and doing all that kingly work so your father could retire with the other ancient kings, since demons don’t die, they can simply only be ignored and rebutted.

You had never meant to help the x-men or join them, but they’d been there at the right place at the wrong time, and just happened to catch some human trying to assault you for being a “mutant”

It was only the x-men stepping in that kept you from trapping the guy in eternal damnation, but you decided why not just play along for now, see where it takes you. And before you knew it, you were an x-men, helping to “fight for the good of mutant kind” or whatever.

It wasn’t hard to make you seem like a mutant, for you to even show up when Charles was looking for mutants with his powers.

It was all good and dandy, until that furry blue bastard wormed his way into the six pitch black organs you called your hearts. Well, sometimes it was six, sometimes twenty, sometimes zero, it really depended on the day.

But it was six the day you realized Kurt had gotten into your good graces. More than that honestly, as he made you feel… flustered. How he succeeded in making a demon like yourself flustered was still a mystery to you.

You had been drawn to him in the beginning because of his whole “blue demon” thing, only for it to turn out that Kurt was religious, and would sometimes wear a cross. He even prayed at times, the action always making your skin itch.

Kurt was honestly the only one to start putting things together since he knew some about demonology, hell, your name was just a shortened version of your infernal title. Weaker demons showing up and groveling at your feet and referring to you as their prince probably didn’t help.

Luckily it had just been Kurt around at the time, but the blue imp clocked you quicker than you thought they would.

Surprisingly, Kurt didn’t hate you or fear you. To him, you were an x-men and helped save people, so you weren’t fully bad. He even went out of his way to pray somewhere else so your hands wouldn’t burn and for your wings to start burning at the edges.

Somewhere along the way, what you had morphed into more than just a friendship. You had an inkling that your father would have your hide when he realized you had bedded a mortal, and one so clearly meant for heaven when the day came.

But eternity was so long, so who could blame you for wanting to spend it with someone as kind as Kurt. Even if you knew somewhere deep inside, that you would mourn Kurt for most of that eternity when the time came.

Kurt talked you into telling the x-men your true origin. They were hurt in the beginning, and you politely stepped out of the team since you technically weren’t a mutant, and you wanted to respect that.

That didn’t stop you from hanging out at the mansion, or on Krakoa when that came around. How you got on the island? You would never tell, mainly because it drove Scott crazy that he could never figure it out.

After coming out of the hellfire closet, you felt less need to control your form to the same degree. To most you were still just a mutant, since the body you wore the most had been a mutant, so… it counted in a loophole kinda way.

Everyone got good at clocking who you were, even on days when you altered your shape completely. Kurt was obviously the best. Even on days where you had a lion head and the tail of a snake, or when you had three heads and a burning crown.

It was a little awkward when Kurt became a priest and built his own religion like thing, mainly because you just couldn’t get yourself to touch him when he wore the uniform.

It was the aura for the most part. None of the others got it, or saw it like you did, but they weren’t demons, so it made sense. But Kurt always carried an aura, and it was manageable enough on regular days. But after sermons it just got strong enough to make your tongue buzz and your feathers puff up.

Kurt got good at wiping himself off in a metaphorical way, so you guys could kiss and cuddle even on days he did sermons. And you as a demon were way too strong to truly to hurt by it, it just got a bit annoying sometimes.

All in all, you two were happy. Even if you had to chase away demons that wanted to take over earth every now and then. Your father had never given you your own domain, so you just kinda slapped your name on earth and told every other demon to square up for it.

Some did come out of the woodwork to fight, mainly just because they could. No one really wanted earth. Too much trouble, too much holy interference, and all those magicians? No way. It was just older demons wanting a good fight for the most part.

Kurt also came to really like your less human look. Maybe he was projecting, but there was something nice about having a partner that didn’t look too “human”, if he could say that without being offensive.

There were days where you looked like the average human man. But other days you were more beast than man, or even the days where you didn’t even want a blood-filled body, so you were made out of sand or water, or anything along those lines.

He did have a preference for forms where you had a tail, because it was comforting to coil your tails together. Or if the form you took had claws, since it felt so good to have your hands rubbing up and down his back and scratch through his fuzz.

There were times when Kurt forgot to take off his cross, or hide it under his shirt, so you did get small burns, even if they went away in a few seconds. You didn’t care much, but seeing Kurt apologize was always very cute.

Having a powerful demon like you on the side of the x-men also helped out a lot during fights. You stayed out of it for the most part, to “keep balance of the mortal plane” or whatever your father said.

There were times when Kurt was in mortal danger where you stepped in though, but you always contained the worst of your powers.

And staying back also meant you could focus your powers on healing those that needed it. Kurt got the most of it, of course, as you would cuddle and kiss him, your kisses transferring the healing energy instead.

It was nice. And yes, you knew one day you’d be alone again, stuck on earth after claiming it as your territory. But the present was so good, so warm and loving, that the cold empty future didn’t matter.

[adelaidedrubman]

one clown fifteen lines

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

i was tagged by dears @simplegenius042 @direwombat @gwynbleidd @sofrosine @nightbloodbix @corvosattano @voidika @quickhacked to post a lil bit of oc dialogue samples! outgoing tags below cut + like here to opt in:3

1. “Yeah, ya know, they’re actually teachin’ all kindsa folk how to read an’ write these days,” she answered his second question with a sarcastic exaggeration of the natural twangs of her accent, ignoring his first entirely. “They ain’t even makin’ you go all the way to law school for it no more.”

2. “Piss off, Earl,” she spat, elbowing him out of the way. “I mean, honest to god fuckin’ piss off, alright?”

3. “Opossums are fuckin’ marsupials, Mary May!”

4. “I would fuckin’ carve out your eyes and throw them in the lake first, so that the only thing you’d ever see of me again is my fishing hook when I came back here to catch whatever trout had the bad luck of eating you.” 

5. “Familiar enough to know that if you’re calling me a ‘Delilah’ or something that’s some misogynistic bull —”

6. “Probably do a little publicity tour, once it all makes news. A few TV specials, tell-all nightly news interviews, a true crime podcast here and there. I bet I could make a good buck writing some kinda fucking memoir or something about this shit. Everyone would eat it up, you know, out of guilt, ‘cause —” she paused, raising her pitch a bit in nasally mocking, “‘cause we should really be focusing on the victims, not making the perpetrators famous,” she chimed, followed by a dismissive wave of her hand at the thought. “But you know, they’d still all be reading it to see what I said about you of course. But no skin off my ass, as long as they buy it. Figure I could spend… two, maybe three months as America’s sweetheart, then slip back into anonymity. Live off the royalties. The occasional consulting fee, anytime someone decides to make a movie about you and your fuckin’ cult.” 

7. “Head wasn’t that good,” she replied flatly. 

8. “Yeah, pretty sure they make a pill these days for when a gal realizes she’s made that kinda mistake,” she retorted with an exaggerated batting of her eyelashes as she pulled the flask from his hand. “And if you’re the baby daddy, she really would be wising up to take it.” 

9. “Oh, I’m back, baby.” She forced the smile to fall from her face, lips and brow tensing with sudden gravity. “And I’ve rigged this whole fucking mountain with explosives set to go off any second now. This thing is gonna blow sky fuckin’ high, and you and I are going to blow up with it. ’Cause I —” she feigned a gasp, brought her wrist to her brow as she threw her head back in a pantomime of being on the verge of fainting. “I can’t deny it any longer — I’m in love with you, and I want us to fucking be together forever in the fiery abyss of death.” 

10. “Tell your big bwother to make his stump speeches even scawrier next time — I’m sure it’ll make the canon fodder he sends out harder to kill, if he gravels his voice a bit more.”

11. She snorted. “You worried I’m not playing with a full set or something?”

12. “I jest,” she hissed, knocking his hand away. “You haven’t fuckin’ gotten that by now? It was a fucking joke.” 

13. “C’mon, that the fucking best miss church camp coachella can do to scare me?”

14. “For the fuckin’ record, I’m prolonging the void of nothingness when my organs stop functioning and I cease to exist in conscious form, not eternal damnation,” she finally spat. 

15. “It’s gonna be hilarious, actually,” she replied, pushing herself off from the door frame with a parting wave. “Tell your friends!” 

tagging: @cassietrn @shallow-gravy @derelictheretic @socially-awkward-skeleton @lordundying @florbelles @henbased @belorage @8bitpizzacoupons @firstaidspray @theresaruggedroad @afarcryfrommymain @clicheantagonist @v0idbuggy @orionlancasterr @strafethesesinners @deputyash @confidentandgood @strangefable @stacispratt @miyabilicious @omen-speaker @nowandthane @hctknives @wrathfulrook @fourlittleseedlings @galaxycunt @josephslittledeputy @just-another-wasteland-merc @voidika @captastra @blissfulalchemist @shellibisshe @thedeadthree and anyone who would like to share!

[my-meadowlark]

Fic: Proverbs 4:23 [Glee - Quinn/Rachel]

Title: Proverbs 4:23 Fandom: Glee Characters/Pairing: Quinn/Rachel, with mentions of all or most of their canon ships. Rating: T Word Count: 5877 Summary:

Lucy Fabray is thirteen years old when her Sunday school teacher holds up a single red rose for all the students to see.  “This,” she says, cheerful in a way Lucy has learned to associate with lessons that end in talks of hellfire and eternal damnation, “is your heart.”   Quinn's life between Lucy and the night Rachel wins her Tony award, from her point of view. A series of unfortunate events, if you will.

Written for the prompt 002: Heartbreak from my femslash100100 Zeros table. Available on AO3 or under the cut.

Proverbs 4:23

Lucy Fabray is thirteen years old when her Sunday school teacher holds up a single red rose for all the students to see.

“This,” she says, cheerful in a way Lucy has learned to associate with lessons that end in talks of hellfire and eternal damnation, “is your heart.”

The teacher smells the rose, puts on a big production about how lovely it is. Just like their hearts. Is Lucy’s heart lovely? She doesn’t see why it wouldn’t be. Her mother always says it’s a shame she won’t lose weight so her inner beauty can shine through.

“Here,” the teacher continues, handing the rose to a girl in the front row, “smell it. Feel how soft the petals are. Beautiful, isn’t it? Pass it on so your friends can feel it, too.”

By the time it reaches Lucy, the rose is a little bit droopy. It’s missing a few petals and some of the ones it still has look like they’re barely holding on after being rubbed by half the class.

“Would you like to receive that rose?”

The teacher is looking at her, and Lucy nearly sighs because she knows by now what feels like the right answer is never the right answer in Sunday school. She doesn’t even know what they’re supposed to learn from this. Is it gratefulness? Then yes, she would like to receive the rose. Humility? Keeping sweet? All signs point to “yes” being the right answer.

“Yes?”

“No!”

The only reason Lucy doesn’t roll her eyes is the last time she did it she was grounded for two whole weeks. No, then. Fine. No.

“No, ma’am.”

“Exactly,” the teacher emphasizes, like they’re all supposed to ignore the fact that she told Lucy what to say, “you wouldn’t. And that — that’s what your heart looks like after letting a bunch of people play with it.”

Lucy looks down at the sad little rose. She’s sure there’s a lesson here somewhere but she’s not really seeing it right now.

“Purity! It’s the only way to protect your hearts.”

Ah. Lucy feels herself relax on her chair. Okay. This is about purity. About not letting boys anywhere near her heart (she’s fairly sure when her teacher and her mother say “heart” they actually mean boobs, not that she has any just yet). These are Lucy’s favorite lessons. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her to stay far, far away from boys. She doesn’t want them anywhere near her.

“Lucy, can you tell us what’s Proverbs 4:23?”

The only thing Lucy is naturally better at than keeping boys away is memorizing Bible verses.

”Above all else, guard your heart.”

***

1 Corinthians 10:13

Quinn Fabray is fifteen years old when she decides purity is, actually, her least favorite topic in Bible study (Sunday school is for children).

It happens little by little. At first she doesn’t even realize she’s falling behind. In fact, she thinks she’s the best at it. Most of the other girls at Bible study have boyfriends already. They talk constantly about crushes and boyfriends and saving themselves for marriage and how much they struggle to keep their purity promises.

Quinn feels like an example to them all. Look at her. Look at Quinn Fabray. She’s thin and pretty and she never thinks about boys at all. She doesn’t struggle with purity, ever. She’d sooner eat vegan bacon again (gross) than touch a boy. She’s perfect, isn’t she?

You’d think so.

The first thing she notices is a change in tone when they ask her if she likes someone. It’s subtle, but it makes some kind of defense mechanism within her ring the alarm bells.

“You still haven’t found a boy you like, Quinn?”

There’s no admiration in the girl’s voice. No envy. This girl doesn’t wish she was just like Quinn Fabray, and that’s— Quinn is doing something wrong, and whatever it is needs to be fixed before everything else that makes her Quinn comes tumbling down and all that’s left is Lucy again.

“Frannie?” Her sister was born perfect. No surgery or eating disorder needed. Surely if anyone is going to be able to help, Frannie is the person to call. Even if she lives in a whole different state. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m listening. Do not lick your sister’s foot.” Quinn can hear her niece screeching in the background. “Luc— Quinn, it’s not about avoiding boys. You’re not supposed to avoid them.”

“I’m… not?”

“No. No, you— Okay, this is your warning. I will superglue you to the naughty step.” There’s a deep sigh, and (not for the first time) Quinn wonders if Frannie’s perfect life makes her as blissfully happy as everyone says she is. “You’re supposed to want to be with boys. You know?”

There’s something in Frannie’s wording that makes Quinn feel like whole paragraphs will appeaar in the empty space between the words if she points one of those CSI purple lights at them.

“Quinn. Are you listening?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“You’re just— you’re a late bloomer, okay? I was, too.”

“I… am?”

“Yes. But people will start talking if you keep avoiding boys so you need to find a nice boy you don’t hate and just… you know. Go to a movie or something.”

There’s so much she needs to ask. People will talk about what, exactly? Isn’t she supposed to keep the rose hidden away? Why can’t she just keep going to movies with her friends? Why does this whole conversation feel like it’s in a secret language and she’s lost her decoder ring?

“But Frannie, I don’t get it, what are they going to talk—“

“Sorry. Sorry, Quinn, I’m— listen, Tobias just got home. I have to go. Just play along, all right? Fake it ‘till you make it.”

“Fake wh—“

Quinn stares at the phone for a few seconds after her sister hangs up. She doesn’t think she’s been this confused in her life.

Two weeks later, a girl at Bible study asks her again if she has a boyfriend, and when Quinn says no she mutters “that’s a bit weird” under her breath. For a split second, Quinn thinks she used a different word. A Q word that’s not Quinn and means something like weird but in an entirely different way.

Her mouth goes dry. Of all the sins she’s heard discussed at the dinner table — and there have been many — that one is by far the worst. Jesus saved prostitutes, but he didn’t save any of them.

She has her first date with Finn Hudson two days after that.

He’s nice and Quinn doesn’t hate him and he’s the quarterback so he’ll earn her a few more votes to be prom queen like she’s supposed to be. He takes up too much space and his hand feels uncomfortably large in Quinn’s and his voice is all wrong when he says the right things. But he’s nice and she doesn’t hate him.

By their first month anniversary, Quinn feels like she’s finally starting to understand the unspoken rules of this whole thing. She notices the subtle looks and comments that mean not letting Finn kiss her has crossed the line from suitably pure to weird, and she gives him a good luck kiss before his game. She joins the Celibacy Club for extra ideas on things she’s supposed to struggle with for Bible study. She even uses the time they spend making out (that’s one of the struggles that gives you extra points for stopping) to revise for her exams in her head, so at least it’s not time wasted.

“Stop. Finn!” Quinn pushes him away, wills herself not to shudder at the feeling of his rough, large hand on her thigh. He’s so nice, but he’s wrong, wrong, wrong, and Quinn sits up on the bed and smooths the skirt of her cheerios uniform over her thigh like she’s hoping the familiar feeling of the fabric will erase the other one. “Stop. Remember— remember 1 Corinthians 10:13.”

He stares at her, obviously confused.

Quinn sighs. “He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.” There’s more to it, but that’s the important bit right now. Finn is nice and Quinn is perfect and she will make sure he is not tempted beyond what he can bear. “Okay?”

Finn nods.

“Okay.” Quinn taps his hand in a way she hopes comes off as affectionate and offers him a tight smile. “Go. I have to shower before Bible study.”

They’ve been dating for almost four months when Rachel Berry barges into her carefully curated life like an unnervingly tiny bull in the proverbial china shop. Finn wants to join Glee club, which makes no sense from a prom king point of view. And he’s been getting close to Rachel Berry, if Santana is to be trusted. Which she… kind of is, most of the time.

And Quinn can’t lose Finn. Finn is nice and she doesn’t hate him, and he always stops when she tells him to, and she’s almost completely used to the smell of his aftershave so she doesn’t feel like taking a shower every time they make out anymore. She can’t start all over again with another boy. She just can’t.

So she confronts this Rachel Berry, as is her right and her duty. And here’s where the trouble starts: she gets it.

She gets it. She gets why Finn would like her. It’s the big brown eyes, she thinks. With long dark eyelashes that don’t even look fake. The soft-looking skin. The slight hint of floral in her perfume. The ridiculous outfits — those ugly soft sweaters and patterned skirts and knee-high socks and the strip of tan skin between the hem of the skirt and the elastic of the socks. The small hands, the delicate fingers, the manicured nails.

Fear has a taste, Quinn will have you know. She knows because she feels it the second she realizes she’s somehow discovered the decoder ring that reveals the true meaning of Frannie’s advice. She tastes fear the very second she stares down Rachel Berry and feels like she’d act just like Finn if she was in his shoes.

That evening at Bible study, she gets to choose the verse to reflect upon. 1 Corinthians 10:13.

“He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.” Quinn reads out loud from the highlighted paragraph in her study Bible, and for the first time since she was a chubby little girl praying for a pony at Christmas, she actually hopes there’s someone up there listening and willing to help.

“But when you are tempted,” she continues, “he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

When Noah Puckerman offers her the fourth wine cooler of the night at the party, she takes it as a sign. This, Jesus can forgive.

***

Proverbs 23:22

Quinn Fabray is still fifteen years old when she realizes she’s been lied to.

Forgiveness is a lie. Hate the sin, love the sinner? A lie. Unconditional love is a lie. It’s all lies. All lies, and she doesn’t have a home anymore.

She lies in Finn’s bed at night and stares at the ceiling and forces herself not to focus on how his light snoring sets her teeth on edge. She doesn’t have a home and she doesn’t have her parents and she figures Bible study and the Celibacy Club are out of the question, too.

She has a baby she can’t keep. She has Finn, who’s nice and in love with Rachel Berry and that makes her jealous in all the wrong ways. She has Puck, who’s more a problem than an asset but at least he’s a boy.

She has her father’s loud, thundering words etched in her brain.

”Honor thy father! Exodus 20:12, honor thy father!”

Her mother’s silence felt just as loud.

And then the kitchen timer ticking down the seconds she had to grab the essentials and leave her father’s home (it was never really hers, was it?) forever, and her mother’s hurried kiss wet with salty tears and her hushed words as she closed the door behind Quinn.

”Proverbs 23:22”

Quinn closes her eyes even if she knows she’s not going to be able to sleep. She can feel her baby kick sometimes, like popcorn. This isn’t the baby’s fault. Poor baby, she figures, being born into this mess.

Proverbs 23:22. Listen to your father who begot you. Quinn wishes she could stop listening to her father in her head. Calling her a whore, telling her she’s condemned. Ruined beyond repair.

A few months later she’s holding her baby girl, ugly and perfect in that way only a newborn can be. Wet with Quinn’s blood and all kinds of gunk (they really should make a bigger effort with the sex ed curriculum at McKinley), her little face too swollen for her eyes to fully open to look at Quinn.

She doesn’t even identify the feeling as love at first. It’s like an uncontrollable wave. Something beyond comprehension. She’d die for every wrinkle on her daughter’s brand new hands. She’d jump into traffic to save every single sticky hair on her little head. She’d kill with her bare hands anyone who tried to keep her from breathing in the smell of pain and life on her skin.

Beth is perfect. She’s perfect and Quinn can’t hate herself because she made her. She made this perfect little baby girl and her father was wrong. She’s not ruined. Just a little broken, but not beyond repair. Her mother was wrong. She doesn’t need to listen to him.

When Shelby comes to pick Beth up a few hours later, Quinn asks for a moment to say goodbye. She apologizes to her daughter and assures her Shelby will be a wonderful mom. And when she kisses her warm little forehead and smells her hair for the very last time, she suddenly remembers the second half of her mother’s verse.

“Listen to your father who begot you, and do not despise your mother when she is old.”

Quinn cries for both her mother and her daughter, and whispers that last part in Beth’s left ear before she hands her over to the woman who will be her mom.

***

Song of Solomon 3:4

Quinn Fabray is sixteen years old when her best friend comes out.

And the ground doesn’t open up to swallow her whole. God doesn’t smite her, their friends don’t shun her.

There’s just a guitar and a song by Fleetwood Mac. And it’s not — and this is the important bit — the first time someone’s used a Glee Club performance as a vehicle to declare their love. Lord knows it happens far more frequently than it should. What amazes Quinn, what has her feeling unshed tears burning at the back of her eyes, is the fact that this is just that. Just another love song. Another two people in love.

Santana is in love with Brittany and that’s that. Their love isn’t worse or better than any other love that’s been paraded around this room. It’s not different. It isn’t lacking. They’re not unhappy. Their relationship isn’t a constant struggle or some deep dark secret best left hidden away.

Two girls, as it happens, can just be in love.

Later that day, when she’s holding Santana through the heartbreak of Brittany wanting to stay with Artie, Quinn thinks of that droopy little rose for the first time since Sunday school. Above all else, guard your heart.

Finn is nice, and he’s in love with Rachel. Quinn doesn’t love him and that makes him perfectly safe. His mediocrity and lack of drive makes dating him the equivalent of choosing the merry-go-round instead of a rollercoaster. Except, of course, for Rachel Berry.

Rachel Berry who seems to know she’s above them all and yet keeps tying herself to human anchor Finn Hudson. Rachel Berry with her big brown eyes that well with tears when Quinn tries to tell her — tries to make her see that she’s so much better than this stupid town and all the stupid boys in it. Rachel Berry who asks why Quinn is so mean like she’s an idiot and blind and stupid and why can’t she listen? Why can’t she understand what Quinn means when she says she’ll be Finn’s wife? Why won’t she look at her and understand? Why can’t she see?

God, she hopes nobody can see.

Quinn feels like she’s on a treadmill that’s just a little faster than she can run. Finn and Sam and Finn again and Rachel freaking Berry and Santana resurrecting Lucy Caboosey like a nightmare from hell that’s somehow less terrifying than this ever-growing feeling in her chest that flares up every time she sees Rachel.

People talking about the future and Quinn picturing her own face in one of those real estate posters on the back of a bench at the park and feeling like she used to when she had morning sickness.

A t-shirt that says LIKES GIRLS in big bold black letters which she hides in the darkest corner of her closet so she can wear Lucy instead.

Her mom wanting her back.

Junior prom and a dress that’s perfect just like her face and her date except he’s wrong. He’s all wrong. And Rachel Berry who just— she can’t— she won’t listen to her, really listen, and the look in her eyes when Quinn slaps her because she can’t take it anymore.

Finn calling her the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his life because he’s a dumb boy who doesn’t realize how stupidly, unbearably lucky he is for the way those big brown eyes look at him. Finn calling her the right thing but it sounding wrong, and then Rachel calling her the prettiest girl she’s ever seen and it feeling just right.

Just right.

She’s not prom queen and her mom holds her like she hasn’t since she was a little girl and tells her she loves her anyway. Judy tucks her in and kisses her temple and tells her she’ll be crowned next year. Senior prom is the real one, anyway. She soothes Quinn’s sobs even if she has no idea what they’re for, and when she reads from Quinn’s old book of Bible verses for children, the only one Quinn can think of is Song of Solomon 3:4.

I found the one my heart loves.

***

1 Corinthians 16:14

Quinn Fabray is eighteen years old when Rachel Berry gets engaged.

Not to her.

Obviously.

She wants to shake her. She wants to ask if one slap wasn’t enough. She wants to murder Finn Hudson just so he’ll set Rachel free.

God.

She has Ryan Seacrest’s face tattooed on the small of her back and her hair was pink for five minutes and she tried to steal back her daughter in what she’ll call a momentary loss of sanity but even she knows this is a mistake. She can’t marry him. Rachel can’t marry him.

And the worst part, what keeps Quinn up at night, is that if Finn loved her like he says he does — like Quinn knows she does — he wouldn’t have asked. He’d step aside and let her be the star she is. Can’t he see? Can’t he see Rachel was born to do amazing things? Can’t he see she’s so much bigger than anything he can offer her?

Can’t Rachel see?

Sometimes in the middle of the night she convinces herself Rachel is just as scared as she is. Just as terrified of saying things out loud. Does Rachel wonder why Quinn can’t understand what she really means, too?

Just in case, she decides to ask.

“Were you singing to Finn and only Finn?”

Rachel says yes.

And yet.

Quinn keeps running through the scene in her mind. The look in Rachel’s eyes, the way her hands moved, the tone of her voice. She doesn’t want to go to the wedding, but she decides to go anyway just in case. Maybe Rachel will stop halfway through. Maybe she’ll look at her with those eyes when they ask if anyone knows of a reason why they shouldn’t get married and Quinn will stop this tragedy of a wedding in its tracks.

Maybe she should forget about it. Take Rachel’s answer at face value, admit she lost, and let it go. Maybe she’s the last person in Rachel’s mind on the day she’s going to marry Finn.

Except.

There’s a text. Rachel is thinking about her — wants her to be there — and Quinn, of course, of course, of course is on her way.

When she wakes up in a hospital bed, she can’t move her legs and Rachel is not Finn’s wife.

She should probably take it as a sign. Being hit by a truck while on her way to (maybe) stop someone’s wedding is a pretty clear sign she’s not exactly following God’s plan.

And she does take it as a sign. At first.

There’s Joe and Artie who are even safer than Finn. Yale which will take her far, far away from Rachel and on to a completely different life. Senior year keeping her too busy to focus too much on anything else. There’s physical therapy and her mother’s hyper focus on prom going on overdrive because this is the real one. The big one. The very peak of Quinn’s high school career (the department of admissions at Yale would beg to differ, but Judy Fabray follows her own agenda). Finn again, because he’s always been prom king material and Quinn has a dream to make true.

And then, once again, there’s Rachel.

“Do you not understand what you mean to me?”

The words are right. Quinn is sure Rachel said that word for word in several of her wildest dreams, right before kissing her. But — and here’s the heartbreaking part — the thing is, Quinn does understand. Right there, at that very second, she understands. She understands exactly what she means to Rachel, and she understands it’s simply not the same thing Rachel means to Quinn.

Love works like that, sometimes. It doesn’t always go both ways.

So Quinn lets Rachel go. But first, she gives her her crown. She makes her prom queen. She gives Rachel her dream. And as she watches her dance with someone else, another one of those perfectly memorized verses comes to mind.

Let all that you do be done in love.

***

Psalm 139:14

Quinn Fabray is nineteen years old when she sleeps with another woman for the first time.

It’s Santana, who is her best friend and in love with Brittany, which makes it all feel just short of real and takes the edge off the knowledge that she’s actually going to sleep with a girl.

They dance first, and Quinn doesn’t love Santana — not in that way — but it feels right. Her cheek is soft when it brushes against Quinn’s. She smells like perfume and her hand fits perfectly in Quinn’s.

She likes the way Santana’s breast fits against her palm, the way she kisses her, the sounds she makes. After a split second of trepidation, she discovers she likes the way Santana tastes, too. The way she feels around her fingers. The way she says Quinn’s name when she comes.

There’s a part of Quinn that knows what it all means. She knows how she feels and what she needs to do to be happy, but she can’t. She sees it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. She sees Santana and Brittany and Kurt and Blaine and she understands it’s not that big a deal these days, but she can’t do it.

She can’t.

And so, there’s Biff. Biff who is not nice and she sometimes hates him but he’s not in love with Rachel Berry like Finn was, and he will give her the adult equivalent of a prom queen crown. She’ll get an obscenely large engagement ring and summers in the Hamptons and her children will be called Miffy and Archibald, probably, and won’t her mother be proud?

Won’t everyone envy her?

She’ll be perfect again, like she was a lifetime ago for a brief few months when she was the head cheerleader dating the quarterback and she couldn’t put a face to the name Rachel Berry.

She’ll be Mrs. McIntosh and Quinn McIntosh and she won’t even share Lucy’s last name anymore. And just like she changed when she became Quinn, she can change when she becomes Mrs. McIntosh. She can be someone who never got pregnant in high school. Someone who never had to give her newborn daughter to another woman. Someone who never fell in love with the same girl her boyfriend loved.

And then it all comes tumbling down once again, right there in Lima (where else?) when Biff finds out and looks at her with the exact amount of disgust she deserves and Quinn realizes she’ll never, ever be perfect again. Maybe she never was.

Except for one single beautiful perfect moment when it was just Quinn and Beth in the world. Beth who was absolutely perfect and made Quinn perfect just by virtue of having brought her into this world.

So when Puck asks her for another chance, Quinn forces herself to focus on that. Beth was half Puck and she was the best thing Quinn has ever done. Sometimes, she tells herself, people simply don’t get to be with their soulmate. Sometimes people just get to be with someone who’s nice enough. Someone they don’t hate most of the time. Someone who reminds them of the one perfect thing in their life.

Eleven months later, after a fight outside a wedding chapel in Las Vegas and a returned engagement ring, she stands in front of the mirror in a motel bathroom and looks at herself. Her outside has been carefully built piece by piece. From Lucy to Quinn. Shiny blond hair and a perfect little nose and the proverbial curves in all the right places. It’s all very pretty. Perfect, even, if you overlook a stretch mark or two which she’s made peace with because they remind her of Beth.

She’s rebelled against all that perfectly crafted beauty before. The pink hair, the tattoo, the nose piercing. Anything to distract herself and everyone else from what was underneath.

”You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. But you’re so much more than that.”

Rachel’s words come to mind as she keeps studying herself. What else is she? She’s a very pretty girl. And what else?

It takes her a long time. Minutes pass and she holds the word on her tongue but stops herself before she can let it out.

She’s so pretty on the outside. It took so much work to be this way. Is she really going to ruin it now?

Quinn closes her eyes and thinks about Finn and Puck and Sam and Joe and Artie and her professor from Yale and Biff and Puck again. She thinks about their voices and their hands, the way they kissed her and touched her.

She thinks about big brown eyes and the most beautiful eyelashes. About Santana gasping her name. The strip of golden skin between the hem of Rachel’s ugly skirt and the elastic of her even uglier socks.

“You’re a lesbian.”

She opens her eyes and looks at her reflection in the mirror and is genuinely shocked to see she looks the same. No three sixes on her forehead. No ground opening up to swallow her whole. Nothing’s changed. She’s still herself. On the outside. And she’s herself on the inside, too.

How can that be wrong?

She remembers, vaguely, waking up after her nose job high on all kinds of drugs and barely able to focus her swollen eyes on the people around her. She remembers a blurry shape that looked like her dad and another that sounded like her mom, and a third one she couldn’t place until she heard her voice.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

It was the first and the last time she heard her sister speak to her father in that tone. Quinn had a feeling the only reason she wasn’t raising her voice was the fact that she thought Quinn was asleep.

“It’s for her own good,” her father said, “you’d do the same if your children needed something fixed.”

Frannie’s toddler son started fussing, and she picked him up and held him as comfortably as her gigantic seven-months-pregnant belly allowed.

Quinn watched her sister shake her head, and though her swollen eyes didn’t let her see her face very well, the scoff she heard told her the family eyebrow had definitely made an appearance.

When she realized her sister was walking over to her bed, Quinn closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep just so she wouldn’t be pulled into whatever they were fighting about.

“Take that lollipop out of your mouth, please. Give your aunt a kiss and go get grandma Judy.” The little boy’s lips left a sticky candy mark on Quinn’s cheek.

And then there was just Frannie.

“Oh, Lucy Quinn,” she said in a way that sounded like a sigh. Frannie kissed Quinn’s forehead and tucked a strand of still-brown hair behind her ear, “there was nothing to be fixed.”

Before she left the room, Frannie said one last thing: “Psalm 139:14, dad.”

Quinn knew it, of course. It made her cry then and it makes her cry now, for entirely different reasons.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

***Proverbs 4:23

Quinn Fabray is twenty-six years old when Rachel Berry wins a Tony.

She watches from a hotel room in London at an ungodly hour of the night (morning?) thanks to timezones, but she knows she wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway if she tried.

So she stays up and watches.

When they say Rachel’s name, she feels vindicated. She was right. She was right all those years ago, when she told Rachel she was meant to be a star and do great things far away from Lima and its stupid boys. She was right when she told her she shouldn’t get married because she had dreams to chase. She was right. She was right.

The screen doesn’t do Rachel’s eyes justice, but when she looks into the camera Quinn feels a little out of breath anyway.

Several of her wildest teenage dreams started just like this. With Rachel walking onto a stage to receive an award and Quinn watching in awe of her. And Quinn can’t look away. She knows she should. She should at the very least mute the television because she knows whose name is going to feature in Rachel’s speech, and she knows it won’t be the one in Quinn’s dreams.

Her thumb hovers over the power button on the remote, and then the mute button, and though it’s been what feels like a million years since she’s prayed or read a Bible, she finds herself remembering that one day at Sunday school when the teacher showed them a rose.

“Proverbs 4:23,” she mutters under her breath, equal parts amazed and annoyed she still remembers most of the verses she was forced to memorize. At least they come in handy at trivia nights from time to time.

Proverbs 4:23.

Quinn has broken every single rule she learned as a child. One by one, she’s managed to shatter them all. All except for one. Proverbs 4:23.

”Above all else, guard your heart.”

And she has. God, she’s guarded it so closely if it really was a rose it’d be in a glass case like the one in the Beast’s castle. Finn and Puck and Sam and the rest of them. Santana, even. All the women she’s dated since coming out. She’s never let any of them go anywhere near her heart.

So why can’t she just turn off the TV? Rachel’s already unfolding the (perfectly memorized, Quinn’s sure) speech and Quinn is sitting there like an idiot, waiting to be hurt.

What’s the point in guarding your heart if it’s going to get broken anyway?

And then it happens. Rachel says his name, and it hurts but not in the way Quinn was expecting. It’s a pang of sadness, a lot like the pain she gets in her back sometimes when her body remembers just how much it used to hurt. A phantom pain, almost.

Quinn figures it out as Rachel exits stage right. She’s carrying her Tony and Kurt and Blaine’s baby and Jesse’s ring. And Quinn’s heart. She’s had Quinn’s heart for the last eleven years. And Quinn is so happy for her. She’s where she belongs — on Broadway, making history, proving she’s always been a star. In a different life Quinn would’ve been there in the audience and in the speech.

She wonders where she would have had to change course to end up there and not here, alone in a hotel room half a world away. Maybe if she’d remained Lucy. Maybe if she’d never dated Finn. If she’d never joined Glee Club or given up Beth or been terrified of what would happen if she stopped guarding her heart.

Eventually, Quinn decides the phantom pain of a broken heart is a fair price to pay for everything else. If she was still Lucy, maybe Beth wouldn’t exist. If she’d told Rachel how she felt, maybe Rachel wouldn’t be holding her first Tony award.

With a sigh, Quinn looks at the clock and realizes she only has five hours before she’s supposed to be at her first book signing this side of the Atlantic. Matters of the heart aside, she has a good life. Her novel, where someone who sounds suspiciously like a Lucy that was allowed to exist gets the girl, has become an international sensation. She gets to travel and write and be free in a way she wasn’t even aware she’d been craving.

She likes to think she kept that promise she tried to make by the piano all those years ago. She likes to think she did send Rachel on her way. That she had at least a part in it.

Love looks like that sometimes. Like letting go.

Quinn picks up the copy of her book on her bedside table. The copy she meant to mail to Rachel but then didn’t because it felt like intruding, somehow. Like letting a piece of her into a life Rachel shares with someone else should be Rachel’s choice alone.

In all her book signings and talks so far, there’s one question she always gets asked: What’s her favorite part of the story?

And she always answers the same way: the third page.

She flips to it now, with the sounds of Rachel’s perfect night still coming from the TV, and the sight of the words makes her smile. The real love story begins and ends on the third page.

To Lucy, and Beth, and her. ★

Title: Proverbs 4:23 Fandom: Glee Characters/Pairing: Quinn/Rachel Rating: T Word Count: 5877 Summary:

Lucy Fabray is thirteen years old when her Sunday school teacher holds up a single red rose for all the students to see.  “This,” she says, cheerful in a way Lucy has learned to associate with lessons that end in talks of hellfire and eternal damnation, “is your heart.”   Quinn's life between Lucy and the night Rachel wins her Tony award, from her point of view. A series of unfortunate events, if you will.

Written for the prompt 001: Awakening from my femslash100100 Zeros table. Available on AO3 or under the cut.

[tricksytrinity]

Thank you so much for the link! It was such an interesting read, it made me think even more about the possibilities. So much so that I wanted to respond to the points you made. My brain is kind of just throwing stuff at me, so please excuse my ramble.

That would mean that Crowley said I forgive you to Aziraphale: He didn't say "I forgive you" at first. He stuttered and started to say something else. They would obviously have to be playing their roles carefully here, and they'd know that. The Metatron is involved now, possibly God as well, they have to sell it perfectly. Parting hurts, maybe he's trying to say so in any way he can without being obvious.

Aziraphale said don't bother: He knows the Metatron wouldn't be listening to him. The Metatron is focused on Aziraphale and whatever plans he has for him (aside from getting them apart, 25 Lazerii miracles, and whatnot). Crowley trying to play "holy" and "sinless" as Aziraphale just hits wrong because, as we and likely also the Metatron have seen, Aziraphale is as human as an Angel can get. Unholy, sins and all. Crowley was the one who dithered afterwards & almost backtracked on Metatron: He's leaving Aziraphale alone amongst Demons. His whole existence on earth he's known right where Azirahale is, he's popped up to rescue him every time. But, now he's leaving him undefended and wearing a face that a lot of Demons (and people) know and loathe. I'd second-guess myself too if I were in his shoes. There was also no reason for Crowley (as Aziraphale) to look surprised when Metatron told him they needed him for the second coming: I feel anyone would look surprised or shocked by the idea of the second coming of Jesus. The second coming would be a horrible thing, don't you think? "When the Savior comes again, He will come in power and glory to claim the earth as His kingdom. His Second Coming will mark the beginning of the Millennium. The Second Coming will be a fearful, mournful time for the wicked, but it will be a day of peace for the righteous." Heaven believes itself to be "righteous" regardless of the horrible acts they've committed against not only humanity but also Demons and even each other. Heaven as a group tends to twist truths to their own benefit while flat-out ignoring their own most heinous acts. But, I doubt they'll be held accountable as we certainly shall be. Jesus is going to take the Earth as his own kingdom. Sounds an awful lot like all those who followed his teachings will be forced into fealty. Say bye-bye to free will. Indulged the slightest bit of even the mildest of sins? Well, hope you enjoy eternal damnation in a lake of fire. "God will crush this uprising in the last battle of the ages and Satan will be thrown into the lake of fire. All those who rejected the Word of God will be resurrected. They will be judged by Christ and cast into the lake of fire, the place where they will suffer final and everlasting punishment" "At this Second Coming, the Antichrist will be cast into the Lake of Fire and Satan will be bound for a thousand years." This means that even poor Adam will be... yeah, no... not cool. I don't want to think of that.

Sorry, went on a tangent. Just cooking theories, spinning plates.

Am I the only one who thinks they might have switched places again? That smile in the elevator makes me wonder, honestly. And Crowley driving away carefully? Unlike him. They got away with it once before, why not again? Although, I don't see how or when they could have, but maybe it's possible? I don't know, it's probably just a silly thought.

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here!

A/N: If I had to give this part a title, I would title it “(Y/N) and their human friends” Also I lied. This part was too long so it might be another part (or two) before we get to the Bella Arc.

* “You know you would be pretty good looking without the glasses.” Lauren says twirling a strand of hair and ignoring the algebra worksheet in front of her.

* Yeah that’s kind of the whole point

* “Contacts kind of freak me out.”

* You’re expecting a snarky response but instead she nods.

* “It’s the whole sticking your finger in your eye thing right, I totally get that.” She’s watching you with such inquisitive eyes, it almost you uncomfortable.

* It’s been a few months since you started school, you’re almost at thanksgiving break. So far you feel like you’ve assimilated well, and you have a good balance between school and caring for your animals, but it’s situations like this that totally throw you off.

* “Hey (Y/N/N), what did you get for number 5?” Jessica asks, you’re thankful for the distraction.

* “I got X = 8” Jessica confirms she got that too, and moves onto the next one

* You three are in the worlds most unlikely group. You didn’t even know Lauren was in this class you usually just pair up with Jessica.

* “Hey, me and a some people from the volleyball team are going to Port Angeles, you should come with, we could give you a makeover.”

*You wonder what the other angle here is

* It didn’t take long for you to realise that somehow, even with the ugly-duckling routine, the Cullen’s were at the top of the social hierarchy.

* Part of their popularity was probably because they didn’t really seem to interact with anyone outside of their own social circle. Which just made them all the more desirable.

* “I don’t know Lauren, I would have to ask Esme if it’s okay.” Though you can already bet Rosalie isn’t going to like this.

* “Oh cool, just let me know!” Lauren smiles, it turns out the act of considering her invitation was enough to placate her.

* For once you’re actually glad Edward’s waiting for you outside of your class when the bell rings.

* “Edward read that girls mind.”

* “It’s always straight to business isn’t it. No, ‘hi Edward how’s it going?’ Or ‘How was your class, how has your morning been treating you?’ It wouldn’t hurt you to make some small talk” You give him a look, and he returns it with an expectant expression. You sigh.

* “Hi, Edward how was your class?” You plaster on a smile, and he returns with a smile of his own.

* “It was fine. A little repetitive, we’re reading “to kill a mocking bird” in English.” You nod, offering a consoling pat on the shoulder

* “That sounds super boring,” the books great and all, but you’re guessing he’s already read it like 30 times by now. “Hey Edward,”

* “Yes (Y/N),” He nods, hiding his grin behind his hand.

* “Would you mind doing me a favor?”

* “Of course, anything for you.” He grins openly now.

* “Would you mind telling me what that girl Lauren Mallory is thinking so I can know why she invited me,” and not Jessica her good friend. “to hang out?”

* Edward loses his smile.

* “The varsity members on the volleyball team suggested it, they think it’s a shame they couldn’t have got you on the team since you just moved here.”

* Unexpected but not the worst. You’ve really been half assing it in PE so you’re surprised they even want you.

* “Lauren-she thinks you could be-“ a lopsided smirk twitches onto his face. “in her words- ‘two super good looking best friends’ “

*oh. So she just wants a pretty b*tch squad?

* “Maybe I’ll go with them then” you were scared they were going to force you to show them the Cullen’s house and introduce you to everyone, or leave you stranded in port A as some kind of prank or something.

* Edward stops you

*“you can’t be serious” he has his eyebrows scrunched together

* “Why not?” Nothing more natural to fitting in then hanging out with your classmates. Unless- “if you’re worried about any accidents don’t, I know they all look healthy but they eat a lot of carbs. Way too starchy for my palette.”

* “It’s not that-“ he gets that brooding-existence is suffering look. “You shouldn’t trust humans too much, they’ll let you down.”

* Well what’s that supposed to mean, but before you can ask he’s already walking to his class.

* Well whatever, at least Emmett will tell you a good joke to take your mind off of Mr. Eternal Damnations ominous words.

* Too bad when you get inside he’s not here, instead Mike Newton perks up when you walk into the room.

* “Hey Eleazar, how’s it going?” You still have a hard time adjusting to use Eleazar’s name as your own. Apparently they came from a time when last names were only for nobles, so he offered you his first name instead.

* “Hey Newton, any plans for this weekend?” You take Edward’s advice and start with small talk. Mike Newton smiles, you guess he’s kinda cute, all soft cheeks and baby blue eyes

* “No I’m completely free!” Weird how he’s so enthusiastic about being alone, he must be one of those “relish time alone” types. Good for him.

* “Everyone needs some time alone sometimes.” He deflates, oh man you guess that’s the wrong thing to say.

* He looks like he wants to say something to you, but then Emmett sits beside you.

* “Can I have a swig from your water bottle?” You hand it over

* “Making out with Rosalie make you thirsty?” Emmett cracks a grin

* “It’s that whole bookworm-soccer mom get up, it gets to me yknow?” That’s actually pretty funny

* “So what she’s the Velma to your Freddy?” When the reference doesn’t sink in you rephrase “the nerd to your jock.” He grins again.

* “I think I might join the swim team just so I can see her wear my letterman” that’s actually pretty cute

* “You should do that, I’ll cheer you on at your swim meets” Emmett grins.

*”I’ll hold you to that”

* School life goes on like it always has.

* Weeks pass, marked by tests, homework assignments and projects.

* You actually kind of become friends with Angela, Lauren, Jessica, Connor and Mike.

* “So like, are you and Cullen close?” Mike asks. You and the group are over at Tyler’s house using his fire pit to roast marshmallows. The others are invested in another conversation but you can tell by Lauren’s subtle head tilt that she’s eavesdropping.

* “Which one?” Mike gets flustered at that

* “The one in our grade.”

* “Hmm, well I’d say Alice and I are kinda close, but-“

* “N-no not her,” he clears his throat. “The other one-Edward”

* “Oh, Edward’s my best friend.” The answer slips out automatically.

* “I-Is that why you’re staying with the Cullen’s?” Jessica asks. Everyone’s blatantly listening now, the only one who seems uncomfortable is Angela.

* You sigh. You know everyone at school is probably wondering about the weird relationship. Jessica’s just the only one brave enough to ask you.

* “I mean, it might be.” You’re sure, Edward’s friendship with you is the reason everyone was so quick to accept the living arrangement. “But I actually met Car-I mean Dr. Cullen before I met the others.”

* “How does that work?” It’s Connor who pipes in this time.

* “Well-“ you sigh you really don’t want to do this but at least your sob story will make you seem less suspicious. “So Eleazer and Carmen, they’re my parents, but they’re not my birth parents.”

* You tell them how your parents passed away in an accident many years ago, and how Carlisle had been your Doctor at the time while you recovered. He worked with you for a long time, and you’re pretty sure he wanted to adopt you, but the agency liked Carmen and Eleazer better, probably because Carlisle already had so many adopted kids.

* “Still, Carlisle stayed in my life as my doctor and a family friend. Then I met Edward and the rest of the Cullen’s and... the rest is history...I guess.” You’ve found it’s best to mix a little bit of truth into the lie, though really all of that was mostly what happened.

* Everyone looks testy eyed, Angela is holding back tears, and Lauren hastily wipes her away so no one can see. You wonder if maybe your powers leaked out a bit while you were telling your story.

* “Dude... you’re so strong.” Tyler claps a hand on your shoulder and pulls you into a hug.

* “Ah, it all happened a long time ago, I’m mostly over it now” You tell them all about your Coven in Denali, and how you have two families now, how you don’t regret anything. Well, the only thing you regret, is not staying human, but you can’t mention that so you fake a smile instead.

* Connor breaks out a bottle of vodka he stole from his mom, and pours a shot for everyone

* “To (Y/N)” everyone raises their glass, and not for the first time you feel the urge to cry but no tears escape you.

* You’re a lot closer to everyone after that. You even start sitting at their lunch table every so often.

* In fact the others follow your lead and assimilate with their classmates with ease. Rosalie joins the school book club, and very loudly debates Jane Austen’s to whoever will listen.

* Emmett follows through and joins the swim team. Jasper starts hanging out with some wood shop kids, you’ve caught him arguing about the superior wood in between classes with his new friends. Even Alice joins the art club.

* You try out for the dance/cheer team, it’s the only thing you don’t have to hold back in. Also you’re a great base, you could hold everyone on the team up single handedly during stunts. But you won’t know if you made it until summer vacation

* Everyone seems to be assimilating well, everyone except for Edward

* “You can’t expect me to trust these people (Y/N), not when I know everything they’re really thinking.” You roll your eyes

* “I’m not saying you have to be their best friend Eddie, I’m just saying it looks super suspicious that all the Cullen’s only hang out with each other and refuse to get to know anyone else.” You shove a text book into his chest, and he scoffs

* “It wouldn’t hurt to make some small talk.”

* And so Edward joins your group of human friends, much to the joy of your female companions and dismay of your male ones.

* Life is still strange. But it’s good.

* When you’re surrounded by your new friends, it makes you feel - almost like you’re human again

* And then everything falls apart.

* It’s almost summer vacation. You’re excited, maybe you can go to the beach again soon, and you wonder if it will be alright to take a trip to Denali to see your Coven. You’re pretty confident you made the spirit squad so you’ll have to pencil in camp somewhere. You held back, but just enough by your own parameters to make the bottom end of Varsity.

* You’re at your locker, when Rosalie, and Edward show up. Quickly followed by Emmett, Jasper and Alice.

* “Oh hey guys, you wanna go on a hike tomorrow it’s supposed-“

* “You have to leave.” You’re surprised when it’s Emmett that says this. Kind, jovial Emmett holds a grave expression.

* “What, why-“ for a second you wonder if the Volturi has finally come to get you. It’s been at least seven years since your transformation, it’s about time they started thinking about you.

* But then you notice everyone staring, the quiet buzz of phones vibrating only detected by your super hearing. People are always staring, especially when you’re all together. but this time you notice they’re not staring at the six super models gathered in front of the lockers.

* They’re staring at you.

* “There’s a video of you going around,” Jasper says, and Rosalie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

* He hands you his blackberry, and the grainy image of you come into focus.

* It’s a YouTube video

* You’re in the locker room, your (Your Color Skin) in full view under the fluorescent lights. You’re wearing your underwear, and your abs are on full display. You’re Grey PE uniform shirt is limp in your hands, you remember this, you got extra laps as a penalty and as a result, you were running late for class, you were alone in the locker room

*well you thought you were alone.

* Your body is literally perfect, the way you’ve always dreamed, but you feel white hot shame rise in your throat like acid.

* Your hands shake as you scroll down to see the comments

* ‘Damn who knew they had a body like that under those dorky sweaters��

* ‘(Y/N) Eleazar: Best body Forks HS 10/10 would f*ck’

* ‘Hot body, if only they ditched the glasses, and started wearing some tighter shirts’

* And the comments go on, there’s at least a hundred. You hold your cardigan a little closer to your body. You don’t have the courage to turn around. You can already imagine them staring at you, picturing what they saw in the video transposed onto your body

* “I’m sorry, I didn’t see this coming until it was already happening-“ Alice touches your shoulder and continues her apology but you don’t hear anything.

* You want to cry, you want to be angry. But all you feel is shame. And the worst part is, you didn’t even do anything wrong. So why do you feel so ashamed?

* “Hey, look at me.” Edward grabs your face in his hands, your amber eyes meet his.

*”Snap out of it.”

* Oh, your powers are leaking through.

*Your gaze turns to your foster family, all of whom sport equally uncomfortable expressions.

* You take a deep breath, and imagine reeling in your emotions, imagining them receding back into a locked box, just like Eleazer taught you.

* You need a calm mind right now.

* “Are you fine now?” Edward asks, his hands still on your face. You nod, resting your hand on top of his

* “I’m good.”

* “Good, because we have to get you out of here.” He’s moved his hand to your arm, about to tug you back home when you pull back and shake your head.

* “We can’t do that.”

* “What do you mean?” Rosalie hisses, her hand curls around your wrist “we have to leave NOW.”

* “No think about it, they’re right.” Jasper says, his eyes meeting yours. At least someone’s on the same oage

* “Think about it Rose, if I leave now with all of you it’s going to look weird.” Normal 15-17 year olds wouldn’t think to handle the situation on their own, especially not entitled rich kids like the Cullen’s.

*She seems to have gotten it because her hand retreats to her side.

* “Well what should we do then, I’m not letting you walk around here with everyone-“ she cuts herself off, a deep frown creasing onto her face as her teeth dig into her bottoms lip.

* “We need to call Carlisle or Esme, they’ll pretend they saw the video from someone else and file a complaint with the school.” You take a deep breath, and imagine the locked box in your mind. Your emotions held carefully within.

* “Until then we all need to pretend like it’s not a big deal.”

* “No way in hell am I doing that!” Emmett growls. “I’m going to rip that fucking peeping Tom piece by piece.”

* “Not all of us need to pretend,” Alice says, her gaze somewhere far away, flicking between futures. “Only Edward, Rosalie and I do.” Her gaze lands on you.

* “You need to go to your class like normal,” a hint of a smile curls onto her mouth. “Everything’s going to work out fine.” Edward’s focusing on Alice, reliving her vision.

* “Do you think you can manage being alone?” Edward asks, you don’t have the next class with any of the Cullen’s. You’ll be on your own.

* You catch Jasper and Alice whispering to each other, but pay it no mind. Flirting even in the middle of your entire world crumbling down.

* You take a deep breath, picturing the locked box over and over, making it a visual mantra.

* “I can get through a period.” Everyone disperses, and Jasper walks you to your next class. Edward wanted to, but Jasper insisted.

*”You’re always hogging them, give someone else a few minutes Edward.”

* You’re almost near your class when Jasper talks to you.

* “Hey, I don’t know if I should tell you this”

*You wonder if he’s going to offer to beat up the person who took the video, or if he’s going to offer you a comforting word.

* “Alice told me you’re going to raise some hell on a misogynist in there” he gives you a wicked grin, his incisors sparkling.

* How is it that every vampire seems to say what you least expect to hear and yet, it’s exactly what you need in the moment.

* He holds out his fist, and you bump it with your own. A grin curling onto your face.

* “Hell yeah I am.”

* You take your usual seat in Spanish like normal. You sit in the front row in this class, diagonally from Jessica. Mike and Angela sit somewhere in the back.

* You just need to focus and keep your emotions in check for 45 minutes. You visualize the box, calming yourself separating the mind and body.

* How did the saying go... a calm soul resides in a calm body?

* “-Zar, Miss. Eleazar!” Your eyes pop up to the teacher, the locked box falling out of grasp.

* “Yes, sorry?” The teacher sighs, you look to the white board to see you’re going over the answers to the worksheet. You’re about to provide the answer for the number you’re on when the teacher cuts you off.

* “I know you might be focused on body building, but in my class you need to focus on the material.” There’s a scattered laugh that fills the room, but your blood runs cold

* “Excuse me?”

* And that’s when your teacher knew he fucked up. He stutters over himself, the sentences overlapping

* “-really you should take it as a compliment-“

* “Oh you think I should take it as a compliment that someone recorded me without my consent while I was changing?”

* The rooms pin drop silent. Your teacher is sweating.

* “Hold on now- I think you’re being a little dramatic don’t you think” A smirk curls onto his lips. “You were in your underwear, it was really no different than wearing a swimsuit” he’s got this smug smile, like he’s right.

*Honestly you were ready to put everything behind you and move on if he just apologized. It’s gross that a teacher is watching videos of a student changing, but what would you have done in his situation if a co-worker showed you.

* “It’s all about perspective, a positive per-“

* But not anymore, you’re not in a forgiving mood, especially not for an idiot like this.

* “No it’s all about consent.” All the anger and despair you’ve been holding back comes flooding out. “When someone wears a swimsuit they’re consenting to show skin and be seen, but I wasn’t contesting to being seen when I was changing in the privacy of the locker room.” You don’t stop for air, your voice trembling

* “And another thing, I wonder how the school administration will feel knowing the same faculty that’s supposed to make students feel safe and enrich their lives is watching creepy videos-“ you stop when you meet your teachers eyes, tears streaming down his face.

* Oh f*ck

* You look to your right, finding your classmates in a similar state, holding back tears.

*So this is what happens to humans when they come in contact with your power.

* You try to visualize the box, but it’s too far now. And all the crying people around you don’t help.

*You need to get out of here.

* “Pathetic, not even an apology for your gas lighting.” She shake your head as confidently as you can, grabbing your bag with trembling hands.

* You walk quickly, maybe there’s a mountain you can climb and wait it out on. You’ll text Carlisle and let him now what happened. It shouldn’t be too-

*” Hey wait!”

* You’re already in the hallway when someone call out to you. You turn, expecting it to be Angela or Mike. Never in a million years would you expect her to be standing there in the middle of the hall, her hand hastily wiping away a stray tear.

* “Mr. Peterson’s a f*cking jerk.” Jessica sniffles, walking quickly to catch up with you. You don’t miss the fact that her bags not slung across her back.

* She must have left a minute after you did. You haven’t thought about her as a friend. Not a real one at least. She’s kind of like hot sauce, it’s fun when it’s around, but if it’s not then that’s not a big deal.

* So to see her here, the first to follow you out, rambling about wether you want to get frozen yogurt or pizza, it warms your unbeating heart.

* “Hey Jessica?” She stops mid-sentence, her eyes swinging up to you.

* You haven’t been fair to her. But you’re going to change that.

* “Thanks for being my friend.” And she smiles at you, her arms wrapped around her tight. It’s not the fake ones you see often the ones she throws to Lauren when she’s asking for Jessica’s opinion on an outfit, or when Connor tries to copy her homework’s. it’s a genuine smile.

* Before she can open her mouth, you hear two more shouts from the hallway.

*Angela and Mike are jogging down the hallway to catch up with you. The latter carrying a bright pink backpack in his hand.

* “Geez Jess, the least you could do is take your bag before you go bolting out of there” Mike’s panting as he holds out her bag. You don’t miss the blush ghosting her face.

*Looks like she still has a crush on him.

* “Hey, are you okay?” Angela asks, and you wish you could cry as you nod.

* “Is it weird that I’m kind of happy right now?” And the three of them smile, before wrapping you into a group hug.

*They all smell terrible. Jessica smells like boiled broccoli, Mike is like the overwhelming stench of fat mixed with sugar, and Angela.. Angela’s probably the worst. She’s sickeningly sweet mixed with a healthy dose of starch.

*it’s disgusting. You have a hard time believing any of the Cullen’s would lose their minds when they’re this close to any of them.

*still, even with the repulsive stench, it’s nice. You haven’t felt the body gets of another human in a long time, or heard the quiet thump of their beating heart. Even the odor is nice, it reminds you that they’re human.

*And for a second it’s easier to pretend you’re human too, just like them.

* “Dude why are you so cold?” Jessica groans, breaking the moment. She taps your arm but doesn’t pull away.

* “While we’re asking questions, Mike how much axe do you use?” Angela’s eyes are watering as you both laugh.

* “Like you’re one to talk, I can smell your strawberry shampoo two hallways over!”

* You watch the three of them untangle and start walking to the back exit from the gym.

* “So where do we go now? We can’t stay here.” Angela says

* “I was thinking maybe a coffee shop, if we take out books we might pass for having a free period” Jessica pipes in

* “Oh, how about the Arcade? A buddy of mine works there since he’s already on break from college, I don’t think he’ll minds us hanging out there.”

* So this is what Alice meant when she said everything was going to be okay.

*Your Human Friends were going to save you

*You haven’t forgotten Edward’s warning, someone did break your trust and let you down.

* But that’s what it means to build friendships, you open yourself to being hurt, and so do they.

* “Hey (Y/N/N), what do you think?” Mike asks, and they all turn around to notice you’re not walking with them.

*You try not to smile to wide. You don’t want to scare them off now.

* “I think there’s something fun about an arcade during the day, no lines.” You say, walking a little bit faster to catch up with your friends.

Tag list: @moonlights27 @thebluetint @the100thtwilight @awesomebooklover17 @oneofthepotterheads @smileygirl08 @imdoingathingmom @iconicgguk @yrawn @alyciaswhore @little-horror-show

[lady-writes]

on doing “Some Good”

STG this is the last I’m talking about this, but something else just struck me as I look back over the last weeks BoN Group Chat.

In Morocco, Nicky suggests breaking their rules to work with Copley so they can do Some Good                                                                                                  Andy replies that Some Good is not enough anymore

In Berlin, Joe cant ignore the constant presence of bigoted people and how they’ve watched this play out before                                                                      Nicky replies that they will watch it play out again

In Sudan Nicky tries to comfort Andy by saying that even though the job was a failure/a set up they did it for the right reasons, the right way.                         Andy responds that yes they’ve BEEN doing things the right way and for the right reason, and its gotten them and the world at large nowhere.

Andy tells Nile that having a reason why they are like this (immortal) won’t help her sleep any better at night.                                                                             Nile says that she can’t believe that and when the team is looking at Copley’s wall, Nile speaks directly to Andy when she says “Maybe this is the why”

In that same scene at Copley’s, Nicky looks satisfied and Joe looks stunned, but then (to my perspective) almost disappointed.

In Force Multiplied, Noriko says to Andy Did you pray Andromache, Sincerely and with all your heart […] (Hope) is even more dangerous than faith. At your age you should know better. Its all Hopeless.”                                               Andy replies “It isn't hopeless, it cant be”

Without getting into spoiler territory for Force Multiplied, I think that along with time/history/progress and family; hope and optimism (or lack thereof) are the major theme of this whole ass story. I don’t think its at all an accident that Nicky, who was an invading frankish crusader bent on cleansing his Holy lands of infidels and sending them to eternal damnation, is part of this team any more than the fact that Nicky and Joe fell in love despite their combative origins is an coincidence. 

Looking at the wank/argument that came up about Nicky’s characterization in TtT and the conflict of Force Multiplied there are such massive and major parallels that I’m honestly a bit ashamed of my self for not picking up on them immediately. Its all about the balance between action and preservation as well as the balance of optimism vs cynicism

Looking at the make up of the team across time, they come in pairs (with one obvious and major exception- Lykon). An Optimist and a Pessimist, a Realist and an Idealist. It makes sense from all the angles it balances the team. It ensures that some one is always on hand to pull the optimist out of darkness induced apathy  and that some one is always there to remind the Cynic that there is something worth fighting for. Over a cumulative ~12,680 years of living between 7 people it would make sense that these roles fluctuate and  shift from one person or era to the next, but they are always both present, and balanced.

Which means that they can always manage to do Some Good. Never all of the good because that’s impossible. Never None of the good because that’s unacceptable. But always Some of it. 

Which of course has been the core of the argument that TtT ignited and the core of the argument surrounding Booker and will surely be the core of the argument that will pop up around Andy and Quynh no matter how Rucka, GPB, Theron, Ngo, and Netflix choose to interpret and adapt Force Multiplied.

This entire series is about nuance and compromise and perhaps I think forgiveness. The fandom will have to accept that and what it entails to have any hope of enjoying what’s to come I think and for those who are already down with that I think its going to be a great fucking ride.

[suddenrundown]

thinkin about the heart song au + country music

idk if this is what you were thinking (ignore me if it’s not i just keep hearing songs and associating them with leverage) but - keeping score (dan + shay). it’s not like chris kane county county but i think it’s technically county. anyway.

i know i’m only human / don’t know how many sunsets i got left / and i don’t wanna ruin / this moment by wondering what comes next / i just wanna love you like it’s all I’m living for / hold you close, enjoy you more / and spend a little less time keeping score

but i was thinking of it in terms of eliot’s perspective when the ot3 first gets together. because he’s always worried about like. death. eternal damnation. parker and hardison not loving him back. the works. but when they finally get together he’s like okay. i can work with this. as long as they’ll have me i will love them with my whole being. probably even longer than they’ll have me. so he kinda snaps out of his own head and just… takes a moment to enjoy what they’ve built.

Oof give me a minute....i just listened to the song so now i gotta lay on the floor for a bit.

...............alright I'm good.

Oh, first, no worries on the type of song at all! Eliot will sing whatever songs we want him to sing lol like I'm out here saying he's singing songs by The Chicks, it totally does not have to be a "CK country song", it can be literally anything! Doesn't really even have to be country, that's just what I think his heart songs most often turn out to be. @faorism is working on a thing where eliot sings....well, it's definitely NOT country. I'll leave it at that LOL.

I think you're totally right!! That's exactly how I feel Eliot thinks about the three of them, and once he gets to a certain point he has to just! stop! worrying! about all that and let it all go. doesn't matter how many sunsets he has left because he'll get to spend them all with the two of them <3 that's a beautiful heart song for him! so perfect!

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Summer’s Warmth, Part One

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for continuing to read! Enjoy!

EDIT 4/18/21: Attempting to fix the formatting now, forgive me! It shows up fine before posting, but I believe I have it squared away! ;-;

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​​​ @cookiethewriter​​​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​​​ @thirstworldproblemss​​​ @anonymouscosmos​​​ @culturalrebel​​​ @karmezii​​​ @teaofpeach​​​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​​​ @wrestlingfae​​​ @zombiexbody​​​ @nelba​​​ @scribblenotes76​​​ @toxiicpop​​​ @mstgsmy​​​ @misty-possum​​​ @gallowsjoker​​​ @midnightbeauty35​​​ @lackofhonor​​​ @renegademustelid​​​ @missfronkensteen​​ @newplanetshine​

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

Winter’s Cold, Part Two

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress, vivid recollections and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

Arthur dreamed of the vigil he had stood beside Kieran's grave, Chase's large head resting on his shoulder. Bitter, sorrowful words had twisted up in his throat until he just shoved his face into the horse's mane so he could unleash a body-rattling sob. He had left a handful of bulrushes crisscrossed over the grave. Kieran had always plied the horses with whatever treats he could scrounge up, mushrooms or bulrushes or the rare luxury of sugar cubes. 

Kieran O'Driscoll, Kieran Van Der Linde, but in the end he had died Kieran Duffy. Just one more hideous taunt sent to the Van Der Linde camp from the O'Driscolls, one more life lost in the feud of two proud men who had wronged each other. 

Arthur dreamed of the nightmare of Guarma, the way his body was wracked with feverish chills on that godforsaken island, blistering sun beating down on him and he had just forced himself onwards, ignoring it. 

Micah mocking him, Dutch's merciless slaughter of that elderly woman.

Stumbling across Hosea and Lenny's graves on his long, slow trek back to Shady Belle from Van Horn and it just hitting him like a bullet to the gut that they were gone, truly gone. Like Kieran, like Sean.

When he and Charles had found that young woman in the Murfree hellhole, Arthur had sworn for several long, panic-stricken seconds that it had been Irene. The fear he had felt, the agony, he had nearly been sick with guilty relief when she stepped into the light and her eyes were blue. The enforcer would never say how dangerously close he had come to pitching himself at her feet and begging her forgiveness for being grateful that she wasn't who he had thought she was. 

And the girl's mother in Annesburg trying to pay him, like he had done something incredible. Like he wasn't a monster himself, jaded with loss and becoming more and more certain that Dutch was hellbent on reaching their collective doom. Tahiti and mangoes had never sounded so unappealing.

Molly, struck down with no mercy, 'she knew the rules', they all knew the damn rules.

Collapsing out of the blue in the streets of Saint Denis on his way to meet up with Sadie so they could rescue that fool Marston, coming back around with a kindly stranger directing him to the doctor, the sterile reek that permeated the office as the learned man dropped the bad news on him with all the grace of a boulder on his chest.

Tuberculosis, and the noose that had been around his neck since Blackwater finally snapped taut to strangle him. 

His slow, shambling walk down the street as whatever that doctor had given him to take the edge off made him hallucinate that the damned deer was back, the majestic creature sauntering through the crossroads in front of him like some kind of divine herald.

Or hellish omen.

After that was just the long, torturous slog as Dutch did his best to drag them all down into the fiery abyss with him.

Strauss, Strauss, preying on fools, on desperate men with pregnant wives, on folk he knew damn well couldn't pay him back! When Arthur had finally had enough of being the bastard's lackey he roared at the man to get the hell out!, every ounce the commanding king of legend that Sean had mockingly likened him to.

Hearts are so rarely pure. But then again, they are also rarely impure, that sister had said. Her wise words had given Arthur pause, the man speechless beside her on the bench. He wasn't used to such ambiguity from religious folk. Normally it was either saccharine-sweet pandering about how he could still be saved, or self-righteous wrath as he was told that his perdition would last eternity for every rotten thing he had done.

Rightly so, too! He was a terrible man.

The imagery of the deer kept haunting him. Arthur didn't understand it, he couldn't manage to wrap his head around why he kept dreaming about the deer. The deer or Irene, her violin music lilting fae-like through the twilight of his consciousness nearly every night as he struggled to stifle his coughing.

Black lung, black lung, Micah mocked and sneered.

When Ms. Grimshaw's end came, it was the final signature on the decree of his damnation. Violence begot violence begot violence and Arthur could scarce imagine how grisly his own demise would be.

Pinkertons flushing them out of the cave like hounds after quail, he and John fleeing--

The sound of Micah's labored breathing, blows landing over and over, the two of them circling one another on the edge of Purgatory itself until Arthur's broken body had finally given out.

In the final act of his life, Dutch had met his eyes and then departed wordlessly with Micah in tow. The sting was a far-off sensation, dulled by inevitability.

I gave you everything I had.

Arthur had thought he was dead; had thought the fight was well and truly kicked out of him. That incorrigible, stubborn spirit of his, the spite and loyalty and grit flickered and faded like a candle in a draft. He barely remembered the sunrise, his last rambling thoughts before consciousness deserted him fixated on the fact that he could feel the deer from his dreams, pacing just outside his field of vision... 

But of course, he couldn't forget the price on his head. He was still worth something to someone, even if he was hovering at Death's door.

…

Irene didn't sleep a wink, tossing and turning until the wee hours of the morning. Finally, when she checked her old pocket watch for the sixth time and saw that it was four o'clock, she gave up. 

Irene got out of bed, got dressed, and went to Anna's room to wake her. "You're coming fishing with Mama, little fawn." She whispered while the child yawned. "You can even go back to sleep on the shore, alright?"

"Mmhm." Clearly still half-asleep, Anna nodded, rubbing her eyes. 

Irene gathered up her fishing gear and her daughter, leaving a note in case she wasn't back by the time Arthur managed to rouse himself. For his sake (and perhaps a bit for her own as well), she hoped he slept in. 

It wasn't until she reached the riverbank that the lunacy of the whole situation really hit her. He was the father of her child, she had nursed him back from the brink of death itself, and yet she feared what the reveal might bring! Hadn't she done enough worrying over the last few months? 

Maybe she was more worried about whether he would stay simply out of believing it was his duty to do so.

If nothing came of it, if he...wanted nothing to do with her now that the two of them had inadvertently brought a new life into the world, it wouldn't change anything in her existence. She would live out her days in peace, far from society. Arthur Morgan would no doubt carry on in the same manner that he always had, though perhaps just a touch more cautiously. 

She didn't let herself think of the alternative. It was best that she not get her hopes up. After all, he had been the one to put their meetings to an end. Knowing what she knew now, further clarified by what Trelawny had mentioned, it seemed as though Morgan was trying to protect her from the grisly fate the rest of their band was barreling towards. She could not fault him for cutting her loose, no doubt he had thought he was doing the best thing for her. 

In a way, it had been. 

Irene hooked several fish as she pondered, reeling the small offerings in absently. Anna was young. Young enough that should Arthur decide to leave, she probably wouldn't even recall him given enough time. So it was Irene's own selfishness that she was hung up on, her own silly feelings and emotions. 

Somewhere along the way, during their free and easy couplings, she had fallen in love. With Arthur Morgan, a man she could readily admit to knowing precious little about. It seemed so foolish now, what had she been thinking?

The woman smiled wistfully as the sun rose.

She hadn't been thinking at all, there was the truth of it. She had enjoyed herself for the first time in her life, consequences be damned. 

Besides, when it all comes down to it, Irene mused as she glanced over at the sleeping form of her child, I would trade a thousand Arthurs for one sweet little Anna.

Anna woke up again around eight, clamoring for her breakfast. The two of them walked hand-in-hand back to Irene's stead, Anna swinging her arms and singing some tuneless ditty only she knew the words to. 

Arthur was awake and upright on their return, the man supporting his weight with the rough-hewn posts of the paddock. Chase looked for all the world like she was listening to him as he muttered to himself, the mare's ears pricked to catch his voice.

Clearly Irene wasn't the only one who had missed him.

Anna bolted forward, crowing in triumph. Normally Chase tended to keep to the far side of the paddock, where it was more shady. "Up, up! Wanna' pet!" The little girl demanded, straining to reach Chase's nose.

Arthur, frail and pale as he was, certainly gave it a good effort. He got the child nearly two inches off the ground before he failed, visibly panicking as he dropped her. Mercifully she didn't seem to notice, the little girl just thinking they were playing a game. 

She was laughing, "again again!", waving her arms and Arthur shot Irene a look so terrified she was barely able to restrain her mirth.

"Annie, how do we ask?" Irene prompted her daughter, then propped her boot up on the lower cross-beam of the fence and patted her thigh. "Come along, up you get!" Anna threw herself over her mother's knee, grappling Irene's skirts before managing to reach Chase's nose from her new vantage point perched on her mother's thigh. 

"Mister Art'ur no lift me?" The little girl queried after a time, giving the tall man a quizzical look. 

"It's gonna' be a while before I'm liftin' much of anythin', Miss Anna." Arthur answered her ruefully. 

"But Mama can lift?" The child continued curiously. 

"Your mama is the strongest person I know. She can lift you, me, that horse, the barn…" Arthur rattled on, listing more and more outlandish things as Anna giggled. "I once saw her lift a whole riverboat with her pinky!" Arthur claimed. "Weren't even breathin' hard neither!"

"Mama can do all that?" Anna asked, those blue eyes wide as she tilted her head back to stare up at Irene. 

"Absolutely!" The woman replied firmly, then smiled. "I'd do even more for you, my little fawn."

"She's a real strong woman, Miss Anna, real strong. You'll be just like her someday." Arthur murmured, his gaze gone melancholy again.

In response, Anna seized Arthur's hand and bunched up her tiny fist to make a 'muscle' in her arm for him to feel. "Strong!" She insisted, her expression fierce. 

"You shoah are, what you need me for around here?" Arthur humored her with a grin. "I'd just get in your way at this point." Irene realized that he wasn't talking to the child anymore, for all that his eyes were on Anna. 

"We are more than happy to have you, isn't that right Annie?" The woman stated, making Arthur glance up at her. The raw look in his gaze caught her off-guard.

"Mmhm," Anna agreed with a decisive nod. "Make you better!"

"S'pose if I had to pick a place to convalesce, I couldn't find a nicer sanatorium even out east." 

…

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph. 

Was this little baby girl his? Did he even deserve that sort of joy? She was two already, he had missed her first steps, her first words…God, it always seemed like he was too late. From his first child Isaac with that sweet girl Eliza, to Mary, and now this.

He and Irene sat on the porch of her little cabin, the woman having made a delicious fish fry for breakfast. It smelled amazing, but Arthur's stomach was too knotted to eat. He fumbled with his fork a few times, casting about for an opening to ask Irene the all-important question on his mind.

Anna unwittingly offered him his opportunity, the child scarfing her breakfast and then begging to be permitted to play in the puddles in the yard. Irene nodded after a moment, collecting the child's plate and then instructing her to don her mess trousers.

The little girl tore off to do so and her mother chuckled quietly. "She is such a menace. Always rummaging, stomping, finding new things to squish or examine." Irene remarked. 

Arthur couldn't wait a second longer, abandoning his plate as he turned to look at her. "Irene," he said her name sharply, trying to keep his voice low. "Is that girl my child?"

Irene took her sweet time replying to him, chewing a mouthful of flaky fish. "What happens if I say yes, Arthur?" She asked, her own words soft. 

"I...I want you to know that I did my damnedest to not--I mean, when we...hell, I didn't want you pinned down like that bastard Carson wanted." Arthur swore grimly. "I didn't want to saddle you with somethin' you ain't asked for, Irene."

"Will you leave? If she's yours?" Irene was picking at her food now, refusing to look at him. Anna carried on stomping in the puddles across the yard, her giggles punctuating the silence.  

Arthur inhaled to respond and accidentally sent himself into a coughing fit, hacking and snorting in the least glamorous way possible. "It ain't fair that you've had to put up with me for so long, with the...shadow of me, even. I'm barely a fraction of the feller I once was. Can't even lift the little one," he mumbled after he managed to get the spasm under control. "But...but even if she ain't mine, even if you've been uh, knowin' other men, it doesn't matter to me, okay? I got no business commentin' on your personal affairs." 

Arthur felt like he would burst into flames from how hard he was flushing; he usually wasn't this nervous when it came to speaking what was on his mind. 

"Feels like I've gotten a second wind here, and I just...I never stopped thinkin' about you," he confessed. "Dreamin' that I would come out the other side of this and that I'd still have a damn chance to see you again."

Irene was merely listening to him ramble, her face neutral. Meanwhile, Arthur was floundering. He had no idea what the right answer might be. Did she want to be left alone? Should he entirely abandon these thoughts, these selfish wishes of his?

"I spent most of my younger years tryin' to put on a respectable front so a specific woman and her family would deem me worthy." He vaguely recalled being strung out on drink in Valentine, crying against Irene's stomach as she stroked the back of his head to soothe him. "It was never enough, and I thought that was it. That was the end for any of those dreams I had. Then I...I met you." Arthur took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the pulse that beat in her wrist. "As much as it killed me, I had to...I didn't want you to be trapped in my mess. I felt--I-I mean, I..." 

I love you, I love you, say it, you cowardly fool!

"If I do this, if I let you stay...you can't go gallivanting off into the wilds, understand?" The woman informed him sternly, her back ramrod straight. "I will not have my daughter getting attached to a man who cannot be there for her, Arthur."

His heart twisted uncertainly in his chest and Arthur hesitated, teetering on the precipice. "She is mine, isn't she?" He finally asked, his voice faltering. At her hesitant nod, the man's throat closed up. "Jesus." Arthur rasped, trying and failing to blink the tears away before they could fall. "A daughter. A li'l baby girl. I never thought I'd...Christ almighty Irene, I n-never--" 

And in an incredibly masculine display of self control, he dissolved into hiccupping sobs.

…

Irene had tried to steel herself for his reaction, fearing the worst. This however, was...manageable. 

"Hush, Arthur." She chided him, feeling her own lower lip quiver. He caught her up in an embrace, his once-powerful frame fragile and trembling with every gasp for air. His fingers clutched at her sides and he buried his face in her shoulder, his hat tumbling to the ground. "Arthur, it's alright." Irene's arms slipped beneath his own and she tentatively hugged him back, just letting him weep and sniffle into her neck. "There's no need to cry."

He stifled a cough in the crook of his elbow, pulling away after several moments. "'Course, a'course. M' fine." He choked out, mopping at his face with his bandanna.

"Art'ur, Mama!" Anna called from the paddock, her tiny hands cupped together around...something. "Art'ur see!" She stumbled to the steps, where she opened her hands just the tiniest bit. 

A wee toad sat in her palm, the creature looking a bit put-out over their current situation. 

"Caught yerself a prince there, Miss Annie?" Arthur asked, rattled by another coughing fit when she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Nuh Art'ur, a toad. Not a frog." Anna corrected, giving him a fierce scowl. "No kisses for toads."

"Little miss," Irene interjected sharply, raising an eyebrow. "Mind your manners. I know you're not that rude."

"B-But...is a toad!" Anna protested, waving the aforementioned critter around.

"I know that, Annie, but you need to be polite when you talk to folks. Now, what do we say?"

"M'sorry, Art'ur." Anna mumbled, depositing the shaken toad into her mother's waiting hands and then scuffing her boot on the ground.

"Oh don't worry about it, li'l Miss Annie. No harm done. You were right, after all." Arthur assured her with a tight smile, his eyes clouded with emotion. "Guess I got a lot to learn about that sort of thing, I ain't much in the habit of readin' fairytales." 

Irene seized the moment of distraction to usher the toad into the shelter of the shade beneath the steps. Then, she brushed her hands off on her apron and got to her feet. "Well Anna, you know what day it is. Come along, little fawn." To Arthur, she continued, "it's Monday, which is also wash day. Be a dear and strip your bed, would you?"

…

Arthur hated that he was absolutely drenched in sweat over something so mundane! He recalled enviously the sheer amount of times he would trek back and forth across whatever camp they had set up, lugging sacks of maize or a fresh kill over one shoulder with the greatest of ease. 

He had nearly been bested by sheets and bedding, of all things. This boded poorly. 

He laid on his back for several long minutes after he had managed to finish remaking the tick up in the hayloft, doing his best to catch his breath again. He knew he should be grateful for surviving the consumption in the first place, but there was a nagging fear in the back of his mind that threatened to fester.

What if this was as good as he got? What if he never really...recovered? His clothes fairly hung off of him; his entire body had become so frail. He was winded from making his blasted pallet! He would be a dependent, a sponge on Irene, a leech. 

That thought had him cringing, and he forced himself to sit back up. Everything ached. He had pushed himself too hard, that was all. Arthur knew in a logical sense that he couldn't just...expect to leap out of bed ready to wrestle a grizzly so soon after a five-month stint of nothing. It just pricked at his pride.

"Arthur?" Irene's head appeared at the top of the ladder, the woman giving him a quizzical look as she took in his rumpled state. "Would you like to bathe? Water's still hot."

Bathe. Lord, a bath sounded heavenly right about now. His sore muscles practically screamed for it. "Depends on how much I'd have to pay to get you as my bath girl." He replied without hesitation.

"I'm a luxury, Mister Morgan." That would have driven a knife into his belly, had she not punctuated it with a saucy wink. "I'm afraid you'll have to do a bit extra to earn a helping hand in your washtub."

Arthur grinned ruefully, shaking his head. "Forgive me ma'am, my mouth ran away from me."

"Oh I'm certain!" Irene laughed, reaching up to swat his knee. "Come along now, before the water cools."

Stripping down in the privacy of her bedroom was...interesting. Arthur studiously avoided looking at the mirror she had as he shed his clothing, folding everything and leaving it by the door like she had asked. The woman already had clean clothes waiting for him on the chair beside the tub. He wouldn't get better service in a Saint Denis hotel!

Lowering his body down into the still-warm water was absolutely heavenly, for all that he nearly scalded himself. Irene must have topped off the tub before he came in, bless her for it. 

A lump of soap sat primly atop a wash rag on the mat next to the tub, and Arthur knew he ought to get started before the water grew too tepid to be comfortable. But there was no harm in taking a moment or two to relax, right?

He lolled his head back against the lip of the tub, his eyes wandering lazily to the mirror beside the door. It was safe to look at now, as it was tilted in such a way that he wouldn't see himself. The last rays of the day's sunlight reflected off the looking glass, the beams warming the rough-hewn floorboards from their usual pale gold to a rich, honeyed brown. 

Arthur wondered idly if Irene had built this place by herself. He didn't doubt it; she was a resourceful woman. 

There was still the question of how she had managed to get ahold of him. Oh certainly, she had mentioned Josiah. But there had been an omission of further details involving his rescue that he found odd. He would have to ask her after he was done with his wash. Maybe over supper.

He groaned, straightening his back and scooping up the soap. He'd best get to scrubbing if he wanted to be presentable for the mealtime.

…

"Arthur?" Irene knocked on the door to her room, a touch worried when she received no answer. "Arthur, it's nearly time for dinner." Still nothing. She took a gamble and turned the handle, easing the door open a hair. 

Arthur appeared to have fallen asleep in the tub, and Irene barely managed to stifle her chuckle. She closed the door behind her gently, tiptoeing to the side of the tub.

He didn't look so worn when he was sleeping, she decided. The furrows smoothed from his brow and the lines around his eyes eased a bit, his mind temporarily free of the burdens that plagued him during his waking hours. Irene settled onto the floor beside the tub, stroking her fingers through his damp hair. "Arthur," she called softly. 

He hummed low in his chest, those blue eyes blinking open as she continued to comb through his thick locks. "Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes." The man drawled, a lazy grin on his face. "Prettiest bath gal I've ever seen." Arthur slotted his fingers through her own, pressing a kiss to her raw-washed knuckles. "These poor hands of yours...Irene, you'll work yourself to the bone." He chided. "Once I get back up to full strength, I promise you'll want for nothin'." 

Nothing at all, his gaze continued, the heated stare sending those old but oh so familiar waves of delight through her body.

"Arthur…" Irene was at a loss, biting her lower lip and breaking his stare by dropping her eyes to the floor. "We will have to wait and see. Once you're back on your feet." She allowed finally.

"It's a deal, Miss Craft." Arthur swore, his jaw set in a determined line. 

Once you're truly well again, I doubt I'll be able to hold on to you, Irene thought sadly as she rose to stand once more. "Supper is nearly ready. Don't take too long, otherwise Annie will polish off your helping!" She teased, her heart not really in it.

Arthur cocked his head, appearing like he was about to question her further, so Irene seized the moment to slip back through the door and close it behind her.

She leaned back against the door, staring up at the ceiling while exhaling hard. Her throat felt suspiciously tight and Irene shook her head at herself, annoyed. I'll be alright. Annie and I have been fine, and we can carry on just fine even without Arthur.

If only she believed it!

Summer’s Warmth, Part Two

[frosteee]

Undertaker and the Dispatch Conspiracy Theory

@frederickabberline 

So I loved your discussion about UT and a possible conspiracy within the grim reaper dispatch that I went through the manga and found some bits and pieces which, I feel, support the theory.

[Long ass post under cut]

Background

For those who are unfamiliar, the theory is that UT had discovered something damning about the grim reaper organisation that caused him to defect. 

This discovery, we post, is that the forgiveness all reapers are promised is a lie, perhaps even extending to the idea of salvation in general, disillusioning UT and morphing him into the individual we know today. Full details can be found in the awesome ongoing discussion by @frederickabberline, @midnight-in-town​ et al. 

Because of this, UT is experimenting with creating a definite ‘after’ to the end that is death, because the ones he previously believed in, like the P4 did tradition, like the Watchdogs did duty, was fake and only fit to create a cycle of misery. He currently believes himself incapable of salvation, and so creating immortal Phantomhives is the only way he can possibly be with them.

I believe that several aspects of UT’s personality as we know it support this.

UT’s interest in breaking free of fixed, unchangeable fate.

We are shown as far back as Chapter 13 that UT has particular interest in the concept of destiny, commenting that the tie between O!Ciel (and the entire house of Phantomhive by extension) and Queen Victoria is like a ‘chain of fate’, and gets quite angry when O!Ciel declares that he put himself in that position willingly. 

Grabbing Ciel by the tie and holding him there is the most directly aggressive we’ve seen UT towards O!Ciel, besides the time on the Campania when UT used him to bait Sebastian, so it seems that comment irked him.

From this it appears he holds a bit of resentment towards O!Ciel for so willingly following the path towards death and damnation.

He also seems to hold similar frustration towards the rest of the Phantomhives for ignoring his warnings and following the cursed path of the Watchdog to the grave.

He is highly amused by twists, and takes great satisfaction in the unexpected, especially when it goes against the grain. Like, for example, when Undertaker is surrounded by enemies on the Campania and he wonders which of them is truly the hunted party.

This before rapidly changing things around and making it no longer a one-sided hunt of an outnumbered rabbit but a struggle to take down a powerful hunter. In this arc, everyone is second-guessing and while UT is the one with the most control over proceedings (with his element of surprise), even in that scenario there were events he could not see coming (e.g.: the iceberg) that he had to work with/around.

Essentially, he enjoyed the unpredictability of the situation, where multiple powerful forces were clashing to decide the end. Fate was in all their hands.

What UT finds amusing also seems to revolve around this idea. 

He is amused by two things:

Those who do terrible things to keep the status quo, like the P4 in their murders, which causes UT to burst out laughing after the full story is revealed. The P4 probably remind UT of who he used to be as a model grim reaper - the rigidness of their thinking, repeating the mantra that tradition and rules ‘are everything’ most definitely reminded him of his former life and the ‘grim reaper code’ he lived by. Hell, William is currently the ‘rule-abiding/spouting’ grim reaper of the bunch.

Those who go against the grain in unexpected but positive/game-changing ways. In the same arc, for example, UT comments on O!Ciel’s decision to save Harcourt from the attacking zombies, as such as a selfless act would never have occurred to his more selfish, pragmatic ancestors. 

In short, UT is pleased to see actions taken by people, most notably the Phantomhives, that break from the acts/mindset that killed those who came before, and scorns those who try to keep things the same no matter the cost and meet terrible fates.

This also extends to R!Ciel, who I talk about in this post in relation to the Evil Twin theory, where R!Ciel is a direct participant/accomplice to his parents’ murder. I theorised that to create a perfect record, while having only ‘future desires’ and a soulless body to work with, UT had to improvise by splicing what he knew of R!Ciel’s past onto the boy’s record, thus creating memories/knowledge of his past and the ability to function off that. 

However, this combined with R!Ciel’s ‘yearning for the future’ records also created a boy who was all too willing to replace O!Ciel as Watchdog and basically resume the terrible march towards danger and death that UT had worked so hard to avoid. His and Tanaka’s reaction to R!Ciel’s announcement that he will resume Watchdog/Earl duties reflects this, I think. 

As far as UT is concerned, R!Ciel is making the same mistake as O!Ciel by following the path set out for him from birth, like all Phantomhives.

Then, finally, there’s UT’s interest/obsession with the ‘predetermined end’ that death entails, screwing with which is the driving force of his actions so far, he claims.

It feels strange for a grim reaper to be so curious about that. After all, he has died himself, and entered a sort of limbo existence which, while a punishment, is basically an afterlife. 

Grim reapers are promised forgiveness, which can be paired with salvation and entry into Heaven. Demons also exist, which live in an alternate realm not (as far as I know) stated as Hell, but considering souls can be eaten by the demons who live there, so perhaps that is also a destination for souls when they die?

In any case, it would seem strange for a grim reaper to not have knowledge of some sort of afterlife, other than their own, to which souls can go to. 

Unless the reapers are simply told it exists, and that they can go there if they ‘serve their time’ - and that the reality is very different. 

With this idea in mind, it makes a lot of sense for UT to be a staunch advocate for breaking the chain of fate the Phantomhives are under, to the extent that death itself is overturned, because he never wants to lose another Phantomhive again, as he now believes that reuniting with them in the afterlife is impossible. 

UT is so dead set against the idea of following the status quo and one’s ‘fate’ that he is ready and willing to rock the very world ‘The Superior’ governs.

UT’s focus on lies/deception.

UT also appears to be quite focused on lies and deception, either to oneself or others. We first glimpse this in the Circus Arc, where he tells Ciel to take care of his soul, for he only has the one. When Ciel responds that he already knows that, UT questions that (’Boy I know you be talkin shiiiiit~!’). 

Then later in the arc, he confirms his own belief - that Ciel cannot/does not know the true weight of what he is losing by continuing down his cursed path, that Ciel is lying to himself in order to continue down it. This is clearly part of his frustration with the Phantomhives as a whole, that they keep lying to themselves in order to keep going towards a fate that only continues its destructive cycle.

Really, all of the people UT has laughed at are lying to others or themselves, or both, in order to justify destructive, morally bankrupt and questionable beliefs and actions. Ciel, the P4, Rian Stoker, etc., etc.

UT is also very concerned with the idea of people lying to others for their own benefit, as all reapers, according to the theory, are lied to.

The people who most reflect UT’s past situation are the Noah’s Arc circus troupe, who were deceived by their trusted elder, Kelvin, that in order to maintain/achieve happiness they had to dirty their hands and continue doing terrible things with no knowledge of when it will end.

Similarly, UT also continued to perform a (literally) punishing and emotionally traumatic task to the best of his ability on the orders of an overseer for the sake of eventual happiness that he discovered to be a false promise. While some of them may have believed Kelvin to be evil and perhaps lying to them, like Joker, they continued anyway because lying was the only way they could handle the weight of what they had done.

It might not be so much of a coincidence that UT begins and ends his role in that arc by pointing out the cost of self-deception/being deceived. He would know - he and all reapers are lied to and effectively kept as eternal slaves and then possibly either killed or damned in some way, but never actually ‘retired’ to Heaven.

Speaking of which, UT specifically notes that one of the most beautiful things about his bizarre dolls is the fact that they no longer have the capacity to tell lies. 

Of course, this is all said with the knowledge that UT himself has/had told plenty of lies himself, and is probably deceiving himself that his goal, which is probably impossible, is possible. It’s the only thing keeping him going, after all, and UT is not without hypocrisy. 

Hey, he never denied that he had a few screws loose!

UT and Sebastian’s differing views on death being ‘the end’.

Finally, the big one, UT and Seb’s very different views on death as an end. We don’t know Sebastian’s views on the afterlife, or if souls can be cast into his realm like Hell, or if there is a Heaven, but regardless Sebastian believes that a ‘definitive, hopeless end’ has beauty in it.

In response, UT only smiles, but says nothing in response, perhaps not wanting to give away too much personal information at this time. He does not agree, and his actions and words have proven just how much he disagrees.

UT, according to the theory, has entirely lost faith in forgiveness and salvation after death - at least for himself as a grim reaper. Why else would he go through so much trouble to extend life indefinitely? Why would he create a form of immortality for the living Phantomhives he could hope to see again...

Unless he believes he cannot.

Unless he believes he has lost the ones who have died forever, and that the only thing he can do for the ones he has lost is keep mementos of them (like the prayer lockets, which he treasures).

All reapers are promised forgiveness and, it’s implied, salvation in Heaven or something similar. If this was the case, if UT did not have reason to suspect otherwise, why would he bother defecting, when he could just be a model grim reaper for x amount of time and then join his loved ones once he has served his time?

Clearly, UT once believed that death was beautiful, but not because it was the end. Because there was an ‘after’ that he could aspire to and meet those he lost. He cannot agree with Sebastian’s ‘beauty in an end’ idea because to him, a hopeless end is just that - hopeless, miserable, lonely. 

The death Sebastian speaks of means only eternal slavery, loneliness, hoping for salvation that never comes. Maybe once he believed death being the end to one’s life was beautiful in its way, as Will discovered in the grim reaper OVA, but not anymore.

Hope this makes sense and gives some food for thought! 

[pseudospectre]

Had a conversation recently with some friends about how stories with a heaven/hell dynamic love the idea of fallen angels, but I’ve never seen anything that goes the opposite direction. So I wrote one.  It’s been a long long time since I’ve written anything so please forgive the quality, it was just a quick bit of fun. :)

Rise

I fell for a reason. I burned for a reason. I remember so little of my previous life, so many years, even centuries ago, but I remember that much.  I have no tragic story of innocence betrayed or manipulated, no heart-wrenching tale of self-sacrifice or loss. I was just, as they say, a bastard. That’s all I can tell you, all that survived the fire, so to speak.

They’ll tell you, gleefully, about the hopelessness, when your soul arrives after judgment and they offer you a position. This is all there is left, they say. You are lost, you are evil, this is all you deserve for eternity. Most damned souls don’t truly understand, in my experience. Everyone believes, to some degree, that they were at least all right, in the end. And they fight the idea of damnation and punishment, think somehow that resisting the new temptation and heading to their torment is somehow going to prove that, or help. As if they can weasel out, eventually, if they aren’t contracted. It always seemed remarkably shortsighted; of course you can’t. I already enjoyed the cruelty, I knew what it meant, so the opportunity to spare myself the pain in return for causing it? Well, what is a demon if not selfish? I was fine with the requirements, already there and unsaveable, it’s not like it can be worse? You can either suffer or be a part of the system, and I made a damn good demon. A little hell humor. And that’s supposed to be all there was, the end, fin.

Turns out, they don’t quite give you all of the information

What you need to understand is that there’s a lot of misinformation out there about how all this is set up. Most beliefs have some concept of punishment or reward, but strictly speaking, we’re not really associated with any one in particular. Funnily enough, it has more to do with your social beliefs than whether or not there’s a god. Nobody gives a fuck who’s name you take in vain, for example; it’s all about balance. And there are absolutely folks that fill the roles of what you’d call god or the devil, make no mistake. The cultures that talk about weighing souls have that part the closest, although it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that, ha. Not that I cared at the time, but actions, with very few exceptions, cannot be good or bad in and of themselves. Something you do nice for someone could in fact have a negative result for someone else down the line, unintentionally or unknowingly. All of that has to be carefully picked apart and scrutinized to truly reach a conclusion, and I’ve even seen a net “loss” overall be rewarded and net gains get descended, based on factors even I don’t understand. Wasn’t my job; I didn’t judge, I just turned the screws on the ones they sent me. But as with any large-scale operation, it’s not infallible. I know it seems like it ought to be, but here we are. Hell, here I am. The thing is, it’s a lot easier to correct an accidental reward than an accidental punishment, because everyone down there wails their innocence. No one believes them, of course, they all think that. There’s no point in following up, usually. Mostly, souls I worked on were one of two things: screamers (self explanatory) or talkers. Talkers are the ones who still think they can wheedle their way out, or want to share their life story again, hoping they can find a loophole or something to get them out. Some of those souls had been there longer than I had, sometimes; pitiful. Didn’t matter to me, I was having a gre- well, it was a time. And then I was passed a recent acquisition for punishment; not that uncommon, although by then I usually mostly had the old-timers who needed the skills of someone who really knew their stuff. But this soul? 

Completely silent.

Really. Didn’t make a sound. Threw me for a huge loop, centuries as a literal nightmare and suddenly, no begging, no crying, nothing. Not even if I taunted, not even when I got started. And in that moment, it became the worst day of my afterlife-me, a piece of shit human voluntarily gone horrifying demon. Because I felt something. First mistake. If I’d stopped there things might have gone on without changing, but I was never what you might have called smart. Average is probably being generous. But I was so bowled over by that little spark of whatever it was-I couldn’t even recognize that it was an emotion, isn’t that sad?- that I made my next mistake: I asked why. Turned out I’d been handed my first actual misjudgment, this poor thing never protested a single action since they got here, never once defended themselves. They’d convinced themselves in life so completely that this is what they would deserve, that they just didn’t have any desire to try to fight it. I asked what they’d been judged for, and they just looked at me, and said they were ready. But when I pushed (at that point I was panicking over whatever was happening in my brain and figured I could count more questions as emotional manipulation or baiting or something) they didn’t list a single thing I had ever heard of stacking up to damnation. Someone at the gates really fucked up, in other words. Someone came in shortly after that and whisked them off, everyone had a good laugh over it for weeks after, jeering and asking me how much I got to put them through before they got picked back up. It should have been easy to join in- before this I would have been in the center of the mockery, but something was wrong, that flare was still inside me and I was having trouble handling it. You ever have a secret and you’re just sure everyone knows what it is just by looking at you? It was like that. And eventually I figured out that’s all it was, just a little bitty emotion, but that almost made it worse because it wasn’t supposed to be there; from what I even knew how all this demon shit worked in the first place, I was pretty sure it wasn’t even possible! But all I had to do to go back to my routine was ignore it, suppress it, reject it. Easy peasy, I’m a goddamn senior demon.

Except, to my shame, I couldn’t let it go. Does that even make sense, a demon feeling shame? Pretty sure that’s what it was at that point. But it was like having a little secret treasure that no one else could see. I would hide it, and then in little moments alone or whatever, bring it out and feel. I didn’t have the context anymore at the time, but now I can compare it to having lived in the dark and suddenly feeling a moment of sun. I had felt sorry for the soul, for just a moment! And the thing about emotions, they can grow the more you think about them. And I started thinking about it a lot. And then I started feeling happy (the horror!) that the mistake was caught and they got to leave. In case it’s unclear, feeling stuff like that for non hell-related reasons makes it pretty hard to do demony things. And if you remember, I’d never felt a whole lot of that kind of thing even before I got here. I literally tortured the souls of the damned, how do you do that when you start feeling sorry for them? But that little crack of light inside me, the shard of humanity, started bring back memories, or at least concepts, from when that’s all I was, and I suddenly started recognizing them as lost. And it hurt? And for the first time, I was mourning. After all, damned is forever. A demon is forever. So I was some weird fluke who caught some feels somehow, it couldn’t change that. But, you know, when your work starts to suffer, people start to notice. They started to talk. And they were right, my game was slipping hard. I felt bad! After a while I couldn’t just not say anything to the ones who just barely tipped the scales! As secretly as I could, I was giving them comfort. And I had to defend myself from my superiors over stuff I couldn’t stomach anymore but had to keep up with, or risk getting kicked back down. The wildest part was, my first thought about losing status wasn’t to save my own skin, of course not….now I was thinking about what the folks I got to talk to would do without those brief moments of respite I’d been passing out.

Point is, I was a demon who didn’t want to be a demon anymore, after centuries of not giving a fuck, and knowing full well that I was solidly fucked and that this was only going to get worse. I was miserable, but I still couldn’t put away the way the tiniest good feelings and I hoarded my experiences like someone who’s drowning clings to a raft. Except this raft was ruining my afterlife, and I didn’t really care for some reason. But I wanted to do my best, and not in the way I was used to. I had no idea what was going to happen but it probably was never going to get better.

But then, the crossroads.

Not the regular demony kind of crossroads. Oh no, I got stuck with the moral kind, although I didn’t realize what it was going to mean at the time. It had gotten bad enough for me that I was back to working under supervision, just like old times, the bad ones from when demons are just getting started. It was hard to do much that way but I’d figured out that even just smiling helps some people apparently? Or at least, once I first figured out how to smile so that they knew it wasn’t a threat. You ever seen a demon? I was not precisely what most people would prefer to look at with any expression. But it was already a hell of a day (more jokes!) and I was apparently near a limit I wasn’t aware of, and we got assigned a new soul. A new soul who didn’t say a word, just like where all of this began. And my supervison grinned at me, and snarled, and raised an arm, and I didn’t even have time to register that I had stepped between them to take the blow. Cheesy, I know. But there was a sound like one of those big industrial light switches snapping off, and it felt like time stopped or something. Maybe it did, I’m still not sure. But the literal, actual judges showed up. I was relieved someone got there so fast before anything else happened, I hadn’t even thought about what was going to happen to me yet. Proof positive I was completely broken by then, hadn’t even thought about my own skin yet. A couple of the judges took the soul away, and I waited for my bosses to show, but the judge still standing there was just watching me. After a moment, they said “Are you coming, or not?”

What.

I don’t think I was processing yet, but I think that’s probably all I actually said. So they gave me a look like you give to the dumbest guy in the room (I’m familiar with it) and said “Are. You coming? You have work to do. Unless you really think you’d prefer to stay?”

“Coming to what? You already picked up the error, it’s not me. Why would they let me leave, anyway? Not that I’m in a hurry to get my asskicking for this.”

There’s that look again. “Then don’t stay for it, they have no claim at the moment. Your balance tipped. Your call, stay, or take your out and rise.”

First time I’d ever heard that word. “……Rise?”

“Yes, rise. I suppose they wouldn’t want it to be common knowledge around here; then again, it means the few cases we get tend to be pretty solidly legitimate. Angels can fall, after all….why couldn’t a demon rise?”

“Sorry, got brimstone in my ears or something, are you telling me, of all creatures, that I’m heading upwards?” I definitely laughed. Demon laughter is very unpleasant. Recognizing this when you’re the one laughing is not fun.

“Something like that. As I said, your call. If you still prefer all of this for eternity, by all means, stick around.”

And that’s how I found out risen demons are a thing.

It’s not easy, no longer being of hell but not being of heaven, but it’s probably easier than you might expect. People think about heaven and hell in terms of punishment and reward, and while this is mostly true, like I said before, it’s really more about balance. The slate’s not wiped clean, but it’s not like I have some impossible restrictive rules that set me up to fail, it’s not like one tiny slip will shoot me back to the inferno, but I have bosses who check in now and then, keep tabs. And they’re here to help me, I’m not just stranded to make my own way. I’m not human, but I’m probably closer to that than I am to angel or demon anymore. And I gotta say, I look a whole lot better. I still put most people off at first, at least a little, but I’m way less spiky and you know. Fewer teeth, fewer arms, that kind of thing. But I guess you could say I’m doing pretty well now, dragging my way back to something I’m not sure I ever was, to be honest. I’m grateful for the chance.

And I’m looking forward to seeing who I can drag along with me, and that part feels pretty good.

[multmilk]

Strawberries and Cigarettes | l.t

Pairing: idol!Taeyong x idol!reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: Use of cigars/smoking, character death, a bit of smut

Word count: 2.6k

He was from SM and you were from JYP. He was a member of 3 boy groups and you were a solo artist. His genre was more of pop while you make rnb. The two of you were working on opposite sides of the world so when you received the news that the two of you were collaborating, you were bewildered.

Now you were sitting alone inside a coffee shop waiting for Taeyong. You knew he was a talented man—a rapper, a composer and a hell of a good dancer. You’ve watched a lot of fancams out of pure curiosity and you were surprised that you had the pleasure of getting to work with him.

“Y/N?” a rich and foreign voice said, looking up at him you felt your heart skip a beat at his appearance. His hair was brown and it had some streaks of gray to it, it was a little disheveled but it still looked good. He was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt that made the veins in his hands more prominent, a dangling earing on his ear that added more charisma to him.

“I’m Lee Taeyong,” he smiled. Ooooh fuck he looks good, his voice sent shivers down your spine. You gestured for him to sit down across of you. This is going to be interesting, you thought.

----

It’s been a month since the two of you worked together. You mostly worked in his apartment, though his members lived there with him, they respected you and treated you like their family. They leave when the two of you work so that you could focus and they wouldn’t create ruckus.

You weren’t fully comfortable with him yet and you know he felt the same way too. You always sat on the edge of his bed while he sat on his chair across you. It was hard to work with someone so new, someone who’s a stranger. You had to be careful with every step you take—and although that being cautious is good, it’s difficult to not voice out your ideas to him because you’re afraid of him judging of what you thought.

You two were working on an album that focuses on the issues of society today. You had two solo songs, he had two solo songs and then there were two songs that features the both of you.

Your first song tackles about the beauty standards of men and women of our generation. How men aren’t allowed to wear make-up because it makes them look more feminine and how women should have this petite figure and if they don’t look what society expects them to look like, they do not belong in this place.

Your next song focuses on gender roles. Women can have a job that is expected to supposedly be for men and vice versa. Also, how people should be respected no matter their chose of job. Whether they are sex workers, drag queens or a waitress—each should be treated equally.

Taeyong’s first song is about corruption in politics and the politicians that don’t uphold the values and  morals of a good leader and how in turn, makes a country incompetent and their people ignorant.  

His next song is about the challenges faced by the mass. Poverty, treated unequally, high medicine fee and all things in between. What the two of you have worked on alone is a masterpiece.

Right now you were stuck inside his room, diverting your attention towards anything but making the music together. You’ve asked him for help and he did that but working on two whole songs together just seems a bit out of your comfort zone.

“What about pizza?” he asks “I don’t think pizza is a good top-“ you got cut off with his laugh. It was a hearty one too, not the chuckles you hear he lets go once you accidentally do or say something funny.

“I meant maybe you want me to get a pizza delivered? Maybe it’ll help remove this,” he gestured to the space between us, “Tension?” you just laughed, probably because you felt stupid and embarrassed for not catching his drift but you agreed to get pizza.

You and Taeyong are now seated on each side of his bed sharing a box of pizza. For the past hour, you two have been sharing stories and jokes like childhood friends catching up. You’ve learned that he has a passion for understanding arts, he’s really good at playing video games and he likes listening to Drake.

Neither of you initiated to start working on your songs but you liked the time you were using to get to know him. He was kind, gentle and warm.

There were numerous spotlights surrounding Taeyong. The photographer asked him to try different poses and to relax but for some reason, his shoulders were too tense and his hands were shaking a bit. You and Taeyong started hanging around a lot when you two decided to write your music. You two hung out in his apartment where his members stay and spend time with the two of you, you hung out in the convenience store eating ice cream and telling jokes. You didn’t have many friends in the music industry and now you consider Taeyong as your best friend.

He looked good, you thought. He was sporting a gold glittered blazer with a black top beneath it, 3 layered chokers and he was wearing the dangling earrings you loved so much on him.

You walked towards Taeyong and said, “Yong, look at me,” he let out a breathy laugh but kept his head down. Putting your fingers under his chin and tilting his head upwards you ask, “What’s wrong?” he closes his eyes and exhales “I smell strawberries,” your eyes widened at his statement. “S-strawberries?” “Yes, strawberries,” he then looks at your eyes and continues “Before my best friend died, she asked me to fetch her strawberries. So, I went to the hospital and see her having a seizure. Doctors were all around her, her boyfriend was frantic and I dropped the jar of strawberry jam. It was the last time I ever associated myself with the fruit,” then he laughs. You apologize and say that it probably was your perfume but he tucks your hair behind your ear and says that it was fine.

This whole time you were talking the photographer took candid photos of you and Taeyong and claimed that it was good for the album cover already. Taeyong kisses your cheek and feel blush creep in on your face.

You were going to sleep well today.

---

The both of you were in Amsterdam to film your music video. You were dressed in a black laced bustier top paired with black flared pants and Taeyong is wearing a white button up top.

It’s been an hour of filming and Taeyong has been showering you with compliments. Your relationship has gotten to the point where you two flirt shamelessly and honestly, you didn’t have any complaints.

As the crew and directors all were huddled to talk about the next scene, you were out smoking looking at the museums and buildings surrounding you.

“You didn’t tell me you smoked,” Taeyong stalks toward you and keeps his hands inside of his pockets. “You never asked. Want to join me?” “No thanks. I quit after she died,” you nod.

“Do you believe in heaven and in hell?” you ask and then he stands beside you, “Move away from me Yong, you’re going to get cancer from second-hand smoking you know,” “I believe that if we die, we’re just going to live a life with eternal darkness and quietness and loneliness,” he answers your question and ignores your previous statement. “I do believe in God, yes, but if we die and then that’s it. Do you believe in it?” he asks, “I believe that we do go to heaven or hell based on the actions and choices we’ve made in our borrowed time living here,” you say.

“What separates the people who will enter heaven to those who will enter hell? I mean, humans make pretty bad and wrong decisions. If hurting a person, unintentionally and intentionally, is just the basis for us to live a life in paradise or in damnation then I guess we’re all fucked huh?” you both laugh. You throw your cigarette to the trash can near you and stick your hand out for Taeyong to hold.

---

The first time you and him kissed was after your comeback stage.

It was hot, it was messy and you felt like flying. He told you you tasted like strawberries mixed with the after-taste of cigars. You just laugh and continue kissing down his neck.

He tugged at your hair and removed the strap off of your dress. You got on your knees and unbuckled his belt.

As the night went further and your relationship progressed, he had told you that he loves you and that you indeed smell like strawberries. And as much as he dislikes the fruit and what comes with it, if loving you means he has to smell and taste like strawberries for the rest of his life then so be it.

You slept with a smile on your face, head on Taeyong’s chest and his arms caging you for protection.

---

You were hysterical.

You had rushed Taeyong into the ER as soon as your comeback stage had ended. You were supposed to go out and celebrate with him, announce the tour you were having but all your plans had ended once you saw the he had coughed up blood and was having a hard time breathing.

Machines and tubes were stuck in his body, his unconscious body. You held his hand for the longest time that day and you weren’t planning on letting go.

You woke up with Taeyong speaking to the doctor and you saw that they were having a serious conversation. “Taeyong?” he looks at you, a little startled. He ushers the doctor to leave and says to you, “Hey, you should go back to sleep,” you ask what the doctor said and he just simply says that it was a bad bad bad case of food poisoning. You were apprehensive but you didn’t want to push it any further, he needed his rest after all.

That was the first mistake you made.

---

The second mistake was smoking around him. You wanted to stop but it had helped you through the sleepless nights and when you were overthinking.

The third mistake was pushing through with the tour. It was his idea, saying it was the least you two could do for your fans but it was your fault for supporting it.

The last straw was watching him being taken away by the paramedics and staying kneeled and glued to the stage as they rushed him into the hospital.

You arrived seeing doctors moving everywhere and getting paddles and shouting ‘clear’. You couldn’t stand to watch him as they revived his body. So, you took your pack of cigarettes and went outside.

By the time you finished three sticks, you decided to see how Taeyong was doing. Every step you took felt like it weighed tons, like your world was crashing but seeing and hearing the doctors call the time of his death? You felt that the world has ended.

You were screaming and crying and questioning everything and anything. You screamed and screamed until your cries had taken over and seeing Taeyong lying on his bed cold and lifeless, it shattered you.

---

Months after his death, you continued on with the tour.

Today, you were in Amsterdam and was about to finish the last song.

Right before you sung though, Taeyong’s voice rung around the concert hall. Everyone was quiet.

“Hey Y/N. If you’re hearing this it means that I’ve died. I have a few things to say so please listen.

From the first day I met you, I knew that I was going to fall in love with you but the minute I smelt your strawberry scent? I knew I had to distance myself,” he laughs.

“It was hard to though. It was the boys who pushed me to hang out with you more. It would benefit our work after all. Hence, the pizza mistaken as a song topic incident. From that moment on, I found myself liking you much more than I intended to.

Fast forward to all of our shared jokes and stories. Late night ice-cream stops at the convenience store. Breakfast dates. Coffee-stained sweaters and deep conversations while you smoked.

I knew that I fell in love with you the moment that your lips brushed mine. It was special, magical, felt like I was floating on cloud nine. I just let myself fall deeper until the moment you rushed me into the ER when I coughed up blood.

I needed you to stay away from me because I knew that it would happen. I am sorry, I am very sorry, that I didn’t tell you the truth.  Maybe if I had told you the truth you would’ve really stayed away from me but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you and hurt you.

I am a smoker. I quit because my best friend died of second-hand smoking. It was my fault she died, it was my fault I hated strawberries and it’s my fault now that I left you without ever explaining the truth about me.

I don’t want you blaming yourself for not noticing the signs or for keeping on smoking. None of this is your fault Y/N.

I just didn’t want to lose the time knowing that you’d be so cautious around me. No, I wanted us to be as normal as we could ever be. I wanted more time with you but I guess this is for the best.

You deserve so much more this world could ever offer. You are a great person with a great personality, great talents, great body and a great heart.

I want- I need you to keep on using that talent and heart to inspire people all over the world to fight. We have achieved so much together and I want you to use this pain into art.

I loved you and I will love you even if my soul ends up in a cold and dark place. I will love you even if you choose to love another guy. I know, I know that I will be in your heart and that I will always have that one piece saved specifically for me.

I love you and your cigarettes. Your strawberry-flavored perfume scent, your strawberry-flavored shampoo and your taste when I kiss you after you smoke.

Your strawberries clung on to my shirts and sweaters, and it did hurt me at first because it brought back the memories of her but you gave me a new reason to love strawberries.

I love you, Y/N,” as he sings, the whole crowd were in tears and you were sat on the stage clutching your microphone near your heart.

You smile and look up at the ‘heavens’ as he sings,

“Strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you,”

(A/N: This is my first taeyong one-shot and i hope you liked it. i tried to be very angst-y haha. please send in requests aaand feeback is always appreciated!)

[autisticmight]

ranking christmas carols

silent night: a nice, calming classic. you probably had to learn the first verse in german in primary school. points removed because of that one post that pointed out that describing him as "tender and mild" made the baby jesus sound like fried chicken, and i keep remembering it and laughing instead of holding the notes. 8/10

the first noel: the words and the tune are completely out of sync. the lyrics don't scan, like, at all. you're stuck holding awkward notes, which really brings out the forced rhymes. points deducted for making me pronounce "israel" with four syllables, and that one post from a jewish person with the monty python "i didn't vote for him" king bit, because they make me giggle during the song's redeeming feature, the refrain. point added for the line "'tween an ox manger and an ass" being present in some versions. 3/10

the holly and the ivy: excellent little tune. i like how the refrain mentions the sun rising and also deer. the verses describe various parts of the holly plant, and then liken it to the virgin mary and baby jesus in some way. i'm just here for tree facts. 9/10

hark! the herald angels sing: the title is very excited, like panic! at the disco. i can imagine the herald angels doing little jazz hands. the tune goes a little bit higher line by line, and it's just a really interesting melody. also it slaps, but not as much as 'the holly and the ivy'. 7/10

go tell it on the mountain: simple enough for an assembly of a hundred or so children eleven and under to not sound like shit singing it. the verses are short enough that you don't forget how long you've been singing it for. i liked when the last word on the verse went up a little bit. points deducted for never being on the christmas albums. 6/10

i saw three ships: the narrator sees three ships. this is fucking great. the ships apparently come into bethlehem, which, by car, is about three quarters of an hour from the ocean, depending on traffic. i think the guy just wanted to go boat-spotting on christmas day in the morning, but their parents made them go to church. points deducted for historical inaccuracy, and given back because boats are cool. 7/10

good king wenceslas: the historical figure that this song is about wasn't actually a king when he was alive. they king-ed him after his brother assassin-ed him. this is just a song about a rich dude who goes out in a snowstorm on a holiday to give a peasant some food and firewood. good on him for doing his bit to redistribute the wealth or whatever. 11/10

gaudete: it's in latin and it slaps. points deducted because i don't know latin. 8/10

coventry carol: it's very slow, like 'silent night' but boring, but it's one of my personal favourites, because this is a song about murdering kids!!! yep, we all forgot the baby-murdering that jesus's birth indirectly caused!!! 6/10

in the bleak midwinter: look, i know i bashed 'the first noel' for holding words on notes for far longer than they need to be held, but it actually works here. it's less "fuck, we just tried to sing the words over the first tune we found" and more "let's riff in church!" points removed for a (usually removed) verse talking about breasts and asses, which really messes with the whole mood of the piece. otherwise, the lyrics sound a bit like a hozier song. 8/10

we wish you a merry christmas: this is a song for serfs to sing at their landlords. it is a demand for figgy pudding and a threat of harassment. redistribute the wealth, my lord. give them figgy pudding. 100/10

o come, all ye faithful: okay, so, if you're making this entertaining for an assembly of a hundred or so children aged eleven and under, you have them sing the three "oh come, let us adore him" bits while gradually increasing the volume. it sounds so cool. i am, however, deducting points for the line "lo, he abhors not the virgin's womb," which is just weird, like, "cool! this baby does not hate his mother's uterus!" and also the phrase "very god," which makes me think of 'much doge'. 7/10

while shepherds watched their flocks by night: honestly, it's just a basic little carol. no weird phrases, or butchery of words. the most notable thing i can think of is that, if the singer is the kind of person who needs a lot of validation and partakes in silliness to gain attention, which is the closest thing they can get, they will start the song off with the line "while shepherds washed their socks by night." i hope the sheep weren't being ignored. 5/10

once in royal david's city: it's the same tune as 'hark! the herald angels sing' and nobody talks about it. it tries to keep a bit of suspense going with the identity of the mother and the child, but everyone assumes that it's mary and jesus anyway because this is a christmas carol, and then the song's like, "mary was that mother mild!" and you've just got to look at the poor choirboy like, "shit, dude, yeah, we figured." 6/10

carol of the bells: the tune is a ukranian folk chant, but the words are copyrighted. it's technically a waltz, and it sounds really ominous, which is a nice change from all these 4/4, major key dirges. points deducted for capitalism. 7/10

ding dong merrily on high: this is one of the few carols you can sing in church without almost falling asleep, because it goes hard!!! the melismatic 'gloria'? Iconic. point deducted for making me say "ding dong" and not giving me any time to giggle. 9/10

god rest ye merry gentlemen: okay, so this is one of the songs where the evolution of language has obscured the meaning. it's not saying "take a nap, you drunk skunks," but rather, "may god allow you to remain happy and contented," which is pretty neat. satan notably shows up in the first verse, compared to the others, where the whole 'eternal damnation' thing is kind of tacked on as an afterthought. here, he's just like, "bitch!!! i'm the devil!!! i'm here to eat your souls if you don't swear fealty to this small infant!!!" and i think that's a good representation of christianity. also, if you're in a church with a really slow organ player, the "tidings of comfort and joy" bit can sound terrifying. it's great. 9/10

[girl4music]

Suicide/Self-Sacrifice/Manic-Depression

This may well be my best post yet regarding philosophical theories and artistic interpretations, using the characters and storylines from the show, ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’, as a staple, if I can explain my thoughts and feelings on it well enough. I want to tackle the themes of ‘suicide’, ‘manic-depression’ and ‘self-sacrifice’. Some posts I’ve reblogged on Tumblr have inspired me to write down my take on these subjects, and the situations, circumstances and consequences that follow. This will probably be a very long post, so bear with me. I’ll try to keep on topic as much as possible, as this will be very hard to explain in a way that will not be offending, ignorant or just plain stupid. I want it to come across to people in a positive way!

Callisto:

The character Callisto was introduced in Season 1 and her story was very complicated. It was difficult to understand her consciously and morally for the awful things she was doing, and her reasons as to why she was doing them. Eventually there came to a point in the show where she felt she had nothing left to live for and she wanted to die. This was right after she heard the screams of Xena mourning the death of her son, Solan, in the Season 3 episode, ‘Maternal Instincts’. You see the expression of pure ecstasy on her face, as she had desired this for so long. To make Xena feel the pain and the grief she caused her when she burned her hometown and murdered her family. To give her a taste of the immense torture it had inflicted on her all throughout the years growing up alone and full of revenge, driving her to psychopathy. I’ve said this before, but I could never quite look at Callisto as a villain, as I could see she was so damaged and depressed, that she really couldn’t help becoming the way she did. I feel she was seriously misunderstood, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who feels this way about her. This scene in the episode was supposed to be her moment of accomplishment and relief. But then her facial expression begins to change to confusion and apathy. She realized it didn’t do anything to cure her condition, it only made her empty and numb inside. She was waiting for the relief to wash over her and for the pleasure to settle into her system and it didn’t. After so many years of wanting to destroy Xena’s soul, she finally got her wish… and it did NOTHING!

What brought her to the point of yearning for death was the fact that she couldn’t feel anything anymore. Not even her hatred for Xena… which was what was motivating her to hold on to her life to begin with. She believed the only meaning to her life was to destroy Xena’s. The delicious scent of fulfillment never came, and she was done with it. From that point onwards she craved oblivion, and unfortunately for her, since becoming a god, that wasn’t possible. The Olympian gods cannot take their own lives. Another must do it or they must get permission from Zeus, as their roles as immortals are important and too valuable to be wasted, according to the king of the gods. This was the fatal flaw in her plan. She wanted to live long enough to sate her vengeance. But what she ended up doing instead was giving herself no way out of her emotional and mental torment. What did, however, relieve her of that, as we see later in the show, was Xena sacrificing herself to save her soul from eternal damnation in Hell. Thus, as an angel, she was reformed and could forgive Xena without question. She helped Eli bring her and Gabrielle back to life, as well as provide her with what she once took from her. A child. A human life, that to which would conceal her reincarnated soul, giving her what Xena once took from her. A mother. Such a beautiful and satisfying end to her story. If she had found a way to destroy her existence, that would have never happened for her, as it was impossible for her to not experience consciousness. No matter which reincarnated body, denomination of the afterlife or alternate reality she was in. Committing suicide would not have helped anything. It would not have given her any kind of respite whatsoever. Suicide was not the answer. Xena’s self-sacrifice was. It was down to Xena to save her, as Callisto was well passed the point of saving herself.

Xena:

Now this is where I need to be very careful because I don’t want to upset anyone who has had personal experiences with losing loved ones to suicide, or give those who might have suicidal tendencies an excuse to act on them. I’m going to try my best to express myself in a respectful way regarding Xena’s story, and whether she was suicidal or not, as some Xenites have pointed out parts of the show where it’s explicitly implied that she was because she had no regard for her own life and felt she never deserved forgiveness. We’ll start off with the pilot episode, ‘Sins Of The Past’, as this is where her story starts after changing her ways and reforming into a heroine for the ‘greater good’. Turning away from her darkness, and her desire to destroy anyone who got in her way of conquering entire nations. We see her riding Argo into smoke-filled areas, where an attack has evidently struck. Her mind occupied with images and sounds of the sins of her past. Remembering all the lives she had destroyed physically and emotionally. She comes across a boy in the wreckage of the village she was passing by and gave him some food before speeding off out of the area. I personally think this scene was a delusion, as the boy was talking about how it was Xena who killed his parents, and that she came out of the sky “throwing thunderbolts and breathing fire.” I believe the boy and the decimated village was real but the experience he was relating was not. So, therefore, I feel it was just her deluding herself with the memories of the horrible things she had done, and the consequences it had on the lives of those she victimized and destroyed.

Next we see her in a wooded surrounding taking off her armor and leathers, leaving her in only her under-shift, and burying them, covering them with soil and leaves. It is here where it is possible she was thinking of committing suicide as we also see her staring blankly, presumably deep in thought at what she was about to do. Contemplating on going through with it, I would assume. Now if we go all the way to the second to last episode, ‘A Friend In Need Part I’, we see her do the exact same thing, only this time, her last look and thoughts were of Gabrielle, walking in the opposite direction, with absolutely no inclination of what she was about to do, which was to allow the army to kill her. We watch her put up enough of a fight to take out as many men as she possibly could, until finally meeting the general face to face as he cuts off her head, in first-person view, with blood covering the camera screen, shocking us all. She was allowing him to kill her as she could have easily stopped him if she had wanted to, as Gabrielle points out later. She evidently was wanting to die. So these parallels definitely allude to her being suicidal and caring nothing for her own life. Only Gabrielle’s and the people who were about to be attacked by Yodoshi’s soldiers. I don’t blame her to be honest. The 40,000 lives she had taken all those years ago would have drove her to that conclusion. Their blood on her hands, if only figuratively, making the decision for her. So considering those scenes, as well as her confession to Gabrielle, in the Season 6 episode, ‘Legacy’, that she was the one who changed her decision to “wanting it to end”, it is very conceivable she was plagued with suicidal thoughts throughout the entire show. And given this theory is accurate, it tells you Gabrielle saved her life without even realizing it from the moment she first met her. That is an astonishing revelation, and it completely changes the tone of the whole show. The thought that Xena could have been suicidal all that time. She was only happy when she was with Gabrielle, who she referred to as her “light” and her “source”. Her reason for existing at all. Therefore, what the meaning of life was for Xena wasn’t a theme of any kind. It was a living and breathing human, who seemingly enjoyed her life and was very peaceful about it to begin with… but was she really? We’ll get on to her next…

Gabrielle:

This is a perspective that might be a little bit of a reach, and there certainly isn’t any reason to make this show seem any darker than it already is from what I’ve talked about previously, but I feel I must include this character in this topic of conversation, as she is my favourite character in the whole show. @brifigy made an enlightening post that I would like you to read:

https://girl4music.tumblr.com/post/168126126575/girl4music-brifigy-girl4music-brifigy

I think @brifigy had a valid theory, and I’d like to elaborate on it to support it. I am quite observant, so I notice things others completely overlook. There are certain traits from Gabrielle’s psyche I want to bring to light to you all, in continuation of @brifigy’s theory. Gabrielle might have been struggling with manic-depression. However, because of her incredible capacity for emotional strength, she was able to hide it from the audience and convince them that she was a happy person, as she so evidently appeared to be from the outside.

You must look very deeply into her character to pick up instances of depression and mania. It is very probable she could have been manic-depressed. Obviously, back then, there was no such term or diagnosis available for mental and emotional disorders. It’s a very relevant and logical perspective to come to, as her character is very layered and complicated. Though, it’s rather hard to pinpoint exactly where it might have been accurate. This is my attempt at pinpointing moments in the show where this perspective makes sense, with my limited knowledge on manic-depression.

The first thing I want to mention is Gabrielle’s insistence to cater to and sacrifice herself for others, both physically and emotionally. We see this side of her right from the start. In her introduction scene, she is shown sacrificing her own life for the health and freedom of her family. The very same event that saved Xena from committing suicide… was also the one where Gabrielle offered her own life to the slave-traders. In fact, throughout the whole of the season we see her constantly doing this for others. Putting herself in harm’s way. Throwing herself in front of strangers. Doing dangerous tasks to prove herself as a responsible young adult, and worthy of being Xena’s sidekick. Bravely stepping up to the plate time and time again to protect and defend others, even with her lack of fighting skill and strength, all the while showing extreme naivety and recklessness.

But what for? What was her motive? Why did she behave this way? Why was she so compassionate and selfless? Well, if you’ve ever met someone who struggles with manic-depression, you will also most likely meet a person who is the most caring, kind and optimistic person you’ve ever encountered in your life, as this person is so tormented by their inner-demons, that they would never wish the same on others, and will endeavor to be a person who will always be there for others, and offer as much help and emotional support as they possibly can. They are usually very empathetic, artistic and adventurous. Always wanting a change in routine and schedule to keep them passionate about life. Always looking for meaning in everything, as they want to be able to give to the world their help and healing. The very thing they do not have for themselves or know how to give themselves. They are also somebody that always doubts themselves, and believes they have more faults than skills, but they express it in such a way where it seems like they’re not being serious. It just comes across as a funny passing joke. Laughing at themselves and their imperfections, but deep inside really struggle with them, and believing in themselves and their capabilities. They give to others what they cannot give to themselves. Pointing out their potential and strengths to lift that person’s confidence and vibration. They talk about subjects that refer to overcoming obstacles and finding the meaning of life. But you never really notice that they’re talking about themselves because they’re just so damn good at putting it into a non-personal way.

If this does not sound like Gabrielle to you in the first season, you haven’t really been paying enough attention, because I can point out many times where Gabrielle has shown these personality and behavioural traits, and not just in the first season either. Gabrielle had an immense evolution, and a lot of what happened to her in Season 3 made her really grow up. She became stronger and wiser because of it. Initially, she appeared to be an overly enthusiastic, loving life, kind of person. But was she just putting on a show? And if she was suffering with manic-depression, (or what has come to be known as ‘bipolar disorder’ nowadays) what caused this manifestation of mental issues in the first place? Childhood trauma, perhaps? It seems like Gabrielle’s first experience of trauma is in Season 2 and Season 3. But we have no idea what was going on before that in her hometown or inside her head. We’ll never know. But what we do know is that Xena saved her, as she confesses that in the Season 4 episode, ‘The Ides Of March’, as @brifigy​‘s post said. It’s as good a confirmation as any. 

Thank you, @brifigy for enlightening us with this insight into Gabrielle’s character. I merely only wanted to elaborate on it and support it. I hope you don’t mind. I’m done! That was long-winded, but I hope you took something from it. It’s a hard topic to talk about, but I thought I’d express my thoughts and feelings on it, thoroughly, anyway. If you got this far, thank you so much for reading. I love my Xenite family. I hope none of you ever take your own life, or put yourself in a situation where you could die, because you don’t care about yourself. You are deserving of so much in this world, and it would not be the same without you. Do not follow Xena!

IF YOU EVER WANT TO TALK PRIVATELY… MY DM’S ARE OPEN!

[englass]

Oh, could I request John letting the deputy hold him because he understands she's going though a lot atm. :^) thanks for reading.

No worries hun! Thanks for sending this in! 😁 It took a while, but I had fun with it nonetheless. Kind of ended up running away with the idea, but I hope you enjoy it!

– – –

When Rook had gotten in that plane, as prepared as she could be with a freshly tattooed chest and a determined glare for the dogfight that was about to go down, she hadn’t exactly considered what could happen.

Sure, she hoped that she’d win. That she would finally free the Valley from the tyranny of John Seed by the end of it all, knocking him off of his high horse, and hopefully without that much bloodshed if at all possible.

But what she hadn’t considered was if things went wrong.

With a strangled gasp Rook hobbles toward the panting John Seed, his tailored clothes scuffed and dirtied, as he rests against the trunk of a tree. Eyes closed and head tipped back with both hands in his lap, radio tossed and abandoned at his side. Despite his ruffled appearance anyone would think that he just did a lap around his airstrip instead of get in a literal, and verbal, dogfight with somebody. He near enough looks unharmed.

Lucky prick.

Rook stares at her nemesis, usually groomed hair now tussled, before leaning heavily against the same tree that he’s up against. Sliding down until she’s sitting next to him and mirroring his actions; head tilted skyward with eyes closed, pained groans slipping through stilted breaths every now and again.

Despite sitting next to the infamous ‘reaper’ of the Valley, Rook can’t help but feel nothing but calm, strangely content as the warm afternoon sunlight flitters through the gaps in the leaves above, shinning down on the both of them with speckled light. Considering how cold it’s gotten the warmth is a welcome blanket for the shaky Deputy.

“Ya know,” she starts with a wince, holding her side, “despite it all, that was actually kinda fun.” There’s a fractured laugh underling her tone, mirth trying to break through even as she sucks in a stuttered breath between gritted teeth.

John scoffs, not even sparing her a glance, “I think you need to rework your definition of ‘fun’, my dear Wrath.”

“Says you,” she says accusingly, “I hardly think you’re one to talk, what with the type of stuff that you do to people.”

“What I do, Deputy, is not for my own pleasure, but for the salvation of sinners like yourself,” he replies with a snip. “I have told you this numerous times and yet, even in the wake of your atonement, you would rather still be barred from the Gates of Eden and condemned to an eternal damnation than swallow that filthy pride of yours. I only want to help you, Deputy, to give you a new and better life amongst the project; if only you would just say yes.”

“Oh leave off, John,” Rook whines, “I’d rather not talk about atonement and crap while I lay here dying.”

“Oh please,” John grouses, finally looking toward her, “like you’re actually–” he pauses, words dissolving on his tongue like powered tablet. His ocean eyes going wide as they glue themselves to the jagged piece of metal sticking out of her side; crimson painting her shirt, staining the hand that presses under the metal with a noticeable tremble, a vivid red.

“Huh, that bad eh?” Rook weakly jokes, watching the emotions dance hectically across his face, changing as quickly as the current, before looking skyward once again, pointedly refusing to look down at herself. She winces at a jolt of pain. “That’s reassuring.”

“Deputy...” the youngest Seed flounders, unable to look away from the sight she makes; caught in a trance as any harboured animosity fades to ash. There’s no way the Deputy – his deputy – could be dying, there‘s just no way. A piece of metal couldn’t stop them, surly. They’ve been through worse than this, he knows they have. He can’t lose them now that he’s finally got them, that wouldn’t be fair. That’s not fair...

John’s quick to snap back to reality when he hears the Deputy gasp, her free hand pressing into the ground beside him as she attempts to move herself.

John doesn’t spare a thought before he’s grabbing her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses in a rush, “stop moving, you will only make it worse!”

“A little late for that, I‘d say,” she grumbles lowly. “Now let go, I’m hardly going anywhere.”

Really such a fact should’ve had John vibrating, excitement twisted into something cruel and consuming, but he finds himself feeling the furthest from that than what he ever thought he might do. Seeing the Deputy like this was making him feel rather ill, a nasty sensation curling low within the pit of his stomach.

Also, were they always that pale?

So focused on his own conflicted thoughts and absent observations, John doesn’t notice when the Deputy edges a little closer to him; shimmying into his side.

With a whimper Rook moves her free arm, slipping it behind and around John’s back to grip and hold as much of his jacket as she can. Her head falling heavily to rest on his shoulder with a pained sigh.

John freezes at the touch, the familiarness of it making him feel a touch uneasy; a tad nervous. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had held him in such a way, if ever at all even. It’s completely foreign to him. And he especially never expected this type of gesture from the elusive deputy of all people, despite how much he might of dreamed and secretly hoped for it on lonely nights with only his hand for company.

But, even more so, he never envisioned a situation like this – so potentially dire – to be the one where his dreams finally became a reality. Or at least as close as he was possibly going to get them to reality anyway.

What a living nightmare this day was turning out to be.

“What are you doing?” The question is a lot quieter this time around; softer than he intends it. A breath of a secret shared between friends, or unrequited lovers.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying, John,” Rook tells him bluntly, gaze distant and watery as her grip grows tighter, “and believe it or not, I’m actually really fucking scared right now, so if you could just shut up and let me find at least a little bit of comfort in you before I die then that’d be great.”

There’s a weighted pause filled only with the shimmering of leaves and unsteady breaths.

“Comfort, from me?” The baptist jokes derisively, “you really must be scared then...”

Yet, despite his tone, Rook can still hear the unintentional lilt of hope that’s layered within the question. The hope that maybe she, or anyone really, could want something so simple yet meaningful from him; something so soft and genuine.

And, not for the first time, Rook can’t help but feel sorry for the complicated man next to her. Memories of her makeshift baptism, the look on his face as Joseph walked away from him, fluttering to the forefront of her mind. If only life had given him a better hand.

“Yes, John. Even from you.”

There’s a broken sound that comes from him, a whine or a laugh she isn’t sure. Yet, the sound quickly slips from her mind when she feels his own arm come around to grip her shoulder, hesitant at first before hugging her closer, his head gently leaning to rest on top of hers.

The hand gripping his jacket is covered by his own, pulling her away – she whimpers pitifully at the movement, weakly holding on, “shh, it’s okay, Deputy. I’ve got you” – only to draw her hand up to his face. Fingers interlaced he kisses the palm of her hand before placing it over his chest, holding it there as his thumb brushes back and forth in a soothing motion; a silent reassurance.

If someone had told her a few weeks ago that she’d be hugging John Seed after being impaled by a piece of plane shrapnel, she likely would have scoffed and sarcastically entertained them. If not straight up laughed at them. Funny, she supposes, how life’s turned out for her.

“You’re not going to die, by the way,” John suddenly says, breaking the hush that had fallen between them, “I won’t let you.”

Once upon a time, Rook might have rolled her eyes at how childish he sounds, a little kid getting ready to throw a strop. However, the Deputy has had enough interactions with John Seed by this point to be able to gleam when he’s being serious.

It’s a little scary in its own right, hearing that cold shift that sends chills down her spine, but ultimately she decides to ignore his self-made promise. There’s nothing she can say to it.

“I hope I don’t,” Rook says honestly, “there’s still stuff I wanted to do.”

“Like what?” He asks conversationally.

The Deputy huffs around a laugh, weak and slightly derogatory, “it’s stupid really, but would you believe me if I said that I wanted to get married?”

“Married?” John’s chest does something funny at the thought. “You? Forgive me, deputy, but you hardly seem the type.”

“Wow, really? No offence John-no, but you do realise that I’m more than just a Deputy wrecking your shit, right? I have dreams and hopes for the future too, ya know? And besides, what do you know; you don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“But enough isn’t a full picture, is it?” For a moment the Deputy goes quiet, and John can practically taste the bubbling bitterness in her next words. “How old am I, what’s my favourite colour, my favourite film; what was my first car, my first pet. Hell, does anyone even know my name...?”

It’s embarrassing really, allowing something so small and arguably petty to colour her the way it does, but if she really is about to die then surly now is as good a time as any to get her grudges and grievances out there. Confess, as John would put it it. After all, she’s done so much for everyone, got so much blood staining her hands (both figuratively and literally), and yet not one person has even asked for her name.

She’s a title, she knows that, has since this whole thing started, but bleeding out has a way of forcing things into perspective it seems. She’s going to die in the arms of her greatest enemy and no one is even going to be able to mark the grave because no one even knows her fucking–

She stills; tenses. Breath catching as she does so, but she pays the pain it causes no mind. Focusing only on the ring of John’s voice, his tongue curling around a name she didn’t think she’d ever hear again from another; didn’t think he even knew. Just how did he...?

“... what?” She sounds so small, so much like she did as a child, but she doesn’t care. Did he really just...

He pulls her closer, turns slightly to whisper her full name into her hair, lips brushing against her lightly as he does so. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

Rook sniffles, her breaths quickly becoming shallow and shaky as she presses further into John, burying her face as far into his neck as she possibly can. Hiding herself as tears begin to trail down her cheeks in lonely streams. Her retort is weak and warbled.

“Shut up.”

And, surprisingly, John does.

Although it might not be ideal, not at all how he hoped for them to come together, but for the first time since he can remember John feels what he believes to be genuine content. More than happy to offer his deputy all that he can give them in this uncertain, but surly fated, moment. This had to be destiny at play, he was certain of it. This was meant to happen.

And as he listens to her cry quietly, feels her sag and flinch in pain and anguish against him, waiting for his followers to hurry up and find them, not once does his hand let go of hers.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken Wings, pt.9 (AU)

09:  Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?

Summary: Back in her original body, she must find a way to break the curse.

Warnings: angst, fluff

Word Count: ~ 2000

Broken Wings (Angel AU - G.D.) Masterlist

Lost in space and time. That's how she felt as her mind drifted with clear instructions to focus on Y/N and the first time she had seen Grayson. It felt like someone is probing her brain, picking it apart for information she could hardly collect and present in exchange for her life. It tore through her, pushing her to relive each of her past lives within seconds – not having long enough to truly find a footing and realize what's happening, but long enough to feel the hurt of every single death she'd been put to with Grayson's lips atop hers.

''Focus on a heart-shaped ring I have made for you. It will lead you home.“

Grayson's words reminded her how to find her way, shaking her head furiously to get the overwhelming pain away from her thoughts. She had to find an anchor in something, Grayson being the obvious choice. And just like that, the darkness fades, light taking its place.

Blinding light forces her to close her eyes, holding out her arm to protect her vision. But when she opens her eyes, she's no longer blinded nor is she riddled by thousands of lifetimes – just this one.

Her hands are a little paler and smaller than usual, the heart-shaped ring on her right middle finger drawing her attention first as if it was a magnet – something she looked at every day, something very dear to her heart. 

But that's not her ring. Those are not her hands.

''What the?“ She breathes out, her hands resting on her long Y/H/C hair, much longer than she remembers it to be. And that's when she realized the truth – she's no longer Caroline.

''Y/N?“ His voice draws her attention without any effort, her eyes settling on the angelic man she had loved since the beginning of time. And he's shirtless. Very much shirtless.

''Y-yeah?“ She stutters, unable to peel her eyes from his incredible physique.

Every single inch of his skin is marked with perfection, each line accentuating an ab she’d like to drag the tip of her tongue over. His arms are huge, veins visible and curving around his muscles like snakes that give his arms the power to kill. His shoulder is distinctly pointy and sharp, his collarbone just calling for her to tap her fingertips along the curve. His neck is strong and inviting, awaiting love bites along the prominent vein on the left.

But nothing could compare to the flawlessness of his face. With a jawline that can cut you, a slight stubble lining it and framing his lips, cute nose to boop and brown eyes that turn hazel under the sunlight downing in his desire for her…well, Caroline finally understood the arrogant eyebrow raise and the cocky smirk he bestowed upon her and Y/N was surely a lucky lady if she got a piece of him, even for a moment before her death.

Looking like that, Grayson had every right to be confident. She loved the way he held himself upright and with dignity, light and untainted by unimaginable sorrow.

“You look a little lost there. Are you alright?” The kindness, softness in his voice had served like a tender kiss, caressing her soul.

“Yeah. I’m good. Great even.” She replied all too enthusiastically. She couldn’t believe this plan worked.

“You know I have to leave now. But I promise to return to you, my love.” Grayson stepped closer, his arms open as he wanted to embrace her.

It finally dawned on her – this is the exact moment she needs to convince him to bring her along.

“You have to take me with you.” Caroline blurted out, noticing just how different her voice is in this body, wondering if this is the kind of voice Grayson truly loves, not her raspy one.

“What? Love, I can’t. You know I can’t. This is…upstairs business. I’ve told you that.” Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as Y/N, his dear Y/N, gripped her hair like a madwoman.

“What do I tell you if you refuse?” Caroline asked, melting with a faint smile upon Grayson’s sweet lips.

“The truth. I’ll know something’s off anyways.” He stated, confusing her further.

“How? You said my soul is how you know it’s me. Wouldn’t that mean my soul being back in the original body wouldn’t change that?” She frowned, biting her lower lips softly.

“Every death marked your soul, changing your light. It started white – the essence so bright I could hardly look straight into your soul. It’s more colorful now. It shows you’ve lived many lives. So, tell me the truth.”

Caroline wondered if this Grayson could tell her essence isn’t as bright anymore. She wondered if that lessened her worth in her Grayson’s eyes. Had her colors changed his love for her over the years as well?

“If you don’t…I’ll die. Thousands upon thousands of times.” She bit her lower lip again, sensing him looking deeper into her eyes than any man had ever delved. He’s searching her eyes for the truth, a plausible reason behind the madness he believes had taken her – but all he sees is her essence, the colors dancing around it – colors he’d never seen before.

“I’m not Y/N. My name is Caroline and I’ve come from the future…You’ll be the cause for the angel’s fall on Earth and the reason for my demise for your lips are the door to death from the moment you go up there without me. It’s an endless cycle and we have to try and break it. Or at least stop it.” Caroline insisted, her panic easily reaching Grayson who believed every word she spoke but couldn’t resonate it inside his head. It was too much, even for him.

“Humans aren’t allowed in heaven, Y/N…Caroline.” He corrected himself, taking in a deep breath to clear his chaotic mind.

“So what then? Just gonna stand there and watch me burn? Because that’s what happened to Y/N. She burned to death when you laid your lips upon hers after the fall. She died each time, sometimes by burning, sometimes drowning, sometimes more subtle ways…but she dies each time. I.DIE.” She emphasized, placing her hand on his chest before she stopped. For a moment she saw an opportunity present itself, for her to taste the lips of doom she avoided since she met this beautiful man in her own time. She had an opportunity to feel what each of her predecessors have without it killing her. The curse still hadn’t taken its place.

Without a second thought, she placed a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him closer until her lips touched upon his. Grayson’s breathing quickened as did hers. His head was angled slightly to the side as his lips pressed harder and harder to hers. She was surprised to find his lips parted, craving the touch of her lips upon his as well. Their breaths mingled. Her heart fluttered inside her chest. At first, it was a delicate butterfly of a kiss, like he’s afraid she’s but a dream he conjured in his mind. Like a stronger touch might break her. When she doesn’t move away but gives into his touch, Grayson smiles into the kiss before allowing his arms to encircle her.

He drew her to him so there was no distance left between them, their lips finding each other in a kiss that stopped their minds from working. This kiss was desperate, passionate, one meant to compensate for all the pain she suffered because he loved her. He dedicated his life to being with her from the moment of that first kiss, for he knew that if he lost her he would lose himself. Barely able to separate, Caroline is the first to step back, gasping for air. Grayson groans lowly at the loss of contact, his hands stopping her from moving too far. They’re both out of breath, their lips swollen and spread into two entirely different smiles. 

But when she blinks her eyes open, she finds she's no longer on Earth.

''Shh.“ Grayson warns her to remain quiet, showing her the line before and after them, every angel making their choice. Ethan stood behind them, eyes wide as he tapped Cameron's shoulder to look at his brother's actions.

However, the next time Caroline blinks, she founds herself alone. Looking down, she can see a countless amount of angels in their fall, each screaming in their mutual terror of what's to come – of losing the only home they've ever known.

''You were wrong to come here.“ She hears a voice, but she's all alone. ''Humans can't see me. Don't even bother, Y/N.“ The voice addresses her, only to change its mind. ''Or should I say Caroline?“

''Was I wrong? You cursed me to eternal damnation and ignorance and you question why I'd come here?“ She retorted, quite frankly pissed off. She wanted more time with this Grayson – the innocent, loving, happy Grayson who didn't carry the guilt of her numerous deaths on his shoulders. She wanted more than a kiss – she wanted a lifetime.

''It's not your punishment. It's his. That's why you forget your lives. I've spared you the pain.“

Caroline chuckles, shaking her head as her hand covers her mouth to hide just how much of an angry chuckle this is.

''Spared me? I'VE BEEN LOSING MY MIND THIS WHOLE TIME! I haven't been spared. I've been torn from the one soul I'm meant to be with. My other half. I'm tortured, a slave to a curse without a way to break it.“ She tries to collect herself, hoping not to get something worse in return. She's angry, burning up, but she can't let her emotions take over.

''And you think you're soulmates? What of Amara? Or Kendra? Or even Hailey? They've all chosen Ethan. How would you choose someone else if Grayson is your soulmate?“ She found herself challenged, learning there was more than one version of her that fell for the handsome demon. She wasn't surprised...A part of Caroline wanted Ethan just as bad as they did. But Grayson was her endgame.

''True love is imperfect. It's not always about who you feel connected with. Sometimes timing, people, surroundings get involved and people meant to be together don't get the luxury of loving each other. But if he wasn't the one, what did they die of then? Are you telling me neither of them succumbed to their feelings for Grayson in the end?“ Caroline smirked, feeling as if she's made progress. Crossing her arms she felt nearly victorious.

''If I break the curse, you'll die and never return. Grayson would still live an eternity on Earth, alone. It will drive him mad as time passes...the day he can't remember your face anymore is the day he'll be a lost soul. He'll choose Lucifer and the scale will tip to the bad side. It will bring about an Apocalypse. Sure you want that ending to your love story?“

Caroline closed her eyes feeling as if her head might explode. This information...the way everything would go...it was too much. She loved Grayson more than anything and she had nothing to lose, but was their happiness, a single lifetime worth millions of lives?

''What if you let him be with Y/N? When he falls, the curse doesn't exist. Make his fate tied to her soul and the last beat of her heart would be his as well.“ Caroline tried, getting a dry chuckle as her response.

''I'M TRYING?!“ She screamed in frustration, spinning in circles as she looked for some way out.

''You've banned all the angels after Grayson even though they never had a chance to make a choice. What if you let them come home? Let them all choose again and grant them access to heaven. When I'm dead, Grayson could return to grace.“ Caroline felt herself on edge, tears filling her eyes as she ran out of options for a way to make things better.

''I have a better idea.“ She heard the voice say just as a white light blasted straight at her.

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