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blondiest · 1 year ago

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“What the hell is this?” Mello asks, wrinkling his nose as he hesitantly takes the object Near is offering him, which appears to be a bar of chocolate.

It’s lunchtime, but the both of them are in the library— Mello because he wanted to find a specific book to use as a reference for the paper they have due next week, and Near presumably because he’s evolved past the need for sustenance and now thrives only off of Mello’s misery.

This so-called gift is far from Near’s first attempt to fuck with him, but it is a substantial escalation. Normally Near just attacks him with inane pleasantries and feeble attempts at small talk— asking how his day was, or if he found the math homework difficult, that kind of thing. He typically focuses on the sorts of faux-innocuous inquiries that anyone but Mello would mistake for friendliness. Honestly, Mello isn’t even sure how long Near’s campaign of amicable antagonism has been going for, now— six months or so? One day, out of nowhere, it had begun, and before Mello knew it he was under siege on a daily basis. He’s managed to hold his own relatively well more recently, mostly by giving short answers and removing himself from conversations before Near can say anything truly unsettling. Once, when Mello failed to terminate an interaction quickly enough, Near had gotten the nerve to tell him that his hair looked nice pulled back. The pseudo-compliment, which Mello had been wholly unprepared to receive, had left him insecure and paranoid for a week straight. It was easily Near’s most flagrant assault on Mello’s psyche— until now.

Now, Near is giving him chocolate. Or what looks like chocolate, at least. For all Mello knows, it could be straight arsenic. In any case, this is inarguably a whole new level of aggression, a clear indication that Near is upping the ante, perhaps even declaring war.

“It’s a bar of chocolate.” Near’s tone is flat, as usual. His expression betrays nothing.

“A likely story,” Mello says, eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” Near says patiently. “The likeliest story, I would say.”

“Uh-huh,” Mello says, not letting his guard down for a second. “Tell me, Near. Why would you give me a bar of chocolate?”

Near blinks his gigantic dark eyes several times, expertly feigning innocent bemusement. “Because you’re very fond of chocolate.”

God, Mello thinks. He’s good. Getting Near to crack won’t be easy. Nevertheless, he persists.

“That doesn’t explain a goddamn thing,” he says. “In fact, it only raises more questions.”

“I don’t know what questions it would raise,” Near says, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I think the whole thing is very self-explanatory, actually.”

“Yeah, right,” Mello huffs. “Don’t act like this—” he gestures between Near and himself— “is normal. You’ve never given me a gift before. Why now?”

“That isn’t true,” Near says. “I give you a birthday and Christmas gift every year. And a Valentine, too.”

Mello waves his hand dismissively. “That’s not the same, obviously. You do that with everyone.” Near seems like he’s about to protest, but Mello is in no mood to quibble about technicalities. “The question is still valid. Why the hell would you, out of the blue, out of nowhere, come up and give me a gift?”

“Well,” Near says, briefly glancing off to the side, “I made a resolution for the year. This is part of it.” His bottom lip sticks out a little, like his mouth wants to pout but can’t quite execute the expression. It requires effort for Mello to stop staring.

“It’s September,” Mello points out, sort of offended that Near would expect him to fall for such a weird, bad lie.

“Right,” Near says, apparently playing dumb, now. “What does that matter?”

“The year started nine months ago.”

“But my birthday was last week,” Near says.

“That’s not how it works,” Mello tells him. “You’re supposed to set resolutions in January.”

Near’s face takes on a sage-like tranquility. “That’s arbitrary. The best time to make a favorable change is ten years ago; the second-best time is right now.”

Mello makes a gagging sound. “You sound like a fucking self-help book.”

The affect of wisdom slides off Near’s face, replaced by a smile that borders on impishness. “Self-improvement is nothing to be ashamed of,” he says neutrally.

Narrowing his eyes, Mello scans Near’s face for any sign of derision, but finds none. The little twit is pretty good at hiding his condescension these days. Mello, in a moment of stunning maturity, decides to not react to the obvious jibe and instead moves on with his questioning. In addition to being noble, the move is practical, too— he’d really like to wrap this up quickly. The discussion has already lasted long enough that the chance of Near saying some fucked-up shit is becoming dangerously high.

He clears his throat. “So, is that why you’re doing this? Self-improvement by— what, charity?”

“I doubt that giving you chocolate would count as a charitable act,” Near says, appearing nonplussed. “You already eat a lot of it.”

Mello bristles. “Quit dodging the question!” He snaps. “What the hell is your little resolution?”

Near lowers his gaze to the ground, play-acting something adjacent to bashfulness. “I’m… trying to be a better friend.”

A short, barking laugh escapes Mello’s mouth. “And, what, you decided to start with me?”

The younger boy looks Mello in the eye again. “Well,” he says haltingly. “You’re— my closest friend. So…”

This baffling assertion renders Mello entirely speechless, and he gawks stupidly at Near until a furrow appears between Near’s brows, his expression troubled. No doubt an act, but it’s a convincing one, damn him.

“Mello…” Near says, “do you not consider us to be friends…?”

A masterful move on Near’s part. If Mello calls him out and says obviously fucking not, you psychopath, I hate your stupid guts and I always will, then he’ll look like the bad guy, even though Near is the one provoking him. Of course, Near probably expects an outburst— inciting anger has got to be the purpose of all this goading— but Mello has seen through this part of his plan, at least. He won’t take the goddamn bait.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mello says, forcing his face into a friendly expression. “Of course you’re my friend.”

He gives Near a pointed look, one that clearly says I know what the fuck you’re up to, you little shit, don’t think for one fucking second that you’re getting one over on me, you hear?

In return, Near shoots him a tiny, creepy smile. “Try the chocolate,” he urges.

Well, fuck. It would appear Near has him cornered. He could, in theory, retreat entirely, but that would be the same thing as admitting defeat, which is out of the question. Mello nods and unwraps the bar, eyeing Near carefully for any signs of glee over whatever evil scheme he’s currently pulling. No such signs appear, of course, because Near is a mastermind, and it’s not like he’s going to give himself away that easily. Mello is more than prepared to rise to the occasion, however, and calls Near’s bluff.

“I want you to have a piece,” he says, breaking off a corner and holding it out towards the younger boy.

Near frowns. “But it’s for you,” he says. “And I don’t care very much for sweets.”

Mello glares. It’s a good effort, but Near’s not wriggling his way out of this one. “Too fucking bad. I say you have to eat a piece, so do it.”

After a moment, Near nods, then steps forward and opens his mouth expectantly. Mello startles, because what the fuck? Near wants to be hand-fed? But if Mello refuses, he’ll look like he’s freaked out by it or something, which is probably what Near wants. Steeling his nerves, he gingerly places the piece on Near’s pink little tongue, unintentionally brushing the younger boy’s bottom lip with his thumb as he withdraws his hand. It’s very soft, and slightly wet with spit. Mello suddenly gets a sort of feverish feeling, which he would assume was a sign that the chocolate was poisoned, except he hasn’t actually had any yet. He stands there intently watching Near suck on the chocolate until he swallows it, just so he can be totally sure it’s safe to eat.

“Right,” Mello says out loud for no reason in particular before taking a bite of the chocolate himself. His eyes go wide— it’s fucking good. In retrospect, it seems obvious that the chocolate wouldn’t be dosed with something, because Near would know Mello would expect that. To his dismay, a happy hum escapes him before he’s able to tamp it down, the sound an automatic, reflexive reaction to the flavor.

Near’s eyes go bright with interest. “Do you like it?” He asks half-breathlessly, probably high off the victory of having outmaneuvered Mello by giving him non-poisoned, extremely delicious chocolate. Bastard.

The chocolate melts the rest of the way, and Mello swallows it. “Yes,” he eventually admits, not seeing much way around it.

Near smiles again, bigger this time. The fluorescent lights make his enormous eyes look weirdly sparkly. Mello gets a sudden, intense urge to flee, an impulse that he acts on immediately, not even bothering with an attempt at a graceful exit; he just blurts out a stiff thanks, see you later, and bolts.

In his haste to leave the library, Mello entirely forgets the book he went there for, and his evening is filled with enough other tasks that he isn’t able to stop by before lights out, so he instead goes again during lunch the following day.

A mistake. A fatal mistake. Near creeps up on him again, hands him a bar of chocolate again.

“Near,” Mello says, gravely serious, “why are you giving me chocolate?”

“We already talked about it yesterday,” Near says.

Mello fidgets with the wrapper, uncomfortable. “I didn’t realize you were going to do it again.”

“Did you not like it?” Near asks. “I can ask Roger to get me a different kind.”

Good God. He’s having Roger doing his bidding. This conspiracy goes all the way to the top, apparently. Mello supposes it makes sense; there wouldn’t be any other simple way for Near to obtain chocolate, save for their monthly trips into town, which the younger boy typically elects not to go on anyway.

“That’s not it,” Mello manages, his stomach knotting up. “I was just surprised.” A pause. “You have to eat a piece today, too.”

Near nods and steps forward, lips parting. Mello already put the chocolate in Near’s mouth once, so it would be odd for him to object to it now. He feeds Near a square of the candy, suppressing a shiver at the slick slide of Near’s tongue against the pad of his index finger. Christ. If this is going to keep happening, he’s going to have to get better at not making direct contact with Near’s saliva. It’s fucking weird, and makes his insides feel squirmy with— disgust, he thinks. Revulsion, even.

“Is this going to become, like, a daily thing?” Mello asks, half to himself, taking a bite of the chocolate bar. God, it’s good. At least there’s that, he supposes.

Once he’s finished swallowing his chocolate, Near nods. Mello barely resists the urge to groan aloud.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Mello points out. “Like. Friends don’t actually— they don’t normally give each other gifts every day.”

Near blinks. “I know I don’t have to,” he says. “I want to.”

But I don’t want you to! Mello thinks and does not say.

“Well, whatever floats your boat,” he manages after a few beats of awkward silence, turning to walk away before remembering his (minimal) manners. “Uh. Thanks again. Bye.”

He leaves without another glance back.

Mello spends the next twenty-four hours trying to figure out what the fuck Near is up to with this whole chocolate charade. He’s, like, eighty-five percent sure that whatever it is, it’s profoundly sinister, but pinpointing precisely what devious design Near has in mind poses a daunting challenge. What makes it even harder is the fact that he has participate in the chocolate charade again while he continues to puzzle through what its purpose is, and the routine once again leaves Mello unsettled for long enough afterwards to really mess with his thinking process. He considers the possibility that Near’s purpose is just that— distracting and disorienting Mello, and thereby cementing his position as the top student more firmly— but it seems almost too simple an explanation. It’s highly plausible, but Near might be hoping for Mello to assume the least-outlandish motive, since that would obscure any more menacing intentions quite handily. Determined to not play into Near’s hands, Mello pushes onwards, considering everything that he can.

By the evening, Mello is a frazzled mess. The more he thinks about it, the less likely it seems that Near’s purpose would be damaging Mello’s scholastic performance. For one, Near doesn’t even seem to care about grades, which— honestly, it’s probably an act, but there’s no way he cares about grades as much as he cares about being L. And based on what Roger told him and Near after the video call that the orphanage had with L when the both of them were much younger, L’s selection of successor may not necessarily be dependent on grades. Roger had said that L thought Near and Mello to be the most likely in the room to succeed him, this impression apparently being based on their quiet observation and lack of questions. Since the rankings might not guarantee Near getting picked as L’s successor, it would make sense for Near to try to get him out of the way. Except, if Near were trying to fucking poison him, continuing their current routine would be a shitty way to do it unless Near has some immunity to poison himself, a possibility which does occur to him but which is dismissed when he decides the foresight required is excessive even for a mastermind such as Near. Plus, Mello thinks, Near seems frail enough that even if he were to try to build up a tolerance to poison a la The Princess Bride, he’d probably just die on the first micro-dose.

Although— fuck, could Near be trying to kill both of them? It would be, like, completely deranged, but Mello doesn’t know what the hell kinds of things go on in Near’s gigantic head. Distantly, Mello recognizes that the possibility of Near trying to kill both himself and Mello is very, very slim, but it’s also very, very frightening. It plagues him through the afternoon and through dinner, eating away at Mello’s sanity until he decides he needs to get a second opinion about this disaster.

Back in his and Matt’s dormitory, Mello paces the room and explains the whole chocolate-routine debacle to Matt, going into Near’s different possible motives and the evidence and rationale for each.

“So,” Mello says after a good ten minutes of rambling, “that’s— that’s the situation. What do you think?”

Matt looks impressively world-weary for a seventeen-year-old. “Mello,” he sighs, sounding four times his age, “I can’t believe I have to say this, but— I really don’t think Near is trying to murder-suicide you.”

“Jesus,” Mello says, more than a little ruffled by Matt’s tone— the judgement and dismissiveness really rub him the wrong way. “What’s your fucking problem?”

Matt lifts his goggles and rubs at his eyes before lowering them again. “I’m sorry, man,” he says wearily. “Seriously. You know— you know you’re my best friend. But, like— the Near stuff is… you’re a little off-the-rails about it. I feel like it’s gotten weirder, and I just— I feel like it’s wrong for me to pretend like you’re being reasonable when you’re acting like a fucking psycho.”

Mello glares. “Okay, well, I did say that I thought the murder-suicide thing was probably a stretch,” he points out. “You didn’t weigh in on anything except for the craziest one. I don’t think you’re being fair.”

“What do you want me to say?” Matt asks, tone baffled. “I think Near is fine, Mells. I seriously, seriously think you’re reading too much into this. He’s not trying to sabotage you, or— or kill you, for fuck’s sake. It’s just a nice gesture. Can’t you just let it be a nice gesture?”

Heat takes over Mello’s face, a mixture anger and shame burning him up inside, but he manages to stop himself from completely lashing out— it’s hard, but he does it.

“Why would Near want to do something nice for me?” Mello asks Matt. “Seriously. I want— if you think it’s him being nice, what’s your rationale for that?”

Matt stares evenly. “Do you really want my answer?”

“Yes, dumbass, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Fine,” Matt says, pushing his goggles fully up onto his forehead so he can look at Mello without obstruction. Mello has always found Matt’s unshielded eyes to be a bit unnerving, truth be told— they’re nice, actually, but he’s not used to the intensity of his best friend’s gaze without orange glass between them. “If you ask me, I think— I think Near is lonely.”

Mello scoffs, but Matt shushes him.

“No. I mean it. Put yourself in his shoes for a second— I know, you can’t, he’s a freak or whatever— spare me, and actually try, okay?”

Gritting his teeth, annoyed that Matt correctly guessed exactly what protest Mello was going to come out with, he begrudgingly nods.

“Okay. You’re Near,” Matt continues. “Think about it for a minute. Do you have any friends? Anyone to listen to you, or even to talk to you most of the time? Anyone that you’re close to? Do you feel like anyone understands you?”

Mello considers it. “Okay, no,” he admits, “but I don’t think that bugs him. He wouldn’t care about stuff like that.”

Matt stares at Mello as if he is very, very stupid, and Mello again has to exercise every ounce of self-control he possesses to not bitch Matt out.

“You know he’s a person, right?” Matt asks. “Everyone cares about that stuff. Nobody is, like, completely above human connection.”

Except, Mello thinks, Near definitely is. It’s not like Mello has anyone who understands him, either, not really, because even Matt doesn’t fucking get him most of the time, though Mello does appreciate how hard he tries. Mello is isolated and ill-understood too, it’s not like he’s so awash with meaningful connection himself— but he’s fine with that. It doesn’t bug him. So why the fuck would it bother Near? Sure, Near’s situation is more pronounced, his isolation more obvious, but he’s also more collected. It just seems like Near is too… complete, maybe, for him to feel lonely.

He considers telling Matt this, trying to explain it all, but decides that it’s just not worth the fight that would ensue.

“Well. Thanks for your perspective,” Mello says stiffly. “I’ll… keep that in mind. Or whatever.”

Matt’s words are still lingering in his mind the next day, swirling around, percolating. Near being lonely still strikes him as preposterous; craving friendship seems almost comically beneath someone like Near, frankly. Something about the assessment feels almost adjacent to the truth, though, so he keeps chewing on the idea throughout their morning classes. The epiphany doesn’t come to him until mid-afternoon, when he glances at Near and finds that Near is already staring at him. All at once, it strikes him— Near is bored. He’s bored, probably with classes and definitely with his life outside of them, and he’s toying with Mello to alleviate his boredom. Mello’s first reaction to this realization is deep irritation, because he isn’t interested in being Near’s little plaything, and the idea of being used for Near’s amusement pisses him the fuck off. But then, as he really starts thinking about it, he sort of starts to understand where Near is coming from. School keeps Mello plenty busy, but outside of classes, his life is fairly dull, and Near’s has to be even duller, because, as Matt pointed out, he hasn’t got any friends at all. That probably does bother Near in some way, Mello surmises, just not in the way that Matt was thinking. Isolation isn’t the issue; if Near had totally unlimited super-difficult puzzles or something, he’d probably be okay never interacting with another human again. But the fact of the matter is that, for all of its resources, Wammy’s House can only keep a mind like Near’s occupied for so long. Sooner or later, he was bound to start looking for mental stimulation elsewhere, and without a social life, his options were pretty limited.

So… Near started messing with him for fun. It’s shitty, but then, he must have expected Mello to figure it out, right? It seems unlikely that he’d want to play a one-sided game. There wouldn’t be any challenge to it, nor would there be any sort of satisfaction to be had if the person Near was toying with didn’t even realize what was going on. And then, really, who aside from Mello could Near even have picked to engage in his little game? No one else would have suspected a thing. Near’s tactics are too subtle for anyone but Mello to see through. He was, truthfully, Near’s only option.

Once he’s figured it out, Mello’s agitation decreases. For one, Near’s strange attempts to chat with him for the last half-year abruptly have a tangible motive behind them, which is kind of nice, since Mello has been trying to puzzle that one out for ages. More importantly, though, he can finally begin considering ways to get back at Near. The option that would least satisfy Near is for Mello to just refuse to engage with him at all, but that option is also the one that would least satisfy Mello. Also out of the question is physical violence; Mello is nearly eighteen, now, and giving Near a black eye has been beneath him since approximately age twelve. By the end of their last class, his course of action has made itself clear.

If Near wants to play mind games, that’s fine; Mello will wage psychological warfare.

The next day, Mello tells Near to meet him in the library after classes. Wars are not won overnight, and if Mello is going to endure this for the long haul, continuing to skip out on lunch just isn’t an option. After the final bell dismisses them from their last class, he makes his way through the halls and passes through the large, familiar wooden doors, heading to the remote aisle that he and Near have made their meeting place. The fact that he and Near have a meeting place strikes Mello as incredibly disturbing, but he pushes the feeling down, determined to throw Near off for once. He prepared for this last night, and actually stayed up sort of late to do it; in his pocket is a tiny clay frog he made, a gift that Near certainly won’t be expecting. Mello is actually pretty proud of it, because it’s visually quite charming. He’s not bad at art stuff, honestly, even if he doesn’t normally do much of it.

Near materializes behind him in the aisle a few minutes later. This time, Mello doesn’t even startle at the sudden presence, just turns and steels himself for their weird fucking ritual. Everything goes the same as it has for the past four days— Near gives Mello the bar of chocolate, Mello unwraps it and feeds Near a piece, and then takes a bite for himself before tucking it into his pocket. When all is said and done, Mello takes out the frog and holds it in his palm, thrusting his hand out so Near can look at the small figurine.

“Oh,” Near says. “It’s really cute. Did you make it?”

Mello smirks. “Yeah, I did.”

“Impressive,” Near says. He doesn’t make any move to pick it up.

“It’s for you, dumbass,” Mello snips at him, annoyed that he has to come out and say it.

The look of shock on Near’s face makes up for the indignity of having to explicitly announce his gift. “It is?” Near picks it up, holding it delicately between his index finger and thumb, and Mello drops his arm, wiping his hand against his jeans. It’s weirdly sweaty.

“It’s just a stupid little clay thing,” Mello says, even though it took him forty-five minutes to make it.

“I like it,” Near murmurs. “Thank you, Mello.”

That smile again. Ugh. It makes Mello’s skin crawl, makes his guts twist up, makes his ears hot. He hates it.

Still, despite his hatred for Near’s creepy little face, he leaves the library feeling downright triumphant that day— and, frankly, less bored than he’s been in a long, long time.

From the beginning, Mello is conscious of the fact that gifts aren’t going to shock Near forever. He doesn’t bring one every day, preferring to keep Near on his toes, but nevertheless, by the end of the second week of the chocolate charade, Near’s reactions to Mello’s presents have shifted away from surprise entirely; he just seems delighted. This obviously does not feel like a win in the slightest— especially since Mello is, to his chagrin, still finding himself ill at ease whenever he has to place a piece of chocolate in Near’s mouth. At the start of week three, he begins introducing new tactics into his repertoire, and keeps notes on Near’s reactions to each.

Stealing something of Near’s and revealing that it was in Mello’s possession the whole time works only once, and not very well at that. Setting off a confetti popper works too well (Near screams) and gets them kicked out of the library, so that method isn’t reprised. Popping out from a hidden location to startle Near only works if Mello also grabs him— if he just jumps out in front of Near, Near calmly greets him, as if he was already expecting to see Mello. Surprise attacks are doubly effective if Mello can approach from behind, and approximately fifty percent of the time, Near will make a small squeaking noise upon being accosted, which is sort of fun. Unfortunately, this tactic (which is by far his best) has several drawbacks— for one, it’s hard to execute without a lot of luck or foresight, because he has to catch Near alone and stay out of sight until the attack. On top of that, Mello finds that he sometimes walks away feeling a bit off-kilter himself, which isn’t ideal, either.

No matter what he does, though, nothing seems to unnerve the younger boy as much as it unnerves Mello to have to look at and touch Near’s mouth on a daily basis. After a litany of attempts and a good month and a half of the ritual, it occurs to Mello that he can just force Near to go through what he’s been going through this whole time.

“You want me to do what?”

Near regards him with his big, dark eyes. Mello has thankfully grown to find them less horrifying over time, but they still do put him ill at ease.

“You have to feed me a piece,” he repeats.

Near shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing away. “I find it unpleasant when chocolate melts on my hands,” he says. “That’s why I don’t want to touch the pieces you make me eat.”

Mello rolls his eyes. He supposes the rationale could be true— he’s been operating on the assumption that Near just wanted to mess with his head, but being persnickety about hand hygeine would fit in with Near’s general peculiarities. It doesn’t really change his determination to turn the routine around, though.

“Tough shit,” he says. “I want you to do it, so do it.”

Near sighs in resignation, and Mello has to suppress a grin, determined to maintain an air of nonchalance. He snaps off a piece of the chocolate and hands it to Near, then steps toward the younger boy and leans forward, opening his mouth to accept the chocolate. It feels, of course, rather foolish, since he was literally just holding the piece, but he tells himself it’s no more ridiculous than Near making Mello feed him every day for close to six weeks.

Near, looking determined and serious, stares directly into Mello’s eyes as he pushes the candy past the blonde’s lips, clumsily poking Mello’s tongue in the process.

Mello pulls back, breaking the contact between his own mouth and Near’s hand, and watches in utter dismay as Near proceeds to lick the small amount of melted chocolate off of his fingers, which notably also have Mello’s spit on them. He’s so horrified that he doesn’t even enjoy the piece of chocolate, just chokes it down quick so he can ask Near what the hell is wrong with him.

“Oh, so— so you don’t want to get your hands dirty with chocolate, but you’ll lick my spit off your fingers?” Mello balks. “That makes no fucking sense.”

Near looks up from his own hand and pulls the finger still in his mouth out.

“I don’t like the feeling of the melted chocolate on my skin,” Near explains patiently. “It’s a tactile aversion, not a hygienic one.”

“Okay, but— I mean.” Mello pauses, unsure how he wants to phrase it. “I dunno. Most people are bothered by stuff like that, even— even without hygiene. It’s, like— like an indirect kiss. Or whatever.” His ears are hot by the time he’s finished speaking, and he digs his nails into the meat of his hand, trying to regain his composure.

Near stares evenly. “It doesn’t bother me,” he says calmly. “Does it bother you?”

It bothers Mello immensely. It will undoubtedly haunt him for the next thirty-six hours— minimum. He’s sure this is exactly Near’s aim.

“As if,” he scoffs. “It’d take a lot more than that to freak me out.”

Near tilts his head, eyeing Mello keenly. “Good to know.”

all’s fair in love and war (and this is both)

by neallo

prompts: childhood, hand, game, & sweet

category: M/M

rating: T

length: 5,035 words

chapters: 1/3

tags: alternate universe — canon divergence, wammy’s house era, enemies to lovers, from mello's perspective anyways, mello POV

summary:

Near has Mello under siege, dragging him into a battle of wits, strategy, and stealth, one that has him in a state of constant vigilance, ever-ready for an attack. With his dignity and his ego on the line, Mello throws himself head-first into psychological warfare against his longtime rival, trying any tactic he can to help him turn the tide in his favor. The game is as complex and mind-bending as four-dimensional chess, and Mello has to think twenty moves ahead just to keep up, but he’ll be damned before losing to Near at this.

—

In which Near accidentally gaslights Mello into being his boyfriend, and Mello does Olympic-level mental gymnastics in order to read Near’s actions as sinister.

for @meroniaevent day 5! bingo board below the cut.

#adding the text of the fic here in case anyone wants to read it on tumblr for some reason #blondiepost

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step-on-me-khun · 4 years ago

Text

Valentine’s Day

SFW/NSFW

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 4,339 I hope you’ve all got some patience, it says it’s a 17 min read��

Current Requests: 4

WIPS: 5

Ask Box: Open as always

This is a Khun x Reader lemon which I had planned to write for Valentines Day

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The sun shone brightly into your room as you awakened. Turning to your left, you noticed that Khun wasn't beside you.

You sat yourself up and stretched your arms above your head, eyes scanning around the room for anything that appeared just a little bit off.

You shuffled the blanket off your legs, swinging them so that you could stand up.

Looking back at the bed, you noticed a ripped piece of paper had been set on Khun's side, your knees pressed on the bed as you stretched over to grab at it.

"Look around and you might find something," was all that written on the paper.

Your head tried imagining places where Khun could hide something from you, not like he could use his lighthouse at a time like this, it would be too cruel.

Why on earth would he surprise you like this? It was morning and you were not in the mood to scour the room for something that might end up being one of his sick games.

You shifted yourself off the bed, hand reaching the bedside table, opening the first drawer.

It looked like he meant what he said on the paper, your eyes concentrating on a box, something that looked like it could easily fit in your hand. You reached your hand over and picked it up, it looked like it was some sort of perfume. He didn't mind spending a lot on you. You would never let him if it was up to you. But he was a persistent bastard who always insisted on it. You closed the drawer and continued to think of places where he could've hidden something.

Your feet slowly walked around the room, giving you a chance to question everything around you. Walking past the chest of drawers, you notice one of them open a little, your hands pulled on it an exposed what lay inside it, another box.

This box was a bit smaller than the other one, and there was nothing that gave away what it could be, not writing on it on anything.

A sudden ping came from your pocket, which distracted you from opening the box.

"Let me know when you've found everything, then I'll come back to you and we can spend the day together," it was from Khun, he wanted you to find everything yourself without him being there to ruin it all, "and by the way, there are only three things,"

Oh, okay, that was good to know, now you didn't need to feel bad if he had only got you that amount, it would feel a lot weirder if there was a whole lot more than that.

The pocket vanished and you went back to opening the gift, a necklace lay inside, it was gold, the pendant on it was the shape of a star, there were sparkling clear crystals embedded on the star. It did make you smile, it wasn't over the top, but it was enough to make you immediately happy with it.

Now there was only one, and it almost made you dread what it would be, there was one of a few things it could be: flowers, which you didn't want to find hidden anywhere, chocolate, which he could just easily hand you, or the one thing you were kind of apprehensive about finding, lingerie, and it was one of the things you expected him to get you.

You wandered over to the wardrobe, it was the one place you presumed any hidden clothing would be, and you expected it to be lingerie, so you were reluctant to open the doors to it. Your hands pulled on the door, revealing nothing but the clothes that were already hung up. It made you a little reassured. You then migrated to the opposite end, opening that door, again you were greeted by hanging clothes.

Eyes wandered down and saw it, you sighed and anxiety rocketed as you noticed that he had bought you lingerie. Shit, you knew he wanted you to wear it, on today of all days, but you couldn't help but be a little nervous about it.

It wasn't anything like a bodysuit, which made you calm down a little, but it was still something you weren't eager to get into. A pair of panties and a bra, both the same amethyst purple colour and were lacey. Beside them was a note, presumably from Khun.

"We can stay in your room all day today if you want, so it doesn't matter what you wear over this," that was it, all that was on the note.

You exhaled a sigh of relief. It wouldn't be as bad as you imagined it would, but it still wasn't something you wanted at all, but you thought about grinning and bearing with it to just give him what he desired. It would only be for one night, and it might end up with you choosing to wear it again if his response to you wearing it was good enough.

---

The both of you were laying in the centre of your bed, heads on the left side of the bed, feet at the right. A movie playing on the TV not far from the edge of the bed. You were more engrossed in getting some rest, as you knew you it was one thing you were going to need in the morning.

It was nice and comfortable, the two of you being so close beside each other, you were on your stomach head facing the television screen, Khun's chest softly pressing on your back as he lay beside you.

His fingers shifted some of your hair from your right shoulder, providing him with enough skin to place light kisses there.

You giggle as you feel his mouth peppering you with affection, it was tickling you.

"Khun, I'm trying to concentrate," you explain.

He doesn't listen, his fingers travelling up your back, pulling on the back of your bra, then releasing it.

You move yourself up and scowl at him, a smirk lined his face as he observed how you positioned yourself on the bed.

"Take a hint already, not yet," you whine.

"It's a bit difficult taking you seriously, especially when you've got yourself in that position," his voice says in a low husky tone.

"You're such a pervert,"

"I'm allowed to be like this with you,"

You lay back down on the bed, your stomach back on the soft blanket again. Your eyes stare daggers into his. He was lying on his back, his blue eyes looking right into yours.

It was nice just being the two of you, not that you didn't appreciate being around the others, but you knew that Khun would always try to have things his way, even on today of all days.

With every second that dragged by, finishing every movie that was put on, Khun was getting more and more restless, and you could tell. He would start to fidget now and again when your eyes met his, you could see in his eye just how desperate he was for you.

It had been the fifth movie on, which was only just finishing. You turn onto your back and stretch your arms off the side of the bed.

You could hear Khun sigh, "I've had enough of this," he complains, moving above you and pining your arms beside you.

Your face became red, body still as his breath hit your face. God was he attractive, he smirks at you again.

"I've been waiting all day for this," you say, placing a trail of soft kisses on your face.

It was never really worrying to you when he was rough with you, but with it being Valentine's Day, it did make you question just how he was going to be with you. Normally he was rough and merciless with you, but with how he was right now, you felt like you didn't need to worry so much.

His hands release yours, mouth placing a quick peck on yours before travelling lower down, from your jaw to your neck, then sitting up on the bed.

You relax a little, his hands gradually pulling the fabric off your stomach, you move your arms up as he removes from your top. Realising that you had put on the lingerie, you close your eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

Instead of earning a comment from him, his hands move down to your pyjama shorts, moving them down your legs just as slowly.

You open your eyes again, not even daring to glance at him as he tugs your shorts off you.

"You're so damn beautiful," he compliments you.

"Shut up," you say quietly, moving your arms over your face.

He chuckles at you, "I'm being serious," his mouth goes back to planting soft kisses on your skin, starting from your collarbone, and going lower to your breasts. Your breathing hitched as he moves the straps off your shoulders.

You stare up at him, eyes set on his face.

His hands then move to the bottom of the bra and tugs it down, revealing yourself to him. The cool air hitting your chest makes your nipples perk up. Khun's mouth travels down your mounds and onto your right nipple, flicking it around with his tongue before kissing it and heading lower again. A whine escapes your mouth as his mouth left your chest.

You knew what he was intending on doing, you just wanted him to hurry up and stop teasing you already.

Kisses were placed down your stomach, his eyes look quickly at your before proceeding.

"These look so good on you," he says, pulling down your panties, "I guess you'll just have to wear them again another time." His fingers yank down the panties and let them fall on the floor behind him.

He moves between your legs, his arms under them as he reaches for your hands and links his fingers with yours.

His gaze n you as his tongue finds your bundle of nerves and flicks it, creating a shock that ripples through your body.

"Khun," you cry silently.

His tongue stops its assault, his teeth gently graze your clit, then bites down a little, making you jolt a little.

"Stop it,"

His teeth let go of you, his mouth drifts closer to your entrance. "You love it really," he murmurs against you, his tongue hungrily poking inside you.

You shut your eyes, throwing your head back, his mouth proceeding to turn your body and mind to mush.

His fingers clamp down on your hands, preventing yours from attempting to reach for his hair, which was still tied.

"Oh my god, Aguero," you cried, his tongue still circling your insides.

It was rare that he would give to you, he would just rather receive, but there was the odd time where he just thinks of you and gives in. It seems like this was one of the times.

His mouth became rougher with you, wanting to give you as much pleasure as possible, which he was doing. He was never someone who'd you consider boring, if it looked like you weren't enjoying yourself, he would just end up being unfair to you.

His right hand let go of your left one, snaking his hand down towards your clit.

"Don't grab at my hair, okay?" He says.

"Okay, I won't," you cry.

His fingers rub furiously on your clit, causing a string of high pitch moans to escape your mouth. Your hand grab at the blanket, gripping it tightly.

You could feel it nearing, his fingers working vigorously on your clit, letting the knot in your stomach to build up quicker.

"Fuck," you moan as you release onto his mouth.

His hand left your other hand, he hovers over you again.

"Was that good enough for you?" He asks cockily.

"Yes," you reply quietly.

He smirks at you before lifting the hem of his sweater quickly, his blue hair somewhat messy. His top half now revealed to you, his hands hurry to do the same with his tracksuit bottoms and boxers.

His rushing made you panic a little, which was he did notice.

"You're not scared, are you?" He asks softly, his feet kicking his trousers and boxers off.

"A little," you reply.

His face hovers over yours, capturing your lips with a quick kiss, "you don't have to be scared, I'll never do anything to hurt you."

His length lines up to your hole, thrusting inside you slowly. His eyes watch your body as your back arches up, hands clutching the blanket around you.

All you could do was moan as he moves slowly and gently inside you. Fingers find your face, the palm of his hand cupping your face.

"I wasn't expecting you to be like this," you moan.

He chuckles a little at you, "were you assuming that I'd be rough on you from the start?"

"I was worried that you would be,"

His lips kiss yours sweetly, "I do love you, why do you think I'm being gentle with you?"

Your head turns to the side, wanting to avoid his eyes. No answer forms from your mouth.

"I love you too," you say softly.

He was amused by your embarrassment. His lips plant several soft kisses on your face.

"Please, Aguero," you cry out almost inaudibly.

"What is it that you want?" He asks.

"Please go a little faster,"

Your legs wrap around him, guiding him closer to your core as he thrust inside you.

He takes the hint, his arms laying on the bed, lips pressing gently onto yours as he does what you asked of him.

A soft moan escapes your mouth and vibrates onto his, he takes the opportunity and slides his tongue into your mouth.

Your arms left your sides and wrapped around his neck, your fingers tug gently on his strands of blue hair.

"Oh, Khun," you moan into his mouth.

His mouth lets go of yours, "you like switching between names, don't you?" He teases.

"I can't help it, you're driving my brain crazy."

His chest presses onto yours, head sinking into the crook of your neck as he picks up more speed.

"Fuck," you moan, teeth grazing your lower lip.

Your toes curl as he reaches further inside you, squeezing your eyes shut as your arms fell beside you again, hand trying to grip his arms.

A coil was starting form in your stomach again.

"Fuck, Aguero," you cry, your nails burrowing into his skin.

You could feel his breath hitting the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as you neared your release, walls clenching around his dick.

A long hiss leaves his mouth as you release on him, his thrusts become lazy. He lets out a groan as he comes inside you.

The both if you were left panting from your release, your grip on his arms loosened.

"You're so amazing," you whisper into his ear.

His head moves from your neck, now hovering over yours.

"Where's this coming from?" He teases.

"Shut up, I'm allowed to say nice things about you, aren't I?"

"Is this in general, or are we talking about how I make you feel while we're having sex, huh?"

"You're such an asshole," you protest, rolling over so that you were on top of him, "I didn't just mean in terms of sex, I meant everything that you've said and done to make me feel loved,"

He tuts and pulls on your arms, bringing your chest down near to his.

"You're pretty damn amazing yourself," he praises.

"Is this in general, or?"

"Shut up,"

His hips snap up to meet your roughly, making you gasp out at the unexpected feeling.

"Ah, fuck!" You nearly screamed.

"I never said that I was done with you yet," he whispers, wrapping his hands grabbing onto the skin of your hips, finger pressing tightly onto you.

"How long do you intend to go on me?" You ask.

"As long as I want, you're my priority at the moment, so don't think I'm going to go easy on you after this,"

His hips continued to snap up as his hands kept you in place, often bring you down onto his dick.

"Dammit," he moans, face flustered as his movements pick up his pace and speed.

You high pitched moans were released onto his face as you kept your body close to his.

His teeth tug on your lower lip, pulling your face down level with his, your mouth then enveloped with his.

He was now being rough with you, he had given you what you wanted before, and was giving in to his urges.

Your mind was incapable of thinking of anything, like the only thing that mattered was what he was doing to you.

Your hands rested on his chest, fingers curling, leaving scratches on his skin. You shut your eyes as he rammed into you, hitting a certain spot inside you, turning your vision blurry. You pull away from his mouth.

"Oh my god, Aguero," you cry loudly, "please,"

His hands let go of your hips, fingers tracing a line down you spine before grasping onto your ass.

"Is this making you feel good, beautiful?" He teases, his low voice whispering into your ear.

He slams you down onto his, making you almost scream out. You felt the knot quickly forming again the more he uses you.

"Mmm," you moan, "dammit, I'm close,"

Your nails scraped across the skin of his chest, making him groan out.

"Fuck," his mouth sobs against your neck, he finds your sweet spot and plants a few kisses there.

You came fast, your head drooping onto his neck.

His rough hands let go of you, the left one travelling up your back and to your hair, brushing it softly.

The both of you lay there panting, filling the room with the sounds you were creating. You couldn't move, your body refusing to listen to you as you sought to move just a little.

"Are you exhausted yet?" He asks, his fingers pushing your hair out of your face.

Your eyes glance up at his, "a little," you say, your body finally listening to you as you sat yourself up on him. "Am I alright to do something?"

"If you want to, I won't stop you," he replies.

You grin at him, your face moving down to plant your own kisses on his face.

He chuckles a little, "you're too affectionate for your own good,"

"You love me for it,"

He smiles at you, his eyes following your face as your mouth travelled lower, from his face down to his neck, finding his sweet spot. He lets out a long, shaky breath as your teeth graze his sensitive skin.

"Stop it," he says bluntly, "just get on with what you wanted to do already,"

You let go of his neck and instead proceeded to kiss lower and lower, onto his stomach, and down towards his groin. He was being a lot more vocal than he usually was. There weren't any groans, just desperately shaky breaths escaping his mouth as yours moved away from his stomach.

Blue eyes were still on yours as you sat between his legs. Your tongue licks slowly from his balls to the head of his dick.

"Stop fucking teasing me and get on with it already," he complains.

Your hands begin o stroke his length, your eyes looking innocently into his.

"I don't think I've heard you beg before," you say smugly.

"Don't get used to it," he snaps at you.

Him begging gave you a sort of confidence boost, a sign for you to keep going with what you began.

Your hands let go of him, your wet mouth taking a hold of his head, tongue swirling it.

He closes his eyes as you bob your head up and down on him, slowly at first.

You kept your eyes on him, watching every expression his face made as you continued to give him what you guessed he wanted. Receiving all the shaky breaths, hiss and groans fro him was a bonus for you, they gave you enough motivation to give him more of you.

"Fuck, you're so good," he groans silently, his hands obtaining your hair, grabbing on tightly to the strands.

You were anticipating this, so you try to release him quickly.

Your eyes met as you breathe in enough air. You were both flustered, red with your arousal.

Your mouth goes back to engulfing his length, his hands still grasping your hair tightly.

You close your eyes as his hips snap, his length thrust into your mouth, making you nearly gasping for air.

His hips pause for a moment, his entire length inside your mouth, causing you to choke on him. It was uncomfortable. Your fingers tap on his leg.

"Not yet," he says, still holding you in place, "you look so pretty with my cock inside you mouth,"

His hips then fall back down to the bed below, your pulling mouth away from his length, giving you a chance to breathe before you were pushed back onto him.

This was when he could be merciless with you, he like watching you struggle, it was the one thing that boosted his pride. It didn't matter whether it was in bed on not, he always wanted to get a reaction from you.

His hips snap up more violently than before. You close your eyes and held on tightly to his legs. The lack of air was made it difficult, you tried to breathe in through your nose.

He lets out a loud groan as he releases himself inside you, his head just at the start of your throat. He held you still again for a few seconds as he waited for you to swallow his load.

"You're such an asshole," you complain, wiping your mouth as he lets go of your hair.

"What position do you want to be in now, then?" He asks smugly.

You tut, turning your back on him as you got into a new position. You slid your legs under his and shift backwards, glancing at his length from under your body.

"This is different," he comments.

"I'm trying to do something new, just don't complain about it," you say.

"I'm not going to," he says, his hand grabs at your ass as you reached for his length. "This is a great angle to watch my cock disappear into you,"

You glare over at him, a little embarrassed. He was good with his dirty talk, it did make things a lot more exciting.

You move your hips down, his length entering you again. Your arms move in front of you, hand clenching the sheets as you moved backwards onto him, then forwards.

But he couldn't deny that you were giving him a good view of you, his hand still on your ass, guiding you down onto him.

"Shit, you're so good," he praises, moving his hips up slowly.

It was a weird angle, but it made him reach further inside you, making you cry and moan out more.

You felt his hand give your ass a soft smack, his hip stopped moving. His other hand moved onto your ass, taking control and forcing you down onto him again.

"Oh my god," you cry, your eyes glancing back at him, "Aguero,"

A string of hisses leaves his mouth as he pushes your ass onto his length more. It wasn't too much for you, his length hitting you g-spot and causing you to see stars.

You tried to lay your stomach on the bed as the continued to push you down onto him.

"Ahh, mmm," you cry as you hid your head in the blanket.

His hips snapped up again, making him hit that spot inside you a lot more violently than before.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you moan into the bed, your body began to shake as the speed and pace pick up.

You felt like you were melting into the bed, your mind completely blank by how he was using you. You halted your sounds, desperate to hear more from Khun, who was letting out groans and hisses now and again.

"Uhh, shit," you moan, your climax quickly building again.

Yet again, he was merciless with you. His hands still gripped onto you tightly, the sounds of skin slapping just about filled the room, along with your moans and groans.

With the position you were in, your walls tighten around him at a weird angle.

"Fuck," he nearly screams as you come on him. His hands let go of your ass, his hips slowly moving up to meet yours.

Within a few short thrusts, he comes inside you. His length falls out of you as you move your back end up, making all the come inside you drip down onto him.

"Damn," he says, grabbing your ass again, then spanking it.

"Can I move yet?" You ask sarcastically.

He smiles, "I'm not preventing you from doing that,"

You turn around and sit in between his legs, catching a glimpse of the come that had coated his length.

"Fuck," you complain, "now I'm worn out.

"Well, I should think so," he says, pulling you down onto him again, his arms wrapping around you tightly, "damn, you can't expect me to do nothing when you instantly start being the top, can you?"

"What if I wanted you to do nothing, and let me take the lead once?"

"One day," he places kisses on your hair, "just not yet,"

"You and your damn pride,"

"You wouldn't be with me if I didn't have any,"

"You don't know that," you say playfully, placing soft kisses on his chest and arms. "I've loved you this long, after all,"

"Stop being all sappy. I love you, idiot,"

You turn onto your stomach, chests nearly touching. Your mouth curves into a smile as your arms move under your chin.

"I love you too, asshole,"

Khun smiles, his eyes close as you lay there. You felt comfortable and happy, just like how you wanted to feel.

#tower of god #khun aguero agnis #khun x reader #khun aguero agnis x reader #khun aa

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youidiotprince · 4 years ago

Text

A Very Merry Ca$hqu€€ns Christmas

“No, Nora! Stay out!” Ava yelled from floor, scrambling to shield her nearly wrapped gift from Nora’s curious gaze. Nora had announced her presence with a quiet knock as she pushed open the door, hoping to catch Ava off guard and glimpse her gift.

“Why can’t I see, hm? If the present isn’t for me. . .” Nora teased, crossing her arms over her chest, feet still planted in the open doorway.

“Because I…” Ava floundered for an explanation that wouldn’t incriminate her, but she couldn’t string together the words. “Just because! It’ll ruin it either way, so you just have to get out.”

“If you say so.” Nora turned to leave, but as she closed the door behind her, she added, “I’m taking this as confirmation that you’re my Secret Santa, though.”

“Nora,” Ava groaned, grabbing the nearest item and throwing it at the now-closed door. When it fluttered to the ground only a foot or so in front of where she sat, she realized it was the glittery green bow she still had to stick atop her present. She’d opted for a more classic look, with red and white striped wrapping paper, thick and shiny, a purchase she’d splurged on for her gifts this year because she’d always liked the crisp lines and folds the more expensive papers made when wrapping. Nora’s gift, which she’d already put under the tree earlier that day, was wrapped in snowman-covered paper, something she’d had leftover from the year before, and maybe the year before that.

Ava peeled the backing from the sticky part of the bow and placed it, perfectly centered where the lines of ribbon intersected on top of her rectangular package. She could faintly hear the tinkling bells of the festive music Nora had just started playing, and she knew that was her cue to hurry it up.

With the package cradled under her arm, she left her room and called out to Nora, “Hey girl, what do you need me to do?”

Nora rounded the corner from the kitchen and eyed Ava’s now perfectly wrapped gift. “Ooh, that looks gorgeous,” Nora said with a mischievous look. “I can’t wait to open it.”

“Yeah, you wish,” Ava taunted with a smile. She placed her gift under the tree and brushed her hands clean of it. “Have you heard from the others yet?”

“Mm, they’re both on their way, they should be here any minute.”

The girls busied themselves plating the snacks they’d prepared and the cookies they’d baked until they heard a knock at the door, the thuds sounding in time with the cheesy Christmas carol playing over the speaker.

“Merry Friendsmas!” Mailin and Fatou shouted together, smiles spread almost as wide as their arms. Mailin modeled a headband with reindeer antlers stuck on top and red makeup on the tip of her nose, and Fatou wore a red and green patterned sweater trimmed with glittery tinsel around the neck, the wrists, and the bottom hem. They both held up their presents, Fatou’s in a wintery blue and silver giftbag and Mailin’s wrapped in what looked like newspaper or scrap paper of some sort. They’d dressed on theme, matching Nora’s all red look paired with a Santa hat and Ava’s cozy plaid Christmas pajamas. After a quiet beat during which they took in all their different looks, the girls erupted in excited chatter all at once, talking over each other in order to compliment and dissect their different outfits.

“That must be so itchy,” Nora told Fatou as Fatou told Ava how much she envied her cozy attire.

“Your nose!” Ava exclaimed to Mailin as she reached out almost close enough to touch it before Mailin flinched away.

“No, don’t ruin it yet. I forgot the lipstick at home,” Mailin admitted sheepishly. “Although it looks like I could just borrow Nora’s.” Nora puckered her red lips in response. She backed out of the way so they all could come in and make themselves comfy. They left their coats and boots in the entryway.

“Mulled wine, anyone?” Nora asked from the kitchen as Mailin and Fatou added their gifts to the pile in the main room and sat on the couch next to Ava. “I’ll be having hot chocolate, so that’s an option too.”

Ava and Fatou shared a look before Fatou answered for both of them, “Two mulled wines, please.”

“Oh wait, I’ll come help,” Mailin said as she leapt up from the couch and joined Nora in the kitchen. “Also, I’ll have a hot chocolate.”

Once they brought the drinks out to the others, they all settled into their easy rhythm, talking about the little details of their lives that had happened since they’d last seen each other, recounting some of their best and worst holiday memories before they met each other. Nora opened up about the year that her mother hadn’t gotten anyone any gifts and Kiki, trying to fix everything, went out and bought Nora a box of colored pencils and a coloring book and Zoe a bracelet-making kit with the small amount of money she had. It hadn’t been much but it had meant the world to both of them. Zoe made each of the sisters a bracelet, and she wondered if Kiki or Zoe still had theirs. Fatou shared that one of the best presents she ever received was a book about marine biology with lots of pictures of marine life. She told them that her brother made fun of her endlessly about it, but he was always looking over her shoulder as she’d read through it.

When they felt like they’d run out of stories, they sang carols and karaoke in pairs until Zoe hollered from her room for them to quiet down, and while the singing might have stopped, they didn’t actually adjust their volume much. Eventually, feeling like a little kid who’d been trying their best to wait patiently for the chance to open presents but who just couldn’t hold it in any longer, Ava admitted, “Girls, I can’t take it anymore. We need to do the gift exchange already.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Mailin gasped, as if she’d completely forgotten about the main event of the evening.

Nora clapped and then wiggled her fingers together excitedly, looking slowly at each of her friends. “Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Fatou said, straining to reach the gift she’d left with the others. She finally snagged the handle with the tip of her finger, so she pulled it over and sat back upright. “Okay, drumroll please.” The girls started pounding their fists on their legs or on the floor, whichever was closer. “This is for… Ava!” Fatou held the gift out to her with a flourish, beaming.

“Chibi,” Ava said warmly, taking the decently sized bag from Fatou’s hand. It was stuffed with white tissue paper which Ava crumpled into a ball and handed to Nora, who was collecting the trash. Beneath all of that was the edge of a sleek black frame, which Ava pulled out carefully. The frame enclosed a photo of the stars in the night sky with a date underneath: October 2, 2020. Ava brushed her fingertips over the glass, hovering just above so as not leave a smudge.

“It’s a print of the constellations on the first day we all hung out together, when we stole that money,” Fatou blurted. “I know you’ve been looking for things to decorate the place with, and that day is so important to me, to us. This seemed like a good gift because we both love the universe and space and astrology so much.”

“Fatou, this is incredible.” Ava’s voice was full of genuine awe. “Seriously, this is perfect, I love it so much. We should all have one of these, honestly.” Nora and Mailin were craning their necks to get a better look, so Ava passed the print to them. As they admired it, Ava turned to Fatou. There was no way Fatou could know just how much this meant to her. How lame and lonely and insecure she felt before as she tried to rebuild her life here without a solid friend group, how difficult it was to watch other people find these friend groups that seemed like they’d last for life while Ava had paper thin friendships that were haunted by the words of her bullies, the doubts and fears they’d implanted in her. Ava felt as though this group of girls, this group of best friends, had finally allowed her to embrace herself with the confidence she had only ever faked before. Fatou couldn’t know how much that day meant to her in particular, but still, it felt like maybe she did, at least a little bit. “Thank you, Fatou. Really.”

“You’re welcome, Ava,” she said as she rested her head on Ava’s shoulder and snuggled closer, patting Ava’s knee tenderly.

After a few moments, Ava offered, “Okay, I’ll go next, and we can just go whoever receives the gift can give the next one? If that works out.” Everybody nodded so Ava grabbed her gift and settled back down on the couch. “Okay, this lovely, award-winning wrapping is for none other than… Mailin.”

“I get the best wrapped one,” Mailin said as she excitedly took the present from Ava and shook it next to her ear. When she brought it back down in front of her, she hesitated. “I almost don’t want to open it! But alas,” she said, and with that she ripped open the paper to reveal a jewelry box with a brand label printed on it that she’d never heard of. When she lifted the lid, she saw two sets of earrings, one set of green and blue tie-dye rectangular pendants with “climate” engraved in one and “justice” engraved in the other and one set of large globe earrings.

“They’re made from completely recycled materials, and the proceeds went to a campaign for climate justice here in Germany. And they just seemed so you,” Ava explained, motioning between the new earrings and the earrings Mailin was currently wearing, which were big candy canes dangling from her ears.

“No, these are awesome, I’ve been trying to develop my collection of fun earrings. These are fun and make a statement. Thank you. Okay, my turn.” Mailin jumped up to grab her newspaper package. “Special eco-friendly wrapping,” she boasted. “Hope you enjoy.” With that, she handed the gift off to Nora without much ceremony, which added its own bit of surprise.

“For me? Ah, okay, I’m excited,” Nora said as she tore into the newspaper. Underneath it all was a thick stack of shipping labels, some used and some unused. The used ones were obviously an attempt at recycling, which Nora appreciated. The sticker at the top of the stack already had a note on it, which must have been written by Mailin, as it said, “Coupon for free shipping label retrieval and delivery for a year. Ask and you will receive.”

“Those are what you used to do your drawings on when you left them around the city, right? I know you’ve probably worn yourself out with all the drawings you’ve done for our shirts, but as a token of appreciation for all of that, I will provide you with shipping label sticker things whenever you need them.” Mailin finished her explanation with a proud smile.

“This is really thoughtful, Mailin. I’ll definitely take you up on this coupon offer,” Nora said with a wink. She then turned to Fatou. “So it’s just you and me,” Nora joked, handing her gift off to Fatou.

“This box is light, I wonder what it could be,” Fatou said as she ripped off the paper. She was only teasing Nora about the weight of the box, but when she opened it all the way and looked inside, it really was empty. Just completely empty. Fatou looked up, confused, and made eye contact with Ava. Ava’s stomach lurched. It couldn’t be. Had Nora forgotten a gift? She wouldn’t do that to Fatou, would she? And if she had forgotten, why would she just wrap an empty box? She hated herself for thinking it, but after everything she’d been through, she couldn’t keep the thought away that maybe this was a prank, that maybe Nora’s friendship with all of them was some kind of prank. It was just a nagging thought in the back of her mind, it couldn’t possibly be true, but she still couldn’t ignore it, not completely.

At the same time, Fatou and Ava turned to look at Nora, trying to work out what exactly was going on, but she was engrossed in something on her phone, her lips turning up into a smile. How could she be so callous?

“Nora,” Fatou started, voice quiet and hesitant. Before she could say more, three phones buzzed with a new message, and Nora looked up, smile growing. Fatou had planned to ignore the text, but now she was suspicious. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and opened the message, her phone redirecting her to WhatsApp. There, in the ca$hqu€€ns groupchat, was a collection of stickers, some actual photos and some drawings, of axolotls. The drawings had the axolotls pulling funny facial expressions, emoting in different ways. A smile here, a frown there, a wink and a stuck-out tongue. Fatou felt Ava exhale beside her.

“I’m sorry for the empty box, I wanted to give you something to unwrap even though the gift was virtual, but my timing ended up being kind of off with that one,” Nora said, sheepish. “And they’re not exactly emojis, but they’re close, right?”

“My axolotl emoji,” Fatou said almost dreamily.

“Nora, these are awesome,” Mailin chimed in from beside her.

“Thanks. If you want any other facial expressions, just let me know.”

A content silence stretched between the girls, everyone feeling comfortable and warm, processing the gifts they’d just given and received.

“Guys, this was so great, I… you don’t understand how happy I am right now. You guys are the best.” Ava’s heart swelled with something that felt like pride, maybe, that these were the people she chose, that these were the people who chose her. Of course Nora wouldn’t let any of them down like that, not on purpose. None of them would. They all loved and respected each other too much. “The ca$hqu€€ns were written in the stars, you guys. We were fated.”

At Ava’s moment of vulnerability, all of the girls rushed to wrap her in the tightest group hug, falling all over each other and ending up in a messy pile of cuddles. Limbs tangled and faces smushed, and when they finally started to pull away a bit, Mailin took one look at Ava’s cheek and sighed.

“Oh no, I smeared my nose on your cheek.”

#alteradventcalendar #druck #druck fic #cashqueens #ava pereira #fatou jallow #nora machwitz #mailin richter

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jadethest0ne · 4 years ago

Text

When the Moon meets the Morning, Chapter 3 - A Sense of Familiarity

Summary: Raphael is going on missions with Captain Jupiter as he always does when he meets an orange-wearing turtle yokai who feels oddly familiar.

Word Count: 2690

Ratings/Warnings: General Audiences; some minor harrowing moments, but mostly fluff, emotional overload, emotional manipulation, self-deprecation

Notes: Longer chapter this time, but lots of good brotherly bonding! Big thanks to @undercoverwizardninjaturtle, @fraymotiif, and @frasierverse for helping me workshop this (especially to Charmy for the “friend-cheese” exchange). Also, special shout-out to @dovelydraws for creating the concept art for Infinity the phoenix and Buddy the aurax.

Read on AO3 For the RotTMNT Fantasy AU

———-

Raph thought that going on a trek with Mikey would help him understand the kid better, but it only proved to make him even more confused. A few of Raph's initial assumptions about Mikey were correct. He was indeed a turtle yokai - a box turtle to be exact. And he was only about 2 years younger than Raph making him 15. And the reason why he was so far north, despite apparently coming from the Soothing South, was that, like his attire suggested, he was a courier. But between those things, Raph was left with more questions than answers.

For one thing, Mikey was really good with animals. When Raph first introduced him to his aurax, Buddy, Mikey was enamored with what most people took as a rather large and intimidating cattle beast. But Mikey immediately started complimenting his fluffy curls and powerful stature, begging Raph to let him braid his fur. Buddy himself, who, while usually quite friendly, often had trouble distinguishing between roughhousing playtime and calm pets, and yet seemed to understand that Mikey was someone that he should be gentle with. The curly-horned creature even relented at Mikey's touch and flipped over onto his back to beg for belly rubs, which Raph had never seen him trust anyone else to do besides himself and Red Fox. Even the Captain had trouble getting on Buddy's good side sometimes.

Not only that, but it turns out Buddy wasn't even needed all that much to carry the packages, since Mikey owned a phoenix, an actual phoenix, to help him with his cargo and carry Mikey around. The large beautiful bird, he called Infinity, with iridescent feathers of reds, purples, and golds, snuggled up with Mikey often when they slept during their journey. He'd never heard of a phoenix being so close to another being before - yokai or human.

The other thing that really confused Raph was Mikey's personality. The kid was just so trusting.

"You don't even have a sleeping bag?" Red Fox asked when they were packing their supplies.

"Well, I DID have one, but there were these guys in purple who asked if they could borrow it a while back. They took some of my other supplies as well and said they'd meet me after I ran an errand. I came back at the meeting time, but they took so long and I had to deliver another package, so I had to leave. I felt bad for missing them so I left a note with a drawing. I hope they're okay," Mikey explains in his usual long-winded way.

Raph starts to say, "Are you sure they didn't just steal--" before Red Fox cuts him off. "I'm sure it's fine, sweetie, I think I have a spare that you can use."

"Really?! Thanks! Oooh! It's orange! My favorite color!" Mikey says, happily taking the sleeping bag and hugging it as though it was the best gift he had ever received.

Raph was just perplexed how he hadn't been robbed completely or had something worse happen to him. Then again, another mystery about Mikey was that it was really difficult to say no to the guy. He had somehow perfected the puppy dog look and turned any conversation, even the more negative ones, into something positive and light.

"You mean you somehow convinced the owner of a castle to let you use it whenever you wanted?" Raph says incredulously.

"Yeah! He liked my cooking so much he said I could use his summer home in the Soothing South, too!"

"Man, Mikey, do you have some sort of niceness power?"

"No, that'd probably be Todd - he's the nicest guy I know! Taught me practically everything! But that's why I wanted to travel! I wanted to learn more!"

Raph pushes past the fact that he has no idea who Todd is and asks the more pertinent question. "Aren't you afraid of, I don't know, thieves or people tricking or hurting you along the way?"

"No, not at all. Besides, if there was danger, then Infinity's instincts would let me know!" He gives the large bird he's riding a friendly pat, to which the bird replies with a cheerful squawk.

Raph highly doubts that Infinity, who seems to be as cheery and naive as Mikey, would be able to sense anything like that.

Then there was the question of why Mikey seemed so familiar. After thinking back on it, Red Fox did often talk about the people she helped guide through the mountains, but he'd rarely met any of them. And he had a hard time conjuring up a memory of any time that he'd met Mikey with Red Fox in the picture. He almost felt closer than that. Like a friend he hadn't seen in a while. Mikey himself certainly kept acting like they were long time friends; constantly hugging him, invading his personal space, grabbing at his belongings to ask about them. Even Raph was beginning to think they had known each other for a long time. Then again, Mikey seemed to act like that with everyone.

“What do you think of this?” Mikey asks Raph after they had set up camp, suddenly shoving a spoonful of the meal he is cooking into the snapper’s mouth.

“Mmnghrff--” Raph says intellectually around the wooden spoon and hefty portion of meats and hearty root vegetables that it held. He chews slowly, at first trying to think of some helpful feedback, but then just to savor the flavor. He closes his eyes and hums in pleasure, as the savory sauces roll over his tongue. Raph could see why that one guy let Mikey have free use of his castle and summer home.

“Mikey,” he says with absolute seriousness. “This is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

“Really?!” Mikey says sheepishly. “You don’t think I went a little heavy on the cumin?”

“No, it’s perfect!” Raph says, even though he’s not exactly sure what spice cumin is.

“Ah great! Well, then dig in!” Mikey says handing some plates over to Red Fox and Raph. As they take the plates, Red Fox chimes in, “One of the reasons why it’s such a joy to guide you on these treks is that I get to taste your cooking again, Mikey!”

“Aww shucks, Red! Thanks!” Mikey grins widely.

Raph thinks to himself that maybe it was Mikey’s niceness that kept him alive. His naivety was worrisome, but he was also really good at lots of things like that - caring for animals, cooking, and after all, he did help save him from the fire, which brought Raph to a question that he finally voiced out loud on the third day of their trek.

"So how did you do that thing with the fire? You were in the middle of it all and then you like, ate it?"

"Oh, I'm a fire mage!" Mikey says while riding atop Infinity as they make their way through the mountain paths. As a way of demonstration, Mikey cups his hands and produces a tiny ball of fire within them. He holds the fire gently, almost as if he's carrying a tiny animal in the palm of his hands. “Fire doesn't hurt me and I can use it to help with cooking and stuff. It's also why I can keep pretty warm in the winter.” He lifts up his palms and lets the small flame dance in the air. Infinity explores the flame with her beak and nips at it, but Mikey maneuvers the fire just out of her reach. He twirls the small fire around her and she tries to catch it in her beak. He giggles and she squawks happily as they play their little game.

Raph smiles at the display. "Thanks again by the way, for helping out back there."

"No problem! I mean, you had a lot of it handled by yourself. You saved a bunch of people! I'm surprised that you didn't make it into any of the Aetherwave announcements or the news clippings. Just some guy named, er..., Jupiter Jim, was it?"

"Uh, it's Captain James Jupiter, actually." Raph fails to hide his appalled tone. "And of course he was talked about! He saved everyone! He's a famous hero!" Seriously for all his travels, how did Mikey know so little about James Jupiter?!

"Did he, though? I mostly just saw you and Red Fox while I was trying to stop the fire. I saw another guy in some sort of hero suit, but he was mostly staying outside of the forest."

"He was leading! Everyone would've been a mess without his guidance!" Raph tries to bury the annoyance bubbling up in his chest with his adoration of the Captain. "His strong, guiding hand of justice makes us all feel safe!" Raph tries to gain validation from repeating the mantra often used by the Captain himself, but he felt more upset and defiant - as if he was trying to defend the Captain. The Captain shouldn't need defending. Obviously he was great! So why did Raph's stomach twist in such a way?

For once Mikey has something less than a smile on his face. Instead his eyes wander around Raph's entire frame as if seeing something new on him he didn't like.

"I just..." Mikey hesitates. "I just think you should get the credit you deserve. You pulled like three families out of that fire, and at one point you were carrying almost ten people." His face shifts back into a smile. "That's pretty heroic if you ask me!"

Raph eyes him warily. Something about his statements don't really connect at first in Raph's mind. The Captain is the one who is the hero. He's just a student at best. But why did happiness flutter in his untwisting stomach at being called such?

"OH MI GOSH I JUST REMEMBERED!"

The sudden shout makes Raph jump, and a small yelp would've escaped his mouth if Mikey weren't immediately in front of him squishing either side of Raph's face and beaming at him excitedly.

"’Remembered...?’" Raph tries to ask between squished cheeks.

"What I wanted to tell you!" MIkey threw his hands in the air, releasing Raph from his hold. "I wanted to tell you that I like your cape!"

"My cape?"

"Yeah it's like super heroic looking!"

Raph looks at his cape as if trying to see what Mikey sees.

"Oh, and I wanted to know if Buddy knew any female aurax's that could make friend-cheese for me,” Mikey continues.

"Oh, um, thank you?" Raph lets out a small chuckle. "Also, I could, uh, ask around when we get back to town about… ‘friend-cheese?’" Raph thinks a moment before continuing. "Why was that so important though?"

"Because friend-cheese is Todd's favorite, because of the method of farmers asking aurax’s nicely before they milk them."

"N-no, not that." Raph can't help but smile; man this kid's attitude is infectious. "Why did ’ya have to ask about my cape?"

"Because I thought it looked really cool with the flames and the moon and your powers and I wasn't sure then that I'd get a chance to tell you again." Mikey beams brightly enough to show off his gap tooth and rear molars.

"Well, thank you." He's still not used to so many compliments.

He looks to Red Fox with a confused expression, but she just smiles back and says, "He's right, it does make you look rather heroic."

Before Raph can sort his thoughts out on the image of himself as a true hero, he suddenly feels something land on his neck hard enough that he jumps and nearly goes on attack mode, until he sees Mikey's legs trail down the side of his neck. Raph looks up to see Mikey craning his head downward looking at him with round, inquisitive eyes. "Can I ride on your shoulders for awhile? I wanna give Infinity a break," Mikey asks.

Raph gives Mikey a soft smirk and a quiet chuckle. This guy really does have some sort of niceness power. "Yeah, sure," the snapper says.

Mikey punches both fists in the air and his legs stick out as he shouts out a triumphant "Yes!"

"Hey Mikey, we've still got another hour or so before we make our first stop," Red Fox says. "Why don't you tell us one of your stories from your travels?" She then says as an aside to Raph, "He's a very good storyteller by the way; he was able to keep me entertained on our previous trips through the mountains, as well as many other folks along the way."

Mikey looks at her with joyful, watery eyes. "Red Fox, you really think I'm a good storyteller?!"

Red Fox nods sweetly.

Mikey bows as best he can while perched on Raph's shoulders. "Aw shucks! Why thank you, my friend."

The rest of their trek for the day is filled with Mikey's melodious voice recounting several strange tales which continue to add questions to Raph's mind.

---

Mikey's storytelling stopped only long enough to deliver his first package. It was to a local store in a tiny grouping of houses nestled in the mountains. Afterwards, they went to the barely-a-village's tavern to get something to eat before resting for the night. Once in the tavern, and in between mouthfuls of food, Mikey continues to tell his stories to the patrons, which seem to grow in number as the evening wears on. Raph guesses that they don't get many travellers here this high up in the mountains, because they're all enraptured by Mikey's tales. Raph is just finishing up his dinner and he is feeling rather content, allowing Mikey's voice and the patrons' reactions to drift into background noise when he perks up at the mention of his name.

"What?" Raph snaps to attention looking to where he was called.

"Mikey is right, Big Red was indeed quite heroic." Red Fox gives him a pleased look.

Before Raph can figure out if Red Fox is playing some sort of joke on him, Mikey glides over to Raph's side and puts an arm around his shoulder. "And that's when I saw him under the blood moon, with glowing eyes and glowing arms, picking up an entire family of squirrel yokai!" Mikey says sweeping his arms wide. The patrons’ eyes are all on Raph now, and the attention has his heart pounding, though out of sudden stage fright or pride he's not sure. Either way, Raph is sure his face is burning more than it ever had in that forest fire. But luckily the patrons quickly turn back to Mikey as he continues his story. It's weird for Raph to hear Mikey talk about something he did in a similar way that the Aetherwaves trumpet the stories of the great Captain Jupiter. Raph is not worthy of such a grand retelling, but Mikey is so excited about it that Raph just puts on an easy smile and focuses on his theatrics, drinking a bit from his cup to hide his face.

When the story ends the people in the tavern clap in amazement, some even patting Raph on the arm, offering congratulations, but he respectfully waves them off. He's caught off guard a little bit by the look Red Fox gives him. There's a twinkle in her eye and an earnest smile on her face, wrinkling the scar above her nose. Raph buries his face in his cup again before getting up to start pitching a tent for them to sleep in when the tavern keeper insists that they stay the night free of charge as payment for Mikey’s wonderful stories.

Raph feels bad for the tiny hint of suspicion that he has at that moment that maybe Mikey is actually using some sort of niceness spell or something, but he quickly changes his mind when he looks over at Mikey. He's not unhappy, per se - the kid is still smiling - but there's something in his face that falls almost imperceptibly at the suggestion that they stay at the tavern. Noticing Raph's observation of him, his smile brightens and he thanks the tavern keeper for his generosity.

<–previous /// next–>

#rottmnt #rottmnt fantasy au #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #when the moon meets the morning #marcus moncrief #jupiter jim #captain james jupiter #red fox #brotherly bonding #my fic #my writing #jadethest0ne #fanfic

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pocket-void · 4 years ago

Note

Care to tell us what's swimming around with the Suits AU, like what are the powers that are unique to each suit? Queens vs Kings?

Boy oh boy, I sure would! O///o Any AU I make will always be on an infinite “ask and you shall receive” basis lmao- >///< (Except Church Stop, which I plan on continuing when things settle down) You sent this ask at like a wild time but I finally wrote some stuff for ya so I hope it makes sense. o///o The Sleight of Hand AU is really heavy on worldbuilding so it may take some extra work.

So, here’s vaguely how the suit courts are organized and what each rank kind of entails (I say vaguely, but you know it’s going to be wildly long):

Diamonds - The Regal Suit

The Diamond court is known, or would like to be known, throughout the land as true royalty. They are opulent, noble, and unbelievably full of themselves. Their powers stem from their manipulation of worldly elements, able to craft their own visions of beauty into their surroundings. However they are also skilled in cunning and slightly underhanded methods to get their way. They are determined and headstrong folk who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, which may explain why they are in fact the origin of curses in this universe. They are crafty and have keen eyes that are able to very efficiently determine things about someone’s character, and make excellent negotiators.

The common folk of Diamonds are a lot less uppity and posh, but they do have a semi-upper class feel to them. Not because they’re all well off or anything, the land they reside in is just very rich in resources and well maintained in appearance, and it’s within their culture to be on the more refined side of things. They’re skilled in crafting and producing various luxuries, with tailoring being a rather appreciated activity. Art is a huge part of their society, whether it be painting, sculpting, music, even things like landscaping and interior design, etc.

Spades - The Intellect Suit

The Spade court is full of the world’s greatest mages and scholars. They’re always on the search for higher power, and are deathly efficient at their jobs. It is a solid meritocracy in the Spades court, but it is also brutally unforgiving. Spades are proud folk, not of their status, but of their abilities. The work one must go through to reach the top is almost unimaginable by others, and so it has slowly grown corrupt by those unwilling to relinquish their position and admit they’ve been outdone. The Spade court is a terrifying force to be reckoned with, as they wield the most destructive types of magics connected to the forces of nature. They are rather intimating diplomats that take things very seriously.

Spades tend to be natural quick learners, and they adapt to changes in their environment rather easily. Though the enclosed space that is the higher courts have impeded this ability in some. The common folk of Spades are actually very open minded, although unfortunately are also heavily influenced by the court. Many take interest in sciences, research, invention, various types of craftsmanship, innovation, and more. They are knowledge loving and respectable people who seek to learn new things when they can. People good at multitasking or jack of all trades types tend to be Spades.

Hearts - The Angel Suit

The Heart court is full of healers and judges. They are considered the arbiters of justice and peace. Over the years however they have grown perhaps overly defensive, and the armor once used to protect themselves have now grown thorns to harm others. People of the Heart court have witnessed brutality and war, and their reactions have turned away from peace and instead towards shutting others out of their territory to protect only themselves. Harboring another suit is considered a high crime, and you will most likely be jailed and questioned for it if caught. Interlopers deemed spies likely face execution, but that is standard in most courts nowadays...

The people of Hearts are kind and genuine. They hold much empathy in their cores, and most citizens are somewhat attuned to the emotions of others. The idea of “soul mates” originated and was popularized by Hearts! Citizens here are down to earth and know the value of a hard day’s work. They respect labor and jobs that benefit the community, and as such farmers, medical workers, local guardsmen, and various others are very well liked. “Soul Smithing” is actually something invented by the people of Hearts; an amazing technique that has found a way to heal broken cores. Not everyone can perform it, but the people who can are basically invaluable.

Clovers - The Warrior Suit

The Clover court is full of people will strong wills and even stronger resolves. They will do the things they set their minds to, and their beliefs only compliment their strength. They are determined, persistent, and relentless in their quests to do what they think is the right thing. Unfortunately that belief has now been directed towards war efforts, and they’re stubbornness has done little but blind them to the suffering of common folk for the sake of the “greater good”. Perhaps they have become misguided, and they’re confidence prevents them from admitting they are wrong.

The citizens of Clover are free spirited and independent. They’re hard working and very self reliant, living mostly solitary but rather impressive lives. Clovers are natural warriors at heart, willing to fight for the things they believe in and the people they care about. The people here hold magic that serve to empower themselves, and it’s said that their cores glow the brightest in times of peril. There is a myth about the “Four Leaf Clover”, which is a story about a legendary hero who possessed strength beyond strength. Half of the legend has been forcefully erased by the court, but its original ending claims that the four leaves were not symbolic of the Clover’s lone strength at all, but rather how powerful the hero felt they came together with their companions to triumph over all.

*Quick note! The generalizations of the citizens of each court are of course very generalized and does not perfectly apply to every citizen. ^///^

Now on to Ranks! This is already kind of long so I’ll simplify a bit for this section. >///<

Every citizen is born with two things at birth: A core and a rank. Cores, which determines your suit, are determined by your parents and general ancestry. It is very rare for couples of different suits to be together, especially in the current times with tensions so high. Instead of hearts, the people of this world just have cores in their chests. They do a few things under select circumstances but I’m not going into that right now snsjbksjf, for all intents and purposes they are basically “souls”. How one determines rank is decided at around age 5-7, because it’s a more innate sense. You yourself will know what rank you are,

JOKER - Highest possible rank. A myth amongst the populace, since nobody’s actually heard of anyone with this rank. It’s said that JOKERs possess qualities and abilities of all suits. It is currently used as a symbol of revolution in the hopes of reuniting all the suits by an organization of the same name. All members identify as JOKER in solidarity to set aside their differences for the common good.

King - Highest rank in society. Kings are one’s with immense power and magic, said to be able to manipulate reality itself. They are incredibly rare, but those with this rank are seen as natural leaders, and will surely accomplish unthinkable things.

Queen - Queens are a diverse group of powerful mages, and are basically the ceiling for power level for each suit specific magic type. They have a very impressive and respectable amount of power, and tend to highly specialize in one to three skills/magics.

Jack - Typically high ranking generals or soldiers. Jacks are hardy and very durable, with cores as strong as their wills. They tend to be more physically impressive rather than magic oriented, but it’s not uncommon for Jacks to wield magic alongside their weapons.

10-2 - Are considered “citizens”. It doesn’t mean they’re just completely powerless, and yes the numbers do kind of dictate specific things you may be more attuned to, but in general these are the people who populate the land the most. The higher the number, the more likely you are to be naturally gifted in some way at some kind of specific thing, but that doesn’t mean lower numbers can’t be better than you at something. There are special meanings attached to some numbers, like how 7s are lucky or how 4s tend to be more grounded, but these are kind of more like your zodiac than anything.

Ace - The trick up one’s sleeve. Aces have long been the wildcard of society. They usually end up being really good at one thing, but in a way that nobody else had thought of. They tend to be much more closely related to the magic of their own suit, while also having some sort of spin to their magic. It’s a little difficult to describe exactly, but Aces are comparable to “geniuses” who are incredible in one aspect, but lacking in what many people consider more “common”.

I suppose that’s all I’ve got for now. o///o

#Oh no!! Questions about AUs! My only weakness!#If you ask me elaborate #I honestly will for like...basically anything #I love doing that a lot ^///^#pouring way too much thought into things is my specialty lmao #thanks for the ask tho!!#jadespeedster17 #mock talks #SoH au #ask

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a-writing-bear · 6 years ago

Text

[AmeriPan - Permission To Date]

This is a Request fic written for @lonelymarblesoda !

Note: I am so very flattered by your sweet compliments! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did writing it. It was a great stress reliever for me and your prompt was very cute that I got carried away with fluff honestly <3 Sorry there’s more dialogue than intended!

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009922

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Pairing: America and Japan

Word Count: 2,742

Age Rating/Mature: All Audiences :)

Prompt: “Howdy, I'm the anon from earlier! Sorry for being shy (^^;) Since you're still taking requests, I was wondering if you were willing to do a fluffy ameripan fanfic where their relationship is revealed at a world meeting (or something along those lines)? Ψ(´▽｀)Ψ”

With an exhausted sigh and soft smile, Alfred pulled into the driveway of his Virginia home; the ignition silencing as he crossed his arms and rested his head on the now-still driving wheel, gazing upon his tall red brick house. Amused at the pristine garden and the open porch - This was another estate that his Government had preened and made proper, All the way to a point where it almost looked too perfect off a pamphlet. Unlike his apartment in New York, this house had been filled with some sort of personalisation yet Alfred still felt no completeness towards it. Alexandria was an old but beautiful charming town and it felt fitting to have his work home so close to DC. It was embarrassing to admit its old Victorian real estate made him feel much calmer compared to other parts of the city, A piece of his past residing within the restored cobbled paths.

His little thoughts drifted away as he slowly got out the car, humming to himself. It was a short drive back from work and after a long day of going over tomorrow's preparations made him gutsy and giddy. Tomorrow he'd have to fly into New York for a UN Personification meeting - undoubtedly with the expectation to make some more pesky deals and fix it what was going on with discussions of some new global catastrophes. Ah. One more look at his front door he delved into the wish he was a normal person. He wouldn't have to deal with such messes if that were the case.

However, he thought as he jammed his key into the mahogany door, there was one good thing about having a meeting tomorrow...

"Hey, I'm home!" His voice rang out loudly and through the living room doorway he heard a ruffling and a quieter voice muffled through what he assumed was a pillow.

"Welcome home.." Whenever they had a New York UN meetup, Kiku had an excuse to come over early and spend some more couple time. They weren't exactly the conventional couple who could enjoy each other's company constantly but he supposed this was enough. He wouldn't want to take Japan away from his livelihood anyway.

The blond padded his way to the living room after shedding his coat and shuffling off his boots. His smile growing wider as he finds Kiku lazing around on the comfy couch in his bright red sweats with Pochi on his chest. Plopping down onto the couch, nearly on the Japanese man's legs, He pulled Pochi off carefully. The hairy creature wriggling in his arms huffed as he released it onto the floor; Obviously, Pochi was not as excited to see him as the creature scampered off somewhere further into the house. Kiku had insisted on bringing his dog over as it would whimper without him. America Leaned down, almost tipping over to lay on his boyfriend.

"Have you been laying here all day Keeks?" locks of hairs splayed onto the shorter man's shirt as Alfred squirmed his way to lie down beside him- it was quite cramped and a miracle he didn't push Japan straight off his tiny couch.

Kiku opened his eyes, the charcoal eyes seemed to dull as he stared unamused at the man who had wormed his arms onto him. Kiku never really was that good with cuddling but he made compromises for his affectionate American lover.

"No. I did work for tomorrow and called the embassy to forward some papers back to Japan," he whispered as he craned his head over to Alfred's face. The two basked in each other’s embrace for a while as the American sneaked in a few kisses while talking about their days, Japan lamenting the lack of interesting tv shows to watch and Alfred venting about the new intern who spilt coffee in his office. Comfort hung in the air happily.

The two spent the evening packing up work papers and tapping away at tiny shiny laptops, documents astray across the bed in preparation for tomorrow. Alfred had just finished and settled under his comforter while watching Keeks still typing away, legs crossed on the blanket and brow furrowed in concentration when it hit him.

He hadn’t told any of his closest allies about his newfound relationship (well- newly established, he and Keeks had been dancing around each other for centuries). Should he be freaking out over this detail? In terms of relationship milestones, Immortals such as them had very few; living long left very little opportunities for firsts and to be honest getting a stable relationship wasn't a thing people like them did. He'd admit, he was the one who would make a deal out of these sorta events whereas Japan was more reserved of their close relationship. Alfred gulped, thinking hard whether or not it was necessary to say the words that were already spilling from his lips

"Can I tell Matthew about us?" clicking and clacking came to a halt and Kiku had looked up but still ahead, gazing at the painting opposite him hanging loosely on the wall - some Italian painting obviously gifted by Feli. America felt disappointed all of a sudden, letting out a breath he didn't realise he had captured. Maybe he should have left the topic for another day. A few seconds later Kiku had resumed typing on what looked like some new policy proposal and with absently minded disinterest had replied with so much but a passing glance.

"He already knows Al.” voice slightly airy with cocky amusement as Alfred spluttered and shifted in the shared bed. Kiku suddenly felt uncomfortable as he felt cerulean blue depths bury themselves into his back; shutting his laptop and discarding it on the bedside table he fell backwards onto the feather pillow next to his boyfriend - the word felt foreign on his tongue (A bit immature? Boyfriend sounded kiddy.). For a while, they exchanged nothing but awkward glances before Alfred caved and intertwined his palm with Kiku’s.

“You know I’m traditional. I had to ask him if he would all-”

“You asked my brother if you had permission to date me?!” Kiku’s blank face did nothing but Make Alfred laugh even harder. “Kiku. We aren’t like- we aren’t teenagers. I’m literally hundreds of years old, fuck your Millions-” the black haired man shrunk further into the bed in annoyance of his age and quickly pushed a pillow between himself and his cackling lover.

“It’s how I do things. It’s polite and you're brother was kind about it. Did he not tell you?” Alfred threw the pillow barrier towards the bottom of the bed before scooting over closer to the Japanese man, who was getting more embarrassed and flustered by the minute.

“Nah. Mattie knows when there are times I don’t need to know things. I’m surprised that’s all.” he felt breathlessly in love and voiceless with contentedness at the other nation’s admission. It felt oddly nice to be…’courted’ in such an old way. “Besides, If anything, I expected you to bring it up with old man Artie or even Francis…”

Kiku turned, puzzled expression painted prettily on his face- which was only inches away from Alfred’s. “...I’m not marrying you. Why would I ask Mr Eng-”

A pillow cut him off unexpectedly as Alfred nearly fell off the bed in complete hilarity. Kiku was about to pout and say something more. With a few attempts at explaining why there was no point to marriage due to their immortality, Kiku floundered. As he peeked over the edge of where America had fallen off, he himself broke into a small smile. Alfred’s glasses had gone askew and were currently red in the face from the overexerting giggles. As the pair quieted down for the night they felt secure; Tomorrow would be fine, for now, America just wanted a cuddle.

Alfred’s feet tapped violently as he basically bounced off each step of his creaky staircase. Bounding off into the kitchen to pack some last minutes notes he had left on a table. He shouted out impatiently:

“KEEKS COME ON! WE’VE GOT TO GET TO NEW YORK!” he was in a complete flurry as he zoomed around, enthusiastic and frantic to get to their private plane on time- his bosses would skewer him if he delayed any longer, and no doubt Japan’s embassy would be in a fit if he were late too.

Speaking of the Asian nation, the man himself with all the grace and peace in the world came down. Dressed in a western style suit, Kiku readjusted his red tie and tutted himself for his messy morning hair, stoic glance nitpicking every corner of his newly tailored clothes. At the sight of Kiku’s very neat and smart look, Alfred swooned a little, puppy eyes widening as he quickly stole a kiss - which was received with a red face and another ‘tsch’ of shyness - before pushing his cute partner out the door and practically throwing both their briefcases into the car. The plane ride was uneventful and even when the planes kissed the clouds the only view that captivated the Alfred was the silly way Kiku had tried to keep himself occupied; sudoku books were the way to go apparently.

As the other nations began to file in, one by one, Alfred appeased his boss’s anxiety by greeting them all, including old-time allies such as the NATO nations and even the newer ambassadors. Japan had been lost in the mix, both had agreed to carry on as if they had entered separately - not because they didn’t want to show off, but instead to avoid making it difficult to sort out guest arrangements. Alfred fiddled with his watch as he made his own way to the front of the table. Familiar faces filled the large room. England had already buried his desk area with paper as France somehow charmed an admin into getting him a coffee. One look at the other end and he witness Germany scribbling incessantly and the myriad of eastern Europeans personifications huddled up avoiding the Russian. Witnessing Denmark and Sweden already debating on new guidelines, Alfred gulped. It was going to be a tiring day.

Talk after talk, speech and updates floated by and although his hands were writing his notes and his voice kept him engaged in conversation, his heart had decided to tether his brain to the thought of Kiku. The beauty who was sitting on his left. Already Kiku had resigned himself to a conversation between China and South Korea and was looking adequately bored over the talk of generic ocean trade talks. Coughing as inconspicuously as possible Alfred signalled to his partner and took his hand under the table, smoothing his thumb to reassure him of the time not being wasted. Both had shuffled in the movement and although Alfred was rambling on in response to something Arthur had spoken, the ever diligent Matthew noticed such a carelessly romantic gesture. Canada had been seated on Alfred’s right, and with only a second to glance at what had occurred he snorted and rolled his eyes before nudging his brother in utter glee. He was happy his overly ambitious brother found something as calming as a relationship for his very hectic lifestyle.

Matthew whispered to his brother and bordering Ally, “Congrats Alfie, however, If you think you’re being smooth you’re- as usual- idiotic.”

“You’re just jealous Gilbert is stuck in Germany holding the fort. Anyway, when were you gonna tell me Japan asked you for permission huh?t” with a shrug and a kick to his knee under the table the two merely laughed it off, Francis and Arthur were confused at the NA brothers sudden cheeriness. Noticing this, Kiku turned to his secret partner, squeezing his hand tight enough that Alfred nearly yipped when he went to turn to him:

“I’m not sure if your conversation with Matthew-san is appropriate right now.” Matthew gave a sheepish glance as if to say sorry but suddenly just as the 3 of them tried to get back to task Francis had enough of missing out on a joke before quizzically pushing in to ask rather loudly.

“May I know what was not appropriate? It’s rude to leave friends out of a conversation is it not?” next to him even the Englishman nodded, interested in what was going on and before Alfred could deflect he hear a subtle Japanese swear roll of Kiku’s breath and something he thought he’d never hear even within his long-ass lifetime:

“I was telling Matthew how my relationship with Alfred was not of matter as of this moment.”

The room fell into silence. America’s suit felt too tight and he was unsure if it was the nerves of so many countries falling to a standstill or if it was his heart pumping way too hard after hearing Kiku practically announce out their very private relations. In a bit of shock, Alfred had stood up hastily, but his laced hands with Kiku dragged the Japanese delegation up with him- making the situation look even more entertainingly obvious. With a loud slap on the table, Arthur pushed his chair out and stood up as well, the man had a very irked expression.

“How did you tell Matthew about this before me?!” At this point Francis had broken out into a wide mouth smile, still seated and leaned his head onto England’s hip while trying to soothe the seething British man with a couple pats on the back. The long-haired Frenchman calmed Arthur down, chattering away about the etiquette of young love and it’s failure to respect their elders. For once in his lifetime, it almost seemed like Arthur and Francis were a couple of genuine parents lamenting over a son who had eloped without any contact. They all sat down slowly and Kiku had already turned to sort out the gaping look from his Asian counterparts. The conversation ceased to exist as the situation dissolved back into the murmurs of the nations. Soon, the conference ended and as each country left with a joyful congratulatory smile over fruitful debate and strong handshakes with closed deals. Even his least friendly connections gave him a note of thanks and wishes for the best. He saw Arthur and Francis alongside Matthew gathering in one corner of the now empty room, whereas Kiku was purposely packing away at a snail’s pace, stalling till Alfred came over.

“Keeks. You didn’t….why did you do that?”

“It’s not a secret. You said you wanted me to tell your former mentors Alfred. They have a right to know.” The American squished the smaller man into a close hug and a chaste kiss on the forehead before hearing a distinct “ahem”. Shaking Kiku’s hand firmly, Arthur looked Japan up and down before smiling uncharacteristically and pulling him into a hug- catching an unaware Japan quite well. Granted he had known England for while but he never knew he would be greeted with such glee and care. France had given Kiku some good pats and a big hug before chanting some famous French proverb and singing a dilly-dallying rendition of “la vie en rose” much to England and Canada’s despair. The other NA brother merely nodded proudly at Kiku and the short man appreciated that; he had enough hugs for today honestly.

Meekly he commented, already pulled close by a bashful Alfred, “I hope this won't interfere any deals in the future, Mr England and Mr France.” but his serious tone was met with only more exhilarated kindness.

“Enough with formalities for now. Of Course not Kiku. Here we are no longer Countries but ourselves. It is not America and Japan who are together in the way Alfred and Kiku are. Don’t let work change that.” Not really understanding but still thankful for the sentiment, the couple bid the 3 other men off and hopped back onto a plane. This time it was bound for Japan, and Alfred had already packed a bag and Pochi was already running down the walkway of the plane. The 2 sat patiently together on the flight, bathing in each other’s solitude before being interrupted by Japan’s phone dinging erratically- Yao had been calling.

So much for being quiet about things, Alfred Mused as his now public boyfriend fumbled to pick up the call. He only hoped China didn’t mind that he never ask for permission to date Kiku.

Oh well.

#aph japan #aph america #ameripan #hetalia axis powers #hetalia #Hetalia Fanfiction #prompt fic #fanfic #oneshots #request #america x japan

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imaginemycroftholmes · 7 years ago

Note

Hey. Mycroft is very sensitive about his weight, sherlock is being an asshole and Molly come's in yell's at sherlock and offers some advice to Mycroft and cinnamon rolls, which result's in them falling asleep on the sofa.#MycroftPrompt

Molly didn’t even have to leave the kitchen to hear the full volume of the squabble emanating from the living room.

It had started off as a nice visit on Mycroft’s part to 221B.

He had polished his hellos to them both, complimented the décor and brought them a house warming gift which was a rather lovely mini fridge that would be strictly for experiments when Sherlock started to antagonize Mycroft about his weight.

She couldn’t quite understand why her fiancé would have started this unprovoked but as John had warned her prior to moving in Sherlock always did get in these sort of moods when he felt personally insulted by some unforeseen grievance.

“I’ve fond it can be literally about anything Molls,” John had explained on an outing with Roise, “ Mycroft can literally come in with a human cadaver and a brand new set of testing tubes and Sherlock will get his pants in a twist.”

Of course Molly found this to be ridiculous because obviously something must have happened to make them shout at each other. After all John was out with Roise for a father-daughter date and this couldn’t go on any longer.

I need to break it up she thinks as she finishes icing her freshly baked cinnamon rolls passed along through her family.

So taking a plate piled with the sticky confections Molly strides into the fray.

“And another thing you fat, busybody, frigid little-”

“Enough.”

It’s louder than either Holmes had heard her before (and Sherlock had made several experimental attempts just to see how high her voice could go) but it stops the bickering.

Molly looks at the pair of them sternly and then thrusts the plate between them. “Now I don’t care who started this fight but its ending now.”

First she looks to Mycroft, “While I know you probably didn’t intend to start this I don’t want to hear another word about Sherlock that isn’t brotherly in my house.”

Sherlock begins to look smug until Molly turns on him next. “And you,” Molly starts, “ You need to stop calling your brother such awful things when all he tries to do is be a good brother to you. He’s not here to belittle you Sherlock, he loves you and wants to be a part of your life.”

Both men look like they want to protest but Molly shoves the plate a bit more forcefully at the brothers. “Take one and sit on the couch,” she demands.

“But my diet-” Mycroft begins to complain until he gets a full on glare from her and takes the offered treat with little backtalk.

They sit far away from each other on the couch before nibbling on the cinnamon buns quietly.

Molly taking up John’s chair and relishing in the silence until she realized that was all she was hearing-silence.

Looking other at the Holmes brothers Molly is shocked to see the pair almost comatose on the couch that she panics.

Oh no, they must be allegoric! We need 999 Molly frantically thinks reaching for her cell phone finding that its already ringing from an unknown number.

Molly thinks about rejecting the call to call an ambulance but after the Moriarty situation she hesitantly picks it up.

“Hello,” she whispers afraid of what terrors could lie on the other end of the line.

“Good evening Miss Hooper,” comes a smooth voice from the other side that nearly has Molly crying in relief.

“Oh God, Anthea? You sacred me,” Molly sobbed into the phone, ”Listen, we need help Mycroft and Sherlock have been-”

“Momentarily incapacitated by a non lethal chemical compound in order for them to receive their yearly shots,” Anthea injects.

“What?” Molly stammers.

Anthea sighs heavily into the receiver.

“It would seem that both Mr. Holmes and Sherlock have been neglecting their bi-year shots and blood work so we had to take drastic measures in order to get the lab work done,” she explains, “There will be a knock at the door soon with five doctors, three men and two women will be there to do all the necessary procedures that would have otherwise be done months ago had either Holmes decided to actually show up to their scheduled appointments.”

Molly didn’t have to do much to imagine Anthea’s palatable irritation as she knows from experience how difficult it can be to get Sherlock to keep his appointments and not force John into doing it for him.

It was hard enough trying to get him to clean his side of the bed.

“Miss Hooper?”

Brought back to the fact that she was still on the line Molly quickly responds, “yes?”

“I am sorry Ii didn’t alert you prior to all this but we couldn’t risk either Holmes finding out we would do this today,” Anthea says solemnly.

“Um, its okay but just…how long will they be out?”

“About an hour give or take how much was consumed.”

Eyeing the plate Molly asks a bit timidly, “Are all my cinnamon rolls drugged?”

The phone falls dead as a loud knock came at the door from 221A.

#mycroft holmes #mycroft imagine #sherlolly #john watson #rosie watson #anthea #bbc sherlock #cinnamon roll

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not-a-space-alien · 8 years ago

Text

Aziraphale’s Legion, Part 10: Feast

Art by @petimetrek (link for bigger version cause tumblr compresses it)

Series masterpost

On AO3

Crowley excused himself from the clean-up job halfway through and did not return. Aziraphale thought he had probably found some excuse to get distracted and stay inside the shop, since he had been complaining that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him use miracles to get most of it done.

When the job was finally finished, everyone joined him to go back inside, dirty and sweaty. As soon as he opened the door, a delicious scent wafting through the air hit his nose.

Aziraphale went upstairs and popped his head into the kitchen in the adjacent flat to see Oryss at the hob stirring an enormous pot. Crowley was there too, tossing a salad, as well as an angel who was balancing two trays of dinner rolls on his arms and seemed to be listening to some directions Oryss was giving him.

“What’s this?” said Aziraphale.

“Angel!” said Crowley. “Oryss wanted to cook dinner for everyone tonight. Thought it would be nice to celebrate and all that. Wouldn’t do to leave her in the kitchen all by herself with all these mouths to feed.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “That’s wonderful.”

“My lord,” said Oryss shyly, and with her gesture Aziraphale realized he was in the way. He stepped to the side, and Adramelech came into the kitchen past him carrying an enormous bag of potatoes, which he set about washing off.

“Ah, anything I can do to help, then?” he said.

“You could take a bath,” said Crowley, gesturing with the salad fork. “You’re filthier than those potatoes.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, drawing a nice hot bath and finding it so relaxing that he accidentally fell asleep in the tub. He was only woken by Botis’s concerned queries as to his wellbeing.

It was starting to get late by the time he came out, and they were still working in the kitchen. There was only one oven, and he suspected they must be cheating judging by the amount of food coming out.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” he asked Crowley, who was rolling croissants on a tray.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a low hiss. “You shouldn’t help cook. You’re the lord; it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh,” said a disappointed Aziraphale, who had been picturing a small accident in which Crowley smudged something sweet on his face and Aziraphale was responsible for cleaning it off, perhaps with his tongue.

He shuffled out of the kitchen, not feeling much like a lord of anything. He eventually lost himself in a book in his study, although he found it especially difficult to concentrate when they started dragging furniture around.

When it began to grow dark, Botis appeared in the doorway, still fully dressed in his armor. He saluted. “Lord, I was sent to inform you dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Botis,” said Aziraphale, sliding his chair back, quite hungry by now.

He followed Botis into the flat next door. The dining room had not been big enough to hold such an enormous banquet table or this many people, he was sure. Angels and demons lined the table and the walls. The demons all cheered when he came in.

“Goodness,” he said to Botis quietly. “What are they cheering me for?”

“Our lord has kept us alive and safely seen us through a battle with an archdemon,” Botis answered him.

“I didn’t really do anything, though.”

“Lord,” said Botis, directly into his ear, pushing him towards the head of the table, “it is a rule of thumb that one never gets anywhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth without taking credit for things they are not responsible for. Let them celebrate.”

He noticed with astonishment that everyone was here. The entire garrison of angels had gathered alongside his demons, and they were mingling. Rosia and Rava were feeding each other pieces of fruit, and the angel and demon Aziraphale had caught in the closet before were getting just a bit too handsy for public view. Adramelech was trying to explain something about the food to the angel next to him, who listened with the bare minimum of polite interest, more focused on the turkey leg that was just barely out of reach now that someone had moved the tray. Even Victoria, who had been in the habit of staying relatively aloof, was there in the kitchen doorway helping Oryss bring in the remainder of the food. Maltha and Beth were squished together in one chair, their words lost in the general buzz of conversation, but looking very content with each other. Noah was sitting on Adam’s lap, drinking what Aziraphale sincerely hoped was apple juice out of a wine glass. And Michael was in the corner, holding Angelo’s hand, and for once nobody looked nervous around him.

And there was Crowley, his beloved demon, smiling at him with those glittering yellow eyes, in the seat next to the head of the table. He felt his heart swelling.

He took his seat and watched as the last few trays of food came out. The table was, if anything, too small. It reminded Aziraphale of a feast he had been to in ancient Greece. It was the only thing he had been to that rivaled this atmosphere.

A few years ago—even a few weeks ago—he would never have believed this were possible. And here they were.

“That’s everything,” Oryss said, nudging a wine bottle aside to make room for a bowl of rolls.

“Let’s give our compliments to the chef, everyone,” said Aziraphale, and the room erupted in cheers and applause. Oryss gave a slightly embarrassed bow.

As everyone scooched their chairs in and piled food onto their plates or poured drinks, Aziraphale felt like it would be proper for him to say something. He tapped a fork on his wine glass until everyone settled down, looking at him expectantly.

It was only then that he realized he did not know what to say. “Ahm… A toast!”

He lifted his glass, and all the angels and demons followed suit. “A toast to…” he continued. “To, ahm…”

He looked over at Crowley, who had amusement dancing in his yellow eyes. Aziraphale knew then what he wanted to toast.

“To love,” he said.

Everyone murmured low approvals, tapping their glasses against each other, and drinking.

Aziraphale regained his seat, preparing to tuck in.

“Hold on,” said Michael. “Aren’t we going to say grace?”

The room fell coldly silent. Aziraphale had no idea what in Michael’s fever-brained mind would have made him think that was an appropriate suggestion. Even Victoria was cringing, waiting for the reactions of the demons in the room.

“Actually…” said Oryss. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Murmurs and whispers peppered the room.

“If the angels are used to saying grace before they take their meals,” said Adramelech, “then we can suffer through it for their sake.”

“Really?” said Aziraphale.

“Why not?” said Abraxas. “It’s merely a formality. It’s not like He actually pays attention to it.”

Nobody made any objections.

“All right, then,” said Aziraphale cautiously. “Let’s join hands.”

Hands reached out and found each other, from beside one another, across the table, across the aisle, occult and ethereal beings partaking of a gesture that had probably never occurred before in history. Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in one and a second angel’s in the other.

Aziraphale bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

After a few seconds of silence, Aziraphale lifted his head to look at the room

Everyone had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Except Maltha. She was holding Beth’s hand, but she had flatly refused to take the hand of the angel next to her, and she was staring straight into Aziraphale challengingly.

Aziraphale gave her a pleading look.

He felt a tentacle in his brain as Maltha inserted her thought directly into his ears without speaking. I’m the only one here who looked God Himself in the eye as I fell, and I will die before I bow to Him even one more time. You’ll be waiting a very long time indeed unless you proceed without me.

Aziraphale looked at the faces of the lesser demons around him, heads bowed in respect for someone who had rejected them, and he could sense that perhaps they had wanted to do this all along, but like Oryss approaching Michael, they had been too scared and needed his help.

But Maltha. She was too proud. That was just who she was.

Aziraphale nodded at her. That’s fair.

He bowed his head once more and began. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts…”

The generic grace prayer seemed ill-fitting for this group. But what he really wanted to say, he could never say aloud in this company. So he started a separate prayer in his head, sincerely, that maybe God would listen to.

Lord God, I know I cannot question your ineffable judgement.

“…which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Be present at our table, Lord.”

But I care very much for those around the table with me here now. They are kind and merciful and so good. I do not know why you would cast them out…

“Be here and everywhere adored. These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee.”

...But perhaps you could find it somewhere, in your infinite mercy and grace, to forgive them—forgive us all—and to bless this strange gathering.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. In the name of God, the gracious, the merciful. Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured.

Angels rarely pray directly to God, because they simply get their directions from their supervisors and few of them have anything important enough that they would dare speak to God about. And God does not really speak to one, per se. When He wants to communicate with someone, He puts His words directly into the recipient’s brain, similar to what Maltha had just done, except He does not put words in, because that would not be ineffable enough. When one hears from God, they more are left with a sort of impression that they just suddenly remember hearing Him speak a few seconds ago, and are now left with whatever thoughts and feelings they would spawn from hearing that, since He presses it directly onto their brain in a way that’s hard to describe.

And the feelings Aziraphale had as soon as he finished his Amen were associated with the following message God sent to answer his prayer:

Fuck off, you disgusting little creature.

Aziraphale’s hand clamped on Crowley’s, so hard Crowley flinched. Whatever opportunity there might have been to say something to the group as a whole after the prayer was lost as the meal finally began amid the clinking of silverware and the buzz of conversation.

“Angel, are you all right?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes roved the dining hall, then finally came to rest on Crowley, bewildered. Crowley’s serpentine eyes grew serious with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…”

“Did…” Crowley returned his grip just as fiercely. “Did He answer you?”

It was a mistake. Just a mistake. He had gotten a message intended for somebody else. Haha. Of course God wouldn’t have said something like that to Aziraphale. Not to him. He was an angel. That kind of talk was only reserved for demons.

Right?

“Angel? Talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed. A demon nearby put down their silverware and looked at him with concern.

“He said something I rather did not expect,” said Aziraphale quietly. “But I would prefer not to share it.”

Crowley squeezed his hand again. “Okay.”

“Now why don’t we enjoy this delicious meal our friends have prepared for us?” said Aziraphale.

“Okay.”

Aziraphale’s phone rang.

Aziraphale’s phone never rang. His number was not really a secret, but there were not many people who wanted to get ahold of him. He had thought all of them were here with him.

He still had on the generic ringtone, and its beeping was barely audible in the loud room, but it was insistent. He felt his stomach sinking deeper with each ring, as though the call would be from God himself.

“Angel, you’re phone’s ringing,” said Crowley.

“I-I’d better take this. Please continue on without me,” said Aziraphale. He stood and wobbled out of the room unsurely, holding the vibrating device in his hand.

Crowley watched him go, concern growing in the pit of his stomach. In his absence, Crowley made do with sucking down the hors-d’oeuvres.

Relax, he told himself. Just relax.

Crowley had no idea what response to his prayer Aziraphale could have gotten to unsettle him, but surely it couldn’t have been that bad, right? Otherwise God would have smitten them all by now. Surely it was just something that startled him. And that phone call could be from anyone. A human customer, even. There was nothing to worry about.

He should just enjoy the meal. Everyone seemed to be having a good time already. He took a breath and steadied his nerves, determined not to be shaken so easily. He reached for the wine, poured himself a glass, and began to drink it, resolved to enjoy the evening if it killed him.

Botis appeared in Aziraphale’s seat.

“Botis,” said Crowley, eyeing him strangely. “You can take your armor off, you know.”

“I’d rather keep it on, sir,” said Botis. “I’m going to keep watch after I’ve eaten.”

“….all right,” said Crowley, thinking it was rather unnecessary, but knowing personal defense of his lord seemed to be Botis’s hobby. And with that phone call, who knows, it might be a good idea…

“Sir,” said Botis, colouring. “I…um, I didn’t recognize you until I saw you in your armor. With your staff.”

“Recognize me?”

“The healer. The only healer besides Maltha who fell.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to flush red. He had never been treated very well once other demons found out he was a healer. “What’s your point?”

Botis ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword. “I…I was among the group of angels who pressured you to join the rebellion in Heaven.”

A shockwave of recognition flashed through Crowley. Take away the horns…Yes, he had known him as an angel.

“You must hate me,” said Botis. “I’m so, so sorry. If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have done it. We were all young and stupid.”

Botis had a look of genuine sorrow and distress on his face. Crowley could tell it had been eating at him.

He put a hand on his shoulder. “Botis, that is quite literally ancient history. I think you’ve redeemed yourself by now. The way you threw yourself in front of me and Aziraphale when you thought we would have to fight Agares is plenty.”

Botis’s face dissolved into relief and happiness, but he suppressed it with a serious expression soon enough. “Thank you, sir. I’m just doing my duty.”

“Of course you are. Now, why don’t you get smashed while you have the opportunity?”

Botis saluted and marched off.

Aziraphale did not come back for a worrying long time. Crowley sipped his wine slowly, tension building in his stomach. Victoria caught his eye, staring at him from down the long table.

Crowley broke eye contact and went back to his wine, but Victoria got up and navigated the crowded space to him anyway.

“Is everything all right, Crowley?” she said, slipping into Aziraphale’s empty seat. “You look nervous.”

“Aziraphale got a phone call,” he said.

“Oh,” said Victoria, “is that all? For a minute I thought you were concerned Michael was going to start a fight.”

Crowley looked over at Michael. He could not help but notice the archangel was not eating anything and was starting to look like he was enjoying the meal progressively less and less. Crowley hadn’t been concerned about that before Victoria mentioned it, but he was now.

“I wanted to reassure you I’m committed to making sure everything stays peaceful,” said Victoria.

Crowley nodded. “Thanks.”

Victoria’s fingers idly reached out for a handful of grapes on the table. “So why is it so concerning that Aziraphale got a phone call? Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know. Not many people have his number. I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

“Intuition?”

He shook his head, then occupied himself with emptying his wine glass to avoid meeting the power’s eye. She had taken another handful of grapes by the time he set it back down. “Hey, Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“What for?”

“For saving my life when Kabata attacked us. When we showed up in Heaven and you took me back down and got Raphael to treat me.”

“Oh, that? It already feels so long ago.”

“Yeah.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

Crowley peered into his empty wine glass, swirling the remnants on the bottom. “To be honest, Victoria, when I opened the portal to get into Heaven, I didn’t expect anyone to save me. I figured the odds of anyone in Heaven being both willing and able to treat a demon’s injuries and being available right then and there were low enough. And that was assuming the person at the gate cared enough about me to try and keep me alive, if they didn’t actively kill me first. When I saw you come out, I half expected you to take Aziraphale off me and then leave me there to die on Heaven’s doorstep.”

Victoria flushed with embarrassment. “Crowley, you really think I’d do that to you?”

He did not dare look up to see her expression. “It wouldn’t be the first time Heaven’s gates closed on me when I needed help.”

“You thought Heaven would let you die, but you still went there?”

Crowley looked away, pretending like he was trying to find a refill for his wine glass. “I knew you’d save Aziraphale. He may not be very popular, but he’s still an angel. I figured at least one of us could survive the attack.”

Crowley took the ensuing silence as a cue that he should finally look up at her. He was shocked to find that her eyes were watering.

“Crowley, I had no idea demons were capable of such selflessness.”

He could have been insulted by it, but he knew she had meant it as a great compliment. He did not know how to respond. So he lifted his wine glass and tipped it to get at the leftovers on the bottom.

“Crowley, you are a creature of great honour and nobleness,” said Victoria, holding out her hand. “I’m so glad that I could get to know you. I’d save your life again in a heartbeat.”

Crowley looked down at her hand; it took a moment to realize she wanted him to shake it. He took it, slightly embarrassed, not feeling very noble at all. “Erm, thanks.”

After the handshake was over, they both just sat there, slightly awkward. Victoria sniffled and pushed her chair back. “Well, I’d better—I’d—Look, your friend wants to talk to you.”

He saw that Maltha was motioning to him to come over.

“I’d better go see what she wants. Thanks, Victoria.”

“Hey, um, Crowley?”

He turned back towards the angel.

Victoria refused to meet his eyes. “Your friend. Beth.”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell her it’s orange?”

“What is?”

“My favourite colour.”

He smiled. “All right, Victoria.”

Crowley navigated his way through the packed room until he could wheedle his way into the space in front of the archdemon. “What is it?”

“I was just talking to Beth,” said Maltha.

“Maltha told me that all demons have an animal form,” said Beth.

“Er, yeah,” said Crowley. “Nobody’s really sure why, it just kind of works out that way.”

Maltha downed an entire glass of wine in one go and then continued, “Yes, and I told her—”

“I asked her what your form was—” Beth slurred.

“But I didn’t tell her—”

“She made me guess—”

“She thought—”

“Shh, babe, I want to tell him!” said Beth, slapping Maltha’s arm.

It was at this point that Crowley noticed the gaggle of empty wine glasses surrounding the pair and their flushed faces. “Are you two drunk already?”

“Yes,” said Maltha, while Beth simultaneously answered, “No.”

“How are you finding the wine?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Crowley,” said Maltha as more wine appeared in her glass. “Of all the things I put effort into learning about in my time on this plant. Planet. Alcohol was not one of them despite my fondness for it. Once I tried to get drunk off of sparkling grape juice. Beth had to explain to me why it wouldn’t work. That’s why I keep her around.”

“Awww, babe,” said Beth as Maltha shook her with drunken revelry.

“My point is I don’t know good wine from grape juice,” said Maltha. “Anyway, that’s not important. I made her guess what your animal was—”

“I thought you were a cat,” said Beth between bouts of laughter.

“A cat?” Crowley exclaimed. “No, no, no. If anyone were a cat, it would have to be Abraxas, wouldn’t it?”

Maltha sloshed wine out of the glass in her hand as she leaned in closer to Crowley. “Abraxas thinks I don’t know what her animal form is, but I do.”

“Erm…” said Crowley. The two of them apparently found it totally hysterical, because they were having trouble breathing between fits of giggling. Abraxas was across the room letting Mittens eat turkey off her plate, too far away to hear them.

“Tell him,” said Beth.

“A mouse,” said Maltha in a strangulated voice. “She’s a mouse.”

“What? No!” said Crowley.

Maltha nodded and waved her wine glass. Beth had been trying to give her a refill and missed.

“No wonder her cats like her so much,” wheezed Maltha. “They’re probably waiting for her to turn her back so they can eat her.”

“And I wanted to ask you,” said Beth. “Crowley, since you’re a snake—”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, don’t say it.”

“Have you ever eaten a mouse?”

“Well of course!” said Crowley, a tad irritated. “I had to eat while I was in a snake’s body, didn’t I? Couldn’t exactly prepare a sandwich with no hands, could I?”

“No, no, I meant while you were in a human body. You suppress those reptilian instincts all the way?”

Crowley grabbed the wine bottle out of Beth’s hand as she spoke and took a swig from it. “I’m not answering that.”

“You did, didn’t you!” said Beth, unimaginably delighted.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Hey, Crowley, are you all right?” said Maltha.

“Your girlfriend is harassing me.”

“No, seriously, though. You look a little…” One of Maltha’s red pupils drifted off to the side drunkenly while the other remained fixed on Crowley. “On edge?”

Crowley set the wine bottle down. “Maltha, you’re the only one in this room who can protect us, but you’ve gotten too drunk to walk straight. I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

Maltha put a hand on his arm. “Crowley, I can sober up at the drop of a hat.”

Crowley flushed with embarrassment; he had nearly forgotten about that.

“Nobody can get in at us. And I’m sure by now word of Agares’s death will have spread, and that will make everyone think twice about coming after us. I wouldn’t be surprised if even more came over to our side because of it. Nobody is going to attack us so quickly after that. We’re as safe as we can be right now. Relax. Enjoy yourself. You’re always so tense.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that Aziraphale got a phone call.”

“Why is that a problem? Expecting trouble?”

“Only because it always seems to chase me.”

Maltha agreed that was fair enough and left him in his tension. Beth also remarked about Michael’s apparent decline with concern, which did not help his nerves at all.

As time passed and the food disappeared, the wine bottles emptied and refilled multiple times, and the drunken merriment climbed higher and higher. At one point, when there was enough space on the table, some board games came out of the closet and appeared amidst the food, and those nearest entered an intense competition. Maltha and Beth decided to play as a team, but they wanted to use the dog token, which one of Michael’s angels had. The angel said he would only give up the dog in exchange for the hat token, but Adramelech had the hat piece and wasn’t willing to part with it no matter what. Maltha ordered him to give it to her on her authority as an archdemon, but Adramelech said the sacred ritual of dibs was of utmost important on Earth and superseded even Hell’s authority. Maltha looked taken aback and believed him, and Beth couldn’t explain anything to her because she was laughing too hard. The Monopoly game started considerably later than the game of Sorry! across the table, which was already in full swing with several murderous eliminations in the bag by the time someone had purchased their first property.

Crowley found himself unable to take Maltha’s advice and let himself relax. Michael got up halfway through the festivities and exited briskly, Angelo chasing after him a minute later. And Crowley kept his eye on the door, hoping Aziraphale would come back soon and tell him the call had just been a wrong number or something.

Aziraphale moved to the bedroom to answer the call, but it was too late and it went to voicemail. The caller did not leave a message, but his phone vibrated in his hand with a call from the same number a few seconds later. He had to steady himself for a few deep breaths before flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s blood turned to ice. He knew that voice. He had taken orders from it.

“Camael.”

There was an animalistic hissing on the other end of the line. “Do not call me that.”

“Kabata, then.”

There was silence, as though he hadn’t expected getting Aziraphale to use his preferred name would be so easy. Aziraphale felt like he wanted to catch up. Haven’t spoken in a while. How’s it been? How’s life as a demon? But he thought that it would be inappropriate.

“I know you have the antichrist,” said Kabata.

“I’m not denying that I do.”

Another pause. Perhaps Kabata was struggling because he was still new at being evil.

“Give him to me.”

Aziraphale actually had to stifle a laugh. “No, I’m afraid you won’t get him that easily.”

“What happened the last time we met wasn’t personal, Aziraphale.”

“‘What happened’? You mean when you tried to murder me and Crowley?”

Another hesitation. “Yes. But I don’t have any interest in getting revenge on you, Aziraphale. I want the throne. Now that Agares and her crew aren’t lurking about, you and I can talk about it.”

Aziraphale choked back laughter again. “Kabata, you just fell. Doesn’t that seem a bit…ambitious? You’re competing with archdemons who have served under Satan for millennia.”

“I’m aware,” snarled Kabata. “Which is why I need the antichrist. If I can ignite the apocalypse with his son, Satan’s forces will have no choice but to recognize me.”

“You’re seriously trying to convince me to just give him to you? Surely you must know that won’t work.”

“Well, I’m not just asking for him,” said Kabata. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“…a deal?”

“You can be my second in command in Hell.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll let you keep all your demons. Unharmed. Just as they are now. I’ll personally guarantee Crowley’s safety against any of those still thirsty for his blood after what he did. I’ll even let you keep any of those angels who strike your fancy.”

Aziraphale considered it. Just for a moment. He wasn’t proud of that.

“Ahh…” said Kabata. “I see I’ve struck a chord. I know what it is you want.”

“No, Kabata,” he said.

“I’m not going to hurt Noah. I’m going to give him power. Aziraphale, there’s so much we could gain from this.”

“I will not ever participate in any plan that involves the destruction of Creation, do you understand?” Aziraphale shouted. “That’s always been the point.”

“Please reconsider.”

“Kabata,” he said through gritted teeth, “I am currently sitting in a building laced with occult sigils that bar your entry, surrounded by a legion of Heaven’s finest warriors, including the archangel Michael—who I might add has been raring to kill an archdemon for weeks now—as well as a horde of demons that would die fulfilling my commands if I needed them to, and the archdemon who almost bested Satan for his throne while he was still alive. And you are alone, newly fallen, and have made enemies of everyone powerful in Hell already since you’re competing for the throne. I very much doubt you have any ace up your sleeve. If you want the new antichrist so badly, you are free to come and try to take him.”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath after this outburst. Kabata was silent.

“Even when I had authority over you, you never did as you were told, Aziraphale,” said Kabata’s voice, which seemed to ooze out of the telephone and prick his neck with a slimy tendril. “And when you’re at your lowest moment, when you’re asking yourself why things turned out this way for you, I want you to remember it’s because you do not do as you are told.”

The line went dead. Aziraphale kept the phone at his ear for a few extra moments, his mind racing.

He snapped it shut, wishing he had not gotten quite so mouthy. Kabata had deserved it, but still. He lay back on the bed and sat there for a while, his head in his hands, feeling positively overwhelmed, not sure what to do.

He lost track of time as he lay there. He heard heavy footsteps thump in the hallway, and he levered himself upright just in time to see Angelo scurrying past the room looking concerned.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale called.

Angelo stopped. “Oh. Um. Yeah, everything’s fine. Michael’s just not feeling so well. All the noise was getting to him. We’re going to keep watch on the roof.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, thinking that might be a good idea. “All right. Thank you. Let me know if you see anything.”

Angelo disappeared. Aziraphale flopped back onto the bed, then suddenly realized the time. He’d better go tell everyone about the call so that they could be on alert.

When he walked back into the dining room, he saw that the food was mostly gone, and that several board games had appeared. The group closest to him was boisterously fighting over candy-coloured money and small plastic houses and metal tokens in the shape of shoes and cars.

They were all drunk and happy. He could not bring himself to interrupt them. He turned back around, going down the stairs quietly, the loud noises and warm smells fading with the distance.

He found Botis in the main shop standing facing the door, silhouetted against the night through the glass shopfront, weakly illuminated by moonlight.

“Evening, lord,” he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, obviously also a bit drunk.

“What are you doing down here?”

“He’s keeping watch,” said Crowley’s voice behind him, appearing on the staircase. He padded down the stairs and across the shop, coming up beside them. “I told him to relax for once, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I just want to be sure my lord is safe,” said Botis.

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you. Botis, Crowley. Will you help me strengthen the anti-demon sigils on the shop?”

“Of course,” said Crowley. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ve gotten a call from an old friend. Nothing to be alarmed about. But I’d rather make sure he can’t get in.”

Crowley seemed to immediately understand who he meant and did not ask questions. Botis did not see any point in asking too many questions of his lord, so he also did not ask questions.

They tightened the glyphs so that no demon was able to enter, full stop. He was sure that Kabata wouldn’t have somehow grown to love the Earth so quickly, not someone like him, but he wanted to take no chances that he would be able to exploit any loopholes the exception might allow. Aziraphale was sure that everyone was already inside the perimeter, and Botis assured him he would make certain nobody left that evening.

He could have a talk with everyone tomorrow about the change. There was no way Kabata would be able to get in, no way he could make good on his threats. And they could pass the night in safety, laughing and drinking, and deal with him tomorrow, whatever pathetic move he decided to try and make.

The universe would have to pull out a lot more than this to scare Aziraphale.

“Michael. Michael, look at me. Look at me.”

Michael was panting, his wings drawn out, his eyes half lidded, covered in sweat.

“It’s okay,” said Angelo. “You’re okay.”

“I wanted to kill her,” said Michael. “Me, I should have killed Agares. I’m the bearer of divine wrath.”

Michael seemed to have a bit too much wrath built up inside him. Angelo took Michael’s head in his hands. “It’s okay.”

“Metatron said this was going to happen,” said Michael, wiping an eye with his palm. “That my bloodlust was going to get worse the longer the war was put off. That I would start to deteriorate. Because I’m…I’m…”

“How can I help you, Michael? What do you need?”

“I need to kill something.”

Angelo could only say “It’s okay” so many times when it obviously wasn’t true. He moved a strand of hair out of Michael’s face. “I’m here.”

They both caught a spark of light and a fizzle out of the corner of their eyes. A piece of parchment fluttered down, landing seal-upright. It was from Gabriel.

Angelo picked it up. It was addressed to Michael, but he opened it anyway. And then he tried to hide it from Michael, but it was too late, because the archangel had been reading it over his shoulder.

“Michael, don’t.”

Michael pushed him off and drew his sword. “Get out of the way, Angelo.”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #fanfic #petimetrek

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setepenre-set · 8 years ago

Text

Poetry and Flowers

Megamind/Roxanne

Roxanne is disconcerted when she receives a mysterious gift on Valentine’s Day.

(K rating, pre-movie AU, inspired by a @ramendobe prompt.)

AO3 | FFN

It comes on Valentine’s Day, delivered to Roxanne’s desk, waiting there for her when she walks in.

Her eyes go wide when she sees the bouquet. What—who in the world would be sending her flowers?

It’s a very large arrangement, interesting, too; not just ordinary roses. Some of the flowers she doesn’t even recognize.

There’s a slim, dark-blue book beneath the vase of flowers; she slips it out and looks at it curiously, flipping it open to the first page.

your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

Roxanne feels her face go hot.

She turns to the next page.

I go so far as to think that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want 

to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Roxanne slams the book shut.

Love poetry? Who the hell would send her flowers and love poems? On Valentine’s Day? What the hell is this?

She puts the book down quickly on her desk.

There’s a card, in the flowers. She plucks it out and looks at it.

The card is small and white—nothing written on it but a sharp black—

“Oh, your boyfriend got you flowers!” Katie exclaims from over Roxanne’s shoulder.

Roxanne jumps, card fluttering from nerveless fingers.

“My—my what?”

Katie gives her a look that says she’s wondering if Roxanne has lost her mind.

“Your boyfriend,” she says. “You know. M. For Metro Man.”

“…ahahahah! Yes! Of course! M! For Metro Man!” Roxanne says.

Katie gives her a look that says she’s pretty sure Roxanne has lost her mind, and then she goes back to her desk.

But.

See.

Here’s the thing.

Metro Man is not Roxanne’s boyfriend. They are not dating.

Not.

Dating.

Wayne pretends to his mother that they are, and Roxanne lets him, even though she’d really prefer that he just go ahead and explain to his mother that he’s aromantic. Lady Scott loves her son; she’d understand, eventually, Roxanne thinks, if Wayne explained. But, then, Roxanne knows that coming out to her own mother as bisexual didn’t exactly go well, so she does get why Wayne’s worried. That’s why Roxanne lets Wayne lie to his mother about dating her.

But he’s never really acted like they’re dating (he doesn’t have to; the public fills in the blanks without any evidence anyway). So there’s no reason for him to have sent her flowers and poetry.

Also, Wayne overdoes the Metro Man thing, yes, but he isn’t going to give her a card with his logo on it instead of his name, because that would be ridiculous. Even for him.

So.

Logically, that means that someone else sent her the presents.

Someone else whose name starts with M, and let’s put it this way, Roxanne is pretty sure Minion isn’t the one sending her poems and flowers.

Maybe it’s a joke.

Maybe it’s a trap.

Maybe it’s a trap and a joke, maybe—

Roxanne eyes the gifts with deep suspicion.

Okay. All right. Focus, Roxanne; think this through.

The poems are the most—emotionally…disconcerting part of the present (because they seem to indicate a depth of sincerity unmatched by the flowers. Roxanne can picture Megamind giving her a showy bouquet as a joke, but it’s more difficult to see him doing the same thing with a book of love poetry.

So. If the presents are a trap, then the poems are probably meant to be the distraction and the flowers are the dangerous part

Roxanne looks at the vase of flowers with even deeper suspicion than before, then carefully pushes it to the edge of her desk, sits down, and opens up her laptop. Maybe one of the flowers has some sort of—hallucinatory pollen or something…

After some searching, she finds a site with a database of flowers, organized by image, name, and something called ‘floriographic meaning’. (The website’s definition of floriography is ‘the language of flowers, used to communicate messages cryptographically’.)

The flowers in her bouquet are all in the database, and none of them have any weird side effects listed.

Roxanne frowns at the computer screen and taps a pencil on her desk.

Hmm. Okay. That’s—well, it should be reassuring, but mostly it’s just—odd.

On a whim, she checks the flower language meaning of one of the blooms, and then she nearly drops her pencil in shock.

Apple blossom—temptation.

(temptress)

That’s—that’s probably just her reading too much into this, right?

(her heart is beating oddly hard and fast, and her face is hot again.)

She clicks on the next flower in her bouquet, reads the floriographic meaning.

Iris—a message.

A message.

Temptress.

A message—for her?

(floriography does seem like the nerdy, obscure sort of thing that Megamind would be interested in—)

She looks up the rest of the meanings.

There’s peach blossoms, which apparently mean ‘I am your captive’ (she blushes even harder at that); daffodils, which can evidently stand either for happiness or unrequited love (that’s…confusing); bluebells, which mean delicacy (she doesn’t quite get that one, but—maybe he’s using the color as a signature?); gardenias, which mean either joy or secret love (what is it with the confusing double meanings?); clematis, which means mental beauty (or maybe he’s using the clematis as the signature? unless…’mental beauty’—surely that’s not a compliment meant for her—); cypress, which means despair (why despair?); and red tulips, which stand for—

—a declaration of love.

Roxanne does drop her pencil. this time.

She reads the line again.

Red tulips. A declaration of love.

A—a declaration of love, and that means the gardenias probably do stand for secret love and the daffodils for unrequited love, and that’s why he added cypress for despair and oh god

oh god she can’t breathe

Megamind—Megamind is in love with her?

Roxanne clutches the edge of her desk, needing to ground herself, because she is reeling, not just from the shock of the revelation (Megamind is in love with her. Megamind.) but from the sheer, utterly unexpected pulse of joy that goes through her in answer to the thought.

What—why is she happy about this? She can’t possibly be in—

Oh—oh, she is, isn’t she?

Oh no.

Roxanne makes a small, choked noise and only refrains from hiding beneath her desk because she is frozen in terror.

What.

What is she going to do?

Roxanne reaches for the book of poems in a sort of daze, opens it, and starts to read.

The book isn’t long; it takes her only about twenty minutes to finish the whole thing. It’s—it’s a very intense twenty minutes, though.

She’s pretty sure he must have selected all of the poems individually, and printed the book himself; there’s no publisher’s mark, and all of the poems have different authors.

And each of the poems is—they are all very beautiful and very romantic.

Extremely romantic. This is—this is by far the most romantic gift that Roxanne has ever been given.

She turns to the last page, and—blinks in confusion.

This isn’t a love poem; it’s the opening soliloquy from Shakespeare’s Richard the Third; she recognizes it from her college english class. Why would he—

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

(wait—unrequited love, the daffodils stood for, and cypress for despair)

I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them—

(but—Richard is talking about how ugly he is, how he’s—)

Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity.

(Megamind calls himself ‘incredibly handsome’ but she knows how other people talk about the way he looks and he must know that, too, and—)

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

(since I cannot prove a lover, I am determined to prove a villain)

Is—is that—

Is that an offer to give up villainy for her? Is that what he’s trying to say?

Can that possibly be what he’s trying to say?

There are no more poems after the soliloquy, and so, in frustration—why can’t he just say that, if he means that—she turns again to the first page, reads over the first poem again.

your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself—

Roxanne closes the book, eyes wide, heart slamming against her ribcage.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Oh, wow, this is—

Roxanne looks at the clock. Almost noon; Megamind will probably show up to kidnap her on her lunch break; he always has an evil plot planned for Valentine’s Day, and surely he’s going to want to see her, after sending her this message; surely he’s going to want—

—her answer.

How is she going to answer?

(yes, of course; the answer is yes; it would have been yes, she realizes, even if he hadn’t offered to give up villainy, which probably says something worrying about her morals, but she doesn’t really care about that right now because she needs to find a suitably romantic way to indicate to Megamind that the answer is definitely yes—)

An idea hits her; she turns again to her laptop, to the floriography website, and scrolls quickly through the database of meanings, looking for—

There. Perfect.

Now she just has to find a florist that hasn’t sold out of red carnations. Before Megamind shows up.

Roxanne, sitting outside the coffee shop, nervously tears her croissant into pieces and resists the urge to touch the red carnation she has pinned in her hair.

This is happening; she can’t believe she’s doing this.

What is taking Megamind so long? She wants this to be happening now.

(Roxanne has never been good at waiting for the things she wants)

She bites her lip—maybe she should check the placement of the flower again? And her makeup, maybe she should check her—

Roxanne stands, turns and—

Walks into a cloud of knockout spray.

She’s smiling when Megamind pulls the bag off of her head.

“Miss Ritchi; we meet again,” Megamind says, and Roxanne blinks, surprised.

He’s opening with his usual line? That’s—all right, maybe he’s waiting for her to set the tone for the conversation.

She smiles a little more warmly at him.

“Finally!” she says, “It felt like I was waiting at that coffee shop forever!”

Megamind is the one who blinks this time.

Then he—

—frowns.

(what? why is he—)

“You may have anticipated today’s kidnapping, Miss Ritchi,” Megamind says, gesturing dramatically, “but I am certain that today’s evil plot will leave you shocked and dismayed!”

(—wait, this—this isn’t right! he’s supposed to—doesn’t he see the flower; doesn’t he get it?)

“Do you like what I’ve done with my hair today, Megamind?” Roxanne blurts out desperately.

Megamind, who has turned away to the console, looks over his shoulder, looks down his nose at her.

“A flower; very romantic, Miss Ritchi,” he says, tone dismissive, and Roxanne’s heart twists painfully.

“—that’s…good; it’s—meant to be,” Roxanne says, willing him to understand, to turn and face her properly, to come over to her chair and tilt her face up to his and kiss her. “You see, I—got a present. Today. A gift. For Valentine’s Day.”

Megamind goes still for a long second, and then turns to her.

(good; yes; thank god)

“Oh?” he asks, voice casual.

“Yes,” Roxanne says. “There were flowers. And a question…”

“—oh,” Megamind says, and she thinks she hears a crack in his tone of indifference.

“Are you familiar with floriography, Megamind?” Roxanne asks.

There’s a pause.

“…I’ve read a few books, yes,” he says.

“Do you know what a red carnation means, then?”

Megamind’s expression—

“Yes,” he says flatly, eyes shuttered, face blank. “It means ‘yes’.”

Roxanne’s heart feels like he’s reached into her chest and crumpled it. Why is he looking at her like that, if he knows what it means? Why doesn’t he kiss her?

“—yes,” she says. “It—it means yes. So that’s…my answer. To the question.”

There is a long silence. (Roxanne feels her heart break during it.)

“Well, that’s fascinating, Miss Ritchi,” Megamind says, finally, voice caustic, arching an eyebrow, “Perhaps now we can get back to the evil plot.”

He turns away to the console again.

Roxanne doesn’t cry then, doesn’t cry during the rescue, doesn’t cry during her broadcast. She doesn’t cry until she gets home to her apartment, and then she lies down in her bed and clutches a pillow to her chest and she cries and she cries and she cries until she runs out of tears.

(she does, eventually, run out of tears.)

So.

It seems that the Valentine’s Day gift from Megamind was, in fact, either a joke or a trick, meant to taunt her for her feelings. (Megamind is smart; Megamind could easily have picked up on the fact that she’s in love with him before Roxanne even realized).

This is not the end of the world, but Roxanne wishes that it was.

Unfortunately, though, the world keeps happening; life keeps happening; she goes to work and she smiles and she talks to people and she pretends that her heart isn’t broken.

The week seems to last forever, but finally the weekend arrives and she’s able to go home and be alone with her heartache. She takes the flowers and the book with her; she’s had to leave them on her desk all week, so that no one suspects anything odd about the gifts, about Roxanne’s emotional state.

The flowers are wilting now; she shoves them into the trash, vase and all, weeping, then curls up on her couch. (she can’t quite bring herself to throw away the book, and she hates herself for it, for being so weak.)

The text message alert on her phone goes off; Roxanne scrubs at her face with the sleeve of her sweater and looks at the screen.

hey forgot to ask if u liked the flowers —wayne

Roxanne stares at the words. If she—if she liked the flowers.

She calls Wayne.

“What do you mean, if I liked the flowers?” she says, as soon as he answers the phone. “Did—did you send me flowers, Wayne?”

“Oh, hey, Roxy! Yeah, sorry, my mom’s been really on me this year about not being romantic enough for my girlfriend, you know, and the whole Valentine’s Day thing is a big deal for her… I bought it really late; they said they only had a lot of stuff nobody else wanted, so it probably looked kinda weird—”

“You sent me flowers,” Roxanne says, feeling numb. “You. Sent them. You—”

“Yeah, didn’t you know they were from me? The florist said they included a card…”

“You sent me a bouquet of flowers and a card with your logo on it?” Roxanne hisses into the phone.

“What? My—my logo?”

“M! For Metro Man!” Roxanne whisper-shrieks.

“No, I told them to sign the card with a W. You know. For Wayne,” he laughs. “They must have put the card in upside down. Hey, what’s that noise?”

“Nothing,” Roxanne says bitterly, smacking her own head against the wall again.

It wasn’t from Megamind.

It wasn’t from Megamind, which, hey—silver lining—means that he wasn’t mocking her or trying to be cruel, on Valentine’s Day, except that also means that the message wasn’t from him and Roxanne is still in love with a supervillain who doesn’t return her feelings and everything is awful.

“Did you call a bookstore and make a salesperson pick out the book for you, too?” she asks Wayne, wanting to be angry with someone besides her stupid self.

“What book?” Wayne asks.

Roxanne, pacing her kitchen floor, stops cold.

“The book that came with the flowers,” she says slowly. “The book of poetry.”

“I didn’t send a book with the flowers,” Wayne says.

Roxanne sits down on her kitchen floor.

“Anyway, Roxy, I’m gonna have to—”

“Wayne, you’re going to have to stop pretending to your mother that we’re dating,” Roxanne blurts out.

“—to—wait, what? Why?” Wayne says, “Roxy—”

(because if Wayne didn’t send that book, then there’s still the smallest chance that Megamind did)

“I found someone I want to date for real, Wayne,” Roxanne says, pulling her knees to her chest. “Or—well. Not found. Realized. Realized that I want to date for real.”

“…oh,” Wayne sighs. “Well. I guess—good luck, then.”

“Thank you,” Roxanne says, then bites her lip, remembering the meaning she’d originally ascribed to the last poem in the book, coupled with the first.

(since I cannot prove a lover / I am determined to prove a villain / your slightest look easily will unclose me / though i have closed myself)

(the possibility of Megamind wanting not to be a villain any more, and if he wants that, then Roxanne wants him to have it, wants to help him)

“—Wayne,” Roxanne says, “if—hypothetically, if I—convinced Megamind—to stop being a supervillain…would you leave him alone?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Uh,” Wayne says. “I mean—yeah, I guess? Why do you—wait. Is—is Megamind the person who you figured out that you want to date?!”

“Yes,” Roxanne says, a dangerous edge to her voice, “he is, actually.”

“…huh.”

Roxanne waits, but Wayne doesn’t say anything else.

“‘Huh!’?!” she says, at last “That’s all you have to say?! I’ve realized that I’m in love with a supervillain and all you’ve got to give me is ‘huh’?!”

“I mean, the whole romance thing is weird to me, but I guess you guys sort of make sense together,” Wayne says.

Roxanne collapses back on her kitchen floor, her hand over her eyes.

“So you guys are dating now, then?” Wayne asks.

Roxanne groans.

“No,” she says. “I don’t know if he wants to, even; I’m going to have to talk to him and try to see…”

“Oh,” Wayne says. “Well, uh—like I said, good luck. You really think you might be able to talk him into quitting supervillainy?” His voice sounds hopeful.

“I think—I think maybe he wants to be talked out of supervillainy,” Roxanne says.

“Really?”

Roxanne runs her hand through her hair.

“Yeah,” she says. “If I’m—if I’m reading him right. I might not be. I don’t know.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, doubt assailing her. This is crazy. She’s crazy.

“…hey, Roxy,” Wayne says, voice hesitant. “Do you—do you think I should tell my mom? About…me?”

Roxanne sits up and leans against her kitchen cabinets. She rubs her hand over her face.

“Do you want to tell her?” she asks.

“I—yeah, I think I do,” Wayne says. “I just—I want to feel like I can be myself, you know? I feel like I have to—pretend, all the time, with—with a lot of things. Actually. Not just—I don’t want to have to pretend, anymore.”

“If you want to tell her, then I think you should tell her,” Roxanne says. “You deserve to stop pretending, if you want to.”

“…even if what I want to stop pretending to be is a superhero?” Wayne asks, voice small.

Roxanne takes a sharp breath.

Oh.

“—yeah,” she says. “Even then.”

Waiting does not suit Roxanne’s temperament; her stress level rises every day that she doesn’t see Megamind, every day that she becomes more and more certain that he can’t really love her back.

Wayne does tell Lady Scott; she cries, evidently, and then hugs him and tells him she’s proud to be his mother.

Roxanne tells Wayne she’s happy for him, when he calls to tell her, and she is happy for him, but she’s also ready to climb the walls of her apartment in her anxiety, and she considers making Wayne take her to the Lair so she can get this over with, but she doesn’t think breaking into Megamind’s home is a good start to asking him out—yes, he’s broken into her house plenty of times, but never in a romantic context, and Roxanne really doesn’t want to screw this up.

So she waits.

She waits for two whole weeks and it feels like a year, but finally—finally!—she wakes up one day to darkness and the sound of Megamind’s voice and then he pulls the bag off her head.

And—god, but she’s missed him. Just seeing his face again sends a sharp pulse of joy through her; she wants to—to look at him until she’s memorized all of his features perfectly, wants to cup his face in her palms and learn the texture of his skin, trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones and brush away the tired shadows from beneath his eyes.

“—hey,” she breathes, completely idiotically. “Hey, Megamind.”

Megamind pauses for a moment. Then he jerks his head in a sharp motion of acknowledgement.

“Miss Ritchi,” he says. “—once again, I have you in the clutches of my evil!”

“—so it turns out I actually got two Valentine’s Day gifts,” Roxanne blurts out, not wanting to let Megamind get into full monologue mode.

His eyes go flat and his eyebrows snap together in a frown.

“How nice for you,” he says, “having a rich boyfriend who can afford to indulge you during meaningless human holidays.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Roxanne says.

An expression flashes across Megamind’s face for a moment, but only for a moment, and then the mask of boredom is back in place. It’s not perfect, though; when he smiles, it’s sharp and bitter, and his hands curl into fists.

“Of course,” he bites out, “my apologies, Miss Ritchi. Your fiancé. Tell me, have you set a date yet for the happy event?”

Roxanne stares at him.

“Wh—?” she says. “Fiancé? What—are you talking about, Megamind?”

His lips press briefly together in a hard line, then he smiles again, a smile that definitely does not reach his eyes.

“Come now, Miss Ritchi,” he says, “you’ve already given the game away, twice. Or are you forgetting our little conversation about floriography that we had on Valentine’s Day?”

“…our conversation about floriography?” Roxanne asks, frowning, utterly lost. “How did you get ‘engaged’ from that conversation?”

“The bouquet of flowers and the question,” Megamind says, with a sharp gesture, and he’s not smiling now, not at all. “And the red carnation in your hair that meant ‘yes’.”

“…oh,” Roxanne says, understanding dawning.

Megamind’s lips curve up again in that unhappy smile, and Roxanne wants to put her arms around him and make him stop looking so miserable, but if he’s this upset about the possibility of her being engaged to someone else, then maybe—

(please, please, please)

“—the carnation was for you,” she says, “the—I—I thought you were—I thought you had. Asked me a question.”

Megamind goes still and frozen, his lips parted and his eyes round.

“…like I said,” Roxanne says, “I got two gifts on Valentine’s Day. And—and one of them—one of them was a book.”

Megamind is staring at her still; she doesn’t think he’s breathing, even.

“Are you—” Roxanne swallows, “—are you so very determined to prove a villain, Megamind?”

Her voice is quiet, but it echoes in the Lair. Megamind stands like a statue for another long, breathless moment, and Roxanne’s heart hangs in the balance.

“—your slightest look will unclose me,” Megamind says, his voice shaking, “you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens—

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,” Roxanne says softly, watching Megamind’s expression, watching joy bloom in his face, just as joy is blooming in Roxanne’s heart.

“—oh,” he gasps, stumbling forward to untie her, “—oh—”

And Roxanne tips her head up and kisses him as he’s reaching for the ropes.

💙

notes: poems quoted are somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond by e.e. cummings (your slightest look will easily unclose me) and Every Day You Play by Pablo Neruda (I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.)

Happy Valentine’s Day! Much love to you, my dear readers, from Set! 💙

#megamind #roxanne #megamind/roxanne #fanfiction #poetry and flowers #valentine's day

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iamastrongchristian-blog · 5 years ago

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How to Share the Burden with Lay People

And the Lord said unto Moses, Gather unto me seventy men of the elders of Israel, whom thou knowest to be the elders of the people, and officers over them; and bring them unto the tabernacle of the congregation, that they may stand there with thee. And I will come down and talk with thee there: and I will take of the spirit which is upon thee, and will put it upon them; and they shall BEAR THE BURDEN of the people with thee, that thou bear it not thyself alone.

Numbers 11:16, 17

One of the most difficult tasks in life is to “lead” people. Moses delivered the Israelites from bondage but struggled to lead them to the Promised Land. They were too difficult for him to handle. Moses’ job of leading difficult people is the job that all pastors have to do. God graciously gave Moses spectacular and sensational miracles. These signs and wonders helped to establish his authority over God's flock. In spite of this, the burden of leading the people was more than he could carry. The Bible calls it a burden - and that is what it is! Moses eventually succumbed to the pressures of leading difficult people and lost his chance to enter the Promised Land.

There Is a Real Burden

If you have a pastor's heart and love people, you cannot disassociate yourself from their problems. Their problems will become your problems and their burdens will affect you! When God uses you to minister to a large number of people, he expects you to share the burden. Failure to share this burden simply means that you may collapse or come to a standstill in ministry. There are many standstill churches around. They grow to a point but can grow no further. The reason is that they fail to share the burden of ministry. A balanced church is one that has people of all sorts within it; young, old, educated and uneducated, rich and poor, and male and female. All these people must be drafted in to the share the burden.

Don’t Exclude Anyone

I notice that most churches exclude the educated and the rich from ministry. Usually, the rich are expected to contribute money whilst the educated enhance the image of the church. However, I have found that both the rich and the educated can be spiritually useful. There are many medical doctors, carpenters, plumbers, specialists, lecturers, architects, and engineers, who serve as lay pastors. These lay pastors share the burden of ministry. The burden of the ministry cannot be borne by one person. It is simply impossible.

Share the Burden and Have a Larger Church

If you want to have a greater ministry than what you currently have, you must share the burden. Sometimes people do not share the burden because they want to take all of the glory for themselves. They want people to feel that they are the only ones with a supernatural gift. They want people to show appreciation to them alone. Others are afraid of rebellion in the camp. How common is the story of associate pastors rebelling. Many senior pastors fear their assistants will outshine them one day. Fear not, only believe! You cannot expand without trusting people. The work is so great that you will never ever be able to do it all alone.

1. Lay people will help you deal with ungrateful and forgetful sheep. …in the last days… men shall be… unthankful… 2 Timothy 3:1, 2

There will always be lay people who are very grateful for your ministry. They will love you and appreciate your efforts for them. These people will help to neutralize the presumption that is common in the congregation. Their grateful speeches will neutralize rebellion in the camp. You will notice ungratefulness in people by the way they complain. Moses led the Israelites out of bondage and slavery and yet they murmured and complained bitterly against him. Aaron even had to make a golden calf to calm them down.

If something ever goes wrong, you will be surprised at the reactions of people you have ministered to. Many quickly forget what you have done for them. The things a pastor does are not physically tangible, but spiritual. Many therefore think that the pastor has done nothing for them. Church members can sin against you after you have been a blessing to them. Don't be shocked! The prophet Jeremiah experienced the same thing from his people. He said, “Shall evil be recompensed for good?” (Jeremiah 18:20). The Sin of Hezekiah

Once, a pastor told a very disturbing story. He said that he was surprised when one of his church members came to his house one night to assault him. He couldn't believe that this young man whom he had led to Christ, trained up in the Lord, whose marriage he had blessed, and helped through various crises would attack him in that manner. Dear friend, do not be surprised! Do not expect gratitude from man; expect your rewards from God. Hezekiah was blessed. But he did not "render again". That means he did not show gratitude for all the blessings he had received.

But Hezekiah RENDERED NOT AGAIN according to the benefit done unto him… 2 Chronicles 32:25

This is the nature of man. This is the nature of the people God wants you to lead.

2. Lay people will help you overcome disloyalty in the congregation. With the help of lay people, you will be able to fight disloyalty in the church. The presence of zealously committed lay workers always inspires more loyalty in the ranks. Lay people, who do not earn money from the church, are a great support to every pastor.

Lay people who are loyal will report what is going on in the congregation. Though Judas walked and ministered with Jesus for three years, he eventually betrayed him for a small amount of money. Betrayal is a part of ministry. It is also a part of life. If you have yet to experience betrayal, I can assure you that you will. The disturbing thing about betrayal is that it comes from people who are supposedly close to you. You are not greater than your master Jesus! The fact that someone may betray you one day makes it very difficult for you to happily interact and flow with the people. Look closely at the ministry of any great man of God. You will discover that they have all had their fair share of traitors. All of this contributes to the burden and difficulty of ministry.

Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me. Psalm 41:9

Paul experienced sudden desertions by some of his colleagues, like Demas. I remember one young man whom I trained. He was about to take up an important position in the ministry that we had been preparing for, for over a year. On the day he was to fill the position, he suddenly informed me that he was leaving the country. I couldn't believe my ears! All of our months of preparation meant nothing to him. He just abandoned ship without notice. These experiences are all part of the ministry. Abandonment also occurred under the ministry of Apostle Paul.

For Demas hath forsaken me… 2 Timothy 4:10

Because people can abandon you at any time, it is burdensome to lead them. The presence of committed lay people will always help to share the burden of abandonment. God wants us to be involved in His work. God wants us to be shepherds!

3. Lay people will help to deal with disrespectful and rebellious church members.

And Miriam and Aaron spake against Moses… Hath the Lord indeed spoken only by Moses? HATH HE NOT SPOKEN ALSO BY US? Numbers 12:1-2

There are lay people who will sort out disrespectful and rebellious church members for you. You always need people on the ground to deal with church members who make light of pastors. There are people who think their money and status in the secular world gives them a right to say and do anything in the church.

Miriam and Aaron (the closest assistants and closest relatives) spoke against Moses. They most probably said things like, "God also speaks by us" and "Are you the only one God uses?" With time, familiarity creeps in and arrogant people now consider you as an equal. They tend to think, "We can all do it. What's the big deal? You are no different from us!" This is unfortunate, but real. People easily take you for granted. They murmur and complain against you, forgetting all that you have done for them. When some church members lose their temper, they will speak to you as though you are a little child.

"You Remind Me of My Father"

One church member approached her pastor after Sunday service. The pastor thought she was about to compliment him for the powerful sermon he had just preached.

She started, "Pastor, you know something? I felt I should tell you that you remind me of my father." "Oh really?" the pastor responded. He thought he reminded her of some good traits in her father. She continued, "He was so full of himself and so are you!" The pastor was taken aback but had to smile and continue as though he had received a compliment. This church member was telling the pastor exactly what she thought of him. Moses also experienced rebels who thought he was “too big” for his shoes. Moses also had people who wanted to cut him down to size. That is why Moses had to share the burden with seventy other elders.

Now Korah...and Dathan…and Abiram…and On…rose up before Moses...and said...wherefore then lift ye up yourselves [Moses and Aaron] above the congregation of the Lord? Numbers 16:1-3

4. Good lay people encourage others to respond positively to the Word.

When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and UNDERSTANDETH IT NOT… Matthew 13:19

The domino effect is when one thing leads to another. When one layperson responds positively to your teaching, others are inspired to do the same. It is always a blessing to have ordinary congregants who are outspoken in their support of you. Sometimes large sections of the congregation do not understand the Word. Often they do not understand why you have to do fundraising. Consequently, many do not respond in giving. Many times, I have to explain that they are giving to build a nice church where they can have their weddings, their baby dedications and their ceremonies. Leading people who have all the above characteristics: ungratefulness, disloyalty, etc., is a major task. One person cannot do it alone. The burden must be shared with others. Sharing the burden is hard work.

5. Lay people will cause the church to expand by becoming part of the workforce. The use of lay people as part of the workforce is the secret to unlimited expansion of the church. Sometimes people think that lay people cannot do much ministry work. Do not be deceived - try using lay people and you will discover how much work they can do. Lay people can join the pastors to share the burden of the people. Let your lay people know that they are called to share the burden of ministry with you. They will share the burden on earth and they will share the burden of accounting for the sheep in Heaven. When we established churches in the universities, we entrusted the preaching and pastoring responsibilities to students. I am very proud of these student ministers because of the great job that they have done on the different campuses. I don't have to rush to the different universities every Sunday morning to minister the Word. Ordinary saints have joined in to help. These saints must be perfected (prepared, trained) to do the work of the ministry. Ordinary saints can do the work.

For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ: Ephesians 4:12

The principal strategy for distributing the burden is to involve lay men and women in ministry. No church is capable of employing an endless number of people. Every church has a limit to its resources. It is not possible to pay salaries and rent an unlimited number of houses for the staff of the ministry. Full-time staff are limited in the amount of work that they can do.

6. Lay people will help you with prayer, visitation, counselling and interaction.

Lay people can help you with the burden of praying, visiting, counselling and interacting with the sheep. Moses was breaking down under the burden of having to pray, visit, counsel and interact with so many people. God saw a disaster waiting to happen and decided to take of the "spirit" that was on Moses and put it on the seventy leaders "to bear the burden" with him.

And the Lord said unto Moses, Gather unto me SEVENTY MEN of the elders of Israel… THAT THEY MAY STAND [work] THERE WITH THEE. Numbers 11:16

Involving students, workers, and professionals helps to distribute the burden to all saints in the church. The Lord wants everyone to be fruitful no matter what they do in life.

7. Lay people will help you to account for the sheep on the Day of Judgment. …for they watch for your souls, AS THEY THAT MUST GIVE ACCOUNT, that they may do it with joy… Hebrews 13:17

The burden of answering for the sheep cannot be borne by one person or a few people who supposedly have a “call”. The burden of accounting for hundreds of different people cannot be borne by one person. When I stand before the judgment seat and God asks me about certain souls, I intend to refer to the lay pastors and shepherds I put in charge of these souls. When the Lord asks me about some souls in the church, I intend to find out who was in charge and tell the Lord to ask that person. I cannot possibly answer for all these different people personally. Every pastor will have a lot to answer for when he stands before the Lord in Heaven. Your burden is to be able to lead all your sheep to Heaven. Make sure you lose none of them. Every pastor must hope to say, "Of all that you have given me, I have lost none!" Jesus said this phrase in three different places – John 6:39, John 17:12; and John 18:9.

by Dag Heward-Mills

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serren-diamandis · 6 years ago

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Storytime

Trigger Warning: this story involves attempted sexual assault.

Summer 2011 was... interesting to say the least...

I had broken up with my bf off and on 2 years (honestly probably a total of 6 months) because he was constantly lying to me about everything and it was difficult for me to deal with that and it being a long distance relationship.

A few weeks later, I was visiting my grandparents up north for a little while and this senior I'd been crushing on since I met him suddenly messaged me.

Now let me give some info about this guy we will be calling... Joe. Joe was friends with nearly everyone I hung out with it seemed. He was always nice to me and I enjoyed his company along with everyone else's in our little group.

Just having recieved my first kiss the year before, I was actually really anxious to talk to him outside of our group hangouts.

We had started texting and figured out the whole timezone schedule since he worked and I was out of state for summer vacation.

Eventually, he asked me out. After confirming that my Birthday had just passed and I was now 17 instead of 16 before I left for vacation. Didn't really seem like a red flag at the time since I'd had friends separated from their boyfriends for similar reasons unless they fell under the Romeo and Juliet laws. ( https://www.theshapirolawfirm.com/News-and-Resources/Articles/Romeo-and-Juliet-Law-in-Texas.shtml )

So we set a date for my return to go see the Green Lantern movie. (Which was terrible and should have been a sign) we got to the movies in separate cars, and just as we get to the counter he tells me he's broke. So I being excited and naïve decided it was fine for me to use the last of my allowance to pay for tickets and snacks.

The movie honestly bored me a bit. The cgi wasn't my shtick. So I decided to lean into my date and zone out. Once I felt relaxed I felt his arm snake around my waist and he poked his fingers into the holes of my jeans. This didn't really bother me. They weren't near any place they shouldn't have been.

The date ended and he kissed me goodnight and said he had fun. And we planned a meetup at the library with some of our friends to play MTG. I had tried to learn from a different ex who of course would also be at the library... we will call him.... Tim.

We meet up at the library a few days later and I had made some cute little invites to my 17th birthday party at the lake for the next weekend. I told them don't worry about gifts or anything. It's more so a last splash party before school started up again. Being it was now about a month after my actual birthday had passed.

The library card game was pretty fun. Tim had been my first kiss and broken up with me for being too unavailable (which he understood my reasoning, but it was still just a little heartbreaking for me.) We were still cool. We still hung out with our mutual friends. The dude wasn't a total dick back then.

My current boyfriend had randomized the pairings with an app so we could play. He lent me a deck to try out, and we started our matches. I was still super new to all of this so I just took my time. Joe and his opponent had finished their matches quickly and Tim, being my opponent, told me to take my time and make a strategy.

Joe didn't like his way of being kind to me I guess and had noticed that I was wearing another pair of Jean's similar to my previous ones except, due to an accidental fall... it also had a hole at my inner thigh inches away from... well you know.

He decided to dig too fingers into the outer holes and laugh saying "look Serren! I'm in your pants!" And this actually seemed to have ticked Tim and a couple of others off a little.

I laughed a little and told him I was trying to focus but he wouldnt stop. He kept pushing himself into the various holes and finally saw the one on my thigh. Now at the time I was still a virgin and honestly was still very much determined to stay that way until I met my future husband. This guy was cute and I crushed hard on him, but I knew he wasn't that interested in me. So I batted his hand away after letting out a surprised squeak. And asked him not to do it again.

Didn't work. He kept trying. So I finished my gave and shook hands with Tim after being totally beaten. I stood up to go to look for something to read since I knew I wasn't going to be able to focus through another game and my ride wouldn't be back for a few more hours.

I went unbothered the rest of the time but could hear his friends telling him off via loud whispering.

My ride arrived so I kissed my boyfriend, waved 'bye' to the others and left.

He texted me that evening asking if I was mad at him. I honestly wasn't I just explained that I wanted to learn his favorite game better but had to focus in order to do so.

Like I said earlier, the dude was really cool and seemed to get along with EVERYONE. Right?

WRONG.

The week before my party I had started to receive several messages from my friends and even some of his telling me to break up with him. I was so confused. Everyone seemed fine when we were together with our group? So what's with the change?

Friends of ours messaged me that he was only in a relationship with me to "pop my cherry". It honestly pissed me off. Because, why couldn't anyone tell me before? Now there are accusations about my bf in my inbox stating that he had date raped other girls and I was so confused and hurt. I said I needed time to think but I couldn't just break up with him over rumors.

The following weekend my birthday party arrived. I had bought a really cute 2 piece swimsuit during my vacation that I'd saved for the event.

I arrived with my family and we had given Joe and his friend.... Henry a ride. Joe compliment my swimsuit and walked me over to the rest of our friends who showed up. Save for 2 of them who didn't want to go because of pure spite of Joe and his intentions. 1 of which... was my future husband.

The party was fun and all but I don't like heights unless I'm in a plane so I stayed out of the chicken tournament.

My family left to go pick up pizzas and drop my little brother at martial arts practice. Joe had noticed this and left the 13 person chicken tournament to swim with me. He was flirting with me as usual, but I just brushed it off giggling.

Then I noticed we had drifted away from the rest of the group out to the deeper part of the lake. (I'm getting a little emotional now) I could swim, yeah, but I was no where near the best of swimmers. So I panicked a little.

Joe pulled me to him in what I assumed was an attempt to calm me down. Everyone was still pretty close but not that close. They were mostly pairing off by then and flirting with each other as teens will do. So I relaxed in his arms and had calmed down. I felt his hand reach into my swimsuit and grab my butt and I asked what he was doing. He replied that he was just "testing the waters". Like some stupid pun. And I said that we should probably get back to the others but before I could even finish my sentence my bottoms were pulled down and he had himself pressed against me through his trunks. It hit me like a ton of bricks what he wanted and I freaked. I said "what the hell are you doing Joe?!" and tried to push away. He held me tighter leaving a red mark on my arm that would later turn into a bruise that I'd lie about for the next week or so.

He started pulling his trunks down and pulled me so my back was against him. I was so freaked I jabbed him in the stomach with my elbow and swam off after pulling my bottoms back on. I didn't want to make a scene when everyone seemed to be having fun.

One of his friends we will call Fred, came up to me and smirked. I just looked at him confused until he asked me "So? Did you have fun?" That's when I sort of lost it. This was a guy I had trusted since my freshman year. One I'd tried helping my friend get a date with, and just kinda thought was nice but over dramatic... and HE KNEW. He knew everything Joe had planned. I stood up and walked off to the bathroom to cry. No one had noticed and I was kinda glad. I threw this party for everyone. Not just me.

My family came back and I plastered a smile on my face pretending everything was normal. Joe pulled me into his lap and I just went with it not wanting anyone to notice what just happened.

After the part I went home and showered and thought about everything that happened. I planned to break up with him in person at school the following Monday. But I of course, have never been the luckiest gal.

As soon as I got out of the shower I checked my shitty little flip phone and saw he had texted me. "Sorry... but I don't think this is going to work. We just don't want the same things." I was honestly in shock... not only... not only had he tried that shit, but he had now taken the small but of power I had left from me. I was going to break up with him and hopefully make him see that what he did was not okay! But that didn't matter anymore. Now I had pretended everything was fine and if I had come forward after all of my pretending, no way anyone would have believed me... I was just another girl looking for attention.

I started to write this because recently I'd seen Fred back in town and could not figure out why I have so much resentment for the dude. But I'd honestly pushed all of this to the back of my mind for the past 8 or so years. It resurfaced this morning when I read someone's post about their experience.

So now I want to try turning this into a warning...

If you are in a relationship with anyone, and they make you feel uncomfortable at any time... please... TELL SOMEONE IMMEDIATELY.

DON'T LET THEM BE ALONE WITH YOU.

And please please if someone tells you their significant other is hurting them or scaring them... BELIEVE THEM!!

Don't let this or anything worse happen to anyone else. Please...

#self help #self love #this is not okay #believe #speak out #don't hide #have a voice #Serren talks #serren stories #serren cares #i care #we care #don't be afraid

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