#instead of fall cleaning let's just call this....fall arranging :'D | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenjunothegreat · 2 months ago

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Hiya, guys! Who's ready to see the dawn of Piper's uncharitable thoughts about Percy and the sinking of the ship Pipabeth? :D This will be the first of THREE chapters posted today, so I look forward to seeing you all again in a few hours!

Then she heard something from Festus. A series of clicks and whistles that echoed through the still air. She frowned up at the ceiling. She knew Festus and Leo talked to one another with Morse, but the dragon never really communicated directly with her or Jason like that. “Festus? What’s wrong?” SOS. LEO. TOP DECK. Piper felt the blood drain from her face. “Keep an eye on him for me!” she ordered the empty room before leaping to her feet and tearing down the hall. Her heart was thrumming soi fast and high in the back of her throat, but she didn’t have time to worry about that. She stumbled onto the deck, eyes wild, expecting to see swarms of Romans with wings sprouting from their backs swooping and attacking her crewmates. Instead, what she saw was Leo, eyes so wide that she could see the red-rimmed whites, plastered against the main mast with terror etched onto every one of his pale features. Percy Jackson was standing right in front of him, his hands fisted in the front of Leo’s shirt and their faces uncomfortably close. He was very obviously shouting something at Leo, but the blood was roaring in Piper’s ears far too loud for her to hear. *** The immediate fall out of Leo firing on New Rome

Piper clenched her fists as she looked down at Jason’s still form on the infirmary bed, and she couldn’t help but wonder how everything had gone so wrong so fast. Their arrival at New Rome had been… fine. It hadn’t gone down exactly how they’d planned, but that was okay, they made it work. Jason and Reyna had been incredibly awkward around one another, especially once Jason realized Percy had replaced him as Praetor and there were three people wearing fancy purple robes, but even that had been mostly smoothed over by Annabeth stepping forward as their leader and breaking off with Reyna to discuss everything. At the same time, Leo had volunteered to show Octavian around the Argo II to get him to maybe calm down or at least get him away from the crowd he was trying to whip up into a frenzy. Neither Piper or Jason had been all that thrilled with the arrangement, but one look from Leo had shut them up, so they decided to go on a walking tour of New Rome instead. She’d kind of wanted to hate the place because of everything it stood for, but it was bright and clean and pretty and Jason bounded around with a big, goofy grin like an overeager puppy, so she’d found that kind of hard. So, instead, she just relaxed and let herself enjoy this place Jason had called home for so long.

That’s when the fireballs started.

Piper wasn’t sure what was going on, really, she just knew that the Romans were so angry they weren’t even listening to her Charmspeak or Jason’s desperate pleas for them to stop. In theory, the lack of weapons should have been an advantage, but demigods were masters of improvisation, and Romans apparently loved throwing things. Jason had puffed up in front of her just like he always did when he sensed a threat, but he’d crumpled back into her waiting arms when a brick slammed into his temple. She’d screamed in horror and outrage, which was enough to make the Romans listen for just as long as it took for her to haul Jason’s ragdoll body over to the awaiting rope ladder. She’d clung to it and called for Festus to pull them up, which he did without hesitation. Then she’d somehow managed to drag Jason into the infirmary and now here she was dribbling what looked like movie theater popcorn butter into Jason’s slack-jawed mouth.

SOS. LEO. TOP DECK. SOS. LEO. TOP DECK.

Piper felt the blood drain from her face. “Keep an eye on him for me!” she ordered the empty room before leaping to her feet and tearing down the hall. Her heart was thrumming soi fast and high in the back of her throat, but she didn’t have time to worry about that.

She stumbled onto the deck, eyes wild, expecting to see swarms of Romans with wings sprouting from their backs swooping and attacking her crewmates. Instead, what she saw was Leo, eyes so wide that she could see the red-rimmed whites, plastered against the main mast with terror etched onto every one of his pale features. Percy Jackson was standing right in front of him, his hands fisted in the front of Leo’s shirt and their faces uncomfortably close. He was very obviously shouting something at Leo, but the blood was roaring in Piper’s ears far too loud for her to hear.

CRACK!

Percy stumbled backwards a few steps, clutching his jaw in what was probably a mixture of shock and pain. He blinked a few times to get the stars out of his vision before scowling. “What–”

“Back the fuck up,” Piper snarled, and she could practically feel the power of her Charmspeak radiating off her body. Everyone on board took several steps back, the younger kids – Frank and Hazel, maybe? – were already so close to the edge that they almost stepped off the decking. Piper didn’t care, her gaze was solidly fixed on Percy, who was glaring right back at her. She clenched her fist. Her hand was on fire with sharp, searing pain, and she was pretty sure she’d broken her finger, but if Percy Jackson needed to be decked again, she’d happily volunteer for another go at him.

Annabeth was the first to speak and she stepped towards Piper, hands held up in a placating gesture. “Okay, Piper. Let’s just calm down before–”

“‘Calm down?’” Piper spat back. “I come out here to see your boyfriend has my best friend cornered while you stand there and watch, and you want me to calm down? Maybe get your dog on a leash before you try and tell me to calm down!”

Percy bared his teeth at her, but Piper bared hers right back. She was far too angry to be scared of much of anything, and besides, it’s not like he was all that intimidating in the first place. Jason did the whole wolf-thing better anyway.

Then warm fingers grabbed her wrist, just shy of tight enough to bruise. “Pipes,” Leo hissed, his voice still a little thicker than normal. “It’s fine. Just chillax.”

It was not fine, and Piper wanted to scream until everyone on Earth knew just how not-fine it was, but she refrained. Leo didn’t want her fist-fighting Percy Jackson, so she wouldn’t. This time. Instead, she took in a sharp breath and turned so she could properly look Leo over. Then she asked, “What’s going on here?”

“We were just trying to figure out what happened!” Hazel piped up. She and Frank hadn’t gotten any closer, but Frank was standing in front of her, trying to be as big as possible, which was kind of funny, seeing as he looked like he was also on the verge of tears. Hazel was peering around him, her eyes bright and eager, but she still mostly stayed under cover.

“Fantastic detective work, Jackson,” Piper sneered.

Percy’s scowl deepened. “Wasn’t a lot of ‘detective work’ to do, McLean. I got up here to see this guy firing his damn warship at New Rome without a care in the world. Sorry if that was more of an ‘ask questions later’ moment.”

Piper paused and looked at Annabeth, who crossed her arms and refused to meet Piper’s gaze. “That is what it looked like,” she admitted, her tone sharp and defensive. “Percy basically caught him red-handed. What exactly would you have had us do?”

Piper pursed her lips before turning around and in a deliberately friendly tone asked, “Leo, did you fire on New Rome?”

“No!” Leo said emphatically. Then he gripped the hair on the sides of his head. “I mean, I-I did, but I didn’t mean to!”

Piper’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“I… I don’t know what happened!”

“You mean you don’t remember?” Annabeth asked sharply.

“I– No, I remember, but it’s fuzzy,” Leo explained desperately. “I could see myself doing things, but I don’t know why I was doing them!”

Piper considered that for a moment, then she shrugged and turned back to the rest of the group. “There you go. Something weird happened, but it wasn’t his fault. Case closed, suspect dismissed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Percy growled. “Why the hell should I believe a word out of his mouth? I don’t even know this guy.”

Piper wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face again, even if it broke even more of her fingers, but instead she leveled Annabeth with a heavy stare. “Well? What about you? You know him.”

Annabeth furrowed her brows and pulled her arms even closer to her body. “I do,” she confessed, likely remembering all those many many nights she and Leo had stayed up together designing and perfecting the very boat they were standing on. Annabeth had probably spent even more time with Leo over the past six months than she had Piper, which was saying a lot, considering all the afternoons they’d spent in the Athena cabin discussing mythology.

“And you didn’t think to take a moment to figure out why he’d be doing something like that?” Piper demanded. “That didn’t seem even a little out of character to you?”

“It didn’t seem like something he’d do,” Annabeth said. “But what else were we supposed to do? Piper, you weren’t there, you–”

“You’re damn right I wasn’t there,” Piper interrupted. “If I’d been there I would have asked at least one question before I bit someone’s head off!”

“Yeah, your entrance just now really sells that point,” Percy drawled.

“Shut up,” Piper ordered, and allowed herself to feel smugly satisfied with the click of teeth that answered her.

“Piper, we can’t just let him go,” Annabeth said, her tone somehow both gentle and frustrated. “Not until we figure out what happened. Right now we’re fleeing a crime scene, and he’s our main suspect.”

Piper gave her a stare so cold and hard it would put Khione to shame. “He’s your friend, not your enemy,” she reminded her, tone biting with frost. “And if he is your enemy, then I am, too.”

Silence fell, and no one would meet her eye.

Piper gave them all one last disgusted scoff before she turned to Leo. “C’mon. Let’s get the hell out of here,” she muttered, then grabbed his wrist and dragged him below deck.

They walked for a while in silence before Leo finally spoke in a voice far too tiny and fragile to have come from her best friend. “I didn’t mean to.”

Piper froze, then she yanked Leo into a hug. They stood there in the dimly lit hallway clutching one another tight. “I know you didn’t,” she said, her voice soft with conviction. “I know you’d never do that.”

“That-That was Jason’s home,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” she said again. Leo didn’t respond, he just trembled in her arms, so she just squeezed him tighter in response. They stood there in silence, holding one another in the gloom.

#my writing #the heroes of juno #lost trio #valgrace #pjo fanfic

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castleoikawa · 4 years ago

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‧₊◜ # breath

↳ ❝ i am so incredibly sorry that i fell in love with you, it was never my intention. ❞

—description you had never meant to fall in love with the king, his fiery temper and cold demeanor would turn anyone away. yet, the childhood memories seemed to stay with you both.

—pairing king katsuki bakugou x castle stable girl reader

—warnings aged up characters, swearing, angst, fluff

—word count 3k

—authors note my first request! i hope that you enjoy this! :D

masterlist | unedited

Your job was rather boring. You would attend the stables, slaving away to maintain the horses for each of the king and his court. Your day would consist of constant heat, moving, and cleaning up only to start again right after.

You seemed to always be moving. You would be on a horse, gliding through the acres of land; or you would be feeding them, grooming them, cleaning their hooves and applying new horseshoes.

Yet, everything seemed to freeze whenever King Katsuki Bakugou would be in your presence. Everything would be in utter standstill. Everything except the beating of your heart that ricocheted against your ribs.

He was an excellent rider; he had to be, being King and all.

While you were a child, Katsuki would sneak into the stables at dusk and steal them for midnight rides. You lived at a small cottage next to the stables, a small shack made of wood and stone behind the castle. So you always noticed when he would appear in the late morning hours with winded hair and flushed cheeks.

Those were the fleeting moments in which you witnessed the true him.

It continued into the preteen years as well. When his parents would tell him to rest in his bedroom, he would run to the stables and steal his gorgeous black horse named Hades and disappear into the night.

You would watch from your window, eyes gazing at the royalty as if he were a rare bird that you were afraid of scaring off.

“You stare a lot.” He caught you once. He was walking back towards the castle, between the stables and your home. You only blinked in response, pretending that you were invisible.

A small interaction that lead to more.

During the day, Katsuki would pretend to be uninterested and unaware of you.

When he would arrive with his parents, the King and Queen, for their midday rides throughout the week, Katsuki would stand with his back straight and hair brushed. He did not even look like the kid you knew, primed and pampered and perfect for his royal status.

He would ride his horse alongside his parents through the trails and gardens.

Yet, at night, he was free.

Katsuki indirectly invited you a copious amount of times to ride with him. He would never say it, but he would motion for you to join or say, “Don’t just stare like you normally do, Stable Girl.”

And you joined. Who were you to deny the request of the prince?

Your horse was much slower than his. He slowed down to match your speed, it was an endearing thing that you knew he did. Though he complained nonetheless, strings of “You are so slow!” and “You must be an idiot to enjoy riding like this.”

When you rode your palomino horse alongside Hades, it was as if you were riding next to the night sky itself. The only indicator that he was still with you was his light hair.

That was a routine for a majority of your childhood. Berated and ignored during the day, and free riders at night.

“The sun is rising.” You warned him one particular night.

The two of you were in the stables, just putting the horses in and petting their noses.

“Let it rise.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “What are my parents going to do? Fire me?”

It was one time that you genuinely thought that he was handsome. At the age of fourteen, he was confident and bright. And as the sun rose, the golden hue reflected off of his skin as if he owned the sun itself.

“Mom, why does that girl have shit on her?” Katsuki once asked the Queen directly in front of you. The two of you were around the age of seven, perhaps eight.

The Queen only rolled her eyes. “Because that’s what her job is, stupid boy. She works in cleaning up the horse shit.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Katsuki said. You felt anger boil in your chest.

“Continue to use words like that and it will be one of your chores.” The Queen threatened.

He was one of power and authority. Katuski Bakugou was one of strict rules and temper tantrums that left the castle in fear. Because he was to be feared, he could flick his wrist and you would lose your head.

Those moments of childhood were far forgotten. A lost prince replaced by a king.

You should be pissed at the king. For years, you had been a secret. A nightly visitor that shared secrets under the moon. It was as if none of that had happened.

But you knew that he had more responsibilities than some girl who worked in his horse stables. He was to rule his kingdom, marry a wealthy girl from another kingdom to merge powers, and live his life of royalty.

You were to attend to the horses.

“That’s my horse.” Katsuki’s voice echoed through the stables, deep and loud against the near silence.

You realized that it was his horse that you were cleaning. You were too focused on your work to notice.

With the trimmer in your hand, you wiped the mud onto your pants. “If you plan to ride her, it’ll be a couple more minutes. I’m replacing the horseshoes right now.”

“You will make the king wait?” He inquired.

You leaned on the wall from inside of the stable. “I will.”

There was a moment of silence. He stood with his back straight and crown sitting atop his light hair, hands clasped behind his back. His cruel handsomeness peered at you in the afternoon sun.

You knew that you should not talk to him that way, and request instead of demand. You knew that he was debating on whether to hang or burn you for disrespecting him.

But instead, he said, “Carry on then. I will wait.”

You watched him for a couple of extra seconds before returning to your work. He said nothing else as he watched and waited.

He was to be married soon.

There was a three day festival both in the castle and along the streets. The princess is from another kingdom across the lake, and would bring a great deal of trading and business.

The arranged marriage meant that there would be a grand wedding in which everyone may attend, along with a week long festival after. Parties among parties.

And you were still hard at work.

When your parents passed, you were left with the remains with only yourself. An empty house and your single friend was no longer a friend.

You could not help the feeling in the pit of your stomach. One of jealousy and hope all at once.

“What are you doing here?” You looked outside, as if you were being followed and needed to confirm that no one else was around.

Katsuki Bakugou stood at your doorstep in casual clothes and a familiar look in his ruby eyes.

“You will come riding with me.”

“I will, will I?” You sighed. “Katsu-- King Bakugou. I suggest you go back to your castle. You have a princess to love.”

“It was not a request.”

He stepped back, expecting you to follow. You did.

“You did not answer my question, My Lord.” You said as you entered the stables. “What are you doing here?”

“Can you not be a complete idiot for just a second?” He barked, turning to you. “We are going for a ride. Like we used to.”

“I did not think you remembered.” You confessed, not fazed by his anger. He was always like that.

“How would I forget?” Katsuki turned to take his horse. “It was a majority of our childhood, was it not?”

“Didn’t seem like it.” You mumbled, mainly to yourself.

If he heard, he did not acknowledge it.

“Get your horse. Let’s go to the trails.”

You treaded slowly behind him, hesitant and nervous. Perhaps he was planning to kill you for your disrespect. He hadn’t said a word.

“King Bakugou...”

“Katsuki.” He stopped. He looked over at you. “You should know better than that.”

“We are not children any longer.” You said.

“That’s obvious.” His voice was impatient. “But we are in private. You can call me by my name.”

“That is the issue here.” You sat on your horse beside him, glancing at the open field. “We should not be in private.”

When there was no reply, you stole a glance at him. He was absolutely regal despite being in casual clothes. Black shirt and cloth pants almost blending into his horse. His light hair and ruby eyes seem to glow, matching the golden circular crown on his head.

He did not look as he usually did.

“The sun is rising.” His eyes were on the horizon, the darkness being covered in light.

You smiled. For the first time in a long time, you smiled. You thought that you caught a rise in the corners of his lips as well.

“Let it rise.” You said.

And he did smile, a full smile that you hadn’t witnessed since a child.

You knew at once that you were in love. It crushed into your chest as if it were beaten into you. It had always been love. In love with the king, in love with someone to be married, and in love with faded memories.

He came back at nights again. The saying was correct, history repeats itself.

You would run through the trails and the garden and end at the field, one that overlooked a hill of flowers. It was the same flower field you would end up as children.

“Run with me!” Katsuki would cheer, snatching your hand and bringing you into the flowers. Stubby child legs and chubby cheeks.

You would giggle and follow him as you always did, struggling to catch up to the fiery boy. The flowers would bend beneath your feet but neither of you cared.

Cold night winds hit your faces, the mixture of that and laughing leaving you both out of breath and with reddened cheeks.

It seemed like lifetimes ago.

You went to one party. One.

You dressed in the one dress you had, your mother’s dress. She wore it to every formal event that you could remember.

The castle was absolutely stunning, pristine whites and clean floors. Even in your dress and heels, you felt underdressed. You were sure that you smelled of stables and dirt.

“You were not there last night.” A voice said from behind you.

You were talking to one of the cooks, both of you laughing and exchanging jokes about working in the castle. You couldn’t remember the last time you had social interaction this much. It was enlightening.

King Katsuki Bakugou looked more stunning than you could imagine. A red cloak with fur around his shoulders, white and black fitted suit, hair styled to hold his crown in perfection. Rings decorated his fingers and earrings ran along his ears.

He excused the cook from the conversation, leaving the two of you alone in the corner.

“You will draw attention, talking to me in public.” You told him.

He scoffed. “It’s my party. I will draw attention if I speak to anyone.” He paused. “You look different, I almost did not recognize you.”

“It’s because you only ever see me in my work clothes or my pajamas.” You semi joked.

When someone walked by, Katsuki’s voice grew louder. “You don’t smell like shit this time, either. I wonder if you made that dress or found it.”

“Hm.” You glared. “Very performative. Must be easy to keep up the scary King act, huh?”

“You’re being rather informal to me today, especially for someone in public.” He said, but his tone was warning.

“Were you not the one who visits me at night and asks me to be informal?” You asked. “That was embarrassing, what you just did.”

“Oh, suck it up. It can’t be worse than what you do on the daily.” Katsuki’s eyes flicked to yours.

“I would rather clean up horse shit for hours than be berated in front of the castle workers.” You told him, stepping around him to meet with some of the maids.

You ignored the King for days.

It was a rather stupid plan, him being of his position. But you were both petty and angry with him.

For someone who knew you since you were a child, for someone who met you every day, and for someone who you knew to be warm and not cold... he really did have two faces.

“Open this door.” He ordered, voice casting throughout your house from outside of the door.

You flung the door open. “Go by yourself.”

“She lives.” Katsuki didn’t even have his crown on this time, just a shirt and clothes pants. “Come. You’re being stubborn.”

“I’d rather not.” You moved to close the door.

“It is as if you want to piss me off and fire you.”

“Go on and fire me then.” You threatened. “Try to find someone else who would take care of your precious horse as I have. Or meet you in the night as I have. Or...”

Something shut you up. A pressure against your lips forced them closed.

It took you a moment to realize that he was kissing you. Katsuki Bakugou, the King, was kissing you.

You kissed him back.

Falling into patterns, it would seem, was your specialty.

The nightly rides turned into kisses and smiles. The two of you would ride only to stop and end in the grass.

You thought of his wife, of his title. You thought of your job, your title. You thought of everything. Yet every thought would cease when he would grab your face and place a kiss to your lips.

You hated it.

Every time you met in public, he would act as if he knew nothing of you.

One particular morning, he arrived with the newly appointed Queen. His wife.

“It is disgusting here, Katsu.” She complained, lifting her dress to avoid the mud that littered the ground.

“You said that you wanted to learn to ride.” Katsuki said. “I told you to wear pants.”

He turned to you, not looking you in the eye as you brushed your horse.

“Is Maple available to ride?”

Maple. His mother’s old horse, a perfect chocolate brown and very calm.

“She is, and she’s freshly clean.” You said. Your mind flashed with memories of his lips on yours only hours ago. “Maple and Hades, My Lord?”

“Yes.”

You helped them lead the horses out of the stables and watched as he helped his wife onto the horse. She struggled but eventually managed to balance.

“The girl who works in your stables,” She said, though you were right next to her. Like you weren’t a person. “She’s a bit gross, yes?”

“Eh. I’m sure she’s used to it.” Katsuki shrugged.

“I couldn’t imagine living in such conditions.”

There was no defense, no “I’ve been coming through here every day for so long I hadn’t noticed”, nothing but a simple, “Let’s ride. We don’t want to be here all day.”

“These meetings need to end.” You told him. You were at the field, sitting on your separated horses and taking in the silence. “You are the King. You needn’t visit a girl who works in your castle.”

“You’re different.”

“How so?” You offered. “I work in your castle. It is not my job to kiss you, or...”

“Shut up for—”

“I need to say what I need to say.” Your voice was soft. “And I believe that...”

“ —just a moment.” He cut you off. “You are different. You always have been.”

“Is that why you only ever meet me in the dead of night?” You asked. “Or berate me during the day? I am not stopping these meetings and this friendship just to save your reputation in case we get caught. I am stopping them because I cannot take your constant changes.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He rose his voice. He jumped off of his horse only to pace in front. “You simply don’t get it. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“You’re the King, Katsuki.” You said from above him. “I get that you have to—”

“Do the years not mean anything to you?”

“Do they mean anything to you?” You asked. “For years, you didn’t speak to me. Didn’t visit or see me as a person. For years I waited around and wondered about our friendship. And you come back and interrupt it now only to repeat the same things.”

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“And you’re a coward.” You spit. “You create false memories with me every single day.”

Katsuki went silent, looking up at you before mounting his horse again.

“I did not mean for this to happen.” He spoke in a single breath. He did not look at you. “I am so incredibly sorry that I fell in love with you, it was never my intention.”

He disappeared back into the trees, as he always did.

please do not copy, repost, or steal anything created and posted by me © castleoikawa 2021

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years ago

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Supposedly

A/N: this was a request sent in that inspired me a lot for some reason and i figured i’d do it cause i haven’t done any demon!h and demon!reader in a while so i gave it a go and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out :D enjoy!

Anonymous: This may be too cutesy for them, but do demon!harry and demon!reader ever cuddle after they fuck? Or they fall asleep separately but wake up in each other’s arms and just try to play it off awkwardly

word count: 4.5k

content: some angst but nothing major, fluff, mentions of nudity, and some cocky asshole demon!h because that’s his Brand laidese and germs!!

///

Despite the emotionless, unattached agenda demons tend to uphold, let it be known that Harry didn’t really mind what was happening at the moment.

On the surface level, from an outside perspective, this definitely doesn’t fit the bill for what is expected from his kind. Cuddling is an action reserved usually for real couples that have a sentimental bond, which he and Y/N are very much not. He’s not even quite sure what they are, really. Their relationship— if he can even call it that— was born out of three very important, adequately limiting notions: a mutual understanding, the desire for a convenient warm body, and sheer boredom.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The mutual understanding was that neither of them wanted a genuine significant other, given what they are, so it was established that feelings were to be kept out of this arrangement completely. Emotions lead to complications, complications lead to a falling out, and a falling out would be inexplicably messy considering that they’ve shared the same friend group for well over a decade now and neither are willing to let a booty call mishap ruin that. Feelings stay dormant, end of discussion.

The desire for a convenient warm body is pretty self-explanatory— Harry and Y/N had known each other for a while now so there was no annoying getting to know you phase, they both agreed that they found the other attractive, and they both live relatively close to one another so it was a pleasant set-up with minimal issues. Harry could shoot her a text at three in the morning and she’d be at his place in less than five minutes, or vice versa. There was no spending hours at a bar trying to pick someone up, no time wasted learning what the other person likes and dislikes, and certainly no fretting over birth control tactics to keep up appearances— they were both dead, which is a morbid advantage but an advantage nonetheless. It was easy access, easy fun, and easy clean-up.

The sheer boredom aspect was just that. It had started on a drunken night out with friends, where— by a series of fortunate events— Harry and Y/N had ended up together post-bender, sitting in his car in the parking lot of a club. They had been waiting for him to sober up to drive them home and she had made a passing comment about not wanting to turn in for the night quite yet. He’d blinked at her sluggishly, absentmindedly reaching over to tuck a rouge strand of hair behind her ear because he was getting secondhand irritation from it tickling her nose. He’d spoken up, voice numb and thick from the alcohol. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Y/N had glanced over at him, eyes half-lidded as they had raked down his lean tattooed chest, his unbuttoned silk sheer shirt leaving very little to the imagination. When she’d pinned her gaze back up to his, her eyes had inked black as they’d flitted to the palm of his hand for a second, a suggestive glint washing across their reflective surface as the corner of her pretty mouth had quirked. “I have a decent idea of exactly what I wanna do.”

And now here they were, with many restless, heated nights, ruined bed frames, and rumpled sheets littering their past, as well as their immediate future.

And here Harry was, slowly blinking awake after one of those said nights, cruel scratches itching across his back as they finish up healing, an empty content still bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

His lashes flutter open as he inhales a large sigh, flinching at the bright sunlight filtering its way through the lightly swaying curtains. The only sound in the room is the soft thrum of the air vent at the far corner of the ceiling, alongside Y/N’s soft, rhythmic breathing.

In his barely conscious state, Harry goes to do what he always does the morning after he’s spent a night doing Y/N’s back in: he goes to stretch. He does most of the work more times than not— courtesy of his dominant tendencies— but she always gives him a run for his soul. Anything he dishes out, she usually returns with the same amount of energy and will. Last night hadn’t been any different and the ache at the bottom of his spine and along his inner thighs proves it.

Harry instinctively goes to lift his arms above his head, reaching for the top of the headboard to use it as support. He is stopped cold when he realizes a foreign weight is keeping one of his arms pinned to the bed.

He knuckles at his eyes with his free hand, ridding them of the last residues of sleep, and then drags his palm up his face and through his mussed curls to comb away his disorientation. He cranes his sore neck to the side and downwards, eyebrows jolting up in surprise when he’s met with a wall of fluffy, tangled, mandarin-scented hair.

Harry lifts his head up slightly, neck straining to see over the back of Y/N’s wild halo to make sure that the image before him isn’t some type of exhaustion-induced mirage.

It’s odd for her to be so near him— she usually likes her space; says that being too close in proximity for too long is irritating. It’s why she usually sleeps with her back to him at the other end of the bed, and why he’s gotten accustomed to giving her the majority of the mattress space. Despite the fact that it’s his flat, she’s stubborn, hard-headed, argumentative and frankly, he’d rather just forfeit the extra leg room instead of bickering for thirty minutes just to end up losing anyways. It’s gentlemanly, in a sense. Minimal, but it’s something.

Given Y/N’s general disgust for excess contact, it’s no shock as to why Harry is utterly baffled right now. He’s about ninety-eight percent sure she’d fallen asleep all the way across the expanse of his sheets so how did they willingly end up here? How did they end up with her bare back pressed to his chest, her legs intertwined between his, and his arm wrapped almost protectively around her waist, wedged between her hips and the bed.

Harry would never outright admit it but...he’s not necessarily mad about it.

As he lays there for a few more seconds, absorbing the situation with an expression of pensive dismay pinching his face, he slowly comes to terms that he’s actually starting to enjoy this.

The warmth of her smooth skin gradually undoes the knot of confusion between his brows. The sensation of her back flushing against his chest as it rises and falls with her breathing erases the unease dipping the corners of his stinging mouth. The way she’s started to unconsciously rub her calves gently up and down his own makes the last traces of unsettlement melt off his face, replaced by an appearance of subtle affection, lips parting in blank wonder.

Harry relaxes back into the plushness of the mattress, eyes remaining glued to a blissfully ignorant Y/N. His thoughts are scurrying around the inside of his skull, attempting to get accustomed with this new experience, having a difficult time arranging into place. He’s aware that he seems to be taking easily to what’s unfolding, but there’s an unsteady bubble inflating in his chest. He knows that if he lets himself dwell in this too much, it’ll end up biting him in the ass later, most likely as a wave of undealt emotions and crippling loneliness; that’s baggage he’s spent too many years compartmentalizing for it to all just come bursting out.

All those decades of locking away his issues are in danger of resurfacing, and all for some harmless hugging? Doesn’t seem like a fair negotiation, and he knows plenty about negotiations.

However, he can’t seem to make himself pull away.

Especially not when Y/N suddenly shifts in her sleep, turning onto her other side so that she's now facing him, snuggling deeper into his body and tucking her head into the junction between his neck and collarbones. Her annoyingly soft, hot lips smear against his throat, settling into the dip at the center where a pulse would normally be present. The feeling of her exhales washing across his cold skin sends a wringing down his spine, a hushed “fuck…” escaping his dry mouth as the warmth behind the gesture spreads upwards, spilling redness into his cheeks and along the shells of his ears. Her hands come up as loose fists, pressing between his pectorals lightly, her own naked chest flushing against her forearms.

Surprisingly enough, her supple chest isn’t at the forefront of his mind at this instant. Instead, he’s focused on the intimacy they’re sharing in this moment, unbeknownst to her and stressfully beknownst to him.

Harry’s free hand acts of its own accord, coasting upwards towards her face and moving her chin over a bit until his palm can comfortably nurse her jaw. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip slowly, every ridge and bump sending miniature shots of electricity surging through his veins, his eyes falling shut at this strange form of pleasure he hasn’t felt in ages.

Y/N just looks so beautiful like that, in such a vulnerable state that he knows for sure no one else has ever gotten to witness— at least not in a very long time.

No one else has gotten to see the way her lashes sit atop her cheekbones so delicately, her face soothed by sleep, not a wrinkle or grimace in sight. She looks as if she were made of porcelain, her features nothing short of perfect. No one has gotten to witness the way she mumbles a handful of incoherent, groggy words, her mind lost in a meaningless dream, or the way her nose twitches in the cutest manner as a draft from the air conditioning runs across it, causing her to sniffle. No one has seen the way she gives into his touch, her face cradling deeper into his hand, chasing the uncommon gentleness behind his demeanor and it hadn’t occurred to Harry that maybe— just maybe— she’s craving this type of innocent bliss, too, though he’s certain she would never confess to it if she were awake.

Harry runs his hand down the slope of her bruised neck and across the curve of her shoulder, tracing the teeth marks he had left the night before. The tip of his fingers follow down the incline of her torso, wriggling around her side, his wrist resting upon the faint dip of her waist. He cups her lower back with his large hand, borrowing a moment to appreciate the way it fits flawlessly. He then leans forward some to give his reach more length, his digits carefully trailing up the middle of her spine, the action timid and tranquil.

He looks down at her from over the tops of his colored cheeks, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he continues to lull his fingers up and down her back. Y/N releases a shy whimper of gratitude, her whole body bathing in a light shiver. She does like it.

Harry swallows thickly, moving away a few locks of hair off her shoulder with the tip of his nose, glassy jade irises studying her facial expressions to make sure she’s still asleep. He puckers his tingling lips, pressing a bundle of chaste kisses to the fading bite marks on her staticy skin. If his heart still beat, he feels like it would be glowing right now.

He tilts his chin up, settling it on top of her head and sighing in satisfaction as he feels her steady breathing wash across his Adam’s Apple, her flyaway hairs tickling his nostrils.

He decides to stay like that for a while, just basking in her company within this tender setting that he knows he probably won’t receive again anytime soon. Harry lays there, limbs woven between Y/N’s as his black-polished nails scratch gently at her back, swimming in his numb thoughts.

After what feels like hours— but is realistically just ten minutes— he goes to gingerly shift the arm stuck beneath her body, trying to regain some circulation. Y/N stirs, resulting in him freezing in place to prevent a mishap, his mouth finding her warm forehead and placing a lingering kiss between her brows. It eases her.

Harry waits five minutes before trying again.

He manages to escape this time around, lifting his arm above his head and twisting out the cramp in his wrist, then folding it behind his head. He allows his eyes to shut once again, intent on spending a bit longer milling in this bubble of domestic peace.

His plan is shattered to pieces by an alarmed, angry sentence.

“What the fuck?”

His eyelids fly open, ice materializing across his entire nervous system.

Shit.

Y/N launches upwards, sitting up rigidly with her face contorted in startled repulsion, clutching his blood red sheets to her chest as her hair stands up in tousled tuffs. “What in Lucifer’s red, barren hell are you doing?”

Harry now has two distinctive routes to pick from: confess to partaking in the unorthodox cuddling, or fake it and say he was asleep as well and that it had all been an unintentional mistake.

It’s hardly a choice.

He flings his arms away from the other demon’s body as if sickened, shooting up into a seated position and slouching back onto his palms, a look of agitated horror plastered across his sleepy, handsome features. “What do you mean what am I doing? What the fuck were you doing?”

Y/N blinks at him as if he’d just stabbed her between the eyes with a demon blade, irises momentarily flitting black with nerves, the area under her waterline webbing with dark veins. “What do you mean what was I doing? You were the one with your arms around me!”

Harry narrows his sight at her pointedly, thick brows furrowing with faux resentment. “You were the one with your head snuggled into my neck and your hands on my chest!”

“You were the one kissing my forehead!”

“You were the one rubbing up on my legs!”

“Because you were close to me!”

“Because you rolled over here!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Oh, so what?” Harry snaps sarcastically, drawing forward and crossing his arms over his chest adamantly. “Did an angel sneak in and place you there? Because as I recall, you always sleep on the left side of the bed, so what were you doing on the right?”

Harry’s accurate counter renders Y/N speechless, her mouth parting quizzically as if waiting for a response to magically appear. Her eyebrows cinch down begrudgingly, the gears in her head spinning on overdrive, trying to piece together an appropriate rebuttal. Her grasp tightens on the blanket covering her bare body. “Well, I...I don’t know—I don’t think I—”

Harry cocks his head to the side expectantly, loose curls falling across his forehead as he shrugs his brows with a condescending air. He mimics her with a high-pitched voice. “Well, I— I don’t know— I—I don’t think I—I—I—”

Y/N’s face goes sour as heat floods her cheeks, fire threatening to spark across the tips of her sizzling ears. She yanks the sheets off of him, holding them with one hand as she uses the other to begin crawling across the bed towards the edge, a haphazard defense thrown over her shoulder. “Shut up! It wasn’t on purpose!”

Harry scoffs in dark amusement, not even bothering to cover himself up. He bites into his cheek to keep from exploding into a round of triumphant laughter; he can’t believe he managed to turn the tides so quickly. “Oh, so you admit it was you, then?”

Y/N dismounts the atrociously tall bed, stumbling over the long linens as she desperately searches for her clothes. “No! I’m just saying that whatever happened, it didn’t happen intentionally!”

“Obviously.” The brunette demon snorts, shaking his head for subtle emphasis, crossing his ankles offhandedly and returning both arms to the place where one had been prior— tucked behind his head casually. “What do you think we are, mortal?”

“Of course not.” Y/N agrees quickly— a little too quickly, which hints to Harry that she might be trying to cover something up. Perhaps she wasn’t as disgusted by this as she had led on…

He watches as his friend— he uses the term lightly— shuffles around his room, peering at the floor in an determined quest to find her jeans, underwear, and black lace blouse. Or maybe she’s just hellbent on avoiding eye contact with him.

“Y/N…” His tone has lost its arrogantly mocking edge, softened by what she can only decode as...guilt?

She ignores it and doesn’t answer, nearly passing out in relief when she spots her panties and bra hanging off the doorknob to his closet. She snatches them swiftly, panning her gaze around the rest of the room for her leftover clothes, spotting them in a pile sticking out from underneath the opposite corner of the bed. They’d probably gotten kicked there in the heat of the moment.

Harry repeats himself a little louder, adding onto his comment to try and stifle some of the embarrassment radiating from her. “Y/N, you don’t have to leave. You usually stay for breakfast.”

Y/N scoops up her outfit, settling it into the crook of her right elbow and squaring her shoulders as if ready to brace a hellhound. Their gazes lock and he feels his stomach flop when he sees the vulnerability she’s obviously trying to hide. She’s good at it, he’ll give her that, but if he stares intently enough, he can just make out the traces of conflicted longing leaking into the disinterested facade around her pupils.

“It’s fine, Harry.” She sighs heavily, her tone drastically different from the unkempt girl that had been floundering about just seconds ago. She’s now calm, cool, collected, and scaringly so. “I have somewhere to be later. Meeting someone to close a deal.”

She shrugs one shoulder indifferently, grabbing a handful of the sheets arranged around her figure and pulling away, dropping the bedspread at his feet and leaving herself completely nude.

And there she is, the Y/N he so well knows. The same one that uses sex appeal as a shield.

She’s managed to spackle the cracks that had appeared in her typical barrier of heartlessness, her confidence and ease leveling off once again. She places her clothes on top of the crumpled sheets, picking out her cheeky bright red panties from the heap and working them up her tempting legs. Harry can’t help but notice the hickies covering her inner thighs, as well as the finger prints staining her hips.

Y/N catches him ogling, smirking to herself now that she has her composure back in order. She hooks her index finger around one of the straps in her bra, lifting it up and bouncing the lace lingerie in front of him teasingly. She raises her eyebrows at her lover provokingly, a sultry air pouting her lips. “Think you can help a girl out?”

Harry licks at his slightly chapped lips thoughtfully, eyes flickering between the article hanging off her hand to the sly grin decorating the edges of her pretty mouth. When he speaks, it’s low and thicker than usual, accent heavy. “Of course, pet.”

His legs thunk emptily off the bed and onto the floor, a small grunt catching the back of his throat as he pushes himself up onto his feet. He is most definitely sore.

His footsteps are soft against the carpeted ground, faltering as he rounds the corner of the mattress.

Y/N eyes his every move, suckling her bottom lip at the way his muscles flex and contract under his sun-kissed skin. She doesn’t let herself wander below his waist though; she’s never one to pass up flaunting her power of will.

Harry stops about a foot away, taking the bra from she is offering and holding it out for her to slip into. She does so at a mind-numbing pace, her toes curling as she feels his warm fingertips running the material up her arms and onto their designated spot on her shoulders. He tugs at the hooks gently, pinning them into place and tucking the tag in, exactly how he’s seen her do countless of times before.

He then runs the palms of his hands up her arms, sighing softly at the silky sensation of her skin and giving her shoulders a dismissive squeeze. “All done.”

Y/N turns on her heels to face him, looking up innocently through her lashes, lips quirking into an easy smile. “Thank you. Such a gentleman.”

Her playfully seductive personality is unbearably contagious, seen in how Harry returns her action with a coy scoff and a simper of his own. “For you, always.”

“Well…” Y/N turns her lower half to the side, showing him her ass for significance, which is covered in the unmistakable print of his hand and rings. “I wouldn’t say always.”

Harry’s pursed lips break into an even wider shit-eating grin, his cheeky laughter echoing across the walls of the apartment, his arms absentmindedly folding across his broad chest. “Yeah, well, you can’t say it’s one-sided, can you?”

He points towards his neck, stretching his chin upwards so that she gets a good view of all the fading love bites she’d left there the night before.

Y/N’s giggles match his. “Touché.”

Harry rummages through his drawers as she finishes getting dressed, shimmying into her tight jeans and throwing her shirt on, finger-combing her hair into a decent state. He comes up with a pair of maroon briefs, slipping them on as he walks back towards her, letting the elastic band snap into place against his lower abdomen.

The two demons with benefits stand before each other, Y/N with her braided black sandals swung over her shoulders and Harry with his hands fixed on his hips nonchalantly.

“You really can’t stay for breakfast?” Harry inquiries one last time, lifting his eyebrows curiously. “I’m making those cinnamon bun waffles you like so much.”

Y/N sighs grandly, clutching her chest dramatically as if it physically hurts her to decline his offer. “I’d love to, but work is work. Don’t really have a say.”

Her friend nods in understanding, well aware of the truth behind her words. “It is what it is, then.”

“However...” Her sudden continuation makes his head perk. She reaches up, carding her fingers into his messy curls and combing them back from his face, tucking a handful of rebellious ringlets behind his small ears and giving him one final self-assured smile. “Do y’think you could maybe save me two and I can come pick them up tonight?”

Harry cranes his head to the side, placing a slow peck to the palm of her hand and then biting into her skin jokingly, a certain lewdness painted all over the deed. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Great.” Y/N quips happily, wrapping his curls around her knuckles roughly and hauling him in for a sloppy, dirty kiss that leaves his teeth numb and his face buzzing.

Once she breaks their mouths, lightly panting with her skin a darker shade than before, he has to blink three times in order to reign himself back in. His ability to form coherent sentences right now is about as useful as alphabet soup; he just gives her a jerky nod instead.

Y/N wipes at his swollen lips with the pad of her thumb, giving his cheek a playful pat. “I’ll see you then, H.”

Harry can’t tear his eyes away as she leaves, his bedroom door clicking shut behind her, the soft, distant thunk of his front door accompanying the sound a bit later.

Fuck, that was something is the first comprehensible thought that registers in his mind.

It was absolutely something and who knows how differently it would have gone if he had admitted giving into the weakness they had both sworn off of.

That notion haunts him for a while— the idea that he could have driven her away for good if he had confessed that his emotions had bleed through their arrangement. Sure, it had only been this once, but Harry has a horrible gut-wrenching feeling that he’s unlocked a box deep in the back of his skull that won’t easily be chained down again.

He thinks this over again and again as he prepares his morning meal, the looming uncertainties of it all causing him to check out of reality here and there, resulting in a few burn marks across his hands and two charred waffles in the bin.

As Harry finally sits down to enjoy the food that had nearly not made it to his plate, he finds himself mentally running through the awkward encounter he and Y/N had faced this morning. He can’t stop himself from dwelling on the expression he had seen crack through her eyes earlier— one that showed she seemed to be feeling the same kind of emotional turmoil he was. It opens too many unanswered questions for their future and he hates himself for being so worried when nothing had truly happened. For all he knows, it could have just been a trick of the sunlight that had been streaming into the room. He’s getting himself out of sorts for nothing.

However, as he goes in on a forkful of his cinnamon-glazed pastry, one pesky detail suddenly launches him into a coughing fit.

It was so minuscule he had missed it the first fifty times he had run through the events, but it had decided to prick him in the brain now, the weak dam of reassurance he had built crumbling to ashes.

After Y/N had woken up, saw what was happening, and their fight had ensued, she had made a comment about how Harry had kissed her forehead.

On the surface, it had seemed unimportant because yes, that is exactly what he had done. The problem arose when he remembered that she had been dead asleep when he had done that.

Supposedly.

He had gone to remove his arm from below her body, she had fussed a bit, he had pressed his lips to her forehead to ease her, and she had remained asleep for a while longer until he decided to finish removing his arm. That final motion was what had awoken her.

Supposedly.

If she had been unconscious the whole time they were cuddling, then how did she know he’d kissed her?

#demon!reader #demon!y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty fic #harry styles #harry styles au #writing au #demon au #one direction one shot #one direction fanfiction #1d one shot #1d fanfiction

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wilted3sunflowers · 5 years ago

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characters made for @oznitus dorm, ling already knows Mara but now they also get to meet the new group on the block

They all hail from The Emerald Plains

Mara Malice Species: human Inspired by: Madam Morrible Height: 5′7″ Age: 21 Favorite Food: salt water taffy Hated Food: Corn [popcorn is the only corn allowed] Fun Fact: Would have been part an important family but her father ran off with his “true love” in poverty instead of just marrying who he was arranged with. Mara doesn’t know this. Unique Magic: The Fates Design She can set the goal and things will fall into place, if its further into the future or a very hard to accomplish goal it will take a lot of magic, and even saps magic from her a bit for each day as fate gets rolling into place like she wanted. so shes not seen doing a lot of magic, especially if she has plans going on behind the scenes. Most don’t know her unique magic.

A teachers assistant that typically while helping grade and work on other things is stationed in Oznitus. Kind of like a baby sitter but not that Crowley would say that. She’s actually earned the nickname ‘mama’ from some more ornery students. As her first year being a teachers assistant she kind of wants to put the best example forward and typically will just say white lies.

“Oh no, Trien sir, i just passed those students in the library. Are you sure that it was them you saw? Come, let’s talk this out, i’d love to help you solve this mystery” taking his arm and leading him off meanwhile the students in question hiding under her desk or throughout the room just out of sight. Actually has grown close friends with the main Oznitus trio, especially Mika who she talks a lot more casually with and interacting more with him like a best friend especially when off the clock so to say. Gets along well with Evett and Theo too. Mika started a joke of telling the first years to call Mara and Evett ‘Mama’ and ‘Pops’ because they can be quite the more paternal of them trying to keep everyone in line and orderly

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Viridian Hunter Species: Human Inspired by: The gate keeper Height: 5′1″ Favorite Food: Filet Mignon Hated Food: Chocolate covered Cherries Year: 2nd Age: 18 Class: 2-D Best Subject: Summoning Club: Light Music - he feels remiss they don’t actually practice their instruments much and a lot of it is just ‘socializing’ Fun Fact: Thinks women are amazing, it’s a common thought from the Emerald plains that the women are the more highly regarded ones. Typically better at magic than the others Though has that actually been put to the test? Where are those stats? How did they test the magic? Seems a bit of just another one of Viridian’s biases Unique Magic: Lock and Key He can make anything un-openable but also he can just as easily open anything he wishes with a magic formed skeleton key. He usually can’t open things enchanted though. he’s trying to see if he can though, he wants to see if he can eventually get to that level.

Met Tsavorite while very young and actually was an orphan the family took in and while they technically adopted him it was very clear he was more of a live in friend because Tsavorite wanted him around. Playing a lot of dress up, playing fun games, telling Viridian to break some rules that were in place that usually would get Viridian so worried and wound up but bending to Tsavorites will to do as she asked and if he got caught Tsavorite would just coolly say “ I told him to.” and that was the end of the conversation. She has surprised him by saying this when he was caught once actually trying to sneak seconds in the middle of the night because he didn’t eat much that day from playing all day with Tsavorite. They sat there in the kitchen with Tsavorite eating with him after the staff made something fresh. It’s one of his most appreciated memories.

He admires Tsavorite greatly and does anything she asks of him. To him Tsavorite can’t do wrong, he knows rules, he knows morallly that some of the things she does do....isn’t the best. But rules don’t apply to Tsavorite. He learned that one early on.

He is more akin to a butler and handmaiden for Tsavorite, picking out outfits, getting them clean, making appointments, doing Tsavorites hair, he even bathes her as if she was a genuine princess that gets pampered. Though Berenice was the one to point out that was a bit ‘odd’ before Tsavorite hushed her and told her she could do it if she found it so ‘odd’ which had Berenice not saying another word on the matter.

Viridian is slightly jealous of the fact Berenice seems to be the favorite, though he does sometimes wonder if it’s actual favoritism considering Berenice does get called ‘Little Kitten’ and petted often as if she was an actual pet and more closely scrutinized by Tsavorite if shes not groomed to the usual expectation and wearing what she told her to. Though he often shrugs this thought off to the back of his mind. After all he was Tsavorites doll first before Berenice came into the picture. Tsavorite cares about those close to her, even if she shows it in...odd ways. He’s sure of it.

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Tsavorite Diona Proserpine Species: Human ( ? ) has some fae blood in her Inspired by: The Emerald City Height: 6′ 6″ Favorite Food: Green Apple slices with Caramel Hated Food: Tapioca Pudding Year: 2nd Age: 19 Class: 2-E Best Subject: Magic Practice Club: Gargoyle research facility Fun Fact: Doesn’t yet know how to genuinely interact with people on a personable level, even those closest to her don’t get the full her and her emotions she keeps locked tight. Kind of considers those closest to her more like pets or toys with appreciation but it feels there’s not actual thought of them as their own free willed people. She needs to work on this. Unique Magic: Emerald Spires Creating dazzling green stone columns and working more and more each day to forming them into other shapes and see how far she can stretch them. She has successfully been able to make walls which, if you think about it, is just a horizontal column...kind of.

Tsavorite Proserpine. A name that strikes fear into those of the Emerald Plains. Those who are smart enough to know who really runs the capital. Coming from a long family who’s said to even started the capital base of the Emerald Plains. Born with a Silver spoon in her mouth and treated more like royalty than just simply someone rich due to the power of both financials and magic prowess her and her family possesses. What Tsavorite wants, Tsavorite gets.

She knows money and power get you everything and connections are how you strengthen keeping your station. She very much lives by the ‘Keep your enemies close’ rule but it should be no shock that Berenice and Viridian are the closest to her. While it may seem that she treats them as lackeys, those who actually have seen Tsavorite interacting with general working class staff and those who she’s not close to that Viridian and Berenice are obviously more favored by her with more ‘niceties’ given to them.

Viridian is the one trusted fully to handle her appointments, her outfits, keeping everything organized and in place. He’s trusted enough that she knows he could never do anything of his free volition that would come at her. If something caused him to turn on her, she would no doubt know it was a fake or a spell that caused something like that to change

Berenice she finds simply adorable, such a predator, such a beauty, Berenice has a lot of physical power but she’s just such a lap cat, its where she should be is what Tsavorite thinks of her. A powerful girl by her side, dressed looking cute how she likes. She thinks the meekness she can have is cute but finds her unique magic the most interesting aspect of her. Such contradictions in Berenice. It’s fun. She doesn’t fully trust Berenice though. Not yet. Not on Viridians level.

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Berenice Kelly Lemongrass Species: Lion beast folk Inspired by: The cowardly lion Height: 5′10″ Favorite Food: Seared Ahi Tuna Hated Food: granola bars Year: 2nd Age: 19 Class: 2-B Best Subject: Flying skills Club: Basketball Fun Fact: doesn’t originally hail from The Emerald Plains, her family moved there when she was 12 Unique Magic: Trapped Her magic inflicts psychological damage trapping people in their minds for a short period of time with fears and horrible memories coming back to eat at them. Rarely used longer than a few minutes, if used longer the victim will pass out, if used too long...they might not be the same person they were at the start. But she hasn’t used it that long and doesn’t know what might happen.

The supposed Bodyguard of Lady Tsavorite and while she is strong she’s just...not cut out for being that intimidating or strong willed. Often more easily curling in on herself and doing whats told of her. Lady Tsavorite personally decided she’d be her ‘bodyguard’ even if her magic is more impressive than Berenice’s and can go on much longer using it than Berenice as well. Berenice does have genuine power and strength and does her best to keep it up.

Lady Tsavorite typically calls Berenice pet names, but immediately shuts down others who try saying any pet name to Berenice. Her favorite to use is usually “Little Kitten”. It was Lady Tsavorite who chose how she gets her hair down and expressed to her to wear those cute bows and make up as well and what Lady Tsavorite says, goes.

Berenice thinks Viridian is the favorite, Lady Tsavorite doesn’t snap at him for his outfits or make up but then again...he’s never out of proper attire or looking ‘sloppy’ or ‘messy’ but also she wonders just how close two people can be. She’d consider them the closest people two can be platonically really that it’s almost admirable but she can’t feel at ease with Lady Tsavorites behaviors sometimes. While its nice having her head pat and ears scratched always needing to be dressed to her standards is kind of tiresome and does get her worried to being a rough around the edges as she can be sometimes as she likes to run and honestly she has a little bit of dramatic flair and has tried out for theatre. She’s quite good at getting into dramatic proses.

#oznitus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #my art #twisted oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland oznitus #mara malice #Viridian Hunter #berenice lemongrass #tsavorite proserpine #tsavorite needs to be a better person #viridian needs to stop being a tool for tsavorite #berenice well she can do better

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peakyblinderswhore · 4 years ago

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DAY 12 ⇨ SMILE FOR SANTA

GENRE: Christmas!au, Fluff, a lil Crack

PAIRING: John x Reader (although it does include interactions with the whole family :) )

SYNOPSIS: After John convinced you to spend the day with the Shelby’s, you made sure that you were there to help with anything and everything you could. Except when it came to the family photo that Polly had suggested on a whim. Everything was getting a little bit more chaotic than usual and the family was more than struggling to keep in check.

W/C: 3.4k

A/N: *ugly crying* because i love john!! john deserved better and i’d happily die for him. *shouting* ENJOY! OR ELSE! also merry christmas :) also john doesn’t have kids in this scenario :D it’s safe to say i got more than carried away adn fell in love with this fic. it pains me to have to leave this world behind after finishing this.

merry christmas! joyeux noël! feliz navidad! meri korisomasu! (🇯🇵 rom)

After that cold afternoon in your house when John had convinced you to spend the day celebrating with his family, you had found that you had become incredibly anxious as the day neared. Last night, you had been running around, making sure that the food you had promised to bring was cooking before wrapping it up tightly, burning your fingers twice as you hadn’t waited for it to cool down.

John had given you some pocket money and you had spent the weekend deliberating between two dresses, having no idea which one would look better on you and which one would please Polly more. You knew she could be straightforward at times but you didn’t know if this translated over to what she might say about your appearance. In the end, John had blindly pointed at one and told you to buy it after getting frustrated about your nervousness but he kept insisting that it was ‘just like any other day with the added extra of strictly no business talk at the dinner table’.

When you finished stressing the morning of, John halted your never-ending train of thoughts when he knocked on your door, prompting you to open the door and make sure that you had everything you needed for the day in a flurry.

“John!” You breathlessly exclaimed as you swing the door open to greet him, “Please come in, there’s just a few more things I need to make sure of.”

Wordlessly, he wraps his arm around you, stopping you from walking away to whatever you were going to do next. “It’s one day; there’s no need to stress out,” he mumbles into your hair,pulling your back closer to his chest and winding his other arm around you.

You bring your hands to rest on his forearms, leaning your head back on his shoulder and breathe out, “I don’t want anything to go wrong… that’s all.”

John lets out a light laugh, “Have you met The Shelby’s before? No matter what you say or do or think is going to prevent a disaster from happening, there will always be something. I’m pretty sure last year it was Arthur’s drunk antics breaking things and the year before Finn knocked over the tree by accident which, in turn, lit up the rug as he knocked it into the fire.”

“Jesus… I’m not sure that helps my mind,” you say, wincing at the thought of Polly screaming at everyone as they put out the fire and attempt to save the rug and the tree, “Wait, is that where the massive scorch marks came from in the lounge?”

John loosens his hold on you, letting you turn to face him, his grin takes over his face, “You noticed? Pol’ tries to hide the scorches by arranging the furniture differently but we all know it’s there.”

“I was only trying to be polite,” you mutter, a small smile gracing your lips.

“That’s why she loves your company,” he leans closer, eyes flickering to your lips, “it’s one of the many why I love you.”

Your eyes flutter close and he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, not pressing for anything more. Turning your body to face him completely, you bring your arms to his chest, resting your palms on the breast of his coat before curling your fingers around the lapels. His fingers brush your face, rubbing soothing circles into your cheeks. It was a kiss filled with love and it made you melt into his body, knowing that no matter what would happen today, you would be okay and you knew that at the end of it all you would still have John to turn to.

Eventually, you pull apart, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, making you instinctively run your thumb across the bottom of his lip, enjoying how they looked when stained with your lipstick, “You got a lil’ something…” you whisper before pressing a kiss to his lips and pushing him away gently.

“I’ll go clean my face then,” he replies, moving towards the sink.

When you’ve decided that you’ve gathered everything you need for the day you make your way over to the Shelby family home. It was a brisk walk in the biting cold, tucked under John’s arm with your arms wound tightly around his torso for warmth as he carried the food you’d insisted on cooking to lessen the load on Polly.

John pushes the door open and calls out, “Pol’? We’re here.”

At the sound of her nephew’s voice bouncing off the walls, Polly appears, wiping her hands on an apron that was tied around her waist, a smile board on her face.

“Love! You made it; I’m so glad you’ve decided to come over this year. Could’ve used the company last year -- what with our Ada moving down to London,” she pulls you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your cheek in greeting before addressing John, “and you, mister,” she raises an eyebrow, “I hope you’ve warned her about your shenanigans you like to pull on Christmas day.”

Amused, you turn to look at John, “Shenanigans? You never told me about any shenanigans.”

His face heats up, turning red from the sudden attention being directed his way and from the onslaught he knew Polly was going to let you in on. Instead he directs the conversation in another direction, “Ah listen yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, “I don’t know…” he mumbles.

You decide to save him, resting your hand on his that carried the bags you had packed, “I made something so you don’t have to worry too much. Let’s unpack it.”

Polly grins, raising her hands in the air in celebration, “Perfect! I tricked Finn into helping too so he doesn’t accidentally light any trees on fire this year.”

You giggled, “Oh I heard about that one a little earlier on.”

Polly holds her hand out for your coat that you slip off of your shoulders, you quickly thank her before she throws it at John, “Hang that up, you little gremlin,” she playfully growls at him, “me and my niece have important work to be doing.”

He huffs in annoyance but does as his Aunt requested, pegging up your coats on her coat hanger -- something that she moved towards the front of the house when it came around to Christmas, knowing this might be the only day of the year that the boys actually stay long enough to remove their coats. She lets you lead the way into the kitchen, shooing you to stand by the table. Finn wanders over from the betting den, a spoon in his hand and a bowl tucked under his arm.

“Finn! Did you let Arthur taste some?”

He sheepishly nods. She lets her head fall back and her arms sag behind her as she groans, “I gave you one job! Don’t let Arthur eat the produce; it ruins the build-up to the main course.”

John shuffles into the kitchen and picks a chair to sit at, more than happy to watch you smile and be happy around his family.

You make your way about unpacking the food you had cooked while Polly scolds Finn. It’s not really serious scolding but it’s something you can watch from a distance, enjoying it. When Polly turns to go back to the oven, John gestures to Finn, encouraging him to move closer and takes the spoon from his grip. Finn’s eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to set Polly off again. John lets himself sink into the chair when he licks the spoon and you giggle at him.

Polly’s head snaps in your direction, making you squeak as you clamp your lips shut.

She eyes you before turning her attention towards Finn who had made his way closer to her, spoon mixing around in the bowl. “What have you made, love?”

“I made a crumble. I wasn’t sure if you were a Christmas Pudding family so I went for a family recipe instead. I also made some chocolates in case you weren’t a crumble family either,” you say, unveiling a baked apple crumble, still in the pot and a box filled with chocolate shapes, “I made the crumble last night but it can go in the oven to be warmed up later.”

John leans into you, hand reaching to pick up a chocolate but you slap his hand away, making his yelp, having not expected that. You glare at him, “Don’t be greedy. I know you had some while I went to reapply my lipstick.”

He waves you off, pretending to not know what you’re on about, making Polly laugh after seeing the scene that unfolded before her. Finn stands close to you, peering into the box, wanting to see what they looked like. When he saw them his eyes widened. You had spent the rest of your money on buying the best ingredients you could afford, not wanting to turn up with half-assed chocolates.

“Have one,” you whisper and nudge him with your elbow, “go on.”

“But…” he glances at John.

“Don’t worry about him. He gets to eat these all the time when I make them.”

Finn places the bowl down and gingerly picks a chocolate out of the box, making John burst out, “Hey! You can’t have any if I can’t.”

“Not true,” you counter. His mouth blubs like a fish. “Finn can have some since he’s never tried them before. Plus you get to eat them when I make them and you like to steal one every now and then when you think I’m not looking.”

John gets up and engulfs you in a hug that you weren’t prepared for. Polly moves the crumble out of the way and puts the box of chocolates on the side, not wanting any of this to get in the way, she smiles fondly at the two of you. He presses a kiss to your lips, to which Finn turns and imitates sticking his fingers down his throat and being sick, sticking his tongue out. Polly abruptly hits his arm, making him jump and rub it.

At some point Arthur walks in from the betting den while you and John are making a cock-up of the potatoes. By this point, you’re both mucking about while Polly sits smoking a cigarette at the table, occasionally telling the two of you what to do with something. Finn had run off to fetch something for Polly while she took a break.

“I thought I heard trouble brewin’.”

You spin on your heels, “Arthur!”

You drop what you were doing and greet Arthur with a bear hug, making sure to keep your hands away from his clothes in case you made them dirty. He lets out a chuckle and when you’re finished hugging him, “I almost forgot you were here. Were you finishing something up?”

He nods, “Finished now. Pol’s pleased she’s got me for the day now. It was urgent. Anyway, while you were busy, er, cooking,” he offers a skeptical look when he peers at John over your shoulder, you smile, shaking your head at this, “I pushed the table to the middle of the room.”

Polly looks up from her position at the kitchen table, “Did you get out the cutlery and the napkins?”

“Got Finn setting it up now -- Tommy rang. Said he’d be here soon.”

Polly scoffs, “Whenever that means,” she drags on her cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the table, “let’s start plating up.”

It takes Tommy less than ten minutes to arrive. He brings his smiling son, Charlie with him. Ada knocks on the door not too soon after in tow with Karl, a pleasant surprise for Polly who had explained she wasn’t sure if Ada was going to be able to make it on time if at all.

Polly dragged Tommy into helping her plate up the food and Ada pulled you to a side in the betting den, now transformed into the dining room with enough chairs to seat you all and some.

“So,” she drawls, “have you and John… y’know, made anything a little more official? Tell me there’s at least a bun in the oven! You two have been making puppy eyes at each other for years and have been dating for almost two.”

Charlie and Karl run around the table, chasing each other while Finn desperately tries to get them to sit down for fear that Polly will tell him off for not being able to look after a couple of kids on his own. You glance at Finn fretting over the boys and shake your head, smiling fondly before turning your focus to Ada, “Nothing yet.”

“Yet?”

“Well,” you begin, suddenly going shy, “I’ve suggested a baby. He’s more than happy to comply with that.”

Ada’s hands wrap around yours, something she tended to do right before whispering something that was supposed to stay between the two of you. “Personally, I think he wants you to himself for just a little bit longer,” she whispers, “and I cannot wait until we reach that fateful day… oh just thinking about it no--”

“Ada, where’s Y/N?” John calls out.

Ada releases your hands from her hold and calls him over, “Here, John. We were just having a catch-up since it’s been so long. Let’s switch, mhm? I’ll help Polly so you can talk to your girlfriend,” she emphasises the ‘girlfriend’ part, winking at you as she scurries away, her hair bouncing before she halts to whisk Karl up to help in the Kitchen with her.

John rounds the corner, scooping you up in his arms and spinning the two of you round. You squeal having not expected it but enjoying his playful mood. When he sets you down again, he rests his palms on either side of your waist, pulling you closer to him. You lean back, fingers wrapped around his biceps to keep yourself steady as you look up at him.

“What is it?” You ask after he had been gazing at you for a little while, “Is there something on my fa--”

He lowers his head, lips meeting yours as he begins to kiss you, keeping it soft and suitable in front of the young, wandering eyes.

When he pulls away he rests his forehead on yours, “What was that for?”

“I love you,” he simply says.

“I love you too,” you feel a warmth bloom in your chest, making your heart beat that little bit faster than usual.

“John!” Arthur calls, “Did Charlie tell you if ‘im and Curly were coming or not? I wanna know if I should bully Finn into setting up another two seats or if I can rest.”

John rolls his eyes, grasping your hands and lacing his fingers through yours as he leads you back towards the kitchen as Finn aids Polly with the turkey. “He said he was coming. He said he’d also bring the folding camera, to which I assume Curly is coming since most of the fun stuff is usually his.”

Polly looks up from setting the turkey on the biggest dish you’d ever laid eyes on, “Perfect; I think we should take a family photo. Don’t you?” She asks no one in particular.

Tommy sighs, “It’ll take too much time.”

Ada waves him off, “Nonsense, all the best photos are taken in a limited amount of time. Plus we’ll be able to get everyone in it, it’ll be a good experience.”

Arthur wanders off, not wanting to have too much to do with this conversation and mutters something about setting up more places at the table.

After a little bit of back and forth arguing, Charlie and Curly arrive, camera in tow. Charlie has a cigarette dangling from his lips and Curly brings you into a hug, leaving Charlie clutching onto the camera equipment.

“Curly! I’ve missed seeing your smile every time I pop by to see the horses,” you grin as he replies back to you, “where’d you get the camera equipment anyway?”

“Oh,” he begins, “Tommy thought it’d be a grand idea if we got pictures with him and his horse after it won at the races so I searched high and low for something to please him. Eventually I found this set up and got it under my ownership soon after. Tommy even pulled me into the photo since I looked after it mostly.”

Charlie scoffcs, “Curly, you’re the only one who cares for the creatures as well as you do. I don’t know anyone with a heart quite like yours.”

Polly comes over and pulls Charlie and Curly towards the dining room having them set up the camera at one end of the table. Yourself and Curly finish the conversation when Polly returns, informing you that dinner was ready to be served.

Everyone made their way into the dining room, a plate full of food to be served up each. Ada had scribbled out quick namecards, insisting it made it more fun and then there also wouldn’t be the argument from previous years about who gets to sit next to who -- especially with the younger kids now. Of course, you were seated next to John and you were sure that you noticed the seats were a little bit closer than the rest of them scattered around the table. Nevertheless, you made your way to your seat. John stood behind you, pulling out the chair to which you smiled warmly, not wanting to call him out on his manners that he only pulled out in front of his Aunt and instead enjoying the gesture.

When you’re all seated, Polly stands at the head of the table, hands clasped together, apron thrown away to the side somewhere and hair falling at her shoulders. “Everyone,” it’s been a tough year, I know that much more than you think I might. I’m thrilled that we could all be here this evening and I hope we get to experience this again for many years to come.”

The candles dotting the tablecloth illuminate everyone’s faces, eyes wide as you all wait for what she is going to say.

“While the food is still hot, let’s take a picture, eh? Curly, love would you mind setting it up and running back round again?”

Curly nops, jumping up from his seat, making sure everything was in the right place and the flash was on a makeshift stand.

“Alright,” he says, “the lighting’s a bit funny, so if you could all stand, it might be better.”

Slowly, you all rise from your seats. John’s hand rests on your waist so you move to the side to lean into his touch and rest your head on his shoulder.

He presses kisses to your hair, “You look gorgeous in that dress, you know?”

You lift your head to talk to him, “It’s the one you picked.”

“I saw,” he grins, proud of himself, “sorry it took me until now to compliment you. I was trying to calm you down for the first half of the day and spent the rest of it helping out around here.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I knew you liked it. You grinned and gave me a good lookin’ when I answered the door this morning in it.”

“You saw that?”

“How could I not?”

“All right,” Curly calls out, “I’m going to set it off now.”

“Kiss me,” you whisper to John.

He does.

Curly runs back to his seat, Ada rests her hand on Karl’s shoulder in front of you, Polly rests a hand on Arthur and Tommy either side of her, Tommy has Charlie in his arms. Curly stands proudly next to Uncle Charlie opposite you and Finn sits closest to the camera in front of his Uncle.

You almost miss Ada slapping Karl’s hand and shouting, “Those cookies are for Santa!” as the flash goes off.

It’s in this moment, that you know you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.

91 notes · View notes

new-endings · 4 years ago

Note

Ayy I want to hear about Beta!Aziraphale :D

so glad you do!~

fic idea #1112

It started with the premise of beta Aziraphale thinking that alpha Crowley’s been trying to court some poor omega sod for the past few centuries. Crowley had been displaying rather alpha-like characteristics around him since Rome, what with the innocuous gifts, the food, the protection he's provided—

All served with the same dour expression that leads Aziraphale to believe that the alpha really doesn’t intend on it, doesn’t really seem to realize what he’s doing, nor does he really want to do it. Aziraphale comes to the conclusion that something or someone must be some causing Crowley’s instincts to pop off like this.

Aziraphale comes to the conclusion that his …err, acquaintance, must have met a "nice" omega demon and that the beta is just dealing with a twitter pated alpha in the aftermath.

((He knows it's not him, knows better than to even think for a second all those little gestures meant something more. Why—to think anything more would be utterly absurd—impossible! He’s—an angel, a beta—))

But it’s not until centuries later that Aziraphale knows there's another involved after Crowley asks him for the holy water

Crowley found someone he was willing to risk not only Aziraphale's life for, but his own.

And given the latter, Aziraphale naturally said no.

I don't need you.

Yes...that's right.

Betas are intermediaries— useful, but not essential.

—————————————————

On the other hand, Crowley's been tryna court the oblivious git for millennia now but naturally, none of the regular "alpha" tactics work. Puffed up pride and the sharpness of his scent indicating an interested alpha only makes Aziraphale uncomfortable. The instinct to force the angel to submit, to bare his neck and bend to his whim, only inflicted fear.

And when frightened, Aziraphale did not whimper and did not bow. He would instead lash out with his own silver tongue, his own venomous words, and turn away.

He was not an omega— he was not an omega an alpha was meant to tame.

He was a beta without a hint of instinct to let him know that Crowley only wanted him safe— only wanted him loved.

But Crowley learned. He adapted. Gifting the beta soft silks and cloths soaked in his scent was often met with the cloth thoroughly cleaned within the hour "to get rid of the stench of evil; angels can smell it, you know," creating a nest with him was out of the question given their respective…offices, but foods—yes, foods were among his beta’s favorite—

an offering of oysters...

was that where it started?

—and Crowley was more than happy to show the beta he can provide, he can protect—

((Crowley has even gone as far as developed a sense for when his beta would be in a spot of trouble. There were no distressed omegan hormones, no telltale shifts in Aziraphale’s mild scent when something was amiss, of course not.

No, it was other things—things that were so heartbreakingly Aziraphale in every way—from his dithering, from the curl of his lip, just barely a sneer when Crowley was misbehaving, or the change of pitch in his voice when he was scheduled to meet with his superiors.

And last but not least…

…a tugging, at the back of Crowley’s head. Insistent when Aziraphale was in the area. And it downright dragged him to the center of the mess when Aziraphale landed himself out of the pan and into the fire (so to speak)

Aziraphale always forced Crowley to learn things the hard way—

and that was one of the things he loved about his bastard beta.))

—but he wanted—needed—that reciprocated too.

Fraternising.

The word sliced his chest wide open.

Maybe he couldn't get through to him. Perhaps it was all in vain. A transaction for the beta, just as he'd proposed it all those centuries ago.

I don't need you.

It was true. Crowley got on just fine without him.

((It didn't curb the want. The longing.))

The feeling is mutual!

obviously...

-----------------------

And then— 1941. The scene at the church happens.

Where Crowley's instinct that Aziraphale was in trouble still functioned quite impeccably despite a century apart and an argument that fractured what they had.

And Crowley limps away, feet burnt on consecrated ground, knowing—without a doubt—that he would walk across the sun if it meant Aziraphale is safe.

And Aziraphale stands there in the rubble of faith, understanding and facing, with certain and absolute sincerity that he was in love with this demon,

Knowing—without a doubt—that Crowley loves another.

---------------------

20 years later, Aziraphale learns of a heist and a cold fear grips him. he can't lose Crowley—absolutely refuses to.

He can't look Crowley in the eye as he gifts him—insurance the demon called it. Protection. For himself...and for his omega.

Crowley must have concocted this arrangement to protect himself and his mate should an angelic threat arrive. Maybe he'd meant to use Aziraphale as insurance too—

“I'll give you a lift, anywhere you wanna go.”

Aziraphale looks at him then. Look at him and saw the patience, the hoping, the quiet, tenderness behind those dark glasses and it took everything Aziraphale had to rip himself away and exit the car.

He...he mustn't get ahead of himself. But it was hard to tamp down the tiny seeds of hope, smashing them so they would never see light.

But really…what did it change?

Everything, maybe

Because Crowley may have his mate, but he made it clear that Aziraphale was part of his pack too.

And that was enough

It had to be.

You go too fast for me.

------------------------

In the years following, Aziraphale finds coping with his…unideal… feelings not-so difficult. He may be the beta of Crowley's pack, but for much longer than that, he'd been a thorn on his side, so it was easy to slip back into that role.

They spend a few years raising the wrong boy ((and Aziraphale bites his tongue to avoid asking why he didn't ask his omega to have a hand in raising Warlock)), but despite the unusual convention (which is honestly par for the course for the two), the child comes out normal.

Unfortunately, they are unsure if the same could have been said for the real antichrist.

And Aziraphale is not sure what gripped him to withhold the boy's whereabouts— to go against the alpha—his alpha—and lie to him.

There is no our side.

Not anymore.

Maybe it was the insistence that heaven must be good, that a part of him believed with all his heart that they wanted the right thing too.

and maybe...just maybe...he knew that if things went...pear-shaped...

There was still a chance for Crowley and his mate to escape all this. That the blame could easily fall on Aziraphale, sparing the two.

And when I'm off in the stars—I won't even think about you!

Good, Aziraphale muses as Crowley drives away, even as every meter that separates them physically burns him.

Betas are not essential.

Crowley doesn't need him.

He and his mate just need to be safe.

--------------------------

At the heart of it, Crowley is a liar. A pretty shite one, really. Says things he doesn't mean—doesn't want to say. But what else can he do when his beta refuses him at every turn?

Lash out-like a child, apparently.

All his plans have gone up in smoke, time was running out, and Crowley knows there's no turning back after Ligur ends up a pile of smoldering goo at the floor of his apartment. He feels a tug at his heart, knowing that it was Aziraphale who protected him that time, betraying everything he knew to give Crowley thermos. He can't give up—he'll drag Aziraphale away kicking and screaming if he could.

Crowley walks out of his apartment, sidestepping the mess on his floor, when he feels— knows something is wrong. Every sense in-tune to Aziraphale is blaring—

and just as suddenly, it all goes quiet.

Crowley breaks both traffic laws and the laws of physics to find a burning book shop and no trace of his beta.

Remorse battles with rage, but what triumphs above all is a resounding howl that anyone would be able to recognize—

Mourning.

Someone’s killed my best friend

-----------------------

Aziraphale feels his heart stop—well, if he still had one—at the sound of Crowley, there at the bar. He bites down the urge to yell at him, to tell him to grab his mate and run while they still have a chance—

I lost my best friend.

Aziraphale pauses, words caught in his throat. He'd been...selfish. So selfish. Of course, Crowley wants his pack intact. And Aziraphale was part of that.

Crowley is truly a phenomenal alpha while Aziraphale is the most terrible beta in existence.

----------------------

"Wherever you are, I'll come to you—where are you?"

Crowley almost lost his beta once. He won't let it happen a second time.

"Come up with something or—

I'll never talk to you again"

Because Aziraphale (finally, finally) stood with him.

"We're on our own side."

---------------------

It's the final piece of the prophecy that Crowley was able to salvage that inspires the idea from Aziraphale.

He knows his superiors. It will be hellfire— befitting a traitor who refuses to fall from god's grace. Crowley tells him that his will be holy water— that there will be a trial that Crowley is rigged to lose.

Aziraphale knows there will be no such thing for him

They have everything to lose and everything to gain with this final arrangement and on the dawn of that day where they make the switch,

Aziraphale wonders if he will finally get a glimpse of Crowley's mate at the trial.

------------------------

Crowley has enough sense to curb his anger, his fury, his outrage at the way they treat his beta. He doesn't roar at the injustice, in vengeance, as an alpha should. Instead, he smiles and breathe a flicker of hellfire at them, letting them know that Aziraphale has always been better than all of heaven could ever hope to be.

And Crowley vows to stop being a coward and make Aziraphale know it too.

-----------------------

Aziraphale scans the crowds for any sign of disbelief, of horror and indignance on the faces of the demons around him as he is charged guilty.

But no one steps forward and Aziraphale feels his heart fracture with pain and betrayal for Crowley.

He deserves someone who would be here, who would do anything to see him again, Aziraphale thinks as he lounges in the bath of holy water, exuding the confidence and control an alpha like Crowley would project. He deserves better, he thinks, a bitterness rising like bile at the back of his throat.

I could be—

He stops that train of thought immediately.

-------------------------

Their plan succeeds and Crowley tempts him to a spot of lunch. Their dawn of a new day begins at noon and upon seeing Crowley (in his corporation) safe and whole, Aziraphale rides that high all the way to the Ritz.

To the world.

----------------------------

Aziraphale regales him the scene all over again, careful to leave out the part where none, not even his own mate, rose to defend him during the trial. Instead, he talks about rubber ducks as he refuses to look in Crowley's direction.

He knows the way he's looking at him. He knows the soft, tender look the alpha gives him, and truly, what an injustice that someone like Crowley is mated with someone who holds such little faith in him

But as a beta, it isn't Aziraphale's place to.

He may be part of the pack, but he knows his place. Maybe...maybe Crowley's mate was told to stay hidden, just in case things went awry—

You wouldn't have listened, Aziraphale's traitorous mind whispers. You would have been there for him.

Precisely why I'm a beta, Aziraphale chuckles to himself. Could you imagine me, doing a thing Crowley's told?

Preposterous.

Just like the spikes of jealousy digging into the meat of his heart.

Aziraphale knows he’s a terrible beta—but even more than that, he’s Crowley’s best friend, and he knows Crowley deserved the truth.

"They weren't there, you know."

"Who?"

"Your mate." Aziraphale scoffs at the confused (panicked) reaction. "Oh, come off it— I know you've been courting someone for centuries."

"Yes...that's true..." Crowley cautiously, carefully admits and although Aziraphale knew this for a fact— knew this like he knew the back of his own hand, the admission tore a bleeding wound right open.

"Yes well...they weren't there. At the trial." Aziraphale bites his lip. "Where are...are they safe?"

Crowley is looking at him strangely. Aziraphale only wants straight answers. He's gone centuries without asking, always respecting this boundary between them—

—but they were pack, weren't they?

But then Crowley is smiling, a gleam of amusement sparking in his eyes. "The one I've been courting? I assure you, they were there at my trial."

Suspicion—even indignance— arose. Aziraphale was quick to smother it. "Oh! I...I didn't see them."

"Nope, they were there," Crowley said with such confidence that Aziraphale felt his very heart wither.

Stop it, he told himself. You knew this was true. You knew he has a mate. And you knew he'd love them and be loyal to them no matter what. Because Crowley is a phenomenal alpha...and Aziraphale is a wretched beta. "I...all right," he said faintly, hoping to distract himself with some cake, if only to counter the bitter bile rising at the back of his throat.

"Mhm...they're the sole reason I'm still here," he said pointedly and at that, Aziraphale couldn't help but choke. "I owe everything to them."

Of course.

Crowley's driven to protect his mate against anything. He saved the world for his mate.

And who was he to get in the way of that?

But if Aziraphale was ready to sink into the ground and possibly disappear for the next century or two to mend his own heartbreak, it was this statement that shoved those ideas straight into a pit of hellfire:

"Yep," Crowley says with a knowing, teasing grin. "Brilliant idea they had too— switching bodies. Who else would have thought of that?"

"YOU IDIOT, THAT WAS MY IDEA!"

At the back of his mind, Aziraphale knows he’s making a scene. And he’s possibly going to irreversibly damage his and Crowley’s relationship for this—

But damn it all he'd gone centuries making sure this absolute idiot of a demon didn't get himself killed and not ONCE had he seen hide nor hair of his so-called mate.

"AND FOR THE RECORD," he seethed. "YOU HAVE ABSOLUTE SHITE TASTES IN MATES!"

"I disagree," Crowley replied and Aziraphale wanted to rip his hair out. "They may be a bit of a bastard at times, but they've always been there for me."

"WHEN!?"

This was disconcerting in many different ways:

Mostly through the implication that Crowley got into even more trouble than Aziraphale was able to help him with.

"Salem witch trials— was about to be hanged. Saved me from discorporation."

Aziraphale frowns. He's done similar for Crowley— it figures that the demon would have gotten himself into that mess at least a second time.

"14th century— The Plague. But they were always so eager to do the best they could, given the situation. Made the shite times less…shite."

Aziraphale wouldn't have known, personally. It truly was a shite time indeed and Aziraphale had gotten discorporated as he spent his days healing the sick. He briefly recalled Crowley being there, shortly before his corporation ah...expired.

“Rome was better, but not by enough of a margin. We had something to eat and suddenly my whole day was better."

Hmm...maybe it happened sometime after their lunch? Perhaps dinner, no wait, he had dinner with Crowley too. But Crowley was in exceptionally good spirits the days following. It must have been sometime after then.

"The Ark," he said softly. "They smuggled some children with me aboard."

Aziraphale pauses. Wait...he’s sure only he and Crowley were aboard who knew about the stowaway children, then. After all, Aziraphale helped sneak them in.

"19th century— had a nasty fight." Crowley is staring intently at him now. "He made it up to me."

Aziraphale feels his breath catch.

"Took about a century, but we got there. The holy water came in real handy, by the way."

Wait—

"Golgotha...lost a good friend at the time. They were there with me the days afterwards."

Hang on—

"In the 1940s, when a bomb dropped on the church—"

That doesn't—

"11 years ago— when I roped them into this scheme to stop Armageddon—"

But—

"The airfield," Crowley says. He’s no longer across the table. Aziraphale hadn’t realized he’d moved so close. "When I'd given up everything. They threatened me to do something— and I did. It ended saving all of us."

No, that— that couldn't be right—

"Eden," he breathes out. "He sheltered me during the first rains."

Aziraphale isn’t quite sure when he stood up, but he sits down all the same. The pieces are in front of him but not slotting in the way he expects them to—

—in the way he thought it was possible to.

And then Crowley is holding his hand, at first laying his atop his own— and then lacing their fingers together.

Fitting perfectly.

He tears his gaze away only to meet those lovely, lovely amber eyes. Time around them stops like a bated breath. "You've always been there. Every time I needed you."

To which Aziraphale, for all his knowledge and expertise of the written word, can only eke out an, "Oh," in response.

And at that, Crowley can only laugh, relieved and so heartbreakingly happy as he closes the distance between them. "Yes, oh, my stupid mate."

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #crowley x aziraphale #abo au #but more like alpha and beta #which we desperately need more content of #good omens fanfiction

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tessisawriter · 5 years ago

Text

Tell Him (Andrei Svechnikov ft. Braden Holtby)

Request: Imagine being [Holtby’s] sister and dating Andrei Svechnikov but [Holtby] doesn’t know

A/N: Text messages are in bold. The original request was for Y/N to be Ovechkin’s sister, but since he is on my “Players I Don’t Write For” list, I switched it to Braden Holtby.

Warnings: Two swear words, angst

Word Count: 2.5k

It was hard enough being the Capitals’ star goalie Braden Holtby’s little sister, but try that while secretly dating superstar winger and member of the rival Hurricanes Andrei Svechnikov. That’s hard on steroids.

Things would’ve been a lot easier if you had fessed up to Braden already. But alas, you were sitting in primo seats in the PNC Arena in Raleigh three days after Christmas, watching your boyfriend’s team shell your brother, who of course had to be in net tonight, with quality shots. Braden wasn’t playing all that well, and you were on the edge of your seat, anxiously watching the action.

“Five minutes left.” Your sister-in-law, Brandi, was sitting next to you, and from the look of her shoulders, the tension was obvious.

“I can’t tell him tonight. He’s going to be so pissed!”

“I hate to say I told you so, Y/N, but: I told you so.”

As you turned to glare at her, the goal horn blared and everyone got up out of their seats to celebrate. You whipped your head back around in the direction of the Capitals’ net and saw Andrei in the middle of a group hug with his teammates. He was pointing at you and grinning widely. Braden took his helmet off and stared at the scene playing out in front of him.

“Looks like you don’t have a choice, honey.” Brandi patted you on the shoulder.

“I told him not to fucking do that, and what does he do? He does it!” you groused as you watched Andrei high five his teammates.

“He clearly agrees with me.” You didn’t answer Brandi because she was right.

You met Andrei eight months ago while his and your brother’s teams were playing against each other in the first round of the playoffs, but you didn’t start dating until you started school at Duke. While you weren’t that far away from your brother and Virginia, you were homesick, and you got Andrei’s number when you met him in the spring, so you ended up calling him during your second week at school and asking him to hang out.

It was nice hanging out with Andrei. While he didn’t live in Durham, he was only 30 minutes away in Raleigh, so he knew the area well enough, and he helped you settle in to life in North Carolina while you helped him improve his English (he was from Russia, and while he spent some time in the States before joining the Hurricanes, his English still needed some work). Within a few weeks, you were dating.

It scared and amazed you at the same time how fast you fell for Andrei. He was spontaneous and knew exactly how to cheer you up, making corny jokes that sucked so badly they were funny. Andrei was tired of hiding your relationship, and while you wanted nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops, you were afraid of disappointing Braden.

Braden was both your older brother and a father figure of sorts, since he was 12 years older than you. You moved to the States for high school and lived with him, his wife, Brandi, and your niece and nephew in Virginia. You loved your big brother and always confided in him about your problems, so it felt weird keeping such a big secret from him, but you did because you didn’t know how he would react. While Braden never explicitly told you to not date a hockey player, Andrei was a star player on one of the Capitals’ biggest rivals. And he just killed any chances of Braden’s team winning the game tonight.

Tonight was the worst possible night to drop the bomb on him, but Andrei just made it impossible to stall any longer.

You sat with your head in your hands for the remainder of the game, even when Panik cut the deficit from 6-3 to 6-4, because the game was effectively over. Besides, you had to figure out the best way to break the news to your brother about your relationship with Andrei, and fast.

***************

You were quaking in your boots as you stood in front of the Capitals’ dressing room, waiting for your brother to come out.

“Whatever happens, Y/N, I’ll be there,” Brandi reassured you. “He’s going to be mad at first, but he’ll forgive you. He loves his baby sister.” She ruffled your hair.

“I’m glad you figured it out: I would’ve gone insane if you hadn’t known, either.”

“I was a teenage girl once too, you know.”

You smiled at her. Brandi figured it out on Christmas Eve when Braden asked you and Brandi to accompany him to Raleigh for the second half of the back-to-back, and you initially said no. When Braden asked you why not, you made up a lame excuse about being tired from a long semester, and while he bought it, Brandi didn’t and pulled you aside after Braden went to bed. Telling her about your secret relationship lifted some of the weight off of your shoulders.

“And you made a smart choice wearing his jersey,” Brandi added.

You looked down at the three white stars and navy letters on the front of your red jersey before glancing at the white number 70 on your sleeve. Little did she know that you weren’t wearing an ordinary black t-shirt under your jersey, but instead Andrei’s shirsey that he gave you earlier this afternoon as a belated Christmas present. You might’ve told Braden and Brandi that you were taking an Uber back to campus to see some of your friends when in reality, you went to Andrei’s apartment. At least it wasn’t a complete lie: you took an Uber.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you jumped, not knowing who it was until you turned around and found your victorious boyfriend smiling at you.

“Hi, babe.” He peppered your cheeks with kisses.

“Andrei!” you whined, but you liked having his undivided attention.

Your moment of bliss was interrupted when you heard someone clear their throat. Still in Andrei’s arms, you turned to find your brother scowling at you, arms crossed against his chest. “Bray, I can explain—”

“Explain what? That you’ve been clearly been dating him and sneaking around behind my back to do it?” Braden rarely raised his voice, but the raw hurt in his tone made you wish he did. “I thought we had a better relationship than that.”

“Braden—”

“Brandi, I’m booking us another night at the hotel and I’ll make arrangements for us to fly out tomorrow. I don’t want to see her until we go to the airport.”

You started to cry. “I’m so sorry, Bray, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“I can’t deal with this right now. Let’s go, Brandi.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall and away from you while you sobbed into Andrei’s chest.

***************

It was a silent drive back to Andrei’s apartment. Since you had nowhere else to go for the night, he insisted you stay with him.

Andrei parked the car in his space and as soon as you got out of the car, your phone chimed with a text.

“Is it him?” Andrei asked.

You shook your head as you looked at the screen. “It’s Brandi.”

Her text read: Are you staying with Andrei?

You shot a quick Yes back before walking into the building, Andrei following you.

While you were in the elevator, three grey dots appeared on the screen. You and Andrei watched as they disappeared and a text popped up in its place: I’m sorry about Braden. He just needs the night to calm down/process.

You swallowed before typing back: I get it and the elevator doors opened on Andrei’s floor.

The grey dots appeared again when you were settled on top of the bed, Andrei’s arms wrapped around you, and the next text read: We have a private plane leaving at 2PM from Raleigh. Be at the airport at noon.

Followed quickly by another one: And bring Andrei with you.

You looked at your boyfriend. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to. I’ve got to face him at some point, and besides, we should tell him together. Properly, I mean.”

You smiled for the first time since you saw Braden outside the locker room. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.” Andrei gently kissed you on the lips before pulling away and saying, “You should answer her.”

“Oh, right.” You typed out the text and sent it—We’ll be there—before realizing something. “Shit. My carry-on is with the Caps’ bags!”

You hurriedly texted Brandi, and she quickly replied: Don’t worry; I have it. You’re good with the clothes you have on, right?

You cringed. “This is not good.”

Andrei leaned over to read the text. “What do you mean…? Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I’m wearing your shirsey!”

“You can borrow one of my other shirts.”

“Do you own any non-Hurricanes related clothing?”

“Of course I do!” Andrei huffed.

“Wait, let me rephrase that: do you have any shirts not related to hockey in general?”

This time, Andrei paused. “I do…somewhere.”

“It’s all right, we’ll worry about it in the morning. I just really want to go to sleep.”

Andrei got up off the bed and went over to his drawers while you texted Brandi to say good night. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a Hurricanes t-shirt for you to wear and tossed them to you. You smiled and went into the bathroom to change.

When you came back out, Andrei was already tucked into bed, and he was shirtless.

“Come here, babe.” He held out his arms to you, and you collapsed in the bed next to him. “I’m really behind on laundry, so I don’t have another clean shirt. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, babe.” A moment of silence passed before you continued: “You were right, you know. I should’ve told him earlier. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I get where you were coming from.” He kissed your cheek and you snuggled further into his arms. Before you could fall asleep, though, he added: “A private plane, though? Really?”

You chuckled. “Leading your team to a Stanley Cup has its perks. Not that he uses them often; leave that to Ovi.”

You could feel the vibrations of Andrei’s laughter as he pulled you even closer to him than before.

***************

You were so tense on the drive to the airport, not even Andrei’s bad jokes could make you smile.

Brandi texted you earlier that morning, telling you Braden was still in a bad mood but that she expected him to forgive you. You weren’t so sure he would. He had never acted like this before, and you were scared you ruined your relationship with your brother.

Your stomach churned as you and Andrei walked up to the terminal entrance.

“Are you okay?” Concern was written all over his face.

“No. But there’s no turning back now,” you said and grabbed Andrei’s hand as you walked through the doors.

Brandi and your brother were waiting on the other side of the door.

“Hey, Bray,” you said, trying to sound as casual as you could. “I—”

“How long?” Braden cut you off.

You gulped. “Almost five months.”

“Five months.” The last part came out like a whisper, so he cleared his throat before continuing. “Wow, okay. Look, I’m sorry about last night. I should never have left you in the arena like that. But I was really upset, and I still am.”

There was a terrible silence before Andrei blurted out: “I’m the one who insisted we keep it from you. Don’t blame her; it’s all on me.”

Braden regarded him for a moment. “I know for a fact that’s not true, but I like that you’re defending my sister. If you don’t mind, though, can I talk to her alone for a moment?”

“Sure, I’ll just—”

“You don’t need to leave, we’ll talk over there.” Braden pointed at the big windows, and you followed him.

“Y/N, I want you to know that I’m not mad about you dating Andrei. I mean, it upset me at first, but it’s because so many changes have happened: you went off to college, and now you have a boyfriend…but I’m over it now. You have to live your life.” He cleared his throat. “There is one thing, though: I’m hurt that you felt you couldn’t tell me. Why did you feel that way?”

You felt a tear fall down your cheek. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Why would I be disappointed?”

“Andrei plays for one of your biggest rivals.”

Braden scoffed. “I couldn’t care less about that. I care about the way he treats you, and from what I’ve seen so far, he’s good to you. I think he might even love you.”

You blushed. “I think I might love him, too.”

“Then that’s all that matters. Nothing could ever make me stop loving you, Y/N.” Braden wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tight. You held on as if he were going to disappear.

“I love you too, Bray.”

You pulled away from the hug, only to find Andrei and Brandi standing right behind you.

“Are you guys good?” Brandi asked.

“We’re good.” You smiled.

“Thank God, I don’t ever want to see you two fight again.” She came over and hugged you.

“As for you, Andrei,” Braden turned his attention to your boyfriend. “Just because I live in Virginia doesn’t mean I won’t come down here and kick your ass if you hurt my sister.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting her.”

“Good. Now I know you’re an adult,” he shifted his attention back to you, “but promise me you’ll stay in the dorms on weeknights and not take your focus off your studies. You’ve worked so hard to get here, and you’re going to graduate from college.”

“Yes, Dad,” you joked.

“Okay, I think we’ve covered everything. I’ll give you two a moment.” Braden grabbed Brandi’s hand and walked over to the ticketing counter.

“I’m so glad it went well,” you said.

“I knew it would: he’s just protective of you.”

You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Anytime. When do you come back?”

“Nine days.”

“Ugh, it feels so far away,” he whined, and you laughed.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” You leaned in and kissed him.

“Ahem! No PDA around me!” Braden shouted, and you and Andrei pulled away from each other laughing.

“Call me when you land?”

“I will. See you soon.” You kissed Andrei on the cheek before joining Braden and Brandi at the ticketing counter to go back home.

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thesleepy1 · 4 years ago

Text

You C-Could’ve Just Told Me Y-You Didn’t Want Me

A/N: I stumbled upon the MorMor fandom again and thought, “What the hell, why not? Most of this is either depressing, sad or kinky. Right up my ally.” Unbeta’d as always.

Pairings: Jim x Sebastian

Summary: Moriarty really did it. He killed himself and Holmes. But did the great consulting criminal think of the outcome? Did he think of what would become of his tiger?

Word count: 2,591

Warnings: Please do not read this if any of the warnings trigger you, I’m touching on many heavy subjects and there will be a sad ending. Please be aware of what you can handle. There is no shame in reading the same coffee shop AU over and over again. Please proceed with caution. Major character death, death, suicidal thoughts, suicde, attempted suicde, violence, language, depressing thoughts, mourning, grief, poor coping mechanisms, blood, alcohol consummation,

Moriarty really did it. Jim’s really gone. No warning. No notice. No caution. No nothing. Just a single message plastered on the building in front of his window.

“Behave tiger.”

Sebastian learned on the news that night after not having heard from his boss, the man he thought of as a friend and more. The newscaster focused on Holmes’ leap from the building, but all Sebastian cared about was the body being dragged off the scene. That same empty gaze he had grown to adore, the same slicked back hair he wanted to run his fingers through, the same sickly pale face he wanted to feel under his fingertips.

Gone.

Just like that.

He had never told Jim about the beating in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, the constant searching for him in a crowd. But the man must have known. He read Sebastian like a favorite book. Had memorized every line, every page, every chapter, everything. Jim had known and yet he was still gone.

The arguably new fridge in his kitchen had not seen the sight of alcohol since it was installed. Sebastian had swore off of the thing since his parent’s passing. He had seen what it did to people. But tonight was an expectation. And so was the next day. And the next week. And the week after that. And the months that followed.

The only reason he left his small flat was to get more. Nothing else mattered anymore. Time passed as it always did when someone died. Sebastian had no right to be mad at the human concept of time, but he had to have someone to blame. Something that made sense. Because if time was allowed to move on as if nothing happened then time was a bastard.

Jim wasn’t just some concept a man with too much time on his hands created. Jim was more then every human life was worth and more. Jim was also a Westwood wearing bitch.

The man just won’t let Sebastian die. Appearing in front of him at his worst moments.

One morning or afternoon, he wasn’t sure, he was awoken by the sound of polished shoes on his tiled kitchen. His first thought was Jim, just like every other thought he’s had for the past year. Time wasn’t even really a thing. But alas, when he opened his exhausted eyes, because his bed was just a place marker, he was greeted by the sight of an old woman in a suit.

“Good day,” she spoke in an central London accent, too polite for a shirtless man in his pants.

“The prostitute lives a floor down.”

She seemed to be taken aback by his comment, visibly flinching. Her lips pressed together a moment before she spoke, “I’m here for you on behalf of Mr. Myrcroft Holmes.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself.”

“That can be arranged, but for the time being he wants you to meet him at his estate. He sent me here to make sure you were alive,” the woman said sternly, regaining her composure. Jim wouldn’t have even faltered at his comments.

“Tell him I’m dead.” Or will be if he could find the tenner he kept hidden in his couch cushions. He was due for another bottle. “I’ll even give you a blood sample. Just give me a knife.”

The woman seemed unimpressed, taking in the state of the flat. Things were askew, he knew. That was the point of grieving wasn’t it? Being self destructive to the point of insanity? Give him time, grieving takes time, everyone suffers differently. He could no longer count how many times he’s been to Bart’s, just sitting on the ledge. The fact that jumping, falling, seemed like a simple matter to see Jim again should frighten him but...it doesn’t. He’s just biding his time until he’s had enough. Unsure what’s holding him back, waiting.

That was a lie and a half. He had jumped, twice. First time a moving truck broke his fall. The movers had called an ambulance and he was rushed to the hospital. That was eight days after Jim shot himself through the skull.

The second was last night, morning? Some twenty hours ago that was foiled by a short woman who wore her hair in a low ponytail. She had given him some sort of speech but he just tuned out her voice and threw away the slip of paper with her number on it. He didn’t need pity.

“That won’t be necessary. I can inform my employer of your beating heart and he will arrive here himself,” she turned on her heel and headed for the door, her hand lingering on the handle before turning back to him. “What made him worth suffering for?”

The door clinked shut.

More than the bastard realized.

“Calling me a bastard and a bitch? On the same day? I’m honored, Sebby,” came Moriarty’s voice from the arm of the couch. “Really, just wonderful what you’ve done to the place.”

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian groaned to the figment of his imagination which was also a shit eating bitch.

“Picking flowers, what do you think I’m doing?”

Sebastian couldn’t help but grin at the comment. He knew Jim wasn’t actually here but if he could fool himself for an hour or so. The calmest hours he granted himself once a week.

“C-could you hold my hand?” Sebastian begged in a whisper, not looking up at the gaze of his one sided lover.

“This again?” He could hear Moriarty rolling his eyes. “I guess, but only for a moment.” The ghost held out his hand, far enough to make Sebastian work for it. He always did, forcing himself to move, to crawl, fight tooth and nail with his useless body to get up and hold Moriarty’s non-existent hand.

Moriarty’s hand was cold. That was how he imagined it if he had ever gotten the chance to hold it. Moriarty’s hand was soft because he never had to do any dirty work. Nails filed down and clean, pristine. The real Jim would never, but Sebastian let himself have this.

“You’re crying again. I thought this was supposed to be my moment.” Moriarty lifted his face to meet his, wiping the tears with an invisible force. “Can you not make this about yourself for one moment? It's starting to get on my nerves and Daddy wants the spotlight so SUCK IT UP.”

Sebastian clenched Moriarty’s hand, nodding and willing himself not to cry. It never worked. “Why did you have to leave?” it came out as an uncontrollable sob.

“Things were too boring. I needed a change of pace. What’s better than being a ghost?” Moriarty licked his tears clean but more poured down.

“I-I could h-have-”

“You could have done NOTHING to change my mind. Even your subconsciousness knows that, Sebby.”

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, who knows passed as Sebastian cried into the arms of a dead man. He curled into Moriarty’s side, a trembling ball of compressed pain. The alcohol was wearing off at this point and he longed for another hit. Something stronger perhaps.

Just anything to make him forget for a while, because while he permitted himself to cry with Moriarty, feeling nothing at all felt better. Just empty, mindlessness. Unconsciousness. Anything but this.

“Why...why won’t you-you let me die?”

“Because you know I would be furious if you died. Rage wouldn’t even cut it if you met me in hell.” Moriarty brushed back his overgrown hair, messing with his beard just because he could.

“I want your rage instead of this. Please,” he begged, rubbing his head against Moriarty’s chest. “I-I had a gun stashed here. I knew exactly where it was and how many bullets were in it. Jim...he...the real Jim took the bullets out.” He picked at the loose strings on the couch, unable to face his mind. “He-” he croaked, “He took them and put them in his own gun. I-I checked and everything….” Pressing the heel of his palms to his hand Sebasatian continued in between gasps. “I want them back. I want my bullets back. I want him back. I want him. I want him alive and here. I want to hold him and let him hold me. I want him. I want Jim. I don’t care if-if he never wanted me. If he-” It pained him to keep talking, to admit this in his worst moment. “If he did this just to get away from me...I just want him back.”

“You’re being awfully selfish today. What if I really did this to get away from you? And now you want me to come back? Sebby, please. Be realistic. If all of this is because you’re useless, and it can very well be, then I don’t want you.”

“So that’s it? You won’t even let me off myself?” Sebastian mumbled into his sleeve, his eyes stung from crying and he was too dehydrated to continue.

“Behave tiger.”

He didn’t clean himself off or made himself look presentable like he did with Jim. He just smoked as he tried to find himself a cab to the other Holmes’ estate. Apparently that wasn’t needed due to the fact a black car pulled right up next to him, the front window lowering to reveal a driver that motioned for him to get in.

Sebastian did so, flicking off the cigarette before entering. The driver didn’t speak, not that he would reply, but the man looked like he wanted to. A new guy who was still learning the ropes.

“D-”

“Talking out of turn will get you fired, or killed,” Sebastian repeated the phrase Jim had told him the first day he worked for the man. Back then he didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he wanted a quick, high paying job.

“Rude,” the driver murmured before pulling into a driveway. He stopped the vehicle and gestured for Sebastian to exit with a roll of his eyes. Sebastian wondered then what the other Holmes would do if he blooded up the driver. Getting himself killed had crossed his mind numerous times, bar fights and ally robberies, but he was too skilled to allow himself to be disarmed. But the Holmes were of a different story altogether. They could have him killed in an instant if they felt like.

“Well are you going to leave or what?”

Holmes would probably do nothing, not for a driver this chatty. He left the vehicle with Moriarty on his tail, “You’re useless, you know that? I tell you to do one thing and you do another. Well you come to hell, don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.”

Sebastian resisted crying in the home of Jim’s worst enemy’s brother. It wasn’t worth it, he told himself. Whether he believed himself? He didn’t feel the tell tale wetness on his cheeks so that was something.

“Good day,” the elder brother greeted him, not a hair out of place despite the fact that his brother was dead.

“What do you want.”

“Getting straight to business I see. Very well then,” Mycroft thumped his cane on his hardwood floors of his parlor. “I have an assignment for you, think of it as a favor if you will.”

“Fuck off,” he turned on his heel to leave only to freeze in place. Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, as alive as the day he was born. Not a wound or sign or anything that said he was dead or had been. Just standing there.

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Jim Moriarty is dead.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

“Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty’s right hand man and one sided lover from the state of your appearance. How is crying over a man who will never love you going?”

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Jim Moriarty is dead.

The other Holmes rolled his eyes, “I’m trying to get him to work with us Sherlock, not plan our murders.”

“I can’t say the same for him though,” Sherlock smirked, like he was getting a rise out of seeing Sebastian like this. A caged, striving tiger pacing.

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Jim Moriarty is dead.

“Sherlock.”

“Mycroft.”

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Jim Moriarty is dead.

“If you want to kill me just do it. I won’t fight back,” Sebastian stated, meaning every word. He just wanted the release of death. If anything his dying might please Jim Moriarty. Having someone watch the life or what was left of it, drain from his eyes. He could only hope. “Just kill me.”

“On the contrary. We want you alive.”

“I’m useless alive or dead,” he repeated what his mind told him.

“I can assure you, you’re m-”

The gunshots shattered the parlor windows. Glass burst from their constricting frames, a shower of shards raining down. More gunshots followed, a dozen barrels at the least. Sherlock and Mycroft ducked for cover because they wanted to live. Sebastian stayed where he was because he would rather not.

A shot pierced his side immediately, then another and another. His legs could no longer support him so he fell forward, the side of his face pressed up against the rough carpet. He was staining it red, a stark color against the shades of brown and white.

Rope ladders dropped the sky, bodies lowering from out of view helicopters. They entered in pairs, shooting up the parlor room and everything in it. Over the sound of gunshots nothing could be heard then it stopped like a conductor silencing an orchestra with practice.

A suited man entered the ruined parlor, his arms spread wide in dramatic flare. “Daddy’s back, Sherlock!”

“Jim Moriarty,” Sherlock exclaimed, smiling from his cover behind a bookshelf. “Glad you could make it.”

“I missed you, Sherly.”

Sebastian could only smile from the floor.

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Jim Moriarty is alive.

And all it took was for him to be bleeding out on the floor from gun wounds. Dying. Unable to feel his arms or legs. That was all it took for Jim Moriarty to come back.

His grin pained his face from disuse, but he couldn’t stop it. Joy didn’t cover what he was feeling. The love of his life, forever one sided; the man he yearned to stay by, to hold, to drink and live alongside was fucking alive.

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Jim Moriarty is alive.

“Y-you’re alive,” he gasped from the floor, his blood cooling but his smirk never faltering. He wanted so badly to drag himself to Jim Moriarty but he couldn’t feel the warmth in his limbs. The man was right there, breathing, standing tall, and looking so jubilant. Sebastian really was useless.

“Tiger?” Jim Moriarty’s act flickered when he heard the sound of Sebastian. He turned to face the fallen sniper and every set of eyes in the room followed.

“Y-you’re here,” Sebastian choked on a laugh, his eyelids heavy. “You c-could’ve just told me y-you didn’t want me.”

“SEBASTIAN?!”

His eyelids closed shut. What remained of the feelings in his limbs dispersed. His labored breaths evening out until he disappeared altogether. His hearing was the last to go but even that shut down. He was dead. That was all it took.

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Jim Moriarty is alive.

Sebastian Moran is dead.

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koteosa · 5 years ago

Text

here’s some modern au headcanons for the arcana ... it’s something I think about a lot

Asra

gamer memeing shitlord . he majored in minecraft you cannot convince me otherwise

plays A Lot of minecraft but also just enjoys any similar sort of game, sdv, animal crossing, etc. He’s really good at video games but he’s just fucking around . he likes to play online games and try his best to make everyone hate him in a really harmless sort of way . he heals the enemy spy . changes his display name and avatar to be exactly the same as someone else . tells people to go into the console and type unbindall

he plays games with his friends and he’s usually the top player so he just spends his time spoiling the shit out of his friends giving them good items carrying them through dungeons etc but not Julian, he tells Julian to dig straight down in minecraft . Julian doesn’t ever know what he’s doing in any video game so Asra trains him wrong on purpose, as a joke

anyway enough about video games (for now)

Asra lives in a van that he painted the exterior of himself, it was both a fun project and a very smug way to annoy people with this awful fucking hippie van strolling into town, eat shit

it’s decorated with crystals, furs, fairy lights, mason jars full of food For The Aesthetic, books, etc. It’s very cozy, cottagecore / bohemian and it’s ridiculously obvious that he’s into witchcraft. he just lets Faust explore because this isn’t real and I can pretend that a snake is exactly as well behaved as in a fantasy story

basically homeless by choice

drugs tw but I see him as the type to want to try anything and everything at least once so if he’s ever been offered A Drug (and he crashes parties for fun and for free food, so he’s got opportunities) he’ll try it Just To See, and this has resulted in some bad trips before, but Muriel saw him in the middle of one and then after he sobered up Muriel put his foot down and made Asra agree to only do these things as responsibly as possible, like, with supervision from a friend

still drugs tw but I also see Asra as a stoner but in the cbd edibles sort of way, a lot of this is because I headcanon Asra as having ADD (because I do and I want to project a little bit) so it helps him focus but also he just Likes It. the glove box of his car has like, chocolate/lollipop edibles stuff like that

goes between like super healthy elaborate meals with mushrooms and veggies and fresh meat and shit and then just eating nothing but cheez-its all day

style wise I see him as the type to wear a lot of tank tops, like, the loosest of tank tops so it hangs super low and long and you get some nice cleavage out of it, crystal necklaces, gold jewelry, pride pins/jewelry/etc (trans/nonbinary/bisexual flags), oversized hoodies with loud colorful patterns, joggers and other loose comfy pants, and either boots or slippers

he’s got like... the at home look that’s basically what I just described, and then the away from home look that’s got thirty layers and none of it makes sense and he just shows up in orange crocs With Patterned Socks and everyone who sees him just lets out the heaviest sigh

Asra getting home be like (takes off a layer of clothes) (takes off a layer of clothes) (takes off a layer of clothes) (takes off a layer of clothes) (takes off a l

He likes to go on long road trips completely at random and saves up money to go on more extensive trips like, out of the continent. It can be really hard to place him at any given time, especially because he’s extremely slow to respond to texts for a whole multitude of reasons. He just fucking vanishes sometimes and he doesn’t get that maybe people want to know where he is. He’s too solitary

He makes money either via street performances (magic, tarot readings, etc) or selling shit on etsy like handmade tarot decks, crystal necklaces, magic charms, etc. He Has Never Worked A Day In His Life and He Will Not Start Now

Responsibility? Don’t know her

People ask him really obnoxious questions sometimes and he makes outlandish lies to tell them for fun . Why do you live in a van? A house killed my parents

In the fall/winter he lives with Muriel or more to the point, he crashes on his couch for a really long time and Muriel’s landlord doesn’t need to know about it for rent purposes

Julian

he’s a highly paid doctor and your mother would love it if you’d marry him if not for the fact that he looks like he never left his teenage emo phase

PIERCINGS

There’s DEFINITELY at least one piercing on his d

he lives with Portia and Mazelinka and tries to handle all their expenses but Mazelinka won’t fucking let him

soundproofed his room but not because he’s a youtuber or anything but because he uh. y’know what I’m gonna let y’all figure this one out on your own

goes to like............. lgbt friendly bdsm clubs every now and then looking for someone to step on him and call him garbage it’s for his mental health you don’t understand

black turtlenecks . silver jewelry . distinguished but Edgy as well, black boots, winklepickers, doc martens, ohmygod this is my SHIT I’m giving him red plaid pants and a reversed cross necklace and a leather jacket that says some radical shit on the back and Lots of Rings . black jeans with tears in the knees and black eyeshadow, demonia boots, leather gloves, hhhhhhOHmy GOD

catch him at home in black leggings and a my chemical romance tshirt with holes in it . he wakes up in the morning with yesterday’s makeup and he just cleans it up a little and that’s good enough

fairly small bedroom because he’s usually never at home, but it’s still pretty clear what he’s into even if it’s not super decorated or elaborate, kind of just Default Room but with his stuff arranged throughout . band posters, black furniture, a bed that looks like a depressed vampire sleeps in it, a bookshelf but most of the books are scattered around his desk, bed, and the floor. there’s a taxidermy skull on display somewhere because it’s just so dramatic you gotta love it

plays a black electric violin

extremely out of tune with pop culture he still listens to 70-00s music and he doesn’t know what a minecraft is or why Asra keeps yelling CREEPER when he comes into the room nor why Portia yells back AW MAN

I googled it and he qualifies as a millennial but I still see him as such a fucking old man who doesn’t know how to use electronics

despite being a doctor he’s so unhealthy . he eats nothing but depression meals (or just, nothing) unless someone forces him to sit down and eat an actual meal . No Julian whiskey does not count for your daily water intake

Malak probably happened because Julian wouldn’t stop feeding every black bird he saw just for the aesthetic and that was like 17 years ago but they still show up at his window expecting almonds or whatever the fuck . he changes houses but they’re too smart . you try to be a cool gothic thespian with a raven that will pose on your arm ONE time when you’re a teenager and they just never stop coming

sad lonely no friends hasn’t been laid in six years because he’s too busy and no longer remembers how to form meaningful relationships. Portia keeps being like so I met this really hot (insert gender here) and like idk I think they’re into goth dudes............... just saying...................... and he’s like am I really so pathetic that I’m going to let my baby sister set up blind dates for me? Yes

would drive something very goth like a hearse or some shit if not for the fact that his family would make sure he ends up in a coffin in the back of it if he drove up in that shit . please . buy a normal fucking car . Julian . oh my god

he starts quoting melodramatic poetry at the slightest inconvenience . he is that “All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread. My cat stole my fucking garlic bread” meme

been arrested multiple times for general rowdiness but also for political activism . at this point Portia/Mazelinka will just sigh and pay his bail and they don’t even ask what he did this time . how does he still have a job? I wish I knew

theater kid

Muriel

lives in a rundown apartment in the shitty part of town because it’s all he can afford, it’s quiet, and no one will try to visit him (except Asra) because no one wants to go to THAT part of town . but no harm will likely ever befall him because he’s 6′10 and like three million pounds of raw muscle with battle scars like you gonna fuck with that? really?

even if he got robbed it wouldn’t matter because A) he doesn’t own anything B) Inanna will chase the thief away

depression man staying in his quiet rundown dark apartment distracting himself with idle hobbies and taking care of his dog to prevent the encroaching ennui from tearing him a new asshole

changes jobs frequently both because he never stands out therefore never gets taken on full time after the part time trial period, AND to protect himself from the horror of being known

works mostly things like construction, auto repair, dog sitting/walking/etc, woodworking, mostly hard labor but if he can convince granny to let a very scary but completely harmless man look after her bichon frise for the weekend then he’s pretty happy about that

in a similar manner, he orders everything online so cashiers/etc won’t start to recognize him. delivery workers leave everything outside his door and he just drags it inside after they leave like an itazura kitty coin bank

goes camping a lot because staying cooped up in his apartment is super bad for his mental health and he doesn’t like to take walks through the city for a multitude of reasons. he takes Inanna on walks through the woods instead

Asra is his only friend and that’s fine (it’s not fine)

convinced therapy doesn’t work and he wants nothing to do with it

doesn’t like using electronics and only keeps a few things around his house so Asra can use them when he’s around . Muriel has a phone (that Asra got for him) so he can text Asra, check the time, check the weather, google questions, and like, nothing else

pretty much only happy when something is about dogs. he wants to go to the pet store and look at the dogs but he needs Asra to go with him so Asra can distract the workers and Muriel can look at the puppies in peace

dresses in blacks, grays, greens, and browns for the most part, jacket with the hood up, tank tops, dark jeans with tears in them, brown boots with mud stains on them . functional, not particularly stylish, and if he’s going to be in public he doesn’t want to make it easy for anyone to see his face. at home it’s mostly no shirt + sweatpants/joggers/etc. doesn’t accessorize or put in any real effort. he doesn’t care what he looks like (because he’s convinced he’s not much to look at anyway)

lives that super eco friendly life like Asra does but it’s more that he just feels comfortable living like he’s always on a camping trip

he doesn’t want to eat junk like Asra does but if Asra shows up with mcdonalds then well he can’t really say no

the type who uses something until he absolutely cannot use it anymore instead of just buying a new one

has never been to a doctor, dentist, etc Ever. the most he can do is take Inanna to the vet because he loves her so much

drives a very old pickup truck with like, chipped paint and mud stains. he’d take better care of it if only anything in life mattered

didn’t go to school

Portia

I like to think that she took on a groundskeeping job at Nadia’s very expensive large house and they fell in love and now Nadia pays for everything and Portia just spends her time gardening, playing with Pepi, and like idk running a vlogging/gaming youtube channel

200 videos of Pepi on her youtube channel with 4 million views each bare minimum . takes random videos of cats where she has to audio edit it to shit so you can’t hear her high pitched squeals of delight

minecraft let’s play part 30 where her, Asra, Nadia, and Julian play together and it’s extremely chaotic because Asra and Portia decide to gang up on Julian who does NOT know what he’s doing, and then Nadia surprises them all by not being the bigger person and instead tricking Julian into some elaborate trap where he steps on a trapdoor and falls 15 blocks into some lava and he looks up and all he sees is Nadia’s smug fucking avatar looking down at him

nightcore. it’s just not FAST enough

wears sweaters with cats on them. generally dresses in warm colors + brown/green, it’s like a very soft cozy look that you could go camping in or just generally be outside and get grass stains and whatnot. cute, functional

likes to make Julian do things for her like drive her places etc because like, he will. he always will

really likes social gatherings with her friends; sleepovers, beach trips, sitting at mcdonalds and pouring all their fries into a pile etc. tries to get Julian to go with her but he’s Just So BUSY. she makes fun of him and makes him drive her to it, then manages to convince him to stay

cottagecore aesthetic . she just thinks it’s so cute to have the little mason jars and decorate everything with leaves and flowers and BEES and whatnot . would love to live in a little cottage with a farm if she could

her room has a big cat tree in it . green wallpaper with yellow flowers. pressed flowers into books, an extremely cozy bed, fairy lights, it’s very farmy but also there’s a lot of electronics. she’s got a lot of 00s games, like, right in that ps2 sweet spot

nicknames all of her pokemon

she spoils the ever loving shit out of Pepi. She’s got a little cat harness and they go on walks through the park together

I don’t have a lot to say about the other two I Am Sorry

#the arcana #julian devorak #asra alnazar #muriel #portia devorak #nix hydra #text #writing #modern au #headcanon #the arcana writing

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sgmwesters · 4 years ago

Photo

╰ ❛ 💉 — › michael b jordan. cis male. he/him. . ╯ have you met benjamin morgan yet ? this thirty five year old sagittarius has been living in the seattle area for three days. he makes a living as an otolaryngology (ent) attending, which is best suited for their protective, empathetic, conflicted, and irrational personality. take me to church by hozier is one of their favorite songs, and they’re written by em, 25, gmt, she/her, no triggers

B A S I C I N F O R M A T I O N

full name: benjamin joseph morgan.

nickname(s): ben, bj in college.

age: thirty four (34).

date of birth: 26 november 1985, sagittarius.

hometown: manhattan, new york.

current location: seattle, washington.

ethnicity: african-american..

nationality: american citizen.

gender: cis male.

pronouns: he/him.

orientation: ??? idek why i even include this at this point???

religion: atheist.

political affiliation: democrat.

occupation: otolaryngology (ent) attending.

living arrangements: lives alone.

language(s) spoken: english, german.

accent: none.

P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E

face claim: michael b. jordan.

hair color: black.

eye color: brown.

height: 6 ft 1.

weight: 188lbs.

build: athletic.

tattoos: none.

piercings: none.

clothing style: scrubs, smart casual otherwise.

usual expression: fairly stern, but he’s a softy deeeeeeep down.

distinguishing characteristics: dimples.

H E A L T H

physical ailments: torn rotator cuff in high school has left his shoulder somewhat fucked.

neurological conditions: none.

allergies: bee and wasp stings.

sleeping habits: fairly good sleep hygiene, sleeps well provided nothing is bothering him (maddie).

eating habits: usually fairly healthy, likes to look after himself.

exercise habits: as above, likes to look after himself.

emotional stability: sits happily at a seven, but has been known to dip in times of stress or emotional turmoil.

sociability: very sociable, likes to be around people.

body temperature: warm.

addictions: none.

drug use: none and is very against its use.

alcohol use: enjoys a drink, but doesn’t need it.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

positive traits: protective, empathetic

negative traits: conflicted, irrational

fears: not being able to keep maddie safe and healthy.

F A V O U R I T E S

weather: is indifferent about the weather.

colour: navy.

music: something with a heavy beat.

movies: the godfather.

sport: boxing.

beverage: fruit smoothie, bourbon.

food: hot dogs.

animal: anything small, soft, and fluffy.

H E A D C A N O N S

benjamin was born as the only child to regina and david morgan, a museum curator and ceo respectively in manhattan.

benjamin was raised in close proximity to his cousin madeleine spencer, to the extent where benjamin considers maddie to be more like a sibling to him than a cousin. this came from both of their parents busy schedules and similar lifestyles which led him to be brought up in this manner.

benjamin would like to think that his parents were happily married, but it was only as he got older that he realised the family set up that he had grown up with as a child wasn’t the same as everyone else’s. nevertheless, he figured that it worked for them as it was, and he still considers himself to have had a good childhood.

spending as much time in the spencer household as he did, benjamin sparked a genuine interest in medicine, looking up to his uncle, madeleine’s father, as a role model and idol for his future career in medicine.

benjamin was athletic in school, actively taking part in boxing and baseball. he hoped from early on in high school that he would be able to get into a good school on a baseball scholarship so he wouldn’t need to focus as hard on his studies, but a torn rotator cuff in his sophomore year quickly killed that dream, and he came to the quick conclusion that he had to get his head in the books.

as much as he would hate to admit it, he knew that his parents pulled a few strings when it came to his offers for college, but the decision ultimately came down to him. during this time he had watched madeleine begin to spiral out of control, the concern for his cousin and arguably best friend only growing with each day that passed.

it was during this time that benjamin turned down the offer from harvard that his father had swindled for him, choosing instead to stay closer to the city in order to be nearby while madeleine got the help she had promised her parents she would get.

he was thankful for this decision as the realisation that she hadn’t been getting help came about following amelia shepherd’s overdose. while madeleine was in rehab, benjamin made a point of visiting her as much as he could, skipping classes if he needed to to make sure that she felt supported. she was basically his kid sister after all.

as madeleine got clean, benjamin took the mcats, scoring high enough to be accepted into john’s hopkins off his own back this time. as madeleine was seemingly doing well, benjamin decided to move that little bit further out, knowing he would be close enough if she needed him to return.

it was during this time that the two established their bi-weekly phone calls, no excuses allowed, his way of keeping an eye on her completely.

benjamin moved that little bit further for his residency to mayo, just as madeleine moved to switzerland for her masters. it made sense, he was happy for her and continued to adjust his schedule to make sure their phone calls went ahead as they needed to, suiting her schedule over his.he would often stay awake until the early hours of the morning just to speak to her.

his residency was fairly smooth sailing, despite a period of switching between services as he was indecisive about what specialty he was going to go into. he had always had his heart set on cardio like his uncle, but it only took one case with the ent attending to have him hooked.

as he came to the end of his fellowship, he debated the idea of having a second specialty (he’s a bit of a show off like that), but a nagging feeling inside of him told him something more important was coming.

his calls with madeleine weren’t like they used to be, years of regularity and consistency seemed to be falling apart, with nothing that he could do from where he was. he wanted to believe that this was part of the recovery, that she didn’t need him the way she used to, but he couldn’t be certain.

the night of amelia’s intervention, benjamin received a frantic phone call from madeleine and he knew then that things were not good. whether she was high or just drunk he couldn’t have been certain at first, it was only as she spoke about everybody leaving her the he snapped into action. she’d fallen off the wagon, and he’d be damned if he was going to stand by and let it happen.

benjamin packed a bag and hopped on the first plane to seattle, ready to hold an intervention of his own if he needs to. as far as he is concerned he’s here for maddie and nothing else.

2 0 2 1 U P D A T E S

turned thirty five cos that’s how birthdays work !!

after maddie decided to get clean, benjamin went with her to new york to ensure she fully embarked on her recovery. as much as seattle had only meant to have been a means to an end for benjamin, he found himself wanting to return.

he’s been keeping a low profile at the hospital, but is just kinda keeping things ticking over. he’s still ben.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S / P L O T S

i know i say they all deserve love but really ben deserves love

friends from med school/residency!!!

#━━ ✦ 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍 ❮ biography ❯#newintros

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captainneverever · 5 years ago

Text

Runaway Groom

Tony shakily holds his phone. He’s outside on a balcony overlooking a moon-lit ocean, the warm August breeze ruffling his hair.

His thumb hovers over the number.

He should talk to Rhodey, his best bro forever. But this isn’t something he can talk to Rhodey about. HIs gut tells him that. Even if Rhodey is only on the other side of the sliding glass door behind him and Steve five years in the past.

Steve had thrown him a life-line once and Tony now needed to grab it.

He is in Park Slope -- a mere two hour drive away. Tony knows, because he’s been obsessively stalking Steve’s Instagram for the past two days.

It’s do or die. He risks it all by calling. No one ever wants to talk on the phone these days. But if Tony can’t reach Steve now, his chance evaporates into the air. Tony returns to the party, goes to bed at a reasonable time, and get up at 10 am to ready for his wedding.

“Tony?” Steve asks and frankly scares the hell out of Tony.

He can see beautiful warm smiling Steve, his shirt tight and stained from his morning run, just like the picture he posted on Instagram a couple of hours ago.

“Hey, I’m in town.” Tony goes for a casual breezy tone, even if his heart is beating wildly from anxiety and terror and fear of rejection. “Free for a drink?”

He can sense that Steve is hesitating. Yeah, yeah, bad idea. It’s already eight-thirty at night and people will be wondering where he is any minute now. The intense need for escape has settled in his bones and won’t let him go.

He just needs to talk to someone who knew who he was five years ago. That time before Tony gave up and settled for being just like his father. He silently begs Steve.

“Yeah but where do you want to meet?”

“Park Slope?”

That hesitation seeps into Steve’s voice. “Aren’t you in the Hamptons -- I saw --”

“Steve.” Tony’s voice cracks with desperation.

“Sure. Okay. Meet me at Three Brothers Pizza -- it’s around the corner from me. I’ll text you the address. I’ll be waiting.”

Tony is flooded with relief as he sneaks down to his car and away from the party. He is soon speeding on small local roads that rapidly evolve into the lighted I-495 highway into Brooklyn.

Damn, Steve had been everything that summer five years ago. He’d been working on contract for Stark Industries when Tony met him. Bigger than life, more beautiful than Tony’s AI programs, Steve had blown up Tony’s world. They’d spent all their time together, playing games, arguing over movies, going to the beach. Tony had not felt more alive than hiking next to Steve and watching the stars in the sky.

The thing was that Steve was going to Europe at the end of the summer.

That last night when they promised to stay in touch and all that jazz, Tony confessed his fear of turning into Howard. Steve promised him that he would never be like Howard. Their hands brushed and Tony had wanted to kiss Steve so much in that moment -- and didn’t.

Tony was not gay. It was not okay for Tony to be gay. Fine for artist Steve to be gay and date gay guys and be happy with being gay. But not for Tony.

“If you ever need to talk, call me,” Steve said before he headed off to the airport.

After that summer, Tony lost himself and lost contact with Steve. Instead of being the brave strong person Steve believed in, Tony worked only harder to be like Howard. He buried himself more into work at Stark Industries and making it rain in R&D with government contracts. Howard was happy and was even happier when Tony got engaged to Maya, who ran an up and coming biotech firm.

A wedding and marriage so perfect that the Daily Bugle would be covering the event and fashion and gossip blogs had breathlessly covered all the arrangements from the dress to the guest list.

Tony should be more worried about how the wedding was going to turn out than finding parking in Park Slope on a busy summer night. He feels a pang of guilt not telling Rhodey where he went but he’s just having a drink or two with an old friend and then driving back to East Hampton. No one ever has to know what he did. He pays for a couple of hours of parking and looks for the restaurant.

Steve in person is even better than his pictures or Tony’s memories. He’s even more gorgeous in his blue shirt and tight jeans. Tony is gobsmacked and at a loss for words when Steve says hello in that low gravely voice.

Turns out that Three Brothers Pizza is owned by one of Steve’s friends, Bucky. “We can stay here as long as we like,” Steve says. “I have a set of keys.”

“And know the owner.”

They order drinks and pizza. Steve shines that smile at him that is now making Tony dizzy. “What have you been up to?” he asks. It’s clear to Tony that Steve knows he’s getting married, that’s why he’s in New York, not California.

But they don’t talk about that. They talk about the past five years, what they’ve done, where they’ve gone, what they’re doing now. Tony is shocked to find that he’s happy that Steve doesn’t have a special guy, not even dating. It’s wrong that his heart thumped a little and the blood rushed to his face when Steve said he was still single. Steve deserved the best person in the world, not to be alone.

It’s long past midnight, the staff have cleaned up the restaurant, Bucky’s told Steve to remember to lock up when they leave. And Tony can’t stop talking to Steve. It’s 3 am and he should be in East Hampton and all he wants to do is keep talking with Steve.

He turns off his phone when he sees the text from Rhodey. Steve notices and arches an eyebrow. Tony blurts out, “I can’t go back.”

“Let’s go to my place -- you can get some sleep and then decide,” Steve replies.

“You’re being irredeemably practical,” Tony declares.

Steve grins and turns off the lights in the restaurant. They walk the block to Steve’s apartment. His roommate Sam is away for the weekend so they have the place to themselves.

Tony doesn’t want to go to sleep because the night would be over. Steve hands him a towel and a spare toothbrush and points him to his bedroom. “I’ll take the couch,” Steve says.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Tony insists. He puts down the towel and toothbrush in the tiny bathroom.

“You need the sleep.”

They’re in the hallway and Tony looks up at Steve. And Steve hugs him, engulfing him in his large arms and just holds Tony. Tony loses it and cries against Steve’s shoulder. Steve pats him on the back. “It’s going to be fine, Tony,” he whispering trying to reassure him.

Tony doesn’t want to ever let go. Every nerve in his body is tingling and he’s never felt more alive. And all he has to do is lift his chin, close his eyes and he can kiss Steve. He can feel it -- Steve’s lips on his -- and he knows in his gut that Steve would be a good kisser. He wants it to happen badly. He needs it.

And Steve breaks off the hug. “It’s late, Tony.”

Tony can only nod. Rejected and dejected, he slumps over to Steve’s dark bedroom, the black out curtains drawn closed. He turns to say good night to Steve and sees the conflicted look on his face. Steve cares, Steve cares a lot. Maybe even loves Tony.

Tony’s world shatters around him.

“I’m going to bed, see you in the morning.”

Steve says, “See you in a few hours. It’s already morning.”

He pulls the covers up and settles into the bed. He draws a shaky breath as he reconsiders everything he ever knew. Steve has given him all the answers he needs. One step further and Tony really does turn into Howard. He’s halfway there now with denying who he fundamentally is and lying to himself. Next step is cheating, followed up with even more drinking and family neglect and alienation. He’s only in his 20s and he can see how horribly wrong his life can go if he stays on this path.

He tosses and turns and finally falls into a restless sleep.

Tony startles awake when Steve knocks on the door. He has breakfast burritos and hot coffee. Tony props himself up in the bed when Steve sits down. “Wow, thanks.”

“Thought you could use some food. Going to be a long day.”

Tony’s eyes go wide and he scrambles for his phone. It’s 10:30 am, he’s very very late, and people are blowing up his phone. “Oh.”

“Yeah, your car’s been towed.”

Tony sniffs, then giggles, then laughs so hard that his sides hurt and the bag of burritos nearly falls off the bed. “It’s going to take a few hours to spring it from car jail.” He laughs again.

Steve hands him his coffee and gets up to open the curtains. He’s wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms and he looks just as good as he did the night before. Tony sips his coffee and basks in the warm late morning sunlight.

He caught that lifeline.

He’s been reborn and everything is new to him. It feels great, tremendous, real and the best he’s felt in years. All the curled up tension and pain is evaporating into the air and Tony is light and bouncy and brand-new and filled with feelings he has yet to name. He’s got time and desire. He wants to be whole.

Steve is back sitting on the bed again with his own coffee and breakfast burrito. Tony has no words for how he feels being so close to Steve but he’ll figure it out. “Got plans today? I could use the help.”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing planned.” Steve puts his cup on the floor and puts on his serious face. “But, Tony, don’t you have to be somewhere?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p.’

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’d bet my life on it.” He could get a ride to East Hampton if he wanted to. He isn’t moving from Steve’s bed that had that enticing Steve-scent if he could help it. “No plans at all.”

Steve’s phone rings. “Yes. This is Steve Rogers. Um.” He glances over at Tony so Tony knows that he’s the subject of the call. He sits up straighter waiting for the shoe to drop. “Tony Stark? He’s here.” He put the phone down. “Tony, it’s your friend Rhodey. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want.”

“Then I don’t.”

Steve nudged him. “He’s worried and you should tell someone that you’re not getting married.”

Chill sweeps through Tony as his old life reaches out to grab him. “Steve --”

“It’s going to okay. Rhodey is your best friend -- wouldn’t he want the best for you?” Steve reassured him.

Tony takes the phone. Rhodey of course unloads his worry and his fear. Pepper already has a plan to get him back for the wedding. Tony cuts him off. “I’m not getting married. It’s off.”

The relief in Rhodey’s voice overwhelms Tony, making him question what Rhodey really thought about him getting married in the first place. “Okay. You have to tell Maya.”

Tony makes his phone calls, taking the blows of anger and hate from his parents and Maya. The PR person and the wedding planner would handle the rest. In the meantime, Steve gets changed and find Tony clothes.

He smiles at Steve. He can’t tell yet where his journey will take him. All he knows is that he’s not getting married today, might not go back to Stark Industries, and isn’t likely straight either. He fervently hopes that Steve is part of the journey and maybe even the end.

But he does know he has to get the car out of car jail.

“Sure about this, Steve? Hunting down the car? Hanging out?” Tony scans Steve’s face to see if Steve is thinking of bailing because his question is more than retrieving a car from a tow yard.

“I don’t give up,” Steve replies, answering Tony’s unspoken questions. “You’ll need this.” He tossed a motorcycle helmet to Tony. “We’ll sort out the rest later.”

Tony squeezes Steve’s hand and they head out.

#stevetony #stony #my fic #mcu au

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krispydefendorpolice · 5 years ago

Text

The Demon’s Bride (7)

So Here’s the next chapter of Demon’s Bride. I’m gonna try to finish my ficlet the Miraculous Awakens and add an update to Miraculous Future before doing another Demon’s Bride update.

I’m also trying a new method of taglist. I love that people enjoy my story and want to be tagged but the list got really long really fast. (I think by the time I had the third chapter/first ficlet out it was a full list). Unfortunately this meant a lot of the readers who had longer comments about things they enjoyed or questions in the story (things that keep me motivated to write!) wouldn’t get a tag. So I’m redoing the taglist. Some will keep changing because except for a select few that got me started in the cursed Daminette ship (god I love you people) everyone is gonna be kind of flexible. Meaning your name might get bumped in the next update.

I do try to tag these stories with (The Demon’s Bride) and (The Betrothed AU) let me know if there’s another tag I can add to make finding them easier. Believe me I know the struggle of trying to find out if a writer has updated.

One person suggested I cross post on AO3 and since I finally got an account let me know what you think. Not just would you read it but would this story be something you would download to save a copy? I do that with all my favorite works on that site and would consider it to be the biggest of compliments.

Okay, thank you all for enjoying this story. Thank you for being patient while I work out my own tag list system. Enjoy the next chapter

Beginning Previous Next Masterpost

————————————

The next morning the class ate breakfast in the hotel breakfast lounge. It was large enough that they could break into their two groups but not so large that Marinette’s group could ‘accidentally’ get left behind.

Marinette rolled her eyes as she listened to Lila continuing her stories from the day before about meeting the youngest Wayne and how ‘It was love at first sight’.

“Damian is just such a sweetheart. It nearly broke my heart to have to put our relationship on hold when mama got her assignment in Paris. But I am happy she did as I got to meet all of you. And now I have a chance to see my Damian again.”

Lila smiled slyly as she leaned closer to her slaves, “In fact, we have plans to see each other tonight. He’s going to take me on a romantic dinner date. If you can keep it a secret from Ms Bustier I’d be ever so grateful. I don’t think she’d like it if I did something by myself but I’ll just never have a chance like this again.”

Marinette had a feeling she’d strain a muscle at some point before the end of the trip, either from rolling her eyes too hard or from fighting back the urge to roll her eyes. She’d have to somehow arrange for Lila to be supervised if she actually made it out of the hotel and more than likely that duty would fall on her as her usual alternatives were in Paris.

A glance at Juleka showed that the girl was already anticipating Marinette’s thoughts and would be taking on the supervising (stalking, call it what it is) duty for Marinette. Fortunately, continued training and practice during Akuma attacks had refreshed skills instilled by the league to readiness in both girls.

“No worries girl. We got your back, unlike some people,” Alya said with a pointed glance at Marinette. Alya had blamed Marinette when her relationship with Nino fell apart and once Marinette had stopped responding to her phone messages Alya had made it her personal mission to blame the worlds evils upon Marinette.

Marinette ignored them and kept typing on her phone.

“You guys are so trustworthy. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” Lila smiled at them.

“Class finish up your meals we need to meet the bus outside in five minutes for us to head to the mall,” Ms Bustier called.

“Hey Nino, I forgot a jacket up in my room. I’ll catch you at the bus,” Marinette said nonchalantly as they cleaned up their dishes.

“You’re planning something,” he stated. A raised brow dared her to deny it.

“Not at all. Just have Markov do a recording would you?”

“Sure, sure. But you’re reporting this, not me.”

“Done,” Marinette agreed as she headed back to the elevators. On the ride up she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text.

M: Meet me outside the hotel? I might need a ride.

D: Why? Are you safe?

M: I’m fine right now. But if things play out like they usually do I’m gonna need a ride

D: got it

Grabbing the bike jacket she’d left on her bed Marinette hurried outside the hotel. The bus’s engine was just starting to rev when she called out.

“Wait. I’m here,” she called and ran towards the bus.

It slowed for a moment before picking up speed and taking off. Marinette watched as it drove off and shook her head. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

“Bonjour Commandant,” she said cheerily before he did more than greet her.

He sighed, “What happened?”

“I might of made a stop in my hotel room this morning to get my jacket before meeting the rest of the class at the bus.”

“And you were left behind again?”

“I was left behind again,” she confirmed. “I was nearly at the bus and called out for them to wait. It started to slow but then took off again. There were open windows and Nino should have Max and Markov making another recording.”

“I’ll wait for the files. You know we’re going to have to report this when you return to Paris.”

“Absolutely. This is getting ridiculous and entirely too unprofessional of Ms. Boustier. If it were any other person getting left behind they could end up killed here in Gotham.”

“Do you need us to arrange transportation?”

“No thank you, I already did,” Marinette turned to look at the motorcycles that stopped next to her at the curb.

Damian lifted the visor on his helmet and looked at her. She smiled at him and finished her call.

She looked at the second bike and rider and back at Damian.

Damian held out a second helmet to her and explained. “My father and brother’s aren’t entirely comfortable with me being alone and unsupervised with someone from the League. Todd volunteered to chaperone today.”

Marinette took the helmet and sat on the back of his bike. “Had many run-ins with Leaguer’s?”

“Too many,” Damian admitted. As soon as Marinette wrapped her arms around his waist and told him the class’s destination he took off.

Marinette smiled as she sat behind him on the bike and let herself fall into old patterns of trusting him to get them where they needed to go. Within minutes they pulled up alongside the bus. Marinette grinned as she asked him to rev the engine and get the class’s attention.

When several faces turned to the window Marinette lifted her visor and waved at the class. Just as she was laughing at their shocked faces the lights changed and Damian took off again with her laughter trailing behind them.

************************

Jason followed behind Damian and watched as Demon Spawn pulled up next to the bus before the girl waved at the class whose attention they had gotten. When Damian took off again he had to watch as the two moved together as they wove through traffic. What surprised Jason more was Damian never turned to check the cars behind him. Instead he watched as the girl would do checks and then Damian would move. Damian trusted her to watch their backs.

They seemed to have a system down and had seemlessly fallen back into it. Like they had ridden together before? But they couldn’t have. Damian came to Bruce at 10 years old. The girl had to be about the same age so how...?

Jason let the thought go as they pulled up to Gotham Mall. Damian parked near the main entrance the class would have to go through after parking the bike and let Marinette off first. He and Jason followed suit before locking their bikes and the helmets up and waited for the class to catch up.

“So Pixie-pop, you know Demon Spawn from the League?”

Most people would say Jason didn’t know how to use tact but most people were also idiots. Sometimes when you did things blatantly and unexpectedly you would get more honest answers from others.

Marinette glanced at Damian and then turned to Jason when he nodded. “I’ve known Damian most of my life in the League.”

Jason looked at her. The answer was factual but there was undertone of meanings behind it that he was missing.

“He mentioned the League was divided into factions? Divisions?” He fumbled his question and waited to see how she would respond.

Marinette turned to Damian and spoke in a language he didn’t know. It wasn’t English, French, Japanese or Chinese which he’d learned from Bruce and Alfred before his death. Nor was it Arabic, Russian, or German, which Talia had forced him to learn after his resurrection. The closest he could compare it to was Chinese but it had a different cadence, intonations, sounds, everything really so it was completely not understandable to him.

When Damian responded in the same language Jason was less shocked. He just waited for the two of them to finish.

Marinette nodded before turning back to Jason, “The word you were looking for was designations and yes Damian and I both had one. Most trainees are given one by the end of the first year of training though it can be changed if a particular aptitude is discovered. Or if they lose enough standing with the League.”

Her eyes were a little darker, a little sadder at the mention of losing rank within the League.

“Ah,” Jason nodded and looked at Damian, “you didn’t mention you had a designation last night.”

“TT, I didn’t think to mention it last night. My designation was the Demon’s Right Hand. The heir of the Demon.”

“Makes sense since you were Ras grandson,” Jason admitted.

Marinette snorted, “the old Demon had at least five grandchildren, though no one’s sure if his son had any children so there could be more out there. And Damian was the third born. Nothing the Demon ever did made sense.”

Jason was startled. No one knew that Damian had other siblings, blood-siblings, since he’d made it sound like his trainee group were like his only brothers and sisters.

“Grandfather insisted that only the best could succeed him. Even from my early trainee days my brother’s knew I could take their inheritance from them if I was better than they were. Our rivalry,” and boy was that a loaded idea, “was actively encouraged and the only way it could end was with the deaths of our competition.” Damian grimaced at that.

“Hey, Ali wasn’t so bad. He loved his big brother.” Marinette bumped Damian’s shoulder, trying to distract him.

“Ali loved his big sister,” Damian tapped a finger on Marinette’s nose, “who got her mother to take in the kid when he began his training and gave him family. Just like his big brother.”

Marinette smiled fondly. “He’s a good kid. Did you know Talia has him doing some PR as they’re ‘rebranding’ the League? I think the American, Luthor, has done that a few times.”

Damian quirked a brow.

“He’s shown up in Paris a time or two. Mostly as PR attempts to promote ‘acts of charity’ or such. My class actually ran into him a few years ago. He made a friend with one of the girls in my class. We pass messages through her when we can,” Marinette nodded to herself, “but it’s been harder to do with the tension between my classmates.”

Before Jason could ask anymore questions the bus with her classmates in it pulled into the Mall parking lot. Strangely another car seemed to be following behind it.

————————————

Cliffhanger!!!!

Permanent tags: @mindfulmagics @ozmav @bluerosette23 @multifandomscribette @mochinek0 @northernbluetongue

@fertileleaf @evil-elf16 @scribblinggraveyard @mellownieice @mystery-5-5 @indecisive-mess-named-me @sonif50 @tog84 @g-arya @legendaryneckjudgestudent @tbehartoo @ravennightingaleandavatempus @zebrabaker @autisticlinx @moonyloonyx @hinata3487 @evil-elf16 @mooshoon @shamefullove @pepelachanel @queenmj10 @bluefyoto94 @valeks-princess @luciferge @novicevoice @vivilakitty @2sunchild2 @littleredrobinhoodlum @black-streak @interobanginyourmom @crazylittlemunchkin @alwaysnumberonetruth @nataladriana9 @that-feeling-wyn @motherly-type @jardimazul @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @peachedpocky @thesunanditsangel @daminett4life @risingmoonyue @dorkus-minimus @tired-butterfly @alenee13

Can’t find a blog: @fusser90

Okay, tag list capped out as I was scrolling back through comments on ch. 5 but the taglist is flexible anyways at this point. I have plans to update the Miraculous Awakens prologue and the Miraculous Future chapters this week. Please vote which you would like to see first. I’m hoping to get the first update posted either Wednesday or Thursday nights. (Though sadly I am suuuuuper flexible with my posting schedule. Basically I post whenever I have a chapter ready). Also i plan to wind up the Once Upon A Miraculous epilogue next weekend so that’s three chapters I’ll need to be toying with this week.

#The Demon’s Bride #Betrothed AU #daminette #maribat #marinette x damian #DLDR #dead dove don’t eat

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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

Text

Group Whumpees 6: Breaking Point

CW: transphobia, implied/referenced noncon, panic attack, shitty family relations, manipulation (sort of? Just in case), slavery, aftermath of abuse, multiple whumpees, defiant whumpee (but not for long! >:D)

Tag list: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101

Special thanks to @icannotweave for inspiring some of the events in this chapter and chatting w me about it :3

Masterlist

The moment his phone was turned back on, it rang, and the ensuing conversation with his father pissed him off. His voice was loud, his free hand a fist, his face turned down in a snarl.

Master Galo was nearing his breaking point, Evan knew it. He might not have understood the nice guy act, but this? He knew this. He supposed he should be grateful it hadn’t come out at Lilah, that morning, that the bandages on his thick arm hadn’t been the final push needed to get him to snap, but he was going to snap soon. Evan didn’t know why he hadn’t yet, what about his weird mindgame was so important to him, why he wanted the five of them to believe he was so nice and shit, but it would be soon.

Greyson had provoked Master Galo, that first meeting. As far as Evan knew, he was the only person in their family to confront Greyson about it, wondering why Greyson was suddenly the provocative one. Greyson hadn’t said much in answer, just cleaned his glasses and asked Evan not to do anything foolish, himself, which was infuriating in its own right.

Honestly, almost everything that had happened since Mistress’s death had pissed Evan off. Their Master refused to give them clear rules, but starved them for not following them anyway. He didn’t want Attended, and he didn’t beat them when they fucked up, he hadn’t reminded a damn one of them of their place despite the fact that he obviously could. Did he think the sight of him was enough to make them cower? Did he expect them to take one look at his broad ass chest and heavy fucking arms and fall over themselves to please him?

It made Evan’s teeth grind that, if that were the case, Master would be right. He didn’t need to do shit; they were terrified of him anyway. Was that the game? To be friendly and sugar-sweet and smiley and happy go fucking lucky while his physique and their own hunger kept them weak-kneed and trembling before him? Or did he just like the anticipation of it all? Knowing he could bring the hammer down on them at any moment and laughing at them with every twitch and jump because they all knew it was coming, but only he knew when?

Fuck this guy! Fuck him and his stupid face and his broad hands and how he was able to bring them to their knees without even lifting a finger! Evan’s arms were shaking with his anger, with the unspent tension of multiple days.

He couldn’t take this.

He knew he’d promised Nyla, but he couldn’t take this. He couldn’t take the arrogance of it all and he couldn’t take the waiting and the waiting and the fucking waiting! He’d eaten a few hours ago, so if Master resumed starving him he could take it. Master was strong, but Evan was too. He could take it. And he would, because if it wasn’t Evan that Master Galo finally erupted at, it would be somebody else.

“I’m not having this conversation anymore!” Master Galo shouted, pacing the sunroom, each heavy footstep resounding loudly. “Dad, I don’t care! Okay? I don’t care! I’ve been busting my ass over here and all you’ve done is call me to complain, repeatedly. I’m done. I’m blocking your number. Don’t call me, don’t call the house, do not speak to me until tomorrow.”

Master Galo hung up, jamming his thumb against the flat screen of his phone with unnecessary force, and prowled over to the artisanal table he’d set the wine bottle on (Evan had been the one to bring the table into the house, and Mistress had rapped his knuckles harshly when he’d set the heavy wood down carelessly, too loud). The wine bottle had been mostly full that morning, and was now half empty. Master Galo drank straight from the bottle, and clearly did not know he was being observed.

He was pissed. He was injured. (Lilah had injured him, a fact Master Galo wasn’t likely to forget). If Evan was going to hit that breaking point, now was the time to do it.

Instinctive, animal fear pooled behind his ribs and below his gut, laced through the anger already wiring his teeth against each other and making his clenched fists shake. He knew what he was doing was stupid, but he was done waiting and wondering when Master Galo would hurt one of them.

He didn’t knock (punishable) and didn’t address Master Galo when he was seen (punishable).

“Evan,” Master Galo said with a sigh, setting the bottle back down, and Evan did not go to him to kiss his hand (punishable) and he did not kneel with his forehead to the floor (Sasha and Evan had that as a special rule for them, since neither of them “knew how to behave.” He didn’t know if that was punishable or not, for Master Galo, but still, he did not do it).

“Good, actually, I was gonna go look for you. Help me bring in the flower arrangements Lilah made,” Master ordered, not as much effort going into his nice guy routine, turned away from Evan and doing something on his phone (likely blocking his father’s number, like he’d promised).

Well, they had all agreed that there was one good way to make Master angry, that first morning.

“Yes, Mistress,” Evan said very deliberately, hurling the word at Master Galo’s back, and he heard Master’s phone case crack.

Master looked at him, eyes wide and angry, and Evan felt a rush of fear, of “now you’ve done it” rise in him like bile. But he maintained eye contact, wanting Master to know it was deliberate, that he’d said it intentionally. Summoning his anger, he jerked his chin forward. Do something about it.

Master made a strangled noise and rubbed over his face with a hand, shifted his weight onto one leg and tapped the toes of his shoe against the floor with the other, and ducked his head down while pushing his fingers through his hair. He propped the hand with his phone against his hip and waved his finger at Evan, then lifted his head. “Actually, you know what? Why don’t you go grab Nyla and have her come here?”

Nothing could’ve more effectively dropped the floor out from under Evan’s feet. The anger and tense fear, the readiness, the thought that he could handle whatever was about to come at him was instantly replaced with guilty horror.

“No!” Evan screamed, dropping to the floor, grinding his forehead against it. “No, Master, Master, please! No, sir, Master, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Master Galo made a noise, some sort of annoyed groan, and asked, “Can we not do this?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry sir I’m sorry Master I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again I swear, please, please don’t--”

“Yeah, I’m just. I’m just gonna--” Master Galo said, walking past Evan, and he lurched, grabbed Master with both hands, one around his belt and the other in the hem of his shirt.

“No! Please, punish me, punish me!” Evan begged, crying, knowing he was, his voice gone high and panicked. Inciting Master Galo was supposed to mean Evan got hurt, that he got to control the way Master Galo boiled over, not this, never this, not Nyla, “Please Master punish me!”

Master Galo pried at Evan’s fingers, and he knew refusing to let go instantly would just make it worse but he couldn’t! “I”m not going to--”

“Please!”

“Listen--”

“I’m sorry!”

“STAY.” Master successfully shoved Evan’s hands away from him, the order harsh and loud. “Stay here, don’t go anywhere,” Master ordered after, grip harsh but not quite bruising around Evan’s wrists.

Evan sobbed as he left, heavy footsteps audible. He stayed. He couldn’t afford to make this worse than it already was, not when Master was punishing someone else. Mistress Bethany had played many, many mindgames with them, but when she was pissed, she lost control. Evan could always count on that, and no one had ever been punished for his provocations.

But Master Galo was slower. He’d warned them of that day one. He was more methodical, clearly, and although he’d refused to beat them until now, clearly he knew how to hit where it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Evan moaned into the vacant room, arms wrapped around his belly and forehead once again on the floor. He was shaking, sobbing, all anger gone and replaced only with fear, with shame, with an unbearable guilt.

“Evan?!” Nyla asked, alarmed, as she rushed into the sunroom. She ran in front of him and spun gracefully, sinking to her knees as she did in a flair of skirts, and he looked up at her worried face.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, because he was. He’d never been this sorry in his life.

“Master told me to come calm you down,” Nyla informed him in a scared rush, one hand to his shoulder and the other cupping his unworthy cheek. “Evan, what did you do?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated shakily, “I provoked him, I’m sorry--”

“You provoked him!?” Nyla hissed, fingers digging into his shoulder and he choked.

“I’m sorry!”

“Why would you provoke him!?” Nyla scolded, her composure ruined, “He’s been in a bad mood all day this is the worst time to make him angry!”

“I h--” Evan hiccuped on a sob, raising a hand to clench at his vest, fingers digging into his chest. “I couldn’t take the waiting, anymore, I wanted to have it over with.”

“Idiot!” she hissed. “Idiot!” she repeated, louder. But oh, that wasn’t the worst of it.

“He was going to punish you, instead,” Evan confessed, body shuddering and involuntarily casting forwards. “He was--I begged him not to but he didn’t--”

“Where are the others?” Nyla asked, voice hollow, and Evan felt another icy hand of fear grip his heart. If not him, Nyla. If not Nyla, someone else.

Evan struggled to his feet, wiping at his face that wouldn’t stop crying, and was stupidly grateful for the arm Nyla wrapped around his waist to brace him.

Sasha was in the kitchen, thank god, and was alarmed and surprised to see them, thank god.

“I fucked up,” Evan explained, Sasha’s wide eyes darting between them. “I pissed him off, he’s--smart.”

“He’s punishing someone else in Evan’s stead,” Nyla said quietly, and Evan leaned heavily on the counter as Sasha instinctively took a step back, her hands raised over her chest. “Where are Grey and--”

The other kitchen door opened, and Greyson walked in. Which just left one unaccounted for.

“Lilah,” Evan cried, despair seizing him as he collapsed. He sobbed into his hands, distantly aware that Greyson asked a question, and Nyla answered it. Sasha knelt in front of him, but he didn’t deserve her comfort.

Mistress Bethany had never done made him like this. Oh, he’d cried for her. He’d begged. But not like this, only ever out of pain or fear or exhaustion, never this. He could take the cane or boiling water or her nasty over-long fingernails, he could take the exhaustion and the hunger, he could take the words that somehow managed to cut like knives despite how often he told himself he didn’t care what the bitch said. But he couldn’t handle knowing that Lilah, little Lilah, was on the other side of an eruption that he had caused.

Nyla’s skirts entered his field of vision, the hem of her apron stained from an old spill. She stood close with her feet spread, the way she only got when she was angry (he deserved it), and he lifted his heavy head, breath hitching as he cried.

“You promised,” Nyla stated, the words damning.

“I’m sorry,” he squeaked. He’d keep the promise, now. He’d never piss off their Master again, not after learning that he would punish the others for Evan’s mistakes. He’d listen to Nyla, he’d take her advice and obey her as the leader of their family.

“You promised,” Nyla repeated, and the betrayal in her voice hurt worse than anything Mistress Bethany had ever, ever done. Nyla was not a violent person, but Evan almost wished she was. If she hit him for this, it would be no less than he deserved.

She loomed over him, like this, lips pressed thin and fists balled at either hip, but she whirled, braced her hand on a countertop and ordered, “Evan, stay here with Sasha and calm down. Grey, avoid all of Master Galo’s usual haunts until dinner. No one talks to him unless he talks to them first.”

Evan let his head drop back down, biting back tears, his body jerking with each hiccup, and squirreled himself away in front of the pantry. Ideally, there, he wouldn’t be able to get in Sasha’s way, since she was doing her job and apparently the only thing he was good at was fucking things up for the rest of them. Why hadn’t he just behaved himself!? Why was seeing Master Galo break such a priority for him? Stupid fuckup, why wasn’t he the one bleeding and aching right now?

If he had the chance to do it over he’d take it in a heartbeat. He wished he could, he’d give anything, he’d do anything, if it meant his family didn’t get hurt. Hurt because of him.

He was supposed to be trying to calm down, but he couldn’t stop crying. It wasn’t until after Greyson had set the table and taken Master’s plate out to him that Evan finally wound down, accepting the glass of water Sasha gave him.

After Master ate, Sasha plated meals for Nyla and Greyson, then, more hesitantly, herself, and then she stared at Evan.

“Don’t,” he croaked, voice hoarse and raw, “I couldn’t keep it down, if I did.”

“H-he said…” Sasha murmured, gripping her left hand tightly in her right. “O-only if he r-revoked, I, I have to, m-make sure you all eat.”

Was that a subtle punishment, too? If they didn’t eat while nauseous, didn’t keep it down, that was a broken rule?

“But. But,” Sasha continued, voice whining higher, “if he r-revoked perm-mission and didn’t t-tell me, I--”

“Breathe, Sasha,” Greyson said, his hand on her shoulder, the one without the lock of hair she left loose to self-comfort with. “If he didn’t tell you, then be obedient. Even if he gets upset, Nyla and I can beg for you, that you were only following his directions. It’s a hard test for the first day with a new rule, but we’re here for you.”

Sasha took a deep breath and nodded, then looked to Evan again.

“I can’t,” he whispered miserably, “I’m nauseous; it’ll come back up.”

“Bread and water,” Nyla interjected, stabbing her fork into her own dinner. “It counts as eating, Sasha will have followed the rules. It’s light, it won’t come back up.”

Even though she was mad at him, she was still fixing his problems.

“Thank you,” he whispered, heart twisting with fondness even through everything else. He stood and washed his hands, promising Sasha he’d get it himself. She plated Lilah’s dinner, Evan cut off a hunk from the morning’s loaf, and he nibbled at it miserably.

“D-Do… you w-want to come w-with?”

See Lilah. Comfort her, maybe, from the very thing he’d caused. He turned his head away, ashamed.

He ate the bread, slowly, his stomach churning unhappily, when she left.

“She’s okay!” Sasha shouted--well, what counted as Sasha shouting--as she ran through the door on her return. “L-Lilah, she’s n-not hurt. She’s b-b-been Quiet a-all evening! N-nothing’s happened to her s-since lunch! She was c-confused, when I s-said we’d b-been sca-ared.”

Nyla gripped Sasha at the elbows, everyone’s attention on her. “Sh-she’s okay!”

Evan ran.

“Evan?” Lilah startled when he entered, and she was. She was okay. The relief stole his breath from him. “Evan, what’s happening?” Lilah asked as he crossed to her, barely remembering to toe off his shoes before climbing into bed, flinging himself at her and wrapping her in a bear hug. “Why did Sasha think I was hurt?”

“We all did,” he croaked, pressing his nose to her hair. She was alright. Master hadn’t hurt her.

She shook her head against his chest. “I told you earlier, remember? He wasn’t mad I hurt him.”

“No, no I--” Evan had to stop and swallow. It was shameful, to confess to it again. To recount how he’d acted, and how the others had almost gotten hurt because of it. Lilah smacked his head at the end of it, though nowhere near hard enough to hurt.

“Idiot,” she scolded. “Stop doing stupid things because you’re angry.”

“I won’t,” Evan promised with a wet chuckle, so relieved she was okay. “Never again.”

But if Lilah wasn’t hurt, that meant Master hadn’t punished anyone. It meant Evan had kickstarted some new stage to the mindgame; there was something left undone. Sure, maybe it fit into what Evan understood of Master Galo’s ploys that he was simply reminding Evan that he knew how to break him, so easily and so very thoroughly. Maybe this was just another show of power. Maybe Master Galo had realized Evan was trying to claim control, and had denied him even that.

Or maybe, Evan thought, as he lied wide-awake after his family had all fallen into an unsteady sleep, Master Galo was simply biding his time for when it would hurt the worst. The punishment was coming. It had to be.

Evan had one last chance to make sure the person punished was him.

He crept up the stairs, quiet despite the fact that he knew his family couldn’t hear him, here. He went to Mistress Bethany’s old room--largely untouched, just yet--and walked across the perfectly spotless carpet. One of his jobs, as housecleaner, was to come to this room every morning and scrub out the blood from whatever had happened the night before. If even a speck was left, he’d spend the following morning scrubbing without gloves to protect him from the harsh chemicals.

He was very good at cleaning. He wasn’t good at much else, but he could clean. And, he reminded himself as he opened the tool closet and lifted the heaviest wooden cane, he bruised very nicely. Mistress Bethany had beat him with this, him more than any of the others, trying to break him, trying to put out the final shreds of defiance in him, the rebellion he clung to, his anger. He tried to feel for that anger now, and felt nothing.

In less than a week, Master Galo had done what Mistress Bethany had failed to do over the course of a decade.

He gripped the cane below the handle and took a deep breath. Move gracefully. Don’t cry before it starts. Don’t emote with ugly expressions. Evan was no good at pretending to smile, but he could look submissive. He slid one hand down the cane, gripping it lower as he started to walk. The smooth wood raised goosebumps across his skin and bile in his throat, but now wasn’t the time to back down.

He wasn’t angry, this time, he wasn’t impatient or stupid. He’d do as he was meant to.

Don’t stutter. Don’t recoil. Flinching was okay but not too far, or it would look like a recoil. His footsteps, though quiet, seemed to boom inside his ears. As did his pulse, and his breathing. Thank Master Galo properly. Don’t panic, this time around.

That would be the hard one. The looming threat of what would happen if he failed--if he didn’t beg hard enough or right enough that Master Galo would punish him--had him on the brink of terror already, and they hadn’t even started yet. He bit down on that fear, with no anger left to shield him from it, and forcefully reminded himself, Don’t panic.

Knock on the doorframe. He did. Greet Master when acknowledged. “Master Galo.” Kneel. He did.

“Evan, why are you here?”

“I apologize, Master. I reacted poorly, earlier.” Evan lifted the cane in both hands, presenting it to the man that loomed over him like a nightmare. “I intentionally called you the wrong name, I shouted, I touched you without permission, and I was ugly in doing so. For these offenses, Master, please,” he hoped Master Galo hadn’t heard his voice crack on the ‘please,’ “punish me.”

The fear was building, compounding in on itself, too fast, but Evan kept his body rigid, immobile. He’d fucked up, so many times, he wouldn’t fuck up this one, he couldn’t. Even when he heard his Master take slow, thoughtful steps toward him: he kept his head down, his arms up. Even as each step sent him closer to a panic. Even as his breath threatened to break loose of his control, to speed up, ugly and audible.

Even as his Master’s shadow blocked out the moonlight.

Even as Master Galo took the heavy cane from his hands.

Galo needed to be very, very careful. He’d been hasty, earlier, impatient and irritated with this man misgendering him when he was already at the end of his rope thanks to his father. A couple laps around the property line and the familiar burn of lifting heavy objects and moving the floral arrangements inside had helped him cool off--a lot. But the damage was very clearly already done. Evan sounded wrecked.

The cane was solid wood, probably oak or some shit--heavy. If he hit Evan with this, he could kill him. Galo set it down and leaned it up against the chair in the room, overfull with his belongings. Having Evan sit there wasn’t really an option, not unless he wanted to dump the stuff out and he needed to be delicate, here.

Alright, what did Galo know? Evan thought Galo was still pissed at him (not entirely unreasonably). Evan wanted to be punished with a heavy fucking cane, due to #1. Something had spooked this guy--badly. Galo couldn’t carry on not knowing what that thing was, or else they’d wind up right back here again: with a slave kneeling just inside his doorway, ready for him to do terrible things to them.

“Evan, I’m gonna ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them honestly, okay?” Galo said, slowly walking back to his bed and sitting on the end of the mattress, patting next to him. “Will you come over here?”

“Yes Master,” Evan answered instantly, moving to get up but then hesitating. Okay, Galo’s bad, he did just say he’d be asking questions, not necessarily making suggestions via questioning.

“Come here,” Galo ordered gently, and Evan moved faster than Galo had ever seen him move. He didn’t sit on the mattress like Galo had hoped, but knelt at Galo’s side. “Sit on the bed, please,” Galo tried, and Evan moved again, still quick.

“Thank you.” Galo pat him, once, on the back. Evan did not have a history of responding well to touch, for all that Galo had seen him, so he didn’t plan on doing too much of it while they talked. “Now what’s all this about” was probably a redundant question, since Evan had literally listed off his offences when he came into Galo’s room.

Galo, predictably enough, spent too long thinking, because before he could even begin to formulate an intelligent question Evan whispered, “Anything.”

“Hm?”

“Anything, Master,” Evan stated, barely any louder, if at all, “I’ll do anything.” Slowly, deliberately, Evan moved his hand directly towards Galo’s crotch, and Galo was grateful for the speed because he didn’t have to snatch Evan by the wrist, just stop him.

“No, Evan, I’m not fucking you,” Galo said firmly, aware of his mistake too late. He must be tired, if he thought inviting Evan up onto the bed with him was a good idea. “Didn’t meant to imply--”

“Please,” Evan choked out, small.

“Evan?” Galo became aware that Evan was trembling in his grip.

“Please don’t hurt them,” Evan begged, sounding at the end of whatever rope he had, and Galo’s brow furrowed.

“Them?” he asked, “You mean, the others?”

“Please,” Evan repeated, “It was my mistake, I did it. Please, Master Galo, punish me.”

Galo bent to get a better look at Evan’s face, and he saw tears brimming there, inside a thousand yard stare.

“Hey, buddy,” Galo said, waving his hand in front of Evan’s face without even as much as a blink, “I’m losing you there.”

“They didn’t--” Evan choked.

“They didn’t do anything wrong,” Galo finished for him, gently.

“So please, please punish me,” Evan begged, the first tear spilling over, and Galo couldn’t think. He was tired, he was spent, it was late, he wanted to be asleep and not having this conversation but Evan was freaking out, and that was Galo’s responsibility to fix. “I’ll take anything, I’ll be quiet or loud or however you prefer, I deserve it Master, I’ll do anything you tell me to just please, please--!”

“Evan, stop talking,” Galo said, careful not to tell him to be quiet or shush or anything that might imply he wasn’t allowed to cry right now. Evan’s mouth shut, and Galo let go of his wrist in order to sling an arm around Evan’s shoulders, hugging him. He needed time. He needed to think, but thinking was so hard when he was so tired. He let Evan cry against his shoulder, the poor guy’s hands in fists at his sides, and Galo didn’t know how to fix it.

It looked like the only thing that would calm Evan down, at this point, would be to actually punish him. But Galo wasn’t going to hurt him, so, something else? But what would count as a punishment--enough that Evan would accept it as such--but not hurt him? Galo couldn’t think.

Oh! So he’d buy himself some time.

“Evan, tomorrow morning, meet me in the den.” Galo felt bad for even saying it, feeling Evan flinch under his arm, but it was supposed to be a punishment. “I’m tired right now,” not a lie, “so I’ll deal with you then.”

“Thank you Master,” Evan said, and Galo moved his hand to give Evan a little push on the back, mostly to help the man. “Thank you Master, thank you.”

“Go to sleep, Evan.” Galo watched him stagger to his feet, and stumble once on his way to the door.

“Yes, Master, thank you.”

Galo sighed and flopped back on his bed. He was making mistakes and his body felt like lead. He knew he had to climb up and crawl under the covers, but they were so far away.

The longer he lied there the harder it would be. Fuck.

But he did feel better in the morning. Clearer, sharper, better equipped to puzzle out what the fuck was going on with Evan.

At least he could hazard a guess at what had spooked the guy so bad: he thought Galo was going to punish the others for his actions.

...Now that he thought about it, Evan had lost his shit the first time when Galo said he was gonna have Nyla help him with the flowers instead. How had Galo phrased it exactly? He couldn’t remember, it was such a small detail, a harmless sentence said when he was pissed and frustrated. Except it hadn’t been harmless, clearly. Evan had taken it to mean Galo would hurt Nyla, and, he guessed, the other three, also.

“God,” Galo muttered to himself, pulling his notebook out and writing Don’t insinuate you’ll hurt other people when one person “messes up” on the list of suggestions he had for his own behavior.

Flipping back a page, he wrote, Evan will beg to be beaten if you spook him enough. Not as surly as I thought???

Galo ran his fingers through his hair and started getting ready for the day, his old suit tight around the chest and biceps. As he dressed and groomed himself, he tried to think of a good punishment that wouldn’t actually hurt Evan. He was combing his hair when the lightbulb went off, the idea striking him.

He headed on down to the den, where Evan was already waiting, on his knees with his wrists crossed behind his back.

“Morning Evan,” he greeted, approaching him and extending his palm, which Evan kissed.

“Master Galo,” Evan returned, quiet but thankfully not sounding as panicky as the night before. Galo tilted his head up by the chin so he could see his eyes. The usual fire he sometimes thought he saw was beyond absent; Evan looked like a broken man.

“Repeat after me, Evan,” Galo said, hoping that being punished would serve as some small comfort, that he wasn’t entirely off-base. “I will not misgender Master Galo. I will not provoke him and I will show him respect.”

Evan didn’t hesitate to say it back to him, and Galo removed his hand from under Evan’s chin.

"Good, Evan. Now say that out loud 999 more times. You may leave the den after you do; don't lose count."

And so Galo spun on his heel, and left.

He wouldn’t do anything to confirm that Evan had, in fact, said it 1,000 times. He had shit to do and it didn’t matter to him, personally, if Evan did lose count. But if nothing else, even just kneeling there that long would be a punishment in and of itself. And it addressed the issue.

“Morning Sasha,” Galo greeted, offering his hand again and getting started on his morning shake. “Has Evan eaten yet this morning?”

She shook her head. “Cool. After he’s done with his recitations, he can eat, but don’t interrupt him please.”

Sasha nodded and he smiled at her. “Atta girl. I’m gonna go load up the van and head to the church. This everything?” Galo gestured at the foodstuffs, packaged neatly the night before. When she nodded, he gave her a pat to the shoulder. “Thanks, Sasha. I’ll see you all tonight, probably after dinner so don’t wait up.”

When everything was loaded and Galo behind the wheel, he buckled himself in but then took a moment before he actually turned the van on to sigh and rub his hands down his face.

“Alright, Galo,” he said to himself, staring at the car ceiling. “You can do this. It’s gonna suck, but then it’s gonna be over.”

He breathed in, breathed out, and went to go set up for the funeral.

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the-ss-zemyx · 4 years ago

Text

PVP(umpkin Spice Lattes)

Zexion and Arpeggio are Discord friends. They chat in private messages, raid in Verum Rex together, and may or may not have feelings for each other.

Ienzo and Demyx are college roommates. They hate each other, for the most part. At least they can both agree on pumpkin spice lattes.

Happy 2nd Zemyx Day of 2020!!

Specifically for today, the S.S. Zemyx Discord Server hosted a collaborative fic-writing event! Over the course of the past five days, four of our writing members teamed up on a Google Doc in one glorious, inspirational, chaotic, frankenstein-esque fic-writing bonanza! That's right, the fic you're about to read is the product of -four- people's efforts! Enjoy!! :D

(A HUGE thanks to my co-writers: Aliceslantern, Ennarcia, and Carbonpixel. This was a hell of a lot of fun to do and I'm immensely proud of us!! - Mod Arxsia)

Also available on AO3!

__________

Demyx hated his roommate. Okay, no, hate was a strong word, and Demyx did his best to be a friendly, outgoing sort of guy, so ‘hate’ was definitely too strong a word. He liked to make friends. Having friends was nice. Having friends was very nice, and so, he tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But his roommate was a different story, and Demyx did not like his roommate very much at all.

At least he was easy on the eyes, because everything else about him got on Demyx’s last nerve. His name was Ienzo, but his name might as well have been "Jerk," with a capital J. When he wasn't hogging the Internet bandwidth doing God-knows-what on a chunky Alienware laptop, he was lecturing Demyx on the virtues of keeping the floor free from dirty clothes and giving empty soda cans a proper burial in the plastic wastebasket by the door. Lame. Also, he was a little condescending. That jerk .

One day, Ienzo burst into their dorm room with the gusto of a hurricane aiming to speak to a manager about a botched coffee order. He swung his laptop bag onto his mattress. It bounced when it landed. "Out," he commanded.

Demyx looked up from his phone. He sat with his legs crossed on his own bed, his Discord app open to a private message thread on his phone. In a few minutes, one of his server friends, a guy with the display name "The Cloaked Schemer" but going by his Discord handle, Zexion#1309, would be starting a voice call with him. It was kind of a big deal--they had been chatting in their shared server for almost a year, and in private messages for almost as long, but they had yet to actually speak to each other. "I'm actually busy," Demyx said.

"I don't care. Out."

It turned into an argument, of course, neither yielding and probably disturbing their neighbors with the yelling. Yep, Demyx didn’t like his roommate one bit.

He ended up in the lounge by the kitchen, utterly fuming, cursing his idea to “go rando” with a roommate all the while. It’s the best way to make friends, Demyx , his mother had told him. What better friend than a roommate?

Very funny.

At least he’d been able to grab his phone. Of course, Zexion was wondering where the hell he was.

The Cloaked Schemer: Do you need to reschedule?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: roommate’s being a dick and kicked me out. Sorry!

The Cloaked Schemer: Ah, I too am having roommate troubles. I can sympathize. I know too well what it’s like when one’s privacy is denied.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: he’s driving me NUTS!

The Cloaked Schemer: Have you tried talking to him about it?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: He didn’t exactly uh seem receptive to talking

The Cloaked Schemer: It’s always a good idea to try for maturity first.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I did! Not my fault the guy wasn’t having it.

Anyway. Id hate to let that guy take up any more time.

Hru?

The Cloaked Schemer: Doing as well as I can, I suppose. I’m enjoying my classes so far. It seems a little easy, but then again, it is only one of the first weeks. Things should pick up more by midterms.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ure too smart zexy. And didnt you skip a grade?

The Cloaked Schemer: A year, yes. I don’t think they call them grades in college.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Considering some of the people ive met, couldve fooled me.

The Cloaked Schemer: If I’m hoping to have a grad degree within five years, I have to fast track it. I’d rather not spend much more time in undergrad than necessary.

Though I am especially resentful that, despite the fact that I am technically a sophomore, I’m considered enough of a freshman to still be required to dorm.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: That blows

But dude, ure here. Might as well try to enjoy the journey, yaknow?

The Cloaked Schemer: Oh, Arpeggio. Your naivete is too obvious sometimes. It’s sweet, I think.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: har har

The Cloaked Schemer: I am disappointed though. I was looking forward to meeting you--in a manner of speaking. You’re probably one of the most sane people from our Verum Rex server.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Issa game, bro. Some of them, idk, take it a little too seriously

The Cloaked Schemer: Well, aspects of it are worth being taken seriously, but I understand what you mean.

Though the ship wars are grating.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ha! Yeah.

The Cloaked Schemer: We’ll have to find some other time, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Mann i was hoping to see if you sound as smart as you type

The Cloaked Schemer: You flatter me.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Do you think if we lived near each other we would hang out?

The Cloaked Schemer: If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to keep my location anonymous.

At least for now.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I know. Just a hypothetical question

The Cloaked Schemer: I’d like to say yes.

But for all I know, you’re actually a forty year old serial killer who lives in his mother’s basement.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: harsh

You listen to 2 many true crime podcasts

Anyway, I g2g. See if the roomie will let me back in. Got homework.

The Cloaked Schemer: Enjoy your night, Arpeggio.

Hopefully one of us has a good one.

Demyx closed the app and repocketed his phone. He flopped back on the lounge couch, eyes squinting at the fluorescent lights above and his limbs ragdolling in uncomfortable directions. A good night, huh? It’d be better if he could spend time in his own room without having to engage in guerilla combat whenever he wanted to exist in his own space. Wishful thinking, he thought.

__________

Ienzo stared at the chatlog open on his computer screen. The circle next to Arpeggio’s icon turned a dull gray, and the remaining bits of Ienzo’s hope for decent conversation dulled with it. He had finally caught up enough with his classwork to have some free time to spend, finally arranged to voice chat with Arpeggio, finally gotten Demyx to leave the god-forsaken room so he could have the one conversation he’d been looking forward to for weeks , and now… nothing. All that planning, gone to waste. Another wave of irritation hit him, and suddenly he was out of bed and grabbing his keys. He needed some tea.

Ienzo didn’t get tea at the coffee shop, despite his plans. The alluring, hipster scent of pumpkin spice hit his nose instead, and he caved before he could stop himself.

The college employed students as baristas in the campus coffee shop, as part of the work-study financial aid, so it wasn’t uncommon to see one’s peers at the shop. “Hey, Ienzo,” Riku said. It was getting late; chairs were already on top of all the tables. They’d met in Ienzo’s anthropology class.

“I’m not too late, am I?”

“I can bend the rules for you.” He went back behind the counter. “What’ll it be? Your usual?”

He blushed guiltily. “Pumpkin spice. Please.” Curse that glorious, wonderful scent.

He smirked. “Coming right up.”

“I know it’s dreadfully popular.”

“Yeah, cause it’s good ,” Riku said. “As long as you’re not one of those “half-caff, no whip, vanilla and almond, five shots” type of people.”

“Why complicate coffee so much?”

Riku handed him the paper cup. “At that point, just drink coffee-flavored syrup.” There was a pleasant lull for a moment. Riku began cleaning the espresso machine. “So why are you out so late? Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?”

Ienzo grimaced. “My roommate and I got into a fight.”

“...Again?”

“We are not well suited for each other.” A sigh. “I went to the Residence Life office to try and apply for another room, but the period for that is over. I was told, and I quote, “unless he’s hurting you, tough it out.””

Riku chuckled.

“He is simply-- obnoxious ,” Ienzo continued, the pressing need to vent taking over. “Slobby, loud, and always around at precisely the most inopportune times. I was supposed to have a call with a good friend of mine, and it took some doing just to get him out.”

“Right, your Discord friend.”

“You have a good memory.” Ienzo swished the coffee around a little; it was slightly too hot to drink.

“The one you have a crush on,” Riku said with a grin.

Ienzo flushed painfully. “I do not have feelings for him,” he said.

“Dunno. You managed to bring that call up in almost every conversation we’ve had. If he was really just your friend, would you be that excited? Enough to hype about it for weeks?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I do not know where he’s from, I don’t know his real name, I don’t even know what he looks like. For all I know, he only uses he/him pronouns online.”

“And?”

“I just… see no reason to desire something I cannot have.”

Riku wiped at the counter. “Oh, don’t be so doom and gloom,” he said. “If the call matters so much, it’s going to happen eventually.”

“I know.” He smiled. “Well, thanks for the tea and sympathy. Er, coffee and sympathy.”

“Any time.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You too. Play nice.”

“Just promise to bail me out if things go awry, will you?”

“Ha, on my salary?” Riku winked.

Ienzo left the coffee shop. He didn’t want to return to the dorms yet, but the fall night was calm and quiet. He checked his phone (maybe Arpeggio was free? Though he did say he had homework…).

As a stroke of luck, he had a message waiting for him.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I have a room again! \o/

the jerk was gone when I got back!

The Cloaked Schemer: How fortunate for you. I assume you’re flying through your homework now?

Mel0d10us N0cturn3: nope! :p

this science paper is kicking my ass!

Im really no good at this sort of thing

The Cloaked Schemer: Do you have any tutors available? Ordinarily I’d love to help but it might be easier and more private to go there instead.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: \o/

We actually do have one of those tutoring centers I think! Thanks for the idea!

Don't want you to waste your special brain-powers on little ol’ me lol

The Cloaked Schemer: I’d hardly call helping you a waste of my “special brain powers.”

It’s not a bad idea to check your local resources though.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: o7

Don’t think I’m gonna make any progress on this paper tonight tho lol

The Cloaked Schemer: Giving up already? I didn’t have you pegged for a quitter.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Awww, come on! Don’t guilt meeee

My poor brain!

It’s mush!

;-; will you not spare some mercy for my poor mushy brain?

The Cloaked Schemer: I suppose just this once, provided you use your resources and go to the tutoring center.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: o7 Yes sir !

First thing in the morning!

My mushy brain thanks you for your mercy and endless kindness!

Ienzo’s cheeks grew warm, but whether it was from the message on the screen or the sip of pumpkin spice coffee currently running down his throat, he neither knew nor was willing to explore.

Despite the late hour, there were plenty of students milling about campus, taking up their little spaces. It had taken him some time to find an empty bench to sit on, but one eventually caught his eye and he claimed it immediately, sitting down with his coffee in one hand and phone in the other.

The sky was inky black, dotted with stars, the sun long gone by now. Nights were starting to grow just a tad chilly, the beginnings of autumn seeping into the atmosphere. It was Ienzo’s favorite season and the aroma of pumpkin spice wafting past his nose was just what he needed to make up for the disappointment of having his voice call with Arpeggio abruptly cancelled.

Well, maybe not entirely. He’d been really looking forward to hearing Arpeggio’s voice for the first time, but this did nicely enough, he supposed. It was better than sitting around stewing in annoyance over his damned roommate anyway.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: so what are you up to right now?

The Cloaked Schemer: It’s a lovely night out. I needed some tea. Got coffee instead.

What is it about pumpkin spice that’s so irresistible?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Never wouldve pictured YOU as a devotee of the PSL.

The Cloaked Schemer: Guilty pleasure.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: theyre so good. I can’t have that many of them cause caffeine makes me SLEEPY

The Cloaked Schemer: Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: whats that supposed to mean?

The Cloaked Schemer: Nothing derogatory, I assure you.

Though the idea of you being hopped up on caffeine amuses me.

You seem like one of those people who has energy all the time.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: i wish

The Cloaked Schemer: I should--begrudgingly--head back to my room.

You should try working on that paper.

I mean it about the tutor.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: yeah, yeah. I hear ya

Hopefully your roommates not being a dick anymore

The Cloaked Schemer: Fat chance. M3l0d10us N0cturn3: enjoy your coffee~~

__________

Demyx sat for a long time looking at that exchange. He could’ve heard Zexion say those words. He was just so painfully smart, but Demyx could listen to him say anything. About anything. For hours.

He showered and got ready for bed, hoping that Ienzo would stay gone. But as it was, he was back. Ienzo scowled in greeting.

“Nice to see you too,” Demyx muttered. He noticed the coffee cup Ienzo had set down. Ienzo seemed to live on caffeine and spite.

“I needed to clear my head, as I do not have the luxury of privacy.”

“Well I gotta sleep somewhere,” Demyx said. He crawled into bed. Ienzo rolled his eyes. Demyx saw him grab his own shower caddy and head out to the communal bathroom. He thought he smelled--he blinked. Slowly, ever so slowly, he got up, crossed over to the cup, and sniffed it.

Of course he likes pumpkin spice lattes, Demyx thought bitterly. Ugh.

He went back to bed and fell asleep listening to music.

__________

The universe thought it was just so funny. Demyx had taken Zexion’s advice and the tutor he’d met with was his jerk of a roommate. At least Ienzo was unhappy too, if the scowl on his insufferably nerdy face was anything to go by.

“What are you doing here?” Demyx blurted before he could stop himself.

“I work here,” his jerk of a roommate answered in response, “as a tutor, for my work study. I take it your procrastinating finally caught up to you and you need some last-minute help?” Did he really have to be so damn condescending though?

Demyx hiked his backpack strap a bit higher on his shoulder and rapped his fingers on the tutoring center's reception desk. Ienzo could glare daggers at him all he wanted from his seat at the computer behind the desk, but the curious eyes of the other tutors and students around meant that he would have to maintain decorum. They both would, lest Ienzo lose his job and Demyx lose his tutoring privileges. He took a deep breath. "I need help with a biology paper."

Ienzo's expression tightened. "Would you like to make an appointment?"

"No? You said it yourself: this is last-minute." Demyx tapped on the desk. "I need to talk to the science tutor on duty, please."

"It seems like we're both out of luck tonight, then," Ienzo replied dryly, absently clicking at something on the computer monitor. "I'm the science tutor on duty at the moment."

"You? Gross."

"I'm not particularly happy about it right now, either."

Demyx considered his options, and cringed at his conclusions. His paper was due in two days, and it was only half-drafted. Without a passing grade on the assignment, he would set himself up to fail the class. Petty squabbles were not worth the hit to his GPA. He sighed. "Well, can you help? I'm kind of desperate, here."

Ienzo returned the sigh. "Fine. Follow me."

Demyx followed Ienzo around the reception desk to a square table in the far corner, a plastic chair on each side. Ienzo alighted onto the seat closest to the wall. "This better not be a waste of time."

Demyx pulled his laptop out of his backpack before sitting down across from Ienzo. "Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent people skills? Because if they did, they lied to you."

Ienzo rolled his eyes. Yep , Demyx thought, amazing people skills. They were off to a great start. Getting through this paper was going to be agony. "I'm paid to tutor, not practice social niceties."

The laptop screen lit up as Demyx swiped one finger over the trackpad. A screenshot from one of his more memorable raids in Verum Rex guarded the rest of his files behind his login password. Demyx typed his password as quickly as he could, shooing the image of his and Zexion's avatars away before Ienzo could ask any unwanted questions. Evidently, he did not type fast enough.

“Verum Rex? You're familiar with it?”

Demyx nearly jumped, shoulders tensing. He knew Ienzo was there; that shouldn’t have startled him as badly as it had.

“Duh? It's only the best MMO on the market right now. Not that you would know, since you're so committed to the whole 'smug asshole' thing,” He snarked on reflex, feeling slightly guilty about it afterwards. Ienzo was being friendly for once, or was at least making something of an attempt at it. Yikes. Demyx wasn't usually one to make low blows like that. He opened the Biology folder on his computer and selected the draft of his paper, making an effort to get along with Ienzo while they were forced to sit together. "Please help me with this? If you would be so kind, please?" Demyx made praying-hands in Ienzo's direction in apology.

Eyebrow rising - was it just one, or both? - Ienzo shot him a look, obviously unamused in the slightest. “If you’re trying to be cute, it’s not going to work.”

Demyx pouted and opened up his biology paper, turning the laptop toward Ienzo. “Fine, fine, just help me?”

Rolling his eyes yet again, Ienzo was just about to lean in to read what Demyx had so far, when the familiar sound of a Discord ping had Demyx scrambling to turn the laptop back toward himself. Shit. He’d forgotten to close his Discord window before showing up at the tutoring center.

While Demyx closed the Discord app, Ienzo watched him carefully, contemplative. “You use Discord?”

Turning the laptop back, Demyx gave him a look, half in disbelief because surely Ienzo was too much of a nerd, but not in the cool way, to know what Discord was, and yet he did. Shit, it would be really awkward to end up in a server together. “Yeah, who doesn’t use Discord these days? I mean, especially if you play games or are into, I dunno, any fan community stuff.”

For a moment, Ienzo said nothing, slowly turning to look at Demyx’s biology paper on the screen. “Alright, let’s see what we have to work with so far, if anything.”

Demyx sighed. Asshole.

__________

Was this some kind of joke? Ienzo was being pranked, wasn’t he? Any moment now Demyx would start laughing about wasting his time and walk out, like the lazy slacker he was. Halfway through, he half collapsed on the table.

“This is impossible,” Demyx whined. “You don’t really understand this stuff, do you? You’ve gotta be lying.”

Ienzo felt his eye twitch. “Not all of us are lazy fools who give up after 15 minutes. Why are you even here?”

“Because my friend said I should, and I trust his advice. He never leads me wrong, so even if I have to spend time with you , I’m gonna do this.”

"Your friend sounds like he has the sense that you very much lack," Ienzo deadpanned, scrolling through Demyx's paper. He took stock of the misformatted section headings, missing in-text citations, and the off-center data table in the middle of the mess. The topic of the paper did not appear in any of Demyx's written work. "Can you tell me what this assignment is supposed to be? I can't tell from what you've given me."

"It's…" Demyx shrank back in his seat. "I don't know what it's supposed to be. My professor gave us all a table of data-results-things and told us to organize and analyze them. I don't know what he wants, exactly."

Ienzo huffed, and almost slammed Demyx's computer closed on the spot. Thankfully, his better faculties kept him from breaking Demyx's laptop. "There's your problem. You can't complete an assignment if you don't know what the assignment is . Email your professor for clarification and request an extension. If you do it early enough, they might grant you leniency."

"Really? That's your advice? Beg my way out of it?"

"Not begging. Requesting. It shows forethought, self-awareness, and emotional maturity, even if you don't actually possess any of those things. The adage of faking proficiency to gain proficiency has some truth to it." Ienzo pushed the laptop over to Demyx. "Is there anything else I can help with?"

Demyx's arms crossed, and his expression took on the quality of a betrayed toddler. "You didn't even help me with what I came in for, asshole."

Ienzo waved away Demyx's indignation with a dismissive hand. "There's only so much I, or any tutor, can do without having a good idea of what your professor expects. Emailing is the best advice I can give right now."

"So if I email my professor, you’ll help me?”

“I give you my word.” A promise made in haste, if only to appease the barest responsibilities of his job. Hopefully Demyx wouldn’t make him live to regret it.

Not long after Demyx was gone, Ienzo checked his Discord app, surreptitiously on his phone behind the reception desk, to find a message from Arpeggio.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Zexy, this worst thing ever just happened!

My roommate is my tutor!

Save meeeeeee

The Cloaked Schemer: That is peculiar. Though colleges are small worlds, so I hear.

What did he have to say re: the paper?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Ugh he couldn’t even help

Because I had licherally no idea what the professor wants

I mean, the dude has an F on ratemyprofessor so

He said to email and beg for clarity and an extension

The Cloaked Schemer: ...That is sound advice, actually.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Youre taking his side???

The Cloaked Schemer: Not exactly.

But in academic situations, it always looks good on you to take the initiative and seek help when you need it.

I guarantee the professor will work with you, and perhaps be able to refine that same assignment in the future.

If he’s worth his salt, he’s seeking to improve himself the way you are.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I GUESS

You wanna do a raid tonite?

The Cloaked Schemer: Alas, I, too, am a college student with coursework.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: RUDE

Ienzo leaned back in his chair in the campus library. How coincidental, he thought. He’d just given Demyx the same advice. Then again, college papers--especially in the sciences--were not always diverse on the gen ed level. He recalled Demyx’s paper; he should’ve asked him to see the email, or post, or handout with the assignment on it. Chances are the moron had merely misunderstood.

Demyx liked Verum Rex. Perhaps they could have this to talk about. Ienzo wondered who he mained. Probably Yozora, he thought with a sneer.

The Cloaked Schemer: Actually, I can do one raid.

ONE. Brief. Raid.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Thats more like it! \o/

One raid turned into two, then Ienzo ended up staying in the library, at the tutoring center, until it closed.

__________

Demyx begrudgingly took Ienzo’s advice. After his marathon raid session with Zexion, he sent a brief email--agonizing over the wording--to his professor, who responded almost instantly with an apology. Several students had already asked him about the assignment, it turned out, so he was going to extend the entire class’s deadline. But if Demyx needed a few days after that, he could have it.

“You were right,” Demyx murmured out loud, as he read the email the next morning.

“Of course I was,” Ienzo said, not looking up from his desk. “See? All it takes is a little maturity.”

The irony. Demyx grimaced. He looked over at him. “So you’ll help me?”

“When--and only when--I am on duty,” he said. “I have a life outside of work, you know.”

Demyx wondered how true that was. Ienzo spent a lot of the time in the room if he were not in class or in the library. Did he have friends? Did he go to societies? He nearly asked. Then he looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in weeks. He had bags under his eyes, and was washed out, books spread in a circle around him. “Outside of studying, too?”

Ienzo opened his mouth, then shut it. “I am not here to socialize. I am here for a degree.”

“But don’t you… have any friends?”

“Of course I do,” Ienzo said, just a little too quickly.

Like he would honestly tell Demyx. “Sure,” he said, shutting his laptop and tucking it into his bag. “Well. I got class. I’ll see you at the center later?”

“Much to my chagrin,” Ienzo responded evenly.

Demyx’s day was ordinary other than that. After the professor clarified what he wanted in class (and, to Demyx’s immense relief, it was much less daunting than what he’d thought), he stopped by the library to check out some books which might point him in a vague direction. Ienzo could tell him if they were any good. He stopped by the coffee shop to grab a croissant and a coffee, and, on impulse, got one for Ienzo as well. The idea of it made him nervous. Maybe I’ll say they made an extra by mistake, he thought. He already knew Ienzo drank them.

There Ienzo was, sitting in the office. “It’s you,” he said in an unreadable tone.

“It’s me.” He cleared his throat. “Um…” He thrust out the coffee without saying anything else.

“Is this for me?”

“Uh, yeah.” He felt his face heat--though why?

Ienzo took it, looking confused, and sniffed the small hole in the lid. “Oh,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked--”

“No. I do. That was kind of you.” He blinked, his expression odd, slackened; Demyx realized it was without malice. “Let’s get to work, shall we? I don’t want this to take any longer than it has to.”

Ienzo helped him structure the paper, and reviewed proper citations with him. It would take a little work, but seeing it outlined, Demyx felt a lot less overwhelmed. Something he thought was a mammoth project would maybe take an hour or two to write.

“Once you have it written, come back and I can help you with grammar and syntax,” Ienzo said.

“Awesome.” He took a deep breath. “I feel… a lot better now.”

“One typically does when one stops procrastinating,” Ienzo said. He leaned back in his seat. For a second--but just one--he sounded like Zexion, all firm and proper, genteel without being rigid.

__________

"You got your grade back already?"

Demyx beamed as he held his laptop screen-out, his browser logged into the university's online grading system. One score was listed under BIO 101, labelled "Paper 1." The percentage displayed next to the assignment name was higher than Ienzo expected from Demyx. "I didn't completely fail!" he practically cheered.

"So you didn't," Ienzo agreed, nodding slightly at the number from his desk. "It's amazing what a bit of work will do."

Demyx dropped himself onto his bed and turned his laptop. He bounced on the mattress a few times while he looked at the number. "This is the best news I've gotten all semester and it's the best feeling. Is this what it's like to be a genius and get good grades all the time?"

Ienzo returned his attention to his own laptop, where a half-drafted essay mocked him with its blinking text cursor and nonsensical thesis statement. He clacked another line of bullshit into the document. It was for English class, he reminded himself. Any answer was correct if it could be argued well. "No, not really. You get used to it."

"I… I should thank you," Demyx said, after a beat of silence. "For your help. I wouldn't have had anything to turn in at all if you hadn't told me to email my professor."

Another line of bullshit trailed across the screen. Ienzo squinted at it, unsure of what he had typed. "Don't mention it. It's my job."

"But still. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Ienzo could hear Demyx shuffling on his bed. "So… you play Verum Rex?"

"Fairly regularly, yes."

"Do you do raids or multiplayer at all?"

Ienzo shot Demyx a warning glance. "I already have a raiding group. I'm not looking for another one."

Across the room, Demyx had tucked himself into bed, his Star Wars sheets pulled all the way up to his chin. He blinked at Ienzo unceremoniously. "Jeez, forget I asked. No need to be snippy about it."

Demyx's head disappeared under the covers, and Ienzo returned his attention to his essay. At least, he tried. The Discord notifications in the corner of his screen kept distracting him.

Eventually, Ienzo admitted defeat and opened Discord. All of the messages were from Arpeggio.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: hey, do we have an opening on our raiding party?

Zexion?

Oh nvm he said no

What are you up to?

I'm taking a victory nap after getting a good grade on that paper I had to

write a while back

My roommate is typing something and he's so loud

What is he writing that makes him so angy

The Cloaked Schemer: I am also typing angrily at something

It is a universal collegiate experience

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: still so angy tho

Are you angy atm?

The Cloaked Schemer: I am… frustrated

I'm meant to be dissecting the themes in a short story but I feel like I'm only spewing garbage on the page

Perhaps if I present the garbage with enough conviction, I will be able to maneuver through this class

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: if youre writing it, it's definitely not garbage :P

you need to have more confidence in yourself, Zexy

The Cloaked Schemer: Ha. I think my roommate would disagree

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: well then he's a bum

Tell him that

Arpeggio says so

Ienzo looked back at Demyx, cocooned in spaceship bed sheets and doing who-knows-what under the cover of bed linens. He thought he saw the flash of a phone screen through the fabric, but the light disappeared as quickly as he caught it.

The Cloaked Schemer: I'll pass. He seems busy.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Busy doing what? Bum things?

The Cloaked Schemer: I certainly hope not. We're in the same room right now.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: oh. Awkward

The Cloaked Schemer: I’ll say.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: so you know ive been thinking

The Cloaked Schemer: Have you? What a concept.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ha ha.

Its been a while since we tried voice chatting

Maybe we could try again?

The Cloaked Schemer: You would want that?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I want to hear your voice. To see if youre actually as smart as you write

Maybe youve got, like, a transatlantic accent, or something. Thatd be cool

Ienzo blinked, staring hard at the screen. His heart beat a little faster. It was so hard to determine tone through text.

The Cloaked Schemer: Maybe I’m not as cool as I seem.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: highly, HIGHLY doubt it

Youve kept me sane

I really appreciate our

Ienzo saw him type “thing” and then frenetically edit to “friendship.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

The Cloaked Schemer: The feeling is mutual.

A long, long pause. Ienzo did not know what else to say. His face was burning.

The Cloaked Schemer: Normally I’d rather be caught dead than admit this.

But it does get somewhat lonely here.

It’s nice to have someone to talk to.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I know what u mean

Sometimes i feel like i dont really know who i am

And like college is supposed to be about finding that

But its hard.

The Cloaked Schemer: You don’t have to tell me twice.

Part of why it’s so easy to exist in online spaces, in games. Appearance doesn’t matter. It’s like being a more concentrated version of oneself.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Do u feel like a more concentrated version of yourself?

The Cloaked Schemer: When I talk to you.

Ienzo’s heart was pounding. He thought he heard Demyx sigh across the room. Was he typing too hard?

Arpeggio started and stopped typing several times, just making Ienzo more nervous. What is he going to say? Did I push it too hard? Was I too forward?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Me too, Zexion

I wish we knew each other. Like, irl

Getting to do raids in person

That would be so fun

And i dunno, maybe do other things

Go out to eat. Go to the movies. Maybe go dancing.

Do u like clubs?

The Cloaked Schemer: I’ve never been.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: it takes some getting used to

But the energy of a crowd is electric

Especially with people you know

Oh god oh god oh god , Ienzo thought. His hands were trembling.

The Cloaked Schemer: Where would we go to eat?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: anywhere you want

Well. on a college students budget anyway

-laughs in poor

The Cloaked Schemer: Ah, so, five star cuisine, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Just dont order the lobster

In all seriousness. We need to vc sometime

The Cloaked Schemer: Yes.

There’s going to be a raid event on Saturday. Perhaps then?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Depends on if i have the room :/

Wanna say yes so bad

The Cloaked Schemer: I know the feeling.

I suppose if I get desperate enough I can rent out a study cubicle in the library.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Awww you’d do that for little ol’ me?

The Cloaked Schemer: Yes, I

His finger slipped, hitting the enter key a moment too soon before he could even finish the thought in his head. His hands felt almost clammy, the inner mechanizations of his mind working on overdrive, as if trying to race against the pitter-patter beat of his heart. Shit. Perhaps… Riku was right after all? Had Ienzo, usually so level-headed, actually developed a crush on Arpeggio? It was utterly nonsensical, and yet he couldn’t deny that he felt a comfort with Arpeggio that he didn’t feel with anyone else he knew, online or offline. Was it possible to fall- ...to develop a smattering of feelings for someone based on typed text alone?

Well, wasn’t that a theme in literature? Two people falling in love over written letters? For all Ienzo knew, there could very well have been instances of it happening in real life, in the days of old, long, long before the age of technology and the internet. A pair of penpals, miles and miles of distance between them, communicating through the written word; it could happen, couldn’t it?

Hold on. When the hell did he turn into a sap ? Frowning, Ienzo ran a hand over his face, feeling like a lovestruck fool.

No. No, this couldn’t be a crush. Just because it was so easy to talk to him, just because they’d been talking for a year or so by now, it didn’t mean-

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Zexy?

You ok?

Shit, how long had he zoned out for?

The Cloaked Schemer: Sorry. Got distracted.

But regardless, I think we should aim for Saturday.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Great!

Hoping we don’t get interrupted by our dick roomies

The Cloaked Schemer: Quite. It’s a date, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Yes :3

Ienzo took a deep breath. Regardless as to whether or not this was practical, it seemed that Arpeggio reciprocated his flirting.

Wait. Ienzo looked at the screen, cheeks heating up as he realized he’d typed the word ‘date,’ and Arpeggio said ‘yes .’ He couldn’t deny the little flutter of his stomach in that moment.

__________

Demyx set his phone aside, his heart beating heavily in his chest, his face bright red. He swallowed. There was no way sleep would come easily now, and it probably wouldn’t be until Saturday.

He thought about the nature of crushes. He’d never seen Zexy’s face, or heard his voice, but he was so adept at weaving words in the way Demyx wanted to be with music. He tried to imagine him, what he might be like.

He rolled onto his back. Ienzo’s frenetic, noisy typing had stopped. Demyx sat up, rubbed his eyes, and pretended he’d been napping the whole time. “You good?”

Ienzo shut his computer quickly, like he’d been doing something questionable. “Yes. Fine.” He was a little out of breath. What the hell had he been writing?

Demyx blinked. “I’m gonna go get a coffee,” he said instead. “Want me to bring you one back?”

“Sure,” Ienzo said, his face flushed.

Demyx shook his head. Well. If Ienzo needed to take care of that he had at least a few minutes now. “Cool.”

The whole time he was at the coffee shop, he kept thinking about Zexion, all their little conversations. It was evolving, and evolving fast. Demyx knew from brief experimentation with dating apps that just because a person sent you some flirty words didn’t mean anything would come of it. For all he knew, Zexion lived in New Zealand, or something.

That didn’t stop him from wanting it.

He drew a deep breath, exhaled. Well. Saturday he would find out.

Demyx wasn’t going to let Ienzo ruin his chances of meeting Zexion. He decided to strike preemptively, pausing at the door of their dorm room and sucking in a breath, steeling himself. He could do this. He could ask his roommate for the room for one night, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Hey, so, I have a thing Saturday,” he said vaguely. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t coming off as strongly as he intended, but he could still try. “Mind if I hang here alone for a few hours?”

Ienzo glanced up. The flush was gone, and he seemed much more composed. “Yes, that’s fine. I was going to go study anyway.”

“Study? Don’t you ever have any fun?”

“Perhaps I find studying fun,” Ienzo said.

“Suit yourself.” As he passed on his way back to the bed, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Ienzo had Discord open.

__________

Friday night, Demyx barely slept. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Crushes didn’t usually… hit him this hard. It’s dumb. It’s so dumb. His loneliness was getting to him. Even Saturday morning, there were some hours until the events started. He looked at his DM history with Zexion. They’d spoken briefly, only to confirm a time and place for their characters to meet and chat. He sat at his desk, his hands trembling, as the game booted up.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: You ready?

The Cloaked Schemer: Of course.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Cool.

My mic isnt like great

But you can still hear me

He was shaking. He was shaking. “Get it together,” he muttered to himself.

The Cloaked Schemer: You’re a broke college student. I’m not expecting a professional setup here.

Though I will say my booth is pleasantly soundproofed.

Let me connect.

And Demyx thought his heart might stop. I’m so gay, he thought. A second later he heard that familiar call connection. He twitched a little, and his mic clattered loudly on the floor. Shit!

“Arpeggio? Are you alright?”

“I just dropped the--”

A long, long pause.

He knew that voice.

“Zexion?” He picked up the mic and set it down.

“Arpeggio?”

“I dropped the mic.” Demyx swallowed.

“You…” Zexion fumbled for words. “Speak a little more, please.”

“Is that really you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re in a library right now.”

“And you had an event… Saturday.”

“Ohh my god,” Demyx mumbled. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, just that he was feeling a lot of it. “Ienzo. You’re Zexion?”

“It’s an anagram,” he said, his tone numb.

“Seriously, this whole time--”

“Evidently.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but at the same time, there was something warm in his chest.

Wait, no. No. This was Ienzo, and they hated each other--

Demyx realized he was panicking. He also, vaguely, in the back of his mind, realized the call had disconnected.

Demyx spent the next few minutes desperately trying to control his breathing, trying to not focus on how Zexion- No, Ienzo- was so disgusted it was him that he’d immediately dropped the call.

Of course. Of fucking course. The universe hated him. The universe had it out for him, surely. Why else would this have happened? He finally meets this sweet, smart, wonderful guy who takes him seriously and actually likes talking to him, on a regular basis , and then… And then… It turns out to be the very same roommate who hates him. That would just be his damned luck, wouldn’t it?

Grabbing his pillow, Demyx face-planted into it, pressing it furiously against his eyes to stop them from burning, to stop the tears that threatened to spill. Of all the people it could’ve been. Why Ienzo ?

Demyx had been nervous enough as it was, afraid the person on the other end would think him annoying - his voice, his tone, the way he just couldn’t fucking shut up sometimes when he got excited about something. Alternatively, the filter between his brain and his mouth was immensely weaker than the filter between his brain and his fingers, and he could’ve said the wrong thing, unable to stop himself in the same way his hand can catch itself on the enter key before hitting it, or quickly delete the message before Zexion could read it.

But this was so much worse, because Ienzo already knew him, already had an impression of him, and that impression was far from good. It’s no wonder he disconnected the call so suddenly. He likely couldn’t stand hearing the truth any longer, stomach churning with disgust, head filled to bursting with regret, and not just regret over the voice call, but everything .

An almost entire year’s worth of conversations, soiled now, because Demyx was, well, Demyx . A slob. A slacker. An idiot. He wasn’t worth Ienzo’s time, and now he knew he wasn’t worth Zexion’s.

A sharp ache spread over his chest, cold and numbing, all of him tense with it. He… liked Zexion. He very genuinely liked him, so excited to get to talk to him, his bristling nerves aside. All week he’d thought about it, daydreaming, wondering what the person on the other end would sound like, if he’d love that voice as much as he loved the text on his Discord screen.

It no longer mattered, not when it was now clear that Zexion - no, Ienzo , was utterly disgusted with him.

It was over. It was all over - their friendship, a year’s worth of personal conversations, these budding feelings he was beginning to have, or that he’s been having for a while now…

On the flipside, was Demyx disappointed that it turned out to be Ienzo? He… didn’t know the answer to that, still reeling in the fact that Zexion, his dear friend and crush, hated him. The pillow was starting to suffocate him and he instinctively pulled it away from his face, eyes still burning. He sucked in some deep breaths and just when he was finally on the cusp of calming down, his door swung open so fast Demyx feared it’d break off the hinges.

Ienzo leveled him with a determined stare. “You.”

__________

Ienzo sat.

And sat.

And stared, and sat some more.

He was dizzy. Slowly, so slowly, all the pieces clicked together. The coffee. The references to Verum Rex. How they were always just missing each other. The whole tutoring scenario. Good god . So this person he’d been harboring feelings for this whole time was--

He pressed a hand to his forehead. And yet, a small part of him… was relieved?

It could be…

No, it couldn’t be anything! They hated each other! They’d complained to each other about each other more times than Ienzo could count. They had--

Ienzo felt the walls of the study booth begin to close in around him, pushing the breathable air out of the room. His ribcage constricted around his lungs, and his heartbeat pounded at his temples. He gathered his laptop and microphone in his arms and burst out of the room, chest heaving.

He braced himself against the outer wall of the study booth and willed himself to breathe normally, his head tilted all the way back to rest on the door. This was real life, and he was fine. He would be fine, anyway, with a bit of finessing. Okay, perhaps a little more than a bit.

Ienzo retrieved his backpack and stowed his equipment inside as he analyzed the situation. Arpeggio and Demyx were the same person. A strange revelation, but not world-ending. He could find another raiding party. He could join another server. There was more than one person with whom to play Verum Rex.

But--

Ienzo caught himself zipping and unzipping the top pocket of his backpack, more forcefully than necessary each time. A new server didn't sound appealing. A new raiding party, even less so. He would have to chat with new people, learn their idiosyncrasies and fighting styles, learn their pseudonyms and remember how they differed from their usernames. It all sounded so… hard, and boring, and unnecessary.

He zipped his backpack closed for the last time and held it at his side by its tiny top handle. Its back straps kicked at his calves as he raced out of the study area, through the main lobby, and into the courtyard. His mind was set. His choice was clear. The only thing to do was follow through.

Ienzo made a beeline back to the room. He found Demyx sitting cross-legged on his own bed, his computer accessorized with a small budget microphone and his face awash with something that looked like guilt. His eyes widened when Ienzo crossed the threshold.

"You." Ienzo's statement rang out like a gong.

Demyx swallowed. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk." Ienzo shut the door behind himself. It slammed closed, though Ienzo had not intended for that.

"...yeah." Demyx turned back to his computer, fiddling at the USB port where his microphone connected to the rest of the machine. "Ienzo, I--"

"Shut up." Ienzo stalked into the room, single-minded. He stopped at the edge of Demyx's bed. "Shut up and listen, for once."

Demyx's shoulders rose to his ears. He stayed quiet.

Ienzo dropped his backpack to the floor. Though his fingers trembled, his resolve held firm. The moment of reckoning was upon him. "Did you know?"

Demyx shook his head.

"Did you want to know?"

He responded in a whisper, pained and hushed. "I wanted to meet Zexion."

Ienzo's hands trembled faster. He balled them into fists to compensate. "And now that you know," he said, "do you regret it? Wanting to know? Learning the truth?"

A tear trailed down Demyx's downcast cheek. "No."

Something deep inside Ienzo wanted to reach out and wipe away the tears that followed, while Demyx's breath caught in gasps over his laptop keyboard. Ienzo steeled himself. "I… don't regret it, either."

"You don't?" Demyx looked up and met Ienzo's gaze with caution. Aside from the red tinge at their edges, his eyes looked almost hopeful.

Ienzo softened, relaxed his fists. "I don't want to find a new server, or a new raiding party."

Sniffling, Demyx nodded. "I don't, either."

"I don't want to stop talking to Arpeggio," Ienzo continued, his heart playing timpanis in his chest. "He is a close friend of mine."

"He's also your lazy roommate." Another tear escaped, this time going down the side of Demyx's nose. Demyx wiped at it with the heel of his hand. "Ienzo, I--"

"We've had differences. We've also had commonalities, albeit in virtual space. There's no reason we cannot bring the two together."

"Ienzo--"

"There's no reason we should be at each other's throats. We--"

"Ienzo!"

He blinked. The drum performance in his chest missed a beat, then started from the top at full speed. "Yes?"

Demyx unplugged the microphone from his computer, sighed, and tossed it to the far edge of his bed. "I don't think that will work."

Ienzo frowned and crossed his arms. He was beginning to remember why he and Demyx didn't get along in meatspace. "Why, pray tell, is that?" he asked.

Demyx swallowed again, more conspicuously than before. "It's just… I…"

Ienzo leaned forward, his head cocked to the side. "You what?"

"I, um, I…"

"Go on. I don't have all night."

Demyx pushed his computer aside and drew his knees into his chest. "I… shit. I had a thing for Zexion." His shoulders hitched with sardonic laughter. "Shit. Fuck. This sucks." He reached behind himself for his pillow and buried his face in it. "This is so embarrassing," he whined, his voice muffled.

Ienzo's budding anger deflated. "You… you did?"

Demyx nodded into his pillow. "Uh-huh. And now you know, too."

Ienzo opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't make the words in his head form coherent phrases. His throat sputtered with half-formed consonants instead. Words. For fuck’s sake, wasn’t he good at words? Why was this suddenly so damn hard?

"This is the worst," Demyx groaned. "Just kill me now. Make it look like an accident. Tell my family I loved them. Don't let my sister take my bedroom at home."

Ienzo's faculties returned in the bumbling, clumsy way that drunkards stumbled home from dank local pubs. "I... don't think that will be necessary," Ienzo managed, through his own confusion.

"No?" Demyx put his pillow back in its place, and faced Ienzo with dried saline clumping in his eyelashes. "What, are you gonna torture me instead? Make me regret being born? Because you're a little late on that front, buddy, I already do."

Ienzo took a deep breath. His crossed arms dropped to his side, then held each other at the elbows. "I may have developed… similar feelings. For Arpeggio." Ienzo's mouth went dry. The drum performance upgraded itself to a full marching band drumline, twenty-five snare drums pounding paradiddles and rolls in synchronized sweeps.

A silence consumed the space between them, interrupted only by Demyx's sniffling and Ienzo's heartbeat. It stretched into the abyss and the stratosphere in equal measure, and stung more acutely than the idea of never speaking to Arpeggio again.

Demyx broke the silence by clearing his throat. "So…"

Ienzo coughed. "So..."

"Are we…" Demyx unfolded his legs and swung them over the side of his bed. His hands grasped at his mattress, and his head hung from his shoulders "Are we, y'know… do we still, like…"

"Do you want to be?" Ienzo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Friends, cohorts, party members, server mutuals? Or…"

"Or what?"

"Or…" Ienzo trailed off. Or what, indeed? Friends with benefits? Significant others? Boyfriends? The mere thought made Ienzo's palms sweat. "Or…"

In the moment between Ienzo's efforts to name his emotions and act on them, Demyx had sprung up from the bed and slipped his hands around the sides of Ienzo's face, his thumbs resting just below the apples of Ienzo's cheeks. His breath tickled at Ienzo's nose and lips. "Or… this?"

Heat seared at every inch of Ienzo's face. If he could feel Demyx's breath, Demyx could feel his as well. "...I suppose, yes."

"In that case," Demyx murmured, somehow purring and wavering at the same time, "tell me no." He rested his forehead on Ienzo's. "Tell me no, and we won't. I promise. Things can go back to normal."

A whimper, wholly undignified and unbidden, escaped from Ienzo's higher register. "I can't," he whispered.

Demyx leaned forward, and Ienzo followed. At some point, they met in the middle, and the world's axis shifted two degrees to the left. It was a tentative press of lips, but Demyx’s hands on his face kept him anchored. It didn’t feel like Ienzo thought it would, and self-consciousness invaded. Suddenly Ienzo felt very young and immature; vulnerable .

But… after a moment or so, not so much. Demyx was so warm against him, and Ienzo realized it was a learning curve, one he was picking up with his usual speed. He was shaking a little in disbelief. It was so-- nice.

Demyx pulled away and brushed his fingers across his cheek. "You're trembling."

"Forgive me. I--" He swallowed.

"No, it's cool." Demyx pulled away and smiled, brighter than Ienzo had ever seen someone smile before. "Do you… want to go again?"

Ienzo did, very much so. "I'm not opposed, per se, but I think we should… explore our relationship a bit. Perhaps starting with our mutual interest in pumpkin spice flavors."

“Sounds like a plan to me, Zexy,” Demyx grinned.

__________

Riku set the pair of pumpkin spice lattes down on the little square table in the back corner of the coffeeshop, glancing at Ienzo, then Demyx, then back at Ienzo, one eyebrow shooting up into his hair. “Is the world ending? Did I miss a memo on the corkboard in the back room?”

Ienzo coughed. He was vaguely aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. Damn it all to hell. Of course Riku was here, why would it have been anyone else? Sighing, he gestured to Demyx, bracing himself for the inevitable bit of humiliation, courtesy of the one friend who knew about his very apparent crush on his Discord friend. “Riku, meet Arpeggio.”

Riku’s other eyebrow shot up into his hair. “You’re shitting me.”

Demyx looked across the table at Zexion, clearly trying to fight the incoming of a shit-eating grin. “You talked about me to people?”

"Only the unimportant ones," Ienzo said, picking up his cup and sipping loudly.

“Psh,” Riku spat with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, and every damn minute of the day. If I had a dollar for every time you made heart eyes at the ceiling while talking about him, I could quit this job and pay off my tuition.”

Ienzo balked at that, nearly choking on his latte. “It was not that often.”

Waving a hand, Riku corrected himself, looking pointedly at Demyx. “Wait, no, he’s right. I’m forgetting that half the time, he’d be complaining about his horrible room-”

“Shouldn’t you be behind the counter?” Ienzo hissed, glaring at Riku. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Demyx’s gaze flicking between him, like he was watching a game of ping-pong. “Or should I text Sora and Kairi about all those little hearts you like to draw around their names on the garbage receipts every time they come in?”

"Go ahead. I'm ninety percent sure they're both into me, anyway."

Ienzo pulled his phone from his pocket and brandished it at Riku. "Are you willing to test that theory?"

"Make sure you write it down," Demyx chirped, blowing into the hole in his drink's lid. "If you write it down, it's science. I learned that in Biology this semester."

"I'll do more than that," Ienzo said, tapping on his phone screen with both hands. After his phone played a short 'whoosh' sound, he placed it face-down on the table. "Images sent. Now we wait for our results."

Riku scoffed, then balked, then turned beet-red. "You're an asshole," he hissed through his teeth.

"Relax. I was just kidding,” Ienzo said with a glint in his eye that Demyx barely caught.

"Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical." Riku scowled for a moment, but eventually softened into a smirk. "Whatever. Enjoy your Discord date, Casanova." He knocked on the table once before returning to the checkout counter.

"Discord date?" Demyx asked, taking a swig of his pumpkin spice latte. "I thought we were hanging out in real life."

"Let's not split hairs. We're about to see a show." Ienzo jutted his chin in the direction of the cafe's front door. As if on cue, Sora and Kairi burst through it like a duo on a mission.

“Oh Riiiiiiiiku!” they chorused in sing-song at the top of their lungs.

"Sometimes," Ienzo said, turning back to Demyx, "I like to watch the world burn."

“Yeah, I know. That’s actually kind of hot,” Demyx admitted, taking another sip of his latte. "Remind me not to piss you off again, though."

#Zemyx #Demyx #Ienzo #Zexion #Kingdom Hearts #fanfiction #Zemyx Day #Zemyx Day 2020

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