#mayhem is brewing

[penumbra-mayhem]

Big Brother - Tank & David fic

"When he died...I lost myself. Lost myself to my new role as alpha. Lost myself to my grief...lost myself to trying to bury that grief...."

(I hc that Tank has a stutter; there's more on that here if you'd like. This fic takes place sometime after the Inversion and before Quinn gets caught. I hope you enjoy <3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mind if I join you?"

Tank turned to peer up at David before nodding and looking back out into the moonwashed night. The porch steps creaked as David made his way down and sat next to Tank. They silently offered him their lit cigarette.

For a while the two smoked in silence, listening to the crickets' song and the pack's muffled chatter inside the house. Eventually, David used the brief nicotine hit to spur him into bravery:

"I uh...I want to talk..."

Tank's eyes flitted over to David, then down at the dying cigarette between their fingers. They took one final, steadying drag before putting it out. David swallowed. His voice was gentle—an uncommon tone for him to take with Tank,

"...I want to talk about Gabe."

Tank tensed. They could feel their walls already coming up. They could feel the urge to run. To do anything to avoid this conversation. They hadn't talked about Gabe with anyone, let alone David, since that night.

David could feel the shift in their aura. A moment passed—one long moment, enough so that Tank could leave if they really wanted. When they didn't move, David continued,

"When he died...I lost myself. Lost myself to my new role as alpha. Lost myself to my grief...lost myself to trying to bury that grief. I didn't want to acknowledge what had happened. How...how hurt I was...how lost. I became hard. Cold. Sometimes...sometimes even cruel—"

"—D-D-David—"

"—Please," David pleaded, his voice devoid of any edge or force.

Tank held David's gaze for as long as they could before looking away, blinking rapidly in frustration. They could never win against him, not even in this.

David took a few breaths before speaking again, "That night...that night I was cruel. That night, I was selfish. I was scared. I didn't want to acknowledge how much you were hurting...because that would've meant I had to accept how much I was hurting too...You came to me because you felt like I was the only other person in the world who knew what you were going through. And you weren't wrong. But I was."

David's words from years ago growled in Tank's mind: Why the fuck are you crying? He wasn't your dad, he was mine! Fucking hell, not everything is about you!

They bit their lip to keep it from quivering and stared up at the stars, willing their eyes to not water, unsuccessfully.

"I shouldn't have said what I said," David admitted, his heart sinking at the sight of Tank trying to hold themself together. "Gabe took you in. He was a father to you. Which means I was...am...your brother. You came to me grieving, and I dismissed your grief and shut you out...and I'm s-sorry."

Hearing the break in his voice, Tank finally looked back over at David. They watched a tear slide down his cheek. Then another. And another.

"I've been a shitty big brother. I haven't been there for you. But I want to be here for you, now, if you'll let me."

Tank stared at David silently. He tried to glean something, anything, from their intense gaze to no avail. Dread began to pool in his stomach. It was too late. He couldn't fix this. He didn't deserve to fix this. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away in defeat. He heard Tank sniffle. He heard the wooden step creak as they began to move. They were leaving, he knew it. He was right, he was too late.

Then he felt them lean into his side. Opening his eyes, David found Tank curled up against him, their head resting on his shoulder. He watched a tear slide down their cheek. Then another. And another.

He raised his arms, wrapping them tightly around Tank. He could still feel them holding back, knew that this was only one wall down, with many more to go. But this was more than he expected, and he was grateful.

"I m-m-m-m-miss him," Tank whispered.

David's chest ached at the admission. He pet their head and whispered back, "Me too."

And tears fell. Then another. And another.

[unhingednerdyredhead]

Idea for a tale:

Able likes to drink, but in his words, "This bitter (untranslatable, goes on for about 15 seconds) Is. NOT. Beer. "

Bes, being a god of mirth and brewing/fermentation, hears this and wants to know why the pretty Sumerian is pissed off.

Able: "This."

Bes takes a sip, spits it out,and spends the next ten minutes gagging. "What vile trick is this!?!"

And from then on, an idea is formed. The resurrection of "real" beer.

[tsuutarr]

A were-wolf hottie and no pic, give me the fluffy hooligan please 😫

Extra points if it's enemies to lovers trope, except no vampire verses wolf, more like were cat or coyote vs wolf?. Scooby-Doo zombie mayhem got me

(So I ended up doing a bit of a rivals to lovers kind of thing rather than enemies! I didn't have too much info to go off of, so if this fic isn't to your liking, feel free to send me another ask with more details!)

Pairing: Vilkas Lunewood (werewolf OC) x werecat! reader

Contents: one-sided rivalry (somewhat one-sided romantic pining) where Vilkas thinks of you as his greatest rival to beat on exams.

Word count: 1180

Even though Vilkas would rather read his favorite book in a cozy nook, he’s known as a brute – someone who can weaponize his fists to subdue all that cross him. His sharp eyes and broad figure do little to deter his reputation as a brutish hooligan. However, despite his reputation, Vilkas has never started any fights – it’s just that he’s always finished them, being the last one standing.

It’s hardly his fault that he’s so strong, though, especially since strength is the least of his concerns. No, his much bigger concern is defeating you, his stupidly pretty werecat rival, academically.

“Hm… I could’ve done that a bit better…” you murmur from beside him. You’re both staring at the recent exam scores posted on the bulletin board.

He smells you before he hears you. Vilkas has always noticed your scent, something warm and soft – something he associates with afternoon naps basking in the gentle rays of the sun. Not that it matters, really, not when you’re constantly kicking him to the curb in terms of your grades. He’s been number one for as long as he can remember, but then you come along and place him in the number two spot consecutively. And you look cute while you do it. Frustrating!

“Ah, Lunewood, your score’s gone up, hm? That’s good to see.”

Vilkas scowls at how easily you address him, gloating about your victory. You’ve never been scared of him, always talking to him whenever you can. It’s stupid. You’re stupid. You and your stupidly lovely ears and stupidly adorable tail and that sweet voice and–

“Lunewood?”

“What?” he growls, his eyebrows furrowed at the center.

“Ah, you look rather upset, is all.”

“I am not.” Of course Vilkas isn’t upset – he’s good at taking a loss! And even if he is upset (which he isn’t), it’s not like he’s bothering anyone! The clear distance most people are keeping from him is definitely, definitely not because they think he’s scary for scowling – that’d be ridiculous!

“If you say so.”

Vilkas’ scowl deepens.

“Ah. It was quite nice chatting with you. I’ve got to head off now.”

Vilkas’ nose scrunches. You’re probably gonna stick your nose into a stupid little book (something he’d do too). You’re gonna brew yourself your favorite beverage as you curl up to read something you like and you’re gonna look so cute doing it and it’s so annoying to Vilkas to think about.

Stupid, stupid werecat.

.

.

.

The next time Vilkas encounters you, it’s because he smells your warm scent mingled with a scent he’d only describe as sour. His frown deepens as he follows the smell, before coming across you getting harassed by some no-good werewolf.

Ugh. Seriously. Like yeah, you’re cute and charming and whatever, but couldn’t that stupid werewolf pick another cat to pick on? Like why’s that dumb werewolf wasting time flirting with you? And why haven’t you just beat that stupid, no-good werewolf off with a stick? You’ve got the claws to scratch him up. Ugh. Whatever. It’s not his business–

“Leave the cat alone,” he spits, despite his inner monologue. He’s not helping you because he thinks you need his help or because he’s worried or whatever. He just doesn’t have anything better to do. That’s what he tells himself as he sizes up the werewolf that’s been hitting on you.

“Yeah? What’re ya gonna do about it if I don’t?” the no-good werewolf hisses, standing taller to appear bigger. The no-good werewolf is bigger than you, a werecat, but can’t compare to the sheer muscle mass Vilkas boasts.

“I’m not gonna do anythin’ about it,” Vilkas growls. “‘Cause you’re not gonna give me a reason to do anythin’ about it.”

The no-good werewolf falters briefly at the deadly gleam in Vilkas’s eyes, but decides to stupidly stand his ground. “You want me to give you a reason to scram?”

“You think you got what it takes?” Vilkas shoots back, his teeth bared. His tail bristles, ears flattened against his head.

“Lunewood,” your voice calls, which irritatingly makes Vilkas feel calmer. “Let’s just go.”

Vilkas isn’t sure what to do – he’s not really one to back down from a fight, but your voice and smell just make Vilkas feel… softer, like he’s wrapped in a you-shaped blanket.

“Wait–” the no-good werewolf’s face pales. “Lunewood? Vilkas Lunewood?”

Vilkas stands taller. “What about it?”

“No–nothing!” a squeak leaves the werewolf’s mouth as his tail tucks between his legs, before he runs away.

“...I should’ve punched him once,” Vilkas grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Hm, maybe you should’ve,” you agree lightly. “The more I think about it, the more I dislike him.” You spin on your heel, turning to Vilkas with a smile. “Thanks, by the way. I appreciate it.”

Hmph, a good ploy on your part – trying to make him lower his guard by thanking him? If you think that your thanks makes Vilkas’ tail wag, you’re so very correct – Vilkas tries his best to temper his tail’s excitement, but he just gives up because he can’t. “It’s nothing. I didn’t do it for you.”

Your cute little cat ears and tail twitch. “Oh.”

Vilkas immediately feels bad.

“I guess it was one of those territory things, then? Did you want to mark your territory?”

Vilkas huffs out something akin to a laugh. The only thing here that he’d want to mark is you – wait, scratch that.

“Well, anyway. Can I take you to a café or something to thank you?”

What? Why would you want to feed him? It’s not like he did anything great. Is this a trick? Are you trying to poison him?!

“Or do you not like sweets?” you look contemplative. “Maybe barbeque…? But my campus job doesn’t pay that much…”

“A café is fine,” he grunts, tail swishing behind him. “You can buy me a barbecue when I beat you on our next exams.”

You tilt your head to the side, confused. “But you’ve never been able to beat me before?”

Vilkas’ eyes narrow as you hum in thought.

“Oh! Is this like a bet?” your eyes glint mischievously, a cheeky smile curling on your lips. Cute. “How about it, Lunewood? If you beat me in the next exam, I’ll treat you to a barbeque. If I win… Well, I’ll keep that a secret for now.”

“What?” Vilkas asks, frown set deep in his mouth.

“Hm? Are you scared?” you tease, your voice taking on a lilt that makes Vilkas want to chase you down and mark you.

“Don’t bet on it, kitty-cat,” he responds. “I ain’t scared of anything.”

“Then is the bet on?”

Vilkas doesn’t hesitate when he answers with, “You bet.”

.

.

.

(You two do head to the café, much to Vilkas’ pleasure [since he wants a sweet treat, that’s it. It’s not because he’s hanging out with you or anything]. You’re surprisingly interesting to talk to, which he should’ve maybe expected since you’re his rival. You’ve got pretty good tastes when it comes to books and a good eye for cute cafés too.)

[intothedysphoria]

The thing is Billy’s unpredictable.

He claims it’s just a symptom of his ADHD, he’s a naturally jittery guy.

Steve may not be going to Harvard anytime soon but he’s pretty sure ADHD isn’t the cause of what Steve means.

It’s like Steve never quite knows where they stand.

Some days Billy loves him to the stars and back again. Some days Billy doesn’t acknowledge him at all.

It’s not like they’re together. Like Billy’s his boyfriend or anything. And of course, Steve has a vague idea of the storm brewing behind closed doors. There’s not a person in Hawkins who doesn’t have their story about Neil Hargrove.

He knows all of that but facts can’t exactly ease heartache.

So Steve takes what he can get.

He takes to gripping to Billy in a feverish heat, passion and fear woven into kisses.

Like he’s scared Billy might slip away.

It’s still a shock on July 4th 1985 when he actually does.

Life feels like a haze after that. Robin offers him tips for grief, he starts talking to Carol in earnest again.

None of it fills the emptiness. Not really.

1986 dumps itself on Steve’s doorstep unceremoniously and with it, more demons, more heartbreak.

It’s his first time actually in the Upside Down and he’s already nearly been torn apart.

It’s horrible, stinks of rot.

Well, almost all of it.

A shadow lurks in the darkness.

About 5’10. Muscular. Carrying a machete.

It almost looks like

“BILLY?���

Those are the last words Steve manages to get out before arms wrap around him and pull him into the dark.

Ok, so Billy’s alive. Well, alive might be a stretch but he’s certainly not dead.

And the way he’s staring at Steve………it almost looks like love.

It’s probably not smart to bring maybe-a-zombie not-quite-a-boyfriend to the real world but Billy can’t exactly cause more mayhem then Dart did.

What’s the worst that could happen?

@shieldofiron @oopsiedaisiesbaby @robthegoodfellow @thatgirlwithasquid @harringroveobsessed I am apparently physically incapable of not writing more monster Billy whoops

[draco-dormiens]

FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Chp. 1

auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au

a/n: sorry about my inconsistent ass. i'm hoping you enjoy this first chapter after i changed it a little, makes better sense for the story to come. sit back and relax cos this is nearly 4000 words bby ♡

warnings: talk of the war, people missing/kidnapping, strong language, mutual pining

wc: 3984

tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent

tag list open!!

masterlist

Ministry Mayhem

London, 1st May 2007

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, as the sun rose and began to cast it's orangey glow through the gaps in the bedroom curtains, the first ring of an alarm blared a rather unwelcome sound throughout the quietness of the small London flat that you called home. Sleepily, you peel your eyes open to read the time; 6:15am. With a soft grunt, you reach out to slam the snooze button with all the strength you could muster. A typical day, no less, was awaiting you at the Auror office of the British Ministry of Magic, and it was about to wait a little longer, too.

Besides, it wasn't as if anything was in dire need of solving. For the last ten years, the wizarding world had come to know a peace that had long escaped it. The fear and uncertainty that comes with nasty rumours, shadowy figures and the whispers of war was long over now. Harry Potter had fought and won against the most fearsome Dark Wizard in all of history, and now he was keeping the peace as Head of the Auror Office. Although, it wasn't all that exciting nowadays. The more gripping cases ranged from bewitched broomsticks to Oblivating Muggles in the wrong place at the wrong time. It certainly wasn't taking a whole team of Aurors to clear the workload, with most officers getting fidgety and frustrated. It was as if they wanted something to happen; in your eyes, you'd rather be Oblivating an elderly woman who saw a young boy riding a broomstick over London than some raging lunatic.

The clock blares again. Another tap of the snooze button. For a moment, you thought you'd heard knocking at your window. No, you think, I'm just tired. Five more minutes and I'll get up.

It wasn't your first choice, becoming an Auror. During your school years as a young Slytherin, you were certain it was Ancient Runes that you would pursue. That was long before the brewing storm started to reach its boiling point, clouding up any chance you had of finishing school. The prospect of war had reached civilians, and along with it a great fear of the unknown. It was perilous to venture outside of your home; your parents had been cautious to send you back for sixth year. The rumours were terrible. Frightening, even, especially when it was becoming clearer that most of them were true. Even the ones in your own family. A vivid memory of your father arguing in hushed whispers with your uncle one night over Christmas break, had solidified a fear that had been nagging your parents for a long while.

"You can't," your father said, almost spitting the words as you pressed your ear to the door, "don't go to him. Don't give your life away for something so ludicrous."

Your friends began whispering amongst themselves. Troublesome tales of someone you had known your whole life had started circulating around the school. A hard pill to swallow, but one you had to force down eventually.

"My parents said he's right," Pansy had muttered one night in the common room, the glow of the fire just lighting up her face, "I'm starting to think that following him is the better way to go."

"Have you seen Draco lately? He looks dreadful. His attitude is somehow worse." Daphne whispered, and then gulped, "you don't think... surely not, right? He's only our age."

"Dunno, heard his father was a follower during the first war," Blaise then added, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "I wouldn't hold your breath. I think he's one of them."

You stir in your sleep as if an unpleasant dream had began to plague your slumber. The clock blares its final warning, and with it, a series of sharp, jarring taps at your window that only grow in volume the longer you lay there. Groggily, you get up, slamming the alarm clock as you make your way to the impatient visitor. As you pull back the curtain, you see a familiar owl perched on the window sill with a letter secured in its beak. You open the window and gently take it from it's grip, and with a mighty swoosh of its wings, it soars off over the city. Ripping open the letter, you hadn't bothered to notice the wax seal of the Auror office, and begin to read:

Get down to the office as soon as you can. Sending this to everyone. It's serious.

From the handwriting you can tell who the sender is. Though still half asleep, you understand the urgency and begin rushing to get dressed. As you button the last hole on your blouse, readying yourself to enter the Ministry through the Floo network, you hear a knock at your door. Grumbling about who it could be and marching across the living room, you swing it open to be met with your, quite literal, partner in crime.

"Draco." You say simply, a smile ghosting your lips. He beams back, his attire as pristine as if he just walked out of the store. His white hair not an inch out of place, his black suit and white button down completely creaseless, and a glimmering Auror badge on his jacket to top it all off. He flashes a pearly white smile, leaning against the door frame with that same old cocky demeanour. Draco appears in some of your earliest memories as a child, and even now in work, he was a significant part of your everyday life. Growing up as children of wealthy pureblood families, it was a regular practice to mingle with those of your kind. Even though his personality was an acquired taste, despite your differing views and childish bickering, he was still both a thorn in your side and a priceless friend.

Friend. For as long as you can remember.

"Morning, take it you got Potters note?" He said, sauntering in to your apartment like it was his own, "reckon he's being a bit dramatic, don't you? Probably just dropped a biscuit in his brew."

"I doubt he'd send an owl all over London for a biscuit, Draco," you call back, hurrying to get the rest of your things together before leaving, "I think something is genuinely wrong, and I'm a little worried if I'm honest. We haven't had anything major in... well, forever."

"You know, if you'd told me in like, fifth year, that one day I'd be clambering out of bed before seven in the morning for Potter, I'd probably have pitched myself off the highest turret." Draco said dramatically, just after accusing Harry of being equally as ridiculous.

"Stop moaning and get in the fireplace," you said as if it were something normal people say on a regular basis, "we need to get down there and find out what's happening."

Draco, still mumbling, clambers into your fireplace and waits for you to squeeze in next to him. Much smaller than his own, he's bent doubly to get in, and ushers you to get the Floo powder before his back gives in. His moaning is only met with a rather stern look from yourself. You take a handful of Floo powder from the little bag sitting on the hearth, and take Draco's hand in yours. With a chant, you fling the powder down at your feet, and with a puff of green smoke, you both disappear, leaving the small flat empty and silent.

In the blink of an eye, you're no longer standing in your living room, but instead in the shiny, emerald tiled entrance to the Ministry. Draco dusts himself down, tutting at the slight specs of soot on his jacket, not noticing how you've become stiff with shock.

"Bloody Floo network," he mumbles to himself, coming to stand beside you, "how are you spotless? It's always me that gets-"

He stops his rambling when his eyes follow your line of vision to see the hoard of people just up ahead, swarming the foyer like ants, an incoherent jumble of noises filling the air from cries to shouts. All extremely well dressed and rather wealthy looking, you both got the impression that these people were not average witches and wizards: they were, in fact, much like yourselves - from old, pureblood money.

"What in Merlin's name is all of this?" You mutter, mostly to yourself, as your feet start to carry you towards the mess, Draco following behind. In the midst of all the chaos, is Delphina Sallow, the lady that usually operates the front desk of the Auror office. Delphina was a tall, slender woman with very dark hair and pale blue eyes, which were a striking contrast to her rather ghostly complexion. A nervous sort of woman, she was struggling immensely in a heated conversation with a man you recognised as Mr Selwyn, whose son was in your year at Hogwarts. Much larger than back then, with his pointer finger jabbing the air furiously, he seems to be, at best, enraged.

"This is a travesty, young lady!" He bellows at Delphina, who has resorted to using her clipboard for protection against the wave of saliva, "my son has been taken, taken I tell you, right from under our noses! Sleeping soundly he was; I can see him sitting there during third supper, not a care in the world, enjoying his fourth lamb chop like the innocent boy he is. I demand justice, young lady, or so help me I'll sue the entire Auror office for all it's bloody well worth."

"P-please, sir, I'm only the receptionist, I-I don't have any authority to help you-"

"No authority?" Mr Selwyn shouts with such force, his large moustache almost flies off of his round, purple face, "I do not care for your position, young lady, get me someone who can find my son or I'll be in the right mind to get you fired. I know people in high places, you know!"

"Excuse me," you interrupt as you reach them, Delphina's face washing over with absolute relief, "can I ask what's going on here? Miss Sallow is not an officer, sir. If you have concerns, please take them up with someone clearly wearing a badge."

You point abruptly to the shining Auror badge on your jacket. Mr Selwyn scoffs irritably.

"Well, miss badge, I demand you find my son. At once." He rounds on you, his large, bulbous belly almost touching you before he can get any closer. Draco appears almost instantly, standing just in front of you, the most condescending smile curling at his lips, trying and failing to hide the clear desire to swing a fist into Mr Selwyns beetroot coloured face.

"If you get any closer, sir, I may have to resort to unsavoury means. All in the name of law, you understand." Draco stood completely straight, towering over the stumpy Mr Selwyn, to which the angered man grunted something under his breath before waddling off to his next victim.

"Thank you," Delphina sighs, dabbing the sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief, "he's not the only one I've dealt with this morning. So many reports of missing persons, all within the last few hours or so. I-it's my day off, I'm only here on Mr Potter's orders."

"As are we, Miss Sallow," Draco smiles at Delphina, to which she blushes furiously, "I think you should head back up. Tell Potter we're here, would you?"

As if the Minister himself had instructed her, she scurries off to the lifts.

"Honestly, you could tell Del to jump off a cliff." You scoff lightheartedly, turning back to see a rather smug looking Draco, as he simply fixes his tie and winks down at you.

"It's the charm, darling. Don't say it doesn't affect you, too."

Before he can bask in your flustered reaction, off in the distance, amongst more distraught civilians, you spot Cerberus Langarm, fellow Auror, rushing through the crowds of people with a look of pure determination on his face. You tug on Draco's arm, inciting him to follow you, as you battle through to chase Cerberus. Amid the madness, you hear a mixture of complaints and angry voices from the hoard of people. As you close in on Cerberus, you call out to him, causing him to halt and turn at the sound of your voice.

"I take it you both got letters, then?" Cerberus says as you reach him, "didn't know what we'd be walking into, but this is something else. Somehow, I don't think it's about a bewitched broomstick this time."

Cerberus Langarm was a tall, well built man with sun-kissed, olive skin and dark, shaved hair. He kept a very neatly trimmed moustache, and under his left eye was a deep scar that covered most of his cheek. He was a man dedicated to his duty, and other aspects of his life came second to it, which Draco often made a joke about. Cerberus was a well accomplished man of the law, and highly respected amongst his fellow officers and higher ups.

Sometimes, you wondered if Draco was a little jealous of Cerberus and his undeniable ability to walk into a room and make it sing for him.

"Delphina said something about missing person reports," you being to explain as the three of you make for the lifts, "and I have noticed something; most of these people, they look like a certain group of wizards. Don't you think?"

"You mean rich, pompous purebloods who have nothing better to do than flash their money and complain about Muggles?" Cerberus said, "yeah, they seem the sort. All I know is that Potter better have an explanation for all of this."

The lifts were especially busy; people were squashed like sardines in a can, garnering irritable tuts and mumblings amongst the staff trying to reach their destinations. The three of you manage to squeeze into a lift heading for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; whispers of the going's on in the foyer filled the usually awkward silence, as the relatively short journey felt like an eternity.

Once the lift had landed at the correct floor, the three of you took no time in squeezing out of the overflowing space and into the open air. For what felt like a moment of relief, was soon overtaken by the mayhem that you were presented with. The department was practically torn apart; papers everywhere, frantic officers pacing back and forth between rooms, folded notes in the shape of paper airplanes zoomed up and down the hallway, narrowly missing your head when one bolted for the lift doors, making it just in time before they slammed shut.

"Salazar's mother," Cerberus muttered, looking back at yourself and Draco whose eyes were transfixed by the sight, "we better find Potter."

Meanwhile, inside Harry's office, stood Harry and Auror Penelope Fawley, assessing the multitude of reports from that morning. They could hear the muffled sound of panic outside, the office workers were working relentlessly to try and get some sort of order in the place. Piles of letters sat upon Harry's desk, as the two of them read aloud the contents of the reports.

"During the night we heard strange ongoings in the neighbours backyard, sounds of magic and a man's voice," says Penelope outloud, "my husband got out of bed and lit up the room with his wand, before trekking down the stairs to peer out of the kitchen window. He thinks he saw two people appartating from the neighbours garden, but his eyesight is not what it used to be. Then, at around 5:30am, we received a knock on the door. It was Mrs Selwyn. Her son was missing."

Penelope, a fair-haired, pretty woman with dark blue eyes and black rimmed glasses, ran her perfectly manicured finger across the parchment as she read. Harry, now pacing up and down the office with his chin in his hand, listened carefully to what Penelope was reading aloud. She places down the parchment and picks up another letter, tearing it open and unfolding the note inside. Penelope clears her throat and begins reading once more:

"I received an owl from my sister a few days ago. She was worried that someone had been outside her house during the night, but couldn't seem to undo the Colloportus charm her husband casts on all the doors when he works nights. She has young children, and they live in a relatively secluded place." Penelope read, and then perched against the desk, "I owled back immediately, but didn't seem to receive a reply. Then around 6:00am this morning, her husband, Blaise Zabini, showed up at our door. My sister, Daphne Zabini, was missing from her bed when he returned home from work. The children were still sound asleep and seemingly untouched."

Harry comes to a halt at the window overlooking Muggle London below. With a great sigh, he rubs his tired eyes that had been awake since the early hours of the morning. As he turns to speak to Penelope, they both hear heavy, hurried footsteps beyond the door, and within a few seconds, you burst in, all guns blazing, Cerberus and Draco in hot pursuit.

"I do hope you have an explantation, Harry," you pant slightly, "what on earth is happening? Missing witches and wizards - and what was Delphina doing in foyer; she was getting practically spat at by Mr Selwyn, and not to mention the hoard of people downstairs, and the office-"

"Thank you, officer Y/L/N, I'm well aware of the situation both outside my door and in the foyer. In fact, I've been well aware of it since three this morning, so, if you’d be so kind as to ask one question at a time, I'd really appreciate it." said Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Draco stifles a laugh behind you.

"Potter," Cerberus advances forward with urgency, "any kind of light you can shed."

Harry composes himself, and then walks over to his desk, pushing forward what looked like a collection of personal files from the Ministry of Magic Archives; somewhere that a person would need all kinds of permissions to enter. It contained many records - such as historical records, every single published issue of The Daily Prophet, various magical projects and, most importantly, personal files of every witch or wizard that comes into magic across the country.  Draco, his interest now peaked, gently brushes past you with a hand at the small of your back, his eyebrows knitted together in a very curious expression. He begins shuffling through them, his features relaxing into more concern than curiosity when he realises each and every one of them have a big, red stamp across the front that read: Missing.

"These," he breathes, looking up at Harry, who's expression was more exhaustion than anything else, "these are all purebloods... I know half of 'em. Nott, for one. Scrawny devil."

"They all look the sort in the foyer, too," adds Cerberus, "lots of old money and questionable bloodlines down there. Odd coincidence?"

"Not likely," pipes up Penelope, who lifts herself elegantly off the edge of the desk, "every single one of these witches and wizards have gone missing during the last few hours. All of them, and without a single trace. No signs of break ins, no signs of struggle or injury at the locations they went missing from. It's a fair assumption to say they have been kidnapped - and not by some amature."

"So you're saying that a whole bunch of wizards from pure bloodlines have just miraculously been taken from their beds in the night. For what reason, exactly?" Draco raises an eyebrow at Penelope. She doesn't look too impressed by his questioning of her theory.

"Malfoy," Harry said, not with his usual air of authority, however, it was far more pleading, "Penelope has a point. Let me give the bigger picture," Harry slumps down onto his office chair with a heaving sigh, before tucking himself under the desk and resting his elbows on the surface, hands intertwined, "I was called in by the Minister at three o'clock this morning. That's when the first report came in about a missing person. Not long after that, they started coming in troves. One after the other, we couldn't keep up. Hence why I owled," he took a pause, "Penelope was first here, and with her help, we retrieved the personal reports to further investigate the missing persons. We made the connection of their blood status quite quick, and have since then been trying to theorise as to why it only seems to be witches and wizards of a certain blood status."

"I'd say that was quite obvious," said Cerberus, who was a rather serious and right-to-the-point kind of officer, "someone out there has a grudge against them, surprisingly," he said with an air of sarcasm, "but it can't just be one person that has done all of this; there must be some sort of group or organisation. No one, even with magic, can be in all of those places at once."

Penelope suddenly gasped, and everyone looked around at her.

"What about Hogwarts? They need informing immediately. The amount of students, and faculty, that could be in danger tomorrow," she said with the utmost seriousness, "I can go, Harry. I can fly to Hogsmeade, they won't know a thing unless-"

"Thank you, Penelope, but I have already considered Hogwarts," Harry cut her off gently, and her shoulders slumped in relief, "in fact, I need to speak to Y/L/N and Malfoy. Langarm and Fawely - you go down into the foyer and tell the public to go home and rest. There's nothing more we can do right now without some more information."

The other two left, leaving Harry, Draco and yourself alone in his messy office. Once the door had been shut softly, he ushers you both to take a seat in front of him. You both do so, as Harry relaxes a little in his plush office chair, relishing of the quietness for a moment. 

"As you may already be aware, it's the tenth year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts tomorrow and a memorial service is being held at the school," Harry begins to explain, "myself and Ron were invited by McGonagall as guests to represent the Ministry, and well, for other obvious reasons," he waves a dismissive hand, "however, with all this, I think it best we stay here. I'd much rather be there to support McGonagall, but I feel it's necessary that I'm accessible. So, instead, I'm sending you too to keep watch."

"Me?" Draco exclaims. Harry raises his eyebrows at the sudden outburst, "I hardly doubt they'd want me there, Potter. Can you imagine their faces?"

"I'm not sending you as guests, Malfoy," Harry reiterates, "I'm sending you as Ministry officials. You won't need to do anything drastic. I just want you to keep an eye on things. I'll send other officers too, as we might need to change protocol slightly to ease McGonagall's mind. Merlin knows she'll panic when she receives the owl I'm going to send."

"You can count on us, Harry." You say with utter confidence, "If anything happens, I'll inform you immediately. My owl is rather good at finding me in a tight situation."

"Thank you," he smiles kindly, Draco now completely silent, "now, you'll need to take the train to Hogwarts with the guests of the ceremony. I'd feel much better if you were on that train. I can't have eyes everywhere, so be my eyes. Got it?"

With a very sure nod, you rise from your seat, pulling an extremely quiet Draco up with you by the arm. You could tell he was bothered about returning to the school, even after all this time, but you had every bit of confidence in him. Even if he had none in himself.

disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it.

[thesassypadawan]

Halloween Pumpkins (Padawan Anakin x RealWorldFemReader) *Headcanon*

Summary: It’s been one year since you and a certain handsome devil.  To help celebrate this momentum occasion, Anakin has arranged a few cutesy and spooky scary surprises.  That he knows you will absolutely love and leave you moaning.  (Follow-up to A Scary Good Time!)

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of all the lovely smut. Breeding, pumpkins, misuse of a lightsaber, bad puns, and, as always…Ani’s big, veiny dick.

Notes: Happy Kinktober all you, lovelies! 🖤🧡

*Cutesy Scary, SFW*

- Ani loves Halloween, it's his absolute favorite holiday!  Not just because of all the mischief, mayhem, candy…  But it just so happens to be the anniversary of when a certain bootiful angel came swirling into his life.

- To celebrate, the whole month your handsome devil does all the cheesy…cutesy scary things that you both enjoy.  Watching  frightfully bad holoflicks, baking and consuming a plethora of sickeningly sweet treats, cuddling under a pile of fluffy blankets during those dark and stormy nights.  And, most importantly, carving pumpkins.

- He’ll sift through each batch sent from the agricorps.  Searching for (even fighting off a few of the more menacing  padawans) the most perfect pair.  One big, the other adorably small…  “Just like us,” he’d declare all proudly.   Wide smile on his sun kissed face, as he places the tiny gourd in your hands.

- Turning it into a whole ghoulishly delightful date night; the two of you sit at the worn table in his shared quarters.  With you taking the time, having patience…using those silly tiny tools to carefully help give your jack-o-lantern a truly cute, spooktacular expression.  Whereas Anakin would simply scoff at the miniature, flimsy knife; opting for his lightsaber instead…cutting the most twisted, wicked grin into his.  “What?  It got the job done, didn't it?  Seriously though, don't tell Obi-Wan…please.”

- Once they were complete, illuminated with the help of a few glow rods you found stashed in his utility belt. You'd proudly display the mismatched couple on a shelf in his room, before heading off to the temple's annual party.  Hand in hand, fingers laced and intertwined together.  Wearing the same costumes you did when you first met, giggling the entire way there because…  “Seriously?!  Did this shrink?!  No kriffing way did I put on this much muscle in a year!  I'm going to pop a seam if I sneeze or something!”

*Spooky Scary, NSFW*

- After a night filled with dancing, laughing…stolen kisses, and a slew of potent witches brews.  Ani wraps a strong arm around your soft middle; fingers brushing, ghosting along your flared hips.  Insisting that you let him spirit you away, back to his room for…  “A scary good surprise, a little something you're always going to love.”

- Legs bent, pinned into a mating press; numb, sore from exhaustion.  Weak whimper bubbles up from your throat; merges with the wet, lewd sounds of his powerful thrusts.  Face and body flush, burning hot under his sinful gaze.  Words slightly slurred from the abundance of poison in your system, from the overwhelming pleasure pulsing in your core.  “I…I…  Too m-much…  Cun-Can't, gotta pull…  Gonna get me…”

- Monstrous length twitches in response, low groan rumbling in his broad chest.  While small (to him) spurts of pre coat your aching walls in a fresh coat of clear, sticky arousal.  Pumping more into your already packed pussy, making that cute paunch of yours round out and rise up just a bit further.  “Yeah, that’s the idea…”

- Big hands run across, calloused fingers trace along the surprisingly firm swell.  Pushing down hard enough with his bulk to make you squirm, mewl.  Some of his sweet, creamy filling seeping out around the base of his fat cock; splattering onto the stained sheets.  “Going to plant as many seeds as I can in this little patch of yours…”

- Mind blanks with each brutal, raw plunge.  Unable to think of anything but the sensation of his veiny shaft scraping.  The stuffed, bloated feeling he’s giving you.  A feeling that may or may not linger, go beyond this magical night.  Only to return over and over.  “Until we got ourselves a whole bunch of mini pumpkins…”

- Drives grow deeper, harsher.  “So you'll always stay…”  Bed rocking, banging; slamming against the wall, that one lone shelf.  The very same that holds your jack-o-lanterns, his most precious possessions.  “Never leave this universe ever again…”  Including one very special jedi holocron.  That goes crashing to, smashes into pieces on the floor.  Light flickering and extinguishing for one last time.  “Happy Anniversary, my padawan from Coruscant.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @cacti5539, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @xhunnybeeex, @vaderswifey, @skyguys-princess

[scootkiddo]

The fact that the introduction this time around lended more time to fleshing our Joel & Sarah along with their domesticity and day to day life made for a woefully soul-churning slow burn I could not BEAR. Knowing the outcome of what preluded the game, I was sitting here wringing my hands while agonizingly bracing for the normalcy to erupt into pandemonium and rapid destruction. It was the dwindling remnants of normal life that I found the most haunting. You would see Sarah go through her daily routine- have breakfast with Joel, greet the neighbors, go to school- ostensibly nothing out of the ordinary. But there was this underlined foreshadowing that tainted the slice of life. There were momentary tokens of caution, warning signs of the times ahead. Radio reports of the cordyceps taking helm, Sarah’s classmate twitching right beside her at school, the elderly woman convulsing while out of focus- under the brush, the inevitable catalyst that would send humanity through a downward spiral and elicit the inciting event that was Sarah’s death was slowly but surely breeding itself into fruition. The tail end of habitual life may had been in the foreground, but the presage and promise of apocalyptic mayhem was brewing in the milieu

[theyungihven]

The Demon's Infatuation • Sex Demon Yunho

CHAPTER 1

↬ pairing: dom demon yunho x sub female reader

↬ genre: smut, romance

↬ warnings: breeding kink, cream pie, pain kink, unprotected sex, hip bruises, biting kink, slut-shaming, choking kink, hard core dom yunho, yunho is OBSSESSED,

↬ word count: 1.2K+

↬ author’s note: this full novel length fic is a dedication to my boyfriend alex and the demon that visited me at night two years ago every full moon night

Summary :

It might sound crazy to say that I've become a demon's infatuation and you might ask me, 'how did you even end up in this place?' Well well, even I don't know how it happened and whenever I ask him or confront him about our first meeting, he avoids the topic by sensually kissing me and making me forget about the question with an orgasm. I can't leave him because I can't live without him either. He is as if an intoxication I cannot get out of my body and desperately need in order to stay sane. He says, 'no one will love you like I do, darling' but how do I tell him that no one has ever loved me and no one ever can because my soul belongs to him, so does my heart and they worship him day and night.

She's just an innocent heartbroken girl who just wants to be loved for once despite her flaws and imperfections and he's a wicked demon who wants nothing but to corrupt her soul to till all she can think of him. What can go wrong if he takes a little interest in her? Heaven along with Hell are not going to collide with the Earth, or will they?

What could exactly go wrong if I sit alone under the full moon at midnight?

What could exactly go wrong if I sit alone under the full moon at midnight? Nothing. So I don't give it a second thought and make myself comfortable in the chair placed out in the balcony, bathing in the moonlight. The faint melody of my favourite song plays in the background through my phone as it echoes through the balcony.

The balcony is my only safe space these days. It provides me comfort and solace when I desire it the most, in moments of utter hopelessness. It sports a pretty popular viewing and gossiping spot for my family on the first floor as it opens up towards the roadside. It also serves as a common concrete stairway to the rooftop.

The moon attempts to brighten up my gloomy mood as I dwell into my sadness. The cool breeze, which is as light as a feather, ruffles the tall green trees lining the streets and also caresses my cheek. It reminds me that I haven't been completely abandoned by this world and also that there are still some forces which appreciate my existence. 

Now, I cannot hope but wish that someone touched me in a similar manner. I wish someone held me like a mother holds her dear child, like a lover holds his significant other, like a child holds onto his dying pet. 

However, no matter how much I try to forget the incident that happened this afternoon, I can't seem to get it out of my head. I cannot get that picture of the people I once considered to be my friends, mocking me for liking a guy. I cannot forget the words they called me just for daring to like the most popular guy of my grade. 

They make me feel as if having a romantic interest in a boy or just simply liking someone is the biggest sin one could commit on the Earth.

My body shakes as the turbulent storm inside me rises to the surface and brews a great tsunami. It drenches my cheeks and my face as it brings destruction and mayhem along with it in the face of a heart-wrenching pain in my chest, hopelessness and a wave of absolute sadness which hits me like a speeding truck. Somehow, the hopelessness inspires me and convinces my mind to beg whoever deity is willing to listen to me. 

So, I do. 

“To whoever is listening,” I manage to say despite the water rising in my chest as it tries to suffocate me by drowning me in the lake of sadness but I need to beg the deity. So, I continue with my remaining energy, “I want a guy, who will love me for who I  am, despite my flaws and imperfections.” 

The dam breaks as the sea of sadness drowns me in it and finds an outlet through my eyes and the salty water flows along with my last words, “I don’t care about how he looks, or even if he’s a human!” At the end of the sentence, I end up on my knees, upon the cold white marble of the moonlit balcony, as the still water gushes out of my eyes and my body trembles like a tree against strong winds. 

An eerie silence follows, as I recover from the tsunami’s devastating damage but it isn’t long when I hear a deep chuckle, which is so crisp and clear as if the person is sitting right beside me. I look up and around to identify the potential maker of the noise, but end up meeting with disappointment when I fail to do so, but it doesn’t fail in sending a chill down my spine and my body on high alert. 

“Hello? Anyone here?” I say, but come to regret the decision of doing so in the next second when a shadow appears out of nowhere, sitting on the stairs leading to the rooftop. It leans back, placing its hand on the step as its lips curve up in a creepy smile. 

Its eyes glow a bright red and just one look at them is enough to send chills down my spine. When my body registers its glowing red eyes and black shadowy figure, its first instinct is to recite holy verses. I do as my mother taught me to wherever I encounter the child of the banished angel. However, I fail to pronounce them properly, as my tongue fails at cooperating with my mind and my body screams RUN. 

I do. I run, for my dear life.

I run inside as my fight or flight system takes over with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, at the highest concentration ever in my life. My poor heart tries to keep up with all the sudden increase in cardiac output, but the picture of his creepy smile still lingers in my mind,   as if imprinted onto my neurons. 

The first thing my itsy bitsy brain thinks of as a distraction is the radio my grandfather made for me. I turn it on, tuning the dial to search for stations while expecting some soothing tunes to play and it does. I breathe a sigh of relief when the radio plays Sparks by Coldplay, my all time favourite.

However my peace evaporates into thin air when the radio goes off tune and randomly switches channels only to land upon the frequency 66.60.

An eerie voice follows, which says, “you cannot run away from me, kitten.” 

I don’t even dare to touch the radio and follow my instincts this time. I run downstairs to my family who look at me as if they saw the stars when the sun rules the skies. I am breathless as I stand in front of my mother, who looks at me in surprise while I struggle to form sentences in my head as I sweat ridiculously.

“You look like you saw a ghost.”

“A cat.”

“Yeah, yeah, a shapeshifting cat.”

“As if anything of such kind exists in this world.”

“Dumb humans”

TAGLIST

@yunhogrippers @strbryjoonie @haram-monbebe @atinism @yvnhoos @st4rhwa @lomons

[aurelion-solar]

Norra, Bewitching Morgana & Beezcrank in "Magic Is Brewing" - Magic n’ Mayhem TFT Launch Cinematic

[razertail18]

Every single time I see a Fantasy! AU of Miguel O'hara it's always a royalty! or knight!miguel x royalty! or commoner!reader and I am soooo disappointed I haven't seen a witch!reader.

I MEAN, COME ONNNNN

Knight!Miguel being your usual knight who follows the rules and hunts witches, warlocks, and demons because most of them cause mayhem.

Meanwhile witch!reader is not your typical witch since she doesn't really do catastrophic damage, only really does hexes or curses(it's not that bad actually) most of them can be considered as pranks and the townspeople, that live near witch!reader's cottage, can only get annoyed or find it hilarious and sometimes even paying her to hex someone or get a curse off of them. And reader is actually sweet but strange(?), she brews healing potions or using her magic to help the townspeople and in return the townspeople help the reader hide the fact that she's a witch from the knights who did a monthly checking of the kingdom's towns.

Knight!Miguel who, one day, was injured from fighting a dangerous warlock and found the cozy cottage of witch!reader.

Reader helps knight!Miguel despite the risk of getting exposed that she's a witch.

Knight!Miguel who went against the rules and didn't report witch!reader and would do a monthly or(twice a month?) checking to see if she doesn't make anything malicious.

Knight!Miguel realizing there are actually good witches and warlocks since doing magic and not being registered or officially as a magic user or sorcerers.

(I dunno what I'm doing. I guess witches are just wild and untamed not being affiliated with kingdoms and their rules. I thought it would be in line with the movie since being a witch can equate as an anomaly...so reader can be like an anomaly which I also likeee)

Knight!Miguel who is conflicted as he slowly falls for witch!reader and he's a mess.

[demifiendrsa]

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE | Official Trailer

Poster

Synopsis

Beetlejuice is back! After an unexpected family tragedy, three generations of the Deetz family return home to Winter River. Still haunted by Beetlejuice, Lydia’s life is turned upside down when her rebellious teenage daughter, Astrid, discovers the mysterious model of the town in the attic and the portal to the Afterlife is accidentally opened. With trouble brewing in both realms, it’s only a matter of time until someone says Beetlejuice’s name three times and the mischievous demon returns to unleash his very own brand of mayhem.

[penumbra-mayhem]

I’m sorry but I can’t get the idea of Tank having a stutter out of my head. I think during the fight with Quinn when he attacked their friend, Quinn hit Tank too hard in the head. David and Asher bolt in, just before Quinn sends another blow. Seeing he’s now slightly outmatched, Quinn flees (like the coward he is), leaving a very disoriented Tank on the ground. They can barely talk, barely know what’s going—clearly suffering from head trauma. They start stuttering and it doesn’t go away.

Tank, who used to be such a spitfire, so quick to retaliate with cunning insults and creative threats, so used to speaking their mind and trying to get the last word in, is now struggling to sound out even one sentence. It demolishes them. After Quinn has taken so much, he’s now taken this too. Tank feels permanently marked, in more ways than one. David and Asher and Milo, with all the best intentions, just don’t know how to help them. They urge Tank to seek speech therapy (or any therapy, really). They cut into Tank’s sentences, trying to help finish their thoughts but unintentionally speaking for them. It’s a big reason why they leave for so long. The shame and the embarrassment is too much, not to mention the looks of pity from everyone in the pack that Tank can’t even tell them to wipe off their faces. When they’re away, they barely talk at all. Mostly head shakes and nods and single stuttered words. They go months and months without speaking. I think that’s why they start resorting to more violence. Nobody can misinterpret or speak over a punch to the gut.

When they finally return home, the first person they speak to is Sam. Their first interaction, though tense, feels different. Sam doesn’t finish Tank’s sentences for them. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t give sympathetic looks or roll his eyes. He’s only concerned about the security threat in front of him, and he’ll wait all damn night to figure out why they’re there and how to get them off Solaire land. He’s…patient. But not condescendingly or self-righteously so.

As Tank finds themself spending more and more time with Sam, they begin talking. It’s not much, but it’s more than before. And Sam is quiet and patient every time. He never tries to persuade Darlin’ to go to speech therapy. He does gently push them to speak more—but not to get rid of or “fix” their stutter. He just wants to hear them, wants them to feel confident to say what’s on their mind. Although their stutter does subside a bit as they begin talking again, it never fully leaves. Darlin’ grows to accept it. It becomes a part of them. It’s just a scar in a different form, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 19 Prompt: Steddie as Parents

Tags: Established Relationship, Good Parent Steve Harrington, Good Parent Eddie Munson, Christmas Fluff, Elf on the Shelf, Eddie Munson Is A Menace, The Return Of Marley Harrington-Munson

wc: 1079 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve and Eddie grew up thinking the highlight of being a parent around the holidays was getting to partake in any and all Santa traditions. To some extent it is, they both love taking Marley to see the big man, and watching her open the gifts they worked hard to secure is always a top ten moment of the year. But Santa isn’t the only highlight for kids anymore. Nowadays Elf on the Shelf is all the rage and they’re fully on board.

Maybe too on board if they’re being honest.

See, Steve and Eddie have very different approaches to the Elf on the Shelf madness that transpires in their house during the month of December.

After one too many heated arguments over what the Elf should do next, they found a compromise. Steve is in charge of Mango the Elf on even days, Eddie on odds, and neither one is allowed to criticize what the other chooses to do.

Not only does it preserve the Christmas magic for Marley, who nearly stumbled in on the two of them playing tug-o-war with the stupid Elf at two in the morning three years ago, but it also saves their marriage. Steve can’t think of many other things that would be more embarrassing than admitting to a marriage counselor that they’re there because of a damn Elf.

Like clockwork, Mango the Elf arrives on December 1st in a chaotic flurry that Eddie manages to one-up every year. Steve has no idea how he does it, but even he can’t help but marvel at the creative scenes Eddie manages to create — especially this year’s which saw Mango arrive by way of a hot air balloon.

It was a tough act to follow, but the two have made it clear that competition has no space in Mango’s antics. After all, it’s all about putting a smile on Marley’s face. How big that smile is shouldn’t matter.

(It definitely does.)

After scouring Pinterest for ideas and a quick call to Robin who thinks the entire Elf Shenanigans is a nightmare, Steve finds himself cutting 200 pieces of paper into snowflakes to transform their living room into a winter wonderland for Mango to play in.

And so it goes.

Eddie creates mayhem and messes — chocolate chips left in the sink because Mango used it as a toilet, toilet paper dropped over the chandelier, and worst of all, flour all over the kitchen after she engaged in a snow angel competition with Barbie.

Steve bites his tongue and focuses his energy on wholesome moments — a Christmas bow rock climbing wall, a slumber party with socks sleeping bags, and plenty of guests, and of course, Marley’s favorite: Mango’s trip to the Elf spa.

They keep each other on their toes, pushing each other to be more and more creative and Marley gets to wake up every morning to a new scene that brings a smile on her face and reminds them of the childlike wonder they were robbed of but are making up for now.

It’s a flawless plan, until disaster strikes.

“Have you seen Mango?”

“Mango?” Eddie yawns, shuffling into the kitchen. “We didn’t buy any Mangos. S’a summer fruit.”

“Not the fruit, the Elf. What did you do with her last night?”

Eddie yawns again, scratching his bare chest as he waits for the coffee to finish brewing. “I hid her like always. A good one too. You know the birdhouse in the yard? Well, it’s now Mango’s treehouse. Decorated it and everything.”

“You mean the birdhouse that is currently being swarmed by a couple of Blue Jays?” Steve asks, voice teetering in the space between calm and panic.

Abandoning the Kurig, Eddie slides across the floor and over to the window that overlooks the backyard. Sure as shit, a couple of Bluejays are going to town on the birdhouse and Mango judging by the red fabric gliding through the morning breeze.

“Oh shit! Mango!”

Steve and Eddie both sprint into the backyard. Steve works on scaring the birds off, while Eddie collects the mangled pieces that remain of Mango. A leg on the floor, an arm in the bushes across the yard. Her decapitated head lays beaten and bruised inside the birdhouse, eyes pecked out and nose completely missing. Tinsel litters the grass along with the careful construction paper decorations Eddie had spent hours making.

If he weren’t so panicked over what Marley is going to think when she wakes up, he’d be crying.

“What are we going to do!”

“It’s too late to get a replacement this year,” Steve says, shaking his head at the carnage in Eddie’s hands. “Maybe we… we write a note! Say Santa called Mango back early because Marley’s been so good and he needs extra hands on present duty?”

“That could work!” Eddie smiles, leaning over the tinsel-covered grass to kiss Steve. “Look at you, coming in clutch with a story. Told ya I’d make a storyteller out of you one day.”

Steve snorts. “Only took 15 years.”

“Better late than never.”

Steve shakes his hand before his eyes drift back over to Mango’s destroyed state. Letting out a sigh, he tips his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Is it weird m’going to miss this thing?”

Eddie shakes his head, jostling Steve in the process. “It feels like a death. Maybe we should bury her.”

“And risk Marley digging her up in the summer?”

“You’re right. She doesn’t need that trauma,” Eddie chuckles. “Let’s have a moment of silence in her honor then.”

Steve doesn’t argue and they both duck their heads for a moment or two before a gust of wind picks up turning them into shivering messes. After hiding Mango’s form in the trash bin, they return to their warm kitchen.

“We are going to replace her though, right?” Eddie asks, finally sipping his coffee.

“Oh definitely. The minute they’re back in stock I’m buying two. One for next year and one for backup just in case your wild scenes turn disastrous again.”

“Smart thinking,” Eddie smiles. “Guess I should get started on that letter.”

Glancing at the clock, Steve nods. “Better hurry. Marley’ll be up any minute."

"Shit," Eddie says, scrambling to open their junk drawer full of pens and random scraps of paper. "Distract her for me?" 

"I'll try my best," Steve says, pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie's head before disappearing in the direction of Marley's room. 

[dccomicsimagines]

Gift Exchange Mayhem - Young Justice Imagine

Requested by Anon - Can I have the team doing some last minute shopping for Christmas?? Maybe the reader waits until the last minute and needs help??

Author's Note - Happy Holidays! I finally was able to finish something.

***

"Dismissed," Batman said, waving his hand as he turned back to the computer to finish up whatever paperwork he had. The mission had gone well, so the debriefing wasn't too painful.

At least for everyone else, you found it excruciatingly slow. Every minute was a minute closer to the Christmas Eve party and the gift exchange.

Everyone moved off. You stayed where you were until you saw M'gann and Conner walk completely out of the room.

You turned, scanning the room until you saw Artemis heading toward the locker rooms. Dashing after her, you grabbed her arm. "I need your help," you whispered, voice tight with the brewing storm of panic in your chest.

"Ow," Artemis hissed, jerking her arm away. "What do you want, weirdo?"

You swore you saw Batman glance over from the corner of your eye. Your breath caught in your throat. "I need help, but we can't talk about it here. Please?"

Artemis sighed, but gestured for you to follow her. You quickly fell into step beside her.

The two of you walked in silence until you made it to the library. She spun on her heel and crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

You admired how cool she looked in this moment. You wished you could be cool. "I..." You swallowed away your insecurities. "I need help finding a gift for the gift exchange."

She raised an eyebrow. "You haven't gotten one yet? It's tomorrow."

"I know!" You threw up your hands, shaking slightly. "I couldn't focus on it, because I got M'gann and I knew I would blow it in the mind link at some point, so I decided I had to not think about it at all until the last minute. That way, she can be surprised."

Artemis sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why do you always do this shit?"

"I wanted it to be good. It's her first Christmas on earth and she's already excited, but I don't know what to get her." You bit your lip and blinked back tears.

"Why can't you ask Conner? I got things to do." Artemis narrowed her eyes with that steady frown she was always inclined to give you.

You groaned. "I can't ask Conner, then she'd know. That boy doesn't hide anything from her anymore."

She rolled her eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Okay, fine."

A grin burst onto your face. "Thank you!" You almost reached out to hug her, but she held up a finger to stop you. Your face burned. "Sorry. Can we go now after we change?"

"Sure." Artemis left the room. You let out a sigh to calm your heart.

***

Artemis' head ached at the bright lights of Star City's Megamall. Christmas music blasted throughout the place as people hurried about.

"Luckily, the west coast is still open huh?" You laughed, nudging her side.

Artemis swallowed back a biting retort. "Yep." You stopped by the big tree in the center of the main entrance. Glancing around, you seemed just as lost as you always were. Irritation bubbled up inside of Artemis. "Let's go. We don't have time. It closes in two hours."

You flinched slightly. "Right." You hurried off to your left, leading the way past a bunch of clothing stores.

Artemis took a deep breath. She shouldn't be so annoyed really. What other plans did she have today anyway? All she was going to do was go home and hang out with her mom. Christmas didn't mean much in the Crock household. Just a time where there was no school and a lot of Dad.

She shook her head. 'Reflect upon your present blessings of which every man has many - not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.' It was a quote from Sketches by Boz by Charles Dickens. A early present to herself when she spotted it in a thrift shop during her Christmas shopping.

You started to head into Spencer's, but Artemis snatched your arm. "No."

"Why?" You blinked. Sometimes Artemis wondered if you were also from Mars.

"There will be nothing for her in there, come on." Artemis pulled you along.

You bit your lip. "I don't know where to even start. What does M'gann even like anyway?"

"Conner." She snorted when you seemed to think she was serious. "You can't give her Conner."

"That would have made things easy. I could just put a bow on him." You dodged a family who was running to the mall.

"You're so weird." Artemis crossed her arms. "Let's go here." She walked into a trendy clothing store. It smelled expensive. Artemis' skin crawled.

You glanced around. "I can't give her clothes. She has...clothes that can be anything."

"Just look around!" Artemis snapped. She saw you deflate in the corner of her eye. She should be nicer to you, but...you were so annoying. You moved away from her to look at the wall of perfumes.

Artemis made herself browse at the other side of the store, ignoring price tags and just looking. Like a normal girl.

***

You sniffed at a perfume. It could work for M'gann, except you didn't know if it would be like giving her clothes. You haven't noticed her making a scent when she shifted her clothes.

Biting your lip, you glanced over to find Artemis across the store. She held up a nice brown moto jacket to herself. A hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too until her face dropped at the sight of the price tag.

"Well, well, well, you went shopping?" A creepy laugh followed. You turned to find Robin in civies with sunglasses over his eyes. He glanced over at Artemis. "With Artemis?"

You slapped a hand over his mouth. "Are you alone?" You looked around wildly. Your heart stopped when you saw Wally, Kaldur, and Roy standing outside the store with big soft pretzels. Kaldur eyed his while Wally and Roy munched down.

Rob pushed your hand away. "We all saw you two sneak off and got concerned since Artemis and you...never mind."

You pursed your lips, wondering what he meant. However, you had other concerns. "Conner and M'gann aren't with you, are they? Please tell me, they aren't?"

Robin snorted. "Those two are occupied." He crossed his arms. "What? Did you have Conner as your secret santa?"

"No, I have M'gann and I don't know what to get her!" You blushed as your eyes filled with tears. "I'm going to mess up Christmas!"

"Woah, stay whelmed." Rob held up his hands. "Deep breaths." He took a deep breath. You copied him. Your heart slowed down. "Why did you wait until last minute?"

"I would have spoiled it through the mind link at some point. You know how I get distracted, so I made myself not think about it until I knew we wouldn't have another mission." You took another deep breath. "And I asked Artemis because she knows a lot...but...you know she's not happy about it." You saw Artemis march over to Roy, Wally, and Kaldur. "But she said yes."

Rob hummed, rocking on his heels. "We can all help you out with that." He nudged your arm. "Come on, I have an idea."

You grinned, skipping after him. Robin always knew what to do, even if he liked to sneak up on people.

***

Kaldur watched as you, Dick, Wally, and Roy headed across the way into another store with bizarre decorations. Artemis groaned and flopped onto a nearby bench. She crossed her arms, muttering how this was all a waste of time.

"Would you like this..." Kaldur held out the untouched pretzel. He didn't like the look of it. Plus seeing Wally dunk it into some plastic-like yellow substance made Kaldur's stomach turn.

Artemis took it and bit a chunk out of it. Kaldur sat down beside her. He looked around at the bright, shiny walls of the mall. The crowds were lightening now as it neared closing time.

"It was kind of you to help (Y/N)." Kaldur smiled as he saw Wally teasing you. You stuck out your tongue in return.

"A mistake. They are so helpless." Artemis took another big bite.

Kaldur's heart fell slightly. He knew Artemis didn't have a high opinion of you and wasn't shy to voice it. She often didn't care if you heard. Kaldur had to comfort you more than once.

"I know (Y/N) can be challenging." Kaldur pursued his lips, carefully choosing his words. "Not everyone is raised with the same experiences. That is what makes the world a more...intriguing place."

Artemis eyed him. She swallowed. "I'm being nice."

Kaldur nodded. "You are." He met Artemis' eye. "(Y/N) thinks a lot of you." You gestured for both of them to join you. Artemis avoided his gaze and yours. Kaldur saw you frown.

"I got to go. Thanks." Artemis stood up suddenly and walked off. Kaldur watched her go with a sigh. He got up and joined you and the others, hoping his words sank in.

***

You brushed away Wally's hand as he reached to tug your hair again. "Where's she going?" You asked as Kaldur approached.

"I believe she is heading home. Her mother was expecting her," Kaldur said kindly. You nodded. Maybe she wanted to get home earlier too? That's probably why she snapped at you.

"I think you could go for something space." Roy held up a metal print of a space nebula.

"Isn't that racist? She's from Mars. It would be like getting Kaldur something from the ocean," you said, waving the print away. "It needs to be good."

Rob tugged you deeper into the store where they had a retro tv show section. Roy followed the two of you, hands deep in his pockets. You noticed Wally and Kaldur stayed back, whispering to each other.

Your face burned as goosebumps appeared on your skin. You hated when you felt like you did something wrong. Was asking Artemis wrong? They didn't need to worry about your feelings.

Honestly, you only cried once. You gotten tougher over the last few months, or at least you waited to cry until you were alone.

"Hey, you with us?" Roy nudged your arm. You gave him a quick smile and moved to look through another stack of metal prints.

Robin and Roy joked with each other. You sighed, moving to the next stack. Kaldur and Wally joined them.

Suddenly, right after you paged through several tv shows you didn't know, you came across a sparkly Hello Megan print.

"Yes!" You held it up like it was priceless.

"Look at that. She'd love it," Wally said, grinning. "And you didn't need anyone's help."

"Well, you did direct me to the right store." You hugged the print of your chest. "She's gonna love it. Too bad Artemis didn't stay to see it."

Roy scoffed, but Kaldur quickly elbowed him in the side. "She'll see it when we open gifts tomorrow," Roy said, rubbing his side.

You hummed, studying the print again. "It's perfect. Good thing you four stalked us to the mall." Robin and Kaldur blushed. Roy just smirked.

"Hey, I wanted to come to the mall anyway." Wally shrugged. You narrowed your eyes knowingly. He blushed as red as his hair.

"He really just wanted to follow Artemis," Roy mumbled in your ear before flopping an arm around your shoulders to lead you toward the checkout. "Come on, let's buy this thing and head out."

You let Roy pull you along, giggling in delight.

As you all headed out of the closing mall, you passed the clothing store you went in with Artemis. The moto jacket was still there. You bit your lip.

"(Y/N), are you coming?" Kaldur asked when he noticed you stopped. Robin and Wally were teasing each other. Roy stopped with you.

"I need to make another stop. Like really fast." You flashed them a smile and headed into the store.

***

"Ekam ti elkraps," Zatanna said, waving her hands. The Christmas tree in the center of the living room lit up. You clapped your hands.

"Thanks Zat. The lights were getting the best of me." You laughed, tossing the jumble of Christmas lights back into the box.

"No problem." She sneezed. Zatanna had been down with a cold for the last two weeks. She was finally back on her feet just in time for Christmas.

You were glad, especially since this was her first Christmas without her dad. It was your job to keep her busy per Black Canary's request. Of course, keeping people busy was your specialty.

Zatanna stared at the tree. You saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Alright." You clapped your hands. She looked back at you, blinking rapidly. "I think all this work calls for some Christmas cookies."

"But those are for the party?" Zatanna crossed her arms. A genuine smile on her lips.

"Yeah, but we also decorated the place for M'gann, so the least she could do is let us have some early. Besides, Wally will eat them all if we don't get some now." You led her to the kitchen where M'gann was pulling more cookies out of the oven.

You made sure to not think about your gift for her, just in case she was listening to your thoughts.

M'gann's back was turned as you went to the cooling rack and stole two snickerdoodles with red and green sugar. Zatanna pointed to the M&M cookies and you took two of those too.

"You could ask," M'gann said without turning around.

"What?" Your eyes widened. You quickly handed the cookies to Zatanna. "Ask what?"

M'gann turned to look at you. She smiled and shook her head. "Enjoy your cookies and thank you doing the decorations."

Zatanna and you shared a look before giggling. "Thanks M'gann," Zatanna said as you both slipped away.

You took a big bite of cookie. Zatanna nibbled on hers. You both sat down on the couch in the living area and watched the tree sparkle away.

"Z, did you cast a spell on the tree?" Artemis came around the corner. She saw you and you saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes. You didn't know what that meant.

"Yeah, the lights got the better of us," Zatanna laughed, offering Artemis her other cookie. Artemis took it and sat down next to Zatanna.

You wanted to ask her if she was okay or at least thank her for yesterday, but you knew she wouldn't take it well. Besides, M'gann might overhear that you went shopping.

So you stayed quiet, listening in as Artemis and Zatanna talked.

***

"This is amazing!" M'gann gasped as she ripped off the paper to reveal the Hello Megan print.

You tittered, rocking back and forth while hugging your knees to your chest. You sat on the floor of the living area with Wally, Zatanna, and Robin. Artemis, Kaldur, Conner, M'gann, and Roy took the couch and chairs.

Wally poked your side. "She's gonna know it's from you if you keep doing that."

"They're excited. Shut up," Zatanna hissed, poking Wally. You took a deep breath and tried to calm down. However, you still felt like you could burst.

M'gann hugged the print to her chest. "Thank you so much, (Y/N)!" She looked at you. You grinned back.

"Wow, that was a quick guess." Roy rolled his eyes at your giddiness.

"(Y/N) broadcasted their delight. Like almost screaming it." M'gann laughed, handing the print to Conner before flying over to give you a big hug.

You hugged her back, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm glad you love it!"

M'gann pulled back and sat back next to Conner. Conner put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him. Your heart melted. Those two were always so cute.

"Not cool at all," Artemis muttered under her breath. You glanced at her to find her shaking her head at you. A jolt ran through you, but you quickly turned to blink away the burn in your eyes.

"Who's next?" Robin asked, looking around.

The exchanged continued. You played with the edge of your cozy blanket you had received as your gift. Taking a deep breath, you forced a smile on your face. You wouldn't cry on Christmas.

***

Artemis yawned as she made her way toward the zeta tube. Her new set of books under her arm. The party had died down. Artemis was the first to head home. Her mother was waiting for her.

"Hey Artemis," you said. She heard you jogging up behind her. She had to hold back the eye roll before turning.

"Yes?" She hugged her books to her chest. You stumbled a bit, tripping over the blanket you had wrapped around you.

"I..." You coughed, blushing slightly. "I wanted to thank you for coming shopping with me yesterday."

Irritation crawled up inside her. "You're welcome." She kept her face blank.

You smiled a little. Artemis took a deep breath at the moment of silence.

"Well, Merry Christmas." You pulled a nicely wrapped package from under your blanket and held it out.

Artemis flinched, blinking. "What's that?"

"A present." You bit your lip, looking down shyly. "For you. I know you...think I'm annoying. I'm working on it, I promise." You glanced back up at her. Artemis couldn't stop the guilt that sank her stomach. "Anyway, I hope you like it."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "I got to get home."

"Yeah, have a good night." You waved, backing away before tripping over your blanket.

Artemis shook her head as you rushed back out of the room. She looked down at the present. It was nicely wrapped. Guess they aren't clumsy about everything, she thought.

She sighed before ripping it open. Her jaw dropped to the floor when she found the soft leather of the expensive brown moto jacket inside.

Setting her books on the ground, she slipped on the jacket. It felt smooth like butter. She hugged herself.

"Nice jacket," Wally said, walking into the room with a gift bag in hand. "Where you get it?"

Artemis pursed her lips. Rot ate her up inside. "(Y/N)."

Wally whistled. "It looks amazing, babe." He grinned. "(Y/N) must really like you. I know when I first met them, they gave me a PlayStation. I couldn't believe it."

"Really?" Artemis played with the sleeve of the jacket. "I should give this back to them."

"No, you'll just make them feel bad. They wanted you to have it." Wally held up his hands. "Listen, (Y/N) really cares about what you think of them." Artemis' eyes widened slightly. "So maybe...just try to be a little nicer to them...not that you're not." Wally blushed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "I know I'm not, Baywatch." She let out of breath, admitting she always noticed that you took any comment she said hard. How many times had she made you cry? "I'll be nicer."

Wally grinned, nudging her arm. "Thanks."

Artemis punched his arm back. Wally dodged it, laughing. She snorted and picked up her books before trying to get him.

***

The next time you saw Artemis, she was wearing the jacket. You actually started jumping with excitement. However, you forced yourself to be cool as she approached you.

"Thanks for the jacket. I needed a new one." She met your eye before giving you a genuine smile. You felt your eyes widen as you couldn't recall another time she smiled at you.

"You're welcome." A big grin pulled at your lips. You rocked on your heels.

Artemis walked away to go to talk to Zatanna, who was across the cave with Robin. You watched her go, letting yourself bounce a little with glee.

M'gann flew up beside you and gave you a hug. You hugged her back. "Try to get back to whelmed," she whispered in your ear. You nodded, taking a deep breath. However, you felt that you could maybe count Artemis as a friend and nothing could be better than that.

[unluckiestmember]

Hiiii.

Could we get a good old best friends to lovers with Hobie and opposite reader? Idk I think he would be so awkward lmao

Coming right up!

Best Friends to Lovers: Hobie Brown X Fem! Reader

Characters: Hobie Brown

Tags: Friends to lovers, meet cute, fluff, nervous! Hobie, Hobie being Hobie, anarchy, awkwardness, denial and reassurance.

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: I bet Hobie would make a cute boyfriend, minus the fact that he'd probably have us end up in jail every week or two-

You and Hobie became friends when you two met at a rager.

He thought you were cute rocking out. You thought he was cute causing mayhem.

After that night, the both of you would spend time together raising havoc in the UK and pissing off the Prime Minister.

Unlike other Spider-Men, he didn’t hesitate to inform you he was Spider-Punk.

He would mindlessly flirt with you when he wasn’t doing hero work and playfully pushing your buttons just to get a reaction.

You believed he was just being funny at first and so did he.

But then days you hung out turned into weeks.

Then months.

And soon years.

And as those years passed, a strong emotion brewed within Hobie targeted towards you.

Now his flirting would be more intimate when he wasn’t busy trying to correct his own words.

He would start to act like the men he mocked daily on those rom-coms and soap operas you watched for giggles.

If he made a mistake, he wouldn’t own it, he would actually say sorry and stumble over himself.

It was kind of cute, in a funny way, but also confusing.

Why was he acting like this around you, you wondered?

You let it keep going until it started to affect his hero work terribly.

His chill nature sort of depleted and his calculations would be thrown off if you were around him.

Again, it was cute. Until it wasn’t.

Eventually, you sat him down to talk about it and he told you the route of the problem;

You. He had fallen in love with you.

You never expected Hobie Brown, entitled anarchist and supposed man who had zero cares in the world, to fall in love with you.

But he did.

He was scared you would reject him.

So imagine his cute shocked face when you said you felt the same.

The man went into a fit of laughter when he realized how easily all this awkward energy could have been avoided if he just spoke up.

But no use crying over spilled milk!

You two started dating and Hobie got his groove back!

But it still makes you laugh at your boyfriend when he gets giddy around you sometimes.

He was your cute little anarchist.

Spider-Verse Requests are open!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[scuttlingcrab]

Flowers for a Devil

This is one of two fics I wrote for the Raphael fan zine @silkandsulphur! You can find it here. I hope you guys enjoy, always wanted to write something about a blind flower girl a la the film City Lights.

The second piece I wrote is called A Devilish Mentor.

Summary: Raphael meets a blind flower girl named Vera, convinced claiming her soul will be an easy win. However, the Devil soon finds out this mortal in particular does not fall so easily for his lavish deals.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via keylana-dragon)

The Devil sat against a large oak tree, resting his head on the trunk as he fought off sleep. He found solace under its canopy, his body draped in shadows, cool in comparison to the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. Raphael’s doublet stuck to his chest from the humidity, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. It was refreshing, tamer than what he experienced in Avernus. 

He stared into the vast fields of daffodils before him, a dense blanket of bright yellow spanning for miles in all directions. The flowers disappeared into the horizon, giving the illusion this was the only world that existed. The only world that mattered.  

Despite being so close to the chaos of Baldur’s Gate, to the interminable noise of mortals he grew to despise, the world stood still under the tree. Only silence enveloped Raphael. It was his patch of serenity, an escape from the demands of being a Devil. 

He yawned, absorbing the sweet scents of vanilla and honey wafting up from the flowers. He rode a wave of nostalgia, the smells guiding him through a sea of fleeting memories. It had been over a decade since Raphael was first introduced to these fields, led astray by a woman who left a lasting impression on him. 

Vera.

As unlikely as it seemed to Raphael, each flower, every individual petal, those brief memories of her, were too precious to him. 

He leaned back, shutting his eyes. He pushed away his current trepidations about Tav and the mess awaiting him in the Hells. Raphael allowed his muscles to soften with each exhale, helping him to finally relax. 

Soon the Devil dozed off, escaping into a memory... 

---

Raphael was perched atop his balcony outside the Devil’s Den, overlooking Wyrm's Crossing. He had taken a brief respite from the day’s work, deciding to step outside for some fresh air and perhaps some inspiration. He leaned against the wooden railings, observing the ongoing flood of mortals below him. Creatures of all shapes and sizes moved about their own volition, progressing through the day completely oblivious of their impending dooms. 

Something was brewing, something delicious. 

The change in the atmosphere was tangible. Raphael’s skin twitched at the scent of blood that lingered in the air, the buzzing of gossip dancing around at the news of another murder. A corpse was discovered near Sharess’ Caress that very morning, the body disposed of just like the others. A real bonafide serial killer they said! But Raphael knew otherwise. The murders stunk of Bhaalists. 

Either way, it was all good for business. It meant more panic, more deals, and ultimately more power for the Devil.

Other varied scents drifted up from the muddy streets, distracting Raphael from his thoughts of murder and mayhem. Metallic whiffs of money hungry merchants, warm earthy odours of farm workers… Raphael wrinkled his nose, noticing one aroma that stood out to him amidst the rising sea of mediocrity. Something new. A curious scent, an aura both sweet and rich that came from somewhere beneath him. 

Raphael inhaled, following his nose as he proceeded to walk along the length of the upper balcony. He stopped about midway, narrowing his eyes as he searched through the rabble. He immediately found the irregularity, planted firmly against the fast moving current of bodies.

A young woman sat near the entrance of Sharess’ Caress, sitting comfortably on a wooden chair. From that distance, he could just about distinguish her plain features. She had a simple face and dark chestnut hair. Her short sleeved dress hung over her small figure. The woman’s pose was regal, her back so straight she could have been a Queen in disguise. 

In front of her was a handmade stall filled to the brim with flowers. From daffodils to bluebells, she had them all. Much to Raphael’s surprise, her little bespoke shop was quite popular. Despite being so close to the murder scene, long queues snaked well into the alley surrounding the pleasure house.

Why was this woman selling flowers so close to death? Mortals typically fled such sights in horror or goggled with grim curiosity. But she carried on as if nothing happened. Could she really be that innocent? That oblivious?  

Raphael wet his lips, running his fingers through his hair as he prepared for this impromptu performance. Without a second to spare, he snapped his fingers, teleporting down below. He stood on the opposite side of the brothel’s entrance, hiding behind the corner.

Now that the Devil was closer, he spotted the sharp contrast between the beauty of the flowers and the woman’s appearance. The flowers were vibrant and fresh, as if plucked from the heavens. Yet her body told a different story. Although she wasn’t dishevelled, her hands were covered in dirt and her dress crusted over at the hem. 

Raphael gasped, his heart skipping a beat as he noticed the woman’s eyes. They were white, her irises a thick milky blue. She was blind. Her mannerisms weren’t as swift as he thought watching from his balcony, but clunky and slow. She used her hands as a way to guide herself, identifying each flower by delicately petting the tip of the petals. 

He glided towards her as if in a trance, placing himself in front of her stall. The noise of the bustling street faded as Raphael focused on the blind woman. His own eyes widened in excitement. The blind made such easy targets, always willing to give up anything for their sight, for a chance to see even the most mundane backdrops. 

The crowd parted for only a moment but it was enough time for Raphael to discover the woman was staring directly at him, her cloudy eyes meeting his. The Devil stiffened, a sharp chill running up his spine. He wanted to look away as his cheeks burned unexpectedly, yet he carried on staring, pulled to her by an unseen force. Could she be…? He waited, expecting her to approach him. He readied his defences for a fight of some kind, but she remained positioned behind her stall, her gaze unmoving. 

Raphael shook off the uneasiness and took a step closer. The blind woman wrinkled her nose, an act the Devil was used to amongst mortals. 

“Are you planning on buying flowers, sir?” The woman asked. She moved her hands to graze the tips of her bouquets, showing them off in her usual manner. “Or will you continue gaping? I can only assume that’s what you’ve been doing.”

Words escaped Raphael, probably for the first time in his entire existence. He closed his mouth, realising it still hung open in astonishment. He squinted, studying the woman, trying to see if this performance was some sort of ruse. She looked right through Raphael, her face not reacting to his movements. 

“Very good.” Raphael cleared his throat, “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Raphael.” 

He bowed, out of habit, feeling a tinge of embarrassment start to flood his cheeks again before he shoved the feelings away. He immediately stood back up, straightening his doublet. 

“Allow me to purchase a bouquet of your finest arrangements.”

“Of course, sir. For your beloved?”

“Merely for my own enjoyment.”

Raphael flicked his wrist, coins appearing in his hand. He leaned in closer, placing them in the woman’s open palms. 

“What a curious smell.” The woman said, cupping her fingers around Raphael’s hand. She held him there for longer than necessary. “Palmarosa, pepper…” She raised her head slightly, inhaling. “Hmm, yes, notes of cherries… and is that a hint of sulphur?” The woman’s face distorted at the word.

Raphael nodded his head in approval, impressed despite himself at the woman’s sense of smell. She released her grip but he left his hand lingering above her, his fingers tingling.  

 “One might wonder how a woman of such talent remains on the streets of Wyrm's Crossing instead of in a shop of her own. My dear, the city would go mad with a gift like yours.”

“I would hardly call it a gift, sir. Your scent is quite peculiar, however.”

“How so?”

“The sulphur. That’s what I couldn’t place. I personally wouldn’t mix that with the others, but then again, it somehow works. What is your profession?”

“I am an opportunist, through and through.”

Raphael was tempted to touch the woman’s face, curious if she might sense his movements. Perhaps he would test just how far her perception went…

“Is this man bothering you?” A gruff voice came from behind Raphael.

The woman chuckled, her laugh light and airy. Raphael pulled his hand away from her, massaging his palms in contemplation.

“What have you done this time, Baldwin? Is poor Mrs. Fenwick angry at you again ?” A tiny smile grew on her lips, as delicate as the very flowers in front of her.

Raphael turned towards the aggravating voice, smiling politely. Baldwin didn’t return the smile, but glared back at Raphael. The man was short and stocky, with a massive beard that covered more than half of his chunky face.

“Afraid so, Miss Vera, made a mess of things, I did. In real hot water if I don’t get her some of those famous flowers of yours.”

Vera. So that was the creature's name. 

Raphael took that as his cue to leave and slinked back into the crowd. As Vera continued her conversation with Baldwin, her nose lifted, her head following Raphael as he moved further away.

---

The next day Raphael returned to Wyrm's Crossing, watching Vera from his balcony. The crippling weight of his never-ending to-do list grew heavier the more time he wasted watching her, yet he kept avoiding his real responsibilities. He spent the rest of yesterday, and all morning, observing how she worked, how she moved; afraid if he looked away, this budding opportunity would vanish forever.

With a snap of his fingers, he was once again in front of Vera’s stall. 

Her nose twitched as he made his appearance, her head tilting not in alarm, but in curiosity.

“Back again, sir?”

“For some more flowers… and to perhaps ask you to dinner.”

Vera’s visage remained expressionless.

“Which flowers would you like, sir? I’ve only got roses and daffodils left.”

“Hmm… some daffodils, if you would be so kind.” 

The woman nodded, reaching towards the wicker basket on her left. The tips of her fingers delicately brushed the petals, her way of confirming they were indeed the right ones. She scooped up the bouquet with one hand, the other patting the side to ensure the flowers were properly secured. She then extended her arm out to Raphael, offering him the bundle.

“And the dinner?” Raphael inquired, taking the bouquet. 

“I have my work cut out for me today, I’m afraid.”

“If I purchased all your flowers, ridding you of the day’s responsibilities, would you at least consider the proposition?”

Vera hesitated. 

“‘That would be… most generous, sir, but it is not needed.”

“I insist. And please, call me Raphael.”

Vera sighed, her hands gripping one of the empty baskets in front of her, twisting the handle as she considered Raphael’s proposal.

”If you were to buy the rest of my goods, then I might allow you to walk me home, Raphael. ”  

“Then we’ll consider it a deal.”

Raphael clapped his hands, and a pouch of gold fell onto the table with a loud thunk. 

“Let me package these up for at—“

”No need, my dear. I’ll have someone collect them on my behalf. Now, let us walk…” 

---

Raphael and Vera strode in silence through the dirt laden streets towards Rivington. They walked side-by-side, Vera using a wooden cane to lead the way. Long shadows crept from the crooked buildings, growing larger as the sun made its descent.  

As they moved further away from Wyrm's Crossing, the crowds worsened, making it near impossible to navigate without shoving up against strangers. Children cried for their mothers, men lay sleeping on the streets, and families begged for food; pulling on Raphael's garments as he walked past them. These creatures were what Raphael liked to call the lowest of the low; the desperate and needy, his least favourite meals. All the begging and pleading made their souls cheap and sour. He rarely travelled to this side of town unless it was absolutely necessary.

“What do you hope to gain from this?” Vera asked eventually, breaking the stillness as she paused in front of the Open Hand Temple. “No one has been this nice to me without wanting something in return.”

“You wound me to think I would stoop so low, I am not a barbarian but a gentleman. I am here to help.”

“With what, pray tell?”

Vera began walking again, Raphael following suit.

“What if your sight could be restored? Your life begun anew? Filled with so many riches you’d be swimming in gold and luxury?”

“I’d say no.” Vera responded without hesitation. 

“No? Just like that?”

“My condition is incurable. Do not give me hope with this talk of fancy, Raphael. I have been crushed by hope in the past, discarded, left to die from its repercussions.” 

“I am not here on behalf of hope. I have solutions, answers . I am a purveyor of possibilities. Just give me the word and I can fix your sight and if need be, make you so rich you’d never have to sell flowers again.”

Vera laughed. 

“You find this funny?”

“I find it foolish! A bedtime story for children. And how do you suppose you’d fix my sight? Hmm? Magic? Don’t think I haven’t tried that before.” 

 “I have my own means, tried and true. I can discuss them in more detail, with a proper agreement, if you are–”

“No, thank you.”

Vera came to a halt, stopping in front of a large makeshift shack. It was constructed from mismatched wood and random materials, as if it was put up in haste with whatever seemed convenient at the time. It had small windows and a jagged metal chimney that stuck out the side.

“Many thanks for the walk and the thought provoking conversation.” Vera turned away from Raphael, searching the pockets of her dress for a key.

Raphael’s face contorted as he watched her, out of annoyance at the sudden dismissal and from pity. A key? For that sorry excuse of a house? If anyone coughed, or sneezed, it would’ve caused the very foundation to topple.

“May I have the honour of calling upon you again?” Raphael asked, keeping his voice flat to avoid sounding too desperate. Or too peeved.

“If you choose to stop by my stall again,” Vera said, as she unlocked her door, “that is your business. But I will not turn you away.”

And with that, Vera disappeared inside, slamming the door in Raphael’s face. 

Although the door did not hit Raphael, he felt the full force of its impact as the wind slapped his cheeks. The rickey wood only inches from his nose. He immediately retracted his ill thoughts towards the stability of Vera’s home, if it could handle that slam, then it could handle anything . 

Raphael scoffed, turning on his heels as he walked away, quickly disappearing into a fiery inferno. 

---

Day after day Raphael returned to Vera, buying out her flowers, and asking her to dinner. 

The more Vera refused him, the more his obsession grew, turning into an uncontrollable yearning for her submission, to hear only one word from her lips: yes. Raphael wanted her, craved her company. He dreamed of the day he’d finally wipe that smug smirk off her face. Raphael would restore Vera’s sight just to spite her. He would claim her eventually, as he did all mortals who refused him. He just needed time.  

However it wasn’t all torture for Raphael. He had gotten to know Vera as he waited, finding unexpected comfort in the banality of their conversations and in the silence they shared. He watched her every move and knew her entire routine. He observed her as she picked flowers ceremoniously in fields so big they swallowed her whole, often joining in. His thoughts calmed when he was around her, allowing himself to escape in the moment, to savour the present, rather than break from the crippling pressures of his growing ambitions.

The days turned to weeks, and soon months passed, until one day, Vera obliged Raphael and agreed to his invitation.  

The Devil appeared at sundown, as he had often promised, knocking on Vera’s door with the back of his knuckles.

Vera answered almost immediately. Despite not bothering to change her dress or clean-up from the day’s labour, she was beautiful, glowing in the twilight.

The pair began their walk in the warm summer evening, the streets were quiet save for the random insect chirps and occasional gusts of wind that blew in from the sea. They did not make it far before Raphael stopped Vera, the Devil checking over his shoulder to ensure they were alone. 

“Where is this house of yours located?” Vera asked. 

“Quite far. Do you trust me?” 

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“I do not.” Vera said. 

Raphael smiled broadly, snapping his fingers. A portal materialised in front of them, hot air blasting through it like a raging kiln. Vera scrunched her face, sniffing the air rapidly as the heat brushed up against her. 

“Allow me,” Raphael placed his hand on Vera’s forearm and she accepted his lead. 

They began to walk through the portal together. 

---

The House of Hope was serene, Raphael had forced the debtors to clean every single inch of his domain before banishing them all for the evening. He wanted everything to be perfect, spotless, on the off chance Vera would agree to his deal. 

The silence was rife with unasked questions as Raphael led Vera through his halls, her forehead lightly sweating from the stifling heat of Avernus. She held onto his arms, nearly tripping over herself as Raphael led her deeper into his House. Her face grew long as they passed one open window after another.

“Where have you taken me, really?”

“To my House of Hope, in Avernus.”

Vera nodded, mumbling something to herself. 

“Are you afraid?” Raphael went on, eager for what her answer would be.

There was another pause as Vera frowned.

“Yes, but not as scared as I thought.”

They reached a spiral staircase at the far end of his House, leading up to his atelier. It was a room only he had access to, a place no living being had ever entered save for the Devil himself. With a flick of the wrist, Raphael teleported them to the top of the stairs. He waved his hand, dismissing a ward and simultaneously opening the ornate doors to his workshop.

The room was an organised mess. Half finished paintings occupied most of the space, statues sat discarded in the corners, and stacks of books were piled high, nearly reaching the ceiling. 

As Raphael stepped forward, Vera froze, becoming an anchor. 

“You are a Devil.” 

Vera’s words were more of a statement, a confirmation to herself, than a question.  

“In the flesh.”

Vera pulled Raphael towards her, placing her hands on his face. He jumped at the unexpected action, his heart picking up speed, at the feeling of her hands on his skin so freely. 

“Yet you have the face of a normal man.” Vera frowned.

“A guise. Do you wish to know my true form?”

She nodded. 

In a rush of sparks and embers, Raphael shed his mortal skin. She backed away from the heat of his transformation, nearly tripping over backwards. Vera’s hands trembled as she gained composure, reaching for his face again. She gasped, moving over his horns, his sharp cheeks, even touching his wings. Her hands intertwined with his as she traced his claws. 

Raphael desperately wanted to probe her mind, to peek behind the curtain, but he stopped himself. He would not violate her. Not now. When he was so close.

“So it’s true, you are real.” 

There was no fear in her voice, only a hint of wonder. And affection. Raphael melted into her touch, not an inch of his form went unexplored. He swallowed, his mouth becoming drier than the deadliest wastelands. He had never felt such tender, mortal hands, against his infernal flesh.  

“And you’d still deny me the honour of helping you?”

“If it is a soul you’re after, Raphael, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. My soul belongs to me.”

“Even when you could have everything?”

“You must understand, some people are content with life’s simplicities.”

“In poverty? And in darkness?”

“I don’t need my eyes to see. I know you are a Devil. But I can also feel you are honourable. Gentle. You have an appreciation for things that are cracked, imperfect. You care so much about your appearance, and yet… you hide the one thing that makes you the most attractive, the most alluring, your true form. The sulphur. Why do you mask it with other scents?”

“Don’t be a fool. It’s unwise for Devils to parade amongst the mortals so blatantly.” 

“Why?”

“Were you not afraid of me moments ago?”

Vera paused, considering Raphael’s question. 

“I quite prefer this version of you, Raphael. It’s a shame you must hide it.”

Vera looked directly at Raphael like the day they first met. Those milky eyes stared into his very existence, burning a hole through his heart. His foundation crumbled. Yes, the Devil had his ambitions. His longing for the Crown of Karsus, his dreams of conquering the Hells… yet he wanted nothing more than to restore Vera’s sight at that moment. For her to see him truly. All he had to do was snap his fingers… 

Raphael’s temperature rose as he bit the side of his cheek, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. His limbs shook as he restrained himself, using all his power to keep from fully ascending. Years ago Raphael would’ve laughed in Vera’s face, denying her everything until he was the only option she had left. He would’ve taken her soul where she stood and ate it for supper… but now, all those inclinations evaporated. 

That damned woman had cursed him. And he, worst of all, had allowed it.  

“Do you wish to leave?” Raphael asked, preparing to create a portal back to Baldur’s Gate. 

“No, I am happy to stay. This is the furthest I think I’ve ever travelled. And you promised a meal.” 

Vera smiled, that devious smirk crawling up her lips. Raphael snapped his fingers and a small table and chairs materialised in front of them.

“So I did. You’ll come to find out a Devil always keeps their word.”  

---

Raphael had disappeared for nearly a week. He never intended to stay away for so long, but his work finally caught up with him. Their dinner had been interrupted when Korrilla summoned him, rather rudely, to an urgent meeting in Dis. Raphael had ignored his warlock for so long, pushing her away like an unwanted child, that he had forced her hand. Korrilla’s act of insolence would not go unpunished… 

His thoughts ended abruptly when he arrived near Vera’s home, teleporting himself into sheer havoc.

A massive crowd surrounded her shack, circling it like rabid wolves. Mortals gawked, some pointing their fingers and laughing at the home like it was some sort of circus attraction. Investigators lined the entranceway, pushing people back who tried to sneak through. The air was heavy, thick with humidity and the smell of rotting meat. Raphael’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he pushed through the throng.  

“Shame… another attack…” One woman said.

“Apparently she put up a fight…” A man whispered. 

“A Dragonborn… lurking about, but who knows…” Another woman remarked.

Raphael barely made it to the front of the crowd when he stopped, noticing he was standing in a puddle of blood. The liquid sparkled in the morning sun as it seeped through his boots. 

“She was barely breathing when they pulled her–” A woman behind Raphael began. 

His ears rang at those words, at the possibility of her still being alive, and he instantly spun around, grabbing hold of the woman’s shoulders. 

“Where did they take her?” 

“Sir-I beg your pardon–”

Raphael shook the woman as she stared dumbfoundedly back at him, squeezing her shoulders tighter as she refused to give an answer. Others in the crowd backed away from Raphael, some even starting to scream.

“Where is she?!”  

---

Raphael charged through the hallways of the hospital. Kicking down one door after another until he found Vera. She was in a room no larger than a closet, her body haphazardly thrown onto a metal bed. Her dress was torn to shreds, body barely recognisable, save for those pale eyes, her beautiful eyes, that now stared fixedly at the ceiling. She had been cut open, gutted like a farm animal. They didn’t even have the audacity to cover her body. 

Raphael collapsed, a numbness growing in his chest, spreading through his entire body as the realisation of Vera’s death hit him like a tsunami. It was strange, he had never felt anything over a mortal's death, not until Vera. He grabbed the frame of the bed, the metal warping at his fiery touch, as he attempted to lift himself to his feet.

He picked up Vera’s body, his hands trembling as he held her, searching through her very being for any leftover traces of her soul, something he could latch on to, bring back… but she was hollow. Lost to him forever. Without warning, Raphael erupted into flames, turning the entire room into an inferno. The fire grew bigger and angrier, licking its way across the ceiling as it travelled outside the hallway, slowly moving throughout the rest of the hospital. 

The Devil paid no attention to the screams or to the damage he caused. It all became part of the same noise. Let the flames consume them all, let the flames destroy everything. He had lost something precious to him, and they would all pay for it in turn. These mortals will suffer for their stupidity, their chaos, their violence! 

And Vera…  

Raphael howled, the flames around him turning blue in his grief. He should’ve taken her soul when he had the chance and dealt with the repercussions later. She would’ve forgiven him eventually. Then she would’ve been his. Forever. She would’ve been safe.

Raphael brought his arms to his chest in an attempt to hug Vera, to hold her close and never let go, but the only thing that remained were her ashes. 

---

Raphael woke up from his nightmare. He screamed into the darkness, gasping for air, choking on the tears that streamed down his cheeks. The full moon lit up the field before him, covering the flowers in an eerie luminescent glow. 

Thoughts of Vera stung like fresh wounds. The pain served as a reminder for his failings, his eternal punishment for going against the very nature of his existence, all for one mortal. 

Raphael’s chest unexpectedly grew tighter, an uneasy feeling rising like bile in his throat. He shut his eyes, attempting to restrain the intrusive emotions. These damned mortal inclinations never ceased to torment him, a sense of dread creeping through the cracks of his composure like rampant weeds. 

All at once a torrent of different thoughts overtook him, flooding his mind as he was snapped back to reality. Tav’s failings with the Hammer, his cursed pursuit of the Crown, tasks that piled up the more he sat there, and worst of all, the echoes of Vera, lingering still… He tried to destroy each thought, but more grew in their place.

Raphael took a deep breath, attempting to reclaim his presence of mind. He coughed, his nostrils filling with the abrasive scent of burning. His eyes shot open and he was met with thick black smoke trailing up from his hands. 

The daffodils within his proximity were on fire, the petals curling up around the edges and withering away. His fists dug deeper into the soil, the ground bubbling, threatening to erupt at any moment. He watched as the flames grew, slowly eating the field, destroying its beauty and everything it stood for.

“YOU FOOL!” Raphael screamed. His voice rippled through the burning field, the leaves above him trembling in his rage.

Snap!  

The fire reversed itself, the flames crawling back into Raphael’s fingertips as the world around him went back to normal. He let out a pained sigh, his rage extinguishing. 

He had been so close to destroying everything. 

Again. 

They never found Vera’s murderer, but Raphal saw through the facade, he knew who did it. That Bhaalspawn. The same creature who painted the streets red in murderous glee, later claiming the responsibility for Bhaal’s re-birth. That vile Dragonborn haunted Raphael’s dreams, taunting him with Vera’s death as he hid away in the shadows of his subconscious, evading his capture. 

In the decade since Vera’s slaughter, Raphael ensured all his schemes led to the path of revenge one way or another. When he caught wind of the Dark Gods’ plot to steal the Crown of Karsus, he knew then it was his destiny. Once the Crown was his, he would unite the Hells and eradicate every single Bhaalist from the face of the earth. He would make that coward Bhaal suffer as he did. Then he would find Vera’s soul. Somehow. 

Raphael’s thoughts quickly flickered to Tav and their pending negotiations. The Crown for a Hammer. To the last few scenes left to play out before his grand finale. 

He would not make the same mistake again. 

He would not be denied.  

The Devil would get his vengeance.