#my sister got girl almighty

[chlorinecake]

HELLO

Please PLEASE make a fic about the songs church- chase Atlantic!!

It's my latest obsession, next to enha ofc

leading you on | l.hs

♱ plot: from the shy boy you first met at church camp who your parents once adored to their biggest fuckboy nightmare, you and heeseung reconnect on an online platform where you became a popular streaming duo together, leading to some steamy (and eventually forbidden) connections between you two…

loser!streamer!heeseung x fem!streamer!reader

♱ contains: SLOW BURN, swearing, sneaking out, mentions of bulges (multiple times), oral and fingering (f. r.), slight corruption kink, y/n stripping in front of a large audience (on camera), unprotected sex + virginity loss, y/n deliberately disobeying her parents, angst-ish, ft. other kpop idols, roughly 7k words

a/n: this is my first time writing a one shot all about Heeseung so hopefully I did our favorite loser boy some justice in this fic... have fun reading!

Heeseung. He was always just so... flirty with you.

Not emotionally, that is, but physically.

Leaving lingering touches on your thigh during Bible study, whispering dangerously close to your ear in that bedroom voice of his, or texting you random pictures during the day with his bulge obvious in almost every single one.

Two little voices battled in the back of your mind whenever you were around him, one voice wanting him to take things further while the other found it strange how he did such things so shamelessly.

The boy's got sex written all over him, your friends would warn alongside your Christ-converted step-sister Giselle who'd had her fair share of 'guys like Heeseung' in the past.

But you didn't see him that way. Despite his flirty tendencies, you figured those were just attributes that made him who he is.

Who you've always loved him to be.

However, those Holy, Holy, God Almighty church days were long gone by now, being no more than a distant ninth grade memory to you and most of everyone else who attended back then.

Everyone except Lee Heeseung, who could never shake his adolescent infatuation with you... ____, the girl who accepted his flaws and eventually stole his heart.

You and Heeseung reconnected a few years later by chance, the same day of your one year anniversary on your streaming channel.

Initially, your content consisted of one-hour long broadcasts where you'd just talk with random strangers, hearing out their problems and giving righteous advice.

However, Heeseung became a recurrent visitor on your streams, coaxing you to speak on topics more interesting than whether its modest to wear glam makeup or if kissing should be saved for marriage.

Your channel amassed a whopping 20,000 new followers in the first month of Heesung partnering with you, and its part of what led him to becoming an anticipated guest to your growing fanbase.

A dynamic duo, some commenters would call you two... and much to your parents chagrin, at that.

Off camera, things were the same.

You and Heeseung had grown closer than ever, sacrificing sleep to text each other all night, doing fuck-all on your web streams for hours, and even considering meeting up in person for a broadcast after he shared with you that he still lived in the city.

But then... something changed.

Or more accurately, your overly controlling mother put her foot down.

|Messaging| 💬

Heeseung: So we're not allowed to hang out together this Friday ?

You: Not alone... and honestly, not on the streams anymore, either...

Heeseung: Don't tell me its bc ur shyyyy

You: Nope… pArEnTs ^^

You'd say your mom had it out to get Heeseung more than your dad ever did, resenting the mere mentioning of his name at weekly church gatherings.

"That daughter of yours has gained quite the audience on social media," one womann would say, "too bad she seems to be losing her Faith to that poor Heeseung boy..."

"Such a shame," another would agree, adding to the heat-bubbles boiling in your mother's blood-

"Our faith teaches forgiveness and kindness," you defended yourself, just as your mom gave you maybe her third lecture this week on why you should cut ties with him.

"It also advises caution and wisdom when it comes to who we allow into our social circles," she hummed back, taking a sip of her morning coffee, red lipstick staining the rim of the white mug, "I'd be no better than a fool to sit here and support this meaningless friendship between you and that... man."

You internally rolled your eyes at her words, thinking of something, anything to say in order to change the subject right now.

"Well, I have plans with some friends from church tonight, if you don't mind-"

"Will Heeseung be there?"

"What? No," you lied, and not for the first time, either.

It helped you to feel less guilt whenever you blamed it on the little voice in your head, "Just me and the girls," you clarified.

"Mhm," she smiled facetiously before continuing, "I'm afraid I still can't trust you to go, though... especially not after that little stunt you pulled online..."

Your hand halted at the kitchen countertop as her words settled in your mind, "What stunt?"

FLASHBACK

It all started with a picture.

A stupid picture you got dared to leak by an anonymous tipper who offered a $1,000 donation in exchange for a steamy photo of Heeseung.

Chelbear03: God, he looks so THICK

Chelsea, one of your viewers said in the streaming chat, practically moaning at the photo of Heeseung, biting her lip as if she could feel him inside her just by looking at the screen.

Chelbear03: PAINFUL 😩

pucca_princxss: Need a tissue for your drool, Sea-Sea? 🧻

Danielle, another fan joked.

Chelbear03: Okay, FIRST of all, I have drool coming from TWO holes rn- Secondly, I'd rather just have him lick it up 😔

Chelsea typed back, a nuance to her words that you couldn't tell was meant to be either comical or serious.

"Lick up what?" a curious voice asked from the screen.

That's when your hand flew to cover your mouth, eyes going wide at the sight of Heeseung coming back into frame after saying he'd be "afk for a bit while showering."

His hair was still a bit damp from what you could tell, a towel draped lazily around his neck as your eyes unfortunately fell to the lump hiding behind his pants.

Oh God-

"N-nothing! Uhm... it's not important," you chuckled dryly, only adding to the awkwardness everyone was starting to feel from behind their screens.

pucca_princxss: OOP speak of the papi-

Chelbear03: Please forgive me, Hee-man 🧎‍♀️ ... bc I am disrespectfully foaming at the mouth as we speak-

Chelbear03 has left the stream

A notification of Chelsea having left the stream popped up in the chat almost immediately after she sent that message.

"What was that all about?," Heeseung smirked with confusion, looking between both you and the server comments displayed on his screen for an answer that never came.

"Fine then, keep your secrets... its not like I can't just rewind the stream highlights anyway," he added, just as you felt frantic emotions overcome you.

"Heeseung, you really don't wanna do that, just let me explain-"

His jaw dropped, not necessarily in shock, but with intrigue, the raunchy photo of his semi-hard cock through his sweatpants being displayed on the screen, right before his glossy deer-like eyes.

The same picture he'd only ever sent to you.

"I guess this is my mini Drake moment then," Heeseung chuckled to himself, a heavy sigh escaping your lips at his fortunately chill reaction.

"I did it for 1k, Heeseung, I'm sorry," you whined, pulling your knees up in your chair before burying your face behind them.

"Don't be... everyone already knows I'm your slut at this point," he said in a deeper voice, making you freeze once again as your eyes shot up to view the screen, almost in denial that such words even left his mouth.

anonymous tipper: worst thousand $$$ I ever spent... how abt I multiply the price by two for a sexy picture of the lady ?

yxstar3ject: ooo, but i was thinking maybe a double feature instead ? would luvvv to see how she treats this little slut of hers 🤭

Heeseung snickered so loud, you almost felt it on your skin, watching his facial expressions change with each suspicious message that filled the chat box, throughly entertaining him

"Guys, cut it out before I end the stream," you giggled shyly, revealing your full face that looked a little less flustered than earlier, "Heeseung isn't my slut either, okay? Just a good friend, I swear..."

pucca_princxss: you two need to stream in the same room one day bc this long distance sexual tension thing is so not the vibe :|

"Maybe one day..." Heeseung's voice faded off as he turned off the lights in his room, getting ready for bed...

"Maybe~~," your mother repeated in a mocking tone at the memory of your "filthy fest" of a stream that day, disgust displayed all over her before she took the last sip of her coffee as if it'd soothe her.

"Hope that refreshed your memory sweetie, but either way, my answer's no. Not with that slut on the streets and especially not without my supervision..."

“If you’re referring to Heeseung with that vulgar comment, I’m sorry to correct you, but it’s not right to just bash him with words like that,” you went on, leaning your elbows over the counter.

“Please, any guy who sends raunchy dick pics, let alone to a girl he’s not even dating, is a slut, ____,” your step-sister Giselle voiced while walking into the kitchen, dressed in athletic wear as she filled up her water canteen with a lemon flavored electrolyte packet, “not to mention those other weird things he says about your relationship on the stream.”

Despite how much your family claimed to dislike Heeseung, they had no problem with bringing him up every five seconds in a conversation.

You glanced at her through a side eye, shaking your head at the fact that she was just eavesdropping on your conversation, “That was hardly a dick pic, and you should know that better than me, Jizz-elle,” you retorted, putting extra emphasis on the first syllable of her old nickname.

“Yeah, real mature, ____… you can slut shame me but not your little online boyfriend?”

“Ladies!,” your mother raised her voice slightly, pursing her lips at the tension built up between you two, “that’s enough of this discussion…”

You noticed the way your mother’s eyes lingered on your step sister for a moment, “And where do you think you’re going?”

“To the gym,” she answered shortly, walking past your mom and out of the kitchen with haste.

You scoffed out loud, “Not gonna interrogate her like you did to me?,” you said, laughing as if humored when it was really just a way to mask how irritated you were.

“No,” your mom said with a delayed reply, “Giselle is not my blood… I must take her word for what she says to avoid conflict with your step-father… you, on the other hand, will—”

“—abide by your rules… got it,” you finished for her, knowing better than to continue going back and forth with her in this matter.

You left the kitchen, going up to your room and plopping yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you entered into a deep thinking space.

One in which you'd strategize on how to successfully sneak out of the house to hang out with Heeseung tonight.

|Messaging| 💬

You: So, you want me to meet you where again ?

Heeseung: Just take a hard right past the first stop sign from your place and a few steps past that one brown house (pls ignore my Dora ass instructions rn 🗿)

You: ok ok 😭, smart tho !! … that way, none of my neighbors will see your car :D

Heeseung: Exactly. U sure u still wanna do this, tho ?

You: Yeah, ofc ! Had enough of my mom nagging me all day ☝️ I need a release BIG time

Heeseung: Haha, okay then ! I’ll see you at 10:30pm

You: Cya ! 🐒

THE LAST TIME you and Heeseung met in person was back when you were both young teenagers, navigating hormones and puberty while aiming to keep God at the center of it all, so to speak.

You didn’t know what to expect from meeting up with him, and especially not under such circumstances.

Still, you had a pretty good feeling that all this trouble wouldn’t be for nothing.

It was currently 10:34pm as you turned off all the lights in your bedroom, wearing an all black outfit to ensure you weren’t seen.

You double checked to see if you had everything with you before leaving: phone, spare cash, and a well-rehearsed story in case you got caught.

Opening your bedroom window, you stuck out a leg, suddenly feeling thankful for your step-dad giving you the bedroom on the first story of his home.

Both your feet were on the floor now, your hands finding the window sill as you closed the window back, careful not to accidentally lock it back so you would be able to get back in later.

You then followed the instructions Heeseung outlined in your texts, walking a few blocks down and taking a right turn once you reached the stop sign.

That’s when you caught sight of his dimly lit side profile under the lights of his car and through the tinted windows.

His eyes were on his phone until your figure blocked the streetlight that shined in his car, drawing his attention to your face as a smile spread over his own.

His eyes lit up like you were the candle to his soul, stepping out of the sleek black car to come around and give you a hug.

“Oh- hi,” you chuckled shyly, hands hesitating to wrap around him before he pulled away, looking you up and down while bracing your shoulders.

“Hi,” he smiled back, “I was just about to text you when you showed up at my window… nice black fit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you said in a playful voice, watching as he opened the car door for you to get in.

“Would it be wrong of me to assume your panties match, too?,” he asked teasingly, joining you in the vehicle before pulling out of his parked position and cruising out of the neighborhood.

“Wow, you’re really representing this slut persona of yours, huh?” You teased back, putting on your seatbelt.

“Mostly because I can’t help it,” he shrugged, flashing you a smile before looking back at the road, “the fans ship us anyway, so we might as well commit to it, right?”

“Righttt,” you answered suspiciously, poking his thigh before looking back out the window, “gosh, this is crazy…”

“What is?”

“How long we’ve known each other and still happened to maintain a solid friendship despite the distance.”

“Yea,” he agreed, turning down a lane decorated with flowers that somehow still shined in the dark of the night, “We’d be fools to give up this bond we share, though… fools not to explore it further.”

He pulled into his driveway a few minutes later, showing you around his place before leading you to his bedroom, a familiar sight to you thanks to the streams.

“Oh- you’ve still got your monitors and mic set up?,” you asked curiously, noticing how the screen of his computer was on the streaming website.

“You remember what Danielle said on our last live? About us broadcasting in the same room together sometime…” he started shyly, pushing out another gaming chair for you to sit in.

“You really think it’s a good idea to stream right now?,” you rationalized, watching as he joined you in the nearby seat, “I mean, I’m obviously down for it, but what if my mom sees it again? Or Gisel—”

“I’ve already blocked your mom's account, ____, we should be fine,” he smiled, “and… if not… I’ll exchange another photo with your anonymous tipper for some forgiveness cash,” he shrugged, pouty lips making you melt a little inside. "Deal?"

You always knew that Heeseung was cute, but you didn’t think it was possible for him to get any better looking from behind the screen.

“Okay then,” you agreed with a sigh, hoping that your nerves would calm down once the broadcast started.

Almost instantly, 100 viewers joined when Heeseung pressed the “stream” button.

You both began with greeting everyone, trying to get past the chat’s excitement about finally getting to see you two in the same room together.

yxstar3ject: OMFG YALL ACTUALLY DID IT ❗️ this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for 🤧

Chelbear03: holy fucking fuck, how is she so CALM NEXT TO HIM 😩

mrloverl0ver: everyone in favor of them playing truth or strip for us, spam the chat with W’s

pucca_princxss: hoon, you raging perv- WWWWWWWWWW XD

Chelbear03: ✨ W ✨

laylaspapi: W no homo wait, why's my name pink now ;-;

yxstar3ject: I took orange the other day ~ sawwy Jakey W <3

You watched as the chat box started to flood with W's and other random comments, feeling Heeseung sat a hand on your thigh as if to make you feel more comfortable.

"Alright peeps, chill out with the chat spamming, we see it," Heeseung said, laughing off some of the tension, "It's not like you guys didn't get a free show the other day, anyways," he added.

"I don't know..." you started, voice and logic trailing off as more letter W's filled the screen, "it might be fun?"

"____," Heeseung said more seriously this time, "it's a pointless game, y'know? We're honest with the fans... they already know most of secrets, so its silly to do truth or strip..."

"Great. That'll only make it more challenging for them to get our clothes off then," you smiled, suddenly feeling excited about playing, a bit of your competitiveness rubbing off on the initially cautious boy.

"Fine then... we'll do it," Heeseund said, eliciting a few viewers to send gifts to your broadcast, "I'm gonna need a drink for this first, though."

Heeseung was doing a good job of making it seem like he wasn't totally down for this, even though on the inside, he was mostly concerned with making sure you felt comfortable, too.

He left the room for a moment before coming back with two canned cocktails in his grip, placing them on his desk in front of you two.

"I'm guessing you don't drink much," he said, popping open a can of sugary fizz with his teeth while making eye contact with you, "so take it slow with this, yeah?"

"Sure, dad," you joked, taking a sip from the can, hoping that the alcohol would maintain your fleeting confidence, considering that you'd just agreed to strip in front of hundreds of people online.

Chelbear03: alr, first question heheh, starting easy !! :))) when was the last time you got upset and why

Chelsea was the first to initiate this little "truth or strip" questionnaire. Heeseung read the question out loud before humming to himself in thought.

“Hmm... maybe when I overcooked my ramen this morning?”

"Who eats ramen for breakfast?" You asked with a dry laugh.

"Don't judge me because I have good taste, ____," he replied, shoving your thigh with his knee a bit, "and you're dodging the question..."

"Oh- right," you chuckled shyly, thinking of what to say and whether to be honest, until you remembered the consequence would be to remove a piece of clothing.

“It was um... over some stupid things my stepsister was saying about a friend of mine… also this morning...”

"Does that friend so happen to be me by any chance?," Heeseung asked knowingly, giving you a look that you quickly brushed off.

"Moving on, next question!"

anonymous tipper: name the last person you hooked up with $100 donation on the line here, btw... plus someone's modesty 🙈

Oh God, you thought to yourself, dreading how this anonymous tipper knew you'd do almost anything for money.

It was really a bad trait of yours...

"Wow, just jumping to the extremes, aren't we?," Heeseung mumbled between a sip of his drink, the wet condensation drawing your attention to his glistening digits for a quick second.

How were you just now noticing how thick his fingers ar-

laylaspapi: uh oh someone looks nervous ...

pucca_princxss: mission accomplished 👹👹👹

In all honesty, you didn't really have an answer to that question, but to avoid coming off as prudish, you opted to take a pair of clothing off instead, lifting your hips in your seat to pull your pants down.

"____, what the-" Heeseung started before choking a bit on his drink, not just at your sudden boldness, but at the sight of your lace panties hugging the natural curves of your hips, pants getting bunched up at your ankles before you kicked them off under his desk.

yxstar3ject: 😭😭😭😭 DEFINITELY wasn't expecting that, oml-

Chelbear03: your turn, hee 🙏🙏🙏

Something about how frazzled your usually calm and collected best friend became at the simple act of you undressing before him gave you a feeling of exhilaration.

By now, your top barely covered the flesh of your thighs, a few commenters saying things about "wanting to take a bite" before Heeseung cleared his throat, hoping that they'd stop making things worse for him.

"Well uh, I'm not willing to strip a layer just yet, plus I could use the $100, so I'll be honest..."

The chat stalled momentarily as if everyone watching paused in eager anticipation of who and what Heeseung was going to say.

"It's been a while, I'll admit," he chuckled dryly, staring off as if envisioning it behind his sparkly eyes, "but it was around a year and a half ago... with a girl I'd rather not name, but she was a bit older than me..."

"Oh?," you accidentally said out loud, a strange feeling of happiness washing over you now that you knew he hadn't been with any girl since you two met reconnected. You're not sure why this information made you happy... or maybe you're just not ready to admit how you truly feel about him to yourself yet...

"How'd you two meet? Wait- why am I even asking that," you cringed at your own inevitable curiosity, Heeseung taking delight in how his timidness somehow rubbed back off onto you.

"Nah, it's okay... I'm sure the viewers wouldn't mind a little storytime-"

He adjusted his posture in the chair, eyes scanning a few new comments before he spoke, "I met her during my bad boy stage, I guess you could say... we bonded over the fact that we were both born in October until we eventually started smoking together at a friends house of mine every now and then... she and I were both going through some divorce drama with our parents and uh... we thought fucking would be a good emotional outlet? I don't know, maybe it was more of a distraction, I guess..."

Heeseung didn't expect himself to ramble the way he did, but he wanted you to know the main details, even though he left out a few parts for another time and conversation.

Chelbear03: what would it take for me to be that girl ? just for one night 😔

maindancertypeshit: pretty sure Hee just confirmed he's into older girls, Chels ... and ones with daddy issues at that-

You nearly snorted at the sudden comment, up until you realized who the last one came from.

"Excuse me, but what the hell is a toddler doing on this stream?" Heeseung asked sarcastically, obviously referring to Niki.

pucca_princxss: LMAO, looking for his mommy ofc 🤱 (😏)

maindancertypeshit: ayo, wtf??? so dani's allowed but I'm not?? hmph >:{

maindancertypeshit has left the stream

You sighed while laughing slightly, taking a sip of the drink as water droplets now dripped unto your thighs, Heeseung's eyes doing a terrible job of not staring.

"I say we do one more round before ending the stream," you offered, looking at the time as you knew you'd wanna spend more private time with Heeseung before having to run back home.

yxstar3ject: BOOOOOOOO :(

Chelbear03: im too pressed abt riki rn to give a damn bro did NAWT have to dish me the truth like that 😭😭

mrloverl0ver: ok ok, let's make this last question worth it then hmmm ...

Sunghoon typed in thought, just as the bulb in Heeseungs side lamp suddenly shattered, the loss of light coupled with it's piercing sound making you jolt in your seat, half of your canned cocktail spilling on your shirt and chest.

"Shit," Heeseung swore under his breath, happy that none of your drink or any glass from the lightbulb got on his streaming equipment.

That's when he noticed you shivering a bit, the cold liquid contrastingly with the warmth of your body.

"C-can you grab me a towel please?," you asked softly, Heeseung taking the can from your grasp and leaving the room with haste to grab a damp and dry cloth for you.

"Here," he offered when he came back, hooking his hands at the hem of your top and pulling it over your head in one swift movement, making you gasp out loud.

You were now half-naked in front of your best friend, not to mention the tons of people watching from their digital screens.

"Heeseung, what're you-"

He was now taking off his own shirt, holding it in one hand while he wiped your chest down with the cloths he held in the other.

There was something about the way his eyes looked while wiping down your boobs, coming off as romantic despite the awkward nature of the situation.

"Put this on," he whispered so quietly you almost missed it, snaking your head through the head hole of his T-shirt while he flicked the ceiling light on, your mind running in a hundred different directions in this moment.

You're not sure if it had something to do with the alcohol, but your skin still tingled in the spots where his fingertips grazed your flesh... just like old times...

You don't think you ever put on a T-shirt faster in your life, wanting to cover up as fast as you could despite how everyone had already gotten a free show from the both of you.

laylaspapi: B👀BS ?!?!? caught in 4k? just like that !?!??!????

mrloverl0ver: guess that means the games over now since y'all started stripping regardless ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

pucca_princxss: I think Heeseung's house might b haunted :'0

Chelbear03: HEESEUNGS FUCKING ABS RN- IS HE TRYING TO KILL ME !??!?

yxstar3ject: 👁👄👁

The chat was going crazy at this point, their flood of comments honestly being the last thing on your mind as you sat bottomless in Heeseung's gaming chair, wearing his T-shirt as he searched for another shirt somewhere behind you.

A billion emotions were coursing through your veins, still trying to grasp how you went from sneaking out your bedroom window, stripping in front of an audience, and getting flustered from the mere presence of Heeseung now.

"Alright guys, this was fun but we're gonna call it a night for now," Heeseung said as he came back into frame, not even bothering to sit back down as his right hand found the mouse, moving it towards the end stream button.

"Yeah, I think my streaming career might end here," you added jokingly, making Heeseung chuckle a bit at your words, his bright smile doing nothing but make your stomach flutter all over again.

What was going on with you?

"Who knows? Maybe we can work on starting an OnlyFans together ..."

"Heeseung-"

"I'm kidding," he laughed again, looking at your face from the screen, not even aware of how he bit his lip before speaking, "you look pretty on camera though, for what its worth."

The all-too familiar tune of the livestream ending rang in your ears, the screen displaying stats of the broadcast engagement, which surpassed any and every stream you've ever filmed before.

"Wow," Heeseung marveled, just as he shut his computer off.

"I know," you added, stretching your back while sitting, "we don't even reach stats like that in a week..."

"I wasn't talking about the ratings, ____," he returned, the room seeming much more quiet now that the computer was off, even though it's been this way the whole time.

"Enough about that, though," he started again, taking your hands in his to pull you out of the chair, "I haven't been a very good host to you this evening... making you work first thing before properly treating you... allow me to make up my lacking..."

"I mean... you gave me a nice seat and something to drink... you even lended me one of your shirts after I made a big mess of myself," you replied while giggling, feeling silly as he held both of your hands while speaking formally all of a sudden.

"Yes, yes, but I'm serious," he continued, now guiding you down to the rug lying in the middle of his bedroom floor, "you still like candy, right?"

ALMOST ANOTHER HOUR had passed and it was somewhere around midnight give or take, you and Heeseung hardly feeling tired as you sat on the mat together, alternating between eating orange slices and gummy bears.

You were propped up on your elbows, a glow still present on his face from the laughter you've shared together so far, even though there was something less innocent you wanted to get off your chest.

You were feeling completely reckless already, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt for you to push things a little further.

Besides, it’s not everyday that a girl like you gets an opportunity like this just placed in her lap.

It's just like Heeseung said, you'd be a fool to give up this bond you two share and not explore it further...

Plus, you weren't sure how much longer you could hide behind the good girl act.

Giselle was right: Heeseung had sex written in full length parables all up and down his six-foot-something body, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.... if you said it didn't reel you in, like a burning desire to explore what's corrupted.

To be ruined.

"Heeseung," you started, making him look down at you as he sat with his legs crossed, hair messy from the amount of times he ran a hand through it, "can I ask you something?... It's... kinda personal..."

He popped another strawberry flavored gummy bear into his mouth, "As long as it isn't about your period, I should be good to help you then," he chuckled slightly.

"And what makes you think that I need help with something?"

"Hmm… maybe just that way that your nails keep picking with my wrist watch right now," he answered quietly, drawing your attention to your fingers which tend to get busy whenever you were nervous.

"Oh- I... I didn't even realize...," you laughed at yourself, shying your hands away before sitting up and hiding them in your lap.

"Well go on," he urged, looking back at you with warmth in his eyes, taking off his glasses and setting them aside, "What'd you wanna ask me?"

You let out a breath, clenching your thighs a bit as your sight fell between his legs.

Fuck, did he just laugh? God, he definitely noticed your peeking... you fucking perver-

"I don't really know how to word this but..." you chewed on your lip in thought, "Sometimes... when it's just you and me alone like this... even when we're just video chatting... I feel," you looked up at the ceiling as if it'd help you divulge, "I don't really know what to call it."

He blinked at your words, adjusting his sitting position on the ground, "Are there certain things I do or say that make you feel... whatever it is that you can't explain?" He asked, tilting his head at you, just as his hand inched closer to you on the rug, but not quite touching your skin yet.

"Its a few things, actually-"

"Like what?" His hand was now on your thigh, eyes glued on your shaky figure even though you avoided eye contact, lost in the veins that trailed the pretty skin of his arm.

"When you touch me," you whispered so quietly, the only reason he heard you was because he read your lips, thinking in his own mind what it'd be like to taste them, "like that."

"Speak up for me, I can hardly hear you," he urged, almost as if cooing at you.

"I can't," you said shakily, chest expanding slightly with each heavy breath you took in and let out.

Your idea of being bold was starting to backfire... if only you could stop being so awkward about this for one second-

"It's just me, ____," he whispered with a slight chuckle this time, your hands finding the fluffy rug beneath you as your skin still stung from where he'd last touched you, "be as honest with me as you need."

"Maybe it's best we just pretend I never said anything," your voice trailed off, regretting having looked into his dark eyes that stared back at yours because you felt as though your shield had faltered, his energy coaxing your mind to wander.

"Would you mind if I took a guess?," Heeseung offered with an expression you couldn't read, but you nodded anyway, just as his hand traveled further up your thigh, your breath hitching in your chest as you felt his finger tips meet your core.

"You feel something in here, don't you?," he whispered again, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Like hunger pains, you answered in your head, finding his shoulder as half of you thought to push him away while the other half just needed to touch him.

You nodded shyly in response, thankful that he didn't move any further so you could catch your breath, already too effected by his actions.

"I feel it sometimes, too. The aching... but I'm sure you're old enough to know there's only one way to get rid of it."

You didn't even have to ask to know what he was implying, feeling tempted to give in to whatever this urge was.

He was right though. It did ache, and so badly, your own core tearing up with a need you never intended to entertain.

That's when his touch creeped closer to your core, your thighs closing around his hand as you struggled to think clearly.

You almost couldn't in a state like this.

It baffled you how the energy was starting to change, but it was only a matter of time that you'd be able to sit bottom less in front of Heeseung looking the way he does before something sexual would happen.

"Are you willing to let me help you?" He asked, gripping your flesh between his hands as a shy sound fell from your lips.

You were having second thoughts.

"As much as I'd like to, Hee, it just doesn't seem right anymore..."

Even though this was all your idea to begin with-

"But doesn't it feel right?" he pressed, feeling his hands gently pry your thighs back open, but its not like you were putting up much of a fight either, "Besides, you wouldn't have told me if you didn't want me to do something about it..."

In this moment, you couldn't care less about maintaining that fleeting sense of virtue all the elders in your life harped on growing up.

You were simply young, horny, lovesick, and in need of a release.

Before you knew it, your legs were parted for him, your back against the rug as his head got comfortable at your heat, fingers barely grazing over your now bare cunt before he started leaving plush kisses against your sweet spot.

The ache was definitely still there, but having him this close to you made it feel better.

Almost too good, honestly…

“Heeseung-” you cried out, clamming your thighs around his head as you felt his thick and warm tongue enter you.

Hooking his hands at your knees, it helped to open you back up for him, feeling your stomach tighten as he continued to lick you down.

“I’m still here, baby…” he cooed, looking back up at you, just as your phone started to ding, "relax for me, alright?"

It was a few random messages here and there, you being too pleasure-drunk to give a damn as he continued lapping at your slick, alternating between one and two fingers as he teased your hole, only making you want more.

“Fuck…s- someone’s calling me,” you whined, propping up on your elbows with tired eyes as you reached for your phone, seeing none other than Giselle's contact number as Heeseung left your core, getting on his knees and unbuckling his belt.

"What're you-"

Your words were cut off as he leaned closer into you, his bulge resting in between your folds as he looked into your eyes and said, "Answer it."

He was already rocking against your pussy as you struggled to stay focused, his boxers being covered in your slick just from how wet you'd gotten, even though you nodded no.

“You want me to help you, don’t you?” He continued, completely aware of your stalling and hesitance as the phone continued to ring, your breathing only getting heavier as he kept grinding against you.

You bit your lip, clenching around nothing as his fingers cascaded over your sensitive spot. Heeseung practically drooled at the sight, your tight little cunt all slick and messy for him.

"Hello?" Giselle asked over the phone, "where the hell are you right now?"

Fuck.

You watched nervously as Heeseung pulled his boxers past his hips, his thickness springing up now that it was finally free to breathe.

"What're you talking about, I was just in my room," you lied terribly, watching Heeseung with pleading eyes as he lined himself up with your entrance, bracing a hand on you lower abdomen while glaring back at you, a glint of playfulness in his doe eyes.

Oh, the way you wanted to smack him across his pretty face right now-

"I wasn't born yesterday, ____. I checked your room an hour ago and you're still not here. Tell me where you are," she continued, voice cracking a bit as you winced through a bitten lip, thanks to Heeseung somehow having slid his thickness inside you.

Well, most of the way, at least...

"____?"

"Y-yes, I'm listening, just- don't worry about me, I'll be back in a bit-"

"That still doesn't answer my question, ____..."

Thud.

You accidentally dropped your phone beside your head once Heeseung pushed all the way in now, leaving a few kisses along your neck to help you calm down.

His hips were still, but for some reason, your breathing remained shaky beneath him, your step-sister still awaiting your reply on the other side of the phone.

"Call you later," you said in a squeaky voice, reaching over to hang up the phone as Heeseung started to move again, your legs trembling a bit as the nerves in your mind traveled through your whole body.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He asked sarcastically, hand following a trail from your waist, over your boob, then to your neck, goosebumps sprouting on your skin as you suddenly felt cold, your body internally shivering.

"Hee," you said with a whimper, feeling his grip loosen around your neck before he started thrusting into your walls, your slick providing just enough lubrication for him to slide in and out easily.

You couldn't even think in your mind at this point, his actions already becoming more than you could handle given how new everything was.

How nice he felt.

"C'mon, don't get quiet on me now, baby, I just started," he teased, slamming his pelvis against yours to hopefully reel a moan out of you, which obviously worked, your hand flying up to grip the fluffy rug over your head as it became harder to hide your sounds.

He hissed at the feeling of you clenching around him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked into your eyes.

"So either you like it when I'm rough with you or when I call you baby..." he started in a low voice, "which is it?"

"M-maybe both... now can you stop trying to turn me on with your words for one fucking second?," you asked with labored breaths, feeling your orgasm creep up on you a lot sooner than anticipated.

Sure, this was your first time, but you were glad he didn't treat you like a baby during the whole thing.

There was just something about the way his voice sounded in this moment, the way he was rutting into you like a horny teenager that took you over the edge.

And he was being such a tease, trying to make you talk knowing that your sentences would be broken and whiney thanks to how rough he was going.

He wanted to hear you falling apart underneath him.

He let out the most attractive chuckle you'd ever heard at your words, "But I can tell it's working," he smirked, bracing himself against the floor so you could wrap your legs around him better, "now quit your complaining and keep taking me like a good girl, alright?"

You're sure your clit started doing backflips at the pet-name, coupled with the pretty sounds he was very intentionally humming beneath your ear.

He found your wrists on the rug, sliding up to your hands and interlacing his fingers with yours,

“Stop trying to act tough, I can tell this is all new to you…. don’t even know what to do with your hands, huh?” his said, watching as your eyes get lost in the view of his shaggy hair.

He snickered, “you can touch it if you want…”

Fuck, you thought to yourself. You don’t know why you felt the need to put on some act for him… maybe it was because you assumed a competition between yourself and other girls he’s been with, even though in reality, you’d been the only girl on his mind for a while now.

“I…,” you started with a stutter, “I can’t.”

Your fingers were still interlaced with his, but your inability to touch him had less to do with the fact that he had you pinned down, and more so to do with your nerves.

As badly as he wanted to keep toying with your head in this moment, he could you were getting closer from how your breath kept hitching, so he didn’t have much time to play.

Releasing his grip from your hands, he brought a thumb to your chin, tapping at it for you to open your mouth, “I’m gonna speed up now then, okay?”

He choked out, his own head becoming a little fuzzy as you parted your lips obediently for him, the sight of your tongue laving at his fingers being enough to make him feel like cumming.

He knew you had to get home quick now, but he still wanted to give you the best orgasm of your life.

Once he collected enough of your spit on his fingers, he slid his hand down, circling your swollen bud while looking into your eyes, your hands automatically flying to his shoulders to brace yourself.

“Fuck, Heeseung~,” you cursed with furrowed brows, whimpers that almost sounded like high pitched hiccups falling from your lips as you felt your hips chase his.

There was so much energy coursing through both of your bodies that it could charge your dying phone on the floor right now.

“It’s okay baby, you’re almost- shit, you’re almost there,” he grunted weakly as he continued fucking into your walls with his fingers at your clit, his own eyes closing at how good your tightness felt around him.

You never heard yourself sound like this before, getting all whiny just as he whispered the words “Come for me” against your neck, sealing the space with a kiss and retreating his hand from your core, holding you in place as your orgasm hit like a flood.

You were squirming so much, walls pulsating like a drum as he kissed you down, your hands finally being brave enough to grip at his hair while he rode out your high.

You could tell that he didn’t finish inside you, but he was nice enough to slow down and not fuck you completely stupid.

“I can’t even believe we just did that,” you mumbled mindlessly, eyes staring back at him as he started to gently caressed your cheek.

“Wasn’t too bad for a quickie though, right?,” he asked jokingly while still inside you, not quite yet ready to pull out of your comforting warmth.

To say goodbye to the you he brought out in this sex-filled space.

“No… it wasn’t bad at all,” you smiled back, words sounding somewhere in between a shocking realization and sincere compliment.

“Then I guess that means we can look forward to doing this more often-”

“Heeseung-”

“Kidding,” he whispered softly, meeting your lips in one last kiss before leaning back up to adjust his pants, “now let’s get you cleaned up and ready for home before your mom has me crucified.”

“Okay,” you said while laughing slightly until he pulled out of you, your legs trembling a bit from the missing fullness.

From the feeling in his chest, Heeseung came to fully accept that he was 110% in love with you, not giving a flying fuck about the naysayers who’d disapprove of your now-even-more-complicated friendship.

You on the other hand, came to realize that Heeseung was worth much more than being judged by a bunch of hypocrites, and that you now had the courage to make a lot of your own decisions now, even if they’re solely for the sake of pleasure.

”Still,” you continued, watching as he stood up from the ground to grab a pack of wipes from his desk, “I just remembered that I locked my bedroom window when I left.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” He asked while parting your legs, wiping your sweaty thighs down with your panties hunched up in his other hand.

You admired the view of him cleaning you up with adoration flooding your heart, your limbs letting themselves relax as feathery words fell from your lips, “It means I might have to spend the night at your place for a little longer…”

Fin…

♱ Thank you beyond words to everyone reading this right now! I teased the release of this fic a while ago but ended up changing almost everything that I’d originally written because it was kinda shitty 🥴 but hopefully you all enjoyed this fic anyway! Also, masterlist is here !!

♱ tag list: @fakeuwus @adeoluhh @zerasari @anonant @yaatrickyaaa @depressedandobsessed666 @woninluv @moonshoon @imjakes-wifeofc1 @heesbee @kaykay11sworld @wannieepisod @ilikekpop-c @heesoo11 @idkdykilr @seungjiseyo @nctislifue @ro-diaries @heesushiii @jakehooni @babygirlmarshmellow @jaysdze @princeseung @flowerbe0m @skzenhalove @rayofsunshineeee @wonsbaer @namdeyuoi @tasnim10 @cheruluv @squoxle @nikisvanillaccola @wonbinisbabygurl @addictedtohobi @yourmomscuntis2tighy @ashgonedash

[misspookiehere]

HE TAXED HIS PEOPLE TO DEATH? His provided lots of flexibility in his tax system.

When Lucien was explaining Feyre he said if they don't pay in 3 days Tamlin is expected to hunt them down.

But during tithe Tamlin said they have 3 days or the offer double next tithe. He don't want to hunt them down.

Plus they can literally give anything. Money is not necessary.

Girly thinks Rhysand have a tree that grows money or maybe they got occasional money rain in Velaris. Huh? How do you think he is running his court.

THE WEIRD ORGY FESTIVAL?

Lo jiii now their fae tradition that they've been doing for thousands of years is now suddenly Tamlin's fault.

SOMEONE HAS TO GIVE THEMSELVES TO HIM?

Girly make it seem like he is dragging women to sleep with him. All the women participating in Calanmai is there on their own.

LOCKED HER IN

Yes he locked her in, biggest mistake but did he controlled what she eats?,did he forced her to do physical training?,did he forced her to work with no salary? Did his people in the mansion was verbally lashing on her? When she locked Nesta in the name of therapy they forced her to do all of these things.

Pls don't start saying that in Nesta's case all these things helped her. Bcoz in Feyre's case staying in the mansion will make sure she is still breathing. Do I need to remind you that Attor & Hybern were still lurking in the SC borders ready to snatch her any moment they got. Yes in SC borders bcoz at this point everybody knows she is in SC they don't exactly have to find her. They are more closer to her than she thinks.

GAVE HER SISTERS TO HER ENEMY?

I thought this one is clear. Looks like I still need to talk about this. Tamlin & Lucien didn't know about Ianthe's plan. How did Ianthe know about her sisters? Almighty Feyre herself told her in details.

And also didn't they visited her sisters when Rhysand was fully aware that Attor was tracking them. And then they invited those Queens who betrayed them later in the same house.

And don't even think about saying If Tamlin hadn't made that deal none of these would have happened bcoz he made the deal after Ianthe was already in the SC. That woman has her own agenda so it doesn't matter if he made the deal or not she still would have carried out her plan.

And also Tamlin's deal was not only to bring Feyre back. 1st of all the deal allowed him to spy on them and 2nd the other part of the deal was that he'll allowed them to cross the wall if they don't attack anyone in SC. Let's just say What if he hasn't made the deal then the war will still happen, they'll still cross the wall, the first court they'll attack will be his but without the deal they'll kill each & every person in SC. I would say it was a thoughtful idea but unfortunately not everything thing was fulfilled.

(putting this here bcoz I commented it somewhere & atleast 10 people said they don't remember & even more people said that this never happened & that I'm a crazy girl making fake scenes in my head)

NEVER TREATED HER LIKE AN EQUAL?

okay fine he didn't give her HL title (the title that didn't even existed) but he was marrying her in front of his people that means he is basically introducing her as the lady of SC ( if not HL) to his whole court . That still gave her lot of power plus respect. 

What exactly Rhys did? Married her privately with only one witness ( I'm guessing) that is the priestess. And then he introduced her as a whore in his court.

THE WHOLE COURT NEEDED TO BE RECONSTRUCTED BY A COMPETENT LEADER?

What kind of leader? Like Rhysand?      Haah Funny coz that dude can't even rule the other half of his court properly.

[kanguin]

Apropos of nothing, here's my top 15 anime and whether the story would be improved if you made the main character a trans girl:

1. That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime - You can't transition Rimuru in a way that matters, but honestly if Rimuru did start to ID as a woman over time, that would be cool. Unlikely though considering his human form is the body of Shizu, so a fully fem form would feel pervy to Rimuru.

2. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood - Well it'd certainly make the title funny if you made Edward into Edwina. And it'd make Ed/Winry into yuri. But honestly it'd change very little imho. Though it would be interesting to explore transition in a world where alchemy exists, but just in a different story. Might make for a fascinating post-canon fanfic?

3. Mushoku Tensei: Jobless Reincarnation - Oh god would it. The story is already focused on exploring identity and already has dysphoria when a god he talks to forces him into his pre-reincarnation body on the astral plane. Making Rudy into a polyamorous trans lesbian would literally be peak and elevate the story so much.

4. Kaguya-sama: Love is War - You know what? Yeah. I can vibe with making Miyuki Shirogane trans. It would add another layer of intrigue to the story AND make it gay. It could even be funny if Kaguya or Chica found out before Shirogane did. Wait. No. It would be hilarious if YU ISHIGAMI found out first, and just, assumed Miyuki was closeted, and not just, clueless. Yes this could add so much entertainment value.

5. Dungeon Meshi - Lord almighty get this autistic furry a choker and some estrogen, stat. I make it no secret how I feel about the Trans Touden Sisters interpretation.

6. Dandadan - Make Okarun and Jiji trans girls and make the main cast a messy polycule and sign me the FUCK up please! It would be so funny and so much fun. I NEED this version of Dandadan. It'd be even funnier considering how much is focused around Ken's junk and him being partially possessed by an old lady.

7. Overlord - NGL I'm not even sure anything would change if you made Momonga into a trans woman. She'd act the exact same, and so would everyone else. Interesting for sure, but fruitless, ultimately.

8. My Dressup Darling - Crack? Crack cocaine? Do you realize how amazing it would be to make this into a story about a gyaru girl pulling a closeted trans girl excitably out of the closet?! This would make this so much cuter than it already is, I think I'd EXPLODE.

9. How a Realist Hero Rebuilt the Kingdom - It wouldn't change much narratively, but the world could always use more stories with polyamorous trans lesbians as the protagonist.

10. The Faraway Paladin - Wouldn't change much honestly, but it would be cool. Tbh Season 2 Will looks like a stealth/closeted trans girly already.

11. Mob Psycho 100 - Again wouldn't change much but would be fun. Put Mob on estrogen and watch her transform from anxiety autism failboy to anxiety autism failgirl. And then still be the kindest person in any room.

... Okay though, on second thought, getting to see her go ???% on a transphobe would be cool as shit.

12. One Punch Man - another no change case. One Punch Woman. She has boobs now. She probably transitioned in like a day somehow.

13. My Hero Academia - I think putting Midoriya on estrogen would fix the show actually. Maybe also put the writer on estrogen just to be sure. (joke)

14. Kill la Kill - Making Ryuko Matoi a trans girl would actually be really cool, especially with her challenging establishment, with the themes of clothes being a restrictive aspect of society, and with her gay romance with Mako. I've seen so many trans girls on Tumblr with Ryuko's exact shameless, confident personality, I just know it'd be epic.

15. Cautious Hero: The Hero is Overpowered but Overly Cautious - It would change little about how Seiya acts, but realizing she's trans would definitely give Ristarte's bisexual ass a nosebleed. Though Seiya would probably be ultra mega hyper closeted behind numerous mystic barriers, so that'd be fun to explore.

[keep-ur-head-low]

All Hadestown West End lyric changes (as of Feb 15 2024)

Many thanks to @ghostlypawn for posting their audio of Hadestown on the West End :) Keep in mind these are from a preview performance and the production wasn't finalized until Feb 21st, so things may have been altered further since then.

Lines in bold indicate changed lyric

Road To Hell

New Hermes line: "You can tip your hats and your wallets / With your pennies and your pearls / To the hardest working chorus / In the gods' almighty world"

Original Bway line: "Brothers and sisters, boys and girls"

If It's True

New Orpheus final verse: "Brother, look around today / Is this how the world was made? / There must be another way / Is it true? Is it true what they say?"

Original Bway verse: "If it's true what they say / I'll be on my way / Tell me what to do / Is it true? Is it true what they say?"

(Note: In the Hadestown development book Working On a Song written in 2016, Anais Mitchell said she felt If It's True as written on Broadway needed to end on more of a political mic drop and commented she may change it someday. Nice to see she got the opportunity.)

Epic III

New Orpheus section: "I know how it is because he is like me / I know how it is to be left all alone / There's a hole in his arms where the world used to be / When Persephone's gone / His work never done, his war never won / Will go on forever whatever the cost / 'Cause the thing that he's building his wall around / Is already lost / Where is the treasure inside of your chest?..."

Original Bway/NYTW section: "What has become of the heart of that man?" up to "What he doesn't know is that what he's defending / Is already gone"

(Note: I think whether you like this change is entirely dependent on your feelings on Broadway's changes to Epic III. In Working On a Song, an early draft of this new verse can be found with Anais' commentary that her intent was to simplify the Epic so that it became a simple gift of empathy as opposed to the intricate poetry and lyricism of NYTW's Epic, something she couldn't quite finish in time for Broadway's opening. It seems like she and Orpheus might have finally finished their song.)

Miscellaneous

All references to Hermes as "mister" or "missus" are altered (ex: "a god with feathers on her feet... Yes it's Hermes, that's me", "excuse me Hermes" from Orpheus instead of "Mister/Missus Hermes")

(Note: May or may not be specific to Melanie La Barrie's portrayal)

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - II

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6k.

Reading Time: 24 min.

Warnings: blood drinking, blood syphoning/collecting, body horror,caging a living being, feelings of abandonment, graphic injuries, near-death experiences,needles, suggestion of sexual assault (but nothing happens), torture, violence

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @antoniamarie1989

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

Whenever the door was closed, the room was so dark you could barely see a thing. With the exception of your halo in the corner, there were no lights, no sounds, nothing to see or do save feel the tingling of hellfire beneath your skin, seeping through your white robe like water and soaking the very fibre of your being. You were sure that your wrists were red raw by the metal that had strapped you to the crucifix, but you only knew this because of the pain you felt from them. Time was irrelevant in this room, and you were unsure of how much of it had passed until the door would open and the Sister and Cardinal would walk in.

They’d never formally introduced themselves to you, as was usually customary of the mortals two-thousand years ago. But they always referred to each other as those titles, bastardising the roles of the Almighty’s most sacred for their own personal enjoyment. Imagine that, a vampyre parading as a cardinal, in the uniform and everything, fangs bore proudly as he cited unholy scriptures and said the Infernal One’s name as though it were a blessing. You weren’t sure which was worse: the followers of Satan parading around in sacred clothes and playing games with the Devil, or the sacred committing the sins of the Devil on hallowed ground. Either way, your stomach churned at the thought of it.

You’d lost count of how many times your faith had wavered and been restored and wavered again, repeating the process in the darkness of the basement, growing madder and madder with each hour that passed. Sometimes you wondered if this was all a test, His way of making you come to your senses and believe in Him again. The rest of the time, you were convinced that this was a punishment - that for the first time since eternity began, He personally liasoned with the Devil and gifted you to his followers to atone for your sins, and punish you for your crimes. Your resilience never faltered, though; either as a credit to your bravery, or your foolishness. Perhaps there was a part of you deep down that was convinced you’d be rescued and rewarded for your silence. You would never give them what they wanted, no matter what they put you through.

Every day, they’d both unleash a fresh version of Hell onto you, finding new ways to bring pain to your physical body as though they were experimenting because, as you’d come to learn in the many hours of being trapped down there, they were experimenting. In all the years they’d been alive, never once had they got hold of an angel - not until you came crashing down into their yard like a gift from the universe. They’d read books, referenced them, even brought them down to practice on you to see which things would work. They’d stand there, arguing with each other about which methods were best and why the other one was wrong.

“We should freeze her wings,” the Sister suggested, eyes fixed on the book in her hands, “it’ll be easier to chip them off if we need some cash.”

“Be real,” the Cardinal scoffed, “how are we gonna bring an entire ice machine down here to freeze her wings? This part of the Ministry doesn’t even have any electricity… and they’re huge.”

The Sister, still fixated on her book, muttered with determination, “Then we’ll find another way. We can use cold water or dry ice. We need that information, and if chipping off her wings is the only way to get it, then so be it.”

The Cardinal sighed, clearly exasperated by the older woman, “They’re made of feathers, Sister.” He walked over to you and plucked another feather from your wing. At this point, you were almost used to the sensation, and barely flinched. “They probably won’t freeze.”

The Sister, undeterred by the Cardinal’s scepticism, retorted with a hint of frustration, “Then we’ll find something else to break her spirit. We can’t let her keep withholding information from us.”

The information they wanted from you today was how to use your own halo against you, as if you’d offer up that information at all.

“And that’s why I suggested we get creative about where we burn the hellfire,” the Cardinal responded.

The Sister’s eyes gleamed with a dark intensity as she considered the Cardinal’s suggestion. “Yes, creative indeed,” she replied, her voice low and calculating. “Perhaps we start with the tips of her wings. It may not freeze them, but it will surely send a message.”

“Nah. Did you see the way she didn’t flinch? Her wings are pretty much desensitised at this point.”

The Sister’s expression hardened, her determination unyielding. “Then we’ll find another way to make her talk,” she declared, her tone resolute. “There must be something that will break through her defences. She’s gonna have to crack at some point.” She looked at you and closed the book, her hand reaching out to your hair and grasping the strands. “What makes you tick, Angel?”

“I shall not divulge aught unto thee. Thou might as well relent and set me free.” You hissed, your tone oozing with hatred. Another sin to add to your growing collection.

The Sister still looked at you, but addressed the Cardinal as she spoke, “Do we still have those pokers? The ones with His sigil on them?”

“Somewhere,” the Cardinal replied, nonplussedly.

“Get them.”

“But they’re all the way-”

“Get them.” The Sister’s tone was vile, filled with disdain and anger. “And bring some hellfire while you’re up there.” She let go of your hair and took a small step back.

The Cardinal rolled his eyes like a petulant child and left the room, only to return moments later. “A ghoul will get them.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine.”

The Sister nodded, never taking her eyes off you. Suddenly, a dark flicker passed through them. “The feral one?”

The Cardinal nodded, “Why?”

“Maybe we should leave him alone with our guest. The feral one has a lot of Lord Asmodeus in him, maybe he’d be useful.”

The Cardinal shook his head. “No, he’s too unpredictable. He wouldn’t ravage her in the way we’d like, he’d devour her.”

Your heart rate picked up, “What dost thou mean by this?”

The Sister smiled, an unsettling grin that sent cold shivers down your spine. “Oh, Angel. This demon is truly feral, trained by the Dark Lord Asmodeus himself.” She reached her hand up to stroke your cheek. “He takes great pleasure in the fear and pain of others. A visit from him would ensure your purity is shattered.”

In her gloating, she didn’t realise she’d allowed her hand to wander too close to your mouth. The second you were able, you leaned into her touch and sank your teeth into her flesh, hearing her scream echoing off the walls of the chamber. She managed to tear herself away from you, and clutched her aching hand in her other one. You caught a look at the wound and silently thanked yourself for not drawing blood, concerned about what would happen to you if you ingested the blood of a vampyre. In no time at all, the Sister’s uninjured hand (now clenched into a fist) charged at you and struck your cheek, causing your head to spin to face the other side of the room, where the Cardinal was watching the exchange with a grin on his lips.

“You bitch!” the Sister exclaimed, going back to nursing her injured hand.

The Cardinal sprang forward towards you and lifted your lips, inspecting your teeth. “Sister, she’s got fangs, too!” He shouted, almost excitedly. “Tiny little fangs. Kitten fangs. Adorable.”

“Yeah, I just found that out, you idiot! You’re welcome.” The Sister punctuated her sentence with a whisper. A small sound of pain like a wounded animal.

The Cardinal remained smiling, clearly enjoying this, “That wasn’t very kind of you, Angel.” He placed the heel of his palm on your chin and lifted your head to expose your neck. “You’re not the only fanged creature in this room who can bite, though.”

You felt his breath on your neck, and then you felt it: a sharp, searing pain as the Cardinal’s fangs sank into your neck, piercing your flesh with a vicious intent. The taste of your blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic, as he greedily drank from your veins. Each gulp sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of agony and horror washing over you as you realised the depths of depravity to which they had sunk. Helpless and powerless, you could only endure the torment inflicted upon you, your body growing weaker with each passing moment.

Your initial struggles against the Cardinal’s assault were futile, as the bonds that held you captive rendered your movements feeble and ineffectual. Despite your desperate attempts to resist, the restraints held you firmly in place, leaving you utterly vulnerable to his predatory advance. Each tug against the chains only served to tighten their grip, further entangling you in a web of helplessness and despair. Forced to endure the violation against your will, you could do nothing but endure the agonizing ordeal, your cries drowned out by the darkness that enveloped you.

The Cardinal pulled back, the sound of his lips smacking together in your ear as he delighted in the taste of your blood. “Sister, I think it’s time for some payback. You’ve gotta try this.” He suggested, before diving back in for another bite.

The Sister’s presence loomed over you, a sinister shadow in the dimly lit chamber. With a chilling calmness, she approached, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Without a word, she positioned herself beside the Cardinal, mirroring his predatory stance. In unison, they descended upon you, their fangs sinking into your flesh with a savage hunger. The sensation was unbearable, a symphony of pain and violation echoing through your senses. As they drank deeply from your veins, their insatiable thirst seemed to know no bounds, consuming you with a relentless fervour.

You could feel your strength ebbing away, your consciousness fading into darkness as they continued their merciless assault. Each bite felt like a cruel mockery of your suffering, a reminder of your powerlessness in the face of their depravity. Their little grunts of delight at your evident deliciousness echoing as your eyes began to close, giggles coming from their throats as though they were somewhat inebriated. Those giggles were the last thing you heard when your consciousness slipped away entirely, and you were plunged into a darkness worse than the one they’d left you in.

When you woke up, you were in complete darkness. Your neck throbbed in agony in the two places they were the last time you saw them, and you remembered what they did to you. You still felt groggy, like you hadn’t completely rested. Your arms were stinging from where you fought against the vampyres, your wings felt dead where they’d been hanging for so long without movement. You tried to flap them just to stretch them out, but your body just wouldn’t respond. You felt your eyes grow heavier again, and soon you were slipping off into the abyss a second time.

You woke up again and some time had passed, and this time you felt more refreshed. Your bones still ached and your wings still felt dead, but your whole body had healed. You were sure if you looked in a mirror, the bite marks would be gone, and all of the feathers they pulled would have grown back. Your halo had worked quickly from the corner of the room to bring you back to full health, and you intended to use that to your advantage as much as you could. You started squirming in your binds, fighting against the metal chains to free yourself from them. You kicked your feet trying to free your ankles, too. But your feet were well and truly tied. One of the chains however, the right one, allowed you with just enough wiggle room to scoot your hand halfway out, being trapped in the palm. Your skin burned anew under the hellfire forged material, but time was of the essence and your health and strength would only deteriorate again and leave you trapped there for who knew how long. And so, you pulled, and you pulled, and you pulled.

Suddenly, with a loud clanging of the chain against the metal crucifix, your right hand pulled free. You still could only see the areas where the light from your halo was shining, but that was one hand that you’d managed to save. You reached across your body, as difficult as it was to do, in an attempt to free the second hand. You fiddled with the chain, pulling both your hand and pushing the chain as much as you could, wiggling it when it wouldn’t give, until your second hand was free. You rubbed your raw wrists with you palms, trying to soothe the ache as much as you could without ointment or your halo doing all of the work for you - an instinctual movement that helped nothing except your peace of mind. Your skin did feel incredibly warm from the irritation, almost like an allergic reaction you’d seen in mortals over the years you’d spent with them.

Your ankles were the next to attempt freedom, but they were tied the tightest. The position that you were in meant it was difficult to try and pull the chain off and apart without falling off the raised structure and doing some serious damage to your body.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you carefully manoeuvred your body, inching further down until you resembled a frog, and gripped on tightly to the chain that strapped you down. With your free hand, you reached down, feeling along the cold metal links for any signs of weakness or opportunity. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you began to tug and twist at the chain, using all your strength to pry it apart. Each movement sent a jolt of agony through your body, but you pushed through, determined to break free from your bonds. As you worked, beads of sweat formed on your brow, mingling with the burning sensation of your irritated skin. With each passing moment, your efforts grew more frantic, your desperation driving you onwards despite the odds stacked against you. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggle, you felt a faint give in the chain. With a surge of adrenaline, you redoubled your efforts, pulling with all your might until, with a resounding clang, the chain loosened enough for you to slide your ankles out. But victory was still far from your grasp.

With your sharp sense of hearing returned thanks to your full bill of health, you could hear people descending the stairs just outside your room. You had to think, and do so quickly. It sounded like five people, and you were without your halo with a weakened holy light. There was nothing you could do that wouldn’t end in disaster for you - you couldn’t fight them off and make a run for it. You remembered the Cardinal dragging you into the building when you first landed, and you saw just how big it was. Of course there would be hundreds of mortals here keeping it clean and working. If you miraculously managed to escape the basement, how many more mortals would you face? How many more of the Almighty’s creations would you send to His enemy? With a deftness and a speed, the likes of which you’d never seen in yourself before, you worked to put yourself back into the chains as much as you could so as not to arouse suspicion. The time to escape would come soon, but it wouldn’t be now.

You quickly tucked your ankles back where they were, making sure that the chain was loose enough in the future for you to attempt a second escape.

The sound of keys clanking outside drew your attention to the door. Someone had put a key in the lock.

You quickly put your left hand back in the chain.

The door unlocked, and the handle jiggled.

You fought with the chain and your right hand, trying to tuck it in as the door began to open.

“Ah,” the Sister said when she looked at you, giving your body a once over, “look who’s finally decided to join the land of the living again.”

You’d done it. You’d sighed out your relief. “Art thou here to imbibe more of my life’s essence, vampyre?”

“I’ve had my fill, thank you. Very delicious, though. I’ve not drunk anything like that since my youth. ghouls?” As you watched the Sister pick up your halo, the ‘ghouls’ that were mentioned before came trudging into the room. There were four of them in total, and they’d clearly been briefed before they entered the room as they began to work quickly. Two went to the chains on your wrists and two went to work on the chains around your ankles, loosening them and freeing you. As soon as the chains were off, though, they wrapped their hands around your body to stop you from running.

For the first time in a long time, your bare feet touched the ground, the cold, stone floors freezing your soles to the point where it felt painful. The floor was damp, too. It was only then, in the light of the hallway, you were able to see that the floor had been haphazardly cleaned, and the red coating was your blood from when the vampyres had feasted on you before. Someone had tried to clear it up, but had missed several spots.

The Sister was the first to exit the room, carrying your halo tightly in her grasp. The ghouls were practically carrying you out of the room and up the stairs, away from the torture chamber that you’d currently resided in. You felt nerves wash over you, dread pooling in your stomach at the unknown. “Whither dost thou convey me?” You asked, trying your best to sound assertive but hearing your voice crack towards the end.

“To your new accommodations, my liege,” the Sister said, her voice in a mocking tone.

“If thou permit me to depart now, I shall not cause thee any distress. Simply restore unto me my halo, allow my departure, and thou shalt never encounter me again.”

The Sister stopped on the staircase, in turn forcing her ghouls to do the same thing. “Let you leave?” she asked. She ran her fingertips over the side of your neck where she bit you. “And why would I do that?”

“Perchance there lies some goodness within thee, after all.”

She laughed. “In me? How stupid of you. You do realise where you are, don’t you?”

“This be the domain of the Devil, and thou art a disciple of his.”

“Smart angel.” She tapped your cheek twice, patronising a being far older than here because she could. She turned and continued to walk up the stairs, allowing the ghouls to drag you after her. “You’ll find no goodness in me, Angel. I can promise you that.”

The staircase you were travelling on gradually became grander and grander the higher up you went. They were in a spiral shape, and gradually faded from uneven stone steps, to smooth, white marble. Eventually, you were pulled through a door and into a flat corridor.

The walls in this corridor were smaller than the walls of the basement hallway, and were so pristine, they acted as a perfect reflection for anyone who passed them. The walls and floors were made of the same white marble as before, except this time, there was a pattern on the ground. Black marble outlined the floor, creating a separation between the walls and the ground, and there were black diamond tiles placed strategically in certain areas to provide some visual break up between different sections. At the very end of the corridor was a window, made entirely from painted glass. This painting was in the shape of a rose, surrounded by flowers of other colours - those colours ended up running along the ceiling’s windows, giving the room a colourful glow, or rather, it would if the sun were shining. This was not at all something you’d expect to see in the House of Satan. And, given the cleanliness of the walls and floors, the colours of the windows reflected perfectly on the marble, making the hallway feel brighter.

You all continued on the journey, going down more and more hallways that looked vaguely similar to the first, except this time it was on the second floor. You could hear the ghouls panting in your ears as they were exhausted from carrying you all the way up from the basement, and up multiple storeys before they were able to fully let you go.

The Sister walked into a room with an open door and disappeared inside of it, waiting for you and the ghouls to enter after her.

This room was almost entirely in stark contrast to the hallways you’d just been dragged down. It was a living space, designed with dark trappings and wooden furnishings to make the rich colours pop. At the centre of the room stood a grand fireplace, its ornate mantelpiece carved with intricate patterns of gargoyles and grotesque figures. Above, a massive mirror stretched from mantle to ceiling, its antique frame gleaming in the flickering light of the fire. Furniture crafted from dark, polished wood filled the space, their intricate carvings adding to the room’s dark allure. A velvet sofa, upholstered in deep shades of burgundy and black, beckoned you to sink into its plush cushions and lose yourself in reverie.

In one corner, a towering bookcase stretched from floor to ceiling, its shelves lined with leather-bound tomes and ancient manuscripts. A brass candelabra stood sentinel atop the highest shelf, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Against another wall, a grand piano stood, its ebony keys gleaming in the dim light. A few steps away, a small writing desk nestled in a pool of shadows, its surface adorned with pens, notebooks, and papers.

The walls were adorned with rich, velvet tapestries, depicting scenes of medieval knights and mythical creatures in intricate detail. Heavy, brooding drapes hung from tall windows, and remained closed to keep the sunlight at bay.

“Where doth our current location lie?” you asked, eyes scanning the entire room.

“Copia’s quarters,” the Sister responded matter-of-factly, “the Cardinal’s, I mean.”

You furrowed your brow and looked at the Sister, almost forgetting the feel of the ghouls hands on your arms. “Copia?” You tasted your captor’s name on your tongue, and it tasted strange. “Is that the appellation of the male vampyre?”

The Sister rolled her eyes. “Not just a pretty face, are you? Yes, that’s his name. Copia. And he would have shown you here himself but he’s busy.”

“Am I destined to dwell herein?”

“Until we decide to kill you - this way.”

She moved to the left door and walked through it, holding it open for the ghouls to drag you through.

As you entered the bedroom, an atmosphere of haunting elegance enveloped you, transporting you to another era. The walls were draped in heavy, brooding tapestries, adorned with intricate patterns of pointed arches and twisting vines that seemed to writhe in the flickering candlelight. The curtains of the windows inside this room were closed just as the others were.

At the heart of the room stood a grand four-poster bed, its towering canopy shrouded in layers of dark velvet that cascaded to the floor in a tumble of luxurious folds. The bed itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, with intricately carved wooden panels depicting scenes of dark romance and mythical creatures.

Beside the bed, two cages captured your attention. The first, a small birdcage, stood delicately adorned with ornate scrollwork and delicate brass accents. Within, a single black, velvet pillow sat at the floor, not at all big enough to humanely fit a bird inside, but as the Sister moved towards it, you realised it wasn’t meant for a bird at all, not as she rested your halo inside of it. The Sister left it there, and closed the door, locking it and pocketing the key. She turned to you with a smug expression on her face. “This cage was forged in the pits of Hell themselves,” she told you, “it was designed specifically for a halo, and to keep a halo away from creatures like you. You can try to get in there as much as you like, but you’ll be burned so badly, you’ll scream for death.”

You stared at her, disbelief evident on your face, “For what reason hast thou brought me hither?”

“This is your new home. The door will be locked with a key only me and the Cardinal have. All of the windows are made from a similar forging as the cage, meaning you can’t escape out of them either. And, just to top it all off, the room itself is encased in Hell-forged metal. Do you feel your powers weakening already?” You did, but you didn’t want to tell her that. “We’re still going to get the information we need out of you one way or another, little angel.”

“But wherefore wouldst thou provide me with a chamber such as this? Wherefore not keep me bound below in the cellar?”

The Sister sighed, clearly exasperated by your questions. “Something, something, free range chicken. Apparently food tastes better when it’s less stressed.” She looked at her watch. “Unless you’d rather stay down there?”

“Is that to be mine?” You asked, pointing at the cage beside the birdcage.

Its golden bars gleaming in the dim light. Unlike its avian counterpart, this cage exuded an air of opulence and grandeur, its detailed design hinting at a darker purpose. Fashioned from gleaming gold-plated metal, the cage radiated a luminous glow that bathed the room in a soft, golden light. Its imposing frame rose majestically from the floor, reaching towards the ceiling with a graceful elegance that belied its inherent captivity. Decorating the cage were precociously woven into patterns of delicate vines, twisted filigree, and pointed arches that seemed to dance and intertwine with one another, representing just how trapped you were going to feel. The bars of the cage were thick and sturdy, yet delicately wrought, forming a lattice of gleaming metal that enclosed the space within. Each bar was meticulously carved with ornate details, from intricate floral motifs to intricate patterns of leaves and tendrils that seemed to sway with an unseen breeze.

At the top of the cage, a domed roof rose in a graceful curve, its surface adorned with shimmering crystals and polished gemstones that caught the light and cast dazzling reflections across the room. It was tall enough for you to stand in, and wide enough for you to sit in, but it didn’t span the height of the room like you would have hoped if this was to be yours. You couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down your spine as you gazed upon it, the contrast between the delicate birdcage and the imposing golden cage adding to the room’s eerie ambiance.

“Right again,” Imperator said, opening the door to the cage and expecting you to walk in, “in you get, little birdie.”

“I am thankful for the offer, but I believe I would prefer the cellar.” You struggled to try and get out of the ghoul’s grasp, but they held on far too tightly, there was no way that you could.

“It’s not a suggestion. Either you get in willingly, or we force you in. And this bad boy was made with hellfire too,” the Sister cackled, “strong stuff. If we force you inside, it’s going to hurt.”

You had never really experienced the sting of hellfire before - not anything stronger than the crucifix in the basement, anyway. There was a part of you that wanted to test it, to test her, but perhaps now wasn’t the best time, especially when there was so little room to move. You took a step forward and shrugged the ghouls off you, deciding to play her little game for now. Carefully, you wrapped your wings around your body, tucking yourself in, and took a step in. You noticed that the floor of the cage was carpeted, meaning that they’d at least tried to keep you comfortable and give you some respite.

The Sister slammed the door shut behind you, locking it securely when you were completely inside. “Enjoy your stay,” she told you as she turned to leave the room, “we don’t care if you need anything.” And with that, she left, closing all the doors behind her to hide the rest of the world from you.

Immediately you loosened your wings enough to relax as much as you could, and placed your hand on the cage and tried to open the door, foolishly believing that she tricked you and it wasn’t actually locked, or even made with hellfire. The white hot, searing pain you felt as your skin touched the cage was worse than anything they inflicted on you in the basement. You could practically hear the sound of your skin sizzling under the intense heat, and soon enough small red welts appeared on your fingers where you’d touched the metal. You cried out in agony, doubling over with the pain and collapsing onto the carpeted floor. The hand that hadn’t touched the cage, applied pressure to your wound in a futile attempt to stop the pain, and when that failed, your body curled in on itself, putting you in the fetal position and praying that would stop the pain. Eventually, it subsided, and when you felt confident enough to look, you watched as your body began to slowly repair itself. What would be an almost instantaneous heal took at least two minutes before you were back to full health and the pain had completely subsided.

In that moment, though, everything felt bleak, and for the first time since crashing down to the planet, tears began to form in your eyes and spill out onto the carpet. You needed to leave, you knew that you did, but the lack of compassion from the undead beings that had captured you and the near-inescapable fortress you found yourself in had made you feel entirely hopeless. Abandoned by your creator, only to fall into the hands of sadistic vampyres that already had a taste for your blood, it truly felt as though you had nowhere left to turn, that you were stranded with beings that considered you more of a meal than a living and breathing creature. You wondered if you ever would escape, or if you’d be forced to spend your eternity here.

“Looks like someone didn’t listen to the good Sister when she told you not to touch the cage.”

The Cardinal’s voice snapped you out of your despair, forcing you upright on the floor and to look at him through wide, yet blurry eyes, broken up visibly by the bars that separated you both. You didn’t want him here, you didn’t want him to see you like this. “Why art thou present?” you sniffed, trying to hide your face from him. “Why canst thou not leave me in peace?”

“Aw,” he crouched down in front of you so that he was level with your eyes, “Did we finally break you, little angel?” His tone was filled with condescension and absolute disrespect. You could feel the joy oozing from him as he watched you like this, enjoying every tear that spilled over your waterline and was rubbed away by your hand. “You know, if you would just tell us what we want to know then all of this would go away.” He placed his hand on the door and unlocked it, moving out the way only enough to open it fully. He reached his hand inside, running his thumb over one of the stray tears that fell from your eyes and pulled his hand back in pain, the sound of sizzling echoing in your ears. Your tears had burned him, even just a little. It was good to keep in mind, at least.

“But, in the meantime,” he continued, shaking off the wetness from his finger and rubbing it on the carpet to ease the pain. His hands moved to your shoulders underneath your wings, and pulled you closer to him, making sure your neck was level with his mouth. Your uninjured hand propped you up on the carpet, trying not to rest your entire weight on him just in case he moved and you fell onto the bars. “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

His fangs pierced your neck and you felt his tongue lave over the wound, his mouth sucking all the blood from your veins fervently. He groaned in appreciation when the first drop of your blood touched his taste buds, the kind of groan that would usually be followed by eyes rolling. You tried to push him off you again, but every time you did, he would just sink his fangs in harder, and make the whole experience more painful to you.

You tried to fight off the unconsciousness that was threatening to take over your body, truly you did. But once again, the familiar coldness of your very life essence being sucked from your body and the numbness that followed dragged you into a blackness you wished you’d never see again.

You woke some time later, curled in a ball on the carpeted floor of your cage, your entire body aching from the ordeal, but also from the many hours you’d spent on the ground. You still weren’t back to your full health, but because you were closer to your halo this time, the healing process was faster. Dawn had broken over the world, and sunlight had begun to seep into the room dulled by the thickness of the curtains, providing you with a comfort you’d not realised you’d needed.

You stood with a groan, stretching your limbs out one by one until the stiffness had ebbed away, following that with your wings. The two, extra limbs that hung from your back and span the length of your body were certainly grateful for the movement, even if you couldn’t properly spread them and get the exercise your body so desperately craved. In the bed, you saw the Cardinal, laying on top of the blankets and sleeping, your blood still staining his mouth. You’d always assumed that vampyres could only sleep in the coffins that they were buried in, but as it turned out not all of them were forced to have such an affliction.

Days begun to pass in a blur, causing you extra pain as now you could witness the passage of time from the comfort of your prison. You’d come to learn in that time, that angel blood was a particular delicacy for vampyres and demons, an intoxicating elixir that took the sobriety from the creatures of the underworld and allowed them to behave in all manner of ways. The Cardinal had decided to generously supply the rest of the supernatural beings with your blood, but wouldn’t allow any of them to come near you, meaning that every day he would come in with a plethora of empty wine bottles, lie you down, and stick two needles in the two crooks of your arms, directly into your veins. Each syringe connected to a tube which would gradually syphon your blood into those empty bottles, entirely uncaring of you or your wellbeing and almost killing you each and every time. He wouldn’t come in daily to do it, though he tried. Your body, without wearing your halo, just wouldn’t recover fast enough to do so, and he couldn’t risk your permanent demise, not when he had so much at stake. He would only come back when you were well enough, and reminded you how you ought to be grateful for that as he pricked the needles into your veins.

One evening, while you sat in your cage, a man entered the room. At first, he was simply cleaning the room, eyes focussed on his task and paying you no mind at all. But you noticed that every so often, he’d look up at you, briefly making eye contact, then turning his head away quickly as though he’d just done something wrong. Every other day from then on, you saw him, watched him, looked onto his face as he went about his business and then left a few short hours after.

And one day, you finally plucked the courage to wave at him.

Prev. ⛧ Next

[msmc-796-official]

Hey girls (and enby)!

It's Morse... From well what remains of CMC. You all probably don't want to hear from your uh.... I don't think it's right to say sister company anymore after what happened.

I want to apologize for not stopping Haven, or really stopping anything. But there's no hard feelings towards you all... I... I enjoyed our correspondence a hell of a lot.

I'm sorry for how everything turned out, till legends bleed you three.

//Morse\\

MORSE?????

I- you- RA above and below, you're alive?!?!

Sorry, sorry, this... this is a lot for me to process right now. I- you're alive, you're okay- stars preserve me, I might have a heart attack-

Okay, okay, OKAY, calm down Phoenix, you're alright, we're alright, we're good. I'm okay. (I think.)

RA almighty, my heart is racing a mile a minute here. I'm sorry. Let me catch my breath and restart.

First: holy fuck, you're alive. This is phenomenal news, I am so incredibly relieved - after watching everything go down from the security cam livestreak you sent me... I... I feared the worst. I thought you were dead. I thought all of you were dead. It's good to hear that you survived and are in active recovery, and have people there who are helping you. I'm glad you're safe.

Second: From the looks of it, the remaining members of CMC have either scattered to the winds, been arrested by Union, or- well. I'm still fuzzy on who all was aligned with who, and how exactly things fell apart, but... CORSAIR as a company is legally dead, yes? You formally released everyone from their contracts, and I assume that meant everyone, so- oh, RA...

...so you're the only one left.

I- sorry, I... I'm still a little emotional about that sentiment. When I got the news that Comm- no, Haven - was dead, I- I fell apart. Haven deserved many things in her life, not all of them good, but to be openly betrayed and killed at the behest of those closest to her- she never deserved that. She never deserved any of this. Sylvia never deserved any of this - she's the reason CMC even happened in the first place... and she's also the reason it all fell apart, in the end.

And you, Morse- you don't deserve to have to be the only one left to clean up Haven's mess. I already feel bad enough that I couldn't do anything to prevent this; even worse that I cut CMC off from legal help that might have potentially mediated some of this conflict, from resources that could have helped turn the tide- from everything that MSMC and CMC had built together as allies.

I- I want to offer help wherever I can, however I can. You don't deserve to suffer through this alone. If that means putting our legal teams in touch with Union to try and preserve what's left of the demilitarized Requiem as a home for those displaced, if that means tending to your wounded and making arrangements for the dead, if that means using our network of contacts to find employment and equipment for those out of a job- whatever it takes to make this situation right again, whatever that future looks like to you.

Third: Despite everything, Backtalker (or, rather, the Backtalker movement - it's complicated) is still out there. I've heard whispers of their reemergence across the Omninet; apparently someone even received a message from them.

What they could possibly want now that Commodore is dead and CMC is completely and utterly destroyed, I have no idea. But if they're still out there, then we still have work to do. I still have work to do. I can't - no. I won't let the few remaining friends I have from CMC suffer any more than you already have.

How this threat is to be dealt with - I don't know. I have my suspicions that a few of their agents slipped through the cracks, even after the Union arrests. Who knows how many more bodies they have outside of CMC. This could be ten people, hundreds, thousands... if I were any less certain that they were out to hurt more people - more people like us - I would call this fight a lost cause. But I can't. Not when MSMC remains in danger. Not while you remain in danger.

Keep in touch, Morse. I'll talk to Legal and lift their prohibition on sending legal aid to CMC (or at least fill them in that CMC no longer exists as a legal entity). If you need anything from us - be it myself, from my squad, from MSMC as an entity - don't hesitate to let us know. I'll see to it personally that every single request for aid and resources you make goes through.

It's the least I can do for failing to stop what happened.

Yours among the stars, forever and always.

-- Angel

[oncamelliastreet]

if there is an after life after this, i really hope my grandparents are finding liam to thank him for taking care of me. i don’t by any means condone any of the things he did and said that hurt people, but it doesn’t negate the good he did, especially in one direction. i remember i was listening to girl almighty when my older sister came home from the hospital to tell me my grandpa, who i was extremely close with, died. in fact, the last conversations i had with him was when i was helping my mom clean his basement with headphones in and he asked me what i was listening to. i told him one direction and he laughed and said he’d never heard of them but he was sure the beatles were better. one direction was the only artist i listened to in 2020 (im not exaggerating, it was one direction only) and staying up late watching their interviews and listening to diana got me through a very hard place in my life. so i hope my grandma and grandpa, wherever they are, can thank him for what he did for younger me since now i’ll never be able to

[b-lessings]

I just love my brother so much 😭 Allahuma barik lahu He doesn't have much to offer but his devotion to our family and how he is always in service for any one of us and how he just would go out of his way to make sure we are comfortable and safe is so selfless and I pray Allah swt count all of these acts in his good deeds and make them a way to elevate his rank in Jannah ameen ya rabb. Tbh, he wasn't really like that before, sübhanallah he was the template of any north african spoiled selfish only male child whose mom spoiled rotten and raised him to believe he is entitled to everything. But noticing this huge transformation in his personality, his humbleness, his genuine care and worry for our family, and especially for me is making me fall deeper and deeper in gratitude for Allah swt who changed my brother's heart and created ways for him to gain extraordinary deeds, because as Prophet Muhammad ﷺ says "the best of you is the best to his family" - and even if this Hadith is often explained in talking about one's wife, I'd like to think of it in general terms of family in the case of my brother 😭 Allahuma barik lahu wa barik bihi wa barik fih, Allahuma grant him khayr in this duniya and the hereafter, mend his heart and solve his problems, in deed you are the Almighty, you are able to do all things. Ameen.

Tonight, I was at my friend's house which is on the other side of town, and I got sick, and it was pretty bad and I called him and said " I got sick come pick me up" and even though it was late, and he was super tired and about to sleep he drove across town to come get me, he drove me to night-shift pharmacy and then got me food, even though his eyes were closing at the end. And then he mistakenly used my pet-name to refer to his daughter in the middle of the conversation and my heart just exploded with love for him 🥹

I am literally nothing without my brother, reflecting back on the years and how we weren't that close in my teenage and early adult years and how we finally found our way back to each other after my marriage is so heartwarming. Sübhanallah, even in the most dysfunctional of the families, Allah swt will bless you with that one person that will be there for you, care for you, protect you and show you that you are loved. In deed, Allah is the most merciful. I don't know why I am writing this, I just found myself pouring my heart out. Maybe to send out a little hope for girls who are currently not having the best relationship with their older brothers, do not despair, Allah's mercy is endless, He swt can turn things around in a heartbeat. And maybe to encourage guys to be a little kinder to their families and especially their sisters. It makes a huge difference for your sister to know that you've got her back and that you're there for her. But probably I am fever-blogging lol.

Conclusion, I have the best of the brothers. Allahuma barik, la quwwata illa billah 🥹🤍

[imfluentinfangirlandgay]

A Father's Resolve - Ch 9

Ingo returns after a decade - with two extra cars in tow. Years later, his kids are swallowed up by time in the same way he was. Will he be able to find them? Will they be able to make it out alive?

Word Count: ~3000

The twins wound their way through the Heartwood to hopefully find this Warden that they'd been told about. Their teams were trained up decently and they were having a grand time trying to write about Buneary. 

“Lookit her!” Akari squealed. “She's so cute!” She ruffled the soft down of the little rabbit she'd caught. It flicked its ear at her in annoyance. Rei did have to admit it was adorable, even if it had a horrible attitude. 

“I got that Silcoon we saw. I'd say let's see what this Warden wants and how to study Kleavor.” Rei tossed a ball in the air and caught it idly as his sister caught up to him on the dirt path, shaking the water from her shoes. She'd fallen in the stream trying to scramble back from a suddenly-livid Psyduck. 

“Fine.” 

Rei rounded the corner, seeing some man-made structures come up in his field of vision. A gateway appeared down the path, with some stone bowls carved from a large boulder in the middle of the arch. And in front of this stood a boy wearing soft pink and a hat that Rei could only describe as a cowboy hat. He was maybe ten with red curly hair and a stern expression on his young face, still trimmed with baby fat. 

Rei stared at the hat. He'd seen it before-

“That's Clay's hat,” Akari whispered to him in Unovan. “Remember fighting his Excadrill? That's totally it. Look at the gem.” She was right. The same green jewel set in the hat, square and sparkling, surrounded by gold trim on white leather. 

“Didn't… didn't Clay say his family was from another region? That they immigrated to Unova?” Rei murmured back. 

Akari simply nodded. 

This was getting weird. First their mother, now Clay's… grandfather? Great-grandfather? More generations? And he was younger than them! 

“I'm Lian, Warden of the Lord of the Woods, Kleavor. You're here to see the mighty Kleavor, ain't ya?” the boy called to them in greeting. Even his voice sounded like a younger version of Clay's! The boy crossed his arms, a smug look on his face. “I can see it on ya. You heard about his awesome power and now he's only become even more powerfully awesome.” He smirked into the crook of his elbow as the twins stepped up to him, finally. “That bolt of lightning charged him… maybe it was almighty Sinnoh's doing? Either way, as much as it pains me, I must turn you away.” 

“But we need to!” Akari blurted out. Lian's eyes flicked to her. He grinned slyly. 

“I must commend your passion, but unfortunately it is not safe. I have been given order by Irida to not let anyone see him right now. So back out now, lest you face the wrath of my Goomy.” 

“I accept,” Akari said before Rei could even think. 

“Akari-” 

“Back up.” She shoved him back and cleared a small space for a battle. Lian sighed and whistled. A small pokemon appeared from behind the stone bowls, a purple blob of a creature. Rei hadn't actually seen a Goomy before but he decided he needed to find one because this thing was perfect. A dopey smile graced what could be called its ‘face’  it had two small eyes and a big grin and it slowly trailed along and Rei needed to get a Goomy right now. 

“Goomy, let's try to ooze some sense into these interlopers!” Goomy gave a cry of challenge and oozed its way to the battlefield. 

Akari picked a ball carefully and tossed it out. Riptide, newly evolved, gave a small cry of its own. It stanced itself up, preparing for a long battle… 

That did not last long. 

Riptide did not take very long to tear through the small Goomy. It was clear that although the boy cared deeply for his partner, it was not very well-trained. He sagged a bit as he conceded defeat. “I still can’t let you through,” he sighed. “It is too dangerous. No one can get through to my Lord- Irida?” 

The twins turned to see the girl behind them, watching with wide, sad blue eyes. “Lord Kleavor is descended from a pokemon blessed by almighty Sinnoh itself. I did not want to have to throw up our hands and ask for help from an outsider but… every moment that he remains like this, the danger grows. If he hurts more people and pokemon, it may cause problems with the Diamond Clan and the Galaxy Team.” She paused, knitting her brows. “I hear that it was that bolt of strange lightning that changed him. Perhaps it was sent by that faulty god the Diamond Clan worships…?” Rei had to restrain himself from pointing out how stupid that sounded. “Regardless, do you both have any ideas how to help him? We care greatly for Kleavor; he means a great deal to our Clan. We do not want him to be hurt.” 

Rei glanced at his sister, who shrugged. It was obvious that they may be on their own with this one. It was hard to say what was wrong with him what they hadn’t even seen him yet. “We’ll figure something out,” was all Rei said. 

“Excellent!” Irida cut between the two and approached Lian, who still stood proud, even if Rei could now see the cracks in his small facade. He was just a boy with a big job he couldn’t handle by himself - and it tore him up on the inside. Rei could see how his eyes darted around, how they desperately scanned Irida’s face for some semblance of good news. How his small hands shook. “Lian and I will gather some of Kleavor’s favorite foods in an attempt to get close enough to make a proper offering. As for you, try to find a way to quell his frenzy, even if you must traverse every corner of Hisui!” 

The twins took that as a dismissal and nodded, turning and striding away. Once out of earshot, Rei asked Akari in Unovan, “What are we even supposed to do? I still don’t know what all this is about.” 

Akari debated as they snuck around the alpha Bibarel, staying quiet until they had passed by safely and were heading up Deertrack Heights. “Let’s ask Laventon. He’s a scientist, right? Maybe he’d have a clue.” 

—----------------------

Emmet shivered as he pulled his coat a little tighter around him. Why was the office so cold? He glanced up over the pile of paperwork he had in front of him, checking the face of the clock on the wall. The little train-shaped hand had a smokestack that pointed to the number five. It was already almost 6:30? Emmet leaned back in his chair, sighing to himself as his back popped. How long had it been since he’d moved? Four hours? His gaze traveled the room as he sat motionless in the cold. 

The walls had several framed photos and posters. The posters were mainly older Gear Station signs and advertisements for past events they had done, like a battle bracket one year for challengers or a holiday or New Year’s event. Emmet’s favorite was the spooky one, personally. Ingo always liked the spring decorations, the small flowers and the pastel colors. The twins had been split on the battle bracket and, for Rei, the scavenger hunt to collect every sticker hidden away on the platforms. The prize for finding them all was an authentic conductor’s hat, though he’d never cared for that. He had plenty. 

There were several photos dotting the area around the two desks, as well. Photos of himself and his team, Ingo and his teams (from Hisui and Unova, as he hadn’t had the chance to release his Hisui team before returning), the twins as they grew up, both with and without their starters, Elesa with all four of them, even a family reunion photo with Drayden and Iris and their extended family on his side. Emmet’s favorite had to be the one he kept on his desk, from when the twins were younger. Ingo’s kids were maybe eight years old, staring intently into the water under Tubeline Bridge, watching for any sort of movement. That is, until Iris had sent her Lapras into the water to prank them, having it pop its head out and making the two scramble back onto the bank with a strangled yelp, landing in a very undignified way on the muddy land on their bottoms. The photo had been taken just as the twins were yelling, Lapras’s face in a soft smile as it ‘greeted’ them. Iris was already in stitches, doubled over in laughter. Even Drayden had chuckled, his eyes shut in merriment, leaving Emmet to laugh openly. Only Ingo hadn’t truly laughed, though his eyes had twinkled as he held it in and made sure they were alright. Other than some bruised pride, they had been perfectly fine. 

He looked at the goofy photo. Emmet had pulled out his camera as soon as he’d seen Iris sneakily send her pokemon into the water someway upstream. It had been taken just downstream, so he could get everyone’s faces from afar. The kids’ eyes were wide as they leapt back - the photo still had them in mid-air, their arms blurry from reeling backwards. Emmet felt that familiar grin creeping up his face as he studied the photo. It always made him smile. Lapras had offered itself to being petted as an apology afterwards, and had even ferried the kids around on its shell for a bit on the water. 

Emmet sighed. He put the photo back and stood up, stretching. A deep sense of melancholy settled itself into his ribcage, sitting more heavy than a stone. His face drooped. It was much harder to make memories like that when the person - or rather, people, in this case - were missing. 

He checked his phone. A message from Drayden checking in, that he hadn’t heard anything yet about the missing kids, but he’d keep searching, he would always keep searching. Iris hadn’t heard anything, either. 

Keep up your hopes, Emmet. They aren’t gone for good. You told me that the first time we went through this, and I know you know it now.

Emmet typed a response as he grabbed his stuff, his day bag now slung over his shoulder. He made sure to unceremoniously dump a bit of the paperwork on Ingo’s desk and to shove some of the more urgent items into his bag. You are correct. I know that. But I am not the one who needs convincing. 

A moment passed as Emmet grabbed his personal items and opened the door to the office. He shut off the lights as he did, making sure not to waste needless power. He made his way down the hallway, checking again for a message. To his surprise, there was one. Drayden usually did not answer this quickly. I’m sure. Perhaps me and Iris can stop by sometime. Try to break him out of the horrid spell I’m sure he’s still under. It’s been how long now? This was about the time you became despondent. 

He entered the control room. Two or three Agents milled about, checking in on the monitors and speaking in low tones. They looked up as Emmet entered and waved to him. “Everything steady?” Emmet asked them. 

“Sure is, Boss. Just passengers and us left for the night shift. Only engine Orange being ran for the overnight shift. All others are already in the warehouse being assessed and cleaned.” The olive-skinned woman pulled up a camera feed, making it larger on the biggest screen in the center. It showed several large engines being serviced by night crew.

“Perfect.” Emmet put a cup in the coffee maker by the door and pressed what flavor he wanted. Mostly black, just a bit of cream. “Need anything else from me? I know I disappeared today. Lots of paperwork to catch up on.” 

“I don’t think so, Boss.” A pale man with glasses swiveled in his chair to face him. “Have a good night. We’ll see ya back here tomorrow morning. Wish Boss Ingo our best.” The other Depot Agents nodded solemnly. Though it had never been formally announced that the kids were missing, they all certainly knew. It was taboo to talk about it in the station, but the Agents were always sure to leave kind regards and if Ingo didn’t come in for a few days, it was never mentioned. 

“You as well. All aboard,” Emmet responded, more out of habit than anything. He snagged his cup and placed a lid on top as he snuck out of the station. He checked his phone again, typing out a response to his uncle. If you want to see him acting more like a stale piece of bread than a human, consider yourself invited. It’s hard to get him to do anything these days. I’ve been holding down the Station more often than not. Even if he does go in, he just stares at the wall. I’ve never seen him so invested in a book in my entire life than the history books he reads. 

He waved to the Agent by the door as he swung open the glass doors to the station and swept out into the warm night. Emmet sighed in contentment as he clutched his coffee. The sky was that ethereal orange seen across Unova. Light pollution had its large claws sunk deep into the region, and unfortunately, no night was truly the inky black he remembered on his trip to Alola with Ingo all those years ago. Street lights threw that ugly yellow undertone to everything that they always did. Quite a few people were out tonight, though Emmet supposed that was normal for seven at night on a Thursday in the summer. He wondered if there were any events, musical or battle-oriented or otherwise, that were going on soon in Nimbasa. There was almost always something. He passed under the one that flickered as he walked, checking his device yet again. A certain someone else I can think of was much the same. We will come by this weekend. Don’t worry about making the house too clean, we’ve definitely seen worse. Emmet could almost hear his uncle’s soft chuckle that accompanied it. Is there anything we should bring as well? Food, pokemon treats, anything of that sort? 

I don’t think so, Emmet typed, walking under another street light. He could see the bus stop in the distance. A few others were already at the stop, waiting for the next bus to arrive. He stood just outside the covered bench, leaning on a lamp post as he typed. I need to do some grocery shopping soon, so let me know if you want anything specific to snack on. It’s mostly just me doing things in the house these days. The Joltik aren’t as rowdy, either. The next clutch hasn’t hatched just yet and most of last year’s have already relocated to Chargestone and the tunnels.

This will be your eighteenth clutch, correct? 

Emmet glanced up as he thought about when he had first started officially breeding them. It would have been toward the tail end of Ingo’s absence. Elesa had convinced him that he needed some hobby other than going to work all the time, and she had remembered him talking about getting into breeding when he was younger, so she had bought him a book about the basics of pokemon breeding. That must have been during the eighth year of Ingo’s disappearance, and if he’s having one clutch a year and its been about ten years since he reappeared-

“Subway Boss Emmet?” Emmet blinked himself from his thoughts and glanced around. The person who had spoken was an older woman sitting on the bench. No one else around paid them any mind, some with earbuds in, some engrossed in something on their Xtrans. 

“Hm?” Emmet hummed to the woman, alerting her that he’d heard what she’d said. He let his hand with the phone screen fall somewhat, turning his attention to her. 

The woman had very light hair, almost white, long and very wispy, held up in a dark hat. She also had a dark dress. It almost looked like she was dressed for a funeral. She smiled up at him, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening in the glow of the orange street lamp above them. “I heard about what happened recently. Things will become right again for you.” 

He blinked. Honestly, this left him at a loss for words. “I- uh. T-Thank you? Thank you.” He regained his composure. “It will take some time, but I know the tracks will be rideable once more.” 

She chuckled as she looked up. Emmet could see the bus in the distance. “It will indeed. My great-great niece would love you. She is very into history, you see, much like my nephew was… oh, what a strong-willed man, he was. Is! That never left him.” 

As she rambled, Emmet’s mind was reeling. Who was this woman? He didn’t think she’d ever seen him before. The fact that she recognized him by sight alone was nothing odd, he was something of a local celebrity, especially in uniform. He was about to ask what she meant when she glanced around again and shook her head. “It seems my stop is coming. I wish you could meet my lovely niece. She would want to talk to you for days about Hisui and the heroes-” 

“You know about Hisui?” Emmet asked incredulously. He needed to know more. He needed-

“Good luck, Emmet. Keep your brother strong. The children are looking for him.” The bus’s headlights engulfed his vision for a moment, making him blink. As soon as he opened his eyes to ask her what she meant, the bench was empty. Emmet whirled around, looking for the old woman, but she was nowhere to be seen. The door to the bus opened with a mechanical hiss. Other passengers began to climb aboard. Emmet gave one last glance around as he climbed aboard next, shivering under his coat, trying to shake the feeling of being watched. 

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[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor- Chapter Four

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4.3K

Note: I know I said this chapter would link up with the series, but that will be the next chapter now – I didn’t want Tom getting in trouble with the police to be so sudden. I hope you don’t mind! More detailed notes at the end!

August 1939

Monday morning, two days since the dancehall, and the street was alive with activity. Two women were pushing prams along the pavement, a chatter of children following in their wake. Satchels of schoolbooks swung at their sides, and a few of the little boys already looked ready for playtime. Some of the older women were beating rugs over chairs, making the most of the early morning sun, and Dennis Warley had just been by with the morning post.

Outside the Vaughn’s house, Cora was seated on an upturned bucket from the yard, polishing a pair of her father’s shoes. Bess sat on the bottom step, reading her newly delivered fashion magazine. Dot peered over her shoulder.

“That one,” Dot pointed to a buttercup yellow tea dress. “Could you make it for me?”

“I could,” Bess puffed out a stream of cigarette smoke. “If you buy the fabric.” She flipped the page and Dot huffed.

“Do you know how much most girls pay to have dresses made by Bess, Dot?” Cora said, not looking up from her work.

“Not enough,” said Dot.

“Amen.” Bess shut the magazine and handed it to her younger sister. At that moment, Fergal appeared in the doorway, plate of bacon and eggs in hand. He stepped, with socked feet, between his daughters and sat on the step.  

“What are you up to today, Bess?” He said through a mouthful of breakfast.

“Going over to Robina Chase’s, that suit of hers is finished.”

“You watch yourself on the roads, my girl.”

“Yes, dadda.”

Footsteps thundered down the stairs and a second later, the long legs of Albie Vaughn were stepping over his sisters too. “Double, double, toil and trouble,” he teased. Dot pretended to put a curse on him as he crossed the street and knocked on the Bennett’s door. Bess watched him curiously. He didn’t usually fetch Lois in the mornings.

“There you go, dadda.” Cora passed Fergal his shoes, which he slipped on as he handed his plate to Bess. The Bennett’s door opened, and Albie exited with Tom trailing behind him. Fergal went to join them.

“Dadda said he’d got Tom a shift at the dockyard,” sniffed Dot. “Good to see he’s got him some honest work.” Bess and Cora raised their eyebrows at Dot’s air of superiority and smirked at each other. Just as she looked to the three men, Bess caught Tom’s eye. Her cheeks prickled with anxiety but she didn’t let her nerves show. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to see from his side of the street. Instead, she stared him down. Tom watched her a moment, then smirked. Bastard. Fergal clapped him on the shoulder and the three men began their way to the dockyard.

“See you later, girls!” Fergal and Albie waved behind them. Tom Bennett swaggered forward, staring resolutely ahead.

 “Ah, here she is!” Lois appeared at the doorway, tucking a stray curl under her scarf.

“Ready?” She called. Cora and Dot stood.

“We’ll be back around 6, ta-ra!” Cora kissed Bess on the cheek, and she, Lois and Dot made their way to the factory. Up ahead, the men were just rounding the corner, and Bess could have sworn she saw Tom cast a sideways glance in her direction. They hadn’t spoken since Saturday night. Not that the chance had been given; the curtains of his bedroom remained shut and Lois said he was nursing a hangover and an almighty bollocking from Douglas.

“Can’t imagine your dad raising his voice,”

“It’s Tom we’re talking about Bess,”

There hadn’t been a moment to forget about the night either, for the next morning it was all Dot could talk about.

“And then Tom told me to go inside so I went to find Cora and Bess but heard this sound like a gunshot and that black-haired man that Bess had been dancing with was on the floor and then then Tom hit the other two before punching the man-”

“Breathe, Dot,”

“-and I went and got Albie and him and Lois’ fella pulled Tom off them. You’ll never guess what Tom did next, dadda. He spat on him! Tom spat on that poor man!”

When the police arrived at the Bennett’s, searching for Tom, Dot had nearly screamed. Fergal shook his head.

“Can’t the police leave us alone on a Sunday?”

“Don’t think crime has Sundays off, dadda.” Albie said.

That night, when Bess was finishing her final checks of Mrs Chase’s suit and the rest of her family were in bed, she saw Tom climbing the drainpipe outside his and Lois’ room. She had half a mind to go and tell Douglas until she saw Tom shimmy back down the drainpipe and bolt away. Bess wasn’t going to break first. She wasn’t some girl he could charm with a flash of his smile and a quick fumble at the back of the picture house, and if he didn’t know it yet then God help Tom Bennett.

*

Gravel popped under Bess’ bicycle wheels as she pushed it up the Chase’ drive. Robina Chase was a client of the Manchester atelier. When she discovered that one of the girls who trained there lived nearby, she had ceased her journeys into the city and had Bess attend her personally. She never came to the Vaughns, like most of Bess’ clients. No, each time she insisted that Bess come to her.

Bess looked up at the enormous house. On her street, some families were crammed seven or eight into a two-bedroom house. In their own home, the Vaughn’s had five. Here, it was just Robina and Harry. Still, nothing could make Bess swap their cramped home for the halls of the Chase’s. Each time she stepped through the door a chill descended on her, no matter if it was midwinter or midsummer. The door opened before Bess could reach it.

“I saw you coming.” Robina said curtly. Bess opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs Chase was already walking towards her lounge. The spacious room was the lightest in the house and best, therefore, for Bess to do her work. Someone had brought down a silk screen from Mrs Chase to change behind and when Bess entered the room, this was where she was, clothes laid on a chaise lounge and, stood in her cotton chemise. Everything that Bess used to visit Mrs Chase had to be portable and light enough to strap onto her bicycle, and so, she took out the foldable tailor’s platform that her father had made her and placed it on the ground. Mrs Chase stepped onto it and watched Bess continue unloading her things. She said nothing. When Bess held up the red suit for her to examine, she simply said “Lovely,” and pursed her lips. For half an hour, Bess added the final touches to the suit; taking the hem up a centimetre, adding a little embellished stitching along the collar.

“I’m off to see the boys before I go,” a knock sounded and Harry Chase, with his weary eyes and boyish charm, appeared at the lounge door. “You look lovely, mother. Oh, hello again.”

Robina was waving off his compliment when she stopped. “You know each other?”

“We met at a dance,”

“Mm, well, don’t be home late or drunk. I shan’t wait up.” She turned back to Bess, whom Harry nodded to before leaving. When the front door slammed and the car engine kicked into life, so did Robina Chase. “Harry told me he stopped a fight at the dance on Saturday.”

“That he did,” Bess said, still looking over the garment to make sure everything was in order.

“No doubt over some woman.”

“I don’t know what is was about,” Bess grew quiet, and Robina continued.

“Who was the man? Do you know?”

At this, Bess stilled her work and hesitated. “Tom Bennett, ma’am.” She said quietly.

“Bennett? He’s not related to that Lois girl, is he?” There was a definite air of disdain in Mrs Chase’s voice and Bess fought hard to control herself. We need the money, we need the money, we need her money.

“Her brother, ma’am.”

“Well, with her spending the night in a cell it only makes sense that her brother is the very same. I met that father of theirs, Dougal?”

“Douglas,”

“Quiet as a dormouse and mad as a March-hare. No wonder his children are so wayward. And I can’t imagine living in Longsight helps, amongst all those ruffians. You’d think modern Britain would be rid of slums but here we are.”

Bess wanted to stick her pin in the papery flesh of Mrs Chase’s thigh. She resolved, however, to walk back to her sewing box and place it neatly with its fellows. “All done.”

“It’s lovely, thank you. It was £5 for the remainder, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bess took the cheque from Mrs Chase and began strapping her tools to the bicycle.

“I’ll be in touch soon with some ideas for the spring. A new decade surely brings new fashions.” Her ignorance was astounding. Her son was back from war torn Poland, about to go back, and news of Hitler’s plans for the rest of Europe was spreading like wildfire. Not to mention what she thought of the poor.

“If I may say something, ma’am,” Bess took a shaky breath. She could count the people that scared her on one hand. One was stood in front of her, perfectly manicured fingers waiting to close the door, eyebrow raised in challenge. “I can’t make excuses for Tom’s behaviour, but no-one could ask for a kinder confident or supporter than Lois. And I mean no-one. Rich or poor, kind or cruel, she’ll look after you. And as for Douglas, he is one of the gentlest men I’ve ever known and we’re lucky to have him as our neighbour. Yes, our neighbour. He’s been a great friend to our father.” She swung her leg over her bike as Robina stood a little higher and haughtier. “Make sure to tell your friends the new suit was by a “ruffian” of Longsight. See you in the spring.” She pedalled away before Mrs Chase could raise her snobbish voice in argument.

*

By the time Bess had cycled the hour from Mrs Chase’s to Longsight, the summer dress she wore was soaked in sweat. Leaving the bike outside, she dumped her tools on the kitchen table and ran upstairs. Stripping down to her underwear, she filled a bowl with cold water, opened the window of her room and let the curtain down. Cora and Dot would thank her when they got back from the sweltering heat of the factory. Grabbing a flannel, she dipped it in the cold water and ran it over her body. Goosebumps rose across Bess’ skin and she sighed. Hair tied in a loose knot, held in place with one of her mother’s silk scarves, Bess held the flannel against her neck. She squeezed it in her palm and let the droplets fall down her back. In the breeze, the net curtain shuddered and brushed against her skin. She looked through the window. Their bedroom faced Lois and Tom’s. As children, Lois, Cora and Dot would wave to each other and commune in their own secret language. When they had gone to sleep, or first thing when they hadn’t woken, Bess and Tom would hold their palms to the windows. They never did anything else, and they certainly didn’t talk about it in the day.

Dressing in a light blouse and yellow skirt of linen, Bess padded barefoot downstairs and opened the front door, before retreating to the kitchen and doing the same to the yard door. Cool air filled the little house. Back in the kitchen, at the foot of the stairs, was the piano. Bess lifted the lid protecting the keys and sat at the stool. A photograph of her great-aunt Iris sat proudly atop the upright. Her face was gentle, white hair pulled back, a shawl draped round her shoulders. The eldest of five, Iris held dreams of becoming a great concert pianist, but her family couldn’t afford to continue her lessons once more children came along. She worked as a parlour maid from fourteen to save her own money and, at seventeen, bought a ticket to London. Feigning sickness, she caught the early train from Manchester and within hours found herself at the steps of the Royal Academy of Music. Iris had written her own application with the help of a kind woman from central library and was invited to audition. She played a programme of Liszt, Chopin and Rachmaninov for the admissions board and had impressed them with her sight-reading skills. She was back in Manchester in time for supper. When a letter bearing the academy’s emblem arrived two weeks later, Iris pocketed it in her apron and ran to the yard to open it. She’d never know such a fleeting whisper of joy as this again, for below her congratulation of acceptance, were the academy’s fees. Iris Vaughn lived the rest of her days teaching, playing piano on Saturdays for the cinema’s afternoon showing.

Bess had no dreams of becoming a concert pianist, but she intended to forge her own path. For herself, and for great-aunt Iris. Kissing her fingers then touching Iris’ photograph, Bess began to play. A few Bach preludes to warm up. Iris loved them. Rigid and mathematical, they were beautiful in their ornamentation and meandering grandeur. As her fingers danced over the keys, she thought about how Bach managed this feat of emotional engineering within such a confined structure. Rigidity, confined structures. Suddenly, Mrs Chase’s pursed lips and flared nostrils entered her mind. The music stopped. Bloody bitch. Bess moved to the jazz standards; My Funny Valentine, One O’Clock Jump, Frenesi, On the Sunny Side of the Street. Surely Mrs Chase hates jazz, it’s something Harry likes.

Bess played for an hour or so, lulling herself into a waking dream. The breeze cooled her calves, the sounds of the piano drifting with it into the street and, occasionally, the peal of a child’s laughter reminded Bess that she was in her family kitchen, not the Ritz. The scent of cigarette smoke from the street beyond gave Bess pause and she grabbed the packet hidden in the cutlery drawer, the packet Cora thought no-one knew about. Cigarette lit, she played a little Joplin in honour of Iris before the sun fell behind a cloud and the breeze turned from calming to crisp. Bess near skipped out of the kitchen and to the front door, such was the affect of an hour’s playing to alleviate her mood, but her steps came to an abrupt halt as she rounded the door into the hallway. A man was sat on the front step, collar up against the chill, a plume of cigarette smoke rising into the early evening sky, the effect making his blond head look alight. He turned slowly round, cigarette held loftily between his thin lips.

“Don’t stop playing on my account,” he grinned.

“You’re back early.” Bess folded her arms and stood firm in the hallway.

“Your dad and Albie have taken an extra shift.” He stretched is arms in an exaggeration of tiredness. “Besides, I don’t think labouring is for me.”

Bess gripped the door. “Right, well, if you could move, you’re letting in a draft.” He did as he was told and stood from the step but as Bess moved to swing shut the door, he placed a boot between it and the frame.

“Bess.” An edge of desperation lined his voice.

“Tom.” Hers was weary.

“Bess. That man was a prick, and if I hadn’t sorted him out some other bloke would have. But,” he placed his palm on the door and pushed it open a little, revealing Bess to him fully. “But I am sorry for what I said to you. You didn’t deserve that.” She scanned his face. The smirk had gone and his usually bright eyes were solemn, but all Bess could to do was nod and rapidly blink back tears. Tom stepped away from the door and allowed her to close it.

I’m not jealous of a bloke who dances with the only girl who doesn’t say no because she doesn’t say anything at all.

Her eyes stung, and she flicked away a tear before it had the chance to fall. Cora and Dot would be back from work soon, and they couldn’t know she’d been crying over Tom Bennett. Even if he had broken her heart a little. All those years she thought Tom hadn’t seen her as a freak or recluse. An oddity worthy of stares and ridicule. With one fell strike, he had proved she was wrong.

The evening passed quickly. In a heavy-hearted haze, Bess made soup and sandwiches for the Vaughn’s supper. Cora and Dot were exhausted when they returned from the factory. A long day in the oppressive heat of the factory had worked up an almighty appetite in both of them, though they could barely lift their spoons. They retreated to the cool of their bedroom at 8.30. Bess sat in the dim of the kitchen, the comfort of her father’s armchair easing her unrest a little. She stood when he and Albie arrived home, but he waved her down, kissed her cheek and took a plate of sandwiches to his room.

“What’s happened, Bess?”

“Hm?” She looked up from her perch by the hearth. Albie stood in the door to the hallway, dishevelled and ready for rest. The middle Vaughn children were closest in age and closest in mind. She didn’t begrudge it of Cora and Dot; Cora had to bear too much responsibility for the family, and Bess would not steal Dot’s youth from her. But she sometimes imagined that she and Albie were connected by an invisible string the others didn’t have. When one felt sad, elated and anything in between, the other felt the tugging of the string that had hooked itself neatly beneath their ribs.

“What’s happened?” Albie repeated.

“Oh nothing,” Bess reached for her book and glass of whisky. “Was over at the Chase’s this afternoon.”

“Ah, say no more,” Albie smiled but his gaze lingered on his sister, and she knew that he didn’t believe her. “Night, Bess.”

“Night, Albie.” She listened as he trudged up the stairs and shut the door to the room he shared with their father. Bess opened her book but instead of reading, stared into the empty room around her. The light outside turned from fuchsia pink to ashen blue and, just as she finished the last sip of her drink, she heard the patter of running footsteps on the street outside. Any moment now, the door would click open, Tom would smile boyishly at her and settle himself on the end of the kitchen table. He always did hang around a little more after they had argued. Bess waited for his shadow at the window. Breath hitched in anticipation, she edged to the hallway and watched the door. Now. The door handle would turn and he’d appear.

The night was quiet. The faintest snuffled snoring from upstairs punctuated Bess’ breathing. The door didn’t open. Bess hurried to the kitchen window and pulled back the netting to see a leg disappear through Tom’s window. He didn’t close it.

*

Next day, Bess had no clients. After making breakfast for the working members of her family, she cycled to the dockyard. There was something about the hum of industry sidled up to the crashing water, and the canal leading to the sea beyond it, that thrilled Dot. She spied Albie and her father ascending cranes to deliver goods. Sure enough, Tom was not with them. As the sun continued to rise in the sky, the heat along with it, Bess retreated home. Turning into the street, Douglas Bennett passed her on his on cycle and touched a finger to his cap.

“Morning!” She called to him. Leaving her bike where Douglas’ would have been minutes before, Bess rapped on the Bennett’s door. No answer. Lois would, of course, be at work with Cora and Dot. She tested the handle. It opened.

“It’s rude to just walk into someone’s house without being invited.” Tom was slouching down the stairs, pulling a shirt over his head. The pale skin of his abdomen drew Bess’ eye and she blushed a little, looking down so that her hair fell forward to cover her shame.

“You do it often enough at ours.”

By way of an answer, Tom lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. As he did so, she saw the smattering of red cuts across his fingers. They were small, like little paper cuts, and certainly hadn’t been there yesterday. She looked to his other hand. He was covered in them.

“Better get them sorted or they’ll get infected.” Bess nodded to his hand. He merely shrugged, picked some bacon out of the pan Lois had left on the stove and wandered into the sunlit back yard. Bess took the pan from the stove and filled the sink with hot water. Lois, like Cora, needed any help she could get when it came mothering her family. Once the pan was washed, Bess filled a pitcher with warm water. Rooting around in the cupboards, she found a bottle of Douglas’ whisky.

“Sorry, Douglas.” With a clean cloth, bandage, the whisky and pitcher of water, Bess pushed open the yard door with her foot and sat by Tom. His head was leant against the brick of the house, exposing the lean muscle of his neck. The cigarette in his mouth was barely lit, and he pursed his lips to puff it into life. Bess watched the smoke unfurl in the air and caught site of his shadow against the wall. Sharp, harsh and angular. He looked like a Roman statue. Not one of a great emperor, mind. One of those spoilt man-childs that fucked their way around Rome before dying of syphilis. Bess snorted as she sat on the bench beside him. Tom eyed her sideways.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bess took his hand in hers, soaked the cloth in the water and brought it to his knuckles. “So, where were you last night?”

“Met a girl down Belle Vue,” Bess hummed to at least sound interested, but she had no inclination to hear about his conquests. Now his hand was clean, she dabbed a little whisky on the cloth. “Showed her a real ride, if you know what I mean.” His wink turned into a grimace when Bess pressed the alcohol into his cuts. “Steady on.”

“Where did these come from?”

“Got them working down the dockyard,” he sniffed. His nose always wrinkled when he was lying, or annoyed. Bess caught his eye as it darted to the end of the yard. Looking down the little garden, she saw a pile of scrap metal hidden under an old dust sheet. She didn’t let on that she’d seen.

“At least you’ll get no more cuts, now you’ve retired from hard labour.” She took out the bandage and began rolling it around his hand. “What are you gonna do now?”

Tom watched Bess at work. “Ah, you know me. I’ll find my way around.” She hummed and, as she tied the bandage, instinctively brought it to her mouth where she kissed his open palm. Fuck. Bess could feel heat rising up her neck, every muscle tensing. The opposite happened to Tom, who huffed a laugh. They spoke in unison.

“Sorry, I always did it to Dot when she hurt herself.”

“If you wanted to kiss me, you could just ask.”

They froze.

Tom’s bandaged hand closed around Bess’.

Her eyes flickered to the smirk slowly disappearing from Tom’s face. He licked his lips.

“Hiya!”

Just like at the dancehall, Tom dropped Bess’ hand faster than Queenie Warren’s knickers, and knocked on the window that adjoined the yard to the sitting room.

“Out here, Lois!” Tom turned back to the yard. The door leading to the narrow alley behind the house was swinging shut, a flash of copper hair disappearing behind it.

Note: Hello pals! Just a note to say that I (finally) caught Covid, and there has been a huge ecological disaster where I am from. Not being able to go back and help due to having Covid is really hurting and I’m feeling pretty weary. That being said, I am hoping that writing this will keep me going, though if updates take longer that’ll be why.

£5 in 1939 is about £250 in today’s money, and Belle Vue (Tom references it when he’s in the Paris hospital) is an area not far from Longsight that had an amusement park and zoo. The jazz standards that Bess plays on the piano were all released in 1939 or before, have a listen if you’ve never heard them! My great-great aunt Ida (!) was a pianist for silent films and I think that’s just the coolest job ever, she’s the inspiration behind Iris. Shout out to @myfandomprompts for the amazing gif!

I’m not particularly happy with this chapter, I know I said I wanted a slow build but crikey. It’ll pick up in the next few chapters. We all know what’s coming…

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @sophielangdonx

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Apollo is here and I couldn't be happier I love him -Danny Words: 2,554 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Paul Revere' -by Noah Kahan

VIII: Dang Bitch, You Live Like This?

Ara stares at him in shock. "Come again?"

"He's the god Apollo." The little girl replies, eyeing her sword with massive interest.

"If you really are Apollo, tell me something only he would know." It's no secret that Ara's looking for the sun god, so asking for proof makes sense.

The boy cleans his bloody nose and thinks hard, looking rather pathetic. "Your boyfriend gave me a Valdezinator that sounds exactly like the piece Michael wrote to heal people."

The demigod lowers her sword immediately and urges them forward. "Go in."

Ara opens the door to her apartment and speaks over her shoulder. "Stay here. Do not leave." She rushes to the kitchen where Sally and Percy are laughing. Ara clears her throat and Percy smiles at her. 

"Birdy—"

"Apollo's at the door," she announces quickly. "I think he's mortal."

Percy stops smiling. "What?"

"I can't leave him outside, so they're coming in," Ara walks back to the entrance. "He's got a little girl with him, Percy, so don't be scary!"

He follows her to the door. Ara opens it and curtsies. "Come in, my lord."

"Appreciated," the boy drags himself into the apartment, the young girl following close.

"Who's your friend?" Percy stares at the girl.

"This is Meg McCaffrey, a demigod who must be taken to Camp Half-Blood. She rescued me from street thugs."

"Rescued..." Percy glances at his sister. "You mean the 'beat-up teenager' look isn't just a disguise? Dude, what happened to you?"

"I may have mentioned the street thugs."

"But you're a god."

"About that... I was a god."

"Prove it," Ara demands. The boy pulls out an ID with his picture and the name Lester Papadopoulos. "Zeus is really angry at you, huh?"

Apollo scoffs but he doesn't argue. "Oh! Before I forget, my dear muse," he flashes her a weak smile. "I'm fairly certain we're being followed by malicious spirits."

"What?" Ara locks the door a second time. "Why didn't you say that before I brought you up to my mother's apartment?!"

"Well, you must ensure my safety, and you will take care of this, won't you?" Apollo questions off-handedly.

Percy inches closer and whispers. "Can't believe he came looking for you..."

"I'm a hero now, of course he would look for me," she grumbles.

"Yeah, but—"

"Sacred Sibyl!" Apollo—Lester—gasps when their mother comes out of the kitchen. "Madam, there is something wrong with your midsection!"

"Well, I'm seven months pregnant," Sally stops in her tracks.

"How can you bear it?" The god moans in despair. "My mother, Leto, suffered through a long pregnancy, but only because Hera cursed her. Are you cursed?"

"Um, Apollo? She's not cursed," Percy steps in. "And can you not mention Hera?"

"You poor woman." Apollo sighs. "A goddess would never allow herself to be so encumbered. She would give birth as soon as she felt like it."

"Let's focus on your issues, my lord." So we can get rid of you faster.

Percy clears his throat. "Mom, this is Apollo and his friend Meg. Guys, this is our mom."

"Call me Sally." She examines Apollo's injured face. "Dear, that looks painful. What happened? I tell you what—Percy can help you get bandaged and cleaned up." 

"I can?" Percy asks with annoyance. 

Ara elbows him before gesturing at Apollo. "This way, lord..."

"Ara, you give Meg your old clothes, pre-growth spurt," Sally says bemusedly.

The girl nods. "Sure. Come along, Meg."

"What are we gonna do?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Ara..."

"Before you say anything, remember I'm turning sixteen this year," she glares at him. "You fought your prophecy when you were my age."

"Yeah, I..." Percy blinks as if just realizing that she's right. "Gods, you're turning sixteen already?"

"This is Mike's father we're talking about," Ara brushes that aside. "The song I use to heal people? Michael wrote it. I do this for him, Percy, I have to help."

He pauses, some kind of understanding that isn't helping him feel better dawns upon him, and causes his shoulders to slump. The door to their bathroom opens and Apollo comes out of it, sheepish but clean. "What happened to you, man?" Percy grimaces. "The war ended in August. It's January."

"It is?"

Ara and Percy share a look. "I knew this would happen," she sighs. "I saw how Zeus treated you, I knew he was going to punish you."

"I—I don't know where I've been," Apollo fidgets with his shirt. "I have some memory gaps."

Percy wrinkles his nose. "I hate memory gaps. Last year I lost an entire semester thanks to Hera."

"It's normal," Ara tries to ease the god. "Either your consciousness is trying to adjust to a mortal brain, or Zeus took it on purpose so it's harder for you to return."

"Well, that's why I've come to you!" Apollo smiles. "I can't do it, but surely the daughter of Olympus can fix this! It's your job!"

Ara frowns. "I'd rather not test the King of the gods by helping his currently hormonal teenage son that he's trying to punish, besides, I have never turned anyone into a god."

"We can drive you and Meg to camp if that's what you want," Percy offers. "We never turn away a demigod who needs help—"

"Wonderful! Do you have something besides the Prius? A Maserati, perhaps? I'd settle for a Lamborghini."

Percy ignores that. "Apollo, I can't get involved in another Big Prophecy or whatever. I've made promises."

"Promises?"

"I lost most of my junior year because of the war with Gaea. I've spent this entire fall playing catch-up with my classes. If I want to go to college with Annabeth next fall, I have to stay out of trouble and get my diploma."

"Annabeth." Apollo squints. "She's the blond scary one?"

"That's her. I promised her specifically that I wouldn't get myself killed while she's gone." 

"Gone?"

"She's in Boston for a few weeks. Some family emergency. The point is—"

"You're saying you cannot offer me your undivided service to restore me to my throne?" 

"Yeah." He pointed at the bedroom doorway. "Besides, my mom's pregnant. We're going to have a baby sister. I'd like to be around to get to know her."

"Well, I understand that. I remember when Artemis was born—"

"Aren't you twins?"

"I've always regarded her as my little sister."

Percy glances at his sister. I need this guy out of here. "Anyway, my mom's got that going on, and her first novel is going to be published this spring as well, so I'd like to stay alive long enough to—"

"Wonderful! Remind her to burn the proper sacrifices. Calliope is quite touchy when novelists forget to thank her."

"Okay. But what I'm saying... I can't go off on another world-stomping quest. I can't do that to my family. I've already given my mom enough heart attacks for one lifetime. She's just about forgiven me for disappearing last year, but I swore to her and Paul that I wouldn't do anything like that again."

Percy and Apollo turn to her. Ara shrugs. "Yeah well, no parents are freaking out about me. They know I have to obey, and I'm a triple-R: Resilient radioactive roach."

"Do you think he counts, though?" Percy squints.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, look at him."

"You do understand that I must find a way to return to Olympus," Apollo sounds slightly offended. "This will probably involve many harrowing trials with a high chance of death. Can you turn down such glory?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can," Percy replies impatiently. "And Ara should too, if you're not a god anymore, that means she doesn't work for you."

"Percy!"

"What? It's the truth. Your second semester is only getting started, this guy shouldn't be distracting you."

The thing is, she wants a distraction. Ara can't stand another week of normalcy while her demigod life crumbles and gets more and more confusing. She has to fix things, and now she has a path to follow in the shape of a weak-looking deity.

"It wouldn't be wise to give him an advantage Zeus might not want for him," she leans on the wall. "But I can't say no just to be punished later. I won't decide anything until I figure it out."

"You will at least escort us to Camp Half-Blood?" Apollo asks sorely.

"That we can do." Percy gets up and pats Ara's shoulder. "Let's see if Meg's ready for a field trip." 

"Percy, your mom is so normal."

"Thanks, I guess." 

"I see you like to study," Apollo looks at the manuals on the coffee table. "Well done."

"I hate to study," Percy snorts. "I've been guaranteed admission with a full scholarship to New Rome University, but they're still requiring me to pass all my high school courses and score well on the SAT. Can you believe that? Not to mention I have to pass the DSTOMP."

"The what?" Meg wrinkles her nose.

"An exam for Roman demigods. The Demigod Standard Test of Mad Powers," Apollo explains.

"That's what it stands for?" Percy raises a brow.

"I should know. I wrote the music and poetry analysis sections."

"I will never forgive you for that," Her brother scoffs. "Ara's doing her best to help me out, but the truth is—"

"We're both equally dumb and painfully dyslexic," Ara grabs a cookie.

"So you're really demigods? Like me?" Meg asks, shifting around the couch with barely controlled energy.

"Afraid so. My dad is the godly one—Poseidon. Ara was born an Aphrodite but now she's the daughter of the gods, which means they all get to mistreat her as much as they please."

"Gee, you really know how to sell it," Ara mutters.

"What about your parents?" Percy asks the little girl.

Meg stares at her hands. "Never knew them... much."

Percy tilts his head. "Foster home? Stepparents?" Meg turns away from him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry. I'm just asking 'cause Ara's adopted, and most demigods got similar stories."

"I'm adopted?!" Ara gasps. Percy punches her arm lightly.

Meg looks up at the girl with the same amazed gaze as before. "You are?"

"You're twelve, aren't you?" Ara smiles. "I was your age when I got adopted. If you've been alone all this time, you must be tough." Meg blushes, looking away from her. She glows a bright leaf green that pulls Ara's air out of her lungs. It's identical to Mike's.

"So how did you guys meet?" Percy asks Apollo.

Apollo breaks it down for them: he landed on a dumpster, got jumped on an alleyway, and Meg saved him. While they talk, Sally brings more and more food and Ara watches Apollo and Meg shove fistful after fistful into their mouths. "Percy," Apollo moans as he finishes his plate. "Your mom is awesome."

"I know, right?" Percy cleans his mouth messily. "So back to your story... you have to be Meg's servant now? You guys barely know each other."

"Barely is generous. Nevertheless, yes. My fate is now linked with young McCaffrey." 

"We are cooperating," Meg says with satisfaction.

Ara rubs her forehead, nursing a headache while she listens. She's not really in pain, headaches aren't really aches but a strange pulsing behind her eyes, like a light that she keeps trying to put into focus, not painful, but dizzying. It usually happens when she spends too much time remembering things—and it gets stronger whenever she tries to recall her regressions. They're getting blurrier as time goes on.

"So, just to recap," Percy repeats. "You have to be Meg's servant for...?"

"Some unknown amount of time. Probably a year. Possibly more."

"And during that time—"

"I will undoubtedly face many trials and hardships."

"Like getting me my cows," Meg pipes in.

Apollo's jaw clenches. "What those trials will be, I do not yet know. But if I suffer through them and prove I am worthy, Zeus will forgive me and allow me to become a god again. I need time to get my bearings. Once we get to Camp Half-Blood, I can consult with Chiron. I can figure out which of my godly powers remain with me in this mortal form—and if the daughter of Olympus is allowed to serve me."

Percy runs a hand through his hair. "Any idea what kind of spirits are following you?"

"Shiny blobs," Meg responds. "They were shiny and sort of... blobby."

"Those are the worst kind." Percy nods solemnly.

"I've no idea what that could be," Ara mumbles.

"It hardly matters," Apollo brushes it off. "Whatever they are, we have to flee. Once we reach camp, the magical borders will protect me."

"You and Meg, you mean," Ara raises a brow. "I'm not fully certain you didn't kidnap her so we would take pity on you."

Percy realizes something. "Apollo, if you're really mortal, like, one hundred percent mortal, can you even get in to Camp Half-Blood?"

"Please don't say that," Apollo whines. "Of course I'll get in. I have to."

"But you could get hurt in battle now... Then again, maybe monsters would ignore you because you're not important?"

"Maybe he won't taste good in the state he is," Ara examines his looks. "Barely any meat..."

"Stop! I'm sure I've retained some powers, I'm still gorgeous, for instance, if I could just get rid of this acne and lose some flab. I must have other abilities!"

Ara and Percy share a look again, then they turn to Meg. "What about you?" Percy asks. "I hear you throw a mean garbage bag. Any other skills we should know about? Summoning lightning? Making toilets explode?"

Meg grins. "That's not a power."

"Sure it is," Percy replies sweetly. "Some of the best demigods have gotten their start by blowing up toilets." Meg's soul light comes back again as she giggles. Ara smiles too, Percy has that effect on... well, pretty much everyone. Even her, though her affection has always been molded to be platonic.

"How soon can we leave?" Apollo presses, not liking how he's not the center of attention.

Percy shrugs. "Right now, I guess. If you're being followed, I'd rather have monsters on our trail than sniffing around the apartment—I just have to be back tonight, and I'm taking Ara. Got a lot of studying. The first two times I took the SAT—ugh. If it wasn't for Annabeth and Birdy helping me out—"

"Who's that?"

"Annabeth's my girlfriend and Birdy's what I call Ara." Meg's soul light dies instantly. That is probably the fastest falling out Ara's seen when it comes to Percy, even faster than Lily's.

"So take a break!" Apollo claps. "Your brain will be refreshed after an easy drive to Long Island."

"Huh," Percy squints. "There's a lazy kind of logic to that. Okay. Let's do it." Sally comes in with a badge of cookies and the boy raises his hands as if about to calm a dangerous creature. "Mom, don't freak..."

Sally's expression drops. "I hate it when you say that."

"We're just going to take these two to camp. That's all. We'll be right back."

"I think I've heard that before."

"I promise," Percy seizes Ara's hand and squeezes. "We'll be back."

"At least one of us will," Ara replies sarcastically, earning a harsh elbow on the ribs.

"All right. Be careful. It was lovely meeting you both. Please try not to die." Percy kisses his mother's cheek and tries to get a cookie. "Oh, no! Apollo and Meg can have one, but I'm keeping the rest hostage until you're back safely. And hurry, it would be a shame if Paul ate them all when he gets home."

"You hear that, guys? A batch of cookies is depending on us," Percy scowls. "If you get any of us killed on the way to camp, I am going be ticked off."

Ara hums, trying not to look too pleased about having a quest. "I'll get my Octopus."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

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[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 8

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 8: I need a cup of coffee before I can espresso my feelings.

One of the upsides to being a demon was that, sin all you like, you couldn't get addicted. Didn't have the neuro-whatsits and thingies for it. It was kind of unfair to stick the humans with that, in Crowley's opinion, but nobody had ever asked him. Aziraphale would probably say something something overcoming the body through strength of will showed the triumph of the Almighty or whatever, but Crowley knew he didn't really believe that either, not after whatever happened while he was Downstairs in the 1800s. Last it came up, Aziraphale had said something about China, got a haunted look in his eyes, and changed the subject.

Anyway. Addiction. Just because a demon couldn't get physiologically addicted to substances and/or sins, apparently didn't mean he couldn't experience something like it.

When humans don't get their morning coffee, they're irritable and feel like shit and really long for something nice and hot to drink to help them focus. When Crowley skipped a morning coffee, he was irritable and felt like shit and wanted something hot to drink that'd help him focus. It's a good thing Crowley didn't know about the headaches or fatigue, or he'd probably get those too.

He'd been in Las Vegas for four and a half hours, all of them had sucked, and all the coffee shops in a mile radius were either Starbucks brand or used Starbucks products. The infernal inspiration job he'd done on Howard Schultz had gotten him a good thumbs-up from the line supervisor in charge of the Americas, but Crowley seriously regretted it now. Maybe if he'd at least handed it off to Aziraphale, the quality of the mass-produced omnipresent too-burnt coffee would be halfway decent. Then again, probably not; you couldn't teach taste, and Schultz didn't have any.

He was desperate enough to try his luck anyway. Maybe if they dumped enough sugar and milk on it, it'd be almost drinkable.

He stood in the interminable, echoey line at the MGM behind a pair of blonde teenage girls with the words "AMERICAN EAGLE" written across their faux-vintage t-shirts in bold—jingoism extended to even trendy rich kids, apparently, weird fucking country—scrolling through the contacts in his Sony Ericsson (custom matte black with red lettering on the keypad) to decide who it would be most annoying to be on the phone with while ordering.

"—and Sammy was like, what are you gonna get, and I was like, to be honest I don't really know because, like, I never tried it before? And he said the best thing for me would be a frappy-whatever, since they're sweet."

"Sammy's a freak, dude, they've got so many calories, oh my god. I could never."

"No, what? But he said it was like, mostly milk? I thought milk was good for you."

"Maybe like with cereal but my mom said the frappés here have like two thousand calories or whatever."

"No, oh my god!"

"Right? Oh my god. So I'm getting a 'PSL,' that's what Lauren, you know, Jessica's sister that goes to UNR, that's what she gets." Crowley could nearly hear her saying the quotation marks around "PSL." He perked up, just a bit. Almost anything teenagers thought uni students did was either sinful itself or could be twisted that way for work, and he did not have a great feeling about this temptation job.

"What the heck is a PSL? I don't see it on the menu?"

"Pumpkin spice latte, it's on the big sign in the middle."

"Oooohhh, that looks good, maybe I'll get that too."

Well, now Crowley had a new coffee order. Wouldn't freak the barista out as much as "six espressos in a big cup, nothing else" and then filling the rest of the cup with sugar and half-and-half to absolutely drown the shitty coffee, but a little recon was still work. Besides, how bad could it be?

The girls ordered their coffees without incident, he ordered his coffee while obnoxiously on the phone with nobody since Aziraphale was in New Delhi for a book thing and refused to buy a cell phone, and it took a hellishly long time for the shortstaffed baristas to make the coffee, but that was all alright. It would be fine. Crowley would get his caffeine fix and everything would be alright.

The coffee was bad. He'd expected it, but still managed to be disappointed. Burnt Arabica made lukewarm by the addition of cold milk was just a bad job, which meant he had done a good job on the Schultz thing, but was currently bad news for him.

But the coffee wasn't as bad as it could be.

Pumpkin spice, it turned out, was mixed pudding spice, cinnamon and nutmeg and allspice and cloves, no vegetables involved. It made the coffee smell wonderful, and putting it on actually good coffee was something he'd have to suggest to Aziraphale when he got home.

He'd have to put some a little creativity into twisting this into a sin, but his bosses would like it, always liked a bad job paying dividends in the future. Lying to people about vegetables to sell coffee was probably something. Greed, maybe, if you squinted? Could probably twist it into a virtue, too, Heaven liked it when Aziraphale could "thwart" one of his schemes. Maybe humility. Have some burnt coffee with nice spices to remind you that God made spices and humans made bad coffee, or something.

He'd figure it out after he found the guy he needed to convince to card-count and the lady he was supposed to convince to go into politics. He wasn't sure he remembered which was who's job, honestly, but the "PSL" thing was going to be a hit both Up and Down.

Author's note: This is a period piece. It's set in 2005ish.

I don't remember if there actually was a Starbucks inside the MGM in 2005 but there was one by 2007 so I'm going with it.

American Eagle is a clothing brand that was extremely trendy at the time; I desperately wanted to have one of those shirts, but I have never ever fit into skinny-mini model clothes, and so alas, I never did.

The Sony Ericsson was a high-end phone in Europe at the time and boy does this take me back. That's what my knock-off not-Nokia looked like! I used to be able to type so quickly on that thing under my desk, you have no idea.

UNR stands for University of Nevada, Reno. I don't know why Crowley knows what that is. Maybe one of the targets is a student there.

[paintchewer]

are U fucking kidding me……… Her… my weedsmoking girlfriend(WIFE),,,,, jesus christ almighty high up in heaven i can feel you smiling down upon me today . Blessed Be amen sister

@blood-monkey lowkey got me speaking to god… i’ve been a lifelong atheist/agnostic but i cannot escape the religious imagery thinking about her man. i am the luckiest fuckin dyke out there im convinced i share my bed with an angel every night. that also smokes mad weed and plays mad jazz (hottest girl ever alert sorry i bagged her first) (#sorrynotsorry) (#dykesstaywinning) (#youwishyouwereme)

[basicsofislam]

THE FEMALE COMPANIONS OF THE PROPHET (PBUH): Part 24

ASMA BINT ABI BAKR (radhiallahu anha): Part 2

Hz. Asma was very chaste and modest.

Chastity and modesty are the best characteristics of a woman. Once, she was carrying dates; she met the Messenger of Allah on the way. There were some Companions with the Messenger of Allah. The Messenger of Allah stopped his camel and offered his sister-in-law a lift. However, Hz. Asma did not get on the camel due to her modesty. She preferred to carry the heavy burden.

Asma was an open-handed, generous person.

She rose to an exceptional level especially after the Prophet addressed her as follows:

“O Asma! Do not tight your fist; otherwise, Allah Almighty will not send His grant to you.”( Musnad, 60: 352. )

She never left anything that she did not need at home; she would always give them away to the poor. She led a plain life. She advised her children to be generous. She said to them,

“Spend your money in the way of Allah. Give sadaqah. When you do not do charity, your money will not increase. Do not think that your money will decrease when you give sadaqah.”

Asma sometimes became ill like everybody else.

However, she never complained about it to people. For, she believed that illnesses came from Allah Almighty and that they eliminated sins. Besides, how would man appreciate health and thank Allah for it if he never got ill? On the other hand, illnesses were a great means of praying to Allah Almighty. Therefore, it was nonsensical to complain about illness and to groan by saying, “Aargh! Ow!” as if opposing qadar.

Hz. Asma was conscious of these facts. She welcomed illnesses with patience and reliance on Allah. Once, she had a terrible headache. She put her hand on her head and prayed as follows relying on Allah:

“My headaches a lot but the sins that I hope Allah will forgive are more.”

This great woman of Islam was also known for her austerity.

She would always be content with what she had, thank for it and would not want more. His husband, Hz. Zubayr, was a poor person. When he got married, he had nothing but a horse. Hz. Asma did her best to help her husband to meet their needs. She would carry dates on her head from a distant date tree that the Messenger of Allah had given her from war booty. She did housework, ground the date seeds to make animal food from them and carried water from distant places. When Hz. Abu Bakr saw that his daughter got really tired, he sent her a servant. Asma became very happy and expressed her gratitude as follows:

“My father pleased me so much by sending the servant that I felt as if I was freed from slavery.”

Hz. Asma paid attention to thriftiness; she avoided unnecessary spending. For, thriftiness was ordered by Allah and it formed the basis of the peace in the family.

Asma and Zubayr led a happy life but they sometimes argued.

However, they would soon make up. They acted as if nothing had happened between them. Once, they argued about something and could not settle it. Asma went to her father to complain about her husband. Hz. Abu Bakr addressed her in the best way and gave her the following glad tiding:

“My daughter! Be patient. If a woman has a good husband and dies and if the woman does not marry anybody else after him, Allah will bring them together in Paradise.” ( Tabaqat, 8: 251. )

Asma was both a good wife and mother.

She had 8 children (5 boys, 3 girls) out of her marriage with Hz. Zubayr. She brought up her children and educated them in the best way. She brought up great Companions like Abdullah bin Zubayr and Tabiun like Urwa bin Zubayr, who served as models for Muslims and who were ready to sacrifice their lives in the way of Allah.

The worst pain for a mother is definitely to see her child die especially if the child has become a young person. In that case, the pain would double and life would be unbearable. However, it was like that for a mother who did not believe in Allah and qadar or who had a weak belief. Would a mother who believed in qadar truly and accepted everything that came from Allah whether good or bad do like that? We see the best example of it in Hz. Asma’s life that it is not so. She encouraged her son, Abdullah, who saw the Messenger of Allah and listened to his talk to die in the way of Allah; when she heard that he was martyred by being killed in a terrible way, she showed great patience. There are a great example and lesson in her act and surrendering for today’s mothers. The incident took place as follows:

Hz. Abdullah was chosen as the caliph in Makkah after the death of Yazid when many Muslims paid allegiance to him. The Muslims of Hejaz, Yemen, Iraq, Egypt, and Khorasan found him appropriate for the caliphate and paid allegiance to him.  Hz. Abdullah ruled Makkah for a few years with justice. However, Abdulmalik bin Marwan, who got hold of the Umayyad government, sent Hajjaj, who was known as “Zalim” (Cruel, Oppressor), against Abdullah in the 72nd year of the Migration. Hajjaj established a big catapult on Mount Abu Qubays and threw stones at the Kaaba.  Against this unjust and merciless act of Hajjaj’s, Hz. Abdullah defended the Kaaba heroically. However, many of his men joined Hajjaj by believing his promises. Thereupon, Hz. Abdullah went to his mother, who was 99 years old then, to consult her. He said,

“Mum! I have very few men and weapons left. It is very difficult for me to resist. The enemy promises to give me as much money as I want. What is your advice?”

Hz. Asma believed that her son was right and that his aim was not to obtain worldly possessions. Therefore, she asked him not to give up his right cause even if he faced death. She gave him the following advice:

“O, my son! If you think that you are right and that you are standing up for the Truth, then persevere and fight on as your companions were killed in this way. Think of your friends who were martyred. Do not be Banu Umayyad’s plaything. If you desire the world, it means you are a miserable wretch. In that case, you will have destroyed yourself and your men. If you say, ‘I am on the right path. My friends have become loose and I have become loose’, it does not fit chivalrous people. How long more you will live in this world? “O, my son! The best cover for you is death. I swear by Allah that a sword blow received in honor is better than living in humility and being whipped. Never accept humiliation because of fear of death in my opinion. I hope I will show patience about you.”

Hz. Abdullah had the same opinion but he wanted to find out about what his mother’s view was. Her words set his mind at rest. He kissed his mother’s hand. His mother kissed him on the forehead and sent him. Then, she opened her hands and prayed to Allah as follows:

“O, Allah! Have mercy on this noble slave of yours! Do not leave him hungry and thirsty in Madinah and Makkah streets. Grant him Your bounties in return for his righteousness to his mother. O, Allah! I surrendered my son to Your order. I show consent to Your qadar. Elevate me to the rank of those who are patient and grateful in return for the misfortunes to hit him.”

There was nothing else to do but to wait for the outcome.

Hz. Abdullah, who fought heroically, was martyred in the end.

When Hz. Asma was given this news, she was looking for a memento from the Messenger of Allah. She listened to the news of her son’s death calmly. When she found the memento she was looking for, it consoled her.

Asma had to show more patience because Hajjaj did not find it enough to martyr Abdullah; he had Abdullah’s dead body hung. Then, he stood opposite this martyr, insulted him and cut his head off. Then, he sent the head to Damascus. They swore that they would not put his dead body down unless his mother came and apologized. It was very difficult for a mother to see her son’s dead body hanging on the gallows. However, Hz. Asma showed patience and did not find it appropriate to apply to those cruel people and ask them about it.

Once, while she was passing by her son’s dead body, she said,

“Will this orator not come down from the chair yet?”

They found this sentence enough and brought him down from the gallows. Then, they buried him.

Hajjaj sent some people to call Hz. Asma many times but Hz. Asma did not go to him. Finally, Hajjaj came to her house. He said to her mockingly,

“How did you find what I did to the enemy of Allah (Abdullah)?”

Hz. Asma was Hz. Abu Bakr’s daughter and Hz. Zubayr’s wife. She would not keep silent in front of this oppressor. She gave the following answer bravely:

“You destroyed my son’s world but he destroyed your hereafter.”

This time, Hajjaj said insolently, “Forget about this munafiq!” Hz. Asma did not keep silent. She said,

“I swear by Allah that he was not a munafiq. He performed fasting a lot. He performed prayers at night a lot. He fulfilled his duties of worshipping and visited his relatives.”

Hajjaj got very angry and shouted,“Get out!” Acting upon the courage she took from her belief, Hz. Asma said,

“The Messenger of Allah said, ‘A liar and a destroyer will come out from the tribe of ath-Thaqif.’ We saw that the liar was Mukhtar ath-Thaqafi. The destroyer can be nobody but you.”

One of the hadiths narrated by Asma is as follows:

“Paradise approached me so much that if dared I would bring one of its clusters you. Hellfire approached me so much that I started to say, ‘O Lord! I am among them. I saw a woman whom a cat kept scratching. I said, ‘What is the matter?’ They said, ‘This woman imprisoned this cat until it died. She did not give it anything to eat; nor did she leave it free to find its own food.’”( Ibn Majah, Iqamatu’s-Salat: 152. )

After her son was martyred, Hz. Asma got weaker. She died in the 73rd year of the Migration when she was 100 years old.

May Allah be pleased with her!

[satninroses]

Prompt List| Satninroses

1. “I love you.” “I know.”

2. “I’m pregnant.”

3. “I want to see you in that cute dress today. Got it?” (Elvis Exclusive)

4. “This can’t go on. I can’t continue to hurt you like this.”

5. “You seem innocent enough.” “I can assure you, I’m not saint.”

6. “What the FUCK just happened?”

7. “You touch her and I’ll make sure you don’t see tomorrow.”

8. “I’m sorry that I’m not good enough.” “Yeah, you should be.” (Angst Exclusive)

9. “(Elvis/Mafia), You’re drunk!” “Yeah, and you’re pretty”

10. “Wanna have a threesome?”

11. “You’re being rough tonight. Is everything ok?” (Smut Exclusive)

13. “Wanna take a ride?”

14. “They were looking at you like… like you were some kind of eye candy!”

15. “Oh, babydoll. What happened?”

16. “Stop talking about your boyfriend while we’re having sex.” (Msi reference lolz)

17. “Please stop doing this to yourself. For me.” (Prob Elvis Exclusive)

18. “You have to believe me!” “You’re fucking psychotic.”

19. “Upstairs. Now.” “Yes Mr. Presley”

20. “Trust me doll, I’ll be making you scream my name before I even take your shirt off.”

21. “You’re not alone baby. You have me.”

22. “Do we HAVE to go to your parents house?” “-Yes. I need to reassure them that I’m not dating thin air.”

24. “You’re my baby sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

25. “What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t scare your awful date away?”

26. “Are you even listening?” “…No…”

27. “God doll. You look like an angel.”

28. “Nice to meet you. I’m Elvis Presley” “I know, I watch the movies.”

29. “There are Elvis impersonators?” “-Oh yeah” (Time Travel Exclusive)

30. “Run away with me. I’ll give you the life you want.

31. “Lord Almighty, girl.”

32. “How long have you been doing this?” (Angst Exclusive)

33. “Do you seriously believe I’d let some greaser hurt my feelings?”

34. “You look like a dream.”

35. “I’ll find the person that did this to you. I promise.”

-More to be added!

-Requests are open for PROMPTS ONLY!

| Little backstory: I’ve had this in my drafts for a little bit (obviously) because I really wanted at least 50 prompts. I knew I needed to get these done but I just didn’t know when I was going to. So, here they are!

|When I was ??? 12-14 I wrote a Supernatural book on my Wattpad! This prompt list reuses some of them as well. If see one that’s a little on the “different” side, (If you catch my drift) thats why.

|I will continue to add to this. Please be patient!

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - X

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 7.2k.

Reading Time: 29 min.

Warnings: blood drinking, brief comparison to addiction, consensual non-consent, creampie, degradation, knife play, mild fear play, moderately painful sex, PTSD (a bit), restraint, ritual sex, slut shaming, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You felt scared. While you knew that Copia wouldn’t hurt you, at least, not anything you didn’t agree to, you couldn’t help but notice your surroundings. The Devil and his bride’s cold eyes watching the scene play out, boring into your soul as if they knew your deepest, darkest secrets. The red pentagram on the floor, which stood out against the black and white chequerboard of the Basilica floor, haunting… threatening. A promise that you wouldn’t leave this sacred space without being fundamentally changed first. There was still a voice in the back of your head that asked you, what if? What if Copia taking your purity the other day turned out to not be the correct thing to do? What if the ritual worked?

Besides the fear, the pentagram, and the statue, you were surrounded by ghouls to the point where they formed a perfect circle around the ritual site. Their eyes were hidden beneath their masks, most of them anyway, but even so, you could tell they were watching you - anticipating your move like an animal drawn to the slaughter about to make her final escape attempt.

And then there was Imperator. Blonde hair pushed back into a tight bun, hazel eyes trained solely on you with a darkness to them that unsettled you. A shiver travelled down your spine as you felt the weight of her gaze on you, never relenting, never giving you respite. That same weighty book sat in her hands, open to a page where the rite would be read by her, methodically following instructions down to each dot and every crossbar.

You stopped fighting Copia to take it all in, your heart racing and your eyes darting from ghoul to ghoul until eventually, the Sister’s voice broke the silence. “Now, are we ready?”

“Yes,” Copia said, his voice just as dark as hers.

“In your positions, then.”

Copia tugged on the chain he was holding and pulled you towards him, your chests flush and your flushed face trained onto his. He removed his hand from the chain and placed both of them on your biceps, tightly holding you in place. “Are you going to behave for me, Angel?” he asked, a taunting edge to his voice that stabbed your heart.

It was the same tone he’d used with you before… before the gentility, before the touches and the pleasure… before you became more than just a plaything to him. His gaze upon you was just as cold and sadistic as it was when he first met you, too. You couldn’t help but wonder, had anything changed at all? Did he actually care about you like he seemed he did? Did he prioritise your pleasure and well-being because he was genuinely sorry for his actions? Or was he playing you - turning you into a guitar to strum alongside the beat of his rhythm to add to his hellish ensemble? Was all of this just simply a ruse to get what he wanted, your well-being be damned, the destruction of your purity a mere obstacle to overcome in his grand, evil plan?

“Let go of me!” you ordered, protesting him violently again once you’d found your courage. You began to try and shake free from his grip, but his fingers had dug into your flesh too tightly for your escape to be possible.

“I thought we’d got over this, Angel,” he taunted. “I thought you were my obedient little whore now.”

Your blood ran cold. Could he hear your thoughts?

“I will never be yours,” you hissed. “You are delusional if you think otherwise.”

“Delusional, you say?” He laughed. “Then why do you keep coming back to me, begging for more?” He leaned forward and levelled his mouth to your ear. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he continued, “You can’t resist, and we both know it.” He backed away. “We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way, Angel. Your choice.”

You managed to wriggle free of his grasp, and tried to swing your hands at his face, despite the fact that they were still tied together. Of course, you couldn’t move quick enough, and he grabbed hold of your wrists easily and pushed them down to your waist. “The hard way, then.”

He reached round to the back pocket of his jeans and pulled something out of it, bringing it quickly to your throat. You felt it, the cold, sharp metal of a switch blade you had no idea he’d brought with him. You remembered him telling you that he had to be cruel to make it believable - was this what he meant?

You gasped, your chest rising and falling quickly with the exertions of your breath. He pressed the blade into your skin, enough to knick it should you move at all. You had no choice now but to remain perfectly still, otherwise tragedy could strike. Unexpectedly, your body reacted in a different way. Heat pooled in your core as you felt the sharp edge against your throat. Your stomach flipped at the darkness in which Copia was looking at you. After already feeling him inside you, the gentility of the act from before, to now the viscousness on display, there was something inside you that felt excited for the ritual now - pleasure by force, even if it was all just an act in the end. You clenched your thighs together in hopes of stopping the wetness from spilling out of you, but you wondered if Imperator could smell it just as you knew Copia could. Would she be able to tell?

“Cardinal,” the Sister said from behind him. Your eyes flickered to her. “Are you going to play with her all day, or are we going to get on with this?”

He turned you around and pushed you into the centre of the pentagram before looking at his ghouls. “Chains,” he commanded, his voice much more authoritative than it had been before. Three ghouls came up behind you. You felt one of them undoing the chains of your wings while the other two held onto each wing to stop you from flapping away and attempting escape. You would have fought them, but with Copia’s knife still to your throat there was no way you could without getting yourself hurt. Each ghoul that had held your wings now spread them out fully. You felt two separate chains get wrapped around each one, and once they were tied, Copia lowered you to the floor so that you would be trapped there beneath him. He removed the knife from you and backed away, allowing his ghouls to take your arms and legs and spread them out too, tying you down to… well, something nearby, until you were completely trapped and at his mercy. You tried to pull at the chains, but thanks to that knife, the only opportunity to escape came and went before you had chance to truly seize it.

“She needs to be naked, Cardinal,” Imperator instructed, her eyes reading from the book. “You should have removed her robes first.”

“Well, the ritual will have to make do with her clothed,” Copia snapped. “There’s nothing to be done now.”

“You have a knife, don’t you?”

Copia stopped for a second, looking at you with unreadable eyes. “Sister, we’re in a room filled with people… her dignity… she’s already-”

“I couldn’t care less,” the Sister snapped. “We have to follow the instructions down to the last detail or the ritual won’t work. Are you trying to sabotage us, Cardinal?”

“No, but-”

“Then use that knife!”

Copia sighed and knelt down in between your legs. He reached up and gripped hold of your robe’s bodice, fingers skimming over the skin of your breasts. He dug the knife into the fabric and cut downwards, the sound of the fabric tearing filling the Basilica, echoing off the marble. You could feel the point of the blade lightly skimming over your stomach, nowhere near deep enough to draw blood but enough to remind you that he could; that he had a weapon in his hands and he was going to use it to defile you more. The thought alone caused slick to appear between your legs.

Once your robes were cut in half, Copia pushed the loose flaps off your body, exposing you to the room - something else that shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did. You were embarrassed and vulnerable, in a room filled with people who could put you in danger at a moment’s notice… but that was also precisely what made it so hot; you were totally at the mercy of the enemy, and you’d already experienced how good that felt before.

But this amount of exposure wasn’t good enough for the Sister. “Her straps, too,” she commanded, observing every detail.

Copia rolled his eyes and sliced through the fabric of your straps, pulling your completely destroyed and irreparable attire out from underneath you. Your bare back was flush against the marble flooring, causing you to whine at the cold feeling beneath you. It was that temperature change that made your nipples harden… at least, that was what you were telling yourself.

The Sister looked at her book and began to read from it. “In nomine…” Latin… she was speaking Latin. “In the name of darkness and shadow, we summon the powers of hell. Let this divine light be corrupted, and all holiness be reduced to dust…”

Copia undid his trouser buttons and released himself from his jeans… not even half hard yet. He looked at you and for the first time you could see a little panic in his eyes. If he wasn’t the one to complete this ritual, someone else would take his place. He wandered his eyes over your body, staring at your cunt in the process and biting his lip at just how wet you’d become since the start. He ran his gloved hand over your slit and gathered your slick swiping it against his tongue - apparently, that was enough to get him fully prepared.

“Abandoned sacraments, symbols of holiness, now sink into obscurity. The divinity of the angel, devoured by darkness, is soon changed into a demon under Your guiding light, oh Dark One…”

He lined himself up to your entrance and sank all the way in, and you noted that he was going slowly, to not hurt you any more than he was already. You screamed out in pain, a little more exaggerated than what you were actually feeling for the Sister’s benefit, but even so it still hurt you. Your walls stretched around his girth with no preparation, just the wetness your body had produced despite the situation.

You couldn’t help but notice Copia’s features, tightly screwed up at the feeling of being completely buried inside you. You may have been hurt, but he felt so good. His bottom lip trapped beneath his teeth to stop himself from calling out and keep his head in the moment. You knew from the last time you were joined like this, that he could so quickly lose control inside of you and right now that would be the worst possible option.

He put the knife to your throat again, and leaned down over you, keeping his mouth to your ear. “I care for you, and I need you to remember that,” he whispered. “Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

He moved back, hovering above you as he began to thrust in and out of you, a relentless pace being set at the get go. You cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure in your voice with each hit of your cervix by the head of his cock. You’d have given anything to run your fingernails over his back, the overwhelming feeling of being fucked proving too much already, and you were only at the start.

The Sister’s voice grew louder as she continued speaking, distracting you from what was going on briefly with Copia’s cock deep inside you. “Let the shadows come and corrupt the light. Let the demons come and invade the body, let your holy blood spill from your skin and make room for the darkness. Your divinity, Angel, is now reduced to nothing…” Her empty hand was raised up, and you could almost see the dark tendrils of energy swirling around her, the Hell that she brought to the mortal realm through her words and her worship alone. There was a small fear that bubbled in your stomach, your mind telling you that this was truly the end for you.

That was when you felt it, a sharp slice to your collar bone where Copia had cut into your skin, spilling your blood from beneath. His pupils were blown out as he focussed on your blood, watching it drip up your shoulder and onto the floor, merging into the red paint below you. It hurt - but you tightened.

“You l-like this, Angel?” Copia asked, hammering deep into you yet still staring at your blood. “Mmm, fuck. I thought you’d like the pain - the biggest whores do.”

“I am not a-”

“You think I can’t feel how wet you are?” He slammed into you particularly violently, making the stream of blood zigzag at the force. “How ti-ight you grip me? Fuck. Never felt someone… tighten like this when th-their blood is spilled except whores.”

You couldn’t understand how something so painful could end up feeling so good, especially when all the right parts of you were singing with pleasure now that you’d gotten used to the stretch around Copia. He bent down and ran his tongue over the blood, ingesting it after quite some time. His words were cruel, but like the physical pain, it all heightened the sensation and had you fighting back moans.

He sucked at your blood for a while before making a second cut beneath your breast, on your stomach, immediately dipping his head to suckle from that stream too. He grunted at the taste of you, but also the feeling of your cunt strangling his cock. His other hand was on your hip, keeping himself pressed flushed into you to help him fuck you as roughly as possible. The more drops of you he drank, the more intoxicated he got, too mesmerised by the blood he’d not drank for too long. He couldn’t afford to lose his mind, but there he was giving over to his base instincts, and taking from your body just as he had done before.

He sat on his knees for a moment and watched you beneath him: you looked sinful. Wings spread out majestically yet chained to the ground - a powerful beast of Heaven resorted to a mere toy for him to fuck in his unhallowed place of worship. Your breasts bounced with each of his thrusts, body jiggling with the force of him using your body as he pleased, and as his Dark Lord had ordered. Your blood, now spilling from two cuts, dripping off your body like a crimson stream that pooled and gathered within the pentagram below. He wasn’t sure if it was the effect of your blood taking hold, but he swore the red paint had a glow to it, as though the ritual was actually working. Even so, you looked delectable, perfectly edible. And he quite simply couldn’t get enough.

“This cunt,” he panted, bucking into you while saying each word. “Sathanas - feels so fucking good!”

He ran the knife between the valley of your breasts, lightly pressing the metal into your skin. He pulled it down over the expanse of your stomach, tracing it in curved lines until he reached your groin, moving over to your pubic mound. You clenched again, anticipating a nick but nothing came. What was wrong with you today? Why was all of this turning you on so much?

“Filthy slut,” he hissed.

“I-it,” you stuttered. You tried to talk but it was difficult enough to breathe, let alone vocalise what you were feeling. “It’s t-too mu-ah! Much!”

“It isn’t for me.”

He gripped tightly onto your hip and picked up the pace, knife running against your bare skin just as a threat more so than anything else. You were so helpless beneath him and he loved it, blood pumping through your veins, a small hint of fear mixing with your arousal, the sound of your heartbeat rising. The tightening of your hole as he did the most heinous shit to your body and you accepted it willingly, despite being told to fight against him in the first place. This accompanied by the taste of your blood on his tongue, and warming his own insides. He wasn’t the man he used to be, the man who took your virginity. He was barely in control of himself. He was feral, desperate - more so than you. And he couldn’t stop himself. It felt too good - you felt too good.

“You’re g-gonna think about this later, aren’t you?” he muttered, mostly to himself but directed at you. “T-Touch yourself thinking about me d-defiling you, taking any in-innocence that was left. F-Fucking hell. It’s always the good girls who f-follow the rules that like the f-filthiest f-fuck, huh? I w-wonder what else you’d let me get away with.”

The more he spoke, the darker his voice became, until eventually he was practically growling at you. He bent down, hovering his body over yours until he was face-to-face with you, and put the knife to your throat, exactly where the scars to his very first bite mark was, and thought for a moment. “My teeth, or my knife?”

“N-neither,” you moaned slightly.

“My teeth… or my fucking knife.”

“You-your teeth.”

“From the sacred lands, from the divine books, all sanctity is now turned into night. The symbols of purity are perverted, and she is transformed into a demon…”

He threw the knife away, and you watched it slide across the marble and skid to a halt right before a ghoul’s boot. Copia hissed, a sound you hadn’t heard from him before, yet that sound stopped when his fangs penetrated your neck, piercing your skin and allowing yet more blood to escape you into his mouth. He grunted, groaned, made the most sinful noises that had your core screaming to cum. The feeling of his jeans roughly hitting your clit was sure to send you over the edge eventually. You just needed the extra push. And Copia’s tongue laving over your sensitive neck to suck up the blood may have been it. Or his shirt’s fabric rubbing against your nipples every time he thrusted into you and made your body jiggle against him… you couldn’t be sure. But, you came.

At first, you didn’t anticipate it. The last time he was inside you, and all the times he’d touched you before, there was a warning before you hit your orgasm. But this time? Nothing. No build up to the sensitivity, no tingling. It was as though you’d been hit by a bus. The sharp wave of it rushing over you, making you scream out as it hit, tugging against your chains and writhing beneath Copia, who was damn near oblivious to your pleasure. “Oh, God!” you screamed, your body convulsing as much as Copia’s weight would allow.

Copia popped off your neck temporarily. “He can’t help you now, Angel.”

“Into eternal darkness, into perpetual shadows, let all light now be extinguished. Through this desecration, you, Angel, will be one step closer to demonic life!”

The familiar blackness began to creep into the edges of your vision, slowly encroaching like a gathering storm. It built up gradually, consuming the details of the room around you. The ornate symbols and dim candlelight blurred, then vanished entirely, leaving your eyes all but useless in the engulfing void.

Sounds that once filled the air around you—Copia’s laboured breathing, the sinister chants of Sister Imperator, the crackling of distant flames—began to distort. They grew hollow and echoed unnaturally, as if you were sinking into a deep abyss. Each echo stretched out longer and longer, until finally, they faded into an oppressive silence where there was nothing left to hear.

The last thing you remembered was the intense sensation of Copia’s body against yours, his movements erratic and desperate. You felt the heat and pressure of his final thrusts, the way his grip tightened possessively on your hips. The sensation of his cum flooding into your cunt was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the growing numbness spreading through your limbs.

As Copia emptied himself inside you, you sensed his dark satisfaction, heard his groans of pleasure mingling with your own fading consciousness. His last, deep thrusts seemed to drink in every part of you, his body shuddering in ecstasy.

Then, the numbness began to take over completely. It started as a gentle tingling in your extremities, quickly turning to a heavy, inescapable sensation that spread inward. Your body grew cold and distant, disconnected from your mind. The world around you dimmed, the Basilica and its cruel occupants vanishing into the impeding darkness.

Finally, your mind surrendered to the void. All thoughts, all sensations were swallowed by the blackness, and the last fleeting image was of Copia’s triumphant gaze, blurred and distant, mouth surrounded by your blood, as the world around you faded to black.

Your mind stirred into consciousness before your eyes fluttered open. For a few disorienting moments, you didn’t know where you were. The last thing you remembered was the floor of the Basilica and how cold it was. Yet, you felt a surprising warmth and comfort, despite the dull throbbing in your head and the stinging pain in your wrists and ankles where the ritual chains had rubbed against your flesh.

When you finally opened your eyes, you found yourself enveloped by the familiar confines of Copia’s bedroom. The luxurious sheets cocooned you in a soft embrace, their texture gentle against your damaged skin. Your wings were sprawled out across the entire mattress, their span emphasising the considerable size of the bed, even if half of them hung off the sides.

Your gaze travelled to the foot of the bed, where Copia was slumped in the same armchair he had occupied the first time he realised he could control you by holding your halo. He was fast asleep, his body draped over the chair like a carelessly discarded blanket. His mouth hung open slightly, and soft snores escaped from his parted lips, adding an oddly domestic soundtrack to the scene.

As you attempted to sit up, a sharp pain flared from your cuts, pulling a wince from your lips. Instinctively, you ran your hands over your body, seeking the source of the discomfort. To your surprise, you discovered that you had been dressed in a new robe. This one was black, closely resembling the habit of a Sister of Sin with the back cut out to make room for your protruding wings. Beneath the robe, you could feel the rough texture of bandages—evidence that your wounds had been tended to. Even your neck, which bore the mark of Copia’s eager bite, had been carefully dressed.

The memory of what had happened during the ritual began to flood back, and with it, a rush of emotions and physical responses. Your body reacted involuntarily to the thought of Copia’s hands on you, his mouth claiming your flesh. The sensation was visceral, stirring something deep within you.

You glanced back at Copia, his form still and peaceful in slumber, a stark contrast to the intensity of the ritual. The juxtaposition was almost jarring. Here was the man who had orchestrated your torment, now appearing as harmless as a child lost in a dream. The sight was strangely comforting, yet it did nothing to quell the tumultuous feelings roiling inside you.

You were still weak, a little too weak to get up and out of bed at that stage. But it didn’t matter, Copia’s eyes had opened not too long after yours. He blinked a few times, then his gaze focused on you, a slow, almost lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep. “How are you feeling, my dear Angel?” He straightened in his chair, stretching slightly, genuine concern evident in his eyes. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake,” he continued, his tone taking on a more fearful sound when he was met with silence from you, and not the open armed welcome he expected. “The ritual took quite a toll on you, it seems.”

“The amount of blood I lost, I thought you were extracting it from me again,” you commented, bitter and bruised from his getting carried away.

Copia chuckled softly, the sound low and almost tender. “I must admit, I did get a bit carried away,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “But you survived, didn’t you? And here you are, looking more… intriguing than ever.”

He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’re stronger than you think, Angel. Enduring everything I put you through… it only proves how resilient you are.”

“What good is resilience when you… you acted the same way you did when I first arrived. You were cruel… evil. I did not wish to see that again.”

“Angel,” he sighed. He stood up and walked to the bed, sitting on the edge. He tried to find your hand, but you pulled it under the comforter. “I told you I’d have to be. She needed to believe it.”

“You enjoyed yourself.” Your tone was accusing. You found it difficult to look him in the eye.

“So did you. You felt good, too. I could tell.”

Your eyes narrowed, a mixture of anger and something else simmering beneath the surface. “Feeling good doesn’t make it right,” you retorted, your voice trembling slightly. “It doesn’t change what you did.”

Copia’s expression softened, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly. “But in that moment, it was necessary. If Imperator had seen any weakness, any hesitation, she would have known something was amiss. Everything we’ve done would have been for nothing.”

He leaned closer, his gaze intense. “I need you to understand, Angel. This isn’t just about pleasure or pain. It’s about survival. Both yours and mine.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushing it away. “But at what cost?” you whispered.

Copia’s hand hovered over yours, hesitant, then gently rested atop the comforter covering your hand. “At whatever cost it takes to keep you safe,” he said softly. “I promise you, Angel, this isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning. And I will do whatever it takes to see us through this.”

You looked at him then, truly looked at him, and saw the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. It was a side of him you hadn’t seen before, and it stirred something within you—a fragile hope amidst the chaos. You let him take your hand this time when he searched for it.

“Just… don’t forget who I am,” you murmured, your voice almost a plea.

“Never,” Copia replied, his voice firm yet gentle. “You’re far too important to me for that.” He brought the back of your hand to his lips and kissed the soft skin.

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of your shared experiences hanging heavily in the air.

You were bed-ridden for days after, your body too tired to fight. You’d been a long time without your halo again, and you weren’t healing as quickly as you should have. Copia never pressured you into sex again, and resolved to wait for you to come to him. But you didn’t - and you weren’t sure if you ever could. Seeing him during the ritual brought back all those feelings from before, but this time more conflicting. Because you felt something for him, but you’d been reminded of the past, and that wasn’t healing as well as you thought it had either.

For the first time since you arrived, Copia was at your side through your entire recovery. It was almost as if he knew that you were questioning his actions, or perhaps worse: him. He’d arranged everything for you, any meals you may have wanted he anticipated and had one of his ghouls bring it up to you, he fluffed your pillows himself, as well as changed your wound’s dressings himself, despite the smell of your blood still lingering in the air. His touches were always soft, words always tender, and demeanour always gentle, trying to convince you that the ritual was a one off unless you asked for that kind of treatment again.

He’d warned you, you consented, and it felt obnoxiously good in the end, but you still couldn’t help the feeling of unease that washed over you. You couldn’t help the way your stomach dropped at the sight of his dark eyes staring at you, how his mouth was attached to your body, lapping up your blood like you were still his personal blood bank. Is that all you’d ever be to him? Would you always be nothing more than the pet he could take whatever he wanted from whenever he wanted it? Were you always second rate to him?

Or did he even care about you at all? Was this kindness actual kindness, or manipulation? You couldn’t make a decision, and you couldn’t ask him.

Clarity came in the form of a stroll around the Ministry’s gardens during one sunny day when you’d almost entirely recovered. It had been so long since you felt the warmth of the Sun on your skin, the smell of the flowers in bloom and the insects pollinating and going about their own business. You’d lived during the night more and more because that was Copia’s schedule, but slipping away from him and his ghouls was easy enough. You needed a break, some respite from the chaos that was the Cardinal and his life, and this was perfect.

Your mind cast itself back to when you first came out here to fly and stretch your wings, and just how much of a tragedy that whole situation became in the end. That ghoul was fine now, nary a scar on him thanks to the Ministry’s medical team and their knowledge of demonkind. It was as if nothing had happened. Yet you still felt guilty for it.

Memories began filtering through your defences of Brother Thomas, and the look in his eyes when Copia had come home early. The last time you saw him was when he climbed beneath the bed and tried to hide from the vampyre who took delight in torturing you and tormenting you. You hadn’t heard from him since. There were no letters waiting for you at the start of every night, no phone calls to be passed on… nothing. It was as if you didn’t exist to him and that thought had saddened you the most. Sure, you had Aurora now, but it wasn’t the same as your first friend. You couldn’t get attached to her in the same way as Brother Thomas.

You wondered if Brother Thomas was alive as Copia had promised… if he was in America somewhere or if Copia had lied to you. Copia’s lies grew and grew with each day, especially back then… it would have been easy to lie. You had no proof either way, and that was also a terrifying thought.

All the negativity swirling around your head would drive you insane. This distrust was something you’d only ever experienced with the Almighty, and how He’d keep secrets from you to have to do His bidding. Had you really gone from one master to another, both ends of the religious spectrum yet both using you to get to their own personal goals?

The Cardinal had seemed so kind, too… after all that had transpired. He was soft, and gentle… mostly. He respected you in a way that Heaven hadn’t. He showed you a new kind of living that you never would have experienced beyond your celestial borders. Could he really be capable of such treatment again? To have you go from how close you were to the very start of your… relationship all over again? You couldn’t fathom it. You didn’t want to.

You stayed out all day, contemplating your life and your future, only heading back when dusk had fallen and you knew the Cardinal wouldn’t be there.

Arriving back to the apartment, nothing appeared off at first. Everything looked to be in perfect order, exactly how you’d left it. You removed your shoes and wandered over to the bookshelf to find a book to read only to remember that you had a new one in the bedroom that you’d borrowed from the library. You opened the door and began to search for it with your eyes only when you saw it.

The cage that held your halo was unlocked and the door had been left open.

You froze in your space, your grip tightening on the door handle. He never would have done this purposefully, surely? This gave you too much power. You could reach in and take it… you could leave at a moment’s notice and he’d never suspect a thing until it was too late. You should walk away, go and find him and tell him that he’d left it open and that he should close it again.

Yet you walked towards the cage. Your feet were moving you of their own accord, pulling you faster and faster towards the cage until eventually you were there, as close as you could physically be without harming yourself. You could feel the heat of the hellfire emanating from the forged metal, that was how close your skin was to utter disaster.

You could just reach in and grab it.

You could just reach in and grab it.

Nothing was stopping you.

No one was there to stop you.

You reached into the cage, breaths quickening from nerves but also the power your halo held, much purer than your body now. Your hand moved down, a finger barely skimming the surface when you felt an electric current pulse into your body from the halo, not recognising you at first. Two demonic trials and an attempted third, plus months of sin. Your halo hurt you for the first time ever. Getting it into your hands was more painful than last time, but eventually you stood there, in front of the cage, halo in the palms of your hands and holding it delicately like you were about to smash it.

Copia found you like that, eyes trained on the glowing light cradled in your fingers. You looked terrified yet desperate. Your body was sweating, your chest heaving with irregular and shallow breaths. You looked like an addict resisting temptation to relapse.

“Angel?” he asked, softly.

You snapped your gaze up at him, pupils blown and eyes widened.

He stepped cautiously into the room, holding his hands out to show you he meant no harm. “Angel, come back to me,” he requested, regarding you warily.

Once you’d got used to the pure holy light again, your mind regained some clarity. Enough for you to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

“Th-the door was open,” you said. Your mouth felt dry, as though your very tastebuds were the grains of sand in the Sahara.

“I know… I did it purposefully.”

“Wh-what?”

“Angel,” he took on a more serious tone, “I’m giving you your freedom back. Entirely. No strings attached. You deserved this a long time ago, I was just a little scared. I…” he exhaled a shaky breath. “I was scared that you’d leave once you got your halo back… That you wouldn’t want to stay here… with me. And while I wouldn’t blame you for leaving, I would want you to stay. I l- care… no. If I want you to stay, I have to be honest. You shouldn’t stay just for ‘care’.

“I lo…” Hesitation. “I love you. I treated you like shit before, and I’ll pay for that for the rest of our lives, I swear, but… I don’t think I could breathe if you weren’t around any more. If I didn’t wake up next to you every night and admire your sleeping face before you woke up to catch me. If I didn’t have you pottering around here with your books and questions, and fascination with humanity. You consume all of my thoughts, every single hour of the day I’m thinking of you; wondering if you’re okay, needing to be next to you because I might die if I wasn’t.”

“Imperator,” you said, unable to fully formulate a sentence.

“If you stayed, she’d have to go,” he told you, his voice firm and resolute. “She’s plagued me for 400 years, at this point. A thorn in my side since the moment she made me turn her. I was more than happy to bury her at the right time centuries ago, but that time never came. I want you. I choose you. I’m more than happy to send her to Hell where she belongs. I won’t let her hurt you again. I can’t. We could do it together… fight her together. Rule the church together.” He held out his hand for you to take. “What do you say?”

“I-” You looked back at your halo, taking your eyes away from your pleading lover momentarily to fully digest the information. Love. You’d seen many forms of it, in religious devotion, familial, romantic, sexual, platonic. Perhaps you loved the Almighty once, your angelic colleagues, the subjects of your Lord who abade his rules and spread kindness over violence. Did you love the Cardinal? You couldn’t be sure. You were infatuated, that much you knew to be true. He was a welcome respite from the pressures of Heaven, when he was good, of course. But did you love him enough to stay in Hell on Earth with him? Did you love him enough to jeopardise everything you’d worked for in the millennia you’d been alive?

God, you’d been alive so long. Too long. And it had only been in the last year or so where you truly felt as though you’d been living. Copia was the one who gave you that gift… alongside the physical, emotional, and mental scars. He was offering you freedom - freedom with him, or freedom alone.

Was this all a lie? A desperate man bearing his soul to you to get you to stay and fulfil his wishes. All the books you’d read, all the lives you’d watched, all the love you’d witnessed, all those lives had been built on mutual respect and understanding. People cared for their partners and their partner’s minds and opinions. The relationships they had weren’t solitary… inclusive of their lover’s thoughts and feelings.

Copia didn’t include yours. That declaration of love was him telling you that you’d relieve a great burden in his mind that would make him feel so much better.

He’d kill his own mother to keep you safe.

He wanted her gone anyway! Whether you helped him or not, she’d be dead before dawn. It’s an excuse.

He loves you, you should stay.

He loves how easy you are to manipulate.

A man who manipulated wouldn’t cry like that.

He would, he - he’s crying?

You looked back up at him, hearing his breaths shaking and confirming your own thoughts by the tears forming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your mind made up.

Copia stepped to the side, freeing the doorway for you. He looked away, out the window and into the garden, using his gloves to wipe his tears away. You paid little heed to it, charging out the door and running, halo in hand and heading for the open world. As soon as you were outside, your wings stretched and you flew away. You didn’t know your destination, or what you’d find, but you needed to go.

You just kept going, tears burning your eyes and blurring your vision, forcing you to make a swift landing only a kilometre north from the Ministry.

He loved you. You left him.

It was that moment, with the distance between you, that you realised you loved him, too. That the heartbreak you were feeling wasn’t because of any betrayal you’d convinced yourself he’d done, but because you hurt him deeply. You’d cut a wound just as deep as how you felt. You had unwittingly inflicted wounds as grievous as those you nursed within yourself. It was a symphony of suffering, a duet of shattered souls, each note resonating with the raw ache of love found and lost, and lost because of you.

Perhaps if you went back, he’d forgive you. He loved you. If you told him how you felt, you could fix this. You could fix this! Hell, you could see the Ministry’s spire, you were barely off the grounds!

You spread your wings and prepared to take flight again when you felt hands on your wings. A clap of thunder sounded over you, yet no lightning followed. No rain poured from the sky.

Your heart sank. You turned to see the owner of the hands only to see… “Michael!”

“Greetings unto thee,” Michael said, a small smile on his face. “Verily, it hath been a time long in passing.”

“Let me go.” You began to struggle against the angels that held you back.

“And dost thou flee unto the shelter of Lucifer… Nay, I say unto thee, it shall not be so.”

“It has been a while, why would you concern yourself with me now?”

“For the wrath of our Lord is kindled against thee. He seeketh thy chastisement and retribution.”

“Our Lord, Michael? Or you?”

“Truth be told, I yearn for thy casting into the Abyss. Yet, only by the decree of the Almighty shall thy demise be wrought. I am but a humble servant, ready to execute the judgment for such transgression.”

You struggled more. “You could have come sooner. I was in need of a rescue when I first fell.”

“Hadst thou not the need for deliverance? Behold thee now, engulfed in sin, its stench emanating from thy defiled form. Whither hath thy purity fled?”

“I lived for myself and not for Him. I was happy.”

“Nevertheless, thou didst flee.”

“A momentary lapse. I will return.”

“Thou shalt not.”

“What?”

“Dost thou truly believe we would suffer thee to set thy foot upon that sacred ground once more, now that thy sins are laid bare? Permit thee to complete those unholy rites and become a thrall unto Satan? Place at risk all we have wrought, the Grand Design, because thou couldst not restrain thy carnal desires? Nay. Thou shalt return unto Heaven with us, and nevermore shalt thou depart.”

“You can’t do this!” you shouted, fighting against the angels harder.

You continued to fight even as the Earth got smaller and smaller beneath you until it had disappeared entirely. It was only then when you entered the Heavenly realm, you realised…

In the struggle, you’d dropped your halo.

Hello, everyone!

I just wanted to take this moment to thank you all so, so much for your support for this series. There has been so much love to come out of it and I'm so touched and honoured that you've enjoyed it enough to come back for each chapter. All your comments, art, support and everything else truly means the world to me. So thank you so much!

And thank you to the person who commissioned this fic! Thank you for your patience and for trusting me with your idea. I'm very grateful!

Here's to Kinktober!

Mel

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