#on top of the tail end of my migraine

[spockvarietyhour]

there is no feeling like after you've thrown up.

"Oh THAT was the heavy feeling! the nausea! the extreme nausea! the sweats and chills

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: in my william nylander era ❤️‍🔥 a little hurt/comfort to ease in before we get to the fun stuff (aka smut). i had so much fun writing this and i’m excited to share the upcoming stuff with you guys! hope you enjoy and let me know what you think 😊

word count: 2.5k

tw: brief dirty talk (literally one line at the end), mentions of vomiting

summary: you didn’t realize william was home with a migraine, but now that you’re home from work all you want to do is take care of him

Pablo and Banksy meet you at the door when you come in after work, tails wagging. You grin and drop to your knees, scratching behind their ears and avoiding the licks to the face.

“Hi, puppies! You’re such good puppies and I missed you,” you coo in the baby-talk voice you use with the dogs that William teases you about. The dogs bark a little, excited for all the attention you’re giving them. You plan on walking them quickly and then heading over to the arena for the game.

William’s already been gone for a few hours and you know the dogs are probably antsy for another walk.

“Give me one minute to change,” you scratch at Pablo’s head, kissing Banksy on the forehead. “And I’ll be ready to go with you.”

You give each of them another scratch between the ears and stand up, kicking off your heels and dropping your work tote to the floor. Banksy immediately noses at it, finding the granola bar you’d eaten half of on the TTC. You yelp and nudge him out of the way with your foot, reaching down to yank the wrapper from his mouth.

“Hey! Menace, these aren’t for you,” you chastise gently, reaching for the bag of dog treats on the counter and tossing one to each dog. “I don’t even know why I’m rewarding that behavior, sir, but mind your own snacks.”

Banksy looks up at you with big puppy eyes and you shake your head, muttering, “you’re just like your dad.”

Dogs settled, you head for your bedroom to change into your game clothes and sneakers. You hum the chorus to ‘Espresso’ under your breath, unbuttoning your shirt with one hand and reaching out to flip on the bedroom light with the other. The light is suddenly bright and your vision adjusts to see a lump in the middle of your bed.

A lump that groans and you shriek, hand clapping over your chest before flying up in a defensive position.

“Oh my god!” You yelp, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“S’me,” William groans from bed, sticking his hand out from the top of the covers and waving it lazily. “S’just me.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, breathless and heart still pounding erratically. “You’re supposed to be at the arena, what’s going on?”

It’s a stupid question, you realize in the next second, your boyfriend is obviously suffering from a migraine. You hit the dimmer switch on the lights and your bedroom is quickly darkened, just a soft light making it easier for you to see so you don’t crash into furniture.

William mumbles a ‘thanks’ from under the covers and your heart twinges for him. You get changed quickly, into comfortable sweats and a long sleeved shirt, since you don’t have to go to the arena now, you abandon all plans for looking cute.

“Do you need anything?” You murmur, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching a hand out to caress William’s forehead and cheek. He leans into your touch like a cat, lines furrowed on his forehead. He’s a little warm, but that’s probably because he’s buried under the thick covers. “Did you take your pill?”

He hums a faint affirmative and pokes his face out from under the covers. He looks pale and nauseous, a faint grey tinge to his cheeks. “Took ‘em, but then I might’ve puked ‘em up,” he winces.

You card your fingers through his hair softly, hoping it’s a soothing motion. “How long ago?”

“Couple of hours?” William presses his face into the pillow, eyes screwed tightly shut. “Had to leave morning skate early.”

“Why didn’t you text me?” You ask, knowing it had to have been a bad migraine for William to leave skate and miss the game. He hasn’t had a bad one in a while, so you’re sure this must’ve knocked him on his ass. “I would’ve come home and worked remote to take care of you.”

“Thought I could sleep it off,” he mumbles, scooting a little closer to you and wincing when the movement jostles his head. You close the gap between your bodies and sit cross legged on the mattress next to him, stroking his hair. You’re not sure if it’s helping, but it doesn’t seem to be hurting. “Threw up at practice, so I should’ve known it was going to be bad.”

You hum sympathetically. “Did you sleep? Eat?” You know he just has to ride out the migraines sometimes, but you want to make sure he doesn’t get dehydrated or hungry since that’ll just make it worse.

“Yeah, I got a couple of hours. And I ate some toast earlier,” he confirms, reaching out to wrap his arms around your leg and rest his head on your lap. You scratch lightly at his scalp and he groans low in the back of his throat.

“Scoot back to the pillow,” you murmur. “I’m going to get you some Gatorade and a snack.”

William whines a little like a kid, but moves back into his spot. You lean down a press a kiss to his temple.

“I’ll be right back, okay, käraste?” You murmur against his skin. William nods and you press the covers in around his torso before climbing carefully off the bed and padding out of the room. You tug the door shut behind you and corral the dogs so you can take them with you on the quick walk to the deli down the block. They won’t be getting the longer walk that they need, but something is better than nothing.

You’re back a few minutes later with the handles of the plastic bags digging into your fingers and two dogs circling your feet. They definitely need a longer walk so hopefully you can take them out again after you get William all settled. Your heart hurts to know that he’s been suffering all afternoon even though he’s an adult and has dealt with migraines for so long.

Quietly, you poke your head back into your dark bedroom, holding your breath so you don’t wake him, if he’s asleep.

“I’m awake,” he says, a faint laugh in his tone.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, I thought you might have fallen asleep,” you step inside, closing the door on the dogs so they can’t come in and bother him.

“No luck,” he laughs again and you can hear the strain in his tone. You settle everything you brought on the night table and climb up onto the bed next to William again. He presses his cheek against your outer thigh and wraps a hand around your knee. “Stay with me?”

“Of course,” you murmur. Sometimes he wants comfort, sometimes he can’t stand to be touched. You like when you get to curl up with him since it makes you feel like you’re helping a little bit. “How about some Gatorade and a little snack first? I brought the ice wrap too.”

He doesn’t put up much of a fight and struggles up into a sitting position, wincing while he moves. His face has pillow creases on it and his hair is both matted down and sticking up at the same time on one side. William looks like a cranky toddler and it’s adorable.

“Not that hungry,” he warns you, even as he accepts a banana and the icy bottle of Gatorade.

“Eat what you can,” you shrug, picking at the sandwich you’d ordered for yourself. William looks over at it with pleading eyes and you snort a laugh, holding it out for him to take a bite from the corner. “Drink the Gatorade too.”

He smiles at you around the mouthful of sandwich, chews and swallows, before gulping back half of the Gatorade in one gulp. A little bit of the color returns to his face and you’re happy to see it, offering your sandwich to him for another bite.

“Thanks, älskling,” he replies and rests his head on your shoulder, breaking off pieces of the banana to eat. You eat half the sandwich in quiet and William polishes off the banana and Gatorade.

Not hungry, your ass.

“Want the ice cap?” You ask, knowing he hates it but that it does help.

William shrugs. “No? But you’re going to make me wear it anyway, aren’t you?” He presses a kiss to your shoulder to punctuate his question.

You grin even though the room is dark. “Yes, it helps and you know it,” you retort, shifting to grab the ice cap off the night table. You gently tug it over William’s eyes, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose once it’s in place. He wrinkles that same nose at you, but his lips curl up in a softly relieved smile and his shoulders loosen and drop their tension.

“Better?” you murmur, rubbing at the back of his neck with light fingers.

He hums and shifts down on the bed, dropping his head to your lap. The wrap is cold against your leg, but William tucks his hand under his cheek and lets out a little sigh, so you run your fingers over his head and neck, keeping the tension at bay.

After a few minutes, William’s breathing slows and evens out, his head getting heavier on your lap. He’s passed out, his mouth hanging open slightly. You keep stroking the back of his neck, just to make sure he’s really asleep, fingers moving absently. William lets out a soft snore that rumbles through your thigh.

You smile to yourself and settle back against the headboard, grabbing your phone and tapping open the Kindle app. With any luck, William will get in a nice long nap, even if that means you’re stuck here for a bit.

Three hours later, when William finally stirs, stretches, and wakes up, your ass is numb and you’ve polished off the remaining half of your sandwich. You also finished the rest of the psychological thriller you’d been reading and made decent progress on a celebrity memoir.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” you murmur down at your boyfriend when he shifts and pushes the ice wrap off of his eyes.

He’s a little unfocused, but blinks a few times and smiles slowly at you. “Hey,” his voice is hoarse from sleep, but his face doesn’t have the tension from earlier. You can see that he’s more relaxed now. “How long was I out?”

“Three hours,” you take the wrap from him, now nearly hot from William’s body heat, and toss it on the night table. “Do you feel better? You look better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, rubbing both hands over his face before sitting up. You shake out your legs, the numbness already starting to fade and the pins and needles sensation trickling in. You wince and wiggle your toes, painful as the nerves all start to come back online.

William notices and frowns, “oh shit! Swing them up here,” he pats his lap, “I’ll get the blood flow circulating.”

“I’m okay,” you laugh, wiggling your legs around. They’re already feeling better. “Do you want some dinner? I know it’s a little late, but you’ve got to be hungry.”

Despite your protests, William’s grabbed your feet and dragged them onto his lap, digging his thumbs into the balls of your feet and your arches. You sigh and melt back against the pillows, twitching your toes at him when he tickles at your ankle.

“Maybe in a bit,” he concedes. “Can we take the dogs for a quick walk? I think I need some fresh air, honestly.”

It’s an easy request to agree to and a few minutes later, you’re both geared up in jackets for a walk. Banksy and Pablo freak when they realize they’re getting another walk, jumping around before settling to prance around yours and William’s legs on the stroll down the street. William laces his fingers with yours and you let your arm bump against his while you walk.

“I’m sorry your night was ruined, älskling,” William murmurs. “I know you were looking forward to hanging out with the girls.”

You wave him off. “I don’t mind. I just feel bad that you felt bad. Seeing you all laid out like that, it’s tough knowing there’s nothing I can really do to help,” you shrug, frowning slightly.

William laughs warmly, the familiar sound washing over you. “You help so much,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, stubble scratching at your skin. “The migraines suck, but I like knowing you’re there even if I’m just napping in your lap.”

“You are really cute when you’re asleep,” you tease, laughing.

“I’m really cute when I’m doing other stuff too,” he winks and you snort, nudging at his leg with your interlocked hands.

“How about you get to a point where passing under a streetlight doesn’t make you squint and wince in pain before making moves?”

William looks affronted. “I don’t need to keep my eyes open to make you come, älskling,” he grumbles, stopping in his tracks and dragging you to his chest, catching your hip with his free hand and pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss. You whimper into the kiss and William’s lips curl up in a delighted smile.

“You need to rest,” you murmur against his lips when the kiss ends. “I know you want to get back on the ice.”

Banksy barks, distracting you both for a moment. William whistles for the dogs and they come trotting over to sit at your feet. Your boyfriend grins at you, “how about we rest on the couch?”

You start the walk back to the apartment, smirking at him. “What’s your definition of rest, Mr. Nylander?”

William’s eyes twinkle under the streetlights. He still looks a little tired, but so much more alert. “Well,” he draws out the word, “I’ll sit on the couch, won’t even move since you want me to rest.”

“Mhm,” you hum, knowing there has to be more. “And where will I be?”

“Your favorite spot,” William continues, almost nonchalant, squeezing your fingers in an absent pattern, “on my lap, your perfect pussy keeping my cock warm.”

Your body heats at his words, the low tone they’re delivered in, your clit twitching a little. You blink innocently at him, fully ignoring the way your cunt throbs and the way your panties grow damp.

You pretend to think it over, humming faintly before saying, “I guess, if you promise to be very good and rest…I don’t see an issue with that arrangement.”

“I promise, älskling,” William vows, pulling you close so he can kiss the side of your neck while you’re stopped at the corner. “Won’t move an inch, I swear.”

He nips lightly at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and you know he’s certainly not going to be on his best behavior, but you can’t find it in you to mind.

Not when William’s pressing his bulge against the curve of your ass and laughing against your skin as if you’re in the bedroom and not in the middle of the Toronto sidewalk.

The light changes and he rushes you across the street, laughing loudly. You trip along behind him, giggling, glad to see him feeling better and ready to help him get all the way back to one hundred percent.

——-

[serctcnia]

To Be Soft

Content: Angst | Alcohol use | AFAB tiefling reader | She/they pronouns

Word Count: 686

A/N: I finally got around to writing this based on the prompt I wrote in December! It's also not fully fleshed out but I wanted to post it anyway because Rolan <3. Gonna just say it's writing practice.

"Come to gawk, have you? The great Rolan besotted and wallowing in his self-pity." He sat his tankard down, wine sloshing out onto the counter and his robes. "Hells!" 

She sat on the stool beside him and reached for a rag on the counter in front of her. It was damp enough to possibly get the stain out without using prestidigitation so she handed it to him. "I've not come to gawk, I've come because I'm worried about you. You've done nothing but drink and yell at the children."

Taking the rag, he dabbed at the red splotch lazily until the rag was stained red. A groan of agitation fell from his lips as he realised it was useless to try to get it out. He tossed it back across the counter and looked at the woman beside him. "Don't you start too, ___. The hero has already tried to 'make me feel better,'" He rolled his eyes, pulling a half-empty bottle of wine toward him. "My entire family is missing because of our involvement at the grove, taken to gods knows where, so I believe I will sit here and drink." 

Scooting her stool closer to his, she put her hand atop his to gently pull the bottle toward her. "I know they are, Rolan, I’m sorry. But drinking isn’t going to make them come back any quicker. It’s only going to give you a migraine in the morning.” Rolan spread his fingers across the length of the glass, allowing her fingers to slip between his. His face grew red, then he felt a swell of anger. "They were - are - my responsibility and I will do everything in my power to retrieve them from - from wherever they are. If you had used an inkling of the power you have to fight their captors, Cal and Lia may be sitting here with us. Pardon me if I don’t take advice from a washed-up sorceress such as yourself."

He jerked the bottle from her, almost topping her from her seat, and brought it to his mouth. The more he drank, the more it began to sour on his lips. Fuck. He thought. Maybe she was right. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more, I really am. I should have fought harder.” She said as she moved her seat back. “But I miss them too, you know? I know how it is to lose your family so I thought we could talk as friends.”

He drank her in as she spoke. The curvature of her horns, the colour of her eyes in the candlelight, the small imperfections of her face, and the frown that curled on her lips. A frown he had caused. He was in the presence of a goddess, yet he spoke ill of her to her face. 

“Is that what we are? Friends?” 

“What? Of course we’re friends.”

Sliding the empty wine bottle to the side, he cast his gaze to the countertop. “That’s not what I want.” He wanted more. He wanted to be able to cry upon her shoulder, feel the softness of her lips against his temple as wept. He wanted her.

Her tail drooped, the end beginning to curl around her ankle. "Oh,” She paused, attempting to mask the hurt in her voice. “Very well. I’ll leave you be then, but please drink something other than wine. If you want to - nevermind. I’ll be in my room.”

As she stood to leave, she felt an unfamiliar sensation. Rolan had unravelled her tail from her ankle and began snaking his around her own. When their tails could no longer intertwine, he tugged her closer toward him with soft, almost imperceivable, purrs. Now standing at his hip, the tip of his tail brushed against hers in small circles, then up and down. 

"Don't go," He slurred. "Please." 

Despite her rapidly beating heart, she sat down and began to mimic the motions of his tail. Small circles, hearts, up and down, repeat. She could tell it was getting to him as she watched the lines of his eyes soften. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

[hopefulomens]

Is @inktoony haii,

Why did you PUT YOUR ALEX RAMBLE IN THE TAGS, IT SO GOOD AND INTERESTING,,,,, /nf

I will be putting all of it into my tism database, ty /gen

aaa glad you liked it! and glad it was helpful lmao ^^

and honestly i was like on the edge of a migraine AND massively sleep deprived, saw your post, and just decided to ramble off the top of my head about shit i liked about his character XD ive been thinking about him a lot lately and figured i'd use the chance to ramble!

ive also been considering doing some writing for marble hornets myself, especially brian cuz i have THOUGHTS, so i hope the characterization tips (?) helped! i did notice that apparently the tail end of the tags i left got eaten by tumblr tho :') and i was too tired to remember how i finished that off. but i did write more after that

anywag! uhh im gonna tag u so u see that i responded, but feel free to ignore if u want lmao. u seem cool tho, thanks for the ask ^^

@inktoony

[vodika-vibes]

Hey!! Love you writing!! I was wondering if you could write any bardan jusik stories???

Brand New Day

Summary: A chance meeting between you and a handsome blonde Mandalorian in a skeevy bar so far from the core that you might as well be in a new galaxy, leads to something new. And exciting.

Pairing: Bardan Jusik/Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 969

Warnings: Some suggestive comments, but nothing overt

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, I've never written him before, and I'm not sure what his personality is, but I really like the confident man that I wrote here, so I hope it's accurate.

You cringe as the owner of the bar turns the music up several more notches, as if making the music louder will make it sound like anything other than nails on a chalkboard. Still, you know that asking him to turn down the music is an exercise in futility.

You might have a knack for pulling off the impossible, but some fights even you aren’t willing to fight.

The bartender places a closed bottle in front of you and you pick up up, drop some credits on the bar, and move to a table farther away from the speakers. No need to give yourself a migraine on top of the hangover that you’re going to be nursing in the morning after all.

You’re a delivery pilot.

Well.

Okay.

You’re a smuggler. Since the end of the Clone Wars you’ve taken to running odd jobs for the Hutts and other crime cartels, and, to be frank, you’re getting tired of it.

It’s only a matter of time before you say the wrong thing (you’ve never been good at holding your tongue, after all) and the cartels put a price on your head.

In truth, you’re trapped between a rock and a hard place. 

And, for the first time in your life, you wish that you had someone who would be willing to put their neck on the line to help you.

But you’ve burned just about every bridge you’ve ever had.

You pull your hair out of the tail and comb your fingers through the knots, before dropping the elastic onto the table and twisting open the bottle. You’re about to bring the bottle to your lips when the door to the bar opens, and a Mandalorian walks in.

Slowly, you lower the bottle back to the table.

You’re not the only one who’s noticed him, everyone has taken notice of the man.

You watch as he removes his helmet and a small smile lifts your lips. He’s blond and his hair is pulled into a knot at the back of his head. Even with the armor, you’re able to tell that he’s a very broad man. 

Plus, you have a thing for men in armor.

His gaze sweeps the bar, and then his gaze locks with yours. A slow smile pulls up the corner of his lips, and he keeps his gaze on you as he heads to the bar.

You watch as he gets a bottle from the bartender and drops some credits on the bar, and you watch, with a growing grin, as he crosses the bar and drops into a chair next to you.

He sets his drink on the table next to yours, and shifts so his knee is pressed against yours. He rests his elbow on the table and leans in towards you, an easy smirk on his handsome face, “Well now,” He murmurs, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a shit hole like this?”

You laugh and lean in towards him, “Shouldn’t that be my line? What’s the saying…of all of the bars in all of the galaxy—”

“Maybe, but you’re the pretty one,” He tugs off his glove and offers you his bare hand, “Bardan Skirata of Mandalore.”

You take his hand and offer him your name in turn.

Bardan flips your hand and lightly brings your knuckles to his lips, “Mesh’la,” His tone sounds reverent, as though he’s talking about a precious gem, rather than you.

Your stomach flips with flustered excitement, “Well, I’m afraid I don’t speak mando’a, Bardan. But whatever you just said sounds like a compliment.”

“Oh, it was.” Bardan releases your hand and leans back in his seat, his body still angled towards you, “If you’d like, I can compliment you in basic.” There’s amusement on his face, “Should I compare you to the stars in the skies, or would you prefer I stick with more terrestrial comparisons?”

You laugh again, “Please, I’m hardly worth all that.”

“Oh, I disagree.”

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, a small smile on your lips, “Well, I’m not going to stop you if you want to inflate my ego,”

He leans in so your faces are only inches apart, “Well, my brothers have taught me the best ways to woo a woman,”

You grin at him, “I have a proposition,”

“Oh?”

You slide your chair closer to him to lightly hook your fingers around the collar of his armor and brush your knuckles against the stubble of his jaw, “I’ve found myself in need of…skilled assistance,” You murmur as you lean in even more, “I’ve found myself in a spot of trouble, you see.”

“Hm, and what do I get out of it?”

“The pleasure of my company, and more, if you play your cards right.”

Bardan chuckles and lightly brushes his fingers against your jaw, “That’s a good start, I suppose. What else?”

“I suppose I can pay you,” You add with an explosive sigh.

He laughs, “That’ll help, I suppose.”

“Great, we can talk details—”

Bardan leans in and catches your lips in a quick kiss, though he breaks it as quickly as he starts it, “How about we talk details in the morning? I have better alcohol in my ship.” He offers, temptingly.

You hum, consideringly.

“I also have a king-size bed and manacles that’ll fit your pretty wrists.”

You grin at him and push your bottle into the middle of the table, “Well, how can I refuse that offer, will you make me breakfast in the morning too.”

“Well, I am a gentleman after all.”

“Not too much of a gentleman, I hope.” You tease.

“You’ll just have to see, won’t you,” Bardan winks at you, and then pulls on his glove and his helmet, before offering you his hand.

[jeanniebug623]

🕸️🕷️ Weaving the Web 🕷️🕸️

Chapter 19: Joint Custody

“There’s nothing to discuss, General Ardmore.” Quaritch eventually managed to find the words after a few moments of shock at not only the subject of Spider’s guardian, but Nash McCosker’s presence for it. “Spider is on the road to recovery, albeit with some bumps along the way. His primary care team have suggested some medications he can try to control the outbursts.  I have him scheduled for an E.E.T to determine his level of education. If need be, I’ll enroll him with virtual professors-” 

“Don’t waste your time.” McCosker interrupted, crossing his arms and looking back up at the recom, “That boy gave up on learning anything past the age of 12. All he cared about was being out in the forest.” 

“As his former guardian, that sounds like your fault for not enforcing his education.” Quaritch growled back. 

McCosker grit his teeth, having a hell of a lot more courage in Ardmore’s office than he did in the interview room. He retorted with a gruff raspiness, “Couldn’t get much in through that thick skull when he would pay attention.” 

“Again, sounds like your fault for failing him.” Quaritch growled again, ears pinning back. 

“No worse than his parents did.” McCosker snapped back quickly. It was like he was taking every opportunity to tell the closest thing to the dead human Quaritch what he really felt. But before Quaritch could lose his temper anymore by the quick thrash of his tail, Ardmore cleared his throat. 

“Gentlemen, this isn’t about the boy’s past.” Ardmore reasoned like she was ending a squabble between children, “Colonel Quaritch has made it abundantly clear, against my better judgement, to take Miles Socorro under his wing and it has been done in a civilized and legal manner. At least as far as the RDA’s PR department is concerned. But all that effort will be wasted if this child is deemed more of a distraction or threat to RDA operations. Including pulling top men from the field ahead of schedule because of a little panic attack.” 

Now Quaritch’s anger was directed at the general. He knew returning from the mission early was going to come back and bite him in the tail. He tempered his tone quickly before explaining, “Spider wasn’t just experiencing a panic attack, ma’am. I provided a medical update with my closing mission report. He was suffering migraines and an unexplained onset of heightened levels of paranoia. Given his condition and the lack of risk to my men, I entrusted them to finish the remaining trek home under Corporal Wainfleet.” 

Ardmore stared at him, studying him like a cell under a microscope. Quaritch knew she was looking for emotional tells...cracks in the armor. The armor Quaritch had become to protect Spider. It was clear to anyone with eyes how much the boy had come to mean to him over the last couple months. Some people said it was guilt; others said he was trying to make up for lost time. There was even a rumor that it was all just a ruse to put the boy back together enough just to break him all over again for information... 

“But again, gentlemen,” Ardmore continued, “This isn’t about the past; this is about a sixteen-year-old boy’s future and welfare. It’s clear he needs constant guardianship. Security acting as babysitters isn’t going to protect him or this base, colonel.” 

“Nash McCosker is no father to Spider.” Quaritch said affirmatively. 

“Nor are you, Miles.” Ardmore said so casually it made Quaritch want to slam his fists on her desk as quickly as he’d ripped the table from its bolts when McCosker stated his boy should have been put down. 

When did Spider become his boy? How long did it take for his views of the kid being nothing more than a pain in the ass to someone he would risk break protocol and orders for? 

“What I have determined is not a complete transition of custody, but stand-in guardianship while you’re in the field.” Ardmore said as she calmly looked from Quaritch to McCosker. “After some extensive discussions following the incident in the mess, Mr. McCosker has volunteered for this task.” 

“Why?” Quaritch couldn’t even snap his teeth shut fast enough to stop the word from coming out as he too whipped his gaze down to the man. 

“I didn’t always do right by the kid and I’m betting he, or some side of him, is just waiting to stab me in the back, but I know Miles better than anyone here.” McCosker answered lowly, keeping eye contact with the imposing colonel. 

“If you knew him better, you’d know to call him Spider.” Quaritch hissed. 

Silence fell between the two men and the general just watched. She was waiting for the next move. Quaritch knew she was moving her pieces around the board, and he was starting to get cornered. A question was burning in his mind...but he couldn’t ask it. 

“You realize he could kill you? Leave your wife a widow and your kids without their father?  And I don’t mean Spider when I say that...you gotta deal with Miles when that time comes.” the recom said quietly, backing down to avoid complete defeat on the matter. If he refused the terms, Spider would likely be taken away for good. And even if the boy didn’t end up with the poor excuse of a turncoat before him, no one else in Bridgehead would protect him. 

 “I know the risks,” McCosker said with more finality than Quaritch was expecting, “I read the incident report and saw the brain scans. I may not have always been the best for him, but I sure as hell never broke him like that either...” 

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

The fact that Quaritch did not rip off both McCosker’s AND Ardmore’s head after the meeting about Spider’s future custodial arrangements was a miracle. Maybe that Eywa fairytale Spider always talked about gave him enough control not to get himself and the boy in some seriously deep shit. Ardmore explained how it would all go down. It wouldn’t be an instantaneous transition. They had to reintroduce Spider and McCosker in a controlled setting first... 

The recom cursed under his breath when he checked his watch. It was almost 1430. He completely missed lunch with the squad and Spider’s E.E.T. Even though he knew Wainfleet would pick up where he left off, Quaritch still felt guilty for breaking the promise to the kid that he would go to the testing with him. He was relieved when he returned to the recom barracks to hear laughing and jeering. 

“Four of a kind, bitch.” Spider said smugly as he threw a poker hand down on the table with Mansk, Lopez, and Zdinarsk. Based on the laughter at Lopez’s expense and him cursing in Spanish, it was clear he’d been dethroned as the squad’s resident poker king. Even kneeling on the chair at the recom-sized table, Spider looked like he belonged there. He smirked and looked mock offended at something Lopez said, “I am not counting cards, you just suck!” 

“You speak Spanish too?” Lopez said, realizing that every quip he’d made about the punk the last few months didn’t go unheard. 

“I speak twelve languages, actually.” Spider said matter-of-factly. 

“Thank god we’re not betting against the kid...” Wainfleet grumbled as he got up from the couch when Quaritch came in. 

“He looks ok.” Quaritch observed, watching Spider start spitting out fluent Spanish and started what he assumed was a playful argument with Lopez. 

“Yea, he’s good, boss. He ate a good meal then I took him to his test. Finished it in twenty minutes!  He was bored as hell waiting for the hour timer to go off.” Wainfleet reported. 

“Twenty minutes? Did he even read the damn thing?” Quaritch said and looking to his friend, this bit of info concerning him. He thought about what McCosker said. That Spider had ‘stopped learning’ at 12. He sighed deeply and asked, “What grade do I have to put him in?” 

“Depends.” Wainfleet said with a cocky grin and pulled his tablet out of his cargo pocket, “You want him to get his bachelor’s degree or go straight for a doctorate?” 

Quaritch stared at Wainfleet, speechless at the question. It wasn’t until the corporal brought up the test results that tallied up after the timer ended. His golden eyes scanned over the results and every category was checked off as exceeds expectations or greater. Quaritch didn’t think Spider was dumb by any sense of the words, but this?! This is not what he was expecting...and he scolded himself for letting that fucker McCosker make him doubt his boy in any way. 

“Wait...” Quaritch said, ears flicking back and raising an eyebrow as he pointed at a number at the bottom of the results, “Is this accurate?” 

“Yes, sir.” Wainfleet said, knowing his friend was swelling with pride but hiding it when he confirmed. “142. That’s his IQ, boss.” 

“Kid’s a fucking genius...” Quaritch said, cold dread spreading through his body about not only the physical damage the boy suffered at the hands of the RDA but now the literal mental assault. The potential this boy had was almost destroyed by his serious lack of judgement. 

“Koaktan!” Spider’s voice rose above the others and across the room to Quaritch’s ears. He had a sly grin and held up the deck of cards. “You in? I mean, supposedly , Lopez is the best card player you got but I need to make sure by kicking all of your asses.” 

With a pat on his back as Wainfleet took back the tablet, Quaritch nodded and walked over to the table. But he couldn’t hide the surprise and admiration on his face looking at Spider. The expression made the teen’s eyes dart around before he asked, “What?” 

“Nothin’, kid...Lopez just talks too much.” the colonel said as he pulled out an empty chair, “Deal me in, smartass.” 

Spider just chuckled as he rolled his eyes and shuffled the cards. Quaritch and him would talk after he had a little more time of carefree fun. 

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

“General, I hate to agree with the man, but...the colonel is right.” McCosker said as he sat slumped in a chair in her office after Quaritch left. “That kid is going to kill me.” 

“Mr. McCosker, you’ve lived here a lot longer than most so you know everything on this planet wants to kill any one of us if given the chance. You’re just fortunate to have a controlled threat.” Ardmore said, completely unmoved by McCosker’s concern, “The colonel is right about another thing and that’s that you have a history of changing loyalties.” 

“Mistakes were made.” McCosker said quickly, as if that was enough to convince Ardmore that he felt remorse for being part of the first round of rebel scientists fifteen years prior. 

“Then consider this a chance to fix them.” Ardmore said, leaning back in her own chair and slowly rapping her fingertips on the arm of it, “Spider may not be willing to give anything up, but that doesn’t mean one of his ‘other sides’ will be as loyal.” 

[grumpygreenwitch]

A Tale of Eden 4

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

THIS IS IT.

I was very, very sick when I was writing the tail end of this thing. I’m mostly concerned with if the tone of the scenes here carries through well. It gets very violent, as the truth of things comes out. But it’s a happy ending! For the people who matter, anyway.

As always, thank you so much for coming all this way with me. If you have the spoons, I’d love a few quick answers:

1. Favorite character. 2. Favorite scene. 3. Character you love to hate. 4. Any character or scene that dragged on. 5. Anyone/Anything you’d like to see more of.

They laid there, limp and sated in the warm dark, until Marcus rolled them over and provoked an immediate and irate warble of protest from Aire. “You don’t have to move, my sprite.” The half-troll’s voice was amused. “I rather like the sight of you sprawled there in my bed.”

“Are trolls always this decadent?”

“No,” was all Marcus would say as he found a towel and scrubbed himself clean, tossing it aside and picking up a different one with which he started to rub Aire’s stomach and chest clean.

It took the mageling a moment to realize what had been said. “Oh… Oh! It’s from your other half!” He half-rose on the bed, only to be left wanting when the half-troll meandered into the bathroom, chuckling. “Liiiiight,” he whined, sprawling gracefully on the tangled bedsheets when Marcus returned and offered him a glass of water. “Have you got a whole second apartment in there?”

“No, but I do like to be prepared.” He waggled the glass at Aire, who finally gave up and snatched it. “That was not a fair rule.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, if you wanted fair you should have negotiated in advance.” When Marcus tried to slip into the bed with him, the mageling put up a foot and planted it against the bouncer’s stomach.

Marcus looked down slowly. Aire focused furiously on his water, because when the half-troll looked up the force of his predatory intent felt like heat on his skin. A hand cradled the heel of that foot. “So what keeps me,” the half-troll asked conversationally, “from kissing my way starting here,” he brought the foot up to his face and kissed silk-gentle the top of it, “and working my way up?” “Nothing,” Aire had to admit hoarsely.

“Hm.” Marcus kissed the mageling’s ankle just as delicately. “And once I get up there, and put my mouth where I really want it to be, what then?” Aire’s breath caught, and he slipped fully down onto the bed, blindly looking for a spot to set aside the glass. Marcus was up to his knee by the time he found a nightstand, and all of the leaner man’s body was tingling. In desperation, he brought up his other foot and braced it on the bouncer’s shoulder. “Marc!”

“Ah, twice the possibilities, I’m showered with gifts.” “You’re laughing at me!”

“Not at you, sprite, at your impatience.”

“Marc, you have got to lay me sometime tonight.” “You’re not prepared, sprite, and I’m not… average.” Marcus looked down at himself.

Aire’s gaze helplessly followed and a body-wide shiver took him. He threw an arm over his face in a last-ditch effort to corral his wits into place. “I’m going to strangle you.” “Kinky.”

“Ugh!” He drew the deepest breath he could, and focused on that spot within himself that guttered and tried to go out so often, but never quite managed. And then he thought, keenly focused on a particular body part: open and relax. Marcus paused. “Did you just do magic?” Aire blew out the breath he’d been holding when he felt the magic catch. “You did hear me say half-Chantry, right?” He peeked at the half-troll from under his arm.

“Yes, but that was so unlike a mage. It felt almost gentle.” “It’s small, it’s pathetic and if I try anything too big it fizzles out and leaves me with a five-day migraine. I told you. Eyesore. Why would they bother looking for me, I’m barely a mage. It probably isn’t even visible with you existing this close to me.” “Mm, what did you do?” When Aire didn’t answer, instead going brightly scarlet in the dark, Marcus put down the legs he’d been cherishing and knelt between them, prowling slowly but surely closer. “Aire, what did you do?” “Stop that. Go away.” Groping about Aire found a pillow and threw it at Marc.

The half-troll snatched it out of mid-air, since his sprite couldn’t see him do so, and kissed the thighs he’d grown dangerously close to. “What did you do?”

A frustrated, high-pitched sound of protest answered him, and then finally, grudgingly, “Prepared myself.” Marc burst out laughing. He crawled his way past every sinfully tempting inch of his sprite, pulled on the lip that Aire was chewing to death, and kissed him slowly. “Is this old troll too slow for you?” “Yes! No! Ugh. Lavish me with attention some other time!” Aire leaned up, grabbed Marcus’ head roughly and kissed that smiling, generous mouth. “This is entirely your fault, you’ve got me in a froth.” “I’m so sorry,” the half-troll demurred. “Would it help if I let you control the pace?” “Yes!” “And will you promise not to hurt yourself?” When the question got him a scandalized exclamation he knelt back and put both his hands up in surrender. “Unduly!”

Aire tackled him into the bed and bit him, hard and everywhere, until the half-troll’s last roar left the windows shaking and his lover sprawled on his chest, laughing breathlessly. “Horrible man.” “The worst,” Marcus agreed roughly, then snatched up a ragged breath when his sprite fully straddled him.

“Are your neighbors going to hate you?” “Tenants. Behind excellent privacy protections.” “Do you own the whole building? “Yes. It’s the only way to get a structure fully protected with Fairy magic.” He reached up to brush that dangerous mouth. “Still caring for you, my sprite.”

Aire leaned helplessly into that hand, caught it in both of his and kissed the cup of it. “Yes trade.” Marcus went very still. “Aire, you don’t have to -” “No, but I want to. For you, I want to.” Then he laughed, breathlessly, as in disbelief at what he’d done, clinging to that hand and pressing it to his chest. Suddenly his laughter turned far more free and merry. “And you’re poking me in the butt! Give me that lube, where did it go?”

***

Aire’s second mistake was to accept happiness.

He still tried to sneak into Eden, but the security staff knew him at that point, and they merely waved him on. Which was a terrible blow to his dignity and his sense of being so very good at sneaking, but it still didn’t stop him. Those nights he spent dancing, lost in the ebb and flow of the music and the crowd, a single beat of that immense heart. Sometimes he’d see a bouncer come by, sometimes it’d be Marcus, and he’d scurry off to get himself a club soda, to let the power he couldn’t feel seething inside him settle down until the telltales stopped jumping. Before last call it was always Marcus, and Aire would go home with the Head of Security.

Sometimes he simply showed up at the half-troll’s place just before dawn, crawling into bed and into the warmth of those arms, the safety of that touch. Marcus never asked him to stay, there was always a pass to Eden hidden in a pocket of Aire’s clothing, but every time, every chance, he made sure the mageling knew he was missed when he was gone.

Aire could feel his time running out. Next time, he always told himself. Next time I’ll tell him I’m leaving. Next time I’ll tell him I can’t stay.

But the very thought of “next time” always shattered him and he couldn’t go through with it. He couldn’t think of doing that to the half-troll, to watch his heart break all over again, after so many unkind, indifferent lovers. Aire didn’t want to be like that.

Marcus had left Aire in their bed that evening, sleep-tousled, covered in hickies and wrapped in one of the bouncer’s many custom-fitted jackets, with a pointed reminder to eat something, he was keeping normal food in the place just for his sprite, some of it should be eaten before it went bad. Aire had slept, showered, eaten anything in the kitchen that wasn’t nailed down.

Then he’d summoned up what little magic he could use, and brought his paints and glitters out of the ether.

He was beginning to think that might have been the one act that had betrayed him.

The mageling had made ready for the club by hiding all the marks the horribly mouthy monster he adored had left on him, well aware that it was only going to spur Marcus into putting more of them on his skin. When he stepped out into the night, the winter’s dry chill make him huddle even more deeply into the borrowed/stolen jacket, breathing deeply of the night air and the half-troll’s lingering scent, already coming up with a dozen excuses why “next time” could be “next next time”. He shimmied in simple, unabashed delight on the mostly empty sidewalk, drawing a grin from the couple coming up his way.

That moment of whimsy saved his life.

The shot that should have cut him in half blasted instead through his left side,  just below the last of his ribs. Aire staggered forward at the sheer force of it. He hadn’t even heard it coming, and for a moment he didn’t hear anything after, only the faint whisper of the breeze.

The world came back to him in swift, split-second snapshots.

The sound of wings, high above.

The scream of the woman who’d just smiled at him.

The scent of his blood, pouring out of him.

Aire turned the stagger into a scrabble, the scrabble into a run, the run into a full-out sprint. They’d found him. How?! How many?! He was three blocks from Eden and the Sanctuary of the Small.

The small hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight, and he leapt up as high as he could. Three javelins made of light and celestial fire slammed past him and into the street. A car, coming straight at them, swerved wildly, brakes screeching; the far-most sliced a corner off and the vehicle went careening out of control.

They’d been going for his knees. They’d done that before. The landing jarred the wound on Aire’s side into blinding agony that nearly sent him falling once again, but he gritted his teeth. And ran.

Three blocks.

Aire cut a corner as something large and heavy landed behind him, and waved his hand behind him, summoning up the only magic he knew for a fact would answer his call. Shadows, smog, thin threads of fog and smoke rose from the ground and flowed off the walls, hiding him. “He went this way!” A woman’s voice shouted.

Crap!

Aire twisted around a dumpster, charging into a street far too full of people for his tastes; he was well aware that they didn’t care about collateral damage. They just wanted his head on a pike and his heart crushed underfoot. And now they could track his magic, which they’d never been able to do before. Was the Chantry helping them? The Chantry never helped anyone!

He ignored all his useless panicked thoughts, knowing them exactly for that. He ignored the blazing agony, the feel of his blood flooding out of him and soaking the hoodie he’d been wearing under Marcus’ jacket. He sprinted into traffic and was across before the drivers could even register him.

Two blocks.

Somewhere behind cars screeched to a halt and drivers leaned angrily on their horns. “Don’t make them angry don’t make them angry they don’t care don’t make them angry -” A fireball went off behind him, and screaming filled the night. Aire whimpered, ducked his head, and tried to force just a little more speed out of his body, but it was quickly rousing to the fact that there was a very large hole on it, gushing blood. He burst out into the street -

- and directly into a Celestial blade.

The sword went through his shoulder, low enough to mind the bones, high enough to miss the blood vessels. As strikes went, Aire couldn’t have been luckier. It still knocked the breath right out of him, his ears filled with the terrible, staccato drum of his racing heart, with the chaos-filled tidal surge of his blood, with the single, ineffable note that was his life.

The angel was tall, blond, blue-eyed, exactly as mortals expected him to be these days. He was also powerfully muscular, a warrior through and through, and he looked just as surprised to have skewered Aire as the mageling looked to have been skewered. He opened his mouth to call out for the rest of the hunting party -

Aire’s instincts slammed back into overdrive. He grabbed the angel’s face and focused, as hard as he could on a single word, a single concept, one reality.

Soap!

The angel tried to shout, and a mass of bubbles came out of his mouth. He looked, if anything, even more disconcerted. Aire shoved him away and the Celestial staggered back, bubbles and foam pouring out of his mouth, his ears, his nose. By the time Aire stumbled across the street, he’d gone down to  one knee and they were coming out of his eyes.

One block.

Aire dove into an alley, crashed into a wall with his bad shoulder and nearly passed out. He hardly recognized the thin, frightened little animal wail as his own when it came out of his mouth.

But Aire had also spent most of his adult life running, hiding and, above all, surviving. He staggered upright. Behind him someone cried out, “Ruachel!” Aire ran.

He crashed through the crowd at Eden’s entrance, staggered past their offended sounds. The bouncers might have caught him if he’d been gunning for the door, but instead he darted into the security booth and collapsed in a corner. “Marcus!” “What in the bright green leaves -!” Someone exclaimed. A hand reached out for him and he batted it away. “Marcus, I want Marcus!”

“Skuld, I smell blood.” A male’s voice pointed out. She had turned away and was speaking into her mike, lifting a finger to buy herself some time. The man speaking crouched by Aire. “I just want to see what’s wrong, kid.” Aire hissed at him, but his strength was ebbing away as quickly as the blood was running out of him. Only the voluminous folds of Marcus’ jacket were keeping his secret still, and he could feel the satin lining growing heavy and damp. “Marcus,” he pleaded. “He’s coming,” the man assured him, reaching for the jacket, and Aire didn’t have the strength to hold him back anymore. “I just wanna -”

In the shocked silence that descended upon them, the only sounds were those of the panicked, confused guests waiting at the door. Marcus charged in like a storm. “Where is -” “Oh, crap,” the other man said. Skuld was staring in disbelief at the blood spilling out of Aire, rich living crimson mingled with the most beautiful gold ichor. The young immortal’s entire chest was bathed in those two colors. “He’s a fucking Nephilim?!”

Marcus exploded into motion, crouching by Aire and dragging his lover into his arm. “You know that secret I gave you to keep,” Aire croaked. “That was the cheap half.” “Shh, don’t talk, Aire.” “Marcus -” “Skuld, close the doors. No one comes in.” “Marcus, don’t do this,” she gaped at him. “No one comes in,” he barked at his people, his voice clipping out every word. “Anyone who wants to, leaves, tab or no tab.” “Holy Moon Mother, Marcus, why -” “Because they’re probably inside already and they’re not gonna give a fuck about collateral damage!” he snapped at the other man. “Aire, hold on to me.” “Marc, I’m so tired.” “Hold onto me, my sprite.” The Head of Security charged out and into the staff elevator. “Marc, don’t do this!” Skuld called out one last despairing time, well aware her boss was absolutely going to put his life on the line for a scrawny Nephilim. The elevator roared upward when Marcus inputted his emergency code, and Aire let out a high, distressed sound before passing out altogether in the half-troll’s arms. Marcus dug off one of his gloves with his teeth and curled that hand around his sprite’s cheek. “Hold on, Aire.” The door opened in front of an angel.

To say the bird stuck out like a sore thumb was an understatement. He wore the flimsy white veils that were mandatory attire in the Ivory Citadel, a painfully white tunic and a long loincloth, golden boots. He was wearing no armor; apparently one measly Nephilim didn’t merit it. Blue eyes went very wide at the sight of a man both larger and angrier than him, and he lunged for his weapon.

Someone nearby screamed.

Marcus lunged forward and grabbed the angel by the throat. Blood, gold and holy and living, splattered out when bronze fingers sank into the angel’s flesh as if it were tissue paper. The bird tried to warp reality around him instinctively, to take on a shape that Marcus couldn’t harm. He looked even more disconcerted when he realized he couldn’t. Marcus yanked him close and took a massive bite out of his shoulder, tunic and all. Golden blood went flying, the angel howled in agony and the half-troll shoved him away into a planter. Both Celestial and plant went down. More people screamed and Marcus ran. He spat out the bit of tunic. He didn’t spit out the flesh.

He could see them then, converging on him through the many levels of Eden, trying to cut him off. He was almost to the Council elevator when a hand clutched at Aire’s head and his sprite cried out. Marcus roared, bent down, and bit right through the wrist of that hand. The doors of the elevator closed between him and their pursuers, and he gently pried that hand off Aire’s head, throwing it casually aside. “My sprite,” he murmured, nuzzling the Nephilim’s forehead, terrified at how cool and pale he was. “My troll,” Aire breathed out, barely audible.

The elevator doors open to the Council chamber. It was a generous loft space, dominated on one side by the immense table where the Council sat if all of their members were in attendance. At the moment there was only one chair occupied, though the minotaur’s paperwork was threatening to devour all the beautifully polished wood. Behind him a tall, stately man in a dark charcoal suit was staring at the city, beautifully sprawled out under a clear night sky.

There was a sitting area to one side, elegantly comfortable couches and chaise longes; there was a kitchen, barely visible past the sitting area, and a wall full of ledgers and archives.

Marcus locked the elevator, raced out, and crashed down on one knee before the step that led up to that archive area. “Before the Council of Eden I invoke the Sanctuary of the Small.”

A woman had been lounging indolently before the shelves, reading from a ledger. Like most Fae, she was painfully beautiful, all the more when surrounded by immortals and inhumans that didn’t need her to cloak herself in glamour. She was all sharp angles and bejeweled colors, wearing a pant-suit that well served those hues. She took one look at Aire’s twice-colored blood and gasped as if Marcus had personally slapped her. “Absolutely not! Eden is not meant to serve as shield to every mongrel and half-breed that comes through -” She’d been stalking toward Marcus and Aire, and the half-troll’s eyes had flashed the brightest, most violent crimson as she spoke, a snarl building up in his chest. Before anything truly unbecoming could happen, the man at the window was suddenly there between them, his back to Marcus, facing the Fey woman.

“I’m sure the Princess is merely off-guard.” Aire shivered. The man’s voice was even deeper than Marcus’, a profound and elegant true bass. “And she of course knows that it is never wise to come between a dragon and what he hoards.”

She flushed a deep, deep silver.

“I was there.” The minotaur had roused from his chair. He was the largest creature in the room by far, and yet he was very small for a minos, his voice a pleasantly accented, Iberian tenor. Solid black except for the tip of his horns and the first vestiges of age around his muzzle, at a rough ten feet tall he was a living statue made of polished black basalt. “I was there when the Council was given ownership of Eden. We had hardly finished washing the blood off the floors and walls when the oath was taken for the Sanctuary of the Small, to truly make Eden neutral ground under the Thirteen Accords. Does Princess Eylygh think we should cast that oath aside now as an… inconvenience?”

What color had seeped into the Princess’ imperious features vanished in a split second, leaving her as pale as ice. “Perhaps I spoke too quickly, out of surprise,” she admitted.

Marcus’ arms tightened around the Nephilim. The man looked over his shoulder at the Head of Security. “My son, are you alright?” “Yes, sir.” The light of fury in Marcus’ eyes was quickly dulling, and he dipped his head respectfully. The motion made him realize why his sire was asking. “Oh. No, it’s not my blood.” “It’s mine,” Aire croaked. “And the two guys he bit.” A tousled head suddenly popped up from one of the couches. “Nick?”

Aire was beginning to believe, against all hope, that things would be alright. He wouldn’t have been able to be surprised if the Chantry itself had come down from the heavens as one and requested his presence as their Magister. “Hello, uncle.”

“Kid!” The man that leapt over the couch was tall and lean and, to put it politely, a hobo. He wore a faded tee and worn blue jeans, battered curb-stompers and a longcoat that had absolutely seen better days. He raked his hands through his black, curling hair and rubbed his face as he rushed all the way down to kneel next to Marcus and Aire. “Nicael, what happened!” “It’s Aire!” the Nephilim protested vaguely. “Right, right, sorry, my bad, Aire. What happened?”

“Um. I repeated myself.” “Aire,” Marcus protested. “Shut up. I chose to. I did it. It was stupid and I’d do it again for you.” Aire’s uncle looked sharply at Marcus at that. “They’ve been on me since I walked out onto the street.”

Marcus was having trouble thinking. The man Aire called uncle wasn’t just beautiful; his was the beauty, the elegance, the raw appeal that broke hearts and minds and souls. Marcus had seen him on the floor, but always from afar; he’d never been so close to the Morningstar. The scent of drought and burning strawberry fields gave him the strength he needed to look away, clutching his sprite tightly. “Bring him over here, set him down. I take it they’re still here?” Aire’s uncle led the way to the couch where he’d been sleeping. “Yes, sir,” Marcus replied as he did so. “I told security to close the doors. No one in, everyone out.” The Princess gasped, but before she could speak he forged on. “I’ll pay any tab that goes unpaid at the end of the night.”

“Ah, what good is a hoard if one cannot use it as a bludgeon every now and again,” Marcus’ father mused, humor in his deep voice.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you still owe me ten bucks, Balthasar.” “I am waiting for an appeal on the result of our bet.” “Appeal from who?!” Lucifer had gently opened the oversized jacket and Aire’s hoodie, his hands sure and steady as he examined the Nephilim’s injuries. “The First bloody Egg?” Aire moaned in pain and his uncle’s full attention came back to him. “Sorry, kid. Alright, here’s the thing. Aire, are you listening?” To a faint nod, he went on. “This is way too bad for a walking solution. So I’m gonna put you deep into a healing sleep, alright?” Not missing how Aire’s hand convulsively clutched Marcus’, or how the bouncer’s entire body tightened up defensively, he added, “and your friend – Balt, what’s your kid’s name?”

“Marcus, sir,” Marcus replied instead. “Okay. Your friend Marcus and Milo,” he looked up, got a nod from the minotaur, “are gonna stay here with you while I go down and deal with this.” “I’m sorry, uncle,” Aire protested exhaustedly as friendly hands helped him lie down. Two people had ever, in his short lifetime, cared for him, truly cared, and now he’d dragged a bloody fight to both of them. “No, no, Aire.” Lucifer caught the Nephilim’s face in his calloused hands. “Don’t you be sorry for wanting a life, kid. Life is will, and will is choice, and you have a right to all three of them. This has been coming a long time. I promise, you’ll be safe by tomorrow.” Gently, so gently, he leaned close and kissed the Nephilim’s forehead. Aire went limp and they helped him lie down, the Morningstar shrugging off his coat to cover him. “It shouldn’t come to it,” he told Milo and Marcus, “but just in case.” The minotaur had gone back to the table. From the far side of his chair he picked up a tremendous, spiked mace, the thorns of it blackened with age and violence. He wielded it like it was a feather. “Go. This is not how I hoped to solve this issue, not at the cost of another youngling’s life. But solve it you must.”

“I think I shall be coming with you, Light,” Balthasar said casually as he followed the Morningstar into the elevator. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you at work. I would not want to miss it.”

Princess Eylygh slipped into the elevator with them. “I am here to represent the interests of my people, nothing else,” she told the two males tartly, typing furiously into her phone and distractedly clothing herself into an elfin seeming.

Lucifer caught sight of the angel’s severed hand off to one side and picked it up, giving Balthasar a look. “Nice.” “That’s not me,” the dragon readily admitted. “That’s his mother’s blood.” “Neat all the same.” The doors opened onto a scene of barely controlled chaos. Before the elevator, practically all of Eden’s security had come together, standing snarling, growling, or quietly seething before the Ivory Citadel’s hunting party. Beyond them both, the rest of the staff was quietly urging the guests to leave, just in case. Some of them were taking their advice. Most of them weren’t. The level of noise was phenomenal. “Balt.” “Of course.” The dragon took a deep breath as Lucifer and Eylygh both covered their ears. “QUIET!”

The bellow rattled every window, cracked a number of glass panes, sent the bouncers directly before Balthasar staggering and caused the angels to skid back despite their best efforts.

The silence that followed was absolute. It felt as if even the decorative fountains had stopped flowing for a moment. “Thanks, Balt.”

“Anytime.” Lucifer stepped forward, offering a hand to the seven-foot tall woman who’d been nearly bowled over by the dragon. “Sorry, Skuld,” he said quietly. “No problem, sir,” she replied, her eyes full of lightning and her attention fully on the angels, even as she shook her head to clear it.

There were seven of them, six of them young, and Lucifer was unsurprised to find a familiar face leading the charge. “Micah.” “Samail,” she hissed out between gritted teeth. Of the seven angels present, she alone wore armor, a silvery chestplate engraved with the Words in her petalon, her every name and portfolio, everything she was capable of doing or denying. She was a short, stocky woman with nearly white hair cut in a curling bob, pale blue eyes and the white linen clothing typical of the Ivory Citadel. It should have made her look washed out, pale; instead she looked as deadly as the sword in her hand.

“Oh, we’re opening up the talks with name-calling, I see.” The Morningstar looked wholly unfazed. His eyes roamed over the Celestial hunting party until he found who he was looking for. “Oi, Stumpy!” When the angel looked up, he threw the hand at her. By default she had to let go of her sword to catch the limb, pressing it to her bleeding stump, the weapon dissipating into thin air. “That’s yours, I hear.”

“Give us the mongrel, and there will be no need of violence.” “Mongrel.” Lucifer popped his lips. “Gosh, I’ve never liked that word.” He leaned back. “No,” he replied casually. Micah laughed in disbelief. “You cannot expect this place will protect him. This is a den of debauchery, a hole in the ground. You little playground for decadence and vice cannot, will not, survive the full fury of the Ivory Citadel.” “True,” Lucifer admitted readily. Out of the corner of one eye he could see that Eylygh was profoundly incensed: the Princess was terribly protective of their little hole in the ground. The Faerie Kingdoms have been paid handsomely to make Eden all but impregnable, and they were all thoroughly proud of what they’d achieved. He began to walk around the hunting party; they weren’t stupid, they turned with him, the deadliest predator in the room. “See, that’s not your problem, Micah. Your problem’s what it’s always been: lack of foresight.” He found the angel who was bleeding profusely from a shoulder and slapped his hand lightly on the wound. They all jumped,  but by the time the Celestial howled in pain and realized his wound had been cauterized shut, the Morningstar had moved on.

“I am not interested in your theatrics, Betrayer. I want the Nephilim.” Lucifer stopped to pointedly sniff at another angel, who looked as if he’d been half-soaked and badly hung to dry, and after a moment of confusion came back before her. “And you can’t have him. The funny thing is, you still think this is between you and Eden. This is why you brought a half-flight, unarmored. For show. To brag.” He was leaning closer and closer until he was nose to nose with the shorter angel. “To fucking bully. You think because Sariel got away with it once, that you could too. And when things didn’t go your way, you’re still too ferociously stupid to know to quit when you’re ahead.” “Our Creator has commanded -” “Did they? Well, goodness, why didn’t anyone tell me the Creator was back from whatever navel-gazing coma has devoured Them for the past few millennia?”

The angels behind Micah shifted restlessly, and the first crack showed in that raging, firm facade. Lucifer smiled. “You didn’t tell them.” “I speak for the Creator, I am Their voice. I command -” “You guess, Micah. And your guesses are shit most of the time. You pulled off some good ones when you were still listening to the rest of the family, but since you stopped, oh, I could tell. I’d like to remind you that since our Creator went down Their rabbit hole, They’ve come up once.” He lifted a finger. “Once. For me.”

“How dare you -” “You came after the kid,” Lucifer snarled, and suddenly wings as black as those of the hunting party’s were white unfurled behind him, gleaming with hellfire. “I told you lot to lay off and you still came after the kid.” “You do not command -” “No, but I sure do kick ass. So here’s the deal, Micah. You back off. Or right here, right now. I shout the truth of your little lie about the Creator to the entire club. Sing it right into their heads like a fucking tumor. I’m sure you can kill your birds. They look young and dumb.” The young and dumb birds shifted uncertainly, but Lucifer paid them no mind. “I’m sure you can kill a few of the beings here. But you can’t kill them all. By morning the truth will be out. And if you persist I, the Morningstar, the First Light, Lucifer, the Crown of Hell, will count your stupidity the first, last and only necessary sign of the Apocalyse.” The room had not been silent enough before.

“You would not do this for a single half-breed.” “General Beliale,” Lucifer called out over the deathly stillness. “How stand my armies?” The man that rose from a table next to one of the bars was human, at first. As he rose he put on bulk, and by the time he was standing he was twelve feet in every direction if he was an inch, his hide the color of fresh spilled blood, his downward curling horns a monstrous helmet. His eyes shone with hellfire, and his hands were curled into easy fists. He was clad in tarnished armor that shifted and swirled with madness and bloodlust. “My Prince’s armies stand at the ready,” Hell’s First General assured Lucifer with striking calm. Once a man whose only sin had been to love the art and science of war to the exception of everything else in life, he’d found himself cast out of every heaven, until the Morningstar and Hell had given him the only thing he wanted: a chance to prove himself.

Somewhere in the crowd a half dozen voices snarled eagerly. Something cackled like a hyena on the hunt.

“You would not do this.” Micah had gone pale, her eyes full of disbelief. “You don’t know that you’d win.” “If I may,” Balthasar’s resonant bass said. “We like this world as it is. We like its many kinds of wealth, fleeting, novel, so very fun to collect and hoard. Some fade, some last.” He shrugged elegantly. “More room in one’s hoard for the next bit of treasure. “What we don’t like is what the Ivory Citadel plans to do to this world if you win this conflict. Never mind that we cherish our half-bloods, they have drawn us back from extinction too many times to count; a world where everyone is without purpose but worship of a god that no longer even answers…” He shook his head as if Micah were an errant child. “This is not your affair, dragon.” “I am making it my affair,” Balthasar replied. “And by default my people’s.” His voice thrummed, though not quite as deafeningly as before, through the entirety of Eden. “The Claw of all dragons stands with the Crown of Hell.”

Eylygh scoffed into the stunned silence that followed that proclamation, still typing into her phone. “I’m not so dramatic as my counterparts in the Council. I must look to my people’s safety and benefit first. If you chose to start this long-delayed little conflict of yours, we don’t care. In ten years or ten thousand, there will be another world, another race for us to play with.” She finally looked up at that, her golden eyes unfathomable. “I will not risk my people in such a conflict. We will leave for the Outer Places and wait out your squabble there. And we will take all of our protections upon your precious mortals with us.” She turned the phone for Micah to examine. “All I have to do is press a button, and every nightmare that’s been waiting slavering on the Other Side is free. Isn’t mortal technology just wonderful?” Micah was a marble statue. “You would not.” “Why not? What do we care?” Eylygh scoffed openly. “You have such a weird obsession with changelings, angel. Toss them out and stop worrying about them. They live and die well enough on their own.”

In the quiet that followed, Lucifer saw Micah���s eyes dancing as she struggled to find a way out of the trap. “We.like.this.world.” The words were each a whisper, breaking the silence and the walls between realities as they popped. A creature, a being made solely of bubbles had chosen to speak from the crowd, and every word was a burst, their timing not quite perfect. Those directly around It, robe-clad figures with gaunt features and empty eyes, didn’t seem fazed by It at all. Everyone else staggered away, hands clapped to their ears. “Challenged.us.it.has. Clever.prey.its.people.are. Persist.must.it.” “It must persist,” a dozen reverent voices chorused all around the being. “Crown.with.Hell’s.we.stand.” Lucifer was digging at his ear to try and get the ringing inside it to stop. Balthasar shook his head minutely. If Eylygh was affected, she refused to show it. “Thanks, man.” A ripple of color ran through the bubbles.

“You know,” an all too human voice drawled from one of the bar counters. “Mother’s never had a problem with Nephilim.”

The stranger had been sitting at one of the bar counters, full of rubberneckers and eavesdroppers. He’d turned around to speak, and before the words had finished coming out the counter was empty.

Nothing about him seemed unusual; he was a rugged creature, with his own kind of harsh beauty, dressed as casually as the Morningstar. He slid over the milkshake he’d been enjoying, and pinned a very level gaze on Micah. “Rogue angels, though. Those, Mother minds. Those she minds very much.” “We are sane, Gideonite,” Micah ground out, even though her hunting party had shifted a silent half-step away from the man.

“Are you? You keep picking a fight with kids that, far as I can tell, have done nothing to you except exist. What part of that’s sane?” “End this quickly, Lucifer,” Eylygh suddenly murmured. “Or someone else might end it for us.” She tipped her chin to lead his eyes, and the Fallen Angel caught his breath. There they stood in serried, luminescent ranks. Eden tended to a healthy undead population because one, the club didn’t mind what they were as long as they paid and behaved, and two, the emotions that seethed through the venue every night were… mild. Like a refreshing drink after a hot day out to undead sensitivities.

In the maelstrom of emotion the angelic hunting party and their violence had provoked, and the ensuing, barely controlled anticipation as Lucifer rallied his allies, that mild drink had become a flooding river, summoning them out en masse from their carefully weather- and light-controlled environments. They didn’t move, they didn’t breathe, they were simply waiting for the dam to break, for some unspoken permission to be given. Micah and her birds didn’t even know they were there, at their back, across a space quickly emptying of club-goers.

And that was the moment Micah chose to make a mistake.

Reality barely rippling, she tried to surge past the Morningstar by going around his presence in the club, in that world.

The hand that snatched her back by the throat was black-taloned and impossibly strong. “Let go.” She swung her sword at him; he caught it in his other hand and flung it aside like a toy.

“That was stupid, Mickey.” He reeled her back in place before him, her wings flapping helplessly until a wave of his hand dismissed them, making her gasp. “Let go of me!” Reality faltered and rippled as she tried to break his grip in that world, those nearby, anywhere. She couldn’t. “Pay attention, Micael.” Lucifer tightened his grip until she could barely breathe, and then drove her down to her knees, despite her every struggle to defy him. His voice was a very, very quiet snarl. “I was old before you were a thought in our Creator’s mind. I was powerful before you ever learned that power existed. I fell because They commanded it, that’s how much I love Them. I came back the once to a place I fucking hate hoping to wake Them. Just for that. And at this point I don’t have patience for your little hate crusade. Do you understand? Do you know how many sin-eaters you’ve killed? I do. Who do you think they come to when you’re done with them? There’s a blight on your heart, my sister. You die now, I’m pretty sure I’ll find you waiting next time I go home. Is that really what you want?”

She struggled, swatting at his hand. The angels tried to surge forward, but Eden’s bouncers had beaten them to the punch, led by the valkyrie, who was giving them all a ferocious, triple-dog-dare smile as she and her comrades stood between them and their leader.

Lucifer tightened his grip. “Is it?” Micah knew herself beaten. The realization sank past her disbelief, her fury, her righteousness, her blind arrogance, all the way to what little core remained of her true self, and she stared up at him blankly. “No.” “Alright. So you want to repeat after me. No more harming Nephilim.” She clawed at his wrist; she’d hung onto her hate for so long that she couldn’t bear to let go of it. Lucifer merely tightened his grip until she’d nearly passed out, then let her wheeze in a coughing breath. “Micah. No more harming Nephilim.” “No more,” she hoarsely declared, “harming Nephilim.” “Ever.” “Ever.”

Lucifer picked her up like a ragdoll and shoved her at her people. “Go home, spread the news. And stay out of our fucking club for a while. I’m not feeling particularly inviting to the Ivory Citadel right now.”

***

Marcus woke up in the darkness of his own home, his own bedroom, his own bed, to find Aire playing with one of his hands, running his fingers delicately over the dust-fine bronze scales that began just shy of the bouncer’s fingernails, running away to disappear under his sleeve. Even his nails, neatly trimmed and manicured, shone like polished metal. He rumbled quietly, sleepily pleased, and slipped his free arm under his sprite, dragging him closer, tucking him under his chin and against his chest. “My sprite.” Nothing else, no other words, no other action, could have so easily and completely obliterated the doubts and worries that Aire had begun to nurse through that early dawn. He felt as if he might cry, and pressed that hand to his heart. “My troll.” He felt Marcus press his face to the back of his neck and breathe deeply. “You smelled it on me.” “I did, but I didn’t know what it was.” “Mm, troll thing?” Marcus chuckled. “No, dragon. Trolls can only tell the difference between stones and dirt and such.” When Aire wriggled around and swatted him, Marcus laughed, rolling them both over until the Nephilim was perched on top of him. “There. Slay me if you must, then.” “Oh, I’ll slay you, you horrible -” Aire was already bending over to kiss the half-troll. “Slay you with your own cock, see if I don’t,” he threatened between kisses. “I thought you liked my cock?” “That doesn’t mean I won’t beat you with it!” Belatedly Aire realized he was clean, not a speck of blood or ichor on him, and floating in one of Marcus’ own shirts. He fell over on that broad chest, clinging tightly. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”

“You’ve brought a very long and pointless slaughter to an end, my sprite.” When Aire looked at him uncomprehendingly, Marcus told him everything that had transpired the night of the attack, beginning with Balthasar’s accounting of the confrontation, and followed by the wildfire spread of the story. A Chantry rep had called in to Eden the following morning, as the ripples of the confrontation reached those who had not been present for it. They had casually mentioned they were happy to defer Aire’s bloodline to his angelic heritage. If the Ivory Citadel had no problem with his existence, neither did they. “They don’t want to further provoke the Light.” Marcus’ father had been deeply amused. “He doesn’t often get directly involved, and many forget he exists. What he’s capable of.”

Milo had offered his quarters beneath Eden to the two of them, but Marcus had been adamant about taking his wounded bird home.

He didn’t, however, tell Aire that his uncle had cornered the half-troll and told him he would wring his neck, be it scrawny lizard gizzard or rough troll gullet, if he hurt Aire in any way, shape or form. While Marcus’ father watched. And laughed quietly. And only to then drag the half-troll close with rough affection and welcome him to the family.

“You don’t have to run anymore, Aire.” By the time Marcus was done talking it was noon behind the curtains, the Nephilim’s hands laced with Marcus’ over the half-troll’s broad chest, and he was nursing a massive hard-on at the sight of his sprite, blithe and safe and stunned at all that had come to pass, gleaming in the gloom like the most precious treasure he would ever guard. “No more hunting Nephilim, not ever again. I told you, my sprite.” He unwound a hand free and reached out to cradle Aire’s cheek, and all but lost his breath when the Nephilim took it in his own and leaned into the touch, eyes closing. “You run a bad risk of being cared for, if you stick with me.” “I don’t even know what to do. I’d always thought I’d spend my life running… Can I stay with you?” “Yes.” “What, just like that!” “Yes.” Marcus grinned. “I’m getting a job.” “I’m sure they’ll suffer you gladly.”

“And I’m helping with the bills!”

“I will lie about them.” Aire started beating him with one of the pillows, and Marcus could only laugh. “You will not!” “I will. Trolls may be terrible liars, but dragons are not, not when it comes to treasure.” He reached up to drag his unruly sprite close, and kissed him until Aire’s murderous intentions had been appeased. “I want you to dance, Aire. I can get you a job at Eden.” “That smacks of nepotism.” “There’s not enough of us all in this world to fill a good-sized sack, sprite. Of course it’s nepotism.” “I don’t believe you. Turn around and take off your shirt. You’re poking me in the ass and I want to see them.” Grinning, Marcus allowed Aire to slip away as he wriggled out of his shirt. The lights came on and he rolled over, groaning in delight when the weight of his lover came to rest on his backside. The most delicate of touches traced the broad scales that marked and protected the run of his spine, and they instantly rose up in ridges, startling a laugh from the Nephilim, musical and sweet. “I mean it, Aire. I want you to dance.” “How do you do that? How do you know me so well?” Aire sprawled on that broad back, clinging to those powerful shoulders. “I know you’re a bird,” Marcus replied evenly, “and I know birds need their flock. That’s what you were looking for in the dance floor every time, isn’t it.  To be one of many for just a little while.” “Yes,” Aire admitted without shame. One of the most eusocial of all inhuman breeds, angels didn’t do well alone. They needed to belong, be it to a Flight or a Choir or to something. Loneliness was poison to them. He kissed the back of Marcus’ neck, making the half-troll rumble. “Ugh, you’d be perfect if you weren’t so nice to me.”

“Perfection is overrated,” Marcus declared, half-muffled by the pillow. “And really, do you want me to be mean or do you want me to be rough?”

He got a high, frustrated sound as a response, and a pillow shoved at his laughing face, which Aire pulled away when the half-troll mumbled something beneath it. “What?”

“I said, do you want the job?”

“I want you, Marc.” Aire slipped off the bouncer’s butt and slid under his arm, pressing as close as he could. “Even when I knew I wasn’t free to want anything I wanted you.”

“You have me,” the predator assured him, his voice dropping to the low, low dragon’s rumble it only reached when his hunger had been roused.

“Then the job’s just a perk. Everything’s a perk, long as I have you.” Aire grinned, slow and wicked, at Marcus. “So here’s one for you, my troll. Now you can bite to break skin.”

Rich red light kindled in the half-troll’s eyes, and he kissed Aire until their breath ran out. His unruly sprite still managed to protest. “Just don’t be taking any pieces off!” When the comment made Marcus laugh too hard to keep kissing him, Aire swatted him indignantly. He tried to wriggle away, only to find himself pinned down, that generous mouth running everywhere over the Nephilim’s pale skin.

“Oh, no. No, no, my sprite. You don’t get to offer gifts and then yank them away like a taunt.”

“I said you can, not that you should right away!” Aire was quickly losing any will to resist he might’ve had. It hadn’t been much to begin with, and he moaned helplessly when his shirt was pushed up and out of the way.

“Incidental.” “Ugh, you troll!” Marcus laughed. “Am I? I would have never guessed.” He found a nipple and licked it. “You smell like strawberries, my sprite, do you taste like them too?” “Dare you to find out.”

“Challenge gratefully accepted,” the bouncer growled, and proceeded to do exactly that.

[thelesbiansuperjesus]

Can you please talk more about your strugglewoman Emma

ofc dear anon,

first i am going to have to explain the lore of superpowers in my universe.

before there were humans on earth there was a race of all powerful aliens. they were basically gods, and they loved doing silly little science experiments. for their next experiment they wanted to create a new species on some random little planet. they chose earth because it was good enough. they genetically engineered some of their own people to not have superpowers like the aliens did but to still carry the gene that gives them powers. it was just inactive. they were sent to earth and over time their population grew. the gene that would potentially give them powers became rare and almost completely evolved out because it basically served no purpose. yet. you see, the aliens didn't just leave after they put the humans there. they stuck around in our solar system and would check in every 76 years. their spaceship was known to humans as Halley's comet. in 1986, the last time "Halley's comet" visited earth, the aliens sent out some sort of signal that activated the gene in the people who still had it. ever since then, people with that gene had activated superpowers. think x-men. this is basically x-men.

my main character is Emma Murphy. in the beginning of the story she is 14 years old and a freshman. she first got her powers in 7th grade while sitting in class. she noticed that the lights started getting brighter, and she started seeing colors she had never seen before. these were the different waves on the em spectrum that are invisible to the average human. she got some really bad migraines from the sensory overload and she still has them to this day. bummer. one day she was in the car with her parents and the radio was on and the radio waves were hurting her a lot. she got so stressed that she accidentally made the radio go bezerk. this is when she realized that she could actually control the different wavelengths of light. awsome.

ok lets get to the actual story

so we first meet emma as she is giving a presentation about superheros to her class. she does well and goes to the bathroom to celebrate. in the bathroom she is using her powers ( a little lightshow) when a fellow classmate ( darcy) walks in on her. this ofc would be really bad but it turned out that darcy also had powers. darcy invites her to hang out after school because she had her own little super hero team.

introduction to the other characters:

Darcy: she has water powers. at first she didnt think she had powers and she was jealous of her father and brother for having them. apparently her lack of powers were caused by the puberty blockers she was on but once she went on estrogen her powers came. she has trans swag

William: darcy's brother. he has fire powers. he wears gloves that have flint and steel on them so he can make a spark, and from there he can control the fire he just made. he wears a gas mask because although he is fire proof he is not smoke proof.

Adam: he has super strength. his skin cannot be pierced by most metals which sounds cool but means he cant really get top surgery so he just had to bind. he later ends up dating Darcy.

Salem: they are a witch. they have a walking cane that can turn into a magical staff when they need it to. their father is also a witch and he teaches them witchcraft. they have a bad leg and cant really move that fast but they can just club people in the head with the staff or turn them into frogs. they have a familiar named chunko who is a opossum and he is an asshole.

Mary: mary actually does not join the group for a while and starts out as a bad guy. when she was 12 she noticed that her skin was starting to turn red. her parents took her to the doctors and they suspected it was a rash, but it didn't ich. in the following weeks horns started to sprout from her head and she grew a tail. her nails and teeth got sharper and her pupils became slits. her parents were very religious and thought she was becoming a demon so they took her out of school and isolated her in the house. pretty shitty parents right? well they die in a car crash. bummer. Mary is all by herself and roams the streets for a while. she eventually joins a supervillain team and learns to fight. she fights my hero team a few times, but one time the hero's defeat the villain team and the rest of the villains escape without mary. the police were on their way and emma tells Mary her options. either come with her or go with the cops. ofc she went with the gang because being arrested isn't great. they pull a stranger things and she lives in emma's basement. bla bla bla character development bla bla bla tension and boom. emma and Mary are dating.

that is about as much as i will say for now but i remember any more lore i will add it in the reblogs.

i am not going to proofread this so sorry for the spelling.

also fuck i wrote a lot

[beardedmrbean]

Rural-focused daily Maaseudun tulevaisuus continues its coverage on the plastic contamination of fertilisers as food stores don't remove packaging when sorting expired food into organic waste.

The agricultural paper reports that the environment and forestry ministries will soon convene stakeholders to discuss what can be done about the plastic shred in fertilisers.

"We'll consider whether it's necessary to tighten the guidelines or legislation," said Riitta Levinen, an official from the Ministry of the Environment.

According to the Finnish Food Authority, the law allows for a relatively large amount of plastic, as the maximum levels of impurities are based on weight. MT calculated that when spreading 20 tons of liquid manure on a hectare, the allowance is equivalent to 240 plastic bags' worth of plastic shred.

Long Covid's long shadow

Four years on, long Covid still confounds the medical community. Helsingin Sanomat talked to Helsinki resident Ina Westman who contracted Covid-19 in the early stages of the pandemic, in March 2020, and is still suffering from various symptoms.

Westman has now published a book about living with the after-effects of the prolonged disease which she said people tend to minimise.

"I started having arrhythmias all the time, and my heart rate was through the roof. After weeks of migraines, I couldn't sleep, and I could no longer see clearly. It was shocking," Westman said of her symptoms two years after contracting coronavirus.

Some 21,000 people in Finland have received a long Covid diagnosis, though this is a rough estimate as diagnostic practices vary, according to the Finnish Institute for Health and Welfare (THL).

Finland sixth

Three Nordic countries ranked higher than Finland regarding quality of life, reports Ilta-Sanomat, citing U.S. News and World Report's ranking of 89 countries. The list awarded points on factors including job security, political stability, individual freedom and environmental quality.

Denmark topped the list. Another Nordic country outperforming Finland was Sweden, securing second place. Switzerland ranked third in terms of quality of life, while Norway took fourth and Canada fifth. Finland ended up in sixth place.

Overall, the Nordics excelled across all metrics, apart from affordability.

[unicazurnfanpage]

Surrealism and Desire

i wanna talk about this Rene Magritte painting Collective Invention 1934 that i have a great discussion in my philosophy of surrealism class, which i adore mainly cause it's challenging and omfg my other classes are not and i need that in my life.

a few thoughts from other students were that this is a she, a dying thing, not being able to breathe. the class as a whole was struck by the absurdity. Our collective first reaction was the laugh. It's an absurd image, a reverse mermaid. A mermaid being an image we are all familar with being raised roughly after the Disney renassiance so we all grew up watching the little mermaid. I for one grew up playing mermaid in the pool and playing with mermaid barbie dolls. This subject in the painting stuck some people as sexual. particularly insidious depiction as it removes the face, and thus the identity and ability to consent because a fish with gills does not have vocal cords.

However that interpretation that this is an object of desire felt wrong and like we weren't viewing it as it was meant. My class keep focusing on the legs and not viewing it as a whole. That this is yet another male surrealist objectifying women in art. But surrealists were ahead of our time in many places of critical thought, for one this is a critque of desire and cultural creations of desire and everything in this painting brings you to question it.

Firstly the humorous reaction is intentional. we are supposed to laugh at a reverse mermaid. it is a distortion of something we are familar with through folk lore and culture. the secondary reaction is to really think about what this image is. sure if we remove the legs and view it fully as a fish, it is beached and unable to breathe thus it is dying. However if we view this truly as a reverse mermaid, don't mermaid hold themselves up on rocks?

Disney The Little Mermaid - Limited Edition Canvas - Thomas Kinkade

(side note there's no date on the thomas kinkade website. that's insane as someone who has been in art school for four years at this point)

if we ignore the kitsch bullshit in this painting for a moment, i promise we will come back to it, we notice Ariel is holding herself up. if our figure in the previous painting was a proper mermaid, she would hold herself up. But Magritte is going with the antomny of a the fish so she has no arms and she is so top heavy that she can't even sit normally which is funny and also shows what an abomination this is as it can't even hold it's own weight.

But let us return to the kitschness of the Kinkade painting. Personally, I have a hate fan obsession with Kinkade from when i first read Greenberg's Avante-Garde and Kitsch essay. He creates soulless art that has far too many sources of light that is gives one a migraine trying to look at it like you would look at any other painting. Omfg there's so much bullshit in that painting, my eyes don't know where to focus.

I bring this painting up because Magritte is engaging with this kitsch, made for consumption, fetish kind of art. A mermaid is an object of desire, a fantasy. She exists in the deep oceans and is a creation of sailors who have no interaction with women for months on end, thus a fish and women is combined. In the folk lore, and my own cultural memory and understanding of mermaids, they are always topless yet their legs are stuck together into a fish's tail. as another class member said THERE'S NO HOLE! and they are right. Magritte's figure has a whole for one but it creates an abject image because you would be (i don't know tumblrs censors) with a fish. thus is calls into question our fantasy, desire and cultural folk lore of a mermaid. and because this is surrealist, the point is to bring what you encounter with you to other parts of your life, we ponder other cultural images that are similar to a mermaid as well as other kitsch paintings like the abomination pictured above. Some other figures in art history i think of are goddess and particularly Aphrodite, or Harpies, Banshees, angels, and centaurs to name a few that come to mind.

[ladderofyears]

Two Lists, As Requested By My Mind Healer.

List of things that I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, enjoy:

~ Earl grey tea. Freshly brewed leaves only, and not too stewed. Please, not those ludicrous Muggle teabags.

~ The scent of freshly starched shirts and how the collars feel against my skin.

~ Being prepared. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail (and other such clichés my governess imparted onto me.)

~ The Arrows being top of the Quidditch League and the look on Weasley’s face when reminded of this very pertinent fact.

~ Cracking the spine on a new paperback. Pansy calls this habit cretinous, but personally I’d rather my books looked like they’d been read.

~ Mum’s expression, just before she’s about to tell me a particularly scandalous piece of gossip.

~ Riding my Firebolt. That first kick away from the earth. I’ve been flying since I was six, and it still gets me every single time.

~ Dancing. In a nightclub with sickly cocktails, loosening my inhibitions, or at one of Mum’s evening soirées. It doesn’t matter. I simply adore the feeling of being lost inside the music.

~ Petting my Kneazle, Felicity. Categorically, the most beautiful girl in the world, and I won’t be persuaded otherwise.

~ Sex. An entry that rather speaks for itself.

~ Getting up early and running though London before the rest of the world has woken up.

~ Magic. Yes, perhaps a bit of a prosaic answer for a wizard, but there we are. I love the feeling of magic pulsing through my blood, love the gasp of breath you pull into your lungs the moment you cast a spell. It’s as important a part of me as my beating heart.

List of things that I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, detest:

~ Making lists.

~ Father’s letters from Azkaban. They put me in a dark place for days afterwards. When I burn them, I feel guilty, and when I keep them, I dwell on them. They make me feel like the worst version of myself.

~ Not exercising. Usually occurs in combination with the point made above.

~ Migraines. Nothing much helps when one arrives. I’ve tried the most renowned potions and even Muggle pills. Nothing shifts them.

~ The Prophet. Their vile excuse for journalism is the biggest joke in the magical world.

~ The slow pace of magical law making. Merlin’s bloody beard! It shouldn’t take three years for legislation to be discussed and voted on.

~ Whenever the Arrows lose to the Canons. Weasley always pulls that ruddy smirk of his.

~ The food in the Ministry canteen. Bloody hell, but it's dreadful. You could resole your boots with a slice of their Treacle Tart.

~ Tepid mugs of tea. Disgusting. They never taste right after casting a re-warming charm.

~ Wearing long sleeves on hot days.

~ Howlers.

~ I hate the way that Harry Potter glances in my direction. He does it all the time. He thinks that I don’t notice, but I do. Potter thinks he understands me, and that he’s got me all figured out. He’s wrong. I’m more than just the smart cut of my robes and my charm-tidied hair. I’m more than my childhood and the lies that I listened to because I didn’t know any better.

I’m not foolish. I know how I must appear to Potter. He believes me to be polished elegance skating over the dirt, rubbish and tattoo ink beneath. We talk sometimes, Potter and I. We swap small pleasantries, and I hear the hesitation in his voice. I hear him waiting for me to be cruel.

Part of me wants to tell Potter that I don't care, that it doesn't matter to me that I'm no longer any of his business.

Except, sometimes, occasionally, I see his bright twist of smile or I catch the tail end of his green-eyed glimpses.

Then a part of me shatters into shards. That's when I wish that I were.

✒✒

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt of: giving into your love.

Thank you @iero0 for the wonderful beta read.

Have a lovely weekend, lovely people.

[obeymycok]

Things I’ve Done as Obey Me Bros

I’m kinda boring but I kept seeing videos like this on tiktok and I’ve been thinking about it lately. Anyway, cw like everything, too lazy to make sure I get everything specifically. Probably nsfw for Asmo and probably some substances for Belphie’s. This is aged from when I was like 10-present day I’m not that stupid anymore. Some of it’s funny and some is pretty personal.

Lucifer

Told some kids I was babysitting “I don’t care just don’t die” before going on my phone the whole time

Always saved my homework for late at night because it was quieter

Thought I was a literal god for like 2 years

Had my sister write the rest of my homework for me because of a blister, then erased and redid it myself because her handwriting was messy

Gas lighted my family into thinking I was still religious

Mammon

Put a $20 in the offering dish at church and got mad I didn’t ask for change 

Traded Hershey kisses for change with my cousins at Easter gatherings

Went negative on my account after 5 out of the 7 days I spent at a Christian camp

Wrote my name on a dollar so everyone knew it was mine and no one could take it

(Still) impulse buy when I’m sad

Leviathan

Disassociate daily to a fairy tail based world I started developing in like 7th grade

Set alarms in the middle of the night for anime releases and long timed harvesting in games

Watched a new anime episode/read(looked at) the manga the second it came out even if it wasn’t translated yet (piece it together myself based off pictures and vibes lmao)

Knew what Rule 34 was when I was 11

Woke up at 4:00 AM everyday before school for 3 years so I could calm my anxiety down and hype myself up

Satan

Pushed my sister off the top bunk of my bed and also down a flight of stairs (separate times years apart!)

Got so angry at a customer I went into the bathroom and cried for 15 minutes

Carried cat treats in my pocket for an entire summer and autumn because there were some regular cats on my block

Got permission from my dad to punch a girl who kept pulling my hair at school

Finished the book that was supposed to last the class a few months by the end of the school day and got the WORST migraine I’ve ever had (Lord of The Flies fucking SLAPPED I will die on this hill)

Asmodeus

Masturbated at a Christian camp with others around

Already had a crush by my 2nd day of working at my job

Got intimate with my ex thinking it’d make him take me back

Cried because I couldn’t find my eyelash glue and when I found it the inner corners wouldn’t stick (I was late)

Spent 2 hours evening out my eyeliner, decided I didn’t like it, did a casual look, took a single picture, then wiped it all off and called it a day

Beelzebub

Found a spider in my room but didn’t wanna kill it. It was too high by the time I had a cup and some paper so I just let it roam

Got legitimately upset because I lost a toad and didn’t get a chance to hold it

Spent over $40 on food and ate over 1/2 of it in one sitting (was gone by the end of the day)

Put some cheese in a bag and threw it on my friend’s driveway because we were talking about how great cheese is

Took too much of an edible because the chocolate tasted so good

Belphegor

Slept 14 hours after the first week of school in jr high

Stabbed an old pillow repeatedly because I was having a meltdown

Smoked weed for anxiety and insomnia, fucked my academic career but at least I was able to show up

Dug my nails into an annoying girl’s skin because she wasn’t listening to the teacher and held up the whole class (didn’t get in trouble!)

Woke up to my parents fighting and just went back to sleep

[cherryvampiro]

  Horror move night at Ben’s house with the ms gang! 🍿✨

As promised I’ve written a quick introduction to my Middle School au! All information will be under the read more 😊 :

 Main plot (Spoiler warning for Ben 10 (2016) Movie) : 

 The big plot for this au is there’s a war going on in space. Since the Omnitrix was created fighting against planets emerged all due to Vilgax’s first use of the Omnitrix as a warlord. Though the fighting started off small, it soon escalated and began to grow larger and larger. 2-3 years of nonstop fighting soon formed into one big territorial war. Which is why Argit, Rook, & many other aliens are on earth. Everyone is looking for a safe planet to hide with their families, hoping whatever planet they find themselves in will be spared or undetected.

 ((I will elaborate more on the space war when I introduce Albedo & Attea))

 Basic theme of the au:

The main theme to this au would be “Change” = Change in yourself, your friends, your life, & the universe around you! The reason I picked this specific theme was so each character can have their own arc/growth in this au. It also suits the coming of age themes that many kids go through in that age (their appearance, their morals, who they are,etc.) This au is still very new in my head but below I’d gather enough ideas I have for each of the characters! 

 ((Some of it may change in the future))

  Ben Tennyson: 

 After having the Omnitrix for 2 years, Ben thinks he can handle it all ((but boy is he wrong!)) Ben’s main character arc would revolve around making tough decisions and not being afraid to ask for help.

 With beings coming from other planets, he’s gonna face off many new foes! Foes who do not care that he’s a child, beings who are willing to sacrifice a child for their own ideals. He’ll have to make decisions on who to trust and deal with the potential consequences with owning the watch. With bigger threats landing on earth Ben gets the fortunate and unfortunate of meeting new people! (Such as Albedo, Attea, & Julie) 

 It’s his choice now on who he’s willing to trust, help, and who to fight for. Lucky for him he’s not alone!

 Fun Character Fact: Ben wears baggy clothes ((sweaters, hoodies, sweats, cargo pants)) due to a little body insecurity he has! He’s not so much ashamed of his body, just a little embarrassed and would prefer the comfort of his big green hoodie.

 Gwen Tennyson: 

 Gwen goes to a private all ages school and is the top student in all her classes! Gwen’s main character arc would be dealing & learning about her new found powers. Not only that but to learn she doesn’t have to be what others perceive her as.

 To elaborate on the second arc: My Gwen has grown into the role of being the Smart Kid™️. By being the top student she’s also pressured to fit a certain expectation by her teachers and peers. She has doubts of herself and wonders what’s deemed as “appropriate” for her intelligence ((like no more kiddy stuff, even if it interests her)). 

 This would come to fruition when her anodite powers emerge ((in the scariest way possible)) She’d start her daily routine the same only with a slight migraine problem. Migraines soon turn to ache and ache soon turn to her face cracking like a porcelain doll while at school. Afraid to ask any adult she asks help from Ben & Kevin ((Then Rook, Julie, & Argit who end up sneaking through Gwen’s window after they get dragged into hiding Gwen from her parents)). The whole event was scary but with clarification from her grandpa it all became clear.

 Fun Character Fact: Ben can’t scan Gwen’s Anodite DNA into his watch due to the Omntrix stating “DNA already attained” since they’re related. He’d have to scan an Anodite not related to him by blood to absorb their DNA.

 Kevin Levin:

 Kevin in this au no longer wears his Anti-Trix. He took it off the first day of 7th grade and hadn’t put it on since. He’s not sure he’s cut out to be a hero and instead focuses his time on his crafts. Kevin’s main arc is one I have yet to think about fully. I’m not sure whether to have him grow into his osmosian DNA or have him go through a different self discovery. Bashmouth is my favorite alien of Kevin and I’m thinking of having him have his DNA altered like in the OS but with Bashmouth only. It’d make more sense to explain once I introduced Albedo later ((hopefully!))

 Fun Character Fact: Kevin has gotten better with his mechanical skills and uses those skills to make the goofiest stuff ((Such as a mobile couch on wheel so he and the homies can ride it to get some smoothies)).

 Rook Blonko: 

 Rook Blonko is a foreign exchange student, as far as anyone knows, who goes to Gwen’s school. Rook's main arc would be choosing to run or fight with the Tennysons.

 Rook was originally sent to earth to see whether this planet was safe or not for his family to relocate to. Unbeknownst to him and his family, Rook would be staying with the cousin of the keeper of the Omnitrix. With this discovery Rook should have hopped to another planet to live in but he took the chance to know the user of the watch. Getting to know the Tennysons and the people of earth has changed Rook’s thoughts of his mission. Should he run away and save his own family or should he stay and fight with his new found friends and make sure no one else is forced to abandon their home.

 Fun Character Fact: Rook stays with Gwen’s family. He’s introduced to Ben, Kevin, & Argit when Gwn begs them to hang out with Rook ((He’d often stay in his room studying and Gwen wanted him to socialize. She regrets it later when they all come home smelling like garbage)).

 Julie Yamamoto:

 Julie’s one of Bellwood Junior High’s top tennis players! She takes many AP classes which explains why Ben’s never seen her around school before. Julie doesn’t actually have an arc. She’s one of the characters willing to help no matter what. She’s first induced to alien knowledge when she saves Ben from a DNAlien. Through Ben she learns about the Omntrix, aliens, and what’s going on outside their planet. From then on she’s supported and helped Ben on his mission to save the world and beyond. If she had to give a reason as to why she’s helping she’d have two:

Innocent beings shouldn’t have to flee from their homes.

A 12 yr old shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.

 She may be human but she’s willing to do what she can to make a difference in any means possible. ((She maybe reward too with a certain pet from space))

 Fun Character Fact: Julie is a trans girl in this au 🏳️‍⚧️ Julie’s also super into horror media! 

 Argit:

 Argit is the kid in the halls you can get anything from. Candy, chips, test answers, phone numbers, you name it! Like Rook, Argit’s main arc would be choosing to run or fight with the Tennysons. 

 Argit is one of the kids most affected by the war. He no longer has a planet and was forced to flee to another planet.  Since his first foot step on earth he’s only looked out for himself. He adapted to his environment and learned to support himself. Argit’s the most afraid of the alien kid bunch to be outed as non-human. He’s already built so much for himself here on earth that he’s afraid of losing it all just for his appearance. 

 Argit would rather high tail away from any alien fights then stay and help. He doesn’t care much for the Tennysons but he does respect Kevin. But hanging out with Kevin means hanging out with The Tennyson twins. Hopefully their good nature will rub off on him. 

 Fun Character Fact: Argit is the treasurer of his 8th grade class! His least favorite person is Ben and if he had to pick a favorite between his friends (aside from Kevin) he’d pick Julie. 

 This au is still new and it may go through some changes later! Please tell me what you think! 

[dreemurr-fever]

The Backrooms Entities

(I know I normally post DC stuff but I wanted to share my creatures for the Backrooms. Let me know what you think and wether I should post more Backrooms related content)

The All-Seer

A mysterious creature that follows you around. It is unknown whether it’s friendly or aggressive as no one has ever gotten close to it. It stares at you from afar, causing a weird feeling of anxiety. It’s always watching whether you’re aware or not. It might not even be real but a part of your imagination as you lose your sanity running around looking for any way of escape. Getting to it is impossible since the feeling of anxiety worsens the closer you get, causing you to have a panic attack. It can also camouflage itself into its environment allowing it to see you but you cannot see it. 

The All-Seer is a long thin black creature with eyes covering parts of its body and a tail made out of floating pieces of bones with a huge eye at the end. The All-Seer seems to be made out of an unknown substance as the top of its head and other parts of its body seem to disintegrate and wave around as well as move like flames. The All-Seer’s eyes can move in any direction, allowing it to look everywhere all at once.

Mother

A giant worm-like creature with the skull of a dragon. She is unable to move from her spot and is confined to one place. Black goopy tears run from her eyes non-stop. She’s a friendly creature who gives you advice on how to deal with other creatures and where to find food. Her body is soft and warm and she allows you to sleep on her while she protects your resting body from hostile creatures. Not many creatures mess with her as they’re afraid of what a giant creature like herself could do to them.

Gilbert the Clown

A headless clown carrying a balloon wth his face on it and the tip of a bone protruding out of his neck. The eyes on his balloon face are spirals which cause any unfortunate soul who comes across him to fall under hypnosis allowing him to feast off of your nightmares and scaring you to death. Gilbert is a trickster and lures you in with false promises of whatever you want most. Sometimes even promising to help you out of the Backrooms. 

Gilbert is a simple yet horrifying creature, especially to those with Caulrophobia. He has the body of kids’ birthday clown yet his nails are long and sharp, allowing him to plunge them deep into your skin to prevent you from escaping him. Around his wrists are bellswhich warn of his presence being nearby. The clown’s face is attached to a balloon which he holds and never lets go of it. He sports regular clown makeup with red lips and cheeks as well as a line across both eyes and a big red nose. Unervingly however, his smile is made up of rows of sharp teeth.

Static Error

A cybernetic being wandering around the Backrooms. This creature is neither friendly nor hostile but if you run into it the loud noises and bright lights emitting from it cause migraines and nausea so it’s best to stay out of its way. Not much is known of this creature due to the brutal pain caused when being in its presence for long enough. It carries an old tv for a head displaying static and flashing bright, colorful lights. Its body is robotic and sports a red power button on its chest. It also has a power plug for a tail, most likely used for charging. Perhaps this creature can be turned off?

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

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

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

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

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

[saintlethanavir]

Post ME3 Fic WIP!

Full WIP is on p/treon! 

I finished ME3 on call with @thecoffeerain  so i was possessed to begin a sorta fic about after the end. We chose Synthesis as an ending (synthetic and organic life melds) and my oc Castor (a cousin of the protags in MEA) survived but Charlie’s oc Astrophel Shepard was MIA. This is set a decade after the time of ME3 and they romanced Garrus!

The sounds of pattering feet and shrieks of delight bring Castor out of his funk. Little hands, almost as rough as his, tug at his old leather jacket now covered in small patches and buttons. Two big blue eyes gaze up at him with excitement and wonder while a tiny, squat body wiggles into the space against his side. 

“Dad says we’re leavin’ in five minutes! He says we’re all gonna go see the big me!” 

Ah right. 

Tired as he is — there was barely any sleep to be had on normal days, let alone after nights like the one before — Castor cannot deny his daughter a smile. Who could, after all? Even her chunk of a tail is wagging with excitement. Every atom of her small body simply vibrates with boundless energy. He jokes sometimes that she’s feeding off his life force like a little vampire, to which Garrus shakes his head and snorts. 

If she starts growing fangs like a real one let me know. We’ll get caps for them or something. 

“Thanks kiddo, why don’t you go put on your coat and tell Dad I’ll be out soon. Gotta send out a message real fast,” he murmurs affectionately, his good hand —the right— patting the top of his daughter's leathery head.

She’s off like a shot in a matter of seconds, again with the patter of tiny feet. It will never cease to amaze Castor how she moves so fast, been like that since infancy. Always raring to go somewhere, meet new people and talk about her life. If the person she cornered knew about the giant lobsters that came out of the sky to eat the people of Earth but her papa’s saved the day! 

Most did. They had been evacuated or fought, or both. But they always made time for the darling Krogan daughter of the famous Archangel and Lieutenant T’Eana. 

T’Eana-Shepard. 

Last nights dream pokes about Castor’s skull with a pointed stick made of growing migraines and eventual nosebleeds. At least it was from stress and thousand times broken nose, not haywire biotics. Though he still had plenty of days where it buzzes sharp beneath his flesh. 

No time to think about that right now though. His therapist would be proud of him for not latching onto that spiral, there used to be a time when he would have found comfort in it. 

With a grunt and creak of achy joints, Castor moves from his squatting position on the guest room floor to stand and fully face the console before him. A flicker of bright orange numbers and a long scroll of text lights up his pale face, settling over ridges and hard lines of scars acquired almost a decade ago now. Sometimes when he least expects it, Castor can still feel the shrapnel rocket across his cheek. The ringing in his ears never quite went away after that explosion, it’s become more of a comfort now instead of a hinderance at least. 

Shaky fingers move about the holographic screen, the pattern muscle memory now. After ten years of punching in codes and swiping away notifications furiously, Castor has come to not expect anything. Still when he comes to the end of the sequence, his torn up hand hovers over the [ SEND MESSAGE ] button. As if those extra seconds will make any difference, that maybe he would call him first and he’d hear the voice he so desperately wishes to hear again. For real. Not just in VI or the vids, even promotional ads….

Inevitably, Castor is always the one to press the button first.