#raphael out here abusing the dark power of his voice

[sky-kiss]

Okay I had a thought and you can do with it whatever you want... but Raphael speaking infernal is so underrated. Even in game when he casts spells during battle, he doesn't really verbally say anything which is a shame (but is kinda cool if certain beings are powerful enough to cast nonverbally. Either that or my game is hella bugged). When you had that moment in your latest chapter of him speaking infernal to transform that made me 😳Like the way it'd described of being this harsh language and Raphael speaking it just snapped some part of my brain and I'd imagine it'd do something for Joi/Tav too. Like would Raphael still somehow make it sound beautiful (to quote Mamzelle, "a voice that could make the foulest blasphemy seem the sweetest hymn" or it would he still sound harsh but it's still hot because it's flying out of THAT mouth?

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A/N: There’s an actor I used to adore who was German, but often spoke a lot of french. So his German would come out with that gentle French lilt. Gonna channel that.

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He comes to her in the evening, this devil she loves, and the scent of cherries, sulfur, and musk hangs about him like a shroud. Raphael prowls about her suite like some great cat, his dark head held high. In the hells, his hellfire eyes will light with their inner fire. On the prime material, he’s softer. Warm brown, a touch of honey, almost sweet enough to make her forget. 

“You’re late,” she says. 

He hums lowly. The natural theatricality of the noise does not rob it of its power; Tav shivers. The devil sees; he knows. He always knows. “Ah, but there is such beauty in anticipation, wouldn’t you agree? Desire honed to a knife’s point.” A turn of his right hand, long-fingered and elegant. “Before one tips over the edge.” 

It’s a fine enough point in principle, but less appealing in reality. Their time is short, limited to stolen moments when their schedules align. She has a city to rebuild. He has the lower planes to conquer. 

Her devil smiles, patronizing. “If you feel neglected, mouse, I have already proposed a solution. You’ve only to accept the offered hand.” 

“Join you in Hell?” He nods, eyes wide and lovely. It strikes her that he has cultivated every aspect of this human skin: the smile is so wide, so open, and so nakedly suffused with guile that it wraps back around to innocence. 

Raphael steps close. The scent again: cherries, sweet and delicate. Her devil, wearing sweetness and silk to hide his uglier underbelly. He brushes the fringe of her hair back from her cheek, touch lingering. “Deny me all you like, pet. It shall make the eventual fall all the sweeter.”

Anticipation. Tav shivers. 

Some nights, they fuck in front of the fireplace or on the chaise. Never in the bed. It’s her stipulation. Raphael crinkles his nose at the coarse language and indelicacy of the location. She deserves better, he says. The phrase always comes with an accompanying hand gesture, as if he's framing her for a portrait. Something pretty he can lock away from the world, point at when he wants to feel superior. Admire his wealth, this wild adventurer he’s collared. 

Most nights, they work. Tav shuffles through requisition orders. Raphael amends his contracts. She watches him work, more often than not, gaze flicking across the elegant script. It burns, and there’s an undeniable elegance to the infernal ruins. Tav reaches out to race a line, mouthing the words. She’s out of practice. Infernal is not a pretty language; it fits particularly poorly in her untrained tongue. Raphael rests his chin in his palm, amused by her attempt. 

“Allow me.” 

The devil repeats the phrase. It may as well be a different language. The words drip off his tongue, the harshness erased in favor of a lilting cadence. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed. “Is that…is it a regional dialect? Something distinct to Cania?” 

“In all likelihood, you’ve only heard the lower dialects. The least baatezu are harsh and guttural. The higher speech has a grace to it, provided one is willing to learn. It is a melody, dark and heady as any wine.” Raphael places his hand, palm up, on the table. “Allow me.” Tav sets her hand in his. “Close your eyes, pet.” 

She does. 

Raphael traces lines across her palm, humming to himself. “There are four tongues, sweetling. Lower, lowest, high, highest. For the sake of your sanity, we shall avoid the dialect of the archdevils. But the language of the courts might please you.” 

“And is there a reason my eyes must remain closed?” 

He chuckles, thumb pressing against the veins of her wrist. There is an awful note of potential in the touch; he could break the fragile bones with half a thought. “Feeling, Tav. Like the steps of the dance, it should fill you, move you.” 

She shivers as his fingers ghost up her forearm, featherlight nerve strokes. Raphael repeats the lines of infernal, his fingers drifting up on the mouth melodic stretches, dipping down when the words adopt a guttural edge. It is never grating, never clipped; some of that is exclusively him, years of experience and language marrying in a distinctive vocal pattern. Tav chews her lower lip. She’s too aware of his heat, pinpricks of warmth dancing across her skin as he plays his game.

It is beautiful and dark, and she feels the words on her skin. Raphael traces the runes. Her mind struggles to translate the higher dialect, flowing until it isn’t, succinct until double-meaning creeps into the terminology. Tav feels drunk in the darkness. 

“And now,” his voice is closer, spoken against the shell of his ear. The devil gathers her into his lap. He smiles into the curve of her throat. “The student demonstrates what she’s learned. Come, pet, impress me.” 

He traces the runes on her thighs. Over the skin of her belly. Between her breasts. And if she loses the thread, if her voice gives way, her devil stops. He’ll suck a bruise into her throat, press teeth until they threaten to breast skin, tease, tease, tease…

Anticipation, she thinks, that earlier word flitting across her awareness. 

And her devil is ever patient.

[pursuitseternal]

“Our Blood: Into the Fire” 🔥 The Battle for Avernus🔥

Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 5K

Summary: Arriving in Avernus, Cordehlia and Astarion reunite with old friends to stand with them along side Raphael. Facing Zariel, Mizora, and her legions is no small task, but they are an indomitable force, side by side (by side)

CW: canon typical battle gore, minor character deaths, decapitations, Wyll/Karlach flirty tension, Astarion and Cordy are that make out couple in every group, Raphael’s Ascended Fiend Form, Kill Your Abuser x 2

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The air was thick with blood and rife with soot. Cordehlia breathed it in and cringed. Too many times had she inhaled the same stink and been coated with the crimson droplets and smeared with black ash before. This wasn’t some skirmish against Cultists, not some half-brained attempt to save the realms with her closest companions. This was war. These were enemy lines soaked in gore and graves. A familiar scene for the Bone Picker, she shrugged off those memories quickly once she felt his gauntleted hand in her own.

Astarion cocked one hip, surveying the lands where they arrived from the portal. “Well,” he crooned, tone rippling with judgment, “you’d think the stink of sulphuric gas would cover the general rot of corpses. Guess I was wrong…”

Cordehlia’s lips pressed in a smile, her brows arching in pure sarcastic delight. “It's quite a sight,” she hummed in mock approval as she heard the devil’s footsteps draw along the other side of her. “Perhaps it is the most impressive battlefield I’ve ever surveyed.”

“A high compliment to come from my beloved, Bone Picker,” Raphael’s rumbling tones sounded right in her ear.

Astarion drew up beside her, rigid in stance. His armor gleamed in the infernal glow—the silver elven set they had found on their journeys. It was the armor he most trusted to protect his life, to guard him as he guarded her.

Raphael’s rumbling chuckle nearly caught him off-guard as the devil rounded behind them both. “Easy, Lord Astarion,” he drawled out that title. “Your consort needs only to draw on her peerless skills in combat, and then you two can go back on your merry way,” his thick brow arched, watching as his words only made the Vampire Lord hold himself all the more tensely. More fiercely. And he laughed louder still. “Just think, a few dead devils and cambions, and you can go right back to bed.”

The meaning was not lost on either of them. And Cordehlia only grew all the more determined. “Enough,” she snapped. “Battlefields are for silencing breath, not wasting it.”

Two sets of brows raised in surprise, one dark set and one silver. “Yes, my Lady,” and “Yes, my darling,” were both crooned out in response.

“I need battle plans and details on your enemy, how many imps, where have you last spotted them, how great is the strength of our foe.” She began her list of demands, making for the grand sprawling battle tents of Raphael’s camp.

That was when an old scream of joy sounded, the only warning Cordehlia got before two strong, red arms clutched for her and braced her against a warm armored chest. “For fucks sake, Cordy!” Karlach burst into cackling laughter. “I’d ask ‘what in the hells are you doing here?’ but I fear your hubby would bite me at that humor.”

Asrarion scoffed, even as he grinned from ear to ear, fangs on full display. “You’ve somehow managed to get worse at humor, Karlach,” he teased with a smirk.

“Most likely my fault,” a warm voice chimed in as Wyll approached, horns and all. “I am not known for the sharpness of my wit, only my blade.”

“Ha, ha,” Astarion pretended to chortle, a good show, despite the actual crinkling lines at his eyes that Cordehlia noticed, a true tell that he was happy to see their old friends. “You’re always such a good influence on people, Wyll.”

“Not on you, Lord Astarion,” Wyll smiles wide. “But regardless, we will see those Ascendant powers put to use once more in battle, and for that I’m glad. Zariel won’t be an easy foe to take down.”

“Zareil?” both vampires scoff, nearly identical in disbelief.

“That’s right, bitches,” Karlach’s chest flamed searingly bright, punching one fist into her own palm, a grin on her red face that was truly diabolical with joy. “It’s payback time, and there is no one else I’d rather have here for it than you two.”

Cordehlia’s vision went red, her body brimming with blinding rage. Rage at Raphael for hiding the identity of their foe, even more rage at him for bringing Karlach and Wyll under his thumb and service without informing her. Her jaw locked, her hands fisted, Cordehlia marched off on her long legs towards the grandest tent of the encampment. Astarion called after her, his own body leaning forward as he hurried after her with all his vampiric speed.

But her rage was too great to wait for him.

Arm flinging open the flap to the largest vermillion tent she had ever seen, she burst into its flame-lit shadow. “Fuck you, Raphael,” she snarled, unnanounced and uninvited.

The devil rounded, his own golden helldusk armor glinting in the flickering torch light. His swarthy face drew into a leering smirk. “Well, if you insist my beloved Bone Picker,” he crooned as he looked down his nose.

Cordehlia let the insinuation slide, too furious for such games. Before she could stop herself, that shining dagger steadied her palm, pressing against the little skin of his neck still visible. “Zariel?” she hissed, enraged and feral. “You brought us here for the Archduchess herself, not some mild-mannered gang of imps.”

Raphael’s rumbling laughter vibrated down the steel of her blade. “And isn’t she a foe worthy of your illustrious reputation, my lady?”

She pressed the blade just a little harder, enough to draw blood to the surface without breaking his skin. “I want to know your game, Raphael, not more deals or tricks or secrets between us.”

“For you, my favorite harbinger of death, I’ll give it to you, and I’ll give it to you straight,” the devil smirked, his lips drawn to reveal his flawlessly white teeth.

“Well,” that silken voice purred from the entryway behind her, “seems you’ve earned yourself a knife to the throat, devil.” Astarion drew up right beside his love. “Not many men earn that right, let alone survive it. In fact, I almost say I’m jealous…” He ran his gloved hand down Cordehlia’s pale, smirking cheek, and she shivered. “You never threaten me at knifepoint anymore, darling.”

“You’ve earned more than a knife against your body as incentive, my love,” Cordehlia purred right back, melting under that single brush of his finger as she resheathed her blade. Then she nipped at his chin with her own glittering fangs, just ostentatiously enough to make Raphael’s breath quicken. “Now tell me the truth of why we are here,” she honed her own scarlet gaze at the devil, “and you tell the exact details of your contracts with my other companions, or so help me, I’ll feed your balls to the next Orthon I find.”

Astarion chuckled, marveling at her brutality.

And so did Raphael. He eased his stance, fidgeting with the clasps of his armor. “There are no contracts for your dear Hellion and her beloved Blade,” his replied, his tone sweet like honey in its confidence. “They work for me for pay, a nice little livelihood and budding romance between them, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Don’t lie,” Cordehlia hissed.

The devil merely glanced at her as he wriggled his breastplate over the expanse of his chest. “And why would I ever offend you by lying, my bloodthirsty lady? I might be guilty of omitting details, or downplaying certain aspects of our relations, but I have never once lied.”

Those feminine eyes narrowed at him, assessing him. “Fine,” she replied. “Then no omissions or diminutions. What is your plan, what is your endgame for my lord and me?”

“It’s simple,” Raphael drew back to face them both, the Ascendant and his Consort. “It’s a small matter of balance. I helped you, Astarion, gain the power for which you longed, power to free you from your old master and to make your long-lost betrothed your eternal bride. I merely ask for your help in returning the favor ever so slightly. I want your blades in the final fight against Zariel, aiding me on my way to ruling Avernus for my own.”

His voice rang with greater ambition, and Cordehlia sensed so much more to those plans that laid beyond merely ruling Avernus. It made her fiery hair stand on end.

But it was Astarion’s silken purr that grounded her back in the present. “This is it, devil, our final act to free us from our debt to your favors.”

Raphael gave that deep, rolling chuckle. “Oh, I’m aware just how important freedom, true freedom is to you, Lord Astarion,” he taunted back. “You aid me against the Archduchess and I swear, all further deals will start anew, and they will be entirely mutually… satisfactory.”

“And our friends?” Astarion casually rolled his shoulders, letting his elegant elven armor clank. “We merely want to ensure even their roles in your court and employ are mutually… satisfactory,” he drolled out the same words in a mimicking tone.

The meaning was clear, the warning given that they were under his protection. And hers. Raphael’s eyes darted between the two undead warriors, that same old confident mask on his face. “I promise you, hand to your undead, beating, Ascendant heart that they are free to leave my employ when they wish, and that until such time, they enjoy my protection and my patronage.” He scoffed a laugh. “Do I really fall so short from your favor in your crimson eyes?”

Neither replied, but that tension between them snapped into place, that way their eyes flickered at one another a sign of their mental bond sending all sorts of silent commentary and secrets.

“Very well,” Cordehlia replied, a cold smile on her lips and a hardness at the corner of her eyes, “show us your battle plans, and we will help you conquer Avernus for your own.”

Pleased, his smile broadened, and Raphael gave that bass-toned chuckle. “It’s so refreshing to hear it put so bluntly, my lady. Thank you.”

“If there is one thing I am familiar with, devil, it’s recognizing the power of ambition,” Cordehlia appraised him, a brow arched, a hip cocked. “Whether it is an ambition to serve us or be check, that remains to be seen…”

“Oh, but don’t you know by now I live to serve you… Bone Picker,” he crooned. “You have nothing to fear in Avernus from me, my lady. But I can’t say the same of our enemies.” He gestured to the war table behind him, a massive circular table heaven-laden with maps and massive. “Shall we?”

Fire and blood in the air, a smile on her face, Cordehlia sliced through another imp as it flew straight for her face. Karlach’s hyena-laugh at her side as she took down five in one swing of her greataxe made Cordehlia’s heart soar. The hot air kept her battle braids off her face, letting the warrior-elf turn her head easily to see her companions.

“Never a dull moment,” she smiled, all fangs and teeth as she watched Wyll darting just beyond the Tiefling.

“Gods… I thought I was done hearing your little quips at every turn of our adventures,” Astarion’s voice panted at her right hand. His pale skin spattered already beyond recognition, blood blooming over his white curls. Making Cordehlia truly hunger for blood.

She just licked her blade clean in the brief breath of respite they had now between waves of foes. “My love, I thought you loved to… ‘go turn someone inside out…’” she taunted, another lick along the other side of her dagger.

His wry, humored look made her chuckle. “Seems someone is feeling vicious and nostalgic, hmm?” He laughed breathlessly, quickly spinning to dispatch another small imp as it curved toward them. One arrow through the infernal air from his bow, and it landed with a thud. Astarion gave a dark-humored grin. “And yes, my dear, before you can make the comment, yes, that… is… blood.”

Oh, the playful yet withering glare she gave him was delicious, so much so, he couldn’t resist pulling her into an armor-clacking kiss right there on the battlefield. Her mouth tasted of the burning brine of imp blood, but gods, it felt good. “I missed this…” he whispered against her fangs and tongue.

“Hey-o!” Karlach’s boisterous voice and presence drew near. “I forgot how much they locked lips on the battlefield. How ‘bout you Wyll?”

“I didn’t forget,” Wyll replied, panting and drawing closer to their Tiefling friend. His voice was strangely sweet like honey, given the rivers of blood under their feet and the stink of sulphur around them. “Makes you almost think they’re on to something…”

Cordehlia shoved herself away, nearly certain she was about to watch them kiss for themselves…

“Get your hands off each other and back on your blades, imbeciles,” that heated voice crooned from above. The beating of leather wings a portent of Raphael’s arrival again; he landed in the middle of them with a thud. He glared around, an icy stare in those fiery black and yellow cambion eyes. “If you are quite finished fraternizing with one another, we do have an Archduchess to overthrow.”

His wings folded in aggressively, sending a blast of stinging hot air in their faces.

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, we’ve broken through their flanks, just as you suggested, my dear…” Astarion raised Cordehlia’s bloodied and gauntleted hand to his lips. “So where, devil, do we find your foe to overthrow and the stinking, volcanic ledge from which to throw her over?”

Raphael leered, unamused at the jest. “Your humor is not as razor sharp as it once was, Ascendant. Let’s hope your blades still are.”

Cordehlia had to turn her head and ignore the pointed look Karlach was throwing her, if only to preserve her love’s pride.

Suddenly, fire swirled, the black, molten form of a devil started to form. Big navy wings, a lithe and curvaceous figure, bright orange hair… “Well, if it isn’t the pests Zariel has sent me to exterminate…”

“Mizora,” Wyll snapped, as close to enraged and feral as he could be.

The cambion looked fearsome, decked in her silver chain link mail, spikes of black, dripping blood lining her armor in rows. “Oh, Wyll, pet, it’s good to see you. But, for as much as I’ve missed you since your pact ended, I’m here to put you down for good, you and your pesky little friends…” She eyed Raphael, his own winged form bristling in her presence. “You too, hungry little cat, trying to take what isn’t yours with your greedy little claws…”

“This cat will devour all nine layers of the hells once I’m through,” Raphael snarled, his tail twitching. “Until then, I’ll have to sate myself on the blood of you and your mistress.” He flapped his great wings to rush in attack, but Mizora only cackled as she flew just as fast.

“Raphael!” Cordehlia screamed after him, making the devil draw up suddenly short in the air. “You can’t let her lead us off our quarry.” She drew out her blade. “We need you to face Zariel, not her minion.”

“I’ll take Mizora,” Wyll panted, his grip tight on his rapier. “It’s about time I made her pay for all her abuse. But I’ll need another at my side…” his mismatched eyes looked towards Karlach.

“Not me, Blade, I’ve got my own asshole to slay. If Zariel’s going to bleed, I’m going to be the one to see what color her blood runs.”

“I’ll go, Wyll,” Astarion clapped a hand on the Blade of Avernus’ shoulder. “Besides, Mizora tried to sleep with my Bride back in our adventuring days.” He raised his brow in wicked delight at the slightest taste of revenge. “And I’m not one to forget…”

“Who would dare?” Raphael leered again.

“Well, a better question is, who would dare to seek that without me, honestly. What an idiot.” Astarion pulled Cordehlia close. Nuzzling her neck, he took a shallow little bite, licking the small trickle of blood that flowed. “See you once it’s through my love,” he whispered.

She bit his neck and did the same, a small taste of him before they parted. “Yes, you will, my love.”

One more glance at one another, and the Blade and the Ascendant bolted off across the hellscape.

“Well, my Hellion and my Bone Picker, let’s go get us an archdevil,” Raphael grinned his pointy-toothed smile.

Scorching, volcanic air rushed around them as the Wyll and Astarion raced after Zariel’s right hand. Mizora dove and weaved around the field, making for the stinking waters of the Styx. At last, Wyll spotted an outcrop of black rock, running for it to leap off its sharp edge, reaching his blade just as she swooped in reach. “This ends now, for my father and for me,” Wyll shouted, his blade cutting down Mizora, steel slicing through the pink membrane of her wing. Three arrows struck into her with heavy thwacks, Astarion grinned savagely, delighting in his dexterous accuracy. Each arrow grouped right where a devil’s heart should be. The cambion tumbled awkwardly from the red skies, her wings thrashing with loud gusts of wind before her body crash landed on the ground.

“You maggots, think you can beat me?” Mizora flailed as she clambered to her feet. “You think your efforts in Raphael’s name won’t go unpunished by the rest of the hells? Zariel will wear your fangs as earrings, little Ascendant.”

“Oh, not if my Bride finds her first,” Astarion hissed, quicker than the eye could catch, he launched another arrow into the base of her blue-columned neck. Enough to maim, but not to keep her from talking. “But that’s why you tried to claim her for your own, isn’t it? Couldn’t resist my own little hellcat, my darling spitfire.” Two strong, pale hands held up her head by her horns. “No one takes what’s mine from me,” he hissed through fangs, “and no one entraps my dearest companions without facing retribution. Isn’t that right, Wyll?”

Astarion’s crimson eyes scanned his friend, the fearless Blade, only to notice his hand shaking on the hilt of his faithful weapon. Heart aching, he knew that look, had felt it before as he clung to Rhapsody’s hilt to carve the marching ruins in his own abuser’s back. “Do it now, Wyll,” he said, steady and sure, as if he could give Wyll the resolve for which he was searching. “End this, do it for those years you lost to her torment.”

Wyll’s mismatched eyes just glared wider, flickering between Astarion’s blood-spattered face and Mizora as each breath she drew grew weaker.

“Make her suffer your sting, once and for all,” Astarion smirked, yanking those horns harder, the stink of her blood’s acid making his stomach curl.

Fingers regripped around Wyll’s hilt, one swing of his rapier, and it was done. One cambion head hung in the vampire’s hands, one body fell at their feet with a heavy thud. And Wyll laughed— a deep, inane, rolling belly laugh, the kind Astarion had never heard before. His bloodied glove clapped on top of Astarion’s shoulder. “Vampire Ascendant, I, for one, am grateful to have not been a good influence on you. That felt….”

Astarion smiled, catching his own breath, “Really fucking good, right?”

“Yeah,” Wyll laughed again, more of his usual breathy chuckle as he took Mizora’s head by the horn in his own hand. “Really… fucking… good.”

Black stone walls echoed with the drag of his claws, their boney points scraping as he sauntered down the halls towards Zariel’s throne room. His throne room now. Raphael laughed from his distorted; deformed maw, his Ascended fiendish laugh like boulders crushed together. The only sound louder was the metallic dragging of his quarry behind him, Zariel’s armor torn asunder by his claws and his magic. He gave another bone-grinding laugh as he crouched his form low enough to enter the doors. Blood ran beneath his feet, red and hot and stinking, as his own chosen warriors decimated the remainders of her private guard. Their death cries were music to his fiendish ears.

He smiled, shaking his enormous, skin-tight abomination of a head, feeling inspired… words of glory coming to his tongue. He tossed Zariel’s half-mangled body to the foot of her dais, her human form crunching some more frail bones as she landed with a thud.

“To hells allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!

I dare damnation. To this point I stand

That both the worlds I give to negligence.

Let come what comes…”

A wall of fire consumed him as he shrunk back in size but never in power, that swarthy face of man gloating unscathed down at his nemesis.

“…only I’ll be revenged.”

His arm extended, magic coursed through the air, hot and consuming, pulling the Archduchess taut by her appendages. Stretching her on the rack of his mighty power.

Barely more now than a bald head and pure hate, Zariel writhed in the tendrils of Raphael’s magic. “Mephistopheles’ outcast halfbreed, you won’t live to enjoy your victory. I can guarantee it; that’s the way of the hells.”

Raphael merely closed his fist tighter, stretching the Archduchess’ limbs taut as his warriors sliced their way through the last of her fiends. Every step they took splashed in blood, more steaming as it flowed with every swipe of greataxe and dagger blades. Breathless and grinning with glee, Karlach and Cordehlia flanked their devil commander, both their faces now reddened afresh with blood-spatter and gore.

“You’re lucky, Archduchess, as the first to bear witness to my own ascension to power. With Avernus as mine to rule, it will be a matter of time before all the others fall to the same fate as you, Zariel. How fortunate you get to serve as the example. Your bald head will sit nicely on the gates of this palace.” Raphael turned his wry, delighted grin towards the Tiefling, her infernal engine thumping and grinning faster with her magnificent bloodlust and rage. “Wouldn’t you agree, Karlach?”

“Yeah, but only after I get to piss on it a few times,” she scowled, her vocal chords frayed and strained from her battle cries.

Raphael gestured with pure gallantry to the Hellion. “She’s yours, my dear. Unleash that heat of rage once and for all…”

Kalach’s fire flared, sparks dancing from her hair and skin as she shifted her axe over her shoulder. With a twirl of his fingers, Zariel’s body bent to kneel in the pools of blood, her arms behind her back, her head bent low…

…As it should be before him, Raphael gloated.

“My delightful Bone Picker, do make certain our friend doesn’t struggle so,” Raphael crooned at the vampiress, the blood coating her armor and skin matching the bloodlust glinting in her blood red eyes. A look of delight on her face, she sheathed her sword and dagger, entering into the tendrils of infernal magic. The sole of her boot kicked square in the middle of her back, a laugh rippling from her fanged smile. With all her vampiric might, she kept their foe pinned beneath her heel, and a single nod to Karlach was permission enough.

Flames burst, a flare of vengeance and heat, and Karlach gripped her weapon. Chest heaving, eyes wide, it took only one barbaric scream and one fell swing of her axe to end it all—her life of torture, her source of horror, and the day’s battle. Her axe slung back over her shoulder, Karlach reached for her trophy and tossed it at Raphael. “Hope you’re a better Archdevil,” she commented casually.

“I have every intent on being far superior,” Raphael crowed in reply, taking his trophy in hand. He gave his most pleasant smile, and relished the way his Tiefling commander with an engine for a heart seemed to bristle less than usual as he gave it.

A figure of almost pure red approached, her fangs were the only part of her face left free from blood, most likely because she had already licked them clean. Cordehlia glided over, coated in a fresh spray of archduchess blood. “Well, Raphael, congratulations are in order. Crownless, and yet Avernus is yours,” she refused to bow her head, but her eyes flickered with approval.

Raphael grinned despite the potential slight in decorum. In fact, he’d be disappointed if she had bowed to him or bent a knee. “No small thanks to my favorite, bloodied warrior of this and every age, my lady,” he replied, those velvet tones unable to convey just how much he meant them.

Cordehlia tipped her head back, surveying the damage wrought around them. “Well, the day is ours, and a rest and a feast are well overdue.”

“Say no more, my lady,” Raphael chuckled, snapping his fingers to swirl them in smoke. The throne room faded, instantly replaced with the heart of Raphael’s war camp.

Two feet back under her, and Cordehlia couldn’t wait to rest, her body ached in places it hadn’t for almost a year, not since those final battles against the armies of the Absolute. The stick of congealed blood grew thick, and while she wanted to rest and bathe, she first wanted… no, needed her feast.

She needed to taste him.

She could hear his heart beating across the crowd, its familiar thumbing making her hunger flame higher. Molten need, to touch him, to make sure he was unharmed and victorious, it drove her to race past cambions and other infernal beings as she shoved them out of her way.

“My love,” she purred the second they locked eyes. He was just as covered in gore-filth as she, the red spattered elegantly over his silver waves of hair still, even if he had washed his face. He grinned at her hungrily the second he saw her at last. Crashing and clanging, their armor slammed together as they embraced, their kiss all tongue and fangs and breaths to be reunited again. His fingers clutched around her chin, bringing her cheek against his mouth, his warm tongue swiping a lick up her pale skin.

“Darling, you are as messy a murderer as I am an eater. Just look at the state of you, tch.” He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, gathering the blood from her chin before he sucked that digit clean.

Cordehlia’s face twisted into a mocking grin, grabbing him by the collar and pulling his taunting lips to hers. “We deserve a feast, my love,” she murmured against his lips, “and you’re the one who’s going to join me in it.”

“Mmm,” he purred, “I do rather like that, you know.” A playful growl in his throat, and he nipped that bottom lip of hers.

“Gods, you two have only gotten worse, haven’t you,” Karlach boomed her teasing laugh.

“You have no idea,” Astarion replied, his eyes still locked on that beloved bloodspattered countenance as he caressed her.

Giving Karlach a bump from his shoulder to hers, Wyll chortled. “Oh, we have some ideas. It’s not like we didn’t spend weeks having to share camp and common rooms at the Elfsong with you.” He shook his great horned head. “Not like we didn't have to stop in streets and battlefields so you two could kiss.”

Mischief flashed in Cordehlia’s scarlet eyes as she impishly snapped her fangs in the air in front of Astarion’s face.

“Ah, how sweet to see that your bonds of friendship haven’t withered over time,” that velvet baritone broke the camaraderie, making the easy company they kept with one another stiffen back to formality as Raphael approached. He swaggered in slowly into their midst, his helldusk armor still spattered from combat as well. A cambion servant followed in tow with a silver tray to wine chalices ready for consumption.

“A toast to the victors?” he crooned, handing a cup to Wyll first. “First, to the Blade of Avernus, a powerful weapon I’m glad to have in my magnanimous employ.”

Wyll tipped his horned head. “It’s been… refreshing to find a devil who did not demand soul nor contract.”

“I do what I can for those who eliminated the Illithid threat from your realm and mine,” Raphael smirked, raising his cup.

“Bullshit,” Karlach barked a laugh as she grabbed her own chalice from the tray. “You’re just soft on us because we conveniently freed the crown of Karsus from the Dead Three,” she barely stopped talking to down the wine to its dregs in one go. “That and you want to keep your Bone Picker on your good side, eh?”

Raphael arched a single thick, dark brow. “What kind of devil would I be if I didn’t ensure the faithfulness of allies of renown, so bloodsoaked and deadly. You all had your hands in a feat of great and mighty valor. I’d be a fool to let our longstanding connection slip from my claws.” His gaze settled square on the Tiefling. “That reminds me, Advocatus Diaboli. You’ll be Advocatus no longer, Karlach. Legatus Legionis, the title and position are yours. My commander in the field, my arm in matters of politics beyond the hells.” Raphael nodded in Wyll’s direction as Karlach’s face beamed with joy. “Perhaps a return to Baldur’s Gate to escort the next Duke Ravenguard to his proper place, now that Avernus is mine. You’ll need to be as effective in the politics of the material plane as you are in battle, my Hellion, so…”

“YOU’RE GONNA FIX MY HEART?” Karlach screamed at full volume, giddy and bouncing like a child.

Raphael’s rolling, rumbling chuckle sounded almost genuine to see her gratitude and mirth. “You’ll need it if you’re going to be my conduit of influence to our Duke of Baldur’s Gate, the Vampire Ascendant and his mighty Bone Picker…”. He turned to find the allies in question, two cups of a different sort of red liquid as its contents awaiting them on the tray. “To our victory, again,” the new Archdevil proclaimed, dulcet tone befitting his new status. Allies and an army and a circle of hell at his command…. Not much was missing, he grinned as they all downed their drinks.

“You know, that was fun,” Karlach added, a wide incorrigible grin on her face. Her heavy hand came squarely down on the devil's shoulder. “Thanks for a good time, Claws.”

Raphael’s brown arched, his swarthy face drawing into a grin that showed amusement and warning. “Claws?”

Karlach gaped at him, almost sloshing her wine as she huffed with her whole body. “Oh, come on! You know, like when we first met you… down came the…. Is your memory that bad?”

A sardonic sneer on his face, Raphael started to walk away, snapping his fingers to refill their chalices to near bursting.

“Am I still your Legal Whatever-it-was?” she called after him.

That easy camaraderie returned, laughter and claps on the back all around. “Don’t worry, I think he likes it,” Astairon grinned, nodding his head in twisted delight.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

A/N: Raphael has a… soft spot… for Cordehlia, one that maybe clouds his usually twisted manipulative plans with wanting to earn her good will. His generosity towards Karlach and Wyll is maybe more a means of ensuring Cordhelia’s favor than any form of kindness.

And… just maybe… he’s going to cash in that favor in our next update. 🦇 x 🐦‍⬛ x 😈

2nd A/N: I stole from The Bard for my evil devil Bard. Raphael’s poem of victory is from Laertes in “Hamlet” 💀

[raviolirash]

I see a few posts now and then saying that Astarion's story doesn't tie into the main plot at all. Those takes are strange to me because it does.

The whole theme of BG3 is power and how it corrupts. How Cazador was once a young boy but got sired by Vellioth and was then tortured for a few lifetimes. How then Cazador not only continued the cycle, but became more powerful than Vellioth and got bored. Then decided to kill 7,007 people to ascend to godhood in order to fill the void in his heart. He knew that doing so would doom what remains of him to Mephistopheles. He did it while fully understanding that it will never be enough. Check what he says when you read his thoughts in the coffin.

Ascended Astarion then hammers in further that no power can fill that void. No godhood can. You'll remain an unhealed rotting wound and you'll be screaming on the inside for the rest of your days, you'll never feel happiness. You'll forget how much you loved the embrace of the sun, and cover the world in darkness. You'll corrupt the person you love until there is nothing left. You'll become the darkness you feared and will spend rest of your days chasing that high, murdering more and more people. You will be corrupted and you will only be a shell of your former self, your humanity erased.

All of this in the futile hopes of silencing your own voice screaming inside yourself.

[AstarionThankingYouForNotLettingHimAscend.mp4 here]

This story is reflected in many you encounter in BG3. Most obvious one is Gortash of course. He was sold by his parents to Raphael and abused in the hells. Gortash then sold a kid who trusted him with her life to Zariel to be a lab rat. But this post is long enough.

Astarion's story is a warning to the players and a moment of introspection. To show how far out of hand a chase for power can get and how it will never end and it will never be enough. To see if they have a conscience to turn to their friend and say "I want you to live a life you're proud of. You can't be proud of this."

It's the same way with the movie Us and some comments I see about it

Do you focus far too much on "lol plot don't make sense"

Or was your reaction "Holy shit. They are just like me. They are people too."

[themafia-terrapins]

Into the night.

A/N: You should read the post before this to get an understanding of this AU. Fair warning, this is pretty long. Enjoy! 💚

Disclaimer: mention of child abuse ahead. Be warned!

Cold. Merciless. Dangerous. Mysterious.

They were the only words that many used to describe the Hamato Clan. No one wanted to mess with them in fear of what they would do, countless stories were told of those who had double crossed them and in result, hadn’t lived to see the next day. The most feared gang caught in a dark and ruthless world of crime, violence, blood and lust. Others wanted their wealth and power but not everything is what it seemed to be. 

The cold breeze hit Leonardo’s face, as he gulped down air quickly into his lungs. He was sure those horrid nightmares would have stopped, it had been almost 11 years for God’s sake. Cursing under his breath, he knocked down the tub of medication which rattled on the floor. The view of New York was beautiful from all the way up here and as frantically as he tried to focus on it, those poisonous thoughts blazed through his mind and he had no power to control it. 

“Father please don’t leave again” The young teen cried, trailing helplessly after the rat who swore angrily. Being only 13, he wasn’t able to grab those supplies that his brothers needed. They were forced to rely on Splinter but he would hardly help them. They were lucky if he even brought down the bare necessities for them to survive on. 

“How many times do I have to tell you leave me alone?! Enough!” Splinter growled, loosening his tie as he made his way to the sewers steps. But Leo had to try for his brothers, he couldn’t look at their pain anymore. He couldn’t go back empty handed, to witness Raphael put up a brave front despite actively bleeding and bruised practically everywhere on his frail body. He couldn’t see Donnie on the verge of another panic attack because he didn’t know how to fix them. He couldn’t bear to see Mikey trying to hold it all together but breaking down in the bathroom , when he thought nobody was listening because he couldn’t live in this nightmare. 

“R-Raph is hurt and we don’t have any more bandages” Leo spoke timidly, trying to sound clear and confident but his voice trembled. Splinter stood still and the turtle could already smell the sour whiskey from his clothes. It had been a bad day, he presumed. Whiskey was only drunk whenever a loss was incurred. And that usually meant he wouldn’t be home for days, much o the turtle’s pleasure. 

“What have I said about speaking back?!” Splinter bellowed, his arm whacking Leo backwards until his shell hit the tunnel. The side of his shell had already been damaged due to constantly training day and night to perfect the routine Splinter had set them. But an audible crack had been heard and a small gasp left his lips, already seeing a trickle of blood roll down his skin staining the previous bandages. He hadn’t even time to register the pain until Splinter loomed over his body, his eyes black and dangerous. 

“Father I’m-” Leo’s breath hitched in his throat, tears prickling his eyes painfully watching his hand raise slowly. ‘Not again, please not again’

“You’re absolutely hopeless, you hear me?!” Again Splinter punched the turtle, laughing each time when the terrapin recoiled in pain. Leonardo held his tongue, scared to further anger the drunken rat. Every slap, punch and kick was taken without a sound because the punishment for wincing was double the amount than the beating now. And he wasn’t so sure his shell could take anymore.

“Look at you! You expect to take on my legacy acting like a pathetic little girl?! Get out of my sight before I finish you” With one swift punch to Leo’s jaw, Splinter left to go topside. He could hear his evil voice cackle on the phone to one of his partners in this mysterious business he refused to utter a word about.

“Why do you hit us so much? What did we ever do to you?” Leo sobbed quietly, curling into a little ball on the floor. The punch on his plastron seared throughout his body, burning in hot white pain. Yet it must be nothing compared to what his brothers were going through. They were awaiting Leo but the eldest could barely move, let alone walk to their home. 

Home, usually described at being comforting and loving but he hadn’t felt any of these emotions since they moved in. He used to yearn for a mother to come and take their pain away but as he grew, that dream slowly died as hope in him also began to wither. 

Maybe one day things would be different...

---

Blaring traffic shocked the turtle out of his trance and with a shuddering breath, he took several deep breaths. He l

“Why must I be reminded of such memories?” Leonardo sighed, his hand drifting over his temple to soothe the dull ache. No matter how long it had been, the wound from his past was still fresh. They say time healed all pain so why did his still hurt? Some nights it was bearable and some nights it felt like he was being suffocated in his mind, slowly driving insane.

Physical pain definitely was a lot more tolerable than verbal, even now he could still hear the echo of Splinter’s voice reprimanding him whenever he failed. Those stabbing words ringing louder and louder in his ears, berating him for being stupid and weak. Laughing at how his ridiculous attempt of leading a team. Leonardo never wanted anything more than to make Splinter proud but during his years, he realised that it was never going to happen.

Splinter only cared for himself and Leo, along with his brothers, were merely pawns in his cruel game.

But now was not the time to dwell on these matters, things had to be done and completed. His phone rang jarring him out of his thoughts and he picked it up rather reluctantly.

“What is it, Silas?” His assistant/companion spoke quickly, picking up the disinterest in Leo’s voice. He was never one for sugarcoating his feelings or emotions, if the boss wanted something done it was pronto.

“Beast is requesting dinner with capo and the mob. Your presence is required, sir” Holding his urge to groan, the turtle glanced down at the lights that decorated the buildings of New York. They were so beautiful but he couldn’t even take the time to appreciate it, reality had called and with great reluctance he had to answer.  

Beast... what was there to say? He was a snob, ignorant, extremely wealthy but lacked any common sense or values. Leo’s patience was practically non existent whenever he communicated with him. While he provided a great reference for other business partners, Beast himself was on thin ice with the brothers.

“Dinner at... 1am?” Leo scowled, looking at his watch. Beast, while had been an average business partner, had constant demands and ideas that were completely absurd. The brothers were tiring of his constant requests and awful timing.

“I did not suggest the convocation at this late sir” The assistant began but Leo interrupted him, wanting to end this conversation. 

“Be that as it may, unfortunately I cannot attend. Cancel my plans for tonight, I have a reconciliation to attend to and the conference will take up most my time” He ordered, observing the bonsai trees that stood on the balcony. One thing he grew to adore was his plants, they were simple and with enough care and love, blossomed into something gorgeous. 

“I don’t think Beast will be pleased with the rejection. He only wants a few words with the mob and especially you, Capo” Silas tried to reason but the terrapin was adamant.

“Enough. Reschedule this meeting tomorrow at 11pm sharp. Am I understood?” Leo commanded and Silas nodded, already writing it down in his notepad.

“Crystal. Enjoy your night sir” ‘Unlikely’... Hanging up, the blue cladded turtle inhaled a deep breath to collect his thoughts. Cancelling the meeting is a mistake but there were bigger fish to fry tonight. Other duties lay heavy on his mind and with a turn of his heel, he left his safe haven. 

As he entered his room, a young woman appeared at his door. Her heels echoed on the polished marble floors, grinding on his last nerve. God he really didn’t want to deal with her right in this moment. Her eyes settled on his and her face lifted into a small smile, one he did not mirror back.

“Katherine, what brings you to my quarters? Surely you’re old enough to understand you cannot barge in whenever you please” Leonardo watched as the young woman quickly stepped back, picking up the heavy discomfort that lay in the air.

“My apologies Leonardo. It’s Raphael, he said that you guys are attending a conference tonight but it’s our 3 month-”

“I fail to understand how this is my problem” He was quick in letting her know, he hadn’t the time to listen to her. Truth be told, he would never understand why Raphael stuck with her. She caused more pain and grief than anything to him.

“Okay... but could you tell me at least why?” She cocked her head and Leo turned, his face set in a hard frown.

“That is between me and my brothers Katherine. I do not appreciate when people interfere in my business. That much should be painfully obvious” His tone was calm but the harsh voice was clearly heard.

Opening his cupboard door, the small picture of Eva caught his eye. A small pang of sadness washed over his body before getting a grip on himself, refusing himself to succumb to the weakness. Eva was the past yet it seemed no matter how long the years had gone by, the yearn was as strong as ever. He wondered if he would ever be free from the shackles around his heart that locked tightly in his chest.

He had to accept that no matter how much he hoped on a wishing star or to the sky, she simply was not coming back. On the side showed a glass mirror, outlining all the features on his face. Sleep hadn’t come to the turtle much recently, he was lucky to get 4 hours and that was on a good day.

“You know you can just call me Kiki like everyone else” She raised her brow as he grabbed his navy blue velvet suit, the unreadable facial expression plastered on his face while his dark sapphire eyes burned into hers. Still standing at the doorway, she felt almost scared of him. Despite being with his brother for around 8 years, she never felt like she knew Leo. No one did, he kept to himself and only showed his true colours to those he cared about.

“Katherine, if that is all you have come to say then I highly suggest you leave me be now. It would not bode well for you to overstep your boundaries” With an almost snarl, he walked forwards and closed his door. 

---

“Would you like some champagne, Mr Hamato? It’s the one you specifically requested, Dom Pérignon” The waiter asked and Leo nodded his head, flicking through the newspapers as he awaited the rest of his brothers to join him. This meeting was better suited to the office, he didn’t need any extra ears or eyes to listen in on the information discussed between them. 

“God, I need a drink” He could hear the brute’s voice carry through the halls and into the meeting room.

“Right away boss” Greyson, his assistant spoke and vanished to make his preferred alcoholic beverage.

“What is the occasion, dear brother? As much as I like to spend time with you, I’m assuming you haven’t called us for fun” Donnie sat down, his ankle resting on top of his thigh as his attention diverted to his brother. Delicately folding the papers up and placing them to the side, Leo eyed his younger brother with a smirk. 

“Always straight to the point Donatello. And you’d be correct, I’ve called this meeting to discuss our next steps” He spoke authoritatively as the turtles settled in their seats, glancing at the board which held ideas and secret plans.

“Did ya cancel tha meetin’ with Beast tonight?” Raph asked, eyes skimming at the tablet. That was very unlikely of the leader, he was the one always nagging to keep up with business meetings and such. 

“Yes, I’ll be damned if I have to listen to another lie of his again. He cannot speak clearly and I have no time for beating around the bush. Once we’re done with this proposal, it will be a big relief to have him off our backs” Leo sipped his wine, flicking through his notes. A few names picked up but on the whole, everything seemed relatively calm. But there was no resting, they couldn’t afford not to be on their guard. Trouble was brewing on the horizon, he could feel it in his body. 

“Fuck sake, how many times do I have to tell you I hate when you organise my notes like this” Mikey sighed irritably as his brothers smirked, looking at each other with amusement. 

It was a running joke that Mikey couldn’t hold an assistant down for more than 2 months. Perhaps it was his picky way of being organised or that he had a short temper and hated his things being out of place, they didn’t know. This new assistant fumbled with the drinks, paling as his boss shouted his displeasure. 

“What happened to Donetti Licata?” Donatello asked, chuckling at his younger brother expecting another childish story about organisation as it as had been the story before. 

“Fired him. Caught him screwing Mia in my bed. Which reminds me I really need to employ someone who actually has a working braincell” Mikey spoke nonchalantly while his brothers looked at each other wide eyed.

“Oh... shit. M’sorry Mike, that must’ve been hard” Raph murmured, surprised at how well his little brother was taking the whole thing. Almost... too well in his opinion. Amelia had been the light of his life, his love at one point. They both brought out the best in each other but perhaps it was simply a mirage to the toxicity that lay just under the surface.

She wasn’t the Amelia he fell in love with and as he came to grips with that, the idea of losing her forever felt absolutely scary to him. He tried everything to put their relationship on track but it was Amelia who refused to partake in anything.

“Hmm? Oh.. yeah. It was tolerable once I beat the shit out of him. I can’t ever believe I trusted the fucker....” Mikey leaned back on his chair as another glass of wine was placed in front of him. Yet the lump in his throat felt unmovable, rendering him breathless. 

“Don’t tell me ya still wit’ her Mike. Yer deserve better than that” Raphael’s hand ached to knock some sense into the terrapin. Even if she would countlessly cheat on him, which she probably had done, all she had to do was flutter her lashes and sweet talk him. And just like that Mikey would forgive her in that second. In his eyes, Mia could do no wrong. She had Mikey on a leash but of course, he was oblivious to it all.

“You still with Kiki?” Mikey retorted, venom in his words while his eyes glared at his brother. Raphael’s frown deepened, holding his gaze. While he knew it was in the heat of the moment, he wished Mikey could see the damage Amelia was doing to him. Kiki was different only because Raph knew her past, knew that she was damaged too. How could he, of all people, leave her hanging alone?

“Children, behave. What do we do about these last few payments? I’ve talked to Xavier and he’s saying Gomez hasn’t responded to anything. It’s high time we pay a special visit, he’s got to know who exactly he’s messing with here” Donnie rolled his eyes at the quarrel and adjusted his glasses, raising them closer to his eyes. Leonardo seemed to be in deep thought for a few seconds before looking at his family again.

“If that’s the case then I want you and Mikey to check it out tomorrow. Me and Raph will deal with Beast, we all know how dramatic he likes to get when he doesn’t get his way” They all knew the last time they messed with Beast, how he threatened to take his money away and leave them bankrupt. Regardless of his filthy money, the turtles were not affected without it.

Years of investing and saving up had allowed them to live luxuriously. They had everything they ever wanted, Beast was just a liability to them. They needed him to increase potential business partners. To be able to stay at the top, they needed to associate with people at the top. If that meant doing business with idiots who couldn’t hold their ground and lacked any sense of morals and values, then so be it.

This was the mafia, after all. Nothing was pretty here.

“He’s clearly trying to inherit the property, why not just kill him altogether” Mikey pointed out, leaning back on his chair but Leo shook his head.

“Too risky. He may be a fool but he’s a smart one. He has plenty of connections with others, much powerful than the ones we have. We’ll keep him on the side but don’t turn your eyes, he will strike when least expected. Once we secure this deal, you can unleash all your anger on him. For now, we stay in his good books. However long that may be” He grimaced at the thought of the meeting they were supposed to have instead of this one. How long the turtle brothers would remain on his good side was unknown but hey, only a few more months of his bullshit and it was home run. The brothers continued to talk about upcoming events and nearing the end of the meeting, they all grabbed their belongings. 

“Wait a sec, Amara’s coming here tomorrow?” Mikey read out the small note on the board and Leo nodded, finishing off his wine. 

“Yes, well technically she’s visiting but we needed some help around here and she agreed to stick around for a while” She was a close friend to the turtles, meeting them after they newly escaped Splinter’s clutches. She had found them at a time when they were barely breathing and even without knowing who they were, she nursed them back to health. They all were indebted to her. Throughout the years, she went back to Italy since her father was part of their own mafia but her loyalty to the turtles never wavered. 

“At least we get ta see a new face ‘round here. But goin’ back ta before, I can’t wait ta finally kill that bastard” Raphael cracked his knuckles, unbuttoning his vest. He never was one to take orders from people, he was incredibly stubborn and arrogant to take commands from someone else. He barely followed Leo’s on a good day, let alone someone who continually threatened him and his family. If it were up-to him, he would have Beast’s head on a silver platter and sent directly to his team 

“All in due time brother. For now, let’s focus on getting our money back and dealing with Beast”

[cammi-writes]

Title: Lucifer’s First

Parts: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

a/n | warnings: subtle mentions of abuse | just so yall know it took me forever to combine all of the tags lmaooo if it’s crossed out it’s because tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader

Tag List: @alvarezsamy1106 , @violetlilites , @reindeergames13 , @mateihavenoidea , @waddles03 , @shikigami-the-paper-spirit , @shabamf , @bcfangirlthatswhy , @fandom-trash-worth-it , @fangirlbookworm , @anxious-trashpanda , @foofee0924 , @whatiswrongwithpeople , @cat-n-claw , @brookepalmieri , @itsybitsytinygirlsblog , @thefandombandit , @billywig-on-baker-street , @camu-winchester , @squirrellover1967 , @partyelleth7601 , @thepjofanqueen , @this-darkness-light , @lucifer-theone-true-king-of-hell , @myfandomlife-blog , @hcliff56 , @mushroomquee-n , @kristina818 , @suckystoryteller

“Did you paint all of these?” Sam asked as his eyes scanned over the dozens of paintings in your tent. 

“Yeah!” You smiled proudly. You loved painting. You don’t know if you painted before the accident but you did now. 

“These are beautiful” Mary commented and you blushed.

“These are all religious events” Cas noted and you shrugged. 

“I don’t know about that” You laughed, twirling your paint brush. “I’ve always felt a connection to religion but everything I paint isn’t exactly based on anything in the bible” 

Lucifer’s eyes were focused on one of you larger paintings. It was of a blonde man, with gigantic wings sprouting from his back. But it wasn’t just a man, in a lighter stroke, Lucifer could see his true form. Lucifer’s eves traveled down the arm of his first vessel to wear it met the hand of another. He stared at the abused and tortured woman, the bruises and cuts lacing her arms.In the painting, he couldn’t see the woman’s face but in his memory he could. 

Lucifer felt nothing but rage as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

How could humans do that to one another?, Lucifer would wonder. 

He could hear the woman’s screaming and pleading with the men as they beat her. He turned away, ready to leave them, to obey his father’s orders not to interfere with the humans. 

But then he felt guilt as he heard her whisper quietly. 

“ God of all comfort, our very present help in trouble, be near to me. Look on me with the eyes of your mercy; comfort me with a sense of your presence; preserve me from the enemy; and give me patience in my affliction. Restore me to health, and lead me to your eternal glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. “ 

“Do you like it?” You smiled shyly up at the familiar man as he stared at your painting. “I painted it in the hospital, after the accident. It was inspired after a dream I had. The first dream I remember” 

“It seems more like a nightmare” Lucifer whispered. 

“Maybe in the beginning” You smiled sadly. “But he saved her”

Lucifer looked down at you. He had missed you so much. For the millennia he’s been alive, he has only wanted one thing truly. You. To see your deep e/c eyes and your beautiful h/c hair. You were a goddess to him. 

He had kept the image of your dying body in head for so long that he turned bitter. Angry. Hateful. But all it really was, was mourning. He had lost the one good thing he had done. 

“I wonder if I’m basing him off of someone I knew” You spoke, snapping Lucifer out of his thoughts. “He’s the star of a lot of my paintings” 

“May I see them?” Lucifer asked and you smiled up at him, making his grace stir. While he loved that feeling, it reminded him of how he had created you. And that memory tormented him. 

You lead Lucifer over to a pile of paintings that you kept in the corner, you hadn’t been able to display them yet. 

You looked through the paintings and pulled out one that you had painted recently. Lucifer inhaled at the sight of that scene. 

“Hello, Y/n” A deep voice said and you looked away from the painting you had been adding your finishing touches to. 

“Who are you?” You stepped back, slightly afraid.

“My name is Raphael” The man spoke, giving you a slight smile. “I am one of Lucifer’s brothers” 

You furrowed you eyebrows. While you knew Lucifer had brothers, he had never spoken about them. That worried you. 

“He has sent me here to collect you” Raphael spoke again. 

“Why could he not come get me himself?” You asked, not ready to trust anybody but Lucifer. 

“He is busy doing God’s work” Raphael explained. “Lucifer wants you to meet our father, Y/n” 

Your eyes widened in shock and excitement. You were going to meet the creator of the universe and so much more. You felt lucky. 

“Really?” You asked and Raphael nodded. “I would feel much more comfortable if Lucifer came to get me, himself” 

“Do you, not trust Lucifer?” Raphael asked and you frowned. 

“Of course I trust him” You did. You trusted Lucifer with your life. 

“Then you do not believe he cares for you?” Raphael looked confused and so were you. 

“I know he cares for me” He wouldn’t have saved you and gave you this power to protect yourself if he did not. 

“Then why would you believe that he would let someone cause you harm? I promise, if I was any threat to you, Lucifer would have smote me down already” Raphael explained. And you took his hand, letting yourself believe him.

“This one was filled with confusion and uneasiness” You explained as you stared intently at the painting in front of you. 

“Y/n-” 

“So what are we going to do now?” Jack cut Lucifer off. 

“What?” Lucifer glared at Jack. 

“Is Y/n coming back to the bunker with us?” Jack further explained. 

“The bunker?” You furrowed your eyebrows. That sent a strike of fear into your heart. 

“Don’t be afraid, dewdrop” Lucifer stared down into your eyes. 

For a split second, you had flashbacks to the same man in your paintings calling you that. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe. 

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Aftermath Part 3 - The Meeting

Sorry for the delay in the release of this next part. Mun has found herself lacking in motivation in writing. I hope you enjoy the next installment in my apocalyptic TMNT story. 

Raphael and Reader

Everything hurt; even your eyelids ached, throbbing red flashes of pain as you tried to peel them open to see where you were, this wasn’t normal. What was going on, why did…..oh….OH….it was coming back in vivid angry snaps of memory. You were fighting off those men on the roof, who came unannounced and dead set on bringing you back to someone, to break you? Those assholes almost had you too before those four giant turtle men came, distracting them. The red banded one’s face flashed before your eyes concerned etched in his features. He had tried to save your dumb ass as you stumbled back in shock. The rotted out opening in the roof, how could you have not been aware of your surroundings? You could hear your mother scolding you in the back of your mind. Idiot!

As the world came rushing back you heard voices, male voices, not good. The fear bubbling up from your gut hoped it wasn’t those men you had encountered on the roof, prayed in fact, which you hadn’t done in years.

“I think she’s coming around?”

“Dudes, you think she’s gonna freak?”

“Can you get back nutball? She’s gonna freak if she wakes up and your ugly mug is inches from her fucking face.”

“Raphael can you please watch your language. We have a guest.”

As the light pierced your vision green became the forefront. Once, twice you blinked as the green blurry masses came into focus. Crystal clear they became, large muscle bound shelled behemoths just a few feet from where you lay. In the back of your mind you had hoped they were a figment of your imagination as you tumbled to your doom, but the four very large, very real man turtles stood around you.

The tallest of the four seemed to be concerned the most, his brown eyes moving behind a tattered purple mask and a pair of tech goggles sat upon his green bald forehead. His upper body well-muscled was sans clothing except for suspenders littered with multicolored patches and an arm band which seemed to hold a working tablet. He had a pack on the back of his shell and a small solar panel perched on the top with a weird pole attached to its side, it looked electric? From what you could see of his lower half he was wearing black cargo pants that held an array of gadgets and unknown gizmos strapped to his narrow hips. His left arm despite green with scales was covered in several all black tattoos that went from his shoulder cap to his pointer finger. His right arm had a nasty looking scar around his bicep, the green scaled flesh faded to white scar tissue reaching from mid bicep to his armpit. By the looks of the damage he had nearly lost it.

The one next to him was the smallest of the bunch but did not lack in bulk, his eyes were a brilliant light blue outlined in orange fabric. The front of his plastron looked carved in intricate designs, scrolling from the top left to the bottom right, but to your trained eye you could see the designs were hiding a long deep gash that had to have been painful to endure. His whole right arm down to the middle of his open side was drenched in vivid pigment and abstract watercolors. Along with a brightly colored octopus on his left shoulder, tentacles running up towards his throat to around his collar bone. His lower half was covered with brown shorts and knee pads and what looked like homemade shoes for his massive feet. And hanging on each swaying hip were a pair of fucking nunchaku?! Nunchaku?

The third was the second shortest but by the way he held himself he was very important, maybe the leader?  His green crown was wrapped in blue silhouetting his vibrant ocean blue eyes, he definitely oozed control. The top of his plastron had the same intricate detailed carvings covering what looked like a jagged gash across his chest moving from the left to just past the middle of the boney plates. The difference in his carvings was the indents looked blackened, enhancing the artwork, making it pop. Across his broad chest sat what look like a holster, black leather with dark blue embroidering running the length of the strap. His lower half was covered by black pants with knee pads protecting his joints with a strap around his left thigh holding an array of blades.

The last was the brute, not quite the tallest but definitely the one who worked out the most. A red bandana covered his whole head draping down to cover the back of his thick neck. His biceps were bigger than your head with dense muscles shifting under the green flesh as he palmed a half eaten apple in his right fist. His plastron had the most carvings covering nearly all his front breast plates besides the lower left section. His wide hips held a belt that slung lazily holding a set of red sais. His bulky legs were covered in dark green camo pants tattered and worn from years of abuse. His feet also adorned specially made footwear because you had never seen such gigantic black boots in your life. You wondered who the shoemaker of the group was.

Slowly you braced your hands under your back and sat up eyeing each mutant warily.

“Careful now, you got a pretty nasty concussion when you fell. Take it nice and easy.” The tall purple one yelped reaching for you out of reflex. When you recoiled, his face fell into a deep frown and stepped back out of your personal space.

You didn’t feel like you were in danger but that didn’t mean that you weren’t. You’re first interaction with humans in 10 years had left a sour taste in your mouth. But these four weren’t really human, were they?

“Umm….did you set up your rig, it’s quite impressive?” the tall one asked obviously trying to break the tense moment between you all. “How did you get the engine to take the solar power?”

You were about to say something but the horror of it hit you, your truck and camper! How long had you been out? Someone could steal all your hard work! Then you’d be stuck here!

The one in blue must have sensed your inner panic and lifted his large green hands in a non threatening manner. “Hey, hey miss calm down. Your truck and camper are safe; it’s down here with us. After you fell and we dispatched Donovan’s men, we brought you and your vehicle down here where they can’t get to it. The reason Donnie is asking because he got to drive it and hasn’t stopped talking about your work for almost 3 hours.”

“Down here? Donnie? Where are we? Who are you? Why did you help me? Donovan’s men?”

“Whoa whoa whoa there, that’s a lot of questions.” The red one chuckled taking another healthy bite from the apple. “By the way, thanks for the apple.” He winked finishing the sweet flesh in one final crunch. “It’s been years since I’ve had one.”

“God damnit Raph.” The purple one moaned in frustration hold his head in his hands. When he lifted his face you could have sworn his green cheeks had a red tint to them. “I’m sorry miss; you are in the sewers below what used to be New York City. I’m Donatello aka Donnie. This one here..” he wrapped his arm around the small but bulky orange banded one pulling him closer. “Is Michelangelo and he’s the youngest of us all.”

“You can call me Mikey though.” Michelangelo winked reaching his hand out for a knuckle bump.

His large knuckles were massive and highly scarred, like he had lived a very hard life. Which from the looks of their battle worn bodies was true for all of them? Reluctantly you lifted your hand and completed the bump to his very apparent excitement. His blue eyes shone bright as he leaned further into Donatello gracing you with a large white smile that warmed your soul.

The blue one stepped forward and bowed slightly, “I am Leonardo, and I’m the eldest of my three brothers and the leader of our clan. The one who took an apple without permission is Raphael, my second in command and 2nd oldest. I apologize for his rudeness, but I must confess we all were a little excited seeing fresh fruit and vegetables. It’s been a while since we’ve seen, let alone consumed any. We live underground but Mikey had a garden set up on a roof top not too far from here, but it kept getting looted. Soon there was nothing left to regrow because seeds grew scarce and no left-over parts of the food to replant. It was a major disappointment to all of us. How have you managed to grow them after all this time?”

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed you rested on you cracked your neck and took a deep breath. “Ummm, my name is Y/N, yes I set up the rig, been working on it for years. I’m not from New York, let’s just say I’m from somewhere with a lot of land. I’m here scavenging for parts. My parents were preppers so when everything went down and I lost everyone, I had enough skill set to be able to survive.” And there it was, like an idiot with no filter you word vomited too much information to four complete strangers who were the first to be nice to you in ten years. “I have an extensive garden at home as well as live stock…..fuck.”

All four of them chuckled as you spewed word after word at an alarming rate. In fact they were surprised they could understand you at all with how fast you were talking. Donnie lowered his goggles and saw just how fast your heart rate was and the temp of your body rising rapidly. He began to worry if this was too much for you?

“You’re having a panic attack aren’t you? Are we too much for you or have you been alone all this time and not use to this much social interaction in one day?” he asked quickly stepping towards you still keeping an eye on the red flush drenching your cheeks.

Looking to your hands you saw them shaking and your lungs, Jesus Christ they felt like they were being squeezed from the inside. And let’s not talk about your heart, it felt like it was trying to hammer straight through your chest. Your fingers curled in your shirt clutching at your thumping breast. “Is that was this is? A panic attack? I feel like I’m dying…”

Soon you felt two hands, two very large hands on your shoulders holding you steady before you tumbled back from the bed you were perched upon. Golden green eyes and red flooded your vision and a musky scent of engine oil and leather invaded your senses.

Raphael was inches from your face, his massive body so close you could feel the heat radiating off his pebbled flesh. He smelled of masculinity and something rough, you could taste it on your tongue and it traveled to your belly warming it pleasantly. “Look at me, listen to my voice.” The rumble from his deep voice vibrated fluidly through the little space between you. Seeping into your pores and headed straight to the apex of your thighs. He smelled of trouble, the best kind of trouble.

“Deep breaths now, we ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

God he smelled good, you took slow deep pulls of his scent and found everything slowing down, your heart, your lungs and the whole damn room around you. All you could see was his face and the slow creeping smile that revealed his white teeth and the pink tip of his tongue bit between them.

“Do ya feel better now?”

Another hard swallow and you suddenly because aware your hand was now resting on the boney plates of his warm plastron. Why did it feel so comforting to touch him? Yep you were in trouble, so much trouble.

 All my works

@blossom-skies​

[asmodeusmorelikeassmodeus]

Shadowhunters 3x11 Commentary

I really do enjoy seeing them in the field

That’s a really cool fight sequence but also…axes?? They must be so unhandy

Oh THERE’S his sword

This whole series is so dark I’d actually think it was a black screen if there weren’t noises

Why did it take them so long to go after him??? This is ridiculous

Jace feeling guilty for something and being (self-)destructive in the process this is a completely new thing we’ve never seen before

Okay say what you want but this montage of them grieving clary with THAT song in the background actually almost made me cry, it’s so emotional and so well-done by everyone involved

yOu mEaN sHe’S nOt dEaD????? Colour me shocked

ADORE Luke Baines as Jonathan

And also I actually feel really bad for him, I mean…he was brought up by Valentine, sent away by his father to literal hell, was tortured by Lilith when he was just a little boy. It’s only natural that he has no idea what family, love or anything means. He’s basically a boy in the body of a grown man who’s never had someone genuinely love him without using him for their own profit. And yeah, he did a lot of messed up sh*t but…can you blame him?? Nobody ever taught him about morals or whatever. I mean…he definitely has to be stopped but pushing him away and showing him that everyone thinks he’s a monster probably isn’t the way to go.

Okay now, Clary running away is just plain STUPID. I mean…she doesn’t even know where exactly she is, just somewhere in Siberia which is…not exactly a town. And of course Lilith wouldn’t send them near the next bigger city in the country, she’ll have them land somewhere in the middle of nowhere. So all Clary is achieving here is getting frostbite and probably dying. She is not that stupid. Stop writing her like that for dramatic purposes.

Everyone shut up my boys are back.

Magnus not knowing how to put on eyeliner manually is just bullsh*t. I bet he sometimes did his hair and makeup by hand, just like he sometimes takes a shower instead of using magic.

I am L I V I N G for domestic malec. Alec back at it again with casually dropping wedding vows, leaning down to get his well-deserved cheek kiss, babysitting Madzie. I LOVE IT

Couldn’t you have given us at least 20 seconds of Cat-Magnus one-on-one?? Please??? I bet with you, they actually filmed one but cut it out bc it looks like Cat’s about to say something.

Someone give Simon a tight, long hug please

Annnnnd round one of people shaming Maia for needing time away after suddenly seeing her abuser again!!!!!

Wow, Clary’s hair and eye makeup look pretty amazing for running around in the cold for who knows how long!!

The Clave??? Torture??? Breaking the Accords??? Unheard of!!

Okay I actually like the sibling scene between Jace and Izzy but did you HAVE to throw that comment about not having someone she loves as much as he loves Clary?? Like…that’s wrong on so many levels. a) Izzys storylines are ALWAYS linked to boys. Can you NOT??? b) platonic love is just as important as romantic love, if not more. Izzy clearly loves Clary and I’ve seen more sincere, loving scenes between those two than between Cl*ce. So stop.

Now THAT’s an “I’m gonna marry this man” look right here. And also, Alec reading to Madzie? Too cute.

I LOVE bantering boyfriends!!! And also Alec’s face practically spells out “oh, how WE get, huh?”

And once again people keep us from having our cute scenes of Malec cuddling

Man do I HATE Iris

This looks like they filmed it in a ski resort. Like. No snowy mountain has such a wide field of suddenly tree-less ground with perfectly arranged snow.

I mean, I already guessed that Magnus’ wards would have stopped working but…in THIS time nobody thinks of putting new wards around Magnus’ apartment (like…Catarina??) AND the institute which is also unprotected at the moment??? I mean…I hope they at least had someone renew the wards around the institute tbh…

Taking Jace off duty is a good call. Alec is head of the institute and he has to make the decisions that are best for everyone and in this case Jace is a liability and a danger to others and himself

And they’re back at it again with the big parabatai quotes without ever giving us scenes where we actually SEE this great bond they’re supposed to have

Round two of shaming Maia!!! I really, really hate this scene and Izzy is absolutely out of line. If you’re gonna do Sizzy like this, don’t do it.

Magnus with that sword is GOLD

Well for the fact that they were after Iris and wanted to capture/fight her, they did an awful job of doing that. Even without Magnus there to be kidnapped they wouldn’t have stood a chance which is stupid since they’re supposed to be the best people in the institute.

I still laugh about the fact that she stabs Jonathan with a BUTTER KNIFE.

Luke…. .____. Someone (Maryse) give him a hug too, pls

Oh how I hate Iris

This dialogue is so…flat.

Even without his powers I wouldn’t mess with Magnus tbqh

Well, Raphael’s regret comes a bit late

It’s still kind of stupid that Simon goes to see Raphael just for him to tell him there’s a vampire in New York who can help him, so Simon goes back to New York to look for him

Stop hurting my baby T^T

So you’re trying to tell me Magnus actually thinks that Catarina thinks Madzie would be better off with Iris and they’re going to give Madzie to her??? You’re not serious, are you?

Iris leaving Magnus there unsupervised and walking towards an obviously fake Madzie is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. Combined with her hands up at just the right time for Izzy’s whip to chain her and then her conveniently turning to Alec for him to pin her with an arrow.

I really hope we won’t see more of that b*tch.

Oh Jia is SUCH a GOOD person. Sadly, that only lasts for a second or so.

Alec has lots of fans out there

Pretty sure that Jia isn’t actually lying. The Clave doesn’t do torture. But they’re outsourcing it.

Okay, I like that they had Malec actually talk about things for once but I really hope this wasn’t it. Magnus is clearly still struggling and it’s not just about not being able to do magic anymore.

Alec is right. And also, in love.

Foreeeeeeeshadowing to the Malec training scene!! Even if I’m pretty sure they won’t get much actual training done.

Maia for pack leader 2k19

Saia deserves a better ending.

Time for Clary to stab her brother with a butter knife!!!

WhAt??? They are bOuNd tOgEthEr??? *Phoebe voice* This is totally new information!!!

Luckily Jonathan died slowly enough for him to heal both of them I guess

DUNN DUNN DUNNNNNNNN

[merbyteslibrary]

Heaven Sent : Chapter 15 | God's House

Trigger Warning | Elder Abuse, Foul Language.

It was a white building in a perfect square shape with white steps that led up to the front door, it sat atop lush thick green grass that spread out to the busy downtown streets.

Even though the home looked so simple and peaceful I couldn't help getting the same feeling a mental hospital would give me.

I hadn't asked Lucifer any further questions about God himself, what was I supposed to ask anyway?

"Don't listen to a word this crackpot says when you get in here."

"B-but he's God..."

"He's senile as fuck is what he is, if I knew how, I would have taken him out back like Old Yeller a long time ago." We stepped inside, there was more white everywhere once again- like one of those 'modern homes' they used to show on tv before the rapture.

"I heard that." A short withered old man in a grey jumpsuit and white robe stood in the entryway, he had on white slippers and held onto a metal cane with a white handle, his skin was that of a dark oak, his eyes warm and golden with white pupils, and his hair was tight small curls of gray and white.

Lucifer was his exact opposite, dressed in all black and his usual rolled up sleeves, his hellish red eyes looked alive with wicked delight.

He kicked the old man's cane out from under him and sent his frail body toppling to the ground.

"Were you waiting to see me this whole time, you old fuck?"

"Lucifer!" I gasped and helped God onto his feet. "Are you alright?"

"I am the beginning and the end, I am all that was, is, and will be." The almighty glared at Lucifer, "And I will beat your ass if you touch me again, boy!"

"What are you going to do? Throw an after dinner mint at me?" He was chuckling.

"Is this what you do every weekend?" I still had a hold on God, his limbs shook terribly – as I held onto his arms I could feel nothing but bone beneath his robe.

"Ha! Yes, he's been torturing me for millennia- it's only fair that I get my turn."

"If I had my power I'd incinerate you!"

"Sure you would old man." Lucifer rolled his eyes and twirled God's cane around his finger, thwacking him on his backside. "So the way I see it, my job is to punish all the evil souls – right?" He strolled into God's home while resting his cane on his shoulder. "God is quite possibly the evilest soul I know, why did he give little Timmy cancer? God's plan- we don't know what the plan was but it was a dick move."

"But he's God."

"He could be the Queen of England for all I care." He flashed a grin over his shoulder.

"He's a little old man..." I mumbled

"I sent ten plagues into Egypt just to prove a point! I'm not a little old man, I am wrath!" God shook his fist to Lucifer who was seating himself at the large square kitchen table.

"Now you've got him started, he's so proud of his plagues..."

"Rameses just needed a little convincing that my way was the right way, so I killed thousands!" He laughed. "And then I killed his son!"

"Maybe he really is a sinner..." I mumbled as I helped him to a seat across from Lucifer.

"I told you, he's kind of a dick."

"I made a sex boat." I covered my mouth as soon as he said so.

"It was an arc..." The devil himself had his head in his hands.

"It was a sex boat! Back in those days they didn't have fancy cameras to make porn on so you had to convince people to get busy in other ways."

"By flooding the earth? Wait then why did you add all the animals?" I was also curious about this turn of events.

"I made the animals, I want to see them get-."

"Okay!"

Another voice came from the living room; it was a pale man with short shockingly red hair, from his silver eyes I could tell he was an angel- so I guess he dyed his hair?

"Dad we don't need to talk about your bestiality fetish again, I heard this like ten times last night." He wasn't as muscular as the other angels I had seen; in fact he was a human height with leaner muscles to compliment his thinner frame.

"Bonnie this is Raphael, one of my better siblings."

"He only says that because otherwise he would be the one taking care of dad if I decided not to."

"You act like you have a choice, Raps?" Lucifer chuckled, I was flickering my gaze from person to person nervously.

Another angel, God himself, and an elder abusing devil.

"I have another job! I cook the books at Michael's gentlemen's club."

"Not much of a club when it doubles as a prostitution ring." Lucifer was prodding God in the chest from across the table, "And I don't think cook the books is the term you want to use, dumbass."

"I'm pretty sure that's the right term, that's when the profits are always rising – right?"

"False profits, it means you're lying about the earnings."

"How did you turn out so disappointing?" God sighed, "You were all supposed to be perfect beings... Except Lucifer- he was made to be an asshole."

My heart sank, was that true? Did God really design the devil to be his great rival? And if that were true then why raise him as an angel to begin with?

Poor Lucifer.

My sympathy was short lived as Lucifer knocked God over the head with a cane; I was amazed that he hadn't had so much as a bruise on him this entire time.

"I'm the only asshole that bothers to visit your wrinkled ass since you raptured the entire place!"

"Hey!"

"Okay, and Raps takes care of you."

"I didn't even start this fucked up rapture! That wasn't supposed to happen for another twelve millennia!"

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

*** New Chapters posted every Friday *** Up Next: The Untouchables

[swansvng]

MUSE FACTS collection from old blogs . 

some small jo facts:

she runs away whenever people become too important to her. she fears that she’ll ruin them or hurt them? she’s not above cheating tbh like if she’s upset, she’ll take comfort in anyone’s arms. she’s just a really sensual girl who enjoys intimacy and nsfw things??

Jo as a child was actually really emotionless . She was a perfect little soldier , never questioned her father’s orders . He’d aim a gun , she’d pull the trigger . No remorse , no hesitation was his teachings whenever it took to her job as a hunter . It wasn’t until after she started inheriting her grandmother’s machines that her soul began to fracture under the stress , causing her personality to warp and an almost dual-persona appear . Jo is a very carefree type of girl when her sister is alive . She’s able to be the brat of the family that blows off responsibilities because Ruth takes care of the household ? And all she gotta do is care for the siblings which she’s happy to do . They’re already wealthy so Jo basically works for free at a lot of places because she just ?? loves helping people After Ruth’s death , jo becomes more cautious . She becomes very defensive and a tad overbearing to her sisters ( because they’re all she has left ) . She matures quickly , much like she once was when she was a child . Her emotions are contained and her personal issues are hidden beneath a calm veil . She’s strict with the girls and pushes them to pursue education and every other dream they have .

frankie fun fact . his main chara song that I found would have to be “fools” by troye sivan .

because I can’t remember if I’ve made an official post about Jo’s verses or not , I’ll make one now . For DGM , there are 3 options : exorcist , neutral , noah .

for her exorcist verse , Jo may have the power of innocence , depending on the thread . otherwise , she sides with the exorcists in hopes of saving humanity . if she does inherit innocence , it’s a beastial type . her dragon , Golithe , is her weapon . more details will be developed later . for her neutral verse , Jo fights for all the beings that are thrown by the wayside in the holy war . she tries to find a way to save the lost souls . she fights for the monsters that lurk in the shadows : werewolves , vampires , ghouls , ghosts , && others . for her noah verse , Jo sides with the power of noah . she finds the order to be vile , full of corruption && definitely in need of destruction ( she aims to hunt down the higher ups , such as Lenny && the director Leviere ) . she pities the exorcists , && wants to save them from the order . here’s how she would be applied :

the world , before its creation , was made up of only two beings : light , and darkness . there was no life or death , no souls , no earth , no war . light eventually created the first world , which was later destroyed by the darkness . he tries again , && every time , darkness won .

until light created the world where the DGM universe existed . the light became known as God , a being that brought life to the world . first , he made the archangels ; Michael ( Jo’s father ) , Raphael , && Lucifer ( God’s favorite son ) . then , the darkness is sealed away within Lucifer , putting an end to the destruction of life . the four horsemen are born from Adam && Eve’s first sin , whereas there was no death or pain prior . grigori are born , then become corrupt due to the influx of sin ; around this time is when Big Mama , the creature that watches over Jo’s family , is born . she is a gryphon , regulator of souls && overseer of grim reapers ( who are born under Death’s hand ) . syrandrasti , born from the giants , are created alongside man . giants are beings now called nephiliam , half-human && half-grigori angel .

Big Mama notices the eventual ruin of man following the death of Abel && the damnation of Caine , Lucifer sealed away && hell rising . she chooses a human , who later becomes Josie’s grandmother , to help regulate the evil in the world . they are a chink in the world’s natural process : upon her grandmother’s death ( akin to that of Noah , where another soul inhabits her grandmother’s body while coinciding with her grandmother’s soul ) , her original soul is shattered . this becomes known as innocence .

following the fall of Lucifer , God leaves heaven in dismay . he tries to purify the world through the beginning of the crusade . Noah’s ark , the death of the giants , the first legion of angels are killed && the world is cleansed . but he lost control of the Noah , && over the innocence that won . he disappears , && leaves heaven to his first two sons , Michael && Raphael .

Raphael pushes support toward the crusade , believing that Father made himself to be “the heart” , so once the “heart” is found , then God would return . He cared little about the humans that would die , the souls that would suffer : he would do anything to bring Father home .

Michael is different . He is a soldier that awaits Father’s return , not wanting to become part of the crusades . He later mates with Josie’s mother , bearing children with her . Heaven is enraged , && in an attempt to appease his supporters , he pushes his children to become soldiers as well . To fight && live && die for heaven . To search for a solution to the crusades . To kill humans who become too powerful , to destroy monsters that may hinder the process of the crusades && finding Father .

Jo NSFW trivia that nobody asked for

she’s not a virgin . sorry to break it to you , but she’s a rather promiscuous girl. she had lost her virginity rather early - maybe too early , to a girl a few years older than her . she doesn’t honestly practice safe-sex - normally , no condoms are used . she basically assumes she’s infertile ( on account of several miscarriages ) or unable to carry a child full term . in modern verse , she’s on the pill . she does not have diseases : she’s been lucky thus far to not contract anything and she does not carry anything either she’s very demanding , and sexually adventurous . she has a very high libido that few partners can keep up with . she enjoys ‘ surprise ’ sex – when she’s asleep , if her partner begins rubbing against her , she’ll likely be ready to go right into it . her breasts are her most tender part of her , and most of her stimulation comes orally through pleasing her partner ( oral sex is a m u s t for her or she will ditch her partner ). another soft spot is her shoulder blades , where her wings rest . when she orgasms , her wings will appear and spread out when she cries out her partner’s name she loves mood music , candles , rosepetals - but she’s not afraid to do it basically anywhere ?? and she’ll instigate it , especially if her partner is uptight about their sex life . she’ll honestly hop in bed with people she’s attracted to - she’s the sleep on the first date type . no shame in that , but if her partner is disappointing then she’ll never call back lmao . she’s done anal before ?? didn’t care for it much but if her partner likes it then she’ll be down ?? to please them ?? 99% of the time she’s wearing lingerie under her clothes . another thing she does is go commando every so often - even in dresses . she loves going without a bra or stockings so if anyone saw her then wel p they’re getting a sho w . she’s a sexual performer on the weekends !! she enjoys stripping and just PERFORMING for other people . she loves leading people on , make them quiver for her . in the early stages of relationships , she’ll tease the HELL out of her partner like ?? cuddle her ?? she’s braless ?? spank h e r for being naughty and teasing you so heartlessly . she’ll probably call her partner some sort of nsfw nickname like d.addy or m.om.my. don’t test her - she’ll do it and not feel ashamed honestly Jo is just a sexual creature and there’s ?? no shame in that . she loves performing and pleasing her partners to the MAX . just try to keep up with her sexual needs and she’ll m a r r y you .

Jo has four elder siblings: Theodore (”Teddy”; age 30), Walter (”Wally”; age 28), Charles (”Charlie”; age 25), and Minerva (”Minella”; age 22). Then comes Ruth (”Raci”, in reference to her middle name being Iracebeth; elder twin), Jo (”Mirana”, in reference to her middle name; younger twin). Finally are the two youngest, Hunter (”Honey”; age 6) and Maxine (”Max”; age 3). Teddy, Wally, Charlie, and Minella are all deceased. Teddy died from prolonged illness, Wally and Charlie died from the war, and Minella was murdered by her fiance because she tried to leave him (he was abusive and an alcoholic, believed women were property and didn’t like being the bad guy - Jo later murders him when she was thirteen). Jo and Ruth still struggle from their deaths, as do their mother and father (who are both absent from the girls’ lives). They take care of their younger sisters. Shortly after Minerva’s death, their mother Lucilla leaves the dukedom. Their father never left heaven afterward, only sending projects for Jo to complete through messenger angels. Ruth, as the elder twin, became the successor to the dukedom. She was raised like a flower child - taught how to play piano, sing, write poetry, and embroider. She wasn’t bred for hard work; that was left for Jo. Ruth’s prime weapon would be guns and knives, both of which are strapped to her thighs at all time. She’s also taken most of her power from her mother, a witch. Her voice is enchanted.   Jo was later taught how to hunt monsters and kill, learned how to heal bodies, and perfected her soul-capturing abilities. She was discouraged from learning any form of feminine activity, but she still plays violin and practices ballet. Her prime weapon would be archery and swordsmanship, though she can be a talented sharpshooter. Jo later becomes the doctor and hunter for the dukedom, abolishing any pests (like banshees, demons, or ghosts, ect.,) from disturbing the tenants. Because of the constant strain of power spewing from either twin, they get sick very easily; Jo’s heart is very weak and is susceptible to blackouts. Ruth will often get horrible migraines, suffer from muscle weakness, and bruises easily. Jo is losing her memory and her body is dying quickly; Ruth is desperately searching for a way to keep Jo’s body from completely failing her. It is suspected that Jo will not live past her nineteenth birthday.

she has two sets of wings : one large set , and a smaller set underneath the top set . Her wings expand outwards and are quite large in comparison to her body . but they are soft , silky , and sensitive . she never reveals her wings to just anyone : she must really trust the person if they can see them . she’ll let them touch the wings , but it’s a very intimate act for her. she’ll feel the slightest graze of fingertips as if her skin was being touched . her wing pattern is unique to only to arch angels .

Winny’s voice claim will be Troye Sivan , especially whenever he sings .

Frankie’s voice claim is possibly the Lumineer’s lead vocalist , Wesley Shultz .

jo’s sister’s trivia:

her sisters are more human , mainly taking after their mother . they have powers like their sister , Ruth . Hunter’s main power lies in that she can shapeshift into a kitten , later into a full grown cat as she grows up . whenever excited , she’ll shift by accident . she also uses this form to comfort Max whenever she’s upset . Max is known as a “soundproof” , a person who cannot hear the voices of living beings . she can hear music , instrumental versions , and singers who have passed away . but once she hears someone she knows , she will throw a fit . Max is haunted by the voices of the dead , causing her to stay up for days and nights , throwing fits because the voices she can hear aren’t very kind , and they’re very scary Hunter’s other powers lie in her fingertips , her blood enchanted just like Jo’s . her voice is not quite as charmed as Ruth’s , so she can have childish fits where she’ll tell people to go away and they won’t be harmed . Both girls take after Jo as a child , and look very similarly to her as well . Hunter has gotten into fights with other girls in her school before . Hunter likes to protect and watch over Max , who she says she is responsible for .

  AT NIGHT , JO WASN’T SUPPOSED     to leave the house alone . For the first few years of life , she never could go outside at all . She could only watch the weather from her windows , up high in a tower with ancient sigils marking the walls . Ruth would read to her novels about magical places , about the sky , about mankind and how they will never fully belong .     And oh , how she ached for it all .    

    When Ruth fell asleep , the younger child sneaks outside , quietly creeping through the halls until she reached the door , opening and shutting it behind her . All around was the garden she adored , the flowers blooming in the early spring and the air was still chilly . She wore no shoes , only her night dress . All around her , small orbs began to form , souls drawn to her essence . Some took shape ��� children with ruddy faces , older men with kind eyes , mothers with gentle smiles .    

    And she’s drawn away , into the woods , to follow these spirits as her voice began to sing for them . She went missing for a few days , until she was found in town by some demons . Friends’ of her mother had found her , protected her from being stolen away or killed . But she wouldn’t apologize for any of it . Frankie:  DEATH . IT WAS SUPPOSED TO     mean the end of everything ; however , with his death came life , and a rather happy one at that . Now he had a family , sisters to watch out for , an annoying kid brother ( Winter ) to help train for combat . He had a darling love interest , he had it all .

    But Frankie could never shut down the feelings that haunted him , the voices that greeted him upon dying the first time . When he closes his eyes , that comforting sensation washes over him . Death was finalized , it was peaceful and no one but him could understand it .

    He’s learned through the years that death meant different things for different people . For some , it was heaven . For others , hell . Purgatory . Limbo . But for him , it meant vast emptiness . Just a cool , black void where there was no pain or thought or sound . Just a vacuum in space . And there were others , like he was in the middle of space and they were all stars , they were a sight for him to focus on , like he was sky gazing .

    Clearing his throat , Frankie is unable to meet Alyss’s eyes . Instead , he focuses on the marble flooring of the house , one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck . “ … No . I don’t want to die , ”     he was lying .

    A pause .

    His lips purse , his head turning to look behind him . When confident that it was only him and her , he turns back to her , his voice lowering .     “ Actually … I do . I died once , a long time ago , and I shouldn’t be standing here today if it weren’t for Josie . However , ever since then , I could never shake the feeling I had when I did die . I can wait for it , because its an eternal promise for me , and that’s comforting . When it is the end for me , I will accept it wholeheartedly . Until then , I’m staying alive for my family . ” jo trivia;

she is a cheater. point blank. she will have affairs with other people while in a relationship. often, its because she’s not getting something she craves (attention, love, sex, ect). but its so hard for her to actually /end/ relationships. more often than not, she won’t end the relationship – she’ll just disappear completely. she won’t call back, she’ll change her number. she’ll change her address. she’ll move towns and completely leave them behind. it hurts, but she can’t bring herself to end it completely.

some angelic trivia ;;

before the creation of heaven and hell , there were 3 beings : Light (God), Dark (Amara), and Gray (Mama) Mama helped create both God and Amara . she was there for their creation , watching over them and lovingly helping them form physical beings Mama takes the form of a gryphon , and she primarily stays in the clouds . Mama controls the flow of souls - sending them to heaven , hell , purgatory , or leaving them on earth beneath her are the Four Horsemen , who promote Death beneath Death are the shinigami or grim reapers the rest of this can be found on a different post lma o

fun fact ; when Jo dies , she’ll cease to exist completely . any surviving memory of her will disappear as if she never was born .

if someone prays to Jo , she will hear them and come straight away .

Jo has four elder siblings: Theodore (”Teddy”; age 30), Walter (”Wally”; age 28), Charles (”Charlie”; age 25), and Minerva (”Minella”; age 22). Then comes Ruth (”Raci”, in reference to her middle name being Iracebeth; elder twin), Jo (”Mirana”, in reference to her middle name; younger twin). Finally are the two youngest, Hunter (”Honey”; age 6) and Maxine (”Max”; age 3). Teddy, Wally, Charlie, and Minella are all deceased. Teddy died from prolonged illness, Wally and Charlie died from the war, and Minella was murdered by her fiance because she tried to leave him (he was abusive and an alcoholic, believed women were property and didn’t like being the bad guy - Jo later murders him when she was thirteen). Jo and Ruth still struggle from their deaths, as do their mother and father (who are both absent from the girls’ lives). They take care of their younger sisters. Shortly after Minerva’s death, their mother Lucilla leaves the dukedom. Their father never left heaven afterward, only sending projects for Jo to complete through messenger angels. Ruth, as the elder twin, became the successor to the dukedom. She was raised like a flower child - taught how to play piano, sing, write poetry, and embroider. She wasn’t bred for hard work; that was left for Jo. Ruth’s prime weapon would be guns and knives, both of which are strapped to her thighs at all time. She’s also taken most of her power from her mother, a witch. Her voice is enchanted.   Jo was later taught how to hunt monsters and kill, learned how to heal bodies, and perfected her soul-capturing abilities. She was discouraged from learning any form of feminine activity, but she still plays violin and practices ballet. Her prime weapon would be archery and swordsmanship, though she can be a talented sharpshooter. Jo later becomes the doctor and hunter for the dukedom, abolishing any pests (like banshees, demons, or ghosts, ect.,) from disturbing the tenants. Because of the constant strain of power spewing from either twin, they get sick very easily; Jo’s heart is very weak and is susceptible to blackouts. Ruth will often get horrible migraines, suffer from muscle weakness, and bruises easily. Jo is losing her memory and her body is dying quickly; Ruth is desperately searching for a way to keep Jo’s body from completely failing her. It is suspected that Jo will not live past her nineteenth birthday.

Josie’s powers are very unique. She is one of the few beings (other than reapers and deities, angels, and demons) that can see souls. She can see the approximate length of time that they live or die, but its flexible as fate is flexible as well. One minute, your lifespan is 80 years and the next, its 5 minutes if you piss a guy off in a bar.

For the Kuro verse, I’m still tinkering around. What I have thus far, however, is this: once a reaper loses their “job” or retires, they cannot revive or retrieve souls. Their sythe stops being as effective, allowing them to SEE people’s cinematic record but they’re unable to do anything about it. They can’t collect the soul, revive the soul - nothing.

Currently, my idea is that Undertaker has too much time on his hands. And he loved the Phantomhives so much. . . so he’s trying to mimic Jo’s technique without asking her. What he thinks she does and what she actually does is a mystery to reapers and angels alike; its a secret that has been hidden from public view for thousands of years when her grandmother would perform it.

This is where things get a little graphic, so continue at your own risk.

Alright, so here’s how Jo does it:

First, she finds a dying person. The person has to fear death, and want to continue living either subconsciously or consciously. This could be someone who was recently shot and she’s operating on them, or it’s a human who has died a little while ago but hasn’t been collected yet. Then, she gathers the body and takes it from the scene, using her grace to transport her quickly from point A to point B. She opens the body if there’s no obvious cause of death (like if it was a heart attack) and repairs it using metal. She is calm, emotionless, and diligent. Her eyes are a slate gray, perhaps even bursting to flame. She’s incredibly strong at the moment, so few people want to be near her in this state. She peels away the flesh and muscle, reconnecting the bones with metal parts. She carefully sews it back up, ensuring that the body can begin breathing again. Here is where it gets a little hairy, where she won’t reveal her secrets… but she uses her own blood to replace the blood that was lost. She then retrieves the soul, sewing it back into the flesh and wires via magic. If the soul takes to the body - the person is alive, but both of them are weak now. Jo has now given the sacrifice: a piece of her own soul, a shard if you will. Now, a shred of an angel’s soul is maybe worth a bit more than a human’s soul, but she doesn’t get all of it. She gets pieces of the human soul, putting bits of herself into it to make it whole again. Even then, this isn’t guaranteed to work. It takes hours of work, but if it was successful, the person wakes up. They’re scared, screaming ( its logical because people scream when entering the world when they are born, so they may scream when they’re leaving it - even if it is silent and soft ). It hurts, everywhere. The shock of being dead and suddenly being alive again is immense. She’ll greet them, calmly. She’s exhausted, hurting all over ( like she’s given birth… because she sorta does give life ) and possibly bleeding. However, she’ll clean up for her client, not wanting to scare them. Now that they are connected physically, emotionally, and spiritually, they can sense her pain and her fear. They will know she is exhausted, and she will know how they feel. Memories of their death should not be present after waking up - this is important. Once they wake up, they will act like they hadn’t died. That their death was a nightmare, and Jo is the nurse caring for them. Over time, she will tell them the truth: over time is the key phrase. If she tells them immediately, the shock may rip the soul from the body. They may overreact and become hostile and angry, becoming a monster ( which she will have to later dispose of ). They will have questions, but they will be sleepy. They will be hungry and tired and so, so… everywhere. They’ll have to go to the restroom, will feel minor discomfort as their body adjusts to the new parts. She will bat away the fears, comforting them. There should be a warm connection of safety after a while. The connection is weak. She cannot go more than ten feet from them or else they will start to remember and hurt - over time, they can be farther from each other. This happens over a time period of months or even years. It isn’t immediate. Should the person pass the threshold, their most painful memories will return. The agony of their death, like loss of feeling in their fingertips to feeling cold from blood loss: everything will be ten times more overwhelming because the soul is freshly mended and recreated. The body will feel like it is falling apart, and if the wound is worse enough, then it will fall apart. Loss of humanity comes next. Pain is still present, agony is present: but they stop caring. The things they enjoyed, the people they loved… they will become bitter, and cruel. They will want to kill them, everyone. They will want to kill Jo, too. At this point, if she lets it go this far, Jo will kill them. She does not get those pieces of her soul back, but she will remember their memories more than she will her own. Final stage: death in its cruelest degree. The body will stop responding, the soul will begin to detach itself. The person will feel fear that they are being failed, their bloodlust turning into bittersweet envy. They will damn Jo, cuss her out. They will feel their bodies begin to melt away. They will die, and be fully conscious of it. Old wounds will return ( like if they were stabbed, the wound will open up again ) and they will die a second time. But Jo cannot wake them after this… all she can do is bury them and mourn. Now that Jo has given them a large chunk of herself, if successful, they can see into her. They can feel her when she’s hurting, when she’s scared. She can feel their emotions too, when they are hurting and when they are hungry. It is like a tunnel has connected the two souls because it literally is.

For those who are unruly and violently angry, Jo will do whatever she can to keep them safe. If not careful, the person will become a monster, one that loses their humanity. Loss of humanity means loss of love, gratitude, compassion. They could kill anyone and anything in their path, much like a Bizarre Doll or a Soulless on Supernatural.

Jo does these things because she wants to help them, because she loves them, because she knows she can save a life. She willingly surrenders parts of herself for others, wanting them to live with her. And, after a while, without her. When she finds the next Machanique, she will pass them on before fading to ash. It will take decades, maybe centuries, before she finds the next heir.

Update: if the person hates Jo afterward, it is fine. It is if they initially hate her is when things are concerning. They do not need to love each other - they need to tolerate each other. They should be comfortable with one another, its like having someone to share your deepest feelings with. Its a connection that few will understand but those who do will enjoy it, even if they aren’t on the best of terms.

Jo is actually quite flexible, in her modern verse being a cheerleader. She was a flier, could do tricks mid-air, and complete a full split. Jo sleeps with other people for her comfort, she hates sleeping alone. When she does fall asleep, she’s holding onto their hands and completely cuddles into them. She waits for them to wake up before she leaves, patting their cheeks gently until they rise. Jo often sleeps beside Frankie, actually! The two share a bed quite often. He knows she needs someone to hold onto, so he volunteers. While they snooze, her sisters Max and Hunter crawl into bed with them. Ruth is married: Jo is not. Ruth has been married for about 2-3 years now, after Jo had left for war. There was no ceremony, just vows exchanged. They are waiting to have a real wedding. Ruth later leaves to join the war in search of her sister and is enlisted to document the monstrosities ( she’s a journalist, a published author, and is avid about documentation ). Ruth remembers everything that Jo doesn’t remember, which is a lot. Jo is prone to running away. She will join circuses for a few months, perform with them, and then she’ll run off to do something else. She enjoys being part of the lower class - she finds them less rigid than nobles, more interesting. She also paints on people a lot, on walls, inside of carriages, on animals… she will paint on anything and anyone that she comes across. Its her favorite thing to do when stuck inside. Jo went to a private school while Ruth was tutored at home ( she would come attend small classes, like art classes or journalism, but no core subjects ). She later quits school, much to Ruth’s chagrin.  The two argue incessantly about her going back ( she’s already raised to be a doctor and a prothstetician, she doesn’t understand how learning about math will help with it ).

Trivium; Edalina

Eda is a creature known as a Swanette, a species of human that can become birds. She has the ability to turn into - you guessed it - a Swan. Her feathers are completely white, and she looks extremely elegant while in that form. She can manipulate time and create small pockets in between the fabric of time and space - these are called “nests” or “loops”. She was supposed to succeed her mother, a Swan who runs an orphanage of peculiar children, but she rejected that life and ran away. Her parents are both extremely wealthy and never spent time with her, so why should she care for people who loved abandoned children more than their own?

Eda has a severe attitude problem, as many have seen in their interaction with her. I blame this on the idea that Swans are very well guarded and seclusive animals ( this is just my idea of them, not backed by anything legit ). Eda is rather small for her species, and her body is quite soft and smooth. Her hair is soft and feather-like, but full of volume and thick. She doesn’t have thin hair by any means.

Internally, she’s very kind. She used to be a child who was very sickly and kept indoors where she would prepare things for her mother when she came home. These things always were overshadowed by the demands of work and her affair ( yep, that’s right, Eda was born in a broken home paired with two parents who didn’t love each other and argued constantly in front of her ). Eda was raised primarily by her grandmother, who fostered the idea that Eda was a special little girl.

At an early age, Eda loved photographs and ice skating, dancing and the arts. She would write plays to perform for her parents ( who never actually watched her, just patted her head after looking up from their books or phones and said ‘good job honey’ ). She was taught that love doesn’t exist, and if you show that love ( like her Grand Mammy would show affection toward her emotionless daughter and be later mocked for it ) then you’re pretty much asking for abuse.

She’s a very smart and bright girl, raised with the STEM ideals with a heavy focus on math and science. But she didn’t care about either of these things; she wanted to be in the liberal arts field and enjoy life. This… did not go over well with her parents, or her Grand Mammy. After a semester in a highly esteemed college, Eda drops out and bolts, leaving her home completely. She never returns their calls, and keeps using the family bank card to fund her actions.

Her parents don’t know she’s gone, but her Grand Mammy does. She’s sought desperately for her granddaughter until she fell ill one night and passed away. Eda doesn’t know this yet, but she also knows. Its one of those instances where you are aware of a certain outcome without being told about it, and once it is actually said aloud then it will be more painful.

[gabriel-gabdiel]

Fantasy of Evolution Chapter 2: Self-Insert Power Fantasy

The outcast Florante awakens unusual special powers while dreaming. He then unleashes his pent-up frustrations against all his classmates who bullied him... in the dream.

Surely releasing all his stress in a dream is a healthy way of dealing with it, right? A victimless crime. But what if it wasn’t a dream...?

My original fiction. You can also find it here. Please enjoy.

First | Previous | Next

Florante walked outside the gates of Fatima School, his head in the clouds. Dark, nimbus clouds with scattered rain showers and thunderstorms followed him.

He must've blacked out earlier. What had just happened?

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. Did he get caught in the middle of a Signal No. 4 typhoon and only came to just now to realize it, when everyone else had already evacuated?

His gut felt like it was on fire. His head, or perhaps his brain itself, throbbed like a second palpitating heart that pulsated in conjunction with his actual heart.

He hadn't the foggiest idea what was going on.

He looked at his hands. They were stained with blood.

Shit. What happened?! Was it his blood that...?

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and transparent watery wings emerged from the rain and mist.

He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As the strange female being stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael."

This made him remember the comic books he drew about the four most famous archangels: Gabriel. Raphael. Uriel/Azrael. Michael.

Who was she? Why was her face so familiar? She was stunningly gorgeous. In fact, she kind of reminded him of his high school crush.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else, Flor."

Wait. She knew him?

Wait. Laura. She looked like Laura! The same Laura that he had just... had just...!

Damn it.

"Prepare to die," the angelic version of Laura said before becoming a blur of fluid glassy wings, a downpour of pressurized water, and certain death.

It then all came back to him in an instant.

***

Fantasy of Evolution

An Urban Fantasy Story by Abdiel

When dreams become nightmares.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in Section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 2: Self-Insert Power Fantasy

***

During the summer before his first day at Fatima High School...

Florante Galang actually read through the book, "How to Win Friends and Influence People" by Dale Carnegie in order to avoid becoming a pariah in his new school like he was back in his old school.

For all the good it did him later on.

He inwardly swore his high school days were going to be much different from his lonely grade school days, when no one his age would talk to him and only people a year or two younger than him tolerated his presence. Or even looked up to him.

It was supposed to be his high school debut. His chance to turn a new leaf.

The night before the first day of freshman classes, he tried remembering the advice given to him by that very book that included tips such as "Don't criticize, condemn or complain," "Give honest and sincere appreciation," and "Arouse in the other person an eager want."

He even tried the book's advice in winning over people on his own family, particularly his strict smothering mother, but he must've missed a chapter or two. It didn't work.

Or rather, his attempts at "Get the other person saying 'yes, yes' immediately," and "Ask questions instead of direct orders," led to yet another misunderstanding that got him punished for "disrespecting his elders". Again.

He got a flying piece of footwear—a slipper or flip-flop—hit him right on the head soon afterwards, to be exact.

She also said something about him talking back to his parents and being insolent.

Perhaps he should reconsider the self-help book's advice as less of a surefire way to manipulate his mother into saying yes to her increasing his allowance and more of a set of helpful tips to make himself more appealing to people.

If used correctly, of course.

He did his rote memorization of the self-help book in his bedroom located on the east portion of their abode, with the facade and front yard of their bungalow facing north and his parents' bedroom at the southwest portion.

He used to share his room with his two older sisters but they soon moved out to their own rooms as they saved enough money to expand their home.

It was a familiar room that belonged to him exclusively around Grade 5 to 7. He couldn't remember exactly when.

The linoleum floor, the cream walls, the gray ceiling with discolored tiled patterns on it where the beams supporting them were supposed to be, and the red curtains were all part of his childhood.

The Galangs' humble abode originally had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and (barely) a garden plus a plot of undeveloped land with pebbles and other smooth stones over it. Half of a bungalow in Pasig.

This below sea level part of their property was then slowly filled up with land over the years so that the whole house would rise above the street. From there came the construction of a second part of the home with two more bedrooms and an extra bathroom as well as a garage for the family car.    

With the money his mother earned from their short-lived stint with selling goods through a sari-sari (variety) store and the rest she got from her parents (his grandparents) on top of the ones she saved from his father's engineer work, they were able to turn their half of a house and turn it into a full house, so to speak.

The most notable changes on the bedroom was how it once had two beds but now it only had one. The mirror still had the "Santo Niño (Baby Jesus)" statue there, which he never looked at directly because it gave him the creeps. However, he would never admit such a thing to his prayerful Roman Catholic family.

Regardless, he attempted memorizing and taking to heart many of the lessons the book imparted, but like any other teenaged boy, his short attention span ended up becoming his downfall.

He skipped, scanned, and skimmed through many of the pages of anecdotes and stories in order to find something he could use. He only really wanted the book to help him with his social anxiety so as to turn a new leaf.

All of that "effort" was for naught, of course. His nightmarish bullying in grade school only got worse in high school.

***

Back to the relative present...

One morning in Fatima High, chaos ensued. All hell broke loose.

His head in the clouds, Florante Galang "sleepwalked" into the school, his every step practically gliding through the road, swift as the gale wind, his fingertips emanating sparks and crackles of electrical might.

It was like something out of a movie or a Sci-Fi TV series.

He maneuvered through the heavy traffic jam of the road like a motorcycle delivery man in a hurry, weaving through every nook and cranny with the grace of a swan and the aggressiveness of a duck. Unnoticed by the cars, vans, jeepneys, and trucks around him.

For whatever reason, he ended up with superpowers right off of a superhero comic.

Ah, who cared? It was just a dream, after all.

'That's right. I'm dreaming, aren't I?'

In a dream, anything was possible, including gaining supernatural powers like those of angels, demons, and gods, thus allowing him to wreak havoc on his most hated high school in a relatively harmless way.

This was his stress reliever, he rationalized. A way to blow off steam from all the resentment boiling up inside him as the outcast of his class and this god-forsaken school.

Instead of stopping crime or saving people, he did the exact opposite upon his discovery of his unnatural abilities. He instead committed crime and damned everyone in his path.

Maybe it was because he'd never do any of this in real life. It was his opportunity to have his revenge against those who wronged him.

This was how a normal person would react to getting superpowers, he rationalized. The same way someone would more often than not end up on a spending spree after winning the lottery despite claims to the contrary prior to getting the cash prize.

It was just human nature in action.

He idly wondered why in western comics and manga, the hero with superpowers almost always ended up becoming vigilantes or supernatural policemen.

It was more realistic for them to do what he was doing now, as though he'd just won the lottery and he was about to splurge on the nearest sports car, game console, or mansion.

His list of bullies remained fresh in his mind. His nightmare scenario had become their nightmare scenario. The resident timid freak, "quiet kid", and communal punching bag could now punch back.

One thing came to his mind as he approached Fatima High.

'I have been abused all my life to the point where I don't trust anyone.'

Unbeknownst to the people inside the school, he'd been testing his powers elsewhere, with him appearing like some sort of cyclone or tornado as he blasted through rivers and old buildings with his newfound abilities.

It was so much fun having so much power after being powerless for so long.

He couldn't wait to test them out on actual humans. Fragile, squishy humans.

Yikes. Why did he sound so bloodthirsty all of a sudden?

He then braced himself while also reassuring himself that this was all a dream. A harmless dream.

Because of how unbelievable the situation was, he presumed it was all a dream. A blurry fantasy borne out of his frustration from being rejected by his classmates and seemingly the entire school campus.

He stopped mid-stride. Before him was a familiar face. A girl from school. His classmate.

It was the face of Jennifer "Jenny" Tolentino. She was a petite, intelligent, talkative, and capable do-getter nerdy girl who was one of the first (and few) students to befriend Florante in Fatima High.

The only girl who was kind to him.

"'Sup, Flor. You're here early. What'cha up to?" the bespectacled Jenny asked with an inquisitive head tilt. "You look like you're in a hurry."

Florante smiled and chuckled. Although he still hated that girly nickname his classmates gave him, he ignored it and told her, "You're an okay gal, Jenny. Don't go to school today. For your own good."

"W-What do you mean by tha...? HEY!" she asked, but in the blink of an eye he was gone.

His power fantasy was about to begin.

***

He saw her again. The girl of his dreams. She had locks of black hair, cascading like a starless night. Her face as gorgeous as the sun setting over the ocean. He had yearned to be with her.  

However, today was not the day for him to make her his, whether by words or by action. He lost that chance forever due to their misunderstanding and perhaps his owwn overzealousness.

Pity. She would've looked mesmerizing in their wedding.

This was the drop-dead gorgeous girl who rejected him over a misunderstanding regarding him drawing her in the nude. The class beauty. The pretty young woman who helped put a stop to his social life in Fatima High.

Her perfectly symmetrical face had a gentle look to it. Or it did until she saw him.

There she was. Laura Reyes. His first crush in high school.

She was a healthy girl with sturdy legs, demure eyes, and a wide, unabashed smile as she talked to several of their friends in class. Her hourglass figure created the perfect feminine silhouette as she turned towards him.

He intended to spare her from his power fantasy rampage of revenge like he did Jenny since he really did like her a lot. Before their friendship crumbled to dust with his accidental social suicide, they got along just fine.

They weren't close friends or anything but they could talk to each other.

Just as he was about to move past her though, she flinched at him and gave her a look of contempt.

"Stay away from me, you creep."

Florante snapped then and there, his body surging with electrical might that coursed through his crush's veins, electrocuting her to death.

He didn't go so far as to fry her to toast because it'd be a shame to see such a cute girl turn to ash or dust, but his angry outburst of power did rob her of her life.

What a sick dream he was having.

He hesitated after seeing the girl with fair skin and an angelic body wilt like a flower and fall like velvet unto the grassy ground of the soccer field, unmoving.

Beautiful in death as she was in life.

She fell with the same grace as Evelyn Francis McHale did. The depressed woman who jumped from the Empire State Building on May 1, 1947, landing on a car roof. Songs were written about the picture of Evelyn's corpse that made it look like she was just a Sleeping Beauty rather than dead altogether.

Both appeared like they were resting or napping instead of dead, stuck in an idle daydream.

The boy beside her, a friend of hers from another section whose name eluded Florante, screamed bloody murder and attacked him on instinct.

Galang reacted thusly, shooting his attacker with twice the amount of electricity that he shot Laura, intending to fry him to ash.

The kid crumpled into a ball after Florante moved forward and punched him on the stomach, breaking his ribs. Perhaps also his spine. He soon lay motionless on the grass beside Laura.

Amazing. The asthmatic, unathletic him doing all this.

Before he could finish him off, he heard gasps, screams, and murmurs from everyone around him who witnessed his crime.

He asked himself: What was he doing? Should he be doing this? Wasn't this wrong of him to do this? Should he stop? Turn himself in?

He gulped, exhaled, and heard a whistle as he drew his next breath. His asthma acted up again due to all this stress. How ironic for an asthmatic like him to suddenly have weather-based powers.

He reassured himself that it was all just a dream. Perhaps a lucid dream, but still just a dream. An illusion or perhaps delusion. A fantasy of him evolving and maturing despite his inherent weakness.

It was his power fantasy.

His felt his body feel grow warmer and warmer, reaching a fever pitch as a cyclone or tornado formed around his body. The clouds darkened above, the winds sucking in nimbus clouds and reshaping the sky, turning morning to seeming midnight.

A boy suddenly gaining superpowers from out of the blue to take revenge on his bullies? Surely this was the dream of an idle mind, regardless of whether he made it up during his nighttime slumber or while daydreaming in his boring math class.

With that in mind, he indulged himself, laughing as he experimented upon the nearest of the students with his crackling lighting bolts and energy projectiles.

He found out earlier through morbidly amusing trial and error that by taking control of the energy flowing though him, he could make his electrical powers shock the nervous systems of the surrounding students to the point of making them jump back like frightened cats or spooked frogs.

He kept on moving forward, recalling his list of bullies in his mind. He didn't even need to list them down. He had it memorized by heart.

He'd already crossed his Rubicon anyway.

Starting with the kids Laura was hanging out with. The popular kids.

Like Danny Ilagan. Florante chanced upon him walking down the stairs to where the first floor classrooms were.

Galang remembered Ilagan as the classmate who first teased him about his obvious crush with Laura right in front of her in the lunchroom, which led to her to talk to him less, thinking their every encounter had a hidden agenda on his part.

He was also the guy who suggested Florante draw Laura then lied to her about him drawing her in the nude. He was sketching her body with shapes first before putting on her clothes, dammit!

Florante wasn't as careful with using his powers on Danny as he was with Laura.

He shot him full force with his energy bolt full of presumably millions of volts of electricity, turning him into a shadow on the pavement while the rest of the projectile exploded right through one of the nearby pillars like a bomb.

He was like one of the victims of the atomic bombs dropped on Japan, in fact.

Galang kept walking towards the inside of the building while various students ran away from him, not understanding how he was doing what he was doing. They just ran on instinct, thinking he was packing heat or throwing explosives.

In the hallway, as he walked with murderous intent, he then saw Mr. Neil Nepomuceno. Their social studies teacher who humiliated him in front of the class.

The teacher shouted, "What are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

What was he doing? He wanted to hurt them as much as they had hurt him. And this was all a dream anyway so it was the perfect opportunity to do so. It was his way of venting.

The teacher then hollered out his catchphrase of, "Caramba!" and turned into a grotesque splatter of guts, gore, and giblets on the wall care of a careless yet supernaturally strong backhand.

Damn. Florante didn't know his own strength. He couldn't even look at the mess that used to be Mr. Nepomuceno.

The school was in a panic now.

They had kids under the table. Screaming teachers. Security guards with guns shooting at Florante, but he blew them (literally) away without a second thought.

It was frighteningly easy to kill people his dream. He had to hold back a little bit. Savor the moment.

'Susmaryosep, I sure am screwed up.'

He went up the stairs, sparing several of his classmates he recognized but had no quarrel over. Forgiving them for laughing at the jokes of his bullies and targeting his bullies instead.

Was he not a Merciful God? An Angel of Mercy and Divine Retribution?

He then caught up with Kyle Hernandez inside the computer room, who sat on a chair across a long table. The same guy who had been tag-teaming with Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto to jeer and humiliate him at every turn.

This culminated to Hernandez playing a practical joke on Florante during the flag ceremony. The sections were lined up by height in front of the Philippine flag every Monday.

One Monday, during the flag ceremony where the class was supposed to form two lines, Kyle and many of Florante's classmates all huddled in one line, leaving the line where Galang was much shorter and only about 5-6 people long.

Galang was traumatized ever since.

"Hey, Flor. What's going on outside? Is there a storm? Are classes canceled?" Kyle asked Florante, who didn't respond as he approached him with malice burning through his electrified fingers.

Bristling in remembrance of that humiliating prank, Florante turned a lightning bolt into a laser sword and cut Kyle in half by the chest down, with one half of him shorter than the other like the lines his classmates made that day.

He moved further down the second floor hallway right into the middle stairs. He heard more screams and the stampede of a dozen leather shoes. He silenced them by firing more bolts of energy across the open yard right on the balcony of the second floor hallway.

He then fired off missiles of light from all ten of his fingertips into the classrooms to his left, resulting in debris, pieces of plaster, concrete, and flaming wooden shards to shower all over him.

As the smoke cleared, he made a beeline to the final flight of stairs to get to the third floor library.

He practically flew through the steps, remembering how one of his bullies actually fell back and hit him with his buttocks to the face while the rest of his posse yucked it up.

Those bastards. Make a fool of him, would they? He'd show them. He'd show them all!

He burst through the library's double doors so hard they flew right off of their hinges.

He targeted more of his freshmen classmates, specifically the ones who teased and bullied him while he mostly electrocuted and flung like rag dolls anyone else that got in his way.

Many of the students were wise enough to stay back, hide, or run away from him.  

Alas, the more his power grew the more he couldn't control it. There was bound to be some collateral damage here and there. He honestly didn't know his own strength. Not at this point.

Then there they were. The people who regularly appeared on his "snitch list" to teachers so that they'd stop bothering him but found ways to mess with him regardless.

Steven Catimbang. Sheila Bernal. Isaiah Cuevas. Matthew Lim. Regina Mariano.

Florante spotted them before they went and hid in the computer section of the library or tried to blend in with the rest of the fleeing crowd of students.

Steven was the one who pulled the butt-to-the-face prank on him.

He found Steven at the computer table as he was about to hide under it.

Galang shot Catimbang in time with a bolt to the posterior, destroying the lower half of his body and leaving the upper half crawling in the floor, crying bloody tears and begging for his life (even though it was too late for him).

This was getting seriously fucked up. Goddamn. What was with this dream?

As for Sheila, he found her under another table of the library.

She was the girl from another section who, as he and his boy classmates finished up from their swimming class for P.E. (gender separated), jeered at him and his lack of a bulge on his swimming trunks.

He was jeered relentlessly by his classmates for months after that remark regarding his manhood.

He asked Bernal if she remembered the swimming pool incident, and she just stared blankly at him.

"W-Who are you...? Pl-Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything...!"

She didn't even remember him.

Seeing how big of mouth she had, he decided to suck the air from out of her, vacuuming it right out of her lungs with his powers until she suffocated. He instantly regretted it after seeing the horrified face she made and the blue tinge of her face and whole body.

He moved on, his head throbbing and his finger twitching with static and sparks.

As for Isaiah Pascual, he tried scampering towards the window, but Galang caught him by the collar. "I don't know how you're doing all this, bro, but we're friends, right? I always talked to you! Spare me, man!"

Florante replied, "You abandoned me when I needed you the most. I tried to fit in with you and your group, but you were always so distant."

Pascual kicked Galang by the groin and attempted to run away, jeering, "Yeah, right! Like I'd ever be friends with...!" only to be cut off with his head exploding from one of Florante's light bullets.

"...Yeah. Why'd I ever delude myself into thinking you were my friend?" Florante felt something warm drip on his face. It was Pascual's blood.

He resisted the urge to hurl, looking away at the mess he made of his traitor of a former friend.

Florante wanted to spare Pascual but Pascual made fun of him.

Meanwhile, Matthew Lim cried out, "Leave me alone! I never did anything to you, Flor!" before Florante reminded him, "You made fun of my accent when speaking English. You told people about how when I talked to them, I couldn't stare them in the eye."

"Th-That's it? Dude, we barely even talk or interact! It was Jacinto! Gerry's the one who's always messing with you, dude...!"

He turned Lim into a mangled mess by shooting the ceiling and letting debris fall on him. He turned away as soon as he saw the blood pool from underneath the rubble, before the smoke from the wreckage even cleared.

Then there was Regina Mariano. She once compared him to a baby with fetal alcohol syndrome found on their pamphlet about the side effects of drugs and alcohol.

He hated the teasing she caused back then. But he could barely look her in the eyes now, and it wasn't because of his social anxiety.

No. Right now, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, saying over and over, "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."

He then asked, "Do you believe in God?"

What he said made her cry harder, not knowing what to say except, "I'm so sorry!" over and over again.

He decided to give her a quicker, painless death than the rest, ramping up his gathered chi energy or whatever and releasing a beam of light that turned her to ash in a millisecond. The entire building shuddered from the impact of his forceful will.

...At least it was all a dream. Right? God, he hoped it was a dream.

A fantasy he could use to vent in a harmless way, with him not actually hurting anyone.

Not recognizing the rest of the faces hiding under the tables, smoke, and rubble, he walked out of the library (or what was left of it) in a daze.

He stared back at his cracked reflection on the glass divider of the computer section of the library. All he could see was a shadowy silhouette of a man with shining blue eyes, like a cornered animal at dusk.

Was that everyone? Had he punished all his bullies? No, wait. He still had a few more people to scratch off of his list.

He walked across the soccer field straight to the gym where they had their P.E. classes.

From the roar of the winds, he could idly hear what he surmised as Mrs. Mancenido, crying out for him to stop. Recognizing who he was. Afraid of what he had become.

'Sorry, ma'am,' he apologized to her in his mind. It was too late for him.

Good thing this was all a dream though.

He jumped and crashed right into the third floor basketball court that doubled as a volleyball court.

The gym was mostly empty. The students probably caught wind of what he was doing, even though it was hard to believe or imagine him having the otherworldly powers necessary for this school massacre to take place.

As the winds parted and the smoke cleared, he was greeted by a metal pipe to the back of his skull from out of nowhere.

He turned to see John Sarmiento put up his dukes at him, pipe in hand. "You son of a bitch. Did you kill her, Flor?"

"...Who?" he dared ask even though he knew who he was talking about.

"Laura, you asshole! Why'd you kill her?! How the hell did you turn into... this?"

Florante caught the pipe and used it to conduct millions of volts of electricity at John before answering the convulsing student's question with, "Because she was a bitch to me."

Ah. Sarmiento. He remembered him. They were being ferried around by the same school service. They were bus mates (actually, jeepney mates), in a sense.

Instead of spending gas money driving the kids to school, their parents opted to save money by paying someone with a jeepney to fetch them and other kids around their village from house to house in order to drive them straight to Fatima School.

They weren't neighbors but they lived in the same suburb.

He remembered Sarmiento pranking him, putting cockroaches in his bag like an asshole then denying ever doing it. He was also one of the guys who encouraged him to draw Laura "in the nude" from his imagination when he was just making a sketch of her.

The nerve of him, acting the hero now when he was nothing but a villain to him all this time.

"That is for pranking me with those cockroaches."

Sarmiento spat blood all over Florante's face despite his body writhing in agony. "Really? You're going kill me just for that, you psycho? Like you killed Laura? God damn, you're a petty son of a...!"

Galang then slammed John to the ground with a sickening crunch. Squashed like a bug. A cockroach, even.

How appropriate.

He looked at his wristwatch, amazed that it still functioned after all his effort as well as his use of thunderbolts and electrical shocks.

This really was a dream, then, or else his watch would've ended up busted long ago.

Regardless, he'd been at it with his raging rampage of revenge for almost 40 to 45 minutes. The whole school was in bedlam thanks to the walking pacific storm that was him.

Someone soft and sweet-smelling yet hard-bodied grabbed Florante from behind in a Full-Nelson hold, arms interlocked from under his armpits and hands clasped behind his neck.

"I always knew you were a little psycho," said someone from behind him. Someone... female.

Her words were full of venom but her melodic voice was music to his ears.

Shamed as he was to admit it, this was the closest to female contact he ever had in his life. Probably to no one's surprise in Fatima, given his bad reputation as a friendless weirdo.

Wait, he recognized that voice.

It was Laura's other best friend aside from Jenny. Kelly Mendoza. A promising freshman volleyball player rising in the ranks of their team. One of Laura's best friends.

He then felt something sharp pierce through his uniform. For the first time all throughout his dream, he felt pain. Searing, gnawing pain.

He doubled over in time to realize who had stabbed him with a pocket knife.

It was Mark Zuniga. Gerry Jacinto's second-in-command. Or best friend. Whichever.

The other tough guy of First Year St. Francis of Assisi charged at Florante while he was distracted by Kelly grabbing hold of him so tightly, her breasts pressed close to his back.

Regardless, Florante winced and wheezed from the damage that Zuniga had wrought, gnashing his teeth in agony and indignation.

Another villain wanted to play the hero. Just like a bully who'd mess with you until you hit him back, so now suddenly he was the victim and you were the one who was in the wrong.

This guy. The audacity of this asshole. He remembered him.

Every time they had an oral exam, class recitation, or had to go in front of the board to solve math problems or whatever, he'd be there with Gerry to jeer and mock Florante about his crush with Laura until she herself stopped associating with him.

His body shivered and folded in on itself in hatred, fear, and anger as Mendoza let go of him, his blood pooling on the floor.

"Why are you snarling? You're actually angry? You li'l bitch!" screamed Kelly at Florante's ear as she kicked him where Mark had stabbed him.

"How dare you. You killed Laura! Danny! Mr. Nepomuceno! John! Who knows how many others in the library and classrooms! You're a monster! You have no right to be this angry, asshole! Don't play the victim now!"

Ha. He was the one playing the victim?

Mark stabbed him again, this time sticking his knife at Florante's back.

"As far as I'm concerned, he deserves all of his bullying," said Zuniga. "Not only is he a snitch. He's also a psycho. We were protecting Laura from weirdo creeps like him. No wonder he has no friends."

Galang also remembered that one time, when he was alone in the mall, Zuniga chanced upon him with his own girlfriend, saying, "Aw, still no GF, Flor?"

He then overheard them make fun of him behind his back as an awkward virgin who was fated to be forever alone.

Come to think of it, the girl he was with probably was the same one holding him back with a wrestling move.

"You should've killed yourself instead, since no one would care if you died!" said Zuniga.

That was the last straw.

This fucking bastard. This bitch. This wasn't the first time Zuniga told him to kill himself. Even before Florante went on a murder spree, he already told him the same words.

It was amazing what monsters people ended up becoming when treating those they believe were monsters themselves.

First, he blew the volleyball varsity player away into the roof and the sky with a blast of spiraling air, with her shrieking like a banshee all the while. She ended up pretty high up before she came crashing back down.

With a sickening thud.

Florante averted his eyes from the harsh and inevitable crash from the screaming Kelly.

Instead, he focused his attention on Zuniga. His bully who stood a good few inches above him and several inches thicker in musculature than him seemed smaller somehow as he floated in the air with static and sparks.

Galang didn't know what sort of face he made, but it elicited a gape-mouthed, wide-eyed look of what he presumed was awe on the part of one of his worst bullies in school.

It felt so good seeing the tables turned on him for once. Even though it was a dream.

Yet it also felt anti-climatic shooting him to oblivion with five bolts of energy from one hand when usually one or two was enough to blast entire classrooms into smithereens.

"FLORANTE!"

Florante heard his name echo across the wrecked basketball court from a familiar booming voice. A voice he'd heard countless times, mocking him. Haunting him like a resentful ghost. The voice of his biggest, most savage of bullies and critics.

Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto.

Each and every one of his fingertips then grew hot with growing power and energy. Instead of five shots, he wanted to shoot his whole payload of ten pure light bullets unto the bastard who made his time in Fatima a Living Hell.

Gerry wasn't seething with anger like Mark was. For someone who just saw the murder of his best friend (and best friend's girlfriend), he had a pretty smug smirk on his face.

Florante breathed out a sigh of relief. This definitely was a dream or else the real Gerry would've reacted more severely to what he had wrought.

He faced off with the huge and lanky bully who'd normally push him around with ease. Finally, he could push back. At last, he could fight back and then some.

Galang fired off all ten bullets of light energy and plasma straight at Gerry, expecting them to turn him into ash or a shadow on the floor, if not turn the entire gym into a smoking pile of rubble.

There was no kill like overkill, after all.

However, to Galang's surprise, Jacinto shrugged off the miniature comets like specks of water or rain, the bolts of power exploding behind him and giving his bullish rush an extra boost care of the resulting simultaneous shockwaves from ten blockbuster-tier explosions.

The tall basketball player charged and tackled the nerdy asthmatic, who could only stand there, jaw metaphorically unhinged in shock, before a meaty punch on the same jaw literally unhinged it from its socket.

"SHUSHMARYOSHEP!" Florante called out, wincing as he snapped his jaw back into place with palm. It looked so easy to do in the movies, but when you did it yourself, they never tell you about the toothache-like pain of attempting such a move afterwards.

Meanwhile, the sneering Gerry mimicked and repeated his "catchphrase" to his face, mocking him. "'Susmaryosep'? What are you, an old lady attending mass at Quiapo Church?" He laughed his heart out.

Ooof. Even in his dreams, his nightmare of a bully still had the upper hand?!

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Galang willed lighting strikes to appear and hit Jacinto over and over while at the same time charging compressed pinpoint spheres of energy above each and every finger.

Was this hitting two birds with one stone? No, it was hitting one bird with all the stones he could get his hands on.

His metaphor ultimately didn't work in the end after he missed Jacinto by a mile then got hit himself by his bully's shuddering sledgehammer punches, unable to retaliate or shoot any of his bullets that leveled most of the high school building earlier on.

"You really are a virgin with rage, aren't you? Mr. Sensitive. Mr. 'The whole world is against me. Oh woe is me.'"

Florante ended up curled into a ball, remembering his mother hitting him with his father's belt whenever he misbehaved as a child.

Still, for some reason, he was still more afraid of his mom than this tall, beefy alpha male who turned him into a punching bag.

"You're blaming us for you having no friends? Let me guess, you think it's us and not you that have mental problems. Everybody else is the asshole. You're the saint here! You psycho war-freak!"

Florante grit his teeth, afraid his jaw would get dislocated or altogether broken by Jacinto's hammer fists. Vaguely, he remembered hearing how his bully also trained in boxing as a hobby.

Throughout the haze of pain and what seemed like endless fists raining down upon him, he realized something.

Somehow, someway, Gerry gained the same special superpowers as he did, allowing him to keep up with him. Or even surpass him.

Jacinto beat and ground him to a pulp, breaking his right hand, cracking several of his ribs, punching his face until one of his eyes swelled shut, bending his leg at an awkward angle, and triggering his asthma to the point that the mere act of breathing felt like torture.

Once again, the popular kid at the center of everything was beating up the little guy that no one liked. As usual. This was natural selection in action.

"Make the effort to change or face the consequences of your own bad behavior, moron! If everyone in society is laughing and condemning you, is it really society's fault? Or is there a chance you're the one who's being the insecure jerk?"

Gerry slammed Florante's face and body into the devastated basketball court, making the entire third floor of the building shudder from the impact. "Apologize now, and maybe I'll consider sparing your life."

'Apologize...?' Florante thought while on the brink of unconsciousness, the darkness seeping through the sides of his blurring vision.

He then wondered if going unconscious in a dream meant waking up in real life.

Even in his dreams, Jacinto got the better of him. The charming bully you never saw in TV shows and movies who made you think you deserved being bullied by him.

Galang couldn't humiliate Gerry with a joke that made the whole class laugh or embarrass him in front of Laura the way they did to him. Not in real life and not in his fantasy.

This was what he learned all throughout his stay at Fatima High.

People would torture you. People would turn you into an outcast. And if you were to retaliate, they'd declare you the bad guy.

Florante once remembered punching the head of one of his bullies for messing with him for so long, only for him to get in trouble and end up in the principal's office because his bully dared claim to be the victim instead.

It was a good thing a teacher from his last school caught his bullies bullying him red-handed, allowing him to write down the names of those who teased him so that they'd cut it out.

However, this only ended up giving him the reputation of being a snitch back in his former alma mater.

He could never win. Damned if he told on his bullies and damned if he kept silent about the bullying. It wasn't fair.

Well then, screw being fair. He had enough.

In reality, he couldn't take his revenge on Jacinto in a fair, reciprocal manner. Instead, Florante could only vent his frustrations at him or the "him" that existed in his mind this way. Through a nightmarish power fantasy about revenge.

His coping mechanism was having violent dreams. Either that, or punching the wall again and getting scolded by his mother for breaking either the wall or his fist.

As Jacinto prepared to knock him out or worse, Florante saw his opening.

With his remaining healthy left hand flowing with pinpoint spheres of energy at each fingertip, Galang thrust his clawed hand and every single finger into Jacinto's broad chest, drawing blood.

"...Apologize? Yeah, sure. I'm sorry I ever met you. Go to Hell."

His hot fingers dug deeper and deeper into Jacinto's chest even as the bully kept punching his already broken face and body into ground beef. He just wouldn't let go.

"LET GO, FLOR! LET GO! I ain't joking! FUCK!" the punches became more rapid. Stronger. Harder. Faster. Panicked. There was actual fear in Gerry's eyes for once.

It felt so satisfying to see him like this.

Galang could feel Jacinto's heart pound at the same time as his own excited pulse. He gripped the heart tightly then pulled.

From inside Gerry's chest, Galang shot his five energy bullets simultaneously, which fried the jock's insides and made the entire top half of his body explode into electric fire, guts, muscles, tendons, blood, and giblets.

The hint of ozone permeated the air along with the smell of burnt human flesh.

As what was left of Jacinto's lifeless corpse fell to the ground with a wet thud, Florante heaved a relieved sigh, the pelting rain falling from the large gaping hole in the ceiling (practically a skylight) washing the blood, sweat, and tears from his beat-up body and face away.

It was all just a dream. A fantasy. A way for him to vent from all the stress of his real-life bullying.

Everything he had done so far were victimless crimes against, well, imaginary straw-men (and straw-women).

...Right?

***

As Florante strode through the pure devastation of what was once Fatima High that he left behind in his wake, he felt unsatisfied somehow. Empty. Hollow.

Was that it? He got his revenge against the people who wronged him. What now?

He looked at the consequences of his actions and cringed. That feeling was familiar.

Like the aftermath of a storm. Or a temper tantrum when he was about 6 or 7 years old.

It felt cathartic to release all that pent-up anger and frustration he couldn't verbalize or express at any of his classmates normally, but now he felt a huge amount of guilt weigh him down.

Was any of this called for? What was he thinking?

Instead of relief, he felt like he did whenever he lost his temper when he was a toddler, only to end up hurting those around him or humiliating himself.

He went too far. He overdid it.

This wasn't "Even-Steven". This wasn't fair. Well, for him, some of them were, like how it felt satisfying to grind Zuniga into the ground like that.

No, no. What was he thinking? They bullied him and he killed them in return. That was an overreaction. He made things worse instead of better.

This wasn't him. He was a nice guy. Dealt a bad hand by fate. Born a social outcast with social anxiety and awkwardness around people.

He didn't really want to hurt anyone, but his temper always got the better of him, leading him to do things he wouldn't otherwise do.

Florante walked outside the entrance gates of Our Lady of Fatima School of Mandaluyong, his head in a daze. He could hear the wheeze and whistle of his asthma from under his breath after every exhale.

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. It felt like his throbbing brain was slamming itself right into his skull, demanding release.

He might've been in shock. For a minute or two, he didn't know where he was or what had happened.

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and wings-shaped water cascading behind her like a cape emerged from the rain and mist.

He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As she stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael," which made him remember the comic books he drew about the four archangels.

Who was she? Why was her face familiar? She was so gorgeous.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

She reminded him of Laura Reyes.

Wait. Laura? As in the girl he met on the first day of school that he had a crush on? The same Laura that he had just... murdered?

Like a bolt out of the blue, he remembered everything he'd done an hour ago.

Laura had awakened to supernatural powers like Florante had and transformed into the Archangel Raphael to avenge the deaths of all the people he just killed, including her.

She was there to take him away. Probably to kill him. Give him karmic justice for all that had transpired.

He felt the corners of his mouth quirk. This was all probably for the best. Let his crush finish him off and pay for his crimes. Let her become his Angel of Death.

Wait, so why was she Raphael instead of Azrael?

Faster than he could even fathom or wonder why she was named after the Angel of Healing instead of the Angel of Death, Raphael flew towards him with watery tendrils.

Everything became a blur from that point on when he and Archangel Raphael finally faced off.

His life then flashed before his eyes.

And then he finally woke up.

Thank God.

***

What a weird, horrible dream.

Yet another dream in a series of dreams. Perhaps nightmares, even.

Not night terrors, though. You didn't remember night terrors after waking up.

He rubbed the rheum from his crusty eyes, got hold of a pen and paper (notebook), and wrote down what had happened in his latest dream on his dream journal.

That one was a doozy.

What was wrong with him, dreaming up such scenarios? He told himself that he'd never do such a thing in real life. Not only because he didn't want to but because he couldn't.

No one developed superpowers like this except in fiction. Fan fiction. Self-insert fan fiction. This was obviously a dream. A dream a psycho would come up with but a dream nonetheless.

A dream about how the crush who rejected him just killed him after he killed her first.

His dream was indeed just a manifestation of his longing to belong.

Apparently, it was all a "fever dream" of Florante's. He ended up not going to school that day because of how high of a fever he had, which was also compounded by his asthma.

The feverish asthmatic called in absent for three days until he recovered.

Ugh. At least he'd have a break from all his bullying at Fatima High.

***

Three days after his fever dream, he went back to school. His prison.

For an introvert like him, home was freedom and the outside was maximum penitentiary.

It was in Fatima High School in Mandaluyong where he now found himself exiled. He was left in a prison city. Heaven for others and hell for him.

As usual, it rained hard. It was the rainy season during June in the tropical Philippines, after all.

On the plus side, because it was raining, he didn't have to deal with the weekly morning flag ceremony every Monday, with everyone gathered around the concrete stadium under the hot sun. He had his morning classes instead.

He didn't view the rain as an omen of things to come. Just something unavoidable and inconvenient given the season. He'd already said his goodbyes to the sun back in summer.

The only people he could hang out with were the Dead Kids, and even then he could only do so during lunchtime and through the Art Club. Most of the time, he was left to his own devices with the classmates he loathed.

He detested Fatima High School. He loved Pasig. For the most part, anyway.

He was not a big fan of the river of mud and vegetation known as the Pasig River. When it flooded, it had waters with the consistency of chocolate milk. The chocolate milk river. 'Don't drink from it, though,' he mused.

Regardless, he remained the new guy in town. In a new school. A freak. No student there was anyone he grew up with. He had to make friends quick or else he'd end up a pariah like in his last school.

However, for whatever reason, his classmates were somehow more distant to him now than before. Usually, they took the time to mess with him.

Now? They seemed to go out of their way to ignore him.

Did something happen again? Like the time after P.E. class, all the boys in the changing room noticed his undershirt was threadbare to the point of being see-through, so they teased him and called him a male stripper?

He briefly considered the chance of them having the same nightmare as him massacring students left and right before waving the thought off.

'As if that'd ever happen.'

On one hand, this was just par for the course with all the bullying he went through so far in high school. On the other hand, it seemed somehow different. They were actually leaving him alone for once, which was kind of a refreshing change.

He was still the social pariah, but at least they weren't calling him names or making him the butt of their jokes as usual.

That was on the plus side. On the "minus" side of things, he still ate alone at lunch. None of the Dead Kids were available and he didn't have Art Club that day.

Where did they go? Did something happen? He had hoped he wasn't kicked out of the group or anything, like what had happened to him and the gang of Laura and Gerry after the "nude" drawing incident.

Maybe if he were better looking, he'd have more confidence and friends? Like a sporty, tall kind of guy instead of a normal guy who was just... there? However, no matter how good he appeared, being a crybaby beyond the age of 4 years old was never a good look anyway.

If only he were manlier then perhaps girls would look his way without eyes of disdain, pity, or disinterest. Maybe. He didn't want to think about it. It made him cringe in embarrassment.

Instead, he ended up being a tan-skinned, brown-eyed, and stringy-haired kid with an almost bowl-cut hair parted in the middle. A total geek, in short.

***

That Thursday, school sucked as usual. You'd think Florante's impromptu three-day sabbatical would improve things, but they didn't.

On second thought, maybe it did.

Many of his classmates had thankfully gotten sick and tired of messing with him, with all those tough guy jocks and bullies focusing their attention on his other classmates and their... imperfections.

Florante felt the pain of his fellow bullying victims as they were made fun of because of things like being too quiet, having eyes that were unusually big, or alleging one of them had... mental issues.

No, the First Year St. Francis of Assisi bullies weren't exactly politically correct with their insults.

With that said, perhaps rather than a premonition, he should've been more worried about what had already happened. Like his fever dream he somehow couldn't forget.

Well, he kind of couldn't forget. As the day wore on, the details of the dream became hazy like with any other dream, but the summary of it remained fresh in his mind.

In order to vent, he gained supervillain-level powers in his dreams and killed his most of classmates, many of whom were his staunchest of bullies.

A disturbing fantasy but a fantasy nonetheless. A victimless crime that was all in his mind.

If only something unusual like that were to happen.

Not necessarily him doing a mass murder of the scope of The Peoples Temple in Jonestown. Sure, that was a different kind of massacre he read from one of the library books during recess, but a massacre nonetheless.

Something more like an exciting new adventure. New horizons for him. Now that he'd released all his pent-up rage in his dreams, perhaps he could delve into something more positive for once.

Like doing some oil painting (too expensive, though). Or finishing his unfinished comic book series, maybe by basing it on his dream journal (if only he had the time and motivation to make it).

'Note to self: Never tell anyone from my class that I keep a dream journal,' Florante thought. He was bullied enough already. No need to add that cherry on top of his shit sundae of a life.

Or maybe he could do something more fantastic, like him piloting a giant robot. Or him ending up with a harem of girls. Or him saving the world from the threat of annihilation by monsters.

Or something.

The dismissal bell then rung.

As his classmates started milling towards the exit, he willed himself to ignore the stares he felt at his back. It was the familiar feeling of being watched for the tiniest clumsy mistake, weird behavior, or angry outburst.

He heard idle chatter from the different cliques and groups formed within their class across the months they'd been together in one classroom, talking about where they wanted to eat or wished to go.

The malls of Mandaluyong were walking distance from their school, after all.

Unlike college in the Philippines or high school in the U.S., the Fatima private school had all the subjects taught in one classroom instead of students moving from one classroom to another. It was the teachers who moved from section to section or room to room.

They were more like schools in Japan, where one class full of students stayed in one classroom for the whole year. They didn't switch out and mingled with other sections in the same year except during club meetings, where students from different years and sections could join.

Nothing significant happened today. Nothing really changed. It was business as usual, even though his bullies at least let him off the hook for today.

As he was about to go to his school service at the school parking lot, the "something" he wished would happen finally happened.

He should've been careful what he wished for, to be honest.

As an aside, it was like déjà vu all over again.

A huge boulder that looked like a piece of the Fatima Grade School building fell right on the jeepney that served as his school service, crushing it in its weight.

"Wha...?" he said, his face draining of color as he remembered the school service driver there who once treated him to taho (Philippine snack food made of fresh soft/silken tofu, arnibal sweetener and flavoring, and black gelatinous sago pearls).

He turned around. The school he just exited ended up in ruins, with students running away everywhere screaming as mayhem ensued.

To be more specific, right above the school floated an unfathomable monster with two gigantic eyeballs sitting atop a body made of a mountain of minced meat and long tangled spaghetti pasta that undulated and wrapped themselves around the nearest buildings and hapless people like a dense forest of guts and intestine.

Damn. To think, spaghetti was his favorite food too.

It was like he was losing his mind just looking at that incomprehensible thing, much less try to describe it.

His thoughts zipped a mile a minute, going from the horrible realization that his fellow school service students in Pasig and the jeepney driver had been crushed to death to Fatima School itself getting demolished by a ridiculous-looking giant monster.

Wait, did he fall asleep again? Was he indulging in another one of his secret "edgy" fantasies he'd never dare (nor could) do in real life? Or share with anyone because he might be sent to a mental hospital afterwards?

That must've been what happened. None of this was real.

His fever dream still fresh in his mind, he gingerly moved forward instead of away from the tentacle monster even as students and teachers (as well as other faculty members and staff) of all ages ran away from it.

He felt compelled to do so, feeling the same way as he had in his fantasy. It was too unreal for his mind to wrap around it as actually happening.

The  (for lack of a better name) giant spaghetti monster crawled across the parking lot like kudzu grass, moving from one building to the next and crushing them under its weight like saltine or soda crackers.

The creature didn't so much move around as grew so that its fleshy red membrane of a body with bulging giant eyeballs could transfer itself from one position to the next, like a vine or flowering plant would but sped up.

Its pasta tentacles flooded the streets of Shaw Boulevard and St. Francis Street with its endless, root-like tendrils and tentacles of varying sizes, resulting in a heavy traffic jam. It appeared to be headed towards the nearest mall.

Why though?

He stopped running towards the monster after seeing it swallow up several students in its sea of viscera, guts, and intestinal entanglements. Some of them kids from Fatima Grade School who hung out after dismissal for far too long.

A few of them were his fellow students from high school. Most of them were unfamiliar or vaguely familiar faces. One in particular caught his eye.

A bespectacled, short-haired girl climbed and practically swam in the disgusting sea of oily pasta in order to reach the eye balls of the strange eldritch horror.

Brave of her to do so, but her face looked familiar.

Wait a minute.

It was Jenny! Jennifer Tolentino. The girl he spared in his dream before he "massacred" his bullies.

The Italian dish of a monster saw her just in time to wrap a multitude of its tendrils around her neck, arms, and limbs. Like with many other students and teachers in its noodle grasp

The one girl in their class who was nice to him was about to die.

Before he knew it, Florante found himself running towards the monster instead of away from it.

Was it out of morbid curiosity or a death wish? He couldn't tell.

Like in his dream, he shot out bolts of lightning and reverberating shockwaves of thunder at the living spaghetti creature, freeing up many of the students in its suffocating grasp.

He even shot one of the creature's eyes and cut through its tendrils in time to get even Jenny loose, catching her right in his arms after she fell.

"...F-Flor!" she exclaimed as he landed on his feet while holding her in a bridal carry. "Y-You saved me!"

He felt his cheeks grow warm as he gently put her back to the ground on her own two feet. He then faced away from her, at a loss for words.

"Thank you!" he heard her say from behind him, which made him mutter, "Y-You're welcome," under his breath.

This was it.

He didn't really want to kill all his classmates like in his other fever dream where he vented his frustrations over their bullying of him.

He wanted to be accepted. Respected. Validated. Loved. Or at least tolerated and left alone instead of having every single quirk or action he did scrutinized and mocked by his supposed peers.

He wanted his existence acknowledged at school. He wanted to be treated fairly like all the other students. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to stop them from hurting him.

Maybe he could get one or two close friends as well. That wouldn't hurt.

His resentment (and imagination) merely got the better of him in that nightmare of his.

His confidence boosted, he then charged at the monster wreaking havoc all over the street like mountains of spilled Italian food, intending to fry it into charcoal.

"Gabriel, watch out...!" Jenny screamed.

"Gabriel...?" he repeated, only to have tentacles shoot out from behind him, stabbing him in the back.

He let out a small exhale, choking at the air he suddenly couldn't breathe.

The monster did a sneak attack on him, he realized too late. It spread its noodle limbs into the nearest drain then shot it up where he couldn't see.

He then saw the world spin all around him, from sky to concrete to car to dirt to van to pillar to post and back again to the sky in an infinite loop.

He got dragged and flung around until he felt the spaghetti monster's tendrils snap like lizard tails, hurling him to the roof of a Toyota Tamaraw FX utility vehicle.

Tears streamed down his eyes as his whole body throbbed except his legs, which horrified him. He suffocated in pain, unable to even groan.

Had the spaghetti monster turned him to roadkill? What sort of nightmare was this? His powers from his previous dream failed him, and now he felt death creep in the edges of his blurry vision.

Hah. Served him right.

That was what he got thinking he could take on that nightmarish, tentacled pseudo-octopus. Shooting helpless students with no superpowers was way different from dealing with a giant incomprehensible mess of a leviathan that could fight back.

He then gasped as a feeling of euphoric relief enveloped him. The soothing warmth pierced through his being and spread across his body like a fever. He then reverted back to heart-rending pain as he finally felt his legs or what was left of them pulsate in pure agony.

He screamed. He cried. He clawed at the ground, gnashing his teeth.

Or maybe they were fine after all, as he soon felt okay enough to move his feet around, from his thighs and knees to his ankles and toes. He dared peer at himself, only to see bloody, torn pants draped over perfectly healthy legs, the frighteningly large laceration over his hamstring closing up like magic.

He then looked up to see Jenny Tolentino kneel over him in seeming prayer, a cool neon mist of light transferring from her body to his.

Wait. Was she... healing him? Was that what was happening? Like a healer from an RPG videogame? Man, this is one crazy-ass dream!

The girl with the glasses then said, "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this."

"Jenny...?" Florante trailed off.

Jenny took a deep breath and said, "Listen up, Flor. You're an Ophanim."

"P-Pardon?" stuttered a flabbergasted Florante. "I'm a... what?"

"An angel. You're an angel without wings, Flor."

***

To Be Continued...

Fun fact: I actually made a Geocities site for this story once while considering turning it into a webcomic. Or at least I named the Geocities site after the title of this work, which featured a "Gabriel De Angeles" protagonist instead of a "Florante Galang" one at the time.

Farewell, Abdiel

[alicemoonwonderland]

Toxic Wings

A piece based on the Guild Hunter Series by Nalini Singh. The themes are heavy even though they are only references. I wrote this piece to deal with some of the negative emotions inside of me and writing has always been my outlet. 

Summary: Sariel and Dahariel had been together on and off for four decades, but as time passes, Dahariel’s actions make it clear that the relationship is unequal and toxic. So Sariel makes the hard choice of breaking things off forever with him. He may not have ever hurt her, but he was still toxic to her. She deserved better.

Fandom; Guild Hunter Series

Pairing: Dahariel / Sariel (Fem!OC of Colour)

Rating: NSFW for heavy themes

Tags: Breaking up, toxic relationship, reference of cheating/homicide/abuse, feels, angst, hope

Laughter filled the courtyard, the sun made the colourful wings shine like gems. The joy and merriment coming from the little bodies almost tangible as some fluttered around, others wobbled around on their short legs and almost tipping over because of their oversized wings. Trying to get away from the one adult angel chasing after them with a wide smile gracing her face. She ran slowly, to give the little ones a chance to escape and to feel like they could outrun anyone.

"I'm going to catch you! I'm going to catch you!" Sariel laughed hearty as she rushed after little Mikhail, his green wings splashed with amber and blue. Reminding her of a paradise bird. His curls wild, his smile even wilder. "Gotcha!" She tossed the little boy up in the air before catching him with ease in her arms. Smothering kisses on his golden chubby cheeks.

"Ah! Sa-Sa! Help! Sa-Sa!" He giggled happily, despise his protests he wrapped his little arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. Sariel's body sighed with joy as she hugged the little oh so fragile body against her chest. The other little bumblebees, as she called them, wobbling back towards her. Little hands patting and touching her legs and wings as they all beamed with joy and innocence.

Seeing them like this, broke and healed her heart in countless of ways. Angelic children were precious beyond measure amongst her kind. So few of them were ever blessed of having one of them. "It is logical why there are so relatively few children born at any given time." Keir, the head healer once told her as he busied himself braiding her hair. "We are an Immortal race and hard to kill. Quick replacement is generally not needed." But that did not take away the ache of wishing to have a child.

No matter how depraved or cruel some had become with age and power, all had agreed upon that angelic children would never be harmed. Breaking this more than Ancient rule would result into a horrible punishment that would make death seem like a mercy.

"Sa-Sa! Sing sing!" A little wide-blue eyed and silver-grey spotted winged bumblebee asked her with glee, erasing any thoughts of darkness and sorrow from her. Sariel smiled indulgently as she carried her little charge, and guiding the others to her bench in the courtyard.

With fondness, she watched the little ones all settle down as Mikhael rested his head against her chest. Her slender fingers playing with his dark curls. Unconsciously, her eyes scanned the courtyard. Always watching for danger, just in case, even though no one would dare to harm the children. This was the neutral zone, under the protection of all Archangels and free from politics and what not.

Eyes locked with the power yellow irises of an angel that made her stomach knot for many reasons. Those eagle eyes were set in the sharp hawk-features face of an angel who wore his power as a cloak to keep others at bay. His wings always reminded her of one of the most majestic birds. Having seen them spread in flight...and other situations.

Dahariel stood in the shadows, watching her with a stoic look on his face. He always looked like that, emotionless, distant....colder than ice and marble. The tightness in her chest made it almost impossible hard to breathe. She had not seen him since....half a year? Almost a year? It had been a while....he hadn't even written her. Her lips started to feel numb. Why was he here? Shouldn't he be with...

"Sa-Sa?" Mikhail asked worried as the little boy pressed his fingers against her lips. Looking up at her with such a concerned look. Giving herself a mental shake, she turned back to the little charge on her lap.

"You wish me to sing? I shall sing for you," she whispered so warmly, making the little ones cry out in joy again, and Mikhail beam. She ignored her pain, her sorrow, her confusion as she closed her eyes and started to sing. Rocking the child in her arms as her voice filled the courtyard.

Some say, she had inherited a bit of her grandmother's singing talent. And now she used that talent to bring joy to the heart of all those around her, to forget any sorrow or worries in her own heart as well. When she sang, she forgot all - a pure moment of true peace.

After a while, time always became a blur when she sang, she opened her eyes and felt her heart squeeze with joy this time as the little ones had cuddled together. Little bodies resting against each other. Eyelids closed and wings in resting position. They had all fallen asleep with little smiles on their faces. Mikhael sucked on his thumb as he slept peacefully against her chest.

The children's parents and guardians had arrived, everyone looking relaxed and joyful. It made her glad that her song had given them peace and rest in the trying times. With soft whispers and thanks, they took their children back. Sariel handed over the sleeping Mikhail to his mountain of a father who chuckled amused. Handling his son with such care and adoration that one rarely would expect from a man like Ivan. It showed that even some of their roughest, and most wildest could have a softer side.

But the whole time, she noticed the pair of eagle eyes not leaving her. Watching like a predator watching its prey. Part of her felt annoyed. He had no right to be here. Well...she couldn't deny him to come here. She just did not understood why he suddenly had decided to come here. Children weren't his thing, even though the little ones were in awe of him when he did came by.

After picking up her bag, she made her way back to her quarter's in her father - the Archangel Raphael's territory. Her pulse skittered as she felt she was being followed, still in the neutral zone. She could reach out with her mind to her father, who would be with her - or one of his men - in just a few seconds. But she didn't want him to know. Didn't want him to know her shame. Her sorrow. Her pain. He would start a war for her, and she did not wish blood on her hands. She had made her bed, and she would lie in it.

Making a turn into a dark corridor, she felt more than heard the rustle of wings. Then strong finger wrapping themselves around her wrist. Shock went through her system when she was pulled back against a hard - almost like marble - chest, wings crushing against bare skin. The breathing of the one who held her brushed against her temple, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to ignore her body's reaction to him. Not the one of fighting, but one that made her want to melt against him. Forget everything.

But she could not. She could not forgive his latest transgression. He had cut her too deep, too brutally. His hand let go of her wrist to wrap itself around her waist. His other hand resting on her cheek and turning her face towards him as his wings arched in a way as if to shelter her from the outside world

"Don't do this," she whispered breathlessly as she fought to keep her walls up. Her wings aching as they were trapped, touched in a painfully intimate way that should be reserved for lovers. His nose brushed against her cheekbone, the tension growing between them. The air becoming heavy with sexual tension.

"Sariel," he breathed husky in her ear as she was trapped between the wall and his hard body. His hand caressing her hip as his fingers brushed over her full lips. He pressed his hips against her shapely behind, able to feel his arousal. Memories of him taking her from behind while her hands pressed against the wall assaulted her mind. An involuntary moan slipped past her lips as she could feel his power and hunger brewing underneath his skin. The sensual way he trapped her spoke of his dominance, but also her own power. With no one else....no...that was a lie.

In a rapid move, that he had taught her, she broke his hold - slammed him against the wall - and pressed a knife against his throat as her eyes burned with betrayal. Her wings spread wide as she thanked whoever was out there that practically no one took this path. Last thing she needed was an angel or vampire seeing them like this and either warn her Father or Astaad.

For a moment his eyes flickered with surprise before he adopted that aloof stoic look on his face. Not moving aside from resting his hands on her lips. She knew he wasn't afraid. A cut on his throat wouldn't slow him down much. Hell, it would probably turn him on. "I said no," she snapped harshly at him, her throat tightening with emotions. "Leave me alone." Pulling away, she put away her knife and made a move to leave again.

Dahariel grabbed her and pushed her up against the wall again, his hand firmly but also tenderly cupping her face as he trapped her with his much larger and stronger body. His eyes searching her face for answers as she barred her teeth in pain and fury.

But still, arousal curled inside her belly. Making her angrier with herself and disgusted. "Go back to her," she snapped and something flickered in his eyes.

"Who?"

"You know who, Dahariel."

"Say her name."

"No."

"Say her name."

"Michaela," the word ripped out of her, unable to hide her pain and disgust at what he had done. Who he had chosen to be his lover, who he had taken to his bed.

"Sariel, my love, you don't..."

"Don't you fucking dare to insult me even more than you already have, Dahariel." If he hadn't trapped her the way he had, his muscular thigh pushed between her own so she couldn't kick him in the balls - she would have. Hard. And felt pleased with herself while doing it.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" She let out a bitter laugh as she looked away, unable to look into his eyes. Didn't wish to remember the man he once used to be. Yes, he has always been deadly, dangerous, working on a moral code that humans would find horrendous but became all too common amongst angel kind as they aged and became more powerful.

But she could still remember the way he laughed as she splashed him with water. The tender way he brushed her hair out of her face as he laid beside her in bed. The way he whispered adoring words against her lips while they hid in the dark corners of the Refuge. Stolen moments in time that they could be together.

If she had been anyone else, maybe she could have lived in ignorant bliss. Maybe she could have turned a blind eye to the indiscretions he had committed. But she was no ordinary angel, she was an Archangel's daughter whose father had the best Spymaster in his service. She was bound to find out the things he did behind her back.

And the love struck fool she was, she had accepted it. Their relationship had always been chaotic, him leaving her several times and breaking her heart, but she accepted him back with open arms every time he came back to her. But even she noticed that each time he came back, he was a little bit more distant. A little bit more cold. A little bit more cruel.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't fully ignore knowing there were others. That people in his court trembled by the merest hint of wings. The almost-Immortal didn't react like that without good reason. Then there were the whispers that Jason had told her father, of Dahariel's....dark appetites.

Her heart was soft still, her soul not jaded with time and immortality. She could still be disgusted. Didn't wish to somehow look logical at the things she did. She felt. She still hurt for others and felt empathy.

"Don't you think I would never find out what you did behind my back? The people you hurt. The people you slept with. It's a good thing that angels can't catch disease..."

"Sariel," he warned her threatening, and she hissed in return. Her wings flaring as much as they could while crushed against the wall.

"Don't you Sariel me. You've no right to utter my name," she snarled as she finally met his eyes. Saw the coldness in them, the cruelty in the lines of his dangerously handsome face.

Her heart broke as her eyes burned, but she refused to let her tears roll. Didn't wish to give him that power. That satisfaction. "And all these years, I turned a blind eye. But no more. No more. Of all the women you could take to your bed, you took that demon spawn. You know what she did to my family. You know but not for a second did you care what it did to me. You weren't even separated from me!"

"You don't understand." She slammed her hands so hard against his chest that somehow she made him stagger back. His eyes flickering to her veins as they glowed faintly but she ignored it, her rage barely being kept back.

"THERE IS NO EXPLANATION THAT WILL MAKE IT RIGHT FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME!" she roared in righteous fury, her rage made her think clearer than she had in a while. "You're toxic to me. Being with you is killing me. Destroying me by bit and by the Cadre, I deserve better. I'm done, Dahariel. We are over."

That took him by utter surprise. It had always been him who left her, and her begging him to stay. Professing her love for him. This was the first time in four decades that she rejected him. And he knew she meant it. The intent and seriousness clear in her eyes and voice. This relationship was a pure poisonous one. It didn't matter that she loved him. Didn't mean he meant the world to her. He had gone too far. Taken the archangel who wished her stepmum dead and wanted to fuck her father. She had some dignity left. Some pride.

She let out a little squeak as he grabbed her again, smashing his lips against hers. Their connection had always been explosive, powerful, mind numbing. He forced his tongue into her mouth, his hands moving hotly over her body. She kissed him back, her fingers grabbing his hair firmly, her senses overloaded for a moment that she became a being of feeling. All rational and coherent thought slammed out of her.

Just for a moment though. With snarl, she torn herself away from him and lashed out. Gouges appearing on his cheek and blood flowing down his face. His blood coating her nails. "Fuck you." She spat on the ground before him while cursing in the old angelic tongue. Her lips swollen by his kiss, her curls tousled wildly.

His flesh knitted back together as his eyes became luminous, but she had already started to walk away. Her breathing rough as she fought her tears. "You always knew who I was! Do you think your precious Illium has clean hands?!" Don't look back. Don't. Keep walking. "I've seen how he looks at you, and that precious Bluebell has skeletons of his own in the closet!" You can do this, Sariel. Keep walking. It's over. You're free. "SARIEL!"

It hurt. Her chest crushing. Ice in her veins as each step was a struggle. But she had to keep moving forward. She was Sariel. Daughter of Raphael. And she was not going to be used any longer.

By pure force of will, she made her way to her father's territory. The sight of stunning blue wings with silver came into her view. The dam inside of her crumbling to dust. Golden eyes widened as Illium took in her state. Hair wild, lips swollen, and looking on the verge of tears. Pathetic. That's how she looked. Absolutely pathetic.

"Sariel!" he cried out worried and rushed towards her, his arms coming around her and crushing her cold body against his burning hot one. Precious Bluebell has skeletons of his own in the closet. Her arms came around Illium's torso - one of her father's most trusted warriors. He may have blood on his hands. May have skeletons in his closet, but Illium had never hurt her. Her body becoming weak in his arms as she started to sob, trusting him to hold her up.

"I got you, Stardust. Whatever happened, I'll fix it. I'll fix it." How could one heal a destroyed hart? How could one heal the wounds on the soul. Closing her eyes, she decided to worry about that another day. Now, she just needed to be held.

[lalalemon101]

Fallen Angel - Kim Taehyung

Pairing: Reader x Taehyung

Summary: Taehyung would fall to make sure you went to heaven.

Warning: Death

“Taehyung, don’t do this.” Jimin pleaded.

Jungkook grabbed my hand tightly. “Please, this once can’t you just listen?”

I shook my head, eyes focused on the white marble steps ahead of me. The gates at the top were glowing a brilliant white light where I knew God waited.

“There must be another way. You don’t have to leave us.” Hoseok’s strained voice floated to my ears as I heard him swoop down behind me next to Jimin.

There was a flutter of more wings and I heard the rest of our host fly in. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to prepare myself to confront my brothers. The brothers I had promised to fly with for the rest of eternity.

“Namjoon, make him stay.” Jimin addressed our leader with earnest.

“I can’t. I respect his autonomy and whatever choices he makes.” Namjoon spoke solemnly, but I could detect the sorrow in his voice.

Jungkook tightened his grip on my hand. “But there must be something else he can do to protect her. We can help.”

“We can’t.” Jin said softly.

“Why not?” Jimin cried. A silence fell over us. The question that they had been asking me constantly for the past day since they heard of my intentions. I knew that it was wrong of me to hide this from them, but having to confess the reason why made me feel like a failure.

“She committed suicide.” Yoongi finally spoke up. There was silence again, but this time the confusion was replaced with understanding. We hated losing a human to suicide. It made us feel powerless. When a human committed suicide, their soul was automatically sent to hell. This was God’s punishment for them taking their life into their own hands.

I took a deep breath and let it out before turning to face them. They stood in a circle, Jimin and Jungkook with tears brimming in their eyes, a few spilling out. Hoseok tried to keep his back, blinking rapidly. Yoongi and Jin stood somberly on either side of Namjoon, whose gaze made me remember the happiness we had shared so far as a host. Since our creation we worked as a unit to combat the sin and suffering that Lucifer had brought to people. It only took us about a century to hone our skills and fulfill the roles God had given us.

Namjoon naturally took the role as our leader and aided humans in achieving their goals. Yoongi, his right hand man, was in charge of communicating messages to chosen humans and generated their creativity in music, literature, and the arts. Jin helped humans foster healthy, loving relationships with each other and themselves. With his bright personality, Hoseok brought humans positivity and did his best to ward away negative energy. Jimin, the one I was closest to, protected the earth and its creatures, which was becoming more difficult as humans became greedier. Jungkook was in charge of healing humans and protecting them on their journey to Heaven. Finally there was me. I helped humans with forgiveness - themselves and others. My most recent human had fallen into a pit of depression and self-loathing and I had failed to help her move on from her disappointments and unload her grief. This hadn’t been my first loss to suicide, but something about her death had triggered a guilt that constantly occupied my thoughts.

“I hope you can forgive me for what I am about to do.” As hard as I tried to mask my emotions, my voice was hoarse, “But this is the only way I can save her.”

Namjoon nodded once. “Go Zadkiel, there is nothing to forgive. We will miss you and our love for you will never die.”

“Thank you, Michael.” I addressed Namjoon by his archangel name as he had used mine.

“We will be watching and protecting you.” Jin spoke.

I gave him an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Chamuel.”

“We all will.” Hoseok added.

“I’ll miss you, Uriel. I hope you bring me positivity during my struggles.” I looked over to see him force a smile and wipe a stray tear.

“Ariel, please don’t cry.” I asked Jimin, whose tears had not stopped.

“Pft, even if our eyes are dry our hearts will always call for you.” Yoongi spoke.

“Gabriel, for being the archangel of communication your words are always so sharp.” I gave him a bittersweet smile.

Finally, I turned to Jungkook. He had let go of my hand and was now staring at the ground. “Raphael, I hope you keep me safe on the fall down.”

“Jungkook.” He said, looking me in the eye. “When you leave me, you leave me as Taehyung and I as Jungkook. Those are the names we gave each other, not because God made us obligated to work together, but because we chose to.”

I nodded as I felt my resolve crumble. “I will miss you. All of you.”

We all huddled closer together, unfurling our wings and coming together as a host, one last time.

---

“Are you sure you want to do this, Zadkiel?” God asked.

I nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

“And you understand the consequences of your choice? You will never be able to return and although you are human, you can never be with her.”

“Yes, my Lord. I understand and I am sure.”

I felt God’s heartache at my words and for the suffering he knew I had in store. “Very well. I banish you from Heaven, Archangel Zadkiel. In return for your sacrifice, your human will return and will not go to either Heaven or hell until she ends her life in happiness.”

“Thank you, Lord.” I bowed down and knelt my head, preparing myself for what was to come.

A sharp pain shot down my back as I lost my wings. I felt darkness and cold seep into my soul, and then I was out.

----

“You stupid, brat!” her mother screamed, throwing a plate at the girl crouched in fear in the corner of the room. “How dare you steal my money!”

I gritted my teeth as I watched the scene unfold from afar. Y/N hadn’t stolen anything. She had worked hard for that money, picking up extra shifts and enduring many sleepless nights to pay the rent for her sister and mother and provide food so that her younger sister didn’t starve. Although I had lost most of my powers after my fall, I still had a few. I focused my energy on persuading her mother to leave her alone.

“To think that I suffered so much to raise such an ungrateful bitch,” her mother spat before storming out the door of the house to the bar she frequented, leaving Y/N alone.

I grimaced at the harsh words, but knew that was the best I could do. I couldn’t change her mother into a good person but I could minimize her suffering. I could hear Y/N’s broken sobs as she curled into a ball and cried into her knees. In ten minutes she was wiping the last of her tears and cleaning up the shards of glass. Her sister would be home in an hour and the last thing she wanted was to expose her to this.

Y/N’s kindness was what drew me to her. Most humans would eventually crumble to sin and become cold hearted and cruel after suffering, but not Y/N. In her last life, she succumbed to her depression and committed suicide. I had failed my job as her guardian angel. When her father beat her mother a hair from death and then threatened to whore her off to pay for his alcohol addiction, she slit her wrists.

I had hoped that in her new life, she would suffer less since she had lived such a pure life before but it seemed that the devil had his eyes set on Y/N. Her mother in this life was an abusive alcoholic. Her father had been killed by the gang who her family now owned a copious amount of money to because of his gambling. She worked constantly while studying to provide for her mother, sister, and herself, only to be beaten when she didn’t have enough for her mother’s drinks.

It was 11pm and she was sitting alone on a park swing. The winter air had turned her cheeks and the tip of her nose a bright pink and her thin, worn coat did little to keep her warm but she couldn’t bear to be in the house. I took a deep breath as I approached her for the first time.

I sat in the swing next to her. She continued to gently sway back and forth, not paying me any mind. For a second I wondered if I was still invisible to her.

“I know I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, especially ones who have been staring at you for the past ten minutes from across the street but today I just don’t give a damn.”

I looked over to see Y/N was still staring up at the stars, shivering slightly with her hands deep in her pockets. I looked at her in shock.

“You noticed?”

She nodded, finally looking over at me. “It’s hard not to notice the only other person insane enough to be out in the middle of the night in winter.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that came to my face. I was glad that hardship had not squashed the sass she had displayed as a child. Even though she had called me creepy and insane, every word she said to me made me feel warmer inside.

“Well, I promised I’m not actually a creep. I’m just a bit lonely and looking for a friend.”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “At 11pm outside in the dead of January?”

I shrugged.

“Well then, at least I can tell you’re honest since you didn’t promise that you’re sane.” She muttered.

I chuckled loudly at her comment. I looked over to see that she had started to smile too. “So  then tell me, why are you out here?”

She sighed and looked back up at the stars. “I didn’t want to be home. I was just out here thinking. What if I had been born in another life? One where I had a mother and father who loved me? One where I could be a normal teen? Did I do something so evil in my last life that I’m being punished now?”

Before I could stop myself, I had already spoken. “No, in fact you were just as kind hearted as you are now.”

She stopped swaying and turned her attention back on me. I could feel her apprehension and  felt that she would leave if I didn’t say something to cover up.

“I mean, that’s what I imagine. You don’t seem like an awful human being and I don’t think life is always so fair as to punish sinners and reward those who are good.” I attempted to explain, but felt like hope was lost.

She paused a moment before nodding. “If that’s the case, God must be cruel.”

“I don’t think so.” I said softly. “As corny as it sounds, God does give his strongest children the hardest life. He knows that they can handle it.”

She laughed bitterly. “In that case, God must think that I’m Wonder Woman.”

I sat with her for another hour in silence until the wind picked up and she could no longer stand the cold. I walked her home and wordlessly handed her a pair of thick gloves before walking away.

In the next months we grew closer. I would “run into her” whenever she had gone through a particularly rough ordeal and talked her through. She was getting better. Her mother was still a wreck and she was still bone tired, but I could tell that she was stronger now and hopeful of a positive change. Every time I saw her now I felt my heartbeat quicken and a smile spread across my face. Now when we ran into each other, my presence seemed to brighten her mood.

Finally, she was graduating high school and moving onto college. She was standing in the park again alone and I knew she was waiting for me to appear.

“Taehyung!” she waved me over and I jogged to her, one hand behind my back hiding the bouquet I had gotten her.

“Tada!” I revealed the dozen pink roses I had picked up less than an hour ago. “Congratulations on graduating!”

Her smiled grew as she took the bouquet gently in her hands and leaped towards me to engulf me in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered in my ear. “Without you, I don’t know if I would have survived the suffering I went through to get here.”

I squeezed her tighter, my chest filling with warmth at her words. “I didn’t do anything, this was your strength that carried you.”

She pulled back, a tear running down her cheek. She laughed as she wiped it away and looked up at me. Suddenly, there was a slight pink tinge to her cheeks and she tucked her hair behind her right ear, a nervous tick.

“Taehyung, I know this may be a bit odd for me to say,” she was avoiding my eyes and staring at the roses. “But I just wanted to say that I think I love you.”

I love you

It was with those words that I felt myself break out into a grin. I felt a rush of adrenaline after hearing her say those words, but before I could even repeat them to her, the roses had fallen out of her hands and she was on the ground, clutching her heart.

“Tae-” she gasped.

I crouched down, holding her in my arms. “Y/N, Y/N, what’s wrong?”

She continued to gasp for breath, but she was no longer able to speak.

“Y/N!” I shook her as her eyes rolled backwards. I lifted her in my arms and started to run. Which direction I don’t really know, but in the next ten minutes I was at a hospital.

It was too late. She had died of sudden heart failure. I felt like someone had ripped a hole in my chest and had taken my heart with it. I was now sitting on the swings where we first met, a single pink rose in hand. My tears fell slowly and so silently that it took me a minute to realize that I was crying. I looked up to the sky, since the only comfort I had was knowing that she had now gone to heaven. I could live the rest of my immortal life in peace.

--

It had been another twenty years of wandering the earth when I spotted her. I almost choked on the instant ramen I was scarfing down when I saw her across the store I was in. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She wasn’t supposed to be back. She had died happy. She was supposed to be in heaven.

She seemed out of breath and scared when suddenly I saw the group of men running behind her. Before I could stop myself, I was running out of the store and grabbing her hand. She must have been too scared or desperate to put up a fight. I ran us for another five blocks, weaving in between buildings and different roads to lose them.

“You know, you shouldn’t just trust any stranger.” I gasped as we finally came to a stop.

She let out a laugh, bent over in exhaustion. “Well I knew standing still and letting them catch me would possibly be the worst thing that could happen. Also, something about you felt trustworthy, like a saving grace.”

I ignored the last part of her sentence as I introduced myself. “Name’s Taehyung.”

She looked up at me, straightening her back and holding out her hand. “Y/N.”

The blood drained from my face. This couldn’t be.

“Hey, you alright? You look like you saw a ghost.” She looked over her shoulder and looked back at me in confusion.

“Oh, um no. You just reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago.” I sputtered. “Do you mind me asking how old you are?”

She raised an eyebrow but humored my question. “20 years old.”

No. This had to be some twisted coincidence.

Just to make sure, I asked another question.  “And were you born on May 28, 1997?”

She backed up, her hands held up in defense. “How did you know that?”

I couldn’t help myself from punching the wall. God damnit. I had failed. She hadn’t died happy. I shook my head and took a deep breath. A few seconds later I let it out and saw that she was still standing there, albeit looking terrified.

“Lucky guess.” I examined my scratched hand and faced her now. “Anyway, who were you running from?”

She stayed silent so I kept talking. “Sorry if I freaked you out, but I promise I don’t mean you any harm. You just reminded me of someone I loved and that was their birthday too.”

“Oh,” she put her hands down. “That’s odd.”

“Tell me about it,” I mumbled. “Anyway, back to my question. Who were you running from and why?”

She sighed as she slid down the wall in defeat. “My dad has a gambling problem and those were the loan sharks who are after the money he owes them.”

She was suffering in this life too.

“Don’t worry about it, I can help you. Get up.”  I put my hands in my hoodie pocket and started walking down the street. I paused when I noticed she was standing, but hadn’t moved.

“And why would I trust you?” She asked, arms crossed against her chest.

“I told you, you remind me of someone I love and they went through similar shit. The least I could do is help someone when I can.”

Thankfully this life had been a bit easier for her. Her mother had tried to protect her, but when she died of cancer earlier this year and her dad found her, it was all downhill. After I dealt with the loan sharks, she pestered me until I allowed her to pay me back the money by working for me.

By now, I owned a small business specializing in custom prints. She would come by every day after her classes at university to manage the paperwork and occasionally help with prints. Every night at 10 pm we locked up together and I walked her to her home here she would cook us both ramen.

A year later we were celebrating a large deal I had just gotten with a growing shoe brand. She had long since paid off the debt and I had hired her for my finances since she had graduated. The table was littered with the bottles of soju we had finished and she was laughing at my story of how Jungkook and I had accidentally escorted a pimp and drug lord to heaven instead of hell when we mixed him up for his twin brother, the leader of a human rights organization. Granted. Instead of heaven and hell, I told her it was an award ceremony for his work as a humanitarian aid.

“I’m so glad I met you, Tae.” Y/N said after she had finished giggling.

Her cheeks were rosy pink from the alcohol and there was a joyous shimmer in her eyes.

“I’m glad I met you too, Y/N.” I smiled back at her.

She shook her head. “No, I’m really glad. You helped me out and put me back on my feet. You’ve been so kind and supportive.”

I scoffed. “You give me too much credit.”

“No really, thank you,” she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she looked straight into my eyes. “I haven’t said this to anyone before other than family. I love you, Tae.”

I love you.

Time seemed to slow down as she started coughing. I was frozen in fear as I flashbacked to the last time she died in my arms. Not again. No. Why? I was dialing 911, supporting her in my arms as she continued to cough, her face turning slightly blue.

By the time they got there, it was too late. Anaphylaxis. One of the bottles of soju we had contained an artificial flavoring that she was apparently deathly allergic to. I found myself staring up at her apartment. The lights were still on but I knew no one was there. I felt hollow as I trudged away. Again, I felt that my heart had been given to me only to be ripped away again.

--

Nineteen years later I was ordering coffee when I noticed the barista looked familiar. The sadness in her eyes and the dark circles under them looked far too familiar as well. This time she was in an abusive relationship with her boyfriend. He beat her and took advantage of her. She was powerless to him as his father employed hers and her family of five depended on her father’s job to survive.

Once again I helped her escape. With what little powers I had, her boyfriend’s father coincidentally walked in on his son abusing Y/N. He was disowned and her father was promoted. I helped her recover psychologically and physically from the long years of abuse.

“Taehyung, thanks for sticking by my side through all of this.” She said as we walked hand in hand down the street, the lights casting a soft yellow glow.

She had invited me to dinner with her family, who was celebrating her father’s promotion and their move to a better neighborhood. Throughout the dinner I could see the sparkle returned to her eyes and the happiness she now radiated.

“Don’t thank me. It was the right thing to do.” I shrugged.

She suddenly wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you, Taehyung. I didn’t think that after all that I went through, I could be as happy as I am now and feel the way that I do.”

I looked down at her curiously. She giggled as she let me go and took a step back. She took a deep breath and let it out, looking up at me, eyes sparkling.

“I love you, Tae-”

“No!” I wanted to shout, but before she could even finish saying my name she was collapsing into my arms.

--

“Namjoon! Michael!” I shouted into the church. I hoped that he would come and answer my questions. I was losing hope after having shouted and prayed for a solid hour with no response when I heard a familiar flutter of wings.

“Taehyung.” I turned to see Namjoon standing in his all white garbs.

“What’s going on, Namjoon? Why does she keep suddenly dying and coming back?” I asked, running my hand through my hair. “She died happy, didn’t she? But why did she come back? And why does she keep dying so suddenly when she’s finally happy?”

Namjoon gave me a look of pity. “Taehyung.”

“What?” I shouted. I had been going crazy for the past week trying to make sense of this.

“Taehyung, she dies suddenly because she loves you.” Namjoon said softly.

“What? This is my fault?” I whispered.

Namjoon nodded slowly. “A human can never live a fulfilling life once they fall in love with an angel, fallen or not. Especially since you fell so that she could die with a happy life, she dies and is reincarnated again because falling in love with you instantly prevents her from ever truly being happy.”

I felt like I was falling apart. This was my fault. She had to suffer so many times because of me? Namjoon seemed to know my thoughts as he gave me a sympathetic pat before turning to fly back to Heaven.

Y/N was right. God is cruel.

---

The next time I saw her, I kept my distance. She was an orphan, adopted by a woman who used her for her child support checks. With the small bit of persuasion power I had left, Y/N was able to avoid almost all physical abuse. Although she was once busting her ass to support herself, she graduated and escaped her mother. She went to university and became a doctor. She met a boy. He treated her like a queen. On their wedding day she was radiant. From the way she smiled and laughed, you would never know the hell she’d been through to be standing there now. Her children were adorable. Her daughter had the same fire she did in her second life and her son had the wild streak from her third, and they both had her kind heart. When she was finally 80, she got cancer. I knew that I was taking a risk, but I persuaded her family to leave the room to get lunch when I could tell she was nearing her end.

I slipped into the room silently. Slowly, I sat in the chair perched next to her hospital bed. Even though she was old and gray, I still saw the young girl I had fallen in love with all those years ago. The girl who fought, loved, and endured. Her breaths were steady but laboured as she slept.

“Y/N,” I whispered. “I’m so glad to see that you’re finally happy. I’m so sorry that my greed led to so much of your suffering. But I guess it was your kindness and strength during those times of suffering that drew me to you, that made me want to help you and made me fall in love with you. I know you’ll be going to heaven now. I know Jungkook will make sure you make it up there safely. When you get there, say hi to the boys for me. I miss them a lot and I’m sure they’ll want to meet the humen who I fell for.”

A tear fell onto the linoleum floors of the hospital and suddenly I heard a shaky breath.

“Taehyung?” I looked up to see Y/N gazing at me.

I was frozen in fear. Had I just messed everything up?

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me,” she tsked, “Is that how you treat your elders?”

I was still frozen in fear. “You remember?”

She blinked slowly and smiled, “Of course. Thank you. Really. I’m sorry that you don’t have your wings anymore.”

I smiled back. My chest was filled with the familiar warmth again. “I don’t miss them so much anymore.”

“And I see they didn’t teach you not to lie to your elders either, did they?” she laughed weakly.

“Oh we did, he just never cared much for the rules.” A deep voice responded from across the room.

“Namjoon!” I looked to see him smiling in the corner, the rest of the boys with him. “Why are you all here?”

“We’re here to escort her up,” Jungkook said softly. He looked to Y/N and held out his hand. “Are you ready?”

She nodded weakly and I saw as her soul drifted out. She was no longer the old woman, but the young fiery girl standing in front of us. She walked over to me and gave me one last hug.

“Thank you, Taehyung. I love you.”

I held my breath, but smiled as I saw her soul remaining and not whisked away to be reborn.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

With that, she squeezed my hand one last time and walked over to Jungkook, who took her hand and started her flight up. One by one the boys followed, leaving me and Namjoon alone in the room.

“Namjoon!” I shouted as he was about to take off.

He paused and looked back at me.

“Can you tell God I’m sorry for accusing him of being cruel?”

He gave me a smile and nodded.

[ramajmedia]

Titans Season 2 Cast & Character Guide | Screen Rant

Get to know all of the heroes and villains that'll be appearing in Titans season 2. It's perhaps fair to say that Titans' debut season garnered a divisive reaction among fans. Opting for a no holds barred approach, Titans was a grittier take on the teenage DC superhero team that many will be used to and charted the initial coming together of Robin, Raven, Starfire and Beast Boy as they attempted to unravel the mystery behind the shadowy organization hunting them down.

Titans season 1 ended on a huge cliffhanger, as the team were overpowered by Rachel's father, Trigon, but some viewers were left underwhelmed at the distinct lack of action between the four titular Titans throughout the first season. Several trailers have now emerged for Titans season 2, and the show appears to be taking a very different approach, embracing its comic book origins and bringing the Titans team firmly into focus.

Related: Titans Season 2 Review: Heroes Step Out Of The Darkness & Into A New Home

Interestingly, the Titans season 2 trailer has glossed over Trigon completely, instead showing the characters long after season 1's finale, as Robin remembers the old Titans days, builds a brand new team and comes up against Esai Morales' Deathstroke. With characters old and new to explore in the coming episodes, here's a full guide to all the cast of Titans season 2.

The focal point of season 1, Brenton Thwaites will continue to lead the Titans in season 2. Seemingly splitting into two distinct timelines, Titans will explore Robin's past as the leader of his original teenage superhero team, and Dick's present as he attempts to construct a brand new version of the Titans. In the present, Dick burned his Robin costume, which could potentially lead to a transformation into Nightwing.

Thwaites portrayed the son of Orlando Bloom's Will Turner in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales and the Australian actor had several long-running TV roles in his homeland, most notably as Stu in Home and Away.

Rachel acted as the central plot device of Titans season 1, as baddies rushed to capture her and the protagonists strove to protect her. Season 2 looks set to retire that game of cat-and-mouse, and will see Rachel learn to control her powers and become one of Dick Grayson's new generation of Titans. Rachel has her comic book-accurate appearance in Titans season 2, complete with a red gem in the middle of her forehead.

Also Australian, Raven is Croft's first major television role, but the actress has previously appeared in 2016 science fiction effort The Osiris Child, and, much like her co-star, enjoyed a recurring role in Home and Away.

Now that Kory is aware of her extra-terrestrial heritage, new sides to the character will surely emerge in Titans season 2, with the latest trailer suggesting some trouble after members of her own race arrive on Earth. How will Kory's past impact her blossoming relationship with Dick Grayson? And will she be able to juggle her new responsibilities as a member of the Titans with whatever mission her own people thrust upon her?

Anna Diop has enjoyed a varied career thus far, appearing on TV in the likes of 24: Legacy and Greenleaf, while more recently scoring a part in the new Jordan Peele horror, Us.

Ryan Potter's Beast Boy was arguably underused in the first season of Titans, but he still enjoyed a compelling personal arc, as viewers learned his Doom Patrol origins and watched on as he hopelessly fell in love with Rachel. Unfortunately, Gar has barely featured in the Titans season 2 footage released thus far, suggesting that the character will remain more a source of comic relief than a central member of the Titans.

Cast in his Titans role after an audition for Tim Drake's Robin in forthcoming DC movie, The Batman, Potter will perhaps be best known as the voice of Hiro Hamada in Big Hero 6, a role he subsequently continued on the TV spinoff series. On the big screen, Potter also starred in the 2018 romance film, Running For Grace.

Related: Titans Season 2 Could Be Great (If It Properly Introduces Nightwing)

The exuberant and immature Jason Todd is returning in Titans season 2, this time bumped up to the status of a series regular, rather than recurring character. Todd's enthusiasm for crime-fighting sees him declare the return of the Titans live on TV, but the season 2 trailer also shows him coming to blows with Dick Grayson - an inevitable clash given their vastly different attitudes to both vigilantism and Bruce Wayne.

Curran Walters has previously appeared in several smaller TV roles, with parts in New Girl, Too Close To Home and Best.Worst.Weekend.Ever. However, Walters is also set to feature in Do Not Reply, a high school-based horror venture from Daniel and Walt Woltosz.

Although only introduced at the midway point of Titans season 1, Donna Troy quickly became an integral member of the cast, helping to link Dick's past and present while acting as his moral compass - not dissimilar to her own Justice League mentor, Wonder Woman. Donna looks set for an even more prominent role in Titans season 2, featuring in both flashbacks and the modern timeline, where she can be seen fighting alongside Starfire in the new Titans setup.

Prior to Titans, Leslie had recurring roles in The Man In The High Castle, Shots Fired and Graves, and has made single-episode appearances in the likes of Hawaii Five-0, 90210 and Elementary.

Batman briefly appeared in Titans season 1, but this was mainly during a dream sequence created by Trigon in Dick Grayson's mind. The real Caped Crusader will instead be played by Iain Glen. Grayson appeared to despise his former mentor in Titans season 1, but the famous duo look to be on better terms now, with Wayne encouraging the formation of a brand new team of budding superheroes under Dick's leadership.

Iain Glen will, of course, be most familiar to viewers as Jorah Mormont in Game of Thrones, the brave and loyal knight forever consigned to the friendzone by Daenerys Targaryen. Outside of Westeros, Glen boasts an impressive resume that includes the Resident Evil movies, Tomb Raider, Downtown Abbey and Spooks.

Taking over main villain duty from Trigon in Titans season 2 is Deathstroke. This DC villain was memorably played by Manu Bennett in the Arrowverse and was originally slated to feature in the DCEU, before plans were drastically changed. Cinema's loss in TV's gain, however, as Deathstroke will be on the hunt in Titans, seemingly as part of both the past and present timelines.

Viewers may remember Morales from his starring roles in NYPD: Blue, Caprica and, ironically, Jericho. The actor also recently turned up in the Netflix series Ozark, which has been renewed for a third season.

Related: Predicting How Titans Will Do Jason Todd's Red Hood Arc

Minka Kelly as Dawn/Dove - A key part of season 1, Robin's ex-flame, Dawn Granger, will return in Titans' second season and find herself in disagreement with current partner, Hank, about whether to continue their crime-fighting lifestyle. Kelly has previously starred in Charlie's Angels, Parenthood and Almost Human.

Alan Ritchson as Hank/Hawk - Clearly still jealous of Dick Grayson's tryst with Dawn, Hank Hall is battered, bruised and ready to give up crime-fighting for good...if his girlfriend will let him. Ritchson is no stranger to major franchises, having previously appeared in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies as Raphael and as Aquaman in Smallville.

Joshua Orpin as Conner Kent/Superboy - An exciting new addition to Titans season 2, Superboy (and his dog) were seen at the very end of the first season, escaping captivity. This clone of Superman looks set to come to the Titans' rescue in their fight against Trigon. Another Australian addition to the Titans cast, Orpin is a relative newcomer to the world of film and TV.

Chelsea Zhang as Ravager - Ravager is the daughter of Deathstroke, and can be seen in the Titans season 2 trailer training alongside Dick Grayson. However, Ravager's exact loyalties are sure to come into question, despite her father being largely absent during childhood. Zhang's most prominent previous acting gig was as Brittany in Andi Mack, but she can also be seen in The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl.

Related: Titans Season 1: Ranking The Episodes

Chella Man as Jericho - Not winning any father of the year awards, Jericho is another of Deathstroke's children - one that is rendered mute in the DC comic universe by an enemy of his father's. Jericho has the ability to physically possess others via eye contact. Chella Man is best known as a YouTube personality, and has been a prominent, inspiring voice for representation of disability, sexuality and gender in the media.

Drew Van Acker as Aqualad - Aqualad is apparently part of the original Titans lineup, but no one has seen or mentioned him in the present timeline, leading some to suspect that the superhero's death may be behind the split of the first Titans' grouping. Van Acker will be familiar to fans of Pretty Little Liars as Jason, and he also starred in Training Day as Tommy Campbell.

Natalie Gumede as Mercy Graves - The presence of Lex Luther's sidekick in Titans season 2 is surely connected to the introduction of Conner Kent, and may even set up the supervillain himself for an appearance in later seasons. Aside from a single-episode stint in Doctor Who, Gumede's biggest role came in the British soap Coronation Street, playing the abusive Kirsty. She also competed on Strictly Come Dancing, the UK version of Dancing With The Stars.

More: Titans Is Better On Netflix Than DC Universe

Titans season 2 premieres September 6th on DC Universe.

source https://screenrant.com/titans-season-2-cast-character-guide/

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Chance Meetings Chapter Nine

Reader and Turtles

Warning: Attempted Rape

As the clock struck 5 pm you were already halfway out the door heading for the familiar alleyway and the heavy manhole cover. Thankfully after a couple weeks of training with the boys and many of nights hauling that giant disk of metal from its home you had gotten stronger. Now the simple task of getting down into the sewers wasn’t as daunting.

Slipping into the shadows the manhole came into view just under the flickering light near the dumpster and you smiled at the thought of seeing Leo again in a few minutes. You had found it difficult to concentrate during the work day, your mind wandering to Leonardo often. His strong thighs his hot breath on your neck as he…. Ok ok calm down.

Lost in thought once again you didn’t hear the foot steps behind you as you knelt down to pull the manhole cover free. Before your fingers could hoist the metal disk you heard a chilling laugh sound behind you.

“Hey there pretty lady, I think we have some unfinished business we need to conclude.”

Before you could turn around you felt something hard hit the back of your head sending you into the unforgiving nothingness of sleep. You were in dip shit.

The heavy throbbing in the back of your skull sent sharp shooting pains to the base of your eyeballs as you came too. Slowly your eyes fluttered open coughing at the dusty floor your face was pressed against and the light stench of fish hung in the air making your nose wrinkle in disgust. Trying to sit up you found your arms and legs immobilized, zip tied together, your arms behind your back.

You tried to stay calm, but your heart had other plans as its steady beat began to rise rapidly. Your breath came in quick short pants bringing in the dust on the floor into your mouth making it taste horrible. “Calm down, first things first assess the situation.” You told yourself willing your breathing to return to normal.  You could do this, you had only been kidnapped…..KIDNAPPED!

Turning a little onto your back you noticed there was another body lying next to you in the same unfortunate situation. Their back was to you but you could tell by the clothes and painted fingernails it was a woman and they were still blissfully unaware of the danger that both of you were now in.

Your eyes scanned the large empty room finding old canning equipment. You knew this place, it was the old canning factory on Doc 3. You and your friends would come here all the time when you were in high school to hang out and get away from your parents.  You knew this place like the back of your hand. That knowledge made your thundering heart ease up just a little.

Now it was time to free yourself before anyone came back. Rolling back onto your shoulder blades you brought your knees to your chest and pulled your bound hands down and under your butt inching your hands under your shoes bringing them out in front of you. You had to remember the survival techniques Leo had shown you, you had to break free of these zip ties and get to the small blade that was hidden in your shoe. The blade all four of the turtles demanded you keep on you at all times. Your teeth found the extra tail on the long plastic restraint and pulled the zip tie tight as it would go and you slammed your wrists down on our stomach pulling your wrists in opposite directions, the inertia of it was enough to snap the white plastic freeing your hands.

Before you could get to your concealed knife you heard voices, reaching out you grabbed the remanence of your binding and placed your hands behind your back pretending to still be restrained. Shifting a little to your back you hid your wrists from view.

“Hey looks like one of ‘em is awake Nino.” You hear an arrogant voice call from a good distance away followed by several heavy footsteps closing in on you faster than you’d like. “Fuck.” You huffed out.

You watched as several rough looking men came into view sauntering up to your prone body looking down at you hungrily. Unwilling to show them the fear they desired you narrowed your eyes and spat at their feet.

Everyone threw their head back laughing at your defiance. “This one has spunk, I like that.” One of them smiled licking his lips like you were some sort of snack.

“Yeah, this one knocked out Kino and Lars by herself and almost got me.”

You recognized that bone chilling voice as is filtered past the group of men sizing you up. Clearing a path two of the men parted allowing that asshole who had nearly killed you, step into your line of vision. He was in black jeans and a dark blue tank top showing off his purple dragon tattoo on his left shoulder. Actually, you could see almost everyone one of them have some sort of purple dragon tattoo on their skin.

“Purple Dragons.” You hissed between your clenched teeth. You should have known. You had been watching their claw to power in the underbelly of the cities gang wars on the news. And now you were entangled in their bullshit as well.

He knelt down next to you gripping your chin painfully giving you a crooked smile. “The name is Nino my dear and you better learn it because you’ll be screaming it later. Thankfully for you and your friend here we have to wait until Hun gets back from his business meeting before any ‘fun’ can start. You see he gets first dibs and when he heard how much fight you had in you he wanted to be the one to break you, and he will do just that. Fun fact, Hun is a big guy, bigger than most in all sense of the word.  He won’t be gentle, nor will he give you any mercy, but you will be screaming during it. And I look forward to those sweet shrills of agony as he abuses your body while the rest of us wait our turns.  Now Luca here, I get her first and I have such plans for both of you. I told you we would finish what we started in that alley and as soon as boss man gets back, it’s party time.”

You could tell by the wicked look in his eyes he wasn’t bluffing, and you stiffened in sheer terror. Fuck that! Like you were gonna wait around for their gigantic boss to get back to rape you both! Poor Luca, she had no idea what was happening yet. You had to think fast. Ripping our chin from his grasp you rolled back and swung your legs up startling Nino just enough to make him lean back so your feet could come crashing into his mouth. The force of the blow from your feet sent him rolling backwards tumbling over a couple of his fellow henchmen in the process. Grabbing his now bleeding mouth he spewed a line of obscenities that would make even you blush.  

“Fucking Bitch!” Nino screamed spitting the access blood from his weeping mouth onto the dusty floor below.

The swiftness of your moves caught the men off guard which gave you just enough time to slip your fingers into your shoe pulling out a small blade slicing through the zip tie on your feet like butter. You would have to thank the guys later if you got out of this alive. God you wished they were here, you were terrified.

“Jesus Christ! How were her hands already free?!” Nino growled scrambling to his feet. “Get her you morons!”

On your feet in a second you tore off towards the back of the plant leaving helpless Luca still unconscious on the ground. You were not strong enough to carry an unconscious woman and try to escape at the same time. You couldn’t help her right now, not if you got captured again. You just needed a few minutes to come up with a plan to get you both safely out of this mess...you hoped.

Making your way around a large rusty sealing machine you ran straight into a wall of unforgiving muscle. The force of the hit expelled the air from your lungs leaving you gasping. You fell back on your butt and felt your soul leave you as you stared up at the gargantuan hulk of a man you could only assume was Hun. Behind him stood 10 other men smirking down at you while Hun’s expression was much more sinister. His large fist raced towards your face and connected with a sickening thud making you see stars.

Stunned by the punch to your face you tired scooting back on your hands and feet dodging the cluster of hands that rained down on you yanking you to your feet. Now Hun was inches from your face his hot breath reeked of cigarettes and tuna. It made you wanna vomit. Again, his fist slammed into your face momentarily blinding you. The drip of something warm on your chin made you lick your lip, the coppery taste of blood filled your mouth, he had busted your lip open.

“So little one.” He cooed grabbing the back of your head fisting a large chunk of your hair yanking it back violently exposing the column of your throat to his gaze. “So eager for me to break you that you run to your doom.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine making the nausea churn faster the in the pit of your stomach. “If you want it that badly let’s not waste any more time.” His hands yanked you forward crushing you in his hold. You felt his hot tongue connect with your flesh leaving a disgusting wet strip of his saliva from your collar bone to your left ear. Painfully his teeth clamped down on your ear lobe making your yelp in pain as he started you both backwards.

You squirmed in his arms and then tried to fall by letting your limbs give out, he would drop you and you could run again but you were horribly wrong. As your weight gave out he gripped your tighter holding your dangling body against his chest and continued his forward momentum. If only you could get your arms free, maybe you could shove the palm of your hand into the base of his nose breaking it, but they were pinned beneath his tree trucks he called arms. Hun reminded her of Raphael nearly matching the red turtle’s stature. But Hun wasn’t Raphael, Hun wasn’t the hard of the exterior and soft in the middle hothead and he was above to prove it because you saw what he was dragging you towards.

A dirty ripped couch lay a few feet from you and you scream when Hun threw you to it landing with a grunt. He was on you in seconds pushing your legs apart forcing his hips between them pressing your body down into the musty smelling cushions with a thrust of his pelvis. Your fist came up connecting with his jaw making him chuckle at your foolish attempts to free yourself. His large mitt found your wrists and pinned them above your head.

When you could feel the growing weapon in his pants that he ground down into your body you nearly threw up in your mouth. This was happening, he was going to brutalize you and then kill you. Soon his other hand trailed down your chest groping at your breasts, you could feel his breathing quicken on top of you, he was getting excited. The ripping of your shirt made you cry out ranking at your imprisoned hands. This wasn’t happening!

Then you stilled feeling a blade at your thigh, you made eye contact with the brute above you and he grinned down at you licking his lips. All the while his henchmen were egging him on in the background.

“Are you ready for me my dear?” he hissed pressing the blade through the fabric of your pants before pulling up ripping them open leaving your underwear exposed to his wandering hand. “Your futile attempts to break free only make me harder.” You felt his callous hand slide up your naked thigh and cup your mound and stopped, pushing up against the sensitive flesh. “I bet your fucking tight.” He groaned into your neck grinding his hard erection into the apex of your thighs.

“G-get off me you fucking asshole!”

Leaning down his lips grazed your ear his immense weight making it difficult to breath. “I’m going to fuck you now and I promise you won’t enjoy it.”

The sound of his pants unzipping sent your mind reeling in panic, whimpering you closed your eyes waiting for the inevitable, waiting for the pain. His fingers started to rip your underwear from your body.

“Fight…” you heard a voice in the back of your mind growl softly. Then a cloudy vision of Leo manifested itself in your mind. His blue eyes bore down on you with a look of determination. “Fight!” he growled again this time louder. “FIGHT!!”

“Fight!” you screamed to yourself and headbutted Hun before his fingers could rip away your underwear. His hollowing bellow was music to your ears and when he arched away from you in pain your angry fist sunk lower connecting with his erection.

This time the hulking frame above you rolled off howling in pain holding in now bruised junk. The laughing and sexual jeers from his men died off abruptly and they lunged for you.

You sprang off the couch and saw Luca a few feet from you awake and struggling. Her eyes wide with terror as they met yours. Two of the men got to you first their hands reached for you but missed as you took a sharp right darting away from their out stretched fingers.

The large room was littered with old relics of the canning factory; packing lines, shredding bins, sealing machines and you were an old pro at using them as a jungle gym. Dropping down you slid under the nearest hunk of machinery just narrowly missing another set of hands and jumped to grab a water line swinging up towards the shredding bins. You suddenly remembered you and your friends found a large blade they used to chop up larger pieces of tuna before it was dropped into the grinding machine. You prayed it was still there.

Landing near the old supervisor station you scanned the area for the large blade but found nothing. Then a glint of something shiny caught your eyes. Stuck between the panel of the power station and the floor board you found the blade wedged. You worked hard to free it hearing the gang members scrambling to reach your location. With one final yank it slipped free giving you a small edge against the growing mass of scumbags.

What time was it? The turtles should have been wondering where you were by now? You told Leo you would come over right after work? Where they out looking for you or were they still sitting at home oblivious to your absence?

The deafening roar of Hun brought you rushing back as he barreled towards you shoving past his henchmen. His eyes were on fire and he was out for blood, your blood. Grasping the old blade in your hand you readied yourself, it was now or never.

Calling upon your inner beast that lived deep inside you, you screamed rushing towards the onslaught of men. You swung the blade just like Leo had taught you imagining it was his katana seized tightly in your fingers.

With the narrow passageway of the staircase you managed to take care of several of the men, gaining a few cuts and gashes along the way. There were now two men between you and Hun and Nino was one of them. The rage that was building within you ruptured and you lunged for Nino tackling him sending the rest of the men including Hun tumbling backwards down the rest of the rusting stairs.

The blade you held now dripping with blood was dull from the years of neglect, but it did its job well enough. Nino was now screaming holding his nearly severed arm rolling around on the ground. Several of the man lay useless on the floor before you, moaning in pain their blood spattered over your clothes and hair. They had worked you over pretty well, not a limb on you was without some sort of cut or gash. You were tired, dirty and in pain, but you were not going to give up. Not if there was still breath in your body.

Several more Purple Dragons stood before you including Hun his fierce gaze locked in on you. In his fingers was a sharp knife ready for the taste of your flesh and he lunged tackling your back. You both rolled toppling over Luca who was screaming to be let go. Getting to your feet you saw Hun’s hand fly in front of you and felt the tip of the blade sink into the soft skin of your cheek ripping open a small gash. Twisting on your foot your spun giving Hun a roundhouse kick to his face sending him sailing backwards into a pile of boxes.

Not wasting time, you leaned down cutting Luca free of her binds and pulled her behind you ready to stop the next asshole that tried to hurt you both.

A special thanks to @blossom-skies for being my second pair of eyes.

Chapter Eight

[gabriel-gabdiel]

【Draft】 Fantasy of Evolution Chapter 2: The Dream Journal of a Wimpy Kid

Second chapter draft of my original work. Having no line breaks suck.

Florante walked outside the gates of Fatima School, his head in the clouds. Dark, nimbus clouds with scattered rain showers and thunderstorms followed him.

He must've blacked out earlier. What had just happened?

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. Did he get caught in a typhoon and only woke up just now to realize it, when everyone else had already evacuated?

His gut felt like it was on fire. His head, or perhaps his brain, throbbed like a second palpitating heart that beat in conjunction with his actual heart.

He hadn't the foggiest idea.

He looked at his hands. They were stained with blood.

Shit. What happened?! Was it his blood that...?

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and immaculate blue wings emerged from the rain and mist. He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As she stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael," which made him remember the comic books he drew about the four archangels.

Who was she? Why was her face familiar? She was so gorgeous.

She reminded him of Laura Reyes.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else, Flor."

Wait. She knew him?

Also, Laura. She looked like Laura! The same Laura that he had just... had just...!

Damn it.

"Prepare to die," she said.

It all came back to him in an instant.

***

Fantasy of Evolution

An Urban Fantasy Story by Abdiel

When dreams became nightmares.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 2: The Dream Journal of a Wimpy Kid

***

The summer before his first day at Fatima High School, Florante Galang actually read through the book, "How to Win Friends and Influence People" by Dale Carnegie after making a pariah of himself back in his old school.

His high school days were going to be much different from his lonely grade school days, when no one his age would talk to him and only people a year or two younger than him tolerated his presence.

The night before, he tried remembering the advice given to him by the book that included tip such as "Don't criticize, condemn or complain," "Give honest and sincere appreciation," and "Arouse in the other person an eager want."

He tried some of the tips on his own family, like his mother, but he must've missed a chapter or two. It didn't work. Or rather, his attempts at "Get the other person saying 'yes, yes' immediately," and "Ask questions instead of direct orders," led to yet another misunderstanding that led to him getting punished. Again.

A flying footwear to the head, to be exact. She also said something about him talking back to his parents and being disrespectful.

Or maybe he should consider the self-help book's advice less as a surefire way to manipulate his mother to say yes to her increasing his allowance and more like helpful tips to make himself more appealing to people.

If used correctly, of course.

He did his memorization and "studying" of the self-help book in his bedroom located on the east portion of their abode, with the facade and front yard of their bungalow facing north and his parents' bedroom at the southwest portion.

He used to share his room with his two older sisters but they soon moved to their own rooms as they got enough money to expand their home.

It was a familiar room that belonged to him exclusively around Grade 5 to 7. He couldn't remember. The linoleum floor, the cream walls, the gray ceiling with discolored tiled patterns on it where the beams supporting them were supposed to be, and the red curtains were all part of his childhood.

The Galangs' humble abode originally had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and barely a garden plus a plot of undeveloped land with pebbles and other smooth stones over it.

This below sea level part of their property was then slowly filled up with land so that the whole house would rise above the street, leading the construction of a second part of the home with two more bedrooms and an extra bathroom as well as a garage for the family car.    

With the money his mother earned from their short-lived stint with selling goods through a "sari-sari" store and she got from her parents (his grandparents) on top of the ones she saved from his father's engineer work, they were able to invest in half a house and turn it into a full house, so to speak.

The most notable changes on the bedroom was how it once had two beds but now it only had one bed. The mirror still had the "Santo Niño" statue there, which he never looked at directly because it gave him the creeps. However, he would never admit it to his prayerful family.

Regardless, he attempted memorizing and taking to heart many of the lessons the book could offer him, but like any other 14-year-old boy his short attention span ended up his downfall.

He skipped, scanned, and skimmed through many of the pages of anecdotes and stories in order to find something he could use. He only really wanted the book to help him with his social anxiety and to turn a new leaf.

All of that was for naught, of course. His nightmarish bullying in grade school only got worse in high school.

One morning in Fatima High, chaos ensued. All hell broke loose.

His head in the clouds, Florante Galang "sleepwalked" into the school, his every step practically gliding through the road, swift as the gale wind, his fingertips emanating sparks and crackles of electrical might.

It was like something out of a movie.

He maneuvered through the heavy traffic jam of the road like a motorcycle delivery man in a hurry, moving through every nook and cranny with the grace of a swan and the aggressiveness of a duck. Unnoticed by the cars, vans, jeepneys, and trucks around him.

For whatever reason, he ended up with superpowers right off of a superhero comic.

It was just a dream, after all.

In this dream, anything is possible, including gaining powers like those of angels, demons, and gods, thus allowing him to wreak havoc on his most hated high school.

Instead of stopping crime or saving people, he did the exact opposite upon his discovery of his abilities. He instead committed crime and damned everyone in his path.

He idly wondered why in comics and manga, the hero with superpowers almost always ended up becoming vigilantes or supernatural policemen. It was more realistic for them to do what he was doing now, as though he'd just won the lottery and he was about to splurge on the nearest sports car or mansion.

His list of bullies remained fresh in his mind. His nightmare scenario had become their nightmare scenario. The resident timid freak, "quiet kid", and communal punching bag could now punch back.

One thing came to his mind as he approached Fatima High.

'I have been abused all my life to the point where I don't trust humans.'

Unbeknownst to the people inside the school, he'd been testing his powers elsewhere, with him appearing like some sort of cyclone or tornado as he blasted through rivers and old buildings with his newfound abilities.

He couldn't wait to test them out on actual humans. Fragile, squishy humans.

Because of how unbelievable everything was, he presumed it was all a dream. A blurry fantasy borne out of his frustration from being rejected by his classmates and seemingly the entire school campus.

He stopped mid-stride. Before him was a familiar face.

It was the face of Jennifer "Jenny" Tolentino. She was a petite, small-breasted, intelligent, talkative, and capable girl who was one of the first students to befriend Florante.

The only girl who was kind to him.

"'Sup, Flor. You're here early. Whatcha up to?" the bespectacled girl asked with an inquisitive head tilt. "You look like you're in a hurry."

Florante smiled and chuckled. Although he still hated that girly nickname his classmates gave him, he nevertheless told her, "You're an okay gal, Jenny. Don't go to school today. For your own good."

"W-What do you mean by tha...? HEY!" she asked, but in the blink of an eye he was gone.

His power fantasy was about to begin.

Beyond the entrance gates of Fatima School, past the concrete quadrangle and basketball courts of the grade school campus and right into the high school one stood the girl of his dreams who turned his life into a nightmare.

Her hair danced from the gale wind he himself produced, like a proud brunette flag at full mast. Her slim arms showed some muscle definition but not in a bodybuilder type of way.

The beautiful girl who rejected him over a misunderstanding. The gorgeous young woman who ruined his social life in Fatima High.

Her perfectly symmetrical face had a gentle look to it. Or it did until she saw him.

There she was. Laura Reyes.

His first crush in high school. The one who ultimately rejected him.

She was a fit girl with sturdy legs and a wide, unabashed smile as she talked to several of their classmates. Her hourglass figure created the perfect feminine silhouette as she turned towards him.

He intended to spare her from his power fantasy rampage since he really did like her a lot. Before their friendship crumbled to dust with his accidental social suicide, they got along fine.

They weren't close friends but they could talk to each other.

Just as he was about to move past her though, she flinched at him and gave her a look of contempt.

"Stay away from me, you creep."

Florante snapped then and there, his body surging with electrical might that coursed through his crush's veins, electrocuting her to death.

He didn't go so far as to fry her to toast because it'd be a shame to see such a cute girl turn to ash or dust, but his angry outburst of power did kill her.

He hesitated after seeing the girl with fair skin and an angelic body wilt like a flower and fall like velvet unto the grassy ground of the soccer field, unmoving.

Beautiful in death as she was in life. She fell with the same grace as Evelyn Francis McHale did. The depressed woman who jumped from the Empire State Building on May 1, 1947, landing on a car roof.

Both appeared like they were resting or napping instead of dead, stuck in an idle daydream.

The boy beside her, a friend of hers from another section whose name eluded Florante, screamed and attacked him on instinct, even though he himself had trouble recognizing what had just happened.

Galang reacted thusly, shooting his attacker with twice the amount of electricity than he shot Laura, intending to fry him to ash.

The kid crumpled into a ball after Florante moved forward and punched him on the side, breaking his ribs. Perhaps also his spine. He soon lay motionless on the grass beside Laura.

Before he could finish him off, he heard gasps, screams, and murmurs from everyone who witnessed his crime.

What was he doing? Should he be doing this? Wasn't this wrong of him to do this? Should he stop? Turn himself in?

He gulped, exhaled, and heard a whistle from his breath. His asthma was acting up again. How ironic for an asthmatic like him to suddenly have wind powers.

He reassured himself that it was just a dream. Perhaps a lucid dream, but still just a dream. An illusion or perhaps delusion. A fantasy of him evolving and maturing.

His power fantasy.

His felt his body feel grow warmer and warmer, reaching a fever pitch as a cyclone or tornado formed around him. The clouds darkened above, the winds blowing seemingly from around him reshaping the sky, turning morning to seeming midnight.

A boy suddenly gaining superpowers from out of the blue to take revenge on his bullies? Surely this was the dream of an idle mind, regardless of whether he made it up during nighttime slumber or while daydreaming in his boring math class.

With that in mind, he indulged, laughing as he experimented upon the nearest of the students with his crackling lighting bolts and energy projectiles.

When he took control of the energy flowing though him, he could make his electrical powers shock the nervous systems of the surrounding students to the point of making them jump back like frightened cats or spooked frogs.

It was amusing in a darkly humorous sort of way.

He kept on moving forward, recalling his list of bullies in his mind.

Starting with the kids Laura was hanging out with. The popular kids.

Like Danny Malicdem. Florante chanced upon him walking down the stairs to where the first floor classrooms were.

Galang remembered Malicdem as his classmate who first teased him about his obvious crush with Laura right in front of her in the lunchroom, which led to her to talk to him less, thinking their every encounter had a hidden agenda on his part.

He was also the guy who suggested Florante draw Laura then lied to her about him drawing her in the nude. He was drawing her body first before putting on her clothes, dammit!

Florante wasn't as careful with using his powers on Danny as he was with Laura. He shot him full force with his energy bolt full of presumably millions of volts of electricity, turning him into a shadow on the pavement while the rest of the projectile exploded right through one of the nearby pillars like a bomb.

Like one of the victims of the Atomic Bomb, in fact.

Galang kept walking towards the inside of the building while various students ran away from him, not understanding how he was doing what he was doing.

In the hallway, as he walked with murderous intent, he then saw Mr. Neil Nepomuceno. Their social studies teacher who humiliated him in front of the class, shouting, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

The teacher cried out pretty much the same thing before hollering out his catchphrase of, "Caramba!" and turning into a grotesque splatter of guts, gore, and giblets on the wall care of a careless yet supernaturally strong backhand.

Damn. He didn't know his own strength.

Galang couldn't even look at the mess that used to be Mr. Nepomuceno.

The school was in a panic. They had kids under the table. Screaming teachers. Security guards with guns shooting at Florante, but he blew them (literally) away without a second thought.

It was frighteningly easy to kill people his dream. He had to hold back a little bit. Savor the moment.

'Susmaryosep, I sure am screwed up.'

He went up the stairs, sparing several of his classmates he recognized but had no quarrel over. Forgiving them for laughing at the jokes of his bullies and targeting his bullies instead.

Was he not a Merciful God? An Angel of Mercy and Divine Retribution?

He then caught up with Kyle Hernandez inside the computer room, who sat on a chair across a long table. The same guy who had been tag-teaming with Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto to jeer and humiliate him at every turn.

This culminated to him playing a practical joke on Florante during the flag ceremony. The sections were lined up by height in front of the Philippine flag every Monday.

One Monday, Hernandez and many of Florante's classmates lined up from only one line, leaving the line where Galang was much shorter and only about 5-6 people long.

"Hey, Flor. What's going on outside? Is there a storm? Are classes canceled?" Kyle asked Florante, who didn't respond as he approached him with malice.

Bristling in remembrance of that humiliating prank, Florante turned a lightning bolt into a laser sword and cut Kyle in half by the chest down, with one half of him shorter than the other like the lines he made that day.

He moved further down the second floor hallway right into the middle stairs. He heard more screams and the stampede of leather shoes. He silenced them by firing more bolts of energy across the open yard right on the balcony of the second floor hallway.

He then fired off missiles of light from all ten of his fingertips into the classrooms to his left, resulting in debris, pieces of plaster and concrete, and flaming wooden shards to shower all over him.

As the smoke cleared, he made a beeline to the final flight of stairs to get to the third floor library.

He practically flew through the steps, remembering how one of his bullies actually fell back and hit him with his buttocks to the face while the rest of his posse yucked it up.

Those bastards. Make a fool of him, would they? He'd show them. He'd show them all!

He burst through the library's double doors so hard they flew right off of their hinges.

He targeted more of his freshmen classmates, specifically the ones who teased and bullied him while he mostly shocked and flung like rag dolls anyone else that got in his way.

Many of the students were wise enough to stay back, hide, or run away from him.  

Alas, the more his power grew the more he couldn't control it. There was bound to be some collateral damage here and there. He honestly didn't know his own strength. Not at this point.

There they were. The people who regularly appeared on his "snitch list" to teachers so that they'd stop bothering him but they found ways to mess with him regardless.

Steven Catimbang. Sheila Bernal. Isaiah Cuevas. Matthew Lim. Regina Mariano.

Florante spotted them before they went and hid in the computer section of the library or tried to blend in with the rest of the fleeing crowd of students.

Steven was the one who pulled the butt-to-the-face prank on him.

He found Steven at the computer table as he was about to hide under it. Galang shot Catimbang in time with a bolt to the posterior, destroying the lower half of his body and leaving the upper half crawling in the floor, crying blood and begging for his life (even though it was too late for him).

This was seriously fucked up. Goddamn.

As for Sheila, he found her under another table of the library. She was the girl from another section who, as his section of boys packed up from their swimming class for P.E. (gender separated), jeered at him and his lack of a bulge on his swimming trunks.

He was jeered relentlessly by his classmates for months after that remark regarding his manhood.

He asked Bernal if she remembered the swimming pool incident, and she just stared blankly at him. "W-Who are you...? Pl-Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything...!"

She didn't even remember him.

Seeing how big of mouth she had, he decided to suck the air from out of her, vacuuming it right out of her mouth until she suffocated. He instantly regretted it after seeing the horrified face she made and the purple tinge of her whole body.

He moved on, his head throbbing and his finger twitching with static and sparks.

As for Isaiah Pascual, he tried scampering towards the window, but Galang caught him by the collar. "I don't know how you're doing this, bro, but we're friends, right? I always talked to you!"

Florante replied, "You abandoned me when I needed you the most. I tried to fit in with you and your group, but you were always so distant."

Pascual kicked Galang by the groin and attempted to run away, jeering, "Yeah, right! Like I'd ever be friends with...!" only to be cut off with his head exploding from one of Florante's light bullets.

"...Yeah. Why'd I ever delude myself into thinking you were my friend?" Florante felt something warm drip on his face. It was Pascual's blood.

He resisted the urge to hurl, looking away at the mess he made of his traitor of a friend.

Matthew Lim even cried out, "Leave me alone! I never did anything to you, Flor!" before Florante reminded him, "You made fun of my accent when speaking English. You told people about how when I talked to them, I couldn't stare them in the eye."

"Th-That's it? Dude, we barely even talk or interact! It was Jacinto! Gerry's the one who's always messing with you, man...!"

He turned Lim into a mangled mess by shooting the ceiling and letting debris fall on him. He turned away before the smoke from the wreckage cleared as soon as he the blood pool from underneath the rubble.

Then there was Regina Mariano. She once compared him to a boy with fetal alcohol syndrome found on their pamphlet about how drugs and alcohol could affect people's lives.

He hated the teasing she caused then. But he could barely look her in the eyes now, and it wasn't because of his social anxiety.

No. Right now, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, saying over and over, "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."

He then asked, "Do you believe in God?"

This made her cry harder, not knowing what to say except, "I'm so sorry!" over and over.

He decided to give her a quicker, painless death than the rest, ramping up his gathered chi energy or whatever and releasing a beam of light that turned her to ash. The entire building shuddered from the impact of his forceful will.

...At least it was all a dream. Right?

A fantasy he could use to vent in a harmless way, with him not actually hurting anyone.

Not recognizing the rest of the faces hiding under the tables and the rubble, he walked out of the library (or what was left of it) in a daze.

He stared back at his cracked reflection on the glass divider of the computer section of the library. All he could see was a shadowy silhouette of a man with shining blue eyes, like a cornered animal at dusk.

Was that everyone? No, wait. He still had a few more people to scratch off of his list of bullies.

He walked across the soccer field straight to the gym where they had their P.E. classes.

From the roar of the winds, he could idly hear what he surmised as Mrs. Mancenido, crying out for him to stop. Recognizing who he was.

'Sorry, ma'am,' he apologized to her in his mind. It was too late for him.

Good thing this was all a dream though.

He jumped and crashed right into the third floor basketball court that doubled as a volleyball court.

It was mostly empty. The students probably caught wind of what he was doing, even though it was hard to believe or imagine him having the otherworldly powers necessary for this massacre to take place.

As the winds parted and the smoke cleared, he was greeted by a metal pipe to the back of his skull from out of nowhere.

He turned to see John Uson put up his dukes at him. "You son of a bitch. Did you kill her, Flor?"

"...Who?" he dared ask even though he knew who he was talking about.

"Laura, you asshole! Why'd you kill her?! How the hell did you turn into... this?"

Florante caught the pipe and used it to conduct millions of volts of electricity at John before answering the convulsing student's question with, "Because she was a bitch to me."

Ah. John Uson. He remembered him. They were being ferried around by the same school service.

Instead of spending gas money driving the kids to school, their parents opted to save money by paying a jeepney driver to fetch them and other kids around their village from house to house in order to drive them straight to Fatima.

They weren't neighbors but they lived in the same suburb.

He remembered Uson pranking him, putting cockroaches in his bag like an asshole. He was also one of the guys who encouraged him to draw Laura in the nude when he was just making a sketch.

The nerve of him, acting the hero now when he was nothing but a villain to him all this time.

"This is pranking me with those cockroaches."

Uson spat blood all over Florante's face despite his body writhing in agony. "Really? You're going kill me just for that, you psycho? Like you killed Laura? God damn, you're a petty son of a...!"

Galang then slammed John to the ground with a sickening crunch. Squashed like a bug.

How appropriate.

He looked at his wristwatch, amazed that it still functioned after all his effort and use of thunderbolts and electrical shocks.

This really was a dream, then, or else his watch would've ended up busted long ago.

Regardless, he'd been at it with his rampage for almost 40 to 45 minutes. The whole school was in bedlam thanks to the pacific storm that was him.

Someone soft and sweet-smelling yet hard-bodied grabbed Florante from behind in a Full-Nelson hold, arms interlocked from under his armpits and hands clasped behind his neck.

"I always knew you were a little psycho," said someone from behind him. Someone... female. Her words were full of venom but her melodic voice was music to his ears.

Shamed as he was to admit it, this was the closest to female contact he ever had in his life. Probably to no one's surprise in Fatima, given his bad reputation.

Wait, he recognized that voice. It was Laura's other best friend aside from Jenny. Kelly Mendoza. A promising freshman volleyball player rising in the ranks of their team. One of Laura's best friends.

He then felt something sharp pierce through his uniform. For the first time, he felt pain. Searing, gnawing pain.

He doubled over in time to realize who had stabbed him with a pocket knife.

It was Mark Silva. Gerry Jacinto's second-in-command. Or best friend. Whichever.

The other tough guy of First Year St. Francis of Assisi charged at Florante while he was distracted by Kelly grabbing hold of him so tightly, her breasts pressing close to his back.

Regardless, Florante winced and wheezed from what Silva had wrought, gnashing his teeth in agony and indignation.

Another villain wanted to play the hero. Just like a bully who'd mess with you until you hit him back, so now he was the victim and you were the one who was in the wrong.

This guy. The audacity of this asshole. He remembered him.

Every time they had an oral exam or had to go in front of the board, he'd be there with Gerry to jeer and mock Florante about his crush with Laura until she herself stopped associating with him.

His body shivered and folded in on itself in hatred, fear, and anger as Mendoza let go of him, his blood pooling on the floor.

"Why are you snarling? You're actually angry? You li'l bitch!" screamed Kelly at Florante's ear as she kicked him where Mark stabbed him.

"How dare you. You killed Laura! Danny! Mr. Nepomuceno! John! Who knows how many others in the library and classrooms! You're a monster! You have no right to be this angry, asshole! Don't play the victim now!"

Mark stabbed him again, this time sticking his knife at Florante's back.

"As far as I'm concerned, he deserves to be bullied," said Silva. "Not only is he a snitch. He's also a psycho. We were bullying him in self-defense. We were protecting Laura from weirdo creeps like him."

Galang also remembered that one time, when he was alone in the mall, Silva chanced upon him with his own girlfriend, saying, "Aw, still no GF, Flor?" He overheard them make fun of him behind his back as an awkward virgin who was fated to be forever alone.

Come to think of it, the girl he was with probably was the same one holding him back with a wrestling move.

"You should've killed yourself instead, since no one would care if you died!" said Silva.

That was the last straw.

This fucking bastard. This bitch. This wasn't the first time Silva told him to kill himself. Even before Florante went on a murder spree, he already told him the same words.

It was amazing what monsters people ended up becoming when treating those they believe were monsters themselves.

First, he blew the volleyball varsity player away into the roof and the sky, with her shrieking like a banshee all the while. She ended up pretty high up before she came crashing back down.

Florante averted his eyes from the harsh and inevitable crash from the screaming Kelly. He'd seen enough gore for one day.

Instead, he focused his attention on Silva. His bully who stood a good few inches above him and several inches thicker in musculature than him seemed smaller somehow.

Galang didn't know what sort of face he was making, but it elicited a gape-mouthed, wide-eyed look of he presumed was awe on the part of one of his worst bullies in school.

It felt so good seeing the tables turned on him for once.

It felt anti-climatic shooting him with five bolts of energy from one hand when usually one or two was enough to blast entire classrooms into smithereens. It was still overkill nevertheless.

"FLORANTE!"

Florante heard his name echo across the wrecked basketball court with the torn roof from a familiar booming voice. A voice he'd heard countless times, mocking him. Haunting him like a resentful ghost. The voice of his biggest, most savage of bullies and critics.

Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto.

Each and every one of his fingertips grew hot with building power and energy. Instead of five shots, he wanted to shoot his whole payload of pure light unto the bastard who made his time in Fatima a Living Hell.

Gerry wasn't seething with anger like Mark was. For someone who just saw the murder of his best friend and best friend's girlfriend, he had a pretty smug smirk on his face.

Florante breathed out a sigh of relief. This definitely was a dream, or else the real Gerry would've reacted more severely to what he had wrought.

He faced off with the huge and lanky bully who'd normally push him around with ease. Finally, he could push back. Finally, he could fight back and then some.

Florante fired off all ten bullets of light energy and plasma straight at Gerry, expecting it to turn him into ash or a shadow on the pavement, if not straight off

There was no kill like overkill, after all.

However, to Galang's surprise, Jacinto shrugged off the miniature comets like specks of water or rain, the bolts of power exploding behind him and giving his bullish rush an extra boost care of the resulting simultaneous shockwaves from ten blockbuster-tier explosions.

The tall basketball player charged and tackled the nerdy asthmatic, who could only stand there, jaw metaphorically unhinged in shock, before a meaty punch on the same jaw literally unhinged it from its socket.

"SHUSHMARYOSHEP!" Florante called out, wincing as he snapped his jaw back into place with hand. It looked so easy to do in the movies, but when you did it yourself, they never tell you about the toothache-like pain of attempting such a movie afterwards.

Meanwhile, the sneering Gerry mimicked and repeated his "catchphrase" to his face, mocking him. "'Susmaryosep'? What are you, an old lady attending mass in Quiapo Church?" He laughed his heart out.

Ooof. Even in his dreams, his nightmare of a bully still had the upper hand?!

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Galang willed lighting strikes to hit Jacinto over and over while at the same thing charging compressed pinpoint spheres of energy above each and every finger.

Hit two birds with one stone.

The problem was that his metaphor didn't work and he missed both birds by a mile when Jacinto did sledgehammer punches all over him, unable to retaliate or shoot any of his bullets that leveled most of the high school building earlier on.

"You really are a virgin with rage, aren't you? Mr. Sensitive. Mr. 'The whole world is against me. Oh woe is me.'"

Florante ended up curled into a ball, remembering his mother hitting him with the belt whenever he misbehaved. Still, for some reason he was still more afraid of his mom than this tall, beefy male turning him into a punching bag.

"You're blaming us for you ending up like an asshole? Let me guess, it's us not you. Everybody else is an asshole. You're the saint here! You psychotic murderer!"

He gritted his teeth as though afraid his jaw would get dislocated or altogether broken from Jacinto's hammer fists. Vaguely, he remembered hearing how his bully also trained in boxing as a hobby.

Throughout the haze of pain and what seemed like endless fists raining down upon him, he realized something.

Somehow, someway, Gerry gained the same special superpowers as he did, allowing him to keep up with him. Or even surpass him.

Jacinto beat and ground him to a pulp, breaking his right hand, cracking several of his ribs, punching his face until one of his eyes swelled shut, bending his leg at an awkward angle, and triggering his asthma to the point that the mere act of breathing felt like torture.

Once again, the popular kid at the center of everything was beating up the little guy that no one liked. As usual.

"Make the effort to change or face the consequences of your own bad behavior, moron! If everyone in society is laughing and condemning you, is it really society's fault? Or is there a chance you're just being a jerk?"

Gerry slammed Florante's face and body into the devastated basketball court, making the entire third floor of the building shudder from the impact. "Apologize now, and maybe I'll consider sparing your life."

'Apologize...?' he thought while on the brink of unconsciousness, the darkness seeping through the sides of his blurring vision.

Even in his dreams, Jacinto got the better of him. The charming bully you never saw in TV shows and movies who made you think you deserved being bullied by him.

He couldn't humiliate him with a joke that made the whole class laugh or embarrass him in front of Laura the way they did to him. Not in real life and not in his fantasy.

This was what he learned all throughout his stay in Fatima High.

People would torture you. People would outcast you. And when you were to retaliate, they'd declare you the bad guy.

He remembered punching the head of one of his bullies for messing with him for so long, only for him to get in trouble and end up in the principal's office because his bully dared claim to be the victim instead.

It was a good thing a teacher caught his bullies bullying him one time, allowing him to write down the names of those who teased him so that they'd cut it out.

This only ended up giving him the reputation of being a snitch.

He could never win. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. It wasn't fair.

Well then, screw being fair. He had enough.

In reality, he couldn't take his revenge on him in a fair, reciprocal manner. Instead, Florante could only vent his frustrations at him or the "him" that existed in his mind this way.

His coping mechanism was having violent fantasies. Either that, or punching the wall again and getting scolded by his mother for breaking either the wall or his fist.

As Jacinto prepared to knock him out or worse, Florante saw his opening.

With his remaining healthy left hand flowing with pinpoint spheres of energy at each fingertip, Galang thrust his clawed hand and every single finger into Jacinto's broad chest, drawing blood.

"...Apologize? Yeah, sure. I'm sorry I ever met you. Go to Hell."

He dug deeper and deeper even as Jacinto kept punching his already broken face and body. He wouldn't let go.

"LET GO, FLOR! LET GO! I ain't joking! FUCK!" the punches became more rapid. Stronger. Harder. Faster. More panicked. There was actual fear in his eyes for once.

It felt so satisfying to see him like this.

Galang could feel Jacinto's heart pound at the same time as his own excited pulse. He gripped the heart tightly then pulled.

From inside Gerry, Galang shot his five energy bullets simultaneously, which fried his insides and made the entire top half of his body explode into electric fire, guts, muscles, tendons, blood, and giblets, the hint of ozone noticeable in the air along with the smell of burnt human flesh.

As what was left of Jacinto's lifeless corpse fell to the ground with a wet thud, Florante heaved a relieved sigh, the rain from the large gaping hole in the ceiling (practically a skylight) washing the blood, sweat, and tears from his beat-up body and face away.

It was just a dream. A fantasy. A way for him to vent from all the stress of his real-life bullying.

Everything he had done so far were victimless crimes against, well, imaginary straw-men (and straw-women).

Right?

***

 As Florante strode through the pure devastation of what was once Fatima that he left behind in his wake, he felt unsatisfied somehow. Empty. Hollow.

Was that it? He got his revenge against the people who wronged him. What now?

He looked at the consequences of his actions and cringed. The feeling was familiar. Like the aftermath of a storm. Or a temper tantrum when he was about 6 or 7 years old.

It felt cathartic to release all that pent-up anger and frustration he couldn't verbalize or express at his classmates normally, but now he felt a huge amount of guilt weigh him down.

Was any of this called for? What was he thinking?

Instead of relief, he felt like he did whenever he had a temper tantrum when he was a toddler, only to end up hurting those around him. He went too far. He overdid it.

This wasn't Even-Stevens. Well, some of them were, like how it felt satisfying to grind Silva into the ground like that. But for the most part, this wasn't fair. He made things worse instead of better.

This wasn't him. He was a good guy. Dealt a bad hand by fate. Born a social outcast with social anxiety and awkwardness around people.

He didn't really want to hurt anyone, but his temper always got the better of him, leading him to do things he wouldn't otherwise do.

Florante walked outside the entrance gates of Our Lady of Fatima School of Mandaluyong, his head in a daze. He could hear the wheeze and whistle of his asthma from under his breath after every exhale.

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. It felt like his brain was slamming itself right into his skull, demanding release.

He might've been in shock. For a minute or two, he didn't know where he was or what had happened.

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and immaculate blue wings emerged from the rain and mist. He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As she stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael," which made him remember the comic books he drew about the four archangels.

Who was she? Why was her face familiar? She was so gorgeous.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

She reminded him of Laura Reyes.

Wait. Laura? As in the girl he met on the first day of school that he had a crush on?

The same Laura that he had just... murdered?

Like a bolt out of the blue, he remembered everything he'd done an hour ago.

Laura had awakened to supernatural powers like he had and turned or transformed into the Archangel Raphael to avenge the deaths of all the people he just killed, including her.

She was there to take him away. Probably to kill him. Give him karmic justice for all that had transpired.

He felt the corners of his mouth quirk. This was all probably for the best. Let his crush finish him off and pay for his crimes. Let her become his Angel of Death.

Wait, so why was she Raphael instead of Azrael?

Faster than he could even fathom or wonder why she was named after the Angel of Healing instead of the Angel of Death, Raphael flew towards him with watery tendrils.

Everything became a blur from that point on when he and Archangel Raphael finally faced off.

His life then flashed before his eyes.

And then he finally woke up.

Thank God.

***

What a weird, horrible dream.

Yet another dream in a series of dreams. Perhaps nightmares, even.

Not night terrors, though. You didn't remember night terrors after waking up.

He rubbed the rheum from his eyes, took a pen and paper (notebook), and wrote down what had happened in his latest dream on his dream journal.

That one was a doozy.

What was wrong with him, dreaming up such scenarios? He told himself that he'd never do such a thing in real life. Not only because he didn't want to but because he couldn't.

No one developed superpowers like this except in fiction. This was obviously a dream. A dream a psycho would come up with but a dream nonetheless.

His crush who rejected him just killed him after he killed her first.

His dream was indeed just a manifestation of his longing to belong.

Apparently, it was all a fever dream of Florante's. He ended up not going to school that day because of how high of a fever he had, which was also compounded by his asthma.

The feverish asthmatic called in absent for three days until he recovered.

Ugh. At least he'd have a break from his bullying at Fatima High.

Three days after his fever dream, he went back to school. His prison.

For an introvert like him, home was freedom and the outside was maximum penitentiary.

It was in Fatima High School in Mandaluyong where he now found himself exiled. He was left in a prison city. Heaven for others and hell for him.

As usual, it rained hard. It was the rainy season during June in the tropical Philippines, after all.

On the plus side, because it was raining he didn't have to deal with the weekly morning flag ceremony every Monday, with everyone gathered around the concrete stadium under the hot sun.

He had his morning classes instead.

He didn't view the rain as an omen of things to come. Just something unavoidable and inconvenient given the season. He'd already said his goodbyes to the sun back in summer.

The only people he could hang out with were the Dead Kids, and even then he could only do so during lunchtime and through the Art Club. Most of the time, he was left to his own devices with the classmates he loathed.

He detested Fatima High School. He loved Pasig. For the most part, anyway.

He was not a big fan of the river of mud and vegetation known as the Pasig River. When it flooded, it had waters with the consistency of chocolate milk. The chocolate milk river.

'Don't drink from it, though,' he mused.

He didn't want to open up the can of worms of humiliation that happened to him day after day, in dreary weather at that.

He wished he could forget every day. Erase everything and end up with a clean slate every time.

If only. If only.

Most days were uneventful and boring anyway, if a bit awkward. He mostly had no one to talk to. People laughed behind his back. He felt extra conscious of himself, afraid of embarrassing himself or doing something cringe-worthy.

He'd actually improved from his grade school days because on top of being socially awkward, he was more than a bit of a crybaby to boot when he was younger.

Again, he was a spoiled brat who was a bit of a weirdo.

During nursery and kindergarten, he was particularly terrible. Almost like a toddler. He even embarrassed himself up on stage when he was assigned to memorize and recite a poem about picking up 50 pesos.

He must've been about 7 or 8 years old when it happened. Embarrassingly, he had the emotional maturity of a 2-3 year old at the time.

He didn't only cry back then. He bawled. He had a tantrum.

His tantrums at class got so bad that his mother had to be called in.

He was quick to anger, though. The smallest things could set him off. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

Naturally, his behavior wasn't conducive to getting friends. His only best friend at the time soon abandoned him for being such a crybaby weirdo.

In fairness to Florante, he somewhat improved and emotionally matured as he grew older. Instead of bawling, he'd only cry to himself. Soon, he'd only get misty eyed when his emotions got the better of him.

However, the fact that he was so sensitive made him a prime target for teasing and bullying.  

What was worse was that when he was even younger he had no self-awareness, so by the time he got older, he could only scratch his head in puzzlement at why no one would be friends with him, why the girls in his school found him to be gross, or why he was bullied so often.

Hindsight was 20/20. A cringe-inducing 20/20.

He could only cringe in remembrance. He swore once he debuted in high school, he'd never again act like a huge... er... wimp.

Afterwards, from crying a lot to crying a little, he soon graduated to not crying at all but still feeling the blues whenever the popular kids and/or the bullies called him out on his... eccentricities.

This year's batch of Fatima High School freshmen had a total of 200 plus girls and boys occupying about 5 classrooms of about 40 or so students each.

It had its own grade school too, so many of the kids here had grown up together, give or take several students who were "accelerants" or those who moved from Grade 6 to high school without going through Grade 7 because of their good grades.

Regardless, he remained the new guy in town. In a new school. A curiosity. A freak. No one there was anyone he grew up with. He had to make friends quick or else he'd end up a pariah like in his last school.

However, for whatever reason though, his classmates were more distant to him than before. Usually, they took the time to mess with him.

Did something happen again? Like the time all the boys in his class noticed his undershirt was threadbare to the point of being see-through, so they teased him and called him a male stripper?

He briefly considered the chance of them having the same nightmare as him massacring students left and right before waving the thought off.

'As if that'd ever happen.'

On one hand, this was just par for the course with all the bullying he went through in high school. On the other hand, it was all somehow different. They were actually leaving him alone, which was kind of a refreshing change.

He was still the social pariah, but at least they weren't calling him names or making him the butt of the joke as usual.

That was on the plus side. On the "minus" side of things, he ate alone at lunch. None of the Dead Kids were available and he didn't have Art Club that day.

Where did they go? Did something happen? He hoped he wasn't kicked out of the group or anything, like what happened to Laura and Gerry after the nude drawing incident.

Maybe if he was better looking, he'd have more confidence? Like a sporty, tall kind of guy instead of a normal guy who was just there? However, no matter how good he looked, being a crybaby beyond the age of 4 years old was never a good look anyway.

If only he were manlier then perhaps girls would look his way without eyes of disdain, pity, or non-romantic attraction. Maybe. He didn't want to think about it. It made him cringe in embarrassment.

Instead, he was a tan-skinned, brown-eyed, and stringy-haired kid with an almost bowl-cut hair parted in the middle. A total geek.

That Thursday, school sucked as usual. You'd think his impromptu three-day sabbatical would improve things, but they didn't.

On second thought, maybe it did.

Many of his classmates had thankfully gotten sick and tired of messing with him, with all those tough guy jocks and bullies focusing their attention on his other classmates and their... imperfections.

He felt their pain as they were made fun of because of things like being too quiet, having eyes that were unusually big, or alleging one of them had... mental issues.

No, the First Year St. Francis of Assisi bullies weren't exactly politically correct with their insults.

With that said, perhaps rather than a premonition, he should've been more worried about what had already happened. Like his fever dream he somehow couldn't forget.

Well, he kind of couldn't forget. As the day wore on, the details of the dream became hazy like in any other dream, but the summary of it remained fresh in his mind.

In order to vent, he gained superpowers in his dreams and killed his most of classmates, many of which were his staunchest of bullies.

A disturbing fantasy but a fantasy nonetheless. A victimless crime.

If only something unusual like that were to happen. Not necessarily him doing a mass murder of the scope of The Peoples Temple in Jonestown. Sure, that was a different kind of massacre he read from one of the library books during recess, but a massacre nonetheless.

Something more like an exciting new adventure. New horizons for him. Now that he'd released all his pent-up rage in his dreams, perhaps he could delve into something more positive.

Like doing some oil painting (too expensive, though). Or finishing his unfinished comic book, maybe by basing it on his dream journal (if only he had the time).

'Note to self: Never tell anyone from my class that I keep a dream journal,' Florante thought. He was bullied enough already. No need to add that cherry on top of his shit sundae of a life.

Or maybe something more fantastic, like him piloting a giant robot. Or him ending up with a harem of girls. Or him saving the world from the threat of annihilation by monsters.

Or something.

The dismissal bell rung.

As his classmates started milling towards the exit, he willed himself to ignore the stares he felt at his back. It was a familiar feeling of someone being watched for the tiniest clumsy mistake, weird behavior, or angry outburst.

He heard idle chatter from the different cliques and groups formed within their class across the months they'd been together in one classroom, talking about where they wanted to eat or wished to go.

The malls of Mandaluyong were walking distance from their school, after all.

Unlike in college or in high schools in the U.S., the Fatima private school had all the subjects taught in one classroom instead of students moving from one classroom to another.

They were more like schools in Japan, where one class full of students stayed in one classroom for the whole year. They didn't switch out and mingled with other sections in the same year except during club meetings, where students from different years and sections could join.

Nothing significant happened today. Nothing really changed. It was business as usual, even with his bullies letting him off the hook for today.

He heard the door slam on the classroom, making him realize he was all alone. His head turned. A savage movement. Like a deer realizing it had been trapped. Or headed on a collision course with a truck, the bright headlights mesmerizing it.

As he was about to go to his school service at the school parking lot, the "something" he wished would happen finally happened.

He should've been careful what he wished for, to be honest.

As an aside, it was like déjà vu all over again.

A huge boulder that looked like a piece of the Fatima Grade School building fell right on the jeepney that served as his school service, crushing it in its weight.

"Wha...?"

He turned around. The school he just exited was in ruins, students were running away screaming, and something supernatural was the cause of all this mayhem.

To be more specific, right above the school floated a monster with two gigantic eyeballs sitting atop a body made of a mountain of minced meat and long tangled tendrils that undulated and wrapped themselves around the buildings and people like a dense forest of guts and intestine.

Damn. To think, spaghetti was his favorite food too.

It was like he was losing his mind just looking at that incomprehensible thing, much less try to describe it.

His mind went a mile a minute, going from the horrible realization that his fellow school service students in Pasig had been crushed to death to Fatima High getting demolished by a giant monster.

Wait, did he fall asleep again? Was he indulging in another one of his secret "edgy" fantasies he'd never dare (nor could) do in real life?

That must've been what happened. None of this was real.

His fever dream still fresh in his mind, he moved forward instead of away from the tentacle monster even as students and teachers (as well as faculty members and staff) of all ages ran away from it.

The giant monster crawled like kudzu grass from one building to the next, crushing them under its weight. It didn't so much move around as grew so that its fleshy red membrane body with eyes could transfer itself from one position to the next, like a vine or flowering plant but sped up.

It flooded the streets of Shaw Boulevard and St. Francis Street with its endless, root-like tendrils and tentacles of varying sizes, resulting in a heavy traffic jam. It looked like it was headed towards the nearest mall. Why though?

He stopped after seeing the monster swallow up several students in its sea of viscera and intestinal entanglements. Some of them kids from the Fatima grade school who hung out after dismissal for too long.

Many of them were his fellow students from high school. Most unfamiliar or vaguely familiar faces. One in particular caught his eye.

A bespectacled, short-haired girl swinging and swimming towards the eye balls. Brave of her to do so, but her face looked familiar...

It was Jenny! Jennifer Tolentino. The girl he spared in his dream before he "massacred" his bullies.

The monster saw her just in time to wrap one of its tendrils around her neck, arms, and limbs.

The one girl in their class who was nice to him was about to die.

Before he knew it, Florante found himself running towards the monster instead of away from it.

Like in his dream, he shot out bolts of lightning and reverberating shockwaves of thunder at the living spaghetti creature, freeing up many of the students in its grasp.

He shot one of the creature's eyes and cut through its tendrils in time to get even Jenny loose, catching her right in his arms.

"...Flor!" she exclaimed as he landed on his feet while holding her in a bridal carry. "Y-You saved me!"

He felt his cheeks grow warm as he gently put her back to the ground on her own two feet. He then faced away from her in embarrassment, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you!" he heard her say from behind him, which made him mutter, "Y-You're welcome," under his breath.

This was it. He didn't really want to kill all his classmates like in his other dream where he vented his frustration over his social awkwardness and their bullying of him.

He wanted to be accepted. Respected. Validated. Loved. Or at least tolerated and left alone instead of having every single quirk or action he did scrutinized and mocked.

He wanted his existence to be acknowledged at school. He wanted to be treated fairly like other students. He didn't want to hurt anyone, just stop them from hurting him.

Maybe he could get one or two close friends as well. That wouldn't hurt.

He charged at the monster wreaking havoc all over the street like mountains of spilled Italian food, intending to fry it into charcoal.

"Gabriel, watch out...!" Jenny screamed.

"Gabriel...?" he repeated, only to have tentacles shoot out from behind him, stabbing his back.

The monster did a sneak attack on him, he realized too late. It spread its noodle limbs into the nearest drain then shot it up where he couldn't see.

He then saw the world spin all around him, from sky to concrete to car to dirt to van to pillar to post and back again to the sky.

He got dragged and flung around until he felt the tendrils snap like lizard tails, hurling him to the roof of a Toyota Tamaraw FX utility vehicle.

Tears streamed down his eyes, his whole body throbbing except his legs, which horrified him. He suffocated in pain, unable to even groan as tears streamed down his eyes.

Had the spaghetti monster turned him to roadkill? What sort of nightmare was this? His powers from his previous dream failed him, and now he felt death creep in the edges of his blurry vision.

Hah. Served him right.

That was what he got thinking he could take on that nightmarish creature. Shooting helpless students with no superpowers was way different from dealing with a giant incomprehensible mess of a monster that could fight back.

He then gasped as a feeling of euphoric relief enveloped him. Then back to heart-rending pain as he finally felt his legs or what was left of them.

Or maybe they were fine after all, as he soon felt okay enough to move them around, from his thighs and knees to his ankles and toes. He dared peer at himself, only to see bloody, torn pants draped over perfectly healthy legs, a large laceration over his hamstring closing up like magic.

He then looked up to see Jenny Tolentino kneel over him in seeming prayer, a cool neon mist of light transferring from her body to his.

Wait. Was she... healing him? Was that what was happening? Man, this is one crazy dream.

The girl with the glasses said, "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this."

"Jenny...?" Florante trailed off.

Jenny took a deep breath and said, "Listen up, Flor. You're an Ophanim."

"P-Pardon?" stuttered a flabbergasted Florante. "I'm a... what?"

"An angel. You're an angel without wings, Flor."

***

To Be Continued...

Fun fact: I actually made a Geocities site for this story once while considering turning it into a webcomic. Or at least I named the Geocities site after this work, which featured a Gabriel De Angeles protagonist instead of a Florante Galang at the time.

Farewell, Abdiel