#sentences that have never been said before in all of human history

[darcyolsson]

so after easter when bobby has risen again either eddie is going to be gay and drinking juice or there will simply be a contaminated water supply. possibly both. i'll keep you updated on which one it was

[fanfictiongirlie]

Twilight: Some Soulmate - Chapter Two

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Parings: Paul Lahote x Reader

Description: Y/N a member of the Cullen family is imprinted on by one of the wolves, she is shocked, he is shocked. She is struggling with drinking animal blood over human, and he is disgusted by a vampire for a soulmate… But maybe it could work..?

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 1,794

I spent the next week, being moody, I didn't go to school. I was so angry at the world. I found my soulmate, if I didn't have my stupid gift I wouldn't of known. And it's been a week since, and my imprinter hasn't tried to find me. Vampires and Wolfs were enemies. Whoever he was probably hated me already. 

And yeah it hurt. I wanted to know who he was. This could be my chance at happiness. 

I decided to get out of my pajamas and leave the house, I headed straight to the hospital. I walked through the place smiling and not letting anyone stop me. I walked into Carlisle's office, he was sitting there smiling. 

I saw on the chair next to his desk. 

"Carlisle, you are my longest and most important friend, you're my brother and I love you" I smiled sweetly.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled at me.

"You want my help?" He asked I nodded. "That obvious?"

"I can't change the treaty Y/N" He signed. 

"I just want to meet him" I whispered. 

"I know, but I can't break the treaty, and unless Sam comes to the hospital and I have no way of speaking to him" Carlisle said I could hear how upset he was in his voice.

"He hasn't even tried to find me" I sniffled. 

"I am very sorry Y/N, if Sam does come in, I'll ask"

I nodded and thanked him and left the hospital. Maybe if I went back to the forest. 

Just as I was about to leave the hospital, I hear Carlisle say "The school called, show up"

I rolled my eyes and left the hospital, I walked to my motorbike and drove to the school. I could Probably make my last class, history. I shared history with Jasper, which I loved because we're both old enough to have lived through most of what they're teaching us. 

I walked into the school, it was still lunchtime, maybe ten minutes left until class.

"Hey Y/N!" I turned around to see Mike. I quietly groaned. 

"Hello Mike, I was just making my way to my siblings"

"Yes, well maybe I thought you had re-considered prom"

"Nope, still not going, maybe you should ask someone else" I smile, walking away quickly. 

I entered the cafeteria and quickly saw my siblings, I walked over and sat with them, smiling. 

"Mike Newton asked me out again" 

"Maybe it'd take your mind off-"

I stopped Emmett finishing his sentence, and shook my head. 

"I felt him imprinting on me, it felt so good. It felt like happiness, it felt like never thirsting over a human again, it felt complete. How can I ever love someone else?" I asked, standing up, just before the bell rang.

"Are you saying you're in love with him?" Alice asked. 

"No, I don't even know him, and it seems like he doesn't want to know me" I signed, and walked away. Jasper trailing after me. Luckily, Jasper jumped up a few grades in history. Being a know it all does that.

I smiled when I felt a calmness wash over me. 

"Thank you Jasper" 

~~~~~~~

I spent every evening after school in the forest, trying to maybe find him again. I walked along the treaty line, for hours but nothing. He didn't show up. I was starting to feel as if I should give up. 

I walked back home, rather than run. 

Esme was waiting for me with open arms, I smiled and hugged her. 

"We're heading out to play baseball, want to join?" She asked, I thought about it, I wasn't much of a sports person. I nodded though, I could watch. 

I traveled in Rosalie's car with her and made sure to bring a book with me. We reached the field as the rain started. I smelt Bella before I saw her.

I smiled at her, before sitting and leaning against the car and beginning my book. 

The game began shortly after, I watched every now and again, it was a treat to watch my family play. It made me feel human, strangely. I started to read again, getting lost in my book. I was reading Peter Pan again, I loved it so much. 

"Y/N!" Edward yelled I looked up, to see them gathered in a group, all wearing a worried expression. I jumped up and sped to them. 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"I saw them coming, three vampires" Alice replied. 

I didn't realise the problem until I remembered Bella.

"Do we have time to get her out of here?" I asked, Alice, shook her head and pointed to the trees. Suddenly three vampires emerged. They were kind of beautiful, but I had already decided I had a crush on the redhead. I wasn't normally into women, though there was this time in the 70s. Edward gave me a look. I grinned back. 

Carlisle was speaking to them about our permanent home. 

"How about we play more ball?" I ask when I notice how the blonde was staring intently at Edward. Edward was acting strange. He needed to chill.

"Yes, how about three more players?" Asked one of the vampires. 

"Some of us were just leaving, so you're more than welcome" Carlisle spoke. 

My family and vampires got ready to start the game again until the blonde turned around eyes on Bella.

"You brought a snack" He spoke. 

We all, including me, bared our teeth and jumped in front of Bella.

"She's with us!" Carlisle sneered. 

Quickly, Edward took Bella to the car and we followed. Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, and I drove back to our house. 

"What's happening?" I asked. 

"I'm not sure Y/N" Esme spoke. 

We reached the house and the others were there already. 

"James is a tracker" Edward started "He wants Bella and he thinks its a game" 

"What do we do?" Emmett asked. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I stayed behind, at home, to look after Charlie. I had met him a few times, him being the chief. I walked up to his door and knocked. 

He answered he looked broken. After what happened with him and Bella I understood. 

"Hello Chief Swan" I smiled, and then realised I had no idea what I'd say to get him to invite me in. 

"Sorry Y/N can I help you?" He asked. I noticed there were more heartbeats inside. 

"Bella told me she left something of mine in her room, could I get it please?" I asked I needed to check if James or the other two were here.

"Yeah that's fine," He said and let me inside. 

I walked into the living room to see two people. An old man in a wheelchair and a teenage boy. I smiled and went to walk upstairs. 

"Who's this Charlie?" The man asked, his eyes glaring at me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, he hated me, I could feel his hatred beaming at me. 

"This is Y/N Cullen" Charlie answered "She's really nice, Bella spoke highly of her" 

She did? I smiled and walked upstairs to Bella's room. I couldn't smell the vampires. It only smelt like Edward and Alice. I grabbed a random book from Bella's bookshelf and locked the window. I walked downstairs to see Charlie and the man talking. 

The boy smiled at me. 

"Hey I'm Jacob" He held his hand out to shake. 

"Hey I'm Y/N, not big on touching" I giggled, I could feel the heat radiating off him, touching my hand would probably freeze him. 

"I've not seen you at school" I add. 

"I go to school on the reservation" He answered. Oh. Where I couldn't go. 

He might even know the wolf. But I couldn't exactly ask 'Hey do you know this random wolf I saw' Wait...

"Hey, do you know Sam Uley?" I asked.

"Why do you want Sam Uley?" The man in the wheelchair asked. 

Oh no. What do I say?

"I need to ask him something" I smiled as sweetly as I could. 

The man sneered. 

"Sam wants nothing to do with you" 

Ouch. Okay.

"Well bye, Charlie!" I smiled and rushed out of the house. I was never going to meet him. Unless I walked onto their territory. I' probably die straight away. Though I did read that the person that a wolf imprinted on couldn't be harmed. Though it said, person. I was far from a person. 

I ran home, thinking, and thinking about crossing the line. I needed too. No one was home. I could do it.

I ran to my room quickly, I checked how I looked. 

I didn't normally care, but potentially meeting your soulmate makes you wanna look nice. 

I looked in the mirror, I needed to cut my hair, it was almost at my waist. I changed into some clean clothes, nothing special, a black pair of jeans and a grey top which said 'I'd rather be sleeping' it made me smirk. I decided to put some makeup on. Something to make me look less pale, and add a bit of colour to my skin, also to hide the black around my eyes. I looked pretty. My amber eyes would probably freak him out, and I've heard vampires don't smell good to wolves. 

Nothing I can do about that. I raced out of my home, just in case my family returned. I ran until I reached the border. I felt so nervous. I took one little step and yes, I did it. 

I was in the Quileute territory. Last time I was on this side, we made the treaty. To a completely different set of wolves, saying that that man in the wheelchair did look familiar. Maybe he was one when he was younger, it was so many years ago.  

"What are you doing here leech!" A voice yelled at me, I jumped back so I was over the line. 

"I'm sorry, I was just looking for someone!" I stuttered. The man looked at me, he looked angry, like he could turn into a wolf any second angry. Not good. Was this Sam?

"Are you Sam Uley?" I asked he nodded. 

"Oh" Was all he said. Why? I was so confused. 

"Maybe you should come with me," He said in a stern voice. 

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Paul imprinted on you, and it's hurting him because he won't allow himself to feel for you" He admitted.

"Paul" I whispered, his name was Paul, I smiled slightly, even thinking about his name made me smile. 

"You can trust me," Sam said, I looked at him. I could trust him. I didn't quite understand how he felt about me, he didn't like me. But I knew he wouldn't hurt me. 

"Okay, I'll come with you" Time to meet my mate...

Previous Part - Next Part

[ghostbeam]

Oblivi_n.exe | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Touya Todoroki, known as ‘Dabi’ to the league, quirk class: cremation, mech title: Blue. You’re his new handler. 

As Dabi’s new handler, you’re well aware of his history, how frequently he goes through handlers assigned to him. Not that he ever uses them—it’s more complete resistance. You’re not particularly good at your job. Transferred from the PLF for lack of success in handling any of their pilots, you’ve always been far too gentle. You lack authority. Your pilots never respected you. You don’t think Dabi will be any different. You give it a week. 

Notes: okay wow hiiiii it’s been a long time since I’ve posted an actual fic (nearing almost a year now😬) this is something I’ve been working on for a bit. I have mech brain rot curtesy of @streimiv and @hawnks (both of whom this is dedicated to bc there’s no way I could have written this without yapping to them abt it and also mint helped me come up w the acronym for HERO’s) and we’ve all got our own mech fics in the works atm but anywayssssss this is kind of my baby atm but I hope it makes sense it’s very inspired first and foremost by pacific rim and then also NGE (mostly through consumption of YouTube vids bc I haven’t actually watched it pls don’t hate me) it’s a whole mess of things and Dabi is kind of a bitch and reader is slowly coming into herself and at the end of the day they both wanna be metal fused to one another forever (no matter how hard he denies it) also I’m not a huge computer person idk if this title makes sense so don’t make fun of me pls ok anyways I hope u like it!!!!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, pilot!Dabi x handler!reader, there’s no explicit sexual content in this part, not even a kiss sorry guys, mentions of robot gore (exposed wires, insides described as guts), brief descriptions of being trapped inside a small space, descriptions of burning while inside said space, mention of surgery to fashion a metal jaw onto someone, mentions of child abuse (nothing graphic just allusions to the todoroki family and touya’s past), angst, many run on sentences, a small cliff hanger

Words: 7.9k

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 (coming soon)

You are nothing without your machine.

It’s the first rule, the first thing beaten into his brain by his father. You carry the burden of the mech alone, or you’re weak. You don’t exist. 

U.A. raises the best and brightest pilots, navigators, mechanics, and handlers, each one carefully trained to ensure the most important outcome: winning. It should be protection. It should be defense. But if Touya has learned anything at all, it’s that winning means glory. It means worship. It means HERO’s (Human Engineered Robotic Objects) are saints, and pilots are gods. 

 Touya used to be one of those best and brightest before his accident. 

First son to Enji Todoroki, Touya was supposed to be the golden child, the first Todoroki to pilot without a handler. He was supposed to carry the burden alone, something his father couldn’t do, something only one man has ever actually been capable of. 

But Touya is born weak, bad bones, a brain unable to handle all that the mech needs to unload onto it. One too many accidents results in him being expelled from the pilot program, his HERO discarded and collecting dust in its pod, and Touya is promptly transferred to mechanics. 

It should have been a smooth transition. If one kid can’t handle it, the next will. Because they have to. 

He doesn’t take the news well. It’s a fit of tears, a persistent fight, unable to accept the loss of his machine—of his body. Because Touya loves it. What he lacks in strength, he makes up for in pure passion, and despite being unable to handle the burden, there’s no denying that he’s good. He’s almost perfect. 

But almost is not enough for Enji Todoroki, and no matter how hard Touya tries, he’s made up his mind. 

After months of mechanics, Touya makes a decision. When the next fleet of HERO’s is deployed for the next kaiju battle, Touya sneaks in among the chaos, tucked neatly inside the chest of his machine where he belongs. It doesn’t take long for things to go south, for Touya to get caught in the crossfire, losing control of his mech and burning from the inside out. 

It should be an excruciating death, stuck inside a machine made for war, fire raining from above as a battle continues on outside without him. 

But he survives, because what he lacks in strength, he makes up for in resilience, and his mech is programed with solutions to every situation. He’s stuck inside for months before he’s found.

Tomura Shigaraki rescues him, pries open the chest of his mech and pulls him from inside. His group feeds him, takes him in, fashions a new jaw for him made from the metal of his mech, and allows him the decision to join their cause or go back home. 

And since there’s no home to go back to, Touya finds his footing with the league and becomes one of their top pilots. One who vehemently resists any and all handlers.

…

Touya Todoroki, known as ‘Dabi’ to the league, quirk class: cremation, mech title: Blue. You’re his new handler. 

As Dabi’s new handler, you’re well aware of his history, how frequently he goes through handlers assigned to him. Not that he ever uses them—it’s more complete resistance. You’re not particularly good at your job. Transferred from the PLF for lack of success in handling any of their pilots, you’ve always been far too gentle. You lack authority. Your pilots never respected you. You don’t think Dabi will be any different. You give it a week. 

Following closely behind Tenko, formerly Tomura, he quickly explains to you the in’s and out’s of the pilot/handler relationship, along with a warning about Dabi’s resentment toward the whole idea. You try to keep up, but he talks quickly and uses his hands a lot. Even so, you can tell he’s a natural leader, something he had to grow into after overthrowing the man who raised him. His story is a tragic one, and it resonates with you because Tenko came out the other side stronger. Now, the league is a community with a cause, one you really believe in. Even if you and Dabi aren’t the right fit, you still have a place here. 

You follow Tenko into what he calls the garage, a large floor of the abandoned academy that serves as the league’s base, this part of it full of HERO’s and mechanics all focused on the machines in front of them. It’s completely different from how HERO’s were worked on at UA, where you grew up, and even the PLF didn’t have one dedicated floor to this sort of work. You can feel the energy of the room buzzing on your skin, music blasting from old radios and mechanics tossing tools towards one another in a familiar routine. Tomura leads you to Dabi and his HERO, Blue, though you’re instructed not to call it a HERO around him. With goggles over his eyes and gloved hands, he brings two wires from Blue’s ankle together, sighing at the way they spark each time they connect. 

“Dabi.” Tomura calls over the music coming from the radio hanging off of Dabi’s waist. He drops the wires and his gaze flickers toward the two of you. Pushing his goggles up to his forehead, he gives you a once over. His eyes are the brightest you’ve ever seen—kaiju blood blue—and burn scars litter his body. He’s striking in a way you’ve never seen, almost too beautiful to be human. Giving Dabi your name, Tomura explains that you’re taking over as his handler, seeing as he couldn’t keep the last one for more than a couple of days. “She’s your last handler. If you can’t keep this one, then go ahead and fry your brain. See if I care.”

“You say that every time.” Dabi calls from around sucker as Tomura walks away, leaving you alone with your new pilot. 

You just your hand out in a greeting, “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Eyeing your hand, Dabi shakes his head and turns his back to you, picking the two wires back up and connecting them again, despite the same spark from before igniting between the two. He looks back up at Blue, touching his fingers to the slim lines starting at the back of her ankle and running all the way up her leg. You peak over his shoulder at the wiring, noticing that he’s connecting two of the wrong ones. 

“It’s the wrong wire.” You tell him, and he spins around to look at you, tearing his goggles from his face as he scoffs. 

“Here we go.” He sighs with a roll of his eyes, pulling the candy from his lips and tossing it onto the tool cart without a care. “Handler know-it-all bullshit. This is my mech.”  

You push passed him and grab the similarly colored wire from beside a red wire and connect it with the one in Dabi’s right hand. Blue lights up cyan through the thin lines that run along each of its limbs and torso, connecting with the two cameras within its head, which seem to blink before the light reaches them. 

In an instant, you’re being pushed up against the hard metal, a strong arm over your chest—pinning you up against the HERO. Dabi, now having discarded his goggles, looks at you full of white, hot rage. 

“Don’t fucking touch her.” He growls. You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity, eyes flickering between the snarl across his lips and his angry gaze. For a beat, you both freeze, the air suddenly charged like you’re waiting for one another to strike. Snapping yourself out of his hypnotic stare, you push against his chest, forcing him to let you go. 

“If I’m going to be you’re handler, you’re going to have to trust me with her.” You remind him. He lets out a harsh laugh, like he can’t believe you would suggest such a ridiculous idea. 

“I don’t trust anything but this machine.” He speaks, turning away from you to seal up the machine’s exposed wires. It’s a challenge you’re willing to accept.

“Well, I’m here to change that.” You tell him, before turning on your heel to leave him alone. 

He thinks he’ll give you a week. 

…

One of the worst parts of being assigned a handler, Touya thinks, is the way that pilot/handler living quarters are set up. He assumes the academy, before it was abandoned and turned into a base for the league, created this sort of set up so that handlers could keep a close eye on their pilots. The handlers Touya has burned through up until now also assumed the same. 

The door that connects both the pilot’s and handler’s dorms doesn’t lock, and all of Touya’s past handlers have taken advantage of this fact. He’s been pulled out of bed far too early, pushed around and commanded and barked at. Most handlers behaved as if pilots belonged to them, which was the sentiment drilled into their brains from being thrown into such a fucked up system at a young age.—unless you were a pilot of status like a Todoroki. While he league dedicates a lot of its time to reversing these ideas, most handlers look at Touya like some kind of challenge, this arrogant pilot begging to be tamed. It never takes long for them to realize how easily he’s able to flip the switch on them. You’ll be no different.

But hours pass and you still haven’t entered. You don’t swing the door open and demand he apologize for his behavior earlier. You don’t try and punish him with training regimes, a command of a set of push ups, a schedule you expect him to follow, an extremely detailed meal plan. The entire evening comes and goes without so much as a sound on the other side of the door so he knows you’re even behind it. 

He falls asleep unnerved by this, waking up late into the night in a cold sweat, expecting you to barge in, rip the covers from his body and demand to train together. When he wakes up (peacefully) the next morning, there’s no sign of you. He rises from his bed, drinks orange juice straight from the carton and eats a candy bar for breakfast. He fiddles with the navigation screen from his mech that stopped working a couple of days ago, tools spread out on the counter in front of him. Once he’s got the thing working again, your knock sounds from the unlocked door between the two of you. He thinks this might be it, the commands he expects to fall from your lips at the ready as he swings the door open, but you stand there, nervous, hands twitching as your eyes finally meet his.

Greeted by a shirtless Touya, hair mused from sleep, cargo pants hung low on his hips, dog tags swinging against his chest, his scars on display, unashamed and proud. The sight of him knocks the breath out of you, and you clear your throat in embarrassment, hoping your state of dreaming comes off as nerves rather than lust. 

“Dabi. Or do you prefer Touya?” You smile. When he doesn’t answer, you continue. “I wanted to see if you wanted to eat breakfast together in the caf. I think we should start over. Yesterday was—”

You’re promptly cut off, “I already ate breakfast.”

With a harsh slam of the door, he leaves you stunned in your room.

You eat alone. 

When you started as a pilot, back when you’d entered UA (a few years about Touya’s accident), you went into it believing you could change the world. The exam had placed you into the position of handler, and you were assigned a pilot who had always seemed a little frightened of you despite your obvious lack of authority. Bringing the fact up to your instructors did nothing. They all assured you that this was the ideal dynamic, that the handler always had the upper hand, but you hated that feeling. You weren’t a team like you expected to be; you were urged to control your pilot. You were there to keep them in line, not to be a pillar of support. The bond was never built on trust, and the soul link was always a looming threat. No matter how many pilots you went through, the link was never held as a gift, but a prison, something you would both be stuck with for the betterment of society, a sacrifice to make. 

You’d been expelled from the handler program after guiding your pilot to help save another in the wreckage of your first battle together, resulting in the damage of your pilot’s HERO. Your pilot was okay, but the other couldn’t be saved, and you were blamed for the damage of both mech’s. 

When you found the league (or when the league found you), you were working with the PLF, but proved to be a weak handler. Every pilot you were assigned to took advantage of your optimistic outlook on the kind of relationship dynamic that pilots had with their handlers. Despite all that you had been through at UA, and with the rest of the pilots you’d been paired with after, you never gave up the hope that handlers and pilots could behave as a team, or, even better, one entity. 

Tenko had taken one look at you and demanded you’d be transferred to the league. There hadn’t been much of a choice in the matter, not that you really cared. You were miserable everywhere else. But when you arrived at the abandoned academy and taken a peak behind the kudzu covered walls where each and every area of the building acted as multiple moving parts in collaboration with one another in order to create one massive system, you realized that this was the future you imagined for yourself—and for the world you lived in.

Tenko saw something in you that day, something you aren’t sure you even see in yourself. And so Dabi was your first task, one that’s proving to be very difficult. But he doesn’t treat you like all the other pilots before had. He doesn’t use you. In fact, it seems like he wants nothing to do with you. And while that’s a problem, it’s still one you can work with. 

You’re broken from your thoughts by the sound of a voice through an overhead intercom asking for everyone to meet on the first floor of the academy at their earliest convenience. Judging by the quick movements of those around you, you figure you’d better head downstairs as soon as possible. 

The meeting on the first floor makes you very aware of just how small the league really is. While it’s definitely not a tiny organization, it’s still much smaller than both UA and the PLF. With everyone piled up like this in one group, you realize it feels more like a community, and the hum of conversation that surrounds you comforts you in a way you’ve never felt within the walls of any other academy before. 

There’s discussion about the upcoming mission, one which may be the league’s most ambitious yet; the plan to hijack a mech and kidnap a pilot may be a little unorthodox compared to the league’s past missions, but the jaded pilot they’re targeting has a high chance of joining the cause. Or that’s what they have assumed. As the bodies move and speak around you, it strikes you how different this meeting is from any other meeting you’ve ever been a part of. Tenko is less a dictator and more a wrangler for the disembodied voices of your peers. 

You don’t know much about his story, save for the vague details you’ve heard, but Tenko’s status as a lone handler is something you find yourself curious about. If he’s able to work without a pilot, why can’t you? It’s an idea you keep in your back pocket, one you think you can fall back on if things with Touya don’t work out. But you want them to work out. So badly. 

You aren’t sure what it is about him, but he’s reignited that spark inside of you. You know he’d rather you give up, and maybe the you from a couple of months ago would have, but something about him—and this place—won’t let you leave. 

As you observe the meeting, you take the time to look around the room, taking in your peers and their attentive faces as they listen to Tenko intently. You turn to your right, your eyes meeting a pair of blue ones, impossible to miss. Dabi holds your stare for what feels like ages, and when your colleagues erupt in a fit of many simultaneous discussions, you tear your eyes from his to observe the commotion. When you glance back in his direction, he’s gone. 

You don’t seem him again after that. You train with other handlers, get to know your peers a little better. Everyone else seems to be welcoming, and most offer you sympathy when they find out you’re Touya’s new handler. From what you can gather, he’s had his fair share of them, all of which have quit or left in hysterics due to his harsh nature. When you ask around about where he could be, you’re told that he’s most likely in the garage, a place you assume he’s in more often than not.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to the garage. A place so completely different, so against the ideas and beliefs of any other academy you’ve been a part of, the chaos and community within is so foreign to you. You find Touya with Blue, working inside of her chest, where the cockpit is. 

“Touya!” You call up to him and watch as he peaks his head over the edge of her metal plating. Annoyance falling across his face, he jumps down from where he stands, landing hard on his feet in front of you. 

“What are you doing here?” He questions, his figure so tall and imposing above you. He’s not particularly muscular, not even all that tall compared to Tenko, but he makes you feel small regardless, in more ways than one. Rolling your shoulders back, you stare straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down. 

“I figured you wanted your space today.” You explain, as Touya moves around you to get to his rolling cart of tools, forcing you to turn toward him and follow him if you want him to hear you. “I know adjusting to a new handler is rough, and I never want to make you uncomfortable. But I was thinking we could try some of those pilot/handler bonding exercises. It might be good to start training like some of the others do.”

He drops the wrench in his hand onto his cart with a loud thud, turning around toward you with a look of disbelief on his face. “Pilot/handler bonding exercises? They really brainwashed the shit out of you at UA, huh?”

At the mention of your past academy, your eyes widen in surprise. You had no idea he knew about that. Clearing your throat in order to compose yourself, you speak again, “I left UA for a reason. I have no attachment to their methods, but you guys do the same stuff here, so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is that I never asked for a fucking handler in the first place, especially not one as eager as you.” He spits, “Sure, you’re understanding now, all that bullshit about ‘giving me space,’ but the moment you get a lick of power over me, you’ll change. You’re not different.”

“I don’t want power over you. This is an equal exchange. Pilot’s and handlers are meant to be a team—” You try and argue, but he doesn’t let you finish. 

“That’s what they told you, right? We’re a team, and as teammates, you make sacrifices. And it doesn’t matter if one of you turns into the other’s braindead dog because that’s your place.” His words hit you hard, the exact thought process you went through when leaving UA, completely disillusioned with their idea of “teamwork.” He’s right, and you know it, but since coming here, you thought that wasn’t how it had to be.

“Look, trust me, I get—” You’re cut off again.

“You went to UA! There’s no trusting you.” He scoffs, “It’s not like you’ll last here, anyway.”

“You are such a hypocrite! You’re from UA!” You retort, throwing your arms up in desperation. “You can hate me all you want. You can resist and resist and fry your brain ‘till there’s nothing left, but I believe in this shit. And you don’t get to tell me that I don’t, or tell me I’ll turn into something I worked so hard to get away from.”

Touya stands there, surprised by your outburst, completely unaware that you were capable of all of that. He doesn’t say anything back, and you roll your eyes. “So fuck you, and, by the way, her angel port is smoking.”

At your words, he turns in a rush, seeing the smoke billowing from Blue’s chest as he climbs his way up her form. Once inside his machine, he extinguishes the port and allows himself to relax. There are two things on his mind in this moment: how you could have possibly known it was the angel port without being inside of Blue’s chest and how, for the first time in a long time, he feels bad for his handler.

But for you, it’s the first time you’ve ever held your own against a pilot before, and that feels good.

…

Something feels weird.

Off, unsettling, strange.

He realizes, much to his dismay, that it’s your absence. Despite only having you around for such a short time, Touya has realized that your lack of presence now feels wrong. He hates it. He hates you. 

He can’t find you. You haven’t knocked on his door. You’re not in the caf, not the garage, not the sparring floor, not in your room. And he did check—without knocking. 

He’s not even sure how he can feel an absence. You aren’t a regular part of his life, and he never wanted you to be. But he feels all fucked up.

During training, Touya jams Blue’s halo core and she leaks vibrant neon from between her ribs. It takes him half an hour to get her reboot her system and rips one of the cables attached to the back of his suit in the process. He spends the afternoon cleaning HERO fluid off the sparring floor. 

During repairs, he shocks himself over and over while trying to fix her core, fingers burning from the sparks each time he arranges the wires inside. The cameras in her eyes won’t work from the reboot, and Blue won’t let him unlock the lens panel to fix it. It’s almost like she’s mad at him too.

He’s a complete mess. It’s your fault. He has no choice but to go looking for you. Again.

He searches every wing of the academy before concluding that you’re in your room. He barges through the joint door, spotting you at the counter in your tiny kitchen. You’re surprised by the intrusion, a frightened gasp falling from your lips as you jump in your seat. You turn toward him, prepared with angry words on your tongue, but Touya speaks first.

“You’re not getting an apology out of me, so don’t expect it.” He begins, moving to stand in front of your swiveling kitchen stool as he looks down at you. “But I’m willing to be civil with you, so we don’t have to do this shit anymore.”

You’re not exactly sure what “this shit” is, but Touya looks a little worse for wear at the moment, so you don’t question it. He places a tray from the caf down in front of you that you hadn’t noticed in his hands upon arrival, says nothing else, and turns to leave the room. After shutting your joint door, you look down at the tray of food, noticing one of his suckers placed onto a vacant compartment of the tray. 

You’re greeted the next morning with a knock on your door, Touya dressed in his pilot’s suit on the other side as you swing the door open. “C’mon. You’re gonna watch me train today.”

You watch him turn around to leave, expecting you to follow. You rush to pull on your combat boots and grip your dog tags in your fist as you rush to catch up to him. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you fall into step beside him, taking a look around his dorm before he leads you through the exit door. 

“You need to get a feel for my fighting style.” He explains as you walk down the corridor. “I’m not saying I’ll listen to you when it comes down to it, but it’s important for you to know.”

You nod, agreeing that you should definitely observe him inside of his HERO. By understanding his moves, you’ll be able to understand the way he thinks, and you’ll be able to help him in actual combat if needed. He’s already said he won’t listen to you, but it won’t stop you from trying. He stops abruptly, turning to look at you, and you stop with him. 

“If we’re gonna do this, it’ll be on my terms. I’m not your dog.” He tells you, seriously. He eye’s you up and down, taking in your expression as you nod at his words. “If anything, you’re mine.”

He begins walking again, leaving you in your spot, irritation filling your chest as you watch him, smug. “Asshole.” You curse under your breath.

“What’d you say?” He barks, turning to look at you abruptly.

“You’re an asshole.” You speak louder. He walks back toward you, making sure to tower over you intimidatingly as he looks down at you in annoyance. His eyes flicker down to the tags around your neck before hooking a finger on the chain and pulling you closer. 

“Watch it.” He drops the chain and walks away again. 

You follow him to the sparring floor, and he shows you where to go to watch. Stood behind a large window that looks over the sparring area, other members of the base watch the HERO’s engage in combat below. You spot Tenko and he motions for you to stand beside him. 

“I knew he’d warm up to you.” He comments. The last of the previous battle finishes and you watch the two enormous machines retreat to the sides of the area, their pilots emerging from their chests with their handlers rushing to the bottom of the mech’s in support. 

“He hasn’t. He’s not.” You shake your head. You aren’t sure why you deny it, if it’s some way to keep your expectations low or if there’s some kind of embarrassment aspect to the whole thing. Whatever is happening between you and Touya feels intimate and private, something that the two of you need to figure out for yourselves, not something meant for the eyes of others.

“Hm. Okay.” Tenko shrugs. “Guess not.”

You hadn’t noticed Touya enter his mech at all. You see the swing of one giant mechanic arm, too close to the window you stand behind, and you’ve shifted your full attention to the scene at hand. 

The enormity of the room surprises you, despite the fact that you had seen it just moments before. But when you’re truly looking at it, watching these huge machines go at each other, the way the ground shakes, the leaves outside shake, the deep forrest clear in view from the wall that opens out to the greenery (the lack of a wall is likely from the academy’s abandoned state, but it’s a good feature to have on the sparring floor when giant robots are toppled over onto various surfaces).

The way Blue moves is electric, mechanic movements almost feel fluid with the way that Touya pilots her, easily dodging attacks from their opponent and moving around them in the most graceful way a giant machine can. It’s beautiful, unlike any fighting style you’ve ever seen in a HERO before. 

“He’s showing off for you.” Tenko observes from beside you. You don’t argue with him, only because you can’t dispute it. This is your first time seeing him in action. It makes your heart beat out of your chest. There’s this ache like you should be inside with him, cables connected to both of you, tucked neatly inside of Blue together. 

It doesn’t take him long to get his opponent on their back, the heavy thump against the floor jostling the ant-like figures on the ground below, handlers waiting for their pilots to finish. It goes on like this for a while, his training, using different methods of combat and winning each time. He’s amazing, and you can tell why his reputation is the way it is, second only to Tenko, who you have yet to see in action. 

When he finishes his last session, you watch Blue walk to the edge of the room, and Touya emerges from her chest, jumping the long way down her body without any issue. You watch as he looks toward the window you’re behind. He waves at you, an acknowledgment of your presence, and you wave back, though you aren’t sure he can actually see you.

It’s the beginning of everything for the two of you. You think Tenko was right.

He lets you stay with him afterwards while he does maintenance on Blue. He helps you climb up the path to her chest, hauling you over the edge to sit inside with him. He turns around abruptly, holding a hand up before allowing you to walk any further.

“Do not touch anything.” He warns, completely serious, before letting his hand fall and allowing you further into the cockpit. You take in your surroundings, the guts of his machine, analyzing the different control panels and screens that line the interior. You can tell he takes good care of her, and he spends a lot of time in here. It looks lived in, stickers stuck to metal plating and pieces of him all over. He’s made a second home in between the ribs of his mech. You feel a little jealous, though you aren’t sure of what. 

The two of you sit against the left side of Blue’s interior, waiting for her updates to finish, the loading screen on each of her monitors display a fire graphic that grows with the increasing percentage on screen. Between you and Touya sits an opened bag of sour gummies, which Touya picks out the lemon flavor and drops the candy in your palm with each new handful he gathers. 

“How do you know all this stuff?” He questions around a mouthful of sour cherry, “Like, the real names for things, where stuff goes, how to fix them. That day with the wires…”

“I spent a lot of time around mechanics at UA, and then also at the PLF.” You explain, picking the yellow colored candy from his open palm as you speak. “I couldn’t connect with other handlers. I didn’t like how they thought, or how they viewed the pilot/handler relationship. Mechanics were mostly neutral, and they loved these machines like nothing else. They reminded me of why I joined UA in the first place.”

“Hm.” He nods, thinking about your past. “Well, I guess if you spent so much time around actual professionals…I could maybe use your help sometimes in the garage.”

“Really?” You question excitedly, a spark lighting up your eyes as you swerve your head toward him. He feels something tight in his chest at the sight.

“Yes, but only on the outside. I don’t want you messing with her insides, yet.” He establishes. “And never alone. I have to be there at all times.”

“Of course, yes, oh my god. Touya!” You smile, gripping his shoulder firmly, a gesture of thanks, communication of how much his trust means to you. “I’ll be so careful with her, I promise.”

“Yeah, well, you have no other choice.” He shrugs, throwing another pile of candy in his mouth. “I’ll kill you if anything happens to her.”

You take the threat seriously, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s realized that you’ve wormed your way into his life and he hadn’t even noticed just how entangled you were now. 

As the weeks go by, you spend a lot more time together. You work on blue together, and you rest inside of her chest, sometimes allowing yourself to drift off against his shoulder on especially tiring days. He sits beside you in the caf, and while he doesn’t always say much, the feeling of his arm against yours is comforting. You can tell people are starting to notice, and they’re starting to talk. You’re being dubbed someone who’s tamed him, but you know how far from the truth that is. 

Despite your differences and the petty arguments that come up when Touya feels like you’re intruding on his independence, you’re growing attached. You wonder if he is, too.

…

Spending time together in the garage becomes the new normal for the two of you. Being in each other’s dorms feels far too intimate, so you always meet in the garage. This way, one of you is always busy doing something with your hands. There’s no room for any strange feelings in the pit of your stomach to seep in. 

You sit in the crook of Blue’s neck, watching Touya as he repairs the lenses in her “eyes.” Blue has three pairs of eyes; in her head, her chest, and down near her hips, which all footage is projected onto monitors inside the cockpit so that Touya has a full view of what’s in front of him. 

He’s so peaceful while he works, you’ve noticed, almost like he goes somewhere else completely. It’s a part of him you don’t think many people get to see, a piece of him just for you, and you want to be selfish with it.

“Can I ask you something?” You question, leaning your head back against the metal. “But you can’t get mad.”

He looks up at you, still fiddling with a lens, a mocking look on his face. “I’m not making any promises.”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the possible fallout of the question you’re about to ask, “What do you think about the soul link?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’d never do it.”

You nod your head in understanding, “yeah, I get it. It’s weird, right? The idea that someone else would be inside your brain.”

“It’s fucking invasive.” He says.

“You know, at UA it always felt like a threat, you know. Like, it was a way for a handler to control their pilot, not a tool or a bond like it should be.” You begin, thinking back to how you viewed the soul link back then. You didn’t like how the bond was presented as this power that a handler holds over their pilot, a threat to keep their pilot in line. But, you could understand how the link could be used for good. “But since coming here, I can tell it’s not all bad. People trust each other here. I mean, there’s obviously some people who abuse it, but, for the most part, everyone seems to understand what it really means to be a pilot and a handler.”

You’re mostly just thinking out loud, but Touya doesn’t say anything to your ramblings. He continues to work on the lenses, and you can gather that he doesn’t want to talk about the subject anymore. But you can’t let it go, yet. There’s something you’ve been worried about since you met him.

“And what about…your brain? They say when a handler and a pilot don’t complete the soul link, the pilot will eventually fry their brain.” You can’t help it. You think about it all the time, what will happen when he can’t take it anymore. The closer you get to him, the realer it feels. “Are you ever worried about that?”

He looks at you, an expression you can’t quite make out fall across his face as he stares. It’s almost soft, the way he looks at you in this moment. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

The truth is, this is a reality Touya has accepted. He’s not afraid to die, and he never has been. He’ll probably die inside of Blue, and he has no problem with that fact. He doesn’t need to be around for long, just enough to show his dad what he’s capable of.

“C’mon.” You stare. “That’s not fair.”

“Shit. I left some of the screws for this in my dorm.” He curses. He looks where you lounge, tucked into Blue’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”

You watch him jump down, much higher than his usual height at her chest, but he lands anyway. He doesn’t turn to look back at you as he jogs away. You climb up the side of Blue, and look at the lenses in her head. They’re already repaired, and you know Touya used the excuse of missing screw just so he wouldn’t have to talk about the soul link.

But it’s the first time he’s ever left you alone with Blue before. 

…

As the mission draws closer, Touya throws himself into training. You’re on the training floor with him most days, standing behind that big glass panel as you watch him spar with his peers. He still doesn’t let you down on the floor with him until he’s full out of Blue and close enough to the edge of the sparring floor to get to you. You’re not allowed in the actual training area, and even though he says he doesn’t want you clinging to him, it’s really because he wants to keep you safe. Seeing your human body near the giant machines that are HERO’s makes him want to grab you and keep you inside of Blue’s chest forever. 

You can tell all the training is taking a toll on him. With an excess of headaches and the occasional nosebleed, you continuously get into arguments about him cutting back on training inside of Blue. There are other ways for him to prepare that don’t involve his fragile brain being hooked up to an entity that takes so much. He doesn’t listen.

Later and later into the night, as your fellow pilots and handlers disperse and return to their rooms to sleep, Touya stays inside of Blue, testing her movements and sparring against test dummies and obstacles. Once you and Touya are the only two left on the sparring floor, you speak into the intercom attached to your head.

“Touya, I think you should take a break.” You tell him, “It’s late. Get some rest and then we can pick it back up in the morning.”

There’s a pause, then, “I’m gonna stay for another hour. Get some sleep. I’ll be done soon.”

“No, Touya. You’ve been at it for hours. You barely took a break for dinner. C’mon.” 

“You know, you sound awfully like a handler trying to tell their pilot what to do.” He teases, but you can hear the irritation in his voice.

“You are insufferable. I’m worried about you.” You groan.

“I’m fine. Go sleep.” He insists.

“If I find out you aren’t out of here in an hour—” Your line is promptly cut off, leaving behind static in your ear. You sigh and throw your com to the side. You hope he’s telling the truth.

With one last look at Blue, you make your way out of the training floor and find your way back to your dorm. 

Touya doesn’t answer the door when you knock the next morning. With a frustrated groan, you leave your dorm and head to the training floor, assuming he woke up early to get some extra hours in. The closer you get the the floor, you notice other members of the base rushing in front of you. Feeling panicked, you pick up the pace, jogging toward the training room to make sure something isn’t wrong. You collide with a body in front of you, nearly falling to the floor as you steady yourself. Toga stands in front of you, her cheeks red and eyes glossy as she explains something your mind can’t catch up to understand. The only thing you recognize is his name, and you’re running toward the training floor in an instant. 

You watch as Blue stomps around the area, her arms swinging in all directions, losing her footing as she moves. Knowing you can’t do anything on the floor, you make your way up to the overlook, finding Tenko yelling into your intercom. 

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” You ask him, pulling the headset off of his head and placing it on yours instead. 

“He’s out of fucking control. He won’t answer. I don’t even think he’s conscious in there.” He tells you, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in anxiety. “You’re not linked yet, are you?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes in frustration as you try to think. You know it’s the only way. You have to take some of the burden off of him, make him share it with you. It’s the only way he’ll survive right now. “Do you think you can get into Decay right now and knock him down somehow?”

He hesitates, “I can get inside. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to touch him at all.”

“You have to.” You plead, desperately. “I just need him down for ten seconds, tops. As long as I can get inside of her, I can save him.”

He looks at you like you’re insane, and maybe you are. But you know you can’t live with yourself if you don’t try something. Tenko nods.

“I can do it.” He tells you. You rush passed him, following the stairs down to the training area. You feel Tenk grab your wrist firmly. “You bring him back, okay?”

“I will.” You nod. 

He dodges Blue’s movements, weaving between her legs as he finally makes it to Decay. It takes a few moments for him to connect, but he goes straight for Blue. You watch the giant machines fight one another, but it’s clear that Blue’s lack of control hinders much of her ability. She needs Touya just as much as he needs her. It’s tough for Decay to dodge her swinging arms, but Tenko manages to knock her down quickly.

The fall shakes the room, but you waste no time running for Blue. Climbing over the side of her, you manage to touch your thumb to the pad on the outside to open her chest up. She begins to stand up, and you slip down, grabbing onto a bar beneath her ribcage. You let out a frustrated groan as you try to pull yourself up over the edge of the cockpit. Finally making it over, you see Touya sitting there, still connected to his pilot’s chair, eyes glazed over and blood gushing from his nose. You push the button that closes the panel in Blue’s chest, and you’re suddenly alone with him. 

Touya’s body is being jerked around by the movement of the mech, and you hang onto the walls of her chest in order to make your way to him. You situate yourself in his lap, taking his head in your hands as you look at him with tears in your eyes.

“You fucking asshole! I told you to take a break.” You sob, resting your head against his as you try and think of what to do next. “Touya, please. Please, baby, I need to you come back. Just fucking come back so I don’t have to do this without your permission, please.”

With no response from him, you wipe your tears, coming to terms with the fact that you have to complete the soul link now, or he’ll die. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Touya. Please forgive me.”

The soul link isn’t exactly an action so much as it is a feeling, an experience. There’s no trigger for it, no way to make it happen. It just begins. 

It’s Touya, aged thirteen, wild, chubby-cheeked and happy, in the pilot’s seat of his father’s HERO. It’s his drive, his determination, his anger, his hurt. It’s the day he snuck into battle, the day he couldn’t get out, flesh burning and fusing to the metal walls of his mech, the feeling now deep in your skin. It’s you, aged fifteen, hopeful, alive, shaking hands with your first pilot. It’s your heart, much too big and much too open for your line of work, it’s your passion, your fire, every piece of you that was broken down again and again until there was nothing left. It’s Touya and it’s you, and every single bit of your souls now tied together in one big knot. 

There’s nothing but darkness. And then there’s screaming. And then you can hear everything. Every thought running through Touya’s brain right now echoes in your head as you slowly come back to yourself. He can hear the same of yours.

It’s overwhelming at first, to have two sets of thoughts in your head at the same time, but you manage to focus. You can feel an anger inside of you like you’ve never felt. It’s almost like it’s your own. You need to come back. You’ve lost control of Blue.

In an instant, you feel yourself come back to your body, now straddling Touya like before, you feel his arms shoot around you and he tucks his chin over your shoulder to pilot Blue like he’s used to doing. He pays no mind as he presses up against you, but you feel your heart rate increase at the closeness. 

He’s so close.

I have to be. You’re in my lap.

Shit. I didn’t think—

Clearly.

I can’t fucking believe you. I told you we weren’t going to do this.

You were dying!

Then you fucking let me!

You’re jostled around in his lap for a moment as he stops Blue from destroying any more of the training floor, and Touya wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady.

He gains control of her quickly, moving her toward the edge of the room. You tuck your face into his neck, not wanting to distract him and keeping your thoughts at bay so you don’t overwhelm him. He powers Blue down, severing the neural connection between the two of you, and shoves you from his lap and into the pilot’s chair like you’ve burned him. He storms out of the cockpit, climbing out of his machine and leaving you inside. You think about the argument you had within each other’s head, how Touya would have rather died than be linked to you like he is now. 

You slump against the seat, comforted by the metal cage you’ve been left inside of. 

[msriri030]

Underground Devil

Adam x reader, heavenly apocalypse au, oneshot?

Disclaimer: murder, slightly heated scene, fighting

Masterlist

The Baptism of the Red Sea.

That was the day the Angels arrived.

Throughout human history, angels had been seen as celestial beings—pure, untarnished by sin. So when they filled the sky, humanity rejoiced. Some stretched out their hands, desperate to touch a fragment of heaven, while others offered baskets of fresh food, gifts for their divine visitors.

Everyone believed the angels had come to end humanity’s suffering.

It was a selfish thought. A human thought. A desperate wish.

Because if they had known the truth���if they had understood what angels really consumed—they would have run.

The Lord’s gospel, they called it.

Angels had come for only one purpose.

To extinguish the human race.

The air, once filled with cheers, became a sea of screams. People trampled friends and family in blind panic, scrambling to escape as angels descended upon them, their holy radiance dripping with human blood. Flesh was torn from bone. Streets ran red.

The ones who survived?

They fled underground, sentenced to a life in the shadows.

Because the surface belonged to the angels now.

And they…

They became the hunted.

But humans couldn’t survive completely underground. Resources dwindled, air grew stale, and no matter how well they hid, they still needed supplies.

That’s why the lottery was created.

Every few months, a group of “volunteers” were chosen—names pulled at random, their fates sealed in ink. Those selected had one job: go to the surface and scavenge for anything that could keep humanity alive. Medical supplies, building materials—if you were lucky, even non-perishable food like canned goods.

Most never returned.

And now, you were one of the unlucky chosen ones.

Night cloaked the ruined city as you moved with your group, a heavy backpack slung over your shoulders, heading back to base. The streets were graveyards of rusted cars and white feathers, their shattered windows like empty, staring eyes. You didn’t check inside. You didn’t want to know what rotted within.

Above, the skeletal remains of skyscrapers loomed, their broken silhouettes clawing at the sky. The wind whispered through the hollowed buildings, mingling with the pounding of your heartbeat.

Still, you kept moving.

Keep searching. But most of all—

You kept watching the sky, because you knew God’s messengers could be watching, too. Yet despite it all, you couldn’t help but admire the stars.

It was the one thing the angels hadn’t stolen.

Above the ruins of a broken world, the heavens stretched vast and untouched, glittering with cold, indifferent beauty. For a brief moment, you let yourself forget the dangers lurking in the darkness. The stars, distant and eternal, didn’t care about the blood-soaked earth below. Maybe that was why you found comfort in them.

"(Y/N)? Is everything alright?"

Magdalene’s voice was hushed, laced with concern. She was the last surviving member of your group—a friend you had made during your time on the surface. Short and lean, with red-dyed hair styled in short space buns that bounced as she walked, Magdalene carried a large gallon jug of clean water in her arms, shifting its weight as she glanced between you and the sky.

You offered a small, apologetic smile, falling into step beside her. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just… looking at the stars."

Her expression softened. "Oh," she murmured, her lips curving into a faint smile. "I guess that is comforting. It reminds me of how we couldn't see them before because of the light pollution. To be honest, when I was a shut-in, I thought I’d finally make friends one day, go shopping in the city, maybe even sing karaoke together… silly, huh?"

Her hazel, droopy eyes—framed by freckles dusting her tan cheeks—met yours for a fleeting moment before turning ahead.

"Not really. I would have loved to go with you, Maggie," you said, your smile widening as you spotted a decrepit mall up ahead. You recalled your Aunt Ruth’s ramblings about malls, remnants of a time when the surface was still full of life. It gave you an idea. "Why don’t we make it a reality?"

Before she could protest, you grabbed Magdalene’s arm, tugging her toward the mall entrance. A brief escape wouldn’t hurt—just a small indulgence in fantasy before you both resumed your journey home. Maybe you could even bring back a few memories with you.

Pushing open the rusted doors, you held them as Magdalene stepped inside.

If only you knew who was watching.

He watched, annoyed, from the old banking tower, playing with a stray kitten he had found. Today was supposed to be a rest day—no killing, no hunting—but then you had to show up. Worse still, you unknowingly brought Him with your scent. Saffron. So he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see you.

His dyed purple hair blew in the wind, stirred by the force of Saffron’s wings breaking before landing onto the platform. The white-haired man was something of a guardian—or perhaps more like his clean-up crew. He never quite understood why Saffron loved to devour human flesh. At least it meant he didn’t have corpses rotting everywhere, he supposed.

"Hello, Adam. Are you hunting those humans too?" Saffron asked, his glowing green eyes locking with Adam’s.

Adam glanced over his shoulder. "If so, I would be happy to join you, even though my wings are designed to be silent compared to yours."

He wasn’t wrong. Saffron’s white wings were long and broad, their pale blue primary feathers reminiscent of a hawk’s, built for soaring high above. Adam’s, on the other hand, were rounded, with soft, serrated feathers—perfect for gliding soundlessly behind any prey he chose.

Adam exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. "Alright. I’ll kill them for you—but stay here."

He stepped to the edge of the platform, spreading his black wings wide. The moonlight caught the silver shimmer woven into the feathers, making them glisten like liquid metal. Then, with a final glance back, he launched into flight.

Magdalene eyed the water jug nervously as she followed you deeper into the abandoned mall. Her gaze flickered around the darkened corridors, shadows stretching unnervingly across the cracked tile floors. "Are you sure we should be here, (Y/N)? Maybe we should keep moving—"

"Don’t worry," you reassured her, kicking an empty can across the floor. "This place connects to the underground railways. We can use them to get to the sanctuary. So, for now… let’s have some fun."

You came to a stop in front of a dusty clothing store display, its mannequins frozen in time, dressed in garments long untouched. A grin spread across your face as you turned to Magdalene. "Maybe we grab some new outfits? And if we’re really lucky, we might even find a working karaoke machine."

Magdalene hesitated beside you, her eyes catching on the glass storefront. The two of you stood side by side, your reflections aligning perfectly with the display behind it. Her breath hitched slightly as she imagined herself in a stunning white dress, Victorian lace trimming the collar and sleeves. Meanwhile, your reflection sported a sleek black suit with red accents—something sharp, something bold.

You watched the flicker of longing in her gaze and nudged her playfully. "What do you think, Magdalene? Just for a moment—indulge in a simple pleasure with me?"

She said nothing at first. Instead, she carefully set the water jug down, her fingers curling into fists. Then, without warning, she darted forward, scanning the debris-littered floor until she found a rusted bat.

With a wild grin, she gripped it tightly and swung.

Glass shattered on impact, the display window fracturing into a cascade of glittering shards. The sound echoed through the empty mall—sharp, defiant, exhilarating. Magdalene stood amidst the wreckage, chest rising and falling, the dim light catching the fire in her eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, she smiled—a real, unrestrained smile, bright and unburdened.

“Let’s!” she exclaimed.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you dropped your things, grabbing her hand and rushing into the store. Laughter filled the air as you both tore through the clothing racks, tossing garments into the air, daring each other to try on the most ridiculous outfits. The weight of survival, the looming specter of danger—it all faded, if only for a moment.

Eventually, you settled on a black sweater with devil horns on the hood, paired with black jeans and combat boots. As you adjusted your sleeves, you glanced toward the fitting room, waiting.

“Come on, Maggie. I wanna see—”

Your breath hitched when she finally stepped out.

Magdalene stood in the same white dress from the display, the Victorian lace softening her silhouette. Her hazel eyes shimmered under the dim mall lights, and in her hands, she held an imaginary microphone.

Then, without hesitation, she began to sing.

"I want you to stay'Til I'm in the grave'Til I rot away, dead and buried'Til I'm in the casket you carry."

Her voice wove through the abandoned store like a whisper from the past, haunting yet beautiful. When your eyes met, both of you burst into laughter—pure, unfiltered joy.

Magdalene plopped down beside you on the floor, resting her head against your shoulder. The light in her eyes dimmed slightly, sadness creeping in beneath the warmth.

“Thank you for everything, (Y/N),” she murmured. “This was the best day of my life…”

You smirked, exhaling softly. “Anything for you, Maggie.”

A beat of silence. Then, you sighed.

“Let’s head back?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Magdalene and you gathered your things, still smiling, still holding onto the fleeting warmth of the moment. You reached for the rusted bat, turning to say something—

But then—

A shift in the air, unnatural and wrong.

Your breath caught in your throat as movement flickered in the hallway beyond the shattered display. Silhouettes, tall and eerily still, stood against the dim emergency lighting. Their shapes were almost human.

Almost.

Then, the black feathers.

Sleek, pristine, and dripping with something silver edge.

Your stomach twisted. Your grip on the bat tightened.

“Maggie, is that—”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“An angel.”

The word felt heavier than it should have, soaked in fear and finality.

The moment of peace was over.

Adam stood before you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with a gaze so intense it felt like it could pierce straight through your soul. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, deafening in the heavy silence. Every instinct screamed at you to move—to run—but you couldn’t. You were frozen, trapped in his predatory stare.

A slow, deliberate smirk crept across his lips as he twirled a hunting knife between his fingers, the blade catching the dim light in hypnotic flashes. He always did love getting personal with his prey.

Then, without warning, he lunged.

The glinting steel arced toward you—

But before it could reach its mark, Magdalene yanked you back, her grip tight as she pulled you out of the way. Adam crashed hard into a rack of clothing, sending metal hangers clattering to the floor.

“RUN!” Magdalene’s voice snapped you back to reality.

Adrenaline surged through your veins as you grabbed her hand and bolted, your feet pounding against the tile. You barely had time to process what just happened before you found yourself sprinting toward the underground subway system—your only hope of escape. 

Adam wasn’t going to let you go that easily. His wings were relentless and fast, as he closed the distance with every stride. You and Magdalene sprinted, hearts pounding, but Adam was faster, his sheer presence a looming threat as he tore down the hallway after you.

The end of the corridor was near—just a few more steps, and you’d be at the staircase. But when you glanced over your shoulder, panic surged through you. Adam was almost upon Magdalene, his hand reaching out to grab her, to pull her into his grasp. Without thinking, your instincts kicked in.

You spun around and slammed into Magdalene, knocking her aside just in time to give her enough room to avoid Adam’s grasp. But as you moved out of way, the force sent you tumbling, and Adam’s body collided with you, shoving you both toward the end of the staircase. The momentum was too much. The bat you had been clutching fell from your hand with a loud clatter, skidding out of reach.

In an instant, Adam was upon you. His grip was unyielding, an iron vice that clamped onto your shoulder and wrenched you to the ground with terrifying ease. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as pain flared through your body. Before you could react, the cold bite of steel sliced through flesh—a sharp, searing agony that ignited in your shoulder as the blade buried itself deep.

A strangled scream tore from your throat, raw and rugged with pain. The world around you blurred, your vision tunneling into the suffocating haze of agony. Above you, Adam loomed, his twisted smile stretched wide in satisfaction, his golden eyes gleaming with something dark, something insatiable. A predator, savoring the moment before the final blow.

But then—movement.

A shadow flickered just beyond Adam’s shoulder. Your gaze darted to Magdalene. She moved with a silent, deliberate grace, staying just out of his peripheral vision. The dim light glinted off the metal bat in her grasp as she crept closer, her fingers tightening around the handle.

Your breath hitched. Adam, perceptive as ever, noticed. His smirk faltered, suspicion flashing across his face as his eyes narrowed. He followed your gaze, beginning to turn—

You had no time to think.

With a desperate burst of energy, you yanked him down, your fingers tangling into his hair as you crashed your lips against his.

For a heartbeat, his entire body stiffened, wings flaring in sharp, startle reflex. His grip on the knife faltered, just slightly, just enough.

Then, like a dam breaking, something inside him cracked.

His body melted into yours, the rigid lines of control dissolving into something heated, something frantic. His lips moved against yours—hesitant at first, unsure, but quickly growing hungry. Desperate. He let out a low, needy groan, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers twitched at your sides, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

His inexperience was obvious—the way his lips parted against yours, searching, unsure but eager. The way he let himself lean into you, pressing closer, needing more. It was intoxicating, the way he surrendered without even realizing it.

Oh. This angel was probably a virgin.

Finally, you let him go.

Adam gasped, staggering back as if the kiss had stolen the air from his lungs. His chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, his usually sharp, calculating expression utterly undone. His golden eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at you with something raw—something almost reverent.

His lips were slightly parted, still tingling from the contact, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. His wings twitched behind him, feathers ruffled and disheveled. A deep, rosy flush spread across his cheeks, creeping down his neck, a stark contrast against his usual composed demeanor.he finally breathed, his voice hoarse, dazed,

“What… what was—” 

Slam!

The sickening crack of wood against bone echoed through the night as Magdalene swung the bat with every ounce of strength she had. The impact sent a violent tremor through Adam’s body, his wings flaring wide in a stunned reflex before they crumpled uselessly against him.

A sharp, strangled grunt tore from his throat as the force of the blow sent him toppling off you. He hit the ground hard, his hands flying to the back of his head where Magdalene’s bat had struck. His fingers trembled, gripping at the point of impact, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

You didn’t hesitate. Ignoring the searing pain radiating from your shoulder wound, you scrambled to your feet. Magdalene grabbed your arm, and together, you bolted toward the entrance of the underground station. The city lights ahead where a beacon of salvation, the cold, sterile glow of the station promising safety.

But Adam wasn’t finished.

With an enraged snarl, his wings unfurled with a powerful snap, propelling him forward at an inhuman speed. The rush of air behind you sent a chill through your spine. He was gaining on you—fast.

You reached the station entrance first, barreling inside just as Magdalene skidded to a stop behind you. Relief surged through you—until you noticed the look in her eyes.

She was smiling.

Something was wrong.

Then, like ice flooding your veins, the realization struck—you weren’t safe yet. The underground station had an emergency gate. A heavy steel door that could be locked from the outside.

Your stomach dropped.

“Magdalene—” You turned to stop her, reaching out desperately, but it was too late.

Adam’s dark silhouette loomed behind her, his towering presence swallowing the dim light of the entrance.

With one final glance at you—something unreadable flickering in her eyes, something fierce and unwavering—Magdalene slammed her hand against the emergency button.

A deafening clunk rang out as the steel gate groaned to life, sliding into place with an unyielding finality.

“No—Magdalene!” You screamed her name, panic clawing at your throat as you lunged for the gate, your fingers grasping at cold steel. But it was done. She was on the other side.

Trapped with him.

A scream tore through the air, raw and filled with agony.

“Magdalene! You sadistic bastard!” Her voice cut through the heavy silence, followed by a sickening tear. The unmistakable sound of flesh being ripped open.

You stumbled back as something warm splattered against the floor beneath the gate. Your breath hitched. Blood. A smear of red spread across the pristine white tiles, seeping under the barrier that now separated you from the horror on the other side.

Your chest tightened, a sob wrenching itself from your throat as you slammed your fists against the steel. No, no, no—

“Magdalene!” Your voice was hoarse, desperate, but there was no answer. Just the wet drip of something pooling.

Then—silence.

A cruel, suffocating silence that made your stomach churn.

Knock. Knock.

The sound was slow, deliberate.

You froze, your blood turning to ice as a voice slithered through the cracks of the door.

“Little devil… are you there?” Adam’s voice was sickeningly sweet, mockingly gentle. “Don’t cry now. It won’t be long before I find a way in…”

A pause. A soft, wet squelch.

“…And when I do, you’ll join her.”

Your breath shuddered, your body screaming at you to move, to run.

You hesitated for only a second before you spun on your heel, sprinting down the underground corridor toward the only safe place left—the hideout.

But even as you ran, Adam’s voice lingered, curling around you like a promise.

A guarantee.

On the other hand, Adam—no, his body—was screaming at him to make you his.

His breath came in ragged pants, his chest rising and falling with an unfamiliar, maddening heat. His mind was a haze, clouded by the remnants of your touch, the ghost of your lips still lingering like a brand against his skin.

A sinful moment. A taunt to his purity.

He clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching as he gripped the hilt of his blade. This is wrong. You were a temptation, a wicked, intoxicating curse wrapped in human skin. His wings trembled, caught between instinct and restraint.

The only way to cleanse himself of this corruption—this unbearable, tormenting desire—was to end you.

To kill you like the devil you were. Or at least, to have you all to himself.

[calisources]

𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃   𝐎𝐅   𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒   𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒   𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.   all   sentences   have   been   taken   from   the   hunger   games:   the   ballad   of   songbirds   and   snakes   book   and   some   from   the   movie   trailers.   might   include   spoilers   for   the   movie   and   book.   change   pronouns   and   locations   and   names   as   you   see   fit.

“Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.”

“Being from the Capitol doesn’t give you that right. Nothing does.”

“Well, as they said, it's not over until the mockingjay sings.”

“People aren’t so bad, really, It’s what the world does to them.”

“That is the thing with giving your heart. You never wait for someone to ask. You hold it out and hope they want it.”

“Snow lands on top.”

“I think there’s a natural goodness built into human beings. You know when you’ve stepped across the line into evil, and it’s your life’s challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line.”

“Before need, before love, came trust.”

“And try not to look down on people who had to choose between death and disgrace.”

“What are lies but attempts to conceal some sort of weakness?”

“The strain of being a full-fledged adult every day had grown tiresome.”

“You can blame it on the circumstances, the environment, but you made the choices you made, no one else.”

“Wars are won by heads not hearts.”

“There is a point to everything or nothing at all, depending on your worldview.”

“You're mine and I'm yours. It's written in the stars.”

“But better off sad than dead.”

“What young brains lack in experience they sometimes make up for in idealism. Nothing seems impossible to them.”

“I think it’s more important than love. I mean, I love all kinds of things I don’t trust.”

“I’m planning to build a whole new beautiful life here. One where, in my own small way, I can make the world a better place.”

“If the war’s impossible to end, then we have to control it indefinitely. Just as we do now.”

“What was there to aspire to once wealth, fame, and power had been eliminated? Was the goal of survival further survival and nothing more?”

“They were both after all, still children whose lives were dictated by powers above them.”

“Star-crossed lovers meeting their fate.”

“I’m bad news, all right.”

“The ability to control things. Yes, that was what he’d loved best of all.”

“What happened in the arena? That’s humanity undressed. The tributes. And you, too.”

How quickly civilization disappears. All your fine manners, education, family background, everything you pride yourself on, stripped away in the blink of an eye, revealing everything you actually are.”

“A boy with a club who beats another boy to death. That’s mankind in its natural state”

“Please, Coriolanus, I would never forget the favor.”

“Who are human beings? Because who we are determines the type of governing we need.”

“What sort of agreement is necessary if we’re to live in peace? What sort of social contract is required for survival?”

“It’s just the kind of story that catches fire.”

“And last but least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

“Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains.”

“If history teaches you anything, it’s how to make the unwilling comply.”

“You know what I won’t miss? People. Except for a handful. They’re mostly awful, if you think about it.”

“And to erase me, they must erase the Games.”

“Why did these people think that all they needed to start a rebellion was anger?”

“And if even the most innocent among us turn into killers in the Hunger Games, what does that say? That our essential nature is violent.”

“It's the things we love most, that destroy us.”

“We all did things we’re not proud of.”

“What are the Hunger Games for?”

"If you want to protect people, then it's essential to accept what human beings are and what it takes to control them."

“Hope is the only thing stronger than fear."

“If the cause wasn’t honorable, how could it be an honor to participate in it?”

“He’s a Capitol boy and clearly I got the cake with the cream, ’cause nobody else’s mentor even bothered to show up to welcome them.”

“To dine with her suggests that you consider her your equal. But she isn’t.”

“The endless dance with hunger had defined his life.”

"In nature, things that are prey, that are weak, are marked"

"The world is not kind to those who don't fit in"

"We all wear masquerades in this Capitol"

, "There's a price for everything, Lucy. Sometimes you pay it willingly, sometimes it's taken from you,"

"Freedom is not given, it is taken"

“I’m not convinced that we are all as inherently violent as you say, but it takes very little to bring the beast to the surface, at least under the cover of darkness.”

[eco-lite]

Finally making more progress on the pile of ST books I own but have yet to read. Here’s some good stuff from The Vulcan Academy Murders by Jean Lorrah.

[Image ID: The cover of the book The Vulcan Academy Murders. The background has lots of dark purple tones. In the foreground, Spock stands with a phaser pointed at a Vulcan creature with green skin, a cat-like face, a fin down its back, sharp claws, and a long tail. The creature is hissing down at Spock from a rock. End ID]

First of all, what is going on with this cover? Nothing like this happens in the book.

[Text ID: “Kirk recalled that all male Vulcans were married—had to be—and glanced at Spock. His First Officer, however, was very busy inspecting the almost un-touched wine in his glass.” End ID]

Interesting interesting. 👀

[Text ID: “Kirk had been given Spock’s room (underlined red by me) and McCoy the guest room in Sarek’s house—a house far from anything Kirk would ever have imagined as the home Spock had grown up in. He had envisioned either a sterile, unadorned ‘environment,’ or a castlelike ancestral residence. Instead, the house on the outskirts of ShiKahr was a simple single-family dwelling.” End ID]

This book is way too casual about Kirk sleeping in Spock’s childhood bedroom. Also, there’s no mention of where Spock is sleeping while they’re there???

[Text ID: “He remembered forcing Spock to control his emotions when he was five, and his schoolfellows taunted him for being ‘different.’ Under his father’s tutelage, Spock had refused to cry when the others shut him out of their games, calling him ‘Earther’ and ‘half-breed.’ Amanda had hidden her tears from their son, and Sarek had hidden his anger. Or had he? Perhaps I directed it at my son instead, he realized. He had intended to prepare Spock for whatever lack of acceptance he would face in life. And the message Spock received was that his own father did not accept him as he was, had to mold him into something he deemed acceptable.” End ID]

We love reflecting on our past mistakes. 👏🏼 We love character growth. 👏🏼

[Text ID: “’A computer cannot lie,’ said Spock. ‘Nevertheless, this one is giving false information.’ ‘Why don’t you try playing chess with it?’ came a voice from the doorway. Sarek turned to find Leonard McCoy, bouncing on his toes and grinning.” End ID]

I love them. I can picture this so perfectly.

[Text ID: “’What dost thou know of Surak?’ she asked finally—but her voice spoke more of perplexity than challenge. ‘What everyone knows: he was the founder of Vulcan philosophy. I know he is a personal hero to my friend Spock, the way Abraham Lincoln, from human history, is to me.’” End ID]

Kirk will bring up Abe Lincoln whenever he has a chance. That’s canon now.

[Text ID: “’You are not only anything, Spock. You are more, not less, because of your dual heritage. It is fruitless to wish now that I had made that clearer to you when you were a child.’ ‘You wanted me to be Vulcan.’ ‘That is true,’ Sarek agreed. ‘And you are Vulcan, representative of IDIC in its fullest sense.’ Spock studied his father. ‘You never put it to me that way. The last time you and I spoke as father and son, before I went to Starfleet Academy, you reminded me of how important it was that I think of myself as Vulcan. Do you remember your words, father?’ Sarek remembered. ‘I am Vulcan by birth. Your mother is Vulcan by choice. You are Vulcan by both birth and choice.’ ‘And then I disappointed you by making a different choice.’ Sarek searched his memory, trying to recover the logical reason for what now seemed completely irrational. Finally, he said simply, ‘I was wrong.’” End ID]

Yes! Let’s talk about our feelings! Let’s resolve those daddy issues!

[Text ID: “He went back to his room—Spock’s room, really. Kirk had brought with him a sturdy suit and boots, for Spock had suggested they might go camping in the mountains after the summer heat abated. (Last sentence underlined in red by me.) He put on the boots and the trousers to the suit, but decided the heavy shirt would be far too hot—" End ID]

Spock wanted to take them camping. 🥹

[Text ID: “‘He will recover, though?’ asked Spock. ‘Yeah—you can see him later, Spock,’ said the doctor. ‘He’s gonna be in considerable pain—you’re probably the only person he’ll be able to stand. Your son would’ve made a good doctor,’ he added to Sarek. ‘I don’t know how he does it, but he’s really good with people in pain.’ Spock’s eyebrows shot up at the unexpected compliment from the man Sarek usually saw him trade barbs with. Then Leonard left them to go back to his patient, and Spock turned to Sarek. ‘May I ask you something, Father?’ ‘What is it, Spock?’ ‘When Mother became conscious, you called her…?’ ‘Beloved.’” End ID]

Spock being very concerned about Kirk’s injuries. Bones saying Spock is the only person Kirk would tolerate while in pain. Spock asking his father about expressing love for an outworlder. It’s a lot.

[very-normal-abt-this]

I forgive you = I don't forgive myself.

 Here is a little psychological analysis of the worst sentence ever uttered in the history of everything. I've decided that Aziraphale is utilizing a subconscious psychological defense strategy called "projection" (I'm a professional psychologist, so I can use the lingo :P)

We all use this at certain times in our lives. What happens is, when we feel that our behaviors, feelings, or thoughts are unacceptable; When they go against some of our values and create an internal value conflict - we feel shame, anger, fear, confusion. Feeling this way about ourselves is extremely uncomfortable, so sometimes, instead of acknowledging those feelings ("Wow I am feeling really angry at myself right now"), people will *Project* those feelings onto the person who is involved in the situation that is causing us to feel that value conflict. And, we are more likely to use this defense strategy when our emotional resources have been depleted. When we don't have the emotional energy to recognize and cope with painful feelings that we are feeling. Sometimes its just easier to be angry at someone else, instead of being angry at ourselves, you know?

Now, lets look at how this concept applies to Aziraphale's reaction to *The Kiss.* We know that his emotional resources have certainly been depleted by all of the emotional events that just occurred in the span of a day: planning and executing the ball, building up the courage to ask Crowley to dance, actually dancing with Crowley in front of everyone, realizing that he put his guests in serious danger when demons show up, fighting for his life, seeing Jimbriel and Beelz get their happy ending and realizing that it is possible,  seeing Metatron come down from Heaven, and finally being offered an insane opportunity for himself and for Crowley. Wow, that is.... A LOT, don't you agree?  So, by the time Aziraphale is having the "final 15" conversation with Crowley - he can no longer effectively process unexpected and complex thoughts and emotions.

Uuuuunfortunately, that is exactly what he gets during the conversation with Crowley. First, Crowley has an unexpected and complex reaction to the offer of being together as angels (unexpected to emotionally unhinged Aziraphale, not to us of course). Then, Crowley proceeds to drops an emotional bombshell by doing something that has never been done before - openly discussing the nature of their relationship and his feeling about Aziraphale. After that, Aziraphale himself chooses to show the most vulnerability and honesty about his feelings that he has ever shown (i.e. "I need you!"). And what is the final cherry on top of this "emotional tsunami" pie? The straw that completely breaks the camel's back? (aka temporarily breaks his friggin mind) ***THE KISS.***

As an aside, I am not AT ALL saying that Crowley was wrong for anything that he did or said in the final 15. I believe he was right to say and do all of it. I am simply breaking down the factors that were present in the context of that conversation. And one of the factors is -- the timing of it all was just horrendous. It was horrendous, because both of them had very depleted emotional resources at that moment in time. Aziraphale was basically primed to become completely overwhelmed and confused by all the new and complicated emotions/ideas that he was required to process. On top of it, he was required to process them in a very short amount of time, with damn Dickatron putting pressure on him to make a decision ASAP.

Okay, so what do humans do when we are completely overwhelmed by thoughts and emotions? Sometimes what happens is - we REVERT to the familiar. We REGRESS to things that are the most automatic and easiest to understand. We revert to thoughts and behaviors that have been the most practice, even if they are not effective and not relevant to the situation at hand (which we don't recognize until later, when we are out of that "fight of flight" state). 

Back to Aziraphale. He is experiencing an insane amount of emotions during and after the kiss. He is trying to process his emotions and the implications of the kiss; and he is also trying to make a super hard decision, all at the same time. What he should have done is say to Crowley - "wow this is a lot for me to process right now and I'm completely overwhelmed. Can I please have 15 minutes to myself so I can re regulate my nervous system, and then we will keep talking?"

Unfortunately, when we're overwhelmed by emotions - its really hard to see the different options available to us. We go into a sort of "tunnel vision" and revert to our internalized and automatic beliefs and behaviors. For Aziraphale, that means - regressing to the old beliefs that Heaven has programmed into him. Maybe beliefs like: acting on carnal desires is wrong (look at what happened to adam and eve); good angels don't engage in physical intimacy and they certainly don't crave it or enjoy it; it's selfish to consider choosing your personal happiness and your personal desires over an opportunity to help others/help the world.   If those are some of his old values - Aziraphale has just acted against all of them!

When we act against our old values (even when we know that those values are no longer working for us, and we are actively working on changing them) - we still feel ashamed, guilty, and angry at ourselves. This is especially likely to happen in times of great stress and emotional overwhelm. So, now we get to the equation from the top. Aziraphale is feeling ashamed of himself, angry at himself, and guilty for his thoughts and feelings (i.e. for liking/wanting the kiss, for loving Crowley, for wanting to be with Crowley more than he wants to "help the world").

He is feeling that he needs to be forgiven for the way he feels, and for the way he is. However, due to his temporarily deficient emotional resources  -  Aziraphale is not able to accurately attribute the feelings he is experiencing (anger, shame, guilt, desire for forgiveness) to the correct source. He mistakenly decides that he must be feeling those feelings towards Crowley (not toward himself), and he must be feeling them because of what Crowley did (Kiss him), not because of what Aziraphale did (enjoy and reciprocate the kiss). And Viola, the process of Projection is now complete.

He says: "I forgive you" to Crowley, but Aziraphale is the one who wants his own forgiveness. Which, unfortunately, he does not get. At least not yet. (Yay for religious trauma).

In conclusion, the sad thing about bad timing and projection is: now Crowley is worried that Aziraphale sees him as sinful and unacceptable, as someone who needs forgiveness. But the truth is, Aziraphale is the one who still struggles with seeing himself as sinful and unacceptable, and as someone who needs forgiveness for his urges, desires, and feelings.

But, the good news is - Aziraphale does not always see himself in that way. We know that he has been putting a lot of work into breaking away from heaven's toxic values, and into developing his own values (e.g. "our side"). Like I said above, old habits die hard, they are more likely to surface during times of stress, and all that is a normal part of the process of psychological change.

I am very confident that once Aziraphale has a hot minute to himself, once he has time to calmly process everything that's happened - he will see some things differently. And he will eventually be doing the Apology Dance for "using projection as a deadly weapon. " :)

[mariaofdoranelle]

Stay a Little Longer - part 2

Fic masterlist

Written for @tomtenadia as part of our Rowaelin secret Santa! Thank you @goddess-aelin for organizing the event <3

Words: 3,7k

Warnings: none

After visiting a healer to check her well-being, it took Aelin almost an hour searching for books on Fae bonds until she partially gave up on secrecy and asked a librarian where she could find a section about Fae history and folklore.

Aelin refused to accept this bond until every other possible reason for its nonexistence had been ruled out.

So far, her theory was that after being in her human form for weeks, her Fae senses had fooled her into thinking she had a ridiculously rare bond with a prince from a kingdom Terrasen had a grim relationship with.

A carranam bond.

It had to be, since it snapped when their magics touched, a couple of weeks into becoming acquaintances and co-existing in the Ashryver castle. A cold feeling spread down her spine, dread taking over with the mere thought of being mated to Queen Maeve’s general. If they were something, it had to be carranam.

And if they were carranam, what would it entail? As a crown princess, Aelin was a political being more than anything else. If she needed him at war, what would he ask in return? Would he expect her to aid him in the war crimes Queen Maeve was known for?

Good thing that snap was just a misleading trick of her senses.

Aelin searched the shelf, grabbing every book about magical bonds she could find. It would be suspect to take them all to her quarters, so maybe she’d take only the bulkiest—more information, she presumed. It was an old copy with a leather cover, but it promised to be divided in two detailed parts, one for each bond.

“I find this author to be rather tedious and redundant. If you’re looking for a quick yet complete read, I suggest The History of Fae Bonds by L. M. Emrys.”

Aelin jolted towards the source that creeped on her book searching, but she knew it was Rowan before seeing him, with all his tallness and broadness and maddening smell.

“Prince Rowan.” She nodded. “Are you looking for something?”

“Yes. You.”

He looked at Aelin in a reverent manner that unsettled her, but she had years to perfect the art of not fidgeting in uncomfortable situations—in this case, when you have a potentially false bond that, even if it’s true, should not be acted upon.

“Very well, then. You’ve found me.” Aelin tilted her head and aimed for a playful approach. “I’ve been told I’m easy on the eyes, but I’ve never been hunted down just to be stared at.”

“I did—find you, I mean,” he babbled, still looking dazed. Rowan straightened. Swallowed. Looked deep inside her eyes and said, “I never dared hope the gods would bless me with a mate—to have one so breathtakingly beautiful makes me feel lucky beyond words.”

Rowan was a smooth one—he and his bone-melting words. It was the longest sentence she’d ever heard from him, and the sweetest a potential partner has ever said to her. For half a second, it was almost enough to make her wish the bond was true.

“As flattered as I am, I’m afraid your senses have fooled you.”

He blinked. “Come again?”

“I just don’t think there’s a bond, that’s all.”

“And that snap I felt as distinctly as a skull crush, you mean to tell me it was… ?”

“Could be anything. I just came back from the healer, you should do the same.”

Rowan cocked his head. His lip twitched. “If we’re not bonded and I’m simply ill or insane, then why are you researching Fae bonds?”

Shit. Prince Rowan wouldn’t be easily gaslit. She opened her mouth, a reply ready when he lifted a finger to stop her.

“By all means.” He turned around, and his eyes roamed the reading area before he picked a sofa and effortlessly levitated it towards them, the wind strong enough to life that particular piece of furniture, but controlled enough to not rouse a single one of the thousands of books laying around. He gestured at the sofa, now placed beside them. “Please, tell me everything about how we’re not bonded.”

Aelin sat, always ready to make her case. She had been told that her wits and strong will repelled suitors—however, instead of “correcting” it as a flaw, Aelin decided to use it to her advantage.

“I’m just… not convinced.”

Rowan nodded, brows furrowed as he tried to understand her.“You’re not convinced we’re mates?”

“Oh, no. I’m throughly convinced we’re not mates. I’m not convinced we’re carranam.”

“Carranam?” He leaned back, deep in thought. “It’d make sense given what happened today, but I’ve never heard of carranam bonds snapping—just mating ones. As far as I know, you can’t tell until you try.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I mean it. If we were to be mated—which we aren’t—to have my husband picked by fate after years fighting to choose him myself would be a cruel joke of the gods. And it doesn’t matter if we’re carranam or not. Even if I trusted you with the innermost recesses of my mind—which I don’t—our kingdoms are polar opposites when it comes to geopolitics. We would never aid each other in war.”

“Maeve is dead, Princess. I answer to a much kinder and fair ruler now.”

Oh yes, the very trustworthy Queen Sellene, who so far reigned for less than a year.

“Maeve would never leave Doranelle. She’s probably infiltrating Queen Sellene’s sleep or trying contact through a spirit board.”

Without leaving him time to retort, Aelin picked the book he recommended and got up.

“Now, I’m going to read this book out of curiosity, but you and I should never have anything other than mere courteous acquaintanceship.”

Aelin was two steps further away from him when he called again.

“Wait.”

She turned around and waited, silently prompting him.

“Your magic,” he said.

“What about it?”

“You’re a gifted fire-wielder, but not a skilled one.”

If this was his idea of wooing a “potential mate”, Prince Rowan was even more socially inept than she’d figured. “Your point is?”

“You’re not skilled because the most powerful magic wielders are engrossed with quests other than teaching a young royal, and the regular tutor’s technique revolves around using their pupils’ magic to the fullest, not channeling only a sliver of the overwhelming amount that claws beneath your skin.”

Aelin stiffened, except for her raging fire. Gods, the male’s audacity. “My parents have known that Doranelle has spies in our castle since before I was born. This is hardly a threat, Prince.”

“You overestimate my importance in Maeve’s reign. I know all of that because it was, once, my struggle as well—it took me thrice the amount of time you’ve been alive to fully master my skills. I’m a self-taught wielder, but you don’t have to be.”

She tilted her head. “How old are you?”

“Enough.”

“Enough?”

“Old enough to master my magic on my own,” his eyes brimmed with mirth as he continued, “and young enough to keep up with you once you accept our bond.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, chuckling. “You sound very confident about this.”

He raised both hands in mock-surrender. “The only answer I’m asking you to give me is about the magic lessons.”

She opened her mouth, ready to politely decline, but Rowan beat her to it.

“Think about it. Tell me tomorrow.”

˜˜

The one day Aelin had an excuse to wake up late, she couldn’t tell it was because of the late research in her room.

“I think you should do it.”

Aelin’s face whipped towards the divan Aedion was sat, a brush halfway to her face. She told him everything that happened with Prince Rowan while she adorned her hair and face for the day, and her cousin’s response was much different than what she’d predicted.

“Are you sure? I was afraid I’d have to talk you out of strangling him by now.”

The overbearing mother hen that he was—even worse than her dad. Aedion joining her in this trip was the only way her parents allowed her to spend the summer in Wendlyn, in the first place.

“I mean, it’s obvious that he only offered the lessons to warm you up to the idea of being his mate. But if you’re certain you two aren’t bonded, you should humor him while you can. He’s a legend. I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity in a million years.”

Aelin sighed and picked up a Varesian pigment to color her cheeks she bought on her first day here. “I’ll be treading carefully with him. I know the Fae are drawn to power, but for our very first interaction alone to be a claim like this…”

“Fae are drawn to power, yes.” Aedion kneeled besides Aelin’s chair and tapped his under eyelid. He would never paint his entire face like Aelin did, but he did enjoy when she concealed the bags under his eyes. “But any male could be drawn, just as much, to your wits, bravery, or any of your many traits, Your Most Pertinacious Highness.”

She chuckled. Between her magic, beauty and royal title, Aelin knew she’d have no chance at finding real love—it was impossible to know if a suitor would ever genuinely love her should she lack those three things. However, the one thing she could count on was her father’s promise to at least allow her to choose her future husband.

Her choice, not fate’s or the gods’.

Aedion continued, “And if you decide to take the lessons, you won’t need to worry about anything. I’ll be chaperoning your every interaction.”

Aelin threw her head back and cackled. There he was.

“Surely, you can find better ways to enjoy your trip.” She carefully swiped the brush under his eyes. If he let go of half of the nonsensical worries about Aelin, his lower eyelids wouldn’t be near as purple. “Think of Lord Fenrys. I’m sure he’ll will need some entertaining while I whisk away his friend.”

“He is rather handsome, isn’t he?” But then he shook his head, as if shaking the idea off as well. “No. I’m not leaving you alone with a Doranellian male.”

Indeed, Queen Maeve had been a creepy aunt of sorts for as long as both of them were alive. Her demanding to see Aelin and sending spies to her home while being a morally questionable ruler that collected powerful Fae raised her parents’ hackles, to put it lightly.

But Maeve was dead, killed by the demi-Fae she chose to neglect. Queen Sellene, on the other hand, was satisfying the demi-Fae’s demands so far, and the new taxes were an indication that she might want to open the borders further for trading. For Aelin, it meant that if Sellene wanted a less closed-off international approach, her general wouldn’t risk Doranelle’s relationship with Wendlyn by attempting something against Aelin at the Ashryver home.

As long as she didn’t give him any crucial information that could give him political leverage in the future, she’d be fine.

When she told Aedion as much, her cousin didn’t sound convinced.

“Fuck them. Terrasen doesn’t need anything from Doranelle.”

She smirked. “But you were rather fond of that Fae wine Fenrys showed you, weren’t you?”

“You make a compelling argument—one that I’m not falling for. Expect me to glower at Prince Rowan during every lesson you two have.”

Aelin sighed and went back to fixing her own face.

She had already scrutinized every angle of this last night. If his claim that it took him over sixty years to fully master his magic was true… she was screwed.

So far, Aelin got it all under wraps. An explosion in the Oakwald after trying to light a bonfire could be easily turned into a display of her power, a threat. But if her skills failed her in a way that would expose her lack of dexterity… it’d be an international disaster, for sure.

The sheer existence of a fire-wielder as powerful as Aelin was enough—it got Terrasen good allies and a strong threat looming over their enemies’ head, with a few downsides such as a castle booming with spies. The disclosure of the unstable nature of her magic would only cause more fear and attract assassination attempts, making her sound more like a natural disaster bound to happen than a honed weapon.

There was no chance Aelin would skip those lessons, evil Doranellian professor or not.

Once she was ready, Aedion rose to his feet and offered his arm, ready to escort her to wherever the pastries were. Aelin might be missing home, but the hazelnut tarts the Ashryvers have for brunch are quite effective at making her less homesick.

However, this time, she was joining brunch with a bit of an unsettling feeling in her stomach, because she still had the matter of Rowan—there was nothing to think about, yet she couldn’t help herself.

Who wouldn’t? It’s not everyday that a cute prince from a wicked land claims you’re his promised wife.

As wrong as he was, she let herself entertain the idea for one night only, to see how she felt. And did she feel things. Not for him, but for the way his shoulders filled his tunic—how all of him did, really. Prince Rowan filled his clothes so well, it almost made her forgot about his lacking sense of fashion.

That perfectly round ass. Aelin wondered if it was as tanned as the rest of him, and how it’d contrast with her bedsheets.

“You smell disgusting,” Aedion said, putting a stop to their stroll. “I’ll give you a second to recompose yourself before we join the others.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, but he was right. Nothing good came from a princess that smelled aroused in daily functions.

She couldn’t think about Prince Rowan like this, because he served as a general for a ruthless kingdom. One that had very fine Fae. The finest, even—Aelin concluded as she recalled the bulge of his muscles as he sparred with Galan last week.

No.

What was a pair of strong arms worth for, anyway? Sure, they were capable of pinning her in bed and doing the most sinful things… like breaking into her mind through the carranam bond and turning her into his slave. Among other things hot princes from dishonorable lands could do… like carrying little babies in his sexy arms… and teaching them all about the segregationist shit the full-blooded Fae in Doranelle were known for.

No. Nononono. Absolutely not. All sexy visions of Prince Rowan must be banned from her mind, for the sake of her homeland.

Actually, the last one was enough to cease her odd thoughts.

Aedion escorted her through hall after hall until they arrived at brunch… just to stumble upon Galan, Fenrys and Rowan leaving.

Aelin frowned. “Brunch ended so soon?”

She was really looking forward to those hazelnut tarts.

“Only for Rowan and Fenrys,” Galan said. “They were supposed to leave town a few hours ago, but a headache delayed their departure.”

“A hangover,” Rowan corrected, eyes narrowed at his coyish-looking friend.

Their departure.

So Prince Rowan was leaving about 12 hours after he practically proposed to Aelin in the library.

For a second, she felt bad for judging him based on his birthplace. As it turned out, males were still the same all around the globe—Doranelle included.

Aelin tried and failed to conceal the snark in her tone as she said, “When you offered to… spar with me, I didn’t realize the offer would stand for such a short period of time.”

“I had no idea you’d take on my offer.” He said, eyes sparkling. “How rude of me,” Rowan told Fenrys, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to leave for our hunting trip. I didn’t realize I already have an engagement with Milady.”

A hunting trip?

Oh, so he wasn’t leaving for good. Aelin felt silly for reacting how she did, but at least she would be accepting his lessons either way.

“How unfortunate,” Fenrys said, his eyes bloodshot and struggling to keep his head high. “I’m sure I’ll be able to forgive you after I sleep on it.”

The poor thing. The only thing Lord Fenrys looked sorry for was getting up from his bed this morning.

“I’ll be ready after brunch,” she told Rowan.

“By all means,” he said, gesturing towards the door that separated Aelin from all the pastries. “You’ll need the extra energy.”

˜˜

The Dueling Hall had been designed specifically for magical combat, shielded with enchantments that protected both the people on the bleachers and the intricate art with Wendlyn legends that adorned the walls.

And Aedion should never learn about that specific part of its architecture, since Aelin told him not to chaperone her for his own safety.

When she found Prince Rowan at the bleachers, he was already looking at her. He gestured towards the iron-bound doors across from the ones she came in from. Once they crossed them, Rowan sat at the short and broad marble staircase that led to the hall, facing the gardens.

Aelin sat besides him and, gods, it was beautiful out here. The Varese Royal Castle had a warm yet imposing sort of classical beauty that made its every corner beautiful, but this stretch felt different. Away from the busiest part of the castle, it was just Aelin, Rowan, and quartz statues witnessing whatever would happen here. If the birds and butterflies happened to be Fae guards, then they were doing a lovely job of adorning perfectly-trimmed trees and bushes to complete the scenery.

Aelin broke the silence. “I suppose I should thank you for not disclosing the true nature of our meeting.”

As in, for keeping her secret and telling people he’d be sparring with her instead of teaching her how to properly use her magic. Just the mere thought of having her lack of skills outed was enough to keep her up at night.

“No need. It works for me too.”

“How so?”

He shrugged. “I spar with a lot of people. This raises less questions.”

“Very well, then.”

Rowan crossed his legs, leaned against the Dueling Hall’s outwall and closed his eyes.

By the Wyrd, was he taking a nap?

Aelin cleared her throat. “I guess we should start?”

“We’ve started.”

“We’ve… not.”

“Feel the sun on your skin. The pattern of your breathing. Let it soothe your magic.”

Aelin closed her eyes and felt. In and out once, in and out twice. “Done. Can we move to the juicy stuff?”

“Not yet,” Rowan said with a measured tone, his politeness stretched thin. “Magic is easier to manipulate when it isn’t raging to be unleashed, and it follows your relationship with your mind and body. If all are peaceful, the fire will follow suit.”

“I feel very peaceful.”

“You’re impatient.”

Aelin huffed. “I thought we’d be blowing shit up by now.”

“We’ll be blowing a lot of things if your magic is unsettled when we start.”

Fine, Aelin thought to herself, as bratty as ever, and Prince Rowan chuckled. Gods, did she say it out loud?

She closed her eyes and followed his instructions.

The sun? Tingling her skin.

The birds? Chirping. Nicer than any bard.

Her breathing? Breathing.

La la la. What a waste of time. Ha ha ha.

Aelin’s deep breath ended up sounding more like a sigh. “I feel very rested and peaceful.”

Without opening his eyes, Rowan drew a small smile. “The gods know me too well,” he said, “they’ve sent me a mate as stubborn as me to keep me on my toes.”

Very stubborn indeed, if he was still insisting on that mate gibberish.

“Again with this?”

He finally opened his eyes. “Of course. We’ll be tied together for the next several centuries, I’m afraid.”

Aelin’s laugh was dry. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. Even if we were mates—which we’re not—why are you so certain I’d want a bond like this?”

“Nonsense. Every Fae longs for a mate.” Rowan tilted his head, as if he was trying to puzzle something out.

“Prince Rowan, I’m afraid you’re in love with the idea of having a mate rather than me.”

“I’m inclined to agree, though your theory may prove itself wrong in the foreseeable future.”

He couldn’t be serious. Aelin studied his earnest expression—softened pine-green eyes that peered back at her and full lips with its natural curves only, not smiling nor frowning—and wondered which one of them was going insane.

“I think you should kiss me,” she concluded.

There was a slight, ear-deafening silence before he said, “That’s quite the change from how our conversation started.”

“You see…” Aelin licked her lips, watching how Rowan watched them as he brought himself closer. “There was this boy I liked when I was 16. Lord Allsbrook’s grandson. I was so sure I was madly in love with him, but the spell was broken the moment we kissed. Were were just that incompatible. That could be your case, too.”

By now, he was so close Aelin could make out the darker patches on his already tanned skin—she couldn’t possibly be mated to a male that didn’t wear lightguard lotion on his face. Yet, her heartbeat grew faster each second with his proximity, heart-faltering when he tenderly drew his knuckles along her jaw.

“As endearing as your puppy-love story was, that won’t be our case,” he whispered an inch away from her lips. Caressed her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. “When I kiss you, Princess, it won’t be with the intention to repel you.”

Neither was Ren’s case, she wanted to argue, but her brain ceased to function with him this close—she lost all snark.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“They are,” she whispered, waiting.

“Good,” he said, and it was the last time she felt his words puff against her lips, his own retreated before their lips touched. “Now loosen up and feel your breathing.”

And then he retreated to how they were five minutes ago.

How rude.

Despite herself, she complied.

The sun? Not as hot as the flush on her skin.

The birds? Still chirping. Not as loud as her thoughts.

Her breathing? Erratic.

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[aziraphales-library]

Hey y’all! i know its pretty soon after this whole ‘do that again’ quote happened, so i understand if you wanna wait a bit before trying to find any, but id love if you could put together some alternative s2 ending fics based off that quote scenario. thank you in advance!

Here are all the "do it/that again" fics I could find...

insatiable by thechesapeakegripper (NR)

“Words only seem to die on his tongue while he tries over and over to speak, say anything, whatever he can to ease the deep-rooted ache now splattered across Crowley’s features as they part. It’s something that he’s never seen before, but can only be described as hopelessly, painfully human.” obligatory “do it again” fic :3

do it again by luciferfemme (T)

The kiss is electric. A fire burning deep inside of Aziraphale’s soul. One that has been burning for six thousand years. It should scorch him. Incinerate and destroy him. It’s hellfire surely, but he feels more alive than he has ever felt in his entire life. The kiss electrifies him. It’s as shocking as it is enticing and one thought rings true above the others. Do that again. Please.

do it again please right now by penmarks (G)

rob wilkins said on a panel that aziraphale's reaction to the kiss was, in his mind something along the lines of "please do that again right now i am trying to understand what's happening" and we all lost our collective minds on twitter. here's my little take on it

what are we going to do? by punkboiii (G)

A rewrite of the confession/kiss scene at the end of Good Omens season 2. “I for-” he stutters, “I… I fo- I forgive-” Aziraphale stops mid sentence, before holding his head in his hands. “Oh, God!” he sobs, “Oh! Oh, Crowley.” Crowley cautiously takes a step forward. “Crowley, please! Do it again. Right now, please Crowley,” he begs, finally looking up at them.

Please Crowley. Do It Again. by alessiazz (NR)

"Angel, what do you want? Tell me what to do, I can't..." And Aziraphale said it. For one time, he was honest about what he truly wanted. And he wanted... no, that's not the right word, he needed him. All of him. "Do it again. Please, Crowley. Do it again" And he did as he was told. ________ Or: what if Aziraphale actually said "Again. Do it again" after the kiss?

love is going to lead you by the hand by mygalfriday (T)

In all their time together, Aziraphale has grown used to the many and varied ways Crowley looks at him. Mercurial creature that he is, Crowley never runs out of emotions and his face displays them all so clearly. Never, in the whole history of their long acquaintance, has Crowley ever looked at Aziraphale the way he looks at him now.

"This isn't how it was supposed to happen" by Caztiel (E)

What if Aziraphale did change his mind after the kiss? Inspired by Mr. Wilkins saying that Micheal's face meant "do it again".

The Resurrectionnists by CaptainBlou (E)

Do it again. It all started with three words. Aziraphale couldn't resist saying them, and Crowley obliged. Do it again.

Snogging on Heaven's Door by Tetrisbiene (M)

What if Aziraphale actually said, 'Do it again. Please. Right now!'? A Post-Season 2 Fanfic. Aziraphale has to go to Heaven to thwart the Second Coming, and Crowley just can't let him go alone. Follow the pair as they meet old and new faces, go to heavenly meetings, sow mischief, and tempt some angels to fall in love with humanity. May the two find a flat surface to talk things over with each other before this big promotion can tear them apart. This is the story of our ineffable idiots in a roller coaster ride of emotions, heavenly bureaucracy, and stolen kisses against doors. Have some angst, some stupid puns in the chapter titles, and an elevator ride that's basically an excuse for me to write a cheesy alternative ending to help me get over the actual finale.

- Mod D

[kiththecat]

okok i have a few questions all related to the same topic

SO we know from how parrot is clearly a bird hybrid, and how branzy can just eat nether brewing supplies, there are hybrids or different humanoid species in this world

what kind of hybrid is Branzy? Does it have any physical changes to his appearance (like horns, a tail, etc)

Is Clown a hybrid? It would explain how hes been doubted to be human before. We also dont know a lot about his general appearance like skin tone and whatnot, all we know is the hair texture and color (curly, black)

(Continuing off that) How long is Clowns hair? Does he need to put it up in the mornings when getting ready, or is it short and choppy because its a bother? (Additionally, whats his hair care routine?)

Are the fake ears (?) that Kab wear seen as offensive to some? Maybe a mockery, or something?

sorry for the massive yapping THIS IS FOR ART PURPOSES I WANNA BE AS ACCURATE AS POSSIBLE WHEN MAKING FANART !!!!!

HI THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTIONS I SHALL ANSWER AS GOOD AS I CAN!

to the question of what hybrid branzy is i am going to be a little bastard and say i wont tell :3 itll be relevant later. but as far as physical features go i kiiiind of left it vague purposefully. mostly because in mcyt the designs of the characters are based on skins and all vary a lot and i wanted people to be able to read it and just have their own pictures of the characters. that being said, in my head branzy's non-human traits are purple eyes, white hair and horns (not canon, i never mentioned this in the fic, no one else has either, it's literally just ingrained in my head that he has horns). i know that's kind of a mess😭😭😭 but bear with me here i didn't start thinking about the elements of magical worldbuilding until like… chapter 9… this is the bad side of planning as you go

is clown a hybrid? i'll leave it to him to explain that at some point! :D

hair routine question made me laugh. i don't have a hair care routine. i dont know what part of having hair really demands an established routine. i cant answer it😭😭 im sorry ;-;

the fake ears question was so interesting it forced me to think about the culture of this world which forced me to think about the history but anyway. kab's situation is the same as branzy's where she just Looks Like That. but the ears are fake to me. and i dont thiiiink it's seen as offensive or a mockery. my idea is that this world has such weird genetics that people just dont care if someone dresses a certain way. i am now starting to realise that this doesn't reflect the real world at all. point is. to me this world, or at least the city, has a live and let live attitude. new headcanon just dropped. the city has the most diverse population of any city in the world so there's a lot more tolerance. maybe if you went out to smaller towns…. aaaand now its getting real world-y.

i realise now that you said these questions were for art purposes and i just went "so here are my reasons for some holes in the worldbuilding"

also ill answer the question about clowns nails here too! yes he has gloves on and yes i used nails as a descriptor at some point!! that's on me. sometimes when im writing a sentence like that im just like "well, this is sloppy and can easily be misunderstood but also I NEED THIS DOONE." what i imaged with that scene is just that the fabric of clowns gloves being just thin enough for branzy to feel the nails though.

i cant imagine any of my answers here giving you any clarity on the art thing and im so sorry for that hfskjhfdkjshfdkjs ONTO THE NEXT ASK 🫡🫡

[mossadspypigeon]

“zionism was invented by jews for jews. the majority of diaspora jews support it in some form because it’s the jewish landback movement.” okay. so when do palestinians get to do it? clearly, this logic is flawed. everyone should know that the nations we come from have always been somewhat mixed, that’s just how humans are. stop trying to justify ethnostates by whitewashing them as “landback” movements.

do you have to work to be this stupid? logic? you want to talk about a concept you’re allergic to? do you not know what the fuck jordan is, or any of the peace agreements palestinians said no to? or who palestinians even are? they’re arabs, you googly eyed fucking turd. jordan was originally supposed to be the palestinian state and was until their terrorist groups came in and started executing kings and shit. now jordan doesn’t want palestinians in their country.

“whitewashing.” jews aren’t white, you raggedy ass bitch. we have never once been considered white until whiteness was the new bad thing to be. that’s why the shoah happened in the first place, dingus. we were never welcomed anywhere either after a chunk of our population was FORCIBLY DISPLACED BY OPPRESSORS.

but history doesn’t count right? when jews are involved? 😂 i see you, dude.

just say you don’t know what indigenous levantine people actually look like or lmao WHO THEY ARE or where arabs come from or how they got to the levant. or what landback even is. or basic history. or how ethnicity works. so, in other words, you don’t even go here.

also arabs have 22 ethnostates. japan even counts as an ethnostate. i don’t see you hating them. instead, i see you hating the one jewish country instead. and you want to act like you’re not a fucking bigot.

we have one strip of land the size of new jersey where everyone has equal rights. yes, arabs have equal rights there and have parties in the knesset. the minority leader of the knesset was the EX ADVISOR TO ARAFAT for ages. he’s still in the knesset. an arab judge sentenced a jewish president. more arabs live in israel than jews live in europe currently. but you have a problem when jews want our land back. you deny history and basic facts when jews are involved. suddenly we’re what hitler and all the other jew haters said we were: invaders, a scourge that needs to be cleansed. and yet you think you hate nazis, right? you argue their points in every message you’ve sent, along with arab supremacist points.

and for some reason, you feel like you can talk over jews on what our ethnicity is and who we are. arabs are suddenly indigenous to the levant to you and jews are european. your worldview is so fucked, martians would likely know more than you.

you cannot colonize a land you were displaced from. indigenous status does not expire. learn some fucking history that wasn’t spewed out by the PLO propaganda wing in the 60s.

yes, fayez sayegh, head of the PLO propaganda wing in the 60s, helped come up with all the shit you are currently spewing, including the MYTH of israelis being settler colonialists. (khalid helped too.)

(also sayegh? syrian who’s buried in lebanon but pretended to be “palestinian” btw.)

he also contradicted himself before he joined the plo and wrote:

“Until World War I, Palestine was essentially and inextricably a part of the Arab World. As a political entity, it had no existence of its own; it was an indistinguishable part of a larger Arab region, subject to Ottoman rule. As a community, its language and dialect, its culture and social structures, were identical with those of the surrounding Arab communities.” (1956, Sayegh “Arab Israeli Conflict”)

aka the truth before he dedicated his life to chugging out propaganda you all eat up like candy. although tbh before the 60s, arabs didn’t like being called palestinians. that was actually reserved for jews, which is why they stole the term later.

but anyway, in conclusion:

jews are from judea. arabs are from arabia. you’re a moron who’s spewing bullshit. hope that helps.

you done? like what exactly do you know? 😂🥱

[ask-missparker]

You look just like your mother…

—

Pairing - Father & daughter - Mia & Arron

Summary: First meetings aren’t that easy…

Note: Out of the 4 father figures in her life, Arron is on the bottom of that list oops 😅 and Coulson is on the VERY top 😁

——

When she woke up, all she felt like a pounding headache near the side of her head.

It wasn’t pretty.

Last thing she remembered was fighting a set of goons and being chased out before blasted across a field. It was a blur overall.

“You gotta stop waking up in strange places after being blacked out, Mia…” She said to herself sitting on the warm bed.

These past few weeks have been nothing short of spectacular for her. A headache, literally. Getting her abilities after that accident, hiding them away from everyone around her, going on missions and being unable to control them for any kind of work related issues. Hell, according to sources she was actually useful for once.

A human life detector, they called her.

Pathokinesis. That’s what they come to call her range of symptoms. Being able to sense, manipulate and understand others emotions to her advantage.

Some would call her an empathetic woman now. Harsh truth though, but with everything that happened in recent history, she became a bit darker than her usual tone at times.

Now here she stood—sat in a room where it seemed almost impossible to believe. The room had brownish walls and a red accent wall, but the doorway had a bright white outline that led to a set of greenery just outside. The sun peaked through the windows as well.

Where am I? She wondered, looking over her shoulder to a small nightstand that held her hands. Gun, rings, bracelets, and her phone. She looked down realizing she was in lighter clothes, not her usual fashion of black pants and brown shirts. Nor her red sneakers. She was in gray socks.

“You look just like your mother…” said a male griff voice that held a smile to his tone.

In came a tall man in a black jacket, gray t-shirt, jeans and boots. His hair was overcast with the sunlight of the morning sky, to his dark hair looked a shade lighter. His eyes were dark brown but his smile never faltered as he entered.

Mia quickly reached for her gun and raised it toward the man in front of her. She glared, sitting up and sliding down the bed to stand up.

“Okay, wacko. Who are you? And how do you know my mother?” She quipped softly, as she asked him.

He held up his hand in defense and shook his head, “I should’ve said a different sentence, huh? I see my reputation paid for no expense. Good. Please, put the gun down, I just want to talk.”

“Not happening. Start talking, name now.” She replied rapidly.

“Fine. Arron Morse. But my line of work has called me…”

“The Hornet…”

“Ah, so you heard of me?”

“They said you died. But you had a skilled shooting range, take out the target, in and out from afar.”

Arron Morse. Bobbi Morse oldest brother to date. In the spy world, he was a skilled sniper and interrogator. Often going on trips to help others seek refuge, take down drug cartels and other illegal weapons with his crew. Sometimes he would collect and destroy information when needed. Depending upon what the job needed him to do.

Despite his tough exterior and issues of sometimes challenging or abandoning others, for reasons he can only describe himself. He was a decent player in the field and cared for others. But he never really stuck around, not wanting to drag others into his life and limit himself to just his best interests.

Or that’s at least what she was told.

All Arron saw in front of him was the little girl he seen from afar years ago. The daughter he never knew existed or claimed to say he knew. He watched for a long period of time before settling down to speaking again.

But his daughter was beautiful.

“Look, kid, I am not going to sugar coat this. You were on the fence and got hurt, so one of the guys here brought you in.’ He said simply.

“I am fine.” She said softly despite, her slight discomfort on her hip and shoulders from the fall.

“How about this? You go ahead with your ideas and i do mine. I just want to talk.”

“Again, not gonna sugarcoat this, angel. But we’re family.”

“One of Bobbi’s brothers?..my father?”

“Correct.”

“I’m not going here for a family reunion, dad. I got one—had one, depending on who you ask. Why are you here? How are you still alive?”

“I don’t need to explain everything to do. But long story short, after a mission gone south in the Pacific, I realized what I was really doing wrong on that trip and couldn’t make it. So I did not complete my assignment, instead I went undercover and took the dive into other things—work. I did not want to be involved in SHIELD anymore.” He told her.

She nodded, “As for Bobbi, me and mom?”

“Bobbi was better off without me and we barely had a good relationship over the years, I knew she was better off doing her own thing. As for mother…we were were in a rocky patch and when I returned a year later, she was with someone else…she moved on. Besides, me and May were never gonna work out.”

“Mom always did say, you never find your father..your father is the one to find you.”

“We were young, and whatever happened was in the past—”

“Did you know about me? Hmm? What about me?”

Arron sighed deeply, “…yeah, I figured out about you. It doesn’t take an idiot to notice that you’re their kid. Before you ask, I didn’t exactly stayed away and abandoned your mom. I just knew she wouldn’t want me around again after I left.”

“You’re rather open about this, more or less…” Mia said bluntly as she listened, slowly lowering her weapon slightly.

“Let’s just say I had time to think about it over the last couple of years. And I understand if you want to shoot me, I would.”

That caused a small scoff to escape Mia’s lip as a half smile appeared on her face. Arron gave her a half smile in return, still annoyed that she held the gun and he knew she wasn’t going to accept him that easily. He wasn’t exactly asking for acceptance or forgiveness of any kind.

“You didn’t think of trying to contact me?” She asked still holding her gun.

Arron shook his head, “No.”

“I would have at least liked to know…”

“That your daddy wasn’t dead? That your daddy wasted his time doing things instead of being there for his daughter? I can go all night!”

“I deserve a chance to know! Bobbi barely talked about you! I—”

“No, you did not! You had no right to be near me, I killed men and traveled a lot. I am not the father you wanted to bring to show and tell. I did the right thing here by staying away.”

Suddenly Mia’s powers went online. Her eyes flickered caching onto as many emotions coursing through Arron’s mind then gasped looking away, almost trembling the gun out of her hands.

She understood, or least she thought she did, onto why he did it. She didn’t need explanation for the rest.

“You have abilities too..you barely use them, one of the reasons why your were so good at your job…and you fell in love years ago..that’s how you ended up here…that’s where I am?” She mumbled in a sharp sigh and grasping all the feelings and throughts she could.

Arron was impressed by her ability to grasp it all and slowly nodded, “How did you know about the woman part?”

“I never said woman…but a man like you doesn’t end up in a pretty position like this, unless some woman came into his path.” She said, slight snark.

He smirked, “Clever girl.”

Amelia nodded and looked around, “Look I don’t need to know who she is or anything. I just need to get out of here and call Coulson.”

“Where do you think you’re going? You’re injured and here for a reason.”

“Look, Arron, dad, whatever, thanks for the save but I will be getting on your way. Bye.”

Mia did a peace sign with her fingers walking around before stumbling and almost falling down on the floor. Luckily Arron caught her bed she can hit the wooden floor and gently place her on the bed.

She was stubborn, understanding on what he did and whatnot, but she wasn’t going to stay in some unknown place with her newly found father.

She had Ben Parker, her dad who passed away and currently, as of right now, she had Phil Coulson and her friends.

In her eyes, Phil cares for her more than Arron did. He actually went out and bought her into a new place to live out doing something she wanted.

“Mia.” He started

“Amelia.” She corrected him, apologizing for her harsh tone.

“Amelia, kid, look, I am only trying to help you and your friend Skye here.”

“Skye? How do..?”

“She was brought in as well, she’s okay. She’s off doing something now. Try and give me a chance.”

“Why should I? I am not staying long. I don’t even know where I am exactly…”

Arron sighed, she was stubborn enough to give him attitude but he couldn’t blame her for it. Nor was he gonna stand out easily.

“I’ll give you an answer then. This place is called Afterlife, in Nepal.” He said simply, “The leader here name is Jiaying. She is a fellow Inhuman, or as some would call them, mutants.”

Mia nodded, “…she is the woman you love..?”

“I…yes. I care for her. It’s a long story.”

“Arron Morse fell in love with a woman named Jiaying..?”

Mia knew she getting on his nerves but she just needed to repeat it out loud and put it all together, to understand where she is.

“Sorry..” She mumbled and gestured for him to continue.

He nodded, “Yeah, so…it’s a lot to explain and I will do that later. But angel, I need you to understand that I am here to do a job and you stumble upon my path here today…can you do me one favor?”

“Depends, what is it?”

“Try and let me get to know you. Then you can be on your merry way and we never have to see each other again?”

“…sure, why not? But I’m not exactly calling you dad.”

~~~

That’s all folks! I know it’s kinda all over the place. But I hope you like it.

Gonna change her father’s powers 🤔 any ideas let me know

Fun Fact! Jeremy’s FC is in this episode too 😉 along with a few other things

- @gcthvile @meiramel l l @aidanxsophxoxo @blueboirick @wizzzardofoz z z @finlayholmes @ethan-lensherr @elzabeth-stark k @marvelsfavoriteuncle @sci-fi-lexcon @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @luna-d-marsh @rickb-chaos @the-x-ladiesofnyc @trulysummersprivate @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre

[bella-rose29]

beautiful people

requested by anon: hi hi! Can I request Anthony Lockwood x reader fic inspired by the song beautiful people by ed Sheeran?

lockwood x gn!reader (made it gn bc there wasn't a gender specified, hope that's alright anon <3)

I am so sorry that this took so long anon 😭😭😭

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: set after the empty grave but I don't think there are any actual spoilers (but you've been warned anyway), I think that's the only thing? edit: there is a very big huge massive spoiler that's mentioned in one sentence so be careful

tag list (I just copied and pasted from deck the halls bc I'm tired and couldn't be asked to search through everything, so feel free to not read this if you don't want to): @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12

Lockwood was buzzing with unreleased energy, which made sitting next to him on a plane incredibly difficult, since Y/n just wanted to punch him in the face. They loved him, but they didn't need his jitters when neither of the two of them had ever flown before, let alone been out of the country.

It was a private jet they sat in, the vehicle sent by some rich person from America who had invited the famous ghost hunting agency from England to a week in Los Angeles. While George had initially seemed sceptical of the plane and it's abilities to carry them safely across half the world, he'd deemed it good enough for travel. Lucy and Holly were joining them too, although both were far less happy about it than Lockwood.

"It's basically a huge shell of metal that hurtles through the air. Why do you think I've been for three nervous pees in the last ten minutes, George?!" Lucy had stressfully said to George after he had questioned her multiple trips to the toilet.

Y/n had gone along because Lockwood had asked, despite them having only a vague connection to the agency's work. As a member of the general public, they didn't often get involved in the actual ghost hunting (Talent had never turned up for them which meant fighting was extremely dangerous, and they quite preferred being alive), but often could spot things that the others couldn't when looking at the history of a building, or a family, or pick up on the more human things in meetings as opposed to being solely focused on the Visitors.

Their other link to the agency was a lot stronger, because they were dating Lockwood.

Naturally when he'd asked if Y/n would be joining them on the agency's one week trip to America they couldn't say no, not when he was smiling at them the way he had been, and now they found themselves wondering why the hell they let him have so much of a hold on their heart.

It was the middle of July, too, and there was a freak heatwave as they were leaving England. It was nothing compared to the temperatures they would be met with in L.A., but the English were never made for heat.

"Oi," Y/n said softly, prodding Lockwood in the leg closest to theirs. "Stop bouncing, you're making me more nervous."

He cast them a small smile, tilting his head to look at them. "Sorry, my love." They could tell he was nervous too despite all the smiles and bravado he'd shown earlier, more so than when he went out and risked his life every night, and they grabbed his hand.

"People do this all the time, right? And George very kindly worked out the likelihood of us dying in this thing-"

"One in a million chance!"

"Thank you, George!" Y/n sighed, turning back to Lockwood. "But my point is, we're gonna make it there, and then we'll have an incredible, completely free holiday, and then we'll make it back to Portland Row, alive and in one piece, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hey. We're Lockwood and Co. And you're Anthony bloody Lockwood." He smiled wider at that, a huge grin taking over his face and making him light up.

"That we are," he replied, pressing a kiss to Y/n's forehead.

~~~

They had only been in America for about an hour, and already the agents were exhausted.

It didn't help that the plane journey was long, or that their internal body clocks were telling them it was well past their normal time to go to bed despite it being barely evening in Los Angeles. It seemed to be that the darker it got, the more people there were, which didn't make sense to any of the agents. While ghosts were no longer being created, many still hung around and caused fear, and it was strange for Lockwood and Co to be walking around in the dark with no rapiers, or even a spare flare.

Fancy cars drove past, one of them stopping (on the wrong side of the road; how did anyone drive correctly if they were doing it backwards?!) and opening its door to let the agents in. George squeezed in first, then went Y/n and Lockwood, and Lucy and Holly pushed their way into a seat a moment later. How they fit the five of them combined with the ten? eleven? people already in there Y/n wasn't sure. Music was blasting through speakers that weren't even visible (seriously, where was the music coming from?) and coloured lights flashed across the interior of the car. They had cars in England, of course, but this was much fancier than anything they had on their side of the world. People were drinking and dressed in fashion that looked futuristic to the five of them, and Y/n could feel the others shift in what little space they had as they looked down at their own clothes.

Then there were the questions.

At first it was difficult to understand their voices, since the accents were thick and everybody was talking at once, all trying to be heard over the music. Then it was difficult to answer their questions, because they were asking about phones and movies and music that none of them had much knowledge of in their technologically-different world. When they learned that Y/n wasn't even an agent, they wanted to know what exactly their role was, which was also difficult.

"He's my partner," they shouted (it was too loud to talk any quieter), pointing at Lockwood.

"So you're not... you're not an agent? You're just here?"

"Uh... yeah. I help on cases sometimes though!"

"Oh, cool!" the woman yelled, then immediately moved onto the next conversation. Y/n settled back against Lockwood, feeling his arm come around their shoulders. They looked at George, noting his bewilderment at the hidden speakers, and then at Lucy and Holly who were trying to figure out how to use the phone that someone had given them. It didn't even look like a phone; it was far too flat and small to be of any use to anyone.

They were all just trying to figure everything out, but even those who were being really nice to them could tell that the agents from London didn't fit in too well.

~~~

The party was far bigger than anything Fittes had ever thrown, and the five of them felt very underdressed, despite how fancy they had gone with their clothes.

Two hours in, Y/n was trapped in a conversation with a group of people about some event that had happened recently and was apparently a worldwide controversy, and they were being asked their opinion on it.

"Uh... I don't really know what's happening, to be honest." It was awkward, being looked at like they were some sort of alien, and Y/n felt themselves shrinking the longer they were stared at.

"Do you not have the news over in England?"

"We do, but normally it's... English news? Our technology got severely stumped growth-wise because of the whole 'there are ghosts now and they can kill you' thing, so..."

"Oh, yeah, sorry! I forgot that you guys are behind!" It wasn't said with any malice or anything, but it only served to make Y/n feel worse about not fitting in with these people. They tried to inconspicuously look around for Lockwood, but within seconds he had appeared at their side and was spewing some excuse about needing to borrow them.

He took them outside to a balcony, and although it was still crowded there was at least a cool breeze. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Thank you for that."

"Anytime," he smiled, pressing a kiss to their cheek. He seemed jittery again, and Y/n wondered if all the flashiness was finally getting to him.

"Are you alright?" they asked, startling Lockwood slightly.

"Oh, yeah." He wasn't particularly convincing in his answer, and Y/n raised their eyebrows at him. "I mean, I know I'm always going on about being front page all the time, and getting famous, which we are on the front page, and we did get famous, but this is... it's a lot." He paused, looking around at everyone gathered on the balcony. "It feels... weird, too. I'm not sure what the right word is yet. Everyone is almost too fancy, if that makes sense."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I keep thinking I'm really underdressed and should borrow a really shiny bin bag instead," they joked, noting someone walking past who was dressed in something that looked very similar.

"You don't need to change a thing, my love. You look stunning as you are." Y/n felt their face heat up at his compliment, and hid their face in his body. His laugh made both of them shake, and his arms came around to hold them close to him. "I mean it. I don't think you could look more incredible if you tried."

"Lockwood," they whined, dragging out the syllables in his name as their face lit up more and more. "Stop it, seriously."

"What, I'm not allowed to tell my partner how wonderful they are?"

"Not this much in one go!" He only laughed again, and Y/n couldn't prevent the smile that came onto their own face.

~~~

Their last night had been spent much like the others, only this time it was only Lockwood and Y/n and the driver of the posh car they had been loaned for the week (once people remembered that the five English visitors couldn't drive, they had been provided with a driver as well as just the car).

The week was basically over, complete with drives in convertibles, gifts of expensive designer clothes, trips to fashion shows, constant questioning from people wanting to know who they were, and what they do, and who they know. George, Lucy, and Holly had stayed back at the hotel they were staying in, too tired to do anything else, but Lockwood had taken Y/n out, saying he wanted to spend their last night in Los Angeles together just the two of them.

They seemed to drive for hours, in reality not travelling that far from their friends, but the lack of destination meant that they were doing constant laps of the city. Not that it mattered, because neither Lockwood nor Y/n had any idea where anything was. Everything was tall, and imposing and fancy and bright and beautiful, and for the most part Y/n sat staring out the window, watching all the lights as they passed.

Lockwood was watching them, a fond smile on his face, seeing the lights reflected in their eyes like stars.

There had been constant lights the whole week, people with cameras at every event they attended, and while Lockwood was more used to bright things (since he had such strong Sight he often had to use sunglasses to stop the glare from a death glow), Y/n was squinting against the flashes. At one point Lockwood had brought out his sunglasses, despite the darkness of the sky, and handed one to Y/n while putting his own pair on his face. He kept his arms around their body at all times, whether it was just carelessly slung over their shoulders or tightly wrapped around their waist, because he didn't want to lose them in the crowds.

The agents really didn't fit in well in America, but they couldn't help it when they were just being themselves. He had figured out what the word he had been looking for on the balcony all those days ago was, too. He realised it as he gazed at Y/n, who had propped their face up on their hand, resting their elbow on the car door. All those people that they had met, at fashion shows and parties and everywhere else they had been, were too perfect, too fancy, too beautiful. It felt far too extravagant, even for Lockwood, and although he had thoroughly enjoyed his time in America he was looking forward to going home.

Because that's who Y/n was to him, and he knew that he was home to Y/n. It didn't matter if they went back to wearing their second hand clothes that were worn out and cheap, and it didn't matter if none of them understood how to use a smartphone by the time they left tomorrow morning, because that was who they were.

They were Lockwood and Co.

[scribbly-bear]

Backstory time for Patrick's mom!

Once upon a time she was the middle child of three princesses.

Her elder sister was a tortoiseshell calico (lion), and her younger sister was a grey spotted tabby (puma), and she was a color point lynx.

Her elder sister was betrothed to the prince in a neighboring kingdom. However she committed a horrible crime, and was executed. The public were told it was blaspheming the gods, but that wasn't the case.

With her older sister dead, Lavina was now the eldest, and the responsibility of peace through marriage between the two kingdoms, fell to her. She became the Kildare Prince's new betrothed.

She excepted her responsibilities and began studying to be a future queen.

But one day, she found a book, a book she had never seen before, or ever heard of. And she read it. The Book spoke of a god, it said He was The only God. At first she was repulsed, this book must be false, clearly, because they had their own gods, surely they were real.

But something drew her back in, something made her pick the book up, and read again. She read of a Savior, laying down His life for all of humanity. And suddenly, she began to doubt her gods, and all she had been taught.

She began studying the details of her gods history, and what was in this book. She found that The Book spoke truth, and her old gods, were lies.

She was eager to share this, and show everyone the light, the true path.

She told her sister, her sister was afraid.

She told her parents, her parents were angry.

They declared she was blaspheming the gods. They would have sentenced her to death, but she was beloved by the people, if they executed her, they might rebel. So instead, they cursed her, cursed her to be a human, and they banished her to their realm. But before her punishment, Lavina gave her book to her little sister, Edith, and asked her to read it.

Her sister was afraid.

She didn't read The Book, nor did she throw it away. But she kept it, hidden, and secret. Too afraid to read it, but she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it either, her sister gave up everything she knew, everyone she loved, for this book. So maybe it was important.

And with Lavina gone, the responsibility again was passed on, and Edith was now betrothed to the Kildare prince. She stayed in line and did everything expected of her, she became a picture perfect queen, had two sons and a daughter, and of course, showed her superiority by controlling her emotions.

After being banished to the human realm, Lavina met Patrick's (future) dad, a pastor's son. She told them that she was kicked of of her parents home and disowned for believing in God, so his family helped her, and eventually, they fell in love, got married, and started their own family.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Three

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: One Hell of a Past

Summary: Undertaker's scythe pierces Sebastian and his past.

            “Felis.” They spoke shortly, no fear. Their words held a history of mortal life in them.

            Perhaps this would prove interesting for Corvus.

            “You will do,” he said. “I shall teach you.”

            “Demons get teachers?” Their nose twitched.

            Corvus decided the habit was amusing. “Yes.”

            “Are you a good teacher?” Felis didn’t cower as they faced the demon before them.

            Corvus nearly smirked. They are shrewd. Good. That is necessary for survival. “I am a strict one.”

            “Very well,” said Felis. “When do we begin?”

            Corvus did smirk. “Now.”

l

            Corvus smirked as Felis blocked his attack and retaliated as quick as he. They had learned easily, adapting to each aspect of demon life with obstinate determination. There were the issues of their clear taste in contracts, but Corvus had seen them and overlooked their technique when bringing a soul to themself. They did their job with perfect skill. Corvus would not demean that.

            “Good.” He caught Felis’s attack and flipped them over, pinning them down. “But never expect you’ve won at any moment until your enemy is dead.”

            Felis lifted a leg and hooked it around his waist, flipping them over. “You mean like this?” Their claws lay on his neck.

            Corvus smirked. Yes, they had proved quite interesting. He preferred them to the other demons in Hell.

            Felis stood and then extended a hand to him. He took it, and they pulled him up.

            Yes, he preferred them.

l

            “You should choose various faces to wear,” said Corvus as he glanced at Felis. They stood beside him in their typical human disguise.

            Felis shrugged. “If a contract commands me to have a certain appearance, I’ll do it. But until then, I prefer this one.”

            Corvus looked at them beside him. He suspected the fact and body they wore was close to their original human form. “If you’re thinking of what you were, you cannot truly exist as you are now.” He was a strict mentor; he would not have his mentee fall into weakness due to attachment.

            “I don’t even remember my name or my family from that life,” said Felis. They put a hand on their hip. “All I know is that I prefer this face.” They smirked. “Not to mention, people seem to like it, and haven’t you taught me to draw humans in?”

            Corvus smirked. Good. That was the Felis he had grown to know.

l

            Corvus watched his latest contract woo the woman of his dreams, relaxing at the side of the ballroom. Then, a demonic energy piqued his attention, and he straightened, narrowing his eyes.

            “You have a nice face this time,” said a person appearing beside him.

            Corvus let a small smile appear on his face. “And you keep the same one.”

            Felis shrugged and smirked at him. “I told you, it gets the job done. And I’ve changed it a little.” It was a gentle transition from their human face to others, similar enough that Felis felt like themself, like Felis, different enough that no one could tell by looking who they were.

            “Which one is yours?” said Corvus.

            Felis nodded to a woman. “Father trying to sell her off to an abusive husband. You?”

            Corvus looked to the man attempting to ask a woman to dance. “Looking to make his fortune and become a Lord to get back at those who worked his family hard enough to drive them into poverty and starvation.”

            “Your taste hasn’t changed,” said Felis with a fond smirk.

            “Neither has yours,” said Corvus.

            “I have a type,” said Felis, smirking at the double meaning of the sentence.

            Corvus glanced at them. “So you’ve been growing in power, I see?”

            “Well, my mentor made sure I had the skills,” said Felis. “And I haven’t failed him yet.”

            “Perhaps I have to test that you haven’t grown rusty in anything since the last time we met,” said Corvus.

            “Oh? A test? What a strict teacher,” said Felis.

            Corvus extended a hand. “Not a test, just a dance between old…acquaintances.”

            “How gentlemanly,” said Felis. “As usual, you play your roles perfectly.” They took his hand.

            Corvus drew them close as they entered the dancefloor. Yes, his contract could wait a moment. He was catching up with the only being he could tolerate.

l

            Corvus hadn’t expected to be summoned, and as he looked around at the room around him, he saw no one ready to take a contract.

            “Apologies, it seems some blood got on the summoning circle during the battle. Go back to Hell. We’ve already got one of us here, and I’d prefer not to have another.”

            Corvus sensed the energy before he even turned. “If you’re here, then I’m sure the situation is handled.”

            Felis grinned when they recognized him. “Oh, good, I’d thought I’d be dealing with Vulpis or Belladonna or someone similar.”

            Corvus glanced around at the room. Corpses littered the room, and Felis stood with blood splattering their face. Blood looks…appealing on them. The thought was banished the moment it appeared in his mind.

            “Quite a mess you made,” said Corvus.

            Felis shrugged. “If my Mistress asks that I take care of the people who kidnapped her child as a sacrifice to a pagan god, I do it.” They smirked, and their eyes flashed fuchsia. “Fools tried to summon a demon to fight me, but I was a little excited about the meal I’ll be returning to collect, so I tore through them.”

            Corvus smirked. “Sacrifice to a pagan god? I’m honored.”

            Felis’s nose twitched, and Corvus noted fondly the habit hadn’t changed in years. “Please, the fools had no idea what they were doing.” They looked at him and cocked his head. “But now that you’re here, there are a few more pests in the building. Would you like to join me for some exercise?”

            Corvus grinned. “With pleasure.”

l

            Various contracts and encounters passed, each one interesting and entertaining for the pure reason that it was Corvus and Felis. They fell into step each time they met again, whether in a contract or not.

            Corvus knew that Felis was the only demon he would ever be fond of or look forward to seeing, and each time they saw each other, he was reminded of that fact. His fondness for them never left, no matter how many years passed between each encounter.

            The moment they saw one another again, it was as if not a second has passed since the last time. Felis was the constant in Corvus’s demonic life.

l

            Corvus gazed at the young boy before him, the contract who called him Ciel Phantomhive. He continually proved troublesome and demanding, but the soul burned bright with purity and promised quite the meal. So through his training as a butler and the boy’s impertinence, Corvus persevered.

            It didn’t matter if Ciel got angry or frustrated, Corvus would continue. It didn’t matter if Ciel was stubborn and a brat, Corvus would do his job. The boy had made a great sacrifice, and Corvus respected that and his contract.

            So he fought Ciel’s enemies, tore through all who would do him harm and served him as a perfect butler, standing alone beside the Earl, his salvation and one day to be his death. He would bring Ciel his revenge and watch as his soul grew to fullness and then devour it.

              After all, that was Corvus’s purpose.

l

            Corvus furrowed his brow as he gazed at the demon disguised as a maid before him. Ciel stood beside him, but the demon made no move towards his Master. And then he felt the energy, so familiar. Even years later and with a new face, Corvus knew them. This was Felis before him.

            “Oh,” said the newer demon, straightening.

            “Ah,” said Corvus, his dark expression relaxing. It was Felis. And he found his mood lightening as he realized they were beside him once more.

l

            “I’m ready for the corset,” said Felis as they prepared to go to Druitt’s ball.

            Corvus stepped up behind them, the blindfolding obscuring his sight but not hindering his movements. Corvus placed his hands on Felis’s waist, and there was a minuscule hitch to their breath as they felt his gloved hands.

            Corvus expertly fought back a smirk at their reaction before attempting to block out the satisfaction he’d felt at eliciting to the sound. He couldn’t help himself from trailing up their waist as if searching for the ribbons to tighten the corset, though. Corvus smoothly tightened the corset, and before he let go, his hands lingered, smoothing around Felis’s waist. For a single moment, Corvus allowed himself to consider what it would be like without his gloves or the corset and shift in the way.

            Corvus stepped back. That was a new thought about Felis.

            “I’ll leave you to finish dressing,” said Corvus, turning and leaving. As soon as the door shut, he pulled off the blindfold, and his eyes flashed. His attachment to the younger demon was more deeply rooted than he had realized.

l

            Felis grinned at Corvus playfully. “I am fortunate that you taught me. It is nice to have someone to look forward to seeing every few hundred years.”

           Every non-demonic word they spoke was frustrating as it hit true at Corvus’s own attachment to them. “Yes. I suppose it is.” The words were out before he quieted them.

l

            Ciel’s eyes remained tightly closed as Corvus held him protected from the flames. Corvus’s eyes turned to Felis and found them raising a hand to the flames. Their gloves were discarded on the floor, and they held were simply holding the fire in their hands. For a moment, all Corvus could see was them, a being wrapped in black standing amongst flames of gold, ruby, and amber.

            They transcended beauty and power.

            But beneath the calm expression and exterior, Corvus could see a storm in their eyes, a reflection of the fire blazing around them.

            Felis turned and threw the flames in their hands onto the bodies of Joker, Kelvin, and the Doctor strewn on the ground.

            Corvus smirked. There they stood, immune to the heat of the hellfire dancing around them, victorious over death, commanding it. And, hell, how Corvus loved them for it.

l

            “Corvus!” The call of his love brought his consciousness back as the strips of film stopped flying from his body.

            Sebastian’s eyes snapped open. (Y/N), Felis, was right there in front of him, arm outstretched. His eyes flashed fuchsia, and he grabbed their hand tightly. Pulling them to him, he hit the ground hard, sliding to a stop beside Ciel. (Y/N) rolled off Sebastian, eyes wide as they stared at his wound and the blood.

            Undertaker landed behind the group. “I knew you would protect them. Not what you’d expect of a demon, but we both know you two are a bit unusual.”

            “Sebastian?” (Y/N) gazed at him worriedly, and even Ciel’s eyes had widened in concern at his butler’s stillness. They cupped his cheek, alarmed by the amount of blood staining their hands from the fall with him. “Sebastian!”

            “I’m here…” Sebastian’s eyes opened, and he coughed and sat up. His gaze was focused on (Y/N) as they knelt beside him.

            “Your Cinematic Record was quiiite entertaining!” said Undertaker, strolling towards the group. “But…all the same, it appears you will only bring misfortune upon the young Earl here.” He raised his Scythe. “So why don’t we have you disappear?” He brought the Death Scythe down.

            Blood flew through the air.

            “Felis!”

            Sebastian’s eyes widened in horror as Felis pushed themself in front of him. (Y/N) gasped as the blade pushed through their stomach. Undertaker grinned.

            “Well, well, deary~. Isn’t this amusing?” Undertaker chuckled. “I reap your soul once, and here I am with my Death Scythe in you once more. Let’s see if your Cinematic Record is as I remember it.”

            “You wh—?”

            Before (Y/N) or anyone else in the room could process the fact that Undertaker had been the Reaper to reap (Y/N)’s soul during their mortal life, he ripped his Scythe from their stomach.

            Rolls of film unfurled from (Y/N). Their Cinematic Record was bare to all to be seen.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

@agentdedf1sh

@iamsexytrash

@oceansfloor

@neuvilleteismybby

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

For the Sentence Starters... I went with one from each category but feel free to pick the one that speaks to you the most. Or throw in all three, whatever works! Angst: 7, Fluff: 12, Misc: 1 💖

These come from this ask game! (If anyone else has more prompts for me, send them my way! I'm enjoying these ones a lot!)

Angst 7: Don't you ever do that again!

John felt a pair of hands collide roughly with his back, sending him staggering forward several steps. "What were you thinking?" a voice barked from behind him.

He turned slowly. "You're having a moment, Petty Officer," he answered coldly.

Linda-058, a woman known for her calm in the most adverse conditions known the humankind, regarded him with a vitriolic sneer. "No, Master Chief," she countered hotly, "it just appears that you forgot to switch your brain on today."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "You've clearly got something to say to me, Spartan. Say it."

"Oh, cut it," Linda barked. Her reactions were past the line of insubordination at this point, but he would let it slide. "You nearly got yourself killed today," the sniper continued, her temper burning to match her bright red hair. "Spare me the stoicism, Chief. You need to screw your head back on straight."

The Master Chief cocked his head to one side. She was right... he had nearly gotten killed earlier. But it was for the mission. From his perspective, sacrificing himself would have been a valuable trade for a successful mission.

Linda, evidently, disagreed.

The female Spartan glared daggers at John, her chest heaving under the weight of her rage. Finally, she dropped her gaze to the floor. "I thought I lost you," she confessed, her voice whisper-quiet. "It was... it was the worst moment of my life."

Suddenly it felt as though someone had stuck a knife in John's side and twisted. He looked at the barely disguised pain on Linda's face and realized what his action might have done to her. It wasn't a pretty thing to confront.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he said, the apology feeling foreign on his lips. He was a commander. The commander of the greatest soldiers in human history. Asking forgiveness was not something he often found himself doing. But for Linda... it was worth it. "I didn't realize."

He took a few slow, awkward steps forward. His hand landed gently on her arm. She wouldn't be able to feel his grip through her armor, but he hoped it made some difference.

Linda huffed out a sigh. Finally she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Just... don't ever do that again," she said firmly.

John wanted to tell her that he would do it again if the situation ever called for it. That he had to be ready to make the ultimate sacrifice at all times... that they all did.

Instead, he nodded. "I won't do it again," he promised. It was probably a lie. She knew that. But it was what she needed to hear at that moment.

Linda let out the breath she had accidentally been holding. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. "Good," she breathed. Then she lifted her eyes to stare at him from beneath her lashes. "Because if you do, I'll bring you back to life just to kill you myself," she challenged.

John grinned. That was a threat he could live with.

Fluff 12: He's so pretty I think I'm going to faint.

Serin Osman settled into the chair with a tired sigh. The massive woman across the table stared at a fixed point on the wall behind her, her face a somewhat adorable approximation of a pout. "Talk to me, Spartan," the captain said firmly. "Something's obviously wrong."

Naomi-010 dropped her head into her hands. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she groaned. "I can't focus, I can't sleep... it's like I'm possessed. This has never happened before."

Serin sat up straighter in her chair. This kind of fatigue was important to meet head-on when dealing with long-term missions behind enemy lines. "What's distracting you?" she asked in a measured tone.

As she waited for Naomi's answer, Serin's mind immediately began processing potential causes. Burnout - unlikely, but possible. Survivor's guilt - given the number of Spartan casualties of the past few months, a much higher probability. Exhaustion - the most likely by far.

Naomi pulled in a shaky breath before finally answering in a quiet voice; "Vaz."

Serin blinked. Then she blinked again. "Come again?" she asked, smoothing out her uniform in an attempt to disguise her mounting confusion.

The Spartan didn't lift her head from her hands. "Corporal Beloi," she confirmed, sounding absolutely miserable. "I can't stop thinking about him. I feel like I'm going insane.

Captain Osman did her best not to let a smirk show on her face. She suddenly didn't feel quite so bad about her own flirtations with Sergeant Geffen. "Is there something going on between you two?" she asked, trying to broach the topic carefully to avoid shutting the Spartan down.

Naomi shook her head vehemently. "No. At least... I don't think so." Finally, she lifted her eyes to look at Serin. "That's the problem though. I want there to be." Then she dropped her head back to the table with an audible thunk. "He's so pretty," she said pathetically. "I think I'm going to faint."

Now Serin couldn't keep the smile off her face. She didn't even try. To her credit, she at least didn't laugh out loud.

"What do I do?" Naomi asked, her voice muffled by the table she had shoved her face into.

Serin gently reached out and carefully patted the back of Naomi's hand, doing the most comforting thing she could think of at the moment. "Well... there's only one thing you really can do," she said slowly. Naomi lifted her face. There was hope in her eyes. "The next time we make port somewhere, buy him a drink," Serin proposed.

Naomi dropped her head again. "I was afraid you would so that," she moaned.

Misc. 1: All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.

"So, what do you do for fun?"

Senator Chuchi - Riyo, he reminded himself again - had such a light way of speaking. Like her words could just up and float away if they wanted to. She was wandering around Fox's office, trying to act as though the Spartan accommodations were at all interesting.

The clone knew, subconsciously, that the shelves on his office wall were supposed to be for holostills. For souvenirs from planets visited. For keepsakes from friends and family. He didn't have any of those things. So instead he had filled his shelves with extra charge packs, a few thermal detonators, and even the parts to a Z6 Rotary Canon for him to put together whenever the stress was too much to focus on paperwork.

"No time for 'fun,' Ma'am," he responded gruffly. "I have too much work to do."

Riyo circled away from the sparse 'decorations' adorning his walls and turned back to Fox. She reached out to pick up his helmet from where it had been sitting on his desk. Part of him wanted to snap at her. To take the helmet out of her hands and reprimand her for touching the kit of a Marshal Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic.

The rest of him knew that he would never be able to snap at Riyo. She could arm one of those thermal detonators and ask him to sit on it until it exploded for her and his only answer would be, "Yes, thank you."

To say he was in trouble when it came to the Pantoran Senator Riyo Chuchi would be an understatement of mythic proportions.

Riyo's delicate hands ghosted over the painted patterns on his helmet. She'd asked him, once, if the symbols meant anything. They didn't. He just thought that it looked nice. When he'd told her as much, she smiled at him as though that in and of itself meant something. She always smiled at him like that. Like he meant something.

"Come on, Fox," she goaded. There was a smile on her full, perfect lips that tasted like Jogan fruit. "There has to be something that you do for fun."

Fox glanced up at her from his datapad, offering her a rare half-smile. "You've known me long enough to know I don't understand fun, Senator. All I do is drink caf and swear at my troopers."

Riyo drew up to her full height. She wasn't a large woman. He couldn't help but smirk at her attempted intimidation display.

"And you have known me long enough to know that I hate when you call me that, Commander," she said sternly. She was the only person in the galaxy who got away with calling him by his name more frequently than by his rank.

For some reason, he hated it when she called him by his rank. It sounded wrong.

Riyo regarded him with a stern expression for several seconds before giving in and smiling again. "Well... we'll just have to find something fun for you, then," she said carefully. "Next time maybe I'll bring a board game along."

No matter how often they did this - which was almost daily - Fox couldn't help but worry it would be the last time. He felt an excited thrill tremble down his spine as she spoke so casually about next time.

Judging by the softening smile on her face, Riyo seemed to be reading his thoughts. She did that a lot. Sometimes he was convinced that she was a Jedi... or maybe he really just wore his heart on his sleeve. Or his face, as it were. Either way, Riyo was suddenly standing very close to him, her citrus-scented shampoo that she had used every day since he complimented it in passing once filling his nostrils and her hands delicately meshing in his black hair.

The first two fingers of one hand rested on the point of his chin, and she turned his face toward her. His eyes slid shut automatically, and then her lips were on his. They were soft, and full, and perfect. Just like the rest of her. She lingered longer than was strictly necessary - as if any of this were strictly necessary - and Fox soaked up every second he possibly could.

Finally, Riyo drew back. "I have to get going," she said, her eyes wide and vulnerable and sad. She always looked sad when she had to go. It broke his heart... but it also filled him with something else. A happier feeling. Pride, maybe, that such a perfect creature could possibly miss him.

"I'll miss you," he breathed. The words slipped out by accident, but he didn't retract them. What would be the point? They were true. He missed her every moment she wasn't around.

Riyo smiled, and it was more powerful than the light of Coruscant's star stabbing through the planet's ever-present toxic cloud cover. He basked in that light. Sometimes it felt more important to him than oxygen. "I'll miss you too," she sighed, her words barely audible.

Then she kissed him again. Then she was gone. She paused in the doorway, turning over her shoulder to say, "I'll see you tomorrow, Fox."

The door slid shut behind her. Once it did, and he was sure that no one could see him, Fox let a full-fledged smile fill his face.

He couldn't wait.

---

Thanks for the prompts! This was fun. Also thanks to @thefinaljediknight and @helix-studios117 for helping me decide which pairings to use! I'm also tagging @makowrites because there's some Vaz/Naomi going on and I'd hate to think she missed that.