#she's taller and heavier than me there’s only so much i could do in an emergency

[rainintheevening]

Hey all, would really appreciate prayers for my mom. Her back is in rough shape right now, she's in a lot of pain, and can't walk very well. They got a short extension on the insurance pay-out, so she can get back to seeing the osteopath she's been seeing, but probably not for long. God only knows where this is going.

Please pray for her, and me as I wrestle with trying not to shift into my old friend survival mode. I don't want to shut down, I want to stay open, I want to live cruciform. But it's hard.

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 6 - Seven Of Cups

summary : your detention doesn't happen like you'd have thought it would, and power goes out at the dormitories, leading you to odd exchanges with viktor

content warnings : fighting at the beginning of the chap but nothing much, other than that none (if you find anything to add here do tell).

word count : 7,6k

author's note : these bitches can't stop bantering okay, and i can't make them stop so yea

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world

masterlist : here

taglist : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal

You landed a blow to the throat of the girl facing you, who backed away as she regained some air and you were able to regain your composure as the screams grew louder all around you. All the way down your oesophagus, from your stomach to the back of your throat, the acid of your empty stomach burned all sanity.

Hunger could have made you do anything, the fire within making you nauseous as you tried not to wobble on your legs. You could have eaten the sandy soil on the floor of the pit if someone had told you that it would nourish you a little, or ease your ravenous hunger.

Your opponent was older than you, taller, heavier, and less gnawed by famine. The stands were screaming at you, one to get back on her feet, the other to strike until her skull burst. You could feel the rain of their spit on your skin as your opponent came back at you.

You tried to avoid her punches, retreating into the arena, trying to gain time by tiring her out. But she slapped you so hard that you fell to the ground. You tried to crawl back away from her as the crowd swelled in roars. You turned your head towards her for one last breath before she struck you a hard blow in the cheek.

The shock woke you from your dream.

You breathed in, wiping away the single tear from your cheek that had left a stain on your pillow. The gesture made you hiss, bringing your hand up to your swollen cheek, still aching. Ah, that's right, your little attempt at justice in the corridors yesterday came back to mind.

You huffed and puffed, turning over on your back in bed and letting your gaze drift to the ceiling, trying not to shake as you breathed softly.

Another nightmare, these days were not going to be easy.

You placed your hand on your belly, trying to control your breathing in the hopes of calming yourself slowly.

Why can't the past just die ? 

Because I'm not dead yet, you think. Only in death, maybe, could you say goodbye to all of this. 

You shook your head, you had too much to fight for, enough to defeat death, enough to push her back to your doorstep and chase her from your house no matter how hard she'd knock on the door of your mind.

To heal your wounds you had to stop touching them. You knew that, you knew that your little fight in the hallway had brought it back, that your constant fight against yourself and Viktor was pushing it all back to the front of your mind.

But what were you supposed to do? Let him be ridiculed like that, martyred by a student who wasn't there by any merit and only through the influence of a patron?

Since when had Viktor's respect been something you considered? You were supposed to hate him, not develop an obsession about hating him.

"Almost sounds like you're obsessed with me."

You hated the fact that, despite your best efforts to talk yourself out of it, he wasn't wrong. You turned, groaning in your bed. How could you agree with him? 

You thought back to what Selene had said to you once, ‘there are 3 reasons why people hate you: they see you as a threat, the people who hate you hate themselves, or they want to be like you.’

Did you want to be like Viktor? No, you certainly didn't, did you? The other two arguments were of course on your list, but was the last one really on it?

Yes, you probably wanted to be like him: to be first in everything, with a gift for conversation, to be almost perfect in everything he did...

You picked up your pillow, pulling it back over your head and letting the weight of it muffle your groan.

Obviously, you weren't going to get back to sleep, all those obsessive thoughts preventing any other idea from entering your mind. So you got up and went about your day.

You worked bitterly this weekend, not looking forward to your detention.

You wondered if your guardian knew, if the gossip had started to spread throughout the school and had finally infiltrated the teachers' room. What image would that give you? One of someone trying to teach a lesson to an insolent person attacking an innocent, or a bully who would never overcome the stereotype of her origins no matter how hard she worked?

You'd seen Viktor come into the café with Jayce, but they were both just passing through and had a takeaway. You couldn't help but notice two things about them. Firstly, the two of them were up to something, either about an assignment they perhaps had to do in another subject, or about a personal project that Jayce had never had to tell you about.

And secondly, Viktor couldn't stop looking at you.

His amber eyes were deeply piercing, looking right through you, searching for something, the key to an equation that would solve everything. But he couldn't find anything, at least not until you'd tell him about the missing piece yourself.

You weren't ready to give it to him. Not him, and probably not anyone else either. You always averted your gaze from his whenever you met him, but you felt it on you, lingering.

Monday came earlier than you would have liked, and when the day was over, you dragged your feet towards Madame Agrane's classroom. She was waiting there, arms folded, a stern expression on her face.

You gave her back a cold expression, devoid of any empathy. Your nature had disgusted her enough for you to find yourself in such a situation, thus it was for her nature that you returned her gaze so cold and steely.

You took your place in the room, taking out some of the homework you were planning to do, particularly the presentation you were supposed to do with - 

"Am I late ?"

Your head went from your notes to the door in a flash, as Viktor himself was standing in the doorway.

"Late for what ?" asked Agrane, confused.

Viktor stepped through the doorway, walking in your direction. "Detention."

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in surprise. What was he doing?

"You don't have det-" Agrane laughed nervously before Viktor interrupted.

"Yes, I do." He turned to her as he sat down just to your right, sending her a distinct look, one you'd given him during your work session for the Heimerdinger subjectc: silence.

She fell quiet, breathing out a little annoyed gasp before settling her half moon glasses back on her nose and jotting something down on one of her papers.

Viktor started to take out his things, and you shouted at him in a whisper: 

"What are you doing?"

He placed his notebook on the table and turned to you. "Currently ? I'm with you in detention."

"I know what-" you breathed at his irony, looking him in the eye this time, "what are you doing here ?"

"I'm doing detention-"

"Viktor," the word stopped him in his tracks, "you know that's not what I'm asking."

He stood speechless for a moment, and you realised that it was the first time you'd ever called him by his name to his face. You hadn't even called him by his name until now, no doubt because the word was bitter on your tongue, and he seemed just as surprised as you that, against all odds, his name from your lips wasn't full of spite.

He blinked repeatedly, turning to his page and pretending to search for his notes as he cleared his throat. "I thought it was unfair that you were the only one getting detention when you tried helping me for my own harshness."

You couldn't believe your eyes, your eyebrows jumping to your hairline in surprise. Viktor, of all people you would have preferred to have by your side at this very moment, had come to keep you company, and of his own free will.

It was almost sadistic, the torture he was inflicting on you. He was perfectly aware by now of your worries, or at least of the worries his presence was causing you. So why was he here?

The thought occurred to you that, eventually, Viktor might have respected you.

No... that was probably absurd. He was only here out of pity, or perhaps as a sign of student solidarity to get a message across. You could already hear the gossip: ‘Didn't you see? Viktor voluntarily went to detention as a sign of solidarity with the bully who broke the nose of the pupil who tripped him. How gallant!’

Would you have come if the roles had been reversed? If he had done you justice, taking the detention hour instead of you? Would you have shown honour despite what was at stake for you? You wouldn't have received any nice rumours about yourself, people would probably have said ‘she doesn't even want to be second to get detention, she always has to chase after him to try and shine in his shadow!’

You stopped looking at him, pretending to read your notes and rearrange them.

"You didn't need to do that." you tell him, your voice on the level of a whisper.

"And you didn't need to help me." he replies, turning a page.

"It was unfair, he deserved a good punch."

He turned to you, resting his chin on his palm, "So you getting detention for helping me is not unfair ?"

He had a point. It was a compelling and convincing argument, and for that very reason, you chose to ignore it. You didn't even exchange a glance with him, feeling the arrogance of the ‘I'm right and you know it’ weighing in his eyes.

"Don't you have anything better to do than being here ? Deaf kids to read to ? Students to beat with your cane ?"

"True that with my patron's help I could get through all of these fun times."

Madame Agrane gave you a reprimanding shush, telling you that your low masses would have to be kept to a minimum during this hour of detention.

You sighed, lowering your head to return to your notes, tapping the eraser of your pencil on your paper. You caught yourself glancing at Viktor a few times, despite your will, but inevitably returned to your paper as you tried to write down what you knew for the presentation.

Then, Viktor placed a sheet of paper near your side of the table. You watched him for a moment, the latter wearing his usual nonchalance as he read a passage from a textbook, his fingers following the lines.

You lowered your eyes to the page, which would have been almost blank if Viktor hadn't written at the top of the page in his own graceful handwriting: 

"A simple thank you you could've done it."

You scoffed, seriously? Was he still going to be petty about it? He had got himself into this situation after all. So you wrote in reply: 

"Me ? Thanking you ? That's a largeness of spirit I don't have."

You passed him the sheet of paper again with your written answer, and, as he read it, as if imitating you, he laughed back. You didn't think it was funny at all.

So he wrote on the sheet in turn, and you found yourself waiting for his reply, waiting almost impatiently for him to finish whatever he was writing. You wondered if he was taking his time on purpose, savouring the act of writing to you and keeping you waiting, keeping you itching for the outcome between his long, slender fingers.

He handed you the paper again, you pretending to be indifferent to it as you feigned interest in your notes before taking it.

"Are you still thinking about me? Is that why you're so unfocused?"

You stopped yourself from humming because you didn't want to grumble at his insolence. What a little... well, in a certain case and from a certain angle, he wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean you were going to prove him right any time soon.

So you almost aggressively took up your pen to answer him in three simple words: 

"In your dreams."

If only your dreams could be so tranquil... although you feared that one day Viktor would end up in your dreams. He haunted you enough on a daily basis, and if he came to chase you even in your dreams, that would probably mark the end of you.

He received the note, read it, smiled to himself and began to write back. You didn't know what you would prefer at the time, to at least refocus a little on your homework, or to continue this little round of exchanging notes that was taking you both back to high school.

You didn't even have time to get his next note while he was writing it because, almost with a bang, the door flew open. Before the astonished eyes of Viktor, Madame Agrane and yourself, a deeply angry Selene entered the room. She swept her eyes around the room, eyebrows furrowed over the dark, mystical shadow covering her eyelids, then came to rest on Agrane.

"What's all this about?" she asked, her tone stern.

Agrane seemed to want to make herself very small in her chair. No doubt she knew Selene and the links she had with the councillors. Which, in this case, placed her in a position to receive unwanted news should she have indulged in things Selene disagreed about.

"A simple detention for two students at fault, madam." she replied in a tiny voice.

"At fault?!" her dark shawl hemmed around her like a night wave as she crossed her arms, "and what fault have they committed?"

Agrane was about to answer, parting her lips, but Selene cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"I don't want to ask you," she turned to Viktor and you, still surprised, "I want to listen to them."

So she walked towards you.

"Them?" almost choked Agrane.

"Do you have hearing problems as well as judgement, madam?" she said, deeply exasperated as she turned to you and mumbled, "Who still gives detention in an academy."

You straightened up, giving Viktor a look as he recognised the astronomy teacher, but didn't seem to particularly understand why she herself had come to visit you, and especially in such an emotional state.

"Madame Agrane, I'm sure that-"

"If you think this dear lady is a liar, I want to see for myself." She was turned towards you, her eyes rimmed with a bluish night-shade, not letting you go. "I know when she's lying."

You huffed, exchanging a look with her. There was no need to make a scene of it, you thought, who knows what image it would give you? To be chaperoned when you'd beaten your academic success brick by brick?

"What happened." Selene asked, in a calm tone.

There was no need to lie to her, or to lighten the conversation with understatements. Selene, in this kind of situation, wanted to get straight to the point.

“We were coming back from the library,” you began, ”a student tripped my classmate-”

“What's your name, young man?” she questioned, turning to your nemesis.

“Viktor,” he cleared his throat, still surprised by the situation, ”Viktor Moravec.”

“Viktor huh?” she turned, raising her eyebrows at you and pointing him with one of her long fingernails before resting her eyes on him, ”you're the Viktor?”

Shit.

Viktor had, on every evening you spent in Selene's company - rare though they were - been an inescapable point of conversation. You couldn't help grumbling about him. Sélène being the only person around you who didn't know him from your hours of gossip wouldn't therefore be able to tell you ‘I don't see why you don't like Viktor.’ like all the others would.

And now she was meeting him.

Viktor nodded, and Selene smiled.

“I've heard quite a lot about you actu-”

“I knocked down the student who tripped him,” you resumed, hoping Selene wouldn't scatter her words and reveal more than was necessary. “He punched me, and I broke his nose.”

Selene's smile had vanished from her face. Her eyes then drifted to your cheek. 

You'd managed to find a concealer in the back of your drawers. Selene had given it to you a few years ago for an event you'd accompanied her to. It was covering enough to hide much of the hematoma on your cheek, but its dark color managed to stand out slightly through the cosmetic.

“And why are you in detention, and not the other student?”

Agrane rose from her chair, embarrassed surely. “Madame Sélène, this is all a misunderstanding. These two students are from Zaun-”

“And so?” questioned Sélène towards her, ”do they deserve less to be here?”

Agrane pouted, lowering her gaze.

“Look me in the eye and dare to tell me for even a moment that students from Zaun have less merit to study here when they're the ones who fight the hardest to even graze the walls of the academy.”

Agrane's eyes were fixed on the floor, at a loss for words.

Selene turned back to you. “You're no longer in detention, go home.”

You just stayed there for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek that had been hit. The pain pierced you, but you didn't let it show. You weren't particularly fond of the idea of having found yourself in this situation, and you didn't like the fact that you'd hidden your injury and your situation from Selene either.

She didn't seem too happy about it either, but no doubt for reasons quite different from your own. 

You gathered up your belongings, placing them in your satchel almost mechanically, Viktor seeming to do the same, although still startled.

You stood up, following Sélène out of the room. Once in the corridor, however, when Viktor wasn't far behind you, she pressed on.

“In my office, young lady. Immediately.”

You sighed, not much good would come of this conversation.

You didn't turn around, Viktor's gaze weighing on you and the weight of his future requests for explanations following you like your shadow.

You followed Selene, her heels clicking on the glossy floors of the academy. Hadn't you had enough trouble with teachers for one month? Heimerdinger, then Agrane, then her, the list seemed to go on without your good will.

She opened her office door, letting you in before slamming it shut.

“So,” she began, ”when were you going to tell me about all this?”

“I had no time to-”

“Even right after this happened?” she stopped you. “When else would you have told me, eh? Would you have kept it to yourself and hidden it under concealer until the blue faded?”

“I would have shared it with you tomorrow.” you retorted, pinching the bridge of your nose, ”I've had enough complications this week.”

“Since when has that stopped you from coming to see me and staying the night?” she resumed. “Do you think I'm not worried about you?”

You weren't angry with her; she only wanted what was best for you. You couldn't imagine her reaction when the teacher gossip started in the staff room. She was your guardian, and you getting beaten up in the corridors didn't reflect very well on what she should have done for you. Without her, you wouldn't be here.

And you were ashamed of your behavior. You had tried in vain to bring justice to the corridors, to reframe an impertinent man who wanted to play the tough guy by attacking someone weaker than him. You'd left behind a life of violence, and you didn't want to return to it. Yes, you were ashamed that Selene, who had educated and helped you, had to learn that the girl she had taken under her wing had come to blows.

You wanted to make her proud, and you felt you were failing.

You huffed and puffed, suddenly finding the floor an interesting piece of scenery.

Sélène's office was cosy. The velvet armchairs caught the warmth of the sun streaming into the room through the bay window taking up the entire wall opposite the entrance. A desk with dark, smoothed wood, a freshly cleaned chalkboard with new chalk, and a shelf where she kept her various teas played their part in the furniture of the office.

“I'm sorry I didn't come to you sooner,” you admitted, ”I just- haven't had good days lately.”

She crossed her arms, looking at you, softened. “More nightmares?”

You regained her eyes for a moment before turning your back on her and moving to one of the velvet armchairs, “Guess which lucky person has been chosen by Heimerdinger himself to be my presentation partner.”

Her shoulders slumped, her arms falling along her body as she walked over to you, sitting down in the armchair opposite.

“Why did you do this?” she questioned, ”Why did you go out of your way to protect Viktor, of all?”

You bite the inside of your lip, slumped in the armchair, eyes resting on the glass table where empty teapot and teacups reside.

“This guy, the student, he was... he'd called Zaunites rats.”

Sélène straightened up, listening to you, urging you to elaborate.

“He insulted Viktor,” you explained without meeting her eyes, “and when he had the guts to answer him, he made him trip over. I just... took Viktor's cane to push behind his knee and make him have a taste of his own medicine. As you can tell,” you pointed your cheek, ”he didn't like that very much. So, he gave me a punch. It was pretty hard, not that I've seen better but... I couldn't help myself. Call it muscle memory or whatever but I hit him on the nose and-”

You replayed the scene in your head, the muffled sound of Viktor's voice as he fell to the ground, the evil twang in the jerk's voice, and the looks on the lot.  You sighed as your eyes landed on Selene's.

“I don't like Viktor. Of that, you are aware. But he's one of ours, and sticking with our people is too important for me not to throw decorum out of the window because a guy with a golden ass tried to put him back under the sole of his shoe.”

You almost became carried away, letting the energy of frustration take over for a moment before calming down again.

“Turns out golden ass has a powerful patron,” you recounted as you rolled your eyes and hemmed your bottom lip under the ridiculousness of this situation. “It scared Agrane enough for her to put me alone in detention.”

Selene frowned, “You alone?”

Your knee was beginning to twitch with anxiety.

“Viktor decided to integrate himself into the detention.”

A small smile appeared on Selene's lips, to which you replied with exasperation, raising an eyebrow.

“This boy likes you.”

You rolled your eyes and parted your lips in shock as your head fell to the side. “Please don't send me that kind of curse or I'll never finish this year in one piece.”

She laughed gently, watching you for a moment. You couldn't figure out what she was thinking, couldn't figure her out.

“Do I disappoint you?”

Her eyes softened, sighing as if nothing in the world could ever bring her to this end.

“You never disappoint me, and I don't think you ever will even if you tried your hardest.”

“Setting me on another challenge?” you joked.

“I don't think this one is the kind I want to see you excel in.” she laughed.

The conversation continued a little longer, with Sélène asking about your last few nights' sleep and, incidentally, your day's tarot card.

This morning you had drawn the seven of cups, to which mention Selene, after an interested A-ha, straightened up to recite as if facing one of her clients: 

“Options, visions of dreams turning real, wild imagination. The card reflects illusions but also multiple choices. The character is in the dark while the cups are lighted. Is reality as delicious as the imaginary ? All the possibilities are on the table, only the mind limits what we can do. You are prone to illusion and unrealistic ideals. An opportunity with promises of more money, more fame, or more power may sound appealing, but as you look deeper into what is on offer, you may realise it’s not everything it’s cracked up to be. Your ego may pull you in a specific direction, but it’s important you check in with your Higher Self first.”

Your Higher Self, eh? She was on vacation, surely.

Night had already fallen by the time you left Sélène's office and returned from the academy. You felt lighter for having spoken to her; the weight of the lie would have hung too heavy in your heart anyway.

You returned to the dormitories, where Sky was cooking. You chatted for a while, asking her how her day had gone, before taking a seat at your desk and rereading your notes for the day.

Only, a good fifteen minutes later, all the lights went out.

You wondered at the time whether you'd been knocked unconscious, or whether you'd suddenly lost consciousness through exhaustion. It wasn't until Sky called your name in the darkness that you realized the power had simply gone out.

You groped around in the dark, looking for your flashlight, which you reached and turned on. You tucked it between your teeth, searching through your drawers. You'd kept some candles from Eris, Zaun candles made of a special wax that slowed down the melting time of the flame, perfect for a nation of miners.

After several minutes of diligent searching, you finally found them, holding them out to Sky as you picked up your matchbox. You gently placed the flames on them, taking one in your hands.

There was a knock at the door, probably from some students wondering if you too were experiencing a similar situation and if you had anything to keep the light on.

You opened the door, on Viktor.

“You,” you exclaimed in a tone that was equal parts repugnance and disbelief.

“Ah, how I've longed for your sweet voice,” he smiled.

“What do you want?” you inquired, tired enough as it was.

“Can't you answer ‘yes’ like all normal people?” he sighed, pointing with his chin to your candle. “Have you got any more of those?”

“Where's Jayce?” 

“Contacting the electrical crew.”

“The whole building's out?”

“The whole neighborhood. Do you have any more candles, or do I have to answer a whole form of your questions to get some light?”

“Here Viktor,” Sky stepped forward, handing him her own candle.

He took it, almost surprised by the gesture.

“Thanks, Ms Young.”

“Sky?” called Orcelyia not far behind Viktor, ”You coming? Everyone's reuniting downstairs in front of the chimney for some warmth.”

“Coming!” confirmed Sky.

“Wait, Sky?” you stopped her, handing her your own candle so she wouldn't get lost on the way since all the students were moving either blindly or with a meager flashlight. “You're not coming?”

“Yes in a-” you were about to answer when Viktor himself replied for you. 

“Not yet, we'll join you all soon.”

Sky offered a small smile, her eyes darting back and forth between you and him before leaving in the half-light.

“Did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?” you said, turning back to Viktor.

“I'm sure you'll manage to recover from the deeply traumatic event of me cutting you off while you speak. Do you have any more candles?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “But to find them I need light, and that means a candle.” You held out your hand to him. “Pass me the candle.”

He tilted his head back slightly. “What's the magic word?”

“Oh, yeah nevermind. I'll get it myself.” you say as you turn, trying to make out where to go in the gloom.

“Magic words really aren't your thing,” Viktor remarked, sighing and following you to offer you some light all the same. “Are 'please' and 'thank you' really that hard?”

You knelt down to rummage through the box where the candles were stored. “They're magic words, do you really expect me to waste them on someone like you when they're so full of worth?”

“Oh, I thought that miss Second would just-”

You were on your feet in no time, facing him, and pointing a candle at him.

“Call me that one more time, see what happens.” 

He looked startled in the half-light, eyes wide for a moment before they softened. He had a kind of mystical aura, standing there in your room. The almond of flame atop the candle reflected in his amber eyes and lit him softly like those dark, silent paintings.

“You're threatening me with a candle?”

“Zaun candle, much harder when it breaks. Want a taste?”

“If it's from Zaun I doubt it tastes good.”

“Better add that line to our exposé.”

“You're the funniest girl in the whole cemetery,” confirmed Viktor.

“Haha.” you say, not knowing what to say, so you pulled the minimalist irony card.

He moved his candle closer to you, and you exchanged a silent glance with him before bringing your candle closer to let it take flame at its tip. But he drew it back at the last minute, preventing you from doing so.

“Then,” he took a step towards you, ”pick your nickname.”

The indigence and intellectual vacuity of Viktor's principles at the top of their game was back.

“I don't want a nickname.”

“What should I call you then?”

“Don't call me ?”

“I'm afraid that is going to be slightly complicated.”

“Find a solution for it then.”

You moved your candle towards his again, but he withdrew it. Again.

“What now?”

“What did you and Sélène talk about, in her office?”

“How is that any of your business?”

“Shed some light on my questions and I will offer you some.” he said, moving his candle in his fingers like a bone to a dog.

You sighed, your shoulders drooping. “I told her what happened, that's all.”

“Is it, though?” he remarked, arching an eyebrow. “You're not telling me everything.”

“And why the hell would I tell you anything?”

“Because otherwise I will tell the entire building that you stole Jayce's nail polish he uses for his toes.”

You giggled. “Pardon?” you cleared your throat though. “Are you threatening me with fictitious concepts?”

“Do you underestimate my ability to spread rumors, miss?”

You clenched your fist, glaring at him. At least he hadn't affixed the sobriquet 'Number Two' to you again. He annoyed you, constantly having an answer, always something close on his tongue to send you like a knife gift by his accent.

He squinted, his mouth forming into a small, hurried O, as if he'd just touched a nerve. “Go on, I've seen more formidable foes in a toddler's tantrum. Yet, my question still remains: what are you not telling me here?”

You inhaled, raising your chin without ever leaving his gaze.

“You're wasting time with your questions.” you indicated, your chin pointing to the flame. "No flame takes its time."

“Like you said, Zaun candles.” he continued, observing the candle like a gem. ”Harder and longer no matter the situation, like its people. You set them on fire, and you'll be the one burning. So,” his eyes returned to yours, ”I've got all the time I need.”

You looked at him, his eyes boring into yours, waiting for answers. He wouldn't let you go, would he?

“Selene is my guardian.”

His eyes crinkled for a moment. “Your guardian?” 

“My legal guardian. Is that enough for you, or do I have to answer a whole form of your questions to get some light?”

He stayed here for a moment, parted lips from your use of his previous words forcing him to be quiet. You hesitated to take his hand, just to stop him from backing away once more, but you had no need to do anything. 

He said nothing, simply moved his candle towards yours and, of his own accord, set the little rod alight. It didn't take long for it to settle at the end. After all, no flame takes its time. 

“Viktor?” called Jayce, coming down the hall. 

You exchanged a silent glance, Viktor's eyes seemingly full of questions in the face of what you'd revealed to him, but he didn't ask for anything else. 

“Over here,” Viktor indicated with a raise of his voice, his eyes remaining on you for a moment before turning back and moving towards the corridor.

“Ah, there you are.” Jayce breathed. “We went a bit too strong this time, I don't think this building can...”

But whatever Jayce was about to say died on his tongue as he watched you emerge from your apartment right after Viktor.

“... Can?” you asked, waiting for the end of his sentence.

“Can, um... warm the heater enough to cook something!” He smiled, far too proud of his excuse, mediocre as it was. “Yeah we uh, we've been getting issues with our stove lately so we just tried cooking on top of our heater...” 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously, a worried smile placed on his face as you let your eyes shift from him to Viktor.

“Don't look at me like that, we have to get solutions one way or another.” he said, so confidently that you could almost have fallen for this boilerplate explanation undoubtedly covering an entirely different truth.

“You're both part of the top students of all classes, and you decided to use a heater as a way to cook?” you turned to Jayce for a moment before returning to Viktor's eyes. “You'd allow him to go through such an idea huh.”

“Eh...” Viktor seemed to seriously consider the idea, looking up as if to imagine the scene.

“Did you go to NSI? The National School for Idiots?” you asked.

“Hey it's fine,” resumed Jayce, who clearly still had his sights set on making you and Viktor best friends. “How about we join the others downstairs, hm?”

You sighed, taking the front step down. “Jayce, your rose-colored glasses are indestructible.”

So you joined the tiny group of students downstairs, some of whom had even brought out blankets from their rooms to share. It was cold already, the heaters having all been turned off by the power cut, so everyone had gathered in front of the big fireplace in the hall.

Jayce was called out by other classmates, Viktor staying by your side while you remained slightly apart from the group of students.

“So,” Viktor began, “she's your guardian.”

You sighed, “Here we go again.”

“I wouldn't have imagined that Selene, serene as she is, would be your guardian.”

“If there's any fault in her upbringing, it's mine, not hers. Why do you even care so much about all of this?”

He turned to you. “Does it really seem that impossible to you that I want to learn more about you out of genuine curiosity?”

His sentence took you by surprise. Of all the things Viktor could have said, this most unsettled you. Why did he go out of his way to interact with you? To find you to tease, to pester you on a daily basis and throw in some of his jokes in the bunch while balancing it with genuine, honest questions like these?

Your lips were parted, nothing coming to the front of your mind as you tried formulating anything, but still couldn't manage as an unfortunately familiar voice interrupted you.

“So, how was the detention hour?” 

Viktor and you turned, the idiot at the heart of your detention standing not far from you. 

“Hey Tyler, quit it man,” one of his friends tried to reason, but to no avail.

But he pretended to be deaf to his remark. “Looks like Agrane hasn't lost her mind in the end, Zaunites like you should deserve a longer time in detention, especially behind bars.”

“Why, do we feel threatening to you, Tyler?” asked Viktor almost innocently, pressing the fool's name to his lips.

“What ?No-” replied the latter, baffled for a moment, then frowning and dilating his nostrils through his anger. “Pieces of trash like you just don't belong here, you're getting this place dirty by your sole presence.”

“Being a victim of your own mediocrity must be hard to endure every day of your existence, Tyler.” you chuckled, approaching him who remained standing not far from the fireplace.

“What,” he sneered, ”Miss Number One has become his dog now huh? His guardian to cover him any time he's in trouble?”

“Have you become our groupie?” Your lips almost stretched into a haughty smile, “Are you obsessed with us?”

His face contorted in incomprehension and shame.

“Aw, little Tyler is obsessed with us so much. You cared enough to ask how my detention was, now I'll kindly ask: are you looking for more stitches to cover your face? A black eye to match your nose ?”

He let out a laugh somewhere between mockery and nervousness.

“You wouldn't dare.”

“We're on a field outside the walls of the academy, what happens here, therefore, doesn't happen there and isn't related to it.”

He huffed like a rhinoceros, his shoulders dropping and rising rapidly as he came to clutch a poker before the bemused eyes and exclamations of surprise that rose in the students.

“You're going to pay you fucking bitch.”

But as he began to step forward, Jayce interjected between the both of you.

“Say that again, Tyler. I dare you.”

Tyler froze in place, surprise passing over his face like a suddenly opened curtain letting in the morning light.

“Talis?” 

Your heart pounded into your throat as Jayce's massive back faced you, separating you from a fool who knew only hatred and cheap ideas.

“What did you just call my friend, hm? Mind repeating that?” 

You met Tyler's gaze behind Jayce's shoulder, the latter exchanging a glance with you before regaining Viktor's in the distance.

“Got two dogs for yourself Viktor,” he said, raising his voice, ”don't you know animals are forbidden in this place ?”

“You should go back with your goldfish peers then,” you remarked.

“You stupid-”

“One more insult to them and you will be sure that a conversation will be held about your case to councillor Torman Hoskel.”

That seemed to be enough to turn Tyler from tomato red to white as a sheet. Jayce seemed to know more about the students than he was letting on, and use it to his advantage, much to your surprise.

The light suddenly returned, and the students all had to get used to the brightness again. Jayce didn't take his eyes off Tyler until the latter finally lowered his head.

“Well,” Jayce resumed, ”everyone, I think it's time for us to go back to our rooms.”

Tyler gave you one last angry look before leaving.

It didn't take long for everyone to pick up their comforters and scatter, Viktor joining you and Jayce in front of the fireplace.

“Having a conversation with Hoskel?” you repeated, confused.

Jayce sighed, his jaw muscle tensing for a moment as he watched you. “From what I remember of Viktor's explanation of last Friday's incidents, he'd mentioned having a powerful patron, or something like that.”

“And his patron is Hoskel?” you concluded bemusedly.

He nodded. “Yes, as well as his uncle.”

You chuckled, not believing the privileges hidden in every student at the academy.

“And how would you expect to have such a conversation?”

Viktor interjected, “By discussing it with his girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened. Your eyes went from Viktor to Jayce like two ping pong balls swinging between the two. Eventually, they settled back on Jayce.

“You have a girlfriend?”

He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Mhm.”

You weren't really surprised, in fact it would have been surprising if the opposite had been true. Jayce was handsome, successful, caring, a walking green flag, and it would have been the injustice of the century if he hadn't found love.

“Who is she ? Do I know her ?” you asked.

“Well...” Jayce shrugged, looking at the ceiling and then the fireplace, shrugging. “Sort of ?”

“What do you mean sort of?” you quipped.

“Let's say his girlfriend might or might not be sitting at the council.” sighed Viktor.

You turned to him, and by his sigh, you could well imagine how much of Jayce's time was spent talking about her. You chuckled at the thought, at the fact that Viktor, who was martyring you, also had a pain in the ass to put up with most of the time.

“Vik, come on,” Jayce breathed.

“What? She'd have figured it out one day or another.” confirmed Viktor with a shrug.

You listed the councillors in your head, eliminating all the men with ease to find two women. Councilwoman Shoola seemed to frighten Jayce more than anything else, with her long gold claw rings and gear ruff. That left only one obvious option.

“Are you seriously dating Mel Medarda?” you asked, your jaw ready to drop.

“... Yes?”

You gasped. “You are Mel Medarda's boyfriend, daughter of Ambessa Medarda of Noxus?”

“Let's not go too far with the titles,” Jayce laughed nervously.

“When did you- How did you-” All the questions suddenly overlapped, and Jayce placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“I will answer all of this in due time.” He stepped back. “For now, I'm gonna head back to our room. You comin Vik ?”

“In a minute.” he affirmed.

As Jayce rushed down the corridor to the wing of their apartment, Viktor turned to you, a flash of mischief in his eyes.

“I got a body guard for myself now, are you going to save me from papercuts when we'll be back to the library on friday?”

“Do you want me to push your teeth in?”

“You're supposed to be protecting me, not sending me to certain danger, Miss.”

“Whatever, have a night, Viktor.” you sighed as you made your way to your own dormitory.

“A night ? Are you really removing the word 'good' in here?”

“I am, have a night!”

You climbed the stairs to your floor and walked to your room, finding Sky again. She had turned the hob back on and resumed preparing the meal.

“Are you alright?” she asked, turning away from the mini kitchen, genuinely concerned.

“Why wouldn't I be?” you breathed, heading off to lie on your bed for a moment.

“This guy Tyler, he... You were so brave standing up to him.” she said, bits of adoration sparkling in her words. “Is he the same that got you in detention today?”

“The very same,” you sighed, placing your arm over your eyes as you lay back. “Fortunately for me, a teacher heard of it and let us out.”

“I see,” she said, turning back to the pan and its contents. “What did you and Viktor talk about when you were here? You took a bit of time to come down with the rest of us.”

The question was almost bitter beneath its gentle, curious tones. Acidic ideas resonated in it: the fact that you and Viktor had something going on away from everyone, even her and Jayce. Whether this jealousy was amorous or friendly, you weren't sure, but the wording made you feel a twinge of guilt.

It was absurd, though. Did she honestly think that, with the animosity that permeated you about Viktor, you'd have feelings for him and that you'd be... something more than classmates?

“He took the opportunity to pick up some notes I took for Heimerdinger's presentation,” you replied. “We split up the work so he needed to check he wasn't repeating himself with what I say in the paper. I swear if I cross the path of Heimerdinger again or that he puts me on a task with the skeleton king I'm going to shave his fur.”

Sky laughed, erasing your concerns with this gesture alone.

“If you do that I don't know how I'll be able to focus in class, his shaved version must be... so small?”

You laughed a little, ate your meal, chatted quietly until you went back to your respective beds.

You couldn't help thinking about everything that had happened that day. First of all, the fact that Viktor had voluntarily come to spend the hour, or at least the five-minute detention with you. Then the long discussion with Selene, and then the power cut... 

Once again you hadn't hesitated to take the lead on him, but that was on principle, wasn't it? 

When had the limit been crossed where you could put yourself in danger for him? And for his part, since when had he crossed the line where he would voluntarily, as a friend would, inquire about you?

Does it really seem that impossible to you that I want to learn more about you out of genuine curiosity?

You tossed and turned in bed. Did he mean it? Was he serious, or was this just another sarcasm to add to the long list of bickerings you sent each other on a daily basis?

Miss.

Your train of thought stopped in an instant, and any empathy you'd felt for Viktor vanished into thin air. You realized right then and there its connotation. That no matter what, you'd always be a failure, a miss.

✦﹒ previous chapter

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[kyujiminloves]

"What are we?"

Paring: Top Tipsy GP!Karina x Bottom!Minjeong

Genre: Smut, angst

Contain: creampie, cockwarm, rough sex, teasing, dirty talk, fwb, mark, biting, praise, degradation, mentions of alcohol, adultery

A/N: thank you @wintersera for helping me w the tags:< also this is my first fic/post!! Dont mind the incorrect grammar or spelling:(

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡♡¸.•*'

Minjeong's best friend, Karina, walked to your house tipsily because it was closer to her work. At her drunken state, she begs to stay over. The reason being ‘because I wanna stay with you’, type of bs. How can Minjeong say no to her ‘best friend’?

"What happened? Did something happen at work?" Minjeong asked, worriedly. Finally letting Karina in her home.

Karina sighs as she walks towards Minjeong, hugging her ‘best friend’, “Yes, it was a long day. I had to deal with some difficult clients and employees all day.” She reaches down and unbuttons her blouse, revealing her black lace bra underneath. "And then...I had a bit too much to drink at the office party." Her voice trails off as she removes her blazer and tosses it onto a nearby chair. She stands in front of Minjeong wearing only her black trousers and bra now, looking like a goddess with her perfect figure and gorgeous face.

Minjeong blushed, not knowing how to handle a drunk Karina.

"We should go to bed, then." Minjeong looked down, blushing by the half naked figure in front of her.

Karina nods, her eyes locked on Minjeong's face as she walks towards Minjeong's bedroom, her skirt trailing behind her. She licks her lips, feeling aroused by the sight of Minjeong's small frame and innocent expression. She can't help but think about how cute and sexy they look together, especially when they're in bed together. As she climbs into bed, she pats the spot next to her for Minjeong to join her. "Come here, Jeo." She purrs as she waits for Minjeong to crawl into bed beside her.

Minjeong crawls up on the bed, looking at Karina. Not knowing what to say, she randomly says,

"You're drunk." Minjeong mentally cursed at herself for rambling such an obvious thing…

Karina chuckles, her eyes half-lidded as she looks down at Minjeong "Yep, I'm a little tipsy. But don't worry, I won't do anything too crazy while I'm like this." She moves closer to Minjeong, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her little friend against her naked chest. Her other hand runs through Minjeong’s hair as she leans down to kiss her lips deeply, taking full advantage of the fact that she's the one who is taller and stronger than Minjeong right now. As Minjeong gives in and kisses her tipsy 'lover' softly, she feels like she could do anything while she's like this, including being more aggressive and dominating than usual.

She breaks the kiss and whispers into Minjeong's ear, "You know, even though I'm strong and in control, there's always a part of me that feels so weak and vulnerable. Especially when I see how beautiful and delicate you are. It makes me want to protect you." Minjeong blushed, not knowing what to say but warmly nuzzled Karina's neck in response.

Karina smiled softly, "So let me take care of you tonight, okay? Let me show you how much I love you and how special you are to me." Minjeong was confused, but could see how loving Karina was. What could go wrong? Minjeong thought.

"Good girl. Now lie down and let me make love to you." She gently guides Minjeong onto their side, facing away from her, before sliding her hands over her body, caressing every inch of skin until she reaches the desired spot. With a gentle touch, she begins to explore and tease, building anticipation as she slowly works her way towards Minjeong's most sensitive areas. Minjeong's breathing becomes heavier, and they start to squirm under Karina's skilled hands, their desire growing more intense with each passing moment. Finally, Karina positions herself between Minjeong's legs, her lips brushing against her inner thighs, sending shivers down her beloved friend’s spine. She takes her time, savoring every moment, lapping Minjeong's wetness. Minjeong moans loudly, gripping Karina's hair further down her wet folds. As Minjeong finally reaches the peak of pleasure, sending waves of ecstasy throughout their entire body.

Karina hears the sound of her beloved’s pleasure, knowing that she is driving her wild with desire. She continues to tease and pleasure Minjeong, using her tongue and fingers to bring them to the edge of climax again and again. She loves watching the way Minjeong's body reacts to her touch, the way they become completely lost in sensations that only she can provide. Karina knows that she is the one who has complete control over Minjeong's pleasure, and she takes full advantage of this power, making sure that every moment is filled with pure bliss for both of them. As Minjeong's moans grow louder and louder, she feels Minjeong's release approaching once more, Karina speeds up her movements, determined to push her over the edge and give her everything she needs. Minjeong in full ecstasy, cums all over Karina's mouth.

Karina feels the warmth of Minjeong's release, tasting the sweet nectar on her tongue as she swallows every drop. She relishes in the knowledge that she has brought such pleasure to her lover, and she smiles as she watches Minjeong's body convulse with pleasure. Karina's own arousal builds, and she can feel the pressure in her own core as she imagines how good it would feel to fill Minjeong with her thick, pulsing cock. Without warning, Karina pulls Minjeong's body to the edge of the bed. Impatiently unbuttoning and unzipping her pants to relieve her hard member. She gets on top of Minjeong, positioning her large member at Minjeong's entrance. Minjeong moans at the sight of this, blushing shyly with her hand on her face.

Smiling softly, "Don't worry, my love. Tonight, you'll experience a whole new level of pleasure. I promise you'll never forget this night." With a single thrust, Karina enters Minjeong, she groans, filling Minjeong with her immense presence. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and Karina can't help but marvel at the sensation of being inside Minjeong. She begins to move slowly at first, allowing Minjeong to adjust to the size of her cock. As Minjeong's body grows accustomed to her presence, Karina starts to increase her pace, moving faster and deeper within Minjeong, causing Minjeong to gasp and moan with every thrust. The intensity of their lovemaking intensifies, and soon both partners are lost in a world of passion and ecstasy. Minjeong gasped a breathy sigh, begging Karina to fasten the pace. Karina's voice is low and seductive as she speaks, her words dripping with desire and lust for Minjeong's small form. "Take it, my love. Take my big, thick cock deep inside you. Feel how good it feels to have me filling you up." Her hips began to grind against Minjeong, pushing her massive girth further into Minjeong's tight hole with each powerful stroke. Karina's hand reaches down and grabs hold of one of Minjeong's erect nipples, rolling it between her fingers as she uses her free hand to play with her nipple. Minjeong couldn't help but moan and groan under her beloved's touch. Karina smirked as she saw how much power she had over her. "My little slut, you look so cute under me. Show me how much you crave my cock." Karina's cock pumps harder and faster, her hips grinding against Minjeong's pelvis as she drives herself deeper into Minjeong's tight hole with each powerful thrust. Her hand keeps a steady grip on Minjeong's hip, preventing any chance of escape while she focuses entirely on pleasuring herself inside Minjeong's tight channel. Karina's mouth descends upon Minjeong, capturing their lips in a fierce kiss as she takes control of the situation completely. Their tongues dance together, exchanging saliva and passion as Karina's cock pumps hard, filling Minjeong's body with her thickness. Minjeong moans between the kiss, kissing her deeply with Karina's cock going in and out of her. Karina's eyes glaze over with lust as she continues to dominate Minjeong's body, using her strength and size to push them closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. She can feel the heat building within her own loins, and she knows that soon, she will release all of her pent-up energy inside Minjeong's welcoming depths.

"K-Karina!" Minjeong said between cries as she felt herself getting closer and closer. Karina growls, as she bites down on Minjeong's neck, leaving a mark as she increases her pace, her cock pounding furiously into Minjeong's core. Her hips rock forward, forcing her entire length to slide in and out of Minjeong's tight passage, sending waves of pleasure throughout their bodies. Karina can feel the tension mounting within her own body, and she knows that it won't be long before she explodes inside Minjeong's warm embrace. Minjeong couldn't handle it anymore, she cums all over Karina's big shaft. Karina groaned as she felt her cum all over her cock. Karina's cock twitches, releasing a torrent of hot cum inside Minjeong's tight hole as she cums along with her. The feeling of satisfaction washes over her, and Karina's hips continue to pound against Minjeong's body, driving her massive load deep into Minjeong's tight walls as she releases her essence inside her partner. Karina's voice is low and rough, a mixture of pleasure and satisfaction as she declares, "You're mine." Karina's cock remains buried deep within Minjeong's tight channel, her balls slapping against Minjeong's ass cheeks as she looks down at Minjeong with a mix of pride and lust in her eyes. She saw that Minjeong was tired and sore, she leans down and captures Minjeong's lips in another passionate kiss, sharing her seed with her partner as she revels in the aftermath of their intense lovemaking session.

"Mmm," she murmurs against Minjeong's lips, "That was incredible. You took my thick cock so well, my love." Karina's voice is soft and gentle as she speaks, her hands caressing Minjeong's face and running through their hair while her massive cock still throbs inside Minjeong's body. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, my love. And don't worry about feeling sore – that’s just proof of how well you took my cock.”

“Now,” she says, “I want you to relax and let me take care of you. Lie back and let me pamper you.”Karina's cock pulls almost fully out of Minjeong's body before beginning to pulse, releasing a final spurt of cum onto the sheets beneath them as she moves away from Minjeong's body. Smiling, she begins to clean up the mess they made, taking care of her ‘best friend’ in a way only she knows how. As she does so, she promises herself that this would be the last time they shared such an intimate moment. There was something special about Minjeong, and she knew that she wanted more of it in her life. Minjeong was already snuggled on the bed. Karina gently tucks Minjeong under the covers, making sure they're comfortable before joining them. She wraps her arms around Minjeong, pulling her close to her chest, resting her head on top of Minjeong's head as Minjeong drifts off to sleep, content with what they had shared tonight. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll stay here until you wake up.” Karina whispered softly, as she kisses Minjeong’s forehead, “I love you.” the latter hummed in response nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t fighting the urge to say it back.

Karina's heart swells with love as she holds onto Minjeong, feeling the warmth of their body against hers and the softness of their skin against her own. She could feel her ‘partner's ‘ heartbeat slowing down, indicating that they were falling into a deep sleep. Karina closed her eyes, but not before casting one last glance towards Minjeong to make sure everything was alright.

It was the next day, Minjeong woke up after that passionate love making between her and Karina. She sat up, slumping on the bed, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes adjusted to the light caused by the sun through her window. Minjeong felt that her best friend wasn’t there beside her, so she panicked. Minjeong ran her hand on the bed, she wasn't by her side. Minjeong ran around her own home, hoping Karina would be there, just making coffee. To her surprise, she saw no one. Feeling dumbfounded, the words she said that night echoes through her mind. Did she even mean everything she said last night? I mean, who could stay, right? She thought, feeling gloomy, looking for the after care from her beloved. She couldn't help but overthink; not even a note? A text? Minjeong felt like a one night stand, all alone. As she opens all her social media, she stumbles over a notification on twitter that has Karina’s name on it. Is it a text? She opens the notification

"I guess I know my answer."

[not-your-bro]

do you have any ud hcs? It could be anything idc

ooh, free rein! sure sure. josh + chris are def the characters i most frequently rotate in my mind, so some stuff about them off the top of my head...

josh

film studies major. i must admit i don't adhere to the psych major he's given in canon, though director/producer roles aren't my first choice for him either. he goes all-in on tangible stuff for his prank, so i put him in the practical effects arena.

artist in his spare time, but big surprise he's cagey about it. like, chris sees josh's sketchbook in josh's room all the time, but he's never actually looked inside.

with both movie sfx + art, josh is practical > digital, and he only dips into digital effects or art when he absolutely needs to. i just think he's a tactile sort of guy who prefers to make things with his hands, so creating on a screen alone doesn't give him the same satisfaction.

on social media in that he has accounts, but they're sporadically active at best. he can be slow to respond to texts/dms and his responses can be short, which gives off the impression that he's disengaged or bored. he isn't, he just doesn't want to be on his phone.

this is a longstanding hc of mine that i've absolutely mentioned before, but: designed hannah's butterfly tattoo! didn't really understand why, he was like you know your tattoo artist can do one for you, right. but she insisted, and he obliged.

gay as fuck. realized young, came out young, very comfortable. as demonstrated by the fact that, much to everyone's annoyance, he wears shirts that say shit like 'employee of the month at the dick sucking factory' in public.

chris

ok, so i've reached the point where the chris in my mind looks different enough that i get a little jumpscared when i see him in-game LMAO. i hc him both taller and heavier. he's gotta be at least 6 ft. and a chris hartley who's thin is no chris hartley at all. not to me.

does not come from money, like lower middle class. i have two totally different hcs about his family that both feel real to me: one is that he's an only child, his parents divorced when he was a kid (old enough to understand, but not quite a teenager), and he lives with his mom. the other is that his parents are not divorced, and he has a big family - lots of siblings. i've been going with the former in my fic lately, but both work for me. the constant is that his family's economic situation is more precarious than most people in the friend group, and family trips with (and funded by) the washingtons were his primary vacations.

has adhd. i find 'always on his phone bc he just loooves technology' less interesting than 'always on his phone bc he has existing attention problems.' this went undiagnosed for a while, and his performance in school suffered for it.

speaking of, he is not all-around school smart. like, emily may have strengths and weaknesses (even if she'd never admit them), but she can swing As across the board. chris cannot. he's getting good grades in classes that interest him or cater to his solution-oriented brain, but he's terrible in any class where there's no right answer. english, art - he does not get it. love him to death but his media literacy is Bad

bi as fuck, but it was a journey. thought he was straight for a long time, dismissing any attraction to men as a 'who hasn't had gay thoughts' kind of thing. i think it took him a while to come to terms with it bc he had a lot of internalized shit to work through. if a friend came out as bi, he'd have been like cool 👍 but him? surely not! he got there eventually though.

wowee this is long. as a lil bonus hc for another character, i'll add that i don't think jess went to college - i think she went to a hair/beauty school. she loves what a social job it is, getting to chit chat with clients all day, and like josh, she does best when she's working with her hands.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Lap

Zevlor asks Bea to sit in his lap, and she has a bit of a crisis. SFW.

Zevlor thought it was a reasonable request.

He simply asked his lover if she would sit in his lap.

“Zev, are you out of your mind?!” Beatrice cried, a horrified look on her very pretty face. “I’m not just taller than you. I’m quite a bit heavier—" I’ll crush him! Crush his poor legs!

He sighed. “I realize that. However, I still would like you in my lap. Please.” Zevlor added with a wink, hoping she would surrender to his charm.

Hands now on her hips, she groaned. “What if I—”

“I was a Hellrider, sweetheart. I can take it.”

WHAT?!

“D-Did you really just say ‘I can take it’ regarding having me sit in your lap?” She asked, eyes narrowed. “I…Zev…” Her then contorted into what Mum calls my “very sad face.” “I’ll hurt you, and I don’t want that.”

He rose from the chair and took her hands in his. “Bea darling, you won’t. How about this---we’ll sit on the bed, you can have your legs over my lap, and I hold you? Is that better?”

Much. At least I won’t crush you. I’m sorry I’m not a petite little thing. I’m sorry I’m too tall, too fat, too big, too—

As a tear slid down her cheek, one of his hands let go of hers and brushed the tear away. “What’s wrong, my love?”

She shook her head, more tears falling. “I’m sorry I’m too big.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not.” He positioned her the way he described with her long legs over his lap, an arm around her waist, and his tail curling around my legs.

Breathe, Bea.

I’m in Zev’s arms.

I’m safe.

“You’ll never be too big for me. Never.” He kissed her neck just below an ear as his hand on her waist went under her top, kneading her softness. “I’m more than enough man to handle my pulchra,” he lightly nipped at her neck before soothing her with more kisses. Moonmaiden take me. He’s perfect and lovely and amazing and I want him so badly please. “After all, dear…it takes a man to please a goddess like you.” He purred as he littered kisses on her jaw.

OH?!?!

With a strangled moan, she managed to get out, “You’ve…you’ve called me that before…a goddess…”

He chuckled. “Because you are, Bea.”

“Is it because I’m…well, you know…” She trailed off, her brow creasing.

“Plush? Plump?” He needs to stop saying it so sensually, or I’m going to combust. “Perfect? You’re a goddess, darling. My pretty, voluptuous goddess…” The hand under her top drifted upwards, squeezing and caressing as he went. “A goddess deserving of worship.”

Oh.

Oh wow.

Heart pounding in her chest, she was breathless when she spoke again. “I…I don’t know what say…”

His movements slowed. “Is this too much, darling? If you’re feeling uncomfortable or overwhelmed, then please tell me.”

She squeezed her brown eyes shut and snuggled closer to embrace him. Zev. My Zev. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. “No. I…it’s all very new. But I…I like it.”

Did he just purr?! “I’m glad.” Purring Zev is so adorable. “I like holding you, pulchra.” His tail curled around her waist. “All those awful thoughts about being too big for me…let them fall away, my angel…I have you, Bea. I have you.”

Beatrice released a shaky breath she had no idea she was holding.

Breathe.

“I have you.”

Breathe.

She tightened her hold on him, opening her eyes so her gaze could meet his. I love you. “We have each other.”

“That we do, pulchra. That we do. Now,” Ooooh that’s his tail tickling my leg. “Let’s enjoy our time together before you must return to the Elfsong.”

Right.

Fuck.

She frowned, leaning her head against his. And minding his horns. I’ve accidentally bonked myself more times than I care to admit. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

The tiefling hummed, not loosening his hold on her. “I promise…when all this is over, we’ll never spend another night apart.” Never. “Imagine spending every evening together. Waking up together every morning.” They sat in silence I don’t know how long before Zevlor spoke again. “You’re a beautiful woman, darling. I only wish you’d see it.”

You and me both, Zev.

Beatrice snorted softly. “Well, there’s lots of people who don’t think I am and have told me so.” It’s partially why I took every assignment I could in the temple. That way I wouldn’t have to endure the looks and comments from Baldurian high society. And then after him, I entirely avoided events, functions, balls, you name it.

“They have no taste.” He said in a clipped tone that she had rarely heard from him. “You’re a goddess. A vision of beauty, heart, and faith---not only in Selune but in your fellow man.” Zevlor shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Including this one.”

She tilted his chin up to properly see my handsome Zev and smiled. “Especially this one.”

“A benevolent goddess with such faith in me. I’m touched.” He teased, brushing the tips of his clawed fingers against the softness beneath her top.

Her lips touched his in an instant, and she moaned into his mouth, “You deserve pleasure, Zev. You deserve it all…want to see you smile…be happy…I’d do anything for you.” I mean, to be fair, I’ve already done a lot, starting with killing the goblins at the grove. Then killing more goblins. And then killing those Shadow Druids. And then we killed every goblin in the camp. That’s a lot of fucking goblins I’ve killed. Beatrice bit her lower lip as she watched him freeze in stunned silence. “I…I love you.” I love you, Zev. I killed so many fucking goblins. So many.

“I-I had no idea you felt so strongly, so deeply, towards me—”

Zev, we are not doing this right now.

The half-drow grabbed his face in her hands and silenced him with a passionate kiss that left him breathless. “Of course, I bloody do, Zev! I love you!” She laughed, holding him tightly against her. Relax, love. Relax. Rocking them gently, she kissed the base of a horn. “You make it so easy to love you, Zev. One look at you, and I just wanted to kiss you…” Smooches for my Zev! “Hold you…touch you…make you laugh…all of it.” One more smooch. She reluctantly released him and shifted to lay down. “Now, come here and let’s have a cuddle before I go, love.” She grinned and held out her long arms.

I swear the flames in his eyes got brighter.

“Yes, pulchra.” Zevlor drawled as he settled into her side. He reached for one of her hands and held it gently his, resting them both on her belly. “I love you, Bea darling. You know I’d do the same for you as well. Anything, my beloved. Anything.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes. “I know, love.”

Anything, Zev.

Months later, when she and Zevlor were cuddling that same way in our own bed in our own home, Beatrice felt no fear or shame or embarrassment.

Only love.

[pickalilywrites]

I'm happy you take requests :) I really like your stories. ❤❤❤

Can I ask for Rivetra?

Whenever Petra takes care of Levi's wounds she always leaves light kiss on his dressing. But this time he was fighting with someone to protect her and he got injured in the lips so Petra is ashamed to do that.

I wish you the best! 😊

thanks :) hope you enjoy it

a kiss on the lips

rivetra. canonverse. 3812 words. read on ao3.

Petra’s hands tremble imperceptibly as she carefully applies soothing salve to her captain’s wounds. The slight quivering of her hands would go unperceived by anyone else, but her captain’s watchful eyes miss nothing. He says nothing of her anxious hands even as they dress his wounds. He sits relaxed against the wooden chair, his demeanor completely contrasting against Petra’s nervous air. Whenever Petra applies salve to her comrades wounds, they tend to wince in pain at the sting of the cool ointment against their open wounds. Levi, however, doesn’t flinch in the slightest despite his wounds being fresh. The cuts and bruises on his skin are hardly anything compared to the injuries they face on the battlefield, but they look severe against his pale skin. Petra grimaces as she tends to a particularly deep cut against his jaw.  

“I’m afraid these will scar,” she murmurs. She finds her eyes constantly flitting between all the different wounds on the Captain’s face, the feeling of guilt in her stomach growing heavier with each one she finds. A particularly nasty cut on his lip attracts her attention the most, but it’s the wound she avoids the most. At the very least she dabs at it occasionally to keep the blood from running down the Captain’s chin.  

“I was never particularly handsome to begin with,” the Captain replies.  

“That’s not true,” Petra says without thinking, and she can feel his gaze on her even as she averts hers.  

The Captain is far from conventionally attractive. He stands at a measly 5’3” — hardly an inch taller than Petra is — and his pale skin accentuates the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His hollow cheeks make his cheekbones even more severe, and his sharp jawline meets with a pointed chin. His perpetually sour expression doesn’t help his appearance, but there’s something becoming of the way all his features come together. The structure of his face is so delicate, almost feminine, and his gray eyes are such a striking shade that it’s difficult not to be drawn to them whenever one gazes falls on him. No, handsome is perhaps not the best word to describe him. Pretty is the word Petra would use, but she would never utter those words out loud.  

“Your features suit you,” Petra says, but perhaps it isn’t acceptable to remark on the appearance of one’s superiors whether the words are flattering or not. She bites her lip and wonders if she should say anymore. It feels dangerous to let it alone, but she can’t trust herself to say anything more. 

“It doesn’t matter very much anyway,” the Captain says, and it almost disappoints her how unaffected he is by her words. “I have much worse scars. It won’t be that much different having scars on my face.”  

“Still, I’d feel responsible every time I saw it,” Petra murmurs.  

“I don’t recall you giving me this,” the Captain says, and he lifts his chin slightly. He could be talking about any of his cuts and bruises, but all Petra sees is the cut on his lip. He’s joking in that dry, emotionless tone that makes it difficult to know when he’s speaking in jest, but at least Petra knows him well enough now to know the difference. It doesn’t make her feel any better.  

“You know what I mean,” she murmurs.  

It’s only now that she begins to attend to the cut on his lips. She’s careful as she dabs the salve against his lip with the pad of her finger. His blood comes away on her skin, painting her finger red.  

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

Petra left her father’s house much later than she intended. She usually leaves well before sundown. The Captain doesn’t care when they come back from their monthly military leave so long as they’re on time to their drills the following morning. Despite being in the military for years, it was still difficult for Petra’s father to say goodbye every time she began to head back to her station. This time, he had held her back and shoved more and more things into a basket that he insisted she take: fresh fruits from the grocer he had bought this morning, fresh vegetables he had just grown from the garden, and sweet pastries that he had baked before the sun had even begun to rise that day. Whenever she tries to leave anything behind, he would only shake his head and place it back into her basket, telling her that she and the rest of the soldiers needed it more than he did. Petra is a soldier with one of the highest kill counts in the Scouting Legion, but she will always be her father’s precious daughter.  

Her father continued to fuss about her even as she was leaving his house. She laughed as he called out to her, reminding her to dress warmly and to eat well. She pretended not to notice the tears that welled up in his eyes as he waved her goodbye, although it always made her heart ache whenever they had to part. 

She catches her reflection in the mirror of a nearby tailor. It makes her feel self-conscious seeing herself in normal civilian clothes. She’s so used to her military uniform, a standard white ensemble with a cropped jacket that everyone wears. It’s strange seeing herself in anything else, but she dresses more casually because it seems to make her father happy seeing his daughter dressed like a normal woman. As she passes by the store, she tries to walk as naturally as she can, but she can feel her spine straightening and her walk become stilted the more out of place she feels.  

Petra sighs and shifts the basket of fruits and vegetables to her other hand. She wonders if she should walk a little faster, although the Captain and the squad won’t mind waiting for her. She might be late for dinner and it’ll be a shame that they’ll have to wait for tomorrow to cook up the vegetables her father has given them, but she knows Gunther will be delighted to see what she’s brought back regardless.  

Behind her, she can hear a group of men singing. Drunk, probably, even though sky is not yet dark. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to look at them even though people on the street are whispering and turning their heads. She’s seen her own fair share of drunkards in her time, and they’ve never been very different. They’ll probably stumble into another bar and wreak havoc there before getting kicked out and finding another establishment to trash. 

Petra picks up her pace and the men’s singing have turned into shouts. Their shouting grows louder and louder. Her mouth settles into a frown as she tries to rid herself of the men behind her. It doesn’t even occur to her that their shouts are directed toward her until a hand clutches her shoulder and yanks her backward. Surprised, she yelps as she’s turned around roughly and finds herself surrounded by half a dozen men, most of them much larger than her.  

She tries to keep her composure even as her heartbeat spikes. She bites her lip to keep from crying out even as the man who has his hand clutched on her shoulder tightens his grip. Calling for help might only exacerbate the situation, and Petra’s not sure anyone would come to her aid anyway. When her eyes flit about in alarm, all the passersby are keeping their heads down, pretending not to see what is happening right in front of them.  

“Hello, pretty,” the man who has her in his clutches drawls. She can smell the alcohol on his breath and it makes her want to gag. His mouth stretches in more of a sneer than a smile, revealing yellowed teeth. “What are you doing all by your lonesome so late at night?”  

Petra doesn’t reply, not even to point out that it’s hardly late in the evening. She tries to discreetly break free from the man’s grip, keeping her eyes down so as to not make eye contact, but his hold is far too strong. She wonders if she should fight back regardless of the punishment she’ll face for laying a hand on civilians. Only Military Policemen are allowed to punish civilians, and Petra isn’t sure how lenient the military will be towards her even if her actions are in self-defense. She curses herself for not donning her military uniform today. Even if it has the Scouting Legion emblem emblazoned on the back, at least there was a chance that the men wouldn’t have known the difference between the logos of the different military branches.  

“You should join us, miss. You look like you could have some fun,” another man says.  

“Let’s have some fun. Do you like dancing?” asks a burly man nearly twice her size. He has to stoop down to speak to her, shoving his face in hers and Petra has no choice but to see his flushed face, eyes red from drinking. When she stumbles back in surprise, the man throws his head back to howl with laughter.  

“Give your basket here. We’ll take care of your goods and show you a good time,” another man coaxes. He grabs Petra’s basket from her hand and nearly all the vegetables and fruits come tumbling out of it. He does a few clumsy steps toward Petra, stopping only a few centimeters from her face. “We could show you a few dances, too. Doesn’t this girl look like she’d be a good dancer?”  

Petra’s strong, but she’s not strong enough to take down half a dozen men with her bare hands. At the very least, shouldn’t she attempt to run away? She tries to calculate her next move, but her panicked mind can only think about how helpless she feels surrounded by the men that tower above her. Her hands feel clammy and cold and her body trembles, but she can’t stand to be here another minute. 

Without thinking, she brings up her knee to knock the wind out of the man in front of her. His eyes nearly pop out of his head in surprise as he keels over in pain, letting out a groan as he sinks to his knees. His other friends are frozen in shock, so Petra takes the opportunity to break through the barrier of men that have entrapped her and run as fast as she can. She stumbles through fallen vegetables and fruits, the basket her father had given her forgotten with the men she is trying to escape. She doesn’t make it very far.  

A hand reaches out to grab her by the hair. Petra shrieks in pain as she’s pulled back and thrown to the ground. Her side is numb from her fall, and she stumbles to get upright but the men begin to pile on her. A man pins her down by her wrists while the others begin to clamber onto her, their gazes like wolves about to devour their prey. She opens her mouth to scream but chokes on a hat that a man has jammed down her throat. She can only gag from the pain, wriggling helplessly as she tries to break free. She feels their hands on her, fumbling for the ties and buttons of her clothes, and she wants to vomit. Tears form in her eyes from the searing pain, and she closes her eyes as if somehow that will lesson the pain. 

Her wrists hurt from how tightly she’s being held down. She wants to pull them free, and she can feel the bruises form around her wrists even as she tries to break out of her captor’s grip. It surprises her when she finally does break free. When she opens her eyes, she realizes the man is gone and the his comrades are looking up in surprise. Her gaze follows theirs and she sees that the man has been knocked down. Another man is on top of him, relentless as he throws his punches at the man that had just held Petra down.  

The other men have stopped, their interest in Petra momentarily interrupted as they turn confusedly to the stranger that had just attacked their friend. Petra, too, turns her head as best as she can, craning her neck to catch a glimpse at the man that had dared to interfere when nobody else had. She recognizes the military uniform at once — stark white trousers and pressed white button-up underneath a cropped jacket with the Wings of Freedom, the symbol for the Scouting Legion, plastered on the back. It’s only when the man turns his head, gray eyes blazing with fury, that Petra realizes that it is Captain Levi.  

The men are caught between wanting to flee and saving their friend. They stumble away from Petra, scowling at the Captain as they size him up. The Captain is only a few centimeters taller than Petra, and the men must believe that he can hardly be threat because they charge at him, yelling threateningly as they charge. They are no match for him.  

Petra drags herself up to a sitting position, grabbing the hat that had been stuffed into her mouth and tossing it aside. She coughs, her mouth still tasting of wool. She sees that the Captain has been thrown against the pavement, but he gets up much faster than the other men expected. The Captain is more known for his ability to fight Titans, but his hand-to-hand combat skills greatly surpass many of the other soldiers in the military. While he might be outnumbered, the other men are clearly outmatched. Their attacks are clumsy and uncoordinated, made worse by their inebriated state. Even if they do manage to get a few punches in here and there, the Captain is beating them ruthlessly. 

“Captain, that’s enough!” Petra says. She doesn’t know when she had gotten up, but she’s now pulling him away from the rest of the men who have been beaten senseless. They have more cuts and bruises than the Captain does, although he hasn’t left the fight unscathed. She winces when she sees the wounds on his face, although the Captain doesn’t seem be in pain at all.  

The Captain doesn’t respond to her, only struggles against her to throw in a few more punches with his bloodied knuckles as some of the men attempt to escape. The Captain only stops when the Military Police arrive, rounding up the bloodied men quickly now that the bulk of their work has been done for them.  

“Why didn’t you show up earlier?” the Captain snaps at one of the policemen that have approached them for a statement. The Captain has never been fond of the Military Police. This incident has probably soured his opinion of them even more. He hadn’t seemed tired as he was taking on six men at a time, but he’s leaning against Petra now as he curses out the Military Police. “What the fuck are any of you good for if you can’t stop drunkards from assaulting people?” 

“Captain, it’s fine,” Petra murmurs as she gives an apologetic nod to the policeman. “Let’s just return to our quarters. The others are waiting for us-”  

“It’s not fine!” the Captain says, cutting her off short before returning to his berating of the Military Police. “Are you just sitting on the shitter all day? At least come out once and a while to take care of the civilians you’re meant to protect, you dumb fucks.”  

“We had it handled,” the policeman says, but his eyes are cast downward in shame and his cheeks are flushed. He can’t even make eye contact with either of them. “Only the Military Police are allowed to punish civilians. Other military branches aren’t permitted to lay hands on civilians-”  

“Then do your fucking jobs so we won’t have to do it for you,” the Captain snarls. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Petra behind to apologize profusely for her captain’s behavior.  

They ride the ferry across the river that would take them only part of the way home. A horse ride still awaits them after that. As they ride the ferry, the Captain rests beside Petra, arms folded across his chest and head resting on her shoulder. Her father’s basket sits on her lap. The fruits and vegetables that had fallen on the cobblestone streets had been collected and placed back in the basket because the Captain wouldn’t hear of it being left behind even though there are only one or two vegetables that were undamaged.  

“Thank you for saving me,” Petra murmurs. Her eyes can’t seem to leave her Captain’s face, the cuts and bruises that wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for her.  

The Captain doesn’t reply and Petra thinks he’s fallen asleep. He stirs for just a moment and says quietly, “I should have been there sooner.”  

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

Petra realizes she’s been staring far too long at the Captain’s face even though the cut on his lip has been attended to. She no longer has an excuse for her gaze to linger on his lips, and she removes her finger quickly from his cut. She turns to return all the things she’s used to the first aid kit, making sure to avoid the Captain’s gaze but she can feel his eyes fixed on her. She does her best to maintain an air of normalcy, but she knows the flush of her cheeks gives her away.  

“It will take a while to heal, but the salve should help prevent scarring. Just let me reapply it for you in the evenings until it’s fully healed,” Petra says. She looks down, organizing and reorganizing everything in the kit even though there is hardly anything in there for her to fuss around with. She’s just looking for any excuse not to look at the Captain. She’s about to shut the lid of the kit and scurry off, but the Captain grabs her by the arm before she can make her escape. He’s careful when he grabs her, making sure to wrap his hand just above her wrists which are still tender from being held down earlier that evening.  

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet that Petra wouldn’t have heard it if she weren’t holding in her breath.  

She could feign innocence, insist that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or maybe clasp her hands and tell the Captain he’s exactly right before attending to a make-believe wound she had forgotten to tend to. She knows he’s referring to a habit she and the rest of the squad had started as a joke.  

Whenever Petra tended to her comrades’ wounds, she would kiss their wounds. She had gotten into the habit of it when taking care of Gunther’s siblings, nearly half a dozen children that got into more trouble than anyone could imagine. They would go out in the morning to play only to come home in the evening with scrapes and bruises all over their elbows and knees. She had pressed kisses against bandaged knees and elbows one after the other. The habit must have stuck because she had leaned down to kiss a wound she had taken care of on Eld’s hand one day without thinking. The others had burst out laughing and Petra, although embarrassed, held her chin up and asked Eld if he had any other injuries for her to “kiss better” as Gunther’s siblings often say.  

It became a running joke among the soldiers, taking care of each other’s injuries and kissing the bandages as soon as they were done being patched up. They would do so mischievously, with roguish grins on their faces if they were kissing a gash on someone’s cheek or a cut on their cheek. They did it with the affection of siblings or very close friends, never with any romantic feeling even if Auruo would joke otherwise as he planted a sloppy kiss against Petra’s temple as she groaned. It was a silly joke, one that Petra didn’t know the Captain even paid attention to. She never thought it was something to be ashamed about, but she’s embarrassed about it now that he brings it up.  

Her mind revisits all the cuts on the Captain’s face — his cheekbone, his temple, his jaw, his chin — but she can only think about the gash on his lip. It’s not as if she hasn’t thought about kissing the Captain. She’s probably thought about it more than she should have, but she never thought it would happen like this. Would a kiss like this be deemed improper? But it’s just a kiss, hardly even a kiss. It’s more of a joke than a kiss, Petra reasons, and yet she hesitates.  

“Never mind then,” the Captain says, and Petra realizes she’s taken too long to respond. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  

Petra grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him back down in his seat before he can rise. Without warning, she leans forward and her lips collide with the bandage on his temple. The Captain tenses in surprise, but she continues to press kisses against his face — his forehead, his cheekbones, down his jawline, down to his chin — and she takes in his beauty as she does. She marvels in the sharpness of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw, the point of his chin. His eyelashes are longer and thicker than anyone else’s. They would be wasted on anyone else but him, she thinks.  

She hesitates when she gets to his lips. He must sense her hesitation because his hand finds its way to the back of her neck and he guides her towards him, inviting but not demanding. In the end, she accepts his invitation. She’s hesitant at first, her lips barely brushing against his like the graze of a butterfly’s wings. His lips are soft and gentle against hers, and she tastes the salt of his wound against her tongue mixed with the sweet honey from the salve. She presses her lips harder against his and he reciprocates, his mouth opening to allow her taste and their tongues mingle.  

When they finally part, it is too soon. She’s breathless, her face flushed, but the Captain looks completely unaffected. All he does is touch her lip with the pad of his thumb and it takes everything in her not to hold him there.  

“You’re an excellent nurse, Petra,” he tells her. 

“Thank you, sir,” Petra murmurs. She remains there even when he gets up to leave, all alone with nothing except the memory of the Captain’s lips on hers.  

[zomboys-blog]

“i hate you.”

hi guys here’s your long awaited wenclair fic after so long. :)))

Summary: (wednesday and enid have stuck to being enemies for a long time. just enemies. only enemies. right?)

pairings: wednesday addams x enid sinclair

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“i hate you sinclair.” wednesday spoke whilst heavily breathing, sweat dripped from her forehead. Bangs sticky from the humidity in the closet that her and enid were currently in.

“shut up. Don’t speak, it reminds me of who i’m with.” enid rolled her eyes at wednesday’s remark before enclosing the gap inbetween them once more. Soft and longing, needy even, moans could be heard from outside the storage closet. The excitement from the thought of getting caught made enid extremely nervous but also horny?

These thoughts had bothered enid time and time again as she believed wednesday never felt the same, only wanted enid to kiss her but to never EVER go any further as they were just friends. enemies? not even she knew what they were and it bothered her heavily.

unknowingly enids fangs start to grow, piercing almost through wednesdays lip. She whined out and enid immediately let go.

“sinclair what the hell do you think your doing?” wednesday snapped at her as she pulled herself away from enid, she only got so far before enid pulled her close making wednesday feel weightless.

wednesday hated to admit it but enid had gotten rather muscular since her transformation last year, taller too. wednesday felt small compared to her, and the way enid was staring at her made her feel like prey.

“calm down it was just a scratch you’ll be fine.” enid couldn’t hide the growl hidden from underneath her breath, she let it slide out unknowingly as she thought about wednesday pulling away from her. her grip tightened pulling her closer, bruising wednesdays skin.

“sinclair?” wednesday spoke not understanding just what was happening as she felt enids skin getting hotter along with her breath.

“why do you refuse to say my name, you refuse to even acknowledge me in school. I’m tired of being some person you kiss for “fun”. “

wednesday was shocked by enids words as she had thought enid didn’t mind it at all. “don’t be so stupid enid, you should’ve told me this before. If what you want is to stop then you should’ve told me this sooner.” wednesday avoided eye contact with enid as she normally did. she felt guilty.

“stop it wends, i can’t handle it anymore, please just be with me.” enid forced wednesday to turn and look at her, enids grip softened as she lightly caressed wednesday’s back, longing for her touch.

wednesday looked at enids gaze and put a hand on enids cheek caressing her softly. enid leaned into it.

wednesday couldn’t deny how much pain she felt, seeing her wolf unhappy.

“enid, mia lupa. I apologize for denying you for so long, i couldn’t fathom ever liking someone so i denied it until i physically couldn’t anymore. i’d be honored to be with you my wolf” wednesday closed the space between her and enid, kissing her softly.

enids eyes filled with tears as she finally felt the stress leave her body, instead replacing it was an irresistible heat that she hadn’t noticed before, she felt. hungry.

wednesday noticed a shift in enids body language, she smelt it too. Enids sent engulfed her, vanilla.

enid pulled away from wednesday to breath, it was heavier than before.

“wends, my raven. i think i’ve started my rut” enid looked slightly embarrassed as her and wednesday have only ever kissed and never gone as far as to trigger one another’s ruts, but do to all these emotions she felt it seems shes started.

For some reason this rut felt worse than all the others, she felt hotter, her clothes bothered her heavily, and all she wanted to do was eat wednesday smell wednesdays scent.

wednesday was taken aback at first, unsure of how to help enid.

“my wolf, let’s head back to our dorm okay? the storage closet is no place for such heinous acts.” she pulled enid along by her tie, leading her to their shared room.

it felt like hours before they reached their dorm, enid had only gotten hotter and hotter. As wednesday had open the door enid quickly shut it and practically threw herself at wednesday, leaning her head on wednesday’s shoulder as she began unbuttoning her own uniform leaving her in her tang top she always wore beneath her clothes.

wednesday said nothing as she wiped the sweat off enids forehead, she guided enid to the bed stepping over her discarded clothes.

Enid sat on the bed whining silently.

“wednesday it hurts, please make it stop, it has to be you.” enid looked up at wednesday who was standing infront of her staring down at enid.

“your such a good alpha.” wednesday spoke as she climbed atop enid, straddling her lap. She adjusted herself slowly, yet teasingly.

enid whined beneath her as she felt herself harden.

“please don’t tease me my raven.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

i’m sure you guys can guess what happens next but i’m evil and won’t write about it, lmk if i should tho!!!

thank you sm for all the support zomkids!!!

[the-whispers-of-death]

stone x tattoo/henna artist! reader

maybe stone's henna artist got sick? maybe she left town? anyways, she isn't available and stone has to do his henna with us

Anon, you and I are the same wavelength because that was one of the scenarios I thought about when asked about Stone x civilian reader before I picked neighbor!reader. Anywho, let's do this.

Stone knew there were two henna artists at the tattoo/henna artist shop he goes to, but he had only interacted with the female henna artist and he trusted her to do his henna. So when he walked into the shop for his appointment, he was expecting her to greet him.

But instead, there was you. The male henna artist and one of the few male henna artists in the area. Your skin was adorned with tattoos, permanent and henna tattoos alike. There were also a few piercings because this place also did piercings.

"Ah, you must be Arya's ten-thirty appointment! I'm {Name}, Arya's sick so I'm taking all of her appointments today," you said, a smile fitting naturally on your face. It was so bright but, at least it seemed genuine. "I see on the client file on the computer that your name is Stone?"

Stone snapped out of his stupor and grunted coldly. "It's what people call me, yes." His skin tingled in irritation at the idea of being worked on by someone new, but he hated not having his henna done when he had an appointment for it even more.

So he followed you deeper into the shop to where your workstation was, his footsteps so much heavier than yours. He was so much taller than you too, so burly and strong.

He wondered what you were thinking of him. He had heard from Arya that most men felt comfortable getting their henna done with you, since you were also a man, as it took some insecurity about getting henna done when you're a man out of the equation. He doubted he was the the first "tough guy" you had worked on, but he also knew that his height and demeanor intimidated people left and right. And the last thing he needed was for his temporary henna artist to shake due to being intimidated.

When Stone got to your workstation, he sat down in the client chair, the poor chair creaking loudly underneath his sheer weight. He watched with cold eyes as you sat down in your own chair and when you were near, he rested his arms on the table in front of him.

"You have a lot of scars," you murmured, unable to help yourself when you saw just how scarred his brown skin was. His body was a canvas of years of war.

"Can you still do the henna?" Stone asked, shifting your thoughts away from the amount of scars on him. He knew you technically could, after all, his usual henna artist did it all the time.

You nodded, getting out your tools. "Of course. As I'm sure Arya told you the first time you got henna done with her, properly healed scars will retain the henna stain," you explained, though he already knew it. "Are we doing the same design you always get?"

Stone nodded, because he was a man of predictability. Thankfully, his file on the computer had said what design he always got, so you didn't have to ask him. And it was a good thing, because he promptly shut up once you started.

You were used to clients who preferred to be quiet during their appointments, but Stone's silence was different. It was heavier, especially with the way he was staring at you with those cold brown eyes. But you couldn't complain, he sat completely still. The stillest anyone has ever sat when you do henna on them.

Because of his stillness, the session took less time than it would, you making less mistakes. When it was over, his hands and arms were wrapped properly to get the best stain possible and you couldn't even tell if he was pleased with the way you did his henna. It was the same design, but different artists come up with different results of the same design. Though you suppose, he would've been vocal had it not been what he wanted.

Stone didn't speak much, even when paying you. He didn't say thank you, he just made his next appointment and gave you a tip before going on his way. You didn't see him get into a car, which was a good thing since driving home would potentially ruin the henna, and you saw him walk away from the store.

Huh, well, it wasn't everyday that you got such an enigmatic client.

You looked down at the tip he gave you and that was more tip than your regular clients give you. Guess there was some upside to taking on Arya's clients on for the day.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[whumpsoda]

Just A Little Something!!

This is for some old ocs that I had a dream about and got some inspiration for!! I just really wanted to write this :3 lemme explain a little bit!!

cw: mentions of cannibalism, death

So this is Rufus and Elodie! Basically they live in a post apocalyptic world overtaken by creatures who inhabit dead bodies and are zombie like in the way that they have the constant urge to eat humans :] Rufus gets killed and taken over by one of these monsters, and this takes place with Elodie coming to visit him :3

——————

Elodie did her very best to walk as straight as possible, following the security down the maze of hallways, but the reality of the situation seemed to have begun getting to her. Sweat was seeping thick into pools on her clothes, relentlessly she was gnawing on the inside of her lip, and she almost believed to be getting lightheaded with her worries.

The air was sterile, filling her nostrils with the scent of a chill and cleaning solution. Licking her chapped lips, she counted the doors as they made their way past each one.

One.

Ten.

Fifteen.

She swallowed, gulping down thick saliva that rolled over her throat.

The door they stopped before was tall, much taller than her - and fairly thin. Metal, shiny, and reflective, too.

They were speaking to her, the guards, most likely warning her of how dangerously stupid this all was, and she nodded along ignorantly. Better to do that than get further caught up in her own anxieties.

A moment later, the door shut swift to the floor with an audibly striking click behind her, sending her into the tiniest of a flinch.

Clearing her throat, she met her son’s gaze. His eyes weren’t their deep, hypnotic brown anymore, rather a sparklingly unnatural yellow that worked to put you on edge. “Hey there, sweetie.” She began, taken aback by the crack of her voice, gritting it back. “How are you feeling?”

Eyes twitching, he shifted in his seat - at least, the most he could manage to with all of the restraints - his breathing audibly heavier around the sort of muzzle strapped around his mouth. Some sort of mask stemmed from it, straps criss crossing every inch of his face, save for his eyes.

It was the most important aspect, him getting any chance to even come close to biting her would hinder any chance of her seeing him ever again, but the fact that they had him kept like some wild animal did nothing to ease.

“It’s okay, honey, I know you must be a bit nervous.” Could he even understand her anymore? “I guess I am too, which is pretty silly. I mean, it’s just you.” Was she that stupid or just doing her darnedest to convince herself of it?

Flashing him a gentle smile, she did her best to ignore the fact that he gave not even the slightest of one in return. Without any speckle of recognition in his face, a slick, guttural growl slipped from his throat.

“I brought you something.” Stealing another step closer, she almost missed the hitch of his heavy breath as she presented him with his gift. “They almost didn’t let me bring it in. I fought them on it though. You know me.”

She chuckled, just a bit, and he cocked his head. Almost in surprise, she thought, but also more like he was inspecting his prey.

To her disappointment, he only stole a second of a glance at the book in her hands before staring wide-eyed back at her. A spot of drool dribbled out from the bottom of the leather over his face. She winced.

“It’s a book, you see? You’re favorite, from when you were little.” Dramatically, just as he enjoyed when he was just a mere few feet tall, she showed off the book to him with enthusiasm.

Furrowing his brows with a look of desperation, he rattled the metal strapping him in place with a strangled whine. A glimmer of a craze was evident beyond his sideways, slit like pupil, a spark of insatiable hunger.

She held out her hands to him, as if there was anything she could have done to ease his suffering. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay. It’s just mommy.”

Elodie made the foolish mistake of getting far too close. Saliva plip plopped to the tile, running down his neck furiously. Breath swiftly heaving in and out, he gargled a ravaged snarl, sending her stumbling back.

Rigid for a moment, she watched as he soon calmed, even if only by the slightest.

One breath in, one breath out.

“It’s just me, honey,” Elodie hardened her iron grip on the book in her hands, knuckles clammy and cold. “mommy.”

A croak, gritty and scratching a crawl up his throat began, deep and eerie, not at all Rufus’ voice. As the sound twisted, curling over itself, it almost sounded like something. Almost as if he parroted her.

A hand cupped her mouth, tears pushing at her eyes. “Mommy? Is that- is that what you said?” She couldn’t help but sink to a kneel, reaching a hand to correct his hair.

Snapping, Rufus nearly cracked through the cuffs keeping his wrists stuck to his chair. He roared wildly, growling with a starving desperation that sunk into the walls around them. The rests grunted as his nails dipped and curved into the metal, grip inhumanly strong.

The guards were quick to rush in this time, practically carrying Elodie out the door by her shoulders.

She couldn’t believe it. He’d said something.

Maybe Rufus wasn’t all gone.

[solitaireships]

Makeup Help

So I think that Neuvillette wears makeup, and then I had the thought of him helping me do my makeup, specifically eyeliner bcs I have a weird thing about my eyes. Which now leads us to this fic lol

Rating: Gen

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1255 words

Divider by saradika

“Neuvi, could you help me out with my makeup?” Andromeda asks, looking over herself in the mirror. 

Neuvillette turns to look at her through the open doorway to his bedroom, part way through getting dressed for the day. Andromeda thinks that he looks handsome in just his shirt and pants, his hair not tied back with its usual ribbon yet, though she knows that he’d never be seen in public dressed down like this. It only makes him letting her see him like this all the sweeter of a view— it’s a sign of just how close they’ve gotten over the past month.

“What would you need me to help with? Your makeup always looks lovely,” he says.

“I’m good with lipstick and eyeshadow, but I can’t do eyeliner,” Andromeda says. “You’re good at that, though.”

Though Neuvillette is good at makeup in general. Andromeda knows that he prefers a subtle look, with a small bit of eyeshadow you can only notice if you’re close enough to him, but she also knows from some of his looks when the two have gone out on dates that he can do more than just that. His more dramatic looks might be reserved for special occasions, but they're nonetheless impressive.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use eyeliner before,” Neuvillette notes as Andromeda steps out of the bathroom with an eyeliner pencil in hand.

“You haven’t because I’m not good at putting it on. My hand always gets too shaky,” she says. 

She doesn’t mention that the reason her hands get shaky is the pencil being so close to her eye terrifies her. She tried to teach herself how to properly do her eyeliner in the past, but every time she’d see someone else doing it she’d have to look away as the tip of the eyeliner got closer to the inner crease of the eye, flinching as if she were hit. The thought of anything even somewhat sharp being close to her eyes is a terrifying one, and she’s always too nervous about accidentally stabbing herself to be able to line anything up straight. 

Still, she wishes that she could put some eyeliner on. It’s always something she appreciates in other people’s makeup, and she wishes that she didn’t have to get so nervous that she can’t even make a straight line. And as much as it’s nerve wracking to think of anyone doing her eyeliner for her, she finds the thought of Neuvillette of all people doing it far more soothing.

“I don’t have much experience doing makeup for other people,” Neuvillette says.

Andromeda notes that’s not a no. “That’s okay. I’m sure it’d still come out better than anything that I could do.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would. You haven’t seen my past attempts at eyeliner.”

Neuvillette looks at Andromeda as she closes the distance between them, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He looks her over, as if assessing whether or not he could do what she’s asking. Then he says, “Is there a particular style you’d like?”

“Nothing fancy. Maybe just some simple stuff with a little bit of a wing?” Andromeda says. 

“I can do that,” Neuvillette replies.

He takes the eyeliner pencil from her hand, kneeling down to be at eye level with her. When he looks at her, Andromeda gets the feeling that he’s mapping out her face. It’s simultaneously odd and flattering to think of how he seems like he’s trying to memorize every detail, first imagining what he’s planning to do before he draws the eyeliner on. Andromeda’s never been the type of person who likes much attention, but capturing the attention of the Iudex like this feels uniquely special. 

“May I?” Neuvillette prompts, nodding towards her lap. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” she says. 

Neuvillette carefully lowers himself to sit on Andromeda’s lap, as if he’s worried he’ll be too much to fit properly on her. But for as much as he’s taller and heavier than she is, she can’t help but think they fit perfectly together with how his knees bracket either side of her hips. Him doing her makeup already felt intimate, but their increased proximity now only heightens that. 

“Sorry if I flinch or anything,” Andromeda says. “I… I don’t like pointy things by my eyes.”

“Ah. Well, I can promise you that I will be as careful as possible,” Neuvillette assures. 

“Thank you.”

Neuvillette starts with her right eye, drawing from the outer corner of her eye upwards in the shape of a wing. He keeps the pressure of the eyeliner pencil just strong enough to draw it on, but still his touch is gentle. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and that’s something that she can’t help but adore him even more for. 

Neuvillette is careful as he draws along her lash line, though Andromeda still tenses as he gets close to the inner corner of her eye. She trusts him, and she knows that he’d never do anything to hurt her, but still it’s intimidating having the tip of the pencil so close to her eyes.

“You’re doing wonderfully, my love,” Neuvillette says as if picking up on her nervousness. Andromeda supposes it would be hard for him to miss with how close they are right now. “It’ll be just a moment longer.”

“Okay,” she says as he moves to draw the wing along her other eye.

Andromeda tries to focus just on Neuvillette instead of the feeling of the eyeliner pencil along the edge of her eyelid. It’s hard for her to make out the fine details of his face without her glasses, but she can still see the focused look on his face by the set of his jaw and the furrowing of his eyebrows. She focuses on his hand on her cheek, and his stomach brushing against her as he draws himself closer to her. 

Andromeda thinks that she’s lucky. She doesn’t think there’s anyone else that could say that they’re in a relationship with a dragon sovereign, and even beyond that she can’t imagine being with a more gentle and caring partner. 

It’s nice having someone that she knows she can completely trust. It’s hard for Andromeda to let her guard down, and even though she knows she’s not completely doing that now as Neuvillette does her eyeliner, she still has enough faith in him to even ask him for help like this. 

Neuvillette lifts the pencil from Andromeda’s eye, looking her over. “You look lovely, mon coeur.”

“Only thanks to your help,” Andromeda says, reaching up to stroke his hair with one hand. 

“You’re beautiful with or without makeup,” he states. He presses a quick kiss to her forehead as he gets up, bracing himself with one hand on her shoulder. “If you don’t like how it looks, though, just let me know. I can do it differently if you’d like me too.”

Andromeda gets up, taking the eyeliner pencil back from Neuvillette. “Okay. I’m sure it looks great, though.”

Her hand brushes against his as she makes her way back into the bathroom, taking a look at herself in the mirror. Neuvillette did well— it’s a subtle look, but still she likes the way the wings show off her eyes. She calls another thanks towards him as she takes her eyeshadow palette from the drawer. She has a little more work to do getting ready for the day, but she’s glad to have a little help with things from her boyfriend.

[taterstories]

Summer Fun written by: Tater

My name is Andy I just graduated high school and I am ready for summer with nothing to do. It is the first day of summer I am ready to relax. I walk out of my bedroom to get a bowl of cereal and there is my stepsister Lucy sitting at the counter in the kitchen. "Hey little bro guess who is home for the summer, we are going to have so much fun". I roll my eyes and sigh, "Oh hey lucy good to see you." I am not so excited to see her, when she uses to live her, she would torture me like nothing sexual, but she would make me wear her panties and dress me up like a little girl. I was so happy when she went off to college so she could not do that to me anymore but here we go again and there goes my summer. I suspect that since we are older now, I am 18 and she is 20 what she does to me will be much worse. I quickly pore my cereal and the milk and get back to my room as fast as I could and locked the door behind me. As I was power walking out of the kitchen Lucy yells to me, "See you later little bro we will talk later". That sent chills down my spine hearing her say that, but my new plan is to stay in my room or try to spend as much time with friends as possible. A plus is my mom would be there or both our parents would be. Just as I had that thought my mom walked by my room and knocked and said through the door, "Hey Hun we are going to have a house meeting in like 15 minutes please come to the kitchen." When it was time, I joined my mom and stepdad and yes, my stepsister in the kitchen. I sit at the counter at least putting something between me and Lucy. My mom started the meeting, "So we welcome back Lucy from college it will be great to have her here, Tim and I got invited to spend the summer with our friends sailing the Mediterranean on their yacht we leave tomorrow." "So, you guys can have a great summer parent free." 

After the family meeting I am laying on my bed thinking of how I can have a parent free summer and avoid my stepsister. But then I thought about what about spending the summer with my parents in the Med. So, I go into my mom's room where she is packing for her trip. I ask, "Hey mom I think it would be fun to go with you and Tim and sail the Med for the summer." She looks at me with her motherly look in her eyes. "Oh no honey you don't want to go with us an see me naked and spend the summer trapped on a yacht with some old swingers." I get so grossed out but the thought of my mom naked and multiple sex partners. I then run out of her room and into mine to devise a plan. I stay in my room all day only to leave to get food from the kitchen. The next day I wake up and go to the kitchen to get some breakfast. The house is quiet and there is no one around so I grab my cereal and head back to my room. On my way to my room Lucy pops out of the bathroom in the hall blocking my way. "Hey little bro, your mom and my dad are already gone on their trip so it's only you and me all summer, we are going to have so much fun." I push past her and tell her to leave me alone as I rush off to my room. I thought I lock my door, but I was laying on my bed watching tv and eating when Lucy busts in my door. I freak out and ask, "What you are doing get out." She jumps on me and hold me down sitting on my chest. I am a skinny and about 5'5, so lucy has me she is a little heavier than me and she is taller she is 5'10. She was a star player on the girls' team in high school. With her holding me down with her big, toned ass I feel her pull my dick out and I struggle, and I feel something fit on my cock and I hear a click and she sits up on my chest and buts something on her neckless. She then gets off me and stands next to my bed I look down at my dick and see what it was around. She had locked a pink plastic chastity cage on my dick and balls making it looks so small. I look up at her and see the key on a chain around her neck. She says, "I've brought some toys home with me for you we are going to have so much fun." She giggles and walks out of my room and shutting the door behind her. 

So, it begins the fucked-up summer Lucy had planned for me. I Just laid on my bed thinking of how I could get away. I put on some clothes and grabbed my keys and wallet and tried to be quiet as I snuck out of the house. I started to walk down the hall to make it across the house to the garage. As I came around the corner to the living room and I stop dead in my tracks, standing in my way is Lusy holding a pink collar and a leash. I'm standing there staring like a deer in head lights. She walks up to me, and I can't move, she places the collar around my neck and buckles it. She looks me in the eyes and says, "There now I have you are you wanting to go out of the house?" "We should go find you something more appropriate for you to wear." She gives me a little tug and pulls me to her bedroom, and she shuts the door and locks it with a key so I can't get out. She pulls out a pair of panties and a bra and a short little sundress. Then she tells me, "Get naked and put on these clothes". I shake my head no in protest and her just grins at me. "You think that is just collar around your neck". As she pushes a button on a remote and send a shock though my body that sends me to my knees. I take a second to recover and I get up off the floor and take off my clothes then start to put on the clothes she gave me. Once I am dressed, she sits me in a chair in front of a mirror and glues a wig to my head and does my face in make-up. "There is little bro now you are perfect to go out, so let's go to the mall together". 

After the most embarrassing trip to the mall, I've ever had and lucy buying a ton of clothes and shoes for me to wear. We went to the house where she wanted to show me something. We go to her room, and she makes me sit on the bed while she walks into her walk-in closet. When she comes out, she is sporting a long thick strap-on dildo over her yoga pants. She stands in front of me and waves it in my face. "You are going to like it, now suck on it". I am shaking staring at it, and she holds up the remote. So, I open up my mouth and take the head in my mouth then she puts her hands around my head and pushes it into my throat and makes me suck on it with drool seeping out of my mouth. She then grabs my legs and flips me on my back and put my knees next to my head. I feel the head of the dildo rest on my butt hole. I take a deep breath and she pushes it in to my ass hard. Pain and pleasure shoot through my ass up my spine, with it deep inside my ass the pain slowly subsides then she begins to fuck me. It felt weird and awkward but amazing. She fucks me till cum shot out of the tight cage in casing my small dick. once I had cum, she stopped with the dildo still in me she said, "oh just wait till the real thing". Then she pulls the dildo out and unbuckles the straps that secure it. With me still on the bed she climbs on the bed straddling my head and she pulls down her yoga pants then kneels down with her pussy smothering my face. I lick and eat and actually enjoy her juices flooding my face as she came multiple times. She turns and looks back at me in the eyes and tells me, "I knew you would see it my way, it is indeed going to be a fun summer."

[screamintoad]

Lost Souls

Chapter Eleven

Ruins

  Thunder rolled over the horizon. Clouds became murky and dark, the beginning of a storm brewed. Wet droplets fell slow before getting heavier. Karissa held out her hand to feel the rain. “It’s raining.” She pointed out. Émeric gave her a weird look before replying, “The storm is only going to get worse.” Wynter’s eyebrows creased as he thought something over. “Wait, you can get sick.” He spoke up. “Yeah?” Karissa confirmed with confusion. It wasn’t storming too hard, for now. “Are you cold? We should take shelter before the weather gets worse.” He advised. Karissa’s face twisted to truly show her confusion, “Why? It’s still a few hours until sunset, isn’t it?” 

  “If your clothes get soaked you’ll get sick.”

  “But it’s just a little bit of-“

  “You look like you’d get sick.” Émeric interjected.

  “That was uncalled for!”

  “You’re not entering Arianrdom with a fever.”

  “Okay I get it.”

  They looked around for any semblance of shelter but the only thing in sight were ruins. “That’s…going to have to do.” Wynter mumbled.

  As they approached the ruins the air began to feel very still. Odd considering the storm. The trio examined the crumbling walls, the doorway with no door, and the plentiful of moss growing along the exterior. Some walls were higher and more intact than others. “What is this supposed to be?” Karissa wondered. “Uhm, an old checkpoint? Or a temple. I’m not precisely sure.” Wynter answered. 

  The canopy didn’t give much cover from the rain but it was enough for them to not be soaked. Émeric groaned with exasperation, “We are so close but something has to always come up.” Karissa held out her hand to feel the rain, “Well, sorry that I can’t control the weather!” She blurted. Émeric glared at her until Wynter elbowed him to stop. Wynter looked out at the plains in front of them, it was barren around the ruins but there was a vast forest surrounding the area. 

  In the tree line he swore he saw a large, dark silhouette. His gaze sharpened but he couldn’t see it anymore. Émeric looked in that direction as well but sighed. “Ru’an is a sinking ship.” He mumbled. “I suppose you didn’t feel that at the Academiya.” He directed it at Karissa. She shook her head, “In the Academiya there aren’t many ways to communicate with the outside. Only staff members get that liberty.” She sighed, “I don’t even know if my family wants me home or not. They dumped me off there when I was fourteen and ever since then my memories have been really hazy. Like…I remember the feel of rain but not actually feeling it. It’s difficult to explain.” She smiled as she tried to wave it off. “I think I understand.” Wynter began, “It’s like when Lariat first took me in. My memories were wiped but some sensations were still familiar.” He explained. Karissa didn’t know how to respond so she merely nodded but, he understood what she was trying to convey. The trio watched the rain for a few more minutes before the sky got even darker.

  The puddles on the ground became black, the rain dropped to the ground in loud plops. “Is that…?” Karissa’s eyes widened. “The poison. Crap.” Émeric grit his teeth. In a white blur, Wynter sprinted for the tree line. “This could mean the Life Weaver is close! Prepare to run!” He shouted back at them. Karissa noticed Émeric’s eye twitching, “Will he be okay?” She asked, her voice laced with concern. He shrugged, “Probably but, I should go after him just in case.” At that last word, Émeric took off in the same direction. Karissa was internally screaming at this point. “I’m the one who needs protecting but they BOTH leave me here?” She groaned, “If you want anything done you gotta do it yourself.” She started walking to where the horse was tied yet she froze when a hoarse voice spoke up.

  “Hello. I’ve heard a lot about you…Karissa Valentine.”

    A jagged white rock shot out of the ground. It grew taller than Émeric and successfully stopped him. He huffed and walked past it but was once again stopped, this time, by a raven. His eyes widened. The unusual part of this particular bird was its eyes. One was pure white and the other seemed to be made of the same rock that had jut out of the ground. On its back, was the spider insignia.

  Wynter was drenched from the rain yet he continued running. He stepped in a puddle and as he lifted his leg the substance stuck to his boot. He tried to shake it off but it was like the substance was pulling him down. A low growl echoed among the trees. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He mumbled. Lumbering out of the dark came a large golem covered in the poison. “Now I really wish I was hallucinating.”

  “Who are you?” Was said amongst the storm.

  “My name is Vhaerys.” The hoarse voice evened out. The person leaned against one of the more stable walls. Their outfit was made up of various dark clothing. Their cloak held feathers on the shoulders. “I’m here to talk to you.” Their voice was calm. Unnervingly so. “Vhaerys? As in the late queen? Were you there this whole time?” Karissa voiced a series of questions. “Does it matter?” They wondered. Karissa’s face hardened, “I…suppose not. What is it you want to talk about?” “I’m afraid…I can’t elaborate much on it out here in the open. May I suggest we go somewhere more…” they held out their hand to her. “Private?”

  A few hundred yards away, Émeric stood in place in front of this raven. Materializing from it was deep, magenta colored mist. With a hiss, it formed the shape of someone that many only knew from paintings. The late princess, Themara. His eyes widened in shock. “…How?” He croaked out. Her smile was empty. “Come back.” Her singsong voice sounded brittle, as if she was holding back tears. “She’ll forgive you this time, too.” Images flashed through his mind of various memories from when he was human. Memories that most would call happy. Memories that he wishes to bury deep down into the depths of his soul, to drown and be forgotten. A prominent figure in them all being a tall woman with thin features. Her dark hair wrapped around her like ink, her steel gray eyes mirrored Émeric’s. “No!”

  Poison pooled around Wynter’s shoes. He stomped it out away from him but, it seemed to endlessly lurch towards him. His head shot in the direction that Émeric’s yell came from. “Return to the castle…and you’ll live.” The figures in the depths of the forest made themselves known as they stepped out into the open. Murky bodies burned the ground they stepped upon. These figures weren’t just bodies created from the poison. 

  No-

  The poison wrapped itself around corpses to reanimate them.

  Wynter’s face faltered for a second, it showed a glimpse of fear. “If this is happening then…the trap failed.” The corpses continued approaching him, “Come home.” They chanted. “Where is it now?” He demanded. The bodies grew eerie smiles as their mouths stretched in unnatural ways. He grit his teeth as he struggled to escape the poison but it felt as if he was trudging through oil. “Screw it.” He cursed under his breath as his sigils brightened. “Allow me.” A low angelic voice spoke out from the dark. Crow looked ahead to see piercing, pearlescent eyes gazing right at him. He blinked and they were gone. In their place was a small gold flame, the flame grew in intensity until all that could be felt was the blazing heat that emanated from it. Wynter braced his arms around him and covered his face. The smell of the burning corpses was beyond overwhelming but in a moment the poison was gone. As well as the fire. “May the odds of us meeting be in your favor.” That voice again. He turned around and all he felt was a harsh gust of wind.

  He sucked in a breath and turned on his heels. This entire situation could only mean one thing.

  The Life Weaver already caught up.

  The rain continued pounding as their exchange carried on. “No,no,no,no, NO. Last time someone stretched out their hand like that I got teleported to another plane of existence.” Karissa argued. She could feel the person’s face darken. “I see. I was thinking somewhere in this plane.” They sighed, “Do you have a preference? I can take you to the home you had before the Academiya.” Karissa’s eyes widened. “You can…what?” She cursed for letting her voice falter. She gasped as she thought back to what Wynter and Émeric had previously told her.

  ‘It bends all to its will, especially the rules of sacred magic.’

  “You’re…”

  “I’m someone interested in trading with you. Some other place. And I suppose…”

  Thunder shook the ground. The wall beside the person crashed to the ground in pieces as large deep red colored spikes struck the ground around them. 

  “Some other time.”

  Out of the rubble, Wynter jumped over the rest of the wall that stood. “Get on the horse, Karissa. Head towards the mountains and don’t stop until you see the pillars.” He pointed to the mountain range behind her. “The pillars?” Émeric vaulted over the stones next, one of his arms was covered by a gauntlet that seemed to be made out of blood. Karissa assumed that’s where the spikes came from. “We told you to run, so listen. This isn’t some mediocre threat. This is the Life Weaver.” Wynter threw her a harsh look and that was enough to get her legs to start working again. 

  “Why…must you make my mission so difficult?” The being wheezed as it writhed on the ground. Multiple spikes impaled it. “Shut up.” Émeric hissed. “Ah~” the voice carried through the air. Skeletal hands wrapped around the two’s arms to show off their sigils. “So those are the powers she gave you.” The Life Weaver mused. “How distasteful. Disobedience from corpses.” Émeric’s eye twitched at the term while Wynter bit his tongue. They watched the body continue prattling on. “I said I’d give you a chance, Émeric. And Wynter, so much potential.” The skeletal hands turned to the body as Wynter’s sigils illuminated yet a faint glow began to form on his back. “And I said shut up.” Émeric lunged at the body. “Then witness such potential.” Wynter manipulated the hands to hold down the body. The being’s mask cracked from the force of them.

  Karissa ran a hand along the horse’s muzzle, “‘Run’. Right. You can run right? Not sure if I can, though…” she winced as a sharp pain ran through her head. “Not again…” but this migraine wasn’t accompanied by whispers. She looked down and saw that even in her leather bag, the shard was still able to glow a bright yellow hue. Her chest grew tight and orange soul strings wrapped around her hands. Her chest also gained a bright orange glow. “Is the shard reacting to me, or am I reacting to the shard?” An image flashed in her mind of the others.

   Émeric slashed at the body while Wynter did his best to hold his own against monsters made from the poison.

  The sound as if a fire was put out left the body as it deflated to nothing but the clothes on it. “Enough.” A distorted voice emanated through the rain. Both Wynter and Émeric froze. “You really haven’t learned anything. I’m…disappointed though not surprised.” They looked behind them to see the entity did have a human-like body. Yet this body belonged to the late queen of Ru’an, Vhaerys Laurier. She was tall, her skin pale, and her once flowy brown hair was now dark and thin. But, this wasn’t her. It was a puppeteer taking advantage of her weakness once again.

  History does tend to repeat itself. 

  Sigils along her arms began glowing as skeletal hands appeared once again. “Your mother had plans for you, Émeric. Seeing you like this, a lowly errand boy making the same mistakes over and over again…It would break her heart, if she had one.” Émeric sneered, “Don’t bring her into thi-“ “Quiet.” Vhaerys ordered. She tapped the end of her cane against his forehead and his face went emotionless. “What did you do to him?” Wynter demanded. “Remember, the Life Weaver is the reason that ghouls exist at all.” In a swirl of shadows, she emerged behind Wynter. She tapped her cane against the back of his neck where his life rune is. A feeling of dizziness washed over him and he fell to the ground. Vhaerys sighed, “My patience is wearing thin. Now…I have a package to collect.” Just like before, she dissipated in a haze of darkness.

  Gaining his consciousness back, Wynter saw large claws reach for him out of the corner of his eyes.

[cheetee]

I wrote this as an opening for another fic which I wound up scrapping, because the reason I wrote it as an intro no longer applies to the story, and it kind of just interrupted the flow otherwise. Now it's just a fluffy oneshot about Bruno and a three-year-old Mirabel. 🌸

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

Bad Vision

There was a knock on Bruno's door.

That was surprising. Nobody really visited Bruno - not without an appointment, anyway, since nobody liked to surprise-visit the local domesday prophet. He worried his mother wanted something - would she have knocked? - when the door uneasily opened and revealed Mirabel, the doorknob barely reaching her chin.

"Tío Bruno!" she said happily, as though seeing him in his own home was a surprise.

Mirabel was turning four. She was easily the star of the family, and certainly the apple of her grandmother's eye. She was, even at the age of three, talkative and doggedly helpful. Everybody in town loved her - intelligent for her age, cute as pie, and toddling after them happily, saying: "What's that?" and, "You're really good at selling things" and, "I want to do that when I grow up." Alma took her interest in people as a sure sign that she'd grow up selfless and dedicated; Bruno, on the other hand, observed that Mirabel was good at relating to adults because she wasn't good at relating to other kids. He had a suspicion she'd grow up to be socially awkward, although Alma would probably disapprove.

"Hello?" he said, as she hugged his knees like she hadn't seen him at least a few days ago. "What are you doing here, Mirabel?"

Bruno hadn't asked the kids not to talk to him, but evidently someone had, because his sobrinos never really came in here. And, indeed, he never left. Mirabel had forgotten about him and was admiring the patterns on his walls.

"I need a vision," she said happily.

Bruno's chest tightened a little. "W-who told you that?"

Not his mother. Please not his mother. He'd always been afraid she'd demand to know Mirabel's Gift in advance. Couldn't he watch Mirabel grow up in real time like everybody else?

Mirabel seemed unbothered. "Camilo did."

Oh. That was less worrying. If it was Camilo then it was probably about that night's dinner. Bruno let out a sigh of relief.

"What do you need a vision about, mija?" he asked.

"I can't read."

Bruno suppressed a smile. "But you're only three, Mirabel, you'll learn to read when you're older."

He went to stand next to her as she stared up at the murals. She took his hand and began to swing it gently.

"No," she insisted, "I can't read."

He was puzzled. "I... promise you will learn to read eventually. I'm sure you'll be great at it."

Mirabel took on the patient cadence of her mother explaining something complicated. "But I need a vision from you, or I won't be able to do it."

Bruno scratched his head.

"Would you like me to teach you to read?" he said eventually. "We wouldn't have to use a vision. We could just... use a book."

Mirabel brightened up. "Okay!" she said. "Did you draw this picture?"

She pointed up at the mural on the wall. Bruno chuckled.

"No, I didn't. Casita did."

"I think it's pretty."

Bruno was heartened to hear that; Pepa constantly called his room's decor 'creepy'. "I think so too."

"Can I touch it?"

She had apparently forgotten about learning to read. Bruno picked her up under the arms, surprised to find she was much heavier than he'd remembered, and grunted as he held her up to see the wall. She reached out a hand, beaming, and ran it along the lines. Then she giggled.

"I'm tall," she said.

"You'll probably be this tall when you're older," Bruno told her, the wisened words of a man whose sisters were both taller than him. "Then you'll be able to touch the carvings by yourself."

"I'm four tomorrow!" she declared.

"Tomorrow?" Oh no, it was tomorrow. He had no idea where the time had gone. "I-Is that right? What are you going to get for your birthday?"

"A vision," she said happily.

"I don't think," he began, then sighed. "What about a book? A book with nice pictures like these."

"Yeah!"

He perched her on his hip, and she wrapped her arms around him as he took her to see the next mural. She was, admittedly, a little heavy for this process, but it wasn't like he was getting much exercise otherwise.

"When I can write, I'm going to write a book," she said.

"A book about what?"

"You and me and Luisa and Isabela," explained Mirabel, "And Casita."

"Me? In the book?"

"Yes," said Mirabel firmly, "You'll be in the book, making things."

"What kinds of things?"

"Nice pictures on walls, like these."

Bruno chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, alright."

Bruno's door swung open again. Bruno found himself freezing, as though he'd been caught doing something wrong; it was only Camilo, though, the other little sobrino, striding in like he owned the place.

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

"So I can read," said Mirabel, "Tío Bruno says he can teach me."

"No he can't," said Camilo, "You can't read."

Mirabel's lip wobbled. Bruno wished his problems were as simple and Mirabel and Camilo's.

"Tío Bruno can give me a vision," said Mirabel, "Then I'll be able to read."

"It's his fault!" shouted Camilo. "Tío Agustín says you can't learn to read because you have bad vision!"

Bruno burst into laughter. By the looks both Mirabel and Camilo were looking at him, they didn't get it at all.

"Mirabel," he said, "For your birthday, why don't we get you a pair of glasses, like your dad's? Then we could fix your vision."

Mirabel cheered up immediately at this. She put her fingers to her face and made a glasses shape. "Like Pa's?"

"Yes, like those! They could be your special birthday glasses. How would that be?"

Mirabel smiled brightly.

"I want glasses too!" Camilo cried, tugging the end of Bruno's ruana.

Bruno suppressed a bark of laughter. "I give people bad visions, Camilo, not bad vision! And anyway, your birthday's already done!"

"I want orange glasses!" Camilo was practically ripping the ends off the ruana. Bruno had to tug them out of his hands.

"I want my glasses to be green," said Mirabel happily, "Like Tío Bruno."

"Like Tío Bruno, huh?" said Bruno, grinning.

Mirabel took Bruno's hand, and Camilo, seeing that he was being left out, took the other.

"We have to tell Pa!" said Mirabel.

"You have to make it happen!" insisted Camilo.

Bruno chuckled and - for once in his life - let the kids pull him out of his room. He had to admit, they were a lot of fun. He could get used to this.

[i-will-change-this-someday]

Is Jon tall or short?

I think he’s short. (I’ll explain why under the cut)

This is to Jon; I think it’d be kinda weird to describe oneself like that if you’re shorter than the person you’re talking to. (I know this might just be about weight, but to me it seems more like it’s all dimensions, including height)

Granted this is from a weird eldritch being, that, I think, can be rather large. So perhaps not concrete evidence.

Again, this a threat, so might just be hyperbole.

Another threat(?), might just be belittling. Edit: Nikola also calls him “little Archivist” in episode 97.

Once again, another threat, so might still be an exaggeration.

You guessed it, another threat, but I feel it at least safe to say Jon’s smaller than the cop.

While it’s not, perhaps, the best evidence; I at least think it’s enough to say Jon’s not particularly tall, perhaps average height at best?

There’s also the fact Jon could barely carry a pipe around, (a pipe Elias could, apparently, bludgeon a man’s head in with). Jon also looks pathetic enough that Basira can’t even fathom him being able to murder someone.

(To be clear, I’m not saying Jon isn’t tall, just giving my reasons for why I think he’s short. Headcanon him whatever height you’d like)

His only concrete description is that he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

Just for kicks, here’s my personal headcanons on the archives staff’s (and Elias[and Georgie]) height and/or build.

Jon: Tiny. To me, he is the smallest wet cat of a man, 5’4” (162.5 cm) at most. No meat on his bones, just a little guy.

Martin: Like he says, not the smallest guy, I imagine he’s a heavy guy, very huggable. I know there’s the common headcanon that he’s exactly 6’(183 cm), but to me, he’s got 6’2” (189 cm) energy. (Am I the only one that took “not the smallest” to mean absolutely jacked at first, just a total beefcake)

Tim: Average. Average height, average build. Probably 5’9” (175 cm) decently muscular, (from those kayaking trips)

Sasha: canonically tall. Sasha’s tall, I’d say 6’1 (185 cm) I kinda imagine her to be curvy(?, I don’t know if that’s the right way to put it) you know those people who have, like some good arm fat? (I’m sorry, that’s probably the worst way to describe it, but I don’t know how else to explain it) Really soft, kind looking type of person.

Elias: Elias is an odd one, ‘cause depending on the day I might think he’s kinda big, like 5’11” (180 cm) and somewhat muscular (less so than Tim), ‘cause he did bash a man’s head in. But on other days, I might go with the common twink version of Elias, I’m thinking 5’6” (167 cm), so still taller than Jon, but shorter than most guys. (He was also described as a “weird little freak” by Daisy, but that was, once again, a threat, so might just be intimidation)

Melanie: Canonically skinny. Honestly, a lot like Jon, I imagine her to not have much meat on her bones,(although, probably more muscle on her than Jon) she’s all sharp angles. While I do like the idea she’s the exact same height as Jon, I think she’s either one inch taller or shorter, either way she’s intolerable about it.

Georgie: I don’t really have any specific height for Georgie, but I’d probably say somewhere around 5’5” - 5’7” (165 - 170 cm). Like Martin, she gives off very huggable vibes, kinda like that one person you know that’s really nice and soft looking, but can also just verbally destroy someone.

Basira: Average height, on the heavier(?, not sure that’s the right word for it) side. It’s implied that she and Martin are not as skinny as Melanie, so I think Basira’s pretty muscular, but it’s like in a weight lifter kind of way. I feel like she’s probably 5’8” (173 cm).

Daisy: strong. If anyone is absolutely ripped in The Magnus Archives, (other than Jared Hopworth) it’s Daisy. However, I don’t think she’s that tall, probably same height as Tim at 5’9” (175 cm).

[zaebeecee]

Blitzø’s 13 ••

Written by @fletchingbrilliant and ZaeBeeCee

Chapter 2: The Bruiser & the Pickpocket

First chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

•••

Mild CW for canon-typical Crimson homophobia.

•••

“Give me the rundown of the current situation.”

“Yessir.” He was so much taller than she was. It was hard for her to keep up as he strode along the long hallway, not even gracing her with a downward glance. She practically had to jog to keep up with him, tablet balanced on her arm and eyes divided in focus between the words on the screen and where she was walking. At least people always cleared a path for him wherever he went, and she could take advantage of that herself.

It was exactly the same here as it was at VoxTek: nobody with a working brain cell wanted to get in Vox’s way, because that was a sure way to get his left eye turned on you. In many ways, Millie respected the drip, not that she would ever tell him that.

“Invitations have gone out t’all of th’ Princes,” Millie said, scrolling through the details and glancing over them. “Positive responses have already come back from Asmodeus, Mammon, Satan, and Beelzebub. His Majesty warned us that Belphegor probably won’t respond at all, but she’ll still show up, and that Leviathan won’t respond until we send three more assurances. Also, selective invitations have been sent t’ th’ Houses of the Ars Goetia, namely House Paimon, House Vinea, and House Belial, with a special inclusion for House Beleth, which recently passed t’ Prince Vassago. We have left an openin’ for House Zagan if he, y’know, finds out they weren’t in th’ first round.”

She could hear Vox roll his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Well, if President Zagan does attend, we may be able to convince him to turn whatever spilled blood we have into wine.” He opened the door to his office and she followed him inside, closing the door behind herself and standing in front of his desk as he settled in his chair. Millie kept her eyes on either her tablet or the screen that was her boss’s face, keeping her gaze off of the bank of screens behind him and the glass aquarium wall to her left, where she knew several hellsharks were silently swimming back and forth as a threat to anyone who questioned the head of security at Lucifer’s Palace.

Millie cleared her throat as Vox watched her expectantly. “Th’ only affirmative response we’ve gotten from the Ars Goetia is from House Paimon, specifically Prince Stolas, his family, and his contingent, including the arctic marquis. But we’re expectin’ all of them and have accounted for a total of two hundred and fifty hellborn for the event.”

Vox nodded in vague approval. “What about the sinners?”

Millie swallowed. This was the part she wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. “Well, invitations have been limited t’ th’ overlords at His Majesty’s request. Miss Rosie has agreed to provide caterin’ for us, and requested a finalized menu by th’ end of th’ week. Miss Carmine has agreed t’ send Odette and Clara a month in advance t’ collaborate with your engineers on th’ heavier side of th’ security systems. Mister Zestial sent a real ominous message back that we’re almost positive was a yes. And, of course, Mister Valentino and Miss Velvette are makin’ arrangements for VoxTek’s management while they’re at the event. Mister Valentino asked you t’ call him when you’ve got a minute.”

“Regarding?”

Millie shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

Vox rolled his eyes, grimacing and waving his hand. “Alright, I’ll deal with it. What about the other overlords?”

Millie hesitated. “…there was, um, insistence that invites go out to every active overlord.”

Silence greeted that statement. Vox stared at her, his left eye twitching. “Every… overlord?”

“Yessir.”

“Do you mean to tell me that an invitation has been issued to the Radio Demon, and I was not informed of this immediately?!” Vox snarled, his voice getting louder as he spoke; he rose to his feet, digging his claws along his desktop.

Millie squeaked, raising her tablet as an ineffectual shield between the two of them. “P-Princess Charlotte is a big fan of Mister Alastor’s radio program,” she said quickly; no matter how physically strong she was, she didn’t stand a chance against the television overlord. “She named him specifically when giving her own invitation requests! But he hasn’t responded and we aren’t even sure he’ll receive it at all, much less actually show up!”

Vox narrowed his eyes, then closed them, sinking back down into his chair. When he opened his eyes once more, his expression had been schooled; he was only missing his public relations smile, which he almost never wore without an audience anyway. “If the princess wishes,” he said, and Millie knew that statement had to cause him physical pain. “But you will inform me the moment any message comes back from him.”

“Of course, sir,” Millie said, feeling like she had just narrowly escaped with her head on her shoulders.

“Send me the guest room plans,” Vox instructed. “I want to see to the arrangements myself. I don’t want another situation of Mammon and Asmodeus being placed on the same floor.” He sighed. “There will be sinners among the hired entertainment, correct?” Millie nodded. “Then we’ll have enough to deal with as far as mixed company goes without also dealing with inter-Ring feuds.”

“Yessir.” Millie looked down at the tablet again and tapped a few buttons to send a file to her boss. “I have most of th’ entertainment lined up, it just requires your finalization. Mister Valentino was, um, very involved in the selection process.”

Vox rolled his eyes again. “Fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Is it that fucking stripper again?”

“He’s… on the request list, yes.”

“I do not understand his obsession with that queer little prostitute,” Vox said, glancing down the list Millie had sent. “But if it gets Val off my back, I don’t care.”

Millie nodded. “Mammon also sent back confirmation for Fizzarolli t’ give at least one performance, so the largest entertainment slot’s booked. Everything else isn’t in our court right now. We’re waitin’ for responses on most of it.”

“Very well. Go ahead and check on the progress of the pavilion and let me know if there have been any delays.”

“Yessir.”

Getting out of that office was a relief, and Millie let out a massive sigh, catching her breath for just a second before heading away from Vox’s office as quickly as dignity would let her move. Without the television overlord leading the path, people didn’t just part the seas for her anymore, but Millie was small enough that flitting around their legs wasn’t too complicated.

Lucifer’s Palace was enormous, more so than she had been led to believe just seeing it from the outside. It was a misleading name; while it sounded like a residence, Lucifer’s Palace was much more like a Hell resort, and one very worthy of the Pride ring. It contained dining halls, ballrooms, a large game room, and floors and floors of deluxe suites. The Morningstar family didn’t actually live within its walls, and as a matter of fact, it had been a very long time since anyone had seen the King of Hell in any capacity whatsoever.

However, Millie couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the time that Lucifer finally entered back into the blood red sun and reinstated his position.

When Millie had first heard about this job, she hadn’t known where it would be or what exactly it was for, simply that it was a security position at VoxTek. Once she’d been accepted, however, she’d been given the details, and she had never felt more in over her head than she did right now.

It was no secret that VoxTek had recently accepted a security contract at Lucifer’s Palace, one that Vox himself was personally overseeing. It also wasn’t much of a secret that, in two months, the Palace would be hosting a large party that would be attended by the most elite entities across all the rings of Hell. Millie had been placed as the head of floor security for said event, which also made her the event coordinator working right beneath Vox.

Then she had discovered what it was: a seven day and seven night soirée for Princess Charlotte’s official debut into Hell society. There were murmurs among the staff of what this meant. Was Lucifer returning? Was he abdicating his throne to his daughter? Was he even still around? Nobody knew anything… except, of course, that it had to be perfect.

The pavilion was coming along fine, and with nothing for her to do, Millie was ecstatic about finally clocking out and getting the Heaven out of there. She didn’t want to hear anything else about parties or catering or strippers or construction for the next eight hours; she just wanted her cozy little apartment, some takeout, and a terrible horror movie before she crashed. It was already almost ten, after all, and she hadn’t even started her unwinding process yet, so she was feeling grumpy.

Despite that, Millie didn’t turn her work phone off, aware that Vox might need to get ahold of her at any time. Reluctantly, she turned the ringer on, then slipped it into her bag and pulled out her own personal phone to turn it back on. It sang a happy little tune as it powered up, followed by a tiny ding to tell her she had a voice mail. She stopped and looked at the screen, but it wasn’t a number she had in her contacts. Frowning, she tapped the message, pleading with any higher demons that might be listening that it wasn’t Chaz needing to be picked up from somewhere yet again.

Immediately, a very familiar voice filled her ears. “What up, bitch. You know who it is. Gimme a call when you get this, I’ve got something that will interest you.”

Squealing, Millie tapped the number and bounced on the balls of her feet as it rang. After a few seconds, she heard the click. “Hey, Millie-Billie!”

“Blitzø!” Millie said happily, shouldering her bag and continuing to the nearest noodle shop. “Holy shit, it’s been forever, hi!”

Blitzø laughed. “It must have been if you’ve forgotten enough about me to be excited to hear from me.”

“Oh, shut up, you negative little whore.” Millie grinned as he laughed again. “What’s up? You causin’ trouble again?”

“Not yet. Just planning it. You still living it up in Wrath?”

“Nah. I got a job in Pentagram City so I moved my ass out here. You still in Imp City?”

“Living out there, yeah, but I’m gonna be in Pentagram City tonight. You busy? I don’t really want to get into this over the phone.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Millie said, filling out a takeout card. “…wait. I mean, no, I’m not busy. This yer permanent number?”

“Nah. Still got the old one. Text me your address and I’ll stop by.”

Millie really wanted to ask why he was calling her from a different number, but she just shrugged. “Okie-dokie. I’m pickin’ up dinner and then I’ll be home. Y’want anything? It’s noodles.”

“Spring roll me, bitch.”

She grinned. “Gotcha. I’ll see you in a bit.”

•

Millie had only been home for about fifteen minutes when she heard the knock, and she launched herself over her couch, wrenching the door open and tackling Blitzø into a hug right in the hallway. “Hi!!”

“Holy fuck—!” Blitzø stumbled under the sudden affection, but he patted her head. “Okay, okay, it’s good to see you too, stop touching me.”

Millie smiled and refused to apologize as she released him. “C’mon in.” She stood out of his way and closed the door once he had passed, taking a moment to look him over. He hadn’t changed much in the year since they’d seen each other, but he looked… different, somehow, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. “You look good,” she ventured, motioning for him to follow as she headed to the couch and sat down again.

“Do I?” Blitzø asked, sitting near her and accepting the pack of spring rolls she handed him. “Guess prison’s good for me.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake, you got arrested again?” Millie asked with a frown.

Blitzø shrugged, unconcerned. “Got out this morning. Just got back from Greed, actually.”

Her eyes widened. “You were in a Greed prison??”

“What? No. I was in Pride, I just went to Greed for a while. Visiting someone about the same thing I contacted you about, actually,” he said evasively, tossing one of the spring rolls up and snapping it whole out of the air with his tongue.

Millie frowned at him. “…you’ve been out for, like, a handful of hours and you’re already plannin’ a job.”

Blitzø frowned, licking crumbs off of his claws and speaking around the food in his mouth. “When the fuck did I get so predictable?”

“What in th’ seven rings is wrong with you?” Millie asked, exasperated. “Ain’t you got enough goin’ against you without tryin’ t’ get yourself in trouble?”

“Apparently not,” Blitzø said, giving her a bright grin. “But I have a great plan! And I think this is right up your alley.”

“Why’s that?” Millie asked suspiciously.

“I know about your new employment~”

They stared at each other for a few moments before Millie held up her index finger in his face. “No.”

“I didn’t even tell you what it is yet!”

“You don’t hafta tell me more’n you just did. No. If you know my job, you know my boss, and ain’t nobody crossin’ the Vees without endin’ up dead.” Blitzø smacked her hand out of his face and her frown deepened. “Whatever you’re doin’s gotta be dangerous. Can’t you just, I dunno, get a normal job for a while or somethin’?”

“Boring,” Blitzø said dismissively. “Come on, at least hear me out.”

Millie sighed. “…ten minutes. Go.”

Nine and a half minutes later, Millie was halfway through her dinner and listening, enraptured, as Blitzø finished his spiel. “…and we could probably get away with more than just that,” he concluded.

“You’re nuts,” Millie said, awe-struck. “Of everyone you could be robbin’, you wanna knock over Lucifer’s resort.”

“I do.”

“Knowin’ that VoxTek has set up shop there.”

“Yes.”

“And knowin’ that the place is gonna be filled with Hell’s elites while you’re tryin’ t’ pull this off.”

“Absolutely.”

Millie looked down at her half-full container of noodles, spinning some onto her fork and then continuing the rotation without lifting it. Her mind was spinning in much the same way as she considered the implications, the problems, the threats… and also how much she hated her boss and didn’t want to have to kiss anyone’s ass for a living anymore. She was an imp, so it was either a lifetime of being a sycophant… or…

“…what do you need from me?”

Immediately, Blitzø grabbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek roughly. “You are my favorite.”

Despite herself, Millie felt herself blush and giggled, shoving him away. “I damn well better be.”

“Right now, I need basics,” he said. “Guest list. Floor plans. Schedule. Anything you can tell me about the security arrangements. Things like that.”

Millie nodded, thinking. “Most of that’ll be easy to get you. I’ve got access to it, anyway. The hardest part will be figurin’ out how to keep Vox from finding out that I’m makin’ copies of ‘em.”

“You’re precious and perfect and I can’t believe you’re still single.”

Millie snorted. “I ain’t, actually. You gonna tell me who else you’ve got in on this?”

Blitzø stared at her, and she realized that changing the subject had definitely tipped him off. “You’re not.”

She groaned. “Blitzø—”

“You are not dating fucking sexual harassment shark boy again!”

“It ain’t like that! It’s fine, Chaz is better, it… it’s good, it’s fine! Really!” Millie cringed at the disbelieving look he was giving her. “…I barely see him. He ain’t exactly a taxation on my time, iffin you catch my meanin’, and this means I don’t have t’ try an’ muddle my way through a breakup that I ain’t got the time or the emotional capacity t’ handle right now. Besides, I’m serious, it really ain’t that bad.”

“Why did you start dating him again?”

“Look, you ain’t never met him. He’s very persuasive, okay? Now, enough about my love life before I start grillin’ you about—”

“Other recruits, right, got it. Fizzarolli, so far.”

Her eyes widened. “The clown?” Blitzø nodded. “Which is why you were in Greed. …you talked t’ Fizzarolli. How the actual fuck didja swing that? He ain’t exactly overburdened with free time, from what I hear, and he’s Fizzarolli.”

“We’re old friends,” Blitzø said with a loose shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal that he was on speaking (and plotting) terms with one of the biggest celebrities Hell had ever seen. “I won’t be telling everyone everything, but you’re a coordinator, so you’re going to have to know… most of it.”

Millie sighed, setting her food down. “This is heavy. Way bigger than anything else you and I did back in the day.”

“Isn’t it great?” Blitzø grinned.

She laughed. “I gotta be off my rocker if I’m agreein’ with you on that.” When she turned to him, her expression was serious again. “You ain’t just goin’ in with three of us, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Blitzø said. “I’m currently figuring out what all we’re going to need on a team.”

Millie thought. “…I’m in charge of floor security,” she said. “I don’t have authorization for a bunch of the back areas. You’re gonna need cards for that, and if you want cards, you’re gonna need a better pickpocket than you.”

Blitzø raised his finger. “First of all, that’s fucking rude. Second, I’ve got a line on that. Someone low profile by both effort and nature, don’t worry.”

She snorted. “Good, because so far you’ve got the coordinator of the event you’re crashin’ and the most famous clown Greed ever turned out besides Mammon himself. And you ain’t exactly low key yourself,” she said.

“Don’t worry. Let me handle it,” Blitzø said. “He’s a good thief that’ll probably be hard up enough to take any offer I give him.”

Millie raised an eyebrow. “You sure he’s good?”

Blitzø wiggled his own eyebrows at her. “He’s good with his hands, at least, and we love an impressionable and neurotic little twink who’s paranoid enough to keep his eyes out for any threats.”

“Shit,” she said, laughing. “Okay, fine, you have fun with that. What else do you need?”

Blitzø shrugged. “At the moment, to get the rest of my shit together.”

“Blitzø…” Millie frowned at him, but she couldn’t glare. “You sure you’re okay?”

Blitzø’s smile was as cocksure as she had seen it. “As always.”

Millie didn’t push, because it wasn’t her business, but really… that was what she was afraid of.

•••

“You wanted to see me… sir.”

Moxxie stood straight, firm, and utterly defeated in the large and imposing room. No matter how many years he was trapped in this terrible place, it never stopped having a crushing effect on him. And the imp he stood in front of, seated at his huge desk in his huge chair… Moxxie never stopped feeling so small and frightened by him, no matter how far into adulthood he got.

After a bold string of attempts to make things work—both with and without a certain jackass of a boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, depending—Moxxie had no choice but to go crawling back to his father.

Had no choice. That was a laugh. He would have had a choice, if he had ever grown a spine.

The firelight behind the desk cast Moxxie’s father into deep relief as he sat forward, elbows on his desk, hands folded together just below his chin. “That I did, boy,” Crimson said in his most loaded business voice, the one that either meant Moxxie was about to be treated like a real son or that he was about to find his own horns mounted on his father’s wall. “We had a visitor earlier this evening. I’m sure you’re aware; eavesdropping has always been a speciality of yours, hasn’t it?”

He felt a stab; not of guilt, but embarrassment. “...Yes sir,” he admitted. It was better than trying to lie to the man.

Crimson’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll get to the point. There’s going to be a party in the Pride ring a couple of months from now, at Lucifer’s Palace. All of Hell society will be attending. Mammon extended an invitation to our family as part of the representation for Greed. You’ll be coming.”

That wasn't what Moxxie was expecting. He smacked his chest with his hand. “M-me? But sir, I… I thought I was too much of a–” don't say it, don't give it power “–of an embarrassment to be seen at public functions.”

“Why do you think I’m telling you this far in advance?” Crimson asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Ever since Chazwick’s… departure, I’ve been considering how you can best mend your previous mistakes. We need more cash flow through the family. And you—” he pointed at Moxxie for emphasis, “—are going to make that happen.”

It was way too obvious what Crimson was saying, and Moxxie paled, blurting out a retort before he could stop himself. “You're trying to marry me off?!”

“No shit,” his father said, clearly communicating that he thought Moxxie was a complete moron without having to give voice to the opinion yet again. Crimson leaned back in his chair, watching Moxxie over steepled fingers. “This place will be swarming with nobles, princes, overlords, all manner of worthwhile targets. And there’s bound to be a hundred rich homos there; always is at soirées like this, and a gaudy place like that palace is bound to attract the queers.” The dig at Lucifer was clear, but left unacknowledged. “I don’t care what guy you bait, Moxxie, so long as he has money and you finish out the week at least solidly engaged.”

He felt a tightness in his throat. It was pointless to try and explain to his father what bisexual actually meant; he'd made attempts before. It never ended well. And he knew he didn't have a leg to stand on now, either. But that didn't make him any less bitter.

“Are we that hard up for cash, father?”

“Irrelevant. You haven’t been doing your part since that unfortunate incarceration of yours,” Crimson said, his face unchanged. “It seems that the only way you’re capable of providing a meaningful contribution is as a piece of ass that can bring in someone else who’ll do that job for you. And if that’s all you’re good for, it’s what you’ll do, capisce?”

Moxxie turned his face as though Crimson had physically struck him. He gritted his teeth, but even harder he gripped his palms with his clawed fingertips. They popped the leather in his fingerless gloves and pierced his skin.

“...Yes. Sir.”

“Good,” Crimson said, narrowing his eyes sharply. “Get back to your room. Look at your wardrobe. You’ll need proper clothes for seven days and seven nights of events, so figure out what you need made.” Apparently, that was the only thing he felt Moxxie needed to be concerned with.

Once, Moxxie’s room had felt like a kind of escape. There was a time he could get away with having things in it that he actually liked. When his mother was trying desperately to give him something, anything all, that brought some shred of happiness. Now, it was a stark and cold place, with only the trappings and decor Crimson approved of. Fine and expensive paintings of beautiful (female) demons, one of an overtly sexualized (male) demon was his attempt to accept Moxxie’s sexuality – for his own purposes, not for his son’s sake of course. And then there were the plaques. Many, many plaques, all empty and awaiting trophies. All, that was, but one.

Above his door was a plaque bearing a pair of imp’s horns. They didn't belong to anyone Moxxie knew, and the nameplate was left without an engraving. But he knew why they were there. The poor demon was killed for one reason and one reason only. Their horns had a familiar shape and pattern about them. Moxxie couldn't remove it. He'd tried. It was sealed there. So instead it tortured him every moment he spent in this room.

He stoked the fireplace, wincing as it sparked to life. Green hellfire was too hot, but it was the only thing that would ignite properly in the Greed Ring. The green light was so sickly and wrong. Moxxie sometimes wondered if it would burn more happily if they had a prince who actually gave a shit about any of them.

He sat on the edge of his bed, feeling the heat of the small fire even here, his hands stuffed between his knees and his hooved feet kicking sadly.

Get married. He had to get married. This was what it had come down to. Crimson had finally given up on trying to make anything tangible of his weak sad sack of a son. And what was so sickening about it all was that if he failed to find someone, to actually woo someone to marry him in just seven days, that would be it. His father would have no use for him at all.

But to imagine those who would actually want this, in such a short span of time… they were the last sort of people Moxxie wanted touching him.

His shoulders trembled. His clenched jaw couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears fell from his eyes, and once there was one, the others poured forth that much more easily.

As Moxxie cried in the only thing he could even remotely call a sanctuary, his breath caught strangely. It sounded like a distant rattling, oddly inorganic for a sob. But when he heard it again, he realized it wasn’t him; rather, it sounded like it was coming from outside the window on the other side of his room. Moxxie heard something clatter—maybe there was an animal on the trellis, it wouldn’t have been the first time—before suddenly his window was hauled open and a shadow fell through it with a heavy thud and an “Ow, fuck…!”

“What in Hell?!” Moxxie hopped to his feet, sure that Crimson had decided not to wait for the party and just have him killed now. He backed slowly to the fireplace and retrieved his rifle from where it sat snugly in a compartment beside the mantle. Hands shaking, he switched off the safety, pulled the bolt, and raised it.

“I'm armed!” he called out, careful not to raise his voice too much. “So… so don't try anything!”

“Oh, fuck my throat by way of my entire ass,” the shadow said in distinct aggravation, in a voice that was suddenly… very familiar. Moxxie could see the figure standing, and it looked distinctly imp-like, if taller than he would expect. “I’m not armed, Moxx, take a fucking benzo or something.”

The figure moved into the light, and Moxxie found himself looking at Blitzø, complete with his characteristically ‘sarcastic and unimpressed’ expression, his hands loosely held up in a perfunctory and unthreatened compliance with Moxxie’s stance. He stopped immediately out of the ring of Hellfirelight, and he stayed there.

Moxxie lowered the rifle, staring in total shock. “Blitzø? What the… why are you… what are you… how do you know where I live??”

“I got connections,” Blitzø said, giving Moxxie a lazy grin and lowering his hands. “Didn’t know this was your bedroom, but hey, looks like my intuition makes me cooler than I thought. I came to talk to you, and since I don’t have your fucking number anymore, you get me breaking in.”

Moxxie didn't set his gun down, but let it hang in one hand as he crossed the room to face his former cellmate. “Well I don't know what you want, but breaking in here is kind of really fucking stupid. Do you have any idea whose house this is?!”

“Uh, yeah,” Blitzø said, giving Moxxie a look that said ‘are you a fucking moron or something’. “It kinda came with getting the address in the first fucking place. Why do you think I didn’t knock?”

“Right. How silly of me,” Moxxie said with a flat expression, narrowing his eyes when Blitzø immediately grinned. “So what do you want to talk to me about? Make it quick or Alessio will notice something's not right.”

“Would you believe me if I said I have a desperate need for your extremely talented fingers?” Blitzø’s smile had taken on an undeniably lecherous edge as he leaned forward, just a little.

Moxxie could feel the heat in his cheeks as he hopped backward. His teeth gritted, and he tried not to freak out. And after the evening I've just had! “Th- the fuck are you talking about? I'm not– we're not–”

“Oh, fucking Heaven, your face,” Blitzø cackled, and to his very minor credit, he at least appeared to be trying to keep his voice down. “Chill the fuck out, Moxx, I wanna hire you for a job. Not for a sex thing.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” His cheeks were glowing now, that soft bluish color that his father hated so much. “What… what kind of job?”

“Y’know, standard shit. I’m planning a heist and I need someone who can lift. Specifically, and don’t let this go to your head, I need someone who can lift like you can.”

Moxxie finally stashed his rifle, folding his arms and frowning. Nothing good had ever come from his brief time spent with Blitzø. He reminded himself of that very firmly. He had to. Otherwise… it really was hard to want to say no to him. Not that I'll ever—EVER—admit that to him or anyone else.

“You're either trying to butter me up with that compliment, or it's actually not standard shit and is something that's probably going to get us both killed.”

Blitzø let out a long breath, looking upwards in that ‘okay hold up lemme think’ way that he did. “Okay. No. It’s not standard. But your part wouldn’t be anything you’ve never done before! You know, security keycards, codes, that’s all!”

Moxxie sagged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Okay, just… When is this job supposed to go down? Because I've got kind of a… busy schedule coming up.”

“We have a while to prepare,” Blitzø said, looking at him sharply, calculating, clearly immediately interested in prying. “Couple of months.”

Immediately the math played out in his mind and Moxxie frowned, growing evasive. Somehow whatever nonsense Blitzø had in mind sounded way better than what his father was forcing him to do. “Not sure I’m gonna be of any help. I’ve got a… a pretty big commitment in two months. No getting out of it either.”

“Oh yeah?” Blitzø tilted his head, one hand on his waist. “Your dad throwing your debutante ball finally?”

He glared at the taller imp. “Cute. No, my dad’s making me–… he's gotten an invitation to an event. It's a big deal, you've probably heard about it. At Lucifer's Palace. He's demanded that I be in attendance as well. It's a weeklong thing, real fancy.”

“…no shit,” Blitzø said, his eyes widening. The next moment, one of his more manic grins cracked his face and he was suddenly in Moxxie’s space, his hands on the other imp’s cheeks and squishing his face. “Oh, fucking yes, Moxxie, that is perfect! You have an in!”

“I hav a wut now?” Moxxie said, his voice distorted into a nasally mush. His eyes widened. “Yoor wobbin Woosifur’s Bawiss??”

Blitzø made a weird, long snort-laugh low in his throat and chest. “Oh my fuck I wanna keep your face like this forever if it makes you talk like that.” Despite the fact that it really did sound like a threat, Blitzø released him. “And keep your voice down. See? It’s not a conflict at all! It might even make your whole obligation bullshit a lot more bearable!”

Despite his growing hysteria, Moxxie did lower his voice (while internally cursing Blitzø for his hypocrisy). “You are not going to rob Lucifer’s Palace, and I am certainly not going to help you get an invite!”

“Oh, I am robbing Lucifer’s palace,” Blitzø countered with a grin, putting his hands on his knees to get eye level with Moxxie. “I’ve already got people signed on, and I’ve got a meeting scheduled with a potential backer! But I can get my own invite, I’ve got plans in that regard. So come on, you’re going to be there anyway, why not have a little fun and also possibly get a massive fucking payout?”

“Because…” He crossed his arms and looked away, his expression darkening. “...Because I'm going to be… busy. My father's going to be on my ass all week.”

“Busy,” Blitzø repeated, leaning back and folding his arms. “You’re gonna be at a seven-day hedonism orgy, how ‘on your ass’ could he possibly be?”

This is a nightmare. I’m dreaming, it's just a nightmare… a nightmare from which I can never awaken. Moxxie gave his former cellmate as severe a warning look as he could. “If I agree to help you as much as I can, will you agree not to pry into my personal business?”

“…mmmmmnnnnnnrrrrrrfhghfine,” Blitzø groaned, closing one eye and rolling his head. “Fine, fine, I’ll respect your personal boundaries so hard they’ll feel like we’ve been married long enough for all the passion to go out of our relationship. That good enough for you, Moxx?”

“Ugggh you are the worst,” Moxxie snapped back. But then he sighed. There would never be a good way to describe Blitzø. Never a good way to define what nebulous thing existed between them. Not one that he'd be able to cope with contemplating. “Yeah, we're good, Blitzø. Now… now get out here before Alessio makes the late rounds.”

“Perfect.” Blitzø grinned deviously and grabbed Moxxie by the shoulders, dropping his voice into a near-comedic gravel. “Don’t worry, baby, Daddy’ll call you soon,” he said, right before he kissed Moxxie on the cheek. He then released him and hopped away to the sill before the other imp could retaliate, swinging his legs out the window. He cast Moxxie a grin over his shoulder, saluted with two fingers, and then vanished into the darkness.

Moxxie watched Blitzø’s tail whip around the glass panel, then waited several more minutes to make sure he was really gone before crossing to the window.

What the fuck am I thinking? Why did I say yes?? There's no way he's gonna pull this off, and even if he does, it's not going to make my position any easier. And if Crimson figures out I'm doing anything other than whoring myself out to some rich asshole…

His fingers curled around the windowsill so tightly they dug into the wood. Blood pushed against the tiny wounds he'd stuck into his palms and threatened to break the clot.

“I'm such an idiot!”

Moxxie growled and slammed a closed fist into the window frame, grimacing in pain at the same moment an alarm began to blare.

How the fuck did Blitzø get in without setting it off???

In moments his door flew open and Alessio charged in, tommy gun raised.

“Where's the intruder, sir?”

Moxxie sighed and slumped against the wall, too tired to freak out. “It was just me, Alessio. I ah, I bumped into the window frame.”

The familiar bodyguard shark paused, blinked a few times, then lowered his gun. “Oh. Well, that's fine, Mister Moxxie. But you gotta keep that window closed. You know how much it worries yer pop.”

“Right.”

Moxxie pulled the window shut while Alessio left him alone. He'd gone out this window a few times throughout his life, seeking an escape. That was why Crimson put such sensitive security sensors in his window. He was just a commodity, and his value was teetering on the edge of a plummet, and after that, he wouldn't be a commodity anymore. And to Crimson, anything that wasn't a commodity was a liability. His mother had become a liability. The display above his door was meant to always remind him of that.

Mom… I don't wanna do this anymore.

•••

Fizzarolli. Millie. Moxxie.

That isn’t anywhere near enough for this. Even if I can get the Radio Demon on board, there is way too much to cover.

Fuck. Who do I even know who isn’t mad at me? …or, at least, not mad at me enough to agree to talk to me?

Blitzø had always prided himself on being the kind of guy who could get what he wanted. It was a unique skill that he had—disgustingly, unfortunately—inherited from his father. Cash Buckzo was a thousand detestable things (Blitzø assumed, anyway, since he had no reason to expect the universe had done him a favor and his dad was dead), but he was also a fantastically persuasive speaker, and Blitzø had apparently taken after him in that regard.

Looking at his criminal and interpersonal record, probably in more ways than just that.

Blitzø’s sigh was labored as he trudged up the stairs towards his apartment, his mind still on how heavy Moxxie’s expression had been the entire time they’d talked. He’d known the younger imp had some home difficulties, particularly regarding family expectations and their mysterious ‘business’, but fuck, he made it sound like his father didn’t care what happened to him as long as it meant money for the family.

But what could Blitzø even say to something like that? That he was sorry Moxxie was going through something so hard? That it was bullshit, abusive, manipulative? That he knew how Moxxie felt, at least to a point? None of those things were him, not anymore.

I could offer to shoot Crimson for him. That’s pretty in character for me.

It was almost two in the morning, the trip from Greed back to Pride always feeling longer than going to Greed in the first place, but Blitzø wasn’t even positive he would be able to sleep. His mind went back to the letter that was stashed away in his desk, along with two of Stolas’ feathers and that… photograph. Whenever Blitzø found out who the fuck had sent it to him, he was going to gnaw their face off. He pressed his forehead against the wood of the door as he dug out his keys, unlocked the apartment, and let himself in. He was hungry again. There were frozen meat-of-some-kind nuggets in the kitchen. Did he have to cook them first? Would he die if he didn’t?

He was contemplating the potential consequences of putting mystery frozen meat lumps in his face hole when the front lock clicked again, and the door opened. Blitzø heard a familiar low feminine sigh, and the even more familiar sound of large paws padding over hardwood.

The door swung closed, then the walking stopped.

“Holy fuck. You're home.”

Blitzø turned around and found himself staring up at Loona. It had been optimistic of him to hope she was already asleep, he supposed. “…yeah. Hi, Loonie.”

She looked largely the same. Her huge swoop of silver hair was a bit less well kept than he remembered, and she looked really… really tired. She had a take out bag in her hand, and her old messenger bag over her shoulder. “...Hey.”

This is awkward.

Blitzø clapped his hands together once, which was supposed to alleviate the tension but just served to underscore that awkwardness. He cleared his throat. “Got released today. Er… yesterday, I guess, at this point. I thought you might be sleeping or something.”

“Oh. Yeah. I'm not.” She looked at her feet, scratched the floor a little with one claw. Then she raised her bag. “You, ah, you hungry? I got meat.”

“That’s a lot better than frozen something nuggets, yeah.”

Their apartment didn’t have a dining table of any sort—never had, mostly because they didn’t have the space, but partly because they wouldn’t have used it for anything but stacking and ignoring mail—so they ended up on the couch. Blitzø brought two beers over from the fridge and used his claw to pry the caps off. “So…” He offered one out to Loona. “How’ve you been, sweetie?”

She raised an eyebrow at him while she accepted the beer. It was definitely about the ‘sweetie’ thing. But then she just shrugged, taking a swig. “It's been whatever. Been hanging around. Working.” Her eyes darted to and from his when she said that.

“Working, huh?” Blitzø raised an eyebrow at her, putting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist. “Please tell me you’re not charging less than a hundred fifty an hour, these assholes’ll try to rip you off at every opportunity.”

“I'm not a prostitute, Dad,” Loona growled, tossing a styrofoam container at him. It smelled like spiced meat that was definitely only lightly cooked.

Blitzø gasped as he caught the container with both hands, holding it to his chest. “You called me Dad!” he said with all the enthusiasm he could muster on such short notice, even as he felt a pang of guilt and unsuitability, the same as he did every time.

“You're getting meat juice on your jacket,” she said in lieu of any further complaint, opening another container as he cursed and put the container on the coffee table, using his blanket to wipe his jacket clean. Loona started picking chunks of roast out with her fingers and cramming them into her mouth. “What are you planning to do now that you're out?”

“Oh, y’know, the usual,” Blitzø said in a way he hoped wasn’t obviously evasive, opening his own container and skewering a piece of meat with his claw. “Gonna pick up some jobs here and there. Keep the cash flowing and all that fun, capitalistic shit.”

He could feel Loona squinting at him. “You already have something planned. Something… something fucking stupid.”

“What? No,” Blitzø said immediately, not making eye contact. “Come on, I haven’t even been out for twenty four hours, why would I do something stupid?”

“Because you are stupid.”

Blitzø gasped dramatically, looking at her. “That is so unfair. I have done at least four smart things in my life.”

“That so?” She smirked then, the expression unexpected and almost… soft. “Must've all been before you adopted me then, huh?”

“Adopting you was the fourth one,” Blitzø said, dropping back into his casual tone as he smirked at her. “Think the effort ate my last brain cells. So,” he skewered another piece of meat, hoping his demeanor had avoided further emotional burdening for Loona’s sake, “you gonna tell me what this sketchy work of yours is, or do I get to keep guessing? I can make it pretty outlandish, believe me.”

She sighed, but the tension was lifting. “It's not a big deal. Just playing guard dog for some courier setup. It's kinda inconsistent but it pays well… I upgraded our internet.”

“Oh yeah? That’s pretty sweet. You get to knock some heads around, protect important packages and that shit?”

“You're real good at making shit sound more fun than it actually is… So what's your big idea that's gonna get you thrown right back in prison?”

“I’m not gonna get thrown in prison, Loonie,” Blitzø said. If I fail, I’m definitely not going to live long enough to see prison. “…It’s just a basic smash and grab, and I won’t be alone. Okay? It’s nothing to stress over.”

She leaned in right up to his face, eyes glowing, and she flared her nostrils and sniffed. “I smell bullshit.”

“Buy better takeout, then?”

Her free hand—covered in sauce—was grabbing his lapel. She pulled him forward so that their noses were crushed together. “Tell me what you're doing or I'm gonna be on your ass every second of every day until I find out.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Blitzø tried his best to lean away from her, but god damn she was strong. “Okay! Okay, you win! Just— just take a couple of breaths, Loona, I’ll tell you.”

Once she sat back, still glaring daggers at him and looking ready to launch herself at him again, he began cleaning his lapel off. Gross. Meat product.

“I just got a line on someone who’s looking to pay a pretty high price on a well-protected artifact. It’s not for a couple of months, I’ve got a great plan, and it’s… just kind of a thing at Lucifer’s Palace,” he added in a quick mutter, looking up and away as he prepared to launch himself away from her if she attacked.

“What, for real?” Loona didn’t attack, she didn’t move outside of blinking her wide eyes, but then she barked out a laugh and she grinned. “Dude, you are so totally dead.”

“I’ve been doing a great job not dying so far,” Blitzø said. “Besides, I wasn’t lying about not going in alone, I’ve already got some people convinced and I’ve got a line on finances. But it’s so sweet that my widdle Woonie-Woo is so worried about me~”

She growled, but it was without heat. “I won’t have to worry about you if you let me in on it.”

“Oh. Ohoho,” Blitzø said, and it was his turn to laugh, though it was more disbelieving than her bark of dark mirth. “Oh, fuck no. You’re not coming.”

Immediately she fell into her typical teenage complaining mode, the one she still hadn’t quite grown out of. “Oh come on, I handled myself just fine in all the time you were gone! All on my own! And I wasn’t beaten or kidnapped or murdered or anything!”

“Uh-huh, you weren’t, and I’m very proud,” Blitzø said sincerely. “And at no point, when I was gone, did you attempt to rob the King of Hell. Look, Loonie,” he said, hoping to cut off any further protest (even though he knew it wouldn’t), “you want in on a job sometime… fine. You’re right, you can handle yourself, you’re old enough, but I wouldn’t start you out on this job if Asmodeus gave me his entire harem for it. Absolutely fucking not.”

“I'm so much not a kid anymore, Blitzø,” she said, punching the couch in just the way a kid would do. “You implied that you're gonna need all the help you can get, how many people do you really think you're gonna find who are actually willing to go along with this?”

“At the very least, people who’ve done more than lift a candy bar at a corner store and immediately feel a nagging sense of guilt because they think the count will be off and the cashier will get in trouble.” Blitzø sighed, putting his head in his hand. He knew he was being too harsh. He knew. “Fuck. Loona, I just— you’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m not going to be able to keep an eye on you. Nobody is. I can’t drag you into Lucifer’s Palace. I won’t drag you into Lucifer’s Palace.”

“Tch.” Loona folded her arms and looked away. She wasn't acting out, or hitting him. She looked… pensive. “...If you die I'm never forgiving you.”

“I’m not gonna die, Loonie. I promise.” Blitzø rubbed his hands together as he looked at her. “And like I said, it’s not going to be for a couple of months, okay? I also promise that I will get into minimal trouble until then.”

“You better.” Loona set the food aside. “...You, ah… you hear from anybody since you got out? Like, besides your cohorts, I mean.”

“Talked to Fizz yesterday,” Blitzø said, looking away. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then blew out a breath. How did he say ‘I wasn’t expecting anything else’ in a flippant way? “Got some pretty familiar robo-calls from Greed trying to sell us tickets to an event they had six years ago.”

Loona nodded, appearing to accept what Blitzø offered, a silent agreement to take it at face value that there were no feelings attached to anything. “Cool, cool.”

Then there was silence. Neither of them ate anymore, but neither seemed able to come up with anything else to say. The pattern settled in, the one he and Loona had been forming since he first adopted her: both of them having a multitude of thoughts and no justification to let themselves open a single one of them to the outside world, let alone to each other.

But this time, it was his daughter who broke the silence.

“...You wanna watch a movie?”

Blitzø felt that warm bubble inflate in his chest, the one that emerged out of a box labeled ‘Loona wants to spend time with you’, and he always had to metaphorically shove it down before he got too enthusiastic and she changed her mind. “Hell yeah! Whatever you’re feeling is good with me.”

She actually smiled, her lip curling in that way it did when she wasn't too self conscious, showing off her back teeth (that she always complained were too big and bulky). “Get ready to cringe then, Dad, cuz this is gonna be the lamest flick you ever saw.” She turned on the TV.

“Oh, you’re gonna have to go a long way to find something more cringe than I can handle,” Blitzø said with an excited grin, only bolstered by the fact that she called him ‘Dad’ with no sarcasm or immediate retraction. He wouldn’t point it out. It needed to stay exactly like it was: somewhere that he could remember it, and where he could never touch it, because touching it would lead to nothing but ruining it.

I’m sorry, Loona. I really am. I know how you feel, but this thing is dangerous. And I already might… He could—…

Fuck. I can’t risk losing you, too. I just can’t.

•••

Next chapter

[lured-into-wonderland]

Continued from [here] with @ensxrcelled

She was observing an unexpected interaction between the tall man in front of her and the girl (whom she met earlier), who - although seemed much younger than Nunnally - was not that different than her. Both were thin and pale; Nunnally being only a few centimeters taller (but she seemed not much heavier). They both had blue eyes (although the girl’s were more green in a way); and it was only a hair colour which was distinctly different. The deep blue compared to light blond, almost white in that light. As if Nunnally’s hair lost all these colours. Perhaps a stranger would even consider them (distant) family members.

The stranger did love and care about the girl (it was obvious), but i Nunnally's eyes he was doing it wrong. Protecting (or sheltering) was important, but giving some freedom to make (and learn from) mistakes was equally crucial. And Nunnally knew something about it. Most of her life she was a bird in a cage. Loved and protected, but also imprisoned.

The demon girl had only joined the blue-haired girl, because she thought the little one was lost. And needed some assistance to find her path home.  Or at least that was Nunnally's initial reasoning. But then she realized (or thought she did) that the girl cared about her being lost in the forest. So, she let the girl help her, although Nunnally didn't truly need any help. She just wanted to get away from humans before she could hurt them (on purpose or accidentally). It was not even that Nunnally didn’t like humans; they were interesting creatures, but obviously many of them found her weak and an easy prey, and wanted to take advantage on her (or perhaps even hurt her) not being aware what kind of creature she was.

“You shouldn’t talk about her as if she was not here…” – she muttered under her breath; the words were certainly directed at the red-haired man, though she pretended they were not. Nunnally had experienced too much of similar treatment (or so she assumed). And -- although it was probably rooted in a genuine care (as it always had been in her case; she believed) – it was still wrong and sometimes hurting the other person.

“It’s all right…” – Nunnally said in the louder voice – “I can find my way back. You don’t have to…worry about me.” – oh, she knew the man was not worried about her. He was clearly annoyed with Nunnally’s presence, but it sounded nicer. To say that?

“It was lovely meeting you…” – she addressed Lavina getting ready to walk away when the man apparently changed his mind. The girl seemed to getting her way with her father? Caretaker? They didn’t appear too similar to each other, but Nunnally knew better than to assume something based solely on the appearance.

“T-thank you…” – she accepted the invitation; more for the girl’s sake than for her own. Nunnally liked bad weather. She liked storm and rain. It had no real impact on her – “B-but I would still appreciate if you could…”

“Just don’t curse in my company.” – she finally stated. Simply.

Nunnally followed, smiled to Lavina, and waved her back.

“So, where are we going?” – she asked trying to catch up with the man, but it was difficult.

“Could you please…walk slower? It’s too fast for me.”