#sleep is the most cruel invention for the human body. then again..... if sleep then maybe oc dreams two night in a row GOODNIGHT

[nerice]

editing bonanza: SUCCESS

tmrw we go to resilience. faye meetcute faye meetcute faye meetcute FAYE MEETCCUTE

[witchesoz]

What we know of Oz: Book 1, Tin and straw

To end the first book of the Oz series, some little words about the other heroes of this book (for the Lion, see the Animals post).

  # The Tin Woodman. I think it is worth reminding here of his full backstory as given in this book:

  The Woodman used to be a regular Munchkin man. He was the son of a woodman that sold wood for a living. When he became an adult, the son became a woodman himself. His father died, the woodman took care of his old mother until she also died, and when alone he decided to marry so as not to become “lonely”. He met one of the most beautiful Munchkin girls of the country, and she promised to marry him as soon as he could earn enough money to build a house for them to live in. Because you see, the young girl lived with an old lazy woman that made the girl do all the chores and all the cooking, treating her as a slave, and this old woman was refusing to let her go. Upon hearing that a young suitor tried to take her girl away, the old woman decided to act – she went to see the Wicked Witch of the East and paid her two sheep and a cow if she prevented the marriage from happening. The Witch enchanted the axe of the woodman so that it would cut his left leg as he was chopping wood. The Witch hoped that the woodchopper would lose his job and thus never be able to offer the beautiful house to his fiancée – but the woodchopper actually went to see a tinsmith, that made him an entire new leg out of tin. The Witch, angered by such an act of defiance and refusing to go back on her promise to the old woman, enchanted again the axe, this time to cut his other leg, but again, tin prosthetic. And then went the two other arms, and even the head, but every time the tinsmith was able to create a tin prosthetic replacing the lost limb. Finally, the Witch won when she had the axe cut his torso in two, split in the middle. The tinsmith created for the Woodman a tin torso, but as a result the Woodman lost his heart and thus his feelings for the young Munchkin girl. So he went to live alone in a little cottage made of logs and branches, sleeping on a bed of dried leaves (it is mentioned that he still does human things like sleeping, but he doesn’t need it, it is just the force of the habit).

  This backstory is a beautiful illustration of the Theseus’ ship paradox – if you keep replacing the different parts of a ship until in the end no original piece is left, is it still the same ship? As a result of his lack of heart, the Woodman has an absolute rule – always try to avoid hurting other beings. In his own words, the heart is a “guide” that helps people see the right from the wrong, and since he lacks it he always tries to never be cruel or unkind in any way – for example, when stepping on a beetle by mistake he cries. However his “rules” can easily be twisted for killing the beasts of the Wicked Witch, or to kill poor little wildcats… Yes I have a thing against the whole Wildcat episode from the book. Basically, the Woodman saw a big wildcat hunt a mouse. And because he thought that it is wrong to kill a pretty and harmless creature such as the mouse, he decided to decapitate the wildcat. As simple as that. You really see how a lack of heart can screw up someone’s brain.

  And now… the elephant in the room. The big trouble. The giant What the hell?!. TIN DOESN’T RUST! This is actually the whole point of tin, a specially treated metal to prevent rusting. So the whole characters fall flat down. Some like Volkov in his Magic Land series corrected the shot by making the Tin Woodman an Iron Woodman, or by having his body made of tin but his joints made of iron.

    # The Scarecrow. As a quick reminder of his original appearance, he is described a scarecrow with a small sack stuffed with straw for a head, his eyes, nose and mouth painted. He wears an old pointed blue Munchkin hat, wears a blue suit of clothes worn and faded, stuffed with straws, and on his feet are old boots with blue tops – a model that all the Munchkins wear. He is actually quite a “powerful character”, able to survive even when being torn apart, never feeling any pain, never being hungry or tired – and he is also able to see in the dark! Yep. As for his “lack of brains” it mostly manifests as him randomly saying things that are extremely obvious or repeating things that were already said or heard – it isn’t so much stupidity as rather a true lack of knowledge about the world, him being born for only “a few days”.

  But the biggest mystery of the Scarecrow is – why is he alive? We get a backstory for the Tin Man, but the Scarecrow is never given any reason for why he exists. He just happened to be created by a Munchkin farmer a few days before Dorothy’s arrival and tadaa! He was alive. (Actually, the adaptations will often play on this incertitude by giving or inventing numerous backgrounds). In a last interesting mirroring, while the Tin Woodman is only afraid of water, the Scarecrow’s only fear is fire.

[thenextchapter22]

Angel of the Three Realms

Description: You were an Angel who went to the human world to escape punishment for loving Lucifer only to be brought back into his life, this time in the Devildom where you pretend to be human.

Warnings: Unrequited Love, Angst, WIP

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Word Count: 5334

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Author’s Notes: I’m pretty happy with how this story is going so far, and I really hope you enjoy reading it. I posted all the chapters I had written on AO3 here in one post, so expect a different post for the new chapter coming soon ;)

_+_

You had been in the Devildom for 6 months and it was going pretty well. You did above average in classes, got along with all of the brothers and the other students (although Solomon was strange and trusting him was a bit of a stretch). The only difficult part was being around one specific demon brother… Lucifer.

He had no idea who you really were. And how could he? It had been centuries upon centuries since he’d seen you, and he probably thought you dead after all that happened. He, in all probability, forgot all about you. That made you a little bit sad considering what he was to you.

Long before the Great War you had lived in the Celestial Realm. You were an Angel of God. A pure-hearted, innocent creature born with nothing but kindness in your heart. And the Angel assigned to you at your birth to train you and show you the way of the world was Lucifer Morningstar, the Light of the Heavens.

He brought you up. He was your whole life, always there to correct you if you were wrong, praise you when you were doing well, and he never failed in making you smile. Yes, you knew his brothers. Mammon especially, he was a good-hearted being who always protected you. And he did the same in the Devildom, so nothing had really changed there. But Lucifer was your main protector.

When you fell in love with him, you knew things would be difficult. How could you not fall in love with such a kind person, who always looked after you and his brothers, who always showed you so much attention despite what else he had to do?

It was forbidden for Angel’s to fall in love with other Angel’s. Why, you did not know. Love was something that should be allowed for all. It wasn’t easy living with this love, knowing if you let it free, that if you did tell Lucifer you loved him, you might be punished. Maybe even erased from existence. Your father wasn’t usually so cruel and hate wasn’t often found in Angels, but you hated him. You never wanted to hear him speak to you again. And so, with no way around it, you had to leave.

You fell to the Human world where you started a new life. And a new life again. And another new life after that. Always moving, changing, adapting. Humans were inventive and inquisitive by nature. You never lost the love in your heart for Lucifer, but you had a new life on Earth’s surface that you fell in love with, too. Eventually, this love favored the first, and you moved on, albeit regrettably. Occasionally you wondered how he was doing, and if he ever thought of you.

To say you were shocked when you first got dragged into this realm was an understatement. And you made the split second decision to go along with it all, pretending to be human. Was it stupid? Maybe. But you had spent so long being human, you couldn’t stop now. You knew of the war, you knew of the Angel’s falling to the Devildom, but seeing Lucifer, two wings less and darkened, ruby red eyes still as bright, and a curious black crystal on his forehead, was a shock. He was so beautiful in his new darkened form.

The love sprouted once more. And once more, you hid it. The pain in your heart was tenfold being close to him again in almost the same roles as before. He was your confident, your go-to in this Realm. He made sure you were treated well. Lucifer looked after you like his own blood, stricter than he used to be, and he looked tired most of the time. His newfound loyalty for Diavolo was strange, but you supposed it was a good thing being close to the eventual Demon King (where the current one was, no one knew).

Now, sitting in your quaint little room, looking at the sky, all you could think about was home. Home, the human world home.

One thing you missed was flying. In the Human realm you could visit the snowy mountains and fly around with some of the magic you were able to hold onto to cloak you in case humans saw. Before cameras you didn’t care to do that, but now you couldn’t risk it. Here it was impossible. Someone would sense the magic and find you out, and then what would happen. You didn’t want to think on it.

Another thing was your wings were itching. Grooming was hard throughout the years, but you found friends in the animals of the world, mostly the winged creatures. Owls were your closest friends in the animal kingdom. They helped pluck the old feathers as well as the twisted ones, and in turn you helped them however you could. Having not groomed them in almost 7 months now…

You longed to let them free, but could not. 6 more months and you would go back. But did you want to? Leave Lucifer, this place? You were learning so much from everyone. Lord Diavolo really wanted peace between all and it was incredible how he was connecting all types of beings. Demons, humans, warlocks, Angels.

Angels. Surprisingly, Simeon did not realize what you were. Or if he did, he never spoke up. Angels were pretty observant of other Celestial magics and you were using that to hide your wings daily and nightly here. At first it was only daily, up until Mammon barged into your room and demanded to sleep with you (not in that sense, thankfully) so you very quickly hid them. Lucky you hadn’t been asleep fully.

Wincing, you stretched your arms above your head. It was nearing midnight and you could not sleep from the pain that was ever growing the more you moved around. Maybe a late night snack would help, or something warm to drink.

Venturing to the kitchens, you were unsurprised to see Beel stacking a plate, his mouth stuffed with food.

He quickly swallowed and smiled at you. “Hi. It’s late, can’t sleep?”

You shook your head, smiling softly. “No, I thought I’d get something to eat or drink.”

Beel was so kind to you. You never had many interactions with him above, but when you saw him he always smiled and waved at you, his younger twin attached to his hand. They were inseparable. Nothing had changed with that. Only that Beel ate a lot, and Belphegor slept a lot. It was quite adorable.

“There’s some milk if you want to heat it up. I heard human’s do that to help them sleep. Or I could ask Belphie to help you?”

No, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all. Who knows what being put under by him would do, it may release the magic on your wings from too deep a slumber. “Thank you. I’ll try the milk first and then see.”

He nodded. “Okay. Night then. If I doesn’t work you can come to our room.” And he walked away with his plate of food, munching as he walked.

Chuckling, you shook your head. “Goodnight!” you called to his back.

The pain in your back was growing worse. Warm milk wouldn’t help much, you needed your wings to be freed. You grit your teeth as you moved about the kitchen, feeling the veil of magic rippling at your back. You set a pot of milk on the stove and heated it.

Moving about the kitchen was making you pant, and you had to brace your arms on the counter, keeping your back straight to try and keep the pain minimal.

“Hnng. Fuck.” Yes, in the human world you grew to love curse words. Your father never took your wings away or your immortality, so he must not have cared. Or maybe he didn’t notice.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Lucifer’s voice rang out in the echoed kitchen.

You stood up so quickly the pain was incredible. You felt your body tremble, and you longed to sprout your wings to ease some of the aching.

Lucifer wrapped his arm around your waist, and you held in a scream. He furrowed his brows and let go, instead taking your hand and squeezing it. “What can I do to ease your pain?”

You panted. “N-nothing. Please just g-go.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t leave you like this. What ails you?”

Damn him and his kind heart. “You can’t fix it, I just have to deal with the pain for now.”

He helped you sit, but you did so stiffly and kept a perfectly straight posture. His hand never left yours. “I won’t accept that. There must be something we can do. Tell me what happened. Did you fall? Are you ill?” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, then down across your cheeks. “You have no fever but your face is contorted in pain.”

This was unbearable, having him coddle you when all you wanted was to jump into his arms and have him take care of you. He used to groom your wings when you were growing up, and he showed you how to do the same. His gentle fingers running through your feathers put you in a trance and he used to tease you about it.

Lucifer only wanted to see you well. The problem was, you could not allow it, lest he find out your secret. “I’m sorry, Lucifer,” you whispered. “Really I am. If I could let you help me, I would in a heartbeat.”

The pot with milk was over boiling now, and he quickly stood the take care of it. You lowered your face to the table and grit your teeth, sharp pricks at your back causing spasm after spasm. Tears fell from your eyes. The pain was steadily increasing, and you did not know why the timing of this had to be this way. Why he had to be the one to see you in such a state.

His hand on your shoulder squeezed lightly once before letting go. “Let me at least help you to bed.”

Bed, yes, that sounded fantastic. “Okay…”

He held your hand and kept one hand wrapped around your lower half, resting on your hip. It wasn’t near the area where your wings sprouted from so he could place his arm across you there without making you cry out in pain.

The trip back to your room was long and grueling. Lucifer kept a good hold on you, whispering softly each time you sobbed out a curse word or cried.

“I have you, sweetheart, take your time.”

You wished you could just tell him everything. How you were not human, why you were in so much pain, that all you ever wanted was to kiss and hold him and express your love. But you could only press you cheek to his chest and have him guide you to your room where he tucked you under the sheets and comforter.

You curled on your side, gazing at his dark figure towering over you. “Don’t leave me, stay…”

“I’ll stay with you, I promise.” He stroked his fingers over your trembling brow, and, with shock on your pained expression, he kissed the very same place gently, lips soft and warm.

You began to cry, overwhelmed with pain and emotion. He shushed your cries and wiped away the wetness under your eyes. “Don’t cry, my dove, just sleep and rest.”

Lucifer’s kind face, hovering inches from your own, was the last you saw before you fell asleep. The pain luring you into a dreamless slumber.

Waking up some hours later, you felt exhausted. The sun was rising through the window. Sweat gathered on your body. It was apparent what would happen the second you became aware. You had trouble keeping the magic holding your wings in. You shut your eyes with a sigh, and succumbed to the feeling of letting it all go. The choice was no longer your own, the magic was leaving you, and the wings you kept concealed away would burst free any minute.

They would all know. And you only hoped they wouldn’t despise you for what you hid from them. You prayed for the first time since falling from the skies that Lucifer would forgive you.

_+_

Lying in bed, coated in cooled sweat, waiting for the inevitable to happen, was honestly one of the worst things you had experienced. Considering you had chosen to fall from Heaven, that said a lot. It was right up there with loving Lucifer and not having the ability to tell him lest you be cast out or killed, and with the first days you had on the surface world where you had been so lost and alone, scrambling from town to town trying to find a place to belong.

The agony suffocated you. It effected your breathing, which was staggered and strained, and your muscles were tense. You felt a fever building inside of you as you tried to hold on and not go into shock. Your magic was like a thin sheet of breakable glass waiting to shatter. With all your strength, which was not much, you grasped onto it, wanting to keep normal for even just a little longer.

You shivered as you watched the sun rise higher in the window above your bed. It was red and bright and large, blinding you, but it kept you focused on one thing instead of being reminded of what would happen in the next hours, or even minutes.

The secrets would be out for all to see. You would either be cast out of the Devildom, possibly struck down by Diavolo for your lies, or maybe Barbatos would erase you from time itself. The thought was terrifying.

The only people you knew who wouldn’t hurt you or despise you were Simeon and Luke, and that was only because they were Angels. The possibility they would hate you was 1 in a million.

You moved to lay on your stomach. Slowly but surely you found a position that wasn’t too excruciating. Now you just waited. Time wasn’t something you looked at, even with the clock right there on your bedside table. It must’ve been time for everyone to be heading to breakfast by now. Lucifer would probably come to check on you as he had put you to bed last night. But you wondered who would see you first, and how they would react.

The magic was rippling, shaking around you. If you let it go voluntarily or not it would be the same result either way. Maybe if you had just let it go a few nights ago it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it was too late to dwell on the past.

Celestial magic exploded around you, and your wings burst from your back. You screamed, fingers clutching the pillow you pressed your face into. Your head spun, and your wings felt like the most fragile part of you, as if it was the first time they had been free. There was a scent of your blood in the air along with the scent of Celestial magic, a bitter coppery smell with a hint of cool air and crackling lightning. White feathers scattered around you, some tinged with blood. The air was like static electricity. Your wings lay limp, cascading down the bed to the floor. Tears filled your eyes, and you were sure you bit your tongue.

“Nnnggg…” you groaned, keeping still so as not to cause any more pain.

You had no idea how long you lay there. Twitching occasionally, throat clenched and burning. Eventually frantic knocks came on your door, and although your ears were ringing you heard the demon brothers’ voices asking for you, making sure you were okay, wondering what had happened. Why they couldn’t get in was strange, until you realized your magic had exploded outward and created a barrier that blocked the door.

“Move so I can open the door.” Lucifer. He sounded angry.

His infernal magic pressed to your own, and his power was greater than yours so it took no time at all for the door to fall.

You blearily glanced to the open doorway, the door flat on the floor broken off the hinges. And there he stood in all his demon glory. Light bringer Morningstar reversed, dark energy radiated from him. You watched as a smoky fog emerged from the diamond on his forehead. Was this the source of his power, where he held all his magic? The other’s stood behind him in a bundle, all in demonic forms, and all with shocked expressions at seeing you as you truly were meant to be. An Angel, albeit a broken one.

“H-how—?” Lucifer stepped in further, confused and wary. He glanced at your bent and bloodied wings, and then at your face. Searching for something, an answer maybe. You knew that there was no halo, that was something that disappeared as soon as you fell, but your skin was most likely changed, glowing with the light of Heaven, and your eyes no doubt were brightened as well. “How is this possible?”

You shut your eyes, your body shutting down. You couldn’t keep awake, it was as if the energy in your body was totally gone.

Your last words before you passed out were spoken softly and only towards one person. “I’m sorry…”

Darkness took you away, and you floated into it, happy to finally escape the pain.

_+_

Burning, you were burning when you came to. Did they shove you into the flames of Hell? Was this the repercussion you truly deserved for all the lies? It was harsh, but there was nothing you could do but burn.

Whimpering, you tried to move but a force held you down, a cool sensation on the back of your neck. You cried out, afraid of what would happen next.

“Shh. Your safe, calm down. It’ll be all right.”

Simeon? “Wh-what?” your throat ached, it was so dry. You tried to focus, and felt no flames licking at your skin, but a cushioned bed beneath you, where you lay on your stomach. You tried to open your eyes, but they felt glued shut from tears that dried up.

“Here, you need to drink water.”

A straw pressed to your lips, and you sucked in the refreshing liquid. Swallowing was hard to do, but the cooling feeling overtook the pain.

His hand was a cool on your forehead, you sighed in the brief relief of the heat. “You have a high fever. You need to rest some more.”

You trembled. “They hate me, don’t they?” the words were hard to speak, but you had to ask.

He hushed you once again, stroking your hair. “Just sleep now. When you’re well again we will talk.”

So you went back to your dreams, or rather, the nightmares that plagued you. Memories turned dark and evil, some of your time on Earth with friends, others of your time with Lucifer in Heaven. All happy memories that were altered to fill you with nothing but pain.

Your first day of flying, Lucifer cheering you on, clapping and smiling as you floated higher. Then, you fell, and kept falling down and down despite how strongly you flapped your wings. Lucifer was never coming for you, never reaching a hand to pull you back to him and into his arms. You ended up in a dark hole with nothing but bones around you of your once human friends. They die so quickly, humans. You were always alone. Meant to be alone forever. Never able to love and live with that love for the entirety of your lifespan, for it always faded and died. The only true everlasting love you had in your heart was never meant to be.

Voices sporadically came and went as you tossed in your dreamland.

Simeon. “She’s not doing too well. I’ll try my very best to heal her but holding this in for so long was not good for her health. Her wings are… in absolute disarray.”

Lucifer. “Why did she lie to me?”

Asmodeus. “She looks so pale and fragile. Poor thing.”

Mammon. “I remember her... we always looked out for each other. She was always so happy to be around you, Lucifer.”

You heard them speaking and longed to respond back, but you couldn’t find a voice. Drifting in and out, hearing voices, feeling soft touches on your skin and cool hands on your wings. There were moments of sharp pain sometimes when the fingers pressed to the spot where your wings sprouted from, but you were always quickly given a remedy of healing magic from Simeon’s talented hands. But you just wanted this to end and for the suffering to be done with.

It was many days later that you opened your eyes. Like a newborn for the first time, wincing at the bright lights of the room, struggling to focus. Glancing around, it was obvious that this was not your room. It was larger, with tall ceilings, and this bed was huge, your wings barely touched the floor compared to the bed at the House of Lamentation. Where were you?

“You’re in my home.”

You turned your head, still in a position on your stomach. It was Lord Diavolo. He was alone, strange as he usually had Barbatos with him. He wore his usual red suit, but his arms were crossed and he watched you with concern in his bright golden eyes.

You tried to move, to sit up and be a little bit respectful of the Prince, but he quickly strode to you and placed his large hand on your head gently. You froze. “No, don’t try and move. You’re still recovering.”

“I-I don’t—”

He sighed, and pulled a chair to sit next to you, careful of your drooping wings. He gestured to a pitcher of water on the side table. “Are you thirsty?”

You nodded shyly. He helped you drink some water with a hand lifting your head. You were sure you were blushing from feeling the demon Prince’s touch so delicately on your cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked at you for a moment, and sighed, his eyes downcast and thoughtful. “This is an interesting circumstance we are in.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

He frowned. “My dear, all you did was hurt everyone.”

You winced. He spoke bluntly, and the truth, but it hurt a lot to hear it from his lips.

“Lucifer told me who you are. He thought you dead long ago. He was your mentor in the Celestial realm, correct?” You nodded slowly. “Why did you leave there to pretend to be human? He told me you were always so… cheerful. That you both were practically inseparable. The brother’s tell me the same. So why leave all that behind?”

You couldn’t answer him. He just sighed again. “I see. Well, I suppose that will be a conversation once you are fully healed. For now, I’ll have Simeon tend to you now that you’re awake.” He stood up and looked down at you. Diavolo’s gaze seemed to pierce right through your very soul. “Perhaps you will tell me more… or perhaps not. Only time will tell, I suppose. Rest well, my dear. We will speak again soon.” And his footsteps echoed the large room as he left, and you were alone with your thoughts.

What did he want from you? Would he let this be? Would he allow you to stay here? Doubtful, as it was an exchange program for humans and Angels, and you were one of two humans. And were you really counted as either, or both? Were you some strange hybrid being to them, because you lived under the guise of being a human?

There was one question that haunted over you ever since you felt your magic faltering. Would Diavolo take you away from the one place you truly felt at home?

_+_

You felt deflated when Simeon entered the room. Lord Diavolo made you worrisome for what would next happen, or at least what would happen once you were healed again. You found yourself avoiding the Angel’s eyes as he looked at you from his seat on the chair Diavolo just was in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You blinked at him, and licked your dry lips. “Sore. Tired.”

He nodded, his hands waving over your upper body, a soft glow emanating from his fingers. “Your feathers are a right mess, darling. Will you allow me to help?”

Help with your wings? You knew what he meant by that, and the question wasn’t startling as you knew it would come considering the damage your magic had done. But this was a very personal thing, letting others groom your wings. You only ever allowed one person to touch your wings: Lucifer. Outside of the creatures on Earth, that is, but they were only animals and it didn’t have as much meaning to you.

There was something inside of you that spoke a loud and firm denial, that no one’s hands would pluck your broken feathers unless those hands belonged to Lucifer Morningstar.

“I-I can’t…”

He sighed, and his gentle hand stroked up and down your exposed arm. “It has to be done. Tell me, then, who will you let help you?”

You felt burning tears fall down to drop onto the pillow. “H-he w-won’t…”

Simeon hummed. “He won’t, hm? I can take one guess as to who that person is. And he’s been so worried for you he has barely slept a wink, pacing the palace floors at all hours, and questioning me constantly on how your health has been.”

You perked up, sniffling. “H-he has?”

Simeon smiled kindly, and his healing magic coursed over your back, soothing the pinpricks of pain caused by your movements. “Lucifer cares about you. I may not have been around him as much since his fall from Heaven but I can tell he never stopped caring for you, my dear.”

“He forgot about me.” You said so dejectedly. If he hadn’t, he would have recalled your face the second you appeared in the Devildom, as the only thing that was different was you had no wings, halo, or heavenly glow around you.

“Dear, we all thought you dead. I assumed your soul was wondering the skies. I am truly sorry I never searched for you to make certain of that.”

Simeon wasn’t present like Lucifer was for you in the Celestial Realm, but he did watch over you when Lucifer could not. It was rare, but it did happen. You occasionally saw him floating around the sky doing work for Michael and your father, but mostly he wasn’t a part of your world, not like Lucifer or his brothers.

“Simeon,” you whispered. “He hates me. Don’t lie to me.”

The Angel’s light was blinding, and his true form revealed itself. You gasped in shock at the sight, it had been quite a while since you had seen any other Angel this way.

He had stunningly pure white wings that expanded outwards behind him, and his blue eyes shimmered like a bright burning star. The halo hovering above his head would cut anything that it touched, a perfect circle of glittering gold, showing his status in Heaven as one of High Regard. His dark skin was encased in an outline of magic so pure it stung your eyes as you hadn’t seen anything like it in so long. He was fierce looking, and yet not, being a creature of pure light. Simeon was as old as Lucifer, if not a bit older even, and he held strength like no one else.

He spoke with authority in his kind voice, booming almost in your ears. “I will never lie to you, nor to any other being. Hear my words because they are the wholesome truth. Lucifer will always have a place in his heart for you even though he has been brought to this darker world.”

You shook from the might in his words. He brought tears to your eyes from the power he spoke with. “Simeon…”

He cupped your cheek, the warmth shocking and overwhelming, his thumb caressing under your eye. He spoke softer, then. “Dear one, if you’ll allow me to I’ll bring Lucifer here to help you. Please let me do this for you. I don’t like seeing such a kind soul in so much pain.”

You pushed into his hand, craving the touch. His words put you under a spell and you couldn’t help but think, maybe he was right. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have Lucifer here. Would it be like old times? You thought not, so much had changed. But you couldn’t deny the pounding in your heart that said you had to see him, and the truth that you really had no choice that if you wanted to heal, you had to have him aid you.

“Okay,” you answered softly.

He held your cheek for a moment longer, and you felt his magic cascade over you like a protective blanket. “I shall return soon with Lucifer. Keep still until then, your wings should not move lest they become more tangled. Don’t move, do you understand?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Good girl. I’ll be back shortly. If you need me for anything, just call for me. I’ll hear you.”

He meant a prayer. He wanted you to pray for his help. You could not recall the last time a prayer had actually worked for you. Father had forgotten you, Lucifer had forgotten you… Praying was a waste of time.

The seconds ticked by. You let your mind wander to what-ifs, even though it hurt. What if Lucifer was so angry at you that he would take one look at your battered body and leave? What if Lucifer didn’t care for you like Simeon said, and instead hated you so much his magic would tear you apart? What if Lucifer, instead of plucking your feathers, he tore your wings from your body in a rage? These might have been insane imaginings, but they were not impossible. Lucifer had been a demon for a long, long time, and it was true he was still caring towards you while you acted human, but how would he react now? There was no way to know for sure.

Yes, he was your protector above. He was your everything; your father, your confidant, your friend, and your heart longed for him to be your lover.

Now he was something else to you. Still he looked out for you, kept you safe from other demons (not knowing you could if needed use your celestial magic on any who meant you harm), and he made sure you did well in RAD, and he, along with his brothers, thought of you as family. It was all you wanted, after years of searching for something to have as your very own.

Would it all disappear?

The door to the bedroom opened slowly, and you heard Simeon speak. “She’s exhausted emotionally and physically. Please, do what you can to make her well. She needs you.”

He entered the room. It was silent, and he didn’t move, simply watching you from where he stood before the shut door.

So you spoke for him. “Hello, Lucifer.”

Heels clacked and eventually he stood at your bedside. What an imposing figure he made. He looked at you with deep dark red eyes, near black at the pupils, and a massive aura of magic erupted around him. It wasn’t frightening, it wasn’t overpowering or dark. It was just… him.

He reached a hand to touch your hair, smoothing it back from your face to really look at you. “Hello, my dove.”

[firstfullmoon]

sorry if this has been asked before, but what are your favorite quotes about (romantic) love?

• “I love you. I want us both to eat well.” 

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shriek”

• “You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

— Shauna Barbosa, from “GPS”

• “August. We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day don’t you? 92 degrees even in the shade.”

“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies.”

“If love is going to be done differently I will have to do it. I don’t mean as a messiah-thing, I mean as a me-thing. I want to look into your eyes and not get blown up. I want you to see me as I am and not destroy me. I don’t want to retreat into plant life, or have the same bad dream every night. I don’t want to watch a city burn because I was there.”

— Jeanette Winterson

• “I’ll take care of you. / It’s rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

— from Anne Carson’s translation of Orestes

• “I think of you all the time and therefore have little to say that would not embarrass you, for instance my first feeling about the rain was that it was like you.”

— John Cage, from a letter to Merce Cunningham

• “I want you to know, if you ever read this, there was a time when I would rather have had you by my side than any one of these words; I would rather have had you by my side than all the blue in the world.”

— Maggie Nelson, Bluets

• “I want to be a village full of sweethearts, / as you are, every second of the day, / cooking me soups & drawing me pictures / & holding me, my inexplicable & elephant sadness, / with your infinite arms. / But isn’t it true, you are not / always why I am happy. & I promise / it is true, you are almost never why, / why I am sad.”

— Chen Chen, from “Elegy for My Sadness”

• “Look here Vita—throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.”

“I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about – with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near.”

“I could only think of you as being very distant and beautiful and calm. A lighthouse in clean waters.”

“What can one say — except that I love you and I’ve got to live through this strange quiet evening thinking of you sitting alone. Dearest — let me have a line… You have given me such happiness…”

— Virginia Woolf, from letters to Vita Sackville-West

• “I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone. I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it.” 

“Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude.”

— Vita Sackville-West, from letters to Virginia Woolf

• “Love is awful. It’s awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.“

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, in Fleabag

• “i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)”

— e.e. cummings, from “[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]”

• “There was once a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was married to a nurse. He loved her-immeasurably. One day Halsted noticed that his wife’s hands were chapped and red when she came back from surgery. And so he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is one of the great love stories in medicine. The difference between inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love. When I met Ana I knew: I loved her to the point of invention.”

— Sarah Ruhl, The Clean House

• “oh god it’s wonderful / to get out of bed / and drink too much coffee / and smoke too many cigarettes / and love you so much”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Steps”

• “This morning there’s snow everywhere. We remark on it. You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.” We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind. As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t, of course. We never do. No matter. It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift this morning that moves and holds me. Same as every morning.”

— Raymond Carver, from “The Gift”

• “Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine.”

— Leonard Cohen, in a letter to Marianna Ihlen

• “I think about love on a scale from 1 to 10. Most of us find a 6 or a 7, and that’s why we have divorce. It’s the truth. We settle for that 6 or 7. But I like to think Kevin is Chiron’s 10. He’s found that and he realizes that there’s no reason to settle for a 6 or a 7 because, “I know this person is my 10. Whether or not this person believes I’m his 10, I’m going to devote my life to this person entirely.” That’s why the line where he says, “You’re the only man that’s ever touched me,” for me, was the most amazing, most beautiful thing I’ve seen in cinema, period. Because that’s what we strive for as people, to find that one person because they’re there. If Kevin doesn’t feel that they should be together, Chiron is just going to die a miserable person because that’s his person and he won’t settle for anything else.“

— Trevante Rhodes about Moonlight

• “I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Having a Coke with You” but the whole poem is !

• “The door slammed and someone came home and low voices could be heard, the single lilt of a question as it rose, “How was it?” or “Are you hungry?” Something plain and necessary, yet extra, with care, a voice like those tiny roofs over the phone booths along the train tracks, the ones made from the same shingles used for houses, except only four rows wide—just enough to keep the phone dry. And maybe that’s all I wanted—to be asked a question and have it cover me, like a roof the width of myself.”

— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

• “I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.”

— Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Minnie Holland

• “I don’t want you to be nervous. Maybe thinking of a walrus would help. Have you seen the video of the penguin accidentally stepping on a sleeping walrus? It thought it was a rock. The walrus wakes up like what the fuck and the penguin scurries off like oh shit. Sometimes it’s funny watching a surprise happen, and not just funny but kind of amazing — like, you never really know what’s what when it comes to this planet.

Then again, when it’s you getting surprised, that’s different. Especially for tender ones like us. What are we supposed to do? It’s bad for our hearts, you know. I hope you won’t need pills like I do. I think I get so scared because I’m greedy — I want to hold onto everything, the world wants to take it away. What the fuck. The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

— Mikko Harvey, “For M”

• “Willem sleeps on the left side of the bed, and he on the right, and the first night they slept in the same bed, he turned to his right on his side, the way he always did, and Willem pressed up against him, tucking his right arm under his neck and then across his shoulders, and his left arm around his stomach, moving his legs between his legs. He was surprised by this, but once he overcame his initial discomfort, he found he liked it, that it was like being swaddled. One night in June, however, Willem didn’t do it, and he worried he had done something wrong. The next morning–early mornings were the other time they talked about the things that seemed too tender, too difficult, to be said in the daylight–he asked Willem if he was upset with him, and Willem, looking surprised, said no, of course not. “I just wondered,” he began, stammering, “because last night you didn’t–” But he couldn’t finish the sentence; he was too embarrassed. But then he could see Willem’s expression clear, and he rolled into him and wrapped his arms around him. “This?” he asked, and he nodded. “It was just because it was so hot last night, Willem said, and he waited for Willem to laugh at him, but he didn’t. “That’s the only reason, Judy.” Since then, Willem has held him in the same way every night, even through July, when not even the air-conditioning could erase the heaviness from the air, and when they both woke damp with sweat. This, he realizes, is what he wanted from a relationship all along. This is what he meant when he hoped he might someday be touched.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

• “No, I didn’t imagine my being alone with you the way you do. If I want the impossible, I want it in its entirety. Entirely alone, dearest, I wanted us to be entirely alone on this earth, entirely alone under the sky, and to lead my life, my life that is yours, without distraction and with complete concentration, in you.”

— Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer

• “If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would.”

— David Wojnarowicz, The Half-Life

• “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell, I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

• “If Moses had seen the way my friend’s face blushes when he’s drunk, and his beautiful curls and wonderful hands, he would not have written in his Torah: do not lie with a man”

— Rabbi Yehuda Al-Harizi/Judah Ben Solomon Harizi

• “I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that money is more fruitful than words, and I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain. I’ll walk you to the hospital, I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks and assure you that you’ll find your place, it’s just the world has a funny way of hiding spots fertile enough for bodies like yours to grow roots. I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive. If i’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that the universe is twice as big as we think it is and you’re the only one that made that idea less devastating.”

— Lucas Regazzi, from “Small”

• “I thought she was sleeping until I heard her call out from across the room, “Will you bring me a glass of water?” I did. Then in her always-sleepy tone and drawl she said, “Do you remember when you were a little girl and you would ask your mama to bring you a glass of water?” Yeah. “You know how half the time you weren’t even thirsty. You just wanted that hand that was attached to that glass that was attached to that person you just wanted to stay there until you fell asleep.” She took the glass of water that I brought her and just sat it down full on the table next to her. Wow, I thought. What am I gonna do with love like this.”

— Dito Montiel, One Night

[tales-of-magic-and-chaos]

Cozy library in one of their houses, LOTS of cuddles for a hurt/comfort insecure!Loki with Tony and Stephen comforting him and like reading to him while he falls asleep knowing they love him

Thank you for this lovely prompt!

I had a lot of fun writing this story, hope you’ll like it! I also posted it on Ao3: Morpheus

Surprisingly, Loki loved Midgardian fiction. More precisely fairy tales, fantasy and all stories of foreign and fantastic worlds.

He could spend hours, if not days, reading these books. Escaping through them while staying in the comfort and security of the library.

Tony has been worried in the beginning, seeing his lover isolating himself and reading until he forgot to eat or to sleep. Even though he was far more resistant than humans, Loki still needed to rest and eat. Retreating himself this deep into his own world was far from healthy.

It was Stephen who reassured Tony by reminding him how much peace and comfort Loki could find in books.

The library was Loki’s sanctuary. It always had been, to be honest. Even back on Asgard, Loki always found refuge and comfort in the middle of this comforting and almost mystical place that is a library. Books always have been his confidents and best friends in tough times. Allowing him to escape loneliness, bitterness, distress. They taught him the most precious of his knowledge : magic. They reassured him through the entirety of his life, it was no surprise that even if he now lived on Midgard he still found such comfort in reading.

Stephen, too, found comfort in reading. But, contrary to Loki, he found this comfort through learning more about magic, science or whatever subject he was currently interested in. He did read fiction and diverse other books but the real comfort to him was perfecting his craft and knowledge. He always found comfort and peace in perfecting his knowledge and skills. Books have always been a means to improve himself.

Tony realized he completely understood his lovers. After all, he too found refuge in his own sanctuary, though it was his lab and not the library. He too spent days working on his inventions, forgetting to sleep and eat. He too felt immense relief and peace working on his suit and inventions, surrounded by his tech in the familiarity and comfort of his lab.

They all found different safe places throughout the years, when they needed solitude and comfort.

That said... Maybe it was no surprise that Loki specifically loved Midgardian fiction so much. Well, of course Tony and Stephen were always astounded to see a god who saw thousands of marvelous and mysterious worlds in his life being as amazed as a child each time he read Midgardian stories. But, all these experiences he lived were certainly precisely why he loved these books so much.

There was a feeling of profound familiarity despite a cruel sense of loss and disorientation with these tales. Midgardians’ collective imagination found his roots in myths that were somewhat closely familiar to Loki, because he often knew the truths behind these myths. It was fascinating, as much as disorienting, to see how these truths had been changed into something totally different throughout the centuries. The truth had been shaped and metamorphosed through means that had nothing to see with lies or intentional manipulation. It was only the results of oral transmission and romanticization. Humans were always exploring their history through fiction. Truly fascinating. Midgardians really were amazing story tellers.

Asgardians legends never equaled the beauty of Midgard stories in Loki's opinion. Oh, for sure, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of legends narrating Aesirs' most glorious and epic fights. There was the wise and profound philosophy hidden behind poems. There were tales of love and adventures sung. But it was nowhere near what stories were in Midgard.

Stories were more to Midgardians than mere glorification of the past. Of course, their tales took their source in humans' history. But while Asgardian legends were just pleasant memories that warriors loved to tell again and again and again, for Midgardians it was something totally different that was at stake.

Transmitting their history was absolutely crucial for Midgardians, way more than for the immortal Aesirs. There was always the threat of death and of the erasing of their heritage. They always were one disaster, one tragedy, one pandemic away from the loss of an immeasurable heritage. Humans' memories and myths were not the words of rambling elders thousands of years old, there were lively and diverse stories continuously changing and transmitted.

In Loki’s eyes, it was why the Midgardians gave so much importance to telling stories. Storytellers were in a way the guardians of humanity's whole history and heritage. These fantastic and fictional worlds were more enthralling and mysterious than anything else Loki saw in his life and despite this, these stories were vibrating with infinite echoes of the past. Midgardians stories were as diverse and wildly lively as their creators. Full of dreams, of hope, of memories. It was like a cauldron for changes and evolution all the while transmitting elders’ memories and thoughts.

Loki could not help but be simply amazed. It often left him dreamy. How sweet it must be for midgardians children to be soothed with such beautiful and fantastic tales. It was nowhere near the legends of his childhood. The Aesirs always related the same stories of glorious victories, of fierce and valourous heroes and of the, oh so incredible, conquests of Asgard through the Nine Realms. The Elders always loved to narrate these same tales of war and conquests. Especially those about the Jotnar and their Realm.

Oh, how many times did he hear how the brave and mighty warriors of Asgard defeated the terrible and truly monstrous Jotnar? How many times did he hear how Odin defeated Laufey? How many times did he hear these stories of heroic war, of glorious violence, of marvelous destruction?

He always hated these stories. It wasn’t the preservation of a heritage or fantastic tales meant to inspire like in Midgard. It was just old chauvinistic warriors patting themselves and the back for war memories already narrated and heard thousands of times.

Perhaps it was bad faith. After all, war was obviously central in Asgardian culture. All the children learnt early how to fight and defend themselves and their Realm. Those not able to fight like respectable and heroic warriors were… weren’t.

It surely was not a surprise to see this theme being this preponderant in Asgard’s myths. Since the dawn of time until Ragnarok. It simply was a very long life made of glorious fights, feasts and wars.

Asgardian mentality was always about being the most powerful and brave warrior. Tactics? Cunning? Magic? Oh no! The only power was strength. Physical strength. Submitting your enemies with your sword, or your hammer, was the only true and honorable power. How could you ask for respect and consideration if you were not even able to show the strength of a true Asgardian warrior? How could you be worthy of being a warrior? How could you be worthy of being an Aesir? How could you be worthy of being an Odinson?

The answer was easy.

You could not.

And in the end, they were right. They were so right.

He never deserved to be a respected Aesir warrior nor a true Odinson for he was nothing more than a Jotunn runt after all. A weak, evil and monstrous Jotunn, one of those that Aesir parents warn their children against, when they narrate them the wondrous Asgardians legends.

He would never be worthy in the eyes of the Aesirs. In the eyes of the warriors. In the eyes of his brother. In the eyes of Odin.

A monstrous creature. Directly from Aesirs’ most known stories.

A stranger.

An imposter.

His whole life was made of lies and horrific legends. He wasn’t him, Loki. He was a Jotunn, a creature made of ice, evilness and violence, as narrated in the legends. Sometimes he couldn’t figure himself as real. Sometimes he forgot he was something else than a monster feared and hated. Sometimes he was losing grasp on reality. Sometimes he was feeling like an outsider. Observing life and reality from the exterior. Like a simpte fictional being allowing people to shape him as they wanted. Just an horrific tale and a sweet lie.

A lie as sweet as the lips that were softly kissing his forehead. As sweet at the tender hand caressing his hair. As sweet as the perfume of books, cinnamon and fire floating in the air. As sweet at a profound and soft voice he could hear.

But these sensations were nothing like lies nor fiction.

As he was reconnecting with his body and reality, he could feel more and more of those sensations coming to him. The soft warmth of the fireplace. Someone holding his hand and softly caressing the back of it with his thumb. His lovers by his sides. A whisper.

« We’re here, Lokes. We’re here, I promise you. » Another kiss. « And you’re here with us too. »

A reminder.

The other voice never stops reading. The hand in his hair doesn’t stop either.

It probably hasn’t stopped since the beginning.

But which beginning ? When did the voice start ? When did the caresses start ?

He didn’t know.

He hasn’t even been aware of being disconnected from the world. He hasn't been aware of being cuddled by his two favorite people in the world. He wasn't aware of the comfortable room he was in.

Maybe it has been hours since his lovers, worried to not have seen him in a long time, joined him and took him in a warm and loving embrace.

It felt like an eternity. Or an instant. Or just. It felt just good. Timeless. But good. Immensely good.

Stephen softly caressing his hair while he was snuggled to his side. His soft voice never stopping from reading.

Tony cuddling him softly, his eyes closed, while he was listening to Stephen's voice too.

The Cloak was carefully covering them and they were comfortably settled in the couch, surrounded by soft cushions. The room's warm colors were only adding more to the feeling of peacefulness and cozyness that Loki felt each time he was in the library and in his lovers' arms.

Anxiety, sadness and dread were already disappearing. Oh, they would come back, sure. They always did.

But for now, he was safe and loved. In the security of his sanctuary and in the comfort of his lovers’ embrace. All was well. He knew his lovers were here for him. And he knew Stephen would never stop reading and Tony would never leave his side, not until they were certain their lover was ready to leave this little bubble of peace. He could allow himself to rest now, lulled to sleep by Stephen’s voice and Tony’s soft caresses.

[kimjongdaely]

Escape [Chapter 2]

Superhero!AU/Villain!AU

Pairing: Kai x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, torture

Summary: All your life you were caged and tortured, a never-ending cycle of pain. You no longer remember a life beyond that. All you wanted to do was escape this cruel fate. But finally finding your escape and being saved by a masked criminal was just the beginning of your nightmares. Can you ever really be free?

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5

It was rather peaceful that night. Kai had ordered pizza (his fridge was empty, save for a few bottles of water for some reason), insisting I eat something before bed. It was delicious, to say the least, since I’ve never really eaten “normal food”— according to Kai—in my time at the lab.

I was always given pills in place of food. It was something that Dr. Walters had invented, pills that tasted like nothing but would give me the nutrients I needed to survive, keeping me alive well enough. So pizza was indeed the most delicious thing I’ve eaten so far. I wonder what other delicacies I’m missing out on.

After that, he ushered me to the bathroom, threw me a towel and some clothes.

“Get clean.” He ordered, shooing me away. “You look awful.”

Looking at myself in the mirror, I agree. My hair is matted, my skin covered in grime. The testing clothes I wear, a tight back jumpsuit, is torn in several places, probably also covered in blood. I look so much older than I remember being, bags under my eyes and skin deathly pale. It’s hard to believe I made it so far in such a condition. I can hardly recognize myself—the last time I saw myself in a mirror was so long ago.

Stepping into the shower, letting hot water hit my skin, I hiss. The wounds on my back stings, and I try my best to wash off the filth so they don’t get infected, hopefully. Couldn’t help getting my new bandages wet.

I sigh in relief once I begin lathering soap into my hair, glad to feel clean after so long. I feel human at last.

After my relaxing shower, I step out and wrap myself in the blanket, feeling warm and safe and relaxed. Now that I am, I suddenly feel so sleepy.

Doing my best to pat myself dry despite my many wounds, I put on the clothes Kai handed me. A big baggy white t-shirt and equally baggy sweats. I tie the string around my waist as tightly as possible so it doesn’t fall down. I blow dry my hair, feeling how soft it’s become after a good wash compared to the monstrosity it was before.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I let myself smile. I still look awful, but better. Way better.

Heading out, I find Kai typing on his laptop, looking very focused. I fidget, wondering what I should do. “Um...”

“You can take the bed.” Kai says without looking up. “You must be tired.”

“Oh, no it’s okay.” I hurriedly say. “I can sleep on the sofa.”

He taps a key, looking up at me. His lips are pulled into an amused smile. “I can’t let a pretty girl sleep on the couch. Don’t worry and just go to sleep. I’ll do my best to keep my hands to myself.” If I could see his eyes he might’ve winked at me.

“I can’t tell if you’re a good person or not.” I mumble under my breath as Kai gets up, setting his laptop onto the coffee table.

“I’m not a good person. Just in it for the money, sweetheart.” He pinches my cheek as he walks by, heading into the bathroom. “By the way, my clothes look good on you.”

The bathroom door slams shut before I could hit him. His laughter is muffled on the other side.

I hear water running, and now that I’m alone in the room, I wonder what I should do. Well, he did give me permission to sleep, so I suppose that’s what I’ll do. I head over to the bed, climbing in tentatively. It’s soft and smooth, and I wrap the blankets around my body like a safe cocoon. I sigh into the pillows, fatigue instantly catching up to me. I have never felt so comfortable in my life, and part of my brain kicks into high alert. I won’t allow myself to fall deeply asleep, only enough to get the rest I need to fight another day. Years of being in the lab trained me this way. I never know when I’ll in danger and need to protect myself.

I can’t trust Kai, after all.

I hear the shower stop. Muffled sounds of him moving around, quiet humming. The door clicks open, and I am immensely curious about what he looks like. I manage a peak while feigning sleep. He has a towel around his bare shoulders, water dripping down his dark hair. He wears a pair of black sweatpants but, to my disappointment, I can’t see his face from here.

He stands with his back facing me, dries his hair more thoroughly with the towel and then puts his mask back on.

Seems he isn’t taking any chances either.

I see him begin to turn towards me, so I close my eyes and even out my breathing. I feel him checking me, making sure I’m asleep before he moves away. There’s a quiet click, and then a soft female voice can be heard.

“Hey Kat.” Kai greets, most likely talking into a phone. There’s a pause as Kat speaks. “Yeah, she’s at the apartment.” Another pause. “No need, I’ll handle it. Yeah, okay, bye.”

He hangs up, letting out a sigh. There’s some shuffling and I assume he’s getting comfortable on the couch. Light dances across the wall, which I think is from the TV, though there’s no sound.

“Go to sleep.” His voice rings in the quiet room, making me stiffen. He knew? I choose to stay quiet, lying very still and trying not to react. He sighs again, shifting. “Seriously, sleep. You need it, and so do I. You’re safe here.”

Safe.

I swallow, the word getting stuck in my throat. I am safe. It’s such a difficult idea to wrap my head around because I’ve never been safe before. My life has been threatened every waking moment of my life and I’m just so...exhausted.

To hear him say that...was comforting. It brought tears to my eyes which I quickly blinked away, taking a quiet breath to calm myself. In all honesty, I don’t know if I’m safe. I don’t know if I can trust Kai. I don’t know who paid him to save me.

But for now, I believe I am safe.

I close my eyes, and I let myself sleep.

Voices. Light.

I breathe in, blinking awake. The ceiling is unfamiliar. I lie on something soft, not the hard concrete floor I am used to. There are no bars or lasers keeping me confined. The room smells of aftershave and baked goods, rather than sweat and vomit. No men in lab coats. No cameras. No Dr. Walters.

I choke out a gasp, and someone is beside me in an instant. “Oh thank goodness!”

It’s a voice I don’t recognize. I turn my head, looking at a girl about my age. Her eyes are bright green, hazel hair falling to her shoulders. She wears fingerless black gloves, a simple t-shirt and jeans.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Now that’s a voice I recognize. I glance over as Kai joins the girl, his full suit on and his arms crossed over his chest. He grins down on me. “Got us worried. You were out for two days.”

I blink, then shoot up. Two days!? There’s no way I would let myself stay out for so long. “What?”

“You must’ve been exhausted.” The girl says, tapping something on her tablet. “That mad scientist sure did a number on you.”

I wince at the mention of him. 

“Anyways,” Kai clears his throat, then gestures at the girl. “This is Katrina, Kat for short. She’s my partner in crime.”

“The behind the scenes girl.” Kat says, grinning and looking quite proud. “I make sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

Kai scoffs. They seem close, quite the team if I’m honest.

“So, how do you feel?” Kai asks, probably scrutinizing me from under his mask.

“Better.” I flex my hands, rolling my shoulder. Nothing really hurts anymore. I notice my bandages have been changed. “A lot better, thanks. By the way, why doesn’t Kat wear a mask?”

“I don’t have to.” She answers. “No one knows about me...well, except you now.”

I frown. “And you’re not worried I’ll tell someone?”

“You can’t.” She says, rather sternly. Her eyes change, darkening on me. “You’re an illegal experiment by Dr. Walters. If the authority finds out about you, you’ll be confined for more testing to see what he did to you. Worst case scenario, you’ll be put down. From what I believe, that’s the last thing you want.”

The shock must be evident on my face because her expression softens and she puts a hand on my shoulder. “If you don’t tell on us, we won’t tell on you. Don’t worry.”

I sigh. There’s nothing I can say in this situation. My hands are tied and these criminals are the only ones I can rely on right now. 

“Well, since you’re better I think it’s best you go.” Kai says, flexing his gloved hands, nodding at Kat. “We got paid yesterday, so you’re free to do whatever.”

“What?” I gasp as I watch them head towards the door, probably off for another mission. “But I don’t—”

“Not my problem.” He calls back, giving me a two-fingered salute before they disappear into the night. I stare after them with my jaw hanging open, dazed by the suddenness.

He’s not serious, is he? Is he really kicking me out without any prior warning? I wrap my arms around myself, trembling as panic kicks in. Dammit, dammit! I knew I shouldn’t have let myself relax. How could I?

Those two are criminals, I’m only here because they were paid to. It’s only right that I go after they’re paid. They haven’t done anything wrong.

But the feeling of betrayal still sinks my stomach. I take a deep breath. Alright, first things first. I grab my old clothes, slipping them back on. It’s tight and uncomfortable and reeks with years of abuse. But it’s black so it’ll allow me to blend in better with the night.

I’ll have to move fast, find a place to stay. I don’t have money so any inns, motels or hotels are out of the question. I’ll have to find a place hidden from sight and where people don’t go to often.

With that in mind, I leave.

The night air is rather cold, leaving me shivering. The rips in my jumpsuit leaves me feeling exposed. I ignore it and begin to run. Now that my strength is back, my speed is much quicker. I jump across rooftops, stopping and hiding every once in a while to listen for anyone following me.

I can never be too careful.

I head towards the darkened part of the city, the slums. Slinking down to an alleyway, it smells of smoke, piss and vomit. I cough involuntarily, the smell reminiscent of my time in the lab. My living conditions were not much better than here. No one cared about my hygiene or health, doing only enough to keep me alive for their next test. There were special occasions where I would be treated better, given solid food rather than pills and switched to a cleaner cell, all because my next test would be highly draining and I was required to have strength to withstand it.

I walk past the slumped figures on the street, faces covered in dark shadows, clothes torn and stained. A fight breaks out nearby, and I turn the other way as quickly as I can.

I come across an old abandoned apartment-like structure. It looks like it’s about to crumble with a touch, the doors and windows boarded up. They are no match for my strength. I pull the wooden boards apart, accidentally breaking the weak door as well, wincing when it crashes onto the floor, kicking up dust. I cover my mouth with my hands, squinting into the dark place and coughing against the dust.

As the dust begins to settle again, I turn and try to pick up the door, putting it back in place as best as I can. Having some form of a door is better than nothing, after all.

Once that’s done—kinda—I step into the building carefully. Water drips down the ceiling, creating a puddle. There are sounds of rats scurrying around. I check the stairs, tapping it with my foot and deciding not to take my chances. I’ll have to stay on the ground floor.

I shiver again, wrapping my arms around myself as I curl up in a corner. It’s even colder in here, but at least I have some sort of roof over my head. I can stay here for a while until I figure out what to do next.

I tuck my knees tight against my chest, resting my face against them and sigh. As bad as things are, I’ll take this over being in the lab any day.

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Escape Mini Masterlist

A/N: Poor Eve. Can’t believe I’m kicking her out so early in the story.

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[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme Lines from "AHS: Coven" Episode 12: "Go To Hell"

Your highest honor comes at the greatest price.

Death is not uncommon. And danger inescapable.

I don't even need to read your mind to know what you're doing.

Poor, sweet, dumb, paranoid girl.

The awful truth is I am tired.

I want to know what happened.

She's probably off in some unholy nether realm.

He's a deity. Show some respect.

Respect is something that is definitely lacking around here.

You will show me respect!

You look like shit.

I can't believe you did that to yourself.

Whoa! That was cool!

I did transmutation.

I didn't even have to think about it. It just happened.

Our powers always spike in times of crisis. This is one of those times.

You into girls now?

What are you afraid I might see?

Nothing stays a secret for very long in this house

It will come to light whether you want it to or not.

I don't have any secrets.

I'm the queen-- I will rise again!

My people gonna come for you. Rip you apart.

Give me the box of chicken. Today, please.

I'm going on break, okay?

This was the worst time of your life. Waiting on people who treated you like the piece of trash you thought you were. No power. No respect. And no future that you could see.

Your hell's on Earth.

Don't make me put you in the fryer.

Everybody got to pay in the end.

Wait! I'm not done with you!

Unless you want to stay here forever, you better hurry and get back.

Time moves differently in here.

I'm talking to you, bitch!

You made it back. I'm impressed.

Now that I've proven my power, you're gonna give me some answers.

You remember how you told me you were gonna cut me up in little pieces and plant me all over the place? I thought that was a honey of an idea.

There's got to be a way to kill her.

More marshmallows.

Well, she's not gonna be doing anything while she's chopped into 50 pieces and those pieces are scattered all over the city.

You are one crafty witch.

When do we get to see the attic torture chamber?

These wild tales of barbarity you've heard are nothing more than lies invented by her many enemies.

What a total rip-off.

How did you find me?

A dog returns to its vomit.

I see you finally got that makeover.

I'm here to set the record straight.

She even looks like a monster.

Many times while there were extravagant parties going on just below, the sounds of music and revelry drowning out the cries of torment.

You don't believe it?

It beggars all belief.

The information you've been feeding these people? It's inaccurate.

I want my money back.

Do not touch the display items!

You will never be able to pay for your crimes.

It's your only chance for redemption.

Agree to be publicly humiliated-- all is forgiven.

All anybody has to do nowadays is shed some tears, say some words

It's called repentance.

Oh, repentance my ass.

You think a man jack among them was well and truly sorry? Not a one. Sorry they got caught is all.

Y'all nothing but a pack of sniveling hypocrites, as far as I can see.

I won't profess to be sorry, 'cause I'm not.

I was getting to you before. I know it.

You made me weep.

I wept for the state of this world.

A world of lies. A world that makes promise it cannot keep.

I don't want to die.

I want my portrait hung just there.

What are you doing back there?

Do you need a break?

I probably have two weeks left on Earth.

Maybe we could be kind to one another for a change, huh?

Did you really think self-mutilation would restore your power?

You cannot lose your power. You never will. It's inside of you.

As much as I'd like to, I cannot take credit for that. It's all you.

You're saying good-bye?

A man shouldn't be disturbed when he's playing with his instrument.

You don't have your mother's features.

Oh, you know who I am?

We spent quite an evening together.

She can't love anyone but herself.

I saw everything. Everything.

Unzip me.

Whatever fantasy you have about who she is and what you are to her, it's all bullshit.

She used you. All she does is use people.

I don't suspect you have a passport ready.

You feel that? That empty heartbroken feeling?

When the rest of the world sees a wall, we see a window.

Is she alive?

She's not breathing.

That's deadly nightshade you're about to ingest through your nostrils. I wouldn't sniff around unless you're looking for a bout of delirium.

Where is everybody?

Who would have been cruel enough to commit such an atrocity?

I heard people die after three days without water.

Please tell me this is a hallucination driven by my bouquet of Atropa belladonna.

You were supposed to spend your days in romantic splendor with your true love.

You're just like Halston when he sold his brand to J.C. Penney. You've forsaken your destiny.

You bit it off.

Hey, you're in my spot!

I want to sleep!

We're leaving.

You, don't talk to me!

Is that why you came back, because you can't handle him?

You bitch.

You thought I was some dumb swamp rat you could leave behind to die?

Stop these vulgar fisticuffs at once.

It's beneath us.

I don't want to waste my magic on you.

You hit like a girl!

This is awesome!

You! You must pay for what you've done!

Wow, did you walk into the wrong house.

Who the hell is this guy?

I thought you banished his soul to the appropriate nether realms?

I'll kill all of you!

Is that blood?

How could you do this to me?

I don't remember the last time I was here when there wasn't music playing.

You pack your wader boots?

I don't like catfish. I loathe all bottom-feeders.

She's pretty, but she doesn't have your cheekbones.

I imagine she wanted me to do her dirty work for her.

We had a deal. It wasn't on paper, it wasn't stamped by a notary, but we had a deal!

You have been the most delightful distraction. A life preserver. But I'm gonna be on dry land soon.

Can't you at least pretend? Just, just humor me for a while?

I guess I loved you.

Although I really don't know anything about love, if I'm gonna be honest. But you were the sweetest of lovers. The best I've ever had. And I'll miss that.

Let go of me!

I know you love me!

Christ, I was sick!

I just needed to feel something.

I made you die those little deaths for the first time in your sorry life. I made you sing when you had no tunes left in you.

What you're doing is a crime against humanity.

Well, I've never been one for love, true or otherwise.

Does anyone feel any different?

Where's the body?

Somebody's got to kill this creep.

Is that really necessary?

I'll kill him.

We really don't need a man to protect us.

I know I mistreated you in the past but there's no greater pain than being this close and not, not being able to reach you. And to comfort you.

Oh, I'm consumed with regret.

Why are they doing this to us?

Please, I'm so thirsty.

Please have mercy.

Are you hungry, too?

I'll slice off one of your mama's fingers and feed it to you!

Yes, I have sinned.

I gave no quarter.

Have mercy on my soul!

I don't want to do this!

You will do as you are tasked.

Who is this man?

What is this place?

You have been granted your sweet release from the world of the mortal.

Welcome to hell.

I can't die!

We have a contract!

No one gets away with sin.

Everybody suffers.

[wren-again]

Don’t You Cry No More

Chuck smiled in his sleep. The Winchesters hugging in heaven. Two brothers and the open road. Game of Thrones in redneck America. Heterosexual ever after. Both dead. Both redeemed. The way it was always supposed to be. He was not to be defeated, he was invincible, the beginning and the end, light and dark. He was everything. Just as it had always been. Destiny, his favourite invention.

In his dream he was still god. In his dream he was not human, he had never been human. In his dream he was not hung from the ceiling. In his dream the blood was not slowly draining from him. In his dream he would never have been too weak to fight off a Djinn.

If he had been kinder to the Winchesters maybe they would have saved him. If he’d been kinder to anyone maybe someone would have noticed he was missing. As it was, no one saved him. No one even knew he was gone. As it was his body rotted and was never found. Maybe Jack knew, maybe not. He had vowed to be a hands off god and he would live up to that promise.

Jack sat in the bunker with his family, a smile on his face with no discernable source. Maybe he was just happy. He hadn’t brought Cas back, not yet. He could, in an instant, but he was a better storyteller than that. In his three years he had watched so many movies, with Dean and Sam and Cas, and he knew that there was a pattern to these things. Three years old and already a better storyteller than his grandfather. He supposed age and wisdom had no correlation, it either was or was not.

All those who Chuck had snapped away had been restored. Sam and Eileen were so happy, it was beautiful to see, and that was helping. Dean had to be the one. Dean had to make the choice. Not for magical reasons, those were irrelevant to a god, but for the success of any future they might have, and for The Story.

Jack had understood instantly, when he absorbed Chuck’s power, the nature of a god. One didn’t have to rule everything, or even control anything. A god was just a writer. Jack didn’t have to tell every story, most of the pieces would fall into place without interference, he just had to choose one. It wasn’t hard. He knew what mattered to this world. Their family, all of them, all those who loved the Winchesters, and the brothers themselves. If he was a god, he decided, he would make it his life’s purpose to heal the Winchesters, to give his family what they had fought so hard to give him. He could do that now. He just had to be patient.

Dean had to be ready. Otherwise he would only push Cas away.

Dean smiled that performative smile. He was happy for Sammy, he was. He really freaking loved Eileen. He loved seeing his brother happy. He was so fucking pleased for them. Claire and Kaia too, adorable, young love. Why was the next generation so much freer? Why wasn’t he born when they were? If he’d been born twenty years later maybe he... maybe Cas...

He was miserable. He tried to hide it. He tried so hard to live his life and just not think. He drank a lot. He got a job and a dog and he was happy. He was okay.

He was not okay.

He fixed cars. He loved cars. He knew how to love. He loved cars and pie and booze and Sam. He loved. He knew what love was. He knew how to feel it.

He buried himself in his work. Engine grease and physical labour. It was enough. It was enough. It was enough. It was-

He didn’t cry every night.

He should have said something.

He was so fucking angry. Why did Cas have to tell him? Why did Cas have to tell him then? Why did Cas have to die? He should have said it back. Fuck Chuck and fuck The Empty and fuck Death for good measure. Fuck himself most of all. He should have said it back.

He should have said it years ago.

He didn’t beat up a car this time. There was a weight in his limbs, a limpness that wouldn’t let him swing a crowbar or punch a wall, he didn’t have the energy.

He threw away his second pillow, the one he’d never used, the one he’d bought just in case. What was the point? His bed would never be filled. He would always be cold, now, empty.

Was Cas conscious where he was? Was he asleep? Dean hoped he was asleep.

Dean didn’t sleep much anymore. Not that he ever had, but it was worse. His sheets were a damp mess most mornings. Nightmares like he hadn’t had since he was freshly out of hell.

He didn’t keep a gun under his pillow anymore. If death came he would let it. What was the point anymore? He was the loose thread. Everyone else was happy, everyone else had found a purpose or happiness or love. He was lost. He had lost everything.

He couldn’t go down to the dungeon anymore. He avoided that room with one excuse or another. Sam was the nerdy one, he could get the files, that was why it was. He wasn’t scared, didn’t fear the dark would come for him and never let him go, or tempt him with some cruel ghost of what could have been.

Dean Winchester wasn’t scared of anything.

Despair. Always despair. A confession repeated on a never ending loop, words he would never speak, events he couldn’t ever bear to recount to Sam. He might as well have lost his tongue for all he could bear to talk. He had never been this quiet. Sam must have noticed, surely, but years of experience had taught him not to ask. Dean cursed his violent rage, all those years of biting Sam’s head off the second he got too close to any hidden truth, he would have given anything for those questions now. He couldn’t bear to broach the topic. He knew he’d only start crying again. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to tell anyone. It hurt too much. Sam didn’t ask and Dean didn’t tell.

If only there was a way to bring Cas back. If only there was something, anything, he could do to save him. Dean wanted to die, but he knew that even in death he wouldn’t get what he truly wanted, so he kept on living. One day after the next. More suffering, more silence.

He’d researched, with a frantic desperation, the first few weeks. He’d contacted every deity, every demon, every nasty little thing that might hold the answer. None of them answered. There was nothing out there. The big bads, all of them seemed to have vanished. Rowena knew as little about The Empty as he did, the angels were unhelpful as always. He wished Jack hadn’t given his powers over to Amara, or Amara hadn’t disappeared.

He’d been surprised when Jack told them, appearing on their doorstep in the dead of night, that he was simply human now. He hadn’t known that was possible, but the kid had no reason to lie. Jack would have brought Cas back already, if he could. It was hopeless, he supposed, and he just had to learn to live like this, with this truth that could never be spoken eating away at him, with an empty space where Cas should be. Alone. Always alone.

Sam didn’t ask. Jack didn’t ask either, Jack just stated a fact, with the simplicity of an all knowing child.

“At least you know he loved you,” that simple smile, a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Dean managed to make it all the way to his bedroom. He managed to lock the door. He started crying the second he was alone. Tears like he hadn’t cried since that first night.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam’s worried voice through the door wasn’t enough to snap him out of it this time.

“Leave me alone Sam.”

It wasn’t fair. Hearing it said out loud just strengthened his certainty that it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. A million potential futures, snatched away the second they became possible. Dean deserved to be happy god damn it!

“Dean, you know you can talk to me, right?”

He should have been able to kiss him before he went. He shouldn’t have had to watch love be snatched away from him while he watched, helpless. He should have been able to make Cas smile like he had, oh so briefly, every day for the rest of his life. He should get to have two pillows on his bed, warmth on the other side.

“I miss Cas,” he sobbed, quietly, in the direction of the door.

“What did you say Dean?”

Dean leaned his head against the wall, cold against his burning skin.

“He loved me. He loved me all these years and I fucked it up Sam. We could have had what you and Eileen have but I was too fucking scared and I left it too late and now he’s gone and there’s nothing I can do.”

“Unlock the door Dean.”

He did as he was told. Not caring if Sam saw him like this. Not bothering to move his head. Screwing his eyes shut as the truth of it all crashed down on him.

“I just want him back. I just need to tell him. Why didn’t I tell him Sam? Three words and I fucking couldn’t and now-“ Dean had ripped his head away from the wall in his rage to turn to look at Sam, only for his words to die out in a strangled sort of noise at what he saw.

His ears were ringing, ringing like they had been that first day, like broken glass was falling around him. Like the most beautiful hideous noise in the universe was threatening to deafen him.

His vision was hyper focussed at the same time it blurred with tears and the surreal nature of what was happening.

Maybe he was just asleep.

“Hello Dean.”

No, this was not the way he dreamed. Everything was too clear, every detail perfect in its imperfection.

“I love you,” he blurted without thought. He couldn’t pause, not this time. He would never stop to process again. Embarrassment and backpedalling and a foot in the mouth held no fear compared to what had come before, the sickening terror of too late, too late. Not too late now. How was it not too late?

He didn’t care.

He flung himself at Cas, not pausing to wonder if Sam was still standing out in that hallway, not caring about anything but this.

His full weight settled on warm solid flesh, angel beneath the trench coat, Cas easily holding Dean to him as he wrapped his legs around his waist and kissed him over and over again. Like he couldn’t breathe unless it was Cas’ air, because he couldn’t, not really.

Jack smiled in the library. He didn’t need to see with regular eyes, not anymore. He didn’t need them to know. Maybe he would tell them that he was still god, if they asked, maybe not. All they needed to know was that everything was good, now. All they needed to know was family, and love, and long nights of peaceful sleep.

That was the story he wrote.

He was a good writer, after all, and he loved his family.

Sam sat down beside him, smiling just as wide as he was, and they sat together for a while. No words were spoken. Sam knew. Sam was grateful. Jack was pleased that someone shared his secret, he was pleased that it changed nothing, and he was especially pleased when Sam reached into his pocket and produced a bar of nougat. Jack took it. He was happy. They all were.

No tears, not now. Never again.

That was what the Winchesters deserved and Jack was oh so willing to give it to them.

Love held no place for selfishness, for limitation, love was infinite. God was supposed to be love, after all, and Jack was going to be a wonderful god.

He reached his arms around his world and held it tight, kept it safe, and somewhere in the bunker Dean did the same.

Dean slept better than he ever had that night, the next, and every night for the rest of his life. With his angel beside him no nightmares could come, only pleasant dreams and even better waking, only a simple life of a simple man and the cosmic being that loved him.

He wanted for nothing.

He was saved.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @candybarrnerd donated $20 and requested Dean/Crowley. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Crowley comes back to the hotel room early, or early at least for his new companion. When he opens the door it's eleven in the morning and it's dark, inside, the curtains heavy and mostly-drawn, and the reek—

"Good heavens," he says, and there's a masculine groan from the bed. "Could you at least have them washed, first?"

He flicks the switch and the lamp by the television comes on. The television which is—smashed, the First Blade thrown through the screen and sticking absurdly out of the shattered glass. Excellent. In the bed there's a tangle of sheets and bodies, and he comes and stands at the foot with his hands in his suit pockets, mild interest on his face. His new Knight sits up, yawning. "I was sleeping, you know," Deanna says, and Crowley can very much see that.

The boys she's picked up look worn out. One redhead with ridiculous muscles, one tall brunet—oh, that's obvious, dear—both clearly trying to sleep through interruption, like they're hungover and fuck-exhausted. Probably both true. Crowley looks over both of them. Decently attractive, decent cocks, but neither of them quite a match for her. She sinks back onto her elbows, giving Crowley a considering look. "What have you been up to, anyway? You bailed on me at the bar."

Crowley pushes one bare male foot out of the way and sits on the end of the bed. "I do apologize, darling. Hell had some business that needed doing."

Deanna rolls her eyes. "Business," she says, and drops fully back to the pillows, stretching. "Boring. This is why I have to make my own fun."

"So I see," he says, smiling at her, and then he whacks the redhead on the thigh. "Up. You've done your duty. Get out."

Another groan, but they do wake up, and don't seem surprised to see him. They roll painfully to their feet, dredge up jeans and shoes, smile awkwardly but a little fearfully at Deanna before they go. She tucks a hand behind her head, waves at them, and they scuttle out like they're making an escape.

"What do you do to the poor things," Crowley says.

Deanna smiles at him slow, dangerous. "Oh, like you don't know," she says, and Crowley's very old, and very bad, and he's fucked nastier, crueler things than her, and even so that smile makes something warm swirl, in the corroded pits of him.

She's naked and doesn't care, because she doesn't care about much, anymore. It's thrilling, after all those years of her trussed up in that ridiculous flannel, her hair tied practically back in a ponytail or a plait, clunky boots and a bitchy expression. Now—she arches her back, turns onto her side, and it's all that clear golden skin, unmarked by anything but unexpected spatters of freckles, here and there—on the small of her back, where her body arrows down to that perfect fat arse—and, of course, her mark. The thing that makes her dangerous. Crowley smiles to himself, looking her over. Like she wasn't dangerous already.

"You want to take a picture?" Deanna says, propping her head on her hand. As though Crowley hasn't already. "It might last longer."

"Now, darling," he says, and dares to set his hand on the delicate bone of her ankle. "You'll last forever, you know that perfectly well."

She sweeps her eyes down to evaluate his hand, but apparently the flattery was just enough and she smiles, too. "Hm," she says, and sits up, and shakes her hair back over her shoulders. "Well, immortal or not, I want breakfast."

"Anything," Crowley says.

She rolls her eyes. "I know," she says, and pulls her foot out of his reach, but she leans forward, hands planted on the bed so her shoulders curve in, her tits pushed forward, tempting. "Because you're spoiling me, aren't you? Kinda obvious."

He shrugs one shoulder. "So I'm obvious. You're the most precious thing in my kingdom. You get what you want."

Deanna clucks her tongue, eyes going sarcastically wide. "Lucky me," she says, but Crowley's had enough experience with her over the last month to know that she enjoys it, vile hedonist that she is.

She gives him her breakfast order and he calls it down to room service, watching her go over to the window, pull open the curtain to look at the morning. "As quick as though your life depended on it," he says, to the hapless operator, and she smiles over her shoulder at him. In the light she's haloed, delightfully ironic. When he hangs up he says, "What would you like to do today, my dear?" and she says, sweeping the curtains wider, "That's for me to know," and, predictably, "for you to find out."

Not as clever as she thinks she is, but her power's such that it doesn't quite matter. Crowley's stuck here with her until he can work out a way to manipulate her into something more useful. She draws a bath, bubbles and all, and when the room service arrives he carries it in and she eats, rather disgustingly, there in the water—bacon, a burger, chips with enough salt on them that it must sting, but she groans at how good it all tastes, so he supposes it doesn't matter. When she's done with the bath she stands up, dripping everywhere, and puts her hands on her hips, and screws up her mouth. "Wash my hair," she says, thoughtlessly demanding, and Crowley says, "Of course," and strips down, and turns on the shower, and when it's hot enough to blister living skin he holds out his hand and she walks across the tile and steps under the stream, and sighs blissfully as the suds still clinging to her skin wash away, and he stands behind her and goes to work, massaging her scalp, letting the heavy weight of her hair turn to wet silk under his hands, servile as a maid, doing what his Knight desires.

Like this, Deanna's a contradiction. Infuriating, a little stupid, satisfied by dumb physical pleasure. Not, in those ways, so different from her human self. What he hadn't expected was this strange descent into—girlishness. When the soul corroded, what was left tended to be cruelty, inventive meanness, power-hunger, but then that was after a good, long bit of endurance on the rack as the humanity was carved away, slice by slice. Deanna's change was instant. Human one moment, demon the next. What's left is certainly cruel when it suits her, but what intrigues Crowley, what's keeping him indulging her whims beyond his need for her power, is how she has utterly rejected the constraints she put herself under, when she was simply Deanna Winchester, daughter of John, big sister to Sam, hunter who put the fear of god into monsters and demons alike. He'd expected fucking and drugs, random murder and a lack of empathy, and he'd gotten all of those—he hadn't expected her to demand a trip to a fancy salon for a two thousand dollar haircut, or shopping for lingerie that made his unbeating heart throb to see her in it, or wanting to be—pampered. Treated like a precious jewel. Something she couldn't accept, from her brother's hands. Something she hadn't known, before, how to ask for.

He works the conditioner through, carefully. It's the one the terrified stylist had recommended, and so Crowley had bought it for her, of course. "That'll have to sit," he says, and Deanna sighs, arching into him like a pleased cat. He smiles, kisses her wet shoulder. "I suppose I'll entertain you, shall I?"

"I suppose you shall," Deanna says, so he twines her hair up into a sloppy knot at the base of her neck, and turns her around under the water, and she smiles at him indulgently when he goes to his knees on the cold tile. "Mm. I like you from this angle."

He lifts one of her thighs over his shoulder, kisses the soft inside. "I do live to please," he says, and she cups the back of his head, and when he licks into her cunt it's a soft, sweet heaven, just enough salted tang to make his lips burn. She balances easily, her body perfectly under control, and he cups her arse and settles in, licking deep, nosing her clit, spreading her. Slight taste of spunk from the boys who had her during the night and he imagines what it must have been like—her egging them on, vicious and cute by turns. They might've had her mouth, her cunt, her arse—both at once, perhaps, while she gripped their hair and told them that if she didn't come, they'd be sorry. She killed one man for that, early on, and Crowley had ordered the body removed and soothed her pout and said, darling, if you'd like to come, all you need to do is tell me. It was the first time he'd licked into her when there was blood on her hands but not the last, but it felt right, like that. Centering her in the things that mattered: death and pleasure, what her existence would be, free from conscience and second-guessing.

She comes beautifully, pushing into his mouth and pulling at the back of his hair hard enough that it hurts. "Oh, good," she sighs, and he suckles at her clit a little longer, until it must be oversensitive and throbbing, but she just humps against his face and laughs, pleased. "Overachiever."

He tips his head back, smiles up the expanse of her belly. "Always, my dear," he says, and she rolls her eyes and pushes his face away, and so he stands up, uncoils her hair, rinses it to softness under the water. When they're done she yawns, and he says, "Nap?", and she nods and walks naked and wet back to the bed and flops down, luxuriating.

"Get me off again," she says, and so he sits beside her and slots two fingers inside her cunt, and massages her to a second orgasm while she does absolutely nothing to help, and she drifts off with him still inside her, her damp hair a river of golden-brown on the white pillow, her lips softly parted, utter confidence in every line of her.

He rolls his thumb over her swollen clit, idly, just enjoying the slickness on his fingers, the easy response of her body. This girl. It had been a mistake, he'd thought, when he heard that Michael's vessel had been born female. The apocalypse thwarted, all those centuries of careful planning all ruined. Still, Lilith and Azazel did their parts, and when Sam was born it was thought that it would all work out—a victory for Hell, when Lucifer broke free and took what was his. Crowley watched, waiting, working his way up the ranks. When Deanna came to hell Alastair worked her hard, vicious, and Crowley had come and watched, of course—they all had, all of them with rank high enough—and she screamed, and broke, and when she stood under Alastair's proud hands and picked up the razor for the first time, Crowley didn't think he'd ever seen anything so perfect. He'd looked at her eyes, though, rather than what her hands were doing, and he'd seen something—a flicker. A hope. Alastair hadn't paid attention, glorying in his victory, and Lilith was focused on the work of the seals, now that the first had been broken. It was only Crowley, there, looking into Deanna's eyes, who saw what could be.

He makes calls, while she sleeps. His majordomo frets at him, tediously. He arranges for a clue to be dropped, to have some lackeys of Abaddon's find the hotel. She'll kill them, like she's killed all the others, and that'll be one more problem solved—two, in that it'll entertain her. He hadn't expected, when he retook his throne, how much of his time would be spent on entertaining someone who was, technically, his subject.

Deanna wakes up slowly, in the early evening. Crowley's sitting at the side of the bed, waiting for her. "Mm," is the noise she makes, and he raises his eyebrows, indulgent and curious. "We should have fun, tonight."

"What sort of fun?" he says. He slips his hand over her belly, where it's slightly soft. Too many years of burgers.

"I want—" she starts, and hums, thinking. "Music. Beer."

"Done," he says, and she grins at him, and then snakes a dangerously strong hand around his wrist, squeezes. He looks down at that, and back up at her face, and says, dry, "Unless you'd like something else, first."

"Ooh, see, I knew you were smart," she says, and he sighs but shifts around, on the bed, and settles between her open thighs, and she's still soft and a little wet and he pushes his fingers in and applies his tongue to her clit and gets her off twice, that way, insistent and hard. Easy, when one doesn't require breathing.

After the second she's loose, happy. Her thighs sprawl wide, her cunt open and dripping-wet. He drags his fingers down and plays with her asshole, and she allows that, and when he pushes his fingers in past the tightness she arches her hips into it, and so he fingerfucks her idly that way for a while, flicking his tongue against her clit and ignoring her relentless cunt.

"You'd just do anything, wouldn't you?" she says, dreamy. "Always taking care of me, Crowley."

"Of course, darling," he says, lifting his head, and she's looking down at him, from her place in the pillows. She's pinching one nipple, the skin red and hurt-looking; her other hand's tucked behind her head, and it shows off the mark on her arm. His eyes are drawn to it, always.

It's beautiful, on the pale soft skin. Viciously red, as red as her hurt nipple or her used cuntlips, swollen and sore. All the corruption in her stemming from that point. "My eyes are up here," she says, amused, and he looks up to find her smiling oddly soft, her teeth set gently in her lower lip.

He slips his thumb up through her slick to sink into her cunt, squeezing her inner wall between his fingers. She shifts her hips, spreads her thighs a little wider. She says, idly stroking the underside of her tit, "I want your dick," and that's—a rarer pleasure. He hadn't much indulged, before her. She says, "I want you to come in me," and that certainly won't be a problem. She says, "I want it slow," and that's—

He moves up between her legs. She's still sprawled, watching him, eyes a little sleepy. His vessel has a cock big enough to please, he made sure of that when he chose the poor bastard, and he's certainly hard now, after this long of playing with her body. He teases the tip over her clit and watches her eyes flutter, and drags it through her split wet and teases at her entrance, threateningly thick. "Don't fuck around," she says, and he laughs and says, "Sorry, darling," and pushes inside, and she's as deliciously wet and hot as she is on his fingers or tongue, just the right amount of tight, and he gathers her thighs up around his waist and tips her into the angle that'll be best for her, and rogers her slowly, deep, crushing his cock all the way to her cervix and watching her face flinch with it before he pulls back, does it again, and again.

"Good," she sighs, and he dips his head, kisses her collarbone, dips lower and kisses the top of one full sweet breast. She settles her hands on his shoulders, oddly light, and he doesn't change his pace but pushes in harder, and she makes this little gulping sound and so he knows to keep that strength. She's stronger, but he's not weak, and he can please her, tweaking her body to do his bidding at least with this, if with little else.

It's not just her body he knows how to work, though. "Do you want more, darling," he says, softly, and she groans and says, "Fuck, Crowley—god, yeah, yeah—" and he says, dragging his lips up to the tender skin by her ear, "Do you want it to hurt, darling," and she fucks her hips back against him and he goes a little faster, rougher, sawing in, knowing his dick's thick enough that it does hurt, enough for her to feel it the next day, to make her soiled soul reach in and heal it for her, and he slips a hand down between them and rubs her clit, slippery but rough, and her hips buck and she wraps her legs around his back, demanding, and he lifts on one hand enough to see her eyes closed, chasing her pleasure, and he says, looking at that pretty face, "You want me to fuck you like Sammy would, don't you," and she practically growls and says yes, deep in her chest, and he gathers up her hips and nails her hard, and she arches and moans and says like that, like that, which of course he knows because he watched them, together, over and over, Sam's big body braced over hers, their heads close together, their hands twined, their stupid, connected souls trying to get closer, any way they could. He finds her hand, laces their fingers together and pushes them down into the bed, and she starts to come then, her breath quick and high, and he fucks her through it, her body seizing around him, wanting—not him. Wanting something else.

When he comes, as he's been required to do, he pushes it deep inside her. It gushes up, spilling against her womb, filling. He's used to orgasm but still, with her quivering all around him, it feels good—better, almost, than the human blood had—and he groans and holds and then bends his head and applies his mouth to her mark, where her forearm's pinned to the bed—gets the swollen heat of it under his tongue, the skin bitter, there. Bitter.

She breathes under him, allowing it until she doesn't. "Get off," she says, and he lifts his head, licks his lips. Shifts his hips and drags his cock out of her tightness, and sits back on his knees between her legs. She drips, and slides her fingers down to tuck them inside, pushing his semen back inside herself, her eyes distant. This, too. Familiar. When Sam pulled away, that last time, distressed and disgusted and not forgiving her—he went to clean up, and she watched him go and tucked her hand down, like if she kept the warmth inside it was like keeping him, too.

Deanna's eyes refocus, after a moment. "I want steak for dinner," she says.

Crowley laughs, and climbs off the bed. A snap of his fingers and he's clean, and he redresses while Deanna's still holding onto the strange echo of a lived life. He wonders if she even realizes what she's doing. He nods at her, naked on the bed. "I love you exactly as you are, darling, but you might need to put on at least a scrap of fabric so as not to alarm the waitstaff."

"Lame," she says, but rolls up to her feet, and goes to the pile of random clothes she's accumulated from his indulgences. She selects a black bra, and drops a dark blue dress over her head that she snaps her fingers for Crowley to zip for her, and no panties. She will almost certainly fuck the bartender in the bathroom, before the night's over. She tosses her hair back and doesn't bother with makeup, not that she needs it, and rips the First Blade out of the television and tucks it into the thigh sheath she adores. Easy access. "Okay," she says, impatient, like it's wasn't her who wasted half the day with fucking. "Are we going, or what?"

The Impala reeks as much as the room did, but less of spunk and more of cigarettes, spilled beer, grease. He sits in the passenger seat—Sam's seat—and watches her drive. The Rolling Stones, loud, on the tapedeck. She cranks it louder when Paint It Black comes on and grins, and says, "God, this rocks, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does," he says, and gets her grin aimed his way, and thinks, there'll be the murders tonight, of Abaddon's boys, and there'll be music, and there'll be steak, and she'll fuck and kill and have fun, and really, the longer they go, the farther from Sam, the more she's his. One day, he thinks. She'll kneel for him. His Knight. For now—he texts a lackey and gets them a table, at the restaurant she's aiming for, and he relaxes back into the filthy vinyl seat, and thinks about diamonds.

[dialovers-translations]

Limited Edition Drama CD ;; Another Situation: Whisper-in-your Ear CD [Kanato ver.]

Original title: アナザーシチュエーション ～あなたの耳元で囁くCD～

Source: Diabolik Lovers PSP Limited Edition [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: Phew~ This was one steamy track to translate first thing in the morning! Even though I’m not a huge Kanato fan myself, I did find myself blushing at some of the scenes. > /// < Headphones are a MUST when listening to this! Huge props to Kaji Yuki for pulling off a character who can be both arousing yet extremely creepy and unsettling at the same time, haha.

This track was requested by @josefinar122 If you would like to request a translation, please contact me through IMs or drop an ask!

Shuu ll Reiji ll Ayato ll Kanato ll Laito ll Subaru

ー The sound of tableware can be heard.

“What are you doing? ...Hehe. You don’t have to be so surprised.

Is it wrong for me to speak up against this little thieving cat who is sneaking around my own house~?”

ー Kanato sighs.

“ー Or rather, were you actually planning on stealing something? ...That’s it. You were planning on taking something of value and running away from me, aren’t you?”

ー You deny his assumptions.

“...You aren’t stealing? Then what are you doing? Huh? You were preparing your late-night snack to eat while studying for your test? Hehー I had a faint feeling you were pushing your sleeping hours to the very minimum to study but just as I thought, you really are an idiot, huh?”

ー You ask Kanato about his own studies.

“Eh? Me? Studying? Are you planning on making me do the same thing as you inferior humans? There’s no need for me to waste my time on human inventions such as ‘tests’ or ‘studying’.

ー You seem disappointed.

“What’s up with that face? Are you planning on forcing me to study? You’re planning on laughing at me from the shadows while watching me do something against my own will, aren’t you!?”

ー You apologize as the mood grows tense.

“There you go, apologizing again! If you’re saying sorry, that means you were planning on bullying me after all!!”

ー Kanato goes on a little rampage. 

“Huh? I’m wrong? What’s that...French toast? Is that your late-night snack? You’ve also prepared jam and cream, I see. I hope you’re not thinking you can lighten my mood with such a thing. Are you thinking you can tame me like that!? Doesn’t this just provide further proof that you’re secretly plotting something!?”

ー The sound of shattering glass can be heard. 

“Don’t mess around with me...Making a fool out of me like that! Don’t forget that you’re worth nothing aside from your blood!”

ー More clattering and shattering noises can be heard.

“Haa-aah~ The toast and the cream have all been turned upside down. What a waste. ...Hehe...Hahaha...That being said, you must be very skilful to spill them all on yourself. Your whole body’s covered in cream. You look like a mess. 

...Huh? I’m the one who flipped them over? That’s a false assumption...Are you trying to blame me for everything?”

ー Kanato tears up. 

“...How cruel.”

ー Kanato sobs.

“...Aah~ It smells nice. You...? Hehe...There’s powdered sugar sprinkled on top of your hair and you’ve got jam and cream stuck all over. Haha...Hahaha! It’s almost as if you have become the snack~”

ー Kanato smells you. 

“You’re giving off such a sweet scent...Hehe~ I might just gobble you up~ ...Hm? It feels sticky and weird? You don’t have to go take a bath. It’d be a shame to have such a delicious snack go to waste. I’ll clean you up instead. All of the sticky places, okay~? It’s fine right?”

ー Cue the sexy music. 

“...Say, where do you want me to start? From the most sticky place? ...Haha. Why won’t you tell me? Hey...Don’t avert your gaze and properly look at me. 

...I guess it can’t be helped. In that case, I’ll start from the edge and work my way up. First, your fingers.”

ー Kanato starts licking and sucking your fingers.

“Hehe...I’ve only licked in between your fingers and you’re already making such noises? Your body must have learnt to react to even the smallest things I do. I don’t dislike that.”

ー He continues to lick you.

“So sweet and...delicious...Aah~ Your arm’s also sticky, huh?”

ー He licks your arm next.

“Heh. Does it feel good? I’ll lick you more, so let me hear more of that sweet voice~ Your skin’s so much sweeter than even the jam and cream...”

ー Kanato licks off some of the jam.

“...It’s cold. Ah. Now the jam’s stuck on me as well. This is your fault~ How will you make it up to me? ...Don’t play dumb~ Return the favor. Lick me. Why are you getting embarrassed at this point? Making such a face is futile. This isn’t a request, it’s an order.”

ー You lick off the jam. 

“That’s right...You’re doing a great job. Hey...Do you have any idea what your current expression looks like? You’re overflowing with desire...What do you want to do to me? At this rate, I might just get devoured by you~”

ー You step away. 

“Why are you suddenly taking your distance? Did you get embarrassed? What’s so embarrassing about it? That you were greedily licking me? Or that I called you full of desire? Hmm~ Is that so? In that case...I’ll tell you even more.”

ー Kanato gets closer. 

“What a naughty expression. What an embarrassing get-up. Even though you actually want to feel even better, don’t you?”

ー You resist.

“ ...You really dislike it that much? I understand. If feel that way, I’ll stop. I’m going to my room now so if you want to take a bath or go study, be my guest. Goodbye.”

ー You hesitate. 

“What’s wrong? Didn’t you have enough? Let go of my hand, please. 

...That’s not it? You have to properly tell me what you want, or I won’t know~ ...Say it~ Haha...Such a good girl. You did well. I’ll have to give a reward to my good girl. It seems like you can’t hold back any longer either.”

ー Kanato sucks your blood.

“Mmph...Mm...So sweet...Delicious~ Your blood really...is so much sweeter than any dessert...~”

[vincess-princess]

ex malo bonum

Chapter 4.

Word count: 5707 Warnings: violence, self-harm tendencies, restraints, lots of blood, GRAPHIC NON-CON. Proceed with caution!  Author’s note: you wouldn’t believe this, fellas. arnold updates. a one in the lifetime experience. 

The rest of the night Vince spent in hazy slumber, the one that at first feels like a heavy, cozy blanket that grows heavier and heavier until it starts strangling. It might have been because of his blood loss, he figured later, since neither angels nor demons, no matter who he was at the moment, actually needed sleep. Tommy was probably right, though. This body, which didn’t let him destroy it at first, was now on the verge of collapsing. It needed more careful treatment.

And… Tommy. Vince couldn’t get his head around him. Hurting him, then coming in at night to fix him. Trying to help him get through an encounter with Nikki, then attempting to do the same Nikki wanted to do to him. There was no logic in his actions, no motivation. And he called him “a lot of fun”. There was no innate hate behind his words, the feeling so natural to both angels and demons, the feeling that kept them against each other. There was nothing fun in that. Tommy, however, managed to find it.

Vince was dragged back from his slumber in the early morning when the sky had only started to color. There was a sound, sharp, loud, alien to Vince. He had never heard it; it was so hostile it sent a shiver down his spine. Vince was both curious and averse to seeing its source. Must have been one of those terrible inventions humans used to kill each other not so long ago. Vince had never seen them; he was kept up there snowed under all the paperwork. So many people to die meant so many souls needed handling.

The sound thundered along the streets unnervingly close to the house Vince was kept in before fading away in a few seconds, leaving an uncomfortable emptiness in the air.

Then the emptiness was broken by a scream, a scream in a very familiar voice. Nikki’s. And… angry.

Vince shuddered. He could only hope the anger hadn’t been caused by Tommy’s night affair. The entire conversation they had with Tommy was now running in his head, with no end and no beginning, and every time the word “Nikki” stood out in that mess, Vince could feel his own fear, almost physical at this point, pulsating in his stomach. It felt like a cold icky lump in his chest unfolding more and more, releasing more cold, liquid fear into his veins. It was irrational, of course, because what would Nikki do to him apart from hitting? How would he hurt him when Vince welcomed his pain, even longed for it?

Still, the lump was there, a constant, merciless reminder of Vince’s own weakness over something he didn’t even know about, of his unworthiness. He had to remind himself that he, after all, used to be God’s warrior once. He might not have been one anymore, but he surely wasn’t going to just let Hell claim him like that, without an effort. He would take everything Nikki would do to him like He did. He might have rejected him, but Vince wasn’t yet going to discard everything his life had been about before that happened.

Wait, yet?..

Vince waited, flinching at every sound from behind the door. He could hear worried voices in another room, voices that from whispering sometimes rose up to screaming, but even then it was hard to make out words. Occasionally he heard quick footsteps in the hall, but none of them stopped in front of his door.

The sun had gone up and was approaching its highest point in the sky, and still - nothing. Vince stared at it until he went temporarily blind, dull pain starting to throb behind his eyelids. The pain in his shoulder had decreased, turning from sharp strikes of pain throughout his whole upper body into a dull and totally bearable pulsation under the skin. The cut had closed over the night, and only a drop or two of blood oozed from it from time to time. The scratches from claws on Vince’s cheek had almost healed as well, leaving only red itchy traces. Vince dug his nails into one of them as hard as he could, but his nails were too short to actually hurt him, only leaving faint traces. He tried to tear the thread off and open the cut, but the thread turned out to be very strong.

Vince needed the pain and couldn’t get it.

Nikki came when the sun had already started to set, coloring the sky so brightly Vince couldn’t tear his gaze away from them. The Earth was ugly, ugly and cruel, but there were times when Vince remembered that it once was His creation. Humans might have disfigured it beyond recognition, but the core, the idea behind the Earth remained unchanged.

Now, however, it didn’t seem good. No world that had given birth to such a creature as Nikki did.

Nikki closed the door quietly, approached the bed and bent down to Vince’s face. Vince pretended to be asleep when he entered the room, but he didn’t need eyes to sense him. The air as though grew colder with his presence. Or was that the trickle of fear down Vince’s spine that made his hands shaky?

Nikki’s hand, that stretched out to grab his hurt shoulder and shake it violently, also was cold.

“Wake up, blondie,” he whispered quietly, almost tenderly, and this hint of tenderness made Vince open his eyes in surprise and, maybe, maybe, a little bit of hope. It was taken from him that very moment. The eyes that met his gaze were not green – they were pitch-black.

“I see Tommy visited you last night,” Nikki continued, rubbing his thumb over the stitches. It stung under his touch. “What a dumbass, huh? Didn’t even use the chance.” Nikki’s other hand slid across Vince’s chest, fingertips barely touching the skin.

“He did,” Vince said, staring right between Nikki’s eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly into those pits of darkness, but he’d be damned, and he meant that literally, if he showed his fear in front of Nikki, even slightly. He wasn’t afraid, he reminded himself. Nikki couldn’t hurt him more than he had already been hurt - when he fell.

“Oh, really? Glad to hear that,” Nikki grinned and sat down on the bed, his palm pressing lightly onto Vince’s chest, not deep enough to hurt, but enough to hold him in place. “And how did it go? Did you like it?”

“He was interrupted,” Vince murmured. It felt as though cold threads of fear were seeping from Nikki’s fingers into Vince’s chest, sticking together into an icy lump.

“By Mick, right?” the hand moved down onto his stomach, tickling his skin with the claws, half an inch away from pain. Vince remembered how deep those claws could dig in. “Such a pity. In this house, I always have to do everything myself.”

Vince didn’t answer. Next moment, the claws dug into his skin, drawing a sharp inhale out of him.

“You know no one will come and save you now,” Nikki smiled sweetly.

“All bark and no bite,” Vince croaked, his mouth suddenly going dry.

Nikki blinked, taken aback for a moment. Only a moment, though.

“Kinky,” he said then and leaned towards him in a swift movement, obscuring his vision by a mass of black hair with an artificial, somewhat bitter smell. Teeth closed on his neck and bit through the skin, drawing blood and shooting strikes of pain down his spine.

Here was the pain that Vince craved so much. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in it. He waited with bated breath for the familiar rush of relief to wash away the discomfort of pain, to clear his head and to bring his emotions under control.

Only, it didn’t come. It was just simple pain now. Humiliating. Undeserved. Senseless. Pain he had to endure for a demon’s enjoyment. Not for the sins of humankind. Not even for his own sins.

For Nikki’s hard-on.

Vince’s hand grabbed a fistful of Nikki’s hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to unclench his teeth. It was a short victory: he made Nikki yelp in pain, but then he grasped Vince’s wrist, digging his claws into it so deeply Vince’s fingers weakened their grasp. He had to release Nikki’s hair and jerk his hand back, unsuccessfully trying to break free from the grip.

“Well, you’re fucking making me,” Nikki hissed, reaching for Vince’s handcuffed hand. Next moment cold metal wrapped around his hurt wrist - Vince had no idea how the demon managed to do that without a key - chaining it to the bedhead like the other wrist. Again.

Nikki straddled him, disheveled. “Usually I don’t like my toys restrained,” he said through heavy breathing. “But having you like this is kinda hot. What are you gonna do now, angel?”

Vince kicked him on the back as far as his left knee, the only unrestrained part of his body, could reach. He aimed at the head, but only reached the shoulder, making Nikki fall forward and almost sprawl on top of him. Nikki rolled to the side and with his elbow stopped another kick, gripping Vince’s leg once it reached his arm and clutching onto it. He then pinned it to the mattress with both his knees and scrambled to get his belt out of the belt loops. Vince wriggled helplessly under him, trying to push him off, but to no avail. The belt wrapped around his ankle and tied it tightly to the bedpost.

Once it was done and Vince couldn’t move at all, Nikki sighed with relief and leaned back, observing his work with a satisfied smile. Vince tried to jerk his legs and arms before realizing he probably looked like a dying animal in a trap, the most undignified situation he could imagine, so he lay still – he would not let Nikki enjoy seeing him struggling like that. Only his eyes were burning holes in Nikki’s face.

“As I said,” Nikki continued like nothing had happened, “I don’t usually like my toys tied up. But you’re truly something else. So… fierce. And so helpless at the same time.” He smiled, and Vince was sure he caught a moment of unexpected fondness before the smile turned into a sneer.

Nikki stretched out his hand and caressed Vince’s cheek, the one with the scars – now barely visible lines – from his claws. “I like your spirit, y’know.”

If not for Nikki’s quick reaction, Vince would have bitten his fingers off.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” the demon grinned, but the next moment his smile wilted as fast as it appeared. “Now back to business. I’ve had enough of your stubbornness already.”

“If you’re so pissed with me, why don’t you leave me alone then?” Vince spat out.

“In your wildest dreams, honey.”

Nikki got on top of him again and leaned forward to the bite on his neck. The blood oozed from it slowly but steadily, and a few drops had already stained the sheets. Not that it made a big difference: the sheets were already dark red and black, and smelled no better than they looked.

Nikki licked the blood off, his tongue warm and wet on his skin. Vince winced in disgust.

“You taste heavenly,” he carefully tucked a stray lock of Vince’s hair behind his ear and leaned towards it, so close Vince could feel his breath on the skin. “And I mean that literally. You still have a lot of heaven in you.”

Still. Vince turned away from Nikki, not wanting to see the complacent expression on his face. But even that he wasn’t allowed to do.

“Squeamish, huh?” Nikki’s fingers grasped Vince’s chin and forcefully turned his head back to face him. He smiled, but Vince would rather he didn’t. “That won’t do, angel. You’re gonna look at me the entire time. Get me? Look up there, right in my eyes. And if you don’t,” he paused for effect, his grip on Vince’s chin tightened, “it’ll hurt.”

Pain, more pain. Wasn’t Vince craving it?

“Good,” he said indifferently, staring right at the ceiling above Nikki’s shoulder.

For a second Nikki looked at him blankly. Then Vince’s guts were torn out of his stomach, dragged out alive and wrapped around the bedpost.

Or rather, he felt like they did. This terrible, unbearable pain in his stomach couldn’t be a result of anything less than that. Vince screamed, but even his voice was taken from him, and his mouth only drew in short, panicky gasps. Vince cried, but tears weren’t coming, as though afraid of blurring Nikki’s face in front of him, his calm gaze and satisfied grin. Edges of Vince’s vision started going black, Nikki’s face – fading away. Vince’s throat was raspy from all the screaming, his breath broken and shallow. The demon must have stuck a hand into his stomach and tear out his organs one by one, so slowly, so cruelly-

It was over. Oh Lord, it was over. Over. Must be His help. Of course, He hadn’t forgotten about him, or He would let him pass out from the pain. Of course, Vince still mattered to Him. After all, he was His son – a wayward one, but a son nevertheless.

The world around Nikki’s face gained clarity, and Vince could again feel the warm metal of his bracelets, now bloody from all the jerking he unconsciously did, and the rugged belt against his skin. He couldn’t help but glance down at his stomach, to see if his guts were still there. The skin was dirty and covered in dry blood, but otherwise perfectly unharmed.

“Still feel like it’ll be good for you, wannabe martyr?” Nikki grinned. “Or will you be a good boy and do what I say?”

The urge to spit him in the face was almost irresistible. Almost, because the pain, terror, and desperation Nikki had made him feel were still fresh in his mind.

The grasp on Vince’s chin tightened again, claws digging into his skin.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Nikki notified coldly.

“I’ll…” humiliation got the right words stuck in his throat. It took Vince an immense effort to push them out. “I’ll – I’ll do what you say.”

“That’s a good boy.” Nikki let go of his chin and wiped a drop of sweat off Vince’s forehead. “Alright, now let’s finally get down to business. I swear, if you pull one more trick, I’ll just choke you, and not in a romantic way.” Wait, there was a romantic way of cho-

Nikki unzipped Vince’s pants and pulled them down together with his underwear, and as Vince felt goosebumps on his naked skin, every thought he had in mind drowned in a sudden wave of pure, primal fear. It was hard to believe Nikki wouldn’t do what he promised, but hope, oh, that bitch had almost made Vince believe that it was just bluff, despite Nikki looking like the last person to do it. But now it was actually happening, with Nikki settled between his legs, undressing him, all so terribly real, that every little drop of hope Vince had had before evaporated, and instead of a steady flow of emotions in his mind, there was now a desert, blinding rays of fear turning every positive emotion into sand, and the hot, dry wind of desperation forming dunes out of it.

Nikki’s voice brought Vince’s mind back to the real world. “Damn, that won’t do,” the demon frowned, and Vince’s stomach sank. What else did he want from him? Wasn’t what he had already done enough?

But Nikki only poked at the belt around Vince’s leg with annoyance. Apparently, it prevented him from taking the pants off completely. They just bunched under Vince’s knees, not letting Nikki spread his legs wide enough.

“Should have undressed you first,” Nikki muttered, looking thoughtfully at the pants, then raised his hand, with those long, pointy claws, and then there was a sound of fabric tearing. “I hope you weren’t attached to them or anything," Nikki patted Vince’s bare leg and with the last pat left his hand on his thigh.

It slowly slid up and settled on his hip, with a finger carefully circling the hipbone. Then it moved onto his stomach, as though Nikki could feel where Vince’s terror was located. He probably did. No, he definitely did.

Something switched in Vince’s head. Wasn’t it enough that Nikki enjoyed his helplessness and humiliation? Did he want to enjoy his fear too? Completely break him, turn into a wrecked mess?

Those thoughts felt alien to him, like they had been sent to his brain from the outside. But this was only for a moment – as they ran like poison through Vince’s veins, they became so personal, so incredibly his, that no other person in the world could feel exactly the same.

The very next moment from a poison they became a drug. Vince let it into his thoughts. Embraced it.

Well, he better make a fucking effort then, the drug whispered in a familiar tone.

“You’re so tense,” Nikki said sweetly. His voice felt like a bitter pill in a sugary coating. “That won’t do.”

“What the fuck else do you want from me?” Vince threw his head back onto the pillow, looking at Nikki with exhaustion. He wanted all of it to be over already, but he knew Nikki wouldn’t just let him out like that. Still, one could dream. “Just do the thing already.”

“We’re not in a hurry,” Nikki reminded softly, but his hand on Vince’s stomach tensed up, ready to let out claws at any second. “Do you remember what I told you at the bar?”

“You talked a lot of bullshit,” Vince spat out.

“Oh, for sure,” Nikki snorted. “But there was a moment of truth there. It’s going to take as much as I need, and in the end, you’ll be begging for more. Remember?”

“You fucking wish.”

“Wanna make a bet?” Nikki offered, flashing a toothy smile. “That you’ll like it, little slut that you are.”

Vince spat at him. Most of the spit was left on his own chin, but some reached the aim.

Nikki wiped it off of his face, his grin growing wider, and oh God, did he have that many teeth before?

He pushed Vince’s legs wider, jerked one up by the knee, looking at what no one had ever looked before. Even Vince hadn’t, too busy coming up with various suicide scenarios in his time in the vessel. Vince wasn’t sure what the purpose of all those body parts he had down there was – there surely was some, but he hadn’t got to know. Still, he felt blood rushing to his cheeks against his will. Some kind of instinctive reaction? The feeble remains of the vessel’s own consciousness?

He didn’t get to finish this train of thought, though.

“You know,” Nikki kept smiling, that fake, terrifying smile of his, with too many teeth, “usually there’s supposed to be some kind of lubrication there. To, y’know, relieve the friction. But, unfortunately, we don’t have any.” He pushed Vince’s leg up onto his shoulder, giving himself better access to his lower parts, raised his hand to his face, so Vince could see it, and curled two of his fingers, and Vince slowly started to realize what he wanted to do with-

Then his flesh was being ripped open, Nikki’s finger digging deep into it with the claw out.

Vince dropped his head back onto the pillow, clutching at the handcuffs with so much desperate power he felt the skin on his wrists bruise, scratching the bedhead frantically and trying so, so hard not to scream - all in vain. It was muffled whimpering at first, then, when the second finger joined in, screaming. The world went bleak and blurry with tears, blackened at the edges of Vince’s vision.

Then Nikki pulled his fingers out, squeezing a hoarse gasp – all Vince could get out at the moment – out of him. Through tears, Vince could only see something red where Nikki’s hand was supposed to be.

“So we’ll replace it with natural lubrication,” Nikki finished as if nothing happened. The sound of his voice barely managed to get through the buzz in Vince’s ears, whether it began from his own screams or from how hard he tried to hold them.

“Don’t wanna talk back anymore, angel?” Nikki bent down to Vince’s face and wiped a tear off his cheek. “Funny how just a little bit of pain made you change your mind so quickly."

The poison, no, the drug, drowned out by pain before, fluttered weakly in his chest and wilted. Vince looked dumbly at Nikki and through Nikki, not seeing his face inches away from his own.

For that, he got a powerful slap to the face – this time without claws.

“You’ll space out when I allow you to,” Nikki reminded him sternly. Vince had to focus on him and blink to show he heard him. A simple nod seemed too much of an effort.

“Let’s move on then.” Nikki returned to his place between Vince’s legs, now with a growing red spot on the sheets between them. Vince heard him unzipping his pants.

No one will come this time, he thought.

No one did.

It was bigger than fingers but at least didn’t have claws on it. It went easily through torn flesh, making Vince writhe and whimper with every inch deeper. Nikki’s hand lay heavily on his chest, pressing him down to the mattress, not letting him resist in any way. Not that Vince even tried.

“Say goodbye to your virginity,” Nikki told him once he was fully inside, his hands on Vince’s hips, one holding onto them firmly, the other rubbing his thigh - back and forth, back and forth. “A little too much blood than there usually is, but you’ll survive. Most likely.”

Most likely?

Vince’s stomach twitched. Maybe it was just another one of Nikki’s threats, he tried to calm himself. Just another threat with no ground behind it, said solely for the sake of it. He lifted his head up to check Nikki’s face, but then caught a glimpse of his eyes and dropped it back, his arms weakening. While Nikki’s face was calm, his body relaxed, his movements well-calculated, his eyes were where his real emotions could be seen through.

He didn’t lie - he couldn’t guarantee for Vince to survive this. His eyes were that not of a sentient being, but a reflection of a single emotion so intense as though it took human form. It was hunger. Hunger for pain.

For Vince’s pain.

Nikki thrust in for the first time, and Vince exhaled a soft, almost unrecognizable “damn”. Nikki’s dick felt burning hot against his flesh, and Vince’s blood was boiling, and his entire lower part of the body was on fire. Not a good kind of fire - the kind of fire that burned witches. Just like it burned sins out of their bodies, it was burning something out of Vince’s.

Nikki’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he thrust again, and again, and again. Vince grit his teeth and bit his lips till they bled and swallowed his own screams till his throat ached. He wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t give Nikki that pleasure.

When Nikki changed his position and hovered over him, placing a hand at the side of his head, Vince instinctively turned his head to the side - only to be gripped by the chin and turned back. Nikki kept thrusting in, but more for the sake of keeping up the rhythm.

“You’re so quiet,” Nikki remarked idly, his other hand moving slowly, too slowly from Vince’s hip to the stomach and then the chest. “Doesn’t it hurt anymore?”

Vince didn’t answer. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, his tongue sat swollen and dry in his mouth.

He should have learned by then that Nikki didn’t like being ignored. A hand wrapped around his throat, and Vince suddenly realized this was how he was going to die. He didn’t pay much attention to the way his nose inhaled and exhaled air before, it came so naturally to his vessel… now it was gone, taken from him. Vince gasped, trying to break free out of the grasp, but was immediately pressed back onto the pillow by the relentless hand on his neck. Panic washed over him, panic so intense he hadn’t felt even when he stood in front of a heavy truck, flew off a building, fell into a delirium of drug overdose. He had something there with him then – confidence, security even. Back then he was invulnerable, indestructible, bulletproof; he just needed to show the extremes he was ready to go for to be forgiven.

Now there was no security, no connection, no feeling of protection. He was alone, and nobody was going to save him. The hand on his throat cut off his air. He needed to breathe to live, and he couldn’t, and he was going to die, Vince realized as the edges of his vision started to blacken.

Then the grip on his throat loosened.

“Scary, right?” Nikki whispered in his ear, tickling his face with his hair. “Vessels are so fragile. Squeeze their throat for three minutes – and they’re gone. And you’re gone. No vessel - no you.”

“Don’t,” Vince managed to get out. His hurt throat distorted his voice, turning it into barely understandable croaking.

“Why not?” Nikki put his hand on his throat again, and Vince tensed up, but Nikki’s hand only stroked the skin where his fingers were digging in merely a minute ago. “Don’t you wanna die a martyr? Go back to Heaven?”

“I can’t,” pain accompanied every sound coming out of Vince’s mouth. And you know that was left unsaid, hanging in the air, too long a phrase for him to handle.

“Fallen angels who haven’t finished transformation belong to neither Hell nor Heaven.” Nikki informed him matter-of-factly. “Do you know what happens to them when they die?”

“No,” Vince moved his lips silently.

“They stay here, on Earth,” Nikki said casually. “With no vessel, nowhere to go. Restless spirits without a purpose, full with grief over what they had lost. Nobody knows them, nobody needs them, and the only recognition they get are horror stories.”

Why are you telling me this? Vince wanted to say. Only a barely audible “why?” came out.

“Just to be sure you know what lies ahead if you decide to end your miserable existence,” Nikki smiled, but only with his lips. His eyes were devoid of emotion, fixed on Vince, examining him, watching his reaction. “Do you prefer that, angel?”

Three days ago the answer would have been obvious for him. He would have gladly accepted immortal grief and desperation if it meant he wouldn’t fall even lower, wouldn’t turn into something he despised so much. He did something terrible and deserved to be punished for it, and if those grief and desperation were his punishment, then so be it.

He wasn’t the same as three days ago, though.

Vince knew that every moment of silence elongated the time the hand that now was stroking his skin leisurely was going to spend squeezing his throat.

He knew that and he kept silent. He didn’t know what he would choose anymore.

“Don’t wanna talk? Alright then.” Nikki’s grip hardened, and Vince was once again gasping and suffocating and clutching onto his restraints. Then Nikki entered him again, thrusting into him with merciless determination, and the world became a mess of flashes and blurs in front of his eyes. He heard ringing and gasping in his ears. Pain was the only constant thing in the background.

Nikki released him only when his jerking became weaker, more like a convulsion than a struggle. Vince inhaled hungrily, not noticing the pain going through his neck and chest with his every breath.

“Look at this. I made an angel cry,” Nikki wiped a tear off Vince’s cheek. Vince hadn’t even noticed he was crying. “What a monster I am, right?” He kept moving his hips at a steady pace, but the pain didn’t feel as unbearable anymore. Maybe Vince had gotten used to it already.

All he could do was a barely noticeable nod, but it was enough for Nikki.

“Yeah, of course- oh fuck, angel-“ Nikki moaned after an especially deep thrust which made Vince bite his lip, “-of course, I am.” He smiled crookedly, no usual complacency in his expression, and sped up, thrusting with such a violent passion even moans didn’t manage to form in Vince’s throat – only short, hiccupping gasps.

The bed was shaking, its headboard was bumping against the wall, and Vince tried to focus on that, on the simple, repetitive sound, but the hotness and pain in the lower part of his body and the sounds of skin slapping against skin were too loud, too strong to be drowned out. Barely minutes must have passed, but to Vince it felt like ages.

Maybe he died as a result of one of his suicide attempts and this was his Hell. His own, personal torture. Maybe no fallen angel really became a demon and was instead given their own punishment. Maybe there were no demons at all, and those were just other angels taking revenge for their own sufferings on the newer ones since they couldn’t reach those up in Heaven. Maybe Nikki was just the same as he was, just had gone further down the road. Maybe he…

Nikki let out a choked moan, his movements growing more and more erratic, his breaths shallow. Vince didn’t know all the whereabouts of hooking-up, but this surely meant something.

“Damn,” Nikki choked on his own breath. His hands, gripping Vince’s hips, were shaking, “damn, angel-“

Then he squeezed his eyes shut, his thrusts faltering, and something spilled inside of Vince, something hot and slick and oh God, was that really what he thought it was?

No, thank God, it was white. It mixed with blood on the sheets, and Nikki watched it with complacency on his face and exhaustion in his eyes. Vince dropped his head on the pillow. He wanted to pass out so badly. Just fall into darkness and come back when it’s all over, when Nikki’s gone.

Nikki, still breathing heavily, stretched out his hand and grabbed Vince’s torn pants, wiping off blood and sweat and the white thing.

“So how was that?” he asked casually, throwing the pants away and lying down on his side beside Vince. He propped Vince’s head up with his hand and examined him. His face was so close to Vince’s he could see his nostrils move when breathing. he looked away, at the ceiling, and this time he was practically sure he could see eyes up there. Or were those just colorful circles in his eyes?

“Answer me,” Nikki poked him in the chest, but not very strongly, just to attract attention. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you didn’t? Or is oxygen deficiency causing memory loss for ya?”

Vince looked back at him for a little longer this time. Nikki’s expression wasn’t mocking or smug like it had been throughout the whole thing. And his eyes - his eyes started going back to green again, now the color of rotten leaves.

“You didn’t fulfill your promise,” Vince whispered hoarsely.

“What, about the pleasure?” Nikki raised his eyebrows. “But we didn’t make a bet, did we? Or do you consider spitting in the face an expression of agreement?”

A demon is always a demon, Vince thought wearily. It wouldn’t help him anyway: he would find a way to turn the bet against him. They always did. That’s why they were demons.

“Are you satisfied now?” Vince whispered almost soundlessly. His throat was sore and couldn’t get out anything louder than a whisper.

“Huh?” Nikki seemed to be taken aback, but only for a second. “I guess,” he said slowly, even thoughtfully. “I should be.”

So all of that wasn’t enough for him, Vince thought with growing desperation. What was he going to do next, flip him on his stomach and start again?

It must have been written all over his face because Nikki laughed and pinched his cheek.

“Calm down, angel. I’ve had enough for today. Poor little thing, I even feel sorry for you. Not your fault that you got into my hands after falling. Though I doubt there are demons out there who wouldn’t jump at the chance.”

“Sorry?” Vince tried to sound indignantly, but with his voice barely louder than a whisper it came out almost pitifully. “You loved it!” he got the intonation right this time, but this three-word phrase sent him into a fit of coughing.

Nikki patiently waited for him to finish, then spoke quietly, in a tone too calm to be natural.

“You see, it’s not so much about you personally – though you did piss me off with that holy toothpick of yours – as about you being an angel. A fallen one, yes, but still an angel. And I’m a demon, blondie. And Heaven has done me a lot of wrong.”

“And you’re taking the revenge on me?”

“Not quite. That’s not a personal matter between people, or demons, or whatever. Honestly, any other angel with a fuckable vessel could be in your place. It’s more of a desecration, sweetheart. God loves his children, so what could hurt him more than hurting one of them?”

Vince expected to hear hate behind those words, but there was nothing. Nikki sounded like he was explaining something simple to a child. Like it was so obvious it didn’t even need an explanation. Like it was normal.

Maybe it really was, and Vince just couldn’t understand it yet?

“You used to be a child of God too,” he murmured, avoiding looking at Nikki and practically feeling his eyes staring intently at him, waiting for something.

“I rejected him,” Nikki finally said after a long pause. “Long ago.”

[araitsume]

The Desire of Ages, pp. 779-787: Chapter (81) “The Lord Is Risen”

This chapter is based on Matthew 28:2-4, 11-15.

The night of the first day of the week had worn slowly away. The darkest hour, just before daybreak, had come. Christ was still a prisoner in His narrow tomb. The great stone was in its place; the Roman seal was unbroken; the Roman guards were keeping their watch. And there were unseen watchers. Hosts of evil angels were gathered about the place. Had it been possible, the prince of darkness with his apostate army would have kept forever sealed the tomb that held the Son of God. But a heavenly host surrounded the sepulcher. Angels that excel in strength were guarding the tomb, and waiting to welcome the Prince of life.

“And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven.” Clothed with the panoply of God, this angel left the heavenly courts. The bright beams of God's glory went before him, and illuminated his pathway. “His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow: and for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.”

Now, priests and rulers, where is the power of your guard? Brave soldiers that have never been afraid of human power are now as captives taken without sword or spear. The face they look upon is not the face of mortal warrior; it is the face of the mightiest of the Lord's host. This messenger is he who fills the position from which Satan fell. It is he who on the hills of Bethlehem proclaimed Christ's birth. The earth trembles at his approach, the hosts of darkness flee, and as he rolls away the stone, heaven seems to come down to the earth. The soldiers see him removing the stone as he would a pebble, and hear him cry, Son of God, come forth; Thy Father calls Thee. They see Jesus come forth from the grave, and hear Him proclaim over the rent sepulcher, “I am the resurrection, and the life.” As He comes forth in majesty and glory, the angel host bow low in adoration before the Redeemer, and welcome Him with songs of praise.

An earthquake marked the hour when Christ laid down His life, and another earthquake witnessed the moment when He took it up in triumph. He who had vanquished death and the grave came forth from the tomb with the tread of a conqueror, amid the reeling of the earth, the flashing of lightning, and the roaring of thunder. When He shall come to the earth again, He will shake “not the earth only, but also heaven.” “The earth shall reel to and fro like a drunkard, and shall be removed like a cottage.” “The heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll;” “the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up.” But “the Lord will be the hope of His people, and the strength of the children of Israel.” Hebrews 12:26; Isaiah 24:20; 34:4; 2 Peter 3:10; Joel 3:16.

At the death of Jesus the soldiers had beheld the earth wrapped in darkness at midday; but at the resurrection they saw the brightness of the angels illuminate the night, and heard the inhabitants of heaven singing with great joy and triumph: Thou hast vanquished Satan and the powers of darkness; Thou hast swallowed up death in victory!

Christ came forth from the tomb glorified, and the Roman guard beheld Him. Their eyes were riveted upon the face of Him whom they had so recently mocked and derided. In this glorified Being they beheld the prisoner whom they had seen in the judgment hall, the one for whom they had plaited a crown of thorns. This was the One who had stood unresisting before Pilate and Herod, His form lacerated by the cruel scourge. This was He who had been nailed to the cross, at whom the priests and rulers, full of self-satisfaction, had wagged their heads, saying, “He saved others; Himself He cannot save.” Matthew 27:42. This was He who had been laid in Joseph's new tomb. The decree of heaven had loosed the captive. Mountains piled upon mountains over His sepulcher could not have prevented Him from coming forth.

At sight of the angels and the glorified Saviour the Roman guard had fainted and become as dead men. When the heavenly train was hidden from their view, they arose to their feet, and as quickly as their trembling limbs could carry them, made their way to the gate of the garden. Staggering like drunken men, they hurried on to the city, telling those whom they met the wonderful news. They were making their way to Pilate, but their report had been carried to the Jewish authorities, and the chief priests and rulers sent for them to be brought first into their presence. A strange appearance those soldiers presented. Trembling with fear, their faces colorless, they bore testimony to the resurrection of Christ. The soldiers told all, just as they had seen it; they had not had time to think or speak anything but the truth. With painful utterance they said, It was the Son of God who was crucified; we have heard an angel proclaiming Him as the Majesty of heaven, the King of glory.

The faces of the priests were as those of the dead. Caiaphas tried to speak. His lips moved, but they uttered no sound. The soldiers were about to leave the council room, when a voice stayed them. Caiaphas had at last found speech. Wait, wait, he said. Tell no one the things you have seen.

A lying report was then given to the soldiers. “Say ye,” said the priests, “His disciples came by night, and stole Him away while we slept.” Here the priests overreached themselves. How could the soldiers say that the disciples had stolen the body while they slept? If they were asleep, how could they know? And if the disciples had been proved guilty of stealing Christ's body, would not the priests have been first to condemn them? Or if the sentinels had slept at the tomb, would not the priests have been foremost in accusing them to Pilate?

The soldiers were horrified at the thought of bringing upon themselves the charge of sleeping at their post. This was an offense punishable with death. Should they bear false witness, deceiving the people, and placing their own lives in peril? Had they not kept their weary watch with sleepless vigilance? How could they stand the trial, even for the sake of money, if they perjured themselves?

In order to silence the testimony they feared, the priests promised to secure the safety of the guard, saying that Pilate would not desire to have such a report circulated any more than they did. The Roman soldiers sold their integrity to the Jews for money. They came in before the priests burdened with a most startling message of truth; they went out with a burden of money, and on their tongues a lying report which had been framed for them by the priests.

Meanwhile the report of Christ's resurrection had been carried to Pilate. Though Pilate was responsible for having given Christ up to die, he had been comparatively unconcerned. While he had condemned the Saviour unwillingly, and with a feeling of pity, he had felt no real compunction until now. In terror he now shut himself within his house, determined to see no one. But the priests made their way into his presence, told the story which they had invented, and urged him to overlook the sentinels’ neglect of duty. Before consenting to this, he himself privately questioned the guard. They, fearing for their own safety, dared not conceal anything, and Pilate drew from them an account of all that had taken place. He did not prosecute the matter further, but from that time there was no peace for him.

When Jesus was laid in the grave, Satan triumphed. He dared to hope that the Saviour would not take up His life again. He claimed the Lord's body, and set his guard about the tomb, seeking to hold Christ a prisoner. He was bitterly angry when his angels fled at the approach of the heavenly messenger. When he saw Christ come forth in triumph, he knew that his kingdom would have an end, and that he must finally die.

The priests, in putting Christ to death, had made themselves the tools of Satan. Now they were entirely in his power. They were entangled in a snare from which they saw no escape but in continuing their warfare against Christ. When they heard the report of His resurrection, they feared the wrath of the people. They felt that their own lives were in danger. The only hope for them was to prove Christ an impostor by denying that He had risen. They bribed the soldiers, and secured Pilate's silence. They spread their lying reports far and near. But there were witnesses whom they could not silence. Many had heard of the soldiers’ testimony to Christ's resurrection. And certain of the dead who came forth with Christ appeared to many, and declared that He had risen. Reports were brought to the priests of persons who had seen these risen ones, and heard their testimony. The priests and rulers were in continual dread, lest in walking the streets, or within the privacy of their own homes, they should come face to face with Christ. They felt that there was no safety for them. Bolts and bars were but poor protection against the Son of God. By day and by night that awful scene in the judgment hall, when they had cried, “His blood be on us, and on our children,” was before them. Matthew 27:25. Nevermore would the memory of that scene fade from their minds. Nevermore would peaceful sleep come to their pillows.

When the voice of the mighty angel was heard at Christ's tomb, saying, Thy Father calls Thee, the Saviour came forth from the grave by the life that was in Himself. Now was proved the truth of His words, “I lay down My life, that I might take it again.... I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.” Now was fulfilled the prophecy He had spoken to the priests and rulers, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” John 10:17, 18; 2:19.

Over the rent sepulcher of Joseph, Christ had proclaimed in triumph, “I am the resurrection, and the life.” These words could be spoken only by the Deity. All created beings live by the will and power of God. They are dependent recipients of the life of God. From the highest seraph to the humblest animate being, all are replenished from the Source of life. Only He who is one with God could say, I have power to lay down My life, and I have power to take it again. In His divinity, Christ possessed the power to break the bonds of death.

Christ arose from the dead as the first fruits of those that slept. He was the antitype of the wave sheaf, and His resurrection took place on the very day when the wave sheaf was to be presented before the Lord. For more than a thousand years this symbolic ceremony had been performed. From the harvest fields the first heads of ripened grain were gathered, and when the people went up to Jerusalem to the Passover, the sheaf of first fruits was waved as a thank offering before the Lord. Not until this was presented could the sickle be put to the grain, and it be gathered into sheaves. The sheaf dedicated to God represented the harvest. So Christ the first fruits represented the great spiritual harvest to be gathered for the kingdom of God. His resurrection is the type and pledge of the resurrection of all the righteous dead. “For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.” 1 Thessalonians 4:14.

As Christ arose, He brought from the grave a multitude of captives. The earthquake at His death had rent open their graves, and when He arose, they came forth with Him. They were those who had been co-laborers with God, and who at the cost of their lives had borne testimony to the truth. Now they were to be witnesses for Him who had raised them from the dead.

During His ministry, Jesus had raised the dead to life. He had raised the son of the widow of Nain, and the ruler's daughter and Lazarus. But these were not clothed with immortality. After they were raised, they were still subject to death. But those who came forth from the grave at Christ's resurrection were raised to everlasting life. They ascended with Him as trophies of His victory over death and the grave. These, said Christ, are no longer the captives of Satan; I have redeemed them. I have brought them from the grave as the first fruits of My power, to be with Me where I am, nevermore to see death or experience sorrow.

These went into the city, and appeared unto many, declaring, Christ has risen from the dead, and we be risen with Him. Thus was immortalized the sacred truth of the resurrection. The risen saints bore witness to the truth of the words, “Thy dead men shall live, together with My dead body shall they arise.” Their resurrection was an illustration of the fulfillment of the prophecy, “Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.” Isaiah 26:19.

To the believer, Christ is the resurrection and the life. In our Saviour the life that was lost through sin is restored; for He has life in Himself to quicken whom He will. He is invested with the right to give immortality. The life that He laid down in humanity, He takes up again, and gives to humanity. “I am come,” He said, “that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” “Whoso eateth My flesh, and drinketh My blood, hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.” John 10:10; 4:14; John 6:54.

To the believer, death is but a small matter. Christ speaks of it as if it were of little moment. “If a man keep My saying, he shall never see death,” “he shall never taste of death.” To the Christian, death is but a sleep, a moment of silence and darkness. The life is hid with Christ in God, and “when Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with Him in glory.” John 8:51, 52; Colossians 3:4.

The voice that cried from the cross, “It is finished,” was heard among the dead. It pierced the walls of sepulchers, and summoned the sleepers to arise. Thus will it be when the voice of Christ shall be heard from heaven. That voice will penetrate the graves and unbar the tombs, and the dead in Christ shall arise. At the Saviour's resurrection a few graves were opened, but at His second coming all the precious dead shall hear His voice, and shall come forth to glorious, immortal life. The same power that raised Christ from the dead will raise His church, and glorify it with Him, above all principalities, above all powers, above every name that is named, not only in this world, but also in the world to come.

[ghastlymemes]

SHITTY HOROSCOPES STARTERS feel free to edit/change prompts as you see fit! more prompts under the cut. tw for cursing, mentions of violence, and mentions of death.

BOOK ONE

❝ holy fucking shit. just. holy shit. what the fuck. ❞

❝ nobody really knows the nuances of what you get up to in your spare time, and honestly, they’re probably better off that way. ❞

❝ busy yourself with the affairs of the living for once. ❞

❝ the answer is no. ❞

❝ ohhh, boy. you. fuck you. yes, you specifically. ❞

❝ delete your search history. ❞

❝ please practice blinking, as others can be unsettled by your inhuman ability to maintain an unbreakable stare during casual conversation. ❞

❝ what did you ever do to deserve this? in all probability, something terrible. ❞

❝ you are a crayon. get out of the toolbox. ❞

❝ none will love the butcher. don’t take it too personally. ❞

❝ some relationships, like warts, can be handled with the tactful application of liquid nitrogen. ❞

❝ take a long shower. wash your hair. wash the clothes you were wearing. wash the memories from your mind and body. ❞

BOOK TWO

❝ frostbite is considerably difficult to heal from. ❞

❝ there is poetry in brutal efficiency. ❞

❝ people would take your raging far more seriously if you weren’t crying the entire time. ❞

❝ what made you so vindictive? ❞

❝ some bodies may be temples, but all are ruins at your feet. ❞

❝ your contempt will always taste like grief. ❞

❝ you are the bone-deep fury of an abscessed tooth. ❞

❝ You are notorious for rubbing salt in the wound. cheap vodka in the wound. battery acid in the wound! ❞

❝ vehicular arson is not the answer. ❞

❝ hate is a verb. ❞

BOOK THREE

❝ the sooner you accept your impending expiration, the sooner you can stop trying to swallow the sun. ❞

❝ embrace the inevitable. snuggle with the inevitable. take the inevitable out to a nice, candlelit dinner. ❞

❝ there are forces outside of your control. most of them don’t care for you. ❞

❝ when it all goes to hell, just remember that it’s what’s inside that counts - though not many would find you very appetizing. ❞

❝ not all things have significance, which is scary. the things you overlooked tend to have the most, which is scarier. ❞

❝ your teeth are only porcelain, your ribcage simply glass. like all delicate things, they can know no permanence. ❞

❝ in time you’ll learn that ‘just’ and ‘right’ only mean the same thing when they’re coming from very specific people. ❞

❝ you may not want to change, but the world is unforgiving, and will do it for you anyway. ❞

❝ sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places. ❞

❝ sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places - what the fuck is it doing between your teeth? ❞

❝ nothing can stay. ❞

❝ you can put all the flowers in your mouth you want, but dying is dying and rot is rot. ❞

❝ loneliness is a fracture that never heals quite right. ❞

BOOK FOUR

❝ lay them to rest. ❞

❝ they are there, hovering nervously. you will watch the skies. you will wait. ❞

❝ eat the other. ❞

❝ there will be scrapes and sutures, viciousness and victory. ❞

❝ no loose ends. ❞

❝ an eye for an eye. a tooth for a tooth. a knife for the ribs. ❞

❝ you will not be swayed by the morally destitute. ❞

❝ decay will feed the bloom. ❞

❝ devour death like crows, for all the feathers between your teeth. ❞

❝ twisting, screaming, uncompromising. every inch, every iota. ❞

❝ once, answers were found in mouths, bathtubs, and bottles. this time around, get inventive. ❞

BOOK FIVE

❝ romancing yourself is possible, narcissistic, and recommended. ❞

❝ contrary to popular belief, it’s unwise to temper creatures of flesh and bone like steel. ❞

❝ one bad apple ruins a bunch. two bad apples leaves no witnesses. ❞

❝ you know it’s the real deal when you can see past the meatsuit and into the yawning dread. ❞

❝ break your teeth on love. ❞

❝ when people ask for someone ‘out of this world,’ they often don’t mean it literally. ❞

❝ when it’s good, it’s great. when it’s great, it’s a small calamity. ❞

❝ you are every mother’s cautionary tale. ❞

❝ harpoons, while more effective than arrows, are not as wieldy. ❞

❝ a study in complacency. an essay on sensibility. a dissertation of disenchantment.  ❞

❝ make up your fucking mind. ❞

❝ there are plenty of fish in the sea. some just happen to be imbibed with mercury. ❞

BOOK SIX

❝ your humanity is the biggest burden you will wear. ❞

❝ decorating your meltdowns is good and all, but a trainwreck is a trainwreck, and it might be time to get a paramedic. ❞

❝ they say ‘there is nothing to fear but fear itself,’ but you have seen yourself in the mirror. ❞

❝ you may have been gutted, but your mouth is soft, your tongue is silver, and your teeth are gemstones cut to size. ❞

❝ it’s less like biting off more than you can chew, and more like dislocating your jaw. ❞

❝ even specters can tire. ❞

❝ seeing yourself for who you really are would be great if you knew where to start looking. ❞

❝ it pays to kill with kindness when you’re your own worst enemy. ❞

❝ you’re only armed to the teeth because you’re more brittle than you care to admit. ❞

❝ your ego cannot afford cremation or caskets. ❞

❝ frequent tastes of your own medicine can get poisonous real quick. ❞

❝ self-reflection is important! whether you like what you see is up for debate. whether it can be contained in a dark basement is another matter entirely. ❞

BOOK SEVEN

❝ you are a quiet god, and your hunger is cavernous. ❞

❝ at times your body is simply a prison laid in gold. ❞

❝ death, dust, party, repeat. ❞

❝ devour the monsters, and you can call any place home. ❞

❝ you’re only as lucky as your expectations are low. ❞

❝ worse than having many secrets is having no secrets at all. ❞

❝ if seeing is believing, you might be in some trouble. ❞

❝ suspend belief. expel fear. throw reason into a frigid cell, never to be seen again. ❞

❝ killing the monsters is the easy bit. it’s finding them that’s the hard part. ❞

❝ there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters. ❞

❝ a mouthful of ashes bested by a life of smoke and mirrors. ❞

❝ what’s to be gained from keeping the heaviest treasures between your teeth? ❞

BOOK EIGHT

❝ you might not be afraid to die, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready. ❞

❝ you were a plague none were prepared for. ❞

❝ you are the mind and the malady, the medicine and the machine. ❞

❝ assholery is incurable, unfortunately. ❞

❝ nobody’s going to notice the difference between you pushing dandelions or daisies, so leave them something worth talking about. ❞

❝ there’s no rule stating that parasites can’t be pretty. ❞

❝ you aren’t obligated to be anyone’s cure. ❞

❝ some are the bandage, some are the knife, some get creative. ❞

❝ soothe what you can, fight what you can’t. ❞

❝ the only difference between a pathogen and a person is that one is far more creative with how they’ll infect you. ❞

BOOK NINE

❝ stranger things have happened. like you. you are happening all the time, and should probably stop. ❞

❝ let none be the noose. ❞

❝ take what you can and run. ❞

❝ gratuitous violence; unnecessary, satisfying, heartbreaking, and so like everything else you love. ❞

❝ understanding builds bridges, suffering grows gardens, antipathy sets both on fire for shits and giggles. ❞

❝ there is a variety of sadness that makes a home in your guts and never quite leaves. ❞

❝ you could have been anybody, operating this body. the good news is you won! the bad news is you’re stuck with it. ❞

❝ being loathsome and lovely in equal measure is probably a talent, somewhere. ❞

❝ why fear the dead, when you could fear the living? corpses in motion, cruelty and kindness. ❞

❝ if you’re forging your own path, be prepared to light your own pyre. ❞

❝ what possessed you to come this far? no, really. was it cute? ❞

❝ you can’t wrestle apologies from the sea or the sun, but by fuck, are you sure going to try. ❞

BOOK TEN

❝ pick a place and die there. ❞

❝ i know you mean well. ❞

❝ may fortune favor the fuckups. ❞

❝ remarkable that one plane of existence can host so much - and so little - distance. the spaces between people, ideals, fingertips, the sea and the sky. ❞

❝ learn when it’s best to bite your tongue. temper the nest of hornets inside your loveless mouth. ❞

❝ i worry. ❞

❝ time sours, rots, renews, and sours again. ❞

❝ grief and growth live hand-in-hand. ❞

❝ sleeping, like dying, delivers you from one world to the next - to rest in crypts and wake in gardens. ❞

❝ words in couples carry weight. ‘fuck you.’ ‘hell no.’ ‘oh, god.’ ‘sorry, mom.’ ❞

❝ make room for small, fragile things, even with bones of cement and a leaden heart. ❞

❝ you win some, you lose some. you lie, cheat, and swindle some. you vanish on a crisp winter’s day, never to be seen again. ❞

BOOK ELEVEN

❝ quiet reflection is next to impossible if your mental landscape is one long scream. ❞

❝ you inspire me to be better! ❞

❝ you inspire me to be better! a better ‘what’ is up for interpretation; person? arsonist? alien? ❞

❝ we don’t know where you came from, but we need you to go back. ❞

❝ the dark doesn’t intend to hurt you, only the creatures who plot during the cruel, cold light of day. ❞

❝ i lived better when i was ignorant of the sun, tucked away in your chest. ❞

❝ there’s asking for forgiveness, there’s asking for permission, and then there’s saying ‘fuck it’ and doing what you may. ❞

❝ if only it were easy, to wish and want for nothing. if only you weren’t less human for it, wishing and wanting for nothing. ❞

❝ in the end, there is no blaze of glory. ❞

❝ love to distraction, die due to carelessness. ❞

❝ in the span of your life, there’s plenty to avoid; the wicked, the merciless, and the things you want for no reason other than wanting them. ❞

❝ you are dazzling and terrifying. these words are not as removed from one another as you may think. ❞

❝ flirt with death, tease the inevitable, give the void a saucy wink. ❞

BOOK TWELVE

❝ things to bother believing in: love, switchblades, and extraterrestrials. ❞

❝ let the record show that they were ill-equipped to deal with you. which is unsurprising, because you’re ill-equipped to deal with you. ❞

❝ you’ll be fertilizer regardless; might as well have interesting stories for the dirt. ❞

❝ there is an exhaustion that comes with living in an embrace like a vice, a kiss like a canker sore. ❞

❝ fear is an absence of understanding. horror is the act of understanding perfectly. ❞

❝ labor in love, toil in tenderness. ❞

❝ your love will always be rooted deeper than any grave. ❞

❝ you’ve seen your downfall spelled out in another’s bones. ❞

❝ the victor spoils, the loser learns. ❞

❝ the body is rot waiting to happen. ❞

❝ you will have never loved for nothing. ❞

❝ the aftermath of your life affords you three real options; obscurity, legend, or horror story. ❞

[notmyrick]

General Arc 2

/She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane. / They traveled to Muskegon, Michigan. Her work made them travel there, and they rented a small house for the two of them. She kissed Rick goodbye as she packed her stuff for work. He grumbled in discontent at her leaving again and was tinkering with their newest invention. They both had an unbelievable love of science despite their chosen profession. If she wasn't at work, or if he wasn't gallivanting somewhere in the galaxy doing who knows what, they both would sit in the living room thinking out loud and inventing what should've been the impossible. "I'll be back late tonight." She said. "Whenever are you not." He started. "Rick..." "Just go Roxy." She stopped at the door and blew another kiss to him as she left. /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane./ "What the FUCK!" she yelled as she threw whatever was at reach. She was home alone, snot and tears were dripping down her face. She flopped onto the couch and screamed into the pillow. There was a knock on her front door, so she lifted her head and shouted she was fine, then hit hear head against the pillow. Tears escaped as she calmed down and sat back up. She looked around and found the place a mess; she started to clean. It's been a year since they were in Michigan. It was a rough year with all her late nights which caused most of her and Rick's arguments. Last night was another argument, and he spilled that he was seeing another woman. The end result was that she kicked him out of the house, and he was staying at a woman's place named Diane. She grabbed all the broken pieces with her bare hands, not minding the small cuts they gave. When she was out of things to clean, she opened the fridge to stuff her sorrows away, but saw a well-placed creme brulee. She sighed closed the fridge and picked up the phone. The phone rang for a while and a feminine voice appeared on the other side. "Hello, I need to speak with Rick." /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane./ Rick and her were at the company house. They sat on the bed in the master bedroom. She clasped Rick's hands in her own and their knees touched. "Do you love her?" She asked, an empty feeling burst inside her chest. When he didn't reply, she hummed. "That-, Diane, is able to give you something I can't." She knew. She knew Rick knocked that woman up and that woman, Diane, has his child. She, herself, was infertile. Although Rick told her it was fine and if they wanted a child, they could just adopt, she knew he craved something familial. And to a certain degree, she did too. They both wanted to prove they could be better parents then their own, but there was something special to be able to share genes with another living being. "Rick, I love you. Not a single moment in my life have or will I ever stop loving you. However, I will not stop you from your own choices. If... if you love her and stopped... stopped... if my feelings are not reciprocated, then you can be with Diane. If you don't regret it, as long as you are happy." She monologue and clenched her hands as well as eyes. She waited for his answer, she waited for the hole in her chest to expand like the universe. She waited for the pain that will last until she was 6ft underground or scattered in the wind. Then she felt pressure on her lips. Their eyes locked as he kissed her and she gave in for this temporary bliss, it was sweet like the dessert he made her every day without fail. At least she can get some closure. "I'm not leaving you." He said. She felt elated. "But I can't just leave Diane." He continued. She felt shocked. "And you need to make a plan." He smirked, kissed her, and left the room. Now she was bewildered. What the fuck just happened? /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane/ A bunch of reporters and paparazzi gathered around a vivacious redhead as she walked down the court steps. She smiled an alluring smile to the camera. Everyone around her was shouting for her attention. "Now that you have actively participated into the "Free love" campaign and even become the face of it, what are your next steps for the cause?" "I will be supporting the free love campaign for as long as I am alive. I will also be adjusting my company's standard moral ethics policy to fit my current ideals." She said calmly. "It is rumored that you only advocated for the free love campaign because some other woman had intruded into your marriage is that true?" "No comment." She replied with a smile and continued to answer questions. The TV was blocked by the same redhead that was on the screen as she looked at Rick and Diane laying lazily on the couch. "If you guys want dinner, I suggest the man of the house get us some fucking groceries unless you want to munch on saltine crackers and beer." She grabbed Rick's hand to pull him up and to take his seat as she sat down next to Diane. He stumbled off the couch before mumbling and going to the store, leaving the two women in the house. "Didn't end up like you thought, Diane?" She spoke accusingly. "I don't know what you mean?" She replied all innocently. "Bull shit, you're a psychologist, you may not be smart, but you are clever." Roxx continued. "Let me lay out your thought process. As soon as you figured out Rick was "married" you used your empathetic nature to lure him to love you the same way you do. It took some time, but then he fell in love with you, but wouldn't admit it, so you got him drunk, drunk enough for some ballsy, stupid, liquid courage so he could sleep with you. It took a few shots, but you got the result in the form or a plastic stick with double lines. You "hid" your pregnancy for a mere 3 weeks, not even the full month. Then you "let slip" your current incubation which drove Rick to be a spluttering fool. All you had to do at that point was wait for another argument to surface." "Is that what you think?" Diane smiled at her, amused. "It's what I know. However, that was only phase 1. It was time for phase 2." She took a dramatic pause and a swig of beer left by Rick on the coffee table. "Phase 2 of your plan consisted of being there for Rick, be his emotional barrier against the oh so cruel world. And with him not returning to me he would undoubtedly stay at your place in which physical, emotional, and verbal exposure would get Rick on your side. When you guys married out of wedlock, only then would you tell your unfettered adoration for Rick. Not only would that stroke his ego and give you a few brownie points it would fix the wall around his heart that was caused by me and be fixed by you." She wasn’t done yet. "Unfortunately, your phase 2 plans were derived based on the assumption that I would either act cool as a cucumber or become totally enraged beyond reason. Both true, and I did. But you didn't expect me to put my pride down. Your analysis of me is spot on, creepily so, stalker professional you know." She applauded the blonde for a job well done. "Miscalculation on my part." Dianne replied, just casually confessing everything she said was true. Roxy smiled and changed the channel. "You, however, underestimated my love for the blue haired dildo buying us groceries. Rick is like a black hole; all he ever does is take from his surroundings. You don't know this now, but you will. He is the only exception to everything. You will either love it, hate it, or both." Her smile never left as she got up from the couch and left. /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane./ "Why are you doing this?" Diane asked as Roxx placed a beautiful necklace on her. The vanity mirror reflected the redhead smiling through it. "You already know the answer, sweetheart." The redhead walked away from the blonde who was dressed in a very sexy attire. Diane replied through the mirror. "Because Rick is the only exception to anything." The blonde droned what you have said to her a million times before. She finally faced the redhead when she sat on her bed. "Rick might be, but I'm not. You don't have to force yourself to act like this. We only need to keep up public appearances, this private stuff doesn’t affect us at all. Helping me doesn't benefit you at all, quite the opposite, it's hurting you." Diane offhandedly mentioned.  Roxx rolled her eyes in which Diane obviously saw. "Sweetheart, don't sweat the small stuff. What I do concerns me and since it's not affecting you, you shouldn't care of my actions as of late." She got up from the bed and pulled Diane in front of a full body mirror, fixing her up and smoothing the dress of wrinkles. "Tonight, you and Rick will have the evening, and most likely the entire tomorrow, to yourselves. You and him are going to a nice dinner, some miscellaneous adventure, then go to some fancy shmancy hotel where you'll fuck like rabbits. I'll hold the fort down here. Now go." Roxx shooed the blonde away toward the front entrance where there was a blue haired penguin. She went up to him and gave a kiss on the cheek while giving a credit card to Diane. "I'll cover. Try not to run me dry." Roxxane said. "No promises." Rick replied instead with a smirk. Diane looked at her and there seem to be a shift in the atmosphere between them before Rick swept Diane off her feet and carried her to the car. Roxx watched as the front door closed and she was all alone in the house. She let out a breath of relief. Rick asked her months ago to get along with Diane, he seemed to really want this to work. She agreed, but only after a few arguments, shots, and single viable point. The redhead heard crying and she quickly went to the source. As she picked up a blonde small human to hum back to sleep, the single viable point which made her agree to be tolerable of Diane looked up at her and smiled. Her heart shattered that day, but also seemed to grow larger.

[keeyo7]

Spontaneous Asks

Here are some questions from a thing.

How does Mad Men end?

What is your favorite food to eat when you’re feeling sad? And if you don’t feed your feelings like I do why are you a robot?

Do you have a perpetual age in your head that when you think of yourself at that age and if so what is that age and why?

Who was your hero growing up? Fictional or otherwise. And if you could would you trade places with that hero?

What was the first time you experienced the emotion “humiliation?”

If someone asked you when you were 13 years old who are the 5 people you’d invite to a dinner party who would you have said?

Where were you when you realized god was a holy implausible lie?

What’s your favorite invention? How many inventions do you think there are?

What do you like most about yourself?

What animal would you save from extinction if you could?

What is the earliest memory you have of doing something cruel?

What is the thing you desire that you are ashamed of desiring?

Do you have social anxiety and if so how does it manifest?

Why did you choose that outfit today?

Did you ever name your car? If not, what the hell is wrong with you?

Do you believe in ghosts? Where is your evidence?

Why would you never talk to your cousin again if you needed a reason?

You win a contest which allows you to draft a 28th amendment to the constitution, guaranteed to pass. The only stipulation is that it must be food-related. What is your amendment?

Gun to your head - choose a reality competition show to come to your home.

Sir or Madam, how do you sleep at night?

When was the last time that you felt furious?

What ridiculous formality do you slavishly observe?

If you were forced to make a career change, and your success was guaranteed, what would you do?

What was the last thing you've done that you've considered 'brave'?

When did you realize you weren't alone?

If you could eat all the dessert and never have any ill effects, but all you could eat is dessert, would you?

What's the worst advice you've ever received?

You can use your rib to make another living thing, but not a human, what do you make?

What is your earliest memory?

If you could be invisible and go visit a current celebrity's home, who would it be?

Corn or Flour?

If days of the week had colors, what color would each day be and why?

What was your best mistake?

You can switch bodies with one person for one day - who would that be? And describe your one day as that person.

What is one event that you would go back and change in your life?

What's one thing that everyone in the United States can agree on?

How do you want people to remember you after you die?

What's the worst fear you ever overcame, and how did you overcome it?

What's the dumbest thing that ever sent you to the emergency room?

What is a trait of yours that other people compliment you on most often?

What's the deal with Mario Lopez?

What's the best gift you've ever given?

What is the loudest thing you've ever heard?

If you could spend a week in any TV show, what would it be?

Would you rather live without electricity, or a toilet forever?

What is your million-dollar idea?

Does everyone deserve to be heard?

What about baseball?

What's a good New Years's resolution?

How are eyeglasses made?

Which person (any person) would make the best sibling?

What is something you've considered telling one or both your parents but have not?

If you were to be a famous religious leader who would you be?

Do you toilet paper every toilet seat you use or is there a public toilet you wouldn't?

What laws do you regularly break?

Was your parent's divorce your fault?

If you were going to get a tattoo in one hour, what would you get?

Why is the suit purple like this pen?

When was the last time you told your parents and siblings you loved them?

Can you fix a bad kisser?

What book influenced you most as a kid?

Why the long face?

When's the last time you felt tricked?

Who would you kill first if murder was legal?

What existing superhero do you relate too?

Define magic

If you met yourself as a child, would the child you honestly like the adult you?

What was the last item you donated to charity?

What bad job of yours would you erase from your personal timeline?

Data or data, how do you pronounce it and why?

What's your favorite Prince song?

What was the singular childhood trauma that has defined you as an artist?

What sport would you play if you had all the physical ability but no mental awareness?

Whose hair would you like to find in your soup?

What toy from your childhood do you miss the most, and if it broke, how?

What is the first thing you broke that wasn’t yours?

What kind of small business would you like to own?

What was the last dream you can remember, and why do you think you dreamed it?

Who was your childhood hero? Are they still?

Do you consider cheeseburgers to be a part of the sandwich family?

Did silent movies have to be pitched back in the twenties?

Do you still eat pudding as an adult?

It's 3am, you're up. What are you doing?

What brings you fulfillment?

When did you first realize you didn't fit into society?

If you could eat one fruit for the rest of your life, what would it be?

What's the most fun you've had in a hospital?

What is your sliding doors alternate career?

Why do you care about God?

Where was the first slice of pizza you bought as a youngster?

Who was your mentor getting into your profession?

When did your parent or caregiver most hurt your feelings?

What is the first joke you laughed at?

What was your first suit?

What day would you like to go back and re-live? PS: You can go back to change things?

How did the movie The Sandlot effect your life? If you haven't seen it, what is the medical condition that prevented you?

What's the song to which you lost your virginity?

What happens if the Supreme Court gets rid of Roe v. Wade?

Have you ever called 9-1-1 to help a stranger? Tell us why?

At this very moment, a health inspector is about to walk into your home. What rating would your kitchen receive?

What sport or game could you kick my ass in?

Are you a bad girl? Are you? Are you?

What is the last great meal you ate and who did you eat it with and what did you talk about?

What clubs were you in in high school?

What do you do for exercise?

Have you ever been arrested?

In an apocalypse, what will be the most valuable item to trade?

If you could remain one age for your entire life, what age would it be and why?

What food item have you consumed the most of in your lifetime?

What's the most scared you've ever been?

What animals have you seen in the wild?

What song do you always have stuck in your head?

When was the last time you cried out of happiness?

Stipulating that there's nothing wrong with "here", if you could be anywhere else right now, where would that be?

What is the most embarrassed you've ever been?

What was the worst encounter with a stranger you ever had?

What is the best or worst travel injury you've sustained?

When did you first learn what sex was, and how?

When is the last time you vomited?

What ingredient would you remove from the world and why?

What is the first song you remember hating?

Tell me something your hometown is known for?

Who was your best friend as a child and what would you do together?

Which job from earlier in your life would you like to do again, and what would it have to pay?

What's a memory from your childhood you wish you could change?

At what point in your life did you feel your most 'hot' and most 'not'?

Is it racist to do an Italian accent?

What is your favourite font?

What time period do you think you belong in?

What movie have you lied about seeing?

How do you feel about your eye colour?

When was the last time you pretended to know something?

How many times have you googled yourself this week?

What do you think is your finest quality? What do you think is your worst?

Have you ever gotten lost?

At what moment have you felt the most adult?

If you could only eat one type of cuisine for the rest of your life, what would it be?

What is the best gift your parent ever gave you?

Favorite author when you were a teen and why?

What flaw in your character has been most beneficial in your life?

What's your favorite ancient civilization,and why?

Have you ever stolen anything?

Have you ever had a religious experience?

Do you know your neighbors, or do you try avoid them and why?

Choose one exotic pet: macaw, tortoise, boa or alpaca. You must choose.

Of all life's great firsts, which was your favorite?

What movie universe would you most want to live in?

What is your most embarrassing superstition?

Are you excited for the singularity or are you terrified?

Name three celebrities you would recruit to your post-apocalyptic survival team and why?

What's the best thing to find underwater?

Lyft drivers: What do you think?

How many eggs can you eat in one sitting?

What is your least favorite question strangers often ask you?

Would you invite yourself somewhere?

What is a place that gives you immediate joy?

It's 1967, you're in San Francisco: what are you up to?

If you were going to commit a crime, what crime would you commit?

What do you want someone to whisper in your ear?

What is your biggest failure?

Why are you here?

If you were to name a star, what would the name be?

Which one of your family members reminds you most of Denzel Washington?

What is a dream you've had that is actually interesting?

What would you have your evil twin do, if you had an evil twin?

If the purge were real, who would you kill first?

Hi, hello, are you single, and will you date me? I'll make you so happy.

What is a time in your childhood that you were at your happiest?

Who was you favorite teacher?

If someone wrote a musical about your life, what would it be called and what would it be about?

What's a style concept that you've always wanted to try (mohawk, tattoo, piercing)?

You can make a souvenir penny machine for any person, place, or thing - what would you make it for, and why?

If you were calming eating, say, a banana split, and you looked across the room and saw yourself from five minutes earlier, what you you do?

If your spirit animal were an animal you had met or seen, who would it be?

If you were born the opposite sex, what would your name, personality, and occupation be?

Do you pretend to like/read famous writers when they die?

Why are you here?

What's your first memory?

What song do you put on when a hook up is coming over?

What is the most romantic country in the world and why?

How many kangaroos are in the San Antonio zoo?

What was your first pet's name?

What was your first job?

If you could start any conspiracy theory what would it be?

You have full funding to recreate any album with you as the lead singer, what album do you choose?

Are there any recurring dreams that are significant to you?

Worst first kiss?

When was the last time you were in a stream?

What is your relationship with God like?

Who is your secret crush right now?

Where do you plan to spend the apocalypse?

Which celebrity would you like to die in the arms of?

If you were a neighborhood in either Los Angeles or New York, which would be and why?

If you could be killed by any weapon (not gun), what would it be and why??

How are you like your parents, good and bad?

If you could go back in time and kill one person, who would it be?

What is your favorite vacation destination?

What was the last thing you did that made you feel like a kid?

When was the most attractive you've ever felt?

What is the most uncomfortable place you have sneezed?

If you could make a themed restaurant, what would it be?

[crimsondomingo]

Day 27: Gods

For my July AU a Day Challenge

(thank you to ColdFlash Discord chat for helping spur some ideas!)

“Papa, tell me about the Earth and Sky again,” Michael said when Barry tucked him into bed.

Living most his life on a ship headed through the stars to find a new planet to call home, Michael loved stories of how things used to be before Barry and Len had chosen their names.

Barry glanced at Len leaning in the doorway to the little boy’s room with a soft smile. “Of course. Now, you have to remember, when Earth and Sky first came into existence, they were not friends.”

“They were enemies?” Michael asked, though he’d heard the story many times before.

“Nemeses, you might say,” Len said, walking into the room to sit on the end of the bed.  

“You see, they couldn’t communicate, only feel each other’s presence, so they didn’t understand one another,” Barry continued, smiling between his husband and son. “Every time the Sky was dark or angry, the Earth believed he was angry with him, and every time the Earth rumbled, the Sky took it personally too. Until…” he trailed, knowing Michael would finish.

“Man!”

“That’s right. Until Man appeared and started to fill the Earth with life and look upon the Sky with wonder. Earth and Sky grew jealous of each other, angrier still, not wanting to share this new creation, but it was Man who realized the truth. A little boy actually, talking with his Papa one night.

“He wondered why Earth and Sky got so angry sometimes that even innocent people got hurt, and his Papa said it was because they had never learned to communicate.

“’Then they should learn!’ the boy said, ‘make themselves human so they can talk and understand each other.’ Earth and Sky heard this of course, and it was Sky who decided to see if the boy was right.”

“He was always the smarter one, you see,” Len said with a grin.

“I don’t know about that,” Barry blushed. “But he did as the boy suggested, made himself a human form, and came down to Earth himself. As he walked, he felt his own warmth from above, breathed the air they shared, touched the blades of grass, and saw wonders he had never been able to fully appreciate from so high up.

“He called to his nemesis. ‘Earth, I never realized how beautiful you were. Please, do as I have and come and talk so we can stop fighting.’

“The Earth listened and made himself a man as well. He too saw wonders he’d never truly appreciated, touched the grass, breathed the air, and basked in the sunlight of his Sky. They met in the middle of a field, two gods made men. They could have fought, they each considered it, wary of each other—”

“But they thought the other was handsome!” Michael chimed in.

“They were very drawn to each other, yes.” Barry tapped the boy’s nose, who giggled. “So, Sky spoke. ‘I am night and day, I am sunshine and the storm, light and darkness all in one. Earth needs that balance for the most beautiful parts of you to blossom. And if Sky does not have Earth below it, I would be nothing but empty vastness without someone to make a sunny day worth offering.’

“Earth was warier still as they circled closer to one another, saying, ‘Your storms send lightning that burn my fields.’ And Sky turned his face away, ashamed of his outbursts. ‘Yes, and you nurture man to create and invent in ways that cloud my skies.’

“’You blame me for our children’s advancements?’ Earth said.

“Sky was caught up short by his phrasing. ‘Our children?’ he said. ‘I suppose they are. When they burn your fields with war, I send floods to wash them away.’

“’And when they darken Sky with smoke and chemicals,’ Earth said, ‘I send plagues to thin their numbers.’

“’But I also warm them and give them something to dream about,’ Sky defended.

“’And I feed them and provide shelter,’ Earth said. ‘I may seem harsh and inhospitable, maybe even cruel, but…’ he trailed then, unsure what he meant to say.

“’But you are kind too,’ Sky finished for him, ‘with a light and goodness inside you, and so…so beautiful.’” Barry got lost for a moment, looking at that beauty now, remembering when his hand, newly created then, had reached to touch Len’s face.

“And they kissed and fell in love and everything was happy!” Michael squealed in delight, drawing Barry’s attention.

“Well, it wasn’t that easy. They did kiss and fall in love, but not wanting to give up their human forms and the new connection they shared, the powers of their godly forms found its own rhythm, best suited to keep the world and its people going with rain and sunshine and various terrain.

“Sometimes though, when Earth and Sky expressed their love, it caused earthquakes and thunderstorms, wild flowers blossoming and shooting stars above. Man always knew that the most beautiful spectacles were caused by their gods’ love for one another instead of hatred or anger, and the love they shared for Man too.”

“You wouldn’t send a flood after me, would you, Daddy?” Michael turned to Len sleepily.

“No, Michael. We learned long ago that there are better ways to deal with our children.”

“Even though Man made you leave?”

Len and Barry looked at each other. Millenia of Man wasn’t the only reason they had taken to the heavens. Their forms of Earth and Sky in that universe had grown old and weary and could not sustain Man anymore. It was time to move on for everyone, no resentment, just growth and change and new adventures.

It was only after leaving their heavenly bodies behind that Len and Barry discovered they could create life as humans did. When Michael was born, his own powers not yet known, if he’d have any at all, they’d wanted only to live as men and see what might come next.  

“We chose to leave, Michael, for Man and so we could have you.” Barry leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead.

Len came around the other side of the bed to do the same. “And we have no regrets. So sleep, Little Horizon,” Len said, their nickname for him, since he was the creation of where Earth and Sky met. “All the new stories ahead of us are because of you.”

He slept, and Barry and Len left the room to walk the ship before taking to bed themselves.

The people on the ship did not know their true natures, but Barry and Len had heard whispers more than once whenever there was unexplained turbulence, shooting stars, or wild greenery in the gardens that it was the old gods keeping watch over them.

They would simply smile, never correcting the idea, and hold each other tighter that night, enjoying the bodies that had brought them together and would carry them into their next new dawns.