#soul wisp Insanely real

[peachphernalia]

Hello HMSW Terraria headcanoner here hi

I see you asked me to elaborate on my Terraria HMSW headcanons......... Rubs hands evilly like a fly (unless it was a joke and I misunderstood in which case my apolocheese 💔💔)

So, Heart's class is kinda obvious since guns and stuff, but I also think that Heart with bombs would be a hilarious thing to imagine

I think Mind would be a summoner because to me he just seems like the type to not get his own hands dirty when others could do it for him (also the Spinal Tap would definitely fit him) (btw his favorite summons would be the Stardust Dragon, the Terraprisma, the Magic Daggers and the Desert Tiger)

Soul principally because of the Inferno Fork but I'm just realizing there's actual tridents in Terraria???????? I'm actually stupid I never noticed 💔💔💔💔💔💔 ANYWAYS, for some reason outside of the Inferno Fork I think Soul would be related to magic...,.,..,...,. So yeah B)

And Whole....... I'm gonna be honest I Do Not Know, I just think he'd be the type to want to go against enemies with a sword (or a yoyo??????? Seriously why is that a melee weapon /silly) and he'd look so badass with swords imho

I can see Melee Soul and Mage Whole tho, those classes could fit them amazingly as well and I will need to consider that B]

Btw bonus headcanons: Heart would have a Baby Imp, Mind would have a mushroom tinted Fennec Fox and Soul would have a red tinted Wisp B]

OHHH THIS IS SO EXCITING FOR ME . ok ok ok

you’re very right about ranged heart . i do think he’d prioritize guns over bows ofcourse [actually daedalus stormbow may be an exception that feels like him] & you are Also right bombs would be very good . or rockets maybe give that guy a rocket launcher

i didn’t totally see summoner mind when i read it originally in the other post but stardust dragon is so real actually you’ve convinced me 100% that guy is So stardust set . i do also think he’d like raven staff but maybe i am biased because i just like raven staff a lot

i will be real i completely forgot the inferno fork existed but you areso smart for that . i can certainly see mage soul [i also think something like shadowbeam staff has his feel] i just swapped him & whole around because i am very annoying about whole & in my head he is arguably the most ? frail ???? of the four ?? which made me struggle to imagine him in melee . but leaning towards yoyo has actually changed my mind completely that guy would Totally fuck with yoyos . & beetle armor . [once again my own biases for favorite items is showing i fear]

i also think i like melee soul especially because imagining him with the daybreak is doing things to my brain

[silasoctakiseron]

Regarding the Eighth House's appearance and lack thereof in Harrow's River bubble

I want to preface this post by saying that before you read literally any of this you should go read no speculation in those eyes by @onmentalsafari on ao3, because it's a) possibly my favorite Silas fic of all time and b) definitely my favorite handling of the Canaan bubble as a concept. Anyway. Moving on.

This post is almost certainly not going to tell you anything you don't already know. It is nevertheless going to be an extended examination of Silas and Colum's presence in Harrow's River bubble mimicry of Canaan House, with specific regard to whether Colum appeared at all and why Silas conducts himself the way he does.

Despite both being dead and both being people Harrow encountered at Canaan House, the Eighth are not prominently featured in the Canaan bubble. On its face, this shouldn't much matter, given their marginally relevant status as widely disliked side characters. However, people Harrow never met at all — namely, the real Dulcinea and the living Protesilaus — are present, active, and fully-fleshed in the bubble. People she met and didn't know well, including Magnus and Abigail, Jeannemary and Isaac, and Marta, additionally appear as whole, real spirits with independent thoughts. The only people who appear as poorly-fashioned constructs of their real selves are people whose souls Harrow could not call to the bubble, either because they are not dead or because they are somewhere other than the River.

Silas's full and complete soul, rather than a construct in his image, has been pulled out of the River and is trapped in the bubble with everyone else. His primary appearance is in chapter 26, when Harrow finds him on the terrace, which I'll discuss later. This is the only time we see him in person in the entire book.

He appears elsewhere a couple times, chiefly when Abigail attempts to recruit him in hunkering down in the Second's rooms for warmth/protection from the Sleeper (ch. 21) and tells Harrow they were unable to get him to do so (ch. 28):

“Dulcie—Lady Dulcinea, do you mind if I ask you to get Silas Octakiseron with us? He’s neither to hold nor to bind to me, but he might listen to you.”

“I told [Dulcinea] that I didn’t think we’d get Master Octakiseron first time round … She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’” [Shocker.]

It's clear enough here that Silas has a personality and control over his own behavior that are independent from Harrow's influence on the bubble, and the other ghosts recognize him as a person rather than a construct. The fact that he chooses to use this independence to presumably be insane alone in his room for nine months is his own problem.

Either way, he doesn't appear to be doing well. I've mentioned before that frankly, Silas very obviously falls rather to pieces¹ in the Canaan bubble, as described here in chapter 26 of HTN:

The Eighth House necromancer stood there with the wind flapping his wet alabaster robes, his braid torn to wisps and ribbons ... From closer up, Harrow saw that he was all in disarray: his clothes were smudged and a few of his buttons were not done up. The rain and the fog had lashed him terribly.

He looks great. He's doing awesome. He's clearly capable of appropriate self-maintenance and has clearly not been losing his shit over the fact that he's alone to fend for himself.

I've also said before (see above link) that everything that seems off about Silas in the bubble is related to Colum. Colum sometimes appears alone in GTN, but Silas doesn't appear independently of Colum a single time in the entire book — indeed, Colum occasionally speaks for him or quietly interprets social cues for his benefit. Silas is also, obviously, completely dependent on Colum to perform his necromancy. While it's shown that he physically can siphon from other people, as he does to Ianthe in GTN ch. 34, it's also made clear that soul siphoning works best (or at least, is strongly believed to work best) when the participating necromancer and cavalier are closely genetically compatible, and it's not incontrovertibly certain that Silas can siphon from another person without using Colum as a jumping-off point. Colum's marked absence from HTN is a blip in the broader narrative, but to Silas would have been like having an arm torn off.

The void where Colum used to be gives us a fairly ready explanation for why Silas has "gone to ground" in the bubble, as Magnus puts it in HTN ch. 28; he's completely vulnerable to any and all external forces and doesn't trust anyone else in the building as far as he can throw them. It also explains why he looks a complete mess when Harrow finds him, other than the fact that he's standing in an active rainstorm. We're aware from GTN ch. 28 that Colum is responsible for a lot of Silas's personal upkeep, including specifically his hair, and it's clear that Silas is either struggling to do it alone, failing to prioritize it because he has bigger problems, or both.

All of this being said, having established that he's clearly not present for the vast majority of the bubble's existence: where is Colum Asht?

While Colum never appears onscreen in the Canaan bubble, it's a common misconception that he's never mentioned at all. This is very close to true, but not completely. Colum is never mentioned by name, but vague sketches of him appear in the background until Silas's apparent death.

Something in Colum's place appears by implication in ch. 8, when everyone "arrives" at the Canaan bubble:

They were led away in twos—barring the Third House trio—²

Abigail also alludes to Colum's existence in ch. 28 shortly before learning of Silas's disappearance:

“I tried to make [Dulcinea] take the bed—she was so upset that the Templar pair weren't on board.”

There's one other, less certain mention. The Eighth House are represented in some capacity at Harrow's ball for the hand of Her Divine Highness in ch. 41, though no specific reference is made to its scion or cavalier:

The other seven Houses present³ were flaunting as though they were birds in a particularly baroque mating season.

Notably, the Coronabeth construct does appear at the ball even though Silas destroys it almost 15 chapters prior, meaning that his absence elsewhere doesn't necessarily bar something resembling Colum from having been present. This presence is definitely doubtful, in my view, but it is nevertheless not impossible.

One tall, astonishingly built Third House princess had chosen to sit among their number like a butterfly in a grey bog: she wore a silk robe in gold and breeches that showed off a calf too fit to be called a necromancer’s, and she was holding a glass of champagne and laughing at something she was being told.

All of this suggests that for at least part of the time the bubble was in effect, something resembling Colum was present enough that nothing seemed blatantly amiss, at least not to Harrow et al.

That said, it's clear that ghosts who were close to the real people replaced by constructs in the bubble recognize very quickly both that something is wrong with the construct and that they and/or the construct ought to be dead. The best examples we get of this are Marta's experience of the Judith construct's death in ch. 18 and Abigail's description of what Marta found wrong with the construct in ch. 43.

[Marta] said, with uncharacteristic frenzy: “Why am I here? ... I want to know—I just want to know—” ... “She had eight metal projectiles spun at high speeds through her midsection,” said Harrow. She knew that some people took comfort in the idea, so she added: “She would have died very quickly after her heart was destroyed.” “No,” said the lieutenant, and now Harrow thought she seemed dazed. ... “That’s not … Don’t know why I thought … No.”

“Why did you only pull some of us as ghosts? Why did the others appear as—varyingly ludicrous constructs? Lieutenant Dyas was certain Judith was wrong before she even died, that she was like a confused parody of herself.”

Being as it is that Colum is Silas's constant companion and has been since he was a very small child, it beggars belief to posit that he would not recognize anything appearing in Colum's stead as a construct or other insert rather than the man himself. Like Marta, he also seems to have figured out the truth about Colum's and his own deaths fairly quickly. (Marta says in ch. 45 that "the Second House doesn't overthink the River"; the Eighth absolutely cannot say the same.)

We know that Silas knows both that Colum is dead and how he actually died, including the parties involved, because of his conduct in ch. 26. Silas encounters the Coronabeth construct — though whether he found it where it was or manipulated it out onto the terrace himself isn't clear — and destroys it.

As of ch. 34 of GTN, immediately prior to his death, Silas has no particular quarrel with Coronabeth. If anything, he might consider her vaguely complicit in the crime of Ianthe's ascent to Lyctorhood, but that's about it.

Silas sounded quite normal now when he turned and addressed the monotonously crying girl by the slab: “Princess Coronabeth. Is she speaking the truth? And did you, at any point, attempt to stop her, or know as a necromancer what act she was committing?” “Poor Corona!” said Ianthe. “Don’t get on her case, you little white excuse for a human being. What could she have done?”

But Silas's destruction of the Coronabeth construct isn't about Corona herself. It's about Ianthe, and he says as much.

“And somewhere out there, may all the blood of your blood suffer even a fraction of what I have suffered.” He pushed. The eldest princess of Ida dropped from the side of the docking bay with swanlike ease. ... The Eighth House necromancer stood there ... and he did not even look over the side.”

As I've said before, there is no evidence that Silas had ever experienced any particular suffering prior to his and Colum's deaths that would drive him to seek revenge, particularly not on an apparently unrelated party like Corona. Until his arrival at Canaan House, Silas lived what appears to have been an extremely sheltered existence. The suffering to which he refers here, evident in the clear collapse of his ability to keep himself in order, is very obviously the grief of Colum's death, and may refer in addition to the emotional turmoil he experienced upon discovering the Colum construct and remembering Colum's demise in the bubble.

To Silas's understanding, Coronabeth is to Ianthe as Colum is to him. She's Ianthe's family and companion, the person for whom Ianthe clearly cares most and upon whom she most heavily relies. The Faustian bargain of Lyctorhood demands that Lyctors sacrifice the people closest to them in the world for power. Ianthe made that trade with counterfeit money — she got the power and eternal life without being forced to kill the person she loved most. Silas received neither of these dubious rewards and still lost Colum so completely that he can't even locate his ghost after death.

But wait, I can already hear some of you commenting on this post, wasn't Colum's death very obviously Silas's fault? Didn't Silas directly cause Colum's death by siphoning him without his permission and then splitting his focus while they fought Ianthe? The answer to this question is obviously yes. Silas violated Colum's bodily autonomy more extremely than he ever had before in order to defeat Ianthe, and in doing so recklessly he killed Colum. We, the readers, know this.

We also know that the Eighth House, and Silas in particular, are not in the business of admitting wrongdoing. Silas is both a self-righteous 16-year-old boy and a product of the House which is perhaps the single most loath to acknowledge even the capacity for moral error on its part of any of the Nine Houses.

In Silas's mind, whether Colum's death was caused by something he did is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is that he only did what he did because Ianthe made it necessary to do so. If Ianthe hadn't insisted upon ascending to Lyctorhood, then insisted upon refusing her sentence for heresy, then insisted upon fighting back instead of going quietly, Silas would never have been forced to siphon Colum at all. Therefore, this is all Ianthe's fault, and Ianthe deserves to suffer. Whether Silas similarly deserves to suffer in his own mind is irrelevant — he perceives himself as suffering either way, and he believes it unjust that Ianthe is not experiencing the same punishment.

Then, of course, Silas throws himself off the terrace and into the water below. We know that Harrow perceives this as suicide; we know that Silas does not.

“I don’t give a damn about White Glass mysteries or cryptics,” [Harrow] said. “I care that you just pushed one of the Tridentarii to her death.” “Death?” said Silas.

Silas has no intention of killing himself in ch. 26. Silas is a River specialist, and Silas is knowingly entering the River.

Silas Octakiseron had launched himself fearlessly into space after the tumbling body of Coronabeth Tridentarius. ... Harrow thought she perceived a tatter of something penetrate the cloud. Her heart pounded rhythmically in her ears, and she thought she saw, absurdly, a sudden gush of watery blood, as though the fog itself had been knifed; but it was gone almost as soon as she had seen it.

The water Harrow sees when Silas breaks through the boundary of the bubble is confirmed to be River water, rather than a hallucination or any other visual phenomenon, in ch. 53.

[Harrow] popped the bubble, and the River came rushing in. It came down around her in shreds, as light and insubstantial as drifts of spiderweb. The water sprayed through white holes, rushing in with a pounding roar: that brackish, bloodied water that only existed within the River.

We can infer from the connection between these passages and Silas's general behavior in the bubble that wherever Colum may be, Silas believes the River is how to get there. If this theory doesn't hold water to you, we can determine that Silas believes that staying in the bubble is actively hindering him from reentering the River and, at bare minimum, "wait[ing] for our Lord's touch on the day of a second Resurrection" (per Magnus, ch. 45). That said, knowing that the rest of the Canaan bubble crew have struck out into the River to help Matthias Nonius ally with Gideon the First, wherever he may be, it's difficult for me to imagine that an aggrieved and mourning River necromancer with nothing else whatsoever to do with his afterlife would not similarly go in search of the only person in the universe who has ever cared about him.

We know that wherever he's headed is dangerous. The River is, of course, dangerous anyway; we know that devils travel up through it, and that human souls stagnated in the River for too long are driven to insanity and become revenants. However, Abigail explicitly states in ch. 45 that she's concerned for the state of Silas's soul given the haphazard method by which he exited the bubble.

“I worked out how to return [the Fourth] to the River first thing. They didn’t want to go, but I overruled them. I would have done the same with anyone else—if only Silas had asked me; what has happened to his soul worries me horribly.”

Eighth necromancers' interactions with the River, which chiefly seem to consist of sending the souls of their cavaliers to wait on its bank in order to create empty conduits for its energy, obviously differ significantly from those of Fifth necromancers, who predominantly call spirits out of the River. However, it's my view that Silas could probably have gotten himself across the River safely if he'd wanted to, or at least to whatever point within it to which he deemed non-heretical to travel. I think that Silas has a goal in mind in the River that would not be served by merely transporting himself along it in a manner that would have been guaranteed to keep his soul safe and intact, and I think whenever he reaches it is the point at which we'll find Colum.

Footnotes below.

¹ We can actually compare this to his appearance in chapter 28 of GTN, when he's recently been scared off Lyctorhood by whatever the Ninth trial was and is similarly clearly not doing great:

Gideon must have caught [Silas] mid-ablutions, because his chalk-coloured hair was wet and tousled as though it had just been rubbed with a towel. It seemed frivolously long, and she realised she had never seen it except pinned back. ... Silas looked as though he had not slept well lately. Shadows beneath the eyes made his sharp and relentless chin sharper and even more relentless.

If you wanted, you could establish as a tentative rule that the worse his hair looks, the worse he's doing. I won't, but you could.

² Interestingly, a vague allusion to Babs or something like him is made here, too, and he is genuinely never mentioned again, even in future references to the Third in the bubble. We obviously know where his soul is and that it's inaccessible to Harrow because it's not in the River, so there's likely something to the fact that he and Colum are excluded from the bubble in roughly the same way.

³ This could technically refer to the presence of the First House at the ball for the purpose of presenting Kiriona, but it's fairly straightforwardly clear in my view that the seven Houses which would have an interest in "flaunting" themselves are those which could marry into the House. I'm clearing this up in advance because I know some of you love to argue.

[skeine]

ok ok ok. crazy theory about what the raven queen wants with laudna incoming.

let's say the raven queen is arch heart's second collaborator and is curious what's out there, wants to spread her legs and fly a bit, but she knows the vessel might lose control to predathos and then who knows what might happen. not to mention bh not being keen on losing friends.

but you know what else can hold a massively powerful eldrich being long enough to get it through a divine gate and be released? the aeorian soul anchor. taa daa! problem solved, imogen saved.

but... delilah's in there too, and she's the only thing keeping laudna's soul tethered to her undead body. and who knows what being roomies with an insane elder evil might do to delilah. and releasing her along with predathos is mad levels of bad idea.

so the raven queen's bait, to bring laudna on board with plan soul anchor? make laudna a real girl again. alive, breathing, no longer depending on delilah to survive.

only there's a catch. to sever the soul bond with delilah she'll have to return to who she was before she died on the tree. no memories of bells hells or godkillers or imogen, and with only a wisp of her current power. just—matilda.

but also... finally someone free of delilah's stain. finally the kind of person who gets a happily ever after ending. finally someone worthy of imogen. someone imogen deserves to spend the rest of her life with. someone with a future.

someone not laudna.

wouldn't it be worth it?

[anachronistic-falsehood]

EPISODE 18 TRIVIA:

- ok im gonna be real they spend the first 10 minutes of this rolled arguing about wiwis short leg and whether or not thats actually canon. bizly says its karma payback for the sewer ravioli and party city type bits that he has to just Deal With when they happen

- william was going to use wisp form but because there were so many hostages looking at him he got scared and didnt

- "i really want to drive it home that william is not a fighter . it [the disrupting the guys soul power] is absolutely a last resort thing but he wanted to take out this guy because there were hostages to give everyone else the opportunity to save them, *without* actually using his wisp form" << i am sooooo endlessly fascinated by charlies bts william thoughts. i need to dissect him under a microscope

- theyre discussing the death mechanics of mutants and masterminds so that they can figure out whether william and ashe are in danger of Dying For Real. woo!

- bizly said hes surprised they didnt call for backup and the response was "why the fuck would we do that, nobody ever comes to help us" so. their trust in other heroes has officially been broken :)

- ashe didnt call wavelength for help because hes frustrated with his dad. yakko did not elaborate on this. this fact is nothing but ive just been thinking abt the winters family a lot lately

- THE LOW ROLLS CURSE STRIKES AGAIN FOREVER. its so funny that this is the one constant across all jrwi campaigns.

head in hands. why would we call for help no one ever comes to help us. their trust in other heroes has already been broken. theyre just KIDS they shouldnt have to deal with all of this on their own!!!!!! fuck!!!!

the low rolls curse the one constant thru every single jrwi campaign..... EXCEPT FOR THE SUCKENING BABEYYYY THEO SODA COLLINS THE WORLD'S MOST SPECIAL UNKILLABLE PRINCESS ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ sry i will never get over that. bro survived getting his arm ripped off bc of all the insane rolls charlie kept making meanwhile u have got fucking william wisp who rolls a nat one at least five times a session <3 thats so funny 2 me. soda the only charlie character who is not cursed with bad rolls and he's literally an npc. the universe loves theo soda collins and so do i <3

[maguro13-2]

Darkness Reborn ~ Origins of the Ink Demon Final Chapter Finale (5/10) ~

[Kinght's Passage - Jun Senoue, Yutaka Minobe]

*BOOST!*

Tails (via communicator) : Sonic, come in! There's something wrong with this picture! It's a giant tree that is coming from the Earth's core!

Sonic : I know it, it's the legacy belonging to that Chao named Shinra. Where'd have I seen it before! I bet nobody had summoned it like this before!

Knuckles (via communicator) : So that's why Soul Eater existed within the real world, huh? Who knew that it was inside the earth's core?

Shadow (via communicator) : What a bunch of teenage scumbags, the weapons and meisters have been tools to Shotaro the Dokeshi all along, the Men of Shinra's influence had the nerves and his balls to keep the truth out of the public eye. I guess that Shinigami person was nothing more than a faker that I pressumed.

Silver (via communicator) : So...Not the brightest Idea of hiding a giant tree that was inside the planet just to be spreading the influence from Shinra Kusakabe, not the company from Final Fantasy VII! I don't know how to say this, Maka Albarn had felt like an idiot for being the under the influence to Shinra's will, just a puppet on a string. She must've wasted her own life to be the hero of a crazy manga story that was only made for money!

Knuckles (via communicator) : It's what money comes out of his pocket, that author of their world is such weird man and a complete idiot!

Tails (via communicator) : It's no wonder why the author had to go make up the lies for his own characters, just to be thrown out like garbage!

Sonic : Guess we were all wrong. But Japan isn't stupid enought to make a bunch of crazy stories that were nothing cosmic horrors and make believes!

Amy (communicator) : Just before you know it! There's bunch of heartless and ghosts from the Evershade valley! It's a crazy party for 2013!

Sonic : Ghosts of Evershade Valley? Wait a second, that wouldn't happened to be Luigi's Mansion 2, right?

Amy (communicator) : I'm afraid so. These ghosts we called inhabitants of Evershade Valley were once peceaful ghosts that have a good side due to the powers of the Dark Moon's appearance, until Luigi's arch enemy, King Boo, destroyed the moon into five pieces, causing the Evershade Ghosts to go berserk and turned wickedly insane, making a huge mess on Professor Egadd's science work.

Sonic : Good thing that he made it safely to the bunker, looks like Luigi's gonna have to save Mario instead of Death the Kid.

Espio (via communicator) : Don't worry about that guy, he has nothing to do with anything to do necessarily for his life, not even he can protect the legacy from his grandfather! Guess all people to be needed their lessons learned about monopolizing political power. It's not wonder that the school itself was not created to maintain the public order, just the monopolization of political refugees.

Vector (via communicator) : Now let's give that Ohkubo a piece of his own mind!

Charmy (via communicator) : That's what he get for bringing weridness into our world!

Sonic : Roger that, guys! I won't forget!

Nozomi : Hey, Sonic! Long time no see! Sorry about the delays back there! I heard that you were awesome of saving 2011 from the clutches of Dr. Eggman's wicked schemes back there! Your old friend has came back to see you again!

[Free by Crush 40 plays]

Sonic : Nozomi Kaminashi! (see Nozomi on the original Blue Star board) What's up, old friend? So how was the race of the New Ex World Grand Prix.

Nozomi : About the Ex World Grand Prix? I'm still living it to that dream on saving Keijo about 7 years ago when I first met you during my Age progression while being nine years old. So when I finally realized that I finally get to save Keijo, my friends won the Ex World Grand Prix to find all the prizes locked away and discovered that we found a race of aliens that has the power of colors.

Sonic : race of aliens thas the power of colors? (realizing) The Wisps! Nozomi, you're a genius! We can use the wisp and take down the super baddie once and for all! Think we can handle this, partner?

Nozomi : You betcha!

Sonic : Let's speed things up a notch!

Nozomi : Roger that!

*WHOOSH X2*

"Meanwhile..."

[Navigation - Fumie Kumatani]

Eve : Well, Seto. I was right, guess that Death the Kid fella was not only made by Shotaro the Dokeshi himself, but I know who helped him to create the Death the Kid, the second of the Kusakabe Family tree. Who else but his older brother, gues he's part of the tree as well.

Seto : Hello! Anybody here? I'm Seto the Deathless, the newly elected Shinigami, I came here to find who really modeled Death the Kid, the one who was modeled after his Grandfather. You see, he has been under the influence of his grandfather's legacy and the men of his influence had been hiding the truth.

Cruz/Yamada : I don't know guys. But, there's no one here but besides us.

Shotaro : You wanna know why you guys are here? Well, guess, you finally craked the case, newly elected Shinigami.

Kuchinashi : Hold on, you are...

Seto : Shotaro the Dokeshi, so this is Shinigami's real self. A human form of a yokai called a Kyokotsu?

Eve : Well, I'll be a son of a gun! You're just a kid that eats a lot of bones that are animal-related like drumsticks and of course Roast chicken and Fried turkeys for Thanksgiving! So this is what have you been hidden from the public so that you would be Shinigami!

Shotaro the Dokeshi : You knew that it was me all along! Of course I was the so-called God of Death. Yohei told me that so I would become part of the Shinigami Council. Easy enough for you to be fooled by one individual that is a kid. I'd still get all the glory and I even made fake-money from Shinra's son!

Eve : So you fooled Maka and everyone that easily because you wanted to become Shinigami so that you could get all the glory you wanted to become part of the Shinigami council. Guess what, Skull for brains? Botan, Ichigo, and Ryuk gave Seto this permission after Ichigo heard that Death was actually the man-made son of Shinra and realized that the school you created was about protecting humanity nor peace. It was created about bringing power and monopolization to all of humanity and bringing wars across the globe.

Shotaro the Dokeshi : So what? I said I was sorry! I didn't know that I was fooled by the likes of Shinra Kusakabe, his influence wanted to spread even further and then I got Ashley's people involved to thinking that they were the enemies that wrecked the earth clean with magic, and of course the heartless as well. Soon as I about to overthrow the Kasugatani Family tree and the heartless their selves, I will pay you all to the world!

[Team Chaotx by Gunnar Nelson]

Adam Blade : So, kid. We heard the whole thing. You were so lucky that you tricked a girl for being a stubborn loser. taht you are

Setsuna : You were behind all of this? Heh, what a scumbag you are.

Teruyama : We should've known a kid like you is doing something stupid like this!

Kuchinashi : We've been had it by one of your tricks!

Solva : You can't fool us anymore! It's payback time, motherf**ker!

Shotaro the Dokeshi : Hey, look! I can make this a big deal! We all wanted to open our eyes to the truth and seek for it! All of that was to over Shinra's legacy and not mine. (bumps into someone that is a little pink-haired ribbon, apparently, Mio) What do you want little girl? You got something for me or what? I got no milk, cookies, or have any candy for you.

Mio : I'm not here for the sweets, I'm here to teach you lesson for being so stubborn! So take this, you fake Shinigami! You're gonna be bad to the bones!

Shotaro the Dokeshi : Oh yeah, I am definitely boned.

(sounds of Shotaro get beaten by the Needless Cast while scene goes pitchblack)

Shotaro the Dokeshi : (screams in pain) WHY DID I DESERVE THIIIIIIIS!?!

"Nobody steals the title Shinigami from me, Seto the Deathless."

"A girl who works with a group of seinen superheroes called Needless is what we exist in Real World AU."

"This is a future that I have to protect."

"The Ohkuboverse is nothing compared to Real World AU itself!"

"That is the universe that we truly lived in!"

~ 110th Scene : The True Shinigami ~

[petri808]

Prompt- Marking/Monster fucker @bkdkkinktober Day 5

Izuku woke up with a start, hand clutching over the heart racing frantically in his chest to the darkness of a witch’s hour. The sheen of sweat coating his body glistened in the moonlight flowing over his bed, and his breathing raggedly trying to find normalcy in the pungent scent of sex still lingering in the air. But how if this was just a dream? A dream perhaps, yet the strongest since they’d started two weeks ago. The sticky dampness between his thighs indicating anything but fiction.

A slight breeze through the window sent shivers along Izuku’s body still sensitive to the touch… the touch— his touch… The red eyes and blonde shadow emblazoned behind his eyelids. Who was he? This thing, this person haunting his dreams and sending his body into realms of ecstasy night after night to leave him wanting and drained the next morning. He couldn’t wait to get back to bed after a long day of work, ready for more like a drug addict jonesing for their next hit.

“I want more…” Izuku whimpered into the silent room. Of strong hands dominating his toned frame, sharp nails… or were they claws? Regardless, the way they dug into his skin and controlled his hips forcing him to behave… Izuku reached into his boxers and began stroking his cock through this trip down memory lane. “Yes…” he whined, “more, I want more…” of heated bodies entwined, feeling so safe below that scarlet gaze, yet frozen by their stare— and the bites… he remembered the canines that sent his heart stuttering. Izuku paused mid-stroke to reach up to his nape. Yes, the tenderness was there again, but skin still unbroken.

To experience being filled and fucked by this gorgeous dream man. Damn, he’d do anything to make this real! Take him, mark him, a willing slave if it meant nights of endless bliss! “Please—” Izuku groaned. “Be real…”

Each night that passed by left Izuku craving more, and body left spent and tired the next morning. He didn’t know how dreams could cause so much exhaustion, but the intensity was definitely increasing. The logical part of his brain knew damn well this wasn’t good for him, too bad his lonely heart was winning the fight.

“Y-Yeah, I’m heading out right now sir— literally running out the door as we speak… Yes, Mr. Aizawa, I know it’s the second time this week I’ve been late, I… I need to get a new alarm, I think mines broken— oh… of course, sir, I’ll grab that on my way to the office for you.”

As he rushed out of his apartment, Izuku clicked off the phone, repeating his bosses order. “Double macchiato, add cinnamon, double macchiato add cinnamon, don’t forget— OOF!” The phone went flying out of Izuku’s hand as he smacked right into a solid object and bounced back, falling on his ass. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorr—” Izuku gasped.

“Tch. What a way to welcome your new neighbor.” The stranger held out a hand to help Izuku up. “Just be more careful next time.”

“R-Right,” Izuku stammered, “sorry, mister?”

“Katsuki Bakugou.”

“Mr. Bakugou, thank you— I-I mean sorry, again!” Izuku bowed before rushing away.

Blonde hair, red eyes… It couldn’t be! This was the first time he’d met his obviously solid flesh neighbor, so there was no way he could’ve dreamt up the beefcake! “Couldn’t be,” Izuku mumbled to himself. The man was very new, moved in maybe a week ago… ‘right around the time the dreams started escalating…’ He shook his head. Ridiculous. Those were dreams and this man was real— they couldn’t be linked. By the time he got to work, Izuku put the whole event out of his mind and focused on his job before he lost it.

A guy that hot was out of his league, so why not just live in his dreamworld?

“Ka…cchan…” The name wisps out from Izuku’s lips as clawed hands guided the sharp rocking of his hips, ground firmly over the man’s cock. “I can’t—” Izuku whined, legs trembling and starting to give out. “Please…” It was the first time of any of the dreams that the mystery lover had him doing the work.

But in the blink of an eye, Izuku found himself on his back once more, his lovers low grunts to his moans echoing as he was filled over and over in rapid succession. The man’s face stayed buried in the crook of his neck— till a cry rang out, Izuku’s own from fangs sunk deeply into his skin. Familiar, delicious white-hot ache flowing through his system, sending stars flashing beneath his eyelids, and red glowing eyes burning in his mind, filling his soul with a sense of wholeness his life was lacking.

“Mine…” the male growled, “forever…”

Forever…

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Ahhhh!” Izuku shot up in bed, drenched in the familiar sheen of sweat to the sound of a blaring alarm. “Fuck!” He groaned and dropped back down. Stupid alarm! But as amazing as these dreams were, they were seriously starting to drive him insane. His days were turning into endless cycles of unfulfilling work and fornication, work, and fornication— with a physical emptiness left in its wake.

As routine, he touched the painful spot on his neck expecting the same thing he’d endured for weeks— but this time, something wet and tacky hit his fingertips. “What the?”

Izuku scrambled to his bathroom, and there in the mirror— two fresh puncture wounds… a gasp broke free. “Oh, my god—”

That was the first time the dream blonde spoke to him. It’s deep raspy voice sending shivers through his body just thinking about it. But it was so embarrassing to walk into work with a large bandage on his neck to hide the wound! Lots of snickering and questions of who the lucky guy or girl must have been to mark him with a hickey. If only it had just been a hickey! All the other nights left the area tender for just a few minutes, and no evidence, but today the damn thing still throbbed. This was all becoming way too real for Izuku— and frankly, scared him a little. ‘Forever…’ The thought had even crossed his mind that someone was simply breaking in every night, but there was never any proof.

So, as he crawled into bed that Friday night, the throbbing spot on his neck a reminder, Izuku set his alarm to go off at 3am. If there was any truth to this nightly visitor, he was bound to catch him if could break free from the dream. This was it! He had to know what the hell was going on!

Izuku twisted in his bed, whimpering under the lustful gaze of his dream lover. “No, please…” he shivered as the long tongue teasingly flicked the tip of his over sensitized cock. His body was still coming down from a high that had left a sticky mess plastered all over his torso.

“Say it,” the husky voice demanded.

“Forever…” Izuku breathed out.

With a grunt, red eyes flashed, centered, and drove its cock all the way into Izuku. Growling, “forever mine,” as he leaned over to suckle the man’s mark with licks and tortured kisses. Each touch ignited the same soul-stealing connection that kept Izuku trapped and begging for more. Powerful hips rocked in measured cadence, filling the man over and over to finish what it’d started.

Izuku’s back arched and legs clamped around his lover’s waist, nails digging into the man’s shoulders as heat swirled and a familiar smoky scent grew in the room. He sensed his lover’s climax, could feel it coming like a sensor knowing a storm approached. Their connection… it felt so real… so good— different this time. Peaceful, no pain… “forever…” Izuku mewled as darkness overtook him.

The distant sounds of morning slowly crept into Izuku’s consciousness. Soft bird chirping, the muffled roar of cars on a nearby street. He moved to bury his face in his pillow to block the sunlight, shifting his body from its side to his stomach— only he couldn’t. Izuku’s eyes pop open as the awareness hit. He wasn’t alone. Without moving his head, his eyes looked down at what was around his waist and saw arms, hands— someone’s hands?! Wait! His alarm hadn’t gone off either!

He forced himself to shift so he could see who was spooned up behind him and found blonde hair. The neighbor?! Izuku screamed at the sleeping male. “What are you doing here?! How’d you get into my apartment?!”

“If you’re gonna wake up your mate, a good morning would’ve been nice.” Katsuki mumbled against Izuku’s back. “After all I’ve done for you.”

“Y-You? I, w-wait, the dreams, h-how?!”

“Shhh,” Katsuki clamped a hand over Izuku’s mouth. “Go back to sleep, talk when I’m up.”

“Maft?!” Izuku mumbled back.

“Forever, remember? I need more sleep, now shush.”

“I wilf nats sh— ahhh—”

A blinding white light hit Izuku’s mind again, followed with a dull ache in his neck as Katsuki’s mouth clamped over the mate mark on his neck. “Oh, my kami—”

“Now do you believe me?”

Izuku looked over again at Katsuki’s face and noticed the man’s eyes were glowing red and fang tips glinted from his mouth. “F-Forever?”

“Forever.”

It was all real, and yet somehow… maybe this wasn’t so bad after all...

[inspiredrawaw]

How would Jackie be effected if he were fully corrupted by his death omen? Would he act similar to Marvin and only go off of emotion? What would he look like? And also how would he be returned to normal?

It would be similar! Just instead of acting as a cat Jackie would act as a wolf

I also imagine him looking a lot more like a wolf

And having wolf behavior so he’ll still have this emotional bond to death omen!Marvin and protect him

So Rufus (the death omen pupper) can’t corrupt people Rufus is there to help get people who are being chased after by the other death omen out and saved. So if Rufus couldnt fight them off then it’ll be left to Marvins wisps since wisps in literature are there to help and guide lost souls out to safety.

So it’ll be Wispy going to each individual corrupted ego and guide them out and defeat the death omen that’s trying to corrupt their soul and kill them

@taikeero-lecoredier @immabethehero @the-real-comically-insane @kiingz @victory-cookies @caori-azarath @iamliteraltrash1  @skatle-skootle-demon-noodle @obsidiancreates @the-chemist @autoviibes @jasmineon @rataccoonn @ellhd-imagination @emotrinitypanda @smolsasa @wastedspaceace @luluwinchester @rabbitsartcorner @artemis-draco @d-structive @3rr0r-unkn0wn  @theangelsoars @milo-kno @synder-sync @septic-art-wolf @ezuriel-moth-rps @fairyofsomething  @narutofoxlover @thebluejaysworld @fallenangel-044 @miishae @tried-my-best @monstermemories @springybread @radioactive-pineapple-blog @dndnerd1609

[sokayisaidiot]

Okay, if anyone would be making a soul eater au,

I think tommy would be a weapon

And for that, he has a strong bond to tubbo (mostly master and weapon tommy, but also ranboo). But mostly, Tommy fights for himself. Being his own master and shit. And he ALSO can be a master at the same time. Why? Because somehow, tommy can click with everyone. He has a great soul lenght and he knows how to make a conversation with EVERYBODY. New person on the server? Screw you, I’ll talk to them. And probably, Tommy would be a sword or an axe

More of the soul eater au idea down the cut

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Phil would be a weapon, death scythe to be completely transparent. Also a katana He is also a teacher at DWMA, working directly under death, who is Badboyhalo. He found many children on the street and brought them there. He also is known to work with Captain Sparklez, a master.

tubbo is a master and one of the main researchers against insanity blood. He and Niki can sense souls, but not as good as Niki. Ranboo, who also works with Tubbo (and often Tommy), is a trident. He had memory loss when Niki found him again. He got also injected with insanity blood and thats a reason for his underman traits. Also, Tubbo, Tommy and Ranboo live together for their school years in one of the school dorms.

Sam is a weapon master with Ponk, his death scythe, a trident. They already finished their years at DWMA and are on missions. Now both are teachers. I like to think that they have many similarities to Doctor Stein. Sam also helped Tommy for a while, when he had Problems handling his amount of insanity. And Ponk being part Doctor!

Techno is a weapon master and Wilbur the weapon, a long katana. Also a death scythe. Techno got his pigling like hybrid form from getting some insane stuff inside of him, while protecting Phil, Tommy and Wilbur. In this au, Tommy was found by techno, Philza and Wilbur and then they just straight up took him home and “adopted” him. Techno also works often with Philza, when Wilbur couldn't go.

Badboyhalo our death in the story! He’s weapon master with Skeppy, who can transform to many different weapons, like Tsubaki. From small knives, to a long sword and even a gun. Also smoke bombs and traps, that skeppy just uses to troll others with. He is fuckin strong but also very kind. And imagine with Shinigami Chop?

Also Connor being weapon master with Schlatt being the gun, five stars. They already finished school, but are not death scythe and such, because Schlatt went fuck this and opened a bar, which the kids love to hang out.

Niki just out there being a badass master who also has wavelength control and soul perception abilities. Her weapon is of course puffy. To add on, Niki is a witch while puffy is a fire broom stick.

Eret weapon master and Fundy being a scythe. Fundy and Eret have like Techno different transformations due to the insanity blood. Eret with his white eyes and Fundy being part Fox. The joke of Fundy’s mother being a salmon came from Wilbur, getting a concussion so bad, he started acting like he was drunk. Telling Fundy he is his son and his mother a salmon. And nobody lets him down ever for that.

To add more spice, I will make Dream the kid of death with both his weapons being George and Sapnap. They are an axe (George) and a crossbow with fire ammunition (Sapnap). All of them are death scythes and they are on the last year. And Dream got crazy because he got much insanity blood inside of him, and had to be rescued.

Quackity and Karl (Sapnap occasionally teams up with them), are a team too. With Quackity being a hammer and Karl being the master. Karl is a witch, for that that he has time traveling powers, which later got found out. Quackity was, at the beginning, a learner from Schlatt, who thought him much, but later send him off for his years at DWMA.

Alyssa is a weapon, Callahan the master. Like Skeppy, Alyssa has many transformation forms. Alyssa is also very sneaky through her lines with Ninjas.

Punz and Purple Duo! Punz is the master while Purple straight up is a gun. Purple came with Punz from darker areas where games like Bedwars were played and were one day picked up by the Dream Team, asking if they wanted to learn how to use their power.

Also Foolish and Jack Manifold Duo. Foolish the master and Jack Manifold being a thunderbolt! Please! That would be so awesome! Jack has much power, but doesn't really use it and they constantly want to bring Tommy to fight them. Don't get me wrong, they are pretty strong, but sometimes a bit too chaotic.

MORE SPICE! Business Bay boys are students that are already out of school to their high power levels. They are an secret elite force and Tommy met them one day, nearly getting snatched by the enemy (He was around 8 or 10). Of course he somehow got more Brother figures. He does barely see them, but he really misses them and writes them many times! (Wisp is also part of the team). Wisp and Deo are Masters, while Luke and Bitzel are the weapons. Bitzel being a revolver and Luke a scythe.

And hey, Tommy saw Vikkstar fighting in real life, since then he is his biggest idol. Vikk is the master to his friend Lazar, who is a nunrjakos.

-----

If ya have more questions, just ask me :)

I always like to answer them ;D

Also the name for the Au could be Dream Eater Au

[1randomperson15]

Limbo, what a strange word. An inbetween waiting to snap, something that must end, that must change, that cannot last forever. But it is, it is eternity, it is longer than forever, it is timeless. And what exactly is limbo? 

The first does not know. It is swirls of color, and things that might be real. It is mindless pleasure that fogs your mind and makes you forget. It is dulled senses and being trapped by your own desires.

The second and fourth say it's a train station with cruel lights blinking with your disappointments and failures. It’s decaying, rusty, and painfully lonely. It is the echoes of your own screams and your blood painting the walls. It’s the rare rush of a train gone by too fast, a flash of sound and light followed by nothingness.

For the third it’s ruins, ruins of a place you put your heart and soul into. Empty, broken, and gone; something that destroys itself every time you dare to rebuild it. A nightmare that couldn’t be true, but is all too real. It is the wisps of old friends who never seem to look at you.

The fifth says it’s a void that pulls you apart and puts you back together again. Perhaps one that can have cards and people, but is still an endless, painful void. It is waves of darkness and waiting for the inevitable torture existing in the sea of black would cause. It is being stuck with the people you once loved and perhaps still do, and going through the motions trying to keep your sanity.

The sixth would describe it as hollowness. It is a caricature of all that you hold dear. It is perfection wearing the faces of those you love. It is a too clean house and a too quiet life. It is a place devoid of chaos or excitement or familiarity. It is snow that never seems to be cold and friends that always agree with each other. It is a puppet show and you can only play your part.

So what is it? Is it a subtle hell that drives you insane? That breaks and remakes you over and over until the cracks are too many and the pieces are too small? That torments you until you are there no longer? Because it has to destroy, no? For, the first was not truly the first, and it seems he is seen less and less as time passes. 

And what else? It creates. It decays. There has been a singular separate entity, an imperfect copy spawned from this void. Though there have been others, there have been people who have changed. People who are not themselves, and yet there is no sign of the original. Who’s to say? Perhaps parts of them have simply been chipped away until they seemed corrupted, faulty, defected. Perhaps Limbo is merely a sculptor with the universe as their tools.

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

And that's that, this was for wtiys from @dreamsclock, it's short because I couldn't really think of a way to continue it, so here. It was more of a ramble about limbo than an actual story, but I think it was decent enough

[lilbabycee]

sundown // steve rogers 🌇

↳ summary: steve’s little ray of sunshine isn’t shining so bright.

↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 2.5k

↳ warnings: angst angst angst (i was in my feelings with this one), hurt/comfort and some fluff 

↳ author’s note: hi! i wrote a kind of sequel to daybreak today! i’ve been stuck in a writing rut for like two weeks but then @pinksdaydream​ inspired me to write some more for this! 🥰

READ DAYBREAK

A year later and Steve still hasn’t learned his lesson. Every day, he stares for hours at the brightest light that he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing in his many years of life. He can’t believe how close he is, how easily he’s able to touch and feel something- someone so precious. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t been burned yet, but he knows that it’s because this light doesn’t pose a physical threat to him - emotionally, perhaps, but rather, it’s much more the contrary. He basks it in, soaks in its warmth and revels in its brilliance all because he’s allowed to. He’s allowed to because this light is his. 

It’s you.

You’re not perfect - you tripped on the fluffy white rug in the living room and subsequently ran into the sharp marble corner of the kitchen island this morning alone - but you’re still his. However, this time you’re awake and standing in the kitchen - too far away from him. One of his grey Henley’s shields your entire upper half from his eager gaze and he silently curses himself for throwing you that shirt when you’d asked for one - if he was smarter, he would’ve just insisted that you walk around naked. He knows that your legs are completely bare, but his vivid imagination has to be the one to conjure up the image of those miles of exposed skin because his view is obstructed by the kitchen counter. For now, he’s stuck admiring you from the waist up. He bets that he could rip the counter right out of the tiled floor if he tried hard enough, but he knows that as of right now, he has more restraint than that. 

No matter what time of the day, not once in any of those twenty-four hours for the past one-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighteen days has he failed to be amazed by how you can make him feel like the asthmatic man he was all of those years ago by simply walking into a room, no matter whether or not you even know that he’s there. You’ve been quieter than usual lately, running endless back-to-back sprints as opposed to marathons inside your brain that wear you out because you refuse to take a water break. He knows what this is - he’s seen it before, watched you run so far only to drop the baton in the relay race at the most critical moment. And as much as he can coach you to not push so hard and pace your running, in the end, you’re the only one who can really make those decisions for yourself. 

Of course, you always take his advice in stride, using it to propel yourself those last few meters to the finish line. But time and time again, he’s watched you fall short, letting all the different facets of your overactive and often noisy brain speed past you to snap that finish line tape in half much like the way that they break your soul. Your aura dims considerably in moments like these, despite the glow of the late afternoon sun swallowing the white walls of your apartment and spitting out rays of golden light. One shines right on your face and Steve almost laughs - it’s as if the sun itself knows how deserving you are of the limelight - a star in his eyes having taken center stage in the production of his life. 

He’d let you take all of the attention any day. But you’re not like that - as much as you can be his little social butterfly, the taste of pink lemonade and cherry lollipops in your speech, there are still those days when he can both physically and emotionally see you sink in on yourself, the words you speak stinging him in a way that makes his entire body shudder just thinking about it. They always taste like copper to him.

He knows that you don’t mean it. It’s the way you’ve always been and who is he to think that he’s entitled to make you change it? But the way that you deal with what goes on inside your head isn’t healthy. He knows that. You know it, too. And you’re trying. That’s all he can ask for. 

And so here he sits on the floor of your living room, large body wedged in the sizable space between the coffee table and the couch that his back rests against. You’re directly in his line of sight - still too far away - but that’s okay because even though you haven’t spared him a glance or uttered a word to him in the past hour, at least you’re together. 

Sometimes he regrets the mantle that he carries around - Captain America. True, it is such an integral part of him but he can’t help but resent it some days. It keeps him away from you all too often. Time and time again, people have chased him just to meet the man in red, white, and blue. They’re not interested in the man behind the shield and honestly, he doesn’t know if he is either. There have been plenty of times where he’s spiraled into an identity crisis, unable to separate Steve Rogers from his superhero persona. 

But every single time, you’ve been there to work through it right alongside him. You’ve dealt with him at his very lowest - when he was in a hole deeper than rock bottom and couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed in the morning. So there has not been even one moment when Steve has thought about leaving you alone when you get like this. He now knows not to pry just as well as he knows that you don’t want to be by yourself in times like these. You may not explicitly vocalize it, but in the seconds when you do meet his stare across the dinner table or right before you fall asleep, he can see the love housed in the depths of your eyes and that’s more than enough for him.

His own eyes haven’t left you for the better part of the hour. His favorite black leather-bound sketchbook is open to what was once a blank page at the beginning of the day but is now an almost complete sketch of the angel in front of him. The luminosity of the sun on your body reveals your halo, usually hidden during the day but in rare moments like these, he’s able to appreciate your otherworldly presence casually standing in the middle of his kitchen with a hand propped against the edge of the counter. A notebook is set in front of you and Steve never thought that he could be so jealous of an inanimate object before - it’s held your undivided attention for hours. 

His eyes widen as you shift, leaning forwards to rest both of your elbows on the counter top to type something on your open laptop and giving him a clear view of your breasts through the gap in the front of your shirt. Your lips have been wrapped around a ballpoint pen for virtually the whole day which is how he knows you’ve been working hard because sucking on the ends of pens always helps you focus. He, on the other hand, can’t seem to focus at all as soon as you whip out one of those godforsaken pens. Steve swallows hard - almost immediately regretting wearing grey sweatpants as he adjusts the crotch as subtly as he can - and tears his eyes away from you to flip to a new page, sketching profusely so as to immortalize this moment in his sketchbook before his mind can even dare to forget it. 

In his haste, he doesn’t even realize when the silence is broken by the chime of your voice. 

“Steve. Steve.”

His hand moves fast and he’s squinting at the page in concentration, willing his brain to hold onto the picture of you bent over the kitchen counter as if he doesn’t have the real thing standing right in front of him-

“Stevie,” you call out, your brow furrowing slightly in concern. This makes his head snap up - finally - and you can’t help but notice how blown his pupils are and how strategic the placement of his sketchbook seems to be. You can pinpoint the exact moment that he starts to panic. For someone who is usually so stoic, he wears his heart proudly on his sleeve. Realization quite literally dawns on his face but it does nothing to alleviate the dusting of light pink across his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” his unused voice is raspy but he doesn’t bother clearing his throat, as if he knows exactly how it makes you clench your thighs together where he can’t see them. “I was just really invested in- uh,” he hesitates, gesturing vaguely at the page that you can’t see, “the sketch. What’s goin’ on, doll?”

And the flower of your heart blooms at the look in those eyes that remind you so much of April showers, those eyes that are filled to the brim with the rain that has watered all of the dead and decaying blossoms that line your stomach, crawl up to your ribs and up your throat, their vines climbing up through your skull to wrap around your brain. That look alone, framed by those insanely long eyelashes, has extended a helping hand to your beaten-down spirit, telling it to dust itself off and keep going. 

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” Steve’s sinfully pink lips quirk up into a demure smile as he teases you, his thick beard shielding the brief flash of white teeth. You decided a long time ago that the beard has been the best thing to happen to you, as is the long hair that he’s currently running his hands through. 

“Sorry,” you say but continue to stare unabashedly at his beautiful face because you don’t mean it. You can’t help the way that your eyes trail down his chest that has woefully been covered by one of his too-tight black t-shirts, though you don’t miss the way that it strains against his bulging biceps, nor the way that it’s slightly rucked up at the bottom which gives you an eyeful of the dark blonde wisps of hair that travel downwards towards one of your favorite parts of his body. 

Steve, always so perceptive, doesn’t miss where your gaze has traveled, and he can’t help the self-satisfied smirk that grows on his face. It’s easy to forget that you’ve been down for these past few days when you have seconds like these in between those tired hours when you oversleep and he hasn’t slept at all because he’s too busy watching you.

“See somethin’ you like, baby?” he hums, continuing his sketch absent-mindedly because he knows that the image of you standing in front of him like a dream will forever be ingrained into his memory. 

Heat ignites your veins and blooms in your cheeks; you can’t help it when you look away, smiling shyly to the side. Steve has resigned himself to the fact that you won’t answer, going back to tracing careful lines with the point of his pencil. 

“In fact, I do,” you murmur, knowing that if it was anybody else, they wouldn’t have heard you. Steve’s eyes meet yours and you can almost taste the saltiness of the ocean on your tongue as he drowns you in their depths. He stands abruptly, casting his book to the side carelessly and taking long strides to get to where you are. 

Once his hand lands on your hip, the warmth seeps in through the cotton of your shirt and melts your entire body; it catalyzes the small eruption of the volcano in your chest, causing the burning lava of the breath that you didn’t know you were holding to spill over and out of your mouth in an audible sigh. His other hand soon joins the first, framing your body and pulling you back into him. You stare down at the dusting of hair on his forearms when he slips them around your waist and you squeal when he turns you around in his hold, meeting your eyes with a softness that you weren’t expecting.

“Do you wanna talk about what’s goin’ on with you, sweetheart?” he probes lightly in that same low voice, recognizing your deflection and not wanting to cause that volcano to explode. You bite the inside of your cheek, avoiding eye contact because you don’t want him to worry (you don’t know that he worries about you every second of every day because you’re almost his entire heart) but he grasps your jaw in his right hand. He ducks his head down a little, trying to catch your darting eyes. When they finally rest on him, he thinks that he’s dying because your stare is glassy and your lip is trembling. 

“Baby,” he coos, tugging you into his chest. You relent, releasing your hold on his forearms to throw your arms around his middle. It’s hard to hold back the tears anymore: Steve’s concern has kicked down the fragile floodgates of your emotional control. Pressing your head into his chest, he says nothing while your body shakes but it’s better this way. You know that you’d only cry even more if he started speaking. Instead, you inhale gasping breaths between babbling as you try to explain why you haven’t been yourself recently. He listens attentively, rubbing circles into your back and dropping frequent kisses on your forehead. 

The room is more orange than yellow by the time you can finally speak coherently. 

“M’sorry,” you sniffle into his shirt, fists clenching the material tightly. He pushes you away from him so there’s just enough space for him to lift his hands to your face. Slowly, he wipes any residual tears from your cheeks and underneath your eyes with this thumbs. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby,” he speaks softly, your face still in his hands when he presses a kiss to your nose, both of your now mostly dry cheeks, and then right on top of your lips. It’s chaste, only lasting about a second but it makes your soul sing nonetheless. 

You stand in silence for a beat longer, merely staring into each other’s eyes before something flashes in Steve’s eyes. You squish your face to his body again, feeling his chest rise slightly, signifying that he’s about to speak. 

“What did you need before, sweetheart?”

You’re confused. 

“What do you mean?

“When you were calling me before - what did you need?”

Now you get it. 

“Oh- I was just going to ask what you wanted for dinner...”

Your voice falters at the end because - and you have no clue why - this makes Steve throw his head back as he barks out a surprised laugh. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him slightly. 

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing - I just love you, that’s all,” he clarifies, casually throwing the sentiment out there because it’s so easy with you. It’s always easy, even when it’s not.

“I love you, too,” you place a lingering kiss on his jaw before pulling back to stare in his eyes with a grave expression on your face. Now it’s his turn to frown in confusion. “But seriously, what do you want for dinner?”

[talesofsonicasura]

Fallen Royalty

*warning: contains vivid curses and slight gore*

Trust is a very fragile thing. It can easily be shattered by misdirection, lies but the most devastating were secrets. And something very important is kept from someone by those they consider family, it can make a soul fall unto a very different path.

The Snatcher, a legendary and powerful spirit who ruled the Fallen Kingdom known as Subcon. He used to be a human prince married to a princess of a different kingdom named Vanessa. Before the prince and Vanessa lived happily ruling their kingdom but this wasn't a happy story. A misunderstanding had brought out a dark side within the princess. Her love unknown to the prince was actually toxic.

Anything that stood in her way of the prince had met brutal ends. Not even the young man himself wasn't safe. He purchased flowers for his sweetheart only to be accused of cheating by the insane princess now Queen. She locked the prince in the dungeon and unleashed dark magic all over Subcon freezing the land solid. The residents were cursed to live as spirits and the dark magic gave birth to the Snatcher from what was left of Subcon's prince.

Snatcher reigned over his fallen domain that became consumed by the forest around it. His magic kept Vanessa's frost contained in her castle and locked the witch away. Through his magic, the cursed citizens were given new bodies in the form of wooden puppets Snatcher crafted. Subcon Forest was created and its denizens lived in peaceful solitude. Then came the Demon King Satan.

Subcon brewed with so much magic that powerful demons sought it out. Demons dwelled in Gehenna and could only reach Assiah, the realm of man, through possessing an item there. However Subcon Forest's powerful magic could grant demons easy access to Assiah by harvesting its mystical energy. Something Satan wanted and wished to discuss with Snatcher himself. The discussion didn't turn out good for Satan.

The powerful specter had immediately been ready to refuse the Demon King access to Subcon's magic. Even though Snatcher hated outsiders, he understood the balance between their worlds and saw Satan as a threat! Being devious, Snatcher had the Demon King signed a contract. Before realizing what it read, Satan had already signed the paper. The demon began screaming in pain unaware of his own folly.

Snatcher could create powerful magical contracts that become true once signed. He had tricked Satan into hurting himself and his schemes greatly. The first was Satan could never possess any nonhuman for his power will burn it to ashes and humans will die from his possession. Second was the Demon Lord couldn't touch or set foot in Subcon for eternity and neither could his servants. And finally, a chunk of Satan's power became Snatcher's own along with a particular possession the Demon King would acquire in the future.

Satan cursed Snatcher before being banished back to Gehenna while the King of Subcon laughed. Though the spirit knew it wouldn't be the last time he'll see the demon or his schemes. The ghost didn't know what this key possession the Demon King would seek but he had enough time to prepare so he could eliminate it. However, he didn't suspect this.

A small boy ran through the busy crowd of Kyoto, Japan. He had dark blue hair and the brightest blue eyes leaking tears down his cheeks staining his white shirt and black shorts. His name was Rin Okumura and today wasn't a good day. The boy knew he was always different from everyone else. He was much stronger than what a 7 year old should be also he was more aggressive and easy to lash out at those who anger him.

People from kids to adults would look at him like a monster and call him a demon. He thought he could trust his foster father Shiro Fujimoto and his twin brother Yukio but clearly it was a lie. Rin had come back home a bit earlier than he usually did to see his Father and brother talking. What he heard broke his heart. Demons were real, Fujimoto and Yukio were exorcists that killed demons and Rin…was the bastard son of the Demon King Satan.

Rin had Satan's flames and they were sealed in a sword along with half of his soul, his demon half. Yukio being trained to kill demons by Shiro himself. His mother killed by exorcists the day they were born. A whole basket of lies and secrets hidden under his nose. It didn't take long for Rin to slip out of the monastery that served as home his whole life and run away. The boy didn't care where he was going but he had to get away.

Tears blinded his sight and sorrow messing with his rationality, Rin ran into the woods specifically a section banned from the public. A part of the forest where people disappeared and never came back, the Snatching Woods. After a few minutes of nonstop running, Rin sat on the ground and cried. He didn't notice how the forest around him had transformed into something otherworldly.

Glowing mushrooms of yellow, pink and red shining in a garden around him, a large picket fence with spikes lit in flame, a large marsh like pool surrounded by pumpkins, wisps of blue, green and orange floated about and finally the large tower shaped mushroom house that the boy currently sat on the front doorstep. Something large and dark purple began to slither through the home, no doubt searching for the crying source.

The dark purple thing was a large ghost. He had a noodle like body with thin arms each carrying two large claws, a mane of fluffy fur around his head, bright yellow childish looking eyes and a jack o' lantern smile with two small fangs. The towering ghost looked at the small crying child in utter confusion. "Hey kiddo? How the peck did you get all the way here?" The ghost questioned with his raspy and light static echoing voice.

Rin looked up from crying to see the ghost hovering above his head. "I don't know and I don't care! Rather die lost in a forest than live a lie." Rin cried. That clearly got the ghost's unwanted attention. "Why the peck do you want to die because of a lie? What kind of lie would get a kid this depressed?" The ghost asked as Rin looked back at the spirit. He definitely had to know the kid's story.

"I lived in a monastery with my twin brother since I could remember. I never knew that Father Fujimoto and my brother were keeping secrets from me. I walked in to hear their conversation about me. Demons are real and evil. Father Fujimoto teaching my brother to be an exorcist and...I'm the bastard son of Satan! My mother was killed because of it and I learned half of my soul was stripped out then sealed away." Silence carried through the woods once Rin spoke that last sentence.

The ghost figured Satan would find a new way into Assiah but...this was going too far even for him. And he was Snatcher, a spirit that ate unlucky souls and toss their husks away like a banana peel! However, he would never use his own child, even though he didn't have one, for a sick game like this. A particular girl and a purple hat flashed through his mind. He was going to regret this but he didn't care. No way in hell was this kid going to suffer from his bastard old man.

"Then to hell with them!" Snatcher exclaimed grabbing the boy's attention. "Kid, I ain't a good person but even I know common sense. Just because you are the son of an idiotic peckneck demon doesn't make you him! The fact that your own foster father not only kept important information like this from you but now your brother is wrapped around his finger. Not all demons are evil. Some of us are mischievous or just want to be left alone." The ghost began.

"You have the right to know your origin and your own mother. Plus, that peckneck doesn't know the damage he has done sealing half your soul away! Your power even though suppressed is unstable without your demon half. It messes with your mind making you aggressive as it fights to the surface. You are a walking infernal bomb capable of wiping out half the continent and yourself by reaching a major mental meltdown! You are a person, a child for pecking sake! YOU ARE NOT SATAN!!!" Snatcher exclaimed voice roaring with irritation at the cause of the boy's misery.

Rin stood shellshocked at what he witnessed. Other than Father Fujimoto and his brother, no one ever helped or cared about him. To see a ghost he just met get so angry at his mistreatment made the pain in his heart fade. "Thank you." Rin said as Snatcher looked at the boy. "Boy, what's your name?" Snatcher asked as Rin wiped his tears. "Rin Okumura." The boy replied. "Rin Okumura? You can call me Snatcher, boy. How would you like to stay with me in Subcon Forest?" Snatcher asked as Rin had a look of surprise.

"You aren't safe staying with an exorcist who sees you only as the Son of Satan and potential threat but also filling your brother's head with half baked truths. That kind of person can turn your own sibling into your potential murderer even as an unwanted consequence. I can teach you how to forge your own path and control the power within you. You see, I met your blood father and suckered him into giving up part of his power and any potential of escaping Gehenna." Snatcher explained conjuring a ball of blue flame in his hand.

"Pretty." Rin said looking at the glowing blue flame. "This pretty flame can also be used to craft some powerful spells as well. Along with fixing your unstable power, I'll be teaching you magic and the ways of Subcon. This place will be your safe haven and no secrets will be kept from you here. A clone crafted from my magic will take your place so no one will suspect a thing. What do you say kiddo? Want to live with me in Subcon Forest?" Snatcher asked offering the boy his hand.

Rin looked at the hand and remembered all the years living with Father Fujimoto and his twin brother. What glittered gold slowly rotted away to faded gold paint old wood. The boy reached his hand towards Snatcher's and took it. The deal was struck as blue light surged throughout Subcon forest. Many unaware of the single act that sent ripples throughout the world and it's future. 9 years later…

A 16 year old Rin Okumura was being attacked in the home of True Cross Monastery. A powerful demon hunting him had attacked the boy out in public forcing to realize he wasn't normal or human. Father Fujimoto had taken him back to the momastery fending off hordes of undead demons coming after them. However, one demon possessing a teenager had crashed a truck into the monastery giving it and other demons easy access to the sanctuary.

Rotten dogs, growing demonic fungi and any other unholy creature bridled with maggots, rot and decayed flesh were creeping towards the young man, head priest and his follow exorcists. Father Fujimoto faced Rin who wielded a blue scabbard sword in hand. Running a hand through his short gray hair and dark eyes was prepared to shove Rin into the hidden basement for safety only for the boy to push him down.

"Rin! What's the meaning of this?! You have to run!" The man shouted only to be confused when the boy began chuckling. "Why should I listen to the words of a liar? I'll handle these pecknecks myself." Rin spoke earning confusion from Fujimoto and the monastery men. "Pecknecks? What kind of insult is that?!" The possessed boy laughed only to jump back as a burst of blue flames erupted from under him.

"If I knew you guys were going to attack me earlier than I would have put on my best clothes already! Oh well! A quick costume change won't hurt. Ain Soph Aur!" Rin said before snapping his fingers. He ignited into blue flames to the group's horror and absolute confusion before it died down. The young man was completely changed from head to toe. His suit was replaced with a dark violet long coat with azure flame, a dark blue tunic bearing a peculiar symbol that looked like a spirit surrounding a burning tree, black tights often seem worn by royalty, fancy black Italian shoes, white gloves and a violet top hat with a yellow ribbon.

His ears were pointed as he had small vampirish like fangs and hints of yellow in his blue eyes. He was also much taller having 5 inches more than Fujimoto's 6'5 height. In his hand was a long dark blue umbrella with dark violet flame like flares on the fabric and a yellow handle. The air Rin now carried was of royal but very ominous and eerie compared to his cheerful street punk one. "Rin?" Fujimoto questioned.

He was caught off guard by Rin's sudden change but the boy merely ignored. "I'm giving you demons a chance to leave with your souls intact. I can't guarantee you'll even survive the trip to Gehenna if I slay you instead of the exorcists." Rin said with a wicked glint in his eyes despite his jovial smile. "You think we are afraid of your clothes change and a dumb umbrella? Sorry brat but you're going back to Gehenna to your father Satan!" The possessed boy laughed only to suddenly flinch.

The air was flooding with instant killing intent that leaked from Rin as he looked at the demons with a disturbing malice filled smile. "I gave you a chance but you spat on it. Prepare to die because your contract has just expired!" The young man laughed as his voice sounded distorted saying the last few words. Rin suddenly vanished from sight only for a group of demonic fungus to explode in blue flames!

Rin burst out from the burning blue mass almost as if he teleported from underneath them. He faced his umbrella at the demons he hovered above as blue flame spheres manifested at the tip before firing them like a gun. Multiple ghoulish corpses and vile living fungus ignited which crashing sphere burning in pure anguish. The horrifying part to the child possessing demon was the flames were actually destroying the demons instead of sending them back to Gehenna!

Demons possessing objects or people couldn't die in Assiah since their real bodies existed in Gehenna but Rin's fire was burning both through their souls! The chilling part was Rin was singing with the carnage. "Run along this forest trail. Now you'll find you'll failed. Never gonna reach that goal, now give me your soul! Some advice, don't think twice! Should have known I wasn't nice! Off with your head! Tata, your dead!" The boy sang as he continued his carnage. However the next few lines was when the demon truly realized that initiated a fight with someone that Satan himself couldn't win against.

"Got no more use for you! When you sign that dotted line you should've thought it through! Your subconscious holding on clinging to your fear. Every haunt just moved along but now the SNATCHER'S HERE!!!" The demon's face along with Fujimoto's grew dramatically pale. "You?!! You know the Snatcher?!" The demon questioned shivering in terror within his host's body. Rin merely laughed at the demon's frightened words.

"Know him? More than just that little peckneck! He's my true father! Not your dumbass king or this lying priest bastard that kept so many secrets from me! He treated me like his own son and taught me all I know. He was honest with me and actually gave a crap about me for being myself, Rin Okumura, not Satan's bastard son!" Rin roared as Fujimoto looked a bit hurt. "And don't think Satan will pop up here either. My father's magic will immediately expel him upon possession. It was listed in the contract the Demon King was tricked into signing." That had gotten the demon to literally piss itself in its host body.

"Enough talk! Time for the finish!" The young man shouted as he began waving his umbrella and danced as if he was on Broadway. "And the weird and the wild should have left you all beguiled. That is that, you little bastard child. Rid my jobs that took time and bask! Now it's time to take you to task!" A ring of blue flames surrounded the remaining demons preventing any chance of escape.

"As the ink is slowly drying, it's time you get dying! Your contract has expired, sleep now in the fire! You gonna meet your match! Your soul belongs to Snatcher! Now let's sing higher!" The flaming ring grew smaller as the flames burned brighter and more intense. It was so bright that Rin's face was shadowed revealing a terrifying jack o' lantern eyes and mouth smiling at the torture.

"AND THE WEIRD AND THE WILD SHOULD'VE LEFT YOU ALL BEGUILED. THAT IS THAT, YOU LITTLE BASTARD CHILD. RIP MY JOBS THAT TOOK TIME AND BASK! NOW IT'S TIME TO TAKE YOU TO TASK. THE INK IS SLOWLY DRYING AND IT'S TIME THAT YOU GET DYING! YOUR CONTRACT HAS EXPIRED! SLEEP NOW IN THE FIRE! YOU HAVE MET YOUR MATCH! FOR YOUR SOUL BELONGS TO SNATCHER! BURN TO ASH IN MY MELODIC BONFIRE!!" With those last lines, the ring of fire exploded into a large burning blaze.

Every demon and their host burned away until their screams became silent and bodies turn to ash. The young man snapped his fingers as the blazing blue flames extinguish themselves before Rin glared down at Father Fujimoto. "Rin…" Fujimoto spoke only for Rin to interrupt him. "Don't say a word. I learned about the truth coming home 9 years ago. I watched you through a clone crafted by my father's magic and gave you multiple chances to tell the truth." The boy started.

"Did you know that sealing my soul's demon half made my power so unstable that I was a walking timebomb? Not only did you kept secrets and lie to me but you put everyone in danger. You didn't see as a child or son but a potential threat because of my damned sperm donor. If you did, you would have told me and trained me to be an exorcist than just Yukio. I wanted to die that day but Snatcher saved me from potentially killing myself." Fujimoto flinched and looked truly hurt once realizing what he had done.

"I won't kill you or get revenge for keeping secrets because you spared my life instead of killing me or my brother on the spot when we were babies. However, you, Yukio and everyone in this room are no longer my family. A true family would see me for me, not some bastard son of Satan or a potential threat. And if you go after me, I won't protect you from the full might of the Subcon Kingdom! You have been warned." Rin explained as he took the sword that contained his power before stuffing it in his hat like a magician.

"Rin! Please don't go! I'm sorry! It was for your own good!" Fujimoto cried out but Rin merely ignored him. "Goodbye Shiro Fujimoto." And with those last words, Rin Okumura disappeared in a flash of blue fire. Shiro Fujimoto fell to the floor and weeped. Secrets were a dangerous thing and he didn't listen to his friend's warning. The price he paid was his own son's trust now in the hands of the infamous Snatcher. Yukio came home to his weeping father and the approaching pike of mistrust that crucified his father's heart. It wasn't anyone's day at the True Cross Monastery.

And that's it! This was written last year so if the writing style looks different then that's why. Blue Exorcist was one of the first Mature mangas I ever bought, I got Volumes One to Three.

And honestly, I feel really bad for Rin. His brother tried to kill him, his foster father kept TONS of secrets, his friends immediately turned on him for his heritage despite him saving their asses and trying to regain their trust, or just being marked as a target for existing. I mean WTF?!

Poor boy needs better friends and a hug because I don't think Kuro or Ukobach(from the anime) could help for so long. This was also one of my early attempts into writing Snatcher before I got the game myself.

I did watch someone play it quite a few times but limited my experiences to the first three end chapter bosses and Snatcher's area being Subcon Forest. This was something I usually do before deciding to buy a game.

Snatcher honestly felt perfect for this especially taking the dad role. When you take his experiences in the ghost's past life to now, betrayal and mistrust are two big factors.

Even if Snatcher is an antagonist character, he does have some morals and personality than just the common soul eating specter with a grudge. This also takes place after the events in a Hat In Time.

And yes. Rin was singing 'Your Contract Has Expired' cover by Man On The Internet although the last bit was abridged on purpose. If this Rin had a theme, it would be the Phase Two Version theme of Your Contract Has Expired.

Anyways, until next time folks! Smell ya later.

This is an Phase Two Version of Man on the Internet's Your Contract Has Expired, done by Ben Newsome. Please read the description because they cited this song belongs to their original owner and not stole it. Poor guy doesn't need anymore accusations involving copyright.

[mark-archambault]

There’s Something I Want to Show You

Every day for three years, I drank. I drank at least a six pack a day. I drank on Christmas. I drank on my birthday. I drank on your birthday. I drank on EVERYBODY’S birthday. It was the one thing I could consistently plan for and execute. Most days I just did it without thinking. Some days were worse than others.

“God please, keep me from drinking today. God save me.” I knew it was a problem. I knew it was killing me. Alcohol was killing my future and my present. But knowing and acting on information are two very different things. I had an image in my head of a celestial hand, reaching down from the heavens in time to stop the bottle or can before it reached my lips. Surely God would save me? Isn’t that what God does? Jesus saves, right? I had heard that for years.

In the summer of 1992, my life caved in. My wife and I separated. My band broke up over alcoholic antics. My parents owned the company I worked for or I would not have continued to have a job. I was deeply depressed. My days consisted of work, drinking and sleep. It was more like passing out than real sleep. “God, where are You in all this?”

I stopped going to our apartment after work. I owned a small recording studio that the band rehearsed in. On most nights, I preferred to drink and pass out there.

It was a simple layout with three rooms. There was an entry, a tracking room for the musicians to perform in and a control room for the mixing board, gadgets and audio gizmos. The building had been an auto garage and gas station with concrete block walls. The design was funky art deco 1920s. It was cold in the winter and sticky warm in the summer. For all it was and was not, it reminded me less of failure than the other places I could be. That was the important thing.

This was the first week of July. The small window mounted AC did little to stop the sweat from running down my arms as I came into the tracking room. I plopped myself down on the floor with a cold twelve pack of Bud. I had learned to sit on the floor while drinking as this leaves less chance of falling down and hurting yourself. I needed to not think and this was the only way I could come up with to achieve my goal.

As usual, I sat on the floor in silence. First one beer, then another, playing alcoholic math games. If one twelve ounce can makes me feel like this, than how many ounces will it take to feel this other way? I explored numbers based on six, twelve, and twenty-four while I drank. Twelve ounces, a six pack, twelve pack, sixty minutes in an hour, etc. I timed out the ounces to attain and hold the perfect beer buzz till the correct time to sleep. Too much and I slept poorly; too little and the feeling would pass and the headaches would come back.

The headaches were a problem. How could I predict an accurate number of ounces per hour and still factor in the pain? In the last few months a stabbing pain would slash across my temples after the first few ounces of alcohol. It blurred my vision and caused me to double over, head in hands. At the twenty-four ounce mark, the pain eased and I became numb to it. It had caused me some concern, but I soon discovered that the best strategy was to slam the first two cans so as to get beyond the inconvenience faster. I was still working on calculating the proper balance of ounces after this increase up front. I had patience. When you do something every day, you have the time to experiment until you get it just right.

I have always been fascinated by the sound of my location. Every place has an ambient noise. Air vents blow, lights buzz, insects, birds, sirens, cars… The whole world is an ever changing symphony of auditory delight. Walking from one room to the next or from outdoors to inside, changes the soundscape. Whether you notice it or not, life makes noise. My little studio had an audio life of its own and I was very familiar with it.

The room I was in had florescent lights above me. The current slamming from one end of the tube to the other creates a static zzzzz that puts my teeth on edge. The refrigerator in the entryway pumps out a steady hum. Sound bounces off concrete floors, against plaster walls and is sucked into cloth and foam panels on the ceiling and walls. I had designed this room and I, like any creator, knew how it worked.

After the correct number of ounces per hour for a long night had passed, I became aware of silence, true silence. I had never experienced a complete absence of sound before this. I looked up from my floor to see what had changed and there was Jesus.

He had the form of a man, this was not a ghost. Jesus had light brown, shoulder length, curly hair. Tan, loose fitting trousers were topped with a cream colored Dashiki shirt. The opening around His neck had a pattern of pomegranates and the Star of David.

Jesus stood perfectly still. His eyes looked straight into mine. “There’s something I want to show you.” He said. His voice was calm and clear. A cloud of swirling smoke appeared to His left. Blue black wisps turned spirals of slow movement from top to bottom, turning on itself and returning to its start. The cloud was over a foot wide and several feet high, about the size of a man. Even with Jesus in the room, I could not take my eyes off the smoke. There was something familiar about it. I had seen it before, but could not place it. The sight of it made me tremble inside and sick to my stomach.

The rest of the evening is blank. I have tried, over the years, to recall anything after that, but only remember waking up the next morning. “Wow Mark, you have GOT to get a handle on this drinking thing.” was my only thought as my busy day kicked off. By works end, it was forgotten.

I stopped by the Mini Mart to get a fresh twelve pack on my way back to the studio. There was probably beer left over from the night before, but that could stay in the refrigerator as spare for another day. Fresh is better and one can’t have too much beer. I was alright as long as I was at work, because that gave me things to think about outside of myself. On the job there are pressures and deadlines that do not allow wallowing in self-pity. Now I was once again alone with my thoughts. I had my problems and my answer. I sat on the floor of my well lit room, slammed the first two beers and began the ounce counting. Many, many ounces later the volume dropped out of the room.

The events of the night before came rushing back to my brain as soon as the silence began. Looking up, I saw Jesus. This time I skipped straight to fear and trembling. “There is something I want to show you.” He said in a strong voice. He did not sound angry or sad. The words were important and resonating through my being. That same smoke was already twisting beside him. I closed my eyes.

I closed my eyes as tight as I could manage. Curled into a ball on the concrete floor, I forced myself to think of nothing. I lay there humming to make the voice go away. He had only spoken once, but I was afraid of what else Jesus might say. My muscles ached from contracting as I lay there for what seemed like hours. Eventually I passed into asleep.

“That’s it Mark, you’ve drank yourself insane. You have lost your fucking mind. Good job dumbass!” The next day was surreal. I was afraid, disoriented and a mess. Every shadow was a possible monster as I looked for some meaning to this invasion of my space. What would become of me if I couldn’t even go to sleep at night without seeing deities? Maybe if I slammed the first THREE beers. Maybe 32 ounces would work better? Maybe 48? Maybe…

If you are going to do something right, you need to be dedicated. I was dedicated to the fact that getting drunk made the pain and confusion of life go away. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, that was the belief I was holding on to. I checked around every corner of the studio as I walked in carrying my twelve pack. It was just after 8pm. Nothing jumped out to get me by the time I reached my spot on the tracking room floor, so I relaxed a little.

I watched the cold puff of air and heard the pop of the can lid as I opened my first 12 ounces. I didn’t lift the can off the floor. I did not take a drink. I waited, listening to the sounds of the room. Zzzzzzzzzz, Hhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

And then there was no sound. The last thing I wanted to do was look up. I stared at the can as sweat beads rolled down the aluminum. The silence didn’t go away. If I had waited a hundred years, the silence would wait with me. I knew Jesus was in the room with me, yet He said nothing. He waited for me. The ugly, smoke filled cloud was there again. The first century Messiah was looking at me. I knew He was waiting for me to say or do something. I looked into the eyes of Jesus and said “Lord, what is that thing?”

“That’s your soul.” He replied. “That’s your soul.” Like an atomic bomb to the brain, my world fractured into a thousand million pieces.

I gasped for air, but it wouldn’t come. I struggled onto all fours, my face to the floor. After what seemed like minutes my chest heaved full of oxygen. And then the tears came. Snot flew from my nostrils. My eyes burned. I fell back onto the concrete and wailed. That horrible, frightening thing was me. I did not, could not, look back up. I didn’t want to see or know. Is this truth? I didn’t need to ask the question out loud; I already knew the answer.

[poptod]

Who The Stars Belong To (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

Description: You’re an angel. Congratulations! Now you’re a fallen angel and you crash land through the roof of a building and right into a man’s apartment. 

Prompt: Innocent Notes: I don’t usually do fics with real people. I wrote this one a very long time ago and never finished it, but it’s been a bit since I’ve posted (I’m working on something) and this was the best of my unfinished fics :)  I mixed a LOT of religions into this. I hope I don’t offend anyone - I myself am not highly religious, but some of my beliefs are in here. Gender neutral. Word Count: 8.7k

I am a storm. I am an oncoming battle, the thunders of a thousand wars, of a million bloodshed plains. I am the breeze of summer and the wisps of winter frost. I am a god beholden to you but nothing to your universe. And in the dead of night, I am your savior.

All you knew was life in the heavens. Being God’s messenger had its perks and all that, like getting to know a lot of the higher archangels, but you would never know what the earth held. Stories were your staple, and other than God’s word, it was what you existed on.

Before you knew it you were hurtling down to earth a hundred miles an hour, watching your home in the stars disappear from view as your eyes became human. The light of God faded away, the guidance disappeared, and you could feel your halo burn into the sky, dissipating into the darkness. Though panic pulsed through you, fresh blood appearing through once empty veins, your expression was calm. As you pounded an imprint through the clouds as you fell through them your wings began to burn, and you became a falling star, a child’s wish to never be granted.

Once your back hit the hardness of ground, you blacked out.

+

Drearily you opened your eyes, feeling for the first time something you knew to be pain. It floated all throughout your body, caressing you gently and holding you in a grip so unfamiliar. Your throat burned, eyes tired, and your back ached. Shoulders tense and knees stiff you sat up, letting your vision fully develop.

White walls, firm and rigid in their position, surrounded you. To your right was a glass wall, letting you see the massive buildings outside. They seemed to stretch to the sky, clouds drifting lazily by. Gulping you grasped at the sheets around you, clenching with sore fingers at the roughness they had. To your left was a closed door and an open door, one leading to something that just had to be what you’d been told was a bathroom, and the other one with jackets hanging off it.

You tried standing up, feeling bile fill your mouth at the feeling. Was that normal? No matter - you stood, watching as the world began to spin.

That’s funny, you thought to yourself, before promptly blacking out with a nice, thick thud on the floor.

Upon waking up again, the light above you was dimmer than before, and looking to your right, night encompassed the sky. Blinking slowly you turned your head back to the ceiling, trying to get yourself to at least sit up. You were back in bed, you noticed, with white and blue sheets and blankets once more surrounding you. Grasping at the sheets you pulled yourself up, pulling your legs closer to you from their straight position.

From outside the closed door to your left came noise, a banging of pots and a curse. You raised your eyebrows, having never heard them before, but knowing them nonetheless. It was required information, as an angel. Which you guessed you were banned from being for a little while.

What you might’ve done wrong filled your head, but no matter how far back you went you couldn’t think of a thing. You’d done everything asked of you. Every single thing, even if you thought it to be morally wrong, even if you wondered why you had been chosen for the job, you did it. No questions. No hesitation.

Watching yourself in the mirror across from the bed, you tilted your head curiously to the left. You weren’t supposed to look like that. You were supposed to be… angelic. Strong. A storm, with the power of thunder and the will of hail. That was your form. Not this, with its’ flimsy hair, odd eyes, and dull skin.

Another curse from the other side of the door. You turned, watching as the handle jiggled. For a moment you remained unbothered, before very quickly realizing if this was a menacing force you didn’t have your angelic powers. Not to your knowledge in the least, and testing them out wasn’t really an option. If you used them for anything but official use then they would be taken away.

The door opened, and a man holding a plate came in, a concentrated look on his face, auburn hair falling over his face. He looked the least menacing thing you’d ever seen, and your shoulders relaxed. As the door shut behind him he looked up, smiling awkwardly as he walked forward, setting the plate on the small table beside the bed. You looked at him expectantly, still confused in all essence of the word.

He seemed just as confused, glancing to the side, unable to keep your eye for more than two seconds.

“You’re, uh. You should eat,” he finally said, gesturing with his head towards the plate on the bedside table.

You didn’t need to eat, right? Whatever eating really was it looked awful. Well, you knew what eating was. Sustenance to keep humans going, meant to distract them so they didn’t reach their full potential. Too much time spent doing stuff other than getting food, or getting means for food, would’ve been disastrous.

You must’ve been too quiet for too long as he kept going.

“I made pasta. I’m not great with food, but it’s not awful, I promise,” he chuckled, shifting his weight in his anxiousness. You kept staring. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you could tell me what happened to you?”

“What?” You asked, further confused.

“You know,” he said, clearly excited that you could talk, “why you fell through my roof.”

“What?”

He now looked exasperated that you only knew one word.

“You fell through my roof. I tried to take you to a hospital but you begged me not to. Said you’d, uh, ‘put the fear of god into me,’ if I did. Neat trick you did with your eyes, too,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. He seemed to be more relaxed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“… details?” You asked further. He paused.

He’d just been home after a late night trip to the store after realizing he was completely out of Windex when you arrived. First was a whistling sound, and he looked up, wondering curiously what it could be. His first thought was that New York was under attack, but quickly proven wrong, you crashed through the roof of his apartment, going through the one empty floor above him, landing in his living room.

Staring at your crumpled form, surrounded by broken wood, dust, and concrete, his mouth fell open, dropping the two bottles of Windex in his hand. The most astonishing part was the fact that you were moving. That, and the giant cuts running down your back, bleeding openly and dripping all over his carpet. The one other surprising thing was the fact that you were entirely naked.

Stumbling only for a moment, he dropped to your side, helping you stand.

“Holy shit, okay, uh,” he breathed out, “what happened to you?”

“Arrghhhh,” you slurred meaninglessly.

“Never mind. Let’s get to a hospital, fast,” he said, and before he could even ask his brain to make the movement for a step forward, your hand was grasping the collar of his shirt, bundling the material in a tight fist, pulling him towards your face.

“I will tear your body apart till nothing remains but your soul and you will remember why you fear God,” you said, and in the moment he heard your voice in double, watching as your eyes rolled up into your head, the red veins glowing against stark white.

“Okay,” he replied immediately, almost dropping you.

He omitted many of these details when reporting this to you, not wanting you to believe him insane.

“You crashed through my roof, and I tried to take you to the hospital but you, uh, obviously said no, and after that you blacked out, so I put you to bed. Hoped you would wake up,” was what he said.

“Of course I did,” you said, miffed, turning to face your reflection once again. It looked… wrong. Where were your horns?

“Not… not of course. That fall tends to kill people,” he laughed nervously.

You swallowed, feeling your saliva burn down your throat. Pushing the sheets off of you you tried to stand once more, watching as the world began to swing into a dance once more. The man stood with a ‘woah there,’ holding his hand over your torso in case you fell. With lazy eyelids your head fell onto his shoulder, not quite fainting but halfway there.

“You’re pretty adamant about this whole standing thing, huh?” He said with a grunt, trying to help you stand on your own.

“I am stronger than the bones your king breaks,” you mumbled.

“I don’t - okay, you’re not hungry, so let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, heaving you across the room and into the bathroom.

The lights blared painfully against the mirror, reflecting directly into your eyes. You moaned, hiding your eyes behind eyelids and his shoulder. Behind you water rushed, falling into the silver and white tub. He sat you down on the toilet, making sure you would stay there, before leaving, promising he’d be right back.

You leaned against a nearby wall, eyelids drooping over burning eyes as you waited for him to return. The water continued rushing, filling the room in a warm haze. You watched as the mirror fogged.

With a creak the door opened, and he came through with a tight smile, putting a towel and a fresh set of clothes on the counter.

“I didn’t want to wash you or anything while you were out. Would’ve been a bit weird,” he mumbled, shutting the door behind him, sticking his hand in the water to test it after.

“Where’d I get these clothes?” You asked in a whisper, and he barely heard you over the water.

“Oh, uh, they’re mine. Yours were ruined.”

“I had clothes?”

“… Yes?”

“Lying is a sin punishable by an eternity of hellfire,” you muttered.

“Okay you didn’t have clothes. Happy? I was just trying to spare you the embarrassment,” he snapped, turning off the water. He glanced at you and in a second, his anger fell from him. “Let’s get you in.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling the shirt off your torso and throwing it into a corner of the bathroom. After that he tapped your hips, looking up at you expectantly. You cocked your head to the side, your brow furrowed.

“Lift,” he said, his face reddening with blood. Your nose twitched and, bracing yourself against the lid of the toilet, you lifted your hips. Off came two sets of pants, which confused you greatly.

“Why was I wearing two pants?” You asked, grasping his shoulders tightly as he made you stand, your legs failing you almost entirely.

“That was underwear,” he explained patiently, setting you gently in the warm water. You curled up, pressing your knees to your chest, feeling your rough skin brush against you uncomfortably. With bright eyes you stared up at him, watching him grab various bottles from the counter.

With a cup he poured water over your head, and a pleasant feeling washed over you as it ran down your back and over your eyes. He pressed two fingers to your forehead, tilting your head slightly so it wouldn’t fall into your eyes. He did this two more times, fully soaking your head before popping open a bottle. Out of it poured a white mixture, one he rubbed up against his hands before reaching for you.

You cringed backwards, baselessly fearing what it could’ve been. He paused, drawing backwards and explaining himself.

“It’s to wash your hair,” he said, and as you let him rub it into your scalp, you heard him whisper to himself, “what happened to you?”

You didn’t answer, assuming he didn’t really want an answer, and simply enjoying the pleasure his hands brought. As he dug deeper into your hair you keened upwards into it, letting your eyes close. He let his hands run the full length of your hair once, then twice, before rinsing his hands and pouring water over you to rinse the shampoo from you.

“Enjoying yourself?” He teased as he opened up another bottle. You waited as he turned the bottle upside down, pouring it now over your shoulders. From its cold temperature you shrunk, still letting him do what he thought he needed to do.

He rubbed the white soap into your skin, over your shoulders and neck, up into your cheeks. That was the most enjoyable part - letting him cup your jaw, one hand on either side as his thumbs rubbed your cheeks. Eventually he had to stop, gently washing your nose and forehead.

The silence clearly made him uncomfortable you noted as he washed the dirt off your arms. You, however, didn’t mind it in the slightest.

“Just one more,” he said, holding up the last bottle. You nodded.

This time, unlike the first time, he combed it through your hair. Relaxing into his touch you closed your eyes, once more leaning into him. You couldn’t trust him, not in any way, but…

“Feel better?”

You nodded.

The two of you tried to get your feet to work but they refused, and your wet body flopped uselessly into his arms.

“Sorry,” you said, noticing his own clothes getting soaked.

“It - it’s fine,” he stammered, his face growing hot and red. He held you up, grabbing the towel with one struggling hand and wrapping it around you. Half shivering you sat on the edge of the tub, watching as he leaned over you, draining the sudsy water away.

Eventually, all dried up and in fresh clothes that smelled very specifically of him, you sat on the bed eating the cold pasta he’d given you.

“I can warm it up you know,” he said, watching you eat by the bedside.

You shook your head, the food still hanging out of it. He shrugged, excusing himself for a moment, and coming back with a thin, silver block.

“What -“

“I thought you might want to watch a movie or something,” he said, setting it down and opening it.

Oh, you thought to yourself, marveling at the bright screen. I’ve heard of these computers.

Typing on the board he pulled up a website, clicking quickly on a movie and settling in beside you.

“If you don’t like it I can change it,” he said, allowing you your space on the bed.

White Christmas came up on the screen. The quality was grainy but colorful, the music wonderfully melodic. Music wasn’t a common thing in the heavens. That is to say, the music of the stars would hardly qualify as the music humans knew on earth.

As the movie came to a close he shut the laptop, sliding off the bed, the computer beneath his arm.

“Get some sleep,” he said, watching you shift downwards so your head lay on the pillows. You didn’t really need to sleep, you wanted to tell him. You never had, but for some reason you wanted to close your eyes anyway. As you did, the creak of the door signaled his leave. In the silence of night you wondered how long you’d be allowed to stay.

You didn’t wake again till the next day was halfway through. The man told you so, telling you it was 12, and with your confused face in return, he began to describe time.

“I really don’t understand why you don’t know this stuff. Are you sure we can’t go to a hospital?” He asked gingerly, his head tilted downwards but keeping your gaze.

“If you take me to a hospital -“

“You’ll turn me inside out. I know, yeah…” he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. “Listen, I’m having friends over tonight. I think it’d be best if you just stayed in here. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think it’ll be safer, okay?”

Slowly you nodded, half understanding that all you needed to do was stay in the room you were in. You were patient. Millenia of listening to Gods’ slow voice allowed for that.

“They’re coming over in about an hour. This,” he grabbed your wrist, latching a clock around it, “will tell you when that is.”

Examining the silver band, the light above you reflected into the glass, making you shut your eyes tight.

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled, pulling your wrist away from its position.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s fine. You hungry?”

You shook your head, knowing that you didn’t need to eat. You really, really, really didn’t need to eat, but your stomach growled loudly, your eyes widening as you stared down at it.

“You have no idea how your body works, do you?”

You gulped. How could he ever had found out?

With a sigh he helped you stand, and with his arm around your waist and yours around his shoulders, you limped to the door, heading out into the hallway and the rest of what you presumed was his home. It was nicely lit, with mostly white walls and rather comfortable furniture. You sat on the couch, watching him intently as he prepared some sort of food for you again. He finished, setting the plate in front of you.

“You eat it with your hands,” he told you, already assuming you’d never seen a sandwich before. He went to leave, but you grasped his wrist tight, forcing him to face you. Jarred by your strength his mouth hung open and he gaped at you, confused and alarmed.

“Thank you,” you murmured, staring directly into his eyes.

“Uh… yeah. ‘Course,” he stammered, wriggling free from your lessened grasp. With wary eyes, darting to you in fear, he left the room. Nose twitching, you grabbed the sandwich with your hands, taking a massive bite.

By your last bite, you still hadn’t seen him, but the door had been knocking for several minutes. As time continued the knocking got louder, more furious, till voices came as well, demanding that the door be opened. Pounding footsteps came from the hallway, rushing through the living room till the man, auburn hair flying as he ran past ran straight into the door, ramming his chin against the wooden door.

“Fuck! Ah, sorry, give me a - uh,” he turned to you, still jiggling the door handle, “room?”

“There’s room,” you replied.

“No, go to the bedroom!”

“I can’t stand!”

“What’s going on behind there?” Came the voice behind the door.

“One second guys, just, uh,” he helped you to your feet, “getting dressed.”

“I don’t mind you being naked,” another voice said, drawing a belt of a laugh from the man behind the door.

“They’re… joking,” he mumbled to you, kicking the door open and setting you down on the bed. Though rushed, he tucked you in, fluffing the pillow and quickly turning out the light. Disgruntled, you fidgeted under the covers, keeping your eyes open as you listened to the voices outside.

“I heard two voices,” one of them said, not your man.

“You’re crazy,” the other said.

You buried your nose under the covers. They continued their conversation, talking about things you couldn’t understand, things you knew you would get if you just had your angelic powers back. They allowed you to understand the non-understandable.

“Do you usually eat naked?” One of the men asked, and in an instant you recalled your nearly all-the-way-eaten sandwich.

“No,” your man replied quickly. “That was from a while ago.”

“Someone’s sloppy.”

“Yeah, Jesus Christ, clean up after yourself!”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that when I see him next,” your man said with a laugh.

They resorted once more into language you couldn’t understand, a switch clicking in the room and then the sound of many voices emanating from the living room. Your chest felt restricted, and your stomach still empty, so you dug yourself deeper into the sheets, hoping the uneasy feeling would soon cease.

A few more minutes clutching your stomach and it did not. Perhaps something was wrong with you? You knew very little about the complexities of humans. Maybe you needed to eat more. So, on shaky legs, keeping your arms on the bed you stood, being mainly supported by your arms. Stumbling you made your way to the wall, walking beside it towards the door. He had said not to leave the room, but something felt wrong, so terribly wrong, that you were sure he wouldn’t mind. Your logic was so: he would, most likely, prefer to find you wobbling into the living room rather than to find you dead on the bed. Could you die? You weren’t sure, but chances weren’t a thing you were ready to take.

Walking through the short hallway you kept your hands pressed to the wall, coming up behind the couch that three men now sat on, a large screen on the wall turned on to some sort of entertainment.

Which one was him? None of them were facing you, and you didn’t know if humans all looked the same. Supposedly they didn’t, but to someone like yourself who wasn’t accustomed to their faces, maybe they would all look similar. You went by hair color. The man in the middle had golden hair - that wasn’t your man. The one on the left was taller, with brown hair. On the right was the auburn hair. You tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to look up at you, fear and surprise burning right into your skin through his eyes.

His shock brought the other two from their entrancement with the screen, turning to see you as well. For a moment, everything was silent. They stared at you, you stared right back.

“Give me a moment,” your man suddenly said, jumping over the back of the bed and all but dragging you back to the hall.

“I feel wrong,” you said before he could get angry. He furrowed his brow, confused, but listening. “My chest aches. I feel empty here,” you said, bunching up the shirt you wore and pointing to your stomach area.

He sighed, an exasperated sound, his head falling to your shoulder.

“You’re thirsty,” he finally told you, pulling you with a more gentle touch back into the kitchen and sitting you down on a barstool. He went to grab a glass from the cupboard.

“So, uh, going t’ introduce us?” The blond asked, his voice deep and strange.

“Uh, this is, um,” he tried to say, realizing as he made eye contact with you that neither of you knew each others’ names.

“Mal,” you answered for him. It wasn’t your full, true name, as giving your whole name would give them power over you. That was something you couldn’t find yourself ever doing.

The two men on the couch looked at each other then burst out laughing, making you tilt your head slightly to the left, confused.

“Joey, you could’ve just told us you had a one night stand thing going on, he can join us,” the blond laughed, slapping the taller man on the shoulder. You looked back at your man, supposedly ‘Joey,’ with wide, bewildered eyes.

“Okay first of all, not a one night stand,” he glanced at you, “he’s just a… sick friend.”

“He?” You asked.

“She?” He tried out, but it didn’t help. A silence stretched as both of, utterly perturbed, stared at each other.

“Should we go?” The tall man asked, pointing back at the blond and then himself.

“No, it - it’s fine,” Joey stumbled, handing you a glass of water. “Mal just needs sleep.”

You nodded along. Whatever was happening could be discussed later. He tilted the glass to your mouth, and you opened it, allowing the water to slip through.

“Make sure you’re not breathing when you drink,” he whispered in your ear, quickly jumping back to the couch between his friends. You did as told, almost choking on it but swallowing nonetheless. Feeling your back hurt you stretched, reaching your arms for the ceiling. A sudden burst of pain flooded through your spine, electrocuting your head and tingling through your fingertips.

You let out a strangled, quiet cry, holding your shoulders with your hands. Joey turned to you in a flash, looking at you over the edge of the couch.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Probably,” you answered, shrugging, and gesturing to the screen when he wouldn’t turn away from you. Hesitant, he turned back, watching the delightful characters running around.

Every now and then, over the next few hours they’d go back to the kitchen, grabbing brown bottles from the fridge and downing them rather quickly. You watched from your seat patiently.

“You want one?” The tall one asked, moving to hand you one.

“Uh, that’s probably not a good idea,” Joey stopped him before you could make up your mind, pulling the tall man back by his arm. The man just shrugged, smiling at you, and popping open his own bottle.

“How’d - how’d you two meet?” The blond asked, and by that point you realized that the drink must’ve been doing something to them. They swayed in their stance, their voices clogged and speech dumbed.

“He - she, uh, fell… on the subway. Helped him - her - uh, them, up,” Joey responded, swirling his drink.

“Wait, wait wait,” the tall one turned to you, leaning in close and examining you. You remained rigid. “Are you a guy or a girl?”

“I am the heavens personified. I don’t fall into binary categories that you assign to know the others genitalia.”

All three of them laughed at that. You, on the other hand, found little humor in it. By the end of the evening the three of them became so intoxicated on whatever was in those drinks that you had to convince them, very sloppily to stop, which in the end, they finally acquiesced.

They insisted you come sit with them on the couch, trying to pull you from your seat.

“I want to avoid walking,” you informed them curtly, trying to get them to stop.

“Alright-y then,” the blond said, suddenly lifting you out of your seat and carrying you, laughing and giggling with his friends as he sat you on his lap on the couch. Awkward and confused you shifted, getting comfortable with where you now were.

“Okay okay so - Mal insists on no more drinks, so umm… no drinking games,” Joey slurred, holding his fingers out and counting ‘no drinking games’ on one.

“Beer pong!” The tall one suggested. The blond knocked him on the head as Joey laughed.

“Drinking is literally the main thing in that game, Gwil,” the blond wheezed out. Ah, you thought, so the tall one is named Gwil.

“Uh, Mal knows like, nothing about being alive,” Joey started, and you couldn’t entirely disagree. “So something simple?”

“Truth… or dare,” Gwil suggested in a dramatic whisper, pointing to the blond as he said truth, and to Joey when he said dare.

“What are we, seven?” Joey asked, sticking his tongue out in disapproval.

“You said simple!”

Both Gwil and Joey continued arguing as the blond whispered in your ear, telling you the rules of the game, keeping his voice low to avoid being heard by the other two. You listened intently, leaning into him. In turn, he kept his hand around your waist, keeping you from sliding off.

“Alright, fine!” Joey finally conceded, throwing his hands up in the air. “Do you know how to play?” He asked, looking at you.

You nodded.

“Wow, I’m surprised,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I just taught him,” said the blond.

“Her,” Gwil corrected.

“Both!” Joey added.

“Or neither,” Gwil and the blond said at the same time, and the three of them broke into childish laughter again.

As it died, Joey asked, “what were we talking about again?” which really only spurred the laughter on further.

The rest of the night proceeded in similar fashion, growing calmer as the drink went through their systems. You never did get to play that odd game.

“Stay the night, won’t you?” Joey asked them, but they refused, saying they got a hotel room in the city.

“Besides,” the blond added, “looks like you’ve got plenty of company.” Along with this he wiggled his eyebrows, winking. Gwil snorted, saying his good byes along with the blond and shutting the door.

“Joey -“

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, stumbling only slightly as he came over to you. Arm wrapped round your waist he helped you up, walking you through the hall, into the room, and into the bathroom to sit you on the toilet seat.

“I’m not dirty,” you stated, watching him rub his face with water running from the sink faucet.

“Should change your clothes anyway,” he said with a sigh, drying his hands and helping you out of his shirt. “Ah shit,” he mumbled, suddenly remembering you needed another pair of clothes to get into. He left the room to look for clothing, door wide open, as you sat half naked on the seat.

Curious as to what your back looked like, hoping desperately that maybe if you just looked you’d get your wings back, you stood shakily, grasping the counter to turn around and look at yourself in the mirror.

Down your back ran two massive tears, open and cracked with blood. Surprised, you reached to touch them, shrinking away from your hand when you did so.

“Jesus,” Joey breathed out, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. You turned quickly to him, wondering if you’d done something wrong. “They must’ve cracked open when you were with me and my friends.”

“What?”

“They looked a little more put together when I last saw ‘em,” he explained, turning your back to him to examine them further. “Not bleeding at least. God…”

His finger traced the outline of them, causing spikes of pain to run through you whenever he got too close.

“You’re sure about the hospital?” He asked.

“I will -“

“Yeah, okay,” he interrupted you, getting your point without your threat. For a few moments more you let him touch you, gently trying to see how bad it was. “I have bandages,” he said as he withdrew. You turned around expectantly.

He sighed, bending down and opening a door underneath the sink, pulling out a long, thin cloth, all rolled up. Slowly, aware of your careful watch, he wrapped the fabric around your chest, starting right beneath your arms and going down to the end of your ribs.

When he finished you grabbed his wrist, tugging him down to you.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, slowly realizing that that was just how you thanked people.

In silence he undressed and dressed you, wondering to himself if you’d ever be able to dress yourself. Would he have to teach you? You, on the other hand, were thinking about his friends. They all felt oddly intimate.

He put you to bed after that, brushing the short hair out of your eyes, noting quietly to you that it had grown slightly longer.

“It sure grows fast,” he said, pulling the sheets over your bed. He made to leave, stopped by your grip on his wrist once more capturing him.

“Where do you sleep?” You asked quietly.

“On the couch.”

“Is that comfortable?”

“Yeah, I think it is,” he said with a shrug.

“Alright,” you murmured, releasing him and tucking yourself back into the blankets. He smiled, patting your shoulder and leaving the room.

Routine proceeded from that day on. You would wake up by afternoon, and he would force you to eat and drink, every so often leaving his home, but never telling you why. On those days, he’d usually come back with bags, and oftentimes would help you with bathing.

“You need to learn how to do this yourself,” he told you one day, rubbing soap into your cheeks and neck.

“I like when you do it,” you responded, making him choke on his breath.

“Whatever you want,” he responded, his words rushed out.

One morning when you awoke, he wasn’t there. First you called for him, as he usually noticed when you stirred, but you earned no response. You then stood, walking with a nice cane he’d gotten you a few days ago. ‘Just for now,’ he said, ‘’till you heal.’ Still, no sign at all of him, except a note taped to the door. You couldn’t read it, as all you could really read was Enochian. So you sat. And waited.

It wasn’t long till the sound of his key at the door came, turning the gears of the lock till it opened, revealing him and a man behind him.

“Mal, hey,” he said, opening the door to allow the man behind him in before closing and locking it. In a small motion you waved at him. “This is my friend, Rami. Say hi Rami.”

The man, Rami, glared at Joey (who you’d learned recently was actually named ‘Joe’) before approaching you with his hand outstretched.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, waiting for you to make a move. Hesitating only a second, you slapped his open hand.

From the kitchen Joe snorted, laughing at what you’d just done.

“What?” Looking up at Rami, he looked equally amused and confused.

“You’re supposed to shake his hand,” Joe explained, waking over and demonstrating the proper greeting movement with his friend. Slowly you nodded, shaking Rami’s hand, feeling the warm roughness of his palm.

“You may call me Mal,” you said, looking him in the eye. He chuckled, nodding.

“He’s flown in from L.A. to stay a few days. I don’t -“ he turned to Rami, “- did you get a hotel room?”

“Not yet, but it shouldn’t be a problem getting one if need be,” he said, setting his bags down near the door.

“I only have one bed, but I guess someone could share,” Joe said with a shrug, pulling two beer bottles out of the fridge and relaxing next to you, Rami on the other side of him as he turned on the television.

After a while of being rather annoyed by a plot you couldn’t understand, you nudged Joe, telling him so.

“Take this,” he said, handing you his laptop. “Go wild.”

You fiddled with it, grabbing your cane and walking back into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed you opened it on your lap, immediately coming face to face with a search tool. If Joe had only known what you would do, he would’ve never handed you the laptop, as this was most definitely one of the worst decisions in the world. Instead, he left you to your own chaotic devices, and the first thing you looked up was ‘do i need to eat?’, which lead to ‘how do human organs work,’ to ‘what are sex organs,’ and, one can guess where that led.

Eventually that led only deeper into the Internet, to what drugs were, into drug arrests, and every sinful thing put on the news, to odd songs about sex and drugs simultaneously, and movies about rockstars.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?” Joe asked, his hands on either side of the doorway, leaning into the room. Silently, you turned the computer around to a headline reading, ‘Florida Man bites off his brother’s penis after he walks in on his brother having sex with his cousin on his favorite Dragon Ball Z blanket.’

“Jesus Christ, I can’t leave you alone for two seconds,” he grumbled, shutting the laptop and tucking it under his arm.

“It’s been an hour,” you reminded him helpfully. He ignored you.

“Rami can’t find any affordable hotel rooms, he needs to stay here for the night. He’s got a room for tomorrow onwards,” he informed you, helping you up and back into the living room, setting his computer on the bar counter.

“I told him I can sleep on the couch but he won’t listen to me,” Rami said, tapping his fingers on the back of the couch, watching as you sat on a barstool.

“Absolutely not. I won’t stand for it,” Joe responded, flopping onto the couch to sit beside his friend.

“Then where’s your friend going to sleep?” He asked, gesturing to you.

“We’ll work it out. It’s late, you’ve got work to do in the morning,” Joe said, tugging Rami off the couch and pushing him to the bedroom.

“Right, of course Mom,” he grumbled as the door shut loudly behind him. You simply watched, stoic and silent, as Joe returned into the living room, hands on his hips.

Mumbling mostly to himself, he helped you over to the couch.

“Are we sleeping together?” You asked as he stood. Stammering, he attempted an answer.

“Uh - sort of I guess? I mean, you - you don’t have to, you’re always talking about how you don’t need sleep, but I still think you should, not necessarily with me, but I just mean you need to sleep, and I guess since there’s only the couch left you could sleep there and I’ll just… sleep on the floor?”

“Is the floor comfortable?” You asked.

“Um, not really?”

“Then sleep on the couch,” you said, pulling the back cushions out to make room for him.

“Uh….”

You patted the couch and, stumbling only a second, he sat beside you. Reaching behind him, you grabbed a pillow from off the edge of the cushions, setting it up for his head on the end of the couch. Gently, you made him lie down, wrapping him up in a blanket hung over the back. He stuttered something incoherent, watching and only protesting mildly as you stood, taking the short trip to the light to turn it off. Setting your cane down, you crawled in next to him, pressing your body against his in the tight space.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, his voice cracking as you put his arm around you for your own comfort, “where did you come from? Do you even remember?”

“I was an angel,” you answered honestly, fully believing that he’d take your word. What you didn’t expect was for him to hold back a laugh, looking down at you.

“Really?”

“I fell from heaven. My form changed. I’ve never been to earth before now.”

“Well that certainly explains a lot. If it was believable,” he muttered, shifting under the blankets you’d gotten to be more comfortable.

“It’s the truth. I am bound by ethereal powers to never lie so -“

“You could just as easily be a person lying,” he interrupted, now unwilling to meet your eye.

“Ask me a question about God, or the world... something you’ve always wondered,” you tried, hoping he’d ask something you knew about.

He waited, his head now facing fully away from you as he thought. Outside a storm grew, but the only thing you could think about was him.

“Which religion is right? Is it the Christians?”

“All of them are right. Every god or goddess to ever be told of exists. They congregate every now and then. I sit by Gods’ side during those meetings. The god Jewish, Muslim, and Christian people believe in, that is.”

“What happens when we die?”

“Whatever you think.”

“What?” He turned to you.

“If one believes they will become the clouds, they will become the clouds. If they believe nothing happens, they die. Their consciousness is wiped. There is a heaven, reincarnation, and a hell, but not much happens in hell.”

“Wait, what happens in hell then?”

“I haven’t been there often,” you said, recalling the last time God had a meeting with their son. “Lucifer is actually rather calm. It’s just… imagine if a bunch of criminals and people who thought they were awful were put into one area. There isn’t any torture or demons, just people who believed they were going to hell.”

“Okay, lots of questions about that -“ he laughed, “- so it’s basically Afterlife Australia?”

You shrugged. In honesty, you had no idea what Australia was, but he was probably right. You trusted him as far as you could.

“And if someone who was a good person, but just really hated themselves and thought they would go to hell, would they go to hell?”

“That’s what the angels Kiraman Katibin, Phanuel, Nakir, and Abathar Muzania are working together for,” you said, and in that moment you realized you probably shouldn’t be trusting this information to a human. Nonetheless, you continued. “They… judge, sort of. Like Ma’at and her 42 judges for Egyptian afterlife, for those that believe in that.”

“… interesting.”

He left it at that. You snuggled in closer, his breathing grew harsher, but the both of you fell into easy sleep. By morning, he awoke first, jostling you awake when he reached for a note on the table. Leaning over to look, your cheek resting on his shoulder, you asked what it said.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his face warm. “Jus’ that he’s left already.”

“Oh.”

“God, I need to get off my ass,” he muttered under his breath to himself. He stood, stretching his hands to the sky, before releasing the tensions with a deep sigh. Plodding into the kitchen, he turned on the sink, pulling down another glass and drinking from it once it filled to overflow. You picked the cushions back up off the floor, putting them back into place.

Making his way back over to you, he collapsed back onto the couch, relaxing into the cushions.

“Really hoping you don’t kill me for saying this, but I’m half convinced you’re insane,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. The whole situation with you was clearly stressing him out - even you could tell.

“How may I settle these worries?”

“Prove it. But if you’re fallen, you probably don’t… have any powers, or whatever.”

“I have scars down my back from my wings,” you reminded him.

“It could just as easily be that you were tortured, badly, and to cope with it you’re imagining that you’re an angel. All this information you’re giving is just personal beliefs. Stuff you could look up on the internet.”

“I… don’t know if I have any power left,” you said quietly, and your heart began to ache, weighing heavily through your body. Your touch possibly had power - humans loved to touch. It was essential to their lives. Maybe, just maybe, your touch had power.

“You think of ways to get the truth. I’ll make breakfast,” he said, grunting as he stood and patting your knee.

You sat, the crackle of frying eggs in the background as you buried yourself in thoughts. Your wings and halo were gone, you knew that for absolute sure. The feeling of them leaving you, how it tore you from yourself, stretching and pulling till it finally ripped, burning as everything you knew evaporated away. What was left when all was taken from you? Even your eyes, the ones that allowed you to look upon Gods, that let you return home and fully see the truth, the heavens and all that you loved, they were gone too.

Your soul. You still had that, didn’t you?

Grabbing your cane from the fallen position it had taken on the floor, you came to stand behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned down the heat of the stove, turning around to face you, jumping back when he saw how close you were.

“I still have my soul. I’m… I’m not sure what I can do with it, but,” you looked up at him, eyes glittering a very suddenly bright blue, a change from your usual color, “can I try?”

“Af-after breakfast. Eat something first,” he stammered, grabbing plates from behind him, filling them with the eggs and toast, before setting it down on the table and sitting down. Your nose twitched once, but you sat down across from him, eating what he’d prepared, all the time wondering what would happen.

As the two of you finished he grabbed your plates, and from then on, essentially ignored you. Dodging you, not speaking to you, telling you to get more sleep, all of it you knew was more of an avoidance of the subject of your soul. In your weakened state, there was little you could do but let him force you to sleep.

So you slept. Into the next week, you slept. By the second day when you hadn’t woken up Joe began to worry, sitting at your bedside, making sure you were still breathing. Every evening his friend Rami would come over, asking where you were, and he would say you were sleeping.

“You should take them to a hospital,” he said, worry lacing his tone though he did not know you.

“I want to, but whenever I suggest it they pretty much make death threats.”

By the time you woke up, he was prepared to call the hospital, and Rami had already left, heading back to L.A.

“What are you doing,” you asked, monotone as you sat up, watching him about to dial the number on his phone.

“You’re awake!” He exclaimed, dropping his phone and rushing to hug you. “I thought you were dying!”

“I can sleep for extended periods of time. It’s to accommodate for my life span,” you informed him curtly, your arms plastered to your side as he squeezed you.

“That’s called a coma,” he spoke right into your ear, sighing as he released you, sitting beside you on the bed.

“Sounds like your problem.”

“It certainly feels like it. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“You were trying to get me to sleep, so I did.”

He glared at you, mentally noting to himself that you were petty in a very special way. Helping you out of the bed, cane forgotten, he kept you upright, leading you into the living room and onto the couch. From there he fed you, made sure you drank, and suggested a bath. You agreed.

Hoisting your arm around his shoulders, the two of you made your way slowly to the bathroom. There he did the usual; undressing you, filling the tub with warm water, and pushing up his sleeves to his elbows. Helping you into the tub, he sat on the edge, pouring shampoo onto his hands.

“You’re sure you’re okay with me doing this?” He asked, still unsure about the whole nudity you had.

“It seems to me you’re the only one bothered by it.”

“Wow, okay. Called out,” he said, chuckling to himself. “The tea is scorching.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a snort, still smiling to himself as he rubbing the shampoo into your scalp. You let yourself enjoy it, pushing into his touch with a blissed out expression.

“You should join me,” you mumbled as he pulled away. He halted, staring wide eyed at you.

“I should what?”

“Join me,” you repeated, watching carefully as a sudden smile grew on his face. He turned away, shaking his head, but still smiling in a dumbfounded way.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, ignoring your request to rinse his hands, “considering how little you know about human etiquette. Wouldn’t be too surprising if you never visited earth.” He mumbled his words, voicing his thoughts in an airy fashion.

“If you would just let me show you -“

“Mal,” he interrupted you, facing you with a sudden seriousness. “If souls are real, and if what you’re saying is real. Don’t you think it’d be dangerous? I don’t know what you’re planning, but using your soul has to be dangerous.”

“Might be. I need your trust,” you pleaded. “I will go to great lengths to get it.”

“Why?” He asked simply, tired of wondering quietly.

“Just for a moment, believe me,” you asked of him, and he nodded. “As an angel, we are built to never make our own decisions. God’s guidance is bright, and our halos blind us. Physically, we can trust no one but our God. When I fell, I… I was left alone. No longer blind, but able to make my own decisions, but in the way that I’d never done that before, I was still blind. Wh-What I’m trying to say is, I’m not built to trust anyone other than God. Joe, I trust you.”

Sometime in the middle of your speech he had stopped breathing, staring at you as unmoving as you usually were. Knowing his silence was filled with his thoughts and not his passiveness, you waited, watching for his movement.

“Okay,” he said. “Prove it.”

Moving slowly, you sat on the edge of the bathtub, naked as the day you fell from the sky. You reached for him, starting at his hand and moving up. Breathing unevenly, he kept his eye on your hand as it moved, up to his shoulder and up his neck, resting on his cheek. Pushing your other hand underneath his shirt, you came up to where his heart would rest. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest on his shoulder, pouring all the energy you could right into where your hand was.

In an instant you could feel his heart beat harshly through his skin, fast and powerful. Intaking a deep breath, you continued to try to intertwine your souls, or to at least let your own soul burn through his skin, enough to leave a mark. Anything to prove yourself.

As you withdrew he finally began to breathe again, taking deep breaths as you drew your hands back into your lap. Slowly he raised his shirt, having felt the intensity of what you’d just wrought, showing a soft golden glow emanating from his chest. His breathing started to pick up, growing faster as he realized you were telling the truth.

“I -“

“Don’t scream,” you said as his mouth opened wide.

“I wasn’t gonna scream,” he said, his voice choked and tight.

“… do you believe me now?” You asked softly, looking up at him earnestly.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” he murmured.

As his breathing slowed, an urge ran through you, one you allowed. Hesitantly, you moved closer, resting your forehead in the crook of his shoulder, closing your eyes and relaxing your muscles. He wrapped his arms gingerly around you, letting you lie still in his hold, running his touch down your spine. 

“You’re really an angel, then?” He whispered, a rhetorical question you both knew the answer to: yes.

“I was. I’m human now. I belong to you,” you mumbled against his skin, your lips warm from the heat radiating off the soft skin of his neck. 

“You belong to yourself, now. No one can take that away from you, especially not me.”

You remained silent, contemplating your words as you matched your slow breathing to his, your hand pressed against his chest.

“I want to belong to you.”

Moving from your position against his shoulder, you met his eye, close enough to feel his breath. He waited for you, patient as your gaze flickered from his lips and back up to his eyes.

“I need to be yours,” you murmured, leaning further in, a distance he met you in the middle for. 

It was a strange sensation, his lips moving against yours - alien and familiar all at once, and when he pulled you closer to him you could feel yourself melting. Your chest shuddered with the force of your emotion, one you might’ve identified as love, had you known the words’ meaning. 

I love you, he murmured against your lips, loathing to part from your warmth, but the desperate need to speak his mind overpowered his hate. You hummed when he kissed you again, cradling his jawline in your hand and rubbing your thumb over his cheek just as he’d done to you. 

And in every way you allowed yourself the comfort of belonging, just as he held tight the reverence you gave him. 

[reynesofcastamere]

Jagged Crowns(1/2)[β]

(A/N: I had a bit of an internal debate as to whether I should keep writing while...Well, some parts of our world are in a rapid spiral towards a fascist dystopian nightmare due to centuries of institutionalized racism, ignorance, and hair-trigger violence, among other things. I understand that I will never fully comprehend what POC have suffered, because the system has been rigged in my favour since before I was born. There is much and more that can and has been said on the subject, but to summarize: It is not my intention to further harmful ideas/depictions or to hurt people via this self-indulgent outlet. If I have done so(and not given appropriate warnings), please do not hesitate to inform me so that I may correct this. That said, warnings for: gore, violence, death, intrusive thoughts, mental breakdown/hallucinations, and suicidal ideation. The prompt for this was ‘Ahsoka helping Maul through his own struggles, since he’s pretty much on the verge of insanity at all times.’ Unbeta’d.)

In the end, there is no need for a chosen one. No bright, wide-eyed youth to take up a burning sword and the incalculable burden of ridding the galaxy of an oppressive evil. The reality turns out to be less of a legend and more of a horror story.

The Royal Palace is littered with the dead and dying, but there is only one that matters. Sidious is still immensely powerful, but his body has grown old and slow, and there are only so many guards he can sacrifice to protect himself. Overcoming his Force lightning, preventing bones and organs from being crushed, protecting their minds from invasion and violation: That is much harder. But finally, finally Maul strikes off the Emperor’s head as Ahsoka’s twin ‘sabres pierce his shriveled, black heart. She steps back. He keeps going, slicing and hacking until the throne is in pieces, the floor is a cross-hatch of burning lines, and what was once an Emperor is nothing more than a pile of charred meat and cloth.

“Is this...Am I free? No, this was too easy. Master always has a contingency plan.” He does not even realize he is voicing these thoughts, too occupied with searching the Force for something, any trace of Sidious’s presence. Foolish child. You thought you could defeat ME? I know your every pitiful thought, every scheme you concocted while you wriggled, a blind maggot encased in filth. “Be silent.” Maul snarls, fingertips coiled around his anterior horns, palms pressed into his eyelids. “Focus. Focus. Search for him, he cannot hide from us.” There is another voice, outside his head, but he cannot hear it. He has to know. Yet despite the venomous hiss that tries to steal away his concentration, there is...nothing. The Dark Side is empty of even the barest wisp of his Master. “Gone. Gone at last. Finally I have achieved Bane’s will...” He laughs, long and erratically pitched. Not a comforting sound, or even a sane one. Wait. There is something. He uncovers his eyes and re-opens them. Someone before him, unlit ‘sabres in hand. Another rival apprentice. Another test. “Have I not done enough to prove myself?” Maul whispers, disbelieving and enraged all at once. No. You must destroy all who would stand in your way if you wish to claim my power. Prove that you are worthy and strike them down! “Yes, my Master.” He had dropped his sabrestaff before -careless, stupid, he could have been killed-, but it leaps eagerly into his hand and activates as he begins his assault. He cannot seem to get a clear picture of his opponent, their form shadowed and not entirely solid around the edges. He sees their weapons clearly enough, though, especially when they clash with his own. His rival is on the defensive, parrying his strikes but not counterattacking. He cannot hear their words past the blood rushing in his ears, infuriated by this insult. Is he so weak that they do not even think him worth the effort of assaulting?! Maul drives them back, seeking to disarm, to maim, to kill, but he cannot connect. He resorts to yanking their legs out from under them with the Force, lips curled in a feral snarl as he raises his sabrestaff for the final blow...Then the Light bursts into his mind with the force of a battering ram, and he can feel-These thoughts, this presence, he knows it-Mine, this warmth is mine, cast from the star forever out of my reach. Ahsoka Tano looks up at him, eyes wide from exertion and fear. “Maul. Please, stop.” His legs give out from under him, weapon deactivated and slipping from his suddenly-nerveless fingers. He does not know how long it takes for her to come to him. Seconds, or perhaps years, her hands circling his face as their lips meet. He pulls her close, fervent and desperate in his passion. Yes. This is fitting. One last time, before the end. “You must kill me.” A whisper when they part for air, watching her blink in confusion. “What are you talking about?” “I have never fought for your hope of a restored Republic. You know this. You have prepared for it. Sidious is dead and I will inevitably take control of his Empire. Unless you stop me.” “I don’t have to murder you to accomplish that.” “Ah, so you are content to truss me up like a rabid animal and let your superiors toss me in a cage or cut off my head. How noble.” “No.” “Why? Because you believe that they will not take the opportunity to rid themselves of a long-standing nuisance? Or that they will simply leave me in peace because our goals aligned temporarily?” He summons her shoto to his right hand, snarling in frustration as he presses it to her left. “You are neither sentimental or naive, Ahsoka Tano. Do not hesitate.” For a moment, it seems as if she will go through with it. As if white light and the deep blue of her eyes will be the last things he sees. It is not the nature of the Sith, to surrender to death’s embrace so readily. But Maul has...never been a true Sith, and he is so very tired. The voices in his head are blessedly silent, yet it is only a temporary reprieve. Without purpose, without vengeance or ambition, he will lose himself again. “Stop running, Maul.” Her voice is firm, and oh, she burns bright enough to blind him, but he cannot tear his eyes away. Ahsoka takes her weapon from him, sets it down, and entwines their fingers instead. “You’re right. I know who you are and what you can do. I also know you’re capable of more than that.” He cannot breathe. What has she done, to make him feel this way? That there might be hope of being...something other than this? “Did you really think I didn’t notice all these years? The small acts of compassion and honour...Palpatine didn’t rip those away from you.” She is so warm, so willing to offer up these things he has blatantly denied himself and others. “A foolish dream.” Maul rebuts, but there is no real strength behind it. His left arm holds her more tightly, both for emotional and practical purposes. He is not certain how much longer he can remain even partially upright. “It doesn’t have to be. Join me.” Ahsoka offers. “There’s still Vader, Thrawn, and a whole mess of other Imperials to defeat or force surrender from. But after...We can try to build something of our own.” Her right thumb lightly brushes over his cheek. “Won’t be easy, but it’s a chance for both of us to try something different.” “You will regret this decision. Soon.” He points out dryly. There is only so much optimism he is willing to endure, even in this state. She only laughs. “And you haven’t driven me insane. Yet. I don’t expect either one of us to be perfect at this from the start. Just to try.” Her hand curves down and around, lightly dragging her nails up his nape and eliciting a low rumble from him. “Aren’t you going to give me your answer?” Her smile cements the fact that she is utterly devious beneath her relatively-harmless exterior and he will get her back for this later. “You. Are an unrepentant tease. And I will greatly enjoy administering your punishment.” He growls, both impressed and frustrated by her manipulation. “But I am willing to see whether this insane notion of yours will work.” His agreement brings a smile from her, but not before she rolls her eyes and gives a small, exasperated exhale. “‘Yes’ would have worked fine, you know.” “And since when have I ever passed up the opportunity to frustrate you, my Lady?” “Ass. Mmmmph...”

“Care to rephrase that?”

“No. You are the worst. But I might be persuaded to change my opinion.”

“Let us see if I am up to the challenge, then.”

This is merely the beginning of a very long, hard road. Yet neither one of them will walk it alone, and that makes all the difference.

(A/N:Things I didn’t include in the top note because it was getting a bit wordy: This is set around 5-ish BBY, so Thrawn isn’t a Grand Admiral yet, only an Admiral(or possibly Commander, depending on when his promotion happened). Obviously certain canon events didn’t happen (ie Malachor), and Maul and Ahsoka have been in a sort-of relationship for about a decade at this point. Also, sorry, they didn’t have sex in the throne room. Just makeouts and soul-searching. This is absolutely a starting point. Neither character is ‘cured’ of their various issues/traumas by the end of this installment even if they are being semi-cute and flirty. This is...not what I would consider a realistic way to handle someone being triggered/having a delusional episode, but I digress. *notices that fics that have started with gore or violent imagery have mostly ended in fluff* -_-....Hm...Well, that’s a pattern. Or possibly a problem. Cheers, everyone!) 

[plaggtastic]

loving you is the only theory in my life (ladynoir)

Summary: Five times Chat Noir jokes about dying, and the one time he means it. 

Read on AO3 

Please consider supporting me on KO-FI? ( This is for @aster-ria​, @rosekasa​ @seleneslyre-writes​ @multtimouses​ and JessicaOgren who are all kind people who deserve to be appreciated and showered with love! ) Excerpt:  Love is painful and agonizing, involves heart-ripping moments when one believes they have the ability to flood civilizations with their grief, but people do it anyway. Love is what makes people human, and drives them to be the best version of themselves. In the end, the only constants that remain are death, change, and love. “My name starts with the letter M.” Ladybug blurts out, and when his hands still, she continues, “If something ever happens, you’re one close step to finding me because I want to grow old — grow old with you, that is. I don’t think I’d mind groaning about how loud the music is, or how my legs ache because of the awful stairs we had just walked if you were right there with me.” “Bug.” Chat stares at her, infinitely enthralled, dazed almost as if his partner was an enchantress who had him under a spell, which wasn’t really far from the truth, metaphorically speaking.

The end of the world does not end with a bang. 

It ends with Ladybug, her hands — dieu, her hands — tangled in his hair, her breath and soul pressed against his, giggles spilling from an open vessel. 

Kissing Ladybug was unlike anything Chat Noir had ever known, inexplicably beautiful and incredible like a painting etched with the raw algorithm of human emotion. 

“I’ve —” The word is punctured with a kiss. “—been meaning—” Another delightful kiss that sends his heart soaring into the yawn of the universe. “—to do this for ages.”

“I love you.” Chat murmurs, soaking in this dream, for it was an exceptional one, crafted by Morpheus and all the Olympians combined. “I love you so much my heart hurts with the intensity of it.” 

Chat Noir moves, presses a fragile, shaking kiss on Ladybug’s neck, where suit met vacancy and was rewarded with a blush, blooming like roses in the prettiest of gardens. Would it be a shame, a pathetic waste of his time to indulge in this dream — this fantasy his mind has offered him? 

There aren’t any possible scenarios to explain this magnificent daydream. The real Ladybug had never shown interest in him — and loved a boy who she compared to the sun. Yet, here Ladybug exists, nearly sending him to a collapsed pile of ardent love. 

“I love you.” Ladybug grins, bright, happy and warm. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

“You’re the most wonderful dream.” Chat replies, pulling her closer to his chest, and ended up landing the pair of them onto the floor. Would he wake up now—?

Ladybug bubbles over him, a sunrise stretching her face, and squeezes his hand. “Hi, hi, hi.”

There were times when Adrien worried he would lose contact with Ladybug, and he would never know the person under the mask. And, there were moments, painful and heartbreaking nightmares where all his memories with Ladybug, the proclaimed love of his life were conjugated by his memory, mere hallucinations driven by insanity. 

It terrified him to think of either situation, of not seeing this vision, who truly looked and acted like a goddess, the only person in the history of the universe who had the ability of squeezing a man’s heart by simply existing. 

“Hi, Bug.” Chat lets out a soft breathy chuckle, and somehow manages to summon the ability to reach out to bounce a stray curl of hair. Dieu, even her hair was beautiful. “I don’t want to ever wake up.” 

“Do you think this is a dream, minou?” A delightful laugh is followed by hands fumbling to squeeze his cheeks as if to assure him that there was more to her than cosmic dust and wisps of imagination. “If this is another cheesy pick up lines, I swear I’ll throw you off a roof — no matter how much I love you.” 

“You’re sending me mixed signals, my heart. On one hand, the Ladybug in my dreams finds my puns hilarious but on the other hand, you’re telling me you love me. Me!”

“Yes, you. You’re wonderful and —”

“What about the other boy?” 

“I need you.” Ladybug murmurs, staring at him like he’s hung her the stars which is ridiculous because it was her who — by sheer will and grace — brought him the very moon and the entire universe. “You’re my partner, and when I’m with you, I feel like I’m at home. And, isn’t that the very definition of love — of comfort and home?”

Chat adjusts the pair of them, a sea of diamonds glittering and echoing in his eyes, and kisses her forehead tenderly. “You’ve made my entire life, Bugaboo. Thank you — for existing, for dieu, everything and for giving me a chance.”

The rose colour of Ladybug’s cheeks is very distracting, indeed. “Finally convinced yourself you aren’t dreaming, minou?” 

“No.” The answer is soft, and truthful. “Oh my dieu. If I’m not dreaming, does that mean I’m dying? Is that why you’ve kissed me — as my dying gift?” 

“Stop being so dramatic.” Ladybug lets out a breath —  a curious combination between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. “And, just kiss me, already.” 

READ THE REST HERE

[hawkeyedflame]

I'll never understand how there's so much content for bloodborne characters... At most, they show up for a boss fight, die, and are never seen again... Some are just random mooks you happen to find on a staircase. Eileen the Crow is the most recurring hunter in the game and has like... 4 lines of dialogue... Its cool, but where the heck does it all come from???

most of the lore comes from paying attention to item descriptions and looking for environmental clues. it’s actually insane how much storytelling you have to search for in the souls game. the lore is almost like shapeless vapors that slip and wisp away when you reach for them. i think my favorite deduction from the soulsborne franchise is that the cycle of lighting the first flame in dark souls 3 is actually an illusion and the real world has been in darkness for time immemorial.