#this record is a demonic jewelry box

[holohedral]

i’m supposed to be somewhere in an hour but i’ve been revisiting married in mount airy a lot as we approach its first birthday and want to talk about it for a minute. i am so inspired by the instrumentation and production on this record and could generate pages upon pages in analysis of its writing but i will keep it brief.

MIMA is a testament to the myriad ways men inflict harm upon women, whether it be through marriage, their absence, fear and intimidation, threats, and direct acts of violence. even when you yourself are free, their harm persists through fellow women and the trauma they leave behind. with i’ll wait for you to call melting the record into a seamless loop back to the title track, a cycle of abuse despite glimpses of hope via summit song and whispering glades, we acknowledge healing isn’t linear.

if for some reason you haven’t spent any time with married in mount airy, i can’t recommend it enough. it is without question my top album of 2023 and possibly ever.

[shall-we-die]

╔‌‌‌‌•°🍰༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚

{HBD Dear MC!~}

A list of gifts they gonna give you 🎁

╞•⊰❖⊱•═══•༻🎂༺•═══•⊰❖⊱•╡

☰[Main list]•⊰ X Obey me!

#Part 1 📍 || #Part 2 || #Part 3 || #Part 4

╚•°🍰༄•°══════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

[Lucifer]:

A piece of music he composed, a bouquet of rare black roses, a vintage vinyl record of his favorite music genre, a handwritten letter and a necklace with a pendant.

[Mammon]:

A brand new car, an expensive watch, a gold necklace and the most expensive set of jewelry he could find. (With the help of Lucifer’s money of course)

[Leviathan]:

A signed rare copy of his favorite anime and manga series, rare figurines of his favorite characters, and a handmade bracelet made out of real gemstones.

[Satan]:

A box of homemade pastries that would always refill and never run out, a leather-bound notebook filled with his best poetry and a ring with a ruby attached to it.

[Asmodeus]:

A luxury spa package, his favorite book series and a perfume set that contained all his favorite scents.

[Beelzebub]:

A home cooked dinner, a bottle of champagne and a jar of his special honey.

[Belphegor]:

A big cuddly teddy bear, a warm blanket and pillows and, a big pillow-shaped chocolate cake.

[Diavolo]:

An exclusive tour of the Demon King’s castle, a luxurious robe and a box of sweets.

[Barbatos]:

A personal day out with him at his favorite places, a bottle of expensive tea and a vintage-style fountain pen.

[Simeon]:

A bouquet of rare pink roses and peonies, a box of chocolates as well as his homemade cookies, and a framed letter.

[Solomon]:

A handwritten book filled with magical spells and runes, a new spellbook which he designed himself, and a bottle of the rarest and most unique wine there is.

[Luke]:

A box set of his favorite stories, a new plushie and a box of his delicious pancakes.

[Raphael]:

A handmade sweater, a basket with all his favorite herbal teas and spices, and a box of his most precious herbs and plants.

[Mephistopheles]:

A box filled with all his favorite rare books, a handmade ceramic mug and a handcrafted blanket.

[Thirteen]:

A framed photo of the two of you together, a handmade plushie with all her favorite features and a big box of chocolates.

[celestiall0tus]

Long Road - Chapter 13 - Release

Beginning || Previous || Next

            Gimmi stared at the box in disbelief. “This is why you brought us here. This is why you brought me here, isn’t it?”

            “Now you’re getting it. See, old director there knows what I am and that box is something related to me, us. It’s no ancient relic of some lost world. No remnant of an ancient civilization. Whatever made the box is us, as is what is contained within. And that seems like a direct violation of what Father wanted. Or rather, what you wanted,” Kaalki mused.

            Gimmi fumed. “I am not Velze. I am Gimmi.”

            “You aren’t fooling any of us, so no need to keep lying,” Longg hissed.

            Gimmi took a deep breath as she balled and unballed her fists. She turned and glared at Longg with red, gleaming eyes.

            “Aww, what’s the matter? Did I-?” Longg started.

            “Fall,” Gimmi commanded.

            Longg gasped as she fell to her knees. “You little! I’ll-!”

            “Silence!”

            Longg shut her mouth as everyone turned to them.

            “Gimmi?” Marinette asked.

            Gimmi didn’t look Marinette’s way. Her eyes remained on Longg. They held each other’s glares until Gimmi turned away and approached the box. She placed a hand on it as a bright light flashed. Everyone shielded their eyes except for her. She narrowed her eyes as the light faded and a set of seven angelic kwamis hovered over the box. The top one, a light purple kwami with three sets of wings and eyes with a seventh on its forehead, floated up.

            “Father! It’s good to see you!”

            Gimmi sneered. “I am not Velze, Humilitas. You will address me as Gimmi and nothing more.”

            “Oh, forgive me, Gimmi. You are so much like Father.”

            “Enough. Why have you sinned against Velze.

            The angel kwamis all gasped.

            “We’d never! Father is everything! We’d-,” Humilitas started.

            “You have. You cage other kwamis and directly betray Velze’s wishes,” Gimmi cut in.

            “No, you must understand. They were becoming unruly. Sowing seeds of discord and mayhem. Something had to be done. They would not listen to reason, so we did what we had to.”

            “No reason is good enough to betray Velze’s wishes. To sin against him. You will release them immediately,” Gimmi ordered.

            “I don’t understand. What kwamis are so dangerous that they’re locked away?” Marinette asked.

            “Yeah. What’s more dangerous than things like destruction, animosity, and reality?” Juleka asked.

            “I… but… their very nature is to cause mischief. They won’t listen to us and will just cause mayhem,” Humilitas attempted.

            “Please. Plagg and Orikko are no different. And for the record, Juleka, Vana is far more dangerous than I am,” Gimmi hissed.

            Vana clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers into finger guns.

            Gimmi rolled her eyes. “Enough of this. If you will not obey me, I will release them myself.”

            “No, wait!” Humilitas yelled.

            Gimmi ignored Humilitas and grabbed the box. She modified it and opened it to reveal a set of jewelry: earrings, belt chain, pocket watch, ring, necklace, anklet, and bracelet. She snapped her fingers and the jewelry dissolved into pure essences. The essences floated up and manifested into a set of seven demon kwamis. The head demon, a purple-black ombre with three sets of horns like Velze’s, a set of wings, and a tail, snickered.

            “Freedom! Freedom at last! Thank you, not Velze.”

            Gimmi rolled her eyes. “Gimmi, Superbia.”

            Superbia laughed. “You say that like I should care. Though I suppose you did release us from being wrongfully imprisoned. I suppose I can address you by the name Daddy gave you.”

            “Wrongfully? You were cursing mortals!” a light blue lion angel kwami with two sets of wings yelled.

            Superbia waved his hand dismissingly. “How black and white. We were enhancing mortals. Daddy gave us freedom to do what we wanted, did he not? That means we’re allowed to do as we please.”

            “This isn’t what he wanted. He wanted us to enrich the lives of mortals as they had before. With holders,” a yellow angel kwami with one set of wings pointed out.

            “We were also given the freedom of choice. And we choose to do so much more. Though, looking at our favored siblings and their darling little pets, perhaps we could have some fun with that too. While we still spread our blessings,” Superbia mused.

            “What? There’s no way-!” Fluff started.

            “I don’t care what you do. Velze gave us all the decision to choose for ourselves. If this is what you choose, then be prepared to reap the consequences,” Gimmi cut in.

            “But of course. We wouldn’t expect any less, now, would we?” Superbia mused.

            The other demon kwamis snickered.

            “Fine. Begone, all fourteen of you,” Gimmi ordered.

            The demon and angel kwamis all vanished. Gimmi let the box fall out of her hand as it dissipated. She turned away and headed for the door when Fluff blocked her path.

            “Uh, sorry, Gimmi. But there’s a problem. We can’t let them wander freely,” Fluff protested.

            “Yeah. Orikko, Plagg, and other concepts are at least manageable. Not those ones,” Mullo added.

            “If you want to go after them, be my guest. However, I will do no such thing myself,” Gimmi stated.

            “What? But we can’t. Tikki, please, you speak sense into her,” Fluff begged.

            Tikki shook her head. “Velze gave us the right to choose. That includes, well, them too. We cannot control them anymore than we can control each other. I especially can’t step in knowing Plagg is left to his own devices, no longer restrained by what the Mage did to us. Who knows what he’s getting up to now.”

            “And do not forget that Trixx and Styx are also out there, unsupervised. If you worry so much about our wayward siblings, worry first about those two and so many more,” Gimmi added.

            The kwamis didn’t argue and fell silent. Gimmi sighed and turned to Marinette.

            “I’m leaving and you have a date to get to,” Gimmi said.

            “Oh! Right. Uh, come on, Luka, let’s go,” Marinette said.

            Marinette pulled Luka along before their friends or kwamis could say something. They headed to the exit of the Louvre where Gimmi stopped. Marinette put a hand on Gimmi’s shoulder.

            “Hey, are you ok?”

            A long silence. “No, but don’t worry about it. It’s my burden to bear.”

            “But you don’t have to bear it alone. You’re here for me, I’m here for you. We’re not alone in this. Remember?”

            Gimmi inhaled, then sighed. “I know, but this is something that cannot be helped. It is simply a truth I must endure. A piece a reality I cannot deny, but hate hearing all the same.”

            “Will you please share with me what it is? Even if I cannot help you, I want to understand. I won’t understand at all if you don’t share.”

            “Someday, but not today. Now hurry along. You two have dawdled long enough.”

            “But-!”

            Gimmi vanished before Marinette could finish. Marinette stared out in disbelief, then sighed.

            “Marinette?” Luka asked.

            “It’s ok. Just frustrated. She tells me I’m not alone and to always share my burdens with her. Even though when I do, she gets annoyed and is just so blasé about it, but she still listens and tries to help in her realistic ways. I just wish I could do the same. And, yes, I know, give her time, but I don’t think it’s a matter of time or space. I’m afraid she just doesn’t want to burden me even though I’m allowed to burden her.”

            “Perhaps you should tell her that. You looked like you were doing well until Gimmi left. Maybe you should tell her exactly what you told me.”

            “Yeah. Yeah! I will. In fact, I’ll do it right now!”

            “Uh, Marinette? One thing.”

            “Huh? What’s that?”

            “Our date?”

            Marinette’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth. “Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I just… I didn’t forget. I just-!”

            Luka chuckled and smiled softly. “It’s ok. You care for Gimmi and it’s endearing. It’s one of the many things I love about you and your melody.”

            Marinette blushed and kissed Luka’s cheek. “I will never understand how you have the patience to put up with me.”

            “I do.”

            “Oh? Care to enlighten me?”

            “Because I love you.”

            Marinette’s blush deepened as she looked away. She opened and closed her mouth as all words failed her. She let out a frustrated sigh as she leaned against Luka’s arm.

            “We… we should get going,” Marinette mumbled.

            Luka frowned and looked away sadly. “I’m sorry if that was too sudden. I just-.”

            “No. Don’t… don’t apologize for how you feel. I just… there’s some lingering guilt. And just… just realizing that why you put up with me all this time was because you loved me still. It just… it puts in perspective. I was so bad to you.”

            “Hey, it’s ok now. Remember, we’re starting over. It doesn’t matter what happened then. What matters is what happens moving forward.”

            “I know. I know. I just… it’ll be difficult moving past all that. I… I know I’ll be reminded of it again. I just… I can’t help it. Will you… will you be patient with me?”

            “Always.”

            Marinette smiled and squeezed Luka’s hand. “Thank you. Let’s get going.”

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[liketwoswansinbalance]

A Ramble

The idea of a Black Swan event in relation to Rise’s ending is so poetic. Because, the ending and revelation are unforeseen like a black swan once was.

Also, from the iconic Rock Scene, the creation of the symbol, their School crest, was perfect! The duality. It was just purely beautiful and fascinating. And, the concept was so clever! I was so ridiculously proud of Rafal then!

And, that reminds me of something from an interview from the bonus content at the back of book 1 where Soman said he liked to ask which is more beautiful: the black swan or the white swan? The white swan is classic, like Good. But, the black swan is rare and mysterious. So, is it beautiful as well, or is the white swan more beautiful because it represents the standard of beauty? Is it more beautiful to fit an ideal, or to be uncommon and thus beautiful because of that quality? It was an interesting line of thought as it reminded me of Rise’s plot twist.

The prose in the final scenes was beautiful, if I recall correctly. I love the comparison of Rafal being summoned by Rhian "like a genie out of the bottle." (This is paraphrasing.) This brings up the idea of opening a can of worms. They can't be replaced. The truth is out. It’s like a Pandora’s Box, or the invention of the atomic bomb that transformed modern warfare. There’s no going back from that. You regret you ever probed further and made the decision to open it. But, it's too late and always will be. It's an incredible discovery, yes, but so damaging to the world.

We’ve already seen Aladdin’s sinister genie, and originally, the concept of genies (the jinn) was that they were evil spirits, demons, known to have a reputation for manipulation, mischief, and malevolence. I wonder if a genie related to the monkey’s paw idea will possess one of the brothers in Fall?

⸻

Context and other resonant ideas:

"While jinn could be known to be friendly, or at least reclusive, the beings also have vampiric abilities. In addition to absorbing the essence of food, or eating while in human form, they derive nourishment by sucking energy from living things. That can include draining a human soul. According to lore, some jinn want to do their own thing, and have no interest in humans. Others get their kicks by hanging around humans. But it can be dicey to be around a jinn considering some want to toy with us, and choose to torment us or exact revenge for being cast out. They are also said to be able to bring about illness and bad luck. 'While some through the ages have tried to bargain with them, to do so is always a dangerous gamble since they are notorious tricksters who, for the most part, do not like humans,’ said Weatherly. ‘They can dwell in abandoned buildings, in the deserts and forests, even in rocks, statues, jewelry and other physical items'" ("A History of Genies in Folklore and Pop Culture").

⸻

"A Black Swan event is an event in human history that was unprecedented and unexpected at the point in time it occurred. However, after evaluating the surrounding context, domain experts (and in some cases even laymen) can usually conclude: 'it was bound to happen.'" ("What are Black Swan events?").

⸻

"black swan event, high-impact event that is difficult to predict under normal circumstances but that in retrospect appears to have been inevitable. A black swan event is unexpected and therefore difficult to prepare for but is often rationalized with the benefit of hindsight as having been unavoidable.

"[...] All swans were presumed to be white because all historical records of swans showed them with white feathers. The term black swan was thus used to describe any impossible event or circumstance. But in 1697 the Dutch explorer Willem de Vlamingh encountered swans with dark plumage in Australia, a land largely unexplored by Europeans at that time. The black swan thus came to be a metaphor for the reality that just because something has not happened does not mean that it cannot occur in the future. The metaphor is analogous to the fragility of any system of thought and a testament to the fallacy of assumption. A set of conclusions can be undone once any of its fundamentals is proved false. In this case, the observation of a single black swan negated the long-held presumption about the species. Any logic that followed the assumption that swans must be white was also invalidated by the discovery.

"[...] while human beings are good at turning environmental stimuli into meaningful information, they tend to be narrow-minded in their beliefs about the world. Being dogmatic about beliefs makes humans blind to concepts that fall outside what is accepted as true. This creates a vulnerability to surprise events called black swans, which necessitate a change in worldview" (Encyclopaedia Britannica).

⸻

What an understatement. I'm sure the brothers will have to do more than just change their worldviews. Their world and potentially every perception they've ever had has been turned upside-down. And, their fallacy of assumption about their souls—it could all be construed as the Storian's fault for not correcting them.

[paleneckauthorcowboy]

I'm posting the last I have fic I currently have written in the c!Kestin timeline, more might come later but I'm not sure. I don't really have any TWs other than HABIT being in this fic, and c!Kestin is slightly spiraling.

Life's better now, I'm happier, and things are actually normal. I don't know how I'm alive though, but I guess that doesn't really matter. I'm here now, somehow I ended up in New Jersey. I sit up from my bed and stretch a bit letting out a groan. I'm not a morning person. I get out of bed and make my way over to the bedroom door, I open it and am face to face with my boyfriend(s). I jumped a bit, not out of fear or anything, I just didn't expect it. 

"Morning starshine, the earth says hello!" Habit greets me, or at least I think it's Habit. I smile at him as he gets out of the way so I can pass through the doorway. "Good morning, who am I talking to right now though? Sorry it's just really early." I ask as he rubs his chin, "first of all, it's 11 am, that's not early. Secondly, you gotta guess. If you get it right, you get a kiss." He chuckled and looked at me with a smirk. I sighed and looked back at him, he likes playing games even when I'm tired. "I'm gonna say... Habit, mainly because of how you greeted me, and how you're looking at me." I didn't add the fact that Habit always makes me guess, while Evan just tells me upfront who he is. 

"Ding-ding-ding, bullseye! Good job, sweet pea! You want that kiss now or later?" He leans his face a bit into mine, waiting for confirmation before he does anything, so I just lean in the rest of the way and give him a peck on the lips. "I'll take that as a 'now' then." We both laugh as he leans back and starts walking to the kitchen, I follow behind him. "So, any big plans for today?" He asked as I sat down at the table, he placed a cup of coffee in front of me, it's made just how I like it. In his words 'overwhelming sweet with a shit ton of creamer.' But no matter how much he critiques, he always makes it the same. I really love that about him. 

"Well, Evan and I are going to go walk around downtown, maybe stop by some new stores, and then we're going to go walk a few trails!" I described our day in detail, mainly because I've been looking forward to it all week. I always love spending time with Evan and Habit, even if I can only talk to one of them at once; I always know that the other is listening. It feels nice. "Right, I forgot about your little date today." He replied, I doubt he actually forgot, he's just teasing. "Yeah, so I'm gonna need Evan back, hun." I retorted, smiling sweetly at him. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wanted to see my pretty boy first." He grinned as leaned over and kissed my cheek. I can't lie, I love it so much when he calls me his, well anything. I just like knowing that I'm his. 

"Well, it's good to see you too, but Evan and I need to get going. I love you." I beamed and kissed his cheek. "Fine, fine." He sighed and basically just flung Evan back into control. Evan does a little stretch and smiles at me. "Morning, are you ready to go?" Evan wastes no time to get going, in case a certain demon with a BAD HABIT  of interrupting chooses to butt in. We get into the car and drive downtown, chatting about random topics ranging from new video games we want to play, to talking about ideas for stories, to even stories of the past.

We stopped by a few stores, the first was a beautiful antique store. We bought a few things, I got an old looking typewriter and a few stuffed animals; Evan grabbed an adorable tea set and a gorgeous jewelry box. Next we went to a vintage record store, mainly at Habits request; and a bargaining chip to get him to leave Evan alone for a little while. Finally, we went to the trails and hiked for a while, although I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, but I kept it to myself. 

I must have been spacing out while walking because I felt Evan nudge me a little, I looked over at him."Did you hear what I said?" Evan asked as I stared for a second. "Oh, no, I'm sorry. I think I zoned out for a second." I admitted that I hadn't been paying attention, he nodded. "It's fine, I just asked if you wanted to head home after this trail." He repeated himself, being patient with his boyfriend, like he normally is. "Oh, yeah. That'd probably be a good idea. We most likely don't wanna be out when it gets dark, I don't need to deal with ghosts and stuff." I stated, which was true; I don't want to deal with any supernatural forces. Well, other than Habit. Life is normal now and I don't want that to change.

We finished the trail, Evan had to just give me a piggyback ride to the car because my back hurt. He didn't seem to mind though. He was rambling on about Bioshock and I was about half listening, mainly because my mind started to wander to other places. The past. Both Evan and Habit know that I have an issue of reminiscing on time long gone and that sometimes it makes me kind of spiral. But it's not going to be like that this time, things are normal. I am better. 

Before I even seem to realize it, Evan is pulling into the driveway. I lift my head from the passenger seat window and stretch my back a bit. We get out and Evan walks me to the door. "I've got to pick up my sister and drive her to her friend's house, but I'll be back. Are you going to be alright by yourself?" Evan asks, he seems a little worried. He probably noticed that my mind had been drifting quite a bit. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm just tired from talking almost all day." It wasn't entirely a lie, I was tired from today. But, I think we could tell that wasn't the whole truth. "Well, okay. But if you need anything, and I mean it when I say anything. Whether it be a hug, some food or to help you beat a video game. Just call and I'll be over as fast as I can." Evan finished his spiel, I smiled. He always seems to have a way of making me feel less tense. "I know, and thank you. It really means a lot." I kissed him on the cheek and he did the same. I watched him pull out of the driveway and waved goodbye before I entered the house. 

I head upstairs and plop onto our shared bed, pulling out my phone and just scrolling on a random app. I do that for about 30 minutes before I see on my timeline, an 'on this day, 18 years ago.' A picture of me.... and Brian. I felt a small ping in my chest, a reminder of how much I miss him, not just him but my old life too. I stare at the photo for what seems like forever, my mind running through old memories, good and bad. But before I could let myself spiral I put my phone down and exited the app. 

I'm better now, I can't let myself get dragged down by the past. I sit up in bed, knowing damn well it'll do me no good moping and burying my face in the pillow, just hoping for something that's never going to return. I get up and walk down to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. I walk over to the fridge and dispense some water, taking a mouthful before I pop an ibuprofen in my mouth and swallow. I walk over to the counter and stand there for a little while. Then I heard a noise behind me, I assume it's either Evan or Habit, so I turned around with a smile; but what I saw quickly wiped the smile off of my face and the glass out of my hand. 

It was Brian, or I guess more accurately Hoodie. He's looking down at me as I stare back at him, too stunned to speak. But I was quickly pulled from my trance when the glass cup that was in my hand shattered on the floor. I looked down, almost in a panic; though I swiftly recovered. Opening my mouth to speak, although it took a few minutes for my thoughts to fully process into words. "Brian? Is that really you?" I sounded almost hopeful, so astonished that he might actually be in front of me. We stood in silence for a few moments before he finally said something.

"Yeah, it's me." I couldn't get a good reading on how he was feeling but I did notice a slight shake in his voice. I stepped forward, over the broken glass. "I... I'm happy to see you again.." I just barely mumbled, but I'm pretty sure he heard me. We stood in silence again. "I'm also sorry for how things ended. I'm sorry for what you had to see and that you had to find me, I mean.. I assume it was you..? Either that or it was him.." I rambled a bit trying to break the awkward tension. "Before you ask, no, I don't know how I'm alive or why." I added in. I just want him to talk, say anything.

Suddenly, he opened his arms. I just let myself fall into them. We had our arms wrapped around one another. "I missed you, like, a lot." I just blurt into his chest. "I missed you too. It's good to see you too, even though I was shocked." Brian rubbed my back like he did all those years ago, I felt tears well up in my eyes. "I'm still so sorry for leaving like I did." I spouted, he stopped what he was doing and put his hands on my shoulders. "Hey, No. Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault, you were hurting and you took the only way out that you saw. And I'm not going to get mad at you for it. All that matters is that you are here and you are happy. You are happy, right?" He ranted a bit but still checked on me. 

"Yes, I'm very happy." I smile at Brian. He lifts up his mask and takes it off. He's smiling too. That same goofy gapped tooth smile that I remember. My heart felt warm, it's been years and yet he can still make me grin like an idiot. "I also saw that you have a new boyfriend." He teased me, poking my cheek. "Yeah, I do. Well, technically I have two new boyfriends." I retorted as he raised an eyebrow. "Two?" He asked with a slight smirk. "Yes, two, by technicality. The guy you saw is possessed by a demon whom I am also dating." I explained as I saw Brian rubbing his chin. "Damn, I guess you'd call that..." He paused, I looked at him. "Brian, don't you dare!" I exclaimed as he chuckled. "A two for one deal." I groaned as he laughed at his own joke.

"I see some things just never change. But that's good, I like you goofy." I hugged him again and he returned it. Things are good, they can finally really be normal. I finally have my reunion with my beloved brother.

[cjsmalley]

Giving it a Go:

She was glad Hope was outside with Dawn; she was glad she wasn’t holding anything.

Because there was Spike, proposing with that ugly old skull ring that didn’t fit her anyways but she had kept in her jewelry box since the Love Spell Incident.

Proposing a ‘Mating’. Whatever that was.

“Spike, get up; talk to me,” she ordered, pointing to the bed, “what the hell is a Mating? This is literally the first time I’ve heard of it…is it, like, marriage or something?”

Spike seemed shocked, even as she sat beside him on the bed, “The Great Poof never—”

“Literally the first time I’ve heard about it,” she promised realizing that whatever it was was something deathly serious, “so what’s the deal?”

Spike sighed, set down the ring, ran a hand through his hair, and began, “S’It’s like marriage alright, ‘cept there’s no divorce. Buffy, I thought—he went on all ‘bout yer ‘great love’, I thought maybe…”

“Nope, he gave me some Irish ring, I could never pronounce the name, said I was his girl, but never mentioned Marriage or…Mating?”

Spike sighed again, this time in relief, and said, “when vampires—most demons but I know most ‘bout vampires—want ta take a spouse they’ll do a Mating. No set ceremony, each couple does their own thin’, but the important bit’s the Bite. They have ta be damned sure of their love, ‘cause like I said, no divorce. The Mating will bind them fer eternity, Buffy. ‘Til dust an’ maybe beyond. I know it happens that if one of a pair dies, the other will too—”

“We can’t do the Mating,” Buffy declared firmly, though her eyes were suspiciously shiny.

“Slayer,” he sounded strangled.

“That’s just it, Spike. I’m the Slayer. Capital S, I’ve lived past my expiration date already,” she choked out, “I—I can’t do that to you. If I die…Hope and Dawn need you—”

He gave a choked off laugh, “Oh, Slayer; I dunno how it works with humans—no records of a vampire Mating a human, but ol’ Rupes an’ I theorize that ya could share my lifespan. My durability. ‘Cause in other demons, partners share their strengths with the weaker of the pair. An’ I love ya, adore ya, but, Love, you’re still mortal. All my strengths might become yers. Hell, you might give me yer daywalking ability. I dunno.”

“But if we try and it doesn’t work like that,” Buffy sniffled.

“Then we set up wills, make sure the kids are alright an’ ya get ta be very careful, ya already are careful. We make sure we never fight alone, even a fledglin’. Even if we don’t Mate, Buffy, I plan ta have ya fer a very long time.”

She chuckled wetly and nodded, “Okay…say I say yes…you mentioned a Bite? You have to bite me?”

“S’it’s a Claimin’ Bite,” he nodded back, reaching out to trace her throat, “if we do it all traditional, I’ll put it right…here.”

His fingers were to her pulse-point

“But you won’t…Change me?”

“Never. We could move the Bite if ya don’t feel comfortable with—”

“I do!” she blushed before repeating, “I just…Giles never mentioned anything but eating and Changing bites.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “Ta Change ya, I’d need ta feed ya some of my blood, ya know that, I hope.”

Buffy’s blush intensified as she nodded, “So I was being…not-so-smart right then. But I do trust you.”

“We can put the Bite somewhere else,” he repeated, fingers dropping to caress her covered chest, “I know it’s traditional ta some demons ta have it ta where only the intimate partner can see.”

“I’d want it on my neck,” she assured, “I’d want to show it off. Like wedding rings. Prove I’m yours and…can I—” she broke off, avoiding eye contact as she finished, “could I bite you?”

He used his fingertips to raise her head and meet her eyes, his normally blue eyes suspiciously golden and he nearly purred, “Oh, love. I’d love fer ya ta try. Maybe the Slayer demon’ll let ya return the Mating.”

“How do we do this?” Buffy asked in hushed, anticipatory tones, “Do we—”

“Wait, s’it’s a yes then?” Spike demanded, holding her gaze.

“Yes!” she bounced, embracing him, and putting her own mouth dangerously close to his still pulse-point.

He chuckled deeply, winding his arms around her, “Easy, Buffy. Let’s slow down a mo’.”

She pulled back and pouted, all doe-eyed.

“Oh, look at that lip; gonna get it,” he teased, leaning down to nip at her lower lip and causing her to giggle girlishly.

Spike pulled back, licked his own lips, briefly went into his vampiric face, and spoke seriously, “You have ta be sure; far as I know, nothin’ can break a Mating. Maybe s’it’s different while Mating humans.”

“Oh, Spike, I am sure,” she promised, “if we can’t marry, at least we can Mate.”

He searched her eyes, her face before nodding and then beaming.

“Right, then, submit to me.”

Buffy instinctually tilted her head to the side to expose her pulse-point; she didn’t even flinch as his vampiric face came out once more.

Quicker than a cobra-strike, he had his fangs in her neck; she gasped in pleasure.

He retracted his fangs, licking the mark he had made. Both of their pupils were blown wide.

Still, she moved to make her mark on him; he submitted easily and guided her with his hands to the matching place.

She bit down, gasping again as her teeth lengthened for an instant; he roared his own pleasure.

He barely waited for her to remove her teeth to pin her down to the bed.

It was a good thing the others had Dawn and Hope.  

Wished Away 8:

“Mom, Dad, help,” Dean said, holding a baby out.

A whirlwind of activity followed.

“He is Nephilim,” Castiel declared, having inspected the boy, “though I cannot tell his true parentage. It is being…hidden from me.”

The pediatricians took over as soon as the angel stepped back.

“Nephilim,” Danny said slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “isn’t that half-angel or something?”

“Precisely,” Castiel said just as slowly, measuring his words like they were his last rations, “They are…it is Forbidden for angels to lay with mortals. The creation of Nephilim is even more taboo as the first, the original, were monsters more often than not. It is an intentional act, to create Nephilim; the angelic parent must give a portion of their own Grace to the child during conception.”

“So they purposely knocked someone up then ding-dong ditched the kid,” Dean growled.

“Perhaps they heard that we are romantically involved, Dean,” Castiel offered, “and hoped we would take in the child as our own.”

“Well, of course we are,” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes at his angel who shook his head fondly, “I’ve already picked out a name too. A good human name.”

“Oh?”

“Jack, after Grandpa Jack. Unless, you have a name?”

“Perhaps…James, after James Novak?”

“Hmm…Jack James…James Jack…JJ…no, definitely Jack James. I like it, Cas.”

“Well, little Jack is healthy as far as we can tell,” Doctor Peterson joined the little huddle, “every scan we can perform came up normal, perfectly within range for his age group.”

Both Dean and Castiel visibly relaxed.

“We’ll get you set up,” Sam promised her son and might-as-well-be son-in-law.

A servant brought David’s old wrap and Sam showed Dean and Castiel how to wind it around their bodies to carry little Jack close to their hearts.

“Does the heart even beat?” Danny asked Castiel with interest, referring to his Vessel.

“Yes, I have kept all systems functioning as intended,” Castiel confirmed.

“Good. Because babies this young are used to heartbeats,” Danny explained as Sam worked with Dean, “they just spent nine months with their mom’s in their ears.”

“I see,” Castiel nodded, “well, Dean has assured me that I have a perfectly human sounding heartbeat.”

“What’s the likelihood that his mom was the human?” Danny asked next.

“Oh, quite likely…angels with female vessels most often shutdown the reproductive system. It would also be quite hard to hide the evidence of the gestating Nephilim. His mother likely died in childbirth; her body finally unable to handle his Angelic self.”

Danny winced; that would be a horrid way to die and he fried like a French fry.

Within hours, little Jack was all ready to go home.

Over the next few days, a room in the Bunker became a nursery and supplies loaded in.

[kdramaxoxo]

Hii...i really love ur stuff.🤗.. Can u plz suggest me some kdramas with intense and emotional love stories..(eg. The smile has left your eyes, Moon lovers) i love heart breaking love stories that give me a good cry😊

Thanks so much for the love anon!! :) The Smile Has Left Your Eyes and Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo both destroyed me. *SOB*

Lately I haven't watched many like them just because the world is so stressful, so my brain just wants fluff? But all of the dramas below had me grabbing that tissue box!

Heart Breaking & Intense K-Drama Romances:

Come and Hug Me:  I think this show broke a crying record for me. This is one of my absolute favorite k-dramas because of the way the couple was set up. Every time the leads would look at each other? *SOB* I loved this thriller with a super soft romantic backstory. 

Chicago Typewriter: This K-drama has it’s backstory in a very interesting historical time period: during the Japanese Occupation. The past lives of freedom fighters find themselves linked together through a ghost in the current timeline. I personally loved this drama and cried a lot but most importantly, you KNOW I think it has the best kiss.

Angel’s Last Mission: Love: A perfect and sweet literal angel falls in love with a blind and betrayed ballerina. It’s got really cute moments but on the whole is very angsty and everyone is really really upset. Plus there’s the whole “they can’t be together because of god” stuff that adds that extra dagger of sadness.

Doom At Your Service: As a disclaimer, this drama is heavily flawed due to half of the show having a really boring story. But the other half? Fated tragic lovers, a god who hates himself and wants to destroy the world? SOLD. I wish I could cut the drama in half and only keep the fantasy plot line. And Seo In Guk like ALMOST became a bias wrecker for me, and if you can do that in a not that great drama? KING!

Flower of Evil: A psychological thriller centered around a jewelry maker who is running from his past, and his cop wife (power couple alert!)  who doesn’t know his original identity. The chemistry of the couple is amazing and all of the characters are nuanced and interesting. I was on the edge of my seat, AND sobbing! Also, I finally understand Lee Jun Ki stans, he was SO GOOD in this!

Psycho But It’s Okay: A gorgeous k-drama featuring two brothers who lost their mother, and a beautiful & famous author who grew up in a traumatic and abusive household. Everyone is very closed off and holding onto intense pain, but the three come together to help one another move on and find happiness. There’s also a really pretty narrative theme featuring fairytales.

Extraordinary You: Taking a Boys Over Flowers genre and turning it upside down is this show’s specialty! It’s a magical drama people and without spoiling anything that’s all I’m going to say about the plot. I am in love with it regardless of some of its imperfections and I feel like it should be on everyone’s watch list. The OTP is fated and perfect and I live for them!!

Goblin: It’s been a while since I’ve put this on a list since I’m pretty sure most everyone has seen it, but it definitely fits this ask. While this fantasy show does have lighter moments, the overall story ramps up for a LOT of sad. I cried super duper hard the first time I watched (and who am I kidding? I also cried the second time ;-)

Reunited Worlds: This show has magical elements and it’s a noona romance so I loved it. Not a super popular show, but it was just the right tone for me. Yeo Jin Goo is a star in this and you will definitely cry multiple times as well as smile super wide!

Splash Splash Love: This is my favorite mini drama! Historical, fantasy, time traveling romance…it’s got all of the good stuff including some scenes that’ll make you tear up.

A Korean Odyssey/ Hwayugi: Creative and fun fantasy romance with demons and gods! It’s a bit flawed and the episodes are LOOOONG but the main couple is a good one and the zombie girl is definitely going to break your heart.

Thirty But Seventeen: Precious puppies with past trauma! Don’t be turned off by the shows description as it turned out to be one of the best surprises of the year for me. The leads are lovely, all of the characters are soft and there’s a lot of emotion.

It’s Okay That’s Love: One of my favorite dramas, the main topic is mental illness and for once, the K-drama writers did it justice! With trauma and mental illness comes sadness, but there’s a great mix of light-heartedness that makes this heartwarming story pretty amazing.

Just Between Lovers: This show is heavy on the melodrama and centers around a group of people who have dealt with a past trauma, killing members of their families. The lead couple made me fall in love with both of the actors, quickly making Lee Junho my bias wrecker. It also made me realize how much I love angst! It features real people (not rich heirs) which is a plus for me. If I can watch a love story that’s about healing from trauma through love and support…I’m in!

For people who haven’t seen it and want to be VERY sad, over and over again:

Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo: “Historical” K-drama with a ton of angst and heartbreak. Everyone who has seen this show knows exactly why I’m listing it first. I mean, if you want to cry your heart out and wail in despair episode after episode, this show is for you! But if you choose to watch it, I also want to apologize for ripping your heart out of your chest.

and of course one of my faves:

The Smile Has Left Your Eyes: A really nice girl falls for a hot mess of a guy who tragedy and crime follows around. He dated her best friend first and her police brother is mysteriously SUPER against him. A lot of secrecy, mystery and stress but this drama is one of my absolute favorites. 

Don’t forget your tissues anon!

[mutiniir]

*Saw newest post* Wait, Stella pollutes? What the hell Stella? The earth is dying already. She has gone too far.

AW HELL NAH </3 MISS GIRL SAID FUCK THE EARTH, she might as well be that forgotten disney villain aka the tim curry pollution demon ;)

but they're not exactly stella's list of crimes, she doesn't pollute dw

here's a draft of crimes that i think she's rhe type to do:

- endless shoplifting and petty thievery

- has a long history of jewelry theft and gem heists

- unlicensed brewing of moonshine

- assaulted a few angry old women that some may call karens

- affiliation with a lot of criminals

- illegal trades

- jaywalking

- trespassing

- hijacking

- tax evasion

- embezzlement

- robbery in general i guess ?

- possession and use of a LOT of fake IDs (she has an entire box of them)

- identity theft

i could go on but i'll stop with identity theft for now since i think that's the most often done crime for a shapeshifter

but despite her long ass record, she's not cruel enough to pollute 💔

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[alastors-radioshow]

With some help from their mischievous friend residing in the mortal realm, the crimson-clad Overlord had managed to collect most of Terzo's belongings from the Papal suite. Clothing, jewelry, books, picture shows, records.. All of the possessions he knew Terzo held dear, as well as those he knew he might need.

Upon returning, he had simply collapsed on the bed, too exhausted to even remove his shoes. Only his monocle had been removed, but never got further than being held in his hand. He had barely realized that the other had, at some point, curled up to him.

He had been keeping himself busy with organizing Terzo's belongings the following day. Records being neatly placed by the record player in the parlor. Picture shows by the television in his living room, hidden away in a cupboard. Books meticulously placed on the shelf along the stag's own. Clothing had been hung in the bedroom closet, one, rather casual set placed on a chair nearby, in case the newly created demon wished to get dressed. Jewelry.. Why, he had simply taken the entire box and placed it on one of the nightstands. Along with a few of the colognes he found that the former antipope used the most. Even certain spell supplies had been retrieved, but those had not yet found a place in the overlord's home.

Alastor himself? Why, he had been in the kitchen, naturally. He figured that the new resident might be hungry upon waking up, so he had taken the liberty of preparing some dinner, along with a cup of tea. Yes, he knew that he preferred coffee, but before he knew that his body could handle it, he kept things mild. Even the gumbo he had made him.

Soon enough, footsteps could be heard on the stairs, coming down the hallway towards the bedroom. The door was pushed open, the Overlord stepping in with a tray in his hands.

"Ah! Bonsoir, Terzo. Awake at last. I hope that you did not miss my presence horribly?" He'd chirp, almost as chipper as the day they had first met. Although, he was masking the worry he held behind that energetic demeanor.

Who wouldn't be worried after such an ordeal?

::: Rest and Recovery:::

@alastors-radioshow

While Cici wreaked havoc above in the ministry, Terzo slept below in Hell.

Granted,he’d just been through quite the ordeal.

Being drugged, tortured, murdered, beheaded, and returning to life as a Demon tended to do that.

He drifted in and out of sleep and consciousness the first full day, vaguely remembering that at one point, Alastor was curled beside him, still fully clothed, monocule clasped in one hand.

Terzo hadn’t hardly registered why his beloved would be in such a state, his mind still hazy with exhaustion. He gave a raspy hum, tucked his head under the demon’s chin, and slid his arms about the stag.

Drifting right off again.

He didn’t wake again until at least a half day later, still healing, still tired, but more aware of things.

He pushed himself up slightly, body sore, arms shaking in pain as he lifted himself up, almost panicking over his new surroundings.

Not the gray fog of screaming and grabbing, clawed hands that was purgatory, but also not the purple and black of his own bedroom.

This room, was red and black.

The bed was double the size of his, a bit softer, warmer, and he was only wearing one of Alastor’s shirts.

The entire room bore the stag’s scent, making his panic subside.

This was Alastor’s room, so it meant that he was safe.

He rubbed at his eyes, and blinked, noticing the changes, one by one.

Firstly, His hands were also black, fading to grey then his own, tanned skin tone as the color moved up his arms, fingertips now a claw-tipped bright gold.

He stared at them, and the cross shaped wounds along each arm, mostly healed.

He gave a tiny, strained, choked gasp as he began to remember. But rather than reach to the scars at his throat, his hand sought out Alastor instead.

If this was Alastor’s room, surely he wouldn’t be far away from him, si?

[its-a-secert01]

The soul that saved mine~ Elijah Mikaelson

Credit for gif goes to:      @elejah-wonderland​​

REQUEST ARE OPEN!!  Hope everyone enjoy’s! Y\n= your name  y\m\n = your middle name  y\L\m = your last name  _______________________________________________________ Elijah took a shaky breath as he walked into the jewelry shop “Good Morning sir how might I help you today?” the lady at the desk asked. “I’m looking for a very special engagement ring.” he said being as poised as he could possible make himself, “Oh i see well I have a selection that’s quite amazing just came in from paris but you’d have to pay a hefty price.” “Cost is no problem, I would like to see it.”  They lady left and went in to the back of the store after a few moment’s she came back with a large leather box filled with beautiful rings. “Tell me what is the lady in question like?” the lady asked  “She’s beautiful, kind, smart, strong I could describe her as the soul that saved mine.” the lady smiled “I see, well i think i know the perfect ring.” she said and picked out *the ring in gif*  from the box Elijah took it an examined it carefully “It’s perfect.” he said the lady smiled “Good shall i have it boxed up for you?” she asked “Yes please.” he responded the lady boxed it, he payed and walked out of the shop. ________________________________________________________ “Elijah?” Y\n called walking in to their shared bedroom “Yes my love?” he asked coming from the bathroom she smiled “What are doing?” “Oh nothing but you need to get ready.” he said “Ready for what?” “I’ve made dinner plans for us tonight.” he said fixing his tie “Oh well then I’ll get ready.” Y\n smiled she walked to her closet to find a dress, she decide to wear a beige short lace dress and high heels to match. 

She walked to the bathroom and got dressed, did her makeup and hair “Y’n are you almost ready?” Elijah called y\n walked out patting the end of her dress down Elijah stared in amazement.  “You look beautiful.” he said y\n blushed “You don’t look to bad yourself.”  “Shall we?” Elijah asked hold his arm out y\n took his arm and he held her down the stairs and out of the house to the car.   On the car ride to the restaurant Elijah seemed nervous “You ok?” y\n asked taking ahold of his free hand, Elijah smiled “Yes Just focusing.” he said they got to a place but it wasn’t a restaurant like y\n had thought.  It was her grandmother’s house “What are we doing here?” she asked Elijah smiled he got out of the car and rushed over to open her door, he offered her his hand witch she took.  “Elijah are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked he lead her to her grandmother’s garden it was decorated with lights and a table set for two Y\n stared in awe.  “This is amazing.” she said “I’d hope you would like it.” Elijah said, the food was already on the table so they sat down to eat after they were done Elijah stood up and started the recorded player.  “Care to dance?” he asked hold out his hand, Y\n took it and they started to sway to the slow song, “Did you compelle my grandmother in order to do this?” she asked “No she agreed on her own will.” he said. 

“I guess she new of the importance of this moment.” he said he stopped dancing and backed up a bit  “Y\n I love you and I couldn’t even think of living without, you saved me from my darkest demons and without you I don’t know what I would do.” he stopped and got on to one knee “Y\n Y\m\n y\L\n will you marry me?” he asked Y\n squilled “Yes of course.” she cheered and started crying.  Elijah slipped the ring on to her finger and stood to kiss her “I love you so much.” he said placing his forehead on her’s after they kissed  “I will always love you.” y\n said. 

[silly-robobabe-anon]

The Unwilling Bride, in gouache and ink

The Springtime, Pierre Auguste Cot (1873), seemed to be permanently framed in your periphery; pink limbs swung from the soft glow of sun and oil paint, a fair-haired maiden floating aloft mere silk, white and delicate in comparison to her lover’s deep burgundy robes. Tamara and the Demon, Konstantin Makovsky (1889); you wondered if Yuri thought he had wings when he held you like that, but more often you wondered if he knew the princess Tamara died at the lips of her lover.

All over his walls, down every hall in his house you had seen those paintings and postcards of couples. The women hung limp from the shoulders of the men; spoils from the hunt, subdued and to be consumed. There was something in the water this morning. It left your muscles soft as stuffing, eyes glassy, and lingered bitter on your tongue.  

Though, a bitter taste in your mouth was nothing unusual as of late.

Your teeth, however, didn’t soften. His fingers realized that quickly. Yuri didn’t mind drawing your lips over the duct tape though. Of course, only after admiring how red and slick your mouth was with his blood, pursed into an unwilling, stop-sign red heart.

Today, he kept calling you “my dove”, occasionally whispering “such a lamb” after you blink at him, slow and docile in your drugged daze. Everything he put on you was white; he even tied you strings of pearl today instead of the ropes you were used to.

It felt almost sacrificial.

He had gasped, horrified, when he saw what the ropes had done to you after wearing them for weeks; pink track marks wound around your body like the scales of a snake hiding under your skin. You only ever heard this snake hiss from the back of your throat when he tried to kiss you, but you could taste its venom. Your stomach was full of acid. 

Oh, you were so sick. So, so sick of him. You hoped dearly that it was contagious enough to infect him.

A strange coat rack stood at the altar, the only guest in attendance. Yuri gently arranged your body in its stiff, gold arms, his eyes sharp and as clear as crystal while he fussed over the wrinkles in your dress. You had given up a while ago guessing if he had actually been completely lucid this entire time. He had you propped up on a stand, like a fucking action figure in front of huge tables set with empty plates and seats. 

What a giant, make-believe tea party. For fucks sake, couldn’t he have just used an actual doll? One with perfect, plastic skin that wouldn’t melt red and hot with rope burns? Desperate pervert.

He cried when he took off your veil, gazing with sweet focus at your face, as if he wasn’t the one who dressed you up and did your makeup.

A gramophone stood solemn and mechanical at the podium where a priest would, a far-away wedding march playing from its black flower. Suddenly, funny and fuzzy voices broke through the song, laughing and speaking, syllables lost to the static. You realized, vaguely surprised and interested, that this was a recording of some long-lost real wedding, one with guests, a bride who blushed, a groom who watched her walk towards him, in-laws and their side-eyes, obnoxious toddlers, and, most importantly, love. Given, not taken.

Yuri listened excitedly to the drone of the priest, and you were coldly aware of how hollow the hall was, echoing and multiplying the minister’s murmurings in the air ‘til you felt yourself practically suffocating in vows. Yuri chimed in loudly over the real, long gone groom with his own “I do.”  

It’s your turn.

No yelling, no ripping out his hair, not even a glimmer of sweat on his temple; Yuri stood serene as you refused to complete this duet. You loved this silence.

Then she did it, that giddy bride from long ago cheered out, “I do!”, and his eyes burned so heated and impassioned over you that you understood instantly, with the surety and clarity of the diamond on your finger, that he would never believe you hadn’t married him; you would never be able to convince him that you hadn’t spoken those words. Applause looped in your ears

The wedding band was worse than iron shackles; at least those were mean to be unlocked and split in two.  

Not once did he let your toes touch the floor while the two of you danced; the glass slippers on your feet clearly weren’t meant for walking in, much less for running away in after night falls. They would shatter, and leave bloody footprints. 

Your stomach turned anxiously when The Cinderella Waltz began to play. Talk about tacky. You squirmed in your veil like a fish caught in a net, much to his annoyance. Then, he relaxed back into a smile. He decided he hadn’t seen it.

“I promise, it would be a lot more fun if our families were here... Maybe we’ll invite them to our anniversary?”

He paused, waiting for you to agree, as if he didn’t tape your mouth shut. He must not like being reminded of the fact that you have canines too.

“I’m sure you’ll be okay by then, right?”

You cringed away from his breath, soaking through the lace like sweat, full of his scent. He pulled you closer fervently and insisted;

“You’re okay.”

You wanted very badly to be okay.

Finally, seasick and sleepy after what seemed to be hours of swaying slowly to the same song, he had decided that it would be appropriate to end the party and bid goodnight to the chairs and untouched plates. He hummed as he passed Romantic Encounter, Mihály Zichy (1864), appreciating how your fingers lilted in the air behind his neck while he carried you.

You saw it.

A door, painted a sweet butter-yellow, slightly ajar amidst a stack of crisp, white doors folded tightly into the walls like strange envelopes. Right behind it, a box of bars, but not a cage. Low to the ground, and padded with a long pink cushion, as dry and puffy as your own tongue. Only a small teddy lay asleep in the crib. For now.

You almost groaned in anguish, but the tape held it in. Shh. That’s for later.

****************************

Hello!

With no wifi and nowhere to go, what am i to do but illustrate and write my daydreams? This dashing groom is Yuri, @love-toxin ‘s character! I actually have a copy of Cot’s The Springtime hanging in my bedroom, and i thought the image of “classic”, idealized romance would suit Yuri the best!

Also, i really wanted to draw him in bridal lingerie and jewelry bcs hes a vry pretty lad and androgyny makes my heart throb!

Okay!! I hope you liked this silliness! Love u, bye <3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: The Adoption

I meant to write the baking-cookies drabble from Danny’s adoption stuff came out instead! Whoops. No warnings for this, beyond it being pretty bittersweet  - takes place in the past, when Danny is five years old. 

I’ll tag the usual people - even though this isn’t really whump. But it’s background for Danny!

@finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @special-spicy-chicken

“He’s small,” The woman says, looking down at him, and Danny tries to straighten his back and make himself as tall as he possibly can. His hair sticks up a lot, which he has to hope helps at least a little. “Why is he so small? The papers I looked at said he’s five years old, has been since July.”

“He was born premature,” The social worker says without looking up from her paperwork. 

She’d brought Danny a cheeseburger Happy Meal and he’d inhaled every single bite and licked all the salt off his fingers afterward, so happy to have enough food to feel full and not have to fight any of the other kids for a single bit of it. He was currently twisting back and forth the little arms of the plastic toy man that had been inside the box, making him fight an invisible bad guy that kept punching him but he couldn’t see it. 

The toy man was from some movie, but it wasn’t out were Miss Karla could buy it yet, so he didn’t really know anything about it. Fighting an invisible bad guy seemed like the right thing to do with him. 

Bam, Danny thought to himself, making a mean snarling face. Punch him, kick his head.

“He was born eight weeks early, according to medical records,” The social worker continues, giving a loose, casual shrug. “He spent three weeks in the NICU before he went to his first placement.” This social worker was a new one, way younger than the last social worker. She didn’t seem to like him very much, but actually Danny thought mostly she looked more tired than angry, so maybe she didn’t mind him like some of the others did. 

The woman sitting at the table leans over, her voice pitched low, probably thinking Danny can’t hear her. Little pitchers have big ears, they said all the time at Kindergarten. He didn’t know exactly what that meant, other than adults said it to shut each other up when he was in the room. “Were there drug issues? We specified that we were not interested in taking on a greater than average amount of obligation-”

“He’s not a dog, Mrs. Michaelson,” The social worker says, looking up with the barest hint of an edge to her voice, and Danny fights back the tiniest little smile. It’s kind of nice, having one who sticks up for him. Usually they don’t. “But I understand what you’re trying to say, or at least what I hope you’re trying to say. Please understand that your guidelines were taken into account by the agency you contracted when they contacted us. Daniel was premature due to pregnancy-related complications with the mother, that’s all.”

“Complications? Does that mean there’s a family history of serious health concerns? Did his mother die?” The woman’s fingers stopped tapping again, and Danny looks back at his toy, but some of the shine has gone out of having a new thing (and Danny doesn’t exactly have a lot of things just for him), because he knows the answer to that question.

She gave me up.

The social worker’s eyes go to him, and Danny ignores her, setting his jaw in an angry, pouting line, and the invisible bad guy punched his toy until he died. Then he lived and got back up, but the dead part was pretty satisfying. 

The social worker looks back at the pretty woman in the nice clothes and jewelry and sighs, a little sadly. “No, she didn’t. She chose to, um, to place him with state care.”

“Do you know why she chose to-”

“She was thirteen years old, Mrs. Michaelson,” The social worker says quietly, so quietly Danny almost misses it. Thirteen isn’t very old, he thinks. One of his foster brothers, Craig, is thirteen, and he’s not even in high school yet. Danny could count to thirteen easily and without even needing help when he was four years old, so he knows it can’t be a very high number. That makes him think. If he’s five years old and his real mother was thirteen years old, then thirteen plus five is… Danny counts on his fingers, trying to remember.

If it’s ten eleven twelve thirteen… then it’s fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen… eighteen.

That would make his real mom eighteen.

Danny sits back, proud of himself for doing the counting all in his head and on his fingers, without having to ask the grown-ups, who were still talking about him like he couldn’t hear them.

Most grown-ups did.

“You can understand,” His social worker was saying, “Why a thirteen-year-old might make such a choice with even the healthiest baby. The home life was... not ideal.”

“I can understand.” The woman’s mouth purses a little, like she has a bite of food in her mouth she doesn’t like. “Poor thing. But you’re sure he’s healthy?”

The social worker shrugs. “He could use more time out in the sun and probably someone who lets him play outside more often, but… he’s healthy enough. He measured between 6th and 13th percentile straight through from birth until now, and his growth is steady. Honestly, ma’am, with a decent enough food intake he’d probably grow faster and catch right up. But...” 

The social worker waves her hand around the house they’re sitting in, a vague gesture that means nothing to Danny - but the woman sitting at the table nods very seriously, and so Danny tries to look serious, too.

The woman raises an eyebrow and looks around the dining room. The large table has enough chairs for twelve people to sit, and Danny is unlucky number thirteen - the youngest - so he was used to sitting at the card table off in the corner, where he sat now, swinging his legs in the folding chair and making the toy man run across the table and dive-bomb towards the floor.

When he makes the little exploding sound, the woman sitting at the table - she has pretty brown skin and black hair, and funny honey-colored eyes - smiles at him, and he smiles right back at her. She has a really, really pretty smile - warm and nice.

His foster mother is nowhere to be seen - Miss Carla didn’t really like talking to his social worker anyway, and she had been furious to hear about the rich lady coming to look at Danny, which… Danny didn’t really get, since getting adopted was a good thing. 

Then again, Miss Carla didn’t exactly like him very much. Danny had a mouth, Miss Carla said all the time, and Danny would just grin at her with all his teeth inside that mouth. 

Then he called her whatever names the older boys had taught him, only he got in trouble because the words were different when the older boys said them, for some reason.

His social worker had told him this lady and her husband had chosen him straight away after seeing his photo, and so he had combed his own red hair this morning nice and careful (no one else ever did) and dressed in his absolute best clothing - his favorite blue T-shirt and his good brown pants, his Sunday pants.

He wasn’t sure if the lady at the table had noticed, but he was sort of hoping so. 

“How are his academics?” The lady at the table asks, glancing over at him again. He smiles brightly at her, trying to get her to smile again - he’s pretty sure she likes him. He’s little, and he’d heard Miss Carla say that little kids get adopted faster. 

His biggest foster brothers probably won’t, he thinks, if that’s true. They’re both big and mean, and they look older than they really are. Parents won’t want them, even if Miss Carla likes them the best because they act like her.

“I’m in kindergarten,” Danny speaks up, holding the little toy man in his hands, nervously twisting at his arms again. His voice is high and clear, and he swings his legs a little harder where he sits. “I have lots of good days on my take-home sheets. More good than bad, Miss Carla says.”

“That’s right, Daniel, you do,” His social worker replies, and she smiles at him, finally - a thin and tired smile - as she flips through the paperwork she brought with her in a big folder with his name on it and his photo paperclipped to the outside. “Daniel’s in his first year at public school,” She says to the lady at the table. “He’s in a class of 25-”

“My God.” The woman at the table puts a hand up to her chest. “We’re looking at an exclusive Montessori for our little boy with an average class size of eight - I showed you his photo, the three-year-old. Obviously Daniel would also attend, I’ve already ensured him a spot should we bring him home, I’m good friends with the director. I just cannot imagine attempting to corral so many five year olds-”

“Most of them are already six, actually - Daniel is the third-youngest in his class. In any case, based on his school reports, he excels at academics and struggles with focus, sitting still, and social interactions. Makes sense for the age and his current… ah, situation.” The social worker looks at him again, and Danny sits himself up just a little straighter, making the toy man wave his little movable arm at her. 

The smile this time is less tired, and more real.

“Does he do well with younger children?” The woman at the table asks. “I mentioned our other son - he’s just turning three. Any aggression would be absolutely unacceptable-”

“He loves younger children actually - his last placement was with a foster home that had very young babies and toddlers other than him, about a year ago for three months, and his foster parents reported that he was very gentle and loving with the younger children. I’ve been told he changed diapers, watched the younger ones, and was very good at comforting younger children at night.”

Well, Danny thinks to himself, nobody else woke up as fast as I did, so...

“Ryan doesn’t wear diapers any longer, so we’re not worried about that, but… why was he moved, if he was so good with them?” 

Danny looked down at the floor, because he knew the answer to this question, too.

Because she was growing a new baby and there wasn’t any room anymore.

“His previous foster mother became pregnant,” The social worker says brusquely, waving one hand in a dismissive way. “All the foster children in that home were moved to new placements at the couples’ request.”

“That must have been hard on the children,” The lady says, and her voice changes a little. It’s softer, but angrier at the same time. “They must have bonded. The young ones bond so quickly-”

The social worker shrugs. “It’s not uncommon. Daniel had some… difficulty adjusting here, but he’s doing well now.”

“Difficulty?” 

“It’s all in the paperwork,” The social worker replies, looking uneasily over at Danny again, who only stares back at her with his best totally-blank ‘I wasn’t listening’ face, even though he absolutely was. “He had conflicts with his new foster brothers, missed the little ones. Struggled with the change in schedules and rules. That happens with every new move, learning a whole new household.”

“So… when he moved, he doesn’t see the other children any longer?”

The social worker blinks, surprised by this line of questioning. “Ah, no. He has no further contact with them, that would be… incredibly difficult to put together, considering he’s not related to any of the other foster children. It really isn’t an uncommon situation, kids in the system tend to adapt really quickly to the loss of foster siblings.”

The lady at the table’s mouth thins, just a little. Danny watches, fascinated, at the way her honey eyes shift, and for a second he sees them flash a really pretty purple. Then the color was gone, before he even blinked.

The social worker isn’t looking up, and didn’t see it, and honestly maybe Danny just made it up. He did that sometimes. 

“If we come to a decision in favor of bringing him home,” The lady at the table says, her voice firm and warm and calm, “It should be with the understanding that it will be permanent. I dislike the idea of such a young child being moved around so often, that cannot be healthy.”

“It’s not, Mrs. Michaelson, but that’s the system we work with.” The social worker sighs. “Daniel, will you come over here for a second? Mrs. Michaelson wants to speak with you.”

Mrs. Michaelson hadn’t said any such thing, but Danny shrugs and nods, hopping off the chair to walk over to her, tilting his head and looking up and up and up at her pretty eyes. No purple at all. 

“Hi,” He says, politely. “You can just say Danny. I don’t really like Daniel.”

The woman - Mrs. Michaelson - nods, slowly, thoughtfully, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “He really is exactly what we had in mind when we began discussing bringing a child home for-... to be a sibling for Ryan,” Mrs. Michaelson says, her voice softer and more gentle now that he stood right there with her. She turns her eyes back to Danny and leans down to get a little closer to him. “I have a little boy named Ryan at my house. Do you think you could be nice to him?”

“Oh, sure,” Danny replies, nodding, because that’s what he’s supposed to say. And he really does like the littler kids - he’s small and littler kids don’t pick on him like all the big kids do. “I always think it’s fun to play big brother. Is your house very big? Would I share with him?”

“Share?” Mrs. Michaelson cocked her head, and it was like Miss Carla’s cockatoo in its cage, and Danny giggled a little. She smiled at the sound. “Oh, like a bedroom? No, darling, you would have your own room, of course you would.” 

“Then I think I could be a good big brother,” Danny says, with a grave and thoughtful voice he thought sounded very grown-up. He was rewarded with another smile. Mrs. Michaelson looks him over one more time, taking in his skinny arms and the freckles scattered across his face and the rest of him darkened by the time he spent just sitting outside in the sun. 

“He really does fit the profile we were hoping for exactly,” Mrs. Michaelson says, but her voice is very quiet and she seems to be talking more to herself than Danny or even the social worker. “They’re looking for Ryan, but that hair, those freckles… that’s what they think they need to look for, isn’t it? They think we’ re meant to be Irish, but oh no, we’ll fool them, won’t we? We always have...” 

“Huh?” Danny cocks his head right back at her, and she laughs, a brilliant, sparkling sound that he loves already.

“I’m sorry, what?” The social worker asks, looking up.

“Oh, nothing,” Mrs. Michaelson says breezily. “Just muttering to myself. I don’t need to speak with Patrick about this, I’ve already decided. We’ll move forward with the adoption immediately.” The social worker smiles, and the two women begin to speak in low tones, throwing words and terms and stuff back and forth Danny hadn’t heard before and doesn’t know. He steps a little closer, and a little closer still.

Danny blinks.

He blinks again. 

“The what?”

The two women turn to look down at him.

“Oh,” The social worker says, surprised. “Daniel. Mrs. Michaelson would like to consider adopting you. Would you like to go stay with her and see how it works out?”

“Go stay? For real?” Danny’s heart starts to beat fast inside of him, like when he stands up in front of music class to sing. He smiles, and he clutches onto the little toy man as tightly as he can. “For really real?”

Mrs. Michaelson laughs again, and he hopes she will laugh like that for him a lot when he goes to her house. “For really real,” She says with a nod, and leans over to tap the end of his nose with one finger.

“I, I, I’ll go get my things! I don’t have a lot of things, but I do have, I have a little dog I carry around his name is, um, his name is Scruff and he has a collar but I can get him and I have some clothes-” Danny starts to turn, only for both women to laugh.

He stops and looks back at them, suddenly embarrassed, his face burning bright red under his freckles, feeling his lower lip stick out all on its own. Miss Carla is always telling him to pout less, but he can’t stop, it’s not his fault, the lip just does that. 

“Oh,” He says, and feels a wave of hurt and mad. “Oh, it was a joke. I thought you meant for really real.”

The social worker is the first to understand, and her expression goes serious and thoughtful. “Daniel, we’re not laughing because it was a joke. It’s not, Mrs. Michaelson really does want to bring you home to meet her little boy.”

“I do,” Mrs. Michaelson says. “As soon as I can. We were only laughing because you were so excited - and it can’t happen right away, it takes a little while. The agency has already put everything in motion, of course,” She says sidelong to the social worker. “It’s just a matter of getting all the right papers to the right people.”

“Of course.”

“Then we’ll take you home, Daniel,” Mrs. Michaelson says to him, and bops him on the nose again. He hates when his foster brothers do this - they always flick the end of his nose and make it hurt - but he kind of likes it, from her. 

“Yeah? Not a joke?” Danny’s head goes back up, and he searches both of their faces for signs it’s still just a mean joke, like when Conrad apologizes and then smacks his head again and he didn’t mean the apology at all. “For really really real?”

“Not a joke,” Mrs. Michaelson says, and there’s a sweet little smile on her face as she puts her hand out, littlest finger crooked. “Pinkie swear.”

Danny puts his hand up, too, and he hopes that she understands how much it really means when you say you pinkie swear a thing, because that means you have to do it.

“For really really really really real,” He says, seriously. “You have to mean it or you shouldn’t say it.”

“I mean it,” Mrs. Michaelson says softly. “I really, really mean it. Don’t worry, Danny. I’m going to bring you home to stay with us, and you’ll be just like another son. My little boy Ryan is going to love you. He’s always asking for a brother.”

“Are you going to love me?”

The question startles the two women, who blink down at him in unison.

Then Mrs. Michaelson leans over to tuck a curly bit of bright red hair behind one ear, and smile. “I’m sure I will.”

[lynne-monstr]

Writers Month Day 23: Poison (tka, yuhuang)

king’s avatar shadowhunters au requested by @thorndykechristopher

summary: yu wenzhou is a warlock with a very slow spell casting speed due to a childhood injury. huang shaotian is the shadowhunter assigned as his bodyguard. Their first mission together is an unmitigated disaster but it all works out in the end.

ao3 link

.

With a loud, foreboding clang, the door slams shut and every window in the warehouse seals up. By the time Yu Wenzhou is able to coax his stubborn magic to his hands, it’s too late.

He’s trapped. They’re trapped.

He turns to glare at his latest Shadowhunter bodyguard, poised between Yu Wenzhou and the door with his blade raised. “I hope you’re happy now.”

Not for the first time, he laments the day Huang Shaotian roared into his life like a typhoon, loud and obnoxious and with no respect for Yu Wenzhou’s quiet life. He’s an accomplished fighter, that’s plain to see, but Yu Wenzhou has had doubts about his overall competence from the beginning. This mess of a trap has only confirmed what he suspected.

“Me?” Huang Shaotian points at his own chest with the hand not holding his mundane sword, as if Yu Wenzhou could be speaking to anyone else.

“I told you not to bring anything with adamas to this place. The warlock who owns this place hates Shadowhunters. All her worst traps are sprung by adamas.” Yu Wenzhou regrets not physically searching his new bodyguard before allowing him along on their first outing together.

He should have known better to think a Shadowhunter would listen to a warlock. It always took them a few months in his employ to learn basic respect. This one in particular seems more interested in listening to his own voice than following orders.

“Wait, wait, wait. That’s not what you said, Yu Wenz—excuse me, High Warlock Yu. If you’d said that, I would have done it. I know how to listen, I’m a great listener. You said not to bring my seraph blade or my stele and look,” he twirls in place, showing off his empty thigh and back holsters. And incidentally, a very nicely shaped backside. “I only brought the sword you gave me. See, do you see? You might be very smart, but you’re also very wrong.”

The unexpected compliment throws him but he brushes it aside. “You must have missed something because look around, the trap is sprung. We’re trapped here.”

“I didn’t miss a blade. I did what you said,” Huang Shaotian insists. After a beat, he presses his lips together in thought and pulls out a necklace from beneath his black tactical gear. “My necklace had adamas in it. Maybe next time tell me why you want me to do something, instead of treating me like an idiot and leaving me in the dark. Do you treat all your bodyguards like this?”

Yu Wenzhou searches his memories and feels a flush of embarrassment. The Shadowhunter is right. He’d specified seraph blade and stele in his preparatory instructions, not adamas. Huang Shaotian followed him to the letter. Unfortunately, he’d been chattering non-stop during their preparations, something about why everyone called him the Sword Saint. Yu Wenzhou had tried to tune it out as he went over his part of the plan but he had reluctantly learned that the ridiculous nickname was one Huang Shaotian gave himself. If Yu Wenzhou hadn’t been so irritated at nearly being late, he might have been charmed.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Yu Wenzhou says. He pauses and adds, “My apologies, Huang Shaotian, it won’t happen again,”

It’s not just lip service. Yu Wenzhou is far from perfect but he doesn’t make the same mistake more than once. And as it turns out, Huang Shaotian is sharper than he appears at first glance.

“Apologies later. I don’t plan on dying here so let’s concentrate on not dying.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he sheaths his sword and stalks off to prowl the edges of the room, searching for weaknesses.

The warehouse is large, an old storage facility gone to seed. The weak overhead lights flicker as they open the boxes and search for anything they can use to escape. Most wards this strong are anchored by a physical object but Yu Wenzhou doubts the object is within the bounds of the wards. A powerful enough warlock could keep the object with them and the warlock who set them up was more than powerful enough.

For the sake of thoroughness, Yu Wenzhou, examines each of the sigils on the doors and windows with exploratory tendrils of magic. It confirms what he already knows. The spells used to seal the room were perfectly cast. The only curiosity is the strange variation in part of the magic. Some kind of clause for breaking it, though the terms for fulfilling it are vague.

Something about The Kiss to End Life. Talk about needlessly dramatic.

The occasional banging and tapping comes from where Huang Shaotian is probing the physical defenses of the room, chattering to himself while he works. His voice echoes off the metal walls and for a brief moment, Yu Wenzhou is struck by the horrifying thought that Huang Shaotian has managed to replicate himself into multiple copies, all of them speaking rapid-fire nonsense. Thankfully, it’s nothing but a flight of fancy and perhaps a sign that Yu Wenzhou is stretching himself too thin lately.

From the frustrated look on Huang Shaotian’s face, there won’t be any forcing their way out.

Eventually, they both give up on the main room and branch out. The only object of note is a table in the center of the largest of the secondary rooms. It probably functioned as an office when the warehouse was in use. On the shabby, dusty desk is a single vial of liquid.

Huang Shaotian brings the vial to his nose and sniffs. And curses.

“What is it?” Yu Wenzhou asked.

“Poison. Really bad poison, ugly poison. Nasty stuff.” Huang Shaotian frowns. “You ever heard of Death’s Kiss?”

Yu Wenzhou takes a step backwards before he can help himself. “Yes.”

“I figured as much. It’s deadly to warlocks.” It’s hard to say whether the amusement in his voice is a threat or merely the type of dark humor common to a race of people whose life expectancy doesn’t often exceed twenty-five. “It isn’t much better for Shadowhunters,” he adds with a laugh, and that settles that question.

The quirk about the wards tugs at his mind. The line about the kiss to end life isn’t difficult to decode. If one of them drinks the poison, the wards will come down.

Yu Wenzhou is suddenly grateful he held back that particular bit of knowledge from Huang Shaotian. He has no intention of sacrificing his bodyguard to save his own life but he can’t say for certain whether that courtesy extends both ways.

He’s still pondering the implications when Huang Shaotian picks up a folded piece that had been placed under the vial. “Looks, there’s a note.” He wrinkles his nose when a plume of dust rises up into his face. “Ugh I hate old creepy buildings almost as much as this old, stupid language.”

Yu Wenzhou peers over his shoulder and is surprised when he can’t read the writing. He’s been around for a millennia, there aren’t many languages that are a mystery to him. This one isn’t unknown to him, but in this case, his knowledge doesn’t help. “That’s a Shadowhunter language.”

Huang Shaotian nods. The crease between his brows deepens as he reads. “Oh wow, this warlock really doesn’t like you,” he says. “Is she your ex or something?”

“Or something.” Yu Wenzhou would prefer not to dwell on their history. “I might have embarrassed her when she made a bid for High Warlock of Guangzhou about fifty years ago and failed miserably.”

“I’m no expert on women but I think she still has a grudge. You should send her flowers or something. Or jewelry, that’s what they do in the dramas I—I mean, my friend—the dramas my friend watches.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, the note says that if I force this poison down your throat, the wards will drop and I can walk out of here alive.”

Yu Wenzhou goes from trying not to laugh at his bodyguard’s antics to springing backwards, his magic rushing to his hands.

Any spell powerful enough to fight off a Nephilim will take time to cast. Time he doesn’t have. Ironically, this is exactly what he needs a bodyguard for.

The sad part is that he understands why Huang Shaotian would betray him. From day one, he made it clear this assignment was a punishment from his superiors, and that he’d much rather be killing demons than playing babysitter to some stuffy warlock with slow magic, and how could a warlock even have slow magic anyway? The fact is, he has no real reason to be loyal.

Killed by his own bodyguard. Life has always enjoyed laughing at Yu Wenzhou.

Except Huang Shaotian doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t attack, he doesn’t even draw his sword. His eyes dart between Yu Wenzhou’s faintly glowing hands and his defensive stance. “What are you doing?” His nose wrinkles in a way that could almost be called cute except that he’s a trained killer by birth. “Wait, wait, wait, you don’t think—do you think I’m going to kill you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first who’s turned on me.” It’s both an answer and a warning.

Surprise fades into alertness, like Huang Shaotian is suddenly considering the need to defend himself against Yu Wenzhou. “Did you get your own note? Are you trying to kill me? Most people say it takes at least a week for the talking to make them want to do murder. This is a new record.”

Against all odds, Huang Shaotian laughs, warm and amused, the same way he does when he’s talking to himself and breaking Yu Wenzhou’s concentration. The edge of an angry black rune flashes against his collarbone in the flickering light. Who knows, maybe to a Shadowhunter, a fight to the death is amusing. They’ve always been a strange breed. Yu Wenzhou considers being offended but decides he has bigger things to worry about.

Luckily, the unexpected diversion works to his favor. He’s nearly halfway through his silent casting. Halfway towards being able to defend himself. Each passing second feels like a year but he’s slowly closing the gap.

Between them, the vial of poison sits innocuously on the table.

Something settles in Huang Shaotian’s gaze, though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is too soon to tell. Yu Wenzhou braces himself for the worst. His magic may not be ready to use yet, but he trained extensively in mundane martial arts for exactly this type of situation. It’s not enough to defeat an armed Shadowhunters but it doesn’t need to be. It only needs to be enough to keep him alive until his spell is ready.

“You’re a powerful warlock, right? That’s what everyone says. The High Warlock of Guangzhou is scary strong, it’s too bad his magic is so slow.” When Yu Wenzhou doesn’t answer, Huang Shaotian makes a hurry up gesture. “Well, are you good at magic or not?”

“I am. What does that have to do with anything?”

Huang Shaotian’s eyes are bright, like he’s found the flaw in the neatly laid trap they’re in and is excited for the opportunity to burst it wide open. “If the wards came down, could you get us out of here? Both of us?”

Yu Wenzhou looks at him strangely, not sure where this is going. Because the wards can’t come down. The only option is the poison. Whatever Huang Shaotian is seeing is beyond Yu Wenzhou and that makes him uncomfortable.

He answers anyway. Huang Shaotian has earned his honesty, at the very least. “Yes.”

“Okay.” And with that, Huang Shaotian grabs the vial of poison and drinks the entire thing in one large swallow. “Don’t leave me behind, okay,” he mumbles, before staggering to his knees with a crunching sound that makes Yu Wenzhou wince.

He stares in shock. A tiny part of his brain is impressed; it’s been centuries since anyone managed to truly shock him.

The wards trapping them fall. There’s no outward physical difference but Yu Wenzhou can feel it humming against his skin, a pressure value suddenly released.

“Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian’s voice is barely more than a rasp, the poison already ravaging his body. “A little faster if you don’t mind.” Huang Shaotian sways forward, and it’s enough to break Yu Wenzhou out of his stupor.

He rushes forward and catches him before he can crash face first into the concrete floor. “Huang Shaotian, what did you do?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart. I saved us. I did my job, now it’s your turn.” His forehead is drenched in sweat, his normally sharp eyes glazed. There's a faint smile lingering on his lips.

If he was a warlock he’d already be dead. As it was, he doesn’t have much time left.

Yu Wenzhou turns his concentration inwards, letting his eyes fall shut. The incantation to his previous spell is still unfinished and it’s only minor work to take the building power and twist it into a new form. The magic quivers beneath his skin, eager to be used but still too wild to be controlled. He takes a breath and calmly, quietly, coaxes it to do his bidding.

It’s harder than it should be. There’s an unexpected, persistent thread of worry and fear clouding his mind. His eyes keep glancing down to where Huang Shaotian is slumped against his chest. He’s shaking now, tremors swelling into convulsions as the poison spreads. He looks nothing like the fierce, loud Shadowhunter who told Yu Wenzhou off for keeping mission-critical knowledge from him.

He nearly sobs in relief when his magic finally flares to life in his hands. Mustering this much power for two different spells in quick succession has left him exhausted, but there isn’t time for fatigue and so he ignores it. He wraps his arms around Huang Shaotian’s back, pushing as much magic as he dares into him. It’s not an antidote and it won’t save him but it will hopefully keep him alive until Yu Wenzhou can fix this.

By the time he waves his arms in the familiar gesture of a portal, Huang Shaotian is unconscious. Even in sleep, his face is creased, like he’s still in pain.

Yu Wenzhou gathers him into his arms and takes them home.

.

Huang Shaotian has never been hit by a mundane car but if he was, he imagines it would feel like this. And by that he means really crappy. He aches so deep down even his bones hurt, and his head feels slow and fuzzy.

That’s alright, though. Pain means he’s alive.

The last thing he remembers is drinking poison like an idiot—and hasn’t Su Mucheng told him a million times that the biggest threat to his own safety is himself—and then nothing but agony. There’s a vague impression of strong arms and being carried and he really hopes he hallucinated that part because it’s not quite the impression he wanted to make on his first mission of his new assignment with stupidly good looking High Warlock Yu Wenzhou. His hot but stodgy boss aside, he has bigger problems. Like figuring out what happened.

Opening his eyes is a struggle, but it’s one that he wins. Of course he wins, he always wins.

The room around him is thankfully dim, but even the small amount of light makes him wince. Through the haze of his slow brain, recognition filters in. He knows this place. A rush of relief sweeps over him. He’d been pretty sure Yu Wenzhou had saved them but it’s nice to get confirmation he’s not in enemy hands. Tense muscles relax and he lets himself sink into the comfort of the very soft mattress under him.

A soft mattress. This isn’t his room at the institute (not that his room there has an uncomfortable bed, but it’s the firmer kind of mattress he prefers). This here is his room in Yu Wenzhou’s home. He tries not to spend too much time here if he can help it, but he needs to learn Yu Wenzhou’s habits well enough to fight alongside him, well enough to protect him, and that’s easier to do if they’re living under the same roof.

He blinks the haze from his eyes, taking in the weapons rack in the corner, the books on art and history and weapons lining the bookshelf, arranged by color because he likes the horrified expression on peoples’ faces when they realize.

The opposite wall is a bright, cheery blue when the lights are on, but right now it looks like a dark shadow in the poor lighting. He likes the way it stands out against the soft gray of the rest of the room’s walls. The room is decorated with photographs of far off places he’s never seen, and the occasional mounted sword. The night table next to the bed is clean except for the knife he sleeps with and a photograph of him and his friends.

He wonders if they know he nearly died. He can’t hear Su Mucheng chewing anyone out so he thinks maybe they don’t. He suddenly feels very alone in this empty room.

And then the dark lump of blankets at the foot of the bed shifts and he realizes it’s not a lump of blankets at all, but High Warlock Yu Wenzhou, sprawled forward in a chair and sleeping with his head on against Huang Shaotian’s bed.

That can’t be good for his back is, strangely, the first thing that crosses his mind.

He must still be woozy, because Yu Wenzhou pulls himself up with excruciating slowness. A popping sound echoes through the room as he twists towards one side and then the other. Once he’s straightened his glasses, he looks straight at Huang Shaotian and says, “As a matter of fact it’s not, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with magic.”

What the hell is Yu Wenzhou doing sleeping by his bedside, holding vigil like they’re friends or something? Like he’s worried. They barely tolerate each other. Surely Yu Wenzhou has better things to do with his time (and his back) than keep watch over someone who’s basically his employee.

And perhaps more urgently, “Please don’t tell me you’re a mind-reader, too. Have you been listening to my thoughts? You should ignore the ones from 3pm yesterday. And also the ones right before bed and in the shower, I take no responsibility for those, I’m still a young guy, you know. Not all of us are old and boring because we’ve been around for a thousand years.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs, he actually laughs. Huang Shaotian’s been here for nearly a month and he’s never heard him laugh before. It’s a nice laugh. A warm laugh. “No mind reading, Huang Shaotian. You spoke out loud.”

“Oh. You can just forget all that, let’s pretend it never happened.”

“Okay,” Yu Wenzhou says.

It’s annoying to try and see in the dark and so Huang Shaotian leans over and taps the fancy alarm clock he bought himself that also doubles as a light. He bites back a hiss when his body protests the movement. And yeah, he can take a hint; no more moving until he feels a little less like he nearly died. Which he did—nearly die, that is—so that’s probably a good plan on his part.

When his eyes adjust, he blinks just to make sure he isn’t seeing things.

At the foot of the bed, Yu Wenzhou looks the most rumpled Huang Shaotian has ever seen him. His glasses are askew on his face and his clothes from last night’s failed appointment are dirty and wrinkled. Even his hair is astray, sticking up on the side of his face that was laying against the bed.

He looks unkept. And worried.

And that, well…Huang Shaotian’s not sure what to do about that. He can handle an angry Yu Wenzhou and a powerful Yu Wenzhou and even a condescending Yu Wenzhou, but a concerned Yu Wenzhou is new territory for them.

Huang Shaotian deals with it the same way he deals with everything. He runs his mouth. Sue him, it’s a tried and true strategy and he’ll fight anyone who says that his words aren’t as powerful as his seraph blade. Patting the side of his own hair, he says, “Um, High Warlock Yu, your hair is…um, you might want to take a look at that. You can’t expect anyone to take you seriously looking like an escapee from an evil hair salon”

Yu Wenzhou lets out a small huff and smiles. “You saved my life, Huang Shaotian, you can use my name.”

Oh fuck, is this going to weird now? Huang Shaotian has just gotten used to the way things are. He talks and his hot boss glares. It’s a good routine and sure, it’s annoying that the guy clearly thinks Huang Shaotian is an idiot, but he;s used to being underestimated at first glance. “Alright. Yeah, I guess I did save your life, Yu Wenzhou. Don’t go getting weird on me, now. I just did my job.” He pauses and tries again “Your hair really is a mess, did you know?”

Yu Wenzhou tilts his head, the hint of a smile spreading on his lips. He doesn’t fix the half of hair that looks like a hedgehog stuck its snout in an electrical socket, and it’s very distracting. “I find it difficult to tell when you’re being sincere and when you’re backtalking. Do you do that on purpose?”

This isn’t the conversation Huang Shaotian expects to be having at—he looks over at his cool alarm clock that can simulate the sunrise and notes the time—nearly four o’clock in the morning. He laughs, a little uncomfortable. “I think you’ve got it wrong, High War—I mean, Yu Wenzhou. I’m an open book, I say exactly what’s on my mind. Anyone will tell you the same.”

“You have a lot of people fooled.”

He’s right, but Huang Shaotian is in too much pain to lower his guard enough to admit it. He grew up in an entire Institute filled with attractive people, it takes more than a nice smile to get him to crack. “What do you want me to say?”

Thankfully, Yu Wenzhou doesn’t press him. He merely nods and asks “How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank poison.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs. “You’ll make a full recovery. I had the antidote in my potions stores and we got it to you in time. The residual aches should fade in a day. Let me know if they don’t, or if they get to be too much.”

“You’re not going to dock my pay for using up your pricey potions, are you?”

“I don’t pay you. I pay your Institute.” Yu Wenzhou presses his lips together, eyes scanning over Huang Shaotian as if physically checking him over. His voice is soft when he asks, “Why did you do it? You could have been killed. What were you thinking?”

It’s the same question Huang Shaotian has asked himself more than once. Like a coward, he takes the easy way out. “I was thinking it’s my job to keep you alive. I was thinking it was our only way out. And I was right. Don’t try to tell me I’m not because I am.”

“It was my mistake that got us trapped. It was my responsibility to fix it.”

And fuck, if Yu Wenzhou goes on like this, Huang Shaotian might actually start to be attracted to his personality as much as his stupidly good-looking face. “Yeah, it was. But you seem like the kind of guy who learns his lesson pretty quick. So don’t do it again and we’ll call it even.”

Yu Wenzhou frowns, and inwardly, Huang Shaotian groans. He’s too tired for wherever this conversation is going. “You still should have waited for me. You know my magic is slow. What if I wasn’t ready in time and you died?” By the time he’s finished, Yu Wenzhou looks angry. Angry like he was when he thought Huang Shaotian didn’t follow his directions, which is…more than a little strange. It’s not like he wouldn’t get a new bodyguard if Huang Shaotian kicked it.

“As if you’d care. You’ve hated me since I got here.”

“Do you really think that little of me? Do you think because I’m a warlock I don’t value the lives of the people around me?”

And shit, shit shit, he’s going to cause a diplomatic incident after his first assignment to the High Warlock. Only he could manage that while barely able to move. Ye Xiu is going to have him cleaning stinky ichor off blades for the rest of his life if he doesn’t fix this. “That’s not what I meant, High Warlock Yu.”

He struggles to sit up and a lance of fire races through his chest. Gasping, he falls back against the pillows, his vision going dark at the edges.

“Don’t move, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

When his vision clears, Yu Wenzhou is standing at the side of his bed, a hand hovering over Huang Shaotian’s chest.

His bare chest, Huang Shaotian realizes, when he looks down to see his runes on stark display. No point being embarrassed about that now. Besides, it’s not like he has much body modesty left. Showering in the Institute barracks saw to that a long time ago. It’s just that there’s something about Yu Wenzhou’s refined demeanor that makes him feel so much more exposed than he ever has standing bare-ass naked in the same room with a dozen other Shadowhunters.

No point worrying about that now. Yu Wenzhou has seen what he’s seen and it’s a small price to pay for not being dead. He puts on a smile, the one he knows for a fact irritates people. “I already hurt myself, remember.”

“How could I forget.” And that strange, fond tone is back. Huang Shaotian isn’t sure what it means but he kind of likes it. Or maybe it’s the residual effects of the poison rotting his brain.

Yu Wenzhou withdraws his hand back to his side, but not before Huang Shaotian notices the tremor in his fingers. “High Warlock Yu, are you—”

“I told you, no titles.” His voice has a worrying rasp to it that wasn’t there while he was seated.

Huang Shaotian has seen enough. He pats the empty strip of bed beside him. “Stop being a stubborn bastard and sit down before you fall down, Yu Wenzhou.”

“I’m fine. It’s been a long night, that’s all.” This close, the tight lines around Yu Wenzhou’s mouth are obvious. As are the tremors which have reached his shoulders, He looks like he’s one deep breath away from collapse.

The sight of him sleeping slumped over Huang Shaotian’s bed replays itself in his memory and he wonders whether part of the reason he stayed was because he was too drained of magic and strength to leave. He suddenly gets the feeling it took much more power to keep him from kicking the bucket than Yu Wenzhou has let slip.

Luckily, he’s spent enough time in the medical wing of the Institute to know how to get his way with stubborn Shadowhunters. He’s betting it works on warlocks, too. “If you fall down, I’m not scraping your sorry ass up off the floor, you got that? Or do you want me to injure myself worse after you spent all this time and magic on me?”

It works like a charm. With a faint nod, Yu Wenzhou sits. The bed dips with his weight. Immediately, some of the color comes back to his face.

Huang Shaotian thinks about all the teachers who lectured him about how Downworlders are different, are inferior. He looks at Yu Wenzhou who, despite his own exhaustion, rushed to his side when Huang Shaotian was in pain, and thinks those old lessons might be more than a little bullshit. If he’s learned anything in the last ten minutes, it’s that he’d drink poison for Yu Wenzhou again.

He thinks that might be a bit much to say right now. “You can stay here the night, I don’t mind,” is what he says instead. “Wouldn’t be the first time I shared a sickbed.”

Yu Wenzhou gives him a tired smile but doesn’t commit either way.

They sit like that, nearly close enough to touch, until he hears Yu Wenzhou’s breathing calm down into something approaching normal. “Hey, about what you said before. About how I should have waited for you to be ready before downing a poison shooter like a fraternity stud in a dive bar?”

Yu Wenzhou nods. “I don’t recall phrasing it like that, but yes.”

“You’re wrong. I didn’t need to wait. I’ve been watching you for weeks. You started casting the moment I read that note because you thought I was going to kill you. Wrong, wrong, wrong, you were so wrong all night, Yu Wenzhou. And by the way, but I won’t be offended this time that you thought I’m that type of person but if you do it again I’ll be very sad. But what I mean is that I drank the poison when I did because I knew you were almost ready with your magic.”

Yu Wenzhou’s breath hitches and he can practically see him wondering if Huang Shaotian purposefully read the note aloud to facilitate his plan.

“I didn’t plan it like that,” he answers the unasked question. “But once you went on the defensive, I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re very good at that.” Yu Wenzhou says. In the next breath, he lists to one side, barely catching himself from tumbling head first into the night table.

Huang Shaotian’s hand is already reaching out to steady him, but his help isn’t needed and he lets it drop back to his side. He keeps a closer eye on Yu Wenzhou, just in case.. “I’m not just good, I’m the best.”

Yu Wenzhou’s normally sharp gaze is dulled but his words are as sharp as usual. “Your first week here, you said you noticed holes in the protections on my home.”

“I did but you didn’t want to hear them. You said, ‘Huang Shaotian, you’re here to guard me not to poke holes in wards.’”

Yu Wenzhou nods his head. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.” He scoots forward so that he can lie down. It’s strangely intimate but Huang Shaotian doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “If I were to ask you what you noticed? Would you tell me?”

Huang Shaotian can feel his own exhaustion dragging him under, but still he answers. “Will you listen this time?”

“Yes,”

“Good. Okay yeah, we’ll do that,” Huang Shaotian mumbles, and lets himself lapse into tired silence. Beside him, Yu Wenzhou’s watches over him until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

He doesn’t realize at the time that Yu Wenzhou isn’t just answering that specific question. He’s making a promise.

Over the next several days, once they’re both recovered, Yu Wenzhou listens to his assessment of the ward placements. It’s only the beginning.

Because he doesn’t just listen to him when they’re working, he does it all the time.

Yu Wenzhou listens to him chatter about his seraph blades while he cleans them. He listens when Huang Shaotian complains about how bitter Yu Wenzhou’s coffee is on mornings when he’s so groggy he drinks from the wrong mug. He listens to him sing while he does the dishes, even when Yu Wenzhou argues it could be done faster with magic. He listens to him yell at the television when they’re watching trashy dramas.

He listens to everything. And he never stops.

[clownistyping]

The Neverending Story, chapter 7

Fluff time bc i have zero self control uwu.

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Cover by @laneygthememequeen

You knocked on the wooden door, the sign that hung on it shook. 

'Benons and papes Only.' In shitting marker. 

"Demons and Babes only." You read out loud to yourself.

You let Beetlejuice take lounge in your guest bedroom, that he barely uses. But sometimes you do hear a crash from the room, It's not your room so you never investigated. 

The door opened widely to show Beetlejuice laying sideways on the bed, holding a wilting rose in between his yellow teeth. 

"I've been expecting you." You chuckled. 

"I'm sure you have." You took the rose and as you twirled it, it gained back its petals and was glowing red. 

"I need some help," You said and sat on the bed,

"I'm gonna bring some stuff down from the basement.." you looked at him and his face said 'really?' 

"Well.. when I caught you up there. I looked around and noticed that.." you looked around the room he's heavily decorated. 

Stripes decorated the walls and bed, on the walls was framed bugs. You rose your brow when you saw one twitch, on the desk sat a small ring. You never saw him one for jewelry but you didn't inspect any further. 

"I noticed that my house is kinda..boring." you chuckled. 

"Boring? What gave you that idea?" Beetlejuice poked you and yous swatted his hand away, 

"You," you started. 

"You're very extreme, always doing everything at 100 percent. I mean come on look at what you did to this room!" You said and he shrugged. 

"Ya don't like it? Well I got other options." Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and suddenly the bedroom changed drastically. 

From a stripped demon paradise it changed to a leather sex dungeon. The bed turned to wood table and you looked down at your body to see you covered in leather. Beetlejuice sat also in a leather suit. 

"Put it back!" You yelled and he snapped his fingers, everything went back to normal. Shivering you stood, 

"Nevermind." You started for the door but he grabbed your wrist. 

"Aw, I'm sorry babes. That was a shit joke anyways." You sat back down and shake your head. 

"I'll help you spruce up the place a bit." He smiled and you mirrored it. 

"Thanks, Beej." 

Leading him up to the attic, he chuckled when he saw bags full of packing peanuts. 

"Had to clean up the mess you made." You stated as you squatted to dig through a box. On the box it read fifties. 

Taking out a photo frame, you showed it to Beetlejuice. On it was of you at the beach under an umbrella, right next to you was sitting a bombshell blonde. 

"Woah! You knew Marilyn Monroe!?" He gasped, you chuckled. 

"Oh yea, she was great.." you opened another box and took out a tea cup, along with the tea pot. It was decorated with flowers and golden lining, 

"Didn't take you for a tea drinker?" Beetlejuice said as he leaned over your shoulder. 

"Oh, this old thing? This is the tea set that I had tea with Queen Elizabeth the first." 

"P-p-p-pardon?" His eyes widened and he takes the tea pot, looking inside he spoke. 

"Was she nice?" You shrugged. 

"Alright for a Queen, never one for royalty though." You said as you set the tea set down. 

You two spent hours in the attic, Beetlejuice listened to your stories of your times in the past.

"Oo the classics!" You smiled as you took out a series of vinyl records. Putting a vinyl on the record player you snapped your fingers along the jazz. Standing you grabbed Beetlejuice's hands, pulling him close you laughed. 

"Come on! Dance with me, Beej." Beetlejuice laughed and grabbed your hand and waist. You both terribly danced to the record, swinging each other around with laughter. 

"Watch." Beetlejuice whispered and dipped you, you gasped and suddenly he lost his grip. You landed straight on your back and after an oof you laughed. 

"Way to go, Butterfingers." You teased as he helped you up. 

"Did it on purpose." He laughed leaning close to you and you leaned back. 

"Oh please." You turned away, lifting the vinyl off the player you put it back in its case. 

"Just help me get this stuff outta here will you?" 

"Anything for you." 

The record player sat in the living room, along with the grandfather clock that stopped ticking centuries ago. Photos lined the once empty shelves, all of your past. The tea set was placed in the middle of the dining room table, while you're typewriter sat in the library.  

With some help from the green man, you managed to turn some old luggage into flower pots. Audrey Two cooed when he saw the new pots, he was growing fast. 

His vines were starting to latch to the walls and you knew soon enough the small garden room would be overflowing with him. 

As you smiled at the plants growth you heard Beetlejuice from behind you, 

"Hey, babes! Smile!" He grabbed your shoulder and pulled you close to him. An old Polaroid camera flashed and out came the photo. 

Beetlejuice chuckled as he shook the photo, "Hope it got my good side." He stared as the photo came into view. 

You're eyes were wide but a smile was still on your face while beetlejuice smiled showing his sharp yellow teeth. Definitely not the best angle but there was joy in this photo. 

He handed the photo to you, "lookin good there hun." He winked and you chuckled. 

"This is definitely going on my wall." You said and Beetlejuice blushed. 

"Well come on let's take some more, i want your wall filled with me!" 

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[glass-phoenix]

TRP Flag: Zayneth Shadowspite - Glass Phoenix

Directory Information: Race: Sin’dorei Class: Musician Age: Adult Eye Color: Fiery fel green Height: 6′0″ Body Shape: 178 lbs. (Muscular, heavily built) Birthplace: Sunsail Anchorage Residence: Silvermoon City

Additional Information: Pronunciation: “Zay-neth” Nicknames: Zay, Zayne, Phoenix, Demon-Fingers Scars: Severe burn scars around missing eyes, though hidden by a robust illusion. Affiliations: Scryers, Armies of Legionfall Vitality: Healthy and well. Languages: Thalassian, Common, Orcish, some Draconic

Personality Traits: Chaste (5) < Lustful (15) Altruistic (14) > Selfish (6) Compassionate (15) > Monstrous (5) Cautious (3) < Impulsive (17) Playful (17) > Serious (3) Swords (19) > Spells (1) Extroverted (7) < Introverted (13)

Physical Description: On the short side of average height and blessed with broad shoulders and sturdy muscles, this elf is generally unremarkable amid a sea of very pretty people. His jaw is usually bearing a day-old blond scruff and his long hair seems more like carelessness than fashion. Close inspection reveals that his eyes seem slightly off, glassy and imperfect at tracking those around him. He gives no impression that he finds it difficult to see. Lately, he's been spotted wearing a worn strip of red leather across his eyes like a demon hunter.

His clothes are generally sturdy leather or netherweave. He speaks quietly, puts on no airs, and often keeps to himself. Those who get so close into his personal space as to be uncomfortable for all parties may realize he smells like incense smoke.

History: Records in Silvermoon City list the Shadowspite family as mercenary soldiers of no noble line. Only one family member is listed as 'living' though two remain on record.Supporters of Kael'thas in the months after the destruction of the Sunwell may recall Zayneth and a tall, burly woman among his followers. Those with very clear memories of that time may know that he followed Kael'thas to Outland and was among the Sunfury who lost faith in the Sun King in the end. A few demon hunters may recognize him as one thought to have died on his first hunt near the Hand of Gul'dan in Shadowmoon Valley.

Some people may have seen this soft-spoken, quiet man playing guitar on a street corner in a northern residential district of Silvermoon with a hat set out for coins. Others may have seen him with the Succulent Tart performance arts troupe, or blowing glass in a small shop in the Bazaar district.

----------

Demon hunter: This character has been written as a "failed," washed-out demon hunter who never attained full hunter status. Over the course of the Legion expansion, he'll have that second chance. He's never been to Mardum, nor shares the experience of years locked in the Wardens' Cage.

At First Glance:

Smells like... Woodsy incense and warm leather.

Shiny! Wearing a pendant of a small, silver penguin on a silver chain.

Blindfolded Wearing a strip of well-worn red leather across the bridge of his nose. It's all the rage these days.

* Bright eyes. Really bright. Fiery bright. Woah, dude, lay off the fel magic.

* The Old Lady (his guitar...) A guitar of golden-amber wood with a sense of age, years of heavy use warming a fretboard inlaid with a delicate pattern of vines in mother-of-pearl. A wide, dark strip of walnut decorates the back of the body of the instrument. Well-used and well-loved.

Currently (IC): Black leather? Check. Muscled arms? Check. Charming smile? Check.

Other Information (OOC): I like big words and I cannot lie. http://glass-phoenix.tumblr.com

Inventory:

Worn Blindfold Armor          Head “A well-worn strip of red leather, tied across the eyes.”

Silver Penguin Pendant Jewelry          Necklace “A small silver pendant of a penguin on a silver chain, engraved ‘Z.S. - Tournament of Ages - Penguin Dip Champion’.”

The Old Lady Instrument          Guitar A guitar of golden-amber wood with a sense of age, years of heavy use warming a fretboard inlaid with a delicate pattern of vines in mother-of-pearl. A wide, dark strip of walnut decorates the back of the body of the instrument. Well-used and well-loved.

Lava Rock Bracelet Jewelry          Bracelet “A bracelet of pitted black lava rock, livened up by a rainbow of seven colored beads: carnelian, amber, tiger’s eye, serpentine, turquoise, lapis, and amethyst.”

Set of Keys Tool          Keys “A set of jangly keys! There’s several of varying shapes and styles.”

Simple Dagger Weapon          Dagger “A small, simple dagger of good steel and minimalist design, meant as a back-up or last resort weapon.”

Portable Nether Pocket Container          Bag “A small netherweave pouch with a flap that unfolds to give it a much wider opening than it seems. Might actually be a pocket dimension.”       Glass Eyes      Prosthetic          Enchanted      “A pair of enchanted glass orbs which are nigh impossible to crack or break.”      -----      Brown Bucket Hat      Armor          Head      “A battered old brown bucket hat.”

Oversized Hand-knit Blanket Decor “An oversized hand-knitted blanket.”

Box of T&R Chocolates Container          Box “A box of chocolates from T&R Chocolatiers.”      The Devil Cordial      Consumable          Food      “Ghost chili in coconut milk-tequila creme in dark chocolate shell.”      Use: Enjoy a chocolate.

Moonlight Orb Trinket “A light-weight glass orb about five inches in diameter. Enchanted to glow with a soft, white light.”

Refreshing Massage Oil Consumable          Cosmetic “Swiftthistle and peacebloom are combined in a lovely mixture which increases mental clarity and provides a pick-me-up any time of day or night.”

Nagrand Sky Pillow Decor “A pillow embroidered with a scene of the night sky over Nagrand.”

Box of Incense Container          Box “A small container of varied scents and quantities of incense.”      Bloodthistle Incense      Consumable          Incense      “A powdered incense made primarily of bloodthistle soaked in mana potion. Excellent for mana fatigue. May become addictive.”      Use: Burn the incense.      -----      Peacebloom Incense      Consumable          Incense      “A stick of sweet, calming peacebloom incense.”      Use: Burn the incense.      -----      Sungrass Incense      Consumable          Incense      “A braid of dried sungrass meant to be burned as incense.”      Use: Burn the incense.      -----      Sandalwood Incense      Consumable          Incense      “A stick of soft, woodsy sandalwood incense.”      Use: Burn the incense.

Hairsticks Jewelry          Hair “A pair of elegant glass hairsticks shaped like single glass roses. Available in black, red, pink, and blue.”

Inkwell Container          Bottle “A short, sturdy inkwell of smoked glass bound in bands of decorative silver.”

Perfume Bottle Container          Bottle “A delicate glass bottle for holding perfumes and fragile oils.”

Glass Dream Globe Decor “A glass globe about the size of a grapefruit with strands of glass stretched inside the smooth sphere like taffy. It’s said that hanging a dream globe in the bedroom traps the bad dreams in the globe where the strands of glass cut them up and the morning sun burns them away.”

Stained Glass Windchimes Decor “A beautiful windchime made of multiple pieces of stained glass strung together to clink in the breeze like glasses at a party.”

Box of Glass Animals Container          Box “A collector’s edition box of six glass animals hand-blown by the master glasswright of Shadowglen Glassworks. May include: dragon, puppy, pig, butterfly, horse, dragonhawk, bluebird, tiger, sheep, octopus, frog, star, cat, wolf, ox, crane, or fox.”      Glass Bluebird      Trinket      “A bright, cheerful blue bird made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Butterfly: “A lovely orange and black butterfly made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Dragon: “A bright blue and purple dragon made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Frog: “A comical, bright green frog made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Horse: “A sprightly, golden brown horse made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Octopus: “A spooky purple octopus made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Pig: “An adorable, bright pink pig made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Puppy: “A cute, friendly black and white puppy made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Sheep: “A whimsical white sheep made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Star: “An iridescent blue star made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Tiger: “A fiercely cute orange and black tiger made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Fox: “A mischievous black-footed orange fox made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Cat: “A curled-up, sleeping calico cat made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Wolf: “A grey wolf howling at the moon made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Crane: “A bright red crane made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Ox: “A stalwart brown ox made of hand-blown glass.”      Glass Dragonhawk: “An elegant red and gold dragonhawk made of hand-blown glass.”

Intimate Insertables Container          Box      Sweet and Simple      Intimate          Insertable      “A basic design which may range from straight and narrow to broad and bumpy. Available in red, blue, purple, and clear. 45 gold.”      Short and Round: “A squat, squashed design meant for back door play. Available in sunset or midnight. 40 gold.”      Fun Textures: “A spicy design which may range from twists, spirals, swirls, or sequential bumps. Available in red, blue, purple, green, or clear. 60 gold.”      Adventurous: “A unique design which imitates the tentacles of a sea creature. Available in blue, green, or purple. 75 gold.”

====================

Zombyneth Shadowspite - Glass Phoenix

Directory Information: Race: Sin’dorei Class: Musician Age: Undead Eye Color: Icy blue Height: 6′0″ Body Shape: 178 lbs. (Muscular, heavily built) Birthplace: Sunsail Anchorage Residence: Silvermoon City

Additional Information: Pronunciation: “Zom-bee-neth” Nicknames: Zay, Zayne, Phoenix, Demon-Fingers Scars: Severe burn scars around missing eyes, though hidden by a robust illusion. Affiliations: Scryers, Armies of Legionfall Vitality: Stone cold dead. Languages: Thalassian, Common, Orcish, some Draconic

Personality Traits: Chaste (5) < Lustful (15) Altruistic (14) > Selfish (6) Compassionate (15) > Monstrous (5) Cautious (3) < Impulsive (17) Playful (17) > Serious (3) Swords (19) > Spells (1) Extroverted (7) < Introverted (13)

Physical Description: On the short side of average height and blessed with broad shoulders and sturdy muscles, this elf is generally unremarkable amid a sea of very pretty people. His jaw is usually bearing a day-old blond scruff and his long hair seems more like carelessness than fashion. Close inspection reveals that his eyes seem slightly off, glassy and imperfect at tracking those around him. He gives no impression that he finds it difficult to see. Lately, he's been spotted wearing a worn strip of red leather across his eyes like a demon hunter.

His clothes are generally sturdy leather or netherweave. He speaks quietly, puts on no airs, and often keeps to himself. Those who get so close into his personal space as to be uncomfortable for all parties may realize he smells like incense smoke.

At First Glance:

Smells like... Woodsy incense and graveyard dirt.

Shiny! Wearing a pendant of a small, silver penguin on a silver chain.

* Blindfolded Wearing a strip of well-worn red leather across the bridge of his nose. It's all the rage these days.

Bright eyes. Really bright. Icy bright. Woah, dude, lay off the frost magic.

The Old Lady (his guitar...) A guitar of golden-amber wood with a sense of age, years of heavy use warming a fretboard inlaid with a delicate pattern of vines in mother-of-pearl. A wide, dark strip of walnut decorates the back of the body of the instrument. Well-used and well-loved.

Currently (IC): Mold-eaten leather? Check. Muscled arms? Check. Ghoulish smile? Check.

Other Information (OOC): I like big words and I cannot lie. http://glass-phoenix.tumblr.com

====================

Menagerie:

              SHADOWGLEN GLASSWORKS

Stained Glass Windchimes: 35 gold Glass Dream Globes: 25 gold Perfume Bottles: 9 gold Inkwells: 7 gold Hairsticks: 16 gold per pair Glass Animals: 14 gold each Collector’s Edition Box of six glass animals hand-blown by the master glasswright of Shadowglen Glassworks. May include: dragon, puppy, pig, butterfly, horse, dragonhawk, bluebird, tiger, sheep, octopus, frog, star, cat, wolf, ox, crane, or fox. - 90 gold (for six and a nice cherry-wood storage box)

All listed items can be given to you through TRP3 Extended. For custom orders, including many other types of glassware, please arrange a private consultation. Special/custom orders can include but are not limited to: table sculpture, stained glass windows, lamps, glassware, intimate items, marbles, and glass jewels for jewelry. Most private orders include a tumblr post with writing and photos to serve as an item to show your friends!