#wings.... cognac

[cinamun]

That went well | Next

What on earth is a Coltrane Cycle?

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

A Night Forgotten

Part Four

Flashback: The Wedding

What a beautiful, heart-felt ceremony. Emoni had come back from the restroom within the beautifully appointed ballroom. Her friends had picked an exquisite mansion to hold their ceremony and reception. The grand chandelier situated high above them made Emoni feel as if she were a part of Beauty and The Beast. The ivory ball gown the bride wore reminded her of a princess.

As Emoni enters the vast ballroom, she makes a beeline for the bar, needing to start the evening off on the right foot. Everyone began to mingle after filling their bellies with the best food she’d ever had. As she made her way there, her ivory and gold satin bridesmaids gown annoying her, she made eye contact with her ex, Troy, instantly turning her gaze away with frustration. He’d been trying to get her attention the entire time. Emoni wanted nothing to do with his lying, cheating ass.

To her delight, the bartender is a good friend: Brent is dressed up as Cupid for tonight's event, complete with a silly bow and arrow set slung across his chest. Ivory, silk, button down shirt on with the buttons halfway secured, his skin is oiled and painted in golden fairy dust, and his matching satin pants hang low on his hips. He looks like a love slave with fairy-like wings, quite honestly, more fit for a BDSM dungeon than a fairytale wedding.

"Brent, I didn't know you were a bartender, too!" she says as she takes a stool in front of him, tucking a stray curl behind her ear that had fallen from her elegant updo that Brent had given her just that morning. "This hair is fantastic, by the way. I love how it makes me feel, so…"

"Naughty and free?" he suggests.

"Exactly."

She's been his client for the last three years, and over that time, their rapport has been growing by leaps and bounds. It's been a wonder to discover there is more to this silent, talented man than just his good looks and charm.

"The best hairdresser in all of California by day, moonlighting as a mixologist for the newlyweds?! How very mysterious you are, Mr. Clark!”

Brent shrugs one muscular shoulder and flashes a quick grin. "I'm a man of many talents," he reminds her with a wink. "We're always full of surprises, Ms. Daniels."

"Is that so?" she challenges him with a wicked grin. "Why don't you prove it by making me something as unique and unforgettable as this hair Ply me with a menu of drinks guaranteed to end with my socks being knocked off!"

With a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes, he accepts her challenge.

"I do believe I've got just the thing for you, Ms. Daniels…"

Brent sauntered over towards the end of the bar to make her the perfect drink. Emoni swayed in her seat, enjoying the music and refusing to be in a sour mood because of her ex. Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve to steal her joy.

Unfortunately for her, another man known to be a thorn in her side since High School was on his way over, dressed from head to toe in Sebastian Cruz—Italian fabric. It’s a black suit with gold accents, matching the colors of the wedding. He is a groomsmen after all. His tapered locs are braided back and he couldn’t go without wearing his gold canines. He begins as it always does between them: with an acknowledgement and an insult.

"Evening, Daniels," Erik Stevens greets her with a bow of his head, taking up his customary place at her side as she turns up her nose at him, attempting to fake her disgust of him, “How goes the dick hustling tonight?"

She glances over at him, amused. His eyes are shielded with a gold half-mask. Very sexy. She would never tell him that however. With a mouth like his, it was sure to piss her off quickly. he carries a glass tumbler that is filled with melting ice and the tiniest bit of cognac.

Where is Brent with her much needed drink?! She searched the bar and there was no sight of him.

Odd.

Emoni was determined not to give into the whim to kick this smug Prince in his priced jewels. It's far too early in the evening for that sort of a juvenile response, and really she needed a little liquid courage to be that bold.

And why would you kick him in the balls when you actually want to tea bag them? Her salacious thoughts intruded.

"Hello, Stevens," she unenthusiastically responded instead, refusing to call him by his first name. "Still seducing the ladies with a forked tongue, I see."

His serpentine smirk is chased by a sexually-suggestive leer. "You meant silver tongue, I'm sure. And if anyone's out to deceive…you're the one dressed like a seductress, Daniels. Since when do you seduce?” He noticed she didn’t have a drink in her hand, “I take it Brent is still working on your drink?”

Emoni parted her glossy lips to speak but was suddenly rendered speechless. A beautifully-crafted cocktail was situated in front of her, as if it had materialized from nowhere. A striking and vivid pink, tropical flower was placed over the edge of the glass as a garnish. A pretty pink egg-white mixture swirled inside of the glass. It was topped with an orange drizzle and edible glitter.

For the slightest moment, Emoni could have sworn the mysterious drink glowed like it was made of magic. Even Erik couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pretty concoction. Just then, the most alluringly sexy voice brought her gaze forward. Emoni was stunned by the woman’s undeniable beauty. Long, sleek brown hair, feline eyes, chiseled jaw, sculpted body with sinewy curves, and a full set of lips so tempting. She was hypnotic.

“One Aphrodite’s Love Potion for you…”

“Thank you,” Emoni’s eyes searched, “Did Brent leave?”

“He needed to take a quick break. I’m taking over until he gets back…”

Emoni brought the cocktail to her lips and then she paused.

“What’s in this?”

“Gin, triple sec, lemon juice…just to name a few. It looks delicious, doesn’t it?”

Her voice was so beautiful. Erik stood there speechless. As if he were in a trance.

“Go on, drink it. I already know you’ll love it.”

Emoni gave a one shoulder shrug before bringing her lips over the rim and taking a sip. As soon as it touched her tongue, she was immediately hit with a burst of flavor. It was the best drink she’d ever had. She instantly felt a rush, the drink coursing through her body and making her feel all warm and fuzzy.

“It’s delicious. Thank you?—”

“Just call me Dove. It’s a nickname of mine.”

“Thanks, Dove. I may need another one of these tonight!” Emoni said with a flirty grin.

“Oh, you’ll be back for more, trust me. Maybe your friend here might want one?”

Erik locked eyes with Dove, for a second unable to formulate words. Someone had accidentally bumped into him on their way to the bar. Erik blinked away from Dove, clearing his throat to speak.

“I’m all good. For now at least. Not my type of drink.”

“I see,” Dove gave Erik a once over, “Well, I’ll see you two around. Enjoy your evening…”

Dove sauntered away towards the end of the bar. Emoni could feel Erik’s eyes on her. She glared at him.

“What?”

“Fitting.” He looked at her drink before eyeing her up and down, his gaze taking time to admire the view. "My, my, but you do love to play naughty for me, don't you?”

Although she didn’t particularly like the dress—not that it was her idea to wear it in the first place—it made her slim-thick body stand out. Her breasts sat up invitingly. The back of the dress although a bit poofy made her plump ass sit out.

“Naughty for you? That's the funniest thing I've heard all evening, Erik, Thanks for the ha-ha.”

She turns to assess the crowd of eligible men. There are more than a few faces she already knows, but others she'd like to know a lot better, “Contrary to your absurd and quite comical belief, I didn't dress this way for you. I have a specific agenda tonight.”

Erik scuffed, dimples deep in his cheeks and lips rolled shut, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. She’s such a logistician. That’s one thing about Emoni that attracted him to her. That articulate voice and intellect. It was so damn sexy. Erik waved down Brent who appeared again at the bar. He strolled over with a big smile.

“Another one of these, homie!”

Brent gave Erik a thumbs up and then he glanced at Emoni with a sorry look. She waved him away, not even bothered that he had to step away from the bar for a bit. Brent returned within two minutes with a new glass of cognac on ice. Erik accepted the drink graciously.

“Don't you always at these things? Have an agenda?” He dryly asks, taking a quick sip of his drink to hide a frown. “Speaking of which—” He leans in as if to impart a secret to her, appearing solemn and earnest in his proposal. “Look, the truth is…I just came over here to offer you my services.”

She turns her head and gives him a flat stare. “What services would those be exactly—teaching a woman what not to want in a man? Because you excel at that.”

“You're the only one who thinks so,” he baldly points out, and she knows he's right. The fact is Erik’s got women crawling all over him, begging for a piece on a regular basis, despite his abysmal character. Apparently, having a boat-load of money and royalty status is the great cosmetic for a truly deplorable personality, “As I was saying…my services,” he continues. “Tonight I'm feeling magnanimous, Daniels, so I'm going to make you an offer you can't possibly refuse.”

Emoni sighs and waves at him to get on with what will, indubitably, be a scandalous and ridiculous proposition. The answering dimpled grin he gives her is delightfully boyish and positively enchanting, and if she had fewer brain cells in her head she'd fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Go on, Boss, I’m listening.”

“Alright, now listen up because I'm not repeating it,” he says, preening as a peacock before her, “For one night only, for absolutely no money down and no contract necessary, I'm willing to save you the embarrassment of having to find and hunt down the perfect man for your desired one night stand,” He crudely points at his crotch. "I've already got one right here that can fulfill your every fucking dream. Totally free. I'll even throw in all the pink cocktails you'll need to work up the nerve. Dove is around her somewhere…”

Enoni purses her lips, trying not to laugh in his face. As far as trying it on goes, that one is rather original.

“So, let me just understand your pitch,” she replies, affecting indifference. “You're offering to ply me with copious amounts of alcohol and once I'm too inebriated to think straight, you're going to allow me a shot at some other chick’s sloppy seconds…assuming I don't fall unconscious somewhere in between and make things that much easier for you.” She fakes a yawn. “Nice try, but why would I allow my boss and a womanizer the chance of fucking me?”

His frown indicates he’s pissed that she would even think that.

“Your back is so gahdamn rigid, Daniels. I’ll be glad when you get that stick out your fuckin’ ass. And aren’t you the one tryna find a man to fuck in your hotel bed? A random man at that,” Erik chuckles, “So, if anything…”

She was furious then. She wanted to slap him in that pretty face of his. He was so infuriating!

“Are you calling me a hoe? All I did was tell you the truth. And you know it’s the truth, don’t you?”

He blinks as if she's nailed him right in the gut, and gives a long-suffering sigh as if disgusted with her total lack of interest.

“Daniels, you really know how to stomp a man's grand plans into dust at the same time as grinding his balls into meat strips,” He tosses back the contents of his drink, finishing off the glass. “I’ll leave you alone and watch you stand here looking desperate when an opportunity is right in front of you.”

Now she laughs and turns her attention back to the crowd, eyeing the selection and seeing if there is anyone there who might even remotely catch her attention tonight.

“You can’t stand the fact that I don’t fall for your dimples and your raspy voice and your status. Your charm doesn’t work on me. If you can even call it that.”

“Plenty do,” he grouses, looking petulant by her refusal to be impressed, “I'm amazingly appealing, and we both know that you know that.”

"Sure I do,” Emoni replied sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

He sniffs. "Your problem is you're too green…miss prim."

“No, I'm foxy and an excellent judge of character. Far from green and prudish, Stevens.” Emoni fired back.

“Yes, well…” He sighs, twirling his now empty glass in his hand, “I don't suppose you'd consider lowering your stuck-up standards for a night to aid a fellow charity-dodger deal with his dick?”

“Not for all the air to breathe.”

“Ah, well, your loss, love,” he says, sounding not in the least put-out by her rejection.

He is, after all, quite used to it by now. This is a familiar ritual for them, one they'd been having on and off for the last five years or so since his return from Wakanda. It always ends the same, too: he 'flirts' outrageously with her then ducks out with some random woman on his arm, and she, unwilling to be the brunt of jokes about a lack of a sex life come Monday morning, eventually leaves with one of her friends-with-benefits for a Saturday night of vigorous sex…followed by a Sunday morning filled with hollow excuses and quick goodbyes. That’s how Emoni ended up with her ex, Troy. A serious mistake that led her into a toxic relationship.

Really, the way she and Erik dance around each other at these events and in the office is comical, if it wasn't so fucking obvious that they both wanted a good, nasty, rough night with each other. The problem is that Emoni wants more than a one-off with her boss. Unfortunately, he's highly allergic to commitment.

Hence the sexual tension with the mean bite. Suddenly, Erik surprises her by taking her drink from her hand and sampling it. He held her gaze with a penetrating stare, daring her to do something. She stared back at him with her mouth agape and eyes wide.

He sits the drink down on the bar and licks his full, tempting lips, giving her a slow once-over, “Enjoy your cute, little drink,” he offers and heads off, a beautiful model-type following him with lustful eyes. That wasn’t the only woman there that wanted a piece.

As he walks away, Emoni tries not to let her disappointment overtly show, or derail her from the plan: she is going home with some man tonight and will lose herself in their sex. She’s horny and it’s been too long since she’d been full of dick. After all, that always helps her, at least temporarily, to forget her unrequited feelings for Erik Stevens.

She finishes off her drink, giving a surprised hum at how pleasant it tastes…and how light it makes her feel by the time she hits the bottom of the glass.

“When do you plan on admitting your feelings for him? I mean, it’s been over ten years…”

Startled, Emoni looked forward and met the eyes of that captivating bartender. She slid another pretty drink towards her with a mischievous grin. Emoni was mesmerized by her undeniable beauty with a slight trace of vanity.

But wait, how did she know it’s been over ten years?

[cinamun]

you, waking up this morning after 37 seconds of sleep

I hope you enjoyed it love!!! Because its about to get real [redacted] this weekend.... SHIT!!

tfw you stay up half the night reading the entirety of Things Fall Apart by @cinamun because you couldn’t stop until you were caught up. No regrets.

[clockwork-ashes]

Sparks and Shadows

Summary: Eris is surprised when Azriel comes looking for him at the Forest House (one-shot).

Note: Thank you to @ninthcircleofprythian @cauldronblssd and @teddyhoneybear for just being really nice :) Thank you to everyone who reads <3

“Don’t move.” 

Eris listened to the command, but he knew it would take very little effort to simply set the Night Court’s best spy alight. Half a thought, and Azriel, along with his strange shadows, would be nothing but ash. 

Their centuries-long dance of sorts, and Azriel would be acting as the lead tonight, Eris thought. 

The torches in the room flared in warning as Eris leaned into Azriel’s touch in a silent challenge, one that the shadowsinger seemed prepared to accept.  

Azriel kept a gloved hand tightly against Eris’s mouth, pressed the sharp point of truth-teller between his shoulder blades. Eris felt as the edge cut through his thin white shirt, he had been ready for bed, had not been dressed for such a guest. 

Lips just touching the arch of Eris’s ear, Azriel murmured, “I’m going to move my hand.” Eris felt as truth-teller cut his skin, as the smallest drop of blood made a trailing path down his back. Azriel continued, “I don't want to hear a sound.” 

Eris rolled his eyes, even though he knew the other male was unable to see the gesture. He grunted in response, and the hand fell from his mouth, instead wrapping around his throat. 

Eris wondered if Azriel was doing that just to irritate him, as a reminder of the last time the other male had found himself in the Forest House, when their positions had been… switched. 

Eris arched his neck, lifted a brow. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Azriel’s hand tightened uncomfortably around the Autumn heir’s neck. “I thought I told you to keep quiet.” 

“That’s no fun,” Eris’s voice was strained, his breaths smaller. The fireplace on the room’s other side dimmed in response. Eris did not truly believe Azriel had come to kill him, he had had plenty of chances over the years and had never taken any of the countless opportunities to do so. 

Azriel’s tone suggested he was serious, perhaps even desperate, unbelievably easy to read. “Nod if you know anything about the human queens.” 

Eris tilted his chin, and Azriel said nothing for a long moment before loosening his hold. 

“Then you’re still of use to me,” Azriel spat, shoving Eris away and stepping back to put some distance between them, truth-teller now in its sheath. “Tell me what you know,” he ordered, hazel eyes dark. 

Eris rubbed at the sore skin of his neck and shrugged, looking at Azriel over his shoulder, lips tilted up in a mocking smile. “Why would I do such a thing?” He walked towards his dresser, grabbing an already opened bottle of cognac and filling the glass he had left there.

“Don’t play games, Rhysand is asking.” Eris scowled as he remembered the Night Court’s promise to support his bid for the throne. He offered the glass to Azriel who simply scrunched his nose in distaste. 

“Be specific about the things you want, shadowsinger, I won’t be revealing all my secrets.” In a swift motion, Eris drank all the contents in the glass, setting it aside and relishing in the way it burned. 

Some of the liquid had dripped down the corner of his mouth, and Eris flicked his tongue out slowly, letting it linger. Azriel tracked the movement with his eyes, wings flaring almost involuntarily. Eris had to fight to hold back a grin. 

Azriel’s hands clenched into fists at his side,“I’ve heard whispers that your father has allied with a few of the queens.” 

Eris watched as some of Azriel’s shadows danced around him, he leaned against his dresser, strong arms holding his weight and long legs stretched out, comfortable. “You’ve heard correctly.” 

“Why?” Azriel asked through his teeth, clearly annoyed. The blue siphons he had in his leathers brightened for a moment.

Eris hummed elegantly in response, tracing the carved wood of his dresser with a finger. “When I find out, I’ll tell you.” Beron told him very few of his plans, especially as of late, but Eris always learned of what was happening within his own court. 

Azriel took a few large steps towards him, wings wide to make himself seem larger. Eris looked up at him, but made sure his chin was tilted arrogantly, enough so to get on the other male’s nerves. 

“Don’t lie, Eris.” His words were accusatory, perhaps even a bit disapproving. 

Eris merely scoffed, “Don’t tell me what to do, shadowsinger.” Even though he had been telling the truth, Eris rather enjoyed being contrary. 

Azriel sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Meet with Rhysand and Feyre the next time you find yourself in the Hewn City.” Shadows began to whirl around him, his feet completely enveloped in inky darkness. 

“Going so soon?” Eris drawled, toying with the laces of his shirt. “No kiss goodbye this time?” Eris was mocking, he had spent enough time around males like Azriel, too wrapped up in their own thoughts, confused about what they wanted. 

Eris had been surprised the last time Azriel had come to his chambers, had kissed him after questioning him about the High Lord’s plans. Eris had been even more surprised at how easily he had been able to get the other male into his bed, at the desperate sounds that had fallen from the shadowsinger’s lips as he had let Eris do as he pleased. 

All of the control had been in Eris’s hands, just as he enjoyed it. 

Azriel seemed to have other plans this time, giving Eris no warning as he grabbed Eris by the back of his head, roughly pulling him so that their lips could meet. 

Frantic, desperate, Eris gasped in disbelief and Azriel took the opportunity to lick at the seam of his lips, to stroke at his tongue with his own. The back of Eris’s thighs pressed into the dresser behind him, his arm came up to wrap around Azriel’s neck, fingers carding through the dark locks of his hair. When Eris pulled at the short strands, Azriel moaned against his mouth in approval.

Azriel’s wings came up around them, cutting them off from the rest of the world as their kiss deepened. 

Eris felt as the shadowsinger’s hand tugged at his shirt, grabbed at the fabric clumsily. Pulling Azriel’s bottom lip between his teeth, Eris bit hard enough that he felt the skin split, tasted copper on his tongue. 

Azriel flinched back, almost as though he had remembered where he was and who was with him. Wings snapping back quickly, he took a few quick steps away from the heir of the Autumn Court. He brought a hand up to wipe at the trickle of blood that dripped down his chin, raising his brows in shock. 

Eris grinned as he watched Azriel, his voice thick with desire as he spoke. “We can continue this another night,” he said, waving a hand lazily. “I didn’t put on my silk sleeping clothes for you.” Azriel blushed, the tips of his rounded ears turning a dark shade of scarlet, but Eris continued. “I’ve promised my time to another, and I don’t know how she feels about sharing.” 

Azriel simply cleared his throat, nodding in response. Eris found his embarrassment endearing. Amber eyes tracked the shadowsinger as he took a few more steps back.

“Good night, Azriel,” Eris added embers falling from the tips of his fingers as he waved a hand. In truth, he had not been expecting the Night Court spy to respond, he hardly ever did, letting shadows completely envelop him before he winnowed away. 

As Azriel left the Forest House again without a word, Eris scowled at the disappointment that bloomed in his chest. 

[hazbinshusk]

Hey idk if your taking requests, but I was wondering if you could make a oneshot where we work with husk behind the bar and we make him a good drink.

combined with a kiss prompt because it was too cute an idea to pass up :)

prompt #6: a gentle peck

“The hell are you doin’ back there?” Husk asks, torn between amusement and what sounds like the beginnings of concern for his bar. Or at least, for the booze bottles that line the shelves.

“Patience is a virtue,” you sing-song teasingly back, selecting a bottle of rye whiskey from the shelf and measuring out three quarters of an ounce with practised ease. Husk is sitting in your usual seat on the other side of the bar, perched on the stool with his elbow on the wood and his chin in his paw. He’s watching you with idle curiosity as you collect cognac and sweet vermouth from the shelves behind you. You check the label of the latter and wrinkle your nose, swapping it for a different label. Husk’s smile quirks slightly as you do.

“And you’re making…?”

“A Vieux Carré, chérie,” you tell him idly, measuring out equal measures of the two liqueurs into the mixing glass. You pronounce the words with the practiced lilt of a Cajun accent. You hadn’t moved to Louisiana until you were grown, and while the accent you had begun to pick up before your death could still make an appearance with certain words – especially anything French – it hadn’t been part of your vernacular long enough to stick around all these years in Hell.

Husk raises a brow. “An ‘old square’?”

You smile, pausing in your drink-making to pour yourself a shot of bourbon. You throw it back, smile widening as Husk’s expression twitches, undoubtedly close to asking for a shot of his own. The booze burns your throat and you exhale it slowly. “Named for the French Quarter, mon minou.”

“Of course,” he replies, his wings twitching slightly. “And I’ll get to drink it sometime this century?”

You let your jaw drop in mock-offense, pouring a few dashes of two kinds of bitters into the glass. “Keep that attitude up, and I’ll keep it all for myself.”

“God forbid, doll,” he teases, and despite his impatience you can hear a soft purr rumbling from his side of the bar. “And since when exactly are you a bartender?”

“Since eighty-two.” A half-ounce of Benedictine liqueur is pulled from the shelf, and to prove your point you flip the bottle behind your back and catch it with your other hand. Husk huffs a soft breath, impressed, as you pour half an ounce into the glass. “New Orleans barflies always liked a show.”

“And it had nothin’ to do with the pretty little thing makin’ eyes at ‘em from behind the bar?”

“’Course not,” you reply with a grin. “We were a classy establishment. I saved the topless dancing on the bar and body shots for special occasions.”

Husk chuckles, and you stir the liqueurs together for few moments before finally pouring the cocktail into a waiting glass with unnecessary flair. Husk rolls his eyes, but the affection is clear on his face. If you asked, he’d deny just how much the idea of body shots with you was now sticking in his mind. He shifts on his stool slightly, his eyes flickering down over your torso.

“You really should invest in some garnishes you know,” you note, sliding the glass over to him and pretending not to notice the way his attention has drifted. “It just looks sad without one.”

“Noted. Can I drink now?”

You nod, a little nervous for his opinion despite your cavalier attitude. He so often did these little things for you… you wanted to do something for him this time. And it had to be right.

“Fuckin’ finally.” he jokes, eyes holding yours as he lifts the glass to his mouth. He closes his eyes as he takes a sip, humming as the mingled flavours meet his tongue. Your fingers curl around the edge of the bar and you press your lips together as you wait. Husk’s eyes open, a delighted sense of surprise colouring his features. “That’s…”

“Good?”

“Better than,” Husk assures you, studying the glass for a moment before taking another mouthful. “What exactly did ya put in this?”

You grin. “Trade secret, minou.”

Husk raises a brow, smile of his own touching his lips. “Am I not part of the trade?”

“Hmm…” you hum as though thoughtful, leaning on your hands over the bad towards him. “Maybe I just need some convincing, then.”

Husk’s smile widens, and your eyes close as he meets your lips in a soft, brief kiss that still sends butterflies into your chest. You can taste the cocktail on his lips, and his claws ghost briefly over your cheek. When he pulls back again he doesn’t go far, his face only inches from yours. “Qu’en penses-tu, mon amour? Pouvez-vous me le dire maintenant?”

You reach up to run your fingers through the fur on his chest, straightening his bowtie idly. “I might need a little more incentive, cher.”

“That I can do,” he rumbles, bringing his lips back to yours, his cocktail forgotten.

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[soulofapatrick]

Not That Type of Crush - Stiles Stilinski

Summary: You finally get tired of Lydia trying to set you up with girls when Stiles gets in on it

Words: 648

warnings: none I think

Y/N's POV

"You know Kira's had a crush on you since like forever, right?" Lydia tells me as we're sat at lunch.

"OH! Why don't we go on like a three way date?" Allison chimes in, "Scott and Lydia, Me and Isaac and you and Kira."

"No thank you, I'm okay," I brush off the uncomfortableness I always feel when Allison and Lydia try and get me to go on dates with some girls they know. Although Kira's part of the pack I'm not interesting in dating her or any girl in this school. I'm not interested in dating any girl. Full stop.

It took me a while to come to terms with the fact I don't really find girl attractive romantically. I can definitely confirm that they're attractive but I'm not attracted. Oh no, I found out pretty quickly after starting at Beacon Hills High that the guys at this school are very easy on the eyes.

Nearly all of them. Jackson... well, that's a different story. He and I quickly became best friends when he took me under his wing for some reason and introduced me to the pack after he found out I was a werefox.

Let's just say that as soon as I set eyes on one certain brunette who has a tendency to trip over flat surfaces, I was the one to fall. Oh man he was beautiful and I had to advert my gaze before Jackson caught on as Jackson, quite quickly became able to read me. The look that I got was enough for now: lean and attractive with moles scattered across his pale skin, brown hair messy and eyes a deep shade of cognac that made me weak at the knees. I had to grab Jackson's arm when Stiles smiled at me for the first time.

"Y/N?" Lydia kicks me lightly under the table, "Who's this mystery girl on your mind, huh?"

"No-one" I grumble, glaring at my empty sandwich wrapper and luckily for me, before Lydia can probe much more the bell cuts us off and I'm running to my next class to get away.

--------

"So, Lydia tells me you have a crush on a girl," Stiles pipes up at the end of the day as we're walking across the parking lot towards his famous jeep.

"No. I. Don't." I punctuate every word but my blush gives me away I think.

"You won't even tell me?" He pulls those stupid puppy dog eyes as we stop next to the jeep.

"Stiles!" I finally snap, pushing him against the side of the jeep as his plush and wet lips in that pout send me over the edge. Before I know what I'm doing I'm slamming my lips against his and kissing him, "It's you." I growl, knowing my eyes are probably glowing their werefox green as I pull away, the wild side of me just wanting to claim what is mine.

"Me?" He chokes out and I can't read his eyes like normal, causing me to step away but I don't get any more than one step away before he's grabbing my wrist, yanking me forwards and slamming me against the jeep this time, "You don't understand how long I have wanted to hear you say that." He whispers, lips ghosting mine before he finally kisses me and oh god it's better than I ever imagined. His lips are sweet from the strawberries he was eating last period and his hands are all over me, one tugging at my hair which elicits a small sound from me while the other grips my hip so tightly I hope it'll bruise.

"IT WAS STILES?!" Lydia's shriek has Stiles pulling away from me but not in an embarrassed way, just an interrupted way, "I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER FIGURE IT OUT!"

"YOU KNEW?!" I yell back, causing Stiles to chuckle beside me, "DEAD TO ME!"

[usafphantom2]

Fancy Nancy II 612 BS, 401 BG lies near Kimbolton. It crashed at Cognac Dec 31, 1943. It would later be salvaged in early 1944. Besides the propeller damage the visible wing is full of holes. #WWII

@Francesbekafigo via X

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The guest PT 13

Masterlist

Jack Dawkins x fem reader.

"Did you mean to walk into a cupboard?" Jack asked having shit the door behind them

Belle looked back at him.

" Obviously not!" She says.

" Gosh. You are incredibly irritating." Jack stepped up to her.

"So are you. 'Cause you won't listen to anyone else's point of view. All I'm saying is it is not clear-cut." Belle fought.

"Look, you either want to be a doctor, who cares for everybody, no matter how spotty their soul may be, or you are "milady," who gives six of the best to the peasants when we get uppity."

" Uppity? I know you had your past indiscretions, but these were bushrangers who killed three men, one a father." Belle almost shouted.

"Some people need to thieve in order to eat."

" And that can lead to death, too." Belle scoffed.

" Have you ever seen anybody dead on the streets from hunger? No! Have you ever paid for anything you've eaten? Or worn, or lived in?"

She thought for a moment.

"That's a false syllogism." Belle grumbled and rushed for the door.

" Whatever that is, it is not.If you can't see what is happening here, Belle, then you and I have big problems. This puts a wall between us." Jack rounded her stopping her from opening the door

" You climbed it fine when you kissed me in the surgery."

"That. That was..."

"For y/n?" Belle whispers.

"she says you and I should..." Jack furrows his brows in thought.

"She says the same to me, but I-"

"Me either." They agree.

"You love her?" Belle asks. Jack swallows down the emotions that threaten to spill over. His eyes searched hers.

"So do you." He whispers. Belle casts her eyes down, "So does Sneed."

"Where is she?" Belle asks.

"I haven't seen her in a while." He admits. They nod to each other and leave the cupboard, both set on finding you. Belle darts off in one direction as Jack starts in the other. A hand grabs his shoulder pulling him back.

"Gaines has got Red."

*_*_*_*

You weren't sure why you had come up to Jack's room. You had needed a moment to gather your thoughts. Or maybe you needed to breathe. Was there a reason? Your feet had moved you without much thought from your mind. Looking around yourself it felt different, like recalling it from a dream.

A dream.

The dreams.

Was this a dream?

Was your body sitting on the side of the road somewhere?

Alone.

You're alone now.

Maybe you could just lie down.

Just for a moment.

*_*_*_*

Jack threw his coat onto the end of the bed, wraps open his closet and begins to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt. The opens once more letting Fagin inside.

"Oh, good, the day improves." Jack quips.

"Hurtful." Fagin crossed the room sitting down in a wooden chair. His eyes briefly graze over your sleeping form, but not enough to acknowledge you therem, "Listen, that booze robbery of ours."

" Yes. The one I told you not to do." Jack asked.

" Wise insight on your part, but it appears Flashbang's still in a crate." Fagin answered

"Get him out." Jack laughed.

"Thank you, admirable solution. The thing is, Flashy's hid in a crate of top-shelf cognac, which the kitchen lad said is still in the Governor's study." Fagin explained.

"I don't have time. Y/n is missing and Red's having a baby. I'm trying to keep her alive." Both men look to the bed for a moment as if their minds knew something more than they did.

"What do you wanna do that for? Save the kid. It's not their fault. I'll take it under me wing. But she has been a blight on every single job we've ever done and she can't meddle if she's dead." Fagin grumbled.

" She's Tim's promise. She's carrying his child." Jack said.

The once more opened, "Jack? Baby's coming feet first and she's too far gone to turn it." Hetty states.

"She'll need a caesarean. And she'll die if we do that." Jack sighs.

"She might not if you did it." Hetty says hopefully.

"She won't let me touch her." Jack huffs.

"What about Princess Whatserface? If you talked her through, and I assisted?" Hetty suggested.

"She's not trained." Jack reminds her.

"What about y/n?" Hetty says pointing her hand towards you. The two men turn to the bed for the first time actually seeing you in the bed.

"was she always there?" Fagin asked. Jack couldn't be sure.

" No, hold up. Old Cheekybones is a very good notion. I'm starting to see there is a certain symmetry to our objectives here."

" Belle?"

"Booze."

" Flashbang?"

" Flashbang."

"Hetty can you look after y/n? Come on, you sack of bones!"

Hetty watched the two men leave before coming over to you, shaking your shoulder lightly until you woke.

"I visited my mother this morning. She gave me my uncle's journal. I'm worried for you." She says. You sit up

"What does it say?" You ask.

Hetty sighs.

"After the dreams started Lulu didn't have long. She started drifting even when she was awake. Like her body was between worlds. My uncle said there were times he knew she was with him but he couldn't see her or hear her..other times he could hear her but not see her." She paused for a moment looking to the door. " just now, Fagin and Jack were in here and they couldn't see you until I pointed you out."

You let out a shaky breath.

"My uncle wrote that Lulu would talk about a tether, needing something that would tie her to this world over all the others. A real connection to it." She reached out for your hand, "if you want to stay here then we can find one for you. A real tether."

"Thank you Hetty. I'd be lost if it wasn't for you." You say pulling her into a hug.

Downstairs in the main part of the hospital Red was chained to a bed her baby's life at risk.

"Do you know anything about childbirth?" Hetty asked.

"I'm not a midwife, but I know the fundamentals." You reply.

"okay that's better than none at all." Hetty grabs your hand and drags you down the stairs.

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @mydeputyghostwagon

[cetaitlaverite]

Could we please see Freddie being jealous while they are in America? She is jealous but at the same time she can’t blame the woman who flirted with her husband because he is so gorgeous.

i kind of freestyled a bit with this one. hope you don't mind!! freddie and rosie are just so much fun to write when they're jealous!!

under the cut because it's long (2870 words, i went off). also a bit suggestive near the end but nothing crazy. what can i say? these two can't keep their hands off each other. this takes place about a month after freddie arrives in new york.

Minton’s Playhouse was Rosie’s favourite jazz club and Freddie could see why. With its moody red lighting and live jazz band full of passionate, talented performers, lively clientele and plush booths, wide array of cocktails and hotspot location, there really was nothing about it not to like. Rosie had spoken often of wanting to bring Freddie here during the war and she was glad to finally experience it - even more so to see how happy it made Rosie to bring her here. She knew he’d been looking forward to it for a while.

Jazz music was something Freddie was coming to love through Rosie. It reminded her of him. During the war he’d played it during quiet evenings in the officers’ club, when most everyone else was out on a weekend pass, and when they’d spent time at her parents’ house in Oxford. He still treasured the Artie Shaw record she got him for Christmas in 1944.

So she settled back into the velvet of the booth beneath her, sipping on her strawberry daiquiri and trying to decide whether she liked it; cocktails were new to her and Rosie was always buying her different ones as they searched for her drink of choice. Secretly, Freddie thought she would always prefer wine, but she was enjoying the selection process too much to say so.

Rosie was grinning in the seat beside her. It was still a little bit strange to see him drinking anything other than beer or coca cola. Tonight he was drinking a vodka soda - apparently he’d acquired a taste for the liquor during his time with the Russians, which Freddie still couldn’t really bear to hear him speak about - and tapping his hands on the table in time with the music as he watched the band play. Freddie smiled as she watched him; she loved how much he loved music in spite of his lack of musical talent - maybe even because of it.

Scooting closer to him on the booth, Freddie set down her cocktail and lifted Rosie’s arm so she could settle into his side.

Without a second thought, Rosie wrapped his arm around her and kissed her head, resting his cheek there as he turned his eyes back on the band and the many dancers occupying the floor in front of them.

“Drink up,” Freddie said after a beat, watching the dancers, too. “Then we can dance.”

Promptly, Rosie took a big gulp of his drink.

Freddie laughed and lifted her glass to follow suit.

“How do you like the strawberry daiquiri?” Rosie asked, smiling as he watched her sip from the straw.

Freddie hummed and shrugged. “It’s okay. Tastes a bit like cough medicine.”

Rosie pulled a face.

Freddie laughed. “It’s close to the top of my list, maybe second place behind the French 75, but I’m still searching.”

“What’s next?” Rosie asked, pulling the drinks menu towards him on the table. He scanned it quickly before his eyes caught on an option. “How ‘bout a sidecar?”

“What’s that?”

“Cognac, triple sec, and lemon juice,” Rosie explained.

Freddie perked up. “Yes. That’s next.” She leaned back into his side again, sipping from her daiquiri. “After we dance,” she added.

“After we dance,” Rosie agreed.

They spoke idly about this and that as they polished off their drinks, revelling in the simplicity of being but one couple in a sea of many in a jazz club on a Saturday night. During the war they’d so rarely had this anonymity - they had been a major and a wing officer for so long that there had always been an expectation that they would act a certain way, would keep an eye on the people who worked under them, would still be somewhat on duty even after they’d clocked out for the day. Here, there was no duty to attend to, no one watching to see if they would put a foot wrong, no gaggle of German-speaking wireless operators or freshly deployed airmen to keep in line. Here, they were just Freddie and Rosie, still on their newlywed high even though it had been almost five months since their marriage, absolutely smitten with each other and soaking up the joy of their new life.

Freddie finished her drink first and shot Rosie a satisfied smile. They hadn’t formally been racing but Freddie liked to make competitions out of small things sometimes without telling Rosie, just so she could feel a sense of triumph when she won. It was a habit she’d adopted when she’d first moved into Rosie’s apartment and which he often complained about, because he was by nature also incredibly competitive, perhaps even more so than she was, but which he always laughed along with nonetheless.

Tonight, when Freddie declared, “I win!” and held up her empty glass as evidence, Rosie rolled his eyes jovially and took her face into one hand, squishing her cheeks together.

“You can’t win competitions I don’t know I’m competing in!” he told her, amusing himself by trying to see how pouty he could make her lips.

Freddie batted his hand away and insisted, “I told you to drink up!”

“You didn’t tell me we were racing!”

“Sounds like someone’s a sore loser to me,” Freddie drawled in reply.

Rosie stared at her for a moment before a slow smile started to spread across his lips. He shook his head at her. “You’re unbelievable. There’s no reason for you to withhold that information unless you thought you were gonna lose.”

“I don’t lose, Rosie,” Freddie informed him matter-of-factly. “I’m your princess so you’re not allowed to let me lose.”

Playfully, Rosie groaned. “Oh, right,” he conceded, tipping the rest of his drink down his throat and setting his glass down on the table with eyes dancing, “I forgot that’s what I signed up for when I married you.”

Freddie giggled. “No backing out now! Your mum likes me too much.”

Rosie grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Neither of them knew who started the kiss they got lost in, but they were lost in it for a while. By the time they pulled apart, flushed and breathless, grinning wildly at each other, Freddie could no longer postpone the inevitable. “I have to go to the bathroom but when I come back we’ll dance, yes?”

“Yes,” Rosie agreed, chuckling to himself. “You want me to wait outside?”

“No, I’ll be okay,” Freddie assured him. “Just wait for me here, please, darling.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Rosie watched Freddie with a wide smile as she crossed the club towards the door with the bright red, lit up sign above it reading Ladies. She turned back once on her way over and caught his eye, and he laughed as she blew him a kiss, pretending to catch it and press it to his cheek. And he continued to stare at the door she’d disappeared behind for a few moments after she was out of his sight, until he realised that that was strange and may be misconstrued and turned firmly back around in his seat.

There wasn’t much for him to do now that he had no drink to sip on, so Rosie picked the drinks menu back up and scanned the rest of the cocktails list for other options Freddie might like. By now they had discovered she generally liked the sweeter options instead of the refreshing ones - something fruity instead of minty tended to get a higher ranking on her list - so he made a mental note of the ones which contained the most fruit juices.

He was so deep in contemplation over the list he didn’t notice the woman making her way across the front of the booth towards another. She glanced his way idly as she went, then paused, stopped walking, leaned closer to try to get a better look at his face where it was ducked towards the menu, then stood up straighter to take advantage of his lack of attention. She fluffed her hair and adjusted her dress and swiped her thumb nail across the corners of her lips to ensure her lipstick wasn’t smudged. “Robbie?” she asked once she was ready to be looked at.

Rosie’s head shot up, his eyebrows furrowed. When he saw who had spoken, however, he broke out into a surprised smile. “Sammy?”

“Yes!” the woman exclaimed, skirting around the side of the booth to sit down beside him in Freddie’s vacated space. “Long time no see!”

“Yeah, it - it really has been,” Rosie agreed.

“Ain’t seen you here in a long time!” Samantha told him. “Ain’t seen you ‘round anywhere in a long time, come to think of it!”

Rosie shrugged, giving a short shake of his head. “Yeah, well, I - I actually just got back from Europe a couple weeks ago.”

Samantha’s eyes widened. “Europe!” she echoed with a gasp. “Where?”

“England,” Rosie replied. He laughed a little bit self-consciously. “My base was in East Anglia, so not the most exciting of places, but it was great. Great people.”

“Well, the great people over here have missed you,” Samantha replied easily. “How have you been? I hope the war wasn’t too hard on you.”

Rosie shrugged. “War was hard on everyone, wasn’t it? You’d be hard pressed to find someone left unscathed. But me, all of us over here, we’re the lucky ones, right? Some of the stories the people over in Europe tell -” He faltered, thinking back to the old man he met in Poland on the way back to England. He quickly pushed that thought away. “I’m good, anyway. I’ve been good. Glad to be home.”

“Glad to have you home,” Samantha replied.

“How have you been, anyway?” Rosie went on. He tried to be subtle as he shot a glance over his shoulder at the door to the ladies’ room but no one was emerging from it.

Samantha launched into a long story of her experiences during the war: how she’d had a marine boyfriend at one point but he’d run off with a nurse he met while on leave in Australia, how she’d considered trying to become a nurse at one point herself but wasn’t sure she wanted to do two years’ worth of training, how she’d thought about going to see Rosie’s mother to find out whether he might want a sweetheart back home to write to - she’d figured he was away for the war, she just had no idea where.

“I just kept thinking while the war was on and no one had seen you for a while -” she was saying, “- I kept thinking about our time together. Y’know, back in the good old days, when we used to go to the movies and spend hours in diners talking about what we saw. When we’d sneak off to my dad’s car to fool around and then go back in to sit at the dinner table like nothing happened. Wasn’t it great?”

Rosie’s polite smile was strained. “Yeah,” he hedged. “Yeah, but hey, listen, that was a long time ago. A lot’s changed since then and -”

“I’m back!” Freddie declared as she rounded the corner of the booth. “Rosie, are you ready to - oh.” 

Rosie’s back was ramrod straight. He wasn’t sure why he felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Fred,” he greeted. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, darling,” Freddie replied. Her smile was confused as she turned to the woman in her seat. “Hello. I’m not sure we’ve met.”

“Samantha,” the woman introduced herself. There was an expression of mild distaste on her face. “Who’re you?”

“This is Freddie,” Rosie said. “My wife.”

Freddie watched with raised eyebrows as Samantha turned to Rosie and frowned. “Your wife?”

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing’s going on here,” Rosie assured her. “Sammy’s an old friend and we were just catching up.”

“Old friend,” Samantha echoed with a scoff. “Yeah, sure, Robbie, we were friends.”

“What does that mean?” Freddie asked. Her eyes flicked between the two of them, her arms folded across her chest. 

“It means I was his girlfriend, sweetie,” Samantha replied sharply. “And we were just reminiscing on all the good times we shared together. Y’know, in the backs of movie theatres, in my dad’s old car, in -”

“That’s enough,” Rosie cut across her. “Fred, it wasn’t like that, honey.”

Freddie’s eyes were wide as she stared back at him from across the table, lost as she wondered what she was supposed to do with herself. “Rosie, I’m not sure I know what’s going on.”

“Why’s she calling you Rosie?” Samantha demanded from beside him, though her eyes were on Freddie.

“That’s what everyone called me during the war - just - it doesn’t matter,” Rosie stumbled to reply. “Fred, honey, nothing’s going on.”

Samantha’s eyes were narrowed on Freddie, her lips curled in a smirk as she laid a hand on Rosie’s bicep and added, “Not yet.”

Freddie stared back at her blankly for a moment, hardly able to believe what she was seeing, before she tilted her chin up and pushed her shoulders back, mustering up the authority she’d had during the war when an entire wing of wireless ops had followed her every order. “Can you get your hands off my husband, please?” Her voice was level - sweet, even, and casual - but there was an undercurrent of steel Freddie knew the other woman had heard because her eyes hardened.

Samantha’s hand curled around Rosie’s arm. Surely, her nails must have been digging in. “Your husband was my boyfriend first,” she said, lifting one perfectly plucked eyebrow in challenge.

“Was your boyfriend,” Freddie repeated, her gaze hard. “Is my husband. It really doesn’t matter to me when you were together or for how long because it ended, it’s over, he came to England and met me, we fell in love, he proposed, we got married, now we live in his apartment together with our dog. So whatever competition you’ve decided is going on here, I hate to be the one to tell you but you’ve lost. Quite severely.” She planted her hands on the table and leaned forward over it to be at eye level with the other woman. Her voice dropped an octave. “So hands off my husband, don’t make me tell you again.”

Samantha stared back at her, her mouth falling open, an incredulous smile tugging at its edges. Finally, she turned to Rosie with raised eyebrows. “Robbie,” she complained.

Rosie was looking at Freddie, grinning. “What?” It took him a moment, but eventually he tore his eyes away to meet Samantha’s. “You heard her, didn’t you?”

“You aren’t gonna do anything?”

“I’m gonna dance with my wife,” Rosie replied. “Have a nice night, Sam.” With that, Rosie wrenched his arm out of her grip and rose to his feet, wrapping a protective arm around Freddie’s waist as they turned and headed to the dance floor.

“What a cow,” Freddie said when they were pressed together, swaying to the music. “She really thought she was going to steal you from me.”

Rosie only laughed. “Nothing and no one is ever gonna steal me from you, Fred, I promise, sweetheart.”

Freddie shot a glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed, her lips twisted in a residual frown. “Thinking we’re in competition,” she mumbled to herself as she turned back around. Wherever Samantha now was, it wasn’t anywhere near where they’d left her. “You’re mine, Robert Rosenthal,” Freddie declared, locking her arms around Rosie’s neck and pushing up on her toes to kiss him soundly on the lips. “Only mine. I don’t care how many rabid ex-girlfriends you have crawling around the city, you’re mine, you hear me?”

“I hear you, baby,” Rosie assured her, smiling wide. He shook his head once, as though to clear a fog. “You’re so beautiful, Fred. I love you so bad. Can we go home?”

Freddie quirked an eyebrow. “Why would we go home? We’ve only had two drinks.”

Rosie ducked his head until his lips were brushing her ear. His hands on the small of her back slid down dangerously low. “I think you know why,” he whispered.

Freddie smirked, turning her head until their lips brushed when she next spoke. “Seeing me jealous get you hot under the collar, Major?”

“You have no idea.”

Freddie grinned. “One more dance and you can have your way with me, honey.” She spotted Samantha watching them from over Rosie’s shoulder, attempting to be surreptitious as she lingered in the crowd by the bar. Freddie smiled sweetly at her as they locked eyes, then brushed a soft kiss against Rosie’s lips and whispered, “First, why don’t you be a good boy and make sure your bitch of an ex-girlfriend knows whose name you’ll be calling tonight?”

The kiss he gave her in reply was deep and long and messy, not entirely appropriate for a public setting and yet they were far from the only couple forgetting themselves in the club tonight. By the time they stumbled out of the door together, hand in hand and giggly, Samantha had no more ideas about any sort of competition for Rosie’s heart. It was clear to her now that that was a feud she’d long since lost.

[thebibliophilevigilante]

Under the Red Hood

Name: Jason Todd

Alias: Robin, Red Hood, Batman, Arkham Knight

Hair Color: Onyx with a tuft of white streaked through his bangs

Eye Color: Teal

Powers and abilities :

Peak Physical Condition: By matching his former mentor in combat he has proven that he is physically superior to most Olympic athletes, just as Batman is. His strength, reflexes, stamina, and endurance are roughly comparable to that of Dick Grayson, though his litheness is not.

Master Martial Artist: Jason is a highly skilled combatant trained by Batman. Although he was always more of a brawler as Robin, following his resurrection, he gained more training and demonstrated himself to be far more skilled than before. This is shown when he fought his former mentor and Nightwing to a standstill, when Jason held his own against the Green Arrow in a sword fight, and when he overpowered Tim Drake at Titans Tower.

Skilled Acrobat: In his training as Robin, he had been taught acrobatics and gymnastics routines.

Skilled Swordsman: Jason has been shown to be skilled enough to hold his own against the Green Arrow in a sword fight until he ultimately lost.

Skilled detective: Jason has shown some skill as a detective most notably in Outsiders#44 and #45.

Multi-Lingual: Taught by Batman, Jason is fluent in several languages having spoken English, French, German, Italian and various others with Russian being his weakest.

Polymath: After be adopted by Bruce, Jason received excellent education and tutoring from both private tutors and Bruce thus, has deep knowledge in many subjects, including Science, Math, Medicine, Geography, Criminology, World History and English. If you ask him his favorite, it would definitely be English/Literature.

Intermediate Bomb assembly and Diffusal: Taught by a world renowned bomb expert in Russia, Jason is able to assemble and defuse a wide variety of conventical explosive devices, from improvised to military grade designs. It is yet to be determined whether or not he can diffuse Nuclear devices, in contrast to Batman and Damian’s demonstrated ability.

Vehicular Driver: Jason has driven a variety of vehicles from cars and boats, to being trained in the Middle East by an ace pilot to fly helicopters. His main vehicle of choice is a motorbike.

Strength Level: peak for a 6-foot, 225-pound young man with rigorous physical exercise.

Equipment: His Red Hood costume consists of charcoal-colored cargo pants, a charcoal-colored Kevlar chest plate, a cognac leather jacket, and of course, his iconic red helmet that modulates his voice. His weapon of choice would be his Beretta, but he has other tools in his arsenal as well. Batman was always known for being a walking armory, and Jason learned from the best.

Weaknesses: None…not like he’d disclose, anyway.

((Information gathered from Batman Wikia))

Main Background: Jason Peter Todd was born on August 16, 1986 to Catherine and Willis Todd. Willis was an alcoholic, abusive husband and father and eventually went to jail because of it along with the fact he used/dealt drugs and was a hired hand for Two-Face. Catherine was a drug user herself, and was eventually given an overdose (theory is by the Joker to get Jay out of his house or something along those lines). Jason thought her dead and lived on the streets of Gotham, until one dark night. He was stealing the tires off the infamous Batmobile when Batman caught him and took him under his wing. Jason eventually became known as the second Robin and remained such until he was 17. He found out Catherine was still alive somewhere in the Middle East, and he set out to find her. It turned out to be a cruel trap his mother was in on with Joker. Jason was beaten with a crowbar to within an inch of his life and then trapped with his mother, until the place exploded. He died of asphyxiation due to smoke inhalation that day, April 27, 2003.

Grief-stricken and heartbroken, Bruce had him buried at the cemetery on Wayne Manor. The only problem was, Jason wasn’t really dead. He had to claw his way out of his own grave, bleeding, wet and dirty. He ran away until he came across this bakery, breaking in to grab himself a loaf of bread due to the overwhelming starvation. That’s when Talia al Ghul, master assassin daughter of Ra’s al Ghul, found him and took him to the Lazarus Pit where her own father bathed to remain youthful. Jason was completely healed…physically. The Pit was a gift and a curse, giving him new life but warping his mind. He trained under the al Ghuls and the All Caste for several years, learning the ways of the master assassins before returning to Gotham and taking up the mantle of Red Hood.

[downbad4yoongi]

Fall from Grace

🤍Pairing: Demon!Jin x Angel!Jimin 🤍WC: 5,058 🤍Genre/warnings: angel and demons au, betrayal, smut, fluff

🤍Rating: R

🤍Summary: The rules for angels and demons are simple and straightforward, and can be summed up as: don’t interact.

A/N: This story is part of BTS Fests' Angels & Demons Fest!

Thank you to my betas: @colormepurplex2 and @moonleeai. Many hugs to @colormepurplex2 for my banner.

 A Flicker in the Twilight

The twilight hums with the city’s heartbeat. Neon gods of advertisement pulse against the fading sky, casting a garish glamor on the throngs below. Lost in the kaleidoscope of chrome and flesh, Jin savors the symphony of human anxieties. They pulse through him, a delectable chaos dancing on his tongue. It is like the finest wine, this mortal cocktail – intoxicating, unpredictable, infinitely more thrilling than the bland ambrosia of his celestial past. 

Leaning against the side of a building, Jin, once a grotesque tapestry of shadow and bone, now shimmers with angelic grace, courtesy of a botched mission and a particularly potent curse. He revels in the dissonance, the whispers of his true nature tickling the edges of his angelic façade. Humans, constantly oblivious to the storm brewing inside him, mistake his charm for benevolence, his mischievous grin for a divine smile. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a predator in a sanctuary of light.

He twirls a strand of hair as he watches the countless hordes of faceless humans stride past him. Humans, like fireflies, flit across the avenues, their souls like flickering flames. Most hold no interest, their predictability a dull ache in his immortal boredom. But then, a glint of pure, celestial light catches his eye. An angel, disguised in the borrowed flesh of a human youth, stands on the corner adjacent to him, radiating an aura as vibrant as a sunrise. He watches on as the angel, resplendent even in the mortal flesh, navigates the human tide with an awkward grace. 

Jimin's name echoes in Jin’s mind, a whisper plucked from the supernatural airwaves. Jin cocks his head, watching the celestial, discerning that he is a novice. Jimin is inexperienced, a wide-eyed fawn in a wolf’s den.

Jimin’s innocence is like virgin snow, pure and untainted, waiting to be imprinted with the dark designs of Jin’s twisted amusement.

The perfect game piece. 

A thrill dances through Jin like a lightning bolt, not the usual hum of predatorial amusement, but something altogether sharper, more intoxicating. A mischievous curl creeps onto Jin’s lips. With a practiced grace, that has been honed from centuries of deception, he weaves through the throng, the city lights glinting off his unseen wings. 

“Lost, little lamb?” Jin’s voice, honeyed and smooth, cuts through the city’s cacophony.

Jimin turns, his cognac eyes widening in surprise. The golden rays emanating from his disguised form cast an ethereal glow across the chaotic street. But it is the darkness, a whisper hidden in the depths of his gaze, that draws Jin in. A flicker of rebellion, a crack in the otherworldly armor. 

Jimin, drawn by a force he can’t comprehend, steps closer. The aura around Jin, a faint hum of darkness, should send him fleeing. Yet, he finds himself drawn deeper, a curiosity eclipsing his fear, curiosity over encountering another being like himself. 

“N-no,” Jimin stammers, adjusting his borrowed human form with self-conscious fiddling. “Just…observing.”

Jin chuckles. “Observing the fascinating creatures of this earth, are we?” Jin offers a hand. “Well, allow me to offer some guidance. I know these streets better than any moonbeam.” This isn’t just amusement anymore. This is a challenge, a dance on the precipice of forbidden desire.

Jimin hesitates, the wings under his human guise rustle like whispered prayers. Then, with a sigh that ruffles the city air, he takes the offered hand, his fingers brushing against Jin’s with a spark that sends shivers down the demon’s spine.

“Thank you,” Jimin breathes, his gaze lingers on Jin for a beat too long, a whisper of starlight battling the celestial fire in his eyes. 

The walk through the bustling city offers a motley of sights and smells for Jimin. Jin, his guide and tormentor in equal measure, navigates the throngs with practiced ease, a picture of casual charm. Jimin, on the other hand, is a clumsy swan in a human pond, his borrowed skin prickling with unease. 

“So, earth delights you?” Jin asks, his voice a silken thread woven through the city’s hum. 

Jimin blushes, his celestial aura flickering like an overeager candle. “It’s…overwhelming,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “So much chaos, so much life.”

Jin chuckles a rich, dark sound that resonates in Jimin’s chest. “A chaos that dances to its own rhythm, wouldn’t you say?” He stops abruptly, his eyes glinting with an amusement that sends a tingle down Jimin’s spine. “Does it resonate with you, little angel?”

Jimin’s wings twitch under his borrowed skin. He knows he shouldn’t linger, and he can sense that there is more to Jin than he sees. Yet, Jin’s presence is a maelstrom he can’t seem to resist.

“There’s something…” Jimin begins, his voice barely a sigh. “A spark in this chaos, a warmth that draws me in.” He meets Jin’s gaze, the astral fire in his eyes battling the forbidden embers that flicker there. 

Jin’s smile deepens, a knowing curve that sends a shiver down Jimin’s spine. “Ah, the forbidden fruit, angel. Sweetest when plucked from the branches of danger.” He leans in, his breath a whisper of brimstone against Jimin’s ear. “But remember, little one, even the most tempting fruit can leave a bitter taste.”

Jimin’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a gilded cage. The spark in Jin’s eyes, the warmth of his touch, draws him in like a moth to a flame. 

“I…I don’t care about the consequences,” Jimin whispers, his voice barely a tremor. “I only know that this moment, this feeling, it’s worth the risk.”

Jin’s smile widens, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Foolish angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress. “Then let us dance, shall we? Let us taste the forbidden fruit and see if its sweetness outweighs the sting.”

He slips his hand around Jimin’s, his touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through the angel’s borrowed form. And with that, they step deeper into the city’s twilight.

Eventually, their journey finds them using a fire escape to settle on a rooftop. The city sprawls out beneath them like a glittering tapestry. The wind whispers secrets through the night, carrying the scent of jasmine and asphalt. Jin feels a flicker of something unexpected. Not the sharp thrill of anticipation, but a pang of something akin to regret. 

 Was it the way Jimin’s youthful face pales in the moonlight or the earnest tremor in his voice as he whispers, “This place is beautiful,” that touches a dormant chord within Jin?

For a fleeting moment, Jin sees himself reflected in Jimin's starlit eyes. Not the monstrous entity of shadow and bone, but the young, ethereal creator he once was before the curse, before the fall. An echo of the celestial light he had long extinguished in himself. 

Jin feels a strange vulnerability bloom within himself, a yearning for something he can’t name. Standing back, observing Jimin’s awe, he shakes himself. This is just a game, a predator’s pursuit—no room for hesitation, no space for compassion. 

Yet, as Jimin turns to him, his face alight with wonder, Jin finds himself hesitating. For the first time in centuries, the predator holds back, the wolf unsure of its prey.

The game had just begun, and the rules, it seemed, were about to change.

Jin’s façade trembles under Jimin’s gaze, the carefully crafted mask of charm threatening to crack under the weight of an unwelcome emotion. The devil within him snarls, urging him to pounce, to exploit the celestial’s trust. Yet, the merest whisper against the infernal damnation of his being echoes louder, a flicker of empathy he can’t quite extinguish.

Jin swallows the tightness in his throat, forcing his lips into a familiar, playful smirk. “Beautiful indeed, little lamb. This is just the beginning. There are secrets woven into this city’s very fabric, waiting to be unraveled.”

Jimin tilts his head, the naive curiosity in his eyes still undimmed. “Will you help me find them?”

The question hangs in the air, a challenge and an invitation. Jin stares into the depths of those starlit eyes, searching for a hint of suspicion, a flicker of fear. But there is only trust, a pure and unadulterated yearning for knowledge and adventure. 

In that moment, the predator falters. The game, he realizes, isn’t just about to change. It is about to shatter. He could still twist the knife, manipulate Jimin’s trust for his own amusement, but the thrill feels hollow, poisoned by the unexpected pang of something akin to…responsibility. 

He takes a deep breath, the scent of night air filling his lungs. “Yes,” he says, the word heavy on his tongue. “I’ll help you.”

The decision tastes like ashes in his mouth, a bitter compromise between his monstrous nature and the ghost of his celestial past. He watches the smile blossom on Jimin’s face, a light that could rival the moon. Jin knows this isn’t just a game anymore. It is a dance on the precipice, a perilous tango between darkness and light, with the fate of two celestial souls hanging in the balance. 

His gaze lingers on Jimin, the forbidden yearning gnawing at this resolve. This isn’t part of the plan, this impossible, intoxicating pull. But as Jimin’s eyes meet his, a larger spark of uncertainty ignites within the demon, and the fragile dam around Jin’s desires crumbles. Jin’s breath hitches. He knows the danger, the impossibility of their connection. But in the face of Jimin’s vulnerability, his own desire pulses with a forbidden fire.

Their lips meet in a kiss, a clash of celestial fire and demonic embers. It is a taste of forbidden fruit, sweet and intoxicating. As their lips part, a gasp escapes Jimin's mouth, a flicker of fear battling with the dawning realization of what they were doing. Jin sees it, the internal war raging within the angel. And in that moment, he knows the game has definitely changed. This isn’t just a dance with fate; it is a tightrope walk over the abyss, a gamble with their very souls.

But as the city lights shimmer around them, casting their forbidden tryst in a seductive glow, Jin can’t help but smile. He is a demon in angel's clothing, and he has just found his most tempting sin.

The night stretches before them, a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of their forbidden desire. And as they stand there, bathed in the twilight, the city holds its breath, waiting to see what masterpiece would be born from the ashes of their celestial clash.

Whispers in the Moonlight

The city, a pulsing tapestry of sin and salvation, thrums with the electric tension of their forbidden entanglement. As dawn bleeds into dusk, Jin and Jimin meet in the shadowed corner of a long abandoned courtyard, hearts echoing a forbidden rhythm. Jin, cloaked in starlight, leads Jimin on a waltz through the neon wilderness, every whisper a searing brand against the angel’s soul.

Jimin, wings folded beneath a borrowed human skin, wrestles with the celestial fire simmering within. Duty whispers harsh reprimands, yet defiance roars like a caged beast. Jin, the devil on his shoulder, grins with eyes like bottomless pools, each touch a whispered promise of rebellion.

The city lights shimmer on Jimin’s skin, turning his eyes into molten gold. He trembles, not from fear, but from the intoxicating mix of temptation and longing that Jin ignites inside him. 

Jin leans in close enough for Jimin to feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. “Do you hear it, angel?” he utters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down Jimin’s spine. “The city’s heartbeat, pulsing with the rhythm of our forbidden song?”

His words are steeped in temptation. Jimin feels the celestial fire flicker, threatened by the seductive darkness Jin offers. He yearns to know the taste of rebellion, to shed the shackles of angelic rigidity and fly on the wings of his own desires.

Jimin, his heart a frantic drum against ribs, swallows hard. He can hear it, echoing in the symphony of car horns and distant laughter, a primal pulse that mirrors the yearning of his soul. 

“It’s… maddening,” he whispers, his voice barely audible above the city’s din.

Jin chuckles, a sound like tinkling ice against velvet. “Maddeningly beautiful, isn’t it?”

His thumb brushes the crest of Jimin’s cheek, the touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through him. Jimin’s eyes melt even further under the neon sky and meet Jin’s, the heat of their gaze a silent conversation—unspoken questions dance in the air between them.

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “I… I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a discordant note introduced to their orchestra. Jin’s smile falters for a moment but is quickly masked by his impassive façade. “And what, angel,” he drawls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, “is it that you can’t do?”

Jimin flinches at the challenge in Jin’s eyes. He knows he is playing with fire. While romantic dalliances with other angels aren’t forbidden, they aren’t looked on kindly, which is enough to deter most. 

But something, some spark of rebellion, ignites deep within him, refusing to be silenced. 

“I can’t deny this,” he says, his voice gaining strength with every word. “This…this fire that burns between us. We may be angels, Jin, but we are also men. And this city, this dark and beautiful chaos…it sings a song that my soul yearns to hear.”

The silence that follows Jimin’s confession is thick with unspoken tension. Jin’s eyes, usually warm and playful, flicker with a hidden storm. He takes a step toward Jimin, his gaze raking over him with an intensity that sends a shiver down the younger angel’s spine.

The city lights, once a backdrop to their clandestine meetings, now throb with a new meaning. The neon signs bleed into their vision, painting the shadows on their faces with a kaleidoscope of emotions. The symphony of car horns and distant laughter becomes a seductive song, urging them closer to the edge of what is and what isn’t permissible.

Jimin, emboldened by the defiance in Jin’s eyes, reaches out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of Jin’s jaw. The touch is a spark, igniting a wildfire that threatens to consume them both. Jin’s breath hitches, and for a fleeting moment, his celestial façade flickers, revealing the hungry demon beneath.

Jin, feigning reluctance, breathes, “We can’t. The consequences…”

But Jimin, his heart pounding a forbidden drumbeat, cuts him off. “Consequences be damned,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jin’s ear.

With that, he pulls Jin into a kiss, a desperate, hungry press of lips that speaks volumes of unspoken yearnings. The kiss is a rebellion, a declaration of defiance against the sterile order of their celestial existence. It is a taste of the forbidden fruit, a glimpse of a world where love, not duty, dictates their actions. 

As they break apart, breathless and reeling, the city lights seem to dance in celebration. The air crackles with an electric tension, the very fabric of their world shimmering with the weight of their choice. One of them knows the path they are embarking on is fraught with danger, while the other leads them down this defiant path. In that moment, surrounded by the cacophony of the city, they only see each other, a beacon of light in the darkness.

The moon, a pearl amidst the velvet tapestry of night, bathes the hidden courtyard in an ethereal glow. Jasmine tendrils, heavy with moonlit secrets, cling to the crumbling brick walls, weaving a fragrant canopy above Jimin and Jin. Here, within the shadows, the celestial rules morph and blur, their breaths forming wispy constellations against the obsidian sky. 

Jin, his dark hair a curtain against the lunar silver, cradles Jimin’s face in his hands. “There’s more to existence than humans and harp strings, angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress against Jimin’s trembling lips. “The world whispers forgotten stories.”

Jimin, his resolve a fluttering moth against Jin’s intoxicating whispers, surrenders. He longs for the taboo secrets Jin offers, each a forbidden fruit bursting with a thousand forbidden flavors. Jin speaks of earthly music that makes the soul quake, of laughter that echoes through cobbled streets, of the bittersweet tang of tears shed for love and loss. He paints the world with his words, worlds where angels dance with mortals, where moonlight sculpts shadows into lovers’ embraces. 

“And you,” Jin murmurs, his lips trailing along Jimin’s jaw, “you, my angel, hold within you the music of a thousand unplayed instruments. Let me hear your orchestra,” he pleads, his voice raw with the hunger for what they both know is improper.

Jimin, his hidden wings trembling like fervent prayers, traces the forbidden map of Jin’s lips. “I… I fear the melody might be discordant,” he breathes, his voice a thread lost in the music of the night. 

Jin chuckles, a sound like wind chimes kissed by the starlight. “Then let me be your maestro, angel,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jimin’s ear. “Together, we’ll orchestrate a symphony that will defy the heavens themselves.”

And so, under the moon’s silent gaze, they meld into one as their clothes litter the cobblestone around them. Jin’s hands overflow with the ample bounty of Jimin’s ass as he eliminates any molecule of space between them. The air around them resonates with the vibrations of their moans as their thickened shafts slide against each other. 

As their bodies move in harmony, a symphony of passion and desire, the boundaries between heaven and earth blur. Jimin clings to Jin, his nails digging into the smooth expanse of Jin’s back, each thrust of their hips driving them closer to the precipice of ecstasy. The courtyard, once a sheltered sanctuary, now bears witness to their entwined forms, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon their skin.

Their rhythm quickens, urgency fueled by the forbidden nature of their love. Jimin’s breath hitches as pleasure courses through him like an electric current. He presses his forehead against Jin’s, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze that speaks of devotion and rebellion. At this moment, they are no longer angels bound by celestial laws; they are simply two souls set on fire, seeking solace in each other’s embrace.

The symphony of car horns and distant laughter fades into the background as their moans fill the air, mingling with the rustle of the jasmine tendrils above. The earthy scent of the cobblestones mixes with the musk of their desire, the ground trembling beneath the force of their passion.

Jin leans in, his lips brushing against Jimin’s neck, his voice a whisper against his skin. “Fear not, my love,” he says. “Our music is perfect, even in its forbidden form.”

Jimin gasps as Jin thrusts harder against him, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in Jin’s hair, his nails biting into his scalp. “Yes, Jin,” he moans, “make me your muse.”

The two continue their dance of passion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The jasmine tendrils above, heavy with blooms, seem to sway in time with their movements, adding a sweet fragrance to the air. Their moans echo through the courtyard, the sound of two souls joining together in a forbidden ensemble. The moon watches over them, its light casting silvery beams upon their entwined forms. As they reach the crescendo, their bodies colliding and surrendering to the forbidden music, the world around them seems to pause in reverence.

Finally, the moment arrives. The tension between them is palpable as they stand on the brink of the abyss. Jin's eyes lock onto Jimin's, his gaze intense and full of desire. In that moment, their connection is tangible. Jimin's fingers tug at Jin's hair, pulling him closer. Jin's lips devour Jimin's in an all-consuming kiss, the taste of forbidden fruit on their tongues. The air around them crackles with electricity, singeing the air surrounding them.

Jin's hips thrust harder against Jimin, their movements syncopated and raw. The heat from their bodies radiates outward, leaving the rest of the world behind. Their existence is limited to this moment, this place, this kiss.

As the last shuddering breath leaves their lips, they collapse against each other, their bodies spent. The moon's gaze fades, and the courtyard returns to its quiet solitude.

In the aftermath, Jin and Jimin lay entangled in each other's arms, their breaths slowing and their hearts beating as one. Jin knew this moment would come, but he had not anticipated the depths of emotions that would ensue. He feels a mix of euphoria and trepidation, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jimin, on the other hand, struggles with the implications of their actions. He had thought to quash his longings, keeping them hidden beneath layers of celestial duty. Now, he finds those same longings have become impossible to ignore. 

The consequences of their tryst linger on the horizon, a faint dissonance in the night’s melody. But for now, they bask in the lingering traces of their forbidden love. Jimin's fingers trace delicate patterns on Jin's bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He looks up into Jin's eyes, the weight of their actions and the uncertainty of the future settling upon him like a heavy cloak.

"What have we done?" Jimin whispers, his voice laced with both regret and longing. "Is this worth defying everything we know?"

Jin's gaze meets Jin's, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that Jimin can't fully read. "Perhaps," he replies softly, "love is not meant to be bound by rules and expectations. Maybe it is meant to be wild, untamed, and willing to risk everything."

Jimin's heart swells at Jin's words, his fingers tightening their grip on Jin's body. He knows that the path they have chosen is treacherous and that they will face obstacles unlike any they have encountered before. 

Celestial Fear

Dawn creeps through the cityscape, painting the courtyard in a blush of pink. Jimin stirs, his eyelids fluttering open to the sight of Jin’s sleeping face, the warmth of his breath tickling Jimin’s cheek. The forbidden intimacy of their entwined bodies sends a shiver through him, a delicious echo of their celestial rebellion. 

But as Jimin traces the line of Jin’s jaw with his fingers, a shadow flickers across Jin’s eyes, a darkness deeper than the city’s nocturnal embrace. It was fleeting, gone as soon as it appeared, yet it left a tremor in Jimin’s heart.

“Jin,” he whispers, his voice hesitant, “what was that?”

Jin’s eyes flutter open, the celestial depths replaced by a flicker of embers, a glimpse of something wild and untamed. He sits up, pulling away from Jimin, and for a moment, Jimin feels a chill crawl down his spine.

“Nothing,” Jin says, his voice strained, “just a memory, a whisper from before.”

But Jimin isn’t convinced. The darkness that tinges Jin’s eyes, it isn’t mere nostalgia, it is something colder, something sharper. A doubt, a seed of suspicion, begins to sprout in Jimin’s mind.

“Before?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before…what?”

Jin hesitates, his gaze flickering away. Then, with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of centuries, he turns back to Jimin, his eyes lock on his his with an intensity that makes Jimin’s heart pound.

“Angel,” he says, his voice husky, “before I met you, before all this… I was… different.”

A cold dread washes over Jimin. He knows, instinctively, that the answer he is about to hear will shatter the fragile world they have built in these stolen moments.

“Different how?” Jimin whispers, his voice trembling.

Jin reaches out, his fingers brushing against Jimin’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sends shivers down his spine. “I’m not an angel, Jimin,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I am…” he pauses, his eyes searching Jimin’s face for any sign of rejection, “I am fallen.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the revealed truth shattering the foundation of their forbidden love. Jimin stares at Jin, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Fallen. The word conjures images of rebellion, of darkness, of everything his angelic existence is supposed to reject. 

But then, another truth dawns on him. The way Jin’s eyes had softened when he spoke of forbidden knowledge, the way his lips had burned against Jimin’s, the way he had whispered promises of defiant symphonies… could it be…?

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice thick with emotion, “does that mean… you…”

Jin cuts him off, his lips crashing against Jimin’s in a kiss that is both desperate and tender. “You became the sun I couldn’t turn away from.”

The world spins around them. The city lights blur into a smear of monochrome. In that kiss, Jimin tastes not defiance but vulnerability, a demon confessing his love for an angel of light. And in that moment, Jimin knows, with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty, that he is falling too.

The consequences of their love looms larger than ever,  a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, under the fading blush of dawn, two souls, one fallen, one faltering, hold each other close, their defiance a whispered promise in the face of the impossible.

As the days pass, they steal fleeting moments together, each touch and stolen glance an act of rebellion against the heavens. In these stolen moments, they discover truths about themselves and each other that make their love burn even brighter. They learn that love can be both soft and fierce, a gentle caress one moment, an inferno of passion the next. And as their love grows deeper, so does the danger that lurks around them.

Whispers begin to spread through the divine airways like a dark fog descending upon their fragile haven. News of their trysts reaches the ears of the celestial council, a gathering of angelic beings who uphold the laws of the heavens. Their verdict is swift and unforgiving: Jimin and Jin's love is an abomination, a stain on the purity of their existence. 

Perched on the brink of rebellion, the city quakes beneath a moonlit sky. Whispers of divine punishment swirl in the air, a constant reminder of the consequences for defying heaven's orders. Jimin feels his heart tremble as he gazes at his celestial flames, their once radiant white glow now tinged red with fear and doubts. He wants to retreat to the safe, sterile world of angels but cannot suppress the fiery longing that burns within him.

"Turn back, angel," booms a thunderous voice, sending a chill down Jimin's spine. "This path leads only to darkness."

At his side stands Jin, the fallen star, his obsidian eyes ablaze with defiance. His words are a whispered song of chaos tempting Jimin towards rebellion. "Choose, angel," he purrs, his seductive tone pulling him closer to danger. "Embrace the fire within or extinguish it under the rain of heaven."

Caught between duty and desire, Jimin stands at a crossroads with a heavy heart. Will he continue to follow his angelic purpose or surrender to the all-consuming love that threatens to devour him, wings and all? It feels like the city is holding its breath, an audience for the final act of this unlikely love story. Jimin must choose: remain shackled to heaven or fly free in Jin's embrace.

As the weight of his decision hangs in the air, Jimin feels the world around him blur into a hazy backdrop. His thoughts swirl in a tempest of conflicting desires, tearing his celestial essence apart. To choose Jin is to abandon everything he has ever known, forsaking his place among the heavens and casting aside his angelic duties. But to deny himself this love would be to wither away, a flame extinguished before it had a chance to dance and illuminate the darkness.

Jimin turns and gazes into Jin's eyes, and he sees a different kind of light - untamed and exhilarating. It beckons to him, calling him away from the predictable world of angels and towards a life filled with passion and uncertainty.

At that moment, Jimin knows what he must do. With trembling hands, he reaches out to Jin, feeling the electric current that courses between them. The celestial flames flicker their once vibrant glow, reigniting with newfound determination.

"I choose love," Jimin whispers with conviction, his voice carrying through the night sky. The heavens quake in response, thunder rolling across the city as if signifying a shifting balance of power.

As Jimin’s words echo, the air crackles with anticipation. The celestial council, shrouded in a halo of divine light, seems to hesitate, their judgment hanging heavy in the air. Jin, his face alight with a mixture of relief and defiance, grasps Jimin’s hand. Their fingers intertwine, a testament to the love that challenges the very fabric of the heavens. 

The lead celestial, his voice laced with disappointment, speaks, “Your decision defies the sacred laws, angel. Are you truly prepared to face the consequences?”

Jimin, his voice unwavering, meets the celestial’s gaze. “I am,” he declares, his stance resolute. “For love, I am willing to forsake the heavens, to dance with the shadows, to face whatever judgment may come.”

A wave of murmurs sweeps through the council, some laced with disapproval, others with a glimmer of understanding. The lead celestial, his expression unreadable, ponders their response. 

Suddenly, a blinding light erupts from the heavens, engulfing Jimin and Jin. It is a baptism of sorts, a celestial test of their resolve. As the light subsides, they stand there, transformed. Jimin’s angelic wings, once pristine white, now bear streaks of obsidian black.

“You have chosen,” the lead celestial booms, his voice echoing. “You have defied the heavens, and now, you shall bear the mark of your rebellion.”

Despite the mark, Jimin doesn’t feel shame but a surge of empowerment. They have chosen each other, defying the celestial order and embracing the unknown. Their path won’t be easy as the council’s judgment isn’t the end. They are now outcasts and will be hunted by celestial forces who see their love as a threat to the established order. 

While their journey will be fraught with danger, heartbreak, and moments of doubt, their love will be their anchor.

[cinamun]

Just like your dad | Next

[swabian-princess]

It-Girl Check: Carina Zavline

Hey girlies,

todays topic is a German It-Girl named Carina Zavline. For those who are not familiar with her at all – she’s a German It-Girl, Model and influencer.

As you can see – she has almost 1 million followers on instagram and posts frequently about her vacations, model jobs and various beauty treatments. In fact, I first heard about lympathic drainage in one of her instagram stories and been a fan of this treatment ever since!

Her career started 2017 when she was a contestant in the German casting show Germany’s Next Topmodel.

While she got the best job (the Opel campagne) of the season and was handled as the shows favorite she had to leave the show right before the semifinal.

However, her career had just started. She landed a job as one of Guess ambassadors and did cooperations with many companies, mostly over her instagram profile.

But who is Carina and what makes her so succesful?

Carina is the daughter of a Russian father and an Ukrainian mother. She was born in Dortmund, Germany and grew up in Hamburg before she moved to Munich to study there. After she finished her studies in Germany she moved to Paris and went to university there. She also studied acting at the Strasberg institute in LA.

Carina is fluent in six languages: German, English, French, Spanish, Ukrainian and Russian.

Before she started her career as an influencer/model she was a succesful dancer and competed international.

In conclusion: she’s not only beautiful but also smart, well spoken and knows how to move her body.

These attributes helped her to land maybe the most important deal of her life: Kilian Hennessy.

Kilian Hennessy is a french billionaire and maybe you already guessed it – yes, his family business is the cognac brand Henessy.

He’s also the founder of the luxurious perfume brand Kilian.

There is not much about the two as a couple on the internet but they made it official relatively recently, in 2022, when he and Carina walked together over the red carpet at the Cannes film festivals.

What can we learn from Carina?

Well, one thing would be: make friends on your way up and keep them. Nourish your friendships and make sure you don’t betray your friends or throw them under the bus for a man because maybe, they introduce you to your future husband.

Carina frequently posts pictures with one of her girlfriends, Hofit Golan – an israeli model, producer and entrepreneur.

Hofit once was called Israels Paris Hilton and she seems to have the same lavish lifestyle as the American It-Girl.

Private jets, dinners in fancy restaurants and of course expensive clothes seem to be Carinas new normal.

Carinas personal style is very sexy but never too much. She’s often spotted wearing luxurious brands like LV, Hermès and Guess.

Her favorite accessoires seem to bee her Van Cleef & Arpels jewellry and her Hermès bags.

She always looks elegant, mix and matching different colors and materials. Look at her instagram for outfit inspirations!

Her makeup and hairstyles are rather simple. She’s sporting a basic nude face with winged eyeliner and wears her long hair down and with soft natural waves.

For nails, she mostly wears them short and with a soft pinkish color.

I do understand the hype about her and I really do think that she’s a great role model in terms of levelling up and hypergamy.

She shows that you should not only look good but also need to be intelligent in order to bag a high value man.

Beauty can open doors, yes – but if you’re dumb and can’t hold a basic conversation even the most beautiful face won’t help you.

Most of those high value men are smart and want a partner they can talk to, a partner who’s able to discuss literature, politics or even art.

Work on yourself, not only on your appearence but also on your inside. Be gentle, generous, friendly and curious. Just never stop learning.

Selene

[liminalh-creations]

15. downtown.

the evil eye doesn't always work, and there's millions between me and you! so just sing to me about eggplants or anything, except for how tired we are...

sketched some familiar (and unfamiliar) faces of the Black Organisation (in civilian clothes)

click below to find out some more details about them! minor warning for mild spoilers up to chapter 15 :)

point of interest: they're all somehow from former east bloc or once-soviet countries

Chianti, Sniper

chinese (?), under 30 years old

VERY short, has a complex about this

she's got the nickname 'Key' but if you call her that without her consent she will throw you

her tattoos are butterfly-and-eye themed (you might see that she's got two tattoos in the drawing, teehee). also, you cannot tell me that the reason for her canon tattoo ISNT a bullet with butterfly wings reference

says "lol" and "lmfao" in casual conversation

might have gotten corrective laser eye surgery (or something similar) - the tattoo on her eyelid might indicate a slightly more long-lasting problem

“Try me again, asshole!” she shrieks, “I’ll stab your dick, too!”

has a girlfriend(?) who gifts italian designer products

vague sibling relationship with Cognac; they're either bickering or they're besties or they're teaming up to gossip about others

“She’s a gamer.”

Korn, Sniper

has a very hoarse voice, possibly resulting from some chronic problem? possible that he doesnt talk much because of this issue

around 45-50 y.o & mongolian

i gave him a wife because i think he deserves someone normal and sane to return home to. according to Vodka's 'accidental' namedrop, she's called Sarnai (the name means Rose in Mongolian <3). also, he's implied to become a father soon

Chianti called him Eeyore in this chapter and it might be one of the funniest things i've ever written. i actually love their dynamic in canon so much that it's a big part of my inspiration for this fic; they just feel so much like they have a life outside of their mandated Black Organisation Cameo Appearance

he and Vodka practice ARB

i sent my friend that picture and he said "this man looks like he's never put any real effort into how he dresses and, in fact, never will" - and honestly? yep.

Arrack, Assassin (?)

arab, though exact national origin is relatively hard to clock (Jenever only figured it out because she remembered Shiraz indirectly referencing him)

was mentioned in Akai's notes from 29/7/2010 >:3c

has a very polished appearance, sculpted muscles type beat

mean slut, "mad dog", self-described bastard. VERY flashy fighter, but also "doesn't care if he loses so long as you're hurt worse"

has some pretty normal Star Wars opinions tbh

"resident fuckboy" / "fuckboy-in-chief" -- context clues indicate he might be a honeypot assassin (like Akai speculates in his notes)

generally easy-going despite being unsettlingly intense, but has a very short temper when Shiraz is brought up. (his degree of Shiraz-obsession probably outshines Jenever's tbh)

he's a one-off B.O. member who shows up in a spin-off comic or something, but you literally cannot introduce a character like that and expect me not to sink my evil little claws into them

Sambuca, "Audiovisual manipulation, back-up IT expert"

slavic & eastern european (exact national origin not yet divulged); around 50 y.o woman

wore a metalcore t-shirt to PT

Gin's previous main IT crow. was part of Tequila's Tokyo office at the time of Teq's death; planted there mostly to train

perfectly faked all of Jenever's and Red's credentials to get them into the japanese police institutions. also seems to be in charge of editing Crows out of CCTV footage. overall, really important behind-the-scenes security/cleanup job

her arms are covered in disparate stick-and-poke tattoos. motifs are not unified. a lot of the words/letters are in cyrillic (not visible in the art bc of leather jacket, sorry hehe)

seems to have a phobia of guns/firearms

Cognac, Hardware & Demolitions

south-east asian (exact national origin not yet divulged)

around 30ish years old. not THAT short (like idk 169cm?), but has major gremlin energy

HORRIBLE frosted tips hairstyle situation

vegetarian

wideset body, physically quite strong but has a vaguely soft appearance

remembers Rye sparring with their team a few times. seems p keen to gossip about him (and anyone, for that matter)

"I am literally a whole bisexual!"

gave his denim jacket to Red Label back in Afghanistan (Arrack was soooo mad about this, probably bc they have matching jackets or smth)

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Pseudologos (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The False God, The Dark Deceit by the people of Olympius

Father by Dolos

Sue by Elpis

Grandfather by Pheme

Age- 70 (immortal)

Location- Olympia, Olympius

Personality- He's very observant with a strong attention to the most minute of details. He's also narcissistic, highly manipulative, selfish, uneasily fooled, as well as egomaniacal. There's only a few beings he genuinely cares about. He has many girlfriends.

He has the standard abilities of a god. As the god of lies his other powers/abilities include truth sense, vocal mimicry, lie proficiency, criminology mastery, telepathy (is able to read minds), fraud inducement (can manipulate others to lie), shapeshifting (his skill is on par with Empusa), being able to create a variety of auditory, visual, & sensory illusions, as well as being able to communicate with/shapeshift into animals associated with trickery- like rats, wolves, snakes, jackals, hyenas, weasels, foxes, coyotes, monkeys, crocodiles, etc...

Pseudologos' primary abode is his cliffside mansion in the state of Olympia. The mansion is built out of adamantine glass, white marble, & black onyx. There are a lot of streakless windows and glittering chandeliers while the flooring is white marble with Imperial Gold accents. The interior design is cool, modern, & sleek with a variety of artwork, photography, and sculptural pieces with leather furniture, & metal, lucite, Imperial Gold, jade, and obsidian furniture pieces. He has a LARGE garage that houses his collection of luxurious sports cars. Pseudologos also owns a beach house on Shimmering Tail Island and an apartment at Bolt Towers, located in the Skyline neighborhood of New Olympus. He also owns a yacht called Olympian.

He has an animal companion- a dragon named Nyroxion. He's the second oldest & fourth largest dragon in all the realms, widely known as "The Black Beast." After Xuvra, Nyroxion is the most fiercest and aggressive. He's primarily covered in black scales while his belly scales & spinal plates are a dark blood red. The dragon has black horns, claws, and crests with dark red eyes & black wings with dark red wing membranes. Nyroxion is usually Pseudologos' mode of transportation. Dragon and rider have an unbreakable bond.

He's fluent in all the languages spoken in Olympius.

Members of Pseudologos' immediate family includes his younger brother Logos (god of stories), his son Dolos (god of deception & treachery), his niece Eikono (goddess of iconography & literature), his daughter-in-law Elpis (goddess of hope), and his granddaughter Pheme (goddess of fame).

His breakfast is usually prepared & cooked by his personal chef- a mountainous centaur named Montague (called Monty for short). Some of Pseudologos' favorites includes almond poppy seed belgian waffles topped with peach compote, cinnamon & cardamom crêpes topped with powdered sugar, baked florentine egg white omelets, and tropical fruit sorbets.

His favorite "snacks" are smoking cigarettes & cigars. Pseudologos treats himself with buying a few of the most expensive cigars at Ygró Veloúdo- the wine bar/premier smoking room owned by Agathodaemon (Daemon) (god of vineyards, grainfields, & luck). At 1.3 million drachmas a pop, the cigar is meticulously filled with rare tobacco sourced from the Underworld infused with a prestigious black pomegrante cognac, wrapped gracefully with a gold leaf, and is secured by a band with dazzling diamonds totaling 5 carats. He also partakes in weed & lotus dust.

He's proficient at forging signatures.

Pseudologos takes great pride in his appearance. In spite of his advanced age, he lives an active lifestyle and is in peak physical shape. His silver gray hair is neatly trimmed, his clothes expertly pressed, & his shoes perfectly polished. Pseudologos is a firm believer of quality over quantity when it comes to his belongings.

A go-to drink for him is a dirty martini. He also likes champagne, red wine, manhattans, whiskey sours, scotch on the rocks, mojitos, negronis, and vesper cocktails. A usual from The Roasted Bean is an olympian sized iced americano.

He doesn't have a close relationship with his brother. Pseudologos hates his younger brother's "greater-than-thou" attitude towards his lifestyle and firmly believes that the moniker of "Olympius' Grandpa" has gotten to Logos' head. He only sees him when there are monthly family dinners hosted by Elpis.

The accumulation of Pseudologos' wealth is one of the best kept secrets in all the realms. There are whispers about his dealings in the black market, but nothing definitive.

His favorite frozen treats are rum raisin ice cream & champagne sorbet.

He has his own crew of stringers that gather intel and photos for the paparazzi. For fun it's rumored that Pseudologos will be in a shapeshifted form as a maintenance worker at the royal palace on Mt. Olympus to gather more information- which is then given to The Oracle Scoop, the tabloid magazine owned by Pheme.

Pseudologos has a few tattoos- a small dagger on the inside of his left wrist, the saying "trust no one" written in Old Greek on the inside of his right wrist, a black widow on his chest, and a bunch of nightshade flowers on his left thigh.

He quite likes his daughter-in-law Elpis. When she visits him, she always brings in a fresh bouquet of flowers. They'll go to the beach to surf & afterwards Pseudologos will enjoy Elpis' homemade smoothie bowl, the blueberry açaí one being his favorite. He doesn't mind the jokes she makes at his expense and thinks that she is too good for his son.

For lunch Monty will prepare Pseudologos' favorite- grilled snapper and asparagus with herb-caper vinaigrette. If he's with a date, he'll dine out, often at The Crown. From the menu he likes the steamed miso custard with mushrooms & soy dressing, herb crêpes with olives and spinach, & grilled garlic crusted oysters with beluga caviar.

Pseudologos' relationship with his son has always been tense. He honestly can't remember the last time he said "I love you" to Dolos or showed any sort of physical affection towards him. Pseudologos is proud of the fact that he taught his son about the harsh truths of the world. That for deities like them, their worth is made, not given. He also refuses to tell Dolos anything about his biological mother.

His all time favorite dessert is baked alaska.

Pseudologos loves buying gifts for his girlfriends, daughter-in-law, & granddaughter.

He has recently released his signature cologne called Mystique. The spicy fragrance has notes of violet leaf, cyclamen, amber, bitter orange blossom, orris, & narcissus. Another notable feature is the black obsidian bottle with purple jade accents. A 8.5 oz/250ml bottle sells for 1,300 drachmas. The release day for Mystique happened at a Pithos Department Store in the Skyline neighborhood.

Pseudologos adores his granddaughter- calling Pheme "My little diamond." They keep in touch through text all the time and they visit each other often. He was one of the financial backers involved in starting up her Diamond Ave. fashion brand. When they spend time together they'll go to the spa, go shopping, & dine at a restaurant. At times their relationship has been tested- due to Pseudologos' constant flirting with Pheme's friends. Lately, he's been trying to let up on that.

A guilty pleasure for him is a wagyu, foie gras, & black truffle burger that Monty makes.

He has quite the social media presence on Fatestagram.

Throughout his immortal life he's been married well over a hundred times! In the pantheon Pseudologos is infamously known as "The Collector of Wives." He's been engaged even more times. Pseudologos rejects the notion of true love, but understands the want and desire to have a warm body close to him at night. Now, he keeps things casual with many girlfriends of many creeds. His long-time girlfriend is Lycana (Titaness of lycanthropy).

Pseudologos has also propositioned Aisa (goddess of lot & fate) as well as Apate (goddess of fraud & deception). Aisa rejected the offer while Apate hasn't given him an answer yet. He does feel a little guilty about the latter- seeing how Apate is his friend's daughter and that she used to work closely with Dolos.

In the pantheon he's friends with Erebus (god of darkness), Astrape (goddess of lightning), Empusa (goddess of shapeshifting), Bronte (goddess of thunder), Hysminai (goddess of fighting & combat), Kydoimos (god of uproar & battlefield confusion), Clymene (Titaness of fame & renown), and Hyperion (Titan god of heavenly light). Pseudologos was the official mentor to Aplistos (god of avarice).

He met Lycana's daughter Lykos (goddess of wolves) briefly a few weeks ago. Pseudologos doesn't have much of an opinion about her.

His carnal appetites rivals that of Zeus (god of the sky, thunder, & lightning). Pseudologos has a "little black book" filled with the names of all his conquests. He has slept with Empusa a few times and has even slept with Gaia (goddess of the earth). An upcoming "event" Pseudologos is looking forward to is a video he's shooting with Philotes (goddess of sex, friendship, & affection) for her adult website. He and Lycana got into a HUGE argument about it.

He broke his only cardinal rule when he said "I love you" to Lycana while they were having sex. When she tried bringing it up a few days later, Pseudologos said that he was high on lotus dust when it happened.

In his free time he enjoys lovemaking, golf, watching TV, tennis, sunbathing, clubbing, going to the casino, playing dominoes, going to the cinema, sky diving, billiards, poker, and going to the opera.

His favorite meal is lamb ravioli with champagne butter and sage.

"The perfect liar is one that no one suspects."

[sarcasticdolphin]

If you're still doing drabble requests, can we have a little bit of Todcheni, as a treat? Or just a reflection on Lucheni's character? Love my stabby dude

Vaguely todcheni? This ended up more gen than I thought it would. O actually probably the right way to put it would be Tod & Lucheni "Parasite."

Under the cut because Tod is a manipulative bastard and for length. Also, massive artistic license has been taken with history.

Luigi Lucheni is not sulking. No, definitely not. Not here, sitting in the shade of the tree while still overlooking the waters of Lake Geneva. 

The rustling of fabric interrupts Luigi’s thoughts, as his friend flops down beside him in the grass.

“Luigi.” His name just sounds as it is - a name - on his friend’s lips. It’s been spat so many ways, more an insult than anything else so often. 

His friend’s eyebrow is raised in a silent question when Luigi turns. He’d told his friend of his plan. And yet here he sat under the tree, a free man. What to tell his friend? The truth? For some reason Luigi found himself convinced the blonde beside him already knew.

“You’ve still never told me your name.”

His friend’s smile is indulgent. They’ll get back to the original topic. Luigi doesn’t imagine he can avoid such things.

“You didn’t ask for so long.” That part is true. Luigi hadn’t asked, hadn’t ever thought to. The man was his friend, and that was enough. “Why should it matter now?”

A feeling of guilt wells deep within Luigi. He’d failed. “The bastard was early.” I failed.

And still, there is his friend’s questioning eyebrow, and Luigi feels his hand come to a fist as he looks away. “Of all the days, his deposed imperial pompousness would be early once in his life.” He still can’t bring himself to say it. He’d missed his quarry.

The noise of feathers comes, and Luigi looks up to see a raven had landed on his friend’s wrist, regarding Luigi himself for a moment before turning to his friend.

“Since when have you been a pigeon tender?” His friend had never said it, but he had a very specific look. Blonde. Fair. A touch of softness, and almost an aura of the feminine at times. And Luigi had never heard of him working, not during the day.

It’s the bird that responds, the squawk sounding almost offended, which was ridiculous. It was a bird, and one stupid enough to land on the wrist of a man. Perhaps Luigi would snatch the thing and sell it to leave and wallow in his misery somewhere else.

“I’m afraid dear Luigi may need to get his eyes checked, my friend.” Luigi’s friend is giving the raven an affectionate scratch. “I promise no sane man would mistake you for anything so ordinary as a pigeon.”

“Overgrown pigeon.” Luigi can’t resist rising to the bait. The bird fluffs its feathers before taking to the wing, leaving Luigi alone with his mirthful friend.

“What now?” The question pierces whatever armor the moments of relative levity had brought. What now indeed? Luigi must admit he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He shrugs his shoulders and lets his gaze wander out to the people. All non-descript. Like ants, in a way.

The French pretender had been convenient. The only convenient one, really. Of all the parasitic vultures that called themselves the Kings of Europe. And he had slipped from Luigi’s grasp by being early for what was probably the first and only time in his life. It was as if the bastard had Lady Luck on his side. Or perhaps he’d seen the Specter of Death waiting, and had departed in all haste.

And left Luigi with no quarry. 

“Do you see that lady?” Luigi followed his friend’s finger to a slim figure, all in black. “That’s the Countess of Hohenembs. Apparently, her particular habits involve bathing daily in milk.”

Luigi glanced over at his friend. It sounded almost too ridiculous to be true, but the blonde continued.

“And when she’s done with her bath of milk and roses and her shampoo of cognac she lays veal cutlets on her face.”

Luigi rolls his eyes. It must all be a lie. Too incredulous to be true.

“There’s more. So she has dozens and dozens of women to tend her babes as that sort of lady does, but manages to be the worst of mothers anyway. Dragged one poor thing across half an empire because she couldn’t bear a day apart from the child she barely knew and didn’t name. And then had the gall to be surprised when the babe died. And that was only her first one.”

Luigi’s ire is more risen than he would admit. He’d been left at a foundling hospital, and had nothing of his mother save for his name. Nothing. Mothers were supposed to protect their children. That’s what the matrons said. Sometimes smearing at the orphans, but for all their hypocrisy they had meant that. And yet this woman who his friend seemed somehow to think was mother to a people might as well have killed the babe herself, have offered the little thing up to Death in some pagan ceremony. 

Even his own mother had dealt Luigi a better lot in life than that.

“And let me guess. She also killed her only son and left her husband without an heir, just because of her own vanity.” Luigi wanted the whole thing to be true. He wanted the woman to be the first leech of humanity.

“After a fashion. Her husband helped along the way.”

Luigi reaches down, only to find his pocket empty. His gun was gone. And he remembers the moment of blind rage, when he’d learned the French pretender was already gone.

“I threw the gun in the lake.” He hates admitting it, but somehow he imagines his friend already knows. He has no weapon even if the woman in black is the arch-parasite his friend imagines her to be.

But his friend merely reaches into his own open jacket and pulls out a long instrument.

It takes Luigi a moment to realize that it is a file - crudely sharpened and with a poorly shaped handle, but it is a file.

Why shouldn’t he kill the parasite? She was right there. And such a woman sounded so terrible he was almost glad that the French pretender hadn’t been there. For then he never would have had this even better prize. 

It might just be some pretty picture painted by his friend, but Luigi wants it to be true as he hauls himself to his feet, the file in hand. His friend stands with him, all pretty blonde hair and a face too fair to be human.

“A kiss for luck?”

His friend’s arms are around him a moment later, and Luigi finds himself expecting a vague insult about having to pay for it, but cool lips brush his cheek in a tender way before his friend pulls back.

But Luigi pulls him close once more, wanting to steal a kiss from those lips. His friend turns at the last moment as Luigi only places the clumsy thing that passes for a poor kiss at best at the corner of his lips.

“In good time.” His friend is smiling now, eyes dark and knowing. He nods in the direction of the dark-clad woman. There is a promise there. Luigi will have all he desires and more. He knows it. Somehow, he knows it.

Grimly, Luigi picks his way over the ground, advancing on the unsuspecting figure. First she’s a mere blob, more slender but just a thing of black cloth. But as he grows closer, Luigi can see her as she is - a tired old woman. Was this all a cruel joke from his friend after all? 

But his arm came up, the file turned shiv in his hand. 

It’s frankly a pathetic stab. And Luigi runs before the woman’s companion screams, before anyone can do anything. He’s failed. Too much a coward to kill the old woman. The Countess his friend imagined her as. 

For there was no way the woman was anything more than just an innocent passerby. One that his friend had imagined as the beating heart of corruption. 

His friend. Where was his friend? Luigi looks for a moment but runs into the streets, going everywhere and nowhere. He doesn’t have his bearings, or the slightest idea of where to go. There had been officers. Some will have given chase. He tosses the file away, and hasn’t the slightest idea where. He’s running and running, then panting and panting.

But he goes nowhere, looking up to see the dockside again.

The footsteps, though - they’re gone. He’s alone in that, at least until he glances behind. Two officers are standing by his friend, by his beautiful friend. The raven is back, perched almost delicately on Luigi’s friend’s wrist, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. And neither do the officers. Luigi’s friend’s face is half shrouded with shadow, so that one eye might be gone, a void in its place. But the other eye blazes the unnatural golden of the sun, and it is the finger that finds him, straight and true. 

There officers seize Luigi before he can flee again.

He’s still on the ground, held there, when the boat comes back. The woman is being held by her distraught maidservant. Perhaps Luigi would get that kiss after all. 

He’s torn from his thoughts by the words of one of the officers. Does he even know who it is he has stabbed?

But of course, he does. A dying and miserable parasite. It was a mercy, really. 

He doesn’t hear any of the officer’s other words, watching as his friend, raven still perched on his wrist, picks his way through men who don’t seem to see him. His goal is clear.

The officers dragged Lucheni away before it is fulfilled.