#with the red wall gradient that did not go so well and he took down

[harper-collins]

Grian's Unfortunate Moment.

Desert Duo Drabble Prompt: "A full-on panic attack." TW: panic attacks

-

Grian's day could have been better. He'd been struggling with a build, the texturing stressing him out as he desperately tried to make a pallet that would work. He used all the resources and tried his best... But nothing worked for him. He didn't know how long it took him to go from bad to worse. Time felt stretched out and going too fast for him, almost making him dizzy.

The dirty blonde could barely hear the sound of rockets firing nearby as he panicked. He looked at the blocks as he trembled. Hearing the blood and heavy breathing in his ears more than anything else around him. He thought it was silly to worry about, trying to urge himself to calm down. But his thoughts only made the situation worse.

The sudden touch to his shoulder made him flinch, and he looked back to the other with such a panic that he almost didn't register it was Scar trying to calm him down. He tried to listen to the other's instructions, but it was difficult initially, and the struggle to do so felt overwhelming.

"G? Breathe, just focus on me and my breathing," he ushered, trying to make overexaggerated breaths for the other to follow. Scar did cough once or twice, but it only helped Grian calm down a little more from laughing despite the panic still fresh in his mind. Scar had a skill that brought a smile from the smaller in more peculiar situations.

Once he'd calmed down, Scar was still sitting next to him, breathing with him and waiting for the other to speak. He wanted to comfort and not leave him alone the moment he'd taken the time to breathe correctly again. Grian felt thankful, but it was also as though he was taking up too much time for Scar.

"Thanks for helping. I wasn't expecting such a violent response from my body," he laughed dryly, glancing briefly at Scar before returning to the mess of a gradient he'd been trying to make. "G, don't worry, it's easy to get stru- sa- stressed," he finished awkwardly, forgetting the word for a moment.

He nodded, glancing at the other, wondering whether he should ask for help or try to give himself a moment longer to ignore his problems. Scar didn't seem to have a plan in mind, regardless. He stood up and turned to the other, who quickly followed suit.

"Want to go mess with Joel?" He asked absent-mindedly, knowing the other was currently online. Scar only gave him a light grin. "What are we waiting for?" He asked, watching the other with the vex-like eyes. Grian strained a grin, turning to the other's base.

[klayfruit]

i am really curious with the lore you're making! this is a bit of a strange question, but what happened to his teeth? you mentioned that the candymanification happened inside out and he had a fever. how "inside" is a person's mouth? even if it doesn't count as being inside a person, his mouth must of transformed at some point so

did his teeth fall out? did his tongue melt? could he still breathe like a normal person at that point? does your candyman have bones? or is it solid yellow? if only the inside was transformed, and if the candymanness is sort of melty or malleable, does that mean that if you mushed his arm it would indent? i love body horror and the question of teeth came to my mind when i looked at your art again

HI OKAY IM SO SORRY IT TOOK LIKE A MONTH FOR ME TO FINISH THIS ASK i adore thinking abt this topic so much but like halfway thru writing this response i got so excited and had to walk away to stim but ended up forgetting to finish this. anyway i did it everything written here is from months ago except the last paragraph

these are all rly good questions bc i dont know most of them!!! i was thinking earlier and i think i came to the conclusion that the mutation progressively melts fran’s bones and turns it “candy” along with his skin. as fran became more mushy and melty the barriers between organs, bones, skin, etc (eyes being the only exception) kind of all melted together and became the same thing. his teeth got all gooed up and melted/became one with his mouth. same with his tongue, it melted with his mouth. though after the mutation was complete and candyman learned how to work with and transform his body better, he just reforms his tongue sometimes like for comedic effect.

to go further on this topic of francis/candyman (actually im gonna call mid-mutation of him frandyman thats funny) learning how to transform his body, at first he struggled heavily with breathing since his throat+lungs began closing and melting in on themselves. eventually though he was able to transform his body to compensate for this and somehow find another way to get air to his brain, or he just opened his throat back up again im still not 100% sure on this part.

candyman doesnt exactly have bones, but his body does kind of have layers to it. during frandyman the mutation would spread in a red->blue->yellow gradient, and the reds+blues are still in his body despite not being visible. the red is the first layer and is EXTREMELY hard so it practically acts as bones, blue being the second layer and being not as tough, and yellow being the third and having the texture+softness of skin (though still feeling like Not Skin). i have an explanation for why candy’s mouth is red despite it being the first layer but idk how to explain it and id like draw a diagram of it but itd make me look insane So. Come to your own conclusions . also candys able to change the texture, malleability , etc of his body and its how hes able to walk through walls.

during frandyman his body was VERY melty and malleable and he hadnt learned how to control his body yet. whole limbs would just melt, fall off, get disfigured, merge with other limbs, etc without him even doing anything. though because of, Brain Instinct? not sure but it would automatically grow frandy’s limbs back without him knowing how to or that he’s even doing it. when he became candyman he could regrow his limbs much much easier, it all just kind of comes down to how well he could control his body and how it progressed during the mutation.

a plothole i noticed in Candymans Fucked Up Body is that im not entirely sure how his blood and organs would work. i considered his organs melting entirely and his entire body being The Organ That Can Perform Everything The Other Organs Could Perform but that sounded lame. how his brain would work during all of this is the biggest one to me, because i imagine it was heavily impacted and disfigured but shouldnt be entirely melted because the man needs a brain somehow to live! the main thing im going with right now is that the red layer of his body isnt like, a solid chunk of red, but like a hard HARD shell and it protects the organs who are now like massively fucked up and disfigured but somehow still pumpin. i may change this eventually, but its what im going with rn so ! blood is also interesting for me because there’s no space in between each layer for blood to be stored, and the layers themselves dont have blood in them and are completely solid. so for now came up with that his skin kind of acts as his blood, when it’s cut it kind of just. melts on the inside and seeps out of the cut. also of COURSE his blood is silly colored (red, blue, yellow again)

also since this ask was from like a month ago ive decided that candy’s mutation had symptoms similar to like, a mix of rabies and radiation poisoning. both in the sense of once the person has it they have no idea they have it until it comes into full effect, the only sign for like the first week being mild sickness. ALSO fun fact he physically cant sweat since his skin is Not Skin. his sweat builds up underneath his skin and just causes his actual skin to become all mushy and squishy. Anyway tldr they fucked this guy up

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Wednesday

Monday     Tuesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, getting outed, f slur and d slur, homophobia, puking, toxic friends

Word count: 5,160

(A/N): woah, thank you all so much for all the positive feedback, that really makes my day! 

The room was quiet with the exception of the clacking of the keyboard and the soft chirping of crickets outside your open window. The stars twinkled in the sky as the night droned on and on. There was a loud rustling outside your window, but your sleep deprived mind didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t important at the moment, the only important thing right now was finishing your work. 

Throughout the night, you worked endlessly on your friend’s work. The essays were relatively easy because Adrian and Annie had luckily chosen topics that you’re somewhat interested in, so at least finding the sources was enjoyable. You had gotten your essay completely written and proofread, Annie’s outline finished, and Adrian’s sources analyzed. You would start on Sammy’s presentation after you finished Adrian’s outline. Hours upon hours passed by you as you worked, yet you didn’t notice the time once. You worked uninterrupted with no breaks. Well, one break to talk to your dad about how you weren’t hungry, but you got back to work right after he left your room. You couldn’t waste any more time than you already have.

Your eyes felt heavy as you typed on your keyboard, working on putting Adrian’s sources together cohesively so that the writing would flow seamlessly. You paused your typing to rub at your tired eyes so you could keep working, you couldn’t afford to fall asleep. You had to get these done as soon as possible if you wanted their forgiveness. 

The blaring of your alarm startled you out of your focus, making you fall backwards out of your chair with a yelp. Landing painfully on your back, you laid on the floor trying to calm your racing heartbeat. You looked out your window. Hints of pinks and yellows were starting to make a gradient with the lightening dawn sky. Shit, you were so focused on getting your work done that you didn’t take account of the time. You just knew today was gonna be long. At least after school volleyball practice was shortened because of finals tomorrow. 

You groaned as you pulled your tired form off from the ground. You made your way downstairs and plopped yourself down at your usual place at the table, burying your face into the crook of your arm. You felt yourself drift off into a blissful sleep, the wood of the table suddenly seemed very comfortable at the moment. Not long after, you were jolted out of your peaceful sleep by a loud crash. Jumping up and looking around with wide eyes, you saw Tubbo looking at you apologetically. There was broken glass in front of his feet on the floor. 

“Sorry, (y/n).”

You just stared at him blankly as you slowly blinked. Philza didn’t spare you a glance as he whisked the short boy away from the glass. “(Y/n), can you please go get the broom and sweep this up?”

You nodded, hauling yourself to your feet and walked over to the storage closet, pulling out the broom and dust pan. You mindlessly sweeped up the glass, your limbs feeling heavy. After throwing the glass away, you rummaged in the cupboard and pulled out a mug. The bitter smell beckoned you welcomingly, working its way through your nostrils and digging itself deep into your brain. Just as you were about to pour yourself a cup, a hand snatched the coffee pot away from you. 

“You shouldn’t be drinking this.”

“You let Techno and Wil drink it, so why can’t I?”

“(Y/n), you’re a full year younger than them and you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday.”

You felt your eye twitch, “I’m only a year younger than them! There’s literally no-”

“(Y/n),” his warning tone cut you off, putting the pot back into the coffee maker, “you aren’t going to drink this. That’s final. Get a glass of water.”

You huffed and pushed past him to the sink to fill your coffee mug with water. You’ve been drinking coffee for a while behind his back, so you were used to its effects on your body. You supposed that you’d just beg Wilbur to take you to the cafe so you could get your sustenance. He always relented for you. 

You heard him chuckle, “you’ll thank me when you’re older.”

“Mhm.”

You plopped down next to Tubbo nursing your mug of water, trying to make small talk with him. One by one, your brothers made their way to the table. Tommy was talking and gesturing wildly to Tubbo like he normally did, Wilbur looked as dead inside as you felt, and Techno made it a point to ignore you. When someone pissed him off, he can hold a grudge better than he could hold onto his knowledge of Greek mythology, and that’s saying something. Man is obsessed with Greek mythology. 

Breakfast went by in a daze with you struggling to keep your eyes open. At one point, you almost fell asleep sitting up, only to be woken up by Tubbo shaking your shoulder to get your attention. When breakfast was almost done, you had only eaten about half your breakfast. 

Drifting off again, you were startled awake by the screeching of the chairs against the wooden floor and loud shouts coming from your brothers. You didn’t have the energy to race them to the bathroom like you usually did, you’d just freshen up after they were done. You tried to stand up to go to your room to get dressed, but you were stopped by a hand on your shoulder forcing you to sit back down. Looking up, you were met with the concerned, yet stern eyes of your father. 

“You’re not leaving this table until you’ve eaten at least a few more bites and tell me why you’re so tired.”

“I just stayed up later than I normally do finishing up some homework, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not or else I will make you stay home next time. When’d you go to bed last night?”

You avoided his eyes, “around one thirty or two.” You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t actually go to sleep last night, he’d flip. 

“You know, you’re a terrible liar.” Shit.

Looking him in the eye, you spoke more confidently. “Three in the morning.”

“(Y/n)-”

You felt a sudden rage start to twist inside you as he started to lecture you about taking better care of yourself. He was treating you like a child and you were not having it. 

“-young kids like you need to- are you even listening?”

You set your jaw and willed yourself not to explode at him. “Dad, I’m not a child. I know how to take care of myself.”

You saw him narrow his eyes and purse his lips in frustration, “well, obviously you don’t if you’re not eating or sleeping well,” his eyes softened. “I’m starting to worry about you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t because I’m fine,” you snapped at him. “I’m going to get ready.”

You stalked out of the room and stomped upstairs. Passing a shocked Tommy and Tubbo, you made your way into the bathroom to get ready. The person that stared back at you in the mirror looked pale and had dark eye bags accentuating her tired eyes. She had red pimples dotting her face more than she usually did. She was ugly, revolting. The girl you remembered her being was confident in her appearance and walked with an air of importance. Now, she was a decrepit thing that was run down and scared of her own shadow. You couldn’t recognize the girl that stared back at you anymore. You should’ve been able to;  after all, she was you and you were her.

You rushed through your morning routine in the bathroom avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bathroom door only to be met with Wilbur’s chest, his hand poised in the air in a closed fist ready to knock on the door. He stepped back.

“We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up.”

You glanced at the clock on the wall. “Wil, we still have twenty minutes before school starts. We don’t have to leave for another ten minutes.”

He gave you a smirk, “well, you want coffee, don’t you? You look dead.”

“Oh thank god. I feel dead, I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“When’d you go to bed?”

“I didn’t.”

“Christ, (y/n) I knew you were a dumbass, but not that much of a dumbass.”

You rolled your eyes, walking around him and into your room. You felt a stab of hurt in your heart. “Fuck you.”

Before you could close the door, he shouted out a cheeky “love ya too (y/n)!”

You took off all your clothes slowly and stood in front of your open closet deciding on what you should wear today. You figured that since you felt like absolute shit, you should probably put a little bit more effort into your appearance. Picking out your favorite flannel shirt and favorite pair of pants. Smiling at yourself in the mirror in your room, you felt slightly more confident in your appearance. You felt like you could walk around the hallways at school without as many peering eyes trying to figure out your every secret. But maybe that was just the sleep deprivation talking. You tend to be more impulsive and emotional when you’re sleep deprived.

You slung the backpack onto your back with less difficulty than in the previous days. Your back was healing faster than you thought it would. Now, it barely hurt and the swelling completely went away.

You went downstairs and slunk past the kitchen where Philza was talking to Tommy and Tubbo. You didn’t want them to notice you, you felt somewhat guilty for snapping at your dad. You slipped through the front door and hopped into the passenger seat next to Wilbur. You three usually rotated seats counterclockwise and took turns driving each day. Now, you were just waiting for Techno.  

“Well, you look less homeless today.”

“Thanks Wilbur, I just felt like looking a little nicer than usual.”

“Who’re ya dressing up for? Is it Adrian?” He asked with slight disgust. He hated Adrian almost as much as he hated Annie and Sammy. He thought he was nothing more than a fuckboy looking to get into your pants. Little did he know you were secretly a raging lesbian so deep in the closet that you’re froliking with Aslan through the flowerfields of Narnia.

“Wilbur, I’m gay why would I-” you froze, cursing your sleep deprived self for lacking a filter. Your breath caught in your throat and you felt anxiety start to seep into your veins and pump around your body, filling every single nook and cranny with dread. You could feel tears welling in your eyes as you stared at your shaking hands horrified at yourself. How could you just… just out yourself like that? How could you be so careless? So stupid?

You barely felt it when Wilbur reached over to press a gentle hand on your arm. “(Y/n), are yo-”

“I-tha-that was a joke, I’m not gay, I’m straight.” Your words came out in frantic jumbles, desperately trying to fix your slip up. Oh god, you really fucked up this time.

“(Y/n), brea-”

“I swear I’m not gay, I like men, I do. I-”

“(Y/n), breathe with me.” Wilbur’s firm, yet gentle voice demanded. He placed your hand on his chest and took in a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. You tried your best to follow him, but after about ten minutes, you were slowly but surely calming down. It was a lot faster calming down from a panic attack when you had someone helping you breathe. You’ve never gotten help with a panic attack before, it was nice. Becoming more aware of your surroundings, you took notice of the soft fabric of Wilbur’s sweater, the gentle thumping of his heart, and his worried expression. You also became aware of the extra hand rubbing small circles into your shoulder from behind your seat. It was Techno.

Taking in a shaky breath, you took your hand out of Wilbur’s grip and clasped your hands tightly in front of you, shrugging Techno’s hand off from your shoulder. 

“...Can we please leave? I don’t want Dad or Tubbo and Tommy seeing me like this.”

Wordlessly, Wilbur started up the car and pulled out of the driveway. At the intersection, he turned in the opposite direction of the school. “Wilbur, where are we going? The school’s the other way.”

“We’re going to the cafe for some coffee, my treat.”

“But school starts in five minutes, we’re gonna be late if we go to the cafe.”

“Actually,” Techno’s deep voice chimed in, “school started ten minutes ago. If we’re already late, there’s no harm in skipping first block.”

“Tech, I literally have no idea what’s going on in stats.”

“I’ll give you my notes.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

Wilbur pulled into the cafe’s parking lot, “don’t be stupid, (y/n). You can never bother us.”

You didn’t say anything as you left the car and headed into the cafe. You could think of plenty of ways you could bother your older brothers. You bothered everybody just by being in their presence. You just had that effect. 

Your brothers followed you into the cafe, glancing at each other worriedly. You three quickly got your orders and sat in the secluded back of the cafe. Soft jazz music drifted throughout the quiet cafe. 

“(Y/n), we need to talk about what happened. Was this your first panic attack?” Wilbur asked you gently.

“...No, I’ve had them before.” 

“Were they always this intense? You’re still shaking.”

“That one was nowhere near as intense as the ones I usually have.’

“Usually? Do you have them often?” Tecno asked.

“Yeah, usually a couple of them a week since the middle of freshman year. Nothing I can’t manage.”

“So you’ve been doing this on your own for three years? You could’ve gotten us to help you.” 

You sighed, looking down at your steaming cup. “...I couldn’t’ve. Don’t get me wrong, I know you guys could help me, but I-I just couldn’t. No one was supposed to find out.”

“Promise us that you’ll come to one of us when you have an attack. We care about you, (y/n).”

“I… I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

The table fell into a comfortable silence as you all sipped at your drinks, the comforting taste of the bitter coffee dancing across your tongue.

“Ya know, we don’t care that you’re gay. A lesbian called me ‘actually pretty funny’ once and I’m still riding the high.” 

“Yeah, you’re still you. Nothing changes the fact that you’re our little sister.” 

You smiled as you felt warm inside. You knew your brothers loved you, but you didn’t know that they loved you for being you. You didn’t think anybody loved you unconditionally like that, and that made you feel genuinely happy.

“Thank you guys, for everything. I-I can’t put into words how much that means to me, I love you guys so much!”

“We love you too,” Wilbur smiled before he dropped it into a stern frown. “But if any girl hurts you, we’ll have a stern talking to her.”

“Yeah, we can’t beat up girls. We’ll put her in her place alright.” You snorted into your coffee, almost spilling it on yourself. Quickly setting it down before you could baptize yourself with the scalding liquid (though, you did consider coffee to be holy), you wiped at your teary eyes. 

“And that’s why I love you guys.”

“We’re serious, she’ll be wishing she got beat up after we’re done scolding her.” Wilbur said seriously before he broke into a grin and started laughing. 

The conversation carried on about your sexuality, how you found out, when you found out, if you’ve told anyone yet (they were honored that they were the first people you’ve told, even if you did it accidentally mid-panic attack). Eventually you had to go back to the school before your second block started. You three split ways to your separate classrooms. 

Annie and Adrian were locked onto you as soon as you walked through the door. They looked angry at you. What’d you do this time to piss them off?

“Where the fuck were you this morning? We were looking everywhere for you,” Annie seethed.

“Yeah, you wasted so much of our time looking for your sorry ass. You ditch us again?”

Oh, that. “Look, I didn’t mean to skip out on you guys again. It was a rough morning.” 

“That’s funny because we also had rough mornings, yet we still hung out with each other. You aren’t special.” Adrian rolled his eyes at you.

“It’s gonna take more to apologize. We don’t let things like the little stunts you pull go off scott free.”

“Oh, Annie I have the best idea,” Adrian squealed, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. 

“What is it Dri?” Annie’s eyes shone.

“Our little (y/n) can set you up with one of her brothers and she can go on a date with me on a double date! It’s foolproof, not even someone as dumb as (y/n) could fuck it up.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good id-”

“It’s perfect Dri! Can it be with Wilbur? He’s literally so hot! Oh, the way his fingers can work that guitar…” Ew. The thought of Wilbur and Annie together made you scrunch up your nose with disgust.

“I’m sorry, but Wilbur’s actually dating Sally Fishmin right now. They’re actually really cute together-”

“God, how could someone as hot as Wilbur go for Sally Fishmin? She’s disgusting, always smells like fish,” Annie gagged, then gasped. “Wait (y/n) do you actually think that she’s more deserving to be with him than I am?”

“No, I nev-”

“Really? Cuz you just did. Glad to see you care about me, (y/n).”

“Annie, you’re literally so beautiful. I never said that you don’t deserve him. You deserve the world. I can’t split them up, but I can do more homework for you.” She perked up immediately, “awe, thanks love! That’s what happens when you actually put effort into how you look.”

“Speaking of, did you get that shirt out of the trash? It’s really not a look.” Adrian snickered to himself. There goes what little confidence you had. You actually thought you looked decent today. You felt grateful for your friends, they always told you the truth about how you looked when everybody else lied to you. 

Before you could respond, the bell rang and everybody took their seats. Luckily, Mr. Todd assigned today as a work day for your final research essays. You had finished Annie’s and got Adrian’s thesis done before the bell rang. While you were working on their essays, they were mindlessly scrolling on their phones and texting someone. 

You, Adrian, and Annie met up with Sammy and went into the lunch room. You tried to line up in the lunch line with them, but they laughed and told you that you’re fat enough and you needed to lose weight. What did you do to deserve such considerate friends? You really owed them one for always looking out for and putting up with you.

While you were waiting for them, you pulled out your phone. To your surprise, Haley texted you a screenshot of her conversation with Unknown. You felt a chill run down your spine. All four pictures were of you. You rubbing your eyes as the light of your computer provided the only light in the room. Your bare back facing the camera as you stood in front of your closet this morning. You sleeping a day ago (you felt sick as you realized that whoever took the picture was standing directly over your bed). Lastly, you and Haley holding each other’s hand under the moonlight last night. Attached to the pictures, Unknown had typed “you have one more day or else sleeping ugly gets it. Do not tempt us.”

Hales : )

(Y/n), how the hell did they get these pictures of you

Did you seriously leave your window open???

Why wouldn’t you close your curtains

Oh god, do you think they saw us in your driveway????

(Y/n)

Haley calm down 

Hales : )

I know you’re not telling me to calm down right now

You have a stalker

One that can GET INSIDE YOUR ROOM

(Y/n)

We’ll get to the bottom of this

Like I said, I don’t care if my pictures get leaked

I care about your pictures

Until we figure out who’s doing this, we need to lay low

Hales : )

Hanging out last night was a mistake

I shouldn’t have gave you a ride

I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you

I’m straight

And you are too

You said it yourself

We can’t talk anymore (y/n)

(Y/n)

I’m not straight Hales

I’m gay

And I like you

Like

Like you like you

Hales : )

I’m sorry (y/n)

But I’m straight

We can’t talk anymore

Goodbye.

With each text she sent you, you felt your heart drop deeper and deeper into your stomach until you felt your heart shatter in your chest, the pieces lodging themselves deep within you and ripping you open from inside out. How could you be so stupid to think that soemone as perfect as Haley Andrews, arguably the prettiest girl in the senior year, go out with (y/n) Minecraft, a known trainwreck. Annie’s shrill gasp sounded right next to your ear, making you gasp and drop your phone onto the table with a loud bang.

“OH MY GOD (Y/N) YOU’RE A FAGGOT? WERE YOU HITTING ON ME EARLIER? YOU FUCKING PERVERT.”

The entire cafeteria fell into silence as they listened to Annie’s shrieking. Whispers started to meld together.

“(Y/n)’s gay?”

“How gross”

“Damn, I was gonna hit it”

“We have a dyke going to this school?”

You felt like you were suffocating as the whispers and Annie’s yelling jumbled together in a disorienting cacophony. Adrian and Sammy both glared at you from behind Annie with a hatred that you didn’t know they had for you. You tried stuttering an apology, but you were quickly shut up by Annie harshly slapping you across the face.

“I don’t wanna hear it, fag. You’re going to finish our essays and you’re never gonna talk to us again. Do you understand me?” When you didn’t respond, she slapped you again. “I asked you, do you understand me?” 

You frantically nodded your head, grabbed your backpack, and sprinted out the door without any real destination in mind. You sprinted before you found the bathroom that nobody used. Ducking into a stall and slamming the door, you felt yourself start to hyperventilate. You couldn’t feel anything except for the tightness of your chest. You couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t hear anything. You faintly tasted bile rising up in your throat as you bent over to empty your stomach. You threw up everything in your stomach until you were left sitting on the dirty floor painfully dry heaving. 

You sobbed on that floor for what felt like hours. Everybody knows your secret now. Your dirty, dirty secret. God, you were a pervert weren’t you? You made people around you comfortable by just being you. Faintly, you felt your phone start to buzz in your pocket, your shaky hands scrambling to fish it out. They were all texts from your brothers.

Wilby

(Y/n) I heard what happened

Are you okay????

Please answer me

Where are you

Technology Sword

I’m gonna kill them

I swear to god they’re dead

Blood for the blood god

(Y/n)

Pls dont do anything or hurt anyone

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

Wilby

Tell us where you are

(Y/n)

I’m fine

I’ll see you two after practice

You silenced your phone and put it back into your pocket, once again feeling yourself start to dry heave again. Your sobs and gags echoed throughout the bathroom. This is by far the worst panic attack you’ve had yet, and it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna stop anytime soon. You heard the final bell ring and students start to rush to their lockers to get home, so you tried to muffle your shaking sobs the best you could. You had at least an hour before you had to go to volleyball practice. Until then, you would stay in the bathroom trying to ground yourself. 

Luckily, you managed to calm down to the point where you stopped crying and dry heaving. You were only shaking slightly. You felt numb and completely drained from your panic attack, practice today was going to be a struggle. You cautiously walked through the empty hallways jumping at every little noise. When you finally reached the locker room, you made a beeline past Zara and Jazzy to your locker. You pulled out your uniform and changed in one of the bathroom stalls.

Practice went by with the girls on the team giving you sympathetic looks and Haley ignoring you. Not that you noticed, you were ignoring everyone and putting all of your focus on the ball. The entire practice, you felt light headed and drained. Fortunately, practice ended right as you felt like you were going to pass out.

You changed as fast as you could and pulled out your phone.

Dadza

Come outside, I’m here to pick you up

You felt a dread pool in your stomach as you stared at the text. Did he find out? Was he going to kick you out for being gay? Wilbur and Techno wouldn’t let him do that to you, right? Reluctantly, you left the sanctuary of the bathroom stall and rushed out of the locker room and out of the school. Sure enough, your dad’s car was parked in the parking lot. You glanced over to where Haley’s car was parked last night and saw glimpses of you and her chasing each other and laughing into the night sky without a care in the world before you ripped your gaze away to stare at your walking feet.

You reached your dad’s car and sat in the passenger seat. Your dad grinned at you. “Hey hun, how was practice?”

You merely shrugged your shoulders at him. You didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone at the moment. You felt extremely drained.

“What’s wrong, did something happen? You can talk to me.”

“...I’m just sad that the season’s over tomorrow.”

“Don’t be sad kid,” a gruff voice coming from behind you made you jump. “That’s pussy shit.”

You yelped and whipped your head around to look at whoever said that. Your uncle’s cocky grin greeted you. You felt yourself grin back at him. 

“Uncle Schlatt!”

“The one and only.”

“How was your business trip? You’re home early.”

He rolled his eyes, “boring as hell. I’m so fucking glad I got out early, I woulda blew my brains out if I had to stay there any longer.”

“Schlatt!” Philza reprimanded him, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

“What? I’m just telling the truth. I woulda!” He defended himself.

Your dad gripped the steering wheel. “You didn’t have to say it in front of (y/n).”

Schlatt scoffed, “please, she’s heard me say worse.” 

As they bickered, you felt yourself zone out as you looked out the window. Houses and street signs passed by in a blur as the car moved down the road and pulled into your driveway. You got out as quickly as you could and made your way into the house alongside your uncle and dad. As soon as your uncle walked through the door, Tubbo barrelled into him and pulled him into a tight hug. Schlatt laughed loudly and bent over to pick him up into a hug. You smiled at the father and son as Philza gestured for you to follow him into the kitchen. He opened the oven to check on something cooking inside of it and turned to face you, leaning against the counter.

“So what’s really wrong?”

“I already told you, I’m sad the season’s almost over.”

“It’s something more than that,” as you opened your mouth he quickly added, “and you can’t say that it’s because you’re tired. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You sighed and mimicked his actions. “...It’s just been a long day. I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

Without warning, he pulled you into a warm hug, your face being shoved into his shoulder and him rubbing circles into your back. “That’s okay, just talk to me when you’re ready. I won’t push you.”

That broke you. Throwing your arms around him, you started to sob into his shoulder. He started to rock you back and forth whispering reassurances into your ear. 

“That’s good, let it all out.”

“I love you so much.”

“I’m here for you.”

With each sentence to fall out of his mouth, you felt more at ease and safe. Your dad always did a great job at making people feel safe, that was just his natural talent. After a while, you pulled away from him.

“Do you feel better?”

You smiled tiredly at him, “Yeah, I really needed a hug.”

He turned around to check on dinner, “I bet, you look like you’ve been to hell and back. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but just know that I’m always here for you and I love you.”

The rest of the family flooded the kitchen after a while of you two talking. Dinner went by with Schlatt laughing loudly and telling stories about the people he met on his business trip. Every now and then, Wilbur and Techno would glance at you, but you ignored them. You just wanted dinner to end so you could pass out in your bed. Once dinner was over, you helped your dad gather everybody’s plate and put them into the sink. The rest of your little family went to the living room to start a game of Monopoly. The last time you all played that ended in fresh bruises and shed tears.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed, I have to get some rest for finals tomorrow.”

“But (y/n), it’s Monopoly! You love Monopoly,” Tommy exclaimed.

“That’s alright, you look dead on your feet kid. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks Uncle Schlatt. Goodnight everyone, love ya.”

A flurry of goodnights and love you’s follow you as you leave the room and drug yourself up the stairs. Without a second thought, you closed your curtains and plopped face first onto your bed. You passed out without even making sure you were fully on your bed.

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[silkenstarlight]

wild cherry sweet

Summary: Bucky and Reader have to dress up for a mission. Bucky likes Reader’s look, maybe a little bit too much.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!reader

Warning/s: smut (18+ only, minors dni); dirty talk, oral (male receiving)

Word count: 1.9k

Find part two here

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Author’s note: i have really been wanting to buy some red lipstick recently so this may or may not have been inspired by that oops

Do not repost! Likes and reblogs are welcome and encouraged :))

“You are breathtaking.”

You turned away from the bathroom mirror, leaning against the counter and meeting Bucky’s gaze with your own. His eyes raked up and down your body, clad in a slinky, silken dress that shone bright beneath the fluorescence and clung to your every curve like liquid. You smirked at his gawking eyes and raised brows, carefully wiping the excess lipstick that bled from the corner of your mouth with your pointer finger. That motion drew his attention upward, his eyes settling on the plump set of your mouth, painted a sultry, deep shade of scarlet.

He huffed a breath and shook his head, trying to form the right words to compliment you, but they seemed to instantly evaporate from his tongue the moment he opened his mouth. Instead, he walked towards you, taking your hands in his and stroking his thumbs against your soft skin, laughing at himself as he gaped like a fish out of water in response to your beauty.

“Well, you don’t look too bad yourself.” You jutted your chin slightly at his suit, a neatly-pressed, all-black ensemble that only seemed to further enhance the icy blue shade of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice low and hoarse. He leaned closer, pressing his lips to your ear. “Lipstick’s a good look on you.”

You shuddered, pressing your body closer to his warmth and rocking your hips into his. When he started kissing that sweet spot at the juncture between your jaw and your ear, you couldn’t help but let a breathy moan escape your lips.

This had been your plan all along, of course. You didn’t wear a full face of makeup often, usually foregoing the glamorous, airbrushed look for the bare-skinned practicality of moisturizer and sunscreen. Your job as an agent required you to be on the ball, willing to give up the remainder of your day for the sake of a mission, oftentimes on just a moment’s notice. You couldn’t afford the time and effort of beautification with an occupation that required so much blood, sweat, and tears on the daily. But, tonight was different. Tonight, you and Bucky were preparing for a different kind of mission than either of you were used to.

The GRC was hosting an exclusive gala, invitations to which were only granted to the wealthiest elites in the country. Politicians and A-listers would surely be in attendance, secretly and silently admitting their support of the GRC’s eviction of post-Blip refugees. Such an event was bound to attract some hostility, whether through hush-hush internal transactions between its elite, yet seedy, attendees, or from some outside menace, like the lurking risk of a re-established force of flag smashers. You and Bucky both decided that it would be prudent to attend, just in case you were dealing with fraud or a full-blown terror threat. You both wanted to be ready, to be able to face whatever troubles may arise, from the inside. So, you had to look the part.

You had chosen the dress with the event’s black-tie dress code in mind, of course, but the lipstick was all for him. You had been picking up the bare necessities at the mall, a tube of concealer and a new type of mascara, when the red-gradient display of lipsticks caught your eye. Every shade, ranging from coral to plum, offered a different mask, a slight variant on the character you would be playing the night of the gala. Would you be the coquettish twenty-something, all bright, glossy, and new? Or, would you be the mysterious seductress, daubed in smokey shades of maroon?

After a few moments of careful deliberation, one shade in particular had caught your eye, and your lips twitched into a small grin. You plucked the tube from the shelf. Velvet ribbon red, its label read. A deep, sultry shade, reminiscent of the garnet, wine-soaked tones that were so popular in the ‘40’s. The natural shade to choose, of course, for Bucky Barnes’s companion.

Now, you felt his hands release yours, grasping the fabric at your hips with greedy hands. He continued kissing your neck in a blatant, hungry display of need, lips bowed in a slight, mocking smile when he heard the soft moans that his affection pulled from you. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly with one hand, desperate for purchase, and dragged your other hand up his abdomen, settling your fingers lightly on his chest.

He drew his teeth against your neck and sucked lightly, and you were sure that he was trying to leave a mark, a flagrant signifier to the attendees of the gala you were already late to that you belonged to him, and him only. When he pulled away, examining the petechiae he had branded on your skin, you brought both hands in front of you, tracing them down his front in a flirtatious caress and settling on the buckle of his belt. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, taking in his blown pupils as you adeptly released his buckle and unzipped his pants. In a sudden gesture of dominance, you pushed him back to the opposite wall, directing him by the hips. When his back hit the wall, he let out a soft, purring laugh, pleased by your control. He pecked you on the lips, a quick and chaste gesture that contrasted with the unexpectedly sensuous direction the evening was heading into, and you slowly lowered to your knees, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, pulling his pants down slightly to expose his underwear.

You braced your hands against his quads, running your fingertips up and down his legs in a slow, teasing motion that made his jaw clench. He balled his fists at his sides, not ready to usurp control from you just yet. You simpered, proud of the fact that you had this man coming undone in the palm of your hand, without having even touched his cock yet.

Soon, though, you brought your mouth close enough to his lower half that he could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric layer of his underwear. His eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, hips rocking towards your face, and he combed his fingers loosely through your hair, tugging lightly to grant you permission to keep going. It was sweet, the way he was simultaneously so respectful of your boundaries, but so eager to feel your mouth on him. Neither of you cared that it would ruin your makeup, that after this, you would be late for the gala. You both craved a distraction from the nerves that accompanied a mission like this.

You dragged your fingernails along the waistband of his underwear, leaving light scratching marks across his lower abdomen. He moaned softly, a sound that you hoped to sear in your memory forever. And then, you reached inside, pulling his already-erect cock from the tented, taught fabric. The tip glowed an angry red, already leaking pre-cum.

You looked up at him through your lashes and flattened your tongue against his base, dragging it all the way up to his tip. He gripped your hair tighter, the delicious pull of your hair taught in his fist driving you to swirl your tongue around his tip and take him slowly in your mouth.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered as you slowly began to bob your head up and down his length. “Gonna ruin that pretty makeup of yours.”

You pulled back to respond, lips separating from his cock with a satisfying, wet pop! “‘S’alright,” you slurred, palming him roughly with your hand, fingernails dragging against sensitive skin to offer the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He bucked into your grasp, breath stilling in his throat, and you smiled, sucking the tip of his cock back into your mouth.

You worked him slowly into your mouth, until he hit the back of your throat and only a couple of inches remained outside of your mouth. He noticed this, eagerly watching your progress, and took control, holding your head against him, applying a gentle pressure until you slid down the rest of his length. When your lips pressed against his base, you gagged slightly, inhaling deeply through your nose. You maintained eye contact the whole time, even as your eyes pooled with tears from the strain of looking up.

“What a good fucking girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips against your mouth and smearing your lipstick on his skin in a vulgar imprint of wet, lusty red. You felt a wet, needy warmth accumulating in your core at his acknowledgement, but you kept your hands firmly rooted at his hips, so desperate to please him. “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” His voice was gruff but lilting and playful, as if he knew that this turned you on as much as it did him.

Finally, he released the pressure, pulling back to let you breathe. After a few seconds, though, you increased your pace, guiding one hand down to his balls and gently massaging them. He closed his eyes again, lost in the tantalizing sensations of your tongue, but he held back, refusing to let the slow and steady pistoning of his hips devolve into the frenzied motion he so desperately desired to adopt in order to finish. Your cheeks hollowed against him, sucking hard, granting him permission to let go.

He understood. Short, shallow movements quickly turned into deeper thrusts, punctuated by quiet moans that rose in pitch as he came closer and closer to coming undone.

“Gonna paint you with my come. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You couldn’t respond verbally, could only stare up at him as his cock breached the entrance to your throat in faltering, uneven motions. That was the final straw. His grip on your hair tightened and he held your head down flush against him, cock pulsing, as his orgasm ripped through him. One final, unabashed and guttural groan escaped his lips as he succumbed to his ecstasy and painted the back of your throat with ropes of come. You mirrored his sound, moaning around him with an enticing vibration.

He held his length inside your mouth for a few seconds, still holding your head against him, not ready to let you retreat just yet. But as his cock grew sensitive, he pulled back with a quiet, overstimulated moan. Your mouth felt empty without him, lipstick smears and strings of spit painting your face in a satisfied, sexed-out portrait of lust. He beamed with pride, hooking his hands under your elbows and pulling you up to your feet before pressing his lips firmly against yours in a gesture of gratitude.

You broke the kiss, cradling his face in your hand. Laughter bubbled in your throat, and, seeing your light-hearted demeanor, he began to chuckle. You stood like that for a minute, laughing in each others’ arms, momentarily uncaring about upcoming missions or smeared makeup.

He took a deep, yet shaky, exhale, and smirked. “Well, we’d better get you cleaned up. Those mascara tracks are pretty telling, and we’re already late.”

You shrugged. “Worth it.”

He brought his hand up to your face, cradling your cheek and wiping the messy smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Part two

[obeymeluv]

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 2 - Lucifer]

So originally this was supposed to be multiple brothers per part but this got unexpectedly long and I only had the energy to get through Lucifer. I’ll definitely get to the other brothers. This project may take priority over the others until I get them all out. I know what I’ll be doing for Mammon’s, sort of for Levi’s, definitely for Satan’s, definitely for Beel’s, and I’m not quite 100% on Belphie’s or Asmo’s. Honestly, they’re not all supposed to get this long, but this one had some lead up + Lucifer. The other ones will probably be a couple of paragraph’s, maybe a page at most.

Note: The Thrall/The Call is something that came up in a Diavolo piece forever ago. Can’t even remember which one because I had to go back and find it myself. It’s basically one of their tell-tale signs they’re trying to seduce someone or flirt with someone.

Some of these kiss scenarios will get a little NSFW because the bros get to kiss you, have a crush on you, and are excited dorks. Everything under the cut just to be safe.

Any bolded italics are your/MC’s thoughts since you can’t currently speak.

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 2]

--

After a few awkward moments of the brothers standing around, their hearts squeezing in their chests as they tried to hold back their individual Thralls to make your choice more neutral, they realized their wouldn’t be a choice. There couldn’t be. The lip color was too scrambled to work in such a small space with that many people. You’d just barely blinked and the brothers skittered off at inhumane speeds that made your skin crawl; in your human brain it was very much those ‘distant echoes of horror movie noises one should never hear.’ Lucifer turned so abruptly his cape snapped; he melted seamlessly into the natural darkness hiding around the House of Lamentation.

That was the starting gun for the others to disperse.

Belphie exploded into black wispy shadows, sinking into the floor. Asmodeus stretched his wings again, flapping leisurely towards his room as he blew you a teasing kiss. Satan’s eyes, somehow greener and more bewitching than ever, hesitated to leave you as he retreated up the steps, made it about three before deciding to jog, and finally teleported towards the top and around the corner, hints of his horns and a brief whip of his tail following him. A skin-prickling rumble sounded soon after; the fourth-born had embarrassed himself.

Levi sought the privacy of his room, as to be expected. He would die if he kissed you ANYWAYS, but to kiss you in front of his brothers?! He’d rather have a conversation with a stranger! Gross! He was more than happy to get his red face out of view and mumble…whatever he was talking about…into his handheld console.

Only Beel and Mammon remained.

You looked at them curiously, brows raised. Beel gave you his casual smile, a little humming laugh at this situation, and promptly picked Mammon up by the collar of his jacket as they walked away from the foyer area. It was clear the second-born would lounge around and maybe try to sucker into kissing him first. You’d like to think Beel was forcing him to hide so the lip color could give you an accurate reading, but you’d always wondered if the kind, ever-hungry brother got jealous. If he did, he never showed it (and for a guy with six brothers, that was impressive).

Brain and body calmed by the emptiness, by the fact that they were somewhere in the house, you set off on your quest for a kiss. No one’s going to believe this, you rolled your eyes, starting towards the right wing when a gust of cold air overtook you. A chilly numbness set in, nipping at your fingertips and pulsing in your lips and face enough to give you a headache. Not that way, you turned away sharply, the cold receding as you moved in the other direction. Some people have really cute ‘how did you meet?’ stories and mine was getting tricked into magic demon makeup that my boyfriend had to free me from, as you found yourself in the middle of a random hallway an aggravating realization set in: the House of Lamentation was so ornate and old that all the hallways looked the same.

Same walls, same tone of polished furniture, same light fixtures, and the carpeting was a given.

Hadn’t you already been down this hall?! Why was it when you really needed to find one of SEVEN people, you couldn’t find any of them?! You felt like you’d walked the whole house! The House of Lamentation was far bigger than it looked on the outside (was that even possible?) and now you were beginning to think the brothers picked the very corners of the house! You were honestly surprised the brothers hadn’t come looking for you. Some small part of you was too amused and couldn’t help but smile at the fact that centuries-old demons were freaking out and pacing in their hiding spots like schoolboys fixing to go on an overnight trip with their crush.

You shuffled forward, wondering what a positive response felt like. Time alone to just think was really odd, especially with how chaotic the Devildom could be, but it led to some really interesting thoughts. No one would believe the ‘magic demon makeup’ part of your story but you could lie and say it was a really intense game of Hot and Cold. Any of them would make good boyfriends, you admitted to yourself, glad none of them were around to see the pink in your cheeks. If one of them popped up, you’d just lie and blame it on the warm tingle prickling at your lips.

A warm tingle?! That was a lot like what you felt when your lips were sealing shut! You spun in a startled circle, not sure when the feeling began, and desperately tried for a stronger reaction. A prickle became a tingly bubble, like a glass of champagne going to your head too fast, and soon your body felt like it was floating, rolling on waves upon waves of a butterflies-in-my-stomach that washed you up in front of a door.

Inside you found…

Lucifer sitting at his desk, half-heartedly pouring over paperwork. You pushed the heavy door open, feeling like you’d pulled the curtain back on a privacy charm, and wiggled past the old wood. The lazy tapping of whatever he was writing with stopped, the eldest perking up like someone had set him free of the eternal coil of paperwork. If you hadn’t been looking at him while trying to pull your other leg through, you would’ve missed the boyish glow of hope, the they picked me! It’s me!, that was promptly devoured by his blossoming pride.

Face propped up on a gloved wrist, now lounging confidently back against his chair as his other wrist dangled off the arm, Lucifer invited you in with a sly smile and a beckoning roll of his fingers. You rolled your eyes. We both saw your heart stop. You don’t need this ‘tall, dark, and dom’ fake allure, you waved your hands about to emphasize the ‘allure’ as you flashed him a well-meaning smile. You felt pretty confident knowing you could fluster the first born, the one with the sin of pride.

It was actually really heart-warming to know he was so eager to be yours.

“This is no act, I assure you.” Lucifer abandoned his cloak on the back of the chair, undoing it with one hand as he rose to meet you. His wings unfurled slowly and softly, ever majestic, and feathered out to their full length. They shuddered and fluttered, blowing a gentle air about the room. His eyes, normally a gradient of red and black, looked completely red. Lucifer’s pupils had taken on some slit-like appearance that had flecks of black rimming the sides.

A purr rolled in his chest, something quiet but confident, enticing, as he waited for your hand. You found yourself hypnotized by his eyes—maybe for real?—dropping your hand delicately into his. The leather folded around your skin and you couldn’t look away, even as he brought it close to his chest and then higher still, like he’d put it on his shoulder. To pull you into a kiss as dramatic as this—in the quiet only surrounded by the sound of his wings and a purr and the fire crackling in the back of the room—was very Lucifer.

You stood on tiptoe, looking up at him expectantly. Hell, you even batted your eyelashes to really get at him.

WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Lucifer’s lips brushed your knuckles again in a stuttering kiss. He placed a few more open-mouthed kissed up your finger before the laughter took over him again. He knew exactly what he was doing, just like he knew what he was doing when he smoothed his hair back away from his face. “Have I left you speechless, my dear?” he’d started to stand to his full height, shit-eating smirk on his lips. His voice was wrapped in a sultry purr that was undoubtedly the first sin mankind ever heard.

That cool façade was strangled in the grip you had on his folded collar, bringing the first-born nose-to-nose with you. Lucifer was hardly intimidated by your glare but oh you were very darling.

BECAUSE YOU CAN’T AIM! Your nostrils flared as you pouted a bit. You’re supposed to kiss me HERE! You pointed to your lips.

“I can’t aim?” Lucifer’s wings twitched, probably in indignation. Were you implying he couldn’t do something? His lips twisted upwards in a little huff, the beginnings of a sneer even. All of that melted away when that large hand cupped the back of your head, fingers twining in your hair. You’d just registered the sensation when he brought your lips to his, head tilted and savoring the kiss.

It was a long with a slight suckle, the eldest truly indulging in this minuet of a moment compared to the usual chaos of his daily existence. He felt you sag against him, hooking his other arm around your waist to stumble towards his desk. You were an awkward clatter of bones against him, chest-to-chest, and one leg falling out of the chair, but you managed.

“This was how it was supposed to be,” Lucifer confessed softly, sitting you in the space he’d cleared for you. Literally. You just now realized the scant space on his desk was big enough for you to sit. He dragged the chair forward, your legs naturally coming to rest against the padded backing on either side of his waist. Lucifer tucked some hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek. “I wanted to kiss you this way,” but my pride got the best of me, he didn’t dare finish saying it, but he thought it.

You felt your lips open, swollen and beautifully tender. To breathe through them felt weird. They still tingled with the after-effect of the enchantment. Lucifer watched you lick your lips experimentally, draw in a breath, and allowed himself to be drawn in, too. You shared a few more languid kisses before his D.D.D started to go off.

You saw Mammon’s icon pop up, then Asmo’s. The brothers were looking for you. “That reminds me,” Lucifer patted your thigh before pushing himself away. He stole another kiss before rounding the corner of his desk. He opened the door just slightly, stepped out of the room, and bellowed something in demon tongue that had a clear message of finality ringing in the house. Whatever he’d said made him lock the door to his study with a quickness, a crimson spell burning into the wood.

Looking very much like a smug older brother, Lucifer dropped himself elegantly back in his chair. One hand situated your legs just as they had been, the other one pulling you close for good measure. He coaxed you into a few kittenish kisses, flinching against your lips when the banging started. You could hear Mammon complaining outside the door. A spell fizzled against the door; seems like Belphegor or Satan had fired one off. Content and exhausted, he found purchase in the curve of your neck, enjoying the silence and your scent.

“We’ll get through this.” You combed your fingers through his hair. You’d have to face the brothers eventually.

“I look forward to it.” Lucifer kissed your shoulder.      

[tenspontaneite]

The Ceracurist (Chapter 1/?)

Rayla has been at university for nearly three months, trying and failing to take care of her horn upkeep alone, before she admits defeat and goes to visit a professional horn salon.

It ends up being somewhat less of a terrible experience than she expects.

-

(“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body.)

(Chapter length: 6k. Ao3 link)

---

Rayla pushed through the doors of the salon with a bearing that would have been better suited for heading into battle. Regrettably, there was no one she could legally fight here, so she slunk cautiously in, grimacing at what she saw. She might have hoped to find somewhere to lurk and get her bearings unnoticed, but there was no hiding in that open and well-lit reception area, and no disguising the way that the bell on the door chimed cheerfully at her passing. It was altogether a terrible start to what she fully expected would be a mortifying experience.

A Sunfire elf looked up from the desk and smiled. Their dark skin and hair was typical enough, but the horns caught her eye; she stared for a second before she could avert her gaze. Far from the usual plain gleam of Sunfire horns, these had been carved into elaborate patterns and dyed in an astonishing gradient of red and purple. She’d never seen anything like it outside of the mageskein, or maybe the cover of a magazine. “Welcome!” the elf chirped, friendly. “Do you have an appointment?” Beside them, on the desk, a potted melodaisy sang a tune that she vaguely recognised. It was weirdly anachronistic to find melodaisy music in a place as modern-looking as this.

Rayla stopped short, tension locking her joints. Her neck prickled with self-consciousness. “...Do I need one?” she asked, after a moment, with an edge to her voice. She eyed the door, already wanting desperately to escape. Shouldn’t have listened to Ethari, she thought morosely. This had been a bad idea from the start.

The receptionist inspected her, and in that moment Rayla was entirely certain that they knew exactly what she was about. It was unnerving, the calculating weight of that look. Then it passed, and they waved dismissively. “If you wanted something complex done, yes. But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re here for.”

She gave serious thought to the idea of just...walking out. She could do that, right? But then she’d have to explain the cowardice, such that it was, whenever she next called her family. And what a stupid thing this would be to lose her nerve over. “No.” She agreed grumpily.

“Touch up?” The receptionist questioned. “Basic buff and polish?”

Her shoulders hunched. “Just the filing and buffing,” she relented, in the end. “I’m not here for anything fancy.”

“Polishing is part of our standard service, I’m afraid. Nothing fancy about it, as far as we’re concerned.” The Sunfire elf smiled at her in a placating sort of way. It grated. “Why don’t you go take a seat and I’ll see who’s available?” they gestured at the row of seats, smartly upholstered, arrayed along the wall. Again, Rayla eyed the door. This was apparently noticed. “It’s alright, we’re used to first-timers,” they assured her, already receding from the desk and heading for the door into the salon proper. “It’s really not that scary. Just wait a minute, alright? I’ll be right back.”

They couldn’t have known it. Or maybe they did? But Rayla heard ‘scary’ and stiffened before she could help it, setting her jaw. Very stubbornly indeed, she stalked over to one of the chairs and planted herself in it, staring grimly at the assorted posters and advertisements on the walls. They were, of course, largely advertising different things one could have done to one’s horns. Because this was a horn salon. A horn salon that her entire family had suggested, implied, or outright stated she desperately needed the services of.

It wasn’t her fault that it was hard to get to the undersides of her horns on her own. Even using a complex set of mirrors, working on what you couldn’t see was decidedly challenging. She’d filed off the nasty parts, but apparently, that wasn’t good enough, and she looked unkempt, and undignified, and how do you ever expect to follow your parents into their line of work looking like that, Rayla-

“Ugh,” she muttered to herself, disgruntled, and folded her arms. She glared at a poster that implored her to, in very bold and cheerful lettering, ‘Ask about horn art today!’. Rayla had absolutely no intention of asking about horn art today.

While she was waiting, a Skywing elf emerged from the same door the receptionist had entered, and approached the desk curiously. He turned to her, and as he did, the light caught on his horns. “Did the receptionist leave?” He asked, and Rayla tried very hard not to stare. Not only did this elf have elaborate patterns carved into the horns, but there was – some sort of silvery metallic inlay in there, gleaming bright and almost liquid in the daylight filtering through the window. She hadn’t even known people did that. It was startlingly striking.

“Er,” she said, and “yeah, I think they’ll be back in a minute, though.” The unfamiliar elf accepted this agreeably enough, and stood by the desk to wait.

Sure enough, the receptionist returned in short order, pausing briefly in the doorway to do a double-take at the man waiting there. “Oh, so that’s why he was free,” they muttered to themself, just about loud enough for Rayla’s excellent ears to pick up. More loudly, they said “Tairas! You look fantastic! Glad you decided to try the metallics after all?”

The elf, evidently some sort of repeat customer, chuckled at them as they strode back up to the counter. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure at first, but-“ he waved expressively at his horns. “-wow, right? You’ve got some serious talent working here.”

“We’re very glad to have him, yes,” agreed the receptionist, and then conducted what ended up being a rapid exchange of a staggering amount of currency. Apparently, fancy horn-decorating did not come cheap. Rayla glanced uneasily at the price lists on the walls to reassure herself that what she was here for wouldn’t be so extortionate. Finally, the customer with the fancy metal-patterned horns left, and the receptionist approached her again. “Well, you’re in luck, Callum finished up with Tairas just in time for you,” they told her. “So I can take you through now.”

“Great.” Rayla said, unenthusiastically, and the receptionist snickered at her.

With a friendly pat on her shoulder, they said “It’ll be fine, trust me. And Callum’s one of our best ceracurists anyway, so you’ll be in good hands.”

The words didn’t soothe her. They’d be stranger’s hands, no matter their skill; that was what had unsettled her. Of course it was what had unsettled her. What else?

Still. She supposed if she had to have a stranger’s hands on her horns, at the very least it could be a stranger who knew what they were doing. Rayla sighed, resigned, and followed the receptionist through to the treatment area. She entered a long corridor with yet more doors arrayed along it; some further down its length marked ‘staff only’, others nearer and unadorned. The receptionist took her into the closest, revealing a large room lined with curtained-off booths. The sounds were precisely what she’d expected; the buzz of a half dozen electric buffers in operation, the hum of voices, the shuffling of feet. She could smell keratin dust and horn polish on the air. Horn oil, too.

It ought to have unsettled her further, and it did, a little. But the sight of the curtains had soothed her at once, with all their attendant implications of privacy. Somehow, she’d anticipated something far more open, where she had the sight to go with the sound of however-many elves having their horns groomed. She’d anticipated that others would be able to see her, sat beneath the ministrations of a ceracurist who she didn’t even know.

It had been a stupid expectation, in retrospect. For all that it was more common in the larger cities for elves to see a ceracurist when they needed to, they still had their dignity. Of course there’d be booths. Of course they wouldn’t be able to see each other. Of course.

Her relief at the realisation sustained her until she was led a little further down the room. Only one booth was open and empty, and within it she saw what she expected: a chair, a basin, a mirror. A table of tools. There was no one waiting there for her, but she tensed regardless.

“He’ll be here soon,” reassured the receptionist, as if mistaking the source of her anxiety. “He’s just changing. The metallurgy is careful work, you know.”

She didn’t know, in fact. She didn’t particularly care, either. “Right.” she said, terse, and eventually allowed herself to be prodded over to the waiting chair. Stiffly, she sat. And then the receptionist left her there to wait.

It didn’t take long. On-edge as she was, her ears twitched at the footsteps in the corridor long before anyone entered the room; she traced their approach, staring at the sight of her own terse expression in the mirror. Then, finally, the person drew near enough to pause at the edge of her booth. She could see the edge of their body in the mirror, wearing some sort of dark apron over a uniform.

“Hey there,” he said, friendly, and there was the sound of a curtain being drawn. “So you’re my surprise appointment, huh?”

“Suppose so,” Rayla muttered, eyes on her hands as they tightened in her lap. She still hadn’t looked. She didn’t really want to look at him. This was the person who’d be handling her horns. A stranger. She wasn’t quite ready to put a face to the voice yet. But, ready or not…he stepped into view.

Startled, she blinked up at him, and registered several things in rapid succession. The hair was a little surprising; brown, but smooth in a way you didn’t often get with Sunfire or Earthblood elves, and his skin was pale. Eyes a pleasant forest-green. Cute, Rayla’s mind supplied after a moment, as though to distract herself from the far more obvious conclusion of-

“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body. The lack of horns, the rounded ears, the – the five-finger hands, so strange in their shape that for a moment she couldn’t pull her eyes from them. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen humans before. But these circumstances were weird.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He acknowledged. He stepped up to the table of assorted tools, inspecting them, and nodded before returning his eyes to her. Again that lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, though. I promise I’m good at my job, even if I don’t have my own horns to practice on.”

Her face burned, blood flushing hot in her veins at the sudden and abrupt reminder of what she was here for. Of what he was here for. “…Is that something people worry about?” She found herself asking, struck by how practiced those words had seemed, like he’d said them – or some variation of them – a great many times.

“Eh, sometimes.” He shrugged, then went over to pull the rest of the curtains closed. “It’s not something people expect, anyway. A human ceracurist, I mean.”

“I definitely didn’t,” she muttered, not quite under her breath, and he snickered.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” He offered a smile, and then – to her surprise – a short polite bow, in the human style, fist clasped over his heart. She’d not seen anyone do that since she was a child. “I’m Callum, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Thoughts suddenly muddled by some very old memories, she blinked, then nodded cautiously. “Rayla.” She hesitated. “Same?” Under the circumstances, she shouldn’t have found it nice to meet him. But, unaccountably, she did.

“Is it okay if we get started?” He asked then, nodding to his table of implements. “Don’t want to hurry you, but this does take a while.”

Whatever ease she’d managed to find in the brief conversation abruptly fled her, and she went still and wordless. She glanced at him, at his face, for all of a second before the mortification overcame her and she had to hide behind her hands. “Moon above,” she muttered, into her palms, shoulders hunching. “Ugh.”

There was a pause. “You alright there?” His voice was only half joking.

“…Yeah.” She said eventually, and forced her hands down. “Just…”

He sounded sympathetic. “Never had your horns done outside the family, huh?” She made some sort of affirmative noise, and he nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, we get a lot of that here. If it helps, just remember that it’s a professional setting, and doesn’t come with the normal implications, okay?”

She sighed. “I’ll do my best.” Despite that resolution, though, she still couldn’t help the embarrassed grumble when he draped a gown around her front and shoulders, ostensibly to shield her clothes from horn debris, and leaned the chair she was in back towards the basin.

“Do you prefer to have a hair-shield on, or to have your hair washed afterwards?” He asked, after a moment, and she balked. She hadn’t even realised that was an option. But – of course, otherwise people would have to leave the salon with their hair wet with horn-oil and full of disgusting keratin dust and flakes…

“Hair shield,” she opted, quickly, and he hummed his agreement.

“No problem.” He pulled something from the table with a rustling noise. “Does mean I won’t be able to get at the first centimetre or so of your horns, though, so keep that in mind.”

Worth it, she thought. It was something of a mercy, even. The horns themselves were just insensate keratin on the outsides…but the skin at the beds? That was sensitive. She’d be glad to avoid that particular intimacy.

Even as she thought it, the ceracurist lowered something over one of her horns, and then the other, perceptible by the light and gentle weight grazing over them. She went utterly still, and peered up to try to see in the mirror what he was doing. It was a kind of…hood, or shroud, with two horn-holes in it. And some sort of drawstring around both holes. She watched with a bizarre and anxious tension as he pressed the hood down and then tightened the drawstrings around the base of her horns until they were flush with the hornbeds.

Then, visible in the mirror, he paused and looked her horns over. His expression didn’t change much, but she could see the minute lift of his eyebrows. Her face burned. “Been a while,” she offered, by way of explanation for the state of them, and she saw his smile in the reflection.

“You’ve done a pretty good job by yourself, really.” He said generously, dipping something into the basin with a distinct watery splash. “The oversides are pretty neatly filed.” Briefly, there was the lightest sensation of weight on her right horn, like he’d touched a fingertip to it. A shiver of apprehension stiffened her shoulders. “You’ve done this ridge a bit flat, though. And the undersides…” He paused, like he couldn’t think of anything charitable to say on that moment’s notice.

Rayla closed her eyes, embarrassed and unnerved at once. “Ugh.”

“They’re hard to get to, I know,” he soothed, and then planted a wet soapy cloth on the horn in question. “It’s okay. I can fix it up.”

She sighed, neck prickling with tension. “Sure.”

The next few minutes she sat silently warring with her impulse to twitch at every touch on her horns. Given the ceracurist spent said minutes washing those horns, this was a considerable challenge. The sensation of heat from warm water radiating through the keratin wasn’t unfamiliar, and neither was the scrub of the brush – but she’d never experienced either outside the company of family before. It was unsettling. Reminding herself that it was professional didn’t help that, either – all it did was calm the flush in her cheeks a little.

“I’m guessing you moved here recently, then.” The ceracurist – Callum – said after a while. “Away from family.”

She startled a little, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. As best she could, anyway, with her head tipped mostly backwards. Her nose obstructed most of her view from this angle. “…Yeah. Few months back.”

He paused. “You’re a student?” He guessed, and she supposed it wasn’t a difficult leap to make. She was the right age, this part of the city was packed with students, and the first term had started nearly three months ago in March. The conclusion was obvious. She offered a vague hum of agreement to confirm it, and he was silent for a while. “That’s actually kind of impressive,” he said at last. “Most of the other new students with tricky horns gave up trying to do it themselves after like, a month. Not three. You’ve been managing pretty well.”

Rayla snorted. “Tricky horns?” She repeated, ignoring the rest for now, and he huffed at her.

“Moonshadow, Skywing, you know. Tricky horns.” He elaborated. She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “The Sunfire elves manage pretty well, theirs are simple enough.”

“And meanwhile we have the most annoying kind of all,” Rayla muttered, of her own race. “Stupid ridges and all.”

“Well, if you’ve not seen a Skywing elf when they’re casting their shells, maybe hold off on making that call.” He sounded amused. “But yeah, you guys don’t exactly have it easy. We get a lot of Moonshadow elves coming in here for horn help.”

“Students?”

“Mostly. But there’s other elves around who don’t have anyone in their personal lives they’d trust enough, too. So they come here.” He removed the brush, wiped her horns off, and went for a distinctive tool on the table. An electric buffer. Considerably faster and more effective than doing it by hand, she knew, but they were expensive enough that a lot of elves didn’t have one. Her family had, though. They all shared the tools. So she knew what to expect.

The noise of it started up, and accordingly their conversation dwindled. She felt the buzz of the buffer against her right horn a moment later, angled carefully into one of the ridges there. As always, the sensation hummed straight through the keratin to the vaguely-sensitive skin beneath; it tingled. The next while passed like that, with the ceracurist occasionally sitting her up and coaxing her to move her head this way or that to get better angles on her horns, paying particular attention to the neglected undersides. She didn’t even want to think about how many keratin flakes must be littering the gown he’d put on her.

Her inner-horn had gone thoroughly numb from the vibrations by the time he switched the buffer off and set it aside to get the cloth again. “I’ll just wipe this down and go for a second run, then do the same on your other horn, alright?” He said, soothingly, probably seeing how she twitched at every motion, uncertain what he’d do next.

She tried to relax a little. It was uncomfortable, yes, but…this was his job, and it – that was all it was. Plenty of elves had their horns done by ceracurists. It was fine. “Right.” She muttered, and tried not to flinch when she felt the weight of the cloth on her horn again. More to distract herself than anything else, she asked “How long have you been doing this?” Except, once she’d actually asked, she was curious. How did a human even end up working in a horn salon? Why was he in an elven city in the first place?

The ceracurist huffed, and said, impishly, “This? Probably coming up to ten minutes, so far.” He tapped her horn cheerfully, as if to indicate it, and went back to wiping. Her cheeks heated instantly; she couldn’t exactly help it, with that very direct reminder that he was touching her horns.

She rolled her eyes anyway. “Ha-ha,” she said, dryly, and he snickered at her.

“About two years, now.” He relented after a moment. “I’m only in a few times a week, but, eh. It’s a hobby. And I get paid for it, so.” He shrugged, then went for the buffer again. Accordingly, there was no more talking for a while, but in that interim her interest grew. He looked around her age, or maybe even younger…and he’d been doing this for years?

She’d assumed, from his accent, that he came from one of the human countries. Possibly even Katolis, though she wasn’t great at telling the different West Xadia accents apart. But if he’d been living here for years…was he a resident? Long-term? That was rare. The curiosity nagged at her enough that she half-forgot the embarrassment of having her horns handled by a stranger, and when he put the buffer down again, she said “You don’t have a Gullcrest accent.”

“That’s probably one of the politest ways anyone’s tried to ask me where I’m from,” he mused, and for a second she felt like an absolute racist boor before he waved dismissively at her. He explained “It’s fine, people get curious, I don’t mind. I didn’t grow up here or anything, I just came for the university.”

Rayla startled. “You’re a student?”

He smiled, and this time he looked decidedly proud of himself. “Mastery student, even.” He agreed cheerfully, and she stopped short, turning her head over her shoulder to squint at him. “You know, it’s hard to work on your horns if you’re facing me,” he told her, very reasonably, but she was busy inspecting his face. He had to be around the same age as her, surely. And he was on a masters degree?

“How old are you?” She demanded, suddenly completely uncertain of her ability to judge human ages.

The ceracurist looked pleased at the question, as if he relished every chance to show off the absurdly young age at which he was pursuing a mastery in…whatever it was he studied. “Eighteen.” He said, and then gently nudged her into turning around again. She made an incredulous face at him, but obliged after a moment. “How about you?”

“Nineteen,” she answered, distractedly, trying to parse the mystery of her ceracurist’s unlikely academic circumstances. Generally people were only allowed to pursue a mastery when they’d done an apprenticeship or undergraduate degree already, and those were never less than three years long. An apprenticeship, then? She couldn’t imagine a fifteen-year-old being let into the university…

Unceremoniously, the buzz of the buffer interrupted her thoughts and the conversation, so they fell quiet again. It was him who spoke first when he was done with the first pass on her other horn. “What are you studying?”

However logical it was as a follow-up question, it still caught her off-guard. “Er.” She scrambled for the name, mind suddenly blank. A moment later she supplied “Professional Security. And Tactics.”

“Huh.” He sounded bemused. “I know someone on that course, actually. He’s second year now.”

Rayla snorted. “How’s he finding it?”

“Says there’s way more math than he thinks is fair. And he thinks Professor Sadris is evil.”

That neatly matched her observations thus far, at least. “Sounds about right.” After that, the second buffing run silenced them again, and she was left in thought. What would a human be studying at Gullcrest at a mastery level? How long had he lived here? She’d seen a handful of humans at the university, but…well, they stood out. There weren’t a lot of them. Had she seen him before, perhaps? There was something weirdly familiar about him…

She was all set to come out and ask one of the dozen questions on her mind when the buffer stopped, but he just said “I’m about done with this now, so it’s onto the polishing next. That won’t take as long, but there probably will be horn-polish splatter, so…brace yourself, I guess.”

“Isn’t that what the hair shield is for?” She asked, neatly distracted, and was surprised to realise that most of her nerves had disappeared, somewhere between her curiosity and the human ceracurist’s efficient work.

“And the apron,” he agreed. “But it does still get messy. You want any colours?”

“Colour?” She echoed, disconcerted, and he seemed to understand what she was asking.

“Horn polish can come in colours, with dyes in it. It’s a really easy way to add colour to horns. If you’re just here for basic care, though, that’s fine.”

“Er.” She thought for a moment on that startling gradient of colour on the receptionist’s horns. Was that how theirs had been done, or was there some other method needed for something that striking? Either way… “No, no colours. Thanks, though?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You’ve got a nice base horn colour, anyway.” He said, as if making comments like that was the most normal thing in the world. For a ceracurist, it might well be; but her cheeks flushed an instant and virulent red regardless. “It’s a good clear dark purple. It’ll look great when it’s polished up.”

Rayla wondered, amid her embarrassment, when she’d last seen her horns polished. Her parents did the buffing, sure, but polishing…not so much. It was a lot of work without the special oils and tools. She thought maybe they’d done it once, when she was pretty young, for one particular formal occasion. Aside from that, though… “I don’t even know what my horns look like polished,” she admitted, flustered, and he paused for a moment.

“Huh.” He said, just a little surprised. “Well, the colour goes darker, and a lot shinier. Looks really nice, I think. You’ll see.” And, with that, he uncapped the horn polish, the smell hitting her like a slap to the face. Her nose wrinkled, and she wondered how many times she’d have to wash her hair to get the residual stink of it out. The hair shield probably wouldn’t be able to keep all of it off, after all.

Her ceracurist seemed entirely oblivious to how awful the smell was at close range, but she supposed he’d had practice withstanding it. Either that, or he’d burned out his sense of smell in the first week of his alleged two years. She closed her eyes a couple of minutes in, the acrid reek of the stuff making them water and sting. It felt like she was dousing her sinuses with acid every time she inhaled.

Callum chuckled at her, as if he knew precisely what she was thinking. “The stuff we use is a lot stronger than what you’re probably used to.” He said cheerfully. “Has a pretty interesting smell, right?”

“It feels like it’s burning my nose,” she complained, lifting a hand to rub at it with annoyance. “And it’s making my eyes water.” The sensation was rather alike being too close to the epicentre of a very enthusiastic onion-chopping endeavour.

“Yeah, we have spells on to keep it out of our eyes so we can actually see what we’re doing,” Callum said, uncapping the bottle again. It decanted a fresh wave of acrid reek into the surrounding air. “It’s not harmful, though, just sort of stings. Plus, I’m only using the full-strength stuff because your horns haven’t been done in a long time. It’s a lot weaker when it’s just a normal touch-up.” Though she couldn’t see his face, she could practically hear the grin. “Come back a little sooner next time, and it won’t smell this bad.”

Come back? “Ugh,” she said, en lieu of addressing that statement properly, and fell quiet to ruminate disconcertedly on what he’d said. Come back? She hadn’t thought about it, but – of course, she’d need to come back. She was going to be at university for years, and would barely be home for any of that. If she didn’t want her horns to get disgusting again, trips like this would have to be an ongoing thing.

“Every month, is usually a good bet,” Callum said, as if she’d actually spoken the question that was suddenly on her mind. “Usually between half-moon and new moon is the best time for you guys. You get a lot more active keratin growth around full moon, so if you wait till later, the work we do will usually stay put until the next month.”

Rayla frowned at the mirror. “Do humans have some kind of mind-reading power I don’t know about?” Her tone was dry, for all that she was a little off-put at how well he could apparently read her. It…well, it was useful information, though. She hadn’t known that keratin grew faster around Full Moon, for all that it made sense. She wondered if she should be bothered by learning something about how her own horns worked from a human.

He snorted, but took a few seconds to respond. “Not me, that’s for sure.” He said, lightly, and finally put the stinking polishing-stuff down. “Can’t speak for other humans, though. I think we probably don’t have secret mind-reading societies anywhere, but you never know. Weirder things have happened.”

She thought of the huge scandal of a few years back and made a face. “True enough,” she sighed, turning her neck to inspect what he was doing. “Are you done yet?”

Having moved enough to have eyes on him, she was able to watch as his lips turned up in a wry smile. “You’re that eager to escape, huh?”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Escape the polishing? Yes. It stinks.”

He snickered, but nodded, and went for a more normal cleaning cloth that she was deeply glad to see. “Yeah, that part’s done. I’ll rinse off now and then put some oil on to dry, and that’ll be it.” He wrung the cloth over the basin and then coaxed her head around again, lifting his hands to her horns.

She blinked. “What, ‘it’ as in done?”

“Yep. I like to think I’m pretty speedy at the whole buff-and-polish thing by now.”

“…Huh.” Nonplussed, Rayla went quiet.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Wasn’t as bad as you thought?” He guessed, as on-point as ever, and she felt her cheeks heat again. It was quite a question for someone to ask when their hands happened to be on your horns.

Rayla folded her arms under the protective gown. “….Maybe,” she admitted, begrudgingly, and sat there while the warmth of the water and his hands crept through her horns. The gentle slide of the cloth was easily perceptible, a shift of weight and echoing sensation in the living core. A stranger’s hands, and she was just…sitting there. She couldn’t quite get her head around it. But he was right. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be.

“Make an appointment for next month, when you’re on your way out,” he suggested, setting the cloth back and uncapping some other sort of oil. This one, in sharp contrast to the polish, let off a surprisingly pleasant smell. Faintly sweet, and reminiscent of the lighter oils Ethari used on some of his woodcraft. A pang of nostalgia, just shy of homesickness, stabbed through her gut. “That way it’ll be all sorted for next time.”

“Mm.” She shrugged lightly, noncommittal, a little perturbed at the little secretive thing unfurling in her chest that wanted to come back. Not for the mortifying ordeal of having her horns handled, certainly not, but…

With the finishing oil applied, Callum released the drawstrings from around her horns and pulled the hair-cover away. “All done. Take a look,” he invited, nudging her head up, and reached out to remove the gown while she automatically looked where he’d pointed her. For a moment, she was utterly stunned, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sight of her horns gleaming darkly in the mirror, perfect to the every ridge. She was still silent when he spoke again, saying “See? Just like I told you. Your horns polish up really nicely.”

She looked up reflexively, expression unguarded, and could do nothing to stop the quicksilver flush that his words brought to her cheeks. He was smiling at her, wide and genuine and a little lopsided.

It took what felt like far too long for her to manage to speak. “I suppose?” She offered, averting her eyes to the mirror, where she watched herself schooling her face into something a little less transparent.

He patted her shoulder, friendly, then reached out a hand – five-fingered and alien – to help her up. She stared at it for a moment, then took it. His fingers were warm, and soft from horn-oil. She could feel a trace of it left on her skin when he let go. “It was good to meet you, Rayla,” he said, with that same smile. “Maybe I’ll see you next time.”

She averted her eyes for a moment. “…Maybe.” She agreed, finally, and managed to master herself enough to flash a tentative smile back at him. “Er. Thanks, Callum.”

Rayla was a little too busy trying not to look outwardly flustered to pay much attention to the next few minutes, but as she found herself escorted back to the reception area, she felt strangely disappointed to see the door close on her ceracurist. The receptionist was eyeing her appraisingly as she eventually summoned the presence of mind to go fishing for her money.

“Looks like he treated you well enough. You’re not all tense anymore.” They observed, looking pleased for some reason. “Good on you for not making a fuss, either.”

She blinked, drawn out of her reverie. “What would I make a fuss about?” She questioned, taken-aback.

“He’s human,” the receptionist said, like it was obvious. “People can be stupid about it sometimes. But you weren’t, which is nice, because otherwise we’d have had to throw you out with bad horns, and that would be embarrassing for everyone. I assume I’m booking you in for next month?”

Rayla was still trying to process the words and didn’t register the question for a moment. Distractedly, she said “Yes? I think?”

The receptionist eyed her. “Three weeks,” they decided. “We’ll book you in for waning crescent. Callum works weekends and Wednesday afternoons only, so if you want another time, you’ll need to go with a different ceracurist.” They looked at her expectantly. For a second Rayla was flustered by the implied suggestion, but then she realised that it was probably just standard practice for people to see the same ceracurist every time. Certainly it would be less uncomfortable that way. She couldn’t even imagine having to put her horns into the hands of a new stranger every month.

She cleared her throat, blinked, then tried to consult her mental schedule. “Three weeks…” she muttered to herself, thinking. “Er. Wednesday afternoon?”

They flipped through their papers, squinting. “Four-thirty? He’s pretty booked for the rest of that window.”

“That works,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal and not-flustered, and supplied her name to have it written into the schedule. It was another weird anachronism; most people would have written it into a computer, but here this elf was using a notebook instead. It was set aside by the potted plant once closed; the plant in question broke off from its recitation of music to mimic the sound of the doorbell note-perfect. That was the problem with melodaisies. You could teach them all the music you liked, but as soon as they heard someone whistling, they might well just start imitating that instead.

“Thanks for coming,” the receptionist said, after shooting an exasperated glance at their plant. “We’ll see you next month.”

Rayla took the hint, and went at once for the door. She escaped with the ring of a bell, a palpable sense of relief, and considerably shinier horns than she’d gone in with.

 ---

End chapter.

 Notes:

Welcome to the first meet-cute I’ve ever written! Also the first story whose entire purpose is essentially romance. Because it’s me, there is a broader potential plot thread at work, as well as cool worldbuilding, but given I have no idea how much of this I’m actually going to write, I’m not really worrying about that too much at this point.

Hope everyone had fun with this first chapter, and that everyone is curious about what the heck is up with Callum.

 Story notes-

 Setting:

I’d loosely describe the setting as canon spliced with piaj twisted by most of a millennium of alternate history and technological development. Essentially, it’s sort of a modern AU, but not really.

Because this story is for fun, I’m wiping real-world-modern vibes over it wherever I want to/think I can justify it, and same goes for my own personal university experience vibes.

 Worldbuilding:

A great, great deal of the worldbuilding is taken from my primary project – Peace Is A Journey – and adapted for the alternate historical context that this setting involves. I have even borrowed several elf OCs (at least three) from piaj and its sequel. History in this setting diverges from canon some time after the banishment of humans from Eastern Xadia – though I’ve not narrowed the timeline down precisely, it’s likely that the first couple hundred years of history went very similarly to how I’ve ironed it out in piaj, though this isn’t likely to be hugely important.

However, despite the similarities, this AU’s broader global history and foundational metaphysics are completely different to piaj. Worldbuilding and metaphysical specifics that aren’t incompatible with this difference, which is most of them, remain.

I’ve involuntarily put a fair amount of thought into the setting’s worldbuilding, and a lot of it is pretty cool, but considering it is a for-fun project, I’m not too concerned about specifics or ‘balancing’, so to speak. This means that I will be trying not to put huge amounts of thought into why some technologies are advanced and some aren’t. I am trying to keep the Worldbuilding Complexity setting to a dull roar, pretty much, and only develop the stuff that matters.

 Glossary:

Ceracurist: a professional horn-salonist; one who cares for horns. From Greek ‘keras’, horn (same root as keratin or polycerate), and Latin ‘cura’, care (same root as manicure or pedicure or even cure). Technically this sort of root-mixing is sometimes seen as bad form, but it works just fine in context.

Mageskein: magic internet, pretty much. This is used almost exclusively in Eastern Xadia.

Gullcrest: an elven city located along the southern coast of Eastern Xadia. The majority of the story will take place here. The base concept and location of Gullcrest was taken from piaj worldbuilding and heavily adapted for the Ceracurist setting.

 Extras:

A picture demonstrating an unpolished and a polished bull horn from the same pair, to demonstrate how much of a difference it makes.

[writingstarling]

Comfort in You

Adrien needed to get out. He curled deeper into himself as the walls chased down to cage him like a determined hunter.

It was a trick of the mind, he knew. He knew his room was spacious enough to support a relatively large apartment. That it would be impossible for him to be closed in.

He knew. But his brain couldn’t process that.

Today wasn’t what Adrien would call a good day—and he certainly had better. Just thinking of it sent him into a spiral of his own thoughts.

The air in his room were lego blocks he's forced to inhale. Smothering his nostrils in full force. And was it just him or was the ground starting to sway?

“Breathe,” a voice brought him back to reality. Adrien didn’t even notice he was holding his breath.

He had to calm down. Gain his head back.

Breathe, Agreste. Just like the article said, 4 7 8. Inhale through the nose for 4. Hold it for 7. Exhale through the mouth for 8, Adrien did as so.

You’re alright, you’re okay. Just calm down and you can get out of here!

Somehow he had managed. His surroundings were clearing up. The walls didn’t look like they were about to collapse on him anymore. The air filtering through his nostrils lightened in weight.

He was fine.

“Fine” was an overstatement really. He was far from it as it is.

But in his situation and for argument’s sake, “fine” would fit in nicely.

Exhaling one last shaky breath, Adrien fixed eye contact with his furry companion and smiled.

“Thanks, Plagg. I needed that.”

The black cat rubbed his cheek against his chosen’s. Not for long though. Despite appearances, Plagg had a reputation to keep. He couldn’t let Tikki make fun of him!

Plagg did loops in the air before favouring a spot in front of his chosen. His flipper like hands poised on his waist and a sly smirk played on his lips.

“So, you ready to break out of this place?”

Adrien mirrored his smirk with a fresh new glint in his eyes, “Plagg, claws out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life had been considerably unpredictable for Marinette. With her secret life as a superhero and the sudden debut of a supposed supervillain—or magical terrorist with the ability to grant people magical powers through the aid of butterflies, Marinette had thought that she was beginning to gain the capability to be unfazed by the unexpected. That with all the bizzare events in her life she became acquainted with it.

Apparently she was wrong.

Never had she expected for a certain cat—or perhaps Chat to be perched on her veranda. It rattled her at first. Chat’s last visit had been... interesting, to put it nicely. It wasn’t his fault per se, nevertheless the escalating events left a bad taste in her father regarding the cat themed hero. The bad blood died down, but finding the very person that broke your daughter’s heart on your balcony would certainly summon a very irresistible impulse to jettison him; and Marinette really didn’t want to explain to Paris why one of their heroes managed to become roadkill near her bakery (the suit would probably protect him, but Marinette did not want to take that chance).

That put aside, Marinette shuffled under her sole protector from peering—or in this case, Chat Noir’s eyes. A hand stationed at her trapdoor as her eyes spied on her partner.

His back faced her as he surveyed the city; his cat ears were flat on his tousled gold locks while he hummed a song Marinette became familliar with as “Little Cat on The Roof”. Her lips twitched into a knowing frown.

Being partners for so long they were bound to notice habits the other owned. At the moment, it was Chat’s occasional croons. Marinette recognised the song as Chat's solace. A safe haven achieved by focusing on the assortment of melodies the song offered. She came to the conclusion that her kitty was distressed; presumably due to family circumstances.

Marinette weighted her odds. It didn’t seem like Chat had noticed her yet—which was good. She hadn’t known what action to take. On the one hand, it would be wise to not nose around and let him solve it in his own time. But on the other hand, seeing him lack his usual jubilant and bright attitude sent a jab to her heart.

She wanted to help. To be of service to him like the terrible jokes and over the top shenanigans he did for her. No matter how stubborn she was to clung to her sour mood, he would do almost everything that came to mind to alleviate her spirits. She wanted to do the same for him.

“Marinette?”

The mentioned girl tensed before sighing internally. She knew she was bound to be spotted (HA!) somehow, though she did wish it would be from her own volition rather than a slip aided by Chat’s observation skills. Marinette didn’t loiter on that thought longer and pulled herself up. Red bloomed on her cheeks as the crisp autumn air caressed her skin while embarrassment added an even darker shade of red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy,” she found great interest in the floor as her fingers busied themselves by connecting and disconnecting themselves, stealing peeks as she did.

She expected, hoped, for him to take the chance to chaff her of having an infatuation on him or alleging her of being stunted by his self-proclaimed dashing looks (Marinette has thrown herself into a spiral of denial), albeit begrudgingly. She had, because if he did—there lied a glimmer of hope that it would be easier to buoy her partner. Chat, however, had other plans in mind.

Chat offered her a smile. Impeccably centered and hollow like a well crafted porcelain doll, “It’s okay, it was rude of me to steal your balcony.”

Internally Marinette cringed at the sight. Her stomach wrapped itself in knots of discomfort. It reminded her of the smile Adrien would plaster whenever Chloe or Lila claimed possession of him. That night Marinette vowed that she would never let that smile abide on either boys ever again.

“It’s all right,” she spoke as her feet planted herself next to him.

A pregnant pause held them hostage. Both fearful of breaking the fragile semblance of peace between them despite the mutually felt inquietude.

“So,” Marinette threaded with rightfully earned prudence. Voice soft and light like footsteps on thin ice.

“...So...”

“I have some croissants.”

Finally a piece of her kitty came to light in the form of a grin on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“You would indulge this poor stray to the finest pastries in the world? Truly, you are the most a-meow-zing purr-incess in the world!”

Marinette fought the giggle bubbling in her throat with no success before sending him a playful glare coupled by a smirk that flourished nothing but friskiness, “Careful now, those awful puns might just cost you.”

Chat’s hand sought his heart above the magical leather suit as an overly inflated gasp found freedom from his peach pink lips.

“How could you Purr-incess! My puns are widely ad-mew-tted to be fur-ry paw-esome,” he retaliated, voice brimmed with feigned smugness.

Snacks and chagrins were soon forgotten as they fell into an easy rhythm of banter. Jabs aimed to Chat’s puns would immediately be reciprocated with a flimsy defense along with an additional pun. Each one personally designed to perturb her further into submission. But despite it, Marinette couldn’t brush away the warmth buzzing through her entire body as they went back and forth. The once brisk air nipping at her skin replaced by a fervour akin to a hug from a dear friend.

After a particularly long laughter from both parties as Chat had finally managed to delivered a humorous pun - “EXCUSE mew Purr-incess, my puns are always funny!” - they settled in another lapse of silence. Consisted of feather lightness and melodic sweetness.

The city was exceptionally beautiful, they had agreed. Perhaps it was due to the occurrence of a full moon, offering the city a better lighting to its beauty; perhaps it was the fiery orange lining the streets with its playful gradient; or perhaps the most immediately discarded thought in their heads, the company they had.

It was a territory they never dared to venture. A land littered with minefields yet to be discovered, yet to explode with much more uncertainty and a set of emotions they were far too fearful to label. Because trying to label the unknown might shatter the bits of understanding of their emotions they barely possessed. Putting the hesitantly glued pieces into shambles; and as a teenager finding their place in the world, it was a risk they were walking eggshells on.

Neither allowed themselves to loiter on the thought longer than a second.

“I, I should get going.” Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps it was reality how Chat’s ears drooped as he spoke.

“Uh, yeah, it's getting late...”

Chat took the initiative to climb the rails of her balcony, hunched and ready to set off. Baton in hand and his leather-covered thumb hovering over the button to extend it the moment he leaps.

Swivelling his head to face the pig-tailed girl, he gave her a smile, genuine and sincere. “Thanks Marinette, I’ll see you next time.”

For reasons unkown to Marinette herself, a giggle burst forth from her throat. Tickling the air around them with her bubbly laughter. All at once, the air felt warmer to Chat Noir.

“Sure thing, you silly cat.”

Marinette had expected for Chat Noir to make his way. However, still he was in his previous position, unmoving. Marinette was one breath away from uttering her worries when Chat Noir’s voice cut through the air in slight whispers timid and uncharacteristic.

“Can I,” he paused for a minute, but persevered nonetheless, “can I come here again?”

The question sounded child-like in Marinette’s ears. Like a shy little kid trying to make friends while shouldering a large fear of rejection. He sounded so small, so vulnerable.

Marinette took a breath to ease the tenseness she felt from Chat’s question. She needed to deliver an answer appropriate from her words down to her tone in order to fully put Chat at ease.

Gentle and fluffy, sweeter than all the candies in the world with a tone of loveliness, she spoke. “You’re always welcomed here, Chat.”

A weight could visibly be seen lifted off Chat’s shoulders. Shoulders once guarded and fearful of rejection came to relax for the first time that night. With a nod, Chat finally made his way back to his house.

The journey was something he didn’t desire, but he can’t impose Marinette with his overdue stay. At the very least, he came back with a new feeling better than anything he had in a long time. A feeling of warmth buzzing in his heart. Perhaps, he’s finally starting to remember the feeling of home again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAHAHAHA SO-

I uh, I forgot about this thing’s existence and neglected it for 2 years...

Well so that’s also why the writing style is a bit screwed up but I tried and honestly I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing so you can have this mess instead ❤️.

[nuttytani]

Just like a movie

fandom: ikevamp

pairing: vlad x gn!reader 

words: 2000+

warnings: mentions of food and that's pretty much it

a/n- this was my secret santa gift for my dear friend: @jiyuu-chan ! + if you enjoyed it; feedback is highly appreciated!

People say that you are meant to meet a special someone in your life. Someone who would change everything, who would complete you like a piece of a puzzle- someone you are destined to be with from the moment you are born, a string of fate tying you closer.

Soulmates have a special bond with each other; a red string that is attached to their pinky- which can only be seen by them. Such is drilled into every child’s brain from a young age.

When you were younger, your father would always tell you stories of how he had met his soulmate, his wife...your mother. It was otherworldly he said, like nothing else- an indescribable moment, and he wanted you to just know when you had met yours.  

“One day, you’ll also meet your one and only, sweetheart!”

“Really? But…. how will I know?”

“Really! It’s simple. You’ll see a red-,” your dad said- looking a little too excited.

“DARLING- STOP! DIDN’T WE DISCUSS THIS!?? Don’t annoy the poor child…,” your mother screeched from the kitchen as she stormed to your place- giving her husband a sharp look before turning to look at you,  “sweety- you’ll know when that day comes, alright? Why don’t you go play, hmm?”

You only nodded meekly, and rushed upstairs- glad to have your dad stop talking. Your parents’ banter was now muffled, but your mind was clouded with thoughts of what your father was about to say. Perhaps your mother was right...it’s better not to know to keep the moment special.

As you grew up, from kindergarten, primary school to highschool and finally college; you stood by and watched most of your friends find their other half- until you were the only one left. You’d always feel a dull pang in your heart...what if you were destined to be alone for life? When were you going to meet your soulmate? Will people keep on taunting you? These thoughts would lurk in your head, until you couldn’t think anymore. But now you were older and more carefree than before, such thoughts didn’t bother you any longer- at least not completely.

Every once in a while, your family and friends would dreamily tell you about their experience, while you’d just listen and nod. An exhausting cycle, where all your concerns would come rushing back to you. Then, of course, they’d never forget to ask about your nonexistent love life... It wasn’t fun to watch them shoot you a sympathetic smile and say “don’t worry, your time will come soon!”

Truly, having a soulmate or not didn’t matter to you, at least that’s what you think. It wasn’t uncommon for few people to be ‘alone’ although that was quite rare and an unfortunate occurrence. Why was it so hard for people to leave you alone? Real life isn't a romantic movie, like everyone would depict it as.

“There we go! I think that’s it now,” the strawberry brunette sighed as he placed the vase of wildflowers on the coffee table. 

“Finally! I’m so tired,” you groaned, slipping to the floor as your back pushed against the couch.

Fumbling with the book in your hands, you motioned the man to sit beside you- not too long after, he too sat lamely next to you on the cold hardwood. Exactly five hours passed since you and your friend Charles began organizing your new house. The two of you were working nonstop- tirelessly to get the place looking more liveable and comfortable. It was a struggle, but the effort was worth it.

“You know...you owe me for this big time,” Charles announced cheekily.

“Spill it. What do you want Charlot?” Brows shot up your forehead, you knew that smile all too well.

“First of all...stop calling me ‘Charlot’ it’s weird! Only Faust calls me that. And to answer your question- I would like to eat your pancakes.” He flashed you a toothy grin.

“Sure whatever you say Charlot,” you snickered, “with coffee?”

“Uh-huh!”

With a roll of your eyes, you stood up and threw the book on the couch before heading to the kitchen. Straight away- you pulled out the mixing bowl and sieved the dry ingredients, while humming to a tune that was stuck in your head.

About a week had passed since you moved into your new house, it was a decent place and safe neighbourhood. But the best part about it was the fact that your house was a five minute walk from town. That meant no more lazy drives to the market, quite the bonus actually.

Remembering a task- you shouted to Charles, “Can you be a sweetheart and do me a favour?”

“Ask away child, your wish is my command,” he said with a flourish of his hands.

“Haha very funny- go get the mail”

“No no no- you’re forgetting something. What’s the magic word~” he sang in a high pitch.

“...Monsieur Charlie, can you please get the mail,” you huffed in annoyance.

Sounds of pancake sizzling and boiling of the kettle filled the kitchen, you were too busy flipping the pancake to notice Charles' presence back in the living room. His eyes were squinting hard at the brown box and some mail sitting snugly between his arms. He looked back and forth between the parcel and your back before he cleared his throat, capturing your attention.

“Hey uhh...is your home address 216b?”

“No. It’s 215b- why do you ask?”

“Are you sure? Because your mail says-”

Before the man could complete his sentence; you snatched the package from him- your eyes widening momentarily.

“I suppose the addresses got mixed up…” Charles muttered

“Yea looks like it…”

The two of you just stared at the package, not knowing what to do. Your first thought was to drop it off at the right address. The house was just in front of yours, it shouldn’t be a problem and maybe you could introduce yourself to your neighbour at the same time.

A smoky scent filled the living, interrupting your train of thoughts; your nose scrunching up in disgust- “What’s that smell?”

The two of you stared at each other quizzically before exclaiming at the same time “THE PANCAKES!!”

[Unfortunately, it took a great deal of time trying to scrape the burnt pancake off your pan and clean it. The unknown package was the last thing on your mind.]

“Thanks for the help Charles, I appreciate it.” You smiled at him.

“No problem, after all, I got to eat a good meal in turn,” he gave you a wink before bidding his byes.

The sky lost its pale blue colour and was now transformed into soft red and violet, all blending in to create a beautiful gradient with specks of white clouds adorning like freckles. A mop of unfamiliar silvery hair passed by your peripheral as you stared up the sky, taking a shy glance towards the man.

You stared at his back discreetly as he fumbled with the keys before opening the entrance to his house. 

‘216b’ the golden letters glistened. 

Huh. So that’s your neighbour! Maybe now’s the time you give him back the parcel, and that’s what you did.

You knocked thrice on the emerald green door, while balancing the huge brown box on your other arm- waiting patiently while you internally panicked. Your hands started to sweat and the box started to slip. Rushed footsteps echoed from the other side before halting suddenly, the green door opened with a start; giving you a little shock.

Once again, you were met with the silvery haired man; his garnet red eyes flickered to yours and at that moment- you felt as if everything froze around you. Your heart started to beat way too fast, and your breathing became shallow- it felt as if you were underwater. A tingling sensation ran up your left hand, your eyes flashed down to see whatever the problem was- only to be met with a scarlet thread wrapped around your pinky. You looked at the man in clear surprise and he too- looked very taken aback as he followed your eyes.

The silence stretched far too long for your liking, with a clear of your throat- you introduced yourself to the perplexed man and spoke

“...I’m the new neighbour”

“Bonjour, how can I help you?” He stared at you with wide eyes.

“So err- the package— I mean...I-I believe this is your mail?” You motioned to the box in your arms, “Looks like the mailman mixed up our home addresses.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Ahh! Why yes- actually I have yours as well- the mail I mean,” his eyes softened in understanding, “Please! Come inside.” He invited you in as he took the parcel from your hands.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” You shook your head meekly, still recovering from your speeding heartbeat.

“Not at all! Come in, please,” he insisted with shining eyes.

The house was similar to yours, the same white walls with wooden floors and fixtures- it had a relaxing ambience. You spotted several plants and flowers decorating the house, giving the place a much more peaceful vibe, you were too busy admiring the place to notice your neighbour returning.

He placed two plates of strawberries and tea on the coffee table which caught your attention.

“You have a lovely home uhh…”

“Vlad. I’m Vlad- my apologies, I completely forgot to introduce myself. How rude of me,” Vlad said with a slight smile.

When you turned up his doorsteps, you had no idea of what was to come- you definitely didn’t expect to finally meet your soulmate after all these years and in such a way. Now you understood what people meant by ‘feeling butterflies’

“No, it’s quite alright,” you chuckled while calming your jittery hands.

Vlad took a seat on the couch and pat the place next to him for you to sit. He elegantly picked the teacup and blew softly on it.

“So, how long have you been here?” he asked.

“Not too long actually, been just a week. I’ve finally finished organizing today,” you said while taking a bite into the deep red strawberry- the sweet juiciness making you sigh in delight.

“These strawberries are particularly my favourite- in fact, these were in the parcel you brought,” Vlad said with a deep laugh.

You gave an awkward ‘oh’ as you took a sip from your cup.

Not too long after, the awkwardness disappeared as you two got lost in conversation after conversation and more endless conversation, and a few giggles in between. It was quite easy to trust Vlad- he had a calming and serene aura and had you feeling comfortable in no time, perhaps too comfortable that you didn’t realize how late it was until you glanced at your wristwatch.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry- I lost track of time…”

Vlad gave a hum of acknowledgement as he eyed the wall clock, “It’s not that late.” He looked at you with twinkling eyes, ”Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’d like some company.”

“Hmm I don't know… I’ve overstayed my welcome,” You said with furrowed brows.

“Well I for sure know you haven’t —as I’ve said—I enjoyed your company.”

“Ahh fine! You’re good at tempting people you know?” With a grin, you folded your arms which earned a hearty chuckle from Vlad.

Dinner went smoothly as you two chattered on and on. The two of you stalled your return home but stayed in each other’s presence by washing dishes, eating dessert, extra dessert, and washing dishes yet again until there was nothing left to do.

Once again, you stood at Vlad’s doorstep with a meek smile.

“I had fun, thanks for having me”

“Me too- and it’s not often to find that your neighbour is your soulmate,” Vlad gave you an impish smile.

“Yea— it was, just like—”

“Just like a movie?”

“You stole my words, monsieur.”

“Perhaps this is our movie,” he said while tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

*

*

a/n: if you enjoyed reading this, please don't forget to leave a like and/or reblog. feed back is always appreciated. + join my taglist here

[mimssides]

Never Met You

Chapter 10: Revelation

Things will reveal themselves in the least expected moments. They will be there when they are most needed. 

“We still have no clue for where as to start with our investigation,” Virgil sighed and put the letter opener back on Janus’s desk.

Janus sat on the chair behind it, while Roman paced around the room and Logan sat on the armchair in the corner of the room. Roman was muttering silent curses under his breath and Janus watched him closely. They had been sitting together for a few hours. He and Logan had retold over and over again how they had met Green but nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day, except for Green’s arrival, of course. The day before was also quite unremarkable to the point of both Logan and Janus not having anything important to say about it.

“I am aware Virgil,” Logan said and scratched his eyebrow as he looked over to the window. It had the view to the inner courtyard, where the makeshift medic tents had been put up. “But there is nothing else I can tell you. We didn’t learn anything about his background from himself, so we have to reconstruct who he might be from the things we have seen ourselves.”

“Well, we know that he had a partner. Possibly, a husband.”

Janus, Logan and Roman stared at Virgil, who took the letter opener in his hands once more and fiddled with the blade.

“A husband?” Logan asked with a shivering voice.

Virgil glanced over to him and nodded.

“Yes. He mentioned him. No details but that one existed. I assumed he… He never mentioned this to you?”

Logan shook his head and stared down at his left hand. Did he imagine it or was there a band of lighter skin around his middle finger? He blinked and the image was gone, the skin just as brown as the rest of his hand.

A loud stomp almost shook Logan out of his chair and he looked over to Roman who stood with his back turned to them. His hands were balled into fists. For the first time Logan noticed how broad Roman’s shoulders were now that they were held with tension.

Dramatically, Roman turned around and glared at the others as he announced: “We know him! We know him and he obviously knows us! He knew how to calm me down, he knows exactly how to get on J’s nerves, he knows what all of Vee’s nods mean and he knows everything what you think Lo! And so do you! You just throw each other a look and it’s clear! You just know and it’s like it’s all we should need to know in order to figure out who he is but there is something preventing us to make the last connection and it’s driving me mad!”

“I can see that Roman,” Janus said and vaguely motioned against Roman’s hands, “but what are we supposed to do? We have nothing to go off and-”

“He knew where about the panic room. He brought me there. He knew it was safe. He knows the castle; he knew the courtyard but he was no servant. And we can’t remember it because of a curse.”

With that Janus stood up. His brows were furrowed deeply and his lips were pulled into a harsh snarl. Roman growled at the expression and pressed his hands against the side of his head while shaking it vehemently.

“You can’t deny this anymore! It has to be a cruse!”

“Don’t lightly talk about magic, which has been used to eradicate my ancestors. The only ones who would dare to use such powers would be the unnamed and she hasn’t been here since months before Green’s appearance!” Janus hissed.

Roman wasn’t affected by Janus’s anger. In the contrary, he seemed to get even more worked up and turned away towards the door.

“Come on Janus,” Roman said as he gripped the door handle, “this thing is affecting me. Which means it had to be her. No other magic is strong enough to do so.”

Roman pressed the handle down and left the room. Immediately Janus went after him and both Logan and Virgil followed rather confused about what the two had just talked about. They watched Janus getting next to Roman and how he opened his mouth to chide the prince but stopped. His expression changed and he silently kept walking next to Roman who steered towards the backroom in the servants’ wing.

Nobody said anything when Roman opened the door and entered. Nobody made a noise when Roman paced around the room for a few minutes. They just came inside and Virgil closed the door as he was the last one to enter and waited with the others for Roman to get a grip on himself again. He watched his partner walk in circles and eventually stop in front of the wall opposite of the door. He was staring at it and Virgil exchanged a worried look with Janus.

“Ro?” Virgil began cautiously and walked up to him. “I know you wanna solve this but there is nothing in this room. He has been inside here only once; we won’t find any clue here.”

Roman stepped closer towards the wall and put his hand on one of the stones.

“This wall opens.”

“What?”

Perplexed Virgil stepped back. Frantically Roman moved a chest to the side and again put his hand on the same stone as before and pushed down on it. A low creaking sound. The wall slid aside and opened a passage into a dark tunnel.

For a moment four men just stared inside. Then the prince went inwards unbothered by the dark, his eyes adjusting effortlessly and taking on a red colour. His ears were taking in every sound, he knew immediately that the light steps just behind him belonged to Janus, that the heftier but muted ones were Virgil’s and that the hasted loud ones were Logan’s at the end of the group.

“Roman, where are we going! We can’t see!”

Janus had grabbed his arm and Roman halted. He turned and looked down to his friend. In his head something was revolting. Revolting and trying to get his memories back but it wasn’t working right. Instead, he turned to the side and gripped a torch which had been placed in a torch holder. He didn’t question why he knew exactly where the holder was or why it was hanging rather low but just took it and rubbed the top of it against his palm, flame enlighten immediately. He held the torch up over his head for a moment and looked back to the others before he resumed in walking down the tunnel.

There were crossings and other walls which slid aside when Roman pressed them. Nothing of it seemed unfamiliar to him and he knew that that alone should have freaked him out. Yet it didn’t and he followed the way he somehow knew he had to go. In his focus and the others’ worry none of them noticed that on several stones sat little coal drawings. They didn’t notice that there were little signatures beneath them, one from Roman and another they would not have been able to read, not because the language or scripture was different, but because their brain would refuse to put the letters together to a word.

They walked down into a dead end with a wooden door in the middle. Roman opened it, stepped inside with no hesitation and set the torch into a torch holder to his left as if he had done so a million times before.

As if he had done so before? Roman shook his head. The others entered behind him but he just looked at the room. It was a square room, maybe ten feet long and wide, a worn-down couch was standing against the wall in front of him, a little shelf left to it, with books and pencils and coal sitting inside them. On the wall of the door, close to the torch, was an easel, a blank canvas sitting on it.

“I have been here,” Roman mumbled.

He hadn’t noticed how Janus had stepped to his side and flinched when he said: “I would hope so! Leading us through a tunnel system you didn’t know anything about wouldn’t be something I approve of. Also, when have you even found these tunnels? Why am I not aware of them?”

Roman didn’t respond. His eyes had deviated to the wall to the right and his breath was stuck in his throat. Silently, he walked towards it. Walked to the wall with a portrait hanging on it. With a family portrait. Oil pastels. Vibrant colours and strong gradients, which made the four people in it look like they would come alive any second now.

Janus inhaled sharply as he saw it. Virgil’s eyes went wide. Logan gasped and leaned against the wall.

In the portrait they saw a man with light brown skin, short brown locks, eerily green eyes, and a well-kept beard standing next to a woman with slightly darker skin, dark brown hair in a beautiful bun, brown eyes and in front of them two boys, looking identical with brown skin, dark curls and eerily green eyes. They all were wearing regal clothing, man and woman wearing each a crown which hadn’t been worn in over two decades at this point.

It was a portrait of King Aneas, Queen Rhea, the young Prince Roman and…

“It’s him,” Roman choked out.

Janus shook his head and pressed his hand against his forehead: “No - how – we – how did we never see the resemblance? It- it can’t be! It can’t. It can’t?”

Roman’s head was pulsating and he let himself fall back on the couch. Virgil was beside him immediately, holding his hand and trying to not think too much about what he was seeing right now. Janus kept staring at the picture, at the boy in front of Aneas, with the green tunic and the wide grin with so much more confidence than Roman’s.

And Logan pushed himself off the wall and slowly stepped towards the picture. He looked at the colours at the way they blended into each other and he recognized the technique. He saw the hand putting the colours down on the canvas in front of his inner eye. He saw the same hand holding coal and sketching him. He heard a voice telling him to sit naturally. Heard the voice asking him fondly teasing if he could draw a nude. And he heard himself say in a just as fond teasing way that he could if he could behave himself.

“He drew this. He used to draw me…” Logan whispered and he felt his memory slowly breaking free. “He draws things he sees in his nightmares and burns them. He moves so much in his sleep. He has almost threw me off the bed when we started sharing. He doesn’t like it when he has to sleep alone and he usually comes to check on me when I take a nap. He – he didn’t-”

Logan panted. The day before. The day before Green.

That day-

“He didn’t come check on me when I took a nap.”

***

 “And there you are.”

 ██mus froze. It had been a normal day. He had spent the morning with Logan and had a meeting over the alliance talks with Janus after that. Lunch had been calm and nice, Logan had excused himself soon after dinner to take a nap because he felt a little tired. ██mus had taken the time to get back in his room and relax for a while. He had just wanted to go and check on his husband but got caught up in the view over the gardens, the rose maze, his home.

 ██mus gulped and turned around. His grin was maniacal as he stared into the glowing green eyes of the Dragon Witch.

 “There I am!” ██mus cackled and looked her over with a wicked grin. “What has you come here to my humble chambers, Dragon Bitch?”

 The creature scowled at the name. She stood far taller than ██mus, her greyish skin, the black flames miming hair and the deep red coat underlining how foreign and out of place she was amongst humans. She was a creature of nightmares and the underworld, her name a testament to the creatures she has eradicated.

 “Don’t test me, child. You will pay for your arrogance!” she growled.

 ██mus grinned as sweat began to form on the back of his neck. It made no sense that she was here now. She was only allowed in the castle at certain times. Janus knew the schedule by heart and he would have been with ██mus at all time had one of her visits been close to come.

 “Oh, will I?” ██mus hummed and wracked his brain for the reason why she would be here.

 And the reason took his breath and smile. The creature saw his change and began to grin. She walked towards him, held her hand under his jaw and forced him to look up. He had to control himself to not snap for air.

 “Who was stupid enough to make a deal with you?”

 Her chuckle was wicked and her eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

 “Oh, look at that,” she hummed and let her thumb stroke over his cheek. “Your father’s desperation and your mother’s rage. I didn’t think I would ever see such a delicious last expression ever again.”

 ██mus’s heart stopped. He grappled her wrist and pressed it down from his face.

 “What did you just say?”

 “Last expression, my dear,” she answered unimpressed and pulled her hand out of his grip and began to pace through the room. “I was ordered to kill the last demon blood in this kingdom. I am here to get rid of your treacherous family once and for all.”

 “You killed our parents. You killed my father for making your powers ineffective everywhere but within our kingdom’s boarders.”

 ██mus was glaring at the Dragon Witch who simply raised an eyebrow.

 “Oh child, you should know we can’t do anything against our own kind without a deal. Someone sent me. And someone sent me again to kill you. The last demon blood-”

 Loud and hysteric cackling stopped her words. ██mus was overcome with grief. With disbelieve. His father who had decided to stop all the bloodshed his family had brought over these lands, his father who had never shed a single droplet of blood despite having hungered for it, his father who had been nothing but kind to his people and the other kingdoms had been assassinated for the blood he had been born with.

 But there was also relief. Relief in the fact that contracts with demons had to be followed closely and ██mus knew that she had made a grave error.

 “Already breaking down? I expected more of you, Thea,” she snapped at him.

 He regained his composure and tilted his head to the side. With a smirk he began to match her pacing, both of them walking in circles around each other.

 “Oh,” ██mus hummed, “I am not breaking down, dearest demon. I just think you might have made a deal you can’t fulfil here.”

 “Why would that be?”

 “Tell me what the contract is. Not the contractor, I know the rules.”

 She hissed but complied: “’I, the Dragon Witch, shall end the life of the King of Theana, the last demon blood in the lands. I shall do so as brutally and cruelly as I please.’ They were almost kind this time; They didn’t even tell me to go for your lousy husband.”

 ██mus almost snapped at the comment over Logan but kept his anger to himself and simply huffed with a grin.

 “Your deal is faulty. Because I may be King of Theana, but I am not the last demon blood.”

 “What?”

 ██mus eyes glowed at her rage and he said ever so pleased: “It’s my brother.”

     "̶̨̮̖̹̤̋̌͆̏̕̕W̶̘͓͋̿̽͜ĥ̸̠̤̬̮͇͖̻͓̓̅͛̇̄͒̂͘͜a̸͕͔̦̦̔̿̔́͑̃͌̚t̴̹̃͂̾̏̐̓̂͌!̴̳͖̬͙̝͕̈́̑͊͛͊̌͆̽̚?̴̨͍͕̥̦̪̣̔̐̈́̓́̐̚̚͜͠!̸̨̼͉̫̣̯̯͐"̴̗̬͈͚̞̼̙͓̑͜  

  The Dragon Witch screamed. ██mus jolted back, hands shooting up in front of him and eyes opened widely to see what she was going to do next. Angrily she threw her arms in the air, screeching and revolting under the revelation she just had and went straight forward for ██mus’s neck. He couldn’t do anything but choked as her fingers grappled him against the wall and she brought their faces close to each other.

 "̷̳̩̼͚̲̥͙̩̪͐̈́̃̒̌̆Y̵͍̟̣͙̹̠̝̱̰̆̌̅̍̽̄͒̔̕ͅo̷̧̠̺̔͐͒̆̈̓͝u̴̢̧͖͒̒̎̇̔̾ ̷̖̟̤̲̯͕́͆̒ͅs̸̡͈̦̲̞͕̖̙̤̎͊ͅp̴̬͛̐̎͒̌̕ǎ̴̪̘̼̘̲̗͍́n̵̡̺̪̲̬͂̈̀͒͌̽̕ ̶̫͙̗͍̯͉̍̄̉̓̊̋o̷̖͗̉̏̇ḟ̷̢͇͚͍̹̗̮͚̳̬͒̍͊̒͆̂ ̶̣̣̂͊̇̑̓͒̂t̵̫̩͓̪̥̞̠̥̩͊̋̀̉̿͌̉h̴̫̲̱͋̊̚a̵̙͍͔̥̼̮̹͖̞͑͝t̸͖̉̊̂̔̉̅̔̎̅̕ ̸̻̗̯̜͚̪̤̟͎̲͗́͂̄̕͝͝͠s̶̞͇̾̎t̶͕̥͌͋u̶̧̡͔̠̝̎͝͝p̸͖͋i̴̢̺̝̪͖̫͕̥͐̅ḑ̷̧̪̯̭̏̋̑̑̊̊̓̉̒ ̶̡̛̱̝͍̪̹͕̾̑̓̚͝w̸̧̜̮̰͔͕͕̄̏̑̄͝ò̷̪̩̳̈́̑̎̎̉͒̿̚m̶̧̳̳̫̺̈̈́̈̒a̸̫͓͈̗̦̱̥̽̽̎͛͝͝n̶͖͍͇̓͌̑̇͗̆̊̈́͂͠!̷̝͍͖͎̂ ̴̤̅Y̵̥̱̚ǫ̵̦̦̺͇̫̗̠͛̄̽́̏̉̄͐̍̌͜u̸͈̭̼̥͑̏̚ ̵̧̻̤̓͝ĉ̷͔̖͍̰̘̈́̎͆͜r̷̂̏̂̂̄ͅe̷̢͍̰͇̱̪̻̎̃ͅa̴̡̨͙̟̤̲͆̎͊͘͜͝ͅṫ̴̢̡̼̠̦̞̝̘ḯ̴̢͙͕͑̐̓o̶͎̗̱̘̞̾̎̂̈́͒͝͠͝͠n̴̡̢̮̟͚̩̩̦̽͌̓͗͊͝ ̵̨̨̭͘o̷̠͙̮̮͍̹̯̪̿̋̇̔͌͛̆͆̚f̵̢̪̱͖̥̬͕͈̎̈́͌̆̍̚͝ ̶͕̼̇̀̾̿̔̓̔f̷̮̝̮̟̮̦̔̀̄̇̎͗͘͝͝ơ̵̤̈́͂͐̈́̇̂̔́̓o̴̧͙̥̩̮̓̎͂͊̋͒͘͜l̷͕̳̞͌̄̍̃ị̶̯̈́̆̽͠s̸͚̥̗̝͎̲̖̖̦̟͆̄̓̓̔͝h̴̫̼͑̀̈́͋ ̷̢̪͆͆̌́͋̕l̸̨̧̙͇̱̖͚̠͒͑͂̒̽̽̐o̷̞͙͕̜̰̽͌͆̊̿̔̽͜͝v̵̞̳̜̝͎̅̇̌̾̓͘͜e̵͓̼̥̭̻̭̫͍͕̟̾̽͛͑̊̽̐͠!̸͔͈̘̪̟͓̮͒͂͛̃͆̽̔̏̈́̚ ̷̨̛̰͙̗̈́̄͝Y̶̫̝̩̰̼̬͚̣͌̏̇͐o̸̥͈̲̱͔͆̓̐̃͌̋̾̈͒̉ŭ̷̧̝̈́͐̊̐͘͠ ̸̩̦͚̰̼̖͝k̵̢͙͕̹̺̺͑̓̓͆ͅe̷̯̼͇̖̪̎̑͊͆͛͌̚͝ẻ̵̡̜̰̞͙͎͉͎͓͛̓̈̈́͆̚͠p̷̨̧͉͍͇̙͉̼̯̘̈́͗͋̔̈̂͒̆͠͝ ̴̼̘̏̏͆́̇͘̕͠m̸̨̲̱̻͖̮͇̝̃̉̈́̓͆̉͗̎̓͘e̴̮̗͚͎̬̻̳̋̓̾̀̒̀̍̿ ̴͍̲̙̬̪̮̺̮̈̍̿͜f̶̨͎̈́r̵̺̪͎̼̀̽̏̔o̶̭̼̟̼̻̥̓͐m̵̧̺̯̼̣̙̙̹̱͕̀̅ ̸̧̧͖͉̤͎͙͈̪̌́͌͂́̽̀̽ͅm̶̹̜̘͌̅y̴̡̰̘̣͇̳̯̦͊̌͐̓̿͂́̕͝͠ ̷̧̨̰̘̘͍̪̣̽̈̑̈́́ř̷̫͗̊̆ȅ̶̢̡͚̗͍͈̩̜͙́̽̒̒̽͌w̶̰͚̫̱̼͖̔͋̽̈́́̌͑ȧ̵̞̙̖̻̫͙̤͙̱̮͌ṙ̷̢͓̘̟͚̠̗̼͈̣̊̔̑͆d̸̥̫͙̂͑̈ ̴̧̛̼͓̹̠͔̳̇͂̉̅͌͘͜͜͜͝͠y̷̡̨̢̬̘̹̮̳̱͇͑̾à̶̡̙̝͂̎͊̔͒̀̃͝n̵̪͍̹̫̦͇̟̦̪̖̓̏̃̆͊̿͝d̷̺̘̯͔̱̬̫́̑͜ ̵̨̧͕̮̩̩̞̜̼͚̀̈́̇̂̿̈́͆͝͝y̴͕̜͈̙̆͜ơ̸̧͕̜̻̗͔̖̮̣̣̎͐̒͝u̸̡̼̖̰̇͌ ̴̢͎̘̳̗̈k̷̻̟̦͇͕͎̆̈́̈́̈́͆̕é̶͈͙̏̐̅e̴̢̪͖͇̻͔̥̻̼̓͘p̷̢̺͙̙̐͝ͅ ̸̡̲͎͕̜̳̘̩̙̄̅m̸̧̞̞͚̲͙̓̌̄͐e̷̲̪̜̤̗͕̍͂̉̈́̍̐͝͝ ̸̢̲͖̖̥͕̻̦͕̫̆f̷̧̙͉̭̲̮̗͙͒̇r̸̼͘ͅo̶͇̭̙̟̦͔͔̩͊̈͂̈́̀̓̓͝m̶͈̦͍̟̽͒̀͒͗͌̃͊̎ ̷̟̊̿̃͆͂͊͊m̷̻͕̠̺͓̟͒̎y̸̪͇͇̺̺̪͗̔ ̶̛͎̈́̓̋͂̊̓̕f̸̬̟̩̫͙̠̩̱͍̙͝r̸̳͇̩̱̘̝͓̲̘͂̓̾͊̌͛͑͜͝e̵̡̺̫̲̜͍̠̱̘̺͛̀͊͝͝e̴̪̦̠͙̱͕̗̋̍̄͑̇͝͠d̷̮͖̝̟̩̞̿͂̈̐̇̚ǒ̶̰̻̻̓̈͑̈́̒m̵̧̨͍̖̫̗͔̏ͅ!̵̨̖̲̎̓͗̅͒̚͠"̶̢͔̰̣͊̌͑̈́̆̐̈́͝ͅ

 ██mus yapped for air and she lessened her grip. He took a deep breath and grinned dangerously at her.

 “Shitty being an incompetent demon bitch, huh? Couldn’t be me-”

 She screamed right in his face, the breath smelling rotten and toxic as it hit his nostrils. A clicking sound got lost in the noise.

 “Oh, I will make you pay, wrenched thing, you,” she whispered sweetly and ██mus felt his stomach turn. “I will kill the king with demon blood. He’s not next in line now, but he will be if you don’t exist, won’t he?”

 “If you kill me-”

 “No.”

 Her voice was wicked and smooth. Sugar in a deadly dose.

 “I won’t kill you. I will erase your existence from their minds. I will make your precious advisor, your best friend, forget you. I will make your people, your most treasured people, forget you. I will make your brother, your last living blood, forget you. I will make your husband, the only one who you ever dared to ask for his love, forget you. And you will suffer seeing them, knowing them and not being able to say a single word about it. You will see your brother die as a king he never wanted to be. And it will be all your fault.”

 ██mus’s eyes were wide with horror. From the words he just heard, from the realization he just, but mostly from the look Logan shot him over the creature’s shoulder. And his terror grew as Logan shouted in white rage: “Let go of him!”

 She was faster as Logan charged forward. She lifted ██mus from the ground holding her fingers up to snap. Logan’s look changed. ██mus tried to reach his arm out for him but he was already too high up the ground.

 It dawned them that it was too late.

 “Logan!” ██mus cried.

 “RE-”

 Snap.

***

“REMUS!”

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!  

[sir-subpar]

His Translator Part 12

This will mostly be a fluffy chapter

Burt sat at his desk, typing away. Checking the solar panels, engines, and various programs on the station. Henry was out on a heist for the first time since the incident at the Wall. Burt's chest tightened when he thought about it. What if Henry got hurt again? The thought unsettled Burt. The image of Henry hooked up to life support, bruised and beaten, crept its way into Burt's mind, making his stomach tie itself into knots. 

Breathe. He needed to take a breath, and just calm down. This mission wasn't related to the Wall, Henry would be fine. He'd be okay. Burt shook his head. When had he become so paranoid? Henry's been on tons of heists. He'll be fine. Burt just had to wait and listen for when Henry and Ellie told him to beam them up to the station, no big deal. Burt thought about how excited Henry was to go on this heist, how his blue eyes lit up at the idea of stealing all those jewels and treasures. Henry looked so happy, it was as though all the intensity of the past few months had never happened. The way Henry smiled at Burt, the way he held Burt's hand and leaned closer to him… they were just a few inches apart. Burt's cheeks once again wore the color pink at his thoughts. He had come to terms with the fact that he had feelings for his boss, but now he didn't know what to do about his feelings. He didn't have a lot of experience with dating, it was always difficult for him. He wasn't sure how to approach the situation, if he even should at all. Would Henry want Burt the same way Burt wanted Henry? Burt heard rumors that Henry was bisexual, but he hadn't heard a confirmation from Henry about whether or not it was true. Damn it. Why did this have to be so… complicated? Was it even that complicated? All he had to do was ask, right? 

… 

No. Not yet. Soon, maybe, but he wasn't ready just yet. For the time being, he was fine with being Henry's friend. 

"Hey Burt!" Ellie's voice rang through Burt's headset. "We're ready to come back, beam us up!" Ellie instructed. "Yes ma'am." Burt replied as he followed orders. Just like that, Henry and Ellie were home. About twenty minutes after Burt beamed Ellie and Henry back to the station, he heard a knock on his door, and there stood Henry with a gift box in his hands. “Hey bo- Henry. Welcome back.” Burt corrected himself mid-sentence. He was still adjusting to calling Henry by name. Henry smiled, handing the wrapped box to him. Burt took the gift in his hands and saw a card attached that read "Happy Birthday". He remembered… 

Burt looked up at Henry once more, he was still smiling. Burt tore the wrapping off the box, feeling excited. He pulled out a Topaz crystal. His birthstone. It was carved into the shape of a top hat. It was orange, his favorite color. It was beautiful. Burt felt his chest tighten. He wasn't expecting this, but he appreciated it nonetheless. People didn't usually pay much attention to him outside of work-related boundaries. But Henry did. He always did. Henry was just so… good to him. So appreciative. Burt's vision became slightly blurry, as if he had just opened his eyes underwater.

 Wait.

Burt lifted his hand to rub his eyes, slightly surprised when he discovered the moisture present on his face. Tears. When had he started crying? Henry cupped Burt's cheek with one hand, using the thumb on his other hand to gently wipe away the tears. Concern etched on his face. "Ah, I'm okay, Henry. I just… got emotional there. I don't usually- people don't- I'm not really… I'm not accustomed to this kind of stuff. You know? Birthday gifts and whatnot…" Burt wiped his eyes with his wrist, attempting to dry out the little drops of emotions oozing from them. Henry hugged Burt. Then whispered something very quietly in his raspy voice. "...let it out.."

Burt felt his hands tremble, reaching his arms up to return Henry's embrace. He realized just how much he needed this. Needed him. Henry's encouragement and support made him happy. Whenever his life felt monotonous, he could look forward to Henry giving him something to enjoy at the end of the day. "Thank you… Henry." "Mhm!" Henry hummed, happy he could help Burt like Burt had many times before. After a few minutes, the two parted from the embrace. As Burt regained his composure, he held the topaz top hat, inspecting it more. It fit so well in his hand, it was about the size of a computer mouse, albeit denser since it was carved from a crystal. Burt smiled slightly. "It's beautiful Henry, I love it." Henry smiled back, excited. 'Happy Birthday Burt!' Henry signed. His goofy grin made Burt's cheeks tinge pink. With how much Henry makes him blush he might as well tattoo them pink by now. 'Since it's your birthday, why don't you take some time off and do something fun?' Henry's signed in question. "Sure. Why not?" Burt replied, placing his gift in his pocket. Burt stood up, and almost immediately Henry held his hand. 'What do you want to do?' Henry questioned, signing with his free hand. "Uh… I don't know.. What do you want to do?" 

'It's your birthday, it's up to you.'

Burt squeezed Henry's hand.

"Oh. Right. Uh.. I guess we could get some food and watch a movie or something. I'd like to just keep things low key." Burt replied with slight embarrassment. He just wanted to spend time with him. Henry gave a thumbs up with his free hand, and the two of them walked to Burt's room. Burt felt a little nervous when he realized that this would be the first time Henry had seen his living quarters, but it faded a bit when he thought about everything the two of them had been through together. 

Henry observed the space Burt called home. Burt's room wasn't huge or fancy, but it was comfortable. There was a tv in front of Burt's bed that was set up on its own shelf with a row of DVDs on display. The comforter on Burt's bed was a gradient of yellow, orange, and red, it reminded Henry of a sunset. There were a few comic strips taped to a wall above a desk which had what appeared to have drawing supplies on it. The nightstand next to Burt's bed had a small lamp on it. Burt's closet was in the corner, it was one of those wooden closets with two doors that folded open. Overall, it was nice. It was calm and simple with a warm atmosphere. Henry let go of Burt's hand and moved to sit on Burt's bed, "Nice room" he signed. "Thank you. I'm.. Glad you're comfortable here. Anyway, I've got a few movies here… let's see.." Burt trailed off a bit looking at the DVD cases on the shelf beneath the television screen. What kind of movies did Henry like? He wanted to pick something they'd both enjoy. Did Henry like horror movies? Burt realised he had a lot of those, maybe even too many, but hey, you like what you like. “Hey Henry, do you like scary movies?” He asked, glancing behind him to see Henry’s response. Henry gave him a thumbs up. Burt turned back to the shelf, he decided to go for a movie Sven gave about a week ago. He hadn't watched it yet, so he figured it could be fun for him and Henry to experience the jumpscares for the first time. After pressing play, Burt took out a bag of chips he had hidden under the bed, and their movie marathon began. 

*Several movies later*

       Burt found himself struggling to stay awake, he leaned his head on Henry's shoulder. He was just so… cozy like this. He just wanted to be smothered in Henry's embrace. They've spent the night in the same room before, so it wouldn't be weird. Burt stayed there trying his best to justify his desire to cuddle in his head. But luckily he didn't need to, as Henry leaned his head on top of Burt's, seeming tired as well. Burt felt a wave of relief, and closed his eyes. Him and Henry being intimate and supporting of each other just felt so… right to him. Maybe he should ask Henry if they could be more than friends? Burt figured that he should ask Henry about those rumors concerning his sexuality first before asking him about dating. All of that could wait until the next day though; at the moment, Burt just wanted some sleep. Burt could feel himself drifting off, and just before everything around him faded he heard Henry whisper.

"Happy birthday Burt, sleep well."

Burt yawned. "Thanks… you too.."

And just like that, he was off. Away wherever his dreams (or lack thereof) would take him for the night. 

To be continued...

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

broken. {Dabi}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! So sorry it’s been a while since I’ve posted- between holidays, work, and this being a generally not great time of year for me there hasn’t been much room for writing. As you can see though, recent manga events totally inspired me for one last story in 2020 for ya!

He liked going out once the sun had set. Daylight hadn’t been his friend for a long time, and whatever lurked in the shadows grew disinterested as the glow of his cigarette illuminated his staples when he passed, aware of who they were seeing but uninclined to make a report.

How could they really? By day they walked the streets freely, unassuming, but beneath the moon they found sick pleasures in ways that would make any hero grimace. As dangerous as they were it couldn’t compare to the likes of him—the deranged and recognizable with only a quick glance that sent chills down the spines of millions.

He slept during the day and rose at dusk to begin sowing chaos. After all, the freaks come out at night.

The long since burned out butt of his cigarette dropped from between his lips as he approached one of the seedier bars in the slums of town. Whatever its name is or was had been lost to time and inattention to the sign hanging askew over the door but damn, they had the strongest liquor in the city and a reputation for looking the other way when criminals passed through the door. Hazy smoke stung at his eyes and throat as he entered but he’d been used to that for nearly three decades and really, what was another lungful when they were burned to hell as it was?

The blonde bartender gave him a curt nod from across the room, already reaching for the amber bottle he knew Dabi favored. Around the room were other patrons that gave an assessing glance in his direction before turning back to their drinks. All but one turned his way.

In the darkest corner of the bar sat a woman with her back to the room. He couldn’t see her face, just the contrast of her revealing shirt against the skin of her chest, but he was interested. The mysterious chick vibe always did do him in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here alone?” he asked as he approached her table.

“Cute?” she scoffed, dark-lined eye rolling in clear annoyance. “You really think that?”

In what seemed like a well-practiced move she tossed her hair over her left shoulder and pulled the already low collar of her shirt down further to expose more of her chest and shoulder. Smooth skin bled into a gradient of marled blotches of red and purple burn scars, the severity of which he’d only ever seen in the mirror.

“You wanna rethink that ‘cute’ comment?” she challenged without so much as a glance at his slightly parted lips.

“Yeah,” he breathed out with a nod. “Think I wanna change it to gorgeous.”

“Look, if you wanna know how I got ‘em just ask so I can tell you to… fuck off… already…” her voice trailed off after she looked up, haughty attitude dropping as she took in the darkened skin on his face and chest. She marveled at the handsome features still so clearly defined beneath the burns and the glint of his staples in the fluorescent lights.

Seeing interest cloud over her eyes as she trailed them over his face and down his body, he seated himself in the chair across from her and folded his hands around his glass on the table.

The rough rhythm of his hips against hers scraped her back against the gnarled wood of her bedroom door and drove the staples in his lower stomach into hers but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when it felt so good. As thin as he was he was able to lift her thighs around his waist and hold her with one hand while the other pressed against her throat.

“Fuck, please,” she panted, head spinning but wanting more.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he teased, “you already got two and I haven’t even had one yet. Not exactly fair, is it?”

“Dabi!” she groaned.

He huffed out a laugh as he buried his face in her shoulder, licking at the bead of sweat that trailed from her hairline. He was close so she really wouldn’t need to wait long considering the pleasure pooling in his lower stomach was building with each smack of skin on skin.

His hand left her throat to wrap around her other thigh so he could quickly readjust his grip. Pulling her back from the door, he bounced her against him as he carried her the short distance to her bed. He sat back against the wall and guided her hips against him, smirking at her eagerness as she started riding him desperately.

She gasped when one of his hands drifted between her legs and another type of warmth spread through her. “Fuck!”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he scoffed, his other hand coming up to grip her throat once again.

A few more rotations of her hips had him surging forward to sink his teeth into her scarred shoulder as his hand between her legs drew tight circles on her clit, both of them breathing hard as they met their ends.

She slumped forward, breathing heavily as he held her steady against him while they caught their breath and heartbeats slowed. When he finally felt the calm sweep over him he guided her down to lay beside him before reaching to her night table for the pack of cigarettes he’d spotted. Placing one between his lips, he ignited a small blue flame at his fingertip to light it.

“Is that how you got your burns?” she asked in a whisper, eyes half-lidded.

He stared straight ahead, cheeks hollowing even further as he took a drag. Without looking he took it in two fingers and passed it towards her through a cloud of smoke. She grabbed it and placed it between her own lips.

“Mine are from a hero,” she said after blowing out her own puff.

His eyebrows raised and he looked down at where she laid, interest alight in his turquoise eyes.

“I used to work in this high-rise building in the western district, did normal office type shit you know? Sent faxes and filed documents everyone thought I was too fuckin’ stupid to understand because I grew up poor and quirkless,” she started. “Some low-level villains attacked a few blocks away and when the heroes came the fight was small enough that we didn’t get evacuated. We couldn’t even see anything, all we heard were sirens and for that district its background noise anyway. But then Endeavor showed up.”

Dabi stiffened as she handed the cigarette back though she didn’t seem to notice as she continued.

“He blew the fight out of proportion to make a bigger show of capturing the villains I’m sure, but when he did it lead them towards our building. Three quarters of the floors were engulfed within ten minutes.”

“Lemme guess, your floor was lucky enough to be one of ‘em?”

She hummed. “Yeah, lucky enough to land me some wicked burns and a high as fuck medical bill.”

“What? The Hero Commission didn’t cover it?”

“Nope. None of it. Despite being told not to evacuate because we were farther from the initial attack and then being caught in the crossfire that we literally had no choice in, we were told that only loss of life would be covered by their insurance payout.”

“Zero casualties?”

“How’d you know?” she drawled, reaching for the cigarette once again. “Never fucking mind that I have limited mobility with my left arm that literally impacts my day to day life or how I can’t go anywhere without being stared at like a sideshow act or that the company I worked for dissolved their branch in the district. All because of some asshole looking for glory from a fight he didn’t need to be in.”

He chuckled as he watched her finish off the cigarette and stub out the last few embers in the ashtray on her opposite night table. This chick was something else.

“How’d you feel if I told you I got my burns from Endeavor too?” he asked.

Now it was her turn for her eyebrows to rise with intrigue. “I’d ask how, when, and why the fuck you didn’t melt his face off.”

“I was just a kid,” he shrugged.

“Endeavor—”

“—wanted to make sure his son could surpass All Might. Didn’t go according to plan, at least not with me.”

Her eyes widened.

“Pushed a bit too hard on a kid who could produce flames so much hotter than his. Surprised it took so long if I’m honest, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill him.”

She sat up, slowly bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, eyes twinkling with wonder. “You’re really going to kill him?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, baby,” he said with a smirk. “What—you wanna watch?”

“Fuck yes,” she breathed out. “He needs to burn. Just like we did.”

A blue flame ignited and danced in his palm. She could feel the heat on her face but it didn’t scare her like most would assume. The fire wasn’t at fault for her pain, the false hero who wielded it had been.

She looked between the flames and his handsomely stapled face.

“How can I help? I want to be a part of taking down Endeavor.”

He closed his hand and the fire disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Reaching over, he fisted the hair at the nape of her neck and brought her closer.

“I’ll let you help sweetheart,” he laughed, “but the best thing you can do right now to help me is to put that pretty mouth to work. You’re still at three while I’ve only got one.”

“THE PAST NEVER DIES!”

The corners of her lips curled upwards in a smirk as the broadcast overtook the large billboard in downtown Tokyo, projecting the voice of a now white-haired Dabi. He steamed from his quirk being overused but also from the outpouring of emotion he was finally able to confront his family with.

“Oh Dabi,” she sighed fondly.

Vengeance years in the making was unfolding in front of the entire country in real time and she was privileged enough to know it had been coming. She knew the plan and she knew the backup plans and she was essential to the very last resort plan too. Her own revenge was being carried out though not by her own hand. At least not directly.

She looked down to the slightly rounded bump beneath her sweater, caressing it gently.

“If he doesn’t kill him, I’ll make sure you do for him,” she murmured with a smile.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Good heavens, its been a while since I’ve done smut so that was an experience lmao. Anyway, Dabi is such a fun character for me to write and I love exploring different emotions for him!

[dismuch47]

DEAL

SIZE: Drabble

Tony and Vision, shortly after Berlin, post CW. Introspective.

Vision halted in his graceful stride down the dimly lit corridor, turning his head towards the wall that separated him from her room. The synthezoid’s body turned fully to the wall, about to phase through.

Vision, we’ve talked about this…

His head turned slightly to the left, luminescent eyes fixed on the door handle. He took a few more steps to the left and raised a lightly closed fist to knock on the door.

No answer, obviously. It was but an empty gesture. An echo.

His long fingers closed around the handle and he admitted himself into the preserved space. He didn’t bother to turn on the light, as he could see in the dark perfectly, but after standing in the center of that lifeless room, he eventually  stooped to plug in the starry light strand that she had hung haphazardly around her desk. It provided some warmth to the scene, but it was ultimately unsatisfying to Vision.

His gaze roved over cut-outs, maps, dangling necklaces and crystals, a few scented candles…and then to her guitar. She had tried to teach him a few chords, but it always sounded wrong. The soft pads of her fleshy fingers always elicited something so much sweeter and spontaneous than his calculating vibranium digits ever could.

He floated in the center of the room, taking in all the objects, effects, and furniture he knew so well, hoping to find some new crumb of data that he had overlooked. That would perhaps enrich his collective knowledge of Wanda Maximoff even more, giving him the inexplicable warmth he always felt as he learned something new about his special teammate.

But he never did. Not anymore. Everything had been over-analyzed until it had lost all meaning completely. She was gone and this space was now devoid of stimulation.

“Vision? Where you at buddy?”

Stark’s voice pulled Vision back from the nothingness, and in a matter of moments, he was phasing through marble floor to join his creator’s side. 

“And there he is.” Tony didn’t take his sunglasses off or look up from his phone. Vision already knew that it was Pepper Potts confirming diner reservations. The technology whispered out to Vision, even if he didn’t focus. He let the information absorb into him, but kept his hunched demeanor.

“You’re seriously going to the hearing in that?” Tony finally said, taking a quick look at the synthezoid. “It’s  a little… battle ready, don’t you think?” Vision looked down at his armored green-gray bio armor suit. He had not felt the need to wear anything other than his default setting. Not with everyone in the Avengers Tower gone. No one to impress with his once blooming fashion preferences. Vision looked back at Tony.

“Colonel Rhodes… is not riding with us” he observed.

“Rhodey is going to meet up with us there. He-” Stark hesitated, lowering his phone. “… It’s easier for him that way. Still acclimating to the bionic legs.”

Vision looked down. “He has not spoken to me since Berlin. Under the same roof and yet today is the first time I shall see him talk about the… the incident.”

“The accident.” Tony corrected firmly. “Now… do your thing. Bibbity Bobbity boo yourself something more…”

“Human?”

“Just some recognizable cotton blends would be nice. Business dress preferred.” Tony side, still not making eye-contact.

Vision cocked his head at Tony, unblinking. Annoyance churning within him, though he didn’t fully understand why. The textured, ethereal material morphed into a black suit that mirrored Tony’s, down to the red gradient pixel tie at his tan throat. Vision slipped a maroon hand into his own slacks pocket, mirroring the man.

Tony looked up at the synthezoid and frowned. He ripped off his glasses with frustration. “Is this a tantrum? Some passive aggressive bullshit, Vision? Cause I gotta tell you, I’m not really in the mood…”

Vision’s eyes were narrowed at Tony, defiant… but like a sudden switch, the mood passed, leaving the synthezoid feeling rather foolish for having emoted something as fruitless as… pettiness. “I apologize, Tony.” Vision let the black color of his suit saturate to a rich navy color, and his tie thinned and blackened. “I have not been myself as of late.”

The billionaire inventor grimaced, putting his phone away at last. He raised an awkward hand to place on Vision’s broad shoulder. “None of us have.” There was a sadness in his tone, though he meant to be comforting. The schism between Steven Rogers and Tony Stark had left the Avengers in splintered pieces. Everyone had felt it. Even a being still learning about human nature. Tony cleared this throat and clapped the synthezoid’s arm to lighten the mood. “But how about we focus on you for now, huh? On making you seem as personable and functional as possible.”

“Of course.” Vision retorted, though his creator ignored how monotone he sounded. Or perhaps he didn’t notice; the synthezoid was still trying to master sarcasm at this point. It displeased the vibranium being to be instructed to change his mood like a switch. Undoing the organic evolution in discovering his personality he had undergone for so long. To please Tony, he stood straighter and adorned a subtle and relaxed set to his mouth-line and cerulean eyes, calculating that it would read as “pleasant” and “approachable.”

“Much better.” Tony appraised. He watched as Vision paused and shimmered as he changed his density to be able to board the hummer without crashing through it. The all powerful android-creation that saved earth… gingerly buckling an unneeded seatbelt. Tony sighed, feeling as though he was watching a child perform a pantomime, finished with his own seatbelt and leaned in towards Vision. “If we can get through this day…” he said, sincerity in his tone that even Vision could detect. “…Then I promise we’ll revisit that… ah… ‘human excursions’ request. Leave the compound. Work on that bucket list of yours…”

The pleasant look on Vision’s face genuinely deepened, pleased with this trade.

“Deal.” Vision confirmed.

[shinriaaa]

Strings of Fate

Summary: In which Levi was lost after an expedition outside the walls, and transported to another world in Hizuro. Saved by a fortuneteller named Mikasa, and through the Paths, she wanted to transport him back to his world.

P/S this au is not edited thoroughly so beware of grammatical errors xx enjoy reading! btw this is a short au lol idk if i will be able to continue this hshshsh

—

The sound of crickets reverberating throughout the silent forest shook him awake. He gasped, alarmingly realizing that he was lost in a forest where he was supposed to be killing Titans. There is blood gushing from his torso, he noted, and it was soaking his white oxford shirt and green cloak, together with his white pants. He let out a grunt, keeping the pain at bay as he tried to stand up and gain his posture.

“Fuck...” he cursed and gritted his teeth.

But alas, he couldn’t even sit up properly. His gears are broken, and his clothes too are drenched in blood, sweat, and dirt. In contrast to his uncanny figure, the forest leads to some sort of homely abode. He sat on the cobbled floor, surprisingly clean and pristine not until his crimson blood tainted its grey colored stones. The forest was calm, too eerily calm and it had a mist covering almost everything it leads towards the cobbled path.

He is lost. And after so many years being on the Survey Corps, he was surprised to see this territory outside the walls with unseemly calm and very tranquil for a forest with no Titans sneaking around. The tall trees became so dark underneath the moonless sky, some fireflies were flying around like little fairies, and the strangest of them all was a small gush of water nearby, indicating a small river. He tried to stand up again, successfully took a few steps as he held his torso, and began to walk.

The path seems brighter with each step he took, and he could see the light shining around a place that he could take shelter with. With his broken 3DMG gear and blades, he was just a dead man in this forest. Getting nearer, his wobbled feet became weaker as he grunted in pain. But he needed to get there and get some fucking help if there’s any human living in this mysterious abode in the middle of the forest.

It became luminous; as the light illuminated his path, taking him towards a very massive building with pristine marble walls underneath the tall trees.

Oh, Maria. Where the fuck am I?

His eyes widened in surprise, to his chagrin, his discovery is the most eerily strange he ever saw in his life. The temple was flawless, immaculate like there is no human ever stepped in this majestic abode. It was towering up above, almost the same height as the tall trees. There is light all around enveloping the temple and feels like it was still morning. It’s foreboding yet welcoming aura made him curious.

How come this building is not infested with Titans?

Looking down, he grunted when his crimson blood was trickling down from his torso, further tainting the once spotless path of cobblestones. He grimaced when he thought he’s the one who caused the mess to the owner of the temple. But, he needed some help. There is no such time for cleanliness— even though he loathed his predicament.

He arrived at the marbled steps, taking him into two large wooden doors. Slowly taking a step towards the stairs, he reluctantly opened them. He was, once again, taken aback by how clean and strange this place is… and how otherworldly it was.

There is a dome at the top of the large hall, with paintings and stars almost moving and shifting around each other as if they are alive. There are drawings of women, children, and men in different cultures like it was some sort of celestial display. The colors are shifting brightly like a panorama around a sunset, deliberately changing every second. The hall itself was made of pure white marble, there is no stain of any dirt and there is a big window on the left side, overlooking a black void of different specks of stars, as they twinkle and shine brightly through the glass. A large well was in the middle of the hall, and a wooden table with lots and lots of herbs and different medicines are scattered around. At the back, red strings are tangling around like veins at the marble wall.

He momentarily dazed, and he stepped out of his reverie when he heard a soft voice echoing the whole temple-like chiming bells.

“Who goes there?”

Taking a step back, he ended up falling to the marbled floor as his torso guttered in pain. He could hardly breathe, as the last thing he saw from his half-lidded eyes was a woman with onyx eyes and long raven hair, holding his body while screaming for his name.

—

“Levi.”

He slowly opened his eyes, as the light painstakingly almost blinds him alive. A soft, calm voice shook him awake as he finally stared at the woman who was hovering above his head, while he could smell the scents of herbs lingering around the temple.

He noticed the young woman’s otherworldly face, looking like some sort of pigment from someone’s imagination. Her silver-grey onyx orbs have stars twinkling like the night like it was some unending void from the night sky itself embedded in her eyes. Her porcelain white skin is shining through the marbled walls, and he noticed the celestial patterns on her small hands and face, twinkling and fluttering endlessly. Her lips were small, but pink and soft. Her long, silky raven hair draped at the back of her shoulders is changing its colors, from blue to black and gradients in between. She was wearing a strange black painted robe that hugged her small figure, and a red crimson scarf adorned her neck.

She was as immaculate as the temple itself, which made his breath come out from his lungs.

Is he dreaming?

“Who are you?” he asked breathlessly, as he regards her posture. She was looking at him from the top, her head bending towards him and he realized he was lying down. Looking upwards, he could see the dome’s painted drawings shifting and moving, with the celestial figures twinkling above.

“I did heal your wound. You came from another world, and I admit, you are here because of a mistake from the strings of fate,” she calmly said and moved away, walking to the other side of the table.

He sat up, noticed the deep wound of his torso was surprisingly healed and very clean— like there is no wound at all. He was naked as his name day, with only a white cloth covering his private area. He almost blushed at his nudeness.

He glared softly at the woman, “Did you just undress me?” he asks and the woman nonchalantly shrugs.

“No,” she paused and took a step towards the well, staring down towards the depths of it. “My healing powers did it. I do not undress men, you see. Even if they ask me to.”

Silence engulfed them both, and the woman turned around, giving him some fresh robes from the well itself. It was certain it was magic...

“Please do clothe yourself. The night is cold, and your mortal life will be affected by the temperature.”

Handing it to him, she walked away towards a small door that leads to another place in the temple.

The robe smelled of fresh pine and musk, like the forest he came from. He sighed and proceeded to dress in a robe that seems different from the clothes he is wearing back in the walls.

It was a dark blue silk robe, and it has a silk belt (which is not a belt) to fasten up the robe around his waist. It feels traditional… and he wondered where the fuck is this place. There are some undergarments, which consist of white shorts and also, there are some pants that are too open and not the tight ones he used to wear.

“You’re in Hizuru.” the young woman uttered, and he turned around to see her standing in front of the vein-like strings, looking at each of them attentively. He saw a pair of socks and wooden sandals. Sighing, he took the socks and put them in his feet and finally, wore the sandals.

It was surprisingly: neat. The way it ensembles the style of clothing to the young woman, making it more traditional and different. He gazed back once again to the young woman... seemingly lost but he did silently thanked her.

“The Paths of Ymir saved you. You are transported to another world, you see,” she paused and turned to look at him, her silver-onyx eyes showing different kinds of constellations as the sound of her voice is the only thing that was heard in this strange place. She did not betray any emotions, as her orbs burned through his figure.

“I’m Mikasa, and by the strings of fate, Levi Ackerman, I’m going to transport you back in your world.”

Chapter Two

[technoblades-tilted-crown]

fireflies to bring us home -chapter 1

techno goes home with phil after the battle of the artic empire. he’s still settling in and it won’t be easy.

words: 3.6k

warnings: intense zoning out, blood ment. 

⊰ ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ⊱

Every morning before the sun had risen and the dew had dried, Technoblade would get up, don his cloak and walk around the forest.

In the days of the Antarctic empire, he and Phil would patrol together. Two soldiers, together against the world, boots crunching through ice and snow to make sure their land was safe. As shitty and cold and awful as it could be, the tundra was their home, their base, a land they had claimed and were intent to keep.

The dew that coated the grass beneath his feet didn’t break like the snow used to, but the chill in the air and the gradient of the rising sun were reminiscent of what was once his home.

The war was over though; it had been for months. All that was left now was their stories and their scars.

Going home with Phil was more of a last minute decision, but it felt right. One adventure ending and another beginning so soon after, side by side with his only ally.

By the time he’d made his rounds, the sun had risen enough to wake the forest’s creatures, light filing through the tree’s canopy.

Music began to fill the air as Phil’s house came into view, low and sweet notes of his son’s guitar. Wilbur was sitting on the grass outside, eyes turned down on the strings as he played. Techno walked past, perfectly comfortable in ignoring the sudden stop in music as Wilbur watched him go.

A plate of eggs and toast were slid across the counter as he walked into the kitchen, Phil himself sipping at a cup of steaming coffee. Techno leaned back against the counter, giving Phil a slight nod as he lifted the plate and dug in.

As they stood in silence, Techno observed Phil through his peripheral. Since they returned, Phil had a new sense of peace to him. Not being on a constant battlefield would do that to someone.

It could also be the safety of home and family. Probably all of the above, Techno thought to himself while chewing on his eggs.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” The silence was broken with a tease, Techno lightly bumping his elbow against Phil’s arm.

“Bullshit. I’ve made us food every day for the past two years!” Phil returned Techno’s playful jab with his own, grins finding their faces as they fell back into their familiar routine.

“I don’t know if I’d call that cooking. I mean it’s not like there were a lot of other options-”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” Phil’s hand slapped against his forearm, the both of them breaking into laughter.

When silence fell back over the room, Phil shrugged.”I didn’t make those anyway. Will did.”

“Oh.” Techno looked down at his empty plate, feeling strange. “He did.”

Phil gave Techno a sideways look. “He did.” 

“Cool.”

“And he asked me to give that plate directly to you.”

“Cool.”

“Techno-”

The hybrid made a face, not enjoying the tone Phil was using. “Your kids are weird.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try and talk to him. They don’t bite.”

Techno was quiet, frowning as he set his plate aside. “Tommy might.”

Phil snorted into his coffee, nodding. “Tommy might. But you and Will would get along, I think. Just give things a chance.”

“...fine.” 

The older man seemed appeased at Techno’s reluctant forfeit. He took a sip of coffee and breathed out through his nose, causing light ripples in the liquid. 

“Your kids are weird.” Phil repeated, humor on his tongue. “He made you breakfast.”

“I’ll see you later, Phil.” Techno said as he left the kitchen, trying not to be obvious in how he was fleeing the conversation. 

As he entered the living room, Techno hung up his cloak and immediately walked to the reading corner, sitting on the padded bench that was built into the wall and examining the scene outside. While he had been eating breakfast, the world had woken up even more, the clear sky now more pigmented and the grass outside free from dew. Muted through the walls came the slow notes of Wilbur’s guitar outside, the boy himself still sitting in the lawn with an open notebook and his instrument.

Phil was right, as he usually was. Techno and Wilbur would probably get along, if they got to talking. That was the problem: Talking.

There wasn’t a lot that could openly intimidate him, but the idea of talking to Wilbur was something daunting. 

It was clear that the oldest of Phil’s children didn’t like him very much. Or he could’ve been socially awkward. Something they had in common.

He’d been staring out the window for a few minutes, eyes flitting between the sky and the occupant of his thoughts mindlessly. Besides the quiet sounds of Wilbur outside and Phil’s movements in the kitchen, everything seemed to be at peace. Clouds outside, as few and far between as they were, seemed to crawl along the azure horizon at a snail’s pace.

Just as Techno thought about the innate peace that quiet mornings could bring, Phil’s youngest son woke up.

“GOOD MORNING FAMILY!” A blur of blond hair and red pyjamas flew down the hall, Tommy sliding less than gracefully into view and diving into the kitchen the moment he had footing. Tubbo, Phil’s second youngest, followed a few seconds later in a far less energetic fashion. With a hand on the wall to guide himself down while rubbing sleep from his eyes, Tubbo stopped just outside the kitchen door, staring at Technoblade with a confused expression. 

If talking to Wilbur was daunting, interacting with the other two was a nightmare. There was something unsettling about talking to any of the three, but Techno wasn’t able to put his finger on what it could be. He liked to joke that it was because they were ex-orphans, but that was a distraction from the truth. Whatever the truth could’ve been.

“Good morning, Technoblade.” Tubbo gave him a little smile before trailing after Tommy. Techno felt his muscles tense as the child spoke to him, standing up after the brunet disappeared and fleeing out the front door.

He once again paid Wilbur no mind as he walked down the path from the house, head buzzing as he jammed his hands into his pockets and let his feet take him where they would.

Techno didn’t have much thought as he walked through the forest for the second time that day, stopping only when he came to the bank of a river, rocks clacking against each other under his feet. The sound of rushing water helped clear his anxiety a little, the sight of the water doing its part as well. There was a fallen tree a ways upstream, bridging the gap between the two banks. In a few moments Techno was sitting on the hollow wood, letting the cold water rush around his ankles and bring him back to reality. The river’s current was surprisingly strong, his legs being tugged more forcefully than expected.  

He felt pretty stupid, being so easily overwhelmed by something so small as a child giving him a greeting. His feelings didn’t change the reality of it though, and he was left to marinate in his thoughts. With the calming feel and sound of the river aiding him, Techno felt his mind calm and slow, the uncomfortable buzzing sensation of his head dulling to a low vibrate. Time became a contradicting pace, feeling bodily slow while the world around him moved at a lightning pace. 

The sound of rustling leaves and breaking twigs pulled him from his resting state. Techno twisting his head to the side so quickly it caused a twinge of pain in the muscles in his neck.

He was met with a wide-eyed look from Wilbur, the other teen looking just as caught off guard as Techno felt. He was making a lot of eye contact today.

Wilbur slid his guitar off his back, leaning it up against a nearby tree with the journal right beside it. The tree beneath Techno began to wobble as Wilbur carefully made his way along, sitting down next to him with his legs crisscrossed.

They were both quiet, unsure how to break the thick wall of silence that had already been built between them. The problem would always be talking, less getting the ball rolling and more pushing it through clay mud.

“I’ve got to hand it to the river.” Wilbur was the one to break the silence, starting out sardonic. “Without the water, this silence would be oppressive.”

His words startled a laugh out of Techno, the piglin hybrid giving Wilbur a stunted nod. 

“Nature is really carrying this interaction right now.” He agreed, snickering when Wilbur let out a chuckle. A sense of camaraderie fell over the scene as they both let out a breath neither realized they’d been holding.

“What are you doing out here?” Wilbur didn’t look at him, eyes trained down on the warped rocks under the water’s flow.

What was he doing? Running from a child, mostly. Hiding from his thoughts. What appeared to be the usual.

“Felt like taking a walk.” Techno responded, looking off to the side and away from his companion.

“Mhm.” This was definitely Phil’s kid, what with the same tone that let you know he knew that you were lying through your teeth. If Techno could build up the courage to look, he knew Wilbur would have the same expression, too. Willing to let it go, but not with letting him think that he’d pulled the wool over his eyes.

“What about you?” Wilbur definitely wouldn’t see through such a transparent distraction.

“Felt like taking a walk.” Techno supposed that was fair, having his own rebuff thrown back in his face.

Silence fell back over the two, though it was comfortably strained. The type of quiet where nervous energy lit red embers underneath a crackling fire of fellowship.

“I heard you playing this morning.” When in doubt, change the subject. “It sounded good.”

“Thanks. I just started something new.” Wilbur looked over at the journal next to his guitar, fingers twitching a little from where they rested in his lap. 

“...cool.” What would Phil say in this situation? Something kind or witty, probably. A quip or phrase to ease the tension. “What’s it about?”

Wilbur looked back down into the rushing water, head tilted ever so slightly.

“I don’t know yet. I’ve got a few ideas but they don’t sound right when I put them to paper.”

Techno wasn’t much of an artist, unless you counted slaughter and murder a form of art. He wasn’t sure what to say in the face of Wilbur’s frustration, ear twitching as a bird took flight nearby.

“Well-”

“How old are you, anyway?” What would’ve been a pitiful attempt at comfort was overshadowed by Wilbur’s question. Techno couldn’t’ve asked for better timing. 

“Uhh…” He let the syllables drag on while thinking of an answer. How old was he? That wasn’t a question he’d ever need an answer to before this moment. No one had ever told him his age, and it didn’t seem that important anyway. 

“I don’t know.”

Wilbur gave him a deadpan look, faltering when he looked at Techno and saw the seriousness on his face.

“Oh. You really don’t know?”

Techno shrugged and looked away, swinging his leg back against the flow of the ice cold water.

“Didn’t seem that important.”

He was met with cumbersome silence, though Wilbur looked more contemplative than upset.

Was knowing how old he was really so important? He had never slowed down to consider something so small as how long he’d been around on the earth he had soaked in blood. There was always something more important. A battle to win, or something like that.

Quiet nights that could be used to think were usually reserved for a mental blankness, a type of relaxation he didn’t often get to partake in. A crackling fire nearby while he could stare into the stars, letting worries melt away as the swirling galaxies above became his only comprehension. 

“Are you hungry?” Wilbur shifted on the hollow log, causing it to wobble underneath them. The piglin hybrid looked up, shrugging lightly.

“Not really.”

“Well I am.” Wilbur shifted a small bag that Techno hadn’t seen before into his lap. It was a brown fabric, small patches stitched into the front. There was a set of poorly done stitching across the bottom of the bag that read, “Tommy wa here.” Techno figured it was supposed to say that Tommy was there, but over time the thread had been tugged out. 

There was a variety of other stitching in the brown fabric, like a nicely done letter P and a yellow W. Tubbo's name was there too, slanted down like a waterfall on the left side. The patches were all of trees, flowers, and similar nature depictions with a few musical notes placed here or there.

Wilbur pulled a smaller paper bag from his cloth one, grabbing a sandwich from inside and biting into it, legs swaying along with the current of the water below. The sight made Techno a little hungry, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, stomach rumbling loud enough to be heard above the river’s flow. Wilbur snorted around his bite of sandwich, pulling another out of his bag and offering it out.

Techno took it from him, holding it in his lap for a moment before unwrapping it to take a bite. Sweet strawberry jelly burst flavor across his tongue, a short hum leaving Techno’s lips as he chewed.

“You brought me food?”

“Mhm.” Wilbur was already halfway done, a bit of the red jelly staining the side of his lip. “It’s been a while since you ate, I figured you’d be hungry.”

It hadn’t been that long, had it? Techno looked up, startled to see that the sun had climbed into an afternoon sky while he had zoned out, bright rays cast over the forest.

“Huh…” Technoblade took another bite of his sandwich, a light breeze making the stray hairs that had fallen from his braid squirm in his peripheral. 

An unexpected consequence of coming home with Phil was that Techno had precious little to do. In the Arctic Empire he could patrol, or hunt down some poor idiot who was trying to sneak onto their land and show them a one way ticket to death’s door. But in Phil’s secluded little spot in the world, Techno had already gotten cabin fever. His weapons all had a spot in his closet and would be staying there until further notice. The closest he could get to his old self was finding an empty clearing and sparring with particularly thick oak trees.

Phil might be down for a round or two, something to pass the time and get their blood flowing. Techno made a mental note to ask him about it later, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and swiping his hands together to remove the crumbs.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” Wilbur asked, leaning slightly to get a better look at the warped picture of Techno’s boots under the warping water.

“Eh.” Techno lifted one of his legs out of the water, tucking it under his opposite thigh. He wouldn’t relay to Wilbur that he couldn’t actually feel his foot, the frigid temperature stealing his sensations. The second leg was moved shortly after, Techno following Wilbur’s example of seating.

“Well, I’m going home.” Wilbur stood up, making his way back to the solid ground and grabbing his guitar. “You coming?”

There was an underlying question in Wilbur’s tone as he looked back at Techno, the pig himself nodding as he stood. 

“Sure.” 

They walked side by side on the way back to the house, occasionally breaking the tranquil silence of the forest with short small talk. Mostly Wilbur, making comments about his music or memories that sprung to mind at the sight of a mark in the tree bark or a particularly gnarled set of roots. Techno didn’t do much in the way of responding, giving short laughs or grunts when needed. Wilbur didn’t seem to mind, enjoying being listened to for the fleeting time they had.

When they walked through the doors, it was to the sight of Phil reading on the couch, a snoring Tommy and Tubbo cradled in the curve of either wing. It was cute, but Techno felt strange watching it. He gave a wave to Phil and ducked into the hall, heading back for his bedroom to take a seat on the bed and undo his boots. By now he’d regained the feeling in his toes, but they were still damp and cold from the soak. He dried his lower legs off and replaced his soggy boots with some worn sandals he’d gotten as a gift from Phil. Probably better footwear for the summer’s day anyway.

Techno set his boots on the porch, counting on the sun to dry them out by nightfall. Wilbur was situated under the shade of a tree down the path, his yellow sweater easy to spot among the greens and browns of his surroundings. He waved at Techno, music stopping instantly as he provided the salutation. Techno, with nothing better to do, made his way over to the other, taking a seat a couple feet away.

“Hey.”

Wilbur gave him a half smile, plucking a string on his guitar. Techno wasn’t sure which one.

“Hi.”

When Phil said they should talk, he probably didn’t mean a hesitant set of greetings cushioned by utter silence like they’d been doing. Any progress was good progress though, right?

“I think you should be sixteen.” Techno shifted his eyes onto Wilbur, blatantly as he tried to figure out what that could mean.

“What?”

“You’re sixteen.”

“No I’m not.”

“You don’t know that!” Wilbur huffed, pushing his glasses up as he leaned onto the rough bark of the tree behind him. “You said no one ever told you how old you are! So there’s no way to know you aren’t sixteen.”

Was there really a point to arguing? The only real argument there was that Techno didn’t want to be sixteen. He would’ve preferred being ageless, as he’d always been. Wilbur met Techno’s silent deadpan with a strong look of his own, not budging. He seemed to take the silence as a victory, yet another trait shared with Phil. The human smirked, shifting into a comfortable position to keep plucking at his guitar.

“Your birthday is in three days.”

“That seems pretty specific.” Techno thought he might be catching on now. “Any reason?”

“Maybe, maybe.” So that’s how it was gonna be. Techno nodded, trying to feign ignorance.

“So...nothin’ special happening in three days?”

“Well there might be one thing.”

“Hm.” Techno felt the corners of his mouth lift in a grin, shifting slightly so he could lean against the same tree Wilbur was. He let himself fall back into the gentle daze of sleep as Wilbur began to play again, light and sweet notes guiding Techno down the path to rest.

The news that Techno was sixteen was a dinnertime topic, apparently, when Wilbur brought it up as Phil was handing out plates. The adult of the house seemed confused, mostly, as Techno had been telling him for as long as they’d known each other that he had no clue how old he was. He had to explain the situation immediately, how Wilbur was joking and had assigned him an age and birthdate. Phil simply laughed it off and grabbed everyone a glass of water, but Techno knew that it wasn’t the end of the conversation. 

“Tech.” The initial tone made Techno cringe, debating on turning around and getting into this talk or just throwing himself out the bedroom window. With one option far more preferable than the other, Technoblade turned around and continued fastening the golden buttons on his cloak.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you and Will are getting along.”

Techno looked up, making eye contact with a grinning Phil. He didn’t think that this was how the interaction was going to go. Phil didn’t want to talk about anything else?

“Yeah...me too.” He wasn’t one for rocky conversations anyway. 

“How are you settling in?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I heard you leave pretty quickly this morning.”

Oh. Techno clenched his jaw and felt his chest tighten with the telltale feeling of defense, shrugging as he looked around for something to do. Phil, looking as relaxed as ever while purposefully blocking the doorway, tried to catch his gaze.

“Felt like taking a walk.”

“Mhm.” Techno felt an intense sense of deja vu, eyebrows furrowing. “One step at a time, old friend.” Phil’s hand on his shoulder was welcoming and warm, but despite that Techno still felt on edge. He felt drained from the day, even if it was majorly positive, and Phil trying to block him in and pry an answer out of him was taking what little energy he still had.

Phil seemed to recognize his discomfort, dropping the topic with a smooth distraction. If there was something they all had in common, it was avoidance tactics. 

“You should try sleeping in tomorrow.” Techno shrugged, patting Phil’s hand and following the other out of his bedroom.

“We’ll see.”

In the days of the Antarctic empire, he and Phil would patrol together. Two soldiers, together against the world, boots crunching through ice and snow to make sure their home was safe.

Techno had a new home now. A home no longer surrounded by ice and snow, but by tall oak trees and flowers. A home that was no longer filled with intent of blood and war. His new home was filled with the scent of warm meals, crackling hearths, and old books. 

On his evening patrol that night, Techno decided that he would be sleeping in.

⊰ ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ── ⊱

thanks for reading! have a good day, and feel free to drop a headcanon request in my askbox

[writers-thoughts09]

True Mind, True Heart

Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Title: True Mind, True Heart: Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1) About 5.7k words Pairing: Zuko x OC (or reader idk, mind you this is like a mega slow burn fanfic so i hope you’re okay with thaaaaat). I don’t own Avatar or the character’s except my OC. Rating: PG, maybe some 13 later on Warning: Mean Zuko, uuuuuh i think that’s it. A/N: I’m so sorry for the majorly late update! I’m doing my best I have a lot planned for this story and I plan to finish this, I hope you guys will follow Lila’s journey with me! :) <3.  I apologize if the fight scenes are choppy and unclear, I’ve never written or broke down a fight scene in writing before. I might go back and fix this later. Tomorrow I’ll post part 2. Anyway without further adieu enjoy the read :)

|Prologue| 1 | 2 part 1 | 2 part 2

*

Act 1: Salvation

The sunset was quite a breathtaking sight to see if someone were to take the time to stop and stare. With the sun warm and low on the horizon, lovely rays of orange light sprawled softly across the sky, creating pink orange and yellow hues. A gradient of shades, begging to be admired. The white clouds that slowly rolled by basked in the mix of colors as they too took some of the sun’s golden tinge. Of course, no one was around to witness this natural piece of art since everyone was busy going about their business, especially on Prince Zuko’s ship.

For hours Lila sat silently in her dingy quarters, no hitch detected in her breathing. Quiet and still like a swamp with dark murky water. Untouched and motionless. Ever since Prince Zuko’s morning lessons, no one’s asked for Lila’s assistance with anything, so, for the remainder of the day, she’s been in her room.

If anyone, say Iroh, were to see her meditating, they would’ve thought she looked exactly like prince Zuko during his meditation sessions. Mimicking what she remembered the night she brought him his dinner Lila sat with her back straight, eyes closed, accompanied by nothing except deep breathing. Even though she imitated the prince’s form and tried to follow Iroh’s teachings from this morning’s lesson, it was like there was a block between her and her element. Like her fingertips would come so close to grazing that certain feeling but were still out of reach from fully grasping it. No matter how hard she’d concentrate to connect with that energy lying dormant inside her, nothing worked.

But finally, after sitting on the uncomfortable floor for who knows how long, Lila began to feel an inkling of that same euphoric peace build within her body again. It was similar to what she felt earlier above deck but slightly different. It was softer, less…magnetic as it ebbed the presence of her emotions away. Specifically, impatience and frustration when lieutenant Jee came knocking and interrupted her a while ago.

With meticulous breaths, Lila drew a smooth inhale in through her nose, filling her lungs, traveling down, expanding her belly, and gently expelled the air from her mouth, the water in her cup rippling in sync. Her heart maintained tempo with her breathing, which was strong and consistent as each beat pulsed through her being.

Though her body was at ease, patience evaded Lila’s mind, blinding her progress as she huffed in irritation. Eyes still closed she shifted her bottom for the umpteenth time. Soft like a feather but sharp like a beak, she drew another breath in, doing her best to maintain what little connection she felt with her element while keeping her frustrations at bay. Just when she was about to exhale, that breath turned into a yelp when a loud boom exploded from beyond the ship.

Like the snap of a rubber band, Lila’s concentration was broken yet again as her eyes flew open. With a start, the sudden noise made Lila jump and pull a small amount of water, which she didn’t notice as she stood up in alarm. Confusion and fear clouded her as she listened for what could’ve possibly made a noise that loud. It sounded like a flare, but Lila wasn’t so sure. “Is it an ambush?...No it couldn’t be; we haven’t had any problems or run-ins with anyone for a long while.”

Lila’s thoughts were going in circles as she rushed to her drawer to grab a fresh piece of cloth she cut up weeks before, tied it over her marred eye before reluctantly opening the door. Silently, a tawny-colored iris peeped down the metal hallways, no benders or guards in sight. However, even if they weren’t down below they might’ve already been above deck when whatever it was went off.

Noiselessly and carefully, with nimble steps like an alley cat, Lila crept through the corridors and up the familiar set of stairs. Mangled fingernails trailed along the metal wall to aid her lack of sight. Once Lila climbed up to the main deck and felt fresh air ruffle the fallen curls from her bun, Lila’s suspicions were confirmed. A bright naval flare signal was falling far out in the snowy distance. She watched, her good eye following its downward path, musing to herself, “Where did it come from though?”

Noticing the absence of prince Zuko, Uncle Iroh, and their men who were usually out and about above deck around this time, Lila glanced around the empty ship then turned to the command tower. Squinting her good eye Lila’s gaze raked up the length of it and stopped at the observation deck’s balcony. As clear as the golden sky she caught sight of the Prince. Half of his scarred face obscured as he peered through the telescope attached to the railing in front of him. Although she couldn’t see gauge what he was feeling, she was certain he figured out what or who signaled that flare and was already directing his next course of action.

When suddenly that same foreboding sensation from before when they first saw the beam of light, roiled around her chest and stomach, leaving Lila uneasy. Why? Well, she didn’t know what to expect. Was it the avatar? A false alarm? She didn’t know and not knowing left a nasty taste in her mouth.

After Prince Zuko finished barking orders at his men, solar colored eyes caught a glimpse of the curly-haired servant below seconds before he continued looking through the telescope. The girl stood by herself with half her face covered, the setting sun illuminating her tanned skin, and looked up at him with -what he could detect- nervousness. Prince Zuko didn’t know as to why nor did he care. The entirety of his focus on capturing the Avatar.

A brown eye fluttered as Lila snapped from her thoughts. Hurriedly she turned and hastened down below to the kitchen. She knew now was not the time to get distracted from her work. Earlier the chef told her he was ill and asked Lila to fill in for him tonight. She agreed though something told her he was lying. Through the maze of corridors and staircases, a passing conversation of a few men could be heard as they rushed by.

One man bumped her shoulder as he hissed, “hurry, we have to dress the Prince, the Avatar’s hiding place has been found. We’re going to the southern water tribe.”

Lila’s eye widened as her breath hitched at the mention of her mother’s sister tribe. If the Avatar is truly alive and has been hiding there for the past hundred years…worry gripped her heart over the safety of the tribes' native people. Although prince Zuko hasn’t engaged in many battles with other ships or neighboring nations, the Fire Lord’s son was a wildly stubborn and determined boy who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Lila didn’t doubt he’d probably leave a trail of chaos in his wake with no regard for the consequences or how it’d affect the lives of others.

Once she entered the empty kitchen Lila rolled her sleeves up and got to preparing dinner, the red dye of her uniform reminding her of the clothes she wore as a child in the palace. As she cooked, she blinked back thoughts she knew all too well. Red uniform

Screams of fear echoing in the palace gardens

A girl in royal garbs

“You’re useless.” ... “Holy-ow!”

A sudden stinging pain roughly pulled Lila from the haze of old memories. In her stupor, Lila didn’t notice how close the knife was while cutting the spring unions and managed to slice her pointer finger. Quickly, the girl staggered away from the kitchen counter, removing the steaming pots and pans with her uninjured hand, and flitted about the kitchen looking for anything to stop the bleeding. She checked all the drawers, cabinets, and pantries as bright red blood continued to ooze over her finger and onto her hand. The throbbing and stinging continued to intensify making Lila bite her lip in pain as she tucked her finger beneath her thumb. Unable to find any clean rags or towels-

“My eye cloth…”

A tug on her heart stopped her search momentarily.

To her, that cloth was like a barricade of some sort to Lila. Sheltering the small girl from being reminded of it…the day she lost-

In summary, her eye patch was the only thing that blocked out the reality of what happened that day. Regardless of how vulnerable she felt without the cloth now was not the time or the place to start feeling insecure or hesitant, she knew that. There was work to be done; rice and meat filleting.

With the cleaning basins for the dishes nearby Lila went toward it to clean her finger and avoid food contamination. It should’ve been cleaned and refilled now that it was close to dinner time. Ready to dunk her hand in the water and wash her bloodied wound she stopped abruptly. The whole bucket was still dirty from lunchtime. Bits and pieces of rice, chicken, and other scraps floated about in the water. With a rough sigh and a curl of a plump lip, Lila closed her eye for a moment.

“I can’t catch a break,” she groaned lowly. Never again was she going to fill in for the chef.

Still, she was a servant…what could she do? Nothing. Before she could change her mind, Lila briskly grabbed the knot of the cloth from behind her head and pulled it free, a few strands of curls ripping from her bun. The milky white of her blinded eye on full display, free of any covering but chained to inhibition. Gloomy hands of her past groped and reached for Lila, but she slapped their searching palms away as she began wrapping her wound. Gentle but sure fingers tied the end of her cloth into a firm knot and she inspected her handiwork with a wistful smile. The memory of her mother’s soft hands dressing the wounds of a child rolled like a movie, replacing the ones Lila usually remembered.

“Lila, you fell again?”

The playful timbre of her mother's low voice filled their backyard. Lila’s childish eyes bubbling with tears raised from the cut on her knee as her mother calmly squatted in front of her fallen form.

“I didn’t mean to mommy. The tree was in my way,” cried her indignant daughter. Laughter rang from her mother, a white bandage appearing in her dark hands, 

“Of course, but you also have to be careful where you’re stepping too, my love.” Knowing her mother was right but still unhappy with that answer, Lila huffed out a sniffle. Tenderly her mom cupped the back of her daughter’s freshly scraped knee and began lecturing, “Here, let’s teach you how to fix wounds, big girls are good at that-”

“Big girls like you, mommy?” A squeaky voice interrupted.

Nuna glanced up at her daughter’s question. Brown innocent eyes that held such curiosity reflected in Nuna’s blue ones she just had to laugh.

“Yes Lila, big girls like me and you.”

Lowering her newly wrapped finger, Lila’s lips fell back into a straight line. She had no time to get lost in her thoughts. Deciding to try and cover her eye with her hair, her uninjured hand pulled her hair free from the fire nation styled top knot. Onyx curls tumbling down the length of her back in one fell swoop, kissing the top of her hips. The overwhelming urge to moan in relief had goosebumps tickle Lila’s spine as the tension of her tight bun dissipated almost instantaneously. She brought her hands up under her hair and aggressively massaged her scalp, both eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Ahh, yes…” A soft groan rumbled from the back of her throat.

“Ahem.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She gasped.

Whipping toward the kitchen door, hands tangled in her roots, the men from earlier in the hallway were standing there watching her as if they’d found an earth kingdom stowaway. Though the more she watched them with increasingly flushed cheeks, the more she realized they were staring at the eye. Tanned hands flew from her scalp to shake her curls and obscure their sight, but it was futile, they already saw the clouded pigmentation. Involuntarily closing her eye, the servant girl clasped her hands over her stomach and curled into a bow.

“Um, hello,” Lila stuttered but caught herself, remembering her place. Kind professionalism coating her soft question, “how may I be of service to you?”

The man who she heard speak in the corridor collected himself faster than the rest and cleared his throat before announcing,

“We are close to our arrival of the southern water tribe and Prince Zuko has requested your presence to dress him for the capture of the Avatar.”

Alarm colored Lila’s features when she recalled the last time she was alone with the prince. Streams of tears and memories he unintentionally triggered that night played before her. Swallowing down the building discomfort in her throat, Lila straightened up and schooled her worry lines into a controlled smile. She had to remind herself, “The Prince didn’t know.”

Apparently, for the men, Lila’s forced smile mixed with the ghastly mismatched color of her eyes was too much to handle, unable to hide their distaste. Faster than she could stop it, a pang of offense and hurt yanked at her heart, but she managed to stifle and shove the feelings away as she gave another trained bow. Though a question did come to mind.

“I beg your pardon, but may I ask why he requested me specifically? He has never requested this of me before,” words mousy.

Her question only seemed to cause the man to grow irritated, his eyebrow ticking in impatience as major attitude gripped his words, “The prince claimed to be displeased with our services in preparing him. Now, would you please stop talking and do what prince Zuko has asked of you? He’s waiting.”

“What about the food-”

“Servant girl, what did I just say?” The man angrily snapped.

With a flinch, Lila mumbled, “My apologies,” before bowing one last time.

Throwing an “Unbelievable” over his shoulder, he and his two companions turned to leave the kitchen.

His snarky tone made Lila frown and furrow her brows. Oh, this girl had no idea of the colorful range of words Prince Zuko used to describe him and his men! Comparing them to fire ferrets! Ha, the nerve of that prince! On top of a bruised ego, the man now had to deal with a servant who couldn’t even see right and didn’t know when to be quiet and simply serve! Lila watched them exit the kitchen, soft frown still intact as she cocked her head to the side.

With them gone, Lila moved the last bits of uncooked food away from the fire as she rushed to the prince’s quarters. With one hand on the wall, Lila hotfoot it through the twists and turns of the dim-lit hallways and up the main stairs. The frigid wind stung her cheeks, her servant's uniform doing nothing in keeping her warm as she speed-walked toward the command tower. However, it did help now that her hair was unrestrained, long curls shielding her arms from the nights southern cold. All but running into the tower, warmth immediately licked at her body. The fire emanating heat and light from the wall torches eased the stiffness of her shivering joints. Her relief was short-lived when she remembered that Prince Zuko’s room was still a few floors up. With a pout and a whimper, Lila began jogging the rest of the way toward her master’s room.

Once she reached his metal door, a winded Lila lifted her bandaged hand and softly knocked, a throb of pain shooting down her finger as she waited. Like usual, the gravelly voice of the prince commanded her to come in.

Using both hands, the petite girl turned the large cogwheel and pried the door open. Identical to last time, she peered into his room, took one cautious step in and hesitantly called out,

“You’ve requested my assistance, Prince Zuko?”

Mindful of the eye, Lila discreetly pushed some hair and hid it from view. The reaction of the men before told Lila it’d be better to keep her disability hidden if it was that distracting.

“Yes, come quickly. I want to be ready by the time we reach the southern water tribe.”

Judging from the clam raspy tone of voice, Lila concluded that The Prince wasn’t angry and carefully entered, closing the door behind her.

Near his meditation table, Prince Zuko stood like any fire nation soldier would with the usual scowl on his lips. As Lila inched in front of him she could already see that the straps holding his fire nation armor together were tied in all the wrong places. Being alone and in such close proximity to the brooding prince, Lila felt her nerves begin to quake. No way did she want a repeat of last time, anxiety sprouting from her chest. The tension was palpable in the room. The lack of conversation didn’t help either as she thought of what Prince Zuko and his men might do to the people living in that tribe. Though she’s never been to the northern or southern water tribe, they were still her mother’s people, thus making them part of her kin.

“Will they do what the fire nation did to my village, too? We didn’t even have the Avatar either and they still ravaged my village.”

In an attempt to silence her thoughts, Lila gingerly grabbed the chords holding the chest piece of his armor together and set to work. Her eyes trained solely on his battle wear. Cautious of her injury Lila made sure to keep her finger from touching him. Any bump or jostle hurt. Though her fingers, minus her pointer, were moving, her mind remained on the tribe's native people.

Zuko looked straight ahead as the shaky but lithe digits of the servant – Lila, was it? - untied and retied the straps in the correct places. The reason why he called for her specifically was that he figured she’d know how to do this from her years of servitude at the palace. Before his banishment, before that fateful day. As thoughts of his family started to prod the strongholds of his mind, Prince Zuko didn’t see Lila peek up at him from the side of his shoulder until he heard her low voice fill the thick quiet of his room.

“What’re you going to do to them?”

Like an arrow, sharp and precise, prince Zuko’s stare shot to her own, making Lila’s eyes widened in surprise. She expected him to be looking straight ahead if he were to answer her.

Breaking eye contact with him, Lila looked down and closed her blinded eye desperately hoping he didn’t see it as she went to fix the strings behind him. Erratic. That’s how Lila’s heartbeat felt. But yes, Zuko fully saw the milky hue of her eye. He too had a similar reaction like the three men, but not one of distaste or disgust. Just surprise, but he soon discarded what the feeling once he processed what she asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, servant.”

Cold with an edge of warning. That’s all Lila could sense wrapped around his heated words. Especially when he said her name. Now onto the left shoulder greave, Lila peeked at him again. He was looking straight ahead, his face taut with contemplation? Lila couldn’t tell. With a beat of hesitation, she licked her lips. She could already tell he was beginning to lose patience. If she were to say another word, she didn’t doubt he’d snap. Her brain was telling her not to say anything, she was walking on thin ice that was melting fast, but her mouth felt differently.

“May I speak Prince Zuko?”

“No, you may not. Finish fixing this and go. I don’t need to hear what you have to say,” Prince Zuko snapped in restraint.

All while arguing with herself, Lila moved to squat in front of him and began tying the laces of his shin guards. She did not want to witness another fire nation attack on any village again, especially when innocent people are involved. Though she felt if she were to talk out of turn, prince Zuko would surely lose his patience and probably punish her. Besides, what could someone like her do, realistically? No one has ever listened to her. She has no voice, but still. They are my people, too. I have to try.

Opening and closing her mouth Lila fought to push the words out.

“The water tribe did nothing-”

Unnaturally warm hands cut through her sentence and seized her wrists as she was forcefully pulled up from the floor and against Prince Zuko’s armor-clad form. Strands of curls unintentionally tangling in his grasp. Chest to chest, with Zuko holding her wrists and hair between them, he glared down at Lila. Fear radiated off her body in waves. She felt way too exposed without her eye patch and a dull ache throbbed from her finger when her hands bumped against his armor. White and brown eyes flickered between golden ones before looking around the room to avoid his stare, but to no avail. Calloused fingers laced with hair firmly, but not painfully, gripped her jaw turning her face to his, thumb pressing into her cheek.

Patience completely evaporated, Prince Zuko ground out, “I told you not to speak, didn’t I?”

With shuddering breaths and petrified eyes, Lila could only nod faintly. Paralyzed by his overwhelming build the words on her tongue melted, sliding down her throat. Releasing her jaw, Prince Zuko let go of her wrists, strands of hair snagging on his fingers as he dropped his hand. Lila winced from the sudden plucks of her curls. Shaking the hair off he rubbed the bridge of his nose, shut his weary eyes and sighed,

“Finish the last shin guard and leave.”

No reply came from the young girl as she dropped and tied the shin greave. A slight tremor in her hands. Once she was done she stood up with her head hanging low.

“I’ve finished Prince Zuko, do you require anything else before I go?”

“No.”

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as Lila bowed. Rising back up she somehow managed to calmly exit the prince’s quarters, his eyes narrowing on her retreating form the whole time. With the loud thud of his metal door closing, both Lila and Prince Zuko let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.

Lila had half a mind to go to uncle Iroh’s room and talk with him about what his nephew was planning to do. Talk with him about how the Prince was nothing like what Iroh describes him as but decided against it since he was most likely napping. It was hard for her to believe there was kindness in the Prince’s heart when all she’s ever seen from him was anger and rage. You could see his brutality and hate in the way he bended, too. Once she exited the command tower the sun was still hanging onto the horizon, waiting for someone to look at what it created, but a thick mist now covered the expanse of the water the ship navigated. When out of the blue, loud crackling emanated below the ship. Lila ran to the front and hunched over the edge of the railing to see what was going on.

Squinting through the mist, she saw the ship’s hull was no longer sailing on water but breaking and cracking through solid ice. Snapping her head up Lila saw the ground splitting toward the water tribe’s village! One large jagged fault traveling right through the middle of it. Prince Zuko’s ship rammed through the iced floor like it were a piece of paper. Lila couldn’t help but panic internally, they were coming extremely close to the water tribe!

“If this ship doesn’t stop we’re going to run right through!” she gasped in horror.

From what she could see in the vapory haze, the southern water tribe was quaint. A wall made of snow circled the tribe, acting as a barricade. Small igloos littered within. From behind, the sound of the Prince and his men’s shoes clanked across the deck toward the front of the ship, preparing to disembark. Anxiety, fear, and apprehension swirled within her. This scene hitting way too close to home for her liking. She never signed up for this, well she didn’t sign up for this at all, but still. The three years she’s been on this ship she never really thought about what capturing the avatar looked like or being there to see it. All Lila knew was she didn’t like where this was headed at all. The prospect of the past repeating itself right before her eyes scared her.

When she turned to watch them pass Lila’s eyes caught prince Zuko’s for a brief moment. Again, he found nervousness swimming in her stare, and again, he didn’t care.

Finally, the ship came to a halt with an ominous screech. Powerless, Lila watched with bated breath. Her eyes flitting between the native people down below and Prince Zuko’s men. She swore her heart was going to pop out of her chest from how hard it was pounding it almost hurt. Suddenly the hull of the ship dropped, turning into a makeshift ramp, a loud thud resonating in the air. The ship's metal easily overpowered the tribe's barrier, the snow crumbling as it gave into its weight.

Faintly Lila could hear a feminine voice yelling for someone to get out of the way. The shrill scream making Lila’s heart drop and then kick up in speed, assuming the worst. It felt like her feet were bolted to the floor as she helplessly watched the Prince and his firebenders disembark the ship. Visibly shaking, Lila leaned over the front of the ship again to see, legs feeling like they were going to give out any moment.

From her spot, she could see Prince Zuko and his guards disembarking and a young water tribe boy with war paint coating his tanned skin, belt out a war-like cry as he charged up the ramp at Prince Zuko. The boy’s weapon of choice, a water tribe club, raised high over his head. He was easily overtaken. Lila winced when the Prince’s leg side swept the boy's club out of his hand, then kicked him in the face, sending the boy flying off the side of the ramp and into the snow. Lila could hear Iroh’s voice in the back of her head talking about how he knew his nephew wasn’t as corrupted as his other family members, but what she was seeing now proved otherwise. He was unlike what Iroh always tried to tell her. The Prince was brutal.

Zuko continued walking down the ship as if nothing happened. His steps were powerful and determined. The people of the tribe huddled up in one big group, trepidation and terror embedded in all of their blue eyes. With the men of the village off to war, Zuko was unsurprised to see the ones that remained were the women and children, except for the war-painted boy if you’d count him as a man. However, the longer no one spoke the more time was wasted in capturing the Avatar. The silence was so tense Lila felt it up on the ship. Zuko stopped in front of the crowd, his eyes sizing up each woman and child until his glare stopped on this one girl holding onto the arm of an elderly lady.

“Where are you hiding him?”

When no one spoke, both Lila and the young girl gasped when the banished Prince roughly pulled the elderly lady from the girl’s grasp.

“He’d be about this age? Master of all four elements?” Zuko demanded, shaking the woman by her for emphasis.

Again, no one answered him, they were all stunned in silence and fright. After a beat of quiet, Prince Zuko carelessly shoves the old woman back into the young girl’s arms. Both water tribe women gasping. Lila watches worriedly, praying up above that this village will be spared from the fire nation’s fury. Even from the ship, Lila saw the Prince tense up in frustration and knew what he was going to do next and whispered “no,” as he launched a wave of fire inches above the villager's heads. The women and children screamed and cowered before him.

“I know you’re hiding him!”

Below her, Lila saw the water tribe boy free himself from the snowy confines he was kicked into, the majority of his face free of paint as he picked up his club and ran at Zuko once more with another loud battle cry. At the last second, Zuko turned toward the annoyingly loud boy and dodges the boy’s attack, flipping him over his head when he swiped at the Prince. When he hit the ground Zuko punched another blistering fireball at him. Luckily, the tanned boy gathers himself rolling away from the blast, swiftly retrieving a boomerang that was strapped to his back and throws it at the Fire Lord’s son. It surprised both Lila and Zuko with how fast and strong he threw it, the air whistling as it narrowly missed the Prince’s face. Even where Lila was standing the boomerang would’ve whacked her in the face if she didn’t duck in time. All the while her eye followed the boomerang’s path. The boy was stronger than he looked.

“Even without bending,” Lila hopefully thought, “he’s handling himself well against the Prince. Maybe…this village won’t be ransacked.”

A growl erupts from the Crown Prince’s throat before he can shoot more fire at the irritating boy who just won’t quit, a little water tribe child cries out,

“Show no fear!” Throwing a fishing spear made of bone at his opponent. Again, he charged at Zuko, the spear positioned like he was going to run him through, but the Prince was prepared. “He lacks training,” Zuko gathered, easily breaking the spear in half with his wrist guards. He then snatched the bone rod from the boy’s hands, poking him repeatedly in the head with the butt of it until he fell on his bottom, and broke it in half again before throwing it to the ground.

On the ship, Lila’s eye followed the boomerang as it curled back around and headed back to the owner who threw it. With her eyes still on the weapon, she gradually turned and watched it spin at dizzying speed before it slammed into the back of Prince Zuko’s helmet with a loud thwack. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise as she wondered if the water tribe boy planned for that to happen, but her face fell when she saw the Prince standing menacingly over the boy’s fallen form. Fire jet out from his tightly clenched fists, the orange embers creating a dagger-like weapon.  

For a moment, Lila feared for what Prince Zuko would do to him, but surprise quickly overtook her as another younger boy, maybe about twelve or so, with a bald head and peculiar clothing zoomed through the middle of the fight out of nowhere riding on the back of a penguin. In the child’s hands was a staff as the penguin flew right under Zuko’s feet, sweeping his legs out from under him. The young servant girl gasped when the Prince fell over, the village children cheering for the child all the while. The said child sped past the kids sending up a wave of snow splattering them all in the face, their cheers ceasing for a moment at the unexpected smattering, but continued yelling anyway. At this point, as much as Lila was concerned over the fate of the water tribe, she didn’t know if it was morally okay for her to laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened.

Still, relief filled her heart knowing that Prince Zuko’s plan of capturing the Avatar wasn’t going according to plan. No village, town, citadel, or nation should be destroyed in finding the Avatar. Her heart and mind were conflicted. Although she did want the Prince’s banishment to end, she didn’t think this was the right way of doing it. She remembered the stories her father told her about Fire Lord Sozin killing all the airbenders to find and end the Avatar cycle.

Briefly, Lila faintly heard the kid happily greet the boy and girl, their names being ‘Katara’ and ‘Sokka’, with Sokka dryly thanking the child, who she heard him call ‘Aang’, for coming. Lila’s eyes flicker between Prince Zuko and Aang, both of them assuming a defensive fighting stance as Zuko’s men circle Aang, closing in on him. Suddenly the kid swings his staff, and with each swing, he sends snow at the guards blowing them away. With the Prince being the last one standing Aang sends another blast of snow at him, but he was unmoved, uncle Iroh’s firebending lessons paying off.

“Looking for me?”

Processing everything the child managed to do in under ten seconds, Lila’s brows furrowed. He managed to disarm and beat all of Prince Zuko’s men like it was nothing just by throwing snow at them. At first, she thought he was a waterbender but he didn’t move like one. His fighting style was different from what her mother tried to teach her and different from what she’s seen earthbenders and firebenders do. It was unlike anything she’s ever seen. On top of that, the arrow on his head and the unusual choice of clothing he wore was vastly unfamiliar from the clothes in her hometown and the fire nation. Her eyes widened in realization. No, this child couldn’t be- Prince Zuko voiced her incredulity, the snow Aang bent at him melting off his shoulders and fists, “You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?”

~

A/N: OKAYYYYY!!! Just so you know I want you guys to keep Zuko’s “Contemplation?” face in mind. There’s a few things I want you guys to catch in part 2. Sorry if it was slow paced. I hope you enjoyed it and please excuse any grammatical errors. Have a blessed day! Chapter three may come later cuz I have a zuko request I want to write!

Taglist (If i missed anyone PLEASE let me know :))

@bangtanboyswriting123 @bookedforevermore @agentsofblinks @lilmou5ie @eury-dice3 @shephard17895 @duh-dobrik @yourlivewire @luleck @oraclebirds

[obeymeluv]

Hi! May I suggested something with a little angst but fluff in the end? Where the boys see/think that the reader’s gone but somehow they’re actually alive and well. How would they react? Thank you! I’m looking forward to more of your work!

Hey there! Thanks so much for your support! I’m going to try to keep these on the shorter side because I swear I write books 🙄. I’m grateful for this prompt because I’ve been wanting to write something where the reader has a near-death experience and the boys save/find them (so it turned into more than a reaction. My b.) I just couldn’t think of what to call it  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Spoiler alert for mention of Barbatos’ powers in Lucifer’s part.

For Levi’s part: I don’t know if the Devildom has beaches or not, but let’s say they do :)

This features Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, and Beel. I don’t 100% have an idea for Satan, Asmo, and Belphegor yet. I’ll make a part 2 with them when I think of it.

Lucifer

To lose you was the biggest hit to his pride he could ever suffer. It hurt more than tearing off his wings when he fell to the Devildom. Maybe not as much as losing Lilith, but it was pretty close. He had not only failed himself, Lord Diavolo, endangered the exchange program, but the delicate mortal he and his brothers had come to love so much was gravely wounded--probably deceased--and that hurt most. In all your outings to the shopping center he never would’ve imagined someone would have an out of control pet. It had been so long since he’d seen someone with a pet down there!

It took three demons to pull it off of you (Lucifer being the last because he was stunned and trying to shield you instead of kill the damn thing). He’d seen you to the infirmary and gone as far as he was allowed. He couldn’t bear to break down in the waiting room so he took refuge in his study where a new mountain of paperwork demanded his attention: writing the accident report and telling your guardians the news.

And there he sat, just enough Demonus in him to spell and sign, while staring miserably at boxes that needed checking. He’d been trying to check ‘deceased’ for an hour (because you probably were). All his hope seemed small in the face of the blood and marrow and pink that he so vividly recalled. Lucifer took another hard swig--more of a chug--and let the bottle clank to the table with a force he wish he’d showed that damn animal. The eldest ignored the knock, and scowled, melting in his chair when you seemed to appear in the doorway.

“Come to haunt me, have you?” Lucifer slurred, looking so angry and empty.

“Would a ghost bring you coffee? I don’t think that’s a haunting.” you laughed as you set the saucer and cup on his desk.

Lucifer straightened a bit, eyes glassy with Demonus but bright with curiosity. “Impossible!” he breathed, the shock and rage burning in him like the Demonus had. There wasn’t a scratch on you and he knew where you’d been gashed and bitten and ripped open. He knew!

“Not when you have Mr. Time-Altering Butler.” you slid the coffee over to him with a smile, showing off your arms. Everything in perfect health. Melancholy Coffee and Demonus spilled over the report as he threw himself into your arms.

You were real. It was your smell. “Please forgive me.” Lucifer drew his wings around you both. “Please,” he buried a gloved hand in your hair. you simply touched his tear-stained face in response, rubbing his cheek.

Mammon

Mammon kicked the door to Diavolo’s palace open with such a fury someone might mistake him for Satan. He was in his demon form, wings caught somewhere between wanting to spread open in intimidation and pulled close to streamline his march towards the prince. Somewhere in his brain--the two percent that wasn’t pissed or sad--he thought he was an interesting sight right now. No glasses, full demon form, and walking like he was fixing to assassinate the prince. Barbatos tried to intercept him and Mammon had no qualms knocking him aside with his wings (right into an expensive-ass bust and column set up he’d tried to steal three months ago).

The noise was enough to alert Lucifer and Diavolo, who’d been in quiet council about your injuries. Mammon stomped up to the table, tossed aside the spread of papers, and slapped down Goldie. He took some half-folded contracts from his pocket and threw them down. Gold pulsed in his eyes, totally overtaking the blue gradient.

He was ready to bargain and wasn’t leaving until his greed was satisfied.

“Total obedience for the rest of my life,” he looked at Diavolo, his brows pinched with seriousness. “And Goldie so you never get another damn bill with my name on it.” Mammon slid it towards Lucifer. He swallowed the lump in his throat, cursing the ring of braided vine pressing against his thigh. Why couldn’t he just let you have jewelry from someone else? Why did he have such a fucking issue with seeing it on your finger?

Well...ripping it off turned out to be a good thing since it had been growing a vine up towards your heart. Some clever bastard child of a fairy and a vampire was slowly draining your life force through nature magic (which was harder for demons to detect), and had almost succeeded. Diavolo had made quick work of the guy but he couldn’t undo what had been done to you. “You’re the best bet they have right now, and I want in.” Mammon sagged into the table as he looked down, waiting for that contract magic to put that weight on his soul for eternity.

“I’m not interested.” Diavolo dared smile at him and Mammon didn’t stop to think about it being a playful smile. His hands went for the tie and he saw red. Diavolo stood up calmly, grappling easily with Mammon as Lucifer tried to physically separate them.

“How could you not be?!” Mammon was spitting at him. Trying to bite him and claw him. “They’re a human! It’s your pet project!” Mammon fixed his stance and started moving to pitch Diavolo over his shoulder like he’d seen Beel do when wrestling. “THEY FUCKING MATTERS!” he rolled with the prince, only to be captured in some sort of bear hug. He landed face-down on the stone floor and tried to slither out from under the prince, hissing and making all sorts of noises fit for a demon.

“Because I’m not dead? There’s no deal to be made.”

“Which I would have divulged, had you not tried to concuss me.” Barbatos went unheard behind you, dusting himself off. You were supposed to be resting in one of the palace rooms, and had somehow dodged the royal healers.

Mammon scratched his chin looking up at you as quick as he did. He could feel the tender spot and the blood starting to bead. You were pale and tired, but there you were. All safe and sound and giving him that ‘my lovely idiot’ smile he’d gotten used to. Diavolo’s weight finally left him, seeming to launch Mammon towards you. Hugging you close, nuzzling your face with his, Mammon breathed the greatest sigh of relief in his life.

“You’re alive! Holy shit!” Mammon cupped your head and continued to kiss it, steadying his heart. He’d calculated those odds of living after that much blood loss, and they were less than one! Does that make you lucky? Should you hit the casinos?

As if you could read his mind, you suggested good food instead. Lucifer refused to give Goldie back, insisting he try again at the House of Lamentation. You ordered in with what little Grimm you had saved. Mammon left your side long enough to unearth every hidden morsel Lucifer treasured in the kitchen and put it outside Beel’s door. Then it was right back to you, where he always wanted to be.       

Levi

He wasn’t the most athletic of his brothers--or the handsomest--but there was something charming about the beach. It called to him. It was just like the aquarium wall of his room...sort of. Being around Asmodeus and his friends made him nervous, but sitting at home with the thought of you hanging out with Asmodeus and his friends was worse. Levi wanted to look out for you but could hardly bring himself to look at you. 

You were cuter than a normie had any right to be. Almost grossly so. Levi just wanted to drown, ugh! Horns started to sprout under his hair as he envied how open and smooth Asmodeus’ friends could be when talking to you. At best, he squawked and lied or got too red to say anything coherently.

“Be a dear and take my darling Levi into the water, would you? He looks like he needs to cool off.” Asmodeus gave you a little wave and a wink. You took Levi by the hand as if it WASN’T a big fucking thing (spoiler alert: IT WAS), and led him to the water. Levi became someone else in the water; when the water touched his skin it soothed him and coaxed out his tail. It felt like a secret power-up, like he’d maxed out all his dating stats and could be suave and fast and interesting. You paddled and splashed around, played an unwinnable game of tag, and let Levi jet through the water with you on his back.

It was the craziest sensation, almost like you were skating on water! Even when he was careful and you were secure, hanging off of Levi’s back felt like holding onto a torpedo. Levi thought something bumped his tail but he brushed it off, thinking it was your legs. Suspicion grew in him, but that growth was cut short when you were ripped off his back and dragged underwater.

Ten seconds. Ten seconds AT MOST to kill that fish hybrid, but that was ten seconds traveling at crazy speed, going deeper than a human needed to, and being in teeth much stronger than your human body. He could smell the blood in the water and it made him sick. He should want to join in on the kill and take it all for himself--humans were a delicacy, after all--but that wasn’t anything CLOSE to what he was thinking right now.

Levi made sure you breached the surface first, shooting towards the shoreline as fast as he could move his tail. Someone took you from him; Levi held onto his tail as he stumbled through the sand. He vaguely remembered scooping up some clothes and his headphones as he followed Asmo to the towel you were laid on. Asmo conjured Solomon to work healing magic as one of his friends contacted emergency services to get you to the closest hospital.

Would you get taken back to RAD? Would they send you to a non-affiliated Devildom hospital? Levi cancelled the emergency call, ignored the envy hissing over the fact that he didn’t place it fast enough, and told Lucifer to stay on the phone with him as he followed behind (he might need to bring documents or something).

No way in hell was he leaving you at the mercy of demons in a non-RAD hospital! Someone might try to eat you! Centuries of raid battles and midnight releases totally prepared him to sit stock-still for hours on end. He planted himself in a waiting room chair stubbornly. Asmo joined him, trying to console him with all the things he’d left behind on the beach.

Lucifer tried to give him food but Levi refused it all. Part of him wanted to blink but he didn’t want to in case he missed a doctor. Not that someone would run by without giving an update, but they could. It felt like hours later, but you’d regained consciousness and had been patched up enough for visitors. Levi was the first in your room, practically vibrating with worry.

You took his hand, as difficult as it was in all the tubes and things, and Levi felt calm again. Just like the ocean. His little ocean. “You dumb normie,” Levi rubbed his eyes as the tears started to fall. You just squeezed his hand.    

Beel

When you said you’d come to his game, Beel thought he’d be looking for you between plays. You’d been to his games a few times now, and it was always great to see you. Beelzebub felt like he played better when you showed up. It was rare he got traded out with someone when the game was on and the stakes were high, but he relished any and all chances to say hi and steal a bite of whatever you were having. He’d never seen the point of having front-row seats until then, and he was glad Satan traded his box seat access for them.

“I told you I’d be here!” you were happy as could be in your Devildom cheer uniform, waving the pomp-poms. Beel took his helmet off to really look at you, his cheeks reddening. “Surprise! Good luck!”

There was a passing thought of ‘oh man, no snack!’ but Beel couldn’t stop the dopey grin stretching across his face. Who organized this? Who CARED?! “Thanks.” Beelzebub smiled at you, slipping his helmet back on when one of his teammates told him to. His brain was somewhere between ‘do good because they’re watching!’ and being distracted.

It was clear the Devildom girls were doing super easy cheers and trying to give you a heads up for the next one. You looked so cute throwing your pom-poms and yelling for them! Beel got lectured way more than he usually did, but he ran like the tank he was. He’d steal glances at you, watch you point at the ball, and put his brain back on track. By halftime they had a ten-point lead and the coach was adamant on making it bigger.

It didn’t get any bigger. The game came to a grinding halt when someone on the enemy team tried to intercept the ball. They crashed into the Devildom cheerleaders and Beel’s stomach dropped. You didn’t have demon reflexes and were most likely to be hit. It was bad enough for a normal demon to hit you, but one that had weight training and strength training?!

Beel ripped off his helmet and resisted the urge to pitch the demon as far as he could. Did he do it on purpose? He wouldn’t, right?! Beel grabbed him by the cleat and dragged him off. The girls were doing what they could to pull you out from under him but were obviously afraid to handle you.

Demon strength was different from human strength. More deadly.

Beelzebub wanted to vomit. You looked...you looked bad. Dented. Bruised. Broken. He could hear the blood in your mouth and didn’t know if he should pick you up or leave you on the ground. He crawled over to you, tearing up grass under his hands and somehow not kneeing you in the face as he moved to hold the hand that looked okay. Your brain hadn’t totally processed everything.

He wondered if your body knew how much pain it should be in.

Medics rushed onto the field and Beel followed them out. Beelzebub gave an aggravated groan when Satan tried to clothesline him, standing still to let his older brother spin to his side. He didn’t realize that it looked like he was going for the player who hurt you until he tuned into Satan rationalizing--pleading--with him. Tucking Satan under his arm, Beelzebub barrelled towards the medics and into the ambulance. You were rushed into surgery and Beelzebub was rushed into the cafeteria before he could stress eat anymore chairs.

Part of him didn’t want to eat (and was surprised he could) but a bigger part of his brain convinced him that eating would mean things were okay. Normal. That means you’d be okay, too, because you usually were. Belphie and Satan sat with him as he ate, his appetite coming and going.

He couldn’t spend the night and when they wouldn’t let him see you the next morning, he was sure you were dead. Beelzebub grilled Lucifer for answers he couldn’t give. Your hospital team wouldn’t talk to him unless he was Lord Diavolo. Asmo’s sources swore you were alive but Beel refused to believe it unless he could see you. His appetite had dwindled to almost nothing, Beel sulking in his room.

His brothers tried to coax him out but nothing worked. The only thing that could pull him out was your pact mark, the energy tugging weakly at him. You beckoned him and he was more than happy to answer. Beelzebub appeared in your hospital room in a flash of light and smoke, giddy beyond belief. Tears and joy shriveled at the sight of you all bandaged, some parts thick with casts and suspended by special machines.

You looked like you’d been sleeping sitting up. Maybe you had to because of your ribs.

Beelzebub cautiously approached your bedside. He started to ask if you’d summoned him since you couldn’t work your D.D.D, but you interrupted him and he let you. Hearing your voice after two days was amazing! “Can you go get me some real food? The stuff here is terrible...”

“Anything and everything.” Beelzebub kissed your forehead after a laugh that woke his stomach up. Even if the nurses stopped him, he’d probably be able to sneak at least ONE thing into your room. He was a master at hoarding food, after all.