#work was good today but i just went on a downward spiral towards the end

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

to be very honest I feel soso bad right now, can y'all make me smile?? 🥹

[misslauwie]

The way Jimin loves and engulfs his members in his love...

Today I want to talk more about this. I think this has not been talked enough.

It was a sad day when uri sunshine left for the military. & I kept thinking the one who will be missing uri sunshine a lot is our very own Jiminie. Our Jiminie who had been roomate with Jhope for almost a decade.

Both have been equally supportive of each other. Jimin flew over and made time to visit Jhope for Loolapaloza. JHope accompanying Jimin on his Dior show. And the haters from both stans saying that they tried to take each other spot light can reflect on the meaning of friendship. I admit I was a bit ticked when I saw the twitterfuck following Dior show saying that the crowd was for Jhope and not Jimin. But the twitterfuck that followed where Jimin stan tried to shame Jhope by comparing crowds during Hermes and LV shows just made me cringe. I started going around and twitting if you are Jimin stans than this narrartive is putting shame to Jimin's name because Jimin is the epitome of love. Be a good human like Jimin always wears on his shirt.

And remember the members know whats going on in SNS. And Jimin came on weverse a day after thanking Jhope for being there with him and thus making him less nervous. I think its meant to put an end to the toxic narrative of Jhope trying to take spotlight away from Jimin during Dior show. & this is why I am less than happy when another member (who may not be name) is less supportive on SNS. I know Jin said that when you doesnt see it on SNS doesnt mean that they havent express their support towards each other. But as idols and adults they should know sometimes twitterville can get nasty as hell. And some neutralizing post can alleviate some of the toxicity. But maybe not. But then again Jimin is always the standard for me so its not others fault if they fail to meet the Jimin's standard.

Even his band leader stated many times that Jimin is best at giving support towards his fellows without the green monster peeking in.

https://twitter.com/kinantinanti2/status/1623719265051500544?t=cq5In_D9Lx11gRfLDFdTHg&s=19

And Jimin isnt the type to lie down and let the members walk all over him. He may in early days but he can assert himself and ask for affirmation from his members when he need it.

I think Jimin's own value also shines in the way that he never made other people a competition. But he made himself a competition. He always said I want to become better than I am now and thats why I need to practice. He always says he himself is his role model.

Living over 3 decades now I can tell you the way to get out of a rut or a downward spiral where you feel you are always lacking esp against others is to get moving... to get off your feet... do the 10000 hours you want to be good at like Malcolm Gladwell book. Even TxT members praised Jimin for his work ethics where he always saw Jimin practice. Heck even Yoongi said if hard work is a type of talent then Jimin himself is a genius. I am somehow reminded of an anime where you have 2 main characters; one born with innate talent and one born with grit. And when the tough gets tougher, the one born with grit may overcome challenges that the one with innate talent cant. Just because their mental strength is superior as nothing comes easy for them. And I think this applies to Jimin in spade.

https://twitter.com/d2verses/status/1641077099086618625?t=9RDfHDA-9BsIccjAL3Rr4g&s=19

So its never a surprise to me that Jimin is always overflowing with love and how supportive he is towards his members' works. I am convinced even though some members may not express it through SNS that they are equally happy and proud of Jimin's achievements. After all they went through hell and back together. They overcame the system together. For a while it was them against the world.

All these stuff Im sprouting is to underline, highlight and put in bold letter on how Jimin loves. And its oh so beautiful for me.

And this comes through beautifully through the hug he gave Jhope when he sent Jhope off.

He engulfed his brother Jhope in his warm embrace. If you watch the video, you will see that Jhope was equally moved in the hug. He closed his eyes, also tilted his head for a moment towards Jimin's neck and softly hug Jimin back. But God forbid him to stay and savor the moment after all there are under watch and was recorded.

I really dont want to compare Jhope hugs with the other members but sorry I cant help it. And I might get hates here but its my blog so if you dont like it you all can take a hike.

Jhope closed his eyes as well when hugging Yoongi and RM. But the one where I can see he had to take a moment and soaked it in with all the overflowing feelings was when Jimin hug him. A testimony of how move Jhope was when Jimin hug him was ... when JK started patting Jhope as if saying "its going to be ok, I will take care of your mochi baby in your stead." Call me delulu but thats how I saw that moment.

And for those whom are jealous of the moments that the members had during the sent off. Saying that its workplace harrasment when Jimin violently playfully hug JK. Its actually making me pity you. My love language is physical touch. And how you are missing out that it is Jimin love language without any sexual connotation is just pure loss. Physical touch is reassuring. Human need physical touch to florish. Im sure there is a scientific study on this. Just couldnt be bother to put the link up. Google it yourself.

I will end this post with:

I sincerely hope I can meet a Jimin in my life. a friend like Jimin in your life can take you places.

and you gotta wonder if he is your other half. He might gives you the world.

[xelizabethvalentinex]

I Was Wrong // Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Summary: Bradley was quick to make an assumption and hurt you in the process of dealing with his anger.

Word Count: 1.5k

"I've made a huge mistake."

About a week ago, Bradley was called into action at Top Gun once more. Luckily for you, because you two were married, he and you were able to live in one of the houses meant for families off base. Everything was going great. You two had settled in nicely. Your husband had enough downtime before training that you guys had time to make some domestic memories while you could. You had cooked every meal together, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you close while you tried not to burn the food. You and Bradley shared plenty of intimate moments, both in bed and not, but your favorite moments were just before you guys fell asleep. Your husband would pick a television show to catch up on, and you would continue to read your book of choice. You both embraced each other, all four legs tangled together, his head on your chest and your hand running through his hair. Nothing could get better than this.

The problem was he quickly learned the hard way that Pete "Maverick" Mitchell would be his instructor. On his first day of class, he was blindsided by his late father's best friend, and Bradley was enraged. In the air, he couldn't control his anger. Bradley challenged Pete to a downward spiral to see who could last the longest. It was a dumb idea, having a pissing contest with a seasoned captain, but he couldn't think about anything but how the man in the other jet had set back his career. In the end, it didn't do anything but make Bradley angrier when the lieutenant had to do two-hundred pushups, but it was his fault. When he got home that night, he was still fuming. You could tell your husband had a rough day by the way he roughly closed the front door, walked past where you were sitting on the couch without acknowledging your presence, and went straight to the fridge to grab a beer. From the two and a half years of being in a relationship, you knew better than to approach him without letting him blow off some steam. When he was finished in the fridge, Bradley walked right past you again, not even looking in your direction, and headed towards his office. You turned back to the television, pressed resume, and let him sit for a while.

After half an hour, you turned off the television and headed up the stairs to where your husband was furiously typing on the computer. You knocked on the door, stopping and waiting until he grumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, and stepped inside. His shoulders were tense. He wasn't happy about today's training.

You sighed softly before asking, "would you like something for dinner?" He didn't answer; he didn't even look up at you. "Bradley, would you like me to make you something for dinner?" You asked for a second time, this time more firmly.

That made his head whip up. "No, Y/N, I don't want anything. What I want is to be left alone," he stated with an angry look in his eyes. You knew he wasn't mad at you. You were just his nearest target.

You took some deep breaths. You weren't going to let your husband's emotions delegate how you reacted. "Ok then. I get that you are upset, but until you can find a better way to blow off steam than aim it at me, you can sleep in the guest room. Good night." With that, you left Bradley in his office, quickly making your way to your shared bedroom. You thought about being petty and locking the bedroom door, but you knew he needed to change his clothes in the morning. He was your husband at the end of the day, and as much as you wanted to make his life torture at the moment, you wouldn't want to make him late in the morning.

After going through your bedtime routine, shower and all, you laid down. Not having Bradley with you, laying on his side of the bed with no shirt on, was a sad sight. Usually, when he was away for work, it was hard to fall asleep without him, but you knew he was under the same roof. It took a while for you to get sleepy. You were able to watch two episodes of your favorite show before you fell asleep.

It was quiet when you woke up. Your television had turned off after you fell asleep with it turned on. The bedroom door was open, but your husband was nowhere to be seen. You let yourself wake up a little before going out to face Bradley. You brushed your teeth, washed your face, and changed into some comfortable clothes before heading downstairs. With a quick investigation, you found out your husband had already made breakfast and was showering in the downstairs guest bedroom. Your portion of food was plated. He made chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite, but the chocolate chips were placed to make a smiley face. It made you smile.

While you were eating, Bradley walked out of the hallway, drying his hair with a towel. He was dressed in his flying uniform, aviator hanging from his white tank top underneath. He looked surprised to see your eyes on him but smiled shortly after the shock faded away. You didn't say anything, wanting him to make the first move towards reconciliation. Instead, you turned your attention back to your breakfast. You could hear him sigh behind you before he came back into your eyesight, taking a seat in the chair across from you.

"I've made a huge mistake," Bradley stated. When you didn't answer, he continued. "Yesterday, I came face-to-face with Mave again. We had a pissing contest in the air, and I had to do two hundred push-ups, which didn't help my feelings towards him, not that it was his fault I had to do them. I was so frustrated with the whole situation that when I came home, I took it out on you, which was uncool and wrong, so this is me trying to make amends because last night was pitiful. First, I couldn't fall asleep. Then, when I did, I was tossing and turning. At one point I felt like crying because I knew I had hurt you, and I was so sad to have to sleep without you. So this is me, putting on my big boy pants and facing my emotions instead of bottling them up like you would advise me to because I love you, I appreciate you, and I miss you," he rambled. It was endearing, having him be so raw and open with you. You two had been working on being more expressive, so to see him like this was a big step.

You took a second to let all of his words sink in. "I forgive you for lashing out, and I very much appreciate you being so open with me. But we all know what you need to do to be able to sleep in the bedroom again," you said with a smirk.

"Anything. Please, honey, I'll do anything," Bradley pleaded as he reached across the table to hold your hand.

"You need to talk to Maverick and have a civil conversation with him. Ask him why he pulled your papers. Express how his actions made you feel. I know I didn't get to meet your parents, but I can tell your mom and dad both adored him. The council deemed that Maverick wasn't responsible for the accident, so I feel like your dad would've wanted you to forgive his best friend. I know you can see that it's still a fresh wound for Mave, so I think you need to try and make amends with him as well," you responded. From the look on his face, he didn't like the idea, but you knew he'd do anything to make you happy.

He let out an exaggerated sigh before answering. "Fine, but only because I love you and need to be able to sleep in the same bed as you," your husband joked. He looked at his watch for a quick second before turning back to you. "I need to get going, but I'll talk to him and let you know."

You smiled. "That's all I'm asking." He stood from his chair, walked over to you to give you a sweet kiss, exchanged his goodbyes, and left.

Later that night, when he returned home, he looked happy. Almost overjoyed. "Let me guess. You two macho men hashed things out," you remarked when you saw his bright smile.

"That's right. We have a date at The Hard Deck on Friday, and you're invited," Bradley declared as he made his way towards where you were sitting on the couch. He sauntered towards you, almost like a lion stalking its prey.

"Well, in that case," you started. "Hey Rooster, you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever," you called, wrapping your hands around your mouth to amplify the noise.

His whole body shook as he started laughing. Once he began breathing again, he hollered, "Show me the way home, honey!"

[gamergirl929]

I’m In Love With My Best Friend’s Sister (Christen Press x Reader)

Anonymous Request: omg yesss ur requests are open!!! could u write a Christen x Morgan!reader one where christen is Alex’s rly good friend but falls for her younger sister? yay I rly enjoy ur writing :)

I REALLY appreciate everyone’s kindness, this will be the only fic I post today, but the plan is to get back to three next Friday. <3

Alex lets out a squeal as she wraps her arms tightly around you, the two of you burying yourselves in one another's embrace.  

"I can't believe you're here." Alex grins against your neck and you scoff.  

"Oh, so YOU'RE the only Morgan who can get called to the USWNT camp." You roll your eyes playfully, the forward pulling you into a headlock, digging her knuckles into your head.  

"Shut it short stack."  

You growl, wiggling out of her hold.  

"I'm not THAT short."  

Kelley makes her way towards you, the defender's eyes narrowing as she places a hand on the top of your head, comparing her height with yours, noting the fact that you're just a bit shorter than her.  

"Yeah, you're short."  

You scoff.  

"You're biased!"  

Meanwhile, Christen and Tobin have made their way towards the field, the green orbed forward grinning as she jogs towards you, wrapping her arms around you from behind.  

"If it isn't my favorite Morgan." She rests her chin on your shoulder and you smirk, sticking your tongue out at Alex.  

"You hear that? I'm her favorite Mor-

Alex pinches your nose, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout.  

"Alex..." You whine, your voice altered in a way that makes her snort.  

You grimace, pulling away from her, your eyes widening when you realize your body is flush with Christen's, the forward's cheeks flushing.  

You clear your throat quickly shuffling away from Christen.  

"S-Sorry..." You mumble, rubbing the back of your neck and Christen smiles.  

"Don't worry about it." She winks, your cheeks flushing bright red.  

Kelley gives you a nudge.  

"Let's see what you've got little Morgan."

                                                            ***

Apparently, you had a lot, because by the end of practice, you'd absolutely torn up the field, scoring a number of goals and assisting on another.  

Alex pulls you into a sweaty hug, the woman again digging her knuckles into the top of your head.  

"Are you trying to make me look bad?" Alex growls, the two of you ending up wrestling in the middle of the field, Alex laughing as you jump on her back.  

Christen watches the two of you with a massive grin, the woman shaking her head.  

"Some things never change, do they?" Tobin asks, Christen's head shaking back and forth.  

"Nope."  

Christen sees a brief flash of the two of you, both much younger than you are now, the two of you in the exact same position you are now, you hanging off Alex's back as the two of you laugh.  

Christen had always had a soft spot for you, the older woman in all honesty crushing on you since you’d met.  

Mind you, the two of you were fairly close in age, so it wasn't the age gap that kept her from making a move, it was the fact that you were her best friend's little sister, and Christen wasn't sure if that was a line she was willing to cross.

Christen's crush hadn't ebbed in any way, shape or form, the woman's crush growing more and more as the years went on, but AGAIN, she wasn't sure if that was a line she'd ever wanted to cross.  

In that very moment you turn to her with a grin, the woman's heart skipping a beat.  

Deep down, she wanted to cross that line, but she wouldn't lose Alex Morgan as a friend, no matter what, she wouldn't lose her and she wouldn't lose you.  

                                                            ***

You throw yourself into an empty bus seat with a lengthy yawn, Christen snickering as she sits behind you, Tobin at her side.  

“What’s so funny?” You stick your tongue out at her, the woman giggling.  

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re tired?” She smirks, earning an eye roll.  

“I’m not ALWAYS tired.”  

Alex scoffs on her way by.  

“Yes, you are.”  

You growl, your eyes narrowed, you turn to Christen with a pout, the forward’s cheeks flushing, something Tobin immediately catches on to.  

She gives her a nudge, the forward turning to her, brows knitted in confusion.  

“Be careful, your crush is showing.”  

Christen’s cheeks flush bright red, the woman’s mouth opening and closing a few times before she glances away.  

“You okay Chrissy?” You ask, worriedly and Christen smiles at you using the nickname you’d given her years ago.  

“I’m okay.”  

You nod, turning away, but you can’t help but sneak another glance at the forward out of the corner of your eye, your heart skipping a beat at the way she giggles at something Tobin had said.  

Suddenly, something zooms across the bus, hitting you right in the forehead.  

You growl, eyes narrowed as you search for the source, finding a beaming Alex Morgan staring your way.  

“Bitch.” You mouth, the woman gasping.  

“How rude.”  

You stick your tongue out at her, catching Christen’s green orbs on you out of the corner of your eye, a grin stretched across her face.  

You sigh.  

“Ugh I’m screwed.”  

                                                            ***

Being at camp meant spending more and more time with Christen, meaning your childhood crush on her grew more and more.  

Christen Press had always been beautiful, as the years past, she only got more and more beautiful, your childhood crush spiraling into something new.  

Alex was unaware of your feelings for the woman, how could you tell your older sister that you were crushing on her best friend?  

You knew if you told her she’d tease you to hell and back, so in a way, Christen Press was untouchable, and untouchable meant that she’d always be out of your reach.  

Every time you saw that smile, and those sparkling green orbs would lock with yours, you would absolutely swoon.  

You wanted her, you wanted her in a way you knew you’d never have her, you wouldn’t cross that line, you wouldn’t do that to Alex, you knew it would bother her, and you weren’t about to do that to her.  

Still, the crush on Christen was gaining traction and soon, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to hold your feelings back for much longer.  

                                                            ***

Camp had literally been kicking your ass, you wanted to stand out, you wanted to earn a spot on the team, NOT just because you were Alex Morgan’s little sister.  

You so tired in fact, that on team bonding movie night, you simply laid face down in bed, your teammates having to sit around your tired form.  

“Hey, scoot over.” You feel a poke in your back and groan, your face still buried in your pillow.  

You let out a grunt when you’re rolled over, your bottom lip jutting out as you look up into a pair of familiar green orbs.  

“Chrissssssssssssssss.” You whine as the woman scoots you over, flopping down on the bed beside you, along with Tobin.  

You grimace, rolling back over, one arm and one leg hanging off the bed.  

Christen rolls her eyes.  

“Come here.”  

Your eyes widen when you realize Christen has her arms open, your heart racing in your chest, your stomach flip flopping.  

Christen surprises you by pulling you into her arms, the woman’s cheeks blood red as you lean against her, letting out a relaxed sigh, the feeling of her arms wrapped around you bringing you a sense of comfort you never thought you could feel, your skin absolutely buzzing.  

Christen’s heart stutters in her chest as you snuggle into her side, letting out a lengthy yawn.  

“You’ve been working yourself too hard.” She chastises and you huff.  

“I have to make the team...” You mumble. “Not just because I’m Alex’s little sister.”  

Christen brushes a strand of hair out of your face and you smile, the two of you completely unaware that you have an audience, a certain forward looking at you with intrigue.  

“You can’t run yourself into the ground.” She whispers and you sigh.  

“I know...”

There’s a beat of silence, Christen’s lips parting to continue your conversation, but she quickly realizes you’re fast asleep.  

She shakes her head, hugging you tighter.  

“Someone looks comfy.”  

Christen’s green orbs widen, her cheeks flushing when she sees Alex’s blue orbs on the two of you, the woman’s eyes narrowed.  

“She’s being too hard on herself.” She shrugs, Alex nodding, the corners of her mouth drooping downwards.  

“She wants to make the team based on skill, not her last name, but she can’t run herself into the ground...” Alex brushes her fingertips down your jawline and you grumble in your sleep, snuggling closer to Christen, the forward biting her bottom lip to hold back a massive grin.  

Alex’s blue orbs dart from you, to Christen and back, the wheels in her brain turning. She shakes her head.

She didn’t see what she thought she was seeing...  

Right?  

                                                            ***

Making the USWNT was a dream, a dream that had just become a reality, and it wasn’t just because your last name was Morgan.  

The first to get to you, of course, was Alex, but right on her heels was Christen, the woman wrapping her arms tightly around you after Alex had nearly squeezed you to death.  

Christen turns her head, kissing your cheek.  

“I am so proud of you Y/N.” She whispers in your ear, your cheeks flushing as you bury your face in her neck.  

It’s entirely an accident when Christen shifts, your lips brushing her neck, the forward inhaling sharply.  

The two of you abruptly jump apart, your and Christen’s eyes wide as you glance away from one another, cheeks blood red.  

“Uhhh, s-sorry.”  

Alex hums, eyes narrowing.  

Something was going on between the two of you, and she was going to find out what.

                                                            ***

“Have Y/N and Christen been acting... Strange?” Alex asks Kelley, the defender’s brows furrowing.  

“No stranger than usual.” She snorts, glancing down the breakfast table, catching your gaze on Christen, the woman giggling at something Tobin had said, when the forward turns towards you, you turn away, your cheeks flushed bright red.  

Kelley hums, glancing at Christen, noticing the fact that her cheeks are tinted red. She turns back to Alex, the two sharing a glance.  

“Maybe stranger than usual.”  

Alex nods.  

“So, will you help me?”  

Kelley’s brows furrow.  

“Help you what?”  

“Shadow them?”  

Kelley snorts.  

“You mean spying?”  

Alex groans.  

“Yes, I mean spying.”  

Kelley shrugs.  

“I’m in.”

                                                            ***

“Al, we’ve been following them around all week, eavesdropping on them at practice, when we go out to dinner, even at the bookstore, I do NOT do dusty bookstores JAN, YOU KNOW I HAVE ALLERGIES.” Kelley growls, Alex flopping her hand at her in an attempt to silence her.  

The two watch you stealthily from a nearby aisle, Alex humming when she sees your fingers brush, the two of you glancing at one another, eyes wide and cheeks flushed before you both turn away from one another.  

Alex’s blue orbs narrow.  

“Did you see that...?” She whispers, growling when she doesn’t get a response.  

Alex’s mouth drops when she sees Kelley modeling a ugly brown Bud Light hat in a nearby mirror.  

“Jan, how do I look?” She turns towards her, the forward glancing at you and Christen before she makes her way towards Kelley.  

“Yeah, that’s not your color.”  

Though her eyes are no longer on the two of you, the wheels in Alex’s brain keep turning, trying to think of reasons why the two of you are acting so strange. 

                                                            ***

You make your way to the roof with a frown, the rain lightly falling as you make your way to the edge of the roof, taking a seat, your legs dangling off the edge, at least one of the edges considering there was a tiny overhang beneath your feet.  

Fans had been particularly cruel as of late, many saying that the only reason you were on the USWNT was because of your last name.  

You knew fans would talk, you knew they’d say there were more deserving players, and in ways, they were right.  

In your eyes, you hadn’t gotten onto the team simply because of your last name, but because of your skill.  

You shake your head.  

“Hey.”  

You turn around abruptly, making sure you don’t fall off the building in your haste to turn to the voice’s owner.  

Christen slowly shuffles towards you, taking a seat beside you.  

“What are you doing up here?” She asks, her legs dangling off the edge of the building and you shrug.  

“Just needed some time to think.”  

The two of you go silent, your eyes fluttering shut as you lean towards Christen, resting your head on her shoulder.  

Christen stiffens, her cheeks flushing, heart skipping a beat in her chest.  

“Everyone thinks I got here because my last name is Morgan...” You frown, eyes widening slightly when Christen slips an arm around you.  

“Let them talk Y/N, they’re wrong.” Christen rests her head against yours.  

“You don’t realize just how good you are Y/N, your place is on the USWNT, it’s with Alex...” Christen swallows hard, her heart racing in her chest.  

“It’s with me.”  

Your eyes widen as you pick your head up, turning to face Christen, the woman already turned towards you, her cheeks flushed.  

Unconsciously, your eyes dart from her green orbs, to her lips and back.  

It’s then you realize you were leaning in, as was Christen, your lips meeting in an electric, and earth-shattering kiss.  

You’d been kissed before, yes, but kissing Christen Press was like coming home, it was like the first ray of sun poking out from behind a black rain cloud after a deadly storm, it was like being complete.  

Christen cups your cheek, her lips moving gently against yours, the two of you parting only to lean back in, your lips meeting again.  

Eventually, the two of you reluctantly part, your foreheads resting together as your eyes flutter open, locking, your lips splitting into massive grins.  

“I’ve been wanting to do that, for a really... Really long time.” You whisper, Christen leaning in to bump her nose against yours.  

“Me too.”  

                                                            ***

After the kiss shared between you and Christen on the rooftop that night, you weren’t sure where the two of you stood, but considering Christen had been stuck to you like glue, you imagine you stood shoulder to shoulder when it came to what the kiss meant for the two of you.  

It wasn’t Christen’s reaction that scared you, it was Alex’s.  

Alex Morgan and Christen Press had been friends for as long as you could remember, and you don’t know what kissing Christen would do to that friendship, in all honesty, you were terrified.

“Hey.”  

You’re unable to bite back a smile when Christen makes her way towards you, a bashful smile on her face.  

Inconspicuously, Christen leans against you, her fingers brushing yours.  

You glance around, grabbing the forward’s arm and dragging her into a secluded employee’s only room in the hotel you were staying at.  

Christen inhales sharply when you grab the front of her tee shirt and pull her into a kiss, the woman all too happy to reciprocate.  

She brushes her nose playfully back and forth against yours, the two of you smiling softly.  

“I’m scared about what Alex-

It’s with wide eyes that you realize the two of you aren’t alone, the piercing blue orbs of the aforementioned woman darting from Christen, to you and back.  

“I-  

Christen swallows hard.  

“We can-

Alex shakes her head.  

“I knew something was going on, but I guess I thought you’d trust me enough to tell me...” Alex frowns sadly, unable to look at you and Christen.  

Alex shakes her head, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she turns on her heels, taking her leave.  

“Al, wait!” You call out, chasing after her, unable to catch her as she sprints away, leaving you and Christen behind, the two of you turning to one another sadly, the two of you hoping that she’ll come around, but knowing you’d BOTH have to earn her trust back again.  

                                                            ***

Kelley gently runs a hand down Alex’s back.  

“I mean, we knew something was going on...” Kelley sighs, Alex shaking her head.  

“I just wish they had told me... I wish they had trusted me enough...”  Alex mumbles, the defender nodding sympathetically.  

A soft knock on the hotel room’s door makes both Alex and Kelley turn their attention to the closed door, the two sharing a glance.  

“I think we both know who that is...” Kelley frowns. “Do you want me to answer it?”

You knock again.  

“Come on Al, please.” You call out through the door, the forward sighing.  

“Let her in.”  

Kelley pats her back.  

“Just, hear her out.”  

Alex nods, the defender making her way to the door, tugging it open, frowning when she sees your Y/E/C orbs are bloodshot and full of tears.  

Kelley throws her arms around you, giving you a squeeze.  

“Let her know you trust her, she loves you, and she loves Chris.” She whispers in your ear, kissing your temple before she takes her leave, leaving you and Alex alone.  

Uncertainly, you make your way towards the bed, Y/E/C orbs locking with Alex’s blue orbs.  

She pats the bed beside her.  

“Come on, sit down.”  

You wordlessly sit down, sure not to leave a gap between you, your arm pressed against hers, the two of you remaining silent.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alex asks softly, unable to look you in the eye.  

You slip off the bed, sitting on the carpet in front of her.  

“I was scared...” You frown, taking Alex’s hands. “I didn’t know what was happening between Christen and I, I didn’t want you losing your best friend and I didn’t want to lose my sister.”  

Alex squeezes your hands.  

“You could NEVER lose me. Never.” She pulls you close, spreading her legs as you wrap your arms around her middle, your head resting against her chest.  

“I love you more than anything Y/N, there’s nothing you could ever do to lose me...” She ducks down, kissing the top of your head.  

The two of you remain silent, that is until Alex snorts.  

“So, you and Chris huh?” She asks, watching as your cheeks flush bright red.  

“Allllllllll...” You whine, the forward shrugging.  

“What? You can’t date my best friend and expect me not to say anything.” She sticks her tongue out at you and your eyes widen.

“W-We’re not dating...” You fidget, your sister scoffing.  

“Well, I don’t kiss MY friends.”  

You huff.  

“I don’t know where we stand...” You shrug. “I really, really like her, I always have...” You murmur, unable to keep your cheeks from flushing bright red.  

Alex hums thoughtfully.  

“Maybe you need to talk about it?”  

You swallow hard, nodding.  

“What if she doesn’t want to be with me?” You frown sadly.  

“Then I’ll literally murder her for leading you on.”  

You give her a nudge.  

“No killing Chris.”  

“If she hurts you I will!”  

You grin, wrapping your arms tightly around the forward.  

“I love you Al.”  

“I love you too.”  

                                                            ***

The second green orbs lock with blue your eyes widen.  

“Uh-oh.” You mumble, watching as Alex makes her way towards Christen, the forward swallowing hard.  

You watch, nervously as Alex, even though her and Christen are the same size, towers over her.  

You quickly realize everyone is watching the exchange between the two, it’s then you understand that they must ALL know about what’s going on between you and Christen, the women eagerly waiting to see the eventually confrontation between your older sister and Christen.  

Alex takes a deep breath.  

“I know we’re best friends, but if you hurt Y/N, I won’t hesitate to literally kill you.” Alex says rather coldly, watching as Christen’s eyes widen.  

“You...” She pauses, swallowing hard. “You’re not mad that we’re...” Christen glances your way, her cheeks flushing.  

“We’re-

“Dating?” Alex fills in the blank, watching as Christen shuffles nervously from foot to foot.  

“I don’t know where we stand...”  

Alex huffs dramatically.  

“You two REALLY need to talk.” She rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.  

“I really, really like her.” Christen shrugs. “I just don’t know where we stand.”  

Alex nods in your direction, Christen’s cheeks flushing deep red when she realizes you’re staring at the two of them.  

“You’ll never know unless you ask.” Alex shrugs. “Remember even though I love you, I’ll kill you if you hurt her.”  

Christen nods, grinning as Alex wraps her arms tightly around her.  

“I wouldn’t expect ANYTHING less.”  

The two eventually part, Christen giving her best friend a nod before she jogs your way.  

You swallow hard as the woman comes to a halt in front of you.  

“Do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow night? Dinner?” Christen asks boldly and your eyes widen, your lips splitting into a grin.  

Over Christen’s shoulder you see Alex smirking your way, the woman, along with the rest of your teammates giving you a thumbs up.  

Your tongue swipes at your dry lips, the pink flesh of your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.  

“I’d love to.”  

[magpiie]

Kidnapped by Baby Yoda pt. 3

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

hey guys pls lmk what you think and be honest!!! thank you so much for 80 notes holy fucking shit wowie 

It's weird one day you're assisting teaching a class to a bunch of miscellaneous alien children on nevarro hating your life, and the next you're stuck on a ship with a mandalorian and his foundling who inexplicably decided he needed you to come.

“I'm going to talk to him today kid, believe me” you said to the lump of wool perched on your knee. Mando was out doing maker knows what, and you were left alone with the little guy like always. His big eyes gazed at you dubiously as if to say suuuuure. The amount of judgmental bitchy energy he could produce sometimes was astounding. “No really, i've been living here for what, uh 3 weeks maybe? And all we've really said to each other was the initial greeting and uh the exchange of names?” The last part trails off as you realize you don't even know his name. You said yours but he responded with telling you to call him Mando. So you didn't push it. You dont know alot about mandalorians considering they are almost extinct and their beliefs are often made to seem like folklore. But you do know that individualism and identity is not something particularly celebrated. So you decided to leave the amount of information he wants to share with you up to him out of respect. So far that's been none. “So, kid, how'd you break through his shell? He likes you?” the child just blinks unhelpfully. “I mean you never talk to him, but i've tried that and we saw how that went” literally radio silence from him. You don't particularly think of yourself as an extrovert who constantly needs interaction but you do need some. And currently you have the kid as a companion and if you didn't know any better you'd say Mando was a droid with how he acts. You also resolved that you needed to help out more. Basically you were a glorified babysitter and the idea that Mando was going to realize that he was better off without you on his ship as deadweight terrified you. You were a good cook, I guess you could say, but Mando always brought food back with him when he went out and then would hide in his room to eat in privacy. So that's not very helpful. The main thing that you could offer him was medical help. Back on Nevarro growing up you were the youngest of three older brothers. And considering your mother wasnt really in the picture, you had to take up the doctor role for the amount of fights three older boys could get into. You knew how to treat basically any external damage and how to sterilize and limit risk of infection. But how would you ever bring that up to mando if you guys didn't even greet each other in the mornings? Sometimes you would try to talk to him with something as simple as “good morning!” or “welcome back” or “night” or even just a simple “hey” sometimes he would bless you with a monosyllabic grunt but never anything more. But hey, you would take what you would get. After a week of this call and no response bullshit you kinda gave up and have spent the last two weeks in silence other than your episode this morning with the “good morning” fiasco. You feel your mortification settle back into your stomach at the fool you made of yourself. “Maker above, mando must hate me.” sometimes you wondered if he regretted asking you to come. But he doesn't really seem like the type of person to let you stay if you annoyed him. “Ok bug, here's the plan. What im gonna do is i will say hey when he comes back, sound good?” you look for confirmation from the creature and he gives you a slight tilt of his chin. Satisfied you continue, “and i will uhm say good night and good morning every day until he responds or tells me to shut up.” you finish with a huff of breath. This will either end with you finally finally getting to have real human interaction or left on some random ass planet god knows where.     

Mando makes his way back to ship feeling the pebbles crunch beneath the heavy sole of his boot. This planet was a desert planet much like nevarro, he wondered if you missed home. Mean no shit she's probably homesick dumbass he thinks its not like he was doing anything to make the ship feel welcoming. Like talking to you. But you made the ship feel like a home for the kid and that's more than he could ever want. You probably didn't realize how much what you were doing meant to him. You made the kid happy, you were giving him something that mando never could, a mother figure. Mando tried his hardest to be what he thought was a father for the kid but it was hard. He had to go and work and it wasn't safe to bring a kid so he was often swept around to different planets and left for hours by himself waiting for mando to come back and it was hard on mando. But you, now you were there. And the kid was always safe with you. He should probably teach you some self defense he thought considering how dangerous being associated with him was especially considering you needed to protect the child. But honestly, mando had no idea if you knew how to protect yourself, you might, space is a dangerous world. He only knew that you were a teacher but that was it. Slightly alarming that he implicitly trusted you without any prior knowledge of you or your credentials. You could be a bounty hunter assigned to kill him for all he knew, or to steal the kid, but you probably would have done that by now. Mando didn't know what made you trustworthy to him. You just were. And that terrified him. 

You're sitting in the cockpit with the child pretending to fly the ship as he gurgles happily in your lap. you giggle at the little guy and make finger guns and pretend to shoot an imaginary monster outside the window, “i'm the most fearsome bounty hunter in the guild,” the child lets out a particularly loud noise at that, “uhhh yes i am dont laugh at me, i am feared far and wide across the galaxy,” you tickle his sides with that one. youre so into playing with the kid you don't realize mando was back and is staring at you from the entryway to the cockpit. “You think i could take on your daddy, bug? You think it'd beat him in a shootout? Huh?” you say with your fingers poised and ready at the window.

“Not a chance,” says a deep voice that vibrates into the floor. You let out an embarrassing startled shriek and feel your heart do twenty somersaults and settle in your feet. The child screams at the interruption and immediately wiggles out of your grasp and waddles to Mando giddily. 

“I-i i was uh joking, really i was,” you stutter out cringing at the incredulous tone your voice comes out as. Remembering your resolve to talk to him you continue on even though you feel like you might throw up your breakfast from nerves. “He misses you during the day,” gesturing to the child, “so i pretend to be you” you finish realizing that sounds super fucking creepy, “well not like- you- like- you,  but i pretend to like uh pilot the ship and uh shoot um things?” you ramble lamely. A huff sounds from the mandalorian and if you allowed yourself to think wishfully it was laughter. 

“Doesn't surprise me. Before you he came everywhere with me.” you feel your eyebrows raise. Everywhere? Shit. 

“Must've been difficult to complete jobs and have to keep track of him,” you say nodding your head towards the little lump of brown wool. Mando offers you an affirmative grunt before setting the child down and turning on his heel towards the fresher. So that was an improvement, you think. Got ten whole words out of him. You feel a grin split your face. Hopefully this means you are past the dancing around each other relationship. And maker above, his voice, wow. If only you could wake up to that every morning. Deep and melodic. You wonder how deep and gravelly it sounds in the mornings. Or how your name would sound tumbling off his lips in pleasure. Nope. not going down that path. That is NOT platonic thoughts. You literally had your first conversation with him since the first day you met him and you're already thinking about that? Seriously pull yourself together. You don't even know what he looks like, or how old he is. Like what if he's like 70. And really ugly. What if your having sex dreams about someone like your grandpa. Ew. Your face contorts at the thought of Mando looking like your grandpa. Okay gross stop. You need to get to know him. Have civil conversations. Push down the gross thoughts. Even if his voice sounds like honey. And home. 

You're sitting in the chair behind the pilot seat reading a random book Mando left out on the scattered floor. Its some type of mechanical manual so its truly riveting. Note the sarcasm. The child's asleep, and seeing as though mando is cooped up in his room this book is better than twiddling your thumbs mindlessly. You decided that if you were going to stay on mandos ship you should at least try to pick up some mechanic skills. Better than the rudimentary at best you had at the present moment. You knew how to fix blatant errors in engines and how to reconnect wires if the instructions were explained thoroughly and very slowly. Okay maybe you didn't really know anything past engines. But that was better than nothing? Kinda? You sigh closing the book after rereading the same sentences about pre-imperial versus post-imperial hyperdrives. Maker what was the difference? The both made the ship go super fast or something? Was that the hyperdrive? You shook your head feeling the thought start to culminate into a downward spiral of what a hyperdrive truly was. You looked around the cluttered hull and decided that you should probably occupy yourself by cleaning up the mess. Mando might appreciate it, it'll also make you less of a deadweight on the ship. It was crazy how much shit one man and his child could accumulate on one tiny ship. You don't think you had ever seen this many small metal bowls in one place. The stack currently in the corner probably contained about 12. In what universe would 2 creatures ever need the same bowls 12 times. Well you guess now it's three. The thought filled your chest with a balloon of warmth only to be popped by the realization that you weren't part of the little family mando and the child were. At best you were a business associate. The kids stand in caregiver. Babysitter.

 The realization that you didn't have anyone to call family at your disposal fell heavy on your shoulders. Sinking you into the corner of the hull. You dont think youve ever felt more alone. In the cold corner of the hull with a hand pressed to your chest in an attempt to quell your ragged breaths.  Like a small raft cast into the oceanic expanse of space. If you drowned, who would notice? Certainly not your family, they were maker knows where, probably light years away. You didn't even know what sector you were in anymore. What would your father think of your decision to leave nevarro? You hadn't seen him in a while but you remembered the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. And how he would hug you after a long day. Hold you like you were still his little girl. The craving for a warm embrace from a solid body slammed into you with all the force of a meteor. Leaving you stunned and lost. You briefly wondered how mando coped. How did he deal with the overwhelming feeling of loneliness?  How did he leave his guild? Did he miss them? Were they like a family? Did he think about them often? How did he cope with the lack of touch? Or did he not think about it at all? Did he not need it? Was he so disconnected from the world through his beskar that he couldn't remember the feeling of someone's fingers on his skin? Etching a path with the searing heat they exuded. Hearing approaching footsteps you attempt to pull yourself together. Regulate your breathing, get rid of tear tracks and lose the flush coloring your face. You could do this. As he rounded the corner he stopped. You peered up at him from your curled up position on the floor and offered him a smile that felt unconvincing even on your lips. He tilted his head slightly at you and made his way cautiously to where you were. He bent slightly and offered a brown leather clad hand to you. For a second the only sound heard was the faint crackle of his breathing in his helmet. You could see him faltering. Here he was offering you comfort in your clearly distressed state and you were pointedly ignoring it. You laced your fingers with his and nearly doubled over from the strength he exuded into pulling you up. As soon as you were fairly steady on your feet you marveled at your hand shocked by the warmth creeping through the leather of the glove permeating into your palm. He sighed, a deep release of tension from his shoulders followed. “What's wrong?” he said, his hand still lazily grasping your fingers. You looked at him, what was wrong?

“How do you do it?” you said echoing his words from your first meeting to him. his thumb dragged a slow line along your wrist. When he didn't respond you added, “how are you okay with being alone?” if you could see his face you would say he looked taken aback. He released your hand.

“I'm not.” he offered. Confused as to which question he was answering you remained silent hoping to prompt him to continue. He started again, “I'm not alone, not truly. I have him.” he gestured vaguely to his sleeping quarters where the kid slept. He rubbed the back of his neck, 

“And neither are you.”

[champagne-bucky]

Debt to Be Paid: I

Summary: Earth fears intergalactic war with another planet. The Avengers are called to work out negotiations on Zevitar, the planet of peace. What happens when they are reunited with their long lost team member?

Warnings: dark!Bucky x reader, mentions of non/dub-con, age gap (reader is of age) 

Notes: SHE’S HEREEEEEEE!!! Welcome to the first chapter of DTBP, the sequel to IOU!! If you’re new to this story make sure you check out IOU before you read this!! To all those who have read IOU... buckle up... Anyways enjoy!! Let me know what ya think! Please make sure to like, comment, reblog, inbox, and follow me for more! Enjoy :) 

Throughout his lifetime Steve Rogers was exposed to many types of pain. Whether it was physical, mental, or emotional, Steve could handle just about anything life could throw at him. That was until he lost you. In all his years of fighting alongside the Avengers, having been responsible for the demise of half the world’s population, and the tons of toxic chemicals pumped into his body could never prepare him for the pain of losing a child. While there is no biological relation, Steve couldn’t help but mourn for the loss of his daughter.

When Sam and Tony had come to the island to end his vacation they were trying to keep quiet about the situation that occurred back home. It wasn’t until three hours into the flight back home that Tony finally cracked and told Steve what was up. Steve was in shock, his daughter fought and nearly killed his best friend? Impossible.

Needless to say, Steve Rogers was an emotional wreck once he got back to the compound. He saw the state of Bucky’s room, he saw where they kept you locked up, he saw the damage that had been done to Stephen and Wanda when you escaped. He saw parts of you that he never knew you held. How dark had you become since he left, he wondered on those late sleepless nights.

Steve didn’t speak for days. Instead, he spent them walking around the taped off ruins of his beloved compound. What was once a home for him and his family felt more like a cold, steel, jail cell. He was truly in hell without you.

The nights were filled with him lying awake in bed, eyes opened wide and darting to every corner of the room, praying that you would somehow walk out of the shadows and back to him. Instead of taking sleeping pills that Tony suggested to him, he would get up out of bed and start researching, questioning, and theorizing where it is that you could be.

After a few weeks and two overworked coffee machines later, Steve had created three possible theories about what could have happened to you:

Being an Avenger came with a handful of enemies.  

Almost everyone on the team had their own enemies. From empty threats to stalker incidences, no one on the team was really safe. Any form of social media was constantly monitored, every time they were in a car there was security two cars behind, the second an Avenger leaves the tower they have surveillance on them 99.9% of the time.

Still, that .1% haunts Steve. He knows that people have their ways when it comes to the innovation of technology. Perhaps there was someone out there that was too good with computers. They hacked you, stalked you, and threatened you not to tell anyone. Maybe it got so out of hand to the point where you ran away for the protection of yourself and for the others. Maybe you attacked Bucky to keep the secret hidden or you got so scared that attacking him was an accident.

    2.   Everyone has their demons… maybe you had kept yours hidden too well.

As days grew longer, so did Steve’s suspicions. He never thought bad things about you. In fact, Steve knew there wasn’t a bad bone in your body. So why did he keep thinking you were secretly an evil person?

He theorized that there could’ve been another side to who you were. The nice and sweet you was all an act and you were waiting for an opportunity to show your true self. Between him not being around anymore and you now having full access to technology and weapons only Avengers have access to, you took advantage of your new found status and got carried away. Bucky found out and tried to put a stop to you and that’s how he ended up getting attacked. You broke out before you could face any consequences.

Steve shook his head at this theory. He knew you like he knew the layout of his old 40’s apartment. You’re not a bad person and never once have you said you hated someone. You never said you even hated Bucky, just upset that he didn’t seem to like you as much as the others did.

  3.  Being apart from Steve sent you towards a downwards spiral… basically it was all Steve’s fault that you’re gone.

This theory made a whole lot of sense, and none of it at the same time. Yes, everyone could confirm that you really missed Steve. You missed training with him and hanging out with him. You missed his presence around the compound as well. Something about Steve just made your days way better than when he wasn’t at the compound at all.

What didn’t make sense to anybody was why would you attack someone over this? Sure, you missed Steve, but nobody thought you missed him so much to the point of nearly killing someone. Bucky did give you a hard time, but as far as the Avengers knew it was just some name calling you didn’t appreciate.

Everyone recounted their last few days with you at the compound. You seemed okay, nothing out of the usual for you. However, Peter did speak up saying you seemed a bit jumpier and a little bit down and out than usual. Again, it chalked up to you missing Steve really bad. Then there was the matter of Stephen and Wanda.

They were your last victims before you escaped. The pair had gone through extensive questioning. However, they both had the same story. Wanda and Strange had tried to calm you down, but things got out of hand and you ended up lashing out at them.

Steve hit a brick wall at this point. How could no one know what happened to you? He tried hacking into security cameras from that day, but he was met with a disappointing glare from Tony and a handful of security to escort him out of the room meant for their investigation.

What was there even to investigate? You were gone and as far as anybody knew, there was no trace of you in New York, the United States, and pretty much any other country that agents were sent out to look for you. Steve guessed they only continued because Bucky needed to get some sort of justice or closure, but he swears that he was attacked for no reason. Everyone knew about their slight tension, but thought it wouldn’t go as far as leaving Bucky hospitalized.

Bucky kept quiet after Steve came back. Truth be told, he feared what his friend might do to him if the truth got out. He made sure to delete any evidence he could off his computer of you. When he visited you those last days, he managed to fuck up something in the control room that cut off the audio of him talking. No one had called him in to question his meeting with you, and Bucky was relieved because he needed more time to come up with the perfect excuse.

Now all he had to do was get rid of Wanda and Stephen, or get them off his back. He knows that they must know something. Tensions around the compound have been high around the three of them. The pair had been cold towards him after the attack, only going so far as signing a ‘Get Well Soon’ card and pitching in a few dollars for a thing of flowers, but that was all.

Wanda and Strange wasted no time after their questioning was over. They got right to work trying to compile all the evidence they could to expose Bucky. Unfortunately, it was proving to be more difficult than expected.

Bucky’s room had been blocked off by agents. He had to change rooms until the investigation was cleared. Everything in the room remained untouched, but no Avengers, besides Tony, had access to the room.

Strange and Wanda even went in from another angle and enlisted Peter to help find that security footage, but so far everything was blocked off to them. It seemed like there was one dead end after another. If the pair weren’t fast in their findings, they might never get justice for you. Even if you were long gone, Bucky shouldn’t get away with what he did.

No matter what, the pair of Avengers new they needed to finish the job you attempted to start… and Stephen Strange and Wanda Maximoff will be damned if justice wasn’t served.

~Meanwhile~

You emptied your stomach of breakfast later in the day. Same as yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that… something’s got to be up?

Maybe it was nerves? That could explain a lot seeing as the nightmares weren’t letting up anytime soon.

Seeing images of Bucky Barnes every time you close your eyes led to a lot of sleepless nights. It led to much more than sleepless nights, but you tried your best to listen to Carol’s advice and put the past behind you. Sadly, it would take a lot more than blocking that vile man from your thoughts.

Carol saw how you were feeling sick everyday. She also tried to put the worst out of her head, but curiosity piqued. It was important for her to tell you, but it was also important that you found out now before you were back on your home planet alone and scared.

When she first suggested that you may be pregnant, you laughed in her face, then you cried, then were angry, then depressed. There was no possible way, right? You remembered to take your birth control every night, right?

Okay, now you were freaking out. There was one night you might’ve forgot to take it, and that time spent in your jail cell, and maybe one or twice while on a mission.

Now you were panicking.

You forgot some days to take birth control, you were off it for a couple of days too. Bucky was relentless. The possibilities were leading towards confirmation. Every sign of pregnancy pointed to yes.

You tried to deny it for a week, but as you looked at the remnants of today’s breakfast being flushed down the toilet again you collected yourself and came towards acceptance. Coming out of the bathroom, Carol was right there with a quirked brow. She was about to say something, but you opened your mouth first.

“FUCK!”

[the-darklings]

coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective. 

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part. 

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that. 

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing. 

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager. 

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now. 

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash. 

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But. 

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts. 

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed. 

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm. 

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received. 

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy. 

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely. 

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem. 

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself. 

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too. 

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.  

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020. 

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call. 

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind. 

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.  

So I didn’t.  

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest. 

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back. 

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either. 

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that. 

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited. 

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly. 

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you. 

Love,

- Kat.   

[theangrycomet]

This was supposed to be an easy mission- get in the mad scientist’s lair, download files, maybe blow some stuff up, and get out.

They would have gotten away with it too if it hadn’t been for the final line of defense.

Who would have thought a villain of this caliber would have been so old school as to set up a trapdoor connected to his desk top?

“You know, I’m surprised the Bodegamen of all people sent such amateurs to infiltrate my place.” He mused, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense before walking back towards the computer. “I’m a little hurt actually.”

The Glowsticks were now, much to their fury, tied up. Hung up like meat in a butcher shop, they dangled by their feet. Glaring at him, they exchanged short, scheming looks as they fidgeted with the rope.

The villain in question lounged in his chair, ignoring them as he tried to figure out what the heck was going on with his computer. His intern was on the other end of the room on another computer, doing something likely malicious. 

“Where’s Fink when you need her?” The villain mumbled, clicking around the screen as the three realized they were being IGNORED. 

“Uh hello- heroes tied up and seemingly in a stitch?” Jordan drawled, eyebrow raised (or lowered? They were upside down after all). “This is your cue for an evil scheme monologue?”

“Dr. Feakins, help me out with this.”

“One second, sir.” Crossing the room, her heels snapped against the linoleum like a BB gun. Roman shuddered as she passed, a wave of nausea washed over his stomach.

“Okay seriously- who uses rope anymore!” Jordan griped, pulling at the taut twine to no avail. Even with her strength, she couldn’t beat it without leverage which she was tragically lacking.

 All she earned for her efforts were a pair of chafed wrists. Casting a longing glance at her sword, her mouth twisted downwards- or rather, upwards- into a frown as she groaned. “Ugh- why didn’t dad let me have that knife gauntlet Bismuth made!”

“I told you- you should’ve asked your mom first.” Roman muttered half-heartedly. Ugh, the feeling wasn’t going away. 

What was going on? He never got sick.  

He bit his lip, staring suspiciously at the redhead now typing at the computer. Feakins... Where’d he hear that before?

Kaiden, per norm, was too busy analyzing their surroundings for quips, much less questions. He was focused on analyzing all that he saw within the recesses of the lab.He could just see the corners of his eyes narrowed as they flicked about, taking in everything and putting the pieces together. 

Personally, he was wondering how his friend could even concentrate with the blood rush. 

“A Gempiran weapon might have helped you escape this one.” The villain straightened up from his computer, now that Feakins was at the station.

He shrugged, smugly picking up the sword beside him. 

“This is lovely craftsmanship.” Weighing it in his hand, he played with the balance.Taking a few playful swipes, his form wasn’t half bad. Jordan noted the signs of a rusty swordsman who’d let himself get out of practice. 

“Too bad I’ll never see it in action.” He mused, threat thick in the air.

“Oh don’t worry Professor Venomous-” Thick brows furrowing, she smirked- oozing confidence. “I’ll make sure you get a close up when we kick your butt.”

“Uhuh.” Rolling his eyes, Venomous replaced the sword against the wall. “Let me guess, your little EVO friend’s gonna help you.”

Jordan glanced as well as she could at the jacketed hero. Though she couldn’t see a lot, what she could worried her.

A miserable grimace twisted across his significantly paler face. Sweat had broken across his brow and dripped into his hairline. Shaking like a leaf, he looked close to passing out. 

An oddly familiar crooked grin stretch itself across the mans lips at Roman’s discomfort before he nodded to the intern, still working on the computer. 

“Nice work, Feakins.”

“Always here to help, sir.” Came her chipper reply as she undid the damage of their flash drive. 

Meandering over, he went to the third Glowstick, who had yet to break his silence during this little exchange. No complaints, no smart aleck remarks. 

Just a mouth set in a flat line beneath (or really above) a pair of dark shades. 

“Well you’ve been quiet,”  he drawled, leaning on the the railing amused. Poking his chest, he watched the hero swing back and forth lazily. “Got any last words for me, blondie?”

Kaiden glared, glasses slipping up his nose.

And than he smirked, fang peeking of from his upper lip.

“Last words?” Raising an eyebrow, his head band shifted, loosening a bit. It didn’t help that his glasses were slipping with them, catching on the pink material. “Awfully bold for a snake as out of the game as yourself.”

Venomous scoffed, opening his mouth to make some sort of counter argument. And than he stopped. 

Kaiden expected a sort of superior expression- like a cat might make after knocking your coffee mug onto your laptop. Instead, he looked…

Surprised?

Purple eyes blinked at each other, Kaiden’s narrowed in challenge as Venomous’ widened in revelation. Whipping his arm out, he snatched Kaiden’s glasses, knocking the headband loose. It headband fluttered indignantly to the floor.

“Wha- HEY!” Blinking at the abrupt change in lighting in clarity, he was soon squinting angrily at the big purple-grey blur before him. “Give those back!”

“Dude- did you just take his glasses?” Roman exclaimed, immediately regretting opening his mouth as Dr. Feakins approached. His stomach lurched as his body was slammed with a cold flash.

“Okay that’s just low!” Jordan instinctively reached for Kaiden’s spares in her pocket, only to be painfully reminded of the rope digging at her skin. “Ugh, jerk.”

Staring at Kaiden’s features- his proud nose, high cheekbones, set jaw- the more he looked the more everything screamed him. How had he not seen it immediately- it was all right there. Even the eyes were the same- though Kaiden’s were far more guarded than he were at this age. 

The hero in question, was more than a little thrown off at the intensity of his gaze- lessened in the blur that was his less than exceptional vision. 

Kaiden wasn’t going to lie; taking his glasses? Incredibly smart move on Venomous’ part. Now not only did the professor impede his sight, he also allowed himself to see where Kaiden was going to strike.

That is, if Venomous had that combat experience to follow the eye. 

He wasn’t sure if the man did.

A small seed of doubt worried into his mind as a realization struck him. Normally between the his research, POW card knowledge, and the numerous stories told by his family and friends, Kaiden had a good idea of what to expect with any prominent villain.

But Professor Venomous?

He knew nothing about him, outside of no one willing to talk to him about the guy. Only what he had observed in the last 10 minutes. Unless he figured out a plan, they might be screwed.

Venomous broke into laughter, as though reading his mind, and startling the others.

“Oh this is RICH. You three aren’t supposed to be on this mission- does anyone even know you’re here?” He asked, amused.

“Of course they do.” Kaiden lied through his teeth. 

“Liar.” Walking around him, he gestured with the captured shades. “KO would drop dead before sending you to me.”

KO? How did Venomous know to call him KO as opposed to Knock Out? What was his father’s name doing so flippantly in the villain’s mouth? Venomous said his Dad’s name with such casualness- most said it with nerves strung tight in their voice.

With Venomous, it was as though he knew his Dad personally...

“You won’t see the irony here,” Tilting his head, he leaned to the side to get a better view of Kaiden’s face, noting the little necklace dangling at his throat, balance precariously on his jaw. “-but I’m actually supposed to be having my anniversary dinner with my husband in a few hours so you three making an appearance is hilarious.”

“Oh congratulations!” Jordan beamed automatically before scowling. “Wait, no you have us hog tied!- I revoke my congratulations.”

“What irony?” Ignoring her, Kaiden twisted to face him- suspicion pinching his features before settling into a mask of indifference. “The only thing I see is a fuzzy purple raisen about to get his butt whooped.”

“Aw, the little hero making threats? I’m shaking in my boots.” 

“You should be.” Venomous’ eyes lit up with intrigue as a volt of violet electricity sparked jaggedly down the teen’s arm. 

Venomous leaned down in front of Kaiden with a wicked grin.

“Tell you what, sport. I’ll cut you and your little friends some slack. I’ll just skip to straight to the psychological and emotional torment today.”

“What?”

“You’re lieing.” Jordan said flatly.

“And pray tell-” Roman’s teeth chattered, as Freakins handed a remote to Venomous with out a word- still at the computer. “how exactly are you going to do that?”

“Easy. Shipping you back to the Plaza with out so much as a scratch on you and showing that you three aren’t even worth the time and effort of a bored villain well into his retirement to properly defeat.” he shrugged easily. “Not too flattering on a heroes image. 

The two grimaced as Kaiden frowned. 

That didn’t make any sense. Just a few minutes ago Kaiden was certain he’d do something. he’d be threatening them with experiments and dissections and the like. Stooping down to mere embarrassing teenagers before their peers? Sure, it was low and would send most other heroes-in-training’s self-confidence and egos spiraling down the drain.

But it was not exactly threatening. 

There had to be another angle- what was it? What could PV possibly gain by letting them go?

Kaiden frowned as the nauseating presence of the intern finally got to the EVO.

“Roman?!” The two were sidetracked as Roman heaved. Shuddering, he coughed as his throat burned with bile. 

“You okay?”

“I TOLD you snack machine sushi was a bad idea!”

Venomous rolled his eyes as he pressed a button on the remote. 

“Ugh it’s in my sinuses!”

“Aw buddy-”

“AAH!”

A large Box rose from the floor and opened up beneath them. The ropes were cut and they fell screaming into it- lid snapping tight behind them. 

The Box was still for a moment before it writhed back and forth with the Glowsticks outrage. He could just here Kaiden’s shouts above the others.

“Fight me Venomous!”

A smile tugged at his mouth as the portal opened beneath the Box, sucking it away to be delivered at the Plaza.

Watching them disappear, Venomous leaned back on the railing, pondering. 

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 7 Lesson Plan: Confrontation Conversation

Whitley sits slumped over his desk, scroll sitting on the edge and laptop still open, fast asleep. Sunlight beams through the window shining just enough light into his room to stir him out of his slumber. Whitley looks around confusing for a bit before fully waking up. Stretching out his arm he yawns before refocusing on his computer. He had been checking the profiles of some of the suspects’ children, looking for a target to probe for some information on their parents. Being the youngest child of the wealthiest elites in world Whitley knew just how much of the parents’ troubles reached the children’s ears and how most would pour their hearts out to the first good therapist or trustworthy kind soul they could find. And with the economic in such a downward spiral there should be plenty unfortunate souls ready to spill all that sorrowful truth to next person to lend their ear. All he need to find was one so ready to burst that they’d spill everything out to the sweet little non threatening newcomer Penny. He had narrowed it down to four possible targets and already message one about meeting a “friend” of his soon. He goes to check for a reply when he notices the time. 6:26 am, less then hour until his day started.

He gets up from desk and to his bathroom to get cleaned up. After a shower he drys, brushes and styles his hair, brushes his teeth, then vigorously his face. Once he’s done in bathroom he heads to his closet and pulls out a clean, ironed, and pressed set of clothes. He gets dressed then checks himself in the mirror, straightening his tie, cuffing his shirt sleeves, and making sure his teeth and hair look perfect. He then goes over himself one more time to make sure that any “ blemishes“ are covered. Everything looks good, he’s clean, orderly, prim, and up to standard.

Soon there’s a knock on his door and a maid Sue, enters.

Sue: Good Morning Young Master, it’s time for breakfast.

Whitley: Will Mother or Father be joining me this morning?

Sue: Master is sleeping in and Mistress is….

Whitley: Already on her third Bloody Mary and having a cry in her library again?

Sue: yes..Yes she is.

Whitley: (Sharp inhale and exhale) Just bring it here then. There’s no point in setting up a dining room for one person. Besides I still have things I need done soon rather than later so I could use the spare time.

Sue: Yes Young Master, since you’re eating alone would you like to make a request? Maybe some pancakes or crapes?

Whitley: Sue, you know that Father has me on a strict diet that I must follow. If I don’t then I’d be going against Father’s wishes and we all know how that ends.

Sue: Yes…we do. I’ll go retrieve your schedule meal.

Whitley: Thank you Sue.

Sue leaves and Whitley returns to his desk and continues his work. After a bit Sue returns with a tea cart, coffee kettle, cup, and a plate of food hidden under a silver food cover stocked on it. Sue pours the coffee and sets it down on Whitley’s desk , then removes the cover from plate revealing a piece of avocado toast topped with raw thin cut salmon, egg, herbs and a tomato slice with small side salad. Sue places the plate and some silverware next to the coffee. Whitley thanks her and Sue takes the cart and leaves allowing Whitley to fully focus on his task as he works and eats. He scrolls through profiles and timeline with one hand and he handles his breakfast, taking a few bites and sips between reading with the other only using both when eating the side salad. Half an hour later his meal time is up, Whitley places his dishes on the side of his desk for the maids before getting up, wiping his face, and heading out to the other library to begin the most taxing part of his day.

From a little after sunrise to only moments before sunset Whitley was to study. Advanced Mathematics, Business statistics, management, and technology, Languages, Computer science, World history, Politics, Advanced reading and Writing made up the list of academics lessons Whitley partook in. Then there’s his etiquette lessons. Despite taking this lessons from the time he could walk and finally mastering them a few years ago his Father was firm in his stance of Whitley continuing with them so he “wouldn’t get sloppy and embarrass the family”. So he continued taking classes on speech, maintaining his posture, table manners, and dance alongside his piano lessons. But even with all that structured schedule there was still a wild card in his day to day life. That being his father getting lazy and randomly handing down his work to Whitley. He’d frame it as “ preparing him for his future as the next head” but given the difficulty of some of the task he was assigned, Whitley never believed him.

This had been his life for some time and it had only gotten worse since Weiss left, returned, then left again. With her doing the unforgettable in their father’s eyes Whitley was now his father’s last chance to maintain his twisted empire and for the sake of himself and the people around him Whitley had no choice but to play along. He likened his life to a porcelain doll on display, he was to be beautiful, pristine, and perfect in the eyes of Atlas at all times. This left no room for him to have a life of his own. Everything was planned, monitored, noticed so nothing ever changed and did it was only for a moment and was never pleasant. That was until they made this new deal with the military. It had been hours and Whitley had just finished up his piano lesson when his scroll began beeping, notifying him of his upcoming afternoon appointment.

This will be the third day of her lessons in the manor and Whitley still couldn’t decipher how or what she made him feel. Ever since they met and the dream had changed her presence had made him feel uneasy. He wasn’t disgusted by her or afraid of her rather being around her had been…. far from what he was expecting. His only experience with soldiers had been some small interactions with Ironwood and what little he saw of Winter before she disappeared from his life. Both had been as cold and stoic as one would expect from a soldier but Penny was completely different. He originally thought it training a rough and tough soldier to blend in with high society would extremely difficult but Penny had been doing surprising well. She was intelligent, awkward, curious, childish, and kind if trained correctly she could become a bit of a darling, someone of lower standing elites could cast their worries on without care, a human pet a novelty they fawn over and complain to. Her sweet disposition and intelligence she’d fit the role well and she’d been in the perfect position to gather the information she needed.

But that’s where the problem had began. Her kindness, her curiosity, even her awkwardness was all so different from everything he knew. Her curious glancing, her smiles, her worrying and awkwardness, they were all so…sincere. Now Whitley had known some kindness through Klein but that had come from years of Klein caring for him and his sisters in their parents stead, but Penny’s was a completely different entity. Her positive attitude and cheerfulness made being in her presence feel effortless, her kindness was unconditional and selfless she care for others without constraint, her intelligence made him curious he wanted to know just how far it went. Was just all military based or did she have more general knowledge? Was she just a quick learner or was she just good at problems solving? He couldn’t help but wonder about her possible intellectual abilities. But what was truly unnerving to him was the way Penny looked at him. She looked at him with this gentle but intense stare, as if she saw something more in him. Beyond him being from Atlas, beyond his status as an elite, and maybe even beyond his title as the heir? Whitley couldn’t really tell what she could possibly be seeing when she looked at him and it drove him mad. Why did she look at him like that? Why did she care so much about a person she barely knew? And why..Why did she make him feel like this!

Whitley had been so lost in thought he hadn’t realized that he’d already walked into one of the lounge rooms, today’s lesson room. He sat on the L shaped sofa in of the lounge room patiently awaiting her arrival. Today’s lesson will be geared towards teaching her to lead a conversation. Getting information from an elite was not something you could just ask for. No, there was a sort of verbal dance one had go through to get even the most chatty of elites to tell what they wanted to know. And today Whitley would be teaching her the first steps of that dance.

Soon Penny and a butler, Alexander enter the room. Alexander stands by the door holding some in his left arm as Penny walks towards him, they make eye contact and she looks at him with that gentle stare again. A warm tingle burned in his chest but he ignores it and put on his best “smile”.

Whitley: Good afternoon Ms. Polendina. Are you ready for today’s lesson?

Penny: Yes!

Whitley: Good.

Whitley motions towards the other end of the sofa.

Whitley: Sit down over there then we’ll get started.

Penny takes a seat at the other end of the sofa, place her bags by her feet. Once she sits she puts her feet close together and her hands are in her lap, fidgeting. She seems a bit nervous but far less then she did at orientation. Good, she’d need to be calm for this lesson to take properly.

Whitley: Today we’ll be working on the art of conversation.

Penny: The art of conversation?

Whitley: Yes, you see when dealing when with elites you can’t just ask for it upfront, you have to know how to have a successful conversation. Which is what I’m going to teach you to do today since you obviously don’t know how.

Penny: What do you mean? I’ve had plenty of successful conversations before.

Whitley: I’m sure you have, and while that’s admirable there’s still a big issue in the way you communicate. That issue being that you’re far too reactionary. You more often the not just speak when spoken to and when you do speak first it’s just one or two questions then it’s right back to silence. You don’t initiate enough and gathering information you need to ask the right questions to get the information you need without revealing your motives for asking. This requires you to know how to lead a conversation in your favor. Something you clear don’t know how to do.

Penny: I see.

Whitley: This can be fixed, you just need a few examples to follow. Let’s have a practice conversation, I’ll lead first then once we’re done I tell what I got out of it then we’ll go over some ground rules, useful phrases, and common tactics then you’ll lead with what you learned. Think you can handle that?

Penny: Yes!

Whitley: Excellent, let’s get started. So Ms. Polendina what’s your day like being a soldier?

Penny: Oh, I mainly work in Mantle, from the morning until the afternoon I patrol the streets. I arrest criminals, assist first responders during emergencies, and fight any Grimm that get into or too close to the city or the nearby factories. After that I assist the Huntsmen and huntsmen in training at the academy training facility. I work the controls for my assigned training room and train with the huntsmen and students on request. Once all my sessions on done I have to report to a Military Outpost to write and submit my reports on the days events. All arrest reports, daily logs, and detailed incident reports must be submitted everyday before I can be dismissed for the day but once they are I’m dismissed and allowed to go home and rest for the evening.

Whitley: My! That quite a lot of work for one young woman, your family must worry about you.

Penny: My dad does worry a bit but he understands that this is what I have do as a soldier. But he does his best to sure I relax when I’m at home. He gets up early and makes breakfast and dinner for us everyday so we can eat together before I leave for patrol and when I get back no matter late it is.

Whitley: That’s very sweet of him, I suppose some parents really never stop caring for their children. But still do even you have time for friends or hobbies?

Penny: I do have a few hobbies, I sew, read, watch television, and study battle strategies whenever I have free time. I’ve also been wanting to try scrapbooking but I haven’t had the time to. As for friends I..I….I am friends with four huntresses I was very close with one of them but I haven’t seen them in a while. I do get along well with my fellow soldiers and huntsmen when I interact with them.

Whitley: I see, I also read as a hobby, mostly art history and some historical fiction. I find both incredibly interesting because of their timeless appeal as records of humanity’s artistic and creative evolution. What are you’re favorite genres?

Penny: My favorite book genre? That would be fables and fairytales, I love stories about strong heroes, kind princesses, and adventurers banning together to protect the world from the forces of evil! They fill me with hope and are very relaxing and fun to read.

Whitley: It’s that a bit childish, stories like those are meant to teach younglings to be nice and respectful. There really no depth to them.

Penny: I know but that’s why enjoy them so much. They are simply, sweet, hopeful stories about doing good in the world and protect those who need protection. It resonates with me as my job is very much the same and knowing that even in fiction people do their best to protect land they love gives me a sense of solidarity.

Whitley: That’s very unique way of looking at it, you’re quite the optometrist aren’t you?

Penny: It’s in part a learned behavior. The idea of staying positive is something my best friend, one of the huntresses I mentioned, taught me some time ago. It helps a lot on the harder days.

Whitley: Hmm, sounds like the military has some surprisingly nice people in their ranks, how nice. Alright I think I’ve heard enough, so Ms. Polendina what do you think I learned from our little conversation?

Penny: Hmm you learned about my hobbies and work schedule.

Whitley: Yes but I also learned a bit about your home life, your attitude towards your work, your friendships, and your personality. Now to be fair these are merely guesses based on one conversation, so feel free to correct if I’m wrong. First, you gave a very analytical explanation of your work responsibilities as though you were reading it off a chalkboard. Neither enthusiastic or nihilistic just a neutral statement outside of a hint of distain for fulling out reports but then again who actually enjoys paperwork. And despite your optimism it seems like you have to push and reaffirm yourself to satisfy your work obligations. Overall your attitude towards your job is just as you stated “it is what you have to do as a soldier”.

Penny opens her mouth to protest his statement but she can’t dispute it. On her hard days she would always tell herself that she was doing her best for everyone’s sake but was that really true? She was literally made to protect people, she existed to protect people and though seeing them safe made her happy she had to admit her work had still caused her a lot of pain. She looks down at her waist and wraps her arms around herself. For some reason her waist felt….tight.

Whitley: Now now, no need to look so distort. Most people simply tolerate their jobs and would rather talk about anything else when they can. It’s only natural that a person, even a soldier, would eventually be weighed down by that amount of responsibility. Doesn’t make the job any less important or the person less devoted, human just have limits to how long they can work until it becomes draining.

Penny: I suppose that makes sense. That would be a good explanation for a humans’ behavior but for me……

Whitley: On to a more positive note, your home life sounds very healthy and seems to have played a part in how you stay so optimistic. Your father sounds like a loving and nurturing person, who looks out for your wellbeing.

Penny: He really does, so much so that I start to worry about his wellbeing with how effort he puts into everything. (chuckles)

Whitley: Hmm such a considerate daughter. On to your friendships, there seems to be some distance between you and them but it didn’t sound like there’s any bitter or resented towards them so I’m guessing it’s just literally the distance causing any issues.

Penny: That is part of the reason, the rest is…is…

Whitley: Is alright you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to. I’m just trying to make a point, I don’t need to know all the details. I just need know whether my observations are right or not.

Penny: Okay, so far your observations have been very accurate, much more then I was expecting.

Whitley: Good that means we’re on the right track. Back to the topic of your relationships, though it’s doesn’t sounds like you’re going out and getting donuts together but there’s at least a healthy amount of workplace respect between you and your colleagues.

Penny: I don’t understand what you mean?

Whitley: Was I wrong? it didn’t sound like you dislike your coworkers but-

Penny: No no you’re not wrong I just don’t see what donuts have to do with my relationship with my fellow soldiers.

Whitley: Well you know it’s the old clique about law enforcement loving donuts?

Penny tilts her head , eyes full of confusion as she tries to understand what Whitley was saying. After a moment Whitley realized that she was being serious and really had no idea what he was talking about. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, bewildered by her naivety.

Whitley: (Deep inhale) Around 30 years ago depiction of law enforcement enjoying coffee and donuts was popularized by television and movies. It’s a result of the rise of 24-hour convenient store and quick coffee shops which were frequented most commonly by people who worked the late night shift which at the time was mostly law enforcement. It’s a humorous stereotype, a sort of light joke.

Penny: Oooooh. That is kinda of funny seeing as most law enforcement would only eat something that sugary is as a quick snack and a light stimulate to help keep them awake during their evening shifts.

Whitley: Yes that…is the joke. Quick question Ms. Polendina do you know the meanings of a turn of phrase or idioms and if so how many do you know?

Penny: I do know the terms but I am afraid I don’t know any besides a few my dad use and only after he explained them to me. I haven’t really been around enough people who use them to know more.

Whitley: You really don’t have much of a social life, do you? Though I can’t really judge, my social circle is completely comprised of business contacts and service staff.

Penny: This is actually the longest conversation I’ve had with someone outside my family or the military in a very long time if not overall.

Whitley: Gods all might how on Remnant did-So your personality was the easiest to identify as you’ve been very open throughout the entire session. You, Penny Polendina, are a very honest, kind, hardworking, naïve, slightly awkward, intelligent, and caring person.

Penny’s cheeks warm up a bit at his praise.

Penny: Thank you, that’s very nice of you to say.

Whitley: Not really it just my observation but I hope you now see the importance of knowing how to lead a conversation.

Penny: Yes I do, your observations were far more detailed and informative then I expected. If I can learn how to deduce some much from conversations I’m sure I’ll be able to find leads and investigate this case efficiently!

Whitley: To be fair your honesty made it fairly easy but I can promise most elites won’t be so truthful or open. If they’re talking with someone of equal standing they’ll be much more guarded with their words. But with how you’ll be presenting yourself I doubt they’ll as defensive especially if you follow the rules.

Whitley looks over to Alexander and gesture for him walk to them. Alexander hands the objects he’s been holding to Penny, it a notepad and ballpoint pen. Penny looks at Whitley confused.

Whitley: This going to be a long list and we won’t get through everything we need to in one day. You’ll need to take notes.

Penny opens the notepad and clicks the pen, placing the tip less then a centimeter away from the page. Once she’s all set and gives Whitley as smile and nod signaling for him to start.

Whitley: Rule Number 1, Always start with small talk, never ask any invasive or personal questions out right. This is conversation not integration being too direct makes people cautious and defensive. Starting with simple Introductions and an opener like “how are you” or “how are you enjoying this event”. If it’s there the first time you’re meeting the asks a bit themselves like occupations, hobbies, or social life. Then be sure to answer their questions in turn. But if it’s too personal, inappropriate, or puts you at risk of blowing your cover or could harm you absolutely avoid answering it. Change topics, feign ignorance, ignore it, lie, politely walk away if you have to. Do anything and everything in your power to make sure you’re never in a completely venerable position.

Penny jots down every last word, captivated by his lecture. It had been at while since she had sat down and learned something the traditional way, and with such a new subject made even better! Once there’s a pause she looks up at Whitley and raises her hand inquisitively. Whitley quickly notices and points at her.

Whitley: Did you miss something or do you need some clarification?

Penny: No, it’s just that I may have some difficulty with the last point as I can’t tell lies.

Whitley: (Sighs) I understand you may have code of honor or something like it. But sometimes morals must be bent to achieve-

Penny: No I physically cannot tell a lie without it being noticeable.

Whitley: D-do you have a tell or twitch?

Penny: Yes, when I lie I hiccup. It’s completely involuntary and there no way of stopping if as happens within the last word.

Whitley: I see, can you still refuse or ignore a question you shouldn’t answer?

Penny: Yes, I can.

Whitley: Then just do that instead. On to Rule Number 2.

Penny looks down at the notepad and starts writing again.

Whitley: Never allow a conversation to go over ten minutes unless it’s informative or beneficial. There’s a finite amount of time to socialize during any event, and if they’re just prattling on and on and you’re getting nothing out of it, it’s best end it before you lose too much of the evening. Rule Number 3, listen very carefully when someone is speaking, sometimes they’ll say more than they mean to. Say their talking about their work week and they bring up a specific problem or an unrelated issue it may hold some greater significances and could be used to dig deeper if they have information that could be useful. Especially if it relates to one of the suspects, if they’ve been acting out of character or erratically someone is bonded to notice soon or later. Now to the more offensive tactics, Rule Number 4, once you’ve got someone invested in speaking with you ask some leading questions to probe for the actual information you’re after. When inquiring about one of your suspects, ask what the person thinks of them, how they’ve been doing, or if they been acting strangely. Be sure to ask one per three question they ask you, and only on one out of five to eight people you speak to. If they seem uninterested, uncomfortable, or suspicious change the subject immediately. Rule Number Five, always maintain your composure no matter. No matter how snide, crude, confrontational, or outright rude they may get you most never show weakness to your aggressor, that only empowers them to do worse. Rule Six-

Alexander: Young Master, this session’s time is coming to an end.

Whitley: Grand, looks like we’ll have to stop here. But first I’d like to see you practice what you’ve learned so let’s have a quick practice conversation before you go.

Penny: Okay.

Penny hesitates for a moment. There was so much she wanted to ask him that she didn’t know where to start. She wanted to ask if this was how he was taught or did change up the curriculum for her? Did he have other hobbies aside from reading? What was his favorite color? What kind of food does he like? How did he get along with the people in the manor? How was it like having two big sisters? Talking with him had been so much fun and she had learned some much Penny could just spend all day there, talking with him but this wasn’t the time nor place for her to being thinking like that. This was an etiquette lesson and her teacher was trying to assess what she had learned so she had to do this professionally. She should start with occupation but he was a big too young to work anywhere in Atlas so…

Penny: So, Whitley Schnee, how do you go about your academic studies? Do you go to a private or public school?

Whitley smirks, it’s a decent first attempt.

Whitley: Neither actually, I receive all my lessons here in the manor from the world’s best tutor on a variety of subjects.

Penny: So you’re home schooled, that’s very interesting. Since you don’t physically go to a school how do you interact with your peers?

Whitley: Outside of events I don’t. With my numerous studies and preparations for becoming the next head I don’t have time for such trivial things.

Penny: Oh…since you’re home so often you must spend a lot of time with your parents. Especially since you seem to be the only child still living with them.

Whitley: Excuse me?

Penny: You are the youngest of the three siblings, right? I’ve met both Winter and Weiss but since we don’t speak to each other very often I don’t know much about them aside from the fact that they’re huntresses and sisters. In fact I didn’t know that you were their brother until after the evening party. So I was wondering how-

Whitley: I think we’re out of time.

Penny: But you still haven’t-

Whitley stands up and walks to the door and opens it. He holds it open and gestures for her to leave.

Whitley: We’ll continue with this tomorrow for now please go.

His eyes were cold, his face unreadable as waits for her walk towards them. Eventually Penny gets up and walks herself and her belongings to the door, she tries to give back the notepad but he just looks at it then at her.

Whitley: I said you’ll need the notes, read over them tonight so you’re prepared for tomorrow’s lesson.

Penny holds the pad to her chest and exits the room with Alexander following behind her. Whitley closes the door behind them, places his hands on his face as he takes a few deep breaths.

Whitley: “ Didn’t know that you were their brother” Huh? At least they’re not spewing poison about me.

He’s leaning against the wall when his scroll deeps. It’s a message from one of the targets ,Octavia Foxglove, she responded to his earlier message and was showing interest in meeting his new “friend”. Along with that message she sent her contact information. Whitley immediately dials her personal number.

Whitley: Hello Octavia, how have you been? I just got your message and just wanted to tell you I’d be happy to introduce you to her whenever you’d like. Are you still hosting your monthly tea party?

[secretaryunpaid]

Fighting Temptations...

(TNA Fanfic)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: approx. 1535

Warnings/Triggers: Death, depression,

After the painful sight of Alina’s death, Sam went on a downward spiral. His actions from that point forward led to excessive alcohol abuse. He wasn't even aware of the amount that he would consume daily.

He had come to rely on his meetings with Dahlia more often than she’d expected. So much so, that he was beginning to suck her into his depression. She was losing sight of herself trying to help him escape this loop that he’d become enslaved in.

She never imagined that her revenge would push him to this level. She was so consumed with a hatred for him, that she didn’t even think of the collateral damage her actions would cause. Being in Sam’s presence was forcing her reality to take hold of her sanity.

She’d been the cause of this… and indirectly the cause of Alina’s death. She’d recently sent a picture to Alina. The sight had Alina questioning how well she even knew her husband. 

Sam had been so loving and, although Dalton Enterprises was monopolizing his life, he was always trying to be the man she’d fallen so deeply in love with.

But Alina was gone now, and after having been forced into rehab as her condition for taking him back, along with a serious commitment, he had to pull his life together. He wouldn’t lose her, too.

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

Sam hired Tyrese to perform “Sweet Lady”  for his proposal … Down on his own persuasive measures since she’d left when he was most vulnerable, he figured that added touch would give him time to work his courage up to take on her denial, should this strong minded woman actually allow his entertainment.

He knew that she’d mentioned loving Tyrese’s sensual voice… She’d at least focus on the words of his song… Knowing her wit, she’d pick up quite quickly on the words meaning on this night.

She’d warned Sam that if he wasn’t contacting her with a marriage proposal, she couldn’t entertain their former patterns. He’d driven her to lust and he knew it. But she’d been able to resist his charms in the end. Whiskey and bourbon were his “new orgy” as Dahlia had put it.

He’d express that underneath the pain, he’d actually fallen in love with her. Heartbroken at the words, knowing that she’d expected a totally different conversation to result from the photo she’d sent to Alina just before her demise. She becomes enraged and her persona immediately shifts to borderline girl interrupted behavior …

“You’re professing love for ME, Sam… While GRIEVING over your TRUE LOVE ??? DO YOU FUCKING EVEN HEAR YOUR WORDS RIGHT NOW ??”

Sam flinches back in absolute confusion… “You’re telling me that I CAN’T love you, too? After every time you came to my rescue … you were ALWAYS there, Lia!! How can you expect me not to grieve? But I have to move on, and I NEED YOU to do that, Lia!” But Dahlia isn’t prepared for this turn of events.

“Sam, I ..,” tears flowing heavily, “I can’t. There are things I have d- …” Sam interrupts here with a heated kiss that draws her from the ground resting only on her tiptoes … a kiss that draws every ounce of desire … that forces her to acknowledge … her love …

When he releases her, she whispers, “Love you, too…” Momentarily stunned, she allows him to kiss her more fervently, backing her against the wall … His hand groping her meaty core, his tongue racing against her neck, against her shoulder, until he swiftly drops to her center to kiss what has drawn him to her fully.

The inhale at his touch floods her with an adrenaline that she can’t resist. She wants him … She needs him … She craves him … “Yesss, Sam,” is the delicate whisper that escapes her lips as she bites down, letting the rush consume her…

“NO!”

She pushes Sam away, but he is not giving in… He holds her firmly, pulling her into his tongue thrusts … into his finger strokes … into his teething graze of her core … He growls his hunger loudly, letting her know he has seized his prey and won’t give without her trembling release …

His animalistic nature returns… his former self coming along with it … She has become his tether to reality… Her reluctance only fuels him more. 

He pulls her to the floor, laying his weight upon her as he grinds against her, “Tell me you DON’T want me Lia… TELL ME !!!,” he demands with firmness… “You CAN’T !!,” are the last words spoken as he tears away her clothing … tears away her control … devouring her moans with his aggressive kisses, sliding her thong to the side and thrusting his hardened length into her … loving her with a roughness as if punishing her for ever thinking of walking away from him …

Tonight, he will stake his claim on her heart … he will offer all of himself with each thrust, building into a powerful hammering that leaves them both convulsing with release …

As Sam lays atop her frame, she lays silently tears flowing uncontrollably … How can she love this man … after the things he’d caused her to endure … the personality changes, the … the … all thoughts end as he lifts to kiss her again … Oh damn, I can’t resist … round two is always better than the first … and with that, she is sucked in again … this time, she gives her all … because this time … this time has to be her last … but how?

“Dammit, Sam…,” is the last of her thoughts as his sex takes hold of her soul.

 After he had fully put his mark of ownership on Dahlia’s body, after she’d clawed her last orgasm on his back … he lifted her like a weightless doll, and carried her to the bed, so spoon the night away with her in his loving hold… 

Morning comes, and Sam kisses her, “Good morning, Lia. Do you forgive me for last night??” She stares into his eyes, the biggest smile of pleasure shown on her face, “Mmmhmm, forgiven.”

“Good, cause you know I never miss breakfast.”

“But, I’m sore, Sam …”

He places a finger over her lips … “I’ve got you, Lia.”

And with that, she convinces herself that this will be the final time…

“Damn, girl … I love you! You’re so damned sexy,” he growls, before giving her the most sensual and gentle love making she’s ever experienced … She now knew that he’d truly committed himself to her.

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

Freddy Jackson’s “Tasty Love” is the song he belts from the shower … Dahlia can’t help but smile … “Damn, I LOVE HIM…” But the smile quickly fades as she sees the notification on Sam’s phone over on the nightstand.

“Sam, we need to talk, NOW !!!” {sender T.B.O.P .eggplant kitty emojis…}

She gets a clench in her chest … TBOP, TBOP … until she understands the acronym to be The Boys of Princeton… And just like that, her horrors flood back to mind, reaching an anxiety level beyond control. She can’t keep hold of her sanity … 

She looks towards the direction of the shower, but Sam is still in his feelings, now belting lyrics to “Just a Touch Away” by Freddie Jackson. Water drops in heavy sounds, signifying that he is still mid cleanse … “LOVE IS JUST, JUST A SIMPLE TOUCH …,” are the words he’s crooning out.

She darts for her outer clothing strewn near the door … not taking the time to fully dress … noting that Sam had literally torn her clothes off of her, she looks around frantically … As she spots his suit shirt, she hurriedly takes, grabbing her clutch and shoes…

Rushing as fast as she can, buttoning the last button, she reaches for the door handle … “I owe him a goodbye at least …” 

Knowing that she can’t leave if he is face to face, she scribbles a quick note …  “I love you, but I can’t do this Sam.” Sealed with a lip imprint, a final kiss of crimson, she drops the note near his phone, and slips out of his life …  Her plan… never look back …

Sam emerges into the bedroom, backside winding in a nasty grind … his playful side of love … only to spin around to an empty room… “Lia?”

“Hmm, morning game play, huh? Okay, okay… Let me just check the time, see if I can make this happen for her…,” his happy thoughts searching for today’s game … until he reaches for his phone, hearing the notification … “What’s this, she’s such a tease … OH !?!”

Disappointment immediately settles in, but the notification comes again … 

“Dalton, we need to get together … You owe us still,” is the last of the messages received. Scrolling further, he then reads the messages all of the way through angrily … His eyes flitting between his phone and Lia’s note …

[am-imagines]

Legendary 4.5 Morgan!Reader.

Being up at night is kinda your thing. It was like that even before everything.

Still, things became worse after the accident. Sometimes you lay awake in bed, feeling lost and unable to breathe. You don’t really cry, but the pain consumes you like a fire until your lungs burn. It’s then you wish with everything you are to wake up, to be in a world where she’s still there. It hasn’t happened yet.

Sometimes you wake up gasping, the remnants of a nightmare mixing with the real world in a blurry mess. The pain turns into rage, endless anger against the world. Those nights you need to walk or work out  in order to avoid the downward spiral. Many times you’ve stared into the abyss, fully conscious that a bad decision can take away whatever is left from you.

Finally, there are nights like tonight. You wake up and the world is too quiet while your mind is too loud. Your phone says it’s barely past two am. You only managed a couple hours of sleep and exhaustion is still very much present. Nor a surprise really, but you won’t be able to sleep again. There’s practice in the morning so unless you find a way to rest, things don’t look particularly exciting.

“Scoot over.”

“What?”

Your head snaps up towards the voice of your best friend. You can only see her silhouette in the darkness of the room. There’s no need to see her face to know she’s rolling her eyes at you with your lack of understanding.

“Move, Morgan. I’m not gonna stand here all night.”

Apparently, your body complies before your mind can process exactly what Janice wants. You move and she slips under the covers, pulling you close to her before you can try to complain. This is something you haven’t done in a long time; a hand on your waist is enough for your shoulders to relax a bit and you sigh in contentment.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper after a second, “didn’t mean to wake you up.”

A scoff is the thing you get as an answer. Janice knows you don’t do it to bother her. There are some things you can’t control, and she has always been there to make it better one way or another. Her slight annoyance is at your need to apologize, to take the blame for things you can’t be blamed for.

Still, she holds you tighter.

Your bad sleeping habits aren’t something new, but they haven’t been this bad in a long time. So, she worries. She does so because Janice is your best friend; you’ve been attached by the hip since you were born and it’s no wonder she knows you better than anyone else.

“What’s going on, Y/n?” She asks quietly.

Right then and there it’s the two of you with no one else to judge you. You’re safe and comfortable enough to open up to her, to share what’s in your mind and the things that make your heart heavy.

“I’m trying to let go.”

At some point everything you’ve been bottling up was bound to come crashing down on you. Crying on Sonnett’s shoulder can’t fix everything, you’re aware of that. But it’s a breaking point, the realization that you can’t keep going as you were without it taking a toll on you.

You built walls to protect yourself, to not feel the pain even when you were choking on it. And instead of keeping the sorrow out, you were drowning on it.

Your team came knocking on the door then. They threw you a lifesaver and opened a window to let all of that pour out. Taking care of the aftermath is on you, to put the broken things back in place and get rid of those that simply can’t be fixed.

It’s not easy, but it’s necessary.

Trying to process your emotions during the World Cup is perhaps the worst timing. It messes up your already screwed sleeping schedule, but well, it’s not always too bad. You’re learning things about yourself you didn’t know before, and rediscover those you forgot.

You’re becoming a better you instead of the shell you were so adamant on being.

You weren’t alone after Alex died, but the place you had considered your home was nothing more than a house. Suddenly, soccer was the sport Alex loved and little more. Sure, it was an escape, but also a prison; leaving you stuck between a rock and a hard place.

You want the world to see you as more than just her daughter. At the same time, you don’t want them to forget her. Not when she did so much to inspire a revolution for equal pay, respect and overall appreciation for the sport. Not when her name is associated with the highest honors; world cups and Olympic medals, golden balls and boots and MVP’s.

Not when she means everything to you.

“You don’t have to let it all go.”

Some things might not be perfect now or ever, but they’re still worth holding onto.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“I know it’ll take some time still, but...you’re alright, Y/n. I promise.”

You mean to keep the conversation going, instead you yawn and rest your head on Janice’s shoulder. If her arm gets numb, she’s gonna have to shut it, or unceremoniously shove you off at seven am as you realize when you wake up abruptly.

You only open your eyes long enough to glare at her.

“Jerk,” you mutter lovingly.

“Go back to sleep, Morgan,” she retorts with a good natured laugh.

It’s a very, very, tempting offer, but you fight it off for another second.

“Thank you.”

Your words are almost silent, but you know she heard you when she pats your head. You’re already half asleep when you hear her answer.

“Got you.”

*****

“Oh my God! Is this how a fully rested Y/n is like?” Janice pants while trying to keep up.

“Yup.”

After practice ended, you stayed behind with one of the coaches for some extra work. Then Janice decided to join along with Press, Long and Krash. Before you knew it, the whole team had additional training. However, all but Janice yielded at the forty-five minute mark; too tired to keep going.

“I’m so not sleeping with you again then.”

“You could’ve left with the others,” you taunt.

“As if. Someone has to keep you in check here. Otherwise you’ll work out till tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

You doubt anyone can last that long, but you’re one of those that would probably try. It’s not the hill you wanna die on so you smile sheepishly at Janice when she makes another remark.

“Last five minutes?” You ask.

“Yes! Thank God!”

You can’t help but laugh at Janice’s antics. She’s still her usual self, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You slow down in those last minutes, to get your breathing and heartbeat slowed down gradually before stopping.

“We should visit the zoo.”

“Pretty sure I’ll only be visiting my bed after this.”

“Not today, you moron.” You say rolling your eyes. “But you know, next day off?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Finally getting off the stationary bike, you stretch before downing the rest of your water battle.

“Come on. It’s time for the ice bath.”

“Hasn’t this been torture enough?” Janice asks dramatically.

“Hurry up, O’Hara. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“If I don’t kill you first.”

“Oh, shut up. You love me.”

“Sadly.”

*****

“This is the most challenging match this team will face in the group stage. Germany was a tough challenge, but going against the host of this World Cup will tell us the chances to advance through the next round. Australia has grown while the USA went to less, and they’re the contenders for the title. If the USWNT wants to win it all, they have to go through this team first.”

“We must also consider the player rotation the USWNT will have on this game. That will certainly add to an already complicated game.”

Your heart beats along with the music in your earphones. It’s a way to keep your nerves at bay before you can finally make it out of the locker room. You’re on the bench for the day, but that doesn’t dwell your excitement of the game.

“Listen, guys!” Sonnet calls as you group around her and Pinoe. “We know the Aussies are good but so was Germany. So was Brazil, but we got the results we wanted. This won’t be different. We’re part of the group of death, and we’re conquering.”

All of you nod and cheer in agreement while Pinoe takes the lead.

It’s wild to say but you’re the underdog of this competition. However, this position allows you to be the dark horse.

No one expected you to win the first two games.

No one expects you to win against Australia.

No one really believes that you can win the World Cup. Not yet.

But you’re here, ready to fight to the last minute and the last breath.

“You already know what you gotta do on the field, now it’s time to do it.”

Five minutes later the team has elected Krash as the captain once again. With one last cheer, the starting lineup make their way to the tunnel while the rest of you head to the bench.

   “The final fixture of the group phase is here! And what a match it is. I think we can all agree that not having Morgan in the line-up is a surprise. Even with the much needed rotation on a tournament this important, you’d expect to see their best scorer on the field.”

“If there’s nothing stopping Y/n from playing, she should be in the game. Australia is far from an easy match, and maybe this is a sign of overconfidence from the USWNT. Their group is the group of death and even when they’re practically through with a tie here, they can’t get complacent now.”

“There’s only one way to find out. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for some soccer!”

The pace of the game is fast, so fast that some players can barely keep up.

Australia is the home team, they have all the advantages here, but even when they press high and seem to have the USWNT team cornered, they can’t get anything past Harris.

The goalie proves time and time again why she’s the captain. She brings security to the back of the field, and it’s there where everything begins. The defense get their heads on the game, stand tall to every onslaught and soon enough just a few balls make it through; none of them dangerous.

Then, the midfield does the same, pressing and recovering before launching forward. The game generation starts in a moment’s notice, guided by Sonnett giving instructions from the sideline. Everyone follows the plan, and soon enough they’re playing at top level.

Australia can’t get close enough, but neither can the USA.

At some point, Megan calls you to sit next to her. You do so without a word and for a long moment neither of you say anything. You watch the game in content silence.

“You remind me a lot of her,” she suddenly says.

The unexpectedness of her words forms a knot on your throat and you have to swallow harshly. Pinoe pretends not to notice, giving you a moment to compose yourself. She rarely talks about Alex; this is hard on her too. You can see it in the way her jaw clenches.

“It’s not just how you look or how you play. I know Harris is the captain, but you’re the heart. You help your team when they need it most, and they listen to you. More than that, they believe what you say.”

You listen silently, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, but it’s the good kind of emotion.

“Alex had this fierceness in her, not a bad bitch like Kelley,” she adds, making you chuckle. “But she had a fire about her. Sure, we all wanted to win every game. But not like her. I was there in her first World Cup and I knew, I just knew, she would be something special. And I’m sure she would have been so, so proud of you. You have that same fire, Y/n. And just like I was in her first, I am in yours. You’re also meant to do great things, something special.”

“Coach, I...”

But you have no words. You struggle not to break down in the middle of the match, but you manage. Barely.

“Don’t care about what the fucking world tells you, kid. You are every bit her daughter. But you’re also every bit yourself.”

Those two concepts are not exclusive, you can be both. You are her legacy, but that doesn’t stop you from creating your own. It starts here, with this World Cup. You have to prove, not to others, but yourself, that this is where you want to be.

No, this is where you belong.

“Whatever happens, you’ll enter at the sixtieth. After half time, you’re up to warm up right away, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, let’s keep pushing.”

*****

“That’s the end of the first half! It’s been a rocky game so far. Australia is a very competitive team. They have speed, agility, and a lot of talent on their ranks. But I think we’re seeing a USWNT that knows how to play each match. Even without Y/n on the field, they were able to keep the game even.  I see potential on this team, but will it be enough to win it all?”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. They’re not losing, but they’re not winning either. There’s still forty-five minutes to go, and several matches on this World Cup if they want to do something really meaningful. There’s a long road ahead if they wanna be anything like the Golden Team.”

You take a deep breath once it’s your time to warm up.

The rest of the world fades away as you crack your neck and Janice soon joins you to start. You’ll be the first two substitutions. You wanna strengthen the midfield and push forward with absolutely everything you have.

Maybe Alex isn’t physically there, but she’s in everything that ultimately makes you, you.

You warm up and remember when you joined your first little league team, with Alex holding your hand as you jumped around in excitement. You remember your first cleats with the same colors you wear now; a Christmas gift that made your eyes shine with awe.

You remember training with her when you had an important match in highschool and going out for dinner no matter the result.

Alex always had your back and now it’s not different; her number is now yours. As yours is the responsibility to continue what she started more than two decades ago.

She gives you strength and when you finally wait by the sideline to enter the game, you let go of the fear. You let go of the anger and even most of the pain.

It becomes a dull ache that you doubt will ever go away completely. But it’s better than the overwhelming grief you’ve carried on your shoulders all this time. You let go of the doubts and accept that they’re looking at you hoping to see a bit of the magic she had.

You’re not completely sure if it’s the same even after Rapinoe words. But you have magic, not just as individual players but as a team, and you’re here to prove it.

You look at Australia and don’t see them as the host anymore.

This is the World Cup. This turf is your home. You came here to stay until the end. And it wouldn’t matter if the World Cup was in Russia, South Africa, Japan or Argentina. The World Cup is your place. Soccer is your language, and lucky for you, is universal.

“Morgan has entered the game. What can she do with limited time?”

Australia’s defense is solid like a wall.

You…you are a wrecking ball.

A fistbump is exchanged with Janice and you take your place waiting for action to resume with a corner kick in their favor.

The whistle blows and the ball soars straight into Krash hands. You exchange a look and a nod with her before rushing up.

You enjoy the rush of adrenaline, pat one of your teammate’s shoulders on your way to the midfield and they understand to follow as you run past them. It’s something simple, quick and effective that draws the entire team into action.

The best way to wreck their defense is to use their offense against them. A high speed counter attack and they have no time to react. You see Long with the ball on the far right, she sees you on the left and you know exactly what’s going to happen.

Her pass is flawless as you enter the box from the left into your mother’s favorite definition zone. You see the last defender get lost in the play while the goalkeeper tries to close the angle. And she closes it, if you were to shoot with the right foot.

However, your mother had a saying.

Practice the left.

The goalkeeper has zero chance to stop the ball as it finds its way into the net.

  “That’s a goal! And what a goal it was. A magnificent shot from Morgan that could simply not be stopped.”

“She had created the space, and she didn’t waste it. It was a fantastic play from end to end that gave Australia no time to react. And I think we all saw a goal in true Morgan fashion with the first ball Y/n touches after being subbed in. With only fifteen minutes to play, I feel that this team is close to being group leaders.”

“What will this mean for them?”

“In the big picture? Little. But it’s a better chance facing the next round. They have some big names, and they got some big results. However, for a team with so much story as the USWNT, nothing but the title of Champions can be considered a Victory.”

“Do you think they have what it’s needed?”

“...Maybe.”

The team is all around you in a matter of seconds and you jump into Harry’s arms. Her assist was just sublime and you wouldn’t have had a chance otherwise. So you hug her tightly while everyone else cheers.

It’s just one goal, but in a game that has been so close and with little opportunities, it can very much mean securing the last three points.

But you keep pushing. You keep trying. There’s no way you’ll leave victory to chance when you’re close enough to grab it with both hands.

In the end, one goal is enough. The game ends and you get the win to go into the next round as group leaders. More than that, you feel like titans in a world of heroes. You’re ready for the glory, and there’s absolutely nothing and no one that can get in your way.

[queenpersephonesgarden]

together through the dark (dawn is still a long way off)

Dream SMP, Rated G, 3.4k, chapter 1 of ??

Summary: Fundy's family is messed up and painfully complicated as it is, with betrayal and heartbreak and death separating them on too many sides of too many wars to count. He should be grateful the attempt to revive his father failed, that Wilbur isn't here to make things worse.

But he isn't. And that pitiful heart might just be their undoing.

Or: Phil tried and failed twice to bring Wilbur back himself. Fundy succeeded without even wanting to try.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Accidental Resurrection, therapy arc let's go, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, it's gonna take a bit for Phil and Tommy to get involved in this ngl, if the CCs ever have a problem with this let me know and it'll be gone, bro do you ever start writing a fic only for canon to start stealing your ideas, Canon-typical swearing, Brief description of injury, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit are Not Biological Siblings, but that doesn't mean Found Family doesn't exist, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF)

Can be read on AO3 (link will be in the notes)

The moon and the first of the stars had begun to peek over the horizon by the time they’d finally admitted defeat.

The mismatched crowd that had gathered for the spectacle of an attempted resurrection had begun the long trek down the Prime Path back to the Greater SMP, chatter finally respectfully subdued where before it had been badly contained manic chaos throughout the entire afternoon. Everyone seemed to have noticed the somber mood that had engulfed Philza, and had reined themselves in appropriately.

Fundy had lagged further and further behind, jittery with some unexplainable emotion.

It had failed.

The resurrection had been a waste of time all along, so-

He should be happy, right?

He was. He was glad Wilbur wasn’t coming back. He was glad to be spared from his father’s tumultuous presence for another day.

Hell, he was relieved.

… right?

But – But walking back, watching Ghostbur smile and murmur something comforting to the silly little sheep trailing beside him, seeing Philza’s melancholic smile, feeling the weight of Tommy’s pointed silence – it’s all suffocating.

If he follows for one more step, he’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret.

No one notices when he stops tagging along – which is just typical, a nasty little part of his brain thinks – no one at all.

No one except for Eret, who darts a glance over their shoulder and almost doubles back, expression plainly worried.

Fundy quickly shook his head and shrugged, reluctant to disrupt the dejected parade and draw attention to himself.

Eret, Prime bless them, seems to understand without a word. They smile, nod, and carry on after the others.

Their door will be open later for him, he knew. If he came back soon enough, he’d even have someone available to rant to if need be.

Just the knowledge of that is a huge relief to Fundy. Eret always seems to get him when he’s in these moods, and even when they don’t, they’re always at least willing to listen.

Which is more than could be said for the rest of Fundy’s family.

And that wonderful thought is an excellent segue way into an immediate downward spiral. Fundy shakes himself hard to rid himself of the impulse to follow that down the rabbit hole. He predictably fails miserably.

Focus, dammit.

Except what else is there to focus on? The botched attempt to bring his crazy dad back to life?

Oh, hey, that’s not good for his mental health either. Great.

Fundy spins right around and starts stomping back up the Path without a single care how immature it might seem or who might see it, headed straight back where they’d come from.

He walks steadily across the glass carefully immortalizing the greatest disaster that had befallen the SMP so far, making sure not to look down for longer than a few seconds. He makes it back to the bizarre little revival shrine in record time without a host of noisy spectators slowing him down, just in time to avoid the slight drizzle the cloudy sky had been threatening the entire latter half of the afternoon.

He steps very carefully onto the blue and yellow brickwork, eyes trailing over the uncomfortably familiar little offerings placed all over like the world’s worst interior design project, before he reaches the middle and has to bite down hard on his cheek to prevent the litany of swear words wanting to escape his mouth.

Philza hung the sword on the wall, before he left.

Just- just put it up there, like it’s no big deal, like it’s a fucking prop, like it isn’t the sword he used to stab his son, Fundy’s father.

Nope. Nope, nope, Fundy isn’t okay with this.

He grabs the handle and pulls it down, and that’s as far as his planning goes. He’s left standing there like a fool holding his father’s murder weapon, heavily debating the pros and cons of either putting it down on the floor so it at least doesn’t look like a reward, or giving up entirely on composure and screaming and throwing it down into the ugly scar in the earth outside. Let it rot in the bedrock with the rest of his father’s legacy where Fundy will never have to look at it again.

But before he can decide which is the option less likely to leave him crying his eyes out to Eret later tonight, a gentle voice echoes behind him. “What are you doing, Fundy?”

Fundy straightens involuntarily upon recognizing that voice, and turns automatically. “Wil- er, Ghostbur?” He almost moves to hide the hideous thing behind his back, but Ghostbur is already floating there staring and that really would be the end of his dignity, so he just lets it hang awkwardly from one hand. “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”

Never mind the tiny stupid feeling in his chest, fluttering in excitement at being noticed.

Ghostbur hummed curiously, carefully shaking water droplets from the rain off of his steaming hands. “Hmm? Oh, no. I mean, I noticed you were gone and all, but I didn’t know you’d be here. I just came back myself, that’s all.”

Hope squashed. Fundy nodded with a hum of his own, face carefully neutral.

“So what are you doing?” Ghostbur repeated, and suddenly having an audience just makes Fundy feel very, very stupid.

His ears flattened against his skull as he stuttered a reply, “W-well, you know, I just thought, well I mean it seemed, it was just, I. Uh.”

Ghostbur tilted his head innocently. Fundy wanted to sink into the bricks under his feet.

Fundy holds out his free hand and gestured emphatically. “What are you doing here?”

Master of changing the subject, he is.

Luckily, with Ghostbur, it doesn’t really matter how dumb the change of subject is, he just rolls right along with it. “Oh, well, Phil and Tommy both went back through the Nether Portal to head home, so I didn’t really know who to follow. They were both a bit sad, so I gave them some blue, but Phil still looked upset so I- I thought maybe I’d come back here one more time, just to see if I could remember anything else that might help.”

Fundy didn’t even bother trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice when he snorted. “Well, that was a nice thought, but I doubt any memories you have of this room could make Phil less upset.”

Ghostbur smiled emptily, pulling a bit of blue out of one pocket to cup in both hands, and immediately Fundy feels awful. Being sassy to Ghostbur never feels satisfying or rebellious, just cruel.

Grimacing, Fundy glared down at his own bit of blue, too large and shaped like the world’s ugliest sword, tamping down on equally ugly feelings in his chest. “But you can do whatever you want, I won’t stop you. I’m just, glad you’re not planning to go through with an unannounced midnight resurrection to surprise us all in the morning with, or something.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Fundy blinked and looked back up. “Huh?”

Ghostbur shrugged and smiled nervously. “Oh, you know. Things change, given time. Places, people… decisions… you know? People change their minds all the time! Especially when it’s a really important or dangerous decision! And it usually works out just fine!”

It took a second for his meaning to get through. When it finally did, Fundy suddenly felt rather cold

“So, wait. You’re saying you… don’t want to be revived anymore?”

Ghostbur worried his tiny bit of blue between his fingers, shoulders slowly inching up towards his ears. “N- well- I don’t- I don’t think so? No, I don’t think so, Fundy. I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Really?

“Why would you need to be sorry?” Fundy asked, voice a bit too loud even in his own ears.

Ghostbur grew even more tense, his hands kneading the blue even faster as he ducked his head. “I just- well, I know Phil was disappointed, even when he didn’t say anything. He gets this look on his face when he- Anyway, Tommy was, was saying some things about Wilbur, and- that place I fell into was just awf- And, and I just- I just thought that-”

The ghost’s stammering became more and more incomprehensible, slowly fading out in that way it usually did when Ghostbur was starting to forget something.

Watching his expression become quietly distressed was painful in more ways than one, so Fundy cut him off. “It’s okay Ghostbur, you don’t gotta explain yourself if it hurts.”

If anything, his attempt at consolation only made Ghostbur more upset, dammit. “But that’s just it, Fundy! If, if it hurts for me, it must hurt so much more for everyone else!” He cradled his head in his hands like it hurt.

“Everyone was so excited today, everyone was working together, even after you and Phil had that falling out-”

Fundy flinched. He wouldn’t exactly describe being banished at sword point from Philza’s Arctic base without even a chance to try and explain himself as a simple ‘falling out’-

“-you still both came and no one was arguing and, and Eret was going to apologize and finally talk things over with Wilbur, and it was perfect but-”

Ghostbur’s face was wretched as his hands dropped, the picture of abject misery. “But it didn’t work, and that place was so empty, and I- I just don’t think I can do it, Fundy. I don’t want to go back there. I’m so so sorry.”

Fundy swallowed hard.

“That’s fine, Ghostbur,” and fuck, why was his throat so tight, why were his eyes stinging, “Nobody’s gonna force you if you don’t want to.”

The little ghost looks so pathetically grateful in that moment that Fundy has to turn away, has to look anywhere else lest something mortifying comes out of his mouth.

But his brain is a dirty traitor, so his eyes land back on the shitty sword, and all he can do is try to process.

Should he be angry to hear that?

Should he be relieved to hear that?

Fundy isn’t sure. He never really knows how he should feel, when Ghostbur is around.

On one hand, that’s his father, and a good day with his father back when he was alive was a day where talking to him – or arguing with him, more often than not – didn’t make Fundy angry enough that he couldn’t think straight for an hour.

On the other hand, Ghostbur can’t remember many of those days, good or bad. From what he’s said in the past, his memories of Fundy are all the scattered bright spots of their lives together; the day Fundy was born, the day they chose his name, their days in L’Manburg, little snippets here and there of jokes and teasing that had still been lighthearted, before a war and a presidency and a betrayal made all of their casual jabs carry jagged edges they hadn’t before.

Ghostbur is kind, and cheerful, and always wonderfully, terribly happy whenever Fundy is around to visit and talk to. A stark contrast to Fundy’s memories of the last few months of his father’s life, where the man was sullen, snappish, giddy and half-crazed one moment, menacingly calm and collected the next.

It’s an incredibly disquieting thing to think about, so Fundy doesn’t very often. Now, of course, he can’t help it; standing here, in this macabre, borderline cartoonish little shrine filled with all of the things that slowly drove the man into the grave, it’s impossible not to think of all the things that make the ghost of him so much better. And so much worse.

Because Ghostbur isn’t his father, and that is equally both a blessing and a curse.

Every conversation he has with Ghostbur just leaves Fundy feeling frustrated and a bit guilty, the two emotions spinning a waltz right in the middle of his guts until they’re twisted into knots.

Ghostbur’s entire existence is frustrating, but even in Fundy’s worst moods, he’s never wished ill on him.

In the end, all of these feelings of betrayal and heartbreak and anger are all Fundy’s alone to remember.

And that’s totally fine.

Yep.

Ghostbur was never actually involved with any of Fundy’s worst memories, so it wasn’t his job to try and fix anything between them.

It’s just on Fundy to deal with it.

And he can definitely do that.

Definitely.

Just, maybe some other time or somewhere else, far away from the stone that had once been stained with his father’s blood, with his literal murder weapon not in his hands.

Staring down at it right now is not doing Fundy’s emotional state any favors, thanks.

He breathes out unsteadily, holding the damn thing out horizontally with both hands, rather tempted to do- something unpleasant to it.

“Fundy?” Ghostbur asks from too close and very far away, voice echoing with confusion and worry. “Are you okay?”

But Fundy isn’t really listening.

He doesn’t want to accuse Ghostbur of anything when he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. Arguing with Phil accomplishes diddly-fucking-squat.

But maybe-

He’s not really sure what he intends to do in the moment his grip tightens – the loud, stupid traitor part of his brain that always insists he yells louder during an argument to get his point across (as if anyone would actually listen) is clamoring for him to snap it over his knee like a twig, never mind how impossible that is with literal diamond – but it doesn’t really matter.

He is abruptly reminded why it is a rather bad idea to grab a sword by the blade end without reinforced gloves.

“Ah! Hell!”

Fundy curses vehemently under his breath, relaxing his grip quickly before he can do something even more stupid.

And then-

“Oh.”

He says it so softly.

Not scared, or sad, or panicked.

Ghostbur approaches and sees blood welling in between Fundy’s fingers, and he blinks like he just took a wrong step in a dark tunnel, and finally realized which way home was.

Blood drips down Fundy’s fingers and on to the sword, carving a path down where his father was run through, and drip-drops onto the ground still stained blue with evidence of a failed resurrection.

“Oh,” Ghostbur repeats quietly, and blinks out of existence.

“Wha-?!” Fundy jolts in surprise, which, ow, fuck, nearly slices his damn fingers off. He flings his empty hand further away from the diamond blade’s razor edge-

-just in time for Ghostbur to flicker back into view.

“Jesus Chr- dude! Hasn’t Tommy ever told you not to go invisible without warning like that?!” Fundy has to remind himself not to yell, because the ghost of his father he might be, he doesn’t actually want to start a fight right now.

Ghostbur doesn’t start stammering apologies immediately, doesn’t rush forward with a little bit of blue bandage to help Fundy feel better, doesn’t mumble in worry about forgetting something again because someone got hurt.

Maybe any of those should have been the first clue.

But Fundy doesn’t notice those clues right away, grimacing down at his bloody hand and looking for somewhere to put the damn sword that isn’t on the rack like some terrible trophy or on top of a stack of dynamite (why would they choose dynamite of all things to symbolize his father his traitor brain demands, why did Philza allow that, he should know better than anyone that guitars and books and warm sweaters would have done the trick of luring Wilbur in, that they had always made dad happiest back when he was younger and happier and not clawing at the walls of a tunnel and threatening to blow up the home he’d founded and built for himself and his friends and Fundy-).

“What?”

Fundy half spins, still looking for a suitable place to put the stupid fucking sword, looks up-

- sees a tall silhouette and his vision blurs for just a second; he blinks hard, shakes his head-

- does a double-take and freezes.

At the first glance, he was exactly the same as he was before; bright yellow sweater stained blue in a gruesome approximation of the fatal wound that took his last life over plain black pants, hair hidden by a beanie older than Fundy has even been alive, pale like snow with circles dark enough to be bruises underneath his eyes.

He was the same as he always is, except not anymore, because Fundy can actually see him. And he’s standing.

Not see through him. Not at a dull, washed out copy of the man that made a rather poor show of raising him. Not floating just slightly above the ground like he should be.

That’s not Ghostbur at all.

Fundy sees Wilbur, eyes wide and face entirely slack with shock, with skin flushed just slightly with color rather than lifelessly white.

He’s standing right there where Ghostbur used to be, not transparent, not desaturated,  not- not dead.

Is he dead? He should be. Why is he not-?

For one silent moment the world stands frozen on the edge of a knife, the two locked in a disbelieving staring contest.

Fundy blinks first. The man that should be a ghost is still not see-through, and full of more color than he should be.

The world has utterly ceased to make any sense.

Fundy’s fingers went numb.

Metal clanged unnoticed as that awful, ugly sword bounced off a brewing stand and hit the ground, splashing unremarkably into a puddle of mud.

Dead silence is left in its wake, broken only by the patter of rain that is suddenly so very far away.

Wilbur swayed a little on his feet. His face slowly contorted, warping Ghostbur’s final expression of gentle surprise into quiet, pained horror. His hands rose to press shaking fingers against his middle, where the appalling reminder of his violent end had always freely dribbled blue down his front like paint.

Fundy gaped back in response, ears ringing, heart pounding too fast and painful in his ribs, black spots eating at the corners of his vision- what is- why-

A slow, startled inhale became a choked, ragged gasp.

The specter that might have been a man stumbled.

Hurt and betrayal, anger and hatred; it all tumbled right out of Fundy’s spinning head.

One unsteady step forward-

- Wilbur’s knees buckled-

-and Fundy ran.

-.-.-

Miles and miles away in a place too dark too small too quiet, the walls glittered sickly in the light of magma sluggishly dripping over the only exit; a sticky, uncomfortable heat flooded the room only to be sucked away by the volcanic glass encasing it.

The room was utterly barren except for two things; a chest, and the resident seated upon it.

A lone young man sat hunched forward in the not-light of the lava-reflecting obsidian and stared blankly at the dark, dark walls around him.

Too still.

Too stiff.

Too quiet, quiet, quiet for far, far too long; all day, every day, ever since his favorite visitor had escaped and he’d been left all alone with nothing to play with again.

If someone were to look in at him, they might not even think he was breathing. Perhaps they would question, then, what the point was of such an elaborate cell for nothing more than a corpse.

But then-

-cold diamond slice through skin, warm blood drip-drip down, death become life again-

a movement, finally.

The young man’s blond head jerked upright, like a shock, like it was the first time in a long time that he had blinked awake.

His hungry green gaze swept his cell and fixed on the death trap that should have been a door, beyond even that, past weeping obsidian walls and wide empty fields, past the broad stretch of a long, long road to a country now lay in ruin, to a room of broken walls painted with the hope and suffering of the fathers and sons of one particular family.

For the first time in weeks, the young man’s eyes came to life with something beyond sheer boredom.

For the first time in an age, the god hidden under his skin did the same.

Dream and the shadow that shared his name stared wordlessly at the strange family reunion for one long heartbeat, then two.

Neither blinked.

They just tilted their head, curiosity personified; the closest either would come to admitting some semblance of surprise.

“Huh.”

[armysantiny]

Beautiful - CJH

A/N: This is for the anon who requested the fic. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling down and I hope this chapter is what you wanted! I don’t have much experience writing about body dysmorphia, so I apologise if I didn’t get it across properly

Tags: tw!dysmorphia,tw!depression, fluff, angst (the beginning only tbf), gender neutral!reader, cuddles, affirmation, helping you pick an outfit, reassurance, 

---

Some days you just hated how your body looked. Today, was one of those days. Walking to your wardrobe in your towel after taking a shower, you had tried your hardest to avoid the floor length mirror you had bought after you wanted to start learning how to deal with your dysmorphia. You wanted to get better. You really did. But it was hard, and bad days were unavoidable. Glancing at how the towel wrapped around you, your hand went from holding the towel in place to clutching at different parts of your body. You looked at yourself, gaze drifting up your figure until you met your own dissatisfied stare.

Gross. Ugly. Disgusting. Your mind wasn’t being any kinder to you at all; the onslaught of negative self-talk seemed unwilling to stop any time soon, you quickly found yourself fighting back the streams of tears that ran down your face. Frantically wiping away at your tears, you ended up bringing yourself to your knees, succumbing to your train of thought, engulfing yourself in your towel. Anything to not see the way you looked in the mirror. Just...anything.

It was anyone’s guess as to how long you had locked yourself inside your room when Jongho returned home that weekend afternoon. Hanging his jacket on the dining room chair, he called your name a few times, checking in the rooms of the house. That was until he reached your shared room. Trying to turn the handle, he furrowed his brows when he realised that you must have locked yourself inside again.

“Baby, can you open the door please? I’m home now.” His voice was laced with concern, and it had brought you back to reality and out of your downward spiral of thoughts. Turning to face the locked door, you called out, not wanting your boyfriend to see you the way you were. What if he no longer wanted to be with someone who looked like you..? Was he embarrassed to be seen in public with you?

“Jongho please...I don’t want you to see me like this, I look ugly...” There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make you see yourself the way he did. You were his angel, his soulmate and he loved you so much, it was indescribable. You were his world.

“Darling, I promise you, you don’t look horrible,” thinking for a moment, he came up with an idea he was unsure would work, but it was worth a try, “if I close my eyes when you open the door, would that be okay?”  He didn’t get an answer for a while, your mind still thinking the idea over. You didn’t want to shut your boyfriend out, but you were still fighting a battle in your head with your own subconscious.

“O - Okay you, you can do that,” getting up slowly, you made your way over to the door, “I’m going to open the door...promise me you’ll keep them closed?”

“I promise.”

As you opened the door, Jongho closed his eyes, hands in front of his eyes as well. Moving back so he could walk in, you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped you. His little waddles to the bed, and the way he pat the space beside him warmed your heart. He was so cute. Sitting beside him, Jongho took your hand in his and - with his eyes still closed - placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Even with my eyes closed, I can already tell you look stunning babe.” Your face flushed a soft pink and you rubbed the back of your neck with your free hand. Wait - it had just occurred to you that you were still only in your towel.

“I, I should probably get some clothes on, I’m still in my towel...but I just don’t feel like getting dressed. Nothing suits me,”

“Darling, everything you wear looks good on you. Want me to help you pick some clothes out?” His smile was angelic and the way his eyes creased was endearing. You couldn’t say no to that smile. Taking a deep breath, you told him you were okay with him opening his eyes. He did  need to see what he was doing, and you were feeling somewhat okay with him seeing you now. His eyes fluttered open and, if it was possible, his grin grew even wider. Jongho was probably more excited than you were. With a pleasant giggle, he pulled you towards your wardrobe. Today, would be a soft day.

Already searching through your extensive and aesthetic collection of slightly-oversized jumpers and hoodies (which he loved seeing you in, mind. You always looked so comfortable. His little snuggle bug), he picked out a few, holding them over his arm. Picking the light orange hoodie, you put it on after getting your underwear on. Now you were mostly covered, the towel was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Loose trousers or jeans babe?” Jongho asked, taking your hand to look through your drawers with him. Jeans were nice, but it didn’t feel like the right time. Maybe when this feeling passed, you’d consider wearing a pair.

“Loose trousers?” It was never a bad day to wear loose trousers. They had a tendency to swish around your ankles and you would joke that you were royalty; the trousers made of the utmost expensive fabric. And to your boyfriend, you were more than royalty; you were ethereal. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that you were his partner. Getting out a pair of white trousers, he handed them over and you put them on. Gosh, you looked so hug-able.On second thought...that wasn’t such a bad idea.

Mood lifted a tad, you watched Jongho for a moment, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “What are you thinking of?”

“Should we cuddle and watch a movie?” A movie sounded good. It sounded very good. Nodding, you let Jongho leave the room first, joining him on the sofa. Pecking his cheek as you grabbed the remote, you giggled to yourself as you picked out the movie - you’d both been planning on watching it together for a while. What better time than now? Shuffling closer, you let your head rest on his shoulder and Jongho pressed a small kiss to your forehead.

“Babe, thanks for helping me today. It means a lot.”

“You’re welcome honey. Y/N, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to show you how beautiful you are. I love you, so much darling.”

[misc-headcanons]

OC-Tober Day 20: Glow (Katakuri/OC)

@oc-growth-and-development (creator of this fun challenge!)

Etherea stood anxiously outside of the entrance to the various sprawling gardens and meadows of Spice Island, waiting for her arranged fiance as he finished speaking with the servant who had taken them there on one of the royal ships. The late evening sun was already starting to set in the sky, and she stared off at the orange-pink clouds in the sky. She had hoped this would be a chance to grow closer with Katakuri; they'd been engaged for almost two months, but she felt like she barely knew him with how often he was busy working and how distant he was whenever they were together. He didn't even speak to her unless she tried talking to him first. 

Today though, Etherea hoped that things would be different. She had taken the initiative and invited him to tour the gardens of Spice Island with her after hearing rumors of how beautiful and fragrant the fields of vanilla blossoms, violets, and other edible plants grown en masse as ingredients for the kingdom were. If she and Katakuri were going to be married, then she figured they might as well spend time together at a slightly romantic location at least once; it just seemed strange to marry someone you hadn't ever been on a date with before! 

She turned to face her fiance after hearing the sound of Katakuri's footsteps, and she gave him a small smile. "Ah, there you are," she greeted, tilting her heads toward the gates to the island proper. "Shall we?"

Katakuri silently nodded in reply, and Etherea felt a bit dejected as he walked past her. When she saw him open one of the massive gates with one hand and push it open for her, her heart felt a bit less heavy. He may be distant, but he was still a gentleman towards her. She walked past the gate and immediately smiled as the scent of mixed spices flew on the gentle evening breeze. "It really is lovely here," she remarked. "Do you get the chance to come here often, Katakuri?"

Katakuri walked slowly alongside her; with his 15-foot-tall frame, he didn't want to leave Etherea behind by going at a regular pace. "No," he replied. "My duties as Sweet Commander usually have me exploring and conquering new territory, or conducting business on Flour Island."

Etherea gave a small "mmm" in reply, and she tried to find more things to talk about with her stoic husband-to-be. She looked up at him for a moment, craving her neck to get a proper look at his half-covered face. She hadn't ever seen Katakuri without that long scarf of his wrapped around his face and neck, and while she was curious about what he really looked like, she wanted to respect his privacy. He noticed her staring out of the corner of his eye, and he stopped to look down at her. "...Is something wrong?"

Etherea froze up a bit and felt an embarrassing rush of warmth on her cheeks once she'd been caught. "Oh, not at all," she said quickly. She paused for a moment. "Well...not 'wrong', per se…" She absentmindedly fiddled with the ends of her fingers. "I was just wondering what you were thinking about. You're always so...Ah, stoic, you know?"

Katakuri was silent as she talked, and it only made Etherea feel more awkward. "I understand why," she added, "You're the best warrior in the kingdom, and everyone seems to say you're the 'Iron Wall of Tottland'. It's just…" She bit her bottom lip. "If we're going to get married, I'd like to be able to get to know you a little better." She gave Katakuri a small smirk. "At the very least, it'll make the whole 'kissing the bride' moment a bit less awkward, don't you think?"

The Iron Wall of Tottland seemed a bit taken aback by Etherea's comment, and even with his face covered she could have sworn he was blushing a bit. She continued to walk along the garden path as if nothing had happened. "I won't pester you to talk with me though," she reassured. "If you're more comfortable at a distance, that's alright." Katakuri continued to walk with her, and the silence between them left Etherea wondering why she'd thought this was a good idea in the first place. Maybe he wanted to keep their relationship distant, and to keep their marriage solely a political arrangement. Maybe she should just be resigned to the fact that she was going to be joining the large and expansive Charlotte family, and that in a family of over 80 future in-laws, she was going to feel more isolated and alone than ever. Maybe--

"Do you...have a favorite flower?"

Etherea looked up at Katakuri, surprised by his sudden response. This was the first time he'd ever initiated any kind of conversation with her, and she noticed that he was pointedly looking away so there was no chance of him making eye contact with her--and she was much more certain that he was blushing underneath that scarf. "I...hmm," she replied, placing a hand under her chin while she pondered his question. "I'm rather fond of black lilies," she said finally. "And roses as well, though that's more of a nostalgic preference. My great-great-great grandmother has always loved tending to the royal rose garden, and it's definitely the most beautiful part of the castle." She looked up at Katakuri. "Are you fond of any particular flower?"

Katakuri became quiet once again, and Etherea wondered if he was actually pondering the question or had simply fallen back to his usual stoic mood again. After they had passed a nearby grove of fragrant cinnamon trees, he spoke up again. "When I was younger, I enjoyed watching the servants harvest the seeds from the cacao orchard," he said finally. "I'm not familiar with many flowers, but I have fond memories of those trees."

The two of them walked through the small forest of cinnamon trees, and Etherea hid her smile by looking downwards. She'd never heard Katakuri talk about his past before, and there was a slight warmth to his voice when he had mentioned that small piece of his childhood. Etherea sighed softly and admired the lush greenery around them, taking in the warm scent of the spices in the air. "Ah, I think I can smell a hint of vanilla somewhere," she remarked. 

"Your sense of smell is sharp," Katakuri said. "The gardeners on the island grow vanilla orchids in these groves, and train them to spiral around and flourish on the cinnamon and cacao trees." He spoke again, his voice quieter as it rumbled from his chest. "...Do you like vanilla?"

Etherea nodded. "Very much," she replied. "The scent and the flavor." She smirked. "I imagine that your family's kingdom must have a large supply, given how fond you all are of sweets. Oh, speaking of which, I finally have a chance to ask you…"

Katakuri raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have a certain food you're fond of?" Etherea smoothed down the hem of her dress. "I'm likely not as skilled as your royal chefs, but I've been known to bake from time to time."

"I see," Katakuri replied. His voice was more pensive than usual, and even more so when he spoke again--almost like a child shyly asking his mother for a cookie. "Would you happen to know how to make donuts?"

Etherea nodded. "I certainly do," she replied. She smiled coyly as they continued to walk together, sneaking glances at Katakuri while she admired the vanilla blossoms that decorated the tree trunks around them. "Perhaps we could bake some together while we're on our honeymoon?"

Katakuri froze up for just a moment, and when he started walking with her again he was a bit closer to her than he had been before. "Yes," he replied, sounding more awkward than the most highly feared man in the Big Mom Pirates should sound. "Perhaps."

The two of them walked through the rest of the expansive gardens on Spice Island, with Etherea taking the lead and exploring while Katakuri followed a few (large) steps behind. As the evening went on, he found himself talking more and more with her and feeling more and more...comfortable. He was only used to talking casually like this with his fellow triplet brothers and his sister Brulee, the closest of his many siblings; he had thrown himself into being the ultimate soldier and the ultimate brother, and it was difficult to show any vulnerability--physical or emotional. It was why he was so hesitant when his mother had informed him that he was going to marry, and hadn't known how to interact with his bride-to-be. He still didn't know, and he was rumored to know everything according to his family and the rest of the kingdom. 

When she had mentioned how distant he had been, he felt a wave of shame at the disappointment in her voice. Even if they were getting married for political reasons, he really hadn't meant to hurt her feelings like that. He loved his family more than anything, and he didn't even talk to them that much. His reputation as the strongest sibling and as a fearsome monster made everyone admire him, but almost all of them feared him as well. He was used to feeling alone, even when he was surrounded by his siblings; but just because he was fine with that, it wasn't fair to resign his future bride to that without even trying to see things from her perspective.

He looked down at Etherea and then at the cluster of cacao trees around them. Even with the dim light of the sun about to set completely, he could still see the soft white vanilla orchids along the tan bark. She said she's fond of the scent of vanilla, he remembered. He made sure that she wasn't looking in his direction and carefully plucked a few blossoms off of the nearest tree, making sure to keep the flowers safe in his large hands. If he still didn't know how to talk to her, maybe he could find another way to open up to her. 

"It's getting dark," Katakuri said bluntly. "We should get back to the ship soon."

Etherea looked out at the dark blue sky, surprised at how much time had passed on their outing. "Oh? You're right," she replied, turning around to face Katakuri. She noticed that one of his hands was closed in an odd way, but she decided not to say anything about it. "It may take a while to walk all the way back," she pointed out, looking at the long winding path they had taken to the other side of the island. "Well, at least with my tiny little legs. I imagine you could clear the entire island in just a few minutes, hehe."

Katakuri peered at the darkening sky and at the path, slightly annoyed by the fact that it was unlit. He could easily forsee his wife losing her step and hurting herself in the dark, and she did have a point about how long it would take for her to walk back to the dock. Not only that, but she might be tired after walking around for the past few hours on her aforementioned 'tiny little legs'. The protective part of him that made him such a well-loved big brother also seemed to make him a protective fiance. 

He knelt down in front of her and decided to take matters into his own hands--literally. With the hand not hiding the flowers, he gently took her by the waist and was about to put her on his shoulder to carry her. She let out a small surprised squeak and when he looked at her, he stopped and became as wide-eyed as she was at the moment; the dark marks on her cheeks, shaped like upside-down spades, had begun to glow out of nowhere the instant he'd wrapped his fingers around her. After a second or two, the light on her face had faded. 

"Oh-my-stars--Ah…" She looked up at Katakuri, wondering what had possessed him to grab her like this, and then noticed the look on his face. "Katakuri? Are you alright?"

Kata blinked in surprise. "...Your face was glowing," he said simply.

She self-consciously put her hands over her cheeks. "Oh. Well, that happens sometimes," she said, sounding a little embarrassed. "They glow whenever I use a spell, or whenever I'm particularly...emotional; if I'm especially happy, angry, or in this case surprised, since you grabbed me like that." She put her hands down onto his curled fingers and looked up at him, tilting her head slightly. "Why did you do that, if I may ask?"

Katakuri looked away, embarrassed by the fact that he'd likely frightened her when he was only trying to keep her safe. "I was...concerned," he replied, turning so that she could see the dark path they'd taken earlier. "I thought that you might trip over something in the darkness and fall on our way back. I also thought that you might be tired from the long walk, and would have liked to rest on my shoulder while I walked across the island to the dock." He looked back at her, wondering what it was about her eyes that made him feel so strange and flustered. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."

Etherea gently patted his hand. "Oh, I wouldn't say 'frightened'," she reassured. "I was just a little surprised, that's all!" She smiled up at him. "It's very kind of you to look out for me like that," she added, and she let her hand linger on his for a bit longer than she'd originally intended. "Very sweet, actually…" 

Katakuri felt another surge of warmth radiate from his cheeks at her words and soft touches, and he wordlessly moved her up and placed him on his shoulder. She made herself comfortable and when she had stopped squirming, he began to walk back with her to where their ship was waiting. He felt her rest one arm behind his head and on his other shoulder for support, and he felt goosebumps rise on the back of his neck; he'd never been this close with her before.

As he traveled along the path across the island, Etherea marveled at the lovely view from atop Katakuri's shoulders and thoroughly enjoyed how much closer the two of them had become after today--literally and figuratively. She had worried that she would be spending the rest of her life with someone who didn't want anything to do with her, but now she knew that wasn't the case. Katakuri hadn't been intentionally cold towards her, just shy and a bit distant. In retrospect, she didn't blame him; it's hard to transition from complete strangers to spouses out of nowhere, and he didn't seem like an extrovert at all. But now that she'd extended a hand out, he felt much more comfortable reaching back out to her as well. 

As they arrived on the dock, Katakuri stepped onto the ship and carefully picked Etherea up again by the waist before setting her down onto the deck. She noticed a peculiar look in his eye, almost as if he was wanting to say something but was also a little unsure and hesitant at the same time. His gaze flitted a bit as he looked at her, and he silently unfolded his other hand to present her with the flowers that he had picked. "Some vanilla flowers," he explained. When she took them from him and her fingers brushed against his palm, it took all of his willpower to keep his hand from trembling a bit. "Since you mentioned your fondness for them, I thought that you might want to keep them in your room at the castle."

Etherea stared adoringly at the flowers and then at the man who'd given them to her with a smile; a faint glow came on her cheeks that bathed the orchids in a soft light and left both her and his eyes shining. They no longer felt like strangers, and even if they didn't yet know enough about each other to know if they were in love, this evening had been a wonderful first step.

[leviathanswingman]

killing me softly, chapter 13: l’homme qui a seduit le diable

For one last time Lucifer was standing in front of the mirror, fixing every last flaw to his appearance he could find.

As planned, he had met up with Asmodeus two hours prior to the event. Immediately after having entered Lucifer's room Asmodeus had thrown multiple bags onto the bed before hoisting a big make-up case onto the dressing table. He snapped the clasps open and revealed multiple compartments filled to the brim with beauty products ranging from different foundation shades to various lipsticks in any colour imaginable.

„Well, let's get to work! I can't wait to make you even more gorgeous than usual“ Asmodeus had chirped as he began working on his brother, apparently chipper, but still there was an undeniable shaking to his hands.

An hour later, the job was done and Asmo had left suspiciously early, almost as if he had been in a hurry. Lucifer decided to not dwell on that fact. „See you at the party!!“ were the last words he had heard his little brother exclaim.

Now Lucifer was left to his own devices again. His eyes were glued to the reflection in the mirror staring back at him. If he stared any longer he felt as if his reflection would climb out of the mirror, lunging towards him and grabbing him roughly by the throat, throwing him to the ground while chanting a mantra of „I'll kill you i'll kill you i'll kill kill kill-“ Lucifer slammed his fist roughly against the wall, pulling himself out of his vision. A trickle of blood slowly dripped down his roughed up knuckles, which Lucifer chose to ignore.

Once again, he observed himself in the mirror and had to admit, his reflection looked rather exquisite. Asmodeus had done an exceptional job, as usual. With various tinctures and creams he had successfully managed to hide the deep sat bags under Lucifer's eyes and with a layer of foundation his otherwise sickly pale skin tone had been turned into a porcelain one. The most amount of time however had been spent on his eyes. Shades of red blended together carefully were now embellishing his eyes, giving him a powerful look. Additionally, Asmo had applied the slightest amount of eyeliner and mascara, barely noticeable, yet still efficient.

Lucifer observed himself for another moment. In the beginning, he had had his doubts about this whole ordeal, but looking at it now, he found himself satisfied with the result. Asmodeus had kept his promise after all. Instead of painting Lucifer like a cheap harlot he had used his skills to cater to Lucifer's tastes and delivered a result which looked and felt natural to the demon. Of course, a look so flauntingly attention grabbing was foreign to Lucifer, yet he felt confident in this different version of himself. After all, Lucifer wanted to spend his last day acting and presenting himself in the most perfect of ways.

Quietly, Lucifer styled his hair as his favourite track of Levi's cursed TSL soundtrack filled the silence of the room on repeat.

As soon as he was done he went over to the closet and pulled out the outfit he was supposed to wear tonight. For a moment he lingered as he let his fingers run along the delicate seams and high quality fabric of the black lace shirt. To someone like Lucifer, clothing like this was beyond daring. Lace, so innocent in its original nature, yet so alluring now that it was dyed black. It was a fabric which eluded seductive energy, the fabric of a tempter.

L'homme qui a seduit le diable.

Lucifer put on the shirt, nodding as he felt the quality of the fabric against his skin. The fit was immaculate as well, as expected from his fashion obsessed brother. He put on the rest of the suit and then stopped in his tracks as he ogled the boots Asmodeus had picked out for him.

Once again, an item of clothing Lucifer himself would have never chosen out of his own free will. Still, he picked them up and sat down on the edge of his bed, slowly pulling them past his knees and over his thighs as he spent his time lacing them up carefully. After he was done, he walked over to the full body mirror near his closet and studied his appearance. He looked elegant, his usual modesty replaced by the undeniable allure of dirty lace and cunning heels. If Lord Diavolo could see him like this-

Before Lucifer could finish his train of thought he was interrupted by the painful feeling of petals stuck in his throat, right in-between the border of his air pipes and his esophagus. He coughed heavily to dislodge them, but his efforts turned out to be useless. The petals he could feel so very clearly were stuck and refused to exit his body. Instead of coughing them out effortlessly Lucifer ended up stuck, sinking down to his knees as he realized that his only way out was to throw them up. Under his dressing table was a trash bin, so he grabbed it in an almost routinely manner and relieved himself. The sound of Lucifer's gagging, as involuntary as it was, filled the room. Lucifer didn't see the need to feel exposed, after all, his room was sound proofed. As a demon who took pride in his torturing skills, sound proofing in his room was very much a necessity. After he was done he roughly wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, getting rid of any sort of evidence of his illness.

Lucifer then made his way down to the conference room of RAD where he was supposed to meet up with Barbatos and Diavolo before the celebration for any last minute questions. He arrived at the arranged meeting time, stilling in front of the door for a moment, hesitating as his fingers lingered on the ornate doorknob. Lucifer straightened his already perfect posture, rolled his shoulders to ease the soreness and then pushed the door open.

As he opened the door, he saw Barbatos waiting for him. Diavolo, however, was nowhere to be seen. Lucifer stepped into the room, the clacking of his heels on the marbled floor filling the silence.

“ Hello there, Lucifer. You look good,” Barbatos greeted as he mustered Lucifer from top to bottom, his eyes lingering on Lucifer's boots a second too long. A slight smile spread on his face as he approached. The demon looked barely any different than usual, except for the fact that his regular suit had been traded in for a slightly more adorned, festive one. Barbatos nodded slightly as he circled Lucifer once. “I see Asmodeus has gotten his hands on you. Dare I say, it suits you quite well.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the comment. “Thank you,” he said as he stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him. “You look quite sophisticated yourself. I don't suppose Lord Diavolo is hiding in that closet back there, so I must ask. Where is he? Wasn't he supposed to be here ten minutes ago?” Lucifer sighed as he brushed his bangs out of his face “We always give him an earlier time for our meetings yet he still always manages to arrive too late. There really is no helping him, is there?”

All of a sudden, there were the suppressed sounds of a struggle coming from outside of the door. For a second Lucifer thought he could hear Diavolo's voice arguing with someone. Once again, Lucifer felt flower buds piling up in his throat, threatening to suffocate him.  Quickly, he coughed into the crook of his elbow twice just as the noise started to quiet down again. How strange. He reached for the doorknob just as Barbatos touched his shoulder lightly.

“There's no need for that. We don't want the groom to see his bride right before the event now, do we?” he asked with an unreadable expression.

Lucifer turned around, suspicion growing as he got a bad feeling deep in his gut. “Who were you calling a bride just now?” he asked, voice stern and slightly too stiff.  Even though Lucifer was aware of the fact that today would be his last day, he couldn't help but feel suspicious of Barbatos' motives. That demon was always planning one thing or the other, so in times like these, with Lucifer deadly sick, there were plenty of reasons to suspect him.

His throat was tickling dangerously, so Lucifer pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, coughing roughly as several petals spilled out of his throat.

Barbatos mustered him with contempt. “You are aware that you do not have it end like this, right?” he asked coldly and Lucifer threw him a nasty look as he let the handkerchief slip back into his pocket.

“There's no other way,” he stated, not in the mood to engage in yet another battle of words. At this point, there was no one who could change his mind.  After all, Lucifer had made peace with the situation a long time ago. Yet somehow, deep inside, he felt a certain kind of anxiety eating him up whole. Lucifer wasn't afraid of death. He imagined it as a pitch black nothingness, a world void of neither happiness nor sadness, a state of blissful unimportance where everyone and everything were were equally as unimportant.

No, what Lucifer feared most was having to let go.

Would it really be alright to leave his brothers, Diavolo and all the other demons to their own devices? In all honesty, Lucifer could not find the answers to all these questions, no matter how long he let them ghost through his brain. Leaving was the most difficult thing for him to do. All he had to do was pass the reigns over to someone else, yet there was a heavy, dull feeling in his chest whenever he so much as thought about it.

He knew he was about to tear out a piece of his loved ones hearts, but he knew they would eventually get over it and grow stronger from it.

After all, his brothers were strong. Yuuta had been through a lot already, he knew how to bounce back. And Lord Diavolo-

Diavolo would be heartbroken, this much Lucifer knew. Thinking about it too much only made his head hurt, so Lucifer shut down the downward spiral of his thoughts. Lord Diavolo had Barbatos, he would have to pull through somehow. Lucifer coughed into the crook of his elbow once again.

The celebration was about to start and Lucifer still hadn't seen Diavolo around. Normally he would get restless and order an entire sweep of RAD to find his demon lord, yet Barbatos' laissez-faire attitude made Lucifer doubt that Diavolo had simply overslept. There was definitely something going on, and the fact that Lucifer seemed to be the only person left out filled him with a certain sort of nausea. He knew that in the best of cases, only Asmodeus and Barbatos were involved. Knowing his brothers however, if one was involved that generally meant that the whole bunch of them was somehow in it as well.

Lucifer sighed deeply as he headed over to the bathroom. He tried to stop worrying about everything, after all there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. Of course, there was always the option of choking out Asmodeus for answers, but that wouldn't do it today since Diavolo's celebration had to take utmost importance. All he wanted was for the celebration to go over smoothly, but there was that voice in the back of his mind promising him that sadly, that wouldn't be the case at all.

As he pushed the door open, he firstly noticed that Barbatos and all of his brothers were already present, mingling with their first guests.

All of his brothers were there. This had to be a fever dream.

Lucifer approached just  as his eyes focussed on Leviathan clumsily standing in front of a guest, apparently having run out of small talk material, so they were just awkwardly staring at each other.

“Good evening, you must be Lady Naamah. It is awfully good to see you, I hope your arrival has been nothing but pleasant. I am Lucifer, Lord Diavolo's second in command,” Lucifer greeted, a pleasant smile on his face as he shook Lady Naamah's hand gently,

The woman flushed deep red as she took  his hand. “O- oh thank you, my travel to Devildom has been nothing but pleasant. I thank you for your hospitality, please give Lord Diavolo my deepest regards, he has outdone himself once again. After all, he is the finest of demons,” Lady Naamah gushed as she let go of Lucifer's hand.

“Of course, now if you'll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.” Lucifer bowed slightly as he took Levi by the shoulder, leading him away from their guests. As soon as they were by themselves Leviathan's head slumped down. With shaking fingers he timidly messed with his bangs.

“I'm really a good for nothing shut-in,” he muttered as he kept his head down. “I tried, I really did.”

Lucifer put his hands on his hips as he thought of the best way to approach his brother. Social gatherings had always been hard on Leviathan. Due to his shut-in nature being around too many people made him freak out.

Gently, he put his hands on Levi's shoulders. “Look at me,” he said and Levi finally lifted his head again. “You don't have to approach the guests unless you want to. That is my function. Stick to Yuuta, he isn't the most sociable either. I don't need the two of you running around making yourselves uncomfortable.” He ruffled through Levi's hair in a teasing manner. “Understood?”

“Hey, stop that,” Levi mumbled as he pushed Lucifer's hand away. He cleared his throat and awkwardly fumbled with his hands. “But thanks,” he added quietly before running off to find Yuuta.

Lucifer sighed as he straightened his posture and went back to the celebration. More guests were arriving from minute to minute and he had to portray himself in the most positive of lights. He had to do it for both Diavolo and the future of RAD.

He discreetly coughed into his handkerchief, noticing slight speckles of blood on it out of the corner of his eye. Almost nonchalantly, Lucifer let the handkerchief slip back into his pocket. Nothing new. It was almost perverse how used Lucifer had gotten to the fact that he was stuck spending evening after evening bleeding and spitting, fields of bloody petals growing beneath his feet like a cursed field of flowers.

His chest felt heavy and it was hard for Lucifer to hide the fact that he couldn't breathe all that much. Although he looked pristine, thanks to Asmodeus' help, he felt incredibly awful.

Before the celebration Lucifer had downed as many painkillers as he could without casually offing himself before his inevitable death this evening. Still, there was only so much painkillers could do against a lethal illness.

For a moment Lucifer excused himself before walking out the door, rounding a few corners until he found an empty, slightly remote hallway. Hidden from the public eye, Lucifer slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. Every time he tried to take a deep breath, there was the unmistakable sound of his lungs rattling. Every time he tried to take a deep breath Lucifer could feel the way his lungs were straining, struggling to keep him going while roots held him at gunpoint.

Lucifer's chest felt heavy with discomfort and lamentations as he pressed his hand against it, prodding carefully.

His hand rested on his chest, right where his left lung was placed. He closed his eyes as he took a shallow breath, feeling the rattling in his chest.

The vivid image of sharp roots and thorns protruding from his body, having pierced through his lungs and ripped through his body as Lucifer laid on the floor, crimson blood, terrifyingly vibrant in contrast to the white marbled floor, gushing out of his mangled body. His brothers were scurrying around desperately, and someone was leaning over his body, screaming desperately as Lucifer took his last breath and with one final bloodied cough the life left his eyes forever. The last thing he saw were wet, golden eyes, distraught in sorrow.

Lucifer snapped out of this twisted fantasy of his and pushed himself off the wall, stumbling a bit. He straightened his posture, checked himself through the camera option of his DDD and made his way back to the celebration, leaving an empty hallway with several petals on the floor behind him.

Back in the ballroom, Lucifer mingled with the guests for a while. There was still no sign of Lord Diavolo. Lucifer's hand twitched in annoyance. Where was that bothersome man? The celebration hadn't officially started yet, but the possibility of Lord Diavolo coming too late to his own celebration was a horrifying thought to Lucifer.

As he overlooked the current state of the celebration, making sure that everything was going smoothly, he spotted two of his brothers lingering around. Lucifer approached Beelzebub who was sitting at one of the tables, a dead asleep Belphegor slouched against his shoulder. Without hesitation, Lucifer flicked Belphie's forehead with two fingers, waking him up almost immediately.

“Don't go and fall asleep anywhere you go,” he lectured as Belphie cussed quietly, rubbing his forehead which was turning slightly red with one hand and his eyes with another.

“But I'm sooo sleepy.” He blinked once, then glared at Lucifer out of tired eyes, then blinked again in slight surprise. He looked up to Beel and suddenly started laughing, sounding moderately deranged. “Beel, look! He really did it, fuck me!”

Lucifer's scowl deepened as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “First of all, language. Second, what are you trying to say?”

Beel mustered Lucifer and nodded. “You look good, Lucifer,” he stated as he grabbed the menu and stared at it for a moment. His stomach grumbled loudly. “When will they bring out the food? I'm hungry.”

Belphie was still wheezing, slapping his knee repeatedly as he tried to breathe. “Lucifer, you really let Asmo get his hands on you? You look like a real Prince Charming, you know that,” he mocked as he lazily stood up from the chair, stretching out his legs.

An icy look crossed over Lucifer's face as his fingers twitched. This little-

Belphegor knew exactly how pedantic Lucifer was about keeping up appearances in the public eye, so he knew there was no way for Lucifer to get violent.

Instead of punishing his little brother Lucifer put on a shining smile. “Thank you for the compliment, dearest brother,” he pushed out through clenched teeth.

Tomorrow, he would- oh. In the heat of the moment he had almost forgotten that there was in fact no tomorrow. All he had left was today. Lucifer didn't even realize he had frozen in place until he was brought back to reality by Mammon flailing his hand back and forth in front of Lucifer's face.

“Oiiiiii, Lucifer. Lucifer! I think ya guys broke him!”

Taken by surprise, Lucifer grabbed Mammon by the wrist, stopping him in his acts a bit too forcefully.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I was callin out for a while, but ya weren't respondin. I had to do somethin!” Mammon winced and squinted his eyes shut, expecting some form of punishment.

Lucifer snorted once and raised his hand as his brother quivered. Although instead of being rough, Lucifer plopped his hand down onto Mammon's head and messed with his thick locks.

“Aaah!” he yelled out, but then stopped quickly as he realized he wasn't in any sort of danger. “Huh?! Hey stop it, don't treat me like a dog!” Mammon whined.

A short moment later Lucifer dropped his hand and chuckled softly. “I was distracted, that's why I didn't react,” he explained himself. “I'll go looking for Barbatos, so now go and be good, do you hear me?”

With that, Lucifer turned around, in search of Barbatos, leaving behind a confused Mammon who just stood frozen in place for a moment. “No way,” he mumbled stupefied before he caught himself again.

“Well that was something,” Belphie murmured from where he was leaning against the wall, half-asleep again. “Someone thawed Lucifer's icy innards.”

Mammon quickly whipped around to his brother. “Ya saw that too, right? That wasn't just a weird ass daydream??”

“Yup.”

“Just wait until Yuuta hears about this,” he said, bewildered. “Oi, Yuuta!! Ya'll never believe what just happened,” he barked as he took off running.

Beelzebub and Belphegor shook their heads almost simultaneously in amusement. “ Mammon really is his favourite, huh,” Beel said as Belphie started nodding off again.

“I'm just glad it isn't me. That would've been awkward-” Belphie mumbled as he slipped back into his dreamland.

As his twin fell asleep Beelzebub's expression darkened. He couldn't help but feel despair whenever he watched Lucifer, knowing that he was putting up a front. A part of him wanted Barbatos to be wrong, wanted to feel at peace with the fact that Lucifer couldn't possibly leave them any second to never return again. Looking at his brother however, so shiny in appearance, yet obviously so strongly in distress, made Beel's stomach turn. To normal demons, Lucifer seemed like his regular self, but to his brothers, the difference was obvious.

For a split second Beel found himself pushing the blame onto himself and his brothers. If only they had noticed earlier, would it have changed things? They should've noticed earlier. In hindsight, there had been so much evidence and strange behaviour coming from Lucifer, yet they all had shrugged it off, thinking it was just Lucifer being in a weird mood.

Now, their only chance at saving Lucifer was the plan they'd come up with. That plan however, was not foolproof and relied mostly on Lucifer's compliance, which was quite the shaky foundation to begin with. None of them could even imagine to what kind of world they would wake up to tomorrow. All they had left was pure faith that Lucifer would for once put his pride aside.

Beelzebub sighed as he picked up the menu again. He stared at it, but realized that he felt sick to his stomach.

Lucifer crossed the ballroom in search of Barbatos, stepping around lingering guests as they were wasting their time until Lord Diavolo's welcoming speech would take place.

Finally, he spotted the back of Barbatos' head near the entryway. Lucifer sped up his steps as he walked over to Barbatos.

“Barbatos!” he called out, voice deep and gravelly, and the demon turned around to him.

“Oh, Lucifer. Good to see you again. Is there anything you need?” he asked nonchalantly as he checked his pocket watch quietly, yet suspiciously well timed.

Lucifer crossed his arms and leaned forward a bit. “You know exactly why I'm here,” he hissed in a hushed tone. “Lord Diavolo still isn't here and he is supposed to hold his speech in five damn minutes. The fact that you don't even bat an eye is telling me that you know something about this.” With one finger pointing at Barbatos accusingly and without taking his eyes off Barbatos, Lucifer grabbed one of the glasses of demonus the servers were carrying around on trays and took a heavy sip. “I believe you have some explaining to do, what are you planning.”

Due to the nature of his angry rant, Lucifer had completely forgotten to control his breathing, so almost immediately he was sent into a heavy coughing fit. Pushing the handkerchief he carried with him to his mouth, he managed to calm down rather quickly, but not without noticing the alarming amount of blood he had just coughed up. Slowly, he turned around to the guests, checking if anyone had seen too much. Everyone still seemed to be lost in different conversations, so he was quite sure that no one had noticed. The only thing seemingly out of place was Asmodeus, who was surrounded by many guests, but had his full attention on Lucifer. With one hand on his chest and the other buried in the fabric of his pants, knuckles white, he locked eyes with Lucifer for a moment, eyes pleading, before turning back to the guests he'd been entertaining. A young man passed him a glass of demonus and Asmodeus downed half of it in a hurry.

Lucifer turned back to Barbatos, who typed something on his DDD and then looked up at Lucifer again. “Going back to your previous accusations, yes I am in the knowing as to why Lord Diavolo hasn't arrived yet. But to accuse me of planning anything mischievous is almost slanderous. Do I seem like the kind of person to do something like that?”

“Yes you do,” Lucifer stated, not even raising an eyebrow as he mustered Barbatos. He had known the demon long enough to know that he could never fully trust him. Before he could keep going, he suddenly heard the chatter of the people increase in volume. Shreds of a particular conversation caught his attention.

“You said he'd be here, so where is he? You know how worried I am.”

“Come on, grandpa. He's back there with Barbatos, look, I can clearly see them. Perhaps you've gotten blind? Have the cataracts finally started to develop?”

“Now don't be like that, Satan. Show at least a little bit of respect.”

“That's certainly not Lucifer. He would never wear-”

The voice caught off just as Lucifer turned around towards it. So he had been right.

Lord Diavolo was staring at him intensely, his cheeks dusted bright red as he let his gaze wander from the top of Lucifer's head to the bottom of his soles.

“Lord Diavolo,” he greeted as he approached Diavolo, who was joined by Satan to his left and Solomon to his right. That combination was such a strange one, Lucifer could almost feel it fuel his suspicions on the spot. “Pray tell, where have you been all this time? I already feared you miss out on your own celebration and someone,” he looked back at Barbatos passive aggressively, “didn't see the need to inform me of whatever is going on.”

Barbatos walked over innocently. “Oh, I must have forgotten about that. My apologies.”

There was a little part of Lucifer that played with the thought of strangling Barbatos right there on the spot. For the sake of Diavolo's reputation however, Lucifer did not, in fact, choke Barbatos out for all their guests to see.

All of a sudden Diavolo left Satan and Solomon's side and quickly walked over to Barbatos and Lucifer.

Before he could foresee it, Diavolo had encased Lucifer in a bone-crushing hug. If he hadn't gotten so used to the constricting ways of his lungs, Lucifer would definitely not have lasted for as long as he did this time.

Some of the guests were turning their heads to enjoy the show, and seeing the way they watched them in such a compromising situation made Lucifer's cheek turn dark red. “L-Lord Diavolo, please, we have guests,” he forced out and Lord Diavolo released him from the embrace, yet  kept his hands tightly on Lucifer's shoulders. “Lucifer!” he exclaimed, his excitement akin to that of a puppy wagging its tail at the sight of its favourite toy. Once again, he mustered his right hand man from head to toe.

Lucifer didn't miss the way his eyes were roaming over his body and for no explainable reason whatsoever, Lucifer felt exposed. He could be standing there buck naked and he would have been less embarrassed than he was feeling right now. As he made eye contact with Diavolo he couldn't help but feel captured by those fierce eyes. The way they were shining in the dim light, Lucifer was stuck between feeling impassioned and feeling intimidated.

“I have never seen you like this, Lucifer. What a powerful thing you've been hiding from me! You look absolutely breathtaking, murderous even!”

The way Diavolo always managed to gush about Lucifer as if he were the greatest gift to Devildom always managed to bewilder him. When it was about his demon lord, Lucifer tried to be as humble as possible. But how could he stay professional and humble if Diavolo was acting like this? The roots in his chest tightened in a sudden painful grasp and Lucifer shivered as he suppressed the urge to flinch.

“Lord Diavolo, didn't we talk about this? Talking about me like that in public is quite embarrassing,” Lucifer muttered, his fingers, for once gloveless and exposed, curling around Diavolo's hands which were still locked tightly on his shoulders. Slowly, he brought them down. Just as he was about to let go, his gaze fell onto the sight of their hands together, joined in unison. Slender, pale fingers with nails painted red wrapped around tan, slightly calloused hands. He looked up to realize that Diavolo had been watching him closely and Lucifer quickly pulled his hands away, almost flinching. “Excuse me,” he grumbled, looking for any kind of distraction. His head was throbbing and his chest felt incredibly strained, similar to the feeling of a lump in your throat when you're holding yourself back from spilling incriminating tears.

His eyes focussed on Diavolo's appearance and Lucifer almost sighed in relief when he found a good enough distraction. “Your clothes are all wrinkled. You're supposed to hold a speech looking like that? Not on my watch. And look at your tie! Were you drunk when you tied it? Lord Diavolo, you really have to pay attention to these sorts of things.” Lucifer smoothed down Diavolo's clothes before pointing at a somewhat hidden corner of the room. “Over there. I am not going to tie your tie in front of all our guests. What would they think?”

They moved over to the corner and Lucifer untied Lord Diavolo's tie. “I won't be here forever, stuff like this for you,” he mumbled almost inaudibly.

“What was that?”

Lucifer tied the tie a bit too harshly before undoing it and then redoing it accordingly. “Nothing.” Then, he checked his DDD for the time and pushed Diavolo forward softly. “It's time.”

Lord Diavolo grabbed Lucifer by the sleeve before he could walk off. “Wait,” he mumbled. Without thinking, he reached for Lucifer's right hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly. “Thank you, Lucifer.” He let go of his hand and made his way over to the podium.

Glad that he was in the darkest corner of the ballroom, Lucifer broke out in a severe coughing fit. As he forced himself to calm down, he realized he had coughed up one white and one blue rose.

Was Diavolo actively trying to kill him faster? Lucifer's knees buckled and he fell to his knees for a second. His ears were filled with his own heavy breathing and it took him a few seconds before he had collected himself enough to stand up again.

He slowly walked back to Barbatos, who had been waiting for him. Side by side, they walked over to Diavolo, who was about to hold his speech. Barbatos stood to his left and Lucifer walked over to Diavolo's right. Arms crossed behind his back, with his heart racing, he put on a favourable mask as Lord Diavolo started to thank the guests for coming.

Half an hour later, Diavolo ended his speech and opened the banquet. Officially, the celebration had begun now.

Lucifer was sitting at a long table decked with various dishes and drinks, Diavolo and Barbatos next to him. His brothers were also sitting at the table, chatting as they were being their chaotic selves.

Barbatos chuckled as he watched Mammon threaten Asmodeus with his fork. “Everything seems to be going quite well,” he stated, turning around to Lord Diavolo. “All that's left now is the ceremonial dance. I take it you have decided on your partner?” he questioned, a secretive look on his face. Diavolo coughed awkwardly, eyes shifting to the side. “I will ask them right before the dance.”

Lucifer had completely forgotten about the ceremonial dance. It was one of the only parts of the celebration Barbatos had been solely responsible for. Actually, Barbatos had specifically asked to be the only one responsible for it.

The ceremonial dance was unimportant for your average demon. For demonic royalty however, it was of utmost importance. Their partner of choice would be harshly critiqued by the public eye, since to normal demons, royalty like Lord Diavolo were upheld to the status of a celebrity. People always loved to gossip, so Diavolo had to be careful with the partner he chose.

However, as an easy way out, Lord Diavolo  had the option to sit out on the dance. This would signal the public that he had no partner in mind, so there was no reason for him to pick out a random demon he didn't actually care about. Given the fact however that Diavolo had chosen a partner, the whole situation had changed. Choosing a partner for the ceremonial dance was a proposal, an admission of sorts to the public, akin to telling the public that you had found a deserving equal.

Lucifer's skin crawled at the thought of him inevitably watching Diavolo profess his love and respect for another demon in front of the whole world. He had always been comfortable with the reality of Lord Diavolo sooner or later finding his match, whether that would be out of love or for his status. Still, that didn't make any of it easier on him.

“Oh?” he simply asked as he kept a tight grip on the disinterested mask he had screwed tightly onto his face. Under the table though, he clenched his fist around the fabric of his suit as he felt a petal threatening to force its way up his throat.

The way he was acting made him feel almost sick, so audacious and utterly selfish. Jealousy was running through his veins, green and ugly, poisoning him more and more as they nourished the flowers growing inside of his chest. He was supposed to be delighted by the fact that Diavolo had finally found someone to tie him down, yet he couldn't bring himself to fake it.

“Yeah, they are truly amazing. I hope I won't get shut down!”

Suddenly, he felt Diavolo's hand on his shoulder and Lucifer quickly slapped it away, his breathing increasing. For a moment, he could hear the rattling of his lungs again which he had been suppressing the entire evening. Diavolo's expression shifted and he leaned forwards towards Lucifer.

“If you'll excuse me,” Lucifer brought up before standing up a bit too forcefully, the chair swaying a bit, threatening to tumble over. Lucifer sped out of the room and as soon as the doors closed behind  him and he couldn't see any guests anymore, he picked up his pace and sped towards the bathroom. He tumbled to his knees and gripped the rim of the toilet seat as his lungs ached dangerously, choking him.

Petals and flowers were stuck in his airway, forcing him to cough violently in hopes of dislodging them. It didn't work. Lucifer was gasping for air as involuntary tears ran down his face. He reached into his mouth and as soon as he felt the head of a particularly big blue rose, he yanked on it harshly until it finally gave way. Thorns were cutting into the soft pink flesh inside of his cheeks as he finally pulled out the giant flower. Plenty of smaller buds followed, some with stems, some without. Lucifer sat on his knees, leaning his forearm on the rim of the toilet as he wheezed. The straining feeling in his chest had gone down a little bit, but Lucifer still felt terrible. Experimentally, he coughed a few times, but no more flowers followed.

He eventually stood up and left the stall. He tried not to flinch as he noticed the presence of another person in the cramped bathroom. It was Asmodeus.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, Asmodeus simply hugged Lucifer tightly for a moment before pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and starting to dab Lucifer's face, getting rid of any trace of what had just happened. “They sent me to get you, the ceremonial dance is about to start,” he murmured, his voice soft and shaky.

Lucifer nodded. “Of course,” he answered with a hoarse voice.

Asmodeus let go of Lucifer's face and sighed, looking incredibly saddened. Although he wanted to help his brother so badly, deep down he knew there was nothing he could do, so instead, he tried to support Lucifer in his own way. It just had to be enough.

He took a deep breath and painted one of his performative smiles on his face. “You should be glad I put waterproof make-up on you, otherwise you'd be looking like a full on mess right now!”

They made their way back to the ballroom. Instead of nervousness, Lucifer felt an almost comfortable sort of numbness. It's not that he hadn't known it would end like this. He had known right from the beginning. Still, why couldn't he get rid of this desperate feeling of regret? He was doing what had to be done. His feelings didn't matter. No, they shouldn't matter.

People were already standing spread out on the dance floor, partnered up and ready to go. Those who didn't feel the need to participate where sitting on their seats, eyes already set on the spectacle that was about to take place.

Asmodeus put his hand on Lucifer's shoulder for a moment before nodding in the direction of the dance floor. “Solomon is waiting for me,” he said excitedly and dashed away.

Dumbfounded, Lucifer watched his brother running towards Solomon, hugging the magician tightly. Him!? Lucifer found himself thinking, starting to doubt Asmodeus' taste in men for a moment.

He started to make his way over to his table, looking around to make sure his brothers weren't up to anything mischievous. Most of them seemed to be sitting out on the dance, as expected. Levi had removed himself from the whole situation, sitting on a chair furthest away from the spectacle as he was busy checking his DDD. Lucifer turned his head, looking for the rest of them. Belphegor was fast asleep on two chairs while Beelzebub next to him was busy working on a huge pile of food. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mammon sneaking around the tables suspiciously, his hand delving into the coat pockets of their guests. Lucifer's eye twitched in annoyance as he picked up his DDD and sent Mammon a simple text. Big brother is always watching you.

Mammon visibly flinched as he checked his DDD and then looked around hastily until his eyes set on Lucifer who simply stared at him with a disappointed, yet not surprised look.

Then, Lucifer passed Satan and Yuuta who were standing on the dance floor, Yuuta looking absolutely mortified. Apparently Satan had somehow managed to bully Yuuta into joining him.

Lucifer smiled inwardly as he watched Yuuta and his brothers. This was how he liked to remember them. Of course, they were more flawed than Lucifer would like them to be, but that was what made them special. His perfect little disaster of a family. He was glad that prior to tonight, he had already written letters to every single one of them, neatly stacked on top of his mahogany desk, ready for them to discover after his untimely passing.

Just as he reached the middle of the dance floor, Barbatos voice rang through the room, amplified by a microphone. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it is time for Lord Diavolo to declare his chosen partner. He shall go up to them and ask them for the pleasure of sharing this dance with him.”

The guests applauded politely as they had their eyes glued on Lord Diavolo, who had emerged next to Barbatos.

Lucifer's heart beat in an unsteady rhythm.

Who would it be? His eyes focussed on Lady Naamah who was standing right next to him, the guest he had saved Levi from. Not only was she royalty, but also one of their most esteemed guests. She seemed to be the most likely candidate, especially considering how she had gushed about Lord Diavolo before.

If he could have his way, Lucifer would simply close his eyes to stay in blissful ignorance, but he couldn't let himself do that after all.

Life was harsh and so was reality. All his life, Lucifer had never been a delusional dreamer and he certainly wasn't about to start now. So he forced himself to follow Lord Diavolo's every move. The demon prince crossed the ballroom, certainty to his step, as he finally halted right in front of Lady Naamah.

Lucifer forced his face to remain as cold and emotionless as he could muster. The scent of flowers filled up his head as he decidedly ignored the painful shifting of sharp stems and roots in his lungs.

His thought process was interrupted as Lord Diavolo dropped to the ground on one knee and grabbed Lucifer's hands gently, his head bowed down for a moment.

For the first time in his life, Lucifer had no idea what was going on. He tried to come up with an answer, however his head provided nothing but static and nonsensical rambling. Perplexed, he looked down at Lord Diavolo, his heart beating to his chest.

Finally, Diavolo lifted his head again, searching for eye contact with Lucifer. Perhaps he had recognized the look on Lucifer's face as fear, since he immediately began running his thumbs along Lucifer's hands in a soothing manner.

He cleared his throat before speaking up. “Lucifer, my most loyal servant and friend, many decades have passed since we first met, yet you are still as radiant as you were the day I first laid eyes on you. I respect you and hereby accept you as my equal. Will you allow me to share this dance with you?” Diavolo's sturdy voice rang through the room as the guests observed their interaction with bated breath.

All Lucifer could see was Diavolo kneeling before him with a crooked smile on his face as he held his hands, awaiting a response, his golden eyes shimmering in the light like stars.

Lucifer was completely overwhelmed. He didn't know what this meant to Diavolo. Sometimes, that man could be incredibly daft. Who knew, maybe to him this was some highly elaborate friendship ritual.

Still, with his lungs begging him to accept the invitation, Lucifer felt utterly helpless. This man had him act in ways he never would have allowed himself to before. Lucifer was completely whipped.

Just once, he wanted to know what it was like to openly be with Diavolo, out in public, full of pride as Diavolo's chosen one.

This was probably the last time he would see him ever again before he died. Lucifer's hands shook slightly as he smiled at Diavolo sadly. After all, he was killing him slowly, yet softly and Lucifer had to come at peace with that.

“Yes, you shall have this dance, Diavolo,” Lucifer answered loudly and clearly as he heard several gasps coming from the audience, followed by booming applause. The music set in almost immediately and Diavolo stepped up again, still holding Lucifer's hands. “Let's go then,” he beamed as he let go of Lucifer's hands, instead placing one hand on Lucifer's back as Lucifer slid his hand up to Diavolo's shoulder. Their free hands were interlocked now and Diavolo grinned as he pulled Lucifer closer, flush against his chest for a moment. Lucifer feared Diavolo could feel the beating of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt.

They started swaying to the one-two-three of the classical piece that was playing, both lost in a different world. As they swayed and twirled, the people around them blurred to a hazy grey. Nothing was of importance in that moment except for Diavolo and the way he looked so powerful in that suit, eyes shining like polished golden coins as he focussed on nothing and no one except for Lucifer alone. Calloused hands holding his slender ones, red and black in a tangle of fingers. The clacking of Lucifer's boots on the ground as they followed the routine of the waltz, the warm feeling of Diavolo's hand steadying Lucifer's back as he held onto Diavolo's muscular shoulder, feeling the way those muscles shifted in their dance. Lucifer wanted to say something, anything, but words failed him.

The rhythm of the music changed slightly and a devilish grin spread across Diavolo's face. Lucifer raised an eyebrow in silent question when Diavolo suddenly dipped him, strong arms supporting him as Lucifer went with it. As they came up again, they both started laughing. It'd been a while since Lucifer had ever felt so light and free.

But all good things had to end some way or another. As the dance came to an end, a bitter smile spread on Lucifer's face, his wet eyes betraying the nonchalantness he tried to portray.

Lucifer knew he was in over his head. In the end, to Diavolo this whole dance didn't have as much meaning as it did to Lucifer. Lucifer had known this the moment Diavolo had knelt before him.

His most loyal servant and friend was about to betray him terribly. Brutus himself had taken possession of Lucifer. He knew Diavolo trusted him, yet he couldn't bring himself to give up on his pride and admit that he loved him. After all, Diavolo deserved different things. A fallen angel turned demon wasn't a partner anyone could be proud of, especially not Lucifer, the poster child for the failings of his holier than though heavenly father.

The dance came to an end and Lucifer could feel the petals coming up again, but this time it felt different. The branches and roots in his chest were shifting slowly and Lucifer could feel them growing in size. He took in a wheezing breath as he noticed Diavolo watching him.

“Lucifer?” he asked, a worried expression on his face. “Talk to me.”

Quietly, Lucifer shook his head as he struggled to breathe. There was no doubt, this was it. Right from the beginning, he knew he would be pushing it, spending a whole day with Lord Diavolo, yet still, there had always been this irrefutable part of him that was yearning for Diavolo.

The only thing Lucifer hadn't anticipated was that he would have to go so soon. He had thought there were at least a few hours more left.

All of a sudden, his nose started to bleed profusely whilst a trickle of blood escaped his mouth at the same time.

Quickly, Lucifer removed himself from Diavolo, whipping out his handkerchief and pressing it to his nose with one hand. Diavolo stared at him in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape.

For the last time, Lucifer raised his hand to Diavolo's face, cradling it for a moment as he locked eyes with him one last time. “I'm sorry, but this is goodbye.”

Before Diavolo could answer, Lucifer bolted out of the room, a few guests looking after him in a confused manner.

Lord Diavolo stood frozen in place for several moments. “Damn it,” he muttered as he rushed over to Barbatos. “You host the party!” he simply yelled as he darted out of the room, following Lucifer.

Lucifer ran as far as his feet could carry him, his lungs protesting with every step he took. He made it out into the gardens when he finally collapsed in a field of amaryllises, trying to keep himself somewhat upright as his hands dug into the stems of the flowers. An aching pain spread through his body as his throat filled up with oh so many roses, fully bloomed with thick thorns. Lucifer coughed up plenty of flowers, lost in a sea mixed with red, white and blue. He tried to push himself up again,  elbows digging into wet earth, only to collapse again.

In his delusional, pain-riddled mind, Lucifer thought he could make out a voice, desperately reaching out to him. A hoarse, “No,” escaped his lips as he heard footsteps approaching.

“Lucifer!” Diavolo yelled out again, roaming through the gardens, panicked yet determined. Something was incredibly wrong. From the way Lucifer had been acting to the words he had left him with; Diavolo felt like an utter imbecile for not having intervened earlier. What had he been stalling for? Everyone had told him about Lucifer's hanahaki disease, hell, he himself had seen what it did to Lucifer. Yet still, he had decided to live in denial and rebuke any sort of argument that would so much as imply that Lucifer had hanahaki because of him. Guilt was tearing Diavolo apart. He had to find Lucifer, no matter what it would take.

He ran through the gardens, using his powers to detect Lucifer's presence. Right there, he could feel it, weak but definitely there.

Diavolo looked around and finally, he spotted a blurry figure in the distance, lying on the ground, trying to get up out of a field of flowers.  He increased his speed as he ran towards it, almost tripping over his own feet as he ran across the flower field, dropping to his knees right in front of Lucifer's body.

Diavolo could only stare in horror. Lucifer was laying on the ground, surrounded by white and blue roses, struggling to breathe as ungodly amounts of blood slowly poured out of of his nose, his mouth, his eyes.

With shaking hands Diavolo cradled Lucifer's body. “No, no, no. Don't do this to me. You can't do this to me,” he muttered as he pressed Lucifer's body against his own. With one hand, he stroked through dark locks of hair, wishing there was any way for him to end Lucifer's suffering.

“D-Diavolo?” Lucifer uttered quietly, coughing up more blood along the way. “This isn't how-” A bunch of roses came up and landed in-between Lucifer and Diavolo. “This isn't how this was supposed to end,” he finished, his voice weak and damaged. He looked up at Diavolo, his gaze hazy as a single bloody tear rolled down his cheek and he lost himself in another bout of coughs. “This time it isn't Lilith who's dying,” he mused quietly and reached up to Diavolo, shaky fingers lingering on his cheek. “You weren't supposed to know.”

Diavolo shook his head as tears filled with eyes. “What can I do? Tell me what you need and I will do it! I can't lose you Lucifer!”

Tiredly, Lucifer shook his head, picking at one of the roses he had thrown up with tired fingers. A shuttered breath escaped his heavy lungs as he gathered all the energy he had left to pick up two roses with one hand, one white and one blue, pushing them onto Diavolo's chest as his head sank down. Lucifer coughed once again, wheezing under the strain his lungs were on. After that, he lifted his head again, searching for Diavolo's eyes. Once he met them, he chuckled faintly, and without breaking eye contact, he uttered the truth he had been trying to hide so desperately for so long. “There is nothing you can do about it, because they are for you.”

The roots in his chest twisted painfully and Lucifer buried his hands in Diavolo's suit jacket, knuckles turning white. An unnatural groan escaped his lips, a groan that would follow Diavolo into his worst nightmares.

“Lucifer, you-” Diavolo started as he grabbed his hand, holding it so he could feel that Lucifer was there, that he was still alive, that he hadn't died just like that. “Why didn't you say anything?” he asked.

A slow smile crept onto Lucifer's face. “For your sake, “ he mumbled, eyes far away as he tried to deal with the pain, almost crushing Diavolo's hand as he held onto life with all he had.

“For my sake?! Lucifer, what were you thinking! Don't tell me you-” Diavolo froze when realization hit him. Desperately, he pulled Lucifer's weak body closer to his chest. “You didn't want to endanger my career. You didn't think you were worthy to stand by my side as my lover,” he concluded.

Lucifer let go of Diavolo's suit jacket, the look on his face exposed and raw as he looked up at the dark night sky. “I swore to be your obedient servant first,” he said quietly. “It is my duty-”

Diavolo put Lucifer back onto the ground, kneeling beside him as he held onto his hand for dear life. “Bullshit! Lucifer, can't you see how enamoured I am with you? Can't you see that I've loved you ever since I first laid my eyes on you?!” he exclaimed, his head bowed down, shoulders shaking

Lucifer's eyes widened as he coughed up more flower buds covered in blood. “H-how? How could you,” he started, but was interrupted by the painful feeling in his chest, roots and stems roaming around dangerously. There was no way his body could withstand this much longer.

Weakly, he reached out to Lord Diavolo, placing a weak hand on top of his head, ruffling through the crimson locks.

Strangely, Lucifer didn't feel any pain anymore. A gentle kind of numbness spread through his body as he could still make out the feeling of blood trickling down his nose. His vision was blurry and nothing but static filled his mind.

He was a fool, after all.

“I think this is it,” he mumbled as he felt himself fading. He let his hand slide down Diavolo's head, until it was cupping his cheek weakly. He let his thumb graze over Diavolo's lips once. “I am devoted to no one but you,” Lucifer started, taking a break to collect himself in his wrangled state. “How could I love anybody else.”

A rattling breath escaped Lucifer's lungs and finally, Diavolo knew what he had to do. He knew that he had to do the thing he had wanted to do for so many years now.

His hand slid over Lucifer's, which was still cradling Diavolo's face. With the other one, he propped himself up, palm sinking into the wet, earthy ground as Diavolo leaned forward, locking his lips with Lucifer's.

For a moment, there was no reaction and Diavolo feared that he had been too late. Another tear rolled down his cheek as he tried to pull back, but stopped dead in his tracks when Lucifer turned his hand, interlocking their hands instead. Slowly, he moved his lips against Diavolo's, desperately yet softly. The sickly scent of dead flowers and rotting blood that had been filling his nostrils was replaced with the deep, comforting scent of honey, leather and smoke. For the first time in forever, Lucifer's heartbeat slowed down from the irregular beating of a sick person to a regular rhythmic thumping.

As they separated, Diavolo collapsed on top of Lucifer, feeling drained.

Lucifer tried to push him off as he bent over to the side, his chest burning and itching in a completely new way. He felt the sting of thorns again and as he felt the telltale convulsing of his throat that indicated what exactly was about to happen, he bent over, completely exhausted.

A myriad of flowers, thorny stems, buds and petals evicted themselves from his body, splashing to the ground with ugly, wet noises.

For a few minutes Lucifer simply stayed like that, perched over to the side, just waiting for his body to calm down again. As the plants stopped flowing out of him harshly and violently, he let himself fall back onto his back again and almost immediately, Diavolo embraced Lucifer tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Don't scare me like that ever again,” he whispered as he sat up again, pulling Lucifer up with him. Lucifer held onto Diavolo, his head resting on his shoulder, sitting in a field of flowers, both normal and cursed ones, and he breathed. Finally, he could breathe again; freely and without any regrets.

After a while, Diavolo slowly pulled back, cradling Lucifer's face. He took in his rough appearance, his ruffled hair and bloodied face, and simply stroked Lucifer's cheeks with his thumbs. “I can't put into words how much I love you,” he mumbled. Lucifer simply looked at him, allowed himself to face Diavolo without any lies. He reached out with now calm hands and placed one hand on the back of Diavolo's neck, the other on his cheek. Lucifer closed the space between them, their lips connecting softly. He breathed out and his whole body relaxed. Never would he have thought that he possessed the right to have this. To have Diavolo.

Diavolo sighed as Lucifer moved his lips against his, lost in the moment.

“There they are!”

Reluctantly, they pulled apart as Asmodeus came running towards them, followed by all of his brothers, Solomon and Yuuta, stopping dead in his tracks as he took in the scene before him. “Lucifer, are you okay?!” he exclaimed, tears welling up in his eyes. “We were so worried, suddenly the two of you were gone and no one knew where you went, but then Barbatos said-”

Lucifer smiled for once, truly and honestly. “I will be alright,” he simply said.

Asmodeus' eyes went back and forth between Diavolo and Lucifer, who were sitting there, still quite entangled, none of them having found the strength to let go just yet.

Satan scoffed as he looked at them while Asmodeus ran over to Solomon's side, burying his head in his chest as he wailed. “I'm so relieved!”

“Took you long enough, old man,” Satan said, relief obvious on his face despite his unwillingness to display it.

“You're right, Satan,” Lucifer started, but was interrupted by Diavolo getting up again. He held out his hands and Lucifer grabbed them, letting Diavolo help pull him up. Once they were standing again, he stumbled and Diavolo grabbed him, supporting him so that he wouldn't fall again. After all, Lucifer had just escaped certain death.

“We both have been idiots,” Diavolo admitted.

“Utter fools,” Lucifer added as he relaxed against Lord Diavolo's side.

Softly, Diavolo planted a kiss on first Lucifer's hand, then his cheek. Lucifer flushed red, not used to the concept of physical contact of this kind in front of his whole family.

“In the end, we made it.” Diavolo smiled broadly. “We made it.”

Lucifer smiled softly as he watched his family fuss over him in their usual chaotic way.

After all, he was glad to still be alive, because in all names of hell, they needed him. To some degree, he also needed them just as much.

As he let hid head drop onto Diavolo's shoulder, his body exhausted to the core, Lucifer smiled freely and openly, enjoying the crispy air as he breathed in without any hindrances.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

*nsfw chapter

taglist~ @el-does-photography

[mithrilwren]

Carillon

For @essek-week​ day 6: tower/possibilities. This was a VERY last minute fill, and it was an absolute miracle I got it done before the clock struck midnight, but woohoo, here we are! It’s mostly for ‘tower’, but I think it has shades of ‘possibilities’ as well.

[Also on Ao3!]

“I really do appreciate that you were willing to come all this way.”

“Yes, well,” Essek said, inclining his head slightly. “It isn’t so far to travel for people such as us, is it?”

The blonde-haired woman smiled serenely. Lady Allura Vysoren, member of the Arcana Pansophical, senior member of the Council of Tal’Dorei, a talented and accomplished wizard - all facts he’d committed carefully to memory the night before, after a series of hasty messages to his more worldly contacts. She ushered him from the teleportation circle through an oaken door, into a hallway of fine wooden supports and demure beige paint. “Have you been to Tal’Dorei before, Essek?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t. My duties rarely take me outside my home country.” He gazed up at the high ceiling, wondering vaguely which government building she’d transported them to. He knew they were bound for Emon, but he hadn’t had time to collect any information about the layout of the city before Allura arrived to collect him.

“That’s a shame. I do love to travel, when I can.” Her pleasant niceties, far from putting Essek at ease, only amplified his confusion as to why he was chosen for this assignment. The role of ‘Shadowhand’ was exactly as unobtrusive as the name implied - he was no diplomat. His work was best done through intermediaries, if any social interaction was required at all. 

His work with the Mighty Nein was an aberration, but not wholly outside his purview: to gather information about illicit dealings within the Dynasty was quite within his usual set of duties, even if the method was… unusual. But he could not fathom why the Bright Queen would select him to play the role of ambassador, unless his seeming success with the Nein convinced her that he had some special pull with humans that other drow lacked.

Yet again, he found himself teetering on the knife’s edge of civility, trying to maintain his balance in an arena he did not understand. If he had little experience playing the host, he had less being the hosted, and he grasped one hand by the other in a vice grip behind his back as he floated after Allura, following her into a little parlor off the main corridor. She gestured to a chair, and he felt at once foolish to have taken the effort to resume his levitation spell, only to be forced to descend within a minute in order to sit.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Allura said as she walked to a little table and began pouring cups of tea from a delicate porcelain pot. Beside her, there was a glass door, partially ajar and seemingly leading to a balcony, but Essek could not see past the railing to guess any more about their location. Instead, Essek sank back into the armchair - plush, and upholstered with warm auburn velvetine that complemented the other splashes of autumnal colour within the room - and watched the light breeze from the balcony ripple within the blue folds of Allura’s dress as she finished pouring. 

A receiving chamber, perhaps, for foreign officials? It seemed pleasant enough for it, though nowhere near as grand as the Bright Queen’s throne room. Every so often a shout or cheer drifted up from the street below, also very unlike the reverent silence that he knew so well. Perhaps those things mattered less for a government ruled by a collection of individuals, rather than a sovereign. He had no frame of reference to compare it against.

After handing him a cup, Allura sank into an armchair across from him and took a small sip, just enough to wet her lips, before speaking again. “I hope it’s alright. I tend to drink a lot of tea in the afternoon, but if you prefer something else, I’m sure I can muster it up.”

“This is fine,” he said, and took a sip to prove it. And it was - a pleasant, earthy aroma, subtled by a splash of cream and what he assumed must be sugar. He’d never met anyone besides Jester who preferred sweetness in herbal drinks (or any drinks, in her case), but he had to admit that the flavours melded well. “But- you’ll forgive me, but I wasn’t given much information on the nature of this meeting. What was it you wanted to discuss?”

Matters of politics he had at least a good understanding of, a better one than how to act friendly and convince others to enjoy your company, and Essek was eager to shift to more familiar ground as soon as possible. While he doubted his social graces could net Allura’s esteem, at least he might be able to engage her mind in discussion, and then perhaps the worst of his awkwardness could be overlooked. 

And, for the most part, he believed he succeeded, in the ways that mattered. It turned out the Council of Tal’Dorei had simply wanted a check-in with the Dynasty after Allura’s involvement in the peace talks - a move which he now gathered was only loosely sanctioned by the council itself, though she had seemed quite confident when she arrived before the Bright Queen’s court all those months ago. She meant to shore up relations, and ensure that open communication would continue between their governments. 

He agreed to what he could, proposed options for further engagements, and all in all, performed adequately in his function, but hadn’t quite shaken the feeling he was missing some important detail in all of this - something that might explain why he, of all people, was the one taking part in this conversation. Allura was clearly a skilled diplomat, in addition to her arcane prowess. She projected an air of competence, tempered by a warm, inviting demeanor, but he did not doubt that her demeanor would change were they in her personal tower, rather than within the public eye. Wizards were not known for their hospitality, after all, and the ones he’d met outside himself always guarded their isolation jealously, quick to drop all illusions of civility once they were within a domain of their control. 

“Lady Allura,” he asked as she got up to refill their cups, unable to contain the pressing question any longer. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation today, and I think we’ve made good progress. But… if there is any skillset that I particularly may provide, please, do not hesitate to ask.” There. A way of proposing the question without betraying his own ignorance. The best he could do without surrendering ground in their back and forth. This was, after a negotiation, even if he couldn’t sense the parameters yet. One wizard did not call on another unless they desired something that the other could provide. Even Caleb primarily turned to Essek for help with spells or magic beyond his level, and they were friends - at least, they were.

(He pushed down any thoughts of dinner parties, or good conversation over wine, as the fancies of the past that they were. It was a bitter hope, to believe that there was a different sort of relationship they could have had, one not based on favours and needs. It did not serve him to dwell on it, when his own hand was what quashed that hope for good.)

Allura smiled, setting down the pot on the table. “Nothing of the sort. Truth be told, I actually asked for you personally.” Essek’s eyebrow raised.

“Really.” Though she made no threat, his hand itched towards his wrist, where his components were hidden. Weeks of warnings from Caleb and others in the Nein that an assassination attempt by the Cerberus Assembly might be coming, now that he had outlived his usefulness, had set him on edge. The thought of a powerful wizard with connections both in the Dynasty and the Empire asking to see him personally, and alone? It was worth every  bit of caution in the world.

“You sound surprised.”

“Diplomacy is not my accustomed role.”

“Nor is peacemaking mine, but we find ourselves in strange times.” Allura turned away, looking towards the window and the afternoon sky. “I confess, I still don’t understand the whole of the conflict on Wildemount’s shores. There are shades of grey to every war, and I don’t trust myself to recognize them with an outsider’s perspective. Which is why I asked the Mighty Nein who they would trust to speak to me honestly, and fairly.” She turned back to Essek. “They named you.”

A jolt went through Essek. “When?” he asked, shocked to hear the state of his own voice, strained as it was.

They’d barely spoken in the weeks since the end of the peace talks, other than the warnings about Ikithon and Jester’s occasional messages at inconvenient hours. He’d assumed any ties of trust he’d had with the Nein had been irrevocably broken. Despite any protestations in the Balleater’s hold, he had a hard time believing that No- Veth, or Beau, or even Fjord would count him as someone to be recommended. And yet-

“A few nights ago, when I asked them. I’m glad you were available on such short notice.”

“I as well,” he answered faintly.

And yet-

“Oh no.”

Essek’s head whipped up at Allura’s sudden change in tone to something akin to horror. 

“Is something the matter?”

He stood quickly and floated over to her, scanning the room for any sign of an intruder or threat, but instead he found her staring at a timepiece on the mantle, her eyes tracking the short hand with increasing distress. 

“She’s going to kill me.”

“Who?” Essek insisted, but she was already striding away from him towards the door. 

“How would you feel about a quick tour of the city?” Allura asked, her smile gone from welcoming to hurriedly apologetic in an instant. 

“...Alright.” Strange, but he couldn’t sense an immediate threat. He followed her out the door and into the same hallway, which soon led to a winding spiral staircase leading downwards into a depth of stone. 

“I’m very sorry for the abruptness,” she explained as she walked, “but I promised I would pick something up for someone, and I lost track of time. I’d like to send you off properly, but I also- I really did promise.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m in no rush.” If anything, he was curious to see a bit more of Emon than whatever government building they were in - though, he thought as they continued to descend, it was a strange construction for one. If anything, the layout of the staircase reminded him more of a-

In what seemed like an instant, they were outside, and Essek’s suspicions were immediately proved unfounded. The moment they stepped out onto the street, they were surrounded by bustle - crowded houses, children playing in the street, dogs begging scraps from a food stall down the way. No wizard’s tower would be built so close to the rest of society. They were built for privacy, secluded and elevated above the world. His own house was a half-formed imitation of what he had someday hoped to achieve for himself: gated and lofty, and lonesome.

He didn’t have time to reflect further, or even glance back, lest he lose Allura in the crowd as she hurried away at a breakneck speed.

In the end, he caught up to her on the outskirts of a market, where sellers were just beginning to put away their wares for the coming evening. Essek found Allura at one particular stall, clutching a package of something smelling distinctly briny and looking triumphant.

“Lionfish,” she explained. “They only sell it one day a week, because it’s so hard to keep fresh on its journey from the coast. It’s also my wife’s favourite dish. I would not have heard the end of it, if I’d forgotten.”

“Your wife?” Essek asked, his understanding of Allura shifting in great bounds, like so many shifting cogs whirring into a new configuration. Had he ever met a wizard who was in a partnership, let alone married? It had always seemed to him that a relationship of that kind could only take time away from his work: an unsound investment. Or at least that was a convincing argument, on the days that the loneliness felt like it would suffocate him from within. He almost wanted to ask how she managed it, ambition and love both, but held his tongue. 

“Kima,” Allura provided. “She’ll probably be home by the time we make it back. Maybe you’ll meet her.”

“I’d like that,” said Essek, and found he meant it, which was the most surprising thing of all.

Now that they weren’t in a rush, he was able to get more of a lay of the land. The city was a strange arrangement of highs and lows. It seemed that they were in the high portion, with many houses spread out on the plain below. 

“This is the Cloudtop District,” Allura explained as they walked. Essek had decided to forgo his usual hovering, as his drow appearance was already garnering enough stares from passersby. “It used to be home to the most wealthy citizens of the city, but nowadays there’s a mix of all sorts here.”

“What changed?”

“A horde of dragons razed the city to the ground.” Allura shrugged. “The social divide seemed rather immaterial to most people after that.” She pointed forward at one singular spire, rising above the rest of the mostly one-or-two level dwellings. “Luckily, there was enough space left for me to rebuild the Ivory Tower, and the city’s come up around it.”

Essek stared. It was certainly the direction they had come from, and that they were now headed to.

So it was her tower then, that they had been in. Her tower, that she called ‘home’, that she used to entertain guests, and shared with her wife, and occasionally left to buy fish from a market three streets down. 

“Does it ever feel... crowded?” Essek asked, his own skin already crawling at the proximity of the strangers around him. 

“Sometimes,” Allura admitted. “But I like being able to say hello to my neighbours. I hid my nose in books for so much of my life that it’s a welcome change, for it to be as easy to meet new people as to walk outside my door. It takes some of the work out of it for me.”

That was… not a way that Essek had considered the problem before. He had wondered when he was younger why so many of his peers fell into relationships - platonic or otherwise - without any seeming effort, while he could not fathom how to make a single friend. But he had been separate from the start - isolated because of his mother’s position, and his own talent. Were relationships truly as simple as being in the right vicinity to stumble into them?

He pondered that thought all the rest of the way back to the tower, and up an unfamiliar staircase. “I just want to stick this in the icebox,” Allura explained, “and then I promise, I’ll see you home properly.” He followed her through a new door and into a little kitchen with an adjoining dining room, separated by a half-wall and banister. 

The kitchen itself was fascinating. He got the sense of Allura as an organized individual, but most of the space was pure chaos. Mismatched mugs were haphazardly piled on top of bags of produce and sharp knives were stacked, uncovered, by the sink. Allura’s nose visibly wrinkled as she moved aside a few unopened boxes with her foot in order to open the icebox and shove the package inside.

“Who’s this?”

The new voice caught Essek off guard and he whirled, only to find the air empty at his eye level. He looked down, and found a halfling woman in improbably large plate armor staring up brazenly at him. 

“Essek Thelyss,” Allura supplied from behind him, standing up and dusting her hands off on her skirt. “A guest of mine, from Wildemount.”

The woman didn’t extend her hand, but she gave Essek a good once-over before nodding, apparently satisfied by his look that he wasn’t a threat. He tried not to take it as a snub as the woman shouldered past him to get to Allura.

“Did you remember to get the lionfish?”

“Of course, darling,” Allura said, glancing over the woman’s head at Essek with a look that clearly read I told you so. “I wouldn’t have forgotten.”

Kima, then, and the swift kiss she planted on the back of Allura’s palm confirmed it. “Great, I’ll get started then. Go finish up with your friend, dinner’s in forty.” With that, she was off, pulling pots and pans out with reckless abandon, and utterly unconcerned with either of their presences. It was clear now to Essek that this place was Kima’s, which explained the incongruity with Allura’s neat parlor. 

He thought of his own house, where half the rooms were empty for lack of things to fill them with. He had always wanted to live alone, had never questioned the idea that he would hate to share any part of his home with someone else. 

And yet-

He could understand the appeal now, of sharing a space. Of seeing another person’s marks left over the places they frequent - the dishes in the sink, the paintings on the wall - or to be greeted by a kiss on the doorstep, from someone listening for your footsteps eagerly. It wasn’t a possibility for him, but he thought... he could see it. Why someone would want that. 

Allura sent him back to Rosohna with a promise of future visits and cups of tea to come. By the time he arrived back at his house, it was nearly time to rest, but he headed to his laboratory, intending to check on one of his experiments before closing his eyes for the night. 

The walkways between the different segments of his home were dark, as always, but they gave a good view of the streets stretching beyond his own empty one. From here, he could clearly see the light of Caduceus’s tree, the one beacon in the darkness that surrounded them all, guarding a house too small for seven occupants, but somehow functional, with enough space for all. 

During the day, neighbouring drow still flocked like moths to the flame, walking by the house and trying to catch a glimpse of the strange goings-on inside. He’d never understood the purpose of the tree, when all it did was draw unnecessary attention to the group. He started to wonder now, if that was the goal all along.

His spire was not a tower, but it was removed, just the same. Meticulously organized, just as he liked it to be, but there were still traces of clay he hadn’t managed to scrub from the floorboards. Essek stood on the threshold and saw scattered images of the past: of Nott laying on the floor, of Caleb at the desk, of Jester hounding him for snacks from down the hall. 

They flickered out, one by one, leaving only Caleb, trapped in a scene not from his memory, but from his mind all the same. He watched Caleb stand from the desk and move to the table, beckoning Essek forward. 

“Did you find it?” the shadow Caleb asked, and Essek nodded, heart caught in his throat as he handed over the requested scroll. “Good. Then we can finish tonight.” Caleb leaned over and gave Essek a peck on the cheek, and his lips felt of fog, immaterial and crushing at the same time.

Then he blinked, and it was all gone. Caleb was nothing more than a memory again, and the only proof of his one-time presence were the stains of reddish dirt across the floor.

He stumbled off to his room, feeling unsettled, and deeply tired, with question after question flitting through his mind.

How far would his tower have to climb, so that he couldn’t see the light of that accursed tree from his window?

How long can he pretend that he wouldn’t rather be under that roof tonight, instead of his own?